#that she still has left. just that desperate clinging to one another. unable to leave the other behind even if they could get out

[meatriarch]

its simply like, one thing abt the dire aus ( dusk, nosy, cc ) is that we literally do Not give lee or maria a break ever there is always something. like why is there always someth

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[cat-mentality]

Whatever you do do not think about Philza in those last moments.

Don't think about how much he must have been hurting, how his newly healed wings must have been falling apart, feathers falling, bones broken and aching, everything hurting so much because he pushed himself beyond his limits, how he must have known what it meant, that he had done his last flight.

Don't think about him looking at Tubbo and thinking it was worth it. That he would give his wings over and over again if that meant being able to save his family.

Don't think about him shaking, trying not to think about Chayenne and Tallulah because if he did he would crumble and he couldn't do that when so many were still missing, when everything is so uncertain.

Don't think about him seeing Baghera's last message, breath stuck somewhere in his chest, terrified about what that means, filled with all the memories they built together in those weeks. Understanding her, but filled with dread, with the urge to run to her and help, with the instinct to protect and put her before anything else.

Don't think about Philza suddenly hearing Roier let out a sob looking at his communicator. Don't think about Philza holding him as Roier trashed and trashed trying to jump off the boat, about him holding him for dear life as Roier screamed at him to let go calling him any name under the sun. Don't think about Philza holding Roier because he knew that would be what Cellbit would want.

Don't think about how Philza knew, by Roier's reaction, that Cellbit wasn't going to be on that boat. Don't think about the hole that just kept on growing inside of his chest because Cellbit has always been a person he trusted but in those weeks he became so much more, someone he has come to care for, his second hand man, someone to lean on, but also someone to protect.

Don't think about Philza feeling useless because he did nothing to help his teammates.

Don't think about Philza seeing Etoiles running to the boat, how he was so close, about him begging inside to please, please, not him too, not him too, I can't lose him. About how that pleading meant nothing when the boat started to leave and he had to watch Etoiles, alone on the shore just watching it go without him, Philza unable to do anything to help. Don't think about Philza looking at Etoiles right as explosion consumed the whole Island.

Don't think about Philza looking around and realizing for the first time that Foolish is gone. About him panicking as he searches for him everywhere but he is just gone, about how someone would have to gently tell him that Foolish jumped out to try to help others but never came back. Don't think about Philza leaning against a wall, Foolish's screams for him to help during the earthquake being the only thing he could hear, feeling like a failure of a leader.

Don't think about Slime stumbling to Philza without words, hugging him for dear life, shaking so much he could barely speak. Don't think about Philza leaning into the hug with equal strength because they are everything that is left.

Don't think about Mouse coming upon them, eyes filled with tears because Cellbit was right there, Foolish was right there, and yet they didn't make it but she did, hesitating for a few seconds. About Philza and Slime opening their arms for her because Mouse is one of them too, because now they must cling to one another.

Don't think about Philza in that boat, wishing desperately that none of that is real. Begging it to be a hallucination because the alternative is far too painful.

[midnightmah07]

Would we have met upon a dream, or perhaps upon a distant star? Or perhaps in a world where wishes come true, where hearts aren’t burdened by the weight of unfulfilled longing?

When the brightest star in the sky begins to glow with a cold, melancholy blue, Lilia finds himself beneath its distant light. He sits alone, shrouded in the heavy silence that has settled over the world ever since the war. The echoes of battle have faded, leaving behind a void that even Malleus cannot fill. Once a figure of strength and unwavering resolve, he now moves with a quiet uncertainty, lost in the void of his own mind, wondering where she goes when she isn’t with him, wondering why she seems so far away even when she’s near... She may be miles away, but in his mind, she never truly left.

He tries to maintain his composure, fingers absently twisting through the dark red streaks in his hair, streaks that once symbolized his fiery spirit, now dulled by the weight of regret. Yet, despite his efforts to appear indifferent, his heart betrays him, still clinging to that desperate wish that everything might not yet be lost. His wish, a dream that refuses to die, that somehow, somewhere, it isn’t too late to make things right.

“Please,” he murmurs into the stillness, his voice a fragile breath in the night air, laced with the unbearable weight of heartache. “I know you can hear me.”

No request is too extreme, he tells himself, when the stars above glimmer with such familiar light, as if they, too, are waiting for a wish to be fulfilled. Yet his heart whispers another truth: Why do you keep waiting? His conscience gnaws at him, urging him to face reality, to stop clinging to a hope that might never be realized. His mind, burdened by the knowledge of all he has lost, screams for him to retreat, to turn away before the pain becomes too much to bear.

Fate is kind, he tries to believe, though the words feel hollow, a lie he tells himself to keep the darkness at bay. His heart, exposed and vulnerable, lies bare for all to see, a fragile thing that trembles at the thought of what could have been, what might still be if only he dared to hope.

He stands beneath the cold blue light, eyes fixed on that same distant star, the one that shone so brightly on the day he lost her. Her voice, soft and full of unspoken longing, echoes in his memory, as fresh as if she were standing beside him. “Is it truly so hard to love me back?” she had whispered, her words a gentle plea that still haunts him. “You can't tell I love you, because, you love someone else, right?”

He’s pulled back into that moment, the memory that refuses to fade, no matter how hard he tries to push it away.

“Now’s not the time,” he had said, his voice cold, distant, a barrier he erected to keep her from getting too close.

But, oh Lilia, he thinks now, when would the time ever be right? Would there ever have been a moment when his heart was ready to accept the love she offered so freely?

“Don’t shut me out,” she had pleaded, her hand reaching for his, warm and trembling with hope, with the desire to be let in.

“Just leave,” he had replied, his eyes fixed on the ground, unable to meet her gaze, even as his heart screamed for her to stay. “I don’t need you.” He did, and still does.

“Give me one reason to go, and I will,” she had said, her voice breaking, her fingers gripping the edges of her cloak as if it were the only thing holding her together.

“It’s dangerous here!” his heart had cried out, desperate to protect her, to keep her safe from the world he stood in, he feared would swallow them both whole.

“And I’m willing to stay,” she had answered, tears like fragile crystals slipping down her cheeks, each one a testament to her unwavering love. “Even if it means being with you in my final moments.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he had whispered, though what he truly meant was, I didn’t ask for you to risk everything for me. “Leave.” But what he wanted, what he truly wanted, was for her to stay, to be with him, to save him from the emptiness that had become his life.

“Lilia…” his name had hung in the air between them.

A delicate thread of connection that he was too afraid to grasp, too afraid to hold on to, for fear that it might break, that it might be too fragile to survive. To survive with it on his bare hand, covered in the crimson blood of his battles.

In his frustration and fear, he had snapped, his words sharp and bitter, laced with a resentment he didn’t truly feel. “Just go! You’re useless here!” But it wasn’t her he resented—it was himself, he couldn’t bear to let her into his life, the one who feared that if he lost her, she wouldn’t miss him.

“I wish I had never met you!” he had shouted into the crushing silence, a lie so obvious that it nearly shattered him, a lie he told himself because the truth was too painful to bear.

She had stayed silent, her eyes full of hurt, her heart breaking as she stood there, waiting for him to take it all back. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. And so she turned away, the pain in her eyes the last thing he saw before she disappeared into the night.

“May all your heart’s desires come true,” she had said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, her back to him as she walked away.

The further he walked away from her, the clearer it became that they were no longer on the same path, that the connection between them had been severed by his own hand.

Now, as he stands beneath the cold blue light of that distant star, he knows—his heart’s desire had never been to push her away, never been to sever that fragile thread that connected them.

When the brightest star in the sky begins to glow with that cold, melancholy blue, Lilia still sits beneath its light, waiting.

“For how long will you wait?” she asks him, her voice a whisper on the wind, a question that cuts through the silence, through the distance that has grown between them.

His hair is shorter now, the dark red streaks faded to a somber shade of pink, a testament to the passage of time, to the changes that have come and gone. He turns away from the star, his eyes meeting hers, the pain in his heart mirrored in her gaze.

“For as long as you waited for me,” he says, a bittersweet smile breaking through the lingering pain, a smile that carries with it the weight of all the words left unsaid, all the moments lost to fear and regret.

divider.

a/n: SNEAK PEAK BC I AM COOKING FRFR

WHAT IS THIS BARBARA. WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS. WHAT. TELL ME HAVE I BEEN A BAD FRIEND???? HAVE I BEEN MEAN TO YOU????? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS BEAUTIFUL YET HORRIBLE MASTERPIECE THAT MAKES ME WANT TO TEAR MY HEART FROM MY CHEST AND JUMP FROM A BRIDGE. TELL ME. WHAT IS THIS.

[cyeli-no]

Cyno pushes Dehya out of the way of an attack, getting speared by the polearm instead of her. She is quick to dispose of them, but the damage has already been done. It is no doubt Cyno will die without swift medical attention. The issue is, they're stuck in the desert and Dehya had limited medical knowledge. She certainly doesn't know how to save her friend who probably has his organs punctured by a large piece of metal.

"It's not good." She admits openly to him, biting back any words of frustration for his needless sacrifice. It wasn't needless, she knows he'll say. If not him, it would've been her and then they'd have to lay in the sand waiting for her to die out instead.

He blinks at her, lips curling up into a small smile, "It's bad?" She clenches her teeth at the obvious amusement in his tone, "Apoleing, some might say."

The joke falls flat as he is dying in front of her. "Cyno—!" Her panic leaks into her voice as he coughs, blood spilling out of his mouth.

He knows he's dying, must know, but he still lets out a shuddering huff, as if unable to contain his happiness, "You should go. I'm the one who's stuck."

"Is this another one of your bad jokes?" She exhales sharply, glancing around for anything to help keep the pole from moving when she lifts him.

His eyes light up, "Did you get it? Stuck, like the pole—"

"Cyno, shut up." She growls, exhaling sharply through her nose to somehow calm her nerves. She just needs a moment to breathe, to figure something out... Her injured leg will not carry the weight of both of them. She can go alone and return with help, but that would take hours even at her fastest speed.

She won't leave him alone. Not yet. All she can afford is to continue holding the pole completely steady, to not let it shift and damage his organs any more. She almost wants to take it out, just weld the wound shut with her vision. She wants, so badly, for it to be just another minor cut they can ignore as they travel back. It would be a slow journey, she knows, but they would both be alive.

They'd walk back together. She would even help carry his weight for a while if he needed the support. She can imagine how he would deny her, how he would pretend as if he was okay. She can imagine Tighnari's angry shouts and she would laugh as Cyno got his wounds cared for. A disgusting sound of gurgling twists anxiety into her gut and her attention back to reality.

Dehya already has him shifted onto his side to prevent him from choking on his own blood. She's doing all she can, she knows she is. But, it just isn't enough. Dehya just isn't enough. So, she prays to her gods for a miracle, begging Sumeru's archon for help. Each second, she clings onto Cyno's desperate breaths. His jokes, unfunny and unbefitting of the entire situation, have long since left the air in a tense quiet. She regrets telling him to stop.

She asks, voice firm despite how one of her hands tremble against his cheek. She taps him lightly to drag his mind back to reality, his eyes glassy as he tries to focus on her every word. It is clear he can barely hear her, though, "Stay awake, okay? I'm sure Al-Haitham or Candace noticed how long we've taken. They're on their way." It feels as if Dehya's words are nothing more than a whisper, but her throat is raw from how much she is speaking.

Still, she doesn't miss the soft hum, a noise of affirmation nearly draining all her energy. Relieved to hear more than labored breathing, she ignores how the sun that once burned into her skin has begun making room for the moon. It hasn't been that long, yet. Cyno still has a lot of time and someone will come soon. Someone will rescue their precious General Mahamatra.

No one comes.

Her body is soaked in blood, she can't tell whether it is his blood or her own anymore, as she watches his chest slow and his breathing ease out. She counts the minutes his eyes were shut and he had been unresponsive; it must've been closer to an hour. She doesn't dare to blink for too long, to doze off.

But, she is just so damn tired. It's only been a few hours and she wants to lay her head to rest. She can't. She won't until he goes completely cold and the last hopes of his life are completely gone.

The final time his heart stutters, she screams more than she weeps.

Her screams are unrelenting into the desert night where no one finds them. She curses them for being so slow, blames them in some deep part of her heart, and refuses to relinquish her friend to the sands. His body is still warm, the only comfort under the cold moon.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Other Snippet:

Desert nights have always been cold, but the ice encasing her as she clutches onto Cyno's hand in his final moments is nothing she has ever felt. Her heart frozen in her heart, unable to pump blood as her lungs contract painfully. They beg for air and all she can manage is beg the same from Cyno. Her body is soaked in blood, his blood, as she watches his chest slow and his breathing ease out. She counts the minutes his eyes were shut and he had been unresponsive; it must've been closer to an hour.

Had she been stronger, she would've ended his misery with her own hands. If she wasn't so hopeful that someone would rescue him, he wouldn't have had to suffer so needlessly.

She tugs him closer, ignores the metal pole that presses uncomfortably against her as she falls over his body. Cradling him the best she can, holding him, she screams more than she weeps.

Her screams are unrelenting into the desert night when no one finds them. She curses them for being so slow, blames them in some deep part of her heart, and refuses to relinquish her friend over. His body is still warm, the only comfort under the cold moon.

What is she going to tell everyone? He doesn't even have any last words for anyone else to hear. Until the end, he was mumbling jokes and telling Dehya to go. If she left him alone, would he have survived?

The thought and the metal pressing against her abdomen make her breathing stutter. And finally, hidden in shadows despite having the matra rush back, small tears trickle down her cheeks.

It is soundless, but she cries.

What was the stupid job that dragged her to where the General Mahamatra was conducting an investigation? What cruel twist of fate made them fight so many people while injured and tired? Was Celestia laughing as fate tore Cyno's life away?

She is just so damn tired. It's only been a few hours and she wants to lay her head to rest. She can't. Not until he goes completely cold and the last hopes of his life are completely gone.

When slumber drags her exhausted mind down, she can vividly see the image of the short man still smiling at her with a promise to show her how to play his favorite game. She may not have understood why other nations praised the existence of dreams, but now she knows. What a lovely thing it is to leave their cruel reality.

[vortexparadox]

@smokedanced asked: i'm not ready to let go of you. +reverse / martha and ten? mass effect

"Joker, we've got to go," Martha pleas with her stubborn pilot, her hand resting on his shoulder in reassurance. They've both done everything they can - she has to trust that the rest of her officers - her friends - got the rest of the surviving crew into the escape pods and away from the wreckage that was, until just minutes ago, their home. If Joker hadn't been so bloody stubborn, she doubts they'd have had time to get as many out alive as they had, but now...

Now, time was running out and the two of them were the last to leave. There was no way she was abandoning Joker, no matter how stubborn the man may be - no one gets left behind, and she shifts her grip on him to start tugging him insistently from his chair. "The Normandy's lost. You've done everything you can. I can't lose you too."

"Yeah," Joker sighs wearily, starting to help push himself from his chair. "Yeah, alright. Shit!" Without thought, his hands fly back to the control, trying to squeeze even a few more seconds of burn out of the sputtering engines. "They're coming around for another attack!"

Unable to wait any longer, Martha hauls him to his feet, wincing when she feels the crack of his brittle bones under her hands even as she half-drags, half-carries him to the escape pod, all but shoving him in just as another blast from the enemy ship causes her magboots to loose their connection to the deck plating.

Without gravity, she floats back further from the pod, and unable to reach anything to propel her towards it... As she reaches the emergency launch buttons on the bulkhead, she punches the button, closing her eyes against the sight of Joker finally righting himself, just in time for the pod door to shut and eject the pod away from the remains of the ship at the same time the destructive beam from the enemy ship tears through the space she'd occupied just moments before.

As the ship continues to fall to pieces around her, Martha finds herself floating in free space, a chill settling over her as she knows... the Doctor had had to run to her cabin where they'd stored the TARDIS to ensure its safety within the Normandy. The crew deck had been hit just as hard as the CIC, and she had no way of knowing if he'd made it in time, only...

Something was wrong... Very wrong... as her hands fly up to the hoses at the back of her helmet, dark eyes widening in horror as she realises... her air is leaking from her suit, the VI alerting her of rapidly failing life support systems.

She can't even bring herself to scream, tears falling silently as dawning horror takes hold when the weightlessness seems to fade away even as her consciousness starts to fade with the lack of air. She's falling... caught in the gravitational pull of the planet below...

Only to suddenly find herself landing much sooner than expected, with a far less traumatic impact as she feels hands frantically unlatching her helmet, blinking at the suddenly too bright light of the TARDIS console room.

Frantic hands clutch at the Doctor's coat, pulling herself flush against him, desperate to get away from the still open doors, a choked sob escaping her as the shock of the attack hits her all at once, knowing she's safer in the TARDIS than she ever has been on any other ship in the galaxy, yet not being able to fully come to terms with what she'd just experienced.

It's several minutes before anything the Doctor says even begins to filter through her panic - something about getting her to the medbay - but even then she just shakes her head, clinging to him tighter as she hides her face against his shoulder, her voice barely a quiet whimper as she manages, "I'm not ready to let go of you. Not yet."

[nev3rfound]

option two : b.b

after nightmares continue to haunt his nights, bucky knows there’s one person left who could potentially provide some form of comfort, but is she still willing to see him after all this time? (1.5k)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

5k giveaway celebration 

warnings: angsty, sad bucky, minor spoilers for ep1 of tfatws  requested: nope, just something i’ve been thinking about since ep1 of tfatws

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

It felt real, as if he were back there holding the gun with no remorse.

Cold sweat covers Bucky’s body as he pants heavily, feeling the cool tags against his exposed chest rising and falling with his deep breaths that refuse to calm down.

He knew it wasn’t real, it was all in his head. But he knew it happened, even if it was many years ago, he still held the gun in his hand and pulled the trigger.

“It’s not real.” Bucky mutters to himself, glancing up to see the TV silently blaring a football game that he has no interest in, but it proves as a worthy distraction for the time being. “It’s not real.”

Remaining seated on the wooden floorboards with a blanket draped over his lap, Bucky glances over to his phone knowing there are two possible options ahead of him.

A sigh ghosts his lips as he stares at the contact list consisting of five names, only one having been used in the last week, well, month.

“James, you’ve got less than ten contacts in this phone and I’m the only person you’ve called all week.” Doctor Raynor sighs once more as she reaches for her notebook, not caring about the look of disdain crossing Bucky’s expression.

“It’s not like I’ve got anyone else to call.” Bucky shrugs it off, hearing her pen pause on the paper.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding messages from Sam for a start,”

“He doesn’t count.” Bucky remarks, hearing another quieter sigh leave her lips.

“Okay, then when was the last time you spoke to her, huh?” She counters, noticing his tense form relax at the mention of you. “Come on, James. If you want to help yourself, you have to keep in touch with those who still care about you.”

“I don’t even know if she does anymore, Doc.” Bucky admits, trying to hold back the sadness in his tone as Raynor closes her notebook.

“You have to try, James.” She reminds him. “Otherwise you’ll never know.”

Swallowing his pride, Bucky presses on the contact and listens as the number rings out. He’s counted the rings endlessly, knowing the hesitation there would be at the other end of the call.

“Hello?” He holds back the desperation clinging to his throat upon hearing someone answer, a loud yawn echoing through the line.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky lowers his head into his metal hand, even if it’s a different arm, it’s still part of the same tormented history. “I, could you come over?” A whisper leaves his lips as silence protrudes. “P,please?”

His ears perk up at the sound of sheets ruffling. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Before Bucky can say his thanks, the line goes dead and the realisation sinks in; he’s going to see you again.

*

Bucky listens closely, hearing you outside of his apartment. He can hear you knock once softly, and a second time with more confidence.

He knows he should hold back a moment and pretend he hasn’t been hovering beside the front door since you hung up a mere twenty minutes ago, but he can’t help himself.

Unlocking the several locks covering the door, Bucky opens it a sliver, allowing you to slip in.

Keeping your head down, your focus remains on your feet as Bucky closes his front door before turning to you.

“I, I didn’t think you’d come.” Bucky admits quietly, afraid to hear what you have to say in response.

“Well,” You start, now lifting your head up to see him and your sentence falters in your mouth. You can’t deny that he looks worse than you envisioned, even during those late nights and early mornings when he woke up screaming in your arms, he’d never looked so grief-stricken like this.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out, following your gaze to his tired eyes, scratches covering his arm from attempting to claw it off in his sleep as sweat still clings to his chest. “it’s not great.”

You scoff under your breath as you follow Bucky through to his small kitchen where he pours you both glasses of water. “That is clearly an understatement.” Accepting the glass, you take the moment to reflect whilst he’s occupied. “How long has this been happening?”

Pausing at the sink, Bucky stares down into his glass of water, remembering the countless nights they attempted to drown him or try shock therapy. And how every time it didn’t work, he remembered it all.

“A while.” He mutters, his grip tightening on the kitchen ledge as his metal hand clenches around the glass, shattering it into the sink.

“James,” You call out, slowly rising from your seat and moving toward him. “I’m right here, you’re here too, alright?”

Standing beside him, you reach out for his hand, easing his grip on the counter until he lets go.

“You’re right here.” You repeat to him as his eyes remain tightly closed, his jaw locked and left hand still clenching the broken glass. “You can let go, Bucky.” The words leave your lips in a whisper as the remainder of the glass drops into the sink, and Bucky turns his body to face yours.

“It wasn’t real,” Bucky tells you weakly. “please tell me it wasn’t real.”

Without thinking twice, you lift your hand to rest it against his cheek and Bucky instantly cradles it with his flesh hand, keeping it in place.

“It wasn’t real, James.” You confidently state as he moves your hand and presses a gentle kiss against it. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” You sigh as you both remain in the dimly lit kitchen, the only movement from Bucky as he turns the tap off.

“Nothings been the same since Steve,” He can’t help but trail off, knowing he doesn’t have to explain himself around you. “and I just couldn’t face it, not with all that history.”

Stepping backwards, you let your hand slip from his as you lean against the counter, crossing your arms. “But what about the rest of us, Bucky? You just stopped answering, after everything we’ve been through.” You try to keep your voice low, remain calm, but after all this time, it’s difficult to not let your feelings get in the way. “I’ve lost all of you. Sam, Wanda, Peter, Clint, Bruce, Thor and now you too.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” Bucky breathes out. “I never meant to hurt you, I, I’ve been making amends.”

Walking past you, Bucky rummages through his bedside table, revealing the well-worn notebook.

“Was that?” You don’t have to finish your question before Bucky nods, flipping through the pages to a series of names scribbled down.

“These are all the people I wronged or hurt or who were affected by the Winter Soldier.” Bucky explains, holding the book out to you.

He watches closely as your eyes scan over the names, flipping through the pages seeing those crossed out or circled or left untouched. Until you see the last name on the list, yours.

“Y/n, I’m truly sorry for leaving you, for causing you any pain.” Bucky begins to explain as you close the notebook, placing it back on the counter out of sight. “I know I can’t take back what I’ve done, for disappearing for months without warning, but I,” Unable to fight his emotions, Bucky cracks.

You reach out as he curls up to the ground, quiet sobs wracking through his body as you hold him close.

“It’s okay,” You shush him as you fall to a sitting position, Bucky curling his head into your lap once more. “we can talk about this in the morning, okay?”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Bucky tenses beneath you before sparing you a glance, allowing you to see those blue eyes, the ones you’ve missed falling asleep beside and waking up to, those same blue eyes that hold so much pain you can’t comprehend.

“No,” You whisper, running your fingers through his short hair, missing how the long ends used to feel against your face in the mornings. “I promise, I won’t go.” You lean back against the cabinets as Bucky begins to relax beneath you, his metal arm outstretched whilst his flesh arm remains around your waist, hugging you close.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Bucky sadly asks, looking out toward the dark hallway of his apartment, seeing nothing besides the faint glare of the tv. “I, I’m not dreaming this again am I?”

The thought breaks your heart as you rest your hand on his shoulder, running your fingers along the faint scar that remains etched into his skin.

“It’s real, Bucky.” You tell him, trying to disguise the cry that is lodged in your throat. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Despite your words of comfort, Bucky closes his eyes uneasily, wondering when he’ll wake up from this dream to the painful reality he truly lives in.

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[little-spoiled-brat]

I need comfort from levi so 3 sfw pretty please

WRITING PROMPT # 29:

"shh, you're safe"

pairing: levi x reader

cw: mentions of a minor injury, slight spoilers for season 1, a worried levi

- lost and found -

after needing to stay back from the expedition because of an injury on your ankle, you were the only one left in the headquarters.

you were sitting on your bed, quietly reading a book and enjoying the peace and quiet hallways of the headquarters that you rarely got to enjoy. the scouts left early that morning for an expedition, levi insisted he stayed back but he was desperately needed in every expedition outside the walls to heighten the chance of humanity reclaiming freedom.

the quiet surroundings quickly turned into a mess of screams and panic. you got out of bed and limped your way to the roof to get a closer look on what was happening.

the gate of trost was gone and titans were slowly entering the district. fear filled your senses, seeing that this was a serious situation - with levi and the others gone and you being unable to fight because of your injury, you were pretty much defenseless.

you could hear the garrison members evacuating the district, panicked thumping of people's footsteps as they hurried to the boats going to wall sina. you should've evacuated too but instead, you stayed in the headquarters.

if the scouts - if levi were to search for you, the first place they would look would be here. right?

you curled up on the floor of levi's office, pressing yourself against the wall and waited for anyone to find you.

meanwhile, erwin had just ordered a retreat after getting news that trost has been broken into by titans. scheduling the expedition for another time, they went back to trost.

levi on the other hand, went into panic mode once he heard that trost has fell. you were the only one in his mind as he rode back to the gate, he wasn't sure if you were able to evacuate because of your injury. and walls, was he pleading with everything that you were unharmed.

they reached the wall, going right through the non existent gate of trost. erwin started commanding orders, left, right and center but levi continued.

erwin and hange yelled for him to come back but his mind was too distracted of the thought of your safety. levi reached the boats, searching for you amongst the crowd.

"rico!" levi called out as she turned around at the sound of a familiar voice. "captain levi-"

"have you seen y/n? she was left in headquarters because of an injury and i need to know if she's safe" levi said, calmly but he was panicking on the inside. rico looked around as if trying to retrace her steps and recall the events a few minutes ago.

"some garrison members did a perimeter check a few minutes ago and one of them told me that y/n made it to sina" rico said, levi would've sighed in relief but he didn't - he wouldn't until he was sure you were really safe.

levi couldn't get to sina right away so he stayed in trost to fight off the human eating titans that evaded the district, hoping that the soldier that told rico you were safe was right.

hours later, the wall was plugged up by some titan shifter from the cadets of the 104th and all the remaining titans were eliminated. he still had the titan shifter situation to handle but it was the least of his problems.

"erwin! i'm going to sina, i need to find y/n" levi said to the blonde commander as he got on his horse. erwin simply nodded, knowing that levi would never stop until he was certain of your safety.

a ride from trost to stohess was a certain few hours but with levi's determination, he managed to made it to stohess within an hour. he wasn't sure where to look first, with the amount of refugees from both wall maria and wall rose, you could be anywhere in here.

levi started asking the garrison members that were assigned to keep the situation in order, even asked some of the military police if they have seen you.

"oi, nile! have you seen y/n?" levi called out to the commander as nile headed towards him. despite the ongoing hatred between the two regiments, at a time like this, they would help each other within a heartbeat.

"y/n? evacuation ended a few minutes ago, she never made it to sina" nile said as he looked through the documents he held of the names of the refugees that just entered their district. levi's face fell, if you weren't here and you weren't in trost. where the hell could you be?

"fuck- thanks, nile" levi quickly said, planning to head back to trost. he was tired from going back and forth and from fighting hours before but he couldn't get tired now - not when you're practically missing.

silence filled the area, faint sounds of odm gear was heard every now and then. you continued to hold yourself together, it was getting dark and you were certain that no one was left in trost except for the one's who fought the titans.

your injury started to hurt immensely again, unable to stand up or even walk to find someone. your eyes started tearing up from both the pain from your leg and from fear.

"levi" you whimpered, burying your face in your knees as fresh unshed tears fell down your cheeks. that was the best way you could comfort yourself right now.

you were just hoping that they would come back soon.

meanwhile, levi had made it back to trost. he let his horse get some rest, gratefully petting it as a thanks for getting him back and forth within two hours.

"levi!" hange called out, waving her arms around as she ran towards him with moblit following her. "what happened? did you find y/n?"

"no. nile said she never made it to sina. fuck, where could she be?" levi said, frustration lacing his tone as he sighed deeply to remain calm.

"are we allowed to get back to headquarters?" levi asked the four eyed titan loving woman as she shook her head.

"we're still cleaning up and not to mention the kid who can turn into a titan" hange said, her eyes quickly shifting into the look when she's thinking about her precious titans.

"tch. i'm heading back to headquarters, tell erwin that if he asks for me" levi grumbled, not in the mood to stand around any longer and hear the section commander ramble on about titans.

before hange or moblit could say anything, levi had already attached himself to a building and headed to headquarters. his feet landed before the gates, pushing it open and running inside.

"y/n!" your head shot up upon hearing a voice call your name. you stood up, pain shooting through your leg as you hissed. you limped and left levi's office, following the voice that called out to you.

"y/n! are you here?"

"tch. brat! are you here?"

your eyes widened at the familiar pet name, you took up all your energy and dragged yourself along the halls to get to where levi was. every step you took threatened you to collapse but you pushed through the immense pain.

"levi!" you called out, reaching the stairs at the end of the hallway as the familiar figure of your lover appeared in front of you. levi sprinted up the stairs and caged you in his arms tightly.

"where were you? i went back and forth to rose and sina looking for you" levi said, holding you tightly and kissing the top of your head repeatedly. you pulled away, tears falling down your cheeks as he wiped them away.

"i was here. i didn't leave because of my leg and i thought this was the first place you would look so i stayed" you cried, clinging onto him as he cursed at himself for not thinking that.

"i'm so sorry, y/n. i'm sorry it took me so long to find you" levi apologized as you cried onto his shirt, clutching the fabric tightly in your hands. your tears dampening his uniform but he didn't care - you were here and you were safe.

"i was so scared, when i saw the titans and- and realizing that i can't fight or leave because of my leg-" you cried as levi shushed you gently, rubbing your back soothingly.

"i know, brat. shh, you're safe. i'm with you" levi assured, holding you tightly as if you would disappear if he lets you go. you cried on his chest until your sobbing stopped after a few minutes.

"do you want to come with me or do you want to stay here? eyebrows need me to deal with that brat that could shift into a titan but if you want me to stay, i'll stay" levi said as you leaned up and kissed him on the lips.

"you'll come back, right?"

"of course i will. i will always come back to you no matter what"

and with that, levi left the headquarters again with you safely tucked in your shared bed to get rest. it took a while for the clean up to finish but the hallways started filling with the noises of the scouts that you loved so much and along with that, levi came back to you like he promised.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

7 or 11 jmart for the kiss prompts??

thank you so much for the prompt!! asdfgghjkll i swear i didn't mean to post a post 200 separation fic on the same day as you (i was actually working on this last night).

this is a version of the scenario i wrote in love letters where martin and jon are separated after 200. but there is absolutely no need to read love letters to understand this.

warning for discussion of the panopticon scene in 200, and for a moment of jon wishing for the Eye to return (limited to the first section).

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss & 11. “I almost lost you” kiss

Waking up without Martin almost feels like dying all over again. That horrible moment where Jon opens his eyes in the hospital, on the other side, and doesn't see Martin… he'd take being stabbed a dozen times over this. 

When he wakes up and finds Martin gone, he thinks he's lost him. That Martin's died, that he's trapped on the other side buried in rubble, dead because of Jon, and Jon's survived somehow when he really doesn't deserve to… or that Martin's alive, maybe, just maybe, but he's somewhere else entirely. One of the other worlds Annabelle spoke of, or their original world—which maybe Jon should hope for; Martin would have the others, assuming they survived, and he'd be safe from the fears, safe from whatever horrible things they've unleashed on this world with one quick motion of a knife.

Jon should hope for this, that Martin is safe and that he has the others. But he's selfish, and they promised together, and he misses Martin with everything in him. 

He's at a hospital in London, he figures out eventually. The hospital closest to where the Magnus Institute was, in another world. The nurse reports that they found him on the site where Millbank Prison used to be, and isn't that weird? And that they found him there alone. (Jon's throat closes up at that, his eyes stinging, and he pretends he's tired so the nurse will leave, so he can cry in peace.) Martin wasn't with him. Martin didn't come through.  

But after a few days lying in the hospital with nothing but his thoughts, nothing else to do, Jon starts to question this. They have no idea how this all works, the tapes and the Web and the crack between the worlds… Surely he wasn't the only one to come through. Annabelle Cane thought she'd come through or die, and if Jon came through… and they didn't find her where they found Jon, either. (Of course, maybe Annabelle ran off before Jon was ever found, but somehow Jon suspects she wouldn’t. She strikes him as someone who likes to be at the center of things.) 

If there's a possibility that Annabelle came through, and landed somewhere differently than Jon, then there is a possibility that Martin came through, too. That he is somewhere, here, and maybe he is alive. 

It's a small possibility. But Jon clings to it with everything in him. 

He can't Look for Martin ( or for Annabelle, really). The Eye is gone. If it is here in this world, it has left him. Jon tries to be grateful for this, and a part of him is—he's been reaching for humanity for so long, all while sinking further and further into something he never wanted, he should be beyond grateful that it's gone, that he is alive and can live, without fading, somewhere else. (Although a part of him insists it doesn't matter if Jon hasn't made it.) But after so long with the Eye as a captor, a safety net, a part of him he thought he couldn't cut away… trying to live without it is strange. It hovers like a phantom limb, something severed by the gaping scar in his chest. He keeps reaching for it, for the horrible comfort of Knowing, and he hates it, but he wants it back deeply. Wants it because he knows he could find Martin with it, just maybe. He keeps thinking, Give it back, just for a moment. Thinks, I'll use it to find Martin and then I'll let go, I won't ever again, I hate it but I need it, I NEED to find him…

It doesn't come back. If Jon is ever going to find Martin, he'll need to do it on his own. 

He asks all the nurses and staff, anyone he comes in contact with, if they've ever met a Martin Blackwood. Asks if there's anyone in his files with that name, or a name like it, begs the nurses to please look around for anyone like that. No luck there. Jon asks for a phone book and gets an odd look; he guesses phone books are out of fashion in this 2018, too. He can't do much while he's in the hospital, and he's about to give up hope on making any progress until he's been discharged. 

But then he manages to get a hold of a laptop. After days of asking, a nurse offers to lend him one, if he promises to keep it quiet, and not to exert himself.  

Jon searches the Internet for hours. There are dozens of Martin Blackwoods, actually, more than he ever could've guessed, and none of them seem to be Martin. He has to consider the fact that Martin may not have existed here—just like Jon didn't exist here, or doesn't seem to have, before they woke up. Which will make it nearly impossible to find him using the Internet—using anything, until Martin has been here long enough to establish a paper trail—if Martin was ever even here in the first place… 

Desperation. Panic. Jon's last resort is to write a letter. To write down every single thing he's wanted to say to Martin, the things in his head when he woke up, the things in his head when he realized Martin wasn't here. He writes it all, says the things he knows only Martin would know, so Martin will know it's him if he ever reads it. And then he spreads it across the Internet. Posts it every single place he can think of. Every social media site. A lot of forums that are frequently visited. Comments on blogs he thinks Martin might read. Anywhere he can think of. He even prints off copies and mails them to every address he can think of that Martin might be at: his Prentiss flat, his post-Prentiss flat, his mum's care home, Upton House, the safehouse. He puts his real name on it, at the very top, and Martin's, hoping that if Martin is searching on the Internet, it might come up…

Jon's desperate. He'll try anything,  any desperate, silly scheme like spreading a love note all over the Internet. Anything to get Martin back.

-

By the time Jon leaves the hospital, his letter has gone viral. Plastered all over the place. There's people picking it apart, speculating about whether it's real, calling it an excellent work of fiction, speculating it's all a joke. There's even some commentary from other Jonathan Simses and Martin Blackwoods, swearing it's of no relation to them. 

None of it is what Jon needs. He checks every iteration obsessively: every comment, repost, retweet. None of it is Martin. None of them are Martin. 

He's still looking. Every single day, he looks, in places beside his letter and its hundred iterations. He searches as far as he can, in every record he can think of. He tries to find places in London that he and Martin frequented—the ones he can find. He even goes back to the Institute, or where it should be. It isn't there, of course. Probably never was. Jon can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

It's all he can do, to look and to keep hoping. It's all he can do. 

It's hard, being alone again, after so long always being at Martin's side… They'd craved space sometimes, and they'd had it, he supposes, but now… Weeks without Martin, one, two, three weeks, and it's excruciating. Jon had said together at the end, he'd promised , and he'd tried so hard to believe it, and now he's here, impossibly, alone. 

He has nightmares almost every night. Nightmares of the Panopticon and the end of the world, the ritual, words forced up through his throat—being at the center of the Eye, at the center of the world with Jonah Magnus at his feet and Martin dying in his arms. Martin forcing the knife into his chest. Jon hasn't dreamed of anything but the statements of others for so long, and he'd thought he missed it, but now… He wakes up almost every night shaking and crying, reaching for Martin. Like clockwork. He thinks he'd do anything for a dream that isn't his, a dream that's not an endless reminder of what he's done. 

He checks the forums. He searches in familiar places. He lies in bed and thinks of Martin, tries to look for Martin, silently begs for help from anyone who might be listening (the Web, the Eye, anyone). Nothing works. Nothing.

The reminders come like clockwork: Jon might be looking for no one, might be shouting out to someone who isn't there. Martin might be dead. It might be too late to get him back. 

-

Three weeks in, Jon finds a comment on the original forum, the original place he posted the letter on that first day. A comment from an m.blackwood . 

Jon reads it with his heart in his throat. Trembling with hope. Unable to hope completely. There's a dozen different things it could be besides him. 

The comment says I thought you were dead. It says, I'm sorry. It says, I love you, says, I'm coming. 

Jon's chin trembles, his eyes stinging. He fumbles at the keyboard with shaking fingers to instant-message m.blackwood, types out his address immediately, without thinking. (He has to type it out three times before he gets it right, his hands are shaking so hard.) And after that, I miss you. Even though he said it in the letter, even though it might not be Martin—it could be someone else fucking with him, a troll or whatever it's called; it could be the Web or the Stranger, luring him into a trap. But Jon doesn't care. He doesn't care. If there's any chance, any chance it's Martin… 

The reply comes a few minutes later: I'm coming. I'm so sorry. I miss you too. I'm coming right now. And Jon wipes his eyes, presses his face into his hands, and allows himself to hope. 

-

An hour and a half later, someone is buzzing for his flat. Jon runs so fast to the door that he almost slips and falls in the hall, hits the button with entirely too much force and breathes, " Martin? " into the intercom. 

Silence for a moment, long enough that Jon starts to wonder if this is just some random person he's practically sobbing down the line at. And then a voice answers, tear-choked: "Jon?" 

Jon nearly collapses with the weight of this voice, Martin's voice. He leans hard against the wall, his eyes burning, and says, "Martin, I-I'm buzzing you in," wiping his eyes frantically. 

He doesn't move from the door, stays leaning against the wall like it is the only thing keeping him up, until he hears a tentative knock on the other end. And then he's yanking it open, as hard as he can, and on the other side is Martin. Not something pretending to be Martin, not another Martin Blackwood, but his Martin. His Martin, standing there with the faded marks of bruising, his left arm in a cast and a new scar across his forehead, tears pooling in his eyes. Martin. Jon can't breathe for a moment, can't move, can't go to Martin because it doesn't feel real, none of it. 

And then Martin's saying, "Jon?" and bursting into harsh, frantic sobs. And Jon's rushing forward. He's rushing forward and letting Martin collapse in his arms, gripping Martin tightly, his fingernails digging into Martin's shoulders, his face pressed into Martin's neck. He's trying to hold on without squeezing or holding too tight, in case Martin's hurt worse than he knows—he's saying Martin's name over and over again, a senseless litany into Martin's skin: Martin, Martin. He's crying, too, hot tears dotting the fabric of Martin's shirt. He's burrowing as close as he can, pulling Martin into him, desperate to feel every part of him—it's him, he's here, it's Martin, they haven't lost each other. 

Martin's holding on just as tightly, trembling in Jon's arms where they've sunk to the ground, right in Jon's doorway. He's crying so hard, it's difficult to understand what he's saying, but eventually Jon begins to make it out. He's saying I'm so sorry. Again and again, muffled into Jon's hair: I'm so sorry.  

"No," Jon says, suddenly desperate. " Martin. No." He pulls back to look Martin in the eye, to try and wipe the tears off of Martin's face (even though he is crying, too). Leans up to press a kiss against Martin's forehead. "Martin, please, please… p-please don't apologize, please…"

"I killed you," Martin chokes out, his eyes shut, his dark lashes wet against his cheeks. "I killed you, Jon, I hurt you, a-and I… I thought you were dead, wh-when I woke up here, w-without you, I thought I'd never see you again, because of me… "

"I thought I'd lost you, " Jon says, quietly, through his own tears. He wipes the tears from Martin's face again and again. "A-and it really would've been my fault, because I lied to you, I-I was the reason you were up there… Martin, please. " 

" Jon. " Martin tugs him a little closer, burrows closer still, his face pressed into the juncture between Jon's shoulder and his neck. 

"It's okay." Jon kisses Martin's forehead again, his temple, his cheek, the top of his head. "Martin. Martin, it's—you're here, it can all be okay now…" 

Martin leans up abruptly to catch Jon's mouth with his. It's salty and lingering and desperate, every single thing Jon has felt in these long horrible days without Martin, every single kiss he wanted to give Martin while he was gone. Jon sinks into it, gripping Martin as tightly as he can, gripping onto his shirt, kissing Martin fiercely, with the panicked relief of being alive, of finding each other again. 

Even when the kiss finishes, they don't let go. They stay there, clinging to each other in the doorway, leaning against Jon's open door. Martin's still crying, still trembling in Jon's arms; he says, I missed you too, I missed you so much; Jon says, Martin, I missed you every single day. Every single moment. 

Martin whispers I love you against Jon's hair. Saying it back is as easy as breathing.

[slasherscream]

Hi I don’t know if you write for Thomas Hewitt or Vincent Sinclair but if you do you could you please make some headcanons about them and the other slashers like if they got into a fight with their s/o and how it would go, what it would be about, and how they would make up with their s/o please? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to. But if you do then thank you so much!

fighting with the slashers 

A/N: i do write for vincent (on a related note i also write for bo and maybe lester i haven’t tried him out yet)!

vincent sinclair 

You didn’t stay put when Vincent told you to and you got hurt. 

You hadn’t planned to leave. Until the sun started to go down and no one came back to the house to check up on you the way they so often do when there are visitors in town.

You are Ambrose’s second best kept secret. Alive because Vincent took one look at you and couldn’t bare to hurt you. And though Bo gripes about you he couldn’t tell Vincent no. Not when Bo saw the way Vincent held you behind him, head lowered but shoulders set, ready to actually fight him on something for once in their lives. 

So you’re kept in the house when there are people around. Other than not being able to leave it’s your only real rule. Vincent wants you to have no part in the more grisly aspects of the town and Bo and Lester honor his wish.

But the town is dead silent and no one has come to check on you. Most times Lester even comes to stay with you like some sort of babysitter. It used to irritate you, despite your fondness for the youngest brother. Now without him there your hands shake, and your eyes wander, and your ears burn as if pumping extra blood there will make you hear better. But there’s nothing to be heard. No screams. No cries. No Bo shouting. No guns going off. 

So you leave the house, searching for one of them. Instead you’re found by a survivor and held hostage in front of the twins. 

You all stand still for a long while, the victim not knowing what to do and the boys unable to move due to the knife digging into your neck, already drawing blood. 

Lester had been the one to save you, sneaking up behind your captor and stabbing them. You ran to Vincent on shaking legs and he gathered you into his arms, moving to take you back home. You could hear the screams of the man who’d almost killed you ringing through the streets behind you and shivered.

Vincent had cleaned your cut in silence and somehow had managed to barely touch you. Before you could blink he’d shut himself into his workshop and you were left alone until Bo came home and chewed you out.

You kept yourself busy cleaning and then prepared for bed, knowing it would be awhile before Vincent would come and join you. The sleep didn’t come easy as you were still shaken up, but eventually it came. 

You woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and realized that if you didn’t go to get him Vincent wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

You walk drowsily through Ambrose’s underbelly, the smoldering heat not doing you any favors, until you arrive at Vincent’s workshop where he’s hunched over his desk, unmoving. 

Not wanting to startle him you call his name quietly and you see his head tilt in acknowledgement but he doesn’t turn to look at you. 

Slowly you move until your front is resting against his back, even slower your arms encircle him and you kiss his shoulder, feeling guilty at the tension laying dormant in them. “I’m sorry, Vince. I was just worried about you so... so I left the house. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I won’t do it again.”

He turns and there’s a pause, and then he moves his hands, fluid but slow. They’re shaking despite how strong you know they are. He tells you how he can’t lose you. How he loves you. He asks you to promise him that next time you’ll listen and you do, and you mean it. 

It’s only then that he pulls you into his lap and holds you tightly. You think he’s crying behind his mask but you just hold him back equally as tight and whisper I’m sorry against his steady pulse. 

pelle

He doesn’t like the company you keep. 

He has a plan. He has a plan to take you away from this strange, uncaring world that doesn’t deserve you. That doesn’t love you or care about you. If he sticks to the plan everything will be so easy. 

But sometimes Pelle loves you too much to bite his tongue. 

He can see it clearly, your perfect future where he takes care of you, and his family takes care of you, and you let them do it, and you’re happier for it; but you don’t live in that perfect future, you live in the frigid, imperfect present.

Here you stay up late in the night to help a friend finish a term paper when last week they didn’t even call when you were sick. You gave a classmate your umbrella to borrow a month ago, and today you come back shaking from the rain because they never bothered to return it.

A thousand little kindnesses that the world outside the Hårga spit on. 

He knows that all these moments of careless apathy towards you will only strengthen the draw you’ll feel when you finally meet his family.

You have the heart of a Hårga and he knows that you’ll feel that connection.

Still, the way the outside world, the way your friends and family slight you at every turn, makes his blood run hot. He’s never felt anger like this before. It is all consuming and yet he must stomach it alone.

And so his tongue is careless sometimes. He asks in tones that he shouldn’t use with you “you’re going out with them again?” and “but didn’t they-?” and still he is angry. The words do not ease the feelings because they do not fix the problem. 

Pelle must lead you into the arms of his family and their way of life. He cannot push you. But he doesn’t know how not to take care of you. 

He wants to beat away the leeches and moths that cling to your light and whisk you away to home where the sun will warm you with its love.

Your fights are gentle, and so you might never refer to them as fights when people ask you if you ever argue with Pelle. 

There is no yelling, or balled fists, or the animal sensation of fight or flight. He leads you to sit down with him and holds your face in his hands. Unthinkingly you mimic the gesture and he smiles at you lovingly. One kiss and he tells you that he doesn’t like your friends. Another and he says that you deserve better, deserve the world. 

You try to get a word in edgewise, to deny the claims he makes, to tell him that they really do care about you, but the words are smothered by his soft lips. He kisses you until your brain goes somewhere loved and numb. He slips your coat off of your shoulders and pulls you close. He keeps you there until you forget that you had anywhere to be besides his arms. 

You and Pelle don’t fight. 

chucky and tiffany 

Tiffany is used to Chucky being a piece of shit. You are not.

Upside to fighting with Chucky is that Tiffany is immediately on your side, even if you’re in the wrong (I’m joking it’s always Chucky’s fault.)

Downside is that the whole house is now up in fucking chaos. 

chucky: tiff where are my fucking keys?

tiffany: in hell! why don’t you go and grab them?

You appreciate her fighting spirit but she’s really going in on y’all’s man. 

Which is not to say that Chucky doesn’t deserve it. Because he does deserve it, but you know from personal experience that being on Tiffany’s bad side is scary.

Why are you and Chucky fighting? Chucky is an insensitive asshole, and even the toughest skin isn’t bullet proof. 

The aftermath of whatever Chucky did is a lot of sullen silence from you; the sounds of a knife chopping a little too loudly in the kitchen from Tiff; and loud bits of huffing and puffing from Chucky as he stomps around the house. 

At first he thinks he can just wait out your anger until you start missing him. It used to work with Tiffany all the time!

But this relationship involves three people. You’re not so quick to get desperately lonely, especially if Tiffany isn’t the partner you’re fighting with. Do you miss Chucky? Sure. Do you miss him enough to let him be an asshole just to get some cuddle time in on the couch? As if! Tiffany is the better cuddler anyway. 

The man child is going to have to say sorry and mean it. 

Of course this means that your relationship is going be sans-Chucky for at least a week.

Tiffany reaches the breaking point before Chucky does. Obviously more in-tune with your feelings she can tell how much the fight is getting to you and no one messes with her sweetheart! Not even Chucky.

You’re going to hear her delicately clearing her throat, look up from your phone, and find Tiffany holding Chucky at fucking knife point. 

tiffany: do you have anything to say, chucky?

chucky, trying to decide if he’ll let tiffany kill him just to prove a point: ....

tiffany: i’ll start with your dick-

chucky: i’m sorry! are you fucking hAPPY?!

You’re gonna be like no!!! I do not accept the apology you gave me under extreme duress! At which point you turn over in bed and pull the covers over your head.

You’ll hear rapid-fire whispering and then the bed dips behind you. A knee presses into your back, and kisses are pressed carelessly to where your head should be beneath the covers. Then, finally, the quietest “I didn’t mean it, doll.” as he pulls the blanket back in order to look at your face. 

You’re stopped dead by the softness on his face. By the softness he let’s you see, even if it’s only for a moment. It might not be the words I’m sorry but it sounds like them. It sounds like an I miss you, as well.

When you drop your phone and throw your arms around his neck, touching him for the first time in a week, Chucky sighs in relief. 

Not ten seconds passes before Tiffany has thrown herself over the both of you, suffocating you in her loving embrace. Just like that, balance is restored in the Lee Ray-Valentine household. For now. 

[noaltbruh]

I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

[kim-ruzek]

life's strange sense of humour

Summary: Kim, Hailey, Sylvie and Stella all conceive their babies around the same time... Then also go into labour on the same day. Pure Crack, but taken seriously because this is me.

Or; a love letter to the upgess friendship because they went funny fic? Nah, we're gonna make it wholesome.

Warnings: Childbirth, I guess.

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on AO3

Notes: So. I had this funny thought months ago, recently talked about it with Cíara when they mentioned something similar and I'm having Thoughts about how I want the upgess friendship to go so apparently my mind went yes, write this, please.

Also Cíara: it's not the child number we decided and not the exact circumstances but I couldn't help but make burzek's conception happen this way 👀

Life, Kim has learned, can have a strange sense of humour sometimes.

This, she thinks to herself as her and Hailey stare, open mouthed, speechless, shocked at each other, is definitely one of those times.

“I... What?.. I,” Hailey stumbles out, her eyes wide, Kim staring back with equally wide eyes, watching as the blonde tries to process this, tries to process how they even happened—all while wondering herself what the chances of this happening are, that this can only be because life has a strange taste in what’s funny.

“This—this isn’t right, right? Kim, right?” Hailey almost looks desperate at her, glancing down at the stick in her hand and back up at Kim frantically, her eyes darting as she does so, gliding over the pink positive line like if she doesn’t focus on it, it won’t be there.

“Well, I kinda hope it is,” Kim lets out a dry kind of laugh as she answers, glancing at her own stick, with a matching pink line. “Since we brought these together and I—I want to be pregnant.”

The panic lessens briefly in Hailey’s eyes, her friend smiling again at Kim’s own shock. “Right, yeah. And you want to be pregnant—so no more freaking out, yeah?”

Hailey grabs Kim’s hand with her spare one, giving it a supportive squeeze. “No more freaking out, this is good.”

Kim smiles back at her friend, the hand holding her stick drifting over her flat stomach. Her earlier worries—about if she can do this, if she could handle being pregnant again—still clinging to her but not making her feel as sick, the joy and excitement at being pregnant, at having Adam’s baby in her again, flooding her stronger. She repeats her friend’s words in her mind; this is good.

“But like—yours could be right, and mine wrong? Right? Like that could happen? I mean— people get false positives. This, mine, it could be false?” Hailey has gone back to freaking out. Kim places her stick down so that she can run her hands down the blonde’s arms, calming her.

“Hailey, breathe. Everything is okay.” Kim pauses, letting Hailey breathe in and out before continuing. “It could be a false positive—it could also be real. But it’s okay, it’s not a crisis if it is real. Have you and Jay discussed kids?”

Hailey smiles momentarily at the mention of her husband, her hand twisting the wedding ring on her finger before answering Kim. “Yeah. I mean, yeah, of course we have. A few times—before we were even together, even. Not that we were planning it together—well, not out loud—”

“Hailey.” Kim cuts off her rambling. There’s not many times that the blonde rambles, even when she’s panicking, she keeps a—seemingly—calm head. But when she does, she can really start to spiral.

“Sorry.” Hailey stops, running a hand through her hair, the other still clinging to the stick, almost as if she can’t put it down, like the thought is something incredibly out there and impossible.

“What have you discussed? Do you two want kids?” Kim gently probes.

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.” Another short-lived smile. “But not—not now. It’s still, it’s something in the future. And we still weren’t fully decided if we’d do it this way, like I always wanted to adopt but I know, I know it’s not a walk in the park and we’ve been talking. I’ve been wondering if it was just because of the fear of my genes and I. We agreed we’ll leave it for a bit, but that’s gone out the window.”

Hailey pauses, running her hand through her hair again, before groaning. “Kim, tell me, what should I do?”

Kim gently holds both of her hands, closing Hailey’s fist around the stick. “You talk to Jay.”

That seems to calm the blonde, Hailey getting a soft smile on her face—the face Kim has dubbed her Jay smile. “Yeah. I talk to Jay.”

“Okay. Can we leave now—I think if we’re any longer Adam might just walk in. You know he has no patience,” Kim looks at Hailey’s expression carefully, noting every part of it, making sure that her friend is good enough to get through the rest of the day.

“Yeah. Yes.” Hailey nods, pulling Kim into a hug. “Thanks, Kim. And congratulations, again. This is really great.”

Kim squeezes her back, looking forward to when she might—maybe—be able to say it back to Hailey.

The day had started with Kim throwing up in the toilet. She had been feeling nauseous for a few days, going in waves, and that feeling—that thought that it might be because she’s pregnant and not because it’s flu season—had been in the back of her mind.

She had tried not to focus on that thought too much, not wanting to go down that path, not when it could just be a bug. Not wanting to give herself hope, only to get it taken from her.

Kim had rationalised it, even the throwing up. It was a minute amount, nothing compared to when she was pregnant the first time. Adam had a food related bug the other day, so this could just be that, Kim had told herself. Things tend to hit her a bit slower, after all.

And then there’s that Sylvie has a stomach bug—one that’s kept her in bed all week, texting Kim often to complain when Matt is on shift. And Kim had hung out with Sylvie the day before she fell ill. This, Kim told herself, is probably just it affecting her, now, too.

This day was the first time she threw up, and so was the first time she told Adam she’s been feeling nauseous. His reaction was exactly how she predicted it would be.

He had lifted an eyebrow, pausing as he sipped his coffee. “Are you... Do you think..?”

Adam had asked it very casually, his expression neutral. Like her, he was unable to say the words, finish the sentence, neither one of them wanting to voice the possibility, not wanting to voice it in case it’s not, not wanting the hurt associated with false hope.

“I don’t know. It’s probably a bug.” Kim had answered and he had hummed in response. A part of her wished that she wouldn’t tell him this, that she wouldn’t be having this conversation with him when it’s just a thought and not even, really, much of a possibility.

But communication is important, a lesson she had learnt many times before—that in the long run, it does more than doesn’t. And it’s not good for her, for herself, to keep these thoughts locked up only in her brain. Especially when having more kids is something they want.

It’s not like they’re actively trying. Kim’s only just come off birth control, and the doctor warned them it takes a while for her body to adjust. They had even been using condoms, occasionally, as it makes the clean up easier in their busy lives.

That had been all they had said to each other, then, needing to get Makayla ready and to school, before heading to work themselves. But it was only a few hours later, when another wave of nausea had washed over her while Adam and her were in the break room that she had stopped them making the coffee, grabbing at Adam’s arm.

“I should get a test.” Kim had told him, murmuring, but her urgency clear. She knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until she knew if she was or not, the thoughts in her mind almost distracting her.

“Okay. Now? We can say we’re going to see a CI?” Adam immediately got his game face on, and that’s when she had started to panic. About what if she is pregnant, about if she’s ready to be pregnant again, about if she can handle it.

Suddenly, the thought of simply peeing on a stick seemed impossible.

Hailey had entered the break room, then, and had took on look at Kim’s panicked expression and Adam trying to calm her to know that something was up. It only took one look between her and Adam, after Hailey asked if she was okay, for them to fill in Hailey, needing another voice to help them through this.

“Hey, calm down.” Hailey had said in that way of hers. “It’ll be okay and there’s no point panicking until you know—and here. If it’s too much to pee alone, I’ll take one with you. Moral support.”

It was an insane idea, Adam staring at Hailey incredulously. But it clicked in Kim’s brain, and she found herself saying yes before she knew what she was doing.

They had used the CI lie instead, telling Voight they were going to see one of Hailey’s. Kim had watched as Hailey tried not to focus on Jay’s eyes following them out the bullpen, not wanting to let him know there was anything more to it—good, considering.

The journey there and back was filled with Kim’s nervous ramblings to Hailey, as she voiced her fears and worries about this, the blonde just listening patiently and giving her comfort and support when she needed it.

They had taken the tests in the district ladies room, Adam waiting outside—probably shooing away anyone else. Which, Kim had thought, probably means Trudy will have a theory to her being pregnant before the day is up.

“It’ll be alright, Kim.” Hailey had reassured her as they waited those long two minutes. Hailey had gotten out her phone, had set a timer for them and even though Kim could see the seconds counting down, it felt like eternity.

“I can’t. Can you look at it?” Kim had asked after the minutes were up, unable to look at the stick, feeling quite like her heart was in her throat. Hailey had rolled her eyes good-naturedly, before telling Kim that she will.

The excited yelp that left Hailey’s mouth almost instantly after told Kim all she needed to know and Kim turned the stick to look at it herself, and seeing that amazing pink line.

“I’m pregnant! Hailey, I’m pregnant!” Kim couldn’t help her own excitement, throwing her arms around the blonde, squeezing her into a hug.

“Oomph,” Hailey clearly hadn’t been prepared for that, lifting her arms weirdly at the sudden brunette weight barrelled into her and that’s when Kim saw it.

Hailey’s own stick.

Hailey’s own stick, with her own pink line.

“Hailey!” Kim gasped before she can stop it, squeaking out her friend’s name. Hailey pulled back from the hug, frowning at Kim.

“What?”

“Your...” Kim couldn’t finish the sentence, instead she pointed at the stick and watched as Hailey looked down at it, watching the comprehension and then shock over take her face.

It’s a few days later, and Kim is sitting in Molly’s. Sylvie has gotten over her bug and immediately organised a girl’s night out. Not that Kim or Hailey will be drinking—a shame, since Sylvie had told them that she and Stella had some exciting news.

The day after the found out, Hailey had come into work and whispered into Kim’s ear that everything was okay. That her and Jay decided that this is unexpected but welcome, and they had a doctor’s appointment to confirm it.

Very little people know yet. Kim has been to the doctor, the doctor confirming she is ten weeks along. They told Kevin almost immediately, Trudy—as Kim guessed—had yet again figured it out and of course Hailey knows, alongside Jay.

They told Voight, just so Kim could explain why she doesn’t want to go out in the field—can’t, really, her pregnancy being somewhat of a high risk—although she’s waiting until Monday to officially disclose.

This weekend Adam and her have plans to tell Makayla, something she’s quite excited too, knowing how much her daughter wants to be a big sister, having been begging them for a baby for months—well, that or a puppy.

Hailey and Jay have only told, obviously her and Adam, and Will. They’re waiting until after today—the day of their doctor’s appointment—before disclosing and Kim and Hailey had a conversation about announcing it to their mutual friends, deciding it might be nice to do it together. Of course, it depends on how along Hailey is.

“Hey,” Hailey slips into the booth next to her and Kim smiles in greeting to her friend.

“Hey. How did the appointment go?” Kim asks, knowing once Sylvie and Stella gets here they won’t be able to discuss the pregnancies.

“Great,” Hailey practically beams. “We heard the heartbeat! Jay cried.”

Kim laughs slightly. “So did Adam. I mean, so did I, but I cry at everything.”

At that, Hailey laughs too. “Kim, so does Adam. Not like you—but I wouldn’t say he’s not a crier. Jay—I’ve seen him cry, but, man, it was. It just hit me, this is the father of my baby. And it made me more happy then I think the heartbeat did. We were both raised by a men who never be seen crying but our baby isn’t going to have that. It was...it was wonderful.”

“I’m so happy for you. Congratulations,” Kim pulls her into a hug before quickly adding on, checking to see if Sylvie and Stella had arrived yet. “So come on, quick. How far along are you?”

At that, Hailey excitedly grabs her arms. “Yes! How could I forget! Kim, you’ll never guess—I’m also ten weeks along!”

Life, Kim thinks again, really does have a strange sense of humour.

A thought she once again thinks when Stella and Sylvie arrive and they make their announcement.

“We’re pregnant. Both of us.” They announce and Kim’s mouth drops open, and she realises they all ordered water instead of alcohol. She barely knows how to process this, Hailey squeezing her hand in shock under the table, but before she can, they’re dropping the next bombshell.

“Stella found out about a week or so ago, I found out earlier this week when I kept throwing up. We’re both around ten weeks,” Sylvie continues.

“No fucking way.” The words drop out of Hailey’s mouth, and judging by the way she gasps, holding her hands across her mouth, Kim guesses she didn’t mean them too. Kim tries to calm her down, widening her eyes at the blonde, but the other two catch on to that there’s something going on.

Kim sighs, after Hailey gives her the go ahead. “Hailey and I—we’re also pregnant. Ten weeks.”

Life has a strange sense of humour.

Kim doesn’t think there’s any mutual acquaintance in their lives who doesn’t somewhat doubt that the four couples didn’t plan this. If Kim wasn’t living through it, she’d scarcely believe it herself. Especially when they narrowed it down and are pretty sure all four pregnancies are the result of a faulty condom—condoms taken from Kelly’s infamous bathroom supply.

Kelly and Stella are self explanatory. They hadn’t used them in a while, but Stella was changing birth control and so they did. Matt and Sylvie a little bit less, but still less incredulous. Matt doesn’t live with Kelly and Stella anymore, but the guestroom—now a nursery—was still open to them any time, the boys having slight separation issues. And apparently when they did this, they’d just use Kelly’s supply.

Jay and Hailey had apparently ran out, and they hadn’t gotten more before Stella and Kelly hosted a night at theirs and Jay had apparently thought grabbing a handful from the supply would be a good idea. Hailey almost questioned her choice in man then, not that Kim could judge her.

Because on that same night, Adam and her were getting a little too flirty and when they realised they were feeling a little loud than they can be, with Makayla sleeping at home, they, in their wisdom, decided why not do it in Adam’s jeep.

And they didn’t have any protection, naturally, on them so Adam had grabbed a condom for Kelly’s supply.

And thus, all four pregnancies were made.

There are benefits, however, Kim would happily admit. Voight, maybe not, depending he’s down two members and another two when there’s doctor appointments. And with them being due around the same time, they’ll be a month he’s down all four, give and take. The unit—especially Kevin—might also not, especially on the days her and Hailey’s hormones and cravings and hated smells conflicted.

But there are benefits. Having your three close friends going through the same things is nice, especially when they could see if a symptom or something is usual—especially when one of the friends is a paramedic and the other’s brother in law is a doctor.

It also makes it more fun, all of them—the men included—having a light hearted race about who’s bump shows first, who kicks and moves first and so forth. It made the pregnancies that little bit more fun, even when it was miserable, even when doubts and anxieties about the upcoming parenthood loomed.

The biggest race, especially as the pregnancies drew closer to the end, was the competition and bets who will go into labour first, who will have their baby before the other.

But, of course, life has a strange sense of humour so, naturally, they all went into labour on the same day.

Stella had technically started the night before, her contractions beginning then. They were far and few in between so she was advised just to wait.

Kim’s had started earlier that morning. She had been woken up at the crack of dawn with back pain. Nothing too unusual at this stage of the pregnancy, but as Adam was helping Makayla pack her lunch for school, Kim’s waters had broke.

When Adam and her had gotten to the hospital, about to update the group chat, they had passed Stella and Kelly and the high five they had shared had raised some nurses eyebrows.

Childbirth being the thing that it is, they didn’t look at the group chat after that. Kim’s contractions were starting to come more frequently, and Adam had left the room to holler at the doctor—only to run into Will. Will, who raised his eyebrow at Adam, and asked if he was here for Hailey and Jay.

Because the one thing Voight joked better not happen, that he can’t be down four members, plus a fifth and the desk sergeant as they were determined to meet Kim and Adam’s second daughter as soon as possible, had happened and Hailey had gone into labour around midday.

Flora Leslie Severide is born first, at seven point six pounds. Her godparents had plans to meet her first, but they had got laid up with their own new arrival so the man who had been like a father to both her parents and his wife met her first.

Alice Trudy Burgess Ruzek is born second, at eight point seven pounds, a weight that got her father nearly cursed at. Her older sister was the first to meet her, shortly followed by their grandmother Trudy and godfather Kevin.

If you were to ask Kim who’s kid would come next, she would’ve guessed the Halstead’s son, but it wasn’t. Sylvie had gone into labour later than the others, but had a much faster labour, her daughter being determined to be born quickly, apparently.

And so, Estelle Kelly Casey is born third, at nearly seven pounds. Met first by her honorary grandfather, Mouch, already at the hospital to be with his wife and her godparents, with her cousin Flora sleeping, having been in the world a little longer.

And finally, Nikolas Patrick Halstead made his arrival, last but the biggest at nine pounds, met by his uncle and godfather first, but shortly followed by uncle Kevin, his godmother Kim and uncle Adam still occupied with his cousin.

Life has a strange sense of humour sometimes but—as Kevin joked—at least they can all split birthday costs with each other and not have to worry about their various aunts and uncles not being able to make it.

Not to mention how it made finding the balance between being new parents and having a social life easier.

And eventually, people stopped looking at them as if they planned this. That is, of course, until Sylvie and Hailey had their second kids—Andrew Casey and Theodore Halstead—at the same time, too.

[softukiyos]

of last dances and goodbyes | bang chan

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦; 𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘶, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘻.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~2.1k+

𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮: @aegrotamograine​

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘩𝘪, 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦! 𝘵𝘩��𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺! >.< 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶!

A sigh of tranquility and dejection left Chan’s lips as he stood at the edge of the balcony, the mindless chatter inside the ballroom fading into the distance at he stared at up at the stars, lost in thought. 

When did the night sky start to look so dull to him? As a matter of fact, when did his eyes start to lose that childlike sparkle of innocence that shielded him from the rest of the world?

“I thought you’d be hiding here, Channie.”

Just the sound of your voice pulled him back to reality, which wasn’t any less dull and heartless at the chilly sky, “You should be inside, Your Highness,” he said, a polite edge to his voice as he turned around to face you, “The birthday girl shouldn’t be missing at her own party.”

You looked as beautiful as ever, a dazzling lavender gown trailing down your body with a soft, cashmere shawl wrapped around your bare shoulders, shielding you from the cold. The jewelry adorning your neck was priceless, brilliant, and everything Chan couldn’t give you. 

“You know don’t care about me, they just want to have a reason to celebrate,” you answered with an amused smile, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you walked towards him, “Besides, I’d much rather be here with you.”

In the past, those words would’ve sent Chan’s heart spiraling into arrest. He would’ve been giddy for days, even weeks. But now, the reality was crashing onto him at a mile a minute, and he could no longer ignore the impending fracture of your once inseparable relationship.

“When do you leave? For his kingdom?” He asked, unable to hide his disdain any longer as he refused to even utter his name.

Your smile fell, and Chan almost felt guilty if he wasn’t so caught up in wallowing in his own heartbreak, “Tomorrow. Minho wanted to give me time to settle in before the...you know.” 

Ah, yes. Chan knew very well what you were referring to, unfortunately for his poor little soul, “You don’t have to sugarcoat it for my sake, Your Highness,” he said with a dry smile, “Your wedding to Prince Minho should be a joyous occasion.”

“If it is so joyous as you say, why do you look so solemn?” You asked, your eyes unwavering in their steadfast nature as you met his gaze, walking closer to him.

“A joyous occasion for you, Princess,” Chan corrected himself, a tightness in his jaw as he maintained his stiff smile. 

You stared at him for a moment longer, almost as if studying how long Chan will continue this farce, this falsehood of a conversation that kept you so far away from even with every physical step closer you took, “You must be angry at me.”

“I wouldn’t dare be angry at a Princess--”

“Just shut up with the stupid formalities and speak to me like a real person, dammit,” you suddenly spit out with such vitriol that even Chan felt thrown aback by your anger. When you caught sight of his shocked expression, your voice cracked as your smile broke, “You’re the only person in this palace that ever truly saw me, truly cared for me, and now I’ll have to leave this place losing you, too?” 

Chan felt a horrified gasp choke up in his throat as he rushed forward without hesitation as he saw your eyes sparkling dangerously under the glow of the lamps, “Princess,” he sighed, reaching to wipe your tears with his thumb before stopping himself. 

He couldn’t do such careless things anymore. You were no longer the free-spirited girl he grew up with, who flirted as she wished and loved as she desired. You were an engaged Princess with a glittering diamond ring wrapped around your middle finger and a duty to the Crown you were born into. 

You ignored his internal turmoil, wiping the corners of your eyes angrily, “There wasn't any other choice, and you know it. You know what kind of position they almost found us in. If I hadn't agreed to this—”

“They would've taken off my head,” Chan finished dully, almost tired of hearing it by now. He was tired of arguing, tired of still thinking himself to be free of any wrongdoing, “An execution for a knight who simply did his duty and loved his princess too much.” 

Your silence was the only agreement you could bear to offer.

“I would’ve accepted it, you know,” he continued, chuckling mirthlessly as he looked up at the sky once again, “I would’ve been willing to die for you, for us.”

“But I couldn’t bear that,” you croaked out, the thought of it twisting the knife further into your weak heart as you stared at Chan, “You know I can’t bear to see you suffer for me.”

“Dying would’ve been less painful,” he finally hissed, eyes blazing as he clenched his jaw, trying to regain control again, “Dying would be less painful than seeing you marry another person.”

But at that, you only shook your head, “You’re wrong, Channie. It will hurt, I won’t doubt that it will, especially since it’s been tearing me apart the same way, but you’ll move on from me. You’ll find a pretty lady and you’ll fall head over heels for her, and you will be happy again.”

Chan felt his heart effectively splinter into tiny pieces as he reached for your face again, this time bearing to brush his fingers against your cheek tentatively, “I don’t want to move on,” he whispered as if the walls and the vines would carry his words back to the King and Queen, “My heart has been yours since the beginning, Princess—please—”

“This is the only way, Channie,” you spoke just as softly, holding his hand in your own as you gazed at him with such love and desperation, and he realized with horror that you were pressing something into his palm. The little teddy bear charm he’d given you when you went off on your first foreign trip. You’d clutched it to your chest every night, clinging onto it for comfort and imagining that you were burrowed in Chan’s strong arms again. But now, it was time to give it back to its original owner.

Just then, the next lighthearted waltz began to ring from inside the ballroom, filling your ears with a gentle music, too kind and loving for the conversation you were having. But maybe that was what you both needed. Kindness. Forgiveness. Love.

“My darling knight,” you whispered, lacing your fingers together as you leaned your forehead against his. No one was watching, and this might be your last chance to speak to him, to feel him so close against you, “Dance with me.”

Chan shook his head, being childish for once in his life. He didn't want to dance with you. He didn't want to say goodbye. He knew what was going to happen; when the waltz finished, you'd no longer be his, his love, his sweetheart. 

“Please,” you asked softly, gazing at him with such sadness and love that it was all Chan could do to not burst into tears, “Please let me leave tomorrow knowing that I was loved by someone. Please let me show you how much I love you.”

Slowly, he reached for your hand, and with an arm around your waist, the two of you swayed gently to the music wafting out from the ballroom, thinking and looking at no one but each other. Chan was the first person you ever danced with, the person whose toes you’d stepped on an unholy amount of times and the first person you’d thrown a temper tantrum at when you screwed up the footwork for the fourth time in a row. 

And you, you were Chan’s first and only love. He stood by your side since he was only seven years old, a homeless orphan taken in by one of the royal knights under your father’s command. Since the moment he’d met you, cheeks puffed out with indignation as you walked around with the king, he’d been enamoured by your spirit, vowing to safeguard it for as long as he was physically capable. 

It had only been a matter of time better the two of you fell in love. 

As the music swelled in the present, Chan felt his inhibitions slowly ebb away with the music. He lifted you into the air, a smile creeping onto his lips as you began to smile. Giggles were exchanged as you purposely stepped on his toes. 

“Hey,” he said pointedly, eyeing you, “I know you don’t do that on accident anymore.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said with an innocent expression before the two of you dissolved into giggles once more and continued to dance, spinning and twirling to your hearts content. 

Chan found himself smiling as he haphazardly spun with you, twisting both of your arms and making you laugh. You found yourself smacking his chest more than a few times as he added cheeky dips and twirls that would’ve made your dance teacher faint in abject horror. 

The two of you danced and danced until, like a painful pinch to your skin, the music ended as suddenly as it began, and the clumsy yet heart-wrenchingly endearing waltz was over. Chan felt his bright smile morph into something more peaceful as he held your waist, held you close as his heart pounded. Could you feel it? Probably, and if you couldn’t feel it you’d still know anyway. He could tell that you knew, just from the way you looked at him, so unrestrained and filled to the brim with love that you could never express with words or actions. It was always in your eyes. 

His gaze fell to your soft lips and his heart skipped a beat. He wished he could kiss you, he wanted to kiss you. If he didn’t now, he’d never get the chance again. 

It must’ve been his lucky day, because you seemed to be thinking the same thing. Like clockwork, the two of you fell into each other’s embrace as Chan shifted, pressing you against the marble railing of the balcony as his broad shoulders shielded you from the windows and any other nosy onlookers. 

“Princess,” he murmured, his nose almost brushing against yours as your eyes fluttered closed, being pulled towards your knight as if an invisible force was pushing you forward. 

“Dearest!”

A shrill voice called from the door to the balcony, and the two of you froze in fear, your hands stopping from where they’d crept up to Chan’s neck. The man reacted immediately, moving away from you as if burned, even though the two of you were behind a few well placed bushes that there was no way she could see either of you. 

It hurt you more than you could explain, even though you were the one who had to reap what you’d sowed.

“Yes, mother?” You called in response, fixing your hair as you stayed hidden from her piercing gaze. 

“Are you done stargazing? Your fiancé is looking for you!” 

Chan flinched as if he’d been physically slapped. Ah, yes. The moment was so blissful for a few minutes that he’d almost forgotten the current situation. He wasn’t supposed to be even a feet near you, and you were supposed to be carted off to your husband’s kingdom at dawn. 

You sucked in a breath, throwing Chan a pained glance before answering, “Can it wait?”

“I don’t think it can, dearest. He’s already postponed the toast for quite a while to give you the space you wanted!” Even from a distance, you could hear your mother’s sharp exasperation, “Can’t you just come in? Don’t make a fuss, Y/N.” 

Chan wanted you to say no, to scoff right at your mother’s face and stick your tongue out before running away petulantly. That was what the little you would’ve done, and Chan was always the one that had to pick up the pieces, bowing profusely to your parents before following you. 

But unfortunately for the both of you, those times had passed, and you were no longer the immature little girl he’d grown up with. He could see it in the way you straightened your posture almost imperceptibly, the way your gaze towards him grew sad. You were going back in to your fiancé, your future. 

With one last squeeze of his hand, you pulled away from him and headed back into the ballroom, turning your back on your past, your childhood that was filled with nothing but innocence and Chan--so much Channie this, Channie that. 

And as Chan stood alone in the shadows, out of sight and out of your life, he let out a bitter chuckled, clutching the little charm so tightly in his fist that he was afraid it might crack. 

He didn’t even get to kiss you one last time.

[pseudofaux]

Thank you for opening up requests! May I please request a drabble that features Harr with a breeding kink?

screams a totally, completely normal amount 🗣 YESSSSSSSS!!!

You may, you may, I totally smiled when I saw this one. Thank you! I can tell this is going to be passionate but soft and tender and he’s probably a little conflicted about the whole thing, because he’s Harr. I’m excited! I really hope you will enjoy this.

(Requests are open through May 1!)

“I just...” He’s shaking his head slowly, like he is trying to dislodge a thought. “I want to... make... magic with you,” he says, frustrated with the way he bumbles his own meaning. He looks down at the shabby settee and resolves to tidy up as soon as they are through this conversation. If it will even be a conversation.

“Harr, you do,” she tells him sweetly. She is always ready to come to his defense, especially against himself. She touches his cheek and he knows she is trying to catch his eyes so the sureness of her smile reaches him. He has no doubt she means every word. No wonder he’s consumed with wanting her the way he does.

“No,” he says, and then when he sees her face fall he clarifies immediately “No— I don’t mean at you. No. I’m not being clear.”

She slides her hand into his and he squeezes on reflex, their five squeezes: I-love-you-al-ways. A different kind of spell that takes nothing and gives so much. “What do you mean, then?” she asks kindly.

His face is hot, but they are alone and she deserves his bravery. She has been so brave for him. Even as he commits to telling her, he finds he doesn’t have the words, which feels ridiculous— how can he ask this of her if he is so squeamish? But the desire snakes around him, vines of pleasurable imaginings wrapping over his mind’s eye, and he jabs his hand forward between them because he must move or his lust will choke him. He is careful to gentle the way his palm touches her belly, and very careful with the tingles of magic floating beyond his hand. He suppresses a groan, just imagining her full, of a child, of him before the child forms, of trust for him before they even begin.

 “This,” he says carefully, looking her right in the face as she deserves. “I want this.”

Her recognition shows itself in wide open eyes and a quiet gasp. The smile that follows has all the perfection of a single apple blossom on a May branch, fresh beauty gracing the world without regard for what is deserved by lustful wizards. She is that glorious, that good. When she says “Oh... me, too, silly, was that what all this is about?”, he does not suppress his groan and he does not keep his mouth from hers.

Harr dared, in his wildest dreams, to think that if she were amenable to his fantasy they would prepare and then come together in the night, but after they kissed one another dizzy on the perfectly fine (lovely, actually) settee she pulled him to their bedroom, and he was, as usual, powerless against her. He long ago made his peace with that. He can see her better by midmorning light, anyway.

It is a frantic tangle of kisses and fabric just inside the door to their room. Everything has to come off, off. Now. If he is not against the skin of her legs in the next minute he will die before he can ever attempt to... Ah, his face is hot all over again, but his intent is stronger than his embarrassment.

“I’m going to take you to bed,” he says onto her mouth. The words feel like they are plodding out of him but he has to say them, has to tell her as best he can. “And I am going to make us both happy.” It is a solemn promise. Something to bind him up before he gets any further out of control. He wants to follow where his lust leads them, but not at the expense of her happiness.

She slows down and smiles. “I know,” she says simply. “Go right ahead.”

Her chemise is still on, but he scoops her up and places her on the bed anyway. It’s important to keep one’s word. “Off,” he says. “Please. Get rid of it. I want to see you.”

She hums and shimmies it up and off, but puts a hand on his chest, naked as hers is now, and the rest of him goes still immediately. “Harr,” she says. “I’m not going to run away. This is what I want, too. We don’t have to rush. And...” she swallows as if to fortify herself, “We can... umm. We can do this as many times as we’d like,” she whispers.

The way she is so conspiratorial about this inflames him and comforts him at the same time. No wonder he wants her. No wonder he’s been unable to deny this urge.

Yes, something-- it’s him, this is all him, as uncouth as it is-- hisses in his head. This. If you love her you need to fill her up, need to pump her full until there is no empty space and it bubbles out around you while you push the rest in. You need to fuck her, Silver, and put a baby in her so her tummy goes soft and tight, out and round, full. Full. Fullfullfullfull—

He leans over her on their comfortable, homey bed, and kisses her again while he shucks off his trousers. Already is he hard, probably a mess, hanging between his legs and aiming where he wants to go. A tight, wonderful curl of pleasure squeezes his belly so hard he shudders. Definitely a mess, he can feel the way a drip falls from him, seeking a fertile place to land.

“I’m ready, really,” she breathes between kisses. “I want it, too, Harr, won’t you please try?”

He wants to listen to her, but he knows what it is to be at the mercy of overwhelming need, and how foolish that can make a person. He traces a hand down her full, lovely cheek; her throat; the graceful bump of her collarbone; the swell of her breast. Put a baby there, a smokey voice whispers as he rubs her nipple in a circle the way she likes, but first you have to put it inside. He trails lower, drumming gently over her ribs, continuing the movement to tickle her and make her smile again. He curves out with her body to cup her beautiful hip, then comes back to her midline to find that yes, her body is plenty ready. Midlines are important in magic and hers is the most important one in the world.

He gives her one more quick kiss and presses his cheek to hers, then sits back on his knees to be able to see.

Her fingers part her folds for him, shy but sure. “I love you always,” he whispers as he watches. A spell that takes something but gives much more. When he glances up at her face, her grin makes him feel like he has, for once, said exactly the right thing.

And then it’s another frenzy and she is gasping, laughing, moaning his name. That’s perfect. Keep her happy and come in her, change her, change you both. He loves her, so he is careful to keep her in mind despite how the fit of her body empties him of most rational thought. He wants it to empty him of something else.

What thoughts he has left seem to subsume the rational ones anyway. He knows he is speaking the words and does not even feel embarrassed when he pushes her legs to her chest, slams his hips to hers with a deliberate angle, and says, clear as day, “Get. Pregnant.”

Her shuddery breath—it leaves her mouth open— and the way her eyes shine with need show him what he needs to do.

“Did you hear me?” he asks gently, slowing down to something more like their usual pace, warm and slow. The magic of summer. “I want you full, Alice,” he tells her, sliding his hands down the backs of her thighs and then right back up. Her eyelashes are fluttering and she is fluttering around him, too.

“Is this something you like?” he asks, and because this is a situation removed from everyday life he doesn’t feel bad for asking a question he knows the answer to. Her tight nod is very gratifying, just the same. “Tell me what you like about it,” he says, trying to tease and feeling like he misses the mark a bit... But that’s alright, he feels so much calmer now, still well in the grip of the desire to make her a mother but also stable in the thought that it is ahead of them.

She stutters over the word “Everything,” and it makes him smile so wide he has to hide it in her shoulder. She must be able to feel the heat of his face, but she can’t see him, so he feels emboldened to say “More, then?” as he hits her particularly close and deep. He thinks maybe he can feel the entrance to her womb and he groans so loudly into her skin he would miss her answer if it were anything less than what she gives: a throaty, desperate assent, and a squeeze of his back.

He wants to splash all over her, her womb, her entire sex, her entire being.

He gathers her so close to him it feels like their bodies will fuse and create something entirely new, the way the deep parts of the earth collide and become truthful stones and sought-after gems. She is clinging to him just as tight as he is pressing into her, and her little sigh of his name, passionate and gliding on the crescent of tension and bliss, tips him over. The first spurt feels more like a loosening, it flies out of him so fast. He concentrates better on the ones that follow, purposeful and direct. Take, he thinks, take root. The satisfaction sends pins and needles down from his back to his ankles. 

His cry is hoarse in his throat and it feels thick, like something is leaving his body with the air. Maybe it is this mania. He’s not sure if he will miss it or not. He sits back on his knees again and puts his hand over her breast so his fingertips touch her heartbeat before he watches his last few thrusts, coated in white like livery.

They do nothing but this for the rest of the day.

[slashersins-abandoned]

anonymous asked :

Hii! I love your writing so much 🥰 I was wondering if you could write something for Brahms Mikey Jesse & Thomas (and maybe poly!ghostface if you feel like?) when their pacifist soft s/o who they never kill in front of kisses their hands after they kill to protect her? I need some fluff in my life . Thank you!!

brahms

you knew brahms was a complicated man . prone to kindness , clinging to you constantly , begging for attention . prone to tantrums , destroying everything in his path , making the walls shake with his fury . prone to love , petting your hair , your face , whispering desperate words of affection . you never wanted to admit it , unable to think too long about how brahms was also very prone to violence . you were lucky , you’d heard of what happened in the heelshire manner before moving in . about a man being slaughtered , a nanny attacked and chased around like cat and mouse with the cat having an unfair advantage . you knew there were murders reported when people broke in . you knew brahms was capable . but you wer lucky . you never experienced it first hand .

the man must have been drunk . must have thought no one lived in the house despite the fact you put effort into making it look lived in . he must have been confused . that’s what you wanted to think when you heard the kitchen door be busted in . you made a mistake of not running to hide . no , you went to see what happened . it seemed you were just as unexpected as the intruder was , because he paused before taking after you like a bat out of hell , yelling and waving a wrench in his hand . you’d screamed , and brahms had nearly fallen as he clamored through the walls to seek you out .

brahms wasted no time in coming out of the walls , taking in the scene of some grimy intruder about to bring a wrench down on your prone form . he saw red . chest heaving and blood thundering in his ears as he ripped the wrench out of the man’s hands and used it to beat against the man’s skull . the intruder tried to put up a fight , he even tried reaching out to you for help , but you were too wide eyed , watching as brahms violently ended this man’s life for breaking into his home , for hurting his significant other . there was no mercy . and when brahms was sure that the man had breathed his last , he looked to you . and you saw no remorse in his eyes for the kill .

the adrenaline coursing through him had him forgetting your distaste for gore and violence . he just needed to know you were okay . he thought you might flinch , might cry . but instead you took his outstretched hands and bought them to your face . kissing over his knuckles as tears finally fell . brahms pulled you into a tight embrace , hushing you as you spilled out your thank yous , i love yous , i was so scared . he’d dispose of the mess later . right now you needed him . and he needed you .

michael

michael has never killed in front of you . there’s never been a reason to . you’re always at home , at work , at school , somewhere he isn’t when he’s destroying and ending lives . the most you see is a bloody knife in your kitchen and filthy clothes in the hamper . you don’t like it , hating to think about those who lost their life to michael’s blood lust . you know you’re lucky to have never seen it . to only deal with the smallest of traces of the destruction he leaves .

it’s a nice evening for a walk . work was running late , and so you stayed extra . and after such a long shift , you were excited to get home and hopefully find michael sitting on the couch . maybe he’d tolerate you leaning on him as you forget the stresses of the day . you don’t notice you’re being followed . maybe it’s due to you being lost in your own little world . maybe it’s due to the fact you’ve gotten used to the feeling of being watched by micahel that it just slips your mind completely . but you do feel the head of a gun shove into your back as a hand wraps around your mouth .

there’s a demand that you give up your money or else . the gun digging in your back painfully as gloved hands squeeze your jaw hard . another demand , a near desperate shout for your any and everything in your bag . and then you feel the man press against you , a weak strained noise leaving him , something thick and warm dripping down the back of your neck and over your shoulders . the weight of the man get’s heavy , and then he falls to the side , gargling on his own blood , twitching and wide eyed as he stairs at the sky .

you turn so fast you almost fall , taking a few steps back only to meet michael’s gaze . a kitchen knife in his hand , wet and dripping crimson . he watches you for a moment . daring you to run . and you do , but not away from him , to him . he lets you wrap your arms around him chest , sobbing as you cling to him . michael allows the contact until you even your breathing . you want to stay and cling to him , fingers in a white knuckle grip on his jumpsuit . you just saw him kill and yet you still stay . because you love him . because despite everything , you know at least some small part of him might love you to .

jesse

he has enemies . he knows this . he’s rich and powerful and a murderer . he’s bound to have a few outside forces trying to come down on him . jesse had never thought , however , that this enemy would come from within . preston was a wanna be . he’d been trying to frame himself as the new , better chromeskull . he’d been added to jesse’s shit list the moment the man found out , making the other rush off into hiding and prepare for the inevitable . and preston … preston thought he was smart . thought he could make jesse suffer . he thought he could take you away from him . preston had never been so wrong .

he’d taken you . taken you with threats to torture you . the fury inside of jesse was untamed . preston thought he was so smart , but jesse was smarter . he found the little hide away without any difficulty . always sloppy and so easy to track . preston was pathetic . and jesse would be doing the world a fucking favor by ending his life .

he’d never wanted to drag you into this world . he wanted you free from it . but here you were , tapped to a chair , tears streaming down your face . preston was smug as he watched you , not noticing the gleam of chrome behind him . not realizing that jesse was here , close . he didn’t notice until jesse squatted down and cut through his Achilles tendon in one deep slash . the larger man was quick to disarm preston , using the knife he’d been holding to stab through his hand with so much force it settled into the floor . jesse hand’t wanted you to see this side of him . but it open for you . jesse’s heart set on one thing and one thing only . dismembering and torturing this betrayer of trust and kidnapper of his love . it slow and agonizing , and you had to close your eyes and look away , unable to take the scene . but when the screaming stopped you looked back , seeing the way jesse’s broad shoulders shook and his head titled back .

you made a noise , and it drew his attention . he was on you in and instant . cutting you free and tugging at tap , even if it hurt , he wanted it off of you . before he could sign anything you were tugging him in , pushing his chrome mask off his face and kissing him , asking if he was okay , telling him how worried you were about him . he couldn’t help but bring you in close , bloodstained , gloved hands ridding up your shirt . you’d seen him at his truest , and yet you worried for him instead of yourself . he couldn’t ever let you go now .

thomas

the meat had got out . high on adrenaline and fear , the girl had somehow used her bloody wrists to wiggle out of her restraints . thomas has roared with fury when he saw her missing . grabbing his chainsaw as he quickly stomped upstairs . he needed to find and end them before they had a chance to retaliate against his family .

he was panting , looking for blood trails to lead him in the right direction when he heard you scream . his heart stopped for half a second as fear and rage flooded him . they had you . they would hurt you , take you away . he couldn’t lose you . he could’t .

the woman was clawing at you , sobbing as she dug her jagged nails into your skin , you tried to crawl away , tried to push her off , panic flooding you . soon her begs became screeches of betrayal as she realized you were one of those monsters who had killed her friends . her hands balled into fists and she raised them , bringing them down on you were she could . she didn’t get more than two hits in before tommy brought the chainsaw down on her , tearing into her back and through her spine , splattering the both of you in blood .

thomas kicked away the corpse , dropping the chainsaw as he looked down at you . fear in his eyes as he panted . he wanted to reach out , to hold you . but how could he ? you saw him kill . you would think he was a monster . and he deserved it for not tying the meat up tighter . for not just killing the meat right off the bat .

you can only look up at thomas , trying to calm your breathing .the fear and self hate in his eyes . the utter loneliness  … you’re shaky on your feet , walking towards him . taking his hands in yours and kissing over his palms . he can’t help the sob that falls from his lips as he presses his forehead to your shoulder . and you can’t help that you press his hands over your heart , showing him you’re okay . it’s okay . every things okay .

billy & stu

the boys are possessive and protective . they don’t like when people try to step in on their territory . it’s not you they don’t trust . it’s them . and there is only so much they can take before they snap . so it’s no surprise that they do . they don’t have their gear . but they do have a pick pocketed pocket knife and rage , and that will just have to do the trick . they don’t have time plan , they only have time to act . because that drunken bastard hasn’t left you alone all night , and he decided it would be find to just fucking grab at you despite you telling him to stop .

they gang up on you , putting themselves between you and the drunken bitch fuck who was trying to grind on you . they don’t want you to see , one of them backing you up , while the other all but guts the bastard in a swift motion , careful not to get blood on them . it happens so fast , the screaming , the boys acting shocked , the sudden need to rush outside , to leave the bar and sneak away . stu blocks you from view , billy leading the three of you to a gas station . with and outdoor bathroom .

they shove you in , billy washing the blood off his hands and trying to clean out the sink the best he can . stu trying to keep you from looking , but it’s too late . you can put it all together . and you’re wide eyed as you look between your boys . the looks in there eyes show you that there is a secret they’ve been hiding . something dark , something they’re scared of you finding out . and as you watch their faces everything falls into place .

this isn’t how they wanted you to find out . they didn’t want you to find out . even if they both knew that with time you would . and here in a shitty public bathroom their secret became exposed . they wait for your response . teetering on the edge of fear and rejection . when you take their hands in your own . raising them to your cheeks and give them that soft smile , they feel relieved . and you’re next words , accepting and concerned for them have them both laughing and pulling you in for kisses . just stay safe , for me .

[raibebe]

Invoke

Genre: Mystery? Thriller? Slightly gore? With some fluff? And eventual smut? Words: 13.315 Prompt: Warlock Yuta, familiar Ten, female reader Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of death, mentions of religion, blasphemy (our warlock doesn’t like the church and made a deal with the devil), blood, devil summoning, murder with magic, actual murder

A/N: This has a couple of darker themes, if you’re sensitive to any of them, please be careful or just sit this fic out and don’t read it. The abuse is only implied and is not happening to any of the main characters. This seriously went out of hand and holy fuck I love warlock Yuta?? Thank you so much for requesting this @def-sol​! Ruby I loved this idea so much, I hope you enjoyed this. The beautiful moodboard is by @min-inu as always, thank you darling! Another big thank you to @burtonized, Jo you’re the real MVP for listening to me whine all day long.

Warlock: A male practitioner of witchcraft. The word comes from the Old English word wǣrloga meaning “oathbreaker” or “deceiver”. The terms were associated with witches and warlocks as they were seen as someone who made a pact with the devil and thus had betrayed the Christian faith and broke their baptismal vows.

It was a rainy autumn afternoon, the clouds had sunken into the valley your hometown was located in and covered everything in a layer of grey fog, washing away every color. You adjusted the hood of your cloak to shield yourself from the moisture after you stepped out of the little bakery you worked at when you heard the hooves of multiple horses on the beat up street that lead to the little town. Knowing that nothing good ever came from those horseman, you quickly hid the loaf of bread in your ratty coat and headed to the town square. A small crowd had already gathered when one of the knights pulled loose what seemed to be a lump rolled into a cloth from his horse that fell to the ground with a low thud. Only when it started to move, you felt the horror creep up your back. A couple of people quickly scrambled to see what was inside the cloth, even though you all already knew it. Beneath the thick linen, a girl’s face was revealed. You hadn’t known her when the knights had taken her with them just a couple of weeks prior but you could feel nothing but sincere pity for the girl. Her face was unnaturally swollen, her skin more the color of violets than her actual skin tone, blood clinging to her features and she was shivering in the arms of one of the women, completely silent. You turned your back towards her, not wanting to see the state the rest of her body must be in. The last girl that had come back from the royal court had only lasted a week before she had died due to the multiple injuries she had. She also hadn’t spoken a single word. But everyone had known what that men of the court must have done to her in the castle that overlooked the little valley, sitting high up on a nearby hill.

The knights just kept sitting in their saddles, completely unfazed. How could a person be this cold? How could they just follow the orders from their sires to keep taking girls away from their families to bring them back broken and beat, unable to continue to live a normal life? And how was no one doing anything against this? Why were the lords of these lands above the law? Why didn’t the priests do anything with all the power they had? The sight made you sick to the stomach and you couldn’t stand to look at the scene even a second longer, walking back to your home, trying to ignore the screams of the girl the knights must have picked out to take with them. You grabbed the cross hanging around your neck tightly and spoke a prayer to protect the girl from the worst.

That night you couldn’t fall asleep, your thoughts twisting and turning inside your head. Your anger towards the royals only grew more and more with each girl they took with them and you were sick of everyone just accepting their fate. The girls lived in fear that they would be the next one taken and the fathers and mothers were desperate to keep their daughters safe, praying every evening inside the small church. But with every day that passed you lost faith in your god. How could a just god let all of this happen? And the people of the town alone couldn’t do anything to stop this abuse. If they would speak up, they wouldn’t even be able to finish their words because their head would be rolling from their shoulders as soon as they opened their mouths.

Sighing, you rolled onto your back, staring at the holes in the ceiling. You refused to accept that you should patiently wait until the knights unfortunately picked you to take you to the castle where the royals would completely break you, shattering your being to the core. There must be a way to stop all of this. To put an end to the injustice that was happening. When the new lord had been initiated, he had sworn with his hand on the Sacred Scriptures that he would protect the people caring for his lands. If this was what him caring looked like, you didn’t even want to know what it would be like if he was turning a blind eye. It really seemed like you and your town needed some supernatural help or otherwise the royals would just keep playing with the lives of their subjects like they meant nothing.

That was when an idea shot into your head, making you sit up in your bed. After the last girl had come back and the healers of your village hadn’t been able to arrest her bleeding and the prayers of the priests hadn’t helped either, her mother had sneaked away to find a man that lived alone in the woods who was rumored to be gifted with certain powers that allowed him to give and take life. Of course the mother had to do it in secret; if the priests ever found out about that man, he would be burned on the town’s square just like the red haired woman who had wanted to travel through the town. Sometimes you could still hear her screams when the flames ate away her flesh. The next night you had seen a figure wearing a dark cloak sneaking into the home of the family. Curious as to what was going to happen you had sneaked over as well, watching the scene through a crack in the back door: The man had sat down on the bed of the girl and took off his hood to reveal long unruly strands of a red brighter than you had ever seen. He had spoken a couple of words in a language unfamiliar to you, keeping his voice level and his gaze down towards the girl. After a while, the girl had begun to shake and thrash only to suddenly stop mid movement before deflating back onto the mattress. The man then had let out a deep sigh before he put the hood of his cloak over his head again. He only said four words to the parents on his way out: “Her struggle is over.” When the parents ran to the body of their daughter, he had picked up a bundle the father had set up on the desk and left without looking back. That night you could hear the mother cry until the sun crawled over the trees of the forest again and the nature came back to life to cover her pain with beautiful symphonies.  

That man had liberated the girl from her injuries and pain by taking her life just from talking to her. He must have some special powers people attributed to witches and warlocks. He must be powerful enough to help you. And if the family of that girl was able to pay him to use his abilities in their favor (even if it hadn’t turned out how they wanted to), he must also have a price for killing the royals. Or at least send them a warning. You had to find this man and at least try to win him over. As far as you were concerned he might be your only chance to put an end to this.

After a rough night of twisting and turning in your scratchy sheets, you got up more determined than ever to find the mysterious warlock. You quickly got dressed in your warmest cloak and left the house you had rented your room in, sneaking past your snoring landlord who smelled like he had spent his night in the tavern yet again, drinking too much and then lusting after the skirts of women that were way too young for him. You couldn’t help but feel relieved when you left the house and could breathe in the fresh air of the morning. Once your lungs were filled with air smelling like a mixture of freshly cut grass and baked bread, you turned to leave the town. You had no idea where exactly you could find the man. But rumors about him had traveled around the town since the day you were born. Coming to think of it, he seemed to have been around for as long as you could think which didn’t match with how young he had seemed to be when you got that glimpse of him a couple of weeks prior. But the priests always preached that those who had broken their vows and abandoned the right path had many different wicked tricks to disguise their true form.

Mindlessly you followed a trail that lead deeper into the woods and away from the fields where the workers were cultivating different plants both for themselves and for the damned royals. If the priests had never bothered to pay the man a visit, he must live in a place they couldn’t reach, up higher the hill where the paths were narrow and steep. So those were the paths you were taking, paying attention to never lose your footing and keeping your eyes open for anything suspicious.

You were about to give up when the underbrush became thicker and thicker, clearly untouched when you heard the jingle of what seemed to be a little bell. Why would there be a bell ringing in the middle of the forest? Cautiously you listened and crept closer to what seemed to be the source of the noise. It wasn’t long until you found the cause: A small black cat was rubbing its head against a branch in what seemed to be an attempt to get the collar off but it was wrapped too tightly around its throat. “Do you need some help, little one?” You softly asked as to not startle the feline. The cat immediately stopped whatever it was trying to do and stared up at you from big, amber eyes. You carefully approached it and kneeled down, slowly extending your hand towards it so it could see that you meant no harm.  After it carefully eyed you up and down, the cat crawled over to first sniff your fingers before it pressed its head into your palm. Giggling you scratched it behind its ears which earned you a loud purr. “Let me get that collar off of you,” you murmured, carefully tipping the cat’s head so you could examine the leather band the bell was fastened onto. With nimble fingers you undid the intricate knot and the cat could slip out of it. Once it was free, it curved its back and hissed loudly at the little object resting in your palm. “You really didn’t like that bell, huh?” You smiled. “Who do you belong to, little one? I’m looking for a man with red hair. I was hoping he could help me with a problem.” Why were you talking to a cat? It wasn’t like it could understand and lead you to the warlock.

Strangely enough the cat crooked its head as if it was listening to your words and thinking about what it should do. “Do you know him and can take me to him?” You asked carefully, eyeing the cat carefully. It meowed loudly before it got up to disappear deeper into the underbrush. You sighed deeply. Of course the cat had neither understood you nor would it be able to help you. Whether you liked it or not, you might had to ask the family who had lost their daughter where you could find the warlock. It was useless to stray through the forest like this, hoping to stumble upon a house or the man himself. You were about to turn around when another rather annoyed sounding meow tore through the sounds of the forest and a pair of amber eyes looked at you from the bush the cat had jumped into. “Are you trying to help me find him?” You disbelievingly asked the cat who actually rolled its eyes at you. When did a normal cat ever roll its eyes? Could cats even roll their eyes? What was happening? Before your thoughts could spiral any further, the cat made its way through the underbrush again, and you scrambled to follow the black creature, not taking chances of losing it between the bushes and trees.

Soon you reached a clearing the cat eagerly crossed, climbing onto a big stone surface in the grass where it curled up in the sun. Further back between a couple of big oak trees sat a small hut that surely had seen better times. “Where have you taken me?” You quietly asked the cat. Of course it didn’t respond, it just lazily turned its head towards the house where a figure clad in black clothes just emerged, their red hair reflecting the light of the sun that was peeking through the trees. “You little shit!” The person called, clearly a male voice, “How did you manage to get it off?” The cat didn’t even react to the screaming, just stretching its lithe body in the sun. “And who are you?” The man asked when he came closer, his green eyes so piercing it made you shiver. “I- Your cat showed me the way,” you stuttered. “That’s not what I asked, woman.” The warlock angrily crossed his arms in front of his chest and arched one of his eyebrows, waiting for an actual answer to his question. Taking a deep breath, you explained your situation to the man: Beginning with the story of how the knights kept kidnapping girls from your town and in which state they brought them back, if they brought them back at all. Then you told him how helpless the people were, how everyone with a daughter lived in constant fear that she would be next. You told him that you had seen him all those nights ago when he took the girl’s life to rid her from her suffering. Through all of it his face remained blank just the cat got up from where it was curled up, walking around its owner’s feet. “I need your help. We all do,” you ended your speech, “I know it’s within your powers to take lives. We need help getting rid of these royals. We can’t keep living like this, they will keep taking girls until there are no more left and I can’t just watch and wait until they take me. Please, we have no means of doing anything against them.”

“No.” “What do you mean no?” You asked the warlock who had scooped up his lithe cat into his arms and turned to walk back into his house. “I’m not doing it. It’s no use to interfere with royals, they never change.” “But you could help the whole town. We are being terrorized, every week the guards come and take another girl with them and they either never come back or they are so traumatized they can’t even speak about whatever has happened to them and we can only tend to their wounds. I am begging you,” you pleaded but the warlock didn’t turn back around, only his cat seemed to listen who had climbed onto his shoulder, looking at you from its big amber eyes. “I’ll do anything. Take me, take my body, I don’t care. I just don’t want them to break me.” “Anything you say?” The man asked, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t want them to have control over my body,” you whispered, “You can’t do anything worse to me than what the royals are doing to those girls.”

After a beat of silence, the cat meowed loudly, jumping down from the man’s shoulder to walk over to you again, cocking its head as if it was evaluating you. “I’m not going to do it,” the warlock repeated but before you could protest, he turned around again, locking his piercing green eyes with yours, “But I am going to teach you so you can do it yourself.” “It’s not going to be nice or easy,” he continued, looking you up and down once, then twice, “Take that thing off, we won’t need it where we are headed.” He motioned to the cross you had dangling around your neck; your only possession of any worth. “It has protected me from evil up until now,” you protested, closing your fist around it. “Woman. What did the priests tell you where me and my brothers and sisters have gotten our powers from?” The warlock asked, his green eyes almost glowing. You had never heard a man saying the word ‘priest’ with so much hatred and disgust. “They say you’ve made a deal with the... With the devil,” you stuttered. “For once that is a piece of truth that those fat men are speaking,” he snarled, “We are not born with these powers, we have to offer Satan a piece of ourselves in exchange for the powers he grants us with and he won’t be pleased to see that symbol of lies and oppression around your neck.”

For a while you stood still in front of the warlock who had come so close to you that you could count every single chain link on the chain that was hanging from the cartilage of his ear. “How badly do you want to make those good-for-nothing-royals to pay for what they have done?” He spoke lowly, lifting his hand to slowly caress your jaw. You took a shaky breath and met his eyes again. “More than anything in my life.” “Then this shouldn’t be a problem,” he rasped before he grabbed your necklace and ripped it straight off, throwing it into the woods. Shaking off the shock, you quickly followed him and his cat into the little house that seemed to burst from its seams: Herbs, candles and different bones hanging from the ceiling and sitting on almost every available surface.

“Just sit on the sofa and don’t distract me,” the warlock said, starting to rummage through drawers. “Are you going to tell me your name?” You carefully asked after you had sat down on the only free space of the sofa, the cat quickly joining you, “In the town they just call you ‘the outcast’ if they speak about you.” The man snorted loudly. “I like that title but you can call me Yuta.” Yuta. You had never heard that name before. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” “I am not. Not that it is any of your business. I am just going to help you to get your revenge on those royals. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You nodded, idly stroking the black cat in your lap who had started purring loudly. You hadn’t expected the warlock to act like he did. You had come here expecting to bribe him with either money or even your body. It hadn’t fully sunken in that Yuta would turn you into a witch by making a deal with the devil. But you had a mission. You couldn’t just watch another girl getting taken by the knights to become a toy for some royal asshole that would throw her away like a broken shield. You really hoped that the whole process wouldn’t take long. The longer you needed to wait with your revenge, the more girls would get taken and never be the same again.

“What’s its name?” You asked curiously after you had been stroking the cat’s fur for a while. “He’s called Ten,” Yuta answered while grabbing different stones and skulls from the drawers of his giant cupboard that was covering the length of a whole wall. “Like the number?” “He’s the tenth child of a tenth child. Don’t underestimate him just because he looks like a cat.” “But what could he do?” You were confused. “A lot more than your mortal brain could imagine,” a smooth voice answered instead of Yuta’s and it took you a second before you realized it had been the cat who had spoken. “Did the cat just speak?” You squeaked. “I didn’t hear anything,” the warlock grinned and left the room to search for more ingredients. “He did just tell you my name, don’t go around calling me ‘the cat’ now,” the voice spoke again. You looked down to the cat that was curled up in your lap to find him looking right back at you with a stare that should have been way too intense for a mere cat. “How do you do that?” You whispered. “Does he know you can talk?” “You think he would survive out here on his own for years on end if he didn’t have me to talk to?” “But he said he doesn’t hear you.” “Because I am talking to you right now and not to him,” Ten stated as if this was the most normal thing in the world while he was cleaning his fur.

“Don’t believe anything he is telling you. Everything he’s telling you about me is made up,” Yuta said when he came back to the room, a dagger in his hands.  “I sincerely hope you aren’t scared of blood because otherwise this is going to be difficult.” You swallowed dryly, looking at the size of that dagger, but slowly shook your head. Yuta’s green eyes fixated on yours for a couple of moments before he nodded, wrapping the dagger in a cloth with multiple questionable stains. “I’m assuming you have saved your virtue?” You felt the heat rise to your face at his question, never had you met such a man who would ask questions like that so directly and unashamed. “I- I have,” you stuttered, feeling the need to cover your burning cheeks. “That saves us a lot of trouble,” Yuta nodded, grabbing some more things that he had scattered around the house.

“We need to walk for a bit, I am not opening a gate to hell in my garden again. The smell is horrible to get rid of,” the warlock called after he had found everything he needed and had rolled it into a cloth for transportation.   “The smell?” “Have you ever been present at a burning of a supposed witch? That’s the smell. But amplified,” Ten provided from his space on the sofa cushions. “Already scared?” Yuta asked with a smirk on his plush lips when he saw your scandalized expression. “No,” you answered, squaring your shoulders, “I’ll do whatever it takes.” “You better,” he grinned and opened the door of his home, leading you into the forest, further up the hill.

Soon you reached a little clearing where the soil seemed oddly burned where Yuta dropped his bundle of supplies. “You do this here often?” You asked curiously, looking around the area. “Opening a gate to hell? No. But sometimes it is fun to mess with demons,” he answered, winking mischievously, making your heart skip a beat. “Demons are a thing?” “Of course they are,” the warlock giggled, wiggling his eyebrows while pulling a smaller sachet from his makeshift bag, “Just stand in the middle of the burned area and don’t move.”

Nodding you followed his orders and watched him paint a perfect circle around you with the white powder from the sachet. After he had finished the circle, he painted lines through it, creating a pentagram. Satisfied with his work he pulled candles and crystals from his bag next, placing them at the edges of the pentagram and lighting the candles with a mere flick of his wrist. Next he grabbed a skull from his bag, placing it at your feet. “Now to the less comfortable part,” Yuta mumbled, pulling the dagger from its wrappings, “Hold out your arms and don’t move whatever happens. Your innocence is what keeps this whole thing from falling apart.” Slowly you held up your arms and he rolled up your sleeves. You prayed that he wouldn’t notice how you were trying to fight the way your arms were shaking but of course it didn’t slip his sharp eyes. “Nervous?” He grinned. “You are about to summon the literal devil, telling me I am what makes or breaks this ritual. Of course I am nervous,” you stammered, balling your hands to control the shaking. “Cute. Nervous about the ritual and not about losing your humanity for a petty revenge,” the warlock laughed. Before you could reply, he had quickly pulled the dagger across his palm without even batting an eye. “Now brace yourself.” He walked along the perimeter of the circle again, speaking in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice carrying a different weight than before, like he was speaking with multiple voices at once. When he had completed the circle, he closed off his wound with another flick of his wrist before walking towards you, still chanting the foreign words. Once he stood in front of you, he slowly raised the blade, locking eyes with you once before he dragged it over your exposed arms, making your blood seep from the cut.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the whimper inside that was trying to fight its way past your lips. You were not showing the warlock any more weaknesses than you already had; you could do this. Yuta kept his eyes to where more and more blood was coming to the surface, watching the droplets come together to drip off your arm. As soon as the first droplet hit the ground, the atmosphere around you changed: There were no more birds singing or wind ruffling through the leaves of the trees and it seemed to have gotten darker, almost unnaturally so, the candles supplying the only light on the clearing. A heartbeat later, the flames shot up high into the air, causing you to flinch. You fought your instinct to turn on the spot to run away. You needed to do this. Needed to do this for the sake of your town’s people. “Relax,” Yuta whispered into your ear, slowly turning your arms so the cuts were facing down, making more blood drop, “The devil is a lot nicer than the priests make him out to be.” You took a deep breath to calm your furiously beating heart which turned out to be a mistake: Your lungs were filled with the smell of burning air and sulfur, the smell so overbearing that you felt like you were suffocating. “Even breaths, in the mouth and out the nose,” Yuta whispered when he sensed your panic, gripping your arms tightly from where he was standing behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to even out your breathing while the scent of fire and burnt flesh got stronger with each breath you took. “Yuta, I can’t”, you heaved. “You can and you will,” he replied, voice stern, his nails digging into your skin. You tried to focus on the pain he was inflicting on you, the way the cuts stung and the way the blood was seeping from your flesh. You had no idea how much blood you had lost but your head was getting dizzy and your legs weak. “Don’t quit on me now,” you heard Yuta hiss through the fog that started to cloud your brain, “We’re almost there.” His grip on you tightened significantly when a loud crack resonated in the air not unlike to when a strike of lightning had hit its target. If it was possible, the smell only became more potent and the heat the candles gave off intensified tenfold. When you heard a deep rumbling laugh, Yuta turned your arms back around so the wounds on your forearms were facing upward again.

“My lord,” you heard the warlock speak, addressing whoever he had just summoned with the help of your blood. You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, it was all too much: the heat, the smell and the stinging in your arms. If you were to see whatever was happening right in front of you, you were sure your brain would either forget how to breathe or how to keep holding your body up. You were already resting most of your weight on the warlock. “You brought me a new lamb,” a deep voice filled the space around you that seemed to come from every direction at once, covering you like a cloud. “Her cause is a noble one.” The voice chuckled. “Ready to give yourself over to me?” When you didn’t reply, Yuta pinched you again and you managed to squeeze out an affirmation even though your throat felt as if it was made out of sandpaper, your voice sounding gravely and foreign to your ears. “It’s over soon, my little lamb,” the voice rumbled, “I take good care of what is mine.” Whatever who you assumed to be the devil did next, filled your body with excruciating pain. It began from the cut in your arms and it felt like he had filled your veins with liquid fire that burned its way through your every fiber, taking over every thought in your brain. A silent scream left your lips and all you could remember before passing out were a pair of piercing green eyes and the smell of sulfur.

When you regained consciousness it was in the comfort of a soft mattress beneath a thick blanket. You carefully blinked your eyes open a couple of times, trying to get the herbs hanging from the ceiling into focus. Once you could make out the little flowers on the branch of lavender, you let your gaze wander. Opposite of you stood a big mirror in front of what you assumed was a closet made out of mismatched wood with intricate carvings. Yuta must have brought you back to his cabin. Which meant that you were currently laying in his bed. The thought made blood rush to your head and you instinctively hid yourself in the softness of the blanket even though no one was around to see you. Like this his smell invaded your senses. It was earthy yet spicy. Dangerous. You sighed and let the smell comfort you, closing your eyes again.

Your limbs still felt heavy but after checking quickly, the wounds on your arms were gone, not even the smallest scar left. How long had you been unconscious for?  With how tired you still felt, it couldn’t have been for long, but the sun that was shining through the curtains told a different story. Outside you could hear birds chirping and if you focused just enough you could hear a cat meowing, probably Ten. Smiling you let your mind wander, letting the sounds of the animals relax you. But while you were counting your breaths to empty your mind, you couldn’t help but think that something was wrong. With every breath you took, you mind didn’t become more empty, instead you were feeling more and more: First it was just the way the blanket was scratching your bare arms and legs. Then you thought you were able to feel the herbs that were strung up to dry above your head. And somehow you could tell that Ten was no longer meowing in the garden, probably talking to Yuta but that he was walking towards the window of the bedroom.

You quickly opened your eyes and sat up straight in the bed just as his paws met the windowsill. “You’re awake,” his voice filled your head. You could just nod, staring at the cat in disbelief. How had you been able to predict that he was jumping into the room the exact moment that he did? “Feeling different yet?” Ten asked on, smoothly jumping onto the mattress. “Not really but you do,” you confessed. From up close he still looked the same but something was different. He felt bigger? Older? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. But what you knew for sure now was that he wasn’t just a talking cat. Yuta had been right, Ten was much more than his body made it seem. “I’m still the same,” he chuckled, neatly folding his tail around his sitting form, “But you certainly are different.” “How can you tell?” “Just take a look at yourself.” Both scared and curious you looked up and met your reflection in the mirror but the eyes that were looking back at you, weren’t your own. Your image in the mirror eyed you with deep emerald green eyes and if the light was not tricking your eyes, your hair had changed color as well. It wasn’t as vibrant as Yuta’s but it was definitely red. “So it is true that witches have red hair,” you mumbled under your breath, raking your hands through your hair to feel the strands. “Most witches have red hair but not all with red hair are witches and warlocks,” Ten confirmed.

Just with Ten before, you had a feeling that Yuta would enter the room before the door moved to reveal his body. “It’s about time you wake up, little witch,” the warlock grumbled. Today he had his hair tied back in a messy ponytail, strands of his unruly hair escaping it and curling at his nape. His piercing eyes scanned over your body quickly before he met yours. “Do you feel them yet?” “Feel whom?” “The energies around you,” Yuta replied as if it was a self-explanatory thing. When you kept quiet and just looked at him from big, unknowing eyes, he groaned and ran a hand over his face. “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.” “It would probably be easier, if you didn’t speak in riddles,” you mumbled under your breath but he must have caught it anyways. “Don’t give me this attitude or you won’t learn anything at all. I might be responsible for you now but I won’t feed you your lessons with silver spoon, you have to work for it. Starting now. Get dressed and meet me outside,” Yuta clarified and turned to left the room but halted in his steps. “And you won’t help her either, Ten. She needs to do this on her own.” Ten just meowed loudly and for some reason you could tell that he did not agree with how Yuta planned on training you. Were this the energies Yuta was talking about?

Once both the warlock and his companion had left the room, you quickly got dressed and headed outside only to find out that you were alone on the clearing. “Come on, this isn’t funny,” you groaned, looking around the house, “I didn’t come here to almost bleed out in a stupid ritual and then to be mocked.” But no one answered you. Yuta and Ten kept hiding. Wait, hiding? Why would they be hiding? Where did that thought come from? You let out a frustrated groan again and sat down on a patch of grass right in the middle of the clearing. “This is stupid, Yuta. I don’t know what to do,” you grumbled, picking at the grass and ripping out little pieces. But that did nothing to calm you down, it only got you more worked up for some reason.

“Take a deep breath and listen to your gut,” you heard Ten’s gentle voice resound inside your head. When you didn’t react and kept ripping out grass, he added: “Yuta is just as stubborn as you, he’ll not come out and I don’t fancy sleeping out here.” “This is so stupid!” You groaned again, letting your body fall back into the grass. When Ten didn’t answer, you took a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself back down. Why were you so irritated anyways? It really wasn’t like you. Closing your eyes, you started to count your breaths to calm your temper. That was when you felt it. Like a flame burning inside you: Bright and flickering wildly. Carefully you reached out to the flame and strangely enough it didn’t burn you, it felt welcome. Like coming home and you couldn’t help but smile. “Are you going to help me find Yuta and Ten?” You whispered. As if the flame was answering, it twitched slightly and calmed down a little. In turn you also felt calmer than you had been seconds ago. Taking another breath, you kept your eyes closed, focusing on the light your little flame shone and from your peripheral vision it seemed like there was another flame. It was a different color and seemed bigger than yours from what you could tell. Opening your eyes again, you quickly got up and walked over into the treeline where you had felt the flame.

“Are you going to throw a temper tantrum every lesson?” Yuta called you out when you had found him, lounging high in a tree eating an apple. You couldn’t fight the heat that crept up your neck, it had been rather childish in retro sight. “You gave me zero instructions,” you tried to rationalize it. “I didn’t have much more to go off from either when I gained my powers,” he argued and jumped down, “So lesson number one.” He patted down his pants once which did exactly nothing for the stains in the fabric before he placed his palm flat on your chest, making your breath hitch. “That in there is your energy. Get to know it. Learn how to read it. It’s where we draw our powers from, where every living being draws their energy from, they’re just not aware of it. If you concentrate and learn how to utilize it to your advantage, you’ll be able to feel other’s energies much more clearly and you will be able to manipulate them.” You nodded along with Yuta’s words even though you couldn’t quite grasp what it all would mean for you. “It’s overwhelming at first,” the warlock smiled, patting your chest before dropping his arm, “But I am here to help as long as you are willing to work with me and not throw a temper tantrum.” “Thank you,” you mumbled, smiling back at Yuta. “It’s thank you, master now,” he grinned. “Now go find Ten, I can tell he’s getting irritated.”

Nodding, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. “His hiding spot is a bit far away, I’ll guide you,” Yuta promised, taking one of your hands in his and you felt warmth spread through your body, comforting you. Smiling, you took another breath. You could do this, if Yuta was there to guide you, you could learn to use your powers.

Over the course of the next days and weeks, you stayed with Yuta and Ten. The warlock taught you how to handle all the new things you were able to feel and how to manipulate the different energies around you. At night while you were lying on the little old mattress Yuta had dug up somewhere, Ten often joined you for some ear scratches and told you stories about old witches and warlocks who had become mad in their hunt for power or about incredible pioneers that had written the big spell books Yuta had yet to show you. You had gotten somewhat close with your master as well but you never quite understood him completely. One moment he seemed like he’d rather be literally anywhere else when you were struggling with molding the energies like he had both explained and showed you and the next moment he told you the most shocking made-up stories only to laugh at your face when you had actually believed him. But since he was the only other human you had contact with in a while, you grew attached to him quickly, always gravitating towards him even when he was doing mandatory tasks like cooking or cleaning (which admittedly wasn’t very often).

One rainy afternoon though, the warlock seemed more grim than usual. He had yet to teach you anything today; he had just asked you to grab a few herbs he was running low on. When you had asked Ten what was going on with Yuta, he had only given you a very cryptic answer before he had disappeared. “Something is different today,” you tried to initiate a conversation when the warlock wouldn’t talk to you while he was stirring something in a small cauldron over the fire. “What makes you think that?” “You haven’t taught me anything yet and refuse to talk to me. Ten is also nowhere to be found and he hates the rain.” “Wrong answer,” Yuta cut you off, “You’re still thinking like a regular human.” “I am still human,” you argued. At that your master just snorted, closing the lid on the copper cauldron louder than he needed to. “You’re so much more than just a human; you just need to finally acknowledge it. You came here seeking revenge on those who wronged your people and who abused their powers.” “And I still want them to pay for what they did to those girls.” “You want them gone.” It wasn’t a question. Yuta locked eyes with you: Piercing green meeting yours that were a little more muted. “They don’t deserve to keep living their lives like that. They need to be taught a lesson.” The warlock slowly nodded before he lowered the heat of the fire with a flick of his hand. “Get your cloak.” “Where are we going?” You asked, slipping on the thick fabric and following Yuta outside.

“You tell me,” he answered, motioning for the forest. “Stop toying with me.” “Use your senses, woman,” he spat, “Figure it out.” Huffing in annoyance, you closed your eyes, concentrating on your own energy that swirled inside your chest, feeling it like a small flame before you turned your eyes outward, feeling Yuta’s energy right next to you. His flame was bigger and seemingly less controlled than your own, a little deeper in color and burning hotter than yours. “Stop spying on me,” he spoke lowly, sounding almost amused. Slowly you expanded your sight, feeling the animals hiding from the rain beneath the leaves of the trees and in little caves, feeling the power of the stream that lead into the valley, feeling... Feeling something that was not right. “What is that?” You asked, trying to pinpoint where this energy was coming from. “You tell me,” Yuta spoke lowly, careful to not break your concentration. “Something isn’t right. Near the stream.” The warlock hummed, slowly approaching you to place a hand on your shoulder. Bit by bit you could feel the warmth of his powers mingle with your own, sharpening your senses, his energy guiding yours in the right direction. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only intensified but the comforting warmth of your master made you push further, looking for the source. “See it now?” “It’s a man,” you gasped, your senses almost recoiling when you found him. He was unlike any energy you had ever felt before. His energy felt off, you couldn’t quite describe it. “How does he feel?” Yuta’s low voice calmed you down again, encouraging you to look closer. “Wrong. Something is not right about him. His energy is small but it feels like it’s too warm. Like he’s about to burst.” “Do you know where he is?” “Near the bridge that leads to my town.”

“Alright,” Yuta spoke, sounding content with your analysis and you could feel his energy leave you, signalizing you to come back to the little house as well. Slowly you blinked your eyes open. “What is wrong with the man?” “He is not a good man,” your master spoke, “We’re going to kill him.” You wanted to protest, to tell him that you couldn’t just kill a man. But something, maybe a voice in the back of your head, told you that you could. And more importantly that you should. Wordlessly you followed Yuta to the path that would lead you towards the bridge.

“Remember what I told you about energies when you first felt them?” “We can neither create energy out of nowhere nor can we just make it disappear. We can just change the nature of the energy,” you recited dutifully. “And what does that tell you?” “We can’t rule over life and death.” “Not exactly,” Yuta agreed. “But you took that girl’s life when you came to heal her,” you argued. “I used up all the energy her body had left in it to heal the wounds that were hidden beneath her skin. I killed by healing her. After all her energy was used up, her heart stopped beating just like that.” “Is that what you’re going to teach me?” “No. that man’s body is healthy as far as I could tell,” Yuta shook his head, halting in his steps so you could meet his eyes again. “You might recognize him when we meet him. I need you to keep a level head and do exactly as I say or you might never get the revenge you want to get so badly.” You throat suddenly felt dryer than it had ever been and you tried to swallow down the feeling of fear that had begun to crawl up your spine.

“Swear that you’re going to do as I say,” Yuta pushed, holding out one of his arms. From what Ten had told you, Yuta was asking you to make an oath and those were not to be taken lightly. But you trusted Yuta. You trusted your master. He might have questionable methods to teach you certain things but he was a capable and strong warlock. Nodding, you held out your hand as well and he forcefully grabbed your forearm which you quickly copied. You could feel energy coming off of him, weaving around where you two were connected. “Say it.” “I swear I will do as you say as soon as we meet this man,” you said, your voice sounding deeper than it usually did, carrying a weight it only did when you tried to cast a spell. “And I will in turn swear to protect you and guide you through what we’re about to do,” Yuta promised, squeezing your arm tightly before his energy recoiled and he loosened the grip. “You’re going to make me kill him,” you breathed into the silence that stretched on. “I will,” he confirmed and turned around to keep making your way towards the strange man.

To say you were absolutely terrified was an understatement, your heart was hammering wildly inside your chest and you were sure Yuta must feel how unruly your energy was becoming. “Calm down,” he spoke, “Once you see him, you will feel differently.” “Can’t we start with something a little less drastic?” You pleaded. You weren’t ready for this. “What use does it have? You have learned everything you need to know about manipulating energies. The energy in humans is no different than the energy in a fire or in a plant and you’re doing well manipulating those. You’re ready for the next step.” “Yuta, I can’t,” you begged, swallowing down the taste of bile you suddenly had in your mouth. “You can and you’re going to,” he replied, a tone of finality in his voice, “Now be quiet, we’re almost there.” You had half a mind to scream so the man would run away when there wouldn’t be this voice in your head telling you that this man was no good. Taking a deep breath, you quickly followed your master until you arrived at the bridge, hiding between the bushes.

“He’s not far,” Yuta promised, “I’ll explain it once, listen closely: You will wait for him on the bridge. Make him stop so it’s easier for you to get a grasp on his energy. Just like you do it when you’re putting out a fire, you’re going to tug. Expect resistance because while every energy has the will to exist, human energy usually resists a little harder than just fire.” “What am I going to do with his energy?” You asked, proud that your voice wasn’t breaking. “It’s going to be a lot more energy than you can hold unlike with fires. You need to release it. Find something you can direct it to.” You bit your lip and nodded shakily. Sensing your discomfort, Yuta reached out and grabbed your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. “I’m right behind you. I swore to protect you. If you fail to redirect it, I’ll do it before it eats you alive. But I do not want you to not try. Keep a level head.” Taking a couple of beep breaths, you tried to calm down. Yuta must have his reasons he wanted you to kill this man. He wasn’t unjust. You trusted your master. “Now go out there and wait for him. Maybe stretch your senses to find something to redirect the energy to,” he smiled, making your heart flutter for completely different reasons.

Following your masters orders, you stepped out onto the bridge, pulling your hood further into your face so it would be obscured to the man and briefly stretched out your senses like Yuta had suggested. You could feel the weird energy of the man approach, accompanied by another energy that might belong to his horse. Other than that you couldn’t feel much. The safest way was probably to redirect the energy to the water flowing in the stream. You couldn’t think about any other possibilities because the sounds of hooves approached quickly, revealing the horseman. He abruptly stopped his horse when he saw you blocking his path. “Move!” He yelled but you didn’t budge. In fact you were frozen in place when you recognized the man.

He was one of the knights of the king. But not just any knight. Images from summer flashed your mind: The man had stayed at the inn when it was too late to make the travel back to the castle after he had laughed at the girl he had brought back. In the inn he had drunk enough for three men and boasted about what a great lover he was and that the women could never get enough of him. You felt rage rise inside you. This man was rotten to the core. Yuta had been right, he had no rights to live a comfortable life after he had destroyed the life of so many girls and women. “Move!” He called again but you stayed right where you were, slowly lowering your hood so he could see the dark red color of your hair. “A little witch bitch,” the knight spat, dismounting his horse, a big grin on his face, “The lord will be delighted when I bring you to him.” “You disgust me,” you growled, feeling your energy burn brighter inside you, itching to rip the rotten flame from this poor excuse of a man. Behind you, you could feel Yuta’s own energy shift but you paid it no mind. He wouldn’t interfere. This was your test.

The knight slowly approached you, step after step and you could already smell that he reeked of alcohol. “Stop right there,” you demanded, focusing on his energy. Against your expectation he actually halted in his steps before he started to laugh at you. That was it. You wouldn’t allow him to harm another person anymore. Determined, you reached out with your own energy, gripping his firmly and tugging just like you had learned it. The man promptly choked on his laugh, clutching his chest tightly, looking at you with wide eyes. His lips moved with silent pleas and it only made you feel more disgusted than you already were. How did he have the audacity to beg for forgiveness after all he had done? “You disgust me,” you spat before you tugged for a last time, feeling how the energy separated from his body that limply fell to the ground. A great sense of satisfaction filled you and you couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled from your chest. You could feel his energy course through and around you, seemingly growing now that it wasn’t trapped anymore, latching onto your body as it was the closest living thing. The feeling was indescribable. To feel this much energy coursing through you was incredible but after a moment you knew that you couldn’t hold it, the foreign energy trying to force itself inside you alongside your own energy.

Redirect. You had to redirect it before it ate you alive. Your eyes flickered from the trees to the end of the bridge to the sky above you, covered by dark storm clouds. Without thinking too much, you balled up your own energy, giving the foreign one a firm push upwards, forcing it out of your body and towards the clouds instead. Like a thread that suddenly snapped, the energy left you, making you stumble and fall to the ground.

A loud rumbling noise could be heard from above and you knew that you hadn’t made the smartest decision with where you had redirected the energy to. The next thing you felt was a firm chest that you were pressed against and the smell of burning wood and static filling the air. “My little apprentice,” Yuta whispered fondly, gently cupping your cheek. His green eyes were sparkling and if you didn’t know better, you would say that he looked proud of what you had done. “Did I do good?” You asked, looking around his shoulder to see the damage on the bridge. A flash of lightning must have hit it exactly where you and the man’s corpse had been just moments prior, the wood now black and burning. “You did better than I had ever whished for,” Yuta answered, pressing your shivering body tightly against his chest, whispering words of praise into your hair as the reality of what you had just done came crushing down to you, making your body shake with the sobs you let out. You hated yourself for crying. But you weren’t crying for the man. He had deserved what had happened to him. You were crying because it was you who had done it. You weren’t just a human anymore and Yuta had forced you to accept it. You weren’t what was considered normal. You had special powers now, dangerous powers and the only other person that could ever understand and shared the weight that came with those powers was holding you in his arms right now.

“Let’s go home,” Yuta gently spoke, pressing a kiss to your hair and you could only nod and try to not get lost in his eyes when he loosened his grip on you.

“You’re ready.” Puzzled you looked up from where you were reading in one of the big spellbooks in the armchair in front of the fire, Ten curled up in your lap. “You’re ready to get your revenge. You know all you need to know,” Yuta explained himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest where he was leaning against his kitchen counter. When you still couldn’t find the words to tell your master how you were feeling, he continued: “It’s not far to the castle from here. The lord is having a banquet in the evening; all of the royals will be gathered. It’s a great opportunity. You shouldn’t miss it. Ten can show you the way.” “You’re not coming with me?” You asked in a small voice. As much as you still wanted the royals to pay, you had thought that Yuta would help you when it came down to get your revenge. The castle was filled with guards and knights after all. How were you supposed to get in and out of there without being seen? Especially when your plan was to kill the rotten men in charge. “I told you I wouldn’t kill anyone for you. I promised to teach you everything you needed to know so you can get your revenge. And I have done that. There is much more to our powers than just this but I did what I promised and now it’s time for you to do what you need to do.” Before you could argue or voice your concerns, Ten stretched his body in your lap so he could glare at Yuta, a disapproving sound leaving his throat. “Shut up, cat,” Yuta just growled when Ten wouldn’t stop complaining, angrily hissing by now. “I don’t care what you think,” the warlock exclaimed, throwing on his cloak, “Take her to the castle.” After taking a deep breath, he turned to lock eyes with you, a sad smile playing on his lips and added: “Make me proud my little apprentice.”

With that you were left alone in Yuta’s house that had become your home as well. You couldn’t understand the words he had just said. He was throwing you out. Had it all just been this to him and nothing more? Was he just trying to fulfill his promise all these weeks? Did you mean nothing to him? “He is a headstrong idiot,” Ten sighed, his smooth voice like honey for your soul, “You belong here with us and he will realize that eventually.” “Thank you,” you whispered, scratching Ten behind his ears until his purring filled the silence of the room. “And I am not just saying that because Yuta can’t seem to get that spot right there,” he added. You couldn’t hold your giggle, fondly smiling at the cat that you had gotten so close with. “He is right about you being ready though. We should leave soon.” “I have no idea how I should get in and out though. The place must be bursting with guards,” you voiced your concerns. “You would be surprised by how careless the royals are sometimes, they think they’re invincible.” Taking a deep breath, you felt out your own energy, feeling your fire burn brighter with excitement that you could finally give the royals what they deserved. “I’ll show them just how vulnerable they still are,” you said, your voice sounding more determined than you could have wished for. “That’s my girl,” Ten cheered you on, jumping from your lap onto the floor. “I’ll bring you to the castle but I won’t be a big help in this body.” You just nodded, gathering some things you had wanted to take with you: A couple of charged gems and the little dagger Yuta had given you a while back with a slender blade but sharpened to perfection. Lastly you got your cloak to conceal your red hair and green eyes that were a dead giveaway of your true nature. “Ready?” Ten asked, waiting for you outside. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answered, following the creature inside the forest.

When the castle came in sight, you said your farewell to Ten, squeezing his lithe body against your chest to his great dismay. Many people were bringing different things through the big gates and carriage after carriage brought in more supposedly rich and important people. For a while you just leaned against the big walls that surrounded the castle, feeling out the different energies. Of course there were the ordinary energies from the servants and most of the guards that were patrolling mostly on the high walls but the deeper you felt inside the castle, the more rotten energies you could feel, making you sick to the stomach. Your rage was only fueled when you carefully made your way into the courtyard and you could feel distressed and terrified energies further into the castle as well, some of their flames so terrifyingly small that they must belong to some kidnapped girls who were barely holding on to their life.

Waiting for a chance to slip into the more private rooms of the castle, you watched the servants scrambling around behind their masters who for the most time either ignored or scolded them and when a lady screamed at a little boy who had tripped and let some of the stuff he had been carrying drop to the floor, you couldn’t help yourself but to give her energy a quick push only enough to make her heart stutter once before she lost her footing and fell herself. The secret smile the boy quickly hid behind a blank expression was enough thanks for you.

“When is this fortune teller coming around?” One of the guards suddenly asked another one who had just come out of the castle. “She should have been here since the morning and the lord is getting restless, he is snapping at every servant who is coming into his chambers.” A fortune teller? That seemed almost too perfect to be true. Pulling your hood further into your face, you slipped from the shadows and made your way towards the guards. “Good afternoon,” you greeted the guards, honey dripping from your voice, “The lord of this castle sent for me, he wished to know about his future.” The older of the guards slowly let his gaze wander over your form before he reached out a hand to lower your hood. “Don’t,” you hissed, taking a step back. “Come on, leave her alone,” the younger groaned, “I can’t take the lord’s bad mood anymore.” The older one gave you one last once-over before he deemed you no threat and shrugged his shoulders. “You bring her to him, I’m going to the kitchens.”

If you had known how easy it would be to see the lord, you wouldn’t have been this nervous before entering the castle. “Wait in here for him,” the guard told you after he had dropped you off in a small saloon that was just filled with a big sofa and a vanity that displayed big jewels. In the middle of the room stood a small table with a crystal ball on top and you could only barely hold in your laughter. The only problem with this room was that there was nothing you could redirect the lord’s energy to once you had killed him. No fire or plants. This was anything but ideal. Hastily you sat down in front of the crystal ball when you felt the lord approach. You needed a different plan. Either you needed to let this perfect opportunity pass and try to kill him later or you had to do it without your powers. Suddenly the dagger in your pocket felt like it was as heavy as a bag of stones, the handle digging into your hand. You couldn’t let this opportunity pass. You had to take it. Even if it meant that you had to kill him like this. You could do this. This was no different than the guard you had killed.

When you felt the energy of the lord approach, you took another deep breath, searching out your energy for comfort. “Leave us alone,” the lord’s voice commanded the guard who had lead him inside and just like that you were alone with him in the room. You had never seen the lord in person and you didn’t know what you had expected but you thought that his appearance suited his energy: He was a rather small man with greasy black hair. His stomach was rounded and he smelled like he had bathed in perfume to gloss over how bad he smelled. “Finally you are here,” he spoke and even his voice was unattractive, his tone nasally and off pitch, likely from too much alcohol. You just wordlessly nodded your head, not deeming him worthy for words of greetings either. “Sit down so we can get started.”   “I don’t like your attitude woman,” he snarled, looking down at you from his reddened eyes, “You are different than the last one that came.” “I have my special ways to see what the future holds for you,” you simply answered, dragging your dagger from your pocket and placing it onto the table. At that the unruly eyebrows of the man shot up. “Are you threatening me?” “I would never dare to,” you gritted, fighting the sarcasm from creeping into your tone, “But nothing is purer than what your blood could tell me.”

The lord seemed to think about your words for a while, if he was even capable of that. But his energy seemed to calm down after a while when he sat down opposite of you. “Very well,” you smiled, pulling out a couple of the gems you had and placed them on the table, “Please hold your palms up.” When the lord did as you asked, you took a deep breath and willed your hands to not shake when you were grabbing for the dagger. It was rather small in comparison to Yuta’s favorite ones but it should do its job just as good as any other dagger he had in his collection. You really hadn’t thought all of this through. But you needed to do this. For all the girls living on this lord’s lands. You weren’t close enough to him to hurt him much with the dagger and if you weren’t quick enough and he’d sense your true intentions, he would call for the guards. And when you had nowhere to redirect their energy to, you were basically helpless.

“I don’t have all day,” the lord complained when you hadn’t moved after a while. “I was concentrating on your energy, you disgusting piece of shit,” you spat out, making an on-the-spot decision to stop the charade. Quickly, before he could even completely fathom your words, you gave his energy a push to render him breathless for a while which gave you just enough time to leap over the table to ram your dagger into the fat of his neck. With a furiously beating heart, you watched his eyes widen and his throat gurgle with the blood that was flowing into his lungs and seeping from the wound when you pulled your dagger back out. Unable to move your body, you watched him convulse in pain until he stopped moving altogether, his eyes open wide and unseeing. Slowly you could feel his flame getting smaller and smaller until you couldn’t detect it anymore. You had done it. The lord was dead.

Just like the last time when you had killed, the reality came crashing back down to you after the adrenaline had seeped from your body and you felt your hand shaking that still clutched the dagger tightly. When you looked down and saw it covered in the lord’s blood, you instinctively let the dagger fall, the noise unnaturally loud in the silent room.  Your breathing picked up and you felt panic rise in your chest. How were you going to get back out of here? You were drenched in blood and people would surely start to miss the lord soon. Yuta had been wrong, you weren’t ready for this. Bile rose too your mouth and tears were collecting in your eyes. You were done for; they would burn you in the courtyard while laughing at you for your foolish plan to take all the rotten royals out.

“My little apprentice,” a voice said behind you and through your tears you looked up into Yuta’s familiar face. “What are you doing here?” You sobbed, balling your blood smeared hands to fists, your nails digging into your palms. “I thought you had left me.” “Watching out for you, what else?” He smiled, pulling you away from the lord’s corpse and against his chest, not minding that you were staining his cloak with blood. His calming energy engulfed you like a cloud and slowly evened out your own untamed energy and eventually helped you to even out your breathing. “There are a lot more people here than I expected,” you mumbled when your tears had stopped falling, growing basically boneless in Yuta’s hold. “We’re going to take care of them together,” Yuta promised, pressing a kiss to your hair before he loosened his hold on you and took a look around the lord’s room, picking up some of the expensive looking jewelry that was laying around.

“The banquet has already begun,” you spoke after you had felt out the remaining rotten energies, all bundled up in the big hall, “They will become suspicious if he’s not coming down soon.” “I have always had a thing for dramatic entrances,” the warlock grinned, loosening his cloak so it fell to the ground, “How about we interrupt this boring dinner they are having right now and heat this place up a little? There is this nice little fire in the fireplace to keep them warm but I feel like it could use a little more energy.” His words made you mirror the wicked grin that had started to spread on his lips. “Lead the way,” you spoke, ready to teach all the rotten royals a lesson. With Yuta by your side, you knew that you couldn’t fail.

Together you stood in front of the burning castle, a little further up the hill and hidden by trees, listening to the people screaming in agony. When you turned your head to look at Yuta, the orange flames of the fire beautifully illuminated his features despite the ashes that were clinging to his cheeks and the fact that he was missing half an eyebrow that must have gotten burned off, his lips crooked into a cocky grin. “Nothing more beautiful than the chaos some little flames can cause,” he spoke before he tore his gaze from the castle and looked at you instead. Tenderly he reached out to wipe the splatters of blood on your cheeks away, just smearing them further onto your skin in the process. “You look beautiful like this,” he whispered, his green eyes sparkling dangerously. “I’m a mess,” you argued, feeling how the blood on your hands was slowly drying. “The most beautiful mess I have ever seen.” Before you could argue any further, the warlock connected your lips in a bruising kiss, pressing your body close to his. He tasted of smoke, blood and danger but to you it tasted like the most intoxicating drink you ever had the pleasure of tasting.

“What are you doing, Yuta?” You breathed against his lips when his hands had slipped beneath your shirt, nails raking over the skin of your stomach. “Unleashing your full powers,” he groaned, all but ripping the garment over your head before roughly connecting your lips again. “What do you mean?” “Stop asking so many questions,” the warlock growled, sucking harshly on the skin of your neck, obviously not bothered by the blood clinging to your skin. You could just mewl and desperately clutch onto him, afraid your legs would give out. Once Yuta was satisfied with how dark the mark on your neck had turned he gripped your hair to yank your head back so he could kiss you again. Still high on the adrenaline from before, you shamelessly moaned into his mouth when he kept your strands of hair in a firm grip to angle your head just how he wanted. Grinning against your lips, he used his chance to slip his tongue between your parted lips, turning the kiss downright filthy. “Yuta,” you sighed when he parted from you, both of you panting heavily while staring into each other’s green eyes. Blood was smeared onto both of your faces now and you had stained his shirt with the blood clinging to our hands. “Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his hands wandering to where the wrappings around your chest were fastened, “Tell me to unleash your full potential, my little witch.” Before you could answer, he leaned in to steal another kiss while he tugged on the cloth that had kept your breasts covered. “You don’t even know how fucking hot you are like this,” he groaned against your lips, roughly grabbing your boobs to massage the soft flesh, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Do it,” you moaned, arching your back towards the warlock, “Do it, Yuta.”

A deep growl came from his chest and with quick movements he rid himself of his singed shirt and stepped out of his pants to stand before you completely naked safe for the ashes and blood clinging to his skin. His cock was already hard and hanging heavy between his legs. With a dangerous smile on his spit slicked lips, he crowded you against the trunk of a tree, the bark digging roughly into your back. With only so much as a flick of his wrist, the warlock had you naked as well and raked his widely blown eyes over the exposed skin. “My little witch, so beautiful,” he rasped, pressing his lips to the mark he had created on your neck, making you hiss in both pain and pleasure. Chuckling he grabbed one of your thighs to wrap it around his waist, exposing your most private part to him. But before you even had time to think about what you were about to do and how improper it was, Yuta had snaked a hand between your bodies to cup your sex, slowly grinding the heel of his palm in your clit which tore a loud moan from your lips that mingled with the screams you could still hear in the distance.

A grin spread on Yuta’s lips when you threw your head back and moaned unashamed when one of his fingers played around your entrance, teasing but never slipping inside, making more and more wetness seep from your core. “You want it?” He asked, pinching the skin of your thigh that he still held tightly to get your attention. “I already told you to do it,” you whined, grinding your hips in an attempt to finally make his finger slip inside you. “When will my little apprentice finally learn to answer my questions properly?” He sighed, bringing his hand down on your wet folds, creating a wet slapping noise that brought blood to your face. The mixture of pain and pleasure made your head swim even more than the adrenaline had minutes ago. “Answer your master,” Yuta growled, bringing his hand down a second time, causing you to jolt in his hold. “Do it already,” you groaned, burying your hands in his unruly red hair to kiss him again, wasting no time to lick into his mouth. If anything you were a fast learner and tried to match Yuta in the kiss. While you were distracted with kissing the life out of him, he finally slipped one of his fingers inside you, making you gasp and break the kiss. “Feels good?” He grinned as he began to move his finger at a steady pace before quickly adding a second one, stretching you out. “Yeah, feels good, master,” you breathed. You could feel Yuta’s breath hitch against your lips before he let out a row of colorful curses, speeding up the motion of his fingers. “Say it again,” he growled. “Say what again?” You hiccupped, holding onto his shoulders tightly, the pleasure making your head swim. “Call me your master,” the warlock growled, crooking his fingers inside you so you saw stars behind your eyes, punching all air from your lungs. “Master, please,” you choked out, burying your nails in his shoulder to drag them down his back, leaving angry red lines and a trail of smeared blood.

Cursing, Yuta pulled his fingers from your core, making a distressed mewls leave your lips. He just chuckled breathlessly at your reaction but before you had the time to even feel ashamed, you felt the blunt head of his cock slip inside you, the feeling so foreign and overwhelming that you had to close your eyes. Yuta slowly pushed inside deeper and deeper until your bodies were as flush together as the position was allowing you to. “Fuck you’re squeezing me so tightly,” Yuta cursed and breathed heavily into your ear. You could only mewl instead of answering properly; you had never felt like this in your entire life. You felt your energy bounce around wildly in your chest, slowly expanding and turning deeper in shade. But before you had any chance to take a closer took, Yuta pulled his hips back and thrust right back into you, pulling loud moans from both of you. “You feel it?” He groaned, slowly picking up his pace, “Feel how your powers grow?”

“I couldn’t care less about any of my powers right now,” you whined, yanking Yuta close by the hair on his nape to crash your lips together to stop yourself from moaning out loudly. “So feisty,” he breathlessly chuckled against your lips, “Hold on tightly.” In a heartbeat he had twirled you around to lay you down into the grass instead. Watching your expression closely, he thrust back inside you, causing you to moan loudly with how deep he was inside you now. The feeling was so overwhelming that you clamped your thighs tightly around his frame and threw your head back with a loud moan. “That’s it, let me hear you,” the warlock moaned, caging you between his arms before he started to move his hips in quick thrusts that made stars spark behind your closed eyelids. You didn’t have any brainpower left to even remotely feel embarrassed by how loud you were being, instead digging your fingers into Yuta’s shoulders to pull him back down into a messy kiss that was more tongue and panting into each other’s mouths than anything else.

“Look at me my little witch,” Yuta panted when his trusts were getting erratic and you felt like the energy inside you was ready to burst and explode in thousand little stars. Just when your emerald eyes met his piercing gaze and you saw how his eyes were filled with so much more than just lust, you couldn’t help yourself anymore and let go of the coil inside your stomach, letting the pleasure overwhelm your body while moaning your master’s name. Seconds after you heard Yuta moan your own name while he pressed inside you for one last time, his back arched and lips parted. Around you, the air was buzzing with energy, almost singing with how potent it was. For a while you just looked at each other, breathing heavily, silly smiles on both of your lips before Yuta leaned down to connect them in a tender kiss.

“You two disgust me,” a familiar voice suddenly broke the delicate silence but this time it wasn’t inside your head. When both Yuta and you looked to the side, you saw a slender man with jet black hair sitting in the grass not far from you, looking back at you with familiar amber eyes. “But I can’t say I hate what you managed to do,” Ten added, looking at his delicate hands. “Go stare at some other people fucking, you creep,” Yuta growled, covering your body with his. “But I finally had something different to see than you sadly beating your meat or trying out questionable spells,” Ten teased, poking out his tongue. “If you don’t leave right now, I will find a way to trap you inside a frog next time.” “I’d love to see you try, honey,” Ten laughed before he actually left to give you some privacy.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled into Yuta’s chest where you had hidden your face that must have the same color as his hair at this point. “Don’t mind him,” Yuta smiled, kissing your forehead, then your nose and both of your cheeks before pecking your lips. “I can’t look Ten in the eyes anymore,” you groaned, making the warlock laugh. “Let’s not talk about him when I’m still inside you,” Yuta whispered, grinding your hips together to prove his point. “Let’s make him wait for a bit longer.”

[sweetestlamb]

Mostrami Amore.

Summary: Cha-young tries to move on from a certain mafia boss. 

Author’s Note: Thank for to everyone who sent in prompts for Chayenzo, it resulted in this mess. I don’t have much to say, I considered making this into a multi- chaptered story but honestly I don’t have time for another ongoing story so if this seems rushed it was a little, I wrote it in one go today. Hope you enjoy this, I stuck in some of my favorite crack ship because I am weak and obsessed. Happy reading! 

p.s takes place after final episode but han seo lives because this is my world and I get to play God. 

Another postcard.

Their delivery becomes sporadic and she’s embarrassed at the giddiness that washes over her each time a new square is sent miles across a wide stretch of ocean, the view on the card most likely lackluster in comparison to the true rendering of Malta. She has spent many hours on her laptop searching for images of the small paradisiac island, yearning to see what he sees and feel just a tad bit closer to him. Most of her life has been spent in solitude with only her work acquaintances filling the void at times, so she expected herself to be more equipped to deal with his disappearance and subsequent absence. But nothing prepares her for those moments at the coffee shop, when she finds herself smiling across a table only to realize there is no miniature espresso cup in the hand of a very dangerous Italian Korean mafia member grinning back at her. 

The smile melts off her face and she swallows the bitter cool sludge in her cup, the beverage tasting exactly as he had described it without him there. 

Nights are the hardest, loneliness coils around her like a snake. 

There was never any other fate for them, she knew that when Vincenzo murdered all their enemies this was their only real outcome. He would always be a fugitive on the run and she an accomplice if he were captured and questioned, it was in both of their best interests if he vanished from the face of the planet. But knowing that does nothing to qualm the ever present feeling of isolation that clings to her skin as she sits alone on her couch, downing makgeolli at a vicious pace. Trying to wash his taste from her mouth, that kiss on loop in her mind and the phantom grip of his hand on her neck. 

It’s those treacherous nights without the plaza members that have become a second family to her and Han Seo following her like the lost puppy he is calling her “Noona” so freely and frequently until she forgets her own name, that she allows herself to feel exactly what she’s feelings. 

Heartbroken. 

Desperate. 

Lonely. 

Rage. 

The last one she hides like a dirty secret in the closet of her heart, she knew what she was signing up for. She has no legitimate reason to be angry, or so she tries to reason with herself. But. This was the same man who had bypassed the security of one of the richest men in Korea and ultimately killed him without leaving a trace. She had watched him do despicable things, blackmailing, threatening, seducing, and murdering others as he saw fit and yet, he hadn’t used any of those dastardly ways to see her. That chance meeting at the art gallery had been the last she had seen of him, Then a few weeks later another postcard with the same message she had boldly uttered at the airport, it feels insufficient after having him in her arms again. She knew in that moment that they would never be enough again. She hadn’t even argued when Mr. Nam claimed he would leave this one on his table instead, she merely nodded and walked away to peruse the new sexual assault case she has taken recently. 

It gets harder and harder to hear Han Seo regaling the wonders of his “hyung”,  her anger boiling deep below the surface like magma waiting to explode and transform into something tangible and destructive. 

“He told me that he has a room for me too. I wonder when he’ll let us visit.” 

She nods absently, staring out the window at the sunlight twinkling in through the blinds but then his words register and the gears in her head churn before running the sentence back through to carefully process them. 

“He---what? You spoke to Vincenzo?” 

The human puppy pouts his lips before tilting his head and dealing a hard blow to her ego and her heart, “Yeah, he sends me letters. I got so scared the first time! He said the letter would self-destruct after I read it and I really thought that was true and I dived across the room to escape but I bumped my head on the table and then...” 

He sent Han Seo letters.  

She had received the same fucking postcard for months on end with the same message she had said to him, and he had time to write Han Seo letters. He hadn’t sent her even one in the time he had been gone. 

“That fucking bastard!”  She explodes interrupting Han Seo’s recount of his near death experience and he looks wide- eyed and taken back by her outburst, she almost soothes him before another wave of anger rushes through her veins. She had accepted the bare minimum because she thought this was all he could give her but it seemed she was being too naïve. He was Vincenzo Cassano after all, he could make anything happen. She had seen it with her own two eyes. If he wasn’t reaching out to her maybe that was a message and she was too blind to see it. 

“Noona? Are you okay?” Han Seo looks absolutely terrified, eyes huge and quivering. She doesn’t bother answering, grabbing her cup of lukewarm coffee and stomping out of the office ignoring Mr. Nam’s calls behind her. She’s tired of being an idiot. 

She throws herself into forgetting him, the same way he seems to have forgotten her despite his words to her that fateful night on the stairs. 

I thought about you everyday. 

Actions speak louder than words and she is done accepting his crumbs. She has never needed anyone, had even accepted when her own father wanted nothing to do with her; she has basically been prepping for this moment her entire life. 

So she goes shopping with Miri, buying gadgets that she has no idea how to use but that the other girl makes sound like things that she definitely needs such as a new home security system, her break in still fresh in her mind. She grins at the pretty smile on the other girl’s round face as she explains the specification of the machines around them and she can see why Han Seo has such a huge crush on the girl, the pretty blush that blossoms on the other girl’s cheek after stating the fact out loud is adorable and she pinches said cheek much to her chagrin. 

“You should worry about your own love life.” Miri teases but the words sting like acid on her skin and she turns away to hide the grimace on her face, but she’s not fast enough and the other girl catches her wrist halting her movement. 

“What? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mr. Cassano?” Miri whispers the last part, looking around to make sure that nobody overhears them. 

She forces herself to stifle her emotions, trapping them in the back of her mind refusing to let him have this kind of affect on her. 

“I wouldn’t know.” She tries for a emotionless tone but even she can hear the bitterness in her own voice and Miri’s eyes fill with pity and it makes her sick to her stomach, “Don’t. I am going to be fine. Let’s just go.” 

They don’t utter single word in the car ride home. 

After that it becomes painfully obvious that everyone in the plaza thinks something is wrong with her and are teaming up to make her feel better. It’s the packed lunches that keep showing up on her desk without fail, her clothes being steamed and pressed for free, the way that they won’t allow her to be alone and there are countless spontaneous family game nights all ending with her drunk and being carried home. 

Tonight Mr. Tak is the unlucky volunteer, dragging her limp body in her father’s house and she thinks of all the times that they drank here together and a certain person was the one hauling her body to bed complaining and grumbling but that distractingly fond smile on his face that he only ever seemed to shoot her way. Her heart thumped loudly as he loomed over her and leaned in close, getting her hopes up only to brush her hair behind her ears and softly tell her, “Go to sleep now,” and she had never been obedient all her teachers could testify to that but when he looked at her like that she was powerless to do anything else but listen. 

“I miss him.” The traitorous words fall from her lips and vanish into the inky darkness of the night. 

A deep sigh from the left of her, “We know.” 

She feels vulnerable, the worst thing about having a weakness is other’s noticing too. She hates how weak she feels. 

“I am going to forget him.” 

The body supporting most of her weight tenses under her arm and she waits for his response, they all love Vincenzo- he had become their unexpected hero and leader in many ways. They would always take his side, she knows that. 

“If that’s what you need to do to be happy. Then, do it. Loving a man like Vincenzo isn’t easy.” 

She turns to look at him in genuine shock. 

“What? You thought I would tell you to keep waiting with no end in sight? You should know by now, you mean a lot to us too. Your happiness is important to us too, we’re a family.” 

“But we’re the Cassano family,” she challenges unable to accept that they could love her without Vincenzo attached, but Mr. Tak shrugs at the clarification, “We can be the Hong Family too.”

She feels her eyes swimming. 

“I should go inside.” 

She feels sober and more awake than ever, she stays up all night twirling the long strands of her hair in between her fingers. 

Thinking. 

Variety is the spice of life. 

She doesn’t know where she’s heard that but it’s those sage words that are the catalyst for her spontaneous decision. 

“Same as always? Silky with some body?” Her stylist peers into her eyes through the wide mirror and she hears herself say, “No I want a cut and some color.” Yu-jin raises one pretty tweezed brow but nods after a moment’s pause, “Okay. How short are you thinking?” 

And that’s how she starts her day with long thick hair that grazes her lower back and ends it with a short bob that tickles her neck. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulder, metaphorically and literally and she loves the face that she sees in the mirror, her eyes looking brighter than they have in months. She feels more alive, like a snake shedding its skin and becoming a newer and fresher version of itself. 

“Your hair?” That becomes the running theme for her day, shocked gaping mouths and hands reaching out for the hair that was once there.  She merely smirks at their palpable surprise, especially Seol-jin who doesn’t recognize her from behind. 

“I haven’t seen a pretty lady like you aro--Oh Ms. Hong! I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you, I am so sorry please excuse me!” The interpretative dancer bolts away leaving her to watch him bemused, she skips to Jipuragi with a pep in her step laughing loudly when Mr. Nam drops his coffee upon seeing her and the brown liquid goes flying and douses him in a sticky hot mess. 

It’s an entertaining day to say the least. 

Moments later when he’s finished cleaning himself up and changing into the cheetah print track suit that he insisted to keeping in the office, he mentions that a new postcard has arrived. She nods at the information, looking at her laptop and it’s only seconds later that she finally looks up and sees that he’s waiting for her response. She doesn’t have one. 

Forcing a tight smile on her face she replies, “Oh that’s great. Just put it with the others.” 

He does. 

But she can feel his eyes on her, his concern heavy and tangible in the air. 

She pretends not to notice and keeps clicking away on her laptop, only glancing over at the card once or twice. But it’s only out of habit. 

Nothing more. 

She starts going on dates with random men. Men she meets in coffee shops, on the streets, in bars, hell one time even the bookstore. She never meets the same man twice and they never get what they want but it does make her feel desirable and that’s all she’s looking for. 

“Where are you going?” Han Seo asks her curiously, Miri by his side as she struts out the plaza new perfume on her skin. 

“On a date. I’ll see you both later.” They both gape at her and can only watch with wide eyes as she sashays away, heels clicking with every step. 

Word spreads like wildfire and no one takes it harder than Mr. An, who calls her a “jezebel” and cries at the front of the law firm for hours, she has to step over him to go get lunch shaking him off when he latches on to her ankles. 

The others just look at her with sad eyes, filled with both understanding and disappointment. 

Much to her surprise the lunch boxes keep coming and her clothes are still pressed and starched to perfection though. 

She also starts taking self defense classes, Korea is much more dangerous than she had first suspected and she has to be able to protect herself because nobody is coming to save her.  Not anymore. 

It becomes a great outlet for her built up anger and her instructor praises her for being a fast learner. She grins and nods before flipping him and twisting his arm around his own neck in a modified sleeper hold. When he taps on her arm she squeezes tighter instead of letting go and he goes limp for a moment before she comes back to herself and releases him hastily with a quick apology, “Sorry!”

He rubs his neck, panting for air and she feels guilty, there's a tinge of that but most of all she feels powerful, more so than she has for a long time. 

It’s crazy but she finds herself asking him for drinks after class and even crazier is that he agrees even with her marks still there on his skin, the area bruised and red. He looks at her like she’s challenge that he wants to conquer, she lets him believe that’s possible. It’s only a bit of fun anyway, she has no plans for anything serious. 

Drinks turn into a drunken cab ride home with his hand on her thigh, hot through the thin material of her tights and they don’t feel right- too small and not rough enough but she’s moving on and she has no time to reminisce. 

There hasn’t even been a postcard lately. Message, loud and clear. 

When she shoves the keys into her door, he’s glued to her body leaving wet kisses on the long column of her neck and she tries to suppress the nausea that swims in her stomach, everything feels wrong and she hates herself for feeling that way. Why shouldn’t she fuck whoever she wants? He is probably doing the same thing, everyday on his beautiful private island. Kissing women that aren’t her and whispering dirty Italian words into their ears as he rocks back and forth, nary a thought of that Korean woman he knew once upon a time. 

Fuck him. 

She rocks back into the purposeful grind of the hips behind her, feeling the hardness that digs into the soft flesh of her ass and finally the door opens and they both tumble in haphazardly and he thrusts a hand under her loose shirt fingering at her breasts before a dark figure moves far too quickly in her peripheral and she hears her date cry out in pain. 

She almost faints at the familiar sight of the one person she never expected to see, the hard glint of his cold eyes as he twists the same hand that had just been fondling her chest. The grip looks painful, the wrist contorted in an unnatural manner. 

“What the fuck? You have a boyfriend?!” Her instructor cries out, voice high pitched falling to his knees as Vincenzo kicks his feet out from under him. 

She rolls her eyes, of course he would come now when she is trying (and failing) to get over him. 

Vindictively she answers the question, ‘No.” 

But that makes Vincenzo twist the wrist in his grip even tighter and she can see the bones breaking so she takes pity on the poor man, he didn’t sign up for a murderous mafia leader after all. 

“Just let him go. You have no right to do any of this.” 

He doesn’t listen right away and absently she wonders if she’ll need to test out her new moves on him, it would be satisfying to deck him square in the face. She dreams of that as often as she dreams of their reunion. Her feelings are...complicated to say the least. 

Then with a grunt, he throws the other man away like he’s trash and growls out, “Get out of here before I kill you.” 

She tries not be get turned on by that. But it’s a hard sell, her body already getting revved up. He’s telling the truth. 

The man wastes no time, jumping to his feet and bolting out the door without one backwards glance. Asshole, he was really just leaving her with a clearly unstable and dangerous man. 

“We need to talk.” Vincenzo squeezes out between clenched teeth, and her blood runs cold but she stares him dead in the eyes tired of this game they’ve been playing, if he’s here to end things she wants to know. 

“Okay. Then talk.” 

She looks insanely beautiful, with her hair cropped so short bringing his eyes to the tantalizing length of her neck. His eyes close in on a spot of moisture on her neck, he feels his blood boiling imagining that bastard touching any part of her.  She’s glaring right back at him, her chest rising and falling and he can’t help but check her out, it’s been months since he saw her in person the photo of her doing aerial yoga above his bed couldn’t compare to the tempest that is Cha-young in real life. 

The flat plane of her belly is on display under the white crop top loosely stretched across her chest which leads down to her slim hips and legs wrapped in white spandex, leaving very little to the imagination not that he hasn’t imagined her in far less many, many times. Too many times to count. Spilling across the silk adorning his king sized bed with only her name on his lips. 

She looks fucking hot. 

That makes it even more frustrating because he can still clearly see that bastard wrapped around her like a snake and his hands going up her shirt---he has to take a deep breath before he breaks something. Or chases that asshole to break his face. 

There’s so much he wants to say to her, so much he owes her. 

I missed you. 

I love you. 

Come with me. 

“Who the hell was that?” He says this instead then watches her eyes glint over into nothing but pure murderous rage. Wrong move. But he couldn’t help it, green eyed raged taking away his decision making abilities. 

“That’s all you have to say? Get out.” 

He wasn’t expecting rose petals and trumpets when he returned but he definitely wasn’t expecting this, her cold glare or another man in his spot. He thought she would wait for him, just as he had done for her. 

“Are you serious right now?” He counters, flabbergasted. 

“Deadly. Get out.” 

He clenches his fist, and then stomps out. Turning back but only to watch the door slam in his face. 

What the hell. 

It had only taken a letter from Han Seo to get him on boat that would take him to an open field and hours later he was soaring through the skies on a hot air balloon, on his way back to Korea. It was insane and he barely had time to explain to his family but Luca nodded at him like this was the only choice and told him that he would take care of everything, and he trusted those words more than he had ever trusted anything in his life.

“Vai a prendere la tua donna( go get your woman).” 

He had nodded, gruffly patting the other man on his shoulder before hopping over into the waiting boat. 

But he wasn’t so certain anymore that Cha-young was his. 

She seems different. Colder almost, she leaves whenever I mention your name and she goes on dates now. I think she’s moving on hyung, what are you going to do? 

Those words had been the scariest thing he had never seen. Scarier than every gun that had ever been pointed at his head. He thought what they had was something special, something that could stand the test of time and distance. He stared at the huge pile of letters on his bedside, all addressed to her. He had written one everyday since they had been separated, but each time he was too much of a coward to send it. In those letters he could say things that he could never say to her face, things like how much he ached without her by his side and how her smile was the only thing that kept him going. In those letters he could regal the ways he loved her, and how deeply she had been branded into his soul, every atom of his body belonged to her and her alone.  He would kill for her, die for her, anything she needed or merely wanted he would provide it, all she needed to do was ask. 

He could only share those feelings in the letters. 

He walks for hours, until he ends up at his old apartment the familiar door greeting him and he sticks his hand in his pocket before he remembers that he gave the key away, with a sigh he starts to walk away before the door creaks open and he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in months. 

“Hyung!” 

A warmth spreads across his back as a solid weight almost knocks him off his feet. He reaches one arm around his body, awkwardly slapping the face that is pressing into his collar. 

“You really chose to stay here.” 

He feels the nod on his shoulder, “Of course. It made me feel closer to you hyung, I missed you.” 

He grunts in response, before turning around and tugging the younger man into a real hug. He had missed the annoying little leech too, he had missed everyone. 

They are still in each other’s embrace for a moment before Han Seo pulls away, sympathy etched deep on his face. 

“She wasn’t happy to see you.” 

“There was someone else there.” He hates the words even as they leave his mouth and Han Seo winces, looking pained for him before tugging him into the small apartment. Everything is just like he left it.  He looks around in awe. 

“I’m sorry hyung. What are you going to do?”

That’s the golden question, he pondered it all the way here and he’s no closer to knowing the answer to that. Usually she is the one that makes the move, she has always been the brave one between them. He back steps and says things he doesn’t mean and she sees through him and smashes down all his walls. That’s how this has always worked. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Let her be happy.” 

A loud scoff reaches his ears, “Sure. Is that why you sailed across sharked infested waters and trusted a hot air balloon company run my former thugs?”

He smarts at the sarcastic reply and glares before flicking the cheeky brat on his nose, "I liked you better when you were stupid you know. Now you're a little smart ass."

The younger man looks even more youthful as he grins back at him, rubbing at his nose before shrugging.  "I learned from the best."

He has no rebuttal for that so he tries to flick him again, giving chase when he darts off.

It feels good to be home.

He warns Han Seo not to tell anyone that he's here least they give away his location.

So he's not surprised the next day to find the cavalry at his doorstep hands filled to the brim with containers of food. There are tears, mostly from Mr. Nam who won't stop screaming his name and pinching his cheeks to see if he's real and Mr. An who wraps around him like a koala despite his very detailed threats. It's all chaos and so familiar that his heart aches but her absence is like a hole in his chest. Nobody mentions her but they all keep looking at the door, so it's obvious that she was invited but chose not to come.

Because she didn't want to see him.

"You're here to win her back right?" He doesn't know who even utters the words but when he glances up they are all looking at him expectantly.

He didn't know that was what he was indeed here for thought that she would happily welcome him back and they could pick up where they left off but she's made it clear that this won't be the case. This will be the most important fight of his life.

"Yes. I'm here for Cha-young."

He gets enthusiastic thumbs up and a loud giggle from the Yeon-Jin  and Cheol-Wook’s adorable baby, her little hands too uncoordinated to do a thumbs up but she waves excitedly  feeding off the energy around her.

He wonders how Cha-young would look with a baby in her arms, their baby it's a dangerous thought. But one that he can't get out of his mind once he thinks it.

They stay until midnight, forcing him to eat and drink too much soju until he passes out to dreams filled with a round Cha-young, belly swollen and protruding from her body. 

It doesn't take much to learn her schedule(Mr. Nam hands him a laminated copy) and he has to put on a disguise but he enters the shop seconds after her, hearing her order that god awful sewer water she's so fond of.

"An espresso for me." He leans in too close, almost brushing her shoulder and she jolts at the sound of his voice, turning to stare at him as if she's a mirage.

"You're still here?" She whispers and then shakes her head and looks away as if she's hadn't meant to say the words aloud.

It hurts him that she thought he would leave without telling her but he can't blame her, he has been anything but consistent. Instead of answering, he leans forward to hand his credit card to the cashier who glances between them suspiciously before accepting the card.

Their orders are ready in seconds and he follows her as she walks to their table, butterflies in his stomach at the familiar sight.

She turns to him with a glare, "It's just the only available table."

He moves to pull out her chair and she starts at him tight lipped before sitting down. She's in a tight black suit today, two long slits on the side of her pants going all the way up to her thighs. He gulps down his drink to get rid of the drool pooling in his mouth.

"You're upset with me."

She stares at him like he's the biggest idiot on the planet, it's not a look he receives often but she's always the outlier in his otherwise organized life.

"Astute observation." She quips back, sucking loudly at her coffee.

"Why?"

He considered how to go about breeching this subject and in the end had decided on going straight to the source, he had been under the impression that this was working for them.

Her face morphs into a person he hasn't seen for a long time, the Cha-young that would berate him and make him angry enough to curse in Italian.

"Do you think this little of me?"

He's completely lost, "What do you mean? What did I do that was so wrong? Wrong enough for you to cheat on me!" He's panting now, his voice has gotten loud enough to catch people's attention he can feel them watching their table, nosy and invested.

"Cheat on you?"

Cold as ice, her voice is. It almost makes him shiver.

"How could I possibly cheat on you? We're not together. You send me the same postcard with the same message every few months. I have no idea what you're doing in Malta, who you're with. You can't even be bothered to send me a letter, do you think this is a relationship? You think it's enough to pop up like this every once in a blue moon? You've told me nothing about how you feel about me but I'm supposed to be satisfied with whatever you throw my way?"

If he wasn't sitting down his legs would have already given out he's certain about that. Her voice is deadly quiet each word landing and chipping away at his confidence.

"I'm doing the best I can! You knew it would be like this after everything was over, why are you blaming me now? How about you, I don't know how you feel either!"

"I love you! Anyone with eyes can see that, I told you that at the airport too. And again when I took a bullet for you, you didn't think that meant I loved you? I was willing to die for you."

Shit.

It's not at all how he expected them to confess their love for each other, it's hard to believe the words that are coming out of her mouth as she bares her teeth at him.

"So why are you doing this? Why are there other men?"

Why aren't I enough? He wants to say but he's scared of her answer, terrified that she'll say that she can't do this anymore. That he just isn’t enough anymore. 

She stares at him long and hard.

Waiting for something. But he doesn't know what.

"You haven't changed at all. You're still a coward, I'm not interested in guessing anymore. I’m done playing this game.” 

She stands up and walks away, leaving her unfinished coffee on the table.

Unwanted just like him.

She doesn't see him for days and she accepts that her words had done their damage, she had cried until she fell asleep that night. Waking up with swollen red eyes that no amount of concealer would save but thankfully no one commented on her state.

She goes through her day on autopilot and before she knows it she's back home, ready to face her night alone  again. She pushes the door open, half praying he'll be waiting for her but her hopes shattered when she turns on the lights and finds no one.

"It's better this way." She lies to herself, pouring herself an obscene glass of soju. She's going to need plenty of alcohol to get through this pain.

Her head is woozy and heavy when she hears a sound, suddenly alert she stills in her chair before rushing over to get a frying pan walking on the tips of her toes she prowls closer to the clicking sound, finding herself at the window peering at a long lost friend. Placing the frying pan on her window sill she pry opens the window, screeching when the audacious bird flies inside landing on her table as if he belongs there.

"Hey Inzaghi! Get your dirty bird feet off my table!"

He looks at her nonchalantly, making himself comfortable on said table and she sighs before shutting the window and drunkenly swaying over to him.

"What are you even doing there? Do you want to be my bird now, I won't be a very good owner. I won't remember to feed you. I barely remember to feed myself."

Despite being a bird he finds a way to roll his eyes at her before standing up and only then does she notice something on his leg. She looks at him cautiously before moving closer and untying the paper on his leg, the pigeon barely reacts before flying over to her couch. She sighs in annoyance, she's going to have to clean everything after this bird leaves.

She unwinds the string holding the paper together, unrolling the paper scroll. There is a message written inside: the rooftop. 9 pm.

Glancing at her clock the time shines at her.

7:34pm.

"This could be a trap."

It very much could be, she has enemies now. It was a small price to pay for taking down Babel but she's always looking over her shoulders now, so this note could easily be someone luring her to hurt her or get back at Vincenzo.

Inzaghi coos loudly at her as if he can hear her thoughts. This time he finds a way to look exasperated.

She stumbles off to her room.

She needs time to think.

"So she told you that she loved you and you didn't say it back?"

"I was shocked. She was growling at me and looked ready to kill me at the same time." He reasons back, trying to show his hyung his point of view. The younger man doesn't look even a little bit convinced by his logic.

"Okay and? That sounds perfectly normal for you too. You should have shot someone and wrote it back in their blood on the table."

He recoils in disgust at the suggestion, "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you actually insane, why the fuck would I do that?"

Han Seo stares deadpan in return.

He puts up a hand trying to stop whatever response he has, "Don't say it."

It doesn't work.

"Pig's blood. Don't forget I saw it all, I've never seen Ms. Hong look so excited before. You're both crazy."

Well, that had been different. It was an old tradition, she simply had an appreciation for the classics.

"And I bet you're defending her right now in your mind. Noona is just like you, that's why you're made for each other. She's the gasoline to your fire."

"You know that would just make an even larger fire right?"

"Yes. I'm smart now remember? I know what I said."

He sighs falling into the comfortable familiarity of the couch, a spring digging into his thigh.

"Why didn't you say it back?" His stills at the barely whispered question, his chest constricting as he recalls the passionate confession. He had frozen, like he'd always known she was the brave one between them. Always doing the unexpected and the time was no different, her words had knocked him off his feet.

"Because I was scared."

Han Seo huffs at his honesty. He doesn't know where the words are coming from but he's tired of keeping it all in.

"Because if anything happens to her it'll break me, I thought it would be better if I kept her at a distance. I thought this was enough. I thought this would be easier. When I think about her I want to drop everything and just be with her and that...was too dangerous. I had to keep my distance."

There's a pregnant pause, just the sound of their breathing filling the void.

"Was it?"

"What?"

"Easier. Is this better? Enough?"

He thinks about Cha-young getting married to a faceless man, exchanging vows and sealing it with a kiss, happy and in love on their honeymoon wanton moans and screams from their room, learning that they're having a baby and her round and glowing with someone else's child smiling brightly as she rubs her belly and it's too much. He wants to smash it all into little pieces.

"No. It's not enough. I need her, without her nothing is enough."

"That's what you should have said to her. Don't glare at me I'm right, but I have an idea. I saw it in an American cartoon."

And that's how he lets his younger brother convince him to send a note to Cha-young using Inzaghi, the pigeon had shown up one night and he'd been so happy he almost kissed the bird.

"How will he know where Cha Young lives?" He asks skeptical even as he ties the note to the birds leg.

"I showed him a picture of her house. According to the cartoon, birds just know.” 

He stares at the younger man, wondering why he's listening to this ridiculous plan.

"This is stupid. I should just text her, Inzaghi is never going to deliver this. He's just a regular pigeon." 

"This is more romantic." He answers matter of fact.

"How is a pigeon delivering a message in anyway romantic?" He challenges already knowing from the shit eating grin he won’t like the response. 

"The same way pig blood was." The brat counters and he doesn't get a chance to respond before Han Seo picks Inzaghi up and throws him out the window, "In the name of love!" He only barely stops himself from bashing his head into the wall, the younger man has to wrestle him to the ground.

It's stupid. They did all of this for nothing the cool breeze makes him pull his coat tighter around his body, exposed to the weather on the open space of the rooftop.

He checks his watch, 9:48.

She's not coming and the worst part is that he doesn't know if it's because that damn bird never delivered his message or if it's because she really doesn't want anything to do with him. The burden of not knowing hurts more than anything.

Expelling the air in his lungs he walks back to the single door that leads off the roof, twisting the doorknob in his hand and pulling it open.

Meeting the shocked face of one Cha-young.

They both just stare at each other before he speaks, "You came."

He can't believe it. Inzaghi had actually delivered the note, somehow the pigeon had found her house and she was here. He almost pinches himself to see if he'd passed out on the roof and this was just a dream.

"I didn't know Inzaghi was a carrier pigeon." She futilely tries to change the subject and he takes a step back, gathering the tattered pieces of his courage. The same courage that had propelled him to kiss her all those months ago on the stairs.

"I'm so happy you're here. I waited for you."

She stares at him like he has two heads before blushing, and avoiding his eyes.

"Come with me." He extends his hands and tries not to be too hurt when she bypasses it and steps around him instead.

At least she was here.

With a quick swipe of his hand he sends the message to his accomplices.

Now.

The lights come on, fairy lights decorating the roof top in a heavenly glow. She spins around in wonder, eyes nearly as bright she's so beautiful it's almost painful to look at her.

Then the music starts.

The soft notes filling the space.

When I walk down a road I don't know well....

She looks around in wonder, staring back at him she can’t believe what’s happening. 

Then the letters start falling from the sky, all the letters he had written to her alone and missing her thousands of miles away. His plaza family smiles down at him, throwing letters from a higher building.

Cha-young stares up at the sky in surprise, hundreds of letters landing all around her.

It had taken a few days for Luca to send them all over and then another day to get the guts to do this, there was no turning back now. He had never willingly made himself vulnerable to anyone else, but according to Han Seo it was the only way he was going to win her back. 

“She just wants to know that you love her too. Show her.” 

He watches anxiously as she picks up a letter, stroking lightly at her own name on the front looking at him with stunned wet eyes. 

“You wrote me a letter.” Her voice is revere and awe that he doesn’t deserve, not after everything he has put her through in the sake of protecting himself but he’s too elated to see her looking at him like that again, like he’s someone important to her. 

“182. For each day we were apart. I told you I thought about you everyday, and every time I did I wrote you a letter.” 

She stares at the letter in her hand, gently ripping it open and devouring the words on the page. Nerves shoot up and down his body as he watches her read his most private thoughts about her, her expressive face for once empty of emotions as she silently reads the letter. 

He waits. 

Breathless and terrified. 

“Why didn’t you ever send them? They were mine so why did you keep them?” He hears an edge in her voice that makes him wonder if she’s only talking about the letters. 

“Cha-young, I don’t think you understand.” 

She breathes out loudly, stomping over to him until they are inches apart and he has no choice but to look into the deep pool of her eyes. 

“I don’t! I don’t understand anything, I thought you had found someone else in Malta and the postcards were just your way of being nice. I thought you didn’t feel the same way I did, you were sending Han Seo letters but you wouldn’t do the same for me. What was I supposed to think? Why didn’t you try to help me understand, you were gone for six months!” 

There’s so much wrong with everything she said, how could he find anyone else when his heart beats for her? How could he forget her when everything he did reminded him of her, he saw her every night in his dreams. But he doesn’t make the same mistake this time, he says what’s important. 

“I feel the same way. I love you Cha-young. I thought this was better for you, that this could be enough. But I was wrong, I missed you every minute of every--” 

“Come home with me.” 

He stops, stares, gapes and then stares some more. 

“What? I wasn’t finished confessing though.” Actually offended that she interrupted his planned speech. He was about to recite one of his favorite Italian love poems for her and then ask her to dance. 

She rolls her eyes dragging him towards the door, “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time? It’s been six months and you have been here for too long, you have to go soon.” 

She’s right, he has a flight in two days for an identity he borrowed for his escape. 

“Listen to her, just go back to her place and have a good night!” That sounds like Cheol-Wook and then they all erupt into applause and start cheering and hollering, chanting their names and then to his embarrassment they start chanting, “Go have sex! Go have sex!” complete with the monks banging on their drums and he doesn’t think he will ever live down this moment, especially when he sees Miri capturing it on the new video camera he had gifted her. 

He flips them off as an eager Cha-young pulls him away their laughter following them all the way. 

The car ride is too long on the way over and she wonders how quickly she can undress them both as soon as they reach, there is simply no time to waste. 

But once they get to the doorstep he suddenly freezes, tugging her backwards into his chest. 

“This looks familiar doesn’t it?” His voice is dark and smoky and she immediately knows what he’s referring to, and she refuses to give him any reaction. 

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” 

“You let someone else touch you. Here.” He runs a hand up her neck, briefly squeezing, “And here,” she gasps at his hands suddenly on her breast, squeezing harshly at the tender flesh. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” She knows that she’s playing with fire, but that is their foundation. She has never aimed to cool him off or tone him down, she sees the dark side inside of him and loves it, encourages it and feeds on it herself allowing it to bring her darkness out too. 

He kicks the door open, shoving her side and she delights at the rough treatment. She hopes that she is filled with his bruises tomorrow. 

She doesn’t wait for his next move, pulling her shirt up and over her head before tugging off her skirt leaving herself in a barely there lace panties and a matching lace bra that is translucent, her nipples peeking through the sheer material. He stares at her transfixed, his hunger evident in his eyes and in the tent forming in his tight dress pants. 

“Take those off.” She commands and he smirks before obeying, peeling the pants off his thighs standing in his button down shirt and tight boxer briefs that leave nothing to her imagination, every delicious inch of him visible. She steps forward bringing their bodies in contact, before thrusting her hand inside the opening of his briefs. He feels hard and smooth, liquid pooling at the tip and she twists her hand collecting it to ease her slow strokes up and down. His voice hitches as she fingers his balls and without warning she tugs his boxers off, leaving him bare to her eyes. 

Mesmerized by the unencumbered sight of him, she drops to her knees using her hand to guide him to her eagerly waiting mouth. 

His flavor explodes on her tongue and she swallows more, grabbing his hips to drag him deeper into her mouth until she can feel him in her throat, but even after her eyes start to burn and she feels herself choking she doesn’t stop, bobbing up and down hungrily, sloppy wet sounds filling the room in a filthy symphony. At first he lets her control the movement, pliant in her hands but as she increases her speed and suction he starts groaning and huffing loudly and then she feels his hand on the back of her hand, keeping her in place and when she looks up at him he looks wrecked. Eyes dazed and his face red and flushed, she ingrains that image in her mind, for when he’s gone and all she has are her toys. 

She stares back defiantly before he draws himself out of her mouth, a single line of spit connecting them and then he thrusts back into her mouth roughly and she opens her mouth wider to accept the abuse, loving every second of it even as a her throat aches. He sets a frantic pace, his balls slamming against her chin and she doesn’t realize at first that his grunts have transformed into words, too much blood rushing to her head. 

“Mine. Mine, nobody can---ah fuck! Nobody can see you like this. Only me. You’re mine.” 

He fucks her mouth like it’s his to use and do what he pleases, and she’s wetter than she’s ever been listening to him claim her verbally and with the wet push of his dick in her mouth. 

She starts grinding on the floor like a cat in heat and without preamble he grabs her under her armpits and lifts her like she weighs nothing, his dick sliding free from her hot mouth, “I want to make you scream.” He says this like a declaration of love and she throws herself at him, kissing the words off his lips. His tongue swirls in her mouth and she wonders if he can taste himself in her. It makes her hotter and she grinds her barely covered pussy onto his naked length, groaning at the friction even though the thin layer separating them. 

He tosses her onto the bed and she doesn’t even remember them walking, his tongue and his wondering fingers had completely distracted her. 

She lays sprawled across the bed as he stares at her, like she’s feast he can’t wait to devour. 

“Nobody has been in here.” She doesn’t know if he’s asking a question or making a statement, but she feels that his jealousy is real. Seeing her with someone else had done something to him, guilt washes over her. If she had seen him with someone else she would have lost her mind too. 

“Nobody. I never brought anyone home before, that guy was a mistake. I was just hurt and missing you. I’m sorry.” 

He had abandoned her for six months and she didn’t owe him anything but his pain is her pain and they are stronger now, everything has been said. 

“Good.” 

Then he rips her panties away and buries his face between her legs, prying her wide open with his hands and lapping at her with his searing hot tongue. Immediately he has his wish and she screams, loud enough to fill the entire room. 

“Already screaming amore? It’s going to be a long night, I want to make you hoarse.”  

She doesn’t get a moment to respond before he’s back to licking and sucking at her most sacred part, fingers deep inside her as he thrusts and strokes alongside his tongue, his fingers and tongue moving in tandem and she tries to stifle the scream but a particularly deep fuck makes the sound erupt from her throat and her head feels dizzy from the overwhelming sensation. 

He has boundless energy it seems, as time drags by and she feels her body tightening up as he systemically destroys her, he never takes a break or pauses, slurping up all the liquid that drips from her and the sounds of him swallowing are beyond erotic. When a hand runs up her stomach and squeezes at a bouncing breast she can’t contain her moans of pleasure, crying out as his fingers pinching the tight bud of her nipple. 

“Please.” 

He coos in her, “So pretty when you beg.” Then he sticks his tongue as far as it can go and she hears the rush of blood in her head as her body shakes apart and her release gushes from her body, twitching when he laps it all up her oversensitive body recoiling from the overstimulation. 

She has never come like that before, most men have never put in the work necessary to make her come and she wasn’t one to fake it so her experiences with sex with someone else were few and far in between. 

This feels like nirvana. 

“You still with me amore?” The bastard looks so smug, looming above her naked arms on the side of her head, and she had no idea when he took his shirt off. 

“I can’t feel like my legs.” 

He chuckles loudly at the statement, grinning growing wider. 

“Well I can assure you that they’re still there and they will look great wrapped around my waist.” 

Raising to his challenge, although her body is still buzzing she wraps her legs around his waist, they feel like jelly but she finds the strength to follow through with her movement. 

“I was right they do look great.” 

“Well this would look great in me.” She counters, grabbing at his thick ruddy red dick jutting from his body and he rocks into her hand before knocking her hand away and taking himself in his hand. 

“Do we need a condom?” He asks her, looking like he is ready to stop at nay minute if she tells him that they do. 

“No.” 

She has been on birth control since she was a teen and there’s been no one for her since she met him, and she trusts that it’s been the same for him. 

“Thank goodness, I want to feel everything.” He barely finishes his sentence before he’s easing into her, slow and steady. She lets him continue for a moment before she tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him in roughly, as deep as she can get him in this position. “Fuck, you’re so impatient.” 

“Shut up and fuck me already.” 

He grumbles at her calling her bossy, but she sighs when he draws out and slams back in with a quick snap of his hips. 

“Yes just like that!” 

He takes direction very well, repeating the motion until the bed starts to creak from their movements, he pistons in and out of her gone all semblance of gentle or slow, they have teetered into a speed that can only be defined as “break neck” and she feels her body sliding up the mattress as he pounds into her over and over again, she latches onto his neck eager to leave a branding mark on him and he groans at the suction, grinding harder into her and gripping her ass to force her to meet his vicious thrusts. 

Absently she feels him peeling her bra from her body, the only remaining item of clothing that has survived their coupling and she knows exactly when he sees the scar. The grotesque knitting of skin that had left a permanent scar on her shoulder, she almost covers it up but when she peels her eyes open he is staring at her mesmerized. 

“Don’t look.” 

He leans down to kiss it, the softest more precious kiss she has ever received in her life. 

He peppers more kisses all over, then strokes at it with a single finger. 

“I should have realized, this was your confession. I was an idiot. I will never be that stupid again, I love you so much. I would do anything for you. Anything.” 

He puts her legs on her shoulder, nearly bending her in half before resuming his thrusts but they are less frenzied now, it feels like lovemaking. Her eyes prickle when he kisses her scar with every downward thrust, whispering, “Beautiful, so beautiful. Every inch of you.” 

She cries out. 

With every thrust he kisses her scar, making her feel lightheaded and naked. 

When he moves them into a new position, her back to his front giving him better access to her scar, she loses herself as he whispers sweet nothings into her ears and litters the spot with warm kisses. 

She falls off the edge with his lips on her scar and him deep inside her, warm bursts filling her up before leaking out onto the bed sheets. 

“Today’s our last day.” 

Waking up next to him is torture, she tries not to ingrain that in her mind but it’s too late it’s already there. He blinks away the sleep in his eyes at her words and then nods solemnly in agreement. 

“Yes for this visit. But I’ll always come back for you.” 

She smiles brightly, “Don’t keep me waiting for too long.” 

They don’t leave the bed except to get breakfast and that ends with her laid across the kitchen table getting taken from behind after teasing him. He can’t seem to keep his hands off her new hair, twisting the short strands in his hands and yanking on them. She catches him looking at her heatedly more than once. 

Then they wind up in the shower, trying to clean up and getting dirtier instead, his hands tight in her hair and around her waist as he hoists her up to pound her into the wall. Making up for lost time. 

They get messages from their entire family, Vincenzo showing her a message from Han Seo asking if he’s going to be an uncle soon. She promises to embarrass him in front of Miri very, very soon. 

Both pretend they don’t feel the day fading away, bringing them closer to their goodbye. 

Tomorrow he will be gone again, but there’s no guessing now. She knows what she means to him now and that’s more than enough. 

She wakes up to an empty bed and a ticket to Malta, the ball is in her court.