#I would not put it past these drones to not bother cleaning bodies up

[roseofhybrids]

A thought occurs

do you think they like, moved Yeva and Doll Papa's bodies after the prom fiasco?

We know Uzi was able to sneak back in there later to obtain some l i m b s before going to camp. Meaning that the all the bodies were still there long enough for her to switch back to her normal clothes. (Which, to be fair, could have feasibly been on the same night as the prom.)

But, even before the prom, her parents bodies were in there awhile.

Sure, the WDF didn't know Doll was behind the disappearances. But surely they knew her parents were killed when the murder drones broke in. Even if Doll didn't like, officially report it when it happened. Surely they'd notice that Yeva and DP stopped showing up to work and didn't attend the parent teacher conference with the school. Yet, Doll still had the bodies in her apartment. Did she ask to keep them and they just let her? Did they move them and Doll stole them back? Do the drones just leave it up to next of kin to deal with the corpse disposal???

Cuz they also left J's corpse sitting out. Was that because she was a murder drone? Were they planning to move her after the hole in the ceiling got fixed? Do they just leave the bodies sitting out if they're out of the way enough?

Is the world ending, and those two are still just chilling at the dinner table?

[outermaybanks]

Out of the Woods - ch 7

a/n: definitely a fluff piece, might post another chapter this week bc ive editted up to juicy bits and i just want to get there with it lmao

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The next morning, we were testing out the underwater drone. Me and Kie were under the water while the boys watched from above, when we came up they said it worked perfect, now we just had to wait for the right weather.

JJ went to work a shift with Pope, so in the meantime, John B was outside mowing while me and Kie were inside, I was cleaning the dishes as a thanks to John B for letting me stay here.

“Y’know… JJ seemed… a little jealous yesterday.” Kie spoke up from where she sat on the counter. “What? Kie, c’mon.” “No, I’m serious. First when I made that joke about you and Pope, and then when you were flirting with the security guard…”

I was silent for a moment. “What did he say when I was flirting with the security guard?” Kie shrugged as she dried a dish. “Just seemed bothered.”

I put the rag down, and went into the fridge to grab a beer, grabbing one for Kie. “I don’t know how much more I can take, Kie. Lately it’s like… anytime he’s close to me my whole body is on fire.” “I really think you should just… tell him. He’s chill.” “No… I can’t do that. ‘Hey, JJ, I know we’ve been friends since we were like, 8, but I’ve had a huge crush on you for the past four years, and I know you don’t feel the same way but I hope this doesn’t ruin things!’” “You don’t know that he doesn’t feel the same.” I rolled my eyes. “Kie, it’s JJ. If he liked me, he would have made a move on me by now.”

Kiara rolled her eyes before taking a drink of her beer. “C’mon. You need to get your mind off him and catch some waves.” She grabbed my hand before hopping down, and we both ran outside to tell John B. The three of us loaded our boards into the twinkie and drove out to the beachfront. 

I wished surfing would make me forget about JJ, but my brain would flashback against my will, to when he was teaching me how to. But, one thing did take my mind off it, and that was seeing John B and Kie having a serious talk alone. It always kind of seemed like she liked him, but she was much more secretive about it. 

I was paddling out when I heard the familiar voice. “You got this, bugs, come on! Save some waves for the rest of us.” I turned my head to see JJ and Pope running into the water, and smiled to myself. Moments like this reminded me what the torture was for, to maintain this, our little family.

After the sun went down, we returned to the Chateau, me and JJ in the hammock while he rolled a blunt and the others sat around the fire pit having their own conversation. 

“So, where’d you learn to surf like that? Oh, right.” JJ said with a smirk as he brought the blunt to his lips and inhaled. “Where’d you learn to skateboard? Oh, right.” I mocked.

“Alright, alright.” JJ said, holding his arms open for me to lay next to him, so I did, then he handed me the blunt. I took a hit then handed it back to him, laying my head on his chest to watch the horizon. “It’s so beautiful…”

“I bet it’ll be even more beautiful on the Kook side.” JJ said softly, bringing the blunt to my lips for me. I inhaled then pulled back, sucking the smoke in. JJ was looking out at the water, and I took a moment to admire him.

-

The next morning, it was time to take the drone out. Kie was in charge of lowering the drone, Pope watched the screen while JJ drove the boat and John B looked at the coordinates tracker. Pope let out a gasp, but quickly said it was nothing. But then, a storm started coming in, and JJ had to work harder to get the boat where it needed to be.

“JJ, keep going.” John B called. “He said 20 seconds south.” I reminded him. “I heard him. My job is to drive, yours is to stand there and look pretty.” JJ replied.

I rolled my eyes, and stuck my head out; a storm was rolling in. 

“JJ…” I said worriedly. “I got it, bugs, just hold on tight.” 

Kie ran out of tether, and John B called to JJ to stop moving, and I heard Pope say “Holy shit” “What? What is it?” I called. “It’s the Royal Merchant, we found it.” John B replied.

Only, we didn’t see any gold. We adjusted the drone and the boat numerous times, nothing.

“It’s not there… just pull the drone up.” John B relented. “We can do another pass, recharge the battery. We can go back down.” Pope tried. “We’ve done it three times. There’s nothing there.” JJ said. “Shut up!” Kie shouted. “What? It’s true!” “The gold could be buried, we don’t know.” “If it was here it would’ve been found on the metal detector, okay? Somebody beat us to it.” John B said. “Or it was never there…” JJ mumbled and I bumped his arm. “Not helpful, JJ.” JJ just rolled his eyes. 

John B dropped off Kie, and then Pope, and JJ asked to be dropped off. 

“You comin’, bugs?” JJ asked once the boat pulled up by the dock near his house. “What’s on the agenda?” I asked.  “Target practice. If you’re gonna be my backup, you gotta know how to shoot.” JJ said, holding his hand out for me. I took it and let him help me get on the dock. “Any word from your mom?” JJ asked as we walked towards his house. “Nope. I don’t think I’ve been on her radar for a long time. Theodore wants me gone, thinks I’m gonna get pregnant and stuck here like mom did.”

JJ suddenly stopped walking. “Hold on- is that why you never bag any tourons? ‘Cause you’re scared you’ll end up like your mom?” “I thought this was target practice, not a therapy session. C’mon,” I said, and we continued walking in silence. 

Once we got to his house, he went inside and got a teddy bear, placing it on a post. “You seriously want me to shoot a teddy bear?” “You want to practice or not?” JJ countered. “Okay, these go on your ears.” He handed me a pair of headphones.  “What about you?” I asked. “I’ll be fine. Where’s your gun?” 

I pulled it out of the back of my waistband. JJ quickly stepped over to show me how to check the ammo, and turn the safety off.

“Good, now slowly raise it to eye level.” I took a deep breath and held the gun up.  “Aim.” I nodded, putting the bear in my sight. “Fire.” I grimaced before I pulled the trigger, putting a small hole in the teddy bear’s face. “I did it!”

“You did it!” JJ cheered, wrapping his arms around me in a celebratory hug, lifting me off the ground. “That’s my girl!” “JJ!” A voice called, making both of us freeze, JJ put me back down as Pope came into sight. “They know.” “What?” I questioned, looking up at JJ. JJ looked from me to Pope, “Alright, chill, bro. Alright? They don’t know shit.” “Who doesn’t know what?” I tried again. “Topper knows I sunk his boat…” Pope confessed. “What?!” I shouted. “How do you know they know?” JJ questioned. “Because Rafe and Topper posted outside of Heyward’s and mad dogged me.” “Will you calm down and get a grip, man? They don’t know shit.” JJ tried to calm Pope. “They don’t give scholarships to kids who vengefully sink boats.” Pope panicked. “Why did we sink a boat?” I questioned. “Pope sank Topper’s boat because Topper and Rafe jumped him,” JJ explained. “Caved his face in.” I turned to Pope. “You let JJ talk you into sinking a 200k boat?”  “They hit us first, so we hit back. Rules of the jungle man.”

“But Pope has a scholarship! He can get out of here!” I scolded. JJ rolled his eyes at me, turning away. “Look, I’m not saying those assholes didn’t deserve it, I’m saying we need to be smarter. You should have sent me in, I have nothing to lose.”

JJ sighed and turned back to Pope. “Look, they don’t know shit. If any Kooks come up to you and ask if you had anything to do with it, you walk up to ‘em, look ‘em right in the eye, and…”

“Deny the living shit out of it,” Pope answered. “That’s right! Deny, deny, deny. But just for safety, we don’t go anywhere without protection,” JJ said, pointing to the gun. “You’re gonna bring it to movie night?” I questioned. “Whatever it takes,” JJ answered. “Speaking of, we should go meet Kie.”

The three of us walked to meet Kie in Figure Eight, where they hosted OBX movie night, and then the four of us walked to the park together. Kie went to get us drinks, while Pope began panicking about being in Kook territory. 

I started laying out the blanket for us to sit on. 

“Hey, Junie… would you really sink a boat if I asked you to?” Pope asked.

"Is that even a question? I’d sink a boat for any of you guys. Especially for what they did to you,” I answered, earning a smile from Pope. JJ rolled his eyes again, his jaw tensing. He was on edge, I recognized the look on his face. 

Kie came back, handing me a can of sprite. “Just saw Rafe, and he said, and I quote, ‘tell your boy that we know what he did.’ What is that?” 

Pope looked to JJ with a terrified look on his face.”Where is he?” JJ asked, and Kie nudged behind her. We all looked to see Kelce, Topper and Rafe staring at us.

“Great, the whole death squad,” Pope mumbled. JJ forcibly turned his head around. “Don’t stare, bro.” Rafe winked at me and Topper gave a little wave, making me roll my eyes before I turned back around. “I’m just warning you, if they corner me, I’m coming out swinging, okay? Slice and dicin’ I’m on edge right now,” JJ said. “If that doesn’t work, I got this right here.” JJ held up his bag. “I’m sorry, JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun here,” Kie whispered angrily. “JJ, there are kids!” “No! Kie, I didn’t bring the gun, everything’s fine, okay?” JJ replied, obviously annoyed. “Wow, thank you, that’s really convincing. I love that, JJ.” JJ looked to me, then away from all of us.

“Founding principle, you guys. No secrets among Pogues. What is Rafe talking about?” “Wow, no secrets? Alright.” JJ chuckled, his jaw tensed and he wet his lips, getting more and more frustrated. I reached up to put my hand on his thigh. “Hey, hey, you got your backup right here,” I whispered. JJ bit his lip, but then put his hand over mine.

The movie started. Usually I don't like black and white films, but after over two weeks without internet, I was entranced. About halfway through, Pope told JJ he needed to use the bathroom, but the Kooks were guarding it, so JJ took Pope somewhere else.

“Where y’all going?” Kie asked in a whisper. “We gotta wring it out,” JJ answered. “You’re gonna hold it for each other?” Kie questioned but the two boys walked away. “June, what’s going on?” Kie whispered.

I sighed. “Look, Topper and Rafe fucked up Pope during a delivery, and him and JJ got a little payback. Topper deserved it.” Kie gave me a worried look as we saw Topper, Rafe and Kelce walk in the direction JJ and Pope had gone. “Fuck,” I whispered before hopping up, grabbing the bag and slowly following behind them, to avoid suspicion. Kie was right behind me. 

When we got behind the screen, they were already fighting, Kelce holding JJ down while Rafe punched him, and Topper and Pope exchanging swings.

“I get Pope, you get JJ?” Kie suggested, and we both ran to help our boys. I jumped on Rafe’s back, which got him away from JJ, but he started grabbing at me, pulling my hair, trying to get me off him. Kie was forcing herself between Topper and Pope with little luck. 

Rafe bent forward, grabbed and pulled, flipping me off him. I landed on my back with a thud.  “Don’t touch her!” JJ’s voice shouted before Kelce’s fist hit his face.  “JJ!” I called, grabbing the bag but Rafe grabbed it and threw it out of reach, before he kicked me in the stomach.  “Pogue piece of shit!” Rafe shouted before kicking me again. He wound up to do it again, but this time I grabbed his foot, making him fall. He was bigger than me, I had to be smart. I quickly climbed on top of him, using my knee to pin one of his hands before I punched his face, again and again and again. 

The screen catching fire finally made Topper let go of Pope, and Kelce let go of JJ. A pair of arms wrapped around me, pulling me off of Rafe and dragging me away. The four of us ran back, all the way to the Chateau, John B was still on his information vacation. “Here-” JJ said softly, putting a pack of ice on my hand which had become badly bruised. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help… Kie, that was genius”! I said, and she beamed with pride, holding up her beer. “Are you okay?” JJ asked, standing between my legs as I sat on the counter. “I’m fine, J. Just a little kick to the stomach.” “You were badass. You rode that motherfucker like a jockey on a horse!”  I cringed. “Please don’t ever say I rode Rafe again.” JJ chuckled, and I smiled, before grabbing the first aid kit from the table, Kie had been using it on Pope. "You know you got a split lip, right?" I asked, biting my bottom lip. "You know you got a black eye, right?" JJ countered, making me giggle. "Shut up and sit down, dork."

JJ sat on a chair at the table, I pulled one to face him before sitting down, putting disinfectant on a cotton swab. I kept my eyes on my hands, but I could feel JJ's staring at me. I tried not to think about it too much before cleaning his lip.

“I call John B’s room,” Kie called, hopping off the counter and running off. “I call spare bedroom,” Pope joined, running towards the spare bedroom. “Guess that leaves us,” JJ said softly. “Guess so. Are you gonna try and smother me in my sleep again?” “Probably.” I giggled and followed after him towards the couch.

©outermaybanks 2024 taglist: @lilliebellee

[deluluass]

What bliss, domesticity.

for: @tink2kagome. i’m sorry it took me so long to work on ur pretty setter squad request T^T i’ll probably do like another one in the future! 

  & @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @belpomme @chaichai-the-weeb for being such lovely mutuals <3 <3 

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; yakuza/organized crime; gun mention; a lot of (non-sexual) food references in this one

  Jun’ichi Saikawa was obviously the kind of man who liked to laugh. Not unlike most people in their world. The kind who use their entire body when they do, announcing to the entire world with a bellowing “Ha Ha Ha!” how pleased they are with whatever’s going on in front of them.

  Which, in all honesty, was pretty admirable, that the old man could still do it considering how bored to tears Wataru was. 

  That it’s a humid afternoon didn’t help either. He could feel the sweat on his back even when the doors were already slid open, exhibiting a verdant garden filled with blossoms and shrub peonies. From his place he could see the school of koi swirling in the shallow pond, their scales iridescent under the warm rays of the sun. 

  “Didn’t know you were the funny sort, 'Kaashi!” Saikawa blurted out, the sake in his hand spilling to his fingers.

  This wasn’t Wataru’s first day on the job, but this is the first that he gets to do something this important. And with someone he highly respects, too. 

  So he gave his collar a light tug, steeling himself to endure as he tucked his legs further beneath him, and resorted to thinking about the many things he would absolutely surrender just to lie down on the warm mat. 

  His car, maybe.

  The brand new noise-cancelling headphones he bought, if pushed. 

  Wataru saw Akaashi nod.

  “I appreciate a joke every now and then,” he said.

  The larger man laughed again.

  “Here, here!” Saikawa thundered, snatching a tiny, yellow box from the maid who appeared as swiftly as she’d left. 

  “I heard you like sweets. Here,” he said, grinning as he handed it to Akaashi. “My youngest son just opened a cake shop. I know what you’re thinking, but who am I to say no, eh?”

  Akaashi passed the box to Wataru. 

  “Mind it for me, please,” he whispered.

  How unexpected. Akaashi-san has a sweet tooth.

  Huh. 

  That’s pretty neat. Wataru himself wasn’t partial to cakes, but he does love pudding. 

  “You are a good father, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi told him. 

  This time, Wataru didn’t bother suppressing a yawn as Saikawa fumbled for his phone, hiding it behind his hand as he stared at the birds chirping and hopping about outside.

  “Wanna see him? He’s much like you! Good head on his shoulders, that one.” 

  “I am honored, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi echoed back, peering down at the photos Saikawa showed him. 

  “He sends me a lot of these- uh,” Saikawa snorted, his nose reddened by the alcohol. “What do young people call it, the- pictures-”

  “Selfies?” Akaashi politely supplied. 

  “That’s the one! Look. Precious, ain’t he?”

  His earpiece crackled to life. 

  Konoha’s voice emerged from the static. 

  “We’re ready when you are,” his senior murmured. “Man, this is taking too long. Let’s get some burgers when we’re done.”

  “Akaashi-san,” Wataru croaked, feeling his cheeks heat up as he continued, “K-Komi-san and the others are waiting for you.”

  Saikawa perked up. “Ah, of course! Of course!” 

  He stumbled when he attempted to stand up. Akaashi was quick on his feet to assist him.

  “I knew I could count on you, son,” he muttered, patting Akaashi’s back. “Now, you tell Bokuto that what happened between us- it’s all in the past! All in the past! And if those bastards mess with him again, you tell him to run to old Jun’ichi!”

  Akaashi clasped Saikawa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Akaashi said. “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments to Bokuto-san.”

  “You do that, my boy.” Saikawa’s belly shook as he laughed. “Your generation’s a smart one, indeed. The in-fighting and wars, bah! All that trouble for nothing; that’s not your style. Your lot’s the future now!”

  Then, Akaashi stepped a few meters back and bowed. 

  Wataru followed behind him. 

  “We will be taking our leave,” Akaashi said. “It has been an illuminating talk, Jun’ichi-san.”

  The sound of the bamboo drip trickling water into another stalk permeated through the silence.

  It collapsed and clunked against a stone. 

  He heard the birds flutter away.

  When Wataru raised his head, Saikawa had already been lying face down on the floor. 

  And, of course, Wataru’s used to it: the crack of a gun muffled by a silencer. 

  He’s been practicing his entire life, after all. He actually doesn’t flinch anymore and Wataru thinks he should be proud of himself.

  It’s just that... how could someone who used to be there, suddenly...disappear? Saikawa was right in front of him a few minutes ago. Laughing and showing off photographs of his son. And now he’s...not.

  But, Saikawa didn’t disappear. Not really. 

  The blood seeping through the tatami is proof of it, but Wataru chooses not to look. In theory, he knows what a bullet through the skull looks like. He’d just rather not see today if what he’s taught reflects true in the real world. 

  Maybe some other time.

  “Wataru.” 

  Wataru flinched. “Y-yes?”

  Akaashi looked back at him. “The cake?”

  His body was still trembling and it took a lot of strength to not let it show in his hands when he gave it back to Akaashi, the box pleasantly yellow with doodles of doe-eyed eggs dancing along the handle. Unblemished, unlike Akaashi, who was sporting a splatter of blood along his cheek. 

  It’s surprisingly still cool to touch, too.

  “No, thank you,” he said, rejecting the handkerchief that Wataru offered. 

  From afar, Wataru could hear the faint melodies of an old love song being played by a car radio. No doubt Konoha’s doing. It followed them, growing louder the closer they walked back into the parking lot. The others bowed and sent gruff salutations along Akaashi’s way as they dragged bodies out of the Saikawa mansion. 

  (It was nauseating and Wataru wanted to pass out.)

  He pressed his nails harshly into the meat of his palm. 

  “A-Akaashi-san,” Wataru began. “I didn’t know that- that um, you liked... sweets.”

  Akaashi halted. 

  “No, I don’t,” he said, blinking. “But my wife does.”

  Wataru stared at him. 

  Akaashi went ahead. 

  He stayed that way— staring and wondering, until they stopped by the fast food restaurant that Konoha loved so much. Wataru couldn’t even finish his burger and fries. 

  By the time that they hit the freeway, Akaashi had already cleaned himself up and Wataru was still grappling with the word “wife.” 

  Of course he knows the man is married. 

  But, how, exactly, do you reconcile his reputation with the sight of him, every passing headlight sharpening his features, quietly humming along to Aki Yashiro? Who was longing for Shinjuku at night, the beauty of it, and oh, how wonderful it’d be, she said: a rendezvous with her lover, waiting for her under raining cherry blossoms. 

  Wataru figured that he was tired and starting to see things. 

  That small smile that graced Akaashi’s lips couldn't be real, either, especially those hands of his that held the box of cake like it’s worth more than gold.

He wasn't really particular when it comes to music. A song's a song, in Akaashi's opinion. Another form of noise that helps when the silence gets too overbearing. 

  But you, on the other hand, liked music. Listened to it the same way one eats their favorite food: memorizes the lyrics; goes out of your way to collect unearthed photographs and newspaper clippings that made the singer seem more human.

  You loved music— was probably the right way of putting it.

  Especially the old variety. He didn't get it at first. The sounds are dated; no one speaks in that language with that cadence anymore; the singer's probably dead.

  Well, Akaashi still doesn't get it, if he were to be honest. 

  Yet here he is. 

  His hands were wrapped around your waist, coaxing you into a slow— albeit clumsy, waltz.

  "Kei-kun!" you squeaked. "The dishes!"

  You dragged your slippers beneath you, struggling to wipe the suds off your hands. 

  "S-seriously, Kei-kun..!"

  Sure, he doesn’t fully understand what’s great about it, music. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he immediately recognized the first few notes this time, that’s why he’s doing this. He didn’t even wait for the DJ to finish saying, “You’re still listening to Vintage F.M. Here’s a classic for you couples out there. Have a romantic night with Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-”

  Perhaps it’s because your cream stew tasted extra special that it made him shrug the fatigue off, giving in to the urge of pulling you close and taking your damp hand in his to sway and bob along the skipping bassline. Your bashful objections went in one ear and out the other.

  Sure, he’s not the type to do this, either, dancing. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he knew that it’s your favorite song.

  Perhaps it’s just what marriage does to you.

  "Did you like the cake?" he whispered against your neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and the way your skin jumped as he did.

  Your breaths were shallow against his chest, but you managed a soft, “Yes, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  Akaashi caressed your back, kneading the tensed muscles as he huffed. 

  “Good,” he murmured, trembling. “Good girl. What a relief." 

  It was endearing, how offbeat the both of you were. A shame, though, considering that Nat King Cole’s fervently insisting on love; that it’s all that I can give to you; that it’s more than just a game for two. 

  So Akaashi makes up for his two left feet by joining in. He pressed his lips to your forehead. How strange, your presence in his life. What did he do to deserve you by his side, for this contentment that thaws away the chill?

  (He put a ring on your finger, is what he did. He deserves this.)

  “Two,” he droned, made giddy by the sparks in his belly, “in love can make it.”

  You looked at him, wide-eyed. 

  “Take my heart and please don’t break it.”

  He spun you around.

  “Oh my god, Kei-kun,” you gasped. “You can’t sing.”

  Akaashi’s aware of it all too well. He can’t carry a note; not him: the guy who’s had monotony ingrained in his very being. But that’s why he has you.

  A startled giggle left you as he guided you into a box step, the trumpet rising and falling over the strings. You stepped on him a few times, so he lifted you up, just so, and kicked off your slippers. Then, he set your feet atop his own. 

  He took you with him as he moved, waddling and careful not to hit his back against the countertop. It came as no revelation that both of you weren’t any better dancers even after this maneuver.

  Akaashi continued. Starting with L—

  “Is for the way you look at me.”

  “Stop, stop-” Your eyes crinkled at the sides. “You’re flat.”

  Akaashi persisted, anyway, taking your cheek to pepper kisses all over your face.

  “O is for the only one I see.”

  Your laugh was airy— light and buoyant all over the kitchen, like a fairy leaving stardust in its wake. Not gratingly booming nor demanding. After all, you weren’t the kind who felt the need for it: an audience to witness how pleased you are; how strong and powerful you are over everyone else. 

  Besides, your laugh was just for him. A private and intimate thing. And he was so lost in it that he almost forgot what’s been gnawing at him for the entire morning.

  Akaashi rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the downy fabric of your dress as he gripped you by the hips. 

  “Where did you go earlier?” 

  The orchestra was in a joyous uproar, joining the rapid beating of your heart; the trumpet bright and clear, singing in harmony with the bass and saxophones and trombones, as Nat King Cole repeatedly guaranteed, as if an oath, that love was made for me and you. 

  Love was made for me and you.

  “I had to buy some groceries!” you piped up. “We ran out of ingredients. Sorry, I forgot to bring my phone with me. Oh, I have to run you a bath. I’ll tell you when it’s done, alright?”

  You broke away from him with a beaming grin, but Akaashi wanted to ask, despite the evidence of it before him. 

  “Are you happy?”

  It has already ended, the song. The DJ was signing off for the night.

  You nodded, playfully jabbing his arm with a fist. 

  “Of course,” you told him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Perhaps it’s because you were never really good at pretense, no matter how much you hid behind needless noise. 

  Music. Laughter. Running water. 

  Akaashi sighed as he slumped down the nearest stool.

  Of course you’re happy. Why wouldn’t you be?

  After rubbing his eyes with clammy fingers, Akaashi fiddled them together beneath his temples. He released a heavy breath and fished for his phone in his pocket.

  He spoke after the first two rings. 

  “Wataru-san, I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “Can you do something for me?”

  His subordinate didn't ask him why, neither did he react when he'd stated his request. Akaashi knew, however, that the question was sitting in Wataru's clipped replies. The boy’s “yes, sir” and “understood, sir” were far too enthusiastic than normal.

  Akaashi didn’t mind, though, if he did ask. And despite that familiar pang of dread, Akaashi would answer him like the common— just like the average, everyday husband— with that characteristic, bordering on irksome pride that they have when they talk about their wives. 

  Why?

  “Well, Wataru-san,” Akaashi would answer. “Perhaps this is just what marriage does to you.”

The house was a house like any other.

  There was an old pickup truck parked outside the freshly painted gate, carrying crates of fruits and vegetables in its trunk. Along the bricked walls was an overgrowth of vines and ferns. It extended around the windows and crept up the balcony.

  A large Shiba ran outside and jumped to your lap as soon as it saw you by the driveway.

  Wataru heard Chiaki stir at the back of the car.

  “Pay up, asshole,” he grunted, waking a disheveled Ryota who’s still holding a half-bitten melon bread.

  His lackey cracked his neck and gave the scenery a cursory glance. “Could be a front.”

  Ryota grumbled and went back to sleep.

  “Idiot,” Chiaki clicked his tongue. “She traveled all the way to Miyagi just to give intel? And here? Of all places?”

  Three days. 

  They’ve tailed you for three days. Akaashi-san never said anything else, besides that within the week, while he’s gone and sealing deals in another country, there was a high likelihood of you folding and getting out of Tokyo. 

  To run right here. In Miyagi.

  He didn’t say why, really, but Wataru supposes it’s better that he didn’t. Because during the days of absolute, mind-crushing boredom, of watching some suburban wife go out for a morning walk, chat with her neighbors, and shop around the market, rinse and repeat, coming up with the Why had been their only salvation.

  The betting pool has two answers: cheater or snitch.

  Chiaki was insistent on the former, while Ryota stood by the latter. 

  And Wataru...Wataru could only watch, waiting with a bated breath as the door finally opened.

  “I bet it’s someone younger,” Chiaki said. “Usually is.”

  Seems that none of them were winning anything today.

  The man who emerged from the house was far older— who, oddly enough, resembled you. An  old woman soon followed behind him. Both of them looked at you as if they were witnessing a specter, or someone who's crawled back from the dead. An appropriate comparison, especially since they’re both wearing somber black clothes.

  It wasn’t his place to assume. Though he’s been promoted to a slightly higher position, it will never come close to the place that Keiji Akaashi occupies. Wataru knows all of these, but nothing was stopping him from putting the pieces together, no matter what little he has.

  They could only stare when all of you broke down into tears, locked in each other’s embrace as you knelt on the pavement. 

  Don’t let her stay too long.

  That had been one of Akaashi-san’s orders.

  So the three of them didn’t wait it out. By the time that the sun had set, Wataru had already stepped out of the car, taking Ryota with him. He made sure to remind the boy, just in case he’d forgotten.

  “Be gentle, alright?” Wataru reiterated.

  There hadn’t been any need for that, it turned out. 

  He’s sure you’ve never met before, but Wataru saw bitter understanding flash in your eyes when you caught them loitering in front of your house. Fear was there, too, of course. 

  Wataru was convinced that surely it’s a good thing. It saved everyone a lot of time, that way.

  You didn’t even say a word, only giving Wataru a stiff nod when he’d introduced himself, and remained like so on the ride back to Tokyo, with the strap of your handbag trapped by a clenched fist. Wataru didn’t try to initiate small talk; it felt unnecessary.

  It took a while for Wataru to realize that you also hadn’t bothered to change out of your pajamas, though he gave you a couple of minutes to say your farewells. 

  Pajamas, obscured now by a thick, gray coat. 

  Akaashi-san was right.

  You had no plans of coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

  Wataru decided not to linger on it anymore. 

  He ignored the blank stare that pierced right through the rear-view mirror. And then, Wataru wondered, hand sweating in his pocket, what the three of them should have for dinner.

Thick chunks of pumpkin melted in your mouth with just the first spoonful of broth. 

  It'd been a while since the last time Akaashi cooked. So, more than anything, it was the sight of him setting plates and utensils that took you aback, greeting you with a, "Welcome home. You're just in time. Food's ready," his sleeves rolled to his elbows while donning your baby owl-printed apron. 

  The taste didn't. Surprise you, that is. He's a good cook. Unlike you, who only became marginally better one hundred burn scars later. 

  It also didn't surprise you that he flew back home at the drop of a hat. Even when he said he'd be gone for a week.

  "How is it?" Akaashi asked after chewing. "Took me a while to make it."

  It obviously did, you thought. When you arrived, Irma Thomas was already begging through the record player.

  "Do you need me, like I need you?" she implored, straight from the heart. "Look at me, I'm crying from holding you." 

  The last song on your favorite record. It was cheap and had the best from the artists you loved. 

  Etta James. Ella Fitzgerald. Aretha Franklin. The Mills Brothers. Bessie Smith. All in one vinyl.

  "Yeah," you replied, clearing your throat when you realized how hard it is to speak. "It's delicious."

  You looked back down to your bowl. The  tofu had gone untouched. Your food was still close to spilling to the brim, while Akaashi was almost finished with his, scrolling on his phone laid on the table.

  "So no one coaxed you into it," you heard him say, and that had ripped your eyes away from the broth like a bandage on an infected wound.

  Akaashi was holding your phone, reading the messages- his number was the only one there, as pealing bells resonated in the dining room. 

  "I'd think of all the things that I wanted of you," cried Irma Thomas. "To make me forget the pain that you caused."

  "I would've known if anyone else talked to you, anyway," he huffed, locking the screen before blowing steam off the morsel. 

  "You would," you conceded. The tofu was soft when you bit into it, sinking into your teeth.

  "I found that in our cabinet. Last time it was in the kitchen drawer, wasn't it?" Akaashi helped himself to a bowl of rice. "Don't leave it in stuffy places. What if you forget where you hid it and you won't know when I call?"

  "And I can no longer keep track of where you are for every moment of the day?" you could hear him say. Though he didn't; though all that could heard, besides the scraping of utensils, was Irma Thomas declaring:

  A fragile thing, like life. It just don't last so long.

  It could be for a minute or an hour. Or then again, from now.

  Your lips tightened with a grin. "I won't do it again, sweetheart," you said, spoon hanging limply in your hold.    

  He didn't need to say it. 

  That your phone has a tracker. That this house is still the same cage that it'd been before. That the only difference between then and now is that silver band on your finger.

  Akaashi’s blinked back at you as he sipped  what remained of the soup. You tried to do the same.

  The savory taste was cloying and it burned in your throat, so you didn't attempt to finish the bowl. It cut down to your heart, sinking heavily on your stomach, bile rising as the song came to a close.

  You gulped it down, though. You had to. And in the final moments, Irma Thompson told you what she really wanted. 

  "Make me forget," she said, "the pain that you'd caused."

  The chorus joined her. "Understanding is a great thing," she concluded. "If it comes from the heart."

  Akaashi was on his own phone this time. Most likely checking on the business that he left, judging by those furrowed brows and that long-suffering look in his eyes.   

  Fizzling noise came at the heels of the fading music. Then, it stopped. And there was nothing left anymore but silence.

  It's over now. Akaashi’s making a move to clean up. You were supposed to say, "That was a lovely dinner, honey." Or, you could tell him to sit down and watch a movie with you when he's done. 

  "I'll help you with the dishes," you wanted to say. 

  I'll help you with the dishes. It was so easy to say. 

  Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed call for his name.

  "Kei-kun," you repeated, brittle and weak and dry.  

  "I'm so sorry," you might've mouthed. 

  You could barely hear your own voice as you looked at him. Akaashi paused from tidying the table. 

  You're parched and a lot has happened today. Gathering the courage to take that first step out of the city had taken what little strength you had. The fear never left you. Seeing your old house almost ended you. 

  It should be physically impossible for you to still be able to cry. And yet there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears now, the same way your apologies unfurled in an embarrassingly infinite string.

  "Don't lock me inside here again," you whispered, clinging to him as he shushed you, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs as he helped you drink a glass of water.

  He carried you to your room and sat you down on the bed, right between his thighs. You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot on the sleeves of your pajama top.

  "I- I just wanted to see them. That's all. Just one day, Kei-kun. One day. I was gonna come back, I swear." 

  You're rambling. You're a madwoman pleading and bargaining with a stone-cold judge because playing house is the only thing keeping her alive. 

  And you messed that up you foolish, foolish girl.

  "Please don't hurt my family," you heaved. "They're all I have left."

  Akaashi doesn't speak, not for a while, but when he did, you bawled harder.

  "I can kill them all," he said, matter of factly. 

  It is true. Hearing him say it does not make it easier to take, though. 

  "I can hurt you the same way that you hurt me."

  Your neck strained as he tipped your chin towards him with a slender finger. 

  "I can break you," he muttered, not batting an eye.

  That, too, is true. You know it all too well. He said it with such serenity, still and undisturbed by the shaking of your head, because it goes without saying. 

  Except, you, too, know it. 

  When he is breaking. When he is falling apart.

  He smothered you, taking your entire body to curl against you, making himself small as he pressed his face on your back.

  "Yet- and yet I-" Akaashi sniffled. You felt your shirt dampen. "I've given you everything."

  When he finally brought his face close to yours, he looked so lost. Almost like a little boy who's on the verge of drowning,  clinging desperately onto a lifesaver and too shocked to shout for help. 

  You hated him all the more for it.

  "Each other," he said, snarling, almost, through tears as he grabbed your face with both hands. "That's all we have left, you hear? You and I. Husband and wife."

  He seized your jaw and turned it towards the vanity mirror.

  The room was dark save for the light in the hallway, peeking into the crack through the doorway. 

  But you could see yourself. And you could see your hand intertwined in his, your rings gleaming like muted starlights. 

  "We made a vow," he whispered, kissing your ring finger. 

  A detached part of you is astonished with how inescapable it is. Whether it be a reward or a punishment; a good day or a bad one.

  No matter what happens, you always end up like this, don't you? 

  Begging to him with your legs spread wide.

  You did as you'd always done when he began unbuttoning your top. 

  You go back to that autumn morning, when you first laid your eyes on him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and you thought that he had the prettiest face you'd ever seen.

  You go back to when he was just this really romantic guy who sent you flowers every day. There was a letter, every time. 

  Nothing too grandiose. Just short messages hoping that you'd have a great day ahead.

  He kissed your neck, wet smooches and long, flat-tongued licks dipping down your shoulder.

  He watched you through the mirror, his eyes a pair of darkened blues daring you to look away.

  Akaashi Keiji was your boyfriend, you told yourself. You dated him for quite some time before you married.

  Akaashi Keiji got along well with your father and doted on your mother. On Sundays, you visit them and they send you back to Tokyo with ripe watermelons. 

  Akaashi Keiji has never hurt you.

  The man tracing the hem of your bra, cupping your clothed tits and drawing lazy circles over nipples, however, did.

  (And he still will in future. He still is, right now.)

  This man is the real one. 

  And you have angered him, so he will not make this easy for you.

  "What did you promise me?" Akaashi whispered as he lightly bit the shell of your ear. "Or have you forgotten?"

  Of course, you haven't forgotten. You were chained to this very room when you made them, after all.

  "N-no, I remember," you said, catching your breath. "I remember, Kei-kun."

  "Then say it," he said. "Look at me."

  You shivered as his palms swept over your  stomach; as he unfastened your bra, letting it fall down your arms.

  "Look at me when you say it."

  You felt your nipples harden, gooseprickles spread all over you, as the air hit your bare skin, cooling the sweat that made it glisten.

  "Please," he rasped.

  The eyes of the woman in the mirror was hooded, threatening to close as she puffed with each squeeze and caress to her tits, swiveling her hips against her husband’s crotch as he grinded into her. 

  "I will be happy," she said.

  Akaashi nuzzled your temple, using his rough fingers to tease your nipples just as he did, brushing them to and fro, then grazing the bumpy skin around until you're squeaking out his name. 

  And when he began pressing down on the stiff peaks with his thumbs, before rolling and pulling at them, the heels of his palm digging into your tits, you saw the woman claw at her husband's hair, a graceless affair that almost scratched his eye out, making him reach for both her arms to wrap them around his neck. 

  "I- I will..!" Her lips parted in a breathless scream and it was disgusting how lewd she appeared. "I will not run away!"

  The streak of tears on his cheeks touched yours when he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, his wet tongue gliding in so slowly as he deepened the kiss with a throaty groan.

  His other hand crawled down to your soaked panties. You couldn't contain the mewl that left you.

  Both of you gasped and struggled to breathe again after you parted from each other.  

  "You understand, don't you?" he rasped.   

  Two of his fingers slid down your folds, only to slither back up, then down again, smearing your cunt with its own slick.

  But he never touched your swollen clit, even though it's throbbing and aching to be rubbed and the hard bulge sitting between your ass grew harder the more you squirmed in his hold, whimpering like a bitch in heat.  

  You heard your husband sigh, his hot breath tickling you when he said, "This isn't about you now."

Belly pushed into the edge of the dressing table, rattling and battering against the wall with each forceful thrust, and your leg perched atop it, made numb by Akaashi's grip on your thigh.

  That was the first thing that you could recall when you opened your eyes.

  But your entire body was screaming in pain, so you knew that everything else that happened last night would come back to you soon enough.

  The flesh had a memory of its own. 

  You sat up with a groan and you didn't have to see the marks to know.

  His teeth were still nipping at you, biting you until they drew blood, only to follow with an apologetic lapping of his tongue. 

  You could feel him beneath you, his hands clawing you down to him, palms kneading your ass cheeks as you bounced up and down on his cock.

  You could feel him above you, gripping your wrists not unlike the cuffs that once kept you shackled. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling you close to him, filling you up with loads and loads of cum, squelching every time he sank down your weeping hole.

  And when your vision began to blur at the edges, he carried your body, mere seconds into fainting, to the dressing table. 

  The evidence of that stared back at you in shameful streaks and smudges, traces of your fingers on the mirror when he rammed your cunt from behind.

  "Are you happy?" Akaashi whispered.

  You don't know. 

  When he's just your husband who comes home to your arms and brings you sweets because he knows how much you love them; who dances with you in the kitchen and listens intently to you when you talk about that cute dog you saw at the park, were you happy, then?

  You don't know, but the woman in the mirror, in that moment, surely was.

  She even said, "Yes, yes, Kei-kun, right there, fuck me right there!"

  Her pupils were blown wide, eyes rolling almost over to the back of her head. And despite the cries that escaped her, there was a wide, dissipated smile on her lips,  spit trailing down her chin.

  "Look at you," Akaashi said, grunting when your walls tightened around his shaft. "You're clearly happy with me."

  "So why? Why'd you even think of leaving?" He rocked his hips, grinding his thick cock against that spot that had you holding onto the mirror. "Don't ever do that to me again." 

  You told him no, no, you won't run away again, but it didn't seem to placate his unease, nor his tears.

  "I'm so scared, everyday, that you'll leave me and- and- it feels like hell. I would rather die." 

  He kissed your nape as he huffed and said, "Because I don't know what I'll do without you."

  You never really understood why; what about you had caused him to single you out in the sea of people that had vied for his attention. Especially now as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

  There were dark circles under your eyes and Akaashi’s t-shirt was rumpled on your body, engulfing you whole with its size— a far cry from that lovely, dazzling bride that his best friend, Bokuto, had described you as on your wedding day. 

  But you’re aware, more than anyone, that Akaashi Keiji is the last person to care about appearances. 

  When he entered the room, carrying a tray in his hands, he gazed at that disheveled girl with eyebags big enough to be dragged around the same way he looked at her when he waited for her at the end of the aisle.

  “I made you pancakes,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he sat down beside you.

  You were tired so it didn’t dawn on you as quickly as it should that he made them the way you preferred. Four fluffy pieces stacked atop one another, sprinkled with powdered sugar, whipped cream and a smattering of berries on the side.

  He fiddled with his fingers when you only stared at it, so you immediately took the fork in your hand and sliced the pancake in half.

  “I’ll be taking some time off work,” Akaashi said as you took the food in your mouth. You only nodded, having noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual bespoke suit as soon as he entered the room.

  You felt him near you; felt his hand, warm to touch, cup your face.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were misty and, this close, it seemed that he, too, wasn’t in a good shape. “So please-” Akaashi licked his chapped lips, “Please don’t go.”

  “I won’t,” you replied, giving him the smile that you knew he needed. “I promise.”

  Then, as you moved to kiss him on the cheek, the chains that tethered you to the bedpost clinked softly beneath the blanket, and you didn’t bother to keep the tears at the bay.

  Akaashi wiped them for you when you said that you loved him. And when he asked why, you only shrugged and told him that the pancakes were so sweet that they could make anyone cry. 

[juminly]

Poison & Wine (Dabi x Reader)

Fandom: Boku No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia.  Pairing: Dabi x Female!Reader.  Summary: Dabi just wanted you to pour him some wine. Things just get a bit more heated from there as you when you get a good taste of him... and he just does the same.  Rating: Explicit. (Minors, DNI) Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Pet-Play, Teasing, BDSM, Desk Sex, Rough Sex, Slight Degradation, Blow-Job, Hate sex?, A tiny tiny bit of Gore, Doggy-Style, Hair-Pulling, Creampie.  Word Count: 4.7k ~ –♥– There he goes again. Calling you a puppy and asking you to go fetch him a bottle of wine. Emphasis on the word bottle cause God forbid you got him something else, he was going to burn something to ashes and you would have to suffer the consequences, for whatever reason that may be. Out of all of the villains you met, Dabi was the worst of them all. You've heard much about him, those bright and deadly blue flames of him that strike both fear and bewilderment in your heart.

He was different from them all. You knew exactly why but never dared to say it.

You had no idea why he was in Kurogiri/Shigaraki's study and you couldn't care less. Or that's what you told yourself. Even before you found yourself accidentally associated in one of the League of Villains crimes, you had no choice but to join them, even if you were but a mere quirkless human. You used your talents to do research, aka gathering intelligence on the public's opinion on the war between heroes and villains in return for their protection, keeping you from getting locked in prison for life, for a crime that you didn't even commit.

Opening the door to the study, a small gasp escaped your lips which you immediately masked with a few words, the surprise you felt betrayed you and ringing clearly in your voice even when you huffed as disgruntledly as you could. "H-Here's the bottle. Where do you want it?"

Sitting in a disheveled button down white blouse, his chest was on full display, showcasing the staples that joined the curved lines of his pale skin with the wrinkled burnt flesh, the contrasting purple was never something you could get used to, especially when you thought about how he even suffered such atrocious injuries. But it was... his hair, stark white compared to the usual black that he wore, the spiky locks appeared to glow when he brushed a scarred hand between them while he looked up blankly at the ceiling.

When was he going to acknowledge you? Or at least the wine that you brought him?

Even with his physique covered in marred skin, his turquoise eyes gazing at you with nothing but complete disinterest, evidently bored with your mere existence as he always seemed to remind you with either his words or his actions. You could offer him nothing, annoying him to the point of contempt. Why was he so pissed off with you being around? Why did he treat like you were some sort of slave? You had no idea.

Well, he could kill you right on the spot so you had better do as he said, having the power to go down in flames in a split-second, turn you to nothing without a blink of his gorgeous eyes. It was a challenge, you finding him incredibly and criminally attractive, spending countless nights with your fingers, knuckles deep inside your dripping cunt, calling out Dabi’s name… wishing that you knew his real one.

Fuck him for making you feel this way. Literally.

If only.

"Is that how you speak to your Master, little puppy?" He smirked, the words dragging from his lips as he drawled teasingly, not even bothering to sit up and look at you as he addressed you. You were wondering why he didn’t even speak to you when your feet had been frozen in place, your mind travelling to a place so far away… a place that could never exist. One where you… "If you know what's best for you, come here and pour me some." Dabi interrupted your thoughts, his raspy voice portraying his bubbling frustration.

Fucking son of a bitch. Walking towards him, you stood behind the chair he was slouching on, looking down at him yet his eyes were still trained on the ceiling, flickering only momentarily towards you then back on whatever it is he was staring at. What the hell was he looking at? Tilting your head upwards, you found nothing. Just the plain white ceiling. Okay… weird. Sighing, you brought your attention back to him and droned, your own irritation with him growing. “Do you have a glass somewhere around here? You just asked me to fetch the damn bottle.” Idly lifting his hand towards his face, you watched as one of his long bony fingers pinched one of the staples by his lips, plucking them out without even a wince and he did the same on the other side, snickering at your reaction. He didn’t even have to look at you to see you wince at his seemingly masochistic behaviour, the pain actually a feeling that he welcomed with open arms, amongst other sensations that he sought. Right then, he just really wanted some liquor in his system and to spite Kurogiri. It was no one’s business why he wanted to do so but unjustifiably consuming heaps of the man’s favourite wine. That would definitely do it. “Quit your damn yapping? I swear, you’re worse than fucking white noise.” Now that he removed one of the staples, Dabi could open his mouth even wider, his long tongue lapping up at the small trail of blood that oozed from the small pricks on his skin, the familiar metallic taste settling on his tongue eliciting a small groan of approval from him. “Why would I need a damn glass when I’ve got a puppy to help me drink it all up?” Without even waiting for your response, Dabi glared at you from the corner of his eyes, his head tilted back with his mouth wide open, waiting for you to actually move. You didn’t know why you let him string you along the way he did but here you were, popping the wine bottle open and tipping it slowly, watching the vinaceous liquid flow into Dabi’s expectant mouth. Your eyes remained trained on him, observing how he let the liquid accumulate in his mouth, then swallowing it in large gulps, his adam’s apple protruding visibly from his throat, you found yourself mesmerized by the way it bobbed up and down as he continued to take more and more of the wine inside his body. The moment you tried to tip the bottle back a bit, easing slightly on the amount you poured, a threatening groan rumbled in his chest, making you roll your eyes at him. “You can choke on that damn wine for all I care. I won’t stop until you finish the bottle then.”

The corner of his lips, of his face to be more accurate, turned up into a malicious smirk, as derisive as he ever was, his turquoise eyes staring into yours as the wine began to seep past his lips and broken flesh. A blood-red trail began meandering down his face, tracing the skin of his neck as it began to flow freely, painting a stream of crimson rivers along the valleys of his sculpted chest, as if it were worshipping the ripples of his scarred skin and reaching down to the end of the path, right by his Adonis belt where Dabi’s low-hanging pants lied. You could feel your throat getting dry, thoughts playing over what the man that lounged before you looked like past his well-defined V-line. How much of a tease could he be? Not only was he sitting in an almost indecent manner, practically asking for you to drool and swoon all over how fuckable he was? God knew how much you craved him, the countless fantasies of yours where he just gripped you by the neck and railed you, leaving you breathless, with a sore pussy and legs that practically turned into jelly.

“Hey!” He snapped you out of your lustful reverie, realizing that you had already emptied the bottle, tiny droplets were now falling on Dabi’s face and trickling down his chin. He cocked an eyebrow at you, not bothering to wipe the rivulets of wine that joined the red roadmap that you drew on his imperfectly perfect banging body. Hngh, why the fuck did he make you this thirsty? “Yo, pup. You gonna stop spacin’ out and clean up this damn mess?”

Normally, you would’ve just walked away but something kept your damn feet glued to the floor, your eyes searching around the room for napkins. It wasn’t like anything in this damn room could be used to get those wine stains off his shirt. With the same hand you held the wine bottle in, you placed it over your hip and the other on your waist, informing him despondently. “There ain’t any tissues here so you’ll have to make do with that already ruined shirt of yours.

“You’re running that pretty mouth of yours. I’m sure you could put it to better use.”

“Yeah, I could.” You replied, without even realizing the implications of your own words.

”Then get on with it.” Dabi rolled the chair a tad and spread his legs even wider, giving you enough space to step in between them and you did exactly just that. With his eyes closed shut, he just let you take matters into your own hands, thinking you were the one in control. You didn’t think your actions through but you found yourself hovering over him, balancing yourself with your hands on the back of the chair. Leaning down, your tongue trailed over the corner of his jawline, the tender feeling of his marred skin strange but not revolting in the least. 

It was exhilarating, finally being able to have your lips on his body, to know how he felt and especially the part of him that made him seem even more of a ‘bad guy’. In your eyes, he was the hottest fucker you could have your hands on and right then, your lips wantonly kissed down the column of his neck, sucking on his skin, looping your tongue around his collarbone. Hiking down his chest, you lapped up the crimson liquid, sucking on the piercing rings that adorned his nipples. Why was he like this? Why was it that he didn’t seem the least bit affected by this? You could already feel your body running hot, adrenaline rushing through your veins. He didn’t ask for you to do anything to pleasure him but this certainly came as an added bonus, his pants tightening with every brush of your wet tongue, every kiss from your soft perfect lips on his hideous self. The smile that turned up the corner of his lips was an involuntary one, a certain anticipation building inside of him to see how you would react as you travelled further down his ripped body, reaching where his pants were feeling tight as shit. Oh well, it was going to hurt if he just relieved himself as you did your thing. Now, would it? His hands were focused on freeing his half-erect cock from his pants and damn, it was a good day to have gone commando and be chilling with wine just streaking his body and a good puppy just licking it all off. Now that your lips had already found his rib cage, intricately and delicately licking all traces of red from his skin, a small yelp escaped you as your upper lip got caught on one of the staples. While crouching down so you could tend to his abs, completely ignoring the nick of your lips, Dabi grabbed your chin and tilted your head up before your knees could touch the floor, before you could finally get to the part you’ve always dreamed of. Licking his abs. With your eyes locked on turquoise, you gulped loudly as he hunched forward abruptly, capturing your upper lip between his and sucked lazily, dragging his tongue lazily over the bit of blood that dripped from your soft flesh. To keep yourself from falling, you stabilized yourself with your hands on his knees, reeling over him hungrily as he teased you by letting his tongue delve into your mouth, brushing against the roof of your mouth, having you let out an involuntary preen at the shivering sensation that washed over you. Before you could even kiss him back or even get a better taste of him, he broke your bind with a final suck, licking his lips as he slouched back against the chair once again.   Fuck. You knew that he was packing under the belt but holy shit, you weren’t expecting to see Jacob’s Ladder pierced from the base of his cock right to his tip. His loose grip on his length made your mouth water, your mind certainly no longer focused on his abs but on the way you saw his thick shaft lay heavy in his palm, hardening by the second as he brushed the underside with his thumb. “You’re really provin’ to be a bad pup. There’s still some wine left.” Giving him your best glare, you propped yourself comfortably between his thighs, slapping his hand away from his cock, earning you a warning glare of his own. “Shut up. I’ll get to it later. Let me help you with this.” You grumbled, wrapping your lithe fingers around his girth with one hand, dragging your fingers up and down the underside of his cock, feeling the bumps of the cool metal in the experimental trail you drew, just to gauge his reaction. Staring at you with half-lidded eyes, his face stretched into a lazy smirk, his tongue wetting his lower lip in a swift sweep. “You’re just hungry for my cock, huh? Could’ve just said so.” Lifting his hands to cradle the back of his head, he was ready to enjoy the show. Prying your mouth slightly ajar, you began by giving him kitten licks around his tip with your palm squeezed the base of his cock, focusing on pumping him with a steady rhythm. Your curiosity guided you as you enveloped his tip with your mouth, suckling on it harder while your tongue swept on the underside of his shaft, teasing him around the metal circle you found there then up to his slit, feeling the salty taste of his pre-cum hit your tongue. You really tried, really did but ultimately failed when you moaned appreciatively as he got thicker inside your mouth, motivating you to open even wider and take him even deeper into your mouth, releasing your hands to tend to his balls, kneading them with enough pressure to have him twitch against your tongue. Your eyes fleeted up towards him, finding Dabi still wearing the stoically unimpressed expression he usually had. You had a fucking mouthful of his cock and he wasn’t even batting an eyelash. What kind of self-control did this guy have? “Didn’t know that you like having your mouth full of cock, puppy.” He chuckled deep and low, the rumbling only infuriating you… and arousing you too. Lowering yourself down further, you flattened your tongue against him, letting it glide over his hard cock, sucking him deeper as while you hollowed your cheeks, choking slightly the moment he hit the back of your throat. Wait… he wasn’t all the way in yet! You were going to have to ease him even further inside in your next try. Sucking in a deep breath, you swirled your tongue around his length languorously, making sure that every bit of him was warm and slick, your mouth feeling immediately lighter as you suckled on his tip. Just thinking about how big he is had you squirming, your panties growing slick with the thought of him stretching your tight pussy with his thick cock. With your strong resolve, you relaxed your jaw and swallowed him whole this time, bobbing your head over him as drool dripped from your lips, the wet noises of your sucking getting louder as you moved with smug eagerness. If you were looking to get a reaction out of him, well… you were better off looking elsewhere.

“You’re gonna keep wagging your tail like a bitch in heat?” You suddenly felt his hand on you, gripping your hair harshly. He yanked your head away from him, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a loud wet pop, you licked up the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. “You wanna choke on my dick or stuff your dripping pussy with me?” He spoke harshly between his teeth, the aggression in his words making your core clench with need, fucking reeling just for him to finally fuck you the way you always wanted. “You’re drooling for my cock and I’m being nice enough to ask you what you want. Answer me.”

With your lips parted, you gasped for air, the heat pooling between your legs was something that you could no longer ignore despite the fact that you hated how much your body just ached him. ”Get your fucking hands off me.” Gripping his hand tightly, you sank your nails into his skin and removed it from the crown of your head and back to his side. “Since you asked me, ‘nicely’, what I want…” You spat venomously at him, unzipping your pants and popping the button before shimmying out of them, your hips moving side to side as you slid your panties down along with it, turning around to step your feet out of them, exposing your bare ass to Dabi’s now slightly more interested eyes. “Mhm… I always thought you had a nice ass, puppy but I’m actually impressed.” You felt a bit smug that he found you at least kinda attractive, or that’s at least what you thought he was trying to say. You were able to get it up for him and please him thoroughly with your mouth, so it seemed fair to assume so. Still, why the fuck did you care what he thought of you? You really… really hated how cold and impassive he was with you.

“Fuck you, Dabi.” You growled out. With your hands settling on either side of his head, gripping the back of his chair while you placed one knee on it and then the other, finally straddling him and feeling the tip of his erection brushed against your lips.

“Haha, most gladly. But this is not gonna go the way you want.” Mocking you with a derisive smirk, his hands grabbing onto your waist and lifting you off the chair as he stood and kicked the damn thing away from him. With your feet now dangling off the floor, he grinned widely, his face was the true representation of malice and chaos. “I’ll give you exactly what you asked for.” He breathed raspily, the threatening edge to his voice made you want to squirm in his hold yet you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you weak for him. You already felt the wetness of your slick pool at your core, drenching your lips and drip down your inner thighs, a sensation that you were so familiar with when you spent so many nights just edging yourself with wet daydreams, initially refusing to give in to your lust for the despicable man. One moment, you were facing and the next, he flipped you onto your stomach over the desk, basically slamming your body onto the wooden surface, spreading your legs apart while you scrambled to plant your feet on the floor, reaching for the edge of the desk and gripping it with all your might. You were right in doing so because the second you were parallel to the floor, Dabi lined his cock at your entrance and thrust violently inside of you, impaling you as he stretched your tight walls with no prelude whatsoever. The mixture of pleasure of being filled so deliciously made you cry out but didn’t keep you from wincing, your breath coming out in gasp at the sore sensation in your pussy, having been jabbed into so abruptly. “Still too early to whine, puppy. We’re just getting started.” He chuckled mockingly, his voice still as monotonous and raspy as it had always been, as if he wasn’t so strenuously splitting you with his cock. With his hands at your hips, his bruising grip held you tightly in place as he rocked his hips against you, the wet sounds of your sopping pussy milking him as his balls slapped against you, electrifying tremors racking through your legs with the intensity of his assault. You didn’t mind the manhandling, it was hot and like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. Holy fucking shit… you didn’t know that Jacob’s Ladder would feel this good, adding another layer of stimulation that had your eyes roll back. You had never been fucked like this before and the sounds that came from your lips were a true testament to that. You were never really a loud one in bed but Dabi was making you moan loudly, your tight core sucking him in every time he pulled your hips to him, slamming into you and sheathing himself fully inside of you, the tip of his cock grazing your sweet spot only for a split second before he pulled back, removing himself completely out of you just to hear you keen loudly for him, begging for his cock, especially when you felt the cool metal dragged out of your walls. “Hah… fuck fuck… fuck me harder, damn it!” You screamed through heaving gasps, your voice muffled as you spoke against the hard surface beneath you, holding on to it with your dear life as it began rocking under you every time he pummelled you. The strength he put into each thrust was more than enough to have your legs quaking, your sense of equilibrium teetering on the edge, just like your sanity was. He felt way too fucking good and you wanted more. “Aren’t you a greedy little bitch, huh?” He drawled, unable to keep himself from laughing out loud. You were really proving yourself to be such a good puppy for him and he was definitely starting to get more and more into this. “Milking my cock like this and you still want more?” His unrelenting rhythm in which he was fucking you slowed after every few harsh thrusts, allowing your pussy to swallow him whole, your inner walls just tightening around him, the wet contractions accompanied by your annoyingly sweet whines intoxicating him even more that the full-bodied wine he emptied. He always wanted to have such a good pet like you, with a pussy as ready and welcoming as yours yet strong enough to handle him just as he was. “You just really want me to wreck you, puppy. How long have you been fantasizing about me fucking you like this?” He asked, his raspy timbre wavering slightly as his breath quickened, pleasure making his walls slowly crumbled but what really mattered still remained. He was the one in control. “Answer me, bitch.” He didn’t have to sugarcoat things for you, take it easy on you or treat you like you were fragile. Reaching forward, he laced his fingers into your locks, latching on your hair and pulling your head back, forcing you off the desk to look into his cruel turquoise orbs. He really wished he had a collar wrapped around your pretty little neck and a chain that he could just pull on. For now, your hair would make do.

“Yesssss… fuck mee, yesss. I hate you so much for this, Dabi.” You mewled out, the knot in your stomach becoming excruciatingly tighter, the eminent pulsing of your ravaged core assuring that your release was near. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The feeling of your hair being tugged on your scalp had your eyes burning, tears forming in the corner of your eyes but it wasn’t only from the stinging sensation that was borderline abusive. And you loved it. “Hate me all you want.. I know you’ve been fucking yourself to the thought of me.” Dabi droned, a teasing lilt to his tone that set you aflame and your blood boiling. What he said was unfortunately true and who were you to deny it. Nodding in response to him or to your own thoughts, you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that you absolutely loved how he was using you like the pet that you were. His fuck toy.

“Don’t try to be proud. I can feel your pussy clamping my cock harder now.” Driving himself into you, his cock pushed even deeper inside of you when you arched your back, pushing your ass up and getting him to penetrate you even more. “You like it rough, don’t ya?” For the first time since he started fucking you, a deep groan ripped from his throat, exhaling through gritted teeth as the pleasure of being enveloped by your warmth finally started creeping on to him, managing to break through the stronghold that was his emotionless demeanor. He didn’t expect you to feel so damn good and he just needed so much more of you, feeling himself get closer to his orgasm as his cock began to twitch inside you, your pussy squeezing him even tighter with you being right over the edge of falling apart. Just a few more thrusts and he was gone. Pulling even harder on your hair, you raised yourself onto your elbows, crying out as Dabi was now repeatedly hitting you exactly where you needed him to, the one hand he had on your hips thankfully keeping you in place while he pumped himself into you, the pace of his thrusts faltering as your release came crashing down on you. Your choked moans threw him off, the meek sounds tumbling from your lips had him wondering why the fuck it took him so damn long to fuck you. Letting go of your hair, Dabi smacked his hands down on either side of you, rolling his hips to dive in to the hilt, spilling himself inside you, filling you up with his cum while your entire body trembled from the force of your climax, the ripples of pleasure still coursing through you as you continued to milk him dry. Dabi felt so damn disoriented and he wasn’t sure whether it was because of the fucking wine or the nutting he just had. He hadn’t come that much in such a long time and he really really wanted to just flop over you and cool down. Maybe go for another round. But he didn’t need a damn clingy puppy. Just a good obedient bitch he could fuck. Slipping out of you, he looked down at the mess that he made out of you, licking his lips as he spread your cheeks apart, watching his cum ooze out of you and drip to the floor. Your inner thighs were glistening with your own slick and fuck, didn’t you have a pretty pussy? It looked good and felt good too. Maybe next time, he’d have a taste of it too. If he felt like it. He didn’t have the chance to look at you before but examining you now and after fucking you, you were much better than he thought you would be. Pulling his pants back on, he zipped his pants and began scuffing away, throwing a bored glance back at you before walking out the door. “You were a decent fuck so I wouldn’t mind doing this again.” And right before he closed the door behind him, he added. “Clean up before you leave. Don’t need Kurogiri up my ass.” Not that he was going to leave him be anyways. Click. Now that he was gone and you were all alone. You finally got some time to let what happened just sink in. You were not ashamed and paid absolutely mind at the throbbing ache between your legs, the tingling sensation of numbness coursing through your lower body, thanks to the thorough pounding you had just received. The only thought that went through your mind, the subtle rise of giddiness mixing with utter satisfaction as you reminded yourself that you just had gotten the best fuck of your life. What a masochist you were. It was certainly a day full of discoveries. Now that you had a taste of this. You knew that you hadn’t gotten enough. And you would prowl for more. –♥– A/N: SORRY IF THIS was OOC, this is my first time writing anything of this sort. Tagging: @cleverlittlevixen​ here is some-dumpster-thing you would like and @hqissodelicate​ thank you for agreeing to beta this (I was too impatient to wait so I posted T_T)  Please feel free to leave some love in the comments or some feedback!💜 You can also check out my Masterlist ! 

[dismuch47]

THE BUFFER

Length: Extra Long Drabble

Timeline: Post Civil War, 5 months in...

Content: Wanda and Vision are finding it rather hard to wait for some quality face-time, especially with back-to-back missions overlapping. And to part when things were just starting to heat up...

Warnings: Spicy fluffy.

A shaky sigh escaped Wanda as her hazel eyes snapped open. How was it possible for her body to be completely sapped of strength, but her mind oppressively restless? She winched as she turned on her aching side, the derelict cot squeaking with the movement of the mattress. It felt good to lay there in the new position…her body heavy like lead... but her unblinking gaze pierced the darkness of the room.

It happened every so often. Not every night… but more than she could count. And it always made her chest constrict and her brow contort with memorized pain. No tears anymore. Just a deep ache, echoing endlessly within herself.

Tonight she had been falling, again. Endlessly. Debris circled around her, as if in a calm, slow motion… though the wind raged in her ears mercilessly. She was reaching out to a hand she knew well. Hazel eyes like her own were wide with desperation. Snowy hair lashed about as he reached back to her. They would never successfully grab hold. And the blood stains on his fitted shirt grew into gory, gaping wounds. Wanda’s heart would thunder as the broken Sokovian soil raced to collide from below. She screamed, voicelessly, as she realized that she would feel his death yet again with the impact.

Wanda finally forced her eyes closed again, breathing in and out and repeat, like Natasha had taught her. The clamminess and racing heart leveled out. She reached under the cot, finding her MP3 player among discarded clothing on the dirty floor. Music had a stimulating effect, which didn’t bother her at this point, as further sleep was now out of the question.

She would not go back to that day. She would not feel Pietro die again. Not if she could help it.

The list of music was uncategorized, so she had to skip over the loud and nonsensical, which had been her twin’s flavor more then hers. She usually found comfort in them, but tonight she needed calm. A rhythm to cling to and ward away the demons within.

It was clear why these nightmares were occurring, and with more frequency. Two whole months without Vision. They had a beautiful and tender farewell, knowing that Wanda’s next mission would take some time and focus. And then his subsequent off-world S.W.O.R.D. assignment would further expanded the impossibility of a feasible rendezvous.

Off world.

Wanda held herself. There were infinite ways Vision could communicate with her when they were apart. The advantages of a being created by and to be one with the technologic rhythms of Earth and beyond. A message on a digital board would flash with sentiments for an instant, enough for her to notice, but for others to briefly shake their heads in passing befuddlement. Vision could keep his eyes on her… though not without challenge, as her team was doing everything in their human capacity to stay OFF camera and grid for safety. If he did find her easily enough… he’d make sure to cover his digital tracks and obscure the path from anyone else. Always watchful.

Which is why the complete silence and blackout of their connection had been so disconcerting. Closer to Earth’s satellites, Vision sent small messages or emojis to an encrypted messenger program he had developed for just the two of them. It made her heart ache, sitting in the computer cafe, looking at the green pixelated hearts. Not being able to feel him.

That was 19 days ago. And his gentle, golden light and warmth was so far away that practically felt nonexistent. Allowing the icy darkness of her past to creep back into her life. It didn’t claw and tear as it once had, but it leered at her from every shadow as she laid sleepless in bed.

She fidgeted on the horrid mattress until she was flat on her back again. Finally the warm night air was getting through the initial cold-sweat that her nightmare had put her through. The music in her ears spoke of nights, love, and intimacies. It made her miss Vision more. Especially since their last parting had changed the dynamics of their unique companionship.

Kisses were innocent enough. Pecks. Affectionate rewards of thoughtful actions and reciprocated sentiments. But with each meet-up, the distance on the hotel suite couches narrowed during evening sitcom watching. Pinkies locked together with a hand graze during sight-seeing, and sharing a single bed had become an innocent, comforting norm. So when laughter had left her breathless and she planted one on the synthezoid while she was practically in his arms… it hadn’t particularly surprised either of them when they let it linger for a few steady heartbeats. And when their lips parted, and silent hesitancy emboldened to yearning…they came back together. More sure of the act. Oh so very much more sure.

There was no sex that followed. It could have. But it didn’t. It was yet another daunting human concept for him… and honestly for her too… to be saddled with right before a long stint away from each other. The kiss… kisses… had been perfect. And wandering hands memorized flesh and vibranium surface and texture. She did remove his shirt. That did happen. And maybe there had been some salacious caressing and tongue tracing of metallic striations.

They should have had sex.

Now Wanda was irritated with herself. She shut off the seductive music and tossed the device back on the messy floor. She closed her eyes and tried to take herself back to one of the numerous hotel rooms she had visited Vision with. Clean linen smells. The food. THE HOT SHOWERS. And Vision. Most of all… Vision. No night with him gave nightmares the foothold they so desired. Not with the gentle whirring of his calculating mind to sooth hers, or the gentle lilts of his humored voice, nor with the gentle stroke of his digits against her hair. This phantom Vision made the ache in her sigh, yet she smiled inwardly. Almost like he was there now. Her essence unfolding itself to his nearness. Warmth in her cheeks and heart. She basked in the feeling, amazed at it’s intoxicating realness...

That’s when she sat straight up in the bed. Blinking at the one window of the room. Wanda tore off the sheets and padded over to it, careful to be soundless in an apartment of light-sleeping soldiers and an ex-assassin. She fumbled with the latch, splotched with corrosion and non-use. The window slid up, with some exertion, and she stuck her head out, auburn hair catching in a soft cool breeze. The building was a dump, but the skies and countryside beyond the town limits was scenic, even in the moonlight. Spring touched it’s fingers upon the vegetation, pale blossoms looking like celestial creatures swaying in the wind.

“Vision.” she whispered.

She paused. Anticipating a response.

“Vision?”

Her hand clutched the bottom of the window for balance, but she squeezed tighter with rising disappointment. She had been so sure. She had wanted him so bad that she had fooled herself. Wanda’s eyes cast downward as she ducked her head back into the room, lowering the window.

“Wanda.”

The woman startled, then smiled ridiculously wide as she quickly lifted the window once more. “Vision!” She kept her voice breathy, for low volume, but it burst with excitement. She reached out to his hovering form as he emerged from the side, pulling his face towards hers for a kiss, nearly toppling out of the window in the process.

Vision chuckled, letting her have his lips, responding in kind, but holding her safely within her perch. “Wanda. I have missed your presence, considerably so-”

“I thought I was going crazy!” She kissed his nose, lips, cheeks… lips again. “I knew you were here but I didn’t see you-“

“My apologies. It appears that-“ Kiss. “… Agent Romanoff has been doing a rather competent job of establishing alarmed snares for both carbon-based intruders, and those of a more mechanized persuasion-“ His lips were stilled by another kiss.

“Sorry about that. She’s a stickler…”

“No, on the contrary, I am appreciably reassured that she goes to such great lengths for the security of her team.” He brushed some wayward hair behind her ear. “I just had to tread cautiously.”

Wanda finally detangled her arms from around his neck and leaned against the sill more comfortably. Vision propped his elbows there as well, lightly entwining his maroon fingers with hers. “When did you get back?”

“I came straight from the stars to you, Wanda.” He grinned, knowing his answer pleased her when she grinned shyly and pressed her cheek to their joined hands. “I know I should have checked-in with Stark and Dr. Cho…but yours was the company I felt I most required.”

Wanda rested her chin on his knuckles. “Two months… is WAY too long, Vis.”

“Far too long.” He echoed her ache. “You look fatigued, Wanda.”

She huffed. “Thanks. I am. Didn’t sleep well.” That’s all she would supply for now. “Did you enjoy your trip off-world?”

Vision crossed a hovering leg over the other, tilting his head thoughtfully. “A vast frontier of terrifyingly beautiful mysteries. And I occupied only a mere point percentage of our known galaxy. I will be processing my findings for days.”

“You loved it.” Wanda grinned.

“Visually it was very stimulating.”

She looked down. “So I guess that means more space assignments.” She felt him tip her face up to his, hands still locked with hers.

“It was a drone mission. Too expensive to send humans, and equipment too expensive to lose.”

“So they sent you.” Wanda said, bitterness edging through.

“I have immense respect for the current Director of S.W.O.R.D., but we both knew it was mostly a publicity stunt. Sending an Avenger to space. A S.W.O.R.D. partner project with Stark Industries. I was the logical, and really only, choice.”

She grumbled “As long as it doesn’t become a habit…”

“I assure you, I am far more inclined to be earth-bound with still so many provocative enigmas of humanity to be uncovered…” Wanda looked up at him, seeing his cerulean eyes roving not too subtly over her night shorts and how they moved across her toned thighs. Within an instant he was back to regarding her face thoughtfully.

Wanda arched a brow. “Provocative enigmas, huh?” She gently reclaimed her fingers, taking a few, slow and salacious steps away from the window. She unzipped the light sweatshirt she had on and let it fall away from her arms. A pink, loose, sleep tank glowed in the moonlight.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Wanda…” Vision’s tone smoothly protested, but his eyes didn’t leave her visage. Their soft bluish glow fluctuated as he skimmed the inside of the room. Considering. “Is that very prudent? With your team so close in proximity-“

“They’re sound asleep.” She assured him, touching each teammate’s mind with her own, making sure that they were truly unconscious. “If you try to slip me out the window, I’m bound to trip off one of the snares too. Nothing comes in… no one goes out… unless you have the unique ability of density fluctuation…” Wanda played with the hem of her pink top. Her whispered tones were now a gentle, more audible alto melody. “And as cute as it is to kiss by the window and moonlight, like two certain star-crossed lovers… I’m thinking we deserve a little more than that. After such a long time apart…”

“5,259,492 exceedingly long seconds.” Vision agreed. He took one last look outside, making sure not a soul was passing by, and then ducked his head in to avoid collision with the window frame. The rest of his form shimmered gold and passed through all matter until he was hovering in her room.

Wanda put her arms up like a ringleader at a circus, acknowledging their surroundings. “Welcome to one of many humble abodes that changes with each mission for team On-The-Run. Sorry for the mess. Wasn’t expecting company.”

The synthezoid’s pleasant expression slightly waned as he examined the room. It was dark, but he could adjust his optic settings to accommodate for the lack of light source. He couldn’t help but notice the warped boards of the floor and some exposed nails protruding up. He analyzed all the weak points where someone of Wanda’s height and build might fall through if enough force applied. The cot looked devoid of any possible comfort required for a human’s successful 7 hours of sleep needed for healthy productivity. The defunct fire alarm didn’t even have a battery in it. The amount of dust and mold alone had to be such devastating havoc on the respiratory system…

Wanda bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. Watching Vision’s expression deepen with concern as his gaze moved from one health code violation to the next was amusing to her. It fell upon the only other piece of furniture in the condemned bedroom: the wardrobe.

“Felons don’t get great incomes.” She supplied, scrunching her noise. Her eyes then narrowed as she thought about it. “In fact… I don’t think we actually get an income at all. It’s mostly favors and connections-“

“Something died in there.” Vision was fixed on that ominous wardrobe.

“Oh yeah. For sure. That smell doesn’t go away. I tried everything.” She looked down and shuffled her things on the floor around with her foot. “That’s why my stuff is everywhere. I’ll take dirt over smell…”

Vision gave her a compassionate look. “I promise to never tease your propensity for 50 minute showers when we meet up in hotels, ever again. Even though the average human only needs 15 to 20.”

“I appreciate that.” Wanda used her index finger to motion him hither. “Now come closer. I think if we play our cards right, we might find one of those ‘provocative enigmas’ you are so fond of…”

Despite the profound concern over his favorite human being confined to the condemned dwelling, the synthezoid gave a grin that made a sincere dimple appear on his chiseled face. He arched a foot and touched down on the hard floor… only for the wooden planks to let out an inane splintered groan that resonated in to room. Vision’s eyes widened with worry, and Wanda’s hand shot up to stop him in his tracks.

She reached out quickly to make sure that the noise hadn’t disturbed anyone. Sam tossed on the couch with a soft snort, but he was pretty much dead to the world. Steve’s brows knitted, but he seemed locked in a conflicting dream that he desired to stay in. Natasha, however, fully open her eyes, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for more noise before she would leap to investigate. Nothing came. And this area had big fat raccoons. Wanda could handle it. Nat’s lids drooped over her blue eyes and she let her head sink back into her stiff pillow.

“Okay… We’re good.” Wanda whispered after a long pause. She waved a hand to hold down the boards with her power while Vision retracted his foot back into the air. She carefully eased up on the wood, commanding its fibers to slide back together, stronger than before, and quiet.

Vision gave a slight grimace. “I do not think the remiss state of this apartment will accommodate for my dense weight. Not enough to be stealthy.” He offered his graceful hand down to her. “But I may have an alternative solution.”

The human smirked up at the synthezoid and gave her hand as she took a few soft steps and leaped. Vision hoisted her up and rested her into a sitting position across his lap, cradling her between firm thigh and compact core. She rested against him, slipping her arms around his waist, while he reclined their angle somewhat, allowing gravity to assist with keeping her in place upon him. They floated wordlessly  for a few moments, happily nestled against each other.

Wanda made some soft happy noises, face practically buried in his chest. She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek over his heart. “You smell amazing…. how do you smell so amazing?”

He stroked her soft hair, smiling broadly down at her. “There was an orchard along the way. I stopped, briefly, to admire the blossoms up close. I apologize if it’s overpowering. I should have phased the particulates from myself before-“

“No, I love it.” She inhaled deeply. She nuzzled her way around the gold and metallic maroon of his uniform’s crest, till she found the warmth of his neck. He tilted his head to the side, giving her free-reign over that shapely area. She pressed her lips there tenderly, breathing him in. Night, spring air, and citrus. The hand that had been resting around his waist snaked up to caress his neck, while she slowly ravaged the other side. A hicky and marks would be impossible on his vibranium infused tissue… but the administrations of her tongue and then teeth caused Vision to swallow and exhale deeply. In a way that thrilled Wanda. She planted one more kiss, incredibly pleased with herself, before moving up to his jawline.

Vision lowered his face down to her, his gaze heavy-lidded, intrigued with her sensual strategy. She reached his lips, her hand cupping his jaw, fingers stroking his textured skin. She took his lower lip in hers, consuming, wet…like lapping at a juicy fruit, and nipped as she pulled away. His lips stayed parted, perhaps caught off guard, but the hitch in the synthezoid’s chest conveyed that the assault to his mouth was indeed welcome.

Wanda licked her lips, letting out a wanton sigh. Her hazel eyes finally reopened, regarding Vision.

“Hi.” she said.

Vision was perplexed by the simplicity of her dialogue. Sexual simulation may indeed have a depleting effect on the human cerebrum’s left hemisphere; typically where language was stored. He varied infinite responses that could reciprocate an equally playful sentiment of desire as well…

“Hi.” he settled with. Not original, but it made the woman crack a sultry smile.

Wanda moved to claim his lips once more.

“Wanda” Vision broke the spell before it could swell. “…We never did have a chance to discuss…to discuss…well, what happened in-in the Netherlands.” Wanda suppressed a smile with his stuttering. A tell-tale that he was breaching a topic beyond his full understanding and had copious questions about. “Not before we had to part ways…”

Wanda cocked her head at him. “And what happened in the Netherlands?” she asked coyly.

“W-well…I am only speaking from my perspective,” he began hesitantly, eyes darting to the side. “…but my understanding was that our intimate, yet casual familiarities with one another has evolved into something more…” Vision struggled to find the right word. Not vulgar, but not chaste. “Well, more.”

Wanda caressed her thumb over his lips softly. The moonlight highlighted the pronounced bow and border of his pleasing mouth, a wet sheen over his lower lip marked where she had been.

“Well, we could talk about it…” she offered, continuing her tracing. “…or we could just continue to explore that…��more.’”

Vision’s eyes darted from her enticing gaze, contemplating the choice. A gentle rumble imitated deep in his throat, as he weighed the pros and cons of transparent communication… vs instant and gratifying, sensory study. Wanda made the choice for him, thankfully, parting his lips with her thumb. Vision’s eyes closed heavily, as he tried not to analyze this clear oral fixation, and surrendered his mouth. Her hand slipped down when she replaced it with her full lips upon his, down to rest upon his rising chest. Her other hand massaged circular patterns into the small of his back, beneath his cape.

The synthezoid raised a hand to tenderly cradle the side of her head as their mouths moved against one another. It was a thrilling sensation, whether passionate and out of tandem, or deep and focused synchronization. A maroon hand slid up from her waist, under the jersey material of Wanda’s pink tank, completely unintentional at first, but Vision savored the soft creamy expanse of her back against his digits. She softly moaned against his lips. The sound of her pleasure motivated him to hold her closer to himself. She welcomed the adjustment, slipping both her arms around his neck. Her legs crossed, toes curling, lost in bliss.

Vision’s airy cape brushed against the floor as they slowly whorled in the air, lost in each other. Oblivious that they were edging closer to the cracked and peeling wall. Their kisses became more urgent. Wanda murmured his name, which gave him validation… and an inclination to elicit more audible responses from her. He released his gentle grasp of her chin, seized a hand sliding from his neck, threading their fingers together before bringing her wrist to his lips to kiss. He had accessed data some time ago that confirmed the wrist as an erogenous zone due to the concentrated nerve endings that resided just below the epidermis. He gently rubbed with his thumb, and peppered with sweet brushes of his lips, and featherlight nips.

Wanda’s head lolled back, long auburn hair swaying in the breeze coming from the window. Vision’s splayed hand at her back kept her from losing balance. She arched into his curled arm, trusting, with lazy abandon, eyes gazing dreamily at the moldy ceiling. She felt him kissing his way up the arm he held captive. She had to let out a laugh. A callback to a time that their viewing of the “Addams Family” show had led them into a heated discussion about how impractical Gomez’s passionate displays of affection were in real-world applications. Like kissing his way up Morticia’s arm in almost every episode.

Wanda was wrong. It was nice…

More than nice.

Vision shushed softly against her skin, relishing her inviting giggles, but reminding her of the required low decibel to maintain covertness. He trailed to where her shoulder met with her neck, drawing her back towards himself, taking his time.

“Vis.” Wanda’s voice was husky. Her heart was about to leap out of her chest. She couldn’t hold out anymore. She roughly adjusted her position, allowing him to assist her, until she had him caught between her legs. The muscle and plate-infused surfacing of his lower abdominals had a delicious hardness against her tender apex.

Vision visibly gulped at new position, comprehending it’s possible implication. He didn’t realize how drastically he was backing up, being airborne.

“Wanda…perhaps we shouldn’t-“

The synthezoid’s broad back bumped into the wall of the room. And for whatever reason, that was enough to jostle the usually resistant window to slam down against the sill, the glass shattering. Wanda squeaked loudly at the sudden noise. Vision sharp attention to the noise source distracted him from the reflexive movement of his arm… which went right through the drywall behind him without effort.

Through. Not phased.

“Oh dear…” He grieved, pulling his elbow out of the hole, debris crumbling down in a dust cloud upon the squeaky floor boards.

Wanda could hear the lightening-fast thumping of bare feet and the click of a gun. Wanda’s hands glowed red and she phased through Vision, dropping to the floor with a thud and flicked  her wrist over her head, sending him soaring through the air and into the wardrobe wall. He visibly disappeared with a soft and abrupt “ah” before the door to the room flung open. Natasha stalked in, gun aimed, pointing it at every corner as she assessed the threat level. She acknowledged Wanda on the floor, resting the aim of her weapon at the destroyed window. Steven followed behind, fists poised.

“She’s unharmed.” Nat confirmed over her shoulder to Steve.

He went over to her to help the young woman up, cautiously looking around. “Wanda, you okay? What happened?”

Wanda tried to speak.

“The window is broken. Did someone try to force their way in?” Nat demanded, doubtful, as her traps outside were famously intricate. She then noticed the hole in the wall. “Maximoff?”

Wanda’s head reeled. To be pulled from paradise to this purgatory at whip-lash speed. “I… I just. I had the window open. Fell asleep… I guess I had a nightmare. Lost control.” She was breathless between excuses, pulse racing. Nat’s icy blue gaze narrowed at her younger teammate.

Steve regarded Wanda with stoic compassion. He put his hands on her shoulders. “It must have been a bad one. You still looked flushed.” The woman bit her lower lip, unable to meet her leader’s gaze.

Nat finally lowered her gun and backed away from the window. “You haven’t lost control of your powers like this in awhile. Maybe we need to adjust your training focus.” Wanda blanched inwardly. That didn’t sound good. Not coming from Natasha.

“Everything good up there??” Sam’s voice called from the livingroom couch downstairs.

“False alarm, Sam.” Steve yelled back.

“Good. Cause some of us are trying to get some shut eye.”

Steve regarded the mess, speaking more quietly this time. “We’ll patch this up in the morning. Though you’ll be happy to know that we’ll be relocating soon. Got a lead on another job.”

“Oh… yeah. That’s… that’s good.” Wanda offered.

Steve didn’t seem assured by the forced sincerity of her response. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

He gave her a pat to the shoulder and strode out of the room. Natasha stood in her usual power stance, legs shoulder width apart, hands and gun clasped behind her back. The fact she was clad in a sports bra and black high-cuts didn’t  make her any less intimidating.

The bottled-blonde wasn’t leaving. Wanda cleared her throat. “I think I’ll be okay. Thank you. You’re right about the… the extra training-“

“The wardrobe has feet.” The ex-assassin stated dryly. She turned her head to the side. “Say good night… Vision.”

Natasha turned to leave, slightly smirking once she was out of the room.

[random-imagines-blog]

Vampire Town {Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader}

Requested by: I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find the conversation so I can’t remember. :( Wordcount: 2778 Summary: Happiness and Love can appear when least expected.

During the long span of your life, a lot of your nights had been sent in solitary. You wandered through the world, seeing the beautiful sights of history; the architecture, the music, the literature, the wars, but never had anyone to share that with. Until you came across the broken form of a blonde vampire - Lestat. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” You said, sensing the poor vampire. Broken, without a home, ready to give up on his life after his partner had left him. You sat on the stoop of a burned down mansion beside him, tore your wrist open and forced him to drink from you. He became greedy, which you encouraged. You had just fed on three mortals, willing victims who walked away just as safe as they had come, just a little anemic. You put your hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head back, letting the blood pour down his throat. You squeezed a few more drops, and he let you go, hanging his head upon your shoulder like a hungover human.

You took him to the abode you were staying in. Nothing so gothic as what Lestat may have been living in, but a home nonetheless. A three-story brownstone with a basement that concealed your coffin. You put Lestat into it before the dawn arrived, and looked down at him with a tilt of your head. He was a very handsome vampire, and would only look better with more blood flowing through his veins. He would need a trough-full, however. You would need to wake early to prepare that for him.

Your long fingers stroked his face, turning it towards the candlelight to get a better look. His skin was pale, his hair flaxen. He had been through a lot of pain - even his sleeping face showed that. It may take a dozen nights, perhaps, to get him to peak performance. But you did love a challenge, and were a sucker for a disaster of a person. Loneliness had grown old along side of you - why not try something new for once.

It took some time for the vampire, whom you learned to be named Lestat, to look alive again. Or, perhaps, a little less dead. He was far too beautiful to ever be considered a human being. Those dull creatures, though you were one of them once, bored you with their generic looks. You enticed a few of them towards the house, let Lestat feed. You found out one thing about him instantly - he was absolutely vicious when it came to feeding. Not at all as elegant as his demeanor might make it seem. And you allowed him to finish victims to nearly the point of death, then disposed of the bodies yourself.

“You seem to be feeling much better,” You said, joining him in your parlor. It was just you and he, as you knew no one else in New Orleans. You had only stopped here because it was where the first boat you came across was going. “How could you give up on your life like that?”

Another thing you learned about Lestat; he was very convinced of his own righteousness.

“It is my right to give up my life if I so wish,” He hissed, despite the blood dripping from his mouth. You did not say anything to contrary, just licked your thumb and plucked the droplet from his face. You let it rest on the tip of your tongue, savoring the flavor. “Who are you to try to bring me back?”

“You may call me y/n,” You said with a soft smile, ignoring his harsh tone. “I am noticing that you are alone, but you are well versed in talking to people. Were you a social one, Lestat?”

He was quiet for a little while after that, in some sort of reflection. He stared at nothing, and you left him to that, sleeping in a box rather than your coffin for you still allowed him to take over yours. That was the most intimate gesture that you had ever given to someone. You had shared your clothes with him, even, until you had gotten him some of his own. He looked as pretty as a painting in your white blouses, in your long dark skirts. In this world, for the first time, you had someone to share everything with.

His perpetually bad mood never bothered you. Nor did his dramatic nature. Because you knew that one day, he would either open up to you, or he would leave. You would prefer the first. But would have to quietly accept the second.

But after two years, a blink of an eye for someone like you, he opened up. He told you all about Louis, about Claudio, about Armand. About the reporter whom he had turned who was who-knows-where. About Marius, even, and how he had turned which was further back than you had expected him to go. And so in return, you told him about your loneliness, about how you had traveled from town to town and only run into a few like you. You did not know your maker. You didn’t remember him, or her. You didn’t even remember where it was that you were changed, only that you were high up in the mountains. Why you were there, you could not recall either. But you did not dwell on the mysteries of the past; only your present time.

And on Lestat, because for the present, and forseeable future, you were stuck with him. Lead a stray dog to a home and you have a pet, as you’ve heard someone say.

-

Half of the candles in the parlor remained unlit, for neither of you needed much light in order to see in the dark. Lestat had one of your hands in his as he lead you in a waltz around the room. You could not stop smiling - a facial expression that you hadn’t used too often over the years. A dance! You’ve never danced before, hence why Lestat was currently giving you a lesson. You were even wearing a gown that he had gifted to you - custom made in one of the best shops. He still had his connections in the city of New Orleans. A real vampire’s town, as you had discovered.

“You are a natural!” He praised with a smile of his own, showing off his glinting, sharp, white teeth. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I’ve never had a partner. I haven’t met many of our kind before and dancing with a human just seems so...” You struggled to find the words. “Slow.”

“Very slow indeed,” Lestat agreed. He had picked a roses from the garden, and had them in a vase to add something living to the house. He now took one of them, and stuck it into his mouth, the thorns cutting at his lips but he did not have a care about that. You laughed at that - what a silly vampire you had ended up with.

“How is the pain, my darling?” You asked, licking your lips at the sight of that little bit of blood.

“Agonizing,” He droned, swinging you around into a spin, then returned you into his strong arms. The blouse that he wore, another thing custom made, was of a silk fabric, and felt soft upon your cheek. You suddenly remembered what it was like to cry, just from that light touch. Agonizing - you recalled what that felt like. It had been well over a century.

“The same as when you were betrayed by your love, Louis?” You questioned. Lestat cut the dance short, but he still held you.

“I don’t wish to talk about him any further,” He said, harshly. “There are more important things in my life now! I am free of him and his ... whining. I am being treated in the way that I deserve. And you - you are finally being treated as you deserve.”

Lestat wielded compliments as a weapon. He used them to distract you from asking further questions. And it worked, every time. You sighed contently as  he kissed your hand, then went up your arm towards your shoulder, then all the way back down. You could feel his cold lips through the fabric of your sleeves. It made you feel like a flower bulb in Spring, sprouting up for the first time from the damp dirt into the beautiful world above.

“You flatter me deeply, Lestat. You are better than I deserve.”

He spun you around once more, and you continued to spin in the middle of the room, arms outstretched as he watched you. Thanks to being a vampire, you did not feel dizziness like the humans did, and could outdance them all if you so wished. Lestat was a grand teacher. He then caught you, then dipped you low to the ground, so much so you could smell the dust of the floor.

“No, that is what you are to me.” His fangs were exposed as he smiled down at you, a fearsome image for anyone else, but not for you. You smiled back at him, and held him tightly as he brought you back up to your feet, humming along with the song.

“I should get cleaning this place, Lestat. It takes more than dancing to make a house a home.” You let go of him to go and grab a broom, but the blonde vampire grabbed you again. Ever since he had opened up to you, he loved to be in your presence. And it wasn’t something that you were going to complain about after being alone for so long.

“Don’t tease,” He said, holding onto your hands with his long fingers. “I’ll hire us a thousand maids, so you don’t have to get these wonderful hands dirty.” You let out a child-like laugh of glee at his amazing words. You were a sucker for them, mind the pun. “And a thousand more dresses for if you get a speck of dust on this one.”

“I don’t need a thousand dresses, Lestat. I could live in rags as long as I still had you.”

-

Five years later, you and Lestat still resided in New Orleans. It was a town of pleasure, of magic, of long nights - and plenty of swampland in order to hide bodies if you went too far with any victims. You did your best not to, but sometimes temptations swept in and you nearly drank to the point of death. But apart from that, you were living in a near-domestic bliss.

“Now, why are you doing this when you don’t get cold?” Lestat asked, walking in from the outside world with coins in his pocket and a well-fed look on his face. You were holding knitting needles in your hand, working on a shawl pattern that you had seen a woman working on last time you were out shopping. He kissed the top of your head and placed a bag on your lap before you could even answer him.

“I like to keep busy - it keeps eternity interesting,” You insisted. You set aside the knitting and started to examine the shopping bag that was on your lap. “What is this?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” Lestat asked, with a cocky smile. You looked at him with amusement, then delicately opened up the bag. Inside was something ... something fabric. You pulled it out then stood with it in front of you. A long black gown - the color that you always wore, and which Lestat said you wore so well - and it was made of the softest velvet that you had ever felt. He looked pleased as you brought a sleeve to your face to feel the fabric even better. “Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, Lestat, thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“It is the anniversary of the day that you found me. The day that everything changed,” He held his hands up in the air as if he were an actor on a stage, something that you always found entertaining. You loved encouraging the odder aspects of his personality, just as he did the same for you, even when he could not understand.

“What a cheerful gown, I’ll wear it on our next night out.” You exclaimed, twirling with it. Though you would never be able to see yourself wearing it in a mirror, you thought that you would feel beautiful in it. And Lestat would tell you that you were. He was growing predictable in the most wonderful way.

“Why not today?” He questioned, approaching you and held it onto your body to emphasize how lovely you would look in it. “Wear it to bed with me. I want to feel it upon my cheek while I sleep.”

“I wouldn’t want it to get wrinkled... oh, alright,” You said, seeing his earnest expression. He helped you out of the simple dress that you were wearing, one that you had picked yourself. He was much more into the luxurious fashion of the day, favorite bright colors that made him stand out. You were not so flamboyant, and preferred to let him be the center of attention rather than yourself. It worked out well, though you did get occasional glances from other ladies, wondering how someone such as yourself had managed to gain the love of such a charmer.

You wondered the same thing yourself.

As his fingers tickled at your spine, as his hair swept against your face, you questioned how you could have grown so lucky. Were the years of isolation just a pre-payment for the years of happiness that you were having now?

You stepped into the new gown, and he pulled it up, over your thighs, your waist, your bust, your shoulders, and smoothed everything down so it draped you perfectly. He must have came home just in time, for a flash of lightning came through the windows, and the rumble of thunder. The sound of rain upon the roof and on the sidewalk. “Music to my ears,” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“A most marvelous lullaby,” Lestat said, unable to stop feeling the fabric. The seamstress must have put a lot of work into this gown, for it fit you perfectly, emphasizing your waist and bust in a way you haven’t seen before without a corset, and fell to the ground without pooling at your feet. “May I take you to bed, beautiful?”

“Oh, you divine charmer,” You said, pressing your hand upon his cheek. He whisked you away, down to the basement where your coffin lay.

A while back, you had traded in your usual sarcophagus bed for something much better. It was Lestat’s idea initially, complaining about the long, cold days alone inside of a tomb. It had been an unexpected surprise when he actually did something about it, instead of expecting you to do so. When you came home from a feeding and a walk, he presented to you the double coffin. It was exactly as it sounded - two built into one, with room for both of you, and no inner wall to keep you apart.

He held your hand to help you climb inside, then followed you right in. Velvet dress on velvet interior; it felt both warm and rather sexual. With the lid closed, and the two of you in complete darkness, you felt confident, wrapping your arms around your blonde lover and pulled him close.

It took you some time to realize that this was the love that you deserved. That you were worthy of affection and love, despite all of the years that you had gone without it. And you were just lucky enough to find it with another vampire, so the only limit that you had was not time, but imagination.

As for Lestat, you had truly saved him from the misery that he had put himself through after Louis. He was ready to lock himself up for a hundred years or more, just to avoid the pain. To take the sleep of the immortal ones and awake in a brand new age. But this one still had a lot to offer, that much was clear with you. He never thought of that; only that he would remain in a state of purgatory, rather than a life of shooting stars and velvet gowns.

He was glad he stayed in this Vampire Town.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

The Weapons: The Crash

This is a series I have been thinking about with some OCs. The basic idea is that a corrupt mental institution takes in these villains and turns them into weapons for a cause unknown.

The warnings for the whole series are: mental institution, dehumanization, needles, creepy illegal mental institution practices, villain whumpees, both lady whump and male whump, referring to people as "its" and "subjects", and lots of (illegal) steroids/power enhancers

I will do individual warnings for each chapter.

--

Warnings: dehumanization, referring to people as "its" and "subjects", steroids (mention), IV, sensory deprivation, fake power enhancers (mention), car crash, choking (brief)

The room was white. White with the faintest trace of mud towards the floor. White that was stained with the slightest pink as if blood had been splattered and wouldn't clean. 

It was silent too, dead silent. The lack of sound was alarming and unnatural, yet it fit the aesthetic perfectly. The only thing that broke the image was an eerie shadow that made people take a second glance.

The shadow led to a human, hanging by their wrists and ankle from the ceiling. They wore a thin hospital gown that hardly gave any warmth from the AC that was constantly pumped into the room. They were blindfolded with black goggles that completely obscured their vision. Their ears were covered by headphones that looked way too big for their small head. 

All the subject heard, over and over, was "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner. The constant 90s rock song was loud, rattling their eardrums with every slam of a drum or every time the guitar hit a chord. 

It destroyed any brink of sleep they managed to catch. The incessant sound caused a headache that could not be alleviated. They were going crazy; crazy like everyone else in that building. 

They were being stripped of their identity. They hardly remembered their life before Hot Blooded blasted through their eardrums. They had no name, no gender, no past or present other than hanging there in the white room that they couldn't even see. 

Isolation may be the easiest way to drive one crazy. That and the music turned up to max volume. Crazy and ready to be molded into whatever the doctors deemed appropriate. 

The door to the white room opened with a creak then a slam. But the subject did not hear it. They were locked in their world, fuzzy and cool without a care for reality. 

"Subject 143," the doctor with a clear clipboard read. Female. Nearly white blonde hair that offset her darker skin. 

"Date of admission: 17 May at 12:03 P.M.," she read with clarity and devoid of any emotion. "Weight at admission: 134 pounds. Female; 5 foot, 4 inches. Age: 19." She stuck the clipboard between her armpit and eyed the hanging subject with curiosity, "Let it down." 

The word "it" rang throughout the room like fire. It spit venom at the few cracks in the plaster, making them seem like they expanded in agony. 

The doctor's assistants released the subject slowly. They were professional, not unnecessarily cruel other than protocol. 

The subject, female, stiffened at the sudden drop in altitude. Even though it was only a foot, it was all she knew. The slight change in pressure screamed at her nerves, but at the same time it was slightly relieving. It was the first feeling she felt in what seemed forever. 

"Subject has been under sensory deprivation for a month," the doctor continued reading her notes. "Let's begin a physical evaluation." 

The subject's knees hit the floor, sending a shock through her body. Her bottom lip trembled, yet it wasn't joy. It wasn't joy that she felt when her body touched the hard tiles. It was fear. Fear of this new world in a way that made one's heart race. 

"Turn off the headphones." The subject felt pressure that made the small hairs on her arms raise in anticipation. She raised her top lip in a snarl, ready to fight. 

A click and all was silent.

The subject collapsed forward, her hands immediately trying to reach her ears. The headache was worse now, much worse. It radiated through her ears with heat bouncing out of every pore. The dizziness made her want her music, at least it kept out this strange buzzing.

Strong arms gripped the skinny biceps, pulling the subject back onto her knees.

"She's been getting nutrients and liquids for a month now by IV."

The subject flexed her muscles. She forgot about the IV that fed her all the nutrients she needed. She never was fed food. She forgot the taste of it and the thought of actually ingesting something was exciting yet nauseating at the same time. 

"Good to know. She is looking quite slender, but no worries." Hands touched the subject's core, pressing down on each rib until she flinched back, squirming in the hands that held her. Hands stuck into her mouth, forcing it open and inspecting every tooth. Gloved fingers ran over her gums, jabbing at all of the inflamed sores. 

"Put dental work on that list you got there Nurse Baton," the doctor ordered. "And I want it on Anadrol-50 and power enhancers. It needs muscles fast and I do not have the time to work to devise a strict workout schedule. Rather save that for the more dangerous subjects."

"Yes ma'am." 

"Start her on a diet of mashed oats with avocado and protein supplements. May sound fancy, but we need these muscles back in shape." The doctor squeezed the once-taut muscles in disgust. 

"Yes ma'am."

"Other than that, weigh her and do some blood work. I expect her to be ready by the end of the week."

"Yes ma'am."

The doctor grabbed the subject's chin, tipping it upwards and took in the pale, hollowed features. Once pretty, the subject was now like a ghostly corpse from a horror movie. The doctor lifted the goggles off, watching in slight amusement as the subject blinked her bloodshot eyes rapidly. 

"Well," the doctor made a few small circles on the subject's cheek. "You are quite fiery."

The subject only snarled and tried to lunge at the doctor.

--

"Attention all heros north of Redbrook," came the same droning voice of dispatch. Trisha groaned and leaned forward to click in. 

"Trisha Jakes here, what'dya got," the half-asleep hero grumbled. She yawned, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel thinking about the pleasant dream she was just experiencing.

"The Redbrook Mental Asylum had an escape. Male, twenty years of age. About five foot nine and 189 pounds. Dark brown hair and blue eyes," the dispatch sounded bored like they did this on the daily, which is more than likely. But then their voice turned oddly foreboding, "Labeled as highly-dangerous. Use any means to capture: tranq gun, taser, anything."

"I am five miles from the asylum," Trisha already was pulling out of the parking lot she was napping in. "I can look around."

"Copy that," and the dispatch repeated their message. Not wanting to hear the description of the individual, Trisha clicked out. 

This was not the first time that she had dealt with mentally sick people, but it was the first time that she dealt with one her age at the same time as being "Highly Dangerous" as dispatch put it. 

Trisha leaned forward and clicked the button on her steering wheel that allowed her to call people. 

"Call Colton Myers on cell," Trisha stressed every syllable. She didn't have the time to repeat herself. 

"Calling Colton Myers on cell…" Trisha sighed in relief when the speaker lady's voice repeated back to her, followed almost directly by a ringtone. 

"Hey Trisha, what's up?"

Trisha didn't even bother to say "hey" back. "Colton," she gasped, growing in nervous excitement. "Get out here now. There is this guy on the loose from that asylum."

"Isn't that your job," Colton chuckled on the other end. Trisha could just imagine the twinkle of laughter in his deep green eyes that reminded her of emeralds. 

"Yes," Trisha replied in a flirty tone. "But isn't it your job to design websites, yet I do half of your work?" She smiled to herself. Even though it could get frustrating because Colton was practically incapable of doing anything but complaining, she loved graphic design. 

"You got me. But now we are even."

"Shut up," Trisha hoped the smile was prominent in her voice, "I have to go."

"Bye-bye idiot."

"Charming," Trisha teased and hung up, quite content with her friendship status.

Trisha drove on in silence, observing every shadow as she tried to put her mind into a disabled guy's mindset. What would he deem safe? Definitely not a building, if he thought that the asylum was dangerous. Trisha shuddered, that asylum gave her the creeps. Professional, yes, but the attitudes of the nurses were disturbing. 

Yet they helped keep villains locked up… Trisha shook her head. The place was in alliance with the Hero Agency. Good, safe, and most of all necessary. 

She knew that the people who were admitted into the facility were villains. Some may even call Redbrook a reformation center. Trisha cocked her head, deep in thought as she half-heartedly watched the traffic. 

If he was a villain, wouldn't he be searching for something villainy? Assuming that he had some form of anger issues or another mental problem -or maybe just truma?- he would likely be headed to a Villain Agency, or his home. 

Yet, what good would that be? There was only one villain agency in Redbrook, assuming he lived in Redbrook. But that agency was too tiny for a "highly-dangerous" patient. 

And Trisha had no idea if he even had a home to begin with. 

She sighed and started to tap the steering wheel in a rhythmic beat. Periodically, she would glance down to her bow and gun to make sure they were still there. 

Very suddenly, a flash of white boltes in front of the windshield. Without thinking, Trisha spun around, making other cars honk and scream at her. But she didn't care, for her eyes were locked on the thin hospital gown. 

The sight baffled her for a moment. The gown was so thin that she could see his shoulder bones from fifty feet away. She pressed the gas until her speedometer read eighty-five. She was nearing, very close… almost there…

BAM!

Trisha let out a scream as her car lost control. Her seat belt started to unceremoniously pressed against her chest, restricting any breathing. She gasped for air as adrenaline and fear coursed through her veins. The seatbelt was moving up towards her trachea. 

Then it snapped and Trisha fell forward hitting- but not breaking- the reinforced windshield. Her back lit up in pain as the car continued to go out of control until it hit a concrete wall. 

And the world was engulfed by one big, black wave.

--

"Move your hand for me."

Trisha gulped and lifted up her wrist. She slowly was regaining strength over the course of a fews days. The Hero Agency and its medics had access to an array of fast-paced healing techniques. 

Luckily, Trisha didn't break anything important. Just a few ribs and her jaw, but glass got into her organs. The doctors surgically removed the pieces and with the speedy recovery, she was beginning to get better. 

"Good. You should be discharged by the end of the week, but keep it easy. Okay?"

"'Kay," Trisha replied and started fiddling with her thumbs. There was no way that she would be able to take it easy when a murderer just got her into an accident. 

What if he knew who she was? What if he finished the job? Already, she made sure that someone was in the hospital room with her. Her boss wouldn't spare anymore heros, but Colton was already there. 

Trisha looked over at the chair that Colton was slumped in. His mouth was parted open as he silently snored and murmured in his sleep. His ruffled light brown hair looked even more greasy than a McDonald's cheeseburger. 

Yet even though he held an unpleasant appearance, Trisha was more than thankful for his sacrifice. So, even though the poor hero was loaded with questions, she let her best friend sleep. 

[bookandcranny]

SAUSAGE SIMULATOR 2000

A single short burst of light, sound, movement. A rhythmic throbbing of the arteries. A dry edible seed, rich in protein, belonging to the legume family. A palpitation of the neck or wrist. A common feature on a blender.

If one day you happen to find someone lying prone and unconscious, the first thing you’ll do is check for a pulse. But even when that signal, that faint tickle of motion is gone, the brain may yet live on for minutes. It may live on even longer.

summary: A surreal scifi horror set In Another Time, Another Place, in which the narrator reminisces on some events, real and dreamed, whole and fragmented, that occurred during their time attending high school alongside their best friend.

word count: 4.3k

content warnings: Insects, parental abandonment, descriptions of gore and body horror

🦗🦗🦗

We give thanks for the grain, for without it we would have no bread. We give thanks for the vermin, for without them we would have no meat. We give thanks for the machine, for without it we would have no work.

The work is to preserve the law. Without the law, the vermin would devour the grain. Without the law, the machine would devour the vermin. Without the law, man would devour the machine.

-----

Sive dissects his sandwiches layer by layer. He’s probably my best friend, but the guy is so weird sometimes. Regardless, these are the moments I remember the most.

We’re on a field trip, our entire grade; it’s one of the few times we get to hang out during school hours, since Sive is in Class C this year and I’m in A. When we break for lunch, he comes over to sit with me on the crumbling stone wall without either of us asking. I take two sandwiches out of my bag and hand him one. He peels it apart and starts licking mustard off a pallet of pink Bugmeat©️.

Maybe it’s now, maybe it’s later. The moments blend together in my recollection, blurred by the years and the medication. I seem to recall a couple of other friends from my class sitting with us, talking and laughing, but whenever Sive is around the world seems to narrow to a single point of focus. He has a way of commanding the room’s attention, with the oscillating pitch and volume of his voice and his swinging hands, illustrating the latest gossip with all the fervor of a street preacher.

In theory, I understand why some of the other kids are afraid of him. He’s taller than maybe anyone I’ve met and the way he hunches his shoulders makes him look sort of looming. The way he talks and the way he smiles, lip curling back into something more like a sneer, doesn’t help. But he’s my friend, has been since we were small, and I know he’s no more frightening than a field mouse. Besides, while he may be tall he’s also rail thin, skin sucking on his joints when he moves, now more than ever. He inhales his sandwich in seconds, even with the picking and fussing that proceeds it, so I give him half of mine too.

I kick my legs over the side of the wall, looking down at the sloping gray-green mountainside. There are a few masses of rock hovering alone, pushed and pulled by rich natural deposits of magnetic ore. I know this place, the sight of it if not the significance. My dad must have brought me once when I was little. He likes these old ruins, but I never got the appeal and can’t really be bothered to listen as the chaperoning teachers drone on and on about its history. I’ll just take some scans and make a recording to study for the test that’s sure to ensue and call it a day. Better yet, glom some notes off of Elege-- she’s got the good pods, and I know she likes me. Then Sive will glom it off of me. Circle of life.

A boy to my left, Tez Walker, unthinkingly wipes his sticky hands off on his uniform shirt. I watch him with a sort of morbid fascination and when I turn back around Sive’s looking at me like he’s waiting for my input on something.

“Sorry, what’d you say?”

He rolls his eyes, big gray eyes. “My mom wired me some more money so we can go to the video park after school. You in?”

“If you’ve got money to see shows, how come I’m buying your lunch?”

“Come on, I don’t have enough for food and streams and rent.”

I hum a non-answer. “When’s your mom gonna come back anyway? Did she say anything this time?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. I like living on my own anyway.” So long as nobody knows. It’s not technically legal, even though we’re both almost of age. I’m not even sure how he’s managed to keep it a secret thus far, big-mouth that he is. I might tease but I really don’t want to see him relocated to another district. It feels somewhat inevitable, with this being our last year and all, but I’m not ready to let go just yet.

“I’ll pay for the park if you use some of that money to get an exterminator,” I say, pointing at the reddened welt peaking out above his hip.

He pulls down his shirt with an almost guilty expression and laughs through his teeth. “Stop overreacting, it’s probably just acne.”

I give him a dubious look, and he meets it with another shrug.

“We eat bugs, bugs eat us. It’s only fair.” He flaps around the limp half-sandwich for emphasis.

I growl around a mouthful of my own. “Bugmeat©️ isn’t made of bugs. That’s crazy.”

“Uh huh, I think I see a leg in your teeth.”

I swing around and kick his ankle. “I’ll put a leg in your teeth.”

He laughs. He’s laughing. There’s mustard on the corner of his mouth. Yeah, these are the things I remember.

-----

A single short burst of light, sound, movement. A rhythmic throbbing of the arteries. A dry edible seed, rich in protein, belonging to the legume family. A palpitation of the neck or wrist. A common feature on a blender.

If one day you happen to find someone lying prone and unconscious, the first thing you’ll do is check for a pulse. But even when that signal, that faint tickle of motion is gone, the brain may yet live on for minutes. It may live on even longer.

-----

I’m in study hall going over vocab with Elege when I hear the news. One of the first to know and the last to believe it, and even then I don’t trust the way the others tell it. Sive has been in fights before, I know, but only because some kids go out of their way to pick on him. They see his face and his towering stature and it makes them think there’s something to prove there. But while you wouldn’t know it to look at the two of us, I’ve always been the one to squash ticks and spiders for him while he squirms. I can’t imagine him breaking anyone’s nose, especially not without a good reason.

I want to talk to him, to get the truth, but he’s sent home on the spot and when I try to call him after class all he gives me are these curt half-answers and a warning.

“Don’t come over,” he says. He tells me I was right. There’s something in his apartment, roaches or rats or maybe some crossbred mutation of the two. Whatever they are, they're big and they’re bloodthirsty and he doesn’t want me to risk getting bit.

“If your apartment is infested you need to tell someone,” I urge him.

“If I do that, they’ll realize I’ve been living alone and try to move me. This place might be a shithole, but it’s my home.”

“What are you gonna do then?”

There’s a sound in the background of the call, like something heavy being dragged across the floor.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

Over the days that follow I keep trying to reach Sive and eventually he agrees to meet me somewhere, just not the apartment. He hasn’t finished taking care of it, I guess.

We’ve been scoping out some of the abandoned buildings in the area for a while now, looking for a suitable lair. I first had the idea after we saw this show about urban explorers and modern treasure hunters scouring the skeletons of infested districts in their glimmering kevlar. One night at the park I even manage to glom a few episodes when no one’s looking and save them to my pod.

There’s this one part: One of the crew is walking in a precarious spot when the plates shift suddenly and clamp down around his ankle, crushing it until it more resembles sausage wrung out of its casing than anything human. The man screams and one of his teammates quickly cauterizes the flowering stump with a hot blade. He cleans and binds it and they keep moving, because staying put is more dangerous than pushing on with a missing limb. Sometimes when I’m restless at night, I mute that episode and play it on loop until I fall asleep.

All this to say, it’s not such a surprise when Sive tells me to meet him at the old annex attached to the east wing of the school. Supposedly they used to hold art classes and things like that over there before it got too expensive for them to keep it up. The few remaining cameras are in poor repair and the back entrance is mangled and rusty, making for easy entry. Sometimes the local pests will try to bite you there, but things will try to bite you everywhere and a thick pair of socks resolves the issue well enough. That’s the place where we’ll meet.

But that’s not how it happens. I push past the broken lock with ease and call his name, to no answer. There’s a pink twilight settling over the campus, refracting through tall tinted panes of stained glass. I walk from one end of the building to the other until I come upon the old music room, nothing left inside it but a dusty grand piano and shards of crystalline debris that crunch under my feet. The classroom is/was built like a fishbowl, windows all along the hallway so visitors could look in on the students without letting out the music.

I pick up one big piece of glass and hold it up to the light, but when I turn it around I only see myself, staring darkly. I wait and I wander, but it’s always just me. I leave when it begins to grow dark and I hear something moving in the empty halls.

-----

That’s one thing I remember. Here’s another:

I’m walking from the bus stop with Sive, just Sive. Just us. His eyes are bright and bruised with red. There’s a new cluster of those little bumps crawling up the far side of his neck, but he keeps that side of himself turned away from me. My parents aren’t home yet and I don’t have any plans so I walk with him all the way to his building.

It’s a squat concrete cube with littler cubes inside it, just like any of them. There’s some moss or lichen or something growing in the cracks, and at this time of night it looks almost like mold.

“Do you want to go inside?” I ask, when he lingers on the steps.

He shakes his head, silent in the way he never is. Something's clearly weighing on him. We go around the back to the parking garage and climb up onto the overhang. Sitting here, on a clear night like tonight, you can see everything from the Bug Burger to the distant radio tower. The moon sits bloated and bulging against the city skyline, an egg sac fit for bursting. Sive scratches the back of his knee. Our twin breaths turn to ghosts in the February air.

Sive turns and asks me, “Do you know what you’re going to do after graduation?”

“I guess.” My parents both went to the same college when they were my age, so I’ll be going there too. No reason not to turn down any advantage I can get. My grades aren’t bad, but they aren’t great either, and neither is our area code. “Did you pick a school?”

He doesn’t answer, which is an answer in and of itself. I try to change the subject and wind up spitting out the first thing I can think of.

“Have you heard from your mom?”

“No.” He won’t elaborate.

“When are you coming back to school?”

“Soon.”

“Did you really fight those guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Sive looks at me annoyed and instead of answering he says, “A counselor talked to me the day I got suspended. Did you know that?”

I  don't. I didn’t.

“I was leaving the principal’s office and she took me aside and told me that with my record I might want to consider a future in security.”

My breath seizes in my chest. Suddenly I feel like I’m the one who was punched. “But you’re not gonna do it, right?”

The pause that follows feels like an eternity. “Nah, of course not,” he lies.

This isn’t actually the first time we’ve spoken about this, I recall. One night, after a particularly rough exam, he says something like, “At this rate I should just volunteer for security.” It’s a careless sentence, a tactless joke, but I laugh or pretend to laugh, assured he means nothing by it.

“It’ll turn around,” I tell him, and in the moment, I mean it with all my heart.

-----

On the day Sive returns to school, he gets written up for a uniform violation. I never know for sure why. Could be anything, an untucked shirt or an ink stain seeping through his pocket. Laundry and mending costs money, money that I know he doesn’t have since he stopped letting me buy him lunch. I try, but when I bring it up he says he hasn’t been hungry, and as improbable as it sounds I don’t think it’s a lie, at least not entirely. He must have found something else to eat.

We don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about it at all.

-----

“I don’t love you, not like a partner, maybe like a brother. I’ve never had a brother, or any siblings for that matter. It’s always been just me. Except not really. No one is ever really alone. All you have to do is look around, look inside. Inside, there’s all this movement, all this warmth. And you see? That’s the cause of it all. It was in us from the start. It’s not even just the food we eat or the shows we watch, it has always been there.

“Did you know? I returned to our meeting place, that great vestigial organ, but I don’t think you could see me. You only saw your own reflection. It almost made me doubt that you were ever there at all. I don’t love you, but if you asked, I’d do just about anything for you. We didn’t used to need to ask, but right now, I really wish you would.”

-----

I don’t see my friend much these days. Weeks pass, then months. Sometimes he comes to school, enough to keep the threat of investigation at bay, but-- and I don’t know how to explain this, but even when he’s here he’s also not. Or maybe he is, and he’s just hiding from me.

I keep looking for him right up until the final day, but even then we’re divided by class and I can’t pick out his face in the crowd of all our classmates. We file into the gymnasium where someone’s set up a little wooden stage with a scuffed red carpet draped over the frame and opened all the doors, filtering out some of the stifling, sweaty air and letting in the summer scents of hot asphalt mingling with freshly laid turf.

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit I don’t remember much of my highschool graduation. It seems like one of those things you’re supposed to remember, to hold and cherish years down the line, but in the moment all I know is it’s hot and crowded and I am painfully bored. The principal and vice principal stand up and give some speech while the students fiddle impatiently with their heavy, itchy robes. A girl standing in front of me quickly applies another layer of makeup to a bubbling red patch of acne on her chin. I watch her for longer than I like to admit before tearing my eyes away to search for Sive again.

He’s nowhere to be seen, but he has to be here. No one misses graduation because no one doesn’t graduate, no matter what other infractions they may have committed. My name is called, I receive my diploma, and that’s all. I return to my place and wait. I wait for one thing even as I tumble blindly towards another.

As the ceremony crawls to a close, the principal returns to the lectern at the center stage. He says,

“Before we wrap things up, I have one final announcement. This year a number of our graduates will honor their community by volunteering for the city security tract. Will the following students please come to the stage.”

My heart pounds. I know before I know, still I don’t start screaming until I hear his name get called. The animal grief punctures my lungs and bleeds out my throat in a rushing torrent, clawing and scraping. My classmates and their families all around me barely seem to react. At most they exchange some fleeting glances of pity and annoyance as I fall to my knees.

Someone touches my shoulders, to comfort or to quiet, then I’m being dragged away. Someone or many someones; I don’t know but I like to think I put up a fight. If I try hard enough, it might turn out different this time.

-----

I have this recurring nightmare sometimes. In it, I see myself, or the figment of myself projected into my own mind by an outside eye. Through that narrow watery lens, I see it/me standing in a beam of light. I’m hosting one of those nighttime shows where they used to read the lotto numbers. There’s a big lottery spinner made up of opaque, milky polygons and it tumbles with a sound like chattering teeth.

I turn the crank around and around and when the device finally spins to a stop it flails in my direction a sort of wet nozzle appendage whose shape reminds me of a shower head. I wrap my hands around its vermiform neck and wring a number from the puckered opening, but when I hold up the little white ball to call the winner, the number begins to morph and multiply into a string of numbers, and letters, and symbols I don’t recognize. I can’t divine the meaning and so I start to cry.

The ball splits open.

-----

NO NO NO NO STOP STOP IT NO NO NO STOP NO

-----

Ears ringing, vision swimming, I can barely make out my friend’s face as he steps out onto the stage. I writhe, I howl. I try to make him change his mind. Surely it’s not too late, I think. And I’m sure he hears me. He turns toward the crowd and as I’m pulled through the double doors I desperately will him to see me. He never meets my gaze.

Anyway, that’s all I remember. That, and one other thing but I promise, it will not bring you satisfaction.

-----

After I complete my first semester, I catch a train and vow to spend at least a few days pretending to enjoy my winter break back home before I ultimately retreat into the cradle of my studies. It’s strangely nostalgic to be here, even though chronologically speaking I haven’t actually been gone for very long. Time holds no dominion over feeling, however, no matter what people might tell you.

I am changed. I know that, I think I do. It’s all subjective I guess but the way I speak, the way I carry myself, even the way I dress has changed-- more pale patterned shirts, less muddy sneakers. My mom says I’m just in the process of acclimating myself to college life, that she went through the same thing when she was my age, and I don’t really have much choice but to believe her. Call it growing pains, I guess. Call it a new chapter, a fresh start. Call it anything that keeps you comfortable while you roll around in bed at night.

As I walk around the place I’ve known all my life, I find myself mesmerized by the sight of my white breath dissolving against the cornflower blue sky. I can’t remember the last time I saw a sky so clear. Maybe it’s that succoring sense of reminiscence that draws me back to the grounds of my old highschool. More realistically, it’s probably something to do with my recent change in medication. I’m technically not supposed to be walking alone like this yet; my head gets all fuzzy and I’m liable to get confused. The past bleeds into the present and back and forth and back again like a swinging pendulum, although that analogy, I realize, attaches an impression of consistency to the idea that the reality rarely lives up to.

It’s not all bad though. My focus has improved, and I’m sleeping less but I don’t feel as tired. My math scores have gone up by an average of seven points.

The path is still so familiar to me I could walk it blind, and I don’t realize just where I’ve come until I’m standing outside the front gate. It’s locked, for obvious reasons. Upon a second glance I notice that the school buildings themselves look quite different than I remember them. The dilapidated annex has finally been torn down for one thing. Disappointing. I linger regardless, tracing the perimeter, trying to put a name to this distant feeling of unease.

A shadow passes over my eyes and I smell rot. Rounding a corner I see a cluster of massive, chittering vermin gnawing on the fence where it’s gone red from oxidation. From a distance, from the right angle, their undulating black backs make it look as though the pavement is breathing.

Distantly, I know I should be afraid, but the fear doesn’t quite make it through the veil. One insectoid catches sight of me and rears back, flaring its rear wings and giving me a gurgling hiss of warning.

Before I can react, a security drone-- one of the Angel series, if I’m not mistaken-- descends upon the vermin and carves through them a gory swath of bright pink gristle. Their scattered serrated bits stay twitching where they lay. Some other dispatch from city security will be by in time to clean up the remains.

The bugs are getting so much bigger than they used to be. I have a theory about that actually, but there’s no one I feel like telling it to. It’s sad. This used to be a nice neighborhood.

The Angel series are still a pretty new breed, a hot commodity, recently introduced to the district in the wake of some new hives popping up. It’s honestly fascinating to see one up close like this, and more than a little frightening. At least eight feet of perfect patented genes, of muscle and metal, circuits like the most delicate seams running up the length of its thick fibrous limbs.

It starts to walk away, its work complete, and suddenly I feel this pressing need to stop it. It’s indescribable, the need, an emotion so strong after blank, dreamlike months that it's like a physical probing in my lower stomach. I stagger and trip in my haste, scraping the palm of my hand where I catch myself. The scent of blood emboldens some more common pests, tiny slug-like masses that poke up their pulsing head through the cracks and wriggle from the ground to get a taste. The drone exterminates them with ease as well. All the while I am searching the impassive Angel’s face for some sign of emotion, of recognition.

Bioengineering isn't exactly my field, but I’m not stupid. No, stupid's not the word-- naive. I know it may likely be only a small part of him in there, if anything at all, split into individual strands and laced throughout the makeup of a dozen distinct living machines. Security is very efficient, threshing away the superfluous husk of personality and, like a pot of simmering fat, rendering their creations down to the most basic, most useful parts. Only then are the fresh-cooked soldiers that come out the other side of this procedure truly ready to protect us.

There’s no reason to believe whatever shred of him that remains should know me. Still, selfish creature that I am, I stare into his/its featureless not-face and I search for my friend one more time. I search for big lip-curling smiles, patchy teenage stubble, gray eyes bright with laughter or tears. I would have him any way. I would have him on the worst days: dirty and hungry, bruised and bloodied and bug-bitten. I could even love him, I think. I could love him.

“Sive?” I ask. There’s a quiet rasp to my voice, a wavering uncertainty that shames me even now.

The Angel does not respond, but neither does it turn away.

“Look at me,” I beg, staring into my own reflection in the darkened visor. “Look at me.”

Another few drones drop down across the green, summoned by a signal from their kin. There’s a distressed civilian in need of escort. Of course, of course. These chimerical android creatures are almost completely identical, masses of matching sinew growing like vines around the mass-produced metal hulls, and nothing throbbing inside them but a singular purpose. I realize, abruptly, my foolishness and allow myself to be herded off the premises.

I’d like to say I looked back. Someone like me, forever sick with sentiment? Of course I would look back. That’s not what this is though. This is not closure. This is not an ending, not an exit or an epilogue. The food chain we worshiped back then was as immutable as it was self-serving, a rare form of autocannibalism that feeds everyone and nourishes no one. These still-twitching remains are, as I well know, just a memory.

[finalcreacher]

From The Earth to The Morgue - Chapter 1

A/N- Basically...this is a Klaus x Artist! Reader...and y’all are both recovering addicts? Well, not so much Klaus. Not yet, at least.

T/W- I don’t think they are any major warnings this chapter? The rest of the series will have some very heavy topics though.

Oh. and gender-neutral reader! :D

Word Count: 1,825

They fiddle the pen back and forth between their fingers, trying to stop themselves from moving it too quickly- they had dropped it too many times to count, and they think their fellow meeting members(all seated in their banged-up, metal folding chairs) were getting tired of them asking for the pen beneath their seat. It was better for everyone than the tapping though, or the clicking. Everyone except them, the noise and the motion of their hands helped them get through the meetings. Drawing was better than all other options though, it's why they had the pen, and the notebook. Doodling the other meeting members helped keep them focused, but not enough to get lost in the meeting and the message- just enough to listen.

Roaming the room with their eyes, they spot a tall, scrawny man, who appeared new to this particular group spot. He had haunted dark brown eyes, and deep circles underneath them from lack of sleep. He fidgets with his hands and pulls against the edges of his coat, he looks around nervously- on edge. They knew the feeling, but what seemed odd, was how he kept looking back to the same empty spot beside him. Staring, and whispering, and they'd be more worried if this wasn't their second year in Narcotics Anonymous.

Many strange and unsettling things occurred, and they were sure they might have had an occasion or two similar to this in the past. Maybe not a talk to the air type- but definitely a “I've taken too much and I think I can see the walls moving”, type. They didn't much enjoy talking about that, though. However, the man seems okay with this, and very comfortable talking. Not freaked and scared. Almost as if there really was someone else there- someone familiar.

They shake it off, noticing his dark fashion again, ripped along the ends, threads pulled loose. It seems far too many years old- but not beyond repair. A little TLC would do it wonders. They chuckle at the thought of helping him. Mending the jacket in their room, having him splayed across the mattress, bare arms and chest taunting them. It made them shiver.

There was an aura around the man that they hadn't felt before. Part of them wondered if there was a ghost next to him- which was silly, the average person couldn't tell those kinds of things. Then again, compared to most, Y/n wasn’t a very average person. Though they’d like to think they are. 

Eccentric was boring, and normal was good.

They glance around the room once more, but finally settle on the man again. Taking in every feature, how his hair parted, and twisted in far too many directions, and how it looked all shaggy. They start with a quick sketch, and then a simple doodle of his eyes- sad and tired. They supposed everyone's eyes looked a little sad and tired, as did their own, but his were worse. There was something far more horrifying behind them.

Then, they begin to draw a soft, nearly invisible figure, standing behind the first full body sketch. They rub their fingers against it, successfully smudging it. It feels ominous.

A feeling of coldness washes over them, making their arm hairs stand on end. They don't pay much mind to it- only making a small note of it in their head. They look back up from the paper, and notice the aura is gone from the man. Even the dead get bored sometimes.

When they look down, the paper creases like it would if touched too harshly. They had been so careful though, unless- they flash a smile to the air behind them, hoping the spirit would get the message. The cold leaves again, and the goosebumps that appeared on their arms, began to settle. They spend the rest of the meeting doodling- perking up again as they see everyone begin to leave.

They leave they're bag seated on the chair, and run up to the man before he can successfully slip out of the room.

"Hey!" He doesn't seem to notice, and continues. "Hey, you're Klaus, right?"

He stops in his tracks, and gives an odd look over his shoulder to them. Spinning on his heels to face the stranger.

"Oh- indeed I am, darling. Who's asking?" He grins.

"I wanted to give you this," Y/n brings up their notebook, flipping to the right page, and gently tears it from the binding. They fold it down into a small square. "Here, I think your companion will appreciate it. It's Y/n, by the way."

He looks wide eyed at them, "My companion?"

They simply smile. "I'll see you next meeting, okay?"

He blinks at them, but they're off to retrieve their bag and already walking out the door before he can say anything.

Klaus was overjoyed as he got back to the apartment he was staying at- the place of some guy he was hooking up with- pulling the slip of paper from his pocket. Smoothing out the creases as he delicately laid it on his lap.

He couldn't help to feel that Y/n drew him beautiful. He was all skin and bones, ribs poking through his skin, face hollowed. But the way his lips pursed on the page, and his eyelids were gracefully shut, lashes playfully falling with them. The hands seemed to softly play with a string on his overcoat. He'd never looked like that, he was always too many meals overdue and shaky.

He runs a finger along the piece, making sure to avoid ruining it. Ben, who had been leaning over Klaus' shoulder, finally murmurs against his ear.

"What?"

Ben scoffs, but gives him a warm smile anyways. "I said, they're pretty good."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to the next meeting?"

"Why would- oh, for Y/n? They are pretty cute," he teases.

Ben shakes his head, frowning. "For yourself. Putting some effort into this would help you, you know."

"God, I'm offended, Ben."

"Also, for Y/n, though,” Ben admits. “I think they saw me."

"No shit," he says, wide-eyed and happy. 

"I think they smiled at me," Ben's smile is brighter than Klaus had seen it for months, maybe even years. The thought sent a painful twinge through his body.

Klaus hadn't been to very many consecutive meetings. He'd been to so many types of meetings, numerous times, but they never quite stuck. He never really tried. He supposes he wasn't even trying now- he was just curious. This stranger saw Ben- or, at the very least, knew Ben was there. He had never seen Ben look so genuinely happy for something in the last eleven years than now. His eyes seemingly glowed at the prospects of being noticed.

He didn't want to get Ben's Hope's up, though. He hadn't been paying attention to the meeting too closely, nor had he seen you or your supposed interactions with his brother. He tried to get Ben to understand that you were probably crazy or just seeing things from the drugs. I mean, this is for addicts, Ben.

Ben seemed mostly bothered- annoyed- by him, than anything else. Insisting that the two of them head back for the next meeting. Klaus whined and groaned, and tried to protest- but he couldn't say no, not to Ben. At least, not for this. He'd gone against Ben's wishes countless times before.

He gets there early that day. Enough so that most people had filtered in, but the last minute ones still had a chance to get in. He'd thought Y/n would be early, but frowned at the sea of unfamiliarity. He takes one of the empty seats in the circle, absentmindedly placing one hand on the seat next to him, the other pulling at his jacket. His fingers hurt as they desperately pinch together, attempting to clutch the material between each other.

Y/n finds themself seated next to Klaus, wordlessly laying a hand over his, feeling him slowly stop the painful fidgeting. He doesn't hold back, as they cup they're hand around his- but he does let out a content and comfortable sigh. He's about to mention it, when they let go, taking out the notebook from yesterday- the meeting supervisor begins talking. 

He finds himself zoning out for most of the meeting. The light sounds of your pen hitting your paper, and the tapping of feet, and droning voices filter through his head. 

Ben doesn’t bother him much, a few words here and there, but mostly Ben found himself hovering over Y/n’s shoulder. Watching them make every gentle line, and rounded dot- making even the harshest of members appear softer, and human. (Not that they weren’t, but some members appeared so sickly or dressed too crazy, that their features began to morph into something else entirely). He admired the work in silent joy, smiling back whenever they would look towards him- though he still wasn’t certain if they could see him or not.

It’s a comment or two from another member, digging up moments from their past, when the meeting nears its end and Klaus’ anxiety hits him with full force. He was most often able to mask his feelings and play it off- but he was here, with them. He couldn’t risk making a scene. He’s all bouncy legs and a shivering body as he tries getting his mind off the meeting- off the years of his childhood he did not want to remember.

Klaus starts pinching his fingers again, till they’re white and he can feel his bones ache. Y/n doesn’t even look over, as they clumsily move their hand to stop him, this time keeping it on top long after he had stopped. They continue drawing with the other, scratching down quick lines- Klaus recognizes the figure as the supervisor. Clean-shaven face, hair dark and combed back professionally. It doesn’t have a background, maybe a line or two- and it doesn’t sport another character like Klaus’ portrait did. And, as he looks closer, it doesn’t radiate the same feeling, either. Whether that was how they felt towards the supervisor, or just today, was unbeknownst to him. What he knew though was that his was soft and kind, and this one felt dark and heavy. 

He tries asking about it, and they merely respond by attempting to turn his attention back to the meeting. Anywhere that wasn’t their paper. Klaus leaves a mental note to ask about it again later, thinking maybe they would react differently if the two of them weren’t in the middle of something. He’s afraid it will haunt him if he doesn’t. All your actions so far seem to do that to him. Puzzle him, make it hard to think about anything else- keep him up as he tries to fall asleep at night. They’re mysterious, and he wants to know more.

He likes that.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “For Peace.”

Some more stuff involving humanity and the Drev war.

WARNING: this may be graphic? It wasn’t meant to be that, but I just thought I should warn you there is blood involved. 

She definitely had not intended come. She wasn’t a soldier, and the idea of the war made her sick to think about, she knew it needed to happen, but that didn’t mean she lied it. The Runi weren’t exactly known for their war practices. In fact, in their history war had only been talked about as a theoretical possibility based on the idea of outing a poor government structure, but since the rundi had never had a poor government structure, there was no need for war.

But this was different, the Drev had only recently managed space flight, and because of their nomadic clan-like life no one had assumed their planet was inhabited . There was no infrastructure, and with the volcanic activity…. Well.

They generally tried to avoid meeting new species when they were at this point in space travel development. However, the Drev were smarter than they first appeared. They had had the ability to go to space for a long time, but never bothered to test it because it just wasn’t important to their culture. When they finally had left their planet, they ended up running into a Tesraki ship, which was trying to requisition precious metals from one of their moons. 

Contact had been made peacefully enough with linguistics experts from the GA appearing and easily figuring out the Drev language.

It was a simple thing, very straight forward.

But the Drev just couldn’t fight their baser instincts, and that was to make war. After a slight insult based on cultural misunderstanding, the Drev leaders had promised to turn their sights to the stars conquering and fighting where they went. The GA had made a decision to push to destroy the technology that would allow them to do such a thing, but based on atmospheric composition, and the way they had hidden their technology deposits, this was about more than carpet bombing their facilities.

They had to actually go in.

And that was determined to be harder than they intended. The Drev War practices may have appeared primitive, but their tactics were not. They had been losing the battle, and even with the augmentation to their army with human troops and technology, they were being pushed back every day.

Officers were threatening to pull back off planet and just wait for the Drev  to leave before blasting them to bits, but Drev shield technology was actually rather advanced and would take more than  a little work to destroy.

Now she was here, having landed in one of the desolate lava fields before being secretly transported by hovercraft towards the very back of the front line. They could have landed closer, but the amount of ash towards the front was unprecedented and there were warning against trying to fly in such conditions 

 Her arrival was kept quiet, as she was ushered into what they had dubbed the FOB (forward operating base). Humans in strange patterned uniforms marches past in groups carrying their strange explosive sticks their heads covered by helmets and their face by masks. Little flakes of ash were falling from the sky and coating the ground in a thick layer that covered her feet as she walked.

The soldiers themselves were smeared with the ash, and blended heavily into the background making it difficult for her to make them out. 

Large tents had been set up, and she could hear the strange guttural chant of human voices from inside. A tent flap was pushed back, and she looked inwards to see ash stained humans sitting around fires talking and interacting with each other.

Guards stood on lone vigils at the corners of the camps.

They had made it some way onto the base before being met by a familiar face. The human admiral was looking somewhat worse for wear, his face was covered in a layer of stubble, and his skin was covered in a layer of grime. His eyes once so gleeful were cold and hard almost haunted.

“Chairwoman.”

“Admiral…. How goes the battle.”

He man turned motioning her further into the camp, “I’m afraid not very well. We had assumed based on their more primitive war practices, that this would be an easy fight, however with the thick clouds of ash visibility is drastically reduced, and our ranged weapons become…. Almost pointless. They are generally right on top of us before we know they are there, and in that case they have the advantage. Their tactics are swift and brutal, they don’t necessarily aim to kill for some strange reason, but to brutally incapacitate usually by taking off limbs.”

She felt herself grow uncomfortably sick, “They take of limbs?”

“Yes dismemberment seems to be their favorite war tactic if they can manage it, and because we can’t see through this damned ash, not even our drones can, they always seem to have the upper hand, we've been pushed back almost constantly over the past month, and our soldiers are in pretty bad shape.” he walked further into the camp explaining how things ran and how the battle was fairing. 

From his accounts, though he did not say it.

Not well.

The line had pulled back, and there were only three bases in operation aside from this one. Communications were being stalled do the volcanic activity, and that included satellite communications. They had no GPS no radar, and the drones wouldn’t fly in such thick ash.

All together it was as the human had put it

 ‘a shit show.’

He motioned her to follow after him.

“There is something…. I think you need to see.” Nervously she followed after the human’s long powerful strides easily able to keep up on her own long legs, but finding she was nowhere near as graceful as the human. 

She watched him quietly from behind noting the slight slump of his shoulders and the weary way in which he walked feet dragging through the ash leaving long trails behind him. Had the human been so droopy before?

She couldn’t remember. 

She wasn’t aware that humans could wilt?

They made their way past a group of men heading back from patrol. They were covered in ash and conversing quietly amongst one another. Her translation software had only so far a range, but she thought she heard them speaking about dismemberment.

They walked past another set of tents before stopping by a more established building.

He motioned her to step inside with him, and together with her guards they walked inside. Greeting them was a troop of humans and a Tesraki wearing HAZMAT gear.

They were ordered to gear up in protective covering before stepping into a second room where they were hosed off from all the ash. Spinning tendrils of dark ash spun towards a drain in the floor until the outside of their suits were relatively clean.

He paused before the door turning to look back at her from behind the surgical mask he wore, “What you are about to see ...is the epitome of the cost of war.” With one hand, he pushed the curtain aside and they stepped into a long, dark room lined from beginning to end with dozens of mats spaced evenly over the floor, and on each one of the mats lay a body.

She froze in the tent staring suddenly caught by the sound.

Soft moaning.

Keening

And the horrific wheezing gasp for air.

Other humans wandered through the triage tent tending to their wounded with soft words.

The man’s face had twisted into an angry snarl, “Fo the past few months the ash has restricted our access to supplies. Our ships can’t land for fear of gumming up the engines. We have been unable to replace our lost equipment, and so have only rudimentary medicine in order to treat our wounded.” He stepped up a row of wounded shivering under emergency blankets faces covered in light layers of sweat.

“This will be the first supply run we have received in weeks  and with it the ability to take some of our wounded back to where they can get proper medical attention. Infection has been rampant despite our best efforts. Without modern technology, it’s like we are living in the goddamned dark ages.”

“Did you not bring these supplies when you first started the campaign.”

The man sighed in frustration, “We did but we, ‘I’ was overconfident. Our first three outposts were overrun by those beetles and with it most of our medical supplies.” he motioned around the room, “Those you see here are the men and women who managed to survive despite proper medical attention.”

The Rundi chairwoman tried not to look, tried not to see the horror that was in front of her, but there was no use, there was no turning away from that which she did not want to see. She glanced down at the humans splayed on piles of blankets and shivering with fever. She didn’t know much about humans, but she was vaguely aware of their ability to fight off infection by heating their bodies to unusual heat in order to burn off the infection.

It was supposedly an unpleasant process.

The human paused kneeling down next to one of the bodies pulling a blanket over the chest of a shivering human, “We ran out of painkillers two days ago.”

She was unable to keep her eyes away falling on one of the humans to her side. What she saw nearly had her running form the tent in shock and horror. The human that lay before her…. Was missing both of its legs. She…. at least she thought it was a she, opened feverish eyes mouth opening and lips trembling before her eyes rolled back. Bandages dark with ash and stained with red were tied about the stumps of her legs.

She lay on the floor quiet and unaided by medical technology.

Technology they should have had 

Her vision widened finally forcing her to take in the view around her to match a symphony of moaning agony, guttural animal sounds to signify their pain. Whimpers and groans and weeping that died away only to be replaced by more.

The pitiful wailing of the dying.

“We are losing men, and we are doing it fast. A good portion of what we originally sent to you have either died or are in states like this.” A moan from her side, and she looked down to find a young man missing an arm, a rag covering both of his eyes. A yellow liquid stained the cloth.

She felt sick.

“With the transport you brought us a lot of our people will be able to get off and get medical attention. We have people moving them now. If all goes well, most of them should live.”

“And…. what about these?” She asked trying to keep her mind of the scene. A human just to the side of her missing an arm and a leg lay moaning pitifully on the ground. One of the hazmat dressed humans sat next to him gently holding his remaining hand.

The human didn’t appear to be doing anything medically relevant, but gently using their thumb to rub slow circles on the palm of the man’s remaining hand. It seemed strange, but that simple motion seemed to calm the human.

She was greeted by the feeling of horrible sadness as she looked.

“These…. Well. They have graciously volunteered for something special.” 

They had almost reached the end of the tent now when, looking down at the floor, something caught her eye. The rundi chairwoman pulled to a stop staring at one of the humans. He was laid in the shadow of the tent at a distance from the lights. A roll of blankets had been propped up under his head and the stump of one of his legs, or what used to be his leg.

It was the right leg, and it had been severed an inch or two above the knee. A rag wrapped around the stump of his leg was red with blood. 

His breathing was ragged and labored coming in forced gasps against what must have been excruciating pain, his face screwed up in agony

But it wasn’t that which had caught her attention. 

“I…. I know him.” She stammered, stepping forward, “I know this one.”

The agitation in her voice must have been enough to rouse the human, who opened his eyes bleary and out of focus. 

Even in this dim lighting she knew those eyes, a shade of bright, emerald green.

The young man turned his head blinking as he tried to focus on her, on her voice. His lips quivered his hands twitched at his sides, “Chairwoman?” He croaked. 

The admiral hurried forward kneeling next to the young man as he began to shiver breathing growing more ragged, “Shhh lieutenant, it’s alright.” With surprisingly gentle hands, the man adjusted the boy’s pillow laying one hand on his shoulder, again making that slow rubbing motion that had been demonstrated earlier, “Shh, just relax, don’t try to talk ok.”

She stared on in confusion, and the admiral looked up, “You know him?”

She nodded her head in horrified confusion, “He…. he piloted the jet that saved my planet from an asteroid. He was….. He was one of the first humans we met. I I could be wrong.” She stared onwards knowing she wasn’t wrong.

The man looked on sad, “Yes, he wasn’t supposed to be on the frontline. The atmosphere has too much ash, so all our pilots were thrown back into ground divisions at the rear of the line for administration. When the Drev pushed back they were all that was left, and were forced into combat.”

The admiral looked up at her hand still trying to comfort the young soldier, “We were-”

“Admiral.” The boy’s voice was thick, slurred straining. She didn’t know much about human language, but the way he said the word made the admiral respond, and he leaned forward quickly cutting off and turning his focus.

In those few moments his breathing had grown more ragged.

“Yes.”

“It ... hurts.” His voice came between bursts of air forced from his lungs, a hutch as the muscles in his abdomen contracted and released, “Please…. Make it…. Stop.” Beads of sweat erupted on his forehead and his head arched back. The rest of the body followed suit writhing in slow agony, the remaining foot kicking at the ground in a show of the most visceral agony she had ever seen.

She was sick.

The admiral leaned in using one hand to pin the boy to the ground to stop the writhing, the other hand to the side of his face, “Hey Hey, look at me…. Look at me. Shhh…. There we go.” the young man let go of the contraction on his neck and looked the admiral in the eye face still twisted in pain.

Little droplets of fluid rolled from the eyes and down both sides of his face.

The two humans sat on the floor together, one gently wiping moisture from the other one’s face. His remaining foot grew still and went limp against the ground tilting outward. 

Speaking so softly she could barely hear the admiral continued, “You’re gonna be alright kid. The ash is clearing up, and we got a troop transport in. You can go back home, we will get you some painkillers, get some rest, and you can go home…..just a few more minutes.” He dropped one hand back to the kid’s shoulder patting it gently. He turned to look for one of the attendings when, A shaky, clammy hand reached upwards grabbing the admiral by the arm.

He turned to look down.

“I…. I said I would do it.”

His voice was forced, it seemed like every time he was asked to speak the pain only grew worse.

“You don’t have to lieutenant. No one will blame you.” “NO!.... I said…. I would… do it.” His hand quivered and then fell back to his side eyes squeezing shut.

The man kept a hand on his shoulder, turning to look at the chairwoman who had been forced to look away unable to keep eye contact with the scene. He motioned one of the other attendees over to him, and she took his place. With soft hands she slid next to the young man resting his head in her lap posing no more than a comfort to the human as he sunk back into his pained trance.

Murmuring softly and gently stroking a gloved hand through his hair.

Outside in the air though it was ashy and grim, she could finally breathe staggering to the side feeling as if she was about to fall over.

The admiral followed her.

“Why… why did we have to see that.”

The man’s face was stern and unyielding as he held a palm out to face the building, “Every last man and woman inside that tent was willing to DIE for you, for peace, and now….

Now they have volunteered to do it again.” 

[sarcasmisakindofmagic]

Inciting flashback

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader 

Word count: 2,300

Warnings: fluff, making out, alcohol

Tags: @huliabitch who very kindly provided a prompt for me. I hope it lives up to your expectations! (I may or may not have started on one of the others) ❤️

"What did you do to my bird, Dameron?" You threw your hands in the air at the near wreck of a ship. Poe had clearly been attempting to fix it before you got down to the hangar, or at least stop the smoke billowing from the rear end. Beebee-ate whistled a lot of information at you, detailing the gory details of the fight. You ignored the clench of worry, he was on the ground and offended enough to be fluffing up like a tooka cat in a rainstorm.

"Your bird?" He protested, blocking your path to the ship as though you couldn't see how bad it was. One of hangar drones beeped disapprovingly as it put out the fire.

"Look at her! Your shield generators are leaking!" You ducked around him, spotting more and more issues. If it wasn't so much work you'd almost be impressed. It took effort to wreck X-wings like this, especially when he hadn't been flying in atmo. You narrowed your eyes at the seeping puddle of suspicious liquids as it crept closer to Poe's boots.

"Look-" He tried again as you whirled to look at him, flinging an arm behind you at the mess.

"They're not supposed to leak, Dameron!" You bulldozed through his attempt to defend himself. "There's no fluid in them! And the flashback suppressor? That's the cause of the smoke. It's inciting flashback!"

Poe ran a hand through his hair, gaze flicking from Black-one to your face guiltily. He opened his mouth to speak

"Ahh. Ah." You held up a hand to stall the no doubt heroic explanation of how he'd wrecked your baby. You did not need more fuel for your anxious day dreaming and if you let him talk he'd probably talk you down; let him be the one to sweat a little.

"Out now. Beebee can stay and help. You go and clean up. And stay away from this bird, she has trauma." You ordered briskly pivoting on your heel, pointedly not watching him walk away.

Beebee whistled apologetically before leading you over to the ship, fire suppressant foam drifting past you on the breeze. It was going to be a long day.

Banging. That was definitely a banging noise. It wasn't the siren to alert the base to approaching TIEs and your alarm was more of a beep. The noise got louder, you groaned hoping the noise would scare it away. You burrowed further under the blankets, maybe if it couldn't see you it couldn't wake you up?

The banging subsided, leaving you to blissful silence.

A heavy weight landed on the bed instead, making you roll into the dip.

"Twist, wake up!"

You groaned again, pressing your face into the mattress hard enough to push your nose into a weird shape, making it whistle with every exhale.

"Twiiiiiiiiiist, come on!"

The demon bothering you had Jess's voice; maybe that was a sign about your friendship.

"Go 'way." You muttered blackly, firmly clutching the blankets in case the demon Jess got ideas about stealing your covers.

“Twist, it's the party. You agreed to come to it. You even sounded excited." Jess coaxed, rubbing your shoulder.

"Poe broke the thing. It's fixed. I sleep." You protested, cracking open one eye to glare at her through the blankets.

Jess lay down on top of you, ignoring the halfhearted poking you resorted to, resenting your sudden demotion to mattress.

"You fixed the ship yesterday. Time to face the light and party like a pilot, baby."

She pulled the blankets off your face, grabbing the chrono to prove time had passed since you'd passed out after fixing black one.

"Kriff."

"Come on. Poe's been driving everyone crazy asking about you. I promised to bring you to the party to shut him up." Jess said cheerfully, yanking the covers off and forcing you into an upright position.

You gave in and opened your eyes, yawning obnoxiously to ensure Jess knew you were tired.

"So you don't really want me there,"you muttered mutinously, "just want to shut Dameron up." You pulled on a dress, too lazy to figure out which leg went where in trousers and put a top on.

"Yep!" Jess agreed. "And you wriggled your way out of the last party and were smug about your hangover free morning. Revenge is a dish best served to the sleep deprived."

She tamed your hair easily, smacking a kiss to your cheek when she'd finished. You smiled in spite of yourself.

"Hate you too, Pava."

"You know it, Twist." She chirped, pulling you out of your room and back out into the world.

The party was in full swing when you arrived, complete with bonfire. Beebee spotted you first, whistling as it barrelled towards you at high speed. You crouched down to greet him, laughing as he jiggled his body sphere in excitement.

"Fully recharged, Bee, I promise." You said, nodding solemnly to their advice about the importance of regular recharging for humans.

"There she is!" Snap hollered from the bonfire.

"Twist!" Kaydel called, leaning heavily on Snap’s shoulder to stay upright. "Come join the fun!"

The pilots all yelled some form of encouragement, chorusing a toast to you. It would be embarrassing but last time there had been toasts to the inventor of caf, in reality they just wanted to down their drinks.

Jess led you to the circle, firmly pushing on your shoulders so you sat next to Poe. She winked with the subtlety of a nerf herd and swanned to the other side of the fire to sit with a grinning Tallie.

Poe offered you a bottle wordlessly. You took a gulp, smiling gratefully.

"Thanks Poe."

"I'm Poe again? Wasn't sure after you kicked me out the hangar." He teased, eyes gleaming in the firelight. He took a pull from his own drink, lips wrapping around the bottle stem distractingly.

"You reversed the polarity of the flashback suppressors, flyboy. You're lucky I let you back behind the joystick." You retorted, smile ruining the delivery.

"I needed the power!"

"You ruined a perfectly good X-wing!"

"I took out four TIEs!"

"Well, I'll be sure to send my condolences to their mechanics. Not the point, Poe!"

He burst out laughing, sending you into a fit of giggles, helped by the near empty bottle in your hand (when had that happened?)

"Truth or drink!" Kaydel cried, swaying a little on Snap's lap.

"How long have you guys been here?" You asked Poe, ducking your head closer to his so Kaydel couldn’t overhear the question.

"An hour, maybe less." Poe replied, leaning closer so you could hear. "Kay's just a lightweight.” He widened his eyes at you as she began hiccupping sending you into another giggle fit.

"Truth or drink!" Jess took up the call.

"Do you think I can escape without them noticing?" You looked around for an exit. Poe grabbed your wrist, hold easy enough to break if you really wanted to get away. The heat felt nice on your arm though, enough that you gulped a drink to suppress a shiver.

"Truth or drink." He said grinning, repeating himself more loudly for everyone else's benefit.

"I fix your x-wing and this is what it gets me? Betrayal." You gasped only a little serious, you did not need Jess' machinations with the combination of alcohol. He leant back to grab you another bottle as compensation.

"I'm right here, what's the worst that could happen?"

You shot him a flat look.

"Tempt the force, why don't you."

He chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"I'm serious, it’s just a drinking game. You can do it with juice if you'd prefer."

"Kriff no. I'm keeping my plausible deniability for anything embarrassing I do or say."

He laughed again, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked at you.

“To plausible deniability." He said solemnly, clinking your drinks together. You smiled, ducking away from his gaze and tuning back into the game.

"Twist, truth or drink" Kaydel half sang, waggling her eyebrows, "who was your worst kiss?"

"Girl back home. Too much tongue." You grimaced, wrinkling your nose at the memory. Kissing really shouldn't involve that much of your face being wet.

You shuddered, physically rearing back from the memory ending up pressing your leg against Poe’s. You hesitated over moving it away, the decision made for you when he returned the pressure.

"Jess, why do we all call Twist, Twist?" Tallie asked innocently. You knew it was genuine curiosity, only Kaydel and Jess knew that story.

"Oh no." You whispered, closing your eyes.

"Yeah Jess, why do we call Twist, Twist?" Kaydel singsonged, Snap's arms around her waist acting like a seat belt to stop her keeling over.

"Funny story?" Poe asked amused, raising an eyebrow.

"Just embarrassing." You moaned, meeting Jess's eye across the fire and drawing a finger across your throat.

She smiled and nodded exaggeratedly.

"You ever had a pretzel, Tallie?" Jess began grandly, grin far more evil than normal.

"I hate you!" You wailed, turning to hide yourself behind Poe's shoulder. He patted your thigh sympathetically but made no move to actually stop Jess telling the story

Jess winked as she finished "Easy to get up there, harder to get down. When we found her she was all twisted up like a pretzel. Her ankles were round her ears.”

"I didn't know people could bend that way." Kaydel agreed seriously.

Poe choked on his drink, coughing loudly. You slapped his back a couple of times, rubbing over his shirt to soothe the sudden fit. Cheerfully ignoring everyone else as they carried on the game.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It went down the wrong pipe." He wheezed.

"You've only been drinking for about thirty years, Poe, maybe you still need practice." You laughed, graciously ignoring the obscene hand gesture he made in response.

"Poe, Truth or dare?" Snap asked, mischievous gleam in his eye.

"I thought it was truth or drink?" Poe frowned, waggling his bottle at Snap.

"Please, it takes a barrel of Yavinese moonshine to get you drunk. Truth or dare?" Snap insisted.

Poe glanced at you, huffing resignedly.

"Dare."

Jess got up and whispered in his ear, too quietly for you to overhear even as close as you were. There was a pause as Poe glared at her before Jess whispered something else, a little more harshly.

Poe made a low rumbling noise of discontent in his throat but nodded anyway.

He took your hand gently, pulling you into the surrounding trees.

"Wha- Poe!"

You half stumbled to a wave of cheers and whistles from the pilots. You flushed unsure why exactly they were cheering.

He led you away from the firelight, shifting his grip to weave his fingers through yours.

"If you murder me, I will haunt you forever." You warned him, other hand coming up to hold his wrist so he couldn't vanish in the dark. "And if you abandon me out here I will find my way back to base and move all your furniture two inches to the left."

He stopped walking, smile clear even in the dark.

"No murder or abandoning, I promise." He said softly, tone just a hair too serious for a party game.

"Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear." He linked his pinkies with yours, squeezing once before flipping them to hold both your hands in his.

"Poe-" Your voice was softer than you meant it to be, trying to read his expression for clues

“I want to kiss you." He whispered, eyes dropping to your lips. “Can I?”

You nodded, leaning in to press your lips to his.

He pulled back, your hand reaching to tangle with his hair so he couldn't go far.

“Poe?”

“You’re sure, I know we had a drink and-“

You kissed him, sliding a hand into his curls to hold him closer to you.

“I’m sure, Poe.”

He grinned wolfishly and kissed you again, firmer this time, pulling you closer to him until you were flush with his front. He pulled back again.

"Love it when you say my name." He confessed, pressing his forehead to yours.. "Try and get your attention just so you'll say it again."

He dipped to kiss you before you could answer, swallowing the whimper you made. One hand slid to the small of your back as the other cradled your jaw. You tugged on his curls, licking into his mouth and smiling at the harsh sound he made in response. Poe pushed on your hips, guiding you backwards until you were pressed against the nearest tree. The surface letting you arch against him without falling over.

"Poe!" your head rested on the trunk as you tried to catch your breath. He mouthed at your neck, nipping hard enough to make you buck against him.

"Dameron! You were supposed to tell Twist about your stupid crush, not abscond with her!" Jess's voice echoed through the trees.

"Abscond is a big word." You observed quietly, breath hitching as he sucked on a sensitive spot under your jaw.

"Is that really what you have to say?" He huffed, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You have a crush?" You asked instead, smiling smugly, seizing the opportunity to return the favour and lick a stripe up his neck. The grunt was as gratifying as you suspected.

"A stupidly big one." He admitted, panting slightly. "Best mechanic in the galaxy, can't stop thinking about her."

"What a coincidence," You bit your lip as Poe's hand began encouraging you to rock on his thigh, "I have a crush on this pilot. Always driving me crazy, hanging about where I can look but not touch.”

Poe kissed you again, all wet heat, pinning you to the tree until you yielded to him.

"Dameron! Twist!" Jess's voice yelled, much closer. You looked at Poe, biting your lip to stop a laugh at his arrested expression.

"Walk me home, Poe?"

He pressed another searing kiss to your lips, taking your hand to lead you back to the base.

"You can touch me all you want when we get there."

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of wildfire relief, @alulaspeaks donated $50 and requested Diego/Grace. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

The mansion is always a little cold. Klaus used to say it was because Dad was cold-blooded. Diego used to say it wasn't that, it was just that Dad was a mean, cheap bastard, and he didn't care if anyone else was comfortable. Or healthy. Or happy. There was a reason he spent so much time in the kitchen, when they were kids. The stove was always on, the oven always working. Plus, Mom was there, and that just made—everything better.

She spends less time in the kitchen, now that they've all moved out. Diego comes back to visit, as often as he thinks he can sneak past Dad. Without a family to cook for, Mom spends more time cleaning, arranging, organizing things that don't need organizing. Homemaking, for a home that's empty. Diego watches her, quiet in the background, and watches her piece together a quilt in scraps of silk he recognizes from her own wardrobe of clothes—pink and deep blue and somber staid black—and she sews contentedly, working together the little heptagons, humming some song he doesn't know except in the sweet rich tone of her voice. He steps forward finally when she finishes the last stitch, and smiles contentedly down at the pattern even though no one is around to see that she's done so, and she looks up in mildest surprise and then her lips curve, painted deep red, warm as sunlight. "Diego," she says, with real pleasure. "I'm so happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see you, too, Mom," he says, and sits beside her.

She doesn't comment on his uniform of black-on-black, doesn't comment on the knives still slung around his chest. She holds his hand in one of hers and touches his temple with soft, perfectly-manicured fingers, and tilts her head, looking into his eyes. "You look tired, sweetheart," she says, and he is. She thumbs the cut on his cheek, professional, but he knows it doesn't need stitches and apparently she knows it, too, because she doesn't comment. "You should get more sleep."

"Yeah, I probably should," he says, and she smiles at him again in that way she has—understanding, not judging. Wanting to help but not insisting on helping. She drags her fingers through his hair, mussing it up where it's stiff from dried sweat and salt, from not showering for a few days, from old hair gel that hasn't washed out, and her expression doesn't flicker. Her hand cups the back of his head, and he closes his eyes and could sleep, right there. "Mom," he says, wanting—something. To be a kid again. To curl up with his head in her lap, like he used to, and have her sing problems away. He lifts his hand to her wrist and wraps her forearm in a careful grip, and she's warm, soft. Perfectly human except in how she's not. He pulls her hand away, and kisses the smooth knuckles, and she looks at him softly, as she always does, and doesn't object when he stands up and goes away, back out into the night to do his job, wishing—wanting—

He comes back. He always does. Mom makes him dinner, seared scallops and wild rice and broccolini in a sherry-lemon glaze, and hums and washes dishes while he eats it, alone at the table in the kitchen, the only table that ever actually felt like part of the home. When he's done she takes the plate, and washes it too, and he sits there with his head on his folded arms, and feels warm and content even in this cold mausoleum of a house, and when delicate fingers touch the back of his neck he sighs, melts. It's a soft, sure massage. Mom the caretaker, Mom the nurse, Mom who knows—everything. Everything, that could ever make something better for one of her kids. She stands behind him, her silk skirt swishing softly around his back and hips, and her hands are—perfectly firm. Her thumbs drag a solid, furrowing calmness up around his spine, enough to make him groan, and she laughs very softly, behind him. "Oh, silly," she says, always gentle and never mocking. "You're not doing your stretches, are you."

He's not. He's too tired, most of the time, getting back to his shitty boiler room under the gym when dawn's already breaking. Mom had drilled them all, with Pogo, with Dad watching. After strenuous exercise, one must stretch the muscle to ensure that everything was in working order, that one might be ready for tomorrow.

"That's okay," she says, soft. Her hands frame his neck, holding him. Her thumbs rest just under his ears, her fingers curled around his throat. "You know you can always come to me, if you need help."

He opens his eyes, looks at the oven. She's making a pie. Cherry; his favorite. "I know I can, Mom," he says, voice thick, and sits up, and feels the swirl of silk around him as she so-sweetly pets over his neck, and then steps away, on to take care of some other easy, beloved problem.

He thinks that might be his issue. He tries not to think about it most of the time, honestly, but sometimes in the dawnlight when he's trying to catch an hour of sleep, his bruises aching, he can't help it, his brain going over old shit while his body tries to shut down. His mom, she's not—she's not really his mom. She's not human, even. Except for how she is. Except for how she kissed his forehead when she tucked him in at night, and put band-aids on his scrapes, and accepted the stick-figure drawing he'd done of her when he was six with pure happiness, and hugged his head to her soft stomach, saying I love it, Diego, and he knew that it was true, just like he knew that she loved him. She loved him. She loves him. She's the only one, he thinks, in the whole world, who actually does. His siblings are all selfish shitheads; his father is obviously a monster. Pogo was just Dad's right hand man, doing his work when Dad couldn't be bothered. There was only Mom, to care about them, to make anything—bright. There was only the way she'd sat on the edge of his bed, when he'd had a nightmare about some robber or kidnapper or whatever that they'd killed, and held his face, and then let him curl up in her skirts and cry, and he'd felt… everything, for her. He still does.

He breaks his arm. It was a dumb mistake, one he would've been rightly scolded for as a kid. A fall he misjudges, a landing he should've made. It hurts in a world-whitening way and he doesn't think the bone is sticking out but to be honest, he's not looking. He dispatches the bad guys with his left hand, and gathers up his knives, and then he's—shit, he's on the wrong side of town, from home. He really, really wants to go home.

The mansion. It's fucking cold, inside. Dad's car is gone but the lights are still on, because the lights are always on, and he makes his way to the kitchen on half-numb feet only Mom's not there. Of course not, he thinks. Who would she be cooking for?

He finds her on her private balcony, among her paintings. She's sewing. The quilt's nearly done. "Mom," he says, aching, and she looks up and smiles at him in that easy, red-lipped curve, but then her eyes flicker and focus, and her lips part, and she stands, the quilt tumbling from her hand.

"Diego," she says, gentle concern, and he sways, and she—catches him. Her grip is easy but there's iron behind it. He leans into her. Lets go.

He drifts. She works on him, humming that song. There's pain and then there isn't, and then there is again, distant, a low drone at the edge of attention that doesn't compete with Mom's voice, keeping him steady. He wakes and there's a splint on his arm, and stitches, and a bandage she's wrapping around his bare skin. Feels like a while, since someone has touched his bare skin. But then he remembers, oh, that's right. The last person was—Mom. It's always Mom.

He drifts, wakes. He's been laid on his old bed, in his old bedroom. The lamp is on and Mom's sitting at his desk, sewing. Humming. He curls his fingers and they still work. Thank god. "Mom," he says, and her eyes sweep up, hard to see with how she's backlit, but she says, warm, as always: "Diego."

He reaches out his good hand. She stands, and he notices for the first time that she's wearing black, striped with white, and there's blood spattered on the white parts, the silk ruined. He feels bad. Heat rises up behind his eyes. "Don't cry, silly," she says, but he's crying, not hard but—steady, the wet seeping down his cheek into his ear, tickling. She sits beside him on the bed and wipes the tears, smiling at him, and he says, "I love you so much," and she says, quietly, "I know you do, dear. All good boys love their mothers."

Good boys. He closes his eyes, curling on the bed around his hurt arm. Her fingers are light, on his cheek. In his hair. On the back of his neck, holding him in a grounding sweet grip, and he gets hold of her skirt, tries to—he doesn't know. Be strong. Only—only Mom has never needed him to be strong. She's only ever needed him to be himself.

"I love you, Mom," he says, slow, and she traces behind his ear, holds his throat. He swallows, and turns on his back, looking up at her, holding her skirt in his good hand. "I—I need—"

He can't say it. It's too—weird. Too big. She's leaning over him, as steady and calm as she was when he was five, when he was fifteen, and he's twenty-five now and doesn't feel a single day older. Still needing her, as much as he always has. Her smile is soft, unchanging. "I know what you need, sweetheart," she says, soft, and she doesn't move anything but her hands, going to his belt, unbuckling. Unzipping. Her hands are warm against stomach when she brushes it with her knuckles; her grip, when she reaches inside his boxer-briefs, is gentle but sure.

He drags in air. He doesn't want to—to make a sound. He keeps his eyes on Mom's face and spreads his legs on the thin mattress, his legs too long now so his boots hang off the end. Her eyes stay fixed on his, her smile sweet, not budging. Her fingers are soft, dry—he's stiffening up fast, under the steady, sure massage she's giving him, and when he's chubbed up enough, really hard, she switches her grip without a flicker of her expression and starts pumping his dick, steady as a metronome. He's breathing open-mouthed, now. His balls feel tight, clenching up already. God, her hand—it's so warm, and he's leaking bad from how much he wants this and so it's lubed now, too, slick and tight, good enough that his gut's spiraling, heating, his bones feeling liquid. Her other hand rests in her lap, close to where he's wrinkling up her skirt, and he turns his head finally, can't take the steady sweet look anymore, when it's coming this fast, his thighs clenching up, his hips pulsing, starting to fuck up into where she's working him. He yanks at her skirt—his eyes caught, on the soft empty curl of her free hand—and when he comes it's a wreck, a long spurt that hits his chest, messing his stomach and her hand and his shorts, like he hasn't come in a month. Feels like he hasn't come that way his whole life. He pants, his eyes squeezed shut, and he says, insane, "Kiss me," and there isn't a pause before he senses her body leaning, and he turns his head, and she kisses him—on the cheek, soft warm pressure, the faintest impression of her unnecessary breath.

She cleans up his crotch, dabs at his sweater. "Hm, what a mess," she says, gently amused. "We'll have to fix up these stains later, won't we."

"Yes, Mom," he says, and it should be vile but it just—isn't. It's just his mom, taking care of him, like she always does. When he opens his eyes she's smiling at him and there's still—god, there's still come, spilled over her knuckles. He takes a deep breath, lifts up on one elbow. "Mom."

"Now, now," she says, that so-easy scold. "It's time for you to sleep now, sweetheart. You've had a big day. I'll come and check on you in the morning, okay?"

She picks up the quilt and drapes it over him. It's warm, too, the silk soft against his bare hands, his throat. She tucks it in at his shoulders, like he's a kid again, and then leans in and kisses his forehead, and strokes his cheek with her thumb. "Sleep tight, darling," she says, and her skirt swirls when she goes away—crumpled and bloodstained, but still elegant somehow, because it's her. She flicks off the lamp on the desk, and closes his door so an inch of light from the hall seeps through—the only nightlight Dad would ever allow them—and then he listens to the tap of her heels, down the hall, and the distant song as she starts humming again.

His arm hurts. He shouldn't be able to sleep. He closes his eyes, breathing in the quilt. It smells like—cherries, and vanilla, and warm bread. He turns his cheek against the pillow and imagines her hand, curving around his neck, his throat. Pressing down. He sleeps, and dreams of singing.

[monkwrites]

For fairness, here’s the beginning of the BokuAka story. Whether or not I can get past chapter one will probably be the deciding factor lol

To think it all started with one oversized little brat, coming in out of nowhere like a tsunami, shoving himself into everyone's life as though he belonged there. Hate is a strong word; there's a lot that Akaashi Keiji dislikes, like a whole fucking lot, but he prefers to think he's a somewhat reasonable man. Still, of all the things that bother him, that shake him to his core and send him teetering on the edge of murder, Haiba Lev is one of the few things he can say he absolutely hates without a shadow of a doubt.

It's not the kid's fault, and he knows that. But still, holy shit. If he thought he could get away with it, he'd have strangled him months ago. What it would feel like to have his hands firmly around that pretty little neck of his…

No, it's not Lev's fault, and he tries to remind himself of that, but it's hard. It's so fucking hard, and the wine doesn't help. A whole bottle all to himself, who the hell let this happen?

The more he drinks, the more he realizes it really isn't Lev’s fault. Not all his fault, at least. That selfish bastard Yaku Morisuke is at fault, too, and the longer the night drones on, the more he thinks about it. He thinks about his past with Yaku, the time they spent together, the love he felt for him...and how that piece of shit just couldn’t love him back. Sure, it was a no strings attached thing, and yeah, maybe that was his idea in the first place, but still. But still.

Fuck, it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad, and he was the only one to feel it.

Just. How fucking dare Yaku do...do...this.

Fuck him.

Fuck, why isn’t he over him yet? He thought his time in Paris would ease the pain, that he could have the love fucked out of him by every hot guy he could get his hands on. Turns out magic dicks don’t exist and sex doesn’t heal deep wounds. And he should know because he slept with a lot of guys in Paris. He came back home to Japan and his feelings were still there, along with the addition of one tall, childish, Russian piece of shit─that fucking bastard Lev.

He takes another swig of wine and watches Yaku disappear from Oikawa’s flat. Bokuto is saying something, but Akaashi can’t be bothered to pay attention. He’s too drunk and jealous. Bokuto doesn’t know to take the wine away, and he likes it like this. He’ll drink and everyone else will be too drunk to stop him, and Bokuto will be too ignorant to do anything about it.

He watches Lev disappear through the elevator as well, most likely to rendezvous with Yaku somewhere. He’s not stupid, he’s fully aware those two will finally hook up tonight. It’s New Years and they’ve been hanging off of each other for months. Of course it’s finally happening. It’s happening and Akaashi feels...well, it’s like everything is folding in on him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. All he can do is drink and observe and be bitter and jealous because that’s all he’s fucking good for.

It’s all he’s ever been good for. Maybe that’s why Yaku never loved him?

Fuck.

The lights are dimmed in the living room as it’s just minutes from midnight. Everyone in the flat drunk-whispers in anticipation.

And everything is spinning. Everyone shouts a countdown, fireworks explode across the cityscape just outside, everyone kisses someone, everyone else is screaming about it, and then he’s at the kitchen island with Oikawa and Kuroo. They talk, he listens, but just barely. His head hurts and he doesn’t remember getting this drunk, but he is. Nobody’s taken his wine away, at least. At this point, he’d probably fight them if they tried.

Man, he really hopes he doesn’t end up vomiting on anyone tonight. That'd probably be a little more embarrassment than he's willing to deal with. 

Suddenly, Oikawa is calling someone over. Oh, he’s calling over Yaku, who has a Lev shaped tumor attached to him. Isn’t that nice.

Oikawa teases them about fucking on the roof, or making out, or whatever the fuck they actually did up there. It doesn’t matter at this point, Akaashi was right. They’ve made it official, but knowing what was going to happen does nothing to dull the sting he feels in his heart.

You knew this was coming, Keiji. You’ve known for months, there’s no reason to feel like this, you idiot, you absolute idiot.

And then, he hears Lev say, “I'd like everyone to know, though. You're mine now,” and it’s all fucking over from there. The glass shatters in his hand─when did he grab a glass?─and everyone is looking at him, but he doesn’t fucking care. Fuck all of them, all he can see is red and the shock on Lev’s stupid, handsome face, and FUCK does he HATE this kid.

He isn’t even looking at him, but it’s still all he can see in his mind as his eyes stare at nothing dead ahead of him.

“Holy shit,” Kuroo says. “Are you okay, Akaashi?”

He reaches for Akaashi’s bleeding hand, but Akaashi pushes him away. He tries again, and this time Akaashi punches him in the chest with all the strength of a heartbroken twink...it’s also with his left hand, which is probably the only reason why Kuroo doesn’t die instantly by the force of his rage. Kuroo leans back, raising his hands in defeat.

Yes, leave me the fuck alone, asshole.

Oikawa looks like he’s about to stand up. “Kei-chan…”

“Don’t,” Akaashi warns him.

“What the fuck, Akaashi?” Iwaizumi steps forward, but he stops when Akaashi points at him with his good hand.

“Don’t,” he warns again. He realizes his hand is shaking. Fuck, his whole body is shaking and he feels like he’s on fire, from the alcohol or the burning rage, he can’t be sure. Who fucking cares at this point? He feels red hot from his cheeks all the way to the bottom of the soul he’s sure plenty of people don’t believe he has. But of course he does, and it’s in just as much pain as the rest of him.

Then Yaku speaks, and Akaashi wants to cry. “Keiji, what’s wrong?”

You, us, this, he thinks. If only he hadn’t left Japan, maybe he could have done something, anything, to make Yaku love him. There had to have been something, he just missed it, he fucking missed it because the only thing he knows how to do is run away from his problems. He fucked up and there’s no going back and it just...everything hurts so, so bad.

Yaku makes to step around the island, and Akaashi’s body moves on its own; he’s on his feet in an instant, so quick it must startle Yaku, because he stops before he gets any closer.

Before he knows it, he's screaming at the man, laying every insecurity he’s ever had out for everyone to see, letting all of their friends know just how pathetic and weak he actually is behind his stoic exterior. He screams at Yaku, then he screams at Lev, and it feels like it’ll never end, like he could go forever on a drunken rampage until he’s ruined every single thing he’s ever cared about in this world. That's not a lot, so it’s perfectly feasible. And maybe he should burn everything down right here and right now so that he can fuck back off to Paris and pretend like his life in Tokyo never existed. He likes to think it would be easier. God, something has to be easier than all of this shit.

He thinks he might throw up. If he does, he hopes it hits Lev.

Fuck, when did he start crying? His tears are just as hot as the rest of him, so hot they have to be leaving blisters where they fall down his cheeks. He’s bracing himself on the counter, he can’t even stand up anymore, and then Kuroo is there, and he thinks he’s screaming at him, too. It’s hard to tell what’s happening, and it feels like all he can do is scream. And then there’s Bokuto putting himself between him and Lev. For some reason, it just makes him angrier. Akaashi lashes out at him, too, because at this point, why the fuck not? He screams and flails against him, hitting whatever he can of Bokuto’s stupid, rock-hard body. It hurts, but Bokuto takes it, so Akaashi keeps doing it. He gets blood on the man’s shirt, but he can’t be bothered to care. Fuck him for getting in the way, anyway. Fuck him, fuck them, fuck everyone, fuck everything.

When did Bokuto start talking to him? How can he be so quiet and calm at a time like this? Who the fuck does he think he is?

“Let’s get you out of here, Akaashi,” he says in that voice that’s too quiet and serious to belong to Bokoto, but it comes from his mouth all the same.

He’s not sure when or how, but a few of them manage to drag him to the sink to clean his wound while he does everything in his power to make it as difficult as possible, but he’s suddenly so tired and super lightheaded and they're just too shit-faced to properly appreciate his ferocity.

They manage to drag him into the elevator, and then he’s out in the freezing cold of the night. Standing is hard, so he relies heavily on Bokuto to keep him from eating shit on the pavement. Bokuto helps him get his coat on, not even stopping when Akaashi tries to fight that, too. When did Bokuto become so patient and caring?

He doesn't notice he’d stopped crying until tears are streaming down his face again.

“Fuck. Off,” he sobs. Despite popular demand, Bokuto does not fuck off.

“Nah, man. We need to get you home...or. I dunno.” He looks around. “Your place is kinda far from here, isn’t it? C’mon, you can crash at my place tonight. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Just leave me to die in the streets, I don’t want to do...anything else right now, okay?”

“Nah, I can’t do that.” Bokuto puts one of his thick arms around Akaashi’s shoulder, gently edging him forward. He tries to fight him, but all the fight left him as soon as the bitter winter air hit his skin. So, he reluctantly lets Bokuto walk him. “You’ll be okay, you just gotta sober up and sleep it off.”

“I’d rather...drink myself to death than sober up and face any of this later,” he admits with a bitterness to rival the winter chill.

Bokuto continues to reassure him in that uncharacteristically calm, even tone. Akaashi assumes that’s what he was doing at least, because the rest of the night is a blur. He remembers Bokuto carrying him up a few flights of stairs, stumbling into a door and tripping over something, and being caught by the elbow before he could knock his teeth out on the hardwood floor. He remembers falling into a mess of blankets and unfolded laundry, and having his shoes taken off for him. He doesn’t remember taking his jacket off, but it was gone at some point, and then Bokuto was there with water and pajama pants, and it was kind of nice until Akaashi couldn’t hold it in anymore. The last thing he remembers is instinctively leaning forward and throwing up an entire bottle of wine and his dinner right in Bokuto’s lap.

[homestuckexamination]

The format of that description looks to 100% like the real thing :O Did you spend a lot of time making it look as similar as possible, or is it part of a fan adventure or something like that? (Because I would totally want to read it if it was real)

I kinda wrote it on the spot back when I made it! She’s actually repurposed from an older OC of mine that I’m using for other things, so I had a solid idea about how she was already, and simply adapted it to an Alternian setting.

I HAVE considered making a Fanadventure in the past, but noooo way, I don’t have a team of people and it’d be way too much work for a side project X3. I would love to get involved in something big and Homestuck-y, but as a hobby, running four different blogs and doing art keeps me busy enough as is. Most of my OCs are either for Fun, or for planned Fan-Session RPs I’ve had with my friends, so there’s nothing really public around!

Also, I found my documents, so I now remember their Classpects and have all of their descriptions here!

Rhoxym - Seer of Doom

Jamita - Thief of Rage

Your name is JAMITASELKEE.

You think everyoneshould TAKE A STEP BACK and CHILL THE FUCK DOWN. Born as one of the rare JADECASTE, you have no shame in admitting your status as a RUNAWAY, and in fact,REVEL IN IT. You hold a PROFOUND BELIEF that everyone was put on this world fora purpose, and you are OUT TO FIND YOURS. Everything in nature, everything inlife, has a CONNECTION, a MEANING, and the more time you spend searching forthe MISSING PIECES IN YOUR LIFE, the more you have come to notice how ABSURDYOUR ENTIRE SOCIETY IS.

Everything from theCASTE SYSTEM to your SOCIETAL CONVENTIONS make absolutely no sense to you,which is why you’re lucky to be part of the ONLY CASTE IN YOUR SPECIES able towithstand the SEARING HEAT OF THE DAY, allowing to wander when NO ONE IS OUT TOFIND YOU. Furthermore, ever since your awakening as a RAINBOWDRINKER, you havehad no problems scaring away PROSECUTORS and even occasionally IMPERIAL DRONESthat wandered too close. You like trying to make others SEE THE WAY YOU DO,preferring REASON over VIOLENCE. However your INTENSE, OCCASIONAL THIRST FORBLOOD makes it hard to keep encounters CIVIL all the time. But that’s okay,your LUSUS helps you trap unsuspecting Trolls and Lusii for you to FEED ON. HerQUICK SANDS were the first thing that taught you patience and calm in diresituations, and for that you are EXTREMELY GRATEFUL TO HER, allowing her todevour the CARCASSES OF THE DECEASED, DRAINED BODIES YOU LEAVE BEHIND. LususCarcasses. Not Troll Carcasses, God dammit, you TRY TO NOT DRAIN THOSE OF YOURSPECIES COMPLETELY.

You are as much of aROOKIE PHILOSOPHER as you are a CONNOSIER OF FINE BLOODS, and without manymaterial possessions, some of your favorite past times involve HEATEDPOLITICAL, RELIGIOUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL DEBATES. These are the only times youtend to get CARRIED AWAY with more long winded messages and stronger emotionalresponses. You believe any ARGUMENT or GRUDGE can be solved with aHEART-TO-HEART, and often AUSPISTICE BETWEEN YOUR FRIENDS, even when they don’task for your help. SPECIALLY when they don’t ask for your help. You tend toKNOW BETTER than they do after all.

Your search for newENLIGHTENED HEIGHTS and your PURPOSE IN LIFE has led you to the occasionalconsumption of PSYCHOSOMATIC STIMULANTS, but with your lifestyle, it has becomeincreasingly difficult to find any of the GOOD STUFF around. You’re so closethough. You have been tracking your BLOODLINE for SWEEPS, and have spent DAYSIN DEEP MEDITATION over the plan PARADOX SPACE has for you, and you just FEELlike something is just about to UNLOCK YOUR CHAKRAS AT ANY MOMENT. But untilthen, you will just KICK BACK, RELAX and LET THE ECHOES OF NATURE FLOW THROUGHYOU.

Your username is transcendentMediator,and you kind of. don’t care about small talk. until you find something you careabout™.

Shikra - Bard of Doom

Your name is SHIKRAOMYINE and you have been VERY, VERY BAD.

Those of your blood,at the bottom of the HEMOSPECTRUM, are often treated with disrespect, and madeto face all sorts of ABUSE AND HUMILIATIONS, but out of all rustbloods you’repossibly the one with the MOST ROTTEN LUCK out there. You must have really donesomething extremely wrong in a past life, because KARMA is always a BITCH whenit comes to you.

As such, you’ve oftentried to SEEK REPENTANCE in order to sate the FORCES OF FATE ATTEMPTING TO DICKWITH YOU. And somehow, every single time, it BACKFIRES TREMENDOUSLY. But it’sokay. You’ve gotten USED TO IT with time. You have learned well that fate issomething you can’t stop. That NO ONE CAN STOP. Karmic destinies,predestination, they’re shackles tying civilization down, leading it down thepath of inevitability, and you’re pretty much just ALONG FOR THE RIDE ASEVERYTHING BURNS AROUND YOU.

You have NOCONVICTION when it comes to fighting fate, but if you believe it to be yourdestiny to do something, or see someone resisting their own fate, you will GOFUCKING NUTS and PUSH THEM THE WAY THEY ARE MEANT TO GO, no matter what thatfate of theirs may be.

Your room is aCOMPLETE AND UTTER MESS, you don’t remember the LAST TIME YOU CLEANED IT UP,but then again you also barely remember the LAST TIME YOU TOOK A SHOWER. Whybother after all? Everything is going to end up the same way in the end.

While some may callyour outlook on life FATALISTIC and OUTRIGHT WRONG, you have been using thisdemeanor of yours to HELP OTHER LOWBLOODS, specially other rusties, to ACCEPTTHEIR ULTIMATE FATE. You have held several congregations in your hive for thosewho have given up, and HELPED SPEED UP THEIR DEMISE. It feels good relievingsomeone of their SUFFERING.

…

Yeah.

You may be a bit of aFUCKING PSYCHOPATH.

Your username isominousEntropy, and you come across… as somewhat manipulative at times… haha…?;)

Tiamat - Page of Breath

Your name is TIAMAT SAAVAN, and you can’t remember the last time you TOOK AN ABLUTION. 

Not that there’s anyone around to MAKE YOU DO IT- And even if they were, what COULD they do about it? You’re probably one of the BIGGEST TROLLS YOUR AGE in just about every way, from the IMMENSE MANE that rivals that of HER IMPERIOUS CONDESCENSION’S, to your POWERFUL LEGS, which you have cracked QUITE A FEW LUSUS SKULLS with. You like HUNTING PREY, but if there’s anything better than that, it has to be MESSING WITH IT FIRST. OTHER TROLLS make particularly fun targets, when they find a SEEMINGLY LOST GIRL, alone in the JUNGLE. You get FREEBIES by TAGGING ALONG with them, but occasionally, you have also DRAGGED THEM BACK TO YOUR HIVE or ATTACKED THEM depending on the circumstances.

The area you live in is YOUR TERRITORY, which you inherited from your CHOLERBEAR LUSUS when you BESTED HER IN WILD, FERAL COMBAT. She was an overbearing burden either way, but taking your ONLY PARENTAL FIGURE so early in life, and in such an isolated location, had… CONSEQUENCES. DRONES don’t patrol this far into the Jungle, which also means you’ve spent a good chunk of your life ISOLATED FROM CIVILIZATION. Your Hive isn’t even in Imperial Records, having been CARVED through the years from a FALLEN, ANCIENT TREE, first by your Lusus and then by you. You have NO EXPERIENCE with social interactions, and yet, ironically, because of this, you possess a MATERNAL, NURTURING INSTINCT practically UNSEEN in most of Trollkind.

It was only last sweep that you got your hands on a PALMHUSK from one of the Trolls wandering too far into the woods. TURNING A NEW PAGE in your life, realizing that there’s more to the world than you thought it was, you’ve been… Trying to make friends. But sometimes you just need to STEP BACK and CATCH YOUR BREATH before you burn yourself out. 

Your trolltag is untamedPersuasion, and you. not really good. with big words yet. :( but you. try. :3

Lilith - Lord of Void

Your name is. 

Your name- 

… 

You have some PROBLEMS. 

Your name is LILITH MIRREA and you’re a completely AVERAGE TEALBLOOD.

You cannot exactly RECALL how most of your LAST WEEK has gone, or your ENTIRE LIFE for that matter. Everything BLURS together when you spend most of your waking hours in AUTOPILOT.

Your peers know you as an EXEMPLARY LEGISLACERATOR IN TRAINING. You have been STUDYING ALTERNIAN LAW from a young age, got yourself a NICE HIVE for you and your BLIND ANACONDA MOM, and proceeded to… Wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Night after night, you READ ALTERNIAN LAW. You TALK TO YOUR PEERS. You present yourself as the PERFECT ALTERNIAN CITIZEN, PERFECTLY RUTHLESS when needed, PERFECTLY COMPLIANT when required, PERFECTLY AVERAGE, PERFECTLY FINE. 

PERFECTLY DEAD INSIDE. 

You swear hardly a SINGLE ACTION you’ve done in your life has been your own. You STRUGGLE ENORMOUSLY with concepts regarding IDENTIY and WORTH, in a world that has proven to encourage keeping this SOUL-CRUSHING DAY-TO-DAY of yours. You have NOTHING you care about. You have NO ONE you trust enough to TALK ABOUT THESE THINGS, and you lack any semblance of WILL or DRIVE to accomplish anything in your life.

So you just keep going. The PERFECT ALTERNIAN ROLE MODEL. You KEEP WAITING. So that maybe something will eventually FILL THIS VOID inside of you. But… GOOD LORD.

You don’t know how long you can keep this up.

Your trolltag is listlessConduit, And you really talk in a sort of disinterested manner because like I dont know I guess some conversations are okay from time to time maybe

[sidespromptblog]

The Past: Part 4

One, Two, Three, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

Summary: Logan doesn’t recall being Apathy, he can’t remember a single instance in his life where he was the dark side Apathy. As far as he’s aware he’s always just been... Logic, Thomas’ Logic to be more precise. He lives and he breathes as Logic and nothing more.

Except...He’s certain that he isn’t supposed to have emotions, that little things like being called stupid and having the word infinitesimal thrown at him aren’t supposed to hurt the way that they do. He’s certain that he was never supposed to feel, let alone everything that he does now. He just doesn’t understand these feelings, not to mention the dreams of a blank white tie that was folded to crisp perfection. He doesn’t understand the dreams in which he stands before Deceit and the others, with such a tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless.

He doesn’t understand, why when he looks at his friends... and he feels nothing but fear and anger.

Logan woke to the feeling of arms encircling him, his body gingerly bobbing to the pace of someone walking, and the smell of smoke, ash, and fire in his nose, along with the faintest whiff of deodorant, that most certainly didn’t smell all that pleasant.  But to say that he woke up was a bit of a stretch, as his mind went in and out of consciousness as his sore body rested in the arms of whoever was carrying him, he couldn’t help the tiny sound of pain that left his lips as his head jostled a little. Just to feel the arms holding him tighten almost instinctually as the person kept walking, their fingers digging even more into his arms and legs as if loosening their hold even the slightest little bit meant that he would just cease to be.

Where was he? Where was he being taken? Who was holding him exactly? Had Patton found him? Roman? Virgil? 

“Easy does it,” The surprisingly warm tilted accent graced Logan’s ears, sending Logan internally spiraling in surprise. “I’ve gotcha nerdy wolverine, I know the ride’s a bit bumpy.” Remus for the life of him actually sounded just a little bit sorry as he readjusted his grip on Logan. The world around him was a blur of dark greens and blacks, leaving him unable to truly tell if they were still in the forest or someplace else that Remus had imagined up just for the logical side in question. 

Logan barely paid it any mind though as the back of his head seemed to endlessly ache, begging him to close his eyes and return to unconsciousness. And he did, as he moved his head nestling his face into the surprisingly soft frills of Remus’ shoulder pads as if it was the most casual thing on earth. He ignored the sharp choked intake of breath and stuttering of Remus’ gait that came from the creative side that came from his simple action, just as he ignored how the other held him differently, almost in a way cradling delicately him close to his chest before he began walking again. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting his exhausted and drained mind since back into the darkness, the steady rhythm of Remus’ footsteps eventually fading away as his breathing evened out. 

Within seconds he was unconscious again. 

“Apie? Apie are you awake?” A finger poked and tickled his side until he finally cracked an eye open, looking back at the other side who had crouched next to his bed an eager but suspicious grin on his face. “You are!” Remus cheered, before lowering his volume as soon as Deceit knocked on the wall, telling him for the fifth time that night to keep it down. 

“Do I want to know why you’re waking me up at-” A quick glance to the clock told him that it was well past midnight, almost three in the morning at this rate, a weary sigh left him as he scrubbed at his eyes before sitting up and slipping his wireframed glasses on into place. “Three? What could be so important you rascal?” As annoyed as he sounded, there was a slight grin that curled onto his lips, one that Remus easily mimicked as he hopped up onto the bed, sitting on Logan’s feet as he did. 

There was something clutched in Remus’ hands, a box who’s wrapping had clearly been done by Remus. If the haphazard cuts and pieces of tape sticking out were anything to go by. 

He tilted his head to the side, “Did I miss something?” He droned, clearly uncertain as to why he was being given a mediocrely wrapped gift at three in the morning. 

For a split second Remus’ face fell, but it wasn’t a look that lasted long. “It’s for you dumbshit!” The so-called insult rolled right off of Remus’ tongue, but even so, he wasn’t all too bothered by it. Remus’ more harmful insults were the ones that didn’t have a single bit of cursing in them, so this.. this was child’s play. “It’s your birthday! Dee said that you formed today, so… I created you something. Something that you can use every day!” Remus squirmed in front of him, still holding the box before he roughly shoved it onto Logan’s lap, still sitting impatiently on Logan’s legs as he did. 

Oh. “Thank you,” The words sounded bland, even to him, but regardless of his tone, Remus beamed like sun, his grin lighting up his face. 

Slipping open the box, Logan felt something inside of him soften as two things rolled out onto his lap. The first being a soft baby blue hat with a little lightbulb patch right on the front, and the second… a white tie that had painstakingly and neatly been rolled up in order to fit into the box along with the hat that Remus had created. He could have easily made a bigger box, but knowing Remus.. and how excited he managed to get over creating things, he hadn’t been too worried about that. In fact, he had probably been excited to create anything at all. The softness inside of him pooled in the bottom of his stomach like a bog puffing out poisonous cloudy columns of gas. 

“Thank you, Remus, I apprecia-” 

Before he could get another word of his thanks out, Remus’ arms latched on around his neck, and Logan went stiff before eventually softening into the display of affection. 

“I love you Apat-”

“What did you do to him?!” 

Deceit’s voice broke through the haze of Logan’s dreams, as he slowly blinked his eyes open to a cool dark room that surrounded him. He no longer felt the warm arms of Remus holding him, instead, a fuzzy black pillow had been angled perfectly under his head and neck as a thick woolen blanket laid out over the top of him with the edges neatly tucked in under the sides of his body. He had been laid on a couch by the looks of things, a very roomy and big couch considering that it was just Deceit and Remus in the subconscious commons. He had never seen the inside before, considering that Patton had forbidden all of them from entering it. He had only seen the door, from the bottom of the stairwell that looked as if it led into a basement of sorts. 

“I didn’t do this to him!” Logan picked his head up a little more at the sound of Remus’ voice coming from another room. “He fell into the ravine I created, and I couldn’t leave him there for one of my creatures to crack his head open and feast on the inside of his brain like a gooey buffet of blood and-” Logan’s nose wrinkled a little bit at the imagery.

“Okay.” A rough sigh came from Deceit, as he undoubtedly was rubbing at his temples in the exact fashion that Patton did whenever he had to put up with Remus for too long. “We have to get him back to his side though, if he’s gone for too long then Patton…” Deceit’s words trailed off, and as they did Logan forced his tired aching body to sit up making the covers fall away. 

“Where’s my tie?” The logical side mumbled to himself, only now just noticing that it was gone as he stared down at his shirt that had the first two buttons popped off. He’d had it with him when he had fallen right? When he had… Logan’s fingers reached up to scratch at the back of his head, just to pause as soon as his fingers touched the fresh clean gauze that was wrapped around it. Surely he hadn’t hit his head that hard did he? Then again… he had fallen unconscious several times due to the initial impact, especially if those strange dreams were anything to go by. 

“You’re awake!”  Remus’ jittery and way too loud broke through his internal musings as he made his way towards the logical side, the smile on his face seemed way too wide and way too fake to be anything real. It almost resembled Patton’s smile, from breakfast earlier that morning, except Remus’ smile did have an air real warmth about it, unlike the cold sharpness of Patton’s. “For a second I thought that you had scrambled your brains like a cracked egg!” Remus chirped with that smile leaning against the side of the couch his hands folded behind his back. “You are alright… aren’t you? No screws loose yet?” Remus’ smile faded just a little. 

Logan didn’t understand the warmth and softness that pooled in his stomach at the sight of Remus standing there, as if he hadn’t just saved him and carried him back to safety to have his wounds dressed properly. He didn’t understand why his heart was thudding in his chest, or even why it felt so hard to swallow all of a sudden. 

“I...” Logan’s fingers itched at the bandage encircling his head, hiding the bruises that rested on his temples. “I feel fine thanks to you, a little sore, but that’s to be expected when I fall into a ravine around the size of Tartarous.” A snort left Remus and before Logan realized it, he had even cracked a slight smile at the noise, “But Deceit is right,” He added, and the air of comfort and familiarity fell away. “I should get going before the others start looking for me and assume the worst about you both holding me here. I do not wish to get you two in trouble.” He honestly said, and from the entrance of the kitchen, Deceit bobbed his head in a nod.

There was a peculiar look in both of their eyes as Logan made it to his feet, a look that made him pause for a second before he approached Remus. 

“Thank you,” He seriously said, holding his hand out to Remus, “For saving me, you didn’t have to, but you did. So, anytime you wish, or any time you want to pay a visit. My room will be a sanctuary.. for both of you. I promise.” 

For a second, it Remus moved his arms a little as they remained behind his back, but eventually, as his entire body quaked and trembled with the typhoon of emotions... He held his hand out. A hand that was covered in small nicks and cuts from when he had climbed down the edge of the ravine in order to retrieve Logan, but even so, he didn’t hesitate to clasp Logan’s hand giving it a firm shake as he nodded his head. It was most definitely a boon that he would use as he watched Logan leave, any safe space inside the others’ areas was a haven for both him and Dee. Right now, there was just the kitchen and the dining room they were allowed to traverse, but that was only with another side watching them. Logan.. Logan had just granted them something special. 

“I’ll see you later,” Logan quirked an odd smile that felt a little weird on his face. “You rascal.” 

And just like that Logan was gone, leaving Remus to seize the edge of the couch, his breathing loud in his ears as he brought his other hand from around his back. The hand that had been holding Logan’s missing and shredded tie, in the beginning, he had honestly meant to give it back to Logan. But now… now that the perfect blue had slowly been bleeding away to a pure white color the longer that it stayed within the subconscious… Remus couldn’t give it back. 

Instead, he held it tight, feeling tears prickling the edges of his eyes for the first time in years, and with nothing to hold him back…

He sobbed.

[yandere-flower]

request: ezra/babysitter!darling OR mizu/babysitter!darling

OKAY so yes I love both of these but I have to go with the OG babysitter darling with Ezra pairing. No smut in this one but I mostly wanted to get a little thing running, feel free to request more!

“Guys come on say goodbye and start getting ready for bed”

The roaring sound of little foot steps running down the stairs filled the large open space of the foyer. You couldn’t help but smile as the kids climbed on their father to give a farewell hug as their mother tried ushering her and her partner out the door. Perhaps babysitting was very high school of you, but you loved the little bastards and they have been so nice and supportive of you this past year of college. The one thing you could do without is that over exuberant neighbor of theirs. Yes, he’s cute. Yes, his baked goods are to die for and are the root problem of you gaining a few pounds. However you dreaded seeing him. He was pleasant enough, and the family trusted him even more than you. There was just something about his gaze that was, lecherous. You normally only had to deal with him for a few moments during drop offs or after school when he also go home from work, but he started pushing more and more.

Ezra, the twiggy blonde man was called, always insisted you come down to his bakery. “I’ll give you free coffee on the house, I’m sure you’ll need it come finals!”, or offering to make you a quick snack before you left for night time studying. If you refused, he’d merely bring over baked goods while you were babysitting the kids, putting you a position where you couldn’t possibly refuse. The kids would reach for the sweet treats on the plate, but he’d always be to busy looking at you with such eagerness, begging you to taste his creation. You could feel his eyes watching the movement of your lips as you bit into whatever treat of the week it was, almost feeling the shudder that came from his body. You settled in for the night, TV on to kids flicks and blankets surrounding you and the children as you sang to songs and prepped dinner. But in the back of your mind you knew it was going to be spoiled by pastries or cookies or whatever he whipped up this week. The light tapping at the door pulled you away from the kitchen and for a split second you debate not answering. But the kids knew who it was. Excited little hands reached for the door before you could shush them away, and behind it laid the excitable bundle of happiness that was Ezra. With a pretty white plate full of cupcakes and a smile on his face, you had to be pleasant.

“I hope I’m not interrupting but I wanted to try out some new flavors, would you all mind?”.

Naturally the kids followed the “ask for forgiveness not permission” policy and reached for the brightest cupcakes in the batch, but you weren’t as excited this week. You could see the disappointment on the man’s face as you all said your thanks and began retreating into the house.

“W-wait, are you sure you don’t want one? I know you prefer subtler flavors so I was just trying something new that I thought you might like” pouted the blonde.

Fuck. He really did look sad at your lack of appreciation, and you suppose you were being a tad rude.

“Um, sorry I was just focused on dinner. Don’t want to eat my treats before earning it right?”. You laugh was short and awkward, but the baker didn’t seem to take the hint. Instead he he hastily pushed the plate of cupcakes into your arms.

“Then save them for later! I’m sure you’ll need the pick me up after taking care of the kids! Sorry for bothering you”.

You called out to him as he started briskly walking away, asking him about his plate.

“Just return it before you go home tonight!”———————————————————————

Why didn’t you just eat the damn cupcake in front of you. You hurt his feelings, and then he felt obligated to give you all of the goodies, and now you have to walk over to his house in the dark and return this stupid plate. Maybe you could just ding door dash or something, and leave the plate on the steps. Why didn’t you just leave it at the house and say you forgot? It’s not like he won’t be back next week. Yeah actually, why didn’t he just wait a week what a pri-You hadn’t realized you were just standing around until the door jerked open and he was suddenly right before you.

“Oh I though you forgot! Cutting it kind of late are we?”

Ugh. The only reason you’re over here is because he ditched his plate! He looked…nervous. He’s same over excited self, but nervous as well.

“Listen, I’ve noticed you’re so good with kids and I was wondering if you could help my family out some time?

Oh? You didn’t know he had kids. “Um…sure we can talk about it some time I guess. I really should be going now”

His soft fingers grasp your wrist as he pulls you snide. “There’s no point in making you come all the way out here just for a chat, come on I’ll make you some late night coffee.”—————————————————————

This guy has some serious boundary issues.

His house is kind of like how you imagined it, neatly yet cozy. Beautiful furniture and plenty of throw pillows and blankets, it felt so homey. Yet…it was to, clean? His kids must be perfectly well behaved.

“How old are your kids?” was a perfectly reasonable question for a potential sitter to ask, yet one he seemed to ignore in favor of stirring some sugar in your coffee. Great, so he was just as awkward as you figured and his kids probably are too. You wonder who decided to have kids with this dude.

The clattering of glass grew louder as he walked into the living room and gently sat the tray down, with two beautiful cups of coffee and some small biscuit cookies. You immediately reached for the coffee and started gulping it down despite the searing heat just to avoid conversation.

“Wow and here I thought my coffee was my weak point”, his meek laugh turning into a cough as his nervous energy just continues to weird you out.

You mostly just held onto your coffee and ate the biscuits, listening to him drone on and on about good parenting and what a rewarding career being a father is. You had to admit, he loved being a dad and he clearly wants what’s best. You’re flattered that he thinks you’re good enough for his kid. Kids? You still didn’t know anything about his children, but before you could ask your cup slipped out of your hands.

“I’m surry. Sorry. Uh.. I don’t know-”

You struggled to get the words out of your mouth, and despite ruining his plush rug the man across from you could help but smile at your helplessness. You tried pushing yourself up, grabbing onto the edge of the couch for support but the only part of your body you felt aware of was your thigh, and the soft grasp of the man’s hand on it. You wanted to look up and say something, but instead you found yourself lulling into a haze.

“We’re gonna have such a perfect little family.”