#I just saw the year and instinctively thought of how old Grant would’ve been at this point in time

[ulysses-s-grant]

Birth

Ulysses S. Grant was born on 27 April 1822 in Point Pleasant, Ohio originally as Hiram Ulysses Grant. He came into the world as Jesse Root Grant’s and Hannah Simpson’s first of six children.

Although named Hiram in honour of his maternal grandfather, his father was noted to predominantly call him Ulysses. Growing up, young Ulysses was more attached to his mother and was of a similar nature to her, disliking the bold and proud comportment of his father.

[seriouslysnape]

Shattered

__

Draco Malfoy x Astoria Malfoy x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of cheating.

Request: Hi, I was one of the many who requested a one shot.So I wrote that I'd like for you to write an angsty one shot with Draco, Astoria and reader. I heard this sound: So she gets the flowers right? And I got excuses, I got used and shattered." And it stuck with me still 🙈 You can make the end happy or sad. However you like.Thank you 😍��� @perfect-storm95​

A/N: Well, well, well. This has made me hate Draco for the remainder of the day. Also, I’m gonna throw a little twist into this.

Word Count: 3,714

“All you have to do is say yes.”

__

It took a respectable amount of control to ignore the lurch in your stomach when he put his arm around her shoulder. It took even more restraint to avoid the heat in your throat when he laughed at something that she had spoken. And it took absolutely everything in you to ignore the way your heart ached when he kissed her the way he had once kissed you.

It had been a wild evening for sure, to say the very least. What was supposed to be a lighthearted night full of making fond memories and even more fun, you quickly discovered that you’d be having to face a part of your past that you had yet to come to terms with.

It had been almost three years since the last time you had seen Draco Malfoy. It had been three years since the last straw had been drawn and you left his home in hurt tears. Three years since you had walked out of his life, making a silent vow to never see him again, even if it meant going out of your way to do so.

You never thought you’d reunite quite like this.

Luna Lovegood had always been a dear friend of yours, despite the fact that she was a year younger than you. Her kindness and eccentric nature had appealed to you in the best of ways. The bubbly Ravenclaw girl had blossomed into a wonderful woman, and it overjoyed you to see her beginning this new chapter.

Her wedding was exactly how you had imagined it. It was far from traditional, but it was stunning nonetheless. Luna was a radiant bride, and you were beyond happy for her. Your good mood, however, tanked when you saw the blonde headed man at the reception afterwards. Even though it had been a few years, Draco still looked as he did the night you left him. 

It was a real punch in the gut to see him there, and you were almost convinced  that someone had spiked your drink. You were sure that you were dreaming, or that he was just a weird figment of your imagination. 

He was still tall and lean, and you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to follow the chiseled line of his jaw. He was wearing his nicest, favorite suit that still fit his frame perfectly. His voice was still serious and assertive, and his tone was still as it had always been. Make no mistake, it was still the same Draco Malfoy.

To make matters worse, it hurt like hell to see his arm wrapped around the very woman that caused your breakup. 

You wouldn’t deny that there was bad blood between yourself and Draco. Things had ended on a rotten note and things were never discussed, so it was only natural that there was unspoken tension.

Now, you were sulking at the table just behind theirs, not even interested in the engaging conversation happening around you between friends of yours that you hadn’t seen in quite some time. You just couldn’t seem to look away. It was like if you looked away and then looked back, he wouldn’t be there anymore. However, your silly belief was dismantled when his gaze suddenly caught yours. Yep, he was definitely real and sitting right in front of you.

Because you knew those piercing gray eyes anywhere.

You half expected him to pay you no mind and look away as if he hadn’t seen you at all, maybe even ignore your presence completely. But no, his glance locked with yours for a solid few seconds. Minds racing, hands shaking, hearts beating.

You were actually the first to look away, attempting to shift your attention as if you hadn’t just seen the only man you ever loved after so much time had passed. Even if you had been listening to what was being said around you, you were sure you wouldn’t have been able to hear a thing due to the thump of your heart in your ears. 

A deep blush had tinted Draco’s pale cheeks, and he had yet to look away. Your mind trailed to the woman who was obviously his date, and it was someone you REALLY had hoped you’d never see again. 

Astoria Greengrass was a beautiful woman. She was someone that you couldn’t help but compare yourself to. All the way from her voluminous hair to her impeccably pedicured toes. You had always thought of her to be the model of a picture perfect woman. But you never once thought that she was supposed to be competition for you.

It was a moment that would be permanently burned into your brain. No matter how hard you tried to forget (even going as far to use a spell on yourself) it still made its way back to you. It was a sickening sight, walking into your shared home with your boyfriend of 6 years to find him in bed with someone that had been under your nose the entire time. 

It was a massive blow to your pride, trust, and your heart. Draco had pleaded with and begged you to forgive him and to let it go. In between your screams and cries, he promised that things could work out and that things could be the way they were before.

You had magic for a reason, and he could easily obliviate all three of you and no one would ever know. But he knew how dishonest that would be. And you hated dishonesty.

Astoria had ducked out of the house just when your fight was getting started, which was good for her because you were sure you would’ve done something you might regret later. You and Draco had fought for hours. So long that your throats had gone raw from all the yelling and your eyes were almost puffed shut from all the tears. You had told him it was over in a burst of anger and hurt, and left him alone in your bedroom almost falling to pieces.

And that was the last time you had seen Draco Malfoy.

His presence hadn’t totally disappeared from your life. His name popped up in conversations from time to time, and you’d often stumble upon pictures of the two of you during happier times. But what you had not realized until seeing him again was that he had not once left the safety of your heart.

You were still in love with Draco Malfoy.

Your experience at Luna’s wedding had taken a full turn, and now you found yourself incredibly uncomfortable. You shouldn’t have been so surprised that he was there. Luna and Rolf had invited just about anyone they had ever been in contact with. Still, it was throwing you for a loop that Draco was sitting right in front of you.

It was the beautiful, gentle music that began to play overhead that finally snapped you out of your daze. Along with Luna and her newly wed husband, a few couples had broken away from their designated tables to slow dance on the dance floor of the reception. It didn’t take long for the floor to be crowded with people.

As hard as you tried, you couldn’t fight the urge to let your eyes flicker back to Draco. It was almost like an instinct. It was a natural behavioral thing that was still as sharp as ever. 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore, but his eyes were fixed on Astoria, who he had guided up from her seat and taken by the hand. A hot boiling sensation was building up in your gut at the sight of him leading her to the floor as well, holding her close and swaying with her to the comfort of the music. It wasn’t long before you were out on the floor as well, being spun around carefully by Blaise Zabini, whom you had been friends with throughout your years at Hogwarts. But your attention was far from Blaise.

Jealousy ran rampant through your core as you watched the way Draco’s hand rested on the small of Astoria’s back, his fingertips dancing across her. He looked down slightly into her dazzling eyes, a smile appearing on his face that was nothing short of lovestruck.

He had once danced with you like that. He had once held you like that. He had once looked at you like that. Granted, the situation usually involved the two of you alone in your living room under nothing but candlelight and music from one of your favorite shared records. But those were the moments that had always stuck with you.

The times where nothing else mattered but being together. The moments where the two of you felt like the only people in the world. When loving each other unconditionally was the only thing you ever wanted to do. Perhaps that was the hardest part of it all. The fact that you never knew where things went wrong. Your perfect relationship had crashed and burned unexpectedly with little explanations to why Draco decided that suddenly you weren’t enough. 

Draco caught you staring for the second time, his focus visibly moving from the woman that was currently in his arms. He had this look of uncertainty in his expression, but as if he had already made his mind up. Before you could process anything that was happening, Draco broke away from Astoria, and he was standing next to you and Blaise.

“Mind if I take [Y/N] from you, Blaise?” Draco smiled radiantly at his old friend.

Your stomach hit your shoes seemingly. Blaise smirked, still as coy as always. 

“Only if I can have a dance with your lady.” He grinned.

Draco chuckled lowly, allowing Blaise to take Astoria for a while. Despite everyone maneuvering around you, you felt like you were standing alone with Draco. You could only look at him, words failing to form. His hand trembled faintly as he held it out to you.

“Care to dance?” He offered.

Your head was screaming no, but your heart was screaming yes. You weren’t sure if this was a good idea or not, considering you weren’t sure what this was all about. But as always, your heart’s desires won out.

“Sure.” You replied meekly. 

A million fireworks exploded through you when his hand touched yours, pulling you in to him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hands resting on your back the way they had with Astoria. He stroked your skin through the material of your dress, as lovingly as he had all the times before. 

You were equal parts frustrated and desperate. Frustrated with yourself for still longing for him and missing him after all this time. Desperate for things to be the way they were before.

“You look wonderful.” He spoke quietly, careful not to disturb the peace of the atmosphere.

Oh, his voice. It was still deep and husky, but full of thought. It sent shivers down your spine that you hoped he couldn’t feel with his hand resting there.

“So do you.” You responded, wishing your heart would slow just long enough to get a hold of yourself.

He continued to hold you flush to him, taking in the scent of that same perfume you always wore. It flooded him with memories and remembrance. 

Truth be told, you knew all along that you couldn’t get away with never seeing Draco again. Even if you hadn’t been together for quite some time, your circle was just too close to successfully dodge him forever. But this was not at all how you thought it would go.

If you were being completely honest, you thought you’d casually run into him in Diagon Alley or somewhere that you went often. You always imagined that you’d spot him from across the room and be filled with such a rage that you’d be too angry to speak to him or would explode into a huge fight scene. You’d storm out without ever trying to make real contact with him, and you’d try your hardest to go back to living as normally as possible. This was far from what you had ever dreamed of. 

And you weren’t as angry as you always thought you’d be. Admittedly, there was still a pit of fury from the fact of his infidelity. But there was another feeling that seemed to wash that pit out completely. You weren’t angry at all really. 

You were sad.

“How have you been?” He asked, stepping in sync with you to the music.

“Staying busy with work. How about you?”

You were a little shocked when he didn’t burst into rambles about everything you had missed out on in the last few years. Instead, he only shrugged as if he wasn’t too impressed with himself.

“I’ve been good. Mother and Father still ask about you.” He answered.

A quick glimmer of joy beamed on your face. Draco’s heart leapt with thrill.

“Do they? Oh, how are they, Dray?” You asked with eagerness to hear about his parents well-being, not even realizing the use of his nickname.

His heart swelled.

“They’re the same as always.” He replied.

You nodded briefly, changing the subject.

“That’s good,” You prompted, only continuing once nothing else was said; “It’s been a while.”

“It has. I’m happy you’re doing well.” Draco answered.

You had been trying to ignore it, but the cold metal of his ring was prevalent through your dress, and it told you everything you needed to know. 

“So, you’re married now, huh?” You wondered aloud.

The blush returned to his cheeks, and he sucked in a breath.

“Yeah. Almost a year now,” He confirmed; “You?” 

A flush of embarrassment and dread flooded your body. You didn’t want to have to tell him that you hadn’t moved on when he clearly had. It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried to meet and find someone new. A few boyfriends had come and gone since Draco, and while they were all great, none of them had captured your heart. Even if it had felt like it at times, the world didn’t stop spinning the night you left Draco Malfoy, so you knew there was someone else out there.

You just wished they’d come sooner rather than later.

“No, not yet. I suppose that I haven’t found the one yet.” You said in a way that was unintentionally hurtful, but still left a sting in both yours and Draco’s chest.

It felt like a lie to say that. You had convinced yourself that Draco was “the one” long ago. From time to time, you still thought that. Draco himself would confess that he had felt the same way about you. Spending forever with you was all he had ever wanted. Getting married, having kids, and falling more and more in love everyday.

He’d never forgive himself for messing all of that up.

Silence grew between the two of you. Something that never would’ve happened if the two of you were still together. You and Draco had never run out of things to talk about.

You remembered all the nights that he made love to you until neither of you could hold yourselves up. How could you forget the way he cherished every part of you as if it were crafted by the highest hand?

You recalled the way you craved his touch and how he could have you in a puddly, whining mess underneath his hands within mere seconds. You missed his touch. You missed all those times.

You missed him.

Now here you were. Like two total strangers who knew everything about each other. It was heartbreaking.

“I think about you. A lot.” Draco abruptly professed, his voice even quieter on the off chance that Astoria and Blaise might come back waltzing by.

Something you could only describe as pure shock blindsided you. You certainly weren’t expecting THAT at all. As much as you wanted to fling yourself at him, you knew this was wrong. Your head shook, feeling as if it weighed like a ton of bricks.

“Stop.” You meant to say as a stern instruction, but it came out more as a pleading whisper.

He chuckled at himself incredulously, not acknowledging your beg.

“It’s the truth,” He remarked; “You know, I thought that marrying Astoria would fix me. I thought it was going to fill the piece of my life that was missing.”

Your head was still rocketing off flight responses. Every neuron howling at you to stop listening. To ignore. To get over it. To forget. But you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

“But I was wrong. I was so wrong. It took me far too long to realize that you’re the only thing that could ever fill that missing piece. You complete that picture,” He explained; “You complete me.”

It was near impossible not to listen to what he was saying. If your heart were beating any harder then it would surely explode. Your eyes were shining with tears that you had been holding back for far too long.

“Draco, I...” You trailed off, your voice quivering.

“Shh. Don’t cry, my pretty girl,” He hushed; “I can leave her, you know. Astoria will never be what you were. I know it, and she knows it. She’ll never say that though.”

It seemed that you were growing more stunned with each word that fell from his lips. He was offering to leave his wife for you. He was more than willing to just drop everything for you. It was a lot to consider...but you weren’t exactly leaping at his invitation.

“We can start over. Just you and me. We can be everything we were before,” He said, leaning in to where his lips were just barely brushing your ear; “All you have to do is say yes.”

It was a hell of a tempting offer. You had a chance to go back to him, to make up for all the time that you lost. You could make more of those amazing memories that you held so close to you.

You could have a life with Draco once again.

As much as you wanted to cave and give him everything you possibly could, there was something that was stopping you from giving in to him. Because even though you had this chance, you knew that it would never be like it was before.

“I can’t.” You hushed out.

You could feel Draco’s heart sink. Now tears were brimming his own eyes, blearing his vision and causing a lump in his throat.

“Please, darling...” He begged; “Why not?”

You shook your head again, holding your breath to stop your own tears from falling down your cheeks. It was killing you to do this, but you knew it was the right thing.

No matter how bad it hurt.

“Because you and I both know it won’t be like it was before. No matter how many times we try to start over,” You told him; “You broke my trust. You broke my heart, Draco. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you for what you did.”

Determination and desperation flashed over his features.

“It was a mistake. A horrible, stupid mistake that I know for a fact that I never would’ve let happen again if you had stayed.” He pleaded.

You swallowed hard, forcing a sob back down.

“And if I had stayed, I’d never be able to go a day without wondering if that’s actually true.” You recanted.

Draco was shattered. He felt like he had been broken into millions of tiny bits that were thrown across the world.

Now he truly knew how you had felt since you left him.

“[Y/N], I-“ He went to say but was cut off.

“I’m sorry, Draco.” You apologized, eyeing Astoria and Blaise beginning to dance their way over to the two of you.

A single tear slipped from Draco’s left eye, the tear rolling down all the way to his jaw. The fate he had feared the most had just come true.

He had just lost his forever. And there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

All he could do was make sure he bared the rest of his heart to the woman he loved the most.

“I love you.” Draco proclaimed.

One of your hands came to cup his face, his head lulling in your soft touch.

“I love you, Draco.”

Before anything else could be said, Astoria and Blaise were at your side. She looked at Draco and back to you, you weren’t sure what it was, but she almost looked as if she knew everything that had just been said.

Without another word, you and Draco stopped dancing. Your arms fell from around him and his hold loosened so you could step away. Astoria’s hand rested on Draco’s shoulder as if to usher him away, but his hands were still holding yours.

His icy eyes looked into yours, as if to silently ask you once more if you would come with him. The look in your eyes told him that your mind was made up. You backed away from him, his fingertips only falling from yours once you were far enough away that he physically couldn’t reach you anymore.

Astoria whisked him away once you were out of their space. Both of you feeling much more empty than before. The rest of the night was much quieter for you. You kept to yourself, feeling as if you had been gutted completely.

And that was the last time you saw Draco Malfoy.

Your first wish of never wanting to see him again came true after that night. You never saw or heard from him again. You constantly found yourself wondering how things turned out for him. You wondered if he stayed with Astoria. You wondered if they had kids. You wondered if they spent forever together.

You wondered if they did all the things that you and Draco were supposed to do.

Your heart never fully moved on from Draco. And his never moved on from you. It was a reality you were never able to come to terms with, but there was one truth that you became all too familiar with.

Sometimes there just are no happy endings.

[potterbite]

i can only be me with you

After one of Buck’s heroics spreads all over the news, Eddie finally sees what happened above ground when he was trapped almost a year before. 

On AO3.

As Buck and the team hops out of the firetruck, the rest of the station starts applauding; some are early for their shift that’s about to start, others preparing to head home. About twelve of fifteen people are just standing there, grinning at Buck.

“What - ?” Buck begins, looking to the others for some confirmation that they know what this is about. However, they all seem just as confused as he feels.

As the applauds die down, Bobby speaks up.

“What was that about?”

One of the women on the upcoming shift grins. “It’s gone viral.”

“What has?”

“The video from earlier today of Buck jumping out of that window to save the little girl.”

Oh. 

At this, Hen and Chim laugh while Eddie gives him a nudge on the shoulder, muttering, “Now you’re just like Firefox.”

-----

The thing is, it’s not like he had the time to think it through before jumping out of the window on the eight floor; it was all instinct, seeing that little girl fall through it with nobody else close by to help her. But on some level, he knew he still had the harness around his middle and he trusted his team enough to fully believe they would catch that rope before it was too late.

So he flew through the crashed window barely two seconds after the screaming five year old and caught her around the waist; she was so stunned she paused her screaming. They came to an abrupt stop at the fourth floor, hanging like a couple of ragdolls, and he could’ve sworn he heard someone from up above swear loudly in spanish. 

But it’s not like he thought that someone might be filming it all and uploading it to every social media plattform known to mankind or that it would be on all the big news channels less than six hours later. 

He won’t lie, he kind of likes it. But he’s still exhausted by the time he pulls the key out of the ignition in the driveway. He leans his head back and closes his eyes; his phone is finally quiet, blissfully so, after ringing every three minutes since he finished work four hours ago. Granted, he did turn off sound and vibration so the quiet might be thanks to that but he doesn’t dare to look and check for number of missed calls in the last thirty minutes.

A rapt knock on the driver window makes him jump, the top of his head hitting the roof of the car with a thump and his legs slamming into the steering wheel.  

He curses in pain, but still hears the muffled laughter; he flips the other person off. 

“Nice one,” Eddie comments as he opens the car door. Buck just grunts in response, shaking his legs a couple of times as he climbs out. 

“Don’t sneak up on a person like that.”

Eddie raises both eyebrows. “You’re sitting in my driveway. Chris heard you and wanted me to check you weren’t a murderer.”

Buck grins at this. “And he made you go alone?”

“I didn’t say it was logical. Now come on, dinner is almost ready.”

At least three or four times a week, Buck goes over to the Diaz house for dinner and to hang out with two of his favorite people. Also, ever since Eddie broke it off with Ana a few weeks back, Buck’s been afraid that Eddie might feel lonely. Whenever he asks about her though, Eddie doesn’t say much about the break up, only that it had been amicable and then he always gets this tinge of red on his cheeks that Buck absolutely does not find cute. 

“Hey kiddo!” Buck calls out as they enter the house through the kitchen door.

“Bucky! You’re on TV,” Chris replies and Buck sighs, standing next to Eddie by the counter. 

“I can’t look at that shit anymore,” he murmurs and the other man smirks.

“Not all it’s cracked up to be, being a celebrity?”

“I - “ 

“Bucky! Come see, they’re showing when you tried to save Dad, too,” Chris calls and well, Buck isn’t sure but it would seem his entire stomach flips at these words. 

Eddie goes still, a frown on his face. “What’s he talking about?”

Buck will absolutely not blush. “Probably just heard him wrong.”

“Dad! It’s really cool when Bucky screams like that, come see!”

Buck straightens. “He really shouldn’t be allowed to watch the news by himself, I’ll go put a movie on.”

He takes big strides towards the living room, but before he makes it all the way Eddie swishes past him as if he’s got wings. Eddie picks up the remote and rewinds a couple of minutes. And honestly, for a man claiming he hates technology, Eddie really loves that smartTV, even though he didn’t even know he could rewind until Buck showed him (something he regrets now). 

It’s not like Buck is ashamed of how he reacted that day when the ground collapsed on top of Eddie. Not really. It’s more that it feels like a pandora’s box he’s only ever opened on that day and he’s now deathly afraid of what will happen when he peeks under the lid again. 

But what can he do except stand there behind the couch next to Eddie and watch as the other man finds the right moment and press play? 

“Yes! Let’s watch it over and over again,” Chris claps. Buck ruffles a hand over his hair in response and the boy giggles.

“When was - ?” Eddie starts, but then he seems to recognize the farm. “Oh.”

In silence, they listen to the news anchor saying what a good guy Evan Buckley is and how he lost it when one of his own team members went under. There’s a drone shot from the moment of the collapse. A close-up on Buck’s face as he screams, and Bobby scooping him up.

Buck had known there were news teams there, of course, but he hadn’t realized they’d gotten him on camera as well. He’d ignored all reports from that day, preferring to not think about all the thousand things that could’ve gone wrong, so he’s never seen this before. But obviously, Eddie hasn’t either given the way he stares open mouthed at the screen. 

When he turns his head to look at Buck, Buck just shrugs sheepishly at him.

“That was so cool, right dad?” Chris grins, and Buck sees Eddie’s face soften. 

“Yeah, it was.” He looks up and meets Buck’s eyes for the fraction of a second and there’s another jolt in Buck’s stomach. “Time for dinner.”

-----

They don’t talk about what they saw on the news for the entire dinner or during the movie. 

Well, Chris does bring it up one time when he turns to Buck and asks, “Would you scream like that if I disappeared too?” with honesty only a child can muster. Buck doesn’t really know what to say to this so he grins and promises that he sure would. 

But even though Eddie acts normal, Buck can feel it in the air or when their eyes meet. It’s as if Eddie is screaming to say something but doesn’t want to in front of his son. Buck has no idea what that would be, because there’s no way Eddie could tell from those fast glimpses what really went on inside his head. The repeated mantra of ‘not him, not him, not him’ was not seen in his eyes, he’s sure of that.

If it were, Eddie would’ve caught on earlier. Maybe when he, Eddie, started dating Ana. Or when he broke it off with her. That fire inside of Buck’s soul dimming and glowing stronger was not visible through his eyes, because that would mean he’d lose his best friend. And that was not an option. 

But he’s still nervous when it’s time for Chris to sleep; is this the last time he’ll say goodnight to Chris like this? So when the boy takes Buck’s hand and says, “Can you do it instead of Dad?” he does. Eddie stays in the doorway to Chris’ room, silently watching as Buck tucks the boy in. 

“Buck?” Chris whispers so quietly Buck has to lean forward to hear.

“Yeah?” he whispers back.

Chris reaches for Buck’s face and moves it so he can whisper the words right by his ear. “I think he loves you, too.”

Buck blushes, straightening a bit. “Um, thanks buddy,” he replies, his voice still barely a whisper. He sneaks a glance at Eddie, who thankfully doesn’t appear to have heard the silent conversation. Then louder he adds, “Sleepy time.”

Chris nods happily, and has fallen asleep within three minutes of Buck reading his favorite book. 

As he stands up to leave the room, Eddie enters to give Chris a kiss on the forehead. Buck stays in the living room, not sure if he should take his opportunity to leave or just get this over with so he’ll know if their friendship is ruined or not.  

Before he has made up his mind, Eddie comes out and closes the door behind him. Buck opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Eddie meets his eyes and Buck sucks in a breath. 

“I’ve never seen that before,” Eddie says. Buck doesn’t even question what ‘that’ is, since he can only be talking about the video of Buck screaming at the top of his lungs. 

“No,” Buck says stupidly. “I suppose not.”

“I wish I had though.”

“Oh?” Buck isn’t at all sure where this conversation is going, but for some reason Eddie keeps moving closer to him, so he has no choice but to lean against the wall. 

“Yeah.” Almost chest to chest.

Buck licks his lips and swallows. His stomach does another flip then, because Eddie most certainly followed that movement with his eyes. 

“Why?” Buck asks even though he has difficulties concentrating when all he can think about is if Eddie can feel the beating of his heart when their chests are touching like this. 

“‘cause we could’ve done this much sooner,” he replies and surges up for a kiss. 

Buck gasps, and he can feel the smirk against his own lips. So as soon as his brain has caught up with what’s happening, he pushes off from the wall and flips them as some kind of revenge. He presses Eddie against it instead which makes him groans, and as his lips open Buck takes advantage of that and sneaks inside. 

As they battle together and Eddie’s fingers caress his neck, Buck nudges his thigh in between Eddie’s legs and gets another groan in appreciation; Buck savors that vibration as if he’s starving. 

He feels as if they should slow down, talk about what’s happening, why neither of them has said anything and what’s going to happen next. But then Eddie bites gently in his lower lip, making him moan and Eddie swallows the sound greedily. 

As if it’s the most natural thing in the entire world, he starts to back Eddie into the master bedroom, closing the door with his foot once they are inside.

What the hell, they can talk tomorrow instead. 

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: NewType Magazine October 2020 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

This is an old article that was published back in September of 2020, before Yashahime began airing so please keep that in mind as you read this.

REBOOOOOT!! The Challenge for the Next Generation

The Half-Demon Girls Who Fight in the Modern and Feudal Eras

“Inuyasha” is an original story by Takahashi Rumiko that was adapted into an anime in 2000 and became a worldwide hit. The story of the fierce battle with the demon, Naraku, centering around the “Shikon Jewel” said to grant any wish, was put to an end by Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru with the assistance of Kagome and others. After the battle ended, Inuyasha and Kagome married and with the conclusion that they were starting a new life, the curtains on the story drew to a close.

10 years have passed since then. Now entering the Reiwa era, production on a new story about the daughters of Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru entitled “Hanyō no Yashahime” has begun. Production of the anime is being done by Sunrise, who also produced the Inuyasha series. Satō Teruo, who was the assistant director in “Inuyasha The Final Act”, will be taking on the role of director. With series composition being done by Sumisawa Katsuyuki, animation character design by Hishinuma Yoshihito, and Wada Kaoru overseeing the music, the “Inuyasha” staff have gathered once again. The perfect production set-up as been put together with Takahashi Rumiko herself drawing the main character design.

“Hanyō no Yashahime” is an original story by Sumisawa. The protagonists are three girls. Towa and Setsuna are twin sisters and Sesshōmaru is their father. Moroha is the daughter of Inuyasha and Kagome, but she has lived alone since childhood, so she does not have any memories of her parents for the most part. Looked down upon by demons and shunned by humans, what will the girls, who are “half-demons”, battle and what sort of future will they strive for? We had producer Naka Toshikazu and animation character designer Hishinuma Yoshihito, talk about the composition of the plan and their feelings on the production.

The New Charms Coming from the Girls

Higurashi Towa A half-demon girl who has Sesshōmaru’s blood and is extremely skilled in martial arts (possibly inherited from her father). In order to take back her younger twin sister, Setsuna’s, “sleep”, she decides to return to the feudal era.

Towa wears a uniform with slacks, but one can tell she is a girl by her body line and facial expressions. The white hair she inherited from her father, Sesshōmaru, and the red streak in her hair are characteristic.

Setsuna Sesshōmaru’s daughter. She makes a living as a demon slayer. Having had her sleep stolen by the Dream Butterfly, she does not have any memories of her childhood and has forgotten her elder twin sister, Towa.

Setsuna is calm and collected. One can sense that personality from her cool expression as well. She wears a white fur just like her father, Sesshōmaru.

Moroha Wielder of the demon sword, Kurikaramaru, and known as “the monster killing Moroha”. A bounty hunter who specializes in slaying demons. Inuyasha and Kagome’s quarter-demon daughter.

Moroha, who’s characteristic black hair is similar to Kagome’s, wears a big ribbon on her head that is like Inuyasha’s ears. Her mischievous facial expression vaguely feels like her father’s.

[There are bios on their weapons as well, but it’s information that’s already known so I’m skipping it]

It Started with Wanting to do “Inuyasha” Again

— Where did the plan for “Hanyō no Yashahime” stem from?

Naka: Even after production for “Inuyasha The Final Act” ended, the staff and cast headed by producer Suwa (Michihiko) (associated with Yomiuri TV at the time) gathered and continued to go on once a year trips with Rumiko-sensei. There, Suwa-san said, “I want to do an “Inuyasha” TV anime again.” and it seems that was the start. Then the conversation went to if it’s a story about the second generation, we can make it an original story. Sumisawa-san came up with a number of different story concepts and proposed them to Rumiko-sensei. After much back and forth, it was ultimately decided that the daughters of Sesshōmaru would be the protagonists of the story. The anime adaption basically began to proceed immediately after that.

— What do you think is the secret to “Inuyasha”’s popularity?

Naka: It boasted top class popularity not only in Japan but also on major American streaming service, Hulu, and its popularity overseas was very high. This means that the content (of the story) is strong. During a time when Sumisawa-san wasn’t making a concrete move, a fan at an overseas event that he attended said, “I would love for you to make another “Inuyasha” anime.” and he said that that has been one of his driving forces. Currently, it has been streamed and broadcasted in over 30 countries, so in a broad sense, it’s a title that can be dispatched worldwide.

Hishinuma: The setting is the feudal era, but it doesn’t follow true history. In the end, slaying demons is the main (focus), so you can enjoy without having any knowledge. There, it has Rumiko-sensei’s serious drama with the periodic love story and comedy mixed in. That gap is what I think makes it fun. Most likely, the number one reason why there were so many young (children) fans was because the story was easy to watch and understand.

— Regarding the production of “Hanyō no Yashahime”, what points of the previous work were you conscious of?

Naka: Putting together components that were different from the “Inuyasha” charm in every sense. In the previous work, it was a story about a son surpassing his greater demon father. If Inuyasha’s son was the main character and the parents made appearances, the parents would take all the juicy parts. No matter how hard the son tries, he could never surpass his parents. Hence, when we were told that the protagonist would be Sesshōmaru’s daughter, I myself was able to accept it without issue. Moreover, I felt that that would be more fun. It’s easy to imagine what Inuyasha and Kagome’s child would be like, but you could say Sesshōmaru’s children, twins no less, stir up the imagination. Rather than following the structure and story of “Inuyasha” as it was, we thought we could create a work that those who watched the original story could easily accept.

— What sort of meaning is behind the strong impacting catch phrase “Sesshōmaru has a daughter” shown in the teaser?

Naka: I think the appeal of “Inuyasha” is the love triangle between Inuyasha, Kikyō, and Kagome, as well as Sesshōmaru being very cool. That being said, it’s no use tracing the same love triangle structure. Thus, by hitting the spot of sisters Towa and Setsuna being separated, there’s a prominent difference between the previous work, and above all, it would grab the interest of fans who wanted a new work. We’ve remodeled the setting and story, but from a picture and production perspective, it has inherited the comedic feel and screen tempo of a Rumic work.

— Hishinuma-san, what did you think when you saw the drafts that Rumiko-sensei drew?

Hishinuma: I instinctively thought if the lineup was these three, then something fun could be created. Rumiko-sensei advised me not to be too conscious of the “parent” when designing the character’s facial expressions and movements. If these kids were around 20 years old, they would’ve had aspects similar to their parents, but they are simply 14-year-old girls. As I drew, I thought about what these 14-year-old girls, who are a little than what Kagome was back then, would think about as they lived their lives.

— In what way did you make revisions using the draft as a base?

Hishinuma: Setsuna and Moroha, who live in the feudal era, were just like the draft I received, but for Towa, who lives in the modern era, I had to redo her hairstyle a little bit. She has short hair so thinking about how she moves, I did things like adjust the placement of the highlight (in her hair) and add a few details to her uniform. Also, she wears male clothing so in a sense, I tend to draw her roughly, but I consciously make sure that the look in her eyes and her actions are that of a girl.

— What did you enjoy during the character designing process?

Hishinuma: Coming up with the grown-up versions of characters that appeared in the previous work like Kohaku, Kagome’s younger brother Sōta, and Miroku and Sango’s son Hisui, was a lot of fun. Kohaku is set as the head of the demon slayers, so I imagined he built up a lot of experience and matured into an adult. However, he may have let his guard down which could be the reason behind the scar (on his face). I imagined those kinds of things as I drew.

Naka: We’ve put in many different components that both new and old fans can enjoy, so it would make us happy if you could look forward to the broadcasting.

To Fans! Two Points!

It is OK If You Don’t Know the History

The story itself is created in a way that one can enjoy it without having any knowledge of “Inuyasha”. In addition, Naka stated “You don’t need to have any knowledge on the feudal era, so please enjoy it leisurely.” Towa and the others who run around between 2 eras; the expectation of the three girls’ activities heightens!

Pay Attention to the Characters Aside from the Main Ones As Well

Other characters like Miroku and Sango’s son, Hisui, as well as others connected to “Inuyasha” will make an appearance. In addition, there will be designs aside from the main characters that will make one go “They look similar to someone from that work” …? Enjoy Rumiko’s work in every nook and cranny of the screen!

[pagingevilspawn]

Can u write a one shot where jolex's toddler gets bitten by a poisonous spider and they react quickly to help her and has alex calming jo down as she starts freaking out

WARNING: THIS IS SO BAD! Okay, you asked for spiders. That meant doing research. So I looked up poisonous spiders and I saw pictures of spiders. So dear anon, you get a sting instead, because spiders are terrifying to look at and I couldn't glance at it without feeling like they were crawling all over me ;) enjoy! this is the shortest thing i’ve ever written, yikes. 

(another installment of the “payton loves evan peters too much series”)

float like a butterfly, sting like a bee

Jo Karev rested in the chair that sat on the back porch of her house, overlooking the backyard where she watched her three year old son run around with the family dog Muffin. The now full grown Golden Retriever chased after the slobbery green tennis ball the little boy had thrown into the bushes with a great deal of clumsiness, nearly tripping over his own four paws on the way. Jo lets a small laugh escape her lips, picking her glass of lemonade up from the table beside her and taking a leisurely sip, savoring the cool taste it still held since the ice cubes had yet to melt completely.

It was an unusually warm day in Seattle, temperatures reaching eighty-eight degrees despite the fact that it was only spring break, not even summer yet. The sky was clear of any clouds and the light blue proved to be comforting while she sat outside. School had been out for a few days now, so she had heard the neighborhood kids playing around in their yards, a large difference from the usually close to silent street. Only her and one other family on the block had a child that wasn’t in school yet, so the outside noise levels had steadily increased since the rest of the kids joined in on the early morning activities. More than once she had heard a couple of pre-teens race down the streets on their skateboards. Not that she minded, she loved seeing all the kids enjoy themselves, and she loved it even more for her son. Growing up she never had a life like this. It was refreshing to know that her baby boy wouldn’t grow up the same ways she and Alex had.  

A large grin paints her lips as she watches her son try to hug Muffin, since he had quickly gotten bored with playing fetch. Not to mention, the little boy always hated how wet the ball got after it had been in the dog’s mouth. Jo couldn’t blame him, she felt the same way. Alex teased them both relentlessly for it, frequently making sure to toss the slobbery ball in their direction, just so that they would need to be the ones to tear it out of the golden’s mouth.

A small kiss on the top of her head tears her gaze away from the scene in front of her, looking up to meet her husband’s eyes. He, like her, was still dressed in pajamas, despite it already almost being eleven am. They both had gotten the day off and were relishing in the free time they got to spend by themselves and with their son. 

“Kyle, careful.” Jo chastises the boy as the little Karev almost falls face first into a patch of flowers. She sees Alex sit beside her on another chair out of the corner of her eye, his brown hair messy and out of place falling into his eyes, a cup of coffee clutched in his right hand. He had gotten up the same time she did that day, eight thirty on the dot, also known as the time their son came bouncing into their room, jumping up and down on them until they finally gave in and didn't try to go back to sleep. Alex had a long night, not getting home until close to three am, only to wake up a few hours later with a bunch of paperwork he needed to do. She had a feeling he had fallen asleep halfway through, since he looked like he had just gotten out of bed. 

“Morning” he greets her, taking a sip of his drink, watching her from the side as he does so. His wife was beautiful every single time he looked at her, but something about seeing her make-up free, hair pulled up into a messy bun, and oversized clothes was when he always thought she looked her best. Then, he could see the light freckles she had sprinkled on her nose, something he had found annoyingly cute the first time he first saw them (he teased her about them way too often for her own liking). 

Jo hums in response, reaching for his hand and quickly entangling their fingers. A quiet peace settled around them, the only sounds in the air were Kyle’s laughter and faint voices of kids down the street. She closes her eyes and leans back into her seat, feeling the warm sun hit her face, causing a small smile to appear from the heat. Moments like these were rare, no matter how much they both tried to make them happen. They were both constantly getting called into cases, Jo even more so since she had switched to OB and now not only delivered babies, but preformed fetal surgery on them as well. Spending time with their son together was tough, since they worked late nights and had complete opposite schedules some days, so they grasped onto days like these and held them close. 

Ask either one of them, the scene in front of them was almost comical. If someone were to tell Alex Karev ten years ago that he would be married to the love of his life and have a three year old son he would’ve thought they were crazy. The same goes for Jo. When she was just an intern she was fearful for her life, her identity, knowing that at any second Paul could find her. The wide-eyed twenty-six year old would’ve never expected she would’ve gotten to such a happy place in her life. 

It was essentially a perfect day. The sun was out and Kyle was enjoying himself with Muffin, both Jo and Alex had time to relax and not stress about upcoming surgeries or patients back at the hospital. But of course, their perfect bubble popped when they heard a wail come from the corner of the yard, where their son was clutching his upper arm, face red and puffy as tears streamed down it. 

The two sprang into action immediately not only their parent side, but the doctor side coming out in a split second, jumping out of their chairs and dashing across the lawn, a hundred of different scenarios running through their heads by the second. 

Did he break his arm?

Trip and fall?

Get a deep scratch from a bush?

Hit his head?

Twist his ankle?

Run into something?

Jo gets to him first, pulling the little shaggy brown haired boy into her arms and wiping away his tears, his pink lips trembling as he tries to put on a brave face. He was always a show off around his mom, ever since he was born, constantly trying to earn her praise and make her laugh until she had tears coming out of her eyes. (It surprisingly wasn’t that hard of a task, Kyle was quite the comedian, as it turns out.) 

“What happened baby?” Jo coos, sad hazel eyes looking to Alex, who was trying to peel the boy’s tiny hand away from his arm. 

“A w-wasp.” Kyle buries his head into the crook of Jo’s neck, a few stray tears making its way down his face and onto the collar of her ratty old t-shirt that was actually her husband’s. She sees Alex let out an audible sigh of relief alongside a small chuckle, but Jo just sends him a glare. Harsh? Yes. But her baby boy was hurting, which was no laughing matter in her book. She didn’t care if Kyle had a papercut or had broken his leg, she would react the same way. 

Alex uses the end of his shirt to remove the stinger from Kyle’s arm, making sure to pick it up and toss it to where the three year old wouldn’t be able to step in it. “I’ll go get some ice.” he murmurs, ruffling the little brunette’s hair before jogging back to the house, returning a few minutes later with a bag of ice wrapped in a layer of a thin paper towel.

“Here you go buddy,” he places the ice pack on the slightly swollen red area, seeing his son wince slightly at the cold. 

Jo rocks him back and forth in her lap, placing tiny kisses on the top of his head, listening to his quiet sniffles. Her strong boy, never wanting anybody to know that he was hurting. Granted, it was just a wasp sting, but Kyle had gotten barely any injuries except for a scrape on the knee here and there from running around. For only three years old, he was surprisingly agile, differing greatly from his parents, since Alex practically tripped on anything in his path and Jo was prone to stubbing her toe at least once a day. (Her record was five just at the hospital; one gurney, a nurse’s counter, a doorway, a couch, and a table in the attendings lounge. She had lost count once she got home.)

Jo feels uneasy, protective mommy instincts kicking in and flow through her like a rapid river. “Should we take him to the hospital?” she runs a hand through the boy’s hair, untying any little knots that had formed from his mini adventures. 

Alex snorts, chuckling to himself. Real funny Jo. 

He feels a pair of eyes on him, looking up tentatively to meet his wife’s narrowed slits, glaring at him harshly. He raises his eyebrows, “You’re joking right?”

That only seems to set Jo off, as she opens her mouth in offense. He knows he’s about to get a lecture.  

“Are you joking?” She questions, her tone borderline terrifying as she sends daggers to her husband. 

Alex sighs, running a hand down his face. “Jo, it’s a bee sting.” he puts his hands behind him, leaning back onto his palms, ignoring the grass was still partially wet, despite the fact that the sprinklers hadn’t been on for over an hour and a half now. (Their grass seemed to not have the ability to absorb water, which might actually be because of the soil and not the actual grass itself, but who knows.)  

“And how do we know he’s not allergic!” the brunette argues back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, gaze never wavering from his. 

“Jo, he’s not allergic.” he says exasperatedly. He knew for a fact that he and Jo could go at this for hours. More than once they’d been able to turn a thirty second argument into a two hour back and forth, switching the subjects more times than they could count, but somehow it always still came back to their original topic of discussion. He loved those fights, and he knew she did too. They thoroughly enjoyed getting to pick apart the other’s brain in something other than a new surgical procedure, suture technique, or way to get Kyle’s clothes to not look like they had been thrown in a pile of mud by the end of the day. All couple’s had their thing, and theirs was bickering like they had been married for sixty years. 

But as much as he loved those fights, he didn’t want another one of those right now. All he wanted to do that day was spend his free day off with the two most important people in his life without a care in the world. Of course, part of that had already gone down the drain, since his son had a swelling red spot on his arm and his wife was pissed at him. 

The woman glares at him, “You don’t know that”.

Alex sighs, “Jo.” he deadpans. “Is he wheezing or having trouble swallowing?”

Jo looks away, avoiding eye contact as she purses her lips. “No.” 

“Is there swelling on his face, throat, or tongue?” He hears Jo’s voice get quieter, still making sure not to look at him. 

“No.” 

“Is he experiencing dizziness, hives, a rapid p-” 

She cuts him off, throwing her hands up and sighing in defeat, “Fine! He’s not allergic.” she mumbles, causing Kyle to look up at his mom, nerves etched onto his face. 

“Mommy why are you yelling?” he questions, placing his small palm on her cheek. Jo takes his hand and pretends to eat it, making the little boy shriek with glee as he squirms in her lap like a wiggly worm. 

“Daddy was just being a big butthead because Mommy was worried about you. Weren’t you being a big butthead Daddy?” Jo smirks at him, more than glad to have her son on her side. Kyle was a momma’s boy since birth, and it didn’t seem like he had plans on changing anytime soon. Thank god, because she didn’t know what she would do when Kyle stopped coming to her for nightly cuddles. She supposed she had a few more years until that happened though, much to her relief.

Alex playfully narrows his eyes at her, taking Kyle from her hold and standing up with him latched onto his hip. “Yep, I was a big butthead. Don’t say that word though bud, it’s not nice.” 

The boy grins, his smile toothy and crooked. “Then don’t be a butthead.” he says matter-of-factly, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck as the three make their way inside the house, Muffin trailing not far behind, wet paws making small spots on the wood. 

Alex laughs, giving Kyle a pat on the back. “I won’t be a butthead buddy. I won’t be a butthead.” He gives Jo a smile, taking in the way her eyes light up at the sight of her two favorite boys joking and playing around with each other. 

Alex leans closer to Jo, whispering so Kyle couldn’t hear them. “I’m the peds surgeon Jo, which means I'm always right.” he smirks triumphantly. 

The brunette’s mouth opens wide, partially scandalized. She slaps him on the arm, the grin never leaving her face as they enter the kitchen through the backdoor. “Asshole!”

[shoyomeow]

ALMOST DOESN’T COUNT.

❀ characters : tooru oikawa x female reader 

❀ genre : angst? 

❀ wc: 1593

❀ inspired by : almost doesn’t count by brandy

❀ note : this is actually my first fic on tumblr so please be kind ahaha. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

He was late. Again. 

As you stared at the once warm hot chocolate you couldn’t help but mull over everything that had transpired in the past eleven months, almost twelve months. 

You had been friends with him long before you fell in love with the ambitious boy who only had volleyball in his mind. His so-called charms were not what had moved your heart, it was seeing that he was someone so passionate about something that he lived for it . Granted, you never cared for the game that your school was famed for. Volleyball was something you were forced to watch simply because your sibling had been the manager and there was no way in hell that your mother would let your sibling attend the games alone. 

You had received the warning first hand, ‘No matter what you do, do not fall for him. It will only end up hurting you.’ 

You had laughed at them then, retorting with a quip about how you would never fall in love with someone, especially in your final year of high school. 

(You wished you could go back in time and whack yourself with a hardback book, preferably a thick one.)

Three months into your newfound yet close friendship with him, you noticed a shift in things. 

The first one was a month and a half after you had become friends with him. You had found him in the gym well after everyone else had left, a consequence of you having to stay back for cleaning duty and not being able to say no to a teacher who needed help. If you didn’t know better you would’ve thought that he was dead, with him lying with his limbs extended and his eyes closed without moving at all. 

Safe to say, he wasn’t dead. At least not literally. 

It was just another day of the setter overworking himself without the strict and watchful gaze of Hajime Iwazumi. You almost reprimanded him for overexerting his knee which had already been acting up. But you didn’t, instead you opted for grabbing a cold drink from the vending machine and a fresh towel from the basket in front of the gym. 

He had looked at you oddly as you gave him the drink and wordlessly rolled up the towel to place it under his bad knee. By odd you meant he had looked at you with a smallest but most genuine smile that you had ever seen him have, a complete contrast to the ‘fan smile’ he kept plastered on the entire time. 

That was the first time your heart throbbed for the pretty brunet setter in a way that didn’t seem platonic at all but you ignored it as you made a quip about how annoying his smile was. 

The second one was three weeks after the towel incident. The way he interacted with you had changed. He had always been a person who adored kinship but it had increased exponentially with his hands lingering on your head for much longer than usual, and the way he rested his head on your shorter frame, barely pressing his lips to your hair. 

The way he made your heart throb was bordering on painful. 

Every time you saw him now your heart ached and it felt like there was something lodged in your throat. 

In hindsight, it might’ve been your instincts screaming at you to squash the feelings you held for him and move on before it was too late. 

The third (but not the final time) you noticed things had shifted was when Iwaizumi threw a pointed look at the brunet before making a poor excuse and dragging your sibling away to leave the two of you alone. You had found it weird but hadn’t said anything as you continued to walk alongside the brunet, his hands brushing against yours occasionally until they didn’t. He had asked you out right in the middle of the road, his voice and face confident but his fingers were digging into the thick fabric of his jersey as they always did when he was nervous. 

You had almost told him that you loved him right then and there but you reeled yourself in and opted for a simple ‘I like you too.’

❀

Things started shifting again four months after you started dating officially Neither of you had said those three words to each other, unlike a lot of other people their age who threw the words around as if they were speaking about the discounts at a grocery store. Both of you recognised the weight of the words that was something eighteen year olds shouldn’t have to bear so you opted for actions instead. 

But for some reason it was getting painful. 

For you, he wasn’t your first relationship. But he was your most meaningful one, so the feeling of inadequacy in their relationship was weighing on your mental health. Your thoughts were plagued with scenarios and negativity that you constantly tried to battle, more often than not, you were not the victor in that battle. 

There were so many times that you felt like he stayed with you simply because he thought he should. You were his partner right? His girlfriend? If he had no reason to dislike you then he also had no reason to break up with you. 

It had gotten to a point where you wished that the rift was caused by volleyball, did that make you a horrible person? Maybe. But it was better than realising that it was simply a case of you loving too much and him simply not loving enough. 

Your heart, mind and soul were taken over by the boy with shining eyes and a smile which only became more genuine in your presence. You had thought that it was because of the feelings he held for you, only to realise that it wasn’t love that made him smile like that, it was comfort. But you loved him, so when the urge to ignore your insecurities came for the sake of preserving the relationship you had with him, you didn’t fight it.

So here you are, three months of friendship and almost eight months of a relationship later, sitting in the same coffee shop where you had study dates with him and debated with him about who were better, aliens or robots, a crumpled paper with everything that you wanted to say to him laid in your lap as you waited for him. 

“Sorry I’m late, volleyball practice ran late.” he ran his dominant hand through his hair as he took a seat in front of you, “Have you ordered already?”

“It’s okay Tooru,” You smiled at him and for the first time you almost felt liberated, was it because of the decision you made or was it because you had finally processed and accepted everything? Maybe it was both but you weren’t going to complain, “Tooru.”

“Hm?” his eyes didn’t leave the menu that he had grabbed from the counter as he acknowledged you. 

“I love you.” You smiled and almost laughed when his head snapped up, but you weren’t done yet, “I am in love with you. I love the passion you hold for volleyball, and I love how you disguise your persona as a stupid and uncaring person when in reality you do things for the people you love without ever knowing that it was you who did it. I love the drive I see in you to fight for yourself and I love how you try to make it seem like you do everything effortlessly when you are the hardest working person I have ever come across. I just love you.”

He opened his mouth to speak, maybe even say the three words back but you didn’t want to find out. You were almost certain that your voice came out choked but you didn’t have it in yourself to care, “I love you but I can’t be with you anymore. I want to love myself as much as I love you Tooru, and I know that even now your heart is hesitating. Because I love you, I know that your heart doesn’t beat for me like mine does for you. And that is okay. But Tooru, I can’t keep on trying anymore and because I love you and I’m trying to grow to love myself, I’m breaking up with you. I don’t truly blame you for anything, while I wish I could say the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ I can’t.”

You smiled at him once again, forcing yourself to not shed the tears that had inevitably welled up in your eyes, “I love you Tooru and that is exactly why I’m saying goodbye.”

It was strategic planning on your part to carry money in the pocket of your jacket today instead of carrying a bag, it was also strategic planning that led you to choose the table closest to the exit as you got up and left the cafe. For now, you refused to cry. You will shed the tears that you needed to shed as soon as you reached the comfort of your own home, but for now you would wipe your eyes and walk strongly and proudly.

You fought the urge to look back and see if he was still seated there. 

Their love will always and forever be a case of almost. 

She almost stayed with him.

He almost fell in love with her.

They almost made it work.

But everybody knows, almost doesn’t count.

[bi-naesala]

Blood is the currency of the soul

Dismas goes to find an old friend with a specific request.

(Also on AO3)

(Spicy content up ahed!)

The way Dismas’ steps echo through the empty church hall will never stop being creepy, no matter for how many years he’s heard them. That’s something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

It’s not that he’s not used to creepy things, not when his job is to hunt down and kill all the monsters that fester the land, it’s just that this is supposed to be a place of worship and light but now it’s cold, dead and abandoned.

It’s such a weird place to be used as a house, especially if you are a vampire.

 “Hey.”

He cringes at the sound of his coarse voice; it’s certainly not something that should be heard in a church.

That simple greeting serves to warn the creature living here of his presence, creature that’s hiding behind the altar like he always does.

The first thing he sees are a couple of red eyes peeking from the stone surface, but they’re soon joined by a familiar head and a familiar body.

“Good evening, Dismas,” the creature says. He looks happy to see him, like he always does.

He begins to slowly walk towards him, until they meet halfway through their steps. The creature is imposing, but Dismas knows well that he poses no actual threat, especially to him.

“Good evening,” Dismas echoes him. When the creature steps into his personal space, he doesn’t move away not even an inch, and when he cradles his face in his hands - movements so tender for such a deadly monster - he can’t help but to smile.

“I missed you,” the creature says then, so earnest. Dismas rolls his eyes, though the smile doesn’t disappear from his face.

“You always miss me, Reynauld,” he replies, amused, though despite everything deep down he’s glad about this. It’s nice feeling wanted by someone, even if that someone is a vampire, but well, Rey is a special case.

Dismas still remembers their first meeting quite well, despite having been more than a couple of decades ago already. He was but a novice in the monster hunting business, maybe that’s why he let him live.

Reynauld looked so pitiful as he approached him - and what kind of vampire would voluntarily approach a hunter? - begging to be killed, that Dismas just… He didn’t have the heart to do it.

No matter how much he begged him, Dismas was paralyzed. He couldn’t bring himself to harm him! It was something so weird and unexpected that for a moment he feared that it was all a trick, a way to make him lower his guard, but no: Reynauld was being honest.

 That day, he left him where he found him, right there, in that wretched church.

The next day, however, he came back, and the day after again. The creature was still there, barely reacting to his presence if not to ask him to put an end to his life - or unlife, Dismas guesses - but the young hunter still couldn’t bring himself to do it; it should’ve been easy, right? The easiest kill in Dismas’ life, and yet he couldn’t help but to pity this creature who so much wanted to die. Hell, he never even attacked him! He never tried to take his blood despite the fact that he was clearly starving.

Eventually, he did something he knew he should’ve never done, something that goes against everything that had been taught to him: he got closer to the creature, removed one of his gloves and he sliced his wrist.

As soon as the smell of dripping blood hit the creature’s nostril, he recoiled like he’d been hit, crawling away from Dismas and muttering something that he wasn’t able to catch amidst as series of “no, no, no, no”.

“I’m giving it to you,” Dismas said then. Those were his first words towards the creature. “Take what you need.”

The creature made himself smaller on the ground.

“I can’t… No… Light please…” He began to crawl towards Dismas. “… NO!”

Before Dismas could react, the vampire lounged at him, making both of them fall on the cold ground. Dismas tried to move but all he could feel is extreme pain, like someone was sucking the life right out of him.

Then everything went black.

 When Dismas came to, first of all he was surprised by still being alive, secondly, he couldn’t believe that he fell for such an obvious trap.

Where was he even… Oh, he was still here.

Just what was exactly that creature’s plan?

 He heard the sound of sniffles coming from behind the altar. It must’ve been him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he got up, trying his best to ignore the feeling of nausea that almost made him throw up. This time he didn’t move unarmed, dirk already in hand in case the beast tried some funny shit.

He walked with caution, measuring each step, circling the altar, until he got a view of the creature hiding under it. He was curled up around himself - almost like a baby - and there were crimson streaks across his visage.

Was the beast… crying?

 “Hey.”

Immediately the creature’s gaze snapped up, looking at Dismas with incredulous gaze.

“You!” he exclaimed. “You’re alive!”

Weird: even though he was clearly surprised, he hadn’t assumed any defensive position at the reveal. Actually, he even looked relieved.

“I am.”

Immediately the creature pathetically groveled at his feet, blabbering so fast that all Dismas could understand was “forgive me”. Alright, he had gotten enough of this story; he crouched down, putting himself at the same level of the beast, and put his hands on his shoulders, stopping him.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I forgive you,” he begun. “But what exactly are you?”

“What do you mean?” the creature asked, confused.

“I mean, what happened to you? Why do you act so weird?” Dismas replied. “What kind of vampire begs to be killed, then eats, then asks for forgiveness?”

The vampire didn’t reply immediately; he still looked confused. Maybe, Dismas realized, he didn’t know it himself; it’s rare, but he’d heard tales of certain victims that don’t end up quite dead as the vampire feeding upon them thought. A mistake in carelessness.

In these situations, there’s only one way to act: grant mercy to the newborn creature and kill it before it can become something dangerous. Still, with what heart could he do that?

 He tried his best to appear non-threatening, which might’ve been a bit hard considering that he was still holding his dirk in hand, but whatever, he was never good at this stuff.

“Listen, how about you and I have a chat,” he begins, “You seem in trouble and I might be able to help you.”

He could see the conflict in the creature’s eyes; he was clearly having a hard time deciding what to do. Well, Dismas didn’t blame him: if their positions were switched, he would’ve had a hard time too for sure.

Eventually, however, he weakly nodded.

“If you’re offering, then I suppose I can accept it…”

  “Dismas?”

He shakes his head, coming back to the present and - most importantly - to the amused Reynauld in front of him. He looks so different from the first time they met; he looks definitely better: with time he managed to accept his new condition as a vampire, also thanks to Dismas’ help. Dismas has no idea how he manages to balance the nature of his new existence - or un-existence he guesses - and his religious beliefs, but hey, whatever works for him.

“What?”

“You were spacing out,” Reynauld replies, tilting his head. “What were you thinking about?”

“Will you laugh if I say I was thinking about you?”

Reynauld’s smile grows larger at those words; Dismas finds it beautiful. When he closes his arms around his waist, pulling him closer, he rests his hands on his chest in order to keep himself uptight.

“No, but I can say that I’m flattered.”

They kiss, softly, Dismas humming against Reynauld’s lips a reply that is soon forgotten.

 Oh, how long it took Reynauld to accept his touch: at first he was too afraid for them to stand close to each other, afraid that the mere contact would be enough for his worse instincts - the one he always tries his best to keep in check - to resurface and take control of him, like when Dismas sliced his wrist to feed him.

With time and experience, however, he managed to keep himself in check, and of the fear that was holding him back there is no trace now.

 He can’t help but to roll his eyes when Reynauld pulls him up - an easy feat for him - and takes him to a familiar place, though the gesture is half-hearted at best.

“What would your god say if he saw us defile his church like this?” he teases as Reynauld lowers him onto the altar. Despite still wearing his clothes, Dismas can’t help but to shiver at the cold.

“’My God’, as you call him, has sent you to me, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t honor you the way you deserve,” Reynauld replies, before cutting off any possible reply from Dismas with another kiss.

Yes, in the years they’ve known each other, Reynauld has convinced himself that Dismas is some sort of godsend or some bullshit like that. He’s still unsure of how he feels about it, but he’s figured that, for Reynauld’s sake, he’ll put up with it.

This doesn’t mean that he can’t tease him about it, however. As Reynauld had learned in the years they’ve known each other, nothing is sacred to him, not even religion. It’s a wonder how patient he is with him in this regard; Dismas has always wanted to ask him about it, but each time he decides to do it, he stops himself before any word can leave his mouth. Things have always been like this between the two of them: they talk about their past, but never enough not to sound vague. To be quite honest, it’s one of the things Dismas appreciates more about this relationship: the ability to mind your own business; they both understand that the past is a tricky thing, so why suffer because of it when they can just focus on the present, on each other?

 Dismas’ train of thoughts is forcibly interrupted when Reynauld kisses him; Dismas chuckles, keeping him close with his arms around his shoulders, and returns the gesture in kind, parting his lips to sneak his tongue between Reynauld’s, caressing his fangs with it. He’s tempting fate like this, he knows it, but what’s life without risk? Boring, that’s what it is.

He’s rewarded by an animalistic growl from Reynauld, a sound he makes only when the most bestial part of him takes control, and he’s pushed with his back against the altar by the same Reynauld who’s now pressing his body against his, leaving him with no way to move. It’s like Dismas is trapped, and he loves it.

This aggression doesn’t last long, however, and soon they’re back to exchange soft kisses and caresses. Dismas has always liked it when Reynauld goes hard and fast, but lately he’s finding himself enjoying this side of him too; maybe he’s mellowing out with age.

 He can’t help but to cringe at that thought. Yes, he’s getting old, while Reynauld…

Dismas has never been one to care about looks. It just never was his priority.

Now, however, he can’t help but to be a little self-conscious about his aging body, about the wrinkles that are starting to appear, at the gray that has begun to pepper his hair, at the loss of muscle mass.

Reynauld is always quick to shut down his insecurities whenever they come up, even when Dismas doesn’t voice them - by now they know each other pretty well, enough to know what they’re thinking.

He always takes his face between his hands, caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs, kissing each and every wrinkle, caressing his graying hair.

“You’re as beautiful as the day we met,” he always says, and what can Dismas do, if not to believe him?

 Still, he likes it less and less to be naked in front of him. He doesn’t feel adequate, that’s all: Reynauld’s beautiful, powerful, and he’s not so thin that he might snap like a twig if someone blows his way. How is he supposed to compare?

Things are going to get worse and worse as he gets older, he knows this. On one hand, it’s reassuring to know that Reynauld would never dream to abandon him just because he doesn’t look as young as he once did, but on the other…

 They have talked about it once, during a moment of weakness on Reynauld’s part: the pain of knowing that eventually he’ll lose Dismas was too much to bear, and he asked him to allow him to turn him. He begged even, on his knees, something that took Dismas so much by surprise that he couldn’t find the words to say.

After that episode, they never spoke about it again, but as of late Dismas has been wondering, wondering a lot. Most importantly, he’s reached a conclusion, which brings him to the main reason why he’s come here in the first place.

“Reynauld,” he calls him in fact, taking his face between his hands. “I want you to turn me.”

He hears the way Reynauld’s breath hitches at those words, how it quivers into something resembling a whine. How much as he thought about this?

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice trembling, despite the fact that he looks eager to do it, he still waits, he still wants to make sure. Dismas loves him so much, though his consideration this time is pretty useless. He nods.

“I think I’ve waited too much…” he mutters then. It was supposed to be a joke, but of course Reynauld takes it seriously.

“We waited until you were ready,” he replies in fact, going back to mouth at his neck. “If you’re worried about your appearance, you should know that--”

“That I’m beautiful as the day we met, I know, you always tell me,” Dismas interrupts him, unable to hold back a cheeky smile that Reynauld immediately kisses away.

 Dismas thought that he would’ve gone straight for the turning, but he doesn’t. Actually, Rey’s acting like this short conversation never happened, beginning to tear Dismas’ coat open and then his shirt, kissing every inch of skin he uncovers. It makes Dismas almost forget about it too.

“R-Reynauld!” he manages to mutter however, once Reynauld has unbuttoned his shirt and is not getting comfortable with his head between Dismas’ legs. He raises his gaze to look at the hunter; his eyes are ravenous, but not in the dangerous way, it makes Dismas shiver.

“What?” he asks then. Did he truly forget?

“Didn’t we say…” Dismas begins, but thankfully Reynauld understands immediately what the deal is; so he hasn’t actually forgotten. Good.

“Let me have you as you one last time.”

… As you? What…

“Rey, I’m not going to turn into a monster or something. I mean, you haven’t, so why should I?” Dismas points out. Is there something about the turning process he’s not privy to? Something Reynauld hasn’t told him?

“I know, I know, but…” the other replies, succeeding immediately into calming Dismas down - he doesn’t have to worry about too unpleasant side effects at least - but then he continues. “Let me just have this, please?”

Oh well, if he puts it that way…

“Fine,” he says, but when Reynauld still doesn’t move, he adds: “Are you going to ravage me like the big boy that you are, or are you just going to stand there all night?”

At those words, Reynauld rolls his eyes, though there’s a fond smile on his face. Dismas is about to say something else, but he’s quickly shut down by a kiss.

  When Reynauld lowers himself between Dismas’ legs again, the other also sighs for the relief; he’s been building up more and more tension without any way to release it, but now hopefully Rey will put a remedy to that.

He shivers at the light bites Reynauld presses into his thighs; in all the times they’ve known each other, Rey has always tried to keep himself in check when it comes to biting, aware that if he lets go even just one bit, it might lead to some unpleasant situations. This time, however, there’s none of his usual hesitation in the way he covers his skin in red marks.

A moan leaves Dismas’ lips when, once he’s satisfied with his work, Reynauld immediately takes him in his mouth, without any kind of warning. He bucks his hips up, surprised, but Reynauld keeps him still as he begins to suck him off with a speed and vigor that Dismas is now mad that he’s always withheld from him.

Still, he’s ever so careful in the way he moves his mouth, mindful not to brush his tusks against the sensitive skin; not that Dismas wouldn’t like it but, judging by the time in which he came immediately after he had accidentally grazed against his cock, he would like it too much, and Reynauld wants this to last.

 Apparently, however, that doesn’t go along with Dismas’ plan, who begins to grind his hips against him, trying to get more.

“Reynauld… Rey, c’mon,” he moans, impatient as ever. Were Reynauld free to move as he pleases, he would’ve shaken his head.

In the end, if he has to be honest with himself, he doesn’t really mind it, quite the opposite actually. He knows he just gives more voice to the most egocentric part of himself, something that he shouldn’t do, but hearing, feeling, how much Dismas wants him is something that he’s come to need the more time they’ve spent together. The thought of someone needing him, still wanting him despite his nature, has kept him from making very displeasing thoughts, and helped him come to terms with the fact that, even if his life has been irredeemably changed, this doesn’t mean that he can’t try to make the most of it, even if he keeps staying hidden from everything and everyone, except Dismas.

 That’s why, once Dismas begins to beg, he gives in.

He gets up, already taking care of his pants, lowering them enough to pull his cock free, giving it just a few tugs.

Oh, he can’t wait to be inside Dismas. What? He’s not the only one with an extinguishable desire, even though Reynauld has a habit to hide it; after all, Dismas acts enough for the two of them already, there’s no need for him to give his contribution too.

“Oil… Do you have oil?” he asks before he can do anything though. It makes Dismas rolls his eyes - he’s not made of glass for fuck’s sake - but he guesses he appreciates his care.

“Pocket…” he mutters, reaching for the jacket that Reynauld has left on the altar. After fumbling a bit, he manages to procure himself a small vial of oil, and to offer it to Reynauld. “Here.”

Reynauld takes it, opening and beginning to smear some on his fingers, only for Dismas to stop him.

“There’s no need for that…” he says, making a meaningful pause as the meaning of what he said sinks in. Oh…

“You scoundrel…” Reynauld mutters, though there’s no heat in his voice. He’s smirking, actually. “Did you want me that much?”

“Of course, you old fool,” Dismas replies through gritted teeth. He never liked having to openly admit this kind of stuff, which makes extorting the truth out of him a huge pastime of Reynauld, though he usually has to work harder than this to obtain some resorts; he must be very desperate.

Oh well, it is what it is. There’s something more important to think about, now.

 As he pushes his oiled cock against Dismas’ rim, Reynauld can’t help the shaky moans that leaves his lips, not that Dismas is quiet, quite the contrary actually. Yes, they make quite a pair, the two of them, with how loud they are. Good thing they’re in an isolated place, right?

His voice trembles once Reynauld bottoms out, and he tells him to get a move on.

“We don’t have all day!” he says, which, as a matter of fact…

“We do, technically,” Reynauld retorts, although he gently begins to rock his hips back and forth, finding it hard to remain still, not when Dismas is so warm and inviting. He always talks big game about patience and all that bullshit, but then he’s the first one who can’t resist the temptation of a warm body beside his; not that Dismas is complaining of course. Whatever floats his boat.

Frankly, as long as he doesn’t stop moving, he doesn’t care.

 Gods damn it, he really isn’t young anymore, not with the shitty stamina he has nowadays, because he already feels close to coming. Thankfully for him, Reynauld isn’t that far off himself, so at least he doesn’t have to be too embarrassed about it, but that’s just because Reynauld gets overwhelmed easily during sex no matter how many times they’ve done it.

“Fuck…” he mutters, gritting his teeth.

“Language,” Reynauld reprimands him, but Dismas doesn’t let him utter another word as he grabs him by the hair and draws him closer for a kiss, clashing their mouth together. For such a big bad vampire, he sure can’t handle a few swear words here and here.

At least he seems to get the message and doesn’t stop pounding into him. Dismas’ back is beginning to hurt, but he sucks it up, not wanting to interrupt the moment. Besides, the pleasure he’s feeling is far greater than the pain.

He has no problems digging his nails in Reynauld’s back, leaving red marks, keeping him as close as he can. It makes Reynauld shiver, but he keeps going. Thanks to his vampiric abilities, besides, those wounds heal quite fast, though Reynauld would lie if he said that he wouldn’t mind if he could be able to wear them for longer, just like Dismas wears his. Would Dismas feel the same way he does if he could see the visible signs of what he’s done on Reynauld’s skin? He can’t help but to wonder, though now he should be focusing on something else, shouldn’t he?

 Dismas’ voice echoes through the empty church, filling it with his moans as he comes. It would probably be considered a sacrilegious act if only someone else was there to witness it; hell, Reynauld might’ve thought so at first, but after years of being together he’s gotten more tolerant to it, still without losing his faith, even if for the people who share it he’d be considered a monster. And yet, Dismas can’t help but to think, Reynauld is way more human than some of the people he’s met throughout his life.

“Gods above, I love you so fucking much,” he can’t help but to mutter before he can’t stop himself. He’s usually not one for these kinds of words: he’s more of a man of action, not words. Even when sometimes he says them, it’s mostly in response to something that Reynauld tells him first; sometimes he’s wanted to be the one pronouncing them first, but there’s always something that blocks him, a sense of shame that he’s never entirely gotten rid of, not towards his feelings per se, let’s be clear, but about having to voice them.

There’s nothing of that hesitation this time. He’s saying it with a sincerity that he hasn’t managed to reach since forever. All because of this man in front of him, a man that has become the most important part of his life, the man he can’t live without.

He can’t help but to smile, seeing Reynauld being thrown off his rhythm by that quiet admission, but he soon recovers.

“Me too, Dismas,” he says then, pressing his forehead against Dismas. “I love you too. Dismas… I love you so much.”

He comes. It makes Dismas squirm as he gets filled up, but it’s not unpleasant, not at all. He doesn’t have the time to say anything else that Reynauld’s back to kiss him with a softness that it almost hurts; it used to hurt once, when Dismas was still young and angry at the whole world, but not anymore.

 Still, there’s something else Dismas wants, and he wants it now, during this moment.

“Rey, c’mon… I’ve given you what you wanted. Now it’s my turn,” he urges him, eagerly baring his neck to him. This is something that goes against every lesson he’s been imparted in his youth, but the tiny scars that Reynauld’s fangs have left time and time again demonstrate that there isn’t really a risk behind it, not with Rey at least.

However, Reynauld still hesitates. “Are you sure? You won’t be able to go back to how things once where if you do it.”

“I know.” Dismas rolls his eyes. “Just do it already.”

Reynauld kisses him, just a soft peck on his lips, then he bares his fangs. This isn’t the first time this happens, but never with such intent. It sends a shiver down Dismas’ spine.

 He leans closer, always closer.

Dismas’ breath begins to itch.

He wonders if he’s making the right choice. What if he regrets it?

Ah, to hell with that. He wants to be happy, and he knows that Reynauld makes him happy. Besides, who would keep him company if he died?

 Then Reynauld bites him.

The sharp pain is familiar - it always happens during the biting - but soon Dismas is overwhelmed by a new sensation, something he’s never felt.

He wants to scream his pain out, but his throat burns, just as the rest of his body, and not a sound manages to get out.

It feels like he’s being burned alive. Did someone accidentally start a fire?

He can barely see Reynauld with how clouded his vision is, and he can barely hear him call his name.

 It burns and burns and burns and burs…

Until Dismas dies.

  It’s like being in a dream.

Dismas feels suspended into a sort of limbo.

He can’t see anything but he feels.

His body is changing, and he can’t stop it.

It’s getting colder and colder, almost soothing after the sensation of being burned alive he felt a mere moments ago, or is it more than just seconds? He has no way to precisely tell how much time has passed. For all he knows, it might’ve been centuries.

 Then, a pull, towards something that Dismas doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s…

 He opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is the church’s stained glass, or at least what’s left of it.

How long…

 Mmh, he’s on the ground; he can feel the cold stone pavement freezing his butt off. When he tries to move, however, he finds himself unable to. At first he fears he’s been tied up, but he soon realizes that the reason is far different from that: he’s being kept in Reynauld’s arms, which are squeezing him so hard that he feels like he’s going to break him.

As soon as he notices that Dismas is awake, Reynauld softens his hold on him. When he turns towards him, he’s smiling, though Dismas can see the faint red marks on his cheeks that indicate that he has cried while he was asleep. Did he think that he had killed him as he cradled his body? Did he think he made a mistake?

“You’re awake…” is all he’s able to say, and Dismas nods. He reaches out for him and rests his hand against his cheek. For once, he doesn’t feel cold.

Actually, now that he pays attention to it, his hands, and therefore his skin, are visibly paler than how they used to be. Does that mean that…

“We made it?” he asks, half-incredulous. Did it really work then? He can’t lie, he’s had his doubts right at the end, but not about the thing as a whole: it’s just that it hurt so much that Dismas thought it hadn’t worked, but apparently it’s part of the experience. “You could’ve warned me about the excruciating pain,” he points out then, without any real bite in his words.

Reynauld’s smile becomes more sheepish as he replies. “To my defends, I don’t remember much of how it felt when I turned…” He rests his head over Dismas’ shoulder and he’s back again to squeeze the life out of him, but hell, he doesn’t mind at all.

 A new beginning. New chances. Reynauld.

He can’t wait to get started.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Vera

Part 12

Aka, I have no control over myself and SOMEONE on discord maybe urged me on a little. One of these days, one of you are going to ask about the titles for these and I'm going to refuse to answer. Woah, someone remembered that Jason's body was dipped in a crazy pool and he hasn't experienced that before! How fun.

CLOSED beggars: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Jason knew those eyes, had been haunted by those eyes for months now. Felt the absolute need to protect them from the horrors of the world without a second thought. And now they were in front of him, real and alive and coming from the face of a young, tan skinned boy with pitch black, course looking hair that fell in a rumpled mess across his face, quietly calling out Marinette's name. The name he spent the better part of three years responding to as though it were his own.  But that didn't make any sense, he'd never met this boy before. How did he know her? Was this a repressed memory of hers that her body somehow stored all this time and was trying to inform him of over time? Was this the work of the fear toxin taking hold and showing Marinette's worst fear? That also made no sense. He'd known her since she was six and she'd never mentioned this boy. It also couldn't explain the simplicity of the sight before her. Nothing fear inducing was actually happening. Except he felt on the edge of a panic attack anyways.

Could it be that his worst fear was this boy because of his reoccurring presence in his nightmares and the idea of this being a real child who's gone through so damn much it reminded him of himself, it scared him half to death? Or the fear that perhaps he had truly gone insane and the dreams were an indication of the war he raged inside himself?

Lifting his hands up to his face to block the images, he took note of the size, the coloration, the scaring. This wasn't how Marinette's hands looked. Those weren't Marinette's arms. Looking down, he knew that he shouldn't sit this tall or be this broad or have that long of legs. Nothing made sense anymore and as the hysteria set in, green edged his vision.

"Marinette? Mari? What's happening?" The voice drew closer, sounding concerned and hinting at the slightest touch of nerves.

"Venomous green. Electric, neon. Like Plagg."

That wasn't his voice, was it? He spoke, but that voice was too deep, too husky and masculine to be right. Nothing was right. This felt wrong and yet exactly as it was meant to all at once and he didn't understand. The bright green closed in on him and he felt himself tremble.

"It's the pits, Marinette. You've dealt with them, remember? You know how to fight it, how to calm yourself," the voice stayed where it was at, but he was sure if he looked up, those haunting jade eyes would be right there, staring into his soul.

How could he calm himself? The nightmares never talked to him like this, never told him to calm himself, to take control. He'd never dealt with the green overtaking his vision, not since the very first dream well over a year ago. He never fought it, what was this kid on about? Why was his mind screaming at him? He wanted to lash out, to hit and fight and attack, but his instincts yelled to protect the child and nothing else was here. Grabbing up another knife, he slammed it down, surprised to see it hit into a cushion that landed under his hand right as he moved. 

"Deep breaths, counts of seven with me," the voice was closer, counting for him and he followed without thought. His thoughts narrowed into the numbers, the screaming dulling down to a soft roar in the background, the green settling down until it disappeared entirely and still the counting continued on until his breathing became his own.

"Back with me?"

"What the fuck is going on?" He hissed out, fear and nausea piling up.

The kid's eyes widened and then narrowed as he backed up, grip tightening on the blade still in his hand. He opened his mouth and hesitated for half a second before he asked, voice demanding and sharp, leaving no room for argument, "Jason?"

Jason reeled back, having not heard that name since the accident, "How do you know that name?"

"She's been going by it for as long as I've known her."

"Who?!"

"Marinette."

His breath caught in his throat, shoulders dropping from their defensive hunch, unable to speak for a moment. He stayed still, processing as the boy across from him moved around the other side of the kitchen counter, swiftly grabbing the knife block and dropping it off on the counter furthest away from Jason.

"How?"

"She told me she woke up in a grave. Had been in there for quite some time. Dug out and landed in a coma for a year. My- Talia found her after she woke up. Took her back to the league and dropped her in the pits. That was about-"

"A year and a half ago."

"Yes… how do you know this?"

"Saw the acid green at night, didn't know what it was."

"She mentioned the connection cutting when she died. I guess the pits could have healed that as well."

"And she met you about nine months ago, then. Or at least something significant happened. I recognize your eyes." 

"I might have approached her around that time, I suppose."

"How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Fuck kid, tell me half of what I saw wasn't real?"

"Depends on what you saw, but I would assume so."

"Fucking hell. And so what, she just up and ran? Took you with her? Mari's alive? Been alive all this time and I didn't know?"

"Something like that," the kid slid closer, carefully prying the knife from his hand. Realizing he still held it, had thrown one at the boy only minutes before, he abruptly let go, letting it clattered onto the counter below where the kid swiped it off and put it with the others out of immediate reach. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he came to terms with Marinette's state of living. Dug herself out of his grave? A coma? Talia. He couldn't wrap his brain around it. If the dreams were all visions, his sweet little soulmate had killed. Had fought for her life so often it felt like routine. Had suffered and lost so much, had seen this child going through the same things and put her foot down. Had ran for her life, kid in tow, no guarantee of survival, while he lived with her parents. No villains to defeat, no league to push him or force his hand. He hadn't even been grateful. Just depressed and angry while she went through a hell ten times as brutal. From the look the kid gave him, she didn't even talk terribly of him like he deserved. Otherwise he was sure the kid would have that knife worked up to his throat by now, demanding her back. Granted he didn't look happy, but his stance wasn't openly hostile yet.

Shit, he didn't deserve her and yet joy spread through him like a whip. She was alive. She was okay and had a little family of her own and had moved on through it all and he felt so damn proud and joyful to know she was alive all this time. Despite the horrible circumstances and atrocities she obviously faced in her time as him, she had been alive and not taken to an early grave. She turned seventeen last week no matter what body she did so in. The Joker hadn't taken her from him despite his best efforts. She was too strong, too persistent and capable. Marinette was alive and the pure happiness that shocked him to his core left him shaking and breathless.

"Calm down, you'll work yourself up again. She never told me you were an emotional mess."

"Shut it, kid. You would freak out if you found out someone you thought dead for three years was alive too."

"Tt. You won't survive a week with the madness."

"The madness? What's that supposed to mean?" Jason felt his hackles rising and had to remind himself of the emotional lockdown from his time fighting Hawkmoth to stamp it down. The kid obviously meant a lot to Mari and he wasn't about to make an enemy of himself.

"The acidic green and screaming in your head I had to talk you down from? That was an aftereffect of being dipped in the Lazarus pit. Marinette has no problem controlling it now. Should have known it wasn't her the second you couldn't force it into submission yourself," the kid gave a haughty sneer, turning his nose up.

"And the first time it struck her? Did she have such control then?"

The boy seemed to wilt at that, looking down in shame, "No."

"What happened?"

"I made a mistake. Someone almost got to me and she lost it. Killed everyone in the vicinity."

"And that was towards the beginning?"

"No. She wasn't allowed in the training room with me until she had the madness locked down. It wasn't even our first mission together. It was my fault she lost control. She would've been fine had I not messed up."

Jason immediately felt bad for chastising the kid for his attitude. He obviously felt uncomfortable looking at a familiar face and yet talking to a virtual stranger.

"Hey, relax kid, I'm sure she doesn't see it that way and wouldn't want you to either. She probably just did what she thought necessary to protect you, even if you don't agree with her methods. Trust me, I'm familiar with them," he offered with a self deprecating chuckle.

The boy seemed to soften, looking at him with curious eyes, "You really are her soulmate," he stated, almost coming off as a tease, "It's Damian by the way."

"Huh?"

"You've been calling me kid for the last half hour. My name is Damian."

"Whatever, kid," he smirked as Damian's lips twisted in annoyance, "Wait, did you say half hour?"

"It took a while to calm you down," he shrugged.

Suddenly it hit Jason where he had been. What had been happening that sent him into that panic.

"Fuck!"

The kid startled, looking at him like he lost his rocker, which okay, that was fair.

"What now?"

"The place I was at. It got attacked when we switched. She had to have taken in some fear toxin, who knows what type of effect that has on her!"

"Attacked? She'll be fine, Marinette's the beat fighter I know," Damian seemed to calm at that, almost offended at his inferring her inability to handle the situation.

"Was she exposed to fear toxin in the league?"

"Fear toxin? I'm not sure what that is, but her immune system was adapted to handle several poisons. Every league members' is."

"You mean this body was. This body's immune system was adapted."

That seemed to throw him for a loop, stiffening up, but he persisted, "Her mind has taken on the chaos of the pit, surely fear pulsing through as well couldn't be worse."

"As well! Her soul was in that pit, not just this body. Meaning the madness probably latched on to her soul as well. In an unadjusted body, with the jolt and panic of being launched into her old body in the middle of an attack with fear toxin coursing through it."

The air about Damian seemingly crashed around him and the small shoulders begin to shake as reality settled in, "she's going to lose herself again, isn't she?" He half whimpered, trying to push it down to sound less weak infront of Jason, but he was obviously afraid. Jason flinched, remembering the kid's age once more and that he probably should have just agreed to keep him calm. 

"We'll track her down. You can ground her, you're good at that, right?"

He nodded, "Can't you just switch back, instead? Give Marinette back?"

"It doesn't work that way kid. You can resist the tug when it comes, but you can't force the tug itself."

"Give her back! She's probably a mess right now, I need to help her!"

"I can't, kid. I'm sorry. We'll find her though, I promise. I know where she is. Where are we? The faster I can map out a route, the sooner you'll be with her. Tell me and then get changed, we'll leave now."

As the kid ran to what was presumably his room, rambling out an address, Jason was surprised to realize how close they were. Marinette lived in Gotham. He shouldn't feel so surprised.

He forced himself to the other room, rummaging through a drawer until he found clothes to shove on and walked towards the door, Damian running up behind him. As his hand touched the doorknob, his mind yanked him back and without any warning, he was thrown into Marinette's body once more.

[mileycyprus-hill]

Bumblebee

Domestic/Papa Arthur

This is a lengthy single-chapter story I decided to write after making the mistake of watching Arthur’s low-honor/high honor deaths when he goes back for the money. It put me in such a terrible mood and I cursed myself for watching it, so I decided to make myself feel better by writing a heart-warming fic. I hope you enjoy it too.

High honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

TB doesn’t exist in this storyline.

———————

For the first year since you both escaped, every night Arthur sufferered night terrors. You’re both long gone from Dutch, Micah, and the Pinkertons, but Arthur still has fear. Fear that turns to panic in the middle of the night while you’re both asleep.

You’re often shaken awake by Arthur gently thrashing on the mattress, holding his arms up as if he’s fending off an attacker. By now, you can figure out what he’s dreaming of. It’s the same nightmare each night: Micah has him pinned to the ground and is pushing the knife closer and closer to his chest. Arthur wakes up in terror right as the knife is plunged in his chest. He clutches at his heart while he pants heavily and blinks his eyes in the darkness. You hold him and give him the same little speech each night this happens: he’s alright, you’re alright, and most importantly...your growing child inside you is alright.

Arthur rarely cried in front of you until after that fateful night. That night you almost lost him, fighting off Micah at Beaver Hollow while the camp burned around them. If Dutch hadn’t shown up at the right moment to stop it, Arthur wouldn’t be here with you right now. He thought he was as good as dead when Dutch and Micah left him, until he saw you ride in on a white horse. Literally.

The sun rose behind the trees as you rode back on your snow-white warmblood and he swore he saw an angel coming to take him away. He cried into your shirt when you held him close, grateful for this final moment with you.

He thought each day was his final day with you, and waited for death to come. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened. Fate granted him an extension on his life, and Arthur is forever grateful.

However, he fears his enemies will soon catch up with him and take you both away. He refuses to relive that pain.

Arthur would sell his soul if it meant preventing that from happening again.

Arthur sits up in bed and the sheets are dampened from his sweat, despite the cold winter night. His cheeks are wet with tears as he gently grasps at your growing stomach. He rests his head against the bump and attempts to feel for your child behind the barrier of your womb; to feel if it’s still there, undisturbed in its peaceful pod in your body.

There’s one comfort Arthur has and that’s the feeling of his unborn child within you. You’re only four months along and the bump has just become noticeable. Arthur’s breathing calms at the sensation of your warm skin against his flushed cheeks. His eyes feel hot from the panicked tears of his nightmare. He still trembles as the images of his nightmare blink into vision with every fall of his eyelids, but in time they dissipate. His trembling becomes faint once you brush your fingers through his hair.

The two of you lay in silence. The only sounds are the wet sniffles from Arthur’s nose while he rests his head on your torso. These nights become routine until the day your child is born.

Since the first day your daughter arrived, Arthur hadn’t slept. He’d watch her sleep in her tiny bassinet on the other side of the bed. His arms are laid across your waist and looped within your arms. He rubs his fingers against your skin while guarding his little princess, ready to leap across at the first sign of danger. The only way to get Arthur to fall asleep is to caress his hair and whisper soft reassurances. He’d fall asleep resting his head on your chest, listening to the calm beating of your heart.

Arthur would still wake up throughout the night, listening for your daughter’s breathing or perking his head up at the sound of a little cough or whimper. The only time the poor man would get sleep is when he’d put her down for a nap. You’d walk into the bedroom and find him softly snoring with your little girl on his chest. His large, calloused hands hold her in place.

Arthur finally begins to calm down when your daughter reaches her first birthday. A warmth inside him grows and starts to bloom like the once tight bud of a rose opening to reveal its lush layers of pedals. Arthur had always struggled with insecure relationships, but you and your daughter give him the security he desperately needed all those years ago.

His nightmares are less frequent, and instead he dreams of the gang. He misses them greatly: Miss Grimshaw, Lenny, John, and most of all Hosea. At night, Arthur dreams of introducing his little girl to Hosea. He would hand his giggling daughter to Hosea’s arms, and the old man would laugh with delight. Hosea would hold her up against the sun, basking in her glory. Her little legs kick happily as Hosea spins her around before bringing her close to kiss her chubby cheek. His silver hair and her golden locks both shine as the sun.

You wake early in the morning just before dawn and roll over to an empty space beside you. You could always sense Arthur’s absence shortly after he got up. The bed would feel larger and his spot would feel cold without his warm body. Blinking your dreary eyes, you see Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed with his head down low.

“Arthur?” You reach a hand out and faintly rub his back with your fingertips. Arthur looks over his shoulder and reaches behind him to hold your hand.

“I dreamt about Hosea again,” he answers you softly. A tiny smile is visible for a short moment, before a gloomy frown returns to his face.

Scooching closer to him, you ask, “A good one?” Your arms wrap around him, holding him close to you. Arthur instinctively leans his head as soon as your chin rests upon his tense shoulder, his earlobe just within kissing range. The tension in his shoulders relax at the feeling of your warm breath against his sensitive skin.

“Yeah,” he replies solemnly. He continues to frown at the bittersweet memory of Hosea.

You ask Arthur to describe his dream to you, and reassure him that it’s okay to miss his family. You giggle at the image of Hosea proudly holding your daughter high, showing her off to all the members at camp, teaching her to read, how to hold the reins on a horse, and how to steal people’s hearts.

“He would’ve spoiled her rotten,” Arthur croaks, the richness of his voice breaks slightly.

You smile through the pain of grief you both share. “Yeah he would’ve,” you state, “But you spoil her enough.”

Finally a chuckle rumbles lowly from Arthur, like a dim charcoal that’s been gently stoked back to flame.

Your daughter is the definition of a daddy’s girl. She hardly demands Arthur’s attention, as he’s more than ready to give it to her when she needs it. He’s the first to rise when hearing her wake from her bedroom across the hall. Your daughter happily waits to hear her father’s habitual greeting.

“Good mornin’ little bumblebee. How’d you sleep?” He’d always ask, scooping her up into his arms. She is always his little bumblebee, a nickname he thought of from her given name: Beatrice. He began to call her Bea for short, then soon after she became “bumble-Bea”.

Arthur presses his face against hers and rubs his scruffy beard against her cheek. Bea squeals in laughter at the rough sensation that tickles her cheek.

“Papaaaw! Staaaa-haaap!” She yells, attempting to push his squared jaw away with her petite hands. Her cries are quickly drowned out by Arthur’s rumbling chortles that echo through your small home.

Only Arthur can make his daughter’s special breakfast: pancakes and bacon. God forbid Daddy doesn’t make them for her. Arthur swears he doesn’t make them any different than you do, but somehow his pancakes taste better. The best is when he’s able to find wild berries and toss them in the batter. Those are Bea’s favorite.

Each day Bea gets older is another day Arthur grows happier. His worries will always linger though; anxieties always creeping behind his shoulder. He is not a man without his faults. He tends to be overprotective of you two when it comes to wandering the woods alone, staying alone in the house, or riding to town without him. Arthur won’t have it. His paranoia gets the better of him and his temper flares when you argue with him. He’ll slam the kitchen countertop and finalize his decision with an angry, “End of discussion!”

His anger quickly turns to guilt at the sight of Bea’s upturned lip, quivering in fear of his authoritative roar. She stands in the entryway with her teddy bear clutched in her arms, listening to you two argue and her little heart hammering. It’s rare she experiences this side of Arthur at her young age, no matter how frustrating she can be as a toddler.

That familiar whimper slowly rises to a wail. Bea attempts to keep a tight lip, whining through her closed mouth but her cries soon take over. She sputters and sobs as you pick her up and hold her against you, running your hands over her golden head.

It breaks Arthur’s heart to see Bea so upset, especially when he’s the cause of it. When it came to her crying for attention, you had to hold him back numerous times. Too often would he run to her room in the middle of the night at the first sound of her cries. You tried many times to explain to him that he should let her cry until she goes back to sleep. You had your maternal instincts to rely on when it came to knowing when to respond.

But Arthur? He can’t stand to hear his little bumblebee cry. He’s made too many mistakes as a father early in his life, so he strives to be the best he can be. And sometimes, he can try a little too hard.

Arthur’s favorite moments are those sitting by the fireplace after a hard day’s work. His stomach is full, the sky is dark, and the fire is warm. He watches the sparks pop from the dry firewood stacked in the flames. The creak of his rocking chair syncs with your voice like a metronome. You’re reading a storybook to Bea, who sits cradled in Arthur’s arms. Her hair is still damp from her evening bath, and she’s dressed in her fresh cotton nightgown. With Arthur’s arms wrapped around her, his palms placed in the crook of her knees, she idly fumbles with the sleeve of his shirt while listening to you read. Arthur struggles to stay awake with his head dropping occasionally and his eyelids growing heavy while Bea listens attentively to the story.

The story is indeed an interesting one, a children’s biblical story you were given by a church woman a couple years ago. She had seen you passing by the church after you stopped for supplies and offered it to you. A blessing for your little one, she said pointing to your pregnant belly. The old woman was kind and asked to pray for you and your child, to which you humbly accepted.

The story was of a man named Daniel, who served under a king and was accused of breaking the law of worship that forbid any man from praying to God without the aid of the king. He was ordered to be thrown into a den of lions, but when the king checked the next day, Daniel was alive. An angel was sent down from heaven and shut the mouth of the lions, saving Daniel’s life.

Bea was enraptured by the story and asks you, “Are angels real?”

Closing the book, you open your mouth to answer until Arthur speaks up.

“ ‘f course they’re real,” he says softly, “We all got a guardian angel.”

Bea lifts her head off his shoulder and looks to him with glistening eyes, “Even me?” She asks.

A crooked smile adorns Arthur’s lips, “Of course,” he answers, breaking eye contact with Bea and gazing over at you with a loving stare.

Arthur lets you slip into bed as he offers to tuck your daughter in. Her lamp on the nightstand dimly lights her room in a honey glow.

“Y’know, yer mama’s an angel,” Arthur whispers, pulling the sheets over her. “Did you know that?”

Her eyes grow wide and she replies with a shocked whisper, “No.”

Arthur smiles and nods his head, “It’s true. Now don’t tell her,” he warns, looking back at the doorway. The door is cracked only slightly to let in the light from your bedroom across the hall. “She ain’t supposed to know that we know,” Arthur says.

“Why not?” Bea asks, gripping the edge of the quilt.

“Well, then she can’t have her powers no more.” Arthur answers.

“But how do you know she’s an angel?”

Arthur looks at your daughter with a fondness in his eyes. She has the same curiosity as you do. His thoughts are immediately flooded with memories of that terrifying night at Beaver Hollow.

Arthur breathes a deep sigh. “She saved my life,” he explains, “Y’see, Daddy was hurt real bad. And she came flyin’ in on her white horse and saved me. She told me everythin’ was gonna be alright...and then she carried me home.”

His daughter looks at him in shock, her jaw dropped. “Wow,” she says.

Arthur nods his head and smiles at his daughter’s astonishment. He reminds her, “Now remember, this is just between me and you,” he tucks her in tighly in her warm blankets, “Okay?”

She nods her head so hard she nearly makes herself dizzy.

“That’sa good girl,” Arthur praises softly, “Now, go to sleep. I love you.”

He kisses her forehead just before she wraps her arms around her neck, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too, Daddy.” She says sleepily.

For the rest of Arthur’s life, he firmly believed he had not one, but two guardian angels who loved him.

[writingthrones]

the northern dragon- part 1.

PART 1: A SPARK.

TAGS: @psychosupernatural , @xleviiiix (feel free to shoot me a message if you’d also like to be tagged!)

DESCRIPTION: the world thought that just 2 dragons survived, that house targaryen was missing its third head. but there was another– the youngest, the final child of the mad king and queen rhaella. of course, she was almostpart of the near extermination of her house. but the honorable ned stark, unable to watch a babe be murdered for crimes she did not commit, rescued her from an awful fate. instead, she grew up amongst wolves within the walls of winterfell.

NOTES: this a rewrite of the original part 1 after an anon pointed out how i definitely rushed it. i hope this gives you all more insight into the reader’s personality and her relationships to the Starks (and Theon). there’s a few flashbacks in this which i thoroughly enjoyed writing, so expect more in the parts to come. as always, i’d love to hear any & all feedback. requests for what you’d like to see in the story are always nice to hear as well! 

WARNINGS: violence (so there will be descriptions of attacks, wounds and blood).

Things had been stressful since Ned, Sansa and Arya all left for King’s Landing. There was a lot for you to do now that Lady Catelyn was spending day and night with Bran waiting for him to wake. Even when you did have time away, there wasn’t much to do. Robb was now acting Lord of Winterfell and Theon was constantly at his side– though it wasn’t like you’d spent too much time together anyway. Much to your dismay.

You found yourself wandering the courtyard or spending time at the Godswood whenever you weren’t tending to some sort of duty. Might as well enjoy the northern summer while it lasts. As the saying goes, Winter Is Coming and it is not something to be taken lightly in the North. It is one of those nights, just before you head off to your chambers when you hear… something going on. Your brow furrows with curiosity then fear as you watch Summer take off in a full sprint right into where Bran is being kept. Without a second thought, you take off after the wolf when you happen upon a scene that makes your blood run cold. Lady Catelyn is struggling against a man with a knife with only her bare hands when the direwolf comes to the rescue, tackling him and tearing his throat out.

Falling to your knees beside her, you grab hold of her hands. “Lady Catelyn, are you hurt?! What happened?” Without waiting for an answer, you turn her hands over to check, finding deep cuts to both. She still remains speechless, clearly in a daze and it is certainly no wonder considering what took place. “I’ll– I’ll get help.” You take a glance at the man on the floor, then an untouched Bran with Summer at his side before running out the door. “HELP– HELP!” you cry. Just then, Robb and Theon appear in the courtyard, rushing to answer your call. Again, you fall to your knees, the shaking so bad you couldn’t stand anymore. What if there was others? You left Lady Stark, what if something happened to her?

“Are you okay?” the boys ask, frantically scanning your body for an obvious signs of injury. “Lady Stark– you must go to Lady Stark! Someone tried to hurt her and Bran, GO!” Robb’s eyes go wide as he takes off, while Theon bends down and takes your blood covered hands. “Are you hurt, Y/N?” the concern in his voice is evident as his words come out rushed and nearly blended together. Panting, you shook your head. “I’m fine, you must go with Robb,” you insisted. He hesitates, but releases you then takes off after him. Even if your entire upbringing was spent bickering, there was an instinct to look out for one another. You were a pack– Stark or not.

The perimeter was searched in order to assure that there was no one around to finish the job and everyone was safe. Luckily, they found nothing. After checking in with Catelyn, you headed for your chambers. You needed the rest and yet sleep evaded you. Your mind raced with all the what if’s. What if they had succeeded, what if there was still someone out there.. so on and so forth.

So, you laid there for a while before you just couldn’t handle the stillness and silence anymore. You rose to your feet and peered out the window, allowing yourself that one moment before hurrying to tie up your head wrap. Everyone was supposed to be asleep, but you never know. This wasn’t just about you, Catelyn and Ned would certainly be punished if they were found harboring a Targaryen princess.

You sighed as you finished, wishing you could spend just a little bit of time with the nighttime winds blowing through your hair. Then, you pulled a fur robe over your night gown and started out down the hall until you reached the courtyard. It was so quiet out in the snow, save for the soft crunching of footsteps that could just barely be heard on the outside of the walls. Everyone was on high alert.

The cool air felt good on your warm skin— blood of the dragon and all that. You were making your way to a bench when you heard footsteps behind you, immediately causing you to turn around. Inhaling a sharp gasp, you were just about to scream when you found that it was Robb. You sighed heavily, placing your hand on your chest which your heart was nearly beating out of.

“You scared me!” you whisper-shouted. Robb’s face had been stoic, but then broke into a smirk. “Sorry, my lady.” That granted him the eye roll he was so clearly looking for. Though, it was usually Theon teasingly calling you the lady you were clearly not. “I just needed some air. It’s impossible to sleep after that whole mess.” You sighed, fingers rubbing at the bridge of your nose. “Well, you’re not alone in that, ” he murmured.

Having a quiet moment alone with Robb was.. a bit odd to say the least. The two of you hadn’t really shared moments like this since you were kids. He had responsibilities to tend to now and so did you. “I just don’t understand who would’ve done this. Why would anyone want to hurt Bran?” Robb stiffened before shaking his head, just as lost.

You turned to face him, indigo hues focused on his Tully blues. “I need to do something, Y/N. Someone tried to kill my brother-- twice. My mother thinks it was the Lannisters.. I’d believe it but saying anything will start a war. And everyone knows what Lord Tywin is capable of. I...” his words were rushed, the panic evident. This was all too much, resting heavy on the shoulders of a 17-year-old boy. 

“We’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to make them pay,” you replied, resting your hand gently on top of his. He looked confused. “We?” You nodded, “Yes, we. I love Bran too and I won’t stop until we discover the truth.” You were stronger than he knew, not a lady trained only to serve others. “My mother rides for King’s Landing tomorrow to find proof. We can’t act before she gets it.” You nodded, he was right. If he decided to start the conflict before knowing the truth, then this could lead to a terribly bloody conflict all for nothing. The two of you shared a long look before you removed your hand from atop his, not realizing how long it’d been there. You may have shared tender gestures like these as children but it was no longer appropriate when he was was the heir of Winterfell and you were nobody. So, you rose from your place next to him and hugged the furs closer to your body as you walked back towards your chambers.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Robb.”

That night, you dreamt of your childhood, a memory you thought of fondly. It was before Rickon, Bran was a newborn, Arya was just a babe and Sansa was a toddler. So, it was you and the boys-- Jon and Robb. Theon had yet to be taken on as a ward. The three of you ran around the woods as you did quite often. You had been looking back at them as the chased you, not paying attention to what was in front of you when you sent yourself flying forward after catching your foot on a rock. Bracing for impact, you placed your hands out in front so you wouldn’t damage your face. You yelped as your palms were torn up, feeling your eyes well up with tears. Sitting up, you began to cry looking at all the dirt and blood. Jon and Robb ran over, frantically assessing the damage. Robb moved before Jon could, taking your small hands in his own and examining them. “Are you okay?” he asked, turning his gaze up to meet your eyes. “No!” you huffed, tears still falling down your cheeks. Without another word, he wiped away the mixture of blood and dirt with his sleeve and placed a kiss on each one, mimicking what his mother did when he got hurt. “All better?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his lips. The tears subsided and you smiled, nodding your head. You remember it being the first time you ever felt butterflies.

When you awoke, you could feel the difference in the air. Things were tense now. No matter what Lady Stark discovered, something big was about to happen-- you could feel it in your bones. Whatever it was that happened to Bran sparked something. After dressing, you entered the courtyard and saw Catelyn, preparing for her trip with Ser Rodrik. You ran to see her off before the long journey down the Kingsroad, the last one to say your goodbyes. Your eyes were sad but you forced a smile, as did she. Taking your hands, she spoke, “Take care of them.. please.” She didn’t just mean Bran and Rickon but Robb, too. Sure, he was considered a man now but he was still her boy and she was trusting you keep him from caving under the pressures of his new duties. “I will, I promise,” you said with a nod, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You hated to see her go to such an unsafe place. She nodded, her own eyes looking watery despite the smile on her lips. Taking you into her arms, both of you hold each other tight. Backing away, Catelyn takes your face into her hands. “Don’t worry too much, child,” she said softly. This would be a lot for you to deal with as well, she knew that. It reminded you of when she had to calm you after revealing your identity. Nodding, you backed away and allowed her to get onto her horse and set off.

You intended to keep your promise. You tried spending some time with Bran but you never stayed for long, he was always asking for everyone to leave him alone. It broke your heart, seeing the boy who was once so full of life be completely defeated. You played with Rickon when you could, the young boy’s laugh always putting you in better spirits. Theon was practically attached to Robb and you hardly ever saw either of them. But Catelyn had asked you a promise and you intended to keep it. You tried to visit Robb in the Great Hall or catch him on the way to his chambers, but he always claimed to be too busy to speak with you. 

But one night, you finally managed to do it. It was a chance encounter, you spotting him just as he was going to reach his room. You rushed forward, standing in the way to prevent him from leaving. Stopped dead in his tracks, he looks to you with an unreadable expression. “I know you’ve been busy but I just--” He cut you off, “I don’t have time for this. It’s been a long day and I just want some rest, Y/N.” Your brow furrowed with frustration. “Seven hells-- let me speak! I just want to know if you’re okay... this has all been so much, I wanted to check in on you,” your voice grew more soft as you continued to speak. He sighed heavily, “I’m fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about me, let’s just both get some rest, okay?” Your gaze was cast downwards before finally looking up, “Fine.” You moved and walked away in frustration. As you turned around a corner, you spotted Theon, who was giving you a questioning look. “What was that, Y/N?” he questioned. You knew what he was insinuating, causing you to only scoff as you pushed past him. He’d been teasing you since you were young about it but you dismissed it every time. 

The next morning, you unknowingly walked in on a meeting between Robb and some lords from surrounding areas. Once he spotted you, though, he halted the conversation. So definitely something you weren’t supposed to be listening to– noted. “Robb,” you called, causing all heads to turn. The men stared at you in shock. “…Lord Stark, Lord Tyrion has returned from his trip to the wall. He wishes to speak to you.” Before you can get the door to let him in, he simply does it himself. You stole once last glance before slipping out, off to find something to do.

Weeks went on and Lady Catelyn was still gone on her mission to find the truth about what had happened to her son. Ned remained in the lion’s den down south and all that Robb could do was keep the peace in the North. But the people were growing antsy as word of growing tensions began to reach Winterfell, as were you. On sleepless nights, which was many of them, you ventured out into the courtyard where you practiced your sword work. Before Jon had left, you two practiced from time to time after quite a lot of begging. You may not have been a Lady but you were still a woman and he had said it wasn’t your place to be fighting. It wasn’t meant as an insult, either, he just didn’t want you to end up hurt because of it. You pushed and pushed until he caved, though. A true Northwoman you were; fierce and stubborn.

“Jon, please!” you whined. The pair of you were fourteen at the time. Jon had already been training for several years. He was talented and the only one you had even a chance in persuading to train you to fight. “Y/N, I told you, I can’t!” There was nothing else for you to say, but the look in your eyes was pleading. “Seven hells...” he huffed, an admission of defeat. You grinned and the two of you disappeared into the woods where he began to teach you all he knew. Grunts and sword clangs could be heard for some distance. Just then, Jon spotted something, his eyes going wide as he dropped his weapon. Confused, you whipped around to face whatever it was, hiding the sword behind your back as if it changed anything. It was Robb and Theon. “What do you two think you’re doing?” Theon spoke first. “I asked him to. I want to know how to defend myself!” you shouted back. He scoffed, “You’re a girl! You don’t need to know anything.” Taking the sword from behind your back, you pointed it in his direction. “Shut up!” you yelled. Theon gasped, surely ready to bark back some stupid insult. That’s when Robb stepped in between you two, pushing the end of your weapon down gently. “That’s enough,” he had decided. The three of you then ventured back to Winterfell, Robb trying to mediate the bickering between you and Theon while Jon hung his head. Surprisingly, you still managed to persuade him into continuing your training, this time during periods where no one would think to look for you both. Sometimes you’d meet late at night or early in the morning.

Everything finally boiled over when Ned was imprisoned and Sansa held captive while Arya’s whereabouts remained unknown. Robb quickly assembled the Great Lords whose allegiance was pledged to House Stark in the Great Hall of the castle and determined they would march South and retrieve his father and sisters. You just happened to hear the conversation echoing as you passed through the halls. I’m going with them, you thought to yourself. So you dashed off, hurrying to your room where you began packing away all you would need in a trunk. Even if you had to sneak yourself onto the trip, you were going one way or another. Hopefully it would be alongside Robb. 

Not long after, you spotted him leaving Bran’s chambers. Exhaling a deep breath, you approached him with confidence. “I know what you’re doing and I’m going with you,” you said so matter-of-factly. His eyes narrowed. “You’re not,” his voice was resolute as he stepped aside and walked past. Turning quickly on your heels, you grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him backwards. “Yes I am! I will not stay here performing mindless chores while your– our family is under attack!” His jaw was clenching and he opened his mouth to speak again before you cut him off. You weren’t a Stark, you knew that, but Ned had saved you from certain death and it was about time you returned the favor.

“I won’t cause problems,” your voice becoming softer. “I can help…I-I know how to fight, you know I do. I’ll send myself into the front lines if it means you’ll let me come. Please, Robb.” His brow furrowed in thought as he sighed, “I can’t send you out there.” That was a given, though. A woman was not meant to be a solider. “You must-- Let me tend to the mens’ wounds then, anything! I just can’t sit here wondering what’s happening to you all-- I won’t.” You hated begging, you shouldn’t have to. If that’s what got you out there, though, then it would be worth it. It was a long silence between you two and his eyes felt like daggers, piercing through you as he looked down to meet yours. Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest when, finally, he spoke again. “Fine. We march in an hour, gather what you can.” A sigh of relief passed through your lips. “Thank you,” you said softly. Robb said nothing, instead giving a look with a meaning you couldn’t seem to figure out. Was it.. concern, maybe? It was nearly impossible to tell. You hurried back to your chambers, assessing the room one last time to see if there’s anything you’d forgotten. In a rush, you allowed yourself one last look at Rickon and Bran’s sleeping faces, swallowing the lump in your throat. You’d miss them. Who knows if you’d ever see them again. You had to believe that you would, though, that you’d return to them with Ned and their sisters, successfully reuniting them all. Probably far too idealistic for the harsh realities of the world, but you had to hold out hope.

Your belongings were loaded onto a cart as you jumped up on a horse. You may have been lowborn, but you were still allowed to march close to the front, much to the high lords’ confusion. None of them had time to question it, though. It was time for war; not just for justice of the Stark family but for the North as a whole. It was time to take their land back from the Southerners who cared so little for them. The North would be free again, now and always.

[bloodandpaintchips]

A Second Draft

Tagging→ Andrea Sheldon, Gunnar Leidolf  Time Frame→ November 4, 2020 Location→ Sangren, Colorado General Notes→ The blue tape had to come down eventually.

The bed in Andrea’s new room at Johnny’s was like a giant pillow. She’d only left once, to look at the moon and to find someone to feed on (a nondescript patron at Ted’s who she merely compelled to forget that 10 minutes so he could keep drinking). Now she was back in this really soft bed and alone with her thoughts. And now that she was back in town, those thoughts were drifting to Gunnar a lot. It was a sore spot, as she couldn’t think of him without thinking about August and the things August took from her. She got to feel the things she felt with Gunnar after the fact, and she’d so often find herself closing her eyes and trying to place herself in the murky memories. She had to get out of this bed. That buzz from having just fed was right under her skin and she knew just laying around missing him, miles away from where she remembered he stayed, was a little ridiculous. She was in her van in moments, driving to her father’s house and hoping he’d been long asleep. Her features changed momentarily and she could feel it. She had a lot of emotions to regulate, especially looking at her old house, but she was here with a purpose -- in and out. 

Climbing the side of the house near her bedroom was incredibly easy and she briefly thought about how she’d probably be getting used to random discoveries of what she was capable of for a long time. The window was open, considering Frank probably just avoided the room, even when he was waiting for her to come back. Slipping inside, Andrea scanned the area and quickly gathered her work boxes, one full of graphite and brushes and markers, the other full of bulky acrylic paint tubes. All right where she left them. She was back outside in moments, tossing the boxes in the passenger seat before getting in, starting the engine and taking off to Gunnar’s. Not wanting to waste time when his place came into view, she got out, grabbed the boxes and locked the van before making her way up to his door. A few seconds were spent wondering how he’d even react or how she’d explain showing up years later to make good on an art promise, but she shook her head finally and knocked.

Gunnar had spent the better part of the hour hauling in a brand new television. And he wasn't sure if that was responsible or a little bit sad. A rare day off and when he'd left the auto shop he'd decided shopping was a good idea. Granted, he needed the new TV but the normalcy of it all was odd. And oddly comforting. The large flat screen was set up, cable installed, and he was settled on the couch with some mindless comedy when he heard the knock. 

Strange, that. He sniffed the air, finding no trace of something unfamiliar or unwanted (no cloying honeyed smoke), and shuffled to the door. Whoever, whatever it was, it wasn't like he couldn't handle it. More than likely some poor sod selling something that knocking on any other door would've gotten him a bite for his troubles. He wasn't, however, expecting to see her. The arched brow was the only indicator of surprise, eyes unreadable as they studied the pretty features of the girl who had disappeared in a cloud of mystery and remained as such for so long, Gunnar wasn't sure what to believe about the why and when, if ever she was going to return. But there she stood. Different, but not. Changed, yes. And so he stepped aside and gave her a short nod. "Come in."

When he opened the door, even though she had no clue what to expect, she smiled a little. True, she missed him and seeing his face again just reminded her how much. He looked exactly the same, only his hair was short. Still thick, though. Eyes still very blue. At his invitation, she walked in and set the boxes down in the nearest convenient spot before facing him completely. “So um,” she started, kicking her foot toward where she set the boxes. “I came to work on that.” She turned her head to look around the space, eyebrows raising when her gaze landed on the gridded blue tape -- still there. Fixing her eyes back on him, her smile returned despite her efforts to keep it subdued. “Fuck.” With that, she bounded toward him, practically jumping up to wrap her arms around him in a hug that she hoped would transfer all her feelings. “I’m sorry. I missed you,” she said into his shirt. 

He watched her enter his space, eyes shifting briefly to the box and then to the wall. It would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about the blue tape still outlining the long-abandoned art project. Hard to, considering it took up the entire length of it. He'd long stopped tossing the odd and errant glance at the thing and eventually it faded into the background, usually only coming up whenever a visitor, rare that that was, had inquired. And he'd never actually give a response, simply shrugged. But there she was, the prodigal artist returned. No worse for wear, barring the change in diet. 

And the strength. Jesus. That was wholly unfamiliar. Odd to place to the very human, very delicate Andy of old. This one, still pretty, but with a considerably stronger grip. He returned the hug, instinct not to put his full strength behind it. Difficult to break, the old habit. Andy, less so. He didn't understand the apology at all, and his lips lifted into a brief smile that he pressed into her hair. "Only a little late," came his reply, the dry humor of it all hidden in his hug. "Missed you too."

Laughing at his words, she held onto him a little longer before pulling away and running a hand through her hair. “I would’ve been on time, but some stuff happened,” she replied, smirking and giving a small shrug. “I probably should have called. Or something. I don’t really know what’s polite. But I brought all my crap with me to paint. I also figured I should tell you what happened. Well not should, but I want to tell you. If you’re still willing to have me talk your ear off and put creepy stuff on your wall.” She found herself taking him in, possibly trying to fill in those memories again. “I like your hair.”

"Figured as much," he replied, letting his smile linger as she pulled away. "Don't worry about it. What's done is done. Still glad to see you." Calling probably would've been the right thing to do. But Gunnar could understand the urgency that came with getting the hell away. Andy had ties, though. And she hadn't struck him as the type to disappear into the night. But all things considered, he got it. "Don't mind either. The talking or the art." Her compliment made him laugh, a short gruff sound and he raked a hand through the shorn blond locks. "Thanks. Got tired of combing it. Needed a change. See you did too." He nodded towards her own hair. "Suits, though. You want something to drink? Beer? Tea? Do tea now. Big changes."

She picked up her boxes and walked over to the wall, setting them down and looking it over to get a feel of just how big the space was. “Good.” She thought about all of the things she wanted to tell him, where she would start, and how to say it all. The idea to paint the wall was honestly a way for her to figure all that out without just taking up space in his loft. Working with her hands also just opened her up in a way she’d never been able to explain. “Beer is cool. Thanks,” she replied, getting her graphite sticks out and a small piece of tarp to set them on the floor. “So I’m just gonna go with my gut on this and hope you don’t regret still letting me do this. I used to have a plan but those are kind of leading me to shitty places lately, so I’m gonna go with the flow.” She smiled, turning to look at him. “I think I’m in the right place for it.”

Gunnar left her to sort out her supplies and headed to the kitchen to retrieve their beers. "Don't think I would've kept the tape up if I changed my mind," he told her once he returned, handing off one of the chilled bottles. "Been some time, but I still remember you're a dab hand with paint and art. Sure that hasn't changed." The 'right place' part was interesting, and Gunnar was sure she wasn't just talking about the wall. He wondered what other places she encountered and what had finally brought her back to this one. "Not much you could do that I wouldn't like."

Taking the bottle, she brought it to her lips and downed most of it before setting it on the floor near her supplies. “Guess I was thirsty,” she said, smiling briefly before grabbing a piece of graphite and picking a corner of the grid to start mindlessly outlining a figure. Her hands worked quickly, weirdly keeping time with her brain in a way that she wasn’t used to. She filled in shadows until finally, she spoke again, not tearing her gaze away from what she was doing. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?” She had things she wanted to say but she wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eyes about it yet. So she kept sketching.

"Looks like." His own bottle rested comfortably on his denim covered knee once he settled back on the couch. Gunnar sipped his beer and chuckled. Knocking back beers; another newly acquired quirk. The television was on, saving them from a long gap of silence while she worked and posed a question that Gunnar had wondered himself, plenty of times. Still, he didn't answer right away. Curious about the way her fingers moved easily, as if no time had passed. Or the way she asked without actually looking at him. "Been some time, pet" he answered honestly. "You wanting to know something specific?" He paused, taking another sip from his bottle. "Think it was when we were out on my bike. Took us for a ride."

She was already finishing up on a figure outline, moving on to another as she gave him time to answer. When he did, she stopped, setting the graphite down and turning to him. “Yeah, it was when you took us for a ride,” she replied. The memory was a happy one, but it didn’t make her smile. “I remember too. And after you brought me home, I got roughed up real nice, fed on, and then compelled by August to believe it was him. Again.” She tucked some hair behind her ear and sat against the wall, facing where he was across the area on the couch. “Actually, every time I was with you, barring the first time, was...in my mind, with August. I guess he was grooming me or something. He’d been changing my thoughts repetitively for months and I had no clue, until he took the trust I had in you and tried to use it to take my virginity. Well he didn’t try. He did. And this happened,” she said, quickly gesturing at her face as it turned, only for a moment. “The wedding’s off though,” she joked, the smile not reaching her eyes. She didn’t look at Gunnar yet, unsure of how her word vomit would land and trying to subdue the flecks of anger she already felt describing it all.

Gunnar let her talk, expression unchanging as the words hung in the air. The truth of the matter that had left them both confused (and much anger on his part) finally revealed. The haze of those happenings had bothered the hell out of him. Knowing something was amiss with the dandy that seemed intensely occupied with Andy. And now he knew why. Her bouts of forgetfulness. The bruises. Christ, her face. He knew that, of course. Sussed it out from Johnny, what August had done to the girl. And part of that rage lingered in him. Angry with himself, for not noticing who and what the asshole was, put the pieces together in time. It'd been too late for Andy then. She was different now. He tried to suss out where her emotions lie, difficult in the almost clinical way she spoke of August twisting her mind and taking and tainting the memories. Nothing to that smile, or the gallows humor. But then he sensed it, fleeting spark of anger. Familiar in feeling, but foreign coming from Andy. But understandable. A justified rage, metered but not mindless. Nothing less than what she owed to herself, and the unfortunate situation she was put into, against her will. He pushed the beer bottle to the coffee table, and regarded her, unsure of what to say.

When she finally looked up, grabbing a piece of graphite to twirl in her hand, she kept going. “I know this is a lot. There’s like, no way to make it not a lot, if that made sense. But yeah.” Sometimes she liked being able to cry, but as liquid began to burn at her lids, this wasn’t one of those times. She didn’t even know what kind of tears they were — angry, remorseful, etc, she just wiped them away quickly. “He’s dead now, I killed him pretty much immediately. Before I even registered that I could kill anything. But all I felt was red, for months. Like I couldn’t even control it or my actions, and when I was finally able to, I was still fucking lost. I was afraid of what I would do but most of all I just felt shame?” She met his eyes, hers a bit bloodshot. “And once my mind was clear enough to really assess what happened...why every time I was with him it felt like a copy of something, why I was telling myself I was in love with him but I kept trying to leave with you somehow, I felt...stupid kinda. Like it was my fault. I know logically it wasn’t but I couldn’t even be here. I made up some great journey in my head to find my mom but it was all me trying to run from the reality of what happened. I think I still am a little, but I needed to come home. I left a lot here.”

No one could fault her for taking off. Gunnar surely didn't. Mostly. He knew what it was like, having that kind of rage inside, first glimpse of it, and the impulsive need to get the hell away from everything. Gunnar watched her, the tears she brushed away, and he felt nothing but grim satisfaction at August's end by her hand. Learning the full truth, the dandy deserved far worse. His fingers twitched against his denim-covered knees but he didn't furl them into fists. It wasn't needed. Andy didn't need his anger. Words, words were better. Even though they were never really easy for him, he liked trying for her. "Know you wouldn't leave if you didn't have a reason. Same for coming back. S'not your fault. Even if you know it, doesn't hurt to hear it. Did what you had to do. What you thought you had to do. Just glad you remembered you had things worth coming back to."

She let a tear fall and smiled, genuinely this time as she listened to him grumble out those things she really needed to hear from him. Andy knew he wasn’t much for words; he expressed himself in other ways, but he tried for her and it was evident. It made her feel happy to be back and regretful at the same time. “I did think I had to do it. I thought I had to do a lot. I’m always thinking. Vampirism didn’t get rid of that, unfortunately.” She put the piece of graphite in her hand back on the tarp and pushed herself off of the floor to go sit next to him on the couch. “I’ll probably finish the wall in a week. It’s gonna be all the faceless things I always saw in my head. Easy to duplicate, the eyes and hands and just, curtains of darkness. I’ve committed it to memory. But right now I wanna sit here,” she told him, tugging at a band on her wrist. She was quiet for a few moments, gathering her thoughts again. “I’m sorry. I know that might sound silly to you but I don’t know how else to express the things I feel, one foot away from you. I just have these memories of you that feel like they’re fifteen years away because they were so fucked with and maybe I’m just sorry in general. I feel like it’s all a bunch of sorry. But I won’t bore you with all of my regrets and sorries. I just wanted to say it one more time I guess. Now I have to move forward and I’m...not great at that,” she said, turning to look at him and smiling again.

"Might be a good thing, that Andy overthinking. Balance out the impulse control." His lips lifted in a light grin. "No rush on the wall. I'm around mostly, and I'll give you the spare key. Pop in whenever." Gunnar shifted slightly when she sat beside him, glad the distance was reduced. She'd been far away long enough. Carrying, from what he gathered, a pretty heavy weight. August. Her road trip. Something about her mother. What happened with them didn't need to be another one of her burdens. "S'not silly. Can't say I think you need to atone for anything, least with me. Sometimes moving forward, might be better." He exhaled and reached out, stilling the fingers that were still tugging at the band on her wrist. "Can't undo what he did, taking those memories. It's proper fucked up. Still us, though. Some changes. Give it some time. You work on your wall. We'll be alright."

Her fingers stopped moving under his and she blew out a breath, sinking into the couch a little more and feeling a relief she didn’t even know she was searching for. “I feel like I forgot what it feels like to relax,” she said quietly, letting herself slump over and rest her head on his shoulder. “Everything happened so fast, and then I was just feeding and running and searching in an endless loop. Always so much energy directed in different places...now I’m talking about making art again, something I haven’t even thought about since I left. And I’m here, and your place smells the same and you smell the same. I was almost getting used to the upheaval, but I’m remembering what content feels like again,” she explained, laughing a little. “It’s nice to not be freaking out about something for a bit.”

"Not much to freak out about here," he told her, surprised that it was true, for the most part. Things in Sangren were always strange, but familiar in its weirdness. Human Andy was always so cautious. This new Andy lacked the body heat but was no less warm in actions. Head on his shoulder. Rambling. Not the same, but similar in the ways that mattered. In the Andy ways he'd missed. "Pretty new for you, pet. Feeding, and the like." His smile was brief at the sound of her laughter. "'Spect you'll fall into the rhythm again. Different now, you being all super strength. Can't make you tremble anymore if we ever spar again."

She nodded against his shoulder, silently agreeing. She had become her own greatest fear, so while Sangren felt so familiar, it also felt like a completely new place for her to get to know. But having a place to stay in Johnny’s home where she felt so safe, and sitting here with Gunnar and feeling the warmth and activity under his skin -- it wasn’t overwhelming. “Feeding...yeah. I’m still not totally used to it but it’s interesting being able to just…” she started to focus on his arm, running her fingers down his veins and turning into his neck a little more. “Smell and feel everything? And hear everything.” She paused, taking in what he said and laughing a little. “Super strength or not, that’s still very much a possibility. The trembling was attributed to a few things there.”

He hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but hearing Andy admit to the trembling being more than just their afternoon spar made him laugh. "Guess that's true enough. Gave you plenty to tremble about." It was strange to think about her feeding. Not in a bad way, just a wholly different picture of the girl he'd last seen. The timid one who wouldn't have been as bold, tucking her face into his neck or initiating touches. "Do I have to worry about you sizing me up for a meal or for a fight?" he asked, the question dripping with amusement as he dipped his head, letting his faint grin brush the top of her head in a brief touch. "Takes getting used to, I'll bet. Senses in HD. Blood is a rush. That I know. Guess you're less about the spilling than the savoring, though."

Andrea thought about how much that would have made her blush before, but it just made her smile. “As for nervous trembles, you’d probably still get those. A little. Despite this practically new body, I haven’t…” She stopped, biting her lip and trying to find the right words. “Sparred like I probably could. I haven’t even felt the hunt since those first couple months when I couldn’t control it, and that was like just seeing a dissociative red for an extended period of time. I don’t know my strength yet, which anyone could tell from my now-crinkled steering wheel.” Honestly, she was afraid to know it -- the scope of what she could do. It was like she didn’t know her own hands anymore, the only thing making her think that wasn’t true being the way she just eased into working on the wall again. It told her maybe she was different but not entirely, and maybe she could know herself fully again. Maybe more than she did before all this. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to eat you. I may like your scent more than usual and maybe I can hear the blood flow in and out of your heart, but I don’t wanna eat you. Maybe taste but only with consent,” she joked, shaking her head. “But you’re right. Feels like an understatement actually. Trying to balance living life still, but through this whole new lens.” She didn’t comment on the last part, knowing her feeding method was so inefficient and probably wouldn’t last her. But she didn’t want to talk about that.

"Yeah? What makes you nervous lately?" He listened as she recalled her experience, seeing red and feeling that out of control strength and something like understanding tugged at Gunnar, because he got it. Knew the thrill, the taste and feel of it, and the slippery sensation of fear that went with it. "Like to tell that you get used to it, but you don't. Adapt, though. That happens. Evolve with the change. Takes some time. Test your limits. I could help with that. If you're ever feeling like you need a show of strength. Work out that energy." That...well perhaps that was meant a few ways. Gunnar smiled at her little joke, letting his fingers slide through her slender ones. "You smell different. Not bad. New, is all. Few days of playing in paint, remind me of that Andy scent." His fingers brushed her knuckles, eyes holding a thinking look as he considered his words. "Dunno if tasting's a good idea, pet," he rumbled. "Never had a vamp at my neck. No telling what my blood'll do. Wouldn't want this mess in here to harm you."

“I’m not sure how to explain it, but mostly I make me nervous. It’s weird knowing you’re capable of a lot, but not what exactly.” She appreciated his honesty, and the fact that it was from a reliable source -- they weren’t the same, but there was a bit of overlap and it made her happy to at least be talking to someone who knew what it was like to have to subdue something all consuming; to know that not being able to regulate emotions could lead to carnage. He’d felt that for so long, and she felt like she was joining a fucked up club. For a moment she remembered the fear in her father’s eyes when he saw her change and sighed. “It’s time for me to adapt to a few new things.” 

She leaned up a little to meet his eyes, searching them for a moment before smiling a little. “That could be fun, having my limits tested. I constantly have more energy than I know what to do with. You should definitely help me out.” She cleared her throat, getting distracted at the feel of his hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Just wait till I’m covered in paint. It’ll happen very soon considering how many layers of it I’m gonna need for what I have in mind.” She glanced over at the wall, smiling and feeling a little spark at the thought of creating something big again, still bigger than anything she’d done. His little warning made her swipe the skin of his neck with her nose again, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away slightly, smirk in place. “Just say no to Gunnar blood. Got it. Wouldn’t wanna lose myself.”

"S'good, you having that bit of nerves," Gunnar said with a short nod. "Means you're not far gone. Can always come back to yourself. Seen plenty of types lost to the wildness. Nearly been there myself." He shrugged. The sigh that followed was curious, but Gunnar wasn't one to pry. Andy would talk on her own time. He liked the easy flow of their talks. Missed it over the years. And he wasn't surprised that she'd readily agreed to his offer. He could sense her strength, the raw power rolling off her in waves. That kind of energy always called to his own, even if it wasn't exactly the same. "Whenever you want us, then. I'm around." Andy's excitement about the wall and diving back into her art was infectious. It'd been so long since nothing but that blue grid, a strange reminder to that time that seemed forever ago. It felt full circle to have her back like this. Sitting with him and talking art...the blood chatter, that was new. 

There was more boldness, the brush of her nose against the line of his neck, keen sense of smell making his skin twitch. She was definitely full of power, and that was a curious, new thing. "Aye. Wouldn't say no to a nibble or two. But drawing blood, no telling what's to be made of that. Always been curious about it. Not curious enough to risk you, though."

“Can always come back to myself,” she mumbled, repeating him. “I think I’ve wanted to hear that for a while, Gunnar.” She sat with that for a moment, thinking about how for someone who usually didn’t chat too much, sometimes he said exactly what she needed to hear in the most succinct way. She pursed her lips at his words, listening and nodding in agreement. “Nibbles good. Bites bad. Best to leave the unknown where it is.” Some of his words stuck out to her and she inhaled a little, circling back to something he said. “Anytime I want? You promise?” She finally let her free hand wander, running her fingers through his hair, liking the smell of that too. “Cause sometimes people regret stuff like that.”

"Glad I could help." It was sincere and he backed it with a brief smile. It was good she'd agreed about the blood. There was enough already to sort with her memories of their previous encounters. Not to mention the bloodlust. He wasn't entirely sure where she was with control, and the last thing anyone needed was a test. The raseri didn't burn as hotly now and he hadn't dulled it with drugs in some time. But he was always aware. Always cautious. He did lean into the caress of her fingers. That was nice and familiar. He was amused by her playfulness, the suggestive of it all. "Promise. Haven't regretted anything we've done so far. No need to start. Especially since you remember now."

Andrea had been testing her limits, afraid to cross boundaries although she knew by merely coming to see him, the heightened aspect of it all mixed with her attraction would be intense. And he looked at her like he wanted her, and she could smell his breath, and his hair was soft on her fingers. She felt it all so acutely. His response only established some things, especially his mention of her memories. She wanted one that was clear, hers and never muddled with. Yes, she got them back but it was through a fog. She couldn’t remember how he felt. So she leaned up, tilting his head gently by his hair before brushing her lips against his. The contact made her want more immediately so she kissed him, releasing his hand so she could lean against his form and touch his face. “I’m sorry, I just,” she whispered once she was able to pull herself away, lips a little puffy from her excitement. “You just...I should probably be good and work on the wall.”

Gunnar accepted the kiss with a small grunt, more surprise than instinct. It was brief, and then Andy was pulling away, with apologies and an energy that was very much like her former self, so much that Gunnar could've smiled. Instead he reached for her, long fingers skimming her jaw, lifting her face to his so he could give her another kiss. Lips slanting over her own, soft and cool and he savored the feel of her mouth, dropping feather light presses before shifting back. "No thinking Andy," he told her, paralleling the impulsive words he'd given her on one of those muddled nights long ago. Daring her delicate human self to give in to those base instincts. He dropped his hands, letting his arm flop across the back of the couch as he regarded her. "Go be good now. Work on your wall. Don't wanna stand in the way of art. I'll be over here."

[serendipitioussurvival]

Be Still Their Hearts

It was very likely that she was not conventionally ‘sane’, or so Peter Hale - an investigator for the California Supernatural Investigation Unit - surmised. He’d seen a lot of ‘insane’ suspects in his years but never one quite like this. She was small, almost pixie-like - though they had checked and rechecked the DNA pulled from her and found no traces of Fae or Supernatural DNA - and got along easily enough with the other detectives and scientists on his team. 

That, truly, had been the first clue that she wasn’t exactly sane. She seemed put together, too put together for someone they found knee-high in a literal silo of human corpses. 

‘Dad was a Sheriff,’ she explained with an enticing gleam to her whiskey amber eyes, ‘kind of got used to death when I was too young to form any other opinion on it.’ he guessed she was talking about the death of her mother, another case that was sitting on his desk back at the office. It reeked of Supernatural interference and a hasty cover-up, and if this clever girl - and oh, she was clever, there was no mistaking that - had figured that much out too it would make sense to have been the final, driving chip into her splintering sanity. 

No one started out as ‘insane’, he sure hadn’t, despite his sisters - Talia Hale, current Director of the California Branch of the SI - firm beliefs of the opposite. Still, she’d been completely honest and compliant throughout the majority of the process, another indication that she was either uncaring of the outcome or firmly sound in her decisions that she didn’t think she’d be caught. Peter never once questioned if she had killed those people, a tally of which he’d yet to receive on just how many had been killed, despite the wavering doubts of some of his team. 

“Hale,” he answered his phone before sliding his Bluetooth in. 

“It’s Erica, sir.” ah, his favorite science nerd turned to muscle. “We’ve gotten the official tally on the body count, as well as the background check we ran on our suspect.” she never beat around the bush and dropped potential suspects with her Kanima venom quicker than they could fire a gun or shift. He never regretted turning her, despite her questionable fight with her inner traumas, and because he hadn’t - because that bond was pure enough - she existed on a very rare, very fine line between Kanima and Werewolf, a hybrid with brains as well as brawn. She was easily his favorite. 

“Go ahead,” she always waited to see if he were in a position to hear the specific information too, something he greatly appreciated. Most of the others on his team rarely took a second to care if he were in the company of others and would blurt out details over the phone. 

“Twenty four have been identified as various missing persons through California, all different ethnicities, ages, and genders. The only thing they have in common is that they used to be Emissaries for various packs that are no longer active.” so she was killing emissaries? Why, and how come their departments hadn’t been made aware that many emissaries were missing?

“You said used to,” he mused, pulling into the parking lot. “I assume you mean that as before their deaths, and not after.” 

“Yes, sir. We’re still looking into the packs but so far eight out of the twenty-four never existed. Two of the associated addresses were county Police departments, one was a Walmart, and another belonged to the home of a Druid with protection wards that made my skin itch.” ouch indeed. 

“I enjoy a good bet so I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the two that registered the police station as the Pack Center were mutilated heavily.” it would be an emotional reaction, after all, a crime of passion, and yet another link connected her to the case. 

“Yes sir, we had to run dentals on both. We’re suspecting that the four other bodies that were strung up on the sides of the Silo were also using police headquarters as a pack center, it would give us a pattern.” 

“Any insight on why our perp decided to make a pond of carcasses?” a thoughtful hum on her end and a loud PA for Boyd - her fiance and the other muscle on his team. 

“We thought Preta at first, they’re more East Asia oriented though.”

“Why Preta and why did cast it aside?” his shoulders dropped just slightly once he started down the familiar hall to his office. 

“Preta’s are beings of insatiable hunger,” she began, “mainly for something humiliating and/or unconventional. Cadavers, Feces, infection, you name it. It would’ve explained the body pile up and the literal pond of bodily fluids but no remaining tissue was found in her stomach or in her teeth. Most of the bodies were too decomposed to see if any organs had been taken out or for a legitimate cause of death to be ruled. Some were mutilated, some had their eyes and hearts gauged out, others had their heads twisted all the way around until they were decapitated.” and that required a strength that their current suspect didn’t seem to have. 

“Any word back on her DNA check?” another sigh, this one just a tad more honest than the last. Erica, despite her being his favorite, didn’t suspect the young woman any more than the rest of his team did - though Whittemore was on his side, strangely enough. 

“Yes, very faint traces of witch DNA, too few to grant her access to magic but just enough that she can see the resulting aura’s of the supernatural.” not uncommon in this day and age either, almost everyone had some traces of supernatural DNA, if they didn’t they were either part of the old Hunter clans or the Purists families. “Her background check confirmed her story as well. Mother died when she was six, Father was KIA when she was fourteen. Stanford graduate with a Bachelor's in Physiology, then a Major in Mythology and Supernatural societies from  Berkley.” 

“What information have you gathered about the father?” a slight pause on her end followed by shuffling papers. It gave him enough time to get his keys in the door before she absolutely floored him with her next words. 

“Jeorek Stilinski, former Sheriff of Beacon County. They caught his murderer but the name was stricken from the records.” a few clever taps onto her keyboard - no doubt overriding the clearance by using his - and then sucked in a sharp breath. “His murderer was Theo Raeken.” 

He broke his key off in his office door and stared at it for a solid minute. Theo Raeken was a notorious serial killer with a body count in the upper fifties, he had been six at the time of his first murder - his sister, she had been pushed, spine broken and-

And her heart had been gauged out. 

“Erica, pull up the file on Theo Raeken.” Theo Raeken who had been found strung up, split in two, with his eyes and heart gouged out. He barely heard her faint ‘got it’ before he twisted his doorknob and broke the lock, forcibly opening the damned thing. “Are there any schools listed under any of his aliases, I want colleges - community or otherwise.” 

“He had a year of being an undecided major at Beacon Hills community under his alias Theodore Cander,” a pause followed by a muttered curse, “two months before his death he attended the Supernatural societies course at Berkeley.” that connection, the one class they shared and the fact that he had killed her father was what had him in front of her cell not even seven hours later. 

“You look tired, Detective,” he rose a perfect brow at her otherwise well-rested appearance. No conscience and no worry for her current predicament - even more boxes checked against her innocence. “Though I’m not opposed to the eye candy you are in a tux and your confidence in it I’ve gotta ask, what brings you to visit me?” she batted her eyelashes and put her palm flat against her chin, posing. “Have I caught your heart?” 

“You killed Theo Raeken,” he expected her to trip up, freeze, or even show some hint that he was right in her gaze, her scent, her heartbeat. 

“I did? Wish I could’ve cherished it, he killed my dad after all.” she shrugged and plopped down on the floor of her cell, staring expectantly at him through the glass wall separating them. “How’d you draw that conclusion.” 

“Quite a few of your victims had their hearts and eyes gauged out, the same way Theo Raeken was killed.” he really shouldn’t find a suspect so intriguing and yet he did. She put herself literally below him - something that either indicated she didn’t see him or the situation as a threat - she was complacent and honest - to a point, certainly - but didn’t seem remorseful of the deaths she caused. She didn’t seem righteous or angry either, so that particular complex was thrown out the window. 

“I like your gut instincts,” she praised, moonglow skin looking particularly ethereal under the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights. “So you think, what, that I killed Theo Raeken, got a taste for it, went on a murder spree, and -?” she motioned with both palms up at her situation, “lead you to the bodies so you could catch me?” he hated and adored how careful she was with what she said. Always hypotheticals, always vague answers or clever half-truths. It’d been a long time since he had an actual challenge and this twenty-something young woman was proving the most enticing one yet. 

“I think you got bored,” that caused a warm glow to ignite behind her amber eyes, glossing them up attractively. “I think,” he began again, tamping down the desire to impress the darkness in her that called so temptingly to the darkness in him that he’d buried so long ago. “that you were trying to be normal, and then you saw Theo in your Supernatural Societies class in Berkeley, recognized him, and gave up on being normal for vengeance.” the smile that was curling at the edges of her lips made his blood sing, “After him you finished your degrees and sat out to get rid of people just like him. Not other serial killers, but people who were false to society while endangering others. It’s why they’re all former Emissaries to non-existent packs, and why those that used police stations for pack centers were strung up. They were a message,” 

“What’d they say?” her scent remained amused, her tone was husky and borderline wanton. 

“That they didn’t deserve any kind of afterlife, that they deserved to exist in agony.” maybe he said that with just a bit too much conviction, a little too much understanding because the moment the words left his mouth her scent bled a sliver of arousal that smelled like sandalwood. He couldn’t very well use that as a sign of her guilt when his own arousal had begun to answer back, he was just in control enough to not let it. 

“An interesting assessment,” her words were slow as her scent slowly righted once again, “one which I’m sure the killer would agree with.” 

“The killer, not-” before he could finish Erica was opening the door at the end of the hall and practically sprinting to him. Suspect forgotten in the face of Erica’s worry, something that hadn’t shown since-

“The Argent’s are here, Talia signed her release to them due to lack of convincing evidence.” he gave a singular glance backward, caught the vicious curl of her lips, and began marching down the hallway with his cellphone in hand. 

“Talia, I need you to negate that transfer-” his sister sighed heavily on the other end, patronizing even without words. 

“Peter, you’ve no concrete evidence that this very human girl has killed twenty-four Emissaries, most of which were bigger than her. There’s no suspected partner, and she’s been compliant with all our tests and questions. While I do not like Gerard nor do I trust the Argents it is now in their jurisdiction to clean everything up.” he glared darkly at the wall of the lab and pressed his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose.

“Talia, she’s guilty. I know she’s guilty, and she’s not just human she’s-” a pause, then a snort of derision from his sister over the line. 

“Exactly, you’ve no evidence for any of these accusations. My decision is final,” before he could question why the North American East Region head hunter Gerard Argent was here to pick up someone so plain and banal she hung up, ending their discussion. 

“Why do you think she’s guilty,” Isaac - his lead interrogator - asked, cherubic features pinched in confusion.

“You’re questioning my judgment too?” he raised his hands in mock surrender, drawing another irritated sigh from Peter. “I know she’s guilty because my gut tells me she is.” 

“Okay,” the relent was not what he had expected, he was so used to everyone - read sister, boss (also sister), her emissary, and a good portion of his family for the last couple years - second-guessing him or questioning him. “You’re a self-serving, sarcastic jackass most of the time,” his alarm must’ve shown because now Isaac was explaining, “you also have a terrible - if it costs me my life then why bother? Mentality, but whenever you tell us to follow a lead because it’s your gut instinct we always find a connection.” 

“Sarcastic, self-serving jackass?” Erica clapped him roughly on his shoulder with a burst of laughter. 

“The sassiest, kind of makes what she said a little more confusing. I’ll be waiting? Thought it meant she’d be waiting to be found innocent, makes things a little confusing.” that joy, that relief, it was all short-lived when they watched the Argent’s wheel - yes, wheel, because they apparently saw fit to have her in a straight jacket with a muzzle, tied to a wheelchair, with her ankles chained together - their suspect down the ramp into the back of their armored vehicle. It, as well as the fact that Gerard Argent himself got into the same van with her, told Peter all he needed to know. 

They knew her, they knew what she was, and they knew she was guilty. More than that they had specifically wanted her, but why?

“Talia, you’re not listening!” his shout shut his sister up, even if she did flash her alpha reds at him in annoyance. “You don’t restrain a human like that unless they’re not human!” 

“As much as I hate it, Alpha Hale, Peter may be on to something.” Lydia Martin, head of the forensics department of their building, groused. “I only met her twice. The first time to gather the DNA samples she had death coating her like a second skin. I thought it was just because she had been in that vat,” a shiver of disgust, “but just now, when I sedated her for the transfer, it was still there.” she tapped perfectly manicured blood-red nails against her throat and grimaced. “I’ve had a scream itching at the back of my throat all day but it’s slowly getting worse.” a glare his way followed by a softer smile to Talia - who was finally looking like she may have regretted her choice. “I’m a Banshee, I predict death, but I’m smart too, Alpha Hale.” She bowed her head slightly and cleared her throat. “There’s something off about her, if you don’t trust my intuition then trust my word as a Banshee.” 

“The tests came back negative of supernatural-” Talia began, shoulders slumping just so. 

“There are ways to fake them,” Lydia cut in, “But it could also be that whatever she is isn’t yet registered.” hazel green eyes narrowed on Peter, “Just like we had to do with Reyes, her hybridization was rare and hadn’t yet been recorded. Her DNA analysis came back regular with no known secondary strain. Since we have we’ve registered only two other Kanima Hybrids. Whatever Stilinski is we don’t have it registered, meaning she’s either rare-” she trailed off, head tilting to the side. 

“Or it’s not a DNA thing.” now both of them were looking at him, “Derek’s serial killer girlfriend, the one Deucalion had to put down, what was she again?” anger flashed across his sister expression before it was quickly replaced with horror. 

“A demon,” she cursed and sat back down to put her head in her hands. “She was a Demon.” With a sigh, she picked up her phone and dialed the one number he knew she really hated to call. 

“Alpha Hale,” Deucalion greeted, tone pleased. “To what do I owe this rare honor?”

“The Jennifer Blake, the Demon you put down, how did you know she was a Demon?” he hummed in thought before he, too, put her on speaker. 

“Because I could see her aura, back when I was blind.” when he had his eyes impaled by Gerard Argent’s arrows, he means. “I assume you’ve run into yet another one, is it yet another inspiring lover for the young Derek?”

“No. Can they pass DNA tests as human?” a deep sigh followed by a brief call for Kali - his head researcher. 

“Demons are human, essentially. They’re born, but a Demon is born in the human when an absolute corruption of their soul happens. It’s harder than stories and television makes it seem and it has to be completely willing on the human's end. They don’t die, they don’t become emotionally mute or psychotic, but they do have the abilities of whatever level Demon they become.” 

“It’s not a possession? What do you mean by the level of the demon, and how do you know all this?” a condescending chuckle in the background had Peter’s hackles rising. He didn’t like his sister at times, but she was his sister and only he could badmouth her to her face. 

“No, it’s like - ugh, human terms. It’s like when a Caterpillar forms a chrysalis and turns into a butterfly. It’s still the caterpillar, but it has a different name and a different form, only now it can fly. Same thing with Demons, they’re still mortal, but now they have extra abilities. So far only four Demons have been registered by our team. A level one is a basic grunt, they seem to come to the weaker willed ones, basic added strength but low intellect. Level two seems to frequently appear from average prey. They have the strength of a beta wolf and can see auras, they know at a glance whether you’re human or not and what kind of supernatural you are. Level three’s are not so common but not rare, they can tap into magic use and pass as a witch or Druid, have the strength and speed of a Beta wolf, but they’re highly susceptible to Iron. Level fours are… difficult. They have a strength that rivals an Alpha and all the abilities of a Darach. They don’t need any sacrifices but they hunt,” a pause then an ascending grunt from Deucalion. “We captured one who called themselves the Huntsmen, they’re the ones who take other damned souls. They don’t hunt other Demons but they will fight with them regularly. They don’t have a social structure or pack sense but they are loyal to a singular partner. The one we had wouldn’t talk until we threatened his mother, so it seems the partner can be platonic.” 

Okay, well she hadn’t expressed any abilities so he could almost rule out a level four except…

Except something about her still struck him. She wasn’t of basic intellect and she definitely was not average prey. If she had been able to see Auras then she would’ve reacted to seeing Erica for the first time, she hadn’t. ‘But they hunt,’ Kali had said, they hunt and they take other damned souls, souls like Emissaries who weren’t but were reaping the rewards. 

“Kali,” he was very aware that his sister was back to glaring at him, “The souls they take, what do they do with them?” the pleased rumble over the line made the predator inside him curl up in joy. 

“They burn them, apparently only a few of the damned souls make the cut to be an actual demon.” a pause, “You have a Demon you’re hunting, don’t you? I told Duke we had to go back to California when Theo Raeken showed up dead, but we were busy.” 

“Why do you say that?” there had been nothing - aside from the grisly remains of his corpse left behind - that signified supernatural occurrence. 

“Because it’s the first Demon on Demon killing I’ve ever seen, whatever predator you’re hunting is going to be a challenge.” she sounded wistful and wanting. It was no secret that Deucalion’s pack, who he made into his entire mobile branch of the SI, was of the brutal sort. Every one of his pack were fighters and THEN they were geniuses. Ennis, the main muscle, was also a former surgeon. Kali, his fiance, had a black belt in nine different martial arts with a masters in forensics and criminology - she was also a tad insane. Deucalion had been formerly blind, yet even then he retained his fighting capabilities and had extended the knowledge of werewolf senses tenfold. He, currently, had too many degrees to ever need worry about what he would do for the rest of his life - though he need not worry, as he currently was filthy rich thanks to proper investments. The twins could combine into a giant, invincible fucking werewolf and were currently getting their Doctorates. If they were saying that level fours could be difficult then perhaps he should bring Erica along when he followed the Argent Convoy. 

“-ause,” his sister had clearly asked how they knew it was Demon on Demon murder. “Xander, our level four we’ve got under quarantine, has been searching for the demon responsible for his death. The Demons were born at the same time, Raeken’s was stronger ‘cause of all his murders and yet this little fledgling Demon manages to kill him like that. I’d applaud the one responsible before gauging their-” anything else was cut off by an ashen Scott McCall, Talia’s secretary. 

“Ma’am, it’s the Argent convoy, it’s been attacked.” 

“What?!” she barked, angry and panicked - no doubt because Peter had been right. He’d rejoice and rub it in her face if his wolf weren’t currently prowling under his skin. 

“You had the Demon and let it go,” Deucalion mused from the phone, “do you need our assistance, Alpha Hale?”

“No.” Peter snapped, glaring at his sister. “You didn’t listen to me before, listen to me now.” his wolf, something he’d been so out of tune from, something that had been a part of him and then muted by his sister, was making itself known for some reason and it had all started with her. He needed to know why, he needed to catch her. 

“No, Alpha Blackwood, thank you for your information.” by the time the phone was hung up Scott already had a GPS signal blinking away on a map, almost as if it were waving. 

“Play the recording,” thank god for Peter’s suspicious ass for insisting that they record every Tip - anonymous or not - that was sent into their building. 

‘My name is Mieczysława Angelika Stilinski, but you can call me Stiles. It wasn’t very nice to sign me away, Talia, but thank you for the opportunity regardless. Gerard Argent met a gruesome, slow death that I took great pleasure in. His convoy is also dead, well, except for three of them. By now you have most likely called Deucalion and got the whole shebang about Demons, so you’ll know that these three were spared ‘cause they were pure. Good on them too, surrounded by so many dickbags.’ the clink of metal cufflinks told them all that she had gotten rid of the shackles around her legs. ‘I’m using one of their cell phones so you can pinpoint it and come save them.’ a muffled, female grunt followed by a slight pop, ‘Nice wallpaper, by the way, don’t worry I’m patient.’ a chuckle and then the line went dead. Peter wasn’t listening to whatever his sister had to say, too focused on trying to figure out what she had meant by that last line. 

‘Nice wallpaper, by the way, I’m patient?’ she was definitely a level four then, he’d known of a single Darach to be able to teleport. I’m patient, ‘I’ll be waiting’, Erica had said. She would be waiting for… for him? Why, more importantly, where-

‘Nice wallpaper,’ oh she was not ballsy enough to go to his house. She had sent that message for him, she wanted him to come to her and had set it up so they’d be alone. So he sent Erica and his team to the convoy knowing full well they wouldn’t find her. She could’ve collected his damned soul the first time she saw him, despite that something told him that she didn’t want to kill him. He wanted his own answers too. 

Such as why his wolf responded so savagely to wanting to be near her when Talia had nearly disconnected the connection between them after he went on a revenge killing spree on a purist family that had nearly burned Cora alive. She spent a year in a medically induced coma so her body could heal itself and Talia, her mother, had told him to calm down. Did Stiles know something about that night, did she know something about him that Talia might’ve made him forget? 

No, no he couldn’t be questioning his sister right now, not with a Demon present. 

So why wouldn’t the thought leave his mind until he was staring at his front door?

“You can come in, I promise I’ll only bite if you ask me too!~” she singsonged from inside his home, proving his thoughts true. He just wasn’t expecting to see her with a frilly bright orange apron on while moving around his kitchen, making some kind of delicious smelling stir fry. Even more was the fact that the Kate Argent sat at the head of his table, glaring heatedly at Stiles’s back, struggling against barbed wire that wrapped completely around her, tying her to the chair. “I brought you a present,” Stiles cooed, “Do you like it?” 

“Love it,” he replied immediately, confusion and agitation rising even as his wolf preened under his skin. “Why?”

“Because you don’t remember, I had to be sure that you didn’t and weren’t just yanking my chain.” she moved the pan off the heat and stepped directly in front of him, watching with warm amber eyes as he struggled with what he wanted to do. Crush her, kind of, against him or against the floor? He wasn’t sure. “Talia took from you,” her hand reached out to brush her fingertips against his breast pocket, the resounding slap of his hand encasing her wrist drowned out both their shocked gasps. 

Her skin lit him like fire, though not literally, it made every muscle up to his shoulder clench in heady anticipation. It felt familiar though he’d never touched her before. Talia took from him, how would she know? 

“Peter,” his gaze snapped to her eyes and watched in fascinated horror as her iris swirled like the milky way before the once amber was now cloudy white. “remember.”

And he did, god he did, and how he burned. Talia had taken his memories, his wolf, she had fabricated his very nature. He was not a nine to five guy, he was vengeful, protective, and by god he was hedonistic. What’s more is that this beautiful, bloodthirsty little thing had been his, just as he had been hers, they had hunted and slaughtered and enjoyed the finer things in life together. 

“Cora wasn’t almost killed by purists,” he mumbled, calloused fingers brushing ever so gently against her mole and freckle dotted cheek. “She was burned by you.” and then beta blues were blazing as they centered on Kate Argent. “I had killed all of your little accomplices and then my sister,” it was said as a curse, “My sister made me forget so she wouldn’t have to go to war with your family.” he couldn’t help the way his shoulders sagged in relief as her nimble fingers work to undo his tie and the first two buttons of his shirt. “She sent you to them,” he murmured, unknowing of when his arm wrapped around her waist to draw her near and uncaring because she was plastered against his side with a pliant hand resting over his heart. “knowing who you were.”

“No, your wolf protected me from his alpha.” more preening. That darkness that had rested at the back of his mind, the sudden connection of his wolf after near three years of silence -

Three years. She had waited three years for him. “You knew me, even when you didn’t.” he was able to profile her so easily because he had known her. “She would’ve killed me if she had known,” rough fingertips brushed over his cheekbones and his slicked-back hair, ruffling it just so that it was no longer slicked back. “You care about your family and you finally have that bond with them,” her thick brows furrowed, milky white bleeding back to expose the sad amber hues. “If you want to forget again, forget everything-”

He silenced her with a sound kiss, devouring the whimper she gave before she melded her body against his. He had forgotten what kissing her felt like, the fire that she was, the raw yearning she evoked with him. It had been that way since she came across him killing Kate’s henchmen and offered to join, wolf howling mate - then he had her screaming it all night. They’d been together a week - a single, blissful week of not having to hide their natures, of belonging - and in that week he found she was his true mate and he was her soul bonded, the one she’d be loyal to no matter what - out of choice. 

“This gift,” he breathed, uncaring for their current witness to their heated makeout. “Marks our new beginning.” his relationships with his team had been built on lies, his relationship with his sister was fabricated, none of them would want him how he was - and he honestly didn’t want them. “Care to go to war with the Argents with me, darling?” Her smile was absolutely savage and spoke to his wolf on levels the moment he saw her gleaming teeth. 

It took twenty-four hours, sixteen missed calls and nearly thirty unanswered texts before Talia went to her brother's listed address, fearing the worst. Whatever she had imagined did not prepare her for the reality of the situation. Kate Argent hung from an empty living room with gauges in her throat, stripes of skin under her fingernails, and the bottom half of her body in the fireplace, charred beyond recognition. 

‘JUST IN, ALPHA TALIA HALE OF HALE PACK WILL BE STEPPING DOWN AS DIRECTION OF THE CALIFORNIA SUPERNATURAL INVESTIGATION UNIT PENDING INVESTIGATIONS OF FRAUD, EMBEZZLEMENT, AND NEEDLESS ENDANGERMENT. NEXT UP; NEW SERIAL KILLERS ON THE LOOSE?! STAY TUNED FOR INFORMATION ON THE DEATHS OF OVER A DOZEN HUNTER’S ASSOCIATION HUNTERS AND HOW THE HUNTER’S ASSOCIATION ITSELF IS IMPROVING WITH THE LOSS! THIS IS AMELIA GADES WITH YOUR CNN NEWS,’

[sherrybaby14]

The Option VII

This is a Dark! Bucky x Naïve!Reader story.  It contains questionable consent.

 Warnings: This is a dark/rape/noncon story. Please do not read if that offends you.

 Chapter Warnings:  Smut, fluffy smut, oral, mentions of period, (there are no trigger warnings for noncom/dubcon)  This chapter is a little sickeningly sweet/ fluffy so sorry if you gag on the cotton candy a little 

 Words: 5k

 Summary: You learn about Bucky’s past, but still can’t accept details about your present.

 A/N: This is a bit of a smut fest again, but I promise the plot is going to pick back up soon.  

               You were in the bed, your head resting on Bucky’s chest, his arm curled underneath you, holding you close.  But for all you cared you could’ve been in outer space because nothing mattered except for his words.  

                 There were no interruptions.  You hung on everything he said, fairly certain that in the last hour he spoke more than he had the previous six weeks.  

                  “My final mission, they sent me after a target. There was something about him.  He looked familiar.  My dedication to the mission was faltering.  This man, he made something in me snap.”  Bucky sighed. “But not enough.  I had him.  He was going to die, but instinct took over and I jumped in and pulled him out. Dropped him on the riverbank and ran. For this first time in over seventy years, I was free.”  

                  A tear rolled down your cheek.  The darkness that chased Bucky, the horror that had been his life if someone could even call it that.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t right.  

                  “I ran, that was two years, four months, and eighteen days ago.”  Bucky swallowed.  “Pieces of my memory came back.  I robbed a few Hydra bases along the way, killing everyone inside and burning them to the ground.”  

                  For the first time in your life you found yourself happy to hear someone was dead and hoped Bucky made them suffer even a fraction of what they put on him.  

                  “I knew about this country and once I had enough cash I decided this was the best place to hide out.  My plan was to stay here as long as possible before they found me. Alone.  Maybe forever.”  He squeezed you tighter. “So now you know. Everything.”  

                  Questions and answers circled your brain.  You didn’t know how to respond without sobbing for what Bucky had been through, for how he managed to end up a good person. Most would’ve broken.  

                  “Say something Peach.”  There was a shake to his voice.  “Say anything.”  

                  “You were a howling commando.  The man you pulled from the river was Captain America.” You weren’t certain it was a statement or a question.  

                  “Yes.”  Bucky seemed to tense under you.  

                  “Why not go to him for help?”  The man was arguably the most famous person in the country, and with the Avengers at his back, he would help.

                  “I’ve killed a lot of people.  Important people.  Someone has to answer for that.  I’m the villain in this story Peach.”  Bucky turned to face you.  His blue eyes bore into yours and his jaw clenched.  “I’m not a hero, I’m not a good guy.  I deserve worse than exile for what I’ve done.”  

                  “It wasn’t your fault.”  You reached out and cupped his cheek.  “None of it.  People will understand.  Hydra is the villain, you are just as much a victim as the dead.  And Hydra is gone now.  I remember it was front page news.  You can come home.”

                  “My Peach.”  Bucky looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “Sometimes things are more complicated than they appear. The second you start thinking Hydra is dead is the second they show up at your door.  Evil finds a way of living forever.”  

                  “So dedicate your life to stomping it out.” You hated the idea that Bucky felt forced to hide.

                  “I think I’ve lost enough of my time.” Bucky slid down so he was on his side next to you. “And like you said, everyone thinks Hydra is dead so I wouldn’t have the first clue where to look now, or what they’re capable of.  I won’t be a weapon again.”  

                  “Well maybe, when Spring comes, we could go back to the US together?”  You turned on your side to face him.  “Steve Rogers is a household name, but James Barnes isn’t.  It took a few minutes for it to click in my mind.  Maybe we could hide in plain sight?  And if you ever felt comfortable enough, you could contact him.”    

                  “Wait, you’re not scared of me now?” His expression softened and his eyes focused on your lips.  “I thought I was going to have to chain you to the bed or lock you in the basement.”  

                  “Scared of you?” You traced your hand down his chin. “If anything I feel safer with you, like some little part of my life makes actual sense at the moment.”  

                  “When I got home, seeing you with that gun.  I was scared.”  Bucky’s features narrowed.  “What were you thinking?”  

                  “I wasn’t.”  You curled your shoulder’s forward hoping to hide.  

                  “I need a better answer than that Peach.” Bucky’s finger was under your chin tilting it up.  “Now.”

                  “I have all these questions, and then they build and build and build.  Then when I saw the gun, I freaked out and my initial reaction was to run.  The same thing happened that night in the snow.” You closed your eyes as a tremor ran over you.  “I do that a lot.”  

                  “You hadn’t asked anything in a while.  I didn’t realize it was that important to you.” Bucky ran his hand down your back. “I know I’m not the easiest to talk to, but if things are building up inside of you that much.  I need to know.”  

                  “I don’t want you mad at me though.”  You opened your eyes and felt them well with tears. “I can’t stand the thought of you mad at me.”  

                  “Oh Peach.”  Bucky pushed you onto your back and got on top of you.  “You’re such a good girl, but part of what I want from you is honesty.  That includes telling me when you’re upset.  Don’t worry so much about my reactions, I’m never letting you go.”  

                  There was a strange sense of relief in his praise. Even after your behavior today you were still his good girl.  His Peach.   Before the smile could settle in on your face Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.  

                  You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer.  His hands went to his pants and he started to push them off.  You were still naked from your session in the kitchen and eager to feel his skin against yours.  

                  The kiss broke so he could undress the rest of the way and your wish was granted when his bare torso pressed to your chest. You parted your legs and his cock entered you with ease.  

                  You kissed the entire time he rocked in and out you.  You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts and your bodies continued in a rhythm, the pace set by Bucky.   The coil started to form in your stomach and you whined, hoping for him to move faster.

                  “Not yet Peach.”  Bucky broke this kiss as he drove back inside of you, stilling for a second.  “I’m going to enjoy you.”

                  His lips went back to yours and then his tongue slid into your mouth.  You tried not to whine or move out of sync with him, but you knew exactly what his phrase meant.  Slow and deep, his hard cock was going to drag you to the edge and then leave you teetering until you couldn’t take it anymore.  

                  You whimpered, knowing that the journey to the orgasm was going to be a long one, but that the payoff was going to be so intense your body would shake.  

                  A few hours ago in the kitchen, Bucky fucked you, but right now you were his Peach and he was going to take his time making love to you.  

~~~  

               She was a withering mess underneath him, her hands couldn’t decide if they should grip onto him or the sheets.  Tiny beads of sweat covered her and her body had gone limp, giving him complete control.  

                  Bucky kept one hand on the mattress and the other on her hip as he lifted her to meet his drawn-out thrusts.  Every time he pulled out she moaned and when he reentered her teeth chattered.  She was so vulnerable like this and it made Bucky’s cock grow even harder.  

                  “Plea…plea…plea…”  She was incapable of forming a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence.  

                  “You want to cum?” Bucky slid his hand to the back of her knee and pushed her leg to her chest.  

                  Peach nodded as her eyes struggled to open.  

                  “Are you going to behave?”  Bucky moved to her other leg and folded it up the same way.

                  She continued to nod.  He loved the look on her face, desperate for the release only he could give her.   Bucky wanted to be her everything, her entire world and right now he was.  It was tempting to keep her hovering like this, desperate for him.  But her pussy felt so good it was almost torturous for him too.  

                  Bucky slid both of his hands to the bed and positioned himself so that her legs were folded up between them.  

                  “Alright Peach.   Be my good girl.”  Bucky pulled his hips back and slammed back inside of her.  

                  She moaned and bounced into the bed.  He did not hesitate between thrusts as he continued to rail her into the mattress.  All the bead of sweat on her body formed into a sheen and she fell apart underneath him.  

                  The juices from her pussy gushed around him as her muscles contracted down.  An array of noises and pants came from her beautiful mouth and he wanted to absorb every one of them.  She lost the fight to keep her eyes open, but he saw them rolling under the lids.  

                  This was what his Peach needed.  To live in a constant state of pleasure only he could provide.  That would be his ultimate goal.  

                  Her pussy continued to clamp down and Bucky couldn’t take it anymore.  

                  “Grr.”  He buried himself one final time and emptied inside her quivering body.  

                  She gasped for breath while he lowered his head to the pillow next to her.  He grunted and flexed down one more time making sure he was finished before pulling out of her and rolling onto his back.  

                  Soon Peach’s breathing regulated.  Bucky knew how exhausted she was, probably spent all afternoon pacing back and forth in the kitchen, working herself up.  

                  He had no clue that his lack of sharing was that upsetting to her.  The idea of opening up to anyone terrified him, but Peach…she accepted him.  She even wanted to help him, with her big naïve heart.  

                  Hydra wasn’t dead and not even the amazing Captain America could help him.  Besides, Steve was more of a concept than a person.  Memories that old never came back, not really anyway.  

                  Sure, he has thought about making contact. Even went as far as to figure out a way how, but to what end?  

                  When he tried to remember his life pre-Hydra, it was like trying to remember an episode of a television show whose name you forgot and stars were replaceable.  Besides, the Avengers declared it peacetime and last Bucky heard Steve was considering retirement.  

                  And in a way, so was Bucky.  Now that he had his Peach.  He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and watch her sleep, but there were lots to put away from his trip into the town.  Plus, he had to clean up the guns and whatever else she found.  

                  So he gave Peach a kiss on the head and stood up, pulling his pants on as he rose.  

                  He unloaded the food, feeling much better about lasting through the winter. Bucky wasn’t sure where they would head once the thaw came, but the first country that had a trustworthy Doctor Bucky was having the vasectomy reversed.  

                  His cock twitched at the idea of filling up his Peach, watching her swell with his children.  His eyes flared at the image.  Then she would really never leave him.  

                  He leaned against the counter, surprised at himself.  Thinking of plans for the future longer than surviving the night.  Things he never thought possible, not before Peach.  

                  Maybe he would pick somewhere with a beach. Costa Rica was beautiful.  Bucky could keep her safe there.  Returning to America was not an option.  Bucky’s problems aside, Peach still hadn’t accepted the reality of her situation.  

                  The second her name showed up anywhere the traffickers would come to collect.  He went to his jacket and pulled out the flyer.  With a reward that high she must have been worth a lot of money to someone.

                  Bucky knew he had to show it to her, hopefully, it would sink in how much danger she was in.  That there was no returning to the old life.  

                  Peach accepted a lot of new information today. The last thing Bucky wanted was to overwhelm her or risk another breakdown.  For how strong she was there was still a fragility to her that he already felt was being over-tested.  

                  Soon.  He would show her soon.  He folded the paper and tucked it away on the shelf over the refrigerator. That way he wouldn’t forget about it.  

 ~~~  

                 You rolled over and reached your arm out, draping it across Bucky.  He gave a grunt and grabbed your waist, pulling you closer.  Without opening your eyes you snuggled next to him while he held you.  

                  Yesterday was dark, but now that you knew everything it seemed like there was a lightness between the two of you.  That you were closer than ever.  

                 You placed a kiss on his chest, thinking how lucky you were to have him, that a man like him cared for a woman like you.  It was almost surreal.  You wanted to show him how lucky you felt, so you started to kiss more and then opened your mouth, running your tongue on his skin.  

                 “Hmmm.”  Bucky relaxed his grip on you and you started to work your way down his stomach, staying under the covers.

                 You nudged his hip.  He understood and rolled on to his back.  

                 You positioned yourself so that you were between his legs, the blanket still over your head.  His cock stood at attention, just like it did every morning and you licked your lips before grabbing the base.  

                 Then you pressed your tongue right above your hand and ran it up the underside soliciting a groan from him.  

                 When you came to the head you wrapped your lips around him and let saliva pool while making a light sucking motion with your mouth.

                 “Shit.”  Bucky’s leg twitched.  

                 The movement made you grin and urged you on as you parted your lips and took him further.  Soon you had enough lubricant that you were able to bob your head, sliding him in and out of your mouth.  

                 “Use your hands too Peach.”  Bucky touched the back of your head lightly.  “It’s alright.”  

                 You knew that wasn’t his favorite.  He liked to enjoy your mouth as long as possible and using the hands made it go too quickly, but for the exact same reasons, you were eager to stroke him, knowing how sore your jaw could get.  

                 You got your hands in on the action and started moving both of them in unison with your mouth, covering all of his cock with one fluid motion.  

                 “Fuck.”  Bucky pressed the back of your head.  

                 You picked up speed, lapping your tongue as best you could.  He flexed his hips up and you took away your hands, trying to swallow as much of him as you could without gagging.  His cock twitched in your mouth and you breathed in through your nose as his cum squirted.  

                 The salty taste hit the back of your tongue, but you sucked it down, feeling it slide down your throat.  You didn’t drop him from your mouth until you were certain you’d taken every last drop.  

                 “What a way to wake up.”  Bucky chuckled.  

                 You crawled up his body and popped your head out of the covers.  What you saw made you recoil at first.  You blinked several times, unsure you weren’t imagining it.  

                 “Your hair.”  You reached your hand up and touched the short locks.  “You cut it?”  

                 “Time for a change.”  Bucky grabbed your arms and pulled you all the way up before rolling you onto your back.

                 Bucky settled on top of you and started kissing your neck.  You hadn’t expected him to return the favor, but you weren’t about to turn the opportunity down.  

                 He kissed down to your breast and stopped at your nipple, taking it into your mouth while his other hand kneaded you. His tongue flicked across you, forming a stiff peak that made you wiggle your hips.  

                 He kept his mouth on your tit while his hand worked down your stomach to your sex, you spread your legs and moaned as his fingers slid up your clit.  

                 “Peach?”  Bucky’s mouth was gone and there was a sharpness to his voice that made you look up.  “Are you alright?”  

                 What you saw made your jaw drop in horror. You scooted back on the bed underneath him and saw the spot on the sheet.  Heat and embarrassment flooded your face as realization dawned on Bucky as he looked at his red fingers.                  

                 “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”  You wanted to curl up and die but also get off the sheet before you made a bigger mess.  

                 “Come on.”  Bucky scooped you up. “Nothing to apologize for.”  

                 “I’ll wash the sheets right away.”  You tried to wiggle out of Bucky’s grasp, but he carried you out on the bedroom.  

                 “Not before we take a shower.”  Bucky kissed your neck.  

                 A small moan left your mouth.  You’d assumed when your period came that would mean you’d get a sex break, but apparently Bucky had a workaround for that too.

 ~~

               After your shower session with Bucky you dressed and gathered the sheets.  At least you hadn’t stained the mattress.  When you carried them down the stairs you saw Bucky hard at work in the kitchen, the shorter hair still through you off.  It made him look like a different person, well almost.  

                 “You have to eat something.”  Bucky cracked an egg.  “You skipped dinner last night.”  

                 You stomach rumbled and the sound of the cooking egg practically made your mouth water.  

                 “Let me get the laundry started.”  You rounded the corner to the basement.  

                 “No.”  Bucky was at the stove.  “I have plans for us today.  Drop it at the bottom of the stairs.”  

                 “But it will stain.”  You cringed.

                 “I’ve had some experience getting blood out of fabric.  It will be fine.”  Bucky transferred eggs to a plate and walked over to the table.  “Now eat.”  

                 The situation was so gross this morning but did not seem to faze Bucky at all.  You walked to the stairs and tossed the sheet down.  Then you took a seat and practically devoured your eggs.  

                 “I wish I would have asked you to get me some boots when you went to town.”  You took another bite, thinking about the snow coming and leaving you trapped.  

                 “The idea crossed my mind.”  Bucky ate.  

                 “Really?” You perked up.  

                 “Don’t get excited Peach, I didn’t get anything for you outside of food.”  Bucky dropped the fork.  

                  “Oh, I didn’t expect you to.”  You didn’t want him to think you didn’t appreciate all he did provide for you.  

                 “I think, both of us, sometimes forget about the gravity of this situation.”  Bucky reached out and took your hand.  “In what a horrible spot you’re in.  How people are looking for you, bad people.”  

                 “Do you think my Uncle is looking for me?”  You took another bite.  “He must be so scared.  I wish there was a way I could reach out and tell him I’m safe.  I bet he’s alerted the press and anyone else who will listen.”  

                 “Um Peach.”  Bucky’s face contorted.  “How close were you with your Uncle?”  

                 “I told you, just recently reconnected.”  You smiled remembering how kind he had been. “He was so kind at the funeral.”  

                 “Do you think, maybe, he isn’t as kind as he let on?” Bucky squeezed your hand.  

                 The smile on your face dropped.  You rolled your lips between your teeth and shook your head.

                 “He’s family.”  You gave a laugh.  “Families don’t hurt each other like that.  It was the girl on the train.”  

                 “Alright Peach.”  Bucky released your hand.  “Sometimes organizations like the one interested in you, they have deeper roots than you realize.”  

                  You looked down at the floor and brought your arms to your sides, giving yourself a hug.  This conversation was making you uncomfortable.  

                 “So what are we doing today?”  You looked back up at Bucky and gave a smile.  

                  There was a look of pity in his eyes, but he nodded his head and rose from the table, picking up his plate in the process.   You brushed away thoughts about what the pity look meant or your Uncle being involved, or major criminal networks.

                 Once you got through the winter it would be Bucky needing your help.  You could go back to your old life, you needed to reassure him that there was a place for him there too.  That should be your number one focus.  The future. Not the past.  

                 “See if you can shove enough of these in my spare pair of boots to make them fit.”  Bucky put down wool socks on the table.  “Then grab a jacket and a pair of gloves from the door.”  

                 “We’re going outside?”  You watched as Bucky headed toward the basement.  

                 “Yep.”  He didn’t look up as he jogged down the stairs.  

                 You got up from the table and put your dish in the sink.  As you got ready you wondered what it was he had planned.  Your mind raced.  You knew it wasn’t over the activity as much as trying to keep out the thoughts that were circling you.  

~~~  

                 Why could Bucky not spell everything out for her? Why was he such a coward when it came to upsetting his Peach?  

                 She wasn’t stupid.  Deep down Peach knew these things, but she was so trusting. The exact opposite of him.  He didn’t want to turn her into him.  So maybe letting her have these fantasies that she was on the front page of newspapers with her uncle giving press conferences wasn’t harmful.  At least not now.  

                 Bucky grabbed what he needed and went back upstairs. Peach was at the door, looking slightly ridiculous in his boots and jacket.  He couldn’t help the smile as he pulled on the rest of his winter gear.  

                 “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing now?” Peach stepped aside so Bucky could open the door.  

                 “I’m going to teach you how to use this.” Bucky held out the gun Peach had been waving around.  

                 Her face fell, but Bucky wasn’t taking no for an answer.  He grabbed her hand with his other and led her outside.  

                 “Bucky, I appreciate gun safety, but I can’t think of a situation when I’d ever shoot anything.”  Peach trailed behind.  “I don’t think this is necessary.”  

                  “Not open for debate.”  Bucky walked past the animal pen to the long open field.  

                 White flakes covered his shoulder, but the visibility was good.  He guessed by the time the sun went down there would be several inches on the ground again, the brief warm period passed.  

                  “I…I don’t want to.”  Peach dropped Bucky’s hand.  “I’ll never be able to pull the trigger.”  

                 “Peach. Look at me.”  Bucky was scared of the exact same thing.  “You’re in a dangerous place.  I’ll die protecting you, but in the event, you have to protect yourself…I need you to know what you’re doing.”  

                 She looked scared and bit her lip, but she gave a slight nod.  

                 “Alright.  Let’s start.” Bucky got Peach in the stance.  

                 He went over basic gun information, showing her how to carry it, the safety, the different parts, how to reload.  Then he went over how to hold it, brace for the recoil, how to aim.  When it was time for her to pull the trigger, there was some reluctance.  

                 “Peach.  Picture a man, coming to take you away from me.  Coming to sell you to the highest bidder.  He wants to take your freedom.  Take your life.”  Bucky put his hands on Peach’s shoulders.  “Pretend he’s that tree and pull the trigger.”  

                 BLAST!  The bullet sounded, and a small puff of smoke came from the gun and the tree.  

                 “Wow.”  Bucky thought she would be a mile off, but she hit the target dead on.  “Try that tree.”  

                 Peach moved her stance and again pulled the trigger. She glanced over her shoulder at him, but Bucky scratched his chin.  

                 “Did I do something wrong?”  She lowered the weapon.  “See, I knew I wasn’t going to be good at this.”  

                 “Hold on.”  Bucky jogged over to the animals and came back with a can.  He walked over to the fence and set the can down before coming back over.  “Alright Peach.  Can you hit the can?”  

                 She sighed, but readied her stance.  BLAM! TINK! The can went flying.  Peach lowered the weapon.  

                 “I think you might be a natural.”  Bucky smiled.  

                 The corners of her mouth rose.  It did bring Bucky some comfort knowing she might have a chance at defending herself.  

                 “I’m going to set some more targets further out. Don’t shoot me.”  Bucky shook his head as he went to set them up.  

                 It also made his cock twitch seeing how good she was with the weapon.  He worried he was taking advantage of her body a little too much and promised himself when her period arrived he was going to give her a little bit of a break, but it was already tempting to drag her back into the shower.  He shook the thought away.  This week once a day, maybe twice.  

 ~~

               “Dinner is ready!” Bucky yelled up the stairs.  

                 You took a deep breath, wishing there was a mirror up here.  From what you could tell it didn’t look too bad.  You managed to turn the green sequined dress into a baby doll, complete with a sheer thong.  Wearing any sort of panty felt foreign to you, but you didn’t think they would stay on long anyway.

                 “Peach?”  Bucky yelled again.  

                 “Coming!”  It was now or never.  

                 You walked down the hall and then the stairs. When you saw the table your heart melted.  He had lit two candles.  

                 “I’m not sure if you remembered.”  Bucky spun around. “But, it’s Christ…”  

                 Your eyes flashed toward him.  He scanned your body up and down.  His tongue darted out over his lips.  

                 “Merry Christmas Bucky.”  You held the sides of your creation out.  “Do you like your present?”  

                 He strutted over to you and lifted you in the air. You wrapped your legs around him as his hand ran across your cheek.  His mouth was on yours in a second, his tongue demanding entry.  

                 “We should eat first.”  You twisted your neck.  

                 “No.”  Bucky walked you over to the other room.  “I want my present.”  

                 His hands tugged the top of your lingerie down, your breast falling free.  He took your nipple into his mouth and suckled, making you moan.  

                 The panties were gone in a second as he laid you down on the couch, the fire lighting the room as the fifth snowstorm in as many days roared outside.  

                 Bucky’s hands were on his pants, pushing his cock free. He pushed into you with ease and wasted no time fucking you into the couch.  His hands were all over you like he couldn’t find a place to settle them. You ran your hands through his hair and scratched down his back, tugging his shirt.  

                 But there wasn’t time for him to undress. His need for you was too great and that made you tingle even more.  He hit all your buttons and soon your toes were curling in orgasm as he emptied inside of you.  

                 Both of you were panting on the couch, his head resting on your chest.  

                 “Merry Christmas.”  You stroked his hair.  

                 “I love my present.”  Bucky pushed off of you.  “Wait right here.”  

                 You sat up and readjusted yourself, tucking your breasts away and looking for the panties.  

                 “Full disclosure, this was the previous owners. I don’t know if it’s real or not, but when we’re out of here, I’ll replace it with a real one of your choosing.”  Bucky grabbed your left hand.  

                 You looked as he slid on a beautiful antique diamond ring. Your mouth hung open as you glanced from the ring to him and back again.  

                 “Does this mean….Are we..”  He didn’t ask a question, so you didn’t know if there was a response required.  

                 Bucky gave you a smirk and folded his arms as he sat on the couch.  

                 “Engaged?”  You felt silly saying the word.  

                 Bucky laughed and took your hand.  

                 “Peach, you’re mine.  You’re mine forever.  No ring or piece of paper is going to change that or make it stronger.”  Bucky kissed your forehead.  “If you want to use the title I don’t mind, but skip the fiancé and go straight to wife.”  

                 You grabbed his face and pulled it to yours as you straddled him on the couch, kissing him deeply, happy you hadn’t found the panties yet.  Bucky lifted his hips and slid his pants down, ready to go again.  

                 Mine.  Forever. He’d said those words before, but for some reason now they sunk in.  There was a gnawing in your head.  This wasn’t forever.  Spring was around the corner and then what would you do?  You pushed it away.  Tonight wasn’t about the future.  It was about the present.  Your present.

 A/N: Thank you for reading! Just a heads up on what’s coming. The next chapter is going to just be a sex scene and it’s going to be dark(ish). I’m going to write it as a standalone with very little plot so people can skip it if they don’t want to read. Then after that the plot is really going to pick back up again.  (We’re sort of in the middle where they’re just having a sex fest).   Thank you again for reading!  I love all the feedback and am so appreciative!  

XoXo

Sherry

[moonstruckbucky]

Rant Fest

So for the past couple of months, my “in-laws” (we’ll call them that even though my SO and I aren’t married *whispers* yet) have been driving me up a wall and then some.

His mom? Super sweet, loving... but a helicopter. And I don’t mean one of those dinky little news helicopters. I’m talking full-out military style, equipped with heat-seeking missiles kind of helicopter. She hovers a lot. Calls my SO multiple times a day, for no real good reason at all except to check up on him. Mind, he’s 30 - he’s a big boy.

Things have been a little stagnant for him since he had his seizure two months ago - he’s stranded without a car (totaled in the accident) and without a license (if you have a seizure MA state law dictates you automatically surrender your license for 6 months). So he’s been getting rides from her when he needs to, or his grandmother. 

(Gonna throw a read more on this puppy. We now resume our regular scheduled dash scrolling).

Anyway. Besides the hovering, which has undoubtedly gotten worse since his accident, she gets a little too touchy with him that bothers me. Pinching his behind (again - he’s 30), and just all over him in general. I get because he’s the first born, she’s probably super attached to him - plus, he fell 15 or so feet when he was 2, so we think that’s what spurred her hovering because at the time I don’t think she was watching him; he ended up spending two weeks in the hospital after bonking his head. She doesn’t really act like this with her youngest son, who’s a year older than me at 28, but because he’s had issues with drugs/drinking in the past, she hovers over him too and clearly doesn’t trust him all that much.

Which, not that it’s my business, I have a problem with, because she isn’t giving him the chance to earn her trust back at all.

Then came Baxter, our one year old lab pup, who we got for free because we studded out our 6 year old male to a guy who’d grown up breeding coonhounds - so a responsible breeder. We took him home over Labor Day weekend last year. From the get-go she was all over us about training him, and what we should or shouldn’t do. A little note: I have my Associate’s in animal care, had to take hours of classes on dog training and behavior, so I like to think I know my shit about dogs, okay? Okay. It bothered the fuck out of me.

Cut to less than a month later, Nick’s grandmother gets out of bed in the middle of the night, takes a wrong turn and ends up falling down the stairs. Breaks her fingers on one hand and doing some other damage to her other arm.

First thing out of his mom’s mouth? “Did she trip over that dog?” I was livid. As if she couldn’t trust that we’d keep Baxter with us in his room at night - he was fast asleep when this happened. Even Nick (SO) was annoyed that she’d asked that.

Jump to this past weekend, and here’s a long background to this event.

About two months ago, Nick’s brother and his ex - not even his girlfriend anymore - decided they were going to get a puppy. Now, I think it was Jake’s idea to get the dog, and then the ex just maybe saw an opportunity to stick around, and voila, their puppy.

Who is a backyard bred pit bull puppy bred by a guy either by accidental pregnancy or because he “just wanted to try and breed his dogs”. Either way, these are key signs of an irresponsible breeder. Next sign? The fact he told them both they could take him at 5 weeks of age. When the normal age to take home dogs is 7-8 weeks. We took Bax home at 7 weeks. So not only is he missing out on crucial socialization skills such as bite inhibition and when to cool his jets with corrections from mom, but he’s incredibly small, the runt probably. And then begin the seizures. 5 week old puppy is now on anti-seizure meds - the same ones Nick is on actually.

What’s worse? Jake and his ex didn’t even pay for the fucking dog - Nick did, because Jake didn’t have the money. Makes me wonder how the fuck they’re paying vet fees for a sick dog.

You angry yet?

Jump to a few weeks later. This puppy is a fucking menace. Has zero bite inhibition and those puppy teeth are like razors. He was actually fucking vicious about it as well. Would only let you pet him so he could turn and nail you. Even. Worse? His “parents” encouraged this fucking behavior! Every time he began biting people, even if he was in someone else’s arms, “mom” would take him from them and cuddle him - thus, if you know a little about dog training, is seen as a reward by the dog. Even when I put him down on the floor when he started biting, she picked him up and cuddled him while trying to tell him “no”.

It doesn’t fucking work like that.

So you’ll understand why I get nervous as he gets bigger around Baxter. Having the reputation pits do (I don’t hate them; I just think not everyone should be allowed to own them if they’re not going to take training seriously - and even then, you can’t guarantee they won’t display some genetic aggression later in life), and I brought it to Nick. He’s convinced they’ll “be fine”, and frankly, I don’t want to take that risk because Baxter? Is a softie. He’s a wimp (sorry bubba, but you are), and he won’t stand up for himself - and I don’t want him to be in that position with another dog’s teeth in his neck, where he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Because by the time he figures it out, he might be dead (I’m gonna cry just thinking of that possibility).

So I keep an eye on them when they play. Jump to this weekend. The whole point of this rant. Sundays are for family dinner, and the puppy usually accompanies his parents. Why the ex still comes to fucking family dinner, I have no idea - she was his plus one to his sister’s wedding, which multiple people thought was fucking weird, myself included. Anyway, our boys are blocked off from the kitchen while we eat so the puppy can roam and we can keep an eye on him.

Then after dinner we let everyone in the kitchen. Well, Hydro (the 6 year old and Baxter’s father/sire) is at the table looking for scraps (bad habit, I know) when the puppy wanders over.

Now, let me mention this: Hydro was trained and raised as a hunting dog, so while he is socialized, he isn’t a very social dog with other dogs or even strange people. When Baxter was a puppy learning about boundaries, he pushed Hydro too far, and Hydro nailed him - picked him up by the head and tossed him. Baxter was fine, but he kind of got the gist. I was concerned, but at the same time I know it’s how a dog communicates enough is enough. Baxter still pushes boundaries but he’s a jerk like that. It isn’t for lack of trying.

So, puppy wanders over to Hydro, who gives a low warning growl to tell him he’s too close, he needs to back off. Adult dogs don’t very much like puppies to begin with because they have absolutely no manners. It’s crucial in dog development for them to be able to be taught by older dogs in their own way what is right and what is wrong.

Well, puppy made a wrong move not backing off, and Hydro snarled and snapped his teeth at him. He ended up catching him on the snout. Puppy starts screaming because he probably hasn’t had a dog do this before, and it’s bedlam. Hydro ducks under the table thinking he’s going to be punished for communicating in a way the puppy will understand. “Mom” scoops up the puppy, in goddamn tears (fucking please), acting like Hydro just tried to maul him. I’m watching this whole thing happen trying not to roll my eyes at everyone losing their minds.

I feel terrible for Hydro, so I’m the only one (even Nick wasn’t assuring him he wasn’t a bad dog right away, and that dog is attached to his hip) worried about Hydro. So I give him love and attention and tell him he’s okay, he’s not a bad dog. You can’t punish a dog for communicating that he’s had enough, for setting his own boundaries - and “mom” coddling the puppy isn’t helping him either, but he did learn. He was a little nervous about Baxter approaching him, but I’m glad his instinct wasn’t to bite. Had Hydro wanted to hurt him, he would have.

The puppy has to learn - even Baxter was trying to get away from him and everyone was just letting the puppy leap at him. Now granted, I read this morning you shouldn’t do that - if your older dog is trying to get away, you need to separate them.

Anyway, the family, besides Nana and Nick, kept giving Hydro wary glances every time he entered the room in case he was going to just up and attack the puppy. Which pissed me off.

What made it worse? Nick’s mother claiming Hydro wasn’t “socialized”, and the fourth time she said it, I corrected her with, “He’s socialized just fine. The puppy has to learn that dogs have boundaries. Not all of them are going to be like Baxter.”

(Spoiler alert: he would’ve learned this had he been allowed to stay with mom those extra 3 weeks)

So I’ve come to the decision that when Nick and I move to Maine next year, the dogs are staying home, and I’ll be minimizing contact between them. I don’t trust at all that they’re going to take the puppy’s training seriously, especially for a breed that’s so stigmatized like pit bulls. 7% of the dog population and they’re  number 1 in fatalities? There’s something wrong there. 

Anyway, this is my giant rant that’s been building up.

OH, and when we move to Maine, I’m going to do a happy dance because it means Nick’s mom can’t drop in unexpectedly all the fucking time and disrupt my domestic life. I can’t wait.

Uh, yeah, so y’all asked for it and here it is. Go wild on feedback, thoughts, agreements, whatever.

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

Fic: Io non ci credo, alle giraffe (FINAL CHAPTER)

So, you can find this chapter on AO3 as well (together with the sappiest epilogue you could ever imagine) and I do hope it lives up to your expectations. It mostly did, to mine. I agonized over writing this fic, but I nearly cried now that it’s over.

This wasn't quite what he had in mind, when he had tried to picture the afterlife. The few times he did that, whilst attending the funerals of some old relative, Martino had conjured up a field of barley. An eternal sunset. A light breeze.

Loved ones, lost too early, ready to show him the ropes and teach him how to haunt his friends for the rest of their lives.

"Boohoo! Poor Marti wanted a welcoming committee in a lovely bucolic setting…" said a grating voice in a harsh and judgemental tone.

Where did it come from? Who was speaking? There was nothing around him. No one.

Only darkness.

"Instead of you've got me. This." The stranger continued. "Because we've got to be predictable, don't we? Unimaginative. But do you know what? Screw you, man. I can do better."

Then he heard a loud, snapping sound and had to shield his eyes from a bright blinding light.

"Are you still there?" Marti asked to his unknown companion.

They didn't sound like a particularly pleasant person, but… Anyone, even Marco - Emma's brutish brother - would do...

'Beggars can't be choosers' as his dad used to say.

"Unbelievable!! You're still quoting him. As if that man ever said anything worth repeating…"

Uhh, this guy sure had some serious beef with his father… and could read his thoughts, apparently? No wonder why the stranger was so grumpy, given that he had been bombarded by flashes of Marti kissing Nico for the last… day?

Week? It was hard to keep track of time when they only thing that existed was you, and your immense loneliness.

"No!! That's not my division, you've got somebody else covering that. I'm in charge of rage, disdain, frustration, resent and pettiness. Yeah, yeah. I do most of the work around here." The more Marti listened to him talking, the less sense he made.

Where were they? Who was he? Where was he hiding?

"I'm not hiding. I'm right behind you."

What? How was that possible? He must have been joking, because Marti would have noticed if… Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A hand that was too familiar in weight and texture. He turned, finally, to face himself.

He looked battered, exhausted, dishevelled. His eyes were red, and teary. His shoulders hunched, as though he had been carrying the weight of the word for quite some time. Wow. It was a lot to take in. Did he really-

"Let me stop you there. Yes, this is how you sound to other people and how they see you. They are used to it, by the way, so they don't find it as unpleasant as you do. Next? Are you alive? Yes? No? How should I know, when I am literally something you made up?"

So, basically, Martino could only hope that he wasn't stuck here, with the worst of himself, forever.

"The worst, huh? Wait until fear, jealousy and paranoia show up... Not to mention the good old self-preservation instinct, aka what you usually refer to as 'common sense', who's gonna bore y-"

"Okay, okay. I get it. No need to get so defensive." Damn, someone here was a bit too sensitive to criticism!

Okay, alright. Perhaps this guy wasn't the bottom of the barrel, maybe some people even found his fiery disposition and charming, but…. it couldn't be all that his friends - and Nico; his sweet gentle dorky Nico -  saw in Martino.

He had plenty of good, in him… so where was it?

"Ooh! That's the attitude you need to get out of here… Know your worth! Fight for it!" Anger goaded him on, suddenly mellowing out and becoming a lot more amiable.

"Lend an ear to your heart, be true to yourself…" Martino rebuked, not quite as sarcastic as he would have been a couple of days before.

"... and when you do, you'll hold the key to open all doors, yeah. Starting from that one" his grumpy companion said, pointing at the portal that just appeared out of nowhere.

"Don't. Save it. We are nowhere, therefore…" Marti shushed him, rolling his eyes and smiling. It was kind of endearing to realise how predictable he could be. Comforting.

"Stop stalling and go through that damn door. Someone's waiting for you."

Who? Could it be… ? Well there was only one way to find out.

As he stepped over the threshold, everything changed.

He could have sworn that the air was filled with the smell of his mother's freshly baked cinnamon rolls, which she hadn't been making for nearly a decade. The sun shine brightly in a cloudless blue sky, but it didn't burn skin. A pleasant warmth was spreading through him, while Marti relieved the bone crushing hugs, the forehead kisses, the most gentle touch upon his own lips and all those casual loving gestures he had taken for granted for far too long.

He knew where he was. The Emerald Fields, and idyllic place on the outskirts of Eterna. A city 'where all wishes come true', according to legends. His father - merchant for a living, myth-buster for 'the greater good, the improvement of society as a whole' - had proved them to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors… Quite ironic that a man so obsessed with honesty and transparency had the guts to… No. Forget it.

It was unacceptable: he wouldn't any unresolved issues he had with his dad spoil this memory.

Of the last time it truly felt invincible, invaluable. Unique, in all his untapped potential. Carefree.

He didn't mind being alone, here… not that he was. Obviously, he wasn't. Deer and and fawns had materialise beside him, stubbornly nudging Martino towards the lake.

Playfully splashing water with his feet, with a flower crown in his auburn hair, sat the person who had been waiting for him. Not Niccolò, unfortunately. Or Gio.

"I suppose you'll have to settle for me." He said, silently asking Marti to sit next to him with an eloquent look. Welcoming, rather than threatening.

There was an aura of 'now tell me all about your troubles, my friend… share the weight with me and maybe they won't seem half as bad..' surrounding him, which normally Martino would've labelled as patronising - unless it came from Giovanni. Normally.

FlowerBoy tapped the plank on his right, for emphasis, thanking Marti when you finally took a seat on the creek.

"I'm glad you two parted on good terms. He got us through some awful times, you know? You call him 'anger', but he is 'pride'. Which, in itself, is not so bad. Life has hardened him, made him constantly ready for a fight, but… what you see as a flaw, indeed, is one of your biggest strengths. Loyalty. Perseverance. Spite… I can't take the credit for those - especially the latter, which has repeatedly spurred you into action. It comes from loving yourself, sure, but with a slight disdain for others and their shitty opinions."

Woah. Martino hadn't being ready for the lecture on his own negative feelings from… His hippie self?

"You seem nicer, though." Clean-shaven, soft-spoken, well-rested and well-dressed.

A stark contrast from the guy he had met first.

"I generally am. Enough to make people stay, most of the time. Draw them in, however? Avoiding to wax lyrical on how the universe now revolves around them, and keeping a shred of dignity as if I wouldn't gladly have them on every available surface?" Huh? Were they still talking about his family and friends?

"Sorry, I got a bit carried away. The most recent developments with Ni… That's all very new to me. Never had I experienced something so intense. It's exciting and scary. Fascinating and confusing. Anyway, the point is: I'm cheesy. Sappy. Shamelessly so. He gives us an edge, turning mushiness into good-natured banter."

An interesting take, undoubtedly, but… kind of pointless? It did offer a new perspective on parts of himself he hadn't been overly fond of, still… In the grand scheme of things, what was the purpose of these talks? Where was the conflict, and the revelation that came with it?

"Not every tale needs to feature a dragon's slayer, or a fearless knight battling orcs. Lessons can be learnt without suffering."

All he needed to do was listen, basically? Could it be that easy? Wasn't it such a cop out?

"Easy, you say. And yet you haven't been able to achieve such an easy task in all these years. You refuse to. Shut up. You weren't talking? Well, you were thinking. Given them - dreaded common sense, fear and self-pity - too much attention."

Empty your mind. Find the sound that resonates within your soul. Amplify it. That's your spark.

Martino had never progressed past that stage, at the Academy, much to the Mentors' bafflement. He'd supposed they couldn't believe what they were seeing… that an individual with no magic at all co-

"SHUT UP!!"

Right. Right. No more thoughts. Hear the waves sloshing against the creek? The breeze blowing through the grass? The pitter-patter of deer hooves? Great. Cancel them out. Your breath is deafening, now, isn't it? It's all you can hear, and that's not particularly interesting…

"Don't give up, Marti please." Whose voice was it?  His mom's?

"Come on, man. Wake up." Gio's?

"Going from sleep deprived to lethargic? Really? Since when are you the 'go big or go home' kind of guy?" Eva's?

"Are you trying to impress someone, hun? You don't need to. One would think you hung the stars and moon from the way he looks at you…" Filo's?

"Marti, you can't go without seeing Luca's latest master-" Oh, how he had missed Elia's laughter. "masterpiece, yeah, that you've inspired."

"Don't fret. It doesn't matter how long it takes, but come back to me when it's over, okay? I'll be waiting. I'll always be waiting." Nico's. 

Wait. How could that be possible. Shouldn't he… No, no, no. Marti, no. Don't get lost, don't let logical reasoning lure you in. Take care of that later, okay? Okay.

Silence, please… There. You have it. The complete absence of s-

"LET ME OUT!!" A young boy yelled, thumping repeatedly from under the thick ice layer it was now covering the lake.

Was it some kind of ruse, a deceit it was supposed to ignore to reach a higher level of consciousness?

"HELP ME!!!" Thud. Thud. Thud. "PLEASE!!!" Thud. Thud. Thud.

Screw it. Too bad if he wasn't supposed to intervene: he was going to, regardless of the consequences.

Deprived of any tool that could help him with the rescue, it soon became clear that's the only way he could smash the ice was by jumping on it. And once he inevitably plunged into the freezing water, it would be just a matter of minutes before hypothermia kicked in and killed them both.

It didn't matter.

"HOLD ON!!!" Jump. Jump. Jump. "I'M GONNA GET YOU HOME. GONNA GET BOTH OF US HOME!!! "Jump. Jump. Jump. "ALIVE!!!"

Crack. He did it!

Seize the kid and get out. Survive.

"Thanks. I'm sorry I cursed you." The boy said, creating a bubble around them. "I… I didn't mean… It backfired… I…"

"... didn’t want to be alone anymore. You aren’t, you understand? I’m the one who’s sorry. You just wanted to be heard. Acknowledged. Remembered.” Martino couldn't recall the last time I took in the world around him with wonder, grateful to be alive and getting to see a rainbow. The first snow. The low tide. Shooting stars. The dancing curtains. Sunrises and sunsets. Niccolò.

"You really like him, don't you? Me too… He's cool… and he was the first one who saw me. Saw all of us, really… and still chose to stay."

Enough with the chit chat. The promises he'd only made, all that he had never allowed himself to be… No more words were needed to reconcile.

Much better to embrace them. Swim back to the surface. Rise.

********************************** Messy black curls. Full, red, pouty lips. Insanely long lashes. Lithe fingers, adorned with huge rings. More beautiful than Martino ever recalled. “You look like shit.” He mumbled, lazily stroking his hair.  “And you’re heavy. Doze off somewhere else, please.” “Marti?” Oi! He had no business breaking his heart with that note of desperation in his voice. Or with the tears in his eyes. He shouldn’t be allowed to cry. Not on his watch.

“Marti, Marti, Marti…”  He didn’t seem able to say or do anything else, for a while. Only kiss him, and repeat his name like a mantra. Eventually, he calmed down. “Look who’s talking, by the way.” Niccolò retorted, rolling his eyes. “I don’t accept criticism from ‘Mr. Death-Warmed-Over’, sorry.” “And from whom would you accept it, huh? Your husband?” Marti teased, hoping he wasn’t being too cheeky. “Mh. Maybe. I wouldn’t say yes to a proposal that came from a bedside, when he’s still hazy from a long sleep and doesn’t quite know what he’s saying.” Niccolò answered, kissing his knuckles reverently. “I do know…” Martino huffed, taking comfort in the fact that Nico hadn’t utterly turned him down. “... nonetheless, you deserve a better proposal. I get it. And you’ll have it. I’ll ride a giraffe, if that’s what is required for you to say yes, okay?” “Okay. I’ll be waiting for it, then.” He leaned down, resting his forehead against Martino’s. “Choose my wedding dress, in the meantime. Unless you’d want me to wear a suit.” “You could wear a gunny sack and I wouldn’t dream to complain, Ni.” “What if I showed up naked, then?” Niccolò moved to the side, brushing his lips against his ear and neck. “Well, it’s not a sight I’m really so willing to share with everyone out there, but I suppose that if that’s what makes you happy…” “Forget it, then. We should be both happy on that day. We’ll be.” And they were. Living fully - though not always happily  - ever after.

[shooter-nobunagun]

Quarantine UST 4

//Probably gonna have sexual content scattered throughout the chapters...warning, ero content this time includes some masturbation (though not super explicit)

The ocean breeze felt wonderful, Sio enjoying the cool, briny mist as the car zipped along the shoreline. At last they were taking some time to get out of the house, and although the beaches were closed, it was much better than spending yet another day cooped up inside.

“Aaah, this feels soo nice...it really is too bad we can’t go down to the beach itself.” Sighing, the sniper rested her head against the window, letting the wind blow through her hair. There were few other vehicles along the road, and though Mahesh jokingly suggested to Adam (who was driving) that he should test the limits of this car, they only sped up a few times on straight stretches when nobody else was around.

The car wasn’t exactly designed to be sporty, but Adam revved the engine a few times as he shifted the gears with amazing accuracy, Sio shrieking with delight as they blew down the straightaways. “Who would’ve thought you’d also be a speed freak,” Mahesh teased in good humor, the sniper blushing but she wouldn’t deny it was thrilling.

“W-Well, it’s not like I’d go around doing that, normally...besides, Tokyo’s no place to drive, not with all the public transit. Not that I can drive anyways...”

“Sounds like London, honestly. Though I suppose if you had a motorbike it’d be a tad easier to get around. Like Adam—you had one back in London, didn’t you?” Jess queried.

“And so what if I did? ‘S not like it’ll do us any good out here.”

“No, but maybe when the opportunity comes up you can take Sio-chan for a ride; I’m sure she’d enjoy it.” The sniper turned red as a tomato at that comment, and Adam made an odd noise in his throat.

“A-Anyway, we can worry about that later; is there a place where we can get out for a bit? Or are they all closed?” Sio desperately changed the subject, not wanting to get into yet another fit of ‘why do I feel so hot when talking about Adam’.

“According to local news, we may be able to get off and walk around the trail head, so long as we have masks and maintain distance,” Mahesh reported. As soon as they parked to a stop Sio opened the door and breathed in the fresh air. Adam’s driving was impeccable, especially for stick-shift, but she had to admit the winding hills of San Francisco were making her just a touch carsick. 

“Oy squirt, don’t forget your mask; can’t be careless,” Adam chided as he handed the sniper hers, “let’s not get complacent.” Sio blushed with embarrassment, but was grateful Adam didn’t make snide remarks anymore. In fact, ever since he granted her permission to call him by his real first name, he seemed to have mellowed out quite a bit. There were several instances where they’d even been able to have small talk, mostly during times like cleaning up or when she insisted on helping with cooking (so she could learn was her argument), but it no longer felt as forced or awkward.

‘Hopefully this quarantine will get him to open up a bit more...’cause Adam, he’s really not a bad guy once you get to know him...sure he’s a little rough around the edges, but who doesn’t have something they’re trying to improve?’

“What’re you thinking about, Sio?” The blonde suddenly appeared in her view, Sio jumping back a bit on instinct; luckily ever since that discussion, she’d been a lot better about giving the girl her space. After that outburst, Adam called for a squad meeting to lay down some ground rules, including very explicit warnings that harassment of any kind, malicious or otherwise, was not to be tolerated.

‘An’ I don’t give a shit if that’s what you’re used to, but I will not condone any such behavior moving forward, pandemic or not; do I make myself clear?’ 

The other three members nodded solemnly as their leader gave them all a stern look. Both Jess and Mahesh were unusually serious for once, perhaps even remorseful as Adam lectured them on their unsavory behaviors. The sniper couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty; but afterwards, when they were all going to bed and both came by personally to apologize, she knew she’d done the right thing.

“Ah, n-not much...just once again, kind of amazed at how Adam can do...well, pretty much anything,” the girl muttered. “Stick-shift, motorcycles...that’s so cool. Maybe I’m just too young to learn about all these things, right now...”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say that, dear. You were in your last year of secondary, correct?” Sio nodded. “He’s not that much older, you know. Adam, I mean. If I recall, they picked him up right after he got into university, a year or two before we discovered you.”

Sio’s eyes widened in surprise. So Adam really wasn’t that much older than her, though he sure acted way more mature. “Really? I didn’t know that...I’d always assumed, he’d been with DOGOO forever...”

“Some people grow up faster, depending on their circumstances. That’s all there is to it,” Jess shrugged. “I’m actually one of the earlier members of DOGOO...well, the first among the Second Platoon, anyway.”

She turned around in shock. “Wait, you’re the first member of the Second Platoon?!”

“Sort of. It’s a bit...complicated,” the blonde suddenly looked hesitant. “...If you must know, there was actually a ‘first iteration’, so to speak. Before any of us came along...well, technically that’s not true; I was with DOGOO pretty early on, but not as part of the Second Platoon...”

The sniper stayed quiet as the blonde muttered to herself. So, there had been an earlier version of their platoon? ‘But then what happened? Where are they now? Are they still with DOGOO?’

“You know old man Capa, right?” Sio nodded. “He, along with e-gene holders William Tell and Christopher Columbus...comprised of the original Second Platoon. But then...”

“Then...?” She definitely had not forgotten (nor forgiven) Capa’s trespasses, but she’d only ever heard of William Tell in passing, and Sio didn’t even know Columbus existed. “But Capa’s retired now, isn’t he? Did those two also retire?”

For some reason Jess grew somber at her question. “...William Tell is now part of the Special Squad, same as Hunter and Galileo. And Columbus...he—”

“Oy, what’s the hold up you two? Don’t fall behind!” From far ahead, their leader’s voice barked at the two girls.

“Nevermind. I’ll tell you that story some other time. Let’s go before he loses his temper, again.” Jess rolled her eyes as the two picked up the pace. Sio was dying to know just what happened, but given Jess’ reaction, it was probably better she didn’t pry anymore.

“Doesn’t he ever stop yelling at people?” Sio grumbled as they finally caught up with the guys. “Seriously, and here I thought we were making some progress on being civil with each other...”

“Adam’s not the type to have a heart-to-heart, but I must say, you must be doing him some good. In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him quite so relaxed as when he’s around you.” Jess winked, causing the sniper to blush. “Seems to me you’ve got a secret touch around him...”

“J-Jess-san...! I-I don’t, I don’t think so...” Her cheeks were still pink though, even as they wandered around the trail, everyone else taking in the sights of the ocean.

“Hmm? Really...well, regardless he’s definitely loosened up a bit. Less scowling, and I think I actually saw him smile the other day! Or was that just a smirk,” Jess mused as the two girls walked along the path. 

‘It can’t be; I-I mean, it’s only because now we’re taking a break from all those battles and stuff that he can relax, so naturally it’s a lot easier to chat with him...isn’t it? Why would he be particularly nice to me?’ The sniper continued to be lost in her thoughts as the group hiked along the cliffs. She hadn’t been paying much attention, but now that she thought about it, Adam’s behavior towards Jess and Mahesh hadn’t changed that much (he was still griping about their lack of modesty), but she definitely noticed a change in his tone of voice and words around her.

No way...it can’t be true, are we becoming...friends?!

Even Asao-san brought it up last night, after the sniper spent a solid 30 minutes regaling about how Adam taught her three different ways to make eggs. ‘So, I see someone’s getting cozy with their leader, yeah? Good thing you guys aren’t regular military—’cause I’m pretty sure fraternizing with your squadmates would be a big no-no’ her friend had teased, which lead to another 20 minutes of sputtering and denial.

‘Yeah, well, didn’t the Commander say this would be a good opportunity to get to know each other and strengthen bonds? I’m just doing that,’ Sio thought to herself, though that didn’t exactly explain why her pulse increased and her body got hot whenever she stared at Adam or thought about him too much. ‘And yeah, I’ll admit he’s...pretty hot, and physically I find him attractive...b-but that’s completely normal! I’m a growing, girl, I have...needs...’

As if on cue her loins throbbed slightly, to Sio’s horror. Ever since she discovered masturbating, it had become something of a nightly activity for her; doubling as both a sleep aid and stress reliever. (And also, hey, it felt really fucking good.) Groaning, she forced herself to act normal and tag along with the rest of the group, though she was definitely going to need some ‘alone time’ as soon as they got back. ------ “Phew, that was a pleasant outing...see Adam, going out every once in a while isn’t going to kill us,” Jess commented as they finally made it back to the house, after stopping by for some takeout from a seaside shack. According to the Brits, the fish and chips were almost as good as any chippy establishment in London. Almost. Naturally Sio, not being familiar with British food, found it to be extremely tasty, and even Adam begrudgingly admitted that Americans could do a few things right, on occasion.

“Why’s it in pieces though, it’s better when the fish is whole...”

“Next time we should try curry; I’ve heard this area’s got a ton of Indian restaurants,” Mahesh suggested. “I’d be curious to see if any of them can actually do ‘Indian spicy’...”

“I, Indian spicy?” The sniper shuddered a bit at that description. Japanese people weren’t exactly the best with spicy food, despite wasabi. “Not sure I wanna find out what that means...”

Mahesh winked at her. “Well, you’ll just have to find out for yourself, Sio. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” The sniper doubted that, but Indian curry did sound good. Hopefully there would be milder options as well.

“What should we do about dinner? Do we want to do delivery again, or is our esteemed leader going to grace us with his home cooking?” The Indian managed to once again dodge a fork from the silver-haired man. “Hey now, I’m being serious! You’re becoming quite the cook, Adam. It’s a wonder we went all this time without sampling any of your dishes.

Adam grumbled, but Sio noticed his ears were turning slightly pink. Was he...bashful? It was bizarre to see their acerbic leader act so shy, but it was nice for a change, she decided. And kind of cute.

“Do you know how to cook, Mirza-san?”

The Indian turned to their sniper with a start. “Me? Cook? Oh, well I can...but I have to admit, ever since I joined DOGOO I haven’t had much time. Or a reason. It’s a lot simpler when someone else prepares things for you...”

“Like your servants?” Adam snorted, hinting at the Indian’s wealthy background. “You just snap your fingers and someone comes running, eh?”

“I’m not that dependent,” Mahesh’s gaze narrowed, slightly offended. “Just because I grew up with hired help doesn’t mean I can’t do things for myself. I just prefer doing things in the most efficient manner. In any case, if you are interested in trying my cooking, Sio-chan, I’d be happy to make something.”

“O-Oh, well, I don’t want you to go out of your way or anything—”

“Nonsense; after all, it seems like we’re all using this time to try new things, no? Plus it might be nice to give it a go...maybe we can even have some kind of group cooking night.”

The rest of the platoon murmured in agreement, though Sio was a bit nervous. She’d barely just managed to cook eggs decently, there was no way she could whip up something as fancy as Adam or probably even Mahesh could.

“Well, you can count me out, unless you want food poisoning,” Jess commented dryly. “I’m not going to deny it, but cooking is definitely not one of my stronger skills...”

“You can be my sous-chef,” Mahesh gave a cheeky grin, which was met with a napkin to the face. “Oof, I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just leave the actual cooking part to me. So, it seems we’ve decided then? We’re cooking?”

Sio nodded, starting to warm up to the idea. It might even be fun, if everybody pitched in. “I-I mean, I can only make eggs, but...I’d be happy to help.”

“You can never go wrong with eggs. Don’t worry Sio-chan; now, to make sure I don’t decimate your taste buds with vindaloo...I guess I’ll make tikka masala as well. What’re you thinking of cooking, Adam?”

Their leader gave a noncommittal grunt. “Eh, don’t expect anythin’ fancy. Probably Shepard's pie tonight, glazed carrots.”

Even though they’d just eaten lunch, Sio’s mouth was watering just at the descriptions of those dishes. Dinner was bound to be good tonight; she couldn’t wait to try and sample some more Indian and British cuisine, and vowed to do her best to make enough fried eggs and toast for everybody. 

“By the way, do you think we can do something before dinner? I kinda wanted to try some of those board games we found...”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea Sio! I think we’ve earned a bit of entertainment. One can only watch so much Netflix...” The group had played a few card games already, but board games were the next level. Sio wasn’t familiar with any of them beyond Monopoly, but the other members assured her there were much better prospects. 

“Mirza, Beckham, how about you two clean up for a change; Ogura and I aren’t your servants,” Adam gave the two a knowing look. “Speaking of which Ogura, you wanted me to spot you today at training, right?”

“O-Oh! R, Right, I almost forgot...thanks.” The petite girl quickly changed into her workout clothes and the two trooped into the exercise room, Mahesh and Jess staring and waiting until the two of them disappeared from view.

“...Oh yeah, there’s definitely something going on between the two. I’ll bet you a quid before the end of this quarantine they’ll be shagging.”

Mahesh laughed. “That’s a pretty bold assumption; I don’t doubt they’ll get together eventually, but in only a few weeks? That’s pretty quick...for both of them.” It was pretty obvious that Sio never had a boyfriend or even much friends before all this, and despite how secretive Adam was with his private life, Mahesh was pretty sure if their leader ever had a lover, he’d have caught wind of it by now. “I have a pretty good hunch this would be a first time for both of them...and given that neither of them are great with their feelings...”

“You don’t trust my feminine instincts?”

“I never said that. In any case, you’re on.” ------- “Ugh...twenty-seven...twenty-eight...twenty...nine...thir...thirty!” Heaving a sigh of relief, Sio let the weights clash onto the stand, her arms feeling like limp noodles after that rep. Her limit had increased by 5 lbs since the beginning, and she could now do 30 reps without stopping, but that was nothing compared to Adam; last time he did 50 reps with almost twice the weight, and barely broke a sweat. “Whew, my arms are gonna be sore tomorrow...”

“Not bad, Ogura. You’ve improved; I can tell your form is much better than when you first started,” Adam nodded in satisfaction as they switched spots. “This should help with your accuracy, so you can better control your shots—instead of firing all over the place.”

“H-Hey! I’m not that bad anymore...not that I’m hoping for an attack to prove my point,” Sio muttered, helping Adam lift the bar up as she spotted for him.

“No, you aren’t...but you’ve got a ways to go, squirt,” he grunted as he started his set. “If we let our guard down for even a second...I don’t wanna think about that.”

“...Do you think this war is going to be that bad?”

Adam eyed her with a stare as he lifted the weight. “...Honestly, I don’t know. It’s not something I like to think about...but I’d rather prepare for the worst case scenario, in case this does end up being some long-term fight.”

Sio nodded. “Yeah, you’re right...heh, it’s strange; out of everyone, I probably have the best e-gene suited for warfare and strategy...and yet, when I really think about it, like, it hits me—holy crap, we’re actually fighting against freaking aliens from outer space, who really are out to just destroy us all. How the heck am I supposed to figure that out...” The sniper grew melancholy as she recalled that conversation with Asao in the hospital, right after Taiwan. “...Even now, I still can’t believe...this is happening. That, this is the state of our lives, now...”

“...Do you regret joinin’ DOGOO?”

“Huh? W-Well, no...I,” the sniper paused, looking away slightly. “I...even though I was scared, I also knew in my heart it was something I wanted to do. No, it was something I needed to do,” she emphasized. “If I just went back and pretended nothing changed...I’d never forgive myself.”

“Heh...a sense of...duty, ‘ey?” Adam let out a breath as he finished the rep, Sio helping him return the bar to its resting place. “I think that’s what drew most of us here, in the first place. No matter what folks say about other motivations or whatnot...in the end, if you don’t have that kind of inner conviction, you wouldn’t have lasted this long in the first place.”

“Mn.” Though he wasn’t directly complimenting her, for some reason, hearing his words made her feel warm. “You definitely have that, Adam-san.”

“Oh, uh...sure.” If the sniper was looking his way, she would’ve seen a slight blush on his cheeks; but as it was she was busy wiping down the equipment and looking at the pull-up bar with dread. “Anyway, let’s see if you can get more than 5 today.”

“Aww, seriously? I just did a bunch of weights too...” She whined, but one stern look from Adam and she sighed, and got into position. “S, Seriously...h-how do, people, do...this...! O-One...!”

“Less talking, more breathing. Don’t waste your breath; remember your breathing patterns,” Adam coached, as Sio strained to lift her chin over the bar. “C’mon, yeh that’s it, three more to go.”

After the fifth one Sio gasped as her hand slipped, her grip too weak to hold on. “Whoa—!” 

“Careful—!” Adam caught her just in the nick of time, Sio squinting her eyes open. “You alright, squirt?”

“Un...y-yeah, sorry about that...guess I’m pretty tired out.” She laid there for a bit, palms stinging from exertion. Adam nodded, but interestingly he didn’t set her down, instead letting her rest in his arms for a bit.

There was something soothing about it, being held by someone; granted this wasn’t the first time he’d held her, but that had been during a mission, with plenty of stakes and yelling. This time though, Sio became acutely aware of everything else; including how strong his arms were, and the sound of his breath, the heat from his skin, his heartbeat... Suddenly those odd tingles came back again, Sio now squirming with the uncomfortable realization that she was feeling ‘this’ again.

‘Seriously body, you do this to me now?! Screw you, hormones...’

“A-Ah, I’m feeling better now...thanks,” she stood on wobbly legs as Adam set her down. “Well, at least I did five...”

“Yeh. Anyway, if you’re tired, you can go up and take a shower first. I’m just gonna finish up here,” Adam launched himself up onto the bars.

“O-Oh, it’s okay, I can wait. I mean, it’d be rude of me to not finish spotting for you, since I asked you first...”

There’s not much to spot for pull-ups, Adam thought, but he didn’t say anything. If the squirt wanted to hang around, it was her choice. Though, he felt a bit self-conscious with her just staring at him; for some reason he felt like he had to impress her, even though he was dead tired himself and suddenly 15 seemed almost impossible.

But his pride would never let him live it down, and so 15 pull-ups it was.

As Adam forced himself through the punishment of 15 reps, Sio sat on the bench and watched him. His form was nearly perfect, barely even a tremble as he lifted and lowered himself at an even rate. ‘Damn, I wonder how long it’ll take before my muscles are that strong...speaking of muscles, holy crap his arms are so buff! No wonder he could carry me like that...also those abs...’ She tried not to stare so intensely, but it wasn’t her fault all holders had to wear what were essentially crop tops underneath their armor.

‘I wonder what they feel like...’ Her head flushed and Sio felt her heart rate speed up. ‘No no, stop thinking horny thoughts! Bad Sio!’ To her relief, Adam finished his set, and she could finally head back up to to the privacy of her own room.

“O, Otsukaresama desu; thanks for helping me out today, Adam-san.”

“You did well, Ogura. Who knows, maybe we will get called to action and you’ll get a chance to prove me wrong with your aim,” he teased, grinning slightly as he wiped off the sweat.

“What?! Oh just you wait, mister, I’ll show you!”

Adam chuckled to himself as the girl stomped off with a huff. She really was too cute not to tease. Admittedly he did feel a little bad for always bursting her bubble right at the peak, but he couldn’t help it. Her reactions and those pouty lips were just too good.

‘An’ since when did you start caring so much about that squirt, ‘ey?’ He took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. ‘Or is it because that’s the only way you know how to defuse the situation before you get too close—’

No. Those were dangerous thoughts. While not strictly forbidden, common sense said fraternizing with one’s teammates was always a risky affair. Adam shook his head and got in the shower, making sure to turn the tap to cold. Not only was it hot, but a certain...other part of his body was stirring, especially after holding the girl. The feeling of her warm, heavy weight in his arms, the soft skin and even a certain scent; not sweat, but a distinctly human odor...

Adam groaned softly as he took hold of his member. It was already hot and stiff, despite the cold shower. ‘Shit, so much for that...you really are a pervert, aren’t yeh?’ But he couldn’t help it; it’d been weeks since he’d been able to let off any steam, and staying in close quarters with everybody else 24/7 made it hard to ensure much privacy. 

Hoping nobody needed to use the toilet, he started stroking himself; water poured over his throbbing length as his hand squeezed and pulled, Adam biting back another moan as he slowly jerked himself off. The sniper had definitely been staring at him when they were working out. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice those wandering eyes, hanninmae...’ Initially, he’d been a bit surprised she’d be so bold; but then again when she’d walked in on him the very first time before their first mission, she hadn’t looked away, either.

‘Does this mean she’s...interested? Or am I just another body to her?’ His jaw ached from trying to keep his voice down, Adam trembling as he edged towards his climax. ‘No, it’s only...natural, when you spend so much time together, with the same people...it can’t be...’

But what if she is? A little voice rang in his head and Adam, already hazy with lust, decided to indulge that fantasy a bit. What if Sio Ogura really was interested in him, beyond just teammates or even friends? At this point, he didn’t doubt that they would be on friendly terms after this quarantine, but anything more?

Is this something she wants? Is this something I want?

To go from comrades to friends, to something more than that... Funnily enough, the thought of entering a relationship with her made him even harder than simply thinking about her lithe, slender body. ‘Impossible...am I...actually falling for her?!’

“W-Well, that’s why I’m learning now, aren’t I? So I can do it myself.”

“Th-thanks for helping me, again...heh, it seems like that’s all I’m doing these days...”

“You definitely have that, Adam-san. Conviction.”

“Guh—! Fuck...!” Hand pumping rapidly, Adam came hard as those large maroon eyes firmly embedded itself in his mind, along with that rare, shy smile she only showed around him. So cute. She was so cute whenever she tried so hard, determined to prove him wrong and do her best to improve...well, anything. A sudden rush of heat bloomed from his core, a low moan tearing from his throat as the last of his spunk shot out, chills running up and down his spine.

The effect one petite sniper could have on him...

“Shit...oh fuck...” Heaving, he rinsed off the mess from his hands and the shower walls, before finally turning off the water. The post-orgasm haze was settling in, causing everything to be slightly out-of-focus as Adam slowly towelled off. “Goddammit Adam, you’re really fucked now...”

Even as his mind argued with himself that it was just because he needed to relieve some stress, and she did have a pretty nice body, Adam knew in his heart that wasn’t the real reason. No, before his brain even realized it, his heart had already made the decision; perhaps even before all this virus business.

He was falling in love the Sio Ogura. And there was nothing he could do but take it and run with it.