#gifts of luxury... long drag of cigarette...

[deamare]

♡ ˚· @crookedorel asked:

For all that he knew that she attended the Academy, Ishtar was shockingly difficult to find. Though Berkut could have conceived that this was deliberate, there was a part of him that feared the worst, that being unable to see a woman of her demeanor was the sign of a collar about her lovely neck with its leash pulled tight. When he did see her about town, it was on the arm of a man – rougher than he'd expected, the grime of a life lived and the eyes of a predator – and there bristled in his gut an indignation so foul that he excused himself from the soiree he had been attending and stormed into a nearby jeweler to make the commission. It took a few days until he saw her again, but by this time he had ascertained beyond shadow of a doubt what day it was. "Oh, excuse me," he said, not meaning it, as he stepped into the couple's path, glancing sidelong and dismissively at the man before inclining his head to Ishtar. "I had learned that it was your birthday, so you will have to forgive this interruption," he continued, tone indicating wholly that he did not think there was anything to forgive as he took the box from beneath his cloak. Inside lay nestled a finely carved and crafted drop chain pendant of opal with orbiting black tourmaline. He was never one to believe in the innate qualities of magic that lay in the world around him, but neither was he fool to doubt the powers that coursed through his own blood, through hers – if the wards within these stones held, then perhaps Berkut might have been convinced of magic's grace. "If I may," Berkut said, taking the chain in gentle hands and depositing the box in the hands of the other man before sweeping it about her neck delicately. "A perfect fit," he added, tucking one of her hands into his to bring to his lips for a gentle peck. "If you find yourself about town – without companionship – I hope that you will seek me out."

Wide-eyed, Ishtar blinks her surprise at the intrusion, though to her it's just a few steps short of such. The same may not be said of her company, though little room is given for him to express any such thought as Berkut carries on.

"You..." Surprise at his presence has shifted now to surprise at circumstance. How he had learned is beyond her, but she does not find a breath to ask. Eyes alight upon the presented gift, and for the second time still her emotion takes another shape.

Familiarity straightens her spine, renders her silent as cool metal comes to rest at her collar, heavy where the gemstone weighs against her sternum. Pale eyes drift after his hand, watch from somewhere faraway as it takes her own.

It isn't his intention-- cannot be-- but there is a chill that sinks beneath her flesh that her body has not yet learned to forget. Ishtar meets his gaze, recalling the way he had spoken to her once so long ago. He is kind, she decides, and affixes her features with a gentle smile.

"Thank you for the gift," careful to dance around his last remark, to keep her attention on Berkut and not let it wander to him. Fingers fall away, still warm where they were last touched, and move on marionette strings to lift her skirts so that she may dip into a curtsey.

"I will be sure to treasure it."

Only when he has turned to leave do her fingers wander, absently, to the pendant itself. She watches him go, waits for the chill on her skin to leave with him, and finds that it remains long after he has disappeared.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

A Game of Light and Shadows

Sebastian Solace x Reader

Simple pleasures had become a luxury for him a long while ago. Something as simple as lighting a cigarette, relishing the rush it gave to his tormented mind, the flickering flame of his golden lighter creating a playful display of shadows on the walls.

He took a long drag, enjoying the peace of his own company. A semblance of normalcy.

Sebastian was balancing a book in his other hand, his esca glowing enough for him to read. The pages were not in an enviable condition, having survived various disasters before haphazardly ending up in his little makeshift shop. "The Count of Monte Cristo". How ironic. How fitting.

Perhaps it offered a distorted form of comfort. A fragile hope that the wrongfully accused hero could indeed escape his prison and reclaim his destiny. A spark in darkness. And yet, cruel fate had made him unable to withstand proper light. Was he truly condemned to the underworld forever?

A familiar noise in the corner of the room. Sebastian had become so accustomed to your little "visits". His darling little nuisance, his silly little spark, haunting him in the depths.

You stood there in the penumbra, a sly smile gracing your features.

Your inexperience had transformed into skill, your fear morphing into bitter courage. You had become so confident, so strong. He had made you into such a magnificent creature, all according to his design and his plans. He would have you one day.

"Low on supplies, babes? You know the rules, take what you need and leave the required payment. Forgive me for not being a gracious host today."

"Actually, I am here to offer you a gift. Something to thank you for being my guardian angel."

"Is that so? There is no such things as gifts, babes. What do you want?"

You simply approached him, holding up a little bag for him to see. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to perform whatever trick you had in store. To his surprise, you produced a little package of ground coffee and two mugs.

"I did notice you have a water boiler here, so I was thinking that maybe we could enjoy something nice and warm together. How does that sound?"

So silly. The hopeful spark in your eyes, the sweet tone of your voice. Even after all the hardships you had endured, and all the changes you had undergone in order to survive into a proper warrior, that tiny bit of whimsy remained. Sebastian could not help but grin, tapping the ash from his cigarette into a nearby tray.

"Despair is a terrible thing, you know. It makes you seek the company of monsters. Loneliness pushes you into the arms any wicked creature in the vicinity, just to feel some sort of comfort."

"Oh, come on, Seb. Don't be so dramatic and have some coffee with me. Is it so outrageous that I simply wish to be your friend? Please? Just a little cup of coffee with me? You can show me what you are reading, as well."

Sweetling, creature of daylight. If moths were attracted to the light, were butterflies attracted to darkness? Perhaps he should indulge your request. It would be one step closer to his web, having your loyalty at his disposal.

He finished his cigarette and placed the book down, taking your bag. A few minutes later, his lair had the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air. How domestic, how lovely. Perhaps, when all was over, he could make this bliss a reality with you. He could build a home with you.

You made a happy hum as you slowly sipped on the warm drink. It did wonders for the senses, awakening and sharpening them. You were about to compliment Sebastian's coffee-making skills, but you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms pull you upwards onto his lap. You felt warmth in your cheeks as Sebastian placed a clawed finger under your chin.

"Now, babes, how about we do some reading together, hm?"

He reached for his book once more and adjusted his position, making sure to continue having his arms around you. You made yourself comfortable, listening to his soft purrs, embraced by his soft darkness. A gentle kiss was placed on your cheek and your neck. You were happy.

[freelancearsonist]

Hold Me Like a Knife

Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Rated MA for p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, smoking/nicotine use, excessive drinking, characters not knowing how to handle emotions properly (same), ANGST [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

6,003 Words

A/N: thank you to the lovely @shakespeareanwannabe for being my ever faithful beta reader ily 🥺

Smoke disperses in abstract swirls from Joel’s parted lips, the tang of nicotine making his taste buds prickle. It’s been a long time since he’s been afforded the luxury of a cigarette and this first drag makes him think he might not want to pick the habit back up, after all. But you worked hard to find these for him after he mentioned he missed having a smoke, and he’s not one to let a gift go unappreciated. Especially now that gifts are off the table.

It’s become routine at this point. Waking up in the middle of the night; reaching for you, realizing all over again that you’re not there anymore; ruminating on what’s happened, how he’s taken you for granted. At least he has his cigarette to keep him company.

There’s no chance of going back to sleep for him–it’s 4AM anyway, close enough to a full night’s sleep. He takes another drag and decides it’s not as bad anymore. He just needs to get reacclimated to it.

He only allows himself to savor half the cigarette before he stubs it out in the ashtray on the nightstand–another gift from you–to save for next time he needs it. He wants to make this pack last; he doesn’t care as much about maintaining the habit as he does about having any little piece of you he can.

Two hours later, he’s bathed to the best of his ability given the stunted resources in the quarantine zone and ready for another day in hell.

He didn’t hate it nearly as much until he started working with you again.

When you see him you wear the same soft smile you always do, nodding your head in greeting as if nothing is wrong. His face remains flat as he nods back. Nothing he can do but play along–pretend you were never his to lose in the first place. After all, if you haven’t heard his heart fracturing into a million pieces by now, you never will.

“Either quit starin’ or go over there and talk to her,” Tess tells him sternly. He immediately snaps his eyes away and tries to shoot her a glare, but he’s a bit too embarrassed for it to actually land.

“M’not starin’,” he grunts.

She actually almost cracks a smile at his denial. “The hell you’re not, you look like a lost puppy. Why don’t you talk to her?”

“She ain’t interested in talkin’.”

“Bullshit. That’s all she wants.”

Maybe Tess is right. Maybe he’s the one who’s afraid. He’s not going to admit that, though.

“If she wanted to talk to me, she’d come talk to me.”

“You probably scared her off.”

Joel slams his hand against the wagon bed, startling everyone within a ten meter radius except Tess. “That’s enough.”

“Touchy.” Tess rolls her eyes but backs off nonetheless, not interested in poking the bear any further. 

Joel lets it go and turns his attention back to his assigned job for the day, mentally preparing himself for another night of washing the stench of death from himself and his clothes. Normally, you would do it for him without complaining. Now it’s just another addition to the list of efforts he didn’t appreciate enough while he had you.

Even though he dreads the consequences, he allows himself to become completely preoccupied with his work in a way he normally wouldn’t. It’s a reprieve from the constant swirling of his mind, from the overthinking that keeps him up at night or invades his dreams when he finally finds rest. 

The day is over far too soon, and then he’s back in his little apartment with nothing but his own mind for company.

His mind hasn’t been a friend lately.

He looks around and everywhere his dark amber eyes catch, he sees you. You sprawled on the worn couch underneath a threadbare blanket, you swaying your hips to the rhythm of silent music in the kitchen, you casually dropping the towel wrapped around your naked body to the floor as you step out of the shower and lure him down the hall to the bedroom.

He wants to crawl into a deep, dark pit when he remembers what he said and how he chased you away. Your only sin was introducing him to someone as your man, and he played like he was upset about it because that’s not what this was ever supposed to be. There had been an agreement, in the beginning, that feelings wouldn’t be involved. It would be you, him, separate, occasionally helping each other out. 

It so quickly turned into you and him, so inseparable you were practically living together. Neither of you even tried to stop it despite the agreement. And Joel was fine with it, liked it even. Until it was put into words.

Because he’s not supposed to be anyone’s. He’s Joel Miller, and he’s not deserving of belonging to anyone; including himself.

He didn’t mean to push you away. It was more out of instinct, an inborn urge to self-destruct.

The instinct has won, because he feels like mere pieces at this point. Like you’ve taken a sledgehammer to his heart repeatedly, which really isn’t fair to you. Space was his decision–you didn’t even fight it.

With a third of whiskey in his hand and an ache in his jaw from having it unconsciously clenched so long, he slumps down on his time-worn couch and begins a long night of rehashing mistakes and feeling bad for himself.

It could be so easily fixed if he just swallowed his pride. It’s a competition of will at this point–a game to see who can survive without the other for the longest. He hates that he’s losing, that it’s not affecting you; that even though it was his choice, he’s the one who’s suffering the most.

He must spill his drink–although he can’t find where it possibly could’ve been spilled, everything around him is dry–because it’s gone within a few minutes. He allows himself another glass as a reward for surviving a particularly shitty day.

When he comes to in the morning, there’s a pounding in his head so loud that it drowns out any other sound he might hear. It takes him a moment to realize that the pounding is on the door–then he processes how blinding the sun is coming through the slats of the tattered blinds precariously hanging over the window.

Joel pushes himself up from the couch with a grunt and stumbles a little, nearly falling right back into place. He curses himself for becoming such a lightweight as he stomps his way over to the door and throws it open.

“Jesus Christ, you reek,” Tess chokes, pushing past him to make her way inside. “I’ve only been knockin’ for ten minutes, what the hell were you doin’?”

“Sleeping,” he tells her with a pointed glare. It doesn’t ruffle her at all–it never does.

“Missed morning shift,” she notes. “How much you have to drink?”

“Not enough.”

“Alright, that’s it,” she tells him with a sigh. “It’s time to stop with the pity party if you’re not gonna play the hand you’re dealt. You know how stupid you’re being? She wants you. You want her. Two words’ll fix the whole thing and you’ll go right back to bein’ the disgusting little lovebirds you are. Apologize.”

“No,” he insists without thinking it over. Because he knows she’s right–he owes you an apology. And he also knows you’ll take him back the instant he delivers.

Which is exactly why he can’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve another chance to take you for granted. He didn’t appreciate you enough when he had you, and you deserve to find someone who will. Asking for another chance would be the most selfish thing he’s ever done, and Joel Miller is not a selfish man. 

“Then drink yourself to death.” As much as Tess plays at being frustrated with him, he’s never seen her this legitimately upset. “I’m done cleanin’ up for you. You’re acting pathetic, Joel Miller. Get yourself together or get yourself over.”

And before he can stop her, apologize, beg, plead, do anything besides bite his tongue in pure shock, she’s gone. The slam of the door rings through his head for a good minute longer than it should.

All he can do is slump like a sack of potatoes onto the couch, his center of gravity off balance from the weight in his heart and the churning in his stomach.

It was never supposed to be like this; it was never supposed to get this far. You were supposed to fight him, demand he stay, do anything to make him feel like you really want to be with him. Instead, you acquiesced without resistance. You listened to his offer of space and accepted without hesitance. Almost like you were looking for an out.

That’s what hurts most, maybe. That you can still afford to smile at him like nothing ever happened between you when he feels like he’ll never smile again.

He knows he can’t lose Tess over this–she’s the only friend he’s got and a damned good business partner. He knows it’s time to clean up his act. What he doesn’t know is if he actually can without you by his side.

Baby steps. He decides to start by showering and changing his clothes; the freshness should make him feel astronomically better.

He lets the limited hot water run over his sore muscles and through his hair, trying to wash away memories of you along with the dirt and grime. 

He thinks of long nights spent sneaking out after curfew–his pack heavy on his aching shoulders but barely feeling it when you’re so near. He thinks of nights in this apartment together, hours and hours spent reminiscing and planning new trips and even more hours spent in comfortable silence. He thinks of you on your knees in this very shower with him, of how he felt akin to a god beneath your praise and worship. 

He lets the thoughts swirl for just a moment, and then he watches as they trickle down the drain.

A towel off and a change of clothes later, and he’s almost a new man. The hole in his chest has shrunk a bit, at least.

One deep breath, then another. Joel can almost feel you slipping through his fingers, and for once the sensation doesn’t terrify him. There’s a quiet solitude, a resignation to his mind now. He’ll never be happy, and that’s okay. He might at least be able to find peace if he can’t have you.

He finds Tess and apologizes–at least in the best fashion Joel Miller can manage. It’s a grunted “sorry” and not much more, but it’s enough.

And then, because he has nothing else to do with his free time, he throws himself completely into survival. Working long shifts at the fires during the day, and even longer shifts as a smuggler at night. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepen and his hair grays rapidly, but he finds a way out. He finds a way away from you, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it.

Somehow, you beat him to Jackson. He doesn’t know how–he’s sure you were still in Boston when he left–but you’re waiting there for him when he arrives.

Waiting maybe isn’t the best way of putting it; you look at him like you’re looking at a poltergeist. Not just a ghost of your past, but a volatile and unpredictable one at that.

He can’t blame you. He ditched you, after all–not just emotionally, but physically.

You observe from afar for a while, like a timid animal meeting its first human. You watch his reunion with his brother, how he seems to fit like a puzzle piece into such a tight knit community. You even see him interacting with the young girl he’s brought along with him, and you wonder if he’s changed. If maybe he’s allowed his heart to open even just the slightest fraction.

The whole of Jackson gathers to greet this newest member, and you’re on the very edge of the crowd. But it’s like there’s an invisible string connecting the two of you—like the sea of people parts to make a path for your reunion.

Joel doesn’t know what to say. It’s been so long, and yet it feels like just yesterday he still had you in his arms.

You nod at him and awkwardly shuffle your feet against the cracked pavement. ”Hey.”

”Hey.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for you.

You don’t show the same restraint.

In mere seconds you’re on him, arms around his neck and lips pressed to his like he’s air—like if you don’t breathe him in you’ll die.

He grunts in surprise at the suddenness, but more at the fact that he can’t believe this is happening. That you’re really here, really in his arms, really kissing him.  He doesn’t know if it would be better to talk through everything first, but he’s missed you so badly that there doesn’t seem to be another way to communicate it other than to show you. His hands settle on your waist and pull you tightly against him, lips parting to allow your tongue access. It’s harsh and it’s frenzied, but it’s beautiful in the way a force of nature is.

And then you remember the prying eyes surrounding you and you reluctantly pull out of his grasp.

There’s a bit of muffled conversation and a particularly loud wolf-whistle from Tommy before the crowd disperses, and you’re alone together for the first time in more than a year.

”Sorry—“ “That was—”

He clears his throat, and you nod in signal for him to take his turn.

“How did you get here?”

“It was a fluke, really. I caught a radio broadcast and decided to check it out. The QZ didn’t feel like home anymore after you left.”

Joel tries as hard as he can not to read too far into that, but he can’t help the fleeting hope that it means you wanted to fix things. That maybe you weren’t as unbothered as you always seemed to be.

You clear your throat and continue. “But… what about you? Who’s the kid? Where’s Tess?” 

”I’m takin’ the kid to the fireflies. Tess is gone.”

Your face falls instantly. You’ve admittedly always been a little bit jealous of Tess and her closeness to Joel, but you never wished this upon her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Joel grunts noncommittally, and you’re left to awkwardly shuffle your feet while you think of something else to say. You’ve spent so much time apart, there should be so much more to talk about. But even in the QZ, talking was never your speciality—and it definitely wasn’t Joel’s. More than anything with him, you’re familiar with the comfortable silence that surrounds two people who’ve spent a lifetime together. Your lifetime with Joel just happened to be over the span of a couple of months; but that’s how it goes with someone who matches you so completely. There doesn’t have to be anything said when he already knows what you’re thinking—when you’re two parts of a whole.

”Sorry. About kissing you. I… I’m normally better controlled,” you mumble.

”Don’t be.” He clears his throat, shifts his feet—does everything within his power from making eye contact with you because he knows if he does he won’t be able to stop himself. “Wasn’t bad.”

”We did agree we weren’t gonna do that anymore,” you point out.

”That was back in the QZ.”

”And here?”

The hope in your voice is unmistakable. You’ve missed him, and that’s almost impossible for him to comprehend. Joel wants nothing more than to lean into your hope; to give you—and him—exactly what you want. You’ve missed out on so much time, and there’s little time available to make up for it.

Fuck it, he decides. “Here? I’m pullin’ my head out of my ass.”

And then he kisses you, and it’s not sweet. It burns—with passion, desire, regret. He presses his lips to yours like he’s finally realizing what he’s lost and might never get back. Joel Miller isn’t a man who can say sorry easily, but he says it to you now with his lips, and his tongue, and his hands.

It feels like you’re learning him all over again. You marvel at how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are as you run your palms across them. You revel in the softness of his lips and the contrasting scratch of his patchy beard. More than anything, you’re in awe of the feeling of his hands—how familiar they feel even after so long as they trail down your neck from your face on the way to your hips.

You pull away sooner than you want to, but you both seem to realize that you can’t just snog in the middle of the street. Most of the crowd has cleared out by now, but there’s a few sets of wandering eyes to worry about.

“Tommy didn’t happen to show you your house, did he?”

Joel’s brow furrows in the most adorable way as he suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings. 

“I have a house? Is that where he’s taken Ellie off to?”

“C’mon, follow me.” With a wave of your hand, you’re headed down the street. Joel stands frozen in disbelief for a moment, utterly dumbfounded that you’re really here and really still want him the way you used to. He has to jog the few steps to catch up to your side, and then every ounce of effort goes into not grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.

You clear your throat in preparation for the question you have to ask. “I… I swear I don’t want to push labels or anything, but… what exactly is going on here?”

Joel sighs, and it’s easy to mistake it as a sigh of annoyance. You open your mouth to expand on your question, but he stops you.

”I made a mistake. I know it, I knew it while I was makin’ it. But I didn’t stop myself because… because you deserve better.”

You open your mouth again, and he holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t argue. You know it’s true. And the thing is… I’ve spent a lot of time bein’ selfish, if fightin’ to survive can be called that. You’re good, and I don’t deserve to be selfish when it comes to you.”

”I want you to be selfish,” you insist as firmly as you can. “Joel, you don’t seem to understand how much I adore you, how much I rely on you. How much it hurt to lose you.”

He tries to shrug, but it’s half-hearted. There’s a kind of sick satisfaction to the fact that you were struggling just as much as he was. ”You seemed fine.”

”I was dying, Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now, and he feels guilty for insinuating that your pain wasn’t real.

”I was, too.”

”I just wish you would’ve talked to me,” you whisper. “I could’ve made it better. Things could’ve been different.”

”But they aren’t.” His tone is firm, but not malicious. He’s not trying to be mean—all he wants is for you to understand that there’s no point dwelling on the past. It’s something he’s learned over twenty years; that no matter how hard to focuses on all the mistakes he’s made and the things he regrets, there’s no way to undo any of them. No point in focusing on them at all, really.

”I… I miss you,” you tell him. “I don’t wanna keep going to bed alone and waking up wishing you were there. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends with benefits or whatever the fuck we were supposed to have been. I don’t want to lose you over any more stupid arguments. I loved you, Joel. I still do.”

Joel swallows thickly. He’s known for a long time how he feels, and he also knows he doesn’t deserve to feel the way he does. Telling you might be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. ”I love you too.”

”Then can we… stop being stupid?” There’s a giggle behind your tears, and it brings the smallest of smiles to his face.

”Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He kisses you again, pausing on the steps of the house he’s supposed to occupy so he can pull you tightly into his arms. This one is sweeter, almost like a promise. Like he’s going to be a new man and this is his seal of authentication.

He scoops you up in his arms despite your squeal of protest, barely pausing enough to read the note on the door.

Took Ellie on a grand tour. We’ll meet y’all at dinner. - Tommy

You glance at your watch, then look up into his eyes. He’s thinking exactly what you are; his dark eyes are burning with tension. ”A whole hour of pure uninterrupted bliss. What’re we gonna do with ourselves?”

”I’ve got a couple ideas,” Joel grunts as he pushes the door open with his back, careful not to jostle you too much. “Startin’ with makin’ up for lost time.”

This time, he kisses you like you’re unbreakable. Like he’s diamond and testing your hardness, and you’re determined to meet his standards. You meet his lips with ferocity and take the initiative to slide your tongue over his bottom lip, reveling in the slight uptilt of his lips as he parts them for you.

You’re still in tune to his reactions, even after so long. You still know exactly where to pull his hair to make his hips buck towards you, where to kiss his neck to make him moan, where to place your hands so he’ll pull you impossibly tighter against him. He’s a puzzle you solved long ago, and even after taking the pieces apart you know where to put them back together again.

Joel’s head is all but spinning as he pulls you deeper inside, ignoring the urge to explore the unfamiliar surroundings for now in favor of finding a place that’s suitable to take you. He’s feverish and hurried, far from gentle because he knows he doesn’t need to be. You’re taking everything he’ll give and more. Later, there will be time for the gentle love-making that he admittedly prefers sometimes. For now, it’s desperate, wild, overwhelming in the best way possible. It’s getting reacquainted after so much time apart—old lovers using old tricks.

His hands have gotten rougher and even more calloused, but they remember you like it’s only been days since they were last on you. His palms trace every curve like you’re precious art. He holds you like water, like the slightest mishandle will send you spilling away from him; in complete contrast to the way he kisses you, harsh and nearly biting. It fogs your mind, sends you into autopilot. Your muscle memory takes command as you strip him bare and toss his clothes to the side, appreciating how little he’s changed besides the length of his hair and the extra gray that’s sprouted. He’s still your Joel, even after being apart for what seems like a lifetime.

”I never appreciated you enough,” he whispers into your neck as he unhooks your bra with a snap of his fingers. “Never worshiped you the way I should’ve.”

”I’m not a god,” you tell him, breath heavy even after parting from his lips.

”You are to me,” he mumbles into your skin, contrasting the honeyed praise with a stinging bite to the precise spot that makes your back arch.

He trails gentler bites down the flesh of your torso, leaving marks that contrast his statement. Gods aren’t meant to be owned, and yet he claims you in every way he can. He lays on you any little trace of his possession he can, because he knows how easily it could be taken away from him. He lost you once before, marks faded from your skin completely. He doesn’t ever want it to happen again.

The scent of you is heady, mouth-watering to a mind that was so sure it would never have you again. He knows he’s pressed for time, and he really does consider taking all of it to drink from you; to get his fill and leave himself unsatisfied if he has to.

But you’re whining and squirming, tugging at his hair in a feeble attempt to pull him up to you, and he knows he’d much rather give you what you want.

You’re wet enough to take him, but it’s still nearly painful when he pushes his full length into you for the first time in so long. He growls at the sensation, at every little pulse and flutter of your cunt around him as you struggle to accommodate him.

Your breath is airy and whiny as you glance up at him. ”Joel…”

”I know baby,” he coos, fighting for restraint so he doesn’t hurt you. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it pretty girl, can’t you?”

You would take literally anything so long as he keeps talking to you like that.

You nod up at him, but it’s not enough.

”Words, honey. Tell me you can take me.”

He doesn’t miss the way your cunt contracts around him as you vow, “I can take you, Joel.”

”Atta girl.”

He starts off easy, slow enough not to overwhelm you but deep enough to nearly make you choke. His hips are flush with your ass at the base of every stroke, like he’s trying to push even further with each thrust of his hips. Maybe he is. Maybe all he wants is to get deeper and deeper until there’s nothing left out—until you’ve consumed him completely. He already feels halfway there as it is.

Your legs wrap around his waist in a desperate attempt to que him in on what you need—not long, languid strokes but hard, fast thrusts that’ll get the job done quickly. There is a time constraint to factor in, after all.

He grants your wish instantly, glad for the invitation because he’s finding it hard to continue his facade of self-control. He ruts hard and fiercely, one hand trailing from your waist to your knee so he can prop your leg up and allow an even deeper angle.

With the slightest shift of his hips he finds it—the spot that makes you writhe and scream for more. He revels in all the noises you make for him as you toss your head back and forth, like the pleasure is so overwhelming that you want to squirm away yet press closer simultaneously.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbles as his free hand finds its way between your entangled bodies. It’s almost like you’re magnetic, his fingers find your clit so easily. The small, firm circles he rubs against it with his calloused fingers are almost too much, but also almost not enough. Not until he picks up his pace, drilling into exactly where you need him with a fervor you didn’t even know he possessed.

It takes all the effort you can muster to warn him, ”S-so close…”

”I know sweetie,” he purrs, breath heavy against your ear as he shifts his hand to hitch your leg just the slightest bit higher over his hip. “It’s okay. Let go f’me.”

You’re nothing if not obedient, and Joel knows it. It’s only confirmed by the way you squeeze around him in a vice grip, legs shaking in his grip as your eyes practically roll back in your head. It’s bone-shattering pleasure, like he’s pulling you apart stitch by stitch and sewing you back together again with newer, more pleasurable fabric.

He’s quick to pull out, maybe a little prematurely as you’re still twitching with the aftershocks of your own orgasm, but even his pleasure-addled brain knows the risk he runs if he stays buried deep inside you any longer. He gives himself two, three firm strokes, then allows himself to spill over your stomach in thick, hot ropes that make you moan all over again.

He doesn’t hold himself up much longer before collapsing on the too-soft mattress with a heavy grunt.

”Missed this,” you murmur next to his ear as he drapes an arm over your waist. He pulls you in close and hums at the way you nuzzle your face into his neck despite how sweaty he must be.

“How much time we got left?”

You take a peek at your watch, then groan. “Five minutes.”

”Shit.” He’s not ready to let you go yet, but he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed anyway.

”We could just skip dinner,” you suggest with a hopeful pout to your lips as you stretch out further over the floral bedspread.

As much as he wants to… “Can’t. Gotta grab Ellie. Can’t leave her alone all day.”

”You must really care about her.” There’s no malice to your tone—it’s more surprise. 

He simply grunts in response—he’ll never admit it, but he can’t deny it either. “C’mon. Clothes on.”

He gathers the pile from the floor and tosses it to you, practically burying you where you lay.

”Forgot how bossy you are,” you grumble but follow the instruction nevertheless.

It’s a little awkward, sitting across the table from your lover’s family like your legs aren’t still a little weak from being so thoroughly fucked. But Joel’s hand is a constant on your thigh, and you even catch him smirking a little as Ellie grills you with a million questions—mostly about your relationship with Joel. 

For once, everything feels normal. For once, you forget about the crumbling world around you. In this bubble with Joel, everything is stable and secure. There’s a future on the horizon and a chance to write your own story.

You drag Joel back home at the soonest opportunity, patiently biding your time while he settles Ellie in for the night. You hear heated conversation bordering on an argument, but he doesn’t say anything about it when he enters the room for the night.

Instead he drags you to him in a heated kiss, his large hands practically engulfing your face as his tongue sweeps into your mouth to re-familiarize himself with known yet long-unexplored territory.

He hates having to tamp down your moans, but he loves being able to swallow them with his own mouth as his fingers trace through your slick folds. You’re still puffy, wet, and sensitive from his earlier onslaught, but it doesn’t deter you one bit. He revels in each little whimper and gasp, all the involuntary squirms and twitches as he brings you to the brink on his thick, calloused fingers. He swallows every little sound with a fevered kiss until your lips are swollen and red—and then you turn the tables on him. You take him in your palm, whispering praises about how your hand can barely close around him while stroking him with the gentle, languid movements that you know drive him crazy. He fights to keep his sounds down as you settle close in his lap, chest pressed to his and legs locked tight around his thighs until the moment he has to pull your hand away from fear of finishing too fast.

This is the exact foil of the way he fucked you earlier in a frenzied, desperate passion. Now it’s soft and languid, more like searching and exploring than trying to find the end goal. It’s hot and sweaty and sticky from where your skin is pressed so tightly against his, but his strong hands only drag you closer and closer and you really don’t even consider pulling away—not when he gently tugs your hair to tilt your head back for a deeper kiss, not when he lifts you up so effortlessly to help you sink down on his achingly hard cock, not even when his hands squeeze your hips hard enough to leave bruises at the feeling of bottoming out in your soaked cunt.

You couldn’t count the minutes you’re on top of him even if you cared to try. It’s an eternity of softly rocking hips and open-mouthed kisses, like if he breathes air from anywhere besides your lungs it’ll poison him. He doesn’t even care that it practically feels like torture—like not enough but simultaneously far too much as you do nothing more than rock on his length. It takes a lifetime before he loses his patience and anchors your hips in his capable hands so he can fuck you properly. He guides you to bounce on him, hitting deeper with each perfectly matched upward thrust of his own hips.

You’re falling apart before you even know what’s hit you, biting your lip almost to the point of drawing blood to keep your sounds under control as you fall limp in his arms.

And Joel—sweet, sweet Joel—has the foresight to check in with you before he does what he has to.

”Good, baby? Feel okay? Wanna stop?”

You shake your head, and it takes you a moment to find breath enough to tell him, “Don’t stop. Come in me.”

The demand is so unexpected that it hits him like a tidal wave—and before he knows it, his cock is twitching with forceful spasms as he paints you from the inside out until you’re dripping his spend out around his softening length.

Evidently, you’re not the only one caught up in this bubble of paradise within the walls of Jackson.

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls onto his side so he can hold you closer without his cock slipping from your warmth. That’s exactly how you fall asleep—him snuggly inside you, kissing your hair and whispering the sweetest of nothings into your ear.

When you wake up, you feel empty in more ways than one.

There’s dust particles swirling in the sunbeam streaming through the far window, and your stomach sinks when you reach over and feel Joel’s side of the bed completely cold.

You try not to jump to conclusions, but you know exactly what you’ll find even before you read the note left on the nightstand.

Easier not to say goodbye. I promised I’d take Ellie to the Fireflies, and you know I always make good on my promises.

I promise I’ll come back for you.

Joel

It’s not a promise that he can make with complete certainty, and you know it. You’re sure he knew it, too; and yet he did it anyway, promised you the impossible. 

You remember far too suddenly that there’s risks involved with literally anything done in this crumbling, broken world—and just like that, the perfect little bubble you’ve lived in for the past sixteen hours has popped. There’s no fairytale endings here, no happily ever afters. 

There’s you, alone and aching, hoping beyond hope the man you love will return to your side.

And there’s Joel, out in the wilderness somewhere, wondering if he’s even worthy of returning to your side.

Maybe he’s not. But maybe making good on this promise—dropping Ellie off so they can find a cure—will tip his scales. Maybe he’ll be worthy of finally settling down with you the way he wants to after this one last job. He knows he’ll have to spend hours upon hours apologizing to you for it, but it would be worth it to know that he finally made the world at least a little bit better rather than worse—to know that he’s finally done something for you to be proud of.

He knows he has to prove himself one way or another before he can return to your side. And he will.

After all, Joel Miller is a man who always makes good on his promises.

THE END

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[the-last-thread-of-my-sanity]

Little mini-Aruani fic that’s been *dancing* around in my brain

****

Armin rolls his shoulders as he shucks off his coat, the sound of his keys plinking in the bottom of the porcelain dish reminding him that he’s home.

There’s a chill in the air just behind the glass of the front door, but he can smell the lit fire from the den and somewhere in the house he hears a record being played.

Something orchestral and grand- different from the simple village folk music he grew up with in Paradis.

He smiles, peeking down the stairs into the lower floor of their brownstone style house. They had left it open, unfurnished- nothing but the waxed reclaimed wood floors and some sheer curtains on the window.

“Let’s discover what it can be,” he had said to Annie. “We can grow into it.”

After so long in small squalid living quarters, or in communal style barracks- having a house with three floors and a maid’s quarter seemed excessive. Two private bathrooms? A grand showy living area for guests and a private intimate one for the owners? A dining room with a table set for ten? It made him feel too self-important.

He was a soldier- utility made sense to him, not comfort. And certainly not luxury.

So, the empty space on the bottom floor felt right. It felt like an unanswered question. An ellipses at the end of the sentence.

He steps quietly onto the first few stairs beneath the landing, peering through the banisters until he can see Annie.

He stoops to a crouch, lingering.

She’s dancing, he realizes.

A few months ago, he had paid for a ballet instructor to offer her private lessons- as a gift. She was too fit, too flexible, too physically disciplined to be idle- but he wanted her to discover something about herself other than fighting.

She resisted at first, insisting she wasn’t poised or graceful enough. But her instructor, an aging man who smoked thin cigarettes and spoke with a crisp and lilting accent, adored her. He spoke effusively of her ‘lines’ and her core strength.

But Armin had never seen her dance. The instructor came and left while he was at work in the government office down the street- only running into Armin on the sidewalk as they were coming and going.

Now, he watches, his breath slowing and his heart stilling.

She looks as though she’s floating, he thinks. Weightless. Just an ephemeral being gliding across the floor as though she’s skirting on the air.

She pirouettes and leaps and moves her arms along gracefully unseen lines, her eyes closed and head tilted as she gets lost in the music.

Armin swallows- feeling a heavy sensation sinking into his chest. It’s awe, he knows, but also something else.

Gratitude. That she’s alive. That she’s here with him now. Dancing, moving, breathing, sighing… instead of frozen in time and in place.

He’s so grateful that she has this life.

He doesn’t feel the same way about himself. He drags his perceived debt to the world, to his parents, to Mikasa, to Hange, to Erwin.. to Eren.. everywhere he goes.

He could never be as light as Annie looks right now.

But it’s not his job to be, he realizes.

Finally, she stops, and he can see her breaths moving deeply in and out, her ribcage visible in the thin dance clothes. He looks at the arch of her spine as she holds a pose- and then she drops it, shoulders sagging, rolling her neck on her shoulders.

She clears her throat, stretching her arms above her head as she walks over to lift the needle from the record and the music stops.

She turns, and stops short with a little yelp when she sees him on the stairs.

Armin can’t help but laugh.

“You watched me?” She asks, accusing. “I made so many mistakes.”

Armin shakes his head, rising to stand and walk down the stairs. “How would I know? I’m no dancer.”

“Neither am I.” She says, bashful as she looks away from him out the window. The wind is swirling the sycamore leaves from outside along the sidewalk, filling their view of the street with bright yellow shapes catching the late afternoon sun.

“Nonsense.” He says, opening his arms for her to walk into his embrace. She folds into his chest as easy as any other reflex. As easy as blinking or breathing.

He smiles, leaning his cheek on her head as she buries her face into the collar of his shirt, inhaling deeply. Her daily ritual- breathing him in like it was soothing to her lungs.

He understands, he thinks, as he runs her silken hair through his fingers absently. It’s not enough just to see her or hear her alone. He needs to fill his senses with her to reassure himself that she’s truly there.

“So that’s what this bottom floor is now? Your dance studio?” He asks conversationally.

“For now,” she says, tilting her head back to look at him, “until I decide that it’s something else.”

Armin’s lips quirk into a small smile.

“Still want to leave things open-ended, then?” He jokes.

She hums, and he extends his arm up for her twirl underneath it playfully. “I just want to take our time.” She says quietly as she stills.

He nods in understanding, pulling her close again to press a kiss to her lips.

She can be whatever she wants to be. A dancer one day. An artist the next. A musician. A seamstress. A connoisseur of baked pastries…

Just as she was a fighter, first, and then a lover.

Certainly Annie can be anything in the world… as long as she is his.

[irkimatsu]

Inspired by a post from @monstrousvoice! I inspire your stuff and you can inspire mine! (Let me know if you want your name or post taken off of this!)

It's Husk's birthday, and GN!Reader spoils him with some nice cigars, scotch, and most importantly, a blowjob. Porn without plot, that's all this is! References to feline anatomy because I'm a perverted furry. Also a bit of shotgunning, because that's one of the risks you take making out with someone while he smokes. I think that's all the necessary warnings? NSFW, obviously! About 2.5k words!

---

Husk takes a deep puff from his cigar before gently blowing out the smoke with a moan of contentment. A woodsy scent with a hint of spice swirls out of his mouth, lingering in the air of his bedroom even as the smoke dissipates.

“Fuck, I haven’t had one this good in years.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” you say from behind him. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and your legs are straddling him as you massage his shoulders. It’s his birthday, the first one since you two started dating, and you wanted to do something nice for him. He’d vented to you recently about how much he hates the taste of cheap cigarettes, but how they’re the only thing he can get his paws on to stave off the nicotine cravings.

“Why would anyone choose to smoke this shit if they weren’t already hooked? I tell you, once you’ve had a nice cigar, you’ll never wanna go back to these nasty fuckin’ things. The smell, the taste, the high, it’s all so much better with a cigar. Too bad I can’t afford them much anymore…”

You already knew how much he missed the life of luxury he used to lead, even if he did regret some of the things he had to do to stay on that peak for as long as he did. That rant of his gave you the perfect idea for his birthday present; you couldn’t permanently give him that luxury back, but at least you could give him a taste of it for an evening. 

The pack of cigars wasn’t your only gift to help him regain that feeling. After another few puffs of his cigar, he reaches to grab the glass of scotch from his bedside table. He takes a series of small sips, not guzzling like he normally would. That’s how you know he enjoys it; with cheaper booze, his primary concern is keeping himself numb rather than savoring the underwhelming taste. This scotch isn’t a means to a self-destructive end, it’s an experience that he doesn’t want to rush.

“You’re making me feel like a king, baby,” he says, relaxed and happy, as he slumps down and leans into your touch. “I haven’t had a birthday this nice in a long time.”

“You deserve it,” you assure him with a kiss to the top of his head. “And I still have one more gift for you.”

“Another one?” he says with a small laugh. “You don’t have to spoil me like that…”

“But I want to,” you say. “Do you want me to get it ready now?”

“Can I keep smoking?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“Good.” He takes another drag, and his body gives a quick shiver as the tobacco hits his brain. “I’m not putting this out until there’s nothing left of it.”

“You won’t have to, I promise,” you say. “Just relax while I take care of you. Did you want to move to your lounge chair?”

“Aw, but you can’t rub my back as well when I’m sitting over there,” he says.

“What I have planned is better than a backrub.”

His ear gives a twitch; surely he has a few ideas of what’s going to happen once he moves. “Well, if ya say so.” He rises from the bed and heads over to the large leather chair in the corner of his room, black with golden embellishments on the back and on the front of the armrests. He sighs in contentment as he sinks into the chair, settling into his throne before returning to his cigar. As he gets comfortable, you begin rearranging things for his next present. You move his ashtray, scotch bottle, and empty glass to the table next to the chair, then pour him a fresh drink. He takes another few sips of scotch without putting the cigar down, while you set up the record player with his favorite romantic music. His ear twitches again as a slow drum beat overlaid with saxophone starts filling the room.

“I like where this is going,” he says with a chuckle.

Now that the mood is set, there’s nothing stopping you from sitting in his lap and cradling his cheeks in your hands. Without a word, you begin to kiss him. The taste of alcohol and smoke is heavy on his breath, but the light sweetness of the scotch and spice of the cigar are so much more pleasant than his usual binges. It mixes perfectly with his own natural taste, and you soon find yourself hooked. Glass gently thumps onto wood as he sets down his scotch, freeing up his paw to tangle his claws in your hair. He takes a few breaks from the kissing session to take another drag of his cigar, but since it renews the spice on his tongue, you don’t mind the interruptions.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask as you stroke the graying fur on his cheeks. “I’ll do anything you want.”

He takes a moment to hum in thought. “Hm… why don’t you surprise me? As long as it’s something I can keep smoking through.”

You smile at his request, and give his nose a quick kiss. “Glad you’re enjoying my present so much.” You return your kisses to his lips, your hands now moving with a purpose. You easily unfasten his suspenders without looking, having done this so many times before. After detaching the front fasteners from his pants and tucking the straps behind his shoulders, you start massaging him again, first rubbing his shoulders before running down to his chest. He moans as your fingers comb through the thick patch of fur, before moving to massage his nipples on either side of the patch.

“Fuck, baby…” he whispers between kisses. He takes another drag, this one shorter than usual so he can quickly return to your lips. He doesn’t take the time to blow out the smoke before kissing you, instead letting it flow from his mouth to yours.

You’d yell at him if he’d tried that with the cheap things he regularly smoked at the bar, but the warm, spicy smoke is actually pleasant.

You keep running your hands down his body, paying special attention to the extra pairs of nipples along the way. He doesn’t like having them treated too roughly, but your fingertips ghosting over them is enough to get him purring.

“I love kissing you,” you tell him as you rest your hands on his fly.

“I love kissing you, too,” he responds, not showing any sign that he’s caught on to where you’re going with this.

“I love kissing your lips…” You kiss his mouth one more time to make your point, then move a bit lower. “And your neck…”

He tilts his head back and groans as you gently suck on the side of his neck.

“And your chest…”

As you move down, kissing lower and lower on his body and lapping your tongue over his most sensitive areas, your hands are working on unfastening his pants. Without a word, he lifts his hips off the chair just enough for you to pull off his pants and underwear, moving as if by instinct. Not even the movement can stop him from continuing to smoke as you undress him. His dark cock is already erect, proudly displaying the barbs along his shaft and head. Your whole body shudders at the sight as you move to kneel on the floor, giving yourself a closer look at his endowment. You rest your hands on his knees and look up at him to gauge his reaction. He’s looking back down at you, sharp teeth holding his cigar in place as he grins.

Fuck, you’ll buy him cigars more often just to see that again.

He removes the cigar so that he can speak. “Where else do you like kissing me, doll?” he asks, still smirking.

You don’t need words to answer him. You give him a smile before you start nuzzling his cock, letting his barbs lightly scrape against your cheek. His natural scent is so strong down here; you could get as high off it as he is off his cigar.

“Husk…” you whisper, your brain already growing fuzzy. You turn your head and press a gentle kiss to his shaft. He growls in approval as you continue kissing him up and down, treating him tenderly enough to tease. As you kiss him, you start lightly fondling his balls in your palm.

He exhales your name in response as his claws lightly scratch your scalp. “C’mon, don’t tease…”

You give him a tiny bit more by sticking out your tongue, now licking his shaft with the same gentleness you previously gave with your lips. His breaths are getting heavier, and he’s gripping your hair more tightly.

“Babe…”

You lick your way down to the base, digging your tongue in where his cock and balls meet, before licking your way back up to his head. He groans as you lap at the bundle of barbs on the underside; his cock is roughest here, but the slight pain against your tongue is more than made up for by the fact that nothing else can get him squirming like this.

“C-c’moooon…” he groans as he jerks his hips aimlessly, rubbing his cock against your face and smearing it with his scent and his slick. You almost feel bad for him. You have been teasing him a lot, and on his birthday, no less…

You gently lap at his tip, sipping up the globs of precum that are trickling out of it. The taste is slightly bitter, but it’s so unmistakably him that you can’t help but want more. He lightly pushes on your head, not forcing you down, but clearly giving you the hint of what he needs.

You make sure to look him in the eyes as you sink your mouth over his tapered head.

“Oh God…” he groans. “Stay like that, just a second…” He smokes his cigar, letting the sensations of the tobacco and of your mouth swirl in his head like a delicious blur. “Fuck that’s good…”

You start slowly bobbing your head, not taking him too deeply yet. It’s still enough to make him moan, especially as your tongue keeps passing over his rough underside. You keep on massaging his balls as you go down on him, trying to keep the rhythm of your mouth and your hand somewhat in sync.

You pull your mouth off of him for just a second. “Don’t use your paws, okay? I wanna take care of you. Just relax and enjoy your gifts.”

He nods as he takes his claws out of your hair. Once he’s no longer touching you, you resume gently suckling on him, not taking him much deeper than his head yet. He’s clearly excited just by that, as his precum continues trickling out and mixing with your own drool.

You pull your mouth off to let the mixture dribble down onto his cock, then use your free hand to massage it into his shaft while you resume sucking. His barbs occasionally catch on your palm, but you’re used to it enough that it doesn’t slow you down.

He groans your name again as he reaches over to grab his scotch. He takes a slow sip, adding more alcohol to the cocktail of chemicals already coursing through his veins. Once he’s done drinking, he turns his attention back to you, watching you with lidded eyes and a lazy smile. A cigar in one paw, scotch in the other, wings spread wide, relaxing on his throne as someone serves him… is this how he used to live as an Overlord?

You wouldn’t mind helping him relive those days more often… he’s fucking handsome like this. Arousal burns through you at the sight, and you can’t help but go down on him faster and deeper.

“Fuuuuck…” He’s groaning and rolling his head back, and you know that if his paws weren’t occupied he’d be pushing down on your head. You don’t normally mind that, but he’s following your request to let you lead this time. His hips are bucking into your mouth a little, but you know he can’t help that, so you’ll let it slide.

You lightly squeeze his balls in your palm, and he cries out from the sensation. He’s starting to twitch and throb within your mouth, and more and more precum is flooding out of him. His paws are trembling too badly for him to continue savoring his other gifts; he may even end up spilling his scotch.

He’s in too much bliss to care.

“So- close-” As if you needed him to tell you. You pull your mouth up to just cover his head, and start giving him your all, both hands rapidly spoiling his shaft and balls while your tongue bathes his head. He doesn’t last long. A cry escapes from his muzzle as his cock starts draining into your mouth, hot ropes of seed washing over your tongue. His hips keep thrusting up into you, seeking more stimulation to ease out a few more shots, but soon, he’s spent enough to relax unmoving into his chair again.

He swears before taking his cigar back in his mouth and holding it there. You pull your mouth off of him, careful not to spill too much out of your mouth, and gently rest your head on his soft thigh. He strokes your hair with his free paw, a purr emitting from his throat and rumbling his whole body in the process. He’s staring down at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen; you could blush at the reverence his expressions always show you.

You swallow most of the mess in your mouth, then nuzzle against his thigh. “Was that a good gift?” you ask.

“Fuckin’ perfect, doll,” he assures you. A final drag of his cigar reduces it to a stub, which he crushes into his ashtray. “Come up here?”

You bring yourself back up into his lap, and he immediately pulls you into a cuddle. One arm wraps tightly around your waist while the other presses your head against his shoulder. You can feel his constant purring even more strongly from up here. You reach around to lightly scratch him under his wings, which earns you another contented moan amidst the purrs.

“Is there anything else you want me to do for you?” you ask him.

“Wouldn’t mind taking you to bed in a bit,” he tells you before kissing your head. “But for now, could I just hold you?”

You settle into his embrace, happy to give him whatever he wants; not just for his birthday, but for the rest of his life.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Mine

Daniel's been clean nearly twenty years now, if you don't count the occasional cigarette and drink. He's got both now as he stands out on the small balcony of his room. It's night and he should be sleeping, but interviewing a vampire has his sleep schedule all fucked up. Besides, he has things to think about.

Namely, the vampire down in the courtyard below.

Almost like he can read his thoughts—and he can, Daniel remembers—Armand looks up at him and meets his eyes. A moment later he's floating up to land next to him on the balcony. He plucks the cigarette from his hand and takes a long draw. “A man of your health should really avoid these.”

“Why? I'm dying either way.”

Armand smiles slightly and passes it back. “Yes, I can smell the sickness in your blood.”

Daniel vaguely wonders if he'd be able to taste it. Armand must catch the thought, because he says “Would you like me to taste you?”

It isn't an offer, it's just a curiosity. Daniel raises a hand to the old scar on his neck. “I wouldn't let you near my neck either.”

Armand's eyes flick to the scar. “Hm. Messy, my Louis. I never leave marks.”

Probably never leaves them alive.

“You think so little of me.”

Right. Mind reading. “Stay out of my head.”

“Ah, but I didn't need in your head. That one was all over your face.”

Daniel takes a drag and looks him over. “I remember you, you know.”

Armand's face is impenetrable. “Do you?”

“You were there, the night I interviewed 'the love of your life.'” He can't help the sarcasm dripping from the words.

Armand frowns. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That Louis went from one monster to another,” Daniel says. He steps a bit closer to Armand. “Why are the bookshelves so high? Louis doesn't have the flying gift.”

“The cloud gift,” Armand corrects. “Louis likes to linger in the past. It's-”

“For his own good?” Daniel finishes. “Says every controlling boyfriend ever.”

Why is he so angry? He doesn't even particularly like Louis. But he recognizes a pattern when he sees one. “Poor smuck never learns. Goes from one abuser to the next. But hey, maybe he likes getting to play the victim.”

It happens so quickly Daniel doesn't see it occur. One moment he's speaking, the next he's hanging over the railing, held up only by Armand's hand around his throat. “Watch your tongue, or I'll remove it.”

Looks like he hit a nerve. Part of him wants to laugh, but the bigger part is terrified Armand is going to drop him. And how would he explain that to Louis?

Armand swears under his breath, and pulls Daniel back in. He drops him to his feet. Daniel's hands come to his throat and he takes lungfuls of air. Then he slaps Armand across the face.

It feels like slapping a stone wall. He may have broke his hand. And Armand looks furious.

“Don't hit me back. You may kill me. Louis wouldn't like that.”

Armand presses closer, until Daniel's back is to the balcony and their bodies are nearly touching. Armand's arms are on either side of his waist, closing him in. And sure, Daniel is afraid, but he isn't about to show it. “You think you matter that much?”

“I think you'd have killed me already if I didn't.”

“You're mistaken.”

Daniel's never been a betting man, but fuck it. “Then do it. Go ahead.” He tilts his head back and exposes his neck. “Kill me.”

And suddenly, there's a flash of memory. Of years ago, in a luxurious hotel room with Armand standing in front of him. Himself angry and defiant, yelling at Armand. “If you won't give it to me, then just kill me! Go ahead and get it over with!” Armand yelling back at him that he doesn't know what he's asking for. Of him storming out. Then there's Daniel in the room alone crying, because Armand left him, and Armand never leaves, he's always the one that leaves, but it never matters because he always comes back. Because when Armand said “you're mine” he meant for always.

“What the fuck?”

“You remember,” Armand says. “You were obsessed, I had to make you forget for-”

“For my own good? Fuck you.”

Armand pushes off the railing and turns his back to him. “I did it to save your life.”

“You did it because you were tired of me. Just another pet you got bored of. But hey, at least I didn't die like the others.”

Armand spins back around. “You're nothing like the others. I loved you.”

“You have a twisted idea of love.”

Armand shakes his head. “You can't imagine what it's like to love as what we are.”

“Yeah, I heard that before. Still don't buy it.”

He supposes it doesn't matter now. Some fling he only half remembers from fifty years ago is hardly worth arguing about.

“Fling? Is that what you remember? I adored you.”

Daniel crosses his arms. “Like you adore Louis?”

There's a bitterness there he didn't expect. And some lingering dark feeling he can't place.

“Jealous, Daniel?”

Ah, that's what it is. Jealousy.

“Over you? No fucking way.”

Armand sweeps back in front of him. “You only say that because you can't remember it clearly.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

He's angry, he realizes. Beyond angry, he's furious. Armand had no right. No right to take his memories from him, for whatever reason. He wants to hit him, he wants to scream. He hates him. Hates him, hates him, hates him.

Armand grabs him and kisses him full on the mouth. Daniel tries to push him off, but he won't be moved. But he refuses to kiss him back.

“Hate, is that what you think you feel?” Armand murmurs against his mouth. “No, you still feel it, the same as I.”

“You have Louis-”

“Louis is my eternal companion. You are my mortal love.”

As if the two could be separate things. But then, maybe they could. People these days did it all the time. Polyamory, he thinks it's called. Not that it matters. He's too old to be anything to anybody now.

“You think age would lessen my affection? No, you are mine.”

Daniel shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

Armand almost looks wounded. Daniel almost feels guilty.

“Get out.”

Armand blinks. “What?”

“Get. Out.” He'll throw him over this balcony if he has to. He doesn't want to look at him anymore.

“You're upset. I understand-”

“Do you?” Daniel cuts in. “Leave, or I'm leaving.”

Armand laughs slightly. “Daniel, do you think you could go anywhere I couldn't find you?”

He could blow his brains out. He considered it when he first got the diagnosis. Decided against it because he wanted the insurance money to go to his kids. “So me and Louis are both prisoners then?”

Armand sighs as if put upon. “Very well, if you refuse to behave like an adult, I'll go.”

“You do that.”

Daniel waits until he can hear Armand's footsteps echoing down the hall before he sinks to the floor. He remembers. He remembers.

And he wishes he could forget.

__________________________________________________

also read it here on ao3

[rocorambles]

Let's Give It A Try

Pairing: Bokuto x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Mafia AU, Sex Toys, Overstimulation, Use of Sir, Dirty Talk, Degradation

Summary: Dating a man like Bokuto Koutarou goes against every moral code you’ve learned growing up, but love has a funny way of going against the grain.

Bokuto exhales, sighing as he leans broad shoulders against the rough exterior of the building behind him, cigarette smoke floating in tendrils in front of him. He prides himself on the strength and health of his body, but when he gets in one of his moods after a particularly strenuous week, he can’t help but rely on the way the nicotine mellows out the stress of his job. Closing his eyes, he lets the muffled beat of the music inside the club reverberate through his chest, letting himself let go just a tiny bit. Foolish maybe, considering just how many people want him dead, but he allows himself a moment of lax judgement while on his turf, literally on the ground he owns, surrounded by his men both in and out of the club, under the watchful blue eyes of his right hand man.

Everything will be just fine.

And suddenly everything’s a little bit more than just fine as his curiosity peeks, sharp owl-like eyes scanning you as you come stumbling out of the club, taking deep ragged breaths, completely unaware of your surroundings as you greedily inhale the fresh night air.

He has to bite back the sharp grin that threatens to stretch across his face at your adorable jump and squeak when you finally straighten up and take inventory of who’s around you, quivering like a little mouse when you meet his intense golden gaze. There’s something different about you and he can tell with just a quick glance at you that this isn’t your usual joint, taking in your considerably conservative and casual outfit for the area’s most popular nightclub, the nervous ticks and almost bashful way you curl in on yourself, unused to the hungry look he continues to direct at you.

It takes some coaxing and he almost feels bad at how he swears he can hear your frightened and unsure heartbeat pounding your chest as he approaches you. But his talons are out, wide eyes too curious and intrigued by the prey that’s caught his attention to just let you go off on your merry way. He croons at how you stutter, tripping over your words in your nervousness, licking his own lips for a different reason when he sees your pink muscle dart out to wet your dry ones.

But he can feel his wings furl out to their full span, can feel himself prepare to lunge at you when he finds out that his sweet little mouse came all by herself, trying to get over your recent breakup by having some fun, maybe even finding someone to…

This time he does laugh when you embarrassedly trail off, ending your anxious ramblings, before pinning you down with a wild grin that makes your chest tighten.

“I can be that someone.”

There’s something about the man that leaves you on edge. You can’t deny the fact that he’s handsome, in a wild rugged way that reminds you of a predator. But there’s something...intense about him, something in his eyes, something in his presence, something in his aura that makes you shiver, keeping your suddenly heavy feet rooted to their spot. Not that you’d get very far if he was intent on doing you harm you ascertain as you stare at the muscular and toned figure in front of you.

Yet despite all that, you can’t help but believe that he really does mean you no harm. Maybe it’s what you want to believe. A last hope and faith that not all men are scum like your ex is. Desperate to believe that there are decent men out there, that you can find happiness and maybe even love one day. So going against every ounce of self-defense and common sense that’s been instilled in you all your life, you take this stranger’s hand and let him guide you away, finding comfort in his warm, calloused grip.

Even if you do end up dead after all this, you can’t help but think you’ve made the right decision, your problem more than solved as any thoughts of your ex (and anything else really) fly out your head as soon as you’re dragged into an alarmingly luxurious apartment. He really is more animal than man and you cry out as teeth harshly dig into your neck, possessively and hungrily marking every inch of you, lips greedily wrapping around perky nipples and sucking with a force that makes your eyes roll and your nails dig into his thick biceps. But that only seems to egg him on more and you vaguely wonder if you’re going to cum before he can even get to the main course, body already overwhelmed with arousal and desire as he touches you everywhere except where you need him most.

You’re positively dripping by the time he does make it between your legs, too high strung to even be embarrassed, letting out a high pitched whine instead when he teasingly blows on your sopping wet entrance, pressing your thighs apart, leaving you on full display. And you swear you black out purely from relief when a hot wet tongue finally licks a long line up your slit. So on edge already, it only takes a few flicks and lapping of your aroused clit to have you careening off that pleasurable cliff and you sob, body thrashing and convulsing as you ride out your orgasm while lips and tongue continue to work you over.

You blearily blink as you finally regain control of your body, expecting the man between your legs to take the hint as you try to sit up on your elbows. But you scream, instantly collapsing on the bed, hands fisting in the sheets besides you as two thick fingers suddenly slip inside of you, beginning a relentless pace right from the start, hot tongue still lapping and licking at your sensitive clit. It’s too much, too soon and you writhe, body trying to pry yourself away from the torturous pleasure, but also aching for another release as the coil in you is wound tight. Not that Bokuto leaves you much choice as he easily keeps you pinned down, your legs no match for the strength of his arms and upper body as he continues to feast on you, your pretty cries and screams music to his ears, your delicious juices intoxicating. And before you even realize it, you’re forced to your second peak, creaming and clamping down on the digits still stuffed inside of you, back arching, mouth opening in a silent scream.

Surely it’s over and you tell yourself that you’ll just close your eyes for a brief moment, a few seconds at most before paying him back with a blowjob, handjob, whatever he wants in return. Except your companion has very different plans on exactly how you’ll return the favor and your eyes shoot open, pathetic pleading noises spilling past your lips as you feel something hard and thick press against your entrance. But then he’s shoving inside of you, cock splitting your spent hole in two, and your mind blanks, unable to resist, unable to enjoy, only able to take and feel as it drags against your walls, going deeper and deeper.

And that’s how you pass out, one of the last clear memories you have before your mind fades to darkness, exhaustion and bliss rendering you useless as you’re ruthlessly fucked into and used by the man above you as he chases his own end, head empty except for mindless thoughts of cock, cock, cock.

There’s a few more one night flings after that and you try and convince yourself that it’s just that, nothing more, ignoring the pang in your heart when Bokuto sends you a sad face via text when he wakes up to an empty bed, ignoring the guilt resting heavy on your shoulders when you accidentally sleep in longer than you meant to and have to pry yourself from a pouting face and gentle grip on your wrist as gold eyes plead for you to stay.

But Bokuto Koutarou always gets what he wants and you find it harder to wriggle out from his strong arms as the sun’s rays filter through the windows, you find it harder to not sit down at his dining table and stay for a piping hot cup of coffee, you find it harder not to wake up and nuzzle closer to his body, cuddling and sweetly talking with him more than a casual relationship warrants.

And you find it impossible to not say yes when he asks you to officially go out with him one lazy morning as he cradles you in his arms.

Dating Bokuto is an adventure unlike any you’ve been on before and it’s so easy to be swept along in his enthusiasm and energy, giggling like children in one moment before you’re being pounced on in the next, gold eyes darkening in raw hunger and lust. Bokuto is an enigma that you wonder if you’ll ever truly understand, so easily shifting from a cheerful goofball to a dangerous predator and back again. But you don’t mind, finding the multi-faceted personality one of his strong suits...until it isn’t anymore.

You’d always had a feeling that Bokuto was hiding something from you, some things not quite adding up, the outgoing man strangely reticent about certain topics, especially regarding his work life and where his money comes from. But you had chalked it up to your sweet boyfriend being humble, not wanting to delve too much into his enormous wealth, because he must have enormous wealth from the penthouse apartment he lives in, the extravagant vacations he whisks you away on, the luxury gifts he bestows upon you without blinking an eye. And you’re correct, just not in the way you had imagined and you tearily and accusationally glare at him when you accidentally come across the hidden switch in the back of his closet, door opening and revealing crates and crates of a white powdery substance.

You want him to laugh it off like he always does, tell you some bullshit about it being for some prank he’s going to pull on Akaashi or Konoha, that it’s not what you think it is. But he doesn’t and the two of you just silently stare at each other, the pieces connecting all too clearly even without a word being said. And you leave, betrayal and hurt digging their claws into you as you leave behind a man who you thought you had known, who you had loved, but who you realize maybe you don’t really know at all.

It feels eerily familiar, a sense of deja vu flooding you when you take hesitant steps into another nightclub in the area, desperate for another distraction, another fling to fuck you free from thoughts of gold eyes and a muscular body. You tell yourself that there’s nothing similar about the solid build of the stranger you’re grinding up against, that the similarity in appearance is just coincidence as the two of you stumble to his apartment. But then lips and hands are all over you, too gentle, too soft, treating you like glass, words too cautious. Everything’s wrong, wrong, wrong and when he begins a slow careful pace, fucking you like he’s making love, so different from the way a certain man would have broken you down to pieces only to build you back up, you shove him off, uncaring of how rude you’re being.

That night when you return to your own bed, you sob in frustration, toys, dildos, vibrators scattered around you as you seek any relief you can get, looking for even the slightest mimicry of Bokuto’s touch, trying to remember what he sounds like, what he feels like. But memory and imagination can only get you so far, can never live up to the real thing, and you scream into your pillow as an unsatisfying orgasm ripples through you, the realization that Bokuto has ruined your body for anyone else, even yourself, sinking into you.

It’s absolute stupidity to be with someone just for great sex. Absolutely ridiculous. What decent human would go crawling back to their drug-dealing ex just for his good dick game? God knows what other shady underground shit Bokuto’s up to and you know it runs much deeper than a single room full of cocaine.

But maybe you’re not a decent human. Maybe that’s why you still can’t stop thinking of him despite how you try and hold out, despite the multiple flings, nights, and even entire weekends you spend with yourself in bed, spending far too much on sex toys, pussy and clit throbbing, fingers and hands aching from constantly bending to be inside yourself. Yet for all that, you’re never satisfied, every weak orgasm, every disappointing touch from another man only making your need for Bokuto even more pronounced, until you finally break. And a month later you call Bokuto, a scrambled frantic call over the phone with a dildo shoved deep inside you, a vibrator buzzing on your clit, tears streaming down your face when they do nothing to take away the yearning inside of you, begging and pleading for him to come and help you.

It’s humiliating how even just the sight of him skyrockets your arousal to levels you haven’t felt since the two of you dated and you whimper as he casually leans in your doorway, thick arms crossed across his chest, gold eyes raking over your sweating nude figure that’s writhing on top of rumpled bed sheets.

“This is a good look for a desperate slut like you. Couldn’t cum without me? No one, not even your little toys could make you feel good? Maybe I should just leave, just like how you left me. Leave you high and dry. Well I guess maybe not that dry.”

You pant, wide blown out eyes watching as he slowly approaches you, face heating when he bends down to peer at your dripping cunt, mockingly whistling at how you pretty hole is no different than a leaking faucet, inner thighs drenched in your arousal.

“Koutarou, please-”

You scream as fingers harshly twist at your nipples, eyes rolling to the back of your head as just that brutal touch is enough to bring you over the edge you had been hovering around for so long, body convulsing, a dopey grin making its way onto your lips when you finally feel the pleasure you’d been craving for so long.

“Fuck, you came from just that? Who the fuck said you could cum? Who the fuck said you could use my name? Sluts like you don’t deserve to say my name. You know what to address me as.”

You wail, pain melding with the pleasure as he shoves your vibrator away, alternating between pinching and slapping your already overstimulated clit as he enunciates every word he snarls at you, a feral grin stretching across his face at your barely coherent babbles of “sir” and “sorry”.

The constriction in his own pants is painful and he’s quick to strip waist down, slowly palming his aching erection. It takes everything in him to hold back, to not just shove balls deep inside of you in one strong thrust, your absence affecting him just as badly. But that’s not what this is about. This is about making a point, reminding you just how wrong you were for leaving him without a single word, rebuilding what the two of you once had. And as ravenous as he is, he takes his time, willing himself to slow down and rediscover every inch of you, painstakingly exploring your body once again, re-memorizing every sensitive part of you that elicits a little gasp, a tiny mewl.

And he doesn’t stop, pulling the dildo inside of you completely out, using his teeth, tongue, and finger to bring you to the edge over and over again, always backing away just when you’re about to fall off that pleasurable cliff once more, diving back in like a man starved just when you think you have a shaky grasp on your senses. Only when you’re full out sobbing broken cries of his title, a litany of “please, please, please” escaping you does he move on and he groans at how perfectly your legs wrap around his back, urging him inside you as his cock finally makes contact with your gushing cunt, your hands weakly pawing at him in a silent plea for more.

But again he stops, bringing a thumb to wipe away your tears as you begin to wail anew, frustration and denial tearing you to shreds, instinctively leaning into his touch as he gently strokes your cheekbone.

“Tell me who’s the only one who can make you feel good. Who’s the only one who can pleasure you?”

And as you scream his name, he finally slams inside of you, relentlessly pounding in and out of you, gold eyes hungrily taking in how wrecked you look, how broken you look, all because of him, only for him.

It doesn’t take long for both of you to tumble together over that edge, not when both of you are beyond pent up, absence making your hearts grow fonder and your bodies desperate for each other. And you can’t help the content warm surge inside of you when you feel hot thick liquid fill your insides, your body lax and useless in post-coital bliss, heart and mind eager for Bokuto to collapse beside you and pull you into his toned chest like he always does.

Except there is no familiar weight beside you and your head shakes side to side, drool trickling down your face when Bokuto’s softening cock is suddenly replaced by four fingers brutally thrusting in and out of you, curling just right along your still quivering walls.

“We still have a long way to go, little mouse. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t know how many times you’re forced over the edge after that, consciousness fading in and out as he assaults your cunt with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. You even vaguely remember waking up once to a dildo in your ass, Bokuto pounding into your cum-filled pussy, your body more stretched than it’s been in a long time. They all blur together, only tied together by the delirious pleasure that numbs everything else until you’re succumbing to darkness one last time as yet another body shaking orgasm rips through you.

It’s the scent of fresh coffee and bacon that awakens you and you blearily open your eyes, only to immediately wince as soon as you try to move, your body feeling like it had been rammed into by a truck (although you suppose that imagery isn’t too far off from what actually transpired). Sinking back into the plush pillow and mattress, you close your eyes, wondering what’s your next move. Force your aching body out of bed and confront the inevitable, already somewhat dreading having to face Bokuto now that your mind isn’t clouded with lust? Go back to sleep and pray that he’s gone when you wake up again, like a coward?

But Bokuto doesn’t leave you a choice and you shyly cover yourself with the blanket when he comes bounding into the room, a heaping plate of food and a cup of the delicious caffeinated beverage in his hands, heart fluttering when you see the warm and affectionate grin on his face as he approaches you, carefully placing everything on the nightstand before tenderly pecking your forehead and murmuring good morning.

You try to say something, anything, words getting stuck in your throat, but you’re shushed as the coffee mug is carefully placed in your hands, Bokuto’s soothing voice urging you to eat and recover first. And you gladly take the excuse, hunger and thirst from last night’s endurance marathon finally making itself known as you devour everything. But there’s only so long you can avoid the inevitable and with belly full and feeling more yourself, you listen as he gently grabs your hand, letting him entwine his fingers with yours as he tells you everything.

Who he is. What he does. Exactly how he’s affiliated with the Fukurodani Syndicate.

None of it is surprising, a lot of it what you had surmised and guessed yourself. But it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow knowing just how much he had kept from you, how much he had been planning on keeping from you for who knows how long. At least it’s all out in the open now though, no secrets left between the two of you, and there’s a pause as he continues to rub his thumb on the back of your hand.

“I won’t sugar coat who I am and what my life is. I don’t expect you to come running back with open arms. But if you’re willing to give it a try, I swear that there’ll never be any more secrets, that I’ll protect you, that I’ll love you. I’ll be the damn best boyfriend there ever is.”

You almost giggle at how childish the last sentence is, hope churning in your stomach when you see how genuine and passionate he is, fondness flowing through you when you recognize the man you had fallen in love with beyond the dirt on his hands. And you know it’s arguably foolish, goes against every moral code you’ve grown up with, but love never does seem to follow set equations and rules and you bring that hand to your lips, affectionately kissing your clasped fingers as you meet gold eyes.

“Let’s give it a try.”

[katsukikitten]

Time spent with Todoroki.

Warnings: This is a Pro Hero aged up AU, think late twenties. Adult themes such as sex are to follow. Please enjoy

Shoto was by far your favorite sugar daddy. He showered you in lavish gifts and gave you the pipe often. He checked your bank account and made sure it never fell below a certain amount and paraded you around town like the Princess you were. But most importantly he was stoic. Doing nothing more than wiping you up with a warm rag once the two of you were finished, never clinging to you with desperate hands like many other sugar daddies had. Hoping their money would make you giddy and buy your love. Maybe it would have, had you not already run out of love for people. Your heart broken one too many times by a long term relationship causing you to vow that money was your only love. 

People were just too disappointing. 

Your contracts with Shoto were medium in length, anywhere between three to five months mostly because he likes to keep his "options open." Which filled you with pure lust for him, knowing you could get away with your kinks without worrying over some man falling for you. 

Still, it was difficult for the Pro hero not to fall for you, at first he had no interest in love. Having sworn it off mostly for fear of failure thanks to his dysfunctional family. It was the main reason he started looking into sugar baby websites, he saw your profile picture and your bolded No strings attached. He liked the idea of that, loved it really and yet, he became tangled in you after the renewal of your second contract. He tried to suppress the warm feeling in his chest, he found it difficult more times than not. 

Especially now, with you on your knees with his guicci jacket spread out on the tile of the bathroom floor as your lipstick clad lips wrap around his cock. Your cheeks hollowed and your eyes looking up at him with enchanting lust. He fists your hair shoving you further on his cock. Your eyes water as you gag softly and Todoroki is just thankful your makeup is waterproof. 

The sight and the sounds make him groan while your manicured nails dig into his bare thigh. You rub your thighs for friction, moaning around his cock, it's enough to send Shoto over the edge. Hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat as his grip on your styled hair tightens. 

"Fuck Princess…." He moans bucking into your mouth, sharp eyes look down at you. Seeing a powerful man come undone for you is enough to keep you content for now. 

"Sir will take care of you after the gala okay?" His cheeks are still a little red as he runs his hand over your hair. Lifting you off the floor before fixing himself. He gives you a light spin, making sure nothing scuffed your gorgeous designer dress before he exits the stall. Pushing back his long hair while you retouch your lipstick with a knowing smirk. 

The two of you waltz back to the party, sans his jacket, abandoning the designer garment without a second thought. The price of it was barely a drop in his bucket. It could have been half of his bucket for all he cared, his mind always swimming with thoughts of you.  He places his hand on the small of your back as he guides you back to the table, dinner half forgotten once your hand wandered towards his crotch for a tease. 

"F...find the bar okay?' Izuku asks as you take your seat, your sly hand going for your wine. Uraraka blushes when you give her a wink. 

"Just fine." Shoto says sipping his whisky. 

"So who's won awards so far?" You ask with gleaming eyes, Izuku smiles. 

"Kaachan for most villains caught. Kirishima for the safest feeling hero, myself for rescue ratio." He holds up his small little trophy, "And you, Shouto, for most mysterious." 

"What about the rankings? Did we miss that?" 

"No they are about to announce it!" Uraraka exclaims, eyes glittering with excitement and wine. Her chestnut eyes slide over to her emerald eye date, hoping for the best for him. 

The announcer steps to the stage, his sapphire blue suit catching everyone's eye as he takes the center. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has been a night filled with congratulations and cheer but now is the moment you've been waiting for, tonight we will reveal the top three heroes. Voted in by a strenuous board appointed by the fans, we finally present the BIG THREE!" 

Some tables erupt in cheers while the host takes his dramatic pause, when the sound dies down the host brandishes the golden envelope. 

As he announces your hand wanders again, playing with your favorite toy, Shouto's face gives way nothing as the host drags out the awards. Explaining how long the winner's speeches should be. Soon Shouto cannot ignore your hands creeping on his clothed cock that throbs beneath your fingers. He knows he can't wait through what's bound to be a half an hour. He rises excusing himself dragging you with him before you're being cornered against a wall in some random closet. 

"So impatient, princess." He bites out, kissing your throat, sliding down to your exposed collar bone while his hand ventures between your thighs. Calloused pads circling your puffy clit as you let out a loud moan that's swallowed by the cheering of the gala room. Impatient himself he undoes his pants, stroking himself with his free hand while you cum on his fingers. 

After the coil in your stomach snaps for a third time he's satisfied, kissing you as he aligns the tip of his dick to your quivering entrance.

"Fuck, Shouto. Fuck me please, sir!" You beg, making his head spin, alcohol mingling in the small dark space. 

"Be patient kitten. Sir will fuck you right baby." He grunts, sheathing himself into your soaking core.  You cry out, clawing at his back through his shirt. The smell of biting cold hair mingling with the hearty smoke of a bonfire engulfs you as you press your face into his chest. He lifts both of your legs, strong hands grabbing onto thick thighs as he fucks into you with a deadly pace. Slapping skin and lewd wet sounds echo back to the two of you, encouraging his pistoning hips. 

"Listen to those sounds Princess, your pussy sounds so pretty." He bites at your ear as you endlessly moan and whimper into his chest. Cunt clenching as he drives over your spongy spot, the head of his cock going deeper with each thrust. Soon it all becomes too much, your vision spots panting as you cry out in ecstasy, body ridged and arching to meet him. 

"Cumming on my cock already?" He coos, fucking you through your next orgasim as your legs shake around him. Toes pointed in your red bottoms as you attempt to hold onto him for dear life. 

"S..sir! You cry out, "I'm gonna...nnngghhh." 

He ruts into you, pressing you further into the wall as he frees up one hand to play with your throbbing clit. Rubbing harsh circles as he loses focus on his precise thrusts that turn sloppy. His eyes too focused on you as you cum, milking his cock. Your eyes flutter, desperately attempting to hold eye contact as one hand palms your breast and the other scratches at the skin at the nape of his neck. Your tongue lulls out just a bit as your mouth makes a sinful O shape, a few tears of over stimulation fall down your cheeks as he continues to fuck into your wet cunt. The sight makes him explode into you, warm spurts of cum causing you to whimper and clench in delight as he ruts until he is done.  He sets his sweaty forehead against yours, panting as words claw up his throat. 

"I love..." He whispers, catching himself just in time, "Your tight cunt." 

He kisses you, hoping you don't think anything more of it. 

After a few minutes, and Shouto's cock softens, he withdraws. Wiping you up with a wipe from your purse as the two of you check the other for fluids. A drunken cat smile plastered on your lips as you reapply your lipstick, wiping away the stains on his dark grey shirt and collar. 

The two of you step into the hall just in time as the doors start to open. Quickly and calmly you grab for your pack of cigarettes, your normal alabi, placing the stick in your mouth. Shouto, much like a gentleman, lights it as you inhale to keep the tip a burning ember. Gently blowing the smoke over his clothes, careful to avoid his face as you waft the burning stick around yourself as if it were an incense. Knowing good and well the smell of smoke always hides the salty smell of sex. Quickly you extinguish it on an ice cube that Todoroki provides, you toss the cube in the closet and the half of a smoke into your burkin slamming it shut just as a small group of sidekicks approach. 

"Shouto! Wow! I can't believe it was a three way tie this year! Congrats to you, Deku and Dynamight!" They drunkenly cheer, "It's crazy how that happened." 

"You're so secretive, your manager accepted the award on your behalf even though you were here tonight!"

A stream of people dot on your date as you cling to his muscular arm while you harbor a secret of your own. Cum dribbles between your thighs as you think of his sweaty head against yours. It feels good to be a Pro hero sugar baby. 

"You staying the night again?" Shouto asks as he presses a cold water bottle to your palm, your body covered in a sheen of post sex sweat from a week's worth of fun. You give him a small smile as you sit up, tits bouncing as you readjust entirely. You can feel his icy hot gaze as it rakes over your body, feeling the goose flesh prick along your skin as it does with the threat of an oncoming summer storm. 

"I wanna discuss the renewal of our contract. Plus we have a final date per the expiring one." He says as he rises, heading towards the luxurious ensuite to start a shower for you both. 

"Hmmm guess I could. How much longer do we have left?" You never really paid attention to this things, always being satisfied with whatever Shouto gave you. 

"Two weeks." He returns back from the bathroom, grabbing his wallet from his bedside table. Pulling out his onyx black card, he places it in your hand. His eyes holding yours, you give a devilish grin. 

"Sir has a lot of paperwork for the agency to do today. Buy a dress I want to fuck you in and anything else you want to match okay baby girl?" He leans down to give your forehead a kiss while you giggle. Unable to hide the giddy that bubbles beneath your skin, you wrap your arms around him. 

"Thank you sir!" You exclaim, pepper his cheeks with kisses as you pull back, "Do I get to pick the date again?"

"Mmhmm." He encourages, running his hand up your bare bare as you squeal with delight.  You rush to the bathroom before he slowly follows behind. While under the hot stream the two of you make out for far too long, tongues fighting as the two of you exchange laughs before you add a playful statement that stays with the two toned hair man as he sits in his boring home office. 

"I'm going to get a dress so classy and sinful you'll fuck me on the spot!" 

His eyes wander to the photo on his desk, the one of your first date. The one you insisted the two of you take after a month of late booty calls since he paid for the "girlfriend" package. The two of you are bundled in warm coats, you cling to his firey side as you laugh and he just barely smirks. 

Looking back he thinks this is when he started to fall for you. You had never been ice skating before and insisted on going while the two of you were in NYC for important PR interviews for the cold and mysterious hero. Because that's what people did in the movies while in NYC, put on their skates at the Rockefeller rink to glide along the ice beneath the sparkling lights of the giant Christmas tree. It was busy, he opted for no skates, as he did better without but he helped you lace yours. Being ginger for the first time in his life as he helped you onto the ice, after demanding a moment of independence you had fallen straight onto your ass. Giving Shouto second hand embarrassment but instead of yelling, crying out or giving up, you laughed. Genuinely laughed as you reached for his steady hand, captivating the whole rink for a moment. It felt like magic had washed over the ice, as snow slowly danced into your hair and the colorful lights danced across your eyes. Just like that the spell was broken with a flash of light. A stranger approached to give you a small tip on how to skate and the polaroid he had taken. You thanked them with a smile placing the photo into your coat pocket leaning into Shoto to share a secret. 

"Now we have our first 'date' immortalized!"  You had giggled, gliding across the ice as if you were ethereal, hands outstretched for Shoto to join you. 

He wonders how you're doing at the shops. He occasionally gets a text or two from you. Sexy pictures of you in the changing room as you obviously buy lingerie as well. 

He fists his cock enough times he gets no work done and by the time he convinces himself enough is enough you come home. 

Wearing that damned devilish smirk. 

And so another week passes in the four walls of his bedroom. Your bank account as stuffed as your pussy as you bounce on his heating and cooling cock. 

"Fuck, baby fuck." Is all Todoroki can say as you chase your own high. His blunt nails clawing at your thighs as your tits bounce. Your mouth opens into that gorgeous O as you seek out that delicious friction on your clit. The coil in your stomach snaps as your humping becomes erratic and sloppy but still enough for your tight cunt to spasm wonderfully over Todoroki. So nice is the sight, sound and smell of you that Todoroki pumps his hips up into you twice before he paints your velvety walls, his eyes focused on you. 

"Fuck." He presses his sweaty head into the silk of his pillow case. Two toned hair clinging to his forehead. You lean over and kiss his cheek. 

"Thanks for the ride Pro hero." You wink before you dismount. Stretching towards the sky once your feet hit the warmed hardwoods, you begin to make your way towards the bathroom. Phone in hand. 

"I wanted to talk about extending your contract." Todoroki says, staring after you, "At dinner tonight." 

"It expired tonight right?" You say, looking over your shoulder while your phone lights up with an alert, "No need for dinner." 

"What do you mean?" He calls to you as you start the shower. 

"I mean, I think we should let the contract expire. Keep things fresh you know? Keep our options open?" 

He jumps to his feet and begs the urgency to die in his step. Calmly with somber steps making his way to the ensuite. He finds you already in the shower, water washes away the smell of sweat. The smell of him as your phone glares up at him. He taps the screen and your recent notifications wave at him as he stares down. 

Reading one of them in horror. 

Todoroki isn't sure why he feels this way as he looks at your phone on his vanity. As if the world fell from beneath his feet. His throat burns as he stares at the illuminated glass, spiraling as steam clouds his vision that begins to blur. He knew what he signed up for, he wanted this. 

This detached, heart hidden exchange in hopes of choking down the loneliness 

But he never expected that when this ended it would feel as if his heart had been ripped out, stepped on and crushed beneath the heel of one of your red bottomed shoes. 

"Come on aren't you joining me for our last shower iced cutie?" 

"Uh yes I'm coming." He steps into the shower as the push alert on your phone burns into his brain. 

"Kirishima Eijirou has put in an offer." 

[miniature-space-hamster]

Lay Me Down to Sleep

My @masseffectholidaycheer fic is finally complete, with a gift for @solstheimart  Hope you enjoy a little bit of Mshenko hurt/comfort inspired by the beautiful piece he made right here. Anyway thank you nightmarestudio606 for the Beta and thank you all for reading!! ^^

Summary:  After Facing Leviathan, Shepard overworks himself to the point of exhaustion before Kaidan drags him off to bed. Link on AO3

Shepard slouched over his desk, heavy head collapsing on a palm as he struggled to focus on the report sitting in front of him. His eyes burned from the light of the datapad. Tired hands fumbled for his eyedrops on the desk, administering a single drop in each eye before shutting them tightly and forcing in a deep inhale to stave off a yawn. He should’ve gone to bed hours ago, but the tasks seemed endless and time was a luxury he knew he didn’t have, no matter how many people he could recruit to fight the Reapers. 

The Despoina report had been sitting on his desk for two days now, as many days since he’d barely escaped with his life from the planet's frigid depths. Something about seeing Leviathan in person had shook him to his core. He’d experienced indoctrination in its original form as Leviathan forced its way into his mind. A shiver wracked his body as he felt his chest tighten, remembering the encounter vividly. Teeth chattered as he furiously rubbed his arms for warmth, certain that the icy chill of Despoina’s waters would never leave his body. 

His eyes grew unfocused as the words on the report slowly lost their meaning. A yawn, louder than he intended, broke through the silence. Another pause, though this one less deliberate. The world grew blurry as exhaustion overcame him. Before he could become aware as he slumped over onto the datapad, and slipped into a deep sleep. 

Nearly an hour had passed before the cabin door hummed open. Kaidan stepped through quietly and took a deep breath, finally finished with his shift. His eyes first drifted towards the bed, hoping to see Shepard getting some much needed rest, but to his disappointment he instead saw an empty bed with untouched sheets. A sigh escaped his lips as he brushed stubborn strands away from his brow. It was late, even by Shepard’s standards. Kaidan turned the corner, ready to tell Shepard to go to bed, but instead saw him asleep on his desk, surrounded by coffee cups gone cold, with his face pressed against a datapad.

Kaidan made his way over quietly, brows knit with concern. He started to wake Shepard gently. Beginning with light touches, massaging tense muscle with practiced motions, he watched and felt for signs of wakefulness. Kaidan wasn’t sure how long he’d been sleeping at his desk this time, but he knew from experience Shepard’s back was going to be killing him when he got up.

Shepard awoke with a start to the feeling of warm hands softly gripping his shoulders as a tender kiss grazed the top of his head. “You should go to bed, Vince,” Kaidan gently coaxed as he massaged the back that must’ve been aching from the prolonged angle. His thumbs gently pressed into the knots in his muscles as Shepard sat up slowly, rubbing his face to orient himself. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, each motion punctuated with a popping joint.

Leaning into Kaidan's warm hands, Shepard groaned as he picked up his datapad, giving it another glance over with furrowed brows. It was still only half finished and cut short by thirty two pages of the letter ‘g’. His posture stiffened as he clenched his jaw. He tapped his pockets, looking for a cigarette to light before realizing they were still on his nightstand. A sigh escaped his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the frustration rising in his chest. He wasn’t sure why he was finding this so difficult at the moment. 

“Gotta finish this report.” His words were more of a grumble than a sentence. 

The hands on Shepard’s shoulders dropped forward to rest on his chest. Kaidan brought his lips to Shepard’s ear as he embraced him. The low rasp of Kaidan’s voice tickled delicate skin. 

“The report can wait, you need to sleep. You’ve had a long day.” Kaidan followed up with a kiss just behind Shepard’s ear as he placed a reassuring hand on his chest to support Shepard’s weight, keeping him from falling back asleep on the desk. Kaidan took a deep breath, filling his senses with the man in front of him. 

Shepard started to speak, brows knit with a protest at the tip of his tongue, but the words were lost in a yawn. Shepard rested his head on Kaidan’s strong biceps. Kaidan’s warmth kept the chill in his body at bay. He could feel himself on the verge of falling asleep once more. 

“You can thank me later,” Kaidan mumbled to himself as he readjusted his grip. Looping both of his arms under Shepard's as he held his chest tightly, Shepard’s head fell back against Kaidan’s chest. His eyes were still open but his eyelids were heavy and his glowing, crimson gaze lacked its usual razor sharp focus. Kaidan held back a laugh, realizing he had already fallen back asleep. 

Kaidan widened his stance before he stood, lifting Shepard with him and nearly sending the chair toppling over. He looked down to see Shepard startled awake with a sleepy scowl that was only further highlighted by his glowing, red eyes. Kaidan hid his smile with a kiss on Shepard’s temple. Though he’d never dare to admit out loud, he found the expression cute.

Carefully stepping away from the desk, Kaidan both carried and dragged Shepard in equal parts off to bed. Being much shorter than Kaidan, Shepard’s legs dangled just above the ground, swaying slightly with the momentum of each step. Kaidan took extra care going down the stairs as he gently stroked Shepard’s collarbone with his thumb. 

The scowl had softened once they made their way to the bed, as Shepard was comforted by the warmth encompassing him. Kaidan let Shepard down, motioning for him to sit at the foot of the bed and he complied without a word. Kaidan quickly got to his knees, looking up with a sideways smile as he let his hands momentarily dance on Shepard’s thighs before moving down his legs and gently taking off his boots, tossing them to the side. 

Kaidan stepped away to reach into a drawer, pulling out a shirt and pants, gently placing the pair of pajamas on Shepard’s lap. His voice was low as he gave Shepard another sideways smile when they locked eyes. “Gonna go shower, I’ll be back in a few.” He leaned forward, reaching for Shepard’s chin before placing a tender kiss on his lips. 

As if on queue, Shepard’s hands instinctively wrapped around Kaidan, gently tracing his sides and pulling him in by his hips. A sigh escaped Kaidan’s lips and Shepard chased the breath, kissing him deeper. With an arm wrapped firmly around his waist, he traced a familiar path up Kaidan’s spine, sending shivers in its wake, eager to get tangled in his dark curls. 

Shepard smiled into the kiss as Kaidan cupped his face with his hands, his thumbs lovingly tracing over the glowing scars on Shepard’s brow and cheekbones. They stayed locked together until they were both desperate for air. Shepard pressed his forehead against Kaidan’s as their eyes met. Shepard gave Kaidan a soft smile that made his heart melt, but Kaidan managed to pull away nonetheless. “I won’t be long, Vince. Just make sure you’re out of that uniform by the time I’m back.” 

Kaidan stumbled out of his boots on the way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing in his wake. Shepard watched him go until the door closed behind him. He stared into the distance for a while, towards the empty space Kaidan left behind before his eyes trailed down to the clothes resting on his lap. He absentmindedly rubbed the soft material between his fingers. 

The weight of the universe had only grown heavier on his shoulders as the war dragged on. He was responsible for so many lives, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that each one was a singular grain of sand slipping through his fingers. Regardless of the success at Despoina, he was only seconds from losing everything all over again. Trapped and helpless in the depths of another cold, dark, and equally unforgiving void. 

Vince changed slowly as he was trapped in his own thoughts. His limbs felt impossibly heavy as he crawled into bed. Without Kaidan’s presence, the bed was cold and unwelcoming as his body shivered violently in protest to his absence. He curled up in the center of the bed, resting his head against Kaidan’s pillow, comforted by the scent that lingered. 

Kaidan was eager to return to Vince’s arms, washing quickly as he struggled against the urge to linger under the hot water of the shower head, regardless of how it soothed his aching body. Prepping for bed in Shepard’s cabin was an adjustment he found himself getting comfortable with quickly. Shepard did his best to make Kaidan feel at home. Everything in the bathroom seemed to come in sets of two now. He’d placed an extra towel on the rack as well as a second toothbrush that rested besides Vince’s on the sink. The cabin felt like their own personal oasis, far away from the war they faced every day. It was a taste of a simpler life. A life that Kaidan hoped they may one day share when the war was over. 

The chill of the air conditioning was a shock to Kaidan’s system as he stepped out from the bathroom, leaving goosebumps in the wake of skin still pink from the heat of the shower. He padded quietly towards the bed wearing only his underwear. He tried to pull back his tousled, towel-dried curls as he watched Vince, not quite asleep, curled up in bed shivering. Kaidan crawled into bed slowly, attempting to not disturb him. But before his head could even hit the pillow Vince was practically on top of him. He was still half asleep and nuzzling his chest with a content sigh. Violent shivers racked his body as he eagerly warmed up beside Kaidan. 

Vince was so cold to the touch. Had been for the past two days. The number of blankets on the bed had doubled since Despoina and Kaidan quickly became the heat source that got him through the night. Vince curled himself against Kaidan, greedy for warmth, but his body was rigid and unyielding. The tension in Vince’s muscles was evident in his back and shoulders. He felt like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. 

“Something bothering you, Vince?” Kaidan’s voice was a soft whisper against his scalp. He already knew the answer. Kaidan always seemed to see through that protective shield Vince held against the world. He carefully combed his fingers through his hair, pulling strays away from his face and shoulders, letting his fingers trace delicate lines along the way down his back.

Vince answered with a forehead pressed firmly against Kaidan’s chest. Vince’s embrace tightened as Kaidan pulled him close and he gently stroked his back. No words were shared as a silent understanding was communicated with touch alone. Every day there was a new set of impossible expectations for Vince, and Kaidan could see it was taking its toll. The weight of the galaxy was far too much for any one set of shoulders, even if the ambassadors continued to ask for more from him without a second thought. Kaidan knew he would continue forward without a second thought. He’d never seen him hesitate or flinch on the battlefield. He was always so good at shutting his emotions off on the battlefield, but right now he just needed to feel.

Kaidan continued stroking Vince’s back absentmindedly, watching his breathing settle. His eyes grew unfocused once more, without fully closing, as his features finally relaxed. The muscles of his back and arms went soft and pliant to the touch. Kaidan kissed the crown of Shepard’s head once he was certain Shepard was finally sleeping. 

He spent a moment watching Vince sleep, waiting for the content smile that always tugged at the corner of his mouth as Kaidan combed his fingers slowly through Vince’s long hair. “This war will be over soon.” Kaidan whispered to himself, barely audible above the hum of the fish tank and Vince’s rhythmic breathing. He needed to stay confident in the moment, even if just to himself. 

The world seemed to be falling apart and all he could do is tell himself whatever helped him sleep. Kaidan’s gaze turned towards the ceiling as he watched the shadows dance from the azure light of the fish tank before the exhaustion also overtook him, a promise for better times to come on loop in his mind.

[thetriggeredhappy]

(I love all of your writings) one of Scout's voice lines literally broke my heart. The one in the Birthday mode which said that no one came to his birthday :"((( the fact that he called everyone his best friends make it sadder. Can you write about that a little bit. I know that you have written about his birthday before but can you do one more pleaseeeeeee

birthday boy time

(warnings for alcohol mention, mention of violence, and injury)

-

“Happy birthday, lad,” Demo greeted, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed by. Scout lit up, calling back a greeting in return.

Call him a sap, but he hadn’t quite given up on having fun birthdays yet. He’d heard it a hundred times from most of the rest of the team, that you stop focusing so much on your birthday when you get older, but not this guy. Scout was determined to actually have a nice birthday.

That being said, he knew by then, after those first few years working with the team, that they had a bit of a history of not necessarily being 100% on board with doing a whole thing purely because someone was a year older, and he mostly settled for bugging some of the team into going out for drinks or ordering a bunch of pizza and playing board games, stuff like that. A hundred times more low-key than what he’d do if they were in Boston, but hey, he took what he could get, and it usually ruled anyways.

To be honest, he didn’t even really have plans that year. He’d said as much when he was asked earlier that week. It was the middle of the week, not all that close to the weekend, so going out with everyone was pretty much off the table, as was getting drunk considering they all had work the day after. He was gonna head into town and get himself a gift, that was most of his plan, maybe hang out with everyone later on too. He’d been saving his money for a while, a just-in-case fund that he’d been working on for a few years, a luxury he didn’t have growing up, and didn’t tend to spend much money on himself outside of snack food and Bonk and sometimes comic books or little things like that. It would be nice to get himself something he really liked. That alone was plenty of excitement. Not an adrenaline kind, just a regular, nice sort of thing.

Overall, he was honestly just thrilled that apparently everyone actually remembered this year, greeted all morning by similar casual “hey, happy birthday”s, including a particularly excited one from Pyro, who hugged him and spun him in a few circles outright. He had plenty of time next year to do some really sick birthday stuff, but overall, he was just gonna chill out, treat himself for once, and relax.

-

“Alright everyone,” the Engineer said grimly, half an hour previously, casting a look around the room. “Here’s the plan.”

The team minus their fastest member were all gathered around the debriefing table, and this time, rather than Miss Pauling with official orders or Soldier with the latest new strategy, it was the Engineer standing up front holding a piece of chalk.

“We’ve been over this, Toymaker, twice weekly all month,” Demo drawled, rolling his eye.

“I know that, but this is important,” he stressed.

“It is true,” Heavy rumbled, nodding solemnly. “This is big deal.”

“We can’t afford to let this one get mucked up considering our history,” the Engineer said firmly. “Every year it’s somethin’. This year we aren’t taking any chances, especially after that catastrophe last year.”

A groan from the team as they collectively remembered. A nod from the Engineer.

“We’re lucky Firebug was the one to ask why Scout was in the kitchen combing the cabinets and not one of us, otherwise he would’ve found out for sure. If he knew we all forgot his birthday, it would crush him,” he said emphatically. The team looked embarrassed as a whole, while Pyro looked particularly mortified. “And we can’t just buy the damn kid a few pizzas and hand him alcohol like that was the plan again this year.”

“Fortunately for all of you, I’ve been so generous as to look into a few things,” Spy piped in, pausing to take a drag from his cigarette.

“As if you won’t take any excuse to snoop,” Sniper mumbled, and was glared at.

“I resent that remark,” Spy scoffed. “Regardless. I happen to know that we’re in luck, and that Scout is planning to go into town for a short period of time this afternoon. For what purpose, I’m not sure. But it should mean we have plenty of time to set everything up.”

“I trust you all have gifts ready?” Medic asked, and received a general murmur of agreement, and made a check on the paper he had attached to a clipboard. “Ja, ja, that is good. Herr Demoman, Pyro, you are done with your baking?”

“Cake is baked, iced, and decorated,” Demo nodded, Pyro giving a thumbs up of agreement.

“Soldier, how are decorations?”

“Acquired and prepared for deployment!” Soldier barked, holding up a hand in salute.

“Doc, Heavy, you two were meant to run interference,” the Engineer said, and the two nodded. “With that not a worry, how about you help with the cooking and decorating?”

“Heavy can do this,” Heavy agreed, and Medic nodded as well, jotting down a few notes on his clipboard.

“And the snake was gonna help with anything that went wrong, and Sniper, you were gonna help with headed into town for anything we needed last minute,” the Engineer said, and received nods from the two of them.

“Do we need anything so far?” Sniper asked.

“No, we’re fine for now. And I’ve got my own setup handled,” the Engineer said, and nodded a few times to himself. “Alright. Sounds like we’re golden.”

“Ja, very good. Herr Spy, would you keep an eye on Scout and let the rest of us know when we can begin getting ready?” Medic asked.

“Obviously,” Spy said.

“Alright. Now go on, get, he’ll be wondering why we’re all running late, act natural,” the Engineer said, shooing them all from the conference room.

-

Later that day after battle was over, Spy dispersed news not long later that Scout had gotten changed into civvie clothes and gone into town on his bike, and they all leapt into action. Within half an hour, the decorations were ready, streamers and balloons in every direction, the table unfolded from their storage (only used when they needed to seat the entire team, which wasn’t often) and was set up with the cake, ready to have candles lit, the presents were stacked neatly, the Engineer had set up the new sound system he’d been working on (put into crunch time to have ready for the occasion), everything was set up and perfect. The only thing they still needed was Scout.

They settled in to wait, knowing town was a good twenty minutes away, thirty if he was headed to the better one. By the time he found everyone, Spy said that it had been about ten minutes, and they took around thirty to set everything up, meaning that Scout would probably be at least another ten minutes, maybe as much as half an hour. Spy would keep his eyes open and warn them when he came back, but in the meantime, they could relax while they waited.

In the meantime, Soldier and Demo attempted a few ‘finishing touches’ (putting party hats on his more docile raccoons and setting out some firecrackers and sparklers, respectively), and some of the other members of the team sat to play cards for a bit. Pyro, easily the most antsy, burned their way through the box of matches that sat waiting next to the cake one by one and started idly playing with their lighter when they ran out, occasionally lighting some of the extra candles.

Half an hour came and went. Forty minutes. Fifty. An hour.

They asked Spy if he had any word yet. The answer was no, and the visual of a few cigarette butts littered around Spy’s feet and a scowl.

The Engineer played a few song requests on the sound system. Soldier switched around party hats on the raccoons to better suit their personalities. Demo lit a sparkler and let it burn out. They switched card games.

At the two hour mark, the concern was starting to build in all of them. Maybe Scout went even further than any of them had expected. He hadn’t told any of them to wait up for him, to be fair. But he always told them outright if he wouldn’t be back for supper, and he hadn’t said anything, and should’ve been back by then. It was getting well into sundown.

“I am preparing to declare Scout as officially AWOL,” Soldier mumbled somewhere near the two/and-a-half hour mark, just a bit angrily, adjusting the party hat on Corporal Munch where it was crooked. Demo patted him on the shoulder to console him.

“He’ll get here when he gets here,” he assured, going back to fiddling with a party popper.

“Don’t waste those,” the Engineer warned. “And no queens, Go Fish.”

A groan from Medic. Demo shrugged. “We have some extra. Here, just to liven her up.”

He tugged the string on the popper, setting it off and sending a short shower of confetti onto Soldier, and that was where it all went wrong.

Corporal Munch, startled, made a little yelp-like noise and quickly clawed up Soldier’s chest, startled and attempting to escape. Soldier tried to grab on harder, but that just made the raccoon even more alarmed, and it rushed to clamor faster, digging claws in hard. Heads turned in time to see Soldier losing his grip and the animal rushing away towards the nearest enclosed, dim space, which just so happened to be the table Pyro was sitting at with the cake.

Pyro leapt up from their seat, battle instincts kicking in for a moment, and the movement startled the Corporal, who veered suddenly and crashed directly into one of the chairs, toppling it and the one directly next to it and making the entire table jerk.

Pyro, panicked, quickly grabbed the cake stand before it could fall over, dropping their lighter and the candle in their hand. The two things landed on the tablecloth, and by the time Pyro realized their mistake, they’d already lit the thin paper tablecloth on fire.

Shouting around the room as teammates attempted to leap into action, Pyro trying to save the cake from the fire first and foremost, Soldier attempting to catch the Corporal, who was only becoming more freaked out over time. Heavy moved to snatch up some of the other flammable items off of the table, but misjudged where Pyro was moving, and Pyro collided with him, the cake tumbling from the stand and directly across the both of them. The Corporal, entirely confused on the commotion, attempted to claw into the space under the cards table, making Medic yelp as his legs were torn into, Sniper rushing to try and catch the animal as well. Demo, having found the fire extinguisher, realized he was a bit late as he tried to put out the table, most of the tablecloth gone and the fire having spread across the streamers, and he tried to put out what he could, and it was only with the Engineer’s cry of dismay that he remembered, oh, right, those streamers were on top of that shiny new sound system, weren’t they. With a final puff, the ‘Happy Birthday’ sign went up in flames and was gone, and the team was left there in the wreckage.

Spy rounded the corner into the room, eyebrows furrowed from the commotion he’d heard. When he saw the smoking, foamy, cake-y remains, all he could do was sigh, kneading at the bridge of his nose. “Something new every year, is it?” he drawled.

-

It took them the better part of forty minutes to clean up the mess, and even then, the room had a weird smell to it. By the end of everything, all they had was one of the undecorated practice cakes Pyro had baked, some party hats, and some poppers. And by the time they were done cleaning up, Scout still hadn’t returned.

“At least he doesn’t have to see what a damn mess we made of things,” the Engineer sighed, and that seemed to be the consensus.

It was much later that Spy finally let them know that he’d seen the headlights of a motorcycle coming up the road, and the team just sighed, too tired to work up much energy. Some of them at least planned to call out a ‘happy birthday’ at him, but all they could do was stare when he walked into the room.

“Hey, guys,” Scout croaked, attempting a smile through a bruised lip.

“What the hell happened to you?” Sniper demanded, taking in the sight.

Scout was busted up in a number of different ways. What looked like a former bloody nose and a swollen lip seemed to be the worst of it, an amount of blood all down Scout’s front, staining what looked like one of his nicer civvie shirts beyond repair. There was also a dampness to his shirt and hair and a stain that implied he’d been splashed with something, practically drenched by the look of it, and he carried himself just slightly off-balance and held a bag in the arm not cradled to his abdomen.

Despite that, he managed a laugh, a lopsided grin. “Man, what the hell didn’t happen to me is more like it,” he said, shrugging. “Had a weird one.”

“Are you alright?” Medic demanded, already standing up, from his chair, and Scout shrugged again.

“Just bruises and all, it’s not an emergency or whatever, but I’d appreciate a heal or somethin’,” he admitted, and Medic left the room, hurrying towards the infirmary. “Forreal, though, what a fuckin’ night.”

“What’s on your shirt?” Spy asked, entirely deadpan, looking vaguely disgusted.

“Uh, I think it’s a margarita?” Scout said, glancing down at it and picking at his shirt vaguely. “I, uh, I should start from the top. Okay, so I went into town, right? I was just gonna buy some stuff real quick, and I got, uh… I got a little lost.”

“A little? Scooter, you’ve been gone all day!” the Engineer admonished.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. There was construction on the usual road, I think they’re fixin’ a bridge or somethin’. Anyways, I got pretty far off track, but I got to town eventually. Just took a while. Anyways, I do my shopping, but because I was all rattled from havin’ to take a hundred detours I totally forget that there’s this one guy at the store that hates my guts, and I’ve gotta split pretty fast before he knocks some teeth out, y’know?”

“Do we want to know why he hates you?” Demo asked, a bit of humor in his tone.

“Nope,” Scout said simply, grinning right back. “So, yeah, but on my way into town I saw at the bar they have some kinda thing goin’ on, right, some kinda weird drink special. So I figure, hey, I’ll walk in, get the new drink, then I’ll leave, y���know? I don’t wanna have to drive home after dark and drunk. So I order, and as soon as I order some guy who’s been at the bar too long already starts tryin’ to pick a fight with me, right? And it’s a whole thing, and I finally get my drink but now there’s a whole thing, and I kinda make this offhanded comment at this gal nearby, y’know, tryin’ to make sure he knows we’re in a public place, all ‘hey, you’re really gonna embarrass yourself by pick in’ fights right in front of this real pretty girl?’, right?”

“Oh no,” Sniper sighed, already seeing where this was going.

“Well, yeah, bad luck, turns out that’s his girlfriend, and he shoves me into some guy, and I get a whole drink all over me, and mine is all over some third gut, and this whole brawl breaks out—anyways, busted lip and no drink and I’m probably not allowed in that bar anymore, but whatever, I finally start headed home.”

“Right,” Spy said, suspicious.

“And, uh, I never wanna drive at night because there’s all these animals out here, right? And the roads are shitty. And I’m headed back, and it’s dark as dicks, and I think I see this rock and I try and go around it, but then the rock moves back in my way because it’s a lizard or whatever and I hit the breaks and swerve straight into a pothole and just barely manage to keep on my bike, but I donk myself on the handlebars and totally throw my leg out of wack and all that. And, uh, and now I’m here.”

“Christ alive,” the Engineer marvelled.

“Bad day to have,” Heavy said, also stunned.

“Hey, it’ll be a funny story to tell later,” Scout shrugged, still grinning. “Got those new shoes at least, though.”

He pulled a shoebox out of the paper bag, and the box was dented into some kind of new parallelogram, barely resembling its past shape. Scout, meanwhile, was still smiling.

Silence in the room. “Well. While it is unlikely you need any more excitement today,” Spy trailed hesitantly. Pyro, understanding the cue, leapt up and hurried off into the kitchen, coming back with the cake.

“Woah, seriously?” Scout asked, eyes lighting up. “You made me a cake? Mumbles, you’re the best!”

“We, uh… we had more planned, but, some things went a little wrong,” the Engineer admitted, and trailed off as well as he looked at Scout.

“Not that we get to complain,” Demo laughed, seeming to come to the same realization as the Engineer.

“Are you joking? This rules!” Scout said, and lit up further when Medic returned with his Medigun, shaking off his injuries within a few moments. “Hey, thanks guys, seriously, no idea what I did to get such cool teammates. You guys are awesome, I mean it.”

“Dunno how we got a bloke like you, either,” Sniper shrugged, voice quiet compared to the rest of them. “Not many people can laugh after a day like yours and still have the energy to be pleased with anyone.”

“Aw, hey, I mean… y’know, it’s nothing,” Scout shrugged sheepishly, glancing away for a second. “Hey, you guys are playin’ cards? Deal me in! Oh yeah, hold on, we need plates and stuff for cake—“

He dropped his bag near the door and hurried into the kitchen. The room was quiet behind him. Demo held up a party popper, glancing around the room. The Engineer took it from him, shaking his head.

[machinegunbun]

2

The house you eventually park in front of is much like yours, just a bit bigger, since Colson didn't live alone. The sound of sirens outside is carried almost melodically in the freezing wind. You soak it all in, wondering about who else in this city felt so far from home and yet right in the thick of it.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Colson quips, motioning to the steps, "but at least we got it to ourselves tonight," his grin could stretch a city mile.

Once inside, Colson immediately turns on a nearby heater and clears the couch, grabbing his RAW tray off the busted up coffee table, almost muscle memory, it seems, for both of you. You lay a fat sack down on the rolling tray as he sweeps the papers out of the way.

"Damn, do you really got glaucoma?" He snorts, untwisting the top. "No wonder I can smell it thru your backpack." He is all smiles while he breaks it down. "Have a seat, make yourself at home," he offers, pointing to the couch cushion free next to him.

You sit down on the very edge, causing Colson to stop in his tracks.

"Aw, come on, don't do me like that," he pouts, pulling a folded blanket from the chair to his left. "I got blankies," he teased, knowing how drafty all these houses are the heater won't cut it. "I said, make yourself at home," he playfully insists, and unexpectedly, he grabs your thigh to pull you so close, you can feel the heat emitting from his jeans.

He continues as if nothing had even happened, luxurious tongue peeking out to seal the blunt. So you wrap the blanket across your laps, and act nonchalant, too, trying to force the lump in your throat all the way down.

"A backwoods, that's classic," you offer as a change of subject, watching mesmerized as the ambient lighting and warm tones of the fake flames of the heater danced across his chiseled face. Godddd, why couldn't you control yourself?

Colson smirked before running a lighter across it. "Only the best for my guest."

The two of you sit cozy under the blanket for a short period of time, passively hitting the blunt and savoring before passing, while Colson rigged up a speaker. As the hip hop played softly, you felt your muscles relax a bit, most they had in 6 years.

Colson began probing you with his eyes again, like he was about to start 20 questions back up.

"So, you're not really from around here, are you?" He digs, pressing a thigh against yours to turn to face you better.

"Ah, no," you say, nodding

"From....?" He prompts, rolling his hand before passing the blunt.

"Down South," you're ashamed the more you divulge.

Colson pulls a face. "You don't have an accent, though," he contests.

"Got rid of it," you shrug. "People think you're stupid," you smile back.

Colson takes a hand and begins rubbing your thigh softly, as if to comfort you, although he can feel the tension increasing doing just the opposite. "I wouldn't think you're stupid, at all," he husks quietly, serious.

You don't want to make a sound for fear it will come out as a squeak.

"Look, I would ask what brings you all the way out here, but..." He trails off before hitting the blunt hard. "I'm a blunt motherfucker, so I'll just say it. I know about the..." He is swallowing the wrong words, struggling despite his frankness. "Well, the whole crew knows about the... The statutory situation," he whispers, like someone is listening. "You don't really talk to nobody, so.. They got curious. There's... There's lots of articles."

You almost disassociate, so he takes it as a sign to continue.

"I couldn't imagine. So, if I'm making you uncomfortable..." He begins to look worried, the desire to backpedal immediately written across his face.

You physically snap back, and force him to stop leaning away from you.

"You're blunt, huh?" You ask, now trying to comfort him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry," he relaxes into your touch, though.

"You don't have any chains or ropes here, so I'm not here by force," you smile, darkly, almost transported back to 15 again.

Colson winces, sympathetically, before shaking his head (to no doubt clear images) the articles he had read that paint an all too vivid picture out of his mind like an etch a sketch.

"Look, I ... I really wanted to get to know you, and... Everybody told me it was a bad idea, you know? Like I would fuck up your life. But I just really can't resist, you seem so cool, so sweet," Colson trails off, realizing in your vulnerable state he had began being too vulnerable as well.

"Thanks. I know that sounds stupid, but, most people... Well, most guys, avoid me like the plague."

Colson melts back into the couch, into your warmth surrounding you, before beginning to pull a cigarette out for each of you. He passes it to you, so intuitive to how on edge you're feeling. He knows you too well already.

"You don't have to be scared, you know," you remind him, "you can keep playing 20 questions." You're joking but serious. "I've possibly purposefully not made any friends here yet. I salute you breaking the ice AND addressing the elephant in the room," you admit. "I like cutting thru the bullshit."

Colson takes a thoughtful drag from his cigarette while formulating his next question.

" okay," he sounds more at ease, "do you have a boyfriend?" He risks, wincing at how insensitive it sounds, but he correctly got the impression it was forgiven and you wanted to move forward exactly as he intended originally.

"Oooh, no, actually," you giggle at the spicy question. "Other than, the, ya know... Situation, shall I say, never been with a man before." You're shocked at how honest you're being.

Colson can't help his jaw dropping. "How... How old are--you're still a virgin??" He is stumbling over his words.

"21, and, yeah," you choke out, sudden shyness taking over.

It was so refreshing he considered you a virgin still that you could die on the spot.

"Whoa. Just.... Damn," Colson stuttered, as the etch a sketch cleaned his slate once again. Hopefully be was clearing thoughts of how tight you must be still, not how damaged you are.

"Do, um," he clears his throat while putting out his cigarette, "what kind of tattoos and piercings do you have?"

"None, of either, actually," you admit, eyes hungrily scanning Colson's inked up neck.

It seems he can't believe his ears.

"Are you.. Holy shit, no way? Prove it," he challenges.

You shrug the blanket and flannel off to expose your belly, shoulders, and lift your crop top to show nothing on collar bones. Colson looks like he would spit if he had water he was drinking. He wasn't expecting you to show him anything for real.

He lifts a tentative hand to your cheek to brush your hair behind the ear, "wow, no ear piercings, either. You're magical," he says heavily. "You're younger than me, by, like, a lot, but anyone... like you, I never would have guessed..."

You realize now that his knuckles still lay resting on your cheek, stroking it softly, and he'll be able to feel them burning red hot with embarrassment and desire The shame, because you've never done this before, never been so close and intimate with someone, and the desire as well for the same reason.

"You're better than I ever even imagined," he admits before falling silent, soaking up your reaction fully,

Colson breaks the silence first. "I want to kiss you," he states, voice dripping with lust, and cracking slightly.

As you place a hand over his much larger on your cheek, he takes this as a sign to keep going. Leaning forward, foreheads almost touching, Colson licks his lips and scans your face hungrily.

"Can I?" He prompts, impatient, pupils blown, and jaw tight with anticipation.

You feel like you barely nod, hand dropping off of his, before he grabs it tightly to put it around his neck.

"Like this, let me show you," he whispers, lips ghosting yours.

In one Swift motion he slides a hand under your lower back in order to lay you down gently on the couch, hovering above you, on the edge of deranged with desire, like a wolf standing over a downed deer. You figure Colson has never had to exhibit this much self control before.

"I wanna defile you, take your innocence," he rasps, thumb finding its way to your bottom lip, stroking gently, opening your mouth ever so slightly. "I want it to be mine, I've wanted this for so long," he smiles, his rock hard cock pressing with a ungodly heat against your pubic bone. He's not even hiding anything anymore, using your exposed tummy and clothed pussy to hump and grind softly in order take the edge off.

"Can I touch you?" He asks desperately, biting his lip so hard you thought it might bleed. "I want to help you relax a little," Colson whispers, though you imagine it's just as much for him as it is you.

"Anything you want, Cols." You're almost choking.

He lets out a dark laugh at this, and in an instant his hands feel like they're all over you, exploring, finally coming to rest at your jugular, feeling the intense pounding underneath his fingertips.

"You're scared?" It's a question as much as it is a statement. "Or turned on?" Colson raises a brow, other hand massaging your thigh, slowly curling it around his waist, positioning and posing you like a ragdoll, your body defeated and limp to his touches. You are in a state of bliss and fear. "Maybe both," he concludes, smirking.

At this you close your eyes, expecting any second to wake up from this all too familiar dream, as you've pined for your coworker possibly even longer than he has.

Suddenly, Colson is at your ear, breath hot and desperate. "Don't be scared babydoll, you're in good hands," he reassures, nipping at your earlobe in such a way it sends a shiver all throughout your body. "I... Will go... Slowww," he teases out painstakingly, "slow as you need me to," he adds gently.

It was then you were startled into the reality of the situation by the sound of his belt coming undone, soft noises as it is expertly slipped out of his belt loops in one, fluid motion. Colson feels you panic underneath him, and he is quick to respond to this.

—-

Havent had a chance to read it yet but i wanted yall to have fhis lmfaoo. A gift from bigblakdix to me to you

[holykillercake]

Hazy Justice - 03

01 02 03

🇨‌🇴‌🇵‌!🇸‌🇲‌🇴‌🇰‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇽‌ 🇲‌🇮‌🇱‌🇮‌🇹‌🇦‌🇷‌🇾‌🇩‌🇴‌🇨‌🇹‌🇴‌🇷‌!🇷‌🇪‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌🇷‌

word count: 2.5k

summary: After eight years serving your country in a war, you returned to your hometown as the new head of Trauma Surgery in one of the best hospitals in the country. You were expecting a calmer life now, but suddenly you see yourself choosing between your brain and your heart, light and dark, justice and evil.

highlight: ¨You looked like millions of dollars, and you felt like millions of dollars.¨

warning:  Use sunglasses. Too bright.

notes: .Dear comrades, it has been a while but it's finally here! With new characters and lots and lots of threads.

🇱‌🇪‌🇦‌🇻‌🇪‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇲‌🇲‌🇪‌🇳‌🇹‌🇸‌, 🇭‌🇪‌🇦‌🇷‌🇹‌🇸‌, 🇦‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇱‌🇴‌🇻‌🇪‌!

¨Hello...¨ you were instantly greeted by the tingling doorbells that let the owner know whenever a client entered the establishment. 

Your eyes traveled to the half-moon bar where the slim and tall woman leaned casually, cigarette adorning her elegant fingers. Her eyebrows raised as she took in your figure, double-checking if you were not someone else.

¨Oh! Y/N-chan, is that you?¨

¨Shakky!¨ she made her way out of the bar to hug you ¨It´s so good to see you! You haven´t changed at all!¨

Her kind chuckle made you feel like a kid again, and you couldn´t stop yourself from tearing with the nostalgic feeling.

 ¨Thanks, Baby. Now you,¨ she put her hands on your shoulders and opened a distance, eyes examining you like a mother hawk ¨you look tired. Eight years in war made you no good.¨

You nodded and laughed ¨I guess we can put it that way.¨

¨Come, treat is on the house.¨ 

Clapping your hands, you followed the lady towards the bar. ¨So, where´s Rayleigh-san?¨ 

¨He just left, but it shouldn´t take long. He´ll be happy to see you, Y/N-chan.¨

The circumstances that connect you to Shakky and Rayleigh go way back to decades ago when your parents were still alive. By that time, all you knew was that they were friends, people you could trust. You were not allowed to ask more questions about their jobs, and you couldn´t find a suitable answer with the information you had. 

They were always on the road, visiting only once in a while. They would bring incredible gifts from various countries and discuss ¨adult matters¨ with your parents while Crocodile helped you with homework. 

Whenever you brought up your curiosities to your brother, he would say that they talked about the war, and you were too young to hear such things. Crocodile was also not allowed in the room, but he´d always peer into the conversation through the ventilation ducts. 

If he´s saying, it must be true.  

Since your dad was a Lieutenant Colonel, there was always the possibility of his unit being requested to offer back up or engage actively. You never minded it, though. He had already been sent to a lot of dangerous missions, and he came back every single time. He was strong and invincible. He would always return to his family. 

Well, that was true until the day you found your mother in the kitchen, breaking in tears, holding a smudged letter in her hands, together with your father´s dog tag. 

You stared at her and your brother, blinking in the hope of seeing what was wrong. The woman at the kitchen table did not look like your mother. She had no sparkle in her eyes or pride in her chest.

On the contrary, thick and dark tears fell from her eyes, blurred from the makeup that always accentuated her piercing gaze. Her lips were not curved in the tender smile she used to carry. Instead, she bit her lower lip so hard that you could almost see blood staining her pink lipstick.

¨Dad´s not coming home.¨ was all Crocodile said.

That was not the time when things got completely off track, but it was a significant change in your family's life. The government offered a military pension and a country flag for the services provided by your father. However, you had to be transferred to the Commercial District, where your mother worked as an archivist at the Ohara Institute of Historical Research. 

¨Y/N?¨ you heard a male voice call, making you turn. 

Your eyes shifted between the two male figures standing at the door. ¨Rayleigh-san!¨ you shouted like a kid seeing Santa Claus at the shopping mall ¨Smoker!?¨ this one came out more like a question. 

¨You have grown, little one!¨ he patted your head like old times. ¨Maybe my white hair makes sense. I´ve aged!¨ he laughed cheerfully, and Smoker tilted his head. 

¨Finer than wine!¨ you giggled, then turned to the other white-haired man, cheeks blushing ¨This is, uhm... I swear I´m not following you.¨ 

¨Oh, you two know each other?¨ Shakky asked, adding two more old-fashioned glasses on the counter. 

¨We´re neighbors!¨ 

¨That´s great! Come, we have a lot to talk! Today is on the house!¨ Rayleigh shouted similar words as his wife. You wondered if that was the synchronization of personalities or if the alcohol he had prior was impairing his judgment. 

Shakky decided to close for the day, wanting to spend as much time as possible in your company. The clock seemed to have stopped while you were drinking, eating snacks, and catching up on years of conversation. 

It was funny how sometimes it felt like a ping pong game between you and Rayleigh. Every so often, the conversation would turn into matches of him serving shots of military-wise improper questions and you backhanding with ¨That´s classified information, Rayleigh-san.¨.

Did he have a poor memory or all those years of scotch and cigars in your father´s office taught him nothing? Either way, you were having too good of a time at that table to worry about his faulty memory. 

¨Are you sure you´re neighbors?¨ Shakky asked with a playful grin ¨You seem to know nothing about each other.¨

¨I would say that´s a pretty sharp point.¨ you answered in the same lighted tone. 

¨Tight schedules, I´d say.¨ Smoker added, shifting on the couch.

¨But it looks like you´re free today. How about dinner? Four of us, our house, like old times Y/N.¨ Rayleigh seemed too keen on this, and you wondered if he was trying to set you up on a date. 

¨Well, as much as I would love that, I´ve got plans for tonight.¨ 

¨Let me guess,¨ Rayleigh created a tension ¨classified information?¨ 

You laughed loudly at his stupid joke. It was a predictable Ray-san ice breaker, but you couldn't help yourself. This man was a blissful delight. 

¨Much to your content, tonight´s plan I´ll be able to spill.¨ you teased him ¨I´m having dinner with Crocodile tonight!¨ 

What happened after you pronounced those words would have gone unnoticed by someone inattentive. It felt like a slight change in the air, like those quiet moments before a bomb exploded, when the clock stopped ticking. 

You didn´t have the chance to question before Shakky took the wheel. 

¨That´s great, Y/N!¨ her elegant hands embraced yours, affectionate and caring ¨Did you see how much he´s changed?¨ 

¨Uhm, actually,¨ you blinked, focusing back on the conversation ¨it´s the first I meet him in... eight years.¨ 

The tightness you felt in your chest almost made you tear, and the woman saw it. Her eyes carried a hint of compassion... or pity. 

¨You miss him a great deal, right, Baby?¨ 

¨Yeah...¨ you shrugged ¨he was out of town when I arrived, so I only got the chance now. But how´s he doing? Did he change a lot?¨

¨Oh, baby, it´s been a while since we met. He´s a busy man, you know.¨ 

Your brows raised, then furrowed, and you had a perplexed smile hanging on your lips. You would not have believed those words if they hadn´t come directly from them. 

¨Oh, wha- well, I´ll¨ a nervous laugh left your mouth ¨I´ll drag him by the hair, then! Busy man, bullshit! He used to bug mom and dad all the time, asking why you guys couldn´t live with us!¨

¨Don´t stress yourself over that, Y/N.¨ Rayleigh said with his gentle smile.  ¨He runs a lot of businesses, I´m sure he would drop by more if he could.¨ 

Shakky nodded¨And, it´s your first time in the Light District, right? Was that the only district you haven´t lived in yet?¨

¨That and the Noble District, obviously.¨ you rolled your eyes.

¨You lived in all other districts?¨ Smoker asked after a silent moment in the conversation.

¨Yeah, long story and not that interesting. You´d be bored, trust me.¨ 

¨It´s rather difficult to find someone who lived in more than two districts, so I´d like to hear that.¨ 

¨Alright, but don´t say I didn´t warn you.¨ 

You peeked at your wristwatch, running some basic math in your head and deciding that it was time to go if you didn´t want to be late for dinner. Your lips twisted in a pout, and your expression dropped a little for having to leave this fantastic moment.  

Surprisingly enough, leaving them was not as difficult as you imagined. Maybe because they reminded you that you could visit them anytime now, or because you did not want to act like a crybaby on Smoker´s car. 

He said it was also about time for him to leave and offered you a ride back home. You would not have to take the subway and would get the chance to know him better.

 A win-win situation. 

The first minutes were a bit silent, but after you asked him if he should be driving since he had quite a lot to drink, he responded with an awkward stuttering that was rather charming. The conversation that followed was smooth as you realized he was way easier to talk to than you imagined. 

Smoker was respectful, always making sure that it was ok for you to talk about your past while sharing some things about his life as well. Inside of that car, he almost seemed like a different person. His brows were not furrowed ad his voice sounded relaxed. 

The ride ended too fast for your liking, and you saw yourself waving goodbye when deep down you wanted to ask him to stay for a coffee. Unfortunately, you couldn´t, maybe some other day. Now you had to make yourself presentable to meet your other half, your brother. 

                                                            ...

The Light District was nothing like you had seen before. The entrance was marked by a gigantic golden arch, which carried an equally shining bell.

Tall palm trees swayed in the cool breeze, tinged with orange by the sunset. Luxurious establishments, whose signs began to be lit, occupied both sides of the clear sidewalk. 

From a distance, you could see the tip of the Ferris wheel of the Sora park. It did not spin due to the recess, but the lights remained on. The roller coaster that had been the cause of the accident was surrounded by tall metal poles, being repaired for the reopening of the place.

The driver Crocodile sent to pick you up lowered the window so you could enjoy the view to the fullest. Your hair started to fly in the wind, and a delicious smell of butter invaded your nose. The restaurants had already begun to heat up the pots to receive their customers.

The Light District was projected to offer convenience to the ones who were willing to pay the price. Therefore, all that was best was located in Eldorado Avenue, the main passage that extended for kilometers like a luxurious and soft red carpet. 

¨We are approaching the hotel, miss Y/N. Sir Crocodile awaits for you.¨

¨Uh...¨ you murmured, amazed by the view. 

You squinted when something reflected in your eyes, catching your attention, and a gasp got stuck in your throat when you spotted the famous Hotel Verde.

 Well, it was impossible not to notice it. 

First of all, it did not look like a hotel. It resembled more a small town. Even taller palm trees guided the way towards the entrance, both sides occupied by ponds and tropical plants. The building stood tall like a lighthouse and at the top rested an enormous golden statue of the reptile that represented its owner.  

You did not wait for Daz, the man your brother chose to escort you, to get out when the car stopped. You put yourself out as soon as the limo parked in front of the main stairway. After so many years without putting on a heel, maybe you would accept a hand to go up the stairs.

Your hands smoothed the dark green silk dress that dragged on a short tail, courtesy of Crocodile, along with shoes and jewelry. You looked like millions of dollars, and you felt like millions of dollars.

When the valet took the car somewhere else, Daz put himself beside you, offering you his arm. Your heart pounded like the Ox Bell at every step, and you breathed through your mouth, trying to keep your cool. 

You saw various types of people coming in and out of the hotel, all of them embellished with jewels and shiny tackles like Christmas trees. Each and every one exalted wealth and power, with their nonchalant glares and pointed noses. Your gut twisted, remembering Shakky and Rayleigh´s words, wishing Crocodile hadn´t turned into someone like them. 

The long stairway was divided in the middle by a golden rail, separating who went up from who went down. That might have been the reason why the man coming down your way caught your attention. Or perhaps it was the weight of his gaze, hidden by the reddish specs. His blonde hair and skin seemed like gold, the pink suit looked orange-ish due to the sunset, and his wide grin made you quiver. 

He walked with two men by his side, freeing the way for him. At some point, no one dared to come close to the stairs. It was only the five of you. 

¨Daz!¨ the man, who seemed more familiar now, exclaimed ¨I wonder who´s the person that would make you leave your boss´back.¨

He approached you, hungry gaze brimming on his tongue. He was tall and seemed even more as he closed the distance. 

¨Not even the luxury dolls get to be escorted.¨ he gently took your hand and kissed your knuckles with delicacy. 

You weren´t convinced by his gesture. If anything, you felt bothered to see him disrespecting the house´s rules, as if that disrespected you directly. ¨Tell me, dear, what is your name?¨

¨If you wish to know something from someone, it is more appropriate to introduce yourself first.¨ your voice came out indifferent and a vein popped on his forehead before breaking into laughter.

¨Fufufu I can´t say you are wrong!¨ he leaned back, large hand on his stomach. ¨I´m Donquixote Doflamingo. It surprised me that you couldn't put that together. Now tell me, doll, what do they call you?¨

You sighed and looked around, spotting a figure at the top of the stairs that lifted your mood and gave you all the strength and confidence you needed to end the conversation. A smile grew on your lips as you turned to Doflamingo, eyeing him with nothing but the will to leave. 

¨They call me Lieutenant-Colonel Y/N L/N, Division Surgeon of the Army. Or just LT Colonel L/N if you prefer.¨ you offered him a respectful nod before turning your attention to the man who waited for you with a smile on his face. ¨Now, if you excuse me, Mr. Donquixote.¨

[ajbwasntwriting]

Daughter!Reader X Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 1. Darling Princess

Next

After the sneak peak tested well I decided to post the first chapter. I have many more already written and in the making but I’ll only post them if this gets a good reaction so please if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

Sucking on another cigarette the stale tobacco burned your throat in a way you would’ve been disgusted by years ago. You looked out your window down at the gate, walkers pulling at it to try and get in. It had been a couple of years since Negan took power and more than long enough for you to feel trapped. You held the smoke in your lungs, a small part of your brain wishing it would ignite inside you and let you combust, before letting it out slow and smooth. Luxuries like this were meant to last. Another luxury was the leather loveseat you were sitting on, and the black and blue mosaic coffee table your feet and ashtray were on, and the acoustic gibson on your lap.

You placed the smoke between your lips to free your hand so you could strum the strings. You were playing an old rock balled your old man had taught you what felt like a life-time ago. He didn’t teach you to play guitar but when you came back from scouts playing campfire songs he insisted on teaching you some real music. You thought back on how many of his guitar strings you broke before that Christmas he bought you your own Washburn. The strings seemed to break less when the instrument was more your size. Those memories felt so distant now. As if they belonged to another person or were part of a movie you watched. The lyrics of the tune you were playing were on the cusp of coming back to you when your door opened violently somewhere behind you.

“My dearest daughter” Negan spoke as he entered your private room. You likened his new way of talking to that of a TV presenter. Always having to keep people on their toes. You used to think it funny when you were a kid but it wasn’t part of his personality then. “What are you doing here? Dinner was half an hour ago.”

“I’m not hungry” you shot back not even turning to face him, which would have been easy since the chair sat with its side to the window, but the walkers chewing on the fence were far more interesting.

“Y/N, don’t lie to me. You said the same at breakfast.” He sauntered over. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Lucille wasn’t with him.

“Food I didn’t earn doesn’t sate my appetite” you shot back, leaning forward to put out your smoke in the ashtray. That must have stirred something within him because the next thing you know you were grabbed by your arm and dragged out of your room, the guitar hitting the ground with a sorry sound. You let him drag you without protest, knowing better.

You were pulled into a plush dining room, immaculately furnished with white cushioned chair and a long oak table, set with silver cutlery. There were five sets in total for you, your father, and three of his ‘wives’. You figured this was some sort of ‘happy family’ play he’d act out but you didn’t know who the viewer was. You? The wives? The men? Or maybe knowing you didn’t want to be here was entertainment enough.

You were shoved into a chair next to the head of the table across from Frankie. She looked comfortable while nursing her drink but you reckoned that wasn’t her first. In front of her sat a bottle of vodka, distilled on-site by worker number 12. Fat Joey was filling the bowls with soup when your father shoved your chair in. He plopped himself into the chair next to you at the head of the table.

“Now isn’t this nice. A big happy family dinner before your old man takes off tomorrow.” You didn’t dignify him with a reply, instead motioning to the bottle of vodka in front of you. 

“May I have some, Frankie?” she looked at the bottle then smiled at you 

“Go ahead, Princess”. You picked up the bottle and filled your glass half-way to spite her for that nickname. 

“Thank you” you tried to be civil, as badly as you wanted to just walk off with the bottle, you sipped your glass instead.

You silently started the soup. The veggies were cut into large pieces. Perfect, chewing gave you a reason not to talk to the dickhead to your left. Your eyes were too buried in your soup to see the other two wives staring at you and your father who was boring holes into your head with his eyes.

“How was your day, Y/N?” Tanya perked up

“Same as yours” you replied with a mouth full of carrot and potato

Silence

“Where are you going tomorrow Negan?” Nicolle added.

“Ladies.” Your father spoke out, his tone showing his distinct lack of patience. “I’m not an idiot. I can tell that our darling daughter doesn’t want to share our company.”

“I made that obvious in my room.” Your spoon fell gracelessly into your bowl. “Why am I here?!” 

He reached over and rubbed your cheek affectionately. “Because I love you. And!” he punctuated the final word by raising a finger in front of your face, a silent cue to wait. He stood up from his chair and took off out of the room and down the hall. You took this moment to talk to his wives.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” you said before starting to shovel soup into your mouth.

“Like hell, we don't.” Frankie retorted, earning a short child from one of the others. You chuckled and swallowed the food in your mouth. You picked up your glass and gestured it at Frankie

“Take notes, Ladies. Frankie doesn’t try bullshit on me” Frankie gestured her glass back. You guessed she’d been in a similar situation, forced to get along with people because it was easier. She didn’t try to be your friend because you knew you wouldn’t appreciate it, which in a weird turn of events you appreciated.

Your father arrived back. It was now you noticed he was a lot cleaner than usual, even the signature leather jacket had left him. Now you were alarmed. In his hands was a pink box with a purple bow. He placed it in front of you and kissed the top of your head. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

“Is it my birthday?” you asked, not quite sure. Time had become a blur since the end of the world. You pushed your bowl away to bring the box in front of you.

“Give or take a few months. I know I’ve missed a couple what with...everything...so this will count for at least one of them.” He placed a hand on your shoulder giving it a little squeeze, your own hand finding its way on top “There’s a lot more gifts coming for my princess, don't you worry.” You couldn’t help the smile that came to you, giggling slightly. You looked up at him, seeing nothing but unconditional love being sent back your way 

“Dad, it’s alright.” You smiled and turned back to your gift. The wives were now watching, captivated by this little bit of humanity at the end of it all. You gingerly opened the bow and lifted the lid off.

Inside lay a military knife, clearly hand-made on-site with a beautiful leather handle and your name carved into the side in cursive. You released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. You picked it up, finding it fits in your hand perfectly. 

“It’s beautiful” you near-whispered, watching as the candle lights hit against the metal. In a moment it was lodged in the table a mere inch from Tanya’s hand. You kicked back your chair, making your father step back, and grabbed the vodka bottle in one motion. “Now if only I had a reason to fucking use it” you spat as you stormed out of the room.

Back in your room, you sat in the corner with your head against the cold-glass window, looking down at the dead, only illuminated by the moon. You had killed so many of them before arriving at Sanctuary. Hell, you’d say you saved your old man’s ass more than he saved you...but he was a people’s person. Ruthless. But a people’s person. ‘Let me do my thing and I’ll have these assholes sucking my dick in days’.

That was a different age. Back when your father was a teacher. Back when your mother was sick. Back when your father cheated on her with anything with a pulse and she took it out on you. Back when your mother’s treatment and your father’s lifestyle drained your college fund and you had to enlist. Back when she’d attack you, both emotionally and physically, and you took it cause you knew she was in pain.  Back when you had come home from a 16-month mission because her condition had worsened. Back when the world went to shit. Back when you had to put her down because your sleazeball of a father wasn’t man enough to do it. You looked down at the dead and thought, if you reached your hands through the wires...you could be back with your mom.

Your door opened slowly, heavy footsteps coming your way. There was no need to look. Only one person would enter your room without knocking. “You scared Tanya back there, Princess.” your father spoke in a low voice. 

“She can take it” you croaked, a clear sign you had been crying. He kneeled down beside you. In the reflection of the window, you could see him holding out the knife.

“Please take it.” You turned around, your back now pressed to the window.

“Why?”

“You need to be able to protect yourself”

“Give me a gun then”

“No.”

“Why? Scared I’d leave.” You took a swig of your drink. 

“I see you’re upset-”

“Do you?! Do you really?” you cut him short, stumbling to your feet using the window to push yourself up. “Why am I upset? Because I eat food I don’t deserve? Because you make people die for me? Because you have me trapped in a fucking tower like Repunzel or some shit!?” That earned a chuckle from him, which only served to piss you off. “I should be down there earning my bit just like everyone else.”

“Do we have to go over this again?” He sighed dramatically. He cupped your face, the knife now dangerously close to you. “You're my daughter Y/N. My darling baby girl. My precious princess”

“I was twenty-six when this shit hit, dad” you mumbled through your squished cheeks. He gave them a little loving slap.

“You're valuable to me, which means some people might want to hurt you. You eat to stay alive, people die because they’re stupid, and you live in this room on this floor so you can be kept safe.” you blew him off with a wave of your hand and an angry sigh. You pushed passed him to your bed, twirling to sit on it and start taking off your combat boots. He walked over and lodged the knife in your headboard before kneeling down to look up at you. “I have to go out for a while. Find this Rick Grimes asshole and get some payback for the fifteen men he killed at our outpost.”

A chill went up your spine “The one near the hilltop settlement” you whispered. 

“That’s right.” You looked him in the eye, not noticing how your lip quivered.

“You don’t have too.” you didn’t know if it was the booze or genuine worry for human life but you found yourself begging. “We have more than enough peo-” he shushed you soothingly, his hand coming up to your cheek, rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh but you know I have too, and while I’m gone I don’t want anyone to get ideas on what they can do to you so” he nodded towards the knife. You pulled it out of the wall, looking it over before nodding, mouthing ‘okay’ and depositing it in your nightstand table. He kissed your forehead before leaving, wishing you a good night. Once again alone you took two large gulps of your drink and laid down.

Edit: For creative reasons Y/N is now 26 at the beginning of the apocalypse instead of the original 24

[phoenixkadeu]

BRUISED FROM THUMB TO FINGERTIP

Red colored uniform clung to his stomach like a second skin and just like a snake, Asra was getting ready to shed it, leaving behind only a hollow carcass on the floor as a remembrance of the past only so that he could continue his life more freely than ever. Yet, it felt bittersweet, with sharp eyes locked onto the grand entrance in the distance, the one that had welcome him for so many years only to spit him out without a second though, with no regards for the bruises on his body, for his time and suffering or for the burn on the palm of his hand running from thumb to fingertip. A memory of his presence was left behind, a useless ring he had worn for the past few years, once shiny piece of precious metals and crystal and once one of his most prized possessions was now filled with only dirt, completely drained from the fight.

He touched the vacant spot where that ring had once made its home, a cigarette burned on his other hand leaving to the wind the task of sweeping the ashes away as his mind started to wander to what had happened an hour ago.

The day for the practical exam had finally arrived, only a few days after the written one that Asra had the pleasure of not succeeding in, however he was sure that this time he would be able to redeem himself, no matter how many happy or sad faces he saw coming out through that mysterious door, he was confident that he would succeed. Unfortunately, he was also wrong.

He had underestimated the wicked mind of his teachers as they stood there waiting for him as he came through that door, eyes focused on gaining a sense of his surroundings instead of the expressions on their faces. The place was enormous, a construction like any other Asra had ever seen and he wondered for a brief second as he looked upwards and sideways, what kind of being had been capable of creating all of this.

The student was standing at the center of the hexagon, a metal grid underneath his feet, fire already burning in the bottom of that pit as he looked down between the metal. The whole perimeter was surrounded by rocks of all shapes and sizes, mud and dirt placed at the bottom of the waterfalls that acted like the walls of what seemed to be a more luxurious fighting ring. Asra stood there for a few minutes, just a bit confused, but ready, waiting for the challenge ahead.

Everything proved to be much more than Asra had bargained for and at the end, he did the only thing that he had promised himself not to do. He surrendered, he gave up, and thus had to see the smiles on several of the teachers' faces as they claimed themselves victorious after witnessing his failure. The harsh truth was that he was at his limit and losing his powers again was not an option, even if he lost (and that was something that he would have to accept over the years) that was still better than damaging his mana channels again or going through the pain of something far worse than shame.

And so, he left. Tired and disappointed with the result, angry at himself and yet, at peace with the prospect of never having to set foot in that place ever again.

Yet, none of this felt right to him and none of it felt good.

However, as much as Asra wanted to continue thinking about what had happened and what he should do going forwards, especially how he should give his mother the sad news, a small voice interrupted that process by speaking up.

“Hello? Excuse me” the voice sounded like it was coming from near him, however Asra chose to ignore it anyways, his eyes still focused on the same point that had been staring at for the last few minutes. He was not in the mood for a conversation and he hoped that this person, whoever they were, would just understand that and go away. Blame the elementalist for thinking that he would get his way with anything today, because the only thing that he heard was some nervous movement as feet moved against the dirty ground as the small pebbles moved from one place to the other and then, this mysterious person decided to press even further, clearly not pleased with his lack of reaction. “I am looking for someone, I think -” there was a small pause in the speech as Asra turned his head to finally see who was talking.

His eyes roamed the figure, accessing it carefully with a rather cold gaze, assuming at first that it was just some annoying person. Instead, what he saw was frail kid, bare foot and dressed in clothes that were clearly too old, too big and too dirty for him. Asra had to force himself not to show any kind of interest, this was no uncommon occurrence in the streets, even in diamonds there were kids and adults like this everywhere, so he simply waited to hear what would come next.

“I think he might be in there” he pointed at The Academy entrance nervously, however his words did not waver, but neither did Asra’s.

“Look, I can’t help you, I don’t go there anymore” there was some disappointment in his eyes as he looked up at Asra and for a moment that seemed to bother the elementalist more than it should have, yet, he continued “and believe me, you don’t want to go there anyways, I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I bet that they would throw you away the moment you step in there” better to tell him the hard truth than build up his hopes, he could not take back the years that he wasted in there, but he could at least prevent this kid from experiencing any more pain.

Asra did not know what to do as he saw the kid standing there looking from side to side, fingers playing anxiously with a piece of paper, with a lost look in his face as if unable to tell where he should go from here after hearing that Asra was not keen on helping him the way he wanted. Asra would have offered to escort him back to his parents or his home, but judging by the state he was in, he doubted he had any of those and then as if to solve all those doubts, the kid reached out abruptly and Asra was shocked at the strength as he pulled on the sleeve of his uniform.

“You have to help me, I’m not going away until I find him” Asra scoffed, he was tired and upset, he did not need some kid bothering him right now, just because he needed to find someone. If he wanted to really find that person then he better do it himself, because Asra really could not give a shit. He was not setting foot in The Academy ever again.

“I already told you I don’t know who -”

Just before Asra could end his sentence, the little brat shoved the note he had been holding so preciously onto his chest, before declaring a simple “There” which left Asra with only the option of opening it. To his surprise the note was pretty simple and one that he knew too well, something that was written by him years ago, one that revealed only his name and species.

“Where did you get this?”

“Yeon Nen, but I wasn’t able to read it until a few months ago” Asra noticed that there was some shame in his voice as he spoke and in return Asra felt shame himself for not having considered that a possibility back when he wrote it, however it did not last long, because another feeling took its place, a much more awful one: responsibility.

He looked back at the kid, that little note in his hand. Asra had forgot about writing this, he had almost forgot that Yeon Nen and the gift he had left to those kids, but clearly the one that had received it had not forgotten and he had come looking for him. “I’m the one that wrote this”

As soon as the words left his lips, he saw the relief on that kid’s face, how his shoulders visibly relaxed even though his posture did not indicate that he trusted Asra completely, yet he did not question him, did not make him prove that he was really the one that had wrote it. 

“You’re an elementalist?” Asra asked, receiving a small, even if unsure nod “What kind?” 

“Fire”

Asra sighed, throwing his cigarette to the ground after one last drag. Gods, this was really not how he had planned for his day to go. Yet, he believed the kid and decided that for now he did not need much more information than the one he already had. So he simply crouched down, taking off his shoes before offering them. He knew that they would be way too big and not very comfortable, but at least it would be better than walking around barefooted and Asra could give up a little bit of his comfort until they got to his horse and back to his parents house where he prepare a warm shower, find some of his old clothes and give this kid a nice warm meal.

He hoped that his parents would know what to do and Asra really needed to get his shit together.

[byorder-fanfic]

A Ghost Walked Through the Door

Summary: Anna Gray has been looking for her brother for a very long time.

Word count: 2637

Warnings: Mention of foster care and children taken from parents, swearing, implies abuse from Church (nothing explicit) and implies homelessness/ rough childhood.

Author’s Note: In the show, Anna’s age is all over the place so I’ve decided that she is a year older than Michael (born in 1902) because I really like the older sister dynamic. Hope you enjoy xx

Anna stood outside the wooden gate, staring into the typical country garden: green grass (that surely would've been vivid in any other season but the grey winter) that stretched as far as she could see, and slap bang in the middle of it all was the little brick cottage. The fire was lit. Perhaps he was there, the person she had been searching for as long as she escaped the boat. Perhaps this was it- the day she found herself. Her shaking hands did not reach to open up the gate. Not yet. The rusted old car of Jack Low's had clunked its way down the dirt road many minutes ago, leaving behind a trail of smoke and her. She was lucky she had found someone to drive all the way to the front gate, and Jack was quite kinder than she'd expected when she saw the white-haired bloke. It was because of the fur lining her throat and wrists, the newly gained winter's coat showing off a majesty of wealth she did not have. If Jack had noticed the thick chunk of mud clinging to the bottom of her leather boots, or had he clued on to her makeup less face behind her slick bob and fringe, or even saw the dimness of the plastic beads as she rolled them between her calloused fingers, he hadn't asked. Thankfully. Maybe Michael would- he'd probably be impressed with her finery, especially if the farm life was all he knew, and then he'd probably be a bit disappointed with how she acquired each luxurious item.  Finally, her hand (pale and shaking with more than nerves- why hadn't she taken Alberta's gloves that she'd had her eye on?) pried open the gate with a creak, as she walked into the garden. The sound of her quickening breath thrummed in her ears as she kept on going, heels clacking and tangling in the field. She made it to the door. Laughter boomed inside- could it be Michael's? Eagerness overcame her as she rapped on the door, politeness replaced with loud booming knocks that scraped her already bruised knuckles. The voices quieted, a quick "I'll get it!" from a woman. Michael's foster mother, perhaps, would she let Anna see him? The weight of a knife in her pocket proved that hypothetical pointless. Heels tapped closer. And closer. And- the door swung open, Anna's heart nearly burst. She was a portly woman, a warm smile on her face as she observed the girl with evident surprise. "Hello there, can I help you?" She asked kindly, hand still on the door frame. "Yes, please." Her eyes flickered behind her, where photos lined the walls, but she couldn't make out the one face she needed. "Are you Mrs James?" She nodded, yes she was. Another breath fell from her, a smile curling on her lips. The nun hadn't lied, then. "I'm looking for Mich- Henry, I mean. Henry Johnson. Your son, I believe." The other name still seemed so wrong on her tongue. Mrs Johnson's face fell, sadness and suspicion souring the woman's once kind expression. "It's Michael Gray now," she spat out. "Those Shelby bastards took him back to Birmingham with them." Anna breathed in deeply- her entire family was reconciled, all but her. Surely, if they found Michael, that meant they knew about the documents. Fuck. "When was this?" Her voice was meek. Maybe she could stop any real damage before it was done, stop Michael and her mother from mourning a girl still alive. "Two years ago," she said in a solemn voice, her eyes growing glassy. "Why?" "I'm Anna Gray," she stuck out her hand. Mrs Johnson hesitantly accepted it, eyes wide again in shock. "I'm looking for my brother." "Don't." She shook her head. "Those Shelbys are the devils, dragging my boy," she paused, "my Henry, into their Peaky Blinders nonsense. Your Michael...he isn't that boy any more." "He's my brother," she said, trying not to feel too offended at the disgust directed at her cousins. "He's all I have." "Very well," Mrs Johnson conceded, although obviously still disapproving from the look in her eyes. Motherly, Anna would call it, if she even remembered what having a mother was like. "They live in Watery Lane, Small Heath. Everyone there knows them, so just ask for directions." "Thank you!" Without entirely thinking it through, Anna pulled the older woman into a quick hug, pulling away when she felt her tense. "And thank you for looking after my brother all these years. It's good to know he had a good woman taking care of him." She couldn't call Mrs Johnson a mother, although she knew from the grief in her tone and photographs still hung up, that she was exactly that. But her mother was still alive- her loyalty was to Elizabeth Gray, first and foremost, even if she felt pity for this woman here. Just as Mrs Johnson had said, directions to the Shelby's betting shop (now Shelby Company Limited, she was impressed to hear) were easy to come by. Although she was getting odd looks from the men in uniform caps and coats, who were obviously comparing her clothes with that of most Small Heath citizens. Her years of searching were finally over and yet she couldn't find herself to knock on the bloody door. Or even walk down the bloody street. She loitered around the Church, not daring to go in, but not straying from its sight. The rosary in her pocket was wrapped loosely around her battered fist, as she uttered a silent prayer. The nuns and priests from the orphanage had jaded her to all things Christian, but this was a gift from Peggy. The good Catholic girl that took one look at the girl on the streets and decided to befriend her. Well, friend wasn't exactly the right word. She felt a burst of courage at the feeling of the wooden beads now, the crucifix hanging on the end of it no longer bringing vomit up her throat. "Oi, you there!" She jumped at the accent. It wasn't Brummie, sounding closer to Isabela's voice: another girl that friend wasn't the right word for. She looked at the boy, who was lighter skinned that Isabela, and wore the same cap and coat of many men in Small Heath. However, he himself couldn't have been older than Anna. "You coming in, or am I allowed to lock up?" "I'm just leaving," she said. Her voice wasn't from Burmingham either, immediately making the other boys eyebrow to shoot up in suspicion. She didn't really have an accent, just a blend of all the places she'd been and all the people she'd ran from. Despite her statement, her shoes stayed firmly on the path. Michael and mum were just a walk away, and she was stuck outside the Church as the boy faffed with the keys.  "So," he came up behind her, tilting his head. "Just leaving anytime soon, or...?" He had a smirk on his face and a teasing glint in his eyes, that immediately took in her appearance with curiosity, stopping at the rosary. "Just getting courage," she held up the beads before putting them back in her pocket, tapping over it to make sure it was safely in. "Whatdya need courage for?" He asked as he lit up a cigarette, standing stationary besides her. "Need to get to the Shelby betting shop," she shrugged her shoulders, hoping that'd get Church boy to stop asking. She hadn't missed the almost fearful nature her family was spoken in. But not Michael, of course- her Michael wasn't a Shelby. "Oh, really?" The boy put the smoking cigarette in the corner of his smirk. "Cause I'm just going there." She groaned internally, knowing this meant she actually had to go. "Alright," she snapped. "Could you show me the way?" "Course," he held out his elbow like he was a gentleman. Anna didn't stop her self from rolling her eyes as she took it, with only a little smile. "I'm Isaiah Jesus, by the way." "I'm Sally." Only the nuns ever called her that, in an attempt to pacify the girl screaming for her mother. Everyone else called her Anna, and Sallyanna if she was in trouble. "No last name?" "You'll find that out soon enough." For someone who seemed so talkative, Isaiah sure knew when to shut up. "Alright, Ms No Last Name," Isaiah teased as he held open the door, gesturing for her to go inside. "Here we are: Shelby Company Limited's very own betting shop." She was slow as she walked in, head turning to the pale pink wallpaper and the floral sofa. A cross hung up on the wall, alongside a number of Biblical quotes. There was a double set of doors, painted green, that were thrown open. Inside, a crowd of men and woman sat as numbers were called out, typewriters clicking and Peaky Blinders smoking. Isaiah walked past the frozen Anna, welcoming into the shop with cheers of greetings. "Hey there Isaiah!" One boy yelled. He was round faced and freckled, taller than everyone else and skinny as Anna was behind her thick coat. "Who's that you got with you?" "Sally here wanted to come to the betting shop." Isaiah gave a shrug, revealing that was all he knew, as he sat on his desk. Three men looked up from the table: one looked a lot like the skinny boy that had noticed her, but older. Not Michael. The other was broad shouldered and intimidating, with a moustache. Not Michael. The third man had hair as dark as Anna's, with the bluest eyes. But Michael had brown hair, and hazel eyes.  "And why do you want to be here?" The blue eyes man questioned, voice cold. She recognised the three vaguely, mind scanning for facts she once knew as well as the sky was blue. "Tommy?" She asked, eyes squinting, then she pointed to the other two. "And you must be Arthur and John, then." She didn't heed the curious glances as she stepped further in, head turning around to the people staring at her. "Finn, I'm gonna guess, although I never really knew you." The freckled boy had a shocked look on his face, as he turned to Isaiah in a "who the fuck is this" kind of look. "So, where's Michael?" Her voice was stern as she looked around again for the brown hair she only barely remembered.  "And why the fuck do ya wanna know that?" John, Anna thinks, stood up, arms folded as he watched her scan the room. "I've been looking for him for fourteen bloody years," she cocked her head, seeing a light flicker in the blue eyes of her cousin. "Now tell me where the fuck Michael is." Suddenly, a door opened, two sets of shoes walking through as they muttered to one another.  "Mum, there's abso-fucking-loutely no way I'm gonna do that," a voice said as he walked into the betting shop. The round face she remembered had sharpened out, his skin tanned (probably from the farm) in ways she knew her pale skin would've had she gotten onto that boat. His mousy brown hair was tidily gelled up, a smart suit on his broad build. He didn't walk in it like he stole it, she noticed proudly. His hazel eyes widened as he looked at her. The woman at his side was frozen too, watching the betting shop's sudden pause. "Who is this?" The woman snapped, dark eyes falling on Anna. She had the same dark hair, although hers was longer and in curls, and their eyes were just the same. No one could answer for her, and she seemed too absorbed in the two figures in front of her to bother with formalities.  "Anna," Michael's voice was barely a whisper, but is shattered everyone. Next to him, Polly trembled, pale skin suddenly whitening as she started to draw the same comparisons to the baby she had held what felt like a life time ago. "Hiya Mikey," Anna said in the same soft voice she'd use when they were little. She opened up her arms. "You too old to hug your big sister or what?" In a second, her brother fell into her, arms wrapped so tightly around her torso that she thought she was going to suffocate. If the fur on her coat was itching his face, he didn't seem to mind as he pressed his face against her neck, tears spilling from both of them. "I missed you so fucking much," she croaked into his ear, not daring to look up to her mother's broken face, or her cousin's undoubtedly confused faces. "I thought you were dead." Michael sobbed a little, pulling her closer as if to check she was real and not just the ghost Polly used to have nightmares about. "They said you were dead, gone to fucking Australia so I couldn't even see you." "I didn't even get on the boat, Mike. Couldn't leave. Not with you in England." They finally broke away, as Anna allowed her rough hands to wipe away the tears on her little brother's face (not so little anymore) and giving the biggest smile she'd ever worn for the longest time. "Been looking for you for years, been from orphanage to orphanage trying to find Michael Gray. Turns out that wasn't even your fucking name." "You were looking for me?" Michael's voice was an echo, sadder and on the verge of more tears spilling. "Course. Wanted to find you so we could come back home together." She took a dramatic turn of her head, grinning. "Although you didn't seem to share that sentiment, huh?" He tried to chuckle a little, shyly wiping off tears and snot with the sleeve of his probably expensive suit. "Went all the way to the fucking countryside only to be told that I had to go all the way back to Small Heath. Honestly, couldn't have waited a few years for me?" Her teasing tone was second nature, a whisper of the what was. "Bus fare wasn't cheap, you know?" Not that she used the bus. Or paid, with her own money at least. Still, it got another smile on his face as he hugged her again, letting her breathe this time. "Anna?"  The broken voice was enough to get Michael to back away, falling by his sister's side to allow Polly a proper view of the much longed for daughter. "No, it can't be, I thought- they said...but...you were alive this whole time?" She barely whispered, shaking the dark locks of curls with her head. She took a few strides forward, lifting her hand. Despite the great comfort she felt in the woman's presence, she flinched at the sight of the manicured nails being bared. Ever so gently, Polly placed her hand (too cold for comfort, but Anna had felt colder) against Anna's cheek. Bringing another hand slowly up to pull back the dark fringe that covered her forehead. Like this, she could see her wide eyes that had once looked so big on her bald head, the little pout that would tremble when John took her toys, the curves of her face that were so like Michael's, and her dark eyes that could only be Polly's. "My girl, my Sallyanna." "Mum," Anna smiled as she fell into her embrace, letting the woman hold her like she should've done for the last fifteen years. There was no tears this time, just soft smiles and tight arms clinging to each other like she had done when the coppers came knocking. Only she was grown now, and she wouldn't let them take her from her family ever again.

[suttttton]

Elias Bouchard vs. Destiny

Febuwhump, Day 4 (alternate): Identity Reveal

***

Working at the Magnus Institute is… surprisingly normal.

At best, Elias expects to see his own terror reflected in his coworkers’ eyes. At worst, he fears they will all be like Wright, their eyes cold and monstrous and hungry. He expects to be brought into a world of darkness, to face true monsters that ordinary people never imagined existed.

Were you drawn here? Against your will?—

Instead, his job is just… paperwork. Spooky paperwork, sure, but still paperwork. He talks to a lot of people on the phone, most of whom admit that the statement they gave was just a prank or a dare or whatever. Even the people who genuinely believe their experiences were real seem… more than a little unhinged.

“It saw me through the pages, it’s coming”—

He avoids James Wright, of course. It isn’t difficult. Wright spends most of his time in his office on the third floor, only occasionally coming down to visit Research. When that happens, it’s easy enough for Elias to excuse himself for a smoke break, avoiding Wright’s eyes the entire way. Elias doesn’t understand why his coworkers don’t do the same, although he imagines it would get very crowded in the alley behind the Institute if all of Research tried to take a smoke break at once.

The first time he sees his line manager return from a meeting with Wright, Elias watches her very closely, looking for… unease. Fear. Anything to reflect the way he feels whenever he so much as catches a glimpse of Wright in the halls.

She notices him looking, and smiles at him. No sign of distress in her whatsoever.

Elias returns to his work, but the moment sticks with him. She’d just spent thirty minutes having a meeting with a monster, and she isn’t the slightest bit disturbed.

Have you ever had an experience that you would consider supernatural?—

They don’t know.

All of these people who work here, who interact with Wright every day, and none of them know. Elias is the only one who sees it. Elias is… different.

Elias doesn’t get much work done, that day.

***

Two months later, Elias’s line manager informs him that he has a performance review scheduled with Mr. Wright.

His mouth is dry. “But—I thought you did my performance reviews.” He tries for a smile, but it’s weak.

“Mr. Wright likes to do an in-person review with everyone at the end of every quarter,” she says. She notices the look on his face, and softens slightly. “It’s no big deal. They usually only take five minutes or so. He just goes over the reviews I submitted, and asks if there’s anything he can do to improve your experience here.” She rolls her eyes. “Standard management stuff.”

“Okay,” Elias says, his voice faint. He has to go into that office again? Sit across from the thing that looks out from behind James Wright’s eyes, and just—what? Pretend he isn’t terrified?

Allan’s lifeless body—

What did they do with his eyes?—

“He won’t fire you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” his line manager says. Her voice is gentle, very different from the thinly-veiled annoyance she usually addresses him with. “Wright hasn’t fired anyone the whole time I’ve been here, and your reviews are fine. You’ll be okay.”

“Right,” Elias manages.

The day of the review, Elias seriously considers going to work high.

He decides against it. Wright would know, and then he’d smile and ask Elias some question that he isn’t prepared for, that no one would be prepared for.

What are you afraid of? A very sensible fear—

Elias wonders what would happen if he just—skipped the review. It would be rescheduled, probably. He could skip it again, obviously, but he isn’t sure Wright would tolerate a farce like that for very long.

So, at 2:00pm, he climbs the stairs to Wright’s office. By now, his terror has faded to a blank numbness, an acceptance that he can’t stop whatever is about to happen. He almost feels like laughing.

“Do you enjoy your work here?” Wright asks, after he’s seated and the little introductions are complete.

“Yes,” Elias says, and it isn’t even a lie. He does enjoy the work. He enjoys the variety involved in followup, enjoys chatting with total strangers on the phone. He gets along with his coworkers, and even his line manager is more tolerable than other bosses he’s had. He’d be planning his career here, if not for James Wright’s unfortunate presence. As it is, he’s just trying to survive each day.

“Is there anything about working here that you… hate?”

Elias is not going to tell James Wright that he hates him. He’s not. That’s clearly what Wright wants, leering at him as he is, but Elias refuses to engage with these games.

“Uh—The commute,” Elias says. “It’s a bit far from my flat, and taking the tube every day isn’t exactly the height of luxury.”

“Yes, I’d imagine it would be difficult for you, dealing with the unwashed masses every day.” Wright is still smiling in that cold, slightly-bored way of his. Like what he’s just said is a normal sentence, and not—

“So many gifts, and you’ve squandered them all”—

“What?” Elias’s voice is soft now.

“Do you miss the luxury?” Wright asks, his smile curling up into something more vicious, and Elias—

“Enough! Your friend died in a tragic murder, and it’s well past time you accepted that!”—

No, no, Allan knew what was going to happen, he told me—

“You had a bad drug trip. That’s all.”—

It wasn’t—I didn’t imagine this, there was a book and—

Elias gasps, suddenly back in the present. Wright’s expression is exactly the same. Elias is trembling. This shouldn’t—Wright shouldn’t be able to—What do these questions have to do with his performance?

“Are we done here?” Elias manages, his voice soft to hide its shaking.

“Not quite,” Wright says brightly. “There’s still the matter of your past reviews.” Elias’ review forms are stacked on Wright’s desk, and Wright picks them up, flicking through them. “In general, Lydia’s feedback is very positive, but there are a few concerning things here. You chronically miss deadlines, and on a few of your cases you’ve neglected to follow very promising leads.”

“I’ll try to do better.” Elias’ voice is flat, toneless. The numbness is returning.

“See that you do,” Wright says. “I hope to see improvement by next quarter.”

Elias nods.

What are they doing to his eyes?—

Wright dismisses him, and he makes his way back downstairs. He should return to his desk, return to his caseload that he’s been largely ignoring in favor of panicking about his review.

But he—can’t.

He goes to the alley instead, lights a cigarette with trembling hands. His shaky legs won’t hold him, even when he leans against the wall, so he ends up sitting on the ground.

The first sob forces its way up his throat, and then—he’s crying.

Sobbing on the filthy ground in the alley behind his less-than-respectable workplace. Pathetic. What would Father say?

Probably, “Elias, I’ll be happy to talk to you once you get help for your drug addiction.” Christ.

While he cries, Elias tries to think of what to do. He could quit, he supposes. But he really does need this job. His bank account had been full when his parents first cut him off, and there were provisions in the trust to provide for his needs when he was still in school. Now, though, his money really is running concerningly low. He needs the paycheck.

His tears are just starting to slow when the door opens. Elias starts, turns his face away, trying to hide the fact that he’s crying while hiding from his job.

“Oh—sorry,” she says. Elias recognizes the voice, they work together in Research. He can’t quite remember her name—Megan, maybe? “I can go, if you want some privacy.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says, and his voice wobbles. If she didn’t already know he’d been crying, she definitely does now.

She sits down on the step just outside the door. “Um—are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Yeah, I also like to come out here and cry when I’m feeling fine,” she says, her voice light with humor.

Elias smiles slightly, and wipes some of the wetness from his face. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“I’m all ears,” she says. “Unless you really don’t want to talk about it, in which case, keep your secrets.”

Elias doesn’t respond to that. Doesn’t know how to reply, really. It would be nice, to talk to someone about it, but—It seems cruel, to force someone else into this mess. If she even believed him.

“I just—” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but… We look after each other, in Research. A lot of the people who work here don’t really have support networks in our personal lives—ghost stories attract lonely people, I guess—so we try to support each other. So… if you need someone to talk to about this, you can talk to me.

Elias takes a breath. Might as well try. “Have you—noticed anything… off, about Wright?”

“Oh, you mean his whole mind-reading thing? Sure,” she says. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t take a moment to consider.

“I—yes,” Elias says, a little unbalanced. She knew? “The way he—drags up all your worst memories.”

“Oh yeah, he’s like that,” she says, wincing. “Did you just have your first performance review? Those can be kind of intense.”

He nods, uncertainly. She’s talking about this as if it’s completely normal.

“You’ll get used to it eventually,” she says. “In research, we like to make jokes about it. She wiggles her fingers at him. “'Ooh, I know everything about you,’” she says mockingly, pitching her voice down.

Elias doesn’t laugh. Just stares. “Aren’t you afraid of him?”

She laughs, really laughs, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “What’s he gonna do, fire me? No. Why would I be afraid of him?” Then she sobers. “Are you afraid of him?”

Something sinks in Elias’s chest. He’d assumed that they didn’t know, that Elias was unique in being able to see Wright’s monstrous nature.

Turns out he’s just unique in being frightened by it.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Just—had a bad performance review.”

She nods in commiseration, and he excuses himself not long after. Returns to his desk, his heart loud in his ears. He looks around at his co-workers, all of them so happy, so careless. Why aren’t they afraid?

Why did you heed the call?—

He doesn’t know.

He can’t trust them.

***

He asks to be transferred to Artifact Storage, and his request is accepted, albeit with some strange looks. No one requests to go to Artifact Storage.

For him, it’s infinitely preferable to Research. The monsters in Artifact Storage are acknowledged, for one. Feared, treated with caution. Not allowed to run a so-called research institute. Not joked about. For two, the turnover rate is so high that he won’t have to deal with pretend camaraderie. He knows, now, that he can’t trust any of these people. He’s on his own.

For four years, he does his work, cataloging dangerous artifacts, sending the more junior assistants to do the more dangerous tasks. He doesn’t try to be good at his job, he doesn’t want to be good at his job, but after years of working in Artifact Storage, he is by far the most senior member of the staff. He starts to pick up a few tricks. He becomes knowledgeable. People respect him.

His line manager says he’s looking to transfer to the Library, and asks if Elias would like to be recommended for the promotion. Does he want to be Head of Artifact Storage?

He should say no, but some part of him that never quite managed to kill its ambition answers for him. “I’d be honored,” he says.

***

Meetings with Wright never get easier. In four years, he manages to drag up everything Elias would rather keep hidden, everything he doesn’t want to think about. Allan is a popular subject, as are his parents. And there’s always—

He cannot move. He cannot scream. What are they doing to his eyes?—

Elias doesn’t get used to it, and when Wright schedules a meeting with him to discuss his forthcoming promotion, Elias dreads it just as much as that very first performance review.

“I am very impressed with your progress,” Wright says, steepling his fingers over his desk.

“Thank you,” Elias says.

“Nearly five years in Artifact Storage,” Wright says. “I wouldn’t have guessed it, but perhaps I should have. You’re not a brave man by any means, but what does that matter, when you’re running from the most frightening thing you can imagine?”

What are they doing to his eyes?—

Elias swallows. There’s something heavy in the air. He always feels watched, in the Institute, in Wright’s office, but this is—different, somehow. Closer.

“If you were more curious, you actually might have guessed it. If you’d looked into the history of the Institute, investigated the men who preceded me in this position. You might have noticed certain similarities. You’re smart enough to have put the pieces together, but alas.”

—squandered—

“You never were the curious sort, were you? You were more interested in self-preservation than answers. Keeping your distance from anyone who might drag you away from your… destiny.”

Wright stands, and Elias flinches. “I-I don’t—” This is wrong. Something is wrong.

This is the place I know I should be—

But—

“What did you imagine was calling you here?” Wright says, and now he’s close, too close, towering over him. Elias wants to stand, want to retreat, but he doesn’t—He can’t move—

Wright places his hands on the two arms of Jonah’s chair, trapping him. Elias shrinks back, as far as he can get. “Did you think it was something noble, that you were destined to be a hero of light, to put an end to the sickness of this place? You would drive a knife into my eyes, killing the monster and setting everyone free?”

He doesn’t know what he thought. He thought he was destined for something better, to be something more than other people.

“You will be,” Wright says, leaning over him, too close. “Have you figured it out yet?”

He shakes his head wordlessly, a sob gasping from his throat.

Wright smiles. “James Wright didn’t either.”

***

When the thing that now controls his body takes over the Magnus Institute, they all think, nepotism at its finest.

Elias understands why he’s here, now. Understands the thing that called him here. Understands the many paths he could have taken, to reach a different end. Too late.

Elias’ eyes are carved out of his still-breathing body, and the Eye feasts on latent terror, cultivated so perfectly, for so long.

Elias is replaced, and no one misses him. He himself ensured that no one who worked with him knew anything about him. And everyone else is dead already.

James Wright is discarded. Elias Bouchard is taken.

Jonah Magnus lives on.