#so this failure (or whatever you wanna call it) was sudden and unexpected

[cosmojjong]

normally i try to find a way to comfort myself and feel better but now i just cannot do that. sigh

[kamotoshi]

safe [chōsō x reader]

pairing: chōsō x fem sorcerer! reader

genre: fluff with (seriously faint) hints of angst

warning(s): contains manga spoilers for chapter 62!

word count: 2.3k

overview: after spending many years as a sorcerer, you’ve believed certain things to be true. but a chance meeting with a curse that’s developed into a deeper relationship changes your perspective.

notes: want some listening music? here are two songs that helped me write this: summer fling by kang + effervescent by toonorth

A quiet, but gasping breath fills your lungs with a pocket of cold air when you wake from a dead sleep with a start. Instinctively, your hand flies in front of you, directed towards the doorway to obliterate whatever intruder you automatically assume has roused you from your deep slumber. However, much to your surprise, you’re completely alone. Rubbing your eyes, you turn your head towards the alarm clock on your bedside table to check the hour.

Ah, it’s that time again.

With a gentle sigh, you slide out from beneath the warm covers, causing your skin to break out in a wave of goosebumps at the chill in your room that you throw on a sweater and pants to combat before heading to the kitchen of your small but cozy living quarters. Sleep refuses to relinquish its grip, and you ungracefully bump into a few surfaces in the process of preparing two, hot cups of tea and finding a blanket to drape around your shoulders.

The rush of crisp air that greets you when you finally make your way outside of your abode livens you up a bit, though, and you wrap your arms around yourself to retain as much warmth as you can. Following the stone path decorated with glowing lanterns brings you to the front gates of your school—a place you know to visit whenever you wake up with such a start in the dead of the night. The drinks in your hands radiate heat that staves off the bite of the cold as another gust of wind howls past you.

In the darkness of the night, only lit ever so faintly by the twinkling stars in the sky and the waning moon, your eyes search for the visitor who seems to have fallen into a habit of making their presence known around the same time on every odd evening. Sure enough, the thumping of heavy boots against the stone walkway winding near and through Jujutsu High’s campus draws your attention to a tall figure wandering around nearby. The baggy cream clothes draped over his body beneath a vest the hue of blood instantly give away his identity, along with the dark, spiked hair gathered neatly atop both halves of his head.

Before his name can leave your mouth, he turns around to face you, as if he senses your presence the same way you sense his on the nights that he chooses to visit. It’s almost as if he uses some unseen force to disturb you from your sleep so he can steal away anywhere from a few minutes to hours of your time. Of course, this possibility would seem at least the slightest bit insane to an average person, but, for you—a jujutsu sorcerer—it cannot be discounted for the sole reason of what your visitor is: a special grade curse.

Wordlessly, the man you’ve come to know as Chōsō after a twisted event that led to many more spontaneous encounters such as this approaches you. His dark gaze skims over your figure before settling on your own, making your heart thud gently in your chest. Placing his hands in his pockets, he glances at the drinks you’re holding and asks, “Will you come on a walk with me?”

As a sorcerer, it should be second nature to meet the request of a cursed spirit with a no followed by a prompt exorcism. However, in all the times that he’d come to visit, he hadn’t appeared to do so out of ill will or inclination to get some sort of revenge. He’d always sat on the outskirts of the campus or walked around the lush forest surrounding it with you, making as much or as little conversation as you’d liked. In spite of how powerful you knew he was and the nature of his being, you didn’t feel particularly put off by him. In fact, you often found yourself thinking about him and when he’d stop by next more than you probably should.

Slowly, you nod, passing him one of your mugs so the two of you can be on your way. “Thanks.”

The sky above is surprisingly clear, given the school’s location in Tokyo, aside from a few, lingering clouds that float past the moon on their way around the part of the world you call home. It’s oddly peaceful considering your company for the evening. But you’d never really felt uneasy in his presence to begin with. And you certainly don’t feel threatened now, with the way he only seems focused on trying not to spill any of the tea you’d so kindly prepared for him as the two of you traverse a dirt path near the school’s grounds.

It's also a bit ironic, you think, that the route you seem to have fallen into the habit of taking leads you near one of the many, small shrines—gems hidden amongst the forest’s depths—but he appears to have just as much of an affinity to the location since he never suggests going elsewhere.

Beneath the gentle, pale glow from above filtered through leafy branches extending over you, Chōsō’s features take on a soft, almost peaceful appearance. He seems to bask in the symphony of crickets singing as he takes a deep breath and sits down on the grassy hill directly beside you. His dark eyes dipping down to the lip of the mug in his hands before shifting over to meet yours catches you off-guard since you hadn’t realized you’d been watching him so attentively.

“Hmm?” he wonders and takes another sip of his tea. His voice and your own pounding heartbeat are the only things you can hear above the sea of noise.

Inquisitively, you ask him a question you’re sure he’s used to hearing: “Why do you keep coming here?”

He sighs and glances at the grass beneath the two of you before answering, “I get overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” you echo.

His head bobs in a slow nod as he tilts it up towards the sky once more, making his dark eyes twinkle in spite of the hint of sadness that seems to be lingering behind his gaze. “I’m always expected to do things. To pay the price of being granted my life here. And sometimes, all I wanna do is just sit and look at the sky.” There’s a small, but undeniable ache of empathy in your chest as you allow your eyes to flit over every feature of his face, searching for the words he’s not saying. But with his straightforward, unabashedly honest manner of speaking, it’s unlikely for him to leave you wondering.

After taking a drink to fight off the chilliness, another question leaves your lips. “You could go anywhere to cloud watch or stargaze, though. Why come all the way here?”

“I want to.”

Your fingers tap against the ceramic of your mug. “But being here puts you in a lot of danger. Why would you want to go somewhere like this to escape?”

Without a hint of hesitation, his dark eyes find your own once more as he states, “Because you’re here.” A moment of silence passes between the two of you filled with the ceaseless chirps of crickets during which you attempt to mask any effects of your racing heart and the heat crawling up your neck at his confession. However, the shock that strikes you like lightning must be written on your face, since his eyebrows furrow slightly with confusion at your reaction, and he adds, “I thought I made it clear I come here to spend time with you.”

For a few seconds, your lips make quivering, unsuccessful attempts at forming words your vocal cords won’t allow you to voice before you direct your attention to the mug in your hands filled with tea, instead, and try to regain your composure enough to speak. “W-Well, I knew that, but why?” is all you can inquire with a quiet murmur.

His chest rises and falls in a deep, shuddering breath as a cool gust of wind whistles through the trees. At first, you wonder, with the slight glossiness to his eyes and his sudden inability to meet your gaze, if his emotions are the source of the tremors you notice in his jaw. However, the realization that he’s cold soon reaches you at the sight of his arms folding across his chest. Wordlessly and without thinking, you close the little distance between your bodies and drape part of your blanket around his broad shoulders.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, uncrossing his arms so one of his hands can hold the side of the blanket you’ve given him while the other plants itself on the grass behind you. The unexpected warmth radiating from him that seems to engulf you in the tight space you’re now sharing makes it hard to resist the temptation of resting your head on his shoulder.

“I miss my brothers,” is the gently spoken truth that leaves his lips, “I wanted to give them a better life. My failure to fulfill my role as their older brother is something that weighs heavily on me, even though I know they’d tell me they forgave me if I had been there in their final moments.”

Following his moment of vulnerability, the two of you find enough courage to make eye contact, and you struggle not to lose yourself in the seemingly endless depths of his midnight-colored irises. With your faces mere inches away, you’re granted a closer look at him than you’ve ever had before, and it seems, from the way he’s watching you so intently, that you’re not the only one enjoying the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

The muscles in his neck tense with a thick swallow before he continues, “But when I’m here with you, I feel like it’s okay that I’m still alive even though they’ve passed. You don’t look at me with hatred in your eyes or expect anything from me in exchange for my existence. You accept me as I am.” Another gentle breeze dislodges a few strands of hair tucked behind his ear that you naturally move back into place for him before your hand warm from the drink you’d been holding comes to rest against his cheek. “Why?”

His fingertips ghosting along your own neck and cheek leave sparks of electricity on your skin in their wake. But you manage to organize the thoughts threatening to escape your mind at the tenderness of his touch enough to whisper, “When you fought with me instead of against me, I realized that maybe the way I’ve been taught to view the world we live in isn’t entirely accurate. You risked your life to save mine. You defied the rules about the world I once thought were true. And because you showed me that you cared about my life, I want to do the same for you.” A hint of a smile playing at his lips brings a warmth to you that you don’t think even the heaviest of blankets could provide. Taking a deep breath to slow your heart—which had been racing since he’d locked eyes with you—you ask, “Is that why you want to come here?”

“Hmm?”

“Because you care about me?”

He nods earnestly as his thumb skims over your cheekbones, and the adoration glimmering in his eyes like the stars in the night sky above brings your face closer to his. With a timidness you wouldn’t have expected from him, his lips meet with yours in a short, fleeting kiss, as if he’s testing the waters. The way you chase his after they separate, though, serves as a silent confirmation and has him deepening the kisses your lips return to his to share. Given his relatively blunt yet quiet personality, you’re pleasantly surprised by the slow, sensual manner with which his lips move against yours. You’re sure the two of you could remain in this secluded part of the woods forever, under the cover of the shadows masking you from the pale moonlight as you lose yourselves in the moment, but the reality of the situation marks its painful return when you pull away.

“I care about you a lot, and I want to see you more often,” he breathes, “But the last thing I want is to put you in danger. That’s why I’ve been visiting every once in a while and in the middle of the night.”

Moving your hand to his shoulder to rub it gently, you murmur, “I know; I want to see you too, Chōsō.” In an instant, his arms are around you, pulling your body flush against his, and the action fills you with a bittersweet feeling, since this is only the first time you’ve been so close to him, yet you’re unsure of when you’ll get to share more affectionate moments with him like this one. “We’ll find a way to make it work,” is the promise you whisper into his neck while he nestles his face in yours.

After a few, long moments of silence have passed during which your mind exhausts itself by tirelessly attempting to form solutions to an issue you never could’ve imagined you’d have in your lifetime, you start to relinquish your grip around Chōsō. He, however, isn’t ready to do the same, and refuses to budge.

Instead, he answers your curious hum with, “I’ll let you go back to bed soon, but is it okay if I hold you for a little longer?” Even though fatigue is starting to settle in, you consent and wrap your arms around him once more, resting your head against the side of his and nestling your face in his hair as you let your heavy eyelids close. “I’ve just never felt this way before.”

“Which is…?”

Your heart flutters against his chest in cadence with his own against yours at his answer.

“Safe.”

[shingansoul]

We Can Figure it Out After

Summary:  Law has spent every day of the last 13 years thinking and plotting his action for that day in Dressrosa. Now that's it come and gone with the unexpected result of his surviving, how is a man without a purpose supposed to look forward? Luffy thinks he can help.

read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374645

Time felt like it had slowed or no longer flowed with the rest of the world that morning. The sun was warm, and gentle as it shined down upon the deck of the Barto Club's prized vessel. Everyone was either still awake, just rising, or pre-occupied with maintaining the ship and keeping to themsleves elsewhere on the ships main and lower decks.

Law ever running from sleep and his own mind had taken to dozing tentatively in the small tangerine grove towards the rear of the ship, leaning up against one of the trees from his place sat on the grass portion of the deck. He had been there since early morn before the sun dared break past the horizon, hoping to remain unseen until he was sure he could pull off a mask of bored calm around the other crews. It seemed though unseen, sight wasn't the only sense that could lead anyone to him.

"Oi! Torao!"

Law flinched slightly at the call, knowing he couldn't feign sleep to avoid the other's unwanted company or attention. However he knew, not after Dressrosa and all he'd seen and done, could he say no to Luffy. So with a forced sigh, far too dramatic to fool the observant type, he looked up to the smaller captain and gave him a weak and tired glare as the other approached him.

"Mugiwara-ya."

"What're you doing all the way over here? Breakfast is soon!" Luffy spoke as if missing the meal in question were of a truly disastrous consequence, though the comment only earned him an eye roll from the surgeon. Pouting at the older man, Luffy sat himself cross legged in front of Law, hands gripping his knees as he tilted his head and met the surgeon's gaze; a not so subtle inquiry.

Law looked away, offering a weak excuse. "I...couldn't sleep." As Luffy's gaze never wavered, Law seemed to find tracing the spots on the thighs of his jeans to be quite the fascinating task. At the least, it was certainly the safer option than meet those wide dark eyes.

Luffy, noticing the obviously vague explanation, seemed to come to a decision. He spun himself around, still sitting but now with his back to Law before he scootched backwards until his back was pressed against the other's chest. Law jumped a bit, not expecting the sudden close contact or movement though he stiffly remained seated with his knees bent putting his thighs on either side of the other captain.

"Wha-"

He was cut off promptly, but with a soft tone. "You don't have to talk about it, okay?"

Law still stiff, chewed on his lip and stared at the grass to his side. Taking his silence either as an answer in itself or like a signal, the younger man reached back and grabbed one of the tattooed hands of the elder captain. Law did not resist, but his body moved and reacted in sharp movements, too on edge from the unpredictable situation he was faced with.

Luffy huffed, puffing his cheeks a little in frustration yet he forced his small amount of patience into his gentle tugging of the hand in his grip and waited, pulling the owner of it forward slightly against him more with Law's arm over and against his shoulder. When the other finally gave in and did so, Luffy set about to tracing the tattoos before him.

He started with Law's forearm, his fingers warm against the cooler skin of the other, tracing the spiked ring bordering the central shape of the tattoo. Law through all this was reeling, wound taught like one giant ball of nerves screaming to get up and away, yet he simply sat there instead. Over time in the quiet between them, Law let his arm and eventually his posture relax bit by bit as the other repeatedly traced and rubbed at the designs on his flesh until he was far enough forward to rest his chin on the other's shoulder where his upper arm once rested.

"Does this help?" Luffy prompted, having moved to the simpler designs on the back of Law's hands. Law simply hummed in response, trying to simply focus on the sensation of the others touch and for once not getting stuck too deep within his own thoughts.

In his thoughts was where his toughest battles were after all. The reminders in an array of voices telling him he was a waste of life, that he didn't deserve to be alive, to have the good things around him now. That he was a failure and that everyone was disappointed in him, ashamed of him: his parents, Lami, his crew...Cora-san. The voices of those who loved him mocked him, beat him to the ground and he believed every word of it most days. After all, he was simply a boy on borrowed time in exchange for the life of someone so much more than he'd ever be.

What was the point anymore anyways? He didn't even take down Doflamingo himself, he didn't deserve to celebrate, to have survived Dressrosa. He should have died, hell he had planned on dying for years there and he wanted it, to be free of this constant burden of moving forward and doing, planning, caring so much by not caring, hurting...His mission had been completed, and now with a life he didn't expect to keep, he had to keep going. What was the plan now?

"Well, just...do whatever you want. That's what I've been doing and look how far I got."

Law's eyes widened and he flinched, an audible gasp softly passing his lips as he realized his thoughts had slipped past him while he was unguarded.

"I..." Law trailed off meekly, unsure how to respond. How could he? Luffy stilled a moment and Law quickly went rigid in kind, taking the others pause as a sign he was leaving or dissatisfied. That was fine, Law decided, clearly lying to himself. His insecurities and demons were his to bear, of course a man of conviction and radiance like Luffy wouldn't understand or have the patience for someone who was unwilling to follow suite.

However he was soon proved oh so wrong when Luffy released his arm just to pull his other one forward too. Luffy swiveled his own arms above Law's, effectively loosely placing tattooed arms around his midsection. Law was still, eyes widened slightly in awe of the gesture.

With a satisfied chuckle and a grin to match, luffy then reached up and removed his signature strawhat only to plop it gently atop Law's head. Law's shoulders stiffened and rose at the gesture, his mind racing at what was going on his teeth firmly clamped down on his lip not letting himself break further than he had already.

That venture was short lived however, as Luffy softly patted Law's uninjured bicep and said, "It's okay if you don't know what you want yet. I'm not too good at math so i don't really get exactly how long it was, but you spent a real long time thinkin' about that 'mingo guy huh?"

It was silent for a few moments, Luffy left hanging yet he didn't make to move or speak further. Then, like a dam reluctantly, finally, falling apart the tears came like the metaphorical waters - rushing all at once now freed. Law buried his face into the rubber man's shoulder, first simply crying and soon devolving into sobbing and wailing into the red clothes he hid his face in. His arms tightened around Luffy's waist, now outright hugging the smaller captain to himself.

Law felt so much, yet nothing at all right now and it seemed he couldn't care any longer about the pride and distance he'd spent building up for so long, he didn't care anymore. He was elated and upset, he was hurting yet he wanted to celebrate. He was full of so many thoughts and feelings, from his past and his regrets, to the terrible things his mind forced down his throat from all the years of fear and rage burning within him. It all and so much more hit him, and Luffy spoke it all into existence and broke down his walls.

Law wanted to scream out to the heavens how much it was, too much for him. Everything was too much and so overwhelming, he had gone through so much on Dressrosa and the pain of it plus everything before had reared its head. And now he had a life to live, free of Doflamingo and with knowledge from a marine of all places that Cora-san had truly loved him and wanted him to be happy. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

How could he face so readily the simple truth he refused to let himself deserve for 13 long years? How was he supposed to live, what was he to do with that life he had finally truly gained? What was he supposed to do now, his purpose was done and though his life was guaranteed to be shorter than the average man's, he had a decade or two minimum to go should he not be killed or off himself like the miserable fool he was.

All this and so many other thoughts circled in Law's head and who knows, maybe he said all of it or none of it or something else entirely, he didn't know or care anymore. He just kept crying, as if he could expel everything out of him and replace it all with the warmth radiating out of the smaller man in his grip. It took a moment before Law remembered he had Luffy tightly in his arms sat in his lap more or less, but when Law tried to suddenly stop himself (to no avail) and pull away, Luffy was quick to put a hand on the back of Law's neck, holding his face against the crook of his neck.

"It's okay, you're allowed to do whatever you need or want now Torao. If you're upset? Be upset, that's fine. And when you don't wanna be upset anymore or don't have anymore in you to be upset about, we can both figure out together what you wanna do after that."

A wet gasp followed by deep sniffling was followed by an almost unintelligible question of, "What if it takes years before I'm not upset anymore?"

Luffy hummed softly in thought for a moment before replying simply, "then we'll figure it out after however many years it takes." He said it like it was so simple, and knowing him he thought it was exactly that simple. It was enough to elicit a tired chuckle followed by a small cough out of the surgeon, his outburst slowing by this point.

While Law had not loosened his grip, Luffy took to humming to himself idly, returning to tracing the tattoos on Law's arms and hands again. Starting this time by tracing the lettering along his fingers. As the older man's sobs turned to soft hiccups and sniffled, he moved his face to the side resting his cheek on Luffy's shoulder and facing out to the side. He let his still wet eyes close as he listened to and felt the other in front of him. In their little hidden place within the tangerine grove, he decided that when he was truly ready to face himself, he'd have to take Luffy up on his offer of help figuring out what to do next.

Luffy in a short amount of time had certainly lived a lot of life after all, how crazy could it get following in his footsteps or at his side?

[stormquill]

One Equal Temper | chapter three [V/Reader]

As hell itself wreaks havoc upon your city, an angel lands on your doorstep—one who doesn’t seem to realize he has wings.

Author’s Notes: Follow the blog @one-equal-temper.

Notes: Touch-starved V time? Touch-starved V time.

V stares at the violin.

He stares at it for a very long time.

The instrument was beautiful: 4/4, full-sized, made from a polished, glossy brown wood which was now reflecting light from the early morning rays. There were no fingerprints or nail scratches along its neck, nor was there any wear on the chin rest; the only indication it had ever been touched at all were the three strips of masking tape spaced out near the end of the neck, marking basic finger positions for a beginner.

Whoever owned the instrument had been learning how to play.

Griffon flew into the vacant apartment where V had taken refuge.

“You were right,” he said, perching along the balcony railing, “broken locks on every floor. Must’ve turned the whole damn building upside-down looking for that thing.”

“But why waste the time?”

“Only you would figure someone doin’ you a favour is a waste of time.”

“Cruelty knits a snare and spreads his baits with care.”

“Or—here’s a crazy friggin’ thought—maybe they were just being nice.”

V lifted the bow from the violin case. On instinct, his fingers fell around the end of it in perfect positioning, his hands full of memories that did not belong to his body. “Perhaps returning here was not such a good idea.”

“You’re killin’ me, V, you know that?” Griffon scowled. “May I remind you that you’re the one who hasn’t told the human why we’re here, yet? Who’s really ‘cruelty with a snare,’ here, huh?”

V tensed. At once, Griffon could feel him bristling, a sudden rush of static in the air that whipped the demonic familiar back to humility.

“Uh-oh, did I hit a nerve?” Griffon gave an apprehensive little chuckle. “Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean anything by it. You and me, we’re in this together. I’m behind you whatever you wanna do. Even if that means not showering for another week.”

Keeping silent, V twisted the screw at the bottom of the bow to tighten it. He retrieved the chunk of rosin from a pocket inside the violin case, and glided the small amber brick along the now-taut length of horsehair strings.

From the moment he was given life, V had conceptualized himself as half of a whole, the opposite side of Urizen’s coin that minted the currency of Vergil. Every waking moment was dedicated to a paradox, righting wrongs that were somehow both his own, and not his own. But you, in all of your panicked, twitchy, lone-survivor glory, ended up showing him a kindness he hadn’t come to expect of anyone before or since.

Such gestures were afforded to the living, and living was not the reason for V’s existence.

(What would you think of him if you knew the real reason he knocked on your door?)

Your unexpected gift was based on the ghosts of his memory, an unintentional parallel to the contradiction of his own reality—V knew how to play the violin, but at the same time, he had never held one in his hands.

You said you missed music.

Could he give you that much?

Standing at the balcony, V rested the violin on his shoulder and drew the bow across the strings, adjusting the pegs every so often until the notes of his scales felt proper.

“Soundin’ a little flat there, Shakespeare.”

“It may require further tuning.”

V could sense your presence in the neighboring apartment. You were around the corner, hiding from him, and that’s where he thought you would stay...until several minutes later, when you emerged onto your balcony holding two mugs of steaming liquid.

As your balconies were only an arm’s length from each other, you reached over your side’s edge to hand him his cup. He took it, and the brief, gentle caress of his fingers against yours marked the first physical contact with you he’s ever had.

“It’s hot chocolate,” you said, shyly. “I remember you saying you liked chocolate, so...”

Another small token. Another kind gesture.

The feeling of your hand beneath his touch lingered long after you pulled away.

-

V came and went all hours of the day and night.

Military efforts to take back Red Grave did not seem to wane, in spite of their consistent, predictable failures. V helped as much as he could—clearing the most densely-infected pockets of the city, advising those in charge time and time again that traditional artillery would do nothing against the plague—but the armies continued to be sent in waves, as if throwing more bullets, more guns, more bodies at the problem would eventually prove itself a viable solution.

The stagnation was frustrating, but V couldn’t accomplish much by way of progress until Nero returned.

In the meantime, V strategically controlled clusters of demon spawn before the herds became too much for him to handle alone. He tore down creeping Qliphoth roots to prevent them from branching outside city bounds. He fought alongside military personnel whenever he found them, until they fell back or were wiped out trying.

Through it all, he cannot keep his mind from the memory of his fingers against yours.

The walk back to the apartment building became his respite, the six-floor climb up the fire escape as good a reprieve as any. Regardless of the day’s events, regardless of whether or not he had yet slept, he would go out to his balcony and pick up the violin, every morning without fail. Playing for you was like rousing a bird from its nest. You would be drawn out by his melody, curious and weary, and you would listen.

You would not ask him where he had been. You would not ask him where he was going.

You would just listen.

A routine was birthed within this small sanctuary, a routine that started with music and ended with you reaching out to him, a warm mug in hand—sometimes tea, sometimes chocolate, depending on what you could find.

He ignored the way his pulse would quicken whenever your hands touched.

You were an indulgence, he rationalized.

Nothing more.

-

Shadow was growing unsettled, V could feel it.

Due to the nature of their contracts, inactivity would sometimes cause his familiars to grow restless, especially if one was being summoned more frequently than the others. As of late, Griffon had rarely been dismissed; if he wasn’t at V’s side in exploration or battle, he was in the apartment, napping on a pet bed he’d found in the corner and claimed for himself. Naturally, this made Shadow jealous.

There was no danger in calling upon Shadow outside of battle to appease her agitation. Though she was far more primal of a demon than Griffon was, she never acted out of alignment with V’s motives—his familiars were extensions of himself, which meant they were always in-tune with what he wanted.

So, when the panther burst forth from her sigils and ran out to V’s balcony to leap onto yours, to say V was surprised was an understatement.

He barely had time to process what had happened before he heard you screaming.

“Holy SHIT—NONONONONONONO—”

In the moments it took V and Griffon to reach you, you had already been pinned to the ground—you looked horrified as Shadow stood on top of you, nuzzling her face against yours hard enough to keep your head pressed firmly to the floor.

“What is happening?!” you shrieked, your voice shaking with terrified confusion.

Griffon wasted no time laughing his ass off.

Having a fully-grown black panther charge through your sixth-floor window was quite low on your list of expectations, but it didn’t take you long to regain your bearings.

You sat on your couch as Shadow loafed in your lap, the feline familiar big enough to take up all the remaining seats. Within minutes, you went from a state of shock to burying a cheek right into her fluff, using the vibrations of her deep purring to try and alleviate your perpetual headache.

You could tell something was wrong with V, be it from how he hadn’t moved from your balcony, or the expression of deep concern he wasn’t containing as well as he would’ve hoped. He was emanating an aura of unease you’d never felt from him before. You couldn’t shake off the feeling you’d done something wrong.

“So,” you started, trying to lighten the mood and getting a mouthful of fur in the process, “any other familiars I should know about?”

“...perhaps in due time.”

Griffon chuckled. “Oh man, you’re gonna love Nightmare.”

“Nightmare,” you repeated. If the giant demon bird was named ‘Griffon’ and the giant demon cat was named ‘Shadow,’ you tried to imagine what nature of creature ‘Nightmare’ could have been. Your overactive imagination combined with your chronic headache shorted out your brain. “Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.”

Shadow chuffed in your lap. You jumped at the noise.

V kept watch from afar, leaning heavily against his cane.

There had never before been such egregious dissonance between V’s expectations and Shadow’s actions. Shadow existed in light of V’s best interests—she acted on what he wanted—and though you were blissfully unaware of the implications, being confronted by the sight of his own longing disgraced him in a way he didn’t think possible.

His familiars were extensions of himself, after all.

Instead of Griffon, V imagined being bold enough to have visited you first.

Instead of Shadow, V imagined himself spread across your lap, your hands through his hair, you smiling down at him as you were now.

Only then did V realize the depth of the problem.

-

V did not touch his violin the following morning.

In his entertainment of idle pleasantries, he had forgotten himself, and why he was here. His purpose in life was to reunite with Urizen to become whole again, to salvage what remained of Red Grave, to earn some semblance of atonement by purifying what he himself had poisoned. He was a splintered fracture of Vergil—he was not meant to have desires of his own, as he was not his own.

He was not his own.

V yanked the length of his silver cane from the demon’s flesh, tossing its mangled carcass aside with graceful ease.

From the break of dawn to the glint of twilight, he made rounds throughout the city, reminding himself with every battle what he was responsible for unleashing upon the world. With the demons’ current respawn rate, he knew his efforts were an exercise in futility, but he continued the onslaught without pause, until every demon type in existence blurred together in a bloody palace of blades and wings and carapaces.

He would find catharsis. Eventually.

As he felt his vision blur and his power begin to wane, V unearthed a massive nest of dormant Furies, crowded behind a hidden wall of rubble and debris.

“V,” Griffon warned, still trying to catch his breath, “I don’t know what’s going through that head of yours, but we’ve been at this all damn day. You sure you wanna keep goin’?”

V’s hand tightened around his cane.

This is why he was here.

This is all he was good for.

-

It was curious to see where his legs had taken him without him knowing.

Griffon’s talons wrapped tight around V’s shoulders as he carried him over the fire escape railing. Shadow supported V’s lethargic landing on the metal grates, propping him upright with her own body. All three of them were covered in blood.

“Up and over,” Griffon groaned, dragging V in through the open window. “C’mon, kid, on your feet—”

V collapsed into the hallway, falling into a tangled heap on the ground.

“—alright, close enough.”

Shadow hopped in after him, once more letting V use her as leverage to stand until he could right himself with his cane.

Whatever came next was a haze.

Footsteps from down the hall. Muffled conversation. Someone rushing to his side, slinging his arm around their neck to support his weight and help him find his footing again, like a bird on his wings for too long.

Of course it was you.

Who else but you?

The two of you made it to his bed, eventually, and V landed on the mattress with a heavy sigh.

“Are you guys hurt??” you asked in a panic, looking over the blood on all three of them.

“Don’t freak out, gravedigger, the blood’s not ours.” Visibly frustrated, Griffon nestled on his bed atop the nightstand. “Shakespeare bit off more than he could chew tonight and now he’s payin’ for it.”

“I overexerted myself,” V corrected. “I simply need to rest.”

Your brows drew together. “You want me to just leave you like this?”

“I will be fine.”

“Let me help clean you off, at least.”

“I will take care of it in the morning.”

“Look—I know you’re pissed at me, but you’re not going to get any proper rest passing out in your own filth.”

The frustration in your voice was sobering. From your point of view, he had slighted you, somehow—yet, you were still seeking ways to help him.

“What makes you believe I am upset with you?” he asked in concern.

Confusion flickered across your face as you spoke. “When Shadow came over yesterday, you spent the whole time standing on my balcony looking like someone pissed in your cereal. And this morning—I made you tea, but you didn’t show up to our...”

You stopped yourself, not knowing what to call it.

“Rendezvous,” he offered.

“...yeah.”

“I am sorry for misleading you,” he said, softly. “I assure you, you have done nothing wrong—my quandaries are purely my own. There was an urgent...dilemma that required my attention.”

“Did you figure it out, at least?”

V turned to examine you, seeing one side of you stained red from where you held him as you helped him walk. The moment you saw he was in trouble, you had no reservations about getting blood all over yourself, and even now, you had no hesitation in getting even more of it on you. You had no idea you were at the heart of his predicament.

You had no idea of the predicament in his heart.

In the face of every apprehension sounding alarms within his head, V stood resolute, and asked precisely what he wanted to. “May I be so bold as to request your assistance?”

You lit up in surprise, and you nodded.

You pulled the bedroom chair towards his bedside and took a look at what you were dealing with. Upon closer examination, he wasn’t so much drenched in blood as he was heavily splattered, like he was on the losing end of a particularly nasty paintball ambush. He didn’t seem to have any injuries, but you didn’t know what an overnight soak in demon blood would do to a person, and you had no intention of finding out.

“I need to take your jacket off,” you said. “Is that okay?”

“Such polite bedside manner,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but he was pleased to notice the shade of red he brought to your cheeks. With steady hands, you untied the string at the front of his coat; he could feel your fingertips brush against his bare skin, and the contact made his stomach flip.

“Can you sit up for me?” you asked, not having noticed a thing.

Still exhausted, V trembled slightly as he lifted himself on his elbows and gathered the strength to follow your request—then your hand was on his back, above his coat, helping him move upright. Your other hand tucked along each collar bone, sliding his jacket from his shoulders, one arm at a time. You removed his glove and unclipped his bracelets from his wrist.

Then your hands were off him, again.

You left the room and returned with some supplies: a large bowl of water, several small towels, and a flashlight you stood up on a nearby table to cast light towards the ceiling and illuminate the room.

You rolled up your sleeves and pushed your hair back before setting to work.

With V covered in his mess and his familiars as soiled as he was, the bedroom was thick with the stench of demon blood, rotten and strangely acidic—thankfully, it seemed to wipe away easily with a damp cloth.

There was a clinical detachment in the way you moved around him, aided by the fact you would not meet his eyes. Even so, V was painfully aware of every gentle motion your warm hands made against him, clearing bright red smears from the pallor of his skin. Cloth in hand, you made soothing, repetitive movements down the lengths of his arms, across his palms, between each of his fingers, careful and thorough. You moved down the dip of his collar bones and travelled across the width of his chest; you reached the hollows beneath his ribs and he wondered if you could feel his heart beating.

He could tell how hard you were trying to detach yourself from the moment, but your worry was obvious in your tenderness, your care evident in your gentle attention.

As his eyes drifted shut, he did something he hadn’t since the day he was forced onto this plane of existence.

He let himself feel safe.

Your every movement against him felt deliberate and reverent, as if the demon’s blood had vandalized his canvas and you were working to restore the artwork underneath. Even you, in all your modesty, couldn’t tear your eyes from the artwork spanning the length of his body, studying the maze of ink tangled across his skin as if he were a masterpiece.

He felt you work your way back up his neck. As you took a fresh cloth to the blood across his nose, you used your other hand to touch the side of his face, trying to turn him towards you. Keeping his eyes closed, he instead took it as an invitation to lean fully into your palm, until you were cradling his face in your hand.

When he finally glanced up at you from beneath his dark lashes, he realized you were holding your breath.

He felt you brush your thumb along his cheek to move his hair away from his eyes.

And in that moment, you were everything.

“I made the mistake of denying myself the possibility of new experiences,” he said, voice drowsy with exhaustion. “I feared having purpose outside of my calling would prove to be a distraction, and I feared it presumptuous of me to interpret your acts of kindness as anything more than gracious gestures. I hope for nothing more than to be wrong on both counts.”

Your heart was mounting beneath your chest. His words felt dizzying, even after you remembered how to breathe.

“I have been granted a short breath of time to rectify transgressions resulting from my selfish desires, but during this quest, ironic as it may be, I will dare to be selfish.” He held a hand over the one you had against his face. “If you would indulge me.”

You could think of nothing you wanted more.

You turned your palm over to hold his hand, threading a few of your fingers between his own. You hadn’t realized how tense he was until your acceptance seemed to make his whole body sigh, a breathless smirk tugging at the edge of his lips as he gazed at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Like the morning star arising above the black waves, when a shipwrecked soul sighs for morning,” he breathed, beaming. “No matter where I go, I am drawn back here, to you, like gravity.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“Thank you, starlight.”

His hand was still wrapped in yours when he finally drifted off to sleep.

After some time, a beak gently nudged your shoulder from behind. When you turned around, Griffon’s eyes were shying away from yours, as if he’d just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to to.

“We can take it from here, gravedigger,” he said, shrugging his head. “You go on, get some sleep.”

Your heart fuller now than it had ever been, you smiled back at him, not wanting to move your hand a single inch away from where it was now. “Would it be alright if I stayed?”

Griffon snorted, knowing he should’ve known better. “Yeah, kid. You do you.”

-

V was surprised to wake with you by his side. You were still sitting in the chair as you slouched over his bed, your arms and clothes still blood-stained from the previous night’s events. Griffon appeared to have preened himself and had stuck random damaged feathers in your hair throughout the night as you slept. Shadow was curled on the floor at the foot of his bed. Both of his familiars were fast asleep.

You hadn't let go of his hand.

As he stirred, you roused from your slumber, and the first thing you did was smile at him.

“Good morning, starlight.”

Your eyes lit up, but the tremendous guilt behind his own must have been obvious, as your expression fell at once. “What’s wrong?”

He squeezed your hand a little tighter.

“I fear I have not been honest with you.”

[pertinax--loculos]

Character Study: Jay (2.1)

[Breaking the second part into two parts of its own, cuz I kinda wanna rework what I wrote for the last two. Additonally, small tweak to the Plan: I’m thinking I’ll probably drop one of the nine prompts I had for each character, to make it an even 4/4 split over the two parts (plus as I’ve been mulling it over it’s basically happened that way naturally anyway lol). CW for swearing, as ever.]

4. Rivals Jay’s position within the Association meant that he was indispensable enough to be able to freelance, at least to an extent. Of course there were jobs he’d never be able to accept – mostly those involving direct competitors – but it was a good enough side hustle, especially because the jobs rarely required more than his equivalent of a mean look. Easy money.

Of course, he was far from the only freelancer in town.

Which resulted in situations like these.

He’d slipped silently into the living room of the guy he was supposed to shake down – some argument, or maybe a debt, Jay was long past asking too many questions – and found a figure poised by the side of the front window. He was well enough concealed that Jay might not have noticed him if it wasn’t for the serendipitous passing of a car, headlights sweeping across the room and throwing the silhouette into sharp relief.

Jay stopped, arranged his face into an easy smirk. “Becker.”

The figure spun around and cursed, colourfully and at length. “Fucking hell,” he finished in a mutter. “How the hell do you always manage to get inside without using a fucking door?”

Jay shrugged as he slinked forward a step. “Trade secret.”

“Right.” Becker had mirrored his forward movement, sliding back a step to maintain the distance between them. He stopped in the slanting light from the street outside; it illuminated him well enough that Jay could see that while his body language remained relaxed, his pale eyes were alert. “So you wanna toss for it?”

Jay’s smirk widened.

He lost the coin toss, which wasn’t great for his reputation, but at least meant that his night was freed up. Plus he got to exit, loudly, through the front door, which was novel in and of itself.

Becker knew as well as he did that it wasn’t the end of it – Becker’s employer would run out of either money or caution sooner rather than later – but neither of them were invested in the tasks beyond the payout. And both of them knew Jay wasn’t one to leave a job unfinished.

But for tonight he’d just revel in the unexpected free time. He ducked into an alley a couple of blocks away, walking around halfway down before he leaned against the wall and fished out his cigarettes. This was territory disputed enough for it to be practically neutral; he wasn’t going to be disturbed by some random dealers.

He was on his third cigarette when he heard footsteps approach. Jay slitted his eyes open just far enough to confirm his suspicion before he tipped his head back against the wall.

Becker drew up a good ten feet away, propping his hip against the skeleton of a long burned-out car. “Got a spare?”

Jay tossed the cigarettes towards him without opening his eyes. “Lemme guess. Appropriately lauded, you truly do live up to your reputation, thank you so much for protecting me, I’m gonna pass your name around to all my friends?”

Becker chuckled around his cigarette. “Usual song and dance.” He made a slight clucking sound, and Jay glanced over to catch the packet as he threw it back. “How pissed d’you reckon they’d be if they found out their safety was predicated on a coin toss?”

“Probably not as pissed as the ones whose delivery of a message is predicated on the same,” Jay said, grinning at him.

Becker ashed his cigarette off to the side, his gaze turning shrewd. “How the hell do you explain to them that you couldn’t do what they asked?”

“What do you mean?”

“Johns.” Becker’s voice was dry. “You gotta know the kinda reputation you have. With a rep like that, I’d imagine all your prospective employers expect you to get the job done.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, letting his smile sharpen into more of a smirk. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Oh, shut up.” Becker rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking ghost, Johns. No signs of entry or exit, nothing broken, not so much as a hair out of place unless you want it that way. How do you do all that and then sell a failure to someone who’s paying you?”

“Ah, you gotta factor in failures,” Jay said, glancing down as he tapped the end of his cigarette. “It’s the only way to stop them from asking you to do the impossible. Plus,” – he looked back up to smirk at Becker again – “I gotta leave some work for the rest of you guys.”

Becker’s mouth quirked as he took a drag. “Naw, c’mon. I can get work on my own merits.”

“Only because I’m modulating my reputation,” Jay said gravely.

Becker snorted. “Maybe we should test your theory then. I could totally take you.”

“You fucking wish,” Jay retorted. “Apparently your recollection of our initial encounter has been altered by time. Do we need to refresh your memory?” He flicked his cigarette away and straightened; he didn’t miss the corresponding tension that lanced through Becker’s frame.

“Yeah, no,” he said, eyeing Jay carefully. “Two weeks in the hospital is not something I wanna repeat.”

“See? Not just a pretty face.” Jay flashed his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’d better get going. Got some stupid fucking rendezvous I gotta chaperone.”

Becker raised his eyebrows. “Off of Murphy’s? Two am?”

Jay huffed some air out his nose in a half-laugh as he started to turn away. “Guess I’ll see you there.”

“Better me than Wyatt.”

Jay glanced over his shoulder as he walked, his smile more genuine than he normally allowed. “Better you than anybody, really.”

“Don’t forget you still owe me a drink,” Becker called after him.

Jay laughed, loud and deliberate and a little too sincere. “Don’t forget you still owe me your life.”

Becker’s answering laugh trailed him out of the alley.

5. Skills Grant very nearly startled when Johns sauntered through the door less than an hour after he'd left. He just managed to conceal the reaction, spoke without looking up. "That was fast."

Johns's reply was haughty. "I told you it was a simple job."

Grant didn't bother hiding his response to that; he leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen between his fingers, and gave Johns an incredulous stare.

Johns met his gaze as he sauntered another couple of steps into the room, and Grant had to fight not to wince. The man carried himself with an arrogance that bordered on sickening, made worse by the fact it was entirely justified.

"The other... contractors I approached didn't seem to think it was so simple," Grant said, when Johns showed no signs of elaborating.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, the beginning of that signature smirk. "Should've approached me first."

"You're fucking expensive, Johns. I'm not gonna pay your rates if I can avoid it." Grant tried not acknowledge the fact he was lying; if half the stuff he'd heard about Jay Johns was true, he'd notice any deception. The only thing Grant really had going for him was that there was no reason for Johns to think he was anything but another client.

And that seemed to be working in his favour; Johns raised one shoulder, let it drop. "You get what you pay for."

"I can assume then that you have the item?"

Johns's eyes rolled upwards momentarily, before he stalked far enough forward to place a small box at the end of the table. Grant couldn't help himself tensing, and judging from the shape of Johns's smile, he didn't miss it.

"As promised," he drawled, entirely at ease. He twisted one hand almost idly, and a phone shimmered into being between his fingers. "Payment?"

"Will be wired when I confirm the authenticity," Grant said, pulling off a passably indifferent air.

The phone was replaced by a knife with incredible swiftness. Grant shifted just enough that he could stand without being impeded by the table.

"What." Johns's gaze was as flat as his voice.

"This is not some drug dealer spat," Grant said as evenly as he could. "An item like this requires verification. Surely you know that."

Somehow Johns managed to give the impression he was abruptly closer than he had been, even though Grant was certain he hadn't seen him move. He tried not to acknowledge the sudden thrum of his pulse in his ears.

"You'd better not try to screw me," Johns said, his voice dangerously pleasant.

"Please." Grant realised his pen had stilled; he resumed twirling it as he continued. "We're both professionals. You'll get your payment."

"Good." Johns stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and started for the door. He hesitated in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. "Cuz I know where you live."

Grant had relaxed enough that he was able to snort dismissively. "I don't live here, Johns."

"Oh, I know." That damned smirk was back, wide enough to show a flash of teeth. "You live over on Monaro Drive. Lovely little bungalow. Your roses are doing real well this year."

Well that was fucking unnerving. Grant didn't have the presence of mind to hide his shock; there was no way -- no way -- Johns could possibly know that.

The fucker's smirk was broad enough to nearly be called a grin. "Hope I don't see you again, Grant." He winked, and then he was gone.

An embarrassingly long few minutes passed before Grant recovered enough to pull out his phone. The woman answered on the second ring.

"So?"

"Forty-three minutes," Grant said, leaning over to pull the box towards him. He cracked it open to peer at the contents, unnecessarily. "And Deidre? He fucking knows where I live."

There was a pause. Grant was vaguely gratified that that seemed to have thrown her as well.

"It's okay," she said finally. "It's not gonna be a problem for much longer."

"You'd better fucking hope so." Grant glanced towards the front door, and then down at the box again. "Regardless, let me know when they've got him in custody."

"You wanna make contact?"

"Fuck no." Three different security systems, seven guards, lead-lined vault. It'll take a savant to do this in less than ninety minutes. Unless he can walk through walls. "But I think I'm gonna stay in a hotel until then."

[taessandwich]

all i need

pairings: loki x reader

words: 3174

warnings: triggering content, self-harm, depression, angst

a/n: ello people :) this is my first ever fic! so please, please, please don't judge me too harshly for this, though constructive criticism is always welcomed.

I also posted it on deviant art and ao3. check my account links in you wanna see.

yay for 3000+ words!

so this is a self-harm fic, anyone who don't want to read these kinds of stories, don't. i'll put another trigger warning at the beginning. i hope you like it :P

disclaimer: i don't own any characters. all rights belong to marvel studios.

when the shadows consumed you and tried to drag you back into the hell that is your mind,

he comes like a brilliant spark of hope;

and saves you.

trigger warning: self-harm, depression

You shuddered as another wave of pain rolled over you. It was a chilly night; the moon glowed outside your half-covered window. The eerie calm around you made you feel strange because the raging storm of thoughts inside you certainly isn't peaceful at all.

Pathetic.

Why are you so weak.

What the fuck are you doing with your life?

Each word is like a punch in the gut, making you struggle for air as tears continue to pour from your (E/C) eyes. The misery and loneliness were swallowing you bit by bit.

Completely worthless.

You are a disappointment.

Homeless bitch.

Disemployment, economic failure, failure in yourself; you name it. But you were nonetheless, homeless.

Since you were childhood friends with the one and only Bruce Banner, he asked Tony to give you a home in the tower, without much persuasion. He just took one look at you and said yes. His face gave away nothing, but you saw it in that 0.1 second: pity. You didn't know why Bruce helped you. Sure, you guys were close, but that was at least 15 years ago. You reckon he'd already forgotten about you.

Maybe he just pitied you as well. But you seem like you do need some, don't you?

You remembered how you two were―inseparable. You went to the same elementary school together; Bruce was the smart kid, you were the people person. But after you had to move away, you went to another school, then you and Bruce grew distant. And eventually, you both moved on.

Soon after that, though, you happened to find a certain young, black-haired boy wandering in the streets in front of your new house. Despite you two never introduced, he still knew your name, somehow.

"Hello (Y/N), a pleasure to meet you," he said, grinning.

You two became quick friends. And you were very glad to have someone who'd fill the hole that Bruce had left. Still, he wouldn't tell you his name, so you started calling him "Raven" because of his hair. He just chuckled but said nothing. After a while, though, he began visiting less and less, claiming he had "important matters to attend to." But you just shook your head, saying it's fine. A few days later, he disappeared without a trace―no note, no goodbye, no nothing. You were baffled and started to blame yourself. Two of your closest friends you've ever had had left.

Was it your fault? Maybe they had gotten sick of you.

As days went by, the situation got worse: your parents had died in a car crash. You were immediately transported to the nearest orphanage. Those "officials" and your so-called family members discussed your mom and dad's fortune and your adoption. But you didn't care; your sixteen-year-old-self knew that there were no people there who'd waste their precious time on you without involving money.

From then on, you felt yourself going slower―not just walking, it was like your entire body just got drained; you've had trouble remembering things that you shouldn't have forgotten, and that tiny seed of hopelessness planted inside you grew larger. The constant sadness and occasional emptiness that kept weighing you down were as heavy as lead.

Even though you were very aware of this demon living inside of you, you did nothing―you couldn't―to stop it. What were you supposed to do? Tell the head of the orphanage that you were "very sad and needed to see a doctor"? As long as the government is paying them, they wouldn't let one kid out of their sight; not willingly anyway. And even if you got out there, you don't have money; it would be just as useless.

Without the help from friends nor family, it got worse; so bad, that you had to sneak several blades into your pint-sized room in the orphanage. You just couldn't take it anymore.

Blades.

The Voice's sharpness jerked you back into reality.

Blades.

"No no no no no..." You shook your head violently, trying to tell the voices to quiet down. You promised yourself you would never do it again...

Get the blades now. It's the only thing that can help you.

"No, it isn't!" You shouted, a spark of fury flaring up inside you. But it died down quickly when you realized that the voices were right. "No, it isn't..." You repeated, choking it out.

Hauling yourself up, you stood in front of the mirror. The creature facing you was not the beautiful, bright girl that your parents had once loved; this was a scarred, defeated, freak who no one liked. You stepped closer, putting your hand shakily on your reflection, your lips couldn't help but pull into a sad grimace.

Chapped lips, frizzled (H/L) (H/C) hair, pulled up sleeves revealing trails of scars, rivulets lined your cheeks like tiny river streams, large bags hanging underneath your (E/C) orbs, still shining with unwept tears, eyes empty empty empty―

You let out a small cry and turned away.

That is me? You thought, horrified. It has been a while since you last looked at yourself in a mirror.

What a monster. No wonder no one likes you.

That's how you look like?! Then you really need a few more scars as decoration.

At those words, the unshed tears rolled down your face. Sinking down on the floor, you held your head with your hands, pleading.

"Please... Please help me," You whimpered, "Please, I don't want to do this..." Begging for whatever god or higher being that was out there. You looked through your window, up at the fluorescent moon and the handful of stars that were in the night sky. But of course, a few chunk of rocks in space aren't going to grant you a miracle.

No one's helping. No one's coming. That's how it always was. That's how it always will be.

You are alone. Oh so alone.

Do it, do it now.

Whatever will you had in you, snapped. This has been one of the worst episodes you've ever had in your life. You've already been struggling for the past 4 hours (at least), why keep fighting?

So you staggered towards you drawer, reaching for the top one―the one you promised you'd never open again. Inside, the container was empty, except for the farthest right corner. There, sat a little blue box with a lock.

After six months, seeing the box again made your thoughts rush.

Oh god.

Am I actually doing this?

But you ignored them and shoved your hand in the drawer, groping for the box.

I want this. I want this.

I need this.

You didn't even bother to find the key, you just picked the box up and smashed it on the ground―hard. The silver blades inside fell to the floor with several soft clangs. Trembling slightly, you picked up one of them, closed your eyes and waited.

Do it, you fool.

Slice. You opened your eyes and forced yourself to look at your arm. A long, shallow red cut ran horizontally on your wrist, next to one of the cuts you've made before. Your body protested against the burning sensation, but your mind sighed in relief―it felt so good.

Insecure.

Slice.

Worthless.

Slice.

You'll die alone.

Slice.

Word after word, you found yourself slicing deeper and further down your arm, your head getting queasier than ever. The blood on your arm started to drip and stain the carpet, but you didn't care; this made you feel good.

But a sudden interruption caused you to froze.

"Hello?" Said a smooth voice. Why did it sound vaguely familiar?

You could see a lean male silhouette pushing open your door, (wait, didn't I lock it?) the light from outside illuminating his face. You could see him now, isn't this―

"Raven?!" Your mouth fell open. The unexpected shock blocked away the voices.

"Is that you, (Y/N)?" You could hear he wasn't expecting to see you, either.

How and why the heck is Raven in the Avengers Tower? Was he friends with them? Was he an Avenger himself? But one thing's for sure; you cannot, would not should not let him see the state you were in. So you backed further away into the dark, praying that he would stop stepping any closer. But he didn't need to step any closer; Raven could see you perfectly right where he was standing.

And he could feel his heart shattering.

You were a heap of limbs, slumped against the wall furthest away from the door. Your hair was messy and disheveled. Raven could just see the small glint of the blade you were trying to hide; then his eyes moved to the blood stains on the floor. He felt his breath hitched.

"What are you doing, (Y/N)." He wanted to sound like he was asking you a simple question, but his voice shook. He just needed to know, to hear from your lips, that this wasn't what he thought it was.

"Nothing, just..." You trailed away, thinking of what to say, "What are you doing here?"

"Answer my question."

"Answer my question."

"I asked first."

"I asked second."

Despite everything, you could feel yourself grinning, just a little bit. Remembering the way you two were always having these playful little arguments; that made you realize how much you missed him.

"So. Are you going to talk?" Raven asked.

"I won't unless you answer me first."

Raven huffed but agreed. After a few moments, he sighed, "It's rather complicated. I don't exactly know where to start."

You gave him what you hoped was a reassuring smile, and said, "Well, I have all day."

So he told you.

He told you―finally―that his real name was Loki, Loki of Asgard, about the nine realms, how he tried to take over the Earth ("You WHAT?" You almost screamed. "It's more complex than that, I'll explain later." Loki looked away awkwardly.), his powers, the Avengers, that he can't go with them on their mission because they don't trust him yet―all the while wearing a weary expression, flicking glances at you now and then.

When he was finally done, you soaked it all in. It made sense now, his sudden disappearance and his dwindling visits. Then he sat down a few feet away from you and took a deep breath, his voice shaking just a bit, "Okay, it's your turn to talk."

All at once, your thoughts started to race again.

Should I tell him?

How would he take it?

But I haven't seen him in so long... Can I trust him?

Is he even going to accept me?

No one is ever going to accept you, freak.

Your fist clenched at that voice. Inhaling a gulp of courage, you spoke. Then came the words, spilling from your lips―they couldn't stop. You finally had the chance to tell someone about your battles and pain and agony; you weren't going to waste it. You started from the beginning, how you had to move away and leave Bruce behind, how you felt when he vanished (You swore he looked guilty), about your parent's death and the orphanage. But you started to mumble when you reached the part about your depression and self-harm. You were ashamed and repentant that you needed a blade to feel satisfied.

Yet, he never looked at you with shame. He was just... listening. Taking in every detail of your experience, his gaze never leaving yours. His manner was hard to read even after you finished―it was neither sympathy nor pity, it was something your brain just couldn't pinpoint; though it was warm and soft while making you feel safe at the same time.

His eyes lingered at you for a few more seconds, then he stood up and murmured, "Wait here."

Just before the voices could devour you again, he came back. Looking up, you saw him holding a cup of steaming tea, a towel, and a bundle of what looked like his pyjamas.

Wordlessly, he lifted up your arm and started to dab gently on the cuts, cleaning away the dried blood. You searched his face, although he was trying hard not to meet your eyes, you saw him holding back his own tears. Astonished, you leaned against the wall and let him continued.

Is he... crying for you?

You didn't even notice when he was done, not even when he left to change into his pyjamas. You were too busy thinking about why someone would sit in front of you, and clean your freaking cuts. When Loki came back, he handed you the slightly cooled tea to your lips. Your hands automatically held it and drank, aimlessly feeling as the warm tea trickled down your throat.

Then carefully, he pried the cup from your fingers and set it on your bedside table. He stood up, holding you at his arm's length, trying to get you to stand up, "Here. The bed might be better than the floor."

You barely registered as you were laid on the bed. It was until you felt the heat spreading did you finally regarded that you were in his arms.

And you stared.

Because here was Loki, in all his black-haired and green-eyed godliness, embracing you. You wanted to ask why; why he would do this for you. Why these forgotten feelings came back and were hitting you like a tide. Then without warning, tears started to flow―relief, sadness, happiness, hurt, gratefulness, confusion―from your eyes, wetting your cheeks once again.

You half expected Loki to recoil in disgust, but he didn't. He just hugged you tighter, his silence a comfort rather than his words. All night long, he cradled you, letting you flood out your emotions. This was when you realized that you didn't need someone to understand, nor to sympathize with you. You just needed someone to be there.

When the mellow sunlight shredded through the night, and your eyes were closed, you could still feel his warmth by your side.

The light outside shone brightly, piercing your eyelids and causing your eyes to flutter open. You looked out the window, the colors in the sky seemed extra brilliant today. Contented, you sighed and turned around in the sheets, finding your drowsy orbs meeting rich green ones. Loki.

He's still here... Your heart shouted with relief. He's actually still here...

Loki had woken up a few minutes before you did, and was surprised to see you both were in the same position as last night―except you were facing away from him. He could still see your features, though. And oh boy, how he admired them. You looked so peaceful, rivulets adorning your face with a small grin tugged at the side of your lips. He longed to softly shake you awake, whispering a sweet endearment just to see that beautiful smile of yours.

Once you did wake up, though, Loki's heart nearly melted. You were looking at him with such an intense gaze, a gaze that seemed to speak more than words do. Amidst the swirling pools of your (E/C) eyes, he could see you were surprised―and glad―to know that he was still beside you.

You silly, silly mortal. Why would I ever want to leave again?

Impetuously, his hand reached out and gently traced the streams your tears made. He started to wonder how many of these dreadful nights you had to endure to finally have one that ended happily.

"I do not understand this, you know." Loki blurted out abruptly.

"Don't understand what?" You asked.

He continued to let his finger follow the streams, "This." Then his hand drifted downward to pick up your scarred wrist, "This." His free left hand moved up to brush against your forehead, "And this."

You blinked, confused.  "W-what do you mean?" He's not planning to reject me, is he?

"It's just... Up on Asgard, we've never had this kind of problem. Asgardians fight using spears, swords, and knives. Yet, here you are, hand empty, but won a war we could never have." Loki said, his voice soft. "You have no idea how much I respect Midgardians for that―especially you. We battle monsters; you battle your own mind, filled with invisible fiends that are just as deadly as they are. It is just very... remarkable."

Your jaw went slack. Coming from Loki, that is a very, very sincere compliment.

"You're saying you... appreciate us?" He nodded.

Although you were astounded, to say the least, you grinned, "Then you must be real glad to have me here then."

Loki chuckled, "Yes, indeed I am." His arms snaked around you to pull you closer. He was running his fingers through your hair when you giggled―rather loudly too. Curious, he raised an eyebrow in question.

"You know, earlier, when I was still struggling, I thought of something." You started.

He just raised his eyebrow higher to tell you to continue.

Your expression turned sheepish, "Well, I might have thought about something along the lines of 'begging for whatever god or higher being that was out there'." But once the words were out, you were thrown into a fit of laughter when you saw both of Loki's eyebrows flying up.

"No, no, it's not something against you," You kept giggling, "Maybe the stars finally heard my prayers and sent you to me."

Recovered from the shock, his signature mischievous smirk stretched across his face, "Maybe they did..." But then you noticed he was trying to crouch down, both of his arms were extended―a pose that made your eyes widen in fear.

"Oh no. Oh hell no. You're not doing that, not again. Get away from me!" You put your hands in front of you defensively, a smile pulling at your lips.

Smirking even wider than before, he resumed, "... But did they expect this?!" And he pounced on you.

The Tickle Fight almost threw you off the bed. Though, in the end, you two were in each other's arms again, laughing wildly.

"I've missed you," You touched his cheek.

"I've missed you more."

You smiled, basking in the warmth of the moment. Then your thoughts drifted to the change in your demeanor―joy, hope, and most of all, love―these are feelings that you thought were buried inside you already. Somehow, against all the odds, you made it through hell alive. You were suddenly filled with expectations for the future, for all the wonderful things you might be experiencing soon, you finally had a chance now.

Against all the odds, again, Loki came back into your life, he was the center of it all once more. You marveled at the very thought of him, how he was still here, how he helped you―something no one had done in a long, long time.

Looking beside you, at this gorgeous being that you didn't deserve, you know that this is all you need.

Kudos for me? <3 Comments makes me happy too.

I'm sorry if I don't know how you'd feel if your parents died. I'm sorry for the shitty structure. I'm sorry for the weak vocabulary. I'm sorry for the teeny writing (even though I *am* a teen)... But I still hope you enjoyed it :D

Sorry if this was too long, lol. Words just came flowing out of my fingertips, hehe.

Remember, if you're battling depression or any other mental illness, don't give up! You're never alone, alright? I'm right here if you want to talk about it. Don't litter your beautiful skin with scars, please.

[thethespacecoyote]

“Salt and Spice” (2/2)

“What? I can’t just do something nice for you? After you almost died?” Vasquez grumbled, eyes focused on his hands, feeling too stupid to look the omega in the eyes.

“No, you really can’t. That’s not just….that’s really not how we work.”

Now it was Vasquez’s time to snort, finally lifting his eyes to look up at Rhys. The omega’s arms were folded, and he was observing the alpha with a look crossed between suspicion and intrigue.

“How do we work, Rhys? Not very well, as I recall.”

“Well, of course. You’re like….I mean, you keep trying to weasel me out of my promotion!”  Rhys folded his arms and raised his eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be exactly surprised if you did something to get me holed up in here in the first place.”

An unexpected, upset whine tore itself from Vasquez’s lip, the sound almost foreign to the alpha’s ears, so much so that for a moment he hadn’t even realized it had come from him. But the way Rhys looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted an ear out of his forehead told him that indeed, that sound had come from him.

“I…Don’t say, that, Rhys, I wouldn’t…I would never…”

“Is this some kind of alpha shit that I don’t understand?” Rhys growled, inching himself back against the pillow-laden headboard. “If you’re going to act like some kind of weird animal in here, then I don’t need this.”

Woohoo!! It’s finally done!

Again, Rhysquez omegaverse enemies-to-lovers commission for @unitc223ofstrex !! I hope this satisfies because I actually enjoyed writing it, especially the fluff and smut in this chapter c:

Link to the first part if you wanna read over 8k of Rhysquez fic holy heck

For the first half hour or so, Vasquez had lost himself in looking at Rhys.

Not in a creepy way at all, though. Nope. It was just that he had never ever seen Rhys like this. Usually, when Vasquez was around, the omega’s features were twisted into a mask of anger and annoyance, a frustrated pout always lingering on his lips, eyebrows drawn together in an arrogant slant at whatever Vasquez said or did. It was a face that haunted Vasquez’s conscience, dogging him as he tried to do even the most mundane of work tasks.

But now. Right now, Rhys’ face was slackened, eyes closed and lips slightly parted in a neutral expression. With little else to distract him in the hospital room, Vasquez found himself studying the young man’s face in a way that he hadn’t before.

His lips were a shade of pearly pink, like the insides of a rare seashell, fading into the gentle cream of his skin. Even in sleep, the ends of his lips were softly quirked up, something that Vasquez found incredibly charming.

Indeed, all the little features that screamed omega, usually hidden by Rhys’ pissy demeanor and attitude, were on full display here. Even Rhys’ softly twitching eyelids had a pale pink flush to them, the flesh delicate and tender and dusted with dewey little lashes.  

And then there was the smell.

Rhys’ scent hadn’t been particularly interesting to him before. Sure, Vasquez could detect it, could discern Rhys’ scent out of all the other omegas on the floor, but it hadn’t struck him as anything special.

But now, with only his own scent and the cold sterile smell of the room, the alpha couldn’t help but focus on it, dissect all the little components of it.

It was almost nostalgic, the way Rhys’ smelled. It reminded Vasquez of baking cookies, of hearth and simmering vanilla. He felt warmth rise up in his chest from the smell alone, making the lonely and stark hospital room feel like home.

The breath stilled in his throat as he watched Rhys’ eyelids flutter, familiar blue and brown slips of color slowly appearing and flitting about the room, still not totally seeing. Vasquez held still, like a deer trapped in the sight of a predator, waiting with bated breath as Rhys fully opened his eyes, head lolling softly to the side with a groan.

“Rhys….”

The omega’s eyes flitted up to him. Vasquez winced as he watched them widen in confusion, then furrow in anger.

“Ugh…” A distasteful expression marred Rhys’ pretty features and Vasquez felt his heart sink. Though honestly, what had he been expecting?

“What…what are you doing here?” Rhys croaked, narrowing his eyes at Vasquez. The alpha huffed, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about the guy who’s been sitting by your bedside for the past few hours…” The alpha rapped his metal pink in annoyance against his forearm. Rhys chuffed softly, shifting in bed.

“You…?” Rhys groaned as he shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his mind, “why would you even…that’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid, Rhys.” Vasquez growled, scooting his chair closer to Rhys’ bedside, annoyed when the omega shifted towards the other side of the bed.

“What…what the hell even happened to me?” Rhys moaned as he weakly rubbed at his eyes, vision fluttering about as he took in his new surroundings. “I remember there being a loud noise in my office…then lots of pain…”

Every little whimper that Rhys made pulled at Vasquez’s chest, feeding his sudden urge to crawl into bed with Rhys and hold him, though he was sure that would do nothing but earn him a sharp clock to the chest. Rhys might be weak as a newborn kitten at the moment, but that cybernetic arm could certainly still do enough damage.

Vasquez’s instincts were just being brainless, wanting him to do such ridiculous things anyway. It’s just because Rhys was an injured omega and he an alpha, that was all. Just a relic from a more animalistic past that Vasquez could frankly do without. Good thing he had the constitution to ignore it.

“The emergency medics told me that there was an explosion in your room that contributed to a failure of life-support systems for the entire floor….that’s all I know for right now…” Vasquez murmured softly, trying to ignore how much it hurt that Rhys was scooting away from him every time he tried to inch closer in the chair. All Vasquez wanted to do was help, and Rhys was here treating him like he was a scat-covered skag or something.

“Really…? Ugh…you’d think being a multi-billion dollar company, this kind of stuff wouldn’t happen with Hyperion…” Rhys huffed as he budged up against the headboard, weakly bringing his flesh hand up to rub at his eyes.

“My throat feels like its full of sand, ugh…”

Vasquez was already pressing the call button on Rhys’ bed, promptly asking the nurse for water just as soon as he popped his head through the sliding door. Rhys’ mouth was still open in request when the cup was deposited into his hands. He raised an eyebrow at the alpha, but took a grateful sip from the cup. He looked around for a place to set it, only for Vasquez to offer his palm, quickly popping the cup into the trash.

“Wh…What are you doing?” Rhys’ mouth was set in a hard, suspicious line as he looked at the alpha.

“I…I’m just trying to help…” Vasquez defended, shyly rubbing his hands together.

“Uh. Okay. What are you really trying to do?” Rhys chuckled dryly, shifting into a more comfortable position.

Honestly, Vasquez didn’t really know. Rhys had woken up, now, he should give the young man his well wishes and then leave. He’d lingered here way too long. He opened his mouth, intent on announcing his departure, but his brain had other plans.

“Let me buy you dinner.”

“What?” Rhys snorted, looking at Vasquez like he was crazy. Silence stretched out between them as Rhys stared at him, Vasquez’s eyes flicking downwards, heat suddenly rising up in his cheeks.

“Are…are you serious?” Rhys’ voice sounded so incredulous and dismissive, which made embarrassment course through Vasquez’s body, making the alpha wish that he hadn’t even asked in the first place. What was he thinking?

“What? I can’t just do something nice for you? After you almost died?” Vasquez grumbled, eyes focused on his hands, feeling too stupid to look the omega in the eyes.

“No, you really can’t. That’s not just….that’s really not how we work.”

Now it was Vasquez’s time to snort, finally lifting his eyes to look up at Rhys. The omega’s arms were folded, and he was observing the alpha with a look crossed between suspicion and intrigue.

“How do we work, Rhys? Not very well, as I recall.”

“Well, of course. You’re like….I mean, you keep trying to weasel me out of my promotion!”  Rhys folded his arms and raised his eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be exactly surprised if you did something to get me holed up in here in the first place.”

An unexpected, upset whine tore itself from Vasquez’s lip, the sound almost foreign to the alpha’s ears, so much so that for a moment he hadn’t even realized it had come from him. But the way Rhys looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted an ear out of his forehead told him that indeed, that sound had come from him.

“I…Don’t say, that, Rhys, I wouldn’t…I would never…”

“Is this some kind of alpha shit that I don’t understand?” Rhys growled, inching himself back against the pillow-laden headboard. “If you’re going to act like some kind of weird animal in here, then I don’t need this.”

“I…I’m not!” Vasquez protested, “I’m not acting like an animal, I just—“

“Rhys!” Came a cry as the door to the hospital room suddenly slid open to reveal a short, bedraggled young man that Vasquez recognized vaguely as one of Rhys’ friends from another department.

“H-Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Vasquez could see Vaughn fighting against his own timidity as he placed himself between him and Rhys, puffing out his chest and jabbing a shaky finger in the alpha’s direction.

“B-Back off, Vasquez, okay? I’m warning you…” The little beta growled lowly, pressing tightly to Rhys’ bedside, his other hand splayed out behind them in defense of the recovering omega.

“Easy, glasses, I’m not going to hurt him.” Vasquez held up his hands innocently, taking a couple steps back away from Vaughn and Rhys. His eyes flicked back and forth, from the angry beta to the bedridden omega, who had his head cocked to the side and was giving Vasquez this look, less wary and more appraising than before.

“Y-Yeah, sure, it’s probably all your fault he’s like this anyway!” Vaughn challenged through the slight stammer in his voice, anger overwhelming his typical timidity. “You thought if you got him out of the picture, then the promotion would be all yours! Well I’m not gonna fall for it! I’m gonna—“

“Vaughn,” Rhys interrupted, craning forward to tug at the cuff of his friend’s shirt, “down boy, I don’t….if Vasquez had done something to try to kill me, then I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be here right now…”

The beta turned away from Vasquez to look incredulously at his friend.

“I…oh god, don’t tell me you’re trying to defend him, Rhys..”

“I’m not!” The omega proclaimed. “He’s still a total asshat, believe me bro. I’m just trying to think uh….logically here…”

“Logic. Okay. Right. My best friend is trying to defend his sworn nemesis….gee, that sure is logical…” Vaughn murmured, but faltered a little in his angry, retreating to sit at Rhys’ side on the bed, still glaring at Vasquez and making sure the alpha didn’t close the distance between himself and the omega too quickly. Rhys gently reached forward to take his friend’s hand, and something in Vasquez’s chest clenched.

“Maybe I should leave…” Vasquez hummed, rocking on his expensive shoes as he eyed the two on the bed. Vaughn gave him a firm nod, while Rhys bit his lip. Vasquez waited for—something, he didn’t know. Why had he even lingered around for so long? Rhys was fine, he was awake and recovering. Whatever instinct had driven him to ensure the omega’s safety was surely satisfied now. He let out a soft sigh, shuffling towards the door.

“Anyway, uh…hope you’re up and about soon Rhys. Office won’t be as much fun without ripping on you.” He joked softly, ready to leave when the soft clearing of Rhys’ throat drew his attention back to the omega on the bed.

“Hugo…hey…”

Rhys’ other hand was fidgeting in the rumple of the sheets, looking at Vasquez with an odd, almost wistful look in his eyes.

“…I’ll see you around, okay?”

Rhys didn’t return to work the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Vasquez didn’t know how long they were intending on keeping Rhys for observation. The morbid voice in the back of his head told him that maybe there had been complications, while the logical one asked him why he cared whether Rhys was back or not. Henderson, despite the chaos of the earlier emergency evacuation, had lauded Vasquez’s care about his fellow omega employee, stating that good treatment of omegas reflected very well on Vasquez’s character. The alpha was basically a shoe-in, and he should be feeling much better.

But he wasn’t. Why wasn’t he?

On the night of the third day of Rhys’ absence from work, Vasquez holed himself up in his flat with homemade chicken stew simmering on the stove and a bottle of white wine chilled in the refrigerator. He took a long, indulgent shower, massaging beard conditioner into his jawline and smearing his cheeks with a new volcanic mud face mask imported from Tantalus. He hoped to wash away whatever fugue he’d been stuck in since the accident with a new evening of self care. He wrapped himself up in a fluffy black, gold-monogrammed robe before stepping out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen to check on his dinner.

The meal and beauty routine helped his mood, but there remained a niggling feeling in the back of his head that preventing him from relaxing completely. Images of Rhys laying in bed just kept bugging him, keeping him from completely enjoy each spoonful of chicken soup or the soothing smell of earth and mint wafting from the mask. He grumbled a little as he sat on his couch, until the ECHO device sitting on his coffee table buzzed. He was all set to ignore it, when he caught a chance glance at the name displayed above the message.

He nearly knocked the bowl of soup out of his lap in his mad grab for the device. He unlocked the screen with shaking hands, eyes wide as he scanned over the message.

So when am I getting that ‘I’m sorry’ dinner?

Rhys looked fantastic.

The omega was waiting for Vasquez outside the entrance to Xenia—a decently priced, relatively fancy restaurant that would no doubt impress the young man, even if it didn’t completely knock his socks off—playing with the palm device on his ECHO, the blue light fetchingly glowing on his face and outfit. The young man was dressed in a pretty dark blue suit and a crisp white dress shirt accented with a silky turquoise tie. His cybernetic arm was concealed and flattered underneath the suit sleeve, the yellow of the metal complementing the little gold cufflinks that matched the metallic tips to his skag-skin boots. The omega’s hair was swept back, lightly curled over the back of his neck with nary a strand out of place.

Vasquez had never seen Rhys in this outfit before. He hadn’t really expected the omega to parse through his closet to find such a nice number, considering he’d worn similar waistcoat and striped pants combos to most of their formal department meetings and cross-floor luncheons. It made the alpha’s heart spring a little in his chest—sure, Rhys could just be dressing for the occasion of a fancy dinner, but the alpha wanted to believe that it was just for him.

Vasquez wasn’t slouching in the wardrobe department either, dressed in a black suit that accented his broad chest and shoulders, his thick flanks slimmed by a thin filigree of gold, geometric embroidery. A charcoal dress suit and a golden tie completed the look, and he felt confident as he clipped towards Rhys, drawing the omega’s attention with a soft call.

“Well…look who decided to show up…” Rhys greeted him with a soft quirk of his lips, shutting off his palm display as he rose to his feet, straightening out his lapels.

“Fashionably late, Rhys, it’s a thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right. Here I was thinking you’d left me to starve.” Rhys trailed behind the alpha as Vasquez went forward to confirm their reservation, and the two were soon being led to a nice, private booth near the window looking out into space.

“So, Rhys, how are you doing?” Vasquez asked as he sat down, unfolding his napkin into his lap.

“Much better than before. Don’t feel as much like a skag sat on my chest.” Rhys chuckled drily, taking the seat across from Vasquez. The alpha peeled open the wine menu, quickly ordering two fine glasses of rosé before perusing the dinner menu. The waiter swiftly filled their glasses, setting down a basket of bread which Rhys quickly dug into.

“This is a pretty nice place. I’ve never been here before.” The omega took a long sip of his wine, setting the glass down as he glanced about the room.

“Did….did you buy all this with your promotion money?” Rhys’ voice took a slightly sour edge as he broken a piece of bread in half, spreading butter on one half before taking a hard bite. Vasquez worried his lip, idly tipping his wine glass around, watching the pink liquid swirl about.

“Actually….I turned it down.”

Rhys nearly gagged on his bread, letting out a sharp couch as he stared at Vasquez in shock.

“W-What? You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Last I heard, Henderson is going with Birchall.”

“Birchall?” Rhys looked aghast. “Even you would have been better than that moron! Ugh.”

Vasquez laughed lowly, taking another sip of his wine.

“I would never have thought you’d stick up for me like this, Rhys.”

“I mean, when you pile a bunch of skag intestines next to some D-grade ground meat, the meat starts looking pretty good…” Rhys’ grumbled, petulantly stuffing his mouth with bread. Vasquez gave the young omega a sympathetic smile, reaching for the breadbasket and chowing down on a small wheat baguette.

“Well, between the two of us, I think our department will survive. And hell, maybe if he screws up enough, Henderson will fire him.”

“Yeah…fire him….fire him right out the airlock,” Rhys’ chuckled grimly, “seriously, who knows what Henderson is thinking…”

The conversation was gradually redirected from the subject of work when the waiter returned to take their order, Vasquez ordering a fancy steak with all the trimmings, while Rhys went for fish and mashed potatoes. Their conversations mostly strayed away from work as they waited for their food, which Vasquez found to be a relief. He would much rather learn more about Rhys personally, and the omega seemed more willing to open up about himself—whether that was the effect of the alcohol, or an increased comfort with the alpha didn’t matter, Vasquez was just happy to have it.

After dinner Rhys was positively giddy about the dessert options, eventually going for the baked alaska, fetchingly served with a table side flambé that made the omega’s eyes light up as he dug into his treat. He even offered a spoonful to Vasquez, giggling when a bit of whipped cream lingered on the older alpha’s beard. The amaretto atop the dessert just pushed Rhys further into a snickering pit of tipsiness, and by the time they were leaving the restaurant, Rhys was gripping onto Vasquez’s arm for support, swaying every other step into the older alpha’s side.

“You….you smell kind of nice, you know?” Rhys spoke out of the blue as he clutched at Vasquez’s arm tighter once they had moved into the elevator. “I mean like….underneath the cologne and crap. That’s the, uh, the S-Sex Blast from the HJ Gold Collection, right?”

“Uh….yeah. Do you like it?”

Rhys’ snorted.

“Yeah, course I like it, I own some of it. I put it on when I don’t want alphas bothering the fuck outta me.” Rhys hugged Vasquez’s arm, nuzzling against the man’s shoulder with a sigh.

“S’more than that though…your scent is nice. Real nice.” Rhys purred, honest to God purred against his suit fabric, blush high on his face as he pressed closer to Vasquez. The alpha could feel his clothing growing just a fraction tighter as he quickly punched in the coordinates for his own flat.

Rhys didn’t complain when he saw that they had ended up at door of Vasquez’s apartment, merely leaning against the wall with a smile on his face as the alpha activated the code to get inside. He let Rhys in first, the omega quickly making a beeline for the sofa, sitting down with a thump and spreading his legs. Vasquez swallowed, his hands going up to fiddle with his tie, loosening the suddenly stifling garment from around his throat.  

“S-So, um….um…what do you want to do?” Vasquez asked, his voice pitching up slightly as Rhys’ head lolled to the side, his eyes hooded and beckoning and oh no. Ooooohhhh no.

Rhys hummed, pressing his lips together as his smile quirked up, eyes glimmering with mirth and lust as he relaxed further into the couch, his lanky body lazily conforming to the leather curves of the cushions.

“I think…” Rhys spoke, his voice coming low and vibrating through the air in a lurid purr, “maybe you have a little bit more apologizing to do.”

That was more than enough to get Vasquez to stumble forward, drawn by the invitation of the young man’s long legs as he kneeled on the space between Rhys’ thighs and pressed his lips against the omega’s own.

The lips felt as soft as they’d looked in the hospital bedroom, where Vasquez had first noticed their pinkness, and they tasted like amaretto and strawberry ice cream and the alpha can’t get enough of it. One of them deepened the kiss, neither could fully tell before their mouths were a tangle of tongues and sharp canines. Rhys’ pinprick fangs nicked one of Vasquez’s lips, but when the omega pulled back in apology Vasquez only dove in to meet his mouth again, liking the way the metallic taste of his own blood complimented the sweetness of the omega.

“Rhysie? Buttercup, little toffee pie…” Vasquez asked with a growl once they broke apart, caging the younger omega in with a deep brown, glimmering look in his eyes and he pressed forward like inked wood, firm yet molding to every part of Rhys’ body.

“You need to think of better pet names…” Rhys chuckled dryly, his hands coming up to press against Vasquez’s firm chest, not quite pushing away up accepting him in, responding in kind to Vasquez’s advances

“Mmm…maybe this will give me some ideas…?” He whispered softly, nudging the bridge of his nose against Rhys’ temple, dragging it down, accompanied with soft kissed down to the young man’s jawline. Rhys tittered, shivering slightly in Vasquez’s hold as his coarse beard brushed up against Rhys’ tender skin.

“G….Go ahead…” Rhys arched his body forward into the alpha, his hands digging into Vasquez’s biceps. He leaned his head back, exposing his pale neck to Vasquez’s greedy hooded eyes. The alpha’s mouth was quickly pressed over the pretty circular tattoo just over the young man’s jugular, teeth grazing against his skin as he started to suck a mark into his flesh.

The noises that Rhys’ made were heavenly, music to the alpha’s ears as he started to undress Rhys, threading the young man’s tie from around his neck before he eagerly popped open the buttons on his dress shirt. Every new inch of flesh exposed was a new thrill to Vasquez, especially when he uncovered the gorgeous array of blue tattoos hidden under Rhys’ clothing.

“My….when did you get this done, Rhysie?” The omega snorted as Vasquez pressed his mouth over the lines of blue against his pale skin.

“Mmmm, I have gotten some nice bonuses in my day…” Rhys’ chest hitched as Vasquez’s beard tickled over his sensitive flesh.

“The arm and the eye weren’t enough torment for you, huh? Masochist…” The alpha snickered against Rhys’ chest, only to be yanked back by a firm hand in his hair.

“D-Don’t you get any ideas about my pain tolerance, asshole…” Rhys crushed his lips against the alpha’s, smothering any comeback as he took his own turn to tear at Vasquez’s clothing, quickly unbuttoning his dress shirt and pulling the material out of where it was tucked in his pants. Vasquez nearly yelped against Rhys’ lips when the omega slipped his flesh hand into his underwear, giving his stirring member a quick squeeze.

Any further removal of clothing passed in a flurry, their garments mixing together on the floor or strewn over the back of the couch. The pair were left naked, Rhys now lying down completely on the couch with Vasquez towering over him, his pale legs slung around the alpha’s hips. The scent of slick was heavy in Vasquez’s nose, his bronze eyes glimmering with lust as he worked his thick fingers inside of the young man. Rhys’ face was flushed, his hands planted firmly on Vasquez’s shoulders as he rutted back down into the alpha’s hand.

The omega, though slowly losing himself to pleasure, had enough sense to grasp Vasquez’s hand as the alpha went to direct his cock to the omega’s entrance, insisting on condoms. Vasquez’s grumble died on his lips when Rhys fixed him with a warning look, which sent the alpha scrambling for his pants pocket, quickly sliding a shiny golden condom over his member.

“R-Really?” Rhys snickered as he wound his legs about Vasquez’s hips once more, “think you had a little more in mind than just an “I’m sorry” dinner…”

The alpha huffed, giving Rhys a patronizing pat on the thigh.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Rhys.”

“Same to you, big guy. Is that a triple XL? Oooh, you better really make me feel that or I’m calling your BS.” Rhys drew Vasquez in for a nipping kiss as the alpha lined himself up with Rhys’ entrance, slowly pushing inside of the omega in a long, slow stretch. The long, strained moan that broke from Rhys lips was more than enough for Vasquez to believe that the omega had just been convinced.

The apartment was soon filled with the sounds of their fucking, the wet slap of Vasquez’s cock against Rhys’ slick entrance the background to the moans and whimpers shared between their mouths. Rhys was holding onto Vasquez like a lifeline, his hands digging into the meat of the alpha’s back as Vasquez locked onto the juncture between Rhys’ neck and shoulder.

“Oh god, Hugo, oh god—“ Rhys cried out as he locked his legs tighter around the alpha’s waist as he hammered harder into him. Vasquez shuddered in pleasure as he felt the omega tighten around him with each thrust, insides squeezing around his cock as more slick dribbled out from his puffy red entrance. Vasquez’s words were muffled as he bit harder into the omega’s neck, both hands now pinning the omega’s wrist down as he pressed their chests together.

Vasquez could feel his knot beginning to form at the base of his cock, gradually swelling up to its full size, and where the alpha usually had anxiety about proper knotting there was nothing but eagerness and pleasure as he shoved the sensitive nub of flesh inside of Rhys’ hole, working it in and out shallowly until he felt it stick inside of Rhys. His balls tightened suddenly as he came, jets of cum bursting from the tip of his dick. Rhys body arched against him and a throaty yowl rolled out into the air as the omega’s cock jerked and painted his own belly with hot strands of release. Vasquez continued pumping his hips forward, tugging his knot against Rhys’ entrance until he had completely emptied his load.

After a couple moments of panting and mindless nuzzling, Vasquez carefully switched their positions, resting Rhys atop his chest so the omega could curl up and cuddle in the aftermath of their sex, while still remaining comfortably locked with the knot. Rhys had a dopey, blissful look on his face as he pressed his cheek against one of Vasquez’s pecs, warm breath tingling through the carpet of hair prickling the alpha’s chest.

“Mmm…you’re real fuzzy and warm, yanno that? Wouldn’t have realized under all those stuffy suits…” Rhys mumbled, leaning into Vasquez’s hand as the alpha ruffled his silky locks.

“Well…maybe I should diversity my wardrobe a little bit…mix it up with some muscle shirts…or just come in one day wearing nothing at all…bumble bee.” The alpha joked dreamily as he smoothed back Rhys’ hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the omega’s forehead.

“Heh. Bumble bee. That’s cute.”

Rhys was already asleep by the time Vasquez’s knot deflated, sedated by the combination of alcohol and sex. Despite the alpha’s own exhaustion, he tried his best to clean the omega off and wrap him up in blankets. After a moment’s hesitation, he lifted the omega up and carried him off to his bedroom, cautiously tucking Rhys underneath the covers before slipping besides him.

Regret was clawing at the door, but Vasquez shut it out for now as he cuddled in close to Rhys, trailing one broad hand over the omega’s pale, delicate cheek, memorizing the young man’s expression before he too closed his eyes and let sleep take him away.