#he loves soap but that man gets on his nerves like its his job

[cod-dump]

(With Ghost)

Ghost: Price… am I ugly?

Price: You are the most handsome man in the world, so handsome that if you didn’t wear that mask all the time no one would get anything done because they won’t be able to stop staring at you

(With Gaz)

Gaz: Price, am I ugly?

Price: In a million years you will remain as beautiful and handsome as you are now

(With Soap)

Soap: Price, am I ugly?

Price, not bothering to look up from his paperwork: Without a doubt

[stoutguts]

Ghoap 💀🧼 relationship dynamic HC (shall we?)

Simon "Ghost" Riley is no scaredy-cat.

The man has been through hell on Earth, survived torture, abuse,—and being buried alive for fuck’s sake. They managed,—even after everyone he loved was taken from him. Has been through countless tense and anxiety inducing situations throughout their military career.

But Ghost has nerves of steel, excellent control over his emotions, and naturally that’s why it’s so damn good at its job.

Though…there is one thing that scares the shit out of them. Soap.

Simon thought he was all big and bad,—intimidating,—until he met John “Soap” MacTavish.

Johnny is only around half its size, yet he manages to be even scarier than Ghost somehow. Which is wild, considering one of them looks like the damn grim reaper with that skull mask of theirs.

Simon may have a reputation for “the guy you don’t wanna mess with”, to the point where people won’t even bother with them.—But Soap’s got more than a few screws loose himself.

New recruits and others will at least approach him,—but with serious caution, and are careful to watch their mouths around him.

His anger is explosive, fitting, for a demolitions expert. A total loose cannon when he wants to to be. Some recruits even refer to him as “the psycho Scot” or "Ghost's guard dog". Titles he takes to with pride.

Johnny’s known for putting people in their place, and with every fight he’s ever gotten into,—he’s always won. Often sending his opponents to medical.

Most of the time though, he just has to look at someone and it scares them shitless. He’s mastered his death glare, and it even sends shivers up Ghost’s spine.

The man’s a total gym rat and health nut, nothing but muscle, and he trains the most of anyone Simon has ever seen. Works out constantly, and loves to get his body moving. He can never simply sit still, and being active actually helps him to clear his head and blow off steam. Always keeping track of his calories, weighing out his portions, and whatnot,—with a pescatarian and vegetarian lifestyle. He’s also a nature lover and tree hugger,—loves to go on hikes or go camping in his spare time. He’s naturally a reigning champ when it comes to hand to hand combat, and is a highly skilled fighter, in fact, he specializes in it. He’s capable of taking out tangos with nothing but his fists alone. He even beats Simon to a pulp on the sparring mats most of the time. (Ghost may like him beating the snot out of him more than they than would like to admit…)

Soap is used for interrogations, (as he also just so happens to be an interrogation expert). He’s morally bankrupt just enough,—to where he’ll do just about anything to get answers out of someone. Whether it involves violence or not.

Simon has seen the sheer extent of the injuries sustained by the poor bastards that were stupid enough to challenge him, that pissed him off, or that he’s extracted information out of—and that was enough for Ghost.

He recalls that one time he directly witnessed Johnny, feigning calmness, take a recruit’s hand in his, then proceed to snap the guy’s thumb clean in half in one fluid motion. (The recruit had decided to wolf whistle at him when he was walking over to Ghost,—after their duties had wrapped up regarding training the newbies).

Simon is a smart man, and knows when to pick his battles. Soap being the battle he most certainly knows NOT to pick.

Although Johnny is more lenient with Ghost than other people, and lets them get away more,—Simon’ll be damned if it ends up on the receiving end of Soap’s wrath.

I really like the idea of Soap being the dominating one in the relationship, but Ghost not being entirely submissive either.

Like Simon can and will be the one to put him in HIS place, and snap him back to reality. Though still allows him his fun.

While Johnny relies on Ghost to let him know when he’s “too much” or taking things too far,—allows himself to be muzzled. Making a point to let Simon have the control, at least every now and then. Of course, while challenging Ghost’s authority a healthy amount and protesting the whole time.

Both try to be as respectful as possible of the other’s needs and desires, while also "maintaining their roles". But both are effectively switches, whether it's in the bedroom or not, and mainly put up this dom and sub act for other people and for their own amusement. They have no fixed roles, truly.

SOAP BEING JUST AS MENTALLY FUCKED AS GHOST MY BELOVED

thanks for coming to my Ted talk

(Also, the tidbit about Soap snapping a recruit’s thumb in half is actually based on a family member of mine’s story. Basically, my older sister had this guy pour water down the back of her shirt in high school, and in response, she straight up broke his thumb/snapped it in half lmao).

[eccentricallygothic]

Depraved Old Men! Simon Riley | John Soap MacTavish | König

To help you keep track of the pairs; | Simon & Angel | Johnny & Petal | König & Darling |

Find Part I here.

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, orgy, spanking, unprotected p-in-v, dick riding, anal, missionary, dacryphilia, dark behavior, licking, pinching, biting, age gap, Stockholm syndrome vibes, toxic forced relationships, hair pulling, Sir kink, Daddy kink, size kink, praise kink-ish. MDNI.

A few long months after the first time, when Johnny had forced it into being cut short after only the girls playing amongst themselves on account of not being in favor of the men touching each other's lovers, the ‘meetup’ is at Simon's house today.

It was only recently that the men got into discussing this proposition, as Johnny had been extremely hostile to the idea until König had ‘innocently’ shared his living room's CCTV footage of that night in the group chat. And just as intended, the action had eventually started a conversation about the possibility of such an activity once more. Since the Scot had straight up refused to participate, the other men had carefully reeled him in by dismissing him with, ‘a little humoring yourself never hurts anybody’ until they eventually succeeded in bringing him to an agreement through a very elaborate, slow and cautious process.

And now…

“It's okay, love. You're doing so well for me” Simon cooes, rather uncharacteristically if you ask Angel, as he wipes away Darling's thick tears that keep bubbling out of the corners of her eyes, shaking sideways down her face and hitting the glass table with light pats. “I've got you, Sir's got you~” her smaller body slides up and down the surface with small squeaks from how Simon is gently fucking into her since she's too small and sensitive for a rougher pace, the monstrousness of his girth causing her tiny pussy to clench with each deep thrust. “Tell me” Simon kisses away the salty nectar of her grief. “Do you like what you see?” He is holding her throat in his hand that is nearly twice its size, the rough pad of his thumb grazing against the crevice that has formed between her jaw and neck from how her head is angled upwards to look at Petal clamped around her husband's dick. 

“Ah! You're so big, Daddy! Oh, my God!” Even though Johnny had agreed to this out of his own supposed free will, the way his little girl is moaning and praising König is doing a good job at stirring his ire. “Oh, oh! I am gonna cum again!” Petal shakes as her limbs spasm upon König's mountainous legs that are built like stone, the disks of his muscles shifting under her legs with each thrust he gives her to help her keep bouncing because his cock is too much for her to ride all by herself. 

“Give it to me then, pretty girl” the humongous man rasps in his strong accent, muttering out a thread of incoherent foreign curses before he latches his balmy mouth on one of Petal's hardened nubs, the harsh sucking of his mouth causing his cheeks to hollow as his fingers connect to her sensitive clit. “Mmm… I swear you get sweeter by the second” her back arches at that and she throws her head back, letting out blood curdling moans as her body goes through another nerve shattering orgasm.

As if that is not bad enough for Johnny who has always been a possessive man especially with Petal, the fact that König now demands her to tell him that he's the best cock and orgasm she's ever had in her vulnerable state where Johnny knows her small mind will say whatever she is being told, the stoic way in which Angel treats him with almost an indifference to his cock pumping in and out of her tight pucker fills him with a kind of rage he is not sure he has felt ever before. 

Johnny's hands roughly fish under Angel's body to hoist her up and more pliant to his hold by her tits from where he has her bent over the couch to face Simon fucking Darling deep and intimate with König making a fleshlight of Petal on the side so the pairs form a sort of a triangle, ironically. 

Angel's breaths are heavy and her skin is shiny with sweat, she wouldn't be breathing through a gaping mouth and her skin wouldn't be clammy to his touch if she wasn't. But the stubborn way in which she feigns a disregard for his painful defiling of her perfect ass while holding up a defiant chin to Simon to deny the men their depraved satisfaction unlike the younger girls riles Johnny up to do worse.

And so he crushes Angel's nipples between his fingers before thrusting into her so hard that she nearly doubles over from how his tip hits her guts. “Think you can get away with this shit, can ya?” His accent is so rough in her ear that she can barely comprehend it. “You think I can't break through this tough bitch shit of yours, eh?” Emotion breaks onto Angel's face for the first time ever since she had been ordered to relieve herself of her clothes before being told to bend over.

She cries out from how Johnny snatches her earlobe between his teeth and sinks them down into the tender skin before he grinds it back and forth between them. Her arms helplessly flail at her sides and she blindly claws behind her to try and pull him off. But all she can do is bounce in the air while her ass cheeks clap against Johnny's cock, his fingers cruelly stretching her nipples past the limits of their flexibility and his teeth torturing her into pleading for mercy.

Simon glances up at her from Darling's devastated form. Their eyes lock and though he isn't one to show much emotion, a hint of a smirk plays at his lips. Good. Johnny is finally figuring it out. Angel is not one to back down easily. She has a thing for making it hard for herself and who are they to deny the thrill that she throws their way herself? Despite her rigorous training with Simon ever since he decided her for himself, she has managed to retain her pride. 

And that cannot do.

She must be taught her place. And if Simon is not the one doing it, then who better than his best mate?

Darling turns her head away from her unfaithful husband when he forces yet another orgasm out of Petal. And Simon is right there to swoop in like a knight in shining armor. 

“Oh, you poor little babe” the baritone of his low voice mixed with his accent is like the finest cool malt sliding down a parched tongue. “So cruel to a sweet little thing such as yourself, isn't he?” Darling's bottom lip wobbles in what just may be the most innocent way Simon has ever seen. A fresh batch of tears wells up in her eyes as she struggles to keep her arms folded above her head in the way she had been initially ordered to do. 

Simon lets his warm hands take hold of her sides before he rubs them back and forth to comfort her, his lips capturing hers in a soft kiss and he squeezes her tense hips. The action causes the younger girl to whimper into his mouth, the man's collecting of her legs around his waist making his dick slide in so deep that it hits her deep in her cervix and she cries out.

“S- Sir!” Darling whispers, her face contorted from the painful pleasure. 

“What do you say we show him what he's missing out on,” he catches one of her tears in a delicate kiss on her cheekbone, hot tongue darting out to collect its remainder from her lash line in an elegant swipe next. “Hm?” The vibration of his hum drums into her quivering chest as she pants for breath. There is such a difference in their sizes that whilst she lays on the table, Simon kneels on the floor and still it is her who hangs upwards where his thick cock pumps in and out of her sopping pussy. 

Simon loves it. Because he knows she doesn't mean to, he is aware that this is more devastating to her little mind than it will ever be pleasurable enough, it is clear that she only takes the deep, intimate fucking with the pliance that she does because she doesn't have a choice; he can feel her fear of him. And yet, she milks him with each thrust, whimpers with each pinch and squeeze, moans into every kiss. 

Unaware, unwilling, but still wanton. 

Darling does not have Angel's unwavering will and challenge, nor does she have Petal's stubborn and brattiness, no. In fact, she is the sweet naive wife who accepts what hubby says as the supreme truth. To question or speculate is not in her nature; holding her own against authority a sin to her small mind. 

There is not much that surprises Simon, but when she slowly nods after examining his face with a vacant gaze and her parted mouth closes so she can let out a meek little, “Y- Yes, sir…” The older man nearly bursts into her right then and there.

“Very well, then” he traps her mouth in his in a deep kiss before letting his tongue invade her warm oral cavern at last, his bigger hands lifting her arms from above her head to wrap around his mountainous shoulders before he coils the hair at the back of her head around his fingers and pulls. The action elicits the expected whine out of her and she finally cums, indicating to Simon that he is in since she had been too out of it to let herself loose to his touch and cock before now.

Only one dilemma remains now.

She has come without his permission.

And being out of control, Simon does not appreciate.

. . .

I appreciate and humbly request your feedback as it keeps me motivated. And reblogs help circulate my work <3

[gildedkrone]

Ooh. Enemies to lovers but the roles reverse....like what if Reader is working with Shadow Company and Ghost is angsty...before, after or during the mission where Graves betrays them maybe???

I also gotta say the last one you did was so beautifully painful and I love it. 😂

- ☁️

Love doth grow in the shadows

I'm not the proudest over this fic but I hope its what you asked for and yes, I am giving this a happy ending because I'm a good boy.

Relationships: Ghost x Male Reader Synopsis: Shadow soldier you couldn't possibly be with him. Years later, you meet him again. A/N: Written to cardigan by Taylor. Master List

Your heart is his. It was never meant to be his, you know that clearly. Nothing was ever meant to be yours or his. Infiltrating the 141 was easy; you with your charms and quips made you a hit with Gaz and Soap. Your experience made you a hit with Price and eventually, with Ghost.

You think you would be closest with Soap and his antics, ever funny and outgoing but he draws your attention greedily. The masked lieutenant, Ghost is stoic but you find him to be a rock in sea of nerves. Steady as ever and a presence to be reckoned, he is the stability you’ve never had growing up.

And how generous he was with it. He doesn’t say much but his presence is all encompassing. It’s warm, like blanket after use and occasionally, he gives some advice when the road gets tough. The advice is always realistic, as he must be, but with free of judgement and from a heart scarred by the past.

Illicit affairs, is what this is. Instincts are screaming to stop this farce before you are in too deep and no longer able to escape. Graves is up to no good and your hands are no longer the same steady ones at the start of the mission. The image of them in a ditch bleeding out and dying haunts your sleep.

Would you still be able to kill them if Graves commanded it?

Shadow soldier you don’t belong here. But the smiles and the casual interactions are fire to moths and you can’t help if your heart desires to be cherished. To be needed. To be wanted by someone.

“Good job, soldier. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

His words are the blossom of flowers in spring and the sun on the wilted fields of your heart. It’s so cruel, to desire what is within reach but never to stay forever.

Does he know what his words do to you?

Your scars, bleeding from the hearts he drew around them. The late nights when you accompanied him in piles of paperwork is some of your favourites. Getting to be with him, and just him in his office where you pretended this was what mattered in the world.

Just him and you.

He’s sardonic and weathered by the rain and time but in the shell of a man, there’s a good heart beating there. He’s helpful around the recruits. He’s always there to lend his ear even if he has mountains of work to get through. He’s been there every time you needed him.

And a week ago, he took you out to a cat café. Paid for the drinks and to thank you for helping him with the paperwork. The mind is a maze but at the end is the scenes of domesticity, you and him in an apartment lazing on the couch while the TV plays something meaningless.

It makes it all the harder to what needed to be done when all the heart wants is to just be with him. Hold him and be his. You split from the group and stopped beside Graves before the convoy sets off for Alejandro’s base or soon-to-be Graves’ base.

“In twenty, we will relieve them of their duties. Hop into the vehicle with them and keep them in. Don’t mess this up, shadow.”

Soap and Ghost are in the backseat of the vehicle and you take the front passenger seat. The sergeant is in high spirits and Ghost is relaxed into the seat with his shoulders lax and head against the headrest. The men are in high spirits and the convoy starts to move. It’s a death march towards base and Graves is in the lead car with Alejandro.

Fingers grasp the sidearm in your thigh holster. His eyes are in the rear view mirror and it hurts, hurts everywhere to shatter the trust you’ve scrounged together with him. He doesn’t deserve this and he blinks slowly.

What’s wrong?

The Shadows weren’t new to compromised agents and previously, you scoffed at the mention of it. How could good men ever betray their comrades and fail the mission?

Now? You aren’t so sure and the wavers in your heart are shaking the needles of your moral compass. When did the road forward vanish into seas of sand and leave you stranded in the junction of decisions? The warehouse comes into sight and the vehicles stop.

Graves give his whole speech about taking the base and Alejandro is knocked out first. The men are on edge and Graves gestures for you to move to him.

“Come here, Shadow.”

Soap is surprised and Ghost is gripping his rifle. His eyes are hurt, and they ask you, is this real? You knew he would curse your name for eons to come as you step away from him to stand beside Graves. The look of hurt is replaced by an anger ferocious as the sun in his eyes.

It hurts more than anything in the world.

“Nobody needs to get hurt today. Put down the guns and stay there.”

Your body moves on autopilot and raise the rifle just as the other soldiers do.

“This is what a Shadow should be. Discreet, fast and blending into their environments. And now, we have ourselves a victory.” Graves pats your shoulder. “The honours is all yours.”

---

The celebrations are huge but it’s hollow. Meaningless beyond comparison with your birthday spent with them and the party Soap threw. Drinks are served and shadows congratulate you on the victory.

The cells are quiet and you stop before his cell.

A click using the key easily swiped from Graves’ office and the door unlocks gently. He is fast and your neck is caught in a grip of immense strength. The anger simmering in his eyes are covering the hurt deep down and he knows.

He knows you will let him do whatever he wanted.

“You don’t have a lot of time. There’s a vehicle parked outside idling.”

The door to Soap’s cell unlocks easily and the guard is off on his piss break. An embrace is all you want from him and he looks to Soap. Ignoring you like the stain on his boots.

“I trusted you.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“You never should have.”

They are running down the halls and out of the base through a back door before anyone can notice anything. The vehicle takes off and you put on an act when the base alarm sounds upon the guard’s notice of the missing prisoners.

---

Retirement is a bitch. Graves never did find out how they escaped and the last thing you heard was the man dying in a tank explosion. The latte is sweet in a café in Munich and you reach for the place where a straw is supposed to be.

“Oof, excuse me,” as you bump into someone on the way to the counter.

You look at the person and it’s him. Even without the mask and the heaps of military gear, it’s him.

“Simon.” He reaches his hand out.

He nods at the sound of your name and shakes your hand. Maybe there is a chance to still start over with him. An old cardigan, he puts you on and calls it his favourite in a quiet Thursday in a café in Germany.

---

I knew you would come back to me, as I would to you.

[ram-bam-writes]

The Highlight and The Shadow pt. 1 [Graves x NB Reader]

A/N: This is for the Graves Series I've started working on. Pt.1 is the background, the rest will be more 'interactive', per se. No real posting schedule, just whenever I feel like it. So feel free to ask to be tagged! Dm, request box, or comment/tag will work :>

Summary: Phillip Graves is a lonely man. He had no intention to be. So when his Chief Finance Officer gives him a golden nugget, he runs with the plan. Too excited to question CFO Henley, Phillip rents out part of his house to a snake and music loving college kid. What could happen?

CW: Graves being a desperate baby and Henley (oc, not reader) being a sneaky bastard, no beta we die like soap. [CW's will change as each part is uploaded]

Word Count: 1256 words

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

Phillip Graves is a man of many things. He’s a hard worker, he’s a protective boss, and he’s a relaxed soul. He cares deeply for his Shadows and he does everything in his power to keep them safe. He works hard to get after what he wants and never lets things deter him — that’s how he started the PMC in the first place. 

One thing Phillip Graves is not, however, is a family man. 

It wasn’t always like this. He’d had the classic American dream of a partner and a few little Graves running around, maybe a kitten and a puppy to consistently separate. But with his love for his job and his soldiers, it just… didn’t work out.

He’s 41 now, and he can’t imagine putting the stress of a family on top of his work, let alone any potential lovers. He’s tried dating apps, looking for people who have children that lack the other parent. But he couldn’t do that to them. He can’t. At any given moment, he might drop from a bullet to the head.

But he isn’t fond of coming home to an empty house.

Sure, it’s grand. He makes a lot of money from Shadow Co., how could he not invest in a beautiful house? Especially when he can house a few of his Shadows who might be a little more anxious or jittery than normal. But they aren’t consistent. Sometimes it’ll be weeks before he’s coaxed a Shadow through his doors. He doesn’t mean to pressure them. He’s just… lonely. 

One of his Chiefs, specifically his Financial Officer, had figured this little quirk of his out. He decided to drop the restless CEO a little tip.

“Y’know, Graves…” Henley started, eyes glancing over at the CEO with an amused expression. “You could always rent out part of your house.”

Graves stared at his Chief of Finances for a moment, eyes glazing over as he blinks. Then, those bright blue eyes narrowed, and he gave a low look at the man typing away at his computer. 

“Now son, what the hell does that—“

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. “Miller said you practically threw him into one of the guest rooms last time he so much as exhaled.”

Graves’ jaw would tense, and he’d work his tongue in his mouth. Is he really being that obvious?

“And… theoretically… how would… how would one do that…?” 

The conversation lasted almost two full hours, with Graves’ excitement filling up more and more. He can house a person or two, make Shadow Co. a bit more cash, and be less restless at home. 

The next few days, however, would be spent with Henley desperately trying to ease the Commander’s nerves. No one has applied for the house despite its beauty, and Graves was getting far too anxious. 

He paces around the room, eyes flicking left and right, up and down.

“Hen, what if no one— what if no one takes it? What if I get a tenant that’s just… ungodly annoying?” Graves’ mind was spinning a hundred miles a minute, and Henley was starting to get just as desperate as the commander.

Mostly because he’d like to go back to his job as the Finance Officer. But also to get his Commander to shut the fuck up and be less pushy when the others so much as shiver after a mission. 

“Sir.” Henley’s voice is filled with a comforting kind of exasperation, a lazy grin on his face. “Give it time. I’m sure by tomorrow night, someone will apply. And I’m sure they’ll be just what you need.”

Graves wants to argue, he does. But there’s a look in Henly’s eyes that tells him everything will be okay. It’s the same look that he got from the man last time they needed to scrape up the money for a new Blackhawk. Somehow the man had found enough money to pay for two, and Graves was too scared to ask where he got it from. 

Henley had always been a mystery to him, but he trusted the man with his life. So he takes a breath and nods, giving himself room to slow his mind down.

“Alright… If y’say so…”

——

Ping.

Graves nearly shot out of his chair when not even an hour later, a message had pulled through.

Is this still out for rent…?

Graves couldn’t breathe when he read the message, eyes sparkling perhaps a little too bright.

And, is it pet friendly?

His thumbs worked quickly on the screen, so fast he hit send but nothing went through. He grit his teeth, quickly ripping off his tactical gloves before trying again.

Yes! And, yes, as long as it doesn’t make much of a mess. :)

He exhales slowly, eyes burning into the screen of his phone. He watches the bubbles as the potential tenant — from the looks of the profile a younger individual — continues to text.

And… how are you with snakes…?

The Commander freezes. Snakes? Snakes. Snakes? But he wants this tenant. He wants anyone, damnit.

Is it going to poison me in my sleep?

The teasing route, he decides, is the best way to approach this. He doesn’t want to scare the tenant away.

No.

He sighs in relief.

But it is venomous :> And likes to chew

The Commander wants to be irritated, but he beams something bright. 

Name, species, and a photo. I want to know my hitman.

——

He soon discovers that there is three of them. Two hognose snakes and one corn snake. One arctic morph, one lavender morph, and one opal morph. In that order, he learns their names are Fehttuchini (or Fetta), Tulip, and Tequila (or Tiki), and all three are sweet and loving boys who love to snuggle. 

He also learns that his potential tenant is an artist on the side, being both part-time in college and part-time in work. They’ve promised to not bring trouble, expressing that they have a few close friends that are mostly relaxed. He made them promise to just alert him when people will be over, as well as to not throw any parties. Graves also explained his role in the military, albeit ambiguously for OPSEC purposes. 

Henley took over the paperwork for Graves, stating that the Commander had enough paperwork already from Shadow Co. Graves was too excited to really care who did the paperwork, he’s just excited to have a tenant. 

And within three weeks, he’s got three snakes he’s already decided are his, too, now, and a relatively tame tenant that switches consistently from being shy to bold. And within two months, he’s already got their schedule down, habitually takes care of the snakes, and knows every little quirk to know about his tenant. Even down to being capable of knowing when they needed a home cooked southern meal or a bath and tea when right when they get home.

So sue his lonely ass if he starts to daydream about his tenant at work. And sue Henley for keeping an entertained eye on his boss, a devious little glimmer in his eyes as he listens to his Commander ramble and gush about the sweet tenant.

After all, the CFO was a sneaky little bastard that knew what his Commander needed. And that’s a sweet tenant with a burning temper and three little snakes that just so happen to have the last name of Henley. But Graves doesn’t need to know. Not yet. Not when he’s too excited to check the paperwork. That’s what Henley’s for, right? 

[foap-enjoyer]

Drugging | Sick | Poisoned

Sick.

'Soap thinks he's got just a simple cold. Nope. Anyway, cue blizzard safehouse one bed trope because I'm lazy'

Trigger warnings for this prompt: Vomit. Ships for this prompt: Sort of the start of Ghoap? Ghost is very affectionate, more or less.

The one my lovely tumblr people voted on all those days ago! :)

Read it here, on AO3: Ouch. - Chapter 5 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

~

Missions in Russian mountains were becoming way too common. 

At least, that’s what Soap thought.

There were positives to mountain missions, he supposed. There were positives to everything. A beautiful view; clean, fresh, untouched air. Sometimes, on long missions, he would even see rare wildlife, animals which had never seen a human before. They would peer at him through the brush, eyes bright and curious. Sometimes, some would even come over, eat a bite of whatever he had on offer before scrambling away. He liked those pros.

But the cons? Well those fucking sucked. The cold, firstly. The cold sucked- oh, and don’t forget the lack of signal, which meant no far-lined comms, no phones, no nada. Just him, his team, and a shit ton of snow, usually for days at a time. It could drive even the most social of men insane.

Oh, and to top it off, as a little added bonus for this mission, because that’s just how he rolls- he was sick. Not super sick, mind you. It’d started off as a cold, when he’d woken up pre-mission. At least, he assumed it was. Itchy throat, ugly cough, his usual first symptoms. 

In his childhood, he would have curled up into a tiny, sniffling ball and let his mammy hold him, and soothe the pain away just with her touch. But now, he was a fully grown man. A grown man who worked in a job that, unlike being a student in school, would not tolerate a day off. Especially for something as small as a cold.

So, brushing his teeth, tying his laces, and grabbing his bag, he went out to face the day head on. Like a soldier would.

~

He really wished he was still seven, still at home with his mum.

This… cold was no fucking cold. This was a parasite worming its way into every orifice of his body, a disease spreading through his blood, an alien forcing itself inside his chest, taking control of every nerve and joint and muscle until he was nothing but mush.

Fucking cold his ass. If this was a cold, maybe it was time to retire, because he clearly was getting too old for this shit.

The harshness of the Russian wilderness didn’t help his case one bit. 

They’d landed at their respective drop-off points. Price and Gaz were on the complete opposite side of the mountains to him and Ghost, and the plan was to meet in the middle, where he and Gaz would infiltrate the government-owned set of buildings as Price and Ghost ran overwatch on the outskirts. A simple enough plan, until the blizzard hit.

“You’re telling me that higher-ups can plan entire wars to a T, if they wanted to, but they can’t check the fucking weather?”

That was Gaz, voice static-y through the comms. He sounded pissed, and of course he was, he was allowed to, given their situation. Hell, Soap was too. Price sighed, and Soap could imagine him rolling his eyes at the younger man, “There’s nothing we can do about it, Sergeant, so quit whining. Ghost?”

Ghost was behind him, using his path through the heaps of snow surrounding them to guide himself, and his sniper-kit through the rocky terrain. He could hear the man grunt as he lugged the heavy bag over a large rock in their path. “Yeah, Cap?”

“There should be a little safehouse just a few klicks North of your position. Fancy taking a wander over there? Can’t do shit if this storm keeps up like this.”

Ghost grasped Soap’s shoulder, altering his course slightly up the hill, rather than downwards. Soap’s knees wobbled with exhaustion, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Back up they go. “We’ll take a look. What’re you two doing?”

“Cap’s looking now, says there’s a cave nearby.” Gaz huffed out a laugh, “At least you guys get an actual house.”

Soap chuckled softly, his teeth chattering together like a talkative parrot, “Send me a pic if you find a bear in there, Kyle, would you? You know they’re my favourite animal.”

“Will do, prick.”

The comms silenced soon after. Soap assumed it was because, like them, Gaz and Price were having to hike a while to get to their location. The mountains weren’t the steepest, deadliest of mountains, but in a blizzard as bad as this one, you needed full concentration. 

The wind was at its peak now, whistling through the canyons of the snowy wilderness, spiking him right through his clothing with its cold crystals of air and ice. If it weren’t for his deathly grip onto the passing uncovered roots of mountain-grown trees, he’s certain he would have fallen right off of the cliff-face by now. 

He felt numb, his whole body was ice-cold. He was trembling, at least, which was a good thing. Meant his body was still working. Ghost was still behind him, lagging behind slightly, preoccupied with lugging his bags as well as checking their location. When he’d last trusted himself enough to look back, the man had been busy checking a little grey piece of technology, the blue light reflecting in his snow-white mask. 

He knew that the little ipod-like thing hadn’t initially been supposed to be used to find this supposed safehouse, but rather help Ghost angle himself correctly when it came to overwatch protection. For later in the mission. At least higher-ups had been courteous enough to give them some form of direction in case of an emergency.

“Should be over this last hill!” Ghost startled him with his shout, even if he barely heard it over the wind. A hand clasped his shoulder when he stumbled, startled, and he could see a gloved finger in his peripheral, pointing in said direction. When Ghost spoke next, his voice was in his ear. “Through those trees.”

He nodded.

Another twenty, maybe thirty minutes, and they finally, finally came upon the house. If he was honest, it was more of a glorified shed, maybe. At least from a distance. No windows, one door, a little wooden building sat nestled between a few cut-down stumps of previous trees. Maybe the wood used to make it? Probably. 

The door had been locked, but a sharp boot to the lock had solved that issue. Their fingers were too numb to pick the lock anyway. 

Inside, it wasn’t too bad. There was a little fireplace, a sofa- actually no, it was a pullout sofa-bed, actually. In the other room, the only other room, a tiny kitchen. That was it, really. It wasn’t the worst safehouse he’d seen (he’d give that to the one he’d stumbled into, half stabbed, in Romania a few years back), but it wasn’t the best either. It didn’t even have a bathroom!

Ghost got to work as soon as the door was closed behind them. He shuffled forward, dumping his kit on the floor as he began shedding his clothes piece-by-piece, dumping them onto the back of the sofa-bed. He was in the middle of taking his shoes off before he peered up at Soap, confused. “Johnny?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Clothes.”

He blinked again, before nodding, fingers trembling, fumbling for his coat’s zipper, “Yeah, gotcha.”

“No inappropriate joke today, Sergeant?”

He shook his head tiredly, “Too fuckin’ cold, LT.”

A soft huff of a laugh, and Ghost placed his boots against a nearby wall, tugging his soggy, icy mask off. Frost clung to his eyelashes, and calloused fingers rubbed at them. Once the majority of the white was gone from the hairs, Ghost’s eyes were on him again, eyebrow curled, “Soap?”

Oh. He was staring again. He shook his head, going back to fumbling with his stuff. “Sorry.”

If Ghost was worried, he didn’t say anything about it. “I’m gonna go look at the kitchen for some food.” He said instead, “You get the fire going when you can. You’re right, it’s fucking freezing.”

He watched as the man turned his back and waltzed into the kitchen. Which, technically, was simply an extension of the living room. All that separated them was a tiny archway, after all.

Once he finally got his coat off, and tossed onto the floor, was when his body began to fail him.

“Ghost…?”

“Yeah?” Ghost turned, peering at him from the other room, his eyes dark in the dim lighting of the safehouse. “What’s up?”

“I don’t…” He swallowed harshly. The room was beginning to spin violently, and he reached a hand out desperately to clutch onto the nearest object, that being the sofa. “I don’t feel so good…”

“Johnny?” Ghost’s voice was starting to fade out as he fought to keep himself upright. 

Something was buzzing under his skin, warm and itchy. Sweat pooled against his neck. He had been cold only a moment ago, freezing, even… What was wrong with him? “Simon?”

A hand on his shoulder, “I’m here.”

“I think…” His stomach coiled, and he squeezed his eyes shut with a soft hiccup, “‘m gonna be sick.”

“Alright, alright.” Simon’s hands wrapped around him, guiding him forward, towards the small kitchen. But as soon as his hand released its deathly grip on the sofa, Soap’s knees gave in. 

He would have hit the floor if it weren’t for Simon, who took his weight with a grunt, barely managing to move them forward off of carpet and onto tile before Soap vomited.

“Easy, Johnny,” He could hear Simon attempt to soothe as he retched, fully held up in the older man’s arms. He felt limp, boneless, “Easy.”

His world continued to spin violently as he heaved, the cold tile on his knees sharply contrasting the horrible burning sensation consuming him whole. He whimpered, trying to squirm away from the heat inside him. Simon just held him tighter. “It’ll be over soon.”

“I-” He retched again, dry heaving over a steadily growing pile of vomit. His eyes stung, and he choked on a sob. “Fuck-”

A hand pressed into his forehead. “You’re burning up…” Simon muttered softly, “Fuck, Johnny, why didn’t you tell me?”

He hiccuped, turning to press his head under the crook of Simon’s neck. He was crying, he could feel the familiar wet warmth soaking into the fabric of Simon’s shirt. He wanted to apologise, but breathing was hard enough at the minute. His hands, trembling, clutched onto Simon wherever he could get a good grip, circling around the man’s back, holding tight. 

He swore a kiss pressed into his hair. He swore it. “You’re alright, I got you.” Simon’s voice was firm, and yet it was laced with worry. They were both hardened soldiers, he shouldn’t be sobbing like this over a simple sickness. It had to be something more, right? After a moment,  “Do you still feel sick?”

He shook his head.

“Okay.” Simon took a moment to think, to breathe. Soap. “Okay. I’m going to move you to the sofa, and then clean this up. Think you can move?”

He shook his head again. His knees felt like jelly, if he got up, he’d most definitely fall right back down.

“It’s alright,” Simon murmured, “I’ll carry you.”

With a quick rearrange of arms, followed by a soft grunt, Simon lifted him up. Instinctively, Soap clutched close, squeezing his eyes shut once more as his head spun. As soon as Simon settled him onto the sofa only inches away, he brought a hand up to his mouth, dry heaving into his palm once more. No vomit, this time.

A hand rubbed at his back. “Easy.” A hand in his hair. He leaned against it tiredly as Simon helped him lean backwards onto the old cushions. “Just breathe. It’ll help.”

As soon as he was sitting comfortably, the hands were gone. His eyes cracked open, looking around. Simon had just… disappeared.

“Si’?” He croaked, anxiety coiling. He hadn’t heard him leave, where was he? “Right here.” A damp cloth touched his forehead, and moments later the man was back in view, kneeling down in front of him. A bowl was given to Soap, settled in his lap neatly. “If you’re sick again.”

“Oh.” He rasped. Yeah, of course Simon would think to go grab something. 

A glass of water was offered next. His hands reached out shakily to take it, but Simon didn’t let go, instead holding the glass steady as Soap brought it to his lips, taking small sips. He pulled it away a moment later. “Not too much.” He reminded Soap, “It’ll make you throw up.”

He hummed tiredly. “I know.”

“Now you’re not puking your guts up.” The glass was placed onto a nearby old, dusty coffee table. Simon’s eyes were on him not long after. “Care to explain why you thought it was a good idea to come out on a mission when you were feeling like shit?”

“I didn’t feel bad this morning.” Which was true. Sort of. It’d, mostly, come on suddenly. “Once I felt sick, we were already off.”

“You could’ve still told someone.” Simon’s voice was soft, but firm. “Price, Gaz, me, hell, even the pilots. Anyone, Soap.”

“Sorry.” He whispered tiredly. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“I can’t get a hold of Price.” That woke him a little. “Signal’s shit. Blizzard is practically snowing us in, I think.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Simon sighed, hand reaching up to brush some blonde, stray strands behind his ear. “But we’ve got a while before we’ll need to check back in. So, we’ll just hunker down. Feel like eating?”

He shook his head. Simon’s eyes softened. “You need to, Johnny.”

He shook his head again, eyes drooping slightly. “‘M tired.”

“Alright.” Simon relented, biting his lip. “Alright. I’ll… We can eat later?”

He nodded. That worked. 

“You take the sofa,” Simon went to move, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He reached out, grasping his wrist. “We can share.” He murmured, exhausted. “It’s a sofa-bed.”

“Yeah, like a single bed.” The older man huffed, “I can take the floor.”

He didn’t let go of the man’s wrist. Simon didn’t pull away, either. “Just sleep here.” He yawned, “‘S easier.”

There was a pause, before a soft; “You’re not gonna puke on me, are you?”

He chuckled, eyes already closed, “Only if you snore.”

[imthebadguyyy]

Loved your first fic of Lewis!💛

Can you make one where Lewis Hamilton and Y/N have a fight and have been living separately and then Lewis comes to meet Y/N one evening and makes an excuse that his toothbrush is with Y/N? And then Lewis confronts Y/N that he knows Y/N still love him but won't admit?

..

* I know this is a very specific prompt. Bare with me. I just wanted more Angst/ Fluff with Longing for each other and Deep feelings and keep it Non-explicit. *

A/N - I'm so glad you liked the fic 😊

We're Meant To Be

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (female)

Fandom - F1

Summary - After a messy fight, you don't know where your relationship stands. But when love is that strong, an argument can't stand in the way.

Warnings - Angst, fighting, swearing

Angered shouts. Tears of frustration. White noise. Desperate pleads. And then silence. That's what your neighbours would describe if they were asked to describe what they had heard from your house. An argument that seemed to have started over nothing, had blown up into a full scale fight. When had it become this bad? Only yesterday, you two had had a date night at home, with movies and wine. Everything was perfect. But then, suddenly everything seemed to go down a downward spiral.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had always been calm, it had been the type of love where you just loved each other with all your hearts, where fights were an incredibly rare appearance. You were both working, and he was away at races most of the time, so usually, you didn't waste time fighting, something that was an unnecessary waste of time in your opinion. But then, something had just switched for a second. It was after the race in Baku, and it hadn't gone well. Lewis had been heartbroken, after coming P15, and had heavily berated himself for it. To make him feel better, you had taken a couple of days off work. to just be with him and give him company to feel better.

It had been on the third day of you spending time with him that he had made an offhand comment that had struck a nerve with you. "I wish you could be there at race weekends more often. It's like you don't care enough about the races" The comment had pissed you off, to put it lightly. "What do you mean, I don't care about the races? I watch all of them Lewis, I'm always supporting you" you had practically seethed at him. "Don't get all huffy, darling, all I'm saying is that the other girlfriends and wives come quite often, but you only come to like three races a year" he had said, already regretting his words. "Maybe that's because I have a job?! I work for my living, and I love my job. I don't have time to fly around the world to accompany you to your races, and its damn hard to get leave off of work anyway, I was lucky to even get a week off of work, and you want me to be there every weekend? It's not possible for a working person, Lewis" you had said, anger bubbling in your voice, pulling away from him to sit up straight. "I know, I just meant-" "No, I know what you meant. I'm sorry I can't always be there, and don't you think I feel bad when I can't be there for you ?" "I know you do, I shouldn't have brought this up. But can you come for the next race?" He had asked, not looking at your eyes, regretting the answer. "I... can't. I have a really big meeting coming up and-" "And you can't come I get it"

And he had just left. You had felt your heart shatter, hating yourself for being so harsh with him. But it was true, you were a very hardworking person, and you had worked damn hard to get to where you were, successful at your job, one of the best in your field. It took years of hard work and perseverance and you were proud of it. But a part of you also knew that Lewis didn't deserve any of the crap you had given him, and you also knew that he was right, the other guys had their partners to support them during various race weekends, and you only showed up to one or two of them. He was well in his rights to tell you that. And you hated how it had ended.

You all alone, in your house, in a cold and empty bed, in a quiet house with silence that was much, much more deafening than words ever could be. It was heartbreaking, to see a future you had dreamed of just shattering in front of your eyes, dreams of having a family of your own with him fluttering away like wisps of smoke, the burning flames leaving only a heartbroken mess of a human being behind. Was that what it felt like? To be burned and left to turn to ashes, when a person that knew exactly how to ignite your flame just left you to burn away? To have someone who could ignite your all consuming passion, and turn you to putty in his hands, who could mould you back into shape, leave you to melt into a liquid through his fingers to just lay on the ground, a sad, broken, person.

And here you were, lying on your bed, the sheets that had warmed the both of you on cold nights, or been home to your pleasure laced activities now offering only some of the warmth it used to, cold and unforgiving, as you turned your pillow for the fifteenth time, neither side cool anymore. Even the pillow didn't want to forgive you, the sweat settling in on your neck again, beads of sweat running down your forehead again. The pulled curtains shielded you from the over bright sunshine, your damp hair sticking to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes, red rimmed and tired, shut to protect them from the faint light in the room, the tiredness not permitting you to even open them to look in the dim light of your room.

Somewhere near you, your phone buzzed again, for what felt like the hundredth time in three days. It had been three days, three long, painful days since you and Lewis had fought and not seen each other, and those 72 hours had ripped a part of your soul out. You had spent those three days in bed, your leave days still saving you from getting out of bed and dragging your body to office. Was your relationship over? Were you never going to meet the love of your life, the man you were destined to be with again? Sighing, you rolled over, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face. Using strength you didn't know you had, you pulled yourself up, feeling your head spin.

Slowly, you made yourself walk into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. Then you splashed some water on your tired face, shuffling over to the bathroom to brush your teeth. After finishing your toast, you peeled off the sweaty shirt you had pulled on when he had left, realising with a pang that it was Lewis's nightshirt you were wearing, a purple one he loved. Dropping it into the laundry basket, you turned on the shower, stepping under the warm shower. The warm spray untangled the knots in your matted hair, as you soaped your body and hair, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks as memories of your showers together with Lewis came flooding back, as heartbroken sobs wracked your form again.

An hour after the not so great shower, you found yourself in another shirt belonging to Lewis, the bed in fresh sheets and covers, your pillow finally cool on both sides. You were clean and refreshed, albeit heartbroken, waiting on your takeout Chinese food and ice cream. Just as you lay there, scrolling through your Netflix account to watch some episode of FRIENDS to help you keep your spirits up, the doorbell rang. The thought of flavourful Chinese food and ice cream was enough to lure you out of your bed again, bare feet padding across the wooden floor to go to the door. You grabbed your wallet, opening the door, to find not your dinner, but Lewis, at the door, in one of your favourite sweatshirts on him. Did the clothes make you feel better? No. In fact, it just shattered your heart further.

"What are you doing here?" was the predictable line that left your lips. "I um, I left my toothbrush at your place. Can I have it back?"

"I beg your pardon? You left your toothbrush? You came back for a toothbrush, but not for me? Is that all I mean to you?!" you said, anger and a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. "You do mean a lot to me" he replied in a sigh. "Look, I didn't actually leave my toothbrush. That was a lie, and wow, I'm just realising how stupid that sounded, I'm sorry" His words were met with silence. The sadness in your eyes said it all. You were upset. Of course you were. "I don't have any toothbrushes except mine, so please leave" Before you could shut the door in his face, he pushed it back open, stepping into the house on his own.

"No do not come in here, please just get out!"

"No" was his frustrating reply. "What do you mean no? I said get out of my house!" "Not until we stop fighting and talk about what the hell happened!" Lewis yelled back, matching your tone. "Why the hell do you care?!" "Because I still love you damn it, I always have, and this stupid fight cannot, and should not break us apart!"

Your burst into tears. Sliding down against the wall, you buried your face in your hands, the sweatshirt arms covering your face as you sobbed. In an instant, Lewis was walking across to you, strong muscled arms wrapping around your shaking frame. "I'm sorry" you managed to blubber out, "I thought it over, and I don't go to support as often as I feel I should, and I'm sorry"

"No my darling, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that to you. You work so hard baby, and I'm so proud of you. And I know that you try to come whenever you can, and I love you so much for that. I'm sorry, and I never shouldv'e asked you to prioritize my passion over yours" rubbing your shoulders softly, he let his chin rest on top of yours. Sniffling, you let your head rest on his shoulder. The soft hiccups that left your lips broke his heart even further, something he hadn't thought possible.

The last 3 days had been pure hell for him. He had missed you, God, he had missed you. He had missed having you in his bed in the morning, tracing patterns on your bare skin. He had missed leaving kisses on your soft cheeks and hands and on your cute nose, missed smiling against your skin as you giggled. He had missed you playing with Roscoe, the doggo following the both of you around the house. Even Roscoe had missed you, sniffing around the house for your familiar smell, cocking his ears up and looking at his dad questioningly.

He had missed your perfume, the scent filling his senses, intoxicating him in the best way possible. He missed you curling up to him, playing with his hair or tracing his tattoos, leaving little kisses around the compass tattoo, tracing his 'Still I Rise' tattoo, missing the goosebumps that would rise on his skin when you traced Michelangelo's Pieta on his skin, and kissed the family and faith tattoos on his sternum. He missed you everywhere, and it had taken three days for him to realize that your presence grounded him. Your presence was something he needed, not to survive, he had done that before, he needed you for his happiness.

And having you in his arms, crying over what he had said? It shattered his heart. And he wanted to just fix everything, to bring everything back to normal. Stroking your hair softly, he kept his lips pressed to your ear, whispering soft "I love you's" and "I'm so sorry baby's" and "I'm here for you's" into your ear, feeling his heart lighten ever so softly when your sniffles decreased and your grip on yourself relaxed.

Moving up to meet his eyes, you moved so you were at eye level with him. "So we're both idiots who are sorry?" You murmured, running your hand up to his collarbone. With a soft laugh, he nodded taking your hand into his, rubbing his thumb over yours. "Fighting sucks" he mumbled pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It really does" your replied, moving so you were straddling his waist. "Let's never do that again, and let's just make a schedule. We can figure out when you can come and visit me, and I'll just deal with the fact that my ethereal girlfriend won't grace the race tracks every race weekend-" "It all sounds lovely but all I want right now is your lips on mine" you interrupted, bringing a smirk to his lips.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours, hand moving to maneuver your head closer to his, your hands moving up to cup his cheek, as your traced his jawline, his thumb running over your waist. Breaking apart softly, he let his forehead rest on yours. "I love you" he whispered softly. "I love you too" you mumbled back. Before he could lean back in, the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it. That's my chinese food and ice cream" you sighed, smiling when he laughed. "Was it that bad?" He asked, letting you get up to open the door. "Like you wouldn't believe it"

After getting the food and paying for it, you set two plates on the table and put enough on your plates. "You know what the worst part was about fighting?" "What was?" "Not waking up to you tracing my tattoos" "Aww that's what you missed?" You giggled, walking up to kiss the tattoos on his hands. "I really did. You're cute and adorable and you're all mine. That's why I don't wanna fight. Let's keep it that way" "I love you so much" "I love you too"

***

A/N - I'm so, so sorry I took so long to write this, I really suck at angst, and I hope this is what you wanted, the last thing I want to do is give you subpar work 😭😭

Anyways, have a great day 💙

[fangirleaconmigo]

Hi! If your prompts are still open, would you consider perhaps Jaskel with them being soulmates? Hope you have a good day!

Hello dear! Once again, after saying I would answer these with 500-1000 words, I've written a full story arc of about 7500 words. Typical!

I started with this: In the books, Jaskier is extremely famous. What would the repercussions of fame be in a 'first words of your soulmate written on your arm' AU? How would people manipulate or weaponize it to get a piece of you?

What would it mean for a witcher, when so many 'first words' said to you are invectives?

And how would Jaskier and Eskel, with existences that seem at complete odds, navigate the cruelties of such a world, and fall in love?

Content Warnings: Brief references to past manipulative or coerced sex. Brief references of past self harm (to get rid of a soulmate mark). But it is a fully happy ending with loads of comfort.

It's Hard to be the Bard it's also hard to be the witcher, but that doesn't rhyme

As a rule, Eskel liked to keep things simple. Philosophy was for mages, who had nothing to do but plot and scheme. Ruminating never once helped a witcher.

However, there were occasional moments when he let himself drop down into his thoughts, despite his propensity for reigning in that sort of thing. And Eskel was right in the thick of one such moment.

He was in a Verden tavern, watching a man with a lute.

The man sang as he stepped playfully around the tables, soaking up the enthusiastic attention. He didn’t avoid the intense gaze of the crowd. He looked each of his admirers directly in the eyes. He drank it in like a desert flower soaked up the only rain of the season.

The man with the lute was handsome. Charming. He had a spare but lilting voice. Townspeople crowded in, hanging on his every note. Men sighed. Women cried.

But Eskel wasn’t thinking admiring thoughts. He was bewildered. Slightly perturbed. What did it feel like to be this man? To not pull away from such intense, focused attention? What was it like to have people habitually look at you with admiration instead of fear? To be the recipient of fevered lust instead of disgust?

Eskel couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He wondered if two people with such diametrically opposed experiences of living in the world could even be thought of as belonging to the same species.

But the longer Eskel looked, the more interesting the man became. It was like moving closer to a painting and picking out the red and white strokes that combined to make the pink. The singer had a fair youthful face that contrasted with his filthy mouth. He wore the most elegant ensemble Eskel had ever seen in an ordinary tavern, but his doublet lay open rakishly and an obscene thatch of chest hair peeked out.

On closer inspection, he was gorgeous.

Then suddenly, the man was looking him in the eye. He locked into Eskel’s gaze before the witcher could avert his eyes. Eskel froze, fingers hovering over the handle of his mug. He waited for the man to look away to more pleasing vistas. But instead, this confounding man broke easily into a wide, wild grin. Even the warbling lusty note he held couldn’t dim its shine.

Eskel smiled back, with no thought to what his own face looked like.

And then the man with the lute winked at him.

That small gesture sent a thrill of excitement up Eskel’s spine. But that was only the beginning. The spirit and the spark Eskel now saw in the man’s eyes grabbed him by the heart and screamed “Pay attention. This is important.” It was a chain reaction, like one of Lambert’s experiments. It ignited a buzz, which transformed into a lightness of being.

It was infatuation.

Eskel hadn’t felt that in ages. Maybe not since he was a youngling. He couldn’t help it. He chuckled.

Well look at that, you’re still alive, old man. He murmured to himself.

He knew that the wink was the totality of the connection he would have with this man. So he tucked it away in some recess that he could visit later. He would think of it again when he was alone and the world was quiet. No one could judge him for it, because no one would know.

A voice cleared.

The alderman had arrived. This was the part Eskel had been dreading.

“Eskel.” He said Eskel’s name the way one would point out a rotten fleck of cheese. Eskel had made an effort to bathe after his messy hunt and before meeting this man. He had used a fragrant soap and scrubbed until his skin was pink. He had flattened and spit down his hair until it gleamed. He had shaved around his scars so that he didn’t have scattered sparse hair on his cheeks.

He knew it wouldn’t matter. And it didn’t. But he had tried.

“Carlen,” he answered evenly. He kept his voice low, as was his habit. He had been told it sounded like barking dogs.

The alderman didn’t deign to sit. He stood beside the table and dropped a bag of coins. Even looking at it, Eskel knew it wasn’t enough. He picked up the bag and Carlen cocked an eyebrow.

“You don't trust me, witcher?”

He said it like it was absurd. Topsy turvy. Backwards.

“Just business,” said Eskel. He dumped the coins and looked up at Carlen. “This is half of what we agreed to.”

“I gave the rest to the other witcher,” Carlen insisted.

“Lambert took half. I get half.”

“He took more.”

No he fucking didn’t. Eskel knew Lambert would never short him. Carlen was a lying piece of shit.

Eskel hadn’t even responded when Carlen spoke again. “Don’t get upset!” he said theatrically, looking around at the tavern. Eskel instinctively surveyed the place too. The singer had finished his set and was putting away his lute. He was crouched on the ground. A ribbon tied his trousers together at the back. Even in his irritated state, Eskel noted the ridiculous, adorable bow.

“We all know how witchers get,” Carlen said to the tavern, which was now silent other than clinking of glasses. “We wouldn't want any trouble.”

Eskel knew what this was. It was a threat. Carlen was gambling that he could turn the crowd against him if he pressed. Eskel turned back to Carlen, calculating his risk. Calculating how much money he absolutely needed...how much was non negotiable to let him survive to the next job.

Eskel opened his mouth but then startled because suddenly, the singer was right next to him, a vision in teal. How had he moved that quickly? He positioned himself right between Carlen and Eskel. He took up space like a man who had never had to shrink to be found palatable. He placed his hands on his hips like he was a man who belonged anywhere he chose to be. He tipped his head back to look down his nose at the alderman.

“Carlen,” he said imperiously. “Surely you aren’t trying to cheat the man.”

Carlen shrunk backwards. “Oh well hello, Viscount Julian.”

Viscount. What was a viscount doing performing in a tavern? Eskel figured this Viscount Julian should be in court somewhere or enjoying his land. Of course the tavern was packed with an adoring crowd. Maybe he just liked the attention.

“Don’t hello Viscount Julian me,” he sniffed in Carlen’s direction. “Pay the man what you’ve promised him. Do you want witchers to deny us their services? Are you prepared to do battle with a beastie? Well I can’t imagine that,” he cackled mockingly. “You’d piss yourself the minute you were in any real danger.”

Carlen’s eyes hardened, but he was clearly outranked. “No, no, of course no. A mere misunderstanding.”

“I would hope so,” snorted Julian. He picked at his doublet, straightening the buttons, as though Carlen was beneath his notice.

Usually an outsized air of entitlement like that grated on Eskel’s nerves. But it wasn’t so bad when it was deployed in his defense. Most people assumed he didn’t need defending. And he didn’t need it, strictly speaking. But secretly, he liked it.

Julian looked at Carlen again but gestured at Eskel. “After all, how often do we get such brave, handsome men in this godforsaken town? Valiant men who have quite literally slayed monsters, like heroes of old. And that smell of--” Julian sniffed the air, “orange blossoms.”

Eskel’s heart sank as soon as he heard the word handsome, and it kept plummeting like a stone at the words ‘valiant’ and ‘hero’. This was all bullshit. Another performance. He knew he wasn’t handsome. He knew that for a fact. And no one thought that witchers were valiant. Useful maybe. But this was all way too over the top to be true.

Viscount Julian was mocking him.

Wasn’t he?

There had been times when women in taverns would dare each other to go talk to the monstrous man in the corner, as a test of courage. They thought Eskel couldn’t hear them chatter to each other before sending one over to say hello. It always made him feel sour inside. Humiliated.

This had to be the same.

Eskel clenched his fists, bunching up the knees of his trousers. His heart rebelled. This man had smiled at him so brightly. It had felt real. It had felt so real.

There was only one way to find out whether Viscount Julian was mocking him. He had to ask.

“Did Lambert put you up to this?” asked Eskel.

Lambert had been in here collecting his pay on the contract just before Eskel. He might still be around. Eskel leaned back to sweep his eyes around the tavern. He searched for Lambert’s smirking face. He didn’t find it.

He looked back at Julian, and was startled to see a stark transformation. Julian’s face had fallen. It had gone completely slack. It had just been full of verve and charm for Eskel, and righteous disdain for Carlen. Now he looked hurt, and stunned, as though Eskel had just slapped him flat across the face. Carlen didn’t notice, he was busy pulling out more coins.

Eskel panicked and ran through what he had just said. In retrospect it didn't make sense, of course. Lambert wouldn't have put Julian up to this. If Lambert had wanted Carlen put in his place he would have done it himself. And he wouldn’t have gotten anyone to mock Eskel’s looks. Lambert was an asshole but he wasn’t cruel. There was a difference.

But in the moment, Eskel had just instinctively grasped for someone to blame for a trick on him, and had come up with Lambert out of rote habit. And now Julian was standing before him, his eyes hardened into little blue points of wounded betrayal.

And Eskel had no idea why.

“Here you go, sir witcher,” smiled Carlen falsely. Eskel looked back at the alderman to gather his coins. The man dropped a second bag into his hands and turned on his heel. The doors of the tavern clattered in his wake. Eskel turned back to Julian, but he was gone.

He was up front again. A smile was back on his face, but it was brittle. It was nothing like before. The barkeep cupped his hands around his mouth and exhorted the crowd to “give a hand to Jaskier!”

Jaskier. Must be a stage name.

The crowd went absolutely wild. Eskel picked out squeals and shrieks from people who Jaskier honored with a wink. But it looked forced. Eskel felt slightly ill. He felt responsible for this reversal of moods. He shifted in his chair and drummed his fingers on the surface.

Eskel didn’t know why he cared so much, why his mind churned and guilt settled on him like a shroud. Geralt and Lambert always told him that he cared too much what other people thought of him. He knew they would advise him to leave the tavern. He had his money. And he hadn’t said anything rude or disrespectful. He had nothing to apologize for.

And yet.

Eskel hadn’t been offered a friendly expression all spring. Then, when he was greeted with a joyous open smile, Eskel had chased it away. Worse yet, he didn’t even know how he had done it. It irked him. He wasn’t going to be able to leave here until he found out. He lifted a finger to call over the server. His appetite had mostly withered, but he needed a reason to be at the table for the rest of the evening. The server ignored him. After a long wait, the proprietor himself came out to serve him. The server must have refused to help him. It was fine.

Eskel ordered his supper, then sat there as dusk settled outside. He nursed his pint. He clanged a spoon around in his soup. And he trained his witcher hearing on Jaskier, who sat with his back to him across the tavern at the bar.

Over the next hour, people approached Jaskier in an unrelenting stream. Apparently, he was a singer of some renown. Some people asked him for a song. Others wanted good wishes for their families. Some told him their personal problems in lurid detail. Some grabbed him and kissed his cheek. Others propositioned him in such obscene terms that Eskel’s ears turned pink. He wasn’t shy about sex, but he was uncomfortable with aggressive, public propositions.

Jaskier responded to them all in a practiced, cheerful tone. He laughed and squirmed subtly away from caresses. He smiled into cheek kisses. But Eskel could tell that by comparison to his earlier vivacity, this was pure performance. His mood was sour, but he was hiding it remarkably well. And he was throwing back pint after pint, growing intoxicated.

A protective instinct bloomed in Eskel, but he resisted it. Jaskier clearly liked fame, he must know how to handle it even when drunk.

Eskel watched carefully as the next man approached Jaskier. He had a doublet and trousers on that were similar to the outfit Jaskier wore. He smiled lasciviously. Then he said something quietly in Jaskier’s ear that made Eskel’s hair stand on end.

“Did Lambert put you up to this?”

Jaskier exploded. He slammed his stein down on the bar. “Put me up to what?? Who would put me up to sitting on my ass drinking ale? It doesn’t even make sense! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The tavern fell silent and tense.

Jaskier hopped down from the stool and almost stumbled forward onto his face. An empathy response made Eskel jerk forward but he stopped himself. He was too far away, even if Jaskier wanted his help. The man who had spoken tried to steady him but Jaskier yanked his arm away. He grabbed his lute and pulled it over his shoulder. Then he rushed towards the exit. As Jaskier passed Eskel on the way to the door, he kept his eyes trained forward, steadfastly avoiding looking at him.

Jaskier burst out the door and into the night. Several people jumped from their seats and followed him, whispering frantically to one other.

Eskel desperately wanted to know why that man had said what he said. He almost moved to go ask. But then he nervously glanced at the door. Those overbearing people were stalking Jaskier in his vulnerable drunken state. Alright, Eskel was stalking him too. But he was keeping a respectful distance.

Eskel pushed to his feet. He dropped a sufficient amount of coin onto the table and followed the trickle of people outside. Verden was no backwater, so the streets were wide and lined with shops all closed up for the night. The mercantile district was built close to the banks of the Yaruga so the air smelled of wet earth, fish, and tar.

He spotted Jaskier headed north in the direction of the docks. It was a bad idea. Generally, when one was drunk, one should avoid large bodies of water.

Eskel walked down the cobblestone street, keeping to the shadows. It was quieter outside and his ear rang slightly, adjusting from the loud noise of the tavern.

Two young men who had been tailing Jaskier, reached him and touched his shoulder to get his attention. Eskel was close enough that he could see Jaskier turn around. The streetlamp shone warm gold on one side of Jaskier’s face and the moon lit him soft and gray on the other. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. His eyes were watery and his mouth was set in a grim line.

Eskel’s pulse quickened when he heard one of the men lean in and ask, “Did Lambert put you up to this?”

Jaskier flipped them off and took off further down the street.

The men gave up their mission, and turned back, only for Eskel to emerge from the shadows, glowering down at them. One of the men shrieked like a frightened child.

“Why did you say that to him?” gritted out Eskel.

The two men skittered backwards, eyes wide, stammering apologies. “I’m not the only one who’s tried it,” said one man, his round face pinched in fear.

“It can’t hurt to try,” said the other, holding tight to his hat as they scattered away.

What in the fuck did that mean? There were three more people behind Eskel who had come out of the tavern to follow Jaskier. He whirled around, stepped towards them, and growled. They all yelped and retreated.

Eskel surveyed the empty street in satisfaction. Then he hurried to recapture Jaskier. He calculated how close he needed to be to pull Jaskier out of the water if he pitched off the side of the pier.

But thankfully, Jaskier found a seat on a wide, squat, wooden beam safely away from the edge of the pier. He lowered himself carefully and raised his face to inhale the soft breeze cooling his face. The lapping of water and the chirp of crickets soon swallowed every other noise.

Eskel drew closer, debating what to do. Then he came to a decision. He approached and knelt beside Jaskier.

“Hello,” said Eskel gently.

Jaskier turned slowly to look at him. His bleary eyes focused, lit up briefly, then extinguished.

“Fuck off.”

There was no fire behind it. He sounded drained. He didn’t slur, but his words were fuzzy. Slippery. He looked back at the water and inhaled, as though he meant to block Eskel out of his mind.

“My name is Eskel.”

Jaskier rubbed his face then dropped his hands heavily back in his lap. “Th-blazes do you want, Eskel?” His face looked drawn, all efforts at jolliness had vanished. Eskel wanted to touch him to comfort him, but he knew it wouldn't be welcome.

“Why are people saying that to you? About Lambert?” he asked.

Jaskier chuckled bitterly. “You tell me. You said it too.” He stood up and walked to the edge of the pier. Eskel almost stood up, in order to be at the ready if Jaskier fell. But then he heard the telltale sound of him pissing in the water.

Jaskier returned to his seat on the beam and settled in, looking out over the water once again.

“Yes, but I know why I said it,” insisted Eskel, picking the conversation up where he left off. “I have a brother named Lambert. He likes to play tricks sometimes. What I want to know is, why did the others say it?”

Jaskier picked up a bottle sitting on the docks between his feet. Eskel hadn’t noticed it there before. Jaskier pulled out the cork and took a sip. Then he lowered it and licked his lips. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it's true.”

Jaskier’s shoulders shook. He was giggling. But it wasn’t a nice giggle. It was bitter. “I really thought you were different. For just a moment.”

Eskel had thought the same about Jaskier. It had felt awful when that belief turned to ash, when he thought Jaskier was mocking him. He replied softly, “you don’t even know me.”

It was quiet now. The sounds that were left of the town were far away. There was only the ripples of water and the rustle of reeds. Each time they spoke, their voices broke the silence like a pebble in still water. It made their conversation feel intimate. Eskel supposed that should have been weird. They didn't know each other, and Jaskier didn’t trust him. But oddly, that was exactly how it felt. Intimate.

Jaskier shrugged. Eskel thought that meant “fine, don’t believe me,” and that the line of inquiry was dead. He opened his mouth to try a different tack.

But Jaskier cut in. “It was your smile,” he said. The words sounded like truth dragged up from the depths of his soul. “It was...utterly sincere.” Jaskier paused and pondered, his lips frozen mid utterance. Eskel waited until he continued. “I could feel it. I was drawn to it. And when Carlen came in, I saw you were a witcher.” He lifted the palms of his hands and shrugged. “So you were also brave, and a man who didn’t deal in bullshit. I admired you straight away.”

Eskel flushed. He had a hard time with compliments. But this was even worse, because Jaskier was using the past tense. These nice words were things Jaskier used to think of him.

Jaskier fiddled with the cork he had pulled from the bottle. “And when Carlen tried to cheat you, you were humble. Quiet. Like you didn’t want to be too big or too much. The fucker instantly took advantage of that. And it did silence you.”

Eskel couldn’t protest, because it was true.

“I relate to that,” said Jaskier. “Being afraid of being too much. Perhaps for different reasons. But I do. It was a small thing. But I connected with you.”

He threw the cork out into the water with a flick of his wrist. It made a soft plunk when it hit the surface, and it bobbed downstream. Jaskier took another sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Plus, you’re handsome. It made me stupid.”

He really did think Eskel was handsome, after all.

The wooden beams were digging bruises into Eskel’s knees, so he sat back and crossed his legs. Jaskier glanced at him, watching him getting comfortable. He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t ask him to leave.

“Why did the others repeat my words?” He had to persist until he got an answer.

Jasker snorted. “It’s a trick.” He held out his arm in the moonlight and shoved up his sleeve. Up his forearm ran the neat line of his soulmate words in stark black against his pale skin.

It sounded absurd, but Eskel often forgot about the existence of soulmate words. He had gotten so practiced at blocking them out...pretending that they didn’t exist.

Lots of people didn’t put stock in them anyway. Believing in soulmate words was a leap of faith, like spending all season tilling new ground, or trying for a child. You hoped for the best. But sometimes the winter was harsh. Or the baby had a head too large for birth. Or you had terrible soulmate words. Words that were common. Words that were cruel. Or worst of all, words that were both common and cruel.

It was a mess, bordering on a clusterfuck. But now, looking at Jaskier’s forearm, Eskel was flooded with emotions so potent he had to concentrate on pulling in breath to slow his pulse. On Jaskier’s forearm sat the following words:

Did Lambert put you up to this.

Eskel’s heart pounded. His hand came up to his own arm, covered by his sleeve. He was almost a hundred years old. He hadn’t thought of his own soulmate words in decades. He had practically forgotten they existed. But now he made the connection.

His spirit eased. A fear he had been guarding and allowing to fester ever since he was twenty one, began to slip away.

Jaskier pulled his sleeve back down. “See, you seem genuinely surprised.” He shook his head slowly, eyes hollow. “And something inside me still fights to believe you.”

The light went on and Eskel understood. He hadn’t been overheard. Jaskier’s fans had already known the words on his forearm. The man in the bar, the people chasing Jaskier in the street, they had all been trying to trick Jaskier into believing they were his soulmate. Eskel had trundled right into an existing situation like a bull in a china shop.

“So, your fans have seen your words, I take it.”

“Fine,” said Jaskier. “If you want to play this, I’ll play it.”

He turned around and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The full force of his expressive doe eyes looked straight into Eskel. Fuck. He was even more beautiful under the stars. Eskel wanted to touch him. He didn’t.

“Tell me,” said Eskel.

“I have never been in a hurry to find my soulmate,” began Jaskier. He had the air of man who was going to tell a story with a beginning, middle and end. Eskel settled in. He was curious. Jaskier’s life sat in the starkest contrast to his own. He wanted to know what it was like, living under such different conditions.

“I wanted to fuck my way across the continent,” Jaskier continued, though he spoke softly now. “I wanted to enjoy every flavor of person. Life is short. And I do love the attention. But--” he raised a finger and tilted his head, “I am still a hopeless romantic. And people have found a way to---” his breathing stuttered, “--use it against me.” The last few words were so quiet, even sitting this close to him Eskel might not have heard were he not a witcher.

At some point this had shifted from shoving his story defiantly at Eskel, to telling it sincerely.

“How?” asked Eskel.

Jaskier lowered his eyes, seeming to build courage. It plucked at Eskel’s heartstrings. “Well, first it was my lyrics. You know how your words don’t come in until you’re twenty one? I was famous by eighteen. So I was out in the world, meeting new people every day, I had no idea what my words would be. So it was easy for them to write my lyrics on their arms. Ink them. Paint them.”

“Your lyrics? Of the songs you sing?”

“Yes,” Jaskier rubbed his forearm absently. “When I walk into a tavern or entertainment hall and begin a song, technically, those are the first words I say to the entire room of people. And there’s no instructional pamphlet. No rule book. Does singing count? It doesn’t. But I didn’t know.”

“So they would ink your lyrics on and claim they were you soulmates because you said those words to them.”

“Yes. And since I didn’t have words of my own yet, I had no way of knowing if it was true.”

“I see,” said Eskel.

“Do you?” Jaskier’s voice turned metallic, rage simmering below. The rage wasn’t for Eskel. It was directed at some memory. “Because the first time a man claimed to be my soulmate, I believed him. He had my lyrics on his arm. He said that I had locked eyes with him across the room when I’d sung them. I was young. Stupid.”

“Trusting.”

“Seeing my lyrics, words I had composed from my heart, on his arm, moved me. I thought it so romantic,” he said, in a tone mocking his past self. “It wasn’t until we were somewhere private, I was divested of my clothes, and I’d--submitted to him that my fingers slid down the sweat on his arms and the words smeared.”

The full reality of what that moment must have been like, dawned on Eskel. “What a piece of shit.”

“The soulmarks were fake.” His voice grew thick with the threat of tears. His vulnerability was almost painful to look at. But Eskel wouldn’t turn away if he didn’t. “The man had lied. Tricked me. I felt like an imbecile. Like an idiot. I may be a slut, but I still like to make my own decisions about who I have sex with, and under honest circumstances.”

Eskel ached in sympathy. He didn’t want to ask how far the tryst had gone before Jaskier knew he’d been lied to. He didn’t want to ask how he’d responded, whether he pretended he hadn’t seen and finished? Or whether he had pulled away and fled.

“Am I boring you yet?” asked Jaskier.

“No.”

Jaskier slid his hands through his fringe and tucked it behind his ear. “I thought I had learned my lesson. So when my words were ready to appear, just before my birthday, I had my mother sew loops onto my sleeves to hide my soulmate words. I didn’t want anyone to learn them and try again to take advantage of me. But one day, the string caught and rode up. Someone saw my words, and I didn’t realize it.”

“Fuck,” whispered Eskel.

“They had my lyrics. I had their words. I thought...I thought I’d found the one again. I fell right into bed with another liar. Another trick.” Jaskier’s throat closed and he fell silent.

“I’m sorry,” said Eskel. “I’m a witcher. People reject us. Hate us. But to have people use your body, to take a piece of it whether you want to give it or not...I don’t know what’s worse.”

“It’s not all bad,” said Jaskier, forcing some levity into his voice. “Most of the time I love fame. Wouldn’t choose anything else. But no rose is without its thorns.”

“I suppose so,” said Eskel. “But you don’t deserve that. No one does.”

“I was stupid.”

“You were brave.”

Jaskier looked doubtful.

“It’s brave to hope in the face of cruelty,” said Eskel. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jaskier fiddled with his fingers. “Some of my fans are lovely, though. The first man who lied to me? He boasted all over town that he had taken me. That he had tricked me into fucking him. It didn’t go as well as he hoped. Not everyone admired him for it. In fact, a gaggle of adolescent girls, they call themselves Jaskier’s Angels,” a smile curled on his lips, the first real one to occupy his face since Eskel had spoken his soulmate words, “cornered him in an alley and thrashed him with sticks until he cried.

Eskel chuckled. Jaskier joined in. Soon they were both giggling. It wasn’t funny. But they laughed anyway. And it helped. Jaskier sat up and grabbed the bottle again. He chugged it this time.

“I have learned, Eskel,” he said loudly with sharp corners in his voice, as though telling not only Eskel, but the Yaruga itself, “That a pedestal is not love.”

Chug.

“It is just something to fall off of.”

Chug.

“I have learned, Eskel, that someone can be on you, and in you, all without ever fucking seeing you at all.”

Chug.

“I have learned, Eskel, that someone can have your name endlessly on their lips and never care to know who you really are.”

Chug.

Then he swept the bottle to the side in a grand gesture, looking at Eskel, increasingly unsteady. Then he sat in silence, again looking at the water, as the alcohol hit his system.

Eskel swallowed hard. The loneliness that dripped from Jaskier was so thick it felt corporeal. He knew exactly how that felt. He ached to do something, anything to assuage even a bit of it. To reassure him.

He settled for reassuring Jaskier about him. “If you want to check on my story,” he said, “you can ask Carlen. He paid my brother Lambert for the job and made a receipt in the town ledger. I’m a lot of things. But I don’t force people or lie to them for sex. I would never--”

He knew it sounded false. He stopped, letting the words trickle away. Jaskier didn’t respond. They sat in silence as Jaskier downed the rest of the bottle. Eskel watched his throat bob, and vowed to stay and make sure Jaskier got back somewhere safe.

“Where do you live?” he asked. Jaskier didn’t answer. He finished the bottle. Then he turned to face Eskel once again. He hadn't heard his question.

“S-sorry,” he croaked. “I s’pose I'm having....a bit of a night.”

And then he leaned over and vomited into the Yaruga.

Shortly thereafter, he laid down on the slats of the pier for a nice nap.

Eskel carried a snoring Jaskier back to the tavern, bridal style. His sweaty body curled against Eskel’s chest, tranquil and without defense. His fingers pinched periodically at the fabric of Eskel’s shirt. The lute dangled over his shoulder, gently thumping against him as he walked. The proprietor showed them to a modest room upstairs. Eskel settled Jaskier down on the cozy bed with a creak. He took off his shoes and stockings for him, but left the rest. Then he pulled the quilt over him and tucked it against his sides.

He was careful not to touch Jaskier unnecessarily, but he watched him sleep for a few moments. It was good to see him like that. Peaceful. Chest rising and falling.

He found a chair and pulled it out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

And he took up watch.

----

The next morning, by the time Jaskier stumbled downstairs to try to pay for his room, Eskel was already gone, heading north on his horse Scorpion. Pines towered above him and the wind was at his back.

He had slipped away as soon as he’d heard Jaskier groan himself awake. He didn’t know how much Jaskier would remember of the previous night. But he would always remember it. He would remember sitting on a creaking dock, listening to Jaskier entrust him with his story. It had been so different from his own, yet he had recognized himself in it. He knew what it was like not to be able to trust. He knew what it was like for people to see you as an object, not a person.

He had wanted to stay longer, maybe for breakfast. But if Eskel had stayed he would have been weak. He would have been selfish. He took a less traveled, dirt road out of town. Not that he thought in a million years that Jaskier would try to follow him. But he took precautions as a rule.

Still, he couldn’t help that his heart leapt to his throat in joy when about five miles out, he heard hooves pounding up the road behind him and Jaskier’s voice shouting his name. “Eskel! Eskel please! I’m still dehydrated. Don’t make me chase you anymore! Have mercy! Stop in the name of Viscount Julian!”

Eskel pulled Scorpion to a stop and turned around, a laugh burbling from his throat. Jaskier looked absolutely ridiculous and splotchy. He was disheveled. But the bright light was back in his eyes. He was smiling from ear to ear.

“I caught you!” He chortled when he was close enough for their horses to eye each other warily.

“Jaskier, what are you doing here? You look...”

“Like shit?” asked Jaskier, panting and running his hands through his hair. In the morning light, the firmness of his muscles, the broadness of his shoulders, were more apparent. Eskel’s body warmed, and he reminded himself that he couldn’t have this man. He shouldn’t.

“Let’s get down so we don’t have to yell at each other,” Jaskier suggested.

The both slid from their saddles and stood in front of one another. Eskel had no idea where this was going, but the full body relief he felt to be standing close to Jaskier again took him by surprise. “I was going to say, you look better. You look happier,” he said.

“Yes,” conceded Jaskier, shading his eyes from the sun. “Last night was rough. But sometimes you need to cleanse your demons with whinging and whiskey.”

Eskel chuckled. “I get that. Have done it more than once.”

Jaskier smiled and it was the first time Eskel had seen him look...shy. If you’d asked him when he’d first laid eyes on Jaskier whether the man was even capable of looking shy he would have said no.

Be strong, you ridiculous witcher, Eskel thought to himself.

“I also benefited greatly from a patient ear,” Jaskier continued. “I benefited from the kindness of a man who carried me back to a room, then apparently sat outside my door all night and chased away several fans who wanted to wake me.”

Eskel’s had frightened a few people away. It had felt sort of good, actually.

“And you paid for my room out of your hard earned coin.”

Eskel felt awkward being at the receiving end of all this gratitude. He liked it, but it made his insides squirm. So he changed the subject. “Did you go by Carlen’s house?”

“I did. On my way here. I hope you don’t take it as an insult.”

“I’m grateful you did. I don’t want any doubt left between us.”

Jaskier stepped closer, and Eskel’s heart thumped in his chest. He could usually hear the other person’s heart and gauge it, but Jaskier was still out of breath from the ride, so his heart was already thudding. But his intentions were clear when he reached out and took Eskel’s hand.

Eskel let him. He revelled in the curl of Jaskier’s fingers around his own. His eyes even fluttered closed momentarily when Jaskeir squeezed him. He wanted this touch. He wanted more.

“Eskel, I think you are the best man I’ve ever met.”

There was no way Eskel could process that fully. He squeezed Jaskier’s hand. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” replied Jaskier. “You innocently stumbled into my mess.”

Their clasped hands swung between them. Scorpion whinnied. Jaskier’s horse moseyed to the edge of the trail and sniffed around.

“What does your arm say, Eskel?” challenged Jaskier.

Eskel’s smile melted into concern. “Jaskier,” he pleaded. “You don't want to know. I’m not right for you. My life is hard and cold. I move from place to place, and sometimes I don’t even know when the next coin will come.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what is right for me?” Jaskier asked. His voice was gentle but there was the slightest edge.

Eskel thought about Diedre, and how he had tried to protect her from herself by keeping her out of his life, and how disastrous the consequences had been. He realized that this was similar. The thought that he was repeating a mistake distressed him greatly. Perhaps he needed to stop protecting people and start trusting them. Perhaps he needed to have a little faith.

Eskel looked above Jaskier’s shoulder, towards the horizon. He slowly pulled up his sleeve, turning his arm so that Jaskier could see his soulmark words.

Jaskier’s lips moved as he read them.

Fuck off.

They were the first words that Jaskier had properly said to him. Jaskier ran his finger over the bumps of scar tissue surrounding them. “What happened?” He looked into Eskel’s eyes with naked concern.

Eskel didn’t like talking about it, but Jaskier had shared his story. It was Eskel’s turn.

“People tell witchers to fuck off pretty regularly. And it would be weird to offer yourself up as a soulmate when they do.”

“Oh,” said Jaskier. His shoulders slumped, looking distressed at the thought. "You deserve so much better than that, dear man."

This kindness caused Eskel to pry his heart open just a little bit more.

“Every day I am outside of Kaer Morhen, I have to prove that I’m a person, and not a monster. Trying to destroy the marks was my way of rebelling against a destiny that wanted me to hate myself. Against accepting a soul mate who I would have to convince not to hate me.”

Jaskier’s face pinched in sympathetic pain. He pulled Eskel’s forearm closer and pressed a kiss to the ridge of the burn scars running along the words. Eskel melted.

“I stopped when I got these,” he pointed to the scars on his face. “After that, I didn’t have the stomach for more scars. So I just tried to forget.”

Jaskier chewed his lip. His hand was warm and comforting in Eskel’s palm. “You know that’s not the reason I told you to fuck off,” he said. “It had nothing to do with you being a witcher.”

“I know,” said Eskel. “You thought I was trying to take advantage of you, like the others.”

“You have my deepest apologies, darling Eskel,” said Jaskier.

“You didn’t know. You stumbled innocently into my mess.” He repeated the same sentiment that Jaskier had offered him. “This might be weird, but I was relieved when you said my soulmark words. I had always assumed it would be the words of someone disgusted by me. Someone I would have to convince that I am a person. But it wasn't that after all. You and I, we just...had a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Jaskier reached for Eskel’s other hand. “Can we begin again? Shall I beg? I’m willing to beg.”

They stood clasping hands as though they were about to dance in the middle of the dusty trail. When Eskel didn’t answer him, he pressed again.

“I always pictured myself being dashing and romantic,” Jaskier said plaintively, “if I ever met my soulmate. I’m a poet, for fuck’s sake. I can do better than fuck off. If you give me a chance, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll write you a hundred poems.”

Eskel released Jaskier’s hands and took a step backwards, giving him an out if he wanted it.

“Jaskier, this life is bloody and dangerous. The life span is short. The food on the road is shit. The monsters are absolute cunts.”

Jaskier closed the distance between them, grasping his hands again. Butterflies fluttered through Eskel’s stomach.

“I’m hardier than I may seem,” he insisted. “And I happen to be looking for a change of scenery.”

“What about your music?” asked Eskel.

“Adventures and brave deeds make the best ballads.”

Eskel chuckled. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Yes. I hope you aren’t used to winning arguments.” Jaskier grinned mischievously, and it was obscenely endearing. There was so much more to this man than first met the eye.

Yes, he had been imperious and entitled. But he had weaponized it to defend Eskel. And Jaskier’s breakdown by the docks had shown how trusting he still was, under it all. It was resilience. It was courage. It was hope. Eskel remembered hope.

“There are no beautiful boys and girls here,” he said.

“I am looking at the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

Eskel blushed and smothered a smile. But he wouldn’t be dissuaded yet. He had to be sure that Jaskier knew what this would mean. “But every night you play, you get your choice of the partner. You can have anyone. You can taste any flavor.”

“But I am ready for something more. Something better. Someone better.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“I want to find out,” said Jaskier. “Please, Eskel. Grant me the chance to find out.”

The sincerity of his pleading gave Eskel the courage to drop the last of his defenses. He allowed hope to rush in like the tide. He pulled Jaskier against him and cupped his face in his hands.

And he kissed him.

Jaskier whimpered in delight and melted against him, fingers sliding up to rest against his neck. It was a kiss of promise. It was the beginning of a journey.

Eskel drank in his eager lips and the press of his warm, enthusiastic body. Then he pulled back to look at Jaskier closely, a smile tugging at his lips once more.

“Very well, Viscount Julian,” he said with a teasing flourish. “Would you like to crawl around in the brush with me and be menaced by a bloodthirsty bruxa? Because that is what comes next.”

“I would,” said Jaskier. “I do”

“Don’t you want to go back to get your things?”

“I’ll buy more. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

Pieces of Eskel mended at that. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him for several long moments, feeling their hearts beating against one another. Jaskier rested his head on his shoulder with a sigh, and ran his fingers up and down Eskel’s back.

Then they mounted their horses and rode off together, towards the first adventure of many.

[mehphoobia]

HERE

Pairing- Tom Hiddleston x Reader (news channel anchor)

Summary- People say falling in love can be a scary experience. Well, that scary experience for you had a different meaning for you.

Warnings- blood, horror, mystery, thriller, suspense (I suggest get a water bottle for yourself)

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"Susan Hive, another 25 y/o was found dead in her apartment approximately at 10:00 am today. Who is the mastermind behind these brutal murders? the mystery is still with the police to crack. The only witness in the case are the walls of the apartment which are covered in parts of human anatomy never seen before just like the other five murders. This is Y/N of NewsToday with cameraperson David on scene." You sighed after finishing your report and looked at the crime scene. The camera person packed his camera and headed towards the van as he couldn't handle the stench. With ripples on your forehead you contemplated your decision. Should you or should you not tell the officers.

But soon you let aside your dilemma. These were brutal murder cases that had everyone shook.

And you had a lead to follow.

"Who are you?" you whispered as you sat in your chair staring at the photo of the deceased Susan Hive with a man. The face was not visible as he wore a black hat and a black overcoat. "Typical" you said gesturing his attire, which was straight out of a murder mystery. Unfortunately, the officers couldn't find him. But the lead you had could directly deliver this man to you.

"North House please" explaining the address to the taxi driver, you couldn't miss his expressions. "You want to go to the North House?" he asked you with genuine concern. "If you are not comfortable, you can just drop me near the curb" you suggested understanding his hesitation. Reluctantly he drove the taxi and there you were. Standing outside the hospital for mental patients. "How much will it be?" asking the driver for the fare you rummaged through your purse.

"I will wait here miss. You can pay me later" he said. Of course, the deaths in this hospital would scare anyone. But you weren't here for the suicides, you were here for the murders.

"I am here to see someone. A Mrs. Hill." you spoke confidentially to the receptionist. "For an investigation, are we?" the receptionist questioned. "It's confidential" you replied with knitted eyebrows. "oh! of course it is." she chuckled.

The receptionist accompanied you to Mrs. Hill's room. She was the oldest patient, who had been in the hospital for for around thirty years. Every patient, every staff member; she had seen for herself. "Are you here for the investigation for Susan Hive?" the receptionist questioned. Your head whipped faster than the wings of a bee. "You knew her?" you enquired. "Yes, I knew all five of them. They were interning under me." she answered.

"Janice Dean" her ID card read. "Of course" you murmured. Ten days back you had found one of the victim's case file from the officers which had something in common. North House, all three of them worked here and now so did Susan Hive.

"Don't worry I won't bug her too much" putting a and on Ms. Dean's shoulder you reassured her. She offered you a tired smile. With that she unlocked the door and you saw Mrs. Hill sitting on her chair.

"He killed another one didn't he?" she enquired in her shaky voice as if she knew it was going to happen. "Yeah. Do you know you he is?" trying to keep your posture, you asked. "No, but I have seen him." she replied. "Black eyes which weren't even his. Long hair which covered his face and the cuts." "Everyone thought, something was wrong in his head. They tried all kinds of medicines but none of them worked. He kept screaming and yelling every day. It would echo you know. The screams. Other patients could feel it too. But the doctors didn't know something." she explained but suddenly trailed off.

"He was possessed" she declared.

"How did he get out. I mean the patient like--" "Demon" she corrected. "We saw a body lying in his room. We thought its him. He had cuts all over his face so it was recognizable. The post mortem reports found out it was one of our doctors. He escaped as his disguise." explained Ms. Dean.

You couldn't get the fact out of your head as you stepped outside the hospital. With quivering hands, you opened the taxi's door. Looking at your condition, the driver ran to the opposite side of the street and bought you a water bottle. "You should go home miss." the driver suggested. "Beverly Hills Apartments please". The driver nodded and drove you home.

Maybe you should tell the police. It was not your job to go after the killer. Of course it would be one of the biggest news article for your company but this, its not worth it. Just then your phone rang. All of that tension and weird feeling in your chest was replaced by a sense of comfort. It was Tom.

"Hey babe! dinner's ready, when are you coming home?" he asked in his cheerful voice. You chuckled and said, "I started right now. Is my kitchen all right?" you mocked. "Uh..sort of. I'll help you clean though" he replied like a child caught doing something wrong. It was comforting to have him in your life. Amidst all of this, he was the exact person you needed. "Love you honey" you said unexpectedly. He could sense your uneasiness and knew your line of work. It can be terrifying sometimes. "Love you too..Hey, I am right here." he said immediately putting a smile on your face.

You met him three years ago. How boring can news conferences be? it was something you knew very well. But it was a little bit tolerable when a hot shot investigating officer suddenly made his way to you. Tom and you immediately clicked. As if you were meant to be. One date led to another and suddenly he started picking you up from your work almost every single day. You remembered he had proposed on your cruise date which had you in complete awe. How could you say no to such a perfect man. His beautiful eyes which were a perfect peek to your universe, his warm embrace and how he fit in your life perfectly made it so much easier. He made it easier.

The sudden nostalgia calmed your nerves and you took a deep breath in. Within no time you were home. You leaped out of the taxi, paid the man and ran to your apartment. As you were going to ring the bell, Tom opened the door and picked you up in his arms. Both of you giggled as he kissed you passionately. With your fingers curling in his long wet hair and his arms coiling your waist, you could melt under his effect and you did.

"Tada!! Fish N chips" Tom declared in his voice that he called his disney voice. You chuckled at his endearing self. Both of you couldn't spend enough time with each other with all these murders. He too was tensed but never showed it in front of you. The least you could do was to help him out. You watched your favorite drama as the both of you ate your dinner.

After the chocolate ice-cream, he got up to get the wet wipe to wipe your face which was covered in chocolate. You were gone out cold because of the tiring day. He picked up the plates and noticed you had run out of kitchen soap. "Back in a few" he wrote on a post it and pasted it on the fridge. He wore his black overcoat and decided to forego his phone and left.

"Tom? babe?" you woke up around five minutes and searched the house. Suddenly the post it note grabbed your attention. You chuckled when you saw it and you knew a lot of unwanted things were gonna be purchased. Who could help it, its Walmart after all.

You saw his phone and found his headphones on the table. He would sit on his chair for hours and listen to his music but he never shared them with you. So you grabbed the opportunity and plugged in his headphones.

"19-21-19-1-14 8-9-12-12" the first song read. Then you realized it was a recording. "Mr Hiddleston sings?" you scoffed as you pressed the play button.

"Ahhh" a woman screamed and with that you immediately grabbed the headphones and threw them. "Oh God" you whined as you rubbed your ears. You played all the five recordings and all of them were similar. Screams. Then it hit you. The numbers were different and were too wrong to be dates. WHAT IF?

"19,S,21,U,19,S,1,A,14,N 8,H,9,I,12,L,12,L" you wrote on a piece of paper. "Susan hill?" you gasped. All the other four recordings added up to the all the other four victims. You sat there staring at the paper.

"It took you long enough" Tom spoke from behind you. You flinched as walked away from him. "Did you?" you asked. "The screams, oh my soul was cleansed" he said as he put his hand on his chest. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you looked at his face. He was in content, in peace. "Why did you kill them? What had they done to you?" you enquired.

"THEY LAUGHED!!" he yelled. Your eyes widened as you looked at him. It wasn't your Tom, it was someone else.

He was possessed.

"They fucking laughed when I was being experimented on. I cried for help but they were too busy laughing. Fucking bitches" he scoffed. "You know when I made cuts on their skin how peaceful it felt. Slowly, deeply I dragged my knives on their skins and watching them slowly dying because of the pain. So good. They were the ones who cried and screamed and I was the one who laughed." He was a maniac explaining his masterplan. Little did he know everything he said, you were recording it all.

"You think you can run away with it?" you mocked trying to make him spill out. "How will they know Y/N? I am the chief investigating officer." he ran the tip of his fingers on your cheeks. But you didn't waver, he was a demon. "All this time I have been trying to erase all the evidence" he spoke as he turned his back on you.

"But you?" he turned and walked towards you. He bought his face closer to your neck and kissed your neck. If it were any other day, your eyes would slowly close themselves as he would press you against the surface. But today there was nothing but tears. "You are my favorite. I can't leave any witnesses. But don't worry, your screams will live in my recordings. You know how much I love making you scream now don't you my love?" He laughed sheepishly.

THUD THUD. The bang on the door grabbed his attention. He looked at you made a sign with a finger in his lips. Was this the man you loved? Who was he? You thought as you looked at him slowly unlocking the door.

"Ahh LEAVE ME GET OFF" he yelled in surprised as the police officers pinned him on the floor. Slowly you got your phone in front of him which you were hiding behind you and showed him the 911 number. The officers dragged him away but his hooded eyes would not leave your soul.

Two days later, while clearing his room. You found a notebook with all the five victim's name on it which was struck of with a red marker and also five knives covered in dried blood. "Why?" you whimpered as tears made their way down your cheeks. Your company had printed one of the biggest hit ever and were at the top. You were promoted and were appreciated by everyone but at what cost? You were scarred for life.

Back in the North House, Mrs Hill was sitting on her chair as the receptionist were cleaning her room. "Oh no" Mrs Hill exclaimed. "What is it Nana?" enquired Ms. Dean. "Y/N call her!! NOW"

Something was going to happen.

At the prison cell, all the officers were in havoc as one of the security guard was found dead in Tom's prison cell. Hysterical laughs and water droplets echoed through the hallway as Y/N was written on the wall and was struck of by the dead security guards' blood.

You were sleeping when Ms. Dean called you. "Hello" you spoke in your grumpy voice, the sleeping pills were slowly kicking in. "T-TOM!" her line was cut because of the heavy rain. Just then you got a message that Tom had escaped.

"What? where did he go?" you murmured to yourself and then you heard it. The hysterical laughter and the sound of the recording button being pushed.

"I am right here my love" he said.

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A/N: Hey guys, here is my first Tom Hiddleston fic. For the those of you who don't know me personally I am a contemporary dancer and this fiction I had seen being performed on the stage. I loved the suspense and I loved writing it even more. Writing this was a challenge and it was a wonderful experience and I hope you all like this as well.😘

Tom Hiddleston is such a versatile actor and just fits in any character which is the main reason why I love him so much. It was very easy for me to visualize his demeanor in this character and I tried my level best converting it into words. Let me know what you think about this fic.😃

REQUESTS OPEN | MASTERLIST

My requests are open. So ahead and check my masterlist and send me your plots.

Love yourself...you are worth it❣❣

[fridgemagnethusband]

Die Schöne und das Biest

Chapter Two: Overhead Echoes

Sorry for takin’ things so slow, guys. I’m a slut for anticipation. I promise things will start picking up a bit in the next chapter! Here's Chapter One for those of you who are interested in reading it, and here's the link to the work on AO3 for those of you who prefer that! As we start to accumulate more chapters, I'll slap a masterlist together. Happy reading, buttercups <3

You make it back to your little home tucked away in the mountains without incident and begin to take the tackle off your horse before brushing and feeding him. Heading inside, you unpack your rucksack, scattering the packages across the counter. You tie on your apron and start reaching for ingredients, deftly combining them as you let your mind drift in the direction of Lord Heisenberg's factory. What kind of man is he? What kind of home does he keep? If he wants me as an assistant and I decide to stay, what kinds of experiments will I be expected to help with? Who is going to look after the animals? Will I be permitted to bring them with me or will I have to sell them to the Duke? You look down at your bread dough realizing you’d nearly overworked it to the same extent as you’d worried your lower lip, which was now quite sore.

Dusting your hands off and removing your apron, you leave the dough to rise as you finish up your chores. After lighting a fire in the hearth, you fill the cauldron with well water, hoping to warm your bath water at least a little before clambering in. Each subsequent bucket of well water is carefully dumped into the little tub beside the fireplace, and as you do so, you take stock of just how little you truly have to your name. A couple of moth-eaten dresses and cloaks hanging in the ajar wardrobe. A worn photo of you and your father. A few well-loved books with mangled spines. The old newspapers tucked beneath the floorboards. And of course, your drooping coin purse containing a dwindling amount of lei. You sigh for the umpteenth time that day, worried about how you’re going to support yourself if you don’t get the job.

You try to put the thought out of your head and begin unwrapping your goods from the Duke, scarfing down a couple of the sausages and a chunk of cheese to settle your nerves and fill your belly after your less than filling breakfast. You set your new bar of soap next to the small tub, but not before pressing it to your nose and inhaling its sweet scent. You pour the now-boiling cauldron of water into the half-filled tub before stripping and lowering yourself into it, knees drawn towards your chest. You practically melt into the sides, the warm water and heat coming from the hearth working their magic on your sore body in tandem.

When you finish scrubbing your skin raw with your new soap and a rag, you dry your hands on a nearby towel before pulling out one of your new newspapers. Well, new to you. Your issues lagged a few weeks behind, and while you sometimes wished you could get your hands on something a little more current, you were glad to have them at all. Your eyes dance over the bolded headline. What kind of food does he like? Is he picky? You'd only so many recipes in your repertoire. Maybe the Duke could teach you a new recipe or two. Is he kind? How often will I see him, or will I be expected to stay out of his way? You'd overheard that his sister and her daughters were less than gentle with their servants, who were rarely seen outside the castle once they set off for it. Was he well-traveled as a Lord? Does he know anything about the world? How were you going to hide your newspapers from him? At the thought of your newspaper, you’re snapped back to the present, realizing you hadn't taken in a single thing you had just tried to read. With a huff, you toss it onto the nearby table and start drying off. Alright, I'll go tomorrow. If not for the job, then at least to regain the ability to read my damned newspapers in peace. You slip into a nightgown and socks, distractedly throwing your bread dough in the cooking pot hanging over the waning fire before crawling into bed. Nervous thoughts of the following day continue to torment you before you finally drift off to the sound of the soft crackling of the hearth.

—

You wake to the peal of rolling thunder instead of your usual crow alarm clock. Shit, you think, scrambling to shove your feet into your boots. You throw open the front door and are immediately assaulted by the poor weather, your hair and nightgown whipping in the violent wind. You look to your horse absentmindedly chewing his roughage. No way can I take you out in this. The last thing you needed was to be bucked off into the mud when the lightning or thunder inevitably spooked him. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, you think with defeat. The chickens cluck at you from their hiding place under the shrubs, but whether it’s in response to the surfacing worms or the look of indignation on your face, you’re not sure. You shush them all the same, practically stomping back inside and slamming the door behind you. You sit down at your wobbly table with a huff before crossing your arms and drumming your fingers over your now goose pimpled flesh. After a few moments, your eyes fall on your wool cloak hanging across the room. Oh to hell with it. I’m walking.

You violently scrub your face in the basin of water next to your bed before reaching for your most presentable dress. You shove your head and arms through it and finger comb your slightly damp hair back into place. Not much of a point in bothering with my hair if I’m going out in this. You wrap last night’s bread, some sausages, and the remaining cheese in a cloth, cramming it into your rucksack and jamming your arms through the straps. You throw your cloak on and storm out of the house before you can come to your senses.

Your descent down into the village takes even longer on foot as you struggle to avoid the loose rocks and mud puddles, periodically catching yourself on branches and boulders. Dumb job, you start, lightning flashing across the sky. Stupid mystery man. The following thunder startles you and you’re nearly tossed back on your ass for what must surely be the millionth time. You continue your cantankerous muttering the rest of the way to the village, only ceasing when you realize you’ve reached the ruins leading up to Lord Heisenberg’s factory. You gaze up at the eerie statues of robed figures holding lanterns that flank either side of the base of the stone stairs. You pull your cloak tighter around your body. It was doing a good job of keeping most of the rain out, but there was no helping the shudder that passed through you at the sight of the statues. Is it too late to turn back? you begin to wonder, but before you can finish the thought, your feet shoot out in front of you and you climb the first step, your ceaseless stubbornness taking the wheel once more. You groan. Have I always been this stupid? Well at any rate, at least you weren’t tracking through the mud anymore.

You return your attention to not losing your balance on the slippery, winding steps and try to put the sad state of the decrepit ruins out of your mind to make up for the fact that you feel like you're being watched from within them. You focus on your boots which part the water flowing down the steps in uneven streams and the thunder overhead echoes off the stone walls, as if to challenge your being there. When you reach the top, you turn back around to look down at the stairs, hands on your hips with satisfaction at having climbed them without slipping once when you train your eyes on the peculiar sticks shooting out of the stone walls. Wait, are those arrows? 

Before you can take a step forward to investigate, the ground lurches beneath you and you yelp, struggling to find your balance. You right yourself and look up, the violent sky extending above you in a way you’ve never experienced before. Your panic subsides slightly when you look down at the floor upon which you stand, and recognize the Heisenberg crest on it. The platform halts abruptly and you skitter off of it into the adjoining cave, not wishing to experience that again. You take a couple of steps forward and the platform begins to return to the surface with a great deal of mechanical whirring. You sigh, letting your head drop into your hand before taking a deep breath and regaining your composure. Well, I’ve made it this far. Won’t do me any good to stop now. 

A sheet of rain pours at the mouth of the cave opposite you and you leap through it, not wishing to be further soaked. You take in the ragged stone bridge stretching before you and the reservoir raging below before lifting your gaze. Lord Heisenberg’s factory stood proudly in the middle of the plains on the other side, its many active smokestacks appearing to add to the tempest overhead. Snow-covered mountains stretched out behind it, their peaks growing more and more blanketed with every passing minute. You cross the bridge hurriedly, not wishing to think of the water crashing below or the weather potentially turning, and you slip through the barbwire-topped gate leading into the yard. Who - or what - is he trying to keep out?, you wonder.

You’re greeted by an alarming amount of scrap metal piles strewn about the yard, various pieces of cars and tanks reaching towards the heavens, marring the landscape in their attempt to escape from their rusty graves. As you approach the large iron doors of the factory, the contents of the piles grow less discernible, swallowed by the tall, swaying grasses. “How’d he get all this junk up here anyway?” you breathe. You stop in front of the doors that tower above you and take another deep breath, raising your fist to knock. Before you can make contact, the doors swing open and Lord Heisenberg steps through them.

Your stomach drops, his form looming over you. He’s dressed in an oil-stained sleeveless shirt and khaki green trousers held up by suspenders, his skin carrying a thin sheen of sweat and grime. His burly arms and chest are adorned with overlapping scars; some angry and jagged, others smooth and silver with time. One of the latter juts out from his untamed, argent beard, extending across his full lips, while the rest are lost under his black tea shades and the large brim of his leather hat. Wild, silvery hair protrudes from underneath his hat, curled from sweat. He unceremoniously wipes his hands on a rag, proceeding to half-shove it in his front pocket before his hand shoots forward, extended in a handshake. You blink and offer him your own. His calloused grip swallows yours in an instant, and a slight jolt passes between the two of you.

His voice booms, putting the thunder to shame.

“I take it you’re here about the ad.”

Taglist:@artist-bby

Chapter Three

[lrissa]

I’m right here

summary: levi and you have grown close in the underground, but when you’re forced to join the Survey Corps and attend your first expedition it all goes south

warnings: vomiting, angst, fluff, all of levi’s ova

this one is long, apologies.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Levi, Isabel, Farlan and you flew through the air with the Military Police hot on your tail. Recently you were given information on a secret mission, to kill Erwin Smith.

Happiness tingled in every bone of your body, it was close to the time for you to go to the surface with Levi, to experience the sun together.

“The military police again? Haven’t learnt their lesson have they?” Isabel remarked with a cocky tone, peering back at our pursuers.

“Levi-bro! What I just said was cool, right?” She grinned widely and you smiled at her, already knowing Levi’s answer.

“Are you an idiot?” The raven head answered, Isabels face turned into a frown and she rolled her eyes.

Levi took off with his ODM and spun around before latching his grapples onto a wall, perched there for a moment while the attackers followed him as he jumped off, spinning backwards and joining us again.

“Show off.” You retorted as Levi stayed silent.

“Those movements, they’re not Military Police!” Farlan commented as he stared back at the enemies

“No mistake, its them,” Levi broke through, keeping his eyesight strained forwards “That Wings of Freedom crest.. It’s the Survey Corps.”

You stared wide eyed then looked past your shoulder at them.

“Heh, as people who battle titans they’re as different as expected.” Farlan lightly joked

“You guys... You know, right?” Levi inquired.

“It’s the job, right” You answered, hair whipping behind you as you flew forwards.

Instantly you all released your ODM’s and shot them off in separate directions, splitting up.

Gazing back you examined as one followed you, narrowing your eyes you fixated your eyes straight.

‘Show me how good you really are’ You thought.

Nearing a tunnel you shot your ODM inside, spinning into a ball to gain quicker on it, flattening out once inside.

Exiting the tunnel you noticed someone above you, eyes widening you shot forwards, releasing your gas excessively. Letting one grapple go you swung around on the one, watching as your pursuer anticipatied this they unsheathed their blades and went to strike you, dodging barely you fell back into a crate full of food.

Tumbling backwards you grunted, glaring as he ran after your fleeting figure. Finally gaining ground you straighten up until being thrown onto the floor again by a man.

You yelled and flipped eachother over, throwing punches at the mans face while another hooded figure came from the side. Throwing you off the man as you slid across the floor

Jumping up you gained your ground and pulled out a small dagger whilst they wielded their long blades.

One threw their blade at your knife, unsuspecting this it succeeded and they ran at you. Eyes widening as they kicked down one of your legs, landing painfully onto the hard stone.

Placing your hands behind your back they cuffed you and hoisted you up, struggling against their grip.

“You think you’re so strong.. Well fuck off” You sneered as they smacked the back of your head, furrowing your brows at the surprise.

Levi soon came into view with a blonde man holding a blade to him, anger spiked through every nerve in your body. With your futile attempts to get out the grasp of the handcuffs your wrists began to become red with irritation.

Levi’s eyes locked with yours and his eyes narrowed, the blonde man muttering things to Levi before he opened his palm to release his dagger.

“Levi!” You yelled and tried to break free of your captor.

Levi took steps back as a new Survey Corps came up behind him and placed the handcuffs on him.

Bringing us over they lined us up and made us go on our knees, staring at the ground your hair hung over your eyes.

Levi was to the left of you, turning your head you peered at him, there was a distant look in his eyes as he hyper fixated on the ground beneath him. You frowned and returned your gaze back to the floor.

“I’ll ask a few questions.” The blonde one asserted infront of you all “Where did you get this?”

There was silence as we all kept our mouth shut, why would we fucking tell you, idiot.

“You guys are skilled with 3D Maneuver Gear. Who taught you all that?” The man questioned again.

He walked towards Levi, stopping infront of him. “You’re their leader, right?” he persists “Were you in the Military?”

Suddenly a man grabs the back of Levi’s head, his fists knotting in his hair as he slammed his head into a puddle of mud.

Your head shot up immediately “Let him go!” You yelled and struggled against your cuffs, your gaze deathly as you glared at the man holding Levi.

“I’ll ask one more time. Where did you learn to use 3D Maneuver Gear?”

Your face was in a large scowl as your eyes were trained on the man restraining Levi, if looks could kill he’d be doubled over.

“We learned it by ourselves!” Farlan shouted

“Self taught you say? No.”

“It’s just so we can rise even a bit in this dirty garbage place!” Farlan persisted, shouting “People who’re used to sunlight wouldn’t understand!”

“That’s enough! Let bro go.” Isabel shouted at the blonde giant, “Dont be cocky just because you’re soilders!”

“Take your filthy hands off him.” You seethed at the one gripping Levi’s hair, paying no mind to you.

Eventually he lifted Levi’s head from the dirty mud whilst the man squatted infront of him.

“My name is Erwin Smith. Yours is?”

“Levi.”

“Levi, why don’t we make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I will let your crimes go unpunished. In return lend me your strength, join the Survey Corps.”

Your eyes widened and you gasped lightly “Levi, no...” You called, the Survey Corps were extremely dangerous and you didn’t want Levi to risk his life by himself.

“And if I refuse?”

“The Military Police will have you, considering all your crimes, you and your friends won’t be treated very nicely.” The man stood and returned to his original placement, “Choose whichever you prefer.”

There was a long pause as Levi considered this, thoughts of you flashed through his mind vaguely. He didn’t want you beaten for his choice, but neither did he want Farlan and Isabel to either.

“Fine.”

You looked down at the floor, a frown evident on your face as you shook your head.

“I’ll join the Survey Corps.”

You were going with him no matter what.

──────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────────

“Introduce yourselves!” Bellowed a voice as you stood, leaning your weight against one hip as you crossed your arms over your chest.

You all ended up joining the Survey Corps and stood wearing the outfit, atleast it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“The names Levi.”

“Levi.. The first thing you’ll need is some goddamn discipline,” argued the commander “Next.”

“I’m Isabel Magnolia! Nice to meetcha!”

“My name is... Farlan Church.”

With your arms crossed you studied the crowd as they waited for you,

“My name is Y/N.”

“Flagon, these four will be assigned to your squad.” Ordered the Commander.

The introductions ended and Flagon brought them to the barracks, they began to converse amongst eachother as you walked behind Levi.

His hand lifted and rubbed behind the wood, dust falling and sticking to his fingertips. Farlan, Isabel, and your eyes all widened in fear as you quickly noticed what it was.

“I know you all lived in the underground, but try to keep this place paper clean.” Stated the man.

“..Huh?” Levi remarked as he walked towards Flagon, his gaze icy with a glare.

“Why are you looking at me like that? How dare you.”

Farlan rushed forwards and placed a hand between the two, “Sorry! We will keep this place clean.”

Flagon nodded and headed for the door “Training begins to tomorrow,” and left.

You looked back at Levi, walking towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder, gingerly squeezing it.

“Don’t pull anymore tricks like that Levi.” Commented Farlan as he watched him clean the filth off his fingers.

Levi frowned angrily and looked past you to Farlan “Did you not hear what that piece of shit had spouting out of his piece of shit mouth?”

You grinned a bit at that and stepped away from Levi, sitting down on the bed as you let the two argue. Resting your head in your hands whilst you shut your eyes.

You felt the bed dip and removed your hands, looking to see Levi. A disgusted look present on his face as he couldn’t believe he was sitting in such filth.

“Levi, are you worried?” You asked softly. You and Levi’s sides were pressed together as he stared straight on.

“Yes, but we have training tomorrow. Then we can finally see how real this is.” He remarked as you nodded, taking his hand in both of yours. He allowed you to, his gaze staring at your hands.

“I wish you hadn’t come.” Levi added, your eyes snapped to his as you held eye contact.

“What, and let you come here by yourself and get potentially killed. Fuck no.” You snapped at him whilst your grip on his hand tightening.

Levi’s gaze softened at you, he knew these titans were dangerous and he was terrified. Terrified for your safety, but he’d never show it.

Suddenly you released your grip on his hand and instead wrapped them around his neck, pulling him close to you as you put your head in the crook of his neck. He smelt of soap and artificial flowers from a cleaning product.

Levi had stiffened under your touch, his heart beat quickly. His mouth only a fraction open as he registered the human contact. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest and clenched his heart, warmth spreading throughout his body. It lasted mere seconds until his face went back to emotionless. His arms slowly wrapped around your waist and he breathed in your scent momentarily. You smelt of light flowers and vanilla. He loved it almost instantly.

Despite his wishes, his eyes shut and his grip on you tightened. Taking in this moment for he was fearful it’d be the first and last. Pulling back slowly, his hands traced along your waist to your cheeks as he cupped them gently.

Your hand gingerly hovered over his as you two stared at eachother, the tension so strong it gripped your heart and squeezed. His eyes flickered to your lips, his thumb extended from your soft skin to your plump lips, rubbing it tenderly.

Running your hand along his arm you traced it to his hair, your nails going through his silky raven locks until your hand reached the back of his neck where his hair began.

Inching him closer, “Levi..” you whispered delicately. Your noses nearly touching as your eyes fluttered shut, Levi took this as acceptance as his lips neared yours.

BANG

“Levi, Y/N,” Farlan.

──────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────────

It was the morning after and you stood, unsheathing the blades from your gear, turning and flipping them as you inspected the sharp objects.

“Eh, what do you think your doing?”

Holding the blades you turned to gaze at one of the captains, flipping the blades you gripped them correctly.

“Don’t worry, if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve.” You remarked with a small grin as the captain’s mouth gaped open until his face contoured into one of anger.

“Do not talk to your superior like that—“ Bellowed the captain before you took off into the trees, a laugh following you as it left your lips.

Soaring through the tall trees you kept your eyes honed on any fast approaching objects, gripping your blades tighter as you steadied your breathing.

A large cardboard cutout rose from the trees infront of you, it was bigger than an average human but small when maneuvering above it.

You gasped lightly and faltered momentarily. Leaving your trance you scowled and sent off an ODM on the tree above.

Grappled to the tree you were perched on the tree bark, readying your blades you sent off the ODM on its nape and sliced it through successfully. Grappling away instantly to look for more.

Adrenaline flowed through you, your eyes crazed more as you came across another. Using the nearby trees to swing above and behind the cardboard titan, spinning around you glided above the nape. Grappling the nape and slicing through it perfectly.

The one controlling the cardboard titan stared up at you in shock, how was she so fast?

Continuing this until you made it back to the rest, landing smoothly your eyes scanned the crowd. Spotting Levi you rushed over, grabbing his arm whilst his cold glare turned to look at his grabber.

Levi’s gaze softened realizing it was you and planted a hand on your head, his fingers tangling in your hair before they trailed down your locks and let go.

──────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────────

“I’ll be going alone.”

Levi’s words echoed in your mind as you stared at him, eyes wide. Tch, who does Levi think he is. A scowl formed on your face and your hands clenched into a fist.

“What?” Isabel and Farlan spoke in unison with shocked expressions.

“You three must make up and excuse to stay behind.”

“But bro, why!?” Isabel exclaimed loudly.

“We haven’t seen a real titan yet and it will be our first time outside the walls. It may take all we have to make it back alive. But if i’m by myself, i’ll manage somehow.”

“But..” You got up off the crate and stood, crossing your arms, “So you’re saying is that we can’t handle it?” You questioned briskly.

“That’s right, or atleast, how I feel.” Levi spoke coldly.

Isabel frowned deeply and walked towards Levi, her hands in fist as she shook slightly, “How can you say that? You won’t know till we tried!” She defended “What’s wrong? This isn’t like you,” She’d add.

Levi frowned and clenched his fist, glaring at you three “If you won’t stay behind, then we’re done talking!” he finalized and walked past you, his painful words attacking your heart as you hung your head.

They yelled for him to stop but you stayed silent, Isabel and Farlan began to argue. Looking up you gazed to where he’d gone, the roof.

Walking towards it, it brought the attention of Isabel and Farlan “Y/N” they began as you gestured your hand to follow.

Reaching the roof you noticed Levi sitting, the door opening had caught his attention, he stared at your nearing figure.

“Levi.” You spoke and walked forwards.

“Bro,” “Levi,” spoke Isabel and Farlan simultaneously.

“I can’t let you go alone.” Farlan demanded, standing confidently.

“You said we’d all go at once, have you forgotten?” Isabel added coldly.

You stopped almost infront of him, crossing your arms “We still have to see the beyond the wall.” Levi’s eyes widened and he lost air for a moment, turning back to the view of the roof.

“It’s the same. When you can’t see the moon or stars, the sky up here is just the same as down below.” Levi said dully, staring straight on.

You three looked up into the dark sky, clouds were clogging the beautiful sky from the stars and the planets beyond.

“The color sure, but..” Farlan began, “But it’s different” Isabel concluded as Levi turned his head to Isabel, “We know there’s no ceiling! It’s completely different.”

“Look,” you pointed into the sky, the gloomy clouds moved to reveal a bright moon. “The moon is so bright!” Isabel exclaimed loudly in an awe tone.

Farlan and Isabel took seats on the edge with Levi, staring up. You walked forwards and took a seat next to Levi, your knees touching as you yourself gazed up at the moon and stars.

“We’ll never go back down there.”

“She’s right bro. The four of us always pulled through, right? It’ll be the same with the titans. Let’s do this together.” Isabel grinned widely as she turned to look at her friends.

“Levi, believe in us.” Farlan spoke and looked to his friend, Levi’s eyes dilated when he heard this. His emotions were powerful but so were his friends determination.

Levi looked to the starry sky and pondered this, memories of his friends passed through his mind. Looking back down a smile had taken his lips “Alright. I’ll believe in you.”

“Yay!” Isabel yelled as she put her arms in the air whooping with joy, “Bro sure is a stubborn one isn’t he?”

Farlan began to chuckle whilst you placed your hand on Levi’s, interlacing eachothers fingers as you looked up to the sky. Levi stared at you with determination and most importantly love, the smile he held never ceased to falter from his face.

──────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────────

“We will now begin the 23rd Expedition Beyond the Walls!” Bellowed the Commander of the Survey Corps, “Forward, Everyone!”

He whipped the reigns on his horse and took off, yelling loudly. Everyone followed his command and started off behind him. To the right of you was Levi, Farlan, then Isabel.

As you galloped under the wall it opened to reveal the great plains with some strips of trees. Tilting your head up you found the sun belting down on you, it was gorgeous, better than you could’ve imagined. The sunlight stretched as far as you could see, it’s bright rays lighting the beauty of the land.

Along with you, Farlan and Isabel seemed awestruck while they stared at the bright blue sky, “Wow!” Isabel spoke in awe.

“Yeah. Not bad at all.” Levi said from beside you, staring up he saw the sun. He had fulfilled his promise to Y/N, to go beyond the wall together. A faint smile on his usual bored lips.

“Levi, thank you.” You spoke from beside him, turning to look at the girl who grinned broadly, “Thank you for showing me.”

Levi stared at you, impossible to mutter the words he so badly wanted to say ‘I love you’.

He could only muster a nod at you and turn his head straight on, his heart beating wildly in his chest but his face a stoic one.

A girl scolded the four of you for losing focus, exclaiming we’d die before we know it.

“Titan spotted!”

Your gaze cut to look ahead of you, a 15 meter was running straight at your squad. Air hitched in your throat as you stared at it ‘So this is what a titan looks like’ you thought.

“Two 10-meter class titans are heading for us from behind!”

Snapping your head back you saw the other two titans, eyebrows furrowing.

“Prepare to attack! Equip your 3D Maneuver Gear!”

One man went to attack the titan, shooting his gear at it head on. Before the titans mouth gaped open and crunched down on the man.

Flagon quickly shot his ODM at a nearby tree, flying up off his horse and escalating on the titan, flying behind it and turning back to advance on it he striked at the nape, killing it as it tumbled to the ground.

You were shocked but felt the heavy footsteps of the titans behind you gaining, turning you looked to see the two titans.

“You three! Stay in your course!” Flagon shouted from ahead.

Suddenly a green cape flew by, fluttering in the wind as it headed straight for the two titans behind us.

“Levi!” You yelled and spun your horse around, whipping the reigns roughly as you leaned forwards on the horse, gaining speed by the second.

“Y/N! C’mon Isabel we can do this” Farlan called as they both turned their horses around, chasing after you and Levi.

You watched as Levi jumped off his horse and grappling to a tree behind them before grappling the titan and swinging around it until finally slicing its nape clean off. The surface rumbled as the titan fell to the ground, grass and soil flying into the air.

Taking a deep breath you stood on your horse, grappling to a tree. Unsheathing your blades you released the ODM on its leg, striking behind his knees. From above you saw Isabel get grabbed by the titan, fear striking your heart as you shot your ODM to save her.

Luckily, she cut off the fingers holding her and whooped loudly before swinging away. Farlan came from behind and swung at the nape, ending the titan. You were just infront the titan as you saw it begin to fall forwards, eyes widening as you grappled away hastily.

You landed on the ground and felt a gust of wind and dirt hit you heavily, protecting your eyes with your arm.

Dropping your arm you stood infront of the head of the titan, hot steam exiting into the air.

Levi came from behind you on his horse as he held the reigns of your stead, staring at your figure as you stood, nonmoving.

Despite your best efforts your hands shook from post shock, the blades shuddering in your grip as you still held them.

Levi got off his horse and came up from behind you, his arms snaking around your waist while he pulled your back to his chest.

“Levi..” You whispered softly as you felt your hands steady, sheathing your blades and placing your hands on his.

“Thank you..” Taking his hands off your stomach you held one and turned around, he only nodded at you and squeezed your hand before dropping it.

Isabel and Farlan came from ahead whilst you and Levi mounted your horses silently, “Levi! We took down a titan all by ourselves!” “We did it bro! We did it!” Isabel and Farlan said excitedly, huge grins on their faces.

“Yeah... You guys did well.” Levi agreed while you pet the mane of your horse gingerly.

“Indeed,” The sudden voice made you turn to see Erwin Smith, eyes widening a fraction “that was impressive, considering it was your first time. But you used too much gas. You need to be especially conservative out here.”

Farlan scowled and readied to argue before Levi put his hand out to stop him, speaking cooly, “You’re expecting me to take priority of my equipment over the lives of my friends?”

“You’re performing a lot of unnecessary movements. Are you beginning to have doubts?” Erwin challenged as Levi grimaced, “If you are, that’ll be the death of you very soon.”

You stared at Erwins retreating figure while Isabel and Farlan bickered amongst themselves.

Following after him soon after, the clouds beginning to turn a dark gray from above.

Small bullets of water began to rain down on the land, soaking everything it touched and fast.

Pulling your hood up you noticed fog cloud the area around you, your eyes darting to the areas of open land, fearful for a titan to appear.

“I didn’t know rain could be this heavy!” Isabel called

“We can’t even see any titans!” You exclaimed

“This is our chance.” Levi calmly spoke from ahead of you, “We’ll use the rain as cover and get close to Erwin.”

Small gasps left their mouths, they have totally forgotten their mission.

“Levi!” “Are we gonna do it bro?”

“Yeah. But it’d be suspicious if all three of us were to break away at once. I’ll go alone.”

You tsked and turned your head away from him, shaking it. He is so persistent to be independent all the damn time.

“True, it’s best not to carelessly move around.” Farlan stated.

“Alright fine, we’re counting on you bro! Go and secure our citizenship.” Isabel grinned widely, her teeth shining.

A terrible feeling was inside your chest, it was unexpected and hurt terribly. Something was bound to go wrong and you could feel it pierce your soul.

“If anyone asks, tell them I went to survey the terrain.” Levi gazed at you when he ended, noting the discomfort in your face.

“Y/N” The cool tone caught your attention as you looked to Levi, his eyes narrowing as he looked to you.

“Be safe.” Time slowed as he said this, this answered all your fears. Levi himself was terrified and he emitted it from his eyes, his eyes, they were so scared and vulnerable.

Time came back as he whipped the reigns of his horse and rode forwards, no..

“Levi!” You screamed as he turned his head to you.

“I love you!” You yelled as confidently as you could, his eyes and mouth visibly opening wide, his heart clenched with an igniting warmth. He snapped his head back forwards, he’d say those words when he returned, he had faith in your survival.

Levi’s figure disappeared into the fog as Isabel and Farlan gaped at you, a blush rushing to your cheeks when he never reciprocated it.

“Y/N..” You looked to them, they smiled at you “I’m sure bro loves you! How could he not?” Isabel exclaimed happily as you gave her a faint smile.

Minutes later from riding your hands shook lightly, gazing at your friends you sighed.

Then, Isabel was in the air, why was she in the air? But your eyes hadn’t registered the huge fleshy fingers gripping your close friend. Your eyes widened in fear as your mouth opened to scream for her, Farlan was beginning to unsheath his blades as he rose from his horse.

The titan brought your red headed friend to its mouth, why her? She was always so kind and optimistic. Her happiness always giving her hope in the darkness of this shitty world.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you watched it, watched the titan eat her small, fragile body. Blood, her blood, splattering yours and Farlans face.

“Isabel!” Your screams finally broke the trance you were in, unsheathing your blades and jumping off your horse. Tears streamed down your soft cheeks as you saw Isabels head fall to the floor and roll.

You screamed as you went behind the titan, slicing down its nape, slicing its arms, knees, hands, anything that was connected to the titan was gone or bloody.

Farlan fell to his knees with tears flowing down his face, looking down to Isabels mutilated head. Sobs wracked his bodily heavily as he moved the red hair from her bloody face.

A new titan came from where the other titan had come from, running at you. “Farlan!” You shouted madly as you crouched down quickly, shaking his shoulders violently as he sobbed.

“Farlan! We have to survive, for Levi!!” You screamed at him and kept shaking him, removing the hands from his eyes he stared at your confident look, slowly, he’d nod and shakily stand.

You shot your ODM at a tree and stared to the incoming titan, a hard scowl overcoming your features as you jumped up, grappling its arm.

The titan looked to you and his hand stuck out, you gasped and attempted to move out its way. But it’s hand had caught one of your legs, your eyes dilated as you watched your leg get crushed by the hands of a titan.

A scream left and echoed around you, your terrified and fearful screams.

Farlan came from behind the titan and sliced at its nape, stopping any further damage.

Grappling away quickly, fell to the ground as soon as you landed, your face was coated in filth. Mud and blood covered your body.

Sitting up, you groaned in pain as you looked ahead. Farlan was running to you, shouting for you to stay awake.

But, as there always is, was another titan, it was an abnormal as it ran over on its four limbs. Your eyesight was blurry, looking at Farlan infront of you. His worried gray orbs roaming over yours as you saw his mouth shout words at you.

“Titan..” you mustered out as Farlan spun around to see the abnormal, he was scared, upset, but mostly angry. Angry for the death of Isabel and Y/N’s injury, but more furious at his short life. Farlan was smart he knew he wouldn’t survive this one and it pained him but he’d fight for atleast Y/N to survive this.

He grappled off towards the titan, you watched with zero control. Pain sizzled up your leg and ignited your body in a fury of agony.

“Farlan!” You attempted to shout, reaching your hand out towards his retreating figure. He looked back at you and gave a smile, a smile at a time like this. You wailed loudly and slammed your fist into the dirt sobbing.

From the distance you heard the loud sobs and screams of Farlans last moments as the abnormal bit down on his abdomen, ending his suffering. There was silence but for the titan feasting on Farlan.

Your head hung downwards as wind blew through your hair, shutting your eyes as tears streamed down your face.

Clutching the grass around you, you went against your pain and pushed yourself up off the ground, resting your weight in your good leg.

Levi was in the distance, crouched infront of Isabels head. He hadn’t looked up as he stared at his red headed friend. ‘Y/N, Farlan. Where are they?” he thought painfully as he forced himself to look up.

He caught your standing figure staring at the abnormal, Farlans body dangling from its teethy grin. Levi’s eyes dilated and he immediately stood, unsheathing his blades he ran towards you and the titan.

The abnormal began to reach its hand out to you, it’s fingers unclenching and expanding to grab you.

Blood splattered your face, along with the ground thumping. The raven head stood infront of you with mutilated fingers behind him, his glossy eyes looked back at you and he shoved you.

Levi shoved you to the ground as you landed flat on your ass, you stared at him with an awestruck expression.

“Do not stand! I’ll kill it!” Levi yelled at you, your eyes darting to his hands. They shook violently before he ran towards the abnormal and grappled it.

You sat there like he had insisted you do, hair blew over your eyes as you surveyed the battlefield. Blood streaks littered the area and Isabel, oh Isabel. Farlans body was spit from the titans mouth as he thudded against the dirt, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and an intestine hung out his stomach.

Vomit come up your throat as you leaned over and hurled your morning breakfast, your body heaving as you fell onto your back, staring up at the gray sky. ‘Maybe it was like the undergound’ you pondered.

Far away were Levi’s shouts and screams as he sliced the titans whole body, so much so that the titans head flew off and rolled onto the ground, sputtering blood everywhere.

Blood poured out of every slice Levi had inflicted on the titan, he held no remorse for the monster as he sliced its hands clean off. Until finally, slicing its nape.

Levi landed and kneeled down, his black hair covering his eyes as he shook. He felt knees fall to the ground ahead of him and a hand touch his bloodied cheek.

His head snapped up and he was met with Y/N’s eyes, she rubbed his cheek tenderly. Staring at his dull gray eyes with love and vulnerability. Levi’s eyes glossed over as he was flushed with a wave of gratefulness, his true love lived through this hell.

“Levi... I’m here, I’m right here.”

Levi’s hands cupped your face and pulled you in quickly, your lips fusing together as your eyes fluttered shut. Tears leaked down your eyes as you moved your hands to the collar of his shirt, gripping it tightly.

Slowly he pulled back, your lips softly breaking apart as he rubbed away your tears with his thumbs.

“I love you too.”

don’t forget to follow :)

[spaceasianmillennial]

Part 5: Home

Summary: Alucard and Sypha give Trevor Belmont a bath... with soap.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

The sun shimmered and he awoke to the sound of her breathing, a warm wind upon his cheek and jaw. When he yawned and fluttered his eyelids, there she was, eyes crinkled with exhaustion but her lips curled into a smile, a deep relief that she was not dreaming and Trevor Belmont was there. Minutes passed between their gazing. He wanted to say something, something to light up a bigger smile and assure himself that he was real as well. If he could lift his right arm, he'd twirl his finger in her hair.

"Sypha, I've been thinking."

"What, Treffy?"

"What if I'm not Trevor Belmont?"

"Hmmm?" She paused. "Well, I did wonder if you were a beastie in disguise."

"What if I'm an incubus?"

Now her face wrinkled into playful disapproval, as if processing this as yet another one of his crude joke that hadn't sunk into her Speaker brain. She would know of incubi, they went through a rundown of beasts in the Belmont library before they hit the road together. 

"What if I'm an incubus who shapeshifted into the form of Trevor Belmont and was sent to seduce you and infiltrate this human village?"

She seemed to be in on the joke, but the way her brows lifted indicated that she was trying to dissect some hidden meaning.

"If you're an incubus come to seduce me, well, you're doing a good job dressing up like Trevor Belmont and being all crude and getting on my nerves. I have to hand it to you. If you keep up this ruse, I might not mind spending the rest of my life with you. Keep up the ruse and I won't kill you, incubus." She patted his jaw.

But there was something he did not tell her. That incubus thing was a joke between his mother and father. "Your father never touched me. He had to have been an incubus. He must have killed Gabriel Belmont, took his shape and skin, and came to the Belmont Hold to seduce me. And I didn't care. Your father never touched me so I rather an incubus love me than not. It took having human children to convince me that it was Gabriel."

++

"Belmont, can you chew, or shall I spoonfeed you?" Alucard opened the cover, releasing the steamy scent made Trevor's mouth water. Trout with some lettuce leaves. Finally, something that wasn't broth.

"I'm not letting you spoonfeed me. Let Sypha spoonfeed me."

"Suit yourself, Belmont. By the way, Greta, the headwoman, wants to speak with you later this evening. So there's something we need to do with you. Just, don't panic." 

"What?" He was expecting more experimental painkillers leaves to chew on. 

"Belmont, as he said, don't panic," Sypha added, her expression mildly sour as if preparing for the worse.

"You're going to react," warned Alucard.

"Ok."

"We have to give you a bath, Belmont."

"Ok."

Alucard's expression remained unmoved. "With soap, Belmont."

"Ok."

Alucard lifted his brow. "You're not... repulsed? I figured you were so comfortable in your own filth and stink for eons that soap repels you the way silver and close-up crosses do to a vampire." Even Sypha seemed to raise her brows with skepticism. Trevor Belmont, not repelled by soap.

"Oh haha. Soap is not my weakness, hahaha."

"Belmont, will you be okay with me carrying you into the tub?"

Trevor finally pegged down what Alucard was implying, what the vampire did not want to say out loud. That the task of bathing Trevor Belmont would involve Alucard carrying said Belmont--naked--into the tub.

It was not the most ideal situation, to be carried naked by a man both your vampire adversary and your battle compatriot, but the benefits of not lying in his stink and unwashed wounds outweigh the cost of subjecting Sypha--and himself--to his scent. It would be as practical as your war comrade needing to tear your clothing to tend to a wound. Sypha had to endure weeks without him, so she deserved a less scruffy Belmont to make love to her.

"Whatever you need to do, Alucard. You're the doctor." 

++

There was even one attribute of Lord Dracula that the Belmont family respected as they deemed Dracula Tepes as a serious threat. Lord Tepes was a man who understood that technology was magic in itself.

There sat a large porcelain basin standing on four golden lion-claw legs. A tube and knobs protruded from a wall. Sypha turned on these knobs and water-- "captured rainwater," Alucard explained--poured out. Sypha snapped up sparks of fire onto the coals beneath the basin to heat it up.

Sypha helped loosen the drawstrings of Trevor's trousers. 

And so Alucard lifted him. The gesture was a clinical affair for a man raised by a doctor and far from the manners of a man who lifts his lover to the bridal chamber, yet Trevor swore he saw some tints on the vampire's cheeks as he lowered him into the warm water but the thought washed away as the warm water wrapped and sloshed him in its warmth.

"How do you feel?" Sypha asked.

"Better." The hot water embraced his numbing arm and he flexed his stiff fingers. When was the last time he bathed? He fondly remembered those times climbing into the cool lakewater with Sypha. He could detect that memory in Sypha's sly eyes and the curve of her lips whenever she wanted him badly. She took a soapy washcloth and began scrubbing his arm, his pits, his neck. She squeezed the water onto his hair and scrubbed it with sweet-smelling soap in circular motions. She winked at him before she reached deeper to draw the cloth at his pelvis and electricity shot up against his body. 

"I sure miss looking at that body of yours, Trevor. I was wondering how I was going to live without that body for the next decades of my life."

He was aware that Alucard was sitting right there, just idly reading a book.

"You could join me," Trevor offered, loudly, to pester Alucard.

She smirked. "Another day, Belmont." 

When she judged him pristine enough, she yanked the plug and the water drained into a pipe connected to the floor. He dried himself and she slid on him a long nightshirt that went down to his knees. Alucard carried him out and they helped him back to the bedroom.

This nightshirt, satin and smooth, felt so comfortable that it didn't feel right.

++

Greta sat in an armchair, uptight and professional.

"We've met, Trevor Belmont, but now's a great time for a proper reintroduction. I had a great deal of time to get to know Sypha. She's wise. She's very eager to help out. She's been great help sorting out the preserved herbs in the castle. So if there's anything you need or any suggestions you have or anything you want to contribute, you can go to me--or send for me. After all, you are a man of knowledge. We might have to consult you for many things."

"Well you got the books for that. Centuries worth of research down my family line, down from Leon Belmont."

"Yes. And you yourself must have knowledge that wouldn't be documented in the books."

Knowledge. It felt gratifying and he reminded himself to boast about it to Sypha, who was sitting by and observing the conversation. That someone came to him for knowledge, that word, as if he were a scholar. 

Alucard, the bastard, must have clocked his thoughts and had to chime in, "Careful Greta, I don't think Belmont gets these kinds of compliments, let alone earn them."

Trevor continued on, "I understand your people of Danesti have grown fond of the libraries."

"A lot of them were excited to explore through to their hearts' content. They even asked Alucard if they could take some of the books home to Danesti. Some volunteered to stay back and be transcribers as well to bring it back to Danesti. Then it became clear that our lives would improve if we stayed around. For one, they didn't want to leave the graves of their loved ones and there were bodies to move, but two, they didn't want to leave behind knowledge that could very well save their children's lives."  

"Which one do they seem to like better? The boring books about medicine and cosmos in Dracula's castle? Or the books about monster-slaying in the Belmont hold?"

The headwoman smirked at him. She seemed to have figured that he wanted something to rub in Alucard's face.

"I say the adults like them both equally but the kids look through the Belmont books more." Alucard gave her a furtive glare. "I think I'm more preferential to your books, Belmont. But anyway, I also wanted to meet with you because, while this is my village, this is also your land, and your library, as well and you should have input in how you want your home to be respected."

Home. Trevor felt tempted to slump down. He never quite wanted to go back and felt disconnected from the idea that this was his land. While he would technically be its heir, he never harbored real ownership when he bequeathed the lands to Alucard. It had been taken from him and that was that. It made a nice visiting place, or a place to restock weapons or retrieve research, but living among the ghosts and ruins was another weighty matter. Once something had been stolen by the zealous and bloodcurling priests, it could never be given back. 

"We look forward to having you in our new town of Belmont, Trevor Belmont."

Having you. No one really asked him to stay. He was just expected to stay. He simply nodded.

"Great, as long as you don't name it Treffy."

Greta's eyes darted at Alucard and Trevor was sure that bastard vampire suggested that dreaded name to her.

She gave a head bow. When she and Alucard left, Trevor clocked the way Greta touched Alucard's shoulder, reminding him of the way his mother danced her fingers on Father's shoulders or when married relatives would rub their significant other's shoulder. 

Sypha stroked his hand. "Greta likes you. That's good."

"She's trustworthy?" He liked Greta at first sight, had her pegged as a dutiful leader and someone who worked for her people. But God, anyone these days could be playing nice.  God, they didn't want to get ensnared in a Judge situation again. 

"She brought her people there to the castle to protect them. She listens to them. She... doesn't talk cheerfully about flogging her people. She and Alucard founded this village so they can have better things, including books and schools." She smiled, as if sensing his caution. "She... checks out."

Glad to know she's likely no child murderer. "If I doubt Alucard's judgment, then I trust Sypha Belnades's judgment," he announced. He wanted a moment to talk to her, about the idea of staying, but he decided that would wait, perhaps when his body no longer ached.

++

His eyes followed the seams. His finger traced over the patched area. He had finished mending his tunic. He figured that steadying a needle and thread could bring back some precision to his still numbing right arm. Alucard and Sypha brought him clothing from the Belmont hold, where he once acquired the meteorite-dark utility tunics with his knife-wielding cuffs. Now he had nothing else to do but to swat at any passing gnat.

His eyes fell on the open books at the nightstand, books that Sypha had been reading.

And then he reached for a book. He flipped idly around the text and illustrations of the sun, moon, and stars. He liked illustrations. Usually, he'll look at them and his mother would read to them. He already knew which creature tends to appear in a full moon or a dark moon or a crescent moon, which creature is powered by daylight (ironically), and which came out during certain constellations. But for the first time in eons, Trevor Belmont read about the stars.

–

Next up: Trevor *gasp* reading.

–> PART 6

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[yespolkadotkitty]

Conference Room B

A little smutty fix-it for poor darling Marcus Pike, who really got shafted in The Mentalist. I wanted to give him a treat. Special thanks to @alldatalost​ for cheerleading.

Warning: shamelessly fluffy smut.

You stare at your computer screen, willing something to change, so you can leave already. You adore the team here, in many ways they’ve become your family, but you were meant to have been in DC with Marcus for eight days already - well, okay, so he wouldn’t have been there yet, but you could have slept in the sheets that smelled of him and started to organise your home together. Instead, a new murder case dropped and swallowed the lives of everyone. But you’re nearly there, you’re all so close you can taste it. Even Jane is antsy.

You miss Marcus. No, that doesn’t seem enough. You long for him. Marcus’ new job seemed to come with some hefty, dangerous undercover work, and while he’d been on the job, you hadn’t been able to video call, so for six weeks your relationship had been maintained via whispered voice calls and texts at random times.

Sometimes, late at night, you hadn’t seen his face for so long that you wondered if you’d made him up, inside your heart.

Agent Cho drops by your desk, tapping the corner to get your attention. “Agent Pike is in the building.”

Your pulse jumps. “Thanks. But-”

Cho just arches a brow and smiles.

Your heartbeat rockets as you stare at the lifts opposite the bank of desks you work in. What would he smell like, after this time apart? Why was he here now?

“What if I fuck it up?” you whisper to Cho. “What if he’s changed his mind?”

Kimble smiles at you, and his usual calm, stoic demeanour works its magic on your nerves. “If he’d changed his mind, would he be here?” He gives you a little nod, and then swaggers off, no doubt to impart his even-keel advice on someone else who needs it.

You spend a few fruitless moments trying to get back into work, and failing. Lisbon meets your gaze from her own computer and gives you a sympathetic smile. You guess they all know.

And then the elevator doors open and actually, nothing else matters when you see him.

His hair’s grown out, and it curls over his forehead, flicks up at his collar. It looks so soft; you want to sink your fingers into it. And his top lip and jaw are scruffy and the new, patchy beard really suits him. His posture is great as usual - he’s not arrogant, but he won’t apologise for being confident. He wears a suit well; always has, the lines cut sharp, his white shirt striped with grey, cut in half by the wine red tie.

He is a big, tall drink of water, and you want him more than your next breath. He scans the room and you stand up, and your eyes meet. His are that bottomless, dark chocolate brown, and his face lights up when he sees you, that big, goofy, no-holds-barred grin, and you make yourself calm down and try and remember you’re at work, rounding your desk and walking to him slowly across the carpet.

“Hey,” he says softly, and his voice is deep and sexy and everything you’ve ever wanted. Your hands itch with the urge to touch all that soft hair and his scruffy beard.

“Hey.” You search his gaze. He looks thrilled to see you, his expression soft and sweet and tender and unguarded, and your heart aches for all the nights you’ve missed him. “I love the beard.”

Marcus rubs a hand over it. “Thanks. It’s for the undercover thing. It ended last night, and - well. I know it’s sudden, but I had to see you.” He glances around the office, and you turn around to see Cho, Lisbon and the rest of the team quickly duck their heads, pretending to be super engrossed in other stuff.

“Wow,” you mutter. “We’re supposed to be good at subterfuge.”

Marcus chuckles, and takes your hand. Just that simple touch sends licks of want and need up your arm. “Is there… somewhere we can talk?”

Your stomach drops. Is he.. Ending things? “Sure.” You keep his fingers linked with yours, and lead him down the hall to a small, unoccupied conference room. You gesture and he precedes you in, dropping your hand, as you close and lock the door, and release the blinds, so you’re totally alone.

“Marcus, is everything-” your words get swallowed up as he’s on you in a heartbeat, kissing you like a man desperate for air after a lifetime underwater. His tongue traces your lips and you open eagerly, sliding your hands up his chest and into his newly grown hair, and it’s as soft as you imagined. He smells of his habitual black pepper and vanilla cologne and fresh coffee and clean soap, and it’s heady and you could breathe him in forever. He tugs you as close as possible, folding your body into his larger one, his hands running over your back like he’s re-learning you after over a month apart. You fist your hand in his hair hungrily, licking into his mouth. His moustache tickles your skin and it’s decadent and delicious, like a favourite cake with a new flavour added.

He releases you, making this low groan of need in his throat, and you think if he isn’t inside you in the next thirty seconds, you might die.

“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Couldn’t do that to you out there. And I had to - I had to.  Sometimes I’ve wanted you so much, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me too,” you whisper, cupping his dear face, tracing your thumb along his scruffy jaw. He feels so good. “Is it wrong to get frisky on FBI property?”

Marcus winces. “Most definitely, but…” He pulls you close again, and you thrill to the evidence of his want for you pressing hot and heavy against your belly. “ Fuck, I want you. We’ll have to wait until you get home from work.”

“For what I really want, yes, but… not for everything.” You back him up against the door, kiss him breathless, drinking in his addictive taste, and slide one hand down to his fly, unzipping his suit pants.

“What are you-” Marcus asks, and then footsteps sound on the other side of the door.

You kiss his scruffy cheek and whisper into his ear; “You’ll have to be quiet. Anyone could come past.”

He swallows audibly but doesn’t say anything to the contrary. You nip at his earlobe as you use your other hand to play, too, sliding open the slit of his boxers and drawing him out, palming his length and soaking up the little growl in his throat that’s just barely audible.

“Oh my God , have I missed you,” you murmur, licking at the scruff on his jaw. “And you show up looking hotter than a Laredo night.”

Marcus’ hands clench on the small of your back as you continue to stroke and tease him. He’s steel in velvet, and your hands become slick as you begin to draw an orgasm up his spine, one eager touch at a time. When you pull back to look up into his face, he’s wrecked, pupils blown with lust, teeth sunk into his lower lip in an attempt not to make any sound.

He’s a fantasy wrapped in a Bureau-issue suit, everything you want in a tanned, voice-made-for-sex package - kind, smart, patient, soft, and he’s yours. “Marcus,” you murmur, your head full of love with him, and you slide down his body and take him in your mouth.

A strangled sound escapes his lips just as voices pass the door, and you hear him mutter “ Jesus fucking Christ,” as you start to lick him the way you’ve been fantasizing about for six weeks. One of his hands curls into your hair as you work him steadily close to a blinding climax. He’s slumped against the door now, desperately trying not to let his knees give in, as his hips move incrementally, exercising extreme restraint in not fucking your mouth.

You take him as deep as you can and he makes that sexy little growl again, and your name falls from his tongue, the syllables deep and gravelly, a warning, and you squeeze the hand he’s fisted at his hip, letting him know it’s okay.

A litany of curses barely reaches your ears as he comes like a freight train, his whole body tensing for a moment that seems to stretch to forever, and you drink down everything he gives you, afterwards gently tucking him back into his boxers and zipping his smart suit trousers.

Marcus rubs a hand over his face, and you see his wrist tremble. “Fuck. That was…. Probably not legal.”

You kiss a smile on to his sweet lips, hug him tight, and he pulls you into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he rasps, low and sweet in his perfect drawl. “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve come in my hand in the last six weeks, wishing it was you.”

“About the same number of times I’ve imagined you in my bed,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “That’ll have to hold us until I finish for tonight. Do you still have your key? Wait for me at my place?”

Marcus pats his pocket, dark eyes shining. “I will.”

You take time to adjust your clothes before leaving the conference room. The coast is clear and you walk Marcus back to the elevators.

Jane passes with a cup of coffee in hand. “Glad you had time to come, Pike,” he says genially, and you follow Marcus into the elevator, and when the doors close, you laugh in each other’s arms until you’re weak.

Tagging: @pedropascalito​ @pedropasscals​ @paniclana​ @littlemissthistle​ @spacegayofficial​ @tiffdawg​ @keeper0fthestars​ @dindjarindiaries​ @pedrosasscal​ @thewaythisis​ @javierian​ @restingnurseface​ @abuttoncalledsmalls​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​

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[thethirdamell]

The Cruelest Month

Zevran/Amell - WIP / Writing exercise

The Blight was over. Amell was the Warden Commander and Chancellor of Ferelden. He was also blind - mutilated by his father - and had fallen to drink, drugs, and despair. One love of his life had left him, and the other had died.

For a year, he'd had nothing. Then, for one cruel month, he'd had hope. 

1. Champagne Flavored Kisses 

“You can kiss me," Amell had said, and so Zevran did. Amell had been drinking wine, but the stutter in his breath was like the breaking of bubbles at the surface of champagne. For all it seemed his Warden had forgotten how to breathe, he had not forgotten how to kiss. Wintermarch fell before him, a flood of warmth in his lips, in his hands, in his trembling breath. 

How Zevran had missed him. Amell's arms wrapped around his waist beneath his jacket, but it could not have been the cold that made him shiver so. He made a sound - a sort of whimper - like the union of loss and lost - and Zevran didn’t know what to do with it. There was so much in that sound. 

And then all at once, there was no champagne. No bubbles. No light. No air. Nothing but gasps and sobs and snow.

2. Opportunities 

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the Maker. Perhaps it was simply Leliana, but Zevran had been afforded an opportunity and he did not intend to waste it. Amell wept and Zevran forced himself to listen. To feel the racing of his own heart, and the way Amell’s hands seemed to fist around it and not his back. He was almost too much. Too fast. Too vulnerable.

Amell had been blinded and Zevran didn’t know how or why. Rumor said it was the Crows, and what if the rumors were true? What if the Crows had sent him here to finish the job? The contract on Amell had existed once. Zevran could have taken it. Amell had no way of knowing he hadn't. Nothing beyond his word, and Zevran had already proven his word meant so very little. 

Zevran could have been lying. It was possible. Surely Amell knew it was possible. Yet still, the weeping. Zevran traced over the old scar at the top of Amell's ear. His Warden had pierced it years ago, on nothing but the hope that one day Zevran would give him the earring and it would mean something. And so he had, and it had. "You wish for it to mean something!? Here is what it means!" Zevran had thrown it at him, and Zevran had left him. 

"Amor-" Zevran said gently.

"Don't-" Amell cut him off. Amell was taller than he, and had to bend slightly to embrace him. His hunched shoulders shook with a rickety inhale. "Don't call me that. Don't call me that unless you mean it." 

"... Amor," Zevran said again. Softer. Slower. "Amor." Zevran set his fingers to Amell’s chin, and peeled him off his shoulder. What a mess he was. Face flush, blindfold stained with tears, spit cobwebbed between cracked lips. What a mess Zevran had made him. "Amor."

He meant it. He would mean it. This time, he would mean it. 

3. Condensation

Condensation from the glass ran over Amell’s fingers, the chill white almost warm in winter. Amell tipped the glass back to his lips, and washed away the taste of his tears. Whatever room he was in smelled like a headache. Leliana meant well, but going from huckleberry to vanilla blossoms to cinnamon to some sort of soap was so disorienting he would have lost his sense of smell half way through the night even if he hadn’t been crying. 

Zevran hadn’t wanted to stay for the rest of the First Day Ball. Leliana had found Zevran a room at the palace, and Zevran had pushed the key for said room into his hands before leaving for the night. “In case you would like a more thorough apology,” Zevran had whispered into his ear.

Amell kept a hand in his pocket, turning the brass and all its promises over in his fingers. He hadn’t been with anyone in almost two years. Not in truth. Not without magic, and a bemused bottle of wine while he compelled whatever nobleman or dignitary that wanted a night with the Hero of Ferelden into thinking they’d gotten one.

The first time he’d managed sex after he’d lost his eyes, he’d thrown up afterwards. It had gotten easier, but it had never been the same, and he hadn’t tried or wanted to try since Anders had died. 

“Kid?” Oghren’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Hm?” Amell asked.

“... Don’t do it.” 

“Do what?” 

“Go balls deep in the elf the second you see him,” Oghren explained. “You gotta play a little hard to get for once.”

“Three years isn’t hard enough?” Amell asked.

“Elf ain’t been back three minutes. Lemme guess, he’s a changed man. Well, lemme tell you something, I was a changed man. Every day, I was a changed man. Every drink, I was a changed man. You know what I didn’t do? Change.”  

“You changed,” Amell argued. Oghren was sober. Oghren had changed more than he had.

“For you,” Oghren reminded him. “Cause I wasn’t about to find you the way I found you when you tried to do you know what you know when because of you know who. Cause I love you.” 

“... Zevran loves me.”

“He tell you that?”

“...”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

4. Love and fear. The most destructive forces on earth.

Fuck it. 

“Excuse me,” Amell caught the hand of the servant that went to refill his wine. “Could you show me to the third floor in the west wing, where the guests are staying?” 

“Yes, Chancellor,” The servant gulped. A woman. She sounded young, but nerves did that to a person, and Amell couldn’t say for certain. “Of course, Chancellor.”

The woman hesitated, as if unsure what to do with him, but ultimately tangled her hands around his bicep and set off. Westward, hopefully. He didn’t need her hands. He could follow the pulse of her heart, but he wasn’t drunk enough to forget how disconcerting most people found that. “Forgive me, Chancellor - aren’t you worried about the scandal?”

“Which one?” Amell asked. There were so many on any given day it was hard to keep up. 

“Of walking with a servant,” The woman explained.

“Only if you’re worried about walking with a mage,” Amell countered.

“But you’re not a mage!” The woman protested. “You’re the Hero of Ferelden.” 

“What’s your name?” Amell asked.

“Nessa,” Nessa said. “... I’m an elf, messere.” 

“Nessa, I’m Amell, and I’m a mage. I promise it’s fine if we walk together.”  

Nessa seemed to accept that. She talked on the walk through the palace, but Amell had had too many drinks to follow along with everything she said and restrained himself to a polite hum whenever it seemed like he should respond. Eventually, Nessa announced, “We’re here, messere.” 

“Thank you,” Amell said. 

“Would you like me to walk you to your room?” Nessa offered.

“No, thank you, Nessa,” Amell waved her off. It wasn’t his room, and he didn’t want Zevran to know he had to have someone walk him to it. “I appreciate your help. I’ll have to repay it someday.” 

Nessa said something and left. Amell’s head was so heavy he felt like he kicked it down the hall to the seventh room on the left. Zevran’s room… Maybe Zevran’s room. Shit. Which left? His left? Someone else’s left? Was this actually the seventh door or was he so drunk he’d lost count? Someone was inside. He could feel their heartbeat, but nothing beyond that. They weren’t a warden or a mage, and Amell couldn’t distinguish between anyone else.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Nessa was gone. Why had he let her go? Why did he have to be so fucking proud? What did he have to be so fucking proud about? There was no one else in the hall, but there were people scattered throughout the rooms. The last thing he needed was to knock on the wrong door and scandalize some foreign dignitary. With his luck, he’d bring half the palace out to check on him. Alistair would hold it over his head for so long he’d never feel the sun again, and Amell liked the sun. It made him feel something. 

The sound of the door opening. 

“I knew you could not resist,” Zevran’s voice. Amell let out the breath he’d been holding and felt for his heartbeat, a hand to Zevran’s chest and whatever fabric he wore atop it. Suede maybe. 

“Why would I want to?” Amell countered.

“Why indeed?” Zevran pulled him inside and shut the door behind them. 

Amell found his jaw, tracing over the memory of black ink on bronze skin before he sought his lips. His kiss was almost enough to bring him back to tears. Oghren was wrong. Amor meant love. Amell knew it meant love. It was enough that it meant love. It didn’t matter that Zevran never said it in the King’s tongue. Amell didn’t even like the King. 

He liked Zevran. He loved Zevran. Amell had loved Zevran as much as Zevran had feared Amell loving him. For one passionate year love and fear had felt like the most destructive forces on Thedas, a force to rival the Archdemon, but in the end love and fear hadn’t destroyed anything but them.

Amell fisted his hands in Zevran’s hair and kissed him harder. Zevran kissed back, cradling his jaw and caressing down his side. It was just a kiss, and then it was just a haze. Flashes of miserable memories Amell buried beneath skilled hands and hot breath and so many fucking buttons. “What is this?” Amell asked while he fought with whatever Zevran was wearing. 

Zevran chuckled against his neck, his hands finding easy purchase beneath his doublet, “You would think it a chastity belt with how you struggle, no?”

… A joke. It was a joke. Amell meant to laugh, but the sound was a harsh hum. 

“Allow me-” Zevran started.

“I should go,” Amell untangled himself from him. 

“Should you, now?” Zevran asked, a familiar evenness in his voice that spoke of anything but, “You are too much, my dear Warden.”

“You mean I’ve had too much,” Amell corrected him with forced levity.

“This as well.” Zevran allotted. “... Very well. Go then.”

Amell patted himself down, checking over his outfit, and whether or not it was still something he could be seen wearing, but Zevran hadn’t gotten much further than he had. He found two undone buttons and fixed them. Because he could fix them. Because buttons were easy as long as he was the one wearing them, and he wasn’t undoing them from the bottom of a bottle. 

Zevran’s hand, tangled around his collar and pulling him back when he turned to go. “... but take the memory of me with you.” Zevran kissed him. Just once, and there was surprisingly little pressure in it. “Another night, yes?”

“Another night.” Amell promised.

5. Thick, wool jackets piled on a leather chair in the corner of a dark bar.

"I'm turning in, Kid," Oghren thumped a fist against his back. "You know the way back to your room?" 

"Hm," Amell took a long pull of blood lotus and waved him off. 

"Lay off the coffin nails, will you?" Oghren said.

"One pull won't kill me." At this rate, nothing could. He was already dead. He’d died so many times he was losing count. In a closet in the Circle. On the Tower of Ishal. On the back of the Archdemon. In his bed. In his bath. Death after death after death, but he kept coming back. 

"You got court tomorrow," Oghren reminded him. 

"I'll be up," Amell promised. 

"Yeah, alright," Oghren said, chair creaking across the floor when he stood. Amell didn't hear him leave, and turned to take in the pulse of his heart. Slightly sped up. Stress. 

"I'm fine, Oghren." Amell lied. There was only so much drinking could do for him, but he didn't plan on overdoing it. He just needed to forget everything Zevran forced him to remember. The Blight. The breakup. The fucking closet. Amell took another pull for the high and the hallucinations that followed it. 

Oghren left. Amell smoked, resting against a pile of thick wool jackets stacked high on the leather couch beside him. They belonged to whoever else was in the parlor with him, but all their heartbeats bled together with the lotus, and he felt alone in the not-dark.

6. Allergic to bullshit

Oghren couldn't sleep. He was itchy as a cuckold, and his throat kept swelling up on him and choking him awake. Coulda been the palace. Coulda been the bed. Coulda been something he ate. Coulda been, but it wasn't. It was the Kid, giving him a full on reaction in the middle of the night. After three years, Oghren was allergic to his bullshit. 

Oghren got up, got a drink of water, and got dressed. He went back downstairs to the parlor, first at a walk, then at a jog, and eventually at a full on sprint, but the Kid was where he left him. Lying on a couch in the smoking parlor, the air around him so thick with blood lotus folks could get high on the fumes.

A few had. Some noble lass was lying on his chest while Amell blew smoke in her face. Another noble fellow sat on the floor, leaning against the couch and smoking his own roll while Amell toyed with his hair. The Kid was fine. Fucked up, but fine. 

He wasn't dead. He wasn't lying in the bath, a bottle of aqua magus shattered on the floor, incense still burning while he overdid it on everything there was to overdo it on. Oghren just had to drag him off the couch and not out of the grave. "Let's go, Kid," Oghren said and didn't sob.

Kid was still breathing. Kid was still dressed. Kid could still walk. Oghren made it back to his room with him, and Amell slumped to the floor as soon as Oghren untangled him from his shoulder. Paranoia made him check his pulse, but the Kid was alright. He was just out. 

Oghren rolled him onto his side and pushed him up against the wall to keep him that way. It would be his sodding luck if the little shit suffocated on his own sick in the middle of the night. Ironic maybe, considering being sick was the only thing that'd saved him a few months ago. Stupid shit. Stupid little shit. 

What the fuck, Kid!? The fuck were you thinking?

I don't know. I'm sorry.

Fuck your sorry, you little shit! You trying to kill yourself?  

I don't know. I don't know. 

Fuck you. Fuck you, Kid. 

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

You stupid fuck. You stupid little fuck. 

"You're alright," Oghren decided.

He was alright. The Kid was alright. His kid was alright.

7. Earl Grey

Fuck. Where was he? Not the parlor. The air wasn’t thick enough. Amell splayed a hand across the cold floor beneath him, a stark contrast to cushioning leather and the few vague memories he had of last night. He was still dressed, but his cape was gone. He must have left it in the parlor, buried in some indistinguishable pile of woolen outerwear. 

Where was he? Amell dragged himself to his knees with the help of the wall beside him, a rising panic in the pit of his stomach and a growing ache in his head. They joined together in his heart, like feral lovers tearing each other apart, and every pulse was agony. Where the fuck was he? Amell clutched his forehead, cursing his lack of creationism and struggling with the magic that pulled on the pulse of those around him.

His hand crawled across the wall until it connected with something. Wood. A post. A bedframe. Rich sheets. Layered. Fine quarters. For a noble or an honored guest. His room? Someone else’s room? Why was he on the floor? Amell stumbled to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. Probably his room. Maybe he’d made it back or gone back with someone. 

Amell pulled his blindfold off, blinking and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Fuck,” Amell muttered. What time was it? When was court? Had he missed it? Where the fuck was he? 

A Warden’s pulse. Oghren. Alone, some distance from him but closing. He should probably put his blindfold back on. Oghren couldn’t stand his eyes, but his head ached and his forehead itched and he was as sick of the fucking blindfold as he was of everything else. Amell stayed on the bed, stretching the knots from his back until he heard the door to the room open and close.

“Morning, princess. Get your beauty sleep?” Oghren pushed something into his hands. Ceramic. Warm. A cup. Amell sniffed it. Leaves and dirt. Tea. 

“Where am I?” Amell asked.

“My room,” Oghren said, the bed lurching with his weight when he sat somewhere off to the left. 

“What time is it?” 

“Morning.”

“Did I miss court?” 

“No, but you’re gonna.”  

“Oghren-” 

“Get over it,” Another dip in the mattress accompanied by the rustling of sheets as Oghren made himself comfortable. “They will. Drink your damn tea.” 

Amell took an obedient sip. Bergamot. Not that it mattered. He hated tea, no matter the type or how it helped with his hangover. “I’m expected,” Amell reminded him, “I need to go.”

“You’re the Chancellor,” Oghren countered, with a slurp and a satisfied gasp that was wholly unwarranted, considering he was probably drinking the same piss. “You don’t need to do shit. Besides, it’s the King’s court.”

There was that. Alistair would take his absence for an insult. The nobility for his backing of the Queen. There were worse days to be absent. Amell took another drink.

“You can’t go back there, Kid,” Oghren said. “Not over the elf. You’re better than that.”

No he wasn’t.

“Well?” Oghren pressed.

“Well what?” Amell asked.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“You know what,” Oghren kicked him, but he was too far away to do anything more than push the sole of his shoe into his hip. “Let’s hear it. You talk it out or you drink it out. You want your kid to find you like I found you?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Nuh-uh.” Oghren cut him off. 

Amell sighed, cradling his cup in his lap. He didn’t want to talk it out. He didn’t even want to drink it out. He didn’t want it out at all. He wanted it buried or branded with the rest of his emotions. He should have just let them do it in the tower.

“Kid,” A clink of Oghren setting his drink down. 

“I can’t,” Amell croaked.

“I ain’t asking you to walk on lava here. I’m just asking you to talk.”

“I can’t sleep with him,” Amell clarified.

“Like you two ever did much sleepin’ anyhow,” Oghren snorted.

“I couldn’t get his jacket off.” 

“Can’t believe I’m giving advice on this, but so what? So he keeps the jacket on. Just get your pants off and go about your business like I do with the ladies.”

“He said something. A joke. I just-... I felt like I was back there… in the Circle… I always feel like I’m back there…”

“... You’re not, Kid.”

“I know.”

“Do ya?”

“... no.” A shudder tangled up in his chest. Amell fought it back with tea and shallow breaths and time. “…I never know where I am.”

“... I know.”

“I hate it.”

“I know, Kid.” Oghren shifted again, and his hand fell on Amell's shoulder. “... You’re in Denerim. You’re at the palace. You’re on the second floor in the west wing. You’re in a guest room. You’re with me, Kid. You’re with me.” 

8. Hygge (A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment)

A wave of stress. The sort of stress you feel in your skin, under your fingernails, paralyzing you more effectively than any spell or poison. The sort of stress that says run, fight, stop, you're dying, you're dying, you’re dying. It was the kind of stress Amell felt whenever he stopped to think about how he felt. How he really felt.

Amell couldn't have feelings. Growing up, feelings were just a thing the Circle could take from you. If you wanted to survive you had to take them first. Nothing could matter. Nothing had mattered. Nothing except Jowan and Anders, but Jowan was Leyvn and Anders was dead and they couldn’t matter now because they were gone.

The Blight had only made it worse. He’d been one of only two surviving Grey Wardens, trying to save a country from civil war and a world from annihilation. Nothing else could matter in the face of that, and after? He was the Warden Commander and Chancellor of Ferelden, trying to resurrect a dead Order and a dead Arling as one of the first mages openly entrusted with a position of nobility since the Shame of Serault.

There was no room for feeling in any of that, but he’d had feelings anyway, and his feelings had died. After everything, how was he supposed to have them again?

Amell finished his tea and held the empty cup in his lap. He didn’t know where he could put it down. So far his assessment of Oghren’s room was limited to the floor and the bed.

“There’s someone at your door,” Amell noted.

The knock came a moment later.

“Could you be more of a creepy fuck?” Oghren took his cup away. Amell wasn’t sure what he did with it. He found his blindfold, tied it back around his eyes, and the sound of the door opening followed.

“Elf,” Oghren noted.

“Oghren,” Zevran’s voice returned.

Amell forced himself to take a steadying breath. He couldn’t break down every time Zevran was around him.

“You start your monthlies yet?” Oghren asked.

“I missed you too, my foul smelling friend,” Zevran returned.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on.”

“You are only slightly more attractive to me than a slime-filled pool of swamp water,” Zevran assured him. “You have my oath.”

“Better be,” Oghren grunted, “Come on in then.”

“Here you have caught me off guard,” His steps were soundless, but Amell felt his pulse when he stepped inside, circling Oghren to stand a short distance from him. “I came only to ask if you knew what room Amell was staying in, and yet I see it is this one. Amor, if you have taken in with the dwarf then I fear you have traveled to an awkward place I dare not follow.”

“He wishes,” Oghren said. “Boss’s room’s across the hall, three down on the left.”

“I should probably get to it,” Amell stood up. “I need to change.”

“Perhaps I could help with one or both of those things?” Zevran offered.

“Don’t you two start with that. Not in here,” Amell imagined a finger wagging accompanied Oghren’s threat, but his blood magic wasn’t quite precise enough to distinguish between the veins in someone’s fingers and their hand. “Go on, get out.”

Amell took a step towards the door, when a hand on his arm stopped him.

“May I?” Zevran asked.

“If you like.”

Zevran escorted him out of Oghren's room and back to his own. He smelled like leather, but the texture of his sleeve was linen. Maybe a vest. Amell ran his hand down to what felt like an armband with some sort of embossment. He couldn’t quite tell what it was by the time they reached his room. Amell let them inside, and stood in the center of it, trying to think of what to say to him.

"Let us dispense with all the awkwardness of last night, shall we?" Zevran saved him. "My words were ill chosen, but I meant no ill will."

"I know."

"Ah,” Zevran cleared his throat. “Of course you know. Why would you not? I-... meant only that if you need help-"

"I don't,” Amell cut him off. Maybe a little too sharply.

"Truly?" Zevran sounded surprised. Amell must have frowned, because when Zevran continued he sounded uncharacteristically soft. "I don't know. How would I know such a thing? I have not been with you. You are blind and I am not and you must tell me."

Amell let go of whatever emotion had been fueling him. Pride, probably. “I will,” He promised, and hoped he meant it, “If I ever do.”

“Good,” A pop, like the anxious cracking of knuckles. “Then I shall be there to give it if you do… I am told the king is holding court today?”

“He is,” Amell didn’t want to talk about Alistair.

“And I am told you should be there?”

“I should.”

“Haha! I do love a good royal scandal. Perhaps we could add to it? The Chancellor of Ferelden, out in public, a handsome fellow on his arm. A lover perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

Zevran clasped the back of his head, tilting his head down to urge him into a kiss that tasted like mint and spoke of a purposeful morning. Amell tangled one hand in Zevran’s hair and ran the other down his chest, catching on some sort of necklace resting against a loosely laced linen shirt. Leather vest, like he’d guessed, and familiar mixed metal rounds still belted at his waist.

Zevran tugged his doublet free of his belt, and Amell forced himself to break from him before the day went somewhere he couldn’t. “I don’t need help changing, Zev.”

“Are you sure?” Zevran joked, but this time it was easier to handle, “Such a complicated outfit you wear, my dear Warden.”

“Is it?” Amell couldn’t help smiling.

“Why yes! You see, there is…” Zevran floundered for a moment, “A belt?”

“I can’t, Zev,” Amell said, bracing himself for a fight. “Not yet.”

“Fair enough,” Zevran relented, so easily it didn’t seem possible. “I shall wait outside, then.”

“Thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“A few minutes it is,” Zevran went to the door, but didn’t leave.

“I know you’re still here,” Amell said.

“Nonsense,” Zevran laughed, returning to him for another kiss, and Amell couldn’t help wondering why he’d hesitated. What more he’d wanted to say. “You are alone.”

“Who am I talking to, then?”

“Why yourself, of course! You are so very vain, after all.”

“My mistake.”

“One you will make again, I am sure. Do not take too long.”

Zevran released him, and actually left the second time around. Amell changed into a fresh doublet and trousers, and rejoined him in the hall. Zevran took him to the servant’s quarters, where a second, smaller, First Day celebration was taking place the day after the nobility had had theirs. Whatever room they were in was warm, and slightly crowded, but the furniture had been cleared away to make room for dancing.

Nessa was there, and sounded excited to see him again, as did a handful of others she introduced him to once they realized he wasn’t there to interrupt the festivities but join them. There was no alcohol being served. No incense choking out the room. Just music and laughter, and a comfortable conviviality to it all.

“Can you dance?” Zevran asked.

“Can you lead?” Amell countered.

Zevran’s laugh was light. “I shall be glad of it,” He took his hand, found a space for them, “You have led long enough, no? I think you deserve a rest.” 

9. Crisp

Amell was not Rinna. He was not Taliesin. True, he was many things they were. Cunning. Ruthless. But he was also many things they were not. Forgiving. Gentle. Alive. The palace gardens were frozen over, and so conveniently abandoned. Zevran sat on a bench of ice and stone, Amell's head in his lap, their breath misting in the crisp winter air. 

Zevran threaded his fingers through Amell's hair, wisping a few raven strands free of his ridiculous blindfold. "Why do you wear this?" 

"For the aesthetic," Amell joked.

"I do not suppose I can persuade you to take it off?" Zevran asked, thumbing the edge of the cloth and wondering at what lay beneath it. Eyes, surely. Real or glass, red or some other color, mangled or not. 

"Just the blindfold?" 

"And anything else that you fancy removing, of course, this is a given," Zevran laughed, "Come now, I am serious. What is the purpose?"

"I told you," Amell said.

"No, I do not believe so," Zevran traced one of Amell’s eyebrows, relaxed despite his prying, which seemed a good sign, "Shall I guess? You are concerned for how they look when you cannot?" 

"Something like that.”

"Something like that is not that,” Zevran noted. 

"Tell me about Antiva," Amell deflected. 

"Antiva," Zevran let the conversation go with a wistful sigh, watching the word catch in the cold. "Very well, Antiva. It is a wonderful place, save for all the Antivans. I have been killing rather a lot of them, and the Crows are cross that I have crossed them, as it were." 

"Why have you?" Amell asked.

"Why not?" Zevran laughed. 

“You said you just wanted to escape them,” Amell reminded him. 

"And so I have,” Zevran said. “And yet when I left, I realized it was not enough to be free. I had to do something with my freedom. You remember the orphanage, yes? In Denerim?”  

“I remember.”

“We do not have such things in Antiva. Not such as they are here. The Crows empty them too quickly. We are not so very different men, you and I. I was sold to the Crows. You were given to your Circle. Tell me, Amor, if you could go back, would you not do the same? That day at the tower? All of your templars gathered in one little room… You have such a spell that would serve - a cloud of death. I have seen it.” 

Amell cracked his knuckles, “...We needed the soldiers.” 

“True.” Zevran allotted, “But this was not my question.”

“... you know I would.”

“So I do,” Zevran traced the anxious tension out of Amell’s brow. There was no need for it. Zevran knew the man he’d come back to. “And now you know I would as well.”  

Amell caught his wandering hand, and kissed his fingers and the ring Zevran wore upon them. Amell’s brow furrowed again, in confusion and not confession, and he spun the silver band around his finger. “... Is this the ring I gave you?”

“So it is.”

“... I thought you would have added it to your belt.”

“I considered it, I will not lie.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Who can say?” Zevran shrugged, but the deflection was an old habit, and he’d promised to break them. He traced Amell’s lips, dry against the cold, until a smile curved in them. “... Who needs to say?”

10. Melting snowman

Amell caught Zevran’s hand, still tracing his lips, and wove their fingers together. "What are your plans?"

"My plans?" Zevran repeated with a blithesome laugh, still unchanged after all these years. "Have I given you some indication I make a lot of these?"

"How long are you staying in Ferelden?" Amell revised. "Until the snow melts? Wintersend?"

"Who is to say I am leaving?" Zevran countered. 

Experience. 

"You love adventure," Amell said instead.

"And there is none to be had here?" Zevran asked. "I had thought to offer my services to the crown, and the lovely woman who wears it, as it were. You will put in a good word for me, I am sure?" 

"I'll have to think of a few," Amell joked.

"Tsk,” Zevran flapped his hand free to swat him with it, “So cruel you are. I think I may cry.” 

"Skilled," Amell ventured, trying to remember the man he’d fallen for years ago and wondering how much of him remained. "Dashing. Clever. Charismatic."

"Sexy?" Zevran suggested.

"Obviously," Amell dropped his arm off the bench and squeezed Zevran’s calf when it proved the easiest part of him to reach lying on his thigh. Amell had always liked his legs. "Gallant." 

"Gallant?" Zevran laughed his familiar laugh. "You are aware of the meaning of this word, no? I regret to inform you an assassin is no gallant thing to be, amor." 

"You are," Amell argued. "I remember how you spoke against Knight-Commander for locking the mages in the tower and calling for the Rite of Annulment… you were the only one who did. I think-..." 

"... what is it you think?" 

I think that's when I fell in love with you. 

"I think you're gallant."

11. Bleak

Amell let the words go. He’d said them once, despite his better judgment, and he didn’t trust himself to say them again. For all he said them often enough to his friends, they lacked the weight they carried when he said them to the men who mattered most in his life. They lacked the heartache. Zevran had left. Anders had died. The words were a curse, a hex, an affliction he wouldn’t speak again without hearing them spoken to him first. 

His recticience changed nothing. His feelings were all still there, unspoken, but his love felt less unrequited if he gave nothing to requite. It wasn’t. This time it wasn’t, but Zevran hadn’t said it first, and the thought that he might not say it back too bleak to bear, so it was better not to say at all. 

12. You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet

You’ve got to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Felsi understood that. Girl broke damn near a dozen trying to cook one. Kid understood it too, but with the Elf back it was like he forgot. Spent a whole week at the Palace flitting and farting around the heavy stuff - so scared to talk it out he figured he’d smoke it out instead. Kid was fucking it up, and Oghren could tell, and that was saying something.

Oghren couldn’t tell whim from wham on the best of days, but that was what the Kid was doing. Whim-whamming it up. Elf wasn’t gonna put up with that shit. Elf barely put up with the Kid’s shit the first time around. Add in the smoke, and the drink, and the dust, and the Elf was out. Oghren could smell it. That sovereign was as good as got, but Oghren didn’t really want it. He had enough coin. Kid took care of him, even if the Kid never took care of himself.

Oghren thought the Kid’s kid would snap him out of it, and he had. Kid had gotten better for a bit, but soon as the Elf showed up, he went sliding right back. Elf hadn’t even left him yet, but it was like the Kid could tell he was gonna and was just trying to speed it up. Oghren didn’t know what to do about it. Kid was the one who’d helped him get back with Felsi, but Oghren didn’t know how to help the Kid get back with the Elf when it seemed like he’d rather get back with the drugs, ‘cept to take the drugs away. 

“Alright Kid,” Oghren snatched the roll from the Kid’s fingers one evening, and tossed the burning lotus into his drink. Kid shouldn’t have been mixing lotus and aquae lucidius anyway. “You gotta stop.”

“... Did you just throw my smoke in my drink?” Amell asked.

“Aye, and don’t you go drinking it anyway. Sick of seeing you in this longue. Why don’t you go fuck around with the elf?”

“I told you - I can’t fuck him.”

“So don’t fuck him. Shouldn’t be fucking yourself instead.”

“It was just one smoke, Oghren, and that drink costs a sovereign”

“And I’m good as gold for it. Fixing to make one off you anyway you keep this shit up.” 

“I’m not keeping anything up.”

“Yeah, I got that that’s the problem. Why don’t you go fix it?”

“I can’t.”

“Not in here you can’t.”

“Oghren-...” Kid went hunting for his drink, and Oghren slid it out of reach. Took damn near everything in him not to slide it right into his mouth, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d lost too many days to drink, but the Kid had almost lost them all, and Oghren hadn’t noticed.

He’d dragged the Kid out of the Deep Roads and called it a day. Went back to drinking like it was nothing. Watched the Kid go back to blood magic like it was nothing. Knew - sodding knew in his rotting guts - that the Kid wasn’t alright, but he hadn’t done anything about it. Why would he? The Kid was never alright, and Oghren wasn’t all that right either, but he was a damn shade better than the Kid. 

Took finding him in the bath to finally figure it out, and Oghren wasn’t gonna find him there again. 

“Go to your room, Kid,” Oghren said. 

“Give me my drink.”

“Go to your room.”

“Give me my drink and I will.”

“You ain’t getting it unless you magic it out of my hands, and we both know how that went down last time.” 

“I missed last time.”

“Don’t care if you miss or not, you still ain’t getting it. You don’t want it bad enough.”

“You have no idea how badly I want it.”

“Fuck you, Kid, I’m the only one who knows how bad you want it, and I’m the only one who can keep you from getting it. You know damn well why your magic doesn’t work on me.”

“Just give me the drink, Oghren.”

“Go to bed, Kid. Take the Elf with you, why don’t you?”

Kid didn’t call it. Slammed his chair back and stormed outta the lounge without another word.  Oghren stayed and stared at the drink. Aquae Lucidius was ambrosial quality booze. One whiff was enough to burn the hair back into his nose. It was liquid gold - and it was going to waste - and that was fine with him. 

One sovereign down. One more to lose.

[solynaceawrites]

@wordborne​ Here you go, darlin’! I went with a fem!Reader, since that’s my default. I hope you enjoy!

»»————-　⚜　————-««

#87: “Think you can handle that much?”

If someone asked you to point out Dante’s biggest flaw, you’d probably go for impatience. He’s not lazy, despite what some people think—bored and restless, sure, but his long naps are just a way for him to pass the time between jobs, and he’s more than happy to help you without you asking. You couldn’t say he’s a glutton, since eating for him is more of a hobby than a requirement, something you’d been gobsmacked to find out, nor is he prone to fits of anger or jealousy. Dante is a fairly relaxed man, except for when it counts, easy to get along with and easier to love. That’s not to say that he’s without fault, because he isn’t, only that you love him enough that they don’t bother you too much. But he’s impatient, whether it comes to work or his personal life, always itching to get started on whatever idea has been presented or he’s thought up.

Not long into your relationship with him, you’d figured out how to work that to your advantage. See, Dante’s impatience means teasing him is a one-way ticket to the ride of your life if you get the timing right. Making sure to press extra close when you’re out together, brushing your hand oh-so-innocently over his thigh or his hip or dragging his over your rear when you’re walking in front of him, giving him the doe eyes and pouty lips, all of those things and more get him going so that, by the time you make it home, he doesn’t even wait to get you upstairs. The couch, the door, his desk, the speakers, almost every inch of his shop has been christened by the two of you.

So when Morrison invites the two of you out to Blue Jazz for an evening of relaxing on his dime, the gears in your brain start churning. You put on a low cut top and jeans that show more skin than they cover and the pair of heels that drive Dante wild, and it’s a good thing that he’s already at the bar, because you’re certain you’d have never made it through the door in this. A dash of red lipstick and a bit of perfume, and you’re ready to go, and the cab ride there is just long enough for your nerves to really ramp up. 

The moment Dante catches sight of you, you know you made the right decision. His eyes darken and his lips part, and you know he’d have you bent over a table in two seconds flat if the two of you were alone. “Glad you could make it,” Morrison says as you slide into the booth, sitting a little too close to Dante. “Been a while since I’ve seen a vision of true beauty and you, my dear, are stunning.”

You smile in response. “Morrison, you old charmer. Glad to see you’ve still got your silver tongue.”

He chuckles. “And what do you think, Dante? Is the lady stunning, or is she not?”

Dante’s gaze is heavy enough on you that you can feel it. “More than,” he agrees, his voice raspy from whiskey and desire, and you grin a little as you hail the waitress to get a glass of wine.

You’re more than content to sip your drink as Dante and Morrison talk, rehashing old tales from when they first met and the time Patty had made it her mission to spruce up the Devil May Cry. It’s good to see Dante relaxed, though you plan to change that pretty soon. Carefully, you shift your leg until your foot rubs on his calf, and there’s a quick hitch to his breathing before he continues on telling Morrison about the clothing bill it took him months to pay off. Certain that he’s not going to give your game away, you begin rubbing along his leg, letting the heel of your shoe nudge him on every upward pass; his eyes flicker to you, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

The moment Morrison excuses himself to go chat with someone else he knows, however, Dante’s whipped around to face you, his hand vice-tight on your knee and the familiar red glow to his pupils that has your body heating. “You got my attention, dollface,” he growls, “but unless you want me to fuck you over this table, better keep your hands to yourself ‘til we get home. Think you can handle that much?”

You make a show of thinking, pursing your lips into a crimson pout. “I don’t know, Dante. I’ve been pretty lonely today.” Leaning in, you ghost your mouth over the curve of his ear, a thrill running through you at the low, barely audible rumbling the echoes from his chest in response. “I’ve missed you.”

“Is that right? You need—”

“Am I interrupting?” You pull away from Dante to see Morrison settling back into his seat, his eyes crinkled with mirth. “I can leave the two of you to it.”

“No need,” you reply breezily. “I was just about to go freshen up.”

You can feel Dante watching you as you stand and make your way to the bathroom. It’s a single occupant, surprisingly clean given the dive it belongs to, and you don’t bother with the lock as you pull the tube of lipstick from your purse to reapply it, wiping away a stray smudge with your thumb. Sure enough, not even two minutes later, the door crashes open and slams shut, and you turn at the sound of the lock to see Dante staring you down, his nostrils flared. “Off,” he says, jerking his chin towards your jeans.

You laugh, unfastening them as you turn, and you watch him over your shoulder as you push them and your panties down just enough to expose your sex before bracing your hands on the sink. Still, you can’t help but tease him. “Really, Dante? A bar bathroom?”

He steps up behind you, one of his hands pressing to the small of your back while the other dips between your legs. You bite your lip as his fingers glide between your folds, the low whistle he lets out at the slickness he finds making your cheeks flush. “Doesn’t seem like you mind too much.”

“I told you that I missed you.”

“Mm-hm.” He teases over your clit, light, feathery touches that have you squirming as you try to get him where you need him. “You missed something, alright.”

“Dante—”

“I reckon,” he says, his voice quiet and sharp, “that we’ve got about five minutes before Morrison starts wonderin’ where we are. Usually, I’d be happy to fill you up nice and slow, but, frankly, we don’t have that kind of time.”

He lets you go, and you listen to the clank of his belt-buckle and the soft grind of his zipper. Then the head of his cock nudges between your legs, and you hold in a gasp; with your legs pressed together by your jeans, he feels huge, his length like a brand as it stretches you open, and you bite your cheek to keep yourself quiet. The last thing you need is for someone to hear and burst in, thinking you’re in some kind of distress, but making no noise is easier said than done when he starts to move, his hips slapping against your backside with every quick, hard thrust. He grips your waist tightly enough that you’re sure there will be marks tomorrow, using it to yank you back to meet him, but you don’t care. All that matters to you is that he doesn’t stop moving.

“This what you wanted?” he rasps in your ear, his voice sin. “Wanted me to fuck you so good you can’t walk straight?” You make a weak mewl, and he chuckles and tastes the skin over your hammering pulse. “Gotta say, if I’d known you were this desperate, I’d have turned Morrison down.”

You let go of the sink to reach behind you and grab his hair, giving the strands a tug that has him growling. “Would you just fuck me?”

“Ain’t that what I’m doin’?”

But he shuts up, one of his hands grazing over your stomach as he reaches down to part your folds and press his index finger to your clit. Your back arches with a groan that you fail to stifle, the friction against your pearl exactly what you need, and he gives a strained chuckle. Between his cock driving deep within your body and his hand drawing delicious patterns over your bud, it’s not long until you feel your orgasm looming, and you grasp desperately at the sink, praying you’ll be able to keep your own mouth shut when it hits. You never thought you’d be having mostly clothed sex with Dante in the bathroom of a bar, of all places, but the illicit nature of it has your head spinning just as much as the coil tightening in your core. 

Your body tenses beneath his. He knows you well enough to know what’s coming, and the hand not between your legs clamps over your mouth, muffling your quiet cry as the contractions start. You feel like a livewire, or a raw nerve, every inch of you flooded with pleasure that’s white hot and overwhelming, fueled by the blur of pain and pleasure as he fucks you through it. Dimly you’re aware of his quiet slew of curses against your shoulder before his own orgasm begins, his seed spilling hotly within you as his hips batter against your backside. You feel filled to the brim, and it slips back over your thighs as he continues to empty, so that you know your panties are going to be ruined no matter what you do.

It’s over just as quickly as it started. Dante presses a kiss to the side of your neck as he draws out, murmuring apologetically when you whimper, and you listen to him moving around before he presses paper towels into your hand. He holds you while you clean up as best as you can, wiping his seed from your legs and sex before trying to smooth your hair out of its just fucked look. Your lipstick is the worst of all, smeared and smudged from his hand; it’s nothing that a bit of soap and water doesn’t fix, but you notice how sheepish he is as you wash your face. “You okay?”

“Bit weak in the knees,” he jokes. Then, “I should be askin’ you that. Probably should have before we really got goin’, and I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

You roll your eyes. “Please, Dante, we both know I was trying to rile you up.”

Your voice is still breathless, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-huh. By the way, got any plans for what to tell Morrison?”

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’. “He’s probably figured it out by now, anyway. Nothing to do but play it off.”

Dante grunts. Then he spins you, leaning down to give you a kiss that’s careful not to smudge the lipstick you’ve just finished putting on. “If you’re still walkin’ straight,” he murmurs, “we’re gonna have to go for round two when we get home.”

You laugh and drape your arms over his shoulders. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

[erinsusername]

Turn

Pairing ~ Agent Kallus, OC

Rating ~ PG-13

Word Count ~ 4850

Summary ~ Lt. Kalivoda meets Agent Kallus for the first time and keeps doing it whether she wants to or not.

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/30074598/chapters/74069184

Invisible.

Lt. Roan Kalivoda was completely invisible to everyone around her and she preferred it that way. In the eleven years that she had worked as a droid technician for the Empire she had made no friends. She did have a careless and desperate attempt to fill a painful void with another tech that never evolved past anything physical at the beginning of her career, but after that, she made a point to keep to herself, do her job, and repeat without incident. It was exactly how she intended to get by when she joined the Empire back in her early twenties and it had worked well in her favor since. She kept her head down and did what they expected and she got what she needed in return.

She liked her assignment on Lothal. It had been a quiet planet, unresisting in its slow destruction by the Empire’s ravaging of its natural resources; that was until a small group of rebels began creating chaos a few years ago. The Imperial response had been borderline comical in its ineptitude when dealing with them, and the determined yet painfully pretentious ISB agent that was sent to capture them had been completely unsuccessful in almost every attempt. Even Vader himself had failed to turn Lothal’s residents against them. These people were good.

What fresh hell will today bring, Roan thought as she sighed heavily and looked deep into the reflection staring back at her in a small mirror hanging in her quarters. She hadn’t slept much the night before, or the night before that. In fact, she hadn’t slept well since she was twelve if she wanted to get technical with herself.

Stop. She blinked hard a few times and quickly pulled her dark hair into its regulation bun before haphazardly placing her uniform cap just above it. The woman took one quick, last look before she exited out into the bright hallway and slowly made her way to the lift at the far end of it.

She was busy fumbling with her uncooperative headpiece in the doors' reflection when they suddenly opened and the ISB agent, Kallus, appeared directly in front of her, his feet slightly apart and hands clasped firmly behind his back. He stared down his broad nose at her with a slightly raised eyebrow before she thought to bring her arms down to her sides and step onto the lift with him.

Roan had never actually seen the man in person but had heard that he carried himself as if he were the Emperor, and judging by what stood before her, it appeared the rumor was true. He was very tall, stood with a naturally intimidating stance, and his stoic, unreadable expression, along with his piercing hazel brown eyes, exuded abject confidence that she could literally feel pressing hard all around her from the moment she stepped onto the lift.

When she boarded he did not step back to allow her a comfortable space to stand forcing her to situate herself with her face just a few inches from the closed doors and himself close enough behind her that she could feel his body heat almost instantly. Or maybe it was her own that was rising rapidly, she wasn’t sure.

She immediately felt his gaze over the top of her head and straightened her posture as she quickly pushed the button to the level that would take her to the commissary. It felt to her like the lift was barely moving, which allowed more than enough time for his mere presence to completely encompass the now heavy air surrounding them and cause a subtle stir deep inside of her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long, long while. She closed her eyes, took in a slow, deep breath, and let out a long, quiet exhale before there was finally a small beep that indicated they had reached the level that the Agent had previously chosen. However, much to her dismay, when the doors opened he didn’t move to exit.

Roan said nothing as the doors closed and they restarted the merciless creep further down into the domed military base. The only sounds she heard were the hard, intense wooshing of blood in her ears broken only by the occasional sound of the leather of his gloves being stretched and relaxed by the slow movements of the long fingers of his hands.

The man was close enough to her that not only did the subtle fragrance of the fancy non-issue soap that he had obviously just washed his body with surround and linger in her nose, but she could feel each rise and fall of his broad chest with every slow, steady breath that he took and she knew that if she moved so much as a millimeter the two would incidentally touch. The mere thought of it made her face flush hot.

Stop it! You’re being ridiculous. You know better, she scolded herself.

She was so focused on his proximity, and her fear that the low hum of the elevator wasn’t loud enough to mask the sound of the pounding of her heart in her chest that when the lift reached her destination she didn’t initially realize it.

“Isn’t this your stop?” a smooth, low voice in a thick core accent came from just above her right ear, the heat of his breath caused every single hair on her body to stand erect.

“Huh? Oh, yes,” she stammered as she clamored her way out of the closing doors and toward the commissary.

Fuck, that was intense, she thought as she practically ran around a corner that led her into the open area where the base’s meals were served. Having shaken off a few of the nerves from her encounter, she turned toward a large cooler in a corner. Her call time was later than most so on most days picking was slim, but today she was in luck. Sitting alone on the back of a middle shelf was a rare container of sliced meilooruns.

 Ha, no protein bar today she thought happily as she quickly made her way across the room and grabbed the cup before anyone else had the chance.

“Why thank you!” a familiar voice mocked her as she turned, and the cup was snatched from her hand by an arrogant Ensign that was almost half her age and the bane of the entire base’s existence.

“I’m not in the mood,” she growled as she reached to take it back only to have the boy pull it above his head and tick a finger back and forth in her face causing the two other boys he was with to roar with laughter.

“Finders keepers,” he laughed as he turned on his heel to walk away.

The woman let out a long exacerbated sigh. “You’ll need the fork,” she resigned and held up the utensil in front of her.

“What a gal!” the Ensign howled back to his friends as he reached out to take it from her. But as he did, she quickly extended her arm as far out to her side as she could and when he looked she reached over with her other hand and slapped the top of the cup he was holding so hard that the lid popped off and the fruit pieces scattered across the floor.

“You stupid bitch!” he screamed loud enough to cause the entire room to go silent and everyone in it to stop and look at the spectacle.

So much for invisible.

“That’s a superior officer you are speaking to,” the thick accent from the elevator boomed through the silence and stopped Lt. Kalivoda’s, and probably everyone else’s, heart immediately.

She looked past the boy to see Agent Kallus standing a few feet behind the two punks that had been laughing along with the Ensign and his theatrics, except now they were visibly shaking.

“Yeah, well you obviously don’t know who I-,” the boy mocked as he turned to face his aggressor before he realized his mistake.

“I know exactly who you are. I had wondered how someone from such a prestigious pedigree ended up way out here on a no name planet in the far outer rim. Now I know. Tell me, did you even manage to finish the academy or did they just put you this far out so no one would ask questions?” Kallus asked callously as he slowly circled the boy like he was injured prey. “Your mother must be so proud.”

“You can’t spea-,” the Ensign began to protest.

“Apologize,” the Agent interrupted.

The boy hesitated for a long few seconds before he finally rubbed the back of his neck, “I, uh, yeah, I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not to me, imbecile,” he growled as he tilted his head toward Roan.

The Ensign looked momentarily surprised before he reluctantly conceded, “sorry,” he mumbled while looking at the floor.

“Do better,” the Agent commanded. He was now standing directly behind the Ensign that he towered over due to an impressive height difference.

The boy looked shocked. Roan had never seen anyone take him to task before. Most people were afraid to because of who his family was, but not Agent Kallus. He was relishing in his assault.

The Ensign cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he squeaked out before he looked back at the Agent for affirmation.

“Do better,” he simply said again.

The kid looked absolutely horrified by this point. “What would you like for me to do, then?” he asked with a tinge of moronic sarcasm.

Kallus coolly walked to his side and leaned down to his other ear, “get on your knees.”

“What? You can’t make me do that!” the boy stammered as he tried to turn to move away; however, before he could the Agent grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face Roan.

She wanted to run away as fast as she could but her legs wouldn’t work. Part of her was actually loving the humiliation of the asshole in front of her but another part was vicariously embarrassed and she knew if she tried to leave that she would end up on the punishment end of this bizarre encounter as well. And after the intimidation in the elevator, she wasn’t about to risk that.

Kallus leaned down and whispered something into the Ensign’s ear that made his eyes grow wide and a few seconds later drop to his knees.

“Lt. Kalivoda,” he began before the Agent nudged him with his large boot causing him to clasp his hands together in front of his chest. “I would like to extend my most sincere apology for my behavior.”

She looked up wide eyed from the boy to the Agent who was looking down with an almost mischievous grin across his lips.

He’s enjoying this.

“I hope that you can forgive me for my unacceptable actions,” the Ensign finished.

Kallus looked up to notice that she was still looking at him and she instantly covered with a small cough and quickly moved her gaze back down to the matter at hand that knelt on the floor in front of her.

“Do you accept his apology?” he asked her seriously.

She was tempted to say no to see what else he was capable of, but opted to end the situation as fast as possible instead. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” the Agent asked her, his hazel eyes transfixed on her own so deeply that a few seconds went by before she realized that she wasn’t breathing when he asked again, “Lieutenant?”

“Yes. That is fine,” she replied standing up straighter and clasping her hands behind her back.

“Good. Get up,” he barked down at the Ensign as the boy clamored to his feet. He grabbed his arm and pointed at Roan, “mess with her, or anyone for that matter again, and you’ll be emptying vac-tubes by hand on Hoth for the rest of your career. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the kid said with a hint of defiance before his arm was released and he and his friends made a quick escape around a corner.

The people in the room began to slowly go back to their business, but Kallus and Roan just stood and stared at each other in silence for what she thought was an eternity.

“Why did you let him do that? You outrank him,” he asked angrily.

“He gets away with everything because of who he is. I’ve made numerous complaints. Nothing ever happens,” she replied matter of factly. “Also, while I sincerely appreciate you stepping in, you just made things a thousand times worse.”

He took a step closer and put a finger toward her chest, “if he so much as looks at you wro-,”

“Again, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t need a protector,” she scoffed. “I need to get going. Thank you for your help,” she smiled and nodded as she made her way out of the commissary and to the safety of her workstation.

   By fourteen hundred, Lt. Kalivoda’s stomach was growling hard. With the bizarre fiasco of the morning she had missed out on actually getting something to eat and it was starting to show.

It wasn’t the only thing that was bothering her either. While she was grateful for the Agent’s backup in the commissary, the more she thought about it the more annoyed she was with his behavior in the lift. Or, at least she considered it annoyed, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t take lightly to intimidation, but at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking about how unintimidated she was by it.

Did she get flustered? Unequivocally. Seduced? Not even close. Okay, perhaps maybe slightly beguiled at the most. Stars, he did smell wonderful though. Like trees on a warm summer evening in Naboo.

That is dangerous, girl! she thought as she shook her head hard and tried again to concentrate on the task before her.

“R3, will you shine a light directly down into this area?” she asked the green R-unit beside her.

The little machine let out a beep and maneuvered its mechanical arm up and over the top of the opened canopy of the R4 unit that she was working on.

“Great,” she sighed after digging around for a few seconds.

Her little green companion let out a few concerned beeps in response.

“Well, luckily it’s just a loose bolt,” she informed it. “But it’s a tiny one and in a place that I can’t reach easily without taking the whole damn thing apart.”

She sighed heavily again and sat down between the two droids while she thought. A few minutes later she hopped up and quickly headed for the very back of the workshop where she kept her obscure, rarely used tools and slowly began to scour the area for what she hoped she still had.

“Keep an eye on the front, R3,” she called over her shoulder.

After about fifteen minutes she still hadn’t found what she needed and, between it and her growling stomach, was becoming increasingly frustrated by the second.

“Hello?” someone yelled over the sound of her droid’s protests.

She swallowed the urge to scream back and instead politely replied loudly, “I’ll be up there in a minute!”

“I don’t have a minute,” a cocky response came from closer to the back shelving unit where she was standing.

Unbelievable, she thought as she leaned her head back and slowly exhaled in an attempt to not scream. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

“I knew you were back here,” she whispered to the long handle of the specialty socket wrench extender that sat poking out precariously from the very top shelf behind her. She quickly began to look around for a stepping stool, to no avail, when the voice shouted again, this time even closer to her.

“Seriously, I don’t have all day!” came a threat in an all too familiar voice.

You’ve got to be kidding me, she screamed in her mind.

“You can’t be back here for safety reasons! Please go back to the front and I will be right there,” she shouted with as much venom in her voice as she could muster. She rolled her eyes and began to assess how she was going to retrieve the extender and not kill the ISB Agent with it once she did.

The unit was almost three meters high, which meant she was going to have to climb up the first few of the rickety shelves to reach it. She swallowed hard and put her hands on the ledge that was just above her head and pulled down as hard as she could with most of her body weight. When nothing happened she took it as a good sign and cautiously stepped up onto the first shelf. After a few fearful seconds, she decided it was safe and reached up and repeated the process.

On the third row up she felt that the extender was close enough to reach out for, but when she did her fingertips could only barely graze the cold metal handle.

Seriously? She sighed as she shifted her weight inward and reached out again; however, before her arm completely extended, the shelf that she was holding onto suddenly broke and flipped toward her causing her center of gravity to shift backward.

It felt like slow motion when she felt herself begin to fall and she braced hard for the impact that her back and head were going to make with the hard floor, except she didn’t. At the last possible second, she felt something hook around her upper back and under her knees before quickly spinning her away and shielding her from the falling debris that she had pulled down with her. She didn’t see what happened, but she immediately knew by another one of her senses. Trees.

“It looks like you do need a protector,” he said quietly into her ear before she finally found her bearings and fumbled her way out of his arms.

She quickly straightened her posture and smoothed out the fabric of her one-piece work jumper before clearing her throat, “thank you,” she squeaked out in a voice that was easily two octaves higher than her own.

What the hell is your problem, she scolded herself.

The man just stood in front of her with his head tilted slightly to his right.

“If you don’t mind going back to the front, I will be with you in a moment,” she said as she gently pushed past him and looked up at the tool that sat exactly where it had before she tried to initiate a shelving tsunami.

“You’re welcome,” he answered unenthusiastically as he stepped toward the cabinetry causing her to instinctively turn to face him and back peddle up against the shelves. He stood close enough to her that she had to lift her chin up to see his face as he slowly, and without looking away from her, reached above his head and grabbed the extender from where it sat.  

“Looks like you owe me one,” he said in a low voice as he slowly looked her up and down before he finally handed her the tool and sauntered away cockily.

Stop, stop, stop. You are a grown-ass woman, act like it, she told herself as she pulled herself back together and rounded the corner that would take her back to the front of the work area.

The Agent was waiting for her when she finally got to the front desk.

“I wasn’t aware that you had a droid,” she informed him as she pulled her datapad out from a drawer. “What’s the req number?”

“I don’t have one. I need help with this,” he replied as he placed his own datapad on the counter.

She looked down at it and tried her hardest to collect herself before she looked back up. “That’s not a droid.”

“I know, but it won’t turn on and IT-“

“Take it back up to them and hit the first person you see with it. Tell them I sent you.”

He just turned his head slightly at her sudden burst of hostility.

“I do droids, not computers,” she almost growled before a series of equally hostile beeps came up from behind her. “Easy, R3,” she said in an easier tone as she patted the droid’s head. “They send me the stuff they can’t fix so I get blamed instead,” she huffed as she pulled a stool behind her.

“I’ll take it back then,” Kallus offered as he reached to take it back.

“Wait,” she hesitated for a brief second. “You’re already here. What happened to it?” she asked as she plugged the machine into a cord that ran under the counter.

“It just stopped working. There is very important intelligence on there and I need access to it immediately,” he said with what she was beginning to notice was a perpetual air of superiority that carried in his voice.

“Is it charged?” she joked as she plugged in another cord.

“I think I’m smart enough to know if-“ he stopped when he realized that she was kidding. He stood silently as she connected the device to her own before flipping it over and removing the back casing.

“Did you throw it or something?”

He just looked at her perplexed.

“I’m serious this time. There’s some really odd damage here,” she said in awe as she poked at the malformed components with a small screwdriver. “It looks like a tiny person got in here and just started pulling things apart,” she continued without looking up.

He watched the almost wonder-like expressions on her face as she prodded further into the device before she picked it up and held it closer to the light. “We went too close to a cluster of collapsed stars.”

“That’s brave,” she mumbled before she set the tablet down and looked at him seriously. “I’m guessing you didn’t go in because it started pulling your ship apart?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it did the same thing to everything; the ship, its equipment, even you. I can’t fix this, but I can try to salvage the right parts of it and get your data off of it,” she offered with a small shrug. “Hopefully.”

“Fine, how long will it take?” he huffed loudly.

“I can start on it when I finish this one,” she offered as she pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the headless R4. The look on his face said that it wasn’t good enough but she could tell his brain interjected before his mouth opened.

“Fine, let me know as soon as it is completed. It’s very important,” he conceded before turning and walking out.

Roan just looked down and winked at the little green droid that never left her side. “It’s very important,” she mocked in a horrendous attempt at the man’s accent before she went back to work.

   It was well into the evening before she managed to retrieve the files saved to the Agent’s datapad. The machine itself was a complete loss but she had managed to get it somewhat working long enough to transfer everything to an external hard drive.

“Okay, R3, take this to his office,” she instructed the droid as she handed over the device.

The robot let out a long series of fast beeps.

“Well, I don’t want to either and you’re already holding it,” she laughed as she sat heavily on a stool. It had been a really long day and she really just wanted to take a long, hot shower and try to sleep.

R3 rocked back and forth angrily before aggressively pushing his way through the swinging door that she had installed below the front counter especially for it.

“I love you!”

All she heard back were its agitated boops of dismay slowly grow quieter as the droid rolled further away from her down the corridor.

“Sorry, buddy. I’ve had my fill for the day,” she said softly to herself as she hopped up and began to put away the array of small tools and components that were scattered all over her work area. As she reached down to lift a box onto the countertop her gaze fell to a small black cord laying on the ground.

That droid is going in the compactor, she sighed as she walked over and picked up the connection cord to the hard drive that the unit was taking to Kallus. The cord that he would have to have.

Maybe I can catch up before R3 gets there, she thought as she quickly scooped it up, pushed through the door, and began to jog down the hallway.

She didn’t get very far before she heard her droid beeping frantically over the sound of maniacal laughter and the sudden sound of something hard hitting metal. When she rounded a corner to her left she saw R3 surrounded by the Ensigns from the cafeteria kicking at the scared machine as it tried desperately to avoid their assaults.

Roan didn’t even hesitate when she ran up behind the boy closest to her and smashed her heel down hard into the outside of his right knee. He howled as he fell to the floor causing the other two to turn and face her, which gave R3 the chance to escape.

“You really are a stupid bitch,” the ringleader snapped as he lunged toward her.

She readied her stance to take him in a frontal assault, but suddenly a sharp pain in her ankle caused her to fall back right into the arms of the third assailant slightly in front of her to her right side. The Ensign on the floor had composed himself enough to return a kick to her foot and suddenly she found herself pinned against the wall with her left arm pulled up high between her shoulder blades. The boy staggered his feet and leaned against her with all of his body weight making it hard for her to breathe and impossible to move. She felt his fingers slowly slide into her hair at the base of her skull before he suddenly closed his fist and pulled her head back hard.

“The shit I’m going to do to you, little bitch,” the leader growled into her ear as he walked over and grabbed her chin yanking her head to face him. “Where’s your boyfriend now, huh?”

Roan whispered something inaudible.

“What was that?” the boy asked laughing as he put his ear closer to her mouth.

“I don’t need him,” she whispered again before she leaned back and slammed her forehead into the cartilage of his ear as hard as she could. Pain engulfed her entire body as the sharpness of what she immediately assumed was a small concussion was contrasted with the burning from her scalp by the handful of hair that the other boy was holding and probably ripped out when she moved forward as hard and fast as she did.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” he screamed as he fell to the ground and she leaned back against the wall to keep her dizziness at bay as best she could. Purple stars filled her field of vision and quiet, obscure beeps began to creep into her auditory senses.

The ensign holding her against the wall pulled her head back again forcing her to look up at the ceiling. “That was stupid,” he whispered slimily into her ear as she felt him grind himself into her back. “But, I like when they fight back.”

She felt a wave of abject disgust wash over her before she leaned into his face, “you better-.”

Before she could finish she heard a blaster ready and a Stormtrooper bark out an order to stand down. The Ensign slowly let go and backed away with his hands up as another trooper placed cuffs on the two others still lying on the floor.

The beeps grew louder as the ringing in her ears began to subside and she turned and slid down the wall to sit on the floor with her nervous droid that had gone to get help.

“Are you alright?” a quiet voice asked from above her. Kallus knelt down a few feet in front of her and looked genuinely concerned.

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing some ice and a light analgesic won’t fix,” she replied as her attackers were led away, the one that had held her against the wall made a small kiss at her before he was pushed down the hall.

R3 growled and Kallus had to physically stop the droid from chasing after him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” he said darkly to the small robot before it finally wheeled back over to its place beside Roan. He looked at her for a long few seconds before he finally stood, “I’m sorry that you got hurt.” He turned to walk away and quietly added, “it won’t happen again.”