#the bloody nose will actually leave me on the floor with pain

[overnightheartbeats]

"Really? You are giving me the key to woo your sisters, I'm liking my chances," she was beaming with happiness. Though, the idea of meeting any family did frighten her. She kept that to herself for now. "Um, fair enough. If they're not embarrassing, then hm, I'll owe you something. Your choice."

"Don't feed my ego," she warned as a smile peeked through. "Three things, yep. I can kinda make grilled cheese, scrambled eggs, and chicken noodle soup. That last one is tough," she joked, though it had been a mission to learn. Though, now she made a mental note to check in with her dad, to see when they could visit. Or if he'd be away on some trip, maybe they could go then. Just to not scare Eli with the, meeting her parents conversation.

"Woah," she breathed out at the twist and turns that brought him here. "Sounds like I may need to be thanking this lady and her luggage." Or, more accurately, she should be thanking him for his kindness and willingness to help a stranger. That's what led him here, after all. "That is definitely some way to land in Texas. So, you've been at the diner for quite some time, wow. If not Texas, what was the final stop then?" Only curious to know where he would've ended up if he had made his connecting flight. "Us two with the pretty eyes, lucky us." Laurel laughter burst through her lips, shaking her head as he agreed with her. "With marshmallows? Now, that sounds good. Watered down sounds like a crime. Well, the moment there's a chill in the air, I'll be buying hot chocolate with the marshmallows." That piqued her curiosity, what kind of absurd questions were they asking his sisters? "You just want me to ask, and prove that you don't share, huh? I'll indulge you though. It'll be my first question to your sisters."

Laurel's heart was beating in complete anticipation as his fingertips grazed her lips. Meeting his green eyes was a rush of excitement, subconsciously leaning in to meet his lips. It was a bit of an odd angle, but she didn't mind it at all. It was a slow warmth spreading throughout her, her heart pounding in her chest as she leaned in just a bit more, trying to get a taste of his lips. Trying to learn everything that had not yet been asked between them. She had loved the two kisses they had share up until now, but this one was special. It was gentle and slow, nothing rushing or interrupting them. Frankly, she could've stayed here all evening. "I can confirm that I'm a fan of the slow make out." A breathy laugh followed his comment, nudging him gently with her nose. "Is there an option for all of the above, including that unspoken third option?" Because that option sounded really good right about now. "The order of the activities doesn't really matter either," she mumbled, and that might've been interpreted for shyness, if her mischievous smile was not betraying her.

[gogobootz1]

An American in London

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: One of Benedict's old schoolmates enlists his help with wooing his American penpal, but when Benedict (literally) runs into her travel companion, things take a turn

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: blood (nosebleed)

"Why, exactly, have you dragged me here?" Benedict bemoaned, looking around the nearly empty hotel bar. There were plenty of better places to drink in the city.

"Because tomorrow morning we are meeting my hopefully lovely pen pal here," came the arrogant voice of one of Benedict's old school friends. Charles had made no effort to continue their friendship into adulthood until earlier that day.

"We?" Benedict asked, skeptically as they sat.

"Yes, we," Charles nodded, motioning for drinks to be brought over. "You are to help me impress the girl and play chaperone."

Benedict squinted at him, "Why would I do that?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Charles shrugged. Benedict blinked at him for a minute. The truth was, after dropping out of the academy, he did not. He had actually been rather bored as of late.

"Fine," he swallowed bitterly.

"Excellent!" Charles sprang up from his seat, "I'll be by Bridgerton house at ten tomorrow to pick you up."

"Where are you going?" Benedict asked as the man began walking off.

"I have an appointment," Charles called back, and Benedict rolled his eyes. He polished off his drink before putting some money on the table. Of course, Charles had left that to him. He made quickly for the side exit and frustratedly shoved the door open.

A pained cry drew his attention as he stepped out, and he found a young woman with her hand clapped over her nose. All previous annoyance seeped from him instantly. Guilt and shame flooded into its place as he rushed to check on you.

“Are you quite alright miss?”

“Not quite,” the muffled American accent caught him off guard.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he rushed out, eyes full of earnest regret. He grabbed the handkerchief from the pocket over his chest and reached toward your face with it. You reared back, hand still firmly covering your nose, though he swore he could see deep crimson starting to leak out.

“Will you let me have a look?”

“Oh, no,” you firmly shook her head, laughing without any humor, “I have had enough embarrassment for one night. I will not end my evening by bleeding on some random English gentleman.”

You began walking in the opposite direction, but he was quick to follow.

“Please, allow me to make amends, I feel at fault for-“

“You are at fault!” You stopped in your tracks to fix him with a glare.

He blinked back at you, “Well, yes, but I-“

“Unless you’d like to ram a door into your own nose, I’ve seen more than enough of you tonight, thank you,” you snapped, turning to leave. Before you could, you felt a drip of blood fall from your hand onto your dress. You let out a frustrated groan and turned back toward the stranger, snatching his still-outstretched handkerchief. 

Working fast, you wiped your bloody palm, then your face. All the while, the concerned gentleman looked on in worry. Once you’d wiped the excess, you held the cloth up to your nose to catch any more.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” He nervously straightened his jacket.

“Perhaps not,” you shook your head, “if you introduce yourself we might just meet again, and you should pray for that not to happen.”

You might’ve laughed at his expression if your nose didn’t ache like hell. “Goodnight!” You said with faux cheer, as you left him standing in confusion.

“Goodnight?” You hardly registered his weak reply.

----------------------------

Benedict woke up on the floor after being violently tugged off the small sofa in his room. He'd been so absorbed with his sketch he hadn't even made it to bed last night.

"Come on then, Bridgerton," Charles' voice taunted from above him, "up and at 'em."

Benedict rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off of the floor, catching sight of the prior night's labors as he stood. A pair of intense eyes stared back at him, and since you'd kept the rest of your face closely covered, a swath of ruby replaced everything below the bridge of your nose. He tried to casually cover the piece before Charles could butt in and ask about it.

"I thought we agreed upon ten," Benedict told the man, stifling a yawn.

"It is ten," Charles snapped, and Benedict winced.

"A moment, then," he requested.

Charles rolled his eyes, "Make it fast, Bridgerton." Benedict rushed to dress in fresh clothing and fix his hair as quickly as possible. Being late would be an early point against him in making both England and Charles seem appealing. Not that those were easy tasks to begin with.

Luckily, he managed a quick turnaround, and a carriage waited outside for them. The grey sky, however, promised rain, yet another factor working against him.

Thanks to a hefty tip to the driver, the men were no more than five minutes late.

"Remind me of her name again," Benedict asked as the two exited the carriage.

Charles glared at him, "I swear to God if you-"

"Just tell me her name," they breezed through the door to the cafe within the hotel.

"Sarah," Charles said, scanning the room, "Sarah!"

A young woman had raced over, and likely would have embraced Charles had she not been held back by the elbow. The woman who prevented the social faux pas was instantly familiar to Benedict when he met the same pair of fierce eyes he'd stayed up too late sketching. Then took the time to examine the rest of your pretty face, though it was marred by a bruised nose. He had to hold back a wince at his own accidental handiwork.

When Charles elbowed him in the ribs, he tuned back into the conversation. Charles not-so-subtly nodded towards Sarah.

"Very fine to meet you, Sarah," he said, hoping he'd assessed the situation correctly. Pleased laughter from the lady told him he had.

"And you," she nodded, "I'd like you both to meet my dearest friend." Sarah introduced you, nudging you forward a bit.

You smiled reluctantly, "Nice to meet you, gentlemen." When you locked eyes again, your smile grew wider yet more mocking. Charles dipped his hat, but Benedict bowed to kiss your hand. Doing everything possible to enter your good graces couldn't hurt.

"Might I ask how you injured your nose?" Charles ventured. Benedict tensed and he saw your jaw clench.

Sarah, however, laughed good-naturedly, "Oh, you'll laugh at this Charles," she turned to you, "go on."

"Silly me, I walked right into a door," you said, tone bordering on teasing. To anyone else, it might’ve come off as humorously self-deprecating. Anyone else might’ve thought you clumsy or perhaps a little ditsy, but Benedict knew better. Benedict could see the threat behind your eyes.

"Well, that's not funny," Charles admonished Sarah, "I'm sorry you're hurt." Sarah seemed surprised but mildly impressed. You, too, seemed content with his answer. One point for Charles.

"Are you in much pain?" Benedict asked, hoping the answer would be no.

You blinked at him, mischief sparkling in your eyes. "Only when I breath," you nodded, deadly serious, but he saw the way your mouth fought a grin.

"That's awful," Charles said, sympathetically. "You couldn't find some medicine or some powder to cover the bruise?" He asked that to Sarah, and Benedict saw your expression shift. One point against Charles.

"I wear my wounds with pride," you challenged. Benedict was once again reminded that your wound was his fault while Charles seemed to struggle for a reply.

"Shall we sit?" Your well-mannered question seemed to Benedict to be the first victory of inevitably multiple challenges to Charles. He wondered if that was your purpose in accompanying Sarah from the States- to determine if Charles was up to snuff.

The four of you were nearly finished enjoying tea and scones when you pulled out the handkerchief you'd taken last night. It was pink, presumably from you trying to wash out the blood. Benedict choked on his sip of tea as you wiped the crumbs from your lips with it.

"When did you buy that?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, I'm only borrowing it until I get the favor I'm owed," Benedict gulped at that. You weren't kidding last night when you said he should hope to never run into you again. Though he did have trouble agreeing at the moment, and somehow, even still.

Sarah easily dismissed your comment and reengaged Charles in conversation. Benedict's attention remained on you, however, and you cheekily tilted your head at him.

Your eyes remained locked with his before you started speaking, "Perhaps you two would like to take a stroll of the hotel gardens before we leave for whatever plans you've made for the day."

Charles nodded at this, "An excellent idea." He walked around the table to offer Sarah a hand. When the two were out of hearing range, Benedict turned back to you.

"Will this favor earn me your forgiveness?" He asked, "Because I really do feel terribly about-"

"Stop," you said, "It's fine. Sarah had no problem believing I still have sea legs and tripped into a door."

Benedict's shoulders drooped as he breathed in relief. "But are you in pain? I couldn't tell if you were serious earlier."

Your expression became softer, "Only a little." He was relieved by that answer. "But I wasn't kidding about the favor," you reminded, sternly.

He froze, "And what favor do you require?"

"I'd like a full report of Charles' background, personality, what he does in his free time," you listed off, "anything of the like."

The questioning glance he gave you encouraged you to elaborate.

"Look," you said with a huff. "Sarah's mom is over the moon about this. Marrying her daughter off to an English lord will boost her social status by leaps and bounds. Her father, however, is not so convinced. Mr. Du Pont has always been kind to me, so when he asked me to assess this potential marriage, I gave him my word."

Benedict nodded, "And you'd like me to inform you on Charles, so you can inform Mr. Du Pont on Charles."

"Exactly," you said simply.

"That's rather funny, you know, Charles asked me to help woo Sarah and convince her he's worth a permanent trip across the Atlantic," he said, and you raised a brow.

"Are you trying to repent for hitting Charles in the face with a door?"

Benedict blinked, "What would you do if I said yes?"

"Help me," you snarled.

He raised his hands defensively, "All right! How am I meant to do that?"

"Have pertinent information sent to my hotel suite," you shrugged.

"Fine," Benedict assented after a minute.

"What's fine?" Sarah asked, having just returned with Charles. Her tinkling voice took him by surprise, and he laughed nervously.

"These biscuits," he said, standing, "they're very fine, I may even take some to go." Benedict stuffed two of the shortbread biscuits into his pocket and regretted it soon after. He regretted it even more after catching Charles' nasty glare at him.

Taking a sharp breath, he turned to offer you his arm, "Shall we?"

You politely took his arm, repressing your laughter. As Sarah and Charles walked on ahead, you leaned in, "Save one for me." Benedict lightly snorted before catching himself, but you seemed pleased at his laughter.

----------------------------

As weeks began to pass, notes from Benedict began to pile up. They were originally only about Charles, but as you started sending replies, the notes grew more conversational.

Sarah certainly only grew more besotted with time, and you were beginning to worry she'd rubbed off on you. The more time you spent with Benedict by way of monitoring Sarah and Charles, the more you found him positively charming.

His good looks were apparent from the beginning and made the door incident all the worse for you, but you'd recently grown fond of his personality.

Last week's art gallery found you admiring him while he spoke passionately of the use of light in one of the paintings you'd come across. You'd only snapped out of it was he asked your thoughts on the piece. The most you could muster up was that you absolutely agreed.

As the two of you chaperoned countless walks and lunches, you conversed about any and everything. Benedict told you of his artwork and promised to eventually show you some of it after you asked a few times. You told him of your own passions, and how they were often trampled by society's expectations. He confessed that since both his older and one of his younger brothers had been recently married, his mother had been nagging him about finding someone.

"I think it's important to be comfortable alone," you'd told him on one particularly breezy walk. "You shouldn't make do with someone else's life when you can't be content with your own."

"Come again?"

"I only mean it's unfair to put certain expectations on a spouse," you shrugged, "No one is who anyone else wants them to be, and trying to force people to be what they are not leads to unhappy marriages."

"In that case, I'm glad no one expects a thing from me," Benedict said.

You laughed a little, "I don't think people expect much of me either. At least we won't let anyone down."

"Setting the bar low," he nodded, smiling, "I like it." Your laughter drew a smile to his face.

----------------------------

A few months had gone by, and Benedict was overjoyed when Charles proposed to Sarah. He was happy for the two of them, sure, but mostly, he was glad your stay had been extended. You'd become such a fixture in his life that he struggled to imagine a time after your visit.

Your return tickets were canceled. Instead, Sarah's parents had booked their spots on a ship sailing over to England. They wanted to plan their daughter's wedding and see her well-adjusted in her new homeland.

"What will your first report to Mr. Du Pont entail, then?" Benedict asked you. The two of you had been tasked with greeting Sarah's parents upon their arrival, and you sat opposite each other in a carriage.

"What makes you think this will be my first report?" You raised a brow at him.

"You've been exchanging letters across the Atlantic about Charles? He's nowhere near interesting enough for that," Benedict told you, inspiring a grin.

"They're mostly about mine and Sarah's time here. She's not great at staying in touch- yet another reason they sent me along," you said. "But you're right, I have yet to form a full opinion on Charles. I go back and forth, but I trust your judgment."

Benedict's eyes widened at the admission as you pulled up to your destination. He exited the carriage first to helpfully offer you his hand. To his displeasure, you pulled away all too soon when you saw the Du Ponts.

Mrs. Du Pont cheerfully called your name as you rushed excitedly towards them. Benedict smiled as he watched you greet the older couple. They were clearly quite fond of you.

It took a minute before they registered his presence.

"Where is Sarah? And who is this gentleman?" Mrs. Du Pont asked you, trying to lower her voice for the latter question.

You perked up, "This is Mr. Benedict Bridgerton." You grabbed his forearm and pulled him closer to the conversation. "He's a friend of Charles. They've both been showing us the best of England!"

"So this is Benedict!" Mr. Du Pont said happily, "I've read a lot about you."

Benedict shot you a questioning look as he shook the older man's hand, "You have?"

"Oh yes," the man nodded despite you shaking your head at him. When Benedict turned to you again, you stopped and let an angelic smile grace your face. His smirk told you you'd been caught. Oh well, if he asked, you'd simply tell the truth. He was by far the most interesting part of Great Britain.

----------------------------

Wedding preparations had been running smoothly, and soon enough Benedict was out with a group of high society men to celebrate the impending nuptials.

The men were a few drinks deep when Charles made a toast, "Soon, lads, I will no longer be a free man, so you best believe I will enjoy it while it lasts."

Benedict was not sure he appreciated that sentiment, but let it pass as his other companions gave cries of, "Here, here!"

Drinking eventually turned to debauchery, and Benedict soon felt crowded at the table slowly attracting more women of the night. He excused himself to find another drink. Upon his return, however, he found Charles happily skipping off with one of them.

"Charles?!"

The man's attention turned to him, "Don't wait up, Bridgerton!" Charles laughed, and Benedict felt his face drop.

"Don't tell me..."

"Oh lighten up mate," Charles shrugged, "it's not like it counts."

Benedict blinked as his old school friend sauntered off with the woman. Every time he drank with men of the ton, it became more apparent that Violet Bridgerton's parenting methods were not widespread.

----------------------------

When he woke up in the hotel suite the next morning, Benedict spent a few blissful moments without the memory of the prior night. When he did remember, he tried to brush it off as a drunken illusion. Only, logic won out in the end. He hadn't drunk that much, and he had very clearly seen the scene with his own eyes.

Why did Charles have to go and make a mess of things? Everything had been going swimmingly. Now, just because the man couldn't keep it in his pants, countless hours of wedding planning would go down the drain. Sarah would be inconsolable, her parents would be furious, and they'd all be going back home. You'd be going back home. Shit.

He agonized over the situation, pacing the floor for an hour before Charles waltzed in.

"Are you only now getting back?" Benedict asked him, taking in the disheveled clothing Charles had been wearing the night prior.

"What can I say? I certainly enjoyed myself," Charles said smugly. He walked off, presumably to freshen up, but Benedict called after him.

"Charles?" The man turned, "You wouldn't... engage in that sort of behavior as a married man?"

Charles chuckled a bit, "Bridgerton, prostitutes don't count," that was concerning, "That sort of revelry was a one-time thing." That was... a bit better? Benedict let out a miserable groan.

----------------------------

Your bright eyes at the wedding rehearsal made him briefly forget his troubles. Once you were both in the proper position, Benedict didn't bother to pay attention. In fact, he pretty much just stared at you from across the altar. You looked good up there. He liked seeing you at the altar. He liked being across from you at the altar.

He was in trouble.

You whispered to him as he escorted you back down the aisle when the faux-service was over. Being best-man did afford him some benefits. "Guess what?"

"What?" He smiled down at you.

"The Du Ponts are thinking of staying indefinitely," you said, secretively, "they bought a house here. They've invited me to stay with them."

"Oh," he said, sense suddenly knocked back into him.

"It's looking like I might be in your hair a while longer."

Benedict quite nearly told you to stay in his hair as long as you cared to but felt it might be too forward. He also felt you'd make a lice joke at his expense. Your sharp sense of humor was one of the many things he found charming about you and one of the many reasons he did not want to let you go.

But if Charles and Sarah were getting married, you were staying. The Du Ponts were staying.

Just how bad was some debauchery at a stag party, really? In the grand scheme of things?

"Oh, how was the gentlemen's party?" You asked, excitedly, "I hope none of you behaved too poorly."

A nervous laugh bubbled from his mouth, "No. No, just the usual level of poor behavior." Fuck.

"Glad to hear it," you nodded. "Was Charles drunk out of his mind?" You laughed a bit.

"Quite possibly," Benedict said, smiling uncomfortably. The man was definitely out of his mind. Whether it could be attributed to the drink Benedict wasn't sure.

"Well, thanks for keeping an eye on him," you said, giving his arm a squeeze.

He was in big trouble.

----------------------------

On the morning of the wedding, Benedict was jittery. In a hallway of the church, he kept nervously adjusting his collar. A steady pair of hands pulled his away, and he looked up to find you fixing his collar.

"Stop touching it," you told him as you worked, "it looks good."

"Right," he breathed stiffly.

"And try not to look like you're attending a funeral," you reminded him, smirking. "Oh! I have something for you," you pulled the handkerchief he'd given you when you first met out of a small bag. Pressing it into his hand, you smiled up at him, "favor complete. Consider us even."

He could only nod at you as you began to retreat.

"I'm off to help Sarah. See you soon!"

Benedict gazed after you, guilt creeping in.

"I'm relieved she's kept such a close eye on Sarah," Mr. Du Pont suddenly appeared beside him, "but I should've expected it. The two have been like sisters ever since..."

"Since?' Benedict asked him curiously while straightening his bow tie.

"Well, we took her in some years back when her family passed," the older man explained.

As much as Benedict thought he'd gotten to know you, it seemed you'd yet to feel comfortable enough to tell him that, "I hadn't known."

"No," Du Pont shook his head, "she doesn't like to talk about it. Hates having to bear people's pity."

That, Benedict could understand. He had found that to be one of the worst parts of the aftermath of his father's death.

"But it's been a pleasure to have her in our family. I'm only happy it's expanding! Hopefully, she'll have nieces and nephews soon," Sarah's father looked around before leaning in a bit, "I'm hoping for lots of grandchildren. I'll be perfectly happy when both my girls have good, loyal husbands at their side. It seems we're almost there!" With a pat on Benedict's shoulder, Mr. Du Pont walked off, "I'll see you in there."

Benedict nodded absently. Oh. He had mucked things up. He had really, really mucked things up.

Benedict paled a little. In his bid to keep you by his side as long as possible he'd neglected all other considerations. Including the life and happiness of your sister in all but blood. This wedding was very real and very imminent. And despite the time he dreamt it was the two of you getting married, his feelings were not nearly the most important of those involved.

Sarah was about to marry a man who had cheated on her only two nights prior.

But Charles had said it was a one-time thing. A last hooray before settling down. He'd said that prostitutes do not count anyway and- oh.

Benedict sharply inhaled when he realized his own foolishness. How had he not seen this? The bars they'd visited in the past months were all down the street from the one they'd entered two nights ago- the one next to the brothel. Each time he would excuse himself to retire to his home, Charles had stayed.

A fool, indeed. He'd been so enamored and distracted with you that his spy work on your behalf was entirely lackluster. Worse yet, when he did find pertinent information out, he had lied.

He had to make it right.

Benedict raised his fist to knock on the door of the room Sarah had taken over. Before he could, it swung open. You smiled at him, a little confused.

"You know you're only supposed to escort me down the aisle," you joked, "You don't have to start this far back."

He shook his head grimly, and your face fell. "I need to talk to you," he looked up to find Sarah behind you, "both of you."

You stepped aside and let Benedict in, nervous at his shift in attitude.

"You cannot marry him," Benedict had summoned all of his nerve to say the words and looked Sarah square in the eye when he did so. She deserved that much. She deserved the truth.

"What?" Sarah asked skeptically. She was already in her wedding gown. She had no idea what was happening.

"Benedict, what are you talking about?" Your question was quieter, but you were deadly serious. As soon as he said it you knew something was wrong, and he was right in bringing it to Sarah.

He swallowed when he looked into your eyes, "I lied to you." You felt like he'd just slammed a door in your face again. "Charles did behave poorly the other night. In fact, I think he's been behaving poorly for months and I've been too blind to see it."

"What? He was drinking?" Sarah asked, "I knew that would happen."

"No," Benedict shook his head, "He was with- with other women."

And with that, Sarah was out the door. You, however, could not bring yourself to follow. You were frozen to the floor, looking at the man you'd trusted with glassy eyes.

"You lied to me," you whispered.

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, laughing a little. The sound was sad, "I guess I broke my own rule." His eyes pleaded with you, but it was far from enough, "I expected too much from you. You couldn't help but let me down." His heart sank.

Finally, you turned to race after Sarah. Benedict was hot on your trail, "Please-"

"Oh, this is not over," you called over your shoulder, "but we have more pressing matters to deal with."

You stopped dead in your tracks after rounding a corner. It was so abrupt that Benedict could not slow his own pace enough not to bump into you. You both stumbled a bit but recovered in time to see Sarah slap Charles in the face. She then marched out of the church with her head held high.

Mrs. Du Pont followed her straight away. And Charles rushed after them both. Mr. Du Pont stopped only to briefly speak to you, "Would you both be so kind as to handle-"

"Consider it done," Benedict said. You sent him a sidelong glance before begrudgingly nodding at the man who had taken you in. Mr. Du Pont left to chase after his wife and daughter, leaving you and Benedict to dismiss guests and try to cancel vendors.

----------------------------

A long and tiresome day of working to undo weeks of wedding planning and avoiding the sad blue eyes that followed your every move ended in your hotel's garden. More specifically, eating the wedding cake that could not be returned in the hotel garden. You had very generously given most of it to the hotel staff. But you saved the top tier for yourself.

Draped across a bench, you stabbed into it with a fork. As you did, the charming figurine of Sarah and Charles fell from its place. You did not hesitate to grab the miniature and toss it into some shrubs.

"Rather harsh, don't you think?" A familiar voice drew your attention. You huffed when you saw who it was.

Benedict Bridgerton slowly made his way over to your bench. He gestured towards your legs, silently asking you to make room for him on the bench. When you didn't move, he simply sat himself parallel to you on the gravel floor.

"I am sorry," he said after some silence, looking straight ahead.

"I know," you nodded, not yet looking at him, "I suppose I am too."

"Whatever for?" Benedict's surprise broke the quietness of the moment, and he gazed at you questioningly.

You shrugged, still not looking at him, "I should have known better than to think you'd prioritize me over him. Charles is your friend."

"Maybe," he spat defensively, "but you're-" He cut himself off.

"What am I? To you?" You asked, now looking intently into his eyes, trying to discern his thoughts.

Benedict inhaled a large breath before telling you the God's honest truth, "When I realized what Charles was doing, I also realized that you would leave England with Sarah almost as soon as you found out. And I wanted you to stay." He paused, " I want you to stay."

Your lips parted as if to say something in return, but he barreled on, "I behaved selfishly, and I am a beast for it, but you were always my priority. Do not dream of thinking otherwise."

You swung your legs off of the bench and leaned forward towards him. Stabbing a bite of cake with your fork, you stuck it out to him in a gesture of peace. He cautiously ate the cake from your fork, waiting for you to say something. You took another bite before you did.

"A ship sets sail tomorrow," you said lightly, "back across the Atlantic." And with it, his hopes would sink. "I secured three tickets on it this morning."

Benedict blinked. That didn't add up right. "Is Mr. Du Pont stay-"

You quickly shook your head, and things started to click in place for him.

"Mrs. Du Pont?"

Your smirk started to grow.

"Sarah?"

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," you mocked.

He grinned up at you, "Then...?"

"The Du Ponts need someone to mind their new manor in the English countryside. Who better than their favorite non-daughter?" You shrugged happily.

"Will you not get lonely in such a large estate out in the country?" Benedict asked teasingly.

You smiled playfully at him, "Then I should hope someone will be kind enough to call on me." Benedict looked rather self-satisfied at that. "I should only hope they clean up before they do."

His confusion was answered when you took a handful of cake and smeared it down the left side of his face. He stuck his tongue in his cheek to try not to laugh. It was well-played and deserved.

"Now we're even," you whispered close to his face before standing and walking away.

"Jokes on you," he shouted after you, "it tastes better like this!" Your laughter filled the night air, and he was happy to have made such sweet amends.

--------------------------------------------------------

I love Benedict sooo much!!! I wrote this super quick after watching the new season, so sorry if anything didn't make sense

Thanks for reading <3

(also sorry for any historical inaccuracies or whatever but this is Bridgerton we're talking about )

[beforeimdeceased]

CRYBABY! - (E.W) PT3

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: she’s the same ellie she’s always been.

a/n: am i building up tension so they can be genuine enemies to lovers? maybe…

why’d you have to make a record ‘bout me?

masterlist.

“what the actual fuck ellie?” you storm into the dressing room, startling jesse and dina, who’d been sitting on the couch. jesse jolts up to walk over to you but you jerk your body away and rush at the laughing girl. “you wrote a fucking song about me?”

“why are you so pissed?” she rolls her eyes. you take a deep breath before turning around to face jesse and dina. “can you guys tell her why i’m pissed? if i do she’ll be leaving with a disfigured face.”

“i’d love to see you try to fuck me up.” ellie chimes in. you’re about to turn and yell at her when jesse grabs your arms and leads you outside. dina shakes her head, walking towards ellie, looking displeased. the last thing you hear before jesse closes the door is ellie’s crude laughter.

“did you know she was gonna do that?” you furrow your brows. he shakes his head rapidly while pulling you in for a hug. “no, i’m so sorry. if i did i would’ve never let her onstage.”

you’re sobbing now. tears of embarrassment pooling from your eyes and onto his shirt. memories of the moment flash before your eyes. her ridiculous and crude lyricism. the smirk on her face as yours fell. her making it painfully obvious that she was singing to you. about you. and not in a good way.

jesse pats your back while shushing you, repeated apologies falling from his lips. he catches their manager walking by and calls out to him. “hold on i’ll be right back. i’m gonna talk to jace about this.”

you nod, slumping down on the floor as he walks away. it takes you several deep breaths to not burst through the door and bash her head in. then you hear her talking nonchalantly on the other side. “dina it’s not that big of a deal. seriously. she’s such a fucking crybaby.”

you’re reminded of the night you’d cried into ellie’s lap. the next day you showed up apologizing profusely with a new pair of pants for her. her telling you that it’s fine. inviting you in. offering you a snack. a bottle of water. asking if you wanted to watch videos with her about space.

how could such a sweet person be such a fucking asshole and barely show any remorse? how were you meant to just get over everything she’d done? how could you let that person kiss you? see you in your most vulnerable state? call you a crybaby?

before you know it, you’ve stormed back into the room. ignoring dina’s calm and soothing voice, to punch ellie in the face. you’re hyped on adrenaline until the pain settles in. your knuckles burning and her nose bloody. what had you done?

“i’m gonna fucking kill you. so you better choose your last words carefully.” blood was spilling into her mouth. the overflow of iron settling thick in her throat. dina steps between the two of you holding her hands up. “ellie, why do you always do this shit? your nose should be permanently broken from all the fights you get into. just let it go.”

“not too good to fight with me now, huh?” ellie talks over dina’s back. her words are muffled by her hand over her face. you hit her hard as fuck, and a secret part of you hoped it knocked some sense into her. the rest of you felt an overbearing sense of guilt. lashing out was her thing. fighting was her thing. blood was her thing. you had been trying so hard not to get caught up in all that. you even had hope that she was really changing for the better.

it seems you were wrong.

“i’m so-“

jesse bursts into the door, anger all over his face. he whispers something under his breath before looking up and taking in the scene. “fucking hell, what happened?”

you lower your face in embarrassment. “i don’t know what came over me. i’m so sorry ellie-“

jesse throws up his hands. “you know what, let’s not worry about this right now. we have to perform in five minutes.”

dina scrambles to grab her leather jacket off the couch and follows a frantic jesse out of the dressing room. you shake your head as you hear ellie burst into laughter. she’s hysterical, damn near falling out of her chair.

“jesus williams, what’s so fucking funny?”

“nothing—“ she chokes back more laughter attempting to speak. “it’s just— you know how to throw a fucking punch.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

omg stop a cap mactavish drabble where they're caught 'n he's gotta keep the reader calm would feed my soul

—Listen To My Voice

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞

“Jus’ keep your eyes open and listen to my voice, eh?” The heavy Scottish drawl snaps you back into focus, your head pounding awfully and pain ricocheting up and down your limbs. It’s a stiff and unyielding order. “C’mon now, Sergeant.” 

Coughing, you hack up splatters of blood onto your cargos—hands and arms tied down with rough rope that skins you every time you shift. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, blinking rapidly as the footsteps walk away from your holding cell and disappear with the slam of a far-off door. 

The Captain ahead of you grunts, his hard blue eyes sliding down the wreckage of your uniform; the open wounds and torn fingernails. He doesn’t look much better, truth be told. Your captors had taken pleasure in making you watch the other get brutalized—the vile rage in your eyes yet the inability to do anything. 

It was mental torture as well as physical.

“Oversight ought to know we’re gone,” Soap slides out smoothly, tilting his mohawked head to the side to study the room in casual sweeps, as if not bloodied and broken. “—they’ll be sendin’ out recon teams to scout the area in little under a day. Standard protocol.”

His voice trails, seeing your gaze locked onto the door of the cell, pupils nothing but tiny dots in your burst veins of the once white sclera. Blue finds the way your body shakes, and the man’s large fingers twitch along the arm of his chair.

In the back of his throat, he lets off a rumble and resets his stubbed jaw; the scar along his left eye shifting with his expression. 

“Sergeant,” your face twitches, but you don’t look at him. Inside your chest, your rattling lungs can nearly be heard aloud. 

Captain MacTavish’s lips tighten. “Didn’t I tell you to listen? Pipe up! This is important.” 

Your mind dances between hysterics and the numb oblivion of shock. While Soap had years to adhere to the idea of bare torture—even going through it before—you had no such luck. Experienced with weaponry, yes, but One-Four-One had only taken you on with the idea that you could become better than you already were. 

You’d never gone through an actual interrogation beyond training. 

Fast flinching eyes dart to your superior, chest heaving and adrenaline coating your expression. Blood drips to the floor. 

Soap grinds his teeth and sighs through his nose.

She won’t last like this, he tells himself—blunt and honest. He’d told Price it was a bad idea to let you tag along, and without the reassurance from his fellow, he would have straight-out denied you coming. Too inexperienced. 

This was exactly what he had been worried about. 

But, hell, if that fear in your eyes didn’t make his stomach knot; a heavy rage at the image of your broken skin as all he could do was watch. But it was a silent kind of fury. Weighted with the knowledge of revenge. 

While the man hated dogs, he sure acted like a loyal one. 

“One day,” the Captain tells you—hardened; inflexible. His orbs are like hard steel and his stiff body like rock. “You can take one more day. Just need to focus on me…Copy? I don’t want your eyes to leave me. Not through any of it.”

You push through your haze, staring into his eyes with the vile stench of fear in the air. It was human nature to not want to be harmed. To dread pain and suffering in all senses. 

This man seemed apart from that. 

The Captain grunts, harsher now, “Copy?”

“I-I,” you stutter, lashes fluttering. “I copy, Sir.” 

“Relay.” He barks, watching you closely.

“One day.” Answering immediately, you clear your throat and stifle your whimper of agony—a few of your ribs are broken. “I can make it one more day.”

“Good.” Soap’s accent makes the words clipped and true. Taken as law. “Nothin’ll happen that won’t be repaid. Keep that close, it’ll help.” 

“How many times have you been through this?” Talking helped with the nerves, your focus leaving the sounds in the distant hallways and the loud voices wafting in the vents. The room was cold; you shiver and grimace as your body moved. 

“Too many.” Soap huffs, pulling at his restraints with a heavy hand and growling under his breath when nothing happens. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”

You lick your bloodied lips and feel the cuts in them. “...Is that a good or a bad thing, Sir?” 

His lips twitch into a low smirk, shooting you a sly narrowing of his lids. “Well, I’d say that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

In the grimness and the barbarity, you huff what can be described as a dead woman’s laugh. 

The Captain, still trying to find a loose area of the rope, grits his teeth and utters, “There’ll be no deaths here ‘cept the ones outside this cell, eh? Like I said—focus. When I tell you something, I don’t care how hard it is, you’ll be listenin’ to me. Got that?” 

Footsteps sound up again from beyond, and you tense, eyes flinching wider. Soap grunts out an order and you keep your feral gaze locked on his. Blue eyes bore into you, flaying their meaning deep into your body like you’re made of clay. The uptick in your pulse makes you shake wildly. 

“Keep those eyes right on me. Nothing’s goin' on that’ll kill you, aye?” The door turns and the unlocking of the barrier snaps like electricity up your spine. You want to run, but you know you can’t.

And through it all, you stare straight into Captain MacTavish’s frozen eyes—his strong brow pulled in with authority. He nods his approval with a quick jerk of his head. When the door opens, you can’t help but fear he’s lying.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[linos-luna]

What about Yandere Han sadist and possessive? 🔥

I'm on my knees for Yandere Han 🥹

I leave it on your imagination, i know that You gonna surprise me 🫣

Love all your yandere works 🤭❤️

Thank you ☺️

————————————————————————

Sadist ❣️🔪

Yandere!Sadist!Han x Fem!Reader

Warnings: possessiveness, Yandere, 18+ smut, Choking, Spanking, begging, violence, knives, dub con , slapping

——————————— ❣️ ———————————

“Noona, why are you struggling so much?”

Your boyfriend had you pinned against the bedroom door; he was annoyed that you hid from him earlier.

Han was violent when in the mood for sex. He was like that in general but it got worse when he was needy.

“Hannie stop!” You squirmed helplessly as he then pushed you inside. You fell on the bedroom floor and he locked the door behind him.

You tried sitting up before he put his foot on your chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Hannie, please!” You begged. “N-not right now!”

He got on top of you and put his hands on your throat, squeezing lightly.

“Why not, noona? I like you like this.”

He had a demented smile as he continued choking you. You could swear you felt a bulge rubbing against you.

Before you could pass out he let go, leaving you to sit there to cough and catch your breath.

“You’re so cute.” He said while looking through a drawer. He grabbed some items and set them on the bed before going back to you.

“C-can I get up?” Your voice was raspy, obviously from him squeezing so hard.

“No.” He said casually while pushing you on your stomach. “I like you like this, on the floor like the dirty slut you are.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you flirting with my friends!” He yelled while yanking down your pants and practically ripping off your underwear. “Nothing but a filthy whore! You’re mine you got that?! Mine!!”

He grabbed a belt from the bed and spanked you with it. It was practically a leather whip that surely left marks.

“Mine! *smack* Mine! *smack* MINE!!”

You screamed in pain, biting your sleeve to muffle the sound.

“Noona I want to hear you.” You said with a condescending smile. I need to hear you scream and beg for mercy. Or else what fun would this be?”

“Hannie stop!” You cried before he pulled off your shirt, leaving you only in a bra. He then grabbed handcuffs from the bed and cuffed them behind you.

“No. Not like that.” He teased while pinching your reddened skin, making you shriek in pain.

“Stop! Please! Stop!” You cried.

“You know that’s not what I want, noona.” He replied while pulling your hair back.

“I’m-Im a whore!” You cried. “I-I need you to fuck me! I-I need you to fuck the whore out of me!”

“Oh really?” He said with a chuckle while pinching the reddened skin again.

“Yes! Yes! Hannie i-I— I’m a whore!” You screamed.

“I know.” He let go of your hair, letting you fall back to the floor. Since your hands were cuffed, you fell face first, giving you a bloody nose.

You whimpered as you cried against the floor, some blood staining the carpet.

“Leaving a mess? Aw noona.” He said with a dramatic sigh before spanking you again but this time with his hand.

There was no fighting this. He wanted your “consent”. A dubious one actually. So can use it against you.

“P-please…” you cried. “Fuck the whore out of me…”

“Yeah? Why should I?”

“B-because I deserve it…” you whimpered. “I-I want it Hannie!”

He smirked as he took off his pants and boxers, rubbing his hard cock before teasing your hole. The redness around your bottom made it painful as he spread your cheeks and entered. You were a little wet but not enough for it to be an easy fit.

“You’re so tight.” He said while reaching to rub your clit. “You don’t find me hot?”

“N-no you are!” He gasped, trying to get used to the size but also squirming as he touched your sensitive spot.

It wasn’t long before he started railing you. Your face was rubbing against the floor where some blood was from your bloody nose.

You moaned and screamed more as he pounded into you. He loved hearing it and went harder to hear you go louder. The sound of it riled him up even more and he soon came in you.

“Cum, noona! Prove your mine!” He grunted. “Prove it!”

You cried as you came and he pulled out. You tried to catch your breath before he flipped you around and and lifted your legs.

“You’re a mess.” He said slyly as he started kissing your cunt, making you squirm.

“N-no hannie! Too much!” You cried. “Too much!”

Han continued to eat you out before you came again.

Exhausted. You were exhausted.

He climbed back over you and sloppily kissed your lips. He could taste the blood that dripped from your nose. He bit your lip, making it bleed even more before using his tongue to dominate you.

You were too weak to fight him. He eventually got up and you pulled up sitting you on the bed.

You were a mess. You had dry blood from your nose and some that smudged on your cheek. Your lips were red and swollen, bleeding a little that dropped down to your chin. You looked down while breathing heavily, your hair a mess. You looked at your legs, remembering the bruises your boyfriend has left from other nights.

“Your mine right?” Han said, you couldn’t hear him. You were lost in thought before he suddenly slapped you.”

“You’re mine! Right?!” He repeated angrily.

“Yes!”

“Yes what?!” He yelled as he slapped you again.

“I’m yours! Yes I’m yours!!”

“Good.” He smiled as he grabbed the key and unlocked your cuffs.

You laid back and covered your face, crying and sobbing.

Han sat next to you, rubbing your hair.

“Noona… don’t cry.”

But you couldn’t and he moved your hands to rub your cheek.

“I love you noona.”

You looked at him with tears in your eyes. Why did he look so angelic in this moment? He looked so loving and innocent. It was a lie but you put up with it. In a sick way, you loved him. He wasn’t always like this. Possessive all the time yes but only violent during sex. Not that bad right? Right…?

[scuttlingcrab]

A Hellish Dealer

Inspired by the Merchant Raphael that could've been, but now only exists in our imaginations. RIP. Gone but not forgotten. Thank you @firlionemoontav for the prompt idea and letting me know that we were robbed of Merchant Raphael!

Summary: Raphael isn't only a saviour, but a proficient salesman. After coming to Tav’s rescue, again, he offers the little mouse an item, straight from his Devilish line of goods, that he hopes will aid her in the fights ahead.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via devils-little-mouse)

Tav gasped for air, clutching at her chest. Her temples pulsed, her skull vibrating along with each thumping heartbeat. Her throat burned as she inhaled, like she had swallowed a bucket full of coal. It made her want to vomit, a cold sweat dripping from her forehead. Tav shivered, struggling to sit up. She eventually found the strength to hug her knees in a sad attempt to warm herself.

Without warning, memories flashed before her eyes. Just moments ago, she had been falling, her body plunging into something sharp. Pain jetted through her chest, a searing sensation stemming from the pits of her soul. Her companions' screams echoed in the recesses of her mind, their pleas for help, cries of agony had blended into one… until there was only quiet, her entire world consumed by nothing but shadows. 

Tav blinked, her eyes caked with dirt. She rubbed away the grime, her mind scrambling, attempting to put the millions of shattered pieces of this reality back together. She loosened the laces of her tunic, hoping that would give her some more room to breathe. Her hands stopped abruptly, running over a massive tear in the middle of her chest. She looked down, eyes widening at the discovery that her entire tunic was covered in dried blood. She instantly reached for her back, feeling an identical rip between her shoulder blades.

Tav’s chest tightened, spots of black dotting across her vision. 

Breathe, Tav. Breathe. 

She felt the floor with her fingertips. Stones. It was damp, slippery. 

She’s still here. Breathe. That’s it. 

She turned her head, attempting to look around, to search for her companions… but her vision was hazy, the specks of black refusing to leave her alone. 

Tav’s nose itched and she suppressed a cough, tears forming from the corner of her eyes as the scent of sulphur suddenly assaulted her senses.  

A large black shadow came into view, looming above her ominously. She blinked again and the area around her slowly came into focus, the shapeless being forming a clearer silhouette… and then a face. Their features morphed into something familiar. Big dark eyes stared down at her, the irises briefly flickering orange, like tiny flames. They were tall, their hair short and brown… 

Wait a damned second. 

“Raphael?” Tav whispered, confusion contorting her face.

Raphael smiled wide, bearing his teeth. He wore the same shit eating grin from when they first met on that bridge, when this entire fiasco began.

“It seems you’re not very perceptive after all, despite my countless warnings.” 

“Your… W-what?” Tav coughed, blood splattering on her palms. She immediately wiped it away on her trousers, growing more disgusted with herself. 

“The infernal markings, scattered throughout this Mausoleum. So simple I had assumed even a half-wit such as yourself could’ve spotted them.” 

Tav swallowed, another lump forming in her throat. Now that Raphael mentioned it, there were a bunch of weird symbols littered throughout the doorways of that stupid fucking Mausoleum, and a few of those scribbles suspiciously resembled arrows. She had shrugged them off, thinking it was some kind of joke or just someone’s sad attempt at artwork. Not actual warning signs from the Devil himself… pointing in the right bloody direction this entire time. They had been lost for hours, going back and forth one twisted hallway after another.

Well, Karlach was right… and Tav was a fucking idiot. 

Tav stood abruptly, hoping to cover up her festering embarrassment. As soon as she rose, the room rotated, faster and faster like she was caught in the middle of a windstorm. The floor came up to meet her in a blur and she shut her eyes, bracing herself for another explosive impact. She instead felt a sharp tug on her arm as her body was yanked to one side, promptly followed by a pleasant embrace. Tav leaned into the hold, enjoying the stillness and melting against the comforting heat radiating from… 

She opened her eyes, only to find herself snuggled in Raphael’s arms, her head resting against his chest. She held her breath as she glanced up at him. He winked in response and Tav blushed, her cheeks catching fire almost immediately. That damned face, that damned Devil… she never thought his smile could get any more condescending.

Tav ripped herself away from Raphael, wobbling as she tried to keep herself upright without his support, but it only got worse. 

“Oh Gods, I’m going to be sic–” 

The sound of a snap ricocheted throughout the chamber walls, settling her stomach and the spinning room simultaneously. 

“The little mouse, ever so hasty to escape the hands that saved it. You nearly soiled my favourite pair of boots. I will have you know, these are quite expensive.”

Tav held her hands out wide to keep her balance, shaking away any lingering bouts of nausea. 

“My f-friends… what have you don…”

“Oh, they aren’t going anywhere. Besides, I’d like a few more minutes alone with you.” Raphael paused, his eyes travelling up Tav’s body as if he was about to devour her for supper. “And please wipe that bewildered look off your face. Yes, that boney little cretin that lingers at your camp isn’t the only one who can bring mortals back from the dead. Now sit still, else you’ll ruin my handiwork.” 

There was another snap and Tav was transported away from the Mausoleum in a rush of sparks that tickled her skin. She materialised on a spacious balcony, her body gently fitting into a plush leather chair. The material stuck to her exposed skin like glue as she fidgeted. Tav inhaled sharply at the view, blood-red skies and an otherwise barren wasteland overtaking her vision. The air was thicker here, weighing on her shoulders like a heavy piece of armour.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Tav whispered, just as a dark Hellish cloud appeared on the horizon, growing more ferocious as it crept closer. 

Raphael sat in front of her, legs crossed and cradling a silver goblet. His eyes glimmered against the fiery skies of Avernus as he continued to gaze at her. Out of fondness or hunger? Tav had no fucking clue anymore.

A small table was placed between them, lined with a tray of refreshments.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I’d like to offer you some commodities for the fight ahead.”

“Hold on. Since when are you , the almighty Raphael, scary Devil-man who threatens foolish mortals, a vendor?” Tav leaned back, laughing hysterically. She watched as Raphael’s smile faded, a menacing scowl replacing any hint of amusement that had previously occupied his face. “Gods, I must’ve really, I mean really, hit my head back there.”

Raphael’s neck twitched and his eyes narrowed, but he remained calm, taking a sip from the goblet. 

“There is a whole world of services you’ve yet to discover that only I can provide. I just so happen to have an entire line of goods that are simply too Devilish to keep all to myself.”

“Do you think I have any bloody gold left? I don’t want anything from you. I just want to be done with this never-ending bullshit! As if this damned tadpole wasn’t enough, you have to be creeping and crawling around every corner! I’ve ju–”

Raphael leapt towards Tav, erupting into his cambion form. Tav cried out in shock as the table burst into flames, the bottles of wine and various jars of food exploding. She winced, covering her face to protect herself from the flying shards of glass. Raphael crushed the goblet in his hand like it was nothing but cheap, flimsy material. Wine oozed from his fist like blood, the liquid sizzling as it touched his skin.

He leaned closer to Tav, pointing a claw at her face. 

“I would hold that wretched, ungrateful tongue if I were you. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be nothing but a sack of flesh rotting on the shores of the Chionthar.” 

“Raphael, I’m sorry.” Tav muttered, her words barely audible against the thunder from the approaching storm. 

“I cannot hear your pitiful squeaks, little mouse.”

“I’m sorry.” Tav said again, her voice shaking. “I-I w…” 

She hid her face in her hands before Raphael could see her weep. She felt humiliated. Actually worse, like she was a spoiled child having a temper tantrum. Ungrateful. 

Tav choked on her tears, her body trembling against each emotional wave that crashed against her, destroying what was left of her self-control. The sadness was suffocating, her exhaustion crippling. She was just so tired. Of everything. Everyone. Fed up with being bent and moulded like she was merely a piece of metal in a forge. It wasn’t only Raphael. No . But her companions, pulling her in twelve different directions all at once, each with their own personal vendettas. And that tadpole, swimming around her brain, digging deeper and deeper into her subconscious. The sleepless nights, tossing and turning from the voices in her head. 

It was too much. 

“Why did you bring me back?” Tav muttered eventually. 

There was a brief pause as thunder cracked through the air, a hot gust of wind blowing across her hands.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Raphael replied, softly. 

“I hope you make it quick then. So the next time I fall you can just leave me to die in peace.”

“Yes…” Raphael began, delicately peeling Tav’s fingers away from her face, lowering her shield. He placed his own hand on her cheek, the warmth from his palm drying the tears that fell. He held his hand there for what felt like an eternity, and in truth, Tav didn’t want him to let go. She tried to look away, but she was drawn into his gaze; those dark, deceitful eyes, slowly losing herself the more she stared into that welcoming abyss. 

“I think I’m satisfied.” Raphael continued, releasing Tav from his hold. “Consider that my first and only warning. Next time I won’t be so… generous.”

Raphael returned to his seat and Tav let out a sigh, pressing her fingers to her cheek where the remains of his touch still lingered. 

He clapped his hands twice and a massive wooden wardrobe appeared behind him. He twirled his wrist, opening the double doors and showcasing an endless expanse of weapons, armour, and potions. He swiped his hand and the thousands of artefacts flew past him at a rapid speed. He hummed thoughtfully until he raised an index finger and stopped the movement, staring at a large metallic staff in front of him. It floated patiently, the metal was smooth and twisted, almost like silver vines.

“That’ll do nicely…”

Raphael moved his index finger and the staff flew out of the wardrobe, hovering before Tav.

“Feast your eyes on this . It can detect creatures who might not want to be found, simply activate the barrier with an intermediate incantation and nothing can hide within its boundaries. I think it suits your strengths just enough to get this next job done.” 

The staff bounced in the air as it twirled, beckoning Tav to touch it. She reached towards the staff, but Raphael yanked it away with the flick of his wrist. 

“Tut, tut. I don’t just hand things out for free, not even to my most treasured customers. I can give you a discount, however.”

Tav opened her mouth in protest but Raphael raised his hand dramatically to silence her. 

“Those soul coins, I can hear them screaming from your person. A far more satisfactory payment for my services. I don’t stoop so low as to accept gold .” Raphael practically shuddered as the words left his lips.

Tav hesitated, her hand resting above her trousers.

“Come now, Karlach doesn’t need them. If you give her any more, she’ll likely explode before you reach Baldur’s Gate.”

“How did you… riiight .” Tav muttered, nodding to herself. “You’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, yes, yes, I know.”

“Ah, has that tadpole riddled brain finally caught up?”

“Fine.”

Tav unclipped a leather pouch from her belt, digging her fingers inside it. She removed a soul coin and held it up to Raphael. 

“And for an additional soul coin I can throw in a few revivify scrolls, 4 for the price of 1. Seeing as you could barely walk the halls of the Mausoleum without falling into a trap meant for the undead. I simply don’t have enough time on my agenda to wait for you buffoons to drop like flies again. Which will undoubtedly happen, I can assure you. I might even bet you on it.”

Tav bit the side of her mouth, trying to keep herself from saying anything stupid to rile his temper a second time. She shook her head as she pulled another soul coin from the pouch. She placed both coins in her palm, extending it towards Raphael. He giddily accepted, snatching the Hellish currency in one showy movement. 

“Ta.”

Raphael inspected each soul coin carefully, rubbing his thumb over the jagged designs. He brought them to his ear, closing his eyes as he listened to music that Tav could not hear. He sighed with pleasure, nodding along to a silent melody. 

“Oh, how delicious. There is nothing that brings me more delight than the screams of doomed mortals. One of life’s simple pleasures.”

Raphael bounced the soul coins between his fingers, like he was trying to impress Tav with an amateur magic trick, until they vanished in a puff of smoke. The goods Tav purchased flew into her hands, nearly causing her to topple over in the chair.

“Well then, thank you for your business. I’ll be sure to keep my fingers crossed you can survive the next few hours. You know what’s at stake. Until we meet again.”

Before Tav could even utter her thanks, Raphael stood from his chair, gifting her with one of his flourishing bows. Her body was enveloped in another burst of sparks and just like that, she was swiftly returned to the Mausoleum. She unexpectedly found herself yearning for the stifling air of Avernus, her thoughts rushing back to Raphael. 

Tav stood in the same chamber, but she was no longer alone. Her companions were lying at her feet, just like the Devil had promised, groaning as they regained consciousness.  

“Gods, my head. That nearly ended us all…” Astarion whispered, jumping to his feet. 

“Yeah, what a fucking close call. Good job getting us out of that one, Tav,” Karlach added. She remained on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It would have been an undignified death.” Minthara said, rising to her knees as she released a healing spell. “And worst of all, my vengeance would have remained unquenched.”

Karlach laughed, using her elbows to lift herself up. 

“We’ll get that bastard Thorm soon enough, Minthara.”

Minthara huffed and the companions continued the idle chatter, their voices slowly fading from Tav’s focus.

Tav looked down at the metal staff in her hands, her grip tightening around it.

Right, she better not fuck this up. For all of their sakes.

[loonsloon]

@rosekillermicrofic may 9 – blood – 722 words cw: blood and injuries, but nothing explicit

It was their usual Friday night.

Barty is standing in front of the mirror in their dingy, dimly lit bathroom. The only source of light—being the yellow lightbulb that keeps flickering above his head every few seconds—is making his beaten-up face seem worse than it already is. Creating a shadow across what he's pretty sure is his broken nose. There is also a bruise forming high on his left cheekbone, which hurts a bit to the touch, and a gash on his other one. It's not that deep, but Barty's all hot and sweaty, causing it to bleed a bit more than it should.

The blood is dripping all over the floor, and the sink is filled with bloody cotton balls and tissues—a visual representation of Barty's failed attempt to stop the bleeding.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Evan leaning across the doorframe, watching him with a scowl.

''Are you just going to stand there looking all pretty, or are you going to give me some help?'' Barty asks, tossing yet another cotton ball into the sink.

Evan makes a show off rolling his eyes, and it takes him a few moments to peel himself off the doorframe and reach Barty in a total of three strides. With his left hand, he grips Barty's jaw and tilts it towards the light to inspect the gash.

''How many more times will I have to clean your face after you make an idiot out of yourself?''

Barty knows Evan is not really mad at him, maybe slighty annoyed. And no, it’s not the first time they’ve found themselves in the same position in which Evan tends to his wounds. It happened so many times it became a tradition at this point.

It seemed like Barty's only purpose for going out was to bring home a reminder—a souvenir if you will—that takes the form of a bruise, bloody wound or even a broken bone. Only for Evan to collect it with gentle hands and tend to it with soft kisses.

''I'm pretty sure, this will be the last time'', Barty hisses through pain as Evan just started dabbing alcohol on his cheek.

''You say this every time Barty, and yet you manage to come home in an even worse condition.''

And it's true, Barty won't deny that. It only takes a few shots of cheap tequila and a few drags of Evan's joint for Barty to push the wrong buttons of a random person that he chose to bother on that particular night out. And he feeds off of it. Making a bet with himself on how long it would take before the guy in question snaps and turns his fists on him. Somehow, he almost always loses. This time he was pretty much sure the guy won't actually indulge him, and you could say that he was taken by surprise, as he really wasn't expecting his ass to be handed to him on a silver platter.

''This time is different, I won't do it again, promise,'' Barty almost pouts, and this makes Evan tilt his head to the side with a playful glint in his eyes. A knowing smirk forming in the corners of his mouth.

''What makes it different this time?''

''I think this guy finally beat some sense into me, I mean, look at my face,'' Barty looks at himself in the mirror, and Evan follows his gaze to analyse his beaten-up features. There’s a certain expression on his face as their eyes meet, that Barty can't quite figure out.

The bleeding has finally stopped, and Evan makes a hum sound as he returns his attention to rubbing some kind of ointment on Barty's cheek.

''Well, you do look like you've been mauled by a bear, and I'm pretty sure your nose is broken,'' Evan finishes his tending and turns around to wash his hands in the sink. He doesn’t bother to throw out the blood-painted cotton balls, leaving the job for Barty.

''I know, but you should see the other guy,'' Barty smirks, and this causes Evan to lift his head from the sink to examine his own blood-free reflection. A smug look on his face is quickly replaced by a forced gasp,

"What makes you say that Barty? I look great!''

[s-4pphics]

forever dying. (e.w.)

FEAR. noun. an unpleasant emotion or thought that you have when you are frightened or worried by something dangerous, painful, or bad that is happening or might happen.

emotions writing challenge :3

wc;cw: 7 hunnid, angst, ellie needs a hug :(, gore

Ellie’s boots bury deep into the snow with every weighted footstep, her pack and bow hitting her back as she walks. She wanted to run, but she didn’t want to cause a scene; Freaking out in public makes her freak out more. 

She needs to get home. She misses you and she’s on the verge of panicking because you’re not next to her. She should’ve never volunteered to do patrol. 

You’re tired, you’d whispered in the early morning as she dressed, just lay here with me? 

He’s old, Ellie whispered back: about Joel. If she doesn’t go, then he’ll have to, and he’s old, although he denies it; He shouldn’t be working as hard anymore, at least, that’s what Ellie convinced herself when she saw him reorganizing the horse shed. Boxes were being stacked, but he was tired; It was evident in the tremor in his arms. Ellie’s exhaustion will never be able to match his, no matter what she does. Plus, I wanna go. It won’t be long, promise. 

And just like that, she kissed your head, your nose, your lips, before snagging her coat and leaving. 

She’s gotten used to killing clickers; There was a dark point — two years ago — where she actually enjoyed it: the grittiness, the power she had over the source that destroyed the world. But moments like today remind her how gruesome and horrific life is. 

It was only mile three into patrol when she saw the scene from a distance: the outline of a boy, no older than ten, dead and bloody, being preyed on by at least five clickers. At least. 

Millions of thoughts rushed through her mind: why was he alone? Why is he so small? Why didn’t she come sooner and save him? 

Horror slammed into her and she froze, nausea overtaking her at the sight. Shimmer was already snorting and shifting, preparing to turn around, but Ellie couldn’t move. She only gripped the lasso tighter, her thick gloves pinching her skin. 

Apparently, she breathed too loudly; All the clickers turned towards her direction in milliseconds. She wasn’t prepared for all of them to rush towards her and Shimmer. She wasn’t... fucking prepared. 

Ellie’s still not sure how she made it out, but she did, and she needs you close. Vulnerability is extremely difficult for her, but she melts with you. She should’ve never left this morning. 

“Ellie!” Jesse. “Wait up!”

She’s already shaking her head, moving quicker.  

“I’m fine!” She’s not. She swiftly peers over her shoulder, dismissively waving her hand. “I just… I needa get home. We’ll talk later.” Has her safe haven always been this fucking far?  

It seems like hours pass before her walk ends, and she’s on your shared porch; She shoves through the door and is hit with immediate warmth and the smell of cinnamon, and her heart calms. Only slightly. 

She kicks her shoes off and tosses her supplies on the floor before padding down the hallway and into your shared bedroom. 

You’re sitting on the floor, reorganizing the bookshelf, murmuring song lyrics to yourself. You meet her eyes in a mirror propped up against the wall and smile. 

But it drops at the sound of her voice. 

She only whispered hey, but her tone is enough to get you up and moving towards her, concern on your face. Her expression is telling: fear. Grief. No wonder she’s back so early. 

Your hands are cautious as they hover over her shoulders, but she nods gently. It’s okay, she hopes her eyes read, please hold me.  

She’s instantly pulled close, right up against you, and she falls apart. Ellie doesn’t feel any tears coming, just feels them seep into your sweater. You’re asking if she’s hurt, but she’s not sure how to answer, so she stays quiet. 

Your touch is so soothing. But she’s scared… and heartbroken. And guilty: she, somehow, feels at fault. That poor kid. She's sobbing now, loud and painful.

Hope, in this time, is lethal. The graphic scene is proof enough that the world is forever dying. 

[hestzhyen]

Leap of (Lack of) Faith

There's some discourse about Hakuri's suicide attempt in chapter 24 going around on Twitter that got me thinking. Well, actually, I just want to share my own pointless take. Yeah, I genuinely want to be perceived for once. But I hate trying to communicate in 240-character snippets on that hellsite, so I'll post here to rot in obscurity where I'm most comfortable.

Basically, there was a post in the Kagurabachi Twitter community that requested to talk about the abuse flashback-jump sequence. And yeah, uh, I'm kind of surprised at how little it gets brought up too. To quote myself:

Please don't ask me why I have three different usernames- there's no satisfying answer.

It's been a while since chapter 24 happened, so let's recap the lead up to this important moment. We first see Hakuri in Ch. 19 with his drink spilling out of his mouth, putting his inner monologue about "hav[ing] to grit your teeth and push through" to the lie. The very first shot of him, the very first food metaphor we see with him, is Hakuri being unable to cope. We don't know why he lost his his family, but he's clearly alone and not doing well. He's struggling.

Next thing we see is him being coincidentally saved by Chihiro. We get a full page of him narrating his impression of the moment, showing us the contrast between his desire to do some unspecified "job" and his fatalistic frame of mind. Then we learn he's weak as hell even though his heart's in the right place. He saves a little girl and insists on being taken back to the Yakuza's hideout, leading him to get kicked around and beaten up. He's a bloody, scribbly-eyed mess by the time he meets Chihiro for real. And this is exactly how we are supposed to see him until the moment he jumps in chapter 24.

It's so, so easy to overlook the hints towards Hakuri's painful past due to the way he's written. Most of his actions and dialogue are framed in a comedic way to bounce off of Chihiro's stoicism. Hakuri's pessimistic inner monologues when he's being hurt or nearly killed are right at home in this demographic too- wimps start at their lowest to leave lots of room to grow. And Shounen series always have a weak, lonely kid who's inspired to become strong. It's extremely standard stuff. But this moment right here was probably the biggest, most blatant hint that he's got more to his circumstances than the average zero-to-hero character:

That tiny little panel of him casually smearing the blood from his nose while he talks to Chihiro lives rent-free in my head. It's a throwaway motion in the moment, and not really out of place in an ultra-violent series like Kagurabachi. But compare that to how Azami -a professional combat sorcerer and war veteran!- screamed when he realized his hand was sliced in chapter 7, or how Chihiro is often shown wincing and having to adjust to his injuries. These characters definitely feel the hits that land on them. But the most hilariously pathetic character yet acts like the beat-down he received never happened. Nor like he's surrounded by bloody corpses. Hakuri is not only used to violence, he's used to it experiencing it.

Again, this is all framed in a comedic way due to his over-the-top personality and expressions. He's a freakish mess on the floor after taking the hit from Hiyuki, sobs in a silly way over Chihiro's backstory, is called "weak" and "a moron" and "a mess" by other characters, on and on. Hakuri's not written like he's supposed to be taken seriously after the first few pages we see of him.

The only other moments of foreshadowing came in chapter 23 as a set of blink-and-you'll miss panels and the last scene:

Hakuri's clenched, shaking fist when he talks about his "scary" older siblings isn't a huge tell. Neither is the insistence that they'd kill him on sight. We can comfortably assume that he's afraid of the consequences of betraying his powerful family despite being a weakling- that's where most authors would have gone with this scenario. But then why does his big brother Soya look so happy to see him? Was Hakuri over-reacting again when he talked about his family? Something's off here, but it's impossible to say exactly what.

The next chapter starts. Chihiro and Shiba are facing off against the Tou and it's looking tense. Chihiro flashes back to his dad talking about the Shinuchi, the fight's about to begin- but it cuts to Soya being a pretty normal person who misses his little brother.

And then we see this.

Suddenly a whole new and very serious dimension is added to Hakuri's character. He's not a goofy weakling that's going to improve himself with some determination and a training arc: he's a victim of abuse. This is the signal that the Sazanamis are truly fucked up more than we know, setting the stage for the major themes of the Rakuzaichi arc. And it makes re-reading those little bits of foreshadowing so much more painful.

This scene is the "oh shit" equivalent of Chihiro finding Char's severed leg in the car- yeah, the author really went there. And it's not even the last time we'll get a moment like this for Hakuri. The Ice Lady chapter is rightly remembered for it's impact, but Hakuri choosing to commit suicide should be held up alongside it IMO. Again: the author really went there, and not just for the shock value.

This moment should be remembered far more often than it is. It was the pivot from Hakuri being a generic potential sidekick into a complex and fully-realized character. Hakuri found people who could help him. Who treated him kindly. Who inspired him. But he chose death in an instant when his past came back to haunt him. Despite his improved circumstances, he had no hope for the future. He only felt fear and the urge to escape from looming torment.

Looking at what we know up to this chapter alone... how can you not feel for him? This goofy, ridiculous mess of a boy is really truly hurting and probably has been for years. But like many victims, he downplays and doesn't talk about it. He just tries to escape via whatever means he can.

So it burns me up that people are still reducing him to Chihiro's silly sidekick. If this scene was somehow not enough to dispel that notion, consider that Chihiro probably doesn't know that Hakuri had all those tools used on him, much less anything about Ice Lady. He knows that Hakuri was regularly ganged up on and beaten, and probably could infer that Kyoura deliberately looked away. But we haven't seen Hakuri talk about in detail about how "someone set him on the right path", nor mention taking a flying leap, nor share what's in his storehouse. He's still got a hell of a lot of literal and metaphorical pain he keeps inside. In the right circumstances, Hakuri could jump again.

Talk about this scene more often! REMEMBER it more often!

[far-too-damaged]

Hello! I saw that you were taking requests. Do you think you could do cod men and gym class? Something along the lines of reader getting hit with a ball and them fussing over it? Anything, really, just goofy fluff would be nice.

Road trips really are fun👀. K, bye!

Goofy Fluff as requested 💃 (Boys are referred to by their actual names, except Price cuz he & Soap have the same... <3) (High school) Not as proud of this as I thought - it's giving 2020... 😞 Let me know if you like it though, cause 👀Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, and a demolished GN reader :)

Today has been great so far. I went shopping, tried a new restaurant, and now I'm playing dodgeball with the guys: Price, Johnny, Simon, and Kyle. The day has been really enjoyable and comfortable.

Well, if "comfort" means the sound of squeaky shoes and boots on the gym floor and the occasional screams of pain after being hit by a dodgeball... It's been great, and nothing could ruin it. Although, I hope everyone's okay, especially after I threw every ball at lightning speed right at their stomachs.

"Kyle, you suck at this!" I laughed as I threw the ball at him. I was trying to aim for his chest, but it ended up hitting him somewhere much more painful, judging by his high-pitched scream. I winced at his pain.

"He's okay in the end, maybe a bit annoyed, but whatever!" I gestured worriedly as I spoke to Simon.

I don't think I'll be taunting a guy again, because the next thing I knew, I was on the ground after a loud 'thwack' echoed around the gym and a tough dodgeball collided with my face. The ball rolled away, leaving a trace of blood on the ground. "Kyle!" Johnny shouted, "You hit them!" A slap sound was followed by an "Ouch..." from Kyle.

Everything was blurry, with a few patches of blood on my shirt and the ground. A bloody nose from a plastic, squeaky, slippery dodgeball. I felt freezing hands bringing me back to the present. "Agh!" I groaned, pushing the cold hand away and rubbing my eyes, staring directly at Johnny.

"Are you okay, [Reader]?" Price asked, nudging me. "I'm fine, but who did it – was it you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "No," he chuckled, whispering to me, "It was Kyle." I nodded. "I expected it to be Johnny." As I turned to walk towards Kyle, Johnny spoke up – or at least tried to before Simon threw a ball at his stomach.

I chuckled and even snorted a bit. Johnny collapsed to his knees as Simon acknowledged me with a wave, tossing a thin paper towel in my direction. Kyle lurked behind Johnny, then joined him on his knees.

"Wait—don’t attack me—" Kyle's words were followed by frantic screaming as Kyle dodged every dodgeball that Simon and Price threw towards me.

Shortly after, I wiped the blood off my face. "I hate you," I grinned as Kyle brought a damp paper towel to me, which worked better with the dried blood. "Now, hate is a strong word; what do we say instead?" A short pause happened as Kyle widened his eyes. "[Reader]–[Reader] no!" was all the others heard before Kyle also had his very own bloody nose. "Now we're matching!" I said as I stuck a paper towel up his nose. WC: 466

Huge thanks to Grammarly for keeping the view-tense the same 😍 Poll Time! Open for the week :)

[blooming-violets]

CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER EIGHT: PYRRIHIC VICTORY

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

[link to chapter index]

A woodchipper. 

That’s what her body felt like it had been shoved through. 

She had been wrapped up and pushed through the spinning blades until she was nothing more than bloody pulp. 

“Fuck me,” she groaned. 

Aylin forced her stiff, heavy lids to open. A layer of sleep crusted over her lashes, making it difficult to see. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand to clear them. When they finally came into focus, she was nose to nose with wide, golden eyes staring expectantly back at her. Black, sleek fur rubbed against her forehead as her cat, Kedi, rammed face first into her head with a long, drawn out whine. 

“Yes, good morning to you, too,” she grumbled. 

“It’s actually evening. You slept almost 16 hours. Thought you might not ever wake up.” 

A familiar voice popped up from behind her. 

Aylin rolled over, wincing from the shooting pains electrifying her body, to find Peter sitting on the edge of her bed. Except this wasn’t her bed. She glanced around the small room and recognized it as the same motel she brought Peter on the night they met. She could tell because of how cheap and ugly the decor was; like it had been redecorated once in the early 70’s then never touched again. It had the same musty smell of mold and stale cigarette smoke that she remembered so well. The thick, avocado green curtains were drawn closed so the only source of light was the flashing colors from the television. He had kept it on silent, probably so as not to disturb her sleep, and he was sitting as far off the edge of the bed as he could without being on the floor. She noticed the only chair in the room was propped up under the door knob as an added line of defense to keep anyone out. 

Peter was wearing one of her brother’s old, navy blue sweatshirts and gray joggers she had brought him to try on a few days ago. A pair of run down work boots lay tossed against the back wall as if he had nonchalantly kicked them off his feet after he got settled. Her brother’s borrowed clothes seemed to fit well enough. It was strange seeing him wear Emir’s things. It had been over five years since anyone had donned them. It was about time they got put to use instead of collecting dust in his bedroom tomb. It was also strange to see Peter wearing a shirt, regardless of who it once belonged to. Since she met him, he had always been shirtless.  

She sort of missed the view. 

Aylin glanced down at her own self to see what sort of disheveled state she was in. She had been respectfully covered with the hideously floral bedspread but, underneath, she was still in the same attire she’d fled in. Underwear to cover her lower half and tightly wrapped bandages to cover her top half. Nearly naked and covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. Funny how their roles had been reversed since the last time they had taken refuge in this motel. 

“Why is Kedi here?” She croaked through dry lips. She was in desperate need of water. 

Peter looked between her and the cat perched at her shoulder, “I’m guessing that's Kedi?”

She nodded. 

“Before you passed out, you were really upset about not being able to find your mother. You didn’t want to leave anyone behind when we ran,” he gave a sheepish shrug. “I assumed that meant taking the cat, too.” 

She raised her brows in surprise, “He let you pick him up and put him in the car?” 

Peter gave a weary glance back at Kedi and shook his head, “It didn’t go as smoothly as you’re making it sound…” He raised his arms to show off a myriad of red scratches clawing down his skin and pointed bite marks sunk into his hand. The cat had put up a good fight but it seemed Peter came out victorious. 

Aylin gave a soft chuckle of amusement, “Yeah. That sounds more like it.”

She looked over her shoulder to smile fondly at her cat, happy that he was safe with them, then turned back to Peter. “How’d you pay for this room?”

He shrugged again, chewing on the hard bit of calloused skin next to his thumb nail, “You had your wallet in the car. You also had a bunch of stuff packed into the trunk. I brought some of it in after I got you settled in bed.” 

She struggled to prop herself up onto her elbows to get into a sitting position but the pain was too much. She collapsed back onto the stiff mattress with a muffled whine. 

Peter scooted closer over to her and held out his arm for her to take, “Here. Let me help you.” 

He heaved her up with ease and held her steady until she was sitting on her own. His eyes raked over the red stained bandages wrapped around her chest and covering her back. She could tell it wasn’t the first time he had taken in the sight of her injuries but it still made him uncomfortable. He quickly averted his eyes when he noticed her watching him. 

“I knew something was wrong,” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know how I knew it but I did. I kept telling myself to give you time to come back. You said it might take a while. But then it got to be past midnight. It’s almost a full moon, you know. In two nights. Everything feels stronger when it gets closer to a full moon. Maybe that’s how I knew. I felt some kind of intuition. It was like I was being pulled to find you. I still waited, though. I told myself it was just in my head. That I promised to wait for you at the camper.” He swallowed, sounding as culpable as she felt. “I should have looked for you sooner. I shouldn’t have let you go back there at all. I knew how dangerous Kraven was. I should have kept you safe. What happened when you went back? What did he do to you?”

Guilt rained down on her as the memories opened from the dark cloud above her head. Murderer. She had killed the Lycan girl. Stabbed her straight through the heart. Ripped her life from her without ever knowing her name. She was a murderous Silver Colt, born and raised, destined to be nothing more than an oven for her leader to stick his seed into. A plaything, perfectly groomed to his liking. Was any part of her real? Or was she entirely constructed to be the person he wanted her to be? 

She could feel Kraven’s hands all over her body. They lingered and clung to her skin like an unshakable memory. It made her feel sick. Dirty. She would have gladly taken Calypso with the whip over ever having to be in the same room with that man again. Calypso may have broken her body but Kraven had shattered her soul. Whatever dreamlike bliss she’d felt upon waking in the safety of this motel beside Peter had sizzled out faster than she could blink. He had become a beacon of hope for her to cling onto and a pleasant memory for her to dissociate to. 

But he wasn’t real. The Peter she dreamed of in that basement lived only in her labyrinth. The one sitting beside her was someone else. He was his own person. Not a perfect figment of her imagination. He felt liable for her safety only because she had saved him his captive fate. He was in her debt.  

She felt a vacant, numbness settle into the depths of her blackened mind as shadows crept around her sharp edges. Her escape from the basement was a pyrrhic victory. 

“Nothing happened,” she mumbled, her words sounding mechanical in her ears. “I’m fine.”

Aylin felt constricted in her every move. The dried blood, splattered over her, pinched at her skin. The wraps Calypso had done felt too tight. Her underwear was crusty and hard from the blood that dripped from her back and soaked through the fabric. Her hair was stiff and sticking to everything. She felt suffocated inside her own body. Not even the tall walls of her labyrinth were a safe place to linger for long. It had become polluted with the toxic chemicals Kraven had spilled over every part of her. She didn’t know who she was anymore. 

She needed to crawl out of her own skin. 

“I need a shower,” she stated. 

Peter’s eyes darted between her and the bed spread at his legs like he was afraid to keep her in his gaze for too long but equally afraid to have her out of it. She knew he didn’t believe a word she had said. She obviously wasn’t fine but he was either too shy, or too smart, to confront her on her claims. 

He nodded slowly as if every move he made was calculated to keep the peace between them, “What, uhm, what’s under the bandages?” He quickly added, trying to play it off like it was nothing more than a nonchalant question, “Just because it might hurt to put any wounds under running water. Are you sure you don’t want me to check on them first? Just to be safe?” 

Aylin ignored him and shoved herself to her unsteady feet with a grunt. Peter stood in sync with her, keeping a hand out to catch her should she fall, but not actually closing the gap to physically touch her. He kept his sights on his bare feet. He looked terrified to disrespect her by staring at her in just her underwear. He still didn’t know where he stood in her allegiance. The last time they spoke she had vacillated between being his friend and cursing him out with little warning. He wasn’t sure what wrong move he could make that would get him in trouble this time. 

She gave him a sad smile in the hopes to ease his concern. He didn’t need to be frightened of her. He had saved her life. He had done everything to erase his debt. She no longer considered herself a true Silver Colt. She would never be able to return to her home again which meant that she had no more use for him. No information he could give her would ever erase her knowledge that her entire life was a lie. He was free to leave whenever he wanted. 

“You don’t have to stay anymore, Peter,” she muttered under her breath, stopping halfway to the bathroom with him still hovering at her side. “I think we’re even now. I saved you. You saved me. You’re a free man. You’re not a prisoner. I don’t need you for information anymore. I’m not going to kill you. I refuse to. Our deal is over. Nothing matters, anyway. It was all for nothing. You can go.” 

Aylin leaned down to collect her duffle bag from the floor beside the television stand. It was sitting next to a case of water bottles and some camping food, her bucket of first aid supplies, and her crossbow. He had brought in everything that she could need for when she awoke, including a weapon to protect herself with if she felt the need too. When she tugged the strap of the bag over her sore shoulder, she straightened up to stare back, forcing herself to make eye contact with him.

Peter had a look that was hard for her to read. Apprehension. Dismay. Melancholy. Rejection. Confusion. They all flashed across his warm, brown eyes while he processed what she was saying. It hurt to see him like that but he deserved to be free. He didn’t need her. She was useless to him. 

“No,” his assertion was evident in his tone. “I’m staying.” 

Her heart sank with sorrow and an anger rose in her chest. She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want him to look at her with those pity filled eyes. She didn’t want to be responsible for another unnecessary death. Kraven would hunt her down and find her. He would slaughter anyone she was with. She would never be safe from his hold. People don’t get to leave the guild without consequences. She knew that now. Peter was better off on his own. 

“No, you aren’t. You’re leaving. Go,” she shot back. “I don’t want you here anymore. Thank you for getting me out and bringing me here but I no longer need you. You repaid your debt. You balanced the scales. You can go.”

He shook his head in defiance, “I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere.” His arms crossed over his chest and he planted his feet firmly against the worn out, red carpet as if daring her to try and move him.

Aylin stomped her foot with annoyance, “There’s no point in you sticking around! You’re only going to get hurt. I bring death wherever I go! I’m the reason they’re all dead.” Her voice cracked but she kept her chin held high. “My father, my brother, probably my mother and Leah and her family, Sierra…that wolf girl…I’m…cursed. I’m not a good person. I’m a murderer. A fraud. I’m not anything you should be around. I only bring pain. It’s not worth it. Just go. You’ll be better off. ‘M gonna go wash up and when I come out, I hope you’re far, far away from here.” 

She turned on her heels, refusing to look any longer at his perturbed face stinging with rejection, and slammed the bathroom door behind her. The bag fell from her shoulder to the tiles under foot. Aylin nearly collapsed onto the edge of the sink, holding herself up with the palms of her hands, and hanging her head. 

She didn’t want Peter to leave her. Not really. He was the only friend she had in this world. He was the only one who could ever even attempt to understand her but she still felt the need to push him away. She was toxic. Every bit of her was shriveled up and soured. When she lifted her head to stare back at her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman on the other end. A stranger. Dark bags encircled her barren eyes. Red stained up her cheeks and over her lips. She pulled back the corner of her mouth and tilted her head to see the gap in her teeth. The top, second molar from the back on her left side was now nothing more than a bloody hole. She poked her tongue up into the gap, feeling the smoothness of her gums, and pressed it in harder to feel the jolt of pain. 

Pain was starting to become the only feeling she could accurately recognize. Everything else couldn’t be trusted. 

Aylin pushed away from the sink to strip herself from her soiled underwear. She kicked them into the trash before turning on the shower to heat up and taking a tender seat on the toilet. With the sound of the water pounding against the tub, she could no longer hear Peter standing outside the door. He had been pacing back and forth only moments ago but now there was nothing but silence. 

A pang of anxiety settled into her stomach at the thought of him actually leaving. There would be a chance that when she left this bathroom, she would be alone. Truly alone. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to do then. Try to find her mother? Make sure she was safe? She couldn’t live in a motel forever. If she did end up finding her mom, they’d be homeless. It’s not like either of them had any work experience or life outside of the guild. She didn’t even think she had a social security number or was on any government records. Aylin didn’t exist outside of the Silver Colts. 

After she finished up on the toilet, she washed her hands the best she could. Her pinky and ring finger on her right hand were still tightly bound together and held straight by the splint. She was missing three finger nails on the same hand. The soft nail beds stung as she applied soap to them in an attempt to clean the blood. With her hands still dripping with water, she dug her toothbrush and toothpaste out from her bag to brush her teeth, careful to avoid the few in the back that ached with pain whenever the bristles got too close to the missing tooth. She desperately needed to rid the taste of Kraven from her mouth. She gulped down the water flowing from the sink to satiate her thirst and finally turned to the shower. 

Before stepping in, she wanted to remove her bandages. Everything needed to be cleaned. It wasn’t like Calypso washed her back before she threw the salve on it and bandaged her. Her body needed to be completely sanitized for her to feel human again. From looking behind her shoulder in the mirror, she could see where the end of the wrap was tucked into the middle of her back. She tried again and again to manipulate her arm around her back to grab at the end piece but it evaded her reach every time. Her shoulders were too sore from holding her body upright for hours. They ached with sharp stabs of pain each time she tried to reach the end of the bandage until tears pricked up in the corners of her eyes. 

All she wanted was to be clean. 

Aylin let out a frustrated yell and threw herself to the floor with the dramatics of a toddler throwing a tantrum. The tiles were dirty and cold under her bare bottom as she draped herself over the edge of the tub with her head cradled in her arms. She couldn’t do it. Everything she knew, her home, her people, her entire history, was ripped away from her. She had nowhere to go. Her mother was missing. She had no way of knowing if she got her note and escaped. There was no way to contact her. They didn’t have cell phones in the guild. They were cut off from society. Her mother could be anywhere. She could be in trouble and Aylin would never know. There was nothing left. 

She was an outcast. Banished from her people. A traitor. A pariah. 

She wasn’t part of the Silver Colts. She wasn’t part of the Lycans. She wasn’t part of the normal, human institution. She was no one. 

Loud, heavy sobs shook through her chest and blubbered out her mouth. Hot, fat tears poured down her cheeks and splashed to the floor. She had never cried like this before. She had never felt so vulnerable and lost. Even when her father and brother died, she had never been this broken. 

Adrift in the void of stray souls with no one to turn to. 

The bathroom door creaked open. Peter padded up softly behind her. She couldn’t move to look at him. His presence only made her cry harder. He should be gone. He should have run. His loyalty was misplaced. He was confused. 

She felt him quietly kneel down behind her and gently untuck the bandage from its hold. He carefully and silently unwrapped it around her until it lay in a bloody pile at her side. The tips of his warm fingers ghosted over the slashes from the whip as he took in the sight for the first time. She tried to gain back control of her sobs but it was useless. The flood gates had been released. 

Her wet eyes squeezed closed at his touch. So soft. So careful. He had no right to be this gentle with her. He should hate her for who she had been associated with. 

Peter’s hand landed on her shoulder, giving it a delicate squeeze. 

“Get up,” he whispered. “Let’s get you clean. You’ll feel more like yourself then. Trust me.”

Trust him. 

Aylin did. She trusted him more than anyone. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and allowed him to grip under her arms to help her stand. He guided her into the tub, keeping his eyes politely averted from her naked form, and waited until he felt she was stable enough before pulling his hands away. Slowly, he pushed the shower curtain closed to give her privacy. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

A fresh wave of tears hit her and she doubled over with more sobs under the weak stream of water, “Y-yeah.” When she heard him start to leave the bathroom, she called back out, letting the panic take over, “Wait! Peter…can you…can you stay with me? Don’t go…don’t leave me. I-I need you.” 

She could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“I was never going to leave. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He flipped the toilet seat closed and settled down on top of it. His long legs extended out to perch his feet on the edge of the tub. She could see the shower curtain pull tighter where they rested and felt a sense of calm settle in her mind now that she knew he was with her. 

Maybe she didn’t have to be alone. Peter was alone. They could be alone together. 

The water cascaded down her chest. She placed her face into the stream to scrub at her cheeks with her hands. Brown, dark blood washed from her body and circled around the drain. She was afraid to turn her back to the shower, knowing how badly it would hurt when the water hit her wounds, but she needed to wash the blood from her hair. 

“Are you alright?” Peter asked when he heard her muffled wince of pain as she turned around. 

Aylin smiled woefully to herself, lathering her scalp with the cheap motel shampoo, “It just hurts. I’ll be okay.” A few more lingering tears slipped down her face to mix in with the steaming water. The water pressure was weak but at least it was hot. Her guilt clung to her tighter than the steam clouding around her face. “Peter?” 

“Hmm?” 

Her eyes gazed down at the sun seared into her thigh. It was blistering with angry, red lines outlining the rays of the sun. The mark of a Silver Colt, the mark of Kraven, festering with a growing infection. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry I was a bitch to you. I’m sorry I was a part of the group of people who hurt you. I’m sorry I kept you when I should have let you go the day I found you. I’m sorry for promising to kill you and refusing to go through with it. I’m sorry for being a Silver Colt.” 

He was silent for a long time. She tenderly washed her body with the soap provided to her as she waited for his response, grazing over her wounds the best she could, and letting the water carry away her filth. With each passing moment under the stream, she cleansed herself further from Kraven. 

“I don’t blame you,” Peter finally whispered. She could hardly hear him over the shower. “You acted within the parameters you knew. You saved my life. You showed me that things could be different. I didn’t have to live the way I was. There was still something more out there. Everything was hopeless until I met you.” 

Was it no longer hopeless? 

She felt hopeless. Directionless. She couldn’t see the same vision he did. They were moving in opposite directions. 

“I don’t want to die anymore,” he stated with finality to his tone. 

She did. 

Aylin turned the knob of the shower to shut it off. The water sputtered to a halt, leaving her wet, dripping, and quickly chilling as the warm droplets cooled on her skin. 

Peter shuffled behind the curtain and soon a white towel poked through the side. She gladly took it, gently wiping herself dry. 

“I’ll be in the other room,” he said. “I’m going to set up the first aid kit for when you come out. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just be on the other side of this door.”

She listened for the light click to indicate the closing door before she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out. Condensation clung to the mirror. She whipped it away with the palm of her hand. She looked rough but there was a glimmer of Aylin staring back at her. Underneath all that blood and sweat, she was still human. Her red trimmed, puffy eyes stayed locked onto herself as she scrunched the water out of her long hair with the towel. 

There was still softness in the world despite what she had gone through. Peter was proof of that. He had stayed. He didn’t run the first chance he got. He wasn’t helping her because he felt like he was forced to. His compassion was able to extend further than his trauma. 

He didn’t want to die anymore. 

She wondered what caused that change.

Aylin knelt down to dig through her bag. She grabbed a pair of clean underwear and some loose fitting workout shorts. Anything else would rub against her brand. She was worried about the infection that was beginning to form around the edges and guessed her back was probably looking the same. After quickly getting into the clean bottoms, she held the towel against her bare chest to keep herself somewhat decent before stepping out of the bathroom. Putting on a shirt before she wrapped her back wounds would be pointless. 

Peter was standing at the edge of the bed with the bucket of first aid open in front of him. He had laid out some gauze and bandages on the bed spread and was reading the back label of a yellow tube. He casually glanced in her direction with raised brows, “Is Neosporin what you need? It says antibiotic ointment. That’s probably good, right?” 

She gave him a quiet nod. He was beautiful. Forgiving. Tender. She had the urge to be held by him, cradled in the safety of his arms, with her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. There was a newly found desperation growing where all she wanted to was to feel loved by another person. By him. Anything to make the pain go away. 

His eyes wandered back over to her, slowly toying down her body then back up to her face. She didn’t mind and found herself blushing under his obvious ogling. He gave her a lopsided grin, “Who knew there was an actual person under all that grime?”  

A smile broke out across her face, cracking through her hardened exterior. Her first real smile since she left him at camp. Those were the same words she had spoken to him the night he shuffled out of the shower the last time they were here. Their roles had been completely reversed. 

For a fleeting second, they held onto each other’s eyes, finding a common place between them. An appreciation. A care. A yearning.

A love. 

He was the first one to break the moment, hoisting the bucket off the bed and patting his hand on the mattress, “Come lay down. Let me look at your back.” 

Aylin did as she was told, happy to let someone else, someone she trusted, take control for a little a while. Once she was face first on top of the bed, she pulled the towel out from under her chest and rolled it up to use as a pillow. It was wet and cooling on her cheek as she closed her eyes. Her hair was tossed over her shoulder, away from her back. She could feel Kedi pawing at the dripping ends before he flopped over and dozed off. 

She wasn’t alone. 

There was life in this room besides her own. Life that she cared about. Life that she wanted to protect. 

Peter leaned over to examine the damage then looked back to the small tube of ointment, “I don’t think this will be enough.” 

Aylin cracked her eyes open to stare at him through half closed slits, “Does my back look infected? If not then I’ll use it on my thigh instead. That definitely needs it more.” 

She watched him glance down to the back of her thighs which were parted in a wider stance to keep her skin from touching. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

“Yeah, about that,” he spoke with a timid inflection. “What exactly am I looking at? When I brought you in from the car, I could kind of see it. It was all blistered but it looked a bit like it was spider shape or something. I didn’t want to push your legs apart too much to get a better look, not that you’re not nice to look at or anything, you were just sleeping…and I was…I was just…trying to…see…and make sure you were okay…” 

Aylin rolled her eyes and cut off his anxious rambling, “It’s a sun. Half of one. Kraven burned it into me to prove I was still a Silver Colt. That I was still one of them. That I was his.” 

Peter took a delicate seat on the edge of the bed beside her. He raised one brow with a look of mild intrigue, “Kraven?”

She huffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Yes? You remember him? The guy who ruined your life?”

“I know who you’re talking about.” A smile danced across his lips. “It’s just, well, you’ve always called him Sergei. The last time I brought up Kraven the Hunter you got all pissed off and had a look of death on your face like you’d kill me for disrespecting him by calling him that. Suddenly, he’s no longer Sergei. He’s Kraven. That’s what all the Lycan call him. You flipped sides.” 

Aylin let out a long breath, her eyes stared emotionless at the bare wall across from her, not finding the same amusement he clearly did, “That’s me. The traitor.”

Peter flopped down on his stomach next to her. His arms curled up to form a place for his head to rest as he stared, nose to nose, at her. He was becoming more comfortable around her by the second. She enjoyed the change. 

“I like Aylin the Traitor better than Aylin the Cult Member,” he muttered with a grin.

He was so close. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel something besides guilt and shame. He was so delicately handsome. 

And he was still here despite everything. 

“My entire life was a lie,” she whispered back to him, needing to share the burden of her life with someone she trusted. “Everything. He wanted me before I was even born. He wanted me to be his perfect…” She didn’t know what. Wife? Baby mother? Side piece? “He wanted me to have his children.” 

Peter’s brow furrowed, his joy fading, “What do you mean?” 

“Him and his wife. They couldn’t have children. He wanted an heir. They decided that the best way to do that was to create the perfect person from scratch. Someone loyal and obedient. Someone they could manipulate. Someone who would do whatever they asked,” she felt the tears pressing back up. “Someone as pathetic and naive as me.”’ 

She let out a dark, humorless laugh, “And the crazy thing is, if I had never met you, I would have done it. Without a second thought. I would have willingly agreed to it because I trusted him. He would have known best. If that’s what he said I needed to do to help our people, then I would have done it. It’s only because of you, I knew better. I’m so fucking stupid.” 

Peter’s hand reached up to capture a stray tear rolling down her cheek with his thumb. He gently wiped it away, letting his fingers push back through her hair, and lacing them against her skull. 

“You’re not stupid,” he murmured. “You were manipulated by a very bad man. If your life is full of isolation, then how could you ever know anything else? You did what you had to do to survive in the environment you were given. It’s not your fault you were born into a life like that. It’s what you do once you find out the truths that show what kind of person you really are. Look at you, Aylin. You’re not dead. You’re still here. You escaped. There is still more life out there. Don’t be like me. Don’t give up yet. You have no idea what kind of person you’re capable of becoming. Your life is just beginning. Mine is, too. We can still start fresh. They don’t deserve you, anyway.” 

“I killed her,” Aylin breathed. If he wanted to start fresh with her then he needed to know the truth. There were already too many lies in her life for her to keep anymore. “Remember that night I came to the camper and you had heard a girl screaming? They had wheeled out a young girl, a Lycan girl, inside a cage. They wanted me to kill her. I couldn’t do it. I ran back to you. I thought…” She swallowed at the lump forming in her throat. “I thought they would have killed her themselves after I ran.”

She buried her face into the towel, breathing in the scent of the motel shampoo, and closing her eyes to block out the memories as she spoke, “When I went back, when Kraven found me, he locked me in his basement. A torture chamber. It was hidden underground behind a secret bookcase. I wasn’t alone. That Lycan girl was there. She was still alive. He-” She took a deep breath. “He made me kill her this time. She was so weak. They had tortured her so badly. It was horrible. Her body was already shutting down. I think she would have died on her own had I just held off a few more hours. But I did it. I killed her. I didn’t even know her name. She wouldn’t tell me. She was young. Couldn’t be any older than 19. It was me who killed her. No one else. Just me.”

He entangled his hand from her wet hair, much to her heartbreak, and went silent. She could feel him breathing softly next to her as he mulled over what she had said. He still had the choice to leave and walk out if he judged her to be too irredeemable. 

After a quiet minute ticked by, Peter finally spoke, “I killed Kateri Deseronto’s son. He was only little. Five years old. That’s why she had me locked up when you found me. I’m responsible for his death. She wanted me to give her a new child. It was some sick, fucked up power play fueled by her grief and resentment. She lost herself the night he died. It’s hard for me to hate her, despite everything she did to me, because I felt like I deserved it. Her child is dead because of me. You said earlier that you bring death wherever you go. That you were cursed. That everyone was dead because of you.” He shook his head in disagreement. “I thought that, too, about myself. But it’s not us. I didn’t murder Kat’s son with my own hands. It was Kraven’s men who killed him. They were there because they were hunting me but I didn’t kill her son. If you look close enough, every string of blame leads straight back to Kraven the Hunter. He’s the source of everything.” 

Aylin peaked a curious eye out from the safety of her cave. Peter had propped his head up onto his hand, leaning on his side, as he looked down at her with a quiet contemplation. Suddenly, another puzzle piece fell into place. 

“Wait,” she said with a realization. She had heard that story before. She quickly sat up, forgetting she was topless, then hastily threw the towel to her chest when she saw Peter’s eyes widen. “When was that? When did the thing with Kat’s son happen?”

Peter thought for a second, his ears reddening from embarrassment, not quite understanding the gravity of what he was about to say, “I don’t know. Five years ago-ish?” He could tell by the paling look of horror on her face that something wasn’t right. “Why?”

Aylin filled her lungs with a gulp of air to try and settle her nerves, “The night my father and brother died, the night Kraven left them to die, the three of them were hunting you. Kraven told me in the basement that they had found you along with a woman and a little boy. He said that you were trying to regrow your pack after he slaughtered your last one.” 

Peter’s jaw clenched at that statement but he remained quiet. 

“He told me that they found you, he said…oh god…he said Emir ran after the woman and her son while he fought with you. He said that after he stabbed you, he fought with my father. Then he shot Emir. Then he left them both to be killed by a wolf.” Her voice lingered down to nothing but a mere whisper. “By you.”

Peter sat in a stunned silence. His eyes slipped closed and he brought his hands up to massage at his temples. With one hand keeping the towel in place, Aylin reached out with the other to gently caress his knee and drag his attention back to her. 

“I don’t blame you, Peter. It’s not your fault,” she muttered. “They were Silver Colts. They attacked you first. Like you said, everything leads back to Kraven.” 

He frantically shook his head, “No. That’s not how it happened. I told you. I never killed your family. I didn’t know…I didn’t know that was them…but I didn’t kill them. It wasn’t me. I was bleeding out after Kraven attacked me. I could barely move. Kat killed them.” 

Aylin’s eyes widened as ice froze her veins. The memory of running from the pack of wolves with Peter bursts behind her vision. A large, towering black wolf. Hunched over in the middle of the dark, slick wet, rain covered road. Heavy, smokey breaths puffing from her saliva coated jaws. She didn’t chase the car speeding away with her captive. She only stood and watched. Waiting. Plotting. 

Kat was the wolf that had killed her family. 

“Because Emir killed her son,” Aylin stated. 

He gave a solemn nod. 

Her stomach sank. She loved her family. She thought the world of them but, in their death and her grief, she had memorialized them as saints. She had stopped seeing them as people with flaws. They were people who could do no wrong. Frozen forever in her mind as the perfect father and big brother. 

But, like everything else in her life, that wasn’t always the truth. 

The world wasn’t black and white. People were all shades of gray. The people she loved and admired were capable of doing bad things. They were capable of doing wonderful, nobel things, too. They were complex, layered people. Emir could stand up for his little sister and protect her honor down to his last breath and he could also murder someone else’s child because they were associated with a Lycan. He had grown up in the same cult as she did. Generation after generation, the cycle of violence and hate would continue. 

It stopped with her. 

“Why were you with Kat and her son?” She asked. 

Peter gave a small shrug, keeping his sights set to study her face, trying to read her emotions through each little detail he could find, “She found me. She was running from her husband. He was Lycan and had turned her when they got together before she even really knew what that meant. She was young and in love with him so she ignored all the warning signs of him being an abuser. After their son was born, he got worse. Finally she decided to run but she didn’t have the experience of being a Lycan around normal people. She didn’t know how to care for her son as he started going through changes. Her husband had kept them sheltered for years. She didn’t have friends or anyone to go to. I guess she heard that my people-” He cleared his throat, struggling to speak about his pack. “She heard that I was alone. She wanted help. I told her I could help her. I told her I would try to keep them safe. I shouldn’t have done that. I knew Kraven was hunting me. I shouldn’t have had them so close but…I suppose lonely people do stupid things.” 

“Were you in love with her?” She wasn’t sure why that was the first question she asked. A strange sting of jealousy poked at her heart at the thought of him loving someone like Kat. 

A small, sad smile tugged at his lips, “No. The woman I loved is dead. Her name was Gwen. She would have wanted me to help a lost mother and her child, though. Maybe that’s why I did it. Her voice was in my head begging me to do the right thing.” He gave another shrug. “It only served to get a kid killed and look where I ended up because of it.”

Aylin licked her drying lips, “I think the person I loved is dead, too. I think Kraven killed her and her family. I thought they just left in the middle of the night but…I don’t think anyone leaves the Silver Colts without consequences. I think Kraven did it to punish me. Her name was Leah and she was beautiful. She would have liked you. She was always a bit of a rebel while I was always straight laced. She’d be amazed to know I, of all people, befriended a Lycan.” 

Peter smiled at the thought, “We are two very fucked up people with freakishly similar backgrounds.” 

Her sweet chimes of laughter filled the space between them. It felt good to laugh. Healing. 

“I think I was meant to meet you,” she breathed. “I think-” 

She stopped herself from saying what she really wanted to and shook her head to brush away the thought. 

I think you were meant to be mine. 

She rolled back onto her stomach and balled up the towel into a pillow once more, “I think you should help me put as much Neosporin as you can onto my back and then wrap it back up.”

Peter stood up to stand at the foot of the bed and clapped his hands together, “I have a better idea! I know exactly what can heal you in no time. Forget about ointments and creams. I’ve got all the cure you need right here in these veins.” 

Aylin shook her head and grimaced, “Absolutely not. I’ve drunk enough Lycan blood for one lifetime, thank you very much.”

Peter’s head jerked over to stare at her with an incredulous look, “Drank? Why are you drinking blood?”

She frowned, “That’s how Kraven is getting his superior strength. He’s drinking Lycan blood. I got only a few drops in my mouth when I killed the Lycan girl and it almost gave me a heart attack. I’m not doing that again.” 

His nose scrunched up in disgust, “Nasty. You don’t need to drink it. It’s much more effective to go blood to blood. Like, I cut my wrist and let it drip directly into your wounds. Straight to the source. It heals so much faster. I assume drinking it would take more time for it to get absorbed and lose some of its potency. Not to mention, it’s also disgusting and wrong on so many levels.” 

A tiny smile crept onto her face.

“So you’re telling me that Kraven and Calypso are gulping down blood when they could actually just be injecting it straight into their veins for better and faster results?” 

He shrugged and nodded. 

Somehow the thought of their stupidity made it more humorous. The Silver Colts really didn’t know the first thing about Lycans. All that hatred for a species they never cared to research further. 

“I still don’t want your blood. I almost died last time and then I slept for 16 hours. It was horrible,” she said. The sleeping part wasn’t actually horrible. She needed it. It was all the other stuff before that, that she’d rather never experience again. 

“That’s because you were panicking.” He said this like it should have been obvious to her. When he saw no light bulb go off over her head, he explained further. “When a human is given Lycan blood, it enhances everything. Physically, it makes you heal faster, you’re stronger, you have better eyesight and hearing and smell, your endurance and agility heighten, faster reflexes…you get it. But it also enhances your emotions. Whatever you’re feeling when it’s in your system gets enhanced. Seeing as you were running for your life through the woods, half naked, and covered in blood, your heart was racing. It would have been racing without the blood and then, suddenly, it’s going twice as fast as it ever should. You were scared and panicked. Thus, the blood made those emotions worse, which made your heart beat faster, which made it almost explode.” 

Interesting. 

She remembered how frantic Kraven’s hands had felt as he lusted after her like he could scarcely control his desires for her. She remembered how each whip from Calypso was harder and more violent than the last, like she was feeding off her own hatred towards Aylin. She remembered how scared she felt when she tumbled into her mother’s bedroom to find her missing and how the panic had felt like it consuming her every pore. 

It would make perfect sense that Lycan blood was heighting more than just their physical abilities. 

Then she remembered something else. 

“Kraven said something strange when we were in the basement. When you were fighting all those years ago, he cut your throat, and your blood landed in his mouth. Once that happened, he felt like he could no longer kill you. He walked away from the fight and left you there. Then, when he was drinking the girl in the basement's blood, he told me that he nor Calypso were able to kill her themselves. They had to wait for me to do it. He said it was like a mental block that happened.” 

The Lycan had already been dead once Aylin got a taste of her blood so she hadn’t experienced anything Kraven had described. 

Peter nodded, “I’ve heard of that happening. Figured that’s why Kraven walked away that night. I don’t know how or why it happens. It’s not like there are books that study our anatomy. I think it’s probably a last line of defense. If someone is using our blood, we become a part of them while it’s in their system. Killing the wolf that’s living temperarely inside of you would be like suicide, I imagine. I doubt it would literally kill the person but that’s how it would probably feel. You have an instinctive need for self preservation, which now includes the wolf inside of you, so you can’t bring yourself to kill them.” 

Peter’s blood is what saved him the night Kraven attacked. 

She wouldn’t mind having a part of him flowing inside her veins for a little while. 

“Promise it won’t be as bad as last time?” She asked. 

He smiled, “We’re in a motel room. You have your cat. It’s just me and you here. There is no danger. No one knows we are here. We can put on the tv and watch something chill while it works its magic. You have no need to be scared or panicked. You’ll feel heightened senses but as long as you keep your emotions calm, you’ll be okay.” 

Aylin thought it over then gave a final nod, “Fine. Do it. Whatever can heal me faster, I'll take. You and I have a lot of planning to do.”

[CHAPTER NINE]

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[noritoshiikamo]

Husband Ajax seeing his first born for the first time?🫶🏽🫶🏽

husband!childe series— before yall threw the tomatoes at me, i know i would change this manipulative man into a soft baby daddy the moment he sees his child teehee

cw not so descriptive mention of birth (and i never had one maybe it aint that accurate lols, softie childe uwu

he would continue to surprise you.

after all he was the one who was more excited about the baby. sure, you love the growing child you more but ajax probably took it to the top. he is a family man. the closer you get to your due date, you’ll be seeing more of his fluffy ginger head roaming around the house. you would be confined to your room, for your own sake. sleep was out of the question so you found yourself sometimes dozing off against the bedpost with his head against your belly, singing lullaby in your mother tongue. your fingers found solace weaved between his head soon you found him sleeping first before you.

you didn’t realise your water broke until you heard his sharp gasp. you rolled your eyes knowing you’ll get the scolding of your life for leaving the bedroom (ajax had been carrying your meals up to the room) but when you turned around to face him, he had a panicked look to his face.

he looked at you in disbelief, “are you oka-insane??”

“what?”

“your water broke, are you fucking okay? you are leaking all over the floor, don’t you know pain?”

that started the most torturous 16 hours of your life. he made a clean space for you in the middle of the living room, you were struggling to feel the pain until it was 8 hours in. your first actual contraction almost broke his fingers. midwife insisted that they will be there once you reached a certain centimeters but ajax was relentless. maybe it almost broke him, seeing you in pain, struggling between the contraction and taking in a breather. 13 hours in, you swore it was the most painful contraction you ever had but the easiness that came afterward felt off.

“ajax,” your words trembled.

“yes, yes, midwife is coming in a minute, just take a deep breath,” he repeated the same words, moved to reach for the cold cloth, wringing it before gently patting your forehead and cheeks but you grabbed his wrists. “no, ajax, listen, something’s wrong,” his face changed. like a reflex, his hand rested on your belly.

“you have to check down there.”

blood drained out his face, “no, i-i can’t.”

“you have too! please, just help me check,” your words should’ve come out as a plea ended up being just a string of sobs. you never seen him trembled. of all the preparation you both had taken to welcome the baby, this wasn’t apart of it. you had never prepared for your first baby to be coming out dead nor ajax ever accepting that that option even exist. your worst nightmare had come to life. shaking to grab the blanket aside, he moved your dress aside before falling onto his ass. your sobs echoed louder in the room. his silence were terrifying. “y/n, the baby is out,” hearing that made you felt lightheaded.

“a-ajax, the baby’s not crying. ajax!”

both of you couldn’t recall the night clearly. it was a train of blurred film reels running in the back of your head. you remembered fractions of it; screaming for him to help the baby, him cradling his quiet baby trying his best to clear the mouth and the nose, the loud banging of the door. there were people, baby moving from one hand to another. you were getting tired, ajax’s trembling, bloody hands reaching for your weak hand. but when the reels ended and you heard a soft cries, your mind snapped.

you heard the baby’s first cry.

“take off your shirt, keep the baby against your chest, the mother has some more to do,” one of them said. your chest tightened as his hands left a void of emptiness within your own and you were forced back to pushing. it was more painful pushing a part of you out; the home that grew your child for nine long months that you felt half of your soul disappeared. you didn’t know why you were crying, slumping against the pillow didn’t realising a word you were saying until someone repeated it back.

“ajax, she’s calling for you.”

you felt like the world was black and white, a white background noise ringing in your ears until a finger brushed your cheeks. you didn’t realise you were crying but he was too. his cheeks as flushed as the baby whimpering against his bare chest. maybe you didn’t know what true love is when it comes to him but you knew a true love exists with the way he looked down on his child. you knew what happiness is when he smiled and the corner of his eyes wrinkled in excitement when he placed the baby against your chest.

“say hi to our child.”

a/n: gotcha ;)

© all content belongs to noritoshiikamo. do not modify or repost.

[mekakitsune]

Hiii! I loved reading your dating Mirage headcannons. I've been on a roll with simping and loving him That being said, I'd love HCs of how Mirage would act around his (major) crush on a newer Legend who is kind of oblivious to his care for them... so how do you think he'd act when they get hurt outside of a game?

Thank you so much if you fulfill this request! Your writing is truly admirable <33 take care of yourself and happy holidays!

thank you so much love, you are so kind! luv this request btw, i hope its want u wanted <3

cw: bloody nose mentioned quite a lot, elliot is a mess and so is reader..literally lol

mirage with a legend s/o;

pray for your squad mates. its painful to watch.

elliot is SO flirty with you in and out of the games, and ofc, you dont see it as anything unusual from the legend. hes like that with everyone....right?

makes it his own responsibility to keep you on your feet in battle, would probably leave someone else to die to come help you.

yeahhh renee was not happy with him after that one

definitely a bet going around to see if elliot will actually spill his feelings. its become quiet the conversation starter among everyone.

-

you were training one day, something you all did regularly to stay on top of your game

and it can get pretty intense sometimes. but you all know your limits, thats why you called it quits with a bloody nose and a sore back after sparring with kairi.

she was spewing apologizes left and right, and you reassured her it was all in good fun, and that you were okay.

just as she holds out her hand to help you up, the door to the training room opens, and in comes elliot, ajay and octane not far behind him, in their own conversation.

to say elliot reacted immediately would be an understatement, by his reaction you would think you were sitting here being held at knife point.

"what the hell happened in here! we heard yelling... y/n?! youre bleeding?" he rambled on, not really giving either of you a chance to explain yourselves.

kairi steps aside for a moment only to come back with a small white box in her hand. a first aid kit. god knows how long thats been in here.

she passes the kit to elliot, giving a small grin and says "their all yours." with a pat on the back, before following the other two out the door, she turns back to you to mouth "sorry" with a wink. surely she hadnt...planned that.

it was painfully quiet in the room after that. elliot sits on the floor in front of you, opening up the small box to retrieve some gauze.

he hands it to you to place under your nose, and you take it quickly, not wanting to ruin the gym floor or your clothing any further.

hes quiet again, and you look past your hand to see him staring at you.

"she got you good, huh?" he said, with what could only be described as a pout.

"its just a bloody nose elliot...im gonna be okay." you said lightly, trying to ease the tension. he grins and shakes his head

"i know that. it...it just freaks me out to see people i care about get hurt, yknow." he said looking away

you let out a small laugh at his statement. "aw..you care about me? what happened to "dont get close to anyone"? you reminded him of what he said to you when you first came to the base.

while his advice rang true in a place like this, you couldnt help but share his feelings.

"you have...no idea" he said softly, looking at you again. you are only now realizing how close you two are, his face mere inches away from your own.

a few more moments go by, and he finally breaks the silence again.

"can i say something?" he askes, sounding nervous.

"of course" you respond curiously.

"i really want to um...i really want to kiss you right now..." he said, cheeks flushed. "i mean only if you want to i dont want to ma-"

you cut him off with a laugh. he looks horrified honestly and it only makes you giggle even more.

"normally, id say go for it. but im kinda bleeding from my nose right now" you giggled as you watched his face turn even redder.

"yeah! yeah right...i knew that....obviously....whatever, lets go get that cleaned up yeah?" he said, obviously trying to change the subject. you giggled again and got up to follow him out of the gym.

"hey elliot?"

"..yeah?" he turned to you

you stood up a little bit taller to place a kiss on his cheek. stepping back you take in the shocked look on his face

"thats for helping me, and if you really wanna kiss me, wait till im not a bloody mess, yeah?" you grinned at him.

he groaned, turning around to walk out, but you knew he wanted you to follow him.

"i hope you realize what you do to me." he says to you with a grin. "but i will take you up on that...if its okay" hes still unsure. you take that as a sign to slip your hand into his.

"if it wasnt okay, i wouldnt be letting you waste your time on something like a bloody nose yknow" you laughed lightly, hoping to ease both yours and his nerves.

"cant have you like, bleeding out to death." he remarks, keeping his hand in yours. you laugh at his comment.

"wouldnt wanna let me die without that kiss huh?"

he groans again, but you dont miss the shy smile on his face.

[shitpostsfromtheinvisiblelibrary]

"You deserve so much better than what you were given"

Irene's face was streaked with tears, her eyes swollen and bloodshot as she looked up at him. She was bleeding, it hadn't had the chance to properly heal after Barcelona and now that everything within the Library was done, Alberich was dead, and she was bleeding again after catching the half-healed skin on the corner of her desk and ripping it open again.

'Just leave me alone,' She whispered. 'Please. Don't...' Her chest heaved. 'You don't need to see me like this.'

'Irene,' He moved forward and she reeled back.

'Please. Don't look at me,' she wiped her hand over her face to try and wipe away the tears but ended up smearing blood across her cheek. She stared down at her hand.

'I'm going to get you a drink and the first aid kit,' He said. 'Just sit there, and I will clean up the room afterwards. Don't worry about it.' Irene slumped against the side of the desk, she did not raise her eyes from her blood arm and hand.

'Did I hear shouting?' Catherine was in the lounge, nose in her book and she had called after him as he passed the half-open door.

'Irene's arm is bleeding again. It's fine though, I've got it.'

'Okay,' Good. Catherine may mean well but the last thing Irene would want was her seeing how bad things actually were.

He filled a glass with water and tucked the first aid kit underneath his arm, as a second thought he grabbed the biscuit tin and brought that into the study too, some sugar would probably help.

'Here,' He offered her a hand up off the flood but she did not take it. 'Okay,' He folded himself down to sit on the floor opposite her. 'Do you want me to clean it up, or do you want to do it?' He opened up the first aid kit and placed it between them. Irene started to poke through the kit with her clean hand.

'Do you want me to help you?'

'I do not deserve this,' She whispered.

'I know, but we will get through his.'

'No. Not that. This. You.' She struggled to her feet, taking the first aid kit with her.

'Irene, please. Let me clean this up for you, rewrap your arm and then we can talk.'

'just leave me alone. Please,' She walked past him.

'Irene, just let me help,' He said. She went into the bedroom and locked him outside of it.

Irene slept on the far side of the room typically, she liked to be as far from the door as possible, whilst there was always the chance of people coming through the window, it was less likely. She sat on the floor between her side of the bed and the wall and reopened the first-aid kit.

Irene's hands shook as she opened the bottle of witch hazel, her disinfectant of choice, and poured some onto cotton pads.

'Please, let me in,' Kai knocked on the door. 'Irene, I won't talk, just let me clean up so you don't have to worry about it.'

Her vision was blurred with tears that clung to her eyelashes as she dabbed at the cut, choking on the pain.

'Irene, please,' Kai leant his forehead on the door. 'I just want to make sure you are okay, I can leave you alone afterwards if that is what you want. just please let me in.'

She discarded the now bloodied cotton pad.

She felt sick.

Her head hurt.

It was all just too much.

Too much everything.

Kai seemed to have given up on getting her to let him in. She heard a final knock and then footsteps moving away.

That was easier.

Maybe she should just end things with him. It would hurt him less in the long run, he could go out and find someone better, less broken, less of a monster.

That was the crux of it.

She was a monster.

She had destroyed so much, burnt and destroyed a library of only unique and rare books, and left the body of a friend to be lost in a destroyed world, she was the product of assault, the sins of her father ran more than skin deep.

She had hurt Kai. And Catherine. And Vale. Time and time again it just proved that she couldn't be trusted with friends, she just got them hurt. She got people killed. Bradamant was first and one of them would be next.

The window scraped open and she dropped everything as her head snapped up.

'You wouldn't open the door,' Kai said as if climbing in through the window was the natural next step. 'Irene. Beloved, please let me help you,' He shut the window behind himself. The neighbours would probably talk.

Irene shook her head.

It was illogical and logical all at once.

She trusted Kai, knew that when he said he loved her, he meant it. She knew that she could put her life in his hands.

And he thought he could put his life in her hands. But she could not offer safety or protection. She couldn't give him anything but false hope and danger.

She would watch him die eventually, or he would leave her and she knew what option was better.

'Kai,' Her voice cracked.

'Dont say it,' He said softly. 'T9 start with, I won't believe you, second of all,' He knelt in front of her. 'You don't deserve more pain, you don't need to be punished.'

His hands were warm as they cupped her face, cheeks sticky with tears and blood but he ignored that and leaned in to kiss her anyway.

'There is nothing that you have done that means you deserve the pain that you are in,' He kissed her forehead.

'Kai, I'm a mess.'

'And?' He shrugged. 'Here,' He grabbed the bandages and after a quick kiss to her wrist, he wrapped it up.

'You have spent the better part of two years looking after people, getting hurt and putting yourself in danger time and time again. You can rest now, love, you can relax. We are safe. You are safe.'

'But for how long?' She whispered. 'How long until I get you killed?'

'Irene,' He pulled her into his arms. 'You will not get me killed. You haven't forced people to try to kill us, none of that was you.'

'It was because of what I am.'

'What you are is the woman that I love,' He smiled. 'What you are is intelligent, and brave and so god damned stubborn. What you are is loved and cherished and wanted.'

'I'm covered in blood.'

'Loved. Cherished. Wanted. Covered in blood. So what?' He said. 'I am here because I want to be, sending me away, leaving me, will not make me stop loving you and it won't let me stay away.'

'And if you get hurt?'

'It will be because someone else has made that decision. Not because of you. never because of you.'

'You deserve so much more than what you were given when you fell in love with me.'

'No. I have everything that I could ask for right here in you,' He said. 'You are everything and more.'

[oh-nostalgiaa]

I posted 5,325 times in 2022

That's 917 more posts than 2021!

44 posts created (1%)

5,281 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

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@oh-nostalgiia

@andorerso

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I tagged 5,309 of my posts in 2022

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#art - 1,613 posts

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Longest Tag: 136 characters

#for this being the 'friendliest and most open minded' fandom i sure see a lot of people who are trying to police what other people enjoy

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

[x]

17 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

#4

Hi, @unstable-reality, it is I, your Secret Santa! I did have some personal issues distract me from writing for a time, and I know I’m a little late in posting, but I really, truly hope you enjoy your gift!

Without further ado, here is how do you fall in love? (harder than a bullet could hit you), also found at ao3. 

Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose in a half-hearted attempt to keep his developing migraine at bay. While it didn’t help that Jyn was very loudly cursing their current predicament, she wasn’t the reason for his frustration.. In fact, if he allowed his emotions to get the better of him, he knew he’d be right there with her, taking out all of his anger and fear on an inanimate object, beating a door or wall until his fists were battered and bloody and all he could do was sink to the floor, giving into his exhaustion.

It didn’t take a genius to know that this … didn’t look good.

It was almost always the simplest missions that never went according to plan, and this one was turning into a real clusterfuck. The actual reconnaissance had gone off without a hitch, and they had almost been home free and then - Jyn had been recognized.. Unfortunately for them, the scorned man hadn’t been shy to announce to the whole establishment that that was the bitch that had swindled him out of a substantial amount of credits before leaving him to the mercy of other undesirables. To her credit, Jyn hadn’t contributed to the scene that was being made, not by shutting him up momentarily with a punch, nor shutting him up permanently with a blaster bolt to the heart, although the dark expression he observed clouding her expression suggested that for a moment at least, she had considered the possibility.

There hadn’t even been time to try to talk their way out of the situation, not with the planet’s military force stationed around every corner, and the commotion piquing their interest enough to pull them over to investigate. Not that Cassian thought the obvious Empire sympathizers even would have given them much of a chance at all, certainly not a fair one.

He hadn’t had to say a word - just one look, one quirk of an eyebrow and they both took off running with Jyn leading the way. Down twisting alleys they ran, the troopers not far behind. Cassian breathed heavily, struggling to keep up, his back screaming at him with every pained step he took. It also didn’t take a genius to determine that by the way Jyn kept looking over her shoulder, she knew that he was flagging, that he would never make it to the extraction point, that it was too far and he was almost on the verge of telling her to go on without him, that he’d hold them off for as long as he could.

He should have known that Jyn would never have agreed to that. Still, when she slowed and curled her fingers into the sleeve of his jacket, when she pulled him into the first unlocked storage room that she found, he still found himself huffing out a labored, surprised breath. But there was no real time to rest, not at first, not when it took both of them to hurriedly push the thick durasteel door shut behind them, making sure it was latched properly and capable of keeping their pursuers out - for a short reprieve, anyway. Cassian futilely searched for an alternate exit, but there wasn’t one to be found, no window to clamber through, no door to force their way out of, no hole in the wall to desperately squeeze through. For all intents and purposes, he knew that he and Jyn were ultimately just waiting for the end to come.

At least, he thought, it would come mercifully quickly. Outposts like this were lawless at the best of times, and even those tasked with enforcing the laws were more apt to turn a blind eye or break it themselves. And in this case, Cassian got the distinct impression that these troops would be the type to shoot first and find reason for it later. There were worse ways to go. And for as much as he wished better for Jyn, selfishly, he was glad that at least they would be able to offer each other some comfort

Cassian did the only thing he could do in the moment, now that the adrenaline was fading and he found himself too weak to stand, sitting heavily on the floor with a grunt. Still, he wasn’t so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice - and appreciate - Jyn pausing, assessing his situation, and dropping her hands to her side before making her way to his position, gingerly sitting at his side, as though she was afraid that jostling him would only just make his aches and pains worsen.

Wordlessly, he took her hand in his, brushing gentle fingers against her bruising knuckles, soothing the sting as best he could. Even if he had wanted to, even if he had the right words to say, the lump in his throat would have prevented them from spilling forth. Not like they’d do any good now, anyway. Stupidly - or perhaps naively - Cassian Andor had hoped that there would have been more time or maybe even … a future waiting for them when all of this came to an end.

If it ever did.

Somewhat bitterly, he forced the lump down, careful as he shifted position just enough to allow him to urge Jyn - trembling subtly - closer to his side, some of his tension releasing in the moment that she pressed her face against his shoulder and just … hid.

For a time, that was all they did - sit in the silence, taking some solace in each other’s presence. Fleetingly, he pondered whether or not he should bring up the only real option he thought they had, the only way they could take their fate into their own hands - the small mercy of taking their own lives, together, either one then the other, or at the same time. But when a cold wave of despair began washing over him, penetrating all the way to his core, he knew he couldn’t suggest it, couldn’t live - however momentarily - with the thought of having caused Jyn any pain.

No final kriff you to the Empire, who had tried and failed to obliterate them - and the Rebellion as a whole - on the beaches of Scarif.

No. They would face their end standing together, defiant all the way to the very last breath. Once, a lifetime ago, she had asked if he was with her. His answer had never changed, his resolve had never wavered.

A commotion outside startled them out of whatever respite they had found, and Cassian instinctively held Jyn closer, protectively, listening to her erratic breathing as they waited to find out what they might have to face next. The noise was slightly muffled by the heavy door, but it was a familiar one, the pop and sizzle more than apparent as …

“They’ve got an arc welder”, Jyn murmured, and Cassian couldnt help the derisive little snort he offered in return. “Of course they do.”

Now, whatever precious time they thought they had left was instantly being cut in half, and that was being generous. The door was thick, but with an arc welder burning its way through, it wouldn’t be long until they were no longer alone.

If this was it, Cassian thought, there was no more need to be afraid, no more need to keep quiet and hide his emotions away in tidy little boxes becausethey would just … complicate things or get in the way.

It was just he and Jyn, their time left together dwindling smaller and smaller each second that passed. It might not have been the right time, but it was the only time left.

“Stop being such a coward, Andor”, he silently pleaded with himself, hesitating slightly before dropping a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Just tell her how you feel.”

One heartbeat, two, a staccato beating againt his ribs and finally, even though he barely found much of a voice to use, Cassian finally got the words out, quietly admitting that he’d loved her for longer than he’d like to admit, that he was afraid of - many things - but perhaps most importantly, of losing her. As a partner, a friend, the closest thing he had to a family in the entirety of the universe. Apologies spilled from his lips like a mantra or a prayer until he could no longer distinguish what he was apologizing for.

He felt Jyn begin to pull away from his grasp and although it sent his heart plummeting all the deeper into the pit of his stomach, Cassian instantly released her. His thoughts were just starting to spiral into shades of self-loathing and guilt but as she reached and bracketed his face in both of her small, rough hands, Cassian pulled himself together enough to allow her to do whatever she wanted to do with him. It couldn’t be worse than what was waiting for them outside their not so secret hiding place.

What he wasn’t expecting was the fervently desperate press of her lips to his, her whispered admission that he wasnt alone, that for the longest time, she had felt exactly the same, that she was only sorry that it had taken this for them to come clean with each other, her lips brushing against his with every word that she spoke.

Cassian felt things very deeply, despite some people’s assertion that the blood that ran through his veins was as cold as ice. And he wasn’t going to bother holding anything back anymore, trying to hide what he was feeling, not from Jyn.

He tilted his chin and caught her lips in a kiss, murmuring long overdue ‘I love you’s’ over and over again, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. It wasn’t fair, finding and losing each other all at once, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to relish this moment with everything that he was.

Cassian didn’t seek out another kiss when Jyn pulled away just enough to be able to breathe, but he did follow, did lean back in close enough to rest his forehead against hers, the only noise (apart from the popping and hissing of the welder as it ceaselessly continued cutting through the durasteel door.

He wanted to argue when Jyn came back to herself enough to insist that this wasn’t the way things were supposed to end, but he wasn’t surprised to hear it. She was always and would always be a firecracker. Yes, they had their blasters, Jyn had her ubiquitous truncheons, but they were only two people against an entire cadre of well-armed beings.

But it was impossible to deny Jyn, especially the fiery vehemence with which she spoke, convincing Cassian that they had to try. There was still a glimmer of hope if they chose to search for it. Cassian found himself rendered speechless as Jyn surged up and caught his lips in a searing kiss silently agreeing with her adamance that they couldn’t give up without a fight - on living, on each other, on having a future together.

See the full post

30 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

#3

[x]

39 notes - Posted September 16, 2022

#2

79 notes - Posted March 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

232 notes - Posted May 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[casspurrjoybell-18]

The Vanilla Scented Rogue

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter 30: Bloodied Fists

B E N E D I C T - S T A P L E T O N

I grinned at him, watching as his face drained of all color

"You thought you would win this fight? Think again."

I watched as he tried to cower away from me, his eyes afraid as he tried to get away from me. My eyes scanned over the blood and the dirt that was stained to his oversized shirt, my right hand soon falling from the fabric so I could witness more of the dried blood that reeked of my sister. My eyes darted up to Ambrose's face after I examined every single drop of blood that was stained to his shirt, his expression bringing me joy because it was set to look scared. My left hand was still gripping onto the fabric of his shirt tightly, pushing him against the wall as my right hand continued to lay limply at my side.

"I smell her blood on you," I stated as I looked at him, my eyes glowing out of rage.

"Yeah, she started bleeding after the second I slammed into her. She just couldn't take a guy's dick the right way, fucking her reminded me of fucking a virgin."

He tried to joke, my blood boiling as he talked of her.

"T-Then I cut her a few times and it rubbed off on me."

My right hand was raised in a matter of seconds after he finished his speech, my fingers bent into a fist as I swung my hand directly into the man's face. He groaned as I continued hitting, a grin appearing on my face when I heard a crack come from his nose. My fists were bloodied as I continued slamming my fist into Ambrose's face. Small cries left his lips when my fist migrated towards his stomach, all of his air leaving his lungs when my fist slammed into his clearly filled stomach.

He gasped as I continued to hit him there, incoherent words leaving his lips as his legs weakened. He fell when his legs couldn't hold him up anymore, both of us falling to floor when he couldn't stand anymore because I wasn't done with him yet. Groans and shouts continued to leave his lips as I held onto his shirt, straddling his hips as I hit him again and again. My vision was red as I hit, not noticing my knuckles were bleeding as I punched him.

My skin was covered in blood, my mind not being able to decipher whose blood was running down from my knuckles because I was too busy trying to make Ambrose bleed like how he made Beatrix bleed. My knuckles started to ache, the skin covering the bone starting to peel away as I hit the miserable man lying beneath me. I was panting when a thought popped into my head, my wolf prancing around in my head waiting for me to actually complete the task I thought of. He was howling in my head, causing a headache to form instantly as he jumped around impatiently.

I let go of Ambrose's shirt, my breathing heavy as I stopped my fist from connecting with his stomach once again. My hands ran down his body, patting his pockets as I scooted my body further down his. I was straddling his legs, Ambrose too tired and too filled with pain from his beating to move. I grinned with I felt his knife in his pocket, sticking my hand into the pocket before wrapping my fingers around the handle of the blade.

My grin was large, my teeth on show as my grin was spread from one ear to the other. I pulled it out of his pants pocket, holding it up so he could see it through his pain filled eyes.

"Oh God," he groaned when he saw it, trying to move away from me but failing miserably when every movement he made filled him with pain.

I chuckled when I heard his sentence, soon realizing that he thought I was going to cut him like how he did to her.

'No, that was too easy, too... painless.'

'No, I was going to do something much worse and I wasn't going to regret it at all.'

I was going to grin and laugh at the pain he will soon receive because he deserved every ounce of pain I was going to give him.

"I changed my mind. I'm not going to make thick or even long scares cover your body. I'm not going to cut a stripe up your arm or down your thigh. I'm not going to stab you over and over again as you cry out for help. I'm not going to push this knife into you as tears run down your cheeks. I'm going to do something much much worse and I'm going to enjoy watching as you slowly die from my torture."

I smiled, my voice holding not an ounce of sarcasm or uncertainty because I was going to enjoy this. He let out a sigh of relief when he heard me say I wasn't going to cut him, a smile appearing on his face for a split second before terror filled his eyes. A gasp left his disgusting mouth when he heard my last sentence, his eyes staring at me like he already knew what I was going to do to him. I doubt it.

"Can you guess what I'm going to do to you?" I asked with a smile, a chuckle soon leaving my lips when he didn't answer.

"I'm going to cut off the piece of meat that tortured my sister," I grinned, holding up the blade he cut my sister with as he stared at me in absolute horror.

I let go of his shirt as he continued to lay there, unable to move from his position on the hardwood flooring. My eyes darted down to the button on his jeans, my right hand working on unbuttoning the blood stained jeans as I moved to press the knife against his neck. He was breathing heavily as I unbuttoned his jeans, my fingers working to pull down the zipper before pushing down his boxers. His cock was limp as I pulled it out of his boxers, gripping it so tightly that he winced.

The knife was still pressed against his neck, some of his blood dripping from his neck out from under the blade. I unwrapped my hand around his dick before moving it up his body, wrapping my hand around his neck soon after I had removed the knife. His blood laid beneath my fingers that were wrapped around the part of his body that connected his useless head to his shoulders, the blood smudging against my fingertips. I listened to the way his heart started to beat faster, a smile present on my face as I moved the blade to his balls first.

My need to see him bleed was strong as I started to cut through the saggy skin that laid beneath his cock, his cries strong but his screams even stronger. He was panting when I finally detached the skin from his body, laying the knife on his stomach before squeezing the two balls of saggy skin in my hand, his useless sperm flowing out. I laughed as I wiped my hand off on his shirt, Ambrose's breathing heavy as I tossed the two balls coated with blood to the side. He was kicking and screaming, desperately trying to get out from under me but was ultimately too weak to escape as I picked up the knife again.

My hand was wrapped around his neck tightly, cutting off most of his ability to breathe as he squirmed beneath me. He was staring at me with pleading eyes filled with tears, a smile still set on my face as I gripped the knife in my hand. I pressed the blade against the base of his dick next, enjoying the way his screams were even louder than before when I started to cut through the flesh.