#i think my most difficult choices will be whether she drank from the well and whether she agreed with his goals

[maharellasa]

me selecting a lavellan inquisitor who romanced solas and promised to save him during the story selection mode in cc

[knchins]

The Sacrificial Lamb - Chisaki Kai

Summary: The Vampire Chisaki has been searching everywhere for the one, but when he finally finds her she is taken by the League of Villains. He strikes a deal with them in order to get her back.

Pairing: Vampire!Overhaul x Fem!Human!Reader

Rating: E+

Word Count: 6.7k

Server Collab: BNHAREM - Fantasy AU

Warnings: Virgin/Virginity Kink, Blood, Extreme Dubcon, Mysophobia, Kidnapping, Implied Sexual Slavery, Noncon Choking, Biting, Pelvic Examination, Virginity Testing, Mentioned Necrophilia, Marking, Bondage/Restraints, Hair Pulling, Condom Usage, Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Mild Aftercare

Notes: Please heed the warnings listed above. I classify this as a dark fic and want readers to take care while reading. <3 My first ever collab with this server and I’m super hype about it! I hope you enjoy!

All over the world, over the past few decades, vampirism had spread across the land like a rampant disease. Once mortal humans were turned into eternal monsters with powers unique only to their kind. The media tended to call them quirks, hoping that a lighthearted term would quell the fear of what the gifts truly were. An abomination, a curse among mankind, and weapons of mass destruction. 

Of course, there were a select few (really, a rare few these days) that used their vampirism for good. They fed only on donated blood, vowed never to take human life, and even protected mortals against others of their kind that were not as righteous as they were. Truly it was a world made up of heroes, villains, and powerless bystanders that were often victims. 

In relation to eternity, Chisaki Kai was rather young. He had only spent his life as a gifted fanged menace for about two decades now, but that didn’t make things any easier. Chisaki has had mysophobia for as long as he could remember. It plagued him as a human long before he was turned by the former leader of the Shie Hassaikai. 

Vampirism had always been nothing but a curse to him. While it was true that his quirk was extremely powerful and was capable of great destruction, the fact that he had to drink blood in order to survive was pure hell. The only blood he could bring himself to consume was that of young virgins, those who had never been tainted with drugs, alcohol, or even sex. 

Members of Shie Hassaikai would kidnap victims for him, but Kai would never feed on them outright. No, touching their commoner skin with his mouth just seemed completely out of the question. He very rarely sank his teeth into anyone. Instead he’d keep them captive, draining a few pints every few weeks until eventually bleeding them dry when he grew bored of them. 

The blood would be stored and consumed as needed by their leader, a small portion of it would be meshed with grapes and fermented into wine. A delicacy that many vampires enjoyed and was graded on both the source and taste. Naturally he only drank that of the highest grade as that ensured there were few (if any) impurities. 

The issue Chisaki was starting to face however was that his food source was dwindling. In this day and age it was difficult to find people that haven't spent time poisoning their bodies. Everyone seemed to enjoy living in filth and he really just did not understand. He was half tempted to start breeding his own livestock to drain, but that would just be too costly at this point. The organization was struggling to get back on top, and while he was a fearsome and ruthless leader, there were still connections that needed to be made. 

As of now he had a...tentative (but tumultuous) relationship with a group of vampires that liked to call themselves the League of Villains. The leader, Shigaraki Tomura, wanted to be equal to Kai however Kai felt that he was equal to no one. He was above all of them, his power to destroy or create on a whim was better than anyone quirk that the league could offer. Negotiations were still being made and every time they took one step forward, they seemed to take two steps back. 

Shigaraki was about the same age as he was and he too was capable of mass destruction. If the two worked together, they could bring down all of Tokyo with ease. Perhaps this would help with Chisaki’s lack of food situation. With the entire city under his thumb he could easily create some sort of facility to house and breed the purest of humans. He’d no longer have to limit himself as he did now. 

Presently he was waiting to hear back from his most faithful underling and assistant, Kurono. He was out looking for what would be Chisaki’s next meal, though it had been a few hours since he departed. When his phone began to chime, he half expected to hear that he had been unsuccessful in finding someone to suit his boss’s tastes. However, it was quite the opposite. 

“I have found a girl you would no doubt enjoy.” Kurono said in a cold tone that portrayed no noticeable emotion. “However, there is a situation.” 

Chisaki was almost always cool headed. He very rarely lost his temper, though when he did it could be quite murderous. “What is it?” He asked monotonously. 

“The League of Villains has taken her for themselves.” He said, and while true he could just find someone else. He had a feeling that his boss would particularly love the sweet little thing he had found. “I believe she may be the one.” 

The One. Chisaki had been searching high and low for a delicate creature to treat as his live in blood source. One that he would control one hundred percent. What she ate, what she wore, when she slept. He had so many plans for this one woman, if she were to ever be found. Hearing that Kurono may have found the one and had lost her to none other than that foul Shigaraki was almost enough to boil his black blood. Almost. 

“She’s pure?” He asked cryptically, though he knew that if she had been selected already then Kurono had already vetted that information himself. He heard his subordinate give him a quick affirmative. Chisaki let his thoughts process for a moment longer, “come back. I will call Tomura and see what he has to say for himself.” 

Clearly this was a ploy to get Chisaki to formally align with him. That much was obvious. However without seeing the girl first it may as well be pointless. He’d need to look over her with a fine toothed comb to determine whether or not she was indeed the one he could make his blood bride or not. A human companion for him to divulge in at any time. If Kurono knew him as well as the thought he did, then he would be correct in thinking that she was special enough to keep around. 

He ended the call with Kurono and looked for the number he had for the league of villains. He pressed it, letting the phone dial the numbers itself before waiting for an answer. A moment later, an annoying but familiar voice cut in. “Overhaul. I was wondering when you’d call.” There was clear devious intent that made Chisaki question again what he could possibly be up to. “I have something I think you’ll just love to sink your teeth into.” 

Kai didn’t appreciate the joke. Shigaraki knew very well that Kai didn’t drink directly from humans. He drank blood through plastic straws because he didn’t even want his lips to touch it unless he wanted to break out in hives. “What do you want for her?” Kai asked, getting straight to the point. “I have plenty that you could have.” 

It was true. Shigaraiki needed to bolster his numbers and with Kai’s help then he could easily achieve that goal.All he needed to supersede the arduous negotiations between them was a little leverage. Leverage Tomura now had in his possession. “You know what I want, Chisaki.” Shigaraki said in the smug voice that grated the yakuza leader’s last nerve. 

But what Shigaraki wanted most was to have Chisaki and his gang of men to work under him. To have control over the small legion of vampires that was ruled by Chisaki’s hand. Of course, Kai could always agree to the negotiation and cut ties as soon as he had what he wanted (if she was indeed the one). Though there was no telling for sure of that now. 

“I’ll need to inspect her first. Bring her to the compound for a thorough examination.” He instructed hoping that Shigaraki would at least agree to that. “Do not touch her with those filthy hands of yours until then. If you defile her then the deal will be off.” 

Shigaraki tutted into the receiver of the phone, “So picky. You want to see this little wallflower so badly? Alright, I’ll bring her in an hour. Be ready for us then, would you? Maybe have some of the delicious blood wine of yours ready to celebrate our long awaited union. Until then I’ll have all of my people keep their roaming fingers to themselves. Does that sound like a suitable arrangement?” 

Chisaki sat back in his chair. While Shigaraki couldn’t truly be trusted, he saw no other choice than to agree to this. “One hour. Don’t be late.” He hung up before the petulant man could say anything else, He let out a long sigh before standing. He had a lot of preparations to do before his visitors arrived. 

An hour later, Chisaki had just picked out one of his finer bottles of wine when a subordinate brought in his guests. Shigaraki was alone with a girl bound in rope standing next to him. She had a cloth gag tied around her mouth to keep her from talking, something Chisaki thought was a little barbaric but it wasn’t that surprising given who her captor was. 

Despite her bindings, he could already tell just how beautiful she was and more than that she smelled absolutely divine. Chisaki felt his mouth water, hunger panging in his stomach. This visceral reaction was incredibly rare for him. The urge to sink his fangs into the tender flesh of her delicate neck roared in his brain, yet he did his best to silence it. Outwardly his masked face remained the same, though his mouth twitched into an unseen smile. 

He held his hand out, but Tomura hesitated before handing over the rope leash. “You break our deal then I’ll snap her pretty little neck. Got it?” He asked, putting a gloved hand on the back of her neck and squeezing lightly for emphasis. Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, already he knew that no one would ever be taking her away from him. Shigaraki just didn’t know who he was dealing with. 

“If she passes the examination, then we will have a deal.” Chisaki reminded him, “if I find that she is unclean, then you can do what you wish with her. I do not care.” Though the words came out bitter and assured, deep down he knew that that was untrue. Something about her was so captivating already. He didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of her not being the one. Kurono had seemed so sure of himself when they spoke last. 

The young yakuza leader led his potential pet into a back room that was made specifically for examining humans. He had it built shortly after he took over in order to sort out his cattle in any way he saw fit. 

After ushering her inside, he cut on the harsh bright lights that nearly blinded her. Shigaraki chose to perch on a stool in the corner while Chisaki untied the ropes that bound the girl’s arms and then the gag. He let the thick braids fall unceremoniously to the floor, noticing how she shook with each brush of his fingertips. Scared already? Well, they always did taste better when they had adrenaline coursing through their veins. 

“Take off your clothes and get on the table.” He ordered, watching her eyes dart to a table adorned with stirrups. It was similar to one you might find at a gynecologist's office. With much hesitation, his new subject began to disrobe. Her clothes puddled around her feet as she grew more and more embarrassed with each less layer covering her sensitive skin. An odd heat was pooling between her legs as she clenched her thighs together.

Chisaki was taken off guard by her arousal. He had been assured that she was a virgin, however if stipping down before two vampires was turning her on then certainly that wasn’t the case. Both he and Shigaraki could smell the slick that was accumulating within her folds. His sharp eyes cut to the snickering vampire in the corner who was nothing but amused by this turn of events. 

After she finished undressing, she climbed up onto the steel table that had minimal cushioning. Chisaki changed his gloves out to a fresh pair, wanting to make sure that any dirt he found wasn’t something that had already been on the ones he had been wearing previously. A fresh slate was needed for this examination. 

“Put your feet in the stirrups.” He said coldly, his doubts beginning to overwhelm him internally, though his face did not show it. Even if it did, the lower half was still obstructed by his black face mask. How could this girl possibly be the one if she enjoyed disrobing in front of two murderous vampires? Was she one of those that got off on fantasizing about creatures of the night? The thought disgusted him. 

Her knees were shaking, causing the metal arms of the stirrups to rattle. Even curiouser she was this nervous while also being excited? What a peculiar creature indeed. 

His eyes swept over her seemingly frail mortal body. There were no bruises, no cuts. There wasn’t even a scar on the flesh he could see. Hair was all neatly landscaped. Her outward appearance was up to par with his wishes, but it was time to check the inside of her to make sure. 

Chisaki gently spread the moistened folds to see if that thin sliver of tissue was still intact. While true, it wasn’t uncommon for girls to rupture their hymen through activities other than sex, he still found it to be a great indicator. If it was torn then he would have to check another way. 

To the vampire’s pleasure, there was the tiny half moon membrane just a centimeter into the vaginal canal. This was all he needed to see in order to believe that she was, in fact, a virgin and that he wouldn’t need to probe any further in order to find any inconsistencies that disputed that fact. 

He delicately checked over the rest of her sex, searching for any indication that she wasn’t as pure as she seemed to be. Again he was thoroughly pleased to find none. He took a step away from her, walking around the table to closer examine her nude form. His sharp eyes moved over every last inch of visible skin, trying to detect any kind of abnormal marking or sign of dirt or grime. 

The stirrups were still rattling with the tremors of her lower limbs, a tinny sound that bounced off the walls of the small room. Her eyes were shut tightly, afraid to look at the man looming over her. What the two villains in the room didn’t know was that she had been saving herself specifically for this sort of situation. Since she came of age she longed to be some vampire’s little fuck toy to use and abuse. Despite her pure body, her mind was anything but. Upon learning of the League of Villain’s intentions with her, she hadn’t been able to stop the grotesquely loud thumping of her heart within her chest. 

She didn’t know exactly who the vampire they referred to as Overhaul was, but she could tell that he was especially gifted and powerful. The way he commanded a room was enough to make her weak in the knees. She kept herself meticulously well kept and it seemed as though all her work had been for something much greater than she could have ever anticipated. 

“Put your legs down and roll over.” He ordered in that monotonous and apathetic voice that only made her shutter even more. She obliged, removing her feet from the pads of the stirrups and rolling onto her stomach after scooting back up onto the steel table a little more so that she could be more comfortable. 

Shigaraki was watching with mild intrigue. He had never seen Chisaki look over a potential meal before. It was quite entertaining how thought out his observations appeared to be. 

He inspected the areas that he could not see before, again finding nothing out of the ordinary. He even inspected her hair, looking for any signs of lice or debris. Nothing. Every item on the list within his mind checked off one by one. She was intact. She was clean. She was pure. And she would be his and his alone. 

Chisaki left her side to order an underling to bring him a fresh clean robe for her to wear. In the corner of the room was a glass shower that he instructed her to go to in order for her to scrub herself down even further. He assured her that when she was finished he would have something for her to put on and to not worry about the rags she had been wearing. 

After she had stepped into the clear shower and began to wash as per his instructions, Chisaki made his way to a nearby sink. He removed the gloves that had been soiled with her arousal and threw them in the bin to his right before scrubbing his hands clean and putting on a new pair. Once he was finished he made his way back to Shigaraki. “We have a deal.” He said plainly, not wanting to show how very important this girl was to him now. If he let on how great of a find this truly was, then there was no telling what his adversary would ask for in return. So far the exchange they had worked out was simple enough. He didn’t need for it to become any more complicated. 

He couldn’t see the twisted grin on Shigaraki’s face due to the false hand mask obscuring it, however he could tell that it was there simply due to the way the seated man’s eyes creased with sick glee. “Let us toast to this new alliance then.” Shigaraki drawled as he stood from the wooden stool he had been sitting on. 

Kurono stepped in to deal with the little lamb that was his boss’s new plaything as the two leaders left for the kitchen where Chisaki had prepped the dry blood wine. A servant poured them both a glass of the viscous burgundy liquid before handing it to them with a slight bow. 

Both men removed the masks they were wearing, through they stood a good six feet apart. Chisaki was not about to breath in whatever sin Shigaraki exhaled. It was the first time Tomura had seen his full face and immediately thought that he looked even younger than he was. He waited for Chisaki to drink the wine first to make sure it hadn’t been tainted. 

Chisaki took the first sip with an apathetic look on his face. Only once he had swallowed did Shigaraki follow suit. Both of them revelled in the bitter and metallic taste. Only once the glasses were half empty was a word spoken. “We will be making our next move soon.” Shigaraki said, “make sure you and your men are ready for my command.” 

“Don’t worry about us not being ready.” He replied simply, “we are always prepared for anything.” 

Shigaraki chose not to comment, knowing that there was an allusion to his own gang’s sometimes lack of preparedness. It could be hard controlling a group of particularly talented vampires. While he too had great power and they did listen to him, some of his subordinates could get out of control at times. 

He threw back the rest of his wine, letting it flood his senses for a moment as it ran down his throat. He replaced the white hand over his face before standing. “And Chisaki, do not forget my warning. If you do not hold up your end of the bargain, then that delicious specimen will be all mine and your dick won’t be the only one that has been buried into that cute little cunt of hers.” 

Chisaki finished his own glass before slipping the black cloth back over his mouth and nose. His eyes were fixated on his new partner, clearly irate to the thought of someone else having his new most beloved pet. He said nothing, letting his gaze say it all as Shigaraki took his leave finally, wanting to get out before his welcome was possibly overstayed. They’d talk more about the future of their alliance later. Now it was time for Chisaki to see just how great of a gift had just been bestowed upon him. 

By now she was finished with her shower and Kurono had showed her to her new living quarters where she had been locked inside. Inside it looked similar to a medium sized hotel room. She had her own private bathroom, a closet full of clothes that certainly weren’t hers before but would be hers from now on. A full bed that was made with soft sheets and a thick duvet. The only thing she would have liked was a window, however there was nothing to suggest that she was even on the ground floor. It was much more plausible that she had been taken underground instead. 

She was wearing nothing but a silk robe and the man who had brought her here had told her not to put anything on that his boss would be there in a moment. She took a seat on the foot of the bed, wondering if this was to be her life from now on. A slave to a vampire. Would it be everything she had ever dreamed of? If it wasn’t...would there be any way to escape? She had a sickening feeling that her fate was sealed either way. She could either please her new master or die at his hands. There were no other alternatives. 

Being a living blood bag was not a conventional kink to say the least. Maybe it would be enough to keep her alive in this turbulent world. 

The door opened and the leader of the Shie Hassaikai walked into the room, closing it behind her. His golden olive-toned eyes were fixated onto her, a thin inhale caused the black cloth mask to momentarily press against his nostrils. Hunger throbbed in his stomach and he felt himself aching to do something that he never dreamt of doing. Saliva pooled into his mouth as his gaze fixated on the untouched skin of her neck. He could see her pulse fluttering in her jugular, strong and healthy. 

He was pleased to find her in the white robe he had chosen for her. An obvious symbol of what she was to him. The sacrificial lamb. Fuck, he’d drain every lost drop of that sweet innocent life force without a second thought. Sure he had come to make her his but his sudden need to feed was definitely making that difficult. Of course he could still do that even if she were dead. Though a compliant corpse wasn’t quite as much fun. 

He shrugged off his green jacket, setting it on the back of a nearby chair. “What is your name?” He asked, though he already had the intent of giving her a new name already. He still wanted to know what it was. 

She told it to him, voice wavering with anticipation. Was tonight the night she’d finally experience sex for the first time? The thought alone had her gushing again and the smell caused Chisaki to quirk an eyebrow with curiosity. He had only asked her her name, why did that make her so aroused? 

He loosened his tie before taking it off completely, “Take off your robe.” He ordered as he stepped closer to the bed. She stood up and untied it from around her waist, letting it fall open before she shrugged it off of her shoulders. The white silk fell to the floor and immediately her hands moved to cross over her exposed chest in order to attempt some form of modesty. Even though he had already stripped her and examined her most intimate parts, it was still awkward to simply be nude in front of her new master. She did have some morals afterall. 

Chisaki grabbed her arms and unfolded them before forcing them behind her back. He wrapped the fabric of his tie around her wrists tightly before weaving a knot into the bindings to keep her from getting out of it. Her shoulders pulled to accommodate the new position, causing her chest to lift and breasts to bounce in protest of his sudden and rough movements. 

He observed the wince of pain that crossed her face and the look caused his cock to twitch inside of his pants, begging to be freed. “If you struggle too much, Angel, it’s only going to hurt you more in the long run.” He said, voice edged with a thinly veiled threat. She immediately stopped pulling at the tie and became still before him, eyes too afraid to look at his face as she felt the skin of her cheeks heat painfully with embarrassment. 

He took off his shirt and unbuckled his belt, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to wrap it around her fragile throat. If he did so then he’d been obscured from possibly savoring it for himself, though the thought of that caused a sudden wave of nausea. His stomach urged him to tear open the flesh of her jugular while his brain protested at the mess it would make. 

Chisaki decided to remove the black mask from his face and placed it on a nearby table where it would not get soiled. He heard her inhale sharply at the sight of his unblocked face. He was much more handsome than she had originally thought, and while all vampires had some denotation of enhanced beauty, his was truly magnificent. 

His mouth opened and she saw the glinting white fangs inside of it. Both the canines and lateral incisors were pointed sharp, though the later was a fraction shorter than the other. Truly he could reduce her into nothing in seconds if he wanted to, all with the quick use of his dangerous mouth. She couldn’t help another wave of slick from coating her sex at the thought of what all he could do with it. 

He didn’t bother to take off his pants just yet as he leaned in to gently sniff the flesh of her throat right above the pulse point. She felt a droplet of something wet hit her collarbone and instantly she knew it was saliva. 

“P-Please,” She stuttered for him, “bite me.” She practically moaned the order and he growled at the distastefulness of it. He didn’t want her so willing. Not for the first time. He wanted this to hurt. She heard the small hiss that came out from between his teeth, felt the small puff of air against her neck. Instantly she knew she had made a mistake as his gloved hand wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze. 

She gasped for air, typing to break free from her ties once more but was unsuccessful once again. Her vision blurred around the edges, dark black spots blobbing before her eyes randomly as she struggled for air. Now this was a sight for sore eyes, Chisaki thought. He could easily see the life in her eyes fighting to stay lit. If he held his grip for a few more minutes then she’d lose consciousness completely. Even longer and she’d die. 

He released his hold on her suddenly and she inhaled sharply and painfully. Her lungs expanded fully as she gulped in the clean crisp air of the room. The vampire watched her closely, looking for any sign of long lasting damage. He didn’t even need to command her to not say another word. She got the point loud and clear by his actions alone. 

It was then that he decided that it was better off if he marked her as his own. While it wasn’t a very common practice (his cattle literally got branded with an iron in the shape of the family’s crest), it was something that vampires did to protect humans that they were particularly fond of. While fondness wasn’t the right choice of words here, he did want it to be known that she was for him and him only. 

The best part is that it would hurt. He wanted it to hurt, through fear he could have complete subordination. He wanted a helpless lamb, not a conniving wolf. The only downside was that it would require him to bite her. Though truthfully he could use his quirk to do it, he knew it wouldn’t have quite the same effect. 

Without warning, Kai suddenly sank his teeth into her shoulder, around her right collarbone. His sharpened fangs easily tore through the soft flesh, sweet rich blood pouring into his mouth as she let out the most deliciously pained cry. She tried to shy away from him, tried to get him off, but his hold was vice. 

Pain ripped through her entire body, not just her shoulder. Some sort of dark magic was pulling at her skin, making it hot with fever. Her forehead broke out into a sweat as large tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her neck. She had never known such pain before and she thought she may pass out at any moment. 

He was pulling the blood from her, making her feel lightheaded and almost weightless. The taste was almost too much for him. The thought of just taking every last drop flooding into his mind at such an alarming rate that he was almost unable to stop himself from pulling away at last. Her eyes connected with his bloody mouth, a thick trail of blood seeping down his chin and dripping down onto her bare chest. 

Unfortunately for her he could not use his healing quirk on this particular wound. He needed it to heal naturally in order for the mark to leave a scar. If he healed it completely then it would be all for naught. 

He quickly disappeared into the private bathroom and scrubbed his face and lips clean, though wasting even a drop of her blood made him rage. The good thing about humans was that they could produce more. It wasn’t a finite source. He had to remind himself of that as he willed the hives that had crept up his neck to disappear. Nausea turned his newly full stomach. A glance in the mirror at his now clean face caused the urge to vomit to recede. He grabbed a hand towel and some medical supplies. He had to take good care of his little lamb if he wanted her to last. 

Once back in the bedroom he began to clean the wound. Thankfully the blood hadn’t made it to the bedspread. He cleaned the wound with a surprising amount of gentleness, being sure not to hurt her as he bandaged it up with gauze and medical tape. Once the square of white material was firmly in place he took off his clothes and retreated back into the bathroom to wash his hands. 

After drying them he returned into the bedroom to see her looking at him, her legs quaking beneath her shuddering frame. “Lay down on your stomach,” He said monotonously, watching as she struggled to get onto the bed without the use of her arms and lay down for him. Chisaki put on a new pair of gloves and grabbed a condom from the box that had been placed in the room. They had been specially made to hold up during the certain amount of zeal he tended to have in the bedroom, though he rarely found a specimen good enough for his tastes. Typically after he soiled them he discarded them, but this time would be different. Now she was marked, the skin of her shoulder still burning with pain. 

Chisaki dropped his pants and underwear, watching her thighs continue to shake. “Up on your knees.” He instructed and she did just that, keeping her chest on the mattress with her arms tied behind her back. The view was absolutely magnificent. Her wet folds now on display for him, the tiny whines that came from her throat. How could a virgin be so fucking needy? He didn’t know and didn’t care, somehow her being more willing than he expected was a good thing. Going in dry could be painful and he detested the stickiness of lube. 

He rolled the condom onto his hard cock, a thrill tingling up his spine at the thought of what he was about to do. He’d fix her up nice and good after working her over. Even if she was aroused, this was still going to hurt. 

He positioned his tip at her entrance, looking over her shuddering form. Honestly he had never seen such a beautiful site before. All the virgins he’d taken before were nothing like this one. He kept one gloved hand on her lower back while his other guided his twitching member into her. 

He wasn’t slow or gentle. In fact, he pushed his way in with brute force, knowing that it would be ripping that delicate hymen of hers. He could smell the blood spilling onto the bed and once more his mouth filled with saliva. His little lamb cried out in pain because there was no pleasure to be had here yet. It was much too soon for that. 

Chisaki held back a curse at how tight she was, her pussy clamping down on his cock in a vice grip that had him wanting to blow his load already. He did allow her a moment to adjust to the new feeling of him stretching her out, though it wasn’t long before he dragged himself out and slammed back into her once more. 

Another cry of pain, she wanted to beg him to stop and give her time. Let her get acclimated more before he moved, but she feared what kind of punishment she might receive for such an outburst. Her cries though were music to his ears and he wouldn’t let up, not when he could hear that precious sound over and over again. 

The pain didn’t last forever. Not like she had feared it might. Which each powerful thrust it dulled more and more, until her screams of agony became moans of pleasure. Chisaki wasn’t sure which he liked more, they were both so sweet in their own way. Feeling her body relax, her walls loosening ever so slightly so that it was easier for him to move, did make the act much more enjoyable. He could increase his pace, pounding into her with relentless force that had her toes curling with delight. 

She felt an odd pressurized sensation welling in the pit of her abdomen. It was so foreign and tense that she was at first worried something may be wrong with her. Chisaki grabbed a fistfull of her hair and yanked it backwards, pain searing into her scalp as her walls tightened around him enough to make him let out a groan. 

He pulled her upwards more by her locks, making it so he was entering her at a new angle, one that had her feeling dizzy with ecstasy. The coil tightened even more and she felt like she was going to shatter into pieces if he didn’t stop. One more good thrust and it snapped completely, her first orgasm blossoming and overtaking her in waves. Her already dripping cunt flooded around him and the feeling of her juices on his upper thighs had him breaking out all over again.

Chisaki let out a grunt at the feeling of her coming undone around him. Her walls pulsating and fluttering had him unable to hold back as he hit his peak. His thrusts became incredibly shallow and without rhythm as he pumped white cum into the latex condom. 

He released his hold on her hair, making her fall forward onto her face. She was in too much of a state of bliss to move as she caught her breath. He slowly pulled out of her, allowing her hips to fall onto the bed next. He observed the mix of blood and cum that dripped down her legs and onto the bedspread. Again the sight and smell of the ruby liquid was too much for him to hold back from. Besides, his little angel did so good for him. She deserved a little treat too for taking his dick so well for the first time. 

He untied the tie in order to give her shoulders a break, though they hung limply as she was still dazed from the ordeal. He gently guided her to roll over onto her back, letting her get into a comfortable position as he moved his face between her legs. His nose was practically inside her as he inhaled her natural perfume, his tongue licking at the droplets of blood on her lips. His little lamb shuddered, too tired to make any sort of noise. She was still so incredibly sensitive that his probing tongue had tears leaking from her eyes. 

Chisaki devoured every drop of spilled blood that hadn’t made it to the duvet. Tiny nips of his teeth over her femoral artery had a new wave of arousal building within her. She had no idea that she could feel so much at once. It was maddening already and only became worse when his mouth latched onto her engorged clit suddenly and sucked powerfully. 

She let out a weak cry of protest, the overstimulation simply too much. How could someone want something and not want it so much at the same time? There was an ache between her legs from how much he had stretched out her innocent little hole and now his tongue swirling around her clit had her seeing stars. 

Unable to stop herself, she rutted her hips against him, whimpering through her tears as his eyes snapped up to watch her squirm. Two gloved fingers snaked their way into her pussy, curling with her natural curve before coming back out. He repeated the process, forming a speedy rhythm of fingers and tongue until she was screaming for more. More, more, please, and she was cumming again in no time at all. 

Chisaki removed himself from her, disappearing into the bathroom to clean up his face and take off his soiled gloves and condom. He washed his hands and penis though the hives were still taking over the edges of his face. He’d have to take a full on shower after he was done cleaning her up. 

He came back out with a warm wet towel and a dry one. First he placed a hand on her belly, using his quirk to heal her lower half so that she would no longer be in any pain. He also took the time to repair her hymen so he could deflower her all over again sometime soon. 

Her heavy breathing slowed as the pain dissipated. Though exhaustion was setting in, his delicate healing touch had her feeling warm. He wiped her clean, drying her off before discarding the dirty towels. “Can you sit up, Angel?” He asked in a soft voice that she had no idea he was even capable of. “I need to replace the duvet.” 

She nodded, scrambling to the head of the bed so that he could pull the bloody blanket out from under her. “Get under the sheets.” He said, though it was an order it didn’t sound as cold as his previous orders had. She managed to get under the silken sheets, eyes growing heavy as she rested her head on the pillow. She had been too scared to sleep since she’d been captured by the other gang of vampires. Now the events of the day were making it very difficult to keep her eyes open. 

Chisaki grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and put it over her so that she would not be cold. He observed her tired, frail face. “Sleep, little lamb. I’ll have food waiting for you when you wake.” 

She didn’t even have the energy to nod, simply falling into a much needed state of slumber before he could say anything else. As he observed her, Chisaki couldn’t help but think to himself that Kurono had been right. She was definitely the one.

Mobile Masterlist || Request Rules || Collab Masterlist

Tag List: @dabi-hates-fish​, @hawksward​

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Files

Pairings: Sam Winchester x Reader

Trope: Enemies to lovers  @serenityhayato​ ( WRITTEN FOR @negans-lucille-tblr​‘s SPN FIC EXCHANGE )

Warnings: Death of a friend, Canonical Gore (werewolf attack), Cursing, Smut (rough Sam, light choking, hand job, oral if you squint- male receiving, unprotected sex), Probably sex at inappropriate times if I’m being honest

Word Count: 7500 (I am so sorry I didn’t realize until I went to post this that it had a 3k word limit… this was definitely my bad but I’ve spent a week writing this and really didn’t want to scrap the whole thing to fit the word limit. I didn’t realize how carried away I got in the set up)

A/N: I have never written anything for Sam before, much less smut, but I wanted to give it a shot. I’m sorry if it’s totally OOC. I was trying to go off the knowledge that he’s canonically pretty rough in bed. I also couldn’t imagine him being super talkative and vocal. I don’t know, I’m just kinda stressed about this one. Also, this was probably definitely an inappropriate time for them to get down and dirty but my brain was glitching on any other idea so I hope you don’t hate it! Happy holidays!

________________

Sam Winchester.

The name alone made your blood boil.

You’d met the man for the first time, just before your hunting career began and quite frankly, you weren’t sure if you could ever truly forgive him for what he’d done.

–

It was the first semester of your senior year of college, a proud graduate-to-be of your dream university. Life had been great since you got to college. Old toxic relationships with people back home had practically disappeared, you’d formed a group of the best people you’d ever met, and your academics had been going strong.

Life was going great until people started disappearing only to turn up days later, slaughtered and nearly drained of blood. Anxiety was running high all across the board. The university even turned all night classes to online courses to prevent the likelihood of someone being abducted at night. Your best friend had started acting weird. She constantly shook as if she’d drank a pot of coffee for breakfast and was always looking over her shoulder. “It’s okay, Beth,” You tried to reassure her, “I know everyone is on edge but we’re doing everything we can to stay safe. Just make sure to bring your wooden stake in case the vampire attacks.” You chuckled weakly, knowing your nerve-fueled joke was definitely inappropriate considering that four people had actually died from whoever was out there but humor was a good coping mechanism.

Beth didn’t appreciate the joke at all and had run out of your apartment, disappearing. When she hadn’t returned by seven that night, you got worried enough to go look for her. Grabbing every self defense weapon you had, which was pepper spray, a pocket knife, and a key chain that looked cute but was actually a form of brass knuckles with sharp extrusions on it, you left your apartment to look for Beth, surprisingly well strapped.  

You started with her favorite spots: a hipster coffee shop on Main Street, Taco Bell, that one bench in the botanical gardens that overlooked the pond, and the fourth floor of the library. She was nowhere to be seen. You were on the verge of calling the police or those FBI agents that had been questioning people on campus, asking some weird questions from what people had told you. You’d never spoken with them but they did say to come to them with information if anyone had any. You didn’t but they’d be a good start to finding Beth. Where to find them though? Figuring it would be best to just start with campus police, you walked across campus, looking over your shoulder every few seconds. The hair on your neck stood on end and it was impossible to feel safe. Campus police was located on the opposite end of campus and the busses stopped running early on weekdays so walking was your only choice.

“No, please!” You heard a man whimper from somewhere in the trees to your side. You stopped in your tracks and your heart dropped to your stomach. Should you help? Should you run? Should you stay here and call 911?

But then you heard Beth’s voice, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I can’t control it anymore!” And then screams. There were deafening screams of pain and you decided to say screw it. You ran down to try and protect your friend, even though you knew it was probably the last thing you’d ever do. This was stupid. What could you even do? Who knew what was down there attacking them?

When you saw them though, you stopped, skidding to a halt on the leaf covered hill. Beth was knelt over a man’s body, his backpack thrown to the side and ripped open. Though you were quiet, she must have heard you because her attention was whipped to you in an instant. Her face and shirt were covered in blood. It was obvious she’d been eating him or something along those lines.

You felt like a deer in headlights, utterly frozen in terror, denial, and confusion. “I can’t control myself anymore…” she admitted, a regretful sob hiccuping from her lips.

“Why?” You breathed out the question, silent tears falling. Whether they were for fear for your life or just the knowledge that someone you cared about could do something so horrible, you didn’t know.

Before she could answer, there was a loud bang and she fell dead. You flinched and covered your head, crouching instinctively from the gunshot. Your best friend slumped over dead and, despite the fact that you’d just watched her brutally murder some poor stranger, you couldn’t help but call out in shock and horror, “Beth!"

Two men came running down the hill, one of them to Beth’s body and the other to you. "She’s dead. Werewolf, just like we thought.” The man with short hair announced in a deep gruff voice.

“Are you alright?” The one who had come up to asked. He looked a little younger than the other, with longer hair too.

You were shaking, “What the hell just happened?"

"I know this is hard to understand but your friend over there… wasn’t human.” When he said it, you almost scoffed. Of course she was human. What the hell else would she be? Monsters weren’t real.

“You’re kidding me…” You said almost angrily. Then something hit you, “Wait, you’re those FBI detectives.”

The one with short hair walked up to you and the man talking to you. The taller one spoke again, “I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean. We aren’t really FBI. We hunt monsters. Monsters like your friend over there."

"She wasn’t a monster.” You said, a single tear finally falling down your cheek. Glancing over, you saw her lying dead on the ground, “Not the Beth I knew."

"Well then you didn’t know the real Beth because one look at that thing will tell you she ain’t human.” Dean told you bluntly.

Sam noticed the confusion, fear, and anger in your eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen this. It was never easy to tell people they were close to the truth and he preferred to just stay out of it completely but that wasn’t an option this time. “Look, I know this is difficult to understand. But Beth was a werewolf. And yes, they are real. Most monsters are. We’ve been tracking her for weeks."

"W-was she always like this?” Your mind whirled as you struggled to comprehend, truly comprehend, what was happening.

Sam shook his head, “She was turned by a werewolf back in her hometown a few weeks ago. We tracked her from a pack we hunted down over there.” You remembered when she came back, she had a big bandage on her arm. When you asked about it, she brushed it off, saying she ate it racing her brother on longboards. It was probably the bite.

“The fact that she made it as long as she did without killing is honestly impressive. I’ve seen some turn and right away they’re slaughtering people.” Dean chimed in. You hoped their words would console you but they only served to make you angrier.

“So you’re telling me that she was attacked by a werewolf and then turned into one? She was probably terrified! She kept saying how sorry she was! You could have helped her! But you just killed her!” You screamed at them angrily.

“Your friend murdered a bunch of people. Once they turn, there’s no saving them. They’re killers.” Dean said with such conviction that it almost scared you.

Sam put a hand out to Dean, signaling for him to shut up, “There’s only one known way to stop the transformation but it has a really low success rate, is extremely painful, and needs to be administered almost right after the bite. I’m sorry.” He reached a hand out to comfort you but you dodged it, shrugging off his gesture and beginning to walk away.

“I need to go."

"Wait!” Sam called out behind you and you stopped.

“What?!” You snapped, spinning around to stare at him. It was rare that anyone dwarfed Sam Winchester but since you’d been walking up the small hill, you towered over him. The way you glared down at him made him jump.

His words faltered before he finally spoke, “You can’t tell anyone about this. If people knew monsters existed-"

"I’ll decide how I deal with the fact that my apparently werewolf best friend was just murdered by some dudes who think they’re Ghostbusters."

—

Sam saddled up to the bar next to you and promptly ordered two beers. You kept your eyes straight ahead, not sure of what you’d say to him if you made eye contact. You could feel him side eyeing you curiously. Finally, he looked over, "I’m sorry if this is strange but you look so familiar. Have we met?"

You swiveled in the chair to face him, "It’s been a while but yeah. We’ve met. Remember that werewolf at (your college)  about a year ago."

Realization dawned on his face, "Oh… I knew you looked familiar.” He didn’t sound excited like people usually did when they saw old friends because he knew you weren’t old friends. In fact, he assumed you felt quite the opposite and he understood why. “I never did catch your name."

"Y/N.” You informed shortly, taking a sip of your preferred poison.

Sam rocked back on his heels, “Well, uh, what are you doing out here?” It was Middletown, Arkansas, not exactly a happening place, so seeing you of all people here seemed almost too good to be a coincidence.

“I get the feeling the same reason you are.” You answered, eyebrows rising to infer a hunt.

It didn’t take long for Sam to figure what you meant, “Wait, you’re hunting now? Why?"

"After you guys left, I was devastated. You’d murdered my best friend,” you watched him sink into himself a little when you said that but continued seamlessly, “I was left alone with the sudden knowledge that monsters existed. I decided one day that I wanted to protect people like Beth. You know, the ones that innocently stumble into dangerous situations and have their lives ruined by a bite or scratch."

The tall Winchester brother was about to say something but Dean called from a few tables over, "Sammy!” He called out, pointing to a booth on the side wall. The bar was fairly busy for it being such a small town, with people playing pool or eating fries with their gin and tonics. Music played in the background and, though it wasn’t a song you knew off the top of your head, it sounded like every other dive bar in towns like this.

Sam held up a finger to his brother, begging pardon for just a second, before looking back over to you, “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. I really am. I know it doesn’t help but I’ve lost friends who were turned as well so I know how you feel.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens, right?” Your voice sounded anything but forgiving but it also wasn’t hostile either. It was more matter-of-fact. As much as you had hated Sam Winchester for what he had taken from you, if there was one thing you had learned over these last few months it was that shit really does happen. As hard as you tried, you really couldn’t save them all.

Sam glanced back over his shoulder to see Dean wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at him, clearly thinking you were someone Sam was trying to pick up for the night. Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to you, “If we’re both here for the vamp nest, then do you maybe want to come work with us?"

You thought for a moment. In all honesty, you had been under the impression that it was just one vampire wreaking havoc on the small town. Call it a novice mistake, because in all actuality, you really were still a relatively new hunter. One vampire you could take, a whole nest would be trickier. "Fine. But just so we don’t die."

You hopped off the barstool, glass of liquid fire in your hand, as you followed Sam back to the booth Dean was sitting at. At first, the older brother looked confused as to why his brother would bring his company for the night to meet him but didn’t say anything about it when you sat down beside Sam across the table from Dean.

"This is Y/N. She’s gonna help us work the case.” Sam announced, not leaving much room for objection.

Dean’s eyes studied you, “You look familiar. You’re a hunter?” He asked, trying to piece together why he recognized you.

You shrugged, “Am now but you know me from ‘bout a year ago when you guys killed my best friend. She was bit by a werewolf. Remember, that college girl?"

Realization dawned on his face, "Oh… yeah. Sorry about that but she was, y'know, a werewolf. So-” he shrugged insensitively, earning him a hard kick in the shin from Sam under the table. Dean looked back with that expression of 'what?’ That little kids had when they got in trouble.

“Well, anyways, she’s hunting now and is in town for the nest. I figured working together would be our best option.” Sam tried to be a peaceful moderator but it was hard when he knew how much you loathed him. It was frustrating, really, that you wouldn’t just see that Beth had become a monster. He understood that losing friends was hard but she had been killing innocent people.

“What’s the plan, then? We want to pick them off one by one so there’s less to fight at once or-” you began before Dean interrupted.

He shook his head, chewing some fries he’d shoved in his mouth while he spoke, “Nuh-uh. Gank the whole nest at once. Get 'em all in one place and torch it."

"Okay, well where’s the nest then?” You questioned.

Sam shrugged, “We don’t know yet. That’s what we gotta figure out."

"I have a file of police reports and eye witnesses on my laptop back at my hotel. I was just gonna grab a map of the town while I was out tonight to try and see if I could draw a location from the attacks.” You hadn’t planned on actually bringing work to do at the bar. You’d mostly come to see if you could overhear any drunken tales of vampires around town but it had been pretty dead as far as crazy stories so far.

Something behind you caught Dean’s attention and he leaned in close to you and Sam, “Hey, I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.” He said with a smirk and a wink.

As his brother stood, Sam threw his hand up in exasperation, “Where are you going?"

"Hopefully for a homerun.” Dean winked with a cocky smirk before walking away. You turned around to follow Dean with your gaze and immediately saw his target sitting at the bar, a beautiful African American woman with bouncing curls and a sultry smile on her berry stained lips. Honestly, you couldn’t’ say you blamed the older Winchester one bit.

Sam let out a huff of disappointment and rolled his eyes at his brother’s priorities. “Guess it’s just you and me then…” He groaned, not at the prospect of having to spend time with you but just at his brother’s laziness. Dean always managed to find an excuse out of the research part.

“Great.” You responded, unamused. Of the two brothers, Sam was the one you had an issue with- the trigger man on the night that changed your life. “Well, we should get a start on all this so we can get out of here sooner. If you didn’t get any food, you wanna head back to my room?”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized how it sounded and you became a bumbling mess, “Wait- I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant-”

Sam bit back a chuckle and raised his hand up off the table, motioning for you to stop, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He laughed, long hair shining in the dim light as he moved to turn away from you with closed eyes while he chuckled. It really was a shame that he had done what he’d done to you. An opportunity with such a handsome man just had to be killed by his lack of compassion all those months ago.

You slid out of the booth, “Alright, well, I guess I’ll drive. Looks like Dean will be needing your car.” You smirked knowingly as you glanced over at Dean who had the woman he’d had eyes on in stitches over something he’d said.

Sam followed your lead, “Sounds good. I don’t think I want to be in the car after whatever they do anyways.”

Your black 2007 Honda Pilot was clean enough to not be totally embarrassed about but then you saw Sam’s little snort, “A Honda Pilot?”

“We can’t all have cool muscle cars or old trucks, jackass. I can go all terrain with decent gas mileage. Besides, I’d rather sleep in the back of this than your gas guzzler. She’s surprisingly spacious.” You defended your vehicle rather seriously, running your hand across the dash soothingly. The funny thing was that you’d really never been all too attached to the car until Sam insinuated insulting remarks about it.

“She?” He quipped with a raised brow, climbing into the passenger seat.

You slammed the door shut and started the engine, “Yes, she. Dahlia.”

Sam put his hands up, resigning his teasing assault on your car. The drive to the motel was short. You never really liked travelling too far from where you were staying when you didn’t have to. Hunting on your own, especially as a newbie, made you anxious. When you pulled into the parking lot, Sam looked out the window, “You’re staying here too?”

You looked over at him, “You guys are staying here?”

He nodded and patted his pockets, looking for the room key but quickly finding the gesture useless, “Room 24. You?”

“34. You must be right under me.” You said, again visibly cringing at your poor word choice, “You know what I mean.”

Sam tried his hardest not to smile, “Wasn’t gonna say anything.” He assured. You pulled into a space right in front of room 24 and parked. Sam followed you up to your room, which was relatively untouched still. You’d only arrived that morning so, aside from your bag of belongings that was thrown onto the single queen bed, the motel room was still as you had found it.

Sam closed the door behind the two of you and you grabbed your laptop from the bag. So many rooms you’d stayed in had little tables or desks but you quickly noticed that this one was lacking. As Sam awkwardly shuffled up to the bed where you sat casually, you noticed that there wasn’t really enough room for the two of you to work on the ground either.

With a huff, you scooted over, “You can sit on the bed. Just no shoes on the covers.” You had toed your own shoes off on the floor before tucking your legs underneath you. Sam sat beside you, careful to keep a respectful distance between your bodies, while you opened the lid of your laptop and began typing away.

“Alright, this is what I have so far.” You began.

Time became lost on you and Sam as midnight rolled around and you were still discussing the facts of the case. “I’m still confused as to why the hell you think Lenora’s body turning up on Seventh St and Jason’s body turning up on Hargrove Ave means the nest is on Willow Dr.” You were getting annoyed at Sam. In all honesty, you were annoyed at yourself for not seeing what he saw because as much as you hated to admit it, he was probably right. He and his brother hadn’t earned their reputations for being wrong. But, geez, why did it have to be Sam Winchester?

“Because it’s not so much Jason’s body. The old lady, Meredith, made a phone call to her nephew, saying she was at Willow Dr, just before she attacked.” Sam pointed at the map of the town with one finger while leaning his weight back on the bed. His other hand reached back to prop himself up but you quickly flinched away when you felt his rough fingers blindly land on your own.

Sam’s eyes shot wide when you felt your sudden movement, “‘M sorry.” He said, moving his hand closer to his body.

The contact made your heart race in a way that made you simultaneously crave his touch again and be angry at yourself for feeling that way.  You cursed yourself, scooting an inch or so away from Sam’s body. Clearly, your body was just blindly reacting after being touch starved for so long. You hadn’t so much as kissed anyone since before you became a hunter. It had to just be a primal reaction, nothing more.

“I’ll just take your word for it.” You grumbled, returning to the original matter at hand. You hated feeling like you were just letting him think he was right about everything but you were getting tired. “So what’s the plan? Gank ‘em all tomorrow night?”

Sam shrugged, “We’d have to talk to Dean. Most of them will probably be hiding in the nest in the morning to avoid the sun so at least they’d be in one place. But night gives us more time to plan. Who knows when he’ll be back.”

“Why don’t we just lure them all out into the sun and watch them burn?” You suggested, thinking it was a brilliant idea. You actually had yet to deal with vamps. This would be your first case hunting them and you were actually a little excited to learn something new.

The Winchester shook his head, “The sun doesn’t kill them. Think less Interview With a Vampire and more… bad sunburn.” He explained, “Have you never hunted one before?”

Again, you got defensive, “I’m still new at this. I mostly stick to werewolves and ghosts.” Admitting to yourself you needed to learn more was one thing. Admitting it to Sam was another.

He looked over at the gun on your nightstand, “Is that what you were gonna use?” He questioned, brows furrowed.

“No, I’m not dumb. I have some wooden stakes in the car.”

It took everything in Sam’s power to not laugh at you. At you felt like the wrong way to put it. He wasn’t laughing at you. He just found your determination to be a good hunter cute in an endearing way, even if you got your information from cheesy TV shows.

“What?” You asked, almost angrily, seeing the look of amusement on his face.

Sam shook his head, “Decapitation is the main way to kill vampires. Unless you have special bullets or weapons, cutting off the heads is the easiest way to go.”

Your jaw clenched and you turned away from him, upset that he of all people had to explain something that was apparently Hunter 101. You didn’t mind learning. Not knowing things typically was just an opportunity to pick something new up but this incident just felt like nails on a chalkboard.

“You know what? It looks like you and Dean have things handled here. I’m gonna go. Divide and conquer. I’ll just go find somewhere with monsters that I know about so you don’t have to babysit me.” You stood up aggressively, voice surprisingly calm and just almost convincing enough to make him think you weren’t being petty, which of course you were. You didn’t mean to be acting childish. It was just that running into Sam and Dean had been enough to handle. Having what was still left for you to learn shoved in your face was just the cherry on top.

Sam stood up after you, exasperated, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re still new to this and everyone has to start somewhere. Hell, Dean and I are still learning new stuff all the time.”

“It’s not that. This was just a bad idea. I thought I could handle working with you but I can’t.” You shook your head, turning around just to reach around Sam’s body and grab the jacket that you’d discarded before shrugging it back over your shoulders. You started shoving the few things you’d unpacked- a gun, your laptop, and some files- back into your blue duffel bag.

Sam had always considered himself fairly level-headed and capable of dealing with difficult people but something in him snapped when he saw you packing up to leave over something so stupid, “Fine, go ahead and leave. We’ll deal with the nest without you. But you know what? Nobody asked you to get involved in hunting. You can’t just go run off every time someone dies.”

You scoffed, “I got into hunting to prevent people from dying. I got into hunting to try and save them from being killed by people like you!”

“You’re acting like we just kill everyone we come across. We kill monsters, Y/N. We save people by killing them. We prevent more people from getting turned into monsters by killing them. And you know what? Beth became a monster.” Sam’s voice raised to almost a yell as he gestured widely and aggressively.

“Beth was scared and you murdered her!” You shouted angrily, tears welling in your eyes.

“Beth was killing people!” Sam yelled at you before taking a moment to breathe, continuing more calmly, “Can’t you see that? Most of these monsters we hunt were just poor bastards in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s not a lot we can do for people like that. But we can keep them from hurting others. If we had known there was a werewolf back in Beth’s hometown, we could have killed them before they could turn her and she would still be here. Would you be angry if we’d have killed the werewolf that turned her? Would you still be calling me a murderer?”

You chewed your tongue in your mouth hard, trying to use the physical pain to distract you from the urge to cry out of frustration. Why did he have to make sense? Why did he have to confirm every rational thought you’d ever had concerning the situation? You wanted to hate Sam Winchester for what he’d done but you knew deep down that it was never that simple. You knew he had a point but you didn’t want to admit it.

Sam saw the way your jaw clenched angrily, the way your throat moved as you swallowed hard, and the way your eyes glistened with unshed tears. He took a step closer to you and reached a gentle hand out towards your arm, “I am sorry that you lost your best friend.”

For some reason, the gentle sincerity of his voice is what broke you. Tears fell down your face in hot streams as you cried. They weren’t tears for Beth’s death. Those had long been drained from you, many nights spent mourning what you’d lost. These tears were for the final snap of your animosity for the Winchester. You had spent so long hating him. You wanted to hate him, needed to hate him, but how the hell were you supposed to do that when he looked you in the eye and truly meant it when he said he was sorry.

There was a twinge of pain in his own green eyes that made you realize that he truly had experienced the same sort of heartache that you did and that he was sincerely apologetic for being the cause of it. But it was also clear that, while he was sorry for hurting you, he was not sorry for what he had done. Part of the cause for your tears was that you were angry with yourself for not being able to hate him, despite knowing that he didn’t regret killing Beth. You were crying because he was right. She had become a monster and, in his shoes, you probably would have done the same thing. You would have shot your best friend.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, voice shaky as you did.

Sam used his light grip on your arm to pull you in slowly for a hug, his large arms enveloping you in a surprisingly comforting embrace. You buried your face into his flannel, tears staining the fabric. One of his large hands gently cradled the base of your head while his other rubbed up and down your shaking back.

He didn’t know what to say anymore. Your response had honestly surprised him. The girl that he was used to receiving nothing but animosity from was now shaking in his arms and apologizing. “It’s okay,” was all Sam could think to mutter out.

He held you like that for a while, though you weren’t sure exactly how long it was. It could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes and you would be none the wiser but all you knew was that you didn’t want Sam to let you go and, for once, you didn’t hate yourself for it. The tears had dried, leaving only slightly stiff feeling skin in their place. Your breath had long since stopped leaving your lungs in wracked hiccups. Your arms had moved from resting on his broad chest to being loosely wrapped around his waist at some point.

You pulled back first, lifting your head from his chest but keeping your hands on his body still. Sam lifted his cheek off your head, where it had been residing in a surprisingly soft show of affection, and he gazed down at you. You were amazed by how completely you had let your rage blind you. Before tonight, Sam was nothing more than scum to you but now, looking into his eyes after forgiving him, you realized that he was easily one of the most beautiful men you’d ever laid your eyes on.

Even with the tears now gone, Sam still saw the dim light of the cheap motel lamp sparkled against the color of your irises and damn if it wasn’t beautiful. He slid his hand up from your shoulder to gently brush away a few thin strands of hair that had stuck to your cheek while it was pressed against his chest- a feeling he found himself missing. His breath caught in his throat when you reached up to cover his hand with your smaller one, pressing it gently to stay on your cheek.

Your eyes slid closed and you gently nuzzled against his hand before opening your eyes again, reaching around his neck, and oh so slowly pulling him down while you perched on your tiptoes. There was more than enough time for Sam to pull away but he didn’t. In fact, much to your surprise, he closed the gap between you faster. His lips pressed to yours, rougher than you anticipated, but enjoyably nonetheless.

The breath was knocked out of your lungs and you struggled to breathe against his lips but refused to pull away. You bit his lip gently while you kissed, slipping your tongue against his when he gave in to what you were craving.

Sam reached down under your ass and lifted you without you even needing to jump. A squeal of surprise was swallowed by his lips as he walked you both to the bed. Once his legs bumped the old mattress, he sat down, lowering you to land on his lap. Your knees fell to either side of his hips where you gave an experimental rotation of your hips against his clothed erection. He let out a strangle exhalation at the friction, his fingers digging into your ass and pulling you harder onto him. The fabric of his rough jeans rubbed delicious against your clothed core, a wetness beginning to form in your panties.

Slowly, you pressed your weight forward and Sam allowed you to push him onto his back. You laid on top of him, lips moving from his lips down his neck but he didn’t let you get far. Sam placed a supportive hand on the small of your back and managed to flip you both over so he was on top and before you knew it, he was devouring you. Lips kissed hot trails across your face and down your neck, across the tops of your breasts that were ever so slightly revealed by your v-neck t-shirt.

Your fingers tangled in his long hair and he let out a breathy groan when you tugged on the brunette locks, pulling him closer to you. Sam crawled down your body, his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to run across your burning skin beneath. He felt like heaven and hell all in one, burning with fiery lust and yet so sweet and comforting despite the fervor with which he moved.

You pushed yourself up, pushing Sam to sit back on his knees while you did, all without breaking the kiss, to shrug off your jacket. Your shirt was next, falling onto the floor with your jacket before Sam pushed you backwards again, your back hitting the mattress. His large hand started low your belly, running straight up between the valley of your breasts and then raking downwards, pulling the cups of your bra down and grazing your nipples deliciously with his calloused fingers.

It had been so long since you’d been touched like this that even the small act had your back arching into his body. “Sam…” You breathed out, eyes sliding closed at the sensation. Every flick against your sensitive buds sent a shock straight to your core that had you hooking your leg around his hip, pulling him closer into you. Your hands ran up and down his large biceps before moving to pull the sleeves of his flannel down his arms. He only pulled away from you long enough to throw the restricting clothing on the ground, his shirt joining short after.

Your mouth started physically salivating at the sight of the man before you, sculpted by the gods. Defined pectorals and rippling abs covered his torso, adorned with a symbol that looked like a pentagram inside of a sun- a symbol you were unfamiliar with. Sam didn’t give you much time to marvel though because he was back to kissing a line down your body, the light stubble of his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck and chest. He stopped to revel in your breasts, wiggling his hands under your body to expertly unclasp your bra and shimmy it off you. The second they were revealed to him, his tongue was dragging across the supple sick and his teeth were lightly nibbling at the sensitive buds.

“Oh my gosh-” You let out in a breathy giggle. Sam switched breasts, giving the other equal attention. Your fingernails raked lightly over his shoulders and across his chest and you felt Sam shiver at the touch. His lips trailed lower and lower until they found the waistline of your jeans. With a quick flick of his fingers, the button was popped and the denim material was dragged down your legs, taking your socks with them as they were pulled over your ankles. He kissed his way back up your legs, from ankle until he slowly inched closer and closer to where you wanted him most.

His scruff scraped along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you bit your lip at the sensation, unsure if you were trying to hold back a giggle from the ticklish feeling or a moan from the shocks it sent to your core. Sam chuckled to himself when he saw the wet patch of cloth over your clothed heat. He’d barely touched you and you were already dripping for him.

He had a wicked idea though. He got closer and closer to your sex, the smell intoxicating, and gripped your thighs tightly, possibly leaving bruises. Just when his lips were about to land on your core, he moved to the left, kissing your hip bones instead and back up your belly.

Annoyed by the teasing, you sat up, pulling Sam up gently by the hair to be face to face with you. Your ass was a few inches from the edge of the bed, toes just touching the ground, when you pushed Sam back just enough to be able to reach his pants. You hooked your fingers into the belt loops on either side of his pelvis and pulled him close to you. His forehead pressed flush against yours, “Are you gonna keep being a tease or are you gonna fuck me already, Winchester?”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He made quick work of his remaining clothing and hovered over you like a predator about to move in for the kill. “You want me to just fuck you already?” He mimicked, voice low and testing. His green eyes bore into your own orbs with a challenge that you refused to back down from.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” You challenged, standing up and sliding your underwear down your legs, all while keeping unyielding eye contact with Sam. Once they left your form with a small flick of your toes, a dark smirk krept up on his face.

“Turn around.” He demanded and, while you were inwardly more than happy to comply, you didn’t want him to think he had you quite that easy.

You rolled your eyes as you did, an sinful smirk playing on your lips, “Yes, sir.” You chimed sarcastically.

Before you knew it, you were bent over at the waist, face and chest pressed into the mattress by Sam’s nearly crushing body. His hand snaked around your front, picking up some of your slickness on his fingers before circling your clit while he growled in your ear, “Don’t know what the attitude’s about. You’re the one who asked to get fucked.”

Your knees quivered at his filthy words while his fingers worked your clit slowly and painfully. His rock hard erection rubbed along your ass, teasing your entrance every now and again as he rocked his hips against your body. He stood up and removed his hand from your clit. Your hips moved back, trying desperately to chase his fleeting touch. Sam groaned when your body slid over his cock, skin burning against his own. After a few experimental tugs at his own member, he positioned himself at your entrance, giving you a few moments to back out if that was what you’d wanted. Backing out was so far from what you wanted though. You wanted - nay, needed - him inside of you and you needed him now. You were convinced you’d combust if he made you wait any longer.

His hands landed on your hips to help guide a slow thrust forward. His length gradually entered you, the searing stretch to accommodate him making your muscles contract around him. Sam hisses out a sound of pleasure, “You’re so tight.”

His first few thrusts were slow, each time managing to grind impossibly deeper into you. “Fuck, Sam.” Your fingers wound tightly in the sheets with each thrust of his hips and your eyes screwed shut as your breaths came out almost as hisses through grit teeth.

Sam used his leverage on your hips to move your body in time with his thrusts. Each motion sent your body into the mattress, the bed shaking as he pounded into you. You let out little squeaks of pleasure every now and again but Sam wanted to hear more out of the girl who’d had nothing to say to him but spiteful things for so long.

A large hand came to clasp around your throat, not tight enough to choke you but enough to guide you up. You pressed your body up to your feet sloppily on your hands but standing proved to be a difficult task with Sam still moving relentlessly into you. Your thighs were shaking, barely able to support your weight, as this new angle allowed for Sam to hit that spot inside you that made your toes curl. His hand stayed around your throat, tightening along the sides of your neck when he lost himself in the way you felt around him- warm and soft. You were grateful that he was letting your head lull back against his shoulder otherwise you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stay upright.

Sam’s free hand first sloppily groped around the front of your chest until it found one of your breasts, kneading it roughly. The rough skin of his fingers grazed your nipples yet again, only adding to the pleasure you felt below. The knot was tightening and it was tightening fast.

“Please-” You managed to gasp out, not because of the choking (his grip wasn’t that tight) but because the electricity in the room seemed to have stolen your voice. Sam’s hand moved from your nipples down to your clit where he rubbed fast tight circles. “Oh my gosh, yes!” You whined, reaching up overhead to tangle your fingers in his hair. You forced his mouth down to meet yours and the pressure in your core snapped. Your moans and cries of pleasure were swallowed by Sam’s lips and he could have swallowed a thousand more.

He worked you through your orgasm until your body went limp in his arms. Slowly, he came to a stop before pulling out and quickly working himself in his hands. After catching your breath though, you turned back to Sam, placed your hands on his shoulders, and used them to spin the two of you around and push him back onto the bed. His long legs hung over the edge and you settled yourself between his knees, gently grasping his member, still slick with your wetness, and worked him with your hand.

Sam lied back on the white duvet, head thrown back in bliss at your touch. Your hand felt so much better than his own as it worked up and down his shaft before coming up to circle around the tip. He was rock hard and ready to burst at any given moment. When you leaned forward to like a long stripe along the underside of his cock, he was done for. A few more pumps and Sam fell apart in your hand, painting your hand and his stomach with his seed. “Shit!” The muscles of his abs contracted mesmerizingly as the waves of his high rolled over him.

Your hand slowed as his climax came to an end, his member softening in your hand. You wiped the mess he’d made on your hand on your breasts and stomach, knowing it would be easier to keep those parts of you off the covers than your hand. With a heavy sigh of crashing relief, your body fell onto the mattress beside Sam and you both stared at the ceiling in a fucked out post-coital haze.

“So, does this mean you don’t hate me anymore?” Sam asked after a few moments, surprising you with the genuine tone behind the semi-joking question.

You stared up at the chipping popcorn ceiling, “I didn’t for like two seconds but now I do again just because those were the first words out of your mouth.” Your voice was steady, unwavering, and Sam cringed inwardly, avoiding eye contact entirely. That is, until you sighed and continued, “But, I guess, if you wanted to take me out for a drink sometime there’s a slim chance I wouldn’t object.” This time, there was a teasing smile on your face when you turned your head to look at Sam.

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Princess Part 12

Harry Potter Marauders Post Hogwarts 

Link to Part 11 

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: M

_____

(the next morning)

You stood outside of Sirius and Remus’ front door waiting for one of the men to answer. Regulus stood beside you with his hood up. The less that there were chances for Regulus to be recognized then the better off the both of you were. He looked down when your arm tightened around his.

“Alright?”

He questioned. You nodded, periodically looking over your shoulder.

“Fine. How are you feeling?”

You knew that you were asking Regulus this question fifty times a day and it was annoying him. He would never say anything but you could see that “look” in his eyes. Whether Regulus would admit it or not, you knew that your lover was still dealing with the after-effects of nearly being killed and of that god awful potion that he drank. Regulus wouldn’t say it but you could see how pale and sickly that he looked from time to time. The days that he seemed to feel the worst, Regulus was happy to do nothing more than to curl up with his head on your lap and sleep all day. As you would sit and stroke your fingers through his hair, you had a bad feeling that Regulus would be in “recovery mode” for a long time. If it took you chasing after him to make sure that he wouldn’t waste away in front of you then so be it.

There were also the darker “effects” that he was going through that you didn’t want to think about. Regulus was drinking a lot more than you had ever seen before. You knew that the nightmares and the physical pain that he was going through contributed to this but you were still worried. When Regulus had to have a drink to be able to function, you knew that there was a problem.

He wouldn’t admit to it either. When you would politely mention that he was drinking too much you either got some snippy comment to bug off or mind your own business. Luckily for you, the only positive side of Regulus being drunk was the fact that he turned into a needy snuggly mess that didn’t want to let go of you. That particular outcome could either be nice or problematic depending on what you were doing at the time. Cleaning the house with him trying to snuggle you the whole way was difficult.

“I’m fine, princess.”

He replied, curtly. Regulus knew that he blatantly lied to you and that he should feel bad but he didn’t. He didn’t want to tell you that he felt like vomiting in Sirius’ bushes. If Regulus told you that he wasn’t feeling well, you would probably try to mother him and that was the last thing that he needed at the moment.

Part of Regulus was thrilled to be going to stay with Sirius (he wasn’t going to say that out loud) the other part was pissy about having to give up what independence that the two of you had gained. It was nice to finally have his own home that he could share with you (without his parents hovering) now he had lost that for the foreseeable future. What little independence that Regulus had gained was being snatched away and he had no input in the matter.

I’m doing this to keep Y/n and me safe. I’m doing a good thing.

Regulus muttered over and over in his head as you nuzzled closer to him. He breathed in the scent of your perfume and automatically felt somewhat better. The positive about the whole thing was the fact that you were going to be with him. Barty Crouch Sr granted you leave until things “smoothed over” and Regulus was thrilled about that. Maybe in the, however long this hiding thing was going to last, he could convince you that you didn’t need to return to work for that horrible man.

Looking down at you, Regulus felt instantly bad about his response. You didn’t say anything but he could see the annoyance in your eyes.

“You look beautiful, love.”

Regulus leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek. He let his mouth linger on your cheek until you finally took the bait and turned to wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re so cute when you blush.”

Regulus said with a smirk as you dropped a hand to lock around the lapel of his coat.

“Be a good girl and kiss me.”

You didn’t need much more encouragement than that. Regulus groaned the moment your mouth was on his. Whatever negative feelings that the two of you were previously thinking about seemed to vanish the moment that the kiss became heated.

“I have a feeling that we are about to be seeing a lot of this.”

Regulus immediately pulled away from you the moment that he heard Sirius’ voice. Quickly turning to the door, Sirius and Remus stood watching the two of you with amused smirks. Remus was actually being respectful and looking at the ground. Sirius was gleefully watching like he had never seen two people make out before.

“Really, Sirius? You are going to stand there and watch?”

Regulus muttered. Sirius shrugged.

“It was more entertaining than what was on TV. I was afraid that you were going to choke Y/n your tongue there for a moment.”

“Pervert.”

Regulus grumbled as Remus stepped out of the way.

“Okay, that’s enough. Please come in.”

Regulus wrapped his hand back around yours before limping back inside. Sirius’ eyes focused on his brother before turning to you with a frown as if questioning you what was going on. You quietly mouthed “later” to him. Sirius nodded and followed the two of you into the living room.

He already knew about Regulus’ newly found “drinking” problem. To be honest, Sirius was shocked that both Regulus and himself weren’t alcoholics. They had seen and gone through enough shit to be complete boozers. Sirius had assumed it wasn’t as bad as what you said until he saw how rough Regulus actually looked. He had assumed that you were just being a worrying wife now he wasn’t so sure.

Regulus sat down on the couch and moved to pull you down next to him. Sirius quickly stepped in.

“Y/n, want to help me make some tea? Remus won’t let me be alone in the kitchen ever since I almost set it on fire cooking dinner.”

Regulus gave his brother a cold frown.

“Did you figure out that the smoke alarm isn’t a timer?”

Sirius smirked.

“After it went off a few times and nearly scared us all to death. Y/n, I like your tea so scurry on into the kitchen.”

That wasn’t a total lie. Sirius really did enjoy your tea. He actually enjoyed any food or beverage item that you put in front of him. That was the one good thing about the brief period in which you were separated from Regulus. Sirius ate well. He assumed your cooking was something to keep your mind off of his brother and Sirius just sat back and ate the rewards.

The moment that the kitchen door was shut, Sirius turned to face you.

“What’s going on with him?

You sighed.

“He’s drinking more. I’m worried about him. He thinks that he is just fine but the man I know doesn’t drink that much.”

Sirius sighed before looking back up to your face.

“Is he treating you okay?”

You quickly nodded.

“Of course. We have our days but most of the time he’s just happy being near me. I’m not complaining about that either.”

Sirius rolled his eyes before grinning.

“I swear you two and this lovey-dovey stuff makes me sick. You two have been all over each other since we were kids. Gag! I always knew that the two of you would end up together. On a serious note, thanks for taking care of him. We’ll make sure that he gets better. I don’t want you to worry about that. I’ll kick his ass back to health and happiness.”

Neither of you noticed Regulus standing in the doorway. He quickly turned before either of you would see him. Remus didn’t look up from the book that he was reading as Regulus sat back down and for that Regulus was thankful. The last thing that he really wanted was for Remus to look at him with questions on why the boy looked so depressed.

He was making you worried...Regulus knew that you were worried about him but hearing it come from your mouth was another.

Things will get worse before they get better…

(meanwhile)

Voldemort sat at the head of Lucius Malfoy’s table looking gleefully at his followers. Crabe, Rosier, Malfoy….but where was Regulus? Voldemort hadn’t seen the boy in some time and was beginning to wonder just where the young man had run off to? He was aware that Regulus’ fiance had left him and tried to be “understanding” (or what part of understanding that Voldemort could be) as to Regulus’ predicament.

One less thing to tie him down. Regulus will be able to do great things. Now there is no woman to keep him grounded.

Voldemort thought with a pleased smile as Emma Rosier walked into the room with an annoyingly pleased smile on her face. The dark lord never had much affection for the late Evan Rosier’s choice of a wife but she proved to be loyal so that could be useful.

“My lord.”

Emma said with a pleased smile. Voldemort nodded looking almost bored.

“Emma, a pleasant surprise. Have you seen Regulus lately?”

Emma’s smile widened, if possible.

“I actually have, sir. You see, he is back with Y/n and I think that Regulus has found out a rather important secret of yours...about something that is hidden. It seems that Regulus has left us all.”

________

@amelie-black @truly-insatiable @lucasfilms77 @fandomsxxregulus @realgaytrash @spiderxalmighty @exhsle @whymyparentscheckmyphone @jessyballet @knreidy1 @rubyroscoe1 @acciosiriusblack @bennyberry @quuenofblacks @hazncalsgal @criminalyetminimal @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @fandom-trash-worth-it @hankypranky @summer-novak @shaylybaby2032 @emiwrites3reads @li0nh34rt @tas898 @marichromatic @maggioli-m @stuckinsaudi1 @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @knight-of-gleefulness @untoldshortsofthefandoms @sprnaturallover @shitfaceddaniel @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner @deanwherescas

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

Summary: Barba would never admit to being a RENT geek, but when he gets drunk and no one from the SVU squad is there to see him, he can’t resist the siren call of the karaoke stage. You would never approach a stranger at a bar, but when you hear Barba singing your favorite musical, you gather the courage to ask for a duet. 

Rafael Barba x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk. So... use your best judgement. (No smut this chapter just some intense kissing)

4,144 words

The thing about Scotch whisky is, it’s a drink meant to be sipped. A.D.A. Rafael Barba drank a Scotch every day, especially after a difficult case. One or two, mulled upon over the course of an hour. 

At over 40 percent alcohol by volume, the practical difference between Scotch, the gentleman’s drink favored by lawyers and Wall Street executives, and the tequila swigged by rednecks ripping their shirts off at a dive bar is the speed at which the beverages are consumed.

The thing about being a Scotch drinker is, you’re only ever one particularly bad day and a few extra drams carelessly tipped down the hatch away from getting well and truly shitfaced.

This would never happen to A.D.A. Barba. He had complete control of himself at all times. In the courtroom. In his manner of dress. In his speech. He won cases other prosecutors wouldn’t dare to take on, because he was meticulous. He was relentless. And he never let his guard down.

But on this particular day, nothing was going according to plan. All week, in fact, a case he was certain of had been falling apart piece by piece, slipping through his fingers, until today, a man who made Barba’s stomach sicken walked out of the courtroom a free man.

It was his fault. He got cocky. The victims subjected themselves to retraumatization just to testify on the hope of getting some kind of justice, and it was all for nothing. He let them down. He let the SVU team down. The look on Benson’s face when the foreman delivered the not guilty verdict made Barba want to crawl inside himself.

So he did what he always did on bad days, and went to his favorite bar alone to sit quietly and numb his sorrows over a glass of Macallan.

Except it wasn’t fucking quiet. This was supposed to be a subdued, sophisticated establishment that didn’t draw a big crowd. This was his bar! But for some godawful reason, the new manager had decided—unbeknownst to Barba—to try hosting karaoke night.

Karaoke!

He scowled at the colored stage lights. Glowered at the rambunctious crowds of young people. Seethed at the bad 80’s music and off-key bellowing. He dropped heavily into his usual seat at the bar and exchanged withering looks with the bartender, who slid him his usual drink without needing to be asked. What the hell was happening to his life? Barba began to wonder whether he had anything under control at all, downing the dram in one shot.

As he gasped on the fiery liquid burning down his throat, he gained determination. They were not going to take his bar from him. Not a chance. If these tourists and college kids wanted to have their revelry, they would have to do it with a grumpy old killjoy glowering at them. He ordered another round.

***

An hour and a steep tab later, and Barba was gripping the microphone with sweaty fingers, belting out One Song Glory at the top of his lungs.

He rationalized it as “better bend than break,” but the truth was, he had dreamed of becoming an actor before going to law school to please his mother. His inner theater geek was always waiting to slip out whenever he let his guard down, but since that was never, it was side he rarely indulged. Tonight, his head was spinning, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies—and then no need to endure anymore!”

The wooden bar stool creaked as his weight sank back down on it, and he ordered another drink to question about his life choices. “Will I ever be remembered for anything besides my failures?” he asked the glass. He’d come this far from the poor barrio where he grew up, but every step was a fight. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be better than the privileged WASPs he was competing against. He had to be the best. Every little mistake, every lost trial, could be the end of all he had worked for.

Barba was so busy nursing his latest drink, he almost didn’t notice someone else drunkenly belting a track from RENT. Except, as his head swung up to listen, it wasn’t drunken belting at all. A woman with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves was singing so seductively, staring right at him. She winked and sweetly begged him to take her out tonight.

No—he was imagining it. He was just drunk, lonely, and pathetic. She was working the crowd, making everyone feel like she was singing just to them. Maybe she was a Broadway performer to have that skill, or at least a master at flirtation. Either way, she was way out of his league. There was no chance she had singled him out.

***

So what if you didn’t know anybody, and it was dangerous to go alone? You were in Manhattan on a Friday night—you were going to go out and have a good time, dammit!

The promise of karaoke drew you into a small but packed bar, and you were a few drinks in when you heard a voice like an angel and a rock-star had a baby singing a song from your favorite musical ever. The voice belonged to a singer wearing old-man suspenders, a pink tie, and a light coating of stubble from not having shaved since morning. He was fashionable, you guessed. Dapper. But it was that expressive voice that mesmerized you. As he sang, your gut was wrenched with the emotional pain woven through each note.

You were smitten. You tried to go talk to him, but the moment the song was over he vanished into the tightly-packed crowd. It was silly. It was far too bold to approach a stranger in the big city, but the warm tipsy feeling in your gut gave you confidence to hatch a plan.

Step one: Locate him from the stage.

Step two: Impress him.

Step three: Bond over mutual love for RENT.

Step four, if you managed to get that far, was a bunch of squiggly question marks and “kiss his face?” hastily scrawled in pencil. It was a long shot, you knew that. You were way too shy, and he was far too handsome not to have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband. Frankly, even if he were single, he was way out of your league. But still, the nebulous step four could simply be “Have a fun night with your new karaoke buddy,” and that possibility alone made you feel like glitter was exploding inside of you.

When it was your turn to sing, you found him from your elevated vantage—he was sitting far from the stage, at the end of the bar—and tried to catch his eye. You’d been using Out Tonight as your karaoke icebreaker for years, so you’d gotten good at playing up the sexiness, tossing your hair and biting your lip. Your clumsy ass had even picked up a few dance moves to spice it up, and you gave them your booty-shaking all when you saw him look up at you.

You were glad you’d worn the jeans that made your butt look fantastic, and your sexiest, strappiest sandals (which were actually Tevas with a two-inch wedge heel, purchased from an outdoor gear store). He was watching you with fascination as you pouted the lyric, “don’t forsake me,” at him.

It sent a shiver down your spine to think he might really be looking at you that way.

The moment you got off the stage, you were bombarded by guys offering to buy you a drink, asking for your number. It was discouraging that Sexy Suspenders was not among them. Apparently your sexy routine worked, but entirely missed its intended target. Then again, a man like that probably let women come to him.

Ducking and weaving past your suitors like they were physical obstacles and not people, you reached Suspenders. The bar stool next to him was open, held by a briefcase and folded suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was a little mussed. He appeared to be deep in conversation with his empty glass. You took a step forward to approach him, but an anxious constriction in your chest froze you in place.

Who do you think you are?! A gorgeous, sharp-dressed city guy will never even give you the time of day! Your mother’s nagging voice chimed in to warn you not to talk to strange men in bars when you’re out alone, in New York City, no less. You grimaced at your awesome double-dose of anxiety. He would either laugh in your face, or you were about to get murdered. Hooray!

But there was a loneliness in his demeanor that encouraged you he wouldn’t laugh, and up close, you noticed he was so short you could probably pick him up like a little baby chipmunk if things got out of hand. Ignoring how thick his forearms were, of course. But if he crushed you with those, you would die happy.

***

The next singer on stage had started screeching a rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’ with ten drunk buddies, and Barba was squeezing his eyes closed to try to drown them out, so he was caught completely unaware when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Is this seat taken?”

His vision blurred. He had to rub his eyes and look twice to be sure he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Mimi!” he blurted. “From the—nice, um—no. No one’s sitting here.”

He moved his belongings to the top of the bar, and you sat on the vacated stool, quite pleased with yourself. The bartender immediately handed you a pink icy cocktail with a slice of lime, and pointed his thumb to someone at the other end of the bar who paid for it. Barba followed his gesture to a very cute guy in his twenties and felt a twinge of double-edged jealousy that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was most likely about to get up and leave him, and that the drink hadn’t been for him, because frankly, he couldn’t blame you. You did get up, but only to crane your neck to find your benefactor. When you did, you gave the world’s dorkiest thumbs up, while conspicuously putting your hand on Barba’s shoulder.

Barba’s lips spread into a smug bastard what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk as he stared down his attractive rival. His head cocked to the side pleasantly. The other man’s flirtatious gaze fell into an annoyed tick. You sighed with relief as he moved away.

Turning back to Barba, you realized your hand was still on his shoulder and quickly removed it. You inhaled and said, “I heard you singing you were amazing do you want to do a duet together? Can we? I love RENT! I’ve always wanted to do Light My Candle—can we do it together?” in one breath.

Your flurried gush of words nearly knocked him off his stool—he put his hands up defensively and sat wide-eyed, nodding slowly as you went full babbling-nerd on him. You may not have been as suave as he initially thought, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It was disarming, and your enthusiasm was infectious.

Because his instinct to distance himself from anyone he might risk forming a real emotional connection with wasn’t working at the moment, he grabbed you by the shoulders, locked his piercing eyes with yours, and emphatically answered, “Yes. We must!”

***

Having a karaoke partner is essential for Broadway musical numbers, as most of them are duets—two or more characters interacting with each other as the plot of the show advances. Light My Candle was one of your favorite songs, and snagging the mysterious suspendered singer meant you could finally perform it outside your shower.

It was a bouncy back-and-forth duet that was fun to sing, but you forgot how aggressively flirtatious it was until you had to ask him—you hadn’t even asked his name yet—if you had the best ass below 14th street, and about wax dripping between your… um, fingers. But the way he looked at you made seducing him so natural. You just had no idea if it was part of the performance, or if it was real.

When the song was over, you bounced on your toes, clinging to his arm for balance as you tripped on the stairs down from the stage, squealing, “That was so much fun!” He put his hand around your waist to steady you. It felt like it was made to be there.

His face was flushed red and his eyes sparkled with exhilaration, and he quickly agreed to another duet, though he muttered, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, “Thank god no one from the precinct is here.”

Performing together with a partner always makes you feel a connection—even if it’s just drunken karaoke. When you sang one part of a harmony and he picked up the other part, your voices became two halves of a whole. And with musicals, it’s as much about acting as it is singing. He threw so much emotional intensity into the lyrics, which gave you something to respond to, throwing it back at him in fluid conversation as your voice soared above his and dove beneath it again.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and you had a feeling he hadn’t, either.

Not that you had any way of knowing, really. You guessed it by the ease in which he embodied Roger’s stubborn refusal to open his heart, by the mournful way he lifted his drinks to his lips like he was toasting at a funeral. His expensive leather briefcase and formal attire, too, suggested a well-paid but dreadfully boring line of work, like a financial manager.

Your guess was dead-on, in truth. Barba was vigilant against dating anyone he met professionally. Even if there had been a secretary or paralegal or two he’d had chemistry with, for the sake of his career, he could not afford to conduct himself in a manner that could raise even the hint of a scandal or ethical conflict in the workplace. And anyone he met outside of the workplace… well, he didn’t. His entire life revolved around his job.

The bartender had just brought a fresh round of drinks, and your head rested on your fist, elbow on the bar. Barba was staring deeply into your soul with those pretty green eyes, trying to figure out how he managed to get you and how he could keep you.

“We should do Another Day next,” you grinned.

“Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my guitar!” He sang in a gritty rock voice, poking at your chest accusingly while holding an air microphone with the other. You forgot to be surreptitious and blatantly checked for a wedding ring.

After Roger’s verse, you sang back Mimi’s part, seductively leaning in closer to him. “There’s only us. There’s only this...” As you leaned closer, his eyelids drooped, and his eyes darkened. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” The smoky smooth molasses of Scotch was strong on his breath. He studied your face hazily, his eyes drawn down to the movement of your lips. There was no mistaking his attraction for a performance now. You sang softer and softer until your forehead was resting against his, your lips almost touching. Then you just breathed.

“No day but today,” he mulled the lyric and the impulsive circumstances that had led him to being with you in that moment. “I should follow that advice more often.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you murmured. “Here I am in the city, having fun,” your voice slowed to a crawl as your eyes flicked up and down his face, “...with a perfect, handsome stranger...”

His tongue ran over his lower lip again as his eyes dropped to your mouth and clouded over with some sultry thought.

You’re not sure which one of you moved first, but in the next moment his lips were melting into yours, desperate and passionate. That tempting tongue of his ran along your lower lip now, sliding easily inside as your mouth parted to invite him within, swirling in heated wet circles around yours. It was heavy with the taste of Scotch and the faint bitterness of coffee, as if that were all he’d eaten that day. You curled your fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and his broad arms closed around your back and pulled you off your bar stool onto his lap.

His skin was burning hot, and waves of heat coursed up through your body like you were both on fire. Your pulse thundered in your ears until it drowned out the off-key music, and each pounding heartbeat sent a corresponding throb to your cunt. Your eyes closed. All that existed was the messy clashing of your teeth and tongues, the woody-sweet scent of his cologne filling your lungs, the heat of his strong hands on your back, and the bulge of his cock twitching beneath you.

When you finally had to come up for air, and hopped back onto your own bar stool, suddenly self-conscious of how pornographic that nearly was, all he had to say was, “I’ve never done that before.”

You blinked. “You’ve never… kissed someone?”

“Not someone I just met in a bar!” his eyebrows shot up and he sounded so utterly scandalized, your euphoric high from kissing him came crashing down. He saw you as some kind of cheap tramp for kissing him. Pretentious asshole. Suddenly you felt like shit.

You turned your attention to the second round of that fruity cocktail that random guy paid for. It turned out to be a pretty tasty drink, so you ordered another. Maybe you should have given that guy a chance.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Barba asked your profile, not bothering to hide the patronizing concern in his tone.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up.

“Jesus. I thought so. That’s really dangerous, you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pivoted away from him further, leaving him confused. So first he implied you’re a slut, and now he was pulling the whole, the city is full of predators, but I’m a Nice Guy—let me walk you home routine. This is what you get for picking a guy based on how good he sings.

“I did not mean to imply that. I only meant that I’m usually more... careful.” Oh. You must have said all of that out loud. Oops. “But you’re right to be suspicious of my intentions. There are… all kinds”— he breathed the word out in a jaded huff—“of tactics predators will use. Manipulations, brute force, drugs, fake personas… And all they have to do is claim consent and half the time the jury believes it even if the physical evidence is horrifying.” He was getting visibly angry thinking about it, his drink dangerously close to spilling as he clenched his fist around it.

You stared at him. “Um.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m an A.D.A. for Manhattan. Prosecutor. I’m a lawyer,” he clarified when the acronym earned no look of recognition in your eyes. “Lately I’ve been working with the Special Victims Unit, so when I see someone drinking alone late at night, talking to complete strangers,” he gestured at himself. “You have no idea how many sexual assault cases start with this exact scenario.”

“Big-shot lawyer, huh? Sure, now pull the other one.”

“What?” His head cocked at you in utter bewilderment.

“Pull the other… leg. You’re pulling my leg?”

“I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it said by anyone under sixty. Are you secretly an old man?”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re an old man,” you retorted childishly.

His lips folded in on themselves as he tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t know. What can you tell me about the Model T?”

You took a grumpy swig of the fruity strawberry cocktail.

“What was World War II like?”

“So are you really a lawyer, or do you just use that line to pick up chicks?”

“I am, I am!” he laughed. “I can prove it. Let’s see...” he pulled out his phone, brought up a search result for his name, and scrolled through headlines. “DA’s Office Helps NYPD Persecute Immigrant Families,” “Justice at Last for Serial Rapist Victims,” and others rolled across the screen. He narrowed his eyes as his index finger hovered over each one. “Oh, sounds like I’m an idiot in this one,” his mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk, “and I’m a real asshole here… Oh, look, here’s one where I’m the big hero.” He held out his phone so you could see the photo of him in another flashy suit and bold tie, speaking to crowd of reporters in front of the courtroom steps. He looked so sexy in his full three piece suit, and much more severe, his face hard and intelligent. The caption below it praised his victory putting away a notorious rapist, and identified him A.D.A. Rafael Barba.

“Wow. That is you. Who knew I was doing karaoke with such an important guy?” You slung your arm around his shoulders, which were irresponsibly broad and solid. God, being with him felt so right. Casual touches were so comfortable even though you’d just met, and the way he responded, melting under you, sent a wave of heat through your lower back.

He kept flipping through headlines, his brow quirking a little at one, eyes narrowing at the next. Then he saw one that made him stop scrolling. He put the phone down on the bar and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair, blinking back tears suddenly forming. You caught the glowing screen before it automatically locked. The headline was from today. “Local Teacher Found Not Guilty—.”

His head dropped into his arms on the bar. “It was my fault. If I had done something different, been more prepared...” A sad groan emitted from the Barba puddle.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” you soothed, and rubbed his back sympathetically. “So one guy got acquitted. It happens every day.”

“I know,” he growled. This fact was the opposite of comforting.

“You’re sure he was guilty?”

“He did it. To at least a dozen kids over the last two decades, but no one wanted to testify, or the statute of limitations was up, and then our key witness… There must have been something I could have done, something I didn’t think of. I let him get away with it.” His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his arms. “I fucked up.”

You kept rubbing circles over his back, whispering soothing words to him. You leaned down and peppered his head with soft kisses. He shifted off the top of the bar and began crying into your chest, his arms wrapping around you like a baby lemur. You held him tight, suddenly understanding that this was the memory he came here to drown. This was why all night you had caught him looking wistful every time the conversation lulled. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s alright. Shh.”

His arms tightened around your waist, then relaxed, tension melting from his body. “This is nice,” he sighed into your shirt, enjoying being snugly pressed against you, surrounded by warmth. “Thank you… this is nice.” He never let anyone comfort him like this. Never let his need for comfort show under his stoic exterior. If his judgment were functioning properly, it would have struck him as a red flag how easily he sought comfort from a stranger that he wouldn’t have accepted from his closest friends, but it felt good to let it out.

Eventually, he remembered his dignity and sat up, drying his eyes on his sleeve and glancing regretfully at the wet splotch he’d made in your shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He picked up his latest glass of scotch, and swirled its half-empty amber contents before setting it down again. It was possible he had drunk enough.

“It’s OK. You had a bad day.”

His lips tightened at the corners in agreement. “Usually Liv is the only one who tries to cheer me up. So, thanks for…” He closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You’re very nice.”

Your chest fluttered. He was terribly cute, and far too vulnerable for you to be having these lascivious feelings about him.

[uwu-boll]

Yesterday I consumed nearly 4 grams of mushrooms. Here is what that was like for me:

First, this isnt my first rodeo. I've consumed psychedelics a few times before; I wouldnt call myself necessarily experienced but I have an education background in psychopharmacology and I have a couple of trips under my belt already so I knew what to expect and how it was going to feel going into it. 2 months ago. my girlfriend and I purchased 7 grams of mushrooms to split for our anniversary weekend this past week. We purchased a hotel room - I wanted to avoid doing this at home due to a very stressful living situation - and situated our setting so as to be best prepared to go about our experience. This included water, music, videogames, some snacks, etc. The necessities.

Our day started following a night of several shared margaritas and burgers between us. We went swimming, had coffee and a light breakfast, went to therapy together, and then a healthy midday lunch. Following that, we gathered the supplies for the night and settled in at around 3pm. Starting then, I measured out the dosages for the both of us; 2.75g for her, 3.87g for me (the dosages were more or less arbitrary, but we had a ballpark of what kind of experience we were looking for). She ate hers straight up, while I prepared a 'lemon tek'; powdered shrooms soaked in lemon juice for some time. There is some science behind it, but the idea is to shorten the duration or the experience while making it more intense. This also helps with digestion to prevent nausea, although there will still be some present as your body tries to 'reject' the chemical.

My shrooms sat in lemon juice for 20 mins before I tossed them all in orange juice for me to take big gulps of. Disclaimer - I HATE the taste, smell, texture, EVERYTHING about mushrooms. This... isnt necessarily better, but it's the best way to consume them short of capsules, I've found.

3:25 PM: I start drinking my pulpy orange juice - mushroom cocktail. It tastes like sour orange juice, because of the lemon juice I added, but the thought of the mushrooms in there makes me gag before I even get the concoction in my mouth. I can already tell this is going to be an endeavour. I take one big swig, maybe a fifth of the bottle, and approximately a quarter of the dose. I wait about 5 mins before taking another swig

3:35: one more swig, followed by a dab, hoping that the weed will calm my tummy. It does, but not before I nearly puke coughing up a lung

3:45: I finish the cocktail. This whole time I'm watching my girlfriend - who is approximately 15 minutes ahead of me having already dosed - set up the Nintendo switch and design a character on Tony Hawks Pro Skater, the remastered edition. She finishes, we take a dab, and we start playing. We, for some reason, start with a VS game, first to 500,000 points. I dont know why we thought that was a good idea, but we did. From here on, times are approximate.

Approximately 3:50: We are mindlessly skating in complete silence, absolute fixated in this game. I'm pretty high from the dabs as it is, so I'm spacing out and having trouble coordinating.

Approximately 4:00: I'm focused entirely on how gross my stomach feels having drank the cocktail. My body feels heavy, and it's very difficult to coordinate in the game properly.

Approximately 4:15: We are probably 100,000 points into this game before we both realize how long it's going to take before anyone wins. Were both kinda over it, and clearly struggling with performing and we only know it's going to get worse. As the come up begins, I feel a profound sense of anxiety. Recognizing it as the comeup anxiety, I dismiss it, but it's quickly becoming pretty overwhelming. The lemon tek, in shortening and intensifying the experience, creates very powerful come ups. We stop playing THPS and switch to Super Mario 3D World, which makes me feel better

Approximately 4:30: We get through 2 levels before we stop playing for the night. We decide to cuddle and try to calm each other down. We put on Bo Burnham's 'Inside' to listen to while we come up, which was a great idea because we love him. Really got us talking about our pasts and the meanings behind each of his songs. My body is very heavy, but I feel at absolute peace within it - I'm not biting my nails compulsively or shaking my legs - despite the come up anxiety and the slight nausea. I feel attached to the bed, I didnt want to get up even if I had to. I am absolutely CHEESIN, smiling so hard my cheeks still hurt a day later.

Approximately 4:45: I am staring at the wall, looking at what appears to be a pattern overlaying the texture of the wall. I see the same pattern on the bathroom floor. I'm questioning as to whether or not it's really there. I quickly move to the ceiling - a popcorn ceiling - where I am blown away; the lighting in the room makes the ceiling look both purple and green. My pareidolia is going crazy and I see constantly shifting patterns in the white noise that is the popcorn ceiling. The crazy thing is knowing that there is no pattern to the nonsense I am seeing, but making out patterns regardless. I stare at this for awhile. The ceiling is flowing like water.

The exact order of events henceforth are kind of a blur. We lay in bed for the rest of the night, but the topics of discussion vary from point to point, mostly us complimenting each other and praising each other. At some point, Inside ended, and we listened to Hamilton. However, I hardly remember both the end of Inside nor the entirety of Hamilton, and so it's likely that around d approximately 5 oclock, began the Great Existential Breakdown (TM)

At approximately 5 oclock, I was peaking. Emotions were running high, and, in response to being hungry, I had a breakdown because I hated the fact that I was born into a world dominated by cruelty, inhumanity, and the insatiable drive for profit. I hated that I lived in a world where something as simple as hunger was a problem, and that food - a human right - is commodified. I hated that consumption was obligatory, and that to feed the endless gluttony that is the human need to consume, we exploit both our fellow humans, and the planet. I hated that in that obligatory need to consume, weve facilitated this social climate in which it's okay to pollute our world and exploit the human labor condition so as long as its convenient to the consumer and profitable to the corporation. (Now that I think about it, this may have been spurned by Bo Burnhams 'That Funny Feeling', which I feel like is his most powerful song on the album. ) This quickly evolved into how being born, and forced into a world without your consent where conditions like this exist in the first place is inherently a violent act, and that having children is immoral until we create an environment where those conditions are obsolete. Then to how bullshit it is that I am forced to take care of a meatsuit for the whole of my life, but I have to pay to upkeep all of it as if i had some choice in the matter. This lead to me talking about how I wanted to be a transient observer of the universe, untethered to any physical point in space. Not quite dead, not quite alive - still able to see things happen, but not be able to participate. I then went on to say how I didnt think suicide was the answer to my problems because that doesnt necessarily get rid of the conditions that lead to my despair, but rather creates new problems for my loved ones. I knew that the key was to live in despite of the despair and to continue on in search of my own personal meaning.

This breakdown lasted approximately 3 hours and was very emotional for both of us. We spent a lot of time crying and talking about stuff weve never spoken about before. The comedown was very gentle and helped me feel very cathartic and relaxed. Over the course of the comedown I took several dabs, a few of which brought me back to 'The Wonky Space' (TM). However, this was short lived. My girlfriend sat in the tub naked from the waist down, which quickly turned into a bath, and from there, after my breakdown, we started to relax, watch some Shameless, went downstairs, got some snacks, some drinks, and went to bed.

Before I fell asleep, and once I knew the experience was 100% over, I took some time to reflect and felt very satisfied with what happened. It wasnt at all what I expected the night to be, but I felt like I needed to do that, and experience that kind of existential pain. I felt very relaxed once I got control of my body again, and that peace - the general sense of wellbeing, happiness, lack of anxiety, connectivity to my partner and my fellow man - has persisted well into the next day, and will likely continue for at least the next week. 10/10 would do again.

Would I say I had a bad trip? No. Was it a good one? N...no. but I had a great time, it was fun, and enlightening, and helped me realize where I feel like I am struggling mentally.

[prolestariwrites]

Open For Me [1]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/Reader Tags: Explicit sexual content, First time, First love, Violence, Death, Implied dubcon, Implied drug-induced sex Rating: M Part: 1 of 5

Summary: Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil. A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for months and I’m excited to finally be publishing. Thank you especially to @wordborne and @solynacea for feedback on this story. Credit to @drusoona for the Vergil pic above and the many sent my way that helped immensely. This story is written and will update every Friday, five parts in total.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Chapter 1: February 1994

That’s the problem with being the strong one. No one offers you a hand. —m. t.

“Come on,” you whisper as you unlock the front door and slip inside. Vergil follows, and you lean around him to quietly press the door shut and turn the deadbolt with a click. Pausing, you listen for any sound, but the house is dark and quiet. The truck outside means that at least your stepfather is home, but it’s late enough he’s probably sleeping off whatever he drank for the day. Mom is working nights, so no chance of running into her.

You don’t bother to turn on any of the lights, leading Vergil carefully up the steps, making sure to avoid the one that squeaks. His presence behind you makes your senses heightened, because if either of your parents found out you brought a boy home they’d have your ass and you’d be lucky to make it out alive. You hadn’t said as much to Vergil, but he seems to know instinctively, and he is silent as he follows you up to your room in the third-floor attic.

Once safely inside, you shut and lock your door before flipping on the bedside lamp. The room is bathed in warm light, and you turn nervously to see what he thinks. Vergil surveys the room, his face expressionless, but you breathe a sigh of relief when he nods. “It’s nice,” he says.

“Thanks.” Suddenly embarrassed, you gesture to your bed. “Want to sit down?”

“Sure.” He drops his bag quietly and kicks off his shoes, well-worn boots that are too expensive to belong to him. Everything he has is too expensive to be his, the leather jacket that he shrugs off and hangs on the doorknob, the chain around his neck that holds something under his dark t-shirt.

Vergil is a street kid, one of the many that roam around selling drugs and shoplifting to get by, but he’s different. Even though everything he owns is surely stolen and he doesn’t go to school or have a job, he’s not like the other punks who hang out on the corners. You had seen him around a bit, coming into the community center once in a while when they hand out box lunches or to rummage through the clothes bin. There had been something about him, some kind of air that made him stand out from the usual homeless kids; as if he didn’t really belong, as if he was from somewhere else, some time else.

Finally your curiosity got the better of you. You hang there too, a place to go that’s not home, and one afternoon as he was looking around with a scowl, you dared to go over.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said, looking him up and down.

“No you didn’t,” he had answered.

To your surprise, he had actually seemed almost alarmed. So you changed tactics and asked, “You need some help?”

“I don’t need help,” he said. “I’m looking for a phone.”

You jerked your chin to the side. “Payphones are over there. Need a quarter?”

“Thanks.” He had taken your quarter and made a call, and afterward you told him about the shower in the back he could use if he wanted. He had hesitated, but then nodded, and twenty minutes later when he had emerged with his silverish hair all wet and slicked back you were almost in love.

He kept turning up, and whether you made sure to run into him or he made sure to run into you, you didn’t know. But somehow when you were there, he was too. You learned his name was Vergil, and he was on his own, seventeen years old, just like you. You are a senior in high school, but he never went, and you laughed when he seemed surprised at the suggestion.

“Where do you live?” you had asked him one day as you helped him load some clothes into the washing machine.

“Wherever I can,” he had answered shortly.

“You can stay with me, if you ever get stuck.”

Like most of the teens that frequent the center, Vergil started to help around the place, but most of the time he just hung around, watching you do homework or sweep the floor, using the place to shower and get dinner or just take a nap in the TV room.

It’s cold tonight though, so when you offered a place again, he actually said yes. It still surprises you, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you watch him sit carefully on your mattress. He looks so out of place on your pink bedspread, which is too thin and too short but all you have. “Are you hungry?” you ask.

“Not really,” he answers. “Why are we being so quiet?”

You blush furiously at the question, moving to pick up some things you had tossed on the floor. “My stepdad is probably sleeping. He can be mean when you wake him up.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you snort. You peek over your shoulder. “Not much longer though. I’m graduating in June and then I’m fucking out of here.”

“You’re leaving?”

You nod and dump the clothes in the hamper. “Yeah. I’ve been saving for a place. Gonna go to the city, get a job waitressing or something and try to take some classes. I want to be a nurse.”

Vergil considers this and nods. “You’d be good at that. When are you leaving?”

Shrugging, you reply, “I don’t know. This summer. Why, you want to come?”

His eyes widen slightly, then he surprises you again by nodding. “Yes. I’ll come.”

You smile and move to the bed, pressing your knee to the mattress as you straddle one of his legs. “Good,” you say, your arms going around his shoulders as his wraps around your waist. Then you lean down to kiss him, and your mouths seal together with a sigh as you settle on his lap.

It was two weeks ago when you had first kissed Vergil, stealing one when you were saying goodnight before heading home. You had been staying later and later just to hang out with him, and he was a regular now, there just to see you. Vergil even started walking you home, although you made him leave you at the corner, afraid your parents would see you walking up with a boy they wouldn’t approve of. It had been nothing more than a peck, but the next night he had kissed you properly, and every night since, leaving you in a daze when you turned down the block to your house.

His mouth is just as hot, just as firm, his lips lingering over yours. He slides his palms over your hips before slipping under your shirt, and you nibble on his lip as his fingers move upwards, his touch on your bare skin making you shiver.

The room is quiet, the only sound your heavy breathing mingling as he takes off your shirt and you unbutton his jeans. Shyly you undress before he climbs over you, and you run your hands over his chest, his body just lean muscle. Hanging on a thin chain is a red jewel, and you pause to examine it as he cages you in with his arms. “This is beautiful,” you whisper, but he cuts off any other remarks with another kiss.

His eyes are intense as he slides between your thighs. “Open for me,” he whispers. The red pendant hangs between you, the bedroom light making it sparkle just a bit, and when he lowers against you it presses firm and cool against your breasts. It’s your first time, and you wonder if it’s his too, but you’re too scared to ask because neither answer will honestly make you happy. So you pull him into another kiss as the head of him nudges against your opening, sighing into his mouth as he presses inside.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Vergil sits on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, and thinks. Sleeping on a mattress had felt almost foreign to him, it had been so long; even on the nights when he ended up in a shelter or crashing at someone’s place, it was on the floor, or at most a couch. A real bed with a real pillow and blanket had given him a strange sort of unease, so he had spent most of the night watching you sleep, pleased with that at least.

The clock on the bedside table reads ten minutes until seven. He should go, but he is reluctant. It is bitterly cold outside, telltale frost on the window that shows the temperature is below freezing. It’s also Saturday, which means that the places he would normally go to, like the library or the mall, will open later than normal. He is also wary of running into someone on the way out and getting you in trouble. Even though he knows the way through your house already, having memorized it like second nature on the way in, a wayward creaky step or a loose board in the floor could alert someone he is there, and that would be disaster.

Most of all, though, he doesn’t want to leave you. Vergil glances over to see you still asleep, his lips curling into a small smile as he presses his mouth to his fingers. Last night had been… unexpected. But it was exciting and lovely and your kindness in giving him a place to stay was only second to how amazed he had been when you kissed him. He is always amazed by you: like a bright star, he thinks, something that gives life and warmth. But he is cautious, always cautious, because too much sun could burn.

Something shifts in the house, prickling along the back of his neck, and Vergil knows he made the right choice. A few minutes later there are footsteps in the hallway below, a door opening and closing, running water. Some muffled words and more footsteps, then the house falls quiet again, whoever it had been visiting the bathroom now back to sleep. Still, his presence is dangerous for them both, and they could have easily met on his way out.

You shift on the bed, your hand sliding along the bedsheet in your sleep. Deciding on staying, he lays back down, folding his arm around you to pull you against his chest. You are wearing one of his shirts, something that had made him snort when you asked, but it was endearing and Vergil was happy to lend something. Your legs curl around his and he sighs, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet.

How long has it been for him to have such a moment? Childhood, probably, before Dante would wake up in a ball of frenetic energy and tear through the house, feet slapping on the floor and his voice echoing down the hallway. Vergil would lay in bed like this, or sit on the windowsill, watching the snow fall or the leaves dance on the wind or the flowers peek out from the tree outside his window. Dante’s room was across the hall, but that had been Vergil’s place to himself, his thinking spot.

He looks out the window, swallowing uncomfortably at the memory. The last time Vergil had been in his room, he was looking for a tennis set. He had found one of the rackets but not the other, and he huffed around his room in frustration, debating if it would be worth checking Dante’s. Dante could never clean up after himself, and searching his room would be doomed from the start.

Deciding to check the backyard, Vergil had hopped down the steps, wondering where his brother had gone off to. Once he found the other racket his plan was to make Dante play a few games, knowing he could beat him easily. They were evenly matched at most things, but Dante was always better at sports than Vergil: except tennis, which is why it was his favorite game.

You shift next to him, and Vergil realizes he is holding you a bit too tightly. He eases his grip, pushing away the next set of memories of what happened as he hunted through the sandbox for the missing racket. His fingers are trembling, but he forces them to relax, finally rubbing soft circles on your lower back as you open your eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he says back.

You yawn and press closer. “I half expected you to be gone,” you say sleepily.

Vergil chuckles. “I thought about it. But I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Good.”

He sighs, going back to staring out the window as you doze off. An hour slips by with him lost in his thoughts before you stir again, stretching your limbs before turning to smile up at him. “Hey again,” Vergil says.

“Do you want to hang out today?” you ask.

His brows dart up in surprise. “Sure, I think? You mean here?”

You shrug. “As long as we’re quiet. No one comes up here. You can stay here if they call me for something.”

Vergil nods, but doesn’t let himself get excited. Another night or two under a roof is too much to think about. Instead he rolls a bit to cover you with his body, his hand firm on your hip.

You sigh and press your face into his neck, and Vergil swallows thickly. Holding you like this, the only person who has ever been so kind to him… it’s a bit overwhelming, and he needs to take a few minutes to ground himself. Being alone has always been the plan: it’s safer, less messy, less likely to attract the demons who inevitably find him. Whenever there has been a bystander who gets in the way it just brings trouble, so Vergil makes it a point to stay away from humans as much as possible, venturing near them only when he needs something.

But you… his thumb runs circles on your hip before his palm slides up to your waist. You are small and fragile and wouldn’t stand a chance against the things that hunt him, but staying away from you seems impossible now.

“Are you feeling okay?” you ask quietly. “Seems like you’re thinking about something.”

Vergil shakes his head. As he bends down to press his lips to yours, there is a drop of emotion that feels unwelcome: fear. He had long ago stopped being afraid, years on his own teaching him that only strength and discipline matter, that hesitation and fear only brought weakness. And weakness means death.

“Vergil,” you sigh, and he kisses you again, firmer this time as he presses one leg between your thighs. Arms wrap around him as fingers slide into his hair, the sensation thrilling and soothing at the same time. His heart is racing as his hand reaches out to grab the bedsheet with a fierce grip.

Beneath the surface of his skin and muscle something pulses in his blood, something he has felt for years but cannot name, something wrapped up in his DNA. All he knows is the drive to unlock it, whatever it is, but it has never been so clear or so fierce. Vergil has the sensation that whatever part of himself is still hidden is just out of reach, but being with you here brings it closer than ever, and he wonders if you could be the key. Anxiety mixes with desire and it is confusing and terrifying but he wants more of it, more of you.

The bedroom door slams open and you both break apart, jolting with the sound. Your hands press to his chest, pushing him off, and you slowly rise to take in the half-dressed and half-drunk man that stumbles in the door. “What the fuck is this?” he growls, pointing at Vergil. “Who the fuck are you?”

“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, trying to push around Vergil. “He’s a friend of mine, and needed a place—”

“Fucking slut! You brought a boy home to fuck in my house?” he shouts. He takes another step forward, swaying slightly as his words slur. “Your mother’s too soft on you, I been saying it. After I kick his ass I’m gonna teach you a lesson, whore.”

Vergil can feel you go tense behind him, a little noise escaping. But he feels settled, faced with a threat he can understand, and he shakes off your grip to step into the middle of the room. “Disgusting pig,” Vergil spits, scoffing when the man gapes at him. “Turn around and leave if you know what’s good for you.”

The man lets go a string of curses that are barely coherent before he crashes forward, swinging. Vergil easily sidesteps him, his reflexes quick as he grabs him by the back of the neck and launches him towards the floor. He bounces against the wood, shouting as his chin cracks open, and when he rolls Vergil kicks him in the stomach.

“Vergil! Stop it!”

Your voice is the only thing that stops him. It pulls Vergil back from where he kneels over the man, fist raised to connect with his face. Vergil takes a few deep breaths, feeling the pulse of his power subside to a manageable level, and beyond that, the taste of what he cannot unlock, taunting him to hit the drunk and see what happens.

The stepfather looks up with wide eyes, as if shocked that he is on the floor, and Vergil makes a face. He reeks of beer and his face and neck are smeared with blood, two things Vergil hates. He stares back, jaw tightened as he grits his teeth; but as he lowers his fist he sees a bit of red tingeing the corners of the man’s eyes.

It is not the red of a night of drinking or of stumbling bleary-eyed from sleep: it is the red flash of a demon.

He stands and hauls the stepfather up, ignoring your protests. “Stay here,” he barks, dragging the man out and down the attic steps.

Once they hit the hallway, Vergil uses his real strength to slam him against the wall, nearly hearing his teeth rattle. He lifts the man easily and leans forward to threaten him. “I know what you are,” Vergil growls.

“What—”

“I can see you,” he seethes, talking to the demon. “This human left himself wide open with his vileness, didn’t he? So you listen.” The stepfather holds his breath as Vergil’s grip tightens. “Make sure he leaves her alone. Don’t speak to her, don’t look at her. Or I’ll come back and take care of you as well, understand?”

The man nods, so Vergil lowers him slowly. He lifts a hand to wipe blood from his mouth, and after shooting him a glare he pushes past and into the bathroom, slamming the door. Tension radiates through Vergil’s body but he purposely keeps it in check, taking his own moment before climbing the stairs back to the attic.

He finds you sitting on the bed, clutching the blanket tightly. “What happened?” you whisper.

“Nothing. He won’t bother you.” Vergil grabs his bag before moving to where his boots lay, leaning over to pull the laces. “I should go. I’ll see you—”

“Wait!” You run over and launch yourself, catching Vergil around the waist. He looks down in surprise as you hug him tightly, damp face pressed to his chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur.

Vergil tilts your face up with a frown. He looks at your eyes, eyes that are free from any trace of demon, before stroking your cheek. “You don’t have to go,” you say, and Vergil nods, knowing that leaving is impossible now.

[raz-b-rose]

Donsy Week 2020: Day 4: Future

This one twisted in such a way even I was surprised lol. Liked the experiment and will probably rewrite it sometime. 

Words: 1705

@donsyweek

Donald always thought he could plan his whole life out, and his teacher encouraged that mindset with the constant writing of future plans. He always thought he would graduate high school and go to college for a degree that could take him anywhere. He would travel, sailing the seas of the world. That was not how everything has played out so far. 

The war happened, and he was drafted fresh out of high school. He sailed the seas alright, just not in the way he desired. It was a difficult choice on whether or not to make friends during his time in the military. He could lose any of them at a moment's notice, but spending that much time together it was inevitable that a brotherhood would be formed. 

He saw the world, but he wished he could forget some things. The rubble of the cities they patrolled for survivors or made their base camp were seared into his mind. He could smell the smoke and taste the dust still to this day. 

He hated camping and campfires now. He hated canned food, he hated the smell of plaster and he hated the feel of sand and dirt beneath his feet.

Afterwards, returning home to Della and Scrooge, part of him was chipped away at by his experiences and his memories constantly taunting him with the inability to put himself back together. 

Della understood, to a degree. She flew for the army, delivering troops and supplies. She was never in war zones though, rarely saw the aftermath of battles. She tried to help, she tried to get Donald to talk.

However talking to someone, only months after returning home, who did not fully understand his experiences was difficult. He did not want to share the knowledge of war with his sister, he wanted her to live knowing nothing of the horrors he saw. It was easier to share with someone who already had that same knowledge. 

Donald sat on a  bench across from the sea. He was thankful that despite everything, his love for the sea was left untampered with. He could watch the waves all day. He did watch the waves all day. Scrooge didn’t know how to handle the changes in Donald, so for the most part he had left him alone. Alone to relive and process everything while staring out at the water. 

The sun reflected off it now, the early morning chill in the air ineffective towards him. Even after all this time at home, he still rose before the sun, the still peacefulness of the mornings, before others took to their respective days, a reminder that he fought to save these mornings for everyone else and that was good. 

The sun made its way above the horizon little by little, the colors gaining a purple and pink hue blending with the blue of the sky and the sea. The asymmetrical blob that was the sun quickly gained power and was impossible to look at anymore. 

So he closed his eyes, relishing in the salty air and humid breeze. He took in the creaky, warped weather worn wood of the bench with his fingers. He sat there every morning and knew every groove and divot of this wood almost as well as he knew the wood of his boat. 

The wood shifted, a weight taking occupancy beside him. He didn’t open his eyes, wanting to prepare himself in his bubble a little while longer. Interactions with the citizens of Duckburg were still challenging, something he knew he had to work on to regain a sense of normalcy. Not for him, he would never be normal again, but for the citizens. So they could be comfortable in their innocence around him. 

Slowly he opened his eyes, the sky now a lighter purple, pink all but gone, and blue taking control with the sun to declare the day had begun. He glanced at his seat partner, surprised to find a young woman as the occupant. 

She looked around his age, her feathers white and perfectly held back in the fashion he had seen most women wearing these days. He wasn’t sure what it was called. Della wasn’t one to take notice of fashion trends, so he himself never knew. 

Her hands were placed delicately in her lap, eyes closed as she too seemed to be talking in the morning. He saw her take a few deep breaths, so he elected to leave her to her thoughts, still deciding himself if he would even strike up conversation with her when she was done. 

Looking back to the water, he watched the waves push and pull, a constant game of tug of war. A battle of the elements. A battle of nature. Something natural and uncontrollable to man. Maybe mankind had taken too much inspiration from the natural world around them. 

She adjusted herself beside him, reminding him of her presence. Her eyes were now open and Donald couldn’t help but stare. This woman was not only his age physically, but it seemed spiritually as well. 

She had a heaviness to her eyes and a haunted look to her soul. She met his gaze as well, their shared memories being exchanged with a single glance. He saw the way her hands shook the slightest, a broken smile offered to him. 

“Daisy.” She said softly, holding out her hand. 

“Donald” Her hand was not soft. It had a roughness to it that spoke to her experience and sacrifice. 

“It’s a beautiful morning.”

“It truly is” 

They didn’t speak anymore after that, letting the wind converse for them, the waves adding their own opinions. One by one, people leave their homes, people passing by in front of them, blocking the view. 

Donald stands, offering a hand to Daisy. She takes it without hesitation. Both of them were quick to break contact however, both walking deeper into the city with no destination in mind. Donald observes as men dash down the side walks, almost all of them checking their watches while they walk. Women had their own sense of urgency, walking as quickly as they could in their heels, moving politely through the crowd. 

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Her voice holds a gentleness, quiet and sad. 

“I would be honored” He follows her into a shop Donald swore wasn’t here before the war, but he could never be too sure. 

He sips on his coffee, watching the patrons outside the window, the waitress having just left the table with their orders. He hears the clink of her spoon as she stirs her own coffee. Besides Della, she was the first woman he met that drank coffee almost as black as he did. 

“It's strange isn't it,” He says quietly, “It's almost as if nothing has changed, but we both know that isn’t the case.”

She hums in response, lowering the cup from her lips, “I only just returned,” His eyes widen a little, while she takes to looking out the window, her eyes clouded with memories. “I was a nurse, trying to rebuild something, anything for the survivors.”

Donald felt guilt bubble in his gut, grief weighing heavily on his shoulders. “I was no help in that department, I can barely hold myself together on a good day”

“Nothing wrong with that, the things we’ve seen, it's enough to haunt you for three lifetimes” She whispered, slowly looking back at him.

He laughs dryly, “I was going to travel the world, but now, I think I’ve seen enough”

She laughs as well, “Yeah, but home feels just as foreign right now, does that ever change?”

“I still feel that way too, I don’t know if it will. I hope so.”

The waitress returns, placing their food in front of them. She offers them a blinding smile and a command to enjoy before flouncing over to another table. He picks at his eggs, still having trouble with his appetite even after all this time.

“What are your plans now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I used to think about my future all the time, but now it just seems so clouded and impossible”

She nods, taking a bite of her own eggs, “I don’t think I can be a nurse anymore, not right now anyway”

“Enough for three lifetimes,” He reiterates, she whispers the words again herself, gaining that far off look once again.  

Donald looks back out the window, taking notice of all the families and couples and friends and single people all going about their lives. He glanced back at Daisy. It was easier to talk to someone who already shared in the knowledge and he knew he had to talk eventually. 

“Would you be interested in being foreigners together?”

“That sounds nice,” Again her tone was soft, but there was less of an element of sadness to it now. And so two foreigners in their home city shared a delicious breakfast. 

Donald always thought he could plan his whole life out, and his teacher encouraged that mindset by writing about future plans. He always thought he would travel, sailing the seas of the world. That was not how everything has played out.  

Donald jumped, gasping in surprise at the dull pain on his stomach. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, shaking off the remnants of his dream, slowly gaining his bearings. 

“Dad! Come play with me! No more sleeping! ”Lying across his stomach, with wide eyes and an even wider smile was Thomas. He ruffled his feathers, slowly sitting up in his chair, adjusting his son so he sat on his lap. 

“Donald, what have I told you about afternoon naps? Now you’re going to be up late again tonight” Daisy enters the house, closing the door behind her, scolding Thomas for leaving the door open again. 

“Yes Ma’am,” He sassed, smirking at Daisy’s glare, rising to kiss her, prolonging the kiss when Thomas started to shout his disgust. She smacked him gently on the shoulder, kissing his cheek before leaving the boys alone. 

Donald wasn’t too sure how his future would look for a short period of his life but now, with Daisy and Thomas, he knew it was a good one.

[fictionaffliction]

Better Forgotten

Chapter Two

Pairings: Loki/OC

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, memory loss, chronic pain

June 6, 2024

The clock seemed too loud in Dr. Hansen’s office as the afternoon sun filtered through the unshaded windows. She glanced up at it, annoyed.

2:30 . Her clients were due half an hour ago. She swallowed her frustration and massaged her brow as she picked up the phone and called her receptionist, Lauren, whose desk was down the hall.

“Yes, Dr. Hansen?” Her voice was chipper, likely because of how much coffee she drank.

“It looks like the Coopers are a no-show. Can you please phone them and see if you can get them to reschedule?” Ingrid said, looking over their file. It was disappointing to see them skip an appointment. They had made good progress over the last two months.

“Sure thing. Would you like me to send in your next client?”

“He’s here already?”

“Yep.”

Ingrid was used to people being right on time or five minutes late. To be half an hour early was nearly unheard of in her practice.

“Sure, send him in,” Ingrid.

“You got it!” Lauren said and hung up the phone. Ingrid found herself smiling at her young employee’s enthusiasm. Sometimes she wished she could bottle some of that energy for herself. She took a moment to refresh her lipstick in the mirror she kept in her desk drawer and smooth the stray hairs that had escaped her barrette.

There was a hesitant knock on her office door and she put the mirror away. She stood and straightened her skirt, crossed the plush carpeted floor, and opened the door.

The man at the threshold was tall and slim, wearing a dark suit and deep green tie, which only served to emphasize his pale complexion. His coal-black hair was combed neatly back, which almost hid how long it was. She smiled up at him pleasantly, not allowing herself to linger on the strangeness of his presentation. He stared back at her with striking green eyes. Something about him seemed slightly familiar, but she couldn’t place it. For just a moment, he looked ever so slightly unnerved, but she blinked and his expression was once again composed.

“Mr. Lawson?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Yes,” he said in a voice just slightly deeper than she had expected. He took her hand gently. “Dr. Hansen?”

She nodded and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He stepped into the room and looked around. The office was decorated in Ingrid’s favored modern style, with tones of soft grey and blue being the dominant color scheme. She found the colors to be calming.

“You have a lovely office,” he commented, searching for something to say. She kept her face in its practiced neutral expression as she made note of his body language. He held his hands clasped in front of him. His posture was excellent but rigid, with his chin held a little higher than what she would consider to be normal.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. “I like to keep the space organized. I find that it invites a clear mind.” She gestured to the soft blue couch with an open hand in invitation. “Have a seat,” she said as she settled into the short-backed chair on the other side of the coffee table, crossing her ankles gracefully. He sat, but only after she was sitting.

“Would you like anything before we begin?” Ingrid asked.

“No, thank you,” he said, settling in his seat. She flipped open a legal pad in a handsome leather portfolio.

“Your first name is Walter, yes?” she asked. He nodded. “Well, Walter, what do you do for a living?”

“Advertising,” he answered in an almost practiced way. She scratched a note on her pad.

“Ah, psychology’s evil twin,” she quipped. He smirked.

“I suppose so.”

“And what brings you in today?” This was the first hurdle. Sometimes a client wouldn’t be fully transparent and Ingrid would have to coax it out of them. Walter shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“I’m...I’m looking to reconnect with my wife,” he answered, his voice tense. She nodded in acknowledgment, taking another note. “I was told that you were the person to come to for this sort of thing.”

She smiled. “Well, marriage and family counseling is my specialty.” She pointed her pen at her degree on the wall. He remained stiff. Best to stay on topic, she decided. “Are you and your wife separated?” He nodded, thin lips pursed as though he was deciding what he would and wouldn’t tell her. “Divorced?”

“No.” His tone was final. She watched him closely, eyes betraying nothing but patience. He seemed to realize how rude he had sounded. “We never discussed it,” he amended. Her eyes darted to his ring finger, still adorned with a gold band carved with designs she couldn’t quite make out. He followed her gaze. “I never had the heart to take it off.”

“You sound a little embarrassed about that,” Ingrid observed. His knuckles turned white as he briefly clenched his fist.

“I’m not known for being particularly sentimental.”

Ingrid looked up from her notes and smiled softly. “Then you have made a very brave choice in coming here. It can be difficult to allow yourself to be vulnerable.” He chuckled and shook his head as though trying to shrug off the idea.

Ingrid let him linger a moment in the silence that followed before calling him back to the present. “How long have you been separated?” she asked.

He thought for a moment. “About thirteen years.”

She raised her eyebrows and leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. “That’s a long time.” He nodded. “Were either of you victims of the Decimation?”

Walter nodded again slowly, keeping eye contact with her as though trying to make her understand his reasons without speaking them aloud. She would get to the bottom of it eventually, but if he did not wish to discuss it now, she certainly would not push it. The elimination of half the population had caused a significant amount of trauma for most people. The sudden loss of so many loved ones left many feeling alone and instilled a sense of fear and uncertainty that left them feeling hopeless. Some feared that a second Decimation would happen, and the lives that they had managed to piece together would be shattered once more.

It was a topic for another session.

“Have you spoken to her since then?”

“No,” he said, his voice quiet. “No, I haven’t.”

“I see.” She sat back again and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, the Decimation certainly has affected relationships, whether it’s torn them apart or prompted couples to get back together. That being said, thirteen years of separation changes the dynamic of a relationship. It may be...difficult for your marriage to recover.”

He frowned. “Are you saying you can’t help me?” There was an icy edge to his voice that unnerved her. Something had peeked through his carefully crafted fa ç ade. Rage, loss, desperation? It seemed to be all of those things at once and then none of them at all.

“Not at all,” she said after a pause that was longer than she meant it to be. “I only want you to be prepared if your wife does not wish to pursue reconciliation.”

He ran his fingers over his ring, staring out the window again. “Don’t say that, Doctor. I need her back.”

“I will do everything I can,” she assured him.

“Thank you,” he said, refocusing his eyes on her. She nodded.

“The Decimation was only six years ago,” Ingrid continued. “What happened to prompt such a lengthy separation before that?”

Walter considered her carefully before replying, watching her as keenly as she watched him. “There was a...family disagreement regarding an inheritance.”

“And this was enough for you to separate?” she asked curiously.

His jaw clenched and relaxed again as he shifted in his seat. “Yes,” he answered after a pause that was a mere moment too long. She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

Perhaps she could prompt him in the right direction. “Tell me about your family,” she said gently.

“I don’t see what they have to do with anything,” he hissed, a small snarl revealing itself under his sharp nose.

Though the severity of his reaction was slightly unusual, the sentiment was not. The connection between one’s upbringing and how they handled their personal relationships were inextricably linked, whether it was because the person wanted to be just like their parents, or the opposite of them, or simply because they mimicked what they observed and knew to be normal. More often than not, they were entirely unaware of the connection.

“Think of your psyche as a house.” Ingrid began. “If your childhood is your foundation, then everything built upon it is dependent on it. If the foundation is flawed, then the frame of your house might tilt. You might not even notice it at first, but sooner or later you’ll want to hang a picture and that picture will never quite hang straight.” He tilted his head and raised a brow in what appeared to be amusement. “We need to examine your foundation to see why your pictures aren’t hanging straight.”

He allowed himself a chuckle. “I don’t know if there are enough hours in a day to recount all of my family’s failings. Besides, I don’t think you’ve ever heard a story quite like mine.”

She sat forward. “Try me.”

He took in a deep breath and let it hiss loudly out between his lips. “It’s complicated.” She squinted quizzically at him. He huffed. “Why does this have to be so difficult?”

Ingrid closed her notebook and set it down. “The first session is always the hardest,” she said reassuringly. “Why don’t we take a break? I could personally use a cup of tea.” He sighed and nodded. She got up and went to the electric kettle she kept on the side table by the door and flicked the switch.

“I’ll take a black coffee,” Walter said from the couch. She set a bag of pomegranate tea in her mug to steep and poured him a cup of coffee. She held his drink out to him as she came back around to face him.

Walter’s hand reached out to take it from her. As he took the clean white ceramic mug, his fingers brushed against her skin. Surely an accident, but Ingrid found herself holding his gaze. Something familiar scratched at the back of her mind. Not quite déjà vu, but more like the hazy memory of a long-forgotten dream. But the harder she tried to dredge it to the surface, the further down it sank. A pain bloomed behind her eyes. She looked away and massaged her temple with her free hand.

She hoped it wouldn’t turn into an episode. The idea of getting a migraine during an appointment was mortifying.

“Is something the matter?” Walter inquired.

Ingrid shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of a headache. I’m sure some tea will clear it right up,” she assured him with a smile as she resumed her seat.

Walter sipped his coffee thoughtfully. His gaze did not leave her as he brought the mug to his lips. She found it slightly unnerving. The spot behind her eyes throbbed again. She set her mug down with a wince as she pressed her hand to her forehead firmly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Walter asked, a slight tone of worry coloring his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she insisted as the pain subsided again. “Sorry, that was so strange. Let’s continue, shall we? Tell me about your wife.”

He rubbed his thumb along the handle of the mug and sighed. “Gentle, kind most of the time, and beautiful of course.”

“Of course,” Ingrid agreed with a smile, though she wondered if perhaps he was seeing through lenses tinted with pretty memories. “What’s her name?”

Walter’s hands stilled. He set his cup down and steepled his fingers in consideration as he examined Ingrid from across the room. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

“Sigyn.” The name fell from his mouth with reverence, the syllables passing over his lips like an incantation. Longing draped itself over the word and Ingrid felt a pang of sympathy. His wife’s name was sacred to him even after so long being apart from her.

“Like the myth,” she remarked, pretending not to notice Walter’s initial hesitation. He sighed heavily, his eyes sliding away from her. “Have I upset you?” she asked with a practiced but sincere tone. Walter frowned but remained silent, running his fingers over his bottom lip in thought. “Walter?”

He glanced up at her again before getting to his feet and crossing the room to the window. Ingrid stood and followed him as he clasped his hands behind his back, reminding her of a ship’s captain surveying the deck below. She wasn’t alarmed by the behavior, having dealt with many couples trying to hash out issues and finding themselves pacing in an attempt to work off the nervous energy.

“Myths,” he muttered, studying the New York skyline. “That’s what we were reduced to.”

Her brow furrowed. We?

“Only they weren’t myths, were they? Thor is real. He’s out there making a spectacle of himself every chance he gets,” he said, spite cutting into his voice.

“Well, yes. I suppose that’s true,” she admitted. “A lot of things we thought were impossible have been proven possible over the past few years.”

He turned abruptly to look at her again, green eyes piercing her own in a way that made her suddenly feel like she was under a microscope. “More than possible, Doctor. Factual.”

She opened her mouth to agree but found herself mute at the sight of a golden shimmer passing over Walter’s body. She gasped and stumbled backward into her desk, knocking over a stack of paperwork. He stepped toward her as his suit was replaced by a black breastplate with gold inlay catching the light of the afternoon sun. A long green cape flared out behind him as he continued forward with a wicked smirk.

In his full regalia, the image of him finally placed itself in Ingrid’s memory.

“You-” she said breathlessly. “You’re Loki. You’re the one who attacked New York!” she exclaimed shakily, pressing herself farther against her desk.

His smile faded, replaced by a bewildered expression. “What?”

Panic ripped itself through her veins and she did the only thing she could think of. Ingrid opened her mouth to scream for help, but her cry was quickly muffled by Loki’s hand.

“Don’t,” he said in a low voice, keeping his hand clamped over her mouth.

She fumbled for something to defend herself with and blindly snatched a copy of the DSM-V, hitting him over the head with the heavy book, knocking his hand away. He grunted at the force of the strike but hardly seemed slowed by it. If anything, he looked annoyed. She made to punch him before he caught her hand, arresting her blow just as she was about to connect with his face. She tried again, only for him to repeat his defense and catch her other hand.

“Stop it!” he demanded, scowling down at her.

She stilled, trying to remember any negotiating tactics she could think of. Did the same rules apply to alien supervillains? “What do you want from me?” she asked, trying to match his scowl.

His grip slackened just a little. “I’m not--”

At that precise moment, the door came flying open and Lauren burst into the room. Ingrid wanted to shout to her to run, but then she saw the pistol trained on Loki’s chest.

“Why do you have a gun?!” was the only thing Ingrid could manage.

“Get down!” Lauren shouted back at her.

Ingrid felt herself being pushed away as Loki lept away and the first shot rang out. Ingrid screamed and took cover behind her desk, covering her ears in an attempt to block out the deafening noise of gunfire. She heard glass shatter and in a strange moment of confusion wondered how much replacing the windows was going to cost her. The gunfire stopped and Lauren swore.

Ingrid peeked out from behind her desk to see that the middle window was shattered. Her ears were ringing and her hip ached from where she had hit the floor, but she seemed to be otherwise unscathed. Loki was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes finally landed on Lauren, who was reloading her magazine.

“Lauren, what the hell-?” Ingrid said breathlessly, unable to articulate further.

“Dr. Hansen, are you hurt?” Lauren asked, her voice lower than Ingrid was used to hearing.

"No, I don't think so," she replied quickly.

"Good. I need you to come with me," Lauren said, barely letting Ingrid finish her sentence.

“But-”

“Now.” She grabbed Ingrid’s arm and pulled her out into the hallway and to the stairwell. Ingrid immediately regretted wearing heels that day and quickly pulled her shoes off, opting to carry them instead. Lauren urged her to hurry as she led a now barefoot Ingrid down the four flights of stairs to the ground floor parking garage.

“Where are we going?” Ingrid asked desperately.

“Getting you out of here,” she replied.

“But why? He’s not even here anymore,” the bewildered psychologist pointed out as Lauren pulled her to a shiny black sedan and ushered her into the passenger seat. “Hey!” Ingrid protested as the door slammed without a response from her receptionist.

“We don’t know that,” Lauren said as she hurriedly got into the driver’s seat and turned the key, peeling out of the parking garage as quickly as she could. She directed her phone assistant to call someone named Maria Hill. The robotic voice confirmed the call and the phone was answered before the first ring was finished.

“This is Hill,” said the steady, feminine voice on the other end of the line.

“Hill, this is Soren. We’ve had an incident,” Lauren said. Ingrid made a face.

“Soren?” she asked. Lauren just shook her head as a signal for her to be quiet.

“Who is that?” Hill asked, concern coloring her tone.

“One half of the incident,” was Lauren’s reply. “I have Dr. Hansen with me. She was confronted by Loki.”

There was a brief silence before a stern reply. “Get her here, now.”

“Already on it. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Good.”

The call ended and Ingrid looked at Lauren questioningly. “Am I being kidnapped?” Ingrid asked. Lauren smirked.

“No Dr. Hansen, you’re not being kidnapped,” she said in a flat tone that only vaguely revealed her amusement.

“Then do you want to explain just what the hell is going on?” Ingrid said, anxiety now dissolving into irritation as she slipped her shoes back on her feet. “Starting with your real name.”

“I can explain everything once we reach our rendezvous point, but I can tell you that my name is Soren and I am not a secretary.”

“Oh, well that explains everything,” Ingrid said sarcastically. “I want to know what’s going on, now, before I go anywhere with you.”

Soren stopped the car at a stoplight abruptly and Ingrid’s seatbelt constricted painfully across her chest. The younger woman turned to look at her with a face devoid of any amusement, her brown eyes narrowed. “Look Doctor, I know you’re scared and confused, but I have been ordered to keep you safe. We aren’t sure what Loki wants or why, but we’re going to figure it out. Right now, you just have to trust me, okay?” Ingrid swallowed and nodded. “Good.”

Soren hit the gas as the light turned green.

“Can I at least ask where we’re going?”

“Greenwich Village.”

The hour and a half it took to get to the grey nondescript building would have been a mere forty-five minutes if not for the New York traffic. Ingrid thought mundanely about how traffic in large cities was awful no matter where you went. They pulled into a parking structure that appeared to be largely abandoned.

“I know, it’s pretty austere looking,” Soren said. “We just want to make sure we aren’t somewhere where he might hear us.” Ingrid couldn’t stop the anxiety from creeping into her chest as they parked next to a black SUV. Soren got out and looked around before gesturing for Ingrid to follow. She obeyed and they climbed into the backseat of the second vehicle.

“Glad you made it,” a woman in the driver’s seat said to Soren as the two of them slid into their seats. The interior of the car was neat, with all the bells and whistles and then some. It smelled like new leather, though it must have seen frequent use given how much it must have cost.

“Me too,” said Soren. “Dr. Hansen, this is Maria Hill.”

Maria turned to look at her and offered her hand. Ingrid shook it.

“Don’t worry, Doctor. We’ll take care of you,” she said with a reassuring smile. Ingrid tried to smile back, but only managed a grimace.

“I appreciate it.”

A tall man with cool brown skin and a patch over his left eye turned to greet them from the passenger seat. Ingrid watched all three of them closely, her apprehension only growing as more people were introduced into the equation.

“Am I under arrest?” she finally asked.

“No, you’re not,” the man said, turning to look at her with his single eye. “Dr. Hansen, my name is Nicholas Fury,” he said, shaking her hand. “Just call me Fury. I heard you’ve had quite the afternoon.”

“You could say that,” she replied. He smiled, though she sensed he was only trying to put her at ease. She set her jaw. “Are you with the FBI or something?” she asked.

“They wish,” Soren said.

“We represent an extra-governmental intelligence agency that’s been keeping tabs on persons of interest,” Fury explained. The vagueness of his explanation did nothing to calm Ingrid’s nerves.

“And I’m a person of interest?” she asked. Fury nodded. “Why? I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know,” Fury assured her. “It isn’t that you’ve done anything wrong, Dr. Hansen. We’ve seen your records. Graduated NYU after coming here from England after a boating accident killed your parents and nearly killed you too.”

Ingrid’s eyes went wide and she pressed herself into her seat, watching him carefully. “H-how did you-?”

“Like I said, intelligence agency.” His voice was smooth and calm, though she could not help but detect the barest hint of a warning through his words. Her mouth felt dry. She tried not to show her alarm, but she was certain they could all feel it pulsing through the air between them.

“But why me?” Ingrid pressed.

Fury and Hill exchanged a look, communicating all they needed to without a word. They must have worked together for a long time.

“Your accident corresponded with an unusual atmospheric event,” Fury began as he turned back to face her. “We wanted to make sure it was a coincidence.”

“That was thirteen years ago,” Ingrid reminded him. “You’ve watched me for that long?”

“Yes, and it turns out it was a damn good thing we did,” Fury replied with an edge of irritation. “I know this is difficult for you to understand, but after the events of the past several years, we couldn’t take any chances. The fact of the matter is that in our line of work, there are no coincidences. We don’t know what Loki wants, but we know that he came to you for a reason. It’s our job to figure out why.”

An overwhelming sense of dread filled her gut. Ingrid looked down at her lap, nervously wringing her hands together. “How can I help?” she asked quietly, looking back up at them.

“Why don’t you explain what happened today?” Fury said as he adjusted his posture to get comfortable.

Ingrid took a deep breath and told them how she had had an appointment with a man named Walter Lawson, everything he had told her, and how he was acting somewhat strangely, but nothing terribly unusual until he revealed himself to be Loki.

“He didn't hurt me, but I don't know if that means he wouldn't have,” she said. “And then Lauren...I mean, Soren, burst into the room.”

Fury squinted at Soren with his one eye. “The alias you picked was Lauren?” he asked skeptically.

Soren shrugged. “Rhymes are easy to remember.”

Fury shook his head and returned his gaze to Ingrid. “Is that all that happened? Seems strange that he would come looking for therapy, as much as I'm sure he could use it.”

“I’m sure it was a ruse,” Soren offered.

Ingrid frowned in thought. “But, he seemed sincere.”

“He’s the god of lies, a master manipulator. He knows just what to say and how to say it to get his way,” Hill reminded her.

“Yes, well I’m a doctor of psychology,” Ingrid said stubbornly. “I know what manipulation looks like.”

The three of them exchanged a look. “This isn’t a judgment of your abilities, Doc,” Fury said. “Loki could sell you oceanfront property in the Sahara desert and you’d thank him for it. He’s been at this a long time. Longer than any of us have been alive or even hope to live. I very much doubt he was telling you the truth.” He raised his brows expectantly as Ingrid considered this. Her pride deflated slightly. He had a point.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

All three breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” Fury said. “You’re sure nothing else happened during your appointment?”

“Yes,” Ingrid said. “I did get a headache in the middle of the appointment, but that isn’t out of the ordinary.”

“Do you get headaches often?” Fury asked.

She nodded. “I’ve gotten migraines a couple of times a month at least since my accident,” Soren and Hill exchanged a look at the mention of the accident.

“My mother got migraines,” he said. “I don’t envy you.”

“I’ve got some memory loss too,” she added.

“Sounds like something you should have checked out,” Hill suggested.

“I have,” Ingrid said. “CAT scans couldn’t find anything wrong. I guess it’s just one of those things.”

Hill, Fury, and Soren exchanged a quick look. “Must be,” the man said, looking back at Ingrid. “Dr. Hansen, I know you’ve had a harrowing day, but I’m afraid it’s not quite over yet.” She felt her stomach tighten. What more did they want from her? She was exhausted and her headache had continued to persist since the confrontation, and she had the distinct feeling of grime on her skin from running through a parking garage barefoot. “We’re going to have to insist that you stay in protective custody until you’re in the clear.”

“What?!” she exclaimed indignantly. She felt like he had just told her she was grounded. “But what about my patients?” she asked in desperation. “I can’t just leave them without explanation.”

“We’ll get it sorted out with you. Soren has told us that your practice is your pride and joy,” Hill said.

“Where am I supposed to stay?” The logistics were sending her reeling. She wasn’t prepared to drop a small fortune on a hotel room.

“We’ll take care of it,” Fury assured her. “The most important thing is that you’re safe.”

“I appreciate everything you’re all doing for me, but I’ll be fine if I go home,” Ingrid insisted. All three sets of eyes looked at her incredulously.

“With all due respect, Dr. Hansen, I don’t think you understand what this man is capable of,” Hill said, watching her closely. “We’ve arranged for a place for you to say where I’m sure you’ll be safe.”

“And where on earth is that?” she asked, her irritation growing more apparent.

Fury smirked. “We’re going to visit another contact of ours.”

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXVII: Reflection

I

For the past couple weeks, I spent my days in bed. Alternating between short meals, bitter pills, and glass after glass of water. When I did manage to get up, the fever and dizziness took hold. Slow movements piled onto the notion that at any moment, I would collapse.

An unfamiliar experience; the chills were nothing new, but with all of the added conditions, there was more than cold. When I spoke, the sound and taste conjured images of clouds of chalk dust. Breathing alone was difficult enough, as every other inhale and exhale risked a dry, painful cough.

On the day it went away, I found myself awake. That old, familiar cold reclaimed its place as the defining condition. If the rest of me had reclaimed its strength, it didn’t show.

When I sat up, the others outside of the room came to mind. What they might have been up to. How vulnerable I had been. Vulnerable and weakened. None of the occupants brought harm to me, nor did I have reason to suspect that they would. While the others could have bade their time as they deceived me, lulling me into a false sense of security, that possibility was slim, now nonexistent, as I had survived my illness. Yet ‘trust’ wasn’t the right word.

But I would like to trust them, if it were possible.

Ray and Sunny left me alone during that time. I respected that. Demetria didn’t, which I didn’t respect. But then she helped me, even when I attempted to push her away. So I guess that was something similar to trust.

My behavior wasn’t ideal. It was a shameful display, to say the least. Yet she didn’t give up on me. I even allowed her to bring a doctor – an entity that I didn’t trust. That doctor in particular wasn’t as bad as the ones I’ve dealt with in the past, but she was still unnerving.

Dr. Cold-Slob or something like that. Back when Sunny and I brought an unconscious Ray to her hospital, It should have been a done deal to just drop him off and go. But then she stared me right in the face with a death glare that rivaled my own.

“Don’t just dump someone on the floor. That’s not how it works,” she scolded me.

“Yeah, Remora, couldn’t you be careful with my husband?” Sunny then joined in. I shifted my focus, unsure whether to focus on Sunny or this horror doctor.

“Uh, I dropped him off. Isn’t that good enough?” I managed to ask. Should have been an innocent enough question. But she then saw who I had brought, then looked back up at me and had the most sinister smile.

“If you want to make it out of here unscathed, I’m going to have you mop up these floors. Then, after you’ve done all that, as long as he’s not busy, you may visit him,” she instructed, with a voice and look that said I had no choice but to visit him. In the end, it was fine enough, since I needed to discuss my plan with him anyway, but I would have been fine waiting at least a day or so.

Doctors had always been frightening, but in a different way. Those men with their empty, laughing faces.

“Look at you, so frigid!”

“We’ll find a cure for you sooner or later, Rhea.”

Back then, I was much more naive. I never meant to give up on seeking a cure for my condition, and I was much more willing to seek out a solution from any avenue I could find. They got a kick out of it and told someone else with my same name and face the same tired routine. Many times they would say that they were on the verge of a breakthrough, that if I continued to hand them much of my money, they would find a solution.

It never came. Of course not.

For a while, I drank snowberry tea: a poisonous berry that was said to induce sweats and a lightheaded, dizzy feeling. It was only a temporary solution, though, and when the cold returned, it was even stronger than before.

Despite such false hopes, I was rid of one illness. It was all thanks to Demetria, that person I once regarded as an overbearing pest. I never was much for regrets: sure, I ended up hurting Sunny’s sister, but my actions had a purpose and her tears were just an unintended consequence. I could have said that I regretted being born, but I didn’t have control over that, so it would have been ridiculous to me. Still, I regretted the way I was toward Demetria during the time I was sick.

Now that I was better, I wanted to be the friendliest version of myself I could be. I wanted to be among everyone else. It was tiring, and I knew it was a futile effort, but I wanted so bad for some kind of connection. It was enough to make me think that maybe I didn’t have to be so cold all the time after all.

“You should know better. You’re not the type who can be around others. The only time you feel alive is in the heat of battle. That’s what you know. Trying to be any different is just living out a fantasy,” a voice in my thoughts told me. Someone with the same voice as me.

“Fine, then. Let me live out a fantasy,” I told the voice. Then I near-pleaded with it, “just let me have it for now.”

But I knew how right that voice was, because she was me. Those were my thoughts. If nothing else…

At last, to the one who had helped me, I wanted her to know. She deserved that much.

It was the orphanage who gave me my name: Rhea Flection. For the first few years of my life, I immersed myself in the books of fairy tales they had available. Princesses, fairy godmothers, magic, and wishes coming true. My wish, of course, would have been not to be so cold all the time. I’m pretty sure that’s what I’d wish for as a kid. It’s not like it wasn’t a problem back then.

Because of the constant chill, I ended up attached to the works of Hans Christian Andersen, his story ‘The Little Match Girl’ in particular. That story was the one I could relate the most to: it was about a little girl who was forced to sell matches out in the freezing snow. It had a happy ending, too, one where the little girl froze to death, and in heaven, was reunited with her grandmother. It made me wonder if there was something like that waiting for me as well.

During one of my readings, I was interrupted by a little boy who wanted to play toys with me. He wouldn’t stop, so I turned and bit the same hand he used to poke me with so hard that it bled. Then I went back to my book, peace at last.

That peace didn’t last, and soon the headmistress came up to me.

“Is it true you bit [insert generic boy name here. Maybe it was a pun name]?” She asked.

“Yeah. He was bothering me,” I answered.

“We don’t bite people just because they bother us, Rhea,” she informed me.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not how we solve our problems. We either get an adult or talk it out. Now go apologize,” she tried to explain to me. Not that it made any sense, seeing as it solved my problem. Still, I did so. He sat down and cried a great deal while holding a cloth wrapped around his hand.

“Sorry. You must not have noticed I was busy. Now you know better.”

In those early years, I was known as a “wild child.” Not just in the orphanage, but in foster home to foster home. Despite the fact that I was quiet and kept to myself, did all that was asked of me, I still had that reputation. People thought me weird when I asked for more blankets, and always had my arms crossed while hunched over. My lack of expression was seen as creepy by child and adult alike. Other kids would make fun of me, and soon they acquired injuries.

One day, two men came up to the door of the current house I occupied, and the foster parents already told me that I was on thin ice (ha, ha. Very funny). They had fancy suits, dark sunglasses. Offered the parents more money than they could turn down. So I left with the men. Of course I did.

“We understand you better than others. We know your potential,” they would often tell me. Then, each day, I ran up and down a mountain. No food or water until I reached the top, and again at the bottom. I obliged, however hungry I was, as the hunger and the cold was my only focus.

Soon after, they would show me guns of different calibers. Despite how restless my movements were, I was still when I aimed at the targets. Precise in my aim, being able to pinpoint on what I needed to. When I fired, I didn’t flinch, no matter how intense the sound tore through my ears.

“Good job!” They told me as they smiled and clapped. They often said the same thing back when they had me run. I wasn’t sure what effect they expected it to have.

We were always on the move, never staying in one place for very long. I rested in the back of their cold, metal truck. They laughed when I asked them for blankets, or to turn the heater up.

“It wouldn’t do you any good,” they told me and snickered. I should have listened, but I hoped for a chance. Just one moment where I could experience warmth.

Each place we visited, we ate large meals at restaurants and cafes. They talked about how I should eat as much as I could to prepare myself for what was to come. I didn’t have to be told. All I could fit into my mouth, I ate: large steaks, baked potatoes, steamed cabbages. Anything else I could get my hands (and mouth) on.

Soon we arrived at an empty facility. There there was the obstacle course in an open field, what they claimed to prepare me for. I had to run through it, with a rifle in hand, while avoiding turrets and landmines which emitted sounds when I got near. They told me I could hide behind the barriers which were erected to avoid getting hit by the turrets. That carried its own risks, though, as if a landmine was near a barrier, I’d have to be careful not to get too close. I could also shoot the turrets before they fired if my reflexes were quick enough.

That first time through, my stomach growled.

“You may eat once you’ve completed the course. Understood?” They explained to me.

Not that I understood, but they didn’t give me a choice, so I nodded. Once I ran through, my heart pounded as I listened for the beeps of the landmines. Soon the pounding dissipated and was replaced by a stillness. Even when the turrets rose from the ground, I shot them down before they had a chance to fire. I would jump, keep my distance, and as careful as I was, I didn’t stop.

Near the end, my leg was grazed by a lone turret. Just before that, a landmine set off, and although I had avoided it, part of the blast still burned across the bottom half of my leg. Then the turret came, and I felt the sting as it broke my skin. I turned and fired back, but the damage was already done. When I limped to the exit, I received a lukewarm congratulations.

“Good job,” the two men clapped. “But you got injured. If you were any less careful, you would have died. We don’t want that for you. You mean more to us than that. So we will have you do this again in a few days, and you better not take any damage. Understood?”

“What about my current injuries?” My voice quivered as I looked up and asked. Then I glanced at the bloody leg, which was an inconvenience at best.

“You must learn to tend to your own wounds. There are medical supplies and textbooks you may refer to at the facility.”

I didn’t object. They answered my question and gave me a solution. That was all I needed.

After the second course, I sustained no injuries. More courses followed. Each course was cleared in a faster time than the last until the whole thing was broken down into a series of rhythms and patterns.

When I first cleared the course without injuries, a certain rush came along with it and the cold became less noticeable. However, after I had the pattern down, that rush dissipated. They took notice, and proposed something new.

“How would you feel about taking a life?” They asked me one day with a slight smile and a rough emphasis on the word ‘feel’, as if they already knew the answer. I, however, didn’t understand the question.

“What would I need a life for?” I asked in response. If one were to take a paintbrush, they would expect to paint with it. What application was there for taking a life?

“He means to kill someone,” the other one answered with a heavy sigh. As if I needed the attitude.

“Oh. What purpose would that serve?” I had one question answered, but still didn’t understand the action.

“It’s a chore. Like doing the dishes, or sweeping a floor. Some people just need to die. It’s a big responsibility, but we trust you to do it.”

“I see.”

Whether or not I understood, I agreed, doubtful if I had a choice.

“You never forget your first time,” was a phrase I would hear later on. Yet forget I did. It all amounted to a series of featureless faces blurred together. Once alive, then not.

One assignment I recalled in pieces: me atop a snow mountain. Three or so men. All who were to be ‘taken out’. Two shots fired, each of them in succession. Each in the middle of their foreheads. Down they dropped, blood sprayed onto the two survivors. Alarmed and in shock, they turned and saw me. So I ran, down from the summit and saw a diner, not unlike Ray’s.

My pursuers/targets shot at me, but missed due to anger or possible fear. I was far enough ahead of them that I went into the diner and spotted the manager right away.

“There’s these bad people trying to kidnap me!” I wailed with the most distress I could muster. The manager took pity and told me to hide behind the counter. She then got out a shotgun and as soon as the men came in, shot them herself.

There was a panic throughout the diner, but I paid it no mind and went on about my way. The manager didn’t have time to react to my exit. After I completed the task, my guardians came up and had a new proposition.

“You’ve been bought out by a company,” they informed me. “Think of this as an opportunity: these people pay good money for their assignments. You could end up making more than the richest of men could even conceive of.”

“What need do I have for money?” I asked, disinterested. “As long as I can eat, I’m fine.”

“We understand that, but you’ll find that in many of places you’ll visit, food costs money. Besides, you don’t really have a choice.”

They didn’t have to rub that last part in. It was an unnecessary detail.

Nevertheless, I was taken to the company. Once there, I was escorted by more men in fancy suits. There I was, still a child, and all around me were various shapes and sizes of people much older than me. Much more weary, with empty faces. As I passed them by, I heard them murmur and point my way.

“She looks like she just got a bucket of water dumped on her head.”

“She’s acting like this place is a walk-in freezer.”

“Never mind that, she’s a whole-ass fridge.”

They could say all they wanted. While I could have fought them all, solved that problem, it just wasn’t worth my time. So I ignored it while walking toward the office, where the ones in charge greeted me.

Like the guardians before, the ones who oversaw the assignments wore fancy clothes. Suits and the like. Nondescript features. None of them looked well-equipped, unlike the people they recruited. Aside from protection in the form of their technology, they were vulnerable. Especially if they were caught off-guard.

“Greetings, Rhea!” One of them smiled wide and flailed their arms in what seemed to be their attempt at a friendly gesture. It didn’t fit them at all. “I’ve heard so much about you! I look forward to working with you!”

“You won’t,” I corrected. “You’ll just be giving me jobs to do. That is your role.”

“Yes, well…” Their gaze shifted to the floor.

Next, another one of the overseers stepped forward and gave me a rundown: I would be assigned missions. Most, but not all of them, would involve killing. I would be given the necessary equipment and sent via teleportation device to the time and place required to do the job. I could enjoy some time to myself before the next assignment. When I was allowed to return to the facility, there was a spare room which I could sleep in.

“Do you understand?” They then asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed. One of them then escorted me to my room. Some small, cramped space which resembled a jail cell more than anything else. Wider than a metallic locker only by a margin. Not that I cared what it resembled, so long as I remained undisturbed.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, but we set up an account for you so that once you complete an assignment, your money will go there. You may withdraw from that account at any time. Oh, and before I forget, you’re allowed minimal contact with others. Unless told otherwise, you’re to stay in your room. Okay, I think that about covers it, sound good?”

It didn’t. Neither cover everything, nor sound good. But there was no point in objecting. It was what it was.

So again it went: missions went by, a total blur. Quiet, efficient, that was how I liked to work. But without that rush, of course a restlessness crept back up. Over time, I made small attempts at freedom: dyed my hair blue. Wore jackets. Came up with various names, in case I started to develop a reputation with one, I had another to fall back on.

Years went by as well. Changes in my body. Large muscle mass, a taller and bulkier frame. All for the life I knew. I should have been content.

Restlessness was what laid the foundation: I voiced to them how I desired more of a challenge. Something that wouldn’t be so simple. In other words, a hunt.

“You’re in luck,” they told me, a gleeful smile without the voice to match. “There’s a contract that just got put out for a man who lives in the woods.”

“What’s the challenge?” I asked. Their smiles stretched, with their only reply being:

“You’ll find out.”

Without a second thought, I accepted and warped there. It was some remote place in Alaska. Finding his cabin didn’t take long, and I crept against the side, ensuring I didn’t leave a sound.

Soon, I heard him speak. He sounded relaxed, and seemed to be telling someone something. “Looks like I’ve got some business to take care of. I’ll be back in a little bit,” were the words I made out. He may not have known I was there, but his words suggested otherwise, so I slipped off into the thickets of the trees. I watched from afar as he exited the door and took a few steps forward. The soft, snowy ground would have given his footsteps away. As well as my own. He then called out, “I know you’re there. Come to kill me, have you?”

That confirmed one suspicion, but I didn’t answer his question.

“I get it: a job’s a job, right? No hard feelings? You don’t care what you have to do as long as you get your money?” He called out again, and that time I made the mistake of answering him.

“Wrong. I don’t care about the money, either. I’m just doing this because I want to,” I told him. The next thing he said made me more wary.

“I see. I know where you are now.”

As I aimed my rifle, he disappeared from view. Questions filled my mind about how it was that he was prepared for such a battle all while I maneuvered around and took behind trees.

His footsteps gave him away as he charged from one end and fired off a barrage of shells from a machine gun. I held up a miniature barrier device and blocked the shots, but he charged, clad in heavy armor. So I dashed to the side, split my rifle into two, and blasted away with the miniature guns that spawned from the rifle.

My shots had no effect against his armor as they all bounced off or disintegrated upon impact. At that, I charged as well, then went in for an uppercut, but he blocked my fist with his own hand. If I hadn’t tossed a few explosives and ran, he could have thrown me back into the snowy ground.

The chase was on and I was at a disadvantage. He sprinted behind me. Soon his sprints turned into a slow walk. He approached where I was. Despite being taught to continually run, I laid still under a pile of leaves and snow.

“Would you go so far to follow a company that doesn’t respect you?” He asked. He waited for my answer, and when he didn’t receive one, he continued, “I take it you’re new to this. You look young. You probably think you’re above it all, but the truth is that they’ve got you were they want you.”

As he lifted one foot from the ground, ready to move on, I jumped up from my spot and with a blade attached to my arm, I tried to slice up his face in half. His reflexes were too fast, and he turned his head just in time. All I managed to do was cut off his ear. He didn’t so much as yell, just wince, then he grabbed my arm and held me up. In his other hand was a blade of his own, some thick sword that seemed to resemble a meat cleaver. He was about to strike when I kicked against of his armor with enough force to knock him to the ground.

Before he could get back up, I grabbed my rifle and shot him in the face. No hesitation. It was over.

There was that rush, but it ended too soon. It still wasn’t enough.

When I walked back to his cabin, there was the shape of a little girl through the window. Nobody told me he had a daughter, I thought. Worse yet, she ran outside. I was ill-equipped for such a situation.

She looked up and asked if I was the person his father had business with. I nodded. She then asked where he was. I simply told her, “gone.”

She didn’t understand and still expected him to come back home later in the day. Unknown to her, I was her father’s killer, and she stared at me with an unwarranted expectation. I reached into my pocket for my phone, looked back down at her with my indifferent expression, then I dialed emergency.

“Hello. This little girl’s father just died. Can you come pick her up?” I requested as if I was ordering a pizza.

“Who is this?” The operator asked. “Can I get a name?” Such an unnecessary request. I should have just been able to inform them and that would be that.

“Misty Eyes,” I came up with a name on the spot and relented. “I’m just a stranger who happened to be in the area.”

Rather than wait for someone to show up, I fled the area until I was a considerable distance away. When I received word from my employer, I warped back to the organization’s facility. They all congratulated me, but I only looked at them with disgust.

“Good job, Rhea,” they told me. “We knew you could do it.” Those words ware far too casual for what they had me do.

“You didn’t tell me that man had a daughter,” I informed them.

“You didn’t need to know,” one of them told me.

“On the contrary, I did. I also wasn’t informed anything about the target, why it was they were a target in the first place. From now on, I need whatever information is available for each assignment,” I laid out my demands.

“Does it make a difference who he was or if he had a daughter? A job is a job, and it needs to be done regardless.”

Jeez. And here I thought I was the cold one. Where I stand, they’re much worse.

“It does. If I knew, I could have had been more prepared. I could have adjusted my strategy. I don’t care whether the person was good or bad, but there are factors which should dictate how I go about the assignments. His daughter wasn’t the target, just him.”

“You want to know who he was? Smith Weston was his name. He worked for this company, dedicated his life to it. He knew that if he deserted the company, others would be after him to execute him. It was his own decision to raise a child. But you’re right,’ one spoke with a shrug. ‘His daughter wasn’t the target. You could have done whatever you wanted. Killed her, spared her, whatever. So long as the target’s taken care of, that’s all that matters.”

“So the same thing would happen to me if I chose to leave one day?”

“Look, Rhea. We like you. You get the job done and you don’t ask many questions. But don’t get the wrong idea: you’re not exceptional. You’re dependable, but you’re neither the best nor the worst we have. You’re easily replaceable, and if we need to, we would find someone to kill you as well.”

I soon came to find out just how replaceable I was. One day as I walked to my room, a man stopped me. To my misfortune, it was just about the worst man it could have been: Douglas Fir. I’ve heard rumors about him: Infamous sleazeball. Well known in brothels across time and space. Tried to get any woman within range to sleep with him. With his unkempt beard, greasy fingers, and his trench coat, he already gave off a terrible first impression. Not to mention the alcohol on his breath.

“Whoa, there! Look who it is! Didn’t think I’d see you ‘round these parts. I heard you were off on a mission!” He bellowed. I turned. He had a stupid grin on his face. My face held one of confusion.

“I don’t believe we met,” I told him.

“Aw, c’mon, girl! Don’t be like that! You’re my favorite plaything, after all!”

“Plaything? You really are a slimeball.”

“Wha –?” He shook his head with a clumsy smile. “I’m a nice guy, really. You just gotta ease up around me!”

I didn’t know how to respond next. He leaned over, his intruding gaze made it seem like I was some article of clothing he wanted the measurements for. Disgusting.

“So that’s how it is, huh? You’re her substitute? Ha! That’s great! Two Rheas I can tease!” He slapped his knee, like it was a riotous joke. In turn, my brows creased as I gave him an icy glare.

“What are you talking about?” I hissed.

“Oh, so you don’t know? That’s even better!” He hollered.

“Tell me what you’re referring to before I smash your face in,” I growled.

“Whoa there! Chill, girl! Ha! Get it? Chill? Oh, man! I crack me up!”

I ground my teeth, then pointed to my fist.

“Oh, all right! The big boys probably don’t want you finding out, but me? I don’t give a rat’s ass! Hell, it’s more fun this way! If I were you, I’d be downright elated to find that there’s another you here! Not only that, but the other you? She’s the first one. You’re just her backup!”

He continued, his fist slammed against the adjacent wall as he worked up a storm of laughter.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why they keep you isolated? Or why sometimes you’re allowed here, but other times you’re not? They probably got a system so they can make sure the two of you aren’t in the same place!”

“I’ve never wondered such things. They were never important,” I disagreed with him.

“Of course you’d say that!” He cackled, mixed with a series of belches and coughs, then walked off.

After that exchange, I went up to the ones in charge.

“Is it true there’s another me?” I demanded to know.

“So you found out, huh?” They asked, disinterested in my revelation. “Indeed, you aren’t the first. That title belongs to one a few years older than you, one who is wiser and more experienced. You also may not end up being the last. But for now, there’s you, then there’s her. You shouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“I’m not,” I disagreed. “But why not bother telling me?”

They shrugged a collective shrug.

“You might have been interested in seeing her, if you were to know. One of the laws of multiple universes state that if a person were to be in the same timeline as another version of them, one of the two would have to die.”

“Then, are there others in this company who have alternate versions of themselves?”

“You are the only one. You should consider yourself special – the whole reason we decided to recruit you when we already had one of you prior is because while the other Rhea is greater than you, she’s also not immortal, and we don’t want good talent to go to waste. You have potential to be just as good as her, if not greater. Not to mention, lately we’ve noticed that she’s grown complacent. We trust that you won’t have that problem. We know you to be responsible.”

Those words were crafted in such a way that despite my apathetic nature, it still gave off the desired effect: I grew to resent this other version of me, this version I could never know, never meet. With it, came a sense of pride, that whether or not I cared for the job, it was still what I knew, and I vowed to surpass her.

In spite of it all, I told myself that I already knew they didn’t really value me. That I was no fool; it just didn’t matter, because I didn’t value them either.

That was the history I wished to convey to her. That useless recollection.

I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes. Just as I did so, a series of taps were made against the bedroom door. Although I opened my mouth, I made no sound. No “come in,” nor “leave me alone.”

All the same, the door slid open. Any other time, I would have been annoyed, but the one who entered was the one I awaited, her wavy green hair being the first thing I made note of. Then it was the way she walked in, less a saunter and more of a silent tip-toe.

“How are you feeling?” She asked. Every day now, she asked the same question. Aside from the dull nothingness I always was, my state had improved with each passing day. Still, would it have killed her to change up the questions?

“Better. Thank you,” I spoke. It felt like air, but I knew there was a sound attached. With how clear my words were, it came as a shock.

“Good. I’m glad,” she replied, and began to turn away. If that was the only reason she came in for, I would be cross. She could have just texted me in that case. But I didn’t want a reason to be annoyed. Nor disappointed.

“Wait,” I told her. With the way it came out, it sounded more like a plea. That was no good. My voice really must have still been a little weak. “Sit. Please.”

Now it’s like I’m talking to a dog. How nostalgic. If I recall, when she first entered the diner, I referred to her as a dog. Odd now, how I didn’t seem to see her that way.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” She looked around, then at me.

Damn. That was a good question. I didn’t think that far. Unlike her own room, there wasn’t a chair or a desk. Seeing no other option, I answered:

“On the edge of the bed. If you need to, you can lean against the wall.”

My words came out as an unintended command.

Still, she sat. There I was, someone whose words were never a mistake. Yet there I was, lost.

“So, what’s up?” She asked, sounding perplexed.

I held my palm against my forehead and shook my head.

“First, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the trouble that I’ve caused,” I began. I couldn’t recall the last time I gave an apology.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. People’s mental states aren’t really at their best when they’re sick,” she smiled, but it didn’t look deceitful. “Even if you meant those things, I still wanted to help you.”

“Why?” An automatic response on my part.

“Why? Because you’re worth it,” her breath became more of a gentle breeze. Aside from the upward crease of her lips, I couldn’t focus on her face, even with her close to me.

“I’m not worth it, though. I never have been,” I thought to tell her. But I didn’t. For just a little while, I wanted to live in a world where I deserved the help.

“Thank you,” I replied instead, then glanced at the door. “Um, can you close the door?”

There was still the matter of Tigershark barging in, but maybe if Tigershark saw the both of us sitting on the bed, she’d understand, and leave us alone.

“Sure,” she shrugged her shoulders, then got up. Once she sat back down, I looked around the room. I could only manage to view her in fragments, as my heart thumped, as if to warn me of something.

“I think it’s time I allowed you to know about me,” I let the words slip out at last.

“You don’t have to do that,” she shook her head. “It’s enough just to know you as you are.”

“I know. But I want to. So please, will you hear me out?” That time it really did sound like I was at her mercy. Some kind of whimper to my voice. Like I could have gotten down on one knee and begged. Was there some residual sickness left over?

“Of course!” She waved her hands and backed away a little. “I just wasn’t expecting it, but I would be happy to hear it!”

There was only one way to begin: by clearing away any ambiguity.

“First of all, my original name is Rhea Flection,” as I spoke that name, it came out foreign.

“Oh, come on! You already played that trick a couple of times!” She dismissed. Of course, she was right to. Simply stating a name wasn’t going to get me very far.

“It wasn’t a trick when I told the doctor. However, I am not the same Rhea that you’ve heard of from others. She existed, she died. That is true.”

I waited for her response. Then she nodded.

“I see. I started to suspect that once I heard some things from Wendy, but I didn’t want to see you that way if Remora is who you are now.”

“Thank you for that,” I tried to work up a smile, but it wouldn’t have served a purpose. “However, in order to understand who I am now, it’s important that you know my origins.”

“I understand. I have time. So, go on.”

All that I recalled, I relayed to her, including how I learned of the original ‘me’. Once I finished, I studied Demetria’s face. She didn’t look like any of those things horrified her, nor did they bring her joy. I left out the last bit. About how my beliefs about my other self. Those stubborn delusions. Hopefully she could already infer that on her own. Then, she asked a question of her own.

“So the other you died because you came to this world?” She hypothesized. I could see how she got there. But it was wrong.

“No, not quite. She died on her own volition. She was assigned to remove your cousin’s wife from this world. Whether that meant killing, or containing her, as long as the job was done, that’s all that mattered. Your cousin’s wife, no, Ves, proved victorious.”

“So then you arrived not long after?”

I nodded. Now it had gotten to the part that neither Ray nor anyone else knew. Yet she was about to.

“Yes, but not right away. I was at the facility at the time. I hadn’t received an assignment in a while, yet was kept there. So I went to go up to the ones in charge. But when I did so, I noticed they were gathered together, viewing a screen. Curiosity got the better of me. I managed to make it into the room without any of them taking notice. As I hid behind a wall, I listened in to their conversation:

‘Such a shame Rhea died,’ they lamented. ‘I really liked having her around.

‘Yeah, but suppose it was bound to happen eventually.’

‘Oh well. Good thing we have another.’

‘We’ll just get her to finish the job the first one couldn’t. Second time’s the charm, right?’

They all laughed among themselves. Something stirred in me, however. I already knew how little I was valued. How I was just a prop, a tool. I didn’t even mind that, but hearing those words just filled me with disgust. I killed because I didn’t know anything else. And they knew that.”

I stepped forward, rifle in hand, and shot one of them. The others turned, horrified. They all fell so fast, before anything could escape their lips.

After that, I couldn’t just leave as things were. I couldn’t stay. I knew that others would be after me. So I set up explosives in the conference room of the facility and sent out a memo to everyone under the guise of management that they were to meet in the conference room for a special announcement. I hid a safe distance away so that when everyone else went over, I could hear the explosion. Afterward, I left. To the Earth where the other me had died. It struck me as the safest of choices, because I was already assumed dead there.”

There. No more secrets. All that was left was to watch as she grew horrified.

But that didn’t happen. I waited for some kind of disgust, repulsion. Instead, she simply said:

“Thank you for telling me all this.”

That response made no sense.

“You aren’t upset? Shocked?”

She put her index finger on her chin and looked up.

“No. It’s terrible, yes. But what I find more terrible is that you’ve had to live through such things. You lost your parents before you even met them. You had trouble adjusting, you were manipulated into being that kind of person. I wish you didn’t have to go through all that,” her words went softer at the last statement. More sorrowful. It wasn’t right. I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted to be understood.

“Yes, I was manipulated, but I must have known, and just didn’t care,” I clarified. “Even before I was made that way, I never displayed an emotional response toward anything. Even though I must have known it was bad, I still went through with it. To me, it was just something I did.” With that, she should have understood that I was not a good person. I couldn’t be, and that there was nothing to like about me.

She nodded.

“You have every right to think that way. But the person I know, the one next to me, at least thinks about their actions. Tries to do better. Saved my life. There has to be some merit to that.”

“No,” the word came out like a squeak. It was weird and out of place. “There isn’t. You say I saved your life, but the truth was anything but. Ray had sent me to investigate a cult in the area. Asked me not to kill, only investigate. I really tried to leave that life behind. But the desire for that thrill was always there. When I heard they had been targeting young women and participated in human trafficking, that was all the excuse I needed. I didn’t even notice you until after the fight.”

“Regardless, I’m still glad you were there,” she replied. “Whether or not I should, I am glad I met you and I do like you.”

I leaned my head back. That tense feeling in my chest tightened. I should have been happy to hear those words, but it was all wrong.

“I came to the world wanting nothing more than to live out the rest of my days in solitude, undisturbed. Nothing more. When you first met me, however, I was both on edge and lost. Without my job, I didn’t know what to do with my life. I had dyed my hair red, I made myself nameless. Through crowds of people, I encountered an aquarium, and I wandered through and stared at the various creatures. To you, meeting me must have been an exciting encounter, but I only regarded you as a strange person who was hungry, then forgot what you looked like.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that. It’s not like you were expecting to see me again.”

I let out a soundless laugh.

“Yet that uneventful encounter is why I am Remora,” the realization was amusing. “If I hadn’t looked at that fish, if you hadn’t asked my name, I would have gone on, content not to have one. But I blurted out the last thing to cross my mind, some stupid looking fish.”

She let out a chuckle as well.

“Heh. So that’s why. Well, it’s nice to know I had some kind of impact.”

I smiled. An actual smile. No intent behind it, just a smile.

“You’ve had more of one than you know. Not at first. At first I thought of you as a pest, and pushy, and trying too hard. But you eased up. When I told you I didn’t want you to know about me, you accepted it, as harsh as it may have been. You still wanted to help, and I just didn’t know what to make of you. I’ve really come to appreciate the person that you are.”

She blushed. Visible. Red.

“Um, thanks…” she looked down.

“I’ve grown to appreciate everyone,” now my own words didn’t feel right. When I looked back to how things began with everyone, that familiar stir returned: some disgusting feeling. “But no matter how much I’ve tried, I just can’t bring myself to care about anyone.”

Her face, still red, went blank.

“What? That doesn’t sound right,” she shook her head. “What about my birthday? Or when we protected each other out in the cold? Or when you talked with me after finding out how I felt about you? There’s plenty of examples, I’m sure.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you, yes. For the sole sake of being nice. No feelings attached. If I died, it didn’t matter, but since you didn’t want me to die so bad, I decided not to stop you. I talked with you because it was important to do so, not because I wanted to.”

“If anything that just proves it more. And if not me, what about Tigershark? You protect her, you watch over her, hell, you rescued her.”

“That’s only because I want to make sure she doesn’t end up like me.”

“I dunno, that sounds like caring to me.”

“It’s not, it’s not,” my brain was about to overload. Too many thoughts that smashed into each other. “It’s precisely that I’m not able to care that I want to make sure she doesn’t end up like me. Nobody should have to go through what I did.”

“See, you recognize it!” Her voice raised. Not anger, not quite. Excitement? Joy? I couldn’t tell. Not anymore. If I ever could.

“You don’t understand. You don’t,” I shook my head. At first slow, then faster.

“I’m trying to.”

“Look,” I tried to remain calm. Calm was all I ever was. “You’re important to me. I’ve tried so hard to feel something toward you, and even though I thought if I just kept at it, I would feel something, but it never came. I’m just unable to. But you’ve been patient, you’re someone I wish I could care about.”

“Where are you going with this?” She sounded apprehensive.

Do I even know?

“It’s not a bad thing. I swear. It’s just, if you want me to, I can play along. I can pretend to be your friend. It just wouldn’t be real. Would you be okay with that?” I gulped. I sounded delirious.

She backed away, stood up slow. In a low voice, spoke:

“Why would I be okay with that?” Her face contorted. Maybe she was disgusted.

“Or lovers. I could play the part of your lover. I could never actually be, but it could be close,” It came out in a huff, a hurried mess of words. Still, it should have softened the blow. What blow? I didn’t know.

“You’re not making any sense. Why do you think I want to hear these things? I don’t want pretend anything. I was fine with the way things were, but I don’t want anything else if it’s not going to be real.”

I sat there, backed away as well, back to the wall, against the pillows. Despite my constant shivers, it became less clear whether or not I felt cold.

“I just thought...it’s the least I could do…” My words were reduced to emptiness.

“It just sounds like you’re trying to push me away,” came her reply, a darkened, low mutter.

“It’s not – you don’t understand,” I tried to get her not to go, I reached my arm out, but I was too far already. She was already at the door.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” was the last thing she said. I didn’t pick up on the tone that time.

I slunk back into bed, against the pillow. Open, then shut, was the door. Not a slam. Nothing so loud. Quiet, even.

“I don’t understand…” I whispered.

The room was silent, I was silent. It was just how I always liked to be: undisturbed. Alone.

II

Without opening my eyes, I found my head nestled on the lap of someone I knew. That person’s hand came down and stroked my hair. Slow, soft, sifting motions.

I didn’t have to open my eyes; I saw outside of myself and I saw Demetria. It was as if I saw her through a mirror. There was a serene stillness as I saw her face, downward, yet gentle. Half-closed eyelids which flit about. Her mouth opened, ever so slight, like its sole purpose was to blow into my ear.

“You’re pretending to be asleep, aren’t you?” She asked, and her voice was not her own. It was mine.

“Yeah,” I replied, tired.

“It’s bad to pretend. You wouldn’t like this if you were actually asleep.”

“I know.”

“Or is this what you want?”

“In a sense.”

Then the person changed. It was myself, but an imagined version: she had blue hair, a self-assured smile. Still, the motions continued and I accepted them.

“You would be fine with anyone, wouldn’t you?” She (or I?) asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t just be babied. You know better,” the voice became harsher.

“Just let me...for a little while…” The words fell out of my grasp, along with consciousness.

No. I wasn’t pretending.

“So that was a dream…” I muttered, as I sat back up. How long did I fall back to sleep for? What time was it? I checked my phone. Late into the evening. Without purpose, I scrolled through my phone and the messages I never checked. Most of them were from Ves, the most recent being a few days back, while I was sick and floating in and out of consciousness. Not that it mattered, as I never responded to her texts.

Ves: Hey, I know it’s been a long time and we don’t really talk, but I just wanted you to know that you’re in my thoughts and I hope you’re well.

I sighed. No wonder I never responded. There was nothing to gain from pretending. I got up, ready to head out into the hall, be my real self. However empty that self was.

I’ll tell her that I must have still been a little sick. Because of course that was wrong to say. Even nothing is better than a dishonest something. I know that. So I’m sorry.

When I walked out into the hall, that too was empty. If I had to guess, Tigershark was taking a nap upstairs. Over the past couple of weeks or so, she had been sleeping in Ray and Sunny’s room to try to keep her from getting sick. As for Sunny, from what I heard she had gone off on another adventure.

There, at the desk, was Ray. My movements were stilted as I made my way over to the middle of the hallway, near where Ray was.

“It’s nice to see you up at last,” he greeted, without looking up from his desk. There weren’t any papers. Did he not want to look me in the eye?

“Where is Demetria?” I asked, weary.

“She’s gone. She went back home,” he explained, still not so much as a glimpse my way.

“I see.”

It made sense. There was only so much I could give, and only so much patience she had. It was always going to happen that way.

Across from Ray’s desk, against the wall, was the lone chair that always sat there. I went over and occupied it. From my peripheral, I noticed him look up at last, and right at me.

“It’s not your fault,” he told me. “She’s not mad at you.”

“Wouldn’t expect her to be,” this time it was my turn not to look his way as I gave my response.

Fault or not, I was the reason she first came to the diner, and I was the reason she left.

“She liked me. I wish I could have liked her, too,” I let out those words. Some kind of hollow confession.

“You aren’t obligated to like someone just because they like you,” Ray stated. For what purpose, I didn’t know. To state the obvious? Was that his only purpose now, after all the trouble and trickery he went through to get me to stay at his diner. His facade of a home.

Very well. There was no more danger. Nothing in it for any of us. All that was left was to put a couple more things to rest. So, I pulled out my phone, then began the text.

Me: Hello.

There was more I could have said. ‘Sorry I ghosted you’? Ah, but that sounded too corny. My recipient already saw me as a ghost, didn’t she? So what was there to apologize for?

Just a minute later, I got my reply.

Wow, someone’s thirsty.

Ves: Hey! I was wondering if I would ever hear from you again.

Me: Can I ask a favor of you?

Ves: Um, what’s the favor?

Me: Tell me about her.

Ves: Her…?

Me: Rhea. Your Rhea.

Ves: Oh. What do you want to know?

Me: Why did she have such an impact on you?

Ves: idk there were others who should’ve had more of an impact.

Me: That wasn’t what I asked.

There was a pause.

Why, when you first came across me, that was all you wanted to talk about, and now you want to avoid the issue?

Then:

Ves: Sorry. I needed to gather my thoughts. It was such a short period of time, but it was really tough on me. I was sick, as I mentioned before, and she was sent to put me down. I can’t blame her, as I was a danger to myself as well as my loved ones. During our first confrontation, she almost killed me. I begged, and she gave me another option, but that other option was to have me in the hands of those who have hurt me in the past. There was no good option.

Me: You mentioned being sick before. But that’s not really it, was it? They don’t send someone to kill you if you have a case of the common cold.

Ves: I was. In a way.

Ves: As a child, I was experimented on. Apparently other children were, many of them died. They were placed with the blood of an angel. One which was said to bring happiness. While I survived, I often had headaches, hallucinations, and a short temper. Later on, I ended up ingesting the blood of that same angel, this time as an adult.

Ves: There were all these things I could now do, but along with it, I craved more blood. Every so often, I would throw up blood. Not small amounts, either.

Me: That entity? The embodiment of happiness? Don’t you know nothing good ever comes of happiness?

Ves: I know now. I was just desperate.

Me: She should have killed you. So why?

Ves: I’m not really sure...she could have. Maybe she could no longer bring herself to do it. Before our last fight, she said how it would have been nice if we could be friends, but it could never happen.

Ves: I didn’t want to fight her. She fought me, though. Wouldn’t let it end until one of us died. I think she wanted to die, but felt she could only so in a fight. At one point she told me how I was a disappointment for not wanting to fight, but I think it was an attempt to strike a nerve so that I would get angry enough to kill her.

Me: That was irresponsible of her. It wasn’t just about her, it was about the risk you posed. She should have known that.

Ves: I’m sorry.

Me: What do you have to be sorry for? You’re cured, aren’t you? You got what you wanted.

Ves: She did too. As she was dying, I told her how I wished I knew her more. But she commented about feeling warm at last. She looked at peace.

Me: Is that it? Is that why she had an impact on you? Because of a few fights?

Ves: No. I fought others before. But I felt a connection with her. Like we were similar, each trying to find something. It made me wish I could have been the one to help her, instead of needing help. I regret how it went down, and I wonder sometimes if I could have prevented her death. If there was another way.

Me: There wasn’t anything you could have done for her.

Ves: Still, I feel like if I just tried, she would have still been around, and able to live the life she wanted.

Me: You don’t know that.

Ves: You’re right. I can never really know. I’m sorry.

Me: You know that I’m her, right? I’m not the one you know, but I share a history with her. I share a name with her. Her condition.

Ves: Yes. I figured as such.

Me: So I’m just confused what it was about her. Wasn’t she a merciless killer? Wasn’t she emotionally distant? Detached? None of that should have left an impression. Aside from her condition, those kind of people aren’t uncommon. She should have just been an enemy. That’s it.

...So why, then, did she show you mercy? What was it about you, of all people? I thought.

Ves: But she was more than that, to me. She was someone I would have liked to have as a friend. Even if she may have tried to kill me, she still took her time to got to know me and listen to me. Something I may not have even deserved.

I stared at her text before I continued. Her words made me wonder, if maybe the other me was more compassionate. Someone who had grown kinder over time. Maybe that was what it was that set the two of us apart. What was missing, then? Was she allowed more freedom? Interacted with more people? Grew sick of all the bloodshed?

Why couldn’t I experience any of those things?

I replied at last:

Me: I wish I could have met her.

Ves: I’m sure that would have been nice.

Me: If only.

Ves: You know, I actually wanted to be more like her, like you. While I hid my emotions, you don’t have that problem. There must have been countless times I’ve thought about how I didn’t want to feel anything, especially during the times when my emotions got to be too much.

Me: Why would you want any of this? Do you think I want to be this way? Don’t you think I would cry if I could? Smile, laugh, even anger. None of that is felt. You experience love and care about others, why would you want to hide that?

There it was: always one more thing added which turns the whole thing around. Now I found myself disgusted. With her, with myself. What did I hope to gain by talking with her, anyway? Of course, she just had to have the last word:

Ves: You’re right. I didn’t consider how it might be from your perspective.

Me: Now you know.

Me: That’s all I wanted to ask of you. I’m done.

Ves: Wait. Isn’t there anything else we can talk about? How are you? How are things with the others?

Me: I’m done with them.

Ves: Is something wrong? Did you guys have a falling out?

Me: None of them meant anything to me. I couldn’t feel anything for them. That’s all.

Ves: Please. If something’s wrong, I want to help in any way I can.

Me: Don’t care. Didn’t ask. Goodbye.

Ves: Please don’t push me away. I know that’s what you’re doing because I’ve done it too and it doesn’t help. It just brings more pain.

That again? Twice now I’ve heard such things. Both from naive people who wanted to know me. If I had a nerve at all, it might have been struck.

Me: Don’t act like you and I are alike.

Ves: Please. We’re friends, aren’t we?

Me: Wrong. We were never friends. We both pretended like we. Me, because I couldn’t care less, and you used me as an outlet for your grief. I was willing to play the part for a while, but I knew I was being manipulated.

Ves: It wasn’t my intention.

Me: Doesn’t matter.

Ves: I still wanted to try. I knew you might have been different, but if there was even a chance to know you, I wanted to take it.

Me: Do you ever shut up?

Ves: What?

Me: All I hear are excuses. It doesn’t impress me.

Ves: Fine, then. I tried to be nice. I tried. But if you want to be alone, go ahead. Go ahead and rot. Ungrateful bitch. I gave you a chance, I didn’t even have to do that.

Me: I see. So that’s the real you.

Ves: No. I’m not. No.

Me: Don’t try to hide it now if that’s who you are.

Ves: No. I’m sorry. I just snapped. I didn’t mean to.

Me: That’s too bad. Because I mean every word I say. Goodbye now.

I turned off the phone and looked up.

“Well, that about wraps things up,” I announced. Ray, who still seemed listless, looked up.

“Who were you texting?” He asked.

“The wife of Demetria’s gay cousin. Had to wrap up some loose ends,” I explained, then got up and set the phone on his desk. “I don’t need this anymore.”

He turned to the phone, then looked back at his desk. If he didn’t know the implications, he soon would.

“I’m leaving. There’s no longer any need to be here,” I announced. That seemed to get his attention. He looked up and there was no doubt about it – he was going to try to convince me, no, beg me to stay.

“Goodbye, then,” he instead said in a dispassionate voice. Even his face lacked of interest. It was wrong. Wasn’t he the one who wanted me there in the first place? Tried to convince me to work with him? Didn’t he care? Didn’t I mean anything to him at all?

“That’s it?” I uttered. It couldn’t have been all he wanted to say.

“What else do you want me to say? If you want to leave, who am I to stop you?” His words made sense, but not coming from him.

“You’re supposed to stop me, beg me to stay, anything.”

“Do you want me to?”

I took a step back.

“No, but that’s not the point.”

I started to shiver again, harder than before. Like someone had left the door, or some windows wide open and a great draft had invited itself in.

“Look, Remora: I’m exhausted. Demetria just left. Sunny went off on another adventure just a day before that. I don’t know when I’ll hear from her or see her next. Sure, I’m going to miss them, but they have every right to come and go as they please. So if you want to leave as well, then you have every right to.”

“After all this time? I could have just left? That’s it?”

He nodded.

“If you wanted to.”

No. It couldn’t have been that easy. He must have had some kind of trap, some trick to keep me there. That was the only explanation.

“What about the first time you tried to get me to work for you? When we met?”

“You turned down the offer and that was that. I didn’t pursue it,” he argued, hand on his chest.

“But then I accepted so that you would save Tigershark’s life!”

He tilted his head.

“I told you we didn’t need to make any deal. I helped her because I was concerned about her life. You chose to afterward.”

Damn it. That was true. But why, then, if I didn’t have to? It was obvious, wasn’t it? Because I felt obligated. That was all.

“But then when I left after you manipulated me to go to the place where the other me died, you were the one who showed up at my doorstep and tried to convince me to return. Said I could be leader of your little operation. But now look: you’re back to your position and now you’re saying I can come and go as I please. How does that work?”

He sighed.

“You’re right. I did say and do those things, didn’t I? For that, I apologize.”

See? You admit it!

“Not only that, but you gave me food, you gave me a place to sleep, you tried to protect me, you…” I huffed. “You told me I didn’t have to kill anyone. You listened to me. You tried to correct any mistakes you made. You tried to make me comfortable.”

“And?”

“You...all of you...I tried to tell you that I wasn’t someone to be known, to be liked, and no one listened. They didn’t get it and just kept trying. Made me think that maybe I wanted to be here. That I could be around others. But it wasn’t true. All of you just manipulated me and confused me!” My voice shook and shivered, almost raised. It wasn’t right.

“May I ask you something?” Ray waited a moment before he spoke once more.

“What?” I seethed.

“Why do you think you aren’t someone who should be liked?”

“You would really ask me that? I’m a killer – not was – am! It doesn’t matter whether I’ve stopped or not, that part of me doesn’t go away. I’ve tried to tell you all that I just can’t feel anything. I’ve never been able to.”

“Do you think you’re the only killer who has walked through these doors? I would treat any other killer to the same meals and share a nice conversation with them.”

“But I’m different,” I professed.

“How so?”

“Other people have trauma. They see the face of the one they killed and it sticks with them. Not me. I’ve never had that problem. To me they’ve always been empty faces. I’ve never felt anything when I’ve taken a life. I’m incapable of doing so.”

“And because of that, you’re not deserving of kindness?”

“Yes!”

“Maybe some would agree with that sentiment,” he shrugged. “But I don’t see why I should.”

“Don’t you get it? I can’t feel anything except this cold! I’m not worth it! Do you think I want to be this way? I want to care, about someone, anyone, more than anything, but it just doesn’t happen and it’s because of who I am!”

My fists tightened and shook. My eyes stung. I tried to close them, and still felt the sting. Then, when I opened them back up, I saw Ray. He looked at me, then leaned back, eyes wide.

“Remora? Are you okay?” His voice cracked, it turned to a near-whisper.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I took a step back.

“Let me tell you one thing before you go,” he urged at last. Though ‘urge’ wasn’t the right word. It didn’t sound like a plea. Just something he wanted to say. “Before I met Sunny, I used to think that I didn’t care for a single person outside of myself. There were all of these people and they meant nothing to me. They were fun, at best, and a bore at worst. I was fine enough just doing my own thing, everyone else be damned.

Even a little after I met Sunny, I still didn’t feel much at first. I’ve never had any interest in women, so I figured it wouldn’t amount to anything. But damn it, I’m so glad she’s in my life. She brightens my world to the point that I want to shine at all times. Even when she’s gone, I make sure there’s a home for her when she gets back. I want to make myself a home, and comfort her when she needs comfort and joy when she needs joy. Then, when I met Elodie, I felt it again: there was a life that I wanted to make sure was safe and happy. Had a good home, even if that home wasn’t with me.”

“What are you getting at with all this?” If he wanted to be self-indulgent, couldn’t he have done so some other time? It didn’t make any sense to bring such things up now.

“I believe that if you have the capacity to care about one person, then you can care about others.”

Few of those words stood out. There was his little monologue, then there was the last statement. But how the two connected, I couldn’t tell. My mind was blank. None of the words connected.

“I don’t know what you mean,” my words came out like a whimper.

“It was enough just to tell you,” he replied with a smile.

Whatever meaning there was to be found, every second I remained, I ran the risk of not leaving at all.

“I’ll be going now,” I squeezed out the words.

“Will you be okay out there?” He asked, as if he cared.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Please don’t make me worry about you.”

“Why would you?”

He shrugged, shook his head, and let out a heavy sigh.

“You know, I used to think that working with you, spending time with you, laughing together. We could have had fun.”

I turned from him. If I could just step away, maybe I could make sense of myself again.

“I never wanted to have fun,” I told him as I walked away. “I just wanted to rest in peace.”

“Take care, Remora,” he called after me.

Then I was gone. Through each door and out into the cold open air.

Each step I took through the snow brought a heavy gust along with it. There was little way to tell which way I was going, save for some vague notions of lights in the blanketed darkness of the sky. Each step alone was heavy, with or without a breeze. Disorientation was the only comfort I had.

All the better for it.

Alone was how I should have been from the beginning. Whether it be a house I built for myself, or buried deep under the snow. Either was fine.

It stung and bit me in various places. Very little feeling. My teeth would not cease. My vision was dim at best, as was my mind.

At any moment, I might collapse. Maybe I won’t get back up. Maybe I will close my eyes and let it blanket over me. Let the blizzard hit. If that happens, I hope no one finds me. I hope I won’t be saved. So that the process can’t repeat. So that I can meet the end that I should have.

For whatever reason, that never happened. Instead, as I lumbered along the thick snow which seeped into my boots, my body, on some kind of automatic process, followed the lights in the distance. Just small, smudged shades of white, beige, yellow, and red, in a sickening creme. Not distant to be stars, nor did they twinkle. Fade in and out, maybe, but not twinkle.

Why I went toward something so meaningless, I couldn’t say. What moved and the rest of me were two different entities. Then, when I happened to collapse, I happened to stumble through doors and onto a rug laid out on a tile floor.

I twitched.

Someone should have yelled that I was letting the cold air in. That was the reaction I was used to. It made sense. For my part, I was unsure if I could even move. When I tried to push myself up, my arms wouldn’t so much as budge.

“This is fine…” I groaned. Or would have if I had the strength to use my voice. After all that transpired, I could use a good meme to represent my situation. All I needed to top it all off was whatever building I was in to be set on fire.

How long I spent on that floor, I didn’t know. No one seemed to be around. If there were others, they didn’t react to my presence.

Did I find my way into some abandoned building? Or maybe I’m in someone’s home and they’re asleep and didn’t hear the door open. Unlikely, with all the noise the weather is making. Maybe they’re just not home. Or maybe this isn’t a home. Damn it, you numbskull. Just look around and check!

I would have rather just fell asleep right where I lay. But then curiosity took hold and wouldn’t allow me not to look. Even with as difficult as it was, I turned my head and at first, it was all blurred shades that merged in with each other. For what must have been a few minutes, it remained as such. Then, after a few more blinks and a good stare, it became clear.

Little shops. Gates and terminals. Large windows. Booths and stairways. Limitless ceilings. There was no denying where I was: I was at the airport.

I struggled my way up and shambled toward a chair against one of the walls. It still boggled me why no one else was around, but it might have had to do with how late into the night it was. How few people really came around to this part of the world. Gee, I must have been blessed to live in such a place. Blessed until others tried to force their way into my life, that is.

That was all past me now. Not long had I been awake, but with how weakened I still was, I couldn’t resist the urge to just rest once more.

“Now that that’s all taken care of, time to get some rest,” a voice rang through my head. Followed by footsteps. Those footsteps grew louder, and then they stopped. “Oh? I didn’t know someone would be here at this hour.”

Such a syrupy voice shook me from my sleep and I squinted before turning my head toward the owner of said voice. Then I opened my eyes to find some woman with a blonde ponytail and a blue brim hat on, followed by one of those sexy flight attendant outfits. Well, someone probably found such outfits sexy. I never said I did.

“So sorry, didn’t mean to wake you!” She took a step back and started to stammer. I just grunted in response.

“I think I recognize you. You’re Rae Morris, right?”

Rae...Rae...uh…

“Who?” I croaked.

“Ray’s accountant?” She asked, then I remembered that disguise I put on a few months back. My, how time flew.

“Right. Ugh. I’m not really an accountant,” I groaned.

“Really? I could’ve sworn –”

“Rae Morris was just a name. It didn’t mean anything,” I admitted through a dead mutter.

“Huh. Fooled me, then, huh?”

“Yeah…” I looked up. How high up the ceiling was, yet even seeing that felt claustrophobic.

“Didn’t I see you with that other girl who works at Ray’s diner a couple weeks ago?” She asked. I knew who she meant right away: Demetria.

“Yeah,” I then turned my head away from her and looked down at the floor.

“If I recall, you two looked happy,” she commented.

“I wonder if there was any truth to that.”

“So…” She shuffled her feet. “Are you waiting on a flight? I hear the next one’s not for another few hours.”

“I have nowhere to go,” it hurt to admit, but it was the truth. My hands hung off to the sides.

“What are you doing here, then?”

Dammit. Why do you have to ask that?

“I don’t really know. I’m lost,” was my first answer. However, I soon turned to face her. “Or rather, there’s nowhere I can go. Wherever I go, I won’t find home. I go from place to place and it’s never right.”

“You too, huh?” She less asked and more seemed to agree. “You know, I used to live from airport to airport. I now live here and it feels more right, but it took forever, and even then, it gets lonely from time to time.”

“Are you living the life you want?” I asked her.

“That’s a hard one. I mean, there’s still some things I’d like to have and some things I’d like to be better. Isn’t there always, though? It’s just nice to have some of the things I wanted. I always love being in the air, and it’s nice to be away from my mom. I’m also much more comfortable with the body I have than I used to be. It also helps that I’ve got boobs now, however small. Why? What about you?”

I shook my head against the wall.

“Everyone’s always got their own ideas about me. They all see me in these different ways and expect me to act in those ways. To be who they see me. That’s not even to say that I’m different, I just don’t know, that’s the thing. But even if I want to object or do my own thing, I’ve never been able to see another option but to go with them.”

“I mean, I can relate to that as well…”

“You too, huh?” I let slip a chuckle. It wasn’t very funny.

What was funny was that the warmth (I’m assuming, not that I felt it) seeped through the airport and moisture started to form against my eyelids and trickle down. Was the other me aware of such a phenomena? There I went and sat there with all of that internal struggle, yet the other me still managed to come to mind.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been my own person,” I croaked, and the moisture formed once more, ran down to my cheeks, and off of my chin.

“Oh no. Here, I’ll be right back, I swear,” she sounded in a hurry. Good. I didn’t want to keep her. Maybe such a moisture would dissipate and I could go back to resting in an uncomfortable chair.

I coughed as some of the salty moisture got into my mouth. How sick I was. How sick I had been. Not just over the past couple of weeks, but all my life. Feeling nothing but a constant chill. Being taken advantage of. I was never tough, never strong. I was just made in a way that was useful for others. I was right to leave the gun back at Ray’s diner. There was just so much of me that was wrong.

True to her word, I heard her run down the stairs and return. She wiped off my face with a cloth. I should have backed away or slapped her hand away. Or refused to let her. But I was too numb. It was just like how I was when I was made to be a killer. Never once objected. One thought turned to when I used to read those fairy tales, how I would hate for my space to be invaded. But if this was a fairy tale, then maybe I would have wanted her to wipe my face.

“Thank you,” I said at last.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. “You seem like you’ve had a rough time. Would you like to stay the night?”

I thought about it. Or didn’t. My thoughts weren’t cooperative.

“I would like that,” I told her, unsure if I really would. Just having some place to be, for one night, that much seemed doable.

We walked together up a flight of stairs and into an office. It had been redecorated or redesigned to be a bedroom for the flight attendant. Little plane ornaments and model planes hung around the room, with a bed toward the end which I presumed she slept in. To both sides of me were closets, both open, with many jackets, sweaters, dresses, and other clothes hung. Against the wall was a small kitchen-like area with a sink and a fridge. No stove or oven, but she probably had one of those elsewhere.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall with a shower, if you need one,” she explained. “The airport can be kinda creepy at night when it’s dark and no one around, but I’m pretty sure there’s no ghosts. Still, you can turn the lights on if it helps. I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

She then walked up to me and pulled on a flap against the wall behind me. I stepped back and a bed, a little small and with a hard metal frame popped out.

“It’s not the most comfortable, but we’ve got plenty of blankets, and I’ll give you a weighted blanket. Looks like you might have hypothermia, so might be a good idea to use it.”

“I probably don’t, but I’ll still take it.”

“Good. Also, there’s a snuggie if you –”

“Yes. Good lord, yes.”

“Oh, well, something you’re enthusiastic about,” she remarked.

I looked away. That was embarrassing.

“Go ahead and get whatever food you want in the fridge, help yourself to some water. Mi casa es tu aeropuerto, or something like that.”

I nodded.

“Why are you doing all of this?” I asked, still looking around the room. It wasn’t small by any means, decent sized bedroom. To think that something like that existed in an airport. She shrugged.

“Maybe I’m lucky enough to be able to.”

It was better than her saying she took pity on me, or that I seemed nice. Even if both were true, I didn’t need her to say such things. She then held out her hand.

“I’m Cybele, by the way,” she informed me. I looked down at her hand.

“I’m sorry...I don’t do hands. Er...touch. I don’t like...touch,” I couldn’t quite explain. She reeled her hand back and smiled.

“It’s okay, I get it. I probably wouldn’t wanna go up touching every stranger I met either. As for you, you are…?”

“I’m…” Rhea, was the first thing to pop into my head. Then Remora. But neither felt right. They sounded too close to each other. I wanted to find something that didn’t resemble myself in any way. But there wasn’t anything I could find. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Sorry.”

“I’m not offended. Names can take a while.”

For what it was worth, she seemed like a good sport about the whole thing. It was a shame, as there was nothing I could give for her kindness. All I could do was acknowledge it.

Sleep wouldn’t come at all. Throughout the night, I stared up into the darkness, tried to ignore the hum of the refrigerator, and tried to ignore myself. That was the worst part of all. Rather than disappear, cease to breathe, fade into obscurity and nothingness, I found myself in someone else’s room. It wasn’t right. I had to leave. Leave myself. Before she started to form an impression of me. If she hadn’t already. Whatever mistake I had made, I needed to rectify it, and fast. My heart wouldn’t stop beating, even if I squeezed it tight enough, it just wouldn’t stop.

In the morning, I put the bed back against the wall and closed it shut. But I kept the snuggie, of course. She could pry it from my cold, dead body.

I began to head out, where, I didn’t know. I’d walk if I had to. I just had to find some place that wasn’t where I already was. Before I left the room, however, I heard the yawn and stretch of Cybele and she looked over to me.

“Good morning,” she called in a half-yawn.

“I’m glad you think so,” I tried to sound positive, but with the tiredness in my voice, she may have thought I sounded sarcastic.

“Heading out?” She asked.

“Yeah. I’m thinking of going some place warm,” to distance myself from myself. “Like the Sahara, or Ecuador. Maybe I’ll go to Florida or Spain.”

“Those are places,” she acknowledged. “Sounds like you know where you want to go. Are you going to board a flight?”

“I was thinking of walking, actually,” I replied. Again, not sarcastic.

“No need to do that. Just gimme a bit and I’ll fly you.”

“I’d rather you wouldn’t. Not to be mean. I just don’t want to be near anyone I know.”

“Do you have money to get to one of those places?”

“No. No money.”

“Then at least let me do that much.”

I should have refused. It was selfish of me. But I accepted. After all that time, I still couldn’t help but take from others. Still, it felt exciting. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, but even if I decided on a random spot on a map, it would be my decision. Then, once I’d land, I could lay my head anywhere I wanted and whisper my proper goodbye to anyone who ever knew me.

[ibijau]

follow up to this, or on AO3

Lan Xichen was taken to Nie Mingjue’s office by a disciple who assured him that his Sect Leader would be arriving as soon as he was done with some business of his. They sat together awkwardly. The man tried to make some polite conversation, asking after Lan Xichen’s uncle and father since he was of their generation, but there was little to be said there. Lan Qiren was actively preparing for the next batch of guest disciples that would arrive in a few weeks, while his father… Lan Xichen had not seen him in well over half a year, and even then the conversation had been kept short.

It was an immense relief when the door opened again. The man with him could not contain a slight grimace when rather than Nie Mingjue, it was Nie Huaisang who came in, but Lan Xichen found himself smiling at the other boy.

“Young Master Lan, what a pleasure to have you here!” Nie Huaisang said with a deep bow. “My brother has sent me to say that he might be detained a little longer than anticipated, and asked me to keep you company while you wait. I took the liberty to ask for tea to be brought, I hope you do not mind.”

“And cakes too, I suppose?”

“Of course! You are a honoured guest in this house, you deserve only the best we can offer!”

While Lan Xichen struggled not to laugh, Nie Huaisang became briefly serious as he turned to the disciple who had stayed with him, and informed him that Nie Mingjue had made a few urgent requests. The older man quickly took his leave.

“Some trouble?” Lan Xichen inquired.

Nie Huaisang shook his head, and dropped down to opposite Lan Xichen.

“We might get a new disciple, but nothing’s sure yet because he’s rather older than what we usually take in.”

“Hm. A late start does make things more difficult,” Lan Xichen agreed. “We usually consider that anyone older than ten cannot be taught. How old is this boy?”

“I’m not sure, sixteen maybe?” Nie Huaisang guessed, before laughing at Lan Xichen’s shocked expression. “I know, right? But there are precedents. Our founder didn’t start cultivating until his late twenties… and that’s only the official version. There’s stories that say he was even older. So who would we be to deny someone based on age?”

“I suppose your brother knows what he is doing.”

Still, sixteen was rather old to get started. It was the age most disciples were starting to go on unsupervised Night Hunts, giving them a chance to bond and learn to better work together. That boy, if he was accepted, would run the risk of never quite fitting in with people of his generation, which could be a greater problem than anything to do with his cultivation. Of course, Nie Mingjue must have been aware of this, since his own early rise as Sect Leader had made it difficult for him to bond with peers outside his sect.

Before Lan Xichen could inquire any further about this possible new disciple, tea was brought in. To his surprise and pleasure it was not the usual bitter tea that Nie Mingjue favoured, but something light and flowery that would marry itself perfectly with the biscuits that had been brought along.

“As expected, Second Master Nie planned this well,” Lan Xichen complimented the younger boy.

His words had a stronger effect than expected, making Nie Huaisang blush to the tip of his ears. He tried to hide it by elegantly serving tea for both of them.

“Master Lan is too kind,” he chirped. “I just thought those might go together well, that’s all. I am very happy if you approve of my choice.”

“You are too humble,” Lan Xichen replied, taking the offered cup of tea. He noted how delicate the cup was, far more elegant than what he had seen on his previous visits. He half suspected it must have belonged to Nie Huaisang personally.

“This is not something I am often accused of,” the other boy chuckled. “Ask our elders and they will let you know just how little humility I have.”

“Then I shan’t ask them, as I do not want to hear unfair accusations against you.”

To Lan Xichen’s amusement, the blush on Nie Huaisang’s face deepened. 

“Master Lan, you really need to stop,” Nie Huaisang mumbled. “If someone as accomplished as you takes my side, I’ll start thinking too highly of myself. Ah, but please, do try the tea! I so hope you will like it.”

The tea was, in fact, delightful. A little sweeter than necessary with those biscuits, but still extremely pleasant and a testament to Nie Huaisang’s good taste. It was not unexpected, truth be told. They had exchanged a few letters in recent months, since Nie Huaisang had first written to thank Lan Xichen for the fan he had helped Nie Mingjue pick. It had come a little out of the blue since they had only spoken once before, but it had not been unwelcome. However silly and insolent he had been in person, Nie Huaisang had turned out to be exceedingly polite and well spoken on paper, with a poetic quality to his words that Lan Xichen would not have expected. 

“I do enjoy the tea very much,” Lan Xichen announced. “Thank you for this.”

“It’s nothing, it’s really nothing!” Nie Huaisang replied, beaming. “I am only trying to be a good host in my brother’s stead. I know it is him you really came to see, so I have to entertain you until he’s free.”

“Hm. But your company is appreciated too.”

Nie Huaisang’s blush, which had receded, returned to its full strength. It was rather sweet, for some reason, especially with the happy way he grinned.

“Master Lan, that is very kind of you to say!” he exclaimed with a boyish enthusiasm that contrasted with the careful maturity of his letters. “I am very glad if you think well of me!” Nie Huaisang then gasped and looked down at his tea, his joy subsiding. “Ah, sorry! I only meant… since you are my brother’s friend, it matters to me that we should get along, nothing more!”

That was all Lan Xichen had understood his outburst to be about in the first place, but the need for that to be said surprised him. How else could he have interpreted that pleasure at his approval? It was odd, really, to see Nie Huaisang go from such great joy to obvious embarrassment, and suddenly Lan Xichen wondered…

Before he could fully form a thought on that topic, a knock on the door distracted him and Nie Mingjue entered, followed by a young man (a boy really) that Lan Xichen had never met before. 

The boy wasn’t much older than Nie Huaisang, and a little shorter which made for a rather amusing contrast when he stood next to Nie Mingjue. He was dressed in old mended clothes, but had clearly put great care into looking as dignified as such garments would allow.

“Xichen, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue greeted them. “Sorry for the delay. Huaisang, could you take Meng Yao to the intendant so she can see about fitting him for new robes, then show him to the dorms? Maybe give him a tour too, if you have time before dinner.”

Although there were still traces of a blush clinging to his face, Nie Huaisang looked the perfect image of a serious young master as he stood up and turned to his brother and their new disciple.

“It will be my pleasure! We are very happy to have you here, Meng Yao. I hope you will fit in just right. Please, never hesitate to ask me if you ever need help with anything!”

“Just don’t expect him to answer,” Nie Mingjue grumbled. 

His brother broke character for a second, sticking out his tongue in response to this attack before returning to a polite smile as he left with the other boy. 

Lan Xichen found himself almost wishing that Nie Mingjue had taken a little more time deciding whether or not he would take in that new disciple. He liked his friend immensely of course but… it would have been nice to chat a little with Nie Huaisang and figure out if his conversation in person could really hold up to his letters. Perhaps when he would come to Cloud Recesses in some weeks it would be something worth investigating, if they had time.

“So, what did you need to see me for?” Nie Mingjue asked, taking the seat left free by his brother and serving himself some tea.

Lan Xichen smiled, and started explaining about some business for which his uncle wanted the support of Qinghe Nie. Nie Mingjue listened attentively before suggesting some of the things he could do to help, and soon enough they were deep in conversation. Lan Xichen stopped thinking about Nie Huaisang, except whenever he drank some of that flowery tea or nibbled on a biscuit.

Nie Huaisang certainly had excellent tastes when it came to these things.

[peepingtoad]

||—@dokuhebi​ submitted:

They are at a bar, the evening is warm, the people are cheerful, the drinks are free, and they are surrounded by familiar and trusted faces. This is no time to be feeling more blue than the curaçao cocktail sitting in front of them. One of far too many in their light weight system. Loosening a tongue that was far too cutting and dangerous to be so honest. But then, they remind themself, they are also only in their twenties, and had already been swept up in the dealings of multiple wars, civil and global. Assignments since they were seven. Orphaned since they were six. So really - what right did any technicality the universe could offer have to tell them they ought to wait for the ‘appropriate time’?  Their golden eyes are watching him, the way his hand fits around the entire glass, the way he so quickly gets through each drink - yet somehow seems to be more sober than the serpent. How the white hair framing his face moves with him when he laughs, the shape of his eyes and lips when he smiles, the little glances he steals between them and Tsunade.  And if they were being fair - which they self admitted they were not, and refused to be - they may realize that for every glance he steals at Tsunade, he gives one to them. That every time he offers her a drink, he offers them one. That if both they and she were cold, he would forfeit his jacket and then his shirt so both of his team mates were content. It should be enough. But when was anything enough for the viper? Especially when they found themself brooding a little too much.  Because that was perhaps, one thing no one had found the trick to saving them from. Not since the day their parents died. Not since they caught a glimpse at the monsters in this world, and became so haunted by the prospect, that they imagined these monsters even when all was peaceful. Tormented by a monster once real and now more commonly fabricated. So as they move the straw in their glass, stabbing at the drink more than indulging it, they can not help their quip. The moment their teammate makes some statement, promise or playful joke about keeping the serpent and Senju princess safe, their golden eyes snap up and away from their drink. Not at all within the realm of festivity as Tsunade and Jiraiya offered. No, their voice, regardless of the smile they offer that shows little more than teeth, is coated in venom and tactless query.  “What if you could only save one of us?” It isn’t a fun question, it doesn’t hold any playfulness. It is far too real a possibility in their shinobi lifestyle, and it is far too accusing a question. Too timed. It had been plaguing them for the longest while. Not quite who he would rescue, for they are not afraid to protect themself out on the field. But instead, a backwards way of trying to dissect his mind and decisions to find out who he loved the most. And while any sensible person would perhaps find a quiet moment to ask the man such a thing in private, for a true confession, the serpent must set up a trap, and corner him. If they ask him one on one, he may just say he cared for them, to appease them. But how much more blocked in the man is when Tsunade sits beside the serpent, both team mates facing Jiraiya. Of course, they don’t pose it as something serious. No, they disguise it as one of their mistimed and socially inappropriate jokes. How they are accused of being cold, cruel and weird for their off beat demeanor. An easy hiding place, madness.  “Say we both drank poison, and you only had one cure. Or we were both targeted by enemies, and you could only intercept one attack,” they ask, toying with their drink as they toy with him, acting much like a cat playing with a mouse before eating it, wanting franticness and panic, or there simply wasn’t any fun, “well? Who would you save?”

With a countenance as naturally severe as theirs, it’s always difficult to say whether Orochimaru is even having a good time or not; even with alcohol thrown into the mix, it makes them no more easy to read than if they were stone cold sober. The only thing working in Jiraiya’s favour is many years by their side, of knowing them and their ways, and knowing that periods of watchful silence (a different beast to their regular silence) tends to mean that there’s something unpleasant going on within that unfathomable mind of theirs.

And it’s just like Jiraiya to simply let them lie dormant when first he senses that this silence is indeed one of those silences, figuring that if they want to say something, they no doubt will. No doubt waiting for the perfect time to pipe up amid the pleasant buzz and clatter of patrons and bar staff. 

Until then, however, Jiraiya has every intention of maintaining the levity of the evening as well as he possibly can—first of all, because it had been quite some time since they all had a short reprieve home, and second of all because they damn well deserved it. After months spent surrounded by the drab grey of Ame, whose ruined ground was by this point nought but scorched earth, blood and the rot of corpses pounded into a slurry by the relentless downpour… yeah, he very much ached for his home, and wanted to make some good memories here to tide them over once they were sent back into the fray.

Still, it’s only natural that given the state of the world around them and the overall horrific turn their lives had taken, conversation soon turns to lighter recollections of their exploits, the frankly insane things they’d survived so far, and the numerous ways they’d saved each other’s skins. After all, the name Densetsu no Sannin had spread like wildfire, right to the point where it had become very well known at home, where the familiar visages that greeted them were of the utmost awe and (far less familiar) respect. 

So it had been a simple thing to stir up some excitement and revelry with wild tales, until the three of them were left alone once more to chat more freely as they were wont to. In hindsight, it’s always easier to play up the theatre of their feats when one isn’t currently in that place of peril, with death reaching out to wrap barbed tendrils around one’s throat and yank them flailing into the underworld—but even then, the tall tales sold to random patrons come with a certain lull afterwards, punctuated more noticeably by the stabbing of a straw against ice and glass than he’d paid heed to so far.

And when Orochimaru speaks up, which Jiraiya had been starting to expect was coming like the most quiet yet brutal storm, he only needs to see the smile before he realises it won’t be good.

The stirring of the drink, whose colour was dimming thanks to the ice melting faster than they were imbibing, creates a little whirlpool in the glass that Jiraiya finds himself equally as mystified by as the question at hand. Oh, how he feels like he’d somehow been shrunk down and trapped in that boozy vortex, being spun endlessly around by a cruel and relentless hand! The unfortunate fact of the matter is, he has no idea what they’re really thinking while asking this, which is probably clear in the suspicious quirk of his eyebrow, and yet his own tipsiness is enough that despite gripping his glass a little tighter, he’ll rise to the challenge. 

He won’t let himself flounder and sweat, and he certainly won’t let whatever game was being played get under his skin… and yet it still rankles him enough that the atmosphere becomes tinged with a certain… frost.

Most of the time, he thought it was Tsunade that really had no problem hurting him. But times like this come as an unpleasant reminder that she simply isn’t as subtle about it as they are. She’s straightforward. She doesn’t test him. Whereas when it comes to Orochimaru, the needles come so subtly in the dead of night, in the form of some question or comment, and without even the moonlight to afford him that warning flash. He’s had it before, where a casual conversation somehow ends with him feeling like he’s fucked up—so it sets in rather quickly that there’s nothing cute or fun about this line of questioning whatsoever, for all he gives a hum of amusement into the next swig of sake, before setting his glass bluntly down again.

“Are you forgetting how not ordinary we are? Surely not, my dear friend,” the sage says coolly, in that irritatingly old-and-wise tone of his—the one reserved for moments of profound wisdom and bullshitting such as these. “What’s poison, after all, to the finest medic the world has ever seen? Or to a disciple of Ryūchidō whose blood is said to match that of the most deadly viper itself?”

That was one of the more wild rumours that had surrounded Orochimaru, for sure, but Jiraiya is ever one for playing up the mystery. He knows damn well they’re a B type—just like him, just like Tsunade. Sometimes he wonders whether that was a purposeful choice on Sensei’s part… or a grave oversight. Putting that matter aside in his mind, Jiraiya taps his chin thoughtfully, trying to maintain the illusion that this is a well-meaning expression of Orochimaru’s characteristic curiosity rather than a test of… well, he’s not sure what, because he refuses to ease up on the illusion, you see.

“Well, Tsunade’s more likely to save herself from a mortal wound,” he continues, inclining his head towards her, “and you’re more likely to evade an attack in the first place…” Having nodded towards Orochimaru, he stares somewhere above and between them for a moment. “As for me? Well I’m as tough as a cockroach, not to mention quite wily, aren’t I? But I’m only one guy. Can’t I say I’d send my body to one, and my protective shield of hair to the other? I’ve got about a hundred tricks that means I don’t hafta choose…”

It’s a cop-out, and he knows it. Plus, that illusion… it really isn’t holding up that well. He just knows that saying the wrong thing will get him in trouble, or perhaps even come across as some grave betrayal… and that includes refusing to give a conclusive answer.

One or the other, Jiraiya. Think about it, think about it—would saying I’d just off myself for the two of them be acceptable? No no, probably not…

“Urgh, fine. In a situation where there was absolutely no option, no wiles or nothin’ that would help, just straight up choosing… I guess I’d simply have to go for the least annoying one.” He shrugs matter-of-factly, then spares a sneering side-eye and irritating lean towards their dearest medic, who is fast nearing drunken belligerence. “Sorry Tsuna!~” 

His subsequent jolly guffawing is cut short with an ‘agh, ouch!’ as he is rather predictably socked in the arm for such a comment, not that Tsunade really seems to care. Mind games like this aren’t exactly her thing, and certainly not while drunk. In fact, in her drunkenness she slurs something or another about ‘not needin’ t’be saved by no-one, much less you, idjit’… which in part, may have impacted his choice to go that way at all. 

Because really, how does one answer such a question in all seriousness? And what would they say, more pertinently, if asked the same ruthlessly unfair question? They’d never know, because neither of them ever would. 

And Orochimaru should see it, how unfair it really is, in the way Jiraiya turns his teasing gaze from Tsunade to them—and how in that most minute of movements it takes to refocus his attention onto them, his overall demeanour shifts from merry to overcast, no matter how his lips try to hang on to that signature cheeky curl. There isn’t a particular message he’s trying to convey in that look, no specific reprimand or indication of exactly how serious his answer had been… just a certain wounded discomfort, marred with something else. Something that he himself can’t place, not even with the benefit of inhabiting his own thoughts.

What he does know, however, is that there’s certainly more truth in it than his skilfully casual approach to the answer, in the end, had let on… something that may not be as simple as a measure of love, which they were deviously trying to weed out of him, but of his fiery protectiveness for them in particular, which was admittedly a shade stronger than what he felt towards Tsunade. And maybe that is, in and of itself, reflective of his love for them… or, perhaps, what he feels he is to them. What value he has to them, in comparison to her. It’s far too much to figure out on such a pleasant night, the first in months, with the alcohol flowing and emotions hastily smothered beneath tall tales.

Whatever it is though, he just hopes that they recognise it somehow, lurking in his soft, subdued eyes, and that they’re satisfied.

[ryujinzs]

starboy | tom holland

pairing: tom holland x reader

word count: 3,813

summary: You never really liked Tom, but after a party, you two get into the intimacy and things get out of control.

chapter warnings: a lot of smut, angst, unprotected sex.

a/n: I’m the worst person to write a smut but I swear I’ve tried!

When you think teenagers couldn't be stupider, they just prove that you were wrong. For some reason a boy has thrown himself completely naked in the pool, being almost freezing outside. Luckily you don't feel the cold, because the human warmth that is inside the room makes you feel warm. You hold your beer bottle tight and frown when you see your best friend kiss the fifth party boy.

Ah, yes. Fraternity parties. They are always a disaster. Everyone always ends up drunk, vomiting on all the furniture and with the greatest hangover possible. You wanted to be home by updating your favorite series, but no, Lindsay, the girl who abandoned you in the first ten minutes, said you were going to have a good time, it was a party on the college campus and there would be few people.

How innocent you were. It was ridiculous.

A long breath came from your lips. Your eyes went down to the now warm liquid inside the bottle. After all, why were you holding a bottle of beer if you didn't even drink? There were so many things to be answered, the main thing was, what the hell am I doing here? When the most popular guy on campus decides to throw a party because he's just in the mood, things get out of hand. Lindsay was always saying how Tom Holland was the hottest kid on campus, but you just thought him arrogant. He was always pacing back and forth with that convinced smile of his, bragging about how many girls were wanting to be with him and stuff like that. That was one of the things you hated.

You looked at the screen of your phone and realized that it was about midnight. Your eyes automatically turned. You felt like an old woman trying to fit in. There were so many people clinging to every corner that it was a little difficult not to notice. So you decided that you needed to go to the bathroom and even though it was almost impossible to get past all the people, you went up the marble stairs and had to be careful not to step on a drunken girl sleeping on the floor.

"Jesus Christ." You held the wall and left the bottle anywhere on the floor, it would probably vanish in a few seconds. The fraternity was great, there were so many rooms that you would have to open door to door to guess where the bathroom was. The first was a completely dark room. In the second part there were two girls kissing on the bed, you promptly apologized and closed the door, heart racing. At the third door you got it right, but you had a surprise. "Oh my God, I'm sorry... I was looking for, um, the bathroom." You turned your face away from facing what was in front of you.

Tom was inside with a redheaded girl. She was on top of the sink without the top of her clothes and he was kissing her the moment you opened the door. The girl quickly dressed in the clothes looked completely annoyed to you. The boy just laughed and watched his last flirting go through the corridor with her messy hair and the strap of her blouse down.

You stepped back and put your arms back waiting for him to come out of the bathroom, but he didn't leave. Tom stood on the doorframe, analyzing you from above. A crooked smile came when he noticed the little navy blue dress you wore. He highlighted all of your curves, showing all of your towering beauty.

You raised your eyebrow and took a deep breath. "I just wanted to use the bathroom, sorry to interrupt." And just as you were about to turn down the stairs, he finally spoke.

"Too bad, it would be really fun if you joined us."

You stared wide-eyed with the audacity of the boy in front of you. "Excuse me?"

"Do I know you? I don't think so, but what's your name?"

You hesitated a little. Obviously you knew who he was, the most arrogant of all college, how not to know? And for some reason, whether it was alcohol or just the malicious side, he was flirting with you.

Tom could not let a girl like you pass before his eyes without even knowing the name. He hardly knew your name, but he was completely fascinated.

"Y/N you won't believe what... Hi Tom." Lindsay smiled a little drunk. He just waved at her and gave up because he already knew the name of the most beautiful girl at the eparty.

"Lind, is everything okay? You're completely drunk."

"I know, yes, I know. Sorry?"

"Let's go home. Now."

"No, Y/N, I'm having so much fun..." She pouted, looking over her long black lashes.

"Lindsay..." You took a deep breath, but then you felt Tom move.

"I think your friend is fine, she's having fun, just as you should be, too." Tom said smiling, it was another smirk, malicious, with pure malice.

"See, Y/N? I'll be downstairs, probably with Kyle... I guess."

You saw your friend disappear down the stairs and you ran your hand over your face, feeling some anger at Tom. He didn't have to get involved in anything, but he got in and now probably Lindsay would drink so much until she forgot her name.

"See you down there, Y/N?" Tom moistened his lips, staring deep into your eyes.

"Whatever." You finally entered the bathroom and closed the door. Meanwhile, Tom went downstairs and joined his friends.

You spent more time than you should in the bathroom. The music was extremely loud and you didn't want to have to deal with Tom again, but a girl hit so hard at the door that made you leave, as she was almost dying to pee. The smell of alcohol and nicotine invaded your senses and you were led up the stairs again. The party seemed to have gotten worse by a hundred percent. There was a girl with only panties on the table while other people drank something straight from her body. Some couples were almost naked in the corner of the house, others danced, talked, it was difficult to understand what was really happening.

As you walked through the crowd, your eyes fixed on him. Tom was across the room talking to some of his friends. For a moment you allowed yourself to think more calmly. Your eyes fell on his wavy brown hair, his well-designed jaw and nose aligned. He wore a red jacket that favored his body and skin, his jeans were a bit tight, but he still could look good. After all, you concluded that the comments about his beauty were true. Tom held the neck of his beer bottle as he gestured and laughed at the same time. The same redheaded girl now bit his ear and said something, but he didn't seem to care so much.

Until he saw you. That devilish grin grew on the boy's face and he made his way to you.

Tom walked over to the table behind you and pretended to get another empty bottle, but he had other intentions. He turned, his lips pressed to your ear. "Did I mention how fucking good you're in that tight little dress, love?" His voice was pure lust. You almost choked when you felt the hot breath on your skin.

"What do you want?" You tried to keep up, but it was almost impossible.

Tom touched your arms and gently touched the back of your neck, leaving your hair to one side. You felt the cold on his fingertips because of the beer glass. It was deliciously dangerous and made your body bristle. Seeing that you had dropped your head slightly, Tom smiled devilishly. "You won't regret it, darling. I assure you."

"What if I say no?" You took a deep breath, wishing he'd touch you again just for you to feel the electricity in your body. It was ridiculous, you didn't like Tom, he was the stereotype you hated most, a rich and spoiled boy who lavished his money and charm on the girls.

"It's your choice, love. I just want to make you feel good." He moved closer, leaning against your back.

You sighed, feeling your muscles tighten even more tightly. He knew what he was doing and knew all too well. You were vulnerable, excited with only half a dozen words and nothing would make you understand how he could do this to people. But the carnal instinct was much stronger than the mere consciousness of the human being.

"I hate you. Did you know that, Holland?" His name came out like a beautiful song from your lips. Tom closed his eyes for a few seconds and continued to smile. He pressed his lips to the lobe of your ear, nibbling at your skin and pulling her then. He was a good player.

"You hate me? Show me then how much you hate me."

A soft moan was ripped from your lips. There was no escape from that. You were basically given to him. And the worst part of it all was that you wanted to.

"Not here." You with all the strength you possessed, pulled away and found the way out. Tom waited for you to leave to leave the beer on the table and follow you to the university campus. You walked quietly to your apartment, followed a quarter meter back by Tom. The students' apartments were basically across the street, and Thomas thanked greatly for it, because he couldn't last another second without touching you.

The five minutes to your door were quiet. When you turned the knob and turned on the light, Tom stepped into the apartment and you began to wonder if you had done the right thing, but there was no time for doubt, after all Tom was pulling off his jacket, showing his black shirt that was glued to his arms. You sighed as he walked toward you.

"You look so good in this dress that I almost want to fuck you with it." Tom's words leaving you in shock, ecstatic, anxious. "But I think I'd prefer you without him."

Tom held both hands on your face and buried his lips in yours. It was a mild taste of alcohol and mint, something exotic, but completely sensual. His lips moved precisely over yours in a kiss wet and full of desire. Tom didn't have to ask where your room was, because when you realized it, you were already in it. He tightened his grip on your waist, making you gasp over his lips. You came closer, wanting a little more body contact with him. Tom grinned and bit your lower lip, letting a faint moan escape your lips. "Someone is needy."

You were a little exhausted that Tom was always saying everything, doing everything, so you decided to take some action that you hardly knew you had. You pulled away from him and pushed him to the edge of the bed. Tom sat down, laughing softly and biting his lips, looking forward to what was to come. You took off the high heel you were wearing and slowly lowered a strap of the dress. At that moment Tom hesitated and drew in as much breath as he could. His gaze was fierce, fulminating. On the edge of the bed you allowed him to touch your body. Then the other strip of the dress fell on your shoulders. Without breaking eye contact, you undid the zipper of the dress until it easily fell on the floor.

Tom's eyes widened. He was surprised. "Holy shit." He whispered audibly.

You were wearing just a black lace panties and nothing more. When he thought he might touch you once more, you climbed into bed and pushed his body against the mattress.

"Damn, princess... You're fucking perfect."

You smiled devilishly, just like him. Tom took the black shirt off and tossed it to the floor. He had a wonderful sight of your breasts almost on his face. You sat on Tom's abdomen and spread your hands across his chest, slowly running your fingernails around. Tom growled low and smoothed your thighs. His hand reached around your waist and you moved back and forth, feeling the touch of Tom's warm skin on your core that by now was already completely wet. Tom moaned, feeling the moist fabric of lace on his skin.

"Come here, princess. Let me make you feel good, huh? I want to hear you scream my name as you ride on my face." The words if Tom made such a big effect that you moaned weak. He held on both sides of your waist until you adjusted with legs next to his head. Without even caring, Tom made the lace panties just turn a torn rag. Slowly he lowered your body until his lips were completely connected to your intimacy. When you felt his hot, soft tongue on your clit, it was as if an electric current had hit your body. You put your hand on the wall in front of you and looked down, watching him move his lips and tongue deliciously over your pussy.

"Oh my..." You just couldn't say anything, just moan loudly, feeling your belly burn. "Tom." You closed your eyes tight.

Tom tightened his grip on your waist while his other hand caressed your breast abruptly. His tongue snaked deliciously over your folds. You tried to reach your clit just for more impact, but he forbade you to touch. Instead, he lowered his fingers to your clit, stimulating and making your body snake on his tongue. A trickle of sweat trickled down your temple. Your hands gripped Tom's messy hair and you opened your lips, feeling your climax arriving. It was just paradise. His tongue was fiercely perfect. He licked your entrance and stepped away for a second just to continue to stimulate your clit.

"Do you like it when I eat your pretty little cunt, princess?" Tom increased his movements, leaving you only weak and sensitive. "Tell me, huh? How do you feel?"

"Damn it, Tom. It's so good, so..."

"Has anyone eaten your pretty pussy like that? I bet it doesn't." Tom sucked your pussy again and you felt the first orgasm coming. It was strong, intense, devastating.

"Tom, I'm almost there... Oh God!"

"That's it, love. Come to me, eh?"

It was too much. The erotic words, the sensation of having him there in your most sensitive place was too much. You disintegrated right there, a wave of heat and pleasure reaching into your body at once that made your toes curl.

"Tom..." You were breathless, unable to reason right. But he hadn't even started with you yet. Thomas stood up just to remove his pants as you lay down, sweaty and tired of a powerful and strong orgasm. There was such a large bulky mark on Tom's underwear that it immediately made your body ache.

He lay on top of you and carefully kissed your wet lips. Tom jerked your legs almost involuntarily and thrust two fingers into your cunt. You widened your eyes and cringed beneath his body. Tom nodded, watching you scramble for air as him moved in and out his fingers on your wet pussy. "Yeah, use your words love, I want to hear you."

"You're killing me, Holland." You closed your eyes, saying huskily.

"That's the intention, love." He laughed and moved his fingers inside you slowly, as if he were torturing you. "Your pussy is so tight, damn it. I can't wait to be inside you." Tom rubbed his wet fingers on your clit and you moaned deliciously beneath him. He brought both his fingers up to your lips and slowly put into your mouth. You wrapped your tongue between his fingers. Tom admired you completely fascinated. He could just cum watching you lick and suck his fingers. And you did so well, like a real pro. "I'm still gonna fuck that pretty mouth of yours." He ran his thumb over your lips and kissed you again now that you had tasted your own taste.

"Ass up for me, princess." He simply commanded. You had lost all the determination of domination that was a few minutes ago, now all you wanted was for him to fuck you until you lost all sense. You turned around and stood with your face on the pillow while Tom stroked your ass. He smiled and slapped it hard, leaving the skin irritable.

"Damn it, Tom!"

"You're a good girl, right, Y/N? Of course it is." He removed his boxer and made soft strokes on his own cock before brushing the tip into your entrance. You gasped, feeling your pussy ache just from anxiety to have it inside you. As he slid inside you, Tom let out a brutal groan as you just moaned as much as you could. He paused for a moment, feeling the moisture and how tight you were for him. Tom gripped your waist and moved slightly. "Hmm, Y/N, you receive me so damn good. Look at how your cunt gets my cock so well, damn it... I'm gonna fuck you so fucking hard you'll never forget this."

"Please, just fuck me good..."

"Yes, princess, as you wish..." He groaned as he moved faster inside you.

Things were getting more and more intense, the whole building would be able to hear their groans with Tom's and the sound of your skins getting into friction. But it was a good sin, deliciously good. You rolled your eyes, feeling your whole body numb. Tom leaned over to say hot, erotic things in your ear, which was driving you into madness. He was so close, for some reason he didn't know why it wasn’t taking so long, it was something in you, like a drug that made him crazy and vulnerable, about to erupt.

"Damn, Y/N, I'm so close..."

"Fuck me like that, Tom, just keep baby... You're fucking me so good!"

Tom pulled at your hair and with his hand on your waist, he brought you close. Your sweaty back were now clinging to Tom's breast. He held your breasts while his other hand circled your clit deliciously. You tried to lean on anything: the bed, the wall, but nothing seemed to hold the overwhelming sensation that was taking over your body. Tom's cock had hit a spot right inside you and you were slowly clenching around him, making him insane.

"Tom, I-I'm going to cum..."

"Cum all over my cock, love, do that for me, huh?" He bit your ear lobe as he slammed into you harder.

Then again you undid, but this time inside Tom. Your body erupted. Tom held you tightly to his chest as your walls tightened around him. Tom groaned something, shouting your name. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

"Tom, baby, cum for me. I want to feel you, please!"

It was the last for him. He closed his eyes and somehow captured your lips in a completely sloppy kiss. You lay on the bed and Tom lay on top as you slowly strocked his cock, feeling his cum fall on your stomach. Tom was a mess just like you. Hair stuck to his forehead, sweat all over his body, and his breath failed. He propped himself up by the elbows and looked up at you. Your breasts rising and falling rapidly, your hair was glued to your forehead and shoulders, red lips and scrapes all over your body. You were a mess, but at the same time you had an innocent look and Tom didn't know how after seeing what you were capable of.

He lay down beside you and ran his hand across his forehead, pulling all his hair away. His muscles were more relaxed now. He looked at you and couldn't not smile. You had your hands on your face hiding all the mess he had done to you. He laughed and pulled your arm away. You closed your eyes and it was as if you were hiding.

"Are you really trying to hide from me after what just happened?"

"No...?" You peeked open one eye and then closed it again.

"Where do I get a towel?" He asked before getting up.

"In the bathroom, first door on your right."

Tom nodded and put on his underwear that was on the floor in the bedroom. You lifted up a bit to look at the mess you two made. Your head was aching like your whole body. Tom had taken a little rough, but in a totally good way. Some thoughts hovered around your head, like, how the hell did I end up fucking the guy I hate the most?

You barely knew how you were going to tell Lindsay, she'd probably freak out if she found out. But it was too late and you had already done it. And done well, after all.

Tom returned to the bedroom with a towel and sat down beside you on the bed. He touched the towel on you stomach and cleaned you up. You watched every detail of it. His hands, his dark chocolate eyes, his completed hair slipped back and how he managed to be charming without even straining. He smiled to see you watching him. You whispered a thank you and got up, looking for the black shirt he was wearing before. Tom leaned back against the headboard and watched you dress the shirt with a smile on his face.

When you finished, you put your hands on your waist and made a pose for him. "How do I look?" You mocked him.

"Fucking delicious, love." You rolled your eyes and came over, sitting on the bed.

"So what now? Are you going away and pretending that none of this happened?"

"Is that what you want?" He questioned, a little seriously. You stopped to think. That could be something else, but you knew him by reputation and knew how he was like girls and creating a false expectation wasn't something you wanted. "How about you think about that? But first I wanted to know if I could stick around tonight."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes. I don't feel like going back to the party."

You were silent. He really wanted to stay. In the same bed. With you.

"It's alright. I think I'm going to need a shower now." You shrugged and stood up. Tom nodded, but said nothing. You turned around before entering the bathroom and made a thoughtful face. "Will you join me?"

"Oh, love. You're going to be the death of me..." Tom said as he stood up completely bewitched by your smile and your body.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Follow Me Home (Part 4)

Summary: Dean and the reader head to a private cabin to have a chat with her father and start to discover some of the answers they’ve been searching for..

Pairing: Cop!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, kidnapping

A/N: Enjoy!…

______

“Where the hell are we,” you whispered to Dean an hour later as you followed your dad inside a pretty looking cabin further up on the bay.

“We’re closer to the border,” he said, looking back at the two of you when you kept your coats on. “Jane-”

“My name is Y/N,” you said. He nodded, closing his eyes.

“I know, honey,” he said. “I’m sorry. I did what I had to.”

“Who the hell even are you?” you growled, stepping across the foyer, watching his face scrunch up.

“You’re dripping water-”

“I don’t give a shit,” you said, Dean’s hand on your shoulder. “What the hell is going on?”

“Y/N…” your father trailed off, spotting the bandage on your head. “What happened to you?”

“Exactly! What happened?” you asked, your father tilting his head. 

“Mr. Jones-” started Dean, getting a headshake.

“Call me Jim,” he said.

“Jim, Y/N...doesn’t recollect certain things right now. Most things,” said Dean, a flash of concern on Jim’s face surprising you. 

“What do you mean? What happened? Why isn’t she in a hospital?” he said, grabbing your hand before you shook away. “Y/N, you need to get looked at by a doctor.”

“Jim,” said Dean, your hand getting grabbed again.

“Did he hurt you?” asked Jim, tugging on you.

“No. Let go,” you said, ripping yourself away, standing behind Dean. “Do that again and I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“Y/N! I know you’re angry but that’s highly inappropriate,” he said, Dean cocking his head.

“...Okay,” said Dean. “Let’s all just take a beat. Jim, I’m gonna take a little look around this place with you while Y/N here calms down, alright? Good plan? Let’s go.”

“Listen, son-”

“Listen. Jim. My gut, for some reason, is saying you got something to say. Now why on earth you would kidnap your own daughter is beyond me but you did so, we’re gonna look around, make sure everything here looks up to snuff, and then us three are going to sit down and talk, got it?” said Dean. “We can do this with you in cuffs or not, the choice is yours.”

“Are you serious?” asked Jim. Dean stepped up to his face, his jaw clenching. 

“I said move.”

Jim turned away after a moment, Dean following him down a hall as you made your way into a family room, pictures covering the mantle. Most of them had you in them. Some from when you were young, others looked recent. You picked up one on the end, you and Jim on a boat holding up a large fish.

“We took the boat out on the 4th of July. You caught that one all by yourself,” said Jim, Dean nodding as he walked around, Jim taking a seat on the couch. You set the photo down, Dean wandering around and taking a seat in a chair close by. “How much did you forget?”

“Almost everything. I remember when I was very small, in Lawrence, when I was six. I remember everything past Tuesday morning. The rest is mostly empty but I’m filling in the gaps,” you said, taking a seat next to Dean. “You’re going to start from the beginning and I mean the beginning. You, my mother. Everything. Then, then, you will explain why you aren’t dead and why you don’t look like you have cancer and then maybe, we can start to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“You don’t talk like this,” said Jim.

“I’m not whatever naive little girl you think I am. You wanted to talk. Now talk,” you said. Jim sighed, pursing his lips before he nodded.

“I work in technology, always have. I traveled often for work when I was young. One of these business trips, I was in Kansas City. I was out at a bar when I met a woman who looked a bit sad. She had driven all the way out there from Lawrence apparently for a job interview but they laughed in her face when she had no degree. We just...talked. We talked for a long time, until closing time. It was late and we were both tipsy and she went back to my hotel room. Things got...heated...and in the morning, she left and we went our separate ways,” he said.

“Ever hear of a condom?” you said, rolling your eyes.

“So...I head home from my trip, life goes on. About five years go by. I branched out on my own with a business partner, we’re starting to make big boy money. A lot of money. We end up doing a little piece on Sixty Minutes. The next day, I get a call from Lawrence. Your mother had seen me on TV the night before. She didn’t bring you up at first. Then she asked for some money, told me it was for her daughter. Our daughter. Of course I gave it. I went down the next day and delivered it in person,” he said. “You were four or so. Always had your hair done up in a pretty braid.”

“We met?” you asked.

“A few times. I don’t imagine you’d remember me. You were always playing with the neighborhood kids or outside. Your mother told you I was your dad but we weren’t close. She barely let me see you. Maybe twice a year. It was...difficult,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t she let you stay?” you asked.

“She had a boyfriend, didn’t she,” said Dean. Jim nodded.

“I understood her reasoning. It was one night years earlier. We had very different lives. You barely wanted anything to do with me. But I loved you. I told her I’d move you two up to me or I could go down there but she wanted us to go our separate ways and I respected it. So I gave her money when she asked for it and that was that. Until one night when you were six. She asked if I would take full custody of you. I know how much your mom loved you. She sounded scared. I eventually got it out of her what was going on. After I hung up with her, we started our plan,” he said.

“What did you two talk about?” asked Dean.

“An old boyfriend of hers. A very, very, bad old boyfriend. The boyfriend she never wanted to see me around,” he said.

“How bad,” you asked.

“Bad enough that your own parents faked your own kidnapping to keep you safe,” he said. Dean ran his hands over his face, pulling out his phone.

“What’s his name,” said Dean.

“Johnathon Hawkins. He should be about late fifties,” said Jim. Dean typed on his phone for a moment, flipping through it before he was rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you find him?”

“Well if I see this piece of shit, I’m gonna shoot him whether he’s doing something wrong or not,” said Dean, quickly texting Sam before putting his phone away.

“What’d he do?” you asked, Dean flicking his gaze your direction.

“He hurts children,” said Dean, looking back to Jim. “And he is not any old sack of shit. He’s ex-military. He’s smart.”

“I’m not following. Why didn’t you two just call the police back then?” you asked.

“He’s never been convicted of a thing. There’s never been enough to try him. It’s obvious from his file he’s done these things. But he’s clean,” said Dean.

“He’s smart,” you said.

“Your mother and I came to the determination that he had picked you out as a form of personal payback possibly for her ending things with him when he started to show his true colors. Or possibly you were his intention all along. Whatever it was, she found out who he was and we knew...Y/N Y/L/N had to go missing,” said Jim.

“I wouldn’t have fought my own dad,” you said quietly, looking at Dean. “That’s what you said. It makes sense.”

“It took a few days to get you new documents, to create Jane Jones. I had an assload of money so it was possible. We got the documents and your mother shipped a few of your favorite books and your teddy bear here but we had to leave the rest or it looked suspicious. October 8th, I flew down to Lawrence, rented a car and met you and your mom at the park. You said goodbye to her and we headed home. You cried all the way to Washington. You cried for days while we hid out in this cabin. Then, we went to our big house in Seattle and you went to the elementary school and we started here,” he said. 

“Shit,” said Dean, taking his phone out again, already pulling it to his ear.

“What?” you asked, Dean closing his eyes.

“Why the fuck would your mom have killed herself if she knew you were safe with your dad?” said Dean. 

“Like I said,” said Jim, out of his seat and grabbing Dean’s phone, ending the call before it could start, “...Hawkins is a bad guy.”

“Did you know it was murder?” asked Dean, your head tilting back. “Jim?”

“...It would have exposed Y/N. I know you’re a police officer and you can think what you want. I made a call, the same call we made together as parents. Our daughter’s safety comes first,” said Jim. “Always.”

“I thought you said he likes children,” you said.

“I think he’s making an exception for you at the moment,” said Dean, trying to steal his phone back, Jim holding it away.

“What good will bringing up the past do? He was never convicted when he actually committed crimes. You think you’ll suddenly find enough evidence on a twenty year old murder?” he asked. 

“Fine. We just kill him ourselves,” you said. You felt Dean’s gaze on you, your own turning to meet his. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No. It’s one thing to say it. It’s another to do it,” said Dean. “Before we plan a murder, there’s still another part of this we need to understand. The present day part.”

“Yeah. Jim,” you said, crossing your arms as you sat back, Dean taking his phone again.

“About three months ago, you came over for dinner on Saturday night. You’d only been in your new apartment a week. You hated it but you felt like you were too old to be staying at home with me anymore. You liked your privacy. It was the being alone part you weren’t a fan of. You were thinking of getting a dog, have a companion. But then I found out you were having some problems at work on a project and people you work with so we grabbed a bottle of bourbon and took it out on the deck and had a bitch fest. Normally we stick to wine but you wanted something harder. So we drank...and I don’t know how we got talking about it but I let it slip that your mom didn’t kill herself. I didn’t think much of it at first. But I messed up in saying that because you started to dig and you are a very, very smart person, Y/N. I made up the cancer scare to distract you, hoping you’d drop the other stuff and forget about it.”

“Didn’t work,” you said.

“You started to have a cold shoulder with me. I went over your apartment one day while you were at work. I found your DAD notebook. You were going down a different trail. You questioned whether I was your father. I hoped after I left some DNA around for you to test you’d get the answers you wanted but you just didn’t stop. It’s probably my own fault for raising you that way. You started another notebook,” he said, standing and going over to a kitchen table. He picked it up, bringing it back and handing it to you.

“Mom,” you said, flipping it open, Dean reading over your shoulder.

“I stole it from you on Sunday while you were at the store. I don’t think you ever knew it went missing,” he said.

“You regularly lurk around my house when I’m not home?” you said.

“You were digging in places that should have been left alone,” said Jim. “I love you. I have waited for the day I could call you Y/N again. But you weren’t finding out the truth like that. I wanted us to talk.”

“Why fake your death?” asked Dean.

“I paid a few doctors to lie to Y/N. I didn’t fake anything,” he said. “I knew she was planning to go to Lawrence this week. I needed her to think I was gone so...so I could get her documents.”

“Documents?” you asked.

“That notebook, the Mom one, there’s information in there that you could have only gotten by digging and poking and there was a chance that Hawkins knew someone was poking, that a young woman was poking. Jane Jones was supposed to go missing this week,” he said. “Never to be heard from again. I got them for us both.”

“You let me go all the way to Lawrence on my own when you thought a psychopath was on my ass!” you shouted, shoving the book in Dean’s hands as you stood up. “You’re a pathological liar. You…”

“I tried stopping you. But you went around me, made sure to use a different card. I tried calling even but you refused to answer,” he said. “I had to go for a few hours to talk to the documents guy. You snuck past me. I was going to tell you the truth, I was going to tell you all of it. But you never picked up the phone because you didn’t trust me anymore. You never came home. Today when I saw you at the park, I thought you were willing to give me a chance. You don’t even remember me, do you.”

“No. I don’t. I’m not six years old. I deserved the truth long before this. You could have...I would remember if you had told me all of it. I wouldn’t have this Hawkins guy on me if you’d told me,” you said. You pursed your lips and wandered over to the back window, feeling both their eyes on you. “Do you have cancer?”

“No.”

“You have a lot of money, right?” you said.

“Yes, I do.”

“Y/N,” said Dean, standing up and walking beside you. “You’re not killing anyone.”

“We both know how you found me in those woods. I got out of there before he started whatever he was up to. I probably fell and hit my head running away. He’s not going to leave me alone until either I’m dead or he is, Dean. I’m not Jane Jones. I’m not whatever new name you bought for me. I’m Y/N,” you said, turning towards your dad. “What about you?”

“I’m going to do what I should have a long time ago,” he said as he stood up. “I’m your father. I should have gotten rid of him years ago.”

“Neither one of you is killing anyone,” said Dean.

“No offense, son, but she’s right. We need to kill him,” said Jim.

“I am a police chief,” said Dean, looking between the two of you and then past you. “I’ll do it.”

“Dean,” you said. 

“I’m not putting that on you,” he said to you, looking at Jim for a moment. “You’re not winning any father of the year awards...but you’re not equipped for this. You’ve never even held a gun I bet. I am our best bet against Hawkins. Plus I’m chief. I can cover up a murder like that.”

“What did you mean when you said you know how Dean found you,” asked Jim. 

“I wasn’t wearing a lot of clothes,” you said quietly. Jim cocked his head at Dean.

“Yeah, I so kill him,” said Jim.

“Jim-”

“You can help but I do it, alright?” he said. Dean nodded, Jim frowning at you. “Did he…”

“No. I think I got out of there before he could do anything. I was clean at the hospital,” you said.

“I’m going to call Sammy, give him the info,” said Dean, grabbing his phone from the couch. 

“You’re not hurt are you?” asked Jim, looking you over.

“No,” you said. “We were close, weren’t we.”

“Once,” he said. “I’d settle for you staying safe.”

“What’d you tell me when I had to come live with you? When I was little?” you asked.

“‘I know you don’t know me but I’ll take care of you because I’m your dad and I love you,’” he said.

“Still works,” you said, looking out the window again. “Is this house in your name?”

“No. Hawkins won’t find it,” he said. You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I lied.”

“I can understand lying when I was six years old. But three months ago? You should never have lied about a thing as horrible as being sick. You should have told me the truth,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “I was afraid.”

“I hate to break up this touching moment but my guy in Lawrence wants to talk to you, Jim,” said Dean, holding out his phone.

“Do you trust him?” asked Jim.

“He’s my little brother so yeah, I trust him,” said Dean. Jim took the phone and headed into a small den off the front of the cabin. Dean sighed as you took a seat on the window bench, Dean sitting beside you as you watched the rain come down. “Y/N...I know you’re angry with him. Hell, I’m angry with him. But I don’t think Jim wants to do anything other than try to keep you safe right now.”

“I’m having a hell of a week aren’t I,” you said, tucking your knees into your chest. Dean smiled and rubbed the top of your head, Jim returning after a few minutes.

“Are you...dating my daughter?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” said Dean, your eyes flickering over to his. “But only recently.”

“Jim…” you said.

“Not gonna dig my hole any deeper,” he said, heading into the kitchen.

“Smart move,” you said, closing your eyes, Dean returning to the soothing motion. The cabin was quiet aside from Jim working in the kitchen, Dean saying something quietly before you heard something be set down nearby. You lifted your head up, Dean now holding a cup of coffee, another on the bookshelf beside you. Jim wandered back into the den, Dean smiling as you rested your chin on your knees. “That feels nice.”

“Touch helps when a person is in shock,” he said. You titled your head as Dean shrugged out of his flannel and threw it over your shoulders. “Blankets do too.”

“I didn’t realize I was in shock,” you said. “Again.”

“Not the life threatening kind. More of the what the hell kind,” he said. “It’s why you feel so exhausted.”

“They teach you that in super cop school,” you teased. Dean shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee.

“No. Some cop told me that the day you went missing. Nobody knew what had happened. My parents...they were pretty scared something could have happened to Sammy or me. The cops even talked to us. I don’t remember a whole lot but I remember that. I was the oldest. It was always my job to make sure you two dorks didn’t wander off,” he said.

“You were ten,” you said.

“Yeah, well, Sammy slept in my room for a month after that. It freaked us out. Freaked the whole town out,” said Dean, taking another sip, watching as you reached around and picked up your own. You took a long drink, smiling when you pulled it away. “S’good?”

“Mhm. Just how I like it,” you said. You wrapped your hands around the mug and enjoyed the warmth, Dean watching out the back window when you shut your eyes. 

“Y/N,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you feel tired?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a smile as you opened your eyes. It took more effort than you thought it would, Dean’s mug now set aside as he grabbed your hand. “Dean?”

“He drugged us,” said Dean, trying to stand but he fell back on the bench. You saw Jim walk out from the den, both you and Dean watching him just stand there. “Who are you?”

“Jim Jones. I’m sorry officer. I’m sure you are very good at your job and all but I’m not risking her,” he said. 

“Jim,” you said, blinking a few times as you started to get more tired. “I don’t want to run.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N but we have to,” he said.

“I’m not a little girl,” you said, forcing yourself to your feet. “Don’t do this. Don’t...I remember around Dean. Don’t-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said again. 

“Y/N,” said Dean, grabbing his watch and slapping it on your wrist. “I’ll find you again, okay? Try to convince your dad in the mean...meanti…”

He knocked his head back against the wall, passed out on the bench as you caught yourself on a chair.

“Dad. We have to stop running,” you said, his hands on you helping you sit down.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I really am.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke holiday fluff: Satinalia

Inspired by @serial-chillr‘s most recent OC/OTP holiday edition questions! I LOVE YOU AND YOUR MEMES. NEVER STOP TAGGING ME IN THEM. ❤️

Here we have a little before-and-after on Fenris and Rynne Hawke and how they celebrate Satinalia.  Read on AO3 instead; ~1980 words.

*****************

The year 9:31 Dragon, in Kirkwall... 

“Happy Satinalia!” Hawke crowed as she sauntered into Fenris’s mansion. With a flourish, she offered him a bottle of wine.

Fenris eyed the expensive bottle suspiciously. “For Satinalia, you say?”

“Yes!” she said. “I don’t know about you, but it’s my favourite holiday. Who doesn’t like a holiday that’s really just an excuse to drink and dance a lot and to buy gifts for your closest friends?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Or to feel guilty about the ones you didn’t buy gifts for. One of the two.” 

He gazed at her in silence, uncertain how to respond. Fenris had never received a Satinalia gift before – not that he could remember, at least. He had also only ever harboured resentment toward this holiday, considering what it had entailed back in the Imperium. 

For Fenris, Satinalia in the Imperium meant being paraded around in his gold-plated cuffs and collar, whether at Danarius’s estate or the estate of whoever was hosting the most lavish Satinalia fête that year. If Fenris was lucky, Danarius would ignore him during the parties, leaving him to skulk undisturbed in Danarius’s wake; if Fenris was less lucky, Danarius would address him in the condescending manner reserved for a pet, or even force Fenris to eat rich morsels of food from his fingers if he was feeling particularly jovial and cruel.

Fenris dropped his gaze and folded his arms defensively. “I didn’t get you anything,” he muttered.

Hawke sighed dramatically. “And here I thought I was your best friend. I’ll pretend that doesn’t hurt my feelings.” She smiled cheekily at him, then held out the bottle more insistently.

Fenris reluctantly took the bottle. He couldn’t read the label, but he recognized the stamp on the glass: the wine was Antivan and very fine, and likely more than Hawke could really afford, given that she was trying to save up for Varric’s brother’s insane Deep Roads expedition. 

There was an odd buzzing feeling in his chest, almost like a mixture of warmth and a dull sort of pain. He swallowed hard. “You expect me to drink this all on my own?” he said gruffly. He knew how ungrateful he sounded; truly, the only words that should be coming from his mouth were ‘thank you’. But… venhedis, it was so difficult with Hawke sometimes. He already owed her so much for helping him to shake off the hunters when he’d first arrived in Kirkwall. Not that she ever brought it up or lorded it over him; in fact, every time she showed up here to see him, it was never to call in any favours. It was always to invite him along on some foolish lark, or to visit the Blooming Rose for a glimpse of the so-called ‘local talent’, or just to invite herself into his squatter’s nest and put her feet up on his filthy table and to talk and talk until he had no choice but to sit with her and talk in return. 

He had much to be grateful to Hawke for, and not just for this wine. But his words of thanks were blocked, trapped behind the unfamiliar and uncomfortable warmth filling his ribcage and swelling in his throat, and he could barely stand to look at her, much less express his thanks.

When she replied, her jovial tone was slightly wary. “You don’t have to drink the whole thing in one go, you handsome fool. Not unless you’re having a party and you’re going for a record or some such thing.” She brightened and looked around the dank foyer. “Are you having a party I don’t know about? I mean, perhaps that cracked femur in the corner is a friend of yours…”

Fenris pursed his lips and didn’t reply, and Hawke took a step closer to him and reached for his arm. “Hey, are you all right?” she asked.

He shirked away from her instinctively. “I’m fine,” he snapped.

She stopped in her tracks, and Fenris took a deep breath to calm himself. Hawke didn’t deserve his ire; not this time, at least. Besides, he wasn’t angry, not really. Anger was easy and familiar, a blistering roar in his chest and in his ears, and that’s not what this roiling warmth in his chest was.

He took another breath, then forced himself to look her in the eye. “I’m fine,” he said calmly. “And this was… thoughtful of you.” He gestured at the bottle. 

She smiled tentatively. “Proof that Rynne Hawke does actually have a thought once in a while, right?” 

He tried for a smile in return; he just not have been very convincing, though, because Hawke tugged her earlobe, then jerked her thumb at the door. “Well, um, I guess I’ll…”

She was shifting slowly toward the door. A dull little pang diluted the warm feeling in his chest. “You’re leaving?” he asked.

She stopped and looked at him in surprise. “I, uh. I don’t know. Am I?”

He dropped his eyes awkwardly to the bottle in his hands, then gestured at it once more. “I just told you that I can’t drink this on my own.”

She didn’t reply right away, and when Fenris chanced another look at her, he found her beaming at him. “Is this your way of asking me to stay for a drink?” she asked.

He huffed in amusement – and, yes, a little relief – then waved for her to sit at the table. “If you’re looking for a gold-embossed invitation on vellum, I’m afraid you’ll be waiting for quite some time.” He uncorked the wine, then sat kitty-corner to her and offered her the freshly-opened bottle. 

She chuckled as she took the bottle from his hand. “Fenris, I think this is your Satinalia gift to me. A drink and – dare I ask – a story from Kirkwall’s most handsome brooding elf?”

He tsked. “I don’t brood.”

She lowered the bottle from her lush raspberry-red lips and grinned at him. “I didn’t hear a refusal there to tell a story. Excellent, I’ll prepare to have my smallclothes melt off at that lovely voice of yours.” 

Her heated smile lifted a flush of warmth in his gut – yet another unfamiliar and pleasant and confusing sensation. He seemed to suffer such sensations a lot when Hawke was around.  

He snorted and took the bottle from her hand. “Shut up, Hawke,” he drawled, and he took a healthy gulp of wine. Just as he’d predicted, it was delicious wine: a rich and tangy sweetness overlaid with the perfect bitter note. He savoured the taste as it washed over his tongue, and when he lowered the bottle, it was to find Hawke watching him with the sort of gentle smile that always seemed to make his heart skip a beat. 

He smirked at her and handed her the bottle. The afternoon stretched out lazily as he and Hawke drank their wine and chatted and bickered and teased each other. By the time they’d finished the bottle of wine, Fenris had realized something odd and… nice. 

He’d realized that perhaps Satinalia wasn’t so bad after all.

Ten years later in Skyhold... 

Hawke carefully kneeled beside Fenris on the carpet, then held out a silver tray bearing two glasses of wine and the remaining half-empty bottle. “Fancy Antivan wine, freshly delivered from, er, Antiva!”

Fenris smiled faintly at her and took one glass of wine. “By which you mean it was specially ordered via Bonnie Sims?”

Hawke lifted her chin in a dignified manner. “How it got here doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s good.” She carefully set the tray on the carpet beside Toby’s furry snoring form, then lifted the second glass.

She tapped her glass against his in a tiny salute. “Happy Satinalia,” she chirped.

“Benefaris,” he said, and she smiled at him. They each sipped their wine, then Hawke shifted closer to him on the carpet. She punched their little nest of cushions into shape and arranged a blanket over their legs before picking up her glass again. She took a sip of wine, then finally snuggled into Fenris’s side.

Fenris watched in amusement until she finally stopped fidgeting. “Sufficiently comfortable now, are you?” he said.

“Yes, thanks for asking,” she said pertly. “Although if you wanted to take your shirt off and share a little more of your body heat with me, I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

He scoffed and pinched her waist. She squeaked and smacked his hand, and they scuffled for a moment until Toby lifted his head quizzically.

Hawke poked Fenris once more. “Settle down, you ruffian. You’re disturbing the mabari.”

Fenris nodded respectfully to Toby. “I apologize, my friend. You can resume your rest.” 

Toby woofed quietly, then settled his head on his paws once more, and Hawke and Fenris settled back on their impromptu pallet of cushions. The fire was dancing brightly in the hearth, and Fenris idly wiggled his bare toes as the flames sent a gentle wash of heat over the soles of his feet. Then, before he could forget, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small envelope. 

He handed the envelope to Hawke. “For you,” he said.

She gasped dramatically and pressed her hand to her chest. “For me? A letter from you? What sort of letter? A naughty one, if I’m lucky.”

He tutted as she eagerly opened the envelope. “As though I haven’t given you a letter every year on Satinalia for the past three years,” he drawled.

“Shh,” she admonished. “You’re ruining the suspense.” She pulled out the letter, and Fenris watched her from the corner of his eye as she read it.

Her eyes flicked swiftly across the page, and her expression shifted just as quickly: from smiling to serious, a bark of a laugh then back to serious. Her face gradually softened to something more complex, like a very tender sort of joy, and by the time she reached the end of the letter, her eyes were shining. 

She looked up and met his gaze, then let out a wobbly little laugh. “Oh Fenris,” she said. She quickly wiped her eyes, then batted her eyelashes playfully. “If I’m not mistaken, this letter must mean you like me a bit. Just a little bit, though, not very much–”

He huffed in amusement and cupped her tattooed neck in his palm. “Shut up, Hawke,” he murmured, and he kissed her smiling lips. 

She slid her fingers through his hair, and a few moments later, she was tucked beneath his body on the carpet as their lips met and parted in a lazy ebb and flow of affection. The fire was cozy and the blanket was warm, trapping the heat continued to rise between them as Fenris slid one arm beneath her waist, and it wasn’t long before he was hot enough to pull his tunic over his head and toss it on the carpet alongside their forgotten wine. 

Hawke smiled and trailed her fingers over his collarbones. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Happy Satinalia to me.” 

He smirked at her salacious tone. “Yes, it is,” he whispered. Just as every Satinalia had been, for as long as he had known her.

He drifted his palm over her belly, then beneath her shirt to seek her golden skin, and moments later her shirt was discarded along with his own. Hawke and Fenris kissed and shifted and breathed together on the carpet in front of the fireplace until the mabari deigned to move somewhere safer, and the passing of night gradually softened the flames to a gentle pile of embers, bringing another Satinalia to a peaceful close.

[efrmellifer]

Reclaimed

Aymeric’s gaze was intense as he watched Etien, perched on the loveseat, knitting needles flashing, the baby blanket she worked on taking the place of the usual blanket on her lap to keep her warm. She was nearly finished with this one, meaning that she would begin work on its twin soon.

Even so, as the yarn passed through her fingers, being woven into the blanket that grew and grew with every new row and the typical click of her switching the needles from hand to hand, he knew there was something else going on. Maybe it was the speed of her hands, or the tension of the yarn, but he could just tell. Something had gotten to Etien and now she was thinking.

So he rose from where he was sitting, so far away across the room, and sat down next to her.

“Get cold and bored over there?” she asked, not looking up from the tips of her needles. She had already cursed at a dropped stitch twice; he could only imagine she was trying not to see if the third time was the charm, and she had to rip up a whole row for it.

“Well, I do feel warmer sitting next to you,” he admitted.

She smiled, grip tight on the ends of the knitting so it didn’t unravel, and she turned to him. “And I thought you were trying to set my dress on fire with your mind. You had such a severe look on your face when I looked up. Is something wrong?”

Aymeric blinked, unaware that she had even looked at him. “Er, no. I was actually wondering the same about you. You look troubled.”

“Oh, that. I’ve been… turning something over in my mind ever since we got that last letter.”

“Another didn’t come, did it? I fully intend to make good on my offer to read them and relay their contents so you have no need to deal with the insults that come in addition.”

Etien shook her head, going back to her knitting for a few stitches before she spoke again. “No, I was thinking that there has to be a way to prevent any more of them from coming at all.”

Aymeric felt himself frown when he’d processed what she’d said. “And how would you propose to do that?”

“Well, I would have to go to Alder Springs, wouldn’t I?” She went back to the knitting, a little more aggressively now than she had been. So the idea agitated her. And yet she was going to do it?

Aymeric let it sink it, then roll over in his mind a few times. He couldn’t control Etien. He’d known for as long as he’d known her that was the case. Sometimes it reminded him of Haurchefant. Like they were blood siblings, almost, he thought. He couldn’t control her, but he had always been able to influence her, the way she influenced him. Changing each other slowly and Ishgard rapidly.

So he had to try to convince her. He came to a knee in front of her, hands folded on her knee, avoiding her bobbing foot and bouncing slipper. “Etien,” he murmured, waiting for her to look up at him. “Do not go to Alder Springs, dear-heart. Certainly not like this.” He didn’t say it, but what pressed at his lips, straining to be given voice was, “or I shall have to follow you.”

Her eyebrows dipped. “But what choice do I have? They’ve seen that the girl they once thought dead is in fact a living woman in a city not so far away, and now they bombard me with letters to rain more tragedy on my life. More never-ending tragedy.”

“Never-ending?” Aymeric asked, hand sliding up her leg until he rested it on her forearm.

She looked up at him again. “Broken up with moments of rapturous joy. Almost always when you’re involved.” She laughed lightly, but it dried out before she continued. “But I left the home in which I had spent my entire life heartbroken and made a fool of, only to be found by Hydaelyn with Lyse and Paplymo hot on Her heels to rope me into taking up the yoke. I fight the gods of the ‘beastmen,’ Ascians, dragons, imperial armies, and the embodiment of what happens when this tenuous balance is shifted, all without a break to breathe. At least, no break I don’t make for myself.”

Aymeric was silent, though Etien had taken his hand, so he squeezed it.

“But when I do, when I come back to you and I can relax, it’s as though I’ve never known sadness from all the happiness that I’m filled with.”

He squeezed her hand again. “Then please do not subject yourself to more of that sorrow. It’s as I told you—this is your fortress. If you leave it, I will happily come with to keep you safe, but I would rather not see you suffer so.”

She sighed through her nose. “All right.”

“All right?”

She nodded once. “All right. Stay with me, and I’ll stay here.”

He kissed the back of her hand, still clasped with his. “Happily, I again take the vow to do just that.”

_

“I worry about what being the Warrior of Light has done to her,” Aymeric remarked into his ale.

“Is she complaining of injuries?” Estinien asked, putting his own drink down. “She never mentioned anything like that to me.”

“No. But does she complain?”

“Not often,” Estinien conceded with a shrug. “So what concerns you?”

“She brought up going to Alder Springs.”

When he was met with silence, Aymeric looked over to see only confusion on Estinien’s face.

“Her childhood home. Where her parents still live. And ailing grandparents that they keep writing to her about.”

“Ah. Is it distressing her?”

“She thinks I haven’t noticed. But she wanted to go see them, hoping it would quell them, make them leave her—leave us—alone.”

Estinien sucked his teeth. “Not bloody likely.”

“I know. Moreover, she’s heavily expectant.”

There was a long silence between them. That, of course, was obvious, but its dark suggestion was a little less defined.

“Do you think her safety would be at risk?” Estinien asked finally.

“More like her sanity. She has gotten too used to having to be the one that takes responsibility, that does the most difficult and dangerous part of the plan. Now she immediately plans the hard part for herself and devotes herself to seeing it through. She still wakes up in tears from memories she didn’t ask to have awoken in her mind, from actions she was forced to take. She still flinches when people shout, when I clench my jaw, and yet she thinks she has no other choice than to go see her parents.” He took a long drink of his ale and put it down harder than he had intended, wincing when it met the table with a loud thud. His voice was weak and on the verge of breaking when he said, “She’s going to collapse under the weight. I don’t want it to happen.”

Estinien pulled Aymeric to his side, shushing him softly. “Neither do I.” He patted Aymeric’s back, hoping there would be no tears, and then let him go, though he made sure they were still sitting close. “Have you reminded her that she has a father here who would never hurt her that way?”

“Not in so many words.” Aymeric picked up the ale again, then put it down with a scoff. “I have the feeling it would make little difference. She has the right of it, when she says that they thought her dead. Reclaimed by the Black Shroud. But I think whoever she had been then… is. Dead, I mean. She didn’t leave them as the Warrior of Light.”

“Do you ever wonder what she might have been like before then? She had already been a lauded adventurer when we met her.”

“I try not to think about it,” Aymeric admitted. Now he drank again, just for something to do with his hands and his mouth. But it was true, he didn’t think about it, as much as he could. He knew that there was only a very slim chance that she had changed that much, but he didn’t like to even imagine that there was a version of Etien that wasn’t the one he loved so much.

The one who was so incredibly strong, but in the way once-broken bones were strong. Nothing could happen on a chocobo cart to have forged her anew, so adventuring had been the flame and the anvil.

Haurchefant had brought him—him and Estinien—a woman of bronze hair and steel resolve. What she had been before then was immaterial. What she was now was theirs. And wonderful. And deserving of the world, or as much of it as they could provide.

“I choose to love her as she is,” he responded at last. “When I met her, I loved her, and that has not changed. It would be a waste of time to speculate on whether or not I would love someone I don’t know.”

Estinien nodded. “And there are better ways to waste time, when she’s here now to be loved.”

“Precisely.”

They both drank.

_

That night, when Aymeric slipped into bed beside Etien, she curled up extra close to him, sniffling as she relaxed into his arms.

“Did you have another dream?” he asked, whispering into the flicking of her ear.

She simply nodded.

“What was it this time?”

“He”-- she never had to use his name, it was clear who she meant and that she didn’t want to name him-- “was telling me how I’d disappointed him. That I should be more like he remembered me, back when he’d loved me. ‘But how could he love what I had become?’ He said.”

Aymeric swallowed, hoping his upset at the notion would go down with the saliva. But oh, that rage was an unpleasant thing to have to quaff.

“How could he love what?”

“Me, now that I wasn’t… how I had been, so long ago. But I can remember back then, too. I didn’t- I didn’t return his feelings, Aymeric. Not then and not now. Which only makes it worse.”

He wanted to ask, made what worse? but he was silent, waiting for Etien to elaborate at her own speed and comfort.

“That he says, every time, that he’d never felt such betrayal in all his lifetimes. It’s all I was to him—a disappointment in an unattainable love, and now as a shadow of what he built me up to be. He expected more of me, and I can’t- I can’t live up to those expectations. Did—” she sobbed once—“it makes me wonder if he really ever knew me. Her. Us.”

“How could he love you if he did not know you?” Aymeric asked. “I could never speak to someone I loved that way.”

“I know,” she blubbered, turning to bury her face in his chest. She hiccuped. “It never made me feel loved. It made me feel…” she sobbed again. “I never asked for this.”

A loud knock on the front door startled both of them.

When they answered it, bleary-eyed in Aymeric’s case and red-eyed in Etien’s, Estinien just sighed. “I had a feeling it was one of those nights. May I come in?”

“Please,” Aymeric said, stepping back from the doorway, guiding Etien back with him so she didn’t stumble.

“Would some warm milk go amiss with the two of you?” Estinien asked as he stepped through. “You look like you need it.”

“None for me,” Etien mumbled. “It would upset my stomach.”

“Then warm tea?” he asked, tipping her chin up. “You’ve been crying. Maybe just a warm embrace.”

He drew her into his arms, and though she tensed for a moment, more tears slipped down her cheeks as she hugged him back.

When he let her go, he hugged Aymeric briefly with a squeeze to punctuate it, then headed to the kitchen to get them all their drinks.

The three of them sat on the bed when they were ready, steaming mugs occupying their hands. They all blew on the hot liquids in their cups, drinking slowly.

There were sighs of unburdening in the room, instead of appreciative hums. But when the cups were emptied, they laid in a loose tangle, sounding a little more contented when they were all together, the touch of loved ones soothing them maybe more than the beverages.

Some mix of the two helped the trio towards sleep, each with heavy eyelids that finally fluttered shut for the night.

It was easy to rest in one another’s arms, where they were known and loved, here and now.