#also twice i’ve drawn ghosts hand but not the man himself

[deep-doze]

you were clearly meant for more, than a life lost in the war

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part III

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of feelings, handcuffs, testosterone, quite a bit of sex, one surprise kiss (cause Erwin is a privileged dick), parents, domesticity A/N: I apparently did not write an author’s note for this originally, but uh, this is one of my favorite sections of the whole fic, so. 

Mike uses the rest of the break to relax, to get his head on straight so that when he gets back on campus he won’t be overbearing. He knows that’s the last thing you want from him.

 You text back and forth a few times a day, but most of it is dumb shit, and the conversation dies off pretty quickly—either Mike not knowing how to respond or you just growing bored. 

 He busies himself by spending time with his parents and playing with Scout who eats up all the attention. Family comes over for Christmas, and his mom and aunt get into an argument. It’s nothing new.

 He’s happy to get back to the school and back in classes just to stimulate his brain. More than that, he’s happy to see you again. Even if it means the two of you go back to friend-only status. 

 Things are awkward between him and Erwin, though. It isn’t the first time they’ve had a hiccup in their friendship, but this one has really rubbed Mike the wrong way. Erwin tries to apologize a few more times, but every time he does, all Mike can manage is an unconvincing, “It’s fine,” which the other man obviously doesn’t buy. 

 He tries not to be possessive when you start coming to the house again, but it’s fucking hard whenever he has to watch you and Erwin talk and joke around. Mike figured you’d be at least a little annoyed that he’d just walked in on the two of you like that, but you act like it never happened.

 Eventually, Mike has to ask about it, just can’t help himself. “Aren’t you, like, even a little mad that he did that? Don’t you think it was fucked up?”

 You’re sitting on Mike’s bed, a controller in your hand as you play Mario Kart, sound a little distracted when you respond, “I mean, yeah, it was fucked up, but I never really expected anything more from him.”

 “What do you mean?”

 You look at him from the corner of your eyes before staring at the screen again. “Erwin is a cocky motherfucker. I’ve seen the way he gets the girls on campus, probably thinks he can charm all of them which means he probably thinks he’s entitled to all of them. Us.”

 “Are you calling him a predator?”

 You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he’d ever, like, rape anyone. He at least has enough class and common sense not to do that. But I think… He doesn’t care who he goes after. Single girls, girls in relationships, happy girls, damaged girls. He just has a one track mind when it comes to sex. That’s what I’ve gathered anyway.”

 Laying back on his bed, Mike laces his fingers behind his head and thinks on what you’ve said. “That just sounds like a drawn out way of saying he’s a flirt.”

 “A massive flirt. Without any real care about whose feelings he hurts in the process.”

 “Sounds about right.”

 “I don’t appreciate it,” you sigh, “But he’s your best friend, so I’m willing to put up with some shit from him.”

 “Even him perving on you?”

 “Not the first time it’s happened to me, probably won’t be the last. He’s curious, I can tell.”

 Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he is.”

 You stay quiet for several seconds, toggling over to another track on the game, then ask, “That make you uncomfortable?”

 Blinking up at the ceiling, Mike wonders what the right answer to this is. He doesn’t want to scare you away, but he doubts he’ll be able to act as aloof as you do. 

 “A little.”

 You hum, nodding in a thoughtful manner before suggesting, “I think we can keep hooking up through this semester.”

 Mike sits up on his elbow, looks at you with high eyebrows. “Wait, really?” He sounds too excited, he knows.

 “Yeah. I have mostly easy classes, or really, I have interesting ones which makes studying for them easier. Plus, it might teach Erwin a lesson.”

 He falls back flat, scoffing. “I don’t want you to fuck me to prove a point to Erwin. I want you to fuck me because you want to.”

 The game music stops when you pause it, and then you’re straddling Mike, hands on his chest as you smirk at him. 

 “Don’t let this go to your head, Zacharias, but no one has ever fucked me the way you do.”

 Mike tries not to grin, triumph blooming inside of him, and he grips your hips a little too tightly. “Oh, that’s definitely going to my head.” 

 You grind your covered pussy over his denim-clad cock, and Mike feels all his blood flow south.

 Laughing, you lean down to ghost your lips over his and murmur, “Both heads, apparently.”

 That day, the two of you start a routine that leaves Mike falling harder and harder with every passing day.

 *

 “Come on, please just be my date,” Mike begs, thinks about getting to his knees if it’ll help convince you.

 “Why?” You ask, looking up from your textbook.

 You and Mike are sitting in the library—you studying, him bothering you. “I’m honestly so tired of parties at this point.

 “It’s not like the big parties we throw, though,” he tells you. “It’s just the brothers and their girlfriends.”

 “That makes it even worse,” you push one little laugh through your nose. “What makes you think I wanna spend an entire night with a bunch of frat boys and their matching sorority girls?”

 Mike rolls his eyes. “They’re not all sorority girls, just like, eighty-five percent of them.”

 Your head lolls, an expression that reads nothing but apathy aimed at Mike, and he gives you a hopeful smile and adds, “On the bright side, we get to stay together all night…?”

 “Oh god, it's a cuff party, isn't it?" 

 All he can do at this point is beg because the more he explains it, the more he realizes how not appealing this is to you. “Please.”

 Sitting back in your chair, you cross your arms over your chest and puff your cheeks out as you exhale heavily. “What’s in it for me?”

 Fuck yes. Half the battle is won. 

 “Uhh,” obviously sex is the first thing that comes to Mike’s mind, so the first offer he makes is, “I’ll go down on you ‘til you cry.”

 You snort. “Try again.”

 “Fuck you ‘til you pass out?”

 “Jesus—why do you want to hurt me? Try again. Third time’s a charm.”

 Mike brainstorms for a solid thirty seconds, thinks about what you’ve mentioned to him over the past couple of weeks, sex and school and—

 “I’ll help you study for your geochemistry exam.”

 You finally look interested. “I’d actually really appreciate that. You took the course?”

 “Yeah, environmental geochemistry was sort of my jam last year. Final grade was a ninety-seven.”

 “Holy shit.”

 Mike shoots you a satisfied smile, but before you can tell him to wipe it from his face, he asks, “So, you’re in?”

 “I guess.”

 This is how you both end up in the frat house handcuffed together. No one seems to be surprised at the fact that you’ve come with him, all the brothers used to you hanging around the frat house.

 Most couples are walking around holding hands just because it takes some of the pressure off of everyone's wrists, but Mike doesn't dare try it with you. Too cute. Too comfortable. 

 These types of get togethers are Mike's favorite, though, always more relaxed than the open parties. There’s still drinking and music, but the energy is different since it’s a tighter knit group. 

 It takes about an hour for Erwin and his date to approach the two of you, fingers laced together, drinks in their free hands. 

 “Looking good,” Erwin greets with a smile. "Very… trapped." 

 “Yeah, you too,” Mike says, trying to ignore the subtext of Erwin's comment.  

 Blue eyes flick to you, and you’re questioned, “How’d he end up talking you into this?”

 You don’t miss a beat as you reply cooly, “Bribed me with sex and study help.”

 “Ah, of course he did.”

 Mike’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches his pinky out to link with yours, a subtle claim. When you rest your head on his arm, he looks down at you and smirks. 

 “Anyway,” Erwin pushes on. “You remember Maddie, don’t you?”

 Mike lies, “Yeah. How are you?”

 The girl’s voice reminds him of who she is, “Well. How are you, Mike?” It’s a little high pitched and nasally with a northern accent. He especially remembers what she sounded like moaning for Erwin through the wall, obnoxious but Mike can’t really judge since he’s subjected the rest of the house to the same thing once or twice (or a dozen times) before.  

 “Glad to hear it.”

 The group stands together for a few more awkward seconds before Erwin clears his throat and asks his date, “Another drink?” then makes his exit. 

 “You have got to get over this grudge, dude,” you take your head from his shoulder, and Mike immediately misses the warmth. “Like, it’s cute that you’re trying to defend my honor or whatever, but it’s time to move on. You guys are friends. Just talk it out.”

 He sucks his teeth, almost tells you about the way he and Erwin had nearly thrown punches at the ranch house, the way the blond had basically admitted to wanting to try you out, but Mike decides against it, doesn’t want to talk too much shit only to end up making up with him.

 “Guys don’t really talk it out. We usually fight it out.”

 “That’s fucking primitive. You should learn to communicate like mature humans.”

 “Probably,” Mike hums. “But not right now.”

 Being connected to each other means every activity is a partner activity. The most interesting is playing beer pong against Nile and his on-again off-again girlfriend, Marie, house rule for the night being whoever is throwing has to use their cuffed hand. It’s like a twisted three-legged race and requires an amount of teamwork and coordination Mike has never had to deal with before. 

 It’s also the first time he manages to beat Nile. Mike had no doubt that the other man would have crushed you by himself, but it turns out the actual couple does not work together very well. All their shots are clumsy, and Nile gets frustrated right off the bat which only makes things worse. Meanwhile, you and Mike come up with a strategy after the first terrible throw and use it for the rest of the game. 

 You’re both challenged by a few other teams and end up winning every time which has Mike feeling smug about the victories and giddy at how in-tune the two of you are. Gelgar even tells you both, “You guys are good together,” which makes Mike cough as you wave him off.

 You drink a little more, converse a little more, and then—as always—end up in Mike’s bedroom. 

 “You want me to get the key and take these off?” He asks between kisses.

 You smile into him, let out a little laugh and play, “You don’t think it’d be kinda fun to fuck with ‘em on?”

 “It’ll be harder,” Mike snorts. “But, we can. Won’t be able to take shirts off, though.”

 “Good thing we just need to take our pants off.”

 It’s clumsy and silly, and you both tug in opposite directions more than a few times. Mike laces his fingers with yours when he goes down on you, relishing in the way you arch off his bed and squeeze his hand. On the floor, you give him head in the same fashion, and fuck, Mike can hardly focus on you sucking him off while your fingers are woven together, even if it is just for the sake of convenience. 

 He fucks you from behind that night, your face buried in his pillow as he’s buried in you. Both of your arms are stretched behind your back, held at the wrists by Mike’s much, much larger hand. He uses his free one to grip your hip, pushing and pulling you on his cock to his heart’s desire. 

 You’re so pretty, damp with sweat and moaning his name when your head is turned only to shove it back into his pillow when he makes you scream. Your dripping cunt opens up for him perfectly, making Mike feel more inebriated than alcohol ever could, but as his balls tighten and that warmth spreads in his gut, he has a single moment of clarity, assess the position he has you in and pants, “Shit, I can’t pull out.” Not without ripping your god damn arm out of socket or fracturing his dick. 

 “Mmm—fuck, just come inside, come inside me, Mike.”

 That alone makes him lose it, shooting a fucking copious amount of cum into your pussy, so much that it drips from your hole and runs down your thighs. 

 “Fucking C-Christ,” he laughs a little hysterically, gathering thick white and slipping it back inside you. Transfixed by the way his added finger pushes more of his cum out of you, he asks in a daze, “You on birth control?”

 “Yeah,” you answer in a breathy voice.

 Mike hums. “Good. Just gonna sit here for a while then.”

 You let out a whimper that turns to a whine when he rubs his slick finger over your clit. Twitching around him, you tease, “F-finger painting again?”

 He chuckles, “You know it.” 

 Honestly, if he could cover you in cum, he would—admire your body painted in white strings, watch it drip down your ribs and thighs. If Mike hadn’t just gotten off, he would be hard again at the mere thought, but for now his focus is rubbing your little clit. Still face down, you spread your legs more and more, and Mike has to curl over you, breathing heavily on your neck as you wriggle and buck, overstimulating him as he keeps his cock nestled inside of you.

 He groans just as loud as you do as you start pulsing around him, pussy clenching in a way that actually pulls a few more drops of cum from Mike, then you both pant for a little while until Mike straightens up and pulls you with him, your back to his chest as you hang your head. 

 “You good?” He questions, brushing his lips over your neck as lightly as possible.

 “Yeah,” you tell him. “Just… Full.”

 Mike’s body heats all over again as he rests his forehead on your uppermost vertebrae. “Can’t just say stuff like that,” he warns, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

 “Hmm.” He can see the little smile on your face without even looking up. “You did offer to fuck me until I pass out.”

 “I have a refractory period, you know.”

 You glance over your shoulder, and now Mike gets a good look at your smirk and twinkling eyes. “I can wait.”

 Both of you emerge from the room in the early hours of the morning, still stuck together as you quietly make your way downstairs to find the key to the handcuffs. You’re wearing a pair of Mike’s gym shorts, the mesh falling far past your knees and barely staying up around your waist. He knows you’re still messy and can tell by the way you’re walking that you’re sore, but he has every intention of cleaning you up and taking care of all your aches and pains in the shower. 

 *

It’s party after god damn party with classes and studying and fucking in between. You have never had this much sex in your life, but you’re not complaining. It takes the edge off, and Mike isn’t the worst company. Far from it, actually. The more you get to know him, the more he falls into what you think is his real personality. 

 The brash frat boy is a front, you come to find out, a mask to fit in with everyone else, one he wears very well. 

 But, when it’s just the two of you in his room playing video games or watching TV, he actually relaxes, gets quieter and much more reflective. The pastels and khakis and Hawaiian shirts stay hung up in his closet, both of you lounging in t-shirts and joggers more often than not.

 He more or less tutors you in geochemistry, and between that and all the nerd shit in his room, you realize… Mike is kind of extremely smart. And, it’s kind of extremely hot.

 “I still don’t understand why you hide it,” you tell him one afternoon as you watch him play Ocarina of Time. 

 He shrugs, green eyes wide and focused on the screen, gives you the same answer he did last semester when you’d asked a similar question: “People are more interested in other things.”

 “So you adopted the obnoxious frat boy persona?”

 “I guess. It makes the college experience a lot easier.”

 You cock your head to the side, genuinely curious when you ask, “Doesn’t it wear you out? Seems like you’re just an introvert in hiding.”

 Mike laughs, pauses the game, and looks at you. “It used to. Some days it still does. But, it’s easier than taking shit from the guys.”

 Squinting at him, you mumble, “I will beat up anyone who gives you shit about being a nerd.”

 It makes him laugh. Loudly. And, you see a certain curiosity glimmering in his eyes, unasked questions—probably something along the lines of when you started caring and getting protective over him. 

 You’re not. Not exactly. You just don’t like the idea of anyone giving him a hard time. 

 “No offense, babe, but I don’t know how much damage you could inflict on anyone. You’re, like, two feet tall.”

 You straighten up, chest puffing up as you pull your fists up to your chin and rock back and forth like a Street Fighter character. “You wanna fuckin’ go, Zacharias? I’ll show you how much damage I can inflict.”

 He grins in that boyish way that always makes you look away. It’s too cute and too charming and makes you feel too many things. 

 Mike hangs his long legs over the side of the bed and pulls you on top of him with no problem whatsoever. You’re eye level with him now, heart beating too fast as you hold his shoulders, eyes flicking to his lips. 

 “We can go if you want. We can do whatever you want.”

 He has feelings for you. You know he does, can see it in his eyes, can feel it in the way he fucks you, and you really should cut things off, but… You don’t want to. He’s the most tolerable person you’ve met on campus, much less annoying than Hitch. You have things in common and joke around until you’re both rolling in laughter. And, of course, the sex is incredible. 

 It’s just casual, you keep telling yourself. Mike is smart enough not to push things. He knows better, knows you’ll just turn him down, and though it’s hard to admit, that wouldn’t just hurt him; it’d hurt you too.

 In his lap now, you don’t encourage him to take things further, mostly because you’re still sore from the night before, and he understands that. Instead, you lock your arms around his neck and change the subject to something that’s still bothering you even after several weeks.

 “Have you and Erwin made up yet?”

 Mike makes a face, answers, “Not exactly.”

 “The hell does that mean?”

 “It means we’re talking a little more, but it’s always short conversations and the problem still hasn’t been addressed.”

 You let out a little, “Ugh,” then state, “You guys are impossible.”

 It really doesn’t make sense that he’s so upset about it, especially since you’ve gotten over it. It was a shitty thing for Erwin to do—walking in like that—but you don’t think it’s anything to end a friendship over.

 And, with that thought in mind, you spend the rest of the afternoon devising a plan. It’s not in your nature to meddle, but it seems, in this case, you’re gonna have to.

 *

 Mike is in his fancy ecology class when you walk into the Pike house, nodding at everyone in the den as you step further inside. You learned a few months ago that it’s much safer to keep your shoes on, less jarring to step on a sticky floor the first years didn’t do a good job cleaning. 

 Nile is reclining sideways on the couch with Marie between his legs, an action movie playing on the ridiculously big TV mounted on the wall. 

 “Is Erwin here?” You ask.

 Nile looks at you with a frown, one that’s completely warranted since you’ve literally never asked this before. 

 “Uh, yeah.” He points up at the ceiling. “In his room.”

 “Cool, thanks.”

 “You know which one it is?”

 Squeezing one eye shut, you’re honest when you tell him, “I think so.”

 The way Marie is quick to pipe up, “Second furthest to the left, right next to the bathroom,” is very amusing, especially when Nile clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.

 You make your way upstairs, following Marie’s directions, then take a deep breath before knocking on Erwin’s door, clueless as to what his lock code might be.

 It takes a few seconds, but the door opens, revealing a very tired-looking Erwin. His eyes widen a bit when he sees you, craning his neck back like he’s shocked that you’re standing outside of his room. That’s fair.

 “Uh, hey?”

 “Hey,” you greet shortly. “Can we talk for a sec?”

 Erwin blinks a few times then steps to the side, murmuring, “Yeah, of course.”

 His space is very different from Mike’s, more organized, framed pictures, bed completely made. Even his desk is clean, papers and books all stacked neatly on one side of his open laptop.

 “Studying?” You question.

 “Yeah. Would you like to sit down?” His voice is deep—not as deep as Mike’s—and always so proper, like he spent his childhood in country clubs (he did). 

 “Not really,” you answer without any hesitation.

 Unsurprisingly, Erwin leans against his desk instead of taking a seat himself, arms on either side, fingers hanging off the edge of the polished wood. It makes the muscles in his forearms become more prominent, veins popping against his skin. You have to give it to him, it’s a good move. 

 “So, what’s going on?”

 Running your tongue over your teeth, you recall what you planned to say—cut to the chase, stay firm, don’t get caught up in any of his tricks. 

 “You need to make up with Mike.”

 Erwin immediately snorts. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”

 “Half-assed apologies aren’t gonna work, dude. Actually sit down with him and hash things out.”

 “Yeeeah,” he drawls. “That didn’t work very well the first time.”

 “Maybe try again? You guys are, like, best friends.”

 “Levi is my best friend,” Erwin corrects, “And, I’m pretty sure that you’re Mike’s at this point.”

 “Don’t say that.”

 “It’s true,” he smirks.

 You wave him off, getting back to your original point. “At the very least, you guys should make up just because you have to live in the same house.”

 Erwin crosses his arms over his chest, blue eyes deviating upward as if he’s thinking hard. You doubt he is.

 “So, you’re not mad about what happened?” He asks after a few seconds. 

 You're blunt when you respond, “It was a shitty thing to do. Wouldn’t advise trying it with anyone else, but honestly, I’m not super surprised you’d pull something like that.”

 His facial expression turns to one of true offense, blond eyebrows furrowing enough for a little wrinkle to form between them. “Excuse me?”

 You take a step toward him, almost jab a finger in his chest but resist. “No no no. You don’t get to be pissed. You’re the one who fucked up here. I’m just telling you the truth.”

 Eyes narrowing, he pushes himself off the desk, standing to his full height to loom over you. It’s obviously an intimidation tactic, one he’s probably used before on many people, and it makes your blood boil. 

 In a futile attempt to make yourself look bigger, you straighten your spine and tilt your head to look up at him, lips pursed, eyes narrow. You remember what Mike said about you being too small to hurt anyone, but you can be scrappy. You’re not above slapping a face or kneeing someone in the balls. 

 Erwin peers down at you, jaw setting for a moment as he really studies you, then breaks into an infuriating smile. 

 “You’re cute, you know that?” He moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you swat his hand away. 

 “Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

 This close to him, seeing the way he acts behind closed doors, you wonder how Mike ever even got close with him. They’re so incredibly different. For the last semester and a half, you've only known Erwin as Mike's somewhat obnoxious, spoiled friend. Now, it seems he's showing his true colors.

 “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’m feeling pretty great right now.”

 Oh, you wanna hit him. You wanna hit him so badly, but honestly, Erwin kind of seems like the type to call the fucking police if you did. 

 “You don’t have any reason whatsoever to be feeling good.”

 He’s still grinning, eyes bright and wide as his pupils dilate. 

 Are you calling him a predator?

 He sure looks like one now, a lion with his sights set on an antelope, and as you stare at him, it dawns on you that this was a bad idea. 

 “You know what? Nevermind,” you shake your head. “You don’t deserve to be Mike’s friend anyway.”

 The laugh that pours from his lips is not at all humorous. His voice drops when he challenges, “You think so?”

 You need to leave, need to get out of here before this argument goes any further, but as you make a move toward the closed door, he slides in front of you. You shouldn’t have walked so far into his room.

 “Erwin,” you grit through your teeth. “Don’t do this.”

 “Just tell me—because I need to know—” he breathes, still staring down at you with that unnerving gaze. “What does Mike have that you like so much?”

 Both your hands flex by your sides. There are so many ways to answer this question, all of which will evoke a different response. 

 But being who you are, you speak before you think, spitting the first thing that comes to mind: "You want me to make you a list, Smith? 'Cause I sure fucking can."

 He makes a little circle with his hand, a 'go on' motion, and prompts, "Please, enlighten me."

 And, so you do. 

 "Warmth, sincerity, class, depth, understanding—"

 "So, it isn't just about the sex," he cuts you off, sounding more sure than curious. 

 You pinch the bridge of your nose, tired of these god damn frat boys and their obsession with getting their dicks wet.  

 "I mean, it started out that way—not that it's any of your business."

 "I can give you more, you know. Satisfy you better—"

 "Please shut the fuck up," you beg, getting madder by the second. The confidence, the entitlement, is making you sick. 

 "You don't believe me?" He steps toward you again, and you back up. 

 "No, I don't." Because how could he? Whether it's stimulating conversation or sex, there's no way Erwin could compare. 

 And now you realize just how much you appreciate Mike. 

 Erwin is closing the distance between you, moving slowly but purposefully. "This is how it started with you and him, right? You made him chase you?" 

 "Get out of my way," you demand, trying to shoulder past him—

 And, you should have seen it coming, should have been prepared for the way he grabs you, strong hand closing around your upper arm to pull you to his body. Thick fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back, face tilted up, and all you can really do is shove at his chest with your free hand, growling in your throat as Erwin crushes his lips against yours. 

 Adrenaline courses through your body. You try to shake the hand on your head, try to jerk your arm from his grip, but he's too fucking strong, and it terrifies you. 

 Your voice is muffled as you plead, "Er—mmf—shtp—"

 You lift your hand higher and manage to hit him just beside his eye with the side of your palm, and it makes him break the "kiss" (you refuse to actually call it that).

 He breathes a heavy, "Just let me—"

 "No." You push his chest again, and he lets go of your arm. Quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you tell him, "You're a shitty friend and a little fucked in the head, but you're not low enough to force yourself on someone," you pant, shaking with nerves and rage, "So don't."

 Hopefully, you're not giving him too much credit. Despite the overflowing fury and fear, you still think there's a little hope for him. Not with you, of course, just in general.

 He stares at you, expression changing from confusion to understanding to regret, and before you know it, he's scrubbing his hands down his face and muttering, "Fuck, I'm sorry. You're right I—I got carried away. I've been jealous of Mike and curious and—"

 "Why?" You blurt because you do not get it. "Both of you are, like, top athletes and in a fraternity, could get literally anyone you wanted, so what is it? Is it because I'm a nobody? Because you're bored of the sorority girls? Am I the one chick on your list you haven't screwed?" 

 "I… I don't know. You just—"

 "Is it because Mike has a toy he doesn't wanna share?"

 "Maybe." Erwin is frowning again, like he's stumped. He doesn't even know what he's feeling. It's honestly a little pathetic. 

 "Well, pick someone else. I know you have Maddie wrapped around your finger, so take advantage of that or whatever. Just leave me out of it."

 Ocean eyes are wide and troubled. He really does look remorseful, but that doesn't change what he just fucking did. God, you're disgusted. And a little hurt. 

 "Don't ever try that shit on me again—or anyone else—'cause I swear to God, I will break your fucking nose."

 "Yeah, okay," he nods.

 You go to walk past him again, voice loud and unforgiving when you tell him, "Move," and then you're out of his room, slamming the door, and getting as far from Pike house as possible.

 That did not go the way you had planned it to, but you should have been ready for the worst case scenario. That's on you, you guess. 

 Because Erwin Smith may not be a predator by definition, but he's certainly something—something you want to stay away from. 

*

"Why are you acting weird?" Mike's voice pulls you from your empty head, and you take your eyes off the loose string of your hoodie—his hoodie—and look up at him. 

 "What are you talking about? 'm not acting weird."

 He moves from his place at the edge of his bed and crawls to prop himself up next to you on his pillows. 

 "Uh, yeah you are. Have been for the past week or so."

 He isn't wrong. You've kept to yourself a little more since your "conversation" with Erwin. It had just been so uncomfortable and jarring, and you don't want to tell Mike because you know he'll just get pissed all over again which would be very annoying since he and Erwin finally made up. Just like you wanted them to. 

 Except now you know Erwin a little better, and you're not sure you want him having any more influence over Mike. 

 Rubbing your face, you shrug and easily lie, "I've just been tired."

 And, of course, Mike is too smart for that. 

 "Tired? That's the go-to answer for anyone who actually feels shitty."

 "I mean, yeah, but I'm actually tired in this case." It isn't a complete lie considering how fucking late he kept you up last night. 

 Mike hums. "Wanna take a nap before the party?" 

 The acid in your stomach churns. The party. The one you do not have any desire to go to. The one that will push you over the ledge of annoyance and into the realm of genuine discomfort. You don't want to go. You don't want to hang out. You don't want to see Erwin. 

 Sliding your legs under the covers, you lay down in Mike's bed, turning on your side so that your back is facing him. You've told him on numerous occasions that you don't have any interest in certain events, but he always talks you into going to them anyway. So, what'll be different this time? You're just gonna end up downstairs huddled in a corner refusing to drink as your eyes scan over everyone, ready to make a quick exit if you have to. 

 Mike settles in closer behind you, the heat of his chest pouring across your back, and you can feel the pillow dip when he rests his head on it. He waits for a while before letting his arm fall over your waist. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut, makes something crawl into your throat, trying to scratch its way out. 

 "I really don't wanna go tonight," you murmur.

 You expect some form of protest, a convincing argument in the form of a well thought out fucking speech while he kisses down the back of your neck, but instead, a low rumble of, "Okay," spills from his mouth, and you hate how it makes you feel—how grateful you are for him. 

 He's getting to know you. Has gotten to know you after spending so much time together. He can read your ups and downs now, can tell when you're joking or serious, take the hint when you want him with a single look (that one might be the most irritating), but it just goes to show how perceptive he is, how much of himself he's been hiding while in college. 

 The shallow jock you thought you knew is no comparison for this. 

 "Spring break's coming up," he speaks into your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering to himself, "Citrus kills me," like you can't hear him. 

 You pretend not to because it's soft and personal and would probably make him adorably self-conscious, and you can't deal with Mike blushing. 

  "Yeah, it is. Couple more weeks." 

 "What're your plans?" 

 You shrug against him, trying not to get too wrapped up in the way his body feels over yours, longer legs tangling between yours, his draped hand nearly covering your entire stomach, his stubble scratching your neck and cheek. 

 When did you get this close? When did you decide it was okay to be this intimate? This is what couples do. This is comfort. 

 And, you didn't think you needed it, but fuck—

 "Nothing, really. Go see Mom, I guess."

 "Come stay with me," he says quickly. "Just for a few days."

 You wriggle to turn on your back and frown up at him as a myriad of questions fill your mind. 

 Mike takes a deep breath, somehow reading every one of them. 

 "I know that sounds like a 'come meet my parents' thing, but I promise it's not. I just thought it'd be cool to hang out not at school and not at a party. Plus," he shows a broad grin. "You can meet Scout."

 "Mm, tempting," you laugh. "I do like dogs."

 "And, you'll love her! She's so sweet and so goofy and—"

 "I'll think about it," you stop him. 

 Mike bites his lip, looking hopeful, but tries to play it off with a, "Okay, cool," then leans down to kiss you as if you've already said yes. 

 Honestly, you have, just not out loud. He had you at 'hanging out'. 

 *

Studying sucks. Midterms suck. Avoiding parties, however, does not suck. Mike still goes to most of them, kind of has to considering they're usually thrown at the PKA house, but sometimes he just shows his face then comes to your dorm. You try to convince him to stay, hang out with his friends, but he usually just shrugs and digs through your stash of movies until he finds something he wants to watch. 

 It's fine with you, makes passing geochem a lot fucking easier, but it also means little sleep and a perpetual soreness between your legs. 

 You just… Can't get enough of each other. And, you think that's how it's always been since that first party. Afterward, you had denied him in the courtyard and then broke as soon as he got into your room to get his stupid shirt. Denied him at the bar then broke as soon as he leaned over you at the pool table. Denied him at the after-game party and broke after… Seeing his room? Watching movies? Acting like friends for the first time? Whatever it is, you're always falling into bed together, some kind of unstoppable force against your obviously very movable object. 

 It's something you think about too much now, always somewhere in the back of your head. At this point, you should probably just be with him, don't know who you're kidding with that lie about focusing on school (your grades have never been better actually), but you're scared. That's really what's been hard to admit to yourself, not the fact that you're attracted to him or the fact that your irritation has bloomed into genuine fondness and admiration. It's that's you're fucking terrified. You can feel it in your bones. 

 Don't get too attached because people leave. All the time. People let you down. People disappoint. 

 You don't want Mike to disappoint you, so you won't give him the chance to. 

 Of course, all of that is easier said than done as you look over at him in the Wrangler, one huge hand pn the wheel as his other arm hangs out of the open window, catching the wind that batters against it like he's trying to push back. You hate it when he does that, too many horror stories of car crashes that end in traumatic amputations, but it's one of Mike's strange simple pleasures, makes him grin as if it's his head hanging out instead. At his core, Mike Zacharias is just a huge fucking puppy dog. 

 A dubstep song from too long ago is blasting through his speakers, the vibrations hitting you square in the chest as you bounce your leg and bob your head. It's beautiful outside, winter's bite melting away into sunny springtime days. Some of them still bring a chill to the air, but it doesn't matter since you basically live in one of Mike's hoodies, dark green with the school's lacrosse logo stamped in the middle. It's faded and worn out and far too big on you, but it's quite possibly the most comfortable article of clothing you've acquired. 

 The drive to his parents' house is a good three hours, but between the playlist he's made (stellar, not that you'd admit it), the road games you play, and the road head you give him ("Oh, Jesus Christ, this isn't safe—this isn't safe—fuck—") you make it there in one piece and in good spirits, though you have take a few drinks of the soda you got at the convenience store to wash the residue of cum out of your mouth before meeting his god damn family. 

 He grabs both your bags from the backseat, slinging them over his shoulders, then starts up the path to a… surprisingly small home. It isn't a shack by any means, but after what you saw of Erwin's stupid ranch house and some of the pictures and stories Nile and Gelgar have subjected you to, you just kind of figured all of them had ridiculous amounts of money. 

 Then again, you know Mike got a full ride to college with a sports scholarship, and he rarely talks about his family and their lifestyle aside from Scout and little tales from his childhood—trips to the zoo, the one time he rode a dirt bike and broke his collarbone, he and his dad rescuing an injured bunny from the park. 

 You should've known back then that you'd get in too deep. 

 The small garden that lines the house is well-kempt and full of blooming flowers, and the porch is home to a wire table and matching chairs with an unsavory gnome sitting on top.  

 "What in the world…"

 Mike doesn't even glance to see what you're looking at, just opens the screen door and informs you, "That's Leonidas," so casually that it makes you snort and push him into his own house. 

 It opens up to a living room, long couch, recliner, coffee table and all. A TV sits right in the middle of a beige entertainment center, DVDs stacked on one side, blu-ray discs on the other. It smells clean—like the lemon wipes you use in your dorm—but even stronger than that is the smell of food. 

 "Must already be cooking," Mike muses, then calls out in a different fucking language that has you turning to him in confusion. 

 Before you can ask about it, a plump woman a couple inches taller than you comes rushing out of what you assume to be the kitchen. Her graying hair is tied into a loose bun, cheeks rosy from the heat, and she's still in her apron and a single oven mitt. 

 "Miche, γλυκό μου αγόρι!" 

 She stops in front of him and reaches up to grab his face, peppering it with little kisses and babbling words you do not understand in the slightest. 

 Mike is laughing, speaking to her in the same fashion, possibly answering questions or defending himself judging by the way he holds his hands up. You think you have an inkling about why when his mother turns to you, puts her hands on your shoulders to look at you, then pulls you into a tight hug. 

 You squeeze her right back, rocking to and fro as she does, then look up at Mike from the corner of your eyes in a panic. 

 What do you do, what is happening, what hasn't he told you? 

 It’s about this time that a large dog runs into the room and actually jumps into Mike’s arms. He grunts as he hoists Scout up, nuzzling into her beautiful coat as she tries to lick his face.

 "Mamá, let her get settled first," Mike laughs from where he’s getting attacked. His mother lets go of you, but it’s only for Mike to set the dog back down, and Scout takes the opportunity to sniff and paw at you. “Be nice,” he warns her, pulling you in front of him and pushing you toward the hallway.

 That need to snoop around is ever present as you enter his room, but the much more pressing issue is, "You could've prepared me, ya' know. Given me a little heads up that you're…"

 "Greek?" He snorts, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. "My last name is Zacharias. That's a pretty good indicator."

 "I—..." You pause, pout, then mumble, "I'm not a genealogy expert."

 "Obviously not."

 He dumps the bags on his bed, a queen size, thank god, because he had told you last week they didn't have a guest room (and had seemed pretty happy about it at the time). 

 "I'll get mom and dad to speak in English for the next few days." 

 "I mean," you shake your head. "It's their house. I don't wanna intrude on that. Let 'em do what they're most comfortable with."

 He steps over to you, makes his classic move of staring down at you and smoothing his hand over your hair to make you tilt your head up. "That's sweet, but I know they're dying to talk with you, so actually being able to understand what they’re saying is kinda necessary."

 Humming, you stand on your tip-toes just as he begins to stoop lower. Before you can meet in a kiss, though, you smirk, "And, just why do they wanna get to know me, Miche? Is that a secret Greek name too?”

 He licks his lips, voice husky when he replies, "I've mentioned you a few times--”

 “Uh huh,” you smirk, too close for him to actually see.

 “And no, I think it’s Hebrew or something.” 

 You snicker before your mouths meet, breaths grow heavy, and the only time you break apart is so that you can look him in his light eyes and tell him, "By the way, the whole speaking a different language thing you can do?" He grunts, encouraging you to continue. "Very hot."

 You feel him smile against you, a self-satisfied, "Yeah?" making you burn against him. 

 "Yeah."

 It's hard to leave the room, but you both know you have to, hoping neither of you look too kiss-swollen when you walk back into the living room, and when Mike's mom is no longer there, he brings you to the kitchen instead. 

 "Smells good," he tells her, leaning over the stove and taking a whiff of the prepared dish that’s been set on top--stuffed tomatoes and peppers that make your mouth water.

 She says something, and Mike lets her finish before asking, "Can we speak in English while she's here? It's kinda hard to add to a conversation when you, like, don't know what's being said."

 "Oh, I'm so sorry!" She immediately gushes, turning to you with a worried look. Her accent is thick and charming, but she doesn't ever stutter, clearly fluent, just more comfortable in her apparently native language. "I just get so caught up when my Miche comes home, I—"

 And, she's hugging you again. 

 "I'm Maia! Christopher—Miche's father—should be home soon."

 You rub Maia's back until she lets go and turns back to the stove, but even as she does, she's asking you, "How is school? What are you studying? Miche's told me very few things."

 He shouldn't have told you anything at all, you want to say. 

 "Um, it's good. I'm an earth sciences major, geology specifically, so Mike—uh—Miche's been helping me study a lot."

 He leans down to speak so only you can hear, "Not necessary to call me that. She's gonna know who you're talking about when you say Mike."

 Not that you'll tell him, but you kind of like the way 'Miche' feels, the way it rolls from your lips to the back of your mouth, and for just one second, you think about how you'd like to moan it in his ear. 

 "So, uh," you shake your head in an attempt to get it back on straight. "Yeah, it's going good, I think."

 "It is nice that you study together," Maia hums, slicing into the dish to portion it out. "Miche probably enjoys the break from his fraternity life." 

 Mike makes an unsure noise, but you grin and lean on the counter, eyes shining as you look at the middle-aged woman, "You know, speaking of that, I need to know what he was like before the whole frat thing 'cause—"

 "Uhh, we don't need to talk about that," Mike quickly cuts you off. 

 Maia, however, catches your eye and winks, a silent promise that she'll fill you in later. 

 Mike sees it, whines a dramatic, "Mamá, please."

 You laugh, glancing over at him with a devious smile that makes him roll his eyes and grumble something. 

 The creak of a door opening followed by the sound of a screen slamming back against the frame signals the arrival of Mike's father. It takes him a couple minutes to join everyone in the kitchen, probably taking the time to get more comfortable after what you assume to be a long day. 

 When he does walk in, once styled hair fallen out of place, top two buttons of his shirt undone, you see exactly where Mike gets most of his looks. He may have gotten his fucking mane from his mother, but he definitely got his height and his eyes from his father. 

 "Oh!" He stops short when he sees you, looks at his wife, then at you, then at Mike. "Is this the girl?" 

 "Dad!" 

 Both of his parents snicker as he turns to you, pleading more than telling, "Just ignore them, they don't know what they're talking about."

 You don't pay him any mind, join in on the fun when you lift an eyebrow and tease, "Am I, Mike? Am I the girl?"

 "Oh my god, this is gonna be a nightmare," he groans, the tips of his ears growing red. Still, he tries to put on a stern face as he points at his parents, speaks in beautiful, rolling words that are beyond you, then turns his flashing gaze to you and commands, "And you, don't encourage them."

 "Mm, no promises." You stick the tip of your tongue between your teeth and wink at his mom the way she had at you earlier. 

 All of you sit at an actual table for dinner, something you haven't done in at least a decade, as you talk and laugh between bites of food. Scout is laying underneath, waiting for someone to drop a piece of food, and every once in a while, you feel her wet nose nudge against your calf.

 Maia and Chris are very kind and very funny, and it isn't just because they pick on their son all the time. Chris talks about his day in the office, complaining about coworkers the same way Mike complains about his brothers—"I just don't understand why you would eat sardines in the break room! Someone explain it to me!" Maia tells everyone about the three hour phone call with her mother—"My god that woman can talk. Every time we said goodbye, she would just start on something new!"

 "Explains where you get it from," Chris says with a chuckle. 

 Maia scoffs then stabs a piece of his food with her fork, eating it with purpose as her husband watches. 

 You lean over to Mike and murmur, "They're cute. I like 'em."

 He grunts. "That makes one of us."

 Sucking your teeth, you mimic his mother's actions and dig your fork into the meat of his pepper, stealing a bite and scraping your teeth over the utensil in a way you know drives him crazy. 

 You immediately regret it when you realize how big the piece is, filling your mouth so that it's hard to chew, and you grab a napkin to cover yourself while Mike snorts and smugly says, "Yeah, bet you feel real smart right now. How does thievery taste?" 

 Shoving his arm, you manage to swallow down enough of the food to talk and tell him, "Tastes delicious."

 When you look back across the table, you find Maia and Chris staring at you and Mike with shining eyes and matching grins. 

*

You get along well with Mike's parents. A little too well in his opinion. There are a couple mornings you wake up earlier than he does and share coffee with his mother. He'll walk in to hear her sharing terrible stories about how, "He was such a sensitive little boy," and, "I miss the days he and his friends would spend afternoons here playing their little games."

 She even breaks out the photo albums one evening after dinner, leaving Mike mortified as you laugh and 'aww' at the pictures of past birthdays, Boy Scout outings, and the horrors of middle and high school. 

 "Look how cute you are with braces!"

 "Please stop."

 "All dressed up for Easter, oh my god, are those bunny ears?" 

 "Mom made me."

 "You were so skinny. What happened?" 

 "Are you calling me fat?" 

 "No, I'm calling you buff. Dummy."

 Less embarrassing are the long walks the two of you take with Scout (who also loves you, of course). She stays close to your hip as you wander around the park, only leaving your side when you throw her favorite ball. At the house, she noses at you until you shift to let her lay either at your feet or on the couch with her big head in your lap. 

 It's the cutest fucking thing Mike has ever seen, and he hates it because he can't do anything about it. He can't tell you how much he likes seeing you walk around in his house. He can't tell you how much joy it brings him to hear your laugh ring out alongside his parents'. He can't tell you how much he loves seeing you slide into his old bed in nothing but one of his shirts, making yourself comfortable against his chest and weaving your legs between his. 

 He can't tell you, but he can do his best to show you. 

 Late at night when his parents are asleep, when the buzzing TV is the only thing lighting the room, Mike moves inside of you with deep, slow thrusts. He hikes your legs up to lock around his waist or pulls you up against himself if he's taking you from behind. No matter the position, it leaves you clawing at him, breathing heavily, jaw dropping open in a silent scream. 

 You feel so good, so tight around him even after he gets you ready for his cock. Your silken walls squeeze and milk him, pulling every drop of cum from him to soak into you. Fuck, he's so glad you're letting him do that now, fill you up until you can't take any more, until white is dribbling from your messy pussy. The way you look at him all fucked out is intoxicating, eyes droopy, smile lazy, body twitching with aftershocks as he sucks on your neck and kisses down your shoulders. 

 You have to know. You have to. Mike knows his feelings are written all over his face when he looks at you, may as well be carved into his skin. The words are on the tip of his tongue every night, but he muffles them with kisses, with burying his face between your legs, with sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. 

 He can't say it because saying it makes it real. Saying it will make it hurt more. 

 So Mike keeps his mouth shut, watches you every day as you converse with his parents and play with Scout. You poke around his bedroom in your usual nosy fashion, finding the rest of his Magic cards, old D&D books and privacy screens. The dusty record player he'd inherited from his grandfather interests you above all else, vinyls stacked around it, some old, some new, and as you flip through them now, cross-legged on the floor and swimming in his hoodie, you tell him the little things you talked about with his mom earlier in the day. 

 "She showed me your baby teeth," you say with a snort. "Why do parents keep those? My mom did too."

 "Black Magic, obviously," Mike says seriously, but when you glance up at him, he chuckles. "I don't know, babe. It's fuckin' weird, though."

 You grin and look back down at The Alan Parsons Project vinyl in your lap. You're quiet for a moment, but when you do speak up, it's in a quiet voice. "I'm pretty sure they think I'm your girlfriend."

 Mike cringes on the bed, shutting his eyes and sighing. "Yeah, that's probably 'cause I told them you were." 

 "What?" You turn your whole body to face him, eyes wide and incredulous. 

 Sitting up, Mike holds his hands out and questions, "What was I supposed to tell them? Hey, mom and dad, I'm bringing home this girl I fuck at school all the time."

 "We don't just fuck," you scoff. "You could've said friend or… Study buddy."

 "Study buddies with benefits," he lets out a humorless laugh. "How many of those study sessions end with your mouth around my cock?" 

 "That's beside the point." You stand up and walk over to the bed, hands on your hips as you glare at him in an unconvincing manner. You're not actually upset, Mike realizes. A little annoyed maybe but more surprised than anything. "The point is they expect us to do couple-y things."

 "We do do couple-y things." Mike reminds you, rolling his eyes when you snicker and murmur 'ha, do do'. "Oh my god, you're a dork."

 "So are you. And, a dumb one. What happens when they find out we're not actually together? Are we gonna have to stage a break up somewhere down the line?" 

 "Stop worrying about it," Mike tries, reaching out for one of your arms to pull you on top of him. You must be very used to straddling him at this point. It seems like you're in his lap more often than you're not these days, even if the two of you are just talking. "Just chill and fake it for a little while longer."

 You pout, glancing to the wall for a second before you mutter, "Might be tough. I've never had to fake anything for you before."

 Mike groans and traces his fingers up your sides, stopping at your shoulders and using them to guide you closer to him. With your face only millimeters from his, he barely even has to whisper when he presses, "Fake it just this once."

 You nod, lips brushing his, and from there you both devolve into sloppy kisses and desperate hands. As always.

[ next ]

[vicious-vixxxen]

DRABBLE BURST TIME: Ceo Shouto (or Aizawa dont mind either way) with a taller, and bratty male secretary who’s been teasing him all day :)

((Love love LOVE this, and I’ve yet to write for Shoto, so hope you enjoy ;3 also totally got out of hand, does this even count as a drabble lol)) Shoto Todoroki X Bratty Male!Reader

“Holy /shit/, Midoriya-San, you’re getting absolutely stacked!” You practically squealed, grinning from ear to ear as the greenette did his best to make himself look smaller- which was no easy feat, seeing as how he was well passed 6’4, rivaling you be three inches, and over two hundred pounds of pure, raw muscle.  It wasn’t every day you got to see the Number 1 hero, as he usually took his conference calls with Todoroki...well, over a call. As the title suggested. Duh. But when he came in it was always a treat, because try as he might to feign embarrassment, he never once rebuffed your advances to fawn over him. Blush a deep crimson high on his cheeks, delving deep into the collar of his hero suit as you moved /too/ close, and touched a little /too/ much. Over his arms, and his shoulders. All too aware of the eyes boring into your back all of the sudden. “That’s quite enough, Y/N,” Shoto drawled from behind you, ever the warm facade of impassiveness. You’d worked for the man for nearly two years now, and you could always tell when it was put upon, or when he was well and truly bored and everything, and passive was just the resting mood to get him through the day. “It’s good to see you, Midoriya,” Shoto smiled, soft, and kind- bringing Deku into a hug- eyes ablaze, and never leaving yours, as you snickered at the way he had to step on his tiptoes to properly hug his old friend, and colleague. “I was just telling Midoriya here that if he isn’t careful, he’s going to get someone pregnant with just a flex of those biceps. And I swear he’s grown two inches since last I saw him! Hasn’t he?” You asked cheekily, before sizing Shoto up, and grinning devilishly. “Though I suppose to someone of your stature it doesn’t make much of a difference.” Midoriya tensed, gawking at you, looking between Shoto’s steadfast impassive expression, and your smirk. “Only joking, of course, Todoroki-San. I’ll leave you and Mr. Midoriya to it then, and I’ll call up a bottle of champagne like last time. Just don’t go getting sauced on me again, Midoriya-san, or i’ll have to cart you home myself.” You beamed, winking at Midoriya for good measure, before shooing he and Shoto back into the CEO’s office. But not before Shoto caught you by the wrist, and tugged you down to his height, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Thin. Ice.” He whispered heatedly, face never revealing it however, as he let go and readjusted your cufflink. “Is that supposed to be a pun?” You whispered after him, laughing at how the man’s shoulders tensed just before the door slammed shut. You could never get enough of his temper.

Todoroki’s meeting with Midoriya ran much longer than it ever had before. By the time the hero walked out, excusing himself quickly to get a jumpstart on his nightly patrol, most of the agency had already cleared out for the evening. Save for a few stragglers on the lower levels, but seeing as how you worked at the very top, it was just you. And Shoto. Not the first time, and not the first time it’s been done so purposefully. Clever man.

“Y/N? Would you come in here for a moment, please.” Shoto called out, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. A heat curling in your gut, as you logged out of your computer, tidied up your space, and headed into the man’s office. Eye’s immediately falling on Shoto, standing at the front of his desk, leaned back with a glass of champagne still in hand. Though it was almost empty. Shutting the door behind yourself, you crossed your hands behind your back innocently, tilting your head to the side. Curious. “You think this is a game? That this is funny?” Shoto asked seriously, and you simply feigned innocence- brows drawn down low, as you closed a few more feet between the two of you slowly. Not missing the way Shoto’s eyes raked your body once, then twice, a soft, yet audible gulp heard from his side of the room. “I must admit to having no idea what you could possibly be talking about, sir,” You offered quietly, taking another step. Then another. And another, “I should’ve fired you a long time ago, constantly pulling stunts like that. How do you think it reflects on me, hm? Having an insatiable fanboy at my front desk, as my secretary. Fawning over every male hero who walks through that door.” Shoto sounded upset, though you knew the real reason why. It always worked him up, you doing what you did. But that was part of your fun together. Part of what made /this/, so exciting. “I think,” You began slowly, closing the last of the few feet between you and your boss slowly, looking down on the shorter man now, with a hum in your throat. Reaching off beside him to grab the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket it sat in. Swishing it around carefully, judging it’s contents, before smirking. “-you should try and reel in some of that jealousy. It’s bad for your business.” You’d never been able to help that- teasing him. Taking a swig from the bottle with a sharp hiss at the carbonation. Smacking your lips together, as Shoto stood at his full height finally- still a whole head shorter than you. A blush, no doubt from the alcohol, coloring his cheeks, just barely. “You’re a brat,” He hissed up at you, rough, sure hands clawing at your hips, to bring your fronts flush together. Flicking his hair from his eyes, exposing both beautiful irises to you. “But i’m your brat. Not theirs. Don’t forget that,” You reminded him softly, taking another swig from the champagne bottle. Setting it aside, and cupping his cheek with the same hand- brushing your thumb over the man’s scar carefully, before coaxing his lips open, and sealing yours to them. Letting the rush of champagne flow from your mouth to Shoto’s. Waiting for him to swallow, before kissing him. Eating up the soft, needy sounds he let loose. Always so put together, so strong. But when it was just the two of you, like this, Shoto could finally relax. Barely flinching as you lifted the man onto his desk, and slotted your hips together. Chuckling darkly at the hitched, breathy moan Shoto released as your cocks dragged together deliciously, even through the fabric of your slacks.  “Mine,” Shoto breathed, statement and assurance and agreement all wrapped into one, as you ravished the man’s collar in bites, and kisses. Careful not to leave any marks that wouldn’t fade overnight, as you worked on undoing his pants, and yours. “Mine,” You echoed, or growled, really, as you took both you and Shoto in hand- biting your lip as you realized how wet the man was already. Precum from Shoto’s cock enough to slick the both of you up deliciously as you stroked. ((Ending it there just to tease sksksks and to make it more drabble sized-ish, cuz I could go on forever, I LOVE size difference, any way you spin it, so this is just...ugh. Hope you like it!))

[hamburgerhelpersotherhand]

Hello love! Could I request a Hannibal and reader where the reader is an astronomer or astrophysicist but has the ability to to see and communicate with the dead, which is why she went into her field, to escape it in a way. She sees the dead as how they looked at the moment of their death, so some of them are very gruesome. And whenever this happens she gets a severe headache and a nosebleed but she’s never told anyone about this but Hannibal notices one day? Thanks!

Gonna be fair and say that your summary feels much better than what I have written down here!

Hope this turns out alright anyway✨

Warnings: Nosebleed.

“Tell me, Doctor,” you chime. “Do you consider yourself to be a religious man?”

“I’ve never been asked such a question before, especially by a astrophysicist of all things.” he gestured to you. “But it begs the question: What do you believe religion to be?”

“Blindly following a higher power?”

Hannibal smiles amusedly. “It could be, though some may argue against such a simplistic description.” he continues. “You may also think of religion as a guide to life.”

“Interesting.” you say.

“How so? Do you find yourself drawn to it?” he asks.

You turn your head and look his way as you both stood idly on the entrance steps of a large government looking building. If you remember correctly, you’re both waiting for someone.

“No,” you begin, but feel your eyes drift somewhere behind him. There, you barely have time to register the familiar figure standing hidden before your head begins to pound. “I believe everything can be explained scientifically.”

He glances to you, spotting your eyes distracted elsewhere. Suddenly, he looks behind himself. “What are you looking at?” Hannibal asks.

You blink, once, twice, and the little girl in view doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. And neither is that aching feeling behind your eyes. “Nothing, I just need to sit down.”

This isn’t the first time you experience this: images of the deceased. When you were little, they were much rarer, until an accident occurred outside your home and mangled faces watched you sleep at night.

Now, you avoid such things when possible. Yet, every time you find yourself with Hannibal, the ghosts of his past follow much more closely than others.

“They should be out soon, I don’t think they’ll mind if you sit on the steps.” he suggests as he turns to you. He straightens his back as his eyes settle on your face.

“Your nose— you’re bleeding.” Hannibal reaches forward, but you instinctively step back once the warmth trails down to your lip, dropping your briefcase and covering your nose with a newly freed hand. You almost wouldn’t have noticed.

“Oh— I’m- I’m sorry, I think— it’s rather dry out today isn’t it?” you step down to pick up your dropped case when Hannibal’s hands grip your shoulders.

“Sit down. I’ll get it.” and, despite your thumping heart resounding in your head, you sit down without a complaint. Hannibal collects your dropped bag and crouches to your level.

“You... you wouldn’t happen to know a little girl, would you?” you ask. “Did you ever have a daughter?”

Hannibal let’s go of your bag, letting you bring it to your chest. He looks to you quizzically, his eyes searching both your face and body.

“No. I’ve fathered no children.” he tells you as you begin to open your case and search for a napkin. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s— it’s not important. Actually, I think you’d consider me crazy if I told you.” you try and laugh it off, grabbing the loose Kleenex and wiping your nose.

Hannibal doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.

The pressure behind your eyes grows and suddenly, you’re pressing down and rubbing at your head for that fleeting alleviating feeling.

“Ugh...” you groan. “M— How about the name Mischa? Does that ring a bell?”

If Hannibal’s expression is readable, your watering eyes fail to take it in. Though, behind the blur, you’ve got his full attention.

“How did you come up with that name?” he asks suddenly. “You can tell me.” he continued and yet, even without having seen his newfound interest, you don’t feel convinced you can.

[suttttton]

An Invitation

How do you get Jonathan Sims to go on a date with you? Easy. Step one: Trick him by giving him a fake statement filled with puzzles that lead him to the date location of your choice. Step two: Profit?

---

“Jon,” Sasha says, leaning against his desk.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up from his work.

“D’you want to get lunch with me today?” she asks. It’s just a casual question. They’ve gotten lunch together before, and she knows that Jon won’t interpret her question in a romantic way, but her stomach still thrums with nervousness. It’s… different, now that she’s decided to let herself have a crush on him. Now that she’s decided that, eventually, she’ll ask him on a real date.

He doesn’t even look at her, just shakes his head. “Can’t, I’m a bit swamped this week. I’ve got a lot of—things…” he trails off, drawn back into his work. The exciting world of follow-up research. She stands there for another minute, just watching him, knowing that he has forgotten her entirely. It’s one of those things that should be annoying, but is really just… deeply endearing. Ugh.

She’s going to ask him on that date soon.

***

When she asks Jon out, she tries to be obvious about it. Jon has a hard time reading social signals at the best of times, and she wants to make things easy for him. She’s not the most comfortable with grand gestures, but she’s got a bit theater kid in her yet, and she’s sure she can make it work.

She finds Jon in the break room, eating a bowl of microwavable soup and staring blankly at nothing. Very adorable. She knocks twice on the table, getting his attention, and he blinks once and smiles at her.

“Jon, there’s something I want to ask you,” she says. She can feel heat rising in her face. God, this is about to be embarrassing. She really, really hopes he doesn’t turn her down. (Why would he turn you down, James? You’re a catch.)

She gets on one knee, takes his hand. “Jonathan Sims,” she says dramatically. “Would you do me the honor of coming to dinner with me on Friday?”

He looks at her, and his eyebrows furrow. “Sorry Sasha,” he says, “but I can’t. I requested some books, and they’re supposed to arrive Friday. I was planning to get started on them Friday evening.”

She sighs. She’d take it as a graceful rejection, if she hadn’t seen Jon reject people before. He got nervous and stuttery and hyper-apologetic. He doesn’t look at all uncomfortable now, just confused as to why she’s on the floor.

He doesn’t know that she’s trying to ask him on a date.

Later, replaying the scene in her mind, she realizes what the problem was. They were at work. Even with her making it as dramatic as possible, the environment was too casual. She asked him to do platonic activities with her all the time while they were at work—why would he assume differently?

She needs to ask him when they aren’t at the Institute, somewhere where she can make a whole presentation of it. She’ll buy him flowers, sweep him off his feet.

Except.

He keeps turning down her offers to spend time together. When he isn’t busy with follow-up, he’s busy researching the Leitner books. It’s… stupidly endearing. And unhealthy. Jon doesn’t look unwell, really, but he does look… stressed, hunched over his desk all day. Jon needs a break from work, not just so she can ask him on a date, but also so he doesn’t drive himself into a nervous breakdown.

Sasha hatches a plan.

***

It doesn’t take long to put together. Just an evening, researching cryptic puzzles, scouting out locations that aren’t too far from the Institute, writing a nonsensical statement in the ‘I saw a ghost in a graveyard and it was spooky’ vein.

The only problem is how to get the fake statement into Jon’s caseload without him noticing. She can’t just drop it on his desk, not with him there all day long. She could get Lydia involved, but she isn’t sure the Head of Research would approve of her plan, and even if she did, Lydia is a bad liar. Jon would know something was up.

In the end, Jon solves the problem for her. He leans back in his chair, hisses over to her, “Sasha! Swap with me?”

“Spiders?” she asks, and he winces, nods. She holds out her hand, and flicks through the offending file. It has all the hallmarks of a false statement, but—

“I felt thousands of legs swarming over me, filling up my mouth, my nose—”

She snaps the folder shut, wrinkling her nose. “No problem,” she says. She hands Jon the fake statement. “You can take this one, I haven’t gotten started on it yet.”

“Thanks,” he says, smiling. Her stomach flips, and she watches for a few moments longer as he gets to work.

***

It would be suspicious for her to be staring at Jon the entire time he’s working on the statement, so instead she just glances over every once in a while, making sure he doesn’t immediately drop the statement in the ‘discredited’ pile.

He doesn’t. Instead, his frown deepens as he’s drawn in, trying to figure out the puzzle she’s left for him. The statement is clearly fake, but a few of the words are—wrong. Nonsensical. Gibberish.

She sees Jon go over and over the text, marking every strange word. Then he picks up his phone, dials the number listed on the statement. It’s a disconnected number, and Jon’s frown deepens.

He thinks for a few seconds, tapping his fingers on his desk. Then he pulls out a notepad, begins writing on it, consulting the statement to transcribe the strange words exactly.

At that point, Sasha knows she has him. Jon loves puzzles, and now that he knows there’s a puzzle to solve in the statement, he’s not going to stop until he figures it out.

It’s a simple Caesar cipher, with the phone number as its key. It yields the message:

Here are the coordinates:

CH.HCGDHCGFYERE, -HB.KGICCECIF0WI

In order to crack the coordinates, Jon simply has to replace each letter with its numerical position in the alphabet. Jon is smart, he’ll figure it out. The coordinates belong to a cryptid-themed restaurant in America called the Moth Man Urban Legends Bar and Grille.

Once, the Moth Man Urban Legends Bar and Grill website landing page contained several blurry photos of “Moth Man,” along with a somehow even blurrier photo of a restaurant menu. Now, it’s a nightmarish jumble of the strangest stock photos Sasha could find, along with a single hyperlink that just says, “Click me!”

(Sasha included this step because she finds it deeply entertaining to watch Jon click on the shadiest links possible. It’s revenge for all the viruses she’s had to clean off his computer.)

The link leads to a much more tasteful webpage. It’s has a single picture of a rose on it, and below that it just says, “An Invitation”. Then it gives the address of a very cute little cafe just a short walk from the Institute. Beneath that, “Tonight. 7:00pm.”

It takes about an hour for Jon to figure out the Caesar cipher, and after that he works through the puzzle quickly. It’s a delight, watching his face when he sees “Moth Man Urban Legends Bar and Grille,” and even better when he sees the monstrosity she’s made of their website.

He clicks the link without even a second of hesitation, which almost makes Sasha laugh out loud. And then he’s just staring at the invitation. He opens a new tab, opens Google Maps, puts in the address. She sees the back-in-forth in his head—‘Tonight’ has probably long since passed, and he isn’t likely to find anything if he shows up at the cafe at 7:00pm tonight.

But Jon is stubborn, and if he doesn’t go ‘Tonight,’ it’ll eat at him. She’s trapped him. He’ll show up. She’s certain of it.

***

She debates for a long time if she should wear a dress, or a button-up shirt and tie. She decides on the tie. It has ferns on it, and she needs the calming vibes.

It’s starting to sink in, what she’s done.

Why didn’t she just say, “Jon, I am asking you on a date”? That would have been so much easier! Christ, she’s tricked her crush into going on a date with her. What kind of creep does that?

She’s terrified Jon will be angry with her. Or worse, hurt. This whole thing is technically a prank. What if Jon thinks she’s just… making fun of him?

She stops by a flower shop on her way there, and the shop assistant asks what she needs, and she’s so nervous by then that she actually says, “I tricked my friend into going on a date with me, and I need flowers that will prevent him from hating me forever.”

“Right,” the man says, uncertainly. “Well—” And then he makes Sasha a very, very nice arrangement because, unlike Sasha, he isn’t a complete mess.

Sasha arrives at the cafe thirty minutes early, because she knows Jon. She knows he’ll want to stake out the place ahead of time. She knows she has to arrive ridiculously early to beat him there.

But apparently, she’s underestimated him because he’s already there.

He’s seated at a table in the corner, where he can see the entire dining room. He’s still wearing his clothes from work, and there’s a pastry in front of him.

He’s watching the door, of course he is, so he sees her come in.

“Sasha!” he calls, waving wildly at her. It makes something pang in her chest, that Jon’s instinct upon seeing her in a public place is to excitedly greet her. She certainly isn’t that kind of person.

She smiles, walks over to him. Her fingers are curled tightly around the flowers, crinkling the paper just slightly.

“Do you have a date tonight?” he asks, looking her over, his eyes still flicking back and forth between her and the door.

“I hope so,” she says.

He frowns. “Are they late? Or—”

She hands him the flowers. “These are for you.”

He looks at them, bewildered, then back at Sasha. “What—”

“The invitation was from me,” Sasha says, sitting down across from him. “I faked the statement, and I made the puzzles.”

He stares at her for moment, then at the flowers, then back at her. She waits for him to yell at her, or run off, or—she doesn’t know.

Then he starts laughing. It’s—wonderful, when he laughs. He always tries to hide his face, and this time he decides to use the flowers for that purpose, stifling his giggles against the petals. “Sasha, I—I thought it was going to be the, the Mob, or something.”

Sasha can’t help but start laughing too. “You thought the Mob sent secret messages to each other using a Caesar cipher?”

“I don’t know!” Jon says. “This is—” He lets out a long breath. “Well, I did enjoy the—game, I suppose.”

They look at each other for a long moment.

“Wait,” Jon says. “So I’m your date?”

“If you want to be,” Sasha says.

Jon smiles. “I—” He laughs again. “Yes. Of course I do.”

[curiosity-killed]

unspectacular things

Word count: 1509 on ao3

“Gege, why did you become the Guoshi of Yong An?” He’s been banished to lean against a tree while Xie Lian washes out his spare robes — a singular set, just as plain and worn as the ones he’s currently wearing. Hua Cheng itches with the urge to tell him to set it aside; he could summon up chests full of fine silk robes, soft as a breeze with none of the ground-in stains of these, or he could at least call up a ghost to clean the robes for His Highness. It would be easy as a flick of his fingers. But — but he’s trying not to push too much. And Xie Lian has seemed oddly content with the work, tying his sleeves back and humming absentminded tunes as he scrubs. “It really was an accident,” Xie Lian says with a little laugh, self-conscious. Hua Cheng waits, toying with the end of his braid. He’s not sure when he learned patience; it certainly wasn’t a skill of his when he was alive. For His Highness, though, he could wait millennia and not grow restless.

“After my first banishment,” Xie Lian says after a moment, wringing the fabric between his hands, “I — I did some awful things. I wasn’t a very good person. But there was someone — a nameless ghost — who stayed by me all that time.”

The coral bead bites into the pads of Hua Cheng’s fingers as he freezes, pressing down too hard in surprise. It takes a moment for his voice to work. When it does, it comes out distant, as if spoken by someone else entirely. “Your Highness remembers someone so insignificant?” he asks. A small furrow appears in Xie Lian’s brow, one hand reaching up to brush against the string of his bamboo hat before falling back to the robes. “He believed in me when I least deserved it,” he says simply. “I treated him poorly, and he still sacrificed himself to save me from my own mistake. That’s not insignificant.” It’s not like Hua Cheng has forgotten this. For most of the last eight hundred years, he had managed to protect his prince only twice. It wasn’t enough in either case, but he still remembers the brutal seed of satisfaction he felt as the spirits tore him apart, knowing that His Highness had returned to himself, would fight against that filthy demon instead of following its insidious lead. He’d died with a grin, that time. But he’d never expect Xie Lian to remember it, to remember any version of him. He doesn’t squirm, but he shifts uneasily against the bark, unsure of what to make of this discovery. Xie Lian’s lips thin. He draws in a breath before shaking his head slightly.

“He helped remind me of what mattered, how I wanted to help the common people. I guess…I thought that maybe if I tried to help people, I could become more like someone who deserved his faith,” he says. “As Guoshi, I could see how Yong An treated the remnants of Xianle, but I could also…do better. Or at least try.” Discomfort tremors up Hua Cheng’s bones, like he’s woken to the world tilted half a rotation to the left. It’s one thing if His Highness remembers some iteration of him, but it’s unthinkable that he should feel any sort of debt or unworthiness. The notion has his head spinning. “It would be any ghost’s honor to die for Your Highness,” he says. The look Xie Lian slides him is somewhere between a frown and a smile, like he’s trying to piece Hua Cheng together but enjoying the puzzle. He doesn’t know what to make of that, either. “I don’t want anyone to die for me,” Xie Lian says as he draws the robes up from the water. “My dream was always to protect the common people, not the other way around.” Pursing his lips, Hua Cheng lets his gaze fall away from Xie Lian’s face to rest on his hands. Sunlight limns each square knuckle, paints gold along the callouses from swordplay and hard work. He’s never understood Xie Lian’s belief in the common people. Humanity is ugly and vicious, monstrous even when it grins. He is proof of that. So much of Xie Lian’s own suffering is proof — and yet still, still, he stands there in his faded white robes and extends his hand over and over again to the undeserving masses. Humanity’s failings reveal his own divinity, and still, Xie Lian puts his faith in them. “Besides,” Xie Lian says, “he had more to live for than dying for my mistakes. He had a beloved still in the world somewhere.” Yes, Hua Cheng thinks, staring a little, and he was an idiot to think he knew what it meant to love. What did he know of it back then? Devotion, worship — the willingness to die a thousand deaths if it was in Xie Lian’s name. Wu Ming was useless and foolish, still just a child playing at maturity. “I should have helped him find them, instead,” Xie Lian says, as if to himself. “He did.”

Xie Lian startles, twisting from where he’s spreading his robe out to dry on some rocks, and Hua Cheng curses himself for his own runaway words. “It’s been so many centuries, gege,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head as casually as he can. “Surely he found them either in death or in their next life.” Surprise flickers across Xie Lian’s expression before he dips his head. A smile curls his lips, soft and warm and cracking Hua Cheng’s unbeating heart down the center. He looks up with a brighter smile, a teasing edge to the way he narrows his eyes. “San Lang ah, such a romantic,” he teases. “Who would have thought Crimson Rain Sought Flowers was so sweet?” Hua Cheng scoffs, looking away, but he can feel the smile tugging at his lips even as he does. The grass rustles as Xie Lian stands, and Hua Cheng looks up as he folds himself down to sit in a patch of sunlight nearer to him. Xie Lian smiles up at the dappled light with his eyes closed, and Hua Cheng thinks, in that instant, that he would die every day to see a single moment of such contentment in Xie Lian’s face. Even now, centuries removed from the throne, he sits with the graceful posture of a prince. His hands lay one over the other just shy of his knees, his sleeves still pulled back to reveal that silk band wound around one wrist and the other bared up to the elbow. “Ah but San Lang, you still haven’t told your beloved either,” he says, blinking his eyes open to look at Hua Cheng. The sun catches in the darks of his eyes and warms them to firelit copper. Hua Cheng exhales a soft laugh and tilts his face toward the canopy. “For me, gege, I only want for them to be safe and happy,” he says. “If I can protect them somehow, that is enough.” At his side, Xie Lian makes a small humming noise like he’s thinking. Quiet settles between them, warm like the sun. From the corner of his eye, Hua Cheng can see Xie Lian breathing in the cool breeze, his hair catching on the wind and lifting in strands from his shoulders. “Your beloved is very lucky,” Xie Lian says after a while, quietly. “When you tell them, I am certain they will be the happiest person in the world.” For a moment, he almost tells him. He almost turns to Xie Lian and says no you’re not. You’re the unluckiest person I’ve ever met. But Xie Lian is too kind. He would smile softly and apologize for not reciprocating Hua Cheng’s feelings, as if it is by some failing of his own that so unworthy a creature loves him, and he would take that hurt upon himself. Memory is a long step from love. So Hua Cheng rolls his head back toward Xie Lian and grins, easy and teasing. “Now who is the romantic, gege mm?” Startling, Xie Lian laughs like the high, clear ring of a bell. Hua Cheng allows himself a brief sense of smug satisfaction at having drawn out such a joyful noise. “Ah, San Lang,” Xie Lian laughs, breaking his own posture to lean back on his palms like he’s a carefree boy, “forgive this old man his sentimentality.” His voice is cheerful and not terribly repentant, and Hua Cheng grins as he leans back against the tree, dropping one hand to his lap. They’re close enough that he can shift his leg over to nudge Xie Lian with one knee. It still sends a little thrill through him to be permitted such gestures, doubly so when Xie Lian’s eyes crinkle up with a smile at the touch. Exhaling, Hua Cheng tilts his gaze back up toward the canopy and lets his leg stay barely pressed against Xie Lian’s. It’s more than enough.

[azwriting]

The Ghosts of Truth (Forget Me Please, Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader) -Chapter Three - Part One

A/N: I’ve been so stuck in writing this, but I’ve decided to split this chapter in half because it’s been far too long since of I’ve updated! My sincere apologies and please enjoy this small chapter of pure angst. Here’s the Masterlist if you need to refresh yourselves or if you're new :)

Summary: Journeying to the Death Star wreckage, (Y/N) must confront the ghosts of the past she’s spent years running from. Meanwhile the Resistance three begin to realize the masked ally isn’t who they thought she was.

Warning(s): Angst, sad reader, 

Word Count: 2716

A scoff of disbelief echoed through the confines of the small faded mask. Of all the ships in the galaxy… The interior of the beat up old freighter had seen better days, it was worn and seedier than she remembered. The walls were discolored and overall, the ship just looked tired.

            Despite her outer appearance of feigned annoyance and mild disgust, (Y/N) felt faint. A cold sweat broke across her concealed forehead and dampened the rest of her skin. Her limbs tingled with the dull pain of numbness, leaving her immobile, and her mouth was drawn together in a pucker from the bitter taste flowing like venom on her taste buds. And she had barely set foot inside, the boarding ramp just behind her. She could not fathom taking another step further.

It was like looking at a life from long ago. No, she swallowed thickly, that was too hopeful. Her eyes flickered around, chest tight with resurfacing pain. Pain that she had tried to extinguish over the years, but to no avail. It was always there inside her and now it was awake.

“Hey, we got the landing gear in decent shape … for now. So ready when you are.” The man with the dark curly hair came around the corner. Poe, he had introduced himself as beneath the quiet winds of Endor. Grease was smudged across his one cheek and his eyebrows furrowed quickly as he took notice of the visor closed on (Y/N)’s mask. His startlement was quite easy to read. It was pleasing to witness the dawning of their realizations that she was not what they had envisioned for an ally. A Force user perhaps, but not her.

(Y/N) was no ally, she was no soldier, not anymore. She actively avoided this war, vanishing to a planet untouched since the end of the Galactic Civil War, a war she heard stories of since her youth. An old war that seemed to define the path of the future. She was determined to stay hidden, an unknown shadow in a forest riddled with remnants of old battles. This desire had almost allowed her to turn her back on the three young Resistance members, but then the melody filled her ears. The song that reminded her why she had disappeared in the first place and why she could no longer stay hidden. Nor could she avoid this fight forever, not when the Resistance stood before her at the request of their General. And as the three intruders began discussing the origin of the bird song, (Y/N) knew she needed to join them before their curiosity grew too much. If she could manage, if it was even a possibility, she would emerge from this fight with her secrets still intact.

“We’re ready.”

Gritting her teeth, (Y/N) glanced over her shoulder to glare at the young Jedi. Speaking of secrets… (Y/N) was still shaken from the memory Rey had witnessed when touching the one saber. She had observed as the events unfolded inside the young woman’s eyes and how horrified she had looked. (Y/N) knew the feeling… Still she was furious Rey had touched the saber and in turn revealed a piece of her past. A dark piece too. Worse, she resented the way Rey seemed to connect the dots, drawing together a small part of the truth.

(Y/N) had seen red when the girl voiced her awareness, the dread and sorrow dissipating from her entirely. She could barely control herself when she towered over the young woman and delivered her menacing warning. Rey knew nothing of her story, of her past. A simple glance into a nightmare of a memory did not provide total insight. And (Y/N) had intended for it to be that way, for the truth to be concealed, always.

Rey’s eyes flitted over to hers and the two women were mute, locked into each other, blind to the barrier of the mask. Rey was in shock as well, her telling eyes giving it away. Her mind frantically kept reviewing the night of the fire, replaying the words over and over again. (Y/N) could see the frightened brown eyes that had gazed so intensely down at her that night so long ago. Grimacing, she let the mask drop away from Rey, attempting to block out the image that haunted her for years. Rey’s sympathy and regret also oozed from her aura. (Y/N) did not want it.

Yet, beneath it all she could feel confusion. The girl obviously felt something, something she could not place, something between the two of them. The unsureness left Rey feeling upset and frustrated. She was… naive. Perhaps that was the wrong way to describe it, the girl was smart and resourceful, but with all that was transpiring it fashioned (Y/N) into a sullen creature who was not above being condescending.

(Y/N) was not ignorant though. She knew what the feeling was, it was something she had felt for most of her life until just before she went into hiding. It was a calling, beckoning them closer, a pure and rare connection. In the back of her mind she admitted that it was only appropriate. She knew Rey’s origin, the Force illuminating it so, and with who (Y/N) was it only made sense that the Force would connect them all. But she would offer no solace, she could not provide it, not like this, when she was drowning in anguish. And as she had so clearly stated before she was nobody’s hope, just a child of the Force, lost among the stars.

(Y/N) did not speak nor spare another glance as she turned to leave the two Resistance members in the corridor. “The main hold is just-” Poe spoke but she only raised her hand, efficiently silencing him. She knew where she was going. It was burned into her memory, leaving a scar just like everything else.

As she followed the curved path of the corridor, (Y/N) caught a glimpse of the cockpit just down the adjoining hall. Her throat tightened and a fiery ache erupted inside her at the sight, the quick movements of gold plating and dark brown fur coming from inside only added to the pain.

A day in the thick Endorian forest beneath the basking glow of the rising sun, resurfaced in her mind. (Y/N) recalled freezing in her tracks, her possessions slipping from her hands as unbearable pain bursted inside her. She had fallen to the moss covered ground, clutching roughly at her chest, tears stinging in her eyes. Through the Force she had felt pure agony, but she was uncertain if it had been the father’s or the son’s.

Tears pricked her eyes now and the ill feeling in her intensified. Stumbling forward, her legs felt twice their weight but it was an afterthought to the screaming in her head instructing her to get away. But she could not escape, not now. She was stuck on this ship, stuck with remembering.

The main hold came into view and (Y/N)’s knees gave out, dropping her into the rounded bench. The table before her used to host many games now it was just empty, abandoned. Much like the past and the future dreamt of. Her trembling elbows came to rest on the surface and she let out a breathy exhale.

Closing her eyes, she cradled her durasteel covered head in her clammy hands. It was as if she could hear the voices of the past: children running through the many halls, the motherly scolding to be careful, hiding in the smuggling compartments only for the hatch to be lifted and that familiar head of dark hair with hidden silver strands to peer down with that infamous smirk and coy laugh. That was all gone now, dead.

A shudder raked over her stiffened body. It felt as if she could not breathe, a weight pressing down on her lungs. Her dominant hand trailed down to her worn green tunic and pressed firmly against the indent of her sternum, seeking any relief to the pressure she could find.

The voices of the past seemed to louden, tumbling over each other until they turned into streams of noise, like a ship jumping into lightspeed. (Y/N) took a deep breath and mentally scolded herself. She needed to regain her control, she needed to focus on the task at hand so she could return to Endor as soon as possible. She already missed the lush greenery and the fresh air, the air she could breathe in, where the reminders of the past were not so painful. But it was not so easy, the noise would not quiet, and the torment would not subside.

This was looking death in the eyes.

“We’ll be your new home, if you’d like.”

“Found ya, kids. You know you two would make good smugglers one day.” “Han!”

“I’m not scared of you. I’m not B-”

A presence entered the area, pulling (Y/N) out from the labyrinth she had been lost in. She was unsure how long had passed, the snare in her mind too difficult to escape. The weakness growing inside allowed for all of this to slip past the barricades she had built. (Y/N) was almost glad for the interruption as it prevented the worst from slipping through. The very thing she had entombed deep within herself. The monster that would drown her.

She did not lift her head nor spare any acknowledgement to indicate she knew of the other person here. She did not want to be asked any more questions, not from her. The inquisitive girl was awfully quiet though…

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) caught sight of Rey, who stood motionless on the other side of the small room. Her eyes were glazed over with rumination and almost entirely unfocused as she stared in (Y/N)’s direction. What was she seeking out?

Rey blinked returning from her deep trance with a look of somber falling onto her face. She looked down, seeming to be conversing with herself inwardly. Her hands danced around at her sides like she was playing an invisible instrument, it made (Y/N) anxious. It seemed as if the girl was debating over whether or not to say something. Rey’s fingers suddenly flexed outwards, reflecting the decision she had come to. Rey took a small step forward, lips parting to speak. (Y/N) winced in preparation.

“I can feel the turmoil inside you, the pain in remembering.” Her words struck a small match inside a dark hidden corner of (Y/N)’s mind. The giddy laughter of a boy playing in a meadow flashed across her mind. It was gone in a second, like a match dying out, but it had left its mark. (Y/N) staggered up, ignoring the dull ache that spread up her leg as she hit it against the round table. She could not breathe, could not find the strength to beg Rey to stop before she continued to harm her.

“I felt your fear on Endor.” Children, a boy and a girl, sat beneath the sinking sun imitating the call of the birds sorrowing above. A gasp tumbled out of (Y/N)’s quivering lips, her head furiously shaking and demanding for the brunette to stop.

“You must have hope…” A grand ball, swirls of gowns, and shared timid glances. Her hands flew to the sides of the helmet as if she could block out Rey’s voice and the misery that followed.

“Hope for this war…” Fire consumed the large divine structure of a temple. Closing her eyes (Y/N) whimpered, pressing a hand to her abdomen. She felt dizzy, her surroundings spinning as her mind did.

“Hope for him.” (Y/N)’s head shot up, her eyes snapping open. The words were barely audible as they escaped Rey, almost as if she knew how dangerous it would be to utter them. And indeed they were…

“No.” (Y/N) choked out desperately trying to suppress what memories were being illuminated by the match, but it was too late, the damage was done. The monster was free. Hair as dark as night, soft pleading eyes filled with sadness and adoration. Sweet words and caresses, comfort sought out beneath the starry sky, bright smiles by the glistening lake.

The main hold began to tremble, durasteel creaking as her hands curled into tight fists. Her vision transformed into the red hot fury it had on Endor when the girl had spoken of the memory. Anger coursed through her veins, her connection to the Force strengthening, and (Y/N) fixated on the foolish girl, ready to unleash.

“Hope?” She spit out in disgust. “I held out hope for so long,” (Y/N) took menacing steps forward as Rey retreated slowly. A hand outstretched, willing something roughly into its grasp. “Look where it’s gotten me!”

Before Rey had a moment to absorb the resentment in (Y/N)’s voice or question what she truly meant by her words, a beam of indigo illuminated the room. Lunging forward, (Y/N) hovered the blade of light an inch above Rey’s throat.

The naive Resistance member knew nothing of her, of where she came from, of what she faced, of who she truly was… No one did. And yet, Rey felt she could tell her to have hope. (Y/N) would have laughed if she could have. Hope was the reason she had ended up on Endor, hidden and carrying the burden of lies and death. Hope was for children.

Glaring down at the young woman, (Y/N) could feel the Force surrounding them blaze to life with such an intensity that she was forced to suck in a harsh breath. The vivacious current penetrated her and flowed through Rey as well, blindly connecting through energy, through life. It was overpowering to the senses but (Y/N) already felt numb. Nonetheless she drank in the feeling of connection. It reminded her of the whole and pure feeling she had felt her whole life before it had been torn from her soul, leaving a hollow ache that never faded.

Realization dawned upon her in the midst of all this and (Y/N) focused on Rey. Fear pooled in the hazel irises of the girl, mirroring the fearful brown eyes that had pleaded to her the night of the fire. Rey was the reason the barricades that protected her were crumbling down. She was why the memory of him was resurfacing. The reason why (Y/N) was crumbling down too.

“You’re no Jedi.” Rey breathed out, eyes cautiously flickering between the ignited lightsaber tightly grasped in (Y/N)’s dominant hand and the closed visor of the mask. A position she had found herself in for the second time that day.

Her words took (Y/N) by surprise, but she was not wrong. She could read Rey’s inner thoughts of confusion, the inability to fully understand the duality she felt surrounding (Y/N)’s aura. It was unlike anything Rey had felt and yet the girl’s mind knew the importance of it. Fear began to dissipate from Rey’s eyes instead being replaced by curiosity. But that was enough to douse (Y/N)’s temper. 

Curiosity was worse.

With a soft whoosh her lightsaber was turned off and sheathed back onto her worn leather belt. “No, I’m not.” Her voice was lower, but still taut. (Y/N) took a weak step backwards and only then did the last match flare up. “You and I were written in the stars, brought together by the Force.”

The rich voice echoed across her mind and (Y/N) had to bite her bottom lip to contain the sob threatening to rip through her. Oh how far life had strayed from those evenings in the meadow underneath the sky and the breathtaking colors of dusk. How far they had strayed from the ways of the Jedi. How far they had strayed from such an intertwined destiny. But it was the only way… to be shrouded in lies and deception.

“The Jedi are dead.” With that (Y/N) turned swiftly, exiting the main hold.

Taglist: 

@2heures​, @thephantomwriter​, @thefandomzoneisdangerous​, @carol-chann​, @gambitsqueen​, @pancakefancake​, @zaneholtzwrites​, @moonmama03, @siren-queen03​, @dixonsbugaboo​, @keithseabrook27​, @gentlymilo, @vampgguk​, @kalzzel​, @robindoesntloveme​, @dark-night-sky-99​, @cheeryara, 

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid

Pairing: Klance: Keith Kogane/Lance Mcclain

Tags: Vamp Lance | Klutz Lance | Idiot Keith | Shiro & Keith are adopted brothers | Enemies to idiots( ...I mean) | Enemies to idiots | Mentioned mpreg | Lance isn’t a full vampire( but keith is a full idiot) | Idiot Lance | Paranormal Investigators Pidge & Hunk | Hunk is a scaredy cat | Lance has a black cat name Blue | Fluffy bits | Lance is 44 | Hunk is 24 | Pidge is 22 | Keith is 26 | Shiro is 30 | Bottom Lance! | Vampire dynamics are a bit whack | Smutty bits | Mentions of men making babies | Lance might be a vamp but it turns out he’s useless | Lance’s mum’s name is Miriam | Papi Jorge | Keith is a special flower | Comin’ at ya in bite sized pieces | Fluffy dumbarsery with some tears | Slow build because they’re stupid heads | BOM are hunters | Shiro & Lance are lowkey bros | Keith’s got issues( but he’s got trauma to work through...that’s why he’s repetitive) | Updating tags to include mgreg themes | Not beta-ed | If pining was an Olympic sport these fools would share gold | Langst | Klangst | Hurt and comfort | 

Summary: Lance has lived a pretty simple life since being turned into a vampire. He’s got his house, his cat, and his two besties that have no idea he’s a vampire thanks to his awesome acting skills... He thought he was happy, that things were fine, that he wasn’t drawing too much attention to himself... and then he met Keith.Big, dumb, hot, emo, stupid Keith. Keith that went and flipped his life upside down, because, seriously, Keith really was a special kind of stupid.Vampire Lance x Vampire Hunter Keith

READ ON AO3

People sucked. People truly, madly, unequivocally, completely and totally sucked. That’s why Lance had brought his farmhouse outside a the tiny speck of a town barely found on most maps. He hadn’t lead a particularly long life, at least not when compared to others suffering from the same condition as he had, yet in his short time, he’d come to hate people. Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t hate everyone. He had two best friends that meant the world to him, Pidge and Hunk. Both paranormal investigators, and both blind to his unusualness. No. What Lance held issue with was the continued hunting of his kind by the Vatican. His “ancestors” may have bathed in blood, and sacrificed virgins, all that kind of hooky-huha that one reads in scary stories, but before he’d been made a vampire, he liked to think he’d been a happy enough well liked kid, and he liked to think that even these days he still carried an air of that charm whenever he was forced from his home.

Garrison was a tiny town 50kms away from Platt City, founded during the Third World War, the city held plenty of ghostly secrets which had drawn both Hunk and Pidge to the area. Boasting a single Main Street, the highlights of the town were limited to tourist traps and three pubs on the Main Street. It was while studying at Platt University that he’d met both his best friends, twenty years his juniors, yet thanks to his unwanted immortality his body had stopped maturing roughly around the age of 18, making it easy to join the crowded university with a few falsified papers. His intention was to refresh his legal skills in order to keep up with the time’s. With the help of his Mami, he’d moved somewhere small and private, to a dead beat town that accepted weirdness as an everyday occurrence thanks to the tourists that came to see the ghosts of soldiers passed. When he’d been a kid, he’d always dreamed of being an astronaut, yet had chosen law to help those less fortunate in some kind of redemption for his condition. Being immortal meant keeping up with the times, though his house retained much of its old “Victorian” charm. Plus, with Platt being so close, it made for an easy drive up there every three weeks to pick up new blood bags. He was in no way a stereotypical vampire other than his need for blood. He wore glasses, because his eyesight was so good his mind couldn’t process everything he was seeing. This came with the unfortunate side effect of being clumsy as hell. He’d come from a Catholic family, meaning he believed in the presence of God. He’d also never drunk from a human, and never taken a human as pet or a lover like some did. When he wasn’t tagging along with Pidge and Hunk to ensure they didn’t accidentally summon something nasty, most of his time was devoted to providing low cost family legal advise.

Perhaps because he hadn’t been born a vampire, he’d retained many of his human ways. Sunlight didn’t turn him to ashes. Garlic gave him pretty bad stomach cramps and indigestion, which could be fobbed off with the excuse of an allergy. Silver gave him hives, again, something that could be passed off as an allergic reaction. He refused to harm animals for blood. He refused to bite another human, despite the fact a bite wouldn’t turn one anyway. They needed to be drinking his blood for that to happen, and after how he’d been turned, there was no way he’d ever do that to a mortal. He showed up in photographs, though his eyes always came out red instead of their usual bright blue. Mirrors weren’t exactly his friend, but not because he couldn’t see himself, instead because he hated seeing himself. They didn’t magically show his “vampire face”, instead they reminded him he’d never grow old. At the ripe age of 44 he looked 18. Even when he turned 100, he’d still look 18. It was thoroughly depressing. Unlike some vampires he didn’t have a coven, or a pack. His house only held him and his cat Blue, who he’d found as a tiny kitten under the steps leading up to the porch. She’s was black, fluffy, and an absolute princess in his eyes. Other than the general upkeep of his house, blood costs and the very occasional splurge on new clothes, most of the money he made went to spoiling his little princess. He wasn’t sure if Blue was part vampire, her teeth had always been sharp, as kitten he’d dug her out by the scruff of the neck, her tiny little teeth were far too cute as they buried themselves into his hand. She’d never acted like she was, but she also preferred to stay inside and had a personality that rivalled some of the most twisted “Queen” vamps he’d met. Then again, everyone knew cats were temperamental arseholes, so maybe Blue was simply being the snobby cow she was born to be.

All in all, Lance had nothing to complain about in his life. He was happy, content, safe in the knowledge no one about to ruin that anytime soon.

*

Pulling into the parking lot of their usual dive, Sal’s burgers wasn’t the most popular place in town, making it the perfect place to hang out. Located 10kms out of town on the road to Platt City, seemingly an inconvenience the locals, most of Sal’s customers came from tourists needing to stop because their kids needed the toilet. A few of the older locals had dedicated seats at the service bar, and maybe one or twice a week people spiced it up from their usual coffee shops on Main Street, but all in all, the lack of customers is what Lance loved about it. The whole place looked as if the 50’s had left it behind, from its pastel pink exterior to the cheesy green and silver breakfast stools at the c go heck board service bar. From his parking space he could already see Pidge and Hunk waiting for him in their usual booth. Hunk’s head thrown back as he laughed at something, probably at Pidge’s expense.

Cutting the engine, Lance grabbed up his wallet, phone, and gloves. He wasn’t exactly the warmest of people to begin with, but this freezing weather was likely to turn him into an undead popsicle. Already dressed in his favourite khaki jacket, Lance did a quick double check pat down before climbing out his battered blue four wheel drive. She was old, had one too many rust spots and didn’t like starting on days like today, but he’d had her since he’d graduated college the first time around. His Mami was always nagging at him to get rid of her, to use some of his money to buy something better, something that didn’t have roll down windows and a dodgy CD player. His first car was his first real taste of freedom after being turned. They’d been through a lot together, leaving him unable to say goodbye to her. That’d be like cutting him own arm off.

Sal gave him a wave as Lance walked in, the man was a teddy bear under his perpetual 5 o’clock shadow and greasy apron. His policy seemed to be that if someone couldn’t respect him like this, they weren’t worth his respect in return

“Hey’a there, Lance. Pull up a seat and I’ll bring your usual over”

“Thanks, Sal. You’re the best!”

Sal grumbled, Lance pretending he didn’t hear every low word about him. Bringing up that Sal secretly liked him well enough would only leave the old man flustered. For the sake of their “friendship”, he played along with Sal’s mumbling translating into how much of a pain he was. With a bounce in his step, Lance headed over to Pidge and Hunk, throwing himself into the booth as he wrapped his arms around Hunk

“Lance!”

“It’s soooo cold! Warm me up!”

Hunk hugged him back

“I’ve got you, bro! You’re freezing...”

“And you’re late. You were supposed to be here half an hour ago”

Lance sighed dramatically as he rolled his eyes at his favourite tech gremlin

“You know how she gets in cold weather”

“Who? There better not be anything and wrong with my Princess”

“Pidge, you should know by now that when Lance talks like that, he’s talking about his car... right?”

Lance grinned

“Of course I’m talking about my girl. And my Princess is perfectly happy. Blue was curled up under my blankets when I left”

Pidge pouted at him

“You could have brought her with you. I miss my Blue cuddles”

“You could try coming by the house. She was in a mood when I left”

Lance had a backpack carrier for her, but Blue would have frozen her perfect little toe beans out in the weather today. He’d left the heated blanket on a timer for her, unable to keep from spoiling his princess. Pidge’s hand left her laptop keyboard to grab her mug of coffee

“But your house is soooo far away. Anyway, we’re here to talk about work. I was on this forum last night, and someone swore they met a werewolf. Can you imagine? Hunk told me to stop scaring him”

Hunk... Hunk was the biggest ray of sunshine Lance had ever met. The poor man got every single form of motion sickness know, but that never once stopped him. He was terrified of ghost stories, not the best constitution to have when one is a ghost hunter... No, paranormal investigator. He’d been told there was a difference, but honestly it all sounded the same. People loved to think of the unknown, that world existing just out of their everyday mundane lives. Having been in that world for as long as he had been, Lance would happily pay for a boring mundane life

“I wasn’t scared... I’m... cautious”

Pidge clucked at Hunk, Hunk flipping her off. Laughing at him, Pidge wasn’t easily swayed

“You’re a chicken. What about you, Lance? Do you believe in werewolves?”

Werewolves were dicks. He’d bumped into a few over the years, and they’d done nothing to persuade him that they weren’t. The only thing they had going for them was their commitment to their mates and family, other than that, they were testosterone filled morons with claws.

“I don’t know... I feel like they’d all be too stupid to hide their existence”

“Wolves are incredibly smart... Fine, let’s put that one the back burner. Now, about work, there’s a group of tourists that want to come through the old hospital. The visitors centre in town gave me a call about it. Apparently they pay reeeeeeally well”

They’d have to. The old hospital was “cursed”. It’d been converted into a professional centre, but three years after the renovations they closed the building down thanks to the high number of injuries. If there were ghosts there, it was doubtful they’d care to bother with the employees. They all had their own issues. Lance held the opinion it was more a spate of psychosomatic symptoms resulting from the first accident. The building had been handed back over to the town, where it’d sat empty until it reopened as a military museum. With a bored sigh, Lance resigned himself to the fact that Pidge had already gone ahead and decided this was happening. Patting Hunk on the arm, the big man let him go

“When is this all supposed to be happening?”

Pidge’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Lance loved that about her. The top of her head barely came to his chin, but her pint sized stature didn’t stop her. She was always up for a laugh, and frightfully adapt with all things technology based. One of their first conversations came about because Lance had dropped his phone down the stairwell, smashing the screen as it bounced. Seeing her notice pinned up at the campuses cafe, he’d reached out to her with no idea they’d still be besties so many years later. From memory she had an older brother who was as much of a nerd as she was, while her mother and her father both worked in some private sector. He’d met them once over a family dinner Pidge dragged him to, seen them half a dozen times on their front steps as Pidge fled from their parental yelling, and finally been stuck in a very awkward conversation with Pidge’s father, Sam, when he’d found Bae-Bae, the missing family dog who Pidge had brought along on one of their ghost hunts

“Tonight. We’ve got permission to start once the museum shuts for the day. The tour starts at 8, so we’ll go in, set up, have something to eat, then scare the shit out of them at 8”

“You didn’t tell me it’s tonight!”

Poor Hunk. His poor heart had no time to come to terms with this. His worrying only made Pidge smile wider

“Relax, it’ll be fiiiine. Lance is coming with us. He’ll protect you from anything spooky”

“Why do I have to protect you? What are you going to do? Sue the ghosts for giving you the heebie-jeebies? Sorry, that’s not my specialty”

Pidge slid her glasses down to the tip of her nose as she puffed her chest out

“Ha, he, ho, I’m Lance and I have a fancy law degree! Those ghosts better think twice before looking at me”

Lance laughed way too hard, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, his black frame glasses nearly falling off. Pidge pushing her glasses back into place as Sal brought over Lance’s pancakes and coffee. The man simply placing them down before backing away without a word

“Oh my god, Pidge. That was awful”

“It wasn’t that awful. So, Hunk, you’re in snacks for the night. Lance is in charge of driving, and I’m in charge of the tech. What are we forgetting?”

“That we value our lives and don’t really want to do this?”

Pidge sank lower in her seat, a soft thud coming as Hunk gasped in pain

“What was that for?!”

“Being a chicken”

“I’m not a chicken”

“Are too...”

Picking up his fork, Lance calmly cut in on their fight

“Children, don’t make me seperate the pair of you. Hunk, you’re big, brave, and very manly. Pidge, you’re so fucking short you couldn’t even covertly kick him under the table. If we’re going out, I need to stop by home on the way. Blue needs her wet food for the night, and no, she’s not coming tonight. It’s going to storm as it is”

Crossing her arms, Pidge slumped back in her seat

“You just want to keep my Princess all to yourself. Hunk can leave his car here and we’ll take yours”

“I thought my house was too far away to visit?”

“It’s not when you’re the one driving. Hurry up and finish your pancakes, I wanna go already”

Lance looked down at the forkful he’d been about to load in his mouth, purposely cutting the stack in half to annoy Pidge. Scoffing down Sal’s pancakes was an insult to the man who’d made cigarette ash in pancakes edible. The lack of hygiene may have been another reason why the locals stayed away, but when you’re immortal, standards kind of went out the window

“Laaaaance. Nooo. What are you doing?”

“Enjoying my breakfast. Order another coffee... actually, order some warm milk, I can see you practically vibrating from the amount of caffeine in our bloodstream”

“I’ll have you know that the level of blood in my caffeine stream is just fine. Plus, you’re like the only person in the world who enjoys Sal’s pancakes!”

“Oi! I heard that, Katie Holt!”

Pidge ducked down further in her seat at Sal’s voice. A couple of regulars laughing at her embarrassment, as Pidge blushed

“Now look what you’ve done”

“Not my problem, Pidgeroonie”

“Watch your back, I’m going to get you tonight, then steal away Blue”

Lance shrugged, unfazed by her threat. Tonight would be another lame arse tour under the belt, the most exciting thing they could expect was some jump scare.

[stetervault]

Hello! Do you do rec lists? Would you be willing rec some Steter fics that aren't the most common/popular ones? If not, no worries!

Technically this isn’t a rec-finding blog lol but I do make rec lists sometimes if someone asks and I have the time and I feel like it. Here are some (I think?) less known Steter fics, oldies that people may have missed or forgotten (Idk how well I succeeded, I just picked a bunch that have significantly less reads/bookmarks than the really big fics):

Fear (Doesn't Mean I Can't Fight) by azerblazer

Peter is the damsel in distress, the Sheriff is the hostage, random unnamed hunters are the bad guys.

Stiles has a bat, a hoodie and a willingness to do anything to protect those he's loyal to.

Bring it on.

A Lean and Hungry Look by kototyph

The woods aren't the only place you find wolves.

You're Mine, Valentine by orphan_account

In which Peter decides to court Stiles, and does so by leaving him hearts.

Bloody ones.

Zodiac by Green

"You know, Taurus and Libra make a good match," Peter says with a sly smile.

Stiles looks away. "Yeah. I looked that up, too."

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

He Is A Villain By The Devil's Law by neglectedtuesday

Stiles’ lungs are burning, blood is pumping through his veins and he’s pretty sure that if he stops running then he’ll just keel over into the gutter. But God does he feel alive. The sirens are wailing, loud and clear. Just one more block. One more block. Stiles ducks down an alleyway, the bag full of bank notes swinging behind him. It hits his side with a dull thud. The alley smells like cat pee and yesterdays trash so Stiles breathes shallowly through his mouth. He continues walking down it until he reaches the end. It opens out onto the street. He stops just shy of the exit, waiting. He waits a bit more. Then he kicks a can lying idle on the ground. He whips out his burner phone, punching in a number.

“Where the fuck are you?” Stiles growls, “Where’s my goddamn getaway car?”

“Change of plans Stilinski, you’re gonna have to get away on your own. Also ditch the phone.”

Fascinated by lemonstiles, migratoryslashfan

Stiles pontificates over Peter's naked body.

Night-blooming Flowers by imriebelow

Peter always gets what he wants. Stiles learns to live with it.

None of These Things (Are Happening) by Horribibble

After years away, Stiles returns to Beacon Hills just in time to put Isaac's insides back where they belong.

It's cute how people think he's trustworthy.

-

Peter can smell the violence inside him, the urge to do something grand and possibly cataclysmic. It’s there—mixed with a balance and natural calm, but in the undercurrent, it’s there. He has seen things beyond the scope of Beacon Hills’ petty horror show. He has learned things.

The Terrible Things We Do (For Love) by rospeaks

Being a demon, he’s seen some of the pretty nasty things that humans are willing to do for love. Things that, were he still alive (and human), would make him hesitate to be in a relationship with anyone lest his partner start getting some funny ideas. That said—

"This seems a little desperate for a kid your age," he says to Stiles.

Spin, Sweet Clotho by ChuckleVoodoos

Oh, it’s a beautiful thing to watch, the way they dance around each other, spun in sugar and glittering glass. Like a fragile little fairytale, a tender rosebud just waiting to unfurl. It makes Peter sick.

Because love is a fairytale, and his dear darling nephew does not deserve a happy ending.

whisper by tricksterity

Stiles was tired.

He was done of people pushing him and his pack around. They’d already lost so much and he was damned if he’d let them lose anyone else, especially to this psychopath who had no reasons for what he did other than he liked it.

And that’s when the whispers in his mind grew louder.

Remember Darling, All the While by Sang_argente

It was fire, ice, electricity. It was the first kiss, the last kiss, and every kiss inbetween. It was lips parting, tongues sliding, hearts beating.

Impress Me by ToAStranger

Their new English teacher has gone missing.

Falling Upward by moonstalker24

There is nothing quite like flying. There is a calm and a peace found in the sky that cannot be found on earth. All the chaos of the world is below you and there is no sound save that which the propeller makes as the engine turns it. You are free and unfettered and the clouds are close enough to touch; all you need do is stretch out your hand to grasp them.

Stiles takes Peter flying after he gets out of Eichen House.

Sweeter Than Gingerbread by taylorpotato (Stetallison)

The saying goes that lovers who commit suicide together start their next life as twins. Perhaps that's why Stiles and Ally feel the way they do about each other.

The Shadow Effect by Mysenia

What was the fun in being a twin if you couldn't trick a person or two?

Deep under by Sashaya

There's a reason Stiles knows so much about drowning. He'd rather not remember why...

All the World's a Stage (but the light design is subpar) by BonesOfBirdWings

Peter Hale is a successful Off-Broadway actor, and Stiles is a stage lighter who literally falls into his life.

Peter smiled at him. "Thank you, Stiles. But should I take this to mean that you don't want a meatball sandwich from Banh Mi Saigon?"

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "You - I - Yes, I want! Oh my god, you do the best apologies! Can you piss me off more, please? I accept all future apologies enthusiastically!"

Peter chuckled. "I'm sure that won't be a problem, dear boy. I've been informed that I'm an asshole by a very reliable source."

Stiles beamed. "But you have good taste in food, so things balance out?" he ventured.

Peter threw back his head and laughed. Stiles' grin brightened in answer.

The D.C. Backroom Deal by septima_sum

Stiles is a regular prostitute with moderate life goals – until his current client makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

Hold Me Down by sneksonaplane

Waking up in Peter Hale’s bed was weird. Waking up in Peter Hale’s body was even weirder. Stiles had been disoriented and confused when he’d found himself in a plush, king sized bed in an unfamiliar bedroom instead of in his own room (and seriously, why did Peter even need a king sized bed? Why would anyone need a bed that big?) It had all come back to him when he’d glimpsed the body he was inhabiting, one that was shorter but more defined than his own, and older, and kind of hot.

OR

The one where Stiles and Peter swap bodies, Peter relives his adolescence, Stiles suffers, and then suffers a little less when he discovers Peter's fetlife profile where he's listed as a submissive seeking a daddy.

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night by Guede

This is a ghost story. It’s not straightforward.

Put My Faith in Something Unknown by Twisted_Mind

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, suspended between thought and action, unable to feel. At some point, he becomes aware that there’s a hand on his face. A warm palm cradles his jaw, and a thumb brushes across his cheekbone tenderly.

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

Enemy Action by pprfaith

Once is chance, twice is coincidence and three times is far too many bodies on the ground.

Buy Me a New Pair by Julibean19

"I don't practice law much these days."

"And why is that?" Stiles asked, wondering why a handsome and presumably successful lawyer wouldn't want to continue working.

"I've been drawn away by more pleasurable pursuits," Peter said, lips quirked upward as he spoke.

Tale as Old as Time by wynnebat

The one in which Lydia's got better things to do than be Belle, Stiles is a much more likeable Gaston, and Peter is a beast but not quite beastly.

The clothes make the man by FeelingsDusk

The trick to sneaking into a building where you shouldn’t be is to make it seem to all eyes like you should. Stiles has been doing this since he was a little older than toddler and he wanted to get back his Batman action figure from the evidence room in his dad’s Police Station.

(Spolier alert: just like back then, Stiles gets caught.)

Smile Like You Mean It by NinaRooxx

After sulking about the changing weather over the autumn, Stiles notices that despite the weather getting colder, Peter’s wardrobe isn’t changing at all.

Swing by ShippersList

Stiles wants to fly.

Angels, Devils, and Peter by Triangulum

Everyone has an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. They give advice, help guide their human through life. They tempt, they listen, they offer help. Everyone has one of each. Everyone except for Stiles.

OR

Stiles and Peter are murder husbands.

love and madness by sinequanon

Peter and Stiles haven’t seen each other in months when the alphas ask them to meet up to look over an abandoned house. Now, they’re going to be seeing a lot of each other for quite a while to come.

Not This Again by RebaK1tten

There's a rumor that the last episode of the show will have Peter getting killed, again. Perhaps to give him a redemption arc or something.

A Light at the (Near) End of the World by ladyoneill

The world he grew up in has ended in a supernatural war that devastated the human population. A survivor, Stiles lives a solitary, quiet life in Wales until there's a knock on his door.

Through Space and Time by MaroonDragon

When Stiles pulls the body of Peter Hale into his ship, he doesn't expect him to be alive. He also doesn't realise he might have gotten more than he bargained for.

His Color by SushiOwl

“Darling, have you been carrying a throw-away comment I made in your mind for almost four months?”

Stiles’s face felt like it was one with fire now.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

Looking After You by Slayer_of_Destiny

Can Peter be a chance for Stiles, can Stiles be a second chance for Peter? When Peter offers Stiles a relationship will the younger man take the chance with the werewolf?

Maybe We Both Are by lavenderlotion

The first time Stiles lets his fingers brush against Peter he wasn’t expecting the response he got. They were sitting on Stiles bed researching something. Or, they were researching. Now they were just talking. They did that a lot these days, just talked. They also ate together a lot. Or got coffee.

these words bear my scars (paint your love on my skin) by WindyRein

One day butterflies and childish codes change to I'm sorry you're meant for a murderer and he won't realize for years how much that changed his life.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

The Lady of Lightning by kiranightshade

"Those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside"

Can You Use Lube For That? by AlreadyBoss

“You think your what is haunted now?” Surely he'd misheard. There was no way-

“My vibrator,” Stiles answered with alarming sincerity.

Well. He hadn't misheard after all.

Pianist Envy by Bunnywest

Stiles is the piano player.Peter can think of other things he'd like to see those hands do.Shame the guy's straight.

Everything You Deserve by Areiton

You think about it. More than you should, you think about it. About what would have happened, if you had bitten Stiles instead of Scott.

Home by Ragga

Don't be like him, they would say, and then add, or else you get burned.

Unable to bear the whispers any longer, This One left. He forsook those who forsook him, left him bear his scars alone, the scars he bore for his herd. It was better to be alone, stay off the currents, than swim with those most undeserving of his loyalty. So mote it be.

That is, until he met That One.

Lord Peter by Therapeutic_Steter

Peter rung out the rag before gently placing it on his mother’s head, reaching over to feel his father’s equally flushed features.

“Such a good boy,” his mother said, patting his arm with what little strength she had remaining. His father smiled softly at him even as his fell unconscious. Peter pushed back the lump in his throat, smiling shakily for his mother before venturing out into the living space.

knit me together by nezstorm

Peter asks Stiles to stay the night after a really awful day.

Warriors by CinnamonLily

Peter is ten years old when humans discover Azure, a planet not unlike Earth. From there on, he wants to learn everything about their new neighbors and the planet itself. It takes him over twenty years to get to Azure, but when he does, it's so worth it. His anthropologist heart is happy, and a new acquaintance in the form of an Azurian called Stiles might just make the rest of him happy, too.

[scribbleb-red]

Animal Whisperer - a Morning AU

They say that magic isn’t dead- that you can see fairy in the dancers whose leaps seem like flight, glimpse dryads in those who are never lost, spot nymphs in those who dive deeper and faster without fear or hesitation.

Magic isn’t dead - it’s diluted. 

It’s why some people are drawn to lonely places, old places. 

It’s why the full moon calls to people who look up. 

It’s why some say Neil Josten isn’t completely human - that he has an uncanny knack, an unseelie gift.

The way he helps animals, after all, can be nothing but magic. No one can sooth a horse like him, help a beaten dog back on its paws, understand why a cat is so anxious or why wild animals keep ruining your flowerbeds.

For the Foxhole Sanctuary, a wild life sanctuary run by David Wymack, the arrival of this strange boy is a boon. Starting as a recovery centre for injured animals found on the roads, it quickly became a place where people dropped off abused and broken ‘exotic’ pets.

There are fennec foxes and savannah cats, caracals and toucans, sugar gliders and wolf dogs, a collection of hedgehogs and chinchillas, snakes upon snakes. There’s a tiger that some asshole declawed and a family of rejected monkeys from the nearby zoo.

Doesn’t matter what the animal is, Neil whispers to all of them and they apparently whisper back.

No one knows where Neil came from - one day he was just there, knelt down by one of the sick foxes, making strange little crooning noises that the fox nosed up to almost instantly. 

And after that he stayed.

When the other workers of the Foxhole asked, Wymack shrugged and said they had an understanding. 

The boy would stay until he needed to go. 

He always seemed to need to go. He was edgy and strange - uncomfortable around humans and skittish as some of the animals.

When Matt and Dan tried to befriend him, their overtures were met with sharp words and a sharp grin and a twitchy, nervous Neil for the rest of the day. Later that night they would talk about it - would agree that they needed to help Neil, if only he’d let them.

Not everyone was so easy to appease. And the wild animals weren’t the only beasts at the Foxhole.

Andrew Minyard is a veterinarian by training and a specialist in rehabilitation. 

He's often found in pools helping animals to get their strength back up, making sure that wild animals remember how to be wild. 

He doesn't trust Neil Josten.

He doesn't like how the stranger just wove his way into the fabric of the Foxhole. He doesn't like that he speaks on behalf of animals. He doesn't like that no one seems to challenge him, or doubt him, or question him.

Consent is everything to Andrew and he's wary of anyone who claims to know what an animal is trying to say. He knows how animals express "yes" and "no", aversion - attraction, fight, flee, freeze, fawn, collapse, submit - that they can make informed choices. 

But Neil Josten's way of working seems to circle around that - soothing them into submission, nudging them into affection, coaxing them into agreement. 

It doesn't sit well with Andrew. So he watches. Tries to understand.

Neil and Andrew clash like two ibexes - stubborn and furious and crown with their own horns. Their dislike of each other cools every room, crushes every laugh or smile. Only the animals seem immune - sensing that these humans are looking out for them in their own way.

It’s the small moments that slowly ease Andrew’s misgivings.

There’s the time with an ocelot where he finds Neil sat, cooing about, “what pretty eyes you have, and what magnificent paws, so good for trees right? Do you like trees? Me too. Shall we hang upside down together?”

And they do. Neil and the ocelot clamber up a tree and dangle together.

Neil is not a good climber - he’s graceless and ridiculous, his hair a wild tangle of red around his face and getting stuck in his mouth. His face goes pink when he lets his arms hang about his head.

The ocelot looks... concerned? Playful? 

“Yeah yeah you’re a natural, no need to judge,” says Neil. 

But this is a cat who refused to climb until recently and it’s the first time Andrew has seen her try to act like ocelots naturally do.

There’s another time with an old dog that they just can’t help. Andrew is alone with Neil and as he has to put the sad, broken creature to sleep, Neil strokes its ragged ears and gentles it into rest. There’s heartbreak in Neil’s eyes and the usual heaviness in Andrew - he begins to see that maybe Neil isn’t so terrible and untrustworthy after all.

There’s not a single moment where the world shifts. 

Like coaxing a wild animal, it’s gradual, slow. They learn to work around each other and accept each other and finally, Andrew realises, he’s choosing Neil first for any case where he’s relevant. 

Not Renee or Abby or Kevin, always Neil.

But Neil still has secrets, still has a nervous habit of looking over his shoulder, still shrinks when Wymack gets too close.

Andrew asks him about it one evening when they're locking up. 

They do this sometimes - share truths the way honey badgers and honeyguides share their hunt (Andrew likes to think of himself as the vicious badger in this metaphor, obviously). Neil's eyes are blue and frozen.

"Why are you asking now?" Neil asks. "Do you still want me to leave?" 

Andrew doesn't know how to answer that. "You're always looking over your shoulder,” he starts. “The animals act like they want to keep you as some kind of hatchling, a cub to protect. If it's going to endanger you..."

"What? You'll try to protect me too?" Neil smiles but it's sad. "You can't protect me, Andrew. It's all up here." 

Andrew understands. His ghosts haunt the grey matter of his brain too.

"Stay, you don't have to be Bambi." 

"I relate more to rabbits actually." 

"Of course you fucking do," says Andrew. "But you're not one. You have far sharper teeth. You're a fox." 

Neil's smile is just a bit brighter when he disappears into the dark.

*

Andrew has scars on his arms and scars on his thighs and scars where no one can see them. Sometimes a warm muzzle or a soft ear will press against his chest and he imagines the animals he works with can feel those scars beneath his skin, hidden inside his ribs.

Neil is the same. 

His hands, his face, his arms, his shoulders, his chest and back - there are scars there that he doesn't (can't) hide. But the worst are those the wild cats try to knead away, that the mice try to fix, the dogs try to love, the foxes chitter and paw at.

*

There's a pregnant fennec and that's the first time Neil and Andrew's hand brush.

There's a beaten kinkajou and that's the first time Neil and Andrew fall asleep on the same sofa at work.

There's a slow lorris that won't detach from Neil's head and that's the first time Andrew smiles at Neil.

*

Over time Matt and Dan manage to persuade Neil to come for dinner. Later, they invite themselves to his flat - it's kind of shitty and empty and they end up doing a drive for furniture. 

Andrew visits during the official house warming. He ends up sleeping on the new couch.

*

Photos go up on walls at work and slowly Neil's face is as frequent as everyone else's. 

Andrew's favourite is of him finally coaxing the slow lorris to let got of Neil's hair - because Neil is looking at them both like they've hung the moon.

*

Andrew isn't sure when it happened, but Wymack makes a comment about how Neil's whispering magic works on humans as much as animals. 

It's true - he guesses - the whole team is more of a team now. 

But the lesson isn't that Neil is magic. That he's fae or fiction or false. It's that Neil lets animals in - he listens to them by opening himself up to them. And finally he's doing that with them - the humans of the Foxhole - as well. 

Andrew feels a painful thrum of warmth - he's been rehabilitating Neil, they all have. 

But he never asked permission. 

Guilt, hot and aching, wrecks through his chest. He has to speak to Neil. But doing so also throws into light a thousand other feelings he's been trying so hard to ignore.

He's not surprised when Neil's face goes blank when he explains what's happened. 

He is surprised when Neil's mouth tips downwards. 

He is downright stunned when Neil says, "So we're not courting?"

"What?" It's Andrew's turn to be frozen. 

"Matt and Dan told me that's what we were doing. I told them it was nonsense but then I guess a lot of it has been similar to the mating rituals of various mammals --"

"Neil, we've not been courting. And who calls it courting?"

"Matt and Dan did, when I told them I hadn't kissed you yet." 

Andrew's eyes grow wide. 

"I would quite like to kiss you though, I think," says Neil.  

"You think," says Andrew.  

"Well I've only done it twice before and I didn't really want to kiss them. But it would be nice to kiss you, I think."

Andrew looks at this man - this ridiculous, skittish, useless, impossible, brilliant, man - and steps a little closer. 

He lifts his hand, holds Neil's chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes or no, Neil? To me kissing you." 

Neil frowns. "So we were courting?"

"We can court from now," Andrew says. 

"Then yes." 

 And Andrew closes the gap until the only whispers are those in their chests.

The kiss tastes a lot like magic. 

-The end-

[justanother-unluckysoul]

OUAT fanfic: “Love Is A Ghost You Can’t Control," M, Killian & Smee friendship

Rating: M Characters: Killian Jones, Peter Pan, William Smee Word count: 4233 Summary:“Killian knew he sounded frenzied, wild, bordering on insane. His outburst was drawing attention from the rest of his crew but he didn’t care. Smee looked like he was trying to crawl right out of his skin to avoid the point of the hook pressed against his jugular.” Set in early Neverland days. As a grieving Killian sinks deeper into the darkness, Smee awkwardly tries to cement his own place on the Jolly Roger’s crew. Warnings: Implied/referenced Hook/Pan non-con but nothing graphic. Accidental self-harm.

(On AO3) || (On FF.net)

The FF.net version is the more family-friendly version, from which I’ve removed the non-con references and most of the “bad” language as well as my little sister has access to my writings over there lol

A/N:  Kind of a follow up to my story For Love And Revenge, but works as a standalone fic as well. I just had some more ideas that didn’t quite flow on from the end of the other story. Title is from Christina Perri’s “The Words.” (go watch the music video for it, if you hadn’t already!)

Love Is A Ghost You Can’t Control

“You will do what I say, Hook,” Pan said, his voice sharp, “Or there will be consequences.”

Killian bristled at the unfamiliar, and unwanted, moniker.

“It’s Captain Jones.”

Pan only tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised as he looked challengingly at Killian. He’d appeared on board without warning as the crew busied themselves preparing for the day, and in a moment he had every one of the crew members locked in place with a twist of his hand, although for some reason he’d left Killian free. Now Killian gazed back into Pan’s eyes and there no trace in them of the boy he looked to be. No, this was a demon. Just like the Dark One.

“And I won’t make a bloody deal with you,” Killian growled, pushing aside the flicker of fear growing within him.

“A deal? Of course not, I’m not here to make deals.”

Pan stepped closer to John, and Killian ground his teeth together to hold back his instinctive protest as the demon took the cutlass from the first mate’s hand.

“Here’s how it goes. You now work for me, and you will do whatever I ask of you. And if you don’t, more of this is going to happen.”

Killian never got a chance to ask what Pan was talking about, because in the next moment, he had driven that weapon right through John’s heart. Killian might have screamed. He’s not sure. But then Pan was right in his face and Killian’s own cutlass was half drawn, held back by Pan’s magic.

“That was only the beginning,” Pan said, “You have until tomorrow night to be on that shore, pledging your allegiance to me. And if you don’t… well, let’s just say I’m going to really enjoy myself that night.”

Pan smiled predatorily as he caressed Killian’s jaw in a way that left no dispute as to what exactly he planned to do with the captain if his instructions weren’t followed. Killian’s skin crawled. Then the demon vanished, and Killian nearly fell to his knees as his magical bonds were released. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Some of the crew quickly gathered around John’s body, but it was obvious the man was already dead. Killian was in disbelief, caught in that destructive place between anger and grief, where your chest feels tight and your throat closes, but you can’t quite cry and you want to scream and fight and break down but none of it happens. So Killian just stood there in frozen silence for too long, until he realized his crew was now looking to him for direction.

**

They buried John at sea just after midday. Killian forced himself to say a few words. John had been part of the crew from the very beginning, his place as first mate well earned. And more than that, he’d been a trusted friend, helping Killian stay afloat in those first few days after Liam’s death, and then again after Milah’s. He owed John more than he could ever say. It was too much in such a short space of time. Killian could feel himself spiralling, losing control. And the weight of his imminent decision still hovered over his head. How long could he resist Pan and the Lost Ones? Could he, in good conscience, risk his men’s lives by doing so? Pan had already killed John like it was nothing, like John was nothing. Just like the crocodile had killed Milah. And Pan surely had further evil plans for them if Killian didn’t surrender, he had made that clear. Killian internally berated himself for ever coming back to Neverland. Another impulsive decision, exactly what his loved ones had always warned him against.

“Bloody cursed island,” he muttered, taking another swig of rum.

He needed to quieten his mind, just a little, shake off the crushing guilt he’s feeling. He needed to think objectively. He was too emotional right now. His thoughts kept bouncing around from one trauma to another and he couldn’t seem to calm them. The Dark One standing over him in the alley, using Killian’s own sword to pin him down. Liam dying in his arms, Killian screaming uselessly for help. Twice, remember? No, stop. Milah touching his face, whispering I love you. Pan sliding the sword effortlessly between John’s ribs. Stop! And suddenly Killian’s hook was buried in his leg. He blinked at it for a moment in hazy disbelief before yanking it loose. His involuntary cry of pain drew attention, and momentarily there were footsteps on the stairs.

“Captain? Is everything alright?”

No, everything’s not bloody alright.

“’s fine. Go ‘way,” he said instead, and since when did his voice get so slurred?

“You’re bleeding.”

And suddenly Smee was next to him, daring not only to deny a direct order but also to grab Killian’s shoulder. Killian growled and went to punch the insolent man. He missed. Apparently, he was drunker than he thought.

“Sir, please, let me help-”

Killian pushed his chair back from the table and his wounded leg nearly gave out when he stood. God, he’s such an idiot, stabbing himself with his own hook.

“Get out,” he snarled.

Smee didn’t. In fact, Smee was actually calling for assistance now, because Killian had pitched forward and Smee’s probably the only thing keeping him from going all the way to the floor.

“Leave me be,” Killian mumbled at the two - three? He can’t see straight - blurred shapes that come down the stairs.

He shoved hard against the man bracing him and stumbled backward. Smee barely avoided the wildly swinging hook and quickly caught Killian’s forearm before he could make another pass at any of them.

“Sir, if you just-”

“I said leave me!”

Killian managed to pull a bit of strength into his voice but he couldn’t seem to do the same for his body.

“I am your captain. Y-you do as I command.”

He couldn’t even stay conscious long enough to see if they do.

Killian drifted in and out of awareness. His leg was on fire from hip to ankle. He fought against the hands holding him, yelled, spat curses until he fell into darkness again. Then there was a damp cloth on his face, gentle fingers on his jaw.

“Milah,” he whispered.

The touch withdrew immediately.

“No, don’t leave me!”

He lurched upright, biting back a cry as the pain speared through his knee again, and grabbed the arm pulling away from him.

“Take it easy, Captain.”

Smee’s voice was like a slap in the face. Killian dragged himself back to full awareness and shoved Smee away from him.

“Bloody hell. What the devil are you doing, Smee?”

He twisted so his legs reached the floor, and sat there for a moment, holding his head. God, his brain felt like it was going to fall right out of his skull. And it’s likely his stomach would follow shortly after.

“You’ve been a bit ill, sir,” Smee explained nervously, which at this point just seemed like his natural state, “Just rest, alright? I’ll get you some water.”

“No. Get me rum.”

“Captain, I really think-”

“Mr Smee. Rum.”

Smee did as he was told, for once. The rum did no favours for Killian’s swirling stomach, but it did settle his head somewhat. With his thoughts flowing clearer, Killian realized something else and fixed Smee with a dark look.

“Where’s my hook?”

“Uh, we had to take it off,” Smee said.

He looked dreadfully uncomfortable under Killian’s gaze.

“You were thrashing around too much, I thought you might… hurt yourself.”

Again.

“Give it back,” Killian demanded harshly, “Now.”

Smee complied. A small voice at the back of Killian’s mind (it sounded like Liam, it always did, though he couldn’t be certain now that he’s even remembering his brother’s voice correctly, it’s been so long) said he should thank the man for cleaning the blood off it. But the words were buried too far down. The hook made Killian feel a little less feeble, a little more whole, and having it removed without his consent was almost more than he could take. He clicked it back into the slot and let the rage consume him.

“I should have you flogged.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. Please don’t.”

“Who helped you?”

“D-davis. And Baldy.”

Killian pushed himself to his feet and immediately regretted it. There was no strength in his wounded leg, the knee refusing to lock at all. He gritted his teeth and sat back down.

“I don’t think your medical skills are quite up to task, Smee.”

“Sorry, sir. I did my best but the wound was quite deep. It’ll take some time to heal.”

“Let Davis and Baldy know that I’m thinking of an appropriate punishment,” Killian said, “and for you as well. Now get out.”

Smee quickly obeyed. Now alone, Killian took a moment to examine his leg. Of course Smee had actually done a decent job sewing him back together. The man was surprisingly deft with a needle and thread, as evidenced by his work when Killian had torn the stitches on his stump just days after arriving in Neverland. But now more than ever, Killian couldn’t seem to keep his anger in check and most times, he was beyond caring.

Between the infernal cramping of his left hand, which despite being gone for weeks now still found a way to pain him, and the newer throbbing agony in his leg, Killian couldn’t settle. He’d plunged the hook in just above and slightly to the outside of his left knee, and the whole joint now felt painfully swollen and the rest of the leg below it was practically useless. He finally gave up on sleep sometime before dawn and dragged himself up to the deck. There was usually only one man on deck at this time of night, when they weren’t sailing somewhere, and he wisely kept to himself when Killian was in one of his more volatile moods. Which, if Killian’s being honest, was more often than not these days. But the sight of the open sea always soothed him, and tonight was no different. Killian gingerly lowered himself onto a crate, his injured leg stretched out in front of him rather awkwardly, and felt the tension easing almost instantaneously. The soft, cool breeze on his heated skin felt marvellous. Killian didn’t manage to sleep, but by the time the sun rose, he felt much more like himself. He felt like a bit of an idiot though. He hadn’t intended to get so drunk last night but it had been so easy to just keep drinking, keep chasing the numbness. Right up until the moment he’d clumsily stabbed himself in the leg and shattered what calm he’d nearly managed to find. Now Killian stood up and shook off the thoughts, returning to his quarters before the rest of the crew awoke.

**

Killian’s men took the news that they would all be in Pan’s employ from now on rather well, though Killian didn’t leave them any room not to. Apparently the only emotion he was capable of portraying now was anger. And really, that’s probably for the best, he thinks. He met with Pan on the shore as requested, wanting nothing more than to rip out the demon’s spine. But he couldn’t do that. So he instead he taunted Pan right back, one insult in return for each one Pan sent his way, and although it only served to rile the demon further and Killian paid for it before their meeting was over, he didn’t regret it for one moment. He dragged his battered body back to the ship, where the crew waited anxiously. He brushed them all off and slunk back to his quarters to nurse his new wounds in private.

Pan ordered them to make a “supply run” almost immediately, disregarding Killian’s still-healing wounds. Killian had no choice but to obey. He had to admit though, plundering villages again felt good, and if it weren’t for the pain in his leg and other places he doesn’t want to think about he could almost pretend things were normal. He chased that feeling of normality and calm for hours afterward, standing at the helm, looking over the ocean, picturing Milah at his side.

“Captain. How’s the leg?”

“It’s… better.”

Killian had made a point to be a little more civil to Smee today. The man was only trying to help, although Killian couldn’t quite hide his irritation at having his pleasant daydream interrupted.

“Glad to hear it, sir,” Smee said with a small smile, “And what about your other woun-”

Killian’s good mood evaporated instantly at the reminder of Pan’s actions and Smee hurriedly backtracked at the look on his face.

“I-I mean… I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He practically ran away. Like a coward. Killian growled under his breath and returned his focus to the horizon. He’d been almost excited to come here and thwart the Dark One. Good luck living long enough. Killian was going to make sure he did, but he hadn’t counted on Pan’s interference. He had known the boy – no, the demon – couldn’t be trusted, but the extent of his power hadn’t been comprehended until it was too late.

**

Over the next few weeks, Killian’s anger only grew. He was desperate to keep his memories of Milah pure, not allow them to be tainted by his own anger. He wanted to think of her only with fondness. Remember the days and nights they shared together. But he found that each time he let his mind wander to her, it got harder to capture those good feelings again. His dreams, not normally pleasant to begin with, had dissolved further into warped horrors. Sometimes he was tied to the mast, screaming for Milah. Other times, he played the role of the Dark One, and it’s his own hand that crushes Milah’s heart. Bloody crocodile. Bloody Pan. He must find a way out of this cursed realm before he loses his mind. Killian’s only consolation is that Pan regularly sends them out to pilfer from more villages, so he can take some of his rage out on the men that try to stop him.

“Captain, the men are tired,” Smee told him carefully, the sun just coming up at the edge of the sea as they come into view of Pan’s island after another raid, “Do you think… maybe you could ask him if we could have a vacation?”

Killian stared at him blankly. Smee’s request honestly caught him by surprise. The rest of the crew knew better than to question him, to ask anything at all from him these days.

“A vacation?”

“Yes!” Smee lost the cautious tone now, misinterpreting Killian’s incredulity for confusion, “I think we’ve earned one. And you look like you could use a rest as much as anyone, just look at the dark circles under your eyes.”

He had said too much, gone too far, forgotten his place. Killian could see the exact moment Smee realised, but it’s too late. Killian lunged for the smaller man, hook at his throat.

“Pirates don’t take vacations,” Killian all but yelled, “They seek revenge. Which is exactly what I’m going to do as soon as I figure out how to kill the bloody Dark One.”

He knew he sounded frenzied, wild, bordering on insane. His outburst was drawing attention from the rest of his crew but he didn’t care. Smee looked like he was trying to crawl right out of his skin to avoid the point of the hook pressed against his jugular.

“Of course. I-I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Know your place, Mr Smee,” Killian warned him darkly.

He gave the pitiful man a rough shove as he let him go, nearly knocking him over. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to give Smee a place on the crew. He’d been nothing but disrespectful and ungrateful.

Days later, he was forced to admit to himself that Smee was right and he probably should have tried asking Pan for a break, although likely wouldn’t have done them much good. Killian couldn’t imagine the demon actually acquiescing to anything Killian desires. But lying on the floor of his quarters almost delirious with fever, he thought he could have at least tried. He was not sure what had caused his illness but stretching himself so thin for this long had almost certainly contributed to it.

“Captain, we’re-”

Smee stopped short. Killian supposed he must look quite a sight lying there on the floor, shivering and sweating and only partially clothed because he’d run out of strength part way through dressing.

“Uh, sir, are you alright?”

Killian barked out an almost manic laugh and dragged his hand over his face.

“Do I look like I’m alright, Smee?”

Smee clearly didn’t want to answer that and Killian didn’t bother waiting for his response anyway, pushing himself clumsily to his feet. The floor didn’t seem very steady today.

“I just came to tell you we’ve arrived at the port,” Smee said.

Bloody hell, the port. If the Jolly Roger doesn’t return with a full hold, Pan will have his hide. Killian reached for his vest, missed, had to catch himself at the edge of the table to avoid another tumble.

“Just a moment, mate,” Killian said, his voice slurring slightly.

He managed to grab the vest this time, pulls it on, goes for his overcoat and that’s when the whole ship tilted, throwing him back to the floor.

“Have we hit some bad weather?” he asked in confusion, trying to bring Smee’s face back into focus.

“Um, no?”

“Is that a question, Smee? Or a statement?”

“I think you should rest for a bit, sir.”

Killian was suddenly too hot and he yanked his vest off again.

“I think… I think that’s a good idea, Smee.”

It’s the first good idea Smee’s ever had in his life, Killian thought, and that struck him as funny. Hilarious, in fact. Vaguely his mind warned him that this was it – the moment Killian Jones finally goes insane.

**

He’s not going insane. At least, that’s what Smee said, though Killian couldn’t be sure because he’s definitely seeing things that he shouldn’t. Milah, for one thing. She was a ghost, flickering in the corner like candlelight, but sometimes when his mind was at its most clouded, she came close enough to brush her fingers over his cheek. He learned after a few times just to accept it, not to try to return the gesture because as soon as he moves, she disappears. So he lay still and silent and closed his eyes, Milah’s touch soothing his fevered body.

“I’m sorry, Milah,” he whispered.

“Sssh, my love, just sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”

He missed her so much it hurt, a physical ache in his heart. He still had so much to tell her. The crocodile hadn’t even given him a chance to respond to her murmured I love you and now he’ll never get to say it to her again. He tried to take comfort in the hallucination now, telling Milah all the things he wished to but never could before. But other times the tricks of his mind were less pleasing, instead tormenting him with visions of the Dark One or of Pan, and after, when Killian comes back to himself, he’s most often cowering in a corner, throat raw from screaming, and several of his men are trying to wrestle some weapon from his grip. They stole his hook again sometime when he was passed out, and no matter how much he shouted and threatened and cursed, they would not return it to him. They were frightened of him, he can see it in their eyes, and if he’s honest, he’s frightened of himself too. Afraid of the darkness in his soul. When the fever finally broke after who knows how long, leaving Killian exhausted, and ripe with the stench of sweat and sickness, it was only Smee who dares to offer him a row to the shore to bathe in the river that flows nearby. Killian accepted, of course, but it surprised him that after the cruelty he’s shown the man, Smee was still trying to help him. Sometimes during the fever, they’d sailed back to Neverland. Killian wondered briefly who had taken charge and regretted not reassigning the position of first mate. It was a blatant oversight on his part, too distracted by his own grief that he failed in his duties as captain. (That’s bad form, little brother, says Liam.) Not that it mattered, obviously, because we made it back, didn’t we, Liam? Killian felt terribly weak from the illness, and to strip off his clothing took more effort than he would have liked, not helped at all by the awkwardness that is only having one hand. They’d returned his hook again, finally, but it was no use to him in this situation. Killian feared he’d never get used to this, his newfound clumsiness humiliating and he was glad Smee kept his back to him, allowing his pride to stay more or less intact. The water was slightly too cold to be comfortable, but it was refreshing, and the chill was a small price to pay for his cleanliness. Killian quickly finished bathing and returned to Smee. He was running out of energy already, the fever having sapped his minimal reserves.

“Captain,” Smee said suddenly, his voice urgent.

Killian looked up from pulling his leather pants back on to see Pan staring back at him. His pulse quickened in fear, although he carefully kept his face neutral.

“Captain Hook,” greeted Pan with a smile that looked purely evil, “You know you don’t have to redress so quickly on my account.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in barely contained rage, continuing to dress even as his face flushed with embarrassment. He did not want Smee to hear any of this.

“Where have you been? I expected your return several days ago.”

“He’s been ill,” Smee interjected, “But the Jolly Roger’s hold is full, as you commanded.”

Pan seemed as surprised by Smee’s interruption as Killian was. The demon’s attention shifted, and Killian is grateful that he gets to finish pulling his clothes back on without the uncomfortable scrutiny.

“And who are you?” Pan asked, almost childlike in his curiosity.

It sickened Killian. Although to be fair, just about everything about Pan sickened him now.

“Smee. William Smee, but please, call me Smee.”

“Is this true, Hook?” Pan asked, his attention back on Killian, “You’ve been ill?”

“Aye.”

Pan stepped closer to him. Killian could feel his façade of indifference slipping as the demon sniffed him, nose so close to Killian’s neck he was almost touching him.

“Well, I believe it,” Pan said, stepping away, “You do reek of frailty today, Captain.”

Somehow Pan knew exactly where Killian’s sensitive points are, mentally as much as physically. Killian would certainly have spoken up about that statement if he’d been alone, but he couldn’t risk Smee’s safety. Not after what Pan did to John.

“Very well, William. It seems you and your captain have fulfilled my order. And you know what? I’m feeling generous today. I will allow you both to return to the ship now and I will send the boys to assist you with unloading.”

“Thank you,” Killian said. Bastard.

“But Hook,” Pan added, his hand pressing against Killian’s chest as he tried to move past him, “I do expect that next time, you will inform me much sooner of any changes to the plan.”

“Of course.”

By the time they boarded the ship again, Killian’s legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer and two of his men had to almost carry him back to his quarters. His head swam, vision going grey, body trembling with exhaustion. They gave him some warm broth to drink and left him to rest. He listened to the sounds of the cargo being unloaded in a sort of daze. The broth was cold by the time he came to his senses.

“Who took charge while I was unwell?” Killian asked Smee, hours later when he felt sufficiently recovered and forced himself to return on the deck.

Smee shuffled awkwardly in place.

“I did, sir.”

Killian couldn’t quite believe it. He looked at the handful of men who were eavesdropping and doing a poor job of pretending not to, and they just nodded and quickly returned to their duties.

“Really? You?”

“Why does that surprise you so much, Captain?”

“You’re just… you don’t come across as a leader, mate.”

And yet all the men had clearly accepted him as such when Killian was indisposed. Smee shrugged, but he still looked worried, refusing to meet Killian’s eyes.

“It just kind of happened. I didn’t mean to. I… I hope I haven’t overstepped again.”

Killian’s mouth curved upwards slightly. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s the closest he’d gotten to one in a while.

“Well, since you’ve already taken it upon yourself to claim the position without my approval, and it seems the crew will accept you as such, I believe I will have to officially call you my first mate.”

Smee just blinked in stunned silence. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated this outcome.

“…What?”

Killian grabbed Smee’s shoulder and turned him to face the rest of the crew.

“Men,” he called out, “I’d like to introduce you to my new first mate, William Smee.”

END

[snazzy-suit]

LLoG Chapter (?) Fool Me Once, Fool Me Thrice (Snippet)

Yeah I know technically they’ve only been tricked twice but it’s the third time they’ve been through ghostly shenanigans so let me have this

Can I offer you a snippet in this trying time? 

Ever since Luigi’s Mansion 3 came out, I’ve been thinking about the masked ghosts in the lobby and just how bad their disguises were (I friggin’ loved it). I also kept thinking about how things might have gone if Luigi and friends had seen through their ruse right off the bat. I was just gonna let the thought be, but then I saw this clip of Luigi very clearly giving the hotel staff incredulous looks and was like “Shit, now I have to write it”.

So here we are! A sneak peak at my attempt to adapt the events of LM3 so they fit more soundly into the LLoG AU. This is very early in Luigi’s “liaison” career, before he and King Boo have shifted into their odd little frenemy relationship. He doesn’t quite have the confidence that we see later in the series, and still sometimes gets startled/alarmed by ghosts/spirits.

Oh! Also, this is a very rough draft, so if it feels choppy and/or if there are errors (grammatical, factual, and otherwise), that’s because I haven’t gone back and given it the ol’ spit and polish. All my writing starts this way. ^^’

=

For context, Luigi has just entered the lobby, and in his distracted awe, accidentally bumps into one of the hotel staff.

=== 

Luigi’s suitcase flies from his hand as he and the other unfortunate party crash to the floor with flailing limbs and undignified yelps of surprise. The plumber, quite used to clumsy mishaps, is the first to recover. He straightens his hat that had been knocked askew and pushes himself up, immediately spying a hotel staff member—the bellhop, to be specific—clutching at their face and blindly patting the floor in search of their own headwear. The odd behavior goes unnoticed, Luigi being far too mortified by the incident to even register it.

“Oh Stars, I’m so sorry!” Luigi cries, rushing to kneel at the man’s side. “Are you alright?”

“I-it’s okay! I’m fine, I’m fine!” the bellhop replies, still frantically patting at the ground. “I should have gotten out of your way.”

Luigi frowns at the response, perturbed by how the man could simultaneously sound both meek and jovial.

“No, I should have watched where I was going,” he refutes gently. Luigi carefully retrieves the bellman’s cap from the floor and presses it into the man’s searching hand. “Here you go.”

“Ah! Thank you, sir!” The staff member shakily dons the wayward piece of his uniform, back turned to the plumber as they gathered themselves. Luigi glances up to see Peach making her way toward them, face drawn with concern. He gently waves her off, silently assuring the princess that they were alright.  

“Here, let me help you up,” Luigi offers, extending a hand to the recovering employee. The man turns and reaches up to accept his offer.

“Oh! Why, thank you!”

Luigi only just keeps himself from recoiling. The bellhop’s face...it isn't a face at all. It’s a mask, and a rather eerie one at that. Bulging, unseeing eyes stare back at him—well, sort of. The pupils are just a tad off, and so small they’re practically pinpricks. A manic grin takes up most of the mask’s lower half, every white, too-perfect tooth in full view—so much so it almost looks like a threat display. To top it all off, the mask is pale blue in color, reminding Luigi of a frozen corpse—a rather fitting description for the static expression pulled straight from the uncanny valley.

“No problem,” Luigi answers, struggling to keep composure. He takes the man’s gloved hand (it's cold as ice) and gently hauls them up (they're unnaturally light for their size) to their feet (they don’t have feet. Or legs, for that matter).  

Luigi steps back as the bellman begins brushing off their uniform. He has to make a conscious effort not to let his eyes trail down the man’s coat to the marginal gap between it and the floor. The outerwear is far too long for the style, making the man look like a child in ill-fitting clothes, or more morbidly, someone that got chopped in half at the waist. Their attempt to hide their lack of legs drew more attention than it diverted, in Luigi’s opinion. It was so obvious it almost hurt.

Luigi was talking to a ghost.

“Heh, well, that didn’t quite go according to plan,” the ghost laughs nervously. “I came over here to help you, but you ended up helping me.”

A lot goes through the plumber's mind at that moment. How terrible the ghost’s disguise is. How, despite this, Luigi can’t help but be a little impressed that the ghost didn’t instinctively float upward after their collision, and thus, blow their “cover”. How Luigi can’t seem to escape the paranormal for one Star’s forsaken weekend. How, yet again, he finds himself getting tangled in some specter’s scheme.

But none of these thoughts deign to vocalize themselves, and really, it’s for the best. Luigi has to play this smart. Without the Poltergust, they’re doomed if the ghosts realize the jig is up. If he wants to get everyone out of here safely, he’ll need to feign ignorance—at least until he has a plan.

“Help...me?” Luigi says distantly, still somewhat lost in his thoughts.

“Yes! With your luggage.” The ghost gestures to Luigi’s suitcase, lying forgotten on the pristine floor. “Allow me to ease your burden and place it with the others.”

Luigi quirks a brow at his single piece of luggage. Burden? There was hardly anything in it.

“Oh. Thank you, but that’s not really necessary. I can—”

“Please, I insist!” The bellhop interjects, already drifting (quite literally) toward the aforementioned bag. “You’re on vacation, sir! You should be relaxing. Let me take care of the heavy lifting.”

Luigi starts to object, but then thinks better of it. Best not to create a fuss and draw unnecessary attention.  

“Okay, if you insist. Thank you, mister...?”

“Oh! Um, I’m Steward! And it’s no problem, sir.”

The bellman’s name...is Steward.

You have got to be kidding.

Luigi quietly watches the bellman as they (rather awkwardly) carry his suitcase over to the precarious tower of luggage the Toads are desperately trying to stabilize. The plumber sighs, studying the lobby with a carefully concealed wariness.

Now what?

Luigi pauses when his eyes land on one of the other nearby staff members. They, too, are clearly wearing a mask, though it’s not nearly as off-putting as the bellhop’s. The static expression is rather lax—eyes partially lidded and mouth resting in a neutral line, neither a frown nor a grin. A thin, curled mustache is painted neatly above the upper lip, and the equally clean eyebrows are raised in a somewhat haughty manner.  

When the costumed spirit turns their head to regard Luigi, the pupils of their mask wobble erratically like googly eyes before settling back into a more natural position (as natural as they can be, anyway). The plumber gently waves to them in a greeting, offering what he hopes is a convincing smile. The staff member acknowledges him with a nod. Their neatly combed wig slides askew at the movement, but they deftly readjust it without so much as a shift in their stance. Luigi quickly shuffles past them in an attempt to hide his grimace.

Good Grambi, he needed something to drink.

Fortunately for Luigi, there appears to be a pitcher of tea at the table Mario is still happily sampling treats from. It’s not what he had in mind, but if it occupies his hands and quenches his thirst, he’ll take it. The plumber approaches the table as nonchalantly as he can, grabbing the rather large kettle and pouring himself a steaming cup of tea. His hands shake minutely as he does so, and Luigi tries to convince himself it’s from the strain of hefting the heavy pitcher.

“Hey bro!”

Luigi nearly spills his drink at Mario’s sudden greeting. He turns, shooting his brother a strained smile.

“H-hey bro,” he says back.

Mario grins—oblivious to Luigi’s inner turmoil—as he snatches up a croissant. He takes a hearty bite and looks back to his brother, humming happily as he savors the taste.

“Isn’ thith plathe great?” Mario asks around a mouthful of pastry.

Luigi grimaces, both at the question and at his brother’s poor table manners.

“Yeah...great...”

Mario nods, taking another bite of the flaky treat. When he speaks again, Luigi is distantly grateful he remembers to swallow his food this time.

“Good food, good atmosphere, good friends...this vacation is just what I needed. What we all needed, right bro?”

Oh Stars, this is so unfair.  

“Right,” he answers honestly. A nice vacation is what they needed, but clearly the universe thought that was too tall an order.

How is he going to break the news to Mario? And how does he keep his brother from reacting badly?

Luigi looks down at his cup, absently swirling the hot liquid inside. He subtly checks his peripheral for any nearby staff. Thankfully, they’re all a good distance away, so as long as the brothers keep their voices down, there shouldn’t be a risk of being overheard. It’s possible one of the ghosts knows how to read lips, but if they keep their expressions in check, they shouldn’t draw the attention needed to do so. If that doesn’t work...well, Luigi can only hope the masks are as hard to see out of as they are to look at.

The green-clad plumber watches his brother select a soft pretzel from one of the platters, seeing an opportunity as Mario begins to chow down on the salty treat. His brother can’t yell and make a scene if his mouth is full, right? It’s not ideal, but Luigi is too stressed to think of anything better. He gently sips from his tea, and when his brother takes another bite from the pretzel, he speaks as casually as he can around the rim of the cup.

“The hotel is a trap.”

Mario promptly chokes.

Luigi nearly drops his cup at his brother’s rather violent reaction. He blindly thrusts his drink onto the table and ducks around Mario’s distressed flailing to deliver several hard slaps to his brother’s back. Just when Luigi thinks he’s going to have to try a first aid maneuver, the food swiftly dislodges itself from Mario’s airway, leaving the red-clad plumber to hack and cough wetly as he recovers from the harrowing ordeal. Luigi looks up to find all eyes are on them.

Well, that was stupid. So much for not drawing attention.

A couple staff members move uncertainly toward them, as does Peach, but Luigi quickly waves them off.

“He’s fine!” he calls, voice slightly strained with panic. “Just got a little too...overzealous, is all!”

The disguised spirits exchange what might be—sans masks—hesitant looks, but none-the-less return to their stations. For one, terrifying moment, it appears that the princess is going to come over anyway, but another wave of assurance manages to placate her. Luigi knows he’ll need to tell Peach what is happening eventually, but he doesn’t think telling both her and his brother at the same time would be very wise. Keeping one person calm is hard enough.

“Sorry, Mario,” Luigi whispers. “That, uh...was poorly thought out on my part.”

“Ya think?” Mario wheezes, straightening from his hunched over position. “Making a bad joke like that while I’m eating—not cool, Luigi.”

Luigi frowns, but quickly replaces it with a fake smile. He feigns a hearty laugh and throws an arm around Mario’s shoulders, much to the latter’s confusion.

“I’m not joking, bro,” he says through gritted teeth, false grin still in place. “The hotel staff are all spirits wearing disguises. Really, really bad disguises.”

Mario gives his brother a bewildered look.

“If you’re not joking, then why are you smiling like that?”

“Because if they’re watching us, I don’t want them thinking we’re on to them.” Luigi grinds out. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand and retrieves his cell phone. He lifts it up, screen facing the brothers, and turns on the forward-facing camera. “Say: Play Stupid!”

===

And there you have it! Join us next time to see Luigi and friends smiling and taking pictures like good tourists as they scream internally about their terrible predicament. Laugh and cry as the nefarious hotel staff silently beg the mortals to Blease hurry up and check-in these costumes are itchy

[cywscross]

Favorite time travel fics? Of any fandom.

I’m pretty sure I’ve rec’d time travel fics before, esp favourite ones, so I’ll just list some of the more recent ones I’ve read and liked.

Naruto:

sweet baby, i need fresh blood by blackkat

Shukaku fixes the timeline. Grumpily. And with a lot of bloodshed.

Well that didn't go as planned by Orlha

Sakura is sent back in time, except things didn't turn out the way they planned it to be. Never mind that she's almost a decade early, WHY IS SHE A CAT?

Under the surface is a storm by Mysana

Orochimaru lets the seal take him. Allows the death he feared so long finally reach him.

A Quick Trip by Dovey

in which sakura spends maybe five minutes in the future and decides to get a jumpstart on that whole "independant woman who can shatter the earth with her fists" thing, and team seven is left trying to keep up.

-0-

Harry Potter:

Snake Shop by wynnebat (WIP)

In which Tom Riddle finds himself lost, alone, and hurt in the middle of Knockturn Alley, and stumbles upon a peculiar place called Harry's Snake Shop.

you belong to me (i belong to you) by Child_OTKW (WIP)

“What I find absolutely fascinating,” Riddle said as he stalked closer. “is you.” He backed Harry up until the cool wall of the common room was brushing against him. “Do you know why?”

“No. And I’ll be honest here, Riddle, I don’t particularly care.”

The taller boy grinned at him, small yet infinitely amused. “That. Right there.” One hand rose and brushed some of Harry’s fringe from his face. “Nathan Ciro is a spineless little boy too afraid of his own shadow to dare even glance in my direction. But you…”

He leaned closer. “You look at me like you want to stab me.”

After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. His return to Hogwarts causes quite the stir through the staff and students, especially when they realise he is not the same boy as before.

He tries to keep his head down, but with the keen eyes of Tom Riddle hounding him through the halls, Harry finds himself unwillingly drawn into a dangerous game with an equally dangerous boy.

-0-

Bleach:

With Honor by wynnebat

Upon Yamamoto's last words, Kisuke opened his eyes and faced a room full of ghosts, and he smiled at them.

"I'm honored to be here," Kisuke said to each of the captains who congratulated him on his promotion.

-0-

Teen Wolf:

You Just Got Ghosted! by Ragga

“What’s your name, angel?” little Stiles murmured even as his eyes fell closed, quickly losing his battle against sleep.

Stiles smiled. It was a little sad but also heavy with the knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing—heavy with the knowledge he didn’t deserve the moniker bestowed upon him.

“You can call me Mietek.”

Or the one where there's time travel, feels abound, two Stiles in one timeline, and one of them stuck somewhere between the planes of existence. Yet a ghost can still manage to save the day and get the girl. Or the wolf. Manly wolf. Because Peter.

Art Imitating Life by GracieBirdie

“If I’m invited to any more funerals, I’m going to be featured at the next one.” Stiles said in a monotone.

Lydia’s dead eyes were really the entire reason Stiles did what he did next.

-0-

X-Men:

Undone by Yahtzee

This began as a short ficlet written for this kink meme prompt: "No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.' - Heraclitus

Post-X3 Charles, instead of transfering his consciousness to the coma guy, finds his mind back in the body of his younger self, right after Shaw's attack on the CIA compound, on their way to the mansion.

The thing: Charles' wants to fix what happened with Erik, but he can't bring himself to do it. He knows that this younger Erik can't be held responsible for his future self's actions, but, nonetheless, here is the man who will paralyze him, who will leave him on the beach, who will turn his sister into a merciless killer. Here is the man who will betray him in the worst way possible, by using him as a tool, a weapon, in his quest to kill all the humans.

So Charles blows cool and hot towards Erik, and Erik is left wondering where all the UST went and why Charles is suddenly so...emotionally distant, even when they're spending more time together than they used to.

I posted the first part as a chapter in my ficlet collection, but then the second part went beyond the ficlet stage, and so here we are.

-0-

Marvel:

Turning Tables by Wix

What should have been Steve's last stand offers a better ending for everyone involved when it returns him to the end of the Battle of New York. There are things that he can change, small things that will have big consequences and hopefully save them all.

-0-

K-Project:

Die Dinge, die wir wollten, waren so einfach. (The things we wanted were so simple.) by DarkrystalSky

The Kagutsu crater doesn't exists. The two Kings died on open sea, creating a tsunami that caused only a few casualties. During the summer of 2003 the Silver King visits the Colorless Clan with a child in his arms, Mishakuji Yukari wonders why.

-0-

BtVS:

Someday by sunalso

AU. The world is broken, but Buffy is given seven days to make it better. Does saving humanity mean letting go of the one thing she wants, or grabbing on to it with both hands?

[morphoportiswrites]

Riots. - Chapter Three: Slipping Away

Summary: You and your motorcycle are trying your best to outrun death. Is your metal horse fast enough?

Pairing: Bane (TDKR) x Reader

Word Count: 1501

Warnings: Some swearing, mention of antisemitism (no slurs but it’s implied)

Author’s Note: So, that took me a long time. lol  I’m dragging the story on like the chewiest chewing gum, hahaha! Again: English is not my first language, so there might be mistakes in grammar/spelling/tenses etc. (Also that summary sounds pretty dramatic and funny at the same time, lol)

The motor of your vehicle vibrated between your thighs. Every time you edged it on to go faster, you felt the roar, but you couldn't hear it. Your head was elsewhere. Your thoughts were racing faster than your bike and your senses focused on everything that was happening outside the bubble, including you, the bike, the trailer and its content: Bane.

Eyes scanning every oncoming car or pedestrian suspiciously. Ears reaching out for the sound of the sirens of police cars. Once or twice they had been close, and you made sure to decrease your speed to the permitted level. Idiotic though. The streets were almost empty after all, so only the mere sight of you (and the trailer) was high peak suspicious. But the police didn't seem to care. Bigger problems were afoot and you were just a very small drop in the ocean of diarrhea, that was going down in this city. And to be honest, you weren't sure what you would have done. Sell Bane out from the get-go? A “I was just gonna bring him over to you guys!” or a “What? How did this man, I've never seen in my life, get there?” Which was such a bad lie, you'd deserve to get arrested just for telling it. Or would you try to outrace them? (Which wasn't the greatest idea with an injured person in your trailer and the faster you'd go, the wobblier the trailer and the harder the steering would get.) Or, or, or? You weren't sure and you didn't want to think about it. You were just hoping for the best – not encountering the officials at all.

The kind of information, your eyes were not passing on to your brain, was the bumpy road ahead. Only when you felt the metal rattling differently than usual, your attention was drawn to the pavement (or rather the lack of it in forms of cracks and holes).

The old, partially rundown buildings, cheap shops and bad infrastructure and streets made it painfully obvious, you had entered the poor part of Gotham. The city officials had decided on neglecting these parts decades ago, just putting money in what was a necessary fix, and nothing about that had changed since. Maybe celebrating the occasional opening of a new mall, seemingly a try to help improving people's lives around here by creating jobs and opportunities. But these people had learned from other former poor districts of the city. Districts they maybe had lived in and been a part of years ago, until increasing living costs had forced them to move farther and farther away from the centre and make place for wealthier inhabitants, while they still had to drive to their old neighbourhoods every morning to serve these people and work shitty low-pay jobs at companies belonging to the richest of the rich of Gotham.

So the occasional new mall, either accidentally burned down most of time, or turned into an indoor ghost town. And people in this part of the city had learned to rather stick their eyes to the ground, as to not stumble one more time on their already stone-riddled path through life. Lifting and broadening your gaze, meant to eventually trip and fall. And there always was a way to fall deeper than from where you had started and a place worse to end up at.

Your ears shifted back from the sirens in the distance, as you heard muffled moans from behind. “I'm so, so sorry!”, your own voice felt distant yet sounded close as it ricochet in the inside of your helmet, that you somehow had managed to put on (even as scatterbrained as you were. Hey! Safety first, right?), as you had fled the scene.

You knew this was the fastest and most inconspicuous way to get to your destination. But the state these streets were in, made you hesitant to go any further, anxious it would only worsen the dire condition of your back seat passenger. Whoever he was, this was a very miserable way to die, and you wished it on no one. It was almost impossible to keep your mind from spinning around all the possibilities, all the outcomes this could have but first and foremost fear crept up your spine with every passing second. The fear he wouldn't make it. And driving towards the sun setting for the night, made the fickle nature of Bane's life hanging from a very thin thread painfully visible to you.

Your heart gave a leap out of relief, as you took your eyes off of the blinding red giant and they recognised your destination. Finally you stopped the motorcycle in front of a building most familiar to you. The project you lived in. The number of floors, and the number of apartments each of them contained, made it difficult to know each and every of this building's inhabitants. Different ways of living and working, made it nearly impossible to come across all their faces. One face you were able to describe as clear as day, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night, was Izzy's. Ishmael, or Izzy, as you liked to call him, was your oldest friend. Both from poor and broken families (though in different ways), both ending up at the same orphanage at a young age. It wasn't just because you both had been the new kids at the place, that you two had bonded so quickly, but you had never liked bullies, and Izzy had been a very easy target to pick on. At least once a week, you had ended up with dark bruises, a bloody nose or a cut on your lip, or you found yourself in detention or grounded. You didn't care because you were sure, the slurs thrown at him hurt a lot more than that.

Your gloved hands almost threw the helmet from you, as well as the damn things covering them, when your nervously clumsy hands failed to unbind the rope from the hooks to take off the cover of your trailer. A pair of tired eyes set in a pale face greeted you and you instantly felt your stomach drop.

The trick with the carpet wouldn't work with this gritty pavement, so ya good old muscles had to wake up for this part of the journey. As you helped the injured man, who was easy and at least a head taller than you, out of the trailer, he put some of his weight on you but you could feel he was hesitant about letting you carry too much. Sure, he was a big guy and as you walked towards the entrance of the building, cloaked in secrecy by the growing darkness of the night and the empty streets (and the fact that neighbours simply didn’t give a shit about what others were doing), a slight burning sensation set itself to start in your legs and arms already, but you were stronger than most people (especially men) thought. “I can take it,” you told Bane with a slight but encouraging huff, shuffling closer to him, positioning more of his arm over your shoulders. Just in the last few moments you had observed with growing concern, that carrying most his own weight, had drained a lot of his remaining energy very fast.

Hesitating one more moment, the tall man tried a pretty gentle approach to literally dropping more weight on your shoulders. Surprised by the fact you did not collapse under him, he was even more surprised as you headed for the elevator in a very steady pace.

You didn't know how you did it. To carry most of that pile of meat that was a (barely alive) man to Izzy's door. It felt like taking you hours, just as the time span between the ringing sound of the doorbell and seeing your friends face seemed to go on an eternity. Time really was relative, man.

A smiling face greeted you and dropped instantly as it recognised the face next to you. Somehow you had seen this reaction coming and had put your combat boot clothed foot into the door. “Please Izzy, I need your help!”, you begged him. You knew he didn't mean to react like that. He had his reasons. “Are you insane? Bringing this man to my friggin' door, Y/N?”, even in situations like these, he couldn't bring himself to swear properly. “The whole city is looking for him! He's a darn terrorist!”, Izzy whisper-shouted which was almost comically, if this all hadn't been greatly tinted with seriousness and urgency. “Then I guess your Hippocratic oath means shit. More like hypocritical if you ask me, dude!”, you hissed back.

For a brief second your soft boy Ishmael's lips twitched to form an amused smile, but before he could compliment you on that comeback, you felt Bane's hands grabbing onto you, as his legs gave up under him and he started slipping out of your grip.

______________________________________________

Tagslist: @markusstraya @scuzmunkie

[lovinnscarletknight]

Billionaire - Part Three

Part One || Part Two

Ahhhh!!! I’ve reached 200 followers and I couldn’t be more thankful for you all :) I hope you enjoy part three of Billionaire and I can’t wait to share the following parts with you. 

Tag list is open, just drop me a line! Enjoy - Angela x

Word count: 1479

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The flicker of hope that her father held onto really worked. Now he never has to know this, but Katherine could hear everything when she was laying there; honestly it was the strangest experience she’ ever had. Now the girl is laying in the bed after the surgery done by this ‘amazing doctor’ in her father’s words, and he saved her; Katherine was glad Liz is ok, but she didn’t know what is going to happen when she woke up. She heard the door close and the familiar sound of Tony’s heavy footsteps along with another she couldn’t detect.

“Mr Stark, I hope you realise Ms. Stark had a very big surgery for a girl her age and I’m happy to say her vitals look good and she will make a full recovery” She imagined her father’s face lighting up at his words. It made Katherine happy to think about it; she really missed all of them, no matter how protective they all are, they’re her family. She felt Tony’s warm hand hold her own and it send a pang through her arm making her squeeze his hand.

“Katherine?” He whispered, and she pushed myself to open her eyes. As Katherine did, she groaned at the bright light that invaded her vision, it was like when you’ve been sat in the movies for ages and come back out. As she blinked, all her senses started kicking in and she heard the slow beep of the machine she was attached to and the ache in the back of her head, chest and arms. Katherine saw her father’s smiling face and his eyes watering.

“Don’t embarrass me” Katherine said squeezing his hand, her voice scratchy and throat dry. He laughed at the comment and continued to watch his daughter, she thought he felt like she could slip away any second. Katherine looked away from her father and to the doctor. He was about six-foot-tall with dark hair and a dark beard, he looked kind of menacing, but she was thankful he did this for her, “Mr Stark, if you could leave the room for a couple of minutes so I can have a word with Ms. Stark” He nodded hesitantly and kissed his daughter’s head leaving the room. Katherine didn’t feel safe being alone with this stranger.

“Now, Katherine, this may hurt just a little bit. In order for the operation to be successful, it relied on this one last dose of the serum. Being part of my experiment, it has been a roller coaster but by your father letting me operate, you’ve complied. It was just too easy. Maybe your father will think of other people now rather than just himself” The teenager’s brows furrowed as he pulled out a syringe full of an orange mixture. Katherine cringed at the size of the needle and he grabbed her arm holding tight, so she couldn’t pull away, “Currently that machine is keeping your heart pumping, if you scream, I pull the plug” She heard the heart monitor start beeping more rapidly. When she wasn’t watching the man stabbed the needle into her vein causing her to groan in pain. He pushed the syringe until it drained and then quickly packed up his stuff, “Thank you Ms. Stark for your cooperation” Before Katherine could reply, she blinked twice, and he was gone.

Looking down at her arm, she saw the liquid spreading through her veins, it was pushing past the blood and Katherine started writhing in place. A nurse held her arms down as she started to move in a fitting movement. Katherine didn’t know what was happening and was panicking. Tony ran in, his eyes widening, and the rest of the team crowded outside the door just as she stilled.

***

“I promise you, I’m fine Dad. Now get out so I can change” She demanded before he left the room holding his hands up in defeat. She had finally been discharged after a week of people being way to kind to her. After the episode, Tony made sure she always had someone in the room with her, even if it was just a nurse, he didn’t want anything to jeopardise her recovery. The girl was still not sure what that man injected into my arm, but she knew it wasn’t good, that is probably what scared her. Carefully, Katherine pulled the leggings over her swollen ankle and put the supporting boot around it. She had fractured the bone in three places and as soon as she got back to the tower she was to start physiotherapy; she also had a brace supporting her left wrist but that was ok. Katherine pulled the old shirt over her head, her torso covered with white bandage to support her ribs. She caught sight of her healed scars from her previous accident in the mirror and the smaller ones that littered her arms. The ones she had put there. Her fingertips ghosted the dark marks; she had struggled but pulled through, but it didn’t make the pain any easier.

Once she was changed, Katherine grabbed the bag and stood, a bit wobbly and headed towards the door. Pepper and Tony were talking when they spotted her and came to her aid. Tony grabbed the bag and Pepper her arm and they slowly guided the girl to the car. “Everyone is so excited to see you” Tony said as he put the bag in the boot.

“Dad, I look awful there better just be the team there and none of my friends. I don’t want them to see me like this. They can see me on Monday at school” She told him as he helped her into the car. Sighing he nodded and they drove back to Avengers Tower. Katherine kept quiet on the drive back thinking about what people school must be thinking. She hasn’t written to her brother in two weeks and she doesn’t even know if she has received any letters from him or missed any calls. Katherine played with the ring on her middle finger as Tony pulled into the garage and came to a stop.

“Welcome back Mr Stark, how is Ms. Stark?” FRIDAY asked. Katherine smiled that FRIDAY was so formal when she’s told him time and time again that he should call her Kathy, but he never does.  “Why don’t you ask her for yourself?” Tony said as she pushed herself out of the car. Katherine grabbed onto Tony’s arm as she wavered slightly.

“Good to be home” She said, and FRIDAY responded with a compliment. Katherine let go of him and she walked herself to the elevator feeling confident that she could do it myself; however, it would’ve looked more like a lame hobble because the boot added an inch to Katherine’s normal height, and she was wearing a pump on her good foot. The elevator moved just as quick as she remembered it and Katherine started to get nervous as they approached the floor holding everyone else. Her mind wandered for a minute thinking about what would’ve happened if she did die. Tony would probably turn to drinking and Thomas would leave. Pepper would be gone, and the team would’ve fallen apart because Tony wouldn’t be interested.

Katherine smiled at the fact that she was about to see her extended family for the first time in two weeks. The doors open, and everyone turned from their conversation to look at the teenage girl. Squeezing Tony’s hand, she stepped out of the elevator and she was engulfed in a hug by Natasha. Natasha was like her big sister and the girl had missed her tons, Katherine heard her sniffle and smirked slightly.

“Is the almighty Black Widow crying?” She teased, and Natasha pushed her shoulder’s slightly, “Lay off” Natasha warned and helped her sit down. Everyone flocked around her and they sat and talked for a while until the early evening and Katherine yawned.

“Honey maybe it’s time to bed?” Tony asked, and she nodded. Tony tried to help her up, but she swatted his hand away and used Clint’s hand to push herself up. She then grabbed Tony’s arm and helped her to her room which was luckily on the same floor. They both stopped at her door and open it to be greeted with her made bed and the curtains already drawn. Katherine turned to Tony who was still firmly grasping onto her arm and looked up to him, he quickly wrapped his arms around the girl, and she rested her head on his chest; and this is how they stayed for a couple of minutes.

“I’ll be ok Dad, I’ll see you in the morning” Katherine told him dropping her arms from holding him and he let go of her reluctantly, “Love you” She smiled and went to close her door before she heard him whisper.

“Always”

------------------------------------

TAG LIST

@supernaturallover2002 @editsbyjenny @lovingpiegardenflower @seriouslyobsessed @savedbystark @queendarktigress @racewife2004

[dreamdaddydutch]

Can you do Javier falling in love with his s/o who's bronte daughter and thanking her virginity

I’m really sorry this has taken me forever to write/post, life has really gotten in the way recently. I’m not sure if you wanted just head-canons or something short, but this ended up super long, one of the longest things i’ve written for this fandom… I enjoyed writing it but also found it quite challenging as I imagine Javier as someone who would only be intimate with someone he had gotten to know, become friends with and trusted. Which is why this ended up so long! Also I deviate a little from events in the game and add characters in places they were not for the sake of the story. I’m not a 100% happy with it, but I hope you enjoy! 

Warnings: Angst, Death & Smut (not a lot)  Word Count: 6,052

The first time he’d met her he should have known she’d be trouble, there was just something about her.It was in the way she surveyed the saloon and navigated her way through it, her movements weren’t natural. It was like watching a fawn walk for the first time, all springy legs with no direction.

Javier was a little drunk, not so drunk that he wasn’t aware of what was going on, but drunk enough that he let his guard down just a little. 

She made eye contact with Javier from across the bar, he looked behind him, unsure if her eyes were meant for him. When he awkwardly pointed at himself, she giggled.

She sat at their table with no idea who they were, chatting away, a head full of ideas.

Javier had his reservations, he wouldn’t let just anyone in to his life, he had a close circle in a few particular members of the van der Linde gang. Generally speaking outside of that he didn’t allow himself to get close to anyone, and aside from Abigail in the early days, he hadn’t allowed any form of relationship to blossom with any man or woman. 

So when he first met Marie he’d gotten to know her slowly, over a course of a number of months before he really let her know him. Meeting up in secret at saloons or taking her fishing. They were just friends, he established that from the start, was ever cautious not to let her in too much. There was a certain degree of pride in his actions for sure, he had to get to know her slowly and build up trust.

Even when he was certain she could be trusted and that they had a chance at a future together, he did little more than kiss her. He had learnt back in Mexico how easily trust could be misplaced and how quickly a relationship could go from perfection to in tatters. 

The first kiss had been…nice but almost strange to him, the woman he was kissing clearly didn’t have much experience. Maybe on reflection he thought this should have been a sign, for someone of her age he found it strange she’d never been in love when younger or made a mistake like so many others. But he pushed those fears to the back of his mind, maybe it was her upbringing that had made her so cautious, not a bad thing he mused. 

So after the first kiss, they continued to take it slow. The lack of sex or any sexual contact wasn’t an issue for him, rather he enjoyed the close company of another without those expectations and being able to get to know someone without it being driven by lust. 

She spoke of her family, how her father was a doctor but had died some years ago and that her mother had died during childbirth when her little brother was born. She’d told him how she believed that was what killed her father in the end, the irony that in being a great doctor, he was unable to save his own wife, the woman whom was the love of his life.

Tragic really, the situation had broken Marie’s heart, her siblings had moved away, she still saw them once or twice a year, taking it in turns to travel across states. Aside from that, she worked cleaning a shop and as a seamstress, mostly mending clothes.

As Javier and Marie spent most of their time together in evenings or odd days, he never saw her at work, he never met her siblings. But months later, in the aftermath of what was about to happen, he cursed himself for being so easily drawn her, for being gullible, for not asking more questions. There were things which when he really thought about it, didn’t add up. He cursed himself for not being more cautious of her in light of what happened to him previously. 

But Marie was a good liar, he consoled himself with that at least, he had been careful and slow. He had made sure they were friends before lovers, he had done everything he believed he could to avoid being betrayed again, and yet it had happened so easily. 

It was after seven months of friendship, occasional lasting kisses and lingering hugs under the stars that Marie opened up to him.

“There’s something you should know about me.” When she spoke the words she hadn’t been thinking about the repercussions, she hadn’t really thought about the meaning behind her words. She had thought so long about how she would approach the subject, but like most things, it just happened.

Javier looked up from the book he was reading, “Something interesting?” He asked coyly.

She smiled, “I think so, though,” the tremble of her lips was unmistakable. 

Javier placed the book down on the bedside and scooted closer to her, his head cocked to the side, one hand placed reassuringly on her knee, “Hey, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine, we trust each other, no?”

The sigh she gave was full of years of resentment towards her real father, the one Javier knew nothing of. The father she had spoken to him about, was imaginary, a ghost, a dream. 

The reality couldn’t have been further from the tales she’d woven. All parts missing and commas in places that didn’t need them. The lies, the stories with changed endings, false hope and promises that reminded her of dying sun the day before a storm, when the water of the ocean glistens gold only to break into crushing waves capable of capsizing a ship. 

She stared at her knee, looked at the way Javier’s hand was placed so carefully on top of it, his voice ached with concern when he spoke to her, this is how he was she had leant that early on. His care was what she loved so dearly about him, though at time it was almost suffocating, how she wished she could break free from all restrain. 

“Of course I trust you and I hope you me?” 

She glanced up at him, he replied with a nod. 

That was the moment, if ever there was one, that should have been the moment when she told him the real truth, the eternal pressing matter that had been bothering her since their very first kiss. Too late she realised that the truth would have been better coming earlier, so that the path they were led down would have been different, would have meant something more.

Through the window orange sunlight beamed through, making her cheeks glow, fruitful, her love in abundance. She appeared to him like an angel then, all the potential of a future, a family, hope. 

Yes, she’d think with melancholia just a few months later, I should have told him then. 

But she didn’t, she told him the other truth, the part of her that she felt was guaranteed to make him love her more.

“I’ve never been in love before,” she stated matter of factly. Before Javier had a chance to react, she continued, “I’ve never been in love and that means that I’ve never, I mean I know sometimes when people aren’t in love, sometimes people who’ve only just met do it. But I guess what I’m trying to tell you is…” She took a deep breath, “I’m a virgin.”

Javier’s hands took hers in his own, he was wordless, letting his actions do the talking. His fingers laced with hers, squeezed her reassuringly. The smile that he wore wasn’t one of glee, like a lion about to pounce on it’s prey, it wasn’t the cat who got the cream, that could never have been him. 

“I did wonder,” he said before nuzzling into her neck, “Thank you for telling me,” he kissed her softly right on her pulse. 

She swallowed hard, “Is that okay?”

He pulled away so he could look at her, “Okay? Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

She shrugged, “I’m 25 and I’ve never been with a man, despite my age, I’m worried my inexperience will make me seem like a child to you and I want so badly to be a woman for you, for you to be proud of me.”

“Hermosa, will you just listen to yourself?” He spoke in earnest. “You are the most incredible woman, you are smart, witty, you have a head full of beautiful ideas and dreams and you’re not afraid of the world. You stand up for yourself, you are every part the woman you are describing that you want to be there, but you already are.”

“We don’t have to rush anything okay? You take your time, as long as it takes.”

She smiled back at him, “You mean it?”

“Of course.”

“Did you ever wonder?”

“Well…we’ve been together for some time now so I was starting to wonder but hey I would never want to rush you.” He paused for a moment, wondering whether to confess to her more of his past, he decided in light of her confession that she could be trusted. “I’ve only been in love once, she betrayed me, broke my heart. It was a long time ago now, but it’s still with me you know? So no matter how slow we take this, it’s good for me.”

It didn’t take them much longer to make the decision to join as one, Javier was patient and expected nothing from her. But Marie, now with her heart opened, wanted them to sleep together as soon as possible.

She wondered, years later as she watched her own children play in the large garden her and her husband tended so lovingly too. She wondered whether a part of her wanted Javier to take her virginity as soon as possible, because she was old fashioned. Because in her naive mind she believed that no matter what happened or what truth came to light afterwards, as he had taken her innocence he would stay with her. She’d hoped if she fell pregnant he would have to marry her and she could steal him away from the gang. 

It wasn’t Javier’s fault that it didn’t play out that way. Her father had lectured her on trust, most of what he taught her she wanted to forget, it was easy to disregard it and throw it away into the sands of time. 

She told him after dinner one night that she was ready, he nodded in reply and made plans for a night in a hotel, there was no way he was going to have her first time back at the camp with the others.

Not that they would mind, she’d met with the gang numerous times, joined in with some of their celebrations and singing. She got on with the girls, even Molly. Dutch found her amusing and she found herself able to listen to Hosea talk for hours about the old days. Some of the other gang members were a little more cautious of her and Dutch especially, despite enjoying her company, would constantly pester Javier into asking her to join the gang officially. It was safer that way. 

As she wasn’t officially a member of the gang, the others were always careful what to tell her, that included Javier. She knew little of their plans and schemes, of their past or their enemies. Javier told her just enough to keep her safe and stop her asking questions, but until she moved in with them, there would never be more to it. 

The first time they slept together the sex was slow, she’d been terrified of other’s first time stories, mostly wives tales she imagined. But it had been wonderful and intimate and there was barely any pain.

Javier kissed her neck, his hands running simultaneously through her hair, pulling just the right amount. Her body bended to meet his, her heart fluttered and cheeks flushed. She found herself grinding against him without realising what she was doing. She moaned his name in a way that sounded as if she were speaking in tongues.

Their hips rolled in unison, kisses so brief and fleeting that for a moment she struggled to tell if they were real.

She loved the taste of him, the way his tongue explored her mouth, the taste of cigarettes and whiskey. Hot breaths into her ear, the way when something didn’t quite go as planned, rather than getting angry or aggressive he would laugh and shrug it off. 

Yes, she loved the way he first took her, the care he took with kissing every part of her body, even the scars she considered to be so ugly that her father had left when she was younger. He worshipped her, removed each item of clothing slowly as if it was sacred. 

She watched him both in front of her and in the mirror, witnessed the care, the unrelenting kindness that flowed through him.

When her legs parted for him the first time there was a flash of hunger across his face but it soon melted away. His kisses were warm, needy. Her cheeks burnt brightly the first time he tasted her, but the shame disappeared when she allowed her body to enjoy it. 

He looked up at her, watching her reaction as he lapped at her core, his tongue working magic and the way he sheathed his fingers inside her slowly scissoring and preparing her for his large member. 

He made sure she came before they had sex, he wanted her to be washed with pleasure and glowing when he laid on top of her. As her body trembled and shook under him, he smiled, satisfied with a job well done. 

When he slid into her for the first time, it wasn’t how she had imagined it would be. She felt full, complete for the first time in her life, he stayed inside her for a minute without moving. She took the time to adjust to his size, to feel his weight on top of her pushing her down.

He covered her with kisses warm and inviting, and when he started to slide in and out of her, she was soon breathless, torn constantly between wanting to shut her eyes because it felt so good, and wanting them open to watch him at work. 

They barely spoke during sex, the room instead filling deliciously with their moans of pleasure and cries as they came. 

It was a month after they first slept together, and Marie was starting to feel like something was going to ruin the peace she had found herself in. Javier wanted to see more of her and now had started to pressure her into moving into the gang. 

By now she had learnt that her father had gotten to know Dutch van der Linde, what she didn’t know so something so horrific she was unable to prepare for it. 

There was a light coming from her father’s study, shadows inside of someone moving and then she heard it. The noise pierced through her heart, though not the sound of arguing or screaming. There was no struggle, it was the sound of a child’s laughter. 

There had been no children in her father’s mansion for a long time. Somehow she knew, she knew before she pushed open the door to reveal the horror within. The boy, though she had never seen a photo of him, she was certain, it had to be the van der Linde boy.

“Father…” she spoke softly as she entered the room.

There he was, Jack, happy as anything, playing with a toy train. 

“Ahhh Marie, let me introduce you to Jack, he’s going to live here for a short while, on a sort of…holiday. Isn’t that right Jack?”

Jack nodded and beamed up at Marie. When her father looked down at Jack, Marie used that opportunity to shake her head at Jack and placed a finger to her lips. Thankfully, Jack took the hint and said nothing to her father regarding how he knew her. 

When she didn’t respond her father appeared curious, “What’s wrong, you appear to have seen a ghost?”

She pulled a fake smile and shook her head, “Nothing papa, I ate too much at dinner and drank a little too much too,” he smiled at her, “You know how you always joke I take after you.”

Her father laughed and patted Jack on the back.

“Goodnight Jack, goodnight father,” she pressed a kiss to Bronte’s cheek and left instantly. 

In the safety of her room she locked her door and put her back to it, slowly sinking to the floor as sobs ripped through her. Oh no. It was ruined, it had to be, any day now then the perfect sequence of lies by her careful design would come falling apart from under her. 

She had to tell Javier, perhaps if she told him she could find a way to make things right, to return Jack and build a peace treaty between the two groups. Maybe. But the fear gripped her, she recalled how Javier had explained Dutch’s reactions of late, how unforgiving he had been. No, if she told him the truth there was a chance she would loose both her father and Javier after all. 

Though she knew if the gang got Jack back then… she had to pray they didn’t, what kind of monster did that make her?

So whilst staring at the moon wistfully and asking her guidance she made the decision, she wouldn’t say a word. She had been living the lies long enough to keep up with them, that was what she had to do. It was a life she had built for herself now, she had to commit. 

That night she barely slept, the weight of what she had learnt weighing heavy on her shoulders. Tears fell into her pillow as she wept silently, counting now the inevitable days until she lost him. 

Days, that was all it took for the dream to end. And when it ended, it was abruptly, violently, not with fireworks and wistful promises, but with regret.  

Marie’s father had sent Jack to the Braithwaite Manor, since then she hadn’t seen Javier. Marie was no fool, she knew why. Once the gang got him back, Jack would have undoubtedly have told Javier that he had seen her. Her stomach twisted in knots and she found she was unable to keep her food down. 

All she could do was wait for Dutch and the gang to storm her father’s mansion as they had the Braithwaite place.

She heard the commotion outside, she knew what was happening without looking, so she sat by the fireplace, whiskey in one hand, book in another. They were just props to make her appear calmer than she was on the inside. She knew this would be the end of her relationship and potentially the night of the death of her father. Again, she was no fool, but fool enough to believe there was a world where this could have worked. 

Numbness washed over her like the tide over dried out pebbles, as she heard the door crash open and the rain of gunfire begin. 

When Javier came into the room she was sat in, accompanied by John, her blood ran cold, there was nothing she could say to make it better. The tears that stained her one perfect cheeks, spoke a thousand words. 

Javier stared at Marie, wordless for a moment. Despite what Jack had told him and her sudden disappearance from his life, he hadn’t quite believed it, not until now. How could he have been so stupid? He always took care not to allow anyone too close to him until he really got to know them and yet he’d let her in, believed the lies she had fed him. They had been so convincing and it had felt so real. 

“Come on,” John urged Javier, emotionless with his words. 

Javier was still frozen, it was only when John pulled at his arm he snapped out of the moment, “We need to talk,” was all he said before leaving with John.

As the gunfire continued Marie sat and drank the whiskey slowly, she could have run away then, could have taken some of her father’s money and expensive belongings and started again. But she figured she at least owed Javier an explanation.

Some time passed before the door opened again, Javier was alone, “Merida,” he muttered under his breath as he entered, closing the door behind him. 

She swallowed any words that were forming in her mind, her palms felt sweaty as she carried them in front of her.

“Javier I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I….” she tried to hold back the sob, “I didn’t want you to see me like this, I wanted to be someone else.”

“You put yourself in danger, you put us in danger! What he did to Jack!” Javier wasn’t shouting, he didn’t have the energy for that, he was just broken, his words cutting and to the point.

Marie got up from the seat she was in and closed the gap between them, spinning Javier on the spot and pushing him back a little towards the armchair. Her lips pressed into his catching him off guard and how hard he found it to pull away.

His hands gripped her upper arms and he pushed her back, sighing as the kiss broke. 

 “If you want to walk away I understand,” she said.

Javier was at a loss for words, the way she was talking was as if she hadn’t really considered the implications of her actions. She was reducing it to them staying together and living happily ever after or him just walking away, he wasn’t even sure he detected any real remorse in her voice. 

When he didn’t respond she started to plead, “Take me with you.” She gripped his hands tightly like a snake’s jaws round it’s prey, unwilling or unable to unlock. 

Javier shook his head in disbelief and took a step back, though his hands still clasped hers, it was at a distance. He promised himself before they rode to the mansion that he wouldn’t cry in front of her, that he wouldn’t allow himself to be exposed. But hearing the crack in her voice, was making it difficult. 

“Dutch won’t allow this you know that.”

“But I…. I love you,” the words fell so readily from her lips. The first time she set eyes on him she hadn’t planned on falling in love, she’d just hoped for a little adventure, excitement, for a man to teach her the ways of the adult world.

Javier sighed pulling his hands from hers, her arms fell to her side, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now, I need space,” he walked past her, shoulder brushing shoulder.

“Javier please!” She begged.

How it stung him then, he’d been caught out by this before back in Mexico, had promised himself he would never fall hard again and yet here he was a partner to self-indulgence and narcissistic hopes, dancing the same dance that had him falling flat on his feet.

“Please don’t leave me!” She pulled at his sleeve, falling to her knees by his side. 

He turned, head over his shoulder looking down at her and tugged his sleeve away from her grip. He had tried to be nice, tried to express his need for time to process what had happened, but she wasn’t making it easy, “You lied to me!” His tone reeked of disbelief. 

“No…no I didn’t I.”

“You told me your father was dead, that he was a doctor.”

“His father was a doctor… my grandfather… and he is dead to me.”

Javier laughed, it wasn’t a kind laugh with any warmth, he beat his fists into a cushion and turned back to her, “You could have ruined everything.”

She stood up weeping, affronted at being told off so harshly, “Javi…”

Javier took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, he sighed and looked back at her, “I love you, don’t you get that? I love you and would do anything I can to protect you, but how can I protect you when you won’t tell me who you are? I cannot protect you if I don’t know you.”

She sniffed and walked over to him, tentatively she reached out for him and placed a hand on his lower arm, a moment then when she recalled one of their first dates, the way he had rolled up his white sleeves and exposed his muscular lower arms. It was the first time in her life that she felt what others described as ‘butterflies’. 

“Forgive me?”

He sighed, he had already decided on their fate before she even asked the question, already knew that no matter what he would forgive her. The question was, how could he stay with her knowing what he knew now?

His fingertips traced her cheek bone, “Marie,” he couldn’t get out the other words he wanted to say, finding it overwhelmingly too painful to cope.

His hands slid round her waist and pulled her in closer, just as they were about to kiss there was a crash as the door was kicked open. Dutch, John and Micah walked in.

“Bronte’s daughter!” The fury on Dutch’s face was like something neither of them had seen before.

Dutch’s tone brought Javier back down to reality, he would forgive her, yes. He would allow her to be free, to go and live a full life, but it would have to be apart. 

“Dutch, please don’t start.” Javier urged his friend and leader, standing in between the two of them. 

“Did you know?” Dutch’s face was red with fury.

“He didn’t, I swear!” Marie said. 

Micah gave a cruel laugh, “As if we’d believe anything you say.”

“I didn’t know Dutch, do you think had I of known, I wouldn’t have said something or broken it off?” His voice strained. 

Dutch remained silent.

“Aren’t I loyal to you?” As Javier spoke the words he felt torn, he loved Marie, but he loved the gang and Dutch more, they would always come first.

Dutch sighed, he had been in difficult situations when he was younger and wasn’t completely void of emotion, “You know this has to end now?”

Javier nodded, “Yes.”

“My dear, I was fond of you,” Dutch begun, “Such a shame you couldn’t have been honest with us, for that betrayal, there is no longer a place by our or Javier’s side. Now come say goodbye to your father.”

She gulped, Javier found himself grateful for Dutch’s reaction when it could have been so much worse. 

She watched from the edge of the water, knowing with certainty that it would be the last time she saw her father. She didn’t blame Dutch or the others, how could she? He had taken Jack from them, taken a boy and whilst he had treated him well, it was a matter of principle.

She’d hugged her father goodbye, kissed his cheek, for all his wrong-doings he was still her father. He looked scared, it was the only time she’d seen him look like that and it terrified her. The dead of night had never been something that scared her as a child, but it scared her now. To see the moon reflected in her father’s wide eyes. He looked lost, confused, old, a lifetime of wrong-doings had caught up with him. Ironic though she felt that it was a group of outlaws who would be his undoing rather than lawmen. Maybe it was better that way, maybe there was more honour in dying at the hands of others who also wished to be free. 

Marie watched the others climb into the boat after her father, she watched him sit, studied every movement of his. She watched as the boat head out into the thick of the swamp, under the great   Cypress trees. She counted the ripples to steady her nerves, they went on and on and so she didn’t think of anything else as she counted.

But in the end she had to consider what was happening, so she stood, motionless as the horror unfurled in front of her, though she couldn’t clearly see in the dark of night, she heard the noises, the screams, could see the shadows in the dark, the movement underneath the water. 

A few seconds of noise and then silence, like a void had opened up in the world and sucked in all the sounds, light and oxygen. She held her breath as the boat returned, hoping it had all been to scare her father and nothing more.

When they returned without her father, she had no doubt what had happened, that’s that then, she thought. No tears came then, just a gentle, throbbing pain in her temple and an emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Her father was the one person that no matter his wrongs, made her feel like her place in the world was justified. Whilst they argued frequently, he was always there for her and now she had no one. 

Dutch, John, Micah and Arthur walked past her without a word, she doubted she would ever speak to them again. 

Javier though stopped next to her, without turning to her said, “I am sorry about your father,” then he proceeded to walk back inside the house.

She gave him a few minutes before entering the house behind him, she closed the doors, locked them and drew the curtain. When she turned back she finally appreciated just how much blood there was and the mess that would need cleaning up. But none of that mattered, the bodies could stay there rotting for days for all she cared. 

Javier appeared from one of the other rooms, “The others have gone.”

She nodded and walked towards him, “I should have told you who I was, I know that, I know I shouldn’t have kept something so important from you, I can’t apologise enough.” As she spoke she was trembling, her hands clasped together by her chest, feeling her own heart beat.

“You know it’s not even the fact that you’re Bronte’s daughter, it’s the fact that you knew where Jack was!” 

“I didn’t know, not at first!”

“And how am I supposed to believe you, knowing what I know now?”

“I swear!” Her voice strained, clearly in pain.

Javier buried his head in his hands and tried to steady his breathing before he shouted at her again, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do or how he could make it through this. 

“I’m sorry,” her bottom lip quivered, eyes full of tears again as she started to sob. 

“So you’ve said, sorry you were caught more like; how did you see this ending? With us riding off into the sunset back to Mexico?”

And although he wanted to forgive her, to pretend it hadn’t happened, he didn’t have it in him.

“No, I don’t know!” She threw her arms up into the air in dismay as tears streamed down her face.

Javier knew he had to leave before he changed his mind, “They’re my family, they have to come first. But take this as a lesson, you’ve inherited your father’s estate, learn from what’s happened here. Go into the world and live your life, that’s all I can offer you.”

She didn’t argue now, but let the silence fall between them, the inevitable dark hollow that opened up. 

She allowed herself to indulge in that silence and self-pity for a moment, “He wasn’t a good man,” in that moment she seemed genuinely sorry for the loss of her father as opposed to what else was happening. 

Javier sighed and walked up to her then pulled her into his chest, he hated her for lying to him, hated her for the danger she put his family in. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate her completely. The issue was she had broken his trust and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to recover from that.

“My love, I am sorry, but right now I cannot do this,” he said, still holding her so that he wouldn’t have to see her reaction.

“What?” Her voice was so meek, so confused, so unbelieving, there was no future where she imagined he’d have given her up this easily, where he wouldn’t have forgiven her, not her Javier.

“I do love you but I love my family, I owe my life to Dutch and Hosea, if only you’d have told me the truth from the beginning we could have worked things out.”

She pulled away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks, she balled up her fists and started to punch him repeatedly in the chest. Javier took it, allowing her to let her anger out on him.

“I’m not going to say there’s never a future for us, but, for now I can’t deal with this.”

“So you’re just going to leave me alone, your esteemed leader whom you love more than me, murders my father in a brutal fashion and now you’re leaving me.” Disbelief was written across her face. 

Javier felt pained, for the first time since Mexico, he felt wrecked with guilt, but how could he bring her home with him, to their camp? To the gang’s safe haven? It seemed impossible to him.

He shook his head, “You think this is easy for me? You think I like this?”

She bit her lip and looked at the floor like a child who’s been told off in school, “I know I’ve done so much wrong and I’m not sure I can put it right,” she said, though this time there was more conviction in her voice. Her tears were subsiding as exhaustion washed over her. 

“I loved you Marie, what we had was great, but if you love me too you’ll understand why this cannot be.”

She looked up into his kind, dark eyes and felt sorry for him. As much as it hurt her, she knew he was right. 

Javier pulled her into a hug again and rubbed her back, “You’re gonna be okay Marie, you’re a smart girl, you’ve got all the money you need to move on and live an amazing life.”

When he pulled away he kissed her one last time, it was a soft gentle kiss that had all the notes of, ‘I love you’. She desperate for more tried to kiss him more passionately and sucked on his lower lip, but as she did this he pulled away before brushing his lips against hers once more. 

“Will I ever see you again?” She asked.

Javier inhaled sharply and then shrugged, “Maybe… not for a very long time but maybe if you can prove yourself to us. But understand, this is over, if and this is a big if, if ever there comes a time when you prove yourself to me, we will have to start again.”

She nodded, “I understand.”

Javier pulled himself away from her and turned around, he refused to look back incase he changed his mind. He had to be strong now, strong for Dutch and the others, had to return to his family who needed him.

Marie watched him leave, powerless to stop him, she was head of the household now, no more tears. In a way their relationship had done exactly what she wanted it too, when it started she wanted to date a handsome man with an exciting life. Wanted to date someone who would kiss her, take her virginity, teach her what it was like to be a woman. And Javier had done that and more, he had prepared her for a relentlessly cruel world and taught her how to survive. 

In the end, that was why she let him go. As the front door closed, she became acutely aware of how empty the house was, the structure that had been full of so much noise just one hour ago, had fallen as silent as a graveyard. Time to move on, she thought.