#it sounds like boots marching and i felt insane

[newty]

The Anatomy of Dion's Brain

listened to the battle of belanus tor song on repeat otw to work. had a vision. the brain doesnt work very well

i made another one for the light i hear dion

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 17

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

As you crossed the threshold of the studio, your steps faltered. For a moment, you stood there, letting the noise from the street mix with the whirlwind of thoughts churning in your mind. Anger is like a poison, you thought, something that corrodes from the inside out, burning until there’s nothing left—except your eyes, fixed and brimming with a fury that felt almost supernatural.

He was a damned traitor. Selfish. Petty.

Nothing existed in Noah’s world except himself. And you knew it. You always had. The signs were there from the beginning, turning the breakup into a spectacle of egos you had neither the time nor interest to partake in.

But now, this? Giving an edge to the man you hated most? That was a blow below any imaginable line. Gerard got the songs, the notoriety, while you dragged yourselves to finish that cursed album. The thought made your throat tighten, your chest burn as if trapped in a furnace.

If you didn’t find a way to vent, you’d explode.

That’s when you saw Noah’s car. Parked there, gleaming under the dim evening light, like a silent provocation. In the passenger seat, the redhead from rehearsal—with her voluminous hair and crimson lipstick—was touching up her lips using the mirror. The scene lit something inside you, a fuse you hadn’t even known existed.

Your eyes landed on a metal rod propped against the nearby wall, used for clearing gutters. You looked at the rod. The rod seemed to look back, like a silent invitation. Before you realized it, your hands were on it.

You marched toward the car and knocked on the window. The girl jumped, her eyes wide.

“Get out of the car.” Your voice was sharp, a command that brooked no argument.

“What?” She blinked, confused.

“You must have hearing problems.” You yanked the handle, and to your luck, the door was unlocked. Without hesitation, you grabbed her wrist and dragged her out.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, drawing a shrill scream that cut through the air.

“No screaming!” you snarled, your gaze fixed on her. “If you keep going, I’ll drive this rod into your face.”

She struggled, but you were relentless. Each attempt to free herself only made you tighten your grip, the sound of her cries almost melodious to your ears.

“You’re insane! Noah was right about you!” she spat, her face flushed with fear and humiliation.

You let out a short, cold laugh. “And who said I care what Noah thinks?”

As you let her go, she crumpled to her knees on the ground, sobbing, but you no longer cared. Your attention was on the car.

The metal rod struck the windshield with a deafening crash. Shards flew in all directions, but you didn’t stop. You climbed onto the hood, the metal groaning under the weight of your boots as you destroyed everything in your path. Each strike was a release of rage, a confirmation that you still had control—if only over this.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Noah’s voice cut through the air, desperate. He ran toward you but hesitated, his eyes wide at the destruction.

You lifted your head, your disheveled hair falling over part of your face, and smiled. “Take one more step, Noah, and I’ll do to your face what I did to this glass.”

He froze, his breath ragged, his face pale. To him, that car was everything—a trophy, a testament to his achievements. And now, destroyed before his eyes.

“GET THE HELL OFF MY CAR!” he shouted, his voice breaking between rage and despair. When he finally mustered the courage to approach, he yanked you down with force, pinning you against the car. You could feel his hot breath against your face, his hands trembling with fury.

You pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away, but he held firm, an unyielding wall. Still, you could feel the hesitation pulsing beneath his skin. His breath was uneven, and his eyes, which tried to stay locked on yours, trembled almost imperceptibly. There was something there—a volatile mix of hatred and a desire he fought to suppress.

He braced his hand against the car beside your face, leaning closer. You felt the heat of his presence, and even amidst the anger burning like acid, a part of you hated the effect he still had on you. “You made it a point to turn this into a game, Noah. But you forgot—I always win when it comes to making someone’s life a living hell!” you spat, your voice dripping with venom.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he needed a second to regain control. When he opened them again, the anger was still there, but something else had surfaced — a vulnerability you hadn't seen in a long time. He exhaled through his nose, a sound heavy with frustration.

“I never doubted that,” he murmured, his voice almost hoarse. “Just look at what you’ve done to my life.”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to back down. “And what did I do, Noah? Tell me.” Your voice was a challenge, and you stepped forward, shrinking the space between you even further. “You can’t even name five things I’ve done against you because they don’t exist!”

He clenched his jaw, his eyes locked on yours. The tension between you seemed to electrify the air around you, suffocating and impossible to ignore. Noah’s breathing was quickened, as if he were struggling to hold himself back, but the anger — or perhaps something deeper — spilled into his movements.

“You want me to say it? Fine!” he shot back, his voice low and rough but as sharp as a blade. “You’ve invaded every corner of my life, turned everything into a war zone with your lies, made me sick, left me alone, and now you think you’re above it all? As if you’ve never done anything wrong?”

“I invaded your life?” you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Noah, you dragged me into this in the blink of an eye without even asking for my permission or caring about the life I already had before you! Now you want to play the victim because I couldn’t live up to the expectations you created for me?”

“Because you weren’t like this…”

“I can only imagine how painful it must’ve been for you to carve off your own scraps to fit in somewhere. That’s the life of those who cross paths with messed-up people. If someone changed, that someone wasn’t me, Noah,” you shot back, anguish in your voice. “And this version of you will never be a fraction of the man I loved.”

He pressed his lips together, and for a brief moment, he looked lost, as if he wanted to scream but couldn’t find the words. The closeness between you was suffocating. Noah leaned his face slightly closer, his eyes burning into yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

“I hate you so much…” he murmured, but his voice faltered at the end, as if the truth had slipped through his teeth. “I hate you.”

“No…” you replied, almost in a whisper. His gaze flickered, wavering between anger and something you didn’t want to admit but couldn’t ignore.

Your chest was so close to his that you could feel the erratic rhythm of his heart against your palm. How it hurt to feel him so near and yet be unable to touch him, such was the force that seemed to repel him at the slightest attempt.

“Then why don’t you just end this?” you challenged, leaning even closer, the tension becoming almost unbearable. “You’ve got the chance in your hands and can rid yourself of me once and for all, yet you’re acting the opposite.”

For a moment, it seemed like he would give in, say something that would change everything. But instead, he nearly stepped back, only to move forward again and grab your chin with a final warning.

“I’d rather die than let you go, little storm.” Those words echoed in your mind like distant thunder. It had been over a year since you last heard them, and their impact was unexpected, like something small, almost insignificant, finding space to lodge itself in your chest. Something strange. Something you hated to admit you felt.

“You’re staying here, in my band, you’re going to live with me every day and endure this vicious cycle of making our lives hell. Consider this your punishment because you’re going to pay for everything!”

He took another step forward, but his advance was abruptly cut short. The sudden absence of his body’s warmth left a void that seemed to swallow the space around you. Jolly stepped between you, forcing Noah to retreat.

“That’s enough for today’s show,” Jolly grumbled impatiently, his voice firm but laden with exhaustion. “If you both put as much effort into performing on stage as you do into creating drama in public, we’d be rich by now.”

He pressed a hand to Noah’s shoulder, forcing him to step back further.

Meanwhile, your body reacted on instinct, and as you tried to steady yourself, your hand brushed against a shard of glass forgotten nearby. The pain was immediate, a deep cut that made you let out a low groan. Warm blood began to trickle down your skin, and you pressed your other hand to the wound, trying to stem the flow.

Noah noticed. You saw his rigid posture crumble slightly, his shoulders dropping as he tilted his head in your direction. He took a hesitant step forward but was stopped again by Jolly.

“I said that’s enough!” Jolly snapped, his voice reverberating through the air. The tone was something you had never heard before. He was at his limit.

“Get out of my way!” Noah snarled back, his eyes sparking with fury. In a swift motion, he lunged forward, moving toward Jolly like a predator about to strike.

“You definitely don’t want this discussion to escalate and become about us, do you?” he emphasized.

“I already told you not to get involved in matters that aren’t your business!”

“Interesting…” Jolly scoffed, a laugh shaking his shoulders. “It’s been a long time since this became everyone’s business, especially after it dragged the band into this mess!”

The two now faced each other, the air heavy with electricity, as if the smallest movement could trigger something irreparable. You watched, chest tight, blood still dripping through your fingers, unsure whether to intervene or let the chaos take over.

“I’ll take her home, and you’re going to clean up this mess!”

“ME?” Noah yelled, pointing at himself. “But…”

“Did you see me stutter?” Jolly shot him a single cold glance before turning his back. “Don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

Finally, there was silence as the chaos subsided and the crowd dispersed. You watched Noah walk away, the red-haired girl chattering in his ear about what had happened. His eyes stayed on you until he crossed the street.

Throwing the keys onto the kitchen counter, you heard Jolly huff like an angry father rehearsing the right words to scold you without making you upset.

In the cupboard, you found the first aid kit and tossed it onto the sink. You washed your hands and pressed the wound with a cotton ball soaked in whatever would work for injuries, all the while feeling his disapproving gaze as he shook his head.

“One time, I joked with Ruffilo that you act as if you listen to all your intrusive thoughts. Looks like I wasn’t so wrong…”

You let out a chuckle, quickly stifling it when his expression remained serious. Jolly sat on the stool, leaning his elbow on the counter, while you leaned back against the sink. Your phone, resting on the marble countertop, started to vibrate, sending a chill down your spine. You kept your gaze on him as if nothing was happening.

“I stepped in during the fight and took your side, but that doesn’t mean I agree with what you did,” he pointed out.

“He provoked me, and I doubt you didn’t hear our argument in the studio or what he did to me…” you argued, dividing your attention between him and your vibrating phone. “Jolly, he’s messing with the band just out of spite!”

“We heard, and I promise we’ll figure out how to deal with this together while making sure to knock some sense into Noah along the way. But I’m talking about you!” he emphasized, pointing at you with his finger. Jolly frowned as your phone buzzed for the sixth time and grabbed it. “Damn, what the hell happened to your screen? I can’t even see who’s calling.”

A simple message saying “hi doll” was enough to short-circuit every functional part of your brain that day. You threw your phone against the wall, completely shattering the screen. That didn't stop the messages and calls. In fact, the gaps between them seemed to shorten every day, and the sound of your phone became enough to trigger heart palpitations.

You stayed silent, and he interpreted it however he chose.

“That’s exactly what worries me about you,” he said cautiously, spinning your phone between his fingers before setting it down on the counter. “You’ve been having frequent, increasingly intense outbursts. I know you hate us wasting time looking after you, just as I know you don’t need us to, since you’ve always preferred handling things on your own. But honestly, we’re tired of obeying you.”

“You’re right…” Your voice trembled more than usual, and your steps toward the counter felt hesitant. You clasped your hands and rested your face on them, digging your fingers into your hair as if squeezing your head could untangle your chaotic thoughts. “I’m under pressure, and I feel like they’re planning to drive me insane.”

Your breathing faltered, but now wasn’t the time for a breakdown—you needed to at least wait until he left. His next move took you by surprise: almost imperceptibly, he closed the gap between you and wrapped you in a hug. Warm and secure, he did everything he could to make you feel, even for a few seconds, like you weren’t alone.

You’d always had them.

“I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I want you to know your friends are always here. We always have been, and we always will be…” he assured. “Trust us the way we trust you.”

“You trust me?”

The question seemed silly as you pulled away from his hug and looked at him genuinely. Jolly smiled and just nodded his head.

“Of course.” He winked. “Now that I’ve gotten you home safely, I’m heading back to the studio to sort out a few more details for tomorrow’s video shoot. See you at rehearsal later?”

You just nodded, biting your lip as you realized he was referring to the video you’d been cut from. Jolly kissed the top of your head when one last question lit up your brain before he could leave.

“One dumb question, but where’s the video shoot?” Jolly turned as soon as the words left your lips, his eyes narrowing in your direction.

“Girl…”

“I promise I won’t cause any chaos,” you assured him, kissing your fingertips.

“I don’t know what you plan to do with that information, but we’re filming at Noah’s friend’s studio—the one who lent us the sound equipment for the last album. It’s a few miles from the main studio,” he revealed. “But only show up if you’re planning to do exactly what I’m thinking.”

Were you?

There was no way to know. Jolly was already gone, and you had made a decision.

After that conversation and a good shower, you set out determined to jog around the block. It wasn’t like you were a fan of physical exercise, but if running eased even half the mess in your mind, it might be worth a try.

The rhythmic sound of your steps against the asphalt echoed through the nearly deserted street. The night air was heavy, humid, and each breath felt like a struggle to stay focused. You’d been running for almost half an hour, your breathing quickening in sync with the energetic beat blasting through your headphones.

But something felt off.

The sensation hit first as a chill, a shiver running up your spine, leaving your skin tingling. You slowed down, removing one of the earbuds to listen to your surroundings. Then came the sound. Footsteps. Not the echo of your own, but a different rhythm, uneven, heavier.

For a moment, you tried to ignore it. Maybe it was just another jogger or someone heading home. But the sound persisted, matching your movements, too close to be coincidental.

Panic began to rise in your chest, tightening your throat. You glanced discreetly over your shoulder, but the street’s darkness seemed thicker than it should have been. The shadows of the trees swayed under the dim streetlights, forming shapes that played tricks on your mind.

You forced your legs to move faster, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of the footsteps grew louder, echoing in your mind like war drums. Each breath felt like it was tearing through your lungs, and the air seemed thinner, as if something was crushing you. Don’t look back. You tried to convince yourself, but the curiosity was irresistible, an uncontrollable compulsion. When you turned your head, you saw a silhouette in the darkness. Long, tall, moving too quickly—almost running.

Your body reacted before your mind. Your feet hit the ground harder, and you took off, ignoring the pain spreading through your legs. The streets seemed to narrow around you, the streetlights flickering erratically, as if the city itself was conspiring against you.

The sound of the footsteps was deafening now, almost drowning out the frantic beating of your heart. Your thoughts were a whirlwind of terrifying possibilities. Who was it? What did they want? Why were they following you?

You saw your street in the distance, a flicker of hope igniting, only to be replaced by growing dread. The keys were in your pocket, but would you have time to unlock the door?

When you finally reached your front door, your hands trembled so much that the keys slipped from your fingers, hitting the ground with a metallic clink that seemed to echo endlessly. You cursed under your breath, your eyes darting frantically between the ground and the street behind you.

The silhouette was closer now. The face still hidden by shadows, but the way it moved was wrong, unnaturally calm, as if it knew you had no way out.

With shaky fingers, you managed to grab the keys and unlock the door. Leaping inside, you slammed the door shut, twisting the lock repeatedly until you were sure it was secure.

Your body slid down the wooden door until you were sitting on the cold floor. Your chest heaved uncontrollably as adrenaline coursed through your veins like fire. Outside, the silence was absolute. No footsteps. No shadows visible through the window.

And yet, you couldn’t breathe properly, as if the air around you was thick with something invisible, something that refused to leave.

Were you safe?

No matter how much you tried to convince yourself, a part of you knew that feeling wouldn’t disappear anytime soon.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ; @just-randomm-stuff

[austajunk]

Mayhaps we could get 10 + 35 (Specifically Slutty Clothing) for Fubuki/Shinigami? Also would you do the prompts for individual characters?

Gotcha. Let's have some ClockGami action in the Mystery Labyrinth. Fubuki gets on Shinigami's last nerve while they're investigating and Shinigami simply has to punish her. Fufufu.

But I'm not sure what you mean by doing the prompts for individual characters??

Nevertheless the fic is below the cut.

Triggers: Humiliation, forced clothswearing, slutty clothing, and exposure

Inside the ever shifting halls of the Mystery Labyrinth, Fubuki Clockford and her clumsiness had created too many errors at the expense of Yuma and Shinigami. At least, that was how Shinigami viewed it. After the two women had separated from Yuma while investigating, the God of death couldn't help but to let her eyes run down Fubuki's voluptuous figure and let a few sordid ideas fill her mind.

This resulted in a long velvety curtain falling around the two women and locking Yuma away from them completely. Yuma gasped and immediately tried to find some opening in the curtains, but it was to no avail. He could see the feminine shadows of the women beyond the curtain and called to them.

"Hey! Shinigami! Bring Fubuki back!" He commanded, digging his fingers in the curtain fabric to try and rip it open. The red drapes held firm like they were a solid door.

"Uh-uh! Sorry, Master!" Shinigami sang back to her Master's demands. "This sheltered skank has got to learn some humility! And I'm gonna teach it to her! Courtesy of Shinigami's Skank Punishment Curriculum!"

"Oh my…" Fubuki cupped her mouth, completely stunned by the change of surroundings. And worse, she was locked in the curtain with the one person who kept insulting her. That blasted demon! "I told you! I can accept 'skank', but if you have the nerve to call me 'sheltered' one more time-!" Forgetting about being cut off from Yuma, she marched right up to Shinigami and jabbed her forefinger into her chest.

Shinigami raised an eyebrow, a devilish smile curling at her lips. "Oh… wanna try me?"

From outside the massive, drawn curtain, Yuma could hear nothing but the scuffle between the two women. Fubuki was trying to say something in retort to Shinigami's challenge, but her voice was suddenly cut off. Afterwards he could only make out the sounds of grunts and groans rather than actual words. He swallowed nervously and tried pressing his ear closer to the curtain.

"Shinigami! Whatever you're doing in there, I already know it's too far! Let Fubuki go!"

"Oh, quiet down, Master! I'm almost done!" Shinigami shouted back before applying the finishing touches to her little obscured project before her.

The rookie detective paused. Would Shinigami actually hurt Fubuki? He knew she could be possessive and especially cruel when she didn't get her way, but…

"Shinigami, open the curtain!" He tried again.

"Okay, geez! We're all done anyway!" Shinigami's voice said as the curtain slid open.

Yuma's face relaxed. "Thank goodness… you two shouldn't just…ah…"

He couldn't even finish his sentence as soon as the red drapes pulled back. Before his very eyes, Fubuki was presented to him but not in the clothes that she had entered the curtains in. Quite the opposite. Her coat and leggings were traded for a tight, black corset that only rose up under her bare chest. With every breath of air, her breasts went an inch higher thanks to the support of the new corset on her body. Beneath it, however, was only a garter belt that hung across her waist and a long pair of thigh high boots that raised her bubble-shaped ass into the air. Yuma felt his face go insanely hot and red at the patch of blue curls just above her pink slit. Her body quivered in the cool air and the noises she tried to make upon being exposed to him were blocked by a thick, ball-shaped gag shoved between her lips. Lastly, her arms were secured behind her, bound through several loops in her corset.

"F…Fubuki?!" Yuma fell back, clutching his chest. Shinigami smirked down at her work while she was in the middle of removing Fubuki's braid and straightening out her hair.

After she finished, the God of death kicked back and made a rectangular frame with her hands, placing Fubuki between it like she was going to snap a photo. "Whaddya think, Master? Huhhhh? I got this skank some appropriate attire! Isn't this the best?" She gave Fubuki's crotch a playful slap. Fubuki snapped her eyes shut and squealed, nearly stumbling over. "Geez… she's actually cute like this!"

The heiress sniffled and tried to turn away from Yuma, not realizing that doing so only flashed him her rear. In turn, Yuma tried to divert his attention to the sky, the crime scene that he was investigating, or the buildings around him. Anywhere but being caught staring down a practically naked woman in this Labyrinth!

"O-Okay, Shinigami," stammered Yuma, covering his face. "That's e-enough. Give Fubuki back her clothes!"

"Aw, what?" Shinigami whined. She put her arms out to guide Fubuki back over to them. "Look, Master! Her pussy's totally twitching. She's into it…girls can be total perverts too!"

"Wah!" Yuma shut his eyes and threw his hands up. No matter how much of a pulse he felt between his legs, he couldn't just exploit his fellow colleague like this. "Stop it!"

A pout crossed Shinigami's face and she shook her head, her long, lilac pigtails sailing in the wind behind her. If only her Master understood what was truly in a girl's heart…

"Oh, well!" She said brightly. "More for me then." She slipped behind Fubuki and cupped her chest. Each breast filled her hand as she rolled the pink nipples between her thumbs.

Fubuki groaned, her breathing sharp and fast through her nose. She wriggled in Shinigami's grasp, her face completely red from the humiliation. She didn't know how she could ever live this down, whether it was from being exposed in such a shameful outfit or being on display for someone like Yuma. The state she was in was too atrocious for words and yet, the tweaks to her nipples from Shinigami had her arching her back and offering herself up. Her mind spun in circles. It shouldn't feel so good to be demeaned by this horrid demon woman, should it?

She continued to writhe to the playful tweaks and plucks at her nipples until Shinigami's nails slid down her bare stomach. "Mhnnn…" Fubuki blinked and her breath hitched in her throat. Even she could see where Shinigami was heading, somewhere that made her eyes widen.

One finger slid up her folds and teased her clip with a light touch. "Hn!" Fubuki squealed, bucking her hips. It wasn't so much the pressure the death God was using. If anything, Shinigami was merely toying with her. Never once had Fubuki been touched like this, but the devilish woman made her feel like the heroine trapped in the clutches of the evil ruler on her quest. Was the corrupting evil force supposed to feel this good? Two fingers rubbed her clit together, drawing slow, needy moans from Fubuki's lips that couldn't be blocked by her gag. When she opened her eyes, she saw Yuma peeking from behind his hands.

Yuma was watching her? Fubuki was too transfixed with Shinigami's fingers inside of her to care. Her hips bucked on those digits and the groans spilled from her lips. One finger, then another slipped into Fubuki and before she could cry out, Shinigami caught her lips and kissed her over her gag. They connected with Shinigami holding the heiress steady in her arms, driving her fingers deeper into her slick pussy.

Watching the scene unfold before him, Yuma still managed to ignore the urges boiling within him and wondered if he should stop this before it went to the point of no return. Then, dumbly, he reminded himself that fingering was probably indeed past the point of no return! He was about to interject when Shinigami had kissed Fubuki and the heiress had leaned into it, closing her eyes. Sure, her arms were restrained, but Yuma could swear that she was… falling for Shinigami for a moment.

His eyes lowered to catch Fubuki using her unrestrained knee to brush the death God between her thighs. Shinigami smirked, leaving Fubuki's lips with a longing nip that dragged. Fubuki blinked and flushed, turning her face away.

"Oh, don't even, you total skank!" Shinigami hissed to her, giving the blue-haired heiress a loving nuzzle. "You know you wanna squirt all over my fingers. You're lucky I'm so nice… but I'm still not gonna take your attitude lightly from here on out…"

[aestheticvoyage2023]

Day 29: Sunday January 29, 2023 - “We All Just Need Mama”

This post contributed by Audrie reflecting on leaving. and. Coming Home. and. Being Needed by every one:

On the payroll I’ve been officially returned to work since late September 2022, and in actuality, it takes several weeks to get through re-qualification and audited test fights to become “AirWorthy” again and earn my wings back.  Then, still, it takes a few more weeks to get back on the schedule and have a full board; Something I had last seen in March of 2021.  So it was not until December that I was truly feeling back to work, commuting to LA, crashing at the Beach Haus in El Segundo, and re-catching the ice and fire of the flow that comes with the coming and the going and the coming home again. This fly life has a rhythm, a pace and a beat that is unlike anything else that I can compare to.  They all said my return to work would be like riding a bike, and it was, basically. Comes right back.  Not much had changed, some small details, but really it was all basically how I had left it.  Returning to this place and space and pace felt and looked the same on the outside as it always had before — once reacquainted, these dirty birds, and flight-port-stations, and hotel lobby food, and quiet stale hotel rooms all slid into place like a worn leather glove.  The equipment checks, and surface level tiny talk that comes to pass on the jumpseat and in-between scooping ice and pouring cokes and cran-apples, rolled out just as naturally as the ‘welcome aboards’ ‘would you like something to drink today’ and “we appreciate your business” niceties roll off my tongue.  And although it was all just the same,  (even the crash pad felt like an untouched time capsule), on the inside it all felt different.  Much like returning to a foreign land to revisit for the second and third time.  It is all basically the same, but what has changed is you; you return as an evolved version of yourself, and are not the same person as you were the last time your feet were in these spaces and places.  Returning to this fundraising is like that.  I started to notice when I asked people out in the world “how are you today” and they respond and then predictably reply with their programed “how are you” my response sounded crazy: “We are good” — and this was when i realized just how deeply my identity is now tied to the tiny human who’s feet were on the ground somewhere hundreds of miles away from where mine stood.  “We” rolls out and off my tongue so assuredly and confident that I am certain the strangers staring back at me processing this must think that I am insane and have an imaginary friend that I believe is standing right there next to me.  After a few wide eye blinks and shoulder shrugs I began to catch on and catch myself when these responses come out.  Im alone out here when I am away, and my identity has morphed from a “me” to a “we.” 

All the while, the coming and going has gotten rhythmic now.  And as we all adapt to the new mostly smooth normal, William continues to grow and thrive and adapt.  His sleep is smoothing out.  His calls and fits for mom milk in the middle of the moonlight have reduced, and he and his dad are in an adventure filled frenzy for the three full days that I wonder and return.  Even the dogs have adapted.  Everyone is surviving what I feared would be unsurvivable.  And Ive learned that while Im away, contributing to the fund raising, and giving space to let the household adapt to new ways of being, routines, habits, and flows, that I may not be needed in all the essential ways I felt I was before the return to working happened; I’ve also learned that the desire to have me home is real — as when I do return I am welcomed by all and appreciated deeply in different ways by everyone.  From Thursday when I am waived off by a smiling boy requesting the “Beep Beep, Beep Beep!” and Huckeberry’s anxiety climbs when I start to pull up my pantyhose and push my heels into my black boots, and Havarti hangs his head low on the couch — the steady veteran of this household, knowing for sure I’ll return with my love even if I’m too consumed by the younger pups to pat his head and tell him goodbye.  And my Partner, patterned now to push a few extra odd surprise items into my food bag, and lug my roller board into the trunk, ushering me out the door to make that 6:25 commute — always feels crazy and rushed and full of anxious energy by all. And then just 72 simple hours later, the same crew, all my boys, are there like clockwork with wide open arms to welcome me home.  Flowers now await me on the table to be arranged, Huckleberry flings himself at me with whimpers of joy, Havarti’s tail finds the energy to helicopter, and Jake brings William outside to the driveway to let our baby boy beam his ear to ear grin and rush towards his MaMaaaa when she pulls up.  We all spend Sunday nights and an entire day on Mondays in full blown recovery.  I plan to nap when W naps, and soak up every snuggle and smooch.  Huckleberry finds a way to pancake his head against my lap any moment I sit down on the couch, Havarti spends a few days lugging his tired bones from room to room following me as I follow William.  Jake prepares me dinner, and eases me in the door by carrying my bags,  pouring all the wine, and rekindling the fire.  Its a beautiful beat we have all started to make habit of and feels like routine.          

Its been nine straight weeks of this now.  And I still come to reply with “we” most of the time when I’m away and strangers, who don’t have a clue what I flew away from and left behind in the old pueblo, ask these generic questions about myself.  And while I don’t know when or if the “we” will ever totally go away again, I have discovered that i’m actually okay with the weird side eyes and auspicious looks from those that catch my odd plural response; Im comfortable with the “we” because this is a sweet reminder of the extra tug that lives in my heart forever now, especially when I am away; the constant gravity that has taken up residency and exists to pull me to return to home no matter how far away I get… the same way the moon pulls that tide back.  Wonder away as the waves do, on a regular cycle — they recede to bare the pools in the underbelly of what is below — causing the unnoticed nuances of the tiny creatures and shells and stones and life that exist there without the waves��� cover, to step into the light—to learn to live on, at least temporarily, without the comfort and warmth of the water’s embrace.  But then predictably, the moon rhythmically reminds the water to return to the beach.  It’s gravity. And its always there. I’m out here in this world while a tiny human that I recently grew inside my body then spent just about every waking and sleeping moment tied to, holding, feeding, rocking, starring at, loving on, giving to, learning from and living with, remains on the shoreline.  I am the water and this is my beach, and when I must recede, the distance is gained but the gravity remains.  And nothing feels whole or complete again until I return to my waves to land.  Until I can offer my warm embrace and comfort back to my all my creatures, especially my tiny one. The one that holds up the moon from inside my heart.  

Song: Zach Bryan - All Roads Lead Home

Quote:  “I realized when you look at your mother, you are looking at the purest love you will ever know.” ― Mitch Albom, For One More Day

[jagawriterr]

Pairing: Celtic x (fem! Assasin) Reader Word count: 4545 Warnings: Violence, blood, NSFW (+18 only), unprotected sex, pregnant. A/N: Thank you the request @reiketsunomizunomegami I really like your idea and I tried my best to meets your expectations. Masterlist

You adjusted your swords, gleaming in the sunlight, for the last time, zipped up all possible fasteners on your jacket, and took your first steps on the frozen ground of Antarctica. Realm of eternal ice.

Amidst the harsh winds and heavy snowfalls, one shape lurked slowly across the wasteland. You were walking in heavy snow boots, but the trace of them almost disappeared after a short while. The march continued and you were surrounded only by frost and the whistle of the wind.

Alone.

In a dead world, in a sliding march, step by step. You've studied the map so much that even if you had it with you, it wouldn't do any good in such a wasteland. You don't know how long you marched like that, in silence, you didn't count it, because it didn't matter much. Your energy grew with each step. The feeling of endless emptiness and the sound of the wind in your ears caused your instinct to slowly open up to the surroundings. He gave the impression that he would soon be useful for something. It will put you into a state of numbness, or the desire to chase an unknown threat that you will eventually find.

The toil made no impression on you, because you knew you were close. The closest you've ever come to discovering what you were really called to do. You were a killer, the best at your trade, there was only one reason for being here in this endless icy desert. Killing. It was your only satisfaction, the only way to finally be yourself. You adjusted your swords again, you could feel the snow tearing through them and the whistle of the wind that was blowing hard through your bare, jet-black hair.

The road you took to your destination was arduous. In the land of the eternal day, time lost its meaning. The snow crackled underfoot like the sound of broken bones, and the wind howled like the damned. From time to time you looked around this endless desert covered with eternal snow and did not believe that this journey could be so long and arduous. The sun seemed to shine with redoubled power.

The snow reflected the light, and the wind had no protection against it, and you couldn't really see anything but what you could see right in front of you. You squinted your eyes as you felt the snow invading your eyes, making itself in every crevice of the exposed skin of your face. Despite all this, you had to keep walking. You had to wade through this endless disorder and chaos to finally reach the Ancient Pyramid, which was your goal from the very beginning of your journey.

You were in the middle of the white wasteland, the wind had stopped, the snow glistened reflecting the light of the sun that emerged from behind the storm clouds. The storm had subsided, and only the furious red sun remained on the horizon. It warmed the patches of your face, enveloping you with its light.

Night has come. The gale returned with it, and again the ice crystals stormed every crevice of your costume. The howling came back and became even more twisted, surrounding you on all sides and getting closer all the time. You felt like it was playing with you. An indescribable clatter of primal instinct fused into a powerful parody of something beyond the human imagination.

It couldn't be the cry of an entity known to nature, the whistles of the whipping wind only reinforced the unreal feeling that drove you insane. The awareness that it was close made your vigilance increased. You snapped out of your body's numbness and reached for your swords. The whistle of the wind joined with the whistling of sword blades that cut the space like razor blades. The snow was falling gently on the hilts of the swords you held tightly in your gloved hands.

It spun around as if trying to sense the prey and at the same time trying to surround it. You were stung by that howl, but you didn't buckle under the pressure of different sounds, growls, moans and whistles of the wind rushing into your ears. You were balancing between reason and instinct.

It's that simple. Bend the knees, straighten the blades of the swords, and strike. You were replaying the sequence in your head when you heard the swish again, but closer this time. You felt a tingle on your skin, the blade of one of your swords trembled, you knew that in a moment, he would attack. Your attitude changed, you were alert, despite the gusting wind, the whistle in your ears and the snow falling into your eyes, your instinct sharpened, and your imagination suggested all sorts of shapes of this something that was swirling behind the curtain of snow and ice falling on the frosty ground.

You curled your toes, tightened your grip on the blades of your swords. Your eyes and hearing followed the sounds of the creature that tossed between you and the thickly falling snow. There was a sudden silence, the wind stopped and your body went numb with the cold. You wandered again where consciousness mixed with imagination, for just one moment. And it only took a moment.

He hit you hard. You didn't have time to dodge when his body pressed against you and sent you falling into a snowdrift. You screamed, but in this dark white desert no one can hear you scream. It's just you and him. The only guests in this icy darkness.

Snow fell into your eyes, you felt an impenetrable cold that was unlike anything you had felt before. You stood up quickly, feeling this was your only chance to finally attack. You were closer to his meaty body than you really thought. You could feel his heavy breathing, the snow bending under his feet. His steps betrayed him, and even though the wind and snow kept you apart, you knew he was there.

Your mind was clear now. You knew exactly where to hit, in the stomach area. It passed through the snow and frost like a shadow, perfectly adapting to its surroundings, testing you, your skills and even your wits and strategy. You didn't betray yourself, with one move your swords passed through the fleshy body, which stopped right in front of you for a split second.

You looked at him, a little in shock maybe a little in disbelief, but you were aware that he was not of this world and that's why you are here. It was your mission that led you to this icy wasteland they call Antarctica. The search finally brought the first harvest. Impaled by your two swords, the xenomorph writhed in agony. The sound of wind and snow was interrupted by a loud clatter from the mouth of the black monster. His jaw moved one last time before giving up the ghost.

***

You were making your way through a hill covered with snow and ice. You stood on a ridge where the glow of the pyramid you were looking for shimmered in iridescent reflections of light. This artifact left by the Ancients saw many things and held many secrets and creatures like the one you fought two days ago.

The feeling that it was all just beginning still haunted you and despite your discipline, you felt a lump in your throat. The sunlight was hitting your eyes with all its force. Despite the cold, you could feel the excitement spreading through your body the closer you got to your goal. The closer you got to the Pyramid, the more agitated you felt and thirsted for more blood. Adrenaline in your body began to buzz, circulate in your veins, your heart began to beat faster, and you breathed faster. You were walking along the fissure towards one of the shores of the stone Pyramid. In the depths of the desert white plain, you saw nothing but a white fluff that gently floated as the wind pressed against it. You shivered as you reached the entrance to the building.

***

It was damp and warm inside, the stone-clad walls took on a dark depth of the room that made you feel uncomfortable. Huge statues flanked the entrance, holding torches that gently illuminated the room. The cold entering the large hall stopped you for a moment. You shivered as you felt someone's presence. You knew that there were more of these creatures and you were aware that they could attack again. You were impressed by them, you didn't think that fighting them would be so exciting and that's why you wanted more of it. More of that adrenaline that was still pounding in your veins. And you even stopped being bothered by the unbearable cold that covered your whole body, from your toes to the very top of your head.

***

Walking along the forked corridors, you remembered the plans of the building, thanks to which you could explore the secrets of underground passages and corridors that led to the deepest places of the pyramid. You heard the murmurs, moans of the whipping wind in the cracks of the icy walls, the howl you heard two days ago was back, it was soft, but with every step you took it came closer and closer to you. They already knew you were here. They felt your presence, the softness of your body, its warmth and vibration.

You felt the ground tremble with each step you took. You reached for your swords, your hands gripping the hilts tightly. At first, you heard only the steady thud of your boots, but with each step you took, you felt that you were falling right into the middle of the battlefield. You saw a bunch of xenomorphs that invariably attacked the powerful stranger.

It was the second the black creature hit you in the side, it was enough to make you tense like a string. Being here, you joined the group of warriors who fought against monsters that wanted to occupy the entire pyramid area, and maybe even spread to the entire continent, or even worse, the entire planet. You've realized this is a war you're already a part of. Your swords did their duty, cutting the fleshy flesh of your enemies to pieces, and yellow gore and guts began to fill the stone floor.

You clenched your jaw and let out a breath. You hit one of them, the clamor spread around, steam billowed from its jaws, and its body and tail thrashed relentlessly as you impaled it on one of your swords. You pressed against him, finally pinning him against the icy wall. With nothing to lose, you struck the final blow that killed the monster.

***

This time it hit him, he doubled over from the hit in the stomach, finally moved and staggered around the hall. He didn't have time to realize that the xenomorph wrapped its tail around his leg and threw it hard on the ground. It clattered against his back, the armor around his chest protecting him. He rolled onto his stomach, knelt, then got up and was knocked to the ground again. With clumsy movements, he got up, but again the monster knocked him to the ground. It took him off the ground a few meters and he fell with a clatter to the cold floor of the hall. The xenomorph's cry of triumph came from his throat, crashing into him with such force that Yautja shot air from the mouth, which was tightly covered by the mask. He tried to roll onto his stomach, he felt pain and cold, and just when he thought it was over, he saw a woman rushing at the monster that wanted to deal the finishing blow. He heard the crack and knew she had snapped him in the middle, saw her kill him in cold blood as she turned to him and stared at him with her unreadable gaze, searching them for some of the empathy that was so characteristic of the human race. He saw nothing in them but emptiness and an icy stare. Again, he felt something grab him by the ankle, as if a steel cable had wrapped around his leg and he was being pulled upward. Then he heard a crack and wondered if it was his bones or if the ground was cracking from being tossed around like a rag doll. He was able to see only the arm, and actually the entire torso, and soon after he lost consciousness.

***

You saw the long tail writhing under the Predator's feet, which finally picked it up and started tossing it around like a doll, you heard the crack of breaking bones. The sight made you open your eyes wide, but not sparing a moment, you ran towards the enemy and hit him with your shoulder, so that he could lose his balance and he fell to the ground. You pressed against him even though he was resisting. You saw the Predator, who lay lifeless on the ground, you felt it was necessary, finally you managed to overcome the thrill of excitement and gave him a fatal blow to the head. There was silence, moans and howls ceased, and the xenomorph's head hit the floor to become your next trophy. "Fuck," you said to yourself as you saw the Predator lying motionless, battered and bruised, bright green blood flowing from his wounds. This time you had no idea what to do, but you certainly wouldn't leave him to his fate

You tried to get him off the ground, but you weren't strong enough to do it. His body was limp, he slowly regained consciousness when you wanted to take his mask off your face out of curiosity. He took your hands in yours, you sucked air into your mouth as you saw him remove the mask from his face by himself to get rid of unnecessary ballast. After a moment you saw him, the little spikes on his lower jaws arranged neatly in a row, from smallest to largest. His small eyes looked at you with a curiosity that has never been as strong as now. Your face was shrouded in a light mist of dew and the steam you exhaled made him see you out of focus, but he was captivated by your beauty. The flawless red of your cheeks, strands of hair unruly coming out from under the hat and jacket.

You helped him up, his body was giving him a hard time. The wounds hurt like hell, but he had to get up to at least try to move. He fell. You supported him, you helped him as best you could, and wanting to help him, you decided to find shelter so that you could heal him. You always had a bandage kit in your jacket pockets that you might be able to cover his wounds with.

After carefully considering which way you needed to go, and finding your way to safety in your memory, you took his arm again and walked slowly towards the nearest fork in the tunnels. Another turn, then right, then left, and right again, and you were finally there. Nobody will find you here.

With each passing minute he felt worse and worse, but you reassured him that you would be able to heal him. You took care of him the best you could. You laid him gently on the ground, leaning against the cold stone wall. His jaws slowly moved to different sounds that you couldn't quite decipher. You looked at his wounds, which were oozing more and more blood. You pulled out all the medical kit you had and began to slowly bandage his wounds.

You gripped his ankle gently, dousing it with hydrogen peroxide and bandaging it, as you do with every other wound on his body. This is the first time you've seen such a strange creature. You'd mistake him for a human in stature, but upon closer inspection his skin was completely different. Strong, thick and brown, slightly mottled in places. At the most sensitive areas of the body, the spots were larger and brighter. His chest moved slowly in time with his heartbeat. He shivered when he felt your hands on his belly. It was velvety to the touch, those parts of his body more delicate than the rest. You took off his shoulder pads, shin guards, plasma cannon, and the remnants of his breastplate. From his mouth seemed to hear a slight scratching, moaning. Despite the fire that was smoldering around you, he was damn cold. You covered him with your thick, down jacket.

Time passed, day after day, and only the moving sun clearly announced the process. A storm was raging outside, the moans and whistling of the wind reaching your ears, tearing through the cracks in the thick walls that shielded you from the world. In the distance, you heard a howl, a steady rumble, moans of slaughtered animals and a loud roar of a plane taking off. You walked to the crack in the wall and looked at the sky, among the blowing frosty wind and snow, you managed to see only white lights shining in the dark sky, shrouded in storm clouds. Their brilliance blinded you, made you feel uncomfortable, and when you looked at your companion you realized that they were his brothers. They gone. They flew off with a boom of unimaginably high notes that made your ears ring. Blood swelled at your temples and you felt a headache. You sat next to him, shrouded in the light glow of a dream that slowly nestled in your mind. You closed your eyes, trying hard not to fall asleep but finally gave up.

You woke up very early, checked his wounds while he was still asleep. You carefully studied his face covered in wrinkles and small spikes. His mandibles moved calmly, his eyes half-closed moved with sleep. And then you saw something more in him. Something special that made you feel incredibly blissful and peaceful. Your senses were failing you in his presence, the awareness that he was here was dizzying. It made you drown in your dreams of him and you knew he felt it too. You saw him open his eyes slowly, look at you and see you take off your thick sweatshirt. Your nipples, slightly purple in their protrusion from the cold, invaded his memory, his eyes flashed. You saw fireflies in his irises, and his pupils dilated quickly, he jumped up suddenly, hissed under the pain that hit him. He saw your breasts so velvety, so perfect, he took them in his hands. You felt the cold of the room and the warmth of his fingers penetrating your folds. Your euphoric body screamed and more, craved that touch.

Moans of the wind mixed with your breath, shrouded in a haze of pleasure and desire for more. More of those caresses, more of his hands caressing your breasts, his liquid thick skin that made you shiver. He snuggled his head into your bare breasts, slipped his tongue out of his jaws and slowly began to lick your nipples hardened with cold and excitement. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. You felt his whole body as his tongue roamed your wet and naked skin. A wave of heat took over your whole body, you moaned with pleasure staring at his fleshy tongue leaving wet traces on your naked skin.

This fire consumed you completely, dragged you into the depths of euphoria and lust. He grabbed you by the waist, exhaling air from his mouth, looked at your ecstatic face and slowly took off the rest of the clothes that remained on your body. You knew it was going to end like this, the atmosphere in the room was getting so thick you could cut it with a knife, and you and he slowly felt the irresistible need to get to know each other. Your feelings changed for him, and the tenderness he greeted you in his arms was like coming home. His calm and steady breathing soothed you, and you were still engulfed by the fire that was forming in your intestines and driving you crazy.

You were naked when he took off the codpiece and the rest of his armor that covered his hips. You looked at him, sitting in front of you and inviting you into a world of pleasure. You sat astride it, your body felt the impenetrable cold that enveloped you all awakening you from the stupor. You leaned against his chest, grabbed his cock and felt a huge wave of excitement as he entered you all. Finally, your body tense like a string let go, you curled your toes, tightened your buttocks and began to move to the tune of your hearts. The wind did not stop whistling between the cracks, and individual snowflakes fell into the room, to melt after a while on the ground or your hot skin.

Your movements slowly got faster, he gripped your buttocks hard and you felt him penetrating you hard with his big and swollen cock. His face expressed it all, light wrinkles accentuating his ecstasy, a soft clicking turned into a loud growl and wheezing. He tightened his grip on your buttocks and began to slowly take the initiative, moving your hips faster and faster. A loud moan escaped your lips and an explosion of euphoria made you feel your folds bursting with the feeling that you were about to explode. Your pussy tightens around his circumference, causing him to thrust into you with increasing force. Tension alternately comes and goes, sweat breaks through the folds of your body and heat spreads all over your insides. Hish's claws dig deeper into your buttocks, you feel the tension build up in your gut and slowly trickle down towards your temple. Your breathing quickens again, the energetic hip movements slow down, become sloppy, and you feel your core fill with ecstasy. You know that this is the moment, this force that is not worth fighting with, but surrender without a fight and stay in this feeling even though you want even more. You feel the orgasm fill your core as your pussy tightens around its circumference, feel the walls of it as it enters and exits without remorse as it finally loses its grip and tightens its grip on your waist, squeezing your body tighter. Leaning against his chest, you feel him filling you with his life-giving juice. The energy slowly leaves you, sits on it, exhaling hot air from your mouth, steam settles on the stone walls of the room, forming small droplets of water.

The fire was dying out and the sun was already over the horizon. You heard a sudden bang and thud, you quickly got up from the ground, dressed and ran out of the room. You didn't expect to find what you saw there, and it was a huge ship that landed near the pyramid, and from it emerged creatures unknown to you. You looked at them more closely as Hish, still slightly limping, approached you. Celtic mumbled something under his breath, pointing at the ship with his finger. He approached one of his kinsmen to report everything that had happened after the last ship left the planet. The Alien Predator looked at you with disapproval, the Other Predators looked at you with contempt in their eyes, and you, adjusting your swords on your back, felt that you had to be careful. They also did not welcome your Predator with enthusiasm, they even rejected it. They were stunned when they discovered what really happened in the pyramid. How much Celtic felt despised and abandoned by his own people could be seen from his very attitude. The helmet hid his face, but you could feel the fumes of resentment towards his companions.

He decided to take you with him and, sparing no time, he dragged you on board the ship, which you flew above the clouds and flew to his home planet. Celtic knew perfectly well that when he really told everything about you and how you killed all the xenomorphs, he would regain the trust of his tribe. In this way, he will regain the respect of his clan, and you will be able to join him by becoming his companion.

You felt subconsciously that what you were doing was not easy, but making Celtic happy was your dream. You've fallen in love with him since you met, you felt like it wasn't possible, but it was, that feeling of emptiness that still haunted you was gone. All that's left is the euphoria of that close-up and the memory you'll never get rid of. The sight of him, when he stunned you, his every move made you feel shivers on your skin. The other you are gone, cold, emotionless, now you are a completely different woman. Just as strong and powerful, but with more feelings and emotions that made you love everything on Celtic's home planet.

You've been here for a year. Your life looks completely different than the one you led on Earth. Here your life was much simpler, you proved yourself worthy of belonging to the clan and you were bound to it. You loved each other more than anything else, and your journeys to distant lands delighted you. You saw the star-studded sky, the nebulae tearing through the void of space, and his hot and naked body making waves of excitement ripple through you.

***

Your big belly has been visible since he left the stack after the last mission. He walked over to you, snuggling into your velvety body. A soft moan escaped his jaws, touched your belly, and looked up at your beaming smile. He knew you were happy, he was so proud of you for proving yourself to the great council, and he loved you like no one else had ever loved before.

The day of the birth was coming. All you could hear in the area was your screams and moans, which shattered the silence to pieces. You were lying on the bed, in front of you was a Yautja woman medic. Your sweaty and wrinkled face was reddened by the intense cramps and fatigue that had let you down suddenly and without warning. You sighed as she told you to push again. The sheets on the bed turned red, your pain was all you felt, and her hands held the head of the slowly emerging baby. Giving birth was the biggest challenge of your life and nothing was like the pain that tore you apart as the babies slowly came out of you one by one. There were four of them. Little bundles that screamed beyond their strength when Di'dta finally placed them next to you. Three gorgeous boys and one beautiful girl were your whole world and you never expected it all to lead to this place. Celtic moved closer to you, your body sticky with sweat, cupped your face and kissed your forehead gently. He looked at your children and smiled at them.

You were family.

[90stvshowgoth]

—BREAKING & ENTERING

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: after dabi was seen leaving your apartment complex last week, the commission has sent a lesser known hero to help guard the building until new cameras are installed. however, no security measures in the world could keep dabi out.

w/c: 5064

tags: dubcon, cuckolding, creampie, voyeurism, humiliation, exhibitionism, arson

a/n: this is the final chapter to this little duology, and the reason why its so much shorter is because the first one was really supposed to stand on its own, but i got so many requests for a sequel i couldn’t help it. so i just took the kinks i didn’t get to use last time and pay off some setup and voila. however, just ‘cause this is the last chapter of this story doesn’t mean i’m not gonna write a fuck ton of other stuff for him. ily burn man. plus i’m working on a huge, multi-chapter fic for him while i post smaller one-shots >:) that being said, enjoy.

The impact Dabi left on your life was far bigger than you thought it would’ve been on the night you snuck him away from the law. As he was running from the cops someone saw him climb through your window, and a different person also saw him climb down the fire escape. With witnesses like that, the other tenants were downright furious.

You almost felt bad for the landlord, it wasn’t his fault you were insane enough to willingly let a villain come inside both you and your apartment.

Your landlord and the police department came up with a solution. The apartment complex would be installing new state-of-the-art locks on all fire-escape adjacent windows free of charge. This wasn’t exactly an issue with seeing Dabi again, since all you had to do was purposefully leave yours unlocked.

It would take two weeks to install all the cameras, but until then, a community-assigned hero would be stationed to guard the complex.

His name was Kao, a middle-ranked hero with bright orange hair and a winning smile framed with dimples. At first you thought he might’ve been one of the better heroes, waving you off to work and walking you there the other day, but recently he’d begun to creep you out. The friendly conversations about a tv show you both enjoyed began to turn into invasive questions about your love life.

A week of lingering glances and uncomfortable prying culminated that Friday as he had flat out asked you to dinner moments prior.

“C’mon, I just— I said that wrong, lemme try again,” He stuttered, keeping pace with you as you marched towards the building.

“No, Kao, look, you’re cool and all, but I’m really not looking to date anyone right now.” You huffed, striding into the doorway and towards the elevator. That might not’ve been the whole truth but you obviously couldn’t tell him that you had the hots for a terrorist.

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well you just got off work, right? I remember which room you stay in, maybe I can swing by tonight?”

You whirled on him, your jaw slack in shock at the insensitivity of his words. The reminder that he knew where you lived sending a shiver down your spine, “Kao, this conversation is done. I don’t want you following me around anymore, hero,”

Deep down, your words sounded familiar. If they were raspier and said behind a thin veil of indifference, you might’ve realized that you were talking like Dabi.

“What is that supposed to mean? We’re the good guys!” You slammed your fist down on the close-door button, your mouth a thin line, daring Kao to make a move and stop the doors. He didn’t, and soon the reassuring pull of the elevator set your shaking body at ease.

‘Who does he think he is?’ You were bitter, rightfully so, you think.

You were so frustrated that you had difficulty inserting your keys into the lock, twisting it with a growl and throwing open the door, ready to collapse onto your pillow and vent to whoever was online about your heroic stalker.

When you noticed the scent of cigarettes in the air.

“Hey, doll,” Warmth surged through your chest at the sight of him, the villain’s feet kicked up onto the coffee table.

You were hanging your coat on the hook before moving beside him to the couch, “What took you so long?”

“Not happy to see me? You seem a lot bitchier than I remember,” The crude edge of his humor was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling niceties of work, and you smiled for what felt like the first time that day.

Shaking your head, you toed out of your boots and made your way to the frayed couch, “I’ll tell you all about him,”

That got his attention, “Him?”

“A hero,” Dabi’s frown worsened, an accusatory look in his eyes, “before you ask, no, you idiot, I hate this guy, there’s not a chance I’d sleep with him.”

The tensity in his shoulders relaxed, bring the half-finished Newport to his lips as you continued, “Since you broke in last week all my neighbors lost their shit. They threatened to sue if my landlord didn’t assign a hero to watch the building for a bit. I thought he was cool, but I’ve just decided that he’s a total prick.”

He hummed, nodding understandingly, “Want me to kill him?”

You gaped, hitting him on the chest, “Wha—No, Dabi, what the hell?”

He just shrugged, the intensity of his words almost funny to you, and as you recounted the last twenty minutes the ashes of Dabi’s cigarette fell to the floor. The dying lights of the sun streamed through your window, the smoke oddly beautiful in the glow as he handed you the last hit of his cheap cigar.

“You know why heroes are like that?” You shook your head, enjoying the numbing calm of tobacco, “It’s cause they’re spoiled. They go their entire lives being praised for everything they do so they don’t know how to take no for a fuckin’ answer,”

Apparently your smoking buddy was feeling talkative, much to your delight. His words made you pause, remembering the relieved faces of your neighbors whenever they’d see the gaudy costume Kao wore as he strode by.

“Shit... guess you’re right,” You mumbled into his side, not minding the ever-present aroma of burnt skin and smoke that clung to Dabi’s coat.

He scoffed, “I’m always right, baby,” His words earning him a pinch on the arm.

“No, you ass, just about the hero stuff,” He grinned, the staples on his dimples taut against his skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Careful, doll, you’re starting to sound like a villain,” The drop in your stomach sent heat down your skin, yet somehow you were still shivering under his predatory gaze.

You shook your head, trying to will away the red that dusted your cheeks, “No way, my quirk isn’t strong enough to be a villain,”

He raised his eyebrow expectantly, broadly gesturing for you to go on.

“Well...” God, why is this embarrassing? “I can give people headaches.”

You didn’t know if he would laugh at you or belittle you for your meaningless quirk, but he did neither.

“Think you could practice it more? Get better at it?” He was serious, staring at you and expecting an answer.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze, “I mean, maybe? It’s not hard to do, I guess,”

Dabi smirked, pulling you onto his lap. It felt as if the week hadn’t happened at all and you were right back where you started, your face flushing at the memories of that night. He dragged you close, eyes dark as he whispered something into your ear...

“Think you could split someone’s head open with a migraine?”

Your gut wrenched, flinching at the gory idea and making you sit up in Dabi’s lap. The atmosphere in the room hadn’t changed, his stare as menacing as before.

That is, until he started to crack up. Louder than you’d ever heard before, his fit filled the apartment until he had to cup his stomach from laughing too hard; the wheeze in his rough throat echoing around the room as your blush spread all the way down your neck.

“Oh, you asshole!” If anything, your shove against his chest only made him more giddy. The panic-fueled adrenaline was still surging through your body, unwillingly making the wetness between your thighs spread, even as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that Dabi had been fucking with you.

Your legs shook as he held on to you for balance, his cackling dying down but the shit-eating grin never leaving his face, “You were so freaked out, huh?”

“Yeah, no shit!”

He hummed, running a hand through your hair and suddenly yanking you forward, basking in the sharp yelp it brought from you, “You’re cute when you’re scared,”

You’d missed the way his scabbed lips felt on yours more than you’d ever admit. There was something about him that left you breathless, eager and questioning your life choices. Groaning into his mouth before pulling back and laving your slick tongue along his disfigured lower lip, you rolled your aching heat against him to force a truly pornographic moan from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck—” One of his hands slid down your back, grabbing your ass through your jeans, “Fucking hell, you missed me that much?”

You nodded dumbly into his shoulder, pressing chaste kisses along the ragged skin as he slid his finger past the band of your jeans, cupping your dripping sex with wide eyes.

“Goddamn, s’no way you’re this wet for me already,” His eyes were scrutinizing, trying to figure out why you were hiding into his neck, “What’s got you so worked up, doll?”

You couldn’t come up with a good excuse in time, Dabi thinking back to how your thighs had tightened up when he asked if you could kill someone, your eyes were frightened back then, yes, but there was something else. Something you wouldn’t tell him.

When the realization hit him, it hit hard.

“Holy shit, you get off on being scared?” He couldn’t believe his luck, the embarrassed groan you buried into his shoulder confirming his suspicions.

Dabi ran a hand through his hair, a childish wonder over his features, “Aren’t I fuckin’ lucky?” He sneered, pulling you back til you were at eye-level again.

“I’m gonna try something, baby,” there was an edge to his voice as he settled one hand on the small of your back, pressing your tits against his chest as he held your bra strap back with the other.

“What are you… Dabi, what are you doing?” The scent of fire and burning fabric filled the air, the ends of your bralette smoking between his fingertips, embers turning to ash and sprinkling down the couch until it was flimsy enough for Dabi to rip free, teeth sinking into your neck as he held you still to keep your skin safe.

It was jarring and a bit terrifying to be restrained against someone like Dabi without knowing his intentions. But nothing in you could deny the blinding rush of pleasure it ripped down your spine.

“It’s all starting to make sense, doll-face, I guess I was right the first time,” His hands tossed the smoking bra into hallway, reaching between you and torturously pinching and pulling on the rosy blush of your tits, “you do have a thing for villains,”

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy again, doll,” Without warning he shoved your torso forward, your body bouncing against the couch, his hands flying to the button of your jeans.

“—Didn’t have time to take you right last time, didn’t get to taste you,” his words made you whimper in his grasp, keeping your legs somewhat raised as tugged down the tight denim.

You fully expected him to take you rough like before, make you choke on his cock before having his fill, but as he tugged off your black panties he crawled down the trembling body beneath him, slowly moving over your ribs, your stomach, and finally your drooling cunt.

He never broke eye contact with you as he pulled your thighs closer, keeping them spread wide as the hot fan of his breath on your pussy sent a thrill through your neglected nerves.

“I want you to scream my name,” It was an order, not a request. The unhinged tremor in his hands was unsettling, an unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Dabi’s tongue immediately found your clit, mouth wrapping around the glistening bead and sucking all at once, the moan it drew from your lips unholy. He moaned at the taste, hiking up your hips onto his shoulders.

“Christ, you’re sweet, doll, like fuckin’ candy...” He muttered in disbelief, more to himself that to you, licking a wide stripe along your drenched lips, diving into you deep enough to have your limbs spasming around him.

On instinct your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the sharp cry that the villain drew. He didn’t warn you before bringing his hand up high and slapping it into the bare skin of your thigh, a scream echoing through the living room. Distantly, you wondered if your neighbors could hear...

“Don’t you dare hide a single sound from me, slut, or this ends now,” his ultimatum was scary but the insult felt heavy in a way you’d never felt before, and you nodded without a second thought, breathlessly bunching one hand into the arm of the couch above you and the other into the ashy black of his hair.

You nodded down to him, silently saying to continue; the villain fixed on watching as your chest swelled in time with your breathing, a rush of blood going to the heat of his cock.

His pace was hungry, nipping at your thighs whenever he thought you were too comfortable, spinning circles into your clit with his tongue and chuckling at the noises it brought, “You gonna cum, princess?” You could only respond with a scream of his name, the plea music to his ears, but he needed you to be louder if he was to get what he wanted.

“Louder,” Dabi called your name like a prayer, moaning into your cunt as you practically suffocated him between your thighs, “Fuck—Louder, baby, scream it,”

“Dabi!!” Your orgasm was hot against his tongue and he drank in every last drop of your climax until you were wrenching away his greedy mouth, your pussy swollen and red from his care.

Just as you started to compose yourself, a frantic banging sounded on the door. Someone from the hallway was slamming down their fist, screaming your name.

“Hey! Did you just say Dabi?! Are you okay in there?” It was Kao.

Horror clawed away any kind of afterglow as you cupped your hand to your mouth, leaning up on your elbow and whispering, “What do I say?”

Dabi’s voice was just low enough to hide behind the pounding of Kao’s fists, “Do you trust me?”

Before you could answer the hero behind the wall called your name again.

“If you don’t answer me in five seconds I’m breaking this door down!”

Your gaze flickered from the front door to the villain that was wiping your slick from his chin.

“Yes,”

Dabi grinned, grabbing your wrists and holding you against his shirt, one hand wrapped painfully around your tits and the other erupting with blue fire in his palm.

“Come and get her, hero!” You made a confused squeal, thrashing around in his grasp, eyes wide and afraid as Dabi shushed into your ear, trying to calm you down.

‘Like hell if you’d calm down, he’d practically just signed your death sentence!’ you heaved against the fugitive, trying to shake yourself free to no avail.

All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and imagine you were somewhere else as door was jolted in its hinges, the doorknob falling with a distant clang, and before you could beg Dabi to stop whatever stupid game he was playing, Kao ran into the room, eyes furrowed and fists raised as the door squeaked on the loose hinges behind him, blissfully unaware.

“Where are y—“ Kao’s voice paused mid-sentence, you flinched in Dabi’s hold, the heat of the redhead’s stare washing over you, naked and wet, making you tilt your head down, trying to hide yourself from the world.

“Isn’t she cute, hero?” Dabi rasped against you, the heat of his fire illuminated against the sweaty sheen of your trembling body. Kao didn’t know what to do, flustered and struggling to hide the tent in his latex costume.

You knew fighting back against the villain was pointless, falling limp in the strength of his arms as he chuckled into your neck, looking over at the bump in his pants, “You were right, babe, I think he likes you,”

“Get your filthy hands off of her!” Kao screamed, diving towards the couch with his fist raised back.

Dabi simply grinned, carefully hovering his flame ever closer to your now bare tits, you couldn’t help but scream at the proximity, and whatever plan Kao had in his mind died before his fist could make impact.

His novocaine laced voice spoke calmly beside your ear, “Any closer and she’s dead,” The hot rush down your legs wasn’t due to his flames, as one hand took to rubbing your sensitive sex, the sounds it elicited from you unintentional and mortifying under the presence of Kao in the room.

“What... what do you want, you bastard?” Dabi laughed at that one, tweaking your clit between his fingers and conducting the most beautiful notes from your pillowy lips.

“I think It’s pretty obvious what I want, don’t you think?” Your name on his lips sent you keening against him despite the inferno roaring inches away from your skin. He couldn’t move without Dabi’s flames hovering ever closer to your heaving chest, and to Kao, you were very clearly about to die. Although you didn’t believe Dabi would hurt you, he had asked you to trust him before he got Kao’s attention, after all, the line between foreplay and conflagration was becoming blurry.

Kao backed up into the half wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, barely making an effort to try and hide his erection anymore, “I’ll send you to fucking Tartarus for this, Dabi.”

“Oooo, scary,” His unlit hand trailed down your jawline, tilting you to his side until he could slide his tongue into your open lips, humming into your mouth, “What do you think, doll?

“Dabi, please... wait,“ The strength in your voice wasn’t as heated as before, and even you had to admit it sounded half-assed.

Kao’s quirk must be no good for long range because all he could do was stand there, trying to avert his eyes from your drooling cunt in favor of glaring daggers at the coy villain pulling soft mewls from your lips, “I swear... I’ll see you rot in prison for this. You’ll be fucking executed, you rapist—“

“—woah, woah, that stings, hero. Doll, is that really what I’m doin’?” You groaned, not exactly answering because you couldn’t hear the question, your eyes still shut tight in embarrassment.

The growl in his voice sent another soaking rush towards your pussy, as his hand grabbed you jaw, pulling you up, “Look at me,” Your eyes widened at the sight of Dabi so close to you, his chest warm against your back, the aches of your last orgasm fading into something new.

“Tell me to stop, princess, your call,” Time stood still as Dabi kissed a soft pathway along your neck, weirdly gentle as he listened for your response, his clothed hard-on pressed firmly against your ass.

Too flustered to speak, you merely wrenched your arm free from his grasp, carding you hand through his hair and pulling him to your desperate lips. You could feel him tug into a smirk against you as your hips eagerly ground themselves on him despite the audience.

Kao choked on his own spit, stepping backwards, but stopped when Dabi aimed his ignited hand towards the hero who was having difficulty piecing together your actions in his head. “What,” His voice cracked when he called out your name, “are you...?”

Dabi pulled away, a feral glint in the blue hidden beneath his hair as he licked a disgustingly wet stripe along your cheek, chest rumbling behind you as you squirmed at the gross feeling, “I’m still gonna need you to beg, sweetheart.”

Your dignity was hanging by a thread, hinging on whether or not you followed his lead, but the insane buzz your anxiety had stirred up under Kao’s confused stare and Dabi’s aching cock was impossible to ignore. He rut himself into the dripping curve of your ass, his jeans soaked with your slick as you found the courage to speak.

“Fuh...” Carefully, Dabi pressed a loving kiss to your temple, his stare fixated on Kao’s as you strung the syllables together, “Fuck me, Dabi,”

The hero couldn’t believe his ears. She’d turned him down countless times despite his pursuits, yet she was somehow fine with this? Kao briefly thought that perhaps his crush was a villain this whole time, but that couldn’t make sense with her weak quirk.

You felt Dabi twitch beneath you, the shameless way you showed yourself off was as humiliating as it was hot, and he laughed in lightheaded disbelief against the back of your neck, taking your ass in one hand and slipping the other down his pants, tugging off the painful metal zipper until his boxers were pulled down just enough for his cock to finally be met with the soft warmth of your cunt.

“As the lady commands,” Dabi grinned, reaching around your waist to take his pierced dick in his hand, rubbing and tapping his swollen head deliberately against your clit, pre-cum drenching your pussy as you felt boneless in his arms.

“Ah-! St..S-top tea-sing, Dabi!” You babbled, squirming to try and find an escape from his grasp or maybe trying to force him inside you, but all your struggling did was make him harder. But before you could beg, you froze at the sight of Kao a few feet away, his legs bending into a sprinter’s pose. He was going to run?

Dabi was having none of it, a controlled jet of flame grazing Kao’s knee, scalding the skin beneath the latex. The hero cried out into the bite of his fist, collapsing into the wall a few feet away.

“Nah, hero. You’re not leaving just yet,” The villain rearranged you on his lap, “See, the thought of you jerking off to my girl? It kinda pisses me off, actually,”

The color in Kao’s face drained as he had no choice but to sit and watch as Dabi slowly sunk you down on top of him, one hand drawing soft circles into your stomach as you reveled in the feeling of his piercings hot against every part of you.

“Though, I’m wondering, what did you think about, huh?” Kao sputtered, unable to form words just like you, formless noises falling from your lips.

His scarred hands grasped at the flesh of your thighs, raising you up only to shove you back onto his cock, the flames that still extended to threaten Kao suddenly flared up in time with his thrusts, the weight of him felt so much deeper at this angle and it was hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“I... nothing! I didn’t—“ Another whip of fire cut through the room from Dabi’s fingertips, a cast of blue leaving bubbling skin in its wake, pain flashing across Kao’s face.

“Fuckin’ liar,” You yelped as Dabi shoved you down, moaning into your ear as you squeezed against him, sobbing his name into his chest as he picked up a steady pace in your guts.

Kao cried out, stuttering and gripping along the inflamed line of skin, “I-I thought— thought about her... fuck— I just wanted her to suck me off, alright? There, I said it! Are you happy now?”

He must’ve realized the mistake in his words as soon as he said them, squeezing your eyes shut but having no choice but to smell the stench of burning flesh and hear the sound of muffled screaming as it filled your apartment, “Can’t blame you though, her mouth is God,”

Your hands scrambled for balance against Dabi as the screaming of his victim made him downright feral, filling your tight heat so well it had you crying.

“Damn, you’re soaked for me, doll, I just knew you were a kinky fuck deep down. You’re a slutty little girl for me, aren’t ya?”

As much as it hurt to admit it, he was right. He was painfully right, and you told him so. The unhinged, unstoppable force that was Dabi ignited a passion in you that’d never been fed before. He was torturing the hero you hated all while taking your cunt in deep, harsh thrusts, the metal imbedded into his cock and his chest behind you were blisteringly hot against your skin.

“Tell him, baby,” His question fell on deaf ears, your tongue lolling from your mouth a bit at the pleasure.

It caught you off guard when he drew his hand back and slapped you across the cheek, a blistering red handprint in its wake, saying your name so softly, turning off his quirk to run his hands through your hair, he whispered, “Tell that fucking hero who you belong to,”

The world tipped over as Dabi gripped your shoulders, pushing you onto the wooden coffee table so your ass stuck in the air. In an instant he was on you again, pounding into your cunt with a glazed fervor, your words downright biblical in his ears.

“On-ly... Dabi ca—Ngh, Only Dabi can fuck me this good,” You forced the words from your throat, thankful for the table serving as an impartial shoulder to cry on as Dabi lined himself up with your cunt.

“More, princess,” The snap of his hips had you drooling onto the table, catching sight of Kao’s slumped body in the corner as Dabi’s breath sounded much louder than before.

“Fuck, baby—” You cried, craning your neck back to look at him. Sweat glistened at the crown of his dark hair, steam shading his breath as he took you hard, “Your cock is— shit its so deep in me,”

Your nerves were spent from exhaustion as he railed you, being more vocal than before as he choked at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, his fingernails digging future bruises into your hip dips, “Wanna feel you cum in me, want you to fill me up— Dabi, wanna make you feel good,”

“Fuck, doll, I can’t...” He ground his teeth together, making you squeal as he mounted you from behind, spreading your legs out wide so you had no way to hide yourself, “Gonna fuck’n cum-gonna cum in you- fuck, fuck, fuck—!“

You both hit your highs at the same time, Dabi accidentally digging your face into the wood as he held you as tightly to him as possible, his cum running hot due to his quirk as he pumped you full, that broken cry of yours like music to his ears, humping you a few times to ride out his climax.

You felt warm and safe, Dabi’s weight a comfortable blanket even with your shivering skin pressed naked into the coffee table. However, the quietly groaning hero in the corner made you quickly come back down to earth.

“Dabi... did you kill him?” Your voice was small beneath him, but he just shrugged.

“Nah, not yet, don’t worry,” He kissed your neck one more time, his thumb rubbing circles into your indented stomach, pulling you off the table and back into his arms.

He pulled out of you and grinned at the sight of his release spilling down your thighs, “Damn...” he whispered, taking in the sight with a satisfied whistle, “C’mon Doll, forget about him.”

You were grateful he carried you bridal style to your bedroom, your legs gelatin at this point, and as he laid you down to rest he grabbed one of your discarded shirts that hadn’t made it to the hamper and wiped down the remains of sex from your twitching cunt before leaving the cum-stained top ignored on the ground.

“You doing good, baby? Didn’t go too hard, did I?” His concern was diminished somewhat by the grin on his face, satisfied with the mumbling, love-drunk form he’d reduced you to.

Shaking your head, you burrowed into the warm blankets, peeking your eyes out from beyond the covers in a way that even Dabi couldn’t deny was pretty cute, “No, just... what are you gonna do with Kao?”

His face was unreadable as he leaned closer, “Do you really want to know?”

Truth be told, no, you didn’t, you were just a civilian, far removed from the complex fight between heroes and villains. You were only in this situation because you’d grown to care about Dabi. In some small, sarcastic way, he’d wormed his way into your life, and he hadn’t hurt you so far, only going as close as possible to bring you over the edge again and again.

“No...”

“Good answer,” he stood up, tucking himself back into his jeans as he went back into the living room. You heard a muffled thud and what sounded like Dabi cursing before he reappeared in your bedroom, Kao’s unconscious body slung over his shoulder. For such a wiry guy, Dabi was pretty strong. Moving to the open window he basically threw Kao’s body onto the outside metal grating, his lungs uneven after carrying him.

Just as he swung his leg onto the windowsill you shot up in your bed, hand outstretched, “Wait!”

He turned back to look at you, genuinely confused as to what you could want.

“Kiss me before you go?”

He froze, then grinned, scoffing at the innocent gesture you gave so openly to a murderer like him. There had to be something wrong with his little villain-in-training to make her okay with it, just like him. Dabi ignored that thought for another day, striding forward and finally giving you the goodbye kiss you’d been denied last time, his tongue trying to map out every detail in case he could ever forget before pulling away with a warm softness to his ocean eyes.

“I think I might be starting to like you, Doll,” A feint rush of color fell on his unmarred skin and you’re sure your heart stopped beating for a good three seconds.

His words were a worn record being played over and over in your head long after he crawled down your fire escape, the teasing, sated haze in his voice hidden beneath a rasp of smoke. You weren’t sure how much he meant what he said, but you’re sure that the first thing you said in return was exactly what he wanted to hear; at least judging from the boyish smile that lit up his face when you said it.

“Come back soon, okay?”

“Okay,”

@effmigentlywithachainsaw @touyasfatcock @thicchaikyuuboys @awritersometimes @chey-the-simp

[hardyimagines]

A Crave For Fame

Would love a Forrest piece, maybe where you’re cornered by some bad guy and Forrest steps in and you nurse him. Bandaging his wounds and what not. You get really close to his face and he acts nonchalant about it but you’re really shy. Ends in a heated kiss. Lots of fluff.

TW: Mild Violence

———————————————————————

1932.

The bar smelt like thick liquor and dried throw up. The top of your nose was red and cold from the chilly wind as it whipped around outside swirling in circles, shaking tree branches until they were forced to drop their leaves, whisking up grains of dirt and sending them flying in the direction of those who were outside. It was a dust storm of some sort, that’s what people were referring to it as. The air outside was orange and murky, it looked as if the clouds had descended and were making the world all puffy and one big blur.

The tips of your painted nails slid along the straps of your bright red apron. Unhooking the fabric from the silver hook on the wall, you briefly ogled the peeling paper, crisp and dangling like a hangnail waiting to be ripped off. The apron wasn’t exactly required, but you found that it definitely helped to wear something in order to prevent having alcohol sloshed and spilled and stuck on you when rowdy customers would shake their heavy fists and bounce their heavy, drunk bodies on the counter stools.

Regardless of how many times you wiped down the counter, it always seemed to have a slick, sticky feeling to it and the lemon scent only masked the stench of whiskey and rum for a limited amount of time. The sign outside read ‘Restaurant’ and the sign further forward read ‘Gas station’, and while there was a small supply of gas and a short list of food items on the menu, that wasn’t at all what this place was truly selling.

It was the prohibition era. People were parched and the only way to quench their thirst was by giving them a cold beverage that scalded their throat as it went down. The smooth liquor was rich, bitter, sweet, plain. Everybody had their preference. You weren’t much of a drinker, but pouring beverages was easy enough and from the looks of approval you received all the time, you’d assume you were doing a pretty good job.

Working for bootleggers was never something that had spiked your interest in the past - and maybe it wouldn’t have when you had sauntered up the hill when it was pouring down rain a year ago, but one look at the man had charge had sent you reeling. You didn’t want to work anywhere else.

Forrest Bondurant was one of, if not, the most attractive men you’d ever seen. He had big blue eyes and a head of constantly gelled hair. Why he went through the trouble of styling such a mess, you didn’t know, majority of the time he wore a hat on top of it anyway. He was always strolling around in his big gray cardigan with a button down or another sweater underneath. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d overfilled the shot glasses on the bar and spilled liquor all over your fingers and the counter, just because staring at him was such a distraction. He didn’t notice though, and if he did, he didn’t say anything.

The front door opened with a loud creak, the hinges loudly alerting whoever had just entered that they were in no shape to be handled so roughly. The door swung shut, slamming loudly behind the new guest. His eyes shimmered green and his teeth sparkled white. The man removed his top hat and strode up to the counter with so much confidence you could’ve upchucked. Men like him made you want to spit in their drinks.

“What can I get for you?” You asked, not bothering to stop and give him the eye contact that he was clearly searching for.

“Something light.” The man said. “I won’t be staying long.” He pressed his elbow against the counter, but made no mention of the filth or the stench.

It wasn’t busy yet, but there were always people inside. Either they slept the night at the bar counter, on the floor, at a table, or outside, or they showed up as bright and early as the sun did, ready to start drinking the day away. Most of the customers that tended to be here so long just made their own drinks when you rested. Forrest knew them, you knew them, so there was no harm done. But this man, he was a completely new face.

“Something light as in water?” You said, pouring a shot of water and replacing it with the shot of vodka that one of the men had been drinking. He was green in the face and looked about ready to faint. You knew he needed to be eased off the liquor, you couldn’t just flat out say that - people reacted too differently to know if it would be a threat or not to cut someone’s intake off.

The man snorted. “Why would I come into a bar for a glass of water?”

You arched a slow brow. “The same reason you’d come in and ask for something light - we have liquor, straight from the bottle. It’s not dolled up and pretty, we don’t have any mixers, it’s just straight alcohol.” You didn’t say another word, instead you finally let your eyes flicker to his own, resisting the urge to glare. But your patience was wearing thin. You didn’t have time for games and he was beating around the bush.

The man sighed. “Moonshine.” He said before lowering himself down on the stool. “And maybe a drink of you?” You could hear the amusement in his voice, as if he were positive you’d take him up on his offer. He found himself hilarious.

Turning on the heel of your pointed boot, you wrapped your slender fingers around the neck of the silver bottle. Rotating, you poured a perfect glass of moonshine and then set the glass down in front of him. No spillage. The liquid was filled to the brim. Extending your arm, your palm creased as you curled your finger inward, waiting to be paid.

Instead, the man grasped your wrist and pressed it against the bar counter. “How about you give this one to me for free? Since I don’t see you marching that ass of yours from out behind the counter.” He patted his lap for good measure. “I went ahead and saved you a seat,” He motioned to his thigh again. “but you know, you’re being awful rude.”

Your eyes creased in the corners, stare hardening as the man tightened his hold on your wrist. Forrest was a shout away, but you were a big girl, not some maiden in a tower waiting to be rescued. Attempting to jerk your arm back to yourself, you hissed under your breath when he turned it at an odd angle. All the other men in the room were out old or oblivious. You could scream their names and they probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

You flinched as he began to rifle through his pocket.

“I’ll give you something.” He said, masking the tone of his voice for a more gentle and apologetic one. But you weren’t an idiot, so you didn’t let your guard down. But it wasn’t as if you could just rip your arm away from him. He was insanely strong and you, unfortunately, didn’t get much upper arm strength pouring drinks. Before you could utter a word, he pressed a cigarette against his lips and lit the end. The brownish-orange tip of the stick illuminated with bright orange embers as he inhaled and the smoke lifted from the end of the form of payment.

“Let me go.” You insisted, practically ripping at your arm so hard that your wrist had gone numb from his tight grasp.

“After I pay you.” He said. You didn’t know what to expect, a puff of smoke being blown in your direction? The man pinched the stick with his knuckles, clasping it between his pointer finger and his middle finger. He rotated it swiftly, pinching it then between his thumb and pointer finger. As suddenly as he moved the smoking tip toward your flesh, your eyes flickered with realization. And then you began to squirm.

“Hey..” You pulled harder. “What are you doing?” It was so obvious. But in a panicked state of mind were you expected to speak adequately. “Let me go, please..” Begging was never one of your strong suits. It just didn’t fit you. You hated it, having to ask someone to have mercy on you. But you didn’t fancy smelling burnt flesh, or feeling the pain that would come along with seared flesh. Scream for help, your brain said. You’re a big girl, but you can still ask for help, it reminded you.

The ashes fell from their loose spots on the cigarette, floating across your skin, dusting it with kisses. The ashes gathered on the counter as he lowered the hot tip of the cigarette toward your flexed forearm. Forrest’s name was on the tip of your tongue, but the pink muscle felt swollen and useless. There was a block in your throat that wouldn’t let your voice free and for the first time in a long time, fear surged through you like a whirlwind, resembling the very state of weather outside. Your body ran hot with fear and as you jerked your elbow to the side, the glass of moonshine toppled over and clattered against the floor.

Pieces scattered along the floor as the cup smashed on impact. If that wasn’t enough to lure Forrest out of office, then perhaps your cry of agony would. But the bloke was just a sliver of a second too late. The tip of the cigarette grazed your skin, enough to leave a slight burn, but as quickly as the glass had broken, Forrest had appeared.

He didn’t hover in the doorway to inspect what was going on. Someone had their hands on you and right away, it was unacceptable. The big, burly man strode forward. His thick fingers curled in the caramel flannel that the bastard was wearing. Forrest snatched the cigarette from his pinched fingers and immediately snubbed the lit tip out by pressing the hot surface against the man’s cheek.

The bloke let out a nasty yell, finally releasing your arm. You lifted your hands, on instinct, to cup over your ears, blocking out the sound of his pained shouting as best as you could.

His cry was like a signal though. The doors flew open and three other men piled in. It was rumored that the Bondurant brother’s were all invincible - especially Forrest. He’d survived a lot - brutal attacks, life-threatening illnesses, having his throat slit, his heart broken, wars. But could he take on four men?

Dropping your hands from your ears when the yelling stopped, you crouched down and began to twist the knob on the safe. It was a sixteen digit pin, so it would take a moment to open, but the revolver inside had six bullets, so you be able to wipe out all of the men with that if it came down to it. You weren’t peering over the bar counter to see what was happening. You were scared - terrified. A part of you wanted to leap into your boss’s arms and give him a bear hug, another part of you wanted to hide in those big arms of his and just forget that your arm had almost been burnt to a crisp. Instead, there was just a very small burn. It was nothing to worry over, nothing in comparison to the burn on the man’s face.

“What the fuck are you all standing there for!” The man rasped loudly, clutching his hand to his face as if the skin on skin contact would help him. “Get him!”

All three men moved forward. One was smoking a cigar - very nonchalant as he marched toward Forrest, one was sweating like he’d just ran a marathon, and the other was blinking furiously as if the dust outside had momentarily blinded him.

Forrest stuck his hand in his pocket and used his fingers to make the shape of a gun. The outline was bulky and visible and the three men hesitated, if only for a second. “I’d think very carefully on what you’re ‘bout to do next, boys.” Forrest spoke softly. His voice was quiet, slow. It was silky against your ears.

You poked your head out for half a second, blindly rotating to nozzle all the way to the left - 11, and then all the way to the right, 5. Inputting every single number as quickly as you could, you jumped in fear at the sound of a sickening crack. You jumped up, expecting to see Forrest laying in a heap on the floor, but instead it was just one of the other men. Forrest stood with his bloodied hand hanging at his side. Blood dripped from the brass knuckles he wore, droplets staining the wooden floorboards. Forrest sneered.

“Who’s next?” He inquired. “The man with the cigarette burn, the broken jaw, the blind one, or the sweaty one.” He flexed his fingers for a moment, waiting impatiently for one of them to charge at him.

What he didn’t expect was for the untouched duo to jump toward him at the same time. He sent his fist flying directly into one of their spine’s, but with the help from the bastard who now had a permanent scar on his cheek, Forrest was sent directly down and on to his back. The men tackled him and you trembled on the spot.

Shakily crouching back down, you began to finish off the code. Forrest’s groans of pain were evident. He was rasping, moaning, putting up as much of a fight as he could. He swung his arms and tried desperately to cover his face. Two men grabbed his arms and pulled them apart, leaving his face and stomach vulnerable to their boss.

The man’s cheek was sunken where the hole was forming. His eyes were red and watery and his stance was slightly shaky. But he had the upper hand as he moved forward. His hand dropped to his pocket and without any hesitance, he pulled a knife free from a holster.

“Now then, why don’t I reopen that cut on your throat?” The man sneered, already beginning to crouch down. Forrest’s nose was bleeding, his eye was swollen and purple. You were sure his stomach would be doused in bruises in the morning and his fingers would be cramped, locked, and jammed.

The safe opened with a quiet buzz and you, with an eagerness, desperately grabbed the handle of the gun and stood. Your hold was steady and your aim was perfect. You’d been working here for a little more than a year, and Forrest had taught you how to shoot within your first few weeks.

Extending your arms out, you held the gun steady as you cocked the revolver. “Hey, asshole.” You said breathily. “If you lay one more finger on him, I’ll kill you.” You could tell by the man’s tense back and resistance to look in your direction that he knew you weren’t bluffing. He slowly tucked away the blade and then sucked in a deep breath of air.

“You’re the first group of people to put up such an unnecessary fight. My brother’s and I, this is what we do, free alcohol from the bootleggers and pretty women are an extra bonus.” He snorted before looking in your direction.

You scowled, before demanding. “Leave..” And although you wanted them to, to all just pile out toward the entrance and get the hell out of here, it worried you. What if they came back sometime in the night when everyone was vulnerable and sleeping? Your eyes were distant as you pondered how this would end. You could blow another hole in his other cheek, though that one would be far more deadly. Or you could let them go.

“Forrest..” You whispered. His guidance was definitely a necessity right now. It wasn’t too often you found yourself in this position. The floorboards creaked underneath you as you shuffled your weight from foot to foot. Forrest sat up with a low grumble, clearly trying to hide the fact that he was in pain. He jerked his arms free from the hold the men had had on him and as he began to stand, he spun around and grabbed the back of their necks. Shoving them toward one another so their skulls rammed into each other, he shoved them both to the floor and then retrieved his brass knuckles. Two opponents down, and one more left.

Forrest gave each of them a few extra punches to the face for good measure, wanting them to realize that they truly weren’t a match for the invincible Bondurant. He whirled around to face the last man, the one who thought he could lay a hand on you, the one who thought he could use you as an ashtray and that would be fine.

The man did that to all of the bartenders, marking them in each town he passed through. His real name wouldn’t live on in the history books, but what he’d done would. Who wouldn’t want to read about a man that burned bartenders with a cigarette butt as a form of payment? It made him want to laugh on the spot.

Instead, he dove head first across the bar counter and directly into you. When it came to fight or flight, your reflexes were clearly to just freeze. His body sent yours crumbling to the floor. It was sticky and disgusting because you only mopped on the weekend. You have a sharp cry of pain and fear as he ripped the gun from your hand and pressed the tip against your chin. “Now then,” He sneered down at you. “You didn’t want a cigarette burn, maybe you’d like a bullet wound. I won’t kill you, I need you alive so you can tell the story about me.” His eyes creased with his lopsided grin and his breath - it stunk of peanuts and smoke. He didn’t even take a sip of the moonshine, it sat prettily on the bar, the liquid shaking from all the movement in the bar.

Forrest stepped toward the bar to help you, just as the man jerked you up and to your feet by your hair. Your eyes were opened wide and your eyes were pleading. The barrel of the gun caressed your soft skin, stroking your chin until he dared to move the gun to your lips. You jerked your head away, scoffing under your breath at the audacity of this man. He must’ve thought he was in a movie with the way he was behaving, talking about himself as if one day he’d be some big story. Your watery eyes moved to Forrest. He hadn’t budged. His knuckles were bloody and dripping - his blood or the men’s blood he didn’t know. All he saw was red. He felt hot and irritated, at a loss of control.

“What do you want?” Forrest said. His voice was so monotone. He sounded like he was taking someone’s order for food, not trying to save your life.

The man chortled. “I want you to light a cigarette and put it out on her body. I’ll let you choose where.” The man moved his hand to the back of your neck, roughly pinching it before he shoved you as hard as possible out from behind the bar and in the direction of your boss. He didn’t follow, he kept four feet between himself and the two of you. The gun was cocked and pointed, all he had to do was shoot.

Your feet didn’t cooperate with your mind, especially not after being forcefully sent flying forward. You rammed right into Forrest’s broad chest, arms immediately lifting so that you could clutch on to his cardigan. No part of you worried that he’d actually do what he was told. This was Forrest, he had a way out of everything - you hoped. Lifting your watery eyes to his own as he pressed his thick fingers against your elbow, steadying you, he checked your face for any signs of injury before slipping his other arm around you as well. You’d never been so close to him, pressed flush against him with hardly any room to breathe.

The man reached up and pinched the front of his hat. Removing the accessory, he lowered it to your head, shielding you from what was to come. Should he be shot, he didn’t think that was something you should see. You blinked slowly, your breaths seeming louder than usual beneath the oversized hat. You couldn’t see much, nothing but the ground and his belly as it rose and fell with every inhale and exhale.

So what happened next made you flinch. It was loud, so loud, there were screams of pain and the sound of cracking bones. Forrest hadn’t moved, he was still standing firmly with his feet planted against the wooden floor. His fingertips dared to brush along your arm, slow and assuring as he watched the scene play out. His brothers weren’t the best fighters, they weren’t the best when it came to confrontation, but regardless of what was happening they’d always have his back like he had theirs.

Without explaining what was going on, Forrest merely lifted the front of his hat so that he could see your features. Inspecting you closely, he let out a quiet grunt before giving you the best smile he could muster. With a swollen lip and a bruised eye, the expression didn’t seem fitting. Who’d be happy at a time like this? Relief colored his features as he slowly brushed his knuckles along your warm skin before he parted his lips to speak.

You beat him to it though. “Thank you..” You whispered softly before dragging yourself back. You didn’t want to suffocate him or make him uncomfortable by clinging to him. There was no longer a threat. “Come on,” You murmured softly. “Let me look at your injuries.” Peeling the hat off of your head, your slender fingers slipped through his own and you slowly guided him toward one of the tables. It was wiped clean, void of any crumbs or liquor, so you set the hat down on the surface and then nudged him gently to take a seat.

Forrest’s knees popped under the pressure and his bloodied hands moved to his stomach. It was only then, when he felt the pressure of the brass knuckles, that he realized he hadn’t taken them off. His fingers felt swollen and stiff and his arms refused to move for a few moments.

You have him a soft smile before slowly reaching for his hand. Your touch was delicate and slow as you pried the brass knuckles off of him. Setting the tool on the table, you turned around to fetch the first aid kit from behind the bar, just as Howard and Jack were hauling the bloke toward the exit. They’d be back for the other three as well.

You stepped over the unconscious bodies on the floor - some drunkards, and the three others were Forrest’s attackers. Retrieving the fallen revolver, you uncocked the weapon and slipped it back in the safe before securely closing the black case and then retrieving the plastic first aid box. The white handle fit snugly in your small palm as you pulled it free from its place under the bar.

You didn’t have the confidence that you’d be able to fix Forrest up as good as new, but you were certain that you’d be able to prevent anymore swelling, help some go down, and patch up the spots on his face that were bleeding. Your boots clicked softly against the floorboards as you made your way over to the table. Setting the box down, you undid the clasps on the front and then pushed it open. Dragging out the small container of alcohol, some gauze, a few wipes, and an ice packet, you gave him a small smile.

Forrest watched your every movement through one good eye, and one half-opened, swollen, purple eye. His nose was busted and bleeding and purple in the center. It didnt look broken, but it certainly looked bruised.

“Could I wipe your hands clean?” You asked softly. There was always an ever present shyness to you when it came to the man seated in front of you. You didn’t know what it was about him that made you feel so nervous, but you felt the need to shy away after every word exchanged.

He gave a quiet hum before lifting his hands and laying them on the table. His knuckles were tense and bleeding in various places. The impact of the brass knuckles hammering against a man’s face, still brought a small amount of pain to the man’s knuckles. He shuffled, watching you as you slipped your hand into his own and lifted it. The sun poured in through the window, falling across the injury so you could see perfectly. You opened the bottle of alcohol, dousing the cloth in it before you gently began to wipe away the smudges of blood and then cleaned the opened wounds, cuts and scrapes that bled like gashes.

He didn’t wince or jerk away even though it stung horribly. It wasn’t a matter of protecting his ego, everyone experienced pain at some point in their life. Adjusting his hand lightly, he cleared his throat before letting his thick fingers drop to his lap when you were finished cleaning them up. “Would you have really shot him?” He asked suddenly.

Your eyes lifted to his own as he asked such a thing. You stepped away again to retrieve some ice, but his words burned your ears. As you filled the ice pack, you couldn’t help but wonder what the honest answer was. Would you have shot him? Blinking a few times, you carried the ice pack back over to your boss and slowly lifted it so that he could hold it in place over his eye. “Yes.” You said after what felt like an eternity to him. “In the leg.. perhaps, or the arm.” You offered. “But I don’t think I couldve killed him.”

Forrest gave a soft nod. “I didn’t expect you to.” He assured you before giving you the best smile he could muster. “I’m incredibly grateful that you.. well, put your life on the line for me like that. He could’ve killed you.”

You snorted. “You and me both. But we’re fine.” Guiding his hand to the ice pack so he could hold it on the wound, you then began to tend to his nose. There wasn’t much you could do, apart from clean up the dried blood that rested underneath his nostril. He had stubble, dancing along the length of his warm flesh. His cheeks and his jaw were coated in the fine hairs, giving some texture to his face as your hand cupped the sharp surface, thumb grazing his chin so that you could tip his head back.

The close proximity was numbing. You felt like you’d been swallowed by a flame. Maybe it was the way the sun illuminated the both of you, but the heat you felt was completely internal. Fidgeting for a moment under his unwavering stare, you watched as the white cloth turned red and his red skin returned to the initial paleness it ordinarily was. Crumbling the rag, you laid it on the table before leaning into him so you could get a better look at his eye. You moved the ice pack, squinting as you inspected the damage.

“I’m not doctor, Mr. Bondurant.. you’re probably better off having this injury looked at.” You suggested before straightening. Your arms slowly crossed over your chest, warm fingertips tracing the sleeves of your shirt.

Forrest grumbled something incoherent before giving you a soft nod. “Feels just fine.” He lied.

“Forrest.” You scolded him. “It’s swollen shut.”

The man arched a brow. Very rarely did you use his first name. His large palm lifted, covering his eye so that he could watch you through the swollen one. “See. Works just fine.”

You squinted challengingly before shaking your head in mild amusement. The man was insufferable. You made movement to turn to clean up the first aid kit tools, but he grasped your forearm tenderly in his large palm.

“Id know if something were wrong with my eye, Y/n, because you look just as beautiful through my swollen eye as you do with my two good ones.” He pulled you in his direction, his expression a pleading one. “Perhaps you should take one more look at it.”

Your brows furrowed at the compliment he’d given you before you stumbled in his direction. Laying your nimble fingers against the unsturdy, wooden arm of the chair. Inspecting his eye as he asked, you gave him a small, shy smile. “Mr. Bondurant, I believe you..” Though you weren’t sure if you did or you just wanted to put some proximity between you and his body. He was so warm and inviting, it drove you up the wall.

Forrest leaned forward. He enjoyed seeing you squirm so much. You were riddled with your fear of being unliked by him, even though it was clear he felt the same things for you. The man’s hand was gentle as it slid up the length of your arm so he could brush a few of your tresses back and out of your eyes.

Your cheeks felt unbelievably warm in this moment. You were sure that if they could be, they’d be the color of a ripe tomato. Lifting your free hand to steady yourself, you pressed it against his strong shoulder. “What are you doing..?” You breathed, attempting to rack your brain for some sort of explanation for his actions. Your brain refused to help you, it was completely blank. The closer your face grew to his own, the hotter you became and the more your brain shut down. You felt like a blob of jello.

He couldn’t help but smile. He sensed your shyness, which was exactly why he didn’t offer any words. Just actions. He figured they’d speak louder. Besides, he had to thank you in some enjoyable fashion. Why not with a kiss? The man spread his thighs wide enough to give you a place to stand. Drawing you forward, he moved his hands to your curvy waist and held on to you as his hot breaths began to mingle with your own.

All at once, your brow smoothed and your mind was completely blank. You saw nothing but him, heard nothing but the hammering of your own heart, smelled nothing but him - and he smelt like smoke and liquor, you felt nothing but his hard body under your palm, and soon you’d taste nothing but those big, pink lips of his. Your own mouth parted, incredibly too willingly, and all at once your mouth’s molded together like long lost pieces to a missing puzzle.

Your body fell into his lap, arms appearing to be insanely slender as they curled around his wide, broad, muscular shoulders. Forrest moved his hand to your leg, steadying you with one hand on your thigh and the other laid against your back. His mouth was slow, tentative, and curious as it moved in sync with your own and your’s was hungry, exploring, and needy. The shyness you felt crept away, but it didn’t go too far, it was just silenced by the romantic exchange he was leading.

His lips were as soft as you were imagined, and he tasted like honey and coffee. You pressed the crook of your elbow against the back of his neck and let a sultry moan fall from your lips in approval. Every brush of his fingers against your spine and feel of his tongue gliding against your own, sent sparks of electricity jolting throughout your body.

You still didn’t understand why he was kissing you, but was there really a point in questioning it? Maybe he was just grateful. Maybe he’d been hit so hard in the face he thought this was the right thing to do? And maybe, you hoped it was for this reason, the incident had helped you both find the confidence to grow suddenly closer. You were careful not to let your nose bump his or your hands to stray too far in fear of hitting an injury. What this meant and how far this would go didn’t cross your mind though, because in this moment there was only him and those sweet tasting lips of his.

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Tag List: @saved-fanfiction @thephuonganh @theaamberr @innerpaperexpertcloud @darklydeliciousdesires @thebeckyjolene @mollybegger-blog @travelingmypassion @caffinated-tree @tcmhollnd @br0ck-eddie @ellar21 @advictedtohim @river-rain-water @crldrr2 @louloudeug99

A/N: This is my first fic in almost a year so please bear with me🖤 ( ALSO NOT MY GIFS ) also it’s been soooo long since I’ve uploaded, I can’t remember how to do a ‘keep reading’ on mobile, so please message me and let me know how!!

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

How To Calm Your Witcher

i am shit at titles please forgive me i know its tacky lol. the Goob Squad gave me like an ounce of positive reinforcement for purring Geralt and tbh this was v good for the wack ass day i had so this is what yall are stuck with.

Warnings: overwhelmed potion geralt, description of said overwhelming sensation, kinda anxiety attack adjacent but theres some BIG comfort, purring witcher. 

__________

Geralt marched through the halls in a huff, Jaskier keeping pace but lagging behind just a bit as they made their way to the quarters that this particularly obtuse lord had not so graciously assigned them for the duration of the hunt. Geralt had prepared for a menacing beast, potions and all, only to find some delinquents faking a mauling because they’d had too much to drink and got bored. They’d probably never drink again after the scare Geralt gave them, but the lord wasn't satisfied. Geralt assumed he never was. 

The only reason Geralt didn’t slam the door when they made it through the maze was that Jaskier was behind him. He was shaking, all that adrenaline with nowhere to go made his hands curl into tight fists and he could hear too many people. The floor above them was relatively empty but below must have been the kitchen or laundry and it was starting to drive him insane after only a few moments in the room. 

He ripped his armor off, hoping that removing the tight bands of leather keeping it in place might make him feel like he fit within his skin again. It only made him cold. 

Jaskier picked up the pieces he’d chucked  and laid them in a pile before carefully stacking logs in the ridiculously sized hearth. Geralt barely registered him hauling blankets and furs out of a chest at the foot of the bed, too distracted by the noises and every single one of his hairs shifting as he moved. It felt like he was covered in spiders and wading through water all at once. Everything was too slow and too detailed and he just wanted to charge back into the dining hall and beat the lord with his ham bone. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice couldn’t even be called a whisper; it was so faint, “Can you come light this please?”

Geralt cracked his neck as he turned and stalked over to the hearth. He didnt need to cast such a dramatic sign, but fuck he needed to do something. Jaskier was already standing back, seemingly prepared for his outburst. 

“Can you sit down so I can unlace your boots?”

Could he? For that velvet soft voice he could do anything. His boots were rather soaked too, and he could feel the beginnings of a blister forming where the new leather had yet to soften. He let Jaskier lead him to a specific pillow and settled onto it, extending his legs and glaring into the fire. The pops and hisses of bubbling sap was helping to mask the sounds from below, but it didn't feel like nearly enough. Jaskier slowly tugged off his boots, keeping his touches deliberate but soft as he replaced the waterlogged woolen socks with a warm fresh pair. Geralt wiggled his toes a bit, happy with the feeling of something soft against the tops of his toes. 

Jaskier settled in behind him and raked his fingers through Geralt’s hair, “How does this feel?”

Geralt hummed, honestly not sure of his answer, and continued to stare into the fire.

The bard quickly braided his waves off to the side, very practical compared to his usual work, and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, “What’s too much?”

Geralt only snarled. It was a stupid question. Everything was too much. 

“Is it the noise?”

A nod.

“What about your skin?”

Geralt swallowed hard and forced his words out, “Little hairs.”

Jaskier shimmied back to lean against a heavy leather chair, pulling Geralt with him before draping blanket after blanket after blanket over them; finishing the stack with a bearskin. They were cocooned in soft, but not sticky fabric that kept all Geralt’s hair pressed to his skin and a weight that made his legs feel hollow and filled with lead. He could finally take a slow deep breath, feeling his back press into Jaskier’s stomach as his lungs expanded. 

“Better?” Jaskier breathed, placing a gentle kiss to Geralt’s temple.

He nodded, turning his head into Jaskier’s chest to breathe in his scent. 

“What else do you need, love?”

Geralt’s hands resting on Jaskier’s thighs beneath the blankets involuntarily squeezed when someone dropped what sounded like a dragon sized cauldron on the level below, “Hum for me?”

Jaskier immediately started humming one of Geralt’s favorite songs, pressing a kiss to his hair as he did. The soft rumbles of the bard’s voice and his heartbeat gave Geralt something to focus on other than the cacophony from below. As Jaskier’s voice grew gradually stronger there were gradually less and less distractions, only the pleasant, comforting sound of his lover’s voice and the gentle vibrations emanating from his chest. Geralt shifted slightly and pressed his ear to Jaskier’s sternum, sighing at the warmth of his bard’s skin against the side of his face and the loud, reassuring thrum of his heartbeat. Jaskier clasped his hands together over Geralt’s stomach and the little bit of added pressure did wonders. 

Before he knew it, his eyes were fluttering closed and there was a deep rumble accompanying the rise and fall of his chest. He stayed pleasantly pinned to his lover as they waited for the potions to leave his system, purring in accompaniment to Jaskier’s soft singing. Geralt’s purrs started to fade as he drifted closer and closer to sleep, still not entirely feeling clean, but clean enough.

“How are you feeling?” Jaskier’s whisper, coaxed him back from the edge of consciousness just before he was about to fall. 

He purred louder in response, something that always made Jaskier smile. 

“Alright, let’s get you into the bed, yeah?”

Geralt let himself be propped up on his feet while Jaskier peeled his breaches off and tucked him under the covers before laying the heavy bearskin over him yet again. 

“Jask?” Geralt’s voice was more of a croak as he lifted his head off the pillow to search for his bard, “C’m to bed.”

“Already here, love.” Jaskier shuffled over under the covers, pressing himself to Geralt’s back and tucking his thighs up under Geralt’s.

Geralt started purring again as Jaskier pressed a kiss to the base of his neck and snaked an arm around his waist, “I love you,” he sighed, making sure Jaskier could feel just how happy he was through the vibrations in his chest.

“And I you,” Jaskier hummed, giving Geralt a light squeeze, “Now sleep, darling.”

He fought sleep as long as he could, wishing he could stay in this moment forever, but eventually Geralt stopped purring and fell into a deep, restful sleep. 

[enfabled-archive]

            it's not often that he finds himself so uneasy within the borders of dakia. he's lived in the forest long enough that it's begun to feel like an extension of himself. he knows it better than the back of his hand; each gnarled root, each boot-trodden path of grass etched deep into the back of his eyes. dakia forest is the kingdom of which he is sovereign— never did he feel so skittish at its throne.

            and yet, as he patrols this humid night, he is fussful. careful in a way that he rarely ever is. the dandelion king walks the same route, traces the skirt of the woods with the same steps. but his feet lack the confidence. his eyes skip side-to-side with mistrust. where his rounds were usually strolls— moreso a contented meandering 'round dakia's borderline, complacency abound in the way its safety seemed always guaranteed— it has turned into a march.

            perne keeps a hand on his sword, fingers drumming against its pommel. THOSE IMPERIAL FREAKS… they were getting a bit brave, looming closer and closer to his turf like that. he's heard about what they've done to tahra— even seen the horrors for himself, from some of the fleeing townsfolk. then there's also the childhunts; the fucking insanity of the childhunts. he doesn't like the sound of that coming into dakia. not when their operations were risky enough as it is.

            he sighs as he steps over a fallen log. his eyes survey the darkness once more. he never liked this feeling. fear; anxiety, whatever else people called it. he never liked the way it kept him on a leash. but it's the one thing keeping them all from doing anything STUPID. if fear made him careful, and being careful meant being alive… he'd take it. anyone who wasn't shit for brains would.

            unfortunately for him, there are some real dunces in this world— like the brat blindly stumbling through his forest.

            he flinches when he first hears the footsteps. his restless hands quickly unsheathe his blade. but just as soon as he readies himself, he returns to a semblance of ease. the sounds are too clumsy to come from any sort of trained militiaman; and the shadow is too small to be anything dangerous. no, it's clear to him that this wasn't any sort of idiot— it was a kid.

              a curse almost wrests loose from his lips. he thinks dealing with an imperial soldier would've been easier. at least, then, he wouldn't have felt bad stabbing him.

            "oi, kid!" perne calls, "whatcha doin' out here? don't cha know it's dangerous wanderin'  around at night?"

            a groan leaves him. as if he hadn’t had enough things to worry about tonight. does he really have to think about this snot, too? "look, i ain’t got the time to deal with ya. scram! go back home. else those loptr lunatics'll snatch you right up."

@fillespreferees​ c’mon, before safy finds out!

[dameronology]

the one where he catches feelings (mando x reader)

summary: after months of trying to hide his feelings, the thought of you with someone else is another to push the mandalorian over the edge 

warnings: swearing, jealousy, implied smut

enjoy!

- val xx

p.s this has barely been proof read because i am the worst

The Mandalorian didn’t quite understand the concept of feelings. 

How could he? Before you, the nearest thing he’d ever got to a relationship was sleeping with the same person twice. He had long surpassed that number with you but that wasn’t the complicated part. He hadn’t even worried about catching feelings when you’d agreed on the casual arrangements - he was the Mandalorian. And the Mandalorian didn’t catch feelings. 

But contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a droid. He wasn’t an emotionless void with a beer in one hand and a blaster in the other. Din Djarin - the human being behind the mysterious metal mask - was very, very capable of catching feelings. What had started as a casual arrangement between two touch starved friends had booted him up the arse and sent him into a death spiral. 

Not that he’d ever tell you . Absolutely not. Never, not even if you paid him a million credits. In fact, it was probably a good thing that he had to keep that tin can on his head 24/7 for fear of you being able to read his expressions of adoration. If the idea of you seeing his facial expressions was that terrifying, the possibility of you finding out about his actual feelings was enough to send him into a state of catatonia. 

That is exactly what brought him into his current dilemma. You’d docked up on a planet for a few weeks so that the kid could stretch his little green cankles and catch a few frogs - and on your first night, you and Din had crossed paths with a former flame of yours in a cantina. You’d agreed to go out for a drink with him and now all he could was watch in horror as you made yourself look beautiful for another man. He didn’t like that one bit. 

‘Mando!’ Your voice echoed throughout the cockpit as you kicked open the door, the smell of your perfume immediately overwhelming his senses. ‘Have you seen my boots?’

‘Y-your boots?’ He blinked in surprise, trying to act as though your appearance hadn’t just knocked the air out of his lungs. 

‘The things that go on my feet?’ You thinned your eyes at him. ‘Tauntaun got your tongue?’

‘No...I just…’ he cleared his throat, standing up. ‘You look nice.’

‘Oh, thank you.’ Now it was your turn to blink in surprise. His compliments were usually only the balls-deep kind (make of that what you will). 

Din knew that he had no place to be upset about the fact you were going out for a drink with another guy. You weren’t exclusive - far from it, in fact. You weren’t his partner; you could only be described as his partner-in-crime-and-occasional-babysitter-who-he-sometimes-shagged. 

Good luck finding a Valentine’s Day card for that title. 

‘This guy.’ Din cleared his throat. ‘Were you and him...serious?’

‘Are you asking if he was more serious than us?’

Us. Us. Us. 

He replayed the word over and over in his head. It sounded so right - us. You, him and the Child. A small, ragtag family of two parents and their weird, wrinkly child. It felt so perfect, the sort of thing that could finally give him a sense of security after years on his own. Din had never considered himself the kind of guy who wanted any of that; but then again, he’d considered himself a lot of things before he met you.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I was just curious. If tonight goes well, you might end up staying with him and I need to consider how that would affect the kid-’

‘- you’re full of shit.’ You cut him off. 

You knew that he liked you - and you liked him. Why else would you stay holed up in this absolute garbage can of a ship with him? You sure as hell weren’t doing it out of common courtesy. But you also weren’t going to wait around for Din to get off his ass and tell you that he liked you. The difference between him and the man you were seeing tonight is that the latter had asked you out.

‘But you can’t tell me it’s not a possibility.’ Din’s voice was cold.

‘You’re right.’ You shot back. ‘Maybe me and this guy will fall in love, get married and adopt ten frog-ass looking babies.’

‘Y/N.’

‘Be realistic, you tinhead.’ You lightly thwacked his helmet, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of it. ‘Remember that our frog-ass looking baby needs to be fed at 11 and asleep by midnight.’

‘He’s been in my care longer than yours, I know what I’m doing-’

‘- and if he goes toilet in his robes again, there’s some clean ones hanging up by your bed.’ You gave his shoulder a light squeeze. ‘See you later.’

‘Stay safe.’ And don’t fall in love with him

Din was silently kicking himself. He wanted you to be dressing up for him, getting ready to go out on dates with him - not whoever this...this nerfherder was. If only he could pull his head out of his shiny, beskar ass and just tell you. But he couldn’t. That’s where he fell short. 

And so he watched you walk off the Crest, a trail of perfume in your wake and the Child peeping out from his crib to wave his stubby arms at you. By all intents and purposes, you were his second parent; he was even more attached to you than he was to Din. He would babble and cry whenever you were absent, something that proved to drive the Mandalorian insane for the rest of the night. 

The Child wouldn’t shut up - he was crying one minute, giggling the next. If he wasn’t bawling and staring aimlessly at your empty seat, he was practically climbing the walls, performing surprisingly impressive acrobatics as he leapt from the switchboard and onto Din’s lap. 

‘I know, kid.’ Mando reached out to him, placing him gently in his lap. ‘I miss her too.’

--

It was approaching 2AM by the time you got back. 

You entered the jet as quietly as possible, holding your shoes in one hand as you clambered up the ramp. The night had gone fine - the guy you met was clearly into you. He’d had his hand on your thigh the whole time, his intentions staring right back at you the same way your reflection did in Mando’s helmet. After final call, you’d covered your half of the bill and left. 

You’d spent the whole night wanting to be back here - laying with Din and the kid, watching some ridiculous cartoon on the old holovid player in an attempt to entertain him. It was the never life you thought you’d want but things had a funny way of working out. They’d both fallen into your lap by chance and you were wondering how you’d even considered going out with someone else. 

Mando was sitting on the edge of his bed, the Child snoozing quietly in his arms. Most of his beskar was scattered on the floor; he was only wearing the helmet and the shirt and pants that went underneath. That was usually a sign that he was relaxed, at ease for once in his damned life. 

He would argue otherwise but you knew he’d probably been there hours, not having the heart to move and wake him. Below the armour, he had a huge fucking heart (and it belonged to you, obviously).

‘Hey, can man.’ You quietly greeted him. You took a seat beside him, softly taking the Child from his arms. ‘How you doing?’

‘I’m tired. He wouldn’t settle all night.’ Din replied. ‘How was your date?’

‘It wasn’t a date.’ You lightly elbowed him. ‘I just...it was just drinks.’

You slowly stood up, placing the Child in his crib. You closed up the lid and turned back to face Mando; the room was dim bar one small lamp, the light of which bounced right off his helmet and into your eyes. You wanted to rip the damn thing off and just look at him - read his face, his expressions. Then you might have known what the fuck was going through that mind of his.

Sometimes you could read him like a book - but a book where every other page was missing. He had some tells; little actions and noises that you understand. Other times, he was completely off with you. He’d make love to you in the night and treat you like an old childhood friend the next day. 

‘Why does it even matter to you?’ You continued. ‘Why do you care so much that I went out with another guy?’

‘I told you. If you stayed here, on this planet-’

‘- you know I wouldn’t do that!’ You cut him off. ‘This planet is much less of a shithole than this damned ship but you know I would never leave you or the kid.’

‘I can’t be sure of that.’ He bluntly replied. 

‘You are so stupid, Din Djarin.’

The Mandalorian knew that shit was about to get real when you pulled out his real name. You usually called him Mando, or some variant of affectionate, armour-related nickname. The last time you’d used his real title was when he’d almost died, months ago. Other than that, it was reserved only for the most dire of situations. 

‘Why?’ He stood up. You took a step back when he did, momentarily forgetting that he was a six-foot-man in a suit of steel. 

‘You know why.’ You jabbed your finger into his chest. ‘And if you weren’t so scared to say it, I wouldn’t have even thought about looking at another man, much less let him take me out for a drink and kiss me and touch my leg the whole damn night.’

(Most of that hadn’t actually happened but it was simply for argument’s sake. Go big or go home, after all). 

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ 

‘Great. So you won’t mind that I’m meeting him again tomorrow.’

(Another lie). 

‘I’m fine with that.’ 

(Also a whopper). 

‘Maybe I will stay here.’ You said. ‘See where my relationship with him goes, because at least he has the balls to tell me how he’s feeling.’

(Stop with the damn lying). 

You turned on your heel, boots clattering to the floor as you marched towards the refresher. Before you could reach the ladder, Din had hit the switch on the only light in the room. Darkness suddenly overcame the hull, causing you to stop in your tracks. A moment later, there was a clunking sound, the sound of beskar echoing off the walls of the ship. 

His helmet hitting the floor. 

He suddenly grabbed you, pulling you towards him with such force that your chest hit his with a thump. You were going to complain, to tell him that you wanted to sleep, dammit -

- Then he kissed you.

 Din had kissed you multiple times before but not like this. It was hungry, bordering on desperate, as if to say you’re not fucking going anywhere. And you weren’t. You had no intention of ever straying from him or the Child or the ship but you needed him to be honest with you. 

And this? This felt pretty damn honest. 

‘I’m not good with words.’ He murmured against your lips. ‘I never have been with you.’

‘Just say it.’ You whispered. ‘I’m right there with you.’

‘You promise?’

‘I prom-’

‘- I love you.’ He cut you off before you could finish. ‘You’re everything to me.’

‘I love you too.’ You softly smiled, hands roaming around his shoulders in an attempt to work around the darkness. ‘There’s no-one else.’

I know.’ Din pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. ‘Except that little womprat.’

‘Our little womprat.’

tags: @obirain @lizzyolanda1966 @thisisaredflag @aty-cgca7 

[waywardxwords]

Why’d It Have to be Snakes

Summary: After a tiring hunt, you return to your motel to find an unwelcomed addition. Your fear builds up enough anxiety that you don’t know what to do, so you quickly call Sam. He comes to your rescue, making a few jokes in the process.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,723

Warnings: Fluff!

Your eyelids felt heavy as you pulled open your motel door. You were unbelievably exhausted. You blindly reached for the light switch on the wall and blinked against the poorly lit room after they flicked on. You dropped your duffel next to the dresser and glanced around the familiar layout of the typical motels you shacked up in every night.

Except there was an addition to this room—an addition that made your stomach drop and your eyes widen in complete terror.

You swallowed the lump that had formed against your throat and began to back away until your back bumped against the door. If someone had asked you what your worst nightmare would be, this situation would very well make the top ten.

Your hand reached for your back pocket, your eyes never faltering from the creature before you. His number was the last one you had called. You swiftly slid the iPhone from your jeans and swiped the screen to hurriedly redial his number. You placed the phone to your ear and prayed he hadn’t jumped in the shower yet.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” He had just seen you five minutes before, so it was a completely valid question.

“I’m uh, fine…but could you come to my room for a sec?” Your voice shook a bit as you spoke and you swallowed again as you tried to contain yourself. You watched the thing move slowly, still seemingly unaware of your presence. Or maybe it knew you were there but could sense that you were insanely terrified of it to get any closer.

“Uh, sure,” he seemed confused. “I’ll be right there.”

You both hung up without another word. Your eyes danced over the figure, watching for any kind of sudden movement. Your body jumped and breath hitched at the sound of a knock on your door. Sam Winchester, your knight in shining armor (or, rather, his familiar brown Carhartt jacket).

You moved your eyes away for just a moment to open the door. His hazel eyes searched your face for any sign of danger. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened when he noticed how scared you were.

“What is it?” He reached for your arm and gently moved you aside so he could pass into the room.

You gulped and merely waited for him to see it, seemingly lost for words.

A gentle laugh erupted from the back of his throat when he spotted it. He turned to you with a look on his face that told you he was enjoying this way too much. “A snake? Really?”

You huffed and folded your arms over your chest. “Sammy, come on,” you whined. You wanted to clasp your hand over your mouth as soon as the sound came out. You were never a whiner, but when it came to snakes, all bets were apparently off.

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. Sam glanced around the room for something to capture the slithering reptile, which was currently coiled up in the corner of the room. “How did a snake get in here, anyway?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t stop to ask it. Just please get rid of it,” the anxiety was making your skin crawl. You felt bad for the way you were speaking to him, especially since he had come to help you. But you literally couldn’t help yourself. Your fear gave you word vomit and unfortunately, you were currently puking all over your hero.

Sam didn’t seem to mind—he was too preoccupied with scooping the snake into the empty wastebasket from the bathroom. The alarmed snake slithered around the basket but seemed to be secured.

You moved clear to the other side of the bed as Sam headed for the door of the room, still shaking his head with a chuckle. “Relax, Indiana Jones. You’re safe.”

He left the motel room door open as he stepped outside with the bucket. Your heart thudded against your chest as you sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to normalize your breathing; it was useless. You found yourself looking around the room just in case this snake had a mate. Did snakes travel in pairs? You weren’t willing to take the risk.

“Alright, you’re all set,” Sam sighed as he reappeared in the doorway with a now empty wastebasket.

“Thanks, Sam,” you finally managed to mutter as you stood up, now clearly embarrassed. Your cheeks flushed as you dropped your head to look at the carpet. A curtain of your hair fell into your peripheral vision.

“Hey,” you noticed his boots come into your line of view and felt his large hands on your shoulders. One hand dipped under your chin to lift your gaze to meet his. “You’re safe, it’s gone.” You could tell he was trying to fight the grin that kept playing on his lips. You rolled your eyes and pulled out of his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he finally busted at the seams with laughter he was trying to contain. “It’s just…snakes?”

“Yes, for the tenth time now, snakes,” you rolled your eyes and plopped back down on the edge of the bed.

“I just can’t get over it,” he seemed thoroughly amused. “I’ve seen you machete a vamp and stab a shifter. But yet you can’t handle a snake?”

“Two can play that game, Bozo,” you stood from your spot on the bed and marched towards him, determined. “Don’t make me show you the clown video on YouTube again.” Sam’s features instantly straightened. Your mouth cracked into a smile.

“Clowns kill people,” Sam’s jaw tensed, but you could still sense the playful nature between the two of you.

“So do snakes, last time I checked,” you raised your eyebrows in debate.

“Touché,” his lips curved into a small smile. You tried to get the image of the snake out of your mind but yet still felt like your skin was crawling all over; the image of the slithering reptile made you squirm involuntarily. “Just remember what Dean always tells me…”

Before he could even finish, you cut him off. “I know, I know. If it bleeds, you can kill it,” you muttered. “Ugh, I just really hate those damn things,” you shuddered, your arms folded across your chest. “I know it’s lame, trust me—I know. I grew up with two brothers, remember? I got made fun of plenty for my irrational fear.”

Sam rolled his eyes and moved to stand in front of you. “It’s not that irrational,” he reasoned when he noticed you really were worked up over this whole thing. “I mean, snakes are a pretty common fear.” He smirked as his oversized palm gently grazed your cheek; his calloused thumb ran just underneath your eye. You closed your eyes at the touch and felt yourself instantly relax from the overwhelming anxiety you had felt just moments before.

“Yeah, well, I guess lots of people are afraid of clowns, too,” your voice was calm and sympathetic to his equally as debilitating fear.

Sam smiled at your small offering of compassion and bent his head to move his lips delicately over yours. Your hand reached up and grasped onto his hand which cupped your cheek.

“Stay?” Your voice was subtle and almost distant. You finally opened your eyes and peered into his hazel orbs that you loved so much. Sam’s gaze danced between your eyes and his jaw tightened in hesitation.

“If I stay, Dean will have us figured out,” he explained carefully. You moved just your eyes to stare at the multicolored carpet below your feet and Sam instantly regretted what he had said. “Hey, how about I lay with you for a little while? Keep the snakes away?” He laughed softly and smiled when your eyes finally gleamed back at him.

“I vote yes,” you leaned up on your tiptoes to reach his lips once more. While you and Sam were still learning exactly what this was, you enjoyed every second you spent in his presence. A drunken night out a bar while Dean was preoccupied with a random female friend led you and Sam to sporadic hook-ups, to subtle moments on hunts where your bodies would discretely brush up against one another so Dean wouldn’t notice, to sober nights cuddling after a long hunt hours after Dean had gone to bed. Neither of you knew what exactly any of this meant, but right now that didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was that you were enjoying each other’s company.

Sam lovingly reached under the shoulders of your leather jacket and pulled the garment until it was off of your arms and tossed on the sitting chair in the corner of the room. He lifted your black tank top and tossed it on top of the jacket. You eyed his plaid button-up and raised your eyebrows.

Sam laughed and with a quick roll of his eyes, he removed the jacket and unbuttoned his shirt to give it to you. “I’m not letting you keep this one. You keep taking my clothes and I’m not going to have anything to wear at all.”

“I mean, I don’t really see what the problem is…” you winked as you pulled the sleeves over your arms and buttoned the shirt up so your cleavage was barely visible. You pulled off your pants and clambered onto the bed.

“Oh yeah, Dean would love that one,” Sam laughed as he climbed after you in just his jeans. The two of you crawled under the floral comforter and below the sheets.

Sam propped up a pillow against the headboard so he could lean against it, ensuring that he wouldn’t fall asleep and owe Dean an awkward explanation in the morning. He grabbed the remote and switched on the TV as you curled up to his side, your face against his bare chest and your arm tucked across his middle. He scooted you closer to him by wrapping his arm around your side and holding you to him. He absent-mindedly played with your hair as he watched the late-night TV program.

“Night, Bozo,” you mumbled sleepily as your eyelids drifted closed in the glow of the television.

Sam grinned as he leaned down to place a kiss on top of your head. “Night, Indy.”

[keanureevesisbae]

Protection - Chapter 3

Summary: This mission might be a little bit harder than August anticipated, especially when they go to a basketball game together. 

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: None

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

August stands in front of his window, as he stares at the people who march through the streets, folding in their umbrella’s as it finally stopped raining. However, August keeps thinking about one thing and one thing only.

Mia.

Her unique and special self, is not like anyone August has ever encountered. He isn’t sure how to handle this entire mission, especially because it became a whole lot more complicated than anyone originally anticipated. Befriending someone isn’t exactly his forte, but befriending Mia went shockingly easy. Of course, they experienced some bumps along the tiny way they have known one another, but being around her is so effortless.

And maybe that is what terrifies him the most. That she is so kind and so nice, making a friendship in the near future really easy.

When Mia stood in front of his door with the envelope in her hand—being the nice woman and neighbor she is—it made him do the thing he always does: being mean and rude, hoping the person on the receiving end of it would go away. It’s familiar, thus the safest option for him. Yes, it was the exact opposite of what Erika told him to do and he sure will not brief her about that incident, but he couldn’t help it. It just simply left his lips.

August did think she would scoff, walk away and he would’ve made his own job a whole lot harder.

But he was told his moustache made him look like a pedophile and that comment may have resulted in him standing in front of his mirror for what felt like hours, thinking about shaving it or leaving it.

All because one woman said it to him. He never lets things go to his head like that.

Thankfully his heater broke and he realized he got a second change to make things right with Mia, just as Erika told him to do and wanted him to do. He knew it would be hard, but he simply decided to shoot his shot.

The conclusion? Mia Makaruku has a heart of gold and she is way too good for him. Being around her felt neighborly, friendly and it made him feel normal. While protecting her and trying to make her remember the important things, it doesn’t feel like a job. August actually wants to do this, whether he was getting paid or not.

He thinks about her in a more friendly manner. First, he had to protect her because it was asked of him.

Now he actually wants to.

August places his hands on window frame, as he listens closely if he can hear a knock on his door, so they can leave together for the Bulls game. August pretends to be a bit confused on why he said yes to her. He doesn’t like basketball and doesn’t even really understand it, but saying no to Mia’s eyes, as she was slightly jumping up and down with happiness when she asked him, is something he couldn’t do.

This is going to be quite something.

The sound of faint knocking on his door, is what drags him out of his thoughts. He nearly sprints to the door, only to realize he is way too ready for this. For fuck’s sake, calm yourself.

He takes another calming breath as he tries to remind himself this is just very convenient, as he has to keep a close eye on her. According to the text Erika send him an hour ago, he must watch her as much as he can.

Meaning: he has to stalk her, even when she is at practice. Or he could make it easier for himself and be friends with her, so he has an excuse to be around her a whole lot more.

Once August opens the door, he sees Mia standing there in a way he has never seen her before. He saw her twice in sportswear and once in an oversized pajama with exploded frizzy hair, but now she has actually really dressed herself up.

‘Hello neighbor,’ she says with a bright smile.

August can’t help but stare at her and take her in. Mia straightened her wavy hair for the occasion and she even put on some light make-up; he notices she is wearing mascara for the first time, her plump lips are a blush pink color and he sees the glimmer on her cheekbones. Her coat hangs open, revealing a tight black shirt, grey plaid loose fitting pants with black and white accents, part with a pair of heeled boots.

He has to clear his throat to simply stop himself from gawking.

‘Are you okay?’ Mia asks him. ‘You haven’t said anything yet and it’s kinda scaring me.’

‘What do you want me to say?’ he asks, as he deeply frowns out of confusion.

‘I’m torn between a nice compliment or something condescending.’ She chuckles. ‘Come on, say something to me.’

‘I’m not a dog,’ he huffs. ‘You can’t order me to do stuff.’

She rolls her large eyes. ‘You’re such a party pooper,’ she tells him. ‘Since you’re not going to make me feel special, we should get going.’

After he put on his coat, he closes the door behind him and the two of them exit their apartment building. It is pretty interesting that Mia doesn’t just walk, but she has a certain hop in her steps. She also likes to talk his ear off and she greets a lot of people on the street.

‘So, I had to train on the side today. Again. Honestly, I’m so embarrassed. Like coach Riley is purposely trying to make me feel like shit. Besides, I’m not even limping anymore, so I don’t understand the point.’

‘You were limping?’ August asks.

‘Monday I slightly was, but it wasn’t even that bad. She is overreacting.’

It leaves his lips before he can even think about it: ‘She is just watching out for you.’

‘Oh, look at you,’ she says, ‘standing up for someone you don’t know.’ She tugs his sleeve with both of her hands. ‘You should stand up for me. Take my side in this story.’

He might find her absolutely adorable.

‘August, please, just say to me that it’s really unfair and that coach is being such a bitch for not letting me normally train.’

‘I’m not gonna do that,’ he says. ‘As a matter of fact, I think you totally deserve it.’

She fake gasps, but starts to laugh. Her hands slide from his sleeve to his own hands, before she entirely let him go. ‘You are so rude, mister.’

He accepts the insult Mia doesn’t mean anyway, while he still thinks about her hands holding his for a second.

‘So,’ she says, pulling him out of his thoughts, ‘tell me this then: are you excited for the game? They are playing against the Clippers tonight.’

‘I don’t know anything about basketball, nor the Bulls, nor the Clippers.’

‘You didn’t do research?’ she asks him. ‘You are so inconsiderate. Do I have to tell you everything?’

He doesn’t quite understand where she’s going at, so he simply scoffs and the two of them go to the stadium. Maybe he is a bit surprised, but she has actual court side tickets. Now, August wasn’t particularly interested into going to a basketball game, but with court side tickets? A lot is made up for. He is practically on the court!

‘This must’ve been pretty expensive,’ he notes.

She smiles as they walk towards their seats. ‘Well, that’s why I couldn’t say no to this  special discount. When it comes to money, I know exactly what I’m doing. And it got me two court side tickets. Isn’t it great?’

He has to agree, this is sort of awesome.

He sits down next to her and takes in the entire stadium. The people who arrive, the music, the weird mascot that is kinda freaking him out. He looks to the side, to see Mia trying to shimmy herself out of her coat. He reaches out, to pull the coat off her shoulders and she looks to the side. ‘Thank you, August,’ she says. ‘That’s quite nice of you.’

‘I can be nice,’ he murmurs.

‘I bet you can.’ She nudges his side with her elbow. ‘And? What do you think? Do you like it?’

‘It’s not as terrible as I imagined it would be.’

‘You can just say you like it,’ Mia pushes with a smile. ‘I guarantee: I won’t tell anyone.’

August stares in her large eyes and for a second he gets lost. He wonders about her. About her feelings… What the hell is happening to him?

How does Mia feel about her past, about her career, about him. Part of him wants to be honest with her, tell her about his intentions, because keeping this a secret from her, doesn’t sit right with him. However, telling her the truth, isn’t an option.

‘I might like it,’ August mumbles.

She laughs. ‘You’re learning, very good. I’m proud of you.’

Mia stares at the field, claps whenever something happens and pokes his side every time the Bulls score. He is just still thinking about her saying she’s proud of him.

When was the last time someone said that to him?

However, he can finally manage to pull himself out of his racing thoughts, since there is a man on the fifth row at about two ‘o clock from them, staring at Mia. It’s not the staring per se what’s bothering him; a lot of men were already gawking at her on the way here and also when the two of them walking into the stadium. This is August instinct and training telling him it isn’t right.

As if it’s a new realization of what he came here to do. He is not only here to pull information from Mia about the safe, but also to protect her, he knows that. There is a lot of damaging information in that safe and if it lands in the wrong hands, according to Erica, an entire war could break out, between anyone really. The recent intel on the safe, is that it’s real and if the CIA can find out that Mia is related to it, anyone eventually can.

He looks over to the side, to Mia and he finds himself being insanely protective over her. It would absolutely kill him if something happens to her.

If this happens within a few days of him meeting her, he wonders what will happen when they see each other more often for, well, weeks or something?

August places his arm on the backrest of her seat and she manages to tear her gaze from the field. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she asks him.

‘There is someone staring at you.’

Mia bursts out in laughter, actually missing the Bulls scoring. ‘And you are marking your territory?’ she asks. ‘Well, August, you might just turn into a dog and start peeing all over me to let everyone know I’m yours.’

He doesn’t want to do it, but a chuckle escapes his lips anyways. Mia really is something else. ‘That is not what I’m doing,’ he tells her.

‘Then what are you doing?’

What is he doing? He tries to figure out an excuse. Normally, he would’ve had one in less than a second, but Mia is slowing him down and that is pretty dangerous, if he thinks about it a bit better. He is slightly nervous around her, which is embarrassing to admit. ‘I just don’t like it,’ he says.

‘The staring or the man who the staring is coming from?’

‘The latter,’ he admits, not being able to look at her anymore. Fuck, this is awkward. He doesn’t want to talk to her about this kind of stuff.

Mia nudges his side with her entire body. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I’d rather you do this to mark your territory to others than the peeing thing. That’s not really my style.’

And if this humiliating moment didn’t just happen, she turns her focus back on the field. August takes a deep breath and actually wants to further explain, however he can’t seem to find the right words. So he looks over to the man, who seems to cut the staring.

◎ ◎ ◎

It’s a fact now: August can’t say no to Mia, he really can’t. After the game, he just wanted to get out of the stadium and go home, but now he finds himself in a fast-food place, finishing up some fries. For someone as dainty as Mia, that girl sure can eat. He is genuinely impressed with her eating that entire burger within ten bites. She has sauce on both corners of her mouth and while he would hate it if it were someone else, he finds it absolutely endearing.

What is this woman doing to his heart? He barely recognizes himself.

‘Anyways,’ Mia says, ‘I really enjoyed the game and I really liked it we had court side tickets. Usually I’m like in the seventh row or even further back or worse: I watch it on tv when they play somewhere else.’ Before he can answer to that, she continues: ‘I also enjoyed your company, even when you were marking your territory.’

‘I wasn’t doing that,’ he huffs.

‘Allow me to poke fun at this,’ she says. ‘August, thank you for keeping me company.’

‘Sure.’

Mia looks at the table, only to frown a second later. ‘Could you be a sweetheart and grab me some napkins, please?’ She holds up her hands. ‘I might need it.’

‘You can leave the might out of the sentence, Mia,’ he says, as he stands up to grab some tissues for her. When he is back at the table again, she already holds out her hands, but he simply grabs one of her wrists, to clean the mess she made.

‘Who are you trying to make jealous now?’ she asks him. ‘Really, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost think we’re on a first date and you are trying to impress me.’

Without thinking he lets go of Mia’s wrists and drops the other napkins on the table. ‘Here you go,’ he says, as his blood is racing to his veins. What the hell is he doing?

‘I didn’t tell you to stop, August,’ she mumbles, when he sits down again. ‘Could you maybe explain something to me?’ She wipes clean her hands and mouth and asks: ‘Why are you like this?’

He scoffs. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Of course you don’t.’ Mia sighs and looks out of the window. She clenches her jaw and she blinks her eyes a little faster. ‘Are you mad at me?’

He is mad, just not mad at Mia. More at himself. However, voicing those thoughts out loud, is something he cannot do. ‘Do we have to talk about our feelings? I barely know you.’

‘Sorry,’ Mia says. ‘You what, never mind. Are you finished?’

August simply nods and the two of them walk out of the noisy place. Mia crosses her arms in front of her and unlike on the way to the stadium, she isn’t talking his ear off and he actually misses hearing her voice.

Did he just hurt her feelings?

When they arrive in the hallway, she simply walks over to her own door. She pulls out her keys and finds the right one to unlock the door.

‘Mia,’ August says and she looks up. He has to make this sorta right. ‘I had fun tonight.’

She nods. ‘Glad to hear.’ And with that, Mia steps into her own apartment and closes the door shut, a little harder than she usually does. He walks up to her door and wants to knock on the surface, but he stops.

He hears her sniffles and the meowing of that scary cat. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ Mia says from the other side of the door. ‘Why did I think he would like being around me? He hurt me again, Bobo.’

And with that, his heart shatters apart in a countless pieces.

[cockasinthebird]

Laced up and ready to get dirty

Fingers tighten around the leather of the steering wheel, tensing till his knuckles go white then relaxing again. Deep breath in, then a long exhale. In… and out...

Steve is excited and thrilled and eager but also completely, devastatingly… nervous.

He angles the rearview mirror to look at himself and fidgets with his hair- not that it needs to be retouched for the fifteenth time today already, but it buys him time. Precious time to waste away on hesitation, and the longer he gets to hesitate, the less likely he is to actually.... He glances down the tan, buttoned up trench coat and triple checks that it’s closed all the way up and pulls on the belt to tighten it around his waist till he loses breath, JUST to be safe and secure.

It was a stupid spur-of-the-moment idea he got last week when he was visiting Hawkins to clear out whatever was left of his childhood home; his parents selling it now that Steve doesn’t live there anymore, all with such a lack of grace that shows they never really cared for that house, as if it was nothing more than a lavish cage for their only child. In a bag of clothes marked for donation - his father’s idea of philanthropy - Steve found an old Burberry trench coat, truly as fashionable and fitting now as it was back then, only difference being that as an adult who pays for everything himself, this coat would now be the most expensive thing in his and Billy’s entire apartment. Maybe he should have been more grateful for all that he had back then, or so his father would say whenever he found time to reprimand his son, but that wasn’t what he needed.

“Arrh, fuck!” Steve groans and rubs his face in hopes of recentering himself on the task at hand. He could mope around and be sad about his terrible father later, right now there’s more important things to do.

Such as opening the door to the same old BMW, the car soon on its last legs, having only survived this many years thanks for Billy’s expertise truly. It’s a bit colder out on the street than Steve expected, or maybe just a bit too windy, but he isn’t exactly wearing it to stay warm as much as he is to stay covered.

The hem of it grazes against the top of his suede boots as he takes decisive but careful steps around his car, now facing the open carport that exposes the inner works of the small service shop. It’s been almost a year since Billy got hired here as a mechanic, and it is possibly the happiest Steve’s ever seen him. Neither of them ever dreamed of big and important lives, no wanting to be a doctor or president or astronaut. All they wanted to be was happy, and they’ve found it in the simplest way possible.

He spots Billy immediately, past all the sweaty men, scattered car parts, and open hoods, he sees his boyfriend rise up from having just been shoulders deep in the guts of a shiny pontiac, coveralls tied around his waist, his white tank soaked with sweat, arms stained black with oil and grease.

The sight of it all sends delightful shivers down Steve’s entire body, ears to toes, and as he watches Billy wipe away sweat from his brow, well suddenly Steve’s far more confident in what he came here to do.

It shows in the way he marches towards Billy, who turns with a cocked brow at the assertive footsteps approaching him, where once he sees that it’s Steve demanding his attention, the most effortlessly smooth and charming smile spreads across his face, lids heavy to match the way Steve stares - something so salacious in the way his eyes glide up and down Billy’s dirty body, shiny with sweat.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Billy asks in a low and gravelly tone, quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard.

“Hmmm well…” Steve coos and plays lightly with the belt of his coat, the way his fingers flirt with the fabric hopefully clear with his intent, then speaks bluntly, “I woke up kinda horny today, y’know? Thought I’d save it for later- for when you come home, and tried distracting myself with doing the dishes or vacuum or anything really, but my hand just kept going down to jerk myself off-”

“Jesus Christ Stevie,” Billy breathes harshly.

“-and so eventually I wound up back in bed, on my knees, three fingers deep in me-” Steve wiggles said fingers for certain emphasis. “-but it just wasn’t enough. I need something thicker and veinier.”

With every word his stomach ties knots around itself, yet his dick is filled with life at how risky this is, with how much he needs to feel Billy pounding him sore and weak.

“And what do you want me to do about that?” Billy licks his lips, a hand reaching down to inconspicuously cup at his growing erection.

“I was hoping you could help me with my little problem? Ensuring that my engine is properly lubricated,” Steve’s naughty little smile fails at his own words, growing wider and betraying the sexy facade.

But it doesn’t seem that Billy minds as he laughs a bit too loud, biting his lower lip as if that would help keep his own smile more casual than one filled with exuberant joy. “You’re a menace- that was absolutely horrible,” he chuckles and brings both hands to his hips.

“Don’t be mean, I worked on it all the way here!” Steve’s own amusement bubbling over and into his voice.

Billy dares take a step closer, eyes slipping from Steve’s lips down his neck, pausing where he should be able to see the collar of a shirt. “You don’t have to try so hard for me, baby. Just tell me what you need, and maybe I can be of assistance.”

Steve’s expression dips back into something most indecent, his gaze burning with desire, pink lips parted as he slowly enunciates, “I need you to fuck me, hard and rough. I want your hands all over me, want your cock in me so fucking bad I think I might go insane without it. Please Billy, I-I can’t wait till you get home,” desperation seeps in as his tone goes almost whiny.

And Billy gapes like a fish, lips hesitating around emptiness as he tries to formulate thoughts. He glances around the shop, up at a clock hanging above the “Employees Only” sign, brow furrowed as he contemplates his options, all the while Steve waits as patiently as he can, pulling the belt tighter around his waist as if it would magically open up if he didn’t.

“Why don’t we… step into my office, and I’ll see what I can do?”

 Unfortunately by “office” Billy meant the blindingly bright, claustrophobically small employee bathroom. It’s maybe 6 by 6 feet large and not at all what Steve had in mind, but he’s not going to complain about the abnormally large mirror above the sink. And at least it looks clean… enough.

Steve’s quick to turn to Billy as soon as the lock clicks, grabbing on to the white tank and using it to guide him to sit down on the toilet.

Billy, however, disagrees with that immediately and moves to touch Steve, who just as swiftly grabs his wrist, restricting his reach. 

"Billy-" he starts off a bit agitated, but smoothes into something more agreeable, "Baby, if you get my coat dirty, you'll be eating cornflakes till you can afford to send it to the dry cleaner." 

The way Billy laughs at that is mocking in a sense, but his shitty grin simply reminds Steve of the thrill he felt back in high school, after they started fucking around but before they became serious about one another. 

"Forgot what a priss you can be sometimes, princess," he drawls and leans back, licking his lips as he settles with something vaguely familiar to patience.

“Hmmm…” Steve hums, slowly untying the belt of his coat. “You like that I’m high maintenance sometimes.”

He smoothly slips out of the heavy boots.

“Makes you feel real good about yourself though, getting to fuck someone with above average standards.”

In a show of how agile and limber he is, Steve stretches out his leg where the coat parts in front, and hooks his heel over Billy’s shoulder. Who in turn stares with a bit wider eyes at the silky soft, pastel pink nylon stockings clinging to Steve’s shin. Billy’s grip on his own thighs tighten with self restraint, the urge to touch the smoothness of Steve nearly unbearable.

“Did you shave your legs?”

“I did, for you.” Steve generally doesn’t care about leg hair, but found it a bit awkward looking when his thick, dark hairs stuck out of the bright nylon. “Wanna see what else I’ve shaved?”

Leisurely but with gentle pressure, Steve lets his foot glide down Billy’s chest, over his abs and all the sweat stains of his tank, past where the sleeves of his coveralls have been tied together, till he finds Billy’s hard cock tenting already, eliciting a lurid little hiss as he rubs it with the sole of his foot.

“God, you’re so easy, baby,” Steve speaks low with intent, drawing circles, revelling in the choked groans. “Getting you hard like this is effortless.”

At an all too agonizing pace, deliberate and mean, Steve unbuttons his coat from the bottom and up, exposing more and more of his thighs, the build up thrilling him as he watches how Billy sweats and struggles to remain dormant. Oh how he cannot wait to get the coat off and let his boyfriend ravage him completely, even the mere thought of it makes his own prick throb and beg for attention.

Billy stares with the most attention he’s probably ever shown any one person, eyes following the movement of Steve’s fingers, up and up and up, until a hint of lace gets revealed at the end of the stocking, cute and floral and feminine, a dozen small roses hugging the pale flesh, shiny straps leading further up to hide beneath the tan of the trench coat.

Steve caresses his thigh, hooking a finger beneath the strap and pulls it up only to let it snap back against his skin loudly, the sound reverberating, all the while never looking away from how Billy watches with intense hunger.

The burning gaze affixed to fingers follow right along, as Steve makes a bit of a jump and starts unbuttoning from the top now. One by one, till he runs his index along the hem, up to where it grazes against his neck, to pull slowly so that one shoulder can slip out, uncovering the strap of what can only be a bra, reaching down to hold on to delicate lace.

Harsh sighs escapes Billy as he attempts to control his breathing and himself, tongue darting out to wet his lips - Steve can feel the way Billy’s fat cock pumps full of blood beneath his foot.

There’s only two buttons left, and as one of them falls free, the coat drops down to bunch around Steve’s waist and the sink he’s leaning against, putting the pink, lacy bralette on full display; roses and leafs arranged into small triangles that sits tight against Steve’s pecks, his nipples just barely visible beneath the gorgeous and elegant fabric.

“Stevie, babe, please, I’m going to explode here,” Billy complains in an almost hilariously irritated manner, raising his hand up towards Steve’s thigh-

“No touching yet, I’m not done.” Steve swiftly kicks away that dirty hand.

“Thought you needed me to fuck you so bad,” the mocking response comes as Billy’s hand retreats to dig into his pocket.

And Steve pauses with his fingers around the final button that will unravel everything. “Well yes, but the thrill of anticipation gets me so hard.”

He pushes it out, wraps his hands around the coat and slowly pulls it apart, like a curtain revealing a true masterpiece of craftsmanship. And if Billy’s eyes were wide before, they’re now threatening to pop out at the sight of the garter belt attached to the stockings hugging Steve’s waist perfectly, and a thong matching the bralette in shape and lace, that might once have had a chance of containing all that Steve is, but now his long, full dick reaches up towards the belt with hard pride.

“Holy fucking shit,” Billy gapes, “I didn’t forget our anniversary or something, did I?”

Steve chuckles and blushes slightly at the attention and knowledge of just how stunning he looks. “Can’t I just surprise my boyfriend for no reason other than fun?”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m also sure you have some ulterior motive… not that I’m complaining.”

The sly smirk across Steve’s face suits him well as he slips out of the coat entirely, and reaches out to hang it on the hook attached to the bathroom door. Now fully exposed before Billy, Steve spreads his legs a bit further, runs his fingers lightly over the lace of his bra, and bats his eyes slowly.

Who stands up just as slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s still awaiting orders, as if Steve will tell him to stop and sit down any second now. When he reaches out Steve grabs his wrist, firm and assertive, but doesn’t linger in that moment; brings Billy’s hand up and up to touch his cheek, brushing fingers against pale skin and defiling it with dark smudges of oil. Still Steve doesn’t relent as he guides the hand down again till the rough palm presses against his throat, and Billy takes the opportunity immediately to squeeze.

A gasp hurries out at the sudden tightness around his airway and Steve’s eyes rolls back with the pleasure that jolts through his system, making his already painfully hard prick pulsate worse.

“Fuck, Billy…”

The other hand lands on his thigh, besmirching the pretty pink there, pushing into the soft flesh. As Steve closes his eyes to enjoy the euphoric, brutish hold he’s under, Billy dives in all tongue and teeth, biting at his lower lip and licking in to taste how sweet his spit is. Steve lifts up his free leg to hook it around Billy’s hips, drawing him in, finally allowing them both some heady friction, encouraged by strangled moans.

“Mmh- arrh, shit, pretty boy, this really couldn’t wait till I got home?” Billy growls against Steve’s lips, tickling as they brush together.

“I- mmh-ah, I wanted you dirty and risky like this,” Steve coos as low as he can and chases a kiss, but Billy leans away with such a shit eating grin. “Billy-” Another chase. “-Billy, please.”

“Don’t gotta beg, princess,” Billy’s laugh rumbles like thunder on a summer night; warm and deep and comforting

He takes a step back, Steve’s body instinctively trying to follow at the abrupt lack of touch, and with quick hands Billy undoes the way the sleeves are tied around his waist, unzips the rest of his coveralls that fall without effort to the floor, and pulls down his dark trunks enough for his steely cock to practically spring free.

The way Steve audibly inhales at the sight of it is almost humoristic, his body now acutely aware of everything that’s about to happen.

“How do you want it?” Billy drawls.

And it brings Steve back from the more indecent places his mind went at the sight of what he’s been hungering for all day. Half of him wants to drop to his knees and suck Billy dry till he’s delirious, the winning half however… He looks away for only as long as it takes him to retrieve the small and discreet bottle of lube from his coat pocket and pops it open before Billy can even speak again. He pours it into his own palm and closes his hand around Billy’s thick dick, stroking him quickly with impatience, slicking up every inch of hard flesh.

“I want you to fuck me from behind, bend me over the sink and pound my hole till I’m on the verge of tears,” Steve’s voice a lewd little thing, a salacious whisper only Billy would ever be found worthy of hearing, ghosting across his lips.

To which the only appropriate response Billy deem fit is to grab on to his boyfriend’s naked hips and spin him around, leaving clear, gross handprints that get smudged when those same hands smooth their way down to fill out with Steve’s ass.

Steve’s all too eager to bend down over the short sink, bracing himself on the porcelain edges as he watches how Billy admires the view through the mirror. The way those clear blue eyes stare down at his exposed self, tongue out to lick his lips like a wolf would before pouncing on an innocent lamb; it makes his heart beat faster, drowning his senses in quick waves of heavy lust.

“So pretty for me, baby, all laced up and fingered, wish you could see this.”

Billy gazes up through his lashes to meet Steve in their reflection. He grins with his tongue caught between teeth as he raises his hand just enough for Steve to have a moment of realisation before there’s a loud smack and stinging sensation.

“Mmh- ah! Fuck…” Steve barely manages to catch the moan with a bite of lips, his cock dripping with pre cum into the sink, whining with elation as the firm palm on his ass massages the red print.

A finger hooks itself on the slight string of the thong that runs between spread cheeks, pulls it aside, allowing Billy a good eyeful of Steve’s rim still wet with lube.

“You really just stood out in the shop in nothing but this, all slippery and ready for me to fuck your tight little hole with my fat cock?” He pulls on the fabric till it can’t stretch any further, wrapping it around a finger to allow himself freedom to grab on to Steve’s ass again. “Came all this way because you needed me to fill you up with my cum so bad.”

The blunt head of his cock lines up perfectly with Steve’s greedy entrance, and the poor, needy brunette can’t help but push against it, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly slides further and further along Billy’s dick, who hums with appreciation at the way the other is so willing to do all the work, velvety muscles clenching around him when he bottoms out.

“That good for you?” he asks kindly and squeezes Steve’s fleshy, pale cheeks.

Steve draws shallow circles with his ass pressed firmly against Billy’s hips, breathing in a manner that would be moans at home in bed, panting and sighing now; low drawn out hums. He sounds relieved, like Billy’s girthy cock was exactly what he needed, swallowing thickly as he nods, incapable of words lest they come out too loud.

Billy leans in to kiss up Steve’s shoulder, giving every mole on his way the attention they deserve, moves up his neck to the shell of his ear, snaking an arm around to hold Steve by the throat softly and tenderly.

“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” he purrs and nibbles at Steve’s ear as he leisurely starts moving his hips back and forth, adoring how breathless Steve looks in their reflection, mouth hanging open.

With his other hand he leaves a trail of oil stains up Steve’s stomach, leading to where Billy smoothes his fingers across shaved pecs, caressing the skin as he teases the frilly edges of the pink bralette, his every touch like fire igniting inside of Steve, his body tensing delightfully.

Billy squeezes tighter around Steve’s throat, a gesture that can be felt vividly in the way his wet dick pulsates and drips - pre cum running down his aching flesh to wet the thong even worse. The thrusts grow longer and deeper, Billy pulling out till just the head is inside, then tentatively pushes back in till he’s balls deep, and every time he runs over that certain spot inside of Steve a sensuous little gasp escapes those perfect lips.

“Look at what a mess you are, baby.” He brings them as close as possible - Steve’s back against his chest, rim choking around the base of his cock.

And Steve opens his eyes just enough to get a good view of how oil and grease has stained his pale skin and somewhat expensive lingerie, pastel roses and delicate embroidery defiled and tarnished beyond repair no doubt. His painfully hard dick that with a stroke or two would have him come undone. Billy’s crystal clear eyes that stare back intently; hungry- no, starved for this.

“A beautiful…” Billy kisses Steve’s neck with undeniable love and infatuation. “Needy…” Lips at the crook of his neck. “Desperate…” His shoulder. “Mess.”

Billy pulls out and slams back in so suddenly it barely leaves Steve time to catch his lucid gasp before it would have been heard from outside the door. Billy’s hips snap against Steve’s ass again and again at an indelicate pace, his teeth sunk into a shoulder as he bites back his moans, eyes trained on the way Steve’s brows knit together, eyes squeezed shut tight as he struggles with his own wanting to give sound to the burning desire lighting him up.

Skin slapping together, the obscenely wet sounds of Billy pounding Steve’s hole, ramming against that glorious sweet spot over and over, it’s intoxicating, fueling the white hot fire that coils at the bottom of Steve’s gut. Both of Billy’s hardened hands grab at Steve’s pecs, the skin of his fingers toughened up from fiddling with engines all day, rough against Steve’s sensitive nipples as Billy pulls down the bra to pinch and squeeze.

“Mmh ah- fuck-” Steve’s eyes roll back at the flourishing bliss that forms in his chest. “Billy…”

“Yeah, you like that?” A rhetorical question that barely receives an answer before Billy presses his dirty thumbs harder against the strutting buds.

Steve’s thighs tremble from it all, teeth biting at his lower lip as he fights every instinct to let it all out. And from the way Billy leers and grins mischievously at the sight in the mirror, there can be no doubt he knows.

Moves his hands to grab Steve’s hips with near bruising tension as he starts slamming into him, thrusting with intense fervor; the pace punishing and the sounds of how their bodies collide worse. Billy’s eyes are pinned to the spread of cheeks where his steely cock pounds into his boyfriend’s tight, slippery hole, his breathing ragged and tongue out wagging enthusiastically.

And Steve’s helplessly lost in his own euphoria of the moment; a hand flies up to clasp at his mouth, the other pressing against the mirror for the sake of balance so as to not get shoved against it whenever Billy rams inside, helping Steve inch closer and closer to climax, with breathless groans and grunts, sighs and whines, all too loud for such a public setting, yet not loud enough for such an intimate act.

Billy bends over to press his sweaty forehead against Steve’s shoulder, gaze still locked to where heat flares up at every plunge, at the way Steve’s body clings to his veiny dick.

“You’re so perfect like this, baby,” his voice rough like wet gravel, “So eager and greedy. Gonna cum in you, Stevie boy, fill you up till you’re ready to burst.”

“Please,” the self-restraint apparent in his tone. “I-I’m so close.”

Then there’s a hand in his hair, yanking and pulling his flushed face off of the mirror and back, his intense breathing fogging up the mirror as he struggles to keep hushed through his sudden orgasm that washes through him, the intensity blinding, his every nerve buzzing vividly at the unexpected release till there’s nothing left in him, but the sensation of Billy vigorously driving his girthy cock in and out, sending forth slight waves of static heat.

Till it comes to a stop with one forceful shove, the hand in his hair tightening, the fingers by his hip digging in, as Billy buries himself completely, pressing Steve against the sink till his thighs hurt from the porcelain edge jabbing him.

But it’s worth it to feel how every muscle flexes, Billy’s teeth closing around Steve’s shoulder to muffle his deep rooted moan that almost escapes in its entirety. Worth it when Billy comes down from his high and relaxes again, yet stays here like this, softening inside of Steve’s well used hole, arms wrapping around his chest to hold him close whilst they both catch their breaths.

Billy kisses gentle apologies across the imprints his teeth made on Steve’s skin, up his neck and as far across his cheek and jaw as he can reach from behind.

And Steve simply stands still, caught between his boyfriend’s broad figure and the white sink, convinced he would fall if Billy stepped back. He leans into the loving attention he’s receiving, every press of lips to his sweaty skin a blissful little source of tender satisfaction. When he finally opens his eyes again after having mindlessly drifted away in the afterglow, he just barely catches the way Billy glances down and grins in a rather humoured way.

“At least you got most of it in the sink,” he rumbles against Steve’s shoulder.

Looking down Steve sees his cum splattered into the sink, yet a few good drops made it up around the faucet and almost even to the wall. Yet his first thought is that he could have made it onto the mirror if he had jerked himself off to completion.

“Who’s going to clean it up?” Steve huffs a little laugh and meets Billy’s gaze in their reflection.

Who tries to hide his smile with kisses. “Hmmm I dunno, kinda wanna see what happens if we just leave it like this; who my boss is gonna blame for cumming in the employee’s bathroom.”

“Gross.”

“It’s yours, princess,” Billy chuckles out and rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“So you’re saying I should clean up after myself?”

“Mhm, yup,” the p pops.

When something changes in Steve’s expression, a clear difference from one second to another, lids heavy as he turns his head to look at Billy with lips inches apart.

“Then it’s only fair that you clean up after yourself, too, don’t you think?”

[fuzzyporcupine]

lead me with your hands tied | chapter 7

chapters:

FULL - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

rating: explicit

word count: 15,443

summary:

In the midst of a crumbling kingdom at war, Levi Ackerman is commissioned by King Jaeger to paint a portrait of his overzealous son.

chapter 7:

Eren entered the studio with more than enough time to spare. Not in any way dressed for a portrait, but on time nonetheless. Thankfully, Levi only needed to accomplish a sketch today. The attire could be forgiven for now.

Eren leaned against the doorframe, a tight golden waistcoat highlighting the man’s frame.

“I see your illness has faded, Your Highness.” Levi continued to clear his workstation as the prince sighed dramatically.

“As you commanded, artist.” Levi’s fingers stilled over the brushes. He thought about the venom he’d spewed at the prince in the bedroom. Thought about how angry he had been as he marched out of the room. The guards hadn’t paid him any mind as he shuffled back to the studio with tight fists and a furrowed brow, well-warned by Petra. The time alone had allowed him to decompress, to curb his thinking from wrapping his hands around the prince’s neck to that of a brush instead.

“Quite,” Levi muttered, returning to shuffling through his supplies. The sound of advancing footsteps bounced off the stone as Eren approached him from behind. He felt a headache beginning to swell deep beneath his eyes. One that would surely only add fuel to this infuriating fire. Bringing thin fingers between his brow, Levi pressed gently against the soft skin. Usually, he could simply will the pain away. Could push the ache into the dark abscesses of his mind to be reignited on another day. However, now with Eren’s gaze demanding attention, he was finding it hard to ignore the subtle throbbing.

“Are you alright?” The prince’s breath fluttered delicately over the back of his neck, twisting heat around the bones of his spine. And he hated it, almost as much as he despised the goddamn royal family. Hated the way Eren was able to pick and probe these reactions out of him as if he were some young girl vying to lose her maidenhead. It was unequivocally, irrevocably insane. To be nearing his thirtieth year and still acting like a young boy going through puberty. Levi could curse himself - curse the dreadful prince, as well.

He turned around slowly, cautious of the ever-growing pounding ricocheting inside of his skull. Levi expected to see a smug grin, a look of enjoyment over his suffering. He figured that Eren would be all the more pleased to find that his own drunken aliment had seemingly shifted its host over to Levi. The irony was indeed thick, Levi supposed. However, instead of a gleeful smirk and self-righteous glare, Levi found a wrinkled brow. Eyes that were normally so wide and full of pride were now narrowed and searching, darting quickly across Levi’s face. Thin lips pressed tight as Levi’s fingers dropped to fiddle with the sleeve of his linen shirt.

“It’s just a headache,” he mumbled wearily, watching the way Eren’s brows pulled a little tighter. “I’m fine.” There was a short pause, and then the prince was nodding, feet shuffling backward against the hard grey stone. The whole scene was baffling. More so than when Eren stormed into the dining room in nothing but nightclothes. The thought had his palms going sweaty against the white fabric still being fussed about between dexterous fingers.

Eren stared at him, looking one half bewildered and the other half perturbed. Finally, the man cleared his throat. “Petra knows a great remedy for those. Tastes like shit but does its job,” Eren laughed awkwardly. The sound had his toes curling uncomfortably in his boots. The prince looked away then, sparkling eyes roving over the blank open canvas. “Where do you want me?”

“The fireplace,” he said without hesitation. Levi remembered how the location had called so loudly to him. The elegant lines, the stone etched to perfection. His only hope would be that the backdrop would not upstage the prince himself. It would be a far cry, though, as loathe as Levi was to admit it.

Eren was a handsome man, a strong jaw and high cheekbones. Thick dark brows hovering over fierce wide eyes that almost verged on too large. An artist’s muse in all aesthetic senses.

The aching in his skull had thankfully drizzled off into a manageable thud by the time Eren found a spot in front of the fireplace. The man hovered there, hands gracelessly hanging off to the side. It was slightly satisfying to see Eren looking so out of place especially after being so often on the receiving end of the prince’s brash humor.

“I believe that I’m at a bit of a loss here, artist,” Eren admitted, sagging broad shoulders with a heavy sigh.

Levi looked boredly over the edge of the canvas. “Haven’t you done this before?” Eren bristled marginally at that, and Levi had to fight back a devilish grin.

“When I was twelve!” The prince’s voice cracked hilariously and a fabulous flush crept up onto the man’s cheeks as Levi watched Eren sway anxiously back and forth. He took pity on the poor soul, scoffing as he placed the pencil down on the table next to the empty canvas. Standing, Levi gave Eren an assessing look, analyzing the man’s position as he stepped closer.

“Act natural.” Eren huffed crudely at the comment, spine stiffening beneath Levi’s stare. The stance was similar to a toy soldier Levi once owned as a child, wooden limbs ramrod straight at the sides. While appealing to a figurine young boys and girls could play with, the posture was thoroughly horrid for a portrait. An artist’s muse in all aesthetic senses, Levi reminded himself. “Now you look like you need to take a royal shit,” he chided, crossing his arms against a sturdy chest.

The blush on Eren’s cheeks deepened brilliantly. “You’re being far too vague,” the prince muttered quietly, pride effectively wounded. A small part of Levi wanted to reassure the man that the art of posing for a portrait did not come as natural as one would expect. However, a much larger part enjoyed seeing Eren’s tail tucked between his legs like a kicked dog.

“Relax your shoulders,” Levi said. Eren did as much, rolling them back into what appeared to be a much more comfortable position. “Now turn your body to the left.” He watched as Eren turned on his heels, eyes now facing the Jaeger family crest posted to the wall. Levi stepped forward. “Bring your chest towards me. For fuck’s sake, not your entire bloody body.”

Eren scowled, frustration clearly nearing the end of its rope. “This is damn near impossible.” That was a rather final word for it, Levi thought. The game had seemingly run its course, and despite his gratification over watching Eren squirm, he did not want to risk having the prince storm off in a snit like before.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” he surmised, thumb stroking the underside of a pointed chin. Confidence supporting his gait, Levi strode forward until he was within arm’s reach of the prince. “Face the wall again.” He watched the prince eye him up and down warily. “Before the sun falls, Your Highness.” Eren sighed irritably as the wide gaze was once again fashioned to the vibrant green tapestry.

“Absolutely impossible,” he heard Eren mutter quietly into the air. The breath was sucked straight back into the man’s lungs, however, when Levi wrapped tentative fingers around either side of the thin waist. Time seemed to still for a quiet moment, and the prince stiffened. The skin felt red hot beneath his touch, warmth seeping through the fabric and onto the pads of his fingertips. Could feel the way the muscles moved and flexed beneath the flesh as he twisted Eren’s upper half marginally to the right. Levi dropped the clutch, satisfied when the prince held the position without being corrected. Next, he grasped Eren’s right arm, bending it at the elbow before trailing his palm down to the man’s wrist.

“Take hold of your belt,” Levi requested.

“Rather uncouth of you to assume my innocence is so easily won, artist,” Eren jested, mouth pulling maddeningly at the corners. To hear the prince describe himself as innocent almost yanked a chuckle from his throat. Almost. Instead, he gifted the infuriating bastard with a deadly glower as he dropped his hand.

“Grab the damn belt.” With the instructions delivered, Levi turned and shuffled back over to the canvas, hoping that the grit of his teeth wasn’t too audible. The expectation that the pose would be held was minimal at best, nonexistent at worst. However, when Levi looked back over his shoulder he saw to his surprise that the stance was exactly as he’d envisioned - give or take the shit-eating grin.

Moving behind the blank linen, Levi selected a pencil from the complied lot of tools to begin the sketch. It was a soft, smooth grey. Perfect for capturing lines and easily covered with the drag of a brush. For now, he only needed to reproduce the simple shapes that would eventually be reconstructed into the prince’s form.

Hooded eyes only barely reached above the edge of the canvas, his short stature dwarfed by the coarse cloth. Levi typically didn’t work on portraits so large, and if he were capturing anyone other than the shitting smiling bastard before him, Levi might be apt to ask for a stool. As it was, he would rather face the entire Shiganshina army with only his paintbrushes as a means of defense.

He worked in relative silence, save for the scratching of the pencil across the linen. His gaze flitted quickly between the man and the canvas. Rough lines began to appear, boxy shapes symbolizing hands and shoulders.

“I beg your pardon if I’ve caused offense.” The statement caused a line to go astray. Levi swore quietly beneath his breath, rubbing away the error with the side of his hand. The prince would truly be the death of him. Perhaps literally.

To be quite honest, he was wholly surprised that Eren even had the ability to utter words that weren’t a vulgar insinuation or an infuriating quip. An apology was definitely not considered to be a part of the man’s vocabulary.

Levi's voice failed him as he tried to conjure up a worthy response. One that would likely tell Eren which unspeakable place the man could shove the pleas of forgiveness. Instead, Levi was left to hide shamefully behind the canvas as he attempted to avoid Eren’s pointed stare.

“You simply intrigue me.” Levi’s breath caught painfully in his throat. Intrigued? He had no idea how to respond to such a claim. One was intrigued by the leaves morphing colors on the trees or the way the stars glittered brightly at night. But Levi? Intriguing? He should perish the thought.

When Levi looked up, an unyielding stare immediately sought out his eyes. “I can assure you,” he finally said, voice not quite as steely as he’d hoped, “that this curiosity is misplaced.” Levi watched as the man’s posture slipped. “As is your right arm.” The prince quickly righted himself back into position.

“How self-loathing,” Eren muttered.

Levi ignored the quip, returning to the sketch. To anyone else, the scribbles would be puzzling. A scattered mess of unconnected dots and lines. However, Levi recognized the sketch for what it was - the beginning of a potential masterpiece. The majority of the prince’s outline lined the canvas. Hands, legs, arms, and torso all sketched to represent an estimated length and width. Levi had saved the face for last. It was, without question, the most crucial element of the portrait. Oftentimes, he had been asked to substitute hands that were thought to look too old or bellies that appeared to be too fat. But the face was always that of the owner’s. He gazed at Eren’s now, noticing how the intensity behind the man’s eyes had not diminished even with Levi’s blunt rebuttal. He tried to read them, to find something within the swirling depths. Though it was unclear to Levi what he was even looking for. Sarcasm? Ridicule?

Curiosity?

He scoffed softly to himself, eyes falling away from Eren’s commanding stare.

The face would have to wait until the morrow when his head was sat correctly on his shoulders. Regardless, the fireplace still needed to be outlined into the background, something that would not require Eren’s presence.

“We are finished for today, Your Highness,” Levi said, bowing slightly. The rumblings of the headache reawakening began to whistle between his ears. Unlike the others, Levi couldn’t help but feel as if this one was well-deserved. Thinking so deeply about how Eren perceived him or what the man’s intentions were would do nothing but drive him utterly mad.

The prince relaxed, falling out of the chosen position. “Thank the gods.” Levi did feel at least a modicum of sympathy for the man. Despite his chiding, Eren had remained steady for the majority of the session. It was more than he could say for most clients. “Will you require me again tomorrow?” Levi nodded, pencil going back to work as he etched out the beginnings of the fireplace. “Good. I shall require you, as well.”

The line crooked to the side as his hand twitched.

Eren’s boots clicked against the floor as he approached the canvas. “Meet me in the courtyard after breakfast is served.” Levi looked up at the man as if he had grown two heads. In actuality, that feat might have been more realistic than the thought of Levi Ackerman campaigning with a member of the Jaeger family after breakfast. The very idea had his gut twisting in a feeling that he couldn’t quite describe. “Until tomorrow, artist.”

And with that, Eren took his exit, leaving behind a very befuddled - if not slightly captivated (though he would wholly deny it) - Levi to wonder what glorious plan the prince had in store.

[honey-hippie-harper]

The Day Gatlon Fell

(TW: VIOLENCE)

IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY AFSGHJAFSGHJA. I should’ve done something nice but I don’t seem to be physically capable of doing that, sO IF YOU WOULD BE SO KIND TO PLEASE FORGIVE ME AFGSHAFGHAJ. I guess from the title it’s...kinda clear what this is all about, because I like to write about my imaginary complex relationships in Renegades. Yet, I wrote it with love and I hope you like it :’)

This fic is actually a present for those who want to accept it (If you don’t, I understand tbh). But  I’m going to dedicate it for the ones who constantly pretend they tolerate me and like my writing, which are my fellow Reneweys: @healing-winston-pratt @obsidianfr3sk @alecjamesartino @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare . I love you guys SO much. Thanks for being a safe space full of people who share the same mother tongue and laugh at my stupid jokes.

Also @all-weather-is-bad whom I love very much. Thank you for tolerating me to :’) <3 and @ifyouhadntbutyoudid bECAUSE FELLOW LATINA <3 (also your art for HCTTR still makes me cry and I know you like Leroy).

And idk if this matters or not, but, for the ones who understand Spanish, this fic was heavily based upon this (yes, the contemporary dance and everything don’t judge me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaaVpaE1XGA

Alec called them the Anarchists, because he called himself Ace Anarchy. And, in a world where prodigies were hurt, mistreated and killed, he also called them hope.

Hope called themselves the Anarchists, and they reunited at the outskirts of the city, and then they marched towards Gatlon when it was still dawning. There were many, many of them, creating a huge mass of people. Some of them were only wearing masks in order to protect their identity, but others, like them, the main circle of Anarchists, were in full costume, including Alec, Ace Anarchy, who was marching at the back of the crowd, for Alec Artino had faked his disappearance (and possible assassination) less than two weeks ago.

As an act of symbolism (in Alec’s own words) the Queen Bee was at the lead, while him, Leroy (Cyanide), stood two steps behind her, with Gerard Hoffman, Atomic Brain, at his right, and Lincoln Palmer, Brimstone, at his left. Behind them were Dexter Hartley, Rat, and the Thompsons. Then, everything was too much, and there were too many people to name them all, when he barely remembered his own name at the moment.

Every distance looked moderately short until you had to travel it by foot, or when you were too anxious to arrive at your destination. Leroy, personally, didn’t consider himself to be anxious per se. At least, that wasn’t the word he would’ve used to describe his situation.

For the first time in forever, Leroy’s mind was making too much noise, and he didn’t know how to make it stop, nor did he know how to decipher what it was trying to say to him. While he marched, Leroy was surrounded by sounds. There were the distant, faint movements of the awakening city, the ring of keys, the dragging of boots, the hasty breaths, the silent prayers, Honey humming to an inexistent melody, while her dress danced to her voice, hanging from her body.

Honey was easily one of the best dressed out of the bunch, which was a very typical Honey attitude from her part. The most meaningful thing in his own costume was the lab coat and the scientific pun, but it was more than enough for him, knowing that, after today, many of the people here wouldn’t be alive anyway, and he wasn’t even sure whether he would make it, either.

By the time they started reaching the city’s main entrance, the sun was covering half of their bodies, announcing they might have “nice” (hot) weather today. For a while, at least. And the heat was so extreme it made Leroy’s temple sweat, as well as the rest of his face, behind the mask. However, he resisted the urge to remove it, as his mind started making too much noise again, when it forced him to remember Alec’s words.

“And, remember, that you are the pain, you are the fire, and I am the courage.” He said, while they were sitting around the campfire, one messy night, running away from the police. “Because courage comes from the same place as fear.”

Leroy didn’t agree with some of Alec’s ways. Hell. He really didn’t. Nevertheless, he was also aware of his own position. He was aware he was a prodigy, and he was aware people were exhausting.

Even before he became…special, people were already picking on him. Leroy had been a punching bag the entirety of his life. First, for being too ordinary.

There was always a defect they could find in him.

When he admitted his father had abandoned his mother not long after he was born, he became the fatherless kid who wasn’t important enough to make his father stay (as if his father being an asshole had been his fault); when his mother met Claire, his other mother, he became the outcast who lived with two insane and sick women who dared to say they were in a serious, romantic relationship (even though they were evidently in love); when he discovered he enjoyed science, he became the weird kid who liked Thursdays, because that’s when Mr. Ruiz used to take them to the lab; when he discovered he was good at school overall and teachers offered him to move him one grade ahead, he became the ugly, creepy and fat nerd kid who lived with dykes and had no life.

And so, Leroy was murdered by his classmates in eleventh grade, in the lab. And when he came back as a prodigy, he became the burden. The fucker. The freak. The disgusting prodigy who should’ve stayed dead.

Because, when it came to people, it was never enough.

It really was never enough.

When they didn’t like you, there wasn’t a limit they wouldn’t reach in order to let you know. They hated you when you were too ordinary, but they hated you more when you were extraordinary.

Being a prodigy meant being your own fight. It meant being out there, in a minefield where everybody was chasing after you, and nobody stopped to help. People were often afraid of the things they couldn’t understand.

But courage came from the same place as fear.

And it was a dark, messed up place that, in the rare cases where it didn’t drive you crazy, it ended up killing you.

Alec’s ideas were extreme and a little twisted, even, but nobody had ever seemed to care as much as he did, and Leroy had to give him that.

He strongly defended that, if nobody did, then there would be a time where somebody would have to, and he had to give him that too. Because, one day, he just decided that person would be him. Because, if not him, then who?

“I’m my own fight. We’re all our own fight. And you should just face that and shut your ass, before you get killed.” Leroy told him the day after he personally met him, when Honey called him, saying the wound in his calf had gotten uglier and he was banned from the majority of the hospitals in the city. At first, Leroy didn’t know why that should’ve been a matter of concern to him, but he ended up showing him at the apartment anyway. When he realized Alec hadn’t learned anything from the previous experience and was already planning the next riot, he felt the burning desire to cauterize him out of spite.

So Leroy cauterized him, with no previous warning. Alec screamed so loud he thought he was going to pass out. But when he was done, Alec thanked him, because, sure, he had nearly fainted thanks to the pain, but the wound was closed and no longer bleeding.

“I won’t get killed.” Alec declared, as if he were some type of almighty god. “But if I do, it will be defending my place and my rights. You say we’re all our own fight. Correct. But, as prodigies, we have to stick together.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Because somebody has to fight for us.”

“You want to fight for us.”

“I want us to fight for us.”

At that moment, Honey came into the room, carrying a tray with a steaming cup and a plate with French toast with honey.

“They can’t kill us all.” She said.

“Oh, but they can.”

Before she could answer, Alec spoke again.

“Then how come we’re still here?”

As the hours, days, weeks and months went by, Leroy, beneath all his cynicism and incredulity, realized he cared. And, once he was invested in the cause, he decided he cared enough to believe them.

They couldn’t kill them all, but they could kill some of them. Yet, they would die caring and believing, and defending their legitimate right to having lived in the first place. There were some things they couldn’t take back, but there were others they could stop them from taking away.

Because somebody had to.

And, if nobody wanted to fight for them, then they had to be their own fight.

Leroy had already gone down once, and that was the reason why he was willing to do it again if necessary. There were Alecs out there, who had been born prodigies and judged, mistreated and pointed at because of it; there were Honeys out there, who had suffered from fatidic accidents that had left a mark in them forever; there were Leroys out there, who had been bullied for not being a prodigy, but also for being one.

As long as he was alive, there would be no more Leroys. No more Honeys, either. No more Alecs.

They were their own fight, but they were also each other’s fight.

So, as they marched towards the city, they were carrying tons and tons of weight, even from the pain that didn’t belong to them. Even from pain that had already been silenced.

Silenced like the inert body of a murdered prodigy.

Silenced like the city the moment they saw them come.

Needless to say, they were coming in with previous instructions to show no mercy in case anything went wrong, knowing these people had already been attacked right at the heart of their system (their mayor), but when they saw them walk, they showed no resistance to let them through.

Gatlon City met the Anarchists in a moment that remained suspended into the air, while some of them dispersed to block the entrances and exits, and others stood in the middle of the traffic, creating a human wall that prevented the cars from moving forward.

Traffic lights exploded, as well as display screens, just like the days when authorities were trying to censor a violent riot. Doors became locked, just like the days when citizens were being notified of a group of violent prodigies marching through the city, except this time citizens weren’t the ones locking themselves in. Telephone lines became cut, just like the days when they did that so agonizing prodigies wouldn’t say a last goodbye to their loved ones who lived far away.

They were many. Too many.

And they couldn’t kill them all.

When they realized that, panic started spreading among them.

Queen Bee was still taking the lead, but the lines began to become blurrier and blurrier with every second, as some of the prodigies had to leave the formation in order to silence those who dared to try to oppose.

Gatlon City was a bold, intimidating place, with huge buildings, blinding lights and overwhelmingly wide streets that could swallow you whole if you weren’t careful enough. Yet, it welcomed the Anarchists in a scene that was as surreal as it was fascinating. Out of a sudden, it seemed to shrink before them.

To the elemental prodigies’ hands, the sky started to look as if split in two, fragile and breakable like the green leaves hanging from the trees, which were swaying like Honey’s blonde curls that day at the beach.

It was a public music festival, which they had attended while the Thompsons babysat David, out of pure and classic peer pressure coming from Honey herself.

Leroy showed up late at the beach, after waking up from a seven hour nap (the result of not sleeping at night), given that, despite living together, Honey expressed she hadn’t woken him up because she thought it was only an excuse to stand them out.

Beneath the loud chattering, the live music and the crowding, their presence became as irrelevant as a single grain of sand before it was taken away by a wave, but they still managed to get a decent spot, where they could see the stage from the blanket they were using as seats.

Out of the few bucks they were carrying with them at the moment, they managed to gather enough for a bucket of fish and chips from the food trucks, so they sent Alec to go get it, which left Honey and Leroy alone (though surrounded by people) in the blanket.

It was about time she said something about it, but when she did, Leroy still felt the need to roll his eyes at her until they rolled out of his face.

“You’re the only two people I know who dress like that to come to the beach. It’s honestly embarrassing.”

She was referring to the fact Leroy was wearing jeans, sneakers and a black hoodie, while Alec was wearing jeans as well, and a black T-shirt he had gotten for free at an event in his faculty.

“What are you? A vampire or something?” Upon saying that, Honey got her hands in the cooler and took a can of lime flavored soda from it.

“I don’t like leaving the house without my hoodie.” Leroy responded above the clic and the hissing produced by the carbonation. “It hides my rolls.”

It’s not like Leroy was ashamed of his body. In fact, he didn’t give a damn about it, for he wasn’t one to take care of his physical appearance that much. Nevertheless, having people pointing out defects he already knew he had was annoying and an inconvenience he rather preferred not to go through.

“What are you trying to say to me?” Honey let out a screeching laugh, shaking her head to get her hair off her face, before taking a sip from her soda, very slowly, staring directly into Leroy’s eyes, with an arched eyebrow, not mad, but a little malicious and suggestive.

Whatever she was trying to do, it worked perfectly well, because Leroy could tell the exact part of his sentence where he had gone wrong and dug his own grave. Despite his efforts to conceal it and pretend he didn’t regret saying it, he still felt his face burn a little.

Honey was wearing a two-piece swimsuit that day. A yellow bikini top with white polka dots (“Hope you’re getting a great view because this is the only time you’ll ever see me wearing a bra” “You really are a hippie pothead” “So what?” “Honey Hippie Harper” “Great name, Lery”) and a tight, also yellow with polka dots skirt. The top had a huge white bow tie that fell all the way towards her stomach area, but it’s not like it covered much, and Honey wasn’t exactly the size of a Barbie doll herself (though everybody in Gatlon agreed that, somehow, she still managed to look like one).

Good thing her self-esteem was as high as Everest.

“You’re just jealous I’m so hot it feels like my entire body is catching flames while you look like a poor man’s Dracula.”

“Your lexicon is above the clouds today. Did you teach yourself how to read? And you read Dracula, just by chance?“

“You’re such a comedian. I’m dying. My lungs are aching from laughing so much.” Honey laughed sarcastically, in a flat tone, before taking another sip from her soda. “I had a pretty productive and nurturing self-teaching session yesterday.”

“I see.”

“I did teach myself how to read though, but, just so you know, I read Carmilla and not Dracula, because she came first.”

Being that said, she winked.

By that time, Honey didn’t attend as many feminist movements as before, nor did she lead them, but she still looked pretty invested in her cause and beliefs sometimes, and those were the moments when she looked more like herself.

“The more you know.” Leroy said, between his teeth.

Knowing she had won, Honey didn’t respond anything else on the matter, and reached for her sunglasses instead, putting them on. Then, she kept singing along to the song played by the band, about how the world was going to end soon.

Which was fitting for their current situation.

The entire world wasn’t ending today, but maybe it would, in case they succeeded. Leroy wasn’t the most positive person to have ever stepped on Earth, but, if one thing he knew, was that he was completely able to read and accept facts and get to the truth, and said truth was that Gatlon didn’t have much on its part. A bunch of regular citizens, against a bunch of prodigy citizens, whose mere existence was an advantage over them. And it’s not that Leroy thought prodigies were superior, but, objectively, prodigies could do things normal people couldn’t. That’s what made them prodigies in the first place, and it was part of the reason why they didn’t like them, too.

The terror in their faces made Leroy straighten his back. Above his head, he could already hear the helicopters and planes, both from the press and the government. Still standing in his place, he saw Honey stop. She didn’t hesitate or flinched, but she did stare directly at them. Her lips shimmered, as well as her eyes and the bee hanging from her neck, when the remaining morning sun reached and caressed them. Her expression remained serene, until it wasn’t, and her lips started arching into a sideways smile. With the whole crowd waiting behind her, Queen Bee clicked her tongue and giggled. Then, she waved at the sky, with her eyes grinning as well, behind the mask. Leroy could almost visualize the picture in a History book, in the chapter that talked about the day Gatlon fell.

When he took one step forward, he also saw himself in the frame. Honey, for sure, acknowledged his presence before she continued walking, squeezing his wrist a little, as a reassuring gesture he thought he didn’t need.

With two Anarchists at the lead, the weight of the protest became more evident, but the rest of the recruits were keeping them grounded. Flying prodigies were above their heads, keeping themselves at a prudent distance from the planes and helicopters, becoming an emergency signal for the others. They barked orders, so their companions knew where to aim.

The cocky individuals holding guns while standing in the sideway were attacked from behind and killed on spot. Some others didn’t have it that easy, for they were grabbed by extra arms or tentacles and smothered to death. Others were stabbed by flying pieces of glass or other sharp objects. And the one man who thought he was clever enough met Leroy’s palm, and while he tried not to step on his agonizing body (like Honey did) with a face now looking like a melted candle, he didn’t feel anything when he heard him wail in pain.

In fact, Leroy felt so blinded by adrenaline he couldn’t feel anything at all.

The only thing that managed to make him snap back into reality for a short while, was the warmth that later turned into almost unbearable heat and left them with a lack of oxygen for a short while.

Aracely Thompson, Dome, stepped forward and, with a stomp of her foot, translucent, golden chains rose from the ground, trapping the main Anarchists (plus Jerome and her) in a wide intangible circle, which chains melted into each other once the area was delimited, and turned into a see-through bubble. The ones from the outside could see them, but not hear or touch them, let alone harm them.

Leroy wondered why they hadn’t thought about that before, but he figured they had just thought about how Alec would manage just fine on his own at the back.

Fearless and merciless, they kept on walking the cracking pavement, through the growing chaos, trapped in their bubble with recycled air.

With the traffic suspended, the streets looked empty, as if naked. People had already gotten the message, and they were running like scared roaches, trying to get out of their way. Some were holding their children, some were holding their pets, and others were holding both.

“Where’s Ingrid?” Leroy asked in Honey’s ear, upon seeing a mother run away with her child, who looked around Ingrid’s age.

“At a daycare for single mothers…” Aracely was not a single mother (but she was only married through the eyes of religion. Jerome and her weren’t legally married, and, in theory, her name was still Aracely Brito, but she preferred to be called Thompson, and it was the only last name Ingrid had in her fake birth certificate) “In front of a lawyer firm by Trinity street. So, no matter what happens, don’t touch that building.”

They would have to warn Alec about it, or take Ingrid out before he could reach that daycare.

Some years ago, before Alec arrived to Gatlon, there had been an incident, where a daycare for prodigy children had been destroyed; it wasn’t considered legal, of course, and, through the eyes of the government, it didn’t exist. So, when they contacted the owners to ask them to close it and they refused, one of the gas tanks of the daycare conveniently exploded, resulting in a fire and the death of several prodigy children, which meant that, among a lot of other things, Alec would show no mercy for daycares for regular children. In other words, the entirety of daycares in Gatlon, including the one Ingrid was in.

Alec never forgot, nor did he forgive, and he had a wide knowledge in regards to the crimes Gatlon had committed against prodigies.

They continued on walking through the main street, which led to the main bridge, from which cars were falling like little ants. Nobody truly knew what Alec was planning to do, because he was as pragmatic as he was unpredictable, and the more you hung out with him, the looser the thread your life was hanging from became.

He just said Gatlon would fall.

And when he said something would happen, it usually happened.

Upon reaching the bridge, they were greeted by familiar faces, with familiar uniforms, who maybe thought this would be just another routine intervention. That they would be retouching a line they had already painted some time ago. That they had another chance.

There were uniformed men and women, some in cars, some in tanks, some in patrols, holding their guns and pointing at them, the ones who had made it into the bridge instead of staying in the fight below.

Leroy was starting to suspect a part of them knew it would be useless, because this time they weren’t giving them an option, but, still, in their eyes he could see they were desperate enough to try.

Due to the fact there were so many prodigies stepping on the bridge at once, the ground seemed to be buzzing, as well as the air, and the clouds, and the sky, and the life surrounding them, filled with the distant cries and the echoes of the ones they had lost in the way.

In that moment, when they had already arrived, Leroy drifted away.

He heard the bullets.

Bang, bang, bang.

It was a couple of months ago. They had just taken a government building with brute force, and they had locked it from the inside.

They stayed there for almost a week, until the police finally decided to cease fire and left the area. They had no food apart from some crackers and cheese sticks, they had no water (and no water elementals whatsoever), no electricity and no running water either. If that wasn’t bad enough on its own, some of them were injured or losing blood, and the bullets kept hitting the walls on the outside.

Bang, bang, bang.

Honey had always hated being unclean. Even when she wasn’t in the mood to take care of herself, she kept complaining about how much being dirty disgusted her. Hence, after two days, she sat in a corner and refused to move, until the day they were finally released. Everybody was at the verge of going crazy by then, and so, she decided to stand up and join Alec’s motivational speech about why they were doing this in the first place, in which Leroy was also involved.

Then, when it all went quiet, they just stayed there, with the question “Now what?” floating in the air.

One important part of Alec’s motto as a visionary, was reminding others that prodigies were people too. That they had rights. That they had feelings. That they had needs.

Honey, being herself, started singing Rivers of Babylon out of the blue, and while everybody in the room stared at her like she was crazy at first, suddenly, Alec started harmonizing with her, singing as loud as he did on Sundays, at Mass, dehydrated, hungry and everything.

Leroy just stepped aside, looking in the opposite direction, as if that would make everyone believe he didn’t know those two.

It was useless, because many people had already followed them by the second chorus.

Leroy still remembered the one line he had to drag out of his mouth when Honey placed the lipstick tube she was using as a fake microphone very close to his mouth, and everyone suddenly went silent, waiting for him.

“… When we remembered Zion…”

They went ballistic, almost as if they hadn’t been the ones to take this same building in the most violent way one could think about.

After two or three more cheesy songs that Leroy hated, there was a period of two or three minutes where nobody dared to take a turn in the invisible karaoke, and they realized there was something new there.

Absence.

There were no more bullets.

They were alone.

“I’m not very fond of Miss Harper’s taste in music.” Alec told him later that day, back at his apartment, where they had gone together to check on David and shower. “But it’s exactly what our revolution needs in its darkest times.”

“Because it’s obnoxious and loud?”

“No.” Alec told him, smiling sideways. “Because it’s vibrant. When choosing the head of a revolt, Leroy, everything’s about balance. You are serious, she is vibrant and I am versatile.”

“I thought we were talking about her music taste.”

“Are you implying that a person and their music taste aren’t deeply connected?”

That had been forever ago, compared to now, when the triggers were clicking loudly, and they were staring at their companions from sideways or from above.

Sirens screaming in the distance, along with the citizens. There was pain. There was death. There was blood. There were prodigies.

There was anarchy.

And through the confusion and anxiety, something started moving.

They started moving, at the sides, one by one, to let him through.

Now leading the crowd of Anarchists, stood Alec Artino, Ace Anarchy.

His costume was simple, with the boots, the pants, the navy blue sweater, with the golden A, the gabardine…

And the coppery helmet, made by David himself, shining on his head.

If Leroy didn’t know him well enough, he could’ve sworn he was losing his mind and that his mental health was in an extremely dark place.

Alec used to say David was one of the most powerful prodigies that had ever existed, and that this helmet would be the one thing that changed everything, once and for all. Leroy, who had never finished understanding what David could do, often doubted his words, and, to him, the helmet, if anything, only made him look ridiculous.

But he said Gatlon would fall today, and everyone believed him.

Hard as it was for him to admit it, Leroy did too.

“REMOVE THE HELMET AND IDENTIFY YOURSELF!”

If Honey had been able to speak instead of being completely frozen, she probably would’ve said the man at the front looked, plain and simple, like a cop. Light skin, brown eyes, dark brown hair combed to the side, gun in a trembling hand, afraid of the unknown.

The unknown, meaning Alec standing in front of him, with his hands laced behind his back, and his gabardine flowing with the wind.

“I SAID…!”

“I believe it was clear enough I heard you the first time.” Alec declared, tilting his head to the side. “Isn’t a person entitled to decide what questions they desire to respond to by sorting them according to their level of relevance?”

The man gulped so hard Leroy could almost hear him, and then Alec smirked.

“Can you drop your gun or is it attached to your hand? Because if it is, then I will not bother you again. But if it is not, I am going to need you to put it away so we can have a civilized conversation, like normal people do.”

“You’re… y-you’re not normal. Any of you are! YOU’RE NOT NORMAL, YOU MONSTERS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS, NOW!”

Honey’s bees were starting to present themselves at the scene, flying around her, a little uneasy. Leroy, from his part, felt calm, because this, sadly, wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before.

“Yeah. That is exactly the problem.”

“STEP BACK!”

Alec refused to obey, and remained firm, right there where he was. Slowly, as if he were trying to mentally torture them, he lifted his right hand up. His fingers were in a very specific position, like he was about to make the sign of the cross on somebody.

It was Alec, meaning that, if he had done that, Leroy wouldn’t have been surprised.

But he didn’t.

Besides, if he had actually been planning to, they didn’t give him time for that, for the very second they saw him move, they shot, and many emergency alarms went off.

The bang was so loud Honey covered her ears, and her bees started trying to shield themselves by hiding behind her, beneath her hair or landing on her skin, never stinging her.

Leroy, from his part, felt his fingertips dripping with acid, preparing himself for the impact.

The impact never came.

Right in front of their eyes, the shower of bullets stops. The smell of gunpowder was still filling the air, and the bullets were still there, as present as ever.

However, they were suspended into the air, and one of them was almost touching Alec’s nose, who just smiled, before saying, in such a low volume Honey and him were the only ones who could hear:

“So be it, then.”

Being that said, he lifted his chin.

The bullets turned around.

Then, they were shot in the opposite direction, at full speed, to Alec’s will.

The man at the front of the formation fell first, followed by many others, with the bullets they had shot themselves, in an attempt to kill them.

They fell, one by one, and soon there were puddles of red on the floor, and other voices barking orders.

Shoot the canyons, they said.

But the canyons fell too.

Bring the bombs, they said.

And Alec waved them away as if they were some type of insignificant thing.

The planes, they said.

And they spun and flew out of control, before falling straight into the water or exploding midair.

Bullets stopped again and killed their shooters.

There was blood.

Tons of blood.

That’s when Leroy felt his heart pounding, upon coming to the maybe horrible realization that never had Alec been so strong.

His powers didn’t act like this.

His telekinesis was a hundred times more powerful.

It was…

It was the helmet

“GET THEM!” He shouted then, snapping Leroy back into reality, making him wonder how much time Alec had waited to say those words out loud.

To use those putrid words, the ones they always used before attempting against prodigies, against them.

If he wanted to be honest, hearing them felt good, but Leroy didn’t react immediately.

First he saw the chaos, when the mass of uniformed men and women melted between the prodigies in costumes, stepping on the dead and the dying, sometimes accidentally.

The massacre began in the rest of the city, as the sky became wilder, the tide started to roar and the screams became the type of symphony one would hear when entering the gates from Hell.

Gatlon City was starting to look red.

But the red wasn’t coming from the prodigies, but caused by them.

“You two stay with me.” Alec commanded, looking both at Honey and him. “I need you to clear the path.”

“Clear the bridge?!”

“Did I make myself understood, Queen Bee?”

Honey flinched the very moment she heard her own alias, and Leroy watched her as she tried to process everything.

“Clear the bridge.” She repeated. “Yes. Clear the…”

Leroy hoped that didn’t include the bodies.

He guessed it didn’t. Alec, after all, didn’t seem to care about that.

“Clear the bridge. Got it.” Leroy nodded.

“Excellent.”

Alec didn’t stare at them, and he didn’t move either, standing in the middle, with his hands into his pockets, and his face held high, feeling the movements all around him, prepared to get rid of any threat as soon as he spotted it.

Honey and Leroy rarely talked about their tactics before putting them into practice, but, just for once, Leroy wanted to do it.

And, of course, it wasn’t possible, because just as Leroy was preparing to grab her by the wrist and drag her aside, she got herself out of his reach.

“Wait! Wait!” she screamed, not because she was desperate, but because she wanted to be heard above the rest of the din.

Fortunately, in an almost surreal scene to watch, her voice caught Alec’s attention, and his green eyes caught hers, listening.

Leroy stared at Honey, both incredulous and speechless.

“A—” She stuttered. “… Acey.”

Acey.

Fucking Acey.

Leroy arched an eyebrow sharply, but Alec nodded, as if approving the nickname or acknowledging she was talking to him.

“I… “

BANG.

An explosion.

A loud, very loud explosion, followed by the smell of smoke and gunpowder. Maybe, if they were at a lower spot, they would’ve smelled the burnt flesh too.

Good thing they weren’t.

That didn’t make Alec less mad, though, for he unnecessarily adjusted his helmet and straightened his back.

“Acey, wait, I…! “

“Maybe not right now, Queen Bee.” He declared, plain and cold, but solemn.

Somehow, Leroy already knew what she wanted to say, and he also knew she would never say it after today, because he knew her well enough.

And maybe he knew him well enough too.

“Later.” He promised, empty.

Then, just like that, sitting in a cross-legged position, Alec levitated, perhaps to have a better view of the city.

Leroy took Honey by the wrist, this time for real.

Alec made the tank shoot in the opposite direction, and then came another explosion.

Back to back, Honey and him waited for the ones who came and tried to attack. Leroy started feeling his own heartbeat in his ears, and his whole body was vibrating, while Honey’s hasty breaths tormented him, trying to convince himself that they were doing fine, and that they were right.

Because they were.

They were just fighting back.

Leroy saw the scene as if he were out of his body.

The two of them, below Alec, but higher than the city, which was in flames; the body to body fights, with a considerable unbalance of power. The Anarchists were annihilating them with not a drop of mercy, nor remorse. The fights were on top of cars. On top of buildings. Through the streets. Pipes were leaking. The sky was roaring and wailing at the same time. Bullets were flying. Cables were hanging. Trees were moving as if made of paper.

Leroy could still feel Honey’s back against his’, and they only separated when they had to meet the officials who were coming into the bridge, before sending them to the top of pile of bodies.

A man came in, and he was a little taller than Leroy, with his head shaved and a bulletproof jacket. He wasn’t holding a gun, but a metallic tube instead. In posture and enraged expression, Leroy could tell he wasn’t a cop. Maybe a veteran, or some dumb fuck who enjoyed hunting season.

First, Leroy got rid of the tube, melting it with his hand, and next thing he knew, he was attacking him, trying to put his whole body weight on him. Leroy resisted and grabbed him first by the wrist and then by the cheeks, which made him wail in pain. Leroy pressed his palms harder against his skin, and it was only then that a swarm of both bees and wasps came in and started devouring the man’s face, gathering together into the burnt cheeks and wrists.

Honey grabbed Leroy by the arm and tried to pull him up, grunting and gasping, until Leroy was lucid enough to help her and got up himself.

At that very moment somebody kicked her back and made her trip forward. Fortunately, Leroy was able to catch her, but his blood started to boil, and, then, he just knew he had gone in a blind assault of rage.

Out of a sudden, he didn’t feel like himself. He could feel his pores dripping, and the acid was so strong he felt his whole body itching; getting into a fight position, he asked Honey to get behind him with a hand motion, which she obeyed, though also in defense mode.

It was a female official this time. Light brown hair tied in a small ponytail and muscular body. Leroy waved his hand, and that was enough to send the acid flying towards her, straight into her eyes and different spots of her skin.

She screamed in pain.

Honey was already fighting another man, but still, Leroy felt the bees surrounding him too, and there was a very specific group that stayed even when Honey moved towards another position, and they buzzed loudly all around him, notifying him when somebody was coming.

“They’re like an alarm.” He recalled Honey saying once, standing in the middle of the kitchen, taking the groceries out of the bags. She was covered in bees, as if they were children asking their mother what she had gotten for then. “They usually see the enemy before I do, so they buzz in their direction. From the outside it looks like I have outstanding reflexes but… Baby, you’re too close to my lashes and it’s giving me the heebie-jeebies, would you mind? Thank you.” A bumblebee flew away from Honey’s eye, to stand above her brow instead.

“What was I saying?” She tapped her chin, making the bees go away for a second. “Ah. Yes. I do have good reflexes, but yeah, it’s usually thanks to them, as well.”

Leroy remained leaned against the door frame, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“So.” She pointed at the counter, now full of groceries. “You’re gonna help me or what?”

Leroy wasn’t scared of bees. He had never been. Not particularly. But when he met Honey, he became immune to them and decided he would never be, either. Sometimes, when he was alone in the apartment and saw a swarm by the door, waiting for Honey to come back, he would even try to talk to them, which was useless and, judging for how they always stung him, they didn’t like it.

Maybe the bees didn’t like him whatsoever, but right here, in the bridge, they were pretending they did, because Honey had asked them to do so.

And yes. Hard as it was for him to admit it, they were useful.

Very useful.

On the other hand, it also made him feel dumb, because he didn’t know how desperate you had to be for your powers to respond to you through another prodigy.

Leroy was stabbed during one of the (very violent) riots. It wasn’t by a cop, but by a regular, non-prodigy civilian instead. It was a deep cut, and Alec got so mad he ordered to kill as many as they had to until they found the one who had done it. While Hell was breaking loose, Honey dragged him like a human crutch towards the park, hiding him behind the bushes.

“Don’t fall asleep or move unless you really need to, and don’t try to cauterize yourself because that shit hurts and you might pass out. Wait for Rina. I’ll send her to you.”  Rina was a healing prodigy, and by the time Honey was saying that, she had already been killed, so they ended up sending Gwen instead. “You understand? Now it’s not the time to be the stubborn piece of shit you usually are. That’s not how we’re rolling. You understand?”

Leroy understood, but he didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, he reached for the small blade he always carried in his pocket and, before he handed it to Honey, he tried to release his power in it.

She stared before grabbing it.

“Don’t let go, Leroy.” She asked, whispering, as she placed the blade in her own pocket. “For all you care, don’t let go.”

And when Honey’s skin touched it without her screaming in pain, he thought maybe it hadn’t worked at all, but a few days later, when Alec came to the apartment and tried to remove it from the dining table (because David was there too and he liked to touch everything), it hurt his palm.

The blade had become poisoned, and it burned everyone except for Honey and himself.

She still had it to this day, and right there, fighting in the bridge, he witnessed the exact moment when she took it out, while he stood behind her, with her bees, that she had lent him.

The sudden war seemed to have gone on forever when Leroy felt the breeze at his feet, produced by Alec’s body cutting through the air. He looked like a ghost. A very tangible and imposing ghost, who stood like a stone looking at the destruction he had caused himself, with his arms behind his back and his eyes closed.

Honey and Leroy came to his encounter, with the “Now what?” floating above their heads, like that time Honey and him had harmonized to Rivers of Babylon.

With sweat rolling down his face through the helmet and mask, Alec smiled sideways, and held his hand towards them, with his eyes showing a mild fuchsia tonality. None of the two, needless to say, knew how to react to that at first, but Honey believed him enough to try, and she wrapped her hand around his’, like a shell protecting a pearl.

And Leroy believed Honey enough to try, and wrapped his hand around hers’, like he was the sand or the water protecting the shell that protected the pearl.

And there they were.

The three of them.

Like the day Leroy met them for the first time. Like the days they travelled together, hiding from the police or not. Like all the days Alec forced them to go to Mass. Like the days they had to sleep under poor conditions, in motels or abandoned buildings, and Alec and him woke up with back pain because Honey always had to have the most comfortable place they managed to get. Like the days one of them was so injured they didn’t know he or she would wake up the next morning, and so they started praying they would.

Repressed memories started coming back, and Leroy managed to dodge every single one of them, although a part of him didn’t want to.

Then Alec stared at them. They were very close together, with their foreheads touching, while the three interlocked hands remained in the middle.

“Courage comes from the same place as fear.” Alec reminded them.

“And the day we decide to burn, they will all come with us. “ Ace Anarchy said.

And then, he lifted.

Honey was the last one to let go of him.

Next, he was gone.

Ace Anarchy stood above it all, like the burning sun, with both his arms extended to his sides, towards the emptiness, and, at the same time, towards the everything.

Leroy took Honey by the arms, putting her aside, as they stared. Maybe in awe. Maybe in fear.

Ace Anarchy looked up at the sky, then at the front again.

All the guns were pointing at him. All the lives were hanging by the thread he was using to sew his way in, and also his way out.

The Earth trembled in fear, and then it shook in pain.

Honey screeched, shoving her nails into Leroy’s arm to recover her balance, though Leroy was also on the verge of falling.

They tried to hold the other up. To force each other to remain standing.

Gatlon City left the ground, light as a feather. The buildings fell, the bridge started to crack, the sea escaped from the place it belonged to, people screamed, screamed, screamed.

Everything was in flames.

The light became brighter.

The wails became louder.

Time became slower.

Time became torture.

Time became endless.

And Gatlon City remained suspended into the air, shattering into little pieces, leaving a trace of blood and flesh.

Then, just like that, it fell.

Gatlon City fell, like a sinking boat.

Like it was nothing.

Like it was made of paper.

And it fell.

And, just like Ace Anarchy prophesied, they all fell with it. And with him.

[luna-redamancy]

You Always Find Your Way {Final Chapter - 13}

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you all who kept reading the series, it was wonderful to write. I hope you all enjoy the ending. I was planning on destroying some hearts today by making the ending sad but I decided against it!

Previous Chapter

“Destroy it!” Sam shouted, eyes filled with anguish as he looked between the golden ring and his beloved friend. “Throw it in the fire!” He commanded. Mount Doom was bubbing, lava bursting through the surface, a lake of destruction below him. 

Frodo looked down, his eyes glazed over as if he was in a trance, a distant whispering filling his ear as he clutched the ring closer. “What’re you waiting for? Just let it go, Frodo!” Sam pleaded, watching as Frodo’s face twisted into a sickened desire. 

“No.” He called out to Sam, ripping the chain off his neck. “The Ring is mine,” Frodo smirked, slipping the ring onto his finger. 

“No…” Sam dropped to his knees, tears filling his vision as his heart clenched. All hope was lost. Gollum crept up behind Sam, a rock firmly in hand as he looked for the Ring. Smacking Sam upside the head with it, Gollum paid his unconscious body no mind as he looked for the other Hobbit. 

Frodo’s footsteps lined the dirt, giving away his location despite the invisibility the ring granted him. Gollum snarled, throwing the rock and leaping onto Frodo’s shoulders. 

Frodo gasped, trying to fight him off, struggling to maintain his balance with the weight on his shoulders. Gollum grabbed Frodo’s finger, his jaws latching around the finger that claimed his precious. 

Frodo cried out, falling to the floor, clutching his finger to his chest as Gollum screeched with insane glee. Holding it up to the light, Gollum tattered toward the edge of the ledge, a grin on his face. 

Frodo lunged for Gollum, eyes still swirling with madness as the two fell off the ledge. 

“No!” Sam shouted, finally awake and aware of what was going on. Gollum sunk into the lava, holding the ring protectively to his chest as he met his fate. 

Diving toward the ledge, Sam searched wildly for Frodo, relief filling him as he saw Frodo grasping onto the rockface. “Give me your hand!” He shouted, reaching for Frodo to pull him up. 

Frodo looked up at Sam, eyes filled with regret and despair. “Take my hand!” Sam commanded again, his eyes filling with tears at the thought of losing his closest companion. 

Frodo swung his bleeding hand towards Sam, trying to swing his entire body to help him grasp onto Sam’s hand. Missing it, Frodo swung back down, smacking into the rockface. “No!” Sam shouted, watching as Frodo looked up at him with desperation on his face. 

“Don’t you let go, Mr.Frodo! Reach!” Sam gasped out, determination on his features as Frodo swung himself upward once again. 

Grasping Frodo’s hand, Sam pulled him to the top of the ledge. 

Below them, the ring flickered and glowed, the magic disappearing from it as it sunk beneath the surface of the lava. 

The mountain began to erupt, lava pouring out of it as Sam and Frodo leaped onto a high rock to avoid suffering the same fate as Gollum. 

Frodo looked to Sam, his eyes clear of all madness.  “It’s done…” Sam turned to look at Frodo, “It’s done.” Frodo repeated again. 

 “Yes, Mr. Frodo… It’s all over now,” 

 -

Down a lonely hallway sat the room, guarded by a deep green door carven intricately and decorated with golden accents. The room had tall windows that once decorated everything in golden light but covered by thick curtains, leaving everything in darkness. 

Thranduil sat on the floor, his back pressed against the stone wall as he analyzed everything in the room. Your old combs, your crown, a chest of your clothes, your favorite books, your favorite blankets. 

Thranduil’s eyes were red, face blotchy from hours of mourning as he secluded himself in a safe space. A space that took away his hurt, you took away his hurt. 

The silence surrounding him is familiar, a deep pang in his chest as he couldn’t stop himself from clutching onto your old portrait, pressing his forehead against yours. 

Memories flashed through his mind causing him to shut his eyes and a whimper to pour out of him again. You were lost. Dead? Never returning? He couldn’t tell. 

“Come on now,” Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you looped your arms around his neck. “I think you’ve worked enough for tonight,” You cooed as you tried to coax him out of his office. He chuckled, moving to give your lips a kiss. 

“Oh no no no, you aren’t getting any love from me until you come to bed,” You finally gave an ultimatum, knowing he wouldn’t leave until the early hours of the morning if you didn’t get him out of there now. 

“Alright alright,” He pushed himself out of his chair, his back cracking as he stood straight. Wincing at the sound, you shook your head. “What would you ever do without me,” You teased. 

Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, Thranduil pecked your forehead. “I would suffer tremendously.”

And suffering tremendously he was. 

_

Alvina groaned, her body sore as she woke up next to a roaring river. “No…. No way…” She felt tears of relief as she stared up at the familiar trees of the greenwood. “I’m home…” She whispered as she laughed, “Vala… Please let (Y/n) be home as well…” She mentally prayed as she thought of the only reason she was able to come home. 

Standing up, Alvina wiped her dirty hands on her leggings, walking the path that she knew like the back of her hand. Up near the river bend lay a small cabin. 

Flicking her tongue out to wet her lips nervously, she clenched her fists as she walked up to the cabin door, smiling when she saw their plants were still in good shape. “After all this time,” She nearly whimpered as she saw them flourishing. 

“Oh my stars… You’re alive!?” Daenys called out, coming back around from their garden at the back of the cabin. 

“I’m alive…” Alvina gave a watery smile, tears rolling down her cheeks once more as Daenys pulled her into an embrace. “I missed you so much,” Daenys hiccuped, gripping onto Alvina for dear life. “I’m never leaving ever again,” Aliva vowed as the two clung to each other. 

_

“Someone get King Thranduil,” The Captain of the Guard commanded, worryingly watching the Queen be carried to the medical wing.  

“He’s been in that storage room for days, I doubt he’ll come out.” One of the guards reminded the Captain. 

“I’m sure he will come out now if you tell him his wife has returned, and news of Sauron’s defeation has arrived. Legolas is coming home.” The guard dutifully nodded their head, slipping down the abandoned hallway passages to knock on the polished door. 

“What is it?”

“My King, Queen (Y/n) has returned and is in the medical wing,” 

“Don’t you lie to me.” Thranduil hissed, throwing one of your old boots at the door. “I am no fool, she hasn’t returned. I will not fall for tricks.” 

.

.

.

The sheets were crisp, the light making them hurt your eyes when you opened them. Grunting you turned your head to shield yourself from the unpleasantry of waking up, your head throbbing from when you got literally dropped into the middle of the throne room. 

“You’re awake!” The elf-maid exclaimed, excitement filling her voice. 

“That I am,” You responded rubbing the bump on your head. “Where’s Thranduil?” You questioned, worry filling you when you noticed there was no trace of him even visiting you. Usually he would be by your side until you awoke, something had to have happened. 

“.... King Thranduil hasn’t left the old storage room since you disappeared, My Queen” The elf-maid bowed her head, while your mouth dropped in shock. 

“Did someone tell him where I was?”

“Yes, My Queen.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You were here. And he simply didn’t care. 

Nodding, you sat up. “Thank you,” You mumbled as you began to pull the blankets off of you. 

“M-My Queen, leaving the medical wing isn’t wise, you could faint--”

“I have a few words for my husband.” Your voice was cold as you pulled on a robe hanging on the back of the door, covering your medical dress. Ignoring her small protests, you slipped out of the room.

Marching down the familiar hallway, you ignored the throbbing in the back of your head as you shoved open the door, not bothering to knock.

Sitting in a corner, sat your husband. 

“I’ve been through hell and back, trying to get back to you, and you can’t even bother to see if I’m okay?” Your words were laced with venom as you fought the tears wanting to build in your eyes. He was a mess. Hair greased to his scalp, his clothes obviously hadn’t been changed in days, his face sunken from lack of sunlight and meals. 

“You aren’t real…” His voice was hoarse. “A trick, that’s all you are,” He glared at you but you could see the tears building in his eyes. 

“I am real, and I am here.” You stepped closer to him, not liking the way he flinched at your approach. As if you were death itself coming to take him away. 

“I woke up and you were gone, vanished in the wind like a ghost from my dreams. Tell me, my love, how can I truly know that you aren’t a figment of my imagination?”

“If I had a choice I would have never been taken away in the first place, my love, you know this,” The venom in your voice disappeared, only now laced with hurt. He thinks you left him on purpose. 

Thranduil wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

“I can’t…” Thranduil whimpered, continuing to wipe his face as tears cascaded down his cheeks and onto the floor. “I can’t keep ruining myself by attaching to you.”

Tears were now slipping down your face. “Then maybe I should go…” You mumbled, now realizing how much hurt your absence put on him. When you vanished the first time, you were blissfully unaware of the damage your absence caused, heck you didn’t even remember him until a week after you arrived back in Middle-Earth. 

Thranduil’s eyes snapped up, “No, you can’t go.” 

You shook your head, a bittersweet smile on your face. You could taste the salt that your tears left on your lips as you took a step back. 

“You said it yourself… You can’t keep ruining yourself... “

“Without you, I am in ruins.” Thranduil declared as you moved to exit the room. The walls feel like they were closing in, a suffocating sensation in your chest. 

“Please stay,” His voice was above a whisper, and at that moment you decided. You couldn’t deny him.

Turning around you watched as he shakily rose to his feet, obviously weak from malnourishment. 

Pulling you into his arms, a piece of him felt whole again as he held you in his arms. 

“You always find your way back to me,” Thranduil whispered against your hairline as you hugged him tighter. 

“Always.” 

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@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck  @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18@raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @underthemoon-imagines​​ @ladylouoflothlorien​ @ticklemewigglysk​ @bad268​​ @legolaslovely​ @bthtallmadge2​ @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna @tigereyesf​