#Literally the last message I sent less than two minutes before head injury was about how I’d regained the ability to write a bunch and then

[jamietwat]

I love BLT so much but if they don’t at least kiss soon I think I might die 🤣

Thanks! I mean things do escalate more in the next chapter and even more in the one after that....

[shadowhuntertrash]

tlh gang as funny first modern day impressions for @serene-victory-77

alastair - the first time alastair meets christopher he’s confused as to if he likes this kid or if he is annoyed. he meets him in their chemistry class. he goes through school with his head down because honestly he was really only there for good grades. when he was partnered with the infamous christopher herondale (yes his names was well known around school) he was slightly scared. christopher comes up to his table with a smile on his face and his goggles slight askew on his face. alastair is already leaning toward quirkily adorable. from the stories he’d heard christopher had a bit of a mad scientist rep, so he was happily surprised when christopher was less of a mad scientist and more of an evil genius. he did the experiment perfectly and then much to alastair’s horror, continued without any directions, going purely off his knowledge of the chemicals. when christopher was done he’d made a much more complicated version of the solution they were making and alastair was very thoroughly impressed. the teacher on the other hand, was not. they both got in trouble but alastair found he didn’t mind much. from then on out they were lab partners no matter what and it was quickly becoming alastair’s favorite class.

cordelia - the first time cordelia meets eugenia she thinks she is so badass. here’s this girl who could literally not give less of a fuck what anyone things about her. she has long curly hair that is either always down or put up into a messy bun. cordelia is slightly star struck by this girl who has just plopped herself down next to her in her ap calculus class. eugenia seems to bring a storm with her wherever she goes and immediately draws all eyes toward her. when cordelia looks at her eugenia just winks and crosses her ankles before leaning in slightly to ask if she has a spare pencil she could borrow. they became fast friends which surprised cordelia but literally no one else. they are very different but similar at the same time. cordelia is a badass but she is less obvious about it. she’s kind when she can be whereas eugenia doesn’t really stop to give anyone a chance to catch up with her unless she gets a good energy from them.

lucie - the first time lucie meets matthew is when he comes over to their house to hang out with james for the first time. at first he seems incredibly polite. he greets tessa and will with utmost grace and respect but lucie can tell it’s unusual from the way james’s face scrunches up in his tell tale expression of shock. she finds it amusing and decides to follow them for a while, matthew catches on quickly but instead of telling james they had a tag along he simply winks at lucie and pretends to lock his mouth and throw the key. she decides immediately that she likes this one. when they get to the indoor pool the first thing matthew does is push james into the pool. lucie couldn’t help but laugh which gave her away but when james went to tell her off and to get lost matthew pouts at james and said in an obnoxiously whiny voice, “jamie, let her hang out for a bit.” james turned to him and lucie was amazed to find them in a seemingly silent conversation before matthew smiled triumphantly and james groaned throwing himself back into the water as matthew gestured for lucie to come swim with them. lucie decides then and there that matthew by far her favorite of james’s friends he’s had over so far.

matthew - the first time matthew meets james is at detention. it would have been at debate but he had missed the first meeting for the club because his teacher had held him back to redo an activity he’d done completely wrong. he’d gotten detention that same period for disrupting the class (which was completely unnfair, he had just forgotten to take his adhd medicine so he was more restless than normal. when he walked into detention that afternoon there was only two other people there, neither of which he recognized. the teacher that was trapped into watching them was actually one of matthew’s favorite teachers, mr. lightwood (gideon lightwood, not to be confused with his brother gabriel who also taught there). about ten minutes into detention the door opened and one of the most attractive people matthew had ever seen in his entire life strolled through the door with a lopsided smile. mr. lightwood looked up and upon realizing who was there sighed heftily and shook his head. “again, james?” james just smirked wider and shook out his curly black hair, matthew’s stomach was doing a weird flip thing. ‘uncle gid, it really wasn’t my fault. the debate teacher just wasn’t seeing my side of the debate. he said my ideas were ‘crude and unnecessary’ but he was the one who asked what my opinion on dorian gray was. it really wasn’t my fault if she didn’t want a ‘mature’ opinion she shouldn’t have asked about a ‘mature’ topic.” mr. gideon simply shook his head but he was hiding a rather obvious smile. “go sit down, james.” with a confident smile he strolled over to where matthew was seated and turned to him with an outreached hand. up close matthew realized with another jolt to his stomach that james’s eyes were golden. “james, james herondale.” he said when matthew gripped his hand. matthew smiled widely. “matthew, matthew fairchild. i think we’re going to be good friends.”

thomas - the first time thomas meets alastair is his freshman year of high school. thomas will forever remember it vividly because alastair was the first person to really help him around school. he was so lost and he didn’t have anyone he knew so when this junior stepped up to show him around it was pretty cool. he was thoroughly embarrassed though because not only was this guy very very attractive but his friends were laughing at him. well not him, but thomas. alastair had waved them off and told him not to worry about them. he showed thomas to his classes and the main areas such as the library and the cafeteria. it was the first interaction of many but there were a few years until the next one. thomas never forgot his kindness and how he went out of the way to help the new kid, alastair never forgot either but for him it was more of a distant memory, the second time they met was the first meeting that left him with a lasting feeling.

james - the first time james meets jesse is when he comes to pick lucie up for a date. his immediate reaction is to evaluate if he is a good person and if he was good enough for his little sister. he held himself with an odd mixture of confidence and uncertainty. james had stood in the study with jesse for a while waiting for lucie to come down. jesse was fidgeting a lot which james recognized as anxiety which he himself had. he was slightly reassured by the fact that jesse was nervous. they were never really close nor did they ever become very close, seeing as james was practically always waiting for jesse to mess up or hurt his sister in some way. it lessened as time passed and jesse proved himself worthy in james’s eyes.

jesse - the first time jesse meets lucie it’s right in the middle of an epiphany in a story she’s writing. she’s been in a slump with really bad writers block for about a week so she can’t help her excitement when she finally has a breakthrough. jesse was sent by a professor (well professor herondale aka tessa the english professor aka lucie’s mom) to find her in the library to pass on a message and when he stumbles across a girl furiously tapping away on a laptop with a mad smile on her face and two pencils holding her hair up he is immediately enraptured. he goes to let her know her mom is looking for her but she simply tsks him and informs him that she simply cannot be disturbed and when he asks why she launches into a complicated plotline and jesse is so mesmerized that he can’t help but sit down and listen to an hour long rant about her novel and the characters. he misses his next to classes but if you ask him it was so so worth it. he soon becomes her person to rant to about intricately woven story lines and he can’t argue one bit. he was smitten from the first tsk.

christopher - the first time christopher meets cordelia he blows her up. well, nearly. he was experimenting and she happened to walk in right as his solution went awry. she had screamed loudly, more so from being startled than from injury but christopher had still rushed over to her and made sure she was unharmed. when he made sure that she was truly okay he apologized profusely and explained what he was doing and what he did wrong. she seemed genuinely interested which christopher immediately appreciated and he found he quite liked this girl. she was kind and smiled and asked questions when she was curious. there was no better way to get to his heart than by asking about his experiments (well, besides lemon tarts). every time they ended up staying for science after school he never failed to update her on his latest invention or experiment and she never failed to be attentive and curious. they worked surprisingly well together.

kamala - the first time kamala meets thomas is when she meets eugenia (her girlfriends) family. thomas was kind and the longer they talked the more he smiled and looked at her with an approving look. she had taken a liking to him almost immediately and had spent most of their time talking until eugenia interrupted claiming thomas was stealing her girlfriend to which thomas scoffed and rolled his eyes saying that there was no chance of that happening. kamala hadn’t understood the actual meaning of that until later to which she laughed until tears sprang to her eyes. eugenia’s entire family was kind and accepting but she knew she’d always have a soft spot for thomas and she did. she was always there for him and he, her. he became a brother she had always wanted and never gotten to truly have. eugenia complained but she couldn’t be happier with the outcome. 

eugenia - the first time eugenia meets grace she thinks she’s cold. she always has a careless and intimidating resting face and very rarely speaks to anyone as if they’re worth her time. eugenia’s blind reaction to having her on the cheerleading squad was not a good one and she worked her pretty hard until they finally talked and eugenia learned why she had so many walls up and why she was so cold. it took a while to unravel the mystery of grace blackthorn but they ended up being surprisingly good friends, especially considering they were both close to kamala. kamala being one of grace’s closest friends and eugenia's girlfriend.

grace - the first time grace met kamala she was in the locker room the cheerleaders shared with the dance team. grace had just gotten off a particularly cruel phone call with her mother and was trying her best to keep her composure but it was quickly slipping through her fingers. her throat was hurting from the strain of not crying and her eyes were burning suspiciously. she cleared her throat a few times in the empty locker room and almost jumped out of her skin when a girl poked her head around the corner with a concerned tilt to her lips. she had a kind face and it barely took a quiet, “are you okay?” for grace to break down completely. the girl had walked over quietly and bent down to grace’s level. grace wasn’t sure why but she felt like she had known this girl for a long time, it was a feeling of pure trust she had never felt before. there was something so calming about kamala, as she had introduced herself, that she found herself spilling things she’d never told anyone else. there was a lot left unsaid but enough was said for kamala to comfort her enough to get her to calm down. there was something so trust worthy about her that she found herself in the same situation a few more times in the weeks to come until they started to talk with no tears. it was definitely an odd friendship but they both valued it a lot.

[getsojaded]

chemistry || calum hood

word count: 3.8k+

warnings: mentions of weed, swear words, mention of injury, food & the slightest bit of sex talk

a/n: hey twt moots ;)) anyways, this is inspired by this post! i hope u all enjoy <3

-

It was about 11 pm, and I had just finished taking an unnecessarily large amount of notes for chemistry class. With a sore, shaky hand and a vision that was starting to go blurry, I had finally finished ten pages. Who knew that there was so much information about 5 organic compounds?

I yawned in my seat, stretching my arms out and removing my glasses. I was more than thankful that I can call it a night, and walked towards my bathroom to get ready for bed, which took a good 30 minutes. It usually doesn’t take me that long, but fuck, I was exhausted this whole day. After all my skincare was completed, I walked back to my bedroom and hopped into my bed, prepared for a well deserved rest. After slouching for a good three and a half hours, comforter and pillows had never felt so good against my body. 

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a loud ding! from my phone and I opened my heavy eyes, which immediately annoyed me. I ignored the first one and tried to go back to sleep, but one ding turned into six and I couldn’t take it anymore. I angrily ripped the covers off my body, sitting up right after reaching for my phone on the nightstand beside my bed.

6 New Text Messages from: calum hood

hey wyd rn

can you do me a favour

i need your help

im at this party right now and i’m about to get high as fuck but i forgot about our homework for tomorrow and i was wondering if you could do them for me

you don’t even need to make them look pretty like how you do it just take down the important shit

please

“What the fuck?” I whsipered to myself as I looked at my phone. “Who does this bitch think he is?”

to: calum hood

are you fucking serious right now

from: calum hood

please i’m really sorry LOL i completely forgot about it

i know your smarty pants finished it the second you got home please

i’ll literally buy you starbucks tomorrow morning

As much as I hated to admit it, his last text message kind of convinced me. I was a sucker for coffee, and could really stop spending money on it every morning. But was I really about to lose some more sleep just to do the party boy’s notes? I barely know this kid anyways. How’d this guy even get into college? 

to: calum hood

is it gonna be a venti

from: calum hood:

if that’s what you want, sure

I knew I was going to regret this decision, but I threw on my glasses and put my hair up once again, walking towards my desk. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I sighed out, opening my laptop and gathering my supplies together. I unlocked my phone, seeing that the time was 12 am. Am I doing this for coffee or am I doing this because he’s attractive and I couldn’t really say no to him? I groaned and leaned my head on my desk, texting him back.

to: calum hood

i hate you so much

get me a venti iced white mocha no whip and an extra espresso shot

actually no make that two extra espresso shots cause bc of your dumbass im staying up 

from: calum hood

i gotchu angel

thank you so much, see you tomorrow :)

“Fuck off with the petname and the smiley face,” I angrily cursed at my phone, picking up my pencil and beginning to write another ten pages of notes. 

“I hate this bitch,” I said, throwing my pencil onto my desk and slamming my laptop shut. The time was now 3:45 am and tired was an understatement for me. I crawled into bed, falling asleep almost immediatly, hoping that these 5 hours of sleep will give me enough energy to get through class tomorrow.

-

“You have got to be fucking joking me,” I mumbled, reaching over for my phone to turn off the alarm. I was definitely not a morning person, and the fact that I didn’t get at least 7 hours of sleep meant that I was not going to be in a good mood today.

I slowly crawled out of bed and began trudging towards my bathroom, seeing I had gotten a text meesage from the man himself. I rolled my eyes seeing his name pop up, opening the conversation between him and I.

from: calum hood

goodmorning!

to: calum hood

fuck off

I set my phone aside, getting ready for bed in the slowest way possible. I honestly could care less about what I looked like today, so I decided on a hoodie and sweatpants. I went back into my room and packed my bag with everything I needed, including Calum’s stupid study notes. I threw it over my shoulder, putting on my shoes and walking out the front door, into my car. Thankfully my college was not too far from my apartment, so it didn’t matter if I was running a couple of minutes late.

Parking my car and walking towards class, more and more annoyance filled my body, hoping that nobody would say a word to me, or even better, look in my direction. As I walked into the classroom, I walked towards the empty seats in the very back, choosing the one closest to the wall. I got settled into my seat, leaning the side of my head against the wall, hoping that I’d get the tiniest bit of extra rest.

“The last text message you sent to me wasn’t very nice.” I heard a voice beside me say. I opened my eyes and looked up, seeing the stupid Calum Hood. He was holding two cups of coffee - one for me, and one for him I’m assuming - and was wearing a maroon hoodie, which he actually looked really good in.

“I don’t think you deserve to have a nice goodmorning text, because you are the reason I’m in a pissy mood today, thank you very much.” I responded, taking my coffee from his hand and placing it on my desk. I reached into my bag and took the study notes I wrote for him, slapping it onto the desk beside me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as our professor began to speak up, indicating that class had begun. “What can I do in order for you not to be mad at me?” I turned to look at him. He had the biggest pouty face I had ever seen, which was absolutely adorable. But I’d never tell him that.

“Just shut up.” I sighed, turning back towards the board, opening my notebook and beginning to take notes. 

Not even ten minutes later, a green sticky note caught my eye as I was writing. My eyes gazed towards the sticky note, scoffing at what was written on it.

Pls forgive me :(

I turned towards Calum, who was currently well focused on the board in front of us. I lightly chuckled, knowing he was more than pretending to actually pay attention in this class.

I thought I told you to shut up, I wrote underneath his writing and stuck it back onto his desk, and continued from where I left off. I got maybe 5 words in before I saw the neon green appear back onto my desk. I can’t shut up if I’m not talking.

I rolled my eyes before crumbling the paper in my hand, looking at Calum once again. “You’re distracting me. What do you want?” I asked him, the brunette boy turning his head to me once again. 

“For you not to be mad at me.” He responded. “What can I do for you to at least smile at me? Besides telling me to shut up.” 

I stared at him with the bitchiest face I could put on, then rolled my eyes and began to take down more notes in my book. First, he makes me write ten pages for him and now he’s distracting me in class. Can he leave me alone for at least five minutes? 

“And now you’re not gonna talk to me. Fine, be that way.” He grunted. The two of went back to what to we were doing for the remainder of class.

-

“That’s all for today folks, I hope you have a good rest of your day and don’t forget to read pages thirty to thirty-five and finish questions one to twenty-seven.” Our professor said to all of the class, which resulted in me grabbing my bag and standing up immediately, wanting nothing more than to just get the fuck out of this place.

Please don’t talk to me please don’t talk to me please don’t talk to me-

“Hey wait,” Calum said and grabbed my hand. 

Fuck

“Yes?” I asked him, turning my body towards him as he let go of my hand. 

“What’re you doing the rest of the day?” 

“Nothing, why..?”

I saw that Calum had the cheekiest grin on his face after I gave him my answer. “As an apology for making you write down my notes, thank you very much by the way, along with making you angry this whole morning, how about we go get breakfast on me, and we can do our homework together, except I will do all the work, and you just copy my answers? How does that sound?”

I thought about it. One part of me just wanted to flip him off, go back home and get the sleep I missed out on last night. The other part of me was actually kind of down for that idea. Free food, free homework answers and I get to hang out with pretty boy? I wasn’t really losing anything here, huh? 

“I mean, I would say yes, but I took my car here and also I’m dressed terribly right now, the last thing I need is for more people to see me looking like this..” I trailed off, looking down at my current outfit and laughing lightly. “Babe, you don’t even look bad whatsoever right now. However, if you insist, you can go home and change and I can come get you when you’re ready. Is that a plan?” He asked in response. First angel, now babe? What is this guy doing?

“I mean.. I could do that...but-” “Pleeaaasee?” Calum cut me off, pressing his hands together, acting as if he was praying. 

“Ugh, fine, I’ll go with you! I’ll go home and get ready, and I’ll text you when I’m done.” I responded as the both of us walked out of the classroom, towards the parking lot. 

“Pinky promise you won’t cancel on me last minute?” Calum asked, extending his arm and putting his pinky in front of me as we reached my car. I hadn’t even noticed that he walked me to my car, which honestly made my heart flutter when I realized. 

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed lightly, taking my pinky and sticking it out with his, interlocking it. “Pinky promises mean everything, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.” He responded, winking at me then walking away. Getting into my car, I hit my steering wheel, squealing while I repeatedly hit my head against my wheel. “Fuckin’ angel, babe and sweetheart?! What’s next?” I asked myself, driving back to my place to get ready for this little study.. session? Hang out? Date? 

I never noticed how nervous I was to hang out with Calum until four different outfits were placed on my bed, with no ability to choose which one looked best. “Fuck, these are all terrible.” I groaned, flopping onto my bed and closing my eyes. I was interrupted by my phone ringing, seeing that Calum was calling.

“I know you pinky promised that you wouldn’t cancel on me, but angel what is taking so long?” He asked, laughing into his question. “I’m so sorry,” I groaned, getting back up and looking at the outfits I planned on my bed. “I’m having a little wardrobe crisis. I have zero idea what to wear.”

“You could’ve showed up in the hoodie and sweatpants and I’d still find you gorgeous,” He responded, making my heart flutter for what felt like the hundreth time today. This man throws small compliments left and right and it’s kind of driving me crazy. “But lemme see what you got planned out. I’ll make it easier for you.” I responded with an okay, quickly snapping a photo of the clothes that were currently on my bed. 

“Okay first off, none of these are bad at all. I think you could’ve chose any of these and rocked all of ‘em. Second, little shirt big pants is always the way to go. I say the second one.” He told me, choosing a white long sleeved shirt and the baggiest light wash jeans I had in my closet. It might’ve been basic, but Calum was right - you really can’t go wrong with a little shirt big pants combination. 

“Okay, thank you.” I sighed in relief, taking the clothes into my hands and walking into the washroom to change. “You can come now, I’ll text you my address. I’ll probably be done by the time you get here.” 

“Now was that so hard?” He asked in response, causing the both of us to laugh. “I’ll see you in a bit. Bye bye!” 

“Bye Calum, see you later.” And with that the call ended. I quickly changed into my clothes, put my laptop in my bag - along with everything else I needed - and slipped my shoes on. Once I finished doing so, I heard a loud honk outside, indicating that he was outside. 

Walking out of my house I saw Calum exiting his seat, walking over to the other side and opening the door for me. “Wow, what a gentleman.” I laughed as he closed my door and got into the drivers’ side once again. “You look great.” He told me, his eyes focused on my outfit. “All thanks to you.” I said nervously, as he started the car. “Where are we going again?” I asked him. 

“You can never go wrong with IHOP,”  He said proudly, with a wide grin on his face. “How’d you know I loved going there?” I asked him, gaining a chuckle from him in response. “Not sure if you knew this, but I’m a mindreader.” He joked, causing me to roll my eyes and laugh in response. 

Arriving at the place and ordering our food, Calum and I began to have a little conversation. It started off with an are you still mad at me? which resulted into talks about other classes, finals and parties. 

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to a party?” He asked in shock, me shaking my head as I took a sip of the water that was given to me. “Are you kidding me? We’ve been in college for what, two years, and you’ve never been to one?!”

“Yeah, in case you didn’t notice, I go to school to learn and not to party. I don’t ask people to take ten pages of notes for me so I could blaze up, unlike somebody I know,” I responded, Calum looking at me in disbelief. “I cannot believe you just called me out like that. I said I was sorry!” 

“Yeah yeah, I know. You’re making up for it with free food and free homework answers, so I decided to get over it.” I responded, laughing. “Also, when are we gonna start doing the questions?” I asked as the waiter came with both of our plates of food, thanking them as we began to eat. 

“I mean, we could go back to my place and work on it, if that’s alright with you.” Calum said, his mouth full of pancakes. “Is that your way of trying to get in my pants?” I asked jokingly. 

“You’re a fiesty one aren’t you?” He asked, with a simple nod from me in response. “Well to answer your question, no that is not my way of doing such a thing, I’d be much more smooth about it.” 

“Oh, so you think you’re slick or something?” “Nah babe, I know I’m slick.” There’s the cocky party boy that I was much more familiar with. I rolled my eyes in response.

“I’m gonna ignore what you just said.. Anyways, I am fine with working on it at your place.” I told him, getting a nod in response. Throughout the whole breakfast, we got to know each other quite well. I learned that he played soccer in highschool, but due to a torn ACL he had to quit. But because of that, he got into music and started playing the guitar. I told him that if there’s enough free time when we finished, he should play me something. He happily agreed to it, saying that I will fall in love with him after I hear his singing. I just roll my eyes at his cocky compliments about himself. 

I also got to hear his totally wild college parties that he goes to, telling me about this one time one of his friends’ houses got shut down due to the various noise complaints from neighbours down the block. “you should come join me in one”, He offers, with a “fuck no” in response from me. 

“C’mon, they’re not that bad. They’re actually really fun, and everybody’s always so nice.” 

“I literally can’t tell you the last time I got high, and the last time I got drunk it was not pretty, I’m retired from that shit.” I said, as he paid for our food and began walking back to his car.

“Oh, so you used to be rowdy?” He asked, the two of us laughing in unison. “High school me was a different story, we don’t talk about that.” I responded. “The things I would do to see that side of you. You gotta go to at least one before you get outta this place. They take a lot of stress off your shoulders for the night.” He told me as we walked towards the front door to his place, which made me laugh at the fact that he tried to make parties seem like a really good thing. A simple Maybe, was all I responded with as we got settled into his apartment, which was fairly clean to my surprise. 

We were currently sitting across each other at his dining table, the both of us reading over the textbook and him answering the questions after every section. He worked effeciently, which also took me by surprise. I underestimated this guy a lot, didn’t I?

A good two hours later, Calum had finished all the questions for homework and I had finished copying them down, thanking him for doing such a thing.

“It’s no problem. I had no idea that the notes were ten fucking pages long, you deserve a break after that- wait, you wear glasses?” He asked me, analyzing them.

“Yeah, only at home though. I don’t really like how they look on me,” I replied, taking them off and rubbing my eyes. He took them in his hands and put them back on me, smiling. “They look really cute on you, I like them.” He said, causing me to blush. “What’re you so flirty for?” I asked. Keep these compliments up and I might just fall in love with you before you even sing, I thought to myself.

“Well, with somebody as pretty as you, I gotta slip in a flirty remark every chance I get, eh?” He smirked, taking my hand, and taking the both of upstairs. “Don’t take this the wrong way, my guitars in my room.” He reassured me as we walked inside his room. He took the guitar from the side of his room, and sat on the edge of his bed, gesturing me to sit down next to him.

“Ready to fall in love with me?”

“Try me, Hood.” 

He chuckled, playing the intro to Sam Smith’s Leave Your Lover. “Holy shit, I love this song,” I whispered, watching his hands strum the guitar.

He began to sing, immediately amazed by his voice. It was so soft and raspy, I literally could listen to it all day. I closed my eyes, leaning my head on his shoulder. He laughed softly when he noticed, continuing on with the song. 

He finished playing the outro, which caused me to open my eyes and look up at him. “So, how was that?” 

“It was beautiful, your voice is so pretty.” I responded, smiling at him. “You should drop outta this whole college thing and just become famous.”

“Oh man I wish, but I think it’s too late for that.” He told me, now leaning on my shoulder, which made me want to scream and kiss him. “Did you fall in love with me yet?”

I patted his cheek with my hand lightly. “Not yet Cal, not yet. Stil kinda angry about that whole ten pages of notes thing.” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nah.”

He laughed, then took my hand and intertwined it with his, rubbing circles on it with his thumb. “What if I told you I’d be down to do this again, minus the whole ‘let me do this for you today as an apology’ thing?” He questioned, lifting his head from my shoulder and looking at me.

“What do you mean, ‘this again’?”

“I mean picking you up with a coffee before class, bothering you the whole time, getting breakfast with you afterwards, studying together, and then playing a song for you once we get too lazy to finish our assignments.” He replied with a soft smile that made my heart warm and my cheeks red.

“And what if I told you that I’d be down to do those things aswell?” 

“Well then my love, I will pick you up on Wednesday at 8:15 with a venti iced white mocha with only one extra shot of espresso, because I won’t keep you up to write more notes. After class, I’ll take us to any place you wanna go. Denny’s? IHOP? Waffle House? You name it. Then, we can go back to my place, study our asses off and then I can play you as many songs as you’d like. How does that sound?” He offered, the biggest smile appearing on my face.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Now if we’re going to be doing this... does this mean I can finally take you to a damn party?”

“Fuck off, Hood.”

[kirishwima]

hello! if it’s okay, can you please write some head cannons on the RFA members comforting a sad/crying MC because someone at her school said something racist to her? This happened to me in class and I’m feeling a bit upset and would like some cheer up! T-T

awe i saw this in my inbox and had to get to it as soon as possible. Anon I’ll gladly fight these students for you! That’s not only immature but also shows just how stupid these people are, please don’t ever bear any mind to them.

Here’s RFA ready to cheer you up!!

YOOSUNG:

* He opened the messenger while in his last class of the day, tired and just looking forward to getting home to rest

* Yet the conversation going on in the chat made his plans do a complete 180-MC was talking with Zen about what happened at school today, quoting the horrible things some other students said to her

* Yoosung was furious. What was wrong with these people?! Who gave them the right to make fun of others like that, especially a person as wonderful as MC?

* He grabbed his stuff and left the class in a hurry, ignoring his teachers’ questions of where he was going. Instead he opened up his phone and called Seven, immediatly telling him what was going on, asking if he can help dig up who these students were.

* Whilst waiting for Seven to do his magic, he called MC next, the fatigue in her voice breaking his heart. He told her exactly what he thought about those people, and before she could interrupt him, he told her exactly what he thought about her-how he considered her to be the most wonderful person he’s ever met, how her kindness and patience helped him get out of the dark place he was in, how in his eyes she could never be anything less than perfect.

* Hearing her voice break as she tried to reply made him wince, tears filling his own eyes. 

* “MC, I’m coming over right now. I’m bringing chips and video games and we’re playing and I’m not leaving until I see you smile!”

* He spent the day with MC, making sure she’s better before leaving, and once Seven found the students that made fun of her-he wasted no time in giving them a piece of his mind, along with the hacking of their social media thanks to Seven, turning all of them into Winne The Pooh furry art fans.

ZEN:

* He’s on the phone with MC during a break with rehearsals, asking her how her day’s been, when she tells him what happened.

* When he hears her cry he freezes, eyes wide. She was crying?! These idiots with empty freaking heads made her cry?! He’d fight every single one of them, no questions asked.

* He would push the thought away in the meantime, focused on making MC feel better.

* “Darling, you shouldn’t give such people the light of day. They’re clearly in over their heads, and have zero common sense. How could anyone ever say anything rude to you? You’re a godess! A literal angel! These idiots know nothing, and they don’t deserve to even glance your way.”

* If she keeps crying, then Zen’s protective mood is ON. He’ll leave the rehearsals early to go to MC’s place, bringing with him his favorite type of face masks and a carton of MC’s favorite ice cream, spending the evening pampering her and talking about everything and anything.

* He won’t forget about these people that dared comment on MC like that though. He’ll get their names. And when he finally sees them face to face, he’ll absoloutely punch each and every one of them. 

* No one messes with Zen or his loved ones. N o. O n e

JAEHEE:

* She’d met up with MC for a cup of coffee after her classes ended, and was shocked to see her near tears, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to hold back her sobs.

* Jaehee immediatly ran to her, grabbing her gingerly by the shoulders as she looked her up and down for any signs of injuries that could cause this pained look on her face.

* “MC, oh no, what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

* MC told her all about what happened, about what these people said to her-and Jaehee’s blood was boiling. If this were an anime, you’d be able to see the menacing aura gathering around her, flames shooting out of her eyes in fury.

* Lo and behold, as they’d met near MC’s school, the person that made that racist comment was walking past nonchalantly, not even noticing the two girls across the sidewalk.

* Jahee realised this must be the person as MC tensed as she saw them, eyes wide. Jaheee confirmed it with MC, and with a decisive nod, she let go of her, walking across the street and towards that person.

* She tapped them on the back so they’d turn to face her, and after politely asking who they were to confirm their identity, she smiled her usual buisness smile and threw a mean kick to their shins, letting them drop to the ground with an anguished cry.

* As confident as ever, she turned and walked back to MC, bringing a hand around her shoulders as she led her into the cafe. “Now, let’s go get a nice cup of coffee and some delicious desserts. With a little bit of sugar and spice you’ll forget all about today’s incident, and I’ll remind you of your true infinite value every time you even try to remember it” Jahee said, this time with a sweet, sincere smile. 

* Don’t mess with Baehee is the moral of this story folks

JUMIN:

* He was at work when Jaehee knocked on his office door, telling him he should probably take a look at the messenger-MC was clearly upset, but refusing to tell anyone the reason why, and if someone’d be able to pry it out of her, it’d be Jumin.

* Shocked, he immediatly called MC, hearing the sniffling and her soft sobs as she answered the phone.

* “Tell me what happened. Now.” he commanded, his tone more grave than MC ever heard it be before. With a gulp she told him exactly what went on, and he listened patiently, nodding to himself as she finished.

* “Give me their name MC.” He left no room for arguement, and so MC did, confused as to why.

* At that, Jumin’s voice softened, his tone back to the lovely friendly one MC was so used to. 

* “Thank you. Now, need I remind you of your worth? You are as dear to me as Elizabeth the 3d MC, you are the kindest and most pleasant person I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and no immoral fool could ever change that with their ignorant comments. You’re wonderful, and I’d never say this lightly.”

* He’ll stay on the phone with MC for as long as it takes for her to feel better, working through paperwork in the meantime, and even skyping MC if she wants so that they can hang out even virtually. He’ll be there for her until she’s better, and will refuse to hang up until he can get a genuine smile out of her.

* And as for the person that hurt her...well, pay no mind to them. They’ll be sure to keep their distance from now on.

SEVEN:

* He’s always texting MC while she’s in class, being the big ol’ rebel he is, and this day was no exception-he was trolling with her in the messenger, when she went radio silent for a while.

* He sent her a private message in the RFA app, asking if everything was okay. 

* Knowing there’s no way to hide from Seven of all people, MC told him the truth, explaining the racist comment this person made.

* Seven was shocked. What sort of trash-loving idiot would ever dare to insult MC in any way shape or form? Do they have no common sense? Do they not realise there’s no person nicer and sweeter than MC?

* His revenge plot begins instantly. No fool will be left unpunished.

* “Have no fear, your angel 707 is here! All I need is a name my princess, and as your hero of justice, I’ll seek out vengeance for your honour!”

* MC was confused. After more consistent pestering and teasing from Seven, she gave him simply the first name of the person that made that comment, not knowing just how much power a name can hold for a hacker such as Seven.

* He kept sending her memes and jokes throughout the day, until he called her late in the evening when he knew she’d be out of class.

* He joked around with her on the phone for a while as he typed away at his computer, when he halted in his movements, his tone far more serious.

* “You know their opinions and comments about you mean nothing right? I mean-of course you have to know it. You’re the greatest person I know, and you’re really really dear to me and-I don’t just go around saying that lightly you know! Your positive energy is infectious, and you should never, ever let one simple idiot bring it down, ever!”

* He stayed on the phone with her for longer, and before hanging up, he simply said “Oh, by the way, you might want to check your social media.”

* Confused, MC opened her facebook’s homepage-and realised what had happened.

* Seven had hacked into this person’s page, and created a bot that’d constantly post the entire script of the Bee Movie from their account every 2 minutes, repeatedly, non-stop, for at least 3 hours now.

* When would it stop? Well, never. Not even if they deactivated their accounts and got wiped off the face of the earth, not if Seven had something to say about it.

* Don’t mess with cats and hackers, the saying goes, but Seven added a twist to it; don’t mess with cats, hackers, and MC!

-send me mystic messenger headcanons/prompts for the characters to react to!-

[vee-angel]

Non-consent Nancy (part 2, repost)

(Technically this is part 3, I just posted part 1 and 2 as a single post)

CONTENT WARNING: This story focuses on a lesbian black woman who fetishizes rape, misogyny, racism, and abuse. This section briefly checks in with her recently raped Jewish friend, but the bulk of this section will focus on Nancy violently abusing and raping a young female-to-male transgender person.

And if you happen to be the type of person who might feel bad about getting off to a hate-crime (or you’re just a decent person who enjoys indecent erotica), consider donating to Trans Lifeline at translifeline.org

(Part of the Pervert Pentet Series)

Chapter 1, part 3

Nancy got a warm, fuzzy feeling when a mutual friend texted her saying that Hannah had been attacked and was presently being treated for her injuries at the hospital. She rushed out the door, eager to see the damage inflicted on her close friend.

She headed to a room on the second floor after a brief consultation with the hospital receptionist,  Entering, she saw Hannah sitting in the bed; her spirit broken and so was her beak-like nose. The normally large protrusion that jutted from the center of her face was now swollen to even more ridiculous proportions. Nancy couldn’t help but let a laugh escape from her throat, but quickly stifled it, putting her hands to her face and passing it off as a cry of horror.

Hoping to add to her pain just a little bit more, Nancy rushed to her side and flung her arms around the little kike, squeezing her face tightly against her large breasts. She twitched and pulled away, obviously in pain.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have realized you’re not really touchable.” Nancy was proud that even now, she could drop subtle, subconscious jabs showing how repellent she thought Hannah was. “What happened, Hannah??”

“Somebody posted my pictures online. The ones I sent to you.” Her voice was even more whiny than normal; she sat hunched, staring down at her knees. “I don’t know how they got them, but they were giving out my address, too!” She began to weep. “Someone was pretending to be me, saying that I wanted to be… That I wanted this to happen. What’d I do, Nancy? I never did anything to anybody that would make them want to hurt me like this!” The sobs escalated to an ugly bawling.

Nancy sat, pulling her face into an expression of concern. She handed a tissue box to Hannah. “People will hate you no matter what you do. Some people just get off on hurting the weak. There’s not much you can do about that fact.”

Everyone hates you, you’re weak, you should give up hope; Somehow Nancy had managed to word those sentiments as though they were aimed to comfort.

After a few more moments of Hannah wiping the tears from her twisted, squealing Jew face, she turned back to Nancy, “I really appreciate you being here for me.”

“Of course! You’re one of my best friends. If you ever need to talk about what happened, I want you to know that I’m here for you, day or night.”

The two women spoke a few minutes longer, until Nancy elected to leave to make room for Hannah’s family, who had just arrived. She certainly didn’t want to get trapped in a room reeking so strongly of kikes.

She attended classes until late afternoon, at which time she popped over to her apartment to pick up the spy-cameras she’d had overnighted, then went back to the rape-crisis center hoping that Darla would return. She didn’t, but at least Nancy got some practice secretly surveilling some of the girls that came in.

That evening, she began to feel antsy. After all the delights she’d had the luck to witness in the last few days, she was starting to feel restless. She needed someone to rape.

She had a dating app in her phone that she’d set up under a fake name. She scanned through the few women who’d messaged or admired her, none of them were especially appealing. She decided to look at the males, thinking that maybe she could rape-bait one of them into assaulting her; it wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but then again, the wants of a man, especially a would-be rapist, would always surmount hers.

That’s when she saw it. A little cuntboy who called itself Angelo. If this thing thought it passed for male, it was sorely mistaken. She scanned the confused dyke’s profile and found the term “f2m” hidden at the bottom. Based on the message she’d sent Nancy, it seemed the desperate little twat was a little girl-crazy.

Nancy had a plan. She wrote back to Angelo, saying how handsome ‘he’ was, and how she’d love for them to get together soon.

The next evening, Nancy made her way to the restaurant that Angelo had picked out for them. The tranny cuntboy was already waiting on a bench out front. It sheepishly stood and introduced itself with a voice awkwardly forced into a lower register, then gave a quick, awkward hug before beckoning Nancy to join it inside.

A few inches shorter than Nancy’s statuesque frame, dirty blond hair cut short and neatly parted at the side, freckled cheeks beneath green eyes, and rather stylishly dressed; a white button-down shirt whose top two buttons were flirtatiously undone beneath a charcoal suit that actually managed to fit over the freak’s boyish frame. Angelo was just her type, not that Nancy would admit to the attraction.

Nancy had leaned into her femme side. A short, flowy, scarlet dress adorned her dark-chocolate skin, accessorized with a layered gold necklace and a druzy ring carved from a single piece of amethyst.

Angelo seemed eager to please, though just slightly on the timid side. Nancy laughed at “his” jokes, touched “his” hand from across the table, and looked down with a demure smile each time their eye contact lingered. She hoped her flirtations would speed the evening along.

Less than ninety minutes later they were walking into Angelo’s third-floor studio apartment. The room was tidy, with a muted color scheme and modern decor seemingly devoid of a woman’s touch. With a giggle, Nancy was upon the little cuntboy as soon as the door closed behind them, pushing it invitingly toward the bed centered against the rear wall of the room.

“Hang on a second.” it said.

Angelo stood, taking a zippo lighter from the bedside table, and lit a series of scented candles organized neatly around the room. It then hung up its coat and laid on the bed. Nancy crawled on top, her toothy smile ravenous with a hunger for what was to come.

Nancy kissed the dysphoric dyke hungrily, her hands frantically kneading across the flesh, moving downward until she felt a large silicone cock-and-balls that cuntboys like Angelo sometimes wore inside their underwear to play at being real men. She let out a little squeal of delight, pretending to believe that the thing in Angelo’s underwear was its own and not some dress-up toy ordered from an online costume shop for freaks.

She moved downward, gingerly unfastening the button of the slacks and pulling down the zipper. She stood briefly to yank the pants off with dramatic flair before playfully hopping back onto the bed, Angelo’s feet straddled between her knees.

“Wow,” Angelo said, almost breathless at Nancy’s forceful passion. It reached toward a drawer at the bedside table, “Let me get the, uhh, ya know.”

“Mmm, of course. I bet you need the magnum size.” She said, rubbing the front of Angelo’s grey boxer-briefs. She dipped her fingers into the waistband and pulled down as her face descended.

Then suddenly her expression changed. “What the fuck is this?” she demanded as she seized the realistic silicone genitals and held them accusingly above Angelo’s suddenly confused face.

Nancy threw the fake cock forcefully onto the bed and yanked the boxer-briefs down to the knees. “Oh my god! You’re a fucking girl?!?” She shouted, her lips curling in disgust at the last word.

Angelo sat up, her hands darting to her underwear to re-dress herself, Nancy responded by slapping her hard across the face. Angelo looked scared, and helpless. “You lied to me, you tranny cuntboy freak!” Nancy spat the words at her, before literally spitting in her cowering face.

“Please don’t call me that!” Her voice was cracking.

Angelo yanked her feet out from under Nancy and crawled off the bed, pulling her underpants up in the process. He wiped Nancy’s saliva from her eye and tried to compose herself. With still panicked breathing, she pointed at the door and tried to sound authoritative. “You need to leave right now.” she was actually shaking, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

While Nancy hated the ghetto-monkey dialect she had grown up hearing, she found it useful when the occasion arose that she needed to assert a sort of primal authority. Still, she couldn’t help but speak with her erudite style of slow enunciation and clearly articulated consonants, “You had best get that base out of your voice before I shove that fake cock up your bitch-ass, you tranny, cuntboy motherfucker.” Nancy took slow, menacing steps toward her as she spoke. Angelo retreated.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police!” She hurried over to the slacks that had been tossed across the room, squatting down to reach into the pocket. At that moment, Nancy threw a meticulously practiced roundhouse kick that caught the little girl-faggot just below the ear. Angelo was left slowly writhing, half-conscious on the slate tile floor.

“I told you what was going to happen, didn’t I, cuntboy?” Nancy reached down and raked her fingers through Angelo’s dark blonde hair before her fingers formed into a fist; dragging her by her hair, she forced her back onto the bed before yanking her boxer-briefs down and off in several successive, violent motions. She continued holding the tranny face-down by her scalp with one hand while she grabbed the fake cock with the other. She drove her knee into the cuntboy’s ass to spread it wide enough to expose her tight, pink asshole. When she began stuffing the soft rubber cock into her, Angelo seemed to regain her senses. She started thrashing, but Nancy overpowered her and began shoving even harder.

“No! No please! You’re hurting me!” Angelo tearfully cried out as Nancy’s french manicure scraped against her anus with each push. Nancy smiled with satisfaction as the confused boy-girl begged for the violation to stop.

After several agonizing seconds, Nancy had finally stuffed the last of Angelo’s packer up her ass. She released her victim and stood back to take in the sight of the broken bitch. “Flip over and show me your pussy.”

The little cuntboy closed her eyes tightly, as if trying to block out the world. Nancy grabbed her hair again, yanking her to her feet. She punched the girl hard in the face twice, the crystalline points of the amethyst druzy ring leaving deep wounds that would heal into permanent scars across her freckled cheeks.

“Lay down and spread your legs!” Nancy commanded. The terrified girl finally complied, blood dripping from her wounded face. The sound of whimpering providing soundtrack for the sight of the pink cunt, adorned with a neatly trimmed layer of wispy blonde fuzz.

“That’s fucking disgusting. If you don’t even know how to shave a pussy, than you don’t deserve one.” Nancy stomped over to the night-stand to grab the zippo lighter, then returned to the foot of the bed, pinning Angelo’s legs wide against the mattress with her knees. This ensured that the tranny wouldn’t be able to close her legs as she flipped open the lighter and ignited the flame. Angelo looked down in horror as Nancy brought the flame against her sensitive, pink cunt.

The bitter smell of burning hair filled the room as the boy-pussy went aflame. A panicking Angelo tried to sit up, but was met with Nancy’s strong, steely fingers clamping around her windpipe and pinning her to the bed. The pathetic twat thrashed frantically, she didn’t know whether to try to snuff the fire that was blistering the skin of her labia, or rip away the vice-like grip that was crushing her throat. In the end, she succeeded at neither.

The fire, thankfully for Angelo, went out after several seconds. The skin of her vulva was left bright red, with various round spots of white where the damaged skin was beginning to form blisters. “You know, if you just wore a skirt and shaved you cunt like a good girl, I wouldn’t have to do this for you. But you’re too fucked in the head to do that, aren’t you?”

Nancy released her throat, the tranny cuntboy had a coughing fit. Her legs were still pinned open, driven painfully wide by the pointed knees driven into the nerve-laden tissue of her inner thighs. She finally took a few gasping breaths as she realized that Nancy was still holding the burning lighter.

“I’m doing this to help you get better, you know. You’re probably going to be tempted to try to turn that little clit of yours into a full fledged dicklet sooner or later, so…” she paused for just a moment to forcefully blow out the flame of the zippo, leaving only the glow of hot-red metal where the flame had been, “let me remove the temptation.”

She drove the hot metal firmly against Angelo’s skin. She screamed as her clit turned to smoke; Nancy muffled the screaming, pressing her hand over the girl’s mouth. Even the half-silenced shriek was almost loud enough to drown out the wet, popping sound of boiling skin.

A few seconds later, she pulled the hot metal away, having left most of its heat in Angelo’s destroyed clitoris. Little bits of burnt flesh snapped off and stuck to the lighter. Upon examining the wound, she was satisfied to see a rectangular reddish-pink pit where the flesh had been, shiny-wet inside and wreathed with ragged black edges.

The toned, statuesque rapist needed to take a moment to catch her breath; they both did. She stood, closing the lighter and tossing it on the bed. She took a brief moment to stretch while she listened to the frantic screaming sobs as Angelo clutched her devastated genitalia. Nancy looked down with a smile to see the fake rubber penis peeking out of her asshole as she heaved with tears.

She had almost forgotten about that! She pinched the soft rubber tip and yanked the full mass out of the boycunt’s twitching asshole. Almost reflexively, Angelo seemed to reach out for it like a toddler who’s favorite toy was just stolen away. She watched as Nancy held the phony organ at arms length and walked over the the adjoining kitchen. There was a brief pause in the sobbing as Angelo tried to divine Nancy’s intention. A new wave of disbelieving shock came over her as she watched the piece that defined her identity dropped into the sink drain and Nancy’s finger moved swiftly toward the switch of the garbage disposal.

“NO! PLEASE!!!” She screamed like a little girl watching her teddy bear being eviscerated. Her voice was soon drowned out by the grinding sound as the only intact set of genitals she had left was turned into mangled rubbery slivers by the spinning metal blades.

“For someone who thinks they’re a boy, you sure cry like a little girl!” Nancy snapped.

The broken bitch-boy managed to whimper out “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Sorry for lying to me, sorry for being a fucking pervert, or are you just a sorry piece of shit?” Nancy spat the words as an accusation.

“I’m so-oo-orry! Plee-heease! Please… just leave me alone.” Angelo barely managed to articulate the plea through the tears that streamed down her bloodied and battered face.

“You want me to leave?? I thought you wanted to get laid, you pathetic little dyke. What, am I suddenly not pretty enough for you anymore?”

“Why are you doing this to meee?”

Nancy rolled her eyes, “Okay, fine. You’re little pity-party worked. I’ll fuck you, you don’t need to beg.”

Angelo looked confused as Nancy advanced. She scrambled backward on the bed, leaving crumpled piles of sheets in her wake. Nancy grabbed her ankles and dragged her down forcefully before hopping onto the bed herself; her dense, muscular form crushing little Angelo beneath it. She began kissing the girl, tasting the salty combination of blood and tears as Angelo clenched her lips and eyes tightly. Undeterred, Nancy reached down and forced two fingers into the mutilated cunt below. Angelo twitched in fresh pain as she was roughly finger-raped. Kissing her way down the cuntboy’s neck and chest, she arrived once again at the mutilated pussy. From this angle she had the leverage to properly fist-rape the little tranny.

She added two more fingers roughly inside and began pushing. Angelo twitched violently at the painful new violation. Nancy encountered resistance when her bulky druzy ring pushed against the back edge of her hole.

“You’re ring! Please take off your ring!” Angelo regained her senses just enough to make the seemingly reasonable request not to be fisted by sharp points of rock. Unfortunately, Nancy didn’t feel very reasonable at the moment.

The fingers were roughly withdrawn, but only so Nancy could take a firm jab at Angelo’s mouth, splitting her lip and shattering a few of her teeth with the pointed formations of amethyst. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, faggot!” She jammed her hand back up the girl’s burned and blistered vagina, her ring slowly scraping its way inside of her with a series of sudden violent thrusts. Angelo began screaming again as Nancy buried her hand wrist-deep inside of her.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to slit your throat.”

Angelo quickly grabbed a pillow to scream into as Nancy resumed her violent assault on her cervix. She punched in and out, making sure to bruise and scrape every inner surface with the crystal shards she wore as jewelry. After a few minutes of vigorous thrusting, she heard the dyke-faggot’s voice give out. She withdrew her hand, now slick with crimson blood whose hue was deepened upon her chocolate colored skin.

She looked down at Angelo, still pouring tears and blood and snot into the pillow and asked, “Well? I need to get off, too. Come here and lick my pussy.” She lifted the front of her blood-red dress, the wet streaks on her hand leaving barely noticeable stains. Beneath was a form-fitting pair of white cotton panties.

“I said lick my pussy, Angelo.” She demanded with a sneer.

The defeated form slowly dropped down from the bed, walking on her knees over to where Nancy stood, waiting. Nancy dipped a finger down and pulled her underwear aside, revealing the firm, flawless skin of her coffee colored labia.

Angelo opened her mouth and hesitantly moved it toward the neatly formed, feminine flower. Just before her tongue made contact, Nancy shot a stream of pale-yellow piss straight down Angelo’s throat. She began to cough and turned away.

Nancy grabbed her head angrily with both hands, “Don’t you dare turn away!” She forced the tomboy’s face back into the path of her urine. “Open your eyes! Open your fucking eyes!” She pried her date’s eyes open and shot salty piss straight across the green irises. When she was finally done using Angelo’s face as a urinal, she threw her onto the cold tile floor and gave her a couple of firm kicks in the torso.

Finally satisfied, she looked down at the sad, tormented form. She listened to the small, heaving tears of the thoroughly raped woman at her feet, her ragged voice periodically went silent. It was as if she was having a conversation with some unseen entity, and responding only in the language of weary sobs.

Nancy smiled, “Thanks for buying me dinner, Angelo. I had a great time tonight.”

With that, she left.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 38)

Author’s note: Hope you guys enjoy! It’s another long one. I have lost all sense of self control. 

Warnings: (oh boy) Fear, death mention, referenced past minor character death, illness mention, injury, food mention, yelling, sleep deprivation, lying

Word count: 6323

Look for the masterpost in the notes!

...

The apartment door shut with a thud.

In the humans’ absence, Virgil felt himself deflate. He slid down on his crutches, sitting down hard on the shelf. His breath came in ragged gasps, tears springing up in eyes already sore from crying. He choked back a sob.

Patton was there in an instant, pulling Virgil into a hug.

“I-I—I can’t,” Virgil cried out, his voice hardly understandable.

Patton’s arms tightened around him. “They’ll find him,” he murmured. “Just you wait.”

Virgil hugged Patton back, burying his face in his shoulder. He couldn’t help but think that Patton was lying to him, claiming to believe that Emile would be found safe and sound; but right then, maybe that was what Virgil needed.

Several long minutes passed in which Virgil broke down in Patton’s arms. The stress of the whole situation and the reality that Emile might never be coming home were really getting to him. Patton, ever considerate and kind, never let go of him.

At last, Virgil gradually began to calm down. Tears still slipped down his cheeks, and he sniffled occasionally.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” Patton murmured once Virgil had quieted himself.

“Wh-what?” Virgil asked. “Why?”

“Because, Virge, that was really brave, what you did,” Patton said. “You were willing to go to humans to save Emile. I know that it’s really hard for you to ask for help, and the fact that you could do it like this, even after everything… You’re so brave. Not many littles would be that selfless.”

Virgil didn’t feel very brave, let alone selfless. In fact… “I scared you,” he said in a small voice. He leaned back slightly to look up at Patton. Patton loosened his hold on him to allow him to do so. Patton’s eyes were tinted red, like he was trying to keep from crying as well.

“Maybe,” Patton admitted. He glanced away, then gave Virgil a watery, tired smile. “But that’s okay. You’re just scared, and upset, like anybody would be. You were just trying to get them to listen. I know you didn’t mean to scare me.”

“I’m sorry I got angry,” Virgil said quietly. “I said I wasn’t going to do that around you anymore.” He wiped at his face, looking imploringly at his friend. “I’d never hurt you, Pat.”

“I know, kiddo.”

Another surge of guilt welled up inside Virgil. Not only had he scared Patton, but only the night before, he had literally caused Patton to faint. And now he was claiming that he’d never hurt Patton? He already had. He seized Patton’s arms, feeling a desperate need to apologize again. “Pat—Pat, I’m so sorry about last night. I was stupid and inconsiderate and irresponsible; and I’m so, so sorry.”

Patton looked briefly surprised, then bit his lip, looking down. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s not remotely fine.”

“You’re looking for your brother. You don’t have time to worry about me. It’s my fault, too: I should have said something sooner. I don’t want to hear you talk bad about yourself anymore.”

Virgil shifted. “Well… maybe,” he begrudgingly replied, even if it was just to please Patton. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He looked up at his friend, searching his face. “You really are okay, right?”

A tear slipped from Patton’s eye. “Yeah, Virge. I’m okay.”

Virgil nodded, several times too many. He took a long, shuddering breath. “I guess we should get down from here, huh?”

“Yeah, but…” Patton peered nervously over the edge. “How are we doing that?”

“We’ll go down through the wall,” Virgil said. He figured that would be the safest option. After that, to get on the table itself, they would probably have to use a rope and hook. Virgil had one with him, although it was a spare. Emile’s spare hook, actually. Virgil didn’t have one of his own, spare or otherwise. He figured Emile wouldn’t mind him borrowing it on this occasion. Virgil took a deep breath, got to his feet, and waited for Patton to follow. They retreated back into the wall together. Logan and Roman wouldn’t be back for a while; they had time to do this right.

…

“What the heck are we even going to say?” Roman asked as he trudged up the stairs, following after Logan’s much more precise and purposeful steps.

Logan paused. “I can’t say that I know. I believed that we were merely going to ask if anyone had noticed anything odd.”

“Well, yeah,” Roman sighed, leaning on the wall and blinking up at his friend. “But we’re probably going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Well… ah…” Logan pursed his lips. “Perhaps we ask about any mouse sightings?”

“Perfect,” Roman sighed. “And then everyone’s going to be hiding their food and putting out mouse traps. I’m sure Patton and them will love that.”

“There’s no need to be short with me. It was merely a suggestion.”

Roman sighed. “I know, I know. Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“If you have any ideas, I am open to hearing them.”

Roman looked up towards the ceiling. “Maybe….”

“Yes?”

“Maybe….”

“Roman, I swear, if you fall asleep on me in this stairwell—”

Roman groaned, shaking his head hard to clear it. “Thinking.” He straightened and looked back to Logan. “Maybe… we could say the landlord sent us? To ask about how things are going? Like checking in to make sure nothing needs fixing or replaced?”

Logan looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. That may even get us invited into the apartments. Although, we would ideally have to contact Joan, to coordinate with them about that. It would be quite the awkward circumstance, should one of the other tenants contact them to verify and they deny it.”

Roman groaned again, knowing Logan was right.

“I didn’t say ‘no’,” Logan pointed out. “Joan is quite amicable, and thus far we have been model tenants, objectively speaking. They may be open to committing a small, white lie on our behalf.”

“What do we tell Joan, then? We can’t exactly tell them the truth.”

“Well, no… but perhaps we could amend the truth slightly.”

Roman resumed climbing the stairs, catching up to his roommate, who kept pace with him as they approached the landing. He was starting to get an idea. “Maybe we could say something went missing from our apartment, and we wanted to talk to people to see if any of them had it?”

“That could work.” Logan smiled, seeming relieved. “I will send them an email,” he said, already retrieving his phone from his pocket. “They are generally quite timely with their responses, so it shouldn’t be too long before they reply….”

While Logan did that, Roman took a few minutes to collect his thoughts and think through what he was going to say to the other tenants. He was just now starting to hit his second wind—the tiredness fading for now, thankfully. Maybe it was luck, or anticipation of what they were about to do, or maybe it was just the caffeine kicking in more. In any case, Roman was glad. This was too important to be ruined by lack of sleep.

…

Virgil and Patton made their way down to the base of the wall, heading towards one of the entrances that Virgil had previously blocked off.

“How hard will it be to open up again?” Patton asked.

“It shouldn’t be too difficult,” Virgil assured, glancing back at him. “I was more worried about them being able to find the doors than about us never being able to get through again.”

That made sense, Patton supposed.

“I brought a knife with me, so it shouldn’t take long with the two of us.”

“Why not just use the hook to get down?” Patton asked hesitantly. He knew Virgil brought one with him sometimes, including today, but he’d never actually seen him use one.

“Well… I suppose we could have used it,” Virgil conceded. “I just figured this would be easier.”

Patton rubbed his arm. “Okay.”

They fell into silence again for a bit. Patton didn’t like being left with his thoughts like this. As much as he was trying to keep it together for Virgil’s sake, he was also incredibly worried. He didn’t share any relation to Emile, but he was one of Patton’s two closest friends—and only friends, since the humans probably didn’t count. Emile had been so kind and patient with him, doing his best to take care of both him and Virgil without complaint. He deserved so much better than this.

Patton sniffled and willed back his tears. There wasn’t time for him to go falling apart.

Actually getting the doorway open didn’t take as much time as Patton had feared. Patton and Virgil dragged out chunks of insulation from the tunnel leading up to it, and then Virgil cut through the tape and glue holding the door—a piece of baseboard—in place. Overall, it took less than an hour to get down from the shelf and open up the door.

Virgil pushed the newly unsealed door open and peered out, instinctively nervous even though it wasn’t as if the humans didn’t know about them. Patton couldn’t blame him. A second passed before he stepped out, and Patton followed. They were only a couple of feet away from the table Logan had set out, and across the room from the table where Patton had once been kept.

Virgil approached the nearer table, Patton hurrying after. When he caught up, Virgil was inspecting the table leg. “Now… we have to use the hook,” he was saying, mostly to himself. This table leg didn’t have a design carved into it, like that of the table Patton had been kept on did. Virgil stepped back, and both littles noted with gratitude that at least the tabletop didn’t have a lip that they would have to clamber over.

Virgil glanced in Patton’s direction and gestured behind them. “Do you want to…?” Patton nodded, getting the message, and moved further away from the table. Virgil balanced himself against one crutch, removed his backpack, and pulled out the hook. A long, beige piece of twine was tied to it, the individual strands starting to unravel. Virgil shook out the string onto the floor, wound up his arm, and threw the hook. It hit the edge of the table and bounced off. Virgil flinched as it hit the floor two inches in front of him. He grit his teeth and tried again. This time, the hook went over the edge of the table; but when Virgil pulled at it experimentally, it slid right over the edge and fell back to the ground.

“Bit out of practice,” Virgil explained in a low voice, his ears going slightly red.

Patton didn’t say anything. He didn’t mind if Virgil missed a few times. After all, if Patton tried to do this, it’d probably take a ridiculously long time for him to get a good hold. He hadn’t used a hook since the day he’d first been caught. Plus, he got the feeling that Virgil wasn’t a huge fan of using a rope and hook in the first place. He carried one with him on important trips like this, but he never actually used it. He guessed the reluctance had to do with how his foot was injured.

Not to mention how hard it probably was for Virgil to focus on his aim at the moment, with everything going on.

Thankfully, Virgil had more luck on the third try. He pulled on the rope several times more than was probably necessary, to be sure the hook wasn’t going to come free.

“I’ll go first,” Virgil offered, shouldering his backpack again. He picked up his other crutch, and  both littles approached the table.

…

Another two hours passed before the humans returned. Patton was dozing fitfully on the table top while Virgil paced back and forth, having adamantly refused to lay down. The bed, which they’d spent a good fifteen minutes putting together, was set up behind them.

Patton hoped that their efforts hadn’t been necessary. He hoped that Emile had just been trapped, that he had just needed someone to set him free.

At the sound of the door clicking open, Patton was immediately wide awake. He got to his feet, and both littles approached the edge of the table, waiting apprehensively.

Patton could hear two sets of footsteps approaching. But… they didn’t sound confident, or hurried, or even gentle. They sounded… reluctant.

Patton held his breath. No. Please.

The humans came into the room. Logan was first, tapping the tips of his fingers together, not looking directly at the littles. He had left his satchel in the kitchen. Roman followed after, looking practically dead on his feet. Neither of them were carrying anything as far as Patton could tell.

Virgil, at Patton’s side, had stiffened.

“Logan?” Patton whispered, finding that he couldn’t speak any louder.

Logan shut his eyes briefly, then turned to the littles. Roman collapsed on the sofa behind him without a word.

Logan took in the two littles, both very much on edge. He seemed to take pity on them, finally, and broke the tense silence.

“We didn’t find him,” he said.

…

Joan, the landlord, actually seemed quite eager at Logan and Roman’s request. They said that they really would appreciate it if Logan and Roman checked in with some of the other tenants—they were out of town at the moment, and they wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone in person for a few more days at least. And, they claimed, they were happy to help if something of Roman’s or Logan’s was missing.

“What a lifesaver,” Roman sighed, reading the email off of Logan’s phone. They had even sent a second email, a fake request that Roman and Logan talk to the tenants, for Logan and Roman to show if they needed it to convince someone of their intent.

“Perhaps literally,” Logan commented, mostly to himself. He locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. “Come on,” he sighed, gesturing for Roman to walk in front.

“Won’t they be mad about the time?” Roman asked. It was still only just past 7 in the morning.

Logan supposed he had a point. “We can say that we were hoping to catch them before work,” he suggested.

At first, things had seemed to be going well. The tenant in 5A let them in happily once she heard that Joan had sent them, answering whatever questions Roman and Logan came up with and even allowing them to check around for themselves to see if they could find any problems that she might have missed.

Roman and Logan concluded that she was far too relaxed and happy to have them there to be hiding a “mouse-man” anywhere in her apartment. They still checked behind and under the furniture, but they saw no sign of him.

The inhabitants of 5B didn’t answer the first time Logan and Roman tried their door, so they went up to the sixth floor with the intention to return afterwards.

In neither of the apartments on the sixth floor were the tenants as happy about the visit as the first woman had been, but they let Roman and Logan in after they saw Joan’s email. They even let the two of them look around, even if the man in 6A had acted like they were completely ruining his morning. Regardless, they got to search the apartments, including the places that the mouse-men had reluctantly identified as the most likely spots for Emile to be. Unfortunately, Emile was in neither apartment.

Logan emailed Joan about a cracked window pane in 5A and a burnt-out light bulb and some water damage in 6B, and then they walked back down to 5B.

“He’s got to be here,” Roman had said as they descended the steps, taking two at a time. “They’re the only ones who didn’t answer. Maybe they were ignoring us because they didn’t want us to find him.” Logan couldn’t help but agree.

When they reached the landing, however, that hypothesis was dashed. Both women were standing there, in the middle of unlocking their door. They had just gotten home from a vacation, luggage bags in hand. There was no way that they had trapped Emile.

They talked to the women, anyway; but, unsurprisingly, they came up empty. They didn’t get to search that apartment, since the women were clearly tired and not eager to have them come in, but Logan doubted Emile was in there. Based on a look Roman gave him, he felt the same.

Had they missed something?

Where could the missing mouse-man be?

What on earth were they supposed to tell the two waiting in their apartment?

…

They didn’t find him.

They didn’t find him.

Virgil sank down to his knees, the news repeating over and over in his head.

They didn’t find him.

He threw one of his crutches blindly, letting out an anguished shout. The humans had promised to help him, only to come back without Emile? After only three hours?

Virgil cried out again, not even caring that everyone was probably staring at him.

“Please—we haven’t given up,” the human was saying, sounding mildly alarmed. “The fact that we haven’t found him yet isn’t necessarily bad news.”

Virgil lifted his head, glaring at Logan through his tears. “Why did you come back without him?” he demanded. His voice was harsh, and his actual words were probably almost incomprehensible. But Logan would know what he was asking.

“I have to leave for a final exam in twenty minutes,” Logan said, his tone annoyingly reasonable. “Roman and I can continue our search when I return, a couple of hours from then.”

What the heck was a final exam? Why should Virgil care about that? It couldn’t have been more important than Emile!

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” Logan said. “But I cannot skip this exam. Besides, everyone is exhausted. It would be beneficial to take a break. Emile would want you to take care of yourself, would he not?”

“Take his name out of your god-damned mouth,” Virgil snarled, too upset to worry about the consequences.

Logan visibly faltered. He gave a single nod and left the room without another word.

…

As soon as Logan left, Patton turned to Virgil. His heart was still pounding as he approached his friend and sat down beside him, looking down at where his crutch lay discarded on the floor, over a foot below. That was a problem for later, though. For now, he focused on Virgil, who was staring at the floor with his jaw set.

Patton reached out hesitantly and touched his arm. He wasn’t pushed away, so he silently took his hand. His friend didn’t acknowledge him, but he also didn’t try to take his hand away.

“You shouldn’t yell at Logan,” a tired voice said. Patton looked up to see that Roman was watching the two of them through half-open eyelids. “We really tried hard to find him.”

“Could—could you maybe go back out?” Patton asked hesitantly. Logan had to be somewhere soon, supposedly, but no one had said anything about Roman.

“I suppose,” he admitted. “I don’t know how I’m going to convince them to let me back in, though.” He shifted against the back of the couch. “Plus,” he yawned, “it seemed clear to me that he wasn’t in any of those apartments. No one acted suspiciously in the slightest, and we checked in all the places your friend described. Or, most of them. That last apartment was a bit different, since the owners haven’t been there in a week. They only just got home.”

Patton felt a shudder go through Virgil and tightened his hold on his hand.

Roman groaned and reluctantly got up from the couch. “I’m going to go grab Logan.” He was halfway out of the room when he paused, looking down at the floor. “Oh….”

Patton followed his gaze and saw that he was looking down at Virgil’s fallen crutch, lying in two separate pieces on the floor.

Roman bent to pick up the crutch, and Virgil scrambled backwards, forcing Patton to let go of his hand. The human straightened, holding the pieces. He reached over and set them on the table, a fair distance away from the pair of littles, and left the room.

…

Patton fetched Virgil’s crutch and brought it over for him. While unusable at the moment, it didn’t look too badly damaged—easy to fix once they had the materials to do so—but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care about that.

Not while Emile was still missing. Not while they were sitting in a human apartment, having a chat with the most dangerous creatures on the planet.

The humans returned after a few minutes. Roman had his hands on Logan’s shoulders, practically steering him back into the room. The two of them sat down again on the sofa.

“Everybody be nice, please,” Roman said, glancing between them all.

Logan sighed. “So, as I said before, we were unfortunately unable to locate your brother,” he began, sounding reluctant, glancing at the table like he expected Virgil to interrupt him. He didn’t, this time.

“That doesn’t mean we are giving up,” he continued. “I unfortunately have to leave soon, and I doubt Roman will be of much use alone if he doesn’t get some sleep.” He glanced at the other human, who gave him a sheepish look. “The two of you look exhausted as well. I believe taking a break will do all of you some good.”

Virgil was about to tell the human exactly what he thought about that idea, but Patton squeezed his hand, and he resisted. Barely.

“However, as I still have some time before I have to leave, I would like to discuss our plans for when I return. Your brother was not in the apartments we searched, but he could still be nearby. Is there anywhere else he might be?”

Virgil sniffed. “Like where?” he asked, frustrated.

“I know this is hard, but try to focus, please. Could he be anywhere other than those apartments? Say, the stairwells?”

Virgil shook his head.

“Perhaps the laundry room?”

Virgil hesitated, then shook his head again. Emile wouldn’t have gone to the laundry room. They didn’t need anything from there that they couldn’t find elsewhere.

“I know that you said he was going to the fifth and sixth floors specifically, but is there any reason he might have gone to—?”

Roman suddenly sat up straight. “Wait… is it possible he came here?” he interrupted.

Virgil flinched, jerking to look in his direction. “Why the heck would he do that?” he asked. “Besides… we agreed not to.” And yet look at you now.

The humans glanced at each other.

Logan coughed. “Well,” he said, his voice an unusual pitch, “judging by the timeline of events you gave us, and the lack of any sign of your brother being in the apartments we already visited, it is a possibility, albeit unlikely.”

Patton, still firmly at Virgil’s side, tilted his head. “Why—why would he do that, though?”

Roman sat forward. “I was thinking—Is it possible he used the shelf you arrived here on? Logan and I found the doorway there after a picture frame of mine fell the other day. Could he have knocked it over?”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Patton said awkwardly. “But… that was—that was us.”

“Oh,” Roman said, wilting with disappointment. Then, like he’d been shocked, he sat bolt upright again. “Oh! That means… you two…?”

…

Patton nodded to confirm Roman’s thought. He figured that it would only hurt Roman’s feelings to tell him that he and Virgil hadn’t actually been planning to tell humans that they were visiting, however, so he didn’t.

“Putting that aside for now,” Logan said, glancing at Virgil. “Is there anywhere else in the building that your brother could be?”

Virgil didn’t answer immediately, so Patton did instead. “Emile talked to him—” he pointed at Virgil, “—before he left. He said he was going to the fifth and sixth floors. Right?” Patton prompted. He wasn’t sure of the exact wording that Emile had used, and he didn’t want to assume. Although, he couldn’t see why Emile would have taken the trip to the upper floors if it were anything he could get on the fourth floor, or why he would have gone down to the second floor without stopping back at home. Of course, Virgil also knew the building layout better than Patton did. Maybe Patton was forgetting something.

“Right,” Virgil confirmed softly. Patton frowned, uncertain if his friend had actually paid attention to the question.

Roman groaned. “Well, then what do we do? We already talked to everyone.” He flopped against the back of the sofa. Patton frowned again, reminded of how exhausted Roman looked. Apparently, it wasn’t just he and Virgil who hadn’t gotten much rest the night before. Logan was the only one among them who looked remotely well-rested.

Logan glanced at the clock. “I need to leave, unfortunately,” he said. “If you think of any other possibilities for locations that E—that your brother might be, please let me know once I return.” He got to his feet. “I recommend that all of you try to rest until then. I understand that you might find doing so difficult, but it will help.” He seemed unable to help but look at Patton then, and in an even softer voice, he added, “It is good to see you again, by the way, as unfavorable as the circumstances may be. Roman and I have… missed your company.”

Patton didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“See you later, nerd,” Roman mumbled, and Logan left the room.

…

Once they were alone, Roman looked over at the pair of mouse-men. They were sitting close together, Patton practically pressed against his companion. They were both thinner than Roman would have liked to see; and even if Patton looked much better than when he’d last seen him, he still felt that Patton looked rather pale. Were they doing okay?

Well, Roman reflected, that’s probably a stupid question. Of course they weren’t doing okay. Not with Emile missing.

But… maybe now was an okay time to ask about Patton? They had to wait for a while, anyway, so hopefully Roman wouldn’t get interrupted again.

He cleared his throat softly. “So… so, Patton?” he asked.

Patton looked up.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “Other than… other than all of this, I mean. Are you okay?”

Patton seemed to hesitate, but he nodded.

“Do you have enough to eat at home?”

For some reason, that seemed to be a sore spot for Patton, who seemed to wince slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asked, forcing himself to sit up.

“Nothing—nothing,” Patton said quickly. His companion shifted at his side, but he didn’t say anything. Roman couldn’t read either of their expressions from here.

“Okay,” Roman murmured. He had a feeling it wasn’t actually nothing, but he didn’t push the topic. He was tired, and the two mouse-men were under enough stress already. He let himself fall back against the sofa again, but he made sure the movement was gentle enough to not scare the mouse-men. “Then… are you feeling better? You were still sick last I saw you.”

Patton nodded. “I’m better,” he confirmed. “Mostly.”

In another development that Roman didn’t understand, Patton’s companion lowered his head, swallowing hard.

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Roman said truthfully. He did his best to stifle a yawn, failed, and lifted up one hand to cover it. He lowered his hand back to his side and blinked slowly, his gaze drifting up towards the ceiling. “I think… I’m gonna fall asleep now, if that’s okay with you two?”

Roman didn’t get an audible response, so he just let his heavy eyelids close.

…

“…to eat before we go?”

“That’s… that’s real kind of you, kiddo; but I don’t think either of us is very hungry.”

Roman shifted, his eyes fluttering open. A shape came into focus in front of him: his roommate, seated in a kitchen chair with his back to Roman.

Roman pushed himself up against the back of the couch, rubbing at his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Ah, Roman. Did you sleep well?”

Roman looked around. A blanket had been laid over him, and the lighting in the room was dimmed. Logan was sitting in front of the table under the shelf, talking to the mouse-men, who were sitting together there.

“When’d you get here?” Roman asked, looking at his roommate. “Why didn’t anybody wake me up?” He was surprised he hadn’t woken on his own: Logan was normally the heavy sleeper, not him.

“Our visitors and I were just discussing where we might be able to find his missing brother,” Logan explained. “I only returned about fifteen minutes ago. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let you sleep until we had decided where to go.”

Roman pulled the blanket off of himself and set it to the side. “Well, did you decide anything?”

“Possibly. Patton seems to believe that among the remaining floors, Emile is most likely located on the fourth.”

Roman yawned into his hand. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. Why the fourth, though?”

To his surprise, Patton was the one who answered. “M-my friend and I think he was d-done on the fifth—on the fifth and sixth floors. I don’t—I don’t know why he would be on the fourth floor, but… I know he wasn’t be-below that one.”

Logan frowned slightly.

Roman glanced towards Patton’s companion. He was just staring down at the tabletop, not saying anything. That was probably not a good sign.

“Is your friend okay?” he asked, frowning.

Patton looked sad. “He’s just… he misses his brother. And neither of us really got much sleep last night.”

Roman was trying to figure out how to reply when the mouse-man in question lifted his head and looked straight at Roman.

“I’m fine,” he said, his tone allowing for no argument. “I just—he’s not on the fourth floor, okay?”

“What would you suggest, then?” Logan asked, his voice as nonthreatening as he could make it. Roman could tell he was trying hard to be patient.

“You—you said you skipped an apartment. 5B, right?”

“Well… not completely. We talked to the women who live there, and neither of them have been there this week.” Roman ran his fingers through his hair. “They couldn’t have caught him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not there,” he snapped. “It just means they didn’t find him.”

Logan looked over his shoulder at Roman. Roman shrugged. The little guy had a point.

“We can try again there before we search the fourth floor,” Logan sighed. “But I can’t promise anything.”

Patton looked relieved, but the other mouse-man simply rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, as agitated as before. “Can you just go already? Please?” His voice was strained. He was close to snapping again.

“We can go,” Roman said quickly. “Yeah. Let’s go, Logan.” He got up from the couch. “I’m feeling much better.”

Logan glanced between Roman and the mouse-men on the table. “Yes, of course. We will be back soon.” He got to his feet, and the two of them departed.

As the two of them walked back up the stairs, Logan cleared his throat. “Roman, I know we agreed to check the fourth through sixth floors only, but do you believe it would be beneficial to check the others? They said that that their companion did not travel below the fifth floor, but that doesn’t negate—”

Roman put his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know, L. Maybe there’s some reason he wouldn’t be there.”

Logan sighed. “Perhaps.”

…

When Logan got back to the apartment, he half expected the two “mouse-men” to be gone, disappearing again while they were away. It would have hurt, of course, but at least then he wouldn’t have had to look them in the eye and tell them that he and his roommate still hadn’t found their brother.

Logan wasn’t one to overly emote his feelings, but he had to admit that that was a painful exchange. To see the hopelessness in the two small creatures’ eyes, the way Patton enveloped his friend in a hug even as tears sprung up in his own eyes.

They decided to call it off for the day. Logan was surprised that Patton’s companion agreed to it. Perhaps he was simply too tired and grief-stricken to argue.

“Do you want something to eat before you go?” Logan asked. He could do that much, at least.

It looked like the “mouse-man” was about to disagree, but Patton put a hand on his arm and whispered something that must have changed his mind. And so, Logan found himself in the kitchen, making a meal for what would likely be the most awkward dinner of his life.

They ate in silence, Logan and Roman in kitchen chairs across from the table like a parody of the dinners they had used to have with Patton. Patton and his friend only picked at their food, but after the meal, Patton gathered up some of the more transportable portions and put them in a bag that they had with them.

“Thank you,” Patton whispered. Then, with much more hesitancy, he asked, “Would you—would you mind leaving? J-just for a bit?”

Logan realized that Patton didn’t want them to know how they got out of the room. They must have had some other entrance into the walls besides the one on the shelf.

“Of course, Patton.”

…  

Patton and Virgil travelled home in silence. The trip took much longer than usual with Virgil only on one crutch, and they were both spent by the time they got home.

Virgil was reluctant to put a pause on their search, but he had to admit that they needed to stop at home for a while. The supplies to fix his crutch were there, and there also remained the distant, nagging possibility in Virgil’s mind, one he couldn’t quite shake, that Emile well might just show up back home on his own. There was also one other, somewhat urgent matter they had yet to deal with: the rat that had broken in the day before.

Virgil turned on the lights and looked around. Unfortunately, Emile was still not there to greet them. Instead, they were met with their ruined food stores lying scattered across the floor, knocked over furniture, and even a couple of rat droppings. The aftermath of the intruder.

“You go to bed,” Virgil said quietly. “I’m going to fix my crutch and then get this cleaned up.”

“You sure?” Patton asked. “I can do this. You should be getting some sleep.”

“Patton….”

“I’m feeling better, okay? Besides, I took a nap earlier. I’m not sure if you slept at all last night.”

“I did,” Virgil said truthfully, even if it hadn’t been for very long. “Just… please.”

“Vir—”

“I can’t, okay? I can’t sleep. Not while I know he’s out there, and he’s probably hurt, or—or worse, and I just can’t.”

Patton looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine,” he said wearily, “you win. At least lie down when you’re done, though, okay?”

Virgil nodded, not meeting his eyes.

Patton left, and Virgil got to work.

…

It only took him about ten minutes to fix his crutch, thankfully; but it took considerably longer to clean the house. Virgil had to throw out everything that the rat had ruined, take stock of what little was left, and right everything that had been knocked over.

Finally, with that done, he sat down on the floor, and just took a second to look around the house. Most of the drawings had survived the rat’s rampage, and they hung as ironically cheerful banners about the room. They fluttered slightly in a breeze that came in through the open door, mocking him for his naivete.

Virgil sighed, glancing down at his newly repaired crutch. He shouldn’t just be sitting here. At this point, he didn’t hold much hope that they would find Emile, let alone find him alive: the two of them never had found their father’s body, after all. It wasn’t uncommon for littles to just disappear. But he had to try. Emile wouldn’t give up on him. Virgil couldn’t give up on him, either.

It wasn’t like he was going to fall asleep, Virgil reflected. Maybe he could go back up to the upper floors, to search more himself. It was still daytime, but he could be careful.

He was about to get up when the lights flickered, one of them turning off for a second.

Virgil looked up at them with a frown. They’d been doing that a lot lately, hadn’t they? He watched them for a moment, and they did the same thing again. One of the lights nearest to the door seemed to be the issue.

A thought struck him. Virgil slowly looked down at his right hand, sitting in his lap. He rubbed at the tip of one finger with his thumb. There was still a small scab visible on it, where he’d stabbed it with a needle the day that Emile had left. A result of these same flickering lights.

Virgil felt like he’d been submerged in a bucket of ice water.

He knew where Emile was.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

alex is @whump-sprite‘s oc.

Lux gives a small, squeaky yelp when his leg buckles and he nearly falls to his knees, catching himself on the back of the couch.

Something twinged wrong in his hip, and now his side, his whole leg too, is burning. The warlock makes a rough sound as he pushes himself back up and tests his weight on that leg. It holds, the problem isn’t the knee, it’s the hip. Remembering the source of lingering aches is hard, sometimes; this one reminds him of when his hip was dislocated, last time he was in the cellar, so he thinks it’s a remnant of that injury.

His perception of the space around him shifts. Instead of idly noticing the plants on the windowsill, the sunlight hitting the wood panels of the floor, he sees every remotely horizontal surface as something he can collapse onto if the pain spikes again. The floor, of course, is the nearest but hardest to lower himself onto. The chair over by the little reading table. The couch, the armchair, the papasan.

That hip twinges again, and the arm propping him up against the back of the couch trembles. The very slight new pressure on his arm makes his shoulder start to ache, too, and a lump catches in his throat. Why can’t his body pick one old pain and let him sort it out before the next builds back up?

Pushing off from where he leans, he tries to walk. He manages something of a stiff shuffling, maybe something reminiscent of how Anders walks on his less-painful mornings.

His hip makes an ominous snapping sound that he can hear, and feel the jolt of, but which brings no new pain - until it builds up, starts burning through his nerves, and with a strained yelp, Lux collapses to the floor.

He doesn’t want to bother anyone. Emory won’t be home for three hours. And as much as he wants to just use his magic to numb the offending joint and get back up, he’s scared that his magic won’t work. As in, he’s scared to even try, even think too much about trying, because he’s scared that one day it’ll just fail to work ever again. Surely, enough fear and pain associated with magic can make it wither up and die. He keeps forcing it when it’s not ready to be used, or when it’s drained or tucked away, and he’s, he’s just scared.

It’s fine though. He’s got a phone. He won’t call anyone for help, the pain’s manageable, it’s something that feels familiar. He doesn’t like being alone, so he’s reaching out for a bit of company while he works up the will to try to move.

hey alex, what’s up?

Seconds after he sends the text, it’s marked as delivered. Lux turned off the “send read receipt” setting because he got so nervous about people knowing when he opened their texts, judging how long he waited to answer, determining whether he was lying about having read what they sent when he just forgot about answering. But Alex hasn’t turned that setting off, so Lux can see that his text is read within two minutes.

    nothing much. grabbing pizza. want me to bring you some?

An invite to hang out. Lux bites his lip. Every time he’s invited to spend time with a friend, he thinks about the cellar. Remembers being alone for weeks, months on end, the only other person in his world bringing only pain. The kind of loneliness that set over him then feels permanent. Like any moment, he might be left behind and forgotten, deemed not worth the effort it takes to interact with him. It’s why he’s texting alex at all - he can handle being driven to lie on the floor as pain comes in constant, inescapable waves, but he can’t handle being alone while it happens.

Alex starts typing again, then stops. He’s considering changing the offer, maybe adding to it, maybe taking it away, since Lux isn’t answering right away. Not impatient, just worried.

sorry, Lux types and sends, apologizing for his delayed response. pizza sounds great! take your time i’m finishing something up you can come over in a bit!

He certainly can’t go out, can’t walk. Can’t even just walk to a car and sit in it. Alex can come here with pizza, though, that sounds like it won’t require moving much.

Lux does need to get up and over to the couch, though, at the very least. And hide the pain. There’s no question in his mind that it’ll be worth it, he wants to hang out with Alex, wants to have company.

Lux gets his arms folded at his sides, propping himself up on his elbows. Home alone as he is, he puts no effort into stifling the whimper that comes with the grinding of his pain-ridden joint; his shoulder, too, is protesting the movement. But he’s pretty good at pushing himself through pain like this, unless some grinding of bone physically stops the movement he’s trying to complete. Knowing Alex is coming over is good motivation not to give up. How could Lux forgive himself for inviting Alex over, making the healer let his guard down to have fun, and then making him heal, use up the little magic that he has burning at his nerves just for an old ache that Lux can handle?

He gets up onto his feet finally, putting most of his weight on his better leg. He wobbles slightly, arms shooting out to find some semblance of balance in the air, with nothing close enough to lean on.

In a painfully slow, whimpery shuffle, Lux makes his way over to the couch and then lowers himself gingerly onto it. Sitting makes his hip grind in a new way and he moans, jaw clenching so hard that a headache is coming on.

His hands fumble numbly for his phone. There are three new messages, about five minutes apart each, from Alex. Lux took longer to get up and over here than he thought.

    i’ll grab some sodas then too, then.

    okay, heading over, be there in a few.

    lux?

Fifteen minutes. That’s not too long to go without answering, right? Maybe Lux was in the shower, or finishing a chapter of a book, or cooking. It’s a normal amount of time to not look at your phone, if you’re busy. Alex doesn’t suspect anything - there’s nothing to suspect, no secret. Just something that Alex shouldn’t be bothered with. Lux starts typing his response with his left hand, slow and clumsy, since his right arm isn’t cooperating very well.

sorry! got distracted. are you here? you can come in!

He sets his phone down on the seat beside him and sets his expression to one that betrays no pain, eager to successfully hide his aches. He’ll honestly get downright scared if it’s found out. That’s usually how he feels about secrets. So Lux will move carefully, and make some dismissive comment about aches, and hope Alex doesn’t look very close. All Lux wants in the world is to be normal, to not be a hassle, and he’s going to try his very hardest to spend time with his friend, rather than beg someone for help with his pain for the millionth time. As Alex walks in, Lux’s hopes for being normal and relaxed are already dashed by his own mind. Don’t look at me, he thinks defensively, tensing a bit. Don’t hear my sounds, don’t ask questions, don’t figure out where I hurt just by noticing how I move. Please, I don’t want to be in pain, don’t make me think about it more.

Of course, Alex has no plan of digging out something that Lux is nervously hiding. He’s not seeing much past the three two-liter bottles of soda that he’s balancing on top of a box of pizza - clearly, he forgot which flavor is Lux’s favorite, so he just picked a couple different kinds.

“A-Alex, um, does - does your hip still hurt, sometimes?” Lux asks softly, hoping desperately that the question won’t make Alex upset. He knows that what happened to Alex in the cellar left him with some pain on top of the nightmares and fear, like his hip. It bothers Alex sometimes, and he doesn’t mention it. But Lux recognizes the movements of someone whose joints don’t always work how they should, much like Anders does.

Alex frowns and sets everything down on the table between them, taking the armchair and opening the box of pizza. “Uh, yeah. Why? Uh, it’s fine now, though.”

Lux blinks, and then feels guilty. Alex sounds like he finds the question awkward, or like he’s uncomfortable with talking about it. Maybe he thinks Lux noticed something - a limp, a wince, a flinch.

“Sorry, I - was just wondering if, if it still hurt, and if you knew how to make it, make it, hurt less, maybe.” He falters, realizing that he’s backed himself into a corner, here, and the reason behind his question is clear. I’m in pain, and I need help. He doesn’t want help, though.

Before Alex can say anything, Lux tries to add more of an explanation, tries to keep it casual. “I, just, mine is kind of achy today, and I was just wondering. B-but I don’t need healing, or anything, I mean there’s nothing to heal, mmh..” In his eagerness to clarify, he’s gesturing with his hands, but the movement needs to stop now if he doesn’t want to keen pitifully in front of his friend who just wanted to eat pizza and drink soda and talk about dumb fun stuff.

“Is it bad?” Alex asks, direct and quiet. Bad enough to need numbing magic, goes unsaid. Bad enough that I should offer?

“No, I can handle it. I’m okay. But, can you grab me a slice? ‘d rather not move.” He’d only have to lean forward, not even shift his position on the couch, to get his own slice of pizza. But Alex seems to understand that a simple tug anywhere near that throbbing joint will bring a level of pain that will erase thoughts and the ability to speak and any semblance of normalcy.

“Sure,” The healer answers, and grabs Lux a plate, and a cup for his soda, and the biggest slice from the box. No more is said about lingering aches in once-broken joints, or the balance between enduring pain and asking for help.

[loveurn]

 @principalles​ // i haven’t written this au in literal years but i want to now

taeyang had become greedy. maybe a little shamelessly, but with how he easily it shows on his face and how quietly he’s started to mumble it, he thinks he’s retained some of his dignity. not that there’s much to retain after baring himself in front of hyunshik in his apartment, and crying, and having a breakdown. all in less than five minutes? maybe four? a record honestly.

han had promptly laughed after hearing the tale to which taeyang promptly threatened to shove the stretch roller up his ass. that’s what he gets for having a best friend though.

the problem is. time has passed since the incident and taeyang had assumed that their general agreement was to not discuss it. not discuss how taeyang had clung to hyunshik’s body the next morning, refusing to move until the male had said the phrase three times. the second time was because taeyang was convinced he was asleep and the third was because apparently hyunshik got a kick out of the look on his face.

you’re beautiful.

just the thought of it and taeyang’s entire body gives him away.

traitor.

the real treachery came after a morning where taeyang was sure would be the last time they discussed the incident. with taeyang but a few inches with the male, craving post-breakdown affection with the unfortunate person who’d given him attention the night prior. it’s embarrassing to think about, how he’d asked if they could eat breakfast together and how he’d had to physically suppresses noises of distress when hyunshik hinted at leaving for work that day. but they had lives, jobs to attend to and obligations. and hyunshik’s obligation was not to make taeyang feel better about the parts of himself he couldn’t love.

even if that part was his job.

he would pick himself up after that as always. he would wash his face, stretch and show his face perfectly and pristine in the studio for rehearsals. after the injury healed his restriction was lifted and he was back to the early mornings and the strict regulations. he wasn’t given a moment to breathe and that was probably easier, it should’ve helped the parts of his mind that wanted to stay wrapped in hyunshik. in his words and the way his hands felt, secured and grounding. cupping his face as they whispered the words, holding his shoulders as he held him close when they slept on the couch.

taeyang would be doing an excellent job of this is hyunshik wasn’t determined on making his life a living hell. but see, maybe taeyang’s had him penned wrong. the man with many jobs, a working man, an honest man, he was cunning.

and he hasn’t stopped using all opportunities to bring back those same feelings as if that night was only a day ago.

x.

this includes but isn’t limited to: text messages, snide comments, support at showcases, unnecessary notes. yes hyunshik has found a way to insert something similar to that dreaded phrase each time he sees taeyang and they see each other quite a lot. not that taeyang was avoided him but if he was this would’ve been a hell of a lot harder. but the coffee shop is his favorite, the bar is the only one han will go to and when there’s those lovely galas he’s invited to, hyunshik must be a part of the company they hire to cater.

it’s a cruel joke. 

because he’s sending innocent messages like outgoing [ did you like the show! ] incoming [ yeah. you were gorgeous. ]

and getting off the wall responses like that.

it’s them spending days cooking, taeyang stressing over a new recipe that hyunshik’s showing him and hyunshik spending time either laughing at him or observing him. moments that are far too silent and when taeyang seeks to break them with a question of if they’re correct or he needs to change anything he’s met with the stare. a stare far too similar to that night. and the words that accompany them.

‘cute.’

or when taeyang gets bold and asks if there’s something on his face he gets a bold,

‘it’s gorgeous don’t worry.’

he’s occasionally walking in the cafe and trying to get his order in when his greeting is along the lines of, ‘what can i get you’ with handsome, gorgeous, beautiful tacked on the end. with little regard to how astonished his co-workers seem to be by the flirtations.

can they be considered flirtations though? they don’t have the same greasiness in the smiles. not the ones he’s used to. because taeyang’s heard these before, he’s dealt with them before. flirty baristas, playful bartenders, lingering hook-ups. he’s dealt with them all and this was not that. because hyunshik’s smile was less of a smirk and more genuine, more sure in the words. maybe it’s because hyunshik’s seen him at his worst, his most open that taeyang wants to believe the smile is genuine and not a joke.

maybe he’s believing that no one could see him like that and have the gall to joke about something so obviously wrong. because it hadn’t been beautiful, he hadn’t looked beautiful and as many times as the words play over in his head, it’s still hard to believe.

but there’s no implication, no raised eyebrows, no winks, no phone numbers scribbled, or hands snuck onto his back or laced drinks. there’s just hyunshik with his words and the same smile that he gives the next customers ( though it’s not as risen for them taeyang will claim that  thank you very much ). 

hyunshik being candid so smooth that it’s knocking taeyang off-guard every time.

x.

outgoing [ i almost think you’re doing this on purpose. ]

in the time it takes hyunshik to respond taeyang almost regrets the message. but he’s had a bit of wine, sue him.

incoming [ sorry, busy shift. doing what? ]

outgoing [ asjdhgajs you know what!!! ] incoming [ did you keyboard smash? ]

a moment of silence.

incoming [ did you drink...? ] incoming [ where are you? ]

another moment of silence to mourn taeyang’s inconspicuousness. and for how his stomach leaps at the message, and he groans with his head hitting the phone screen.

outgoing [ i had some wne. i’m home mom!!! ] outgoing [ and thstg not the opint! ] incoming [ cute. ] incoming [ okay then, i’ll humor you what’s the point? ]

a lot happens then. because taeyang is momentarily struck by the message. by the image of hyunshik smiling, actually smiling as he types because he is humored and this is all probably fun for him. and taeyang is probably more of a mess than the first time hyunshik had to deal with him drunk. or less, just with more emotions. he feels too much and that’s why the word cute blares on his screen the way it does. that’s why it takes a million takes to type what he really says.

unsent [ the fltying unsent [ the flrt unsent [ flrjng wieth merg unsent [ caalng mr sthings yeou dont measn 

thankfully, it takes a gradual amount of wine to get him to send a message that works - or to work up the courage to send it when he thinks it’s acceptable enough. 

outgoing [ calling me beautiful. ] incoming [ and if i am? ]

the good news, taeyang falls asleep before he can embarrass himself further and before he gets a chance to read the response. the bad news, the messages he thought were unsent were sent, completely and fully sent and ready to make his waking hours even more miserable than he’d intended. 

x.

han is cackling up a storm the when they see each other seeing as taeyang had mass messaged him the screenshots of his mess the following morning. han had thought it was fun to ask him ‘how are you and hyunshik’ the minute he’d entered the apartment knowing taeyang had resolved to do everything in his power to avoid the male.

the answer was easy, childish but easy.

'you’re scared of how he makes you feel.’

it was a little more than that. taeyang was scared of the rush, of how drunk he’d felt on those simple words. on how he might start to believe them and only believe them because it’s hyunshik and not because of anything else. he was scared on how easily swept up he was by them, how sugary they seemed as if their path would only rot him to the core. or even worse - that he had nothing there left to rot and didn’t deserve the touch. the sweet. it was a dilemma but han wasn’t his friend for his eloquence.

‘so the man tells you you’re gorgeous. not seeing how it’s a bad thing if you feel good tae. it would do you some good to listen to someone, especially in our line of work.’

a line of work where they’re taught their imperfections while being taught to be perfect. they’re set-up for failure, to never have the right image of themselves so that their arrogance doesn’t ever come across to the audience. so that they always remain a product of the eyes and the judgement that watch them. you are not beautiful because you believe yourself to be you are beautiful because you break yourself for others and you try to be, for them. and they might give you the credit, for trying and only trying and living the illusion. 

it was hard to believe it and taeyang had never had trouble before with the easy flirts and the quick comments about his figure or his performance, even his face.

but there’s hyunshik saying it in the dark of his room with taeyang’s face tear-stained, body sweat and spent, holding himself together by a broken illusion. there’s hyunshik whispering it so that it can fill in all the cracks that taeyang’s made himself.

and it’s scary. it’s scary how filled he’s feeling by one utterance.

“i don’t want him to feel obligated.” ‘i’m ninety percent sure that’s not the case.’ “i don’t want to fish for the compliments.” ‘fish for them! ask for them everyday who cares!’

han’s advice doesn’t sit in like it should. not for the first two weeks of taeyang’s resolve. to keep his distance as much as he can. he can blame it on rehearsals as always. it leaves messages unanswered, it leaves han picking up their coffee order to bring to the studio, it leaves him at new bars and with other, unfamiliar faces, greasy bartender and fed up baristas. he lets the break in his routine happen if only to break his mind from what might be a trap.

hyunshik must be busy too, because he doesn’t go out of his way to text, which shouldn’t bother taeyang as much as it does. it stings a bit though, as if the drift is only pulling at him.

x.

if it takes a toll on his mental it doesn’t show in his work, at least not that he can tell. han tells him everyday that he needs to stop and talk it out. their choreographer also tells him everyday that he’s messing up, that he’s not good enough for the showcase and taeyang subsequently forgets all the words hyunshik’s told him in favor of that. in favor of the cruelty of his job.

because pride in himself was forbidden, and he’s deserved it.

taeyang’s never had a bad performance, not by critic standards. rookie or amateur yes but nothing serious as a fall on stage of forgetting a routine. he’s got too much muscle memory for that really. 

the thing is, he can feel the disappointment coming halfway through the performance. he hasn’t spoken or seen hyunshik in a month, preparing for this opening night. a gala performance that was the introduction to their new musical. a teaser for the lovers of high culture and art, taeyang invited as the star to debut it with the corps.

he’s been eating adequately, been practicing normally but the pressure - maybe it’s the pressure. he tries to rationalize through his movements, through the music what the feeling is. that’s during practice and he can’t quite pinpoint them. the performance is in three hours and he doesn’t have time to figure it out, not with costuming and dress rehearsal, not with getting ready and mingling before. not with the face he has to steel press on the minute he walks into the venue. and he should know that there’s no point in trying to analyze himself and his emotions when it’s the day of performance but he’s doing it and he’s coming up blank.

and he wishes that’s the face he could keep on. but when his choreographer’s called him out on it, in those hours before the show, in the same way he’s been grilling them, breaking him into the new routine. it’s not new but it does wear and tear. as the pressure does, as the stress does, as taeyang lets his body take the hits as much as his soul does. soft despite the years of training and steel he’s supposed to have built up.

‘you’re not giving me your best tae.’ ‘i don’t know, we might have to give this to someone else.’ ‘this is a debut for our sponsor.’ ‘why are you breaking form!’

something feels wrong. and he’s suddenly aware that he was right that he didn’t deserve the compliments, that he didn’t deserve the words. and taeyang can’t remember his routine for clearing himself before a stage despite it all, can’t remember what he would do before hyunshik. because everything done after was so refreshing, healing.

as he tries to steel those thoughts away and smile for a councilwomen, he catches the movement out the corner of his eye. he doesn’t need to look further, doesn’t need to chase it or the voice he hears giving out orders for appetizers. he knows it’s hyunshik, his body knows the sound. and he wants to smile, he wants to run, he wants to do everything in once. but his choreographer’s smile is strong, his misplaced praise drowns out everything and the councilman’s hand on his waist feels tighter than usual. it’s a trap. taeyang’s trapped.

he’s reminded of the perfection he needs and the perfection he lacks.

he can’t see hyunshik anymore, can’t remember what he’s supposed to focus on other than the importance of this performance and the fact that he’s not ready. he’s not perfect, he can’t fake it today and his body won’t shut down enough to let him.

there isn’t enough time and han rubbing his hands before the performance doesn’t help. taeyang staring in the mirror as he finishes the last touches don’t help and the breath he takes before the music starts and the lights dim don’t help.

whatever it is, whatever it is that clogs and prevents him from surrendering to the strive for perfection. it holds him the entire performance. he’s suddenly aware of all the eyes, of all the eyes, of his director’s frown of the awe of the audience and of hyunshik’s eyes. even if he doesn’t quite see them, he knows. 

disappointment is an ache he swallows tight while they clap and cheer.

taeyang doesn’t have bad performances, there’s no fall there’s no mistake but he knows. he knows it enough. he knows it as the pictures are taken, as the hands are shaken and flowers and doubled in his arms. he knows because he could hear his breath as the music stopped and the spell was broken. the spell of the character he’s supposed to be for the audience.

he couldn’t create it. he failed. 

and his director doesn’t rip into him yet, his choreographer doesn’t, too busy soaking in the praises from the audience. but he knows. when they’ve pulled the corps backstage to recap everything and it’s him, his director and choreographer zoning in on him for fifteen minutes. 

‘you lost your character.’ ‘your form was terrible.’ ‘how could you do that?’ ‘you could do better.’

and when it’s over and he faces his own mirror backstage his makeup’s smeared with tears. he’s not exactly crying because he was chewed out by his directors or in front of the corps. no he’s more crying because of the loss of control, because of the sloppiness he’s allowed in something he so deeply cares about. he’s frustrated really, confused and so the tears come. 

taeyang hears han calling for him and he makes for the back exit with whatever strength managed to carry him through the performance and hold him up after it all.

x.

as luck would have it he’s heading out the back doors by the alleyways and hearing a voice that doesn’t sound like han’s.

it sounds like a memory. sounds too good to be true and almost like a nightmare in itself.

because taeyang’s whispering not now, why now. but he can’t stop time and he turns to see hyunshik slipping his phone into his pocket, standing by the back entrance of what is probably the kitchen quarters. because of course whatever he was doing ends as taeyang is running from everyone. regardless he’s stopped and more aware of the tear stains on his cheeks, the falling glitter that’s not streaming down his face, and how horrid he must look.

‘taeyang.’

and the fact that now he can’t pretend he didn’t see hyunshik.

“yeah?” taeyang wants to hide, and he does so with his head lowered as he answers, his body folded in and ready to bolt when he can. it’s the first time he’s been aware of his voice since the day started, and the affirmation the he’s not all hear, that he’s been crying, that he can’t quite bring himself together. but he doesn’t move like he wants, he waits.

‘your performance...’ comes first and taeyang feels his body stiffen. he feels his stomach churn and his chest tighten. it’s probably noticeable and his response is immediate, head up as he snaps the words back. there’s nothing sharp about it though, just that it comes desperate and rather rushed. because he doesn’t want to hear the rest, he can’t bear it. “it was bad i know.” if hyunshik means to say anything against that, taeyang is too quick to respond, too seated in his belief. he failed. he knows. but he’s smiling amongst it. “i wish i could’ve shown you better.” something that matched up to all hyunshik’s said to him.

he’s so seated in the belief that he doesn’t notice hyunshik getting closer, doesn’t notice the hand on his shoulder until he flinches. hyunshik is but a few inches from him, his hand inches from where taeyang’s stepped back, flinched away from it. 

‘tae, that’s not.’ “i’m sorry.” the rest of it, the ‘i have to go’ is only said when he’s turning to make his way out the alleyway as he intended and keep the pain that’s constricting his chest until he’s safe in his apartment. it tightens and it suffocates but it’s easier when it’s caught in his pillow. when it’s smothered and stuck in the walls of his apartment.

if his phone is ringing multiple times he doesn’t try to check why, or who it could be. instead he only answers his door when he hears han’s voice on the opposite side. lets his friend engulf him in a hug and hold him with plans of ice cream and nothing remotely related to dance or the performance. han doesn’t try to convince him of anything, that he didn’t bomb the performance ( though he makes  a few quips about their director ), he doesn’t mention seeing or not seeing hyunshik or that taeyang’s been crying and probably looks a mess. he just mentions that they should order more food since ice cream isn’t nearly enough.

and they do just that.

x.

taeyang is a wimp so he gets han to open the messages hyunshik sent him, just for the sake of getting rid of the notification. and han doesn’t complain, lets him be in his moods and his avoidance for as long as he needs. taeyang can’t face the messages, for a multitude of reasons but the top being he needs to get himself together before he tries to engage whatever hyunshik had said, whether it’s anger at leaving him without a word, ignoring him, or god forbid those sweet words that’d held him above the tide for so long.

so there’s practice again. there’s the bend and the break. the edge that he faces each day, trying to stay afloat it all, present and drowned in his work. it’s hard but he makes it, he always makes it.

he has to rewatch the performance but this time when he does it’s in the comfort of his room, with his pup curled in his lap. he analyzes and what he can’t quite steel away he lets fall on the pads of his finger and his screen.

maybe he’d been so uncomfortable because he’s used to sharing these moments alone. the deconstruction that he had to do to himself in order to be great. he was so used to doing it alone that doing it with hyunshik even once, had thrown him off balance. it’d felt good - so good but taeyang was scared of it feeling like the best and getting attached, addicted. to the point that if hyunshik disappeared he wouldn’t be able to return.

return to what though - as if this routine was any healthier.

it worked though, working himself to the bone.

it works. 

x.

he’s not banned from the official debut, he’s just expected to do better, to be perfect in every sense of the word. and slowly he gets his rhythm back, it’s not as smooth, feels a bit stretched and awkward but it’s a rhythm and it produces results. what bothers him is that it doesn’t feel smooth but it’s definitely the routine he was used to before all this. before the feelings and breaking himself over for the man with the calloused hands and the candid smile.

x.

when the time comes dress rehearsal has gone different. he’s in his head but he’s not as afraid. he can feel the muscle memory, can feel the haze of the music as it’s all but set and soaked in his brain. he doesn’t review much as he stretches backstages and just repeats affirmations, perfection, perfection, perfection.

‘ready to shine?’ han is meeting him backstage, no doubt after dropping his arm candy off in their auditorium seats. in his hand are a small bouquet of flowers that he places on the vanity.  “rude of you to give me flowers your date brought.” ‘asshole, they’re not from me to you. but they’re definitely for you.’ they’re a mixture of pink flowers, white ones and blues, all taeayng’s favorite colors. there’s a note inside, yellow with a silver pattern around the border. taeyang is used to getting flowers before big shows, though they usually come afterwards. intrigued that han is bringing a set personally, he reaches for the note.

and sputters when he reads it.

they’re being called though and he’s being ushered up and out to the stage.

x.

the performance is a bit of a blur. which is a good! that’s good, his muscle memory saved him and he was able to deliver as flawlessly as expected. does he have critiques for himself, yes. but nothing a few reviews couldn’t fix and not enough for his director to pull him aside. so he’s content. he usually feels an airy bliss when he’s come down from performing, the curtain lowering and the high subsequently falling, settling into the noise of his head and the noise of the audience. 

he’s breathing again but this time it’s because he’s running. past those asking for picture, past the corps and past everyone until he reaches the lobby. until he reaches hyunshik, the yellow note tight in his fist and his other fist reaching for the back of the male’s jacket.

his voice stops when hyunshik turns to meet him, and his hand starts to loosen on the hold. what had he run for, what was he even going to say. the note is crumpled and sweaty in his palm and hyunshik’s gaze is, surprised and then calm. patient.

what had he planned on saying?

“the note.”

beautiful as always. it read.

“you hadn’t even seen the performance.” ‘doesn’t mean i didn’t think you’d be.’ “but - you couldn’t have known.”

you can’t have that kind of faith. is what he means, it’s what he doesn’t say. as if not giving him the chance to continue his thoughts hyunshik’s closed in, and his hands are lifting taeyang’s head from his chin. taeyang’s then aware that his eyes are watering again, that he feels powerless but in a different way.

‘you always are. tonight. before tonight. i’m sorry i didn’t get to tell you that at the last one.’

why is he apologizing. he doesn’t need to apologize. taeyang has so many, so many apologies lined up, ready. but he’s hiccuping and hyunshik is smiling so sweet, so sincere. 

‘it’s hard to get tickets for this one so i was working to afford it - then han went and invited me for free.’

it’s not right, he doesn’t deserve this. not the devotion. not hyunshik working extra for him. not hyunshik still smiling while tears roll down his cheek, while his hands shake and find purchase in his tuxedo jacket. 

“you don’t have to be nice.” ‘taeyang, i am anything but nice.’ taeyang’s heard those stories. of how strict hyunshik was viewed by other employees, by other customers. he’s heard him take orders before, handle rowdy guests and even dismiss people who were far less annoying than han. he knows nice isn’t exactly the right word, but mean isn’t either. ‘i’m just honest.’

more tears fall and they start to run over hyunshik’s thumb. taeyang’s a sniffling mess, his head is scrambling again but in a way that’s more how his stomach feels. an onslaught of emotions, rather than the thoughts, it’s all getting blanked, overrun. 

‘what i think is beautiful, is beautiful. whether he believes it yet or not. so i will say it because why not? why shouldn’t I?’

taeyang doesn’t have the heart to think how he doesn’t deserve it. the thoughts can’t penetrate right now. he’s filled with thoughts of this smile, of this touch. of hyunshik inches from him, of the cologne sprayed on his cuff links, of the cup of his hand on his cheek and every brush of tears that comes after. how can he thinks when he’s all static and it’s all screaming for the man in front of it again. how can he deny himself the indulgence when hyunshik has already made up his mind about it. 

how could he deny himself anything less.

“can you say it again...please.” he allows himself to be shameless. ‘you were beautiful tonight taeyang.’ so hyunshik says it and so taeyang lets himself believe it for the moment. for the kisses placed on his forehead and his cheeks, for the laughter so easily pulled from his lips and the kisses stolen from there as well. it’s cute and it’s light and taeyang feels like he’s soaring, letting hyunshik fit arms around his waist and shield him as they head to his apartment. 

he’s a giggling mess from all the kisses and the repeated whispers of the same phrase. he’s become a little greedy now, attacking hyunshik for more when they cross the threshold of the elder man’s home.

“i’m sorry for running away last time.” ‘mhm.’ “and i’m sorry for ignoring your messages.” ‘mhm.’ “and i’m sorry for avoiding you at the same time.” ‘hm.’

all said between kisses, distractions really.

“say it again?” the question is shy, tucked into the white undershirt of the tux and the spot he’s occupied with hyunshik’s chin atop his head and his arms fastened around the elder’s body. hyunshik says it again and again, long after he’s wiped away all the tears. long after the traces of makeup are just a few black streaks and lingering sparkles. long after taeyang’s found a pair of trousers and a hoodie to throw on and they’re in a bed not a couch. 

hyunshik whispers it so many times it sticks to the walls how it permeates and floats around in taeyang’s mind. floats and dances and holds him as he replays every move from the night, every attempt to criticize and berate himself stolen back with each kiss and each laugh that has him floating and falling. hyunshik kisses away the mistakes so tenderly taeyang almost forgets they exist, his body on fire in a way that dance doesn’t sum up to.

on fire in a way that’s probably not reserved for dance. but for the two of them. and in a way that makes him think it’s okay to be a little shameless, and a little greedy.

and even if they stop when hyunshik insists he get rest, something about the firm hold the male has on his body lets taeyang know he’s got more awaiting him tomorrow and long after that.

[enchantedsugden]

i'm looking at you and my heart loves the view (cause you mean everything)

ao3 link 

aaron overhears a conversation in the pub and is less than happy.

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

He’s scrolling on his phone half expecting his husband to text him an explanation on why he’s late any moment now. Two pints already placed on the table, Aaron can’t help but start sipping at his own one while he checks out the atmosphere in the pub. It’s a relatively quiet night, he sees some familiar faces but there’s no one he’d particularly want to strike a conversation with. There are the vague sounds of an argument coming from the backroom, Charity clearly frustrated with whatever Marlon has done, or hasn’t done. Aaron sighs, he’s almost ready to start his own argument, Robert was now 15 minutes late and counting. He honestly wouldn’t mind as much if he knew what was going on but he didn’t. The older man had a meeting in Leeds scheduled for the day and had assured Aaron that he’d definitely make it to the pub at 18:30 but there was still no sign of him. Aaron liked to mock his husband for worrying but right now he was starting to get his own anxiety about accidents and injuries.

He’s about to send Robert a text when Marlon walks past him, two plates in hand “oh hiya Aaron- you’re not being stood up are ya?” The chef grins and Aaron rolls his eyes “he’s late” he replies and watches him bring the two meals over to two men Aaron’s never seen before. They are older men who according to Aaron would be the exact men you’d expect to see here in Emmerdale, if you didn’t really know the place. They were both dressed as if it was a snowy day in January and the Woolpack hadn’t heard of heating. One of them even had his tartan cap still firmly pressed on the top of his head.

“So you won’t be wanting to order any food yet then?” Marlon asks, shaking Aaron out of his thoughts.

“No ta Marlon”

  I am still at the pub, where are you? I hope you’re okay xx (18:51)

He sends the text after giving it the quick once over. It sounds how he wants it to sound, not angry, because he isn’t. He knows Robert wouldn’t turn up late and not let him know for no good reason. They weren’t like that, not nowadays, they knew how worried they could each get and right now that was exactly what Aaron felt, worry.

He drained the last of his pint and walked over to the bar to order a new one when the two older men caught his attention again.

“Isn’t that his young lad?” the one still wearing the cap says, he’s pointing at the wall and Aaron follows their gaze. The picture of young Robert on his dad’s shoulders is staring back at him. The same picture that always manages to make Aaron smile fondly, the young boy looking so happy and carefree all wild blond hair and freckles. 

 They had that exact picture hanging up on the landing. Diane had it framed for Robert back when they first moved into the Mill, and it had taken a long time before his husband had had the courage to actually put it on display. The best part of a year really, it wasn’t until a few months after him and Robert had gotten back together again that the older man had finally added it to their wall full of memories. It was the only one there of Robert and his dad, but it was enough and Aaron was proud, he was always proud.

 The other man was now nodding and Aaron decided to just drink Robert’s pint instead, his earwigging a lot less obvious at his own little table than it would be standing at the bar in full view.

“A tear-away, a right handful as he got older” the cap continues “not sure what will have become of him but I wouldn’t expect too much” he adds making the other man laugh.

Aaron feels his eyes burn with tears, out of anger and frustration but also out of upset he feels for his husband. He wants to tell those two gits exactly what had become of that boy, that he was a wonderful husband and an amazing father but he knew he couldn’t. Not that Robert wasn’t worth it, Robert was worth everything and the fact that these strangers were talking about his husband as if they knew him made his blood boil. No, it were those two men who weren’t worth it, they had no right to any kind of information about his husband, or their relationship. They were the traditional type, Aaron didn’t need to be a genius to realise that. He had no desire to hear their no doubt hurtful opinion on his love for his husband. Especially when these men meant literally nothing to him, or to Robert.

He wanted to go, to text Robert to meet him back at home but the thought of the men continuing to talk about his husband after he had gone, not knowing what else they could be saying made him feel ill so he stayed seated.

“Think Jack was very happy to call that other boy his own. A lot more alike those two. Maybe he still lives here, owning one the big farms up the other end.” Aaron felt his heart sink at the words. He always felt Robert’s sadness and pain whenever he talked about how awful it felt being second best, the tears and upset on his husband’s face enough to make Aaron feel it all with him. Now though, he felt as if he was experiencing it first-hand, as if Jack was alive and he was making his son feel awful right in front of him. What he had just heard confirmed his suspicions, those two men had been friends of Jack’s or had at least been close enough with him to know about his sons.

Aaron was still worried about Robert’s whereabouts but he couldn’t help but feel grateful that he wasn’t here right now. He shifted in his seat trying to restrain himself from shouting how that same amazing Andy they were talking about was now on the run from the police. Sure, he wasn’t guilty but he had still made his fair share of mistakes. He wasn’t the great son of the equally not so great Jack Sugden.

“At least Andy was always looking out for his old man eh, the other one- Robert couldn’t even be bothered turning up at his funeral.”

The man without the cap seemed to have remembered names all of a sudden and Aaron felt his fists clenching in anger at hearing them say Robert’s name. He imagines banging those fists on the table whilst telling them both were to stick it. Aaron felt everything Robert must have felt for so long, and still does now, from time to time. Tears of frustration at the unfairness of it all prickling his eyes. Those twats acting like Jack wasn’t the one that sent Robert away from everything he had ever known at a time when he needed his family more than anything. Acting as if Robert hadn’t been anything but his brave self when he turned up at his dad’s funeral to pay his respects, when Jack had told him to never come back to the village.

But what Aaron really wanted right now, more than anything was to run into his husband’s arms and hug him so tightly, a hug containing all of Aaron’s love for Robert. Aaron realized that it made him feel calmer, thinking about his love for his husband. Robert finally felt like he belonged and knew he  was loved and cared for. As much as he wanted to set the two men straight he once again realised that they didn’t deserve to know anything.

With this in mind he tried to keep calm. He checked his phone and saw two messages from Robert. He sighed with relief knowing that the older man hadn’t been in some kind of terrible accident.

Aaron, I am so so sorry. My phone was in my coat pocket and I couldn’t get to it while driving. Traffic was hectic xxx (19:10)

I am on my way to the Woolie now, are you still there? I am so sorry I am late. I love you xxx (19:12)

 Aaron smiled at Robert’s texts before realizing that he’d be here any minute now. He wanted nothing more than to take his husband home, have a night in just the two of them and talk about their day. Mostly, he wanted Robert far away from the men. Their conversation seemed to have moved on from the Sugden boys but he didn’t want his husband anywhere near people that had the values and opinions that Robert had internalised growing up, values and opinions that he had taken as the truth and that had caused him so much heartbreak and grief. Robert didn’t deserve to be in an atmosphere like that after he had come so far, Aaron decided.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts he looked up and was met with the only face he’d been wanting to see for the past few hours. Robert was quickly scanning the pub before his eyes landed on Aaron and he smiled widely. Aaron couldn’t help but smile back as he got up so quickly that he almost tripped over the chairs.

“Hey” Robert says, once Aaron is practically standing right in front of him, he clearly wants to go in for a peck but Aaron pushes at his chest “let’s get out of here eh?”

“What- I thought-“

“Robert- wait outside.” Aaron hates the alarmed and slightly hurt look on his husband’s face but he just needs him to get out of the pub.

When he’s sure Robert is outside waiting for him, he turns around. He’s standing next to the two men who are looking up at him with an annoyed expression on their face, clearly not happy with Aaron looming over them whilst they’re having their meal. Aaron wonders if they recognised Robert before deciding that there’s no way they could have done. If they had actually ever met Robert in person it was when he was a young boy. He had also pushed Robert out of the pub so quickly they probably didn’t even manage to catch a glimpse of him. He quickly looked each of the men in the eye before taking a deep breath.

“That Robert you were just talking about. Yeah I know him- pretty well actually. And you know what? He’s an amazing man, a brilliant husband, a great dad and Jack never deserved him.” It’s strong and unyielding and the men look shocked, shocked at being overheard? Shocked at being overheard gossiping about someone who’s practically a stranger to them? Aaron doesn’t know, but he relishes in the embarrassing look on the men’s faces.

 He walks out of the pub, not giving them a second glance. His husband is waiting for him.

 The same husband who’s understandably so, quite confused.

Robert’s standing between the benches, looking ready to fire questions at Aaron as soon as he comes out.

“Aaron what the hell was all that about?” Aaron is halfway to Robert’s car but the older man isn’t following, he sighs, knows Robert won’t let it lie.

“It’s fine, it’s sorted” Aaron states, ready to get into the car and get away.

“Yeah, that’s what I am worried about. What exactly did you sort- what happened in there? You were so- I don’t know fired up or something.”

“I’ll tell you when we get home. C’mon Robert I want to get out of here.”

“Have I done something wrong?” Robert was still rooted on the spot and he was watching Aaron with wide eyes.

“What no- no. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Aaron’s voice was softer now realizing that because Robert had no idea what had happened, to him anything could have happened. Maybe he thought Aaron was angry with him because he had been late. Aaron hated that the older man thought he’d upset him somehow, especially after hearing those two twats talk about him like that.

Robert deflated a bit and Aaron came closer, putting his hands on his husband’s arms. “Let’s go home eh? I’ll tell you when we get back. You haven’t done anything wrong I promise.” Aaron reassured again, pulling at Robert’s hand and leading them to the car.

  “Thank you” Aaron says, gratefully taking the cup of tea from Robert’s hands. This wasn’t exactly the meal in the pub that they had planned, but when did things ever really go to plan with them?

Robert went to sit next to him on the couch, a cup of tea of his own in his hand. “So? Were you planning some sort of surprise for me or was there someone there that I wasn’t allowed to see?” Robert asks, a smile on his face.

His husband was clearly feeling more relaxed now they were at home and Aaron hated how he was about to break their little bubble. Robert wouldn’t expect this at all. It had never really happened before, bumping into people they knew from years and years ago. They really had been living in their own little bubble recently and Aaron didn’t want it any other way.

“Umm kinda” Aaron starts “well the last bit not the surprise bit. I probably wouldn’t be telling you this if you hadn’t come to the pub but- there were two men there who seemed to know your- Jack. Maybe they were old friends I don’t know. I heard them talking.”

Robert put his cup down and Aaron noticed a slight shake there. His husband had paled slightly, his eyes searching Aaron’s face as if he was waiting for him to say more. Aaron didn’t continue though and Robert looked down.

“I- um so what did they say? Guess it wasn’t anything positive or you wouldn’t be like this now.” Robert was looking up at him waiting for an answer, a fake smile on his face as if this wasn’t bothering him.

“It’s really nothing.”

“Aaron. I want to know, I deserve to know if it was about me.” Aaron nodded, knew that he would want to know too if he was in Robert’s position.

“They said Andy was always there for your dad. They seemed to know about you uh being away.” He says it carefully and decides to keep it at that. He wasn’t going to tell Robert that they mentioned the funeral or that Jack must have been so happy to have Andy as a son too.

“What else?”

“Robert- please. Let’s just leave it.”

“Aaron I can handle it, honestly. I’d like to know.” The words I am used to it not said out loud but clearly hanging in the air uncomfortably. His husband seemed tired rather than angry and Aaron didn’t like it.  

“They said Andy and Jack were more alike.” The conversation between the men about his husband was etched in Aaron’s mind, he could repeat it all to Robert right now but he just wasn’t going to do that, he picked out certain bits and pieces. All the bits and pieces were hurtful enough but some more than others and if he could keep the latter ones from Robert, he would.

“That’s true” Robert shrugs his shoulders. “I could be as much of a wild kid as Andy was, but I could also sit quietly and read a book. Dad used to say I was too emotional. I was more like mum in that way. I was always more like her than dad, which is weird maybe because she wasn’t my real mum.”

“Hey- that doesn’t mean anything. Sarah’s your mum” Aaron reassures, knows that Robert knows it as well but he feels like emphasizing it. Robert nods, smiling softly clearly thinking about his mum and Aaron can’t help but scoot even closer and reach out to comb his fingers through his husband’s hair. Aaron thinks about the pictures that are in Robert’s album, tiny Robert reading books in the strangest of places. It reminds him of how much he loves to watch Robert read, his husband still able to get totally engrossed in a book, forgetting about the world around him. Aaron supposes that it has helped Robert a lot over the years.

“There is and wasn’t ever anything wrong with you being different you know.”

“I know that now” Robert says “I did used to think it was wrong though, but now I also know that that wasn’t my fault.” Aaron nods as he watches the older man carefully. It was times like these that Aaron was reminded of everything his husband had been through and the people he had lost over the years. It seemed like Robert was drowning in the bad kind of memories as well and Aaron needed to get him back to the present again.

“Hey” he says softly, touching his arm and squeezing it slightly. The older man looked back up at him and smiled a tiny smile that broke Aaron’s heart a bit.

‘’You alright?” Robert seemed to shake himself out of it a little as he nodded in response. “So what happened then, when you made me wait outside?”

And Aaron had almost forgotten that he hadn’t told Robert about that yet. He smiles sheepishly, hopes that Robert won’t be upset about Aaron defending him.

“Told them how amazing you are, a good husband and dad. I didn’t say you were my husband, I don’t know if they clocked it they’re traditional twats, so probably not. I also told them Jack didn’t deserve ya.”

Aaron’s gaze is focused on Robert’s arm, he is about to look at his husband’s face when he feels Robert lifting up his chin.

“I am not angry or anything if that’s what you think. How can I be?” Robert has a fond, kind smile on his face and Aaron matches it, releasing a sigh of relief. “I was just worried. I didn’t say anything while they were talking. I was planning on not saying anything- which sounds awful but I don’t know.” Aaron takes a deep breath, knows he’s rambling. “Didn’t want them knowing anything about ya, about us. They didn’t deserve to. But I just couldn’t walk out of there without saying anything. Especially after I had just seen ya.” Aaron feels his cheeks warm at his honesty and Robert’s smile turns slightly shy, his eyes still bright.

 “Thanks for telling me” Robert says after they’ve let the silence linger on for a bit. “I know you didn’t really want to tell me, which I understand. But I’d rather know I guess. It’s kind of weird though, that strangers were talking about me just because they knew me as a kid and knew my dad. But I am okay, honest. I don’t know them, they don’t mean anything to us.”

“Good” Aaron says, convinced Robert knows he hasn’t told him everything, he could probably guess everything anyway. Even the things the men hadn’t said aloud. It wasn’t like Robert used those exact opinions and thoughts to beat himself up with, over and over again. It was time for Aaron to voice some of his own now. He laid his head on Robert’s shoulder, his husband moving his head so that they were touching.

“I am so proud of you Robert.”

“Give over, I haven’t done anything!” Robert lifted his head up, frowning, looking honestly quite confused.

“Yeah ya have. So much and I’m better at telling ya now, so you do know but I just wanted to say it again. I know we had a time of it in the past and things were hard but look at us now eh. You were afraid for so long because of what your dad did to ya. But you still married me and we have Seb and we’re planning on expanding our little family. You’re strong and brave as hell.”

“Aaron-“

“No I need to say this. Jack, he was traditional and you wanted to make him proud, but you know what, you have done. And if he, up there, doesn’t think so he’s got another thing coming. I meant everything I told those two, you are an amazing man, husband and father. And I and everyone else who cares about you is lucky to have ya alright?”

Robert seemed overwhelmed but nodded anyway. He gulped, tears filling his eyes “it’s not like I could have done any of this without you.”

“We help each other don’t we, we always will. But that still makes ya strong, and needing help doesn’t ever make ya weak.” They had had this conversation a lot over the past few years. It had always been one of their problems, but especially Robert still liked wanting to face everything on his own. But the both of them were slowly getting better at asking for help and it was one of the things that made them so solid now.

“So- are we gonna order in then, seeing as we didn’t get our tea at the pub?” Aaron grins.

“Sounds like a plan husband” Aaron was happy to see that Robert wasn’t dwelling on what he had told him. He could read the older man so well that he wasn’t doubting that. His husband had clearly listened to his speech and taken all of that in, instead of whatever those two gits had had to say. It was a sign of progress really because negative things were much more likely to stick in your mind weren’t they? And Robert was very good at taking negative things to heart.

Aaron’s train of thought was cut short by his husband, who pressed a kiss to his forehead. “As a thank you for defending me. I wish I had seen it, must have been really sexy.” Aaron laughed, not able to resist punching Robert lightly on the arm.

“Well that’s the last time I’ll be doing anything nice for ya.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

And Aaron knew that’d be no use. He’d defend Robert until the end of time.

[peterporkerpeter]

Code Red P.VII [Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader]

SUMMARY: When the Avengers are given the mission to acquire a deadly weapon in the possession of a suspicious professor, Y/N must attend a gala in order to charm the professor’s quite dangerous son. Her date to the gala? None other than her crush: Peter Parker himself. That’s bound to make for an interesting evening

CONTAINS: mention of sexual harrassment (for like only a hot sec), blood, swearing, ANGST, FLUFF, peter parker crying oof

WC: 4.000 

A/N: i’m so proud of this chapter, it is my favorite one yet and i really hope that you guys like this one. i was listening to some good tunes when i was writing and it got me really in the zone lol. this chapter is extra long bc i was feeling like a generous bitch so i hope yall like it. im literally screaming. hope you have a great day/night! :) Also, some people have mentioned that the tag list isn’t working for them! I’m so sorry about that, and if i’m being honest i have no idea how to fix it lol

| ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | EIGHT |

Y/N SLAMMED HER DOOR shut, violently throwing her heels onto the mattress. There were several things she needed to do, the first being to find a new, fresh pair of clothes to change into. Breathing heavily, Y/N shimmied out of her red dress, now stained with dark crimson splotches. She ferreted through her closet, ignoring the bursts of pain from her worn wrists.

She settled on a comfortable cream sweater and a pair of gray sweat pants, feeling better already. She rolled up the sleeves and headed for the bathroom, where she dunked her head down towards the sink, flipping on the faucet. It took a century and a half to get majority of the makeup off her face without irritating her fresh wounds too badly, the water turning a mixture of red, black, and brown.

Y/N patted her face dry, relieved that her skin could finally breathe. The cuts still stung like a bitch, but she couldn't care less. She was home in her room, clothed in something comfortable and no longer in imminent danger for the rest of the night. It was a breath of fresh air to her, not just her skin.

She tried not to think about the way she had treated her team earlier. She knew she was acting mean and impulsive, but the words kept spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. She just couldn't bare standing in that living room after brushing close with death a handful of times. And her head—God, her head. It would not stop pounding, like someone was driving an ice pick straight into her skull.

The mere thought of Axel's face caused a tremor to spike in her heart. She glanced in the mirror, eyeing the injuries he'd given her as some sick present. The coldness in his eyes still left her afraid. She felt like an idiot, too. She knew something was off, but she still insisted with continuing with the mission regardless of her countering intuition. In some twisted way, she felt like part of it was her own fault. Maybe that's why she acted out—because she was ashamed.

She felt a chill run down her spine, Axel's ghosting touch still grazing along her leg, his hot breath nipping at her ear. It felt like he was on top of her, smothering he beneath him until she couldn't breath. She felt like she was drowning. She didn't want to think of what else a sadistic asshole like him was capable of. She just hoped her team would deal with him.

Warm tears poured down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands, wishing she could just stop thinking for a minute.

Y/N swallowed, shaking her head. She sniffled, then started to tend to her wounds.

THE TEAM ARRIVED HOME fourty-five later, completely drained and exhausted from the demanding evening. It didn't take long for Fury to send in a clean up crew and detain Axel. His father still remained in the wind, but there was no knowing if he was going to be charged for anything or not—at least not by S.H.I.E.L.D. considering the weapon was nowhere to be found. Peter had managed to create a pretty accurate cover story for the gem, not wanting Y/N to get punished for dealing with it on her own accord. He trusted that she knew what she was doing, and he would ask her about it later, just not when she was so vulnerable and upset.

Everyone was concerned for Y/N. She hadn't sent a message or any word at all regarding whether or not she was doing all right. Then again, they didn't really expect to hear from her. They knew she was in a quite sensitive state of mind, and they understood. They've all been where she is at some point in their lives. Pain was inevitable. Only time could tell when Y/N would finally realize that.

"Can we not come in tomorrow?" Clint grumbled rhetorically.

"Is Y/N asleep?" Wanda asked. "Someone needs to make sure she's patched up after the beating she took. And we need to make sure those wrists aren't infected."

"I got it," Peter muttered.

"The other guy looked worse," Natasha grinned sheepishly. "That broken coffee table in there? She slammed him down on top of it with her hands tied. She is a badass, and she'll get through this."

"She shouldn't have to," Tony murmured. His guilty conscience continued to give him a difficult time throughout the night. He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight—not with where his thoughts were. Not with the image of her wrists rubbed raw and bleeding engraved in his mind like a tattoo.

Tony turned towards Peter, whose eyes were beginning to droop. The poor kid looked utterly broken down, but he pushed through. All he wanted to do was see Y/N. The older man clasped a hand on his trainee's shoulder. "You did good today, kiddo. Honestly, the teens saved the whole day with this one. You both kicked some major ass. Props to you."

Peter shrugged, fingers tightening around the bag of Chick-Fil-A absentmindedly dangling from his grip. "Doesn't matter. Thanks, but . . . it doesn't matter. I-I don't know why she was so upset with you guys, if anything when I got there she just seemed sad—"

"And that's a normal response to a traumatizing situation," Natasha shook her head. "It's expected to lash out, especially out of shame or embarrassment. And she's still just a kid, Peter. She didn't have her powers, just what she knew from what we taught her. She was scared."

"She will come around tomorrow," Steve added. "Let her rest. Let her eat. It's best to leave her be. Someone will go in and check out her—"

"I can," Peter interjected. "She'll talk to me."

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal the living room of the main floor. The kitchen was untouched, the cold granite countertops wiped clean the precise way they were before the team dispatched. Darkness embodied the room, silence enveloping the homey premises. Peter noticed the familiar outline of a girl standing outside on the balcony, her elbows resting upon the cement wall, eyes looking out amongst the humming city illuminated below.

"There she is," Wanda smiled fondly.

Peter's eyes softened, sparkling faintly in the darkness. A familiar warmth ignited within his chest, his lips parting slightly, curving up to form the faintest smile. It was soft like stardust. He was awestricken and intrigued and nervous. He noticed she was wearing a casual sweater and sweatpants, and she looked just as beautiful as she did earlier in her long, silk gown.

Y/N was nonchalantly manipulating a glowing line of orange tinted energy, watching cathartically as the color twisted to follow the smooth, fluid movements of her fingertips. She seemed at ease for the first time this evening since her and Peter shared their dance; he would give anything just to have her that close to him again.

He could still vaguely feel her lips pressed against his. He remembered the warmth that had curled around him like a cozy blanket afterward. The brokenness in her eyes when he last saw her hurt him more than he anticipated it would. He never wanted to see her like that again—bleeding, crying, fighting for her life. Never. He would do anything to protect her, even if that meant his own demise in the process.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, exhausted eyes falling upon the crowd of people pouring in from the elevator. Her team looked entirely worn out from the intense mission, their bodies hunched and feet dragging wherever they wandered. Clint caught her gaze, the smallest of smiles creeping onto his face. He raised his hand into the air, offering the girl a wave. Y/N waved back with pursed lips and glittering eyes, then turned back around to face the open.

It was always a miraculous sight—the city. In the morning it was buzzing with light and intensity. Sunlight bored down on the cracked streets, cars lulling through frustrating traffic, people honking at their neighbors. The hues were of red and gray variety, shades of beige and powder blue adorning the graffitied walls and painted freight trains. Time was consistent during the day. It was never ending. It went on forever, and so did the people living within it. They got up at the same time every morning and hustled to work, took their lunch break at the bodega or crammed in their office, then went home and repeated the same damn routine all over again the very next day.

And then there was the nighttime, when blackness ascended over the city, and the tangerine sun slipped beneath the horizon. At night the city came alive. It was unpredictable and adventurous. You never knew what the city would do when the lights went out in the sky. Overbearing neon shades illuminated the large, glowing signs of theaters and cinemas, hotels and twenty-four hour diners. The streets were clearer, still littered with cars full of tired adults, hoping to get home to their beds for a few hours of sleep before they had to awake early the following morning.

Y/N could see herself in the city at nighttime, waltzing into unprecedented territories with nothing but a high adrenaline and a desire to see beyond vibrancy of its core.

But it was the transition from day to night that really got her—the part of the day when the stars were hardly out and the sun still managed to remain a glowing orb of glistening orange light in the sky. The stars were distant, like they were gently dusted across a canvas of baby blue, powdered on by a paintbrush like a Monet. There was so much going on in this hour, but the transition made so much sense to her. The more she watched and scrutinized the switch, the more she understood how much night and day were alike. As quickly as time moved during this period, it slowed. Time stopped here. Right on the skyline, the moment always stretching out to form a thousand more.

"Hey," Peter's voice broke her from the impenetrable wall of thoughts towering in her head. "I uh, I brought you food."

Y/N turned to face her friend, ignited eyes falling onto the bag of Chick-Fil-A dangling by his leg. A soft chuckle emitted from her scratchy throat.

"Thanks," the girl whispered. She grabbed the bag from his hands and set it on the nearby table. "How's the team?"

"Worried about you," Peter replied honestly. "And I am too."

"I'm just trying to not think about it at the moment. I've been trying to clear my mind," Y/N sighed. "I kicked that guy's ass, didn't I? Stupid Axel fucking Klein. Lucky you came when you did. I would've managed to kill him someway."

Peter shook his head. "No, you wouldn't have."

She cocked her head, furrowing her brows. "Yeah, you're right, I wouldn't have. But I wish I could. I wish I could kill him." A pause followed. The tension between them was thick—thicker than it ever had been before. She could taste it on her tongue. "So, what? The team send you out here because they know I'm a softy for you?"

Peter shrugged. "I-I volunteered. Tony bought the food, but I . . . I wanted to see you. I needed to."

Y/N stared into his eyes for a moment. They were soft and gentle, glistening like fragments of crystals. He somehow reminded her of the soft strum of an acoustic guitar. She found herself reaching forward for him, wanting to touch him during a circumstance that wasn't as vile and as graphic as the last. She wanted to touch him when she wasn't just about to immerse herself into a dangerous mission. She wanted to touch him when they were alone together with the unpredictable, haphazard rosy aura of the city during night.

"Peter," she whispered. She loved his name so much. She loved saying it. She loved hearing it. She loved hearing Peter.

Her hand caressed his jaw, the pad of her thumb gently grazing across the irritated cut on his cheekbone like the leaf of a swaying plant. She heard him release a shallow breath, his eyes flickering between the fragile placement of her hand and the bandages looped tightly around her damaged wrists.

"I thought I was going to die tonight," Y/N drew her hand away, feeling colder. Peter felt the same way. Peter always felt the same way. "I thought I was going to die in the hands of that . . . psychopath. You should've see the look on his face when he caught me in the car with his hands all over me. He looked so smug, so—"

"His hands were what?" Peter interrupted, anger flaring in his stomach. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, red pooling in his eyes. He hated the guy. He hated him with every fiber in his body, and he wished he'd done a lot more to him than punch him a mere few times. No, he should've throttled him. He should've made him suffer longer, just the same way he did to Y/N. He should've—

"Peter," Y/N could sense his rage. She reached out to touch his hand, hoping to soothe the whirlwind of impulsive thoughts plaguing his mind. "He didn't do anything else. Not anything like you're thinking. He just had to get close so he could sedate me."

"I'm sorry. I-I wish I could've done more, Y/N, I—"

Peter's heart was racing. It was driving him insane, he had to tell her that he loved her. He couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't keep holding off for the right time—there was never a right time in the world to tell someone that you loved them, at least not in his world. In his world, death followed like a shadow with every risky move you made. In his world, witches were real and there was a living, breathing one standing right in front of him. There was never a right time for anything when he was Spider-Man, and there was never a right time for anything when he was Peter Parker because time always seemed to fade more quickly than it came.

Was now a right time to tell her? On the balcony of a tower overlooking the prospering, stagnant city below, right after her run in with death at the hands of some lunatic? He didn't want to take advantage of her, and he didn't want to scare her away. He would have to wait another day. He'd have to wait for the sun come up, then go back down again. Another day, another time, until finally it was the right time. Until finally he no longer had to wait.

"Peter, what are you thinking?" Y/N questioned.

"I-I—" the words were fading from his tongue. It was never the right time. "I don't . . . know."

Y/N tilted her head, perplexed by Peter's odd behavior. It wasn't like the boy didn't normally act odd, but now he was acting strange. He wasn't looking at her like a crippled, wounded animal or a damsel in distress desperate for a strong rescuer. He was just looking. His eyes were glazing over, but she didn't know with what. Was he sad? Angry? Frustrated with her? Tears leaked from his melancholy brown irises, slipping down his flushed cheeks. They glimmered like scattered fragments of moonlights.

"Peter, what's wrong?" she asked, her tone urgent and thick with worry. Her hands quickly moved to grab his arms, grounding him, letting him know she was there with him—as she would always be.

She waited patiently for him to respond, his sniffles filling the air. Peter didn't know why he was crying; he felt like complete idiot for doing so, but he just couldn't stop himself. The tears kept falling, streaming down his skin until they dropped from the bottom of his chin onto the ground. All he had to do was just feel her touching him, and suddenly he was an emotional kid. He wasn't Spider-Man or an Avenger. He was just Peter Parker. And Peter Parker had lost so much that the mere thought of losing someone else so important to him—he couldn't bare it. Not on top of the countless years of repressed pain and emotional baggage still anchored deep within his roots. Then to come too close to losing Y/N tonight . . . It was all too much to handle.

"Hey, Pete. You're okay. We're okay," Y/N's voice was soft like silk. Her hands ran soothingly up and down the length of his arms, almost as if she was warming him up after a long snowy day. "Talk to me, Pete."

"I-I just—I almost lost you tonight," he professed, and the words began to tumble out at the same rate as his tears. "And when I saw you in there, I just couldn't stop thinking . . . about what I would do if you . . . I just couldn't stop thinking. And-and thinking and thinking. And then I knew right then and there that I would never let myself lose you ever because I need you, Y/N. I need you more than anything."

Y/N's face melted, her eyes shimmering at his trembling words. They fell so seamlessly from his lips. Her stomach churned, empathy burning bright within her core. She felt the same way. She felt the same way about Peter Parker as he did her, and she felt the same way yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. She always felt the same way. She always would.

"I need you too, Peter," Y/N assured him strongly.

She grabbed his face, pulling him down so she could press her lips firmly against his damp cheeks. She peppered them along his skin, electrifying him with every touch, anchoring him further and further towards the ground, onto the winding road leading towards the glamorous city buoyant with tranquil life. She held him tight, and she would never let him go. Not now, not ever.

"No, Y/N! You don't get it!" he sobbed, pulling away. "You don't understand why I need you!"

"Then just tell me! Peter, tell me. Why do you need me?" Y/N cried.

"I-I'm in love with you," he proclaimed, standing in a pool of his tears. "I'm in love with you, and I almost couldn't save you."

Y/N was rendered utterly and profoundly speechless by Peter Parker.

The nighttime is unpredictable.

"W-what happens when I can't save you anymore?" he whispered, like if he spoke those words they would magically come true. Almost like a spell.

Her forehead wrinkled, desperation contorted onto her features. She didn't really care about what the city would feel like during the nighttime anymore, not when the transition of day to night was still fresh in her bones. Not when Peter Parker was telling her he was in love with her. He wasn't infatuated. He was in love. And that felt like time wrapped up in a perfect little bow.

Y/N placed her palm against his chest, feeling the rapid pace of his beating heart. She ran her hand up the back of his neck, Peter's eyes shining with her every liquid-like movement. He let his lids drop, wet lashes gluing together. She closed her eyes, gently pushing his neck down for his lips to meet hers. Time stops here. Her lips ghosted over his, her breaths quick and hot. Falling in love with Peter felt so painless, but suddenly she felt like she was on fire. Everything felt too real, too raw. Love seemed to operate quite frequently in the gray area of life.

"But you did. You can't think about the 'what-if's, Peter. There's always going to be 'what-if's." She whispered against his mouth.

Y/N closed the gap between their lips, the kiss soft and slow, her breath hitching dead in her throat. She couldn't grasp a hold on any of her thoughts as Peter gently reciprocated the kiss. She no longer felt any pain. She should've told Peter she loved him long before tonight. She should've told him she loved him before they left for the mission. She should've, but it just didn't feel like the right time. When did it ever feel like the right time? Time was more unpredictable than the city.

The kiss grew deeper, Peter's hand trailing up her body to hold her face delicately his calloused palm. He could feel her hands shaking like leaves on the back of his neck, her pants growing hasty as their lips entwined and tangled together. He could taste her so clearly now—something minty and reminiscent of cherries. It soon became his favorite flavor.

She pulled away, eyes still closed. She savored the moment for all of its worth. "Peter . . ." swift drawls of breath, "I love you too."

Relief and happiness fell from his lips in the form of unearthly laughter. A smile brighter than any sun or any hue covered both their faces before their lips collided once again. Peter's hands gently stroked down the length of her hair, taming the frizzy strands and smoothening the tousled pieces. Fits of laughter were muffled by the showering of intimate, fervent kisses. Peter basked blissfully in her ethereal beauty and slipped into a state of tranquility, knowing for certain that he did save Y/N, and she was here in front of him. Now. And it was the right time. He dropped his hands to her waist, allowing her to caress his angular jaw, her thumbs pressing affectionately into his cheekbones. The tears once wet on his face dried beneath the gasps of hot breath, and everything in the world seemed to succumb to the tenderness of their love for each other.

And even the city, as rambunctious as it was during the day, and as somberly alive as it was in the dead of night, seemed to sink into the earth, leaving time behind. Because when there was no time, there was no need to wait for the right moment. Not when the right moment could be every single one in a thousand.

Clint found himself walking across the living room at such a prime time. Somehow, he was always the one to walk in on Peter and Y/N, but this time, he did not interfere. He merely looked for a moment with a smile tugging at his lips, then proceeded towards the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee.

Tony soon joined him, hoping to find some leftover pizza crammed in the refrigerator. After all, he was going to be up all night—might as well not work on an empty stomach.

At first, he walked straight past the window, eyes casually glazing over the two figures passionately kissing on the balcony behind the sliding glass doors. As soon as the man hit the fridge, he had to backtrack, mentally rewinding what he actually saw. He relapsed his steps, Clint nonchalantly sipping on his mug, checking to see if the sugar-cream ratio sufficed.

"What?" That was the only word Tony could seem to coherently speak for the moment. He tilted his head to the side, pinching his eyes shut before reopening them again. Definitely not dreaming. "A-are they—?"

"Yep," Clint replied, pleased with his hot drink. He walked around the counter to join Tony staring at the balcony from the island.

"On the—?"

"Yep."

"Should I—?"

"Nope."

"Gross."

MASTERLIST.

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[ravenvsfox]

I love your writing. You one of my favorite blogs! If you're still taking prompts, what if, instead of Mary being killed, Neil gets separated from her and thinks Lola got to her and then the events of the book happen. But Mary is alive and track Neil down. Thank you so much

(like a literal year later, hello! here you are!)

Sunrise is the tender red of rare meat, and there’s smoke all over it, like someone touched the stovetop sky long enough for the flesh to smoulder. Gunpowder is tangy on his lips, and there’s sweat in the corners of his eyes, burning when he tries to blink it away. Nathaniel puts a damp hand to his forehead and barely feels it.

The burner phone is still in his free hand, and when he realizes it, he lets it drop to the dirt. He can feel the strain of injury keeping him where he is, planted in the gravel and weeds in front of a gas station, freshly conscious from an hours-old blow to the head.

His mother is dead.

He waits for a minute. The sun cranks up the horizon when he’s aware enough to track it, sealing him into the first day he’s ever lived without his mother. He tries to flex the hand on his forehead and feels a brittle ache in his bones, his joints swaddled in plush bruises. He waits for the tug on his hand. Can’t slow down Abram. We don’t have time to hurt. Get your bag. Get your ID. Get your bearings. Get down.

He knows he should be moving but no one’s tugging. He can hear fire bells, feel the heat on the soles of his feet, taste the smoke, but he feels like his mom’s still inside. His mom.

He wrenches over, legs unsteady as matchsticks, and throws up in the dust. He whirls to keep his balance, a wicked tornado of grief and failure and terror, and the dirt kicks up under his skidding sneakers.

“What do I do,” he whispers.

The desert looks at him with pity in its single, scalding eye, the blood leaches from the sky, but Nathaniel’s stays drying on his face and curdling in his arteries.

He falls to his knees and his bruised bones scream, his head turns over, sick with concussion. He grabs for the phone and looks at the screen again.

Finders keepers, the screen says. Lola, with her cruelty like thunder to his father’s lightning, had sent him two messages, within 17 minutes of each other:

A picture of his mother, one of her eyes nicked out of it’s socket, her mouth lax and streaming blood. And finders keepers.

They’d tousled, Nathaniel and four of his father’s men, his legs blurring as he fought to escape, throwing whatever he could find and levelling gunfire inaccurately behind him. They’d tracked him to the rest stop in the middle of Nevada desert and started shooting as soon as he’d started running.

Earlier, in the slow third day of their having been in one place at once, his mother had hot-wired a car and driven to the nearest town for supplies, left him for forty minutes at most.

Nathaniel managed to incapacitate three of the men before he’d been knocked out on the curb. He can’t figure out why the last guy left him scraped into the parking lot, blood bubbling out on sun-baked gravel. He can’t understand why he’s alive or how he’s supposed to stay that way.

His mother’s dead.

He presses the screen of the phone down into a rock until it cracks and goes black. He gets up on his hands and knees, sweaty dark hair in his face, elbows trembling with effort. He looks at the dark shape of a truck rumbling down the road, and he’s scared enough that his adrenaline carries him to his feet.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and limps until he can fake an even gait. He feels his pockets for the cash his mother gave him and comes up empty. He remembers the way she’d gripped his head by both ears and forced their foreheads together, less than twenty-four hours ago. He grieves so suddenly and violently that he stumbles.

He’s completely alone, and his mother never told him what to do, never thought that he’d be far enough away for one of them to be choked off from the other. The nearest store of money and documentation is one state over. The clothes on his back are soaked through with grimy blood, and the slash of a skidding bullet over his side is burning with early infection.

Nathaniel walks calmly to the door of the gas station, shrugs his panicked tears off twice over, and leans heavily into the door.

“You’ve gotta help me,” he cries, stumbling lightly into a display of postcards, not hard enough to damage. “I’m so sorry, I’m— he took my wallet, my keys, I don’t know. Please help me, I just wanted some gas, I’ve been driving all night, and now—“ he sobs, and the man behind the counter skirts around it, nervous, hands raised.

“You got mugged, son?”

“He-he hurt me, I think I might be bleeding out—“ Not even close, not even a litre. “My phone— I didn’t know what to do, so I just, I just handed it all over, all of it.”

“Probably the right thing. He get your ID an’ all?”

“Everything,” Nathaniel says miserably. “Everything, and I can’t go to the hospital, oh god, I don’t even know how to get there, or if there is one, or how I’d pay, I don’t, I don’t—“

“Hey, hey, calm down, how about you clean yourself up and we’ll see?”

Nathaniel nods, eyes full of tears, cradling his own side where the blood is mostly dry. “God bless you. Thank you so much. Thank you.”

The man’s head bobs, clearly proud of himself, but he can’t seem to bring himself to get any closer.

“Bathroom to the left.”

Nathaniel nods gratefully and stumbles a little bit for effect, feeling his way heavily along the aisles and swiping supplies as he goes. He can see booze behind the counter but he’s not risking it, so sterilization will have to wait.

He pushes his way into the bathroom and stalls out in the middle of the room, aware of the ways in which lies can run out and people can be uncharitable when they’re being fooled. He lifts his shirt painfully to his elbows and has to stop, panting closely into the off-white stretch of wall next to the mirror. He can see the side of an angry wound, streaking from his ribs to the small of his back.

He cleans the wound quickly, painfully, biting down on his belt for some of it. He can sense the shop-owner outside the door.

He fishes out the emergency twenty rolled in his shoe and pockets it. He splashes his face over and over again until he feels numb enough that the tears stop coming. He presses stolen gauze into the hollow heart of his wound and packs it in until his nose burns with the pain.

He asks sweetly, haltingly, through a crack in the door if there’s anything he can wear, and the guy digs up a flannel from the lost and found, something that Nathaniel has to roll the sleeves on three times. He looks in the mirror and sees mottled bruising and hair dye, but he can’t look himself in the eye. His mother is nowhere in his face.

He leaves the gas station feeling like nothing has changed as long as people can still die and the sun can still rise, and everything is waiting to be taken and gutted for your own use.

He also feels, when he hoists himself up into the stream of traffic headed for Spring Valley, and finds his way into stolen goods and borrowed survival, that it’s his responsibility to keep them together now, he and his mother, and that as long as he keeps his head down, it’ll be like she’s still dragging him through whatever life he’s got left.

He gets to their storage locker five nights later, and his fists ball when he sees the paperwork and identification for the both of them tucked into a box alongside a few guns and wads of money. His mother’s face stares up at him, docile and smiling for the camera. Her eyes are bear traps.

Norah Josten and her son, Neil Josten.

Nathaniel closes his eyes. He feels like he’s swimming laps over and over again, turning over and disorienting himself, propelling away from his latest impact. This identity is just another lap, another turn, another day with his head underwater.

Neil opens his eyes.

2 years later

“Hey Neil, do you have any good team pictures on your phone?” Dan asks, dropping into the seat across from him. “We’re updating the wall.”

“I dunno, do glamour shots of his boyfriend count?” Nicky asks sweetly.

“Well he’s on the team, isn’t he,” Dan replies, eyes bright.

“Unfortunately,” Andrew says. He’s eating skor pieces straight from the bag, and the crunching is louder than the exy tapes they’re watching on Kevin’s laptop, the tinny ruckus.

“I don’t have any pictures on my phone,” Neil says, not looking up from the game. “I use it to contact people.”

“Man, I say this with love, but there’s a fine line between practical and fucking boring and you’re walking it,” Matt says, putting his hand on the laptop to close it and getting pinched hard for his troubles.

Neil smiles privately, still watching the jumbled action of the game, undeterred. He never thought he’d get the chance to be boring.

“I can’t believe Jean’s on the bench right now,” Kevin says, ignoring them all, his eyes tracking a striker approaching goal, pushing and pulling through the defence. “They’re under-utilizing him.”

“Letting him heal,” Neil corrects. He can sense Kevin rolling his eyes beside him.

“It’s been months, his scars are all healing fine.”

“I’m not talking about his scars,” Neil says. He waits for Kevin to look at him, chastened and queasy. “You should understand that.”

“Okay, that’s interesting,” Matt says, glancing meaningfully at Dan then back to the two of them.

“I love a bitch fight in the morning,” Allison agrees, teeth flashing. “Insult his form next.”

“I’m just reminding him that some players are better left out.”

“Close enough,” Allison replies, waving her hand.

“You’ve never cared about healing before,” Kevin grumbles.

“Behave, please,” Wymack calls from the desk where he’s flipping idly through papers, pretending to get work done. “More watching, less gossiping, or you’ll all be taking notes.”

Andrew salutes sarcastically at the same time that Dan cheerfully says, “yes coach!”

The noise simmers down for a minute, and then Nicky leans in over the coffee table and says, “they’re just pissed that they have to use their brains instead of their racquets.” He points two fingers at Neil and Kevin and then mimes a headache.

“Traditionally you use both,” Aaron says, disgusted.

“Apparently not if you’re an athlete you don’t,” Wymack thunders. “Get your fuckin’ notebooks out, I want lists of plays and I want commentary.”

“Nice,” Nicky says snidely to Aaron, who gawks back at him.

“You’re the one who—“

“Excuse me.”

Neil looks up and finds Renee looking drawn near the doorway, bunching herself up in the crack between the door and the frame like she’s plugging a leak.

“There’s a woman here to see Neil,” she says tightly, and it’s all she can get out before Mary Wesninski slips past Renee, slippery as silk.

“His mother,” she corrects, voice even but clotted. If you were listening, if you knew it better than anyone else’s, you could hear the strain.

She finds his face and her mouth spasms.

He doesn’t know who to protect from who. He wants to throw out hands in between his mother and his family. He feels something loose wind back inside of him, like all of the filling in his tape had been spilling spilling spilling. It hurts, to swallow it back up, to feel his honesty sealed back inside of him.

His mother has a glass eye, a shade darker than the right. Her hair is honey blonde and damaged near the ends, bleached into petrification. Her whole body is tilted, and he knows that she is carrying herself through chronic pain, held just so for casual alleviation of constant agony.

She is his mother, and his eyes flood with tears, stinging hard like he’s been exposed to something pungent. Every time he’d ever looked at her face it had been with fear of something.

“Mom,” he says thickly. Andrew shifts closer to him, defensive.

“Time to go,” she says immediately, smiling quick, a squeeze of an expression. “I’m so sorry,” she tells the room, “but we’ve had a family emergency. I’m taking him home.”

“He is home,” Andrew says simply.

“Like hell you’re taking him,” Wymack says.

Mary looks at Neil, a lick of flame. He recoils. She knows that he’s laid roots in this soil now, that he ignored her only rules. Everything that he ever did in reckless grief and rage and set on his mother’s grave is within her reach now.

“Neil,” she says. Her tongue folds the word into the lie that it is. “We have to go. Car’s waiting.”

A stolen car with fake plates. A thief mother with a fake face. Stepping back into that life would kill him for sure. Ichirou would find them so much faster than Nathan, and his unpaid debt would beg and cry for blood.

“Dad’s dead,” Neil whispers.

“Neil Abram,” she says warningly. She crosses the room, bursting it open, gutting it with her sturdy heeled shoes and the lines around her mouth and the gun he knows is in a shoulder holster beneath her blazer.

Andrew stands up. “You touch him you lose the other eye,” he says calmly.

Mary stops short. Her mouth twitches again. “Come,” she says. Neil does, staggering to his feet, finally feeling the tug he’d been waiting for outside that gas station two years ago.

“Neil, what the hell,” Nicky says, appalled.

“I’m sorry,” Neil says, feeling all of his victories topple like he always expected they would, watching his home burn with everything inside. He looks at Andrew and tries to memorize him, fast, the sweetness in his bitter frown and his ashy hair, the tense set of his hands. He closes his eyes and sees him relaxed, rosy with sunrise, eyes low and calculating.

“I thought your mom was— you know—“ Matt starts, and Mary gathers Neil’s wrist into her grip, twisting until the seam of his armband faces the front.

“You’ve been telling stories?” she asks, face already done up to look apologetic. Neil can feel himself floating back over to her, she’s unhooked his boat from the dock. “I’m sorry for you all, for you, Mr. Wymack, he can be a bit of a problem, a pathological liar, but—“

Andrew tries to step between them, and Mary yanks Neil behind her by the arm, struggling to shield him from a perceived threat. He lets himself be moved, seeing everything at a remove, his lives before and after the foxes like lenses laid one on top of the other.

“No,” Andrew says, maybe by accident, and he produces a knife so quickly that Neil can’t decide whether or not he wants to warn his mother or let Andrew save him, like always.

Mary dodges the first swipe by nothing, by a breath, and her eye is pristinely clear when she bobs back into Neil’s line of sight.

“This is the company you’re keeping now?” she asks.

“This is the mom you ditched?” Dan retorts. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“You can’t trust them,” Mary says, leaning savagely into Neil’s ear. “You never trust. You take what you need and—“

“And run, I know.” In his head, she is pressing vodka into his wounds and putting her sweaty forehead to his. Don’t stay or you’ll get shot again. Don’t look away from me for long enough to mess up like this.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Mary says, nodding towards where Andrew’s body is an uncoiled whip and the air is singing with anticipation.

“Neil,” Andrew says, and it’s oceans away from his mother’s cattle prod voice.

“Andrew,” Neil says. “I can’t think.“

“Don’t go,” he says simply. “She does not own your life. She cannot resurface only after you’ve wiped out every threat.” He’s holding a knife the same way he holds a cigarette, loose, propped between two fingers and a thumb. Neil puts his head down.

“No reason for you to run anymore,” Wymack tells him, an arms length away now, hands spread. “Mom or not, lying your way into the room isn’t your style anymore, am I right?”

“What have you told them, hm?” Mary asks, and wrenches Neil further towards the door like she’s saving a drowning victim, so suddenly that his breath stutters.

Andrew moves fast, twisting her hand out of the way and tripping her away from Neil, taking advantage of the cocked hip from her chronic pain, probably a spinal injury. He takes her to the wall hard enough for the door to judder closed. Neil registers relief and panic in the keen glint of light from Andrew’s knife as he sinks it into Mary’s hand, pinning her palm to the wall.

There’s a commotion as Wymack rushes forward to destabilize Andrew, but he isn’t even fighting, his muscles are corded with tension but he’s waiting for Neil’s go ahead. He’s incapacitated the threat and now he’s just circling, restless.

Mary bites her pain in half, not even crying out, her body shaking hard and then stabilizing. Neil watches her blood leak down to the laminate floors and thinks about the way that she’s tracking mud through the home that he only found once he’d let her go.

Her straining eye finds Neil’s face, as exposing as when she walked into the room. “You let them put you in a zoo. You let them clip your wings.”

“I wanted it,” Neil admits, feeling revulsion in his throat but bravery at his back. “I signed up for it. Over and over. It’s the reason he’s dead. It’s the reason we’re safe.”

“Don’t be naïve,” she snaps. “We’re not safe. Everyone knows you, Abram, your blood is worth even more now. I’ve been following your tracks for months, and you have both a legacy and publicity to contend with; you’re attached to your father and the Moriyamas and this team. I can’t undo what you’ve done.”

“I haven’t run anywhere in months,” Neil argues. “I cut a deal and I’m living with it.”

“If you’re making deals with those people then you’re not living.”

“I don’t think you remember what living is,” Neil snaps. She makes a frustrated noise, and twists her hand against the pain. Andrew sneers, and Neil realizes all at once that he is furious.

His face is showing all the fingerprints of emotion that Neil left on him, and the violence was more of an instinct than a calculation.

“I can’t protect you from this,” Mary warns. “You’re too close.”

“You never protected him at all,” Andrew says. She eyes him, teeth halfway to bared, the rabid smile that is the only family resemblance that they truly all share.

“You couldn’t possibly understand, and I don’t know why Neil let you think you could.”

“He didn’t let him,” Aaron hisses unexpectedly, arms crossed tightly and knees locked together where he’s still on the couch. “You’re not the only one in the world who something bad has happened to.”

“Not by a long shot, not in this room,” Dan agrees, stepping forward. “I know this is a high stress situation for you, but Neil is here for a reason. We’ve all done drastic things to survive.”

“Difference is, these kids don’t let that be the only thing about them,” Wymack says, “and if you try to cut Neil’s losses for him and run, it’s gonna be a lot messier than you remember. Unless he wants it,” he finishes, looking at Neil.

He catches Andrew’s eyes on him too, and shakes his head quickly. “I’m not going back to that life.”

Mary’s face crumples, and the gravity of what he’s done is crushing. “But I found you. I came back for you, Nathaniel.“

His name jars him, as she had intended it to, but not in the direction she wants. “You left me, first,” Neil says. “You knew where I was all this time and you—“ he swallows, feeling like he’s fourteen again, his hands slipping over picking a pocket, his mother staring at him, furious, branding him for life with a different strain of anger from his father’s.

Andrew steps close, facing Neil and eclipsing Mary. Neil fists a weak hand in Andrew’s collar, needing the support.

“Oh, no,” Mary says, breathless and horrified, “I can’t believe you would be stupid enough to do that. Loving someone who loves knives more than you? I guess you followed my lead after all.”

Neil’s hand drops. The implication itches and burns in him like a bad reaction, and he pushes past Andrew too quickly to be caught, hot and fast as a bullet, feverish and untouchable. He pulls the knife from his mother’s hand and holds it against her throat instead. She gasps painfully and his chest is battered in, broken into, looted.

“He’s nothing like him.” He spies the narrow peachy line of a scar at the corner of her mouth and feels tears at his eyes again, remembering the way she’d smiled around the cut for him, so he wouldn’t be afraid.

Mary smiles at him now, a shadow of pride moving over her face. “Good.”

“Look, not to tell you how to manage your family reunion, but maybe there could be less stabbing?” Nicky says, a little hysterical.

Neil drops the knife, grateful for the excuse to do so, shoulders sagging. He can feel hands dragging him back from his mother, her blood sticking his shoes to the floor, and he puts his face in his hands.

“I think you’d better go,” Wymack says gravely.

He can hear her hesitate. He knows she’s never willingly walked away from him in his life, and how it must feel like failure, like the death that she was so afraid of that she slept with a gun in one hand and Neil’s fingers clenched in the other.

When he looks up again, she’s gone.

He remembers the way he felt with his knees soldered into the sand and finders keepers clanging in his head. It’s how his mother must feel now, with her son found, and kept, and unreachable.

He looks around at the faces of his teammates, hollowed out by worry and secondhand trauma. He aches with shame.

“Are you going to be okay with this?” Renee asks carefully, and he’s startled by her voice, like he thought he was looking at a photograph until it started moving. She’s holding herself in such a way that suggests that she would track his mother down if he wished it. Andrew is staggered apart from the others, but there’s an identical look in his eye.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I just— it used to be a relief that she wasn’t here to see what I’d done.” He blinks. “And now she’s seen it all.”

“Seen what, that you’ve outgrown her? That’s a real shame,” Allison says sarcastically. Neil flinches.

“I’m still confused about the whole she’s alive thing,” Nicky says, trying to catch Neil’s eye, trying to connect.

“We are not talking about it,” Andrew says. He pulls Neil away from the group by the back of his jersey, and no one moves to stop them.

“Neil,” Wymack says, raising his chin at him. “Later, okay?”

He nods. Andrew tugs more insistently, and Neil falls into step with him, letting his weight ease just a little into his side.

He’s ushered into the hallway, and his vision swings wildly for a glimpse of his mother for a moment before he understands that he’s lost her again, on purpose this time. He knows now that every decision he’s made for two years has been in violent reaction to a lie he believed and a secret his mother kept.

He also knows, because he felt it, expected it, that his mother had slipped a cell phone into his pocket when he’d held a knife to her neck. It was all that he could feel, looking at the thatch of new and old scars, the dark eyes that he used to find in the dark when he had a nightmare. It’s all he can feel now.

Bars of overhead lights slip by as Andrew gets him physically away from the site of his panic, putting doors between Neil and his past, the tidal wave that would destroy the town, carry away the survivors until they swim themselves to death.

He found land, and he doesn’t need a lifeboat anymore. He doesn’t miss the weight on his clothes and the salt in his lungs. His mother’s life preserver is a noose.

He finds his vision blurring, and every time he tries to apologize Andrew’s hand gets tighter in his shirt.

Somehow, they’re at centre court. Andrew’s holding him, and the court is holding them both. The smells, rubber and cigarettes, brings him stuttering out of his panic attack, and Andrew clutches him through it, tight hands at his jaw, at his waist, a mouth so flat that Neil could balance his whole world on it.

“She is not worth this,” Andrew tells him, teeth gritted.

Neil shakes his head. “They barely needed to show me anything and I believed it. I hitched a ride out of the state while my mom was still with them, bleeding out. How am I supposed to— how do I deal with that kind of mistake?”

“If she was in Lola’s hands then she was as good as dead. You were sixteen. How would getting yourself killed help her?”

“I could’ve—“

“Nothing. You are both alive now, and that is only your doing.”

“Andrew,” Neil says, screwing his eyes shut.

“I would kill her,” he says, voice going runny, getting away from him, dripping all over their joined hands. “I can tell that you’re still afraid of her.”

“I don’t want to lose this.” Neil puts their foreheads together, and breathes around his fear. “I feel like— she would take it, all, if she thought that it would save my life.”

“I will not let her. Neil.” He slits his eyes open, and Andrew is still so furious, eyes and mouth dark and wet, and it steadies Neil’s pulse to see his fear feeding into anger, coal into fire. “Blood is not family.”

Family and blood were always swirling in the same drain, people hacking each other into whatever pieces were easiest to move, or track down, or swallow.

The foxes only ever wanted him whole.

“Yeah,” Neil says, nearly frantic, bringing Andrew’s hand up to his chest. “Yeah. This is.”

[peacefulwriter88]

Wake Up and Make Up

Angry sex drabble that haunted me all last night so I had to get it out this morning. Can you imagine angry sex with Seb - he’s good boy act is a front!

Warnings: All the SMUT (18+), language but also some fluff

Reader x Sebastian Stan

A/N: This one is for @bucky-plums-barnes because her blog a) rocks and b) she’s an amazing human being that deserves tp receive a random smile!

I also want to tag @sexylibrarian1, @mellifluous-melodramas, @sanjariti, @bladebarnes, @denialanderror and @yesbucky because your blogs literally saved my sanity these past couple of weeks - such a talented group of writers! 

You had never been so infuriated in your life. Okay, maybe not your life. Maybe the past couple of weeks...whatever - you were pissed. And it was because of one Sebastian Stan.

You knew it wasn’t his fault. He was a proud working actor. Correction, famous working actor. He was talented and he loved the challenge of a new job. You loved that about him, how he liked to seek out obstacles only to overcome them. That he was motivated. That he kept challenging himself to be a stronger actor - a better person.

But dammit if that wasn’t the same driver that wedged a gap in your goddamn relationship.

You got it. You did PR work for Anthony Mackie. You understood the grind. The demands. The constant need to keep moving. It was what had brought you both together in the first place. He had instantly fallen for the sassy and silly girl that could get Anthony to focus. Anthony - the king of turning any phrase into a practical joke. But Anthony liked you - respected you and yes, at times even feared you.

That kind of power drew Sebastian to you like a moth to the flame.

He liked to challenge it, liked to push you. Liked to dominate you. You liked that also about him. Except when the push was putting off a well deserved vacation for the both of you for another six months. Six goddamn months.

As if you hadn’t postpone your first vacation, instead spending time with him in New York.

You said all of this and he challenged back that when he was free, you easily didn’t sacrifice time with him and you left his hotel room in an angry huff, afraid you’d say something you’d regret. You spent two hours downing too many margaritas before drunkenly making your way to your bedroom, falling asleep to angry drunk tears.

It was what had got you here, 6:30 am in a posh hotel room in Anaheim, California. D23 come and gone, your phone blowing up between Mackie’s manager and Mackie himself. Your head was surprisingly calm considering all the tropical tequila you had inhaled and you groaned as the harsh light of your phone pierced you.

The first few messages were standard - Mackie’s manager reminding you of some upcoming press Anthony was scheduled for and the time that you flight was departing. It wasn’t until you got to the messages from Anthony that you froze.

What did Vanilla Ice do to you now?

He had sent it around midnight, minutes before you had succumbed to your drunken slumber and you groaned. This only meant one thing.

Seb went crying to Mackie.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like Sebastian to share your personal affairs with anyone that you both knew. You both appreciated your privacy and you never wanted the people that you worked alongside professionally to be involved. However, since you had started dating Seb, Anthony had made it his personal business to know what was going on between the both of you. And Seb easily jumped on the opportunity to reach out to him because you were such a mystery to him.

He loved you like a younger sister and wanted to make sure that you were being treated right.

Another text message had come thirty minutes later.

But really, Y/N what did he do. My man is freaking the fuck out. Call me?

A text ten minutes later.

Are y’all about to break up? Cuz Seb is drinking and convinced you want to break up

The last text was simple

Either your passed out…..probably that. Didn’t realize it was one in the morning. That are you're pissed at me or want me to mind my own damn business. So I’ll just say this one thing - talk to Seb. He loves you he really does

You slammed the phone to your side, the anger re-filling you. Loving you wasn’t the problem. The lack of sacrifice and acknowledgement of said selfishness what what had you pissed.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard the click of your hotel door being opened, the harsh dim light from the hallway contrasting against the soft morning rays peeking its way through your sheer curtains.  You turned your head to the side, not surprised to see Sebastian standing there, hair in disarray f as he stood in the jeans and T-shirt he wore the night before.

You also forgot you gave him a key to your hotel room.

“What the fuck do you want? I’m mad at you.”

The words travel across the room crisp and clear and he shuts the door, leaning against it with his hands crossed over his chest.

“I want to finish our conversation last night. I don’t give a damn if you're mad at me. We got to figure this out.”

You snorted, throwing the covers off of you and sitting up in bed. You didn’t miss the way his eyes drunk in your body, your simple black nightie hugging all your curves in the right places. He bit his lip, fighting back a groan. Of course you had to wear the sexist fucking thing as he tried to make amends for the way he had been acting lately.

Insult to injury.  

“What’s to figure out. You obviously don’t want to sacrifice any of your time to spend a week with your girlfriend. I don’t know what you want me to say from here. Thanks hon, for being a selfish asshole and reminding me that I mean nothing to you.”

You knew the words were all low digs but you couldn’t help it. You were hurt and you weren’t sure he understood that.

Of course Sebastian did. The words cut through his heart, causing him to close his eyes. When he had talked to Anthony last night, he had been told a similar thing in so many words. He didn’t mean to  push you away - it was just what he did when he was afraid and needed time to figure out how to handle a situation.

Time, per usual, was not on his side.

“That’s not - I’m not trying to shut you out of my life. I just have a lot of projects and with Infinity War coming out next year…”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your legs and sighing.

“You act like that doesn’t affect me either. I work for your colleague and friend. Anthony. Might know him. You fucking told him about our fight last night.”

His blue eyes shift before he huffs out,

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He’s not the problem,” you stand up, walking to him slowly. You’re unaware that he’s taking in your legs, imagining what they would look like wrapped around his torso as he fucked you senseless. When you're inches away from him you poke his chest, “You not wanting to spend time with me is the problem.”

“I love you! Of course I want to spend time with you.”

“Then fucking prove it. Go on a vacation with me. Hell I’ll even make it three days. I just want to spend time with you.”

He frowns, knowing that you aren’t going to like his response.

“I don’t know if I have three days to go away with you. Half of it we will spending  flying to said location and the other half would be flying back. That gives us less than a day together if you make it three days. That's not fair to you. Don’t you see? That’s why I wanted to spend time with you in New York a couple of weeks ago. It's an easier solution because we both live there and I can spend all of my time devoted to you.”

You throw your hands in the air,

“I get that but I want to, just once, enjoy a place and not work. And I want to enjoy it with you!”

His frown deepens.

“I get that I’m just unsure if realistically that's feasible. Why get your hopes up and then bail on you to have this fight over and over again. When things have slowed down, I promise I will give you the vacation you want. Hell, we can make it a month long vacation.”

You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breast up and he shoves his hands in pockets, trying to ignore the way his cock twitches.

“I’m not going to bend over when it's convenient for you either! You have to make sure that it works with my schedule.”

“I would.” he mutters uncomfortably, his jaw set and blue eyes blown in fury.

Silence.

You both stare at each other, words failing either of you and your mind drifts. Even though you’re mad at him, you can’t stop your brain from thinking about how fucking hot he looked. The way the dark green shirt molded against his body, hinting at the sculpted muscles underneath. The way his jeans hugged every inch of his lower body, particularly a region you can’t help but allow your eyes to wander down to. You felt your mouth water from the thought of his cock in your mouth and  you shift, trying to ignore the pressure building up between your legs.

You knew he was trying. You really did. He went out of his way to come and see you when he could and always made time to call and text you. He sent you random gifts and funny videos. When he was hard press with a decision or just needed you to help talk him through his anxious thoughts, you were the first call.

You just loved him so damn much and he was always so far.

You snap back up at him and he’s looking at you with a half smirk, as if knowing your thoughts. Like hell you were going to admit that you were wrong.

“This is all Mackie's fault.” you mumble and his eyes knit together in confusion.

“You just said this wasn’t Mackie’s fault.”

You smirk, shrugging your shoulders casually,

“If he tried hooking me up with Evans instead of you, I’d probably wouldn’t be having this relationship problem.”

It was a low blow, an unnecessary snarky comment that didn’t need to be said. The button you needed to push him over the edge.

It did.

Before you could react he lunged for you, his hands quickly finding your waist and digging into the soft flesh as he pressed you against hte door,  his forehead pressing against your own.

“You think Evans could make you happy?” he mumbles, the anger hidden behind his cool, blue eyes.

The calm before the storm.

He doesn’t allow you to respond, instead lifting you up and pushing himself between you further, your legs comfortably wrapping themselves around his torso. His right hand moves up your thighs, slowly making its way to your center and you know you’re a wet mess before he gets close to confirm it.

His eyes never leave yours as he pushes away the small patch of fabric of your thong, inserting two fingers in you, slowly pumping in and out of you. You bite down on your lip, willing yourself to not close your eyes and give in to the pleasure he was giving you.

Praying that your body wouldn’t betray how turned on you were.

“You think Evans, knows how to make you squirm?” he curls his fingers up, causing you to yelp involuntarily. A smile slowly forms on his face, watching you with hooded eyes as your hands grab his shoulders, your nails digging into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“You think he knows how to make this pretty little pussy sing?” his thumb slowly starts to circle around your clit, teasing you and you whimper, low and needy as you finally submit to the pleasure he’s giving you.

“That’s right baby, I want you to come for me. I want to hear my name come out of that dirty little mouth of yours.”

It was enough. Enough to send your body over the edge and into that place that only Sebastian could get you to quickly. You feel yourself coming undone, your thighs weakening against his torso, your lower half quivering. But before you can reach it, touch that delicious state of happiness, he’s pulling his fingers out, sticking them in his mouth and taking in your taste, moaning around his wet fingers.

You push against his chest, mad that he’s robbed you of the one thing that could get you to forgive him.

“What’s that baby?” he asks, pulling his fingers out in a pop and you groan,

“I want you to finish.”

“Finish what doll. You’re going to have to be specific?”

You growled. He knew how much you loved to be called doll. Knew how much you liked to beg.

“Want you to make me cum. Want to feel you in me.”

“Hmmmm,” he leans in, his lips ghosting over your own and you move in closer only for him to pull back.

“Only good girls get kisses, doll. You’ve been bad. And bad girls don’t get to cum.”

You can smell yourself on him and you're even more aroused, your hips rolling against his causing him to moan. His head falls between the crevice in your neck and he moans, his left hand pulling at the buttons on his jeans while his left hand is pushing down the straps to your gown.

“First you tell me how much you want another mans cock,” his hands are digging themselves deeper into your thighs and you know it will leave bruises. He was marking you, reminding the world of his territory. “Then you demand for me to make you cum. What makes you think a dirty little slut like you deserves the reward of my cock in you?”

His mouth moves to your breast and you arch into him, your hands knotting themselves in his hair. You loved when he did this, talked to you dirty. Took control. Reminded you that you belonged to him as much as he belonged to you. It was part of what made you both so perfect together.

His tongue is lazy as it slowly trails its way down your nipple,  taking his time as he suckles the delicate skin. You’re shivering by the time he’s done, your nipple now a raw, hard stub that causes your body to flinch as his beard caresses around it. Sebastian doesn’t stop pumping at his cock, shifting as he bites his way to your other breast.

“Fuck doll, you’re so damn sexy.” his mouth finds his other captor, sucking through the sheer fabric until your nipple is raw and taught against the thin material.

“You’re gonna let me fuck this pretty little pussy of yours,” his hand moves to the hem of your thong, pulling it down low enough to allow him access to your wet center. He runs his hands through your folds, causing you intake a quick break as he collects the wetness matted there, bringing his hands to his face and inhaling you.

“So fucking turned on for me, aren’t you doll?”

You mewl, nodding your hand in compliance. His irises are blown to black, filled with lust as he presses his hard erection between your folds.

“Tell me who you belong to?”

You look him in the eyes before whispering,

“You.”

“And who does this pretty little pussy belong to?” he cups you and you throw your head back before looking back at him.

“You.” you bite your lip as he slowly pushes himself into you. Just a little bit. Enough to have you working your hips into him but he holds you down, his hands resting on either side of his waist.

“What did I say baby? You gotta earn this cock.”

You nod.

“I’m sorry. I’ll wait.”

He gives a low groan, an animalistic sound that thunders down his throat as a smile splays across his face. There was nothing he loved more then when you submitted yourself completely to him.

“That's much better. What are you going to wait for?”

“For you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been a snarky little shit.”

He moans, his mouth finding your neck and he lays soft kisses against your nape. It's only seconds before he’s asking in a low whisper,

“Who does this big cock belong to?”

“Me.” you growl this, your nail biting deeper into his shoulders and he moans.

“That’s right doll. I’m as much yours as you are mine.”

And before you can respond he’s slamming against you, bottoming out and causing you to give out an involuntary scream. He doesn’t give you time to recover before he pulls out and slams against you again, causing you to pull his hair back as he repeats this action, pulling back and watching you come undone.

“Sometimes, Y/N, sometimes you drive me fucking insane.” he manages out between gritted teeth and your hold around his hair tightens, pulling him just a little harder that causes him to moan.

“Sometimes I fucking hate you Sebastian.”

He hitches one of your legs higher, catching you in that spot that has you screaming his name in praise and he smiles as he feels your walls tightening around his cock.

“Say it again.”

“I hate you. I just...sometimes I just fucking hate you.” you haven’t recovered from the first orgasm, your body quivering when his thumb presses against your clit and you're seeing white, no chance in keeping your loud screams down, probably waking up the whole hotel screaming out his name.

He watches you come undone around him, taking in the way you cling to him, the sound of his name getting caught in your throat as his pace quickens, his hips slapping against you in a frenzied mess. He locks eyes with you, his eyes frenzied with lust but something more. That soft way he looks at you after being away for a long time, the way he looks when your name is brought up in casual conversation. That look of love that's only reserved for you.

“I hate you because I love you so damn much Seb. Love to hate you because i couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

Your voice is hoarse as you manage to whisper it out but he catches it and it's all he needs to come inside you, head thrown back as your name escapes his lips, singing you praises.

He was the most glorious when he was like this - giving all of himself to you.

You wait for his body to calm down, to calm his shivering frame as he clutches onto you tightly and you bring your lips to his ear, caressing his back as you whisper,

“You know, I really do love you. I’m just afraid that I’ll lose you.”

He pulls away far enough to look at you through sleepy eyes and presses his forehead against your own,

“If you only knew how much I love you,” his voice cracks as he grips you harder, “I can’t - I don’t know how to….” he stops at a lost for words and you know his internal battle. For you, he was the one. You knew he felt the same.

You both were just too damn stubborn to admit it. But you knew.

He recovers and says,

“I’ll….work on not being a selfish asshole.”

You smile, not realizing you had been crying until you feel a tear run down your cheek. He wipes its away, placing a soft kiss on your lips. When you pull away you can’t help but smugly say,

“That’s all I wanted.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he carry's you to your bed. He lays you down gently, throwing his shirt off and laying beside you, his arms drawing you close to him.

“I love you.” he mumbles before sleep wins and he’s softly snoring next to you. It's only seconds before you feel a soft vibrate against your thigh, and you dig in your covers to recover your phone. Its another message from Anthony.

Way to way wake me and everybody else up with your goddamn makeup sex. I assume all is well?

You smile, sending a quick text before throwing your phone on the night stand and falling asleep.

All good here Mack. Thanks for having our back. <3

[stormcaster08-blog]

Song Lyric Pranking Austin

What to do, what to do...?

We all know those remarkable days we have, when you get so bored out of your mind that you think you'll go nuts? Yeah, well that's​ the situation I'm in at the moment. I've been here on the couch pondering what I could do. But nothing worthy has come to mind.

I mean, I could go to my sister's and my shared room where she's currently at. But she's no fun, not one bit. A party pooper at that. My brother... Nah! He is too busy playing on his Switch 24/7, to even spare me a glance. My siblings suck! Besides, getting to them requires much needed energy, it requires me to get off the couch and walk to them. Something I'm not about to do, I'm too lazy to get up. But enough about them, I've already tried watching TV, but after surfing every possible channel out there. Nothing catches my interest.

Picky, I know.

And the sad part of it all, is that it's barely 2 in the afternoon. Someone might as well kill me! I could call up a friend to do something, but the majority of them are like either working - and get off late - or they're busy with their lives. Wait a minute! There's some wrong with that sentence! Rereading the sentence, I soon noticed the mistake. I saw the problem instantly. 'Lives'? These morons, as much as myself, don't have a freaking life. At all! Okay, so I take back the part about them having lives to be busy with, they're probably taking naps.

About twenty minutes of sitting on the couch while munching on chips, I get the greatest idea ever.

"Of course! Why didn't I think of this sooner!" I grabbed my phone out from my pocket.

"Shut the fuck up, Gabby!!" Both of my siblings roared from the two different rooms they were in.

I shrunk down into my seat. "Sorry," I whispered. "But not sorry."

Regaining my confidence to open the messages app, I instantly search for Austin's contact. "Ah-ha!! Found you, my soon to be victim!"

"GABBY!! SHUT UP, I'M TRYING TO TAKE A NAP/TALK TO MY FRIENDS HERE!!!" The two cranky siblings boomed for another time.

"Then close the shucking doors or something, you shanks!!!" I had the tendency to use vocab from The Maze Runner at times. I'm such a loser in so many levels! But I embrace it fully!

"I WILL!!" Seriously!? What are these two, are they like capable of reading each other's minds or something? Whatever the case might've been, two doors slammed shut just right after. And if I had to guess, my sister might've put ear plugs in while my brother turned the volume up to it's full potential in there.

Okay, ignore them. They're just a bunch of meanies anyways. Concentrate. Focus on the task at hand.

After giving myself a much needed pep talk, I start to think of a song I could use on him. One he didn't really know the lyrics to.

Gabby: I'm tired of everything I called mine. I'm sick of trying to find a word that works.

A few minutes later my phone dinged, indicating that the brunette has responded.

Skittles Boy: Wait?

Skittles Boy: What's wrong?

Skittles Boy: Is everything okay?

I can tell I had already worried him, and it's only the beginning. I apologise man, but at the same time, not really. Cruel. I know that already, but this is payback for that time pranking me back in my sophomore year.

Gabby: And I'm so sick of watching the minutes pass by as I go nowhere.

Skittles Boy: Okay Lyric, you're really worrying me right now. You can talk to me, you know that right?

Skittles Boy: I mean what other reason would you have to message me? It's rare for you to do so.

It's true. I rarely go to him for things, only times I do is during emergencies. Emergencies that I couldn't afford to tell anyone to help me with. He's like my anchor during rough situations. Love him for that, but ya know, I need to be entertained at the moment. And his responses are just doing the trick.

Gabby: I got a ticket to another world.

Gabby: Some day I'm sure we'll pass each other by.

Skittles Boy: OH MY GOD GABBY!!!

Skittles Boy: Don't tell me... Oh god!

Skittles Boy: Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't do it!

"He's literally freaking out." My sister's voice called from behind me.

"GAH!!!" I jumped in my spot on the couch, my phone flying from my hands. Splat! My phone had made contact with the edge of the side table and onto the floor. "Where the hell did you come from!?"

"I've been here for like a few minutes to read the last few messages between the two of you," she shrugged as she handed me my phone.

Luckily my phone has a really good case that protects it from getting a cracked screen. Along with a screen protector. Otherwise I would have been more worried about my handheld device.

"Well you can't just come in here and snoop through my messages!" I pulled my phone to my chest. "Some older sister you are."

"Whatever." She sat herself on the opposite couch, "and I think you might want to respond to those texts, your phone is going crazy."

I only rolled my eyes at her before glancing at my screen. 37 new texts in less than ten minutes! My eyes must of widen in shock, because my sister then asked me, "what does it say?"

"I believe that Austin, Manny, and Lucas are on their way here." I slumped into my seat once more.

Veronica, only groaned. "I'm so glad, that I'm leaving at the moment. Please don't make a mess, I really don't want to face mom's wrath."

In that instant I realized she was dressed up. "Don't worry, if we do, I'll make them clean up." I leaned over, "and where's lover boy taking you to, on this fine day?"

"Eh, just out to eat and then maybe to watch a movie."

"Fun, fun,", I bobbed my head. "But don't have too much fun."

She was about to reply when she got a message indicating lover boy is outside. "I'm leaving, and remember what I said." She grabbed her purse and left.

Seconds later, my brother comes out dressed up as well. "Heading out for a COD tournament with the guys. I'll be back before ten!"

"Now wait one minute mister!" I sat up, "come here."

"What!?" He came into the living room and he seemed rather in a hurry. I swear this guy and his gaming. "As I'm the oldest one left in the house.. and you, the younger one, will have to inform me of your whereabouts."

"What is this.. an interrogation?"

"Yes!" I stood up from my seat and glanced up at my brother. He may be younger, but sadly he's taller. "So I would appreciate the names of those who you will be with, their numbers in case of emergencies, and the location you will be at."

"Fuck off!" He proceeded to exit the front door.

Oh no you don't! Using some strength on my toes, I leapt from my standing point and managed to successfully get on his back. "You won't be leaving until you tell me everything I demanded!"

With a good struggle and a couple of curse words, he finally gave in. Although it was forced, I had to admit, for being smaller and weaker than him, I put up a good fight. "There! You're so damn annoying!"

"But you know, you love me!!!" I yelled out to him as he left my line of vision. Without much to do until these idiots arrived, I decided to take a shower. After a short shower, jamming to All Time Low, and getting into some comfy clothes, I decided to head back to the couch.

"Ah yes," closing my eyelids shut, I snuggle into the pillows. "Might as we-"

"LYRIC!!!"

"AAAAHHHH!!!!"

Three males jumped on me. Crushing me underneath and blocking​ oxygen to my lungs. They instantly unattached themselves and began to make sure I was okay. That I hadn't done anything. It took much convincing that there was no fatal injury on me. Love them, but they can exaggerate.

"For the tenth time, I'm fine!"

"Then what's the meaning of the texts you sent me!?" Austin shoved his phone into my face. "You have some explaining to do!"

"Yeah!" Lucas and Manny interrupted, "because of this, we had to forfeit the Pokemon gym we were about to claim as ours!"

I roll my eyes. "It was a lyric prank. Those lines were from songs you dorks."

A chorus of 'ohs' erupted.

"Now if you don't mind, I'm going back to my nap."

The three looked at each other in a way that I hadn't ever seen them do.

"Hurry!" Manny picked me up and set me on his lap. Restraining my movements.

"How many did you take!?"

It all made sense now, they thought I had taken pills.

"None!"

"Looks like the hard way fellas."

And the next few minutes consisted of me running away from them and calling Hailey to back me up that those were indeed lyrics

[vee-angel]

Non-Consent Nancy (part 2)

(Technically this is part 3, I just posted part 1 and 2 as a single post)

CONTENT WARNING: This story focuses on a lesbian black woman who fetishizes rape, misogyny, racism, and abuse. This section briefly checks in with her recently raped Jewish friend, but the bulk of this section will focus on Nancy violently abusing and raping a young (as in still anatomically feminine) female-to-male trans-gendered person. 

And if you happen to be the type of person who might feel bad about getting off to a hate-crime (or you’re just a decent person who enjoys indecent erotica), consider donating to Trans Lifeline at translifeline.org 

(Part of the Pervert Pentet Series)

Chapter 1, part 3

Nancy got a warm, fuzzy feeling when a mutual friend texted her saying that Hannah had been attacked and was presently being treated for her injuries at the hospital. She rushed out the door, eager to see the damage inflicted on her close friend.

She headed to a room on the second floor after a brief consultation with the hospital receptionist,  Entering, she saw Hannah sitting in the bed; her spirit broken and so was her beak-like nose. The normally large protrusion that jutted from the center of her face was now swollen to even more ridiculous proportions. Nancy couldn’t help but let a laugh escape from her throat, but quickly stifled it, putting her hands to her face and passing it off as a cry of horror.

Hoping to add to her pain just a little bit more, Nancy rushed to her side and flung her arms around the little kike, squeezing her face tightly against her large breasts. She twitched and pulled away, obviously in pain.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have realized you’re not really touchable.” Nancy was proud that even now, she could drop subtle, subconscious jabs showing how repellent she thought Hannah was. “What happened, Hannah??”

“Somebody posted my pictures online. The ones I sent to you.” Her voice was even more whiny than normal; she sat hunched, staring down at her knees. “I don’t know how they got them, but they were giving out my address, too!” She began to weep. “Someone was pretending to be me, saying that I wanted to be… That I wanted this to happen. What’d I do, Nancy? I never did anything to anybody that would make them want to hurt me like this!” The sobs escalated to an ugly bawling.

Nancy sat, pulling her face into an expression of concern. She handed a tissue box to Hannah. “People will hate you no matter what you do. Some people just get off on hurting the weak. There’s not much you can do about that fact.”

Everyone hates you, you’re weak, you should give up hope; Somehow Nancy had managed to word those sentiments as though they were aimed to comfort.

After a few more moments of Hannah wiping the tears from her twisted, squealing Jew face, she turned back to Nancy, “I really appreciate you being here for me.”

“Of course! You’re one of my best friends. If you ever need to talk about what happened, I want you to know that I’m here for you, day or night.”

The two women spoke a few minutes longer, until Nancy elected to leave to make room for Hannah’s family, who had just arrived. She certainly didn’t want to get trapped in a room reeking so strongly of kikes.

She attended classes until late afternoon, at which time she popped over to her apartment to pick up the spy-cameras she’d had overnighted, then went back to the rape-crisis center hoping that Darla would return. She didn’t, but at least Nancy got some practice secretly surveilling some of the girls that came in.

That evening, she began to feel antsy. After all the delights she’d had the luck to witness in the last few days, she was starting to feel restless. She needed someone to rape.

She had a dating app in her phone that she’d set up under a fake name. She scanned through the few women who’d messaged or admired her, none of them were especially appealing. She decided to look at the males, thinking that maybe she could rape-bait one of them into assaulting her; it wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but then again, the wants of a man, especially a would-be rapist, would always surmount hers.

That’s when she saw it. A little cuntboy who called itself Angelo. If this thing thought it passed for male, it was sorely mistaken. She scanned the confused dyke’s profile and found the term “f2m” hidden at the bottom. Based on the message she’d sent Nancy, it seemed the desperate little twat was a little girl-crazy.

Nancy had a plan. She wrote back to Angelo, saying how handsome ‘he’ was, and how she’d love for them to get together soon.

The next evening, Nancy made her way to the restaurant that Angelo had picked out for them. The tranny cuntboy was already waiting on a bench out front. It sheepishly stood and introduced itself with a voice awkwardly forced into a lower register, then gave a quick, awkward hug before beckoning Nancy to join it inside.

A few inches shorter than Nancy’s statuesque frame, dirty blond hair cut short and neatly parted at the side, freckled cheeks beneath green eyes, and rather stylishly dressed; a white button-down shirt whose top two buttons were flirtatiously undone beneath a charcoal suit that actually managed to fit over the freak’s boyish frame. Angelo was just her type, not that Nancy would admit to the attraction.

Nancy had leaned into her femme side. A short, flowy, scarlet dress adorned her dark-chocolate skin, accessorized with a layered gold necklace and a druzy ring carved from a single piece of amethyst.

Angelo seemed eager to please, though just slightly on the timid side. Nancy laughed at “his” jokes, touched “his” hand from across the table, and looked down with a demure smile each time their eye contact lingered. She hoped her flirtations would speed the evening along.

Less than ninety minutes later they were walking into Angelo’s third-floor studio apartment. The room was tidy, with a muted color scheme and modern decor seemingly devoid of a woman’s touch. With a giggle, Nancy was upon the little cuntboy as soon as the door closed behind them, pushing it invitingly toward the bed centered against the rear wall of the room.

“Hang on a second.” it said.

Angelo stood, taking a zippo lighter from the bedside table, and lit a series of scented candles organized neatly around the room. It then hung up its coat and laid on the bed. Nancy crawled on top, her toothy smile ravenous with a hunger for what was to come.

Nancy kissed the dysphoric dyke hungrily, her hands frantically kneading across the flesh, moving downward until she felt a large silicone cock-and-balls that cuntboys like Angelo sometimes wore inside their underwear to play at being real men. She let out a little squeal of delight, pretending to believe that the thing in Angelo’s underwear was its own and not some dress-up toy ordered from an online costume shop for freaks.

She moved downward, gingerly unfastening the button of the slacks and pulling down the zipper. She stood briefly to yank the pants off with dramatic flair before playfully hopping back onto the bed, Angelo’s feet straddled between her knees.

“Wow,” Angelo said, almost breathless at Nancy’s forceful passion. It reached toward a drawer at the bedside table, “Let me get the, uhh, ya know.”

“Mmm, of course. I bet you need the magnum size.” She said, rubbing the front of Angelo’s grey boxer-briefs. She dipped her fingers into the waistband and pulled down as her face descended.

Then suddenly her expression changed. “What the fuck is this?” she demanded as she seized the realistic silicone genitals and held them accusingly above Angelo’s suddenly confused face.

Nancy threw the fake cock forcefully onto the bed and yanked the boxer-briefs down to the knees. “Oh my god! You’re a fucking girl?!?” She shouted, her lips curling in disgust at the last word.

Angelo sat up, her hands darting to her underwear to re-dress herself, Nancy responded by slapping her hard across the face. Angelo looked scared, and helpless. “You lied to me, you tranny cuntboy freak!” Nancy spat the words at her, before literally spitting in her cowering face.

“Please don’t call me that!” Her voice was cracking.

Angelo yanked her feet out from under Nancy and crawled off the bed, pulling her underpants up in the process. He wiped Nancy’s saliva from her eye and tried to compose herself. With still panicked breathing, she pointed at the door and tried to sound authoritative. “You need to leave right now.” she was actually shaking, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

While Nancy hated the ghetto-monkey dialect she had grown up hearing, she found it useful when the occasion arose that she needed to assert a sort of primal authority. Still, she couldn’t help but speak with her erudite style of slow enunciation and clearly articulated consonants, “You had best get that base out of your voice before I shove that fake cock up your bitch-ass, you tranny, cuntboy motherfucker.” Nancy took slow, menacing steps toward her as she spoke. Angelo retreated.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police!” She hurried over to the slacks that had been tossed across the room, squatting down to reach into the pocket. At that moment, Nancy threw a meticulously practiced roundhouse kick that caught the little girl-faggot just below the ear. Angelo was left slowly writhing, half-conscious on the slate tile floor.

“I told you what was going to happen, didn’t I, cuntboy?” Nancy reached down and raked her fingers through Angelo’s dark blonde hair before her fingers formed into a fist; dragging her by her hair, she forced her back onto the bed before yanking her boxer-briefs down and off in several successive, violent motions. She continued holding the tranny face-down by her scalp with one hand while she grabbed the fake cock with the other. She drove her knee into the cuntboy’s ass to spread it wide enough to expose her tight, pink asshole. When she began stuffing the soft rubber cock into her, Angelo seemed to regain her senses. She started thrashing, but Nancy overpowered her and began shoving even harder.

“No! No please! You’re hurting me!” Angelo tearfully cried out as Nancy’s french manicure scraped against her anus with each push. Nancy smiled with satisfaction as the confused boy-girl begged for the violation to stop.

After several agonizing seconds, Nancy had finally stuffed the last of Angelo’s packer up her ass. She released her victim and stood back to take in the sight of the broken bitch. “Flip over and show me your pussy.”

The little cuntboy closed her eyes tightly, as if trying to block out the world. Nancy grabbed her hair again, yanking her to her feet. She punched the girl hard in the face twice, the crystalline points of the amethyst druzy ring leaving deep wounds that would heal into permanent scars across her freckled cheeks.

“Lay down and spread your legs!” Nancy commanded. The terrified girl finally complied, blood dripping from her wounded face. The sound of whimpering providing soundtrack for the sight of the pink cunt, adorned with a neatly trimmed layer of wispy blonde fuzz.

“That’s fucking disgusting. If you don’t even know how to shave a pussy, than you don’t deserve one.” Nancy stomped over to the night-stand to grab the zippo lighter, then returned to the foot of the bed, pinning Angelo’s legs wide against the mattress with her knees. This ensured that the tranny wouldn’t be able to close her legs as she flipped open the lighter and ignited the flame. Angelo looked down in horror as Nancy brought the flame against her sensitive, pink cunt.

The bitter smell of burning hair filled the room as the boy-pussy went aflame. A panicking Angelo tried to sit up, but was met with Nancy’s strong, steely fingers clamping around her windpipe and pinning her to the bed. The pathetic twat thrashed frantically, she didn’t know whether to try to snuff the fire that was blistering the skin of her labia, or rip away the vice-like grip that was crushing her throat. In the end, she succeeded at neither.

The fire, thankfully for Angelo, went out after several seconds. The skin of her vulva was left bright red, with various round spots of white where the damaged skin was beginning to form blisters. “You know, if you just wore a skirt and shaved you cunt like a good girl, I wouldn’t have to do this for you. But you’re too fucked in the head to do that, aren’t you?”

Nancy released her throat, the tranny cuntboy had a coughing fit. Her legs were still pinned open, driven painfully wide by the pointed knees driven into the nerve-laden tissue of her inner thighs. She finally took a few gasping breaths as she realized that Nancy was still holding the burning lighter.

“I’m doing this to help you get better, you know. You’re probably going to be tempted to try to turn that little clit of yours into a full fledged dicklet sooner or later, so…” she paused for just a moment to forcefully blow out the flame of the zippo, leaving only the glow of hot-red metal where the flame had been, “let me remove the temptation.”

She drove the hot metal firmly against Angelo’s skin. She screamed as her clit turned to smoke; Nancy muffled the screaming, pressing her hand over the girl’s mouth. Even the half-silenced shriek was almost loud enough to drown out the wet, popping sound of boiling skin.

A few seconds later, she pulled the hot metal away, having left most of its heat in Angelo’s destroyed clitoris. Little bits of burnt flesh snapped off and stuck to the lighter. Upon examining the wound, she was satisfied to see a rectangular reddish-pink pit where the flesh had been, shiny-wet inside and wreathed with ragged black edges.

The toned, statuesque rapist needed to take a moment to catch her breath; they both did. She stood, closing the lighter and tossing it on the bed. She took a brief moment to stretch while she listened to the frantic screaming sobs as Angelo clutched her devastated genitalia. Nancy looked down with a smile to see the fake rubber penis peeking out of her asshole as she heaved with tears.

She had almost forgotten about that! She pinched the soft rubber tip and yanked the full mass out of the boycunt’s twitching asshole. Almost reflexively, Angelo seemed to reach out for it like a toddler who’s favorite toy was just stolen away. She watched as Nancy held the phony organ at arms length and walked over the the adjoining kitchen. There was a brief pause in the sobbing as Angelo tried to divine Nancy’s intention. A new wave of disbelieving shock came over her as she watched the piece that defined her identity dropped into the sink drain and Nancy’s finger moved swiftly toward the switch of the garbage disposal.

“NO! PLEASE!!!” She screamed like a little girl watching her teddy bear being eviscerated. Her voice was soon drowned out by the grinding sound as the only intact set of genitals she had left was turned into mangled rubbery slivers by the spinning metal blades.

“For someone who thinks they’re a boy, you sure cry like a little girl!” Nancy snapped.

The broken bitch-boy managed to whimper out “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Sorry for lying to me, sorry for being a fucking pervert, or are you just a sorry piece of shit?” Nancy spat the words as an accusation.

“I’m so-oo-orry! Plee-heease! Please… just leave me alone.” Angelo barely managed to articulate the plea through the tears that streamed down her bloodied and battered face.

“You want me to leave?? I thought you wanted to get laid, you pathetic little dyke. What, am I suddenly not pretty enough for you anymore?”

“Why are you doing this to meee?”

Nancy rolled her eyes, “Okay, fine. You’re little pity-party worked. I’ll fuck you, you don’t need to beg.”

Angelo looked confused as Nancy advanced. She scrambled backward on the bed, leaving crumpled piles of sheets in her wake. Nancy grabbed her ankles and dragged her down forcefully before hopping onto the bed herself; her dense, muscular form crushing little Angelo beneath it. She began kissing the girl, tasting the salty combination of blood and tears as Angelo clenched her lips and eyes tightly. Undeterred, Nancy reached down and forced two fingers into the mutilated cunt below. Angelo twitched in fresh pain as she was roughly finger-raped. Kissing her way down the cuntboy’s neck and chest, she arrived once again at the mutilated pussy. From this angle she had the leverage to properly fist-rape the little tranny.

She added two more fingers roughly inside and began pushing. Angelo twitched violently at the painful new violation. Nancy encountered resistance when her bulky druzy ring pushed against the back edge of her hole.

“You’re ring! Please take off your ring!” Angelo regained her senses just enough to make the seemingly reasonable request not to be fisted by sharp points of rock. Unfortunately, Nancy didn’t feel very reasonable at the moment.

The fingers were roughly withdrawn, but only so Nancy could take a firm jab at Angelo’s mouth, splitting her lip and shattering a few of her teeth with the pointed formations of amethyst. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, faggot!” She jammed her hand back up the girl’s burned and blistered vagina, her ring slowly scraping its way inside of her with a series of sudden violent thrusts. Angelo began screaming again as Nancy buried her hand wrist-deep inside of her.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to slit your throat.”

Angelo quickly grabbed a pillow to scream into as Nancy resumed her violent assault on her cervix. She punched in and out, making sure to bruise and scrape every inner surface with the crystal shards she wore as jewelry. After a few minutes of vigorous thrusting, she heard the dyke-faggot’s voice give out. She withdrew her hand, now slick with crimson blood whose hue was deepened upon her chocolate colored skin.

She looked down at Angelo, still pouring tears and blood and snot into the pillow and asked, “Well? I need to get off, too. Come here and lick my pussy.” She lifted the front of her blood-red dress, the wet streaks on her hand leaving barely noticeable stains. Beneath was a form-fitting pair of white cotton panties.

“I said lick my pussy, Angelo.” She demanded with a sneer.

The defeated form slowly dropped down from the bed, walking on her knees over to where Nancy stood, waiting. Nancy dipped a finger down and pulled her underwear aside, revealing the firm, flawless skin of her coffee colored labia.

Angelo opened her mouth and hesitantly moved it toward the neatly formed, feminine flower. Just before her tongue made contact, Nancy shot a stream of pale-yellow piss straight down Angelo’s throat. She began to cough and turned away.

Nancy grabbed her head angrily with both hands, “Don’t you dare turn away!” She forced the tomboy’s face back into the path of her urine. “Open your eyes! Open your fucking eyes!” She pried her date’s eyes open and shot salty piss straight across the green irises. When she was finally done using Angelo’s face as a urinal, she threw her onto the cold tile floor and gave her a couple of firm kicks in the torso.

Finally satisfied, she looked down at the sad, tormented form. She listened to the small, heaving tears of the thoroughly raped woman at her feet, her ragged voice periodically went silent. It was as if she was having a conversation with some unseen entity, and responding only in the language of weary sobs.

Nancy smiled, “Thanks for buying me dinner, Angelo. I had a great time tonight.”

With that, she left.

[spidcrboy]

         it’s late. or rather, it’s EXTREMELY early in the morning. it’s just past three, and peter is BARELY crawling his way through his bedroom window. he can’t even manage to land on his feet, instead falling to the floor in a rather PATHETIC display. he has bruises everywhere, he’s almost sure he broke a rib or two and the skin near one of his eyebrows has been split open due to a pretty nasty fall. not to mention his busted lip, and his nose that only managed to STOP bleeding a few minutes ago. and the worst of all his injuries, a large GASH in the side of his suit that blood is currently spilling out of. he’s quite a sight, and he’s glad may is gone for the night for something she has to do for work. it leaves peter alone to clean up his own wounds, and hopefully HEAL before she gets back. there’s only one problem. the LAST time he came home like this he used practically everything in their first aid kit, and he’s yet to restock on some of the essentials. if he were in better shape he’d probably head to a 24-hour pharmacy, but right now he’s not sure he could make it to his DOOR. 

        nights like this are pretty common lately. it’s easier to go out and be spider-man, than to deal with the problems peter parker has. and the main problem, the most PAINFUL problem peter parker currently has is mary jane. mary jane and his FORMER best friend, no less. he’s successfully avoided the pair for weeks now, and he doesn’t plan on ending that tradition just because he’s in danger of bleeding out on his own bedroom. but he needs SOMETHING to clean and wrap himself up with, and his neighbor is quite literally the closest person to him. he weighs his options for a moment, even considering how much intolerable pain he’d be in if he attempted going to the store, but ultimately lands in the same place. at least he has KAREN, so he doesn’t have to move. ❝ can you text mary jane for me? ❞ the boy questions, his mask still somehow in tact despite the various injuries he’s sustained. ‘sure thing, what should i tell mary jane?’ comes her reply, emphasis on the girl’s name because peter has spoken about her before. maybe TOO many times. ❝ just say.... ‘hey. ignore this if you’re asleep, but do you have a first-aid kit? i just need a few things. can you leave it by the door so you don’t wake up may? thanks. ❞ voice nearly trembling, wincing pitifully once the message is sent and he can finally pull his mask off. may isn’t here, so part of his message was a lie. but maybe he’ll get lucky and mary jane will actually LISTEN. and if she’s not awake, he’ll have to figure out plan b. // plotted starter for @nytigress