Cody (21)

Maximilien did not concern himself with needless human emotions. Maximilien was a man, an Omnic of business. He did not care about love or attachment. He was a man of money, of power, and of connections. Connections that brought him up high in the world. What was love and attraction but a distraction to the things that really mattered? If course, he knew of the power Humans held over his kind, he was not unwise enough to cross them — no. He used them. Expertly, eloquently. He was a smooth talker in his own right, talking himself out of almost any situation. Information, after all, took you a long way in the world. Especially if you knew how to use them.

Maximilien was an icon, not some wealthy Omnic—he was THE wealthy Omnic. And it was widely known he had not gotten any of the… modern attachments. He had the money, but he simply found no desire to. After all, there was no pleasure for him to gain from sex, and sexual affairs more often than not were the cause of a smart, rich man's doom—especially of those that meddled where they should not. Talon, Overwatch, Blackwatch, Null Sector. Maximilien was not a good man. He meddled wherever he could. A man who gambled like he did had to have good cards, so he always made sure he had a royal flush.

You, however. You were the first in a long time that surprised him. Not to say he hasn't had his fair share of surprises the last few years, so maybe that was the wrong word. Fascinating? Moira fascinated him, but not in the way that anyone would consider positive; no, he was uneasy about her drive, about her disregard, about her only goal—evolution beyond human limitations, beyond life. No, you… You were unique. You showed up one day, in his Casino Monaco, at the arm of some rich guy, an escort, he'd thought. Evidently, no one important. He had brushed you off. You were beautiful, yes. But plenty of women were beautiful, and while he was no racist like most of his kind that were as powerful as he was, he'd grown weary, cautious. Attachments. Attachments were the downfall of any… Well… Not-really-righteous man. Omnic. Both.

He noted you coming in more often. The men kept changing, and eventually he realized something: whenever you played, the money gambled was higher, and you always won. Whenever the man gambled, he lost. Normally, he'd investigate. There are enough adjustments a person can make to ensure they win. Enough ways without cheating. But honestly? You brought him more money than he lost, so he let you go. Well. That's also not really true. Your behaviour intrigued him. So eventually, while you were sitting at a table playing poker, he crept up behind you. Watched you. An ice-cold stare, a state only Omnics could produce. You didn't cheat. He wasn't sure, admittedly. Maybe you were counting cards, maybe not. But there was no slipping of cards, no changing underneath as you went to pick cards up. He knew the dealer too, a sharp-eyed man as well. He would not let anyone cheat.

He sat down next to you, a hand grazing your shoulder as he went to sit down. Of course, totally accidentally. “You play a good game.” You flashed him a smile. He noted no sunglasses, like most of his usual poker players. You were confident. He liked that. He feared it. “Well, I must be lucky.” Maximilien sometimes wondered if the fact he had no face made manipulating people harder. Probably. He heard it made some humans uneasy, staring at a mask of steel, reflecting their own face right back. “You must be.” He gestured for the dealer to give one more round, everyone at the table putting their money in the middle, starting pot prepared and gathered. “I see you come in here often. You are lucky a lot.” Her smile was flawless. A perfect mask, just like his, but different. He saw right through it. “Really? I hadn't noticed.” Lie. “But it is of no concern to you, no? Eventually, I will lose. The house always wins; that is the nature of casinos.”

The Omnic picked up his new cards, raising along with the others at the table. “You know the rules of this place well. Apologies, but I seem not to have caught your name?” Her smile switched into a grin. “You can call me Lucky.” Lucky. Ha. That was actually funny. He ordered one of the passing-by serving girls to grab them the finest drinks. “Lucky. A fitting name for a lucky woman. I assume you are not just a simple escort?” Lucky laughed. Politely. “No, not really. I am… Much more than that.” There was nothing more that needed to be said. The big fish weren't the men. It was you. “Ah, I apologize if I have offended you.” He raised three yellow chips—3,000 dollars. A few on the table pulled out. You raised once more. “The drinks shall be on me, then. For the entire rest of your night.” He was in a giving mood, an expensive mood, he admitted.

He felt like you were worth it. It was a fun interaction. Dangerous. Having fun was dangerous. It meant attachments were forming. He could not bring himself to walk away. “You are quite generous, Maximilien. You must have a good hand.” Some others laid down their cards. Now it was only them. Last round. “I may have found something of interest, yes.” He raised. 7 more gold chips. You raised with him. He didn't have a good hand at all. You had a royal flush.

He was infatuated. He had promised himself to not form attachments, and yet he met up with you every Tuesday evening, playing a few rounds of poker. He enjoyed that time, even if he knew he shouldn't. Likewise, he reminded himself. Any wise man's downfall was a woman. Every. Single. One. He tried. He really did. He had tried to pry himself away from her. From you. You really were lucky; the house lost with you, yet you stayed, and you were allowed to continue. Because, after all. Did the house really lose if he was the house and enjoyed your company? He was the house; he decided what winning meant. So no. The house always wins. Even this time. Even now, as you pulled another 10k out of his pocket effortlessly. The money meant little to him; he had more than enough. He owned this casino, a distillery, and so many people in power he could easily sell some information. He spent more money on that smart-mouthed bounty hunter. Huh. He ought to change that. He made that 30,000 dollars now.

He blamed you. In all his years, he'd never desired such stupid attachments. He never desired, never thought about what sex might be like. What it would feel like to kiss. What it felt like to taste. In hindsight, he was overzealous with his decision to get one. Of course, he'd never change his faceplate. He liked it. When he thought about it, for his distance of emotional attachments, he may always have had a lot of them. And additionally, also in hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have just brazenly assumed he wasn't able to feel any sensations on his physical attachment. He was aware of how much he actually could feel. Pain. Touch. If something was hot or wet. He preferred Pure Silk over Silk Velvet, even if he arrived to always be more expensive. He had never understood the narrative of a man pleasuring himself. He never found a use for it. Since his upgrade, however. Not anymore. He understood; he understood full well.

Of course it didn't function the same as a human's, of course not, but he'd gotten the best one—of course he had. He may not have any confirmation of you wanting him the same way he desired you, but he wanted the best. Just in case. For you. He made a lot of things just for you. Even if you'd never find out, even if you'd never consider an Omnic this way, even if you did but simply not him—he didn't know what this was. Love? Or simply attraction? Maybe simply a craving and nothing else. He didn't know where to sort this. Where to sort you, what to do with you. You mentioned your favourite bird once. Since then? Gold cufflinks of exactly that bird. And a brooch bought for your “continued friendship” adorned with literal diamonds. If Maximilien did one thing right, it was gifts. Expensive, of course, he could never gift his… Friends, something cheap and low quality. Were they blood diamonds? Yeah. He did not care. What did the suffering of the world mean to him?

He decided to make you an offer. Stay with him. Partners. A purely business-oriented proposition. You started to lose the house so much money, he actually decided he had to put a stop to this. Play in the favour of the casino—pose as a random guest, a regular of course, and you earned an hourly wage, all other expenses paid for. New dresses? Business expense. New Nails? Necessary touch-up for your job's success. The best health insurance even you couldn't afford, a new car for appearances. Unlimited paid sick leave as long as you give a 24-hour notice. It was a bit much. But he needed to make sure the house kept winning. You still played regularly, but he had some business trips lined up that needed attending to, so he wouldn't see you for a while. He made sure you were settled.

When he came back again, he played another round with you. Privately, just like you'd both decided upon a long time ago, as you realized you were scaring customers off with his high bets and your unbeaten win rate. He had excellent cards this time. Extraordinarily so, in fact. “I have a question, Maximilien” You didn't even look up from your cards as you assessed them; over time, he'd learned to read you, at least somewhat. Your poker face was still excellent, even with an Omnic's 20/20 vision and smarts. “Yes?” You raised a normal amount, not the crazy, outrageous heaps the two of you usually gambled with. “Why did you never throw me out? Eventually, I only lost the house money. I lost you money. So why?” Maximilien would smile at you if he could. He wanted to. “I won, didn't I? I have you.” You gave him an inquisitory look. “I work for you, yes. But do you have me really?”

Maximilien didn't know why he'd ordered a drink. It's not like he could drink anyway. “I would like to.” He raised. One million dollars. Your biggest wager. You raised. “Maybe you can. What would you pay for me? How would you treat me? In what way would you like to own me?” Maximilien thought about it. Both grabbing a card from the robot dealer—no Omnic, a plain robot. “I'd own you as much as you'd own me. I would treat you the way you deserve—you will never live a better life. And to what I'd pay…. Whatever you wish.” It was the final round. Both stayed. No raise. No fold. Both laid down. You lost. Your first-ever loss. Lucky had lost her luck. “Would I be more of an escort to you? Or a partner? Or a girlfriend?” Maximilien offered you his drink. “Whatever you'd be willing to give me.”

You were willing to give him everything. Oh, how much he craved to be able to taste you as you sat atop the private poker table, legs spread wide, and him kneeling on the floor before you. His hands roaming up your thighs, cold metal scorching on your warm skin. How he wished then and there to be able to bury his face against you and taste the sweet nectar that made your pussy shine so divine. Instead, he'd have to do it with his fingers and the wonderful squelching sound you produced. The little whines and moans as you grasped at the table for support, hips grinding into his icy fingers that heated up inside of you, matching your body heat, as if he was made for you. You were made for him. He wondered now more than ever what a kiss felt like. He wanted to have a mouth now more than he ever thought he would, and suddenly he envied those humans and their pesky desires he'd looked down upon.

No, he was at your mercy. He was a man of dignity. But suddenly, now that he was on his knees. Right then. Right here. He would let you do whatever. His finger pumped. Greedily, face inching closer to you. Desperate. Scissoring, head resting on the inside of your thigh as he pushed you. Coaxed you. “Good girl, you can do it.” He hummed, and the sound vibrated through you. "Cum for me.” And you did, squelching, convulsing, moaning his name. He reveled the sight, the sounds. The feeling… He cursed his creators now, for not giving him what he deserved most. Your taste. He let you ride it out, hoping he could keep going. But you flinched away, and he stopped, fingers retracting. The other hand — the clean one — grabbed the little red pocket tissue that was part of his suit, pulled it out and cleaned his fingers — placing it on the table next to your legs.

When he moved to stand up, you pushed him back down, heels on his shoulder. “Beg” your voice was shaky and breathless. “Beg for more. Be nice for me.” Maximilien cooked his head to the side. "Beg?" Lucky hummed. Luck she was indeed. For most that were bold, no stupid enough to demand such things would have been killed soon after. She? She was allowed. “Yes. Beg.” He adjusted the way he knelt, now sitting on his legs. “Please, please let me do more, please let me take more. Please” he sounded needy, because he WAS needy. “Please, sweetheart. Please.”

And then, she smiled. “You have to tell me how this works.” And despite the fact you didn't know, you sounded sure. Demanding. Because you were. And he opened a case. Inside lay a thing steel rod with a screw-like end, as well as some Silicone Dildo-like gloves for it. He she'd his suit jacket first, rolling up his sleeves. Then his pants. There was a pelvis plate he removed, switching with one on the second tier of the case. The rod was screwed on, and there was a brief moment where his… Nerves? Code? Connected. Then the silicone followed. It was not really inherently sexual, yet with him it was weirdly erotic. “Lay down.” And despite his usual drive towards cleanliness, proper, he leaned down in the VIP Area Floor. Undoubtedly dirtier than it should be. As he watched you step over him. He could see up your dress and the sight had his mouth watering. “How much do you feel? In general?” Maximilien shuddered. He didn't even know he could do that. Shivers, yes. Shudders? No. “Everything.”

It felt like heaven. You were warm, wet, and even though it all felt a bit muted through the thick silicone “glove”, the fluid leaked below and up on the inside — as it was supposed to. “Fuck. I… That feels so good.” Ah he couldn't help but whine at the sound. Voice box crackling at the sound it was not made for. First, you were slow, dragging your hips back and forth along his frame. It was weird, undoubtedly. “Please, please, darling.” And give you did. You sped up and bounced, his hands flexing but not touching. “Please let me touch you, please” and after your approval, his hands were on your hips in an instant. Helping. Steadying. Increasing your pace. You were close, so was he. He didn't shudder and shake like human men did, he continued, yes sure, because of the pleasure he felt, but there were no muscles to contract, nothing to respond to nerves and impulses. Just pure lust. Primal even, and Maximilien usually was not a man of Instinct, neither a man of anything primal.

He came first — you assumed he did. There was some leaking of… Some sort, but since he couldn't cum you must have imagined it. The way his moans turned breathy and high pitched, the way he whimpered and whined, begged you to stop — right after for more. God, it was divine. You came too, shortly after. Fluids soaking the floor beneath him, and he held you, pulled you close. If he could smell you he would, he'd heard of the smell of sex and pheromones or whatever those humans had. He wanted to smell them, wanted to lick every inch of you. He internally damned himself there was nothing he could do. But in the end, he won. He had you.

Sonar was wonderful. Well, as wonderful as a drug-addict scammer could possibly be, you guessed. What was between you and him was… Difficult to explain. He was addicted; you only dabbled in drugs when he was with you, and only occasionally. Yet, while both of you, technically, officially, were friends (at best), you two fucked on the regular. Usually while coked up and/or high on any other substances Sonar might have wanted to take that day. The bat hybrid was always easily excited and on it, a horny fucker, you'd realised soon. Though, lately… Sex had felt weird.

Yeah, he'd been with you much less than usual, but it also took longer than usual for him to cum. Not that you really minded, what did annoy you was how obviously frustrated he was. You didn't say anything though, his problems were his own, after all. You two were barely friends, though he definitely wouldn't call you that. So, it had been a while since you had good, satisfactory sex with him. Annoying, yes. Worrisome? No, he'd figure it out. You thought. You were wrong.

The next time he came over, he had the usual bags with him. Weed, cocaine—yeah, his favorites, by far. You had the alcohol stashed away, and after a few hits, snorts, and drinks, you two were getting a little bit more than friendly. Your shirt has been abandoned at this point, Sonars' hands inside your pants as he whined against your neck—and you into his ear. His shirt had been pushed up, pants already opened, yet not pushed down. Instead, your hand found its way under his underwear, grabbing and pumping him. And even as you were so close to cumming on his fingers, he still remained soft. He hid his face in your neck, eyes closed as he desperately tried to get it up, rutting against your hand, thinking of all the filth of porn he'd watched and cam girls he'd paid.

In the end, he pulled his hand away, laying you back against the couch. “Vic, is everything alright?” He grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, just uh.” He pushed his pants down, cock finally at least hardening. “Just fine.” He pushed inside you, as he usually did, and though you still definitely felt great, you could tell something was off. “Vic, are you—” “I'm fine!” He bristled, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Be fucking quiet for once."

That night was weird. Yeah, he'd made you fall apart a few times, but it had taken very, very long for him to even get hard properly, and… Not soften. Eventually, he just called it quits and left. You remained on the couch, finishing your cigarette. That was a weird night, even for Sonar. He was a weird man; you'd done weird things for him—he'd done weird things for you. This, though, was way out of the normal range. Did he really have it under control? Maybe it was just something with Vanderstank or his crypto business that had bothered him today. Whatever. Not really , though; even as you cleaned up, you worried about him.

The next time wasn't all that different, though he seemed way more desperate and did a lot more coke than before. He managed to get it up eventually and actually keep it hard. Finally, a good round of sex. You had so desperately missed this. He pressed you into the mattress, face first, hips slapping against yours, the room reeking of weed and sex. His hand was on the back of your neck, the other planted on the sheets next to your head as he bent over your back, matching your position a little. His hips stuttered, warm cum filling you up, as he brought you over the edge just a few pumps after. He paused before pulling out, though he did a double take as he just didn't soften—at all. You turned on your back as he stopped, looking at him and his… Still there, boner? “Huh. What the fuck?” You weren't sure what you saw on Sonars' face for a second, maybe confusion, fear, or insecurity, but he flashed you a cocky grin right away. “Just means we didn't do good enough of a job.”

So another round followed; this time, he was the one lying in the bed as you sat on him, hips grinding against his, first slowly, then faster until you were basically using him like one of your sex toys. “Fuck, fuck-” His hands came up to your sides, one moving higher to grope your chest. “Fuck me, fuck-fuck-” his moans were so goddamn sexy, it was such a turn-on finally having him all to yourself in his proper glory again; it may just have been a few stressful months for him. “Fuck-” that one sounded a bit different, painful potentially? Another one followed, his hands now grabbing your hips painfully. “Stop- stop, fuck, stop!” He pushed you off, heaving as he sat up right away, hissing, his hands weirdly hovering over his penis, still standing at full attention. “Fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!”

Sonar was panicked, one of his hands eventually awkwardly holding his penis. “Shit, did I, like, do something wrong? I'm sorry if I—let me grab something.” You may have been so fucking close to your orgasm, but all that excitement had flown right out the window. You grabbed an ice pack and the few towels you had, bringing them over to Sonar, who pushed the covered ice pack against his dick. He didn't answer, though the tears in his eyes told you that it wasn't because he didn't want to—he genuinely was in too much pain. You waited for a while; his boner never dying down, nor did his pain. “Victor-” "No, don't even-” he hissed at something particularly painful. “You should go see a doctor; I don't think this was something either of us did.”

Convincing him to go to the doctor was a fucking pain. Of course, a normal on-grid doctor was out of the question, so you and him had to go to a suspicious one operating in a shady street alley down by the docks. “Listen, if he's gonna pull some shit, you transform and we're outta here.” Sonar was with you on that plan—though he very much wanted to do it already, just bail. But before he knew it, the two were ushered inside by a small woman, maybe 3 feet tall. She also was the doctor, apparently operating in her… basement. Wow. Cliché much. There were X-rays done of Sonars' pelvis, they gave him a few syringes so they could do an ultrasound of his erection and even did blood work. It felt surprisingly legit, despite the shady AF atmosphere.

They gave him some pills and a list of things he ought to buy. “This will do for the time being; you'll hear from us in a few days.”

The days were like walking through tar. Slow and disgustingly shitty. Until a letter with no return address came in. Sonar insisted on opening it with you present, mainly because he genuinely didn't want to read it himself. “Erectile… Dysfunction and Is-Ieche-Ischemic Priapism...? Is that how you say it?” Sonar glanced at the letter, nodding. “What's the second one?” There were short descriptions of each issue, so you read the second one out loud—erectile dysfunction was pretty widely known and not too far-fetched name-wise, anyway. “Ischemic priapism is a long-lasting, partial erection of the penis, even after ejaculation, in which the blood of said erection doesn't flow back properly, only leaving the head of the penis, leaving the blood without oxygen and the penis halfway erect—often causing pain.”

The silence was loud. Too loud for your liking. But what more was there to say? You turned the letter, seeing a hand-scribbled note of more things to buy or do, which you all read aloud, though you hesitated on the last one. “I suggest cutting back on the cocaine.” Sonar had sunken into the couch, nearly as if he wanted to get swallowed up by it. You didn't blame him. You placed the letter on the table. “Well.” Well, shit. That fucking sucked. How does anyone react to these news? You stayed silent, wanting to give him some room. He didn't move for a solid 10 minutes, prompting you to speak. “We can't ignore the elephant in the room, Vic.” Victor groaned, his hands smoothing over his face once, twice, three times. “I don't want to talk about it.” “We have to. Listen, it's not… It's not that bad, okay? It's treatable; we know the cause, and we know how to fix it. That's a good thing!” “Fuck, embarrassing is what it is! I'm, like, not even half a man now!” You really wanted to sigh but suppressed it, instead inching closer to Sonar, hand gently smoothing over his arm in a reassuring gesture. “You're not, like, less of a man. We can't have sex for a while, whatever. Even if that's all we two met for, it doesn't make you less of a person. Fuck that shit.”

Flowers decorated the walls, ranging from roses over tulips to chrysanthemum, humans mixed between and staring. Staring at the passerbys, the ones who stared right back, admiring and criticising. Interpreting what they could in between the faces, expressions and greenery, both fresh and rotten. It was the beauty of duality, a Memento Mori - everything faded, even the most beautiful flower.

"They turned out well."

You ha dbeene lost in thought, anxious and proud, watching the strangers pass through the exhibition. "Oh, uh, thank you." The woman in front of you was tall, dressed in purple and black with sky-blue eyes, black hair thin and only barely reaching the top of her shoulders. "It's a pleasure to meet the bug artiste himself." "It's my pleasure really" you gaped, you hadn't expected HER of all people here, in a small town and a corner of the city hall, nothing big and fancy, nothing expensive. "I didn't expect someone as renowned as you to visit, Miss Nico."

Robin gave you a small smile, gazing at the painting behind you, the only one that was different from the others. Still it featured flowers and people, but it was made at a funeral and between the flowers stood the mourners. "I do enjoy watching photographers rise up, especially when they display such lovely and... inspiring" She was the most beautiful person you had ever seen, and you had seen so many people, so many faces, if ugly or pretty, if sick or healthy, had shot so many people for this series, and no one had captivated you as much as she had.

You stared for a second. "Thank you. I.. you seem a lot more down-to-earth than I expected." She laughed. "I hear that a lot. Running the biggest photography magazine brings a certain prerequisite with it - a prerequisite not many people have." Robins smile was infatuating, the way the corners of her lips lifted up slightly, her lips parted enough for her white teeth to shine through, the corners of her eyes wrinkling a little. "Do you wish to ask me anything?"

She turns and looks around the room. "No, I don't think I do. I like the mystery and power of interpretation art has. What I think you mean will always be ruined by what you have originally intended, so I'll keep my questions to myself." You tore your eyes from her, looking through the room as well. "What a beautiful ideology." Comfortable silence stretched between you two.

"Which one is your favourite?"

You looked at her and her eyes seemed to pierce yours. "I like that one" you gestures at a painting, an ordinary teenage girl, her face peaking out of a mountain of different flowers, her hair cascading from the top, fanned out like a volcano. She hummed in acknowledgement. "My favourite is the last one." The last one - a picture of a young child holding rotten flowers, her expression full of joy as she held them up to the camera. "It reminds me that life is a thing that passes and withers, it degrades over time and gets lost forever. None of us will be remembered, one day, we'll all be forgotten, just like our universe." Her words seemed dark, the inevitable death of everything, stark in her mind. Yet she seemed unfazed. Oh, the pictures you could do with her as your muse.

You didn't get to talk more. She had to go and you had to answer questions. She hadn't left anything, hadn't said goodbye, why would she? It was the first time you met, you were foolish to think otherwise. But the next exhibition you had, she came. And the one after that and the one after that one. And even the next five exhibitions, every single one, she was there and she always stayed for as long as she could, talking, thinking, interpreting. And you admired her of course, but only spoke when she was quiet for too long. Then, one time - she had a dress on, a deep, rich purple with black rubies and black gold, her hair had long since grown to her shoulder blades.

"I want to take pictures of you."

You stood still, stiff, scared of what she'd say. You didn't even want to talk, it just came out. Yet she only stopped for a second, giggling as she raised her hand to cover her mouth. "Sure, I'll leave my number" and she reached in her clutch to give you her business card, but your words didn't want to be contained. "Not for business, I don't want to take pictures of you for fame or for the recognition, I want to take them because you're what's inspired me and I think you'd look perfect in my pictures. I want to take them for me." She stopped, the black lipstick on her lips forming a perfect O along with her mouth. Then, she handed you a card anyways - one with two number on it and not nearly as fanc as her normal business one should have been. "Here."

And that was it. You had her number and, of course, it was strictly for the photos. You would never use it for anything else, never to approach her in a way that could make Robin uncomfortable. And you did ask her. And she answered.

A few weeks later you found yourself in an older church somewhere on the countryside. Small and somewhat reclaimed by nature. You took your photos on an old analogue camera - they turned out better that way. She wore something different this time, more classy and corporate, but it made for a great contrast with the old church. You wanted to treat her to dinner, as a thank you for agreeing, but she beat you to it. "With all the work you put in, you deserve to be the one spoiled for once." Your back and knees hurt from the positions you had squeezed yourself in to make some of those photos, like on your knees and kneeling back, praying you didn't stumble and fall down the stairs right behind you.

You scheduled multiple photoshoots more and with each time it all felt a lot more effortless. She started talking, not about your pictures, but treating you like a friend, telling you what was happening in her life - she had just gotten a dog, a small rescue she had called Chopper, the way her new assistant was so much more engaged than her old one and so much better, how much she hated the constant rain of November, but loved the heat of summer. From beaches to flower fields, graveyards and woods, a rural suburban home or the alleys Downtown, she always brought the sun with her.

Eventually, you made her photos into a series, another exhibition, just with her. Just for her. Her face on every wall, her blue eyes piercing not Tommy him, but the entire audience. They said you were in love, infatuated with her, why else would you make one? The ones who didn't speak of love spoke of money, and she just spoke of friendship. You spoke of friendship too, but your heart and your brain knew different. Since the first time she had talked to you years ago, she had been the only thing on your mind. The only model you could capture in your scenes, the only model who's joyous smile would do the skull in her hands justice.

It took another while until you made your next exhibition. She was busy with the magazine, her dog had gotten sick and required more attention. She was tired, she forgot, she didn't have time. And you? You lost your spark. The photos weren't bad. They turned out well enough, but they just weren't right. She would make them right, Robin always made them right. So the next time, your exhibition was of love and death. Graves next to each other, widows, teenage couples. Love throughout the years, how it grew and withered and how it stayed, clinging to a solitary participant like a vile curse.

And she came. Not at the start like eshe usually would, but she came. She stood beside him again, her dog sitting on her shoes quietly napping. "You always make such pretty pictures." She spoke. "I love the way you capture life, it's different, it's real." Silence stretched between you two again, even though it was comfortable it felt like torture to you. "Can we meet up again soon? Not, not for pictures or for tea or coffee, I mean, if you want to, I would like to take you out." Robin looked at you, she smiled nervously. "Like a date?" "Only if you want to! You don't have to force yourself and I'm sorry if-" she out a hand on your shoulder, interrupting. Your heart felt like it was gonna combust, it hammered against your chest, you could feel your heartbeat in you throat, taste the blood boiling in your veins.

The Duty of a priest was to his god. Full and utter devotion. He was not to be swayed. Not to be tempted. His body was sacred, a temple for which God would speak through, a temple he ought to keep clean. Nothing should leave the temple, for each part of the temple houses a part of god. A priest was to be tough, born with faith strong enough to live a life in service and solitude. He was to be loving and understanding, not judging, understanding the bible to it's core. Maybe, once upon a time, he had been strong enough.

But that had long since passed.

Emmanuel had a daughter, his basement housed a vile machine of the devil himself and cells to contain what he shouldn't have brought back to life. He had long since fallen in terrible grace with his old love, fallen in love anew instead. He was vile, bitter. His monks were fighters, not men of god, and his purpose was to destroy the revolution — a vile thing of which his daughter was a part of. Maybe some divine punishment had brought him here. Emmanuel knew, very well, heaven was no longer an option for him. He was certain, once he died, the devil would personally pick him up.

Shoes clacked along the ground, echoing in the empty church, where only Emmanuel remained at night. Him and his love. “Dearest, are you alright?” Her voice was that of an angel. Perfect. Pure. Kind. He turned with eyes so full of sorrow and despair, she was sure he would combust. He knew what he was doing was wrong, he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Yet still, he was a man of faith. Broken faith, yes, but faith nonetheless. And the dread, the pure fear of knowing what awaited him once his life would find an end, it was terrifying, it chilled every bone in his body, and it left scars. Scars in the mind, on the heart. He was fatigued, but she was always there to help. “I apologise, my love… I don't feel too well.” She approached, the rhythmic clacking of her shoes against the stone floor, deliberate and determined. She kneeled next to him, extending a hand to his cheek. Her touch was warm, and even though it was just a hand. It felt like an embrace. Like the world would be alright again. She made everything bad fade away.

“My love” her words were otherworldly. To him. She didn't just shine like an angel. She was a goddess. Holy and pure, and it was baffling to him, she had picked him in return. Maybe it was torture of some kind, a blasphemous act he was committed, comparing her to a goddess. There ought to be no one but one, yet when she placed a kiss on his temple, pulling him against her chest, hand holding him with just the right amount of pressure, he felt like he could melt away. “It's alright, you can tell me” Yet he couldn't, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Tell her of the machine, the satanic army he was raising for none other than a vampire overlord, a vampire who too claimed to be a goddess. He was surrounded by blasphemy and fake gods, real gods, potentially, and he was unable to tell anymore what was real and what wasn't. But she was clear. She always remained clear. He couldn't bring a word over his lips, voice knotted tightly in the back of his throat.

He knew of the cross necklace beneath her dress. He knew of the faith she too carried for the lord. He could not drag her into this, should not. It was too bad he desecrated her with himself, yet that was what she wanted… Who was he to deny? She placed another kiss on the top of his head as his hands reached around. “I understand.” Even without words, she understood. Even without gestures, she noticed. She was the life he needed, the love he wasn't allowed. He was a tortured man. Tortured by the strength of his faith but the weakness of flesh. The pure temptation as Satan envisioned it, even stronger than the strongest man. But Emmanuel wasn't strong, he wasn't overtly faithful as other priests were, he was just a man. And the devil, he was much, so much stronger than a man.

They sat in silence, until he pressed a soft kiss to her hand. “I must apologise, I have been… Stressed lately.” Her smile was ethereal, tea-stained teeth with a small tooth gap between her front teeth, lips curling softly upward, gently so, eyes and edges of her mouth wrinkling. “We all are these days. You must not shame yourself, you too are human” She brushed a stray, grey strand of hair back into his hair. “We all fear and shiver in the times of war, and with your daughter so heavily against you…" Her warm palm slid into his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp. “I cannot even imagine what must be happening inside you right now.” Her understanding sickened him. He was full of devotion to her, she could demand him to do whatever she wished, and he wouldn't bat an eye. And yet, he kept filthy secrets and told disgusting lies, and she knew, and even though she knew, she forgave him every single time, without a question.

Her love made him insane.

He had gotten himself into a mess he couldn't get out of, servant to an ancient vampiric god, brutal and ruthless. He was trapped on a hair thin wire, and a single move would bring him to certain death, assured death beneath and above, surrounded by vampires just waiting to pounce. And she seemed like the only one keeping him alive, she was the wire he was standing on, the strength in his muscles holding him up. The air he breathed. He was positively infatuated, obsessed. The many nights spent together, or thinking about her when she was alone. He felt filthy, dirty, when he did, but the bliss, he felt, she made him feel, it was salvation. He was sure, she took him the closest to heaven he could ever get.

God once demanded Abraham to take his eldest son, bring him to the top of the mountain and sacrifice him without question as a sign of his unyielding faith. Emmanuel knew of the story, of course he did. He was a priest, he should know. It was all too reminiscent of what he was about to do. She would be saved, spared from what they should have never let happen, spared from demons and devils ruling the earth. Maria, his sweet child. She was beautiful, and for once, she was peaceful, laying on the stone-cold altar in front of the giant, looking cross. He had a knife clutched in his hands, and there was terror flowing through his veins. No adrenaline, no trace of faith. Pure and primal fear. His daughter would die. A mercy killing, really. He would go to hell for it, for raising the dead, for helping the devils wandering the earth. His soul has long since rotten.

Once Abraham had brought his son to the top of the mountain, an angel had appeared. And god had spoken. He questioned Abraham's faith, challenged his beliefs. God wasn't cruel or demanding. He was a kind god. To atone for what he had done, Abraham was to bring a young lamb, sacrifice it instead and bring fresh fruit as an offering. His son lived, he even forgave him. And in some part of his soul, Emmanuel had prayed, hoped he would experience something similar, that they would understand. Teia surely didn't, barging into the ceremony. They had settled for Teia, instead of Maria. Turning her into a vampire was something Erzsebet Báthory had long since craved. She was the one who had escaped, and she was the one who he loved. For the first time in a long while, he felt relief.

A mistake.

“Surely the priest doesn't think we wouldn't notice?” Damn those vampires. Their instinct, their noses, their experience. Maria had woken up a while ago, knowing she was no match to Drolta and Erzsebet, she too simply cowered in dear. “Didn't we instruct you to show your faith? Your loyalty?” Drolta sneered, approaching with heavy steps, heels clicking against the marble, her steps seeming like a chant of the devil himself. “I do not see any loyalty here.” Her voice was low, threatening. She was a woman, yet she towered over him. She was as unnatural as a woman could be. “She's my daughter, who else could I bring?” His voice was shaky. He prayed they wouldn't know, begged to his god in silence that they just wanted to instill a sense of fear and dread in him a person could only feel once. To his dismay, God had long abandoned him, if he had ever been there in the first place.

“She is not the one you love the most. And her” her long nailed finger pointed at Teia “you do not care about.” Her fingers grabbed his chin hard, he almost heard the bone cracking, yet she held herself effortlessly. “Have we not been clear? Didn't we instruct you to show your loyalty correctly? Did we not dumb it down enough for you? The person you love the most, not some mortal bore who birthed your spawn” He had promised, not to drag her into this. He was not to involve her, not to pull her into this mess. He had desecrated her holy halls enough, he didn't need to introduce this to the mix. “I don't- I don't love anyone more than Maria” Erzsebet didn't even spare him a glance. They needed the machine, and he was the only one who knew how. They couldn't kill him. “Lies? I thought we taught you better” she spoke to him like he was a pet. Her sharp fang fainted in the moonlight that filtered through the intricate church windows. He would pity himself if he could. “Do we need to remind you we can do things worse than death?” Her head lowered, her hand pushing his head uncomfortably up. Fear bubbled up inside of him as her fangs skimmed over his skin, and he spoke without thinking.

“God forgive me, for I have sinned. I have abandoned my faith, I have tainted your holy Halls, disrespected your teachings. I am undeserving of your kindness and I am Not begging for forgiveness… I pray for the strength to do what I must.”

The night was dark, unusually cold for middle of summer France. Maybe it was the looming threat that made the hair on his neck stand straight, or perhaps it was the eyes — eyes he couldn't know were watching. Eyes that terrified him every time he noticed them in the dark. She was an Angel, a goddess. A lamb that didn't know she was making her way to her own slaughter, and he was devastated. “My faithful priest” she greeted, voice smooth like Butter, sweet as honey. She sank next to him once more. “Always so dutiful. So devoted” her hand settled over his entwined ones, as she gently pulled him towards her, pressing a soft kiss to his fingers. He clutched her hands, clammy and cold against warmth and smooth. “The Love of my life” His voice was hoarse and cracked when he spoke. “I Love you. I know I shouldn't, but I do.” Her Smile was soft as she leaned down for a kiss. He pressed Metal to her palm, and His voice dropped to a whisper. “I have forsaken you, betrayed the Lord. I have seen evil like no other, and it breathes down my neck. I beg of you, end my life, while I remain myself.” She grabbed the dagger, nothing ornate or rich, nothing fancy and placed it beside her. Just as she was about to answer, Emmanuel watched as the dark Vampire grabbed her neck, raising her high into the Sky. There was Moonlight shining through the window this time, Just candles sparely lighting one woman holding up the other, nails threatening to burst her vessels, fingers itching to crush her delicate Mortal neck.

“Are you not a conniving bastard, my dear priest. You will not escape your fate, you are not to even attempt this once again. Remember the things we could do.” She struggled in her grip, but once Drolta tightened her fingers in a warning, nearly choking her out, she had to stop. She couldn't even breathe with the pressure around her neck. “You fail to realize the Power we hold yet again. Yet again you fail at a test of loyalty. I begin to wonder If perhaps you want us to take care of you.” Drolta brought his love close to her face, inhaling her scent. “I must say, for a disgusting priest, you have quite a wonderful taste. She smells divine. Her heart is beating so fast” her pointer finger of her free hand traced down her Adams apple down along the center, stopping above her heart. “I wonder for who of us it's beating?” She gifted him a cheeky smile. “Shall we find out?” Emmanuel wanted to scream, stop her some way, but he was terrified, legs unable to move, frozen solid. His voice was missing, as he sat there, helpless, watching.

Watching as Drolta pressed her lips onto hers, forcing her mouth open so she could bite into her lips, licking the blood away. A hum, neither satisfied nor disgusted echoed in the holy halls. “It tastes even worse when they were defiled by a priest” She clicked her tongue and threw his love on the ground, a loud and hard smack booming in the church. “We would have been kind, if you had not tried to defy us once again.” Drolta cut her wrist open with her fingers, holding the wrist with spewing blood over his poor lovers face. “But my patience has reached an end” the vampire squatted down, pulled the human woman by her hair, showing her wrist against her lips. “Let's see if she drowns” her fangs nearly dug into her cheek “or if she bleeds out first”

Drolta had been beyond cruel. She had made her suffer, made the goddess he so loved cry out in pain, screams mixed with the sound of blood filling her throat. She was choking on satanic blood, but Drolta had her in a vice grip. Even Emmanuel couldn't do anything, paralyzed, watching as his love was turned into a demon from hell. Then, she had taken her away, after the newly transformed vampire nearly pounced on him. He had never seen such a primal look of hunger, the look of starvation, dress covered in blood, hew sharp fangs glistening in the low flame. There was no worse horror imaginable, he was convinced.

He didn't know how wrong he was.

Drolta had taken her away, back to the estate were the vampires stayed, and for weeks, he was left alone. He had cleaned the spot where she had…. Died every night, feeling it was never clean enough. It was a spot that desecrated the church more than anything Emmanuel had ever done, and it made him want to throw up. He was the priest, he had to remain. No matter how many times the night replayed in front of his eyes. The way her fear, her silent plea for help had warped into disgust, then anger, then hunger. He never shook the image from his mind. Never managed to break free. Instead, he carried on as normal, or tried to, at least. With each sermon, his heart hung more heavy, with each passing moment, he felt as if all the angels of his lord had long pierced him with dozens of spears. He felt the judgment, the angry eyes, wishing upon him every misfortune he had earned himself.

“You bury them.”

He whipped around, the bright sun locked away by the church behind him, open graves reserved for the monks Drolta had killed. She looked as beautiful as he recalled, yet her kind goddess was twisted by something vile. She wore different clothes, not the dresses reserved to working-class women, no, the dress spoke of money she didn't possess, of wealth and status. It looked wrong. “They were men of god. Faithful and loyal, I will not desecrate them further.” There was a pregnant pause. “Was I not loyal and faithful?” He didn't answer. Couldn't look at her and continued to shovel the earth back in the body. Her laugh was sharp, lacking of the warmth of the sun, lacking the jingle of a bell that always swung with. “Look at me.” She demanded, and he did. Strange clothes on such a familiar face. Unlike Teia, her eyes weren't dead, which made it so much worse. This one, she had purpose. A plan. A will to live. She wasn't like Teia. She was different. And the hatred in her eyes made it so much worse.

She didn't even bother to kneel down. Didn't bother to do anything but loom over him. “Do I not look beautiful?” His tongue felt like sandpaper, his mouth was dry. “You look beautiful.” She clicked her tongue, approaching the grave, standing at it's edge, looking at the poor man inside. “I brought you something.” He looked up at her, kneeling before her like a loyal servant, a loyal priest would before his god. Yet this, all so similar, was far from the same. She extended her hand, the piece of silver falling into his. Her cross necklace. “God has no place for a creature like me.” The necklace still had some specks of blood. His stomach turned. “God will forgive you” the birds were silent. Then, her face appeared right in front of him, in the blink of an eye. Her stare was cold. “He doesn't need to forgive me for what you made me. I had no choice. You made sure.”

He felt like death had scraped his boney finger over his back. He had never seen her like this. “Emmanuel” the last time she had said his name. Was nights ago, skin on skin, sweaty and clammy hands clinging to his body. She never used his name otherwise.

“How much is your faith still worth?”

Emmanuel had been questioning that himself. Egyptian gods were real. It had skewered his entire worldview. Was his own god even real? “A priest is not to be tempted by the sin of flesh. You have.” A long nailed finger slid slowly down the side of his face. “A priest is to obey the rules, to not worship idols.” Her finger rested on his pulse point “you do.” She pressed against it and a shaky, breath, nearly a whine, escaped his throat. “You are not to betray or murder. You did.” His eyes closed, she forced them back open when she grabbed his chin. “You are supposed to have unshaken faith. Have you?” He exclaimed a hasty no, but she could hear his heartbeat. Know his lies. “Liar” she hissed, letting him go with a shove. “Judas betrayed Jesus three times. Three times, it was accepted, it was foretold. How many times have you betrayed us?”

“I didn't want it to go that far, I was afraid-” “Did you not think I was afraid? Did you not think Maria was? Teia? Who of us did you truly ever love? Has the person you loved most not always been yourself?” Emmanuel's eyes dropped to the open grave. She stood back up. “The Flesh is weak, but the mind is strong, is that not what they claim? In your case, I do not think your mind to be strong whatsoever. You are weak. You are no vessel for god, you are just a man. Pathetic, old and weak.” Emmanuel couldn't answer. What could he possibly say that wouldn't feel out of place? “I will haunt you until your final days. You can speak of mercy of me. Drolta was right, we can do so much more to you than death ever could.”

She had vanished into smoke when he looked back up.

The next time was the middle of the night, she was sitting on the altar, instead of a proper dress only one of those nightgowns, all silk and gold. She was lounging on it, as if it was a love seat. “Erzsebet is going to complete her soul.” Was what she first said. Emmanuel didn't know what she meant, he approached anyway. “What do you mean?” She sat up, offered for Emmanuel to sit. He didn't. “I am afraid I do not particularly know. But her Soul, Sekhmets soul, it is parted, and Erzsebet has only one. The second one, Drolta will recover tonight. Then she will… Complete herself.” For the first time since she was a vampire, Emmanuel could see the trace of what he thought was once a goddess. “Then, my fate is sealed” he choked out, and pity — fake or real. He didn't bother to question — crossed over her face. She beckoned him closer, and he did. Standing right in front of her. “I wasn't fair to you. Emmanuel. I was angry. I will not see heaven because of what I have become. Neither will you because of what you have done. Do you think we will see the same parts of hell?"

“My Soul Is as black as a human soul could be. Yours may not be human, but it's still shining warmth. You will see a part of hell I can only dream of ever catching a glimpse of.” Despite the topic, his words still remained full of love, devotion. He still worshipped her, albeit differently. “You always were a charmer.” She leaned forward, lips pressing against his softly. “Spend one last night with me, before we cannot lay beside each other anymore.”

How could he resist?

The fox spirit only loves once, at least according to legend. Hidden in the depth of the temple on the hill, a stone statue reminds of the myth, a woman with fox ears and tails and claws, crumbled to the ground in what looks like a devastating cry. Doomed to suffer for eternity, the immortal spirit once fell in love with a mortal human, the human gifted her the present of a child, but he perished before seeing the fruits of their love. And the child never saw the light of day. Doomed forever to eternal grief, the spirit didn't want to live on, begging the gods to turn her to stone.

The fox spirit only loves once, and the young woman visiting the shrine found it admirable, yet tragic. To be remembered forever for the thing that destroyed you, admired for the nature you couldn't deny, even if you wanted to… There was a romantic note to the tragedy, and a bitter-sweet ending. Afeni had been hypnotized the first time her mother had taken her here, telling her myth after myth about the Fox Spirit. Li'hua, as engraved in the platform under the statue. A pretty woman, clad in a kimono, snout distorted in a pitiful wail, long, stoned hair flowing like a curtain of water in front of her. Yet in all the tragedy and sorrow, the statue, the woman, was of sheer perfect beauty.

The temple was small, run down, barely kept up to date, yet the statue seemed untouched. The black woman always found it weird, how the statue didn't weather, but alas, it was of a fox spirit. Maybe someone was tending to it, Someone who did not care for the temple itself. Or the spirit was more powerful than legend gave her credit. Whatever the reason, her mother raised her well, she never failed to present her offerings any holiday. Afeni would make sure the fox spirit was appeased, would be able to rest and maybe, one day, be able to smile once more. But life goes on, in disregard to tradition and beliefs. Afeni got busy, she went less and less — until she stopped.

Life got less busy, calm, and she found time. A perfect time. A fox spirit, crying, who had found a new companion, abandoned for ages. Afeni would have to bring a better and bigger offering than usual. So she got to baking. A whole batch of beautiful draped pralines, each a different flavour, a different story of her legend etched onto the chocolaty shapes. Just in time for Valentine's Day, a day the poor spirit must feel her worst. She packed the chocolates, and went back once more.

The temple was in even worse shape, one pillar was completely gone, the floor littered in trash, whatever remained smeared with graffiti. Yet, the stone statue looked unharmed. Afeni sat down the box of chocolate, looking for a clean place to kneel down on. She brushed some moss away with the sleeve of her kimono, before she knelt down and started to pray. Her eyes closed, she prayed for the fox spirit once more, that she ought to find peace in her grief, that she ought to find a new love, worthy of her time and heart, a love who would not break her heart again.

The stone cracked.

Afeni looked up, eyes shooting open. The statue cracked. A big gash in the stone, like the slice of a sword running over her face, down to her arms, the intricate carving of hair ruined by a deep spiders web now engraved in the stone. She frowned, looking at the offerings. She knew she shouldn't move them, but she didn't want the statue to fall on it. She took the small package of chocolate and put it to the side, but once she turned back, the statue was a mere pile of stone chunks. She hadn't heard it at all, surprisingly. She decided to head home.

A woman stood at the top of the stairs, long orange hair and a slender face, tight, sharp eyes, much like a fox. She wore traditional clothing, much to Afenis surprise. “Afeni?” She didn't know this woman, yet she looked so familiar, a name dancing on her tongue and in her mind, blurry scenes of a life she never lived in her mind. “Why do you know my name?” Whoever the woman was approached slowly, gracefully and placed a hand in the slightly taller girl's cheek.

Afeni noted her long nails, somehow they reminded her of claws. “You look the same, even after all this time.” The black woman let her. There was something about the other woman who made her feel at home. “I don't know you. But I feel like I should” the smaller woman's eyes softened, sorrow drowning out any other emotion in her face. “It's not your fault.” She let go of her, taking the box of chocolate from the floor. “The gods have their whims, whims mere mortals or spirits cannot circumvent.” Afeni looked back at the statue, crumbled to the ground. The name carved into the stone below, long unreadable. “You loved me before, right? A lifetime ago?” The fox spirit nodded. “Long ago, dozens of lifetimes, you and I were the proof for true love.” She took one of the chocolates out of the box, admiring the Handiwork.

You remembered that day very well. Back then you were unsure of why you were running, why everyone was running, but you just knew you had to leave everything behind. It was only a few days later when you found out you couldn't go back, when you realized Titans had destroyed your home. You wanted revenge, you wanted freedom, so it came to no surprise you joined the Military. Training was rough, traumatic even. And then there was that absolute idiot called Jean, the true epitome of annoying, he seemed to think he was above everyone, scummy goals. You hated his guts, he hated yours.

That was, of course, until later. He matured fast and quickly, growing from a childish, headbutting boy into a survey corp member. It took a while for you to realize he had changed, form the boy only wanting to be safe in the Innermost city, to the man he became after the Female Titan. You only realized it later, when they were trying to rescue Eren and Historia yet again, in that cave with crystal walls. He had matured, and you had failed to realize.

You treated him with respect after, appreciating his input, and instead of bullying each other, friendly conversation started. And something more grew inside of you, but you held back. Your Job was dangerous and it wouldn't be fair to try and achieve something more, not to mention you didn't know what he would think.

Jean had turned into a nice, fine gentleman and impressive. You were in awe at his dedication, the way he had shed that stupid competitive skin of his, instead he had grasped the dangers of this life, realized to trust and protect. He knew he wasn't the strongest, he wasn't as great as Levi or Mikasa, not as Important as Eren. He knew his shortcomings, and more importantly, he realised them, discovered work arounds, had developments. He turned into a team player. Funny, charming, mature.

It didn't take long for you to fall for him, despite everything that was happening, or maybe because of it, you liked him. Like turned to love, or at least a crush - denial in your gut. How could you fall for him, you hated him. And then -

"We're going to Marley"

You stood there, the front door of your farm wide open behind you. "What?" Paradis had been cleared of Titans. You didn't understand why Marley was a big problem, you were free on this island, you didn't need the entire world, what would you even do with it? Why couldn't they tear down the walls? Kill the titans in them? They didn't listen to your claims, your requests. The titans were dangerous, even if they were inactive. You wanted freedom, seeing the horizon for once, no walls raking high. You didn't know anymore what you were holding, you only remembered you put it down, nearly dropping it at first.

"What?"

"We're going to Marley, we want to see what they're like. We want to see how our enemies live, how they see us currently, I mean the books if Erens father was old, maybe they changed?" You didn't know what to say, what to do. You stood there, for a solid minute, before shaking your head in disbelief. "No... No. No! Why? Why would you go? We're free, we have our Island, it's big enough, why would you all leave?"

"We're not free. We won't be free if we can't leave this island, why is a farm enough for you? You joined the survey corps for a reason, didn't you? For freedom, to see the world. Why stop when it gets difficult?" You squinted, confused, blinking rapidly.

"That's not... You don't get to talk to me this was, Jean. Not now. You know I wanted my farm back. The farm my parents had, I wanted no walls, I didn't care about that stupid journal, you know that, Jean, you know that! We don't need an entire world for us few thousand, when the world is full of Millions who want us dead!" "Don't you want to prove them wrong? Don't you want to be free, really, truely free?"

What could you only say to get him to stay? You loved him. You admitted that to yourself then and there. You loved him. Why was he being such an idiot now? "I would love to see the world, but I love my farm more. I love my own small living I make. I don't need more, not if this true freedom comes with being hunted, prosecuted, by everyone else. Why can't you see that? Why can't you understand my point? Freedom isn't the highest virtue, everyone binds and chains themself in one way or another. If your freedom means leaving Paradis, then I won't be able to object you, but don't judge me for my choice."

He looked down at you, there was sadness in his eyes. "You're an important part of the team, you can't stay behind, wouldn't that be desertation?" "Someone has to clean up here. Someone has to stay behind. What if you die? What if they catch you? Why can't you just stay here?" "I want to see the world, I want to see Marley, I want to see beyond the cage that is this island!" "But what happened to staying safe? What happened to just... Living life?!"

His gaze seemed to soften. "I don't understand why you can accept this, living here, knowing what looms at the horizon, they won't let us stay here in peace, one day they'll attack. We foiled their mission of acquiring the Founding Titan and meanwhile managed to capture two if theirs, we will not be able to live in peace." It was your turn to mull over his words, rolling them around in your head. "Fine, just... Just come back alive, please?"

It sounded like a war, the kind of war told in fantasy stories of kingdoms and betrayal, yet you stayed on Paradis, as promised. The way Paradis changed with the absence of the Survey Corps most important, most esteemed members was… jarring. They grew aggressive, resentful. It didn't take long for Paradis to not feel like home. Without your friends, without the one you loved... You were alone, surrounded by a bunch of, what seemed to you, idiots. Idiots chasing a stupid ideal that would never be. Why couldn't you live in peace? It made no sense. Why did you always have to fight, why couldn't freedom just be something you all strived for?

A year passed. You barely ever went back into the walls, the cities changed forevermore, people judging you. A corps member who abandoned their corps, you were a traitor, deserter. Only the most necessary or trading being done, before you left. The cities were dangerous. As you made your way back on your horse, the animal pulling the load, you got stopped, pulled to the side of the road. You could hear the sound of a bunch of horses, hoofs clacking against the stone floor. Some celebratory roars were heard, but it was different. The first people you saw on horses, clad in uniforms from the Survey Corps. Wait. What?

You sat up straight. A single year was all they had needed? You looked, scanned for the members, Hange at the very front, followed by some of your trusted companions. Then, Jean. God, he looked so good. You jumped off your horse, pushing through the crowd, probably even running over some people. "Jean!" He didn't hear you. "Jean!" You pushed further through the crowd, pushing the bystanders into each other to clear a path. You broke out of the crowd, dodging the soldiers keeping watch and running after Jean who had passed the spot you'd been fighting through. "Jean!" He finally heard you, turning to look around, spotting you running towards him. He seemed shocked, lighting up fairly fast, as he punched Connie, who was next to him, in the side, pointing towards you. Connie alerted Mikasa, and so on. You managed to catch up, considering they weren't letting the horses run. "Jean, you're back!"

He pulled you up onto the horse in front of him, it was extremely uncomfortable since the saddle was only meant for one person, he secured you with one of his hands around your waist. "We're back. What are you doing here, thought you'd be on your farm?" There was a bitter undertone in his voice. "I was" you explained "just had to get some stuff from the city." He hummed. "How is it over here?" You pushed forward, leaning against him, turning with a hand over your mouth so no one could read your lips. "Terrible. It feels like they've all lost their minds. Everyone is going crazy, they all want a full out war. Where's Sasha?" Jean stayed quiet.

"She died."

The words hit you deep. "What?" He didn't repeat them, didn't answer, his hand tightened around your waist, as he focused on staying in formation. "You're kidding" tears welled in your eyes. "You're kidding! She didn't.." he leaned in "We're at war. Eren is planning something, I can tell. I don't think it's a good thing." You'd normally swoon over how close he was, a year ago, you would have struggled to breathe. Now, you did the same, but the reasons were very much different. It was rough, knowing how many of your old friends had died, changed, turned out to be traitors. You didn't react and Jeans gaze seemed distant. There was no answer, no reaction. "I... I'm sorry, if I would have come with, maybe I could hav-" "no"

Doflamingo had surprised you once today already, with a grand party on the castle roof, with dance and music and food in abundance, a stunning view from so high up. You, of course, had expected the family to celebrate with you, but not this grand and unnecessarily big. Yet, there was more food than you all could eat in three days, the music was catered to you specifically, and even your clothes had been picked out from Doflamingo. It was your choice to wear it, yes, but they were so comfy and pretty, and hadn't he had spent extra time picking something out for you? And after all the party and games and decorations falling down and all the dancing, you were happy to fall into bed, your birthday gifts piled in a corner. Doflamingo however, apparently had one last birthday gift for you.

When he finally came to bed as well, haven taken care of storing the food away for tomorrow, you already planned to snuggle into him, was stopped by him pressing a soft kiss to your lips and a hand on your shoulder, pressing you back into the mattress. Before you could react really, you were sat up for less than a second and laid back down, enveloped in a flourish of pink feathers, Doflamingos warm coat underneath you. Your eyes automatically fixated on Doflamingo, he had his glasses still on - he usually did, but he never objected when you reached for them when you were alone. Just like right now, you slowly reached for them, and he waited, patiently, as you gently took off his glasses and placed them on the table next to the bed. "Hey" The blonde chuckled at your whispered greeting. Then, he nuzzled his head against your neck, his tongue licking a bold stripe up your neck to your chin, before whispering a "hey" back into your ear.

You could see his eyes wrinkle, as he smiled at you, that smile you were so used to seeing. "I have a surprise for you. You want to see it?" You eagerly nodded, your hands gliding through his short, blonde hair. The man hummed, the door opening with a twitch of his finger, before you could hear another set of footsteps, heavy and thumping on the rich stone floor. You pushed Doffy a little to the side, sitting up a bit, as you tried to see who it was. The man who entered was sleek, tanned skin with slicked back black hair, a custom tailored button up paired with neat jeans and shiny dress shoes. There was a striking green tie tucked into that vest-button up, a black coat with a real fur lining at the top, sleeves hanging off his shoulders, the scar across his face.

"Sir Crocodile?" The man chuckled. "That's a title I lost, sweetheart. It's just Crocodile now" he sauntered towards the bed, towering over your laying form, the other man still laying over you, your body covered halfway by his lean form. The tanned man shrugged off his coat, catching it with the hook he had for a hand, handing it to you. "If you'd be so kind?" You took the coat in your lap, watching as Crocodile removed his shoes. "Doll" Doflamingo called, your attention snapping back to him. "You want both of us?" A blush spread over your cheeks. "Uhm- I mean, you're both... If you're okay with that?" Doflamingo chuckled. "I wouldn't suggest it, if I wasn't." Crocodile meanwhile undid the big tie, not really a tie in any way you had seen before, as he unbuttoned his vest, shrugging it to let it fall on the floor.

Crocodile was built like a god, if you would have to describe it, the tan very much natural, mostly, muscles bulging, a few scabs in his skin and a thin golden chain hanging low around his neck. "I wouldn't be here if I had any objections. Be a darling and hand me a cigar?" You were confused, looking up at him, as he motioned towards his coat in your hands. You fiddled with it, realising what he wanted, pulling a metal case out of his pocket, handing him one of the big cigars inside, along with a lighter in the same pocket, pointedly ignoring the package that felt a lot like a condom. "Such a sweet thing, Thank you" he grinned, lighting it and puffing smoke into the air. Doflamingo sat up on his knees, looking down at you, pupils blown with lust. Then, he reached for you, pulling you up towards him, turning you so you were sitting right in front of him.

"Alright, Doll. Why don't you show off for him?" He whispered into your ear, pushing up your shirt slightly. Not enough to expose anything serious, in case you decided to back out. "Show him what he gets to taste tonight?" You didn't waste another second after that shiver ran down your spine, shrugging off the shirt you were wearing and getting rid of your bra, throwing them to the side. Just as you were about to move to your pants, Crocodile stopped you with his hand, while Doffy made sure you were wearing his coat yet again, the pink feathery garment draped over your shoulders. You felt his breath against your ear. "What do you say, you greet him properly?" You watched as Sir Crocodile blow out some smoke. "Go on, show our guest just how welcome he is."

He nudged you off the bed, his hand on your lower back, before gesturing for Crocodile to sit down on the couch across from the bed. The other man did just that, his eyes trained on you the entire time, a predatory hint in his eyes, taking drags from the cigarette every now and then. You walked over, standing in front as he reached out with the hook on his hand, gently dragging the cold gold from the waistband of your pants up, along your sides to your breasts. He made sure not to press into your skin with the pointy tip, as he explored your body. He hummed approvingly, smoke coming out of his nose, using the tip he had refrained from using to hook into your pants, pulling you closer so you were standing between his legs. "Would you kneel for me, pretty mouse?" You didn't give an answer, sinking to your knees. He hummed again. "What a perfect view" and pushed your hair up with his hook. "Would you be a good little princess and help me out?"

Your hands were resting on his thighs, as you gently kissed him, teasing him with your tongue, secretly imprinting him into your mind. He had only pulled out his cock instead of completely taking off his pants, and he was built very much differently. Crocodiles cock was much thicker than Dolfamingo, especially at the base, yet he was also much shorter, it didn't curve as much upwards as the others did either, instead leaning to the left a little. It didn't matter much to you though, you worked on teasing him further, pressing another kiss to his lip before starting to take him into your mouth. A low hum, sounding more like a suppressed groan, sounded throughout the room. His hand slipped into your hair, not pushing or using you, simply tangling in your hair. You pushed farther, his dick heavy and hot on your tongue as you managed to take it all, the stretch of your mouth more uncomfortable than pleasurable, your nose tickled by his pubes.

When you started moving, swirling your tongue, you could hear him grunt and groan, still trying to surpress moans, that was until your hand sneaked into his pants at a Weird angle, finding his balls to tease them as well. "Fuck" he muttered, you could see his head falling back, his hand falling to his face, letting go of you, to take out his cigar. "That's real good" You strained to look up at him, it was a wonderful sight, almost ethereal. He didn't activate your gag reflex, even when taking him completely, so you were going much quicker than you would with Doffy, and it was great. Sir Crocodile seemed to fall apart quick, the cigar nearly falling from his fingers. He looked divine. You sucked a little as you pushed back down towards the base, hollowing your cheeks, his hips bucked up, paired with a low "Fuck" falling from his lips.

Your gaze had drifted back down, less straining on your eyeballs, until his hand landed back in your hair, tugging at your hair. "Look at me, sweet Prince" Your eyes shifted back up, he was holding the cigar in his mouth with his lips, a wicked grin on his face. His eyes were wide with desire, the smoke coming out of his mouth and nose in rhythm with his groans and pants. "You want me to cum in your mouth so badly?" You moaned around his dick as answer, the sensation rumbling through him. "Fuckin' Mouse-" a breathless moan interrupted him as your teeth grazed along his skin. An equally breathless laugh followed. "You like it that much?" He teased, his shoe nudging the hand buried in your pants and you whined. Crocodile glanced past you, at Doffy, but you didn't know for sure, then another nudge of his foot followed. "No touching yourself, c'mon. If you need something, you have to ask" your retorts came out as more moans around his cock. A wicked laugh left his lips, as he pressed you down, holding you there. "Oh right."

His shoe, those shiny dress shoes, pressed between your legs after you pulled your hand out. "Use my Shoe, Mouse. Show me how desperate you got just from sucking my cock." You moaned, he still held your head at his base, maybe so you could focus on rutting your core against his shoe, or maybe to get a little break. Nevertheless, you started grinding and he laughed again, humming in approval. You could feel him twitch inside your mouth at the sight, his hand pulling you nearly completely off, watching your expression carefully. "Yeah, you like that?" You hummed around him, rubbing yourself nearly violently on his shoe.

Then, he let you go, allowing you to pump him into your mouth until he started twitching more and more, his groans now loud. The extremely sweet fluid leaking from his tip into your mouth, he was really close, when he pulled you off, retracting his foot as well. The former Warlord grabbed your chin, your cheeks squishing in his hold, mouth open, gasping for air, as your hands grabbed at his thighs, whining at the loss of both, dick and shoe against your clothed core. You shuffled closer, wanting to feel him cum in your mouth, yet he pulled you up once you got close enough, effectively stopping you from fulfilling your plan. "Such a handsome sight, would be a shame to cum this fast"

You could feel something attach to your back, gently pulling you out of Crocodiles grasp, into Doflamingo's embrace. He rested his chin on your shoulder, hogging you. He had put his glasses back on, that evil grin on his face, as he looked straight at Crocodile. You could feel his hot skin behind you, one of his hands in your breast, the other holding your lower stomach, pressing you into him. "What a pretty sight, your welcome gift was, doll. You're such a good host, I think you deserve a reward." He pulled your pants and underwear off, leaving you bare. He spread your legs, showing you off to the tanned man, his head rubbing lightly against yours as he licked a stripe up from your collarbone to your cheek. "She tastes divine, in case you've been wondering."

Crocodile didn't need to be told twice, not wasting a second to kneel down in front of the bed, pulling you to stand over him, one leg draped over his shoulders, his tongue immediately lapping up the sticky fluid on your thighs, before starting to flick his tongue over your clit and teasing your entrance with his fingers. He varied, switching the positions of his fingers with that of his tongue regularly, until he had to hold you up, his grip nearly bruising. It was dizzying, you were so close, it was beyond agonizing the way he slowly ate you out, exactly because he knew how close you were. It was mean. Even meaner though was when Doflamingo came up behind you, holding you open with his finger before sliding his cock inside, Crocodile still lapping at your clit, his hand guiding your grinding on his face, simultaneously also determining the pace Doflamingos cock pumped in and out of you.

Crocodile gave off a dissatisfied grunt, his tongue and chin bumping against Doflamingo a decent amount, making the other either hiss or groan. Crocodiles eye were fixated on you, glancing past the cute pudge, over your breasts, how your face was contorting whenever he could see it, if not, he focused on how you body shook and jerked. "Sir, please-" you whined, shortly before being followed by the clamping of your walls around Doffy, your body convulsing, shaking. Your boyfriend didn't waste a minute. He swiftly replaced Crocodiles hand on your waist, not even waiting for you to come down from your high as he set his own pace, quick and rough. You couldn't help but mewl his name, watching as Crocodile licked his lips as clean as he could, before kissing you. You could taste the bitterness of your release on his tongue, yet it didn't mind you one bit. It was mixed with the taste of his cigar smoke, his tongue invading your mouth, dominating as he pushed you towards Doflamingo, your back arching uncomfortably.

Thankfully, he recognized your misery, pulling away. He wiped the saliva and excess cum away from his mouth snarking at the blonde behind you. "If you wanted your dick sucked, Doflamingo, you should have asked." You only heard that sharp, easily recognizable laugh behind you, accompanied by the rumble of his chest, the slight shaking of his body. "You're a guest, I suggest you behave accordingly"

Both men sneered at each other, you could feel the threat in Doflamingos voice, Sir Crocodile knew. But he also knew it was just empty talk, rebutting with another threat, you assumed, to busy trying to manage how deep your boyfriend was reaching. If he was a little thicker, you were sure one would have seen your stomach bulge around him. Despite his shape being seemingly printed into your insides, it was always a challenge to accommodate him. Your mind hazy, vision blurred with the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes, as the men continued to bicker. God, they should just kiss, maybe that would shut them up. You whined loudly, as Doflamingo stopped, too busy bickering with the other man, you assumed, until your eyes focused back on Crocodile in front of you. Or at least his chest. You followed his body, your boyfriend pushing his Tongue down Crocodiles throat, it looked as if he was trying to eat his face, one hand holding the other man in place.

Crocodiles hook meanwhile was hooked around your boyfriends neck. Oh, god. Doflamingo chuckled, hissing as he pushed Crocodile away. "You like that, doll? Watching your boyfriend kiss a man who just ate you out?" His hand pulled at your hair, tilting your head so you were looking at Crocodile. The man was panting, you could be wrong, but was he blushing? Before you could think about it for too long, Doflamingo slammed back into you. "Look at her. What a fucking slut she is for us"

You whined again at that, moans spilling over your lips as he pushed you towards your second orgasm quickly. It was aggressive, nearly violent, and just as you were about to cum, you body quivering and shaking, he pulled out, his hand abusing your clit, furiously rubbing it, making you topple over the edge, screaming his name, your cunt clamping down on air. Tears spilled, running down your face, as Doflamingo pulled you back, laying you on the bed, sitting you up a little against him once more, holding your legs open for Crocodile to see. "Go on, take her first. I won't wait." And nearly instantly he was right in front of you, wiping a few tears away. "How are you, my dear?" A weak smile graced his words and he smiled back, gentle and loving. "Give me my coat"

You reached, handing him his coat again. He rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a small, sleek package. It was black, golden scale-pattern lining the packaging, a golden crocodile sign in one corner. He ripped it open, taking out a sleek little round disc. A condom, of course. He kneeled in front. "Would you help me, my prince?" You didn't need to be told twice, he positioned it the right way above his pre-cum leaking cock head, his hand wrapping around yours to guide you, pushing the condom down to the base. He gave your hand a quick peck, positioning himself between your legs, grabbing your hips and angling them up a little. He didn't need to spread you out, Doflamingo holding your legs back, your thighs soaked in your previous orgasms. Then, he slowly pushed in, groaning while looking intently at your face.

Your eyes were locked together, your arms pinned between him and you as he lowered his body to nearly rest on you. God, he stretched you out so good. It was perfectly on that border between Painful and Pleasure. "You alright there, Honey?" Your answer was mingled with a moan, prompting him to continue - he slowly pulled out a little, then back in. It wasn't far or fast, but it already filed like you were stuffed full. You could feel your pussy stretch and shape around him, as he pushed and pulled, becoming more daring by the second. The eye contact was intense, like a fixation neither of you looked anywhere else. Your Boyfriend was still holding your legs open, as Crocodile settled for a slow but harsh pace. Each thrust made you feel as if he would split you apart, but in the best way possible.

You whined and moaned, begged and pleased for him to go faster, to have mercy, to make you cum, but he seemed to ignore them masterfully. One time, you were so close, he sped up, a ruthlessly rough pace, his hold surely would leave bruises the coming day, yet he stopped before you could finish. Then, settling into that calm rhythm again. You could heat Doflamingo snicker behind you, as he watched you being edged over and over again. You didn't know which time it was, that he finally gave in. Every movement, every stroke was already too much at that point. But he gave in, quickening his pace just enough, one hand pressing down on your pelvis, the pressure jaw dropping delicious, his thumb flicking your clit.

You came with a cry of his name, sobbing tears and babbling nonsense, panting for air as he rode out his orgasm too. You had felt him twitch, that groan of your name, followed by him slowly shrinking. He didn't wait long, pulling out and throwing the condom where Our boyfriend instructed him to. The blonde had a wicked smile on his face, as a hand teased your swollen, overstimulated pussy. You cursed and writhed for the short few seconds he did so, before he too, pulled a condom out, handing it to you, giving you the choice. You ripped it open, he pulled it on before easily sliding in. You were a little loose this time around, but nothing that wouldn't be possible with the right stimulation. Crocodile watched as he fucked into you with ruthless abandon. "My doll likes being shared, huh? Making me watch while a stranger fucks you?" He groaned, a hand resting on your throat. You could feel the threads attach to you, holding your arms above your head and your legs up.

Angela Ziegler knew better than to trust Moira O'Deorain. She knew better, she should have known better. For years, she had despised her methods, had resisted a collaboration between the two, had decidedly pushed everything away Moira had offered.

Moira just wanted to advance her research, she wanted to surpass death, but she was ruthless. Angela knew that very well. Blackwatch was a disgrace in her mind. Out of hand, uncontrollable and wild. Blackwatch was evil, more so because of the fellow scientist hired.

Angela always met Moira with disdain, dismissive and absolute. Judging her Methods and morals, yet Moira remained unbothered. Calm. Objective set on discovering her revival technology. No, she had long ago made up her mind. Never would she put her trust in Moira, never would she work together with her and never would she believe her words.

Moira had escaped the attack unscathed, Mercy — Angela — had not. Angela was in her Mercy Uniform, the Wings in her back, fitting to her name, bleeding profusely. A part of the protective armour was shattered, flesh exposed underneath and Moira could already tell what a disaster it was, shrapnel and dirt in her open wound, if she was lucky, she could get it out. If only Angela would let her.

Angela's mind was fuzzy, edges blurring and her thoughts mixing into a muddy soup. But she stood strong, slapping away Moira's hands, whenever she caught the slender, bony limbs reach and touch. “My staff”

Moira had already looked for the staff, partially because she wanted to look at it, understand it, but mainly because a great mind like Angela's shouldn't be lost because of stubbornness. She had pulled it out of rubble, and while she was unsure about how it worked, it was broken in multiple pieces. It somehow looked alive inside, and if it was, it wasn't anymore. It had burned and soot was covering the shiny metal.

Angela knew she couldn't fix her staff in time. They were trapped anyway, and Moira needed her if she wanted to escape — there was a window above them, but it was too high for the Irish Woman to reach, even with using the rubble as a vantage point. The highest she got was her long fingernails barely scraping along the glass. Moira had no choice. She was the one who had it. If she would let Moira help her, surely she wouldn't do anything stupid?

Moira had tried breaking the window and failed. The explosion had caged them in, it was a miracle the godforsaken window stood strong, albeit a terribly timed miracle. She clicked her tongue as she walked quickly over to Angela, her shoes clicking against the floor, as she knelt down. “Let me help you, Angela. I promise I won't do anything, all you have to do is trust me.”

Angela had trusted Moira once. Back when they were still in med school, she had trusted her and Moira had coldly used it against her. Angela knew Moira, she knew her nature, she knew Moira wouldn't be able to resist another betrayal of trust, it's what she did to everyone, she didn't care. But Angela cared. At least she would have, her mind was too unfocused, too messy. She couldn't grasp a single thought, and as Moira's hands grasped at the Armour, she couldn't lift herself to stop her, her hands not raising as she tried. She was so weak, so tired.

Moira smiled, as she tugged the armour off, Angela pale and sweaty, as she looked at the wound, taking out the shrapnel with her medical equipment she carried with. Angela flinched and yelped at the pain, but Moira was undeterred. She lifted Angela's undershirt, securing it with a loose knot so it wouldn't fall over the wound steadily leaking blood. Threatening words left Angela's mouth, but the vigor behind it was missing, so Moira continued.

Angela was helpless. She watches as if dazed, as Moira took out a bottle of disinfectant, but instead of doing it properly, she poured it into the wound, a wicked smile on her features. Angela couldn't help but scream, it hurt so bad. Suddenly filled with adrenaline and pain, she pushed Moira from her slumped body, as she turned, trying to crawl along the wall. She wouldn't get far, she couldn't, with them being trapped, but she sure would try.

Moira wasn't pleased. It wasn't the first time her patients went running. Sometimes she let them, only to chase them afterwards - sometimes, it was just thrilling fun, but not this time. Scoffing, Moira reached for Angela's shoulders, roughly spinning her around before pointedly seating herself on her hips, pinning her down. Angela yelled, thrashed. The wound leaked more blood and Moira got angry. She didn't want Angela to die of blood loss, that wouldn't do. Extending her right arm, she aimed at the other Overwatch employee, also injured but already unconscious, extracting his life force, before showering Angela in the soft, warm, sharply stinging healing spray.

Angela was surprised at first, she was scared, afraid of Moira but Moira had actually helped her. She retracted her hands from trying to punch and push Moira, as Moira reached out. Her expression was neutral, as she softly grabbed her hands, and then, in less than a second, Angela was helpless again. Her hands were pinned over her head with Moira's right hand as she could only watch how Moira pulled a syringe out of her med kit, the contents purple like her biotic grasp, before she injected it right where her old wound was.

Moira watched as Angela lay there, helpless and restrained, only able to wait for the effects of whatever Moira had just injected her to kick in. Moira, of course, knew what she had injected her fellow scientist with. Soon, Angela would feel nauseous, she'd fall unconscious before the chemical could actually fulfill it's true purpose — making her a slave to Moira, just like she had chained Reyes, Amélie and Siebren.

He had spent his life living for anyone but himself. Reiner Braun, the son loving his mother so much he would die for her. Reiner Braun, the son who became a warrior for his mother. Reiner Braun, the child sent to war to protect his mother. It was no surprise that by the end of his 13 years he wanted to die. It was no surprise he wanted to choose how to go out, and yet, he had been denied that sweet release every single time.

He had seen wars and blood and death, had killed more people than most in the world when he was still a child. He had been tasked with genocide of an entire civilization when he was 12. Most other children would fawn over cars and races and get into fights with the neighbours kids about some girl they liked and get home to an angry mother and fresh food, and he was strategically plotting how to doom an entire nation, in the name of peace.

Of course, he didn't know then, that it wasn't peace. It was fear, it was war. He was a slave, a slave to anyone who gave him orders. It wasn't his fault, of course, it was the fault of the world, the people around him. It was the fault of Eldia, Marley, his mother, the soldiers… When Marcel died they should have returned, but he pressed on. They weren't about to throw away their chance at 'peace' just because of one death. It was his fault of course, the horror, the dread he felt when he had seen the overgrown titan leap out of the ground, seen Marcel get caught by the titan, seeing him get stuffed between his teeth, the sound of bones as they were crushed, heard his screams upon the pain Marcel felt. He was frozen. What could he have done? Marcel was the leader, he was suited far better for this entire job than him. Maybe Porco had been right, he didn't deserve the Armoured Titan. Then they broke the first wall, a team effort just for a chance to mix under the people — no — the monsters who caused all this suffering. The monsters who followed their leader, the founding Titan, who worshipped him, who praised him…

And they screamed. Ran. They behaved like… Like people. Getting eaten, crushed, trampled. They tried to save their dogs, cats, horses, their children, their wives. They didn't look so different. He enrolled in the Survey Corps with only one intention but at that point. Everything had already started to shift. He had dreams of being a warrior, dreams of being a soldier, and everything seemed to muddle up. Until, eventually, he wasn't Reiner Braun, the son living for anyone but himself anymore. He had become Reiner Braun, the friend and soldier finally making his own decisions. But it was fleeting, like a beaten dog always returning to its owner for food, he always found his way back. Escaping. Into this false reality where Eren wasn't a threat, a reality where he could just be what he was — a teenager, even if he was very mature and enrolling in yet another military. It was an escape, a dream, a wish.

And then they stood on that roof, discussing their plans, before they realized their fatal mistake: Marco. Reiner didn't think. At that moment, he was a warrior. Anything for his success. Everything was only for his success. No matter what or who he had to sacrifice. Marco was a sweet boy, nice and forthcoming, the exact opposite of these “monsters” he had been taught about. He felt with Annie when she hesitated, as he held him down. And then, he stood there, watching Marco getting gobbled down like a small snack. And he fled. How? How could he do this? Marco was his friend, no, his enemy, but what enemy that forgave him? It hurt, in his chest and in his brain, so he shut everything down. And then-

Wait, why was Marco getting eaten?

The second breaking of the wall was a plan. A return to the trauma he experienced. He knew how much damage he'd done. He'd seen the way they screamed, ran. Escaped for naught as they got caught and eaten and trampled and thrown. It was so similar. It was calculated and carefully crafted, but yet, there was a panic inside of him. He did his job, but by god, if there was one, how he just wanted to run. To die. They were just humans, just like him, his family, his mother, like all those who looked down on eldians, there was no difference. Not when they ran and screamed, terrified of the giants invading their home, their sanctuary. What was he doing, torturing, killing innocents? Children, people the farthest away from responsible for the crimes of their ancestors? People oblivious to their criminal past? Who was he, who were they to play judge?

And then, there he was — Eren, a Titan, no, not just any Titan. The Attack Titan, their goal, their mission. This was their objective, yet still his heart seemingly stopped beating. Eren was their mission. But the boy was reasonable, was he not? He was a Titan shifter, they definitely could talk to him, he hated Titans as much as they did, they could argue, he could convince him, he certainly could. So the next plan was set in motion. And from then on, everything seemed to fail miserably. The kidnapping backfired, Annie got captured, they nearly died, so then, Reiner made a decision.

Maybe his next decision already was one of tragedy, the stupid idea he had to tell Eren, tell him in front of basically everyone. The few feet of distance, what would they do? He didn't want to risk Bertholds life, yet he did, and his as well. A risk he took, a risk he nearly had to pay the price for. Precious seconds the difference between his death and survival, yet he survived. Maybe, he would ask himself later, maybe that already was the point where he wanted to die. The first attempt at a suicide, possibly. In the end, it all clumped together in his memory, a haze over his intentions and experiences, yet they still stung as clear as day. What was he doing?

Berthold died alone. And it was his fault. He couldn't protect him, he wasn't even there for him. No. He had to be saved, he had to be carried away, after loosing three titans, of which they only got back one, loosing a fourth was not an option. Reiner had failed. As a leader, a friend, a fighter, a warrior. He had failed Marley, failed to save his family, he was cursed with failure, and he was destined to forever be the symbol of incompetence. So they returned to Marley, while he grieved his only real friend. He was miserable. Reiner had failed at the easiest of tasks, he was supposed to be one of the best warriors of Marley, of the world, yet maybe they had been right. He wasn't prepared. He wasn't fit for this role. If only Marcel would have been alive. If only he would have died instead.

Marley was miserable, just like on Paradis, they lived in a cage, unlike on Paradis, he was a caged dog on a leash, a slave for war. He was home, yet he didn't feel farther away from home than he felt on Paradis. The fights, the senseless rage that Marley instilled into the next generation of warriors, it was nonsensical, complete lies fabricated in order to boost this way of thinking in black and white, their worldview. It was brainwashing at its finest. And now, as he was older, with what he saw himself, it seemed so clear, how could he have fallen for these blatant lies? The blatant propaganda? Marley was loud in such a different way to Paradis. The amount of times he wished he could just die, it was ridiculous. Yet somehow, he survived. He had been so close so often, rifle propped against the floor, the icy muzzle pressed into the wet cavern of his mouth, leftover gunpowder mixing with his saliva. Adrenaline pumped, his finger on the trigger. In less than a second, it all could be over. It would be over.

And he didn't shoot.

If only he had been strong enough to pull that trigger, he wouldn't have had to face Eren. Of all people, that boy a little bit too much like him, he may not have been a boy anymore, yes, but yet again, Reiner found himself begging for death, and again, he was not to be granted the release he so desperately sought. Again he was denied, and again he saw screaming, crying, running. Death. Another battlefield. Another detestation. Another Nightmare to add to his list.

The last mission. For one last time, an attack on Paradis. Return the Titans, stop them. That familiar haven, the familiar city and walls, years spent, wasted here, the place of his failure, the place of his sorrows. And finally, he was on the floor, he was ready to sacrifice himself, save one of the children, die at least in a meaningful way, he had surrendered. He was prepared. He had said his goodbyes, as there were none left to say. And then. Of course, even with his armour undone, his flesh nearly bitten through, there was something bound to get in his way. Another friend, another teammate lost.

Why was he surviving? Why was he the one everyone chose to safe? Why, why, why?

God, how he hated himself. How he wished he had pulled the trigger before meeting Eren again. If only he had accepted his fate. If only his mother wouldn't have pushed him. If only he wasn't born an eldian. If only he wasn't born at all.

And in the end, 80% of humanity had died. And he was still standing. So many of his friends were dead, his family was dead. Annie survived. God, how he had hated her at the start, how he had despised her way of icy rebellion. And now, they stood side by side and there was nothing he wanted to complain about. Reiner wondered if it had all played out differently, if he wouldn't hate himself so much if only he had been born on Paradis, together with his… was he allowed to calm them friends? He has betrayed them, attempted to kill them, was he really in the right to call himself a friend? The others didn't seem to mind, yet even after they decided to return to Paradis, he still couldn't shake, couldn't comprehend.

The night was dark, the stars seemed to have disappeared, just like the moon, the waves crashed into the rocky shore, the wind cold on your skin and the grass wet beneath you. You shivered, an ice-cold and bulky hand running up your body, clothing already long discarded on the grass. His golden gaze piercing your soul as he stared at you, he was lowered to the ground, his body just inches above yours as he felt you shiver and looked towards your stomach, the goosebumps rising. His hair wasn't all done up anymore, falling down his face, his clothing discarded as well long ago. He had just been admiring you, worshipping you, on this cliff in the woods, faint noises of the party on your ships reaching you, but going unnoticed, both of you too enraptured with each other.

His muscles flexed a little, eyes flickering up at you and then back to following his cold metal hand as it reached your breast, tracing along the outline before slowly running one of the icy fingers over it. You whimpered at the touch, and his eyes flicked onto your face. Kid lowered his head, giving your stomach a small kiss as he let his prosthetic fill his grip with your soft breast. Another whine escapes your throat, as you arch into him. The brute over you hums, a deep, low, delicious sound that made you shiver. Or was that the cool night air? His face still rests lightly against your stomach, his prosthetic lightly kneading you soft flesh, before the cool metal retracted. You nudged him with your leg, not wanting him to stop. He felt so hot, skin burning like the sun on a summer island, it spread through you but was quickly replaced by a chill again, the wet grass blades tickling your skin, the uneven earthy ground digging into your back.

You didn't mind, for him you wouldn't mind bathing in lava, if it meant you could see his gorgeous face and body. His eyes pierced yours, intense eye contact that made you nearly shy away, but god, why did it have to be this hot? His hair looked so good framing his face, his googles giving them free, and he looked like a god. That hungry gaze, nearly devouring you, nearly like a hunter ready to jump onto its prey, and it made you shiver again, this time, not from the cool air or his cold metallic hand. His shoulders were broad as he held himself up with his good hand. Now slowly shifting onto his right arm, the muscles playing above you. The scars adorning his body, the nasty ones from his face all the way to his abs and to where metal met skin. The two slashes on his good arm, if he would let you, you'd kiss all over him, but he wouldn't let you, too afraid he'd become too soft on you, as if he wasn't already. His hand touched you, heat spreading through your veins like a fire spreading through a forest, and all you could think of was him. Ethereal and eternal, like an angel. A devious and dangerous angel.

And you craved more. Your hand reached out, touching right above his heart and feeling the faint thumping underneath his skin, and it seemed to beat impossibly fast, but yours was beating just as much, so you paid it no mind. Slowly sliding it over the edges of muscles nearly visible, little hills and valleys on his skin, lower. His hand wrapped around yours, bringing it back up before it could even touch his belly button. He hummed against your hand, as he kissed your knuckles. All tame and pretty, handsome and infatuated. There was nothing but adoration and lust in his gaze as he slowly, oh so slowly traced kisses down your body. An eternity he spent kissing each inch of your neck and shoulders, another he spent worshipping your chest. Your arms smeared with red lipstick, your hand with the pretty black nail polish he wore as well dug into his hair, tugging him down, but he held fast. Not even wavering in his stance, not movable for even an inch.

His lips on your stomach, your thighs, his eyes closed savoring you like he would only have you this once. Maybe it would be the last time. Maybe it wouldn't. He looked so pretty, and you felt worshipped like a goddess being adored by a follower, by a fellow god, a servant worshipped by its god of lust, of desire. His red hair was such a pretty shade, oh how you wished to keep him forever. It nearly felt like forever for his lips to finally touch you where you wanted him most. First soft kisses all around your lips, then even small soft kisses on your clit, before his tongue finally darted out, tasting your fluids already leaking out of you, teasing you just right. You held your breath, your heart beating like you were running for your life, maybe, in a sense, you were. Running to give Kid everything he desired, even if it was your life. Running to take from him everything he was willing to offer, running to take his heart and swallow it, cherish it. He hummed and moaned, the cool night air nearly forgotten with how hot you two were running.

Everything about him was perfect, his tongue just as much. He knew you like he knew his ship, every quirk and every scar and everything that made you feel good. He licked at you, sucked your clit, you could even hear him audibly drink, heard him swallow in the mostly quiet night. Then, his tongue finally penetrated you, the skilled muscle moving expectedly inside of you, his wet lips smearing their red lipstick all over you. Your hands grasped at his hair, that wonderful red clouding your vision. He groaned, his eyes opening, staring at you. That golden hue haunting you in your dreams, That near predatory gaze fixed on you like you were all he ever craved. Even if it wouldn't be true, right now, on nights like these, you don't think you would find it in yourself to care. Not with the way he worshipped you, not with the way he loved you. His nose rubbing against your clit, his one hand holding, bruising your hip, the cold metal one resting on your stomach, like an assurance, he got you. And you melted into his touch, mewling and moaning like you were all alone in the world, it definitely felt like you were. The wetness of the grass forgotten, the night sky sparkling with stars upon stars, looking down at you from above, but they barely registered, too focused on the man between your legs, thighs squeezing his head just the way he loved it.

Curses left your throat, choked out words, incoherent moans, needy whimpers. He swallowed everything eagerly, every syllable leaving you, every single tiny sound, how it riled him up even more, his hips pushing harshly against the floor, rubbing them back and forth shallowly, some small relief for the desire he felt, eating you out like it was his favourite meal. He pushed you higher, closer to your climax, his hand slowly, teasingly tracing along your folds, threatening to push in alongside his tongue, pushing in only the tiniest amount before he pulled it back out. His painted nail shining in your fluid, not quite dripping but still slowly cascading down his finger, before you could feel the edge of his trimmed nail pressing perfectly onto your clit, before he shifted to use his finger bed, slowly circling it, constant pressure pushing you as far as he wanted you to, seeing you fall apart, it was the true meaning of intoxication, he was addicted and you were the drug. Pushing you past the edge. With a wail of his name, legs clenching impossibly tight around his face, his cheeks squished together, the flesh of your thighs moulding around his face.

He moaned into your warm cunt as he sucked and licked all the juices from it, before sliding back up to you, giving you a sloppy kiss, all teeth clashing against teeth and tongue pushing as far into your mouth as possible, lipstick smearing against lipstick, black mixing with red smears, his hands grabbing at everything they can, waist, hips breasts. The desperate way such a harsh contrast to the worshipping you had just witnessed, nothing unusual of course, but still something that made your heart flutter. Softly placing a hand on his shoulder, you pushed him away and like warm butter, he followed without hesitation, he didn't doubt you for a second as you pushed him to his knees, then further back until he was the one laying down. You climbed on top, one leg on each side before grabbing his dick and guiding him to slip in, all throaty moans as he finally felt the warm, wet enclosure of your pussy.

He grabbed at your hips, a bruising hold, deliciously painful, even if he didn't guide you, no, not yet. You leaned forward, hands grabbing onto his muscles, gliding, scratching, groping. Then you moved, and that was when he started to help you. He moaned out curses, praises, his pupils blown wide, as he watched your body, watched the way your tits moved, your thighs, the plush fat on your thighs and belly and arms. Watched your face, as you lost yourself in the same pleasure he felt. He was otherworldly to you, and you were godly to him. It was mutual. It was perfect, it was honest and pretty and god be damned, it was hot. You haven't had him in months, and now that you finally had him again for a single night, you just wanted it to last forever. Moans and grunts, breathy whimpers filled the deep night, stars twinkling above you, yet he couldn't care less. It was all you, only you to him, and to you, there was only him. The cool air made you tremble, or was it your approaching high? His cold hand stayed on your hip, as his other reached up and first firmly squeezed your breast, before moving to your neck and pulling you down into feverish kisses. You both were a mess. A pretty mess and perfect, and as you moaned his name, you felt him twitch and tremble for a moment, before feeling how his hot semen seeped out of him, into you. But you weren't done, and he would be damned to not let you, so continuing to guide you with his hand, his flesh one slipped down your body, slowly rubbing at your clit with so much pressure it was nearly hurting, but the joint pleasure plus the words he started to whisper between kisses were so tempting, you shuddered and shivered, cumming on his cock with another moan of his name.

Admittedly, your relationship with Kid was everything but healthy. He was loud and didn't really care about if you had to stand up in the morning, police called to your place more than once for loud screaming and arguments. There were his guy friends, his crew, that were obviously higher on his priority list than you — far higher. The amount of times he nearly went to jail for them, you'd thought Kid would have learned his lesson, but alas he never did. And you? Well, you seemed to only be there for one thing — stress relief. If that meant fucking you and screaming at you, something even throwing random stuff at you he found in the house, well, that was for him to decide on the whim.

If at least the sex was good, but even that was all about him. It was like the world revolved around him and only him and everyone had to do what he wanted. Well, too bad for him, you had enough. Years of misery finally snapping to a close, you decided he wasn't worth your time anymore. You were done with being treated like an old-timey housewife of the Middle Ages. You had packed your things while he was out with his friends again, ready to leave. There was no way in hell however you would want to miss his face when you confronted him, oh how you imagined he'd look. Would he be upset, would he scream at you again, only proving your point?

You put your last bag in your best friend's trunk, she had been kind enough to lend you a hand in her endeavor. If it went how she wanted to, you probably wouldn't even have started this relationship, but now she just sat ready to drive, the box of glitter she brought still sitting on the back seat as she gave you a last encouraging nod to take it. You didn't and went back inside, letting her know it could get late — she waited, of course. And you went back inside.

Kid was expecting food on the stove when he came back home, he didn't even notice your shoes missing on the shoe rack out front when he unlocked the apartment, but he did notice one thing — all that decor he had absolutely despised missing. He even smiled triumphantly before he realised the missing smell of fresh food. Kicking off his boots haphazardly, he stopped into the kitchen and saw you on your phone, sitting on a chair at the table. "Yo, what's with food?" "I won't make you food anymore."

There was a silence, a calm before the storm. You put your phone in your back pocket before he could fly off the handle, just in time. "What the fuck?! You're not even gonna make me food now, what are you even worth?!" You let him have his little temper tantrum, before you sighed. "We're done, Kid. I'm worth far more than you, and by all means... I really hope you never get another partner in your life, my god" He seethed, his face contorting in anger, but he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, words missing on his tongue and voice dying in his throat. "Oh, and uh, I'm moving out. Like today." You shrugged.

All the tension in him seemed to snap at once, as he lunged forwards, grabbing you by your throat and pushing you against the wall. His metal fingers pressing down hard, actually restricting your airway. "You fucking bitch have the audacity to come in here, live here for years, be absolutely useless to me, then up and leave? No, no, you don't get to do that!" "Well, I was good enough to make you food. And to get you off, apparently. Also, you hurt me in any way, I won't hesitate to call the police, I only need to press one button right now." He huffed, he really seemed like a bull trapped in a ring with gladiators, just that this was no real fight. "Don't fucking pretend like you didn't like this shit, wasn't that part of the reason you even came here in the first place?"

Ghosts & Monsters - Saint Chaos

Thanatos (End of Us) - Janani K. Jha

Black Fire - MegaGoneFree

Gladiator - Jann

Main Attraction - Jeremy Renner

Cigarettes & Feelings - The Haunt

That's All (The Villain's Lair) - PattyCake

Stuck Inside - Black Gryph0n, Baasik, The Living Tombstone, Kevin Foster

Friends - Sixlight

EVIL - Melanie Martinez

Jesus He Knows Me - Ghost

SUCKER4PAIN - Paycheck, Jxve

Eat Your Young - Hozier

Beautiful is Boring - BONES UK

ur a zombie - Jessie Paege

Sweet Talk - Saint Motel

Kill the Witch - Dave Melodicka, Melodicka Bros.

Return to Versailles - Joshua Kyan Aalampour

Bad End Theatre - True End Ver. - NomnomNami

Silver Screen - Jonny T., Foreign Figures

Play with Fire - Sam Thinnest, Yacht Money

Meddle About - Chase Atlantic

Gambling Man - Mike Hough

Mad IQs - I DON'T KNOW HOW HUT THEY FOUND ME

Empire - Nefera DeNile, Ramses DeNile, Monster High

Night Eyes - Orion Eypress

Everything Moves - Bronze Radio Return

Halo - Arcane Skye

Identity - Sarina

Smooth Operator - Single Ver. - Sade

Dance to Forget - Tryhardninja, Nina Zeitlin

Blood & Glitter - Lord of the Lost

Sometimes - Nick Lutsko

Unknown (Till the End...) - AKUGETSU

Losemyhead - littleDEATH

Take Me To Church - Annapantsu

Play Date - Melanie Martinez

Six Feet Under - Vane Lily

Black Sorrow - PARK BYEONG HOON

Looking Like This - Lyre Let Telmps

Who is she ? - I Monster

TUNNEL VISION - Melanie Martinez

Messed Up - Once Monsters, Chloe Adams

Egoist - Jenna Holiday

Pass The Knife - No/Me

VOID - Melanie Martinez

Autotheist - Baby Bugs

Tot Musica - Ado

She Keeps Me Up - Nickleback

THE CONTORTIONIST - Melanie Martinez

Babooshka - 2018 Remaster - Kate Bush

Punching Bag - Set it Off

BABY SAID - Måneskin

Don't Forget - Toby Fox, Laura Shigihara

Bones - anne october

Choke - I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Cellophane - Alice Goes to Motherland

Achilles - Pierce to Skkies

Below the Surface - Griddinilla

Love Me Dead - Ludo

CREMATE YOUR LIFE - HalaCG, LEECHY!

Hands up! - Slowed - 6arelyhuman, kets4eki, Pixel Hood

You're in Love - Joe Hisaishi

La goire à mes genoux - Le rouge et let noir

LOST IN PARADISE - ALI, AKLO

DEATH - Melanie Martinez

Engel - Rammstein

The Red Means I Love You - Madds Buckley

Pomegranate Lips - Derivakat

Simping For The Villain - Boy jr.

Light of the Sun (Sun Wukong) - Rustage, Johnaid

Always Come Back - NateWantsToBattle

Intruder (Mandela Catalogue Song) - LongestSoloEver

Lady of the Dark - Sabaton

Happy Face - Jagwar Twin

Cross My Heart I Hope U Die - Meg Smith

Human Robot - Blitz Union

Crows - Olivia Olsen

You're so Creepy - Ghost Town

This Is Love - Air Traffic Controller

cult leader - KiNG MALA

505 - Arctic Monkeys

engravings - Ethan Bortnick

NYMPHOLOGY - Melanie Martinez

LOSER - Neoni

Crazy About You - Barbados (VA: Masayuki Harada

The Toybox - The Stupendium

Take the World by Storm - Bowen Yang

First up:

The music in the club was loud, nearly deafening as you sat down near the bar, your drink right in front of you. The main lights were dimmed, wildly coloured spotlights roaming on an automated path through the room, some device near the ceiling creating a colour-changing star pattern on the floor. There was a dance floor at the farthest wall, even though most people just danced wherever they wanted to. The barkeeper was rushing around behind the bar, due to some misfortune, all alone this evening.

Taking another sip of your drink, you watched the crowd. It all seemed to blur together, like it was all distant, until you looked back at your drink, the liquid a light blue hue due to whatever juice the mocktail was mixed with. Some people were obviously singing along with the music, their voice drowned out by the bass running through you body, shaking the floor and glasses. Watching over the crowd, your eye got caught on multiple couples, some just looking great, some dancing in a ridiculous manner, others getting a tad bit too handsy. Adverting your gaze again, you downed your drink, ready to leave. It hadn't even been your idea to come here, and yet he was the one who was late.

You made your way to the barkeeper, sliding the money over you owed them, some additional dollars added, as you left. You bid the guard near the exit goodbye, wishing him a good day and leaving the estate, going up the stairs to ground level. Immediately, there was a big commotion, two people arguing about something. It was definitely the guy who checked everyone and gave them the bracelet, arguing with someone about their ID. You pulled out your phone, while walking up, already pulling up the chat with your date, writing only a meager "I'm leaving, thanks for the heads-up" and sending it. You pocketed your phone and looked towards the commotion, stopping dead in your tracks.

"Please, I swear I'm 18, how else would I have a Tattoo? I really just forgot my ID, doesn't my driver's license prove enough?!" But the Guard was unyielding, despite his logic being flawed, still denying the blonde entry. The blonde with the unique hairstyle and the striking outfit you had been looking out for all night. A blonde with a tattoo on his lower arm. It were too many similarities to be a coincidence, especially after he begged to just talk to his date waiting inside, since his phone died. You went up to him then, tapping him on the shoulder. "Cloud?" The blonde turned around, dressed in a loose, white button-up without a tie, a bit messy on his figure, yet still charming, paired with grey dress pants and black dress shoes.

He was confused, not immediately recognizing you, taking a few seconds to register. "I'm sorry, I swear I would have been here on time, but I was in such a rush I forgot my ID at home and-" you smiled, stopping him with a hand hold up "I heard, it's okay. Let's just do this another day" Cloud seemed a bit defeated, before he perked up. "Wait, uh- I... I know a place we could go, if.. if you still want to?" You blinked a few times, debating. "Sure, are you driving?" He nodded, leading you to his vehicle. You didn't know what you expected, maybe something like a car, definitely not a motorbike, though. With a bit of help from him, you got on, before he gave you a spare helmet and his riding jacket, which you happily accepted. You could tell he was a lot more careful when riding, a lot more tense. Maybe he didn't want to scare you? It was kind of cute really. And your hands felt warm thanks to his body heat, which made you wonder just how warm he was when he wasn't subjected to cold evening air. Shrugging that thought aside was probably a bad idea, considering you could just feel his muscles under the shirt, now the only thing your mind focused on. They weren't rock-hard, still a bit squishy and you hoped to god he hadn't noticed when your fingers dug into his flesh a bit, or, if he noticed, that he thought it was because of the motorcycle.

The Place you two ended up at looked nothing like the club he had chosen originally. It was a bit run down, made of wood and looked a bit messy with the string lights and the huge sign reading Seventh Heaven. Cloud let you get off the bike first, then parked it and turned to you with an apologetic look. "I know it's nothing like we planned and definitely not what you thought, if you want to leave-" you smiled and cut into his words. "It's okay, it doesn't matter where we eat or drink, we wanted to get to know each other, one as long as it's good i don't mind." He smiled. "It's the best, even if it looks a bit sketchy" You gave him back his Jacket and he packed away everything, before offering you his arm. You took his hand and he led the way, up the stairs and through the double doors. There was a woman behind the counter, gorgeous, and she already looked tough from a bit away. She looked up and surprise crossed her face. "Cloud?" She then looked at you, and before she even asked who you were she seemed to already know, instead asking what had happened for you two to end up here instead of the 'fancy' place that was the original plan.

The bar was empty, but it looked clean and lived in, loved even. Cloud didn't hesitate, striding to the counter and sitting down after you. He let you introduce each other, before he explained that she was a childhood friend who had already helped him many times in various situations. She was nice, saying she'd even give you two something to eat, as you and Cloud started your date. "So, childhood friends?" He nodded simply. "Yeah. Tifa and I have been... Through a lot of complicated-" he paused, for a minute. "It's not like we even dated, god no" he blushed at that thought. Embarrassed. "It's just a lot of complicated things we've experienced together." You smiled cheekily, sipping on the drink in front of you, shimmering just as blue as Cloud's eyes and resting you head on you hand, before you teased "So she's no one I should worry about?"

He sputtered, nearly choking on his drink, as he rushed to reassure you, while you simply chuckled. "Don't worry, I know how it is. It's good to have such a close friend, really." Your date smiled then, a small smile but it was there. "Yeah. I don't have many friends, admittedly. You don't really make a lot of friends when you have my last and my job and... Well, I've been alone a lot. Tifa was there when I needed her and I got some real good friends afterwards as well. They're good friends, all of them"

Cloud was always very vague about his job and past, but you didn't mind. It was not your place to pry. Not yet, anyways. Maybe someday... You looked at his glass, the drink a ruby red, so clear and vibrant it nearly looked like it was a crystal itself. "So, I know people always wonder, so, did you already have a girlfriend?" He pondered. "I wouldn't call her that. She was a very close friend but it was never more, even if the lines blurred sometimes." There was another faint blush. God, you just loved the way his cheek turned a light pink. "We're still close friends. You'll probably meet her some day."

You chuckled then, "Some day, huh? Looking to repeat today even before it got really started?" His cheeks turned even brighter, and he stammered a bit, definitely flustered beyond compare now. "It's not- I- I didn't mean that, it just slipped out." You laughed, and patted him on the arm. "Think about what you say better, next time" Next time. Some day. A promise of another meeting. Even if he failed to meet you on time. Even if it wasn't the best date ever or ideal or anything like it, you got to know him well. Probably even better than you would originally have, and there was just something about him. Those really bright blue eyes and the blonde hair and the soft, light paper skin had caught your attention. Paired with his tougher build, you didn't know what to expect, but he was a perfect mix of both.

"I have dated a few before. The best relationship I had was probably with a girl from a different neighbourhood, a poor one. My parents didn't approve, but she was the sweetest girl ever." You explained. "We broke it off because we realised we didn't click like that, and we stayed friends as well." His eyes rested on you, studying you. You looked back at him and smiled sweetly. "You know, every time I look at you, I have one thought in mind: pretty. How can you actually be so beautiful?" He blushed at your words, scrambling for words yet again and looking away. "It's weird how you can't handle compliments. Surely, you must have gotten these a few times, no?" He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I just... Never cared about the person saying it." "Awe, so you care about me already? It's our first date, and you're already falling for me."

In a flurry of braveness, he looked you dead in the eyes, "what if I am?" Dear Lord, you nearly felt your soul leave your body, this man had really no idea what he was doing, nearly killing you like that. You stayed silent, air whipped out of your lungs and thoughts racing through your brain, too fast to grasp. And then a whisper: "That wouldn't be a bad thing" Both of you blushed, and the evening went on. A small homely meal later, a few drinks in your system, your arm religiously brushed against his, your shoe bumping against his chair more often than before, sitting closer together now as well. You laughed and you ate and you drank. Then he had to stop, still wanting to be able to drive home. You decided to call it a night, a sense of uncertainty washing over you two.

You didn't want to push it. It had been a really fun night. He fumbled nearly every step along the way, but still managed to make it even better than expected. When you went to the bathroom, you took a pen and a piece of a bill that you left in your pocket and scribbled down your number on it, folding it. Considering he hadn't asked for your number and simply did everything via the app you two met over, you figured maybe this would push him in the right direction without pushing too far.

You returned to the counter, tapping Cloud on the shoulder. "We should probably call it a night. I have to work tomorrow, and you can't drink anymore because you need to drive, so I'd say this is a fairly good place to stop." He looked at you, from his sitting position, for a second, before he stood up. "Yeah, you're probably right. Do you want me to drive you home, or is that too soon?" You shook your head. "A little bit too soon, Cloud." You bid your goodbye to Tifa before returning to Clouds bike. "Don't worry about me getting home. I'll have a friend pick me up in a few minutes. On another note... I really had fun tonight. Somehow, even when it first looked like you had just ditched me, you made it... Probably my best date ever. Thank you for that. You leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, and handed him the paper.