#I want to be tall and strong and have voice that doesn’t get shrill when I yell

[sodacowboy]

I JUST WANT TK BE INTIMIDATIBG PLEASE

[buenasxncches]

los chicos no lloran; prompt 001 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁๋࣭

tw: mentions of murder and death, period typical homophobia, substance use.

'cause boys don't cry

It’s certainly possible that Jose took the offering of ambrosia too enthusiastically, too hastily. He’s not a stranger to psychedelic experiences, or substances meant to incur an out of body experience. He’s been to Peru, he’d done ayahuasca once when he went on vacation for a couple weeks. That was…a little over a decade ago, but he’d done it and lived to tell the tale. This can’t be that different, right? Jose doesn’t know if he actually believes all this shit about gods and powers, and immortality. He’s seen the reality of mortality, has stared it right in the cold, dead eyes countless times. He’s not convinced, not even when he’s fighting through the burning pain of the ambrosia sliding down his throat. Bottoms up. The next thing he knows the world around him blurs, the corners hazing away like a dream, there’s a familiarity to the feeling. When his eyes finally settle onto something, he sees a wall lined with smiling photographs, and tasteful art. His chest tightens and he clenches his jaw, before rolling his eyes and throwing his head back with a deep sigh. Jose shuts his eyes tightly, groaning, throwing his hands up. “Seriously? This? Here? Once was enough! I really don’t need to have this conversation again!” “-Jose, look at me. Damn it!” The deep, angry voice makes his eyes open, looking at the man standing before him. He looks just as Jose remembers, tall, strong, warm brown eyes looking down at him in a mixture of hurt, and rage. “Okay,” he says, crossing his arms tightly. “Get on with it, tell me you’re leaving me. We both know that’s where this is going.” The man, his husb-ex-husband, shakes his head with a dark laugh. “You never take anything seriously.” Jose feels a pang in his chest, fidgeting slightly in place. “That’s not true.” All he has to do is get through this, it’s just a bad trip. He’s been through things like this before. Sure, he’s living through one of the worst moments in his life, but he’s survived it before, he can do it again. “Yea, you take your job seriously. Everything else goes to the wayside. I go to the wayside. I mean, when’s the last time we’ve slept in the same bed together?” Jose couldn’t remember then, and he certainly can’t now. He stays silent, and allows himself to truly look into his ex husband’s eyes and sees the tears welling up in the corners. Had he noticed that before? He’d always remembered him being cold and angry during this interaction. This isn’t real. “I don’t know what you want from me, I have an important job to do, and I try to make time for you-” “NO!” He’s cut off, and Jose clenches his mouth shut. “You don’t get to do that! I can’t fucking do this anymore. Why did you even marry me in the first place? Just so you could check something off of your list? So, you’d have someone to take to holiday parties? I’m done.” His ex-husband-the man he loved-takes his ring off as if it burns him and chucks it at Jose’s chest, before storming out of the front door, making some of the photos on the wall shake from the force. Everything fades away as Jose looks down at his feet, when he looks up again he’s somewhere else entirely. He’s sitting in front of a small t.v, Sabado Gigante is playing, and his younger sisters are huddled next to him. They’re trying to hear what Don Francisco is saying as his mother rushes to the phone, the ringing cutting through everything. “Bajale a eso!” His mother demands loudly, and Jose turns the dial for the volume down. He knows what’s next, can count the seconds until it happens. 

1, 2, 3 A shrill scream cuts through the near silence in the apartment, his sisters startling and turning to look where his mom is. He can’t bring himself to do the same, he shuts his eyes. “Why would my mind bring me back here?” When he opens his eyes, he’s on the couch, his mother is a mess of sobs, trying to tell him that his aunt, her sister, has been found dead. He tries to comfort her, but she’s inconsolable, she tells him to watch his sisters as she figures out what to do next. He agrees. Of course he does. When he turns to look at his sister, he’s met with a completely different face. Older. Male. White. Uncaring. Jose feels bile come up. He swallows it back, his jaw clenching. “Morales, why do you give this much of a shit about some goddamn fairies?” The detective in charge of this case asks, raising a brow at him. He’s sat comfortably at his desk, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. As if people-people like Jose himself aren’t going missing and ending up dead. “Who they are doesn’t matter, it’s obvious this is some kind of serial killer targeting these men, and the more time goes on, the worse it’s going to get.” He tries to keep his voice calm, he’s still new to being a detective, had to push through a lot of bullshit to end up here, and he can’t let on why this particular case is hitting so close to home. “Is it a serial killer? Or is it just a bunch of homo drama? God knows that community’s got some problems. And even if it is some serial murderer, I got a lot of cases, I’m not ignoring this,” the detective rolls his eyes, sitting forward, looking up at Jose. “You’re still new to this, you got that hopeful glint in your eye, that’ll go away. Trust me.” Things fade to black and when he comes to, he’s looking at a wall filled to the brim with photos of victims, ones that ended up dead while he was investigating. People he failed. He tries to look away but he can’t. This is officially worse than whatever he saw when he took the ayahuasca. Fucking ambrosia. The seconds tick on by, and more photos end up piling on top of each other. The last one is his aunt’s. She’d always been so kind to him. Especially when a lot of his family hadn’t been. He’s ten years old and he’s sitting on a plastic covered couch, his belly is full, and his aunt, beautiful as ever, is pulling him into a warm embrace. “You want to go play barbies with your prima?” She asks him, smiling softly at him, full of sympathy. Understanding. Jose stills, shaking his head. “Papa said that’s for little girls, not boys.” “Ah, right. Ese comemierda. Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Go. I won’t tell him. Have fun!” Jose wants to tell her how much that moment meant to him, his eyes fill with tears, and his lips tremble. He can’t bring himself to say anything, so he squeezes his arms around her tightly, hoping to stay in this moment forever. 

[kiame-sama]

Could you do a Yandere Silva where the reader is getting hit on by a butler with a death wish and Silva freaks and it ends with rough sex where reader won’t be able to walk👀🍵

Warnings; lemon, rough behavior, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, mentioned non-con, reader gets threatened, reader has female parts, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), 69, peak into the yandere mind of an assassin,

~~~~~~~~

You sat quietly in your room, relaxing back on the large couch and idly listening to whatever was currently on the TV. It had been a fairly quiet day, but most days were quiet (other than when Silva decides he needs attention). You were rather bored, slightly considered taking a nap or even calling for Silva just for some kind of entertainment.

Just as you were in the middle of deciding what to do, the door slowly began to open. This immediately put you on guard since the only ones who would enter your room tended to fling it open despite how unbelievably heavy the door actually was. You were quick to retrieve your panic button, a distress alert Silva had given you just in precaution for someone getting to your room. It only happened once that some fool decided to kidnap you without anyone knowing until you were already gone, but he made certain it would never happen again.

You fiddled with the small device nervously, watching the door with great anticipation for whoever it was on the other side. You were surprised to see a man you had never met before. He wore a suit identical to that of the butlers that worked in the manor, but all of the butlers should know better than to even come within twenty feet of your room.

"So you're the famous Zoldyck treasure. I can certainly see why."

He looked you up and down, making you feel far more exposed than you actually were. The man was blond and had bright blue eyes that seemed to glimmer in the light of your cell. He was fairly tall, though not as tall as Silva, and he had sun-kissed tan skin. The way he looked at you like a piece of meat made your skin start to crawl, so you subtly pressed the button and hoped that this man wouldn't have the time to do anything to you.

"You're quite the big mystery. Most here don't know what's in this room, and It's even one of the most enforced rules; don't go near this room. I can see why you're considered a treasure, a lovely thing like you would attract a lot of attention. But, I don't see why you're kept away from everyone like this. Can you tell me?"

"..."

"It's okay, I don't bite, unless you want me to. You must be such a fragile little thing, being locked up like this for your safety."

"I'm not locked up for my own benefit."

"Oh?"

"I'm here because my husband doesn't like sharing."

This, instead of making the man back off like you thought it would, the man only seemed to become more interested in you due to your words. He began a slow approach towards you, making you retreat until your back was pressed against the wall and he was mere inches away from you. You tried to turn your head away from him, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of you, knowing just how Silva will react.

"He doesn't have to know... Isn't it exciting, though? Sneaking around like this."

"No."

"Oh come on, live a little, sweetheart."

"Leave me alone."

"Nah, I don't think I will. In fact, no one even knows I'm here, so no one will come check on you. I could do so many things to your tight little body with the time I have... And no one would even hear you cry for help."

"Stop- Stop it."

"So scared. Good. I like 'em scared. You're gonna be so much f-"

He was suddenly cut off by the door slamming open with enough force to make the walls shake, him turning on his heel to confront whoever just arrived. You were quick to slide past the stunned man as he turned away from you, hurriedly making it to Silva's side and hiding behind him. The man had a look of pure terror on his face, clearly not expecting the terrifying assassin to appear.

You gripped tightly to the back of Silva's shirt, pressing your forehead against his broad back as you hid from the intruder that had threatened you so gleefully. The small glimpse you got of Silva's expression was enough to tell you everything you needed to know. He wasn't just mad, he was furious. Luckily, none of that fury was directed towards you.

Not only were his burning blue eyes filled with pure hate, they seemed to glow in the light of the room with a predatorial glint. He never really seemed to smile anyway, but his expression wasn't his usual scowl, it was akin to the stone-cold expression of a wild animal ready to kill. There was a palpable hate in the air that made it quite clear Silva had no intention to let the man live.

"Did he do anything to you?"

"He threatened me."

A low hum that sounded more like a growl rumbled from his chest, clearly displeased. The man had yet to move from his original spot, frozen in terror at the intimidating visage of your furious husband. Had the situation been different, and had the man not threatened you, you would have felt pity for him, but you felt no pity now.

"Explain."

"Wha-What?"

"Explain just what you are doing in my wife's room."

The man had already been terror stricken, but now all of the color disappeared from his face as he realized just how stupid his decision had been. He had assumed you were just another family member, maybe a sister or daughter. He only began to now realize just how fucked he was. Even though he was a relatively new butler, he knew of Silva's infamous temper and he also knew to never talk about Silva's wife, lest he wish for the most painful death possible.

He had seen Kikyo around, and since Kalluto was always trailing behind, he had assumed that she was Silva's wife and did his damndest to stay away from her and stay out of her path. He had heard stories about what would happen to anyone who took any level of interest in Silva's wife, but he had just figured it was meant as a basic warning about the woman herself. Yet here he was, staring at the most terrifying man he had ever encountered after just having threatened and attempted to force himself onto the very woman he was warned to never speak of.

"Well?"

"I- I didn't- I hadn't- but-"

"You've already exceeded my patience, filth."

"I'm- I'm sorry! I didn't know who she was! I wouldn't have said those things to her if-"

"Said what 'things'?"

"..."

You pulled away to look up at your towering husband, seeing him glance over his shoulder at you, his eyes far more gentle and loving. The glance was a clear prompt to speak, and you'd rather not push Silva's buttons at that moment, given his unyielding rage about to overflow.

"He threatened to rape me and said no one would hear me scream."

There was a sudden change in the entire room the moment you finished your sentence. It was a crushingly heavy pressure that seeped into every corner like a rolling miasma, consuming everything. The pressure quickly lifted from you, allowing you to breathe though it was clear the intruder did not receive the same kindness as he choked and dropped to his knees.

If you thought Silva was mad before, he was as tame as a kitten in comparison to the rage that now consumed him. You were well aware of Silva's knowledge in ways to kill a man, but it seemed more like he was interested in a slow drawn out slaughter. He never once looked away from the terrified man, even as he spoke in a gentle tone to you.

"(Y/n), go wait in our room. Don't come out until I tell you to."

"Alright..."

Quickly scrambling to the room you two shared, you caught a glimpse at Silva's expression and felt your heart drop into your stomach. Even though you knew he was not angry with you at all, that look alone sent fear running down your spine and into your very being. You closed the door and sat on your bed, hearing a sudden shrill voice begin screaming.

It wasn't hard for you to guess the kind of mood Silva would be in once he was done dealing with the man. There was no doubt in your mind he was going to be rough as well, knowing how he got when jealous. You also knew he would be jealous as all hell due to the man being in your room. It may not have been your fault and the man may be dead, but with Silva, jealousy didn't fade away.

There were few things you could do at that point to soften Silva's mood, and honestly him being rough wasn't that bad (so long as he doesn't break your bones). Given how terrifying just a glance at him was, you figured you'd do something that should brighten his mood and help soothe his jealousy a bit. You dug through your clothes picking out your white and blue lingerie- Silva's favorite for obvious reasons- and waited on the bed.

The screams had yet to stop, though they certainly took on a more gurgling tone the longer it went. You shivered slightly, wondering just what Silva was doing to the man, since he was an expert at torturing people. Though he has hurt you in the past- most being accidental- you know just how strong he is and just how deeply his few emotions impact him. Looking from the outside, he feels nothing, but with you he is extremely expressive in everything he does.

You lay back on the bed, thinking about how much you truly impacted him and how much your wellness meant to him. Hell, the man would move heaven itself if you wanted him to. He was the dominant partner, but he was also a slave to your every emotion.

While you let yourself get lost in thought, you slowly slipped off to sleep with Silva's pillow cuddled in your arms.

Movement on the bed drew you out of your peaceful slumber, letting out an upset whine at being woken. You were slightly disoriented from your sudden awakening and blearily blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As your brain began to fully wake as well, you realized that Silva was right above you, his large hands on either side of your head.

There was a faint feeling of surprise as you noticed not a speck of blood on the giant man. You figured he would have been soaked in the blood of that idiot butler, but not a single fleck of red marred his flawless skin.

"Trying to cheer me up?"

There was the slightest of smiles pulling at his lips as his eyes slowly dragged over your barely covered figure, letting out a low hum of pleasure and licking his lips slowly. He seemed almost too calm at that moment, but you knew the beast that dwells within would easily come forth once he began.

"It certainly does help..."

"I thought it would be nice to surprise you... but I guess I fell asleep before you came back."

"You are a wonderful creature, (y/n), did you know that?"

"Well, there has to be some reason you keep me around."

"Sassy thing."

His tone was teasing, but you knew he wouldn't be teasing you for very long, not with the way his sharp blue eyes roamed your body. He sat up, now letting his hands roam your soft body and squeezing every few seconds. No matter what mark may be on you- be it a scar, a birthmark, a mole, didn't matter- he adored you and held such reverence for you. Even when you gain or lose weight, you are a Goddess in his eyes, and he made sure to treat his Goddess well.

"Mmm, you do know how to rile me up."

"Lots of practice."

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes narrow in bliss from your gentle touch. When you suddenly tightened your grip and tugged on his long hair, that calm expression changed in an instant. He was now less of a man than he was a beast, moving you suddenly so your legs rest on his shoulders, your back against the pillows.

He didn't say a single word as he gripped the lacy panties you wore between his teeth, pulling back in one smooth motion and ripping the delicate fabric with ease. You were about to whine at the destruction of his favorite set but you didn't even manage to get a single word out before he buried his head between your thighs, tongue easily sliding through your soft folds. He didn't bother with being slow in working you up, he just slid his tongue as deeply into you as he could to slurp up your juices.

The noises coming from him were obscene as he sucked on your soft pussy, low moans vibrating against you as he gripped your legs tighter, pulling you closer to his mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair, gripping tightly and tilting your head back with breathy moans. He held your hips still, making it so you were unable to do anything other than writhe in the pleasure he gave you.

It was clear that him holding you still was more of a dominance thing to reassure himself and soothe his burning jealousy more than it was to show his dominance over you. He was using your presence and your sweet moans as his own validation of being your one and only. Reminding himself- and in some ways, you- that you were still his and he had no intention of sharing you in any way.

You truly have only had honest social interaction with three people on a consistent basis and your five children on the odd occasion for more than twenty years. If that didn't give you a good visualization of how deep his jealousy runs, then it would be the contempt he has for his own children. As far as he was concerned, you only truly needed him in your life and no one else would have the chance or ability to get between the two of you.

He was much like a religious zealot with how fiercely he coveted you and everything about you. His tongue was as deep in you as possible while his large thumb rubbed your clit, blue eyes closed in bliss as if he truly received deep pleasure from taking care of you and pleasuring you like a wild animal did its mate. You were his everything, and he wanted your everything desperately enough he had you kidnapped only days after meeting you, already in deep obsession and fanatical adoration for you.

Continuing with endless stamina, he brought you up to mindless pleasure and kept you there, every whining cry you made only served to fuel his desire and increase blood-flow to his achingly hard cock. In typical Silva fashion, he completely ignored his own needs to not only ensure your pleasure, but to test himself to see how long he could listen to you moan before snapping and giving in to the starving beast within him. He was quite the dominant masochist when it came down to it, always adoring every scratch and mark you make on his fair skin but also making sure he was the one on top and in control.

With a loud sucking sound, he pulled away from your soaked pussy, licking his lips with hazy bliss filled eyes never leaving your shaking form. He was completely lost in his desire to possess all of you, and he gently trailed his warm hands up your soft front until he lightly gripped your chin, holding your mouth open. You were faintly worried about what he planned on doing while in such a blissed out state, yelping when he moved you down the bed with both hands before moving so his muscular legs were on either side of your head.

He slid his large cock slowly into your mouth, your jaw stretching a bit further to accommodate the rock-hard length. A deep moan rose up from his chest as he thrusted his hips a few times before returning to digging his tongue into your slick heat. He did the majority of the work to pleasure you both, ensuring to keep himself from making you deep throat him just yet. You reached up to rest your hands on his hips for your own sake should he unintentionally begin to choke you, but to Silva the contact of your gentle hands on his pale skin was overwhelmingly intense.

He was extremely touch starved when it came to you due to his distant and cold upbringing despite how much physical contact he actually had with you on a regular basis. Just another reason for him to be obsessed with the touch of your skin and the feel of your body against his. Each small brush of your hand anywhere on his body sent intense sensations running through his very being. To feel not a hint of affection during the critical developmental beginning years of his life left him distant and made him believe all outside touch would bring only pain.

Of course, when he met you, his entire world changed drastically. Your touch was gentle and brought no pain with it, only the sweet sensation of honest care and empathy. He had to have you, and only you. Only your touch brought him such calming pleasure and consuming affection. Even as he bucked his hips into your warm mouth, he was past cloud 9 in absolute bliss, sinking his tongue into your extremely wet pussy and almost desperately trying to bring you the same level of pleasure that he felt even when simply in your presence.

That's what he always tried to do.

He felt so much from and for you that he couldn't help but attempt to reciprocate that pleasure any chance he got. His addiction to your touch was likely why you two were still so sexually active even after decades together, that and Silva used that intimate connection to soothe his own mind consuming anxiety. It was why he became so irritable whenever he is away from your side for more than 24 hours. His mind drowns him in anxiety with every outcome of you being attacked while he is away.

It would destroy him to know something hurt you or you were unwell in some way while he was gone. He would feel like he failed you as your husband and that he failed you as your protector. He refused to fail. The cost would be too great.

You, on the other hand, happened to be lost in the feelings of pleasure running through your veins, to the point you didn't honestly notice much other than the warm cock in your mouth and the hot tongue on your pussy. Every moan you made only made that large length twitch and throb, feeling the slide of your tongue against his flesh as you let your fingers slide over his hips. It was clear he enjoyed it as he let out deep moans and growls of pleasure, holding himself back as long as possible.

Just when you felt the pulse of his heartbeat flutter, he pulled away from you, leaving you confused and slightly dazed. He was watching you try to collect your thoughts, proud he made you so delirious with pleasure that you needed time to return to awareness. His movements were slow and methodical as he positioned himself between your legs, raising your hips up so he could slide through your soft folds.

"Look at me, (y/n)."

His deep voice drew your scattered attention, staring up into his intense blue eyes in an almost questioning way. There was a moment of silence as he stared at you in adoration, not looking away from you as he slowly slid his firm length into you, watching the way you gasped and writhed on the bed. He gave you only a moment to adjust to his size once more before he began to thrust into your welcoming body, drowning in the tight embrace of your warm insides.

You moved up and down on the bed with each rough thrust, clawing at the sheets beneath you. Silva pound into you with such intensity you could barely draw in a breath before it was being forced back out with another rough thrust. He leaned over your writhing and mewling form to start pressing open mouthed kissed against your neck, biting down a few times to hear you yelp and whine. You wrapped your arms around him and let your nails bite down on his fair skin, shivering from his rumbling moan directly against you ear.

As you felt your orgasm creeping up with alarming speed, you reached up to his hair and gripped on the long locks, tugging hard enough to remove his lips from your neck. You had to stop tugging on his hair and just cling to him as his thrusts became rougher, pressing one of his hands against your soft stomach and feeling the way he moved inside of you. The increased sensation of his large cock rubbing against your tight walls practically made you scream in delight, your pleasure overwhelming and consuming you as your orgasm flooded your body.

"So tight..! You are mine. You will always be mine. I'll never let you go. I'll never let you forget."

You barely registered his crooning words due to your overstimulated nerves sizzling in your brain. He adored the hazy look in your eyes as you were consumed by the pleasure he provided you. That sweet expression on your lovely face was enough to push him over the edge, his hot cum painting your soft insides with every intense pulse.

When he finally pulled out of you, you were still trying to catch your breath and clung to his body with all of the remaining energy you had. The low humming chuckle that came from him was a soft and soothing rumble that was quite like the purr of some feral beast. You curled close to his warm body, snuggling down into his grasp as he pulled the blanket over the both of you, kissing your forehead gently.

"Mine."

[plainlo-inthemorning]

A little written-in-the-middle-of-the-night Loki fic snippet that just grew another leg. TVA Loki + Lokane. Rating T.

(First part is here)

Shine a Light, part II

The tempad feels hot and slippery in his palm as he stalks down the hallway, quickly putting distance between himself and the hunter he left unconscious amidst overturned chairs and tables in the canteen.

The mess had already been there, leftovers from workers rushing panicked to man their stations. He had simply added one more touch.

Tiny droplets of sweat bead his brow and blood has started seeping though the tear in his crumbled shirt.

The fabric is clinging wetly to his bicep, but in the mayhem unfolding around him, nobody gives him a second glance.

For the first time, he is thankful at least to be wearing the anonymous uniform dictated by the oppressors.

He reaches the kill me kind of room again and shuts the door behind him.

You were meant to cause suffering and death.

You’re a cosmic mistake.

You were meant to die at the hands of the mad titan.

Lies.

All lies.

Still projected on the wall is the paused image of a lost memory of his unfulfilled fate.

He sees himself, Thor and her on the barren planet with the black soil. The man he never became is lying on the ground, Thor cradling him.

She watches them both in shock.

It resonates in his bones. He has to go there.

He has to reach his brother at this precise, excruciatingly rare moment of heroism. His act of heroism.

Before the scheming and deceit poison their bond once more in an endless loop of disappointment.

In this moment, all is forgiven. Thor will listen and help. A different path will branch.

And he has to go to her.

It is ludicrous, this riddle, yet the truth of it presses hard on his chest.

On the grainy roll of film, he saved her life and her eyes bore into his with such intensity, his acute need still reverberates like an echo between the walls of the kill me kind of room.

The smell of lilacs lingers.

What will happen when he faces his own self on the timeline, he can’t imagine. Also, he gives it little thought at this late stage with universal logic already suspended as it is. Hopefully he can reason with the man he was meant to be.

He has had quite enough of being his own past, present and future selves’ worst enemy.

And so he pushes the buttons on the tempad.

//

Something is very wrong.

The sky is too blue, the distant sound of waves lapping calmly at a shore is misplaced.

He has emerged from the door onto a quiet gravel road lined with tall grass and low pines. A single, white wooden house stands to his left, surrounded by a lawn dotted with wildflowers. The sun is warm on his back.

This is Midgard, he is sure of it.

How could he shoot past his destination so spectacularly?

He is about to scroll down the list of numbers and names on the tiny screen of the tempad when he notices a man approaching. Old, walking leisurely with a round, short-legged dog much the same white color as the mortal’s own wispy hair.

The latter starts a little when he spots Loki.

And then he does the most unexpected thing and speaks his name.

Loki’s name.

He almost drops the tempad (no! Not again) and the old one grins good-naturedly. “Hold on to your fancy phone there. Far away, were we?”

Loki only just about stops himself from shaking the man by his shoulders. His fists clench uncontrollably.

“What year is this?! How do you know my name?”

His voice sounds shrill, feverish, and unsurprisingly the eyes in the lined face before him go wide with puzzlement and … something else.

“Loki, what on Earth? Are you quite alright?”

Shock washing over him, Loki staggers back. H-how?

But the man is closing the gap between them, oozing concern. “Have you - are you drunk?” he asks incredulously.

He reaches out.

What is happening?

Loki shies away from the touch, his mind spinning.

Forcibly gathering his composure, he straightens and wills his words to come out steady. “No, I’m okay. Apologies. A bad joke”.

He smiles reassuringly. It takes more effort than parting an ocean.

The dog is sniffing insistently at his ankles.

The man looks him over with suspicion but the worry is subsiding. “Okay, then… no harm, no foul. You know, sometimes these peculiar ‘jokes’ of yours can make a neighbor all kinds of slightly worried”.

Neighbor?

“Most understandably, won’t happen again. Sorry to have bothered you”. Loki cuts him off smoothly. “Have a nice day”. He nods and turns before hysteria can creep into his voice.

“In case you need it for your punchline, the year is 2016”, the man calls over his shoulder as he shuffles away, pulling the reluctant dog after him.

Loki’s blood runs cold. 2016. Oh, this is so wrong. Three years wrong.

Did he hit another button at the last minute? He had been clutching the tempad so hard the edges cut into his fingers.

He curses his own impatience. Tech savvy indeed.

Holding up the blasted piece of TVA wizardry, he tries to enter a new series of numbers when his name rings out again.

And again, he almost jumps. But this time, his heart stays in his throat.

//

“Loki? What are you doing out here? I’ve been looking all over for you”.

Her voice reaches him from the porch of the white house. She is skipping lightly down the steps, the screen doors left open behind her. Music drifts into the garden from somewhere inside.

She is crossing the lawn. He is no longer breathing.

Her long auburn hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she is wearing a light blue summer dress. Her feet are bare.

Absurdly, he notes that she looks more tanned than the last time he saw her through the visor of the destroyer in the desert. A year and a lifetime ago. To him.

His grip on whatever reality he’s been clinging to since New York is seriously faltering.

She is beaming. He cannot move a muscle.

She comes all the way up to him and without pause wraps her slender arms around his neck. He can feel the warmth of her body through his shirt, smell the perfume of her skin. She smells of … -

“Where did you go, handsome?” She smiles playfully.

“Pepper called earlier to say that she actually got Tony out of the door on time, if you can believe it, so they’ll be here any minute. And her and I agreed that you two hotheads are going to play nice tonight, okay?”

She is teasing him but he hardly understands the words she’s saying. It makes no sense.

And then, before he can begin to form a response, she stands on tiptoes and kisses him and the world falls away.

Reflexively, he puts his arms around her, drawing her close to him. She moans happily. He leans into the kiss, not knowing what he’s doing other than that he never wants to stop.

Her mouth is soft and warm and new and familiar all at the same time, and the way her fingers curl in his hair sends electricity shooting down his spine.

It should be all anguish and tragic confusion, like before in the castle beyond time, but it is not.

It feels more right that anything he can remember since before his fall from the Bifrost, more real and yet more magical than his recent journeys into mystery.

Then it’s over all too soon and she draws away.

His arms are suddenly much too empty and he almost reaches for her again, craving her touch.

For a fleeting heartbeat, his soul had no longer felt torn apart to the point of forgetting he’d ever been whole.

The chaos had crumbled in on itself like a bad dream.

He is surprised he still knows what peace of mind feels like after what has happened to him since arriving at the TVA.

But now she looks at him with alarm in those beautiful brown eyes and he is crudely reminded that he is an intruder in her reality.

What she thought she saw, she clearly no longer recognizes.

It takes him all of three stupidly long seconds to remember that she said his name. That he’s wearing his own face and not a disguise.

That she knew him immediately, just like the old man.

She kissed him.

Too many impossible possibilities and the thunderous sound of his own heartbeat (surely she can hear it too) blur his vision.

He’s only vaguely aware that he is stepping towards her, trying to say something without the faintest idea of what’s going to come out of his mouth.

If it’ll even be words.

Her eyes dart over his clothes, his face.

“Loki, what - Why are you dressed like that? Have you been gone? Is that … blood?”

She retreats further, fear building.

“Jane, I-“

Her name rolls of his tongue with a sweet-tasting intimacy like he has said it a thousand times before.

But he doesn’t get to dwell on this, nor gather his thoughts to say anything else before something abruptly lifts him off the ground and hurls his body across the road.

“How dare you touch her, beast?!”

Immediately as his back connects with the rough gravel, someone is there, a knee pushing him down, fingers closing around his throat. A sharp object presses against his chin.

There is a dangerous, unhinged growl as his attacker breathes hotly in his ear. “You will die for this!”

The man is strong and somehow blocking Loki’s own magic, but he still manages to twist his head -

And looks right up into his own eyes, nearly black with rage.

//

“Speak! What are you??”

The man with a face exactly like his presses the tip of his blade closer to Loki’s left eye. “You will show yourself right now or -“

Gathering his magic tightly around him (focus!), Loki pushes back, hard.

With a surge of energy, their bodies are separated, and the other version of him lands heavily in the middle of the road some meters away.

Both of them are on their feet with the fluid movements of two panthers ready to pounce, the other now in full armor.

He has to leave, right now, even if means leaving her which is a catastrophe that might either kill him or make him try to kill his other self if he stays here another minute.

This timeline is clearly not his own.

It cannot be.

Arm outstretched to ward off his furious twin with a shield of magic, he tries to work the tempad with one hand.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

A booming voice above their heads.

“You know, when Jane pressed the panic button just now, I thought we had an actual emergency. Not that you were preparing a little dinner show for us, Reindeer Games. Gotta be honest though, this doppelgänger stunt was never my favorite -“

“Stark!”

The variant - for he must be a variant - angrily interrupts the man in the metal suit hovering in the air.

Of course, Loki remembers him all too clearly.

What has it been, less than a week since he threw him, or a version of him, out the window of the glass tower?

“This is not my creation”, the variant hisses with venom dripping from every word. “I caught him assaulting Jane. Kissing her”.

“What?!”

Stark focuses all his attention (and one of his iron fists) on Loki. A metallic humming rises steadily from inside the suit.

“A man on a suicide mission then. Boy, did you smooch the wrong wizard’s baby-mama. He may look all domesticated and cute now, but I assure you he’s still all kinds of crazy. In fact-”.

“Hey!”

“What?”

“I know it’s asking a lot, of you in particular, Stark, but could we possibly save the personal insults till we have dealt with this right here?”

Wait, just wait.

Damn it, he can’t tap in the destination on the tempad without looking at it.

Green smoke is swirling around the hands of his other self. He knows what’s coming.

“This is your last warning, devil! I will not have you hiding behind my face as I -“

“This is my face! I’m you, you fool! Bigger things are at large here and-“ Loki falters, his silver tongue failing once more with rising predictability within what seems a disconcertingly short period of time.

Although he honestly can’t tell anymore.

“Please, take a minute -“

He can’t help but shout, sounding hopelessly desperate.

In another life, he might have felt humiliated, but letting pride dictate his emotions is no longer a luxury he can afford to indulge.

Still, the silence that follows his outburst is not nearly as long as he needs it to be.

The variant stares blankly at him, mouth slightly ajar, but Stark recovers easily, his voice now icy.

“Yeah, dude, that one might have worked better if you’d put on a clean shirt. Time to fess up real quick or we’ll have to-“

Drawing what might become his last breath, Loki looks away and down at the tempad. He presses the button. No more time to double check.

“What the?!”

Both Stark and the variant visibly flinch as the door appears.

He quickly makes for it. “I - I’m sorry. Truly, I am”. He looks to their stunned faces before turning to his exit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he registers the variant move (he has to be a variant). His mouth twists in an ugly snarl and two familiar daggers are appearing by his sides.

Before the door snaps completely shut, Loki sees Jane run up to the man and grab his arm.

“Love, no, don’t!”

He sees the slight bump under her dress that he didn’t notice before.

And then the scene disappears and he’s gone.

Part III

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

You’re Not Mine | Peter Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: Jealousy ig? A lil angst if you squint

Time/Era: Golden Age

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: When two foreign royals take interest in Peter and Y/N, jealousy arises. 

Requests: 1) hi :) i was wondering if you could maybe do a jealous!peter x reader ?? not enough of those hehe thank u so much  

2) If possible can you do a peter pevensie x reader where the reader gets jealous clingy due to another queen from another royal kingdom flirting with him if that makes sense idk if it does but yeah 😂

A/N: Hi! I hope it’s okay I combined these two :) They’re quite similar so I thought they would work well together! Enjoy! Also, the Prince and Princess obviously don’t exist in canon, but they do in this story lol.

masterlist | narnia playlist | read on ao3

It was an unspoken agreement that Peter and Y/N only had eyes for eachother. Their arrangement was never made official nor spoken about but by their actions, it was more than obvious. High King Peter was infatuated with Y/N, and he was wrapped around her finger. Whether it was due to her unbelievably inviting demeanor or her ability to listen to Peter speak for hours, the poor king couldn’t get enough of the girl. Y/N was always there to offer support, without offering advice unwarranted, and she managed to crack Peter’s shell quite quickly. 

Y/N wasn’t a royal, nor was she a member of the official staff at Cair Paravel. Rather, she was just a normal girl in her late teens that happened to stumble upon Narnia, much like the royal family. Peter envied that she didn’t have any real responsibility or ties to the Kingdom; she was just a normal citizen who happened to befriend her rulers. What Peter didn’t understand was that she did have a responsibility. And a big one at that. She offered support to her Kings and Queens as normal friends, rather than monarchs who had all of the answers. Y/N kept her friends sane and relaxed. Her job could be seen as one of the more important jobs in the kingdom for that sole reason. 

“I’m not too excited about tomorrow, if I’m being honest,” Peter spoke hesitantly, sharpening his blade. The king sat upon a large rock in the courtyard, whereas Y/N was perched on a nearby bench. 

“And may I ask why?” Y/N hummed, her hands working on a daisy chain. She glanced up at her friend, unbothered by the shrill sound of the sharpening metal. Taking care of his blades was a coping mechanism Peter had taken up, so anything that helped him clear his mind didn’t bother Y/N in the slightest. 

“King Lune is bringing Princess Alexandra and Prince Frederick along to the deal,” Peter’s hands worked on his sword, his brow scrunched in frustration. “Which means more Archenland soldiers in Narnia. The more foreign soldiers in Cair Paravel, the more on edge the entire kingdom appears. I don’t want them to think we fear them.” 

“Ah, I see. Hand me that flower will you, Pete?” Y/N pointed at a daisy near his foot. Peter plucks it from the soil and hands it to Y/N. “Thank you. What deal are you trying to make?” 

“Ed and I are trying to get them to sign a peace treaty, which may or may not be a good idea.” 

“Isn’t there a third Prince? Prince Rub The Rash or something?” Y/N’s voice resembled a giggle. 

Peter snickers, “Rabadash, yeah. Apparently he has important matters to deal with and won’t be attending. A blessing, if you ask me.”

Y/N holds her daisy chain up in the light and observes her handiwork. The stems were woven around eachother securely and each flower was on perfect display. She grinned and fastened the ends together so it formed a crown. 

“So, a peace treaty. That’s good, yeah? More allies, or whatever.” 

“Yeah, that’s a good way to look at it. We’re just not too positive about what they want in return. Something tells me that’s why the Prince and Princess are tagging along.”  At these words, Peter makes a sharp movement and the metal of his sword emits a high pitched screech. 

“You mean marriage?” 

“Yeah, marriage. Susan and I, most likely.” 

Y/N sucks in air through her nose harshly. “Oh, I see.” She stands from the bench and stands right in front of her king. 

Y/N delicately pulls his crown from his head, placing her daisy chain in its place. His dirty blonde hair smooths against his forehead and Peter looks up with his beautiful blue eyes. Y/N always adored his eyes; no matter how his body language looked, his eyes always displayed his true emotions. 

“You look nice with flowers in your hair, my king.” Y/N’s voice was soft, making Peter understand what she was feeling immediately. 

“Thank you, but you know you don’t have to address me with formalities.” 

The two were extremely close in this moment; just observing the other’s faces. Peter hand a stone-cold look on his face, but his irises were filled with doubt and sadness. Y/N sighed, taking a step back and diverting her gaze. 

“Well, you are my king. I don’t see anything wrong with addressing you as such.” 

“I’m more than just your king, Y/N. You of all people should know that.” 

“What’s her name again?” Y/N had turned her back to Peter. She heard Peter set the objects in his hands on the grass and stand. 

“Who’s name?” 

Y/N tightened her grip on Peter’s metal crown. “The princess you are set to marry.” 

“Why does it matter?” The jagged edges of the crown dug into Y/N’s palm. 

“What is it, your majesty?” 

“Alexandra. Princess Alexandra.” Peter’s large hand fell to Y/N’s lower back and he guided her to sit on the bench. 

“King Peter and Queen Alexandra, that has a bit of a ring to it.” Her gaze fell to the metal between her fingers, her thumb running across a small red jewel. 

“Y/N, stop it. If it’s marriage we’re not going to go through with it. Ed and I have already spoken about this with Susan.” 

“Peter, I don’t think you understand something very important,” Y/N moved her head in one fluid motion to lock eyes with Peter. “You’re not mine, and you never will be. You’re High King of Narnia. I’m just, well, me. And we can never change that.” 

Peter rose his hand and adjusted the flowers atop his head so they wouldn’t fall off. “I have all the power needed to change that, Y/N.”

“But why would you? Why would you risk the safety of Narnia for me?” 

Peter sighs. “How about this, you come to the agreement, yeah? We’re holding a ball beforehand so we can ‘mingle’ and scope out their intentions.” Y/N nods solemnly, handing the crown back to its owner. 

“Flowers really do suit you, Peter.” And with that, Peter’s favorite girl stands and walks back towards the castle. 

~

“How’s the punch? I heard it’s not very good,” A voice pulls Y/N out of her trance. She was currently watching a very handsy Princess Alexandra feel Peter’s biceps and giggle. 

“Pardon?” She looked up to see a very handsome man leaning against the wall. He was rather tall and lanky, with long ginger hair that was swept into his eyes. Atop his head sat a golden crown, very similar to Peter’s, and his face was twisted into a grin. The man was extremely attractive, with his slightly cocky body language and flirty tone. 

“Is the punch good? Tasty? Pleasing to the tastebuds? I heard it wasn’t.” In his hand, he held a small clear cup filled with red liquid. He raises it to his pink lips and takes a gulp. 

“Seems like you just answered your own question.” 

“It was alright,” He smiles. “It would be better if I knew your name, though.” 

“Your drink would be better if you knew my name?” Y/N laughs, growing more comfortable in the presence of who she assumed was Prince Frederick. 

“Well, it would make my day, night, week, month, year, life better. My drink is just a part of that,” He winked and took another sip. “I’m Prince Frederick, but someone as pretty as you can call me Fred,” The royal held out his hand for a handshake. 

Y/N giggled and shook it. “Y/N, I’m a close friend of the Narnian Kings and Queens.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but be charmed by the mysterious prince. He was funny and flirty, which was probably exactly how he wanted to appear as. Peter, on the other hand, hated what he saw. He was across the room but watching Y/N’s body language ignited a fire inside his stomach. 

“You’re so strong, King Peter,” Princess Alexandra squeezed his upper arm. Peter glanced at her then back at Y/N. 

“Thanks,” He responded shortly, tight jawed with his hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes glanced over the pair and his gaze took in the subtle changes of his love. She was facing Frederick head-on while throwing her head back to laugh at whatever he’s saying. 

“Who are you looking at?” Alexandra said, placing two fingers on his cheek and turning his head to face her. 

Peter pushed away from her presence and walked over to the pair. “Excuse me,” The two turn their head towards Peter. Y/N’s smile faltered at Peter’s expression; he looked almost angry and was staring daggers into Fred’s skull. 

“Hello, my King,” Y/N bowed, acting formal as there were guests in the room. 

He ignores Y/N and turns to Prince Frederick. “Who are you?” 

This doesn’t seem to faze Fred as he lazily sips his drink. “I’m Prince Frederick. You must be King Peter, I was just talking to your friend.” He moves his cup to gesture Y/N. 

“I can see that,” Peter mumbles. A similar look of disdain falls over Y/N’s face as her eyes follow the path Peter took to get to her. At the end stood Princess Alexandra, now speaking to Edmund.

“How is Princess Alexandra?” 

“Oh, she’s doing great. Thinks I’m very strong.” 

“Oh, good.” Y/N responds passive-aggressively. 

“Yeah, it’s great. She was just feeling my bicep. Said it was the biggest she’s ever felt, mmhm.” 

Fred looks between the two awkwardly, raising his eyebrows and taking it as his cue to leave. He pushes off the wall and meets his sister in the middle of the room. 

“Fred, he said I can call him that by the way, just got done calling me pretty before you got here,” Y/N looked up at Peter, her eyebrow quirked and arms crossed over her chest. 

Peter glances over at Edmund and nods before grabbing Y/N’s arm and dragging her out of the room. He pushes her against a wall a little bit away from the ballroom. 

“I told you I wasn’t marrying her, why are you doing this?” His breath fanned her lips as he spoke. 

“Doing what?” 

“Flirting with Princey,” Peter’s body pinned Y/N’s against the stone brick wall. “I saw how you were talking.” 

“Why were you flirting with Miss Princess if you weren’t planning on marrying her?” 

“I wasn’t!”

“I saw her feel you up, Peter!” Y/N huffed in frustration, her hands coming to push and his shoulder. However, Peter was a wall and held his ground with little to no effort. 

“She felt my arm for, like, 10 minutes. Big deal. You actually flirted back.” 

“I did no such thing, thank you very much. I was too busy watching you flirt with whats-her-face to even notice Prince Frederick!” 

Peter slammed a fist into the brick before pressing a sheering kiss to Y/N’s lips. The kiss was hot and rushed; both parties putting all of their emotions into the one action. Teeth clashed and tongues wrestled until Peter eventually pulled away breathlessly. His lips were swollen and red, and Y/N assumes she looked the same. 

“I don’t want to marry her, Y/N. I want to marry you. I am so fucking in love with you,” Peter shook his head, walking in a small circle before returning to his place. “And seeing you with Princey really made me understand that I need you.” 

“Then, what are you waiting for, My King?” 

“Well, a yes would be nice.” 

Y/N giggled, and all tension seemed to dissipate. “Well, I haven’t been asked anything yet.” 

Peter’s grin matched Y/N’s. “Well, Lady Y/N, would you marry me and become my queen?” 

“Yes, Peter. Took you long enough.” 

The two laughed once more before pressing their lips together once more. Unlike the last kiss, this one was feather-light and full of love. Peter caressed the sides of Y/N’s face with his rough hands and pressed his lips against hers with much certainty. 

“There you are!” Edmund rounded the corner just as the couple pulled apart. “Good news! You two managed to weird out the Prince and Princess so much that they’re backing out of the arrangement. King Lune was convinced to sign the treaty with no further complications.” 

[du0tine]

𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 | 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,803 | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: below the line!

angst. self-intoxication, use of alcohol. hallucinations. unrequited love. dark best friends to lovers au. mentions of murder. drowning. light description of blood and gore. mentions of rigor mortis and rotting flesh. viewer descretion is advised!

“Remember when we were young? Too innocent for this world with simply no fucks to give?” You say, your voice is painfully hoarse as you take a long and painful swig from your whiskey. Cringing you whine from the burning sensation that ripped at your throat, you didn’t even like whiskey and yet here you were drinking your sorrows away. This wasn’t anything new though, it was routinely for you to rip yourself apart on this night every year. The night he left you. 

There wasn’t anything special between you besides the fact that you’d grown up together and were best friends. Having such a bond made it inevitable for feelings to arise. Whether it come from one of you or both, it seemed to have happened and unfortunately it only came from you. Your feelings for the boy were strong, you loved him with everything you had. At one point you were even willing to die for him and you did. Not physically but mentally a large chunk of your heart dispersed, your soul died having sacrificed itself for him. He fell in love with someone else and you lost a part of yourself in acceptance of that. 

“Would it be that hard for you to return my feelings?” You ask out, your voice echoing into the void. It was always silent, every night was simply like the next. You gave your heart to him and in return you were met with an eternal silence. You’d never learn to love again, not after him. 

Silently you expected there to be another voice, his voice. You knew there would be no reply and yet you wanted one. All you wanted was to hear his voice one more time and yet you’d come far enough in life to simply end up alone without him. Surely at the age of 26, graduated with a degree in business and running your empire up the stock market, you’d become successful. You were living the life you always wanted but what was it without him? At moments like these all the money in the world meant nothing without Jaemin by your side. 

Sighing to yourself you kick off your shoes, your feet slapping against the marbled floors. The coldness making you shiver lightly as you take another swing from your drink. The bitterness of the alcohol warming you up, you could feel yourself sweating up as your vision become hazy. You could feel yourself getting drunk in memory of him. 

Holding the glass bottle in front of yourself you slush the liquid around. You felt confined like this as if you were the liquid contents inside this beautiful glass bottle of poison. Self intoxication of alcohol being your only escape during times like these. You were simply drowning yourself in your own issues, swimming around in your problems. At this rate you were slowly killing yourself. The mix of loneliness and the harshness you suffocated yourself with was draining you of life. There was simply no future for you like this. 

Pushing past the balcony doors you hoist yourself onto the balcony railings, the coldness of the night air blowing roughly past you. Whipping at your skin as goosebumps arose, littering your skin. Bringing the bottle up towards the sky you hold it next to the moon, watching as it slowly disappears behind the cluster of dark clouds. It was almost as if everything and anything wanted to disappear in plain sight of you, just like him. 

“Jaemin, tonight we toast to you,” Raising the bottle up higher in salutation to the night sky before bringing it to your lips and emptying it’s contents. The empty bottle feels much lighter in your hands as you feel your head spin. The world seems to be speeding up as your body slows down. Sauntering back and forth on the railing you struggle to keep your balance. 

Once, twice you stagger back and forth. A cluster of hysterical laughs bursting past your lips as you through your head back in amusement. Finally, you felt like you were letting yourself go. 

“Honestly, maybe life will be better without you,” You ponder to yourself as you playfully stick one foot off the railing. “Either way if I were to fall you wouldn’t catch me would you? You didn’t have my back in the past so it’s a good thing you aren’t here now too. You wouldn’t dedicate yourself to me the way I did to you.” 

Momentarily you stand still, your chest heaving heavily as you gaze out at your backyard from above. Its calm and serene, the pool that lay directly below is still. The water reflecting the dark skies colours showcasing a murky, dark blue and black. It was almost like an abyss. Your mind strays off and you mentally note to yourself to have the contractor come and install pool lights. Maybe that would clear up your life, you couldn’t swim in your problems anymore. If you found some sort of light in your life perhaps then you could finally be free and instead of drowning, you’d be floating on the surface calmly. 

“Everything is just too dark, maybe that’s why I’m so clouded up.” 

“No it’s not, you have me here,” Replies a voice.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise up in fear as you whip your head in the direction of the voice. Turning around you see a dark silhouette, his silhouette. He’s standing there in the dark and yet somehow you can just tell by his tall, slim figure and broad shoulders that it’s him. But how? There was no way he could’ve entered your home without you letting him and certainly without the security alarm going off. Overall though, he was gone. So how was it that he was back?

“Who are you?!” You confront the figure, your voice is rather shrill, laced in fear.

“You already forgot? No— you definitely know who I am. You’d never forget me,” He replies, his voice is different from the usual soft tone he once used with you. This time it just sounds much more menacing and much more evil. 

Then you finally see his face as he steps out from the shadows. Shrouded in darkness you see his visage, his features are still the same except for the painfully discomforting smile plastered on his face. His eyes are glassy and cold, no longer sparkling with warmth. The black tufts of his hair blow in the wind, brushing past his forehead and flying up into the air. There you see it, the small circular hole in the middle of his forehead. The wound seems fresh as the dark crimson blood slowly begins to seep out. Drifting down his t-zone and past his nose bridge. 

“There’s just…no way you could’ve forgotten,” He continues as he slowly inches his way towards you, “I mean after all you did this to me, remember?” 

You can’t breath, your chest feels tight and your throat simply won’t budge. You can’t even bring yourself to scream, simply just standing there in fear. Your eyes wide displaying all the emotions of fear you had deep inside of you. Within moments he’s standing in front of you, looking up at you. His skin is pale, as the blood continues to seep out of his forehead splashing him with the only colour of life he had. 

Reaching forward slowly his arms snake towards you as he wraps them around your waist and hugs you tightly. He feels like cement, his skin is hard and freezing and he simply just won’t let go. You snap out of your trance, your fight or flight kicking in as you try and get him off of you but no, he won’t let you go. Not now but isn’t that what you wanted? 

“I didn’t leave you silly,” He says, his breath is cold against your skin. The smell of death omitting from him as it feels like his aura is making the world around you feel polluted. “After all you killed me in fear of losing the one you loved most, me,” He continues as his places his head against your chest, you feel the blood pour onto your skin. It feels wet and damp as you start to hyperventilate squirming in his arms as you struggle to pry him off. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! You left me for her!” You scream in frustration as he simply hugs you tighter. It feels like you are being molded into place within his arms as he leans against you, pushing harder and harder making you feel heavy. 

“Well I’m here now, isn’t that what you wanted? You’ve always been greedy haven’t you,” He says once more as you drag your finger nails against his skin, peeling his skin off as a result. His flesh is rotting as he shows no reaction simply holding you tighter. Screaming in fear you feel his skin caught up within your finger nails. You try to push him off once more but this time he fights back. Hoisting you up onto his shoulder as he pushes you off the edge of the balcony. The two of you falling into the dark pool. The water feels suffocating as it pulls you both towards the bottom. His figure floats over you, his hands on your waist as he helps push you down. 

“Remember when we were young?” He asks, the bubbles blowing past his lips as he speaks out loud to you, his voice echoes slowly inside the water. “You promised that we would die together, in order to spend the rest of eternity with each other. You know? Best friends forever?” 

Your gaze feels hazy as you struggle to breath, your vision is cloudy. All your sense draining from your body except for the feeling of his touch against your skin. 

“You couldn’t let me live in happiness couldn’t you? So I’ll take you with me and now, we can be happy together.” He says as he closes the distance between you both, engulfing you in a hug. Suddenly the coldness doesn’t bother you anymore. The life is slowly leaving you as he presses his forehead against you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he kisses you tightly. “With your death, I’ll accept your feelings since you couldn’t bare me loving someone else,” He says as your eyes shut once and for all, the water has long filled up your lungs and you are no longer alive and now Jaemin feels like both you and him can rest peacefully. 

Your unrequited love being accepted by him, once and for all. The only price you had to pay was with your life since you’d so greedily stole his. 

𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫 ©︎𝑫𝑼0𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑬

[aikrus]

Another Day, Another Life (Tenya Iida x Villain!Reader)

Fandom: Bnha / Mha  Warnings: Angst, amnesia, swearing, weed, coping with death, hallucinations  Words: 3,456 Requested by: No one, but requests are open!  Request/ Description: Casualties are expected in a war, but when a child dies no one is ready. No one knows how to react. The death of a teen can tear people apart, it can rip people into shreds to never be put together again, but is it better or worse if they’re not actually dead?

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          Toga was far from an ideal friend. She was clingy and rude, she talked too much and she cared primarily about herself. She was weird and difficult to get understand, and you never really knew where she stood. She wasn’t perfect, but having her was a blessing in disguise. 

“Y/n, we’re heading out, are you ready?” While she wasn’t perfect, she was pretty close to it. Himiko had a strange way with words, and she could always make the world feel smaller than it was. Her voice was like warm honey on a spoon; hazy caramel color and sweet, perfect for recovery.

“I’m ready, thanks for grabbing me,” Y/n wasn’t close to anyone. It was hard to get attached when the overwhelming threat of having friends ripped away from her grasp constantly loomed over her. She kept her distance, but it was hard not to get sucked into being friends with the blonde.

“Of course!” Her bright smile feels like it should be un-nerving, it holds malice and hatred, it’s the smile of a girl who has been rejected her entire life- but it almost makes others smile back. And so, Y/n’s face was covered with the rare grin; which had become scarce. 

“It really isn’t that big a deal, but Shigarki is getting trigger-happy. We should hurry, I’m pretty sure Dabi will set his hands on fire if we don’t leave soon!” Her voice dripped sugar, and Y/n found herself hurrying. She put her phone into her side pocket, and she secured her outfit. 

The pair walked out of Y/n’s assigned room, and they made their way to the group scattered around the bar. “I thought you all were ready? Let’s get a move on!” Y/n said, there was an unusual lightness to her tone.

The group had started to pass through the given portals Kurogiri had made for them, and one by one they stepped through. In the end, only Dabi and Y/n were left standing with the tall void-like man. 

“Hey,” the gruff man had grabbed a hold of Y/n’s y/s/c arm, and he had lightly pulled it back.

“What’s the deal, Dabi?” She asked, not rudely, but he could tell she didn’t appreciate the physical contact. They were far from close. When Y/n woke up, Dabi could tell something was off about her. Not wrong necessarily, she just had a very unique vibe that he felt was oddly familiar. 

“It’s just...” he sighed and shook his head, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” 

Whatever it was that Dabi was going to tell her obviously didn’t matter that much, so she shook it off and went through the portal. 

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Kurogiri looked him in the eyes with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Dabi nodded and walked through the portal- it would be cruel to tell her- he decided as soon as he saw her laughing with Toga. She has no memory of it, and she just recently started to act like herself again, why would I ruin that for her?

Amnesia was a tricky situation for anyone to deal with. It was dangerous to the person suffering from it, due to how trusting and gullible they become- but it is significantly worse for those of them who have their memories of the victim intact.

Dabi was one of those lucky people- so is the majority of the other people on the team. They can all think back to at least one memory of the spunky girl they have grown to care for. She was always so strong, yet somehow she was always overshadowed by her over-zealous classmates. Those stars that tried to outshine her magnificence- Dabi could only hope they would burn out soon.

He had been one of the first to meet the girl, and boy was she hard to forget. If her physical appearance didn’t grab his attention- her striking y/e/c eyes and flawless y/h/c hair- her quirk definitely did. 

GateKeeper was a well-known up-and-coming hero and student at UA’s school for future hero’s, she was the receiver of the most interning opportunities, and she was respected by almost everyone. Named after her quirk, GateKeeper- or rather, Y/N, is able to access the gates between different planes. 

She can visit the gates of hell, she can see the holy light of heaven, she can see the Mormon’s different kingdoms and the fields of Aaru. She can walk along the banks of river Styx with those about to be reincarnated. 

She can see spirits or those who have passed, and she can comfort those who have lost love ones. With this power, she has been given the ability to have the power of those who have died where she is standing. She can call on the remaining spirits to help her, and she has the power to reap souls. 

Dabi had spent countless hours thinking about the girl who froze him in place- she showed him his worst fear and didn’t bat an eye. She was fierce and protective of all the other students, she stood in front of them and, with her small undead army of soldiers who could never move on, defended them till her last breath. If only she had died.

The fight hadn't lasted long, the pros took out most of the b-tier criminals, and the students were fighting here and there. With All-might out of the picture, it was anyone's guess how the fight would go.

Who would have thought that a single girl who wipe the floor with them? Ahh yes, in a flash of light she managed to subdue the vast majority of the villains, if only she hadn’t lost consciousness- then maybe she wouldn’t have been snatched away so easily. 

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It was hard to believe that Iida would skip school. For the first handful of days after the attack, he dragged himself to his classes- half-conscious and unwilling to be aware of his surroundings.

Eventually having to push himself to get out of his bed- let alone go to school- grew too much for him. He settled with walking to the canteen when everyone else was out to get food before going back to his room. 

He was never one for dramatics, but Iida knew there was nothing he could do. He had failed her, the love of his life slipped through his fingers- never to be seen again.

Day after day he listened to a voicemail left months before the incident- he was never happier for his phone to be dead than when he knew he could hear her talk to him again. 

And while Iida had his outlet for his sadness, his classmates were going more and more concerned with every passing minute. 

Midoriya would double take when he heard her voice through his wall, and, silently, he would press his ear against it just so he could make-believe she was still with them.

“Hey, Tenya! I guess you’re busy huh? Haha! It’s so weird to talk to your voicemail- I’ve never had to before. Well, I miss you! Remember that just because it’s Christmas and I’m not with you doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to celebrate with your other friends!

I just want to remind you how much I love you! You are such a great boyfriend, and I’m glad that you’re mine. I was planing on FaceTiming you while we have Christmas dinner, but since I can’t I guess this will have to do~

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the lane, snow is glistening

A beautiful sight

We're happy tonight

Walking in a winter wonderland

Gone away is the bluebird

Here to stay is a new bird

To sing a love song

While we stroll along

Walking in a winter wonderland

In the meadow, we can build a snowman

We'll pretend that he is Parson Brown

He'll say, are you married?

We'll say, no man

But you can do the job when you're in town

Later on, we'll conspire

As we dream by the fire

To face unafraid

The plans that we've made,

Walking in a winter wonderland”

She cleared her throat and laughed a little, “That was really awkward, but I hope you’ll accept my mini Christmas gift! I’ll wait to open the one you got me until I’m with you again. I love you Tenya, merry Christmas!”

Once again, the shrill ring of an ended voicemail echoed through his room. Wiping away a stray tear- Iida sat down at his desk.

Everything had been going so perfect, everything was going exactly to plan. His brother had been in recovery, they had been going smoothly, classes had finally declared winter-break, and then... everything fell apart. The storm had been brewing, and brewing, and then it came- and then it destroyed everything in its wake. 

It’s hard to accept a loss that you didn’t see happen. He didn’t get the goodbye, or the I’ll never let go. There was no body to hold on to, no one in the casket which was lowered to the ground. Nothing to show that his lover was gone- only the empty dorm room and phone number that gave no answer. 

The school had opened it’s doors during winter break for all the students and parents to come. Some of her closest friends only ever saw her in the hallow walls of UA, and now they didn’t have the chance to see her anywhere else.

There was really no good way to deal with it. ‘It’. Iida despised that word now- ‘it’ was the only way people described the death of his girlfriend. As if death was a taboo word, ‘it’ was all people talked about and yet their words meant nothing. 

Tenya was doing his best- fighting every single fucking day at a time. He hated what he had turned into. He hated the state of being that he devolved to be. Every trait she adored about her boyfriend diapered.  Failing to go to class and snapping at those that came close enough to bother him. He had always gotten cold when faced with misery, resolved and retreated in himself- he had never seen himself as someone who would take up smoking to feel better.

Weed always seemed so far beneath him, it felt like something nothings did to feel better about themselves instead of working hard at bettering themselves, but now even Denki wasn’t eager to help him. Last time he visited the blonds room Kaminari rejected him, saying that he wasn’t getting high in the right way and that he was worried Iida would become a drug abuser with how things were turning up. 

Tenya hated himself more that night. He hated himself and he hated everyone else. He hated Uraraka, who coped with baking Y/n’s favorite cookies and eating them to the movie they would watch during their own girl’s night. 

He hated Momo too, she still got straight A’s and seemed to be just fine- pretending like we didn’t hear her obnoxious sobs at two am. He hated Mina too- she had no place wearing Y/n’s hoodie to school everyday. It was a shitty thing to do. 

He’s pissed at Deku as well- Midoriya the hypocrite. Knocks on his door every day with his missed classwork and with his judgement, pressuring him to leave his room. Everyone knows his grade’s have gone down since her death so who is he to talk about attending class. 

He hates Bakugo, who only ever yelled at her even when she joked around with him- who’s words she laughed at but really made her drown in her insecurities when she was suppose to be secure in her boyfriends arms. Fuck Bakugo, for glaring at her empty seat next to him like he didn’t openly mock her when she got a grade lower than him. Fuck him for screaming at 3am and breaking the school punching bags. Fuck him for feeling bad after hurting her. Fuck him for being her friend. Fuck him for giving a shit. Fuck everyone.

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

Aizawa sighed once he sat at his desk. Classes would start in half and hour and he was still crying. His silent tears burned down his cheek and all he could fell was the raw aching in his throat and the headache that felt like it was killing him slowly. 

He saw it then. In that classroom starring at her desk, he can see it happening. 

The cold breeze had moved his hair into his face, giving the villain a second outside of his hold. One second- yet it was long enough for him to disappear into the ground. 

“Dammit,” he hissed, looking around him. 

He heared Mic’s screech at a crowed of them on his left, and the majority of his students stood tall on his right. Everything was chaotic, but a Nomu appeared from the forest line everything exploded. 

He felt a familiar chill crawl over his skin, signifying Y/n using one of her ultimate moves ‘Fallen Heros’. AS what looked like hundreds of dead warriors of different generation’s rose from the ground- some in modern military uniform and others in ancient armor- and surrounded the giant Nomu. 

More appeared- in uniquely them outfits. They were the dead pro-heroes, the ones who passed during a fight they’ll never get to finish. The ones who either dine at Valhalla or will never be at peace after failing. 

A woman with black hair flew as she fought- with more ease than the others that were in spirit form. It was safe to assume that this was her quirk. The other that sent momentary shock waves through the gathering was Sir Nighteye, who waisited no time wiping out the waves of villains. 

Aizawa took notice of Y/n’s body floating in mid-air. The cost of her quirk- she had to keep note of all those she called upon. If one of the fallen are out of her sight for too long her body replicates what the dead’s went through, and she would eventually die from the injury. 

The dead soldiers ended the battle very suddenly, and, as their spirits returned to the afterlife, a large explosion of dust swallowed the crowed. 

Once they could all see, and the hectic environment calmed, Iida’s voice cut through the air. He was screaming as loud as he could, frantically running around the field of people. 

“Y/n!” He had shouted, his voice becoming horse. “Y/n!” Everyone became deathly pale and still as the horror of realization came upon them. She was gone. 

“Y/l/n?” Aizawa had shouted, starting the shove peoples shoulders to get to where she was. 

“Y/l/n now is NOT the time to play games!” He had hopefully prayed. His face fell along with his voice as he made it to where she had been floating. A scorched square of land had taken her place. 

His mind tried to go back and see the rose dead she had summoned, he looked frantically for a scorched soldiers face, but he couldn't find one. Even then it wasn’t hard to guess at what had happened.

No one near her had heard her screams, but with the noise coming from everyone in the dust storm, it would be unlikely that they would have been heard whether she screamed or not. 

He was right there. He saw her. He was less than three yards away. How did he let this happen?

He remembers looking around for a corpse of a soldier, but he wondered if, with Y/n dead, they would be able to live anyway. 

He pinched the bridge of his noes, wiping away the pools of tears from his stinging eyes. Rubbing them with his palm, his vision blurs when he looks up. Yet, even with the lines blurring, what he sees is unmistakable.

“Y/n?” He asked, seeing her figure sit on the top of her desk. 

“Calling a student by their first name,” she teased lightly, “how unprofessional,”

“Are you...” he stopped and starred at her, “Are you really here? Is this a part of your quirk?” 

“C’mon Eraserhead, like I would know. If you’re right then you’re right. If you’re wrong then I’m just a fixation of your brain and I wouldn’t know it,” She tried to reason, hopping off of her desk. 

“Damn... you’re right. I’m going batshit crazy,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

“So,” Y/n smirked, walking up to his desk and bending over, placing her hands on her locked knees, “Wanna talk about why you’re fantasizing about your dead, female, super fucking hot, student?”

He groaned out annoyed and clawed at his eyes, “Why the fuck is that happening? I hate that, I hate this, cut this shit out!” He shouted, pushing his hand into his covered corneas. 

“What shit out?” Hizashi asked, stepping into his classroom.

“Nothing Mic, just overthinking,” he responded, slamming his eyes open looking for his student. 

“Alright Shouta, just remember that I’m across the hall if you ever need to talk,” 

Sighing once he noticed Y/n had vanished, he wondered if this was confirmation that he was hallucinating. Needless to say, Y/n definitely responded to her situation exactly how he would expect her to when she figured out her action’s had no consequence- like a little shit who needs to be put into detention. 

God, even thinking that last sentence made Aizawa feel dirty. He’ll definitely need to scrub his skin red after that. 

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

Breakfasts in the mornings have changed a lot since school opened back up. Y/n was always made a plate of food and a drink every morning, it varied in who made it every couple days. No one vocalized what the food at her usual spot on the couch meant, but it was an unspoken rule that it would stay undisturbed. 

No one was entirely sure who cleaned it up when they were in class. They were pretty sure it wasn’t Iida, the seat was clear even when he was in class with them. 

Everyone missed her voice in the mornings. Whether she was complaining about late nights (to which Denki or Mina would yell get some in her direction after) or she was cracking jokes to help wake everyone up, her voice still rung in the air leaving a hole of silence where it once was. 

People’s sentences often drifted off half way through as their eyes caught themselves on her corner seat, where she once curled up into half a ball as she placed her plate of breakfast on top of a throw pillow. 

As people would shuffle off to class, everyone would throw a look over their shoulder and give a moment of their time to the friend they would never get to see again. 

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

Taking one more look at the lock-screen of a phone she couldn’t unlock, she wondered who it was on her screen. A boy with strikingly unique features had white ice cream smeared from his noes down to his lips, and a small smirk was percent on his face. Lights from a Ferris Wheel and fairy lights lit up the dark night sky behind him, and what looked like her knuckles were in front of the camera, showing their interlocked fingers. 

It was a cute photo, but it was so foreign to her it made Y/n wonder if the phone was even hers. She sighed after staring at the keypad, asking for her password. The face id had been disabled after it shut off, and all she could do was hope she would remember what is was.

“You okay?” Toga asked, placing a hand on Y/n’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responded, taking in the forest clearing Toga had taken her off to, splitting off from the rest of the group. “What are we doing here Himiko?”

“The other members want to know how much control you still have over your quirk. They thought I would be the best person for you t be around when we do this,” She explained, a soft smile on her face as she explained. 

“Huh,” Y/n had a few thoughts running around in her mind, “Shigiraki didn’t want you to tell me did he?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” She teased, a wide smile on her face.

“I dunno... it felt like someone whispered it in my ear, if that makes sense?” 

“Who knows, that could be one of the parts of your quirk,”

“What exactly is my quirk?” She asked, glaring at one of the birds near them who had grown to be too loud. 

“It’s kinda hard to explain. The easiest way that I know how to explain it is that you’ve got a strong connection to the dead. You can talk to them, visit them I think, and most importantly you can summon them to fight for you,”

“Fight for me?” Y/n echoed. She wasn’t quiet sure why, but that phrasing felt weird... it almost felt off... 

“Yup!” Himiko cheered, bouncing slightly. 

“Alright,” Y/n sighed, shaking her arms, “Let’s give this shit a try,” she declared, moving her arms slowly from beneath her hips, struggling to get them above her waist.

In front of her, a muddy figure rose from the ground, it’s shoulders cracking as it took a deep breath of clean, fresh, air.

[haileygarciasunshine]

Camp Half-Blood

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Reader

Word Count:  2,472 (oops lol😅😬🤣)

Summary:  Some violence, One swear word.

Author’s Note: This is written as adults.I was thinking of making more parts to this? What do you guys think?🥺😬 

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*Since my writings haven’t been showing up please head over to my wattpad to read my latest works! 

"Grover?" You called from your bedroom as you fumbled around your room, in search of your lanyard.

"What's up?" He asked making his way to stand outside of your room.

"Have you seen my name tag?" You asked frantically searching.

He chuckled in response. Before you could respond he told you where it was - in its usual place beside the door.

"Oh!" You exclaimed quickly, making your way to the door. Putting it on, you glanced at him.

"What would I do without you?"

"Die probably." He joked, smiling.

"Most likely." You agreed laughing.

"Be safe." He spoke as you were halfway out of the front door.

"Always am!" You replied.

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

"This statue is of the Greek goddess Athena." You gestured to the porcelain statue beside you. "Does anyone know what she is the goddess of?"

The group of tourists in front of you, gazed at the statue that you were standing next to. Flashes of light from cameras capturing the statue bounced around the room.

"Y/N." Your co-worker spoke walking toward you. "You have some visitors." He spoke gesturing to the two men behind him.

Frowning you glanced at the group of tourists behind you.

"I'm in the middle of a tour."

"Don't worry." He spoke placing a hand on your bicep. "I'll take over." He winked, before approaching the group.

"Grover?" You asked with a slight smile. "What're you doing here?"

He tugged you in for a hug. "Y/N, you remember Percy?" He spoke as you pulled apart.You nodded your head.

"How could I not?" A giggle fell from your lips. "He's usually at our apartment."

Percy awkwardly gazed at you, unsure of what to do. Scoffing you tugged him into a hug feeling him tense underneath you. Just as you were about to pull away, he wrapped his arms around your waist reciprocating your hug.

Pulling away, you resumed your spot in front of both men. The feeling of nervousness washed over you. Smoothing over your black pencil skirt, you attempted to fidget with your blouse even though it was neatly tucked in underneath your skirt. Your hair cascading over your shoulders. With the height of your heels, you were almost as tall as Percy.

"What're you guys doing here?" You were the first to break the silence.

"How much do you know about your father?" Grover asked in a blunt way.

Frowning, your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"Not much. Why?"

Both men exchanged a knowing glance.

"Come with us." Grover spoke leading you towards the exit.

"Grover, I can't just leave." You spoke crossing your arms over your chest. "My shift isn't over." Firmly staring at both men.

"Fine." Percy spoke nonchalantly. "We'll stay with you."

"Percy..." You rolled your eyes. "That's not how this works. You can't just stay here while I finish my shift."

"Sure we can." Grover chimed in.

You groaned in frustration.True to their word, Grover and Percy waited in the museum during your shift.

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

"Where are we going?" You asked from the back seat, checking your phone.

Neither of them bothered to respond. They were emersed in their conversation that, they frantically bickered back and forth.

Percy slammed on the breaks, causing you to slide forward thankfully your seat belt caught you.

"Black Jack?" You questioned leaning over to look out of the windshield. Both men turned and gazed at you in confusion.

Without another word, you quickly unbuckled and exited the car.

"Y/N!" Grover yelled in panic.

Rolling your eyes, a smile made it's way across your lips as you made your way to Black Jack.

"Hey, Black Jack." You spoke, greeting the horse. His face nuzzled yours as giggles fell from your lips.

"I missed you too, buddy." You replied.

"You...You can understand him?" Grover questioned in shock as he stood beside Percy.

Continuing to pet Black Jack, you glanced at both men. "Well, understand what I think he's saying." You muttered.

Percy and Grover exchanged a knowing look.Black Jack let out an unfamiliar noise, as he shook his head.

Furrowing your brows together you looked at him. "What is it?"

The sound of branches and leafs rustling startled you. Gazing toward the noise, ice coursed through your veins.

"Guys?" You whispered, not daring to remove your focus from the direction of the noise.

"Y/N, get behind us." Grover spoke in a protective manner. Frowning you turned to look at him.

"No." You spoke.

"What do you mean no?" He asked in shock, both men looking at you as their expression was etched with confusion.

Making your way towards the car, you gazed at them over your shoulder.

"Exactly what I said." You muttered.Leaning in the back seat, you began searching for a button you had. Finding it, the middle console of the back seat fell open. Reaching inside, you pulled out two swords. You walked back towards your friends.

"What the hell is that?" Grover questioned.

"Where did you get those?"

"I've had them in my car." You responded nonchalantly.

"In case of an emergency." You handed Percy one of the swords as you, stood in front of them.

"How do you know the thing doesn't have a gun?" Grover asked.

Raising an eyebrow you looked at him.

"Grover." You started, gazing at Percy in the process. "You do realize my job is knowing about Greek Mythology right?"

"What're you saying?" He asked as his eyebrows furrowed together.

"I'm saying." You stated. "That this road is notorious for having 'animal' attacks on it."

"She's right." A female voice spoke behind you. "I'd listen to her if I were you."

Whirling around, you could make out the details of the woman's face.

"Give us the girl." She spoke again.

Percy reached out grabbing your wrist, gently pulling you beside him and Grover.

"No." Grover shot back.

"Give. Us. The girl." Another female spoke joining the first one.

"No." Percy responded this time.

"We won't ask again." They spoke in unison. "He wants her home."

Hearing their words, made you frown. Before you had a chance to process, one of the woman had grown wings landing above you. She had knocked you to the ground, causing your sword to skid out of reach.

"Come with us." She snarled above you. "Come with us and we'll spare your friends."

"Don't do it Y/N!" Grover yelled.

Gazing toward his voice, you then saw Grover standing on his own with fur covering his legs.

"Grover?" You asked in disbelief.

The sound of a horse naying, could be heard. Black jack, kicked the winged woman off of you, allowing you to get to your feet and grab your sword.

"She's a feisty one." The other woman taunted. "This'll be fun."

She flew at you attempting to knock you down. A strong arm wrapped around your waist yanking you in the direction of their body. Colliding with a broad chest, the smell of sea salt filled your senses.

"Are you okay?" Percy's husky voice asked full of concern.

Gazing at him, the close proximity causing heat to rise in your cheeks, as his piercing blue eyes bore into y/e/c.

Nodding you placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing yourself away. Percy was quickly yanked away from you, as one of the women ripped him away. Raising your sword, you sung it coming in contact with arm. She let out a shrill scream. The sound was something that you had never heard before.

"Percy!" Grover yelled.

Swinging your sword, you were able to defend yourself against the woman attempting to advance at you. Her claws came in contact with your cheek, causing pain to course through your body. Hitting her with your sword, she let out the same shrill scream as the other woman had.

"Get her to camp!"

Nodding Percy wrapped an arm around your waist, yanking you to him. Your back collided with his chest. Lifting you onto Blackjack, you were quickly flown through the forest. Blackjack let out a sound of agony, as he collided with the ground causing you and Percy to tumble onto the ground.

Groaning your side had a harsh impact with a large rock as you fell to the ground. One of the women had followed you into the forest flying after Blackjack.

"You didn't think we would let you get away that easy did you?" She sneered.

Crawling backwards, you gaped at the woman flying above you.

"Percy?" You asked panic evident in your voice.

When you didn't get a response, you frantically looked around until your gaze fell on him. He had hit his head on a large rock, causing him to be out cold.

"It's just you and me now girl." She taunted. "You can't even work a sword. How do you expect to save your friends?"

Flying down, she attempted to attack you. Rolling out of the way, you had successfully dodged her attack. Exhaustion began setting in, as your chest rose and fell at a rapid pace.

Percy let out a low groan, as he became conscious again.

"Leave her alone!" He yelled stumbling to his feet.

"Who's going to make me?" She continued to taunt him. "Surely not you."

Before you could think, you lifted your hand preventing the winged woman from furthering her attack on Percy. Turning her attention back towards you, she stared at you with confusion.

"I am." You spoke with confidence, rising to your feet.

Grover rushed over to where you and Percy were fighting the last winged woman. Both men stared at you with a confused expression.

The woman cackled, turning towards you she attempted to lunge at you. Blocking her actions, you lifted your other hand allowing you to hold her still. Your eyes grew heavy, as you let the anger you had race through your veins.She continued to attempt her movements, but you were able to block them. Before you could think you had turned her to dust.Falling to your knees, your hands shot out in front of you holding you up as you leaned forward. Your chest was rising and falling faster than before, as you gasped for air.

"Y/N..." Grover muttered kneeling beside you, as he rubbed your back attempting to comfort you. "What...." His voice trailing off not processing what he saw.

"My mother." You gasped out. "Is a witch."

Pushing off of the ground Grover and Percy helped you to your feet. Percy had wrapped an arm around your waist helping you walk through the forest. Wincing in pain, silence fell over the group. There was a sudden entrance in the middle of the forest.

Looking at the arch, it was written in greek. Frowning your gaze dropped to the ground in front of you realizing you couldn't read it. Gazing at the arch again you were able to read it. 'Camp Half-Blood.' it read.The sound of a whining filled the air.

"Wait." You stopped stepping away from both men.

"What?" Grover asked in panic.

"Blackjack!" You yelled running toward the horse laying on it's side, in pain.

"It'll be okay. You're okay." You whispered.

"Y/N..." Grover began. "There's nothing you can do."

Looking over your shoulder you shot them a confused look.

Lifting your hands, placing them palm down, you focused as a glow began shining. You began healing Blackjack. Exhaustion set in, as your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Not being able to fight it off any longer, you fell to the ground with a thud. The last thing you remembered was Percy yelling you name, before his strong arms lifted you up.

Groaning, you opened your eyes. Blinking you looked at the ceiling. Flashbacks of the fight, filled your mind. It felt like a weird dream. Attempting to sit up, a sharp pain shot through your side.

"Woah, woah." A husky voice sounded as they helped you to sit up.

"Thank you." You muttered.

Looking up to see who helped you, y/e/c was met with the blue ones.

"Percy?"

"Hey." He smiled, sitting back in his chair beside your bed. "Thanks for...Uhm..Saving me."

A light pink tint danced along his cheeks.

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

"Y/N!" One of the campers called. "Come on we're going to be late for dinner!" Giggling you nodded your head. It had been a long few months at camp. Percy and Grover had taught you extensively how to fight using a sword.

At some point during the summer, Percy had begun spending more and more time with you. He had quickly become your best friend besides Grover.

You still hadn't been claimed by your godly parent yet. You had tried to shake the sad feeling that came along with it. Walking into the pavilion, you were greeted by your fellow campers. Everyone was friendly towards you and went to you for advice. Most of the girls did anyway, while most of the guys went to Percy for advice. It was no secret that almost all the girls had a crush on Percy. You didn't blame them, he was one of the most attractive guys you had seen, even in the human world.

Since you hadn't been claimed yet, you slept in the Hermes cabin for the time being. Usually, during meals, you bounced around sitting at different tables.Today you opted to sit with your friends.

"Y/N!" Grover exclaimed happily, pulling you in for a hug before sitting down. "I've missed you."

Giggling you smiled. "I missed you too Grover."

"Hey!" Percy pouted, sticking his bottom lip out.

Rolling your eyes, you chuckled. "I saw you all day."

"So."

"I missed you too Percy."

"You better."

"Are you two done flirting?" Grover interrupted irritation evident in his voice. "Some of us would like to eat."

His reaction caused you to burst into laughter making Percy and Grover laugh too. Wiping a few tears from your eyes, you caught your breath.Since becoming close friends with Percy, your feelings you had developed for him in the human world, began bubbling up.

Standing up, you were attempting to get something to drink. Silence fell upon the pavilion, as you the hair on the back of your neck stood up. Glancing up, everyones eyes were on you. Looking around, you furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion. Turning toward Percy and Grover, they gazed at you with shock.

Looking upward, you were able to catch a luminated symbol above you. You could feel the color drain from your face as the realization dawned on you. It was one of the 'Big Three.'

Hades.

[delicrieux]

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta. 

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up. 

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?” 

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow. 

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

.

hope you liked it! xxx

.

[flatfootmonster]

Remember This

Bum wanted to move. His left foot itched where part of his skin was still damp underneath a too big sock that didn’t belong to him. He wanted to drink the coke in front of him. He wanted to cry. All those things were impossible; he was barely able to remember to breathe. Someone had been shouting that—to breathe in and out—after everything had changed; gone black and then bright, gone quiet and then loud.

They’d just been on their way to Nana’s, him and mum and dad, just like they usually did because it was Friday today. Was it still Friday? And when would everything go back to normal? What did he have to do to make it right? But there was no one to ask even if he could talk.

“Listen,” said the big man, dressed in his plain white uniform—all clean except for a smear of something red on the sleeve. He was shorter than Bum's dad, his hair wasn’t as dark, and his face was rounder—so was his body. This man wasn’t Bum’s dad. When would he see him again? “I’m gonna go and talk to the other nurse next door. Do you remember Nurse Clay? The one who brought the snacks? I’ll be back in a few minutes. Sit tight and try and drink something. And, erm… just let me know if you want to go to the toilet next time—if you can.”

He stared at Bum, a deep furrow in his brow, and Bum stared back, not quite understanding why he was being spoken to or what was being said. Nothing made sense, not this place, or the people here, and not the noises everyone and everything made. Words vibrated in the air and became a constant buzz. If he thought about it too much and tried to decipher the sounds, the screams would come. He didn’t want to hear her make those sounds. Right now that was all he could remember of her—his mum.

With a sigh, the man left through the door. It was held open by a thick wedge of folded paper. The bench Bum sat on was hard, his fingers strained in a death grip as if he were instead on a rollercoaster. But he had no control over his body. Bum wasn’t even sure if he had a body anymore or if anything was real. The only other thing in the small too bright room was a table where an open coke and apple sat. The table had one short leg. It wobbled whenever anyone leant on it.

“He’s not talking. He’s not even nodding or—I don’t know. It’s like he switched off.” The first man's voice was still sounding, but it was in the next room now, muffled by walls but not entirely restrained.

“I called next of kin, but it may take a while for her to get here at this time of night.” There was a second buzz to accompany the first. It was higher in pitch but made just as little sense to Bum as the other.

“It’s a mess. A goddamn mess.”

“I haven’t seen anything like it. Not round here. It’s just not right. Two of them. Who’s gonna explain to them where their mummy and daddy are?”

“One’s too young, thank god—no dad though. It happened near their house, that’s what Tan said. They all came out to gossip with the police—the neighbours. There’s no one to call for him, no family anyway. Doesn’t that break your heart? Too young to understand but he’ll never remember his mum, never have any real family...”

There was a pause in the buzzing. Bum’s blood was throbbing in his ears. He was going to explode.

“Did you speak to the EMTs?”

“I didn’t get a chance. I was with a patient when they came in.”

“They said she reeked of booze—the mum of that little one. They think she was drunk.”

“Drink driving? That’s a damn shame. Do we know his name?”

“Not yet. Just the quiet one: Yoon Bum. Poor thing. He’s barely breathing, can’t say a word. I don’t even think he’s blinking. It’s a miracle they came out without a scratch.”

“One’s going to give himself brain damage from all the screaming he’s doing, and the other is deaf and mute—and their parents are dead. Not sure I’d call it a miracle.” There was a long sigh. “I just want to go home.”

“Me too. I need to hug my kids.”

Another door opened, and a low wail oozed along the white-walled corridor, it didn’t sound the same as the screams Bum had been trying to silence and forget. Footsteps tapped their way across vinyl before a third buzz joined the din.

“Did anyone get milk yet? I don’t know what else to do. He won’t stop.” This one was panicked: edgy, high, shrill. Bum didn’t like it. It made the bench shake, and his teeth were chattering because of it.

“Tan went for some. I don’t know where he is now. That was, what, maybe five minutes ago?” A non-committal hum was added to the statement-question hybrid in vague corroboration.

“I’ll go look for him—you guys can check on the baby. I’ve done enough.”

Whatever protests the first and second voices offered didn’t stop the marching footsteps, tapping an impatient path across vinyl again. They quieted until another door banged shut, somewhere far away from where Bum sat in his windowless room with his warming can of coke. The pop-pop-popping of the bubbles bursting against tin was slowing. It would be flat soon—dead. Had the pop-pop-popping in his mum and dad stopped?

“Maybe if we leave him for a few minutes he’ll go to sleep. Babies cry themselves to sleep anyway, don’t they?”

“You’re the one with kids. What do I know about babies?”

“Do you want coffee? I’m gonna go call the wife.”

The crying was all that was left now. It was quieter, muffled by the boundary the door set, but Bum could still hear it. It was slowing too, getting lower. It was pathetic and begged and tired. Was the baby’s pop-pop-popping stopping?

Bum’s lungs jump-started. That was how they worked now; they’d stop for a long time before remembering what their job was. Bum drew sharp, cool air into his chest before he attempted to move the body he was sure still attached itself to his thoughts. In a jerky motion, Bum slid off the bench. His eyes were dry as he stared at the door to the next room along the corridor. Footfalls had disappeared, nothing moved. There was just a low erratic hum like the one remaining buzz was trying to soothe itself. Wiping his clammy palms down the borrowed shorts, Bum tried in vain to still the vibrations that jostled his atoms around. His hands shook, and his feet were numb. He didn’t even register the damp patch that made cloth cling to his thigh.

Bum made a stop-start path across small islands that were made up entirely of vinyl squares, one foot inching forward before it was joined by the other. If he stood outside of those imaginary landmasses, he’d fall into oblivion—he was sure of it. The room was cramped and, at the same time, vast as an ocean. But the wailing pulled him on. They were so sad, the cries. They were so full of sorrow it was surprising the baby hadn’t drowned in it all. Bum understood it better than he did the buzzing the big people made.

A lull settled just as he reached the door. Maybe the pop-pop-popping had stopped? There was no handle, so his sparse body weight became the tool, cracking the tall, heavy door open far easier than Bum imagined was possible. He slipped inside. It was another cell—just as bright and hard as the other. The only difference was a car seat, sat on the floor with the baby still strapped inside.

He had his eyes squeezed closed, and his face was an angry red—wet with tears and snot. Then the moaned wail picked up strength once more. There was an acrid smell to the room. He’d probably cried and thrown up everything that was in his tummy until all that came out was stomach lining—Bum had done that once when he’d gotten ill. His mum had held him and washed him and made everything OK. The front of the babies zipped up onesie was stained and damp. Who was going to clean the baby up?

Bum wanted to hate him. There was some recollection, a bone-deep understanding, that the fault of all this—the screams, the hard bench, the vomit and piss, the warm coke—was due to this baby's mum. That thing inside burned; it wanted a reason or direction, but it wasn’t strong enough. It didn’t singe his skin or catch fire to his consciousness, and it didn’t outweigh the hurt in the cries that only Bum could feel—feel in dark chambers in his heart, only just discovered tonight.

He stood and stared at the baby with no name. As his heart hammered in his chest, Bum became aware of the mess he’d made on himself. The damp patch was smaller than the first time when he’d wet himself in his own trousers. Perhaps he should go, slip back out and sit and wait on his own. But, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, the wail stilled. There was a quiet that no buzzing or screaming dared encroach upon, the baby’s eyes were open and focussed on Bum. His tiny trapped chest rose and fell quickly beneath the straps that held him prisoner. The breaths fell in time with Bum’s heartbeat; his pop-pop-popping was fine, just like Bum’s.

The baby thrust out his hand, and stubby fingers peeked out the end of a grubby sleeve. He babbled something while a snot bubble burst under one porcelain perfect nostril. The fingers wriggled impatiently, drawing attention to the red on his cuff—just like the uniform of the big man. A baby shouldn’t have blood on them. It just wasn’t right—it wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Bum lurched forward as his feet stole back their gait, islands and oceans forgotten while his own fingers stretched out, answering where his lips were unable. The baby's grip was strong as it grabbed at Bum’s index finger, pulling it towards his chest and compelling the owner of that finger to crouch or else fall flat on his face.

A stuttered shush broke free. “It’s OK. We’re OK,” he said. The baby babbled again before he grasped Bum’s shirt, trying to haul himself out of the seat. “OK, OK, let me try—” It always looked so hard when his mum or dad tried to do this. His fingers trembled while he probed at the button sitting at the centre of the baby’s chest, easing it this way and that before a catch came free and the straps loosened. There was no hesitation once the restraints were gone, the baby pulled himself up onto his saviour. Bum had always been smaller and thinner than most of his friends, and this baby was big, heavier than Bum could hold—almost as long as Bum was tall already. His balance waned then he fell backwards. The impact of the floor against his backside was softened by arms wrapping around him like vines eager for support and fingers digging into him like roots desperate for nourishment.

For a moment, Bum sat where he’d fallen as bemusement kept him stuck in amber. He’d never known someone could be needful for him—it was always him in need of his parents or his Nana. And he still had her—his Nana. If he’d lost everything else there was that, there were his memories, too. But this baby did not have that—any of it. All he had was the heart that drummed against Bum’s chest; all he had was himself.

A small cream blanket was left in the car seat, padding where the baby had laid. The smudge of dirt and single leaf clinging to it meant it was the cleanest thing in the room after the sterile walls. And behind the car seat was a folded coat—judging by the size, it belonged to the baby. Shuffling over to the bench, where it housed a dark cove, Bum one-handedly set out a makeshift cot within the safety of the shadow and away from the bright, white exposure. There he eased himself and the baby down, head resting on the rolled-up coat and the blanket brought up to cover them both. Chubby legs and arms wriggled, pushing and pulling, as the baby crawled upwards until his head was just beneath Bum’s chin. Then he lay still, his breaths deepening, his muscles finally at ease.

Beneath the smell of the hospital, urine, and stomach acid, there was something else. Bum could sense it as soft, dark hair tickled his nose. It was sweet and safe, and it was peaceful and human—reminding him of something that had detached itself when the cars collided. Turning towards the wall, Bum brought his knees up, curling around the baby and holding on as tightly as he was being held. An aimless tune stirred before it came to fruition, hummed quietly down onto the crown of the baby’s head—like Bum’s mum used to when he couldn’t sleep.

A yawn forced his jaw wide. The baby was already sleeping and Bum remembered something else that was human: fatigue. Warmth replaced the hardness, trauma waivered beneath the weight of desperately needed dreams—full of the past and impossibilities, words came without sense. “We’re going to be OK,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “You can remember me. Remember me, OK? Remember this.”

Note: this was/is a time stamp from an AU I’m writing, although I don’t know if it fits better as a prologue considering it’s how things become altered and we have a different set of issues to play with.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

“First Lines” | Tag Game

Hey Y’all I have gotten tagged in this a few times— thank you so so much @auroracalisto @mikaelson-emma and, of course, @hellotvshowtrash— I haven’t had much time to read them and form coherant thoughts but expect some soon. 

So the rules are you post the opening lines to 20 of your most recent fics— or all the ones you have if you don’t have 20— and it kinda just shows who you are as a writer and it’s just fun!

I decided to include some WIP’s— and expose to everyone who is not @activist-af the sheer amount of fics that I start and then set aside. Please enjoy y’all I got a kick out of compiling this list!

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies, a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies. Right?

(WIP | Persephone’s Symphony | Bucky Barnes)

_

“Did you pack my dress!” A shrill voice assaults her eardrums as she scurries towards the door.

It comes from a tall, thin, young woman. Her face and fingers are boney, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back. The faintest aroma of honeysuckles and violets wafts off her creamy skin. She is beautiful, her step sister Anna. At least in theory. The sneer on her cherry lips and the hatred in her cerulean eyes, unclouded and accusatory, can’t be hidden by any length of silky dress or ruby lipstick, though. She is ugly, even if just on the inside.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter One | Loki)

_

The ride to the capitol takes three gruelling days. Each night is spent at a different tavern. It is the same story each time; Estrid and Anna spend the night in a lavish bed and Y/n is left with the horses, curled under her thankfully baggy cloak. It is neither warm nor comfortable, sleeping on the bench seat of the carriage. She never really falls asleep, she only dozes in and out of consciousness. It is almost always interrupted by footsteps or the murmurs of animals or her own mostly empty stomach growling into the night. That one is twofold- usually her stomach is in so much nauseating pain that she cannot sleep but, on the off occasion she can, she is then awoken by the loud roars it makes.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Two | Loki)

_

“Please Surtr.”

Her voice rings through his ears on a loop, the most beautiful and agonizing melody that he has surely ever heard. She must be magic- something strong and powerful and like nothing he has ever seen before. There is no other explanation. It had been magic when she appeared to him, literally falling into his lap as if out of thin air. He is the god of tricks but even he cannot do that- he cannot make women that smell like flower petals land in his arms at will. He wishes he could- more than anything he wishes he could pluck her out of his dreams and bring her back to him. But he cannot because that was not a trick. That was something else entirely.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Three | Loki)

_

Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

(Posted | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Four | Loki)

_

“On the balcony,” Frigga calls back, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulders. “We have company!” She adds, seemingly as an after thought— she is too busy pouring wine from a glass feeder into a beautifully ornate cup.

At least, Y/n thinks it is wine. She can smell the fermented berries— sweet and tangy and warming her nose as all wines she has encountered before have— only this wine is a pale violet shade. It is not an opaque rouge, not a barely there chartreuse. Nothing like what she has ever been able to get her hands on by way of bartering or shared celebration. Weddings and births. She takes a seat in one of the golden chairs, trying not to think about how out of her element she truly is. The little details are starting to show though. Not just extravagant pools and marble hallways. Even the food here is luxurious.

(WIP | The Servant and The Prince / Chapter Five | Loki)

_

She would have never thought it possible. Never. She’s the type to sit at home and crack open a good book. Maybe make a nice cup of tea. Lately she has been finding hibiscus tea to be a nice way to end the night. That’s besides the point, though. The point is that she is nothing like her older sister Jane. She is a dreamer, not a doer. Not a traveller.

Especially not a traveller of space— of foreign planets.

(WIP | Untitled | Loki)

_

“Are you heading home this weekend?” Lily twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, “Mama told me there’s an event.”

Your best friend lays on your bed as opposed to her own, her legs dangling over the edge. Her eyes are closed, probably halfway to being asleep. It’s been this way since the two of you left for college three years ago, always more in your space than her own. You’re lucky that way, you have a best friend who would follow you across the country if you wanted her to. Honestly, you would do the same. Luckily, though, you decided on only two hours away away from home. Just far enough to find your footing. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

(Posted | Everything, Everywhere | The Mikaelson Boys)

_

“Get away from me, Kai!” Y/n snarls, pushing her way through the grill with a huffing witch on her heels.

She had been eating her meal- staring at her meal more like— and trying to ignore the constant buzz of her phone. He was incessant, texting her non— stop as if it would make it all better. After the thirtieth text she had turned her phone off, preferring to look at her food in silence. No text can erase his voice in her head. She means nothing to me.

“Not going to happen, kitten,” Kai purrs, his hand wrapping around her arm and tugging her to his chest, “you’re not going to ignore me.”

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

_

New Orleans isn’t all that it was cracked up to be she muses to herself as she winds her way through the tombs. They tower over her, shadowing her with the sins of so many people before her. They’re lonely. That’s all she can think, over and over again. They must be so lonely. There can’t possibly be enough people to visit each of them. There aren’t even any people to visit her, let alone thousands of lost souls. She laughs to herself, a cruel sound breaking through the crashing silence. She is a lost soul.

(WIP | Do You Have A Moment? | Kol Mikaelson)

_

A little bit outside the city lines of New Orleans, tucked precariously off highway 109, there stands a roadside market. It isn’t too far, nor is it too close; it’s just right, like the porridge in some half assed, uninspired fairytale. It’s nestled perfectly on the edge of the bayou, drawing in just enough business to keep the two girls running it in business. The jam is sweet, the ham is honeyed, and the women have smiles that look a little bit like rain in a drought: necessary for life but too much water on dry soil is a recipe for disaster. It’s all a little bit too perfect. Too clean cut and wholesome. But this isn’t a fairytale, after all. It’s the story of the girl who got away with it and the girl who helped her do it.

(WIP | Hey Tommy | The Mikaelsons)

_

The Salvatore house has always smelled the same; like oranges and rum. A lot of rum. It is a welcome scent, one that smells almost like home. It will never truly be home, those scents are already reserved in your very essence, but it’s close. You’ll always be happy to walk through their door. Today is no different.

(WIP | Forever and Always | The Mikaelsons)

_

Kol drags a hand through his hair, his eyes locked on the book in front of him. His eyes wander the page, the corner of his mouth lifting when he skims something particularly interesting. You, too, have a book in your hands but, unlike him, your focus is elsewhere. To be exact, your focus is four feet away, basking in the sun on the lap of one shirtless vamp.

(WIP | Best Friend Things / Part Two | Kol Mikaelson)

_

“So, love,” a pair of arms snake around your waist, pulling you into a warm chest, “these are the famous pumpkins?”

A familiar blonde head, the one you woke up to this morning, settles against your shoulder. He must be leaning significantly given the fact that he’s at least a good head taller than you. You break the rain spell you had been working on, laying your wand next to your pumpkin starts. That’s the beauty of magic, you can grow in any season. You turn to face Klaus, a soft smile on your face.

(WIP | Pumpkin / Harry Potter Universe AU | Klaus Mikaelson)

_

The salt clings to her sticky skin, her hair grainy and matted from the surf. Thunder rolls overhead, chasing her through The Cut like. It’s only half past noon but shadows layer the street, casting everything in a dusky gloom. The pavement smells sharp; the rain is coming and fast. She hikes her tote higher on her shoulder and wishes for a moment that she hadn’t dove for as many shells today. She feels like a beached whale with all the dead weight. Business is business, though, and the tourists go crazy for a handmade necklace.

(WIP | Thunderstorm Afternoons | Jj Maybank and John B. Routledge)

_

She shoves her key into the lock of the Smith’s beach house, turning it with an audible click and smiling when she pushes the door open to the smell of warm pizza and oranges. Try as the boys may, Mrs. Smith’s affinity for essential oils will always prevail over the mass amount of cheap pizza they consume on what is— unfortunately— the daily. She hauls her bag higher on her shoulder, closing the door behind her and thanking the heavens she remembered to pack some of the chicken her mother made for dinner on her way out the door. No Domino's tonight, thank you very much.

(WIP | Sleepovers | The Kook Boys)

_

“Y/n, darling, come here,” her mother’s sweet voice trickled over her from the front hall, “I have some people I want you to meet.”

She stepped into the hallway, coloured lights pouring over her. It was Christmas time, her favourite time, and everything was extravagantly decorated. Garland lined the grand staircase, there was a tree in almost every room, and, her favourite, holly strung in every doorway. Her house radiated magic, more so than usual, that is.

(WIP | Hufflepuff Princess | Draco Malfoy)

_

Her feet hit the pavement with careful clicks, her heels— while undeniably killer— a little loud for her taste: a product of her day spent in practice with the other debutante girls. She has to force herself to make her steps light. This isn’t New York, it’s Mystic Falls. Being a southern woman is not a choice; it’s an obligation. A prior commitment she agreed to before she was old enough to truly fathom what it meant. For the most part she loves it— the elegance and refinery, the teatime giggles and flouncing skirts— but the heels? That’s a hard no.

(WIP | Untitled | Kai Parker)

_

She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n.

(Posted | The Bet | Rafe Cameron)

_

Her bubblegum lip gloss attacks him from all the way across the café, cutting cleanly through the aroma of coffee and donuts and sending his heart racing at the obscenely sweet scent. He should hate it. No, scratch that, he shouldn’t think anything of it at all. It’s not in his nature to enjoy things- or to feel things at all, to be frank- but he can’t help it. The drugstore brand, wildly over-scented balm makes his head fuzzy like nothing else.

(Posted | Bubblegum Princess, Cherry Angel | Kai Parker)

_

I don’t really know who to tag because I haven’t been active these last few days so I am tagging people I have not seen do this yet and if you have just ignore me : @elijahs-wife @draconisxcaput @imaginearyparties @dumble-daddy 

[chemartsblog]

I Need a Hero

Zuko put his life of stalking and blowing things up behind. He loves baking for the Jasmine Dragon, and the most stressful thing in his life is Jin’s nosiness. 

Until he’s caught in a villain attack is saved by the most gorgeous hero...and throw coupons at him.

Ao3 Link

Quirks are mutations in the human genome that cause a person to exhibit non-human traits and abilities. The earliest quirks date back to 6,000 years ago with the appearance of elemental quirks. Those with the quirks were called ‘benders’, due to their ability to seemingly bend the elements. In modern times, quirks have evolved to more complex traits…

—History of Quirks by Kya Mallik

--

“Excuse me why is this tea so bitter?” a shrill woman in an atrocious floral blouse asks. Zuko counts to ten and answers, “You asked for 0% sugar. Tea is naturally bitter. Hence your tea is bitter.”

“Well change it!”

“Okay how much sugar do you want?”

“I told you earlier I didn’t want any sugar.”

Count to ten Zuko. Just like the therapist said.

“Ma’am.” Zuko says slowly trying to keep himself from steaming, “If you don’t add any sugar it’ll still be bitter. If you want an artificial sweetener we have some Splenda over there.”

“I don’t want artificial sweeteners. They cause cancer.”

Oh Agni. What did he ever do to deserve this? Zuko winces. Actually, forget I said that.

“Okay, we’ll fix it.” Zuko grumbles. The woman huffs and nods. Zuko goes to the station and places the cup under the syrup bottle.  I hope you gain five pounds Karen. He thinks viciously as he pumps the syrup.

He shakes the drink and then returns it to her. The woman eyes it suspiciously and takes a slow sip. Then she smiles condescendingly and says, “See that wasn’t so hard.” And flounces off.

Good riddance. He thinks as he wipes down the counter.

“Wow bossman, I thought for sure you would have punched her.” Jin chirps. Song chuckles beside her and nods. “You showed great restraint, boss.”

“Can’t punch customers. Might get arrested.” He grumbles. “Also Uncle would be…disappointed.”

“And there’s the real reason why.” Jin teases. “You’re truly your Uncle’s boy.”

“Shut up Jin or I’ll fire you.”

“Said that before, bossman~” Jin sing-songs. “And you’ve never done it.”

“I’ll do it someday.” Zuko grumbles.

Song seems to take pity and says, “Why don’t you go to the kitchen, Zuko? It’s pretty much slowing down here. We can take care of any orders.”

Zuko looks at Song gratefully. She’s truly an angel. “Okay. I want to experiment on some new bread anyway.”

“Or you can take a lunch break.” Jin says. “It’s already 11, and I know you’ve been here since 4am baking.”

“Oh yes, Jin’s right. Take a lunch break. Lee’ll be here soon.”

Zuko pouts, “I’m not hungry.”

“Yes you are.” Jin retorts. “Now go. And I want to see a receipt of your lunch.”

“Please, Boss?”

Zuko looks at both the girls and sighs heavily. “Fine. Fine.” He grumbles and takes off the hat and apron. He takes his hair out of the bun and lets it tumble down to his mid-back. “I thought I was supposed to be the boss?” he mutters.

“You are! We’re just looking out for you. Uncle’s orders.” Jin sasses.

“Have a good lunch.” Song says waving at him. Zuko returns it half-heartedly and trudges out.

                                                   ----

The streets are crowded with students and workers all heading to lunch. Zuko does his best to weave around the crowds, but even he’s pushed around in the crowded streets. Fortunately, Kuzon’s Diner is just ahead, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he gets in. The smell of familiar Fire Nation spices eases his nerves, and he goes up to the counter. On Ji smiles and asks, “You’re usual?”

“Please.” He says tiredly. He just wants to stuff his face with some hand-cut Fire Noodles. Extra spicy.

“Haha did Jin force you to take a break?”

“Jin doesn’t force me to do anything.” Zuko denies petulantly.

On Ji rolls her eyes, “Suuure Zuko.”

He tries to pay but she stops him. “On the house.” She says.

Zuko narrows his eyes, “On Ji.” He tries to say.

“Nope, you made my sister’s birthday cake.”

“It was just a cake.”

“It was a four-tiered cake to make it look like the scene from the movie Love Amongst Dragons. It was a masterpiece. Mom still cries thinking about it. You’re not paying.”

He sighs, but relents. What is with all the strong-willed women in his life?

“Thanks.” He says taking the packed noodles.

On Ji smiles and shoos him playfully, “Go on. I know I can’t make you stay to eat here. But I texted Jin, so I’ll know if you don’t eat it immediately.”

“I never should have introduced you guys.” He grumbles half-heartedly.

“Please, you love us mothering you.”

“Goodbye On Ji.” Zuko grits out.

“Mom says she better see you next week for our monthly potluck!”

“Yes, I know.” He says fondly and waves goodbye at the excitable girl.

                                                    ---

He’s walking leisurely and thinking about new bread flavors when an explosion rocks the area. His body goes on autopilot and he crouches behind a mailbox. He frantically looks around and sees a group of people in combat uniforms. Villains. Great.

There are three in total. The biggest one is carrying a bulky case, probably filled with whatever loot they stole. He looks to be an anima-based mutant. Kamodo-rhino perhaps? The other two seem to be energy-propulsion mutants. One is shooting beams out of his forehead and the other is shooting from her hands. There’s a familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through Zuko as he thinks of the ways they could escape. Getaway vehicle, temporal portal, smokescreen.

Still it’s pretty ballsy of them to attack a major hub in daylight. Maybe they didn’t have a choice? He wonders what’s in the bag, and his fingers start to itch.

No.

He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm his beating heart. No.

There are more explosions. People are running around him. Screaming, panicking. He belatedly hears the Civilian Safety Force giving order, and he sees the bright neon green uniforms start to direct the crowd into orderly lines. Zuko stands and starts to go with them, but then he hears On Ji.

Without thinking he starts running towards her, weaving through the officers who are yelling at him to stop. But he can’t. He sees On Ji. Trapped next to a wall by debris from the ruined building. She’s desperately trying to get out, but she’s not strong enough to move the fallen chunks.

Zuko moves.

He doesn’t practice as much as before, but his body still remembers. Still remembers how to weave and dodge and climb smoothly over the debris, over the flying projectiles and screaming people. He reaches On Ji and frees her.

“Zuko.” She whispers with awe.

“No time. Let’s go.” Zuko says slinging her over his shoulders. Even through all this, his heart is calm and steady. He seems to fly through the street. In the back of his mind, he can acknowledge that he misses this. Misses the danger. The adrenaline. But he’s rusty. Maybe he would have seen it five years ago, but he barely notices it now.

He doesn’t even think. He tosses On Ji to a group of neon-green officers and faces the truck flying towards him.

Time slows.

His hands curl and he brings them up in a protective stance. Fire rushes through his veins and—blue.

B

O

O

M

!

Zuko blinks and coughs as dust tickle his lungs. He’s on the ground, but there’s a looming shadow over him. He looks up and his eyes widen.

It’s like a scene out of a movie; there’s a tall dark-skinned man in front of him. He’s in a dark blue hero suit with a sword on his hip. His brown hair is tied in a wolfstail with the sides shaved. And most impressively, he’s holding up the truck like it weighs nothing.

Oh Spirits, those are some big biceps.

The hero puts down the truck gently, and Zuko tries not to ogle at the thicc thighs that flex as he squats down. It’s getting really hot here. Why is it getting so hot here?

Then the hero turns and smiles. It’s. Blinding.

Zuko doesn’t even realize that the hero has walked close to him until he’s face to face with him. The dark googles mask his eyes, but Zuko thinks he probably has really striking eyes under them.

“Don’t worry. I’m here.” He says in a soothing deep timber. Then he wraps his arms around Zuko and lifts him. Princess style.

Zuko can only squeak and cling onto his very muscular shoulders.

Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.

Suddenly he’s put down and people are swarming him. Someone puts an ugly orange blanket over him and another is flashing a really bright light in his eye. He flinches and bats the light away from his eye. Someone chuckles next to him and he turns to see the Hero, still smiling and saying, “I gotta go kick some ass, but I’ll be back to check on you.”

Zuko likes to think that he says okay or nods or anything really, but in reality, he just continues to stare at the Hero. Red-faced and wide-eyed.

The hero is still there, and it looks like he wants to laugh. “So…maybe you can let go now?”

Ah he’s still clutching his shoulders. Nice Zuko. Good job.

He peels his fingers off the uniform and puts them tightly on his side. With one last wave, the Hero goes to face the three mutants.

There are more people surrounding him and asking him questions, but Zuko’s head is in a buzz. He belatedly hears On Ji’s voice near him and feels a protective hand over him. He clutches the hand and closes his eyes.

Focus Zuko. Calm yourself and breathe.

When he opens them, On Ji is beside him. Teary and dusty but otherwise alright. The orange shock blanket is still on him, and he pulls it tightly across him.

“You okay?” Zuko croaks.

On Ji scoffs and hugs him tight. “Of course. Thanks to you.”

“I owed you for the free noodles.” He tries to joke, but by the glare On Ji sends him it probably didn’t land.

“Zuko Hira’a, you are not allowed to pay for anything in Kuzon’s diner for as long as you live.” She says sternly. “And don’t bother trying to hide this from Song and Jin. I already texted them.”

Ugh he knew he shouldn’t have introduced them.

He sighs and says, “Okay. I’m sorry for worrying you, but I—I just saw you there and—and I couldn’t just leave you.”

She smiles tearily. “I know. Because you’re a stupid brave reckless idiot.”

“I know.”

A paramedic comes over to him and gives a reassuring smile. “Zuko Hira’a?”

“Yes?”

“It seems you’re alright. Just a bit of shock and a small cut on your right cheek.”

Zuko immediately puts his hands to his face and feels the rough bandage. On Ji groans and swats his hand away. “Don’t touch it.”

“Sorry.” he mutters, shaking the sting on his hand off.

The paramedic looks amused and hands him a form. “Well, it’s not deep. You didn’t even need stiches, just fill out this form and you’ll be set.”

“Thank you.” Zuko says taking the paper. The paramedic smiles again and leaves.

“So…now that you’re officially cleared...” On Ji has a devious look on her face.

Oh no.

“How’d it feel to be saved by a big handsome hero?”

He should have let the truck squash him.

Instead, he has to be here. With On Ji, who has the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. Can he fake a heart attack?

“You can’t fake a heart attack.”

“…how did you know?” Did she have a mind-reading quirk?

“Because that was your ‘can I fake a heart attack’ face.”

“I didn’t know I had one.” He mumbles.

On Ji clucks her tongue, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Please Spirits give me something. Anything.

“Hey, I’m glad I found you!”

ANYTHING BUT THAT!

Zuko freezes and turns around stiltedly. Blue Hero’s face is a little dirty, but it just makes him look rugged, and his googles are pushed up to reveal striking blue eyes. Now that Zuko has a closer look, his arms are much bigger than he originally thought. They’re just tight corded muscles with beautiful brown skin stretched over them. His hero suit also helps show off the defined lines of his body. The dark blue really goes will with his brown skin—and Blue Hero is talking. And he’s waiting for a response.

Good job Zuko. Way to pay attention. Just nod; that’s usually the answer to everything right?

Zuko nods and the Hero beams. On Ji is biting her lips on the side, and he wishes he could just swat her away. Or rather if Zuko could swat Zuko away. That would be the most ideal.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I was really worried for a second because you were kinda out of it.” The hero says.

Yes yes. He was. No need to make him relive the shame of his encounter.

“Um…sorry. About that.”

“Haha, it’s no problem. You were probably in shock and all. Oh I’m Pro-Hero Boomerang by the way!” Boomerang stretches his hand out, and Zuko stares at it before On Ji takes pity on him and elbows his back discretely. Zuko takes it and says, “Uh…Zuko here.”

Zuko here? ZUKO HERE? Agni just strike him down now.

Boomerang just takes it in stride and smiles, “You were pretty brave, but maybe next time you can leave it to the heroes?”

Fire flares in his gut. His eyes narrow and he squeezes the hand tight, “I wasn’t going to stand by and watch her get hurt. Not if I could help. And I won’t apologize for it.”

Boomerang blinks, and his grin seems to change into something more real. “You’re right, but maybe…just be a little more careful next time huh? I can’t always swoop in to rescue you.” His eyes are smoldering and Zuko feels his palms start to heat up. He retracts his hands quickly and turns to hide his blush.

“Right right.” He mumbles.

Boomerang looks amused, but he turns to On Ji and says, “You’re lucky to have him as a boyfriend.”

On Ji sticks out her tongue, “Ugh no way. He’s more like my socially awkward older brother. Besides he’s super gay.”

“On Ji!” Zuko hisses, but Boomerang doesn’t seem to have heard him. His eyes widen and his brows lift. He glances at Zuko who’s desperately trying to will the red off his face.

“I see.” He says contemplatively. “Well, it’s nice to see that you guys are okay. I have to go help with clean-up.”

“Of course.” On Ji says genially. “Thank you for all your help, Boomerang.” Then she elbows Zuko who looks dumbly at Boomerang.

He should say something. Thank you or can I lick your biceps? No, that last one was not good. Thank you. Just say ‘thank you’…

But the sun just hit him at the just the right angle to make the shadows grace his strong jaw. The cut lines of his body. The piercing blue of his eyes. And he freaks.

He takes something out of his pocket and shoves it in the hero’s chest. Boomerang looks confused (rightfully so) and barely takes the slip of paper.

“HERE’S A COUPON FOR MY TEASHOP. OKAYBYE!” And he grabs On Ji and the blanket and books it.

He must look like a maniac because people are parting for him and On Ji is cackling like a witch, but he doesn’t really care right now. He just needs to get out of there to prevent anymore word vomit from coming out of him. He runs until he’s back at the Jasmine Dragon, and he throws the door open.

Multiple eyes widen in shock at his appearance, but Zuko just puts On Ji down on an empty chair where she proceeds to laugh herself silly, and Zuko goes into the kitchen, ignoring all the wide-eye looks from his employees. He reaches the refrigerator and goes inside. Finally, he pulls up a stool and sinks down, head to his knees, and heaves a loud guttural groan.

[eclecticmiasma]

Unattended (Fugonara)

Abbacchio gets sick of Fugo and Narancia’s constant fighting. 

NSFW

[Warnings: N/A]

*do not re-upload my work without explicit permission

As a member of Passione, rare are the days that one isn’t given some sort of work to be done.

Rarer still are the days that Fugo isn’t endlessly harassing Narancia about his studies.

The boy had barely woken up when his junior came barreling through the bedroom door and tossed a division practice book at his feet. Narancia flailed wildly and groaned about what a wonderful day off he had planned. First, he was going to go to a new French Bistro that Mista wouldn’t stop raving about. Apparently, their croissants melted in your mouth and the girls had to wear little French maid outfits. Then, he wanted to longboard to the beach and work on a nice summer tan. But, his whining was to no avail. Fugo simply stared at his writhing form with utter disdain.  

Downstairs, Abbacchio could hear Narancia’s shrill pleas for mercy. He sighed heavily into his espresso and closed his eyes. He thought briefly what his life would be like if he were a more social, outgoing person. Maybe he would have an inkling of how to use his days off rather than spend them trapped inside of Bucciarati’s childhood home with youth that had the emotional capacity of feral orphans. Just as he began to entertain images of a day out in the countryside, the sound of footsteps not unlike those of a stampeding buffalo herd pulled him back to reality.

Fugo emerged into the kitchen. Narancia trudged in behind him like a beaten dog. It would have all been amusing if Abbacchio didn’t know that it would all escalate into yet another brawl between the two. Mista and Bucciarati might have been able to wave away their volatile relationship, but it drove Abbacchio crazy. Always screaming, fighting, stabbing each other with cutlery- he wished desperately that they would either kill each other or fuck each other, anything to get some peace and quiet. Though he secretly hoped they would snap and do the latter, as he and Mista had a pretty hefty bet going.

Unbeknownst to Bucciarati, of course.

The miserable pair made their way through the kitchen and into the living area without so much as acknowledging the silver-haired man’s presence. Fugo plopped himself onto an old, but well-kept sofa and gestured at the pencil and paper he set out earlier. Narancia continued to moan about French maids and new tanning oil before he threw himself down next to the other.

“So, do you remember what we talked about last time?” Fugo inquired, knowing fully well that his teammate didn’t have a clue.

“Division,” Narancia spat back. The green suited man sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Open the damn book,” He ordered, trying not to lose his cool in record timing. Begrudgingly, Narancia followed his instruction and opened to a dog-eared page covered in angry red marks.

And so they continued. Fugo reviewed what he had tried to teach the rambunctious teen nearly three weeks before and then let him try on his own. As he watched shrewdly, he heard the echo of Bucciarati’s words. He may have gone against my wishes, but it is my duty to make sure he gets an education. Unfortunately, fishing didn’t allow me to have an education. But he has a real chance if you’ll help him. He sighed again.

“There!” Narancia threw down his pencil, causing it to bounce off of and roll under the couch. Fugo grabbed his notebook with more force than necessary and looked over the raven-haired boy’s work. Sometimes Bucciarati’s words could bring Fugo comfort, or help remind him of his goals and why he continued to even wake up in the morning.

Sometimes they flew right out the window.

“Narancia!” He barked, furious. Not only was every single problem wrong, but two of the answers were just different angry doodles of maids with their butts showing. Fugo saw red. He threw the notebook behind him and grabbed Narancia by his stupid little neck straps. “Why are you fucking around here you troglodyte?!”

“I had shit to do to day you troglo- trog- what the fuck did you call me?!” Of course, the older boy was at the ready with his signature silver switchblade. He pressed it to the other’s throat menacingly.

“Enough!” Both boys jerked around to face Abbacchio, who had entered the living room and sat in an armchair across from the pair unnoticed. They were ready to continue fighting before his low, threatening voice continued, “I won’t listen to this anymore. You two need to get whatever this is out of your system, and you need to do it today. Before one of you kills the other, or before I kill the both of you.” Narancia made a face but held his blade steady.

“I’ll get it out of my system by coating this smug asshole’s blood all over the couch!” He growled. Fugo rolled his eyes and twisted the other’s neck straps so that they begin to choke him out. His purple eyes bulged out and he made an inhuman gurgling noise out of pure rage.

“The two of you need to fuck.” Abbacchio interrupted. Fugo let go of Narancia’s clothing long enough for him to catch air.

“What?!” The pair hissed, staring daggers in Abbacchio’s direction.

“You heard me,” He leaned back in the armchair and surveyed them, “I saw it all the time in the force. Rage-filled criminals who really just needed to get their rocks off.” Something that the tall man always admired about himself was his ability to lie imperceptibly to most anyone. He could see the gears turning furiously in Fugo’s mind as Narancia just gaped at him, open-mouthed. “Of course, if you kill one another it’s no skin off my back. But, I think you’d rather kiss each other than kill each other.”

“Kiss him?!” Narancia finally broke out of his stupor and spoke, “This idiot’s never kissed anything in his life, why the hell would I want to do that?” Fugo smacked him upside the head.

“You don’t know anything about me, shit-for-brains. You’re the one that has to go to maid café’s to see some ass!” Narancia’s mouth flopped open and closed like a fish.

“T-that doesn’t mean shit! I’ve kissed people before! You’re the one who spent all your time in school, I was on the streets!”

“Yeah? Prove it, you little shit. I bet the only thing you’ve kissed is Bucciarati’s ass-”

Narancia grabbed Fugo’s tie and jerked him forward into a closed-mouth kiss. Abbacchio grinned widely, triumphant. Fugo resisted initially, but Narancia had a surprisingly strong grip for such a small frame. When he finally let go, the taller boy gaped at him, flustered.

“Th-that’s not how you kiss someone! You didn’t even move your lips at all, idiot!” Before Narancia could protest, Fugo grabbed either side of his face and pulled him in for another bruising kiss. This time, Fugo’s golden eyes fluttered closed so he couldn’t see the other’s purple orbs boring holes into him. He opened his lips slightly, and Narancia did the same. Being that close, Narancia briefly noticed that his teammate smelled lightly of coffee and strawberry shampoo.

Abbacchio watched as the kiss intensified. He thought about what he could buy with the money Mista owed him. Fugo tentatively licked at Narancia’s lower lip. A small swipe at first, then another. Narancia followed suit, testing the waters with his own tongue until they finally met in the middle. The smaller boy made a sound that pulled Abbacchio out of his daydream and went straight to Fugo’s dick.

All hell broke loose.

Fugo deepened the kiss, tongue exploring Narancia’s mouth in earnest. The other complied, rubbing his tongue up the length of his partner’s feverishly. It was messy, it was unexperienced, but it felt glorious. Narancia softly moaned again into the kiss and let his switchblade fall to the floor. He gripped Fugo’s shoulders tight and let himelf be pushed flat against the arm of the couch. As minutes wore on, they parted for air only briefly before plunging back into each other’s depths and letting their hands wander over one another’s tense bodies.

It wasn’t long before Fugo realized that the tightness in his pants was nearly unbearable. He brushed his thigh against Narancia’s groin and was relieved, and aroused, to find that the other seemed to be struggling as well. He slid his thigh between Narancia’s legs and groaned aloud at the contact. The two pulled away from each other, flushed and panting.

“F-Fugo…” Narancia pleaded. As Fugo looked down at the boy’s reddened skin and swollen lips, his mussed raven hair and the drool that dripped slowly from his chin to his chest, he thought that his friend was beautiful. He bit his lip and cautiously grinded his lower body into the other’s. Narancia yelped and blushed near the color of the strawberry earrings that Fugo wore, “Don’t stop,” He pleaded, and it was all Fugo needed to grind against the other in earnest, earning a throaty groan and two thin arms wrapped around his neck.

Abbacchio watched the pair frot against one another and came to the very uncomfortable realization that he was painfully aroused. As the scene in front of him continued to unfold, he justified palming himself through his pants by reasoning that if the pair didn’t want him there they would have told him.

When Fugo wanted something, he was quick to get it. Before Narancia knew what was happening his clothes were on the floor and his friend was sucking deep, blooming bruises into his neck and chest. When Fugo’s hand wrapped around his exposed cock, his brain short-circuited and he came instantly with a shrill cry.

Before he could express his shame, Fugo leaned in and kissed him softly. With his other hand, he undid his belt and slid off his ridiculously holey pants. Narancia gasped.

“So you do wear a thong!” The other’s cheeks flared crimson red. He decided to shut Narancia up for good by spreading his legs and sliding a hand around one of his ass cheeks.

“N-Narancia,” Fugo’s own voice sounded foreign in his ears. How long had it been since he sounded so far away, so unsure? How did he have this gorgeous boy writhing underneath him, undone by just his lips and his touch?

Narancia wouldn’t say he was the smartest tool in the crayon shed, but no one would deny he was surprisingly perceptive. “You want to put it in me?” He said matter of fact, turning Fugo into a sputtering mess.

“Well, I mean…I…you…we don’t have…but-”

“Put your fingers in his mouth,” Abbacchio offered, his own member fully on display for his teammates to gawk at, “It’ll make things much easier.”

“J-Jesus Christ, Abbacchio…” Narancia marveled, disgusted at his voyeurism but oddly intrigued by how brazenly he stroked himself at them.

Fugo bristled with anger at such a private moment being ogled at. He readied himself to take his friend’s discarded switchblade and castrate the tall goth himself, but his anger dissipated when Narancia took his hand and lapped at his fingertips. He sucked in a breath as his fingers moved past Narancia’s lips and into his mouth. The smaller boy’s warmth combined with the soft texture of his tongue and the way that he looked at him, purple eyes clouded with lust, made Fugo’s cock throb painfully.

After a few moments Narancia let go of the other’s fingers with a pop, satisfied that they were as slick as possible. Fugo pulled them back hesitantly, shifting his body so that he could see the other’s hole. He felt dizzy staring at it, as if suddenly everything was real and he was really about to fuck his best friend.

He licked his lips and placed one finger at Narancia’s entrance. Narancia squeaked at the sensation, but held his body still. Slowly, gauging Narancia’s face for any signs of pain, he pushed his slickened fingers forward. Once he passed the ring of muscle, the smaller boy’s body nearly sucked him in. It was warm, it was soft. It was so, incredibly tight.

It was a slow and painful process, but eventually Fugo had Narancia rocking his hips against his hand, three fingers buried deep inside him. He began to love the sounds that his small friend made- soft, breathy moans that made him shiver in anticipation. He never knew the other could be so erotic.

“I can’t…I can’t take it anymore…” Narancia mumbled into the air, eyes screwed shut, “J-just do it already!” Fugo removed his fingers and sat up. Heart beating out of his chest, he placed his cock at Narancia’s reddened hole and took a deep breath.

Abbacchio himself nearly groaned as Fugo pushed in. He fisted his own cock, slick with precum, slowly, deliberately, as if he was impaling the boy himself. Fugo groaned as he finally bottomed out. Narancia didn’t make a single sound, confident that if he did his body just might tear in two. Fugo leaned forward and peppered the boy with kisses on his face and chest, uncharacteristically concerned that he might be severely hurting him. Narancia almost laughed at how painful it was, but the thrill of having Fugo inside of him was motivation enough to persevere.

Narancia let out a pained squeak as the other started to move. Fugo kissed his lips apologetically. He reciprocated in earnest, the sensation of being filled from two ends thrilling enough to distract from the throbbing in his spine. Fugo set up some semblance of a rhythm, short, shallow thrusts deepening as time went on.

“F-fuck, Narancia…” He swore, the tightness of the other’s walls almost painful around his dick. He rocked his hips faster and faster into that heat, losing more control as the moments ticked by. Pain slowly turned into pleasure for Narancia, the foreign feeling of cock sliding in and out of his body morphing into something erotic. Spurred on by Fugo’s shaky breathing and soft grunts, and the sound of their bodies smacking together, Narancia felt something sweet like candy blooming in the pit of his stomach.

Fugo leaned down and licked the shell of Narancia’s reddened ear. “I don’t…you feel so fucking good…” He whispered in a low growl that went straight to the other’s core. Praise from the younger boy was so rare that he came again, suddenly, Fugo’s name spilling from his lips. Fugo moaned loudly as the soft walls around his cock contracted. He snapped his hips almost violently into the other, setting a brutal pace.

“Nara…” Fugo nearly whined, fucking into his teammates body like his life depended on it, “I’m so close…” Narancia threaded his fingers into the other’s blonde locks and held on for dear life. He was sure that Fugo’s nails gripped his hips so tightly that he was bleeding. In the haze of arousal, four words tumbled from his lips that he never thought he’d say in his life.

“Fugo, cum inside me!” He pleaded. Somewhere in the room Abbacchio grunted loudly, the boy’s desperation going straight to his dick and causing him to spill ropes of cum into his palm. The pair hardly noticed as Fugo reached his own orgasm, hips stuttering as he released with a loud groan into Narancia’s shoulder.

Narancia himself moaned at the sensation of being filled to the brim, warmth spreading through his core. Fugo collapsed on top of him and gasped for air. For a while the three men sat there, trying desperately to come down from their highs.

Just as Fugo went to pull out, sunlight filled the living room. Mista had opened the front door and was standing there, slack jawed, holding two sacks of groceries. Bucciarati nearly bumped into him from behind.

“Wh-” He peaked around the frozen gunman and was greeted with the sight of his near naked, slick covered underlings. His eyes were wide as saucers, but a devlish grin played slowly across his features. “Well, Mista, guess you owe quite a bit of money.” *all original work belongs to me. do not re-upload without explicit permission. 

[ncityislove]

His Worst Nightmare

➳ Pairing: Demon!Jisung x Reader

➳ Genre: Angst, Demon AU

➳ Word Count: 9.2k

➳ Warnings: mention of murder and blood but no actual death

Requested? Nah.

You wake up in a pitch-black room, the smell of something burning, stinging your nose. You let out a choked cough, attempting to sit up, only to realize you can't. Your chest is tied down to a table, along with your arms and legs with buckled straps. Fear runs through your veins as you call out for help.

You don't know where you are but the room must be humongous for the way your voice echoes, your screech bouncing around the room for what must've been over a minute until it comes back to you. That's when a singular lightbulb hanging over your head comes on and a boy standing to your left comes into view. You scream again and he hushes you with a finger to his lips.

The light is dim so you can only see his silhouette. How long he had been standing there, you didn't know, but all you could feel was the shrill voice in the back of your brain telling you to run away from him. You're breathing loudly now, the cold metal of the table contrasting with the warmth of your skin. The smell is stronger. You finally recognize the scent as burning flesh.

You stir on the table, screaming and calling for someone—anyone—but the boy puts a hot hand on your shoulder, silencing you. You don't know how he did it, but your voice is gone, your limbs frozen. He leans into the light and you can finally see his face.

He's handsome, his jaw chiseled with small eyes that would've been charming if it wasn't for the alarming blood-red pupils that stare down at you. His lips curve into a wicked smile, his pointed teeth white and pearly as his tongue slid over them quickly.

"Wake up," he whispers.

You shoot up in your bed with a gasp. Your heart thuds in your chest as you try to stop the stream of tears pouring out of your tear ducts. You had to remind yourself that he wasn't real, your breaths coming out uneven.

You've had the same nightmare every night for the past month, leaving you on edge and restless. The bags under your eyes have bags. You put a clammy hand to your forehead, the skin hot to the touch, only reminding you of the burning temperature of the room in your dream.

You don't know why you were having nightmares and why of all things it was always the same boy every night. It never went any further than that bone-chilling smile except once, two or three weeks ago, when his jaws opened the size to fit 3 large watermelons, blood dribbling down his chin. You woke up screaming that time, causing your parents to rush in to check on you.

You get up to make a cup of coffee, deciding against going back to sleep. Caffeine has been your kindest friend for the past few weeks. Unfortunately, you couldn't stay awake forever and eventually, you'd drift off, finding yourself strapped to that table again.

You groggily padded across the kitchen floor, grabbing your favorite mug from the drying rack and pouring yourself the largest cup of coffee possible.

-

The computer cafe you were currently sitting in was emptier than usual, which slightly lifted your spirits. The icing of your half-eaten cupcake was starting to become too sweet so you get up to dispose it in the garbage at the ordering counter.

Your legs feel weak as you walk, your entire body suffering from the lack of proper rest. You feel the world sink in when you blink occasionally, dozing off over and over. This won't do. You get into line to grab another coffee.

You're sitting back at your computer, nose hidden in your oversized coffee mug, when a tall figure shadows over you, their presence strikingly familiar to you—so familiar that when they touched your shoulder, you didn't even flinch.

"Excuse me?," said the young boy.

You turn around, your blood suddenly running cold. The face you've dreamed of every night for the past month—the face that was so terrifyingly beautiful that his image was permanently ingrained into your mind. The slope of his nose those his slanted eyes—it was him! There was no mistaking it.

His lips curl into an awkward frown, his eyebrows lifting slightly at the way your eyes pop out at him.

"A-are you okay?"

You shake your head side to side as you abruptly stand up, gathering your things with trembling hands. You had to go home. You were hallucinating now. You had to be. But why did he seem so real? You were going insane.

"Hey!" he calls out, his hand reaching out to stop you, and you do flinch this time although he never actually makes physical contact with you.

"I just came over here to tell you that you missed the trash can," he points to the bin that you threw your cupcake away at—or at least you thought you did. You look at him, noticing the pastel pink uniform and his name tag.

"Oh," you manage to say. "I-I'm sorry, I'll pick it up. It's just—I thought you were someone...I mean you look so much like him."

He looks confused as he struggles to put together your words, as he simply got annoyed with you trashing his workplace with your unfinished food.

"Jisung," you read his name tag aloud. "Jisung, how long have you been working here?"

"About two weeks," he shrugs.

You nod. It still doesn't make sense that he had the exact same face as your torturer—the same voice too!  You struggle to maintain eye contact with him, expecting the red pupils to make an appearance any minute. But he seemed like a completely different person. He was kind of awkward, shy almost. He wore his hair differently, his eyebrows barely visible under the blonde locks that covered his forehead, unlike the perfect middle part you were used to. That way you could see his eyes clearly when he watched you writhe in fear, that ever so wicked smile would appear when you tried to scream.

You swallowed thickly as you apologize again, making your way to pick up your cupcake when his voice stops you.

"Who is it by the way? Who do I look like?"

You freeze, the tone of his voice alarming as if he knew something. Or maybe it was all in your head. You turn slightly to face him, his head cocked curiously at you, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Some guy I know. He's an awful person...if you can even call him that," you say and then you turn around not caring to see his reaction, quickly cleaning up your mess before squabbling out of there.

-

You don't visit the cafe again. It's been three days since then and you've still been getting the same nightmare except for the new addition of Jisung's cheap name tag. You weren't even sure if they were the same person but all of it seemed impossible either way. How could you dream of someone you haven't met? And if it truly was him that tortured you in your sleep, was he that evil creature in real life too?

You begin to cry. You just wanted it to stop. You hide your face in your bookbag as you wait in the cold.  The firm cemented steps offer your bottom no comfort as tears dampen the collar of your shirt. You had fainted in class from exhaustion and now the nurse was sending you home early.

As if you weren't already embarrassed enough a group of people walked passed you during your meltdown—no doubt ogling at your crumpled figure. One of them stops and heads back towards your direction. You cringe, waiting for them to walk past again except they don't. They stop right next to you. You really didn't want to be bothered right now—wasn't it obvious? You kept your head down, hoping if you didn't acknowledge the person they would go away. Maybe it was working. They're backing away now. Thank god—

"Uh, hey, are you alright?"

You squeeze your eyelids shut as a string of curses run through your mind. You give a curt nod of your head, your face still nuzzled into your bookbag.

"I remember you," the voice pauses. "You're not crying because you missed the trash can again are you?"

You slowly sit up to look at him, tears still streaming down your swollen cheeks. It was him. He found you again. This couldn't be a coincidence.

"Bad joke?" he awkwardly chuckled.

"You don't go here," you state.

He was caught off guard by your response. He gives you a once over before sliding off his plum purple puffer jacket and placing it over your shoulders. Your eyes widen at the warmth that envelopes you. The jacket was nearly scorching but barely just warm enough to where it wasn't uncomfortable.

"My cousin goes here. Me and my parents are picking him up for my aunt as a favor."

You nodded not really believing him. "So you're skipping school to come with your parents?"

Jisung took the question as an invitation to sit next to you. "No, of course not. I'm homeschooled."

You frowned. It angered you his words made sense when every cell in your body told you he was lying.

"You wanna talk about why you were crying?"

You shake your head, looking back at your book bag as a strong gust of wind blew your hair wildly in your face. You shiver, closing the jacket tighter around you.

"Aren't you cold?" you ask.

He just shrugs, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a tilt of his head. "That guy I remind you of, you must not like him very much, huh?"

"Hate his guts," you grumbled.

"Whatever he did to you must've been bad because you treat me like I'm gonna bite your head off any second."

You look back at him with the toughest expression you could muster. "Who's to say you won't? What if you are the same person?"

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

"What are you trying to say?"

Jisung stares at you for a beat and you swear you see a flicker in his eye. "I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

He gets up and walks away just as your mom arrives. You stare at his back as he walks through the glass double doors, not even taking a second glance back.

Later that afternoon, you're stuck on the couch with your mother hovering over you. She's currently on the phone with the doctor while you're swamped in blankets with a wet towel on your forehead that's slightly blocking off your vision. She's frantic, making up symptoms you don't have as she paces around the living room space.

You huff, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. You sit up, removing the cloth from your forehead only for your mother to force you back down with an icy glare.

"Yes, we'll be there at 10:30 sharp," she writes the time down on a notepad.

"Yes, thank you so much...okay...bye."

"Mom," you call out as soon as she hangs up. "I gotta return my friend's jacket."

"You're not going anywhere in this state," she puts her hands on her hips.

You flop back on the couch dramatically. "But I told him I'd give it to him today," you lie.

"I think he'll understand," she says walking into the kitchen.

There was no way you could stay here another moment without getting answers. What did he mean earlier? You knew he was trying to convince you of something, but what?

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

Did he know about your dreams? Your head was beginning to ache and you weren't sure if it was because you were going to faint again or if your brain was starting to hurt from overthinking.

"I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

You double-check to see if your mom is paying attention before grabbing the jacket and your shoes, tip-toeing out of the front door. You hop on your bike and pedal like there's no tomorrow down the street to the computer cafe.

The ride feels longer than usual, the streets cold and barren. The grey sky threatened rain but as if someone were looking out for you from above, the heavy puffy clouds held out a little longer. You nearly get hit by a red pick up truck in your haste, gaining you a middle finger as he zoomed by angrily.

Out of breath and slightly dizzy, you step into the cafe, your eyes peeled for a familiar head of blonde hair. You're red in the face, bent over your knees as tears sting your eyes. You don't see him. He's not here.

The door opens behind you and you're too emotional to move out of the way. Whoever it was would just have to squeeze by.

"Oh, thanks, my jacket," Jisung says, standing beside you now.

You stand up straight, almost smiling in relief. Jisung was still dressed in his casual clothes; his shift must not have started until now. Suddenly you feel foolish for being so melodramatic. Here you were, your eyes still glossy and your cheeks still glowing a faint red from the cold ride and the wind whipping your hair against your face when it all seemed so dumb. Why were you here? To confront a boy you hardly knew about your nightmares? To accuse him of the impossible? You had everything you wanted to say planned out perfectly, imagining the weight that would lift off your shoulders ever since he left you at school but now, finally face to face, all those words died at your tongue.

You look at Jisung and stick your arm out, the jacket dangling in your hand. Jisung smiles brightly at you before taking it, the corner of his lips turning downward as he examines your face. He looks somewhat hesitant to bring it up but he does anyway.

"Is whatever was bothering you earlier still upsetting you?"

You nod, biting your lip.

"I was hoping leaving you my jacket would cheer you up somehow," he chuckled, his eyes thoughtful. "It was stupid."

"It did cheer me up in a way," you start. "It reminded me of something...but I'm ready to tell you what's wrong now."

The whites of Jisung's eyes became more visible as he looked at you, his lips parted slightly. He leans in closer, ready to hear what you have to say.

"Can we step outside for a minute?"

"Uhh," he glances at his watch. "Yeah, sure."

You walk out first, hearing his soft footsteps follow behind you. The sky is even darker now, even though you were only inside for a moment, the smell of rain in the air. The wind was strong, blowing the trees wildly.

You kept your back to him. "I've seen you before."

Jisung is silent for a moment. "You mean the guy who looks like me?"

"No," you correct him. "I've seen you before. You are the guy who looks like you. Aren't you? Except you act different."

"Huh? I just met you...how would I..." he trails off.

You turn around, tears threatening to spill over. You weren't afraid of him now, only in your sleep you were but for some reason, as you spoke, your heart thudded in your chest. You didn't feel in danger when you were with this Jisung. The Jisung that kindly asks you to pick up your trash and gives you his jacket in the cold. But the jacket...it was more than a kind gesture...something wasn't right about it.

"Why was your jacket so hot?"

His eyes fell low before looking back at you. "You and I meeting was fate, you know that?"

You frown. "What?"

"If you've seen me before then we must've met in your dreams correct?"

You take a step back. "How did you—"

"How did I know? It would take me forever to explain. But you're special, __."

A white flash illuminates Jisung's face, a loud crack of thunder echoing around you causing you to jump.

Jisung starts to laugh madly. Terror runs through your body as you start to regret coming here at all.

"What are you?" you ask, your voice shaking in fear.

Jisung smirks at you. "You know what I am, baby."

There's another crash of thunder and you nearly hop an inch out of your shoes. Jisung starts to laugh at you again.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He puckers his lips at you with a tilt of his head. "No. Why would I do that?"

"Isn't that what you do," you tutt, your throat tight. "In my dreams, you were always about to kill me."

"That's...no, I'm not like that," he clenched his fists at the statement.

"But you think it's funny to torture me? I haven't slept in over a month because of you."

"A month? No, that's not right. What happened in those dreams?"

A drop of water hits the top of your head but you ignore it. "Like you wouldn't know!" you answer, your brows furious and angry as you look up at your torturer.

"I have no control over your dreams. Can you tell me about them, please?"

"Nightmares," you correct. "Call them what they are. Don't act coy with me. Don't lie. If you're going to kill me then just do it already."

"I don't kill anymore!" his eyes flash red.

You gasp, you're blood running cold at the terrifyingly familiar image. You run away. You make it to your bike but before you can hop on, a hot hand grabs your arm, yanking your body off onto the damp pavement.

"Don't you run away from me!!" Jisung looks angry and maybe a little hurt by your actions but you don't care. You just want to get out of here.

"Just leave me alone, okay!" you get up to run away again but he lifts you again with one strong arm, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. Your eyes bulge out of your head when you realize you can't breathe.

"You're pissing me off now. I don't want to hurt you but it's the only way to make you listen."

You struggle against him, your fingers clawing at his hand while he seems entirely unaffected. His nostrils are flaring, the pointy teeth now visible as he glares at you with those blood-red eyes.

"I don't control your dreams. The only person who can control your dreams is you. I only met you a week ago so stop accusing me of something not even I can do." And with that, he drops you.

You fall on the sidewalk, gasping and coughing. Your butt hurts from landing on it so roughly and your left arm stings, probably a cut from the fall but you don't check. You can't bring yourself to look away from him.

"What do you want from me?"

"Well, I can't tell you now," he scoffs. "I don't trust you."

A fat tear escapes your eye, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to make sense of reality. "Who the hell would believe me even if I told anyone??"

"There are those who believe we exist. Mostly the looneys of the church but I can't have you going around exposing me. Then I'd have to kill them all and I don't want to do that again. I'm reformed now."

Again?

"You said you're not who I thought you were. If you're not him then who are you?"

A gentle ring of thunder fills the thick air as it starts to rain. It's cold and uncomfortable but neither of you makes an effort to go back inside.

"I'm not a killer. That is, only if you don't make me out to be."

How could he say that when you could see the fangs that could tear your body in half. How could he say that when he almost killed you just now?

"You've killed people before," your voice waivers even though you will it not to. "You're a murderer. That's what your kind does to humans. Kill."

"Say it. Say what I am." Jisung crouches to your level. "C'mon. Say it."

Your body's shaking from how close he's gotten. You say nothing as he waits for you to respond. You remain silent.

He leans into your ear and whispers, "Either you say it on your own or I'll make you say it."

You let out a weak noise, turning your head away as he tucks your thick wet hair behind your ear.

"Demon," you wail, as tears blur your vision.

Jisung smiles triumphantly, pressing his warm lips to your forehead. Your body shrivels away from him as you scream, a fist landing on his hard chest. He takes your hand in his, keeping it on his chest, sliding your hand to the left and you feel something. Something that doesn't make sense. It's a heartbeat. It was a little faster than a normal one but it was still a heartbeat.

You look at him in shock, your mouth rendered speechless.

"I'm late for my shift," he gets up. "I'll see you soon. But remember what I said. You control your own dreams."

Jisung wraps his jacket around you once more with the obvious intent on having you return it again tomorrow. His eyes fade back to brown as he sends you one last smile and the awkward and kind Jisung is back almost as if he never left. He walks back inside the cafe, leaving you alone in the rain, shivering, wet, and traumatized.

-

A slightly chubby waitress decked out in tattoos with blue hair brings out your steak, medium rare, with a side of lightly salted fries as per Jisung's request. His order was something French that you couldn't pronounce, nor identify, but smelled heavenly, your mouth watering for the order that was not your own.

Jisung checks his expensive watch. "They're late. As usual."

"Hmm?" you snap your eyes away from his meal. "Who is?"

"We're here!" A beautiful older couple makes their way to your table.

"Mom! Dad! It only took you fifteen years," Jisung remarks as he leans in to give them a hug.

"It was your father, love. He got hung up with the gentleman at the sports club."

"Ah! It was business! You know how that sort of thing goes."

They both sit in their seats across from you, picking up their menus. His mother's hair is combed back neatly, her youthful skin glowing as she smiles pleasantly at you. His father is dressed rather casually, wearing khaki shorts and a baby pink polo but the giant rock on his pinky finger told you of his financial status.

"Oh my," says his mother. "And you, my darling, how are you? I've heard so much about you."

His father hums. "Ah yes, you're a special one aren't you? Haven't had a human dine with us in decades."

"Special? How am I special?" you ask, taking a French fry.

"Jisung, haven't you told her?" his father takes a sip of his sparkling water.

"Tell me what?" you look to Jisung.

The temperature in the room starts to rise and you break out into a sweat, fanning yourself with a napkin.

"Why would I tell her what she already knows?" Jisung answers, taking a spoonful of his soup.

You give him an odd look which he ignores and you decide to bite your tongue. A certain glimmer around Mrs. Park's neck catches your eye and you can't look away, like it was a magnet, drawing your eyes to it, willing you not to look away.

"Mrs. Park? That's a lovely necklace your wearing," you say marveling at the shiny red cut of the mysterious diamond. "May I ask what stone that is?"

Her lips curve a little, the pointed bones of her teeth peeking through. "That's a family secret. One that you'll know soon, my dear."

The waitress returns, notepad in hand, asking what the two would like to order.

Mrs. and Mr. Park smile sweetly at the young girl, giving her a long once over. "Yes, we'd like to have you for dinner."

She drops her pen from her notepad. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Park jumps up and snaps the poor girl's neck like a twig, catching her limp body as it falls forward. You scream in horror.

"Christ," Jisung rolls his eyes.

Mrs. Park rips her head off, dropping it carelessly to the ground with a thud. The restaurant is unbearably hot, and you're sweating through your lengthy dress. Your mouth is gaping as you helplessly watch them tear the woman to shreds picking off the meat on her bones and tear the flesh with their teeth. You look around to see everyone carrying on normally as if someone didn't just get ruthlessly murdered.

You can't pry your eyes away as they continue to feast on her carcass, blood dripping down their chins, red splatters tarnishing their clothes. Mrs. Park looks at you, that same smile from earlier still there but now it holds something dark behind it. Her eyes were that crimson red that you'd seen so many times. She crawls onto the table making her way towards you, and you scoot back falling out of your chair.

"I'm not who you think I am," she whispers.

"Wha-what?" you stumble backward.

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not..." she turns over on her back, her arm laying on your food, giggling wildly.

"You control your dreams, __" Jisung says standing up.

You look at him, bewildered.

"This is your dream. Control it."

A whack of thunder shakes the ground, yanking you out of your dream. Your heartbeat is irregular as you stumble out of your bed. Startled, you jump out of bed, pulling on your shoes and jacket, grabbing Jisung's coat along the way.

You left the house in haste, going to the only place you could think of. You needed to talk to him. Whether he'd show up or not was a chance you were willing to take.

You pedaled your bike down the cold, empty streets with the thought of Jisung on your mind. You were confused but you felt like you knew everything at the same time. It was so strange but you couldn't remember the last time anything felt normal.

The cafe was closed. The door was locked, obviously, so you let out a gust of air as you sat down against it. It was nearly 3 am and you left the house alone, loitering around some dumb computer cafe. What had your life come to? You don't even hang out with your friends anymore. You barely even speak to your family these days.

"Jisung!" you yell.

It was only a guess that he would show up. Maybe he'd hear you from wherever he was or maybe you could summon him? It sounded dumb but it made sense at the time.

You yelled his name once more, the desperation in your voice evident but still, nothing.

"Jisung, please," you whisper, your head falling into your lap.

Just as you're about to give up and go home, a blast of heat blows against your back in the strikingly cold morning. You gasp at the sound of the door unlocking behind you, jumping up to meet the boy you came to see.

Your eyes drank in his familiar face and dark clothes. "You came."

"Didn't you ask me to?" he tilts his head, giving you a sideways smirk that you never saw before. "Oh, Jisung! Oh, Jisung, please!" he mocks you and you frown.

"You need to loosen up a bit," Jisung clicks his tongue. "I don't think I've ever even seen you smile."

"I don't do that much these days."

"I see. Come in," he opens the door wider and you follow him into the warm cafe.

It's dimmer than usual, only half of the lights had been turned on and the absence of music almost made you uncomfortable. Jisung sat down at a random table and you cautiously sit across him. It feels as if he's examining every inch of your skin, his eyes slowly dragging over your face to the bottom of your torso where the table blocks his vision. It makes you antsy. You try to ignore the feeling.

"You heard me calling. How'd you do that?"

Jisung drums his fingers on the table in thought, "I don't really know. I've never been summoned before. I just heard you so I came."

"But how'd you get here so fast? Where'd you come from? Your home? Where do you live?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Now, why would I tell you all that? I don't trust you."

You sigh, chewing your bottom lip—a motion you caught his eyes following.

"Well...what can you tell me? I deserve some answers, don't you think?"

He laughs at that. "You don't deserve anything, human. I owe you nothing."

You press your lips together in annoyance. If he didn't want to tell you anything then why'd he show up? He seemed to have some interest in you by the way he keeps toying with you. You can't figure him out. He's hot then he's cold. One minute he's shy and sweet then the next he's rude and angry. But sometimes he was a mix of both, like right now. A happy medium of kind and a touch of asshole. But at least he wasn't going to kill you. You were sure of that. You couldn't explain why but ever since you had that nightmare this morning you had this feeling that he didn't want to hurt you—which was illogical of course—because he did, in fact, hurt you. You had the bruises to prove it. Your neck was covered in black and blue bruises with a distinct outline of five large fingers.

"I had another dream," you start and Jisung raises a brow at you. "I trust you. I don't know why but I have this feeling that I can't get rid of that you won't hurt me."

He frowns for a bit before he begins to chuckle. "My suspicions were true."

"What do you mean?"

"You want to know why you've been having those dreams?"

You nod frantically, bracing yourself for what he was about to tell you, but nothing could prepare you for the words that were about to leave his lips.

"You're destined to become my slave."

-

You come to on a leather couch in an unfamiliar room. It was a living room. A large one at that. You sit up, your head feeling heavy and full of fluff. Your shoes are sat neatly to the side of the couch along with your jacket. Standing up on sore legs, you stretch before looking around in what you could only assume was Jisung's house.

It's very...empty. Like it had been barely lived in. Almost as if no one lived here at all. The kitchen's beautiful, large and spacious with fancy looking cupboards. You walked down a long dark hall passing an extravagant dining room with a table that looked like it was a mile long and a chandelier that was so humongous it must've weighed more than your immediate family all together.

You hear the sound of water as you approach a room on your right, pushing open the door left slightly ajar. Jisung is staring right at you as if he knew you were coming. The bathwater is running and he's sitting on the toilet seat with a tub of bath salts in his hands.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiles cheekily at you.

You step into the steamy room, eying him with a groggy pout. "What the hell happened?"

He scoffs. "Of course you don't remember. I told you that you're my slave and you didn't handle it well."

You almost lose your balance, grabbing the counter just in time. "Pardon??"

Jisung rolls his eyes. "I made you a bath. You look like hell so I'll leave you to it," he gets up patting his jeans.

You didn't notice his change of clothes until now. Just how long had you been there?

"Hold on, I have a question. Several actually—"

"I'll be back in a bit," he stalks off closing the door behind him.

You open the door to call after him but he's nowhere to be found. It was like he disappeared into thin air. It wouldn't surprise you if he actually did. You return to the bathroom and disrobe, deciding you might as well. You couldn't remember the last time you took a bath. Must've been years. You pause at the mirror and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw how awful you looked. Jisung did not lie when he said you looked like hell. There were dark circles around your eyes and you looked pale, on top of that your hair was a frizzy mess. You finger-combed your hair to the best of your ability before giving up and sinking into the warm bath Jisung had drawn for you.

You let your mind reel as you sat in the tub, your knees tucked into your chest. Nothing made sense anymore. Oh, how you longed to go back to the life you had where the only thing you had to worry about was struggling with your math homework. If Jisung was telling the truth, then your life would never be the same. There had to be a way out of this, right? Maybe this is your punishment for something horrible you did but what? The worst thing you'd ever done was steal a couple of lipglosses from Target and that was two years ago. Or maybe it's because you lied to your mom about passing your Spanish test last month? You regretted it but it still seemed too small of a thing to be punished so greatly for. No matter how hard you picked your brain you couldn't come to a conclusion in any reality where you deserved this. You just wished you could get some answers soon. What would you tell your parents? Your friends? Would you have to leave them all behind? Did you have to do evil things now?

No, he said he changed. He wasn't like that. At least you hoped he wasn't. The scary thing is that you couldn't find it in yourself to care if he did make you do evil things. Just yesterday you would rather kill yourself than to do Jisung's evil bidding. You didn't like that you didn't mind it. You didn't like that nothing added up. You couldn't understand why in the world all of this had to happen to you. You didn't know where you were, how long you've been gone or what was going to happen to you. It all felt like a never-ending bad dream.

After you washed up and dried yourself, you sat idly on the toilet as the water drained from the bathtub. You felt a little better now that you were clean but you could feel the foreshadowing of an oncoming headache from the stress.

There was a gentle knock on the door, shaking you out of your pity party and you get up to open it. Jisung is in different clothing once again, wearing a hoodie and baggy dark jeans.

You stay there for three long days. You don't speak much in that time, but you feel like you know him a bit better. He wasn't as scary as you thought. After spending seventy-two hours together, you feel more at ease in his presence. He refused to discuss your circumstances and you never ask to go home. The thought never crosses your mind after the first day and you almost forget about your life at home completely. Instead, you spend all your time observing Jisung. You watch him cook and clean, sew and paint. He's perfected almost a million hobbies.   He doesn't acknowledge your existence as you watch, only bothering to speak to ask what you wanted to eat or if you were tired and wanted a bath. Contrary to your earlier thoughts, he never ordered you around. He left you to wander around on your own, doing as you pleased. Whether that be to read a book from his collection, watch a movie or watch him.    On the third morning, you're up early, sitting cross-legged in the bed of Jisung's guest bedroom. After taking a shower, you were stuffing your face with a bowl of oatmeal Jisung had so expertly prepared.

"You ready to go home? School should be starting soon."

Home. Your mother. Oh, shit.

"What time is it?" you tuck your damp hair behind your ears.

"Five thirty-seven."

Your eyebrows knit together as he tosses your uniform at you and you catch it.

"Hurry up," and with that, the door is shut in your face.

It only took you about a minute to change and then you were scampering down the hall to the living room where Jisung was waiting patiently, sitting as still as stone.

"Good then. Let's go."

"Wait," you grab his sleeve and Jisung stares down at your hand as if it were alien.

"Can you please tell me what's going on now? I'm going insane here."

He sighs before motioning for you to sit down. You quickly oblige, plopping down on the couch and he sits opposite of you.

"Sometimes, there are certain circumstances where a demon who does their job very well would be rewarded by Satan by being gifted their very own human slave.

"It's very rare actually, and Satan stopped doing it centuries ago bc it led to us being discovered. Then he had to "handle" it so I'm not sure why he gifted you to me. Does that answer all your questions?"

You give him a pointed look. He sighs.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what's going on either; I don't even work anymore."

"What do you mean you don't work?"

"I'm retired. I don't like causing harm to humans and Satan let me settle down up here."

"Satan sounds awfully nice..." you frown a bit.

Jisung rolls his eyes slightly. "Oh, believe me. He isn't. Satan lives up to his name just fine. He let me go under special circumstances."

"So you're special?"

"Yep."

You folded your arms over your chest. "How so?"

"My parents and I were really good at doing what we do. The best actually. For centuries we were the apple of Lucifer's eyes. I mean, we got the best treatment, luxury lifestyle, the other demons didn't dare mess with us. It was almost like...heaven."

You purse your lips, feeling uncomfortable with the comparison to heaven.

"One day, I met a human I was assigned to and she was different than any human I'd ever seen. I was supposed to influence her to sin but I just couldn't no matter how hard I tried. This human was the purest of any kind I'd met and she was so young. The young ones are supposed to be the most malleable but she always resisted. She was good.

I realized something then. I thought, maybe not all humans don't deserve to go to hell. Some do. Some don't. And without the influence of us, a lot of them would go to heaven. After doing it for so long, I started to feel guilty. I've never been human. I was born like this. I never experienced a human life but I wanted to. So I asked to retire."

You were sure your eyes were bulging out of your head but you were too shocked to try to change your expression. "And he just let you go? Just like that?"

"Yeah. Satan wasn't happy. He thought it was stupid, which, it might be a little. A demon can't live like a human. He claimed after a few decades I'd see humans for what they really were and then I'd be back."

"So, then Satan made me your slave to try to convince you to come back?"

"I'm not sure," he flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes. "But Lucifer doesn't do anything without a purpose. I'm sure we'll find out soon."

"Will you go back?"

"I don't want to but if I have to then I will. It's what I was created for."

"Oh," you were lost on what to say next.

"Are you ready to go back home?" He stands up, holding a hand out to you.

You're about to take it when the doorbell rings. Jisung looks frigid. Was that fear in his eyes?

"My parents are here."

"Huh? Why?" The scenes of your dream flash in your mind. The headless waitress and blood gushing everywhere. If they were anything like the dream version of them then you were dead meat.

"I don't know. They're not nice people, __," he warns.

"Should I run? Or hide?"

"There's no point; they'd find you. Just sit still and don't say a word."

Jisung walks to the door, opening it to reveal two faces you've seen before. His mother didn't look pleased to see her son but his father pulled him in for a quick hug, patting him on the back.

"Well, are you going to invite us in? We knocked this time. Just like you asked," his mom says with a hint of annoyance.

Jisung steps back to let them inside and it's like an alarm goes off in their heads because as soon as they step one foot inside, their heads snap to find you sitting on the couch.

"Oh...you have company," his father says in confusion.

"Jisung, what is this?" His mom looks at you in disgust.

"Mom, Dad, this is __. We were just on our way out, actually. So, this is a bad time."

His mom shoots him daggers with her eyes. "You aren't going anywhere we just got here. Jisung, where are your manners?"

Jisung stands there, looking defeated as he mumbles an apology.

"Hello, there! I'm Mrs. Park," she extends a hand out to you. You look at Jisung before getting up to shake it.

"Mr. Park," his dad shakes your hand next. Their hands are just as hot as Jisung's. You shuffle back to your spot on the couch.

"Is this your friend, Jisung?" Mrs. Park asks, looking you up and down.

"She's my slave, mother."

His parents look at each other in shock, smiles of joy creeping across their faces.

"Lucifer gifted you a slave?" Mrs. Park practically jitters with excitement.

"Yes, mother."

"Son, that's amazing! You have to come back now!"

Jisung clenches his fists at his sides. "I'm not coming back. Not now. Not ever."

"Don't be silly, Jisung. It would be extremely disrespectful not to after receiving such a gift. He stopped gifting slaves centuries ago," Mrs. Park snaps.

"Mom, I made my decision."

"You foolish boy. You're an embarrassment to us all. We've been forced into hiding ever since you left. We're the laughing stock of the underworld because you decided to go soft and ruin the reputation we worked so hard to build. Two centuries of hard work down the drain."

"Mother—"

"Don't you understand? This isn't a gift it's a warning. You've been gone too long, Jisung. He wants you back. You've had your fun living your little fantasy; now it's time to come back to reality."

"Son, please," Mr. Park sits down next to you. "Listen to your mom."

"I...no. No, I'm staying here," says Jisung.

"You're so selfish! He won't just punish you he'll punish us all! Me and your father will be extinguished right along with you. My dearest son, please use the common sense I gave you and come back to us. I've missed you. We were a great team."

Jisung looks torn as he looks at you then back to his parents. "I have to get going."

"Jisung," Mr. park barks.

"Please leave," Jisung opens the door for them.

"You're going to get us all killed," Mrs. Park snarls as she nudges her husband to get up. "Close the damn door, Jisung. We're leaving."

Jisung closes it, his back falling against the wall.

"We're not done talking about this," his mother declares before looking at you one last time, the corner of her lips turned downwards. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you as the couple dissipate right in front of you, fading into a silhouette and then finally nothing. They're gone.

Jisung opens the door again. "Come on."

   The ride to your house is silent and too quick if you were being honest. Jisung lives fairly close to your house although in a much better neighborhood for someone who's living off of minimum wage.

   You're still a bit shaken up but much calmer than before. Once you enter the house, you find the lights off. Your mom was still asleep. You thank god as you creep to your room as quietly as possible. When you open the door, however, your mom is sitting on your bed holding a book in her hands. Was that your diary?

"Y/n, just where have you been all night?"

You deflect her question. "Why do you have my diary?"

"This is my house and my rules. I am your mother for Christ's sake; I have the right to know what's going on in my daughter's life and if you won't let me in, damn it, I'll find out my own way."

"That's a complete invasion of my privacy!"

She looks taken aback at your brazen comment. "Raise your voice at me one more time—I dare you! You were out with that boy from the computer cafe, weren't you?"

"What? No! My friend, Deana broke up with her boyfriend and it was an emergency. I had to go talk to her."

She narrows her eyes. "Don't you lie to me."

"I swear it! It's true," your bottom lip trembled as you held back tears.

You wanted to tell the truth but you couldn't. Jisung wouldn't like that very much and quite frankly, you were simply terrified of what his parents might do to you more than your angry mother. Would she believe you anyway? You didn't have any proof. She'd probably lock you up in some psych ward hundreds of miles away from here at the first mention of demons. Or maybe she'd just think you were lying. Her face was red with fury but you can tell by the slight quiver in her voice she was more worried about your safety than anything.

"I know somethings going on," she rests her hands on her knees. "You've been having sleepless nights and you don't go out as much anymore. And now there's some boy who comes out of nowhere and you're running out to meet him when you've got a fever. You scared me half to death and I just let it slide but now you're sneaking out and coming back three days later at six in the morning?

"No ma'am. This is not how I run my household. You know that. I mean is it me? Did I do something to make you wanna push me away?"

Your throat aches as you choke back tears. "No, mom, it's not that at all. I just have to solve this on my own."

She looks heartbroken but nods nimbly. "But you'll come to me if you can't figure it out on your own?"

"I promise."

"Good," she stands up. "We're leaving in ten minutes so hurry up and get dressed. Oh yeah, and you're grounded."

You couldn't say you didn't see that coming.

-

When you get home from school, your mother's in the living room. She usually doesn't get off of work for another two hours but it wasn't that hard to think of the reason why she was home so early. She asks about school and you say whatever it takes to end the conversation as soon as possible so you can go to your room. You lock the door behind you when you're finally alone, changing into more comfortable clothes. You make sure your mom's still downstairs before you whisper Jisung's name and a warmth envelops your body from the tip of your tongue down to your toes. He appears before you in seconds, wearing his work uniform. He doesn't look at you at first, inspecting the interior of your room before making himself comfortable on your bed.

"Your mom didn't seem too happy about this morning," he sighs.

"How did you know that?" you ask and for some reason, you think, you might be better off not knowing.

"You and I are connected now. I can see you whenever I want. I can...feel you."

You gulp. You didn't like the thought of him checking up on you whenever he wanted. And what's worse is that if you ever tried to run, he could find you.

"Right...well I have a question."

"Oh, you're just full of those, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes. "If you go back to working for Satan...would he allow you to let me go?"

Jisung's face hardens. You could feel the warmth in the room grow.

"Why would you ask me that? Do you know what you'd be asking me to do?"

"I'm sorry," the words leave your mouth at lightning speed. It's odd. You didn't want to say them but you did.

"Am I really so awful you'd rather send me away to do the devils bidding than to be stuck with me?"

"No, not at all," you say this on your own this time. It should worry you how true it was. You truly didn't mind his company. It took some time to separate the man from your dreams to the one in reality but once you did, you saw the good in him—once you overlooked all the sarcasm, of course.

"Don't get offended, please. That's not what I'm trying to do here," you approach him. "I just want my life back."

There's a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He sighs. "I suppose, you're right. It's selfish of me to impose on your life when you didn't ask for any of this. I'll take my problems elsewhere and leave you be."

You're surprised at how quickly he gave you what you wanted. You expected to have to squeal your way out of it. It was so easy you almost felt bad for asking.

"There won't be any consequences? He won't get mad if you leave me alone?"

"I'm not sure what he'll do. Just as I can see you, he can see me," he pauses. "Whatever the outcome, I'll handle it."

He stands up and you stand up with him.

"Is it weird that I'm going to miss you?"

His eyebrows fly up and he almost looks embarrassed. "Uh, I'm sure that's just a side effect of being my slave."

"I see," you look down feeling awkward. "Can I get a hug?"

You can tell he's uncomfortable with the request but he opens his arms for you anyway. You hate how attached you've become in the last twelve hours. You hardly knew the man and after meeting his parents you shouldn't be standing anywhere near him. But you still felt a pull towards him and you weren't so sure if it was a side effect. Maybe you were crazy—actually, scratch that, you were definitely crazy—but you actually kind of liked Jisung. He protected you from his parents and was willing to take whatever the devil was going to throw at him. So you lay your head on his chest and the heat is already scorching your skin. The fast rhythm of his heartbeat almost rocks you as his hands wrap around your shoulders and you stand there for a moment. He was a little stiff but you could tell he was trying his best. When you let go, his face is different. He's smiling at you and there's this gleam in his eyes that you'd never seen before. Then there's something pulling you towards him, an unexplainable compulsion to kiss him. He doesn't move as you lean in to peck your lips on his warm ones. It's like his limbs are frozen and for the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to do. He's never encountered someone like you before. Someone so beautiful and smart. You were the only person that could ever make him feel anything other than complete misery and he was so sad to let you go. He didn't want to let you go and he didn't have to. You were his slave, after all. But you had asked him to and he couldn't find it in him to deny you. Finally, his instincts kick in and his eyes close as he kisses you back. It's the most intimate kiss you've ever had and you find your hands pulling his shirt to pull him closer to you, wanting more but suddenly he's gone. You look around your room to find it empty. He left. He left you. Just like you asked.

"Jisung?" your voice breaks as you call out. "Jisung??"

Your door bursts open causing you to flinch.

"Hey, what do you feel like for dinner?" your mom walks in. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

   You try to stop the tears from falling but you fail as you burst into sobs. Your mom runs over and hugs you, begging for you to tell her what's going on but you can't. You can't tell anyone. No one could ever know.

-

   You think about Jisung every day for the next two years. How could you not? His face was branded into your mind, his voice a never-fading memory. You like to think he was okay. That whatever battles he had to face with his creator went successfully. You hoped he was free and happy. You imagine he watches over you from time to time, just to see how you've grown and what you were up to.    For some time, he's everywhere you look. You'd see a flash of blonde and go running to catch him, no matter where you were. In the end, you never caught him. It was always your mind playing tricks on you. Your friends and family grew concerned but those concerns faded away as the spottings did. Every hot summer day reminded you of him. Even the heaters in the winter made you think of him. He was always in the back of your brain.    After a while, it felt like it was all one big fever dream. The only reminder that it was real was the poorly written entries of your old diary. That, and one other thing.    One day, you come home to find a necklace on your bed, the glowing red stone flaring up the memory of the matching one his mother wore. He was alive. He hadn't forgotten about you. The smile that adorned your lips was big enough to give one the impression it was a gift from your lover. You vowed to wear it every day, thanking Jisung aloud, and you swear you feel his presence in the room for a moment, a rush of heat flowing into your bedroom and then it's gone.

[kessielrg]

[DA+KH] The Last Dream

Summary: Based on @chibi-mushroom‘s Dragon Age AU for the Kingdom Hearts series, in which Ventus learns that Aqua healed his father through one last dream. [spoilers for chapter 35 of Wayfinder and a certain relationship][Repliku is named Corvin][oneshot]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1,496 words

Please reblog if you liked this story, and thank you for reading!

. . .

This version of Redcliffe was nothing but a wasteland now. As the months have gone by on Vanitas's mandate for Aqua to heal the arl, the more Ven's home came under the plague of jet black ink. It oozed off of the roofs as if it was taffy, bubbling out of the water like boiling tar, and the air was thicker than any fog Ven could easily remember in his entire life. But this wasn't real life, this was a dream. This wasn't the real Redcliffe- the real Redcliffe would still be healing from the monsters Ven let Vanitas unleash.

Knowing that he was dreaming at the moment probably made things worse. It both heightened and dimmed his senses to something he barely knew if he was controlling or not. Everything about the dreams he had these past few months felt so contradictory. They were real but they weren't. He could be in danger and then he'd be safe within some pleasant memory. He would drown in absolute darkness before finding a small beacon of light that he tried with all his might to follow.

Speaking of a small beacon of light…

Not for the first time, Ventus approached the black rabbit that stood on dream Redcliffe's fountain. It stood there, glaring at him, arms folded while it shifted its weight from side to side. Always angry, always trying to find a way to hide its light. At this point, the small dim light was the only thing he could see in this nightmare version of his hometown. Usually, out of an impulse well instilled by his mother, Ventus would reach a hand out to the creature in an honor of goodwill. But something else happened instead.

“Why do you keep following me?” the rabbit demanded, stomping its foot in annoyance. “Give it up already!”

Ven was taken aback for a moment. This was new. Usually the rabbit never gave him the time of day.

“Maybe...” the boy mused for a moment, “Maybe I don't want you to be alone.”

The rabbit sneered at him.

“I'm better off on my own,” it informed him, “Unlike you who's always surrounded by people that like you. People that encourage you. It's disgusting.”

“That doesn't mean you can't trust other people too, you know.” he reminded her. There was a small pause before he quietly added, “Like me. I… I want you to trust me-”

A name was said. One that Ven knew he said but couldn't hear himself actually say it. But at the moment he didn't question it, as if this conversation was happening in real time and the dream oddities didn't matter. Whatever the case, the rabbit still wasn't budging.

“Why should I trust you?” the rabbit asked in a prudent voice. It stood tall- its chest puffed out like it would give it a greater air of authority. “How do I know you're not going to be like everyone else and just leave? People are useless, Ventus. They always let you down sooner or later. It's inevitable.”

“It doesn't have to be.”

The rabbit's face immediately fell. In a small voice that didn't know whether to be angered or astonished, it asked, “What did you just say?”

Ven took a deep breath in. He had to choose his words carefully. It was the only way to get through to her.

“We leave other's lives as often as they leave ours. Sometimes we come back, and sometimes we don't. No one asked us what kind of lives we wanted to have, or who we'd be friends with, or who would stay and who wouldn't. We can't all choose when we get to leave home, with a lot of us being forced to anyway. Sometimes you just… have to leave home. You say good bye to your friends and family -if you're lucky- and you get thrown into a world you probably wouldn't have chosen on your own. People leave, but people can come back too if you both care about each other. It can be hard, and it can be scary, but you're never alone. Not really.”

The rabbit stiffened as it thought this over. It looked at Ven with a glowering stare. “How do you know so much about me?” it questioned.

“I was talking from experience.”

The rabbit held its head a bit higher. Deep down, Ven knew that he was getting through to it, so he took a few careful steps forward.

“You don't have to, but I hope one day you can trust me.”

“But that's…!” the rabbit tried to argue, but the words failed to come out.

Ven got a bit closer to the rabbit, holding out his hand as a sign of peace. The rabbit looked at it in both disgust and horror before looking back up at him. He then told her something, something that he was aware of saying despite not hearing the words themselves. What ever he said, you could see how the rabbit's expression broke into a sense of defeat. It slowly started to take his hand before bounding at him to give a tight hug.

“I'm scared.” it admitted. Its voice had been so quiet that you almost could have missed it.

“You're allowed to be.” Ven assured it. “But you don't have to be alone either.”

The rabbit held on to him even tighter, burying its face into his neck. That faint light within the rabbit, a light that had called to Ven since he first experienced this vision, started to glow a bit brighter. The light started grow and feel warm enough that Ven came to realize something about this rabbit; they represented someone. Someone he was sure he didn't know, but he wanted to. And for a moment, as he tried to memorize how this light shined when it wasn't being held back, the rabbit was no longer a rabbit. Instead, Ven was holding another human being. He tried to open his eyes to get a small glimpse at them, but the light around them had become too strong. The warmth of their heart becoming so intoxicating that Ven couldn't but slip under its spell.

After that, Ven woke up in the real world again with a start.

“I have to write a letter to Aqua!” he exclaimed as he all but jumped out of his seat- apparently forgetting that he and Corvin had been in the middle of practicing glyphs.

“Hey!” the golem shouted- more because Ven's sudden awakening had startled the bird that had been resting on Corvin's head. “Where's the fire?”

The boy didn't answer at first, quickly trying to find parchment that already didn't have something written on it, along with a pen and inkwell.

“She did it!” Ven happily said as he quickly wrote something on the parchment he found. “Aqua really did it!”

“Did what?” Corvin questioned. He didn't get an answer as Ven gave a shrill whistle. With a little flip, a small blue dog appeared on the table.

“Take this to Aqua,” Ventus said as he carefully placed the parchment in the pup's mouth. “She needs to know immediately. You can do it Walt!”

The pup gave a happy, but muffled, bark as it disappeared again with another flip in the air. Elated, Ven turned back to the golem and his bird with a wide grin.

“Aqua saved my dad from the poison he was given.” he explained. “I don't know how yet, but she did it! She really did it!”

The golem didn't seem very pleased at this. Instead, he reclined a bit in his chair before asking in a skeptic voice, “Oh-kay, but how do you know, twinkle toes?”

That made Ven pause for a moment. How did he know? Besides the feeling of being more awake now that he had been in actual months, of course. Oh well, didn't matter. Vanitas would probably explain it to him later or something. Ven was still too elated to really question it right now.

“What's important is that my dad is safe again.” Ven told his friend.

“Right.” Corvin snorted. “And now we're one step closer to having to fight a god. No pressure or anything, right?”

Ven answered with a quick nod of his head. A thought lingered though- it was about the light that woke him up this time. The faintest inklings of his dream reminded him that it had been an actual person, but who it was became a different matter. As Ven sat back down -adrenaline wearing off so he could write a bit more relaxed note to Aqua and her company- he thought about that light. A real person. Someone he's never met- or was sure he hadn't met. He didn't know why, but his heart fluttered at the idea of meeting them some day. An excitement, an anticipation, that maybe, one day, their paths would finally meet and he'd finally get to tell them, “You're not alone anymore.”

[sugarandspace]

Mangoose

Summary: All warlocks have an animal form. What happens when the Circle uses new technology during a battle that forces the warlocks fighting alongside their Shadowhunter friends turn into their animal forms?

A/N: This is silly. Inspired by a conversation we had at the Malec discord server (join us. everyone is so nice. and we do talk about less ridiculous things too)

AO3

Alec shoots another arrow and it pierces the head of the Circle member who was getting a bit too close to Jace. It’s a tough fight but they are holding their own against the twenty or so Circle members. They had found out that some of them still tried to keep the movement alive, even after Valentine was gone for good. They had assembled their own team of Shadowhunters and had ambushed them during one of their meetings, their goal to capture them so they could be sent to the Gard. Only it looked like they weren’t willing to go without a fight.

Alec is standing on top of one of the smaller buildings in the area, looking down at the fight and assisting with his bow and arrows. Among seraph blades and Izzy’s whip, he can see flashes of red and purple where Magnus and Dot are fighting alongside them. They happened to be at the Institute when they planned the mission and they wanted to help, eager to bring the last parts of the movement down.

The shrill sound takes them all by surprise. Alec turns his attention to the direction of the sound and notices that one of the Circle members is holding some kind of a machine that’s the source of the noise. Alec turns his attention back to the battle before getting too distracted, his vantage point at the roof giving him a perfect view of the whole fight.

At first, everything seems normal.

Then his eyes find Magnus.

Magnus is covering his ears, seemingly more affected by the noise than the others. Alec looks at Dot to find her in a similar state. The machine must be doing something to the Warlocks.

Alec shoots another arrow and the Shadowhunter holding the machine is dead, and the machine falls to the ground. Unfortunately it doesn’t break, and the noise continues to ring in the air.

He looks at Magnus and notices that his magic is flickering, and in a blink of an eye, he’s changing form. Instead of seeing Magnus like people are used to seeing him, now in the middle of the fight stands a foot and a half tall mongoose, also known as Magnus’ animal form.

As Alec looks to the other side of the fight he can see Dot in her own animal form, as a dark owl. It’s clear that the machine did something to mess up with the Warlocks and turned them to their animal forms without their consent.

Alec had always known that each Warlock had an ability to turn to an animal, but only a specific type of animal that was determined by their magic and heritage. He had not known what Magnus’ animal form was until the man in question had told him himself.

Magnus didn’t spend much time in his animal form, since being a human was usually more practical than being a mongoose. Magnus had told him that mongoose form had very little perks compared to the human one. At first, he’d been hesitant to tell Alec about it and had played along when Alec had assumed that his golden eyes were that of a cat’s.

Had Alec been surprised when he found out that it was a mongoose? Yes. Had he thought any less of his incredible boyfriend because of it? Absolutely not. He actually thought that Magnus looked rather cute in his animal form, but he had a feeling Magnus wouldn’t appreciate the comment, so he’d kept it to himself.

Magnus didn’t like spending time in his animal form among strangers, and he’d definitely benefit from his human body in a fight, so when he had not turned back to his human form yet, Alec assumed that he couldn’t.

Alec shoots more arrows and he sees that Dot is making use of her form, using her long and sharp talons to attack the Circle members’ faces, careful to not let them hurt her in the process.

Magnus, on the other hand, looks to be in trouble. Being a foot and a half tall in the middle of a fight might not make you an easy target to the weapons since it makes you nearly invisible to everyone who’s focusing on bigger threats, ones on the same level. But as much as that invisibility is a blessing, it also keeps almost resulting in Magnus’ death as he keeps dodging all the feet that are constantly threatening to stomp on him.

Alec jumps down from the roof and pulls his blade out, making his way towards where he sees Magnus, standing on his back legs and looking every which way for a safe escape route. Just like that Alec’s previous goal of killing or capturing the Circle members has switched to getting Magnus out of there alive.

He makes it to Magnus and scoops his boyfriend up, not even thinking about it before he’s placing Magnus in is quiver with the few arrows he still has left. When he no longer needs to worry about Magnus, he’s able to focus fully on the fight.

The loud noise is still ringing, but it’s merely background noise to the sound of metal hitting metal and screams of exertion and pain. It doesn’t take long before Alec can feel tiny feet on his shoulder, Magnus’ head next to his. Alec lets out a breath that’s almost like a laugh. He should have guessed that Magnus wouldn’t want to stay hidden, even when he can’t really do anything to help.

The fight goes on and on, and every now and then Alec can see flashes of orange hair or a glint of an electrum whip or the wide wings of an owl. He’s fighting back to back with his parabatai as the amount of Circle members gets smaller and smaller.

He finds out that he doesn’t need to worry about dropping Magnus who’s alternating between having his front feet on his right shoulder and having them on his left shoulder. Magnus keeps the lower half of his body securely in the quiver, while the rest balances perfectly with the fast movements Alec is forced to make.

Alec winces a little when he feels sharp claws in his scalp, as Magnus climbs so that his head is on top of Alec’s, his back legs on the back of his jacket collar, the claws brushing the back of his neck. He gets that Magnus is most likely trying to find a position where he’ll be the least distracting but where he’ll be able to keep an eye on the fight but this particular position is proving to be a bit uncomfortable for Alec.

“Magnus,” he complains but he doesn't have time to move him away as the fight keeps going.

It ends up being a good thing when Alec feels a pull in his hair a moment later, the pain forcing him to turn his head a little to the left, which allows him to see the enemy that had been approaching without him noticing.

He kills the woman with a well-aimed swing of his blade.

“Thank you,” he says to the mongoose that’s still holding on to his hair, albeit not as painfully anymore.

The fight starts slowing down after that, their numbers bigger than those of the remaining Circle members’. Alec manages to go on the rest of the fight without any more hairpulling, and after a while, Magnus retreats back to his place over Alec’s shoulder.

Alec pulls his blade out of the last Circle member he killed before looking at the fight around them. Everywhere he looks he can see his friends and colleagues aiding each other to kill the remaining enemies.

His attention is turned to Magnus when he feels the weight of him leave his shoulder as he hops to the ground and starts running. Alec’s eyes follow him, curious to see where he’s going. He leaps over bodies and discarded weapons on the ground until he reaches the machine. Alec watches as Magnus bares his teeth and bites into the wires of the machine, and it doesn’t take long until the noise cuts off.

With the noise and all the sounds of the fight gone, the place is eerily quiet.

As soon as the noise is gone, Alec watches as Magnus turns back to his human form, dressed up in the fancy clothing he wore before he got forcibly turned. He looks around to see Dot landing on the ground before turning back to human.

“We did it,” Jace says and Alec turns to look at him. He’s sweaty and has specks of blood on his face, and Alec assumes he looks about the same. He’s about to reply before he hears a familiar voice from behind him.

“Jace,” Magnus says, his tone polite and matching the smile he wears. “Can I borrow your brother for a moment?”

“Sure,” Jace says. “Just don’t disappear anywhere, we still need to clean up this mess. If you don’t come back in ten minutes I’m going to come and get you and I do not want to witness anything that will scar me for life.”

“Oh Jace,” Magnus replies. His smile turns from polite to teasing and Alec is slightly afraid of what he’ll say next. “If I wanted, we could be done in five.”

Alec closes his eyes and groans at his shameless boyfriend. Nevertheless, he takes the offered hand and follows Magnus a bit further away from the bodies, to the area where they can’t be seen or heard.

His slight hopes for Magnus living up to his words are instantly killed when Magnus looks at him with a serious expression and speaks.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood,” he starts and Alec is instantly on edge. And not in a fun way. He looks with wide eyes as Magnus points at him with a finger and pokes it to his chest.

“I am the High Warlock of Brooklyn! You do not pick me up while we are working!”

Alec knows he’s playing with fire, but he can’t resist the opportunity.

“But when we’re not working?”

The glare he receives as the response is so strong Alec is surprised it doesn’t physically burn him.

He lifts his arms up in surrender.

“Fine,” he says. “I promise not to do it again.”

“Thank you,” Magnus replies, and Alec can see that he’s fighting a smile. He knows that Magnus didn’t like what happened, but he also knows that he’s not nearly as bothered as he pretends to be. If he were, the glint Alec can see in his eyes wouldn’t be there. Alec likes to think that he’s learned to read his boyfriend pretty well, and would know if he truly were upset or angry.

Alec thinks the biggest reason for this conversation is that Magnus wants Alec to know that he doesn’t have to be helped, that he would have been able to handle the situation on his own as well. Mongoose might not be the most dangerous animal to have as your animal form, but centuries of living with it have taught Magnus how to use it to his advantage. Alec knows that he would be useless if he turned into something that didn’t have thumbs.

When they walk back to the others, Magnus’ sure steps take him towards the machine still on the ground. Magnus glares at it and with a dramatic wave of his hand and a bright flash of red magic, it’s nothing but a pile of smoking ash.

When Magnus turns his head to look at the others who have turned their questioning eyes towards the sudden flash of red they saw, Alec does his best to hide his smile.

He truly loves his boyfriend, both in his human form and as a mongoose.