#anyways i need to go back to my messy rendering i’ve started getting way too meticulous with it jgvshd

[codgod]

a post-revival ctommy for old times sake

[storiesforallfandoms]

man’s world ~ harley quinn;birds of prey

word count: 1965

request?: no

description: every bad guy in town is after harley quinn after the announcement of her breakup with the joker, but harley is about to make a very powerful friend to have on her side

pairing: harley quinn x female!reader

warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of murder

masterlist

There was no need in counting the money given to me. I could tell by the size of the tack that it wasn’t enough. “You stiffed me again.”

Roman rolled his eyes at me. “I told you I’d pay for a clean kill, that wasn’t a clean kill. You’re lucky I paid you at all.”

“What do you mean? How can a kill be any cleaner than arsenic poisoning? I even framed that chemist guy that had a grudge against the target, it’ll never be traced back to you.”

“Sorry, did I say clean? I meant I wanted a messy murder. Your plan was smart, but I love the theatrics of it all. Next time, I want a show.”

I rolled my eyes and started to walk away. I really wished I could find a new employer. Roma was the absolute worst boss. He was an asshole misogynist that overworked and underpaid me. But he had a lot of leverage on me, what with me being his hitwoman and all, so until I could find a new employer, I was basically bound to Roman.

“Wait!” Roman said. I sighed and turned back to look at him. “I do have a pretty big job for you. If you do this, I promise you I will pay you in full. A large sum, too.”

“I’ve heard that before, Roman,” I said and turned to walk away again.

He stood from his desk and quickly approached me, grabbing my arm to stop me. I raised an eyebrow and yanked my arm away. Most people were too afraid of Roman to behave like this around him. However, most people weren’t his hitwoman, meaning they didn’t have the dirt on him that I did.

It was a balanced relationship we had, whether Roman wanted to admit it or not.

“I mean it, (Y/N),” he said. “This is a big job. If you do this, I will pay you double, no triple the original price of this hit.”

I should’ve walked away, I could’ve walked away. Roman wouldn’t stop me if I did. But I couldn’t lie, the money sounded good - if Roman actually gave me what he was promising this time.

I sighed and motioned with a hand for Roman to go on. He smiled like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Do you know who Harley Quinn is?”

~~~~~~

It didn’t take long to find where Harley Quinn decided to live after the Joker kicked her to the curb. It was severely under protected, unless you classified a sweet Asian man as “protection”.

He tried to stop me as I made my way to Harley’s apartment. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old friend of Harley’s from Arkham Asylum,” I responded. “I wanted to surprise her, I just got out.”

“She’s not home right now.”

“Even better! It’ll be a big surprise!”

I hurried away before he said anything else. I knew he’d be suspicious, but I trusted him to not tell Harley I was there.

I picked her lock and let myself in. The moment I stepped into her apartment, her pet hyena sat up at attention, assessing the stranger that had just entered his home. I pulled the hamburger I had bought from the bag in my hand and offered it to the hyena. He raced over and excitedly gobbled down the food.

I knelt down to pet his coarse fur. “Good boy. I’ll take you in when I finish with this job.”

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait for her long. Shortly after my arrival, the sound of the doorknob turning alerted myself and her hyena that she was back. I pointed the gun as the door swung open. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

“Hello Harleen.”

Roman’s words - “I want a messy kill” - echoed through my head as I pulled the trigger. Harley quickly jumped to the side, just narrowly avoiding my bullet. She dove behind her couch and I continued to shoot bullets into it, causing feathers and fluff to fly into the air. Harley’s hyena let out a laugh-like bark that was drowned out by my gunshots. When my clip was empty, I quickly changed it to a full one.

Knowing that the gunshots would’ve alerted Harley’s landlord, I quickly crossed the room to her open door and closed it, locking the door and even breaking the knob a little for good measures. I wasn’t going to let this job bust, not with so much money on the line.

“Look, whatever Mista J did to you, I’m sorry!” Harley called from somewhere in the room. “Haven’t ya done your research? He brainwashed me! I only did what he said cause I thought I loved him!”

“Joker never did anything to me,” I told her. “I’m just here on someone else’s behalf.”

“That’s a long list to narrow down,” she responded. “Mind giving me a hint? Maybe an initial?”

I traced her voice to a desk that was turned to face me. This wouldn’t have normally been suspicious, if it weren’t for the fact that the desk was pushed right up against a wall, rendering it technically useless. In the small slit between the bottom of the desk and the floor, I could see Harley’s colorful shoes peaking out.

“Actually, I have a message from him,” I said. “Roman says ‘Good Riddence.”

She must’ve known I had found her, as, just before I pulled the trigger, Harley jumped up from under the desk, successfully launching it at me. The sudden movement startled me enough that my shot lodged itself in the ceiling instead of in her head.

“Oh, Romy!” Harley exclaimed. “Couldn’t even be bothered to come kill me himself? What hurts!”

She dove behind another plush chair as I took another shot at her. I exclaimed in frustration and went to approach the chair. Before getting close enough, Harley raised her hand, which was now holding the white t-shirt she had arrived in.

“Truce!” she called. “Just for one minute, give me a truce. And then you can decide if you want to continue with your killing. I won’t stop you, you ain’t the first to try and off me today.”

Against my better judgement, I sighed and shoved my gun back into the waistband of my pants. “You have five minutes to say your piece, Quinn. I have a lot of money on the line here.”

She popped up from behind the chair like a Whack-A-Mole. She was now in a plush, pink sports bra, her suspenders pulled over it now instead of the white t-shirt she was holding in her hand.

“I can’t blame you for wanting to cash in on a good paycheck,” she said. “I wanted to get a look at ya for a minute. You know, without the bullets and whatnot obstructing my view. I wanted to see if I recognized ya.”

“Why would you recognize me?”

“I frequent Romy’s club a lot. I think he only tolerated me because of Mista J, which would explain why he sent a hitwoman after me when I announced our breakup,” she explained. “You do look familiar. Do you frequent the club, too?”

“I don’t tend to talk with Roman about business in public. It’s not exactly the smartest move.”

“I suppose not, but I’m sure I’ve seen your face there before.” She thought for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Oh! I know! You were there the last time I was! I broke a dude’s legs and you were talking to Romy at the time!”

Oh wait, she’s right. I was there that night.

I could remember well: I had just finished a job. Roman had called me to his club for my payment. I guess he knew I wouldn’t lash out in front of all those witnesses when he stiffed me again. I was furious when he handed me less than half of what he had promised. That job had almost gotten me killed, but he viewed that as a failure. He told me he was debating not paying me at all, but knew I’d walk if that was the case.

His smug as smile as he walked away still infuriated me to that day. I wished I had punched him right in his stupid fucking face, made a scene in his club and announced to the world that Roman Sionis had hired a killer to take down the people he didn’t like. I’d go to prison if it meant Roman went with me.

“Man, you were angry,” Harley said, leaning her arms against the chair and resting her head in one of her hands. “What were ya talking about? Did a hit go wrong or something?”

“Nearly,” I responded, looking away from Harley so she wouldn’t see my anger again. “Listen, I gave you five minutes and they’re almost up, so maybe you should - ”

“He stiffed ya, didn’t he?” Harley cut me off. “I bet he does that a lot. He doesn’t exactly treat his female employees all that nicely. You heard the stories from that singer he has? The Canary? I can’t believe she quit working for him and made it out alive.”

She almost hadn’t. I had to save her ass from Roman that night. It was the night I almost walked out, too. The first time, anyways.

“He’s a misogynistic prick,” Harley hissed. “Thinks women are objects that should be beneath him. I don’t know why you let him treat you like dirt when you do all the dirty work for him. You should be the one stiffin’ him for cash!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” I told her. “Being the killer for hire for Roman Sionis, he has too much dirt on me. If I tried to leave, or if I did anything he didn’t like, he could ruin my life in a second. I’m stuck with him until I can know for sure that I’m safe.”

“How do you know you wouldn’t be safe with me?”

I scoffed at her question. “You’re wanted by everybody - every villain, every hero, and every regular pedestrian. You don’t have the Joker to protect you right now. You’re a walking target, being with you is the unsafest place to be.”

“Safer than with Roman Sionis,” she said. “Sure, I can’t pay you top dollar for killin’, but I like to get my hands bloody myself. I ain’t here for this hitman/hitwoman shit. You and I, we could do some serious damage together.”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like her proposal. Even if it would land me in a world of danger, working with Harley Quinn was a lot better than having to work for Roman Sionis anymore.

“The two of us alone, no matter how powerful or how...psychotic, are not enough to go up against Roman,” I told her.

Harley smiled brightly, knowing that what I was saying was technically an acceptance to her invitation. “Way ahead of you sister! I’ve already recruited Romy’s ex-Canary, and that legendary Crossbow Killer. We’re puttin’ together our own little girl gang.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Sounds like you were prepared for this.”

“Let’s just say, you’re not the first person Romy has sent after me.”

I had a feeling there was a reason Roman didn’t warn me about the first person sent after Harley Quinn.

She approached me and threw an arm over my shoulder, as if we were magically best friends. I looked at her close proximity before looking back up at her smiling face. “I could kill you right now, you know.”

“I know, but you won’t,” she said. “We’re best friends now, and we’re gonna take down Roman Sionis together.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her as she said this.

[ickle-ronniekins]

home for the holidays || christmas surprises

desc: fred’s made himself perfectly clear, thank you very much. he wants you. he really wants you. but the problem is, that you’re both at his family’s house for the holidays. the burrow is bustling with his siblings and his parents, but fred just can’t help himself. he’s hellbent on getting you alone for a bit and acts in stealthy ways. little does he know you’ve got something planned for him, too.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

A/N: yay here is installment three! special thanks to alexa @harrysweasleys for being so patient with me.. i was in a bit of a writing slump and couldn’t get myself to write this chapter. but then i threw on ‘body say’ by demi lovato and got into ~the mindset~ and this was the result. hope you love it!

word count: 2.3k

warning(s): it ain’t smut but it’s ~pre-smut~ i suppose, fred being a cheeky little bitch, mentions of sexual content and things [use your imaginations ok]

There was nothing cozier than the feeling of spending the holidays at the Burrow. There was something so homey about this place -- perhaps it was the throw blankets on each and every chair in the family gathering area, or the fact that it was always bustling with people and smelled of mint and lavender. Maybe it was because you dreamt of a home like this when you got married and had children of your own.

You tried to suppress the thought -- you had loads of time until that, didn’t you? It proved to be rather difficult to focus on other things, not when goosebumps appeared on your arms at the thought of Fred kissing you in the snow, squeezing your knee at dinner, telling you how much he loved you, and insisting that you sleep in his sweater, the newest one, of course, that Molly had knitted less than a week ago.

“I want that one,” you’d pointed at the rather lived-in one that Fred had changed into before evening tea. A smirk had appeared on his face as he folded his arms across his chest. “And why d’you want this one instead of the new one mum just knitted?”

He’d tugged you closer to him and you’d breathed in his scent. You’d turned your head to look up at him, rested your chin on his chest and grinned sleepily. “Because it smells like you. That new one’s too new. If I can’t have you wrapped around me in bed tonight then I’m taking the next best thing, aren’t I?”

The devilish grin that had appeared on his face reminded you that he was looking forward almost as much as you to getting back to school and sneaking up to one another’s dorms, without worrying about his parents just two floors below.

Now, you ran your fingers over the slightly faded ‘F’ in the middle of green patchwork on the sweater resting on your makeshift bed and grinned to yourself. It really was the happiest Christmas, wasn’t it?

You left Ginny puttering around with her new Quidditch supplies she’d been gifted and slipped out of her room into the dim lit hallway of the Burrow. As stealthily and quietly as you could, you climbed the stairs to the second floor and toward the room that was covered from floor to ceiling in prototypes of inventions.

Fred was busy fooling around with something that slightly resembled a firecracker when he spotted you. His grin brightened noticeably and you suddenly became very cold from the wind from the open window across their room. You pulled your bright red robe tighter around your shoulders and internally scolded yourself that you hadn’t purchased a longer one, for your exposed legs were now sprouting goosebumps.

“Just came to say goodnight,” you said sheepishly, and you hoped that neither of the boys could hear the desperation in your voice. But by the way Fred’s glance became deeper and he looked from you to George and back again, you figured he could see right through your innocent facade.

“Hey, George,” Fred started, placing the firecrackers carefully back into one of his many trunks marked Weasley. “Heard Ginny talking with Ron before about how she wanted to show you some of her new Quidditch gear. Go take a look, yeah?”

George, unaware of Fred’s terrible attempt at sarcasm, simply shrugged and placed little trinkets back onto the shelf behind his bed. He jumped up and high fived you as he floated out of the room but then stopped short in the hallway and whirled around. “Bloody hell, Y/N, aren’t you freezing?”

Without another word, he quietly walked down the steps and into Ginny’s bedroom, where the two of them erupted into animated conversation about Quidditch.

You turned back toward Fred who was sitting comfortably in the chair next to his desk with his arms folded across his chest and a devilish smile on his face. He stood up and stretched before pointing at you. “George is right, you know,” he told you, “you must be so cold in that little get up.” His smirk deepend.

You scoffed at the wiggling of his eyebrows and pushed on his chest when he finally got closer to you. He smelt faintly of cinnamon and citrus and you felt your heart constrict as the scents flooded through your veins. You suddenly felt slightly off balance, in the most wonderful way, but you kept your ground. “Freddie, relax, would you? I know what you’re thinking.”

“You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you actually wear this as pyjamas,” he said and slowly began to trail his fingers lightly across your shoulder blades.

“Shut up,” you teased back, pushing gently on him as he trailed his hands down to your waist and tightened his grip, “this isn’t for you, you know.”

“Sure it isn’t, darling.”

“Anyway, I’ve just come to say goodnight, and to thank you for a lovely Christmas,” you mumbled as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You needed to get back to Ginny’s room quickly, before Molly or Arthur wandered upstairs and found you and Fred together when you should both be in separate beds. It didn’t help that he was slowly tracing your spine with his fingers, earning himself whines from you that were completely involuntary. You couldn’t help it and you both hated and adored the way he could make goosebumps rise on your skin.

You softly brushed your lips against his and quickly parted before he could intensify anything. You peered up into his yearning eyes and placed a hand to his cheek before smiling and moving toward the door. But he gently took your wrist in his hand and turned you back toward him, and suddenly the room went eerily quiet and still. You were certain he was able to hear the thump of your heart against your ribcage, especially when he grinned the way he did.

“Come on, don’t go,” he whined quietly. He traced your jawline carefully before licking his lips. “Besides, I’ve got another gift for you to open.”

You threaded your brows together in confusion and let out a breathy laugh. “Freddie, we know that I can’t stay. Your parents -- no, your mum would absolutely kill us --”

It was no use, you reckoned. He cut you off by kissing you again, with more intensity than before. He gently glided his tongue along your bottom lip and you were rendered completely useless for the rest of the evening, as you felt your legs go completely limp and you let yourself fall into him. It was no matter, because he picked you up off of the floor only slightly and smiled against you, causing more moans of pleasure to escape you both.

“George is going to come back,” you mumbled, somehow getting out a whole sentence, “don’t you remember what happened the last time he caught us in the dorms?”

Fred broke a part from you to allow himself to laugh, clearing reliving the absolute most mortifying moment of your entire life (and George’s as well) when Fred had neglected to close the curtains to his four poster and George walked in to see you two entangled together in one another’s limbs and sheets and not much else. You slapped Fred playfully now as he grabbed his wand from the desk and muttered the Muffliato charm before returning his attention back toward you, where it belonged. “It’s Quidditch, love -- he’ll be down there talking about it with Ginny for hours.”

You heaved a great sigh and bit down on your lip to keep yourself from pouncing right on him. “And your parents?”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows again before slowly running his hands through your hair. “It’s about...one a.m., I reckon? They’re deep into a bottle of firewhisky right about now, always a Christmas tradition of theirs.. I promise you they’ll be passed out and snoring on the couch downstairs until the wee hours of the morning.”

You bit your lip and peered toward the door that was now locked and thought for a moment. You didn’t quite fancy being on Molly and Arthur’s bad side, especially because you were on such good terms with them. You knew Molly’s strict rules and really, really prided yourself on your ability to get along with parents.

But something about the way Fred was looking you up and down right now made you want to abandon all rationale and just not listen to the rules.

“I don’t know, Freddie..”

He whimpered as he pressed soft kisses into your neck, sending you spiraling. “They won’t know, I promise. I miss my girl,” he whispered, tilting your head up to look at him, “It’s been too long.”

You laughed. “It’s been a week.”

“A week too bloody long.”

“You’ll do just about anything to keep me in here, won’t you?”

He grinned and peppered more kisses into your hair, across your jawline, and down your neck. “I’ve never been one for giving up,” he mumbled.

“Clearly.”

“I told you love,” he started, sliding his hands underneath your silk robe and tracing circles onto your bare back, “I’ve got another present for you to unwrap.”

Confused, you began to look around the room for a parcel of sorts, wrapped with his infamous messy bow look, but he distracted you yet again with the mere feeling of his lips on yours and this time, he intensified it in a way he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. He pushed you up against the wall next to his bed and you entangled your fingers in his bright red hair, unaware of the world around you. Unashamedly, you tried to tighten his grip around your neck and kissed him deeply, wondering why the hell any of his clothes were even still on. He tickled your hips a bit, which caused a laugh to emit from you, followed by a muffled moan when he closed the gap between you both again.

You were suddenly so wonderfully appreciative of that muffliato charm, because Fred had a way of making you abandon your quiet, shy self whenever he got you alone.

It wasn’t long before you were slipping your hands underneath his shirt and ripping it over his head, desperate to get him out of everything and on top of you as quickly as you possibly could. Though the sight of him stopped you. You pulled back and eyed him up and down, noticing his very toned torso and abdomen that could nearly slice you in half. Being a beater really did wonders for his body. You gulped a bit, running your fingers across his chest, heavy with sighs, and down his stomach before circling just above the line of his boxers. Which, by the looks of it, were in tune with the holiday -- they were a deep crimson colour, equipped with light white snowflakes sprinkled over the fabric, with a bit of mistletoe stitched right in the middle. You pulled shamelessly on the white suspenders attached to them to bring him closer to you.

“Found these in my armoire this morning,” he told you, tugging at the edge of the boxers and then the suspenders, “these as well. Seems as though someone wanted me to have them, but they were a bit too much to open in front of others.” His smirk was nearly killing you.

You swallowed thickly and rolled your eyes. “These were meant for school.”

Fred laughed haughtily. “You’re an awful liar, you know that, right?” He then grabbed a Santa hat from his bed and pulled it over his head, his red hair sticking out just a bit, stark against the white trim. “If these were meant for school, how come you brought them here and stealthily placed them in my room, hm?”

You didn’t have an answer for him, because of course he was right. In truth, you wanted this as much as he did -- there was something so wildly invigorating about sneaking around with him, breaking rules far worse than the ones at school, and you loved this holiday just as much as he did, didn’t you?

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, still tugging on the suspenders, eager to get them and everything else off. You were surprised at how breathless you sounded, like the wind had been knocked right out of you. You laughed slightly to yourself, noting that the “gift” he wanted you to unwrap was himself, which, you had to admit, was kind of wildly attractive.

Spine tingling, even.

Hellbent on not letting your nerves get the better of you, you licked your lips and eyed him up and down before pulling on the hat and scrunching your nose. You caught his lips with yours again and felt as he explored you with slow hands, your breath hitching at the contact. And you figured that since he was giving you an extra present, you could do the same.

“You’ve got something to unwrap too, you know,” you mumbled against his lips.

You could feel him pause against you, that devilish smile creeping across his lips again before he let a small laugh escape him and began to gently pull the lightly tied knot, holding your robe in place. You could visibly see him tense and heard him clear his throat when your robe opened to reveal red, lacy lingerie that you knew he’d been dying for you to get into. His hands gripped your hips tightly and you watched as he breathed in deeply and felt his heart rate increase when you placed your hand to his chest. He muttered some type of expletive under his breath and bit his lip.

He picked you up rather quickly and you wrapped your legs around his back as he said, “Guess I’ve been really good this year, huh?”

A half laugh, half yelp escaped you as he gently dropped you onto his bed and hovered over you before pressing his weight against you, earning himself desperate whines. He took to your neck with his lips again as his hands went exploring, and you figured he was right. It was one week too long. “You know,” he whispered as he kissed your jawline, “I’ve been nice all year. I really want to be naughty now.”

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[from-a-reckless-writer]

Can you do a little supercorp one-shot based on the song Classy Girl from The Lumineers please?

“Don’t even think about it,” Winn mutters to Kara before taking a swig of his beer. They were leaning against the bar counter. It was a crowded night, Kara had never been at this side of the city before,  the air thick with that usual smell of sweat and cigar smoke. 

“W-what? I wasn’t even doing anything, what are you talking about?” Kara protests although her face screams guilty, as if she and Winn had had this conversation a million times before and she had been caught a million times before. 

“You’ve been staring at her like you wanna devour her. Trust me she’s not the girl you want on your list of conquests.”

“Lists of conquest?! Wha-?! I. Do. Not. Have. A list of conquests, Winslow,” Kara scoffs out, irritated that, yes,  they are indeed having this conversation again. 

“Lucy, Siobhan, Imr-” 

“Shut up, Winn.”

“Thought so,” Winn retorts, but Kara is still pointedly staring not even trying at subtlety, 

“But I’m serious, Kara. Not her.”

“Why not? Who is she, anyway?”

“Lena.”

“Mm. Pretty name for a pretty face, who is she, Winn?” 

“She’s a Luthor, Kara.” 

At that, Kara’s eyes snap back at her and Winn feels a bit of relief at the slightest sign of interest in his warning. 

“She’s Lex’s precious sister, if Lex doesn’t skin you alive himself, Lois probably will.”

“Lois? As in Lois Lane? As in Kal’s Lois Lois? What’s she got to do with it?”

“What do you mean what’s she got to do with it? Kara, Lex almost got Clark killed. You do know that, right?” Winn says in disbelief at Kara’s obliviousness. 

All of a sudden flashes of frantic phone calls from Lois and Martha appear in her mind, Kal bruised and battered, the Danvers immediately taking her away, Eliza mumbling about El’s and Lu-

Luthor. 

Oh. Luthors. Lex, Lena. They’re The Luthors. 

“Oh,” Kara says dumbly. 

“Yes, ‘oh’, now you know. So, don’t even think about it Kara.”

Winn turns around to face the bartender, signaling for another pint while continuing to talk Kara out of a potential disaster.

“How about that waitress earlier? The one who called you hand-”

When he turns around his friend is nowhere to be found and his eyes search the bar in alarm. 

And there, in the far side of the bar—the one spot Kara has been eyeing all night—is his friend slowly sauntering her way through. Headed for one Lena Luthor no doubt. Winn fights the urge to clap a hand to his forehead in frustration. 

***

“Finally found the courage to talk to me?” 

Are the first words tossed at Kara as she comes face to face with Lena Luthor. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kara says, a charming smile in place. 

“If you don’t pretend as if you haven't been eyeing me all night, I won’t pretend as if I didn’t enjoy having your eyes on me all night.” 

Lena raises a perfect brow at Kara and it’s a miracle that her knees haven’t given out. 

She parts her lips to respond but no words come out and her mind blanks. No lady has ever rendered her speechless before, it was always the other way around. 

“Cat got your tongue, Miss?” Lena purrs, smug smirk growing

“Danvers. Kara Danvers.”

Kara manages to choke out, Lena makes a face at the name as if in recognition. 

“Any relation to Alexandra Danvers?”

Kara tries to hide her shock and fails spectacularly so, of course Lena would know about the Danvers. 

“Sister,” She answers to which Lena says, “I didn’t know Alex has a sister.”

Kara loosens up at that, if Lena knew her as Danvers that means she has no idea she’s Kal’s cousin, no idea Lena’s brother almost killed the only biological family she has left. She doesn’t want the burden of that hanging over them at their first meeting. 

“Adopted,” She clarifies and for a moment she wonders if she should be concerned that all her brain is capable of at the moment are one word answers. 

“Hmm. Well, tell your sister to be more discreet about her,” Lena pauses as if searching for the right word as Kara waits in confusion. 

“-late night activities, especially if she’s going to involve Samantha Arias.”

Kara feels panic when Lena’s words finally click into place, Alex hasn’t even told Eliza about that, she certainly hasn't told Kara. Kara only knew because she made the mistake of passing Alex’s room in the middle of the night, back in Midvale and moans reached her ears, too breathy and too feminine to be a boyfriend. 

“How did you know about that?” Kara asks a bit hostile, when it comes to Alex and she’d do anything even if it means not getting the girl for once, if it meant keeping Alex’s sexuality quiet till she’s ready to tell. 

“No need to be so feisty, darling, Sam is my best friend. And let’s just say Luthors don’t like it when the people they care about are put in complicated situations,” Lena explains and she doesn’t miss the implications of the name ‘Luthor’ next to the phrase, ‘don’t like’.

Kara feels like she should be more concerned about Lena knowing these things especially if they just met, especially with the history between Lex and Clark but she called her ‘darling’ and Kara couldn’t care less about any of that.

“Now, that we got that over with, would you care for a dance?” 

She extends a hand out as her confidence surges again, only for Lena to stare at it, promptly ignore it and throw Kara off her game all over again. 

“Start small, Kara. How about a drink?” she smoothly evades as she hands Kara a bottle of beer, a Kangaroo on the label. 

Kara’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle firmly, to fight off the longing of Lena’s hands in hers. 

And so, Kara takes her advice and she starts small. Asking Lena all the right questions and successfully avoiding any talk related to their familial background and Lena had never been more grateful. She learns that Lena doesn’t have a favorite constellation, how she writes her name on the first page of all of her books, how she doesn’t do breakfast and Kara realizes she never wants to know a person more than she does with Lena. Maybe, Winn was right. Maybe she really doesn’t want Lena to be just another name in her list of conquests. 

***

Either Kara had never heard of the Luthors before or she simply did not care, Lena did not know what to make of that,  but what matters is that she has never felt this open with another human being before. 

There was a pull when it came to Kara. She felt it the first moment her eyes landed on the blonde only to find her staring back at her. She watched her all night talk to a man, half-afraid that they were something more. But when she caught Kara staring again for the nth time that night—clear intent behind her eyes—Lena’s doubts fell away. 

“Enough about me, how about you? How come this is the first time I’m hearing of another Danvers in town?”

Kara knew they would eventually reach that. When she was thirteen she was whisked off to the Danvers, her family was gone, pain was all she knew, Clark was too caught up in his life and Metropolis was the least safest place to be for Kara. But when things finally quieted down and the Danvers decided to move back to Metropolis, she didn’t come. Deciding to stay in Midvale for college instead. And then finally moving to National City to pursue Journalism. She spent almost 5 years in the glory of being CatCo’s top reporter, only to be called back to Metropolis because of Jeremiah’s frail health. 

“A journalist. I should be wary of you, you know,” Lena whispers their lips a breadth apart, her hands scratching the blonde baby hairs at Kara’s nape, Kara’s hands finding their place on Lena’s hips. Kara finally got her dance and she knows if she leaned in she’d taste the beer on Lena’s lips. 

“There’s nothing to be wary about. I’d never hurt you, Lena.” 

It was such a heavy statement to say considering they’ve only known each other for 4 hours. But there was something inside Kara that says this was right. 

Whatever is happening or is going to happen between them, it’s right. 

That instinct had never failed her as a reporter before, even got her a Pulitzer so, why should she stop listening to it now?

She stares into Lena’s emerald eyes and slowly closes the gap…

Only for her lips to land on Lena’s cheek. 

She turned her face in the last minute! Kara feels the vibrations of laughter roll off Lena. 

Lena slowly tilts her head towards Kara again and Kara doesn’t bother hiding the confusion on her face. 

“What? I’m sorry did I read things wrong? I totally should’ve asked for con-”

Lena removes one hand from the back of her head to press a finger to Kara’s lips. 

“Classy girls don’t kiss in bars, you fool.”

***

“Do you remember the night we met?”

“Mm. Yes, you abandoned Winn for me, he’s still holding a grudge against you for that, did you know? He told me himself.”

Kara laughs and Lena feels more than hears as she presses herself closer to Kara; naked skin to naked skin, sheets sliding and hair messy. 

“Remember what you did that night?”

“No, what?”

“You denied me a kiss because according to you, ‘Classy girls don’t kiss in bars, you fool’.” 

It was Lena’s turn to laugh this time.

“Did I really say that? God, what a pretentious line, I should’ve let you kiss me instead.”

“You know what was running through my head even though you did that?”

“Mmno, what?”

“I thought, the hardest part is over. Like even if I don’t get a kiss tonight, it would be fine. Because I had already met you, I’ve found you and the hardest part is over.”

“That was as pretentious as my line, darling.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

“Kiss me, Kara.”

[harmoni-me]

Byakuya Togami x Ultimate Hacker Reader!

Hey! I’m back from a mental break and I’m rip, roarin’ and ready to write again! Though I might take awhile to post now due to me wanting to me time for art, I’ll still give this account the love and attention it needs to give people joy! Anyway, enjoy this little fluffy read of our favorite corporate entity <3

“For the love of god PLEASE work with me….” you sat at the front of your large three monitor build, with each of them set up to reveal lines upon multi-colored lines of jumbling code. Your knowledge of Python and Java were on the brink of becoming something less than fluent from every sip of the sickeningly sweet energy drink that sweat on your spare mousepad. 

It was no exaggeration how jittery you were right now. I mean, you just chugged three caffeinated-stuffed drinks, your mind was ecstatic with what was going to happen after the code had rendered, and also it was 2 am. Though this was bound to happen, with you being the number one hacker in the country, sleepless nights were a given.

But, this little project was mainly for yourself, since you were finished with all the rest of your clients.

Basically, you were trying to hack into Japan’s DIET building treasury databases to see if you could hack the Japanese stock market to temporarily crash, then shoot up into the sky, then somehow sell all of your investments within an x amount of time that this code would provide for you.

So, yeah, that’s another reason why you’re a little on edge…

The rendering was about fifty percent completed, and to say you were having a heart attack was an understatement. You could get arrested for life, maybe assassinated in the night, kidnapped, used as a hostage, maybe even be written about in the newspapers. You spun out of your chair and started anxiously speed-walking from one end of the room to another.

“Holy shit, why did I even go through with this. I’m so stupid it’s not even funny. Oh! The precious PubSec members, take me now!” you sang, crazily talking to yourself as some sort of comforting mechanism. You glanced over to your monitor to see that the loading was buffering a bit, so the rendering had only jumped to 60%.

“You know, I really should have thought of a plan B on this one-” A knock sounded from your bedroom door, echoing and reverberating in the hollow portions of your brain.

“Y/N. What in the world are you doing?” a voice rang from the outside of your room.

“Oh shit…” a realization struck like a bullet in the head. You scurried over to the door, leaning into it while your hand was on the door knob.

“Ahahaha, I-I was just about to go to bed, Byakuya! I was just talking to myself because, you know, I’m an introverted hermit who loves stupid letters and numbers! So, uh, night!” You belched out the words so unconvincingly that it made your stomach cringe in disgust. Whelp, you were definitely screwed.

“Y/N. Let me in…” Byakuya sternly replied. He obviously was not having it, as always when it came to your...personal hacking shenanigans. The last time Byakuya walked in on one of your hacking extravaganzas was when you hacked into the Pentagon. It ended in success, but your husband presented you with a hell of a lot of lectures on the punishment of the law, and how your hacking fun could affect the Togami family.

Like that was going to stop you from making fat bucks.

“Ok….but promise not to freak out too much and take it out on me?” You pleaded through the door, not wanting Byakuya’s harsh words to affect you at this hour of the night, and the situation that you're in.

“It’s all on you whether you get scolded or not.” Byakuya said, frustration present in his voice. You shifted your weight more onto the doorknob, and turned to see that your rendering had reached 70%. Why were you so loud when you talked to yourself?

“I won’t let you in unless you promise me...please…” You mumbled, a bit of your guilt dripping in your words. You heard a heavy sigh on the other side, then a stand-still of silence following after. 

“I...promise. Can I come in now?” Byakuya’s voice softened up, making your tense frame unwind from the now more comfortable atmosphere.

You creaked open the door just a bit, peaking out to see your husband with messy, freshly-washed hair, and comfy clothes that he would only dare put on when he planned to go straight to bed. 

“You have to pinky-swear on it.” You stuck your arm out of the crack of the door, sticking your pinky finger out as a treaty of promise to Byakuya. The blonde just chuckled tiredly, lazily latching his pinky with yours, and shaking it a little as confirmation.

“It’s a deal, now what did you do this time?” Byakuya strutted into your room, now having access to your coding domain. He automatically directed his attention to your multitude of computer screens, all of them running at full power to run the code you had just implemented into the DIET building security firewalls. You walked over to him, slightly nervous from what you had to break down to him, because you KNEW he would understand all of it, and would most likely be in flames about this little project you had going on.

“Alright, so I basically got bored and I didn’t really have any clients, so I did something...questionable.” You started off, swaying back and forth with your nerves tickling your stomach.

“Define ‘questionable’” Byakuya asserted, crossing his arms and shifting his weight onto one side.

“I might have created an AI program that will hack itself into the firewall of Japan’s national DIET treasury building to temporarily crash the stock market for a small increment of time, then make it shoot back up the charts so I can sell all of the cheap as hell stock I would buy when it crashed and-” 

“I’ve...heard enough” Byakya raised his voice, but not in an aggressive way, but more of a shocked sort of fashion. The heir started to massage his temples with his middle and index finger, staying quiet the whole time while doing so.

You shuffled closer to the man, bowing your head down in shame. You knew you shouldn’t have done something so impulsive to simply just keep your fingers warm and your brain entertained. You should have read that book that Byakuya recommended, or maybe baked a little cake and decorated it with fun colors, or finished that movie series that you were meaning to complete-

 Your rushing and regretful thoughts snapped and turned into dust when you felt warm arms around your frame. It was delicate, yet it pulled you in, as if protecting your from the outside world and the horrors it beheld.

“A promise from the Togami family will never be broken, and I also just happen to despise yelling at you, so...I just want to remind you of something.” Byakuya’s low, grumbly, and tired voice had kicked into gear, making his droopiness contagious to yourself.

“I never planned on marrying someone who I couldn’t protect with my life.” Byakuya let out a weary sigh, “But, when you do things like this, there is only so much I can do. You know the consequences, and I’m just…” Byakuya paused, leaving your heart feeling even heavier than it was before.

“I’m worried about what could happen to you, Y/N. I nark on you because I care. What a husband I would be if I simply let you be arrested, or beheaded, or whatever it may be.” The hold on you only grew stronger, yet it was as if you felt wrapped in a shield against any opposition.

“I worry, I scold, and I try my damned hardest to protect you all because I care. I don’t want anybody to take you away from me, alright? Remember that.” Byakuya’s hand tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and gently kissed your forehead, conveying the words into an action that anyone could understand.

“I’m sorry, Byakuya. What I did was impulsive and stupid and-”

“Did you make sure to code your coverups?” Byakuya suddenly spoke, a serious look in his eyes.

“Well, yeah. It would be kinda stupid if I didn’t-”

“Then it’s settled, you crash the economy, and I’ll monitor. Just don’t do something like this ever again, or you're going to have to sit through something that’s way worse than a lecture on the law, am I clear?” Byakuya let go of your body, and walked over to your workspace to apparently ‘Monitor’ the situation you were about to dive yourself into.

“I can’t really say for sure that I can keep that promise for that long…” You plopped yourself in your comfortable office chair, spinning yourself in the direction of your now only slightly drowsy husband.

You heard Byakuya grumble from your answer, then, after a minute of clear internal debate, he stuck out his arm to you, and delicately lifted his pinky to your direction.

“...”

“Hurry it up, you know what I want, pinky-swear on it.” Byakuya never looked at you when saying those words, but your heart was still stolen from the message either way. This man really knew what he was doing to make your heart throb out of your chest.

“Well, I can’t say no to that...:” You smiled gummily to your husband, cutely locking pinkies together, as if they were meant to be there forever to seal a bond that remains forever unsevered.

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | v

genre: vampire!jaehyun [angst | fluff | smut]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

note: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

words: 5.2k

“father,

he smelled like

blood,

wrath,

and battlefield

father,

he could rival

the sun

by how bright he burns

but

sunlight is poison

in his veins

sunlight is death in

his eyes

every crevice

every corner

was made to be feared.

then he smiled,

oh, father, he smiled

and whispered

“i am scared of myself, too.”

and that’s when i realized

monsters are lonely too.”

— bane of the devil // v

The blood from your body cascaded down the tiled floors to the shower drain as you harshly rubbed your skin. You did not want to cry. But as you recalled the encounter with the unknown vampire, you could not help but sob in the bathroom.

Dread fired up in your chest. You were so close to being bitten. So close. And even the comfort of Jaehyun’s rescue could not rub off the fear. More so, it had only amplified your agitation. You closed your eyes, skin wrinkling like folded papers by how tight you had shut them close. Tears once again fell down your cheeks, the warmness of it contrasting the cold waters you splashed on your face from the faucet.

Your mind drew the vision of Jaehyun holding the vampire’s heart with his bare hand. A sudden jolt sent your stomach recoiling, causing you to drop on your knees and hurl all your guts out in the toilet bowl. You regurgitated for minutes, saliva tasting like vomit after you were finished. With your knees slightly shaking, you stood up and rinsed your mouth over and over again.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. As expected, the reflection pitifully stared at you; eyes red rimmed, lips blanched, hair as messy as a bird’s nest with little amounts of blood on your neck. The echo of image triggered the fear, and before you knew it, you were crying again.

With shaky breaths, you sauntered up to the shower and discarded all your bloody clothes on the floor. You have no idea about what to do and what you need. A cold shower to wake you up, or a hot one to erase all the trace of vampire blood on your skin? You started to soap your body, the blood coating the white color of it red. With little sobs and hiccups, you tried to lather your hair with shampoo, the smell barely reaching your nostrils.

You only know one thing, you only feel one thing; fear. And the world feels like a blur. You never want to feel this fear again.

Yes, you have no idea how your parents spent their last minutes together. Did they cry? Did they beg? But one thing is for sure, no matter how terrifying vampires could be, no matter how much fear they could inflict to a human being, you will vow not to crumble like this— ever again.

Was this real? Was everything real? It feels like a nightmare. The one where you could truly feel every single thing; fear, paranoia, thrill.

Madame Juana’s voice rang in your mind. All her proposals, all her plans; they appeared to make sense right now.

Despite that, could you truly kill? You stared down at your hands. How could these parts of your body, so delicate looking, could hurt someone? But Jaehyun had done it himself. He pulled out the vampire’s heart with his bare hands only. However, you are not like him. You are a mortal. You are like Lucas.

And by that, you could not be a vampire. But you could be a vampire hunter.

You roughly wiped your tears and breathed deeply. You let the thoughts fade in your mind, until all was blank and you could think clearly again. That’s it. There is no more thinking about it, there is no more succumbing to fear. Tomorrow, you would exactly be how you wanted yourself to be the first time you saw your parents’ dead bodies; fearless.

—

Jaehyun zipped his pants closed, forcing his mind to wander off at some place except here. Except here in Alena’s bed, with her body sprawled naked in her red mattress.

“Leaving so soon?” she purred, crawling like a cat towards Jaehyun.

It had always made him uncomfortable; the naked body of Alena. She was too white, there was not a trace of veins in her body. She almost appeared like a blank white paper, without anything written on it. But unlike all vampires in the world, her skin does not feel chalky. Jaehyun supposed it’s because of his blood running in her system.

Her arms found their way around Jaehyun’s torso, her soft breasts pressing in on his back as she tightened her hold. “Let’s do it again,” she whispered in his ear.

Months ago, Jaehyun would have been salivating like a mad dog by that statement only. He would have been jumping on her bed, discarding all his clothes, to have sex with her over and over again. But times are different. He wasn’t that lucid and naïve vampire any more.

Jaehyun stood up, not caring whether Alena would fall from the bed. “I’m going,” was his impassive words.

“My love, please?” Alena pleaded.

A sudden thought came crashing back in his mind. Lucas’ words. She’s the most powerful vampire right now. Why would you do that? He said. But why is the most powerful vampire in this town begging for Jaehyun’s manhood like it is her lifeline? Why is she sprawled naked on her own bed, touching herself while pleading for Jaehyun to stay?

Sensual moans echoed from Alena’s mouth as she inserted her middle finger in her womanhood. Jaehyun stared at her, dead-panned. Then he walked, propped his knee on the bed, and leaned closer to Alena’s frame. When he was finally looking down straight at her eyes, she sucked her middle finger, tasting herself.

“Fuck yourself,” Jaehyun spat as if she wasn’t already doing that. But he wanted her to feel that he was— not even the slightest bit— interested in all her plays anymore.

In the blink of an eye, Alena was behind Jaehyun. When he turned around to face her, her fist had already collided against Jaehyun’s jaw.

“You were nothing, Jaehyun. I’ve created you,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jaehyun recollected himself from the blow, standing on his feet as proudly as he could muster. “Who gives a fuck, really? You are just a psychopathic bitch—” Then another blow. This time, she hit his stomach. Jaehyun doubled over and crashed against Alena’s vanity.

She sauntered up to him, all naked, and crouched in front of Jaehyun.

“What were you before? A piece-of-shit of a man, who makes a living by riding a motorbike. You are pathetic, Jaehyun. Utterly, hopelessly, pathetic.” Then she spat vampire venom on his face. “Your mother did not even weep when you died.” She almost sing-songed the sentence, tasting every drip of poison laced with it. Jaehyun tried to stand up, but Alena stood up first, pressing her soles against Jaehyun’s cheek. He felt as if his skull would burst open by how much force Alena had drawn out.

“Oh, what about your father? Who had literally thrown a party when he found out that his bastard died in an accident!” Alena laughed so joyously.

Jaehyun gritted his teeth, his anger would burn down this mansion. It would. But the consumption of his blood by Alena had rendered him weak. This is all happening because he foolishly let Alena consume his blood again.

“I am all that you have, Jaehyun.” She pressed her soles further down Jaehyun’s cheek, his head burrowing on her lush carpet.

Baby steps. He heard your voice.

“No.” Jaehyun had bitten his tongue as he tried to let the word fly from his mouth. It was hard to speak in his situation, but he did anyway.

“No?!” Alena snarled before withdrawing her soles from Jaehyun’s face and grabbing his back collar. “No?!” she screamed at his face again. Then she slackened her hold and started to caress Jaehyun’s cheeks. “My love, I am all that you have, right? You are all that I have, too. Remember our promise? My love!” Then she kissed Jaehyun. His mouth didn’t move, but the woman continued her penetration. She grabbed Jaehyun’s hands and used it to grope her own breasts. “Touch me, my love. Fuck me. I am yours.”

Her eyes are frantic as she led Jaehyun’s hands towards her womanhood. “Please!” Her pupils are dilating, fangs elongating.

“No,” Jaehyun uttered.

Alena’s face dropped instantly. Her eyes clear, mouth in a thin line before speaking again. “Get out of my mansion.”

Jaehyun, for the longest time in his life, felt relieved and ready to dash away from the wretched place Alena called home.

“Do whatever you like, Jaehyun. Mingle with all the girls in the world. But you know, we both know, it’s you and me even if the world crumbles to dust.”

Jaehyun did not answer. But he knows, in the deepest parts of his rotten soul, he’s doing everything he could to change that.

Your mother did not even weep when you died. A poisonous smile had spread on his lips as he remembered. Of course, everything Alena had spat out on his face was true. Who would have cried for Jaehyun? He was nothing. A bastard of a business-man. A son of a prostitute. No, he had never insulted his mother’s work. It was her life, it was her body. She could do anything with it. But what Jaehyun looked down at was her ability to love. She’d provided him a roof, food, a chance to study— but all of it was responsibility. It was not out of love.

Jaehyun remembered the times when she would literally sell her own son to her friends for money. Luckily, Jaehyun was old enough to understand everything. So he ran away from home, from everything related to her parents. And started out his own wicked life of chasing death.

His father? Oh, his father was a son-of-a-bitch. There’s no explanation for that character. Jaehyun believes his father’s soul is more vile than that of his. But who could really tell, right?

Jaehyun could sprint away from this mansion as far as he could. But he preferred to walk out of the vicinity. Inside the many rooms of this mansion, there lays his own bedroom, and Alena’s torture room. For him.

He could still feel everything as if it was yesterday. Vampires could not feel pain. Shoot them and they would feel the bullet penetrating their flesh, but the searing pain it brings would feel nothing against their power and immortality. However, Alena had her own ways to hurt Jaehyun. The memories were foggy, but he could make out two clear tube inserted on both his wrists. His blood flowing into a large bucket, with Alena grabbing a glass full of his blood, drinking it like it was the finest of wines.

After those agonizing moments of Alena squeezing him out of blood, he would sleep. For hours. Days. Only waking up to please Alena again. And then the same thing would happen. It went in circles. At first, Jaehyun welcomed it with open arms. In Alena’s embrace, he felt like a king. Sex with her made him feel powerful.

Or so he thought.

As time goes by, with the same scenario happening again and again, Jaehyun felt like a toy. He felt weak. He wanted more. He wanted to be the king. A real one. But that won’t happen if Alena’s alive and using him like a favorite doll.

All the wretchedness he had gone through Alena’s hands were nightmares that visits him whenever he closed his eyes. Then he does not want to be king anymore.

He only wanted to be free.

Alena did not allow that to happen. It was ignominious. But Jaehyun could still remember the way he begged for Alena not to cage him.

She kept him in a dungeon, refusing to give him blood. Jaehyun had reached the point where he had experienced the ‘bleeds’. An incident where a vampire bleeds from his ears and nose by blood abstinence.

After that, Jaehyun did everything to please Alena. He did not dare escape again. But he made himself powerful. He struggled to be strong. Strong enough for Alena to want him like her life depended on his blood. He’s strived and achieved his goal. Now, he was free.

Alena could not kill him— could not harm him. Jaehyun’s blood was powerful in its own eccentricities. He did not know what is it, he could not understand it himself. But ever since he became a vampire, he never felt more human. Vinegar, garlic, rosaries, prayers, silvers— they could not affect him at all. Sunlight could singed him, but not scorch him to death, just enough to enfeeble him. But he remains vulnerable to fire, a stake at the heart, decapitation, or to sangue debolezza which translates to ‘blood weakness’. It is a rare type of vampire disease with an unknown origin, but it is still a way to kill vampires nonetheless.

And consuming Jaehyun’s blood gives Alena the same power. She won’t dispose someone as precious as him. It won’t kill her if she ever did, but Alena has been a woman born with an intense penchant for power. Jaehyun provides her that ascendancy.

Jaehyun only needs to stay alive until someone, until you, kills Alena. With the thought of your fierceness and determination of finding the vampire who killed your parents, Jaehyun took a lingering glance at the moon, before sprinting towards home and towards you.

—

“Hey, Johnny.”

You sat on the bed, phone pressed against your ear. You heard the rummaging of Johnny’s things before he answered.

“Hi, Y/N!” He greeted.

The optimism in his voice made you uncertain for a moment. You have decided to tell— lie— to Johnny about your plans regarding Madame Juana’s offers. This is what you have been waiting for all your life. A chance to know what truly happened to your parents and avenge their deaths. Johnny need not bother himself about it. You do not have to tell him. To keep him safe. To keep him sane. He would never believe you, anyways.

After minutes of being unforthcoming, you finally told him about your plan.

“Is it really needed? Like… would you really fail if you don’t join that trip?”

You sighed, trying to muster indifference. “Yes, Johnny. You know how it’s done. I don’t even know why it’s a three-month long trip! Gosh!” Just right after the words slid out of your mouth, you bit your lower lip as hard as you can. They were right when they said lies slides easily and more smoothly than truths.

“Three-month trip?! Is that really necessary?”

You heard the apprehension coating Johnny’s question. This won’t be easy for him. Not when he took the mother and father figure ever since your parents had died. But you also know that he would let you go at the end of the discussion. You just need to convince him that you will be fine.

“According to my prof, yes.” You cleared your throat, preparing yourself to tell yet another lie. “Oh, and I’ve already asked Haechan’s mom to sign my parent’s consent.”

Johnny sighed from the other line, “Alright, then. I still don’t understand why it’s a three-month long trip, but keep me updated, m’kay? I want to know everything. The hotel, the details—”

“Copy that, John. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay…” Johnny wavered, “Do you need any money?”

A certain sadness enveloped you. You are absolutely aware of your tightness when it comes to financial matters, and you won’t squeeze Johnny’s pockets for this ‘trip’. You would have to rely on your and your parents’ fund for assistance.

“No, John. I’m okay. Just… keep the money for yourself.” You tried to sound positive as possible. “When are you coming back, though?”

“I still don’t know. And I won’t tell you the dates. It’s a surprise!”

You laughed. A big part of you has been missing your big brother’s goofy side. It’s been months since you last saw him. “Just keep safe, Johnny. That is all I want.”

“You too, little sis. Take care of yourself.”

For hours, you’ve talked. The fear that has been nagging on you seemed to vanish as Johnny threw banters from the other line. You miss having him around. You miss the normalcy of life before seeing a bloodied Jaehyun in your doorstep.

Johnny had bid you good night, reminding you to take care and inform him about the details of your educational trip.

Three months is a long time. Your professors, for sure, won’t give you that much of a consideration even if you make an excuse letter. Nevertheless, there was no harm in trying. So you sat on your bed, your laptop’s screen blinding you.

“Ma’am and Sir…”

You started to type in your excuse letter, squinting your eyes as you skimmed the words for any loopholes and grammatical errors. You’ve decided to tell your professors the same thing you told Johnny. A trip. Family trip. Reunion. Or… maybe you could just tell them that you are currently arranging your documents that you would need to migrate to a different country. Migrating is a hectic process, it’s more believable than a reunion. No family would reunite for three months.

As the printer did its job, you waited with a sweaty forehead. Am I really doing this? You bit your lip as you stared at the letter. This is insane. But life requires a little bit of insanity. After folding the letter inside an envelope, you decided to call your friends. Another lie for another person.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mark asked as you told him about the three-month trip that you’d also used as an excuse to obtain Johnny’s approval. Of course, you didn’t tell him about the real reasons. But Mark is a kind and respectful man, he won’t barge in your business especially when you make it clear that you won’t entertain questions.

“It’s not. I just really need to unwind. You know. Find myself.” You forced a chuckle. Losing yourself would have been the better description for your trip. But, of course, you didn’t tell Mark about that.

“I think that’s… cool. Three months is a long time, and I’m gonna miss you. But, you should go for it. I do hope you find whatever you’re looking for in your trip, Y/N.”

“Mark, you’re the sweetest.”

Of course, after talking to the kindest person you’ve ever met, you need to talk to the brat-est person God allowed you to meet in your lifetime— Haechan.

“I don’t believe this is a trip to unwind,” he said. And you could literally see his dead-panned expression from the other line. “Tell me, you’re running away with that Jaehyun guy.”

“Haechan! You’re ridiculous!” You hissed, but forcing yourself not to laugh nonetheless. “I’m serious, though. It really is a trip to unwind and find myself.” No, it’s not.

“Whatever you say. Just… take care, you bimbo.”

“Do not call me bimbo!”

“Bimbo!” he shouted. You winced and pulled the phone away. Too late for that. Then his tone changed to that of a serious one. “Call me, call us, whenever you need someone to talk to. Take care. And please! Return! I know Jaehyun’s— oh wait— who would take care of Jaehyun, then?”

Haechan’s question caught you off guard. No, no, no. Think, Y/N. Think. Sweats literally formed in your forehead as you think about whatever reason to tell Haechan.

“He’s… well… his relatives had known about his current situation. And they… they called me! Told me they’d pick up Jaehyun, then they did! It’s heart-wrenching to see them reunite after all these years.” You fake a sob.

“Wow, that’s amazing. I’m glad he’s found a family that would take care of him.”

“Yeah…” you played with your pillow. Not being able to see two of your most precious friends sent a sudden jolt of sadness to wash through you. Haechan, Mark, and Johnny are your tether to the real life. Turning your back against them means completely enveloping the mysteries laid for you by a witch, a vampire hunter, and a vampire.

“Y/N, I’m gonna miss you,” Haechan declared.

“I’m gonna miss you, too.” You nodded and wiped the sides of your eyes. Then Haechan dropped the phone call after saying good bye.

You stood up, the full moon hanging and glaring at you from the heavens. So beautiful. So captivating. Yet so portentous. You pursed your lips and shook your head before departing your room to the kitchen.

The cold water jug bit on your palms. It’s one a.m. and Jaehyun was still nowhere to be found. Where has he gone to? Yet you aren’t sure if you are ready to see his face after all that has happened.

You checked your social medias and scrolled down your feed. To be a reminder that you are still you. Normal. Somehow. When a loud bang of the door startled you from your seat. Before you could stand up, Jaehyun’s frame greeted you in the kitchen.

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. He wasn’t looking bedraggled. He looked alive, and well. Despite the blood that still adorns his skin and clothes.

“We need to go.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Pack your things and let’s go to Juana.” He started to pace, hands on his waists.

“I don’t understand. Where have you been?”

He drew in a halt and stared at you, “None of your business.”

You raised a brow. “Well? After you left me in the middle of the street, bloody and sca—” You shut your mouth close. No, you won’t admit that you were scared. Jaehyun raised his own brow, waiting for your next words. “Bloody and alone— I, at least, have the rights to know where were you.” Then you straightened your back and pretended to tower him.

“Trust me, you won’t like the answer.”

“Am I in danger?” You fisted your palms and waited for his answer. Jaehyun, for a second, didn’t know what to say. It was clear by the way he opened and closed his mouth.

“No. It’s me. He was coming for me.”

“Why?”

Jaehyun sighed deeply. “No more questions, Y/N. Let’s just go!” He hissed.

No more questions? How could he? As far as you could remember, he was the one who practically told Madame Juana to give you enough time to decide. And now he’s here, all jumpy, asking you to pack your things, giving you no chance to ask why.

“You will explain to me everything once I’ve finished packing.” You clenched your jaw, pointing your forefinger at his face. Jaehyun attempted to speak, but you have already made your way to your own room.

Two luggages were what you pulled from your bedroom to the living room. It contains your clothes and necessities. Jaehyun was sitting, freshly bathed, on the sofa. He eyes your luggages and then you.

“Seriously? That many?” He quipped.

You frowned and stared at your luggages. “Do you have the slightest idea how many womanly necessities I have to bring?”

“No, I don’t.” He shrugged.

You ignored his scrutinizing. He is a man, a vampire one at that. He won’t ever understand how it is to be a woman. “Then stop your scrutiny and focused on your— wait a minute. Why haven’t you packed your things yet?” You raised a brow while locking your luggages. After that, you roamed your eyes inside the house and sauntered up to the windows to check the locks.

“I don’t have any clothes other than what you’ve bought for me.”

Oh, yes. Jaehyun is a homeless guy without any relatives. The sudden thought made you inquisitive. Where is his parents? Are they still alive? But you shook your head, erasing your questions.

“Well, that’s a problem.” As you finished checking the locks of every possible way for a robber to enter your house, you have finally focused on Jaehyun.

He leaned on the sofa, eyeing you. “I don’t think so. Remember our deal?”

“Oh, please! You didn’t even want to join us—”

“But I did. I would.”

You bit your lips, calculating the cost if you ever decide to buy Jaehyun his own necessities. It would surely take up a big chunk off your money.

“We won’t be able to eat at the villa if I dare buy you everything you need.”

“That’s your problem, not mine. I don’t eat, Y/N.” He had the audacity to roll his eyes at you then.

Right. Vampires do not eat.

You straightened your back and leaned on the window frame, ignoring Jaehyun’s snarky comments. “Where have you been, Jaehyun?” Then you crossed your arms to tell him you would not back down unless he tells you what really happened.

“Alena,” he replied incisively.

You gulped. You weren’t expecting that name to roll off his mouth. “That’s unexpected.” Trying to sound as apathetic as possible, you focused your attention in checking the locks again. “I thought you’d burn the—” You took a deep breath, “— the vampire’s body.”

“I dumped him exactly where he came from.”

Your brows knotted instantly, reckoning his words. “Are you saying Alena sent him? For you?” This time, you had stopped pretending to check the window locks, and faced Jaehyun with inquisitiveness etched on your face.

“Partially. He sent him for me… and for you.”

You sat down yourself to the nearest sofa and tried to recollect your thoughts. Why would she do that? “For me? I don’t understand.”

“She knows I’m living here, Y/N. And she’s not happy about it.” Jaehyun pursed his lips. You were absolutely certain that he was hiding something from you.

“Oh, heavens. I— I don’t know what to say… I… Jaehyun, she’s your fiancée, right? Perhaps she got it all wrong. We’re not doing something disgraceful!” You waved your hands to the air to shake off your trepidation. Well, that’s not exactly true. On his first night in your house, he’d already kissed you.

The look Jaehyun gave you told you he was thinking about the kiss too. But he shrugged and brushed it off. “Yeah, we’re not doing something.”

“I think you should explain it to her…?”

Jaehyun snorted, “Y/N, didn’t you hear me earlier? I’m trying to severe our betrothal. I don’t give two fucks about what she thinks.”

“And why is that?”

He went silent for a moment, his eyes clear. As if remembering some horrible scene in his mind. “Do you really think I’d tell you everything? C’mon. We’re on our what? One-half step of being friends.”

“I just want to understand why would she send a vampire to harm us. Especially, me.” You pointed at yourself. “Well… perhaps she’s known about our plan.” Heavens. The thought was too terrifying for you to bear.

“No. She didn’t tell me anything about that.” Jaehyun stood up then, “So we better get moving before she sends her vampires again to kill us. Earlier was already a warning.”

When you attempted to speak, Jaehyun raised a finger to stop you. “Please, baby. No more questions.”

So you shut your mouth with a hope that you could do the same with your thudding heart.

On the way to Madame Juana’s mansion, you have separated the money for Jaehyun’s needs. In the end, you have decided to buy him his necessities. You supposed it won’t be that costly, considering his nature. Clothes are all he needs.

“You’ve decided the right thing, Y/N.”

Even in the stark of dawn, Madame Juana was ready to accept you in her home. She looked immaculate as always, her silk robes hugging her frame as she greeted you.

“I… hope so.” You smiled at her, heart beating loudly for what lays behind all your decisions. Jaehyun remained leaning on one of the pillar inside Madame Juana’s hall, observing you and the witch.

“To be honest, some part of me didn’t expect to see you at all. That’s why I’m so glad to see you, darling.” She caressed your cheek like how mothers do to their children. You fought the urge to lean on her hand, suddenly remembering your mother with a twinge of pain in your chest.

“Well, this is my only chance to know who killed my parents. I couldn’t simply let this slip.”

Jaehyun had convinced you not to tell Madame Juana about your encounter with the vampire earlier. He nagged and reminded you to be more careful especially to friendly faces. And now that you are walking through a path cloaked with darkness. Those were his exact words. You would’ve laughed by the way he delivered it, but he was so serious that you resulted in gulping down your chuckles instead.

Madame smiled. In that moment, you wanted to ask her if she could enchant Hubert already. It’s not like you would run away from her and bail on your deal. But an uncertainty made its way on you. You still have no idea about her true nature; her patience and her attitude. It would be careless to ask such favors. Especially to a witch.

“Excellent, darling.” Then she pulled her hand away, “I’ll get ready. Mr. Jones will—”

“I… still wanna talk to you about some things.” You took a quick glance at Jaehyun, who raised his brow at you, “Privately.” Then he frowned and walked away, fishing something in his pockets. You could only pray that he won’t pry with his sharp hearing.

“Go on, Y/N. What is it?”

You hesitated for a moment, before sighing deeply and focusing your eyes at Madame’s own. “Can you… I mean, I want to block Jaehyun from reading my mind.”

Madame’s brow shot up to her forehead, the side of her mouth twitching upwards. “Interesting favor, darling. But understandable. I know how insufferable it is for someone to infiltrate your mind without permission.” She held the sides of your forehead with both her hands, “This might hurt a little. Like a migraine.”

You shut your eyes closed and readied yourself for the pain. Enchantments rolled off her tongue. It sounded like Latin mixed with a language you haven’t heard before. A grumble of pain echoed from you as you felt the ache of the magic. It was exactly like what she told you; a migraine, but a sharp one.

“Done,” Madame stated.

You felt the absence of her fingers, resulting on you clutching a handful of your hair to prevent the pulsating pain. As you grip your hair with your hand, you lifted the other one to tell Madame that you still have one remaining thing to say.

“One more thing, Madame.”

“Now, now. What is it, darling? Are you going to ask me to block your heart from falling in love with the vampire?”

At her bold statement, your eyes widened, heart somersaulting inside your chest. “No!” You shouted, voice bouncing off the walls of her mansion.

A low chuckle resonated from the Madame’s throat. “Don’t be so upset and defensive, little dove. It’s written all over you—”

It’s dangerous to cut off a witch’s sentence, but you could not bear to hear the end of her statement. “I actually wanted to tell you that I want to become a vampire hunter.”

Madame’s grinning face changed to that of a surprised one. But she quickly regained herself, her grin spreading wider than the last time. “Then I guess my villa isn’t the right place for you. But the Academy.”

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[miscellaneousramblings]

The world is cruel and unfair. My thoughts about the end of SnK.

This is a post about my feelings re: the end of SnK. I try to mix a bit of analysis and express where, in my opinion, it went wrong.

I’ve only read the last chapter once for now. Managed to avoid every spoiler until the official release. What can I say? I think this ending is disappointing and unsatisfying, despite not being The Worst Thing I’ve Ever Read. It’s serviceable at best, which by default is underwhelming in a work that has almost always tried to go above what we usually see in comparable pieces of fiction. Over almost 140 chapters, SnK offered its readers genuine emotions, either positive or negative, and, until this final chapter, managed to stay true to its themes. But this final chapter is basically a 4/10 or 5/10 ending in an overall 9.5/10 story.

I hope that, after the initial shock of the ending, I’ll be able to look back on it, not fondly, but with a bit more appreciation for some of its (too few) genuinely good moments. I also hope it won’t sour the experience of reading SnK too much for me. Of course, I accept the ending, I accepted it literally the moment I read it even though I saw it go further and further from my expectations and understanding of the story by the second. And obviously, I respect Isayama as a writer and genuinely cherish some parts of this manga.

But I won’t ever think this ending was good, and am going to try to explain why.

First, something quite subjective. I think the chapter lacked genuine emotion. I didn’t feel much of anything, except a crushing sentiment of sadness and a bit of anger when I saw Mikasa alone by Eren’s grave at the end. A lot of what happened felt either incomplete or forced, and often both. For example, I had imagined the moment the curse of Ymir broke would be the most beautiful moment in the manga, but instead it just... happened? This was supposed to be the peak of this story, the miracle that all these terrible sacrifices were made in the name of. I keep thinking about the moment the curse breaks at the end of Fruits Basket (a great read btw) and how genuinely emotional this chapter is even though the genre is different from SnK’s. Considering Isayama’s talent when portraying emotions, I can’t help but feel terribly underwhelmed by his version of this moment, which should have made us feel like everything was worth it, but didn’t.

Second, the pacing in this last arc (and especially post 123) was messy. I know it’s easy to criticize as a reader, but objectively, spending 7 chapters on the alliance going from point X to point Y and not giving the main character the spotlight he deserves is a major mistake. I kept holding hope that all of the buildup since chapter 130 was going to amount to the last 2-3 chapters slapping extremely hard (like, say, the Grisha-centered chapters in return to Shiganshina, or the Reiner-Eren conversation in Marley), but for the first time, Isayama disappointed me in that regard.

While mostly uninteresting fights got dragged out, some plot points were almost forgotten. Some setups never got a proper conclusion. Eren barely got the time to explain his motivations or what he saw. Historia’s conversation from chapter 130 never got an ending. The parasite and Ymir literally disappeared even though they were the focus of the last two chapters before this one. Some memory shards went unexplained. We never got to see Grisha’s death even when this panel exists?

Regardless of the actual things I don’t like in the ending, I think it would have been more palatable if this last stretch of chapters had been given time to breathe, if only to expand on the characters’ motivations or give us more interactions (for example, Eren’s talks with Annie, Reiner, Connie...).

Third, characterisation and themes. Oh boy. My favourite character is Eren, and my other favourites are Mikasa, Armin, Reiner and Zeke. I think that among these five, the only one who got a true, complete character arc was Armin (and arguably Zeke as well, though the lack of resolution between him and Eren is a hate crime towards me, specifically). Reiner had a great character arc overall but his last appearance in the manga was distateful and a regression. I won’t expand on it.

Mikasa... my poor girl. My most charitable take about her ending is that Isayama wanted to portray her inner strength, the fact she can always live on in the face of adversity and cherish her own life despite the setbacks while remembering those she loves. Well, I guess he succeeded. But in a weirdly unsatisfying way, because this renders her character arc entirely cyclical. Those qualities have characterised Mikasa since the start. It’s established since the very first arc that she’s prideful, brave, and that she has the inner strength to live without Eren if he ever disappears from this world. But the way Isayama made it happen? Having her kill him and then cry next to his grave in the final panels of the manga is what her arc amounted to? I had always hoped that Mikasa could actually save Eren from himself and show him how to live and share his burdens with him (all things that have been foreshadowed in the manga itself, btw). I thought her tattoo would hold some significance, either by

A/ being transmitted to her potential child with Eren were he to survive (didn’t happen)

B/ foreshadowing a future political role for her as a bridge between Hizuru and Paradis (didn’t happen, and furthermore she’s the only alliance member living in Shiganshina and is deliberately separated from the rest of them)

C/ having some kind of supernatural power that would allow her to change the game, were she to enter paths or reach the coordinate (didn’t happen).

So what? In the end, Mikasa’s Big Choice amounted to giving up on her love (but also not really because she’s never going to be able to move on and isn’t allowed to feel anything else but pain), resulting in her losing her family for the third time and never being able to welcome Eren home. This is horrifyingly sad. I’m also frankly disturbed by the sort of ~parallel Eren establishes in this chapter between Ymir and Mikasa, about the topic of love. So the message of SnK was that... love is a chain? Everything happened because Ymir was too attached to the King and couldn’t leave this world, so Mikasa had to show her that she could give up on love for the greater good by killing Eren? I wish I just misunderstood this but that’s what I got from the chapter and I hate it. Also, I really thought Isayama was above the traditional “female character who sacrifices everything and never reaches happiness but stays quiet and endures for the common good” trope. I was wrong.

Mikasa might have been the centerpiece of the story, but she got the short end of the stick. At this point, the writing pretty much does the opposite of what it is supposed to by inadvertently justifying the validity of Mikasa and Eren’s “selfish” dream in chapter 138. Initially, I thought that their dream was wrong and not something truly enviable because in it, they led a life of guilt and regret while knowing full well that Eren would end up dying anyway, leaving Mikasa behind, alone. Naively, I thought that surely choosing the responsible path would be more rewarding for Mikasa, one way or the other. But as it turns out, the path of selflessness also led her to a life of solitude, except now she carries her burdens all on her own without having tasted happiness. Amazing. I genuinely do not know how I am supposed to root for this.

Finally... Eren. Oh boy. Oh, good lord. I’ll admit I wanted him to live, but I was also ready to accept an ending where he dies. But... not like this. I already said I don’t like the fact Mikasa killed him, but what I like even less is the lack of general resolution his character received. He’s the MC for god’s sake! But post-chapter 123, he has received second, if not third-grade treatment, save from chapter 131, which was brilliant.

Overall, his motivations are a mess, which I get. Him getting confused because of all his powers and memories is understandable. Him having conflicting motivations is actually appealing to me. He wanted to save Eldia, but was also disappointed in the outside world (when he says “I would have done it anyway”, I thought about what he said to Ramzi and the "scenery” in 131) , and wished for his friends to become heroes. I get it, it’s fine.

But Isayama went too far with the tragic aspect of his character. As in, there is no catharsis, just crushing pain. Isayama deliberately went overkill by stating that Eren killed 80% of humanity (what the hell), and, even worse, actually drove Dina to Carla. I literally couldn’t believe this. I have seen people theorize about this months ago and immediately discarded it by thinking it was ridiculous and amount to character assassination. To make things clear, I’m not discussing Eren’s actions in the last arc from a moralistic point of view, because this would be another topic entirely, I’m talking about what makes sense in the narrative that has been presented to us since the Paths chapters started and Eren’s plan was revealed. For example, however awful the contents of the scene was, Eren manipulating Grisha to kill the Reiss family was not only amazingly written and drawn in chapter 121 but also narratively motivated by the fact he needed the Founding Titan’s power. This scene also had other functions, such as revealing the Attack Titan’s premonition powers or making Zeke interact with Grisha and understand the truth about his father. Compared to this, the “moment” we have in 139, this abrupt, absurd revelation about him indirectly killing his mother is rushed and nonsensical. Even if this was to kickstart the whole story by awakening his hatred for the titans, I can’t help but feel shaken by how... gratuitous a “plot-twist” it is. What does it say about the attachment Eren had to his mother and her words to him? (”because he was born into this world”). This nullifies one of the most impactful scenes of the manga, because the ending makes it clear that in the end, existing as a human being by the simple virtue of being born wasn’t enough for him. It just couldn’t be, for some reason that I’m yet to fully understand. Instead, he endured and endured, and never got to experience the simple, humane existence Carla wished for him. So were these beautiful words a lie all along? Why did Isayama go to such an extreme with Dina? The only conclusion I can come to is that it’s because he needed Eren to be absolutely, totally irredeemeable. Eren needed, storywise, to be this unstoppable extremist who would get burned to ashes by his uncontrollable desires.

Because yes, apparently, Eren had to die. There was no escape. Worst of all, Eren died a slave. A slave to his desire for freedom. A slave to the destiny he saw at age 15. A slave to his titan powers. This is what I truly can’t forgive about this ending. I won’t stand for the “but he chose this” answer, because it was a choice made out of despair, and all the alternatives are presented as non viable by the narrative (are they really though? or is it just a cope-out to justify the last arc of the manga unfolding as it did?). In short, Isayama justifies this “choice” that was forced on Eren by telling us: his life was destined to be short, he had a violent side he just wouldn’t repress, Mikasa didn’t give him the answer he wanted, he was overwhelmed by what he saw, and their enemies were zeroing in on them. Canonically, all of this made him start the Rumbling. Fine. But I always thought that, at the end of it all, even if Eren were to die, this narrative would be challenged. That Eren would at least have a big cathartic moment, and that he would make another choice upon realising that the freedom he looked for was illusory, and that he would fight to the bitter end for what was right, what he truly wanted, before finally either going to rest or living on with the burden of his actions but the support of his loved ones. I wished for the perfect blend of bitterness and hope. The tragedy of irredeemeable actions completed by the powerful liberation of free will. The idea that change is possible.

But what did we get instead? Eren reaffirming that the Rumbling would have happened anyway while feeling tremendous guilt, as usual (living a life with regrets, and consequently, a death with regrets), refusing the support Armin was ready to lend him (refusing to even try to defy what he thinks is his destiny and pushing others away again) and erasing the memories of all his friends after having manipulated them into ending him against their wishes (going against the most basic concept of freedom). And because we as readers and he as a character have to suffer until the very end, Eren finally clearly expressed his wish to live, to stay with Mikasa and his friends. Only to die 5 pages later, for good.

The main character of this story truly died as a disembodied head, in a titan’s mouth, killed by the person he loved the most before being buried in a nameless grave. One of his mottos was “fight”, but in the end, he didn’t. He let fate happen. In a story about freedom, this is unfathomable. This is beyond the realm of sadness for me, and I’m leaning more and more towards indignation. Where was his dignity as a character? I know that Mikasa, Armin and the others know “the truth about him” but I’m sorry, this isn’t enough. Now, if I ever get the strength to re-read SnK, I won’t be able to look at Eren without thinking about all the things he sacrificed: love, friendship, happiness, humanity, morals, principles, justice, freedom, the lives of countless others, the peace of mind of the person he loves, and his own life. A sacrifice so great should have gotten us a reward as great, if not greater. But we only got the end of the titan curse, without even an apparition or a word from Ymir, the one who actually started all of this, and now Paradis is ruled by the Yeagerists or something. The wings of freedom defaced by two rifles. How great. How satisfying.

In the end, I can’t really fathom what Isayama wanted to say with this chapter. The story itself, the 138 chapters that preceded it seemed clear to me. The world is cruel but also very beautiful. But after having read 139, I don’t know where the freedom the characters chased is. I don’t know why love was portrayed as something so precious but also something that in the end was predestined to be discarded. I don’t know why characters such as Mikasa went against fate only to be crushed by it further down the road.

I never thought that SnK would go into this almost grimdark direction, but it did. I can barely find the beauty in this chapter. Mikasa’s last panels are heartbreaking, but even the strength of her love can’t shine through the countless sacrifices the characters - and especially she and Eren - made, for the sake of a future that already seems extremely compromised. I guess that all in all, the world’s cruelty overshadows everything, and those who make the greatest sacrifices also are those who never get repaid. The world is unfair. I know that, but it was my naive wish that reading a piece of fiction would help me take my mind off this reality by showing me there is also more to it.

PS: the best moment in the chapter was those panels:

Finally, even if it was too little and too late, someone showed Eren he wasn’t alone, and didn’t need to be. RIP, my beautiful boy. You truly did deserve better than what this story allowed you to be.

[kellanved-ammanas]

Late

It was finally October, Halloween month as some thought of it, which meant Merasmus should come around any day to mess with them and change up their battles with magic and stuff. But… it was two weeks in and he hadn’t even so much as shown up yet. He’d been late a few times before but never that late.

The rest of the team either seemed pleased by this or didn’t show any signs of caring. Pyro however did care. Merasmus made things fun and Pyro had always liked him. And the magic he always brought with him was the best; fireballs and everyone getting a chance to turn invisible, the cute little skeletons dudes and everything else never failed be awesome. So… where was he and why hadn’t he shown up yet?

“I don’t know,” Soldier said with a shrug when Pyro brought that question to him. As Merasmus’ former roommate he’d been the most obvious person to ask first. “Maybe he took the coward’s way out and gave up.” Hopefully not, Halloween was bound to be less fun without him.

The next most obvious person to ask was Spy because he tended to know a lot about everyone, it was his job after all. But… “Nope, I’ve no clue where he is,” was his answer as he swirled his wine in one hand, not even deigning to look up from his book. “Nor do I care to know because that would mean he came back to bother us. I’ve been enjoying not having him around for once.”

“Uh… you’re right, it is past time for him to show up, huh?” was Miss Pauling’s answer upon Pyro bringing the question to her. “I wonder why he hasn’t yet. I could probably find him if I really wanted to but…” she looked down at her desk and all the messy paperwork scattered all over it, “I’m kind of busy. Sorry Pyro, I’m sure he’ll show up any day now though so try to be just a little more patient.”

Pyro was tired of being patient though. He wanted proper Halloween and he wanted it now. … Maybe he could just find Merasmus himself. “Where does he live?”

Pauling raised an eyebrow at him. “I suppose I can give you that but how do you plan on getting down there?”

“I’ll have someone drive me.” This job paid more than well enough to pay someone to drive him around for a day or two if no one on the team wanted to come with him.

“All right I guess.” She turned to start typing something into the computer. “Wait until the weekend to go though and come back before battle starts on Monday. And don’t let the Administrator know, she doesn’t like how lax am I with you guys sometimes.”

Pyro nodded his assent; he hadn’t been planning to let the Administrator know anything about it anyway. And even though now that the idea had occurred to him, he was already rearing and ready to go, he could wait a couple more days. Maybe Merasmus would even show up in that time, rendering the trip unnecessary. One could only hope.

***

“You really going to let them win this year?” the Bombinomicon taunted for the umpteenth time as Merasmus strode into the library. He’d been expecting it but that didn’t make it any less annoying. “You always go down there to harass them around Halloween by not going this year, you’re admitting defeat, do you really want that?”

No but he never won no matter what he did and only ever wracked up more debt with his schemes. So he’d made the decision that he wasn’t going this year because what was the point? He wouldn’t accomplish anything but annoying and inconveniencing the mercs for however long he stuck around. He had better things to be doing with his time like… like… just other better things.

With a huff, he strode over to put the book in his hands back in its proper place.

“Of all the times for you to have one of your moping spells, why’d it have to be now?” the Bombinomicon continued because not replying encouraged him about as much as replying did.

“I’m not moping.” He was a powerful evil wizard and powerful evil wizards did not mope.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure you’re moping. And it’s really annoying because we should be doing things right now but we’re not because you’re moping around the castle feeling sorry for yourself again.”

Biting back an angry retort, Merasmus snatched the book he’d come in here for off the shelf and started for the exit.

“And now you’re going to run away like a…”

Merasmus slammed the door shut behind him, cutting off whatever insult the Bombinomicon had been about to throw at him. He really needed to do something about that damn book one of these days. Maybe he should do it now that he was thinking about it again because he’d been meaning to for a while. … He wasn’t in the mood though so he’d do it later, next time he needed to go into the library for sure… maybe.

Before he could go up more than a few steps to his room a hearty knock came from his front door. It was either another ding-dong-ditch from the teens that lived in the nearby town, a door-to-door salesman, or if he was really lucky another religious nutjob here to try to banish or convert him to whatever brand of religion they were peddling. In case it was one of the latter two, he placed his book down on the coffee table and put on his best evil smile as he strode over to answer it.

It was the red Pyro. Lifting a hand in a wave he muttered what sounded like a “Hello,” through his mask.

Merasmus was so surprised to find one of the mercs at his door it took him a few seconds to find his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Halloween month but you haven’t shown up yet so I came to check on you. Are you okay?”

“What?” Merasmus asked because there was no way that was actually what Pyro had said.

But Pyro repeated himself, speaking slower and clearer. He really had come all the way out here to check on Merasmus because he hadn’t shown up to bother the mercs. But… shouldn’t he have been pleased about that?

“You’ve never been this late before,” Pyro continued, still speaking in a way that made it easier to hear him through the mask. “So I thought something must be wrong. Like maybe the Mafia finally caught you and I’d have to go burn them down to save you. I’m glad that’s not the case. But are you okay? I lose track of time sometimes too so I understand if that’s why you’re so late.”

“I uh… I’m fine. I’m not going down there to bother you this year. I have better things to be spending my time on than wasting it trying to kill a bunch of mercenaries who can’t even die to begin with.” He was about to slam the door shut but the way Pyro’s entire body seemed to sag with disappointment stopped him.

Pyro mumbled something that his mask rendered unintelligible.

“What?”

“But Halloween!” he repeated. “It won’t be the same without you.”

How was Merasmus even supposed to respond to that? He’d never had anyone be disappointed he hadn’t shown up to bother them before. Heck, he’d never had anyone show up at his door to ask him if he was okay before either. It was weird but… he kind of liked it?

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? What if I help you? You give me all the magics and I’ll rain down pretty fire everywhere.”

“You’d really join my side and attack your teammates?” His quarrel was mostly with Soldier after all.

Pyro nodded. “They’d understand. Or you could join our team and give us magic to attack the BLUs. … Or if you’d rather not that’s fine too…” he trailed off to say a bit more that was really only unintelligible mumbling as he dropped his hands to hand limply by his side. It was pretty dang clear he wanted Merasmus to do his usual Halloween thing.

If it were anyone other than Pyro, Merasmus wouldn’t still given an instant ‘no’. But he’d always been intrigued by Pyro and the mystery that shrouded him. And well Pyro had come all the way out here to ‘check on him’ which no one had ever done for him before so… “Fine, as long as you agree to be my ally, I’ll return.” That should make it more interesting and might result in him winning for once, whatever that might mean when neither side’s people would stay dead if killed.

Pyro clapped and… hugged him. Thankfully it was brief enough that Merasmus didn’t have time to even try to respond to it because what the fuck even? Pulling back, Pyro grabbed his wrist and tugged him out the door. “Let’s go, it’ll be fun.”

Well, it’d certainly be better than not moping around his castle was. So maybe it would be fun.

[cake-writes]

Compromise (Part One)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Angst, Fluff

Summary:  You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

I really don’t need to be working on yet another WIP but here I am, like a clown!

It all started with some of the best sex you’d ever had in your life. You know the kind: rough and desperate. Needy. Passionate. The kind straight out of a romance novel, blazing hot and full of love. The kind that, even four years later, served as inspiration for your fantasies – even if you despised the man responsible.

No, that was a lie. You didn’t despise him. You just wished that you did.

It made your toes curl then, and the memory of it still did, even now. The only difference was that you used a toy. That was all you could do, because in between your job managing a small café and your three-year-old daughter’s care, you had zero time for dating. You were Winnie’s mother and primary caregiver, because of course you were. 

Her father was the Winter Soldier, after all.

The two of you split when Winnie was just thirteen months old. Unsurprisingly, the court didn’t give Bucky custody, not when so much of his past was bound by red tape. You knew that it wasn’t his fault, the things he’d done, but you were still surprised he’d gotten anything at all. Not only was Avenging a dangerous line of work, but it was the exact reason why you’d left.

He only got to see her once a month, with supervised visits – visits that were much harder on you than on your daughter, but you put on a brave face just for her. Maybe some small part of it was for yourself, too. You were still in love with him – or with the idea of him, you weren’t sure anymore, but the fact remained that he chose his work over his new family out of some misguided idea of making up for the awful things he’d done.

He chose Steve. He chose Sam. He chose his past over his present.

Not you.

The visits were difficult, but manageable – when he even managed to show up, of course. It was about fifty-fifty whether or not he’d show, usually because of work and he often tried to reschedule last minute, which you eventually started to refuse. You and Winnie had a set schedule, and you’d be damned if you deviated from it because of him and his neverending excuses.

You did try, once. You tried to work with him, tried to empathize – at least until he rescheduled three Saturdays in a row and Winnie’s poor little heart shattered to pieces. She was inconsolable for weeks, and needless to say, you stopped trying after that. He didn’t deserve it, not when he hurt your young daughter so easily.

Your usual meet-up place was the small park near your house. There wasn’t much else around, anyway, not like inner city Manhattan which you so desperately missed. You couldn’t afford to live there on your meagre barista salary, so you moved shortly after your trainwreck of a break-up. Moving caused an even bigger rift between you and Bucky, one only worsened by heated arguments and nasty words.

Upstate was where you moved, about three hours away from the city.

Upstate was where Bucky was living now, too, about fifteen minutes from your home.

He broke the news during an impromptu lunchtime visit to your café, one you especially did not appreciate due to the fact that he’d shown up at your workplace. It was almost like he’d known you wouldn’t be able to leave, as you so often did when he tried to talk to you about anything. You always put on a smile for your daughter when you dealt with him, but she wasn’t here and you had no reason to be nice.

The mug in front of you sat untouched as you stared down at the coffee within, delicate latte art slowly melting away while you processed what he’d just said. He was going to be just a few miles down the road at the new Avengers facility, and though he didn’t say it outright, the implication was enough: he could come here anytime he wanted to; could pick Winnie up from preschool anytime he wanted to; could see her anytime he wanted to, court order be damned.

You’d been reduced to nothing more than a barrier keeping him away from his daughter – your daughter – and it stung. Then again, that was what you’d become. That was what you’d been forced to become, because of him. 

A barrier. 

A bitch.

“I want to see her more,” he told you, but his cordial tone did nothing to hide the thinly-veiled threat. “It’s been years since the last agreement. Things are different now.”

Don’t make me get a lawyer was what he meant.

What’s worse was that you knew he was right. He’d been cleared of all charges, and although his work wasn’t exactly ideal for childrearing, he earned much more money than you did. Not only that, but with the compound right down the road, there was no way he’d be denied this time. If the two of you went back to court, he’d get joint custody. Fifty-fifty. Equal. You knew it, and he did, too. He was forcing your hand.

“You barely make it to your monthly visits as it is,” you responded evenly, though inside you were about ready to scream. “How are things different, Bucky?”

“I’m close by. We’re training more Avengers, so my hours are flexible. I’ve already talked to Steve.”

Why couldn’t he have talked to Steve two years ago?

“I can show you around the compound, if that’s what you want. It’s better than the tower.”

You remembered the tower. You hated the tower. It was no place to raise a child, what with all the missions and the parties and the late-night take-offs which constantly woke Winnie from her sleep. The one good thing it had going for it was the security.

Somehow, he’d remembered your gripes. You couldn’t decide if you should be flattered or not.

“I’ve even got a spare bedroom for her now, sweetheart. Can’t we make this work?”

“Don’t call me that,” you finally snapped, to which Bucky held his hands up in a show of surrender. He didn’t offer an apology, but then again, you didn’t want one. You didn’t want any of this.

Except maybe you did.

You chewed your lower lip, coffee now long forgotten in favour of worrying about the future. You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, he broke your heart just a little more.

Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. 

You’d always wanted that.

And if you didn’t, then the next step would be a lawyer. You didn’t have the time or the money for another custody battle, whereas Bucky had plenty of both and he certainly had no qualms about going down that route. This visit was just a last-ditch effort before he did.

“Fine,” you acquiesced through grit teeth, “but I want to see it first.”

“Yeah?” he asked, blue eyes wide with surprise.

For a moment, you were rendered speechless. God, you hadn’t seen him look at you like that in years. The last time probably would have been when you told him that you were pregnant with Winnie. 

Even now, you were still so weak for him. You always managed to stay strong for your daughter, but never for yourself. You missed him, and, well, it wasn’t like you had a choice in the matter either way.

“Yeah,” you repeated, reluctant and hollow.

That weekend, you found yourself staring up at the gates to the compound in awe through the windshield of your small beater. The compound was indeed much larger than the tower had been; you couldn’t see much from the road, but there was plenty of acreage. Plenty of room for Winnie to run around and play, almost, if it wasn’t practically a military base.

When you pushed a button, the CCTV camera came to life, whirring as it likely zoomed in your faces through the side windows of your car. “Ma’am, this is the Avengers Facility. You might have the wrong—”

You abruptly interrupted him with your name, followed by, “And this is Winnifred Barnes. B-A-R-N-E-S.”

There was a long pause, then, as the guy on the other end seemed to realize who you were. Then he had an immediate change of tone. “Oh, that’s— that’s today! Right! I’m so sorry, ma’am!”

Ugh. You weren’t old enough to be a ‘ma’am.’ 

Were you?

After the gate started to open, you slowly made your way up the long driveway, humming quietly to yourself to calm your nerves. That was when Winnie started to sing along with you, the same off-key tune that the two of you often sang together in the bathtub. She’d never been a fan of baths, so you used the song as a distraction. Now it was supposed to be your distraction, but it didn’t work very well.

You parked next to a small fleet of shiny black cars with tinted windows, feeling just as out of place now as you did when you and Bucky were dating. You’d always made coffee for a living, while he was… him. How you even managed to make it work for nearly two years was beyond you, as brief and fleeting as your whirlwind romance had been.

“Is Daddy here?” Winnie asked excitedly, peering out the windows at the large complex of buildings. Her breath fogged up the glass and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Yes, baby,” you told her as you got out of the car and slung your purse over one shoulder, before you opened her car door. “Daddy’s here. We’ll see him soon.”

She bounced happily as you unbuckled her from her car seat, and then you hoisted her up onto one hip and shut the door with your free hand. After that, you slowly made your way up the steps to what you assumed was the main building.

Christ, this place was massive.

Just before you got to the top, the glass double doors up ahead were shoved open and there was Bucky in all his glory – tall and muscular, just like always, albeit almost out of breath. His hair was pulled back into a loose, messy bun, strands of hair framing his face in the familiar way you’d always loved, and the stubble on his face nearly made you swoon.

You hated that you were still attracted to him.  

“Sorry, we’re a little early,” you admitted, nodding to your daughter. “Someone wanted to see you.”

As if on cue, Winnie shouted, “Daddy!” and reached out for him with her little arms, making grabby hands in his direction. She was so eager that you might have dropped her once, but you were used to her excitement.

Bucky met your eyes for a moment with a note of appreciation before he turned to her. Then and only then did the corners of his eyes crinkle up in a genuine smile – one directed at your daughter, not at you, one not meant to keep up a charade like the two of you were wont to do. That was the only type of smile he offered you, and that hurt, too.

“How’s my best girl?” he cooed, peppering her face with noisy kisses.

She giggled and half-heartedly tried to push him away. “Daddy, no! It’s scratchy!” 

At that, he just rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers some more, lightly, not enough to hurt, and she squealed. He slid his hands under her arms with ease before he lifted her up and away from you, and although you knew he wasn’t being malicious, you always hated giving her up.

She just slung her tiny arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. It had been awhile since she’d seen him – probably about two months, now, and you didn’t blame her. You’d missed him, too.

“How was the drive?” he asked you, holding Winnie against his side as the three of you made your way inside. With his free hand, he held open the glass door for you.

“It was a whole twelve minutes,” you responded dryly, more joking than not. Twelve minutes was much better than the nearly three-hour commute from when he was living in the city; not that you had to make it very often, as it was usually his responsibility. “Not too bad. Thanks.”

You weren’t really sure what you were thanking him for. The door, maybe.

Bucky paused to study your face for a moment, hesitant, before he quickly lifted Winnie up onto his shoulders, adorable peals of laughter escaping her. The ceilings were tall enough to offer plenty of leeway, and she’d always enjoyed being able to see things from such a high vantage point, especially someplace new like this. 

“I bet Auntie Nat will be so happy to see you, sweetpea,” you told her, more to fill the silence than anything else. Bucky sure looked like he wanted to say something to you. He had that same reluctant expression on his face, the very one that creased his brows and made your anxiety skyrocket.  

Thankfully, he seemed to understand that you weren’t willing to discuss whatever it was yet, and instead chimed in, “She’s waiting for us upstairs, princess. Do you wanna go see her?”

“Yeah!” Winnie sounded incredibly chipper as she gripped two handfuls of Bucky’s hair in her small fists, almost like the reigns to a horse. “Let’s go!”

You stifled a laugh as she half-directed him where to go. The stairs were steeper than you anticipated, and by the time you reached the next floor, you were well and truly winded. The second flight was even worse; they were both already at the top by the time you got halfway there, because Bucky took them two or three at a time.

“Come on, Mommy!” Winnie cheered.  

“I’m coming, baby,” you called out, holding onto the handrail for dear life. That wasn’t an exaggeration.

One step, two, then three and you finally made it there. It wasn’t that you were out of shape, exactly – except, well, you were. You’d never completely lost the extra weight that came along with having a child, and you definitely didn’t have the time to work out with all of your other responsibilities as much as you would have liked to.

Bucky’s eyes were soft on yours when you glanced over at him, to which you huffed and quickly looked away. Knowing he’d seen how out of shape you were was embarrassing enough.

“Where’s Auntie Nat?” Winnie asked, then, and you were never more grateful to her for it.

“She’s making lunch for us,” Bucky told her, gently placing a hand on your lower back to guide you in the right direction. When you froze up at the unexpected contact, he immediately pulled it away, like he’d only just realized what he’d done.

If your heart wasn’t already racing, it certainly would have been after that.

“How’s that sound, Win? Are you hungry?” you asked as the three of you walked into the large kitchen and living area. The open floor plan was full of expensive things you’d only ever dreamt of, no doubt courtesy of Tony.

“Yeah!” she responded happily, which soon became an excited shriek when she spotted Natasha spreading peanut butter onto a few slices of bread. On the marble countertop in front of her was also a jar of strawberry jam, Winnie’s favourite.

“Hi Winnie,” Natasha greeted. “Guess what I’m making?”

“Peanut butter jellies!” Winnie exclaimed, wiggling a little, clearly ready to get off of Bucky’s shoulders to properly say hi to Natasha. Predictably, he plopped her onto the floor with ease, and she did just that. The sound of her scampering across the unfamiliar tile brought a smile to your face. It almost sounded like home.

Natasha kept her entertained while you and Bucky watched in tense, uncomfortable silence. If nothing else, you were glad that Winnie was able to spend some time with her two favourite people. You, of course, weren’t one of them. You weren’t the fun parent. Bucky was.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said, then, softly enough that Winnie couldn’t hear.

You didn’t look at him, instead focusing on what was on the other side of the room: the two black leather sofas surrounding a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall, with a lavish coffee table in front. All you noticed were the sharp corners and invisible price tags. You weren’t broke, exactly, but all of this was much nicer than you could afford.

“Don’t be,” you replied with a shrug. “She’d be over the moon if we had such a big TV at home.”

“I’m happy to give you more,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. “Why am I not surprised you’re still driving that car?”

At that, you shot him a look that clearly conveyed your displeasure, to which he met your eyes in challenge.

You didn’t want more money from him. You only accepted the bare minimum of child support because it was court-ordered, and even that was a blow to your pride. You and Winnie were managing just fine without the ridiculous sum of money that Bucky made whilst working with the Avengers.

“It still runs. Why would I get rid of it?”

“It’s not as safe as the newer models,” Bucky responded far too evenly for your liking. “You know that. Are you really going to let your pride get in the way of our daughter’s safety?”

“She’s fine,” you hissed. “Are you really going to do this right now?”

“Mommy? What’s wrong?” came your sweet little girl’s voice, then, and your bristly demeanour disappeared in an instant. You always did your best not to argue with Bucky in front of her, but every now and then he just had to push your buttons. This was one of those times.

“Nothing, honey,” you said with faux cheerfulness, walking over to the counter where she was now seated, jam smeared all over her cheeks and chin. “Mommy’s just hungry, that’s all. Can I please have a bite?”

Winnie just beamed and held out one half of her sandwich to you. That was when you noticed that Natasha had lovingly cut it into triangles, just as she always did, and your smile suddenly felt more real than it had in days.

After you took a bite, you brushed Winnie’s soft brown locks away from her forehead and left a kiss there. “Thank you. Now be a good girl for Auntie Nat, okay? Mommy and Daddy will be back soon.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she said so sweetly, you couldn’t help but give her another kiss. Then you shared a warning look with Natasha – almost as if to say keep her out of this – before you walked back over to Bucky.

Together, the two of you went back out into the hallway to finish the argument he started. You were already ready to rip his head off after his unexpected visit-slash-threat earlier in the week, not to mention the snide comment he’d just made about your ability to parent.

The moment the door shut behind you, you were in full attack mode, zero to sixty in no time whatsoever. “Damn it, how many times do I have to tell you not to pick a fight in front of her?”

“Well, maybe if you were more reasonable—”

“More reasonable? Maybe if you made an effort to actually show up every once in a while—”

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do here, sweetheart? She’s three and I’ve barely seen her!”

“And whose fault is that?” you spat, jabbing your finger into his chest for emphasis, “You’re the one who’s always working, Bucky! You know how excited she gets, and whenever you let her down, I’m the one who has to try and make her feel better! I’m the one making promises you can’t keep!”

Bucky exhaled slowly, then, in a clear attempt to calm down. The two of you never used to fight like this, but ever since you moved away, things had been beyond tense and you’d long since been forced to recognize when he really was trying to control his temper.

Of course, things weren’t always so bad. There were days where both of you were at least somewhat amicable towards each other, maybe even friendly. In fact, this one seemed like it might have been heading in that direction – in the beginning, at least.

Then he finally spoke again, tone clipped, “Let me show you her room.”

Yeah, like seeing whatever he had in store would suddenly make you forget the last three years. 

“Fine.”

Bucky led the way down a winding corridor on the same floor as the communal kitchen. You guessed that each floor probably had its own. The building itself was large and expensive as hell, more than anything you’d ever be able to afford. Just being here almost felt like a privilege.

You hated it. What you hated more was that you liked it. For Winnie, anyway. She deserved the world.

The door to Bucky’s apartment opened with a fingerprint scan, because of course it did. The technology reminded you of your shared suite in the tower once upon a time. 

The apartment wasn’t anything impressive, more of a bachelor pad than anything, but at least it was clean. A grey suede sofa was the focal point, across from another large TV. Boys and their toys, you supposed. At least the coffee table in here had no sharp edges. 

On the other side there was a small kitchenette – big enough for one person, but not necessarily two. Then again, Winnie didn’t eat nearly as much as an adult so that wasn’t really a problem.

Down the hallway, you spotted three doors: one on the left, one on the right, and one at the end. Bathroom, spare room, and his room. At least, that was what you assumed.

You were right.

The second you opened the door to the spare bedroom, your breath hitched in your throat. It wasn’t overly pink or girly like Winnie’s room at home, but you could immediately picture her living here. Not all of the time, because you did still want primary custody, but it was evident that Bucky had put a lot of thought and effort into this.  

There was a twin bed up against one of the walls, with a small guardrail to prevent her from rolling onto the floor – just like at home, where she’d only recently moved into a big girl bed. The sheets were a delicate lavender, and the duvet matched perfectly, white and purple gingham print. At the foot of the bed was a grey fleece blanket, which you absentmindedly brushed your fingers against as you took everything in.

In one of the corners was a small white desk and chair, and on top of it was a stack of children’s books. She hadn’t yet learned how to read, not really, but she loved being read to at bedtime. As you skimmed through the stack, you noticed that a lot of the books were her favourites.

Then you spotted the stuffed animals.

There were a bunch of them, with tags in an assortment of languages. You didn’t even have to look to know that they were from different countries. Bucky must have been saving them for a while. He already knew you had too many at your house as it was; you’d ripped him a new one for it once already, because he liked to bring Winnie one whenever he got back from a mission. You had so many now that they covered her bed, and then some.

He still was picking them up on his missions, it looked like. He just hadn’t given them to her yet.

When you turned back to him, you found him leaning against the doorframe with a hopeful look on his face.

“How long—” Your voice broke, then, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to sound like you weren’t about to cry. It didn’t work. “How long have you been collecting these?”

“Over a year,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he nodded to the room itself. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry in front of him. That didn’t work either.

“Oh, Bucky,” you sniffled. “She’ll love it.”

He hesitantly pushed off the doorframe when he noticed you were upset. “Are you crying?”

“No,” you blubbered, burying your teary face in your hands before he could get a good look.

Bucky wanted to be there for your daughter. At last.

You were beyond touched by all the work that had gone into this, and although you weren’t happy about his unspoken threat of legal action, you could finally see why. He cared about her. He cared about her just as much as you did. He just didn’t show it as well.

The way Bucky wrapped his arms around you was gentle, unsure, but when you leaned into him his hold on you tightened just a little. It had been far too long since you’d been held, for one, and for two, god it felt good to be held by him. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be in his arms. 

You’d missed it – missed him.

That might have been why you finally managed to swallow your pride and ask, muffled and teary, “What car has the best safety features?”

When he pulled away just enough to look at you, he gave you a smile, the same kind where his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

It was genuine.

Part Two / Master List

[averyscarlet-blog]

Project Clypse

Hello there stranger! If you don’t know who I am, or you’re too lazy to read my name, I’m AveryScarlet! You can simply call me Avery or Av. And if you know me on fanfiction.net, mostly through my works Mercury Alchemist or Final Fantasy Versus XV, welcome! Now, for a while now, I’ve been wanting to write up my own original story. Issue with me, thanks to college in the past, I haven’t properly developed the mindset to write a full-blown novel. I’ve gotten so used to typing up a chapter or two in a month before publishing them that I can’t properly focus as an actual writer should.

As much as I want to focus on writing some of my fanfiction, I can’t because I’m focusing on studying for NCLEX. So if you’re waiting for the next chapter for FF Versus XV... It’s almost done! It’s just gonna take a while. But as you can see below, I’ve been working on something else. I’m sure you’re confused as to who these characters are in the chat and why I’m pushing so many out. Well. I’ll tell you. This is my way of practicing for a story I’ve been... REALLY wanting to write for a long time. It doesn’t have a definite name, so I’m calling it Project Clypse. Which partially comes from the group my main characters are in. 

Now, I thought of writing up their character bio’s but..... I’m not really that good at it as I used to be. I used to for when I was active in RP’s but I’m so rusty that I doubt I can keep up with whomever I’m chatting with. So, I’m just summarizing certain details you need to know about them! Not all of it because that'd be spoiling the story of every character. Now, with all that’s said and done, let me start explaining key points of Project Clypse.

Premise/Background

The story is centered on a world called Avarus, which you can say is sort of like Earth, except it was made with someone else's version of life. Or, it used to be. Avarus is one of the few remaining worlds that has an active patron God, who has chosen to go under the alias Belial. The world was originally created and governed by another, Belial’s younger sister, Soleil. After Avarus’ creation, and the birth of man, she was killed by an unknown assailant. But before she died, she was cursed to experience an endless cycle of death and rebirth into various random worlds. She will live a short mortal life, then die from either natural or unnatural causes.

According to Belial, this curse is bestowed only to Celetials who have performed a dire sin. While there is no definite way to lift the curse, Belial hopes that by locating and retrieving her while she's still alive, or at the very least obtain her soul, then he could find the proper means to spare his sister of her cursed fate and return Avarus's true patron Goddess. Because of her demise, life on the planet started to decay. To prevent its destruction, Belial forced the planet to stop rotating, hoping to delay it long enough for him to find Soleil.

However, there were dire consequences to this act. His actions indirectly causing the world to cease rotating; time became non-existent as a result. This, inevitably, killed off most of the remaining life in the world due to the imbalance of the ecosystem as one half of the planet became stuck in perpetual darkness, and the other being dried up caused prolonged exposure to the sun's light.

The only life that Belial was able to salvage was her sisters creation; humanity. Those that survived after the planet ceased its rotation found themselves unable to age. They can still die, but their bodies will no longer decay. During the first Century since Soleil’s death, the God went through various countermeasures to keep the world and the life still inhabits it safe until he can find his sister.

However, a strange plague began to manifest. Soon, it began to devour most of the remaining populace, creating a dark entity in the process; the Astrals (will explain in a different section). 

While Belial was successful in wiping out the infected, the God realized that he cannot keep the last remnants of humanity safe. Not while there are still Astrals lurking about. So he put them to sleep, sealed them in a place that only he knows. However, because of the sudden absence of time and life, the world began to deconstruct itself each time he departed in search for her in other worlds. Realizing he cannot manage Avarus and search for his sister at the same time, he found an alternative. Since his conception, he had noticed a peculiar type of living being popping up now and then in a variety of sentient species. So he sought them out. 

Eventually, gathered enough to temporarily replace humanity and trick the world itself into thinking life still exists. At first, he gathered adults since he knew nothing can grow in Avarus once they’ve lived in the world for a certain period of time, but because of their attachments to the worlds they originated from, it was difficult to convince them to remain. Then he thought up of another solution, one which he knew his sister would frown upon. Children. With their young minds, they’ll easily forget their place of origin and can be easily trained in the necessary skill in traversing through different worlds. And, after learning that the Astrals have branched out to those said worlds, learn how to handle their sudden enemy. 

Their goal is simple; to locate and, if possible, retrieve Soleil and eradicate the Astrals.

Main Characters

Note: Just in case you did not know... I. Cannot. Draw. As much as it pains me to do this, but I need you guys to have some sort of idea on how they look like. I cannot find the original artists of the artworks; mostly because google imaging is shit and Pinterest tends to... Send you elsewhere. So of you know the artist, please PM me so I can give them credit. If you know they don't want their works republished, I'll remove it and try to figure something out. I take no credit whatsoever on the art! I merely scoured the internet for any references I could use. If you're wondering why I'm not.using actual people... You know how awkward that is?

Anyway, much of these are concepts so expect changes in the future. I tried to discuss as little as possible about each character. And let me tell ya.... That was a lot I had to cut off, so if the explanation is a bit messy, that was from me trying to select what to remove to avoid revealing too much.

. . .

Sound

‘I have to be better. I have to be a better leader. I have to be a better lover. I have to be a better sibling. If I don’t... then I’ll lose everything again. If I must, I’ll sacrifice my identity for a third time if it means protecting them.’

Credits to: T0Q00(?) - Okay, on Pinterest it has the person’s name AND link to their twitter account. The thing is... it’s empty. Their entire page is empty. At least I found the artist’s name?

Also known as the Glutton King, Sound is one of the leaders of his faction, Tunera Clypse and a member of Mythral. He is a first generation Nors. While not as lazy as Noise, he’s not really a fan of getting involved in fights with people. When it comes to killing Astrals; that’s an entirely different story.  

Outwardly, he displays laid back, playful, and very concerning outlandish behavior. And by outlandish, I mean his... eating habits. Sound likes to experiment with his stomach. He’ll do absolutely ANYTHING to eat whatever he deems as edible. He also - absolutely - lacks any sense of shame (ex. walking out of the shower and to his room without a towel, slapping Noise’s butt). Although limited to communicate via writing, he makes sure that every single thing he writes is worth reading. Many are even surprised at just how fast he writes his messages. Then again, after years of practice, it’s expected he’d adapt.

Sound is self-aware of the fact that he’s a fictional character and will randomly break the fourth wall, causing much confusion to his friends several times. While not as dark as his previous self, Fell, he maintains some of his views towards life and tends to be as vocal - via writing - of his previous self's beliefs.

As a Cursed Blood, his curse forces him to conceal his face behind a customized Fox Mask. Depending on the amount of facial skin that was exposed, a person can live up to several minutes to several hours before inflicted with sudden death. If a person were to see the entirety of his face, they will die on the spot from unknown causes. He has a Physical Curse as well, which causes him to inflict a certain degree bad-luck to whoever hears his voice. While it’s rarely anything life-threatening, Sound is forced to become selectively mute. Although he tries his best to remain silent, he tends to accidentally let it a few words or sounds slip. Which usually occurs when he sneezes, and when he does, it is immediately advised by his friends to duck and cover.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, he joined the faction Tunera Clypse and then gave up his original name, becoming the next Sound. Unbeknownst to him, his actions later in life has caused him to unknowingly become the Vessel of Gluttony. It is unknown if his eating habits is the reason he became the vessel or it’s the other way around. Either way, he has shown to be fully capable of controlling the abilities that comes with being a Vessel. Sound merely chooses not to use them.

. . .

Ayane Koronashi

“If my brother had left the orphanage that day without me, I would simply smile. If Ulric presented me his latest girlfriend, I’d smile. Smiling is all I can ever do without being a nuisance. I could never show them my pain. I want to cry but my curse renders me incapable of doing so. But now it’s better. I’m better.”

Also known as the Black Fox. Ayane is the younger twin sister of Sound. Like her twin, she is also a member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral; as well as a first generation Nors. Despite being an active member, unless accompanied by her brother, Ayane is rarely allowed to participate in any scouting or combat-related missions. The main reason for this is her curse. While also a Cursed Blood like her brother and some of their friends, the unnatural causes that led to sudden conversion to a cursed blood caused her condition to be unstable. At the beginning, she was unable to retain her original form and would take the shape of a fox.

After some time and practice, she has learned to maintain most of her former human appearance, leaving only a pair of fox ears to replace her human ears and a tail (not by choice) as an extra ligament. Not only that, some of her internal organs remain similar to that of a fox. Because of this, she is unable to eat certain foods that are potentially poisonous to her (or generally unhealthy). She was told that eventually, if nothing is done, she will permanently take the complete form of a fox. She cannot surgically remove the fox parts as they will simply grow back.

Side-note: No, they did not try or plan to remove her fox ears. The curse replaced her human ears so they cannot remove them without indirectly making her deaf.

Her personality is the somewhat similar to Sound’s, but is far more excitable and outgoing than her brother. Just like a fox, she is clever and witty, which she demonstrates many times during combat. She has a tendencyto steal things without her knowledge. While this isn’t necessarily kleptomania, as objects appear in her hands at random, she still tries get over her childhood habit. She does have a tendency to be reckless, though this is stems from her need to be useful as her curse leaves her unable to perform all of the necessary abilities that is required of a Nors.

Another thing to know is her intense hatred towards cats. Which will be explored at a later time.

As a Cursed Blood, she can take the form of a fox. While the size varies, depending on her emotional state, she is commonly seen to change into the size similar to an elephant. If she performs multiple transformations, she will regress to a regular sized fox and sleep for an extensive period of time. She has been recommended to avoid constantly rely on her full fox form as it will hasten the progression of her curse.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, she followed her brother and joined the same faction as him, but unlike him, did not join as a core member so she did not have to give up her original name. Because of the current state of her body caused by her Cursed Blood, her emotions has unknowingly lead her to become thenext Vessel of Envy.

. . .

Reihana Toelle Ur Kamaria

“Why was I born like this... what did I deserve to be cursed like this!? All I want is to hold someone without fearing I’ll crush them. I can’t be the receiver forever!”

Or Rei for short. Is a member of Mythral and is a second generation Nors. As a floater, Rei rotates between the three factions, but she usually works with Tunera Clypse. Known for her terrifying brute strength, Rei is feared by many and is challenged on a near daily basis. Because of her strength and seemingly indestructible nature, she is (much to her annoyance) sometimes used as a human shield. While she is able to take on an army by herself, Rei tries not to go all out in fear of accidentally killing her allies in the crossfire. In terms of mental maturity, aside from Xavier, she is slightly more competent and is level-headed enough to not participate in childish activities. Most of the time.

Rei prefers to ‘punch first, talk later’ when confronted, though the talking never happens as her opponents is either obliterated or immediately knocked out after one hit. While she can be aggressive at times, she merely acts out on this person's due to the rumors that were spread when word of her curse began to circulate. Those closest to her have witnessed her carefree and adventurous nature. She is also cautious and careful of her surroundings, becoming more thoughtful in the usage of her strength as a result.

As much as she loves the thrill and adrenaline that comes from combat, she prefers not to fight too often. Mostly because it usually leads to unnecessary mass destruction. She craves for proper physical contact, but due to her curse, she forces herself to avoid it as much as possible.

Being the physically oldest, next to Percy, she tends to act like the big sister of the group, which Rei has admitted she finds embarrassing. Still, she works hard in trying to act as moral support for her friends. That doesn’t stop her from losing her temper when a certain line is crossed.

As a Cursed Blood, she is cursed with immeasurable strength. Her strength doubles based on who or whatever is the strongest in a world that she sets foot in. That, of course, excludes Celestial’s as the strength of the divinity is almost non-existent. By default, back in Avarus, her usual strength is enough to crumble an entire building. In other worlds, it depends. To help control and regulate her strength during combat, she uses a large amount of Astral Dust to create form-fitting gauntlets around her lower arm. She was meant to become the Vessel of Wrath but was instead changed to be the candidate for the Vessel of Pride.

. . .

Perseus Vlahos

"I used to believe that being a hero will allow you to cement your place in history. But over time, I learned that the farther in time your name is shared in time, you become nothing more than a mere legend. Or worse, a myth. Stories can be altered, changed. If that’s the case, I’d rather not be remembered at all. I didn’t work this hard just to be written off as a bedtime story.” 

Christened under the name ‘Percy the Naive’ by his best friend, later life-long rival, Wilhelm, he is the current wielder of the legendary sword; Excalibur, and member of Infernum Poncitator. Grandson of Rayner, Percy is one of the few third generation Nors in Avarus. He is a kind young man and is respected amongst his peers (well, most of them) and superiors, so much so that he has been offered the position of leader of the faction. Percy refuses as not only deems himself unworthy, but out of respect for those that have lived in Avarus longer.

He displays many the ideal traits of a knight, eventually becoming viewed as an ideal knight by others. However, deep down, Percy perceives himself as the opposite. He feels he is a dishonorable fraud and is not proud of his status as Excalibur's chosen wielder. If he was given a chance to do it over again, Percy would immediately abandon his decision never search and locate the sword.

After joining Avarus, in a short span of time, Percy was able to easily establish himself as a sort of leader figure within his faction. While serious most of the time, especially during missions, due to his time with other Nors, has displayed a degree of patience and tolerance towards whoever he is assigned. Still, he never forgets their main objective and takes charge if he deems the assigned leader incompetent. Which happens more times than he refuses to count. He tries to maintain a cool head, but will severely reprimand others if the situation calls for it.

Proficient in the ways of the sword, he garnered the attention of (the then Mongrel) Mitchell. He was very reluctant in taking in a squire. But eventually, Percy relented after the younger boy attempted to fight against an Astral and nearly lost his life. He plans to one day pass down Excalibur to Mitchell once he gains the strength to surpass Percy.

At the moment, Percy is the current Vessel of Wrath.

. . .

Noise (***** Rallus)

“I tried all of my life to give my dad a reason why he shouldn't be treating his body the way he did. I tried all of my life to keep my friend in line so I'd never have to be the one to discipline him. And yet... If only I didn't try so hard, they'd still be alive.”

Author’s Note: Yeah I... legit do not know who this belongs to. There’s the artist’s signature so that’s the good thing. Problem is....

After escaping from the confines of his original world, Eingesperrt City, and, with the help Sound, joined Avarus and assumed the title of Noise. Unlike others that were gathered in the past, Noise is a regular human being. Something only Sound knows. Regardless of the danger, he became one of the leaders for Tunera Clypse, later joining Mythral after adapting to his new lifestyle.

He wears one of the Artifacts in order to copy and use only one ability of his choosing. As long as a piece of original user is within the Artifact, Noise can use it for as long as he wants. However, if its been removed and replaced with something else, the previous copied ability cannot be used ever again.

Since his recruitment, Noise adopted an extremely lazy personality. He’s so lazy that somehow even snoring consumes too much energy. To make sure he’s awake most of the time, Sound forced Noise to set up a sleep schedule, so that when he’s ready, he has enough energy to do SOMETHING. However, no matter where he is, he’ll take every opportunity to take a nap. He doesn’t care. As long as he gets to close his eyes, Noise is fine to sleep wherever, even if it involves napping righ at the edge of a volcano.

He’ll get annoyed if anyone that dares try to wake him up and he’ll be in a fowl mood for the rest of the day. The only exception is the fox girl and his lover. Despite this, he displays a certain degree of kindness. It’s just really hard to tell if what he’s doing is truly an act of kindness or he’s just too lazy to do things such as delivering a ‘motivational speech’. He can be blunt when he has to be, and he tends to come off as a jackass rude because of his personality. However, this is his way of showing he cares. Noise will flat out tell you if he dislikes you.

Another thing to know about him is his crude sense of humor. Combined with his blunt and rude nature towards people, mostly acquaintances and strangers, it always leads to various... Misunderstandings. Worst case scenario? A fight. He'd improve if he could, but he won't.

Look, if you haven't figure out that he's lazy after reading all this, gooood luck.

For reasons unknown, despite becoming the next Vessel of Sloth, it remains dormant within him. They thought of extracting it to learn the causes that led up to its current dormant state, but Sound intervened in time as he knew that extracting it by force will kill the the vessel.

. . .

Michael/Raphael/Gabriel/Uriel/Saraqael/Raguel/Remiel/etc

‘Dragons are raised under the false pretense that they are the supreme species above all others. But that merely obscures the truth; the truth that we’re just as vulnerable as anyone else. There are various ways to kill aside from piercing our hearts with a spear.”

Author’s Note: Just so you know, HE’S BLONDE and has green eyes! This was the only option I have that closely resembles how I envisioned him! There was another because he gives off the same atmosphere when you look at him but... he’s from an otome game. And I only learned that recently so, if the same goes for this one? WELP. Oh and he has patches of dark brown scales on part of his skin.

Neither a Quietus Nors nor a resident of Avarus, Michael is a dragon. His version of his race if capable of transformation, but can only change into the form of the last creature they devoured. Whole. Rather than his true form, in order to remain working in Avarus, chose to work in the form of the former Prince of Edrakon, a world where dragons were enslaved and cruelly treated as mere objects. Despite his appearance not being his own, he maintains an intimidating and powerful aura, which is easily distinguishable even within a large crowd.

Due to the high esteem he holds towards his race and his pride as a Dragon, he can come off as domineering, even becoming critical towards other versions of his race if he finds something illogical or nonsensical in their appearance and their abilities. While he does act this way, he finds it absolutely disgusting to find dragons place themselves in a position of power and abuses their power in controlling another species. Another aspect of him is that he looks down on dragons with physical defects, which is mostly directly aimed as himself due to his extremely poor eyesight. Thus, forcing him to rely on his human form to watch glasses. He also has a very confusing naming system; where he changes his name based on the date, time and temperature.

Micheal held the potential required to become a Nors, but because of his age, he was unable to undergo the necessary steps to fully integrate into Avarus. While others are reluctant to have him join their ranks, several others, for different reasons, allowed him to remain. This eventually allowed others to accept his addition to the organization. 

As the one in charge of organizing and handling most of Avarus’ internal affairs, a job the Nors, even the Ex-Anima/Animus, are reluctant in taking up such an important position; he takes his job very seriously. Although he does express some contempt towards humans, this does not extend to the people he works with. He cares about them to a certain degree, which is shown by he constantly reprimands whoever acts risky during a mission.

He is the current Vessel of Pride, something he only learns of later on. Despite the fact Micheal is a vessel, Belial believes this is only temporary. He isn’t particularly close with Belial, but he respects the God enough to follow his orders.

. . .

Ulric Soknawo

'In my tribe, I was considered an outcast. You can thank the unnatural union that birthed me. Now? It hasn’t changed much, but at least I’m no longer considered the runt of the pack.’

Whose other name is Kuckunniwi, is a former member of the Aniwaya Tribe. In their world, his people are Natives who worshipped a guardian Wolf Spirit. According to them, in return for their unyielding loyalty and devoted nature, it granted the people with the power to take the form of the spirit they have worshipped for many generations. So long as they use that power to protect the forest, it shall provide them protection. Ulric is the third, second youngest, illegitamate son of the Tribal chief Tamaska and grandson of Wolfram.

As per tradition, all tribesmen are given two names, one for their human form while the other is for their inner wolf. Despite being allowed to use either name like others of his tribe, he refuses to be use his wolf name due to the meaning behind it. After being discovered by Ayane, she brought and recruited him to Avarus. Ulric is considered to be a Third Generation Nors due the fact his father was (oddly) not born a Nors, or had to potential to be converted into one.

Ulric tends to act like the stereotypical lone-wolf, choosing to remain in solitude and observe from a distance. He likes to spend his quiet time alone, though he does allow others to sit next to him when asked. Many have pointed out that he never smiles, but, as much as he hates to quote Noise, states that if there is no reason to smile, there is no reason to put so much effort in abusing his facial muscles.

As much as he loves being a wolf, he finds certain aspects of his second nature to be... aggravating. Depending on the season and the weather, it deals a the effects his wolf instincts on his human nature. Because of the two separate natures continually clashing, he tends to act irritable and his temper worsens, especially during the night. Ulric holds a strong belief that one’s nature, regardless of your race, should never control a one's personal feelings.

He holds an unyielding loyalty to his loved ones, almost to the point of willing to kill for them if the situation calls for it, but his actions are subtle and tends to be the exact opposite of how he truly feels. Only two people in his life have been able to decipher his behavior, and he cherishes them for it. Ulric has a bit of a temper as well but is able to keep it in check. His temper, however, is what led him to becoming a Cursed Blood. His curse forces him to foresee the deaths of whomever he romantically falls in love (or at least feel an interest) with.

Any attempts at interfering will only hasten their death.

. . .

Xavier Wozwald Hawthorne

'Murderers are dumbasses, always killing because of their unchecked emotions and pented up desires. Hence why most of them clumsily try to hide their crime. Serial killers are more... sofisticated with their craft, but their ego always gets in the way. If they weren’t complete dumbasses, they would have lived a long comfortable life. I should know.’

Note: Yes, this is obviously Vflower. Did I know that before? No. Do I plan to change the art reference? Yes, but only when I find one that’s not a god dang real-life person’s online avatar. XD Seriously, each time I thought I found one... it’s an utaite or vtuber.

Is a member of Mythral and a First Generation Nors. Like Rei, he is a Floater, which allows him to particiate in mission for all three factions. However, he prefers to work with those in Tunera Clypse as, since they mostly handle scouting and recruiting missions. As long as he doesn’t remain in Avarus for too long, he's fine with accepting any mission related to Tunera. Xavier will still accept missions from other factions, but that's merely to fill up his quota.

Despite appearing around the age 12-14; which was not by choice, Xavier is in fact mentally older than most of his fellow Nors. Known for his sharp tongue, Xavier is one of the few known Nors to have been granted permission to travel outworld immediately after undergoing the Ascenscion Ceremony.

Due to the experiences his past life went through, Xavier has a very grim outlook of the world and displays little to no respect towards authority figures. And that includes his current patron God; Belial, which only worsens after being told by the God that he is unable to help Xavier grow into the appropriate intended size. Unlike most Nors, he displays a high degree of critical thinking and intelligent. He is, if not more, level-headed than one of his friends; Percy. Though that doesn’t stop the teasing. While confident in his abilities in terms of combat, Xavier knows the limits of his current smaller body.

In order to compensate, he creates an excessively large scythe as compensation, but he's too proud to admit this.

Because of his level of maturity, he has been labeled as a 'Midget Grandpa'. Which he fails at trying to prove otherwise by collecting certain tthings that are considered out of date by their standards. Eventually, it became a soft of hobby for him to collect such things.

Xavier tends to display a sadistic nature while in combat, choosing to taunt his opponent by constantly pointing our their obvious flaws deficits and toy with them until the last minute. Most times, he will use his child-like appearance to his advantage to further torment his opponent/victim. Comically enough, if his opponent is a cold-blooded criminal, Xavier will compliment and , depending on their actions, congratulate them; much to the annoyance of those involved.

Like Sound, he has both a Physical and Blood-based Curse, but unlike  the latter, Xavier was born with both. His Physical Curse has caused severe permanent scarring on his right arm, making it appear similar to third degree burns. If freed from any type of coverage, such as bandages, his arm will painfully be set a blazed, forcing him to conceal his arm at all times. As a Cursed Blood, Xavier has a similar effect of a Siren, except his hypnotic singing forces someone to commit suicide. Every time he uses this curse, he temporarily falls into a coma.

. . .

Succu(bus) Kilmer

Like her name suggests, Succu is a succubus, but belongs to a different version of her species. Due to being a demon, she is forbidden to reveal her true name. Succu is neither a Nors nor a Cursed Blood. She’s more of an illegal immigrant after sneaking her way into a group of Nors when they were scouting for potential recruits. There have been many attempts in trying to relocate her back to her original world, but she is able to seduce her attackers and slip away. Eventually, Belial declared that she will be allowed to remain as a resident, so long as she contributes in their mission to locate Soleil.

While they do seduce those of the opposite sex, her source of food is not as grotesque as several others. She does seduce her victim, but moves her body in a way that her victims find alluring. Succu will then massage certain parts of their body as a means to relax them. To assure that they will not attempt to escape, she will release pheremones that nulls the victims senses. What she devours isn’t the flesh of her victim nor does she devour their soul, she merely devours the emotions she was able to invoke until her hunger is quenched.

Succu is flirtaceous and very... very.... VERY- Well, you get the point. While she doesn’t flaunt her beauty, she does know how to use it to her advantage. However, despite many approaching her, Succu has only eyes for one, and is willing to wait as long as possible for that person to reciprocate her feelings. Succu, although assertive and open with her feelings, is not the type to force them onto someone.

She does like to express herself by getting physical - very physical. Not the way that you’re thinking, you perverts. She finds it more convenient to allow her actions to talk rather than saying things verbally. Since she’s an outsider, she notices several things that not even Pery or Ulric have noticed, and both are outsiders as well considering the fact they grew up outworld before being recruited. Regardless, she remains silent for the sake of remaining by her beloved’s side.

Succu is often mistaken as the Vessel of Lust due to her nature, and, on her part, finds it’s tiresome to prove that she is not.

Side Characters

Tank Mortem

A former member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral, Tank has been assigned to act as one of the engineers in maintaining the Infernian Generator due to his body’s condition and the issues of his mental state. He seldom participates in missions but, despite being given strict orders not to, joins in anyway. Due to the limits of his mental capacity, Tank has difficulty interacting with others. Quite literally.

Beatrix Staccato

Is a researcher and inventor in charge of the tools and weaponry utilized by most Nors and Ex-Animus. Having taken over most of the unfinished projects since the passing of his master, Beatrix has dedicated all of his time in improving the welfare of the world and its inhabitants. However, most of his experiments tend to be a bit... over the top. If he’s not thinking of new potential products that may benefits the Nors, he’ll make whatever comes at the top of his head, and most of the time it’ll lead him to make the most outrageous and unnecessary items. Beatrix prefers to remain in his lab/home at all times, rendering his social interactions with the three factions to be limited via holographic meetings.

‘Nyx’ Pierrot

Leader of Vanidicus Persona, she is one of the oldest Nors - next to Constantine - making her the default leader of her faction. Much about her is a mystery. Even her behavior can be viewed as... questionable. Not outlandish, that’s Sound’s department. Her behavior is so odd that it’s enough to baffle even Belial. She takes her leadership over her faction very seriously, however, as part of her nature, the requirements in joining and maintaining your membership vastly deviates from the original. However, looks can be deceiving. Aside from her seniority, there is a reason why she was given the position of leader.

Mitchell Pierrot

He prefers to be called as ‘Mitch’ after being told, and proven, by his sister how much of a tongue twister his name is if repeated constantly in a single conversation. While he is the younger brother of Nyx, Mitch opted to become a submember of Tunera Clypse upon undergoing the Ascension Ceremony to be in the same faction as his mentor, Perseus Vlahos. Compared to the Nors in his batch, he is viewed as weak by many as he is unable to perform the abilities that is expected of him to develop after becoming a Nors.

Constantine L. Refrain

Nothing is truly known about him except that he’s a chronic smoker. Nobody truly knows who he is, no one even knows which faction he belongs to. It’s nearly impossible to question these things as he is constantly surrounded by a shroud of - barely tolerable - smoke. All that is known is that he’s been around longer than most of the Ex-Animus. Constantine usually frequints the Silent Siren Bar, staying there for hours until he’s either drunk or needs to receive another pack of cigarretes from Beatrix. He says they’re for medicinal purposes buuuuut...

I’m pretty sure black smoke isn’t normal.

Stefan Mal Sorcier

Is Percy’s second pupil. Although, it was more like Percy was forced into taking in another after his continual refusal to become leader of Infernum Poncitator. Outwardly, he is aloof and always appears smiling, which unsettles Mitchell even when they’re alone. His politeness is found unusual by many and causes others to feel wary around him. Even the dragon finds himself is unable to remain in the same vicinity as the young man. Despite being full of many secrets, Percy accepts him as is and tries his best to teach him all he can, which Stefan appreciates.

Kyline Necro

Considered as the mascot ambassador of Avarus, like the soul that was fused with her upon birth, she mostly lounges around and has little participation in any missions in and out of Avarus. This has caused her to be disliked by many, most especially Ayane. The only person Kyline has gotten close to is Noise; mostly because they share the same favored sleeping spot. On a side, she acts a physician, or surgeon if you like to get technical. She has a strange fondness of picking apart and replacing specific limbs with doll parts.

Yu-Yan Chi Ryou

Was once one of the strongest Nors from Xavier’s batch until he was inflicted by an unknown disease during one of his missions. While there is no name for the disease, it has caused much of his bones to undergo crystallization; rendering him immobile due to the pain that comes from even the smallest of movements. Since he is incapable in participating in any activities, Yu-Yan has since been forced to be confined to a wheel chair for the rest of his life.

Anita Eine Kleine

Is the fighting instructor of the Mongrels and a member of Infernum Poncitator. Anita is a highly-skilled caster, able to conjure and manipulate various elements. She absolutely hates the term ‘witch’, even going as far as to cast a minor curse in making a person temporarily mute if they refer to her as one. Which Sound found rather offensive when he found out about the curse, something she deeply apologized for. She participates in some Scouting Missions but only if personally requested by someone from Tunera Clypse.

Victor Stein

Is Beatrix’s (only living) research assistant. He is the sole survivor of the Night of the Black Moon. Although having physically recovered, the damage to his mental state has left a deep scar on his psyche. He fears yet obsesses over the sensation of pain. There is not one instance where he isn’t found sowing over his own intact skin. While Victor knows his addiction found uncomfortable by others, he finds it extremely difficult to control his urges.

Wolfram

Grandfather of Ulric and most of his siblings, he is an Ex-Anima (or retired Nors) and a former member of the original Mythral. As the more experienced and one of the longest surviving resident of Avarus, he acts as a mentor to those who seek his guidance. However, in terms of combat, his skills are very limited as he has become permanently stuck in his wolf form. The only grandchildren he's ever personally met are Ulric and Seeing, who have both ironically became his favorite. While acting as a mentor, he is rather strict, constantly parting lessons in order to make sure none make the same mistakes he committed when he was younger, many of which he refuses to share.

Diantha Anemone

Despite being still a Liberi, Dia still participates in many activities meant to be done only by Nors. She originally wanted to become a part of Tunera Clypse due to the many adventures imparted by Sound. But after having a first hand experience in one, it traumatized her to the point where she wants to merely work as a Librarian, a position many people avoid.

Echo & Yell

Fellow teammates of Sound and Noise. As part of the four heads leaders that overwatch many of Tunera Clypse's activities, both in and out of Avarus. They mostly take charge of delegating the members while the other two take an active role in leading many scouting missions off-world. Contradicting her name, like Sound and Noise, her personality is the completely opposite. Due to her sociophobia, she is extremely shy and is unable to speak when talked to, only whispering her sentences as she talks. Yell, however, is the only one whose personality fits the mantle she inherited. Due to her curse, she has to raise her voice after every two hours. If not, she will fall into a coma, and she can only be awaken by *************.

Important Figures

Belial

Credits to: @airtrees0507 (Again, another artist who... disappeared from the internet. How do I keep finding refrences where the artist is just gone?)

Is a Celestial and the younger brother of Soleil. However, despite his godly status, he does not have any of the expected gifts. Neither a god of creation, life, or death, he has been given the title God of Void by his peers. Because of this, he is incapable of maintaining Avarus by himself, forcing him to use alternative (and questionable) means in preserving the world his sister created. Like his title, Belial is unable to express emotions, giving blank demeanor. He does, however, hold some semblence of emotions within him. Yet despite this, he has little to no understanding of life, death and emotions. Even after centuries since he over his sister’s role as Patron God, he still has no understanding to all living things, almost to the point of coming off as insensitive and heartless.

Belial has a deep devotion to his sister, having gone through great lengths to make sure to maintain her world and willingly sacrifice the lives of many. Despite knowing her distaste towards such acts, he holds onto the hope of one day finding her.

Soleil

Credits: Um... Lucare Eu??? Sorry, I’m just basing it off the signature. Once again, can’t find the artist themself so...

The true patron goddess of Avarus and the older sister of Belial. Aside from her status as the original creator and caretaker of her world and the life that once flourished within it, not much is known about her. While her exact cause of death is unknown, she was cursed to live an endless cycle of death and rebirth in various worlds. In order to restore the world she created and loved dearly, Belial dedicated his life in searching for her soul and freeing her of her curse. As a Celestial, she was said to have chosen to take the form of her first ever creation and first mortal friend. 

It is said that, despite having blessed with the gift of creation, she was known to be a lonely goddess. Those that new her describe as someone that’s physically there but is spiritually detached.

The Oracle

Is a title given to those with the ability to commune and guide the spirits to the Empyrean Plain, more specifically Avarus’ residences due to the absence of Soleil. The Oracle acts as the divine anchor on the world to aid Belial in prolonging the world’s existence. They are also the main source of Belial’s divine power; both of which are maintained through her prayers. The gender and species of the Oracle is non-specific, but it if preferred by Belial if they are humanoid and have the ability of speech for the sake of communication.

The current Oracle is Aniela Fischl, who, unlike her predecessors, is able to foresee various futures. She does so by carefully peeking through the leylines and selects various possibilities that solely benefit Avarus. No one is allowed to meet her except Belial and her assigned Seekers.

The Seekers

The guardians, caretaker, and acting medians between the Oracle and the residents of Avarus. Their duty is to ensure that the chosen Oracle remains within the Spiral Tower and that he/she fulfills their duty, even going as far as to grant their wish regardless of the consequenses. Each Seeker has only one desire, and that’s to protect the Oracle at all times.

Races

Liberi

Age Range: Birth or 5 to 10 years

Although that is the official term, ‘Mongrel’ is what they are commonly referred as. It is the used for the for the children taken to or born in Avarus. Mongrels spend most of their young lives training within the safe walls of the Aldebaran Academy. They are forbidden from leaving as, according to Belial, they are the extremely fragile during this point of their lives. Regardless of their age, depending on how well they’ve performed in training, they will be given the right of undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. Those who fail are xxxxxxxx xx.

Due to their young age, their behavior is more sporadic than that of a normal child. Their reflexes are enhanced, almost to the point where it becomes difficult to contain them. Mongrels lack common sense so they tend to act out without fully understanding the impact their actions have. While childish and friendly by nature, Travellers are advised to approach with caution. Those who act beyond the expected norm are called Prodigies.

Quietus Nors

Age Range: (Physically) 14-19, (Mentally) 10 or above

Or simply called, Nors. After their graduation, every Nors is immediately sent to work. Depending on the final results of their training prior to undergoing the ceremony/procedure, each is individually assigned into one of the three factions ; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona, and lastly, Tunera Clypse (formerly called Tunera). Those that are assigned to neither of the factions are assigned to more menial jobs alongside the Ex-Animus,

Despite their young minds, they have quickly adapted into their new forms. Due to time becoming almost non-existant in Avarus, Nors age at a rapidly slow rate. Though known to be childish by nature due to the gap of their young minds to their bodies, they dangerously lack empathy and display little to no compassion and remorse towards others. In worst cases, some act selfishly on their own accord. On a positive note, they lack any emotions that may hinder their mission in locating Soleil; such as fear.

Only two of the three current generations of Nors differ greatly from the first:

First Generation Nors - Are those converted or directly born within Avarus with the blood of two Nors. Those born in the first generation share two specific physical characteristics; raven black hair and golden eyes. They all share the same abilities upon conversion/birth, but it depends on the individual which ones they should master. Unless they happen to be a Cursed Blood, they are unable to obtain different abilities to call their own. They are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Second Generation Nors - In terms of personality, they are considered half as bad as those in the first gen. Unlike the previous, second generation Nors are considered slightly weaker, however, they have a better chance of obtaining other abilities outside of Avarus. Their hair is slightly lighter shade of black but their eyes remain the same. They too are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Third Generation Nors - While rare, they do tend to appear once in a while. It’s not exact how one falls into this category. The closest is being the grandchild or who has an anscestor that was a Nors. Because of their circumstances, these Nors are far weaker as they cannot use any of the standard abilities. Third Generation Nors are far difficult to locate as their potential doesn’t surface until they are of a much later age, rendering them incapable of taking necessary training to hone their abilities and undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. They do not share the common personality or physical traits of a Nors. One thing every Nors in this generation share are sky blue eyes, which emit a faint glow when in the dark.

Ex-Animus (or Anima for singular)

Age Range: (Physically) 30 to 40, rarely appears in their early 20′s

Are individuals who are retired from their duties as a Nors. Although Nors generally age at an excessively slow rate (due to the effects of Avarus), after a number of cycles (which refers to the number of batches that underwent the Ascension Ceremony), they will be given the order to retire. Regardless whether they are willing to or not, there is nothing they can do once the order has been issued. Once one becomes an Ex-Anima, they are completely cut off from their original faction and are unable to leave Avarus for the rest of their life.

Not only that, they are unable to defend themselves like they used to as they can no longer control Astral Dust and use the abilities from their time as a Nors,Basically.  Basically, Ex-Animus’ are left to fend for themselves.

Factions

Every Nors is allowed to join any of the three factions; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona , and Tunera Clypse. There is an option to not join any of the factions; they are called ‘Floaters’.

[louiserandom]

I hear someone is taking prompts! How about MadaTobi, for whatever reason is most hilarious to you, getting stuck in a bathtub together.

creativity in times of crisis

Rating: M

Summary: Madara and Tobirama are stuck in a bathtub together.

It’s all their stupid brothers’ fault.

Read on AO3 or under the cut :3

“This,” Madara hisses, “is all your brother’s fault.”

“And your brother’s idea,” Tobirama points out. “Mine just provided the means to carry it out.”

“Nothing you say is going to keep me from killing him with fire and then decapitating him,” Madara growls, testing the restraints, again, though it was pretty obvious after their tenth attempt that they weren’t going to get out of this unless they explicitly complied with Hashirama’s wishes. “And Izuna, for that matter. Who needs brothers anyway.”

Normally, Tobirama would roll his eyes at Madara’s dramatics and jest about the inherent stupidity and crudeness of his statement. Normally, though, he wasn’t tied to Madara with thick, apparently semi-conscious Mokuton vines keeping them back-to-back in a godsdamned bathtub as Izuna’s idea of putting him and Madara in a corner to think about what they’ve done.

They’ve literally done nothing—except shout for a bit, and possibly hit each other a few times, and maybe lead to the partial destruction of the central market with a couple of overpowered jutsu. Such things happen, though, and are easily fixable, as Tobirama knows all too well from his frequent lab accidents. But no, Izuna had to propose locking them up together until they apologized to each other, and Hashirama had to take it one step further and render them motionless.

In a bathtub.

Honestly, Hashirama’s overreaction is bordering on impolite and as such, Tobirama allows himself a bit of self-indulgence.

“Agreed,” he says, “and I’m not trying to quell your homicidal tendencies for once but do leave Anija to me.” Were the Mokuton vines not suppressing his chakra, Tobirama would have flooded the room with killing intent, but for now has to contend with vivid imagery of Hashirama’s suffering as a satisfying anticipation of vengeance. “What I don’t get is the redundancy of cremation and decapitation done in succession.”

“Hm. You’re right,” Madara actually agrees with him. Truly, an event worthy of the history books. “I’ll decapitate him, then burn him with my Majestic Destroyer Flame,” he says cheerfully. “Izuna, I mean. You can have the overgrown tree.”

As if in answer, the Mokuton squeezes them tighter, making them almost wheeze, before returning to its previous state.

“Dumbass Senju!” Madara bellows, as Tobirama utters a heartfelt, “Fuck you, Anija.”

A spark of what feels like derision radiates from the Mokuton before quickly flickering away.

Madara and Tobirama both groan.

“Maybe the Hiraishin can work?” Madara pleads.

“We’ve established that this thing blocks everything save for our sensing,” Tobirama says, sighing in frustration. “Besides, I’ve tried every which way to activate it. Anija is sneaky. He’s an idiot but still a shinobi.”

Tobirama feels the pangs of Madara’s anger as he broods for a few torturous minutes before blurting out,

“I’m still not apologizing first, because that was a dick move that you pulled, and you owe me one.”

“What a ‘dick move,’ Madara,” Tobirama’s voice leaks sarcasm, “to imply that you harbor affection for cats.”

“You didn’t imply shit.” Unable to learn his lesson, Madara thrashes against their bonds once more in an attempt to physically assault Tobirama, apparently. “You all but fucking cooed over me and made fun of me in public, Senju, and you compared me to a godsdamned kitten!”

Tobirama turns out for a part of the ensuing rant, wondering whether this talent of Madara’s to shout continuously for extended periods of time—all in a single breath, too—is an ability inherent to all Uchiha, or just him.

Probably the latter.

“My hair is nothing like that messy, spiky monstrosity on that fucking fluffball,” Madara goes on shrieking, “and I am not cute!”

That marks the end of his rant, and really, Tobirama would take offence if only at the fact that Madara dared call a perfectly adorable kitten a monstrosity.

“Did you really have to resort to fistfights and fireballs to argue that point, koibito?”

“Yes, and don’t you call me that until you beg for my forgiveness,” Madara grumbles, blessedly quieter this time.

Tobirama scoffs. “Deal with it however you wish, Uchiha, I stand by my words.”

Madara growls. “If anything, I am handsome.”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause.

“And beautiful, some might say,” Madara goes on, tone cautious.

“Of course, Madara.” Tobirama wouldn’t dream of arguing; he’s reminded of that fact every day as he awakens to Madara’s lovely smile.

“And… uhm… physically appealing—”

“Just say sexy, Madara. And yes, you are.”

“And,” Madara says, trying to shift against him but only making them tilt stiffly towards the wall, “definitely not cute. Just admit that, Senju, and it’ll do. And—ugh—I can’t glare at you. But know I am, in fact, glaring at you. With extreme disapproval.”

Tobirama can’t hold back a chuckle. “Fine, Madara, you aren’t cute,” he concedes, waiting just enough to hear Madara’s contented hum before saying, “you’re mind-meltingly adorable.”

“FUCK YOU, SENJU!” Madara’s peak volume is music to Tobirama’s ears. “I HATE YOU, YOU MASSIVE DICK!”

Tobirama can only do so much to keep his chuckles from turning into full-fledged laughter, and this finally breaks him. It’s a testament to how truly peaceful their lives have become in this village they’ve build, that they’re an hour into a ridiculous lockdown arguing about the level of Madara’s cuteness—or lack thereof.

Just two years ago, when the interclan war was still raging, this would have seemed impossible.

And yet, here they are.

“Mine’s getting hard,” Tobirama makes for a diversion. “You know it turns me on when you’re pissed off.”

“W-wh-what?”

Tobirama can only imagine the expression on Madara’s face. Priceless.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said, Senju!” Madara moves them an incremental bit again before sagging and giving up with an explosive sigh. “Not. The time.”

“Calmed you down, didn’t it?” Tobirama smirks.

“Fuck you.”

“I’d rather you do that.”

“Then apologize.”

And because Tobirama is never going to apologize for the truth, they both fall into belligerent silence.

“We’ll be stuck here forever, then,” Madara says some time later. “Dick.”

Because Tobirama is a man of his word, he stays silent, knowing his Anija would never actually let them die without food and water, at least. Too bad boredom might kill them far, far sooner.

“D’you think they’ve figured out,” Madara says suddenly, “that we realized we’ve been mistaking sexual tension for killing intent and aren’t seriously trying to maim each other these days?”

Tobirama attempts to shrug, unsuccessfully. “We’ve been careful. And the notion of fighting and liking each other at the same is definitely not something Anija can comprehend,” he laments. “Izuna may suspect something. After all, it would have been more logical to suggest locking us up separately, so we’d cool down quicker.”

“That bastard,” Madara mutters.

“Your brother,” Tobirama reminds him.

“And look what yours did!” Madara accuses in turn, making them sway a little. “I hate everything.”

Something clicks in Tobirama’s head.

“You know what,” he says, “you’re right. I should apologize.”

Ignoring Madara’s confused spluttering, Tobirama looks down to the vines wrapped around his arms and body, focusing all his attention and thoughts on them in hopes to convey what he wants.

“Uh, Anija’s Mokuton?” he starts, noting how the roots seem to stiffen as if in attention. “I’ve decided to apologize to Madara, and I believe it more productive to the, uh, apology process if I am able to do it face-to-face.” Tobirama praises himself for making it sound sincere. “As friends,” he adds.

The Mokuton vibrates with minute pulses of energy, as if considering his words, before unfurling a bit, even as it still keeps their limbs in its chakra-suppressing clutches and rearranges them so they’re sitting cross-legged facing each other.

The shock on Madara’s face is glorious to behold. As is the godawful (but still somehow appealing) tangled mess his mane had become from their scuffles.

“How?” Madara asks.

Tobirama has finally regained his ability to shrug. “Anija did say it’s partially sentient,” he says. The Mokuton sprouts another thin vine that pokes him in the chest, as if to remind him of his earlier decision. “Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Tobirama grumbles, swatting the vine away with his shoulder.

“Do you even realize,” Madara whispers, “how freaky that is?”

“Don’t insult it,” Tobirama chastises him, giving their restraints a worried glance and an apologetic smile. “Anyway, in the spirit of… the Magical Power of Hugs,” Tobirama invokes Hashirama’s sappy notion, “I would also love to be able to hug my.” He swallows heavily. “Friend.”

The Mokuton takes a longer time to think this time. Madara mouths, “Will this seriously work?” and Tobirama shushes him with a glare. Oblivious to the exchange, the Mokuton unceremoniously pushes them together into an awkward embrace.

Then, Tobirama seizes his chance and captures Madara’s lips with his.

They’re already pressed together with almost no space between them, blood still running hot from their fight, and enough hours have passed since their last bout of lovemaking for Tobirama’s arousal to ratchet up to aching in a matter of seconds. By the way Madara moans into the kiss, sliding his hands under Tobirama’s shirt and pulling him impossibly closer, he seems to be in a similar state.

Perfect, Tobirama thinks. Now he has to do is to wait for the Mokuton to process this…

Madara pulls away, almost forcefully withdrawing his hands to grip Tobirama’s shoulders, movements still somewhat restrained by the vines.

…but first, get Madara back on the right track.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Madara demands, breathing heavy and eyes glazed over.

“What does it look like?” Tobirama says, offering a smirk in place of an annoyed scowl. “Apologizing the best way I know how.”

“B-but,” Madara breathes, as Tobirama trails his fingers down his chest, down to palm the obvious bulge in his pants. “Uh. What.”

Tobirama huffs out a laugh. This ability to render his lover incoherent with a simple touch has long since become second nature. Granted, it works both ways, but Madara is, for some reason, much more prone to surprise attacks by seduction.

“Just trust me,” Tobirama says, leaning down to place a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on his lover’s neck, wrangling out a drawn-out whimper Madara would probably never admit to. “If you’d like me to stop, just say so, koibito.”

Madara doesn’t object to the endearment this time, and Tobirama counts that as a clear victory.

Tobirama shifts to place another kiss on the underside of his jaw, making quick work of divesting Madara of his pants so he can give his cock a firm stroke. This earns him a breathless moan from his lover—and no further complaints.

Good.

Madara drags him by the collar into another kiss, biting and sucking on Tobirama’s bottom lip as he fucks into his hand, getting just as lost in the pleasure as Tobirama feels. Hands, hot and demanding, run over Tobirama’s body, tugging at his clothes insistently, soon bordering on desperate. Madara’s cock grows rock hard under his touch, an enticing prize that makes Tobirama’s mouth water. It takes a monumental effort to keep track of the Mokuton that’s still twitching and twisting around their limbs with confused agitation, its grip getting weaker and weaker until—

Madara is busy sucking on one of Tobirama’s nipples, fingers toying with the other, when the vines grow stiff, then totally slack, and yank themselves away to all but fly over to the opposite corner. The motion throws them both off-balance, and Madara ends up sprawled on top of Tobirama as they scramble to untangle their limbs and get into a more or less comfortable position.

“What the—”

“It worked,” Tobirama says, smirking wider as the sound of Hashirama’s wail resounds through every single wall of the mansion.

“MADARA,” the idiot shrieks from somewhere in the distance, “NOT MY LITTLE BROTHER!”

Before Madara has the chance to yell back his retort, Tobirama Hiraishins them both to land on the softness of the futon back home, reeling Madara in to distract him from the ordeal with fervent kisses and wandering hands. Madara doesn’t seem to mind. 

He shifts his weight from hands to elbows, cradling them both with his hair, and deepens the kiss, it seems, with the sole intent of driving Tobirama mad with want. Madara moves with him, cock rubbing against his thigh as Tobirama thrusts back, chasing the delicious friction, his pants too tight, skin too hot, Madara’s touch not nearly enough.

“Good creative thinking back there,” Madara says as they break away for air before meeting once more for another bruising kiss.

“Do I get a reward then?” Tobirama asks, shivering with pleasure as Madara moves to mouth at his collarbone, sucking on the sensitive skin there.

“Oh yes,” Madara drawls, dragging his mouth down Tobirama’s chest to his hipbone with just the slightest hint of teeth. Finally, Madara frees his length, lips hovering over it, teasing, barely touching. Tobirama can’t quite hold back a groan. “I’ll show you how creative I can be.”

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 3

A moppet in distress.

A/N: I have unexpectedly received three days off work (in a good way), so we are celebrating with an early chapter. Enjoy. :-)

Chapter 3

Keep Calm and Panic

The next time he awoke he was lying on his back, resting on something far softer than the stone floor. There was a pillow beneath his head and a thick blanket that had been tucked around his shoulders; He could feel the warmth against his skin even as his body shivered helplessly, caught in the sensation of ice lodged beneath his ribs. There was a weight on his chest, a comforting heaviness that vibrated slightly and eased the fierce ache that still lingered there, and a hand that rested sometimes against his forehead or trailed in idle patterns through his hair. He must have opened his eyes at some point — someone asked if he was awake — but he couldn’t see anything that made sense and let them drift closed again.

Snatches of conversation came to him, broken and disjointed, as if he were walking in and out of a room in the middle of a debate. It seemed like an argument, mostly; Two, sometimes three, voices bouncing one off the other. Other times it was softer, just one voice speaking to him as that gentle rumble rolled on and on. 

Another sensation came and went. A touch that was not physical, warmth that briefly eased the ice in his veins before receding and taking that comfort with it. He both wanted it to stay and did not; Grateful for the gentleness but fearful of what lingered behind it.

He woke up. The rumble was gone and he was still cold. Quiet voices drifted back and forth somewhere not too distant from where he’d been placed. The pain had receded to something more manageable, though he still felt awful, his limbs leaden weights he couldn’t bring himself to move just yet. Not until he figured out what had happened.

His head was pounding like a drum, which didn’t exactly facilitate clear thinking. He tried anyway, uncomfortably aware of how wrong he felt in his own skin. It was like his own body didn’t quite fit him anymore; An inch short of his expectations, the bracelet on his wrist not the comforting weight it should have been, the magic at his fingertips a stronger force than he knew how to control. He felt stitched together, stiff in a way that had nothing to do with the physical, and underneath all of that was the overwhelming, irrational need to run.

Summoning his willpower in the place of any actual strength, he threw back the covers of what he belatedly realised was his master’s bed. That small act took nearly all the energy he had — he certainly wasn’t going to be running anywhere in the immediate future — but he did manage to lever himself upright, freezing when he caught sight of his reflection in the full length mirror on the opposite wall.

He’d never exactly been a picture of health; Pale and with ample bags under his eyes to speak of too many sleepless nights. Right now, there was no colour in his face at all. The slight roundness his cheeks had gained with the advent of regularly available meals was gone, the gauntness that replaced it making him look almost skeletal. The shadows under his eyes could have been bruises, though he had a feeling it would have hurt less if someone had actually punched him in the face. There was a strip of linen tied about his head, stained red where it rested against a wound he did not remember getting, and the tips of his hair appeared to have turned blue.

He touched the coloured edges just to be certain he wasn’t seeing things, the sight strangely familiar and yet utterly foreign, then grimaced at his reflection as his chest throbbed. He raised a hand to press against it as he struggled to remember why it hurt at all. He had a vague recollection of ice encasing his hands, pinning him in place as a glowing red stone was pressed to his chest, flooding him with furious, malevolent magic. He remembered pain, worse than anything he had felt in all his life, and then an awful wrenching sensation as a cooler, softer touch ripped him away from imminent death, leaving pieces behind as he was torn free.

None of it made sense. Not the memory, not the pain, and not the creeping sense that he wasn’t safe here. He couldn’t think clearly around the nonsensical thoughts bouncing back and forth within his skull. He stood up because he felt like he should, then wavered as the room revolted against its stationary existence. Gripping the wall for balance, he waited out the slow rotation of the floor beneath his feet, letting go only once his knees locked and his vision stopped swimming in sickening circles. He made it all of two steps and then lost his balance again, flailing wildly, taking an entire shelf of potions to the floor with him.

The crash was horrendous, and predictably cut whatever conversation was happening in the next room short. He heard and felt the approaching footsteps, blessedly numb to the pain of his own impact, and did nothing to escape them. It was habit that drove the slurred words he uttered when a hand gripped his shoulder and turned him over.

“S—sorry, Master. I’ll clean it up. I—”

“Hisirdoux, I could not care less about the state of my floor right now. Are you alright?”

He blinked stupidly, upright with Merlin’s hands gripping his shoulders, Archie hovering in fretful silence behind the Master Wizard.

“Uh...” That was definitely not intelligible. He raised a hand to touch his head, to try and order his thoughts. It came away damp, a fact that seemed inconsequential in the face of the unknown danger that was making his heart race and his wobbling legs itch to move. But Merlin had asked a question, and it was an answer, even if it was not the right one. “I think I’m bleeding again.”

Merlin made an odd noise in the back of his throat. Hisirdoux couldn’t tell if it was anger or frustration, and wasn’t given much time to think about it. The Master Wizard tugged him to his feet and set him on the edge of the bed before the room could start spinning again. Archie immediately settled in his lap, the familiar not even trying to hide the fact it was to keep him in place. He needn’t have bothered; Douxie wasn’t planning on getting up again any time soon.

It was still so hard to think, and he felt as if he was forgetting something. Something important. His attempts to grab at his skittish thoughts only made his head pound more fiercely, and he was pitching forward before he knew what direction that was, resting his burning forehead against the comfortable coolness of Merlin’s shoulder plates.

“Hisirdoux...”

For once, his master sounded more perturbed than irritated. Irrationally, that realisation had him swallowing around a lump in his throat, desperately trying to still the tremors overtaking him again. He couldn’t really hope to hide it; Merlin was holding him in place, Archie kneading quietly in his lap. He tried anyway.

“Hisirdoux, I need you to focus.” Merlin didn’t try to shift him, letting him stay where he was despite how awkward it must have made seeing to his injury. “I need to know what happened before Morgana found you. Did you go anywhere, touch anything, see anyone?”

“I’ve already told you,” Archie snapped irritably. “We were in your study all day, and I was in the room with him when he woke up. Nothing happened that would cause this!”

“And I’ve already told you that can’t be right. An injury like this doesn’t happen by accident. Someone caused this. You must have missed them.”

“My eyesight may be bad, but I can assure you I would have noticed someone attacking my own familiar!”

Torn black wings and frosted fur. His own voice cracking as grief blinded him for the bare second his adversaries needed to render him helpless.

“We told you you would die for this.”

Ice and fire

Red and blue.

“You should have run when you had the chance.”

Pain. Excruciating, inescapable pain.

He back-pedalled so fast he dislodged Archie right onto the floor, freezing when his back hit the wall and feeling his breath stutter in his chest as his eyes darted frantically about the room, trying to find the danger. It took a long time for the ringing in his ears to quiet enough for him to realise he was being spoken to; Longer still for the words to start making sense.

“Back with us, Hisirdoux?”

Merlin waited until his gaze focussed, then released the frantic dragon he’d been holding in check. Archie approached cautiously, pouncing when Douxie opened his arms in invitation. Holding his familiar close, he buried his face in Archie’s reassuring warmth. He didn’t make a sound when the first sob escaped him. He didn’t need to; Archie always knew.

“Oh, Douxie.”

He could feel Merlin’s weighted gaze on them, though the Master Wizard remained silent, giving them a few moments of precious peace. When he did speak it was with an awkward gentleness that was more rusted than Galahad’s old set of plate.

“You are safe here.” His teacher had made a similar promise, he recalled, that first terrifying night in a castle surrounded by Arthur’s knights. It hadn’t sounded any more reassuring back then. “The tower is warded against hostile magic, and Morgana and I have made sure no one but the three of us can safely get inside.”

“Four,”’Archie chipped in, only slightly muffled by Douxie unintentionally crushing him. “Merlin is right, Doux. No one is going to hurt you.”

“I—I don’t.” His breaths still didn’t seem large enough to fill his lungs, making it difficult to get the words out. “I don’t remember what... what happened.”

“At all?”

It could have been alarm or disbelief colouring Merlin’s words. He didn’t dare look to see, shaking his head by way of an answer. Merlin inhaled sharply, but kept his words calm when he spoke.

“Hisirdoux, I need to examine the wound again.”

Archie hissed at the intrusion. Douxie lifted his head just enough to peer at his master through his messy fringe, the shock of colour there distracting him momentarily before he refocused. Merlin took the fleeting eye contact as an invitation to continue.

“There is dark magic at work here. I need to make sure you aren’t getting any worse.” He offered his hand, movements as steady as ever, and uncharacteristically made another promise. “If it makes you feel better, you can watch what I’m doing. It won’t hurt.”

It had last time. He took Merlin’s hand anyway, forcing himself to sit a little straighter as he closed his eyes, becoming aware of the brush of his master’s magic against his own. The touch was careful, encasing him slowly, Merlin’s bright aura a stark contrast to his own paled, disrupted magic. He felt no danger, no ill intent, just the same gentle pull Merlin had used to guide him through countless other exercises. He found himself tensing regardless, breath catching in his throat as his master’s focus began to drag them both deeper.

“Easy...” Archie’s reassurance sounded right beside his ear. Unconsciously, he tightened his one-armed embrace around the small dragon. “You’re safe, Douxie. I’m not going to let anyone harm you.”

If only he’d been able to return that favour. If only his newfound confidence hadn’t been ripped out from under his feet so quickly he hadn’t had time to realise just how badly wrong things had gone until he was about to be wiped from the face of existence. Stray thoughts, and terrifying ones, because the memories attached to them continued to elude him with the determined agility of a feral gnome.

He would have to sit down and figure this all out later. Once Merlin was finished and he’d rested some more. For the time being, he followed in the Master Wizard’s metaphorical footsteps, slowly taking notice of the various physical sensations he had been doing his best to ignore.

He ached all over, though it had dulled somewhat since his awakening. There was a headache brewing behind his eyes that he supposed was to be expected after whatever hard surface he had introduced his skull to the first time. The knot in his chest was still there, winding itself tighter with every breath. Beneath all of that, beneath every pain vying for his attention, his magic was unsettled, stronger than he remembered it being even as it lay in latent disquiet; A calm lake awaiting the pebble that would shatter its serene face .

That pebble, as it turned out, was his first glimpse at the damage that had been done to him.

He was missing pieces.

He was missing pieces of himself.

What had been a strange sense of displacement was now a crystal clear realisation that he was not whole, dark shadows overtaking his spirit the way a troll’s flesh turned to stone in sunlight. He bolted upright in a surge of pure panic, fingers finding and grasping a vicelike hold of his master’s arms. His chest was hurting again, his lungs fighting for air as panic overtook him. Merlin’s hands closed about his forearms in a mirror of his own position, his master’s lips moving without sound.

The world faded out to a grey vista. For a dreadful few moments, that was all he could see. Sounds began to trickle back in first, his name being repeated over and over in forcefully calm tones that didn’t quite drown out the awful, wheezing noise that was his breathing. Colours followed, blurry and indistinct, slowly gaining clarity until he could look into Merlin’s eyes and see the vestiges of his own panic lingering there.

“That’s better,” Merlin spoke the moment Douxie made eye contact. “You need to stay calm.”

“Calm?” He shook his head, trembling, his magic sparking at his fingertips, seeking an enemy that didn’t exist. “I’m... there’s... What’s wrong with me?”

It came out as a cracked whisper. Merlin surprised him with the vehemence of his response. “Nothing is wrong with you,” he asserted firmly. “Someone did this, but there is no need to panic just yet. I am confident I can find a way to fix it.”

“What if you can’t?” He had to ask, even though he didn’t want to. “What if you can’t fix it? I’m...” Broken. He was broken. Cracked and incomplete. He couldn’t stop shaking; It was a wonder Merlin’s armour wasn’t rattling beneath his grip.

“Then we will find someone who can.” Merlin said it so matter-of-factly it was almost comforting. Archie’s determined rubbing against his side was more so, and he peeled his clenched fingers away from Merlin’s arms to attach them to Archie instead as the Master Wizard continued, “Are you in any pain?”

He answered automatically, “My chest hurts.”

Merlin frowned, bringing his glowing hand to hover over the affected area. Douxie caught himself shying away from the motion on instinct, his breath catching in his throat.

“I mean, it’s fine! I’m fine, no need to—”

“Hisirdoux.”

He cringed, though a strange corner of his mind railed against the reaction. Maybe his chest wasn’t the problem at all; It felt like his skull was trying to split in two.

“He knows what he’s doing, Douxie,”’Archie offered his own encouragement. “Probably.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Archibald.”

“You did set him off... twice.”

“That was the work of whatever nefarious hand caused this, not my doing.”

“I’m fairly certain your bumbling didn’t help.”

“Bumbling? You ungrateful—!”

Laughter bubbled up his throat like scalding acid and emerged as another cracked sob. The conversation cut off abruptly as he tried to muffle the sound behind his hand, before deciding he was too tired, sore, and confused to pretend he wasn’t terrified out of his wits right now. Archie immediately pressed himself closer, purring in that impossibly loud way he did when he was trying to drown out his familiar’s upset. Merlin was a lot slower, sitting frozen, then stiffly slipping an arm about his apprentice’s shoulders.

It wasn’t enough, and Douxie risked rejection to turn and tuck himself closer against his mentor’s side, ignoring the hard edges of the wizard’s armour as he clutched Archie in his arms. Merlin exhaled softly, then brought his other hand up to pat Douxie awkwardly between the shoulder blades.

The warmth of his magic withdrew with the physical touch.

Douxie was still cold.

Headcanon A/N: I am a subscriber to the belief that Douxie's hair colour is due to his magic, particularly as certain scenes where the light shines off the darker parts there is a blue tint to what otherwise appears to be black. (Fanfiction research, everyone. XD)

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Undercover Lover prt 22 prt 1

22

To Eren’s complete surprise he didn’t wind up in bed with Levi at the end of the night. He’d drunk enough to be nicely buzzed, but Isabel had been at the bar with her daughter, who’d taken an instant liking to him. Hanging onto him, Hannah wouldn’t listen to “Daddy Farlan”, or “Mummy Izzy”. The four year old squarely sitting in his lap and deciding they were now best friends. Erwin had been on guard over the whole thing, Farlan cranky he’d been temporarily misplaced, but no one could argue with the logic of a four year old and it was kind of really nice to be a “hero” again, like he’d been to Mina and Thomas.

His drinks had swapped to water, the little girl in his lap talked on and on about all sorts of things until Isabel placed a colouring book in front of her to try to settle her down. That only made her more excited as she asked Eren all about the colours and told him off when he got the names of things in the pictures wrong. Seated beside Levi, Levi wasn’t handling having Hannah being messy beside him. Eren using his arm to keep her from annoying “Uncle Levi” too much. Part of him was jealous. Jealous that Mikasa had experienced pregnancy twice before he’d even found his mate. He’d always kind of gone first to protect his friends, then she’d gone and done the one thing he’d never thought he could do. Seeing her pregnant had been hard, but he’s been so proud of her and loved his niece and nephew fiercely, thinking they’d be the closest thing he’d ever to his own children.

“Eren! You’re not listening to me”

Taking a pencil up the nose, Eren supposed he deserved it. He couldn’t help wanting to watch Levi from the corner of his eye. His body deciding to be extra clucky, except Levi really did seem to prefer some distance between him and Hannah

“I’m sorry, Hannah. I was thinking and it hurt”

“I bet it did. I don’t know what colour to do the dress”

Everything was creatively coloured as it was. The princess in the picture now with blue and green skin

“Hmmm... what’s mummy’s favourite colour?”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“Fair point. What about red? Like mummy’s hair?”

“She can’t wear a red dress! Her skin is green!”

Hannah made it sound like some inexcusable crime. Eren snorting. Kids were so damn brutal

“Okay, what about pink?”

“Pink is dumb”

Picking up the pink pencil, Eren had a feeling that was something someone had told Hannah and not her actual feelings on the colour. Colouring the edge of the dress, Eren shrugged, sounding as casual as he could

“I don’t know. I think it’s pretty nice...”

“I like pink too”

Ah. Yep. There it was

“Then you should colour her dress in. You’re doing a great job there”

Hannah lit up under the praise. All children seemed to become show offs for every single adult that wasn’t their parent. Cupping her hand, Hannah “whispered”

“I know. Don’t tell mummy but she’s really bad at this”

“Okay... I won’t. But I bet mummy tries really hard”

Sighing at how hard her little life was, Hannah was once again brutal

“Uncle Levi says she’s very trying”

Across the table Hanji snorted with laughter. She and Erwin had been talking back and forth until Hanji’s husband Moblit had arrived. The night had gotten pretty late and Isabel and Farlan were bussing tables and cleaning up. Levi banned from helping them in a way that didn’t sit right with Eren. Levi couldn’t help his OCD tendencies, and didn’t need to be ragged on for cleaning things within an inch of their life

“No, honey. It’s Uncle Levi that’s trying”

“The only thing Uncle Levi is trying to do is grow up... Even mummy’s taller than him”

Hanji cackled. Eren finding himself upset that his mate was being picked on. Poking Hannah gently in the side, he frowned at her over her shoulder

“Now. That’s not very nice. Your Uncle Levi loves you very much. People come in all shapes and sizes and that’s okay”

“You can say that because you’re huge”

“And you little missy are tiny...”

Tickling Hannah’s sides gently, Hannah howled with laughter. A gentle explanation was always his preferred to a harsh scolding

“Nooooo!”

Stopping tickling Hannah, Hannah stared up at him. Shit. He really really missed Mina

“Are you okay? You look sad. Sometimes you need to do a big poo when you’re sad”

That sounded like an adapted “getting shit over and done with”

“Did your Uncle tell you that?”

“Daddy did”

“I’m sure he has a point. He’s a smart man”

“He is. But he does smelly poos”

This kid was killing him. Farlan calling over to them from the bar

“That’s enough, Hannah. Finish up your picture, it’s bed time”

“I wanna stay here!”

“I know, but it’s past your bedtime as it is!”

It well and truly was. It was past his bedtime too. Isabel explained she hadn’t been able to get a sitter, but Farlan couldn’t clean up on his own

“You know, even I have a bedtime”

Hannah’s eyes went wide

“You do?”

“Yep. I get up and go to work super early”

“That’s stupid. I don’t want to go to bed”

Nope. Hannah was on the verge of an overtired meltdown. Eren could see it on her face. He’d managed to avoid waterworks so far, time to be distracting again

“If you work fast, we can finish this picture before you do. I’d really like to see it all coloured in”

With Hannah falling asleep against him, the other said their goodbyes while he and Levi waited for Farlan and Isabel to finish up. Erwin was oddly nice when he thought about things. He hadn’t snarked at him once, though he had been on edge when Hannah started clinging to the omega. With Moblit being the designated sober driver, Hanji was hanging off her husband, demanding Erwin come back to their’s for more drinks. Levi sighing as Moblit apologised, but Eren felt Levi was more or less sighing at him becoming a pillow for the four year old when all the alpha wanted to do was go home. His very important job as a pillow rendering them stuck until for a further half an hour where Eren carried little miss Hannah out to the car, so Isabel had her hands free to unclip the car seat and triple check she had everything before Eren lowered Hannah into place.

Left out of the “boys club” Farlan and Levi were having a cigarette together near the back door of the bar. Eren unable to stop himself from shooting a wistful glance at the cigarette he really wished he was having

“Sooo. You and my big brother?”

Not another one... Clipping Hannah into place, Isabel re-emerged out the car, a mischievous smile on her face

“Are friends. I ended up with no place to stay and he took in a stray”

“Mhmm. I might believe it if it wasn’t big brother Levi. He took me and Farlan in, but that was years ago... before he was so... anal about things”

Eren wasn’t touching that one

“Our piece of sh...sugar boss had me training him. We’ve been working together for a few months now”

Isabel crossed her arms, her expression turning serious

“Thank you for looking after Hannah tonight, but if you’re thinking of hurting my brother...”

“Don’t worry, I’ve had the talk repeatedly. No. I’m not thinking of hurting Levi”

Looking him up and down, Isabel snorted a giggle, covering her mouth as she did

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Yeah, no. Don’t worry. I’m not going to pull an Erwin on you. I can tell you’re an okay guy. I mean, Hannah absolutely adores you already, and you were really great with her”

“My adoptive sister has two of her own. I’m the cool uncle”

“I’m sure you are. Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Levi, but I know he’s not going to be happy tonight. He’s not that great at dealing with Hannah’s whims. I mean, he tries, but it’s hard for him with his...”

Isabel gestured, leaving Eren to nod understandingly

“His need for clean? I know. I noticed how he wanted to join in, but kept stopping himself. Thanks for the heads up”

“He really must think you’re special if he’s bringing you around again. He’s been hurt a lot, it’s not for me stay but he stayed with his uncle for a bit, then his uncle up and left him. Sometimes it’s like he thinks we’ll leave him too. He’s a good man. I mean, he didn’t have to help me and Farlan out, but he’s always been there for us. Maybe you can get through to him that he’s okay being himself”

“I’m not sure about that. I mean, he has his quirks, but I think that’s just him...”

“You’re being dense on purpose. Look, he likes you and you like him. Don’t break his heart or Farlan will really break your neck”

“I don’t plan on it”

“Then you’re welcome back any time... though I shouldn’t really say that as it’s not Rod’s territory here and Rod is a total tosser”

“Isabel, the last thing I want to do is cause drama. I know how important family is, and it’s not always blood family that makes an actual family. I don’t want Levi getting caught up in my sh-sugar, and I don’t want anything happening to him...”

Choosing now to start walking over to them, Eren let his sentence trail off. Isabel giggling over it as she smiled brightly. He didn’t need her to tell him not to hurt Levi. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Even blowing his cover was preferable to Levi ending up hurt or locked away. All he could do was wait patiently until Pixis had signed off on the arrest warrants and they could move in for the bust.

Slinging his arm around Isabel’s shoulder, Farlan actually smiled at him

“Thanks for looking after Hannah. I wasn’t sure you had it in you”

Hopefully he hadn’t given everyone the wrong impression with his longing to see his family again. Wrapping his arms around himself, Eren lamented how nice the night was. It’d be perfect for a long ride down to the coast

“She reminds me of my niece... well, and my sister. I haven’t seen them in awhile, they’re not close... Sorry. Anyway, yeah. Thanks for tonight. I was pretty sure either you or Erwin were plotting my death, so it’s nice to know I’m going to be around for a little longer”

Ending with a nervous laugh Eren hoped he hadn’t just ruined all the nights work. Farlan wasn’t giving him anything. Levi put his hand on Eren’s arm, Eren’s heart giving a weird beat as he tried to avoid looking at Isabel who wore a smirk on her face. Okay. He couldn’t do anything about this, but it didn’t have to mean anything if he didn’t let it

“Tch. No one’s about to kill you. I’ll come see you guys soon. We’re leaving, brat”

The “goodbye” felt a little awkward. Isabel smacking Farlan for something the man whispered as they walked away. To make matters more confusing, Levi kept his hand on Eren’s arm right up until they reached the alpha’s car

“You’re right to drive, right?”

Eren cocked his head in confusion

“I can if you want me to. I didn’t think you drank that much”

“I didn’t... you just had a look on your face like you were thinking about something far away”

“Oh, it’s fine. I was just thinking this a nice night to go for a ride”

“You’re not getting on your motorbike after drinking”

“But you’ll let me drive your car?”

Levi huffed, he’d somehow pissed the alpha off

“If you don’t want to drive, I’ll fucking drive”

“No. It’s okay. I don’t mind. You had a pretty long night and I’m the one who had a nap”

Handing over the keys, Levi finally took his hand off Eren’s arm. Levi’s hands carried a certain kind of warmth that he’d been starved of for so long

“You crash my car...”

“Yeah, yeah. Anywhere in particular, or just home?”

“Whatever. Where do you usually go when you go out on your bike?”

“That’s a bit of a drive”

“Then don’t fucking crash”

*

Levi fell asleep during the drive. Eren stopping at a 24 hour service station to pick up a coffee and a tea for the sleeping alpha, before continuing the drive out to the coast. The first time he’d come to the beach had been with his friends, kind of like a last hurrah before they plunged into the world of adulthood. Parking up near the park before the pier, there was a certain kind of magic that came with being near the ocean at night. Leaving the car running and the heater on, Eren took his coffee as he left Levi sleeping, making the walk to the closest bench to sit and think about how Levi’s car needed a new ignition barrel seeing the car was on and the keys were in his pocket.

Their trip to the beach was the last time Mikasa confessed her feelings for him. Maybe he would have felt something if they hadn’t been brother and sister, something that felt almost instant when Mikasa joined their family. Heck, in under a year, he’d gained a sister only a little older than he was, and a new best friend. His mother had adored Mikasa. Mikasa who got the perfect grades and to which everything came as naturally as breathing air. Okay, that might be a little harsh, but it’d certainly shown his mother how much he was lacking.

Stretching out, it was amazing what the mind remembered. He didn’t remember the whole trip. He couldn’t remember who brought them to the beach, but he could remember things like failing hard at beach volleyball ball, and Sasha eating a whole watermelon by herself. Jean had been stupid enough to get a mouthful of water on his forest dive under the waves, their friend Conny laughing hard as Jean complained about how salty it had tasted. He’d known for a long time he didn’t want to be a doctor. When his dad started acting crazy after his mother’s death, he’d honestly been terrified to death at time of his father’s mental instability. Fortunately, all his father’s disappointments fell on his shoulders, not Mikasa’s. One night his father took it too far. He’d driven him out to the middle of the forest and just lost it completely. The fear he felt... he never wanted anyone else to feel it... and with no one having all that much belief in him, he’d turned into a right little shit. How he managed to graduate, he still wasn’t sure. He just knew he had to get out. That there was a world out there, and there were people suffering because no one would speak up for them.

So. He’d become an officer. Mikasa and Armin right there beside him... His Armin... who hadn’t even been able to stand up to bullies. He wanted more for Armin, but Armin made his mind up. By some twist of fate, he had no idea until he was at the training academy that Jean, Marco, Connie, and Sasha had all sort of followed him. Each of them wanting to escape the shit in their lives and not wanting to lose what they had as a group. Over time they spilt up, then came back together, split up again, then came back together when Mikasa and Jean married. Fast forward a few more years and Marco was dead, and there he was feeling sorry for himself. He hadn’t been the best officer. He’d had more than one written warning over his conduct, but he worked hard at his cases the best he could.

Lost in contemplation, Eren jumped as Levi came up behind him

“The next time you piss in a cup, don’t leave in the car”

“It’s not my fault service station tea isn’t to your liking. It cost me a whole dollar. You should be grateful”

“Says the lunatic that’s kidnapped me”

Tilting his head back, Eren stared up at the star shot sky

“You asked where I went. Normally I’d go along the coast, but this is nice”

Other than the waves and the very distant sounds of the port the place was fairly quiet. Shinganshima had hit its housing boom in his teen years, people wanting more and more to live closer to the coast. Thanks development laws, there were still nice patches of coast like this.

Walking around the bench, Levi dropped down next to him, before grimacing as he sipped his tea

“Maybe if you added sugar the taste wouldn’t be so bad?”

“I don’t think sugar can save this piss”

“Probably not. The coffee wasn’t awful...”

“It’s the middle of the night, don’t blame me when you can’t sleep”

“I’ll be fine...”

Tilting his head forward again, Eren looked to Levi as he spoke

“... but speaking of that, are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seemed a little on edge when Hannah was colouring in”

Levi gazed at the lid of his tea, the alpha tensing momentarily, then relaxing again

“I guess I’m not used to kids. I don’t dislike her... she’s my niece... but I don’t know what to do”

“I didn’t know what to do either at first... She kept making me miss my niece...”

“You could call them?”

“Nah. I mean, I don’t want my sister coming down and getting mixed up with Rod”

“Fair call. I didn’t expect you to be so good with her”

“Must be an omega thing. Though, when you look at Mikasa, she’s the one who’s got it figured out. Not me. I didn’t really realise how jealous I was of her...”

There he went, letting himself talk too much again

“You want kids?”

“I don’t know. I never thought it’d be an option outside of adoption. Honestly, Armin is the only one who knew how hard I took Mikasa falling pregnant. She’s always been the best out of the three of us. I sound so pathetic right now”

“I think you earned the right to being pathetic after babysitting most of the night”

Eren snorted. Kids weren’t hard... adults were the tricky bit of life

“She was fine. Like I said, I was more worried about you”

“Tch. It’s about a decade too soon for you to be worrying about me”

“Still... Sorry. I’m probably making you uncomfortable”

A long moment turned to several before Levi replied. The alpha’s voice low, almost mumbled

“I know I’m not the best at human interactions... I also know I shouldn’t let myself be controlled by my need to clean...”

It sounded an awful lot like Levi was about to apologise

“Don’t. Yeah, I might not get it. But I’m not the one in your head being frustrated by it all. You’re okay to act how you need to act. It’s just another part of you. I know I’m not going to be the best room mate but I respect that it’s your apartment and that things need to be a certain way. I want you to feel like you can tell me off if I’ve done something wrong”

Great. They were plunged into silence again. Eren didn’t know how he kept saying the wrong thing. Finishing his tea, Levi leaned right back on the park bench

“I don’t understand what there’s to be jealous about, but you don’t have to judge yourself by everyone else’s standards”

And Levi called him weird...

“It’s pretty bad to be jealous of your own sister...”

“It’s worse to act on that jealousy”

Still. He was. Twice Mikasa had grown this whole other little human in her belly. Twice she’d given birth. Even if he experienced it, he was afraid he’d feel inferior seeing Mikasa had been there and done all that before him

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. I mean, I love my niece and nephew... I just... feel left behind because my dynamic is messed up”

“Tch. You have so little confidence that it’s amazing you made it anywhere in life. Of course you’re allowed to feel jealous. I read some of those sites on beta-omegas and they’re fucking shit”

He’d pushed Levi as it was. He didn’t want the alpha expiring from the embarrassment of showing he cared enough to try work Eren out

“Pretty much. Hurrah! You’re broken, but you can still get on your hands and knees and lick your alphas feet. I don’t want to be like that”

“That’s fucking revolting. Do you know how dirty feet are?”

“Especially ours. Here I was, trying to let you know you can talk to me, and I’ve turned it into a shitty counselling session”

“It’s fine. We make a great shitty pair”

“Us against the world. Wouldn’t it be nice if we just jump on a boat? Sail away like our enemies weren’t out there waiting for us”

“Don’t remind. Rod wants me in Eldia next weekend for some major underground fight. The way he spoke to begin with, I thought I’d have more time. I’ll leave the Thursday night and be back Monday morning”

If Levi was going away, he’d have to find a place to stay. Not that he didn’t have to as it was. He couldn’t very well follow Rod to the fight

“I’ll book a hotel tomorrow”

“Why?”

“You won’t be home”

“Tch. It’s your apartment too for now. It’s fine. Don’t shit on the benches and we won’t have problem”

“What if I shit in the fridge?”

“Then... I don’t know. Fuck”

Eren chuckled. It wasn’t often he managed to confuse Levi into not knowing what to say

“It’s okay, I promise I won’t. I still feel bad you took me in”

“I’m not sorry to see the last of those stairs. Are you sure it’s okay leaving your shit there?”

He wasn’t giving up his lease. He hadn’t really wanted to leave in the first place, it was simply too risky to be caught by Rod’s morons at the wrong moment

“Yeah. I got what was important. Plus, don’t forget those stairs. If Rod wants to break in, his goons have to go up those stairs again. Imagine the effort of trying to rob the place when you have to go up and down. Perfect deterrent”

“They could just toss all your shit out the window”

“That’s not the most comforting of thoughts”

His stuff would be looted within half of an hour of it being turfed out the window. Though, if it had to be stolen, having it stolen by people who actually needed it wasn’t so bad

“I’m not the most comforting of people”

“I don’t think you’re all that bad. Even if I know fuck all about you”

Levi snorted

“Not much to fucking tell. Never knew my dad, then when I was kid, my mum got sick and passed away. I was what they call “heading down the wrong path” when I fell in with Erwin. He knew Hanji and Moblit before I did...”

“I think there’s many people who’d say being a street fighter working for a thug is still heading down the wrong path”

“Probably. Yeah. But when you’ve been fighting your whole life, there’s not that many options open”

“Mmm. Trying being a killer...”

“You’re not a killer... I... I don’t know the situation but I do know you wouldn’t have killed your partner. How do you feel about the police force now?”

He honestly couldn’t blame them for the fallout and eventually all would come out when he was reinstated

“I don’t hate them. None of us can say for sure what happened... I’m okay where I am now... kind of. I mean, things used to be simpler, but I don’t feel like I’m just existing anymore”

Thanks to Levi. Having a friend... He hadn’t realised how much he missed someone who was going through kind of the same thing. Being a different dynamic meant a different point of view, yet Levi was his what helped make work more bearable than it had been

“Shit, brat. You’re being nice. Maybe I shouldn’t have let you drive”

“Fuck off. I got us here, didn’t I?”

“Yep. Bumfuck nowhere”

“Pretty much. Still, it’s different on a bike. We should get you a helmet”

“Or we could not”

Eren snorted. Levi just didn’t get the feeling of freedom at all

“Can we compromise?”

“No. I’ve seen too many accidents... on the news, I mean...”

“That’s not always the case. Look, with Hannah, you don’t have to try so hard. Yeah, kids are sticky and messy, but as long as you’re nice, they’re not that bad. I think she wanted your attention tonight”

“I’m already juggling one brat, I don’t need two”

[howrry]

ice

a/n: finally! i’m settled into skool lyfe and bella is back in business bitch (we love alliteration) here is that full fic of ice i’ve been hinting at :~)

w/c: 4.2k

warnings: this fic has an age gap of about 4 years and one of the characters is an older teenager! this is totally legal where i’m from but if it’s not where you are or it makes you uncomfortable then maybe don’t read this? also smut

***

Waiting for that one Facetime was like watching a huge pot of water boil. It was cliché, but you were running out of mundane things to do since you’d gotten home from uni. Seriously—laundry, reorganizing your soulless childhood room, even fully unpacking despite having weeks to get comfortable. Of course, as soon as you came back, you had your reunion with your parents and other family, but you hadn’t quite reached the seeing-friends phase of coming home.

At least, not until that lovely ringtone hummed through your room and you pounced on the bed, swiping on Gemma’s beautiful face. “Babe!” you cried.

“Hush,” she joked, crunching on a red apple on her side of the screen. You could hear her turn down the volume by clicking the buttons on her phone.

“Are you ready for me, then?” you asked, bouncing up and down on your tippy toes.

“No, don’t want to see you,” she crunched again, “just wanted to call to see how your mum’s doing. Of course I’m ready, twit!”

“Watch your language!” you chastised. “But I’ll be over in a New York minute.”

Getting ready was a rush—at this point you were just ready to get down the street. You shoved your feet into your Birks and grabbed your phone and keys, and once you’d padded down the stairs, your parents merely got a “be at Gem’s, later!” before you slammed the door.

When you got there, it was Harry who greeted you. You’d knocked and waited, since their house was always locked anyways. He threw the door open so fast that his cross necklace was still swinging when he rested his head on his forearm propped up on the doorframe. “Sorry, we don’t want any Girl Scout cookies,” he joked, smirking around his own jab.

“Ha ha ha,” you sarcastically bit. “Move it, Fisher-Price, I’m here for your sister.”

“I had a great semester, thank yeh for askin’,” he smiled, moving back and letting you in. “What about y’self?”

“It was productive, actually. Good to see you again, H,” you responded congenially. Ahh, the smell of your friend’s home was so nostalgic and inviting. It was fall all year round with the pumpkin in the living room, vanilla in the foyer, pine needles upstairs…

“Likewise,” he winked just before you went upstairs to your friend’s room.

Harry had always been a little charmer. Anne raised him to be very polite and he was naturally entertaining despite his introverted tendencies, but he’d always been Gemma’s annoying little brother to you. He always tried to butt into your hangouts with her, as far back as when he was four and you were eight and he wanted to play outside with you two, up to when he was 15 and you were 19 and he tried to buy beer from Gemma.

But soon, things changed. Harry got taller and his voice dropped and his skin got clear, and suddenly he wasn’t just the annoying little brother anymore. He was almost an adult, and he certainly developed a way with girls. The first time you went to see Gem and Harry had a girl over, something you couldn’t describe churned in your stomach. There’s no way Harry didn’t notice the way you cut your eyes when you initially saw her.

Ever since then, he just took a different light in your eyes. Going to Gemma’s house suddenly had double the benefits since you were seeing your best friend and her stupid hot little brother. If she left you alone for any period of time, you’d do anything to get Harry’s attention. He would chat with this amused smirk, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his cross necklace, as if he knew you were subtly pining.

It was honestly kind of pathetic. He was still in high school, and you were in the home stretch of university. You had a potential hook-up pool that was at least five times the size of his and a much better selection, yet you were yearning for a guy who can’t even buy his own cigarettes.

But you didn’t care, and obviously Harry didn’t either. He humored your goofy flirting and gave it right back to you. For the most part, it was just harmless compliments and light schoolyard jabs and never escalated past that, until, well, it did.

You were going to go to brunch with Gemma that day. She’d gotten a part-time job as a photographer’s intern downtown that year, and invited you to try a new café with her. It was the perfect excuse to wear that flowy Free People dress you got, so you agreed.

While getting ready, Gemma called you in a panic. “Y/N! I forgot my wallet on my vanity at home,” she breathed. “Do you mind getting it before coming over?”

“Not a problem,” you hummed, checking your lipstick.

“Thanks, love. My mum left the front door unlocked when she got in this morning so just make yourself at home looking for it. See you soon!” Gemma blew a kiss into the phone before hanging up.

Her front door was open, just like she warned, and you hopped up the stairs to her room. Unfortunately, Gemma was more of the messy type, so finding her wallet was no easy task. Her vanity was covered in makeup and hair care bottles and papers from the previous semester. Where the hell could the wallet possibly be?

“Looking for somethin’?” Harry asked, leaning on the door frame with a Coke can in hand.

You looked up, pushing the hair that had fallen in your face to the side. “Need your sister’s wallet. It’s brunch time.”

“Ooh, bring me back a ricotta toast,” he ordered, reaching into Gemma’s Louis purse hanging by her door and pulling out her black wallet.

“You’d be lucky if I brought back a napkin,” you sneered, taking the wallet from him and going to shove past him.

He blocked your exit and held a hand up to your shoulder. “Wait, doll. Your earring is twisted backwards.” The hand that stopped you trailed up to softly ghost across your face and fix your earring, which must have gotten tangled in your wild goose chase.

Fuck, he was close. You could hear the soft breaths fanning out from his nostrils, his almost disinterested gaze slowly morphing into his classic smirk, and hand not leaving your skin in a timely fashion. His piercing green eyes rendered you stupidly frozen.

And the tension snapped. Within minutes he had you out of your dress and was fucking you into Gemma’s floral duvet. Everything was happening so fast; you didn’t even stop to think about how wrong it was. The feel of his teeth dragging across your neck and the stretch of his cock inside you were really the only things on your mind at that point.

It was rough and quick and dirty (and quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever done) but by the time you two were adjusting yourselves and catching your breath, you were twenty minutes late to lunch. You blamed it on traffic and Gemma didn’t care to push it.

So that’s how it started. It wasn’t anything exclusive, it wasn’t intimate, and it certainly wasn’t something you talked about outside of the bedroom. “The bedroom” being figurative, of course, since Harry and you liked to get it on whenever you had the chance. It wasn’t weird if you ended up bent over a washing machine or on your knees in front of him pressed up against the wall in a hallway.

When you thought about it, like reallypondered in a hot shower, you knew it was fucked up to be doing what you’re doing. It’s not like it was illegal—you just felt like you were betraying Gemma. You were closer to her than anyone else in the world and you were sneaking around with her brother.

He didn’t make it fair, though. He was so poised and smooth and fucked like he wasn’t still in AP Physics. The way he bantered with not only you but his sister and mother was definitely more witty than most boys his age. It only made sense to let him rearrange your guts.

So you had a bit of an internal dilemma. Frankly, if your little affair is well kept from Gemma, it shouldn’t be a problem at all. So you thought.

***

“So, do you have lice or something?” Gemma asked, raising an eyebrow from behind her magazine. The two of you had finally settled into winter break time and were taking turns spending at each other’s houses. Today, it was girls’ night at the Styles’ home.

You froze, one hand ruthlessly digging in your hair. “What? No. There’s just a wicked knot in my hair and I can’t get it out.” It was in the most unfortunate location on the back of your scalp, and your fingers could make no sense of the mat of hair.

“Do you need some help?” she offered, setting down her literature.

You reared back even though she was sitting at her desk across the room. “Gross, you just painted your nails! No thanks. Besides, I think I’m getting it.”

She shrugged and blew on her soft blue nails. “Whatever. I’m getting a yogurt.”

“I want one too,” you hummed, sliding off her comfortable duvet and gently pulling out a few strands of broken hair. A tiny plopaccompanied your feet on the rug and you spun in confusion. The noise was too soft to be a phone, but you still checked that yours was in your pocket. Barely visible in the fibers of the shag rug rested a solid black metallic ring. It was Harry’s.

You stared at it in horror. The ring had been in your goddamn hair. Earlier that day you’d given Harry a blowjob that left him slack-jawed and pink-cheeked and his hands had been so tangled up in your hair that your hair stole his ring. Which just fell out onto the floor in Gemma’s room.

“Is that Harry’s ring?” she hissed, gaze locking on the ring standing out from the white rug.

Oh no. Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck—

“He’s such a twat. Why does he leave his jewelry everywhere? You could’ve stepped on that!” she continued, reaching down to pick it up. “I’m gonna throw it in the trash.”

When she moved to her trash bin, your eyes widened and you squealed a “don’t!” That ring was really nice and you knew Harry would be devastated if she threw it out.

Gemma turned slowly. “Why?”

Your mind raced to think of a good excuse. “Because, if you throw out a ring he wears all the time, he’ll throw out something of yours that youcherish.” You gestured towards her vanity where the Tiffany box sat. She’d just bought herself a necklace for doing so well on her exams and you knew that Harry would retaliate with it.

Your best friend eyed the necklace and then the ring in her fingers. “You’re right,” she finally agreed. You let out a huge breath—there was always the risk of being too weird about Harry and blowing your own cover, but once Gemma ducked into her brother’s room and pinged Harry’s back with the ring, you knew the cover was totally intact.

***

God, you didn’t want to party. The break ended next week and soon it’d be books and schedules and debt again. Who could be shotgunning 4Lokos at a time like this?! Plus, none of the bars were open this day of the week so the only option was a freakin’ house party. What uni students over the age of 21 go to house parties?

But Gemma wanted to, and what she wants, she gets. Though you loved her tenacious attitude at times, all you cared about right now was taking off your revealing top and climbing into bed.

You nursed on straight Coke in the kitchen and absentmindedly watched Gemma go hard. You trusted her and vice versa; she knew her limits but still could have a really, really good time. The men of the party were in awe as she threw back tequila and slapped the bag right after, and even the inside of yourmouth was feeling withered just watching her.

“Hey, there,” you heard from off to the side. You casually lulled your head over to see a shockingly attractive guy. He had thick, dark hair with a sprinkling of light brown freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“Hi. You lost?” you joked, moving to make room on the upholstered bench next to you, where the mystery man joined you.

“Not anymore.” Mm. The faint scent of alcoholic breath wafted to your face but this stranger was keeping his composure quite well. “I’m Russell.”

“Y/N, pleasure,” you hummed, shaking his hand.

He started chatting you up, but to be fair, it was in one ear and out the other. He was clearly throwing words to the wind, and not even his good looks or nice cologne could draw your attention. It wasn’t like Harry, who could entice you with conversations about chopped liver if he so wanted to.

Ahh, Harry. You wondered what he was up to right now. He was probably at a party himself, drinking watery beer and flirting with any bird with eyelash extensions that gave him attention. God, why were you getting so jealous of him? You certainly didn’t owe him any loyalty and neither did he. In fact, if you so desired, you could go out and get laid right now and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it!

Your attention drifted back to the cute boy next to you. Somehow, as Russell droned on about his recent physics prof, you started to see Harry in his features. Certainly not in anything coming out of his mouth, but the curls that flopped down into his face were just like H’s after he’s played footy all day. Russell’s hands had prominent veins on them, just like Harry’s hands when they were grabbing at your skin and smacking your ass. Even the way he toyed with his bottom lip while thinking aloud.

Though H was really the last person you wanted on your mind right now, all these physical thoughts were making Russell more and more attractive by the minute. He wasn’t Harry, but maybe he could be Great Value Harry. You reciprocated his flirty chatter and got touchy with him, and things quickly devolved into kissing in the corner of the kitchen you two occupied.

Things were happening surprisingly fast for how sober you were. You went upstairs with him, you made out with him on a random bed, you undressed each other, and before you knew it he was rolling on a condom and pushing himself into you.

It wasn’t necessarily that it was bad sex. Russell had soft lips that kissed your neck as he thrusted and he certainly wasn’t small, but it didn’t really blow you out of the water. Your toes didn’t curl and your eyes didn’t roll back into your skull. He even lasted a decent amount of time, but once you made your mind up about not getting an O, you kinda just wanted it to end.

Once it did, he got busy falling asleep and you tried to not take it personally (c’mon, it’s pretty taxing for a guy to cum). You tugged your clothes back on and went out to look for Gemma, and of course she was upstairs as well, throwing up into a bathroom trashcan.

“Hey, Gem, how you feel?” you asked, rubbing at her back and tucking your hair behind your ears.

“Better now that this is out of me. Wanna go home?” she mumbled, sighing and wistfully staring at the toilet that she was seconds from making it into.

“Yep. C’mon, I’ll call an Uber,” you said to no one, hoisting a lackadaisical Gemma onto your shoulder and out of the house.

Once home, getting Gemma situated was the most difficult part. Her mother worked late and Harry was probably out, but even without the chance of running into one of her family members, she was still heavy. Her choice to not use her legs at all certainly didn’t do you any favors, either.

When the front door opened and the familiar smell of her abode hit Gemma’s nose, she perked up. It became minimally easier to hoist her up the stairs and into her bed. You did your best to scrub at the makeup that had lasted through her dancing and puking without waking her, but she was so tired and lulled to sleep by her drinks that an earthquake wouldn’t make her stir for at least eight hours. You nodded at the unopened cheap water on her nightstand, reminding yourself to get her a reusable bottle.

Your work was done. Gemma was snoring smoothly within minutes with a clean face and a drink waiting for her in the morning. You got laid, even though you were completely sober, it wasn’t exactly a great dick review, and you’re a 21-year-old who got fucked at a house party. Maybe it was just time to go home and accept the night for… whatever it was. You padded downstairs softly despite the minor coma your best friend was in. Common courtesy, you supposed.

Thump.

Face first into a chest. It was totally dark in the house and you definitely didn’t expect there to be a solid torso in Gemma’s living room for you to bump into. A sharp gasp filled your lungs and the figure reached behind and clicked the lamp on. Harry, of course.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me,” you breathed, slapping a hand to your chest.

“It’s my house,” he grumbled. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you saw his puffy eyes and messy hair and wrinkled clothes. He’d been sleeping.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? I thought you’d be out.” Just seeing him in such a soft state made your lower belly swirl.

He shook his head a bit. “What are y’doing here?”

“Went to a party with Gem. She got too wild so I put her to bed,” you bluntly explained.

Harry pursed his lips, crossing his arms and eyeing you focusedly. “Did you have a good time?”

“No,” you answered quickly, because you didn’t. “I didn’t drink and I had to take care of Gemma and I fucked someone.” That last part fell out of your mouth before you had a chance to think twice.

There were a few beats of a heavy silence and you wondered if you made a mistake. “Did they fuck you good, baby?” he finally asked, no emotion inflecting his words.

You couldn’t have been less prepared for that response. “No,” you whimpered, face getting hot at his critical stare.

“Oh, doll, they couldn’t fuck yeh like I can, huh?” His voice was pure sex—every response he had to you threw you off more than the last. Everything he said just floated off his tongue and danced into the room and onto whosever’s ears they were around.

“No, they couldn’t,” you choked out. You felt like your throat was closing. “No one fucks me like you do and I can’t understand it. I shouldn’t be seeing you because it’s so wrong but...” God, shut up shut up shut up. Your word vomit amused Harry beyond belief. The smug look on his face was making you feel even smaller than his height already did.

“Oh, I know what you’re sayin’, doll,” he laughed. “You wanna do the right thing by m’sister but yeh just can’t. Deep down y’know you’ll always come back to me, hmm?” Harry took a step towards you, and you completely froze. You thought that he was about to bend down and kiss you but he surprised you yet again by snapping a hand up and gripping it around your neck. “I own you, y’hear me?”

You nodded, or at least the best you could with his vice grip on you. Every breath you tried to take stopped short in the back of your throat, and it almost felt like your feet were about to lift off the ground. Your own hands flew up to claw at Harry’s hand before his grip finally softened. A thick gasp sucked in and your legs threatened to not support your body, but he grabbed at you and steadied you. His fingers grazed your quivering lips. “Who’s mouth is this?” he asked, intently staring.

“Yours,” it came out as a whisper. Normally he’d be much meaner and wouldn’t accept such a quiet response, but he was feeling generous, apparently. He leaned down and kissed you, sucking in on your bottom lip and biting the red flesh.

The two of you made your way down to the couch, such that you were straddling Harry and he was cupping at your ass. Your hair kept falling in your faces, but he didn’t care and continued to kiss you and grab at your throat.

He took a break and leaned back on the couch, taking his time to lazily cup at the soft skin behind your thighs. “Mmm, and who’s ass is this?” When you breathed out another “yours” he smacked it audibly. “Goddamn right, pet.”

He didn’t take your shirt off, nor any of his clothes. He lifted you just enough for you to tug your shorts and panties down, and for him to pull his leaking cock out of his dark sweats. You tried to tease for a moment, grinding your bare center against him, but he put a stop to that. “Do I even have t’ask if this is mine?” he growled, assertively cupping your cunt with his big hand. You shook your head and he smirked, guiding his tip up and down your slit.

“Nope, because I know it’s mine,” he whispered, letting you slip his whole length inside your wet pussy. He shoved his hands up the back of your shirt, dragging his nails down the soft skin. Once you’d bottomed out and you were desperately grinding your clit against his pubic bone, he put a hand flat on your chest. “Lean back and ride me, pet.”

You obeyed to the best of your ability. You put your hands behind you on his knees and shifted your weight back, allowing him to fully watch himself disappear into you. The coarse, dark curls at the base of his member lightly stimulated your clit on the downstrokes, making you helplessly whimper while you fucked yourself on him.

“Are yeh sure you fucked someone?” he grunted. “So fuckin’ tight, I just don’t believe it.” His fingers snaked down and played around with your clit, which undoubtedly threw off your bouncing. Your hips begged to stay down and enjoy the circles he was tracing over your button, but he wouldn’t let you. His free hand went to your hip, just above where it bent into your thigh, and guided you to start moving again. “Uh-uh. Keep ridin’ me, love. I know yeh can keep a rhythm, hmm?”

So you kept riding. The pressure of his tip ghosting around your G-spot combined with him stimulating your clit was making it difficult to stay quiet. Sure, Gem was asleep, but she wasn’t dead, and if you made a ridiculous amount of noise, she’d definitely investigate.

“Gonna cum, aren’t yeh?” he asked, and fuck, he was right. That knot was already starting to form in your lower belly.. “I can tell. Yeh gonna let go, all over m’cock? Gonna make a mess fo’ me?”

His words caused you to spill over, and you were no longer able to hold yourself up leaning back. He was very forgiving of this, and let you grab at his shoulders while riding out your high. Once you’d stopped shaking and panting into his neck, he thrusted his hips up into you once, twice, three times and came inside of you with a grunt and some more nail-digging, this time into your thighs.

And then it was silent. You meekly got off of him and shakily pulled your shorts back up. You two quietly redressed, Harry nearly dead from his draining orgasm and you weak in the legs from your sexual workout. The only noise was the scratch of fabric on fabric and your shared heavy breathing. Finally, when you were gathering your things to leave, Harry spoke in his sultry, hoarse voice.

“I like when you come around,” he smiled, and you immediately returned it. It didn’t seem like much, but this was Harry’s way of expressing affection. Regardless of how good he was in bed or how witty and charming he came off, he was still a goofy teenage boy who had trouble talking about his emotions.

A little giggle came out of your nostrils. “Thanks, Haz.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, hmm?” he asked, pinning that unconfident noise at the end despite knowing you’d be back. He was already relaxing, crossing his arms behind his head and lazily eyeing you scramble towards the front door.

“Yeah,” you dreamily affirmed, giving a quick wave to Harry (which he goofily returned) and floating out the front door. “Tomorrow,” you said to the empty street in front of you, toying with your car keys in your hands.

[just-jordie-things]

26, 45, & 68 from the kiss list w richie please

Kiss Prompt #26: Jealous kiss Kiss Prompt #45: Passionate kiss Kiss Prompt #68: A hoarse whisper, “kiss me” ___

Richie and (y/n) had gone to the mall so she could find a dress for Prom.  Normally, she would’ve brought Beverly, and if Beverly wasn’t available, then probably Ben.  But they were both busy (with each other) so she settled for the next best thing.

Richie Tozier.

The boy didn't have a fashionable bone in his body that wasn’t punk or grunge. But the only other options were Bill, who couldn’t even shop for himself.  Mike, who wasn’t even allowed to go to Prom since he didn’t go to school with them. Eddie, who was too critical and probably would have made her cry.  Or Stan, who cared so little that he’d ignored all seven of her calls.

So here she was, walking around the mall with Richie Tozier.  Who, while he didn’t care all hat much about Prom, and already had plans to rent a plain black tux, was eager to help (y/n) find the perfect dress.

“Since I’m going alone, it needs to be perfect,” (y/n) explained, tying her hair up in a messy bun on her head while the pair walked into the first store of the day.  “I’m talking sexy, but pretty enough that it’s not too slutty? Preferably (y/f/c) because let’s face it, it looks great on me, and something that’s long but short enough for me to take off my heels and not step on it”

“Wow” Was all Richie said, picking through racks and holding up a few for her to judge.  “You’ve really thought all this through, huh?”

“Of course I have,” She giggled.  “I’m really excited for Prom.  Single or not” She added the last part bitterly.

Richie rolled his eyes.

(y/n) had recently been broken up with by her boyfriend of a few months, David.  And while David was a dumb fucking troll in Richie’s opinion, (y/n) was still kind of hurting.  Currently, she was in the anger stage.

He could tell, because she was muttering profanities and pushing through dresses on the rack very aggresively.

“Alright alright, let’s go try these on”

Richie couldn’t believe she’d tried on seven dresses, which all looked, as he called them, bangin’, and she didn’t like any of them.

They were at their third store of the day, and (y/n) only had one dress picked out to take to the dressing room.  As bored as Richie would get, and as long as this was taking, he was actually starting to really like it.  He’d missed hanging out with (y/n), which he’d rarely gotten to do while she was still dating David The Dick.

“What?” (y/n) spoke, glancing up to him, and then back at the rack of dresses in front of her.

“I didn’t say anything” Richie shrugged.

“I know, I mean why are you zoning out? What’re you thinking about?” She asked with a small nervous laugh.  

Sometimes Richie would look at her in such a way that she couldn’t explain, and it would make her cheeks go warm and give her butterflies that were hard to stomp away.

“Just glad we could hang out today,” He said nonchalantly, hoping to move past it.  “Been a while”

He went back to sifting through dresses, barely even looking at them his thoughts were so focused on not making eye contact with (y/n) right now.

“Let’s go to the dressing room” (y/n) suggested.

“You only have one dress”

She shrugged, holding it up to look at it, an optimistic smile on her face.

“I’m feeling pretty lucky with this one” She answered.

Richie sat on an ugly but supposedly expensive ottoman outside of the dressing room while (y/n) was trying on the dress.  He’d learned that she had a process.  Three minutes to put it on, zip it up and try not to step on the skirt.  And then five minutes to admire it from every angle she could in the mirror.  Then she’d come out to show Richie, even when she hated it, she liked seeing his reaction.

And after the eight minutes passed, she walked out to him, the skirt of the dress bunched up in her hands so her bare feet wouldn’t step on the material and trip, or worse, tear it.

His eyes noticeably widened, and it was almost comical behind the thick frames of his glasses.  She looked beyond beautiful, she was ravishing.  The sweetheart neckline showed off a little more skin than she was used to showing, and the deep (y/f/c) somehow complimented her entire body.  She’d been right, it was her color.

For once, Richie was silent, and she began to worry because he hadn’t said anything in a full minute.

“I liked it...” Her voice was quiet, and trailed off nervously.

Finally, Richie shook his head, blinking rapidly to come back to reality.

“Y-yeah, yeah, it’s gorgeous.  You look gorgeous,” He said quickly, and she chuckled a bit, that familiar heat rushing back to her cheeks.  “Just- hold on” He stood up from his seat to mess with her hair, taking the band out so it would fall in messy curls around her shoulders.

His hands messed with the locks a bit, combing through them and strategically placing them.

He grinned, stepping back, and dramatically giving her a chef’s kiss.

“Perfecto!” He praised, and she giggled, looking down at herself before up at him excitedly.  “This is definitely the-”

He stopped speaking, and the beam on his face fell, eyes trailing somewhere behind her.

“What-?” (y/n) turned her head to see what he’d stared off at, but Richie leapt forward.

“Don’t turn around!” He said quickly, and her eyes snapped up to his, brows furrowed at the sudden outburst.  “Just- uh- don’t” He continued lamely.

“Richie what the...” She looked over her shoulder anyways.  “Fuck?” She finished angrier than intended, eyes landing on David The Dick himself, accompanied by Lindsay James his rumored new girlfriend.

“I told you not to look,” Richie said lamely, but (y/n) was still sending death glares towards the pair in the store.  They hadn’t even seen her yet, but if she kept on obviously staring at them, they would.  “Let’s just get the dress and go-”

“Kiss me” She turned back to Richie, speaking lowly and hastily.  The boy’s eyes widened as he shook his head at her in shock. 

“What!?” He hissed back.  “Why?”

“Because he’ll see! And he’ll think we’re together and realize I’ve moved the fuck on and don’t even think about him anymore so just- just kiss me-!”

She hadn't even finished her rant when he took her face in his hands and stooped over to press his lips against hers.  Maybe she only wanted it as a favor to prove a point to her ex, but he’d been dying to do it for months now.  might as well take the chance when it comes.

It was a far more intense kiss than (y/n) had assumed he’d give her.  It was no peck on the lips, it was no gentle first time.  It was heated, and handsy, and heavy.

When they parted, her eyes shot open to stare at his, and of course, he was just smirking back down at her.

“Well, you’re welcome,” He murmured, thumb stroking her cheekbone before he dropped his hands from her face.  “He’s looking”

She opened her mouth to say something, but shook her head and closed it again.  Richie Tozier had actually rendered her speechless, and the longer she didn’t say anything, the more it went to his ego.

In that moment, she’d forgotten completely about David The Dick.  Possibly even for the first time since they broke up.  And it dawned on her just how much she’d missed Richie during those few months.

“I don’t care, just kiss me again” She huffed, and he didn’t need to be told twice, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her against him as he kissed her again.

(Not that either of them noticed, but David The Dick was long gone)

“So this is the dress, right?” She panted, her hands on his shoulders the only thing keeping her upright right now.

“Oh, of course,” Richie agreed, nodding his head rapidly.  “You look hot as fuck”

She giggled, but kissed him again nonetheless

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @theydraggedmein!

Thanks for the amazing prompt! You asked for so many of my favorite things I had a hard time choosing and ended up with this. I hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

I Would Love to Love You

According to Scott, or more accurately, Scott’s sources, the gathering is in Colorado this year, on pack land high in the Rockies. It takes Erica and Stiles three hours on the highway from Denver and another forty minutes of winter-worn winding country roads to get to the Miles pack’s cabin, queasily diving in and out of cell reception.

By the time they arrive, Stiles has a cramp in his calf and he’s regretting the red vines he insisted on buying on their way out of the city, but the mountain air is crisp and fantastic. They’d spent the last leg of the drive with the windows down and the heat turned up, car flooded with the scent of pine forest. Erica hadn’t even complained about her hair once.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping around the car to stand next to Stiles and stare up at the lodge in front of them. “It looks like cabin was a bit of an understatement.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, grabbing his duffel and laying a hand on the doorplate. “You wanna?”

“Always,” she grins, and they walk in together.

They step straight from the drive into a room of plush carpets and overstuffed leather couches. The fireplaces at each end of the room are large enough for Stiles to stand in, carved out of pale, mottled marble. Across from them, wide doors open onto a sweeping wooden deck.

“Hmm,” Erica runs her hand along the back of a tufted silver velvet armchair, raising an eyebrow. “How lush.”

“If you say so,” Stiles says, but she’s right. There’s a lambskin tossed over the chair’s matching ottoman. A pair of moose antlers adorn each fireplace, garlands winding around candelabra where they’re draped across the carved mantelpieces. He hikes his duffel bag high on his shoulder and stands up straight. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Erica sighs, and together, they step out onto the deck.

An open meadow ringed with cabins and canvas tents stretches before them. Wood smoke drifts over the heads of the werewolves gathered on the grass. A dozen of them, half-shifted, chase each other in and out of the pines where the meadow bleeds into dense woods at its edges, mountains dwarfing the treetops in the distance. Stiles takes a deep breath in, tasting the smoke and the mountain air.

He’d known the gathering was a big deal but this is beyond anything he imagined. He’s never seen this many wolves in one place before, never more than the ones in his own pack, and Satomi’s. But here, there are hundreds: laughing, arguing, milling around the firepit at the center of the meadow. The atmosphere in the space is sharp and heady, anticipatory.

“I’ve never been to a werewolf summit before, but this definitely looks like one,” Erica says quietly. She’s scanning the crowd, nostrils flaring, shifting her weight to stand slightly in front of Stiles.

He rests a hand on her arm, squeezing lightly. “Yep, sure does. What do you say we find our cabin and get settled in? Then we can get started on making friends and trying to get an introduction to the Joergers.”

“Good idea,” she nods, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. If Stiles is overwhelmed by the sheer number and noise of the werewolves at the gathering, he can’t imagine how she feels. “Let’s do that.”

“Don’t leave yet,” a young man calls from behind them, stepping out of the lodge. “They’re about to announce the first challenge.”

He’s tall and thin, and followed by a girl with brown hair all the way down to her waist. She’s carrying a pile of snacks that she abandons on a chair on her way to them.

“The first challenge?” Stiles turns toward him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” He glances between their blank looks. “I take it you haven’t attended a gathering before.”

“Nope,” Erica says. “So why don’t you explain it to us?”

“Oh, he will,” the girl snorts, ripping open a bag.

“The challenges are a way to show everyone how valuable you’d be as an ally or packmate,” he says, gesturing toward the field. “The participants are assigned a team and sent into the woods to try to steal a talisman from the other teams while defending their own. The last team standing wins. There’s a points system for the players, too, so everyone can—”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupts. “To demonstrate our physical fitness, strategic thinking, and ability to work on a team we’re going to play capture the flag?”

“No — no, it’s not capture the flag,” he protests, flustered. “It’s a traditional territorial defense competition.”

“It’s capture the flag,” the girl next to them confirms, crunching on a pork rind.

“Got it,” Stiles nods slowly. He learned a great many things in his thirteen years attending summer day camp before everything in his life reoriented to revolve around supernatural beings and ley lines and the Nemeton. How to absolutely kick ass at capture the flag was chief among them.

Spending the past five summers turning his spark of magic into a full-fledged flame probably hasn’t hurt his chances any, either.

“It’s not,” the kid insists, but before he can continue, the clanging of a giant bell echoes through the meadow, and as it gets louder and louder a chorus of excited, joyful howls rises up from the meadow in response.

“Werewolves,” Stiles sighs.

++

They’re at the gathering to forge alliances, not to win werewolf capture the flag, but Stiles does anyway, with the help of a small glamor or two to render him silent and scentless as he scrambles through the undergrowth in search of the other team’s talisman.

They aren’t very organized — they’ve only left one person to guard the wooden disk that they’ve tucked in the hollow of a burnt-out tree, and as soon as he’s chasing off after another werewolf, snarling in warning, Stiles slips out of his hiding spot and snags his prize.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” he laughs to himself — what, like he’s going to miss the opportunity for a classic line like that? — flipping the talisman over his knuckles as he goes to slip back into the trees, when he nearly runs headfirst into an incredibly naked muscled torso.

He looks up. The torso belongs to one alpha werewolf, shirtless and surprised. The blue band on his wrist tells Stiles they’re playing on the same team. “You got it?”

“Yep. And I’ll be the one to bring it back,” Stiles challenges. Every hair on the back of his neck is standing up, even though he’s not scared in the slightest — in fact, this guy is way hotter than he is scary, standing there barefoot in the middle of winter with leaves in his messy dark hair, smears of dirt on his arms, along his stubbled jaw. No, this is more like a static charge running up his spine, prickling along the small of his back, warming his cheeks. He shakes it off.

“In that case,” the werewolf says, holding his hands up and taking a step back. “Don’t let me stop you.” He pauses for a long moment, looking at Stiles. The corner of his mouth quirks up in an almost smile, and then he’s gone — turning and running back into the woods, but not before Stiles gets a one last look at him and the giant spiraled tattoo between his shoulder blades.

“Thanks, big guy,” Stiles mutters under his breath, shoving the talisman in his pocket and ducking back into the undergrowth. “But you couldn’t even if you tried.”

++

“Look! I made the leaderboard at the werewolf summit!” Stiles crows over dinner later, kicking Erica under the table and pointing at the wall with his fork.

“Fantastic,” Erica drawls. “You’re camper of the week. But can we actually do what we came here to do? Maybe we can even go home early.”

“Right,” Stiles says, spearing a chunk of carrot and settling in. “William Joerger is supposed to be here, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

Stiles knows this is hard on her — she’s gotten so much better at control in the years since she’s been bitten, but it was a long road for all of them after the rogue alpha tore through town and left a trail of newly-bitten teenage werewolves in his wake. New situations like this tend to still be difficult, even without hundreds of other werewolves in the vicinity.

“I miss Boyd,” Erica says, pouting as she picks at the venison on her plate. “How badly do we need an alliance with the Joergers, anyway?”

Stiles sighs. his isn’t the first time they’ve had this argument and he’s getting tired of it. “Technically, we can live without it. But if we can make a connection with them, we can make a connection with dozens of other older packs that are more traditional and reclusive and can tell us more about the Nemeton. They’re our neighbors and our best bet.”

“I still say we should have just driven up to Truckee and talked to them face-to-face. We could be skiing right now.”

“You know they’re too traditional for that. Another pack wandering onto their territory without a formal invitation? We’d be dead before we made it halfway up the mountain.” Stiles swipes a crust of bread through the sauce on his plate. “Without an introduction, we’re screwed.”

“And now we’re here,” Erica points out. “Playing werewolf capture the flag and eating in a giant dining hall with wolves from dozens of packs in Bumfuck, Colorado.”

“Winning at werewolf capture the flag,” Stiles corrects her, pointing at the leaderboard once more. “Winning.”

++

Stiles should be thinking about finding William Joerger, but instead he’s thinking about the werewolf in the woods when he leaves breakfast the next morning. Why didn’t he try to take the token from Stiles? What was it about him that made Stiles feel like he had touched a live wire? What color even were his eyes, anyway? Maybe that’s why he smashes full-tilt into the girl from the day before as she’s coming around the corner to the dining hall and lands on his ass on the strip of parquet flooring between the rug and the door.

“Hey, grace.” The girl offers a hand to help him up. “You might want to watch where you’re going.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles groans. “Thanks for that. I’m sure this had nothing to do with the way you came around that corner at full speed.”

“Definitely not,” she grins. “How did capture the flag work out for you yesterday?”

“Not too bad.” Recovered, Stiles points at the board on the wall. “That’s me. Stiles Stilinski, McCall pack, from California.”

“Nice,” she says. “I’m Cora Hale, from the Hale Pack. Our territory’s in the Hudson River Valley.”

“So Cora, let me ask you something.” Stiles glances around — except for them, the lodge is blessedly empty — and lowering his voice. “Is it just me or is this whole thing —” he waves a hand toward the meadow, “— slightly weird and totally absurd?”

“You’re not wrong,” she says. “On either count. It’s kind of like… summer camp.”

“It’s a little…odd. That they do this every year.”

“It’s ridiculous,” she agrees. “And old-fashioned, and upholds stupid pack hierarchies. But my brother is a pathetically stunted hopeless romantic and totally clueless, so here I am.”

“He sounds like a real catch,” Stile says dryly.

“Yeah, well,” she sighs, shrugging. “He’s not so bad most of the time but something about the possibility of true mates makes him all… weird.”

“What? Mates?”

“Well, yeah. That’s the whole point of this entire gathering thing — or, that’s how it got started, anyway. Packs used to send their betas to try and find their true mates. Make an offer of courtship, see if a bond flares, walk away married. Now,” she shrugs and gestures around them, the wolves clustered in front of the fire, walking down the hall, two young betas talking quietly in a dark corner. “In theory, they’re here to find mates. In practice, they’re here to find someone to date, maybe formally court. Give the traditional gifts. Definitely to get laid by the end of the weekend.”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Stiles asks. “Everyone else is here to get engaged? We thought — I mean, we’re here to form alliances.”

Cora blinks at him. “Dude, duh. How do you think alliances are formed?”

“I don’t know!” Stiles gestures furiously. “Introductions. Negotiations. Treaties. Ceremonial gifts for allies. Not true mates and courtship and whatever this is!”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. But the oldest and easiest way back in the day was this. Gather over the Wolf Moon, compete in a bunch of stupid games, find someone to bone down, and leave with new packmates and allies. It’s tradition,” Cora shrugs.

“So instead of meeting potential allies and strengthening my pack, I’m spending the weekend at a werewolf singles’ sleepaway camp,” Stiles says flatly.

“It’s more like—” Cora starts to answer, but her voice is drowned out by a sudden chorus of howls rising up from the meadow outside. It sounds like every werewolf in the meadow is joining in as it grows louder and louder, finally coming to an abrupt silence.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles asks, blinking.

“It’s the hunt,” Cora says, and they step outside, just in time to avoid the rush of stragglers hurrying from the dining room out to the meadow.

“What’s the hunt?” Erica asks from behind them. At least someone is focused on the task at hand — Stiles keeps getting distracted by the crowd. There’s what must be a courtship presentation happening behind them, a tall, blond wolf kneeling and pulling an ornately carved wooden box from inside his jacket and opening it to reveal a fine gold necklace studded with rubies. Stiles stares, transfixed.

“This is the stupidest idea we’ve ever had,” he blurts out. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m even doing here.”

Erica laughs at him.“Right now you’re going to go on the hunt, whatever that means. Don’t forget about Joerger.” She pats him on the back. “We’ll figure the rest out when you get back.”

+++

Stiles finally finds Joerger beside a frozen pond, although ‘finds’ is a generous term: Joerger has Stiles cornered, pushed up against a tree trunk, a clawed hand fisted in the lapel of his jacket.

“Hand over your token, honey. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” Joerger leers and snaps his teeth. “Pretty little human like you has to be careful… accidents can happen when you play with wild animals.”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles says. This dude is… something else. “I’m gonna go ahead and keep my token, and pretend you didn’t say that last part. In fact, consider this your chance to take that back.”

The wolf barks out a laugh. “Nice try, human. You’re all alone out here. There’s no one for miles.”

“That’s too bad. I’d really like for someone to hear you beg me to let you go.” Stiles flexes and stretches his fingers, feeling around in the earth for the trees surrounding him. They shudder at the contact, branches rustling, sending a shower of leaves drifting down into the clearing.

“You — you’re the spark,” the wolf says, and lets him go, stumbling backward, eyes wide. “From that mutt pack in Beacon Hills.”

“Yep,” Stiles grins and sends roots shooting up out of the forest floor to twine around the wolf’s shoulders, yanking him down to the ground. He howls in frustration, trying to pull free, but the roots have grown over his arms, tangled around his ankles, woven around his waist. Stiles walks over, ignoring William’s low growl, and slips his fingers into the wolf’s pocket. They don’t need an alliance with the Joerger pack badly enough to put up with creepy predators and speciesist assholes like this guy.

“Thanks for these,” Stiles says, counting the tokens. There are seven gleaming silver pieces cupped in his palm. He pockets the coins and stands, headed deeper into the woods. “See you around.”

“Wait! You’re just going to leave me here?” William shouts after him.

“Oh, but I am,” Stiles calls back. That asshole can find his own way out.

++

Four rootbound werewolves and a handful of tokens later, Stiles climbs onto a granite shelf behind a towering juniper bush — the scent should keep everyone away while he rests — and stumbles into the alpha from the day before.

“It’s you,” Stiles says. His arms break out in goosebumps and his skin feels charged with static.

“And you,” the werewolf agrees. At least he’s wearing a shirt this time — though it’s a henley with thumbholes of all things — but he’s just as barefoot as he was the day before. The alpha gives him an evaluating look. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with the werewolves I’ve been found tied up in tree roots and vines, would you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “And I’m absolutely sure that whoever did this had very good reasons and every one of them earned it.”

“That’s some impressive magic. Whoever did it must be pretty powerful.”

“It’s nothing special,” Stiles shrugs, and tries to shake the weird tense feeling out of his shoulders. “Amateur stuff, really.”

“I guess you’d know. You’re doing pretty well, according to the leaderboard. Amazing, for a human.” The werewolf grins a little, like werewolves do: crooked, predatory, a few too many teeth. For some reason, it doesn’t put Stiles on edge when this guy does it. Maybe because he looks impressed, not hungry. “I’m Derek. You were talking to my sister back at the lodge.”

“Stiles. From the McCall pack in California.” He looks up at Derek. He’s standing very, very close — they never really moved apart after bumping into each other — and looking down at Stiles. It’s intense, like an electric current running through Stiles from head to toe. He wants it to stop, and he doesn’t. “Aren’t you going to try to take my tokens?”

“Like you said before,” Derek says. “I don’t think I could if I tried.” He raises his eyebrows and turns to jump down to the forest floor.

“You’re not wrong,” Stiles says, grinning, watching him go. A strange, unbidden thought bubbles up in the back of his mind: he wants Derek to stay.

“I’d say good luck,” Derek says as he walks away. “But I don’t think you need any.” With that, he takes off running into the woods, and he’s gone.

++

“According to Cora, we were supposed to bring courtship gifts to this shindig,” Stiles tells Erica over breakfast the next morning, slicing into a baked apple half. “Specifically, a crown, a book, and a knife. Apparently big game was a traditional gift way back in the day, but everyone got tired of washing blood out of their clothes and the carpets.” Stiles watches a tall, dark-haired were unwrap a circlet from a fine cloth and present the token in her pale hands. The woman before her smiles slightly and nods, lowering her head to accept the gift — it’s a thin, gilt crown laden with tiny nests and songbirds, pearl eggs nestled in each one. It’s stunning.

“We’ve got one of those,” Erica offers. Stiles nods, thinking back to the illuminated medieval bestiary tucked into their luggage back in the cabin. “Good thing we’re not actually here to court anyone.”

“Yeah, good thing.” Stiles agrees, clearing his throat. “So hey, have you met Cora’s brother?”

“The pathetic one? No,” Erica sips her coffee. “Why?”

“No reason,” Stiles says. “We were on the same team in capture the flag. And I ran into him yesterday, during the hunt.” He pokes at his eggs. “He’s… intriguing.”

“Aww,” Erica grins over her mug. “Does somebody have a little crush?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know him or anything. But, probably, yes. If having a little crush means he sends chills down my spine and I have the uncontrollable urge to fuck him until he cries and spend the rest of the night cuddling, staring into each others’ eyes and naming our future children. Is that too much, do you think?”

“Yes,” Erica says without hesitation. “Definitely. But too much is kind of your brand.”

Stiles laughs, groaning, and rests his forehead on the table. She’s not wrong.

Erica finishes her breakfast, but Stiles goes back for seconds. When he makes it back to his seat with a plate full of apple crisp, Cora’s there, biting into a slice of bacon.

“Good morning,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I hear you’ve met my brother.”

“Yep,” he says. “Sure have.” He’s not sure where this conversation is going, and what’s more, he’s not sure he wants to find out. A shiver runs across his shoulders, remembering the weird, electric buzzing he’d felt with Derek in the woods the day before.

“Erica said your pack is from Beacon Hills.” Something about the way she says it isn’t quite friendly.

“That’s right.”

“Interesting. We’re from Beacon Hills, too.” And suddenly, Stiles’s brain makes the connection — the Hale family, burned to death in a house fire deep in the preserve, his dad coming home during breakfast, smelling of acrid smoke, tired and sad.

“Oh my god. You’re—”

“There’s something you should know,” Cora ignores him, barrelling onward. “About true mates. They’re rare. Rare enough that some people think they’re a myth. But the connection between them is strongest at the height of the full moon.”

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly. “What does that have to do—”

“I haven’t experienced it, but other people in my family have. Or did,” Cora reaches for another slice of bacon. “They said it was like an electric current running through their bones. A ringing in their ears, or a weird humming feeling in their ribcage. Different for all of them, a little unpleasant. But compelling. That’s what a true mate feels like when you meet them.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, heart skipping in his chest. He can barely manage to swallow. He doesn’t know what to say or think, can’t quite wrap his head around what all of this means, doesn’t know how to believe it. “But I’m not a werewolf.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re pack,” Cora says, tossing her napkin on her plate and pushing away from the table. “Come on. It’s almost time for werewolf red rover.”

++

Stiles can’t sleep that night. He washes his face and brushes his teeth, changing into pajamas and siding into bed, but he can’t settle down. Wide awake, the moonlight limning the curtains, he tugs the comforter tighter around his body, blinking at the ceiling and turning to stare at the cabin door. Erica is breathing steadily the next bed over, nothing but a knot of blonde hair peeking out from under the coverlet.

It’s not until just shy of midnight that the restlessness shifts into something else — buzzing under Stiles’s skin, sparking in his mind, tugging him upright and alert. He blinks and he’s at the door, feet shoved into his boots, pulling his coat on over his pajamas, distracted, and he steps out into the night.

The meadow is empty, even the stragglers gone to bed, or gathered around the fires in the hall, he guesses, glancing over at the faint sound of laughter, can see shadows gathered on the couches and heads bent close. He doesn’t care — he’s pulled away by the feeling that dragged him from his bed in the first place. He knows, bone-deep, that what he’s looking for isn’t in the hall.

The wolves are out running tonight, except one: Stiles barely see him, but the thrumming at the base of his skull tells him it’s Derek, hovering at the edge of the forest, and waiting for him.

++

Stiles gently rests a palm flat against the pile of logs, focuses on the rough bark on the tips of his fingers. He thinks about warmth and light, a welcoming hearth. He exhales a slow breath in a cloud of frost, and when he opens his eyes, a crackling campfire leaps to life. Stiles takes a step back, shaking out his wrists.

“Thank you,” Stiles says to the fire, rolling his shoulders, stretching his neck. He realizes, coming back to himself, that Derek’s never seen him do this before. He chances a glance over his shoulder.

Derek’s not looking at the fire at all. He’s focused on Stiles alone, gaze surprisingly soft, awed. “Stiles,” he says finally, “that was…”

Stiles laughs uncomfortably. “Ha ha, yeah. A fun trick, huh?”

“No,” Derek insists. “No. That was amazing. You’re… I’ve seen magic before. But I’ve never seen anything like that. You didn’t have to do anything, you just — How did you learn to do that?”

“A little bit of inheritance, a little bit of luck, a little bit of necessity… It’s kind of a long story,” Stiles hedges, rubbing at the back of his neck. He’s so sick of blushing every time he talks to Derek Hale - it’s fucking embarrassing. He seriously can’t wait for this stupid gathering to be over.

“I’ve got time,” Derek says, the barest hint of a smile on his lips — more like a quirk, Stiles thinks. Not quite a smile.

“Well,” Stiles huffs out breath. “When we were in high school a few years back, my best friend was bitten. It was a rogue alpha, and the local hunters were kind of useless and more trouble than they were worth, so we had to handle everything ourselves. It was a complete and total disaster at the time, but at least we all survived.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Crazy, right? Then, after that, it turned out that the alpha had bitten someone else, too, but he had turned into a kanima. So the laughs never stopped. At least that time the local emissary decided to help us. I was supposed to trap the kanima with a ring of mountain ash all the way around an old warehouse. But he didn’t give me enough. I still had twenty feet left to go, too. So I closed my eyes and imagined that there would be enough, that I could keep everyone safe, just this once.

“And it worked. When I opened my eyes, the circle was complete. I shouldn’t have been able to — I didn’t have any training, and there really, really wasn’t enough. But it worked,” Stiles says. “And we lived.”

“That’s incredible,” Derek says, staring at him, and Stiles feels a tingling sensation shoot from his shoulder to his fingertips. “Usually magic doesn’t just manifest on its own like that.”

“Turns out my mom might have known a thing or two about this,” Stiles admits. “When she was still alive. But I’ll never be sure. After that happened, though, I started working at it, trying to be useful. Pull my weight a little.”

“So you’re in a pack?” Derek asks.

“Kind of. My best friend Scott is alpha of the pack. I hang around with them a lot, but they already have an emissary, so.” Stiles shrugs. “I’m sort of the spare.”

“But you’re so powerful,” Derek says abruptly, sincerely. “You should be a second, at least, if not an emissary.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles says, flushing. “Thanks, I guess. I’m still learning how to control it.” He clears his throat, desperate to change the subject. “You’re from Beacon Hills, right? Cora said.”

“Yeah.” Derek’s expression darkens. “And I’m never going back.”

“Well, big guy, I can’t say I blame you.” Stiles adjusts his jacket, tugging the collar up. The humming feeling still hasn’t gone away. “You’ve got plenty of reasons to stay away.”

Derek looks at him. “You know what they are?”

“Some of them,” Stiles admits, grimacing uncomfortably. “I’m the Sheriff's kid. I know a little more than I should about a lot of things. But I know enough to know that what happened to your family probably wasn’t an accident.”

“It wasn’t,” Derek says, voice gone cold. “I trusted the wrong person. I was young and inexperienced and lonely, and she took advantage of all of those things to manipulate me and murder my family.” He looks away, into the fire. “She’s dead now. My older sister, my uncle, Cora and I went to live with family in New York. A couple years ago, she tried to come out there and finish what she started. She was unsuccessful.”

Stiles watches him in profile. “I understand. I’d kill anyone who even came close to hurting my dad. He’s all I’ve got.”

“She’s one of the reasons I’m here now,” Derek says, picking up a twig and tossing it in the fire. “I need to know I’m with the right person. Someone I can trust.” They sit together in silence for a long moment, listening to the hissing and spitting fire.

“I think I might be able to trust you,” Derek says finally, and stands, offering his hand. Stiles slides his fingers along Derek’s palm, grasping his open hand, and as he does, the low buzzing crawling under Stiles’s skin the entire night erupts.

“Do you feel that?” Stiles whispers, because he can’t feel anything else. It’s like there’s a swarm of wasps trapped between his radius and ulna, an electric current lighting up his bones, a resonant note vibrating through every muscle and tendon holding him together.

Derek inhales sharply, leaning closer. “I feel you,” he says, and when he kisses Stiles, when their lips finally touch, Stiles gasps, because all of it stops.

Everything is still and silent, except for the slow drag of Derek’s mouth on his, the soft sigh of his breath against Stiles’s cheek. His hand slides up Derek’s arm to weave his fingers through Derek’s hair, palm the nape of his neck. Derek slips an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“Derek,” he gasps out, pulling back for air, “I want—”

“Yes,” Derek nods too quickly, “yes, anything.” And Stiles shuts him up with his mouth, shoves his hands under Derek’s shirt, fingers skating over muscle and skin.

“Fuck,” Stiles says. “Fuck, you’re so…” He trails off with a groan as Derek kisses down his neck, bites where it meets his shoulder, pushes his jacket off.

“You too,” Derek mumbles against his skin. Stiles runs his fingers along the waistband of Derek’s jeans. “You’re perfect.”

Stiles hisses out a breath as Derek pushes him back, pins him against a tree trunk, fitting their bodies together. He bends to kiss Stiles’s throat, scraping with his teeth. Stiles tugs Derek back up to kiss feels so good — Derek pressed up against him, warm and wanting, his hands roaming over Derek’s body, kissing deep and desperate. Stiles dips his hand down the back of Derek’s’ pants, grabbing handfuls of his ass, and Derek shudders against him.

“Is that okay?” he asks roughly, panting a little. Derek’s slightly breathless, too, his eyes half closed.

“Yes,” Derek says, “it’s okay,” and he grabs Stiles’s wrist, moving his hand to press up against the hard, thick line of his dick, clearly visible through his tight jeans.

“Oh my god,” Stiles manages. He scrambles to open Derek’s fly, shoves his own pajamas down to his thighs. “Yeah, come on—”

He groans when their skin touches, hips rolling against Derek’s, his dick bumping against Derek’s hip. Derek groans into Stiles’s shoulder. “Stiles. You smell so good.”

“You too,” Stiles says, like an idiot, but he can barely focus on anything other than the feeling of Derek’s dick touching his, trying to get a hand around them both, trying to keep his eyes open so he can watch. He spits into his palm and slicks his hand over the head of Derek’s dick, hot and smooth, and it’s that much better — the friction turned to a smooth glide as they find a rhythm together. Derek’s got one hand tangled with Stiles’s, wrapped around them, and one cradling the nape of his neck. He drags Stiles into a deep, filthy kiss and pulls back, resting his forehead against Stiles’s, watching their bodies move together, their hands, their dicks, and Stiles is — overwhelmed, feels so fucking good, is not going to last.

“Stiles,” Derek gasps again, and he’s coming all over both of them, hips jerking as he thrusts hard between them, and Stiles is following right after, crying out against Derek’s neck. There’s come all over his hand and his shirt but he doesn’t care, catching his breath while Derek leans against him, warm and sweaty and perfect.

“Now what?” Stiles murmurs after a while. Derek pulls away slightly, frowning.

“That depends,” Derek says slowly. “On what you want. There isn’t exactly a direct flight between Beacon Hills and Cold Spring. You have your pack, and I…” Derek trails off, sighing. “Mates are more important for werewolves than humans, even humans in packs. I can manage.”

“Do you… Is this not something you want? To manage,” Stiles asks. He doesn’t know Derek well enough to read him — yet, he tells himself, clinging to hope — but he seems reluctant. Resigned.

“I want to be with you,” Derek says quietly, gently squeezing Stiles’s shoulders. “But I don’t know how that works.”

“Me, too. I want that, too.” Stiles says hurriedly, but Derek just looks at him. He has to convince Derek he’s serious about this, but he doesn’t know how. “Wait… Wait. Just,” he grabs his coat off the ground, shaking off pine needles and shoving his arms in the sleeves as he turns. “Stay here.”

“Stiles, what —?” Derek starts to ask, but Stiles is already taking off back the way they came.

“Just, trust me! Stay there. I’ll be right back,” he shouts over his shoulder. It only takes him a few minutes to run out to the rock outcropping where they stood the day before.

He crouches next to a dense, thorny plum thicket. It’s an old one, he thinks, reaching up to trace a finger along one of its branches. It’s dormant, hibernating for the winter, exhausted and satisfied from a long summer and fall of flowering and bearing fruit.

“Hey there,” Stiles says. “You’ve earned your rest — your flowers this year were so beautiful and your plums were so delicious and perfect and juicy. I know you’ve got a long winter ahead and you need to save your strength,” he touches the end of a twig, the tip of the tree’s newest growth. “But I need to ask a favor.”

He walks back to the clearing carefully a few minutes later, and finds Derek sitting by the fire again, waiting for him. He walks past the fire and straight to stand in front of Derek, who’s looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right, and I might be making a lot of assumptions here, but. Derek Hale, I ask you to allow me the privilege of your time and courtship.” Stiles drops to one knee, and offers up his gift: a crown of spiny branches, woven together in a single circle, laden with buds and the smallest most fragrant plum blossoms, a riot of bright yellow stamens at the center of each.

The moment’s stretching on a little too long, and Derek’s just looking at him, in that way he has — unreadable and far too intense. Stiles is starting to sweat a little — he can feel it cropping up under the collar of his coat — which suddenly seems like a stupid choice, his back so close to the fire, far too hot.

“Thank you,” Derek finally says, quiet and solemn, his fingers tangling with Stiles’s where he grips the crown. “I accept.”

Stiles watches, stunned into silence, as Derek rests the crown on his brow. It should look ridiculous on him, but it’s not — it’s perfect. Derek looks like a beautiful and wild thing, flushed from the heat of the flames, like a wolf on Beltane, eyes full of the fire of new life. Something deep in Stiles’s chest twists at the thought, a single word rising up in his throat as he desperately tries to swallow it down: Mine.

“Good,” Stiles says instead. “That’s good.” He grins, backing up a few steps and dusting his hands off on his thighs.

“Yeah,” Derek says, smiling back. “It is.”