#also: this is probably not worded as clearly as it could be

[ipushhimback]

we were drunk it happens - part 3

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: pregnancy, jos verstappen words: 1.5 k

summary: Y/N find out she is pregnant. she doesn’t want to tell Lando as she was scared of his reaction.

taglist: @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8

Fuck. That was the only thought in her head as she stared at the pregnancy test in front of her. She was on birth control. How the hell was she pregnant now.

This couldn’t be happening. She was only 22 years old. Definitely not ready to be a mom! And a single mom? No way she could do that. Oh my god. How should she tell Lando.

She took her phone and clicked on her brother’s contact. She really needed advice right now and who was better for that than her brother. He would probably be a bit upset but Y/N couldn’t really think of anyone else who could help her right now. After only one rang, Max answered.

“Hey, little one. What’s up? Everything alright?”, he asked.

“No, Max. Nothing is alright! Please. Can you come here? I need you.” Y/N felt tears welling up in her eyes and her voice broke.

“Of course. Are you hurt? Did something bad happen?” Over the phone, she heard how Max grabbed his keys as told Kelly he would have to leave. A second later she heard a door close.

“I am not hurt. No. Please just hurry.” She sank down against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall and just hung up. Max would be there soon. And then everything was going to be okay.

The doorbell rang and Y/N got up slowly to open it. When she did, her brother immediately went to hug her as he saw her wet cheeks.

“Hey. What happened. Did someone hurt you? Are you sick?”, Max asked as he leaned back a bit to look her in the eyes. “You know you can tell me everything, right?”

Y/N just held up the pregnancy test. There was no chance it was wrong. The word pregnant was clearly written across the little display in the white stick.

“That’s… yours? I assume?”, Max asked carefully.

“Of course it is mine! Why else would I stand in my fucking house and cry like someone died?! I don’t know what to do, Max. He will kill me if he finds out.” Well aware that she would make Max’ shirt completely wet, she buried her face in his grey shirt.

“Who will kill you? Who even is the father? Oh my god. It’s Lando, isn’t it. No way.” Max looked concerned, but now Y/N could also see he was a bit disappointed, even though he would never show it.

He was too much of a supportive brother. He would never show his disappointment, nor would he upset her on purpose.

“It’s ok. Everything is going to be alright. I promise. Do you want to tell him, already?”

Y/N shook her head furiously.

“No. He… he can’t know. We said no feelings. He really can’t know. Not yet.” Her brother just nodded while looking thoughtful.

“Do you… do you wanna keep it?” He looked worried as if he was scared that he might have said the wrong thing.

Y/N nodded. She thought about an abortion, but she simply couldn’t. It was her baby. And more importantly, it was her and Lando’s baby.

“I do. It is mine.” She placed her hand on her still flat belly.

“Ok. I just want you to know that Kelly and I will support you. No matter how you decide to raise it in the end. And hey, maybe your baby will be friends with ours in the end. They won’t have a huge age gap.” The Formula 1 driver laughed a bit.

“You are not disappointed?”, Y/N asked. She honestly would have thought that Max would be a bit mad, but here he was, being the most understanding person.

“Maybe a little. No… that’s not right. I am just a little scared. You are my little sister. And… I am not really disappointed just worried about you. But you know I will always support you, no matter what happens.” Max smiled at her which made Y/N a little happier.

“I am going to have a baby”, she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

***

For over a week, Y/N had been feeling nauseous. The pregnancy made her tired, dizzy and she couldn’t keep any food down. Still, she told Max that she will attend the next grand prix. Monza. She was happy, because she slowly started to like F1 again. When she was younger, Monza had been her favorite grand prix and the atmosphere when the Ferraris were on the podium…

Like Seb had been saying. Everybody’s a Ferrari fan. Even if they’re not they are Ferrari fans.

Even though Y/N was looking forward to watching the race, she couldn’t help but feel nauseous as fuck. She threw up her whole breakfast earlier and now she just felt weak.

Because the last thing she wanted now was being alone, she had decided to go to the Ferrari garage where Charles’ girlfriend Alex already was. They have become quite good friends over the last weeks so Y/N enjoyed being around her. Together they were now staring at the tv in front of them. Observing the different cars and occasionally swearing when they were annoyed or too caught up in the moment.

At some point Y/N excused herself to head to the bathroom, needing to puke again. When she returned, Alex looked at her a bit worried.

“You look shitty today”, she said bluntly.

“Wow. Thank you. I didn’t see that already in the mirror or so…”

“No… I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N. More in an ‘are you okay’ way. Because seriously, you look like you’re about to faint. And I don’t want to explain that to Max later.” Alex looked at her, definitely worried.

“No. I am alright. It just happens sometimes.” Y/N suppressed the urge to throw up again and took a deep breath. “Let’s focus on the race, ok?”

Alex nodded hesitantly.

Y/N really wanted to tell Alex that she was pregnant, but she simply didn’t know how. Furthermore she wanted to tell all her friends she made over the last weeks together. Alex, Lily, Carmen, Rebecca. And of course, her childhood best friend.

A bit later, the race was finished. Charles came in P1, much to Alex’ joy, Max in P2 and Lando in P3. Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.

She just went outside to head to the Red Bull garage but just as she came near, she heard a sharp voice.

“P2? And you are proud of yourself? Wipe that damn smile from your face, Max. You started from pole; you should have won easily. Didn’t I raise you better?”

Y/N froze outside and couldn’t move anymore. What was her dad doing here? Max didn’t know about it, did he?

Suddenly she felt like she might really faint. Black spots were dancing in front of her eyes, and she couldn’t breathe anymore. She hasn’t seen her dad in at least three years. And honestly, she was glad about it. She didn’t want him in her life anymore.

Y/N knew that Max didn’t have as much of a problem with Jos as she did, but he still didn’t exactly like it when his dad was complaining about him being P2 in a race. She knew he would beat himself up for it, as it would make him believe he was terrible at what he does.

“Y/N? Are you ok?”, she heard a voice say. Lando.

“Uhm. Yes. Everything’s alright.”

Lando eyed her.

“You don’t look like you’re alright… You’re pale and you look like you just saw a ghost. Did something happen? Are you not feeling well?”, he asked.

“No. Seriously everything’s alright.” But in that moment Max walked around the corner, and Jos was just behind him.

“Oh. Y/N. Nice to see you again after you’ve been ignoring my calls for what now… three years? And still living in your brother’s shadow I see.” Jos laughed and Y/N felt like she wanted to die.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and her chest tightened. The nausea was back as well, and she hated it. Why couldn’t she just live in a normal family?

“Are you alright, Y/N?”, Max asked from where he was standing. His sister just nodded before turning around and walking to Max’ driver’s room.

“Great, dad. Well, done.”, she heard Max say to their dad behind her. But she just started crying. Damn pregnancy hormones.

A little later when she sat on a small couch in the room, she heard a knock on the door. Max.

“Can I come in please?”, he asked while he was already opening the door. “I didn’t know he would be here, I promise, I would have told you. I wouldn’t want to hurt you or even the baby.”

But exactly then, Y/N saw Lando in front of the wooden door. He looked at her with wide eyes the shock evident in his eyes.

“A baby?”

A/N: sorry it took me so long to write this part but i was so tired thanks to school i didn’t have the energy to write a lot. also updates to the next fics and what i am writing etc is on my pinned post / intro post

[mattscoquette]

𝑨 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 | 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉.. you slowly notice your boyfriend is falling out of love with you

angst !! cursing, mentions of weed, smoking, arguing, glass breaking, kinda toxic!matt, breaking up

2.3k words

are we awake? am i too old to be this stoned?

the small sliver of sunlight that peered through your curtain danced across your face, causing you to stir awake slowly. a hand reached out, only to find the other side of the mattress cold. typical.

it wasn’t long before the strong reek of matt’s weed filled your apartment, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you peered at the clock next to you, the numbers 6:37 a.m. staring back at you.

slowly, you made your way out of bed and out to the balcony, where matt resided, still clad in his pajamas. a rolled joint was held between his pointer and thumb, dark smoke swirling around him.

“are you seriously high already?” you mumbled, sleep still coaxing your voice as you wrapped your arms around your middle as a means to stay warm.

matt simply looked back at you, his usual blue eyes red and bleary. he gave you a small shrug before holding the joint to his lips, inhaling deeply.

“i guess so.”

for goodness sake, i wasn't told you'd be this cold.

it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to question if matt still loved you. you’d been together for a year and a half now, and it felt as though he’d only loved you for the first year.

it started small. little remarks you would tend to just brush off.

“you should wear this, it looks better on you.”

“why are you always in a bad mood whenever i’m around?”

but they never bothered you much. matt loved you. and you loved him. that was the way it always was, and you never seemed to think any different.

and matt was so sweet in the beginning. flowers were delivered to your door every week, along with a handwritten letter from him. your meals were always paid for, and you were almost certain you hadn’t touched a door handle for nearly half of the relationship. now, things couldn’t be more different.

when matt started being mean, you never questioned if he still loved you. he was probably having a bad day, or something heavy was weighing on him he just didn’t feel like talking about. it was never a question if he loved you or not.

but lately, you weren’t so sure anymore. it was rare for matt to be kind. he was also so angry and upset, and you couldn’t just seem to understand why. he acted like you were just an afterthought in his mind, a footnote in the story of his life. like you weren’t his girlfriend, like you weren’t his everything, like he always promised you.

you smashed a glass into pieces

that's around the time i left.

you lost count of how many argument you and matt had this week. there was always something. nothing could ever be okay with you both.

it was beginning to feel like matt wasn’t fighting for you relationship anymore. yet here you were, fighting tooth and nail, just for things to be even a little bit like how they used to be. it was an uphill battle, and you were losing.

you were angrily clearing off the table, not caring if neither you nor matt were done eating dinner. you weren’t even sure what this argument was about. something along the lines of matt bending over backwards for you, when you reciprocate nothing in return. although that couldn’t be further from the truth, you tried to listen. you tried to piece together what exactly it was that you did that made your relationship crumble.

“i just don’t get it y/n,” matt retorted as he stood up abruptly, bringing his dishes to the sink and dropping them in with a loud clank, “why is it that i’m doing everything for you, but the second i need something, it’s a big issue?”

you glared at him from you spot by the table, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. you didn’t want to argue anymore. you just wanted your boyfriend back.

he just scoffed as he turned back around, clearly not impressed with your lack of an answer. matt began to scrub the dishes bitterly, almost as if the plate had done something wrong and he was mad at it, as opposed to you.

“i do so much for you, matt.” you mumbled, keeping your head low as you wiped off the table. no matter how much you two argued, you never wanted him to see you cry. “i feel like sometimes you’re the one who can’t be pleased.”

that set him off.

“are you serious-” he began, throwing the plate down in the sink angrily as he turned around to look at you. the glass shattered, the sound piercing through the kitchen as you two fell silent.

it was an accident, you knew it, but it didn’t stop you from crying more.

you turned to face matt, your eyes red and cheeks blotchy as tears streamed down them. before he could get a word out, you were already announcing that you were going back home.

you said i'm full of diseases

your eyes were full of regret.

it had been a week and a half since matt broke the plate, and things hadn’t gotten any better. if anything, that was the first crack in the glass. matt seemed to be picking an argument all day, looking for anything to make a comment on. no matter what you did, you just couldn’t make him happy.

“can you stop hogging the damn blanket?” matt murmured as he sat next to you on the couch, his arms crossed. he tugged the fabric from your lap to his, shuffling even further away than he was before, his focus returning to the movie playing on the tv.

you looked at his side profile, his demeanor so cold and off putting. where you both used to be cuddled up together under one blanket when watching a movie, now you couldn’t so much as sit too close to him without starting something.

“sorry.” you mumbled faintly. that was starting to become a repeat word in your vocabulary. sorry. you had decided instead of arguing back, you could just be sorry. if matt felt like he was always right, he was sure to love you again the way he used to. how couldn’t he be?

“god, you’re just so annoying sometimes.” he muttered, fixing the blanket once more as his eyes bore holes through you. he watched the way your face fell, a knot twisting in his stomach.

how could he say something so mean to girl he loved so much?

in return, you sighed quietly and shakily, returning your eyes to the tv screen. you’d rather have matt be angry at you everyday than not have him at all.

you used to have a face straight out of a magazine

now you just look like anyone.

for a change, matt suggested you two go out. it was a breath of fresh air for you both. there was almost an unspoken agreement that you two couldn’t be fighting if you were in public. you could each play the part of the happy couple you once were.

you made every effort to look your best. your hair and makeup were done, your outfit perfectly put together after countless hours spent curating it. you took a step back from the mirror, smiling at your reflection. you felt really, really pretty. a small sense of optimism lingered in the air as you made your way down to matt’s car when he said he was at your apartment. he couldn’t possibly ignore you, not when you looked like this.

a small smile played on your glossed lips as you climbed into the car, your floral perfume strong. he offered the faintest of smiles, followed with a small kiss hello. to most girls, they’d be upset if their boyfriend reacted how matt did. they’d want him to compliment them, ruin their makeup. but to you, it was a start. you can’t remember the last time he made you feel how he just did.

the ride to the mall was peaceful. it was filled with small talk, the radio playing softly in the background. the day was just getting started, but you felt hopeful. you felt like today would be a really good day for you and matt, and your relationship was in desperate need of one.

and it was great. it felt almost like what you called “the good times,” the part of your relationship where matt actually felt like your boyfriend. when he actually acted like your boyfriend. he held your hand the entire time you walked through the mall, and carried every single bag for you. at the cash registers, his wallet was out before the total was even displayed on the card reader. the day was almost perfect. almost. the only thing missing was the compliments you craved from matt so badly.

in the good times, it seemed as if every other sentence coming from matt was a compliment. he loved to tell you how much he loved you. at one point, you had even wondered if matt remembered your actual name, because he was always calling you his pretty girl. his.

but today, that seemed to be the only thing lacking. instead, matt’s gaze seemed very preoccupied with the other girls in the mall. his eyes lingered at all of their bodies, the way they would show a little cleavage or expose their midriff. it didn’t take you long to realize the only reason matt was being so kind today was because he could distract himself with other girls who weren’t you.

i just sat in self-pity and cried in the car.

although you and matt had been having problems for as long as you had, you didn’t dare tell anyone. because when you were around friends, you and matt were good at pretending. nobody dared to question your relationship, because there was nothing to question. he seemed to love you the way he always had. it was only behind closed doors when you had problems.

but even though you accepted this was your relationship now, you couldn’t help but remember the good times. it would just hit you out of nowhere, the longing for something that didn’t exist anymore. something that could never be as it was. it was a crushing feeling, really, and the only thing you could do was let it consume you. it would eat at you for days, taking away your appetite and replacing it with a sinking feeling inside of you.

you often found yourself looking back at old pictures and videos, notes from matt and dead flower petals you saved. if you closed your eyes and focused hard enough, sometimes you could still feel the way you used to. you’d be lost in your thoughts, living in a deluded world where you and matt were still happy. one where he had eyes for only you, and made you feel like the most special person in the universe. you could still remember how tight he would hold you every night, how he’d look at you like you hung every star in the sky.

then, the reality would dawn on you that it wasn’t like that anymore. you were mourning a relationship that wasn’t even dead yet.

you played a part, this is how it starts.

as the days, weeks, months passed, you felt more and more detached from your relationship. you were waking up everyday next to someone you couldn’t recognize anymore. the spark you two shared was now put out, embers on the ground dying. he wasn’t the matt you fell in love with anymore.

you had stopped trying. maybe if matt noticed you were slowly fading away, he’d do something. but he didn’t. he never did. the two of you had no energy for anything anymore, your relationship on it’s last limbs.

oh, i just had a change of heart.

matt’s couch was something you’d grown accustom to over the last two years. it was your saving grace when he would push you to the point of no return, when you couldn’t even lay next to him to sleep. as the ceiling stared back at you, you heard small creaks in the floorboard as matt creeped into the living room. he looked a mess, his hair tousled in all different directions, the dark spots under his eyes more prominent than ever.

“can i lay with you?” his voice whispered in the darkness as he stood above you. he clambered in beneath the blankets when you gave a small nod, exhaustion falling over you fast.

he rustled around a bit, finally finding a comfortable position facing you. he studied your face, taking in every detail.

“it’s not working out anymore, is it?” he asked, his voice quiet.

you looked back at him. you watched the way his chest rose and fell, the way his chapped lips parted and breathing hitched.

“it’s not.”

you both remained quiet, as if you were soaking in the last moments of your relationship. the same way you try to remember everything about your hotel room when you’re leaving vacation, committing every last minute thing to memory.

you stared back at matt, waiting for him to speak. he opened his mouth to speak, closing it when no words came out. he tried again.

“are we done then?”

you inhaled shakily, your eyes fluttering shut. you nodded, feeling the weight of the world come crashing down on you. two years of your life, over like that. before you could even think about getting up, matt’s voice broke you from your thoughts.

“can…can you just stay with me one more night?” he asked. “i don’t want it to be over just yet.”

you peeled your eyes open, being met with matt’s sad ones. you nodded your head yes, feeling him instantly wrap his arms around your middle, pulling you into his chest. just like how he used to. his head rested atop yours, the rhythmic sound of each other’s breathing lulling you both to sleep.

you would both deal with it tomorrow. you would feel the unbearable feeling of heartbreak in the morning. but for now, you could still both be with one another the way you used to. just one last time.

© mattscoquette | taglist

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ i know i was yapping sm ab needing a break but i wrote this in one sitting yesterday…. also a fanfic to the 1975 is sooo tumblr. pls lmk ur thoughts bc this is very different from what id normally write:) and thank u for 5.1k ! i love u all

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 1)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Grinding, Dry-Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Switch!Jayce, Rough Kissing, Biting, Shower Sex, Angst, One Bed

Notes: I love my pathetic son Jayce, so I needed to make him just a bit wetter and sadder for… reasons. This is a two-parter, because it was looking too heavy as a one-shot and the second part still needs a bit more attention. I need to stop having too many multi-chapter projects at the same time before I go insane. Anyway, enjoy ❤️!!

You tap your fingers on the wooden countertop, trying to remain calm despite the growing pressure inside your skull.

“And you're sure there's not a single other room left ?” you ask with a tense smile, your teeth grinding against each other almost audibly.

The receptionist gives you yet another blank stare. She's hardly older than seventeen, probably helping out her parent's business, and clearly not paid enough to care about whether or not you stay or go.

“No, ma'am, there are no other rooms available for the duration of your stay,” she repeats robotically. It's as if you've been stuck in the same dialogue tree for half an hour with a badly programmed NPC. “We're a family-owned business, and we only have ten rooms available at once. Your reservation was for a single bedroom, not two.”

The exaggerated sound of her slowly chewing gum is driving you insane. “She's just doing her job’, you have to remind yourself. It's not her fault, you know that; plus, if there's anybody to blame, it's Jayce.

You turn towards the culprit in question, large shoulders slightly slumped and eyes escaping your glare. Pathetic.

“Seriously, Jayce?” you state in disbelief. “I asked you to do one thing for the trip.”

Jayce visibly takes offence to that, raising one stupidly large hand in objection:

“That's not fair, I was also taking care of bringing the prototype!”

“And I signed us up to the conference,” you hiss back. “I prepared our lecture. I got our bus tickets here and back. I made our itinerary for the whole three days. I even wrote down where we could go to bring back souvenirs for Sky and Viktor!”

You point an accusing finger at him, tapping it against his chest:

“The only thing I wanted you to take care of was the fucking motel. And you couldn't even do that right!”

He throws up both hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes. If there wasn't a minor in the same room, you'd have no qualms about punching him.

“Fine, alright, I messed up, what do you want me to say? ‘I'm sorry I'm such an idiot'?”

You exhale in frustration, throwing him one last resentful look before turning back to the receptionist: “Yeah, that would be a good start”, you scoff under your breath.

He makes a dramatic groan of annoyance behind you, like this entire situation isn't his fault.

The Academy barely gives you enough budget to attend two national mechanical engineering conferences a year. You had originally planned to go to this one with Viktor, specifically because of its location: nice and remote, the air fresh and relaxing, the few roads leading to the major cities surrounded by millennial trees and mountain peaks. The perfect place for a spark of romance to ignite between the two of you.

Unfortunately, Viktor had already scheduled a weekend seminar on the exact same date as the conference. Sky, your fourth and youngest lab partner, wasn't equipped enough to help you present all the complex features of the university's mechanical arm project. Only one other person could.

Jayce fucking Talis, and his magical ability to never do anything right.

“We'll just get our money back and find another place to crash,” he argues, walking up next to you to the counter, resting his weight against it; it creaks disapprovingly. “It doesn't have to be a whole thing.”

“I'm sorry sir,” the teen flatly interjects, still smacking the gum between her brace-clad teeth. Squish, squish. “But we require cancellations to be made 24 hours prior to the reservation. We cannot reimburse you as per the politics you have agreed to on our website.”

You'd probably get more interactive answers from a chatbot. Jayce kneads the lines on his forehead, his practiced megawatt smile starting to crack from fatigue. The girl stares at him with neither sympathy nor sadness; she brings her lips together to form a small pink bubble, letting it burst after a few seconds. Pop.

“Okay, you know what,” Jayce sighs in defeat, “I'll pay for our rooms somewhere else. It's on me. As an apology.”

This would be an excellent time to not subtly sneak in a remark on how he's always using his parent's money to get himself out of the messes he's created, but the teen speaks up again before you get a chance to:

“Sir,” she adds with her irritatingly nasal voice. “You should know the only other motel in the area only accepts new reservations until 9 pm.”

She nods pointedly towards an old grandfather clock on the wall, and the two of you look at it in sync: it's 9:06.

Now you're genuinely hesitating between strangling her or Jayce.

“You really know how to make a guy feel better, huh?” Jayce attempts with a weak laugh, the plastic smile crumbling a little further.

She only gives him a vacant gaze.

Your legs are aching from the long ride in the overcrowded bus, and the arduous walk to the motel with half the disassembled prototype on your back. You've been dreaming of laying down on a bed for the last three hours, and even if another inn was open nearby, you doubt you'd have the will to carry everything there.

“I don't care anymore,” you sigh, massaging the side of your temple to relieve some of the built-up tension. “I'm exhausted, and we need to rest if we want to be any good tomorrow morning. We'll just figure it out upstairs.”

Jayce makes a non-committal sound of agreement; if you had more energy, you'd angrily ask him if he has any better ideas he'd like to share. But you don't, so you just focus back on the unexcited receptionist. Ironically enough, the letters on her cropped shirt spell ‘GOOD VIBES ONLY’.

“We'll take the room,” you conclude, worn out.

The teen barely blinks as she inputs something into her old computer, the vintage monitor buzzing unpleasantly before she hands you two scratched keycards mechanically.

“Room 207. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay at Grizzly Country Motel,” she deadpans.

You mumble a thank you, but she either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore it in favour of going back to her cell phone, like your entire interaction had been nothing more than chasing away a couple of flies.

Jayce at least has the decency to grab both your luggage and his before you both head towards the stairs; if he’s got all those muscles, he might as well put them to use. You feel a pang of annoyance at how easily he carries the bags that you struggled to hold the entire day.

“Don't you think it's weird when they say ‘we’?” he mumbles pensively as you go up the stairway. “It's like everyone who works at a hotel is in a hivemind.”

You can't even find the will to look back and glare at him.

“No, Talis, I was actually thinking about how I'd fix all the problems you've created,” you reply drily.

You reach the second floor, knees buckling. Room 201, 202, 203…

“You'll just take half the bed and I'll take the other half,” Jayce pipes up from behind you, grunting as he pulls the last bag up. “We'll put a pillow in the middle. It'll be like nothing even happened.”

Oh, to be in the mind of Jayce Talis, where the universe is so fucking simple and accountability is a myth.

You hate how he always has an answer for everything, like it’s all so easy for him. You've fought hard to reach this point — to earn your place in the Academy, to be seen as a true scientist, breaking through barriers in a field where women remain the minority. It’s taken blood, sweat, and tears, years of effort that people like Viktor and Sky understand and respect.

Room 204, 205, 206…

But for Jayce Talis, it’s all sunshine, rainbows, and candy-colored skies. His family owns one of the largest metallurgy companies in the country, and has stocks invested in some of the biggest steel producers on the globe. He’s never had to work a single day in his life to put himself through school, never had to sacrifice anything for his dreams. You don’t think there’s a single thing he’s ever actually had to put effort in: he barely studies and still aces all his classes, hardly puts any care into his appearance, yet always looks like he’s out of the cover of the Times’ 50 Most Desirable Men. It’s infuriating to an unspeakable degree.

Room 207.

You tap one of the keycards on the handle, letting out a small sigh of relief when the mechanism beeps joyfully. Today hasn't been ideal, but at least, you're only a few feet away from a soft, comfortable bed.

You open the door, walking in with little decorum. It's small and bare, as you expected: a single window dulled by years of exposure, a box TV taken straight from the nineties, a dingy light fixture barely illuminating a greyed-out wallpaper of a forest scene, and…

“Talis,” you pause. He almost bumps into your back, fumbling with the bags in his arms.

“What?” he asks in confusion, peering over your shoulder. “Oh,” he simply says when he sees the issue.

“Talis,” you repeat slowly, trying to maintain your tone even, despite how badly you want to scream. “This is a single bed.”

Indeed, not only is there only one bed, it's evidently sized for a single person. It's ridiculously tiny. It doesn't take a genius to see that with someone of Jayce's stature, you'd have to practically sleep on top of him if you wanted to share the bed.

“Wait, I swear I asked for doubles for both of us-” he protests immediately.

“It's fine,” you cut him off, despite it being the exact opposite. The headache is getting worse, and you don't feel like arguing with him any more than you already have. “I'll take the bed tonight, and you take the floor, and we alternate tomorrow.”

Jayce puts all the bags down on the carpeted floor, visibly dejected.

“Again, I'm really sorry about this,” he mumbles, and even though you can tell it's genuine, it doesn't make you feel any better. Every ambigious prejudice you might have had against him has just confirmed itself: he’s a spoiled mama’s boy, who isn’t able to navigate the real world alone, and who’ll simply cry when he messes up things for everyone else.

“Whatever,” you grumble, sitting tiredly on the edge of the puny bed that groans painfully under your weight; it doesn't even have the decency to be comfortable. “Just means I'll have to take care of everything if we ever do symposium together again.”

He looks like a scolded puppy, unmoving, eyes avoidant, his large frame blocking the doorway. Jayce is extremely talented at making people pity him, with his huge citrine eyes and perfectly rosy cheeks. It almost makes you hesitate before adding the next words, but bitterness takes the upper hand: “This is the kind of mistake Viktor never makes.”

He doesn't reply.

You can tell that hurt him just as much as you intended with the way his body slightly curves inwards, his fits visibly clenching inside his pockets. Well, good. He's old and smart enough to know actions have consequences. He's supposed to be your partner, not a child you're babysitting.

“I'm…gonna go take a shower,” he hesitantly adds after a few tense seconds. “I'm still sweaty from the bus ride. Is that… okay with you?”

You shrug with disinterest; you know you’re just being petty now, but thinking of everything that could have been, had it been Viktor on this trip and not him, is leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Fine by me. I'll take mine right after.”

He waits a moment, like he's expecting you to add something else; maybe extend the olive branch. When you don't provide, he sighs, making his way to the bathroom door and closing it behind him.

You let your body fall back on the mattress with a heavy ‘oomph’. It's not as uncomfortable as it first seemed; it's firm, but the covers are soft, and the single pillow feels nicely fluffed. A couple might actually be pretty cozy in this bed, one body on top of the other, their libs entangled lovingly. It could have been you and Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, and his honey-coloured eyes. Viktor, and his teasing smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Viktor, and the way his long fingers twirl in his chestnut hair when he's focused, the way he absentmindedly licks his bottom lip when he's lost in thought. Viktor, and-

“Hey, um,” Jayce's booming voice from the other room interrupts your reverie. “C'mere for a sec?”

You groan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend he isn't there, he'll disappear all on his own.

“No, seriously,” he insists.

No luck. You get up lethargically, cursing the man under your breath.

“Left side with the red is hot, right side with the blue is cold, Talis,” you ironize. You open the door to the bathroom to see him standing in front of the shower door, thankfully still fully clothed. “Do you need help opening the shampoo bottle, too?”

He glares back at you in annoyance:

“Fuck off. Look.”

He nods towards a paper sign you hadn't noticed tapped on the glass panel, amateurishly plastified with a clear file folder.

[PLEASE DO NOT USE THE SHOWER MORE THAN ONCE A DAY. 10 MINUTES OF HOT WATER PER ROOM]

Well, you were wrong. Jayce Talis isn't just a forgetful idiot with bad luck.

He's a fucking curse.

“The room and the bed, I could forgive,” you start, fuming. But the shower?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” he yells back melodramatically. “You told me to find something cheap to not go over budget!”

You shove him in frustration, only getting more annoyed when it doesn't make his stupidly huge body move a single inch:

“I didn't mean you should book a fucking dumpster!”

A loud, pointed knock echoing from beyond the bathroom wall silences you both.

Delightful. The neighbours can hear everything.

You move a step away from Jayce, the width of the bathroom not allowing much in terms of distancing.

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath. You aren’t, but it's that or getting kicked out of the only open motel in miles for a noise complaint. “Yelling isn't gonna lead us anywhere. You can take five minutes, and I'll take the other five. It's gonna be short, but that's probably the best we can do.”

He at least has the decency to look appreciative, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“I can give you the whole ten minutes, to apologize. This is my fault,” he admits. It’s always like this with him, as if his never-ending self-pity cleanses him of any possible wrongdoing. You despise that.

“And have you stink up the whole place smelling like a football locker room? No way,” you scrunch up your nose. Just by sharing a workspace with him, you know Jayce has the hygiene skills of a teenage boy who thinks Axe body spray and cologne make sweat magically vanish; the sheer power of the unholy combination would keep you awake all night.

“Or…” Jayce trails on for a few uncharacteristically long seconds. He's usually more the type to say things before reflecting on them, but he's pinching his lips tightly, clearly hesitant about what he's going to add next. “…We could share the shower?”

You look at him with an expression frozen between incomprehension and disgust: “What?”

“I mean, it's big enough for two people to stand without touching,” he quickly justifies, raising his hands innocently. “I could take the flexible hose, and you'd just go under the showerhead. That way we'd both get ten minutes!”

He's using the overly excited voice he takes on whenever he's giving someone his sales pitch for a new, stupid idea he's had. It might work wonders on most, but you know better than to fall for it.

“So you're that desperate to see me naked?” you sneer.

“I'm trying to be helpful here!” he complains.

If you're being honest, it's not that bad of an idea. The shower is small in width, but it's quite long, making it a very viable option for two people to use at once. If you manoeuver everything right, it'll almost be like you're taking a long, nice ten-minute shower on your own.

“Fine,” you capitulate, making sure to enunciate the word painfully slowly so he knows you're not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. “But if you tell anyone this happened, especially Viktor, I'm cutting off your balls and using them to-”

“Yeah, got it, wouldn't want Viktor to think you like me,” he taunts mockingly, puckering his lips in a false kiss at the other man's name.

It's the first time you've agreed to an idea from Jayce, and you're already regretting it.

“Just shut up and get in the fucking shower,” you spit out, going back to the main room without sparing him another look. “Face the wall and call me when you're done. There’s no reason for this to be weird.”

—

He’s hard.

Very obviously and undeniably hard.

Jayce has been splashing his face with cold water for the last few minutes, to no avail. He's tried every technique he can possibly think of: running in place, breathing exercises, imagining his abuelita naked, nothing is working.

The only thing he can visualize is your body, completely bare in that shower, only a few inches away from his. The water pouring down from your hair to your shoulders, to your breasts, and then alongside the curves of your thighs, and your ass-

“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself in the empty bathroom.

It's not a secret to anyone that Jayce likes you. Neither is it a secret that you're utterly uninterested and only have eyes for Viktor, except perhaps for Viktor himself. It's kind of unfair how two-thirds of Viktor's lab partners are in love with him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get it, and that his eyes never lingered on that little mole above Viktor's lip for longer than they should have. But damn it, he wants you. He wants you to want him. Is that such an unfair thing to ask for?

You've got so much fight, so much fire in you, and he gets dizzy off the smouldering look in your eyes whenever you disagree with him. And disagree, you do: he wants to use lithium batteries, you want to use sodium. He wants to focus on reducing energy intake for the prototype, you want to focus on adding new components to it. He offers to order pizza for the group after a long day of work, you'll hear of nothing but sushi.

It drives him insane, but less in a way that makes him despise you, and more in one that makes him angrily rub his cock raw every night at the thought of that angry pout on your lips.

“-ayce! You alive in there?” comes your voice from the other room. He groans in frustration. This is a spectacular disaster in the making, and he's sitting front and center for it.

He's made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.

“You can come in!” he yells back with a noticeable crack in his voice. Not a great start.

His heart skips a beat when he hears the door creak open and close. The rustling of clothes being taken off one by one, the sound of pants dropping on the tile floor, and the unmistakable click of a bra being unhooked.

The door to the shower slides, and he feels you enter the confined space. It's ridiculous how close you are to him; he can smell the sweat off your skin, the faded scent of your perfume. His cock gives a small twitch and he glares down at it in betrayal. ‘Not now!’

You don't say a word as you turn on the faucet, the old plumbing in the walls hissing slightly before water starts to pour down on the both of you. He's not usually one for the cold, but it's refreshing, washing away the feeling of stickiness on his skin. He hums under his breath in delight; maybe it'll actually just be an awkward but relaxing shower, in the end.

The temperature rises slowly but surely, from cool to tepid, tepid to lukewarm, and then… it stops. He waits a few more seconds, throwing a discreet glance behind him to find you haven't fully turned the faucet on the hot side.

“Could you… put it warmer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“It's plenty warm enough as is,” you reply flatly.

Now you're lying just to go against him; it's barely any warmer than if he was bathing outside in the lake.

“Why would you even fight for the hot water if you're not gonna use it?” he mumbles.

You moan dramatically in complaint: “Fine, princess, I'll bump it up.”

He sees your hand reach for the faucet, grab it… and bring it less than a centimetre closer to the warm side.

“Seriously?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, seriously, now start washing your greasy hair before there's no hot water left at all,” you scold him, like he's nothing more than a snivelling toddler, and not a man twice your size.

Alright, enough is enough.

“What are you-” you protest at his sudden movement, his bicep pressing up against your shoulder.

“I'm turning the hot water on so I don't die in here,” he snaps back, trying to get a feel for the faucet while still looking away from you for the sake of modesty.

“Absolutely not, stay on your side!” you admonish him angrily. You attempt to push him back, pointedly refusing to look in his direction as you blindly slap his arm away. “Wait, Jayce-”

It happens too fast for either of you to figure out what's happening. One minute you're back to back, a respectable distance from one another, and the next you've both slipped, his arms boxing you into the narrow side of the shower with your legs bumping together.

Your eyes are locked into his for a few long, painful seconds. Neither of you are moving. You're trapped in a precarious game of jenga, where you can't even see which parts can safely be removed without you collapsing on each other.

“Whatever you do,” you exhale slowly. “Don't look down.”

You visibly regret your words as soon as you say them; you must have forgotten it’s Jayce you’re talking to.

He immediately looks down.

You put an arm up over your chest with an indignant yelp, and he quickly defends himself:

“Why would you tell me to not look down? That's like saying ‘Don't think of an elephant’!”

You're staying silent, your lips into a tight line, but he's certain you're thinking of an elephant right now. He smiles boastfully and you shoot him a deadly glare, before looking away to the side. It's the first time he's ever seen that awkward little blush on your cheeks without the conversation being about Viktor. That's a win in his book.

“It's fine,” you repeat once more like a broken record, and it’s definitely more meant to reassure yourself than to keep up a pleasant conversation with him. “I'll just… squish back against the wall while you close your eyes, and I'll direct you back to the other side. No problem.”

You sound less convinced than he's ever heard you before. He must have succeeded in turning the faucet to the side during the whole debacle, because the water has grown noticeably warmer, clouds of steam starting to form in the air. The atmosphere inside the shower is shifting ever so slightly.

He doesn't want to move.

He doesn't want to close his eyes.

The colour of your cheeks has grown darker from the heat, your lips slightly parted around every audible respiration.

“Would you wanna stay like this… if it was with Viktor?” he asks breathlessly.

You look back at him with genuine confusion, and he's honestly just as surprised as you are.

“What?”

“I…” It's getting harder to think. All his blood is rushing south, leaving him dangerously light-headed. What is he saying? “I… asked if you'd stay like this if it wasn't me in the shower. If it was Viktor.”

Your frown deepens. Your eyebrows always do this cute little thing where one furrows just slightly more than the other, but he's never gotten to observe it from this close. He lets his thoughts travel into dangerous territory. Do you wear that same expression when you're on your knees, sucking some other guy off? Would you look like that for Viktor?

“I don't see how that's relevant,” you retort harshly, but your gaze is elusive. You can't hide from him, not when his face is merely inches away from yours.

“Humor me,” he requests again.

“Fine, yeah, I would! Are you happy now?” you snap, eyes locking back into his with fiery resentment.

You're embarrassed.

He's never seen you rattled like this before. The energy in the shower is electric, now, coursing through his veins like a drug. ‘There will never be another moment like this’, the voice in the back of his head provides, syrupy sweet. It’s without a doubt the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, but he can’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I could show you what he's into,” he almost whispers, the deafening sound of water hitting the ceramic flooring almost too loud for him to hear himself.

He knows that you've heard him with the way your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I mean, guys, we talk,” he explains, the words now coming out of him like the rambles of a madman. He’s in too deep to back out: it’s sink or swim. “About the stuff we like, the stuff we dream about. I could tell you what he's told me, and you can practice. On me.”

An eternity passes before you speak again, mouth just barely agape. But you're not yelling at him. You're not slapping him in the face. In fact, you're not even frowning; the expression you’re wearing is oddly vulnerable and open, like you're seeing him in a different light than you ever have before.

“You're fucking gross, Talis,” you breathe out slowly. “You really think I'm that easy?”

This*,* whatever this is, is so fragile he’s scared of shattering it by being too loud. Like he’s talking to a wild animal.

“I don't,” he promises in a low voice. “But I think you're smart, and dedicated, and you wouldn't let an opportunity to know something so personal about Viktor pass you by.”

The steam has fully blurred the glass panels around the both of you, and it feels like you're inside one of those snow globes Jayce's mother used to bring back for him from her travels when he was a kid. It's weirdly ethereal, warm and cold, frozen out of any known space and time. He’s never heard you stay silent this long, and the anticipation makes his throat burn.

“Fine,” you finally say. “But if you tell anyone-”

“Yeah I know, you'll cut my balls off,” he lets out with a small laugh, slightly delirious. He's half convinced he's dreaming. “Are we good?”

You nod without a word, shifting your head to the side slightly to avoid his gaze. He hesitantly brings a hand to your chin, holding it like you're made of glass. You don't recoil at his touch, so he gently presses it upwards, making you look at him again.

“Viktor likes it when people kiss him softly,” he smiles shyly, his heart beating as loudly in his chest as it did for his very first kiss. It’s like he’s watching a movie, like none of it is truly real. He closes the gap between the two of you slowly, waiting for you to pull away; but you don't. Your lips meet his, and it's everything he could have ever wanted.

You taste of rainwater and cherry chapstick. You’re soft in the way described by jazzy love songs, smooth and electric, a puzzle piece that just feels so unbelievably right. He wants to wrap his arms around you, hold you so tight this never has to come to an end, leave marks on your skin no shower could ever get rid of.

But he doesn't. He can't.

This is a fantasy that’s only animated by mutual gain. It’s not the climax of a romance film where the hero finally gets to kiss the heroine under the rain.

But God, does he want to pretend it is.

You pull away first, and he doesn't miss it: the millisecond where your eyes open and you look at him like he's the one you want to be kissing. The almost imperceptible moment where you're still imagining you're kissing Viktor and not him, where your irises shine brightly with so much happiness and love.

But it's already gone, like it never even happened, and you quickly wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You’re not in a beautiful London street amid a gentle downpour with your soulmate: you’re in a cramped shower in a motel, with a guy you don’t even vaguely care for.

“You should shave your stubble. It's annoying,” you mumble.

‘Viktor doesn't have one’, the sentence heavily implies. It stings, but he's not about to back off just from that either. Not when he's been given a chance like this.

“Viktor also likes it when kissing is a bit of a fight,” he adds, sounding much too eager and desperate for his own liking. “Biting, tugging hair, that kind of stuff.”

It's not a lie, per se; he's only ever seen Viktor kiss someone once, when they were undergrads. It was an end-of-semester party, and Viktor had had way too many vodka red bulls for a man of his stature and health. Jayce had found him on a couch, limbs entangled with a stranger who seemed equally as drunk, and absolutely devouring their face off.

Viktor had asked him to never let him near caffeinated cocktails again the next morning.

You look slightly skeptical, analyzing him for any signs of deception; it looks as though you find none, because you're the one who initiates this time, and there you are, the fiery woman he's fallen head over heels for.

You're going to war on him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, savagely shoving your tongue in his mouth, one hand entangled in the hair at the back of his head while the other ferociously holds his throat in place, nails digging into his heartbeat. He responds eagerly, letting you mistreat him, encouraging you with muffled groans.

It hurts, and he wants it to never end. He can taste blood in his mouth, the metallic tinge making him dizzy, and he's so hard he could cum if you just touched his dick with a finger. He whines pathetically when you break the kiss for air, disoriented, a strand of saliva connecting you both still.

“A-aouch,” he can only manage to say jokingly.

You lean back against the tile wall, slightly breathless; you wipe away drops of red on your lip, smudging them down towards your chin, the look of a feral animal in your pupils. He feels his already rock-hard cock twitch. Hot.

“This is about what Viktor likes, not what you like. Toughen up, Talis,” you spit back.

Before he has time to formulate a reply, you're back on him, and now he's incapable of stopping himself from humping your thigh like an animal. You don't refuse him or push him away, even mercifully angelling your hip to the side to give him easier access. There's nothing but you, all over him, inside of him, tearing him apart and putting him back together. It's absolutely pathetic, and he knows it, but he can feel his release arriving in the pit of his stomach. He's wanted this for so long, there's just no way to delay it anymore.

It only takes a few more seconds before his orgasm hits him hard, the wave of pleasure making his whole body still as a plank, while you're still sucking harshly the vein on the side of his neck. He cries out once, broken and wanton, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

He comes down from the high in time to see the last of his cum painting your hip white before it gets washed away with the water. You detach yourself from him unceremoniously, putting some distance between your bodies with a frown.

“Did you just…?”

There's no room for pretending here. He's just had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life from nothing but a fucking kiss from you. It's like he's a teenager all over again, face redder than a tomato and eyes escaping yours guiltily.

“You came. You came by just making out with me,” you repeat, visibly caught halfway between incredulity and mockery.

“I just haven't gotten laid in a while, that's it!” he justifies vehemently. He needs to change the topic quickly, or you’ll never let him live this down. “I'm always busy at the lab doing the paperwork you always skip out on!”

That thankfully seems to take your attention away from his premature accident; he's never been so grateful for your short temper.

“Seriously? You’re going to bring that up right now?” you bark, shoving him in the chest angrily.

He can still turn this around. He might not have much control over his first release, today ridiculously so, but he's been blessed with excellent stamina and a very short recovery period. Jayce is good at selling himself with speeches, and even though you're usually immune to anything that comes out of his mouth, he's willing to cheat this once and use the one chink in your armour he knows about.

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed,” he tempts you in a tone of indifference.

Your silence speaks volumes; he's got you again. Yes, it's incredibly manipulative, and when this is over he's going to spend hours turning over in his bed and despising himself. He’s always believed in doing things the fair way, the right way, and that one day he’d manage to lower your defences and etch a place into your heart all of his own merits.

But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

What kind of man does that make him?

That’s a thought he’ll just have to keep for later.

Taglist Darlings: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, @urfavlarry , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 9: The Van Drawing . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

This is yet another piece of evidence that can probably be argued against with the phrase: 'Not everything is intention!!!' UHHHH maybe not everything but this definitely fucking is. Positioning shots in film is literally a language, it's there to tell viewers things that can't be said with words like books can. If byler is not endgame I will personally write to the directors like WHAT IS THIS???

As you can see here, this is an obvious attempt at showcasing what the characters are thinking without them being able to say it. It's right in front of our eyes and is very literal.

El is placed in front of the girl drawing, and Mike and Will are placed exactly where the thought bubble is. So she's thinking about them. DUH. ITS SO THERE ITS RIGHTTHEREGUYS....

They extend this even further, emphasising that it's El who is in the place of the girl, by having this shot with the thought bubble literally coming out of her head:

A face-on shot like this isn't very common, especially when a character is talking to another person. Also, the thought bubble looks like the one that Millie drew herself while the one with the very long extended shot (the first pic) looks different. They cut back to this shot three more times (a total of FOUR):

So when El originally draws on the van, she's doing it describe Max (who is represented by the girl in the middle) and the fact she will go inside her mind as well as Vecna (both represented by similar looking stick figures on the right). When she draws on it first, it looks like this:

The camera here is zooming in. If the camera kept zooming in, the thought bubble of the two men would not be right of Mike and Will so they literally had to redraw it so that it would be, clearly meaning that it's very intentional.

Already, this shot had indicated that byler would be together, but paired with the fact that they put this much effort into emphasising it to the audience. They just wanted this little hint that badly.

What does this drawing suggest? It could suggest that El knows something about them, maybe, she might have noticed them changing after her time in the lab, who knows. All I know is that there is no reason to place them in this shot in this way without it hinting at the outcome of the show.

Now it really makes sense why she didn't talk to Mike after the love monologue. Either because she knows he's lying (she's slammed the same door after being lied to before) or because she's realised she never needed him to say I love you.

[grudgecollector]

Little Lamb

Pairing: Poly TLB / Fem!Reader Request: Ok i finally came up with a request for you that as been on my mind for a hot minute. So i was thinking a poly lost boys (or just dwayne or paul if you don't wanna write for poly i don't mind which one) with a fem s/o who just loves doing their hair and styling their outfits, maybe putting makeup on them? Vampires cant see themselves in the mirror so they gotta make sure they look dope somehow! Why not help each other out! Maybe if she's a vampire to they like to return the favor. I have no clue why this just seems like an adorable thing to do. Story Summary: A peaceful night at the Emerson household has you reminiscing about the past Words: 2k Tags/Warnings: The boys live!AU, slight canon plot changes, slight angst, reader having a toxic home life, some fluff A/N: So this may or may not have a part 2, this plot kind of sprang itself on me out of nowhere to be honest. Also sorry that it kind of jumps around a bunch, hopefully it makes sense. It's been a while since I've written for the boys so my brain was going crazy.

@aviradasa

The Emerson household was alight with life, laughter bouncing off the expansive walls and high sitting ceiling. There was a warm glow from the fireplace, the chill of what could classify as a rainy winter day in Santa Carla quickly snuffed out. The sound of crackling wood blended with the music that played throughout the living room, Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Suzie Q washing over you in a beautiful symphony. 

Warmth from the fire crawled up your back as you stood behind Paul, who had perched himself happily on a chair brought in from the dining table. 

“Can you stay still?” Your hands settling on Paul’s shoulders, a small smile finding its way to your lips. 

His foot bounced harshly against the coral colored carpet on the living room floor, making it harder for you to work on his hair like he had requested. And you didn’t want to risk accidentally burning the back of his neck with your hair straightener, even if it wouldn’t actually do much damage to his cold skin. 

Paul’s hair was tangled and ratty, stiff from overuse of a product that you were sure was probably long expired. It took thirty minutes of brushing, and gentle tugging, before you could finally run your fingers freely through the thick golden locks. 

“Sorry, sweetcheeks.” He chuckled softly, tilting his head back with a soft smile. 

The rest of the boys were scattered about the downstairs of the house. 

Dwayne was sitting on the couch, long legs stretched across the cushions of the couch, ankles crossed as he listened to Sam gush about a new comic he had recently bought. Occasionally, the teenager would flip through the colorful pages, showing Dwayne the fight scenes he thought were particularly cool. 

David was standing next to Michael, staring down at his Grandfather’s old taxidermy work. They laughed quietly amongst themselves as Michael pointed at the dust covered fox's beady eyes, clearly not made as carefully as his more recent works. 

“This thing is fuckin’ freaky, man.” You could hear Michael say as he picked up a beaver with similar beady eyes. David laughed as he poked the glassy faux eyes with his fingers. 

Marko was in the kitchen with Star and Laddie, finding the table a perfect place to sit themselves as Marko taught her how to properly sew patches onto her jacket. 

You ruffled Paul’s hair, finally done styling the top to be big and wild like he usually had it. What would have been a choppy fringe was curled back, small tufts of hair curling back, making his hair look like a golden ocean of subtle waviness. 

“Alright hair’s done.” You say finally, setting down the half empty can of hairspray on the coffee table. 

“Sweet! Dwayne, how do I look, man?” Paul leans forward a little, hands tapping against his knees excitedly. 

Sam looks over at the blonde, lips quirked up in a smirk “Like an idiot.” The teenager replies, laughing as the vampire shoots him a glare. 

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion, squirt. So butt out.” 

Their tones were light and joking, no real malice behind their jabs. 

It was nice to see that things could smooth over as well as they did after everything that happened two years ago between the Emersons, Max, and the boys. A chaotic fight that ended with Max being torn apart by the six vampires. 

The decades of built up anger of his four “sons” reared its wicked head in those final moments. His own creations turned him into nothing, their loyalty had been worn thin long ago. Pieces of torn flesh and scattered limbs was all that remained of his once looming body. 

After Max’s death there was no change within the group, the icy grip of immortality still holding tight. A false hope instilled by the Frog brothers, thinking that if the head vampire was killed, it would end everything.

To Michael and Star it was a saddening defeat, disappointment clouding their brains for months on end as they were both forced to come to terms with their new life. 

“Max was turned by an old vampire long before I was even a concept to the world. The true “Head Vampire” as you like to call it. It would be almost impossible to find him now.” David had told them a few nights after, growing tired of Michaels complaining. 

“The elders hide in the shadows, they aren’t fond of taking risks. The way they live… It’s honestly pathetic.” He chuckled, inhaling what remained of his cigarette before crushing it under his boot.

“So you just expect us to live like this? Like fucking monsters?” Michael glared at him, fists clenching at his sides in irritation.

“Lighten up Emerson, it ain’t all that bad. You’ll see that.” David winked at his unwilling companion, whirling himself around to bark orders at the other vampires.

Their adjustment was chaotic, Star and Michael were on a warpath that needed to be snuffed out quickly before more eyes shifted in their direction.

While humans would never suspect something as impossible as vampires, murderers were never a far away concept. 

“You look good Paul.” Dwayne mused, flipping through the comic Sam handed him. 

“Awesome.” He smiles, standing quickly and turning to kiss you on the cheek, “You’re the best, sweetheart.” 

Marko steps into the living room with a jingle to his step, shaking his jacket a little as he holds it up for you to look at. The new patch he had sewn on was a beautiful piece of art he had cut out from a cloth canvas, a dark castle with subtle moon light casting over the tower peaks. 

The jacket was a little newer and darker in contrast to the much more colorful one he usually wore. Most of the things sewn on or hanging from it were things gifted to him by you, Star, and the other boys. He had been working on it for a good month or two now. 

“What’cha think?” He asked, “I might end up covering most of it up with more patches. It feels too empty.” He mused, running his index finger over the empty black spaces that stretched past the castle itself. “Paul found some old bottle caps in the cave a few weeks ago, was thinking about using those. Maybe cut up some old shirts, not sure.” 

Your eyes drift over towards your duffle bag, having been spending the last night or two sleeping on the couch in the Emerson household. 

Your parents were fighting again, and you couldn’t stand being stuck in such a volatile home. 

Typically you would find yourself sleeping in the overly decorated corner you had taken up in the cave, but the winding roads were slick from the recent rain storms, a rare but welcome shower to quench the thirst of overly dry foliage. 

So you found yourself rubbing your teary eyes on the doorstep, Lucy’s small hands ushering you inside with a kind smile. She didn’t think to pry too much, knowing the environment you grew up in after the many simple talks the two of you have had. 

She was more of a mother to you than your own, understanding, comforting, always welcoming you with open arms. 

Your fingers tugged on the zipper quickly, digging through your clothes until you fished out an old shirt. 

A woman’s painted eyes stared back at you, her fingers twisting oddly above a dark blue crystal ball, dark burgundy scarf covering most of her wild hair, heavy makeup darkening her bright green eyes, the background of the picture was filled with twisting dark purple and pink curtains. The picture adopted quite a similar darkness that adorned Marko’s new project. 

“You could use this too, I don’t wear it much anymore.” 

He grabbed it from your hand, examining it before smiling. “Hell yeah. Thanks babe.” He made his way back over to the kitchen.

Truthfully you just grabbed whatever your hands touched before stuffing it into your duffle bag, trying to get out of that house as quickly as you possibly could. Most of the shirts you had grabbed in your rush didn’t fit anymore, that being one of them. 

There was a slight pang deep in your chest, guilt clawing at your throat. 

What else were you meant to do? You wasted away most of your life acting as a shield for your mother, taking the brunt of your step dad’s abuse in order to keep her safe. The truth was that you were simply tired now, no longer sporting the clouded mind of a confused teenager, hell bent on bringing her broken family back together. 

A sigh falls from your lips sadly. Your ears perk up slightly as you hear the all too familiar ring of spurs on David’s boots. The black steel toes came into your line of sight as you closed the duffle bag again. 

You look up at him with a small forced smile, taking his extended hand. His gloved fingers came up to your cheek, the leathery thumb stroking across your skin as he asked-

“What’s on your mind, doll?” A voice ushered you from your deep thoughts, your fingernails stilling against the dry blood on your knuckles. Your eyes stayed glued to the railing of the boardwalk, unable to look up and allow him- whoever he was- to see the pathetic sadness in your eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” The reply was cold, uninterested in having a conversation with overly curious strangers. 

“Well… I don’t think it’s me that’s in need of helping.” There was a light chuckle that came from his lips, “You just looked lonely is all.” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, pushing yourself away from the railing. You internally prepare yourself to scold the stranger for bothering you. 

Your glare softened though once you looked at him. His piercing eyes swirled with amusement. He was a lot more attractive than you previously assumed he would be, falsely believing that he would be some worn down drunkard looking to score a night alone with a lady. 

No, he was beautiful, piercing blue eyes boring straight into your soul, as if he was trying to read your mind. 

There was the scruffy start of a beard on his face, an almost flirtatious smirk playing at his dusty pink lips, his blonde hair was styled to stand on the top of his head before sweeping down into a mullet. He wore dark clothes, a layering of a leather jacket, trench coat, and a simple black shirt beneath it all. 

He was unlike anyone you had seen walking along the boardwalk. It was almost hypnotizing, drawing you in without your knowledge. He was like a venus flytrap, dangerous yet alluring. 

“You look like you need a distraction.”

And a distraction it was. You spent the whole night walking along the boardwalk talking with David, his faithful companions not far behind. You know now that you would have suffered the same fate as Michael and Star if you had taken up his offer for a ride. 

But even with your caution, you would continue to seek out David’s presence on the nights you walked beneath the neon glow. Your eyes would wander the throngs of tourists scattered along the boardwalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious blonde. 

“I’m just worried about my mom.” You finally replied, unable to hide the truth from him. 

“I already told you we could deal with that step dad of yours.” David replied softly, he was always so tender with you. 

You couldn’t help but smile a little before rolling your eyes, already having this conversation more times than you could count on both hands “David…” Your tone was light. 

“I’m just sayin’.” He smirked, holding one hand up in surrender, “I hate seeing you down.” 

You felt another pair of arms slide around your waist from behind, Paul’s gaze meeting David’s with a teasing glint. 

“Such a big softie, isn’t he?” The blonde chuckled, brushing his nose against the back of your ear lightly before bringing his forehead to your shoulder, “I’m so fucking bored. Can we please go do something.” 

You couldn't stop the light laugh that came from you, an all too familiar sentence leaving your mouth.

"What do you have in mind?"

You could practically hear the echo of David's reply ring through your ears, that night flashing through your mind briefly.

“Oh, I’m sure we can find something to entertain ourselves tonight. Isn’t that right boys?”

[zozosrozo]

in the dark (part 1)

Se-mi x reader

this one is dedicated to my bsf, who’s obsessed with Se-mi

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

"Señorita, huh? What an idiot," Se-mi scoffed.

You were both sitting on one of the metal bunk beds crammed into the common room. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and fear, a reminder of how many lives had been lost during the last game. Around you, other players were either huddled in small groups, whispering anxiously, or lying silently on their beds, too drained to speak.

Somehow, you had survived again. And somehow, you had also gained… a new friend? You weren’t entirely sure how it had happened. While you were frantically trying to find a group before the game started, a pretty girl had approached you, her voice calm despite the chaos. "Mind if I join you?" she’d asked, and you had accepted her without even thinking.

Now, as you sat across from her, you couldn’t help but steal glances at her. There was something magnetic about Se-mi. Her sharp features, the way her jet-black hair fell loosely around her face, and those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through you—all of it left you in awe.

It makes you couldn’t quite decide if you wanted to be her or be with her. The thought made your stomach churn, and you quickly pushed it aside, unsure if it was the tension of the games or something deeper stirring within you.

"Heeey? Are you even listening to me?" Se-mi waved her hand in front of your face, an amused smile playing on her lips.

You felt your cheeks heat up as you stared at her blankly, struggling to think of how to respond.

Her smirk only deepened as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping slightly. "What’s the matter? Am I making you shy?" she asked, tilting her head with an almost playful curiosity.

You opened your mouth to deny it, but no sound came out. The way her eyes lingered on yours made it impossible to think straight.

Se-mi chuckled softly, leaning back just enough to give you space. "Don’t worry, it’s cute. I like it when you get all flustered like that," she said, her tone as casual as if she were talking about the weather. "But try to keep up, okay? I’d hate to lose an adorable teammate like u”.

“Is she flirting with me?” u thought to yourself. You weren’t sure if you were reading too much into her words or if Se-mi was deliberately toying with you.

"I-I’m not flustered," you finally managed to stammer, but your shaky voice betrayed you completely.

Se-mi raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, and her smirk returned in full force. "Oh, really? Then why are you blushing so much, huh?" She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you, her eyes glinting with amusement.

You glanced away, desperate to change the subject, but the way she was looking at you made it impossible to focus on anything else. "I-it's just hot in here," you mumbled, although the cold, unwelcoming air of the common room was anything but.

Se-mi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say," she teased.

"You know, you’re kind of fun to mess with. It’s a good distraction from all this… chaos."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and you realized that, despite her playful tone, there was a hint of something more in her voice—something softer, almost vulnerable.

Before you could respond, she straightened up, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "Anyway, we should probably figure out what’s next," she said casually, though her gaze lingered on you just a little longer than necessary. "I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, and I’d rather not do it alone. You’ll stick with me, right?"

The question caught you off guard, but there was no denying the warmth in her voice, even if it was buried beneath her usual confidence.

"Yeah," you replied softly, surprising yourself with how certain you sounded. "I’ll stick with you."

Se-mi grinned, satisfied. "Good. You’re smarter than you look, cutie."

A voice echoed from the speakers mounted on the ceilings, announcing that the lights would be turned off in five minutes, signaling the start of nighttime.

Players began retreating to their beds. You noticed a group that had set up some sort of "base," huddled together in one corner and using mattresses as barricades. Were they being paranoid, or did they know something you didn’t?

Could something really happen during the night? The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You glanced around the room, suddenly hyperaware of the tense atmosphere. Whispers filled the air, some players exchanging nervous glances while others silently adjusted their positions, keeping their backs against the walls.

Se-mi seemed unbothered—or at least she hid it well. She stretched her arms lazily before leaning back against the cold metal of the bunk bed.

"You don’t think…" you hesitated, lowering your voice to a whisper, "…someone might try something, do you? Tonight?"

“Hmm…” Se-mi glanced around the room, her eyes briefly scanning the other players.
“Nah,” she said at last, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and indifference. “They don’t have the balls to do anything outside the games.”

Her casual dismissal didn’t sit right with you. “Oh, okay,” you mumbled, but the unease in your chest only grew.

You’d seen what these people were capable of. Especially that purple-haired maniac. He was killing people in the games like it was nothing. Even worse he seems to had fun doing it. It made your skin crawl. What was stopping someone like him from doing it again now, in the dark, where there were no rules?

Se-mi must have noticed the way your hands fidgeted nervously, or maybe it was the faraway look in your eyes. “Hey…” she said softly, moving closer to you.

Before you could react, her hand was on your cheek, her touch gentle yet steady, grounding you in the moment. “It’s gonna be okay,” she murmured, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Just stay close to me, alright?”

Her thumb brushed lightly against your skin, and your breath hitched. The simple gesture, so unexpected and tender, made your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t ignore.

For a moment, the tension in the room faded into the background. All you could focus on was her—the warmth of her hand, the way her eyes held yours, and the faint trace of a smile tugging at her lips.

[augustwinesworld]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩…

what's a whore with no money to her name?

description: getting intel requires a different set of skills, especially if you’re a woman with a sharp tongue.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: angst?

warning: suggestive, extremely suggestive. also, the reader is described to have hair long enough to "fall onto her face" (wtv that means)

notes: really wanted to post this yesterday, but I had so much fun developing this idea that I didn't want to half-ass it. I'll def write levi's pov sometime :)

word count: 3.5 k

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭

Go to a dingy bar, infiltrate a small but influential group of merchants and shady brokers, extract information on a potential lead, and return to base with what was needed.

Easy enough, right? Right.

Somehow, it didn't feel like that.

As you stood in front of the cracked mirror, you adjusted your outfit one last time: a fitted cloak that barely reached the top of her boots and an off-the-shoulder dress fitted with a corset paired up with some tights.

Clearly, it wasn't something you were completely comfortable in, but blending into the bar crowd with battle-ready attire was impossible.

The mission required you to be a beacon, approachable—something hot, sweet, and appealing at the same time.

An easy target for conversation, not suspicion.

Someone that could be something more, for the night at least.

What's a whore with no money to her name?

"You ready?" Furlan’s voice came from behind, his face smirking as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Just about,” you replied, hands finding a small box filled with a deep red-coloured paste. "I just have to put this on."

Using your fingers, you applied it across your face—over your cheekbones and on your lips—the rich colour bringing true liveliness to your features.

As a finishing touch, you decided to take a small brush and add a mole underneath your left eye, have something they can remember you by.

Furlan kept his gaze on you as you worked, though he didn't say anything until you were finally done.

He looked as though he wanted to ask something, probably if you were sure you could handle it, but decided against it.

You weren't sure how to feel about it.

“Don’t screw it up for me, alright?”

Furlan raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one doing the talking. We'll just keep an eye out.”

You gave him a half smile, walking toward your bedroom door. Before you made it to the exit however, you caught Levi's glare from across the room.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as always, but the way his eyes lingered on you made you pause.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer help like he usually did when you prepared for these kinds of things. Instead, his focus was sharp and cold on your figure. Or well, your clothes more like it.

“Something wrong Levi?” you asked—voice a little too sweet, a little too sarcastic.

His lips twisted slightly, a sign of agitation. “Just don’t get yourself killed,” he muttered, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?” you shot back, enjoying the rare opportunity to needle him. But Levi’s only response was a grunt.

The streets were almost bare, except for the few drunkards and thugs hanging around.

The only source of steady light came from the bar around the corner., the men at the entrance followed with their gaze as you passed through the door.

The building in itself was dimly lit, and the faint smell of wine and tobacco hung in the air. She could see a few familiar faces—some shady brokers, some off-duty members of the garrison, all gathered in a small, private room at the back.

There we go.

You took a moment to assess the situation. You needed a way in as soon as possible.

Turning left, your gaze landed on a man sitting near the bar, his laughter a little too loud for casual conversation.

Making your way toward them with light steps, you tried your best to keep yourself open and inviting. A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as she leaned on the bar, positioning yourself just right. Body arching as you asked the bartender for a drink.

“Ah, a beautiful lady graces our humble establishment,” the man said, giving her a sly grin. “What’s your name, lovely?”

He was older than you by a couple of years, stress lines littered across his face, and his smirk suggested he was used to getting what he wanted.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you replied with a sultry smile, leaning in slightly.

The man chuckled, the sound deep and low, his gaze drifting over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Dangerous offer, sweetheart. You sure you can handle that?”

“Only one way to find out,” you shot back, letting the corner of your lips curve into a teasing smile. You took the drink the bartender slid toward you and swirled it lazily, giving the impression that you had all the time in the world. you replied smoothly, tilting your head just enough to let a lock of hair fall over your shoulder.

The burn of the drink wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but you barely noticed it, too focused on the man’s reaction.

His grin widened, clearly entertained by your confidence. He leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar, and you could smell the faint trace of tobacco on his jacket.

“You here alone?” he asked, leaning closer, his elbow resting on the bar as his eyes glinted with interest. “Or is someone gonna come storming in if I keep you company?”

The corners of your lips curved upward, a practiced expression that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Does it matter?”

He grinned at that, pleased with your answer, but you caught the flicker of caution in his gaze. Men like this always tested boundaries—seeing how far they could push before deciding whether you were worth their time or trouble.

“So, what brings someone like you to a place like this?” he asked, his tone casual but with an undertone of curiosity.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your hair fall over one shoulder as you took another sip from your glass. “Oh, I could ask you the same thing. You don’t exactly look like you blend in here either.”

That earned you a low laugh, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Fair enough. But I’ve got my reasons—business, mostly.”

“Business?” you echoed, your tone light but deliberately interested. “The kind that makes you someone worth knowing?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of caution crossing his face before he smoothed it away with a practiced grin. “Depends on who’s asking.”

You leaned forward, brushing your hand lightly against his arm, a touch so fleeting it could be dismissed but disarming enough to hold his attention. “Someone who knows how to appreciate a man with connections,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to pull him in.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, studying you like he was trying to decide if you were worth the trouble. Then, he leaned back, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Let me guess—you’re looking for answers, aren’t you? Something only a man like me can provide.”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression steady. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

Klaus chuckled, the sound laced with amusement and just a hint of condescension. “Smart girl. But let me save you the trouble—you don’t have to butter me up. I’m Klaus. And if you’re looking for answers, you’ve already found them.”

Bingo.

You feigned surprise, raising your eyebrows. “Klaus, huh? They didn’t tell me you’d be this easy to find.”

“Easy?” he repeated with a scoff. “Sweetheart, if you’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have gotten this far. Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood.”

“Lucky me,” you replied, keeping your tone playful even as your mind raced. You needed more—something useful, something actionable.

Leaning in slightly, you lowered your voice to just above a whisper. “Word is, you’ve got connections to the Garrison. The kind that deal with things they shouldn’t.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing. “That’s dangerous talk,” he said, his voice dropping.

“Only if it’s true,” you countered, holding his gaze. “And if it is, I’d bet a man like you knows exactly where the good stuff is being kept.”

Klaus’s smirk deepened as he leaned in closer, the scent of cheap whiskey clinging to his breath. His fingers brushed against your forearm, a deliberate move meant to unsettle. “That so? And here I thought you were just another pretty face looking for a good time.”

You held your ground, refusing to flinch. “I’m looking for information, not entertainment.”

“Who says you can’t have both?” he replied smoothly, his hand trailing down to rest lightly on your upper thigh. “But information… that comes at a price, sweetheart. What do you think you’ve got that’s worth my time?”

Your smile didn’t waver, though the weight of his touch made your skin crawl. “Maybe it’s not about what I have,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Maybe it’s about what you stand to gain.”

He chuckled, low and slow, his fingers giving you a brief squeeze before pulling away, leaning back slightly. “I like the way you think. But flattery only gets you so far.”

“I’m not here to flatter,” you shot back, brushing a lock of hair over your shoulder. “I’m here because I’ve heard you’re the one who knows things—the kind of things that could make or break someone’s luck down here.”

His gaze swept over you again, slower this time, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts don’t mean much if you don’t know how to use them.”

You leaned forward slightly, letting the space between you narrow just enough to keep his attention locked on you. “Then why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

His grin widened at that, his hand brushing against your arm. “Bold. I like that.” He paused, his fingers tapping against the bar as he let the tension simmer. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly are you after?”

“A Garrison warehouse,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to make him lean in further. “The one in section D-4. I’ve heard it’s got some impressive stock—gear, parts, maybe even a few surprises. And I know someone like you would have the inside track.”

Klaus tilted his head, his grin faltering slightly as his gaze turned calculating. “Dangerous territory you’re poking around in, darling. That kind of information doesn’t come cheap.”

You allowed your lips to curve into a slow smile. “Lucky for me, I’m not asking for free. I’ll owe you one, Klaus. And we both know that’s worth more than a quick payout.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the bar as his eyes locked with yours. You could see the internal debate—the part of him that wanted to show off battling with his instinct to stay cautious.

“You’re playing a risky game,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something darker. “But I like risk.”

Leaning closer, his fingers brushed your cheek, his grin sharp. “There’s a Garrison warehouse at the edge of the Underground. Section D-4, like you said, right next to Ksaver's tavern. They’ve got top-tier ODM gear there, along with spare parts and some other goodies. Security’s tight, though. You’re gonna have to be real clever to get in without getting caught.”

Your pulse quickened, though you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Good thing I’m clever,” you said, brushing his hand away with a light touch that was more steel than silk.

Klaus laughed, the sound rough but genuine, as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll give you this—you’re fun to talk to. Just don’t screw this up, sweetheart. If anyone asks where you got the info, I don’t know you.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, sliding off the barstool. “I don’t make a habit of kissing and telling.”

His grin turned downright wicked. “Kissing, huh? Maybe next time, darling.”

You gave him a cool smile before turning and walking away, ignoring the weight of his gaze as it lingered on your back. The confidence was starting to chip at the edges, but you couldn’t let that show—not now. You had what you needed.

Now, it was finally time to leave.

Turning towards the door, you managed to catch a small glimpse of a raven-haired man with an undercut stomping his way through the exit, a tall blonde following quick behind.

You sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Fastening the coat around your waist, you quickly followed the pair outside. 

The cold air hit you like a slap as you stepped out of the bar, the muffled din left behind fading into the background.

You spotted Levi a few paces ahead, his silhouette cutting through the dim glow of the flickering streetlights. Furlan trailed behind him, his longer strides barely keeping pace with Levi’s clear irritation.

“Levi,” you called, quickening your step.

He didn’t stop, didn’t turn, but his stiff shoulders and clenched fists told you everything you needed to know.

Furlan glanced back at you with an expression that screamed good luck before muttering something under his breath and veering off down an adjacent alley.

Great—so much for backup.

“Levi,” you tried again, louder this time. “What's wrong? I got the information, didn’t I?”

That did it. He abruptly stopped, spinning on his heel so fast you almost collided with him.

His gray eyes, sharp as knives, pinned you in place. “You call that getting information?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You were practically begging him to—” He broke off, jaw tightening as he looked away, visibly trying to rein in his temper.

“Begging him to what?” you challenged, folding your arms. “To spill? Because that’s exactly what I did. And guess what? It worked.”

Levi’s gaze snapped back to you, a storm brewing in his expression. “He had his hands on you.” His voice was quieter now but no less dangerous. “He wasn’t just talking.”

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You think I didn’t notice? I had it under control.”

“Control?” Levi scoffed, stepping closer. “That’s what you call it? Letting him paw at you while you—”

“While I got us a lead,” you interrupted, voice rising. “While I got us one step closer to what we need. Or would you have preferred I started a brawl right there in the middle of the bar?”

Levi’s eyes darkened, his silence heavy. The tension between you hung thick in the cold air, unspoken words swirling like smoke. Finally, he took a deliberate step back, his hands flexing at his sides before he crossed his arms.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with scum like that,” he said, the sharp edge in his voice replaced by something quieter, something raw. “Not like that.”

The unexpected softness in his tone caught you off guard, your retort faltering on your lips. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t liked it—any of it—but you’d done what needed to be done.

“Levi,” you said finally, your voice softer now, “We don’t get to pick the clean way out. We do what we have to.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—less rigid, more resigned. “Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch next time,” he muttered. “If he’d pushed any further—”

“But he didn’t,” you cut in, offering a small, tired smile. “Because I handled it. And now we know about the Garrison warehouse.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the ground before flicking back to you. “You better hope it was worth it.”

“It will be,” you said, the confidence in your voice hiding the lingering unease in your chest. “I made sure of it.”

Levi gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and heading down the street. You followed, the tension between you easing slightly but not entirely gone.

You didn’t need his approval—not really—but something about the look he’d given you before walking away stuck with you.

Suddenly, Furlan appeared at your side, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he matched your pace. Your eyes kept following Levi as he walked a few steps ahead, his back stiff and unyielding.

“And here I thought you were getting along,” Furlan murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

You shot him a sharp look, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “He’s lucky I didn’t wring his neck,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Furlan chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, your gaze drifting back to Levi’s silhouette cutting through the dim light ahead.

As the hideout came into view, you couldn’t help but glance at Levi’s back, his quiet, steady presence a constant reminder of why you’d fought so hard to prove yourself.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, you’d take the win.

extra scene:

It wasn’t supposed to bother him. Not like this.

Levi leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on you as you fussed with your appearance in front of the cracked mirror. You looked uncomfortable, the tight lines of your mouth betraying the confident facade you were trying to project. But that didn’t stop you. Of course, it didn’t.

You’d been through worse, after all. They all had. This was just another job, another mask to wear to survive. Levi knew that.

So why the hell did it feel like his chest was wrapped in barbed wire?

He watched as you adjusted the neckline of your dress, pulling it lower over your shoulders. The faint scrape of his teeth against the inside of his cheek was the only outward sign of his tension. The outfit was impractical, borderline ridiculous given where you were going, but necessary for the mission. That didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“Blend in,” Furlan had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

And you’d agreed without hesitation, as if dressing like bait and walking into a den of wolves was just another day’s work.

“Idiot,” Levi thought, his grip on his biceps tightening. You were too reckless, too willing to throw yourself into situations that could spiral out of control in an instant. He hated it.

No. That wasn’t right.

What he hated was how much he hated it.

It wasn’t his place to care. You weren’t his to protect—not really. You were a member of the team, an equal. You didn’t need him hovering over your shoulder, acting like some kind of self-appointed shield. And yet, the thought of you walking into that bar alone, surrounded by men like the ones they dealt with every day, made something cold and sharp twist in his gut.

The sharp click of the little brush you used to dot a mole under your eye snapped him out of his thoughts. He shifted his weight, the movement subtle but enough to catch your attention. You turned toward him, your expression equal parts exasperation and curiosity.

“Something wrong, Levi?”

The way you said his name, laced with sarcasm and a touch of defiance, made his jaw tighten. You were trying to bait him, testing the boundaries of his patience like you always did.

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve said nothing, just like he always did when your sharp wit cut too close to the bone. But the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Just don’t get yourself killed.”

It sounded harsher than he intended, clipped and cold. He saw the flicker of surprise in your eyes before you covered it with that damn smirk, the one you used when you were trying to hide how much his words got to you.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?”

Your tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made Levi’s chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the retort that rose in his throat. He couldn’t win this argument, not now, not when you were already halfway out the door.

So he grunted, the sound low and dismissive, and looked away.

He told himself he wasn’t angry—because anger wasn’t useful here. What he felt was frustration. Frustration at the situation, at the risks, at your inability to see how dangerous this was.

And maybe, just maybe, at himself.

Because the truth was, Levi wasn’t sure what scared him more: the thought of you walking into that bar dressed like a lamb to the slaughter, or the thought that you wouldn’t come back out.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and Levi exhaled slowly, his hands flexing at his sides. He hated waiting. Hated the helplessness that came with standing still while someone else walked into danger.

“Furlan,” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

“Yeah, yeah,” Furlan replied, leaning against the frame of the door you’d just exited. His smirk was infuriatingly casual. “She’s got this, you know.”

Levi didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure he believed that.

next chapter↠

© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[regalastor]

Amor in ea Purissima Est (pt. II)

Lucius Verus Aurelius x fem!OC 

summary: Lucius sets out to find Anna, even though he has no idea what to do once he finds her. 

author's notes: Thank you all so much for the positive feedback and part 2 requests! Please leave comments and let me know what you think! Also, I am planning on continuing this series if it keeps garnering support! Lots of canon divergence is present in this fic!

warnings: discussions of violence (implied attempted SA but very vague), abuse, and loss of a spouse. rating: 18+ (eventually). 

part I - https://www.tumblr.com/regalastor/772223672271372288/amor-in-ea-purissima-est?source=share

As Lucius sat on the lonely balcony staring into the dimly lit city, and daydreaming about Anna, he could not help but wonder who she was, who her people were, and what had happened to Cato's father?

“You seem thoughtful,” Lucilla said, walking onto the balcony. Lucius took a sip of the wine in his glass.

“Do you know the familial name of Evander?” Lucilla thought for a moment, taking a seat in the chair next to her son. 

“I knew of a Decius Evander once, he was a prominent merchant in the city, his son took over his trade when he died, and then I think the son died too. But that is all I have heard of the name.” Lucius looked over at his mother at her words, and Lucilla noticed at Lucius’ intrigued expression. “May I ask what brought about this line of questioning?” Lucius stared at the cup in his hand for a moment. 

 “I met a woman today in the Capital market,” He explained, ignoring the way his mother sat up slightly, clearly excited by his words. “I found her son. He saw the guard and became distracted, and then he found himself separated from her and nearly run over by a carriage,” Lucius swirled his wine once before taking a sip. 

“And you helped him find her?” Lucilla asked and Lucius nodded. 

“She was,” He took a deep breath. “Absolutely beautiful,” He admitted. “And the boy, Cato, was clever and brave. He told me his father died when he was too young to hold a sword, and he could not have been older than six or so. His mother’s name is Anna Evander.” Lucilla couldn’t help but smile at his words. She had not seen him even remotely interested in any of the women he had meant since ascending the throne; she didn’t care if the girl was a servant or an outsider or a princess, she just wanted her son to be happy. 

“You do know you have the ability to find her at your fingertips, yes?” Lucius shook his head and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

“She was so frightened of me, and she did not even know who I was. Tracking her down would certainly not make her feel any more at peace,” Lucius explained and Lucilla nodded, her eyes softening. 

“If she is a widow, with a young son, and as beautiful as you say, I am sure she experienced her fair share of entitled men trying to stake a claim on her.” Lucius sucked in a sharp breath at the thought.

“Cato said she was a healer; that she makes medicines and sells them.” 

“Oh,” Lucilla thought for a moment before a light clicked in her eyes. “Yes, I think she is the daughter-in-law of Decius. His son, I forget his name, married a Gaul, I think, he met on one of his adventures and brought her back here,” Lucilla mused. “If she sells medicines, you should speak to Ravi, he may know her.” Since Lucius’ ascent to the throne, Ravi had become one of the healers within the palace. Lucius trusted him and knew he could be tasked with seeing to their house. Lucius knew his mother’s idea of finding Anna was probably wise, but he was still rather anxious about the whole encounter, and what the possibilities of pursuing Anna could mean. Would she even be interested in him? Or in getting married at all? Or worse, what if she felt pressured to accept his attention because she was scared of him, or because of his title? Lucilla noticed her son’s pensive expression and reached over to gently place a hand on his shoulder. 

“Just consider your options, I only want to see you happy,” She said gently before leaving him alone with his thoughts. Lucius stayed on the balcony a while longer before heading to bed. Once he fell asleep, he was greeted with Anna’s blue eyes in his dreams, and when he awoke, he knew he would have to figure out some way to see her again without scaring her off. When Lucius went to the Capital a few days later, he could not help but keep his eyes peeled for a glimpse of Anna’s golden hair, or Cato running loose once again. After failing in his mission, Lucius swallowed his nerves and traversed to the healer’s quarters. 

“Good evening, Caesar,” Ravi said with a curt bow when he saw Lucius walk in. Lucius rolled his eyes at the formality but accepted the gesture nonetheless.

“I have a favor to ask, I suppose,” Lucius said, walking over to one of the tables covered in herbs. He leaned onto the side of it as he watched his friend work.

“If it is in my power,” Ravi assured, eyeing Lucius’ odd behavior. It was odd to see the young man so unsure of himself; he almost seemed nervous. 

“There is a woman,” Ravi almost dropped the container in his hands. “I met her at the Capital market. She sells medicines and things, so I assume she is some type of healer,” Lucius crossed his arms over his chest. “Her name is Anna Evander, my mother thinks she is a foreigner who married a merchant, but he has since died. Do you know her?” Ravi set down the work in his hands and thought for a moment. 

“The young Saxon woman?” He asked, and Lucius blinked at him. “Many women who deal in medicines use false names to protect themselves. In case someone ever wants to accuse them of evil sorcery or incantations,” Ravi explained with a small smile tugging at his lips, as if he couldn’t help but scoff at the idea. “This woman, you call Anna, she is short, with a small nose, very light hair, and a young son, yes?” Lucius nodded at the description. “Yes, I know her as Andswaru. She is very talented, very smart.” 

“What else do you know about her?” Lucius asked, intrigued by what Ravi had said. 

“I do not seem to know too much more than you, Caesar. I know she is a Saxon, from southern Scandinavia, I believe, but you are right, her husband was a merchant and met her on a trading excursion. He stayed with her in the north for nearly a year, where they were married, but then they returned here, and soon after she had their son. Her husband died around two years ago, which is when she first appeared amongst the healers of the city. She is young and beautiful and kind, and has had to fight for her life ever since Cassian died,” Ravi sighed deeply, as if he was thinking of all of her hardships. Lucius ran a hand over his face and tried to absorb all of the information he had learned. 

“Where could I find her, if I wanted to?” 

“She lives close to Caelimontium Hill, I believe, and she sells at markets all across town, primarily the Forum market and the Serapis market, but also to individual houses.”

“Ours included?” Lucius asked, and Ravi shook his head no. 

“No, she does not often make such large orders. She works on her own,” Ravi thought for a moment. “But, she does supply women’s goods to some of the Senator’s wives.” Lucius nodded to himself.

“Thank you, Ravi, truly,” Lucius said, reaching out to clasp his friend’s hand.

“I hope you find what you are looking for,” Lucius sent him one more nod before leaving his workshop. The next day, Lucius found himself loitering near the Serapis market, looking much more like a Praetorian than an emperor. He wandered around for nearly an hour before running a hand through his hair in frustration. This was pointless; he should either grow up and find her properly, or move on, not linger around her places of work until he caught a glimpse of her. Lucius was about to leave the market when he felt someone beside him. He turned and looked down, his breath catching at the sight of a familiar little boy staring at his sword. Cato looked up at him with big brown eyes and smiled happily.

“Do you remember me, dominus Lucius?” Cato asked curiously, with a slight edge of caution to his voice, as his face tilted upwards so he could look at the taller man. 

“How could I ever forget?” Lucius assured before kneeling down to meet his eyes better. “Are you lost again?” Cato shook his head and pointed to his left, Lucius’ heart sped up as he could finally see Anna’s icy, yet somehow still slightly golden, blonde hair, neatly braided down her back. When Lucius looked back to Cato, he could tell something was bothering him, or at least commanding his attention, and he was looking at Lucius as if he was deciding whether or not to trust him. “Would you like to ask me something?” Cato stared at him for a moment before nodding. Lucius waited. 

“Can-can I have a sword?” Cato asked after a moment and Lucius schooled his features to remain neutral. 

“I do not think you could lift one on your own,” Lucius admitted and Cato huffed slightly. He looked over to his mother again. “What do you need with a sword?” Cato shrugged, but when Lucius reached out and placed a hand on his arm, the boy's lip immediately began to quiver. Something was very wrong indeed. “Cato, has something happened?” The little boy stared at the ground before nodding. 

“I”m not supposed to say,” He whispered, his eyes still fixed on the dirt. 

“I will not tell another soul, I promise.” The boy seemed to contemplate Lucius’ words for a moment before taking a deep breath, though he still did not look up. 

“Many people scare my mama,” He said quietly. “They follow her, and grab her, and don’t listen to her when she tells them to leave,” He whispered to the emperor. Lucius clenched his jaw tightly, his hands balling into fists.

“Do you know these people?” Cato shrugged.

“Some of them,” He looked around cautiously.

“Are they all men?” Lucius asked, and the boy nodded. “Are they dressed like me?” Cato shook his head no. He pointed to one of the Colosseum guards—a gladiator handler.

“A few dress like him.” Rage bubbled in Lucius’ stomach. “And them,” Cato pointed to some of the vendors—averagely dressed working Romans. 

“I see,” Lucius said quietly. He didn’t really know what to say in this scenario. All he wanted to do was to grab both Anna and Cato and carry them back to the palace with him, but he knew that would not go over well and was a very impractical decision. 

“But, then-” Cato started, but paused for a second, and then shook his head, as if he was unable to get the words out. 

“Cato?” Anna said cautiously as she approached the boy. Lucius stood up quickly and met Anna’s eyes. Her lips parted when she saw him; she recognized him, but was utterly confused as to how and why this guard was here, so far from the Capital. “Hello, sir,” She greeted, lowering her head slightly.

“Ave, domina,” Lucius greeted politely, inclining his head towards her. He flinched when he felt Cato grab onto his weapons belt, as if to remind him of his presence. Anna stared at him, clearly waiting for an explanation of what was happening. “I was passing through and ran into your son,” Lucius said before licking his lips. He wanted to confront her about what the boy had said, but he also did not want to betray the child’s trust. Then, an idea swept through his mind. “Well, I was not only passing through, I was looking for you,” He saw Anna tense. “The healer of the palace, Ravi, you may know him, needs a new assistant,” Anna relaxed a little at the mention of her acquaintance’s name. “I mentioned I met a young medicine maker and her son, he figured it was you, and thought that you may want the position,” Lucius explained. He knew it was a completely half-assed explanation, and completely untrue, but maybe, just maybe, she would be willing to consider it, and then at least she would be under his protection. Anna stared at him cautiously for a moment longer.

“Why did Ravi not come to me himself?”

“He was going to, but I had business out this way, and he said I could find you here,” Lucius lied. Anna looked to her son, who was still tightly holding on to Lucius’ belt. Something about this man was different, she could feel it, and even if he didn’t realize it, Cato could sense it too. 

“Tell Ravi I will consider it, but I would like to speak to him first. He knows where to find me,” She stated softly. 

“I will inform him,” Lucius promised. “May I escort you somewhere?” Anna blinked for a moment. Her brain was screaming at her to say no, but her heart, and her gut, assured her of the opposite.

“We are heading home to Caelimontium, if that is not too far,” Lucius shook his head no. 

“Not at all.”

“Now can Lucius stay for dinner?” Cato asked, running up to his mother. Anna breathed a laugh before looking at Lucius again. Her gaze was intentional and deep, like she was trying to see into his soul. 

“No, not this time,” She brushed some of Cato’s hair out of his face before nodding for Lucius to follow as she began to walk out of the marketplace. Once they had escaped the crowd, Cato began telling Lucius all about how he was responsible for helping his Nonna with her vegetable garden. Anna let the boy talk and had to bite back her smile at all of the questions Lucius asked and how intently he seemed to be listening. 

After her husband died, Anna desperately had wanted to go home, but the guilt of leaving her mother-in-law, Leila, alone and helpless was too much to bear so she stayed in Rome. Leila had suggested that Anna remarry more times than she could count, and she knew it was the wise decision, but settling for someone who she did not care for felt like giving up, and she had not been that desperate yet. It quickly became apparent to Anna that a woman alone in Rome was just waiting to be hurt, and so she began to fight. She put up every wall she could, stayed with others constantly, and fought off every man and his advances. But recently, the harassment and attention of random men has been getting worse. She had nearly been attacked on her way home a few days ago; she had barely made it in her door before collapsing onto the floor in tears, fear and anxiety and anger racking her body as her child watched from the sitting room. Now, here was this man, this strong, attractive, and seemingly kind and honest man, placed before her by the gods, and she was still frozen in fear. She would love to work at the palace, to know that her workplace was secure and that she could safely bring Cato along, but something about the situation felt odd. Yes, she did know Ravi, but very little, and she was still confused as to why he didn’t just write to her, or ask her at the healer’s gallery last week. She knew she should be on high alert around this handsome stranger, but the way he had cared for her, and more importantly for Cato, had stunned her and made her let her guard down. Lucius’ deep and smooth voice brought her out of her thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked him, her cheeks heating up slightly when she realized he had been speaking to her.

“I didn't mean to startle you earlier, with my presence in the market,” Lucius said, falling back to walk in step with her. She shook her head. 

“No, no, it is not your fault,” She smiled softly. “How long have you been at the palace?” She asked after a moment of silence.

“Not long, less than a year,” Lucius admitted. “How long have you been making medicines?” 

“I do not remember a specific time when I started, I only remember copying my mother, until I learned to create what was needed on my own,” Anna sighed lightly at the memory. “I picked it up rather quickly, and took over most of her work by the time I was eleven.” 

“How old are you now?” Lucius asked, immediately regretting the question. It was too personal and too heavy with expectation. “Forgive me, I only meant-”

“Three and twenty,” She interrupted his apology. “And you?” She asked, a teasing lilt to her voice. Lucius’ lips pulled up slightly. 

“Eight and twenty,” He informed her, and she nodded with a small smile. 

“You seem perfectly Roman, are you?” Lucius kept his reaction minimal, only offering a slight laugh as a response.

“Yes, I am,” He told her. “But you are not.” 

“No, I am from Scandinavia. I moved here after I married my late husband, Cassian,” Anna looked forward towards Cato. 

“Cato told me that he died when he was young, I am sorry,” Anna’s eyes widened slightly. Cato never talked about his father, but then again, he had only been a little older than three when he died, so she was surprised to hear he had told this to a stranger. 

“Yes, me too,” Anna looked over at Lucius. He was so handsome, and clearly intelligent and capable, she couldn’t hold back her own curiosity at his marital status. “Are you married?” Lucius took a deep breath.

“I was, my wife was killed over a year and a half ago,” Anna’s jaw almost dropped. 

“I am so sorry,” She said softly. 

“Me too,” He repeated her earlier sentiment back to her. 

“Do you have any children?” She asked, and Lucius shook his head no in response. 

“Is Cato your only child?” Anna nodded. “He’s rather remarkable,” Lucius said with a soft smile. 

“I think so, but thank you for saying it.” They fell into a natural silence after that as they walked along the road. 

“Look, look!” Cato said, pointing to the horses coming down the road. Lucius reached out and pulled Cato into his side before carefully placing a hand on Anna’s upper back and guiding her out of the road. He didn’t notice the red that crawled up her cheeks at the gesture. Lucius tensed when he realized the riders were soldiers, but they were dressed in average working clothes. They quickly came to a halt upon seeing him, despite the look he was giving them to keep going. 

“Cae-” “Ave, riders, are you lost?” Lucius asked, interrupting them before they could address him. The soldiers shared a look before looking back at the emperor. “If you continue on this road you will be in the city center,” He explained, glaring daggers at them and all but gesturing for them to ignore him.

“Yes, Cae-” “Sir, thank you for the assistance, ave, dominus,” The other soldier interrupted, clearly understanding that Lucius wanted them to leave him be. The guards continued down the road. Cato went back to zigzagging around the road, but Anna was shaking, her hand pressed into her chest as she tried to slow her breathing. She was frozen to her spot. 

“Anna?” Lucius asked, and her eyes quickly snapped back to his.

“I-” She tried to speak, but paused to take a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I should not overreact. They meant no harm,” Lucius shook his head.

“Please do not apologize,” He assured. “Is there anything I can do?” He offered, and she shook her head no. They dropped the conversation until they reached her home. It was a nice home at the entrance of the Caelimontium region, with a gate and gardens in the front, blocking the view of the courtyard. 

 “Accept Ravi’s offer and work in the palace, please,” Lucius blurted once Cato was inside the house. Anna stared at him for a minute before nodding. 

“I will speak with him about it,” Anna assured him. 

“Good evening then, Anna.”

“Good evening, Lucius, thank you for the escort,” She smiled at him and he returned the expression before heading off down the road he came from. Anna watched him walk away for a few moments and allowed herself to imagine what dinner would have been like if he had stayed.

[raineandsky]

This is for the lovely anon who requested the New Better Villain taking on the villain's hero and gettin a lil too violent with it :) hope you enjoy!!

tw: implied violence, blood

The hero, for lack of a better word, looks normal.

The villain isn’t sure what he was expecting. Most people look normal. But all those years under a mask, a charade… it kind of became all that the villain could see him as. The hero. Even now, looking him in the eye as the person he is—really is—it doesn’t seem real.

That and, well— the villain can’t deny that he’s pretty alright to look at. That was certainly an unexpected twist.

The other villain—the bastard he’s cursed to work with, the jackass taking his job, his nemesis, his city—has the hero in a death grip. It feels like it’s all moving in slow motion. The two of them are tousling, kind of, as much as they can tousle with the other villain raining hellfire on a hero that’s well out of his depth.

It’s strange, that the other villain seems to be the outlier here. The hero and the villain have danced around each other for years. It’s been some sort of unspoken rule that they never quite hit hard enough to truly maim. But the hero came here, probably expecting the villain, expecting their usual song and dance, and instead got met with an entirely different tune.

Does the villain want the hero dead? Does he want their game to end? He doesn’t have time to decide.

“[Other Villain],” he snaps, “stop it.”

The other villain leans back, his fist still balled in the hero’s shirt, his other pulled back for yet another strike. “Oh, sorry.” His chest is heaving, as if he’s the one losing here. “You want a go?”

The villain doesn’t know what his answer would be to that. “I think he’s got the idea. Leave off.”

The other villain doesn’t move. The hero wipes idly at the blood painting his mouth.

Like a child asking a genuine question, the other villain simply says, “Why?”

“Because you’re ruining my fun.” True. “You’re taking over on my nemesis.” True. “You’re on my watch.” Half-true, without the supervillain to take charge. “I know this life better than you. Let me do my job and stop butting in.”

“You’ve been fighting [Hero] for years without any progress.” The other villain’s brow knits, genuinely confused. “I’m doing you a favour.”

The villain glances down at the supposed favour he’s getting. Blood splatters the hero’s face, deep crimson painting his clothes. Something of a black eye is already appearing, and the villain hates that noticing that means he also notices that the hero is looking right at him.

He’s not sure why it’s so off-putting. Should he have caused that? Does he want it to have happened at all? His emotions are clashing together in a horrendous cacophony and deciphering any of them is impossible.

“Let go, [Other Villain].”

The slight frown turns into something more hateful. “No.”

“Your violence isn’t welcome in this so-called partnership. Pull it together, or go tell [Supervillain] you ruined his plan.”

“You’re generations out of date, [Villain].” It comes out of the other villain’s mouth as a spit. “Violence is the way forward. I’m helping in ways you’ll clearly never understand.”

The villain isn’t entirely sure why he lurches for the other villain, much like he hasn’t been sure of anything since the hero showed up here and ruined what was already a fairly shitty day.

The other villain has his work cut out for him with an opponent that’s not already half-dead, it seems. The two of them land in a heap on the ground, the other villain’s grappling for his partner’s throat and the villain’s grip tight on the other’s wrists and the air disappears from the villain’s lungs and the world seems so far away and everything is muffled—

The villain gasps his next breath, scrambling away unsteadily. The world slowly comes back into focus, the hum of the city below and his own haggard breathing tuning back in. He swallows nothing, the feeling a sharp burn in his throat, and whips around to look for the other villain.

The villain finds him on the ground, unmoving, the lightest trail of blood trickling from his nose. The hero is sitting next to him with a battered road sign lying at his feet, staring off into nothing.

“Did—” The word hurts. The villain tries to clear his throat and only makes it feel worse. “Did you hit him with a roadwork sign?”

The hero huffs a sort of laugh that melts quickly into a cough. He doesn’t look at the villain when he says, “Think it was about time I hit him back, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t know you had it in you. You’ve never hit me quite that bad.”

The hero actually laughs this time, the sound choked. “You pull what he just did and I’ll consider it.”

The villain hums a sort of laugh as well, settling on the floor opposite, and the two of them fall into silence. They’re both too tired to say much anyway.

This is another strange experience. The hero and the villain usually fight and go their separate ways. This sort of… hanging out is new. Different—and thankfully not the type of different that got them here in the first place.

The hero smiles at him, and even through the bloody face paint and the blooming bruises, the villain hates that he still looks good. Looks normal. Looks like a nice civilian that the villain would end up curiously following for a couple blocks because his half-decent face caught his attention.

The hero is, the villain supposes, a person too. Another civilian that looked at the state of the world and took up a side, just like the villain did.

“Thank you,” the hero says through the daze of annoyance, “for saving me.”

“Eh.” The villain waves a nonchalant hand. “It’s not like you were going to do it.”

That earns another choked laugh. “Ah, you’re funnier than you like to admit, [Villain].”

The villain scoffs in offence and quiet falls over them again. “Thanks as well, I guess, for…” He gestures vaguely at the other villain lying next to them. “Hitting my colleague over the head with a road sign.”

The hero’s smile grows. “You’re welcome.”

The hero reaches for his mask, just as stained red and tattered as its owner. He turns it over in his hands for a moment, slow and thoughtful, before carefully putting it back over his face. “Back to the heroics, then,” he says lightly.

The villain nods, but he’s not really listening. He finds that, now he’s seeing the person he’s familiar with, he preferred the hero without his mask after all.

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

Alba clearly had taken a liking to Aerith. The Chocobo acted quite happy being fussed and stood perfectly still when the Princess just went to mounting her. Unusual for the big and proud bird.

And just like that – Aerith mounted Alba after she simply gave him her stave. Somnus could only glance at her for a moment before his eyes were drawn to the weapon. It was an incredibly fine and detailed yet sturdy built. True craftsmanship.

“Your metalsmiths must be miracle workers, too… or was it you who bolstered up their abilities?”, Somnus asked – it was almost worded like a tease. And yet it was thoroughly a compliment, his fingers feeling over the delicate details along the stave before holding it out to her so she could take it back as soon as she had settled on Alba. It was hers after all.

Of course, he took greater care than usual to climb the white bird’s back. Alba gave a small noise, probably in acknowledgement to now carrying two people. Not a problem for her strong legs, though.

Looking over his shoulder to check on Aerith, that slight little smirk was returning alongside his own confidence.

“You will have to prove your balance riding again – or hold onto me.”

The small nudge was all Alba needed to fall into a well-paced trot. Not too slow, they would reach their destination quickly, but Somnus did not want her to sprint – in case Aerith now struggled more due to the weapon she also had to hold onto.

 The sun was slowly creeping to its highest point, and the temperatures certainly were rising. Luckily part of the trainings ground was shaded by large sails that had been mounted to the highest pillars and rocks.

The trainings grounds themselves were nestled into the side of a cliff, sandy ground with many footprints and lines edged into it that circled large boulders and dried out tree trunks. Part of the cliff’s front was old. Ancient ruins carved into the stone long before the time of the Lucii and now forgotten about. Only speckled wild herbs speckled into the rocks here and there. And to Somnus it felt like home.

It was Aerith's turn to make a sound of amusement, though hers wasn't as dignified as a little scoff. She snorted at the notion that she was smarter or more well-behaved in Gilgamesh's expectations. "At least he is already used to some mischief." she light-heartedly teased.

She looked from Somnus to his bodyguard. When the other man nodded her mouth dropped open in disbelief. Oh, so now he responded to waves!

Closing her mouth again, she almost gave Gilgamesh the biggest wave he would ever witness in his life. But she opted to save that for another time. He might be all out of acknowledgements after nodding to the Prince.

"My dragon-riding Uncle is a big believer in freedom. I think you would get along well." she mused, accepting his arm with little thought. It had almost become second nature. Though once they were but a few steps away from Alba she 'abandoned' his side to spring forward to the great white chocobo.

"Whose a big brave lady?" Aerith cooed with one of her hands fluffing at Alba's cheek gently. "I'm lucky to have such a fearless new friend." She listened to Somnus as she fussed up his chocobo. Even gave Alba's beak a small pecked kiss when she leaned closer.

"Hold this please." she gave a non-answer, passing her most precious possession for him to hold onto. It was a massive leap in trust even if he wasn't to know. The stave felt alive with magic in a way, there was a massive difference between a high-quality Cetran stave and any other. After all, they had perfected their specialty, their weapons were all attuned best towards casters whereas her father's battle axe was still one that hailed from his homeland because the craftsmanship complimented sheer strength.

Aerith didn't even seek his hand this time to steady herself. She instead held onto Alba's saddle as she stepped up, hands using the saddle for its intended purpose as she manoeuvred herself into position. She slid to the far back and reached a hand out to accept her stave again. "We can share — so long as you promise not to kick me off when you mount. I've seen how boys get into the saddle." She knew he would be nothing but mindful. But she had a creeping feeling that Somnus bounding to mount Alba if it were just him would absolutely take her out.

[whumblr]

Annoyances

Bookish - Prev chapter: Bittersweet - pt 1 here

-

As Dani slid into her seat at the breakfast table with a yawn, Roman set a plate in front of her with a knowing smile. Her toast was nicely cut diagonally into triangles, buttered and spread with strawberry jam.

She was no longer allowed access to any of the kitchen utensils. Hell, she’d lost her privilege to even look at a knife, except for when it was teased over her throat. Nor was she allowed to make anything and the cutlery drawer was barren except for some spoons so she could grab cereal or yoghurt by herself. Clearly, this man has never watched Robin Hood Prince of Thieves...

It was stupid, really. She was at the point where she had trouble opening a glass bottle of orange juice by herself let alone fight him off to drive a fork into him. She winced as she tried to twist the cap, the strength leaving her fingers as the cuts around her wrist flared up.

“Are you going to do any grocery runs soon?” she asked, still wrangling the bottle.

“You planning another escape or do you actually need something?” Roman glanced at her to gauge her response, caught her wince instead, and pulled the bottle from her hands. Without a word, he opened it for her and gave it back.

She held it in her hands for a bit, a very light look of disgust on her face as if he’d spat in it instead of helped out. Then she blinked, poured herself a cup, and said: “I’m going to need pads. Or tampons. And fast.”

“What?” Confusion furrowed his brow. “Why?” And he set his cup of coffee back on the table, staring at her.

Dani took a deep breath. “You went to med school, right? Do I honestly need to exp—”

“No, no, not that,” he said, impatiently, and waved her accusation away. “What I mean is…” He took a bite of toast. “The female body shuts down the menstruation cycle when it’s under heavy stress. So I thought… we wouldn’t be needing that.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Roman chewed slowly, somewhat in thought. “I guess I need to up my game in the next month…”

“I’m also going to need painkillers--”

Roman guffawed into his coffee cup. “Yeah,” he said, taking a sip, “You will.”

“For these upcoming days,” she corrected his fantasizing through gritted teeth.

“Oh. Yeah. Well, maybe.”

But after breakfast he immediately pulled on his coat and pulled her back upstairs to lock her in her room. She went along, knowing it was for a good cause this time and she found herself a little surprised that he would do this for her. She’d almost expected him to go all, “ohh I don’t mind some extra blood hurhur” and dismiss her.

“Which ones?” he even asked before he closed the door.

“The green box.”

Also, there was the added bonus that every time he went out into public there was a chance someone would recognise him and he’d get arrested.

Unfortunately, he was back rather quickly. With pads. The right ones. Well, one of these days, surely…

The rest of the day he left her mostly in peace, but apparently the issue was still on his mind. As they both sat in – blissful – silence in the library he suddenly asked: “So I once read that menstruation alters the pain perception. Some women are more sensitive to pain before or during their cycle and later it’s repressed by high oestrogen levels, but for others it’s different. Which category do you fall in?”

Irritation blazed through her and out through a gritted exhale. She glared up over the book but it didn’t deter him; he kept looking at her, chin resting on a fist, sly dumb smile, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know,” she said – lied – tone curt. “I never noticed.”

His eyes narrowed in glee, probably recognising the little lie. “Maybe a little something to take note of during these days.”

“There’s also a little something that causes some women to have a very short fuse during these days.”

“Serotonin,” he nodded, pretending her comment went over his head. But he didn’t let her change the subject and kept looking at her, silently pressing her to tell him more.

She had no intention of sharing that she felt incredibly sluggish at the moment and that that fatigue would probably peak tomorrow. At first, she blamed the stress and the literal stress on her body earlier that week, but then a familiar pain had kicked in and she was somewhat relieved that at least it wasn’t Roman who was the cause of her state.

“Fine, I’ll look it up.” Roman sat straight and pulled his laptop closer, tapping on the keyboard, his gaze dancing over the screen. He kept humming as he read. “Oestrogen is also linked to mood disruptions.” He aimed a devious side glance at her that affected her mood more than any hormone could.

Reading up on the enemy, or rather studying the enemy’s reading materials, made her recognise the terms he mumbled about and she didn’t like it. “Downregulation of substance P… Anti-nociceptive actions…” All related to pain perception, because of course that was all he was interested in. “That pretty much confirms the role of oestrogen,” he said, mostly to himself, “But would menstruation produce enough to make a difference in, say, the event of a stabbing…”

He sat back in his seat, contemplating, eyes still on his screen. “Not much on menstrual changes, from what I can quickly gather.” He glanced at her, as if she was at fault for the lack of knowledge on this topic, then turned his seat to let his gaze roam over his bookshelves.

“I’m not surprised.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if there was more research on that?”

“Yes. But not by you.”

He gave a little side-nod, acknowledging her issues with him analysing her, then swivelled his chair back and traded his laptop again for his files to work on. “Next month there’s nothing to experiment on anyway,” he mumbled as an afterthought. Though he did sound a little disappointed.

And she hated the fact that it implied she would still be here next month and in an even worse state than she was now.

-

“Oh, there you are.”

Dani didn’t look up. It was the next morning and after breakfast she’d immediately retreated back to her room, back to bed, barely sitting up propped against the pillow, the blanket pulled up over her chin and a book resting against her drawn up legs. Her back was killing her and she couldn’t handle Roman or any of his plans right now.

Roman leaned against the doorframe, keeping his distance, maybe sensing the tense vibes radiating from her. “The sun’s shining, even on the porch. Why don’t you go sit outside?”

“Why don’t you go die in a corner.”

Roman blinked. Raised a brow. A somewhat shocked and awkward silence followed. Then realisation hit. His lips pursed, trembled and he pressed them flat, desperately trying to hide a grin. He was about to say something but thought against it. “Guess I’ll go sit outside,” he said instead, and left the room. She just about heard him mutter something about “Wonder if one could administer more serotonin…”

Unfortunately, he was back within a minute. He slowly approached, like trying to approach a wild animal that could lash out at any moment – and she would if he tried something or if he had a fucking syringe in his hand – his arm outstretched and he carefully put two blue pills on her side table. Then he flashed a smile, slowly retreated and backed out.

She swallowed both pills dry and snuggled up again. The pain would soon fade. The murderous intent? Hopefully not.

-

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams

@whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw

@withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson @treasureguardingdragon @theorangestofjuices @artfulbok

[pupmkincake2000]

So, I finished watching Arcane. I watched both seasons twice to be sure of my conclusions. I am not writing this to have a discussion, argue with someone or spread hatred towards certain characters. Basically, I am just expressing my opinion while the impressions are still fresh.

First of all. I think the series has not enough episodes, but not because I liked everything so much and want more, but because there was simply not enough time for the world exploration and the characters. I would add at least five episodes to each season to make things better.

I felt like the events were moving too fast, especially in s2. I can only praise the graphics, they are truly magnificent, also the action is divine, the dynamics, the movements, the special effects, the character desig... all of this is top notch.

But I have a lot of complaints about the rest.

Let's start with Vander and Silco.

Yes, I ship them. No, I don't think Vander is an abuser and a traitor, if you think otherwise, well, our opinions differ here. Vander is the best man of the show, you cannot convince me otherwise and he is probably the only man who I would have married in real life.

Vander is my sunshine, I love him and respect him, no matter what anyone says. And I sincerely wish for more characters like him in leading roles.

I really wanted more of their interactions. At least two more episodes to show their past, maybe their acquaintance and to expand on that scene in the river, which gave people a very strange opinion about their relationship.

Do I think Silco is good? No, he is selfish, he did a lot of shit and tried to kill the daughters of a woman who was his friend, he raised one of them to be a complete psychopath, lied to her… but in his own way he loved her. However, he still did a lot of shit. Do I hate him? No, I still ship him with Vander, but I don't think Silco's a good person. Do I think he's redimable? Maybe, but I hate when people use his past to redeam him, redemption is something you do now, past only explains how you became what you became.

Jinx. Despite everyone's love for her, I think she deserved everything she got. But I "admire" how the fandom is protective of her. A rough childhood in the past does not justify her behavior in the present. You may think otherwise, you may like her, but I do not, although I think she is a very bright and memorable character, but as a person, as a human being she clearly sucks. The part with Isha just popped out of nowhere and seems far-fetched.

Ekko. Ma boy! I love him, but there is a "BUT". Basically, Ekko is the one who started this whole mess. He was the one who gave Vi a tip about Jace's apartment, and basically, he is indirectly to blame for Vi's death in that AU and in our universe he is to blame for Silco tracking down Vander. That's all. But do I blame him? No.

Ekko and Jinx… well, I liked their dynamic and chemistry in the alternate universe. But I think they probably wouldn't have a future in the original one.

Vi and Caitlyn. Well… they just are. I find it hard to believe that two girls from literally different worlds could fall in love within only two days. Of course, I do not think that such romances aren't possible, sometimes you see two characters and that just becames so obvious for you, but I personally didn't have that feeling with these two. Again, I didn't have enough of their dynamic together. And also I can't be mad at Caitlyn for switching to Maddie. It did feel odd, tho. But she and Vi.. there was just one quick kiss between them, no love words, they didn't even have time to develop their feelings into a relationship. And then there was a sex scene. I don't hate this ship, it's bright and dynamic, but something was lacking between them for sure.

Jayce (whom I like the most in season 2) and Victor ship. This one is complicated. Let's start with the fact that I understand why people ship them. But… they didn't feel as a potential ship to me at all. Probably because I've seen enough of such ships and they don't surprise me at all. This is a ship of two friends, that's a common thing in fandoms. Two conventionally attractive guys, one of whom is built like a god. I like their dynamics individually, or as friends, but I will never argue with anyone that ships them, I will never say the ship has no right to exist or that they are "brothers" because someone said so. I don't care about them as a ship, but I see that people are inspired by it, and I don't see anything wrong with people considering them soulmates and lovers and I sincerely don't understand the hate towards the boys. I think it was obvious from the very first moment that peopple would ship them.

However, I will still add a fly in the ointment: I did not like Jayce's speech at the end of the series about Victor being perfect even with his imperfections he had…I just… Dude, are you serious? This imperfection is literally killing your friend and if what happened hadn't happened, he would have already died. His imperfection was causing him hellish pain, it is not even about the looks, bad habits like alcoholism and smoking, it's not even about physical limitations… it's about dying, for gods sake! So are you for real?

Maybe everyone sees this moment in their own way, but it was cringy for me to hear it, despite the beauty of the scene.

Vi and Jayce. I really liked their dynamic together, I would probably ship them, but alas. However, I liked their conversations, how they work together, I would like more moments with them, they would make great friends.

That's it, probably.

I'm glad that Mel will be in Nexus. And I also don't understand the hatred towards her, although I also don't think she and Jayce are a good couple, they should have remained just friends and colleagues.

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , ONCE UPON A KISS , N.RK !

PAIRING: boyfriend ! riki × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: spending quality time with your boyfriend was good...until he suggested something that you clearly seemed hesitant about. GENRE: suggestive, passing chocolate thru kiss. WORD COUNT: 568. [LIBRARY]

The room was quiet, with only the faint hum of your phone playing some avant-garde foreign film. You both were hardly paying any attention to it. You pointed to the screen, where two actors were performing an overly theatrical kiss, exchanging a cube of chocolate between their lips. “Hmm, do you think that’s dirty?” you quirked an eyebrow at Riki.

You didn't much hope for a reaction-a quick jab, a laugh, or something overly dramatic. Instead, he merely stared at the ceiling for some time in thought.

Then again, his gaze turned to you, brilliant and sharp and eviling-something mischievous. “Don't know,” he said at long last, in a tone that was terribly casual. “Guess I'll have to test the hypothesis.”

Before you opened your mouth to ask him what hypothesis, to remind him he wasn't in science class, he gingerly grabbed a piece of chocolate from the table and gently shoved it into his mouth. You blinked, completely caught between confusion and amusement. “Riki, what-”

But you could hardly finish that because, within one fluid motion, he came worriedly close into your space. His lips met yours-warm, soft-sweet, chocolate-rich came blasting at you as he teasingly flicked his tongue over your lips.

All the connections within your brain seemed to short-circuit.

Was this even real? Were you sharing chocolate through a kiss, just like some tacky romcom couple? Your hands flew onto his shoulders for, well, probably a push-off, or to make sure he did not pull away before you could properly sort yourself out.

The kiss deepened, chocolate heating up between your mouths into a sweet, gluey warmth. Riki was going all off-the-wall, purposely savouring the moment, taking his time.

It was messy, sure, but it was also intoxicating—the combination of heat, sweetness, and the sheer audacity of the moment. You couldn’t help but grip him tighter as the world outside melted away, leaving only the faint hum of the movie and the wild thrum of your heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, you both gasped for air, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourself. His lips were smeared with chocolate, so were yours, but neither of you moved to clean up the evidence of your chaos. Instead, Riki leaned back slightly, his signature cocky grin spreading across his face.

“It’s not dirty,” he declared, his tone brimming with mock seriousness, as if he’d just made the most groundbreaking discovery in human history.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head as a laugh bubbled up from your chest. “Who even thinks to do that?”

“Geniuses,” he replied without hesitation, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie like this was just another Tuesday night activity. Then, with the same unshakable confidence, he added, “Also, that was a 10 out of 10 execution. You’re welcome.”

You groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. “You’re so annoying!”

He caught the pillow with one hand, still grinning as if you’d just handed him an award. “Annoyingly talented. And, admit it, unbelievably good at this.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your lips still tingled from the kiss betrayed you. Riki’s laugh filled the room, light and carefree, and you couldn’t help but join in despite yourself. In that moment, one thing became very clear: not only did your boyfriend match your freak — he might actually surpass it.

© senascoop | tumblr

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Sandy May Not Have Cheated on Soda

Y'all ready for another hot take?

I'm not saying it's likely, but it IS feasible that Sandy didn't cheat on Soda. I'm not saying she wasn't pregnant when she left- that's textual- but no where in the text does it explicitly say that Sandy cheated. It's implied, heavily, by Steve 1. and Darry 2., but never once is it explicitly said out loud. Additionally, Ponyboy remarks multiple times, that to his knowledge (and Soda's) Sandy really seemed to love Soda. Her blue eyes 'glowed' when she looked at him. Now, I know Ponyboy's narration is biased, and this could be read as part of his innocence and naïveté, but it could also be the truth. Sandy being shipped off to Florida to live with a relative was not uncommon for a teenager pregnant out of wedlock during the time period, but it was still a pretty swift and abrupt exit, especially since Sandy (presumably) wouldn't start showing for a while. It seems a little suspect to me. There's also the fact that Sandy wouldn't marry Soda. Now, I know the book says her parents took issue with it, but we know Sodapop is definitely the type of impulsive and romantic that he would be more than willing to steal her away and marry her anyway; but Sandy left and she sent his letter back unopened, so she clearly wasn't on board with that plan. The explanation of cheating is one that fits here to explain this away, but I'm not so sure. If I'd been sixteen and pregnant in the southern US in the sixties I'd probably have jumped on the chance to marry my handsome and devoted boyfriend, a guy so loyal he was willing to marry me even if I was (allegedly) pregnant with someone elses kid. yeah, Soda is poor but Sandy grew up poor and Soda had a full time job and a desire to make it work. Maybe Sandy is just a better person than me, or maybe there's a deeper- and darker- explanation at play here. Sandy was a lower class woman in the 1960s, and canonically doesn't come from a 'great home'. Knowing that the majority of teenage pregnancies involve a father who is an adult man, it stands to reason that there is a possibility that Sandy was raped or coerced into sex, and that the shame and trauma associated with that experience and the subsequent pregnancy were what led to her dumping Soda without a sufficient explanation and letting him draw his own conclusions, or lying about cheating either because she may have felt like she did after the assault or because it was easier than confessing what actually happened. She also can't have been the only east side girl to have gotten pregnant out of wedlock, and for all it would have damaged her reputation it may not have been irreperable in Tulsa. But rape victims are still stigmatized even in today's society, and it would have been a thousand times worse back then. If word got out, Sandy would have been a pariah. Maybe a fresh start in Florida and a chance to reinvent herself seemed better than any possible future in Tulsa.

Again, I'm not saying it's likely but it is POSSIBLE and definitely food for thought for a fandom that consistently demonizes Sandy without ever attempting to look deeper into her character.

"Look," Steve said, surprisingly angry, "does he have to draw you a picture? It was either that or get married, and her parents almost hit the roof at the idea of her marryin' a sixteen-year-old kid." (The Outsider, 1967).

2. "When Sandy went to Florida… it wasn't Soda, Ponyboy. He told me he loved her, but I guess she didn't love him like he thought she did, because it wasn't him."

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 6

2k+ Words

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling other's pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....

Chapter CW: Relationship issues, Violence, Blood

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mid-January, 2006

Westchester, New York

~~

You sit in your office checking over your appointment notes of the week, highlighting where needed and taking occasional sips of an energy drink Remy was kind enough to buy you during lunch period. It's kind of atrocious. The sickening aftertaste of cherry sweetener lingers in the back of your throat. But, hell if it didn't wake you up… 

Rubbing your face you play over your interaction with Logan from the morning just after his nightmare. The two of you have more or less ignored each other since then. But, how the fuck are you supposed to do combat training on Friday? Maybe, if you're lucky, the tension will subside by then. But, you doubt it.

There's a meek knock at the open door frame. You look up to find Rogue standing in the open doorway, arms over her chest. “Can I come in?”

"Hey, hon. Yeah, of course. What's up?" You rub your temple as you stumble over your words, and smile.

She takes a big step forward before quickly shutting the door behind her and saying, "What do I do if someone's avoiding me?"

You knit your brows together. "Can I ask who?"

She opens her mouth to speak, inhaling sharply, but closes it again. 

You figure it might be Bobby. There's been a recurring pattern, lately, where he'll give lots of attention before pulling away again soon after. You concluded maybe he repeatedly got comfortable, would think he didn't need Rogue anymore, then would come back on his knees when he did miss her. You figure he must be going through his own torment. You never tell her that, though. It's not your job. Besides, it would probably sound worse out loud than it does in your head. 

But, still, you gave the best advice you could. You suggested drawing a hard line between herself and him for boundary-sake until she was ready to have a proper conversation about the relationship. You also recommended imagining a stop sign or door when anxieties about the situation pop up. Especially when the mansion is so small, and it’s easy to run into people. You thought those techniques were working so far, but now she’s-

"Logan won't talk to me," she blurts out.

Oh… Maybe you were a little off. Standing, you gesture for her to have a seat in one of the green chairs.

“Sorry, I know we’re not scheduled until next week, but-.”

“No! Don’t worry,” you reassure, shaking your head. “Mind if I take notes, anyway?”

She shakes her head, prompting you to grab the teal notebook from your shelf and sitting in the green chair adjacent to her. You sit in silence, waiting for her to talk. She doesn't meet your gaze, preferring to stare at the snow falling outside.

“Wanna tell me anything specific?” You prod gently.

"It’s just,” she begins, clearly exasperated. “I know he just got a promotion and is probably busy with the new workload and all. But, when I try to talk to him, he's so short with me. I tried talking to him during lunch, but he kinda sat there in silence the whole time. When he did say something, he just kinda grunted or was like ‘Mhm, yeah’. It's like he's pulling away, but I don't know why."

"I see." You nod as she rambles, and you take in yet another thing that you have to wonder whether it’s your fault or not. "Did you ask him about it?"

"Yes!" She nearly shouts. "Twice yesterday and once the day before. But, he just tells me he's fine and not to worry. Just said he's got a lot to deal with. It’s like he doesn’t want me around no more. I’m worried I did something." She seems at a loss, and you place your elbows on your knees so you can look her in the eye.

"I'm sure it's not your fault," you say. Regardless of your personal feelings on Logan, Rogue's habit of self-deprecation takes priority for you. If you can stop any line of thinking before it starts it might as well be this one. Besides, from how Rogue talked about him, you have to imagine she's pretty important to him, even if he seems to be a bitch to everyone else.

"I just... It feels like he was the only one I could talk to. No offense!" She brings her hands up in a surrender. "I just know you're so busy."

"No, no. I understand." You nod with a chuckle. It's not a surprise to you. You and Rogue need to keep a level of distance and professionalism given your other clients being her peers. "Is Logan really the only person you feel comfortable talking to?"

"Well," her face goes a slight shade of pink and you feel a hint of embarrassment waft off her. "I guess there's one person..."

"And, you trust them?"

A shadow of a smile graces her lips as she nods. "I don’t wanna be a bother."

"People who care about us want to help us, Rogue. But, we need to let them. Sometimes we need to be the one to reach out first, and that can be scary for a lot of people. But, if you’re close enough to trust them like that, they could be willing to help."

“Maybe you should tell Logan that.” It’s a joke, but her words still make you cringe, and you grimace as she continues. “I just wish I could help him the way he’s helped me.”

“I’m sure he’ll come to you when he’s ready. Until then,” you start writing in your notebook. “Can you tell me about this other person? What are they like?”

~~

This is all so unfair. You've barely slept all week, kept awake by Logan's nightmares. For some reason, you just can’t shut out even the faintest feel of terror he radiates. You’re lucky if you get even four hours of sleep. Now, you’re expected to fight him, too.

Under normal circumstances, fighting someone twice your size and weight wouldn't be a daunting task. You've done it several times, having been your teachers’ best fighter back in high school and college — the private lessons probably helped, especially when you began adding knives to your fight style. But, on top of your lack of sleep, this guy can't stand the sight of you and, come to find out, has fucking metal for bones! You can't help but feel fucked over by the whole mess as you hardly stand a chance. But, at least it's just hand to hand. No weapons until Charles could get his hands on some special metal you can't remember the name of.

You pull at the sleeve of your combat shirt, a long sleeve top with wetsuit-like material, and make your way to the other side of the large ring as Colossus shuts the door behind you. You breathe deeply, in and out, as you review the information Charles gave you about your opponent. On top of having metal-plated bones, he can heal from mostly anything, so if he's hurt, don't panic. But, don't get careless.

The rules themselves are simple enough. No dirty moves. Corner him or get him to surrender.

"Don’t worry, doll. I'll go easy on ya. If you don't believe me, you could always check." Logan’s words are condescending behind you. He must've heard you meditating.

"I'm never getting inside that head, again," you mutter, holding back a shudder. Does he always have to be this insufferable?

"Stances," you hear Colossus say beside you.

Turning around, you face Logan and look through your lashes at him. You watch as he cracks his neck. The sound of metal clinking accompanies it, and you cringe at the unnatural sound. Then, he hunches his body, fists out to the side, as if preparing to run.

"Ready..."

You can feel the blood rushing to your ears while you adjust your feet into a secure position. 

When Colossus presses a buzzer, you let out a deep breath as Logan charges towards you. Throwing tension into your legs, you make your way towards him, picking up speed the closer he gets. He's a couple feet away from you when you touch your feet to the ground and jump cleanly over him, twisting in the air. Wasting no time, you hit the back of his neck with your elbow and quickly back away, arms shielding your face.

Logan steadies himself and whips around to face you before he charges again, throwing a punch at your stomach which you dodge with ease. They keep coming, one after the other, and he's slower than you expected.

You manage to block one coming towards your stomach, and duck the next one, turning on the ball of your foot as you knock his feet out from under him. He goes down like a tree. But, before you can pin him, he rolls out of the way and swipes at your feet with one leg. You catch yourself on your arm before rebounding up, just in time to catch him standing. You punch him in the nose before kicking him in the stomach, and he stumbles back. You watch as blood slowly trickles down his nose.

"Going soft on me, hon? Scared to hit a woman, or can you just not pull it together? Thought you were our best fighter." You chuckle, pride getting the better of you. But, regret sets in when his face shifts.

"Oh?" He asks with a challenging sneer. Then his face darkens, a realization seeming to cross his face. “Oh, ok.” You feel his anger begin to heat up.

He runs again, and you snap into focus just in time to block a couple hits coming towards your arm and sides. He’s fast now. Really fast. He swings at your face, but you catch his wrist with your hand and twist his arm which proves to be difficult given his strength. It's enough for you to duck out of the way. But, he takes that chance to hit your back with his elbow, knocking you off balance.

You fall forward on your hands and decide it's safer to roll forward onto your shoulder and out of the way. Just in time, too, as a fist pounds into the place you just stood, metal clanging accompanying it. What the hell? Is this guy's trying to fucking kill you?

You charge at him and find an opening to swing at his arm, then his abdomen, and you hear him groan in response before another, heavier, wave of anger from him, closer to rage now, washes over you. He swings at you and you stumble backwards as his fist collides with your face. There's a metallic smell in your nose and you open your mouth to breathe, hoping to avoid inhaling blood into your windpipe. You don't notice immediately, but your head is spinning, too.

Fuck.

He throws two punches at your head, both of which you duck away from before pulling your fist back and plunging it towards his shoulder. But, he catches it and pulls you to the side, knocking you off balance. You barely register his elbow colliding with your ribs before you fall to the side only for him to catch you and shove you against the nearby wall, one arm holding your shoulders in place.

You stare, eyes wide and breathing shallow, as three metal claws protrude from his knuckles and point at your jugular. Your stomach clenches as you stare at the light glinting off them. Your toes barely touch the floor and you can feel steady streams of blood flow from your nose. You grab onto his arm, hoping not to slip and fall, and you fight against your urge to struggle. 

Charles didn't tell you about this. Why didn't anyone fucking tell you about this? The knives of special metal that Charles mentioned make a little more sense now, and it finally occurs to you that this man might be a little dangerous. Scratch that. He is dangerous, a fucking weapon. He's a fucking weapon who's pissed as fuck at you, and you're locked in the room with him inches from your face.

"Enough!" Colossus yells as he walks towards the both of you. You hadn't noticed until now, but he was calling Logan's name the whole time he was beating you into the concrete.

Logan retracts his claws, the skin gruesomely knitting itself back together before your eyes, before letting you go. Your knees give out under you, and you collapse to the floor. You spit out blood, and tears blur your gaze as you try to pull yourself together. Screwing your eyes shut, you yell, "Are you fucking psychotic?"

"What? Too hard, now?" he drones above you, walking away. "It's combat training, bub."

"So, you try to kill me?"

"Some people get angry when their heads get fucked with," He spits. You look up to see he's facing you now, stopped in his tracks. 

Ignoring the hand Colossus offers for help, you put your weight against the wall and claw your way to your feet before wiping your nose. "Look here, dipshit. I get that you're angry. But, this is stamina training. Training! You outclass me by one- fuck, maybe two hundred pounds. You were not supposed to knock my damn lights out." You pant. You feel his anger matching yours by now as red clouds your vision, but you can't find it in you to care. Maybe he does have a right to be upset, but this reaction was so disproportionate to anything you did or could’ve done that you're surprised he wasn't pulled off of you the second he so clearly snapped. Wasn't that the point of supervision?

"Maybe you're out of your league, little girl."

"Oh go choke on-"

"Enough!" Colossus shouts beside you, his booming voice shutting both of you up. "Both of you. You act like toddler!"

You avert your gaze and take a deep breath. Then another. Then one more. The pang of tightness in your side where he whacked you becomes more apparent. Exhaling one last time, you begin to make your way towards the door, avoiding Logan's face. "Learn to fucking control yourself," you say, bumping your shoulder into his arm as you leave.

~~

"Well, your vitals are fine," Storm says, looking over the monitor. "Just a couple bruises."

You sigh heavily and remove the bloody tissue from your nose. You inhale sharply as Bobby moves his icy hand from your cheek to your ribs.

"Sorry," he mutters under his breath.

"You’re fine, hon." You give him a reassuring smile as he looks up at you, clearly not expecting you to have heard him. He really is a sweet kid.

"You're lucky," Storm says as she comes to stand before you. "Not a lot of us last so long when sparring Logan. I’m surprised you’re not concussed after that blow to the head, too." She's trying to reassure you, but it falls flat when your vision was so tunneled only moments ago.

"Yeah, well, not a lot of you have had to fight for your life," you retort, shooting her a glare. You never bothered telling anyone what went down between you and Logan, but you were really considering it, now. Maybe some context could get you out of training with him.

As if fate wasn't cruel enough, lovely Scott walks right through the door. "I take it you know who you're dealing with now?" He gives you a sickeningly sweet smile and nods to Bobby's hand on your side. Poor Bobby, caught in the middle, keeps his attention on your bruise, which is quickly darkening.

You shoot Scott a venomous look, wondering what it would be like to slide a blade through his glasses and into his head right about now.

"What?" He asks with a smirk.

"You're a dick," is all you give him.

His eyebrows raise in what looks like genuine surprise, though you can't really tell. "...Ok."

You turn your attention to Storm again. "Is he always like this?"

"Scott or Logan?" That makes you chuckle. You see Scott's mouth fall open in your periphery, and you don't bother hiding your chuckle.

"Logan," you clarify.

Storm looks at Scott wearily.

"Usually no," he says.

"Actually, he usually holds back when fighting." Storm says as she goes to take the blood pressure and oxygen level readers off your arm and finger. “He’s not stupid. He knows how big he is.”

"Rogue says he's been off lately," Bobby chimes in. Upon realizing the three of you are staring at him he goes on. "Maybe something happened."

"Try not to judge him harshly." Storm gives you a look of worry.

"What, so I just cater to him like a spoiled brat?" Your voice goes up an octave. You can't be hearing this correctly. "He's a grown ass man. He doesn't get to pitch a fit like that." You gesture out with your hands until Bobby grabs your waist to hold you still, causing you to grunt at the sudden increase in cold air. Scott and Storm stare at you awkwardly while Bobby puts his focus back into the temperature of his hand.

You see Scott shift from foot to foot as he goes to speak. "Um...Storm and I have something to discuss." He motions with his head for her to follow him. “Professor needs us.”

She puts a hand to your shoulder and gives a look of encouragement before she walks away, leaving you and Bobby in an awkward silence.

[razorblade180]

So It’s A Date?

Citlali:*reading*

Aether:*walks into house* Oh hey!

Citlali:Aether!? *tosses book* H-Hey!

Aether:You’re actually up. Also was that smut?

Citlali:First of all, the way you sounded surprised makes it feel like I’m never awake. Second, no it wasn’t!

Aether:Why’d you throw it?

Citlali:Why are you in my house? Stay focus. I’m sure you aren’t here to investigate my novels.

Aether:I’d like to take you to dinner.

Citlali:P-Pardon me?

Aether:If you would have me, I would like to spoil you with dinner tonight. A date. I am asking you on a date.

Citlali:*slowly walks to her hallway*

Aether:What are you doing.

Citlali:Getting the minimum distance required to disconnect our telepathy.

Aether:I can still read your facial-

Citlali:*turns around corner*

Aether:Fair play…

Citlali: What the heck is this guy thinking!? I know I gave him a key to my house but to casually walk in and ask me on a date out of the blue!? I haven’t been on one in ages!? Ugh, calm down Citlali. Breath. Don’t let him put you on the back foot. You know his games. *walks around corner* I-

Aether:*three steps closer*

Citlali:Could you read my mind!!!!?

Aether:In my defense, you’ve been consulting yourself for three minutes. I get anxious too y’know. I only caught the end.

Citlali:That doesn’t mean you should cross boundaries so casually!

Aether:Granny Iztali, with all due respect, you’re the type of person who only lets boundaries down when someone tries to brave them. I just so happen to be an adventurer. I know how to tread cautiously, and I don’t think you want me to.

Citlali:*red*…You’re acting rather bold these days.

Aether:Haha, ya think so? Probably because I’ve resonated with pyro. Depending on the element, my disposition shifts a little.

Citlali:Sounds dreadful.

Aether:It’s not that bad. Paimon says I’ve been more energetic and positive recently. *smiles* I’m inclined to agree.

Citlali:You have been acting like a certain headstrong leader of ours lately. Though I suppose that has its advantages in a place like this. As for your question, I don’t feel being around crowds.

Aether:We can go to your secret spot.

Citlali:It would be a pain dragging a real meal up-

Aether:Then let’s eat out in nature like a picnic, or I could come back here later and cook for you?

Citlali:*red*…Headstrong was the wrong word. Clearly you’ve thought of an attack plan too.

Aether:Haha, that part is just how I role in these situations. I don’t have to tell you that though. You’ve seen tons of my memories by now.

Citlali:It’s not like I was snooping! No one could’ve guessed your adventures would’ve been filled with so much down time and insanity. If anything, you should be the one in that light novel I’m reading instead of the boring main character.

Aether:So you want me in your smut?

Citlali:That’s not- you- I…..Will a yes to dinner get you out of here!?

Aether:A “no” would too. Whatever you’re comfortable with. If you’re not mentally up to something like this then that’s okay. I mean that.

Citlali:….Can you cook a good steak?

Aether:It’s a specialty at this point.

Citlali:Sigh, I’ll be hungry at 9 and hangry by 9:30 so you better not drag your feet!

Aether:I live with Paimon. I can cook like the wind.

Citlali:Also don’t even think about having me drink alone! You better bring your best tonight, or you’ll be the one with embarrassing thoughts slipping!

Aether:Then it’s a date.

Citlali:Don’t say it out loud! J- I will see you here tonight! Don’t be late.

Aether:Enjoy your book. I won’t spoil it, but I know the author of that one personally. I’m sorry in advanced.

Citlali:What?

Aether:*causally leaves* Guess I’m testing my tolerance tonight. *red* I’m definitely doomed. Although if she finishes that book she’ll probably carry the conversation.

Citlali:*flipping through pages*I swear if even one character is unfaithful or a couple doesn’t last like last time…!!!! Does the other not like joy!?

xxxxxx

Miko:*drinking saké*

Ei:Miko!!*storms up steps*

Miko:Oh hello. To what do I owe the pleasu-

Ei:*waves book* “The Lightning Wrapped in Wind: How A Bard Caught A Storm!?”

Miko:Well I’m not gonna write about my past or our history. *sips drink* Yours though…gold.

Ei:I am going to strike that drunkard down. There are some stories a bard shouldn’t tell.

Miko:If it makes you feel better, that’s the sequel to “The Bard that Conquered the Mountain.” I’m positive Barbatos lives in fear every day.