#White Collar did fuck itself over somewhat later on

[mariana-oconnor]

^ @macavitykitsune's tags are accurate. Never underestimate Elizabeth Burke's willingness to gleefully commit shenanigans.

been laughing over this pic for like. ten minutes

[latetaektalk]

(he)art thief | jjk [i, preview]

“jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?

genre: heist! AU, thief! jungkook, art curator daughter! oc, ocean’s! AU, fluff, angst, sexual themes/implied smut (in later chapters)

pairing: jungkook x female reader

estimated word count: 35 to 40k

warnings: cursing/swearing, a bit of alcohol consumption

a/n: this is loosely based off the ocean’s film! to be added to the taglist, shoot me an ask/message! also, gureum is jungkook’s dog! and thank you to movie club for helping me come up with this amazing title!!

coming sunday, may 30th 2021  

Jungkook avoids playgrounds.

Does so because when he was at the tender age of just seven, he fell off a swing. He ended up in the hospital (his first but not last visit); seven stitches, his mother told him, but he could swear it was a million.

Needless to say, Jungkook has been avoiding playgrounds like the plague ever since.

But here he is, in the middle of one, dog leash in his hand, and heart pounding in his chest so violently it might just explode.

A mob of boys runs past him, all of them no older than six—which means that, for the most part at least, they’re harmless—but still, Jungkook flinches. It’s embarrassing, even more so because Gureum turns and stares at him. If one of them should flinch, it should be Gureum, with him being a dog and Jungkook a full grown adult, but God, today is just not his day. He’s stressed! Out of it! Nervous! A wreck-

“Did you just flinch?”

Jungkook feels his heart drop. Fuck, he thought he walked out of sight!

“No, I didn’t, Tae,” he hisses, pressing the earpiece further into his ear.

“You flinched! We can still see you- ah, okay, not anymore. But we saw that-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I definitely did not flinch-”

“Denying it is pointless. We all saw it. Back me up here, Jimin.”

“You definitely flinched.”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, is about to walk back to the car and tell them that they must be hallucinating because he definitely did not flinch when-

“Can you see her already, Kook?” Namjoon asks and for a moment, Jungkook forgot why he is here, you.

He looks around himself, and it doesn’t take him long to find you, sitting on a bench, under a big tree, soft shadows dancing on your skin.

“Yeah, I-I see her,” Jungkook says under his breath.

“Okay, good. I’m gonna need you to focus up then,” Namjoon continues, and Jungkook nods like Namjoon could see him.

“Yeah, if you screw this up, it’s your fault if we end up in jail-”

“Tae!” Namjoon warns, and judging from the ‘ow’ that follows, someone punched him. Jungkook’s guess is Jimin.

“What? I’m just saying-”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you come,” Namjoon mumbles and runs a hand down his face. “Hey, Kook, don’t listen to Tae, yeah? He’s just messing with you.”

“Yeah… I know,” Jungkook mutters, and he means it. He really does know that Taehyung is messing with him, but there’s a part of him that takes it to heart, that is worried sick about how he’s going to fuck this up and be the reason for why they all end up in jail.

“Don’t worry, Kook,” Jimin cuts in, taking the phone from Namjoon. “We’ve got your back. All you have to do is repeat after me, say what I say. You’ve got this. Remember what I taught you?”

“Always smile and laugh and never talk about yourself. Keep the conversation about the other person because people love talking about themselves,” Jungkook repeats, and looks at you again, heart heavy in his chest.

He shouldn’t feel like this, wishes he wouldn’t. But he can’t help it. This isn’t how he imagined he’d meet you. Jungkook thought he’d meet you at some fancy event, sipping expensive champagne, or at some luxury clothing store maxing out your parents’ credit card—after all, your mother is a world famous art curator. But instead you spend your time at playgrounds, babysitting.

There’s actually no reason for Jungkook to be this nervous. Jimin did practise with him this exact scenario, but he can’t help but think that with a flute in his hands and some alcohol buzzing through his system, he’d feel more comfortable. But here he is, in the middle of a sea of children.

“Kook, do you copy?”

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t…” Jungkook pauses. He shouldn’t admit that he wasn’t listening.

“Get your head in the game, please,” Namjoon tells him over the earpiece.

“Sorry, you’re right. I’m here,” Jungkook says and starts to walk again even though he still feels fucking lost as a goddamn adult at a playground. Gureum follows him when he tugs on the dog leash.

“Okay, good. Just- just try your best,” Namjoon says, voice a bit muffled. “You’ve got this.”

Jungkook could swear that there’s a waiver to his words.

“Don’t worry. We’re here,” Taehyung tells him before Jungkook can think about it too much, distracting him from the quiver he heard.

He stops behind a tree, close enough for Gureum to spot you, but not close enough for you to spot them. His knees crack when he kneels down to stroke Gureum’s ear.

“Hey, Gureum? I’m gonna unleash you in a second and then I’m gonna need you to run towards,” Jungkook points as discreetly as possible to you, “her, yeah? Just like we practised? Remember? Remember how you ran towards Seok and Yoongi? Do it exactly like that again, okay? If you do, I’ll get you your favourite treat.”

Gureum doesn’t run away instantly when Jungkook unclips him because he’s trained, but when he points at you and whistles, he’s gone.

You react surprisingly calm to a dog barreling towards you, barely flinching. You lean down and greet Gureum.

“Approaching target now,” Jungkook mumbles quietly and can only faintly register how Namjoon tells Taehyung to be quiet from now on, all of his attention on the mission now.

With the leash in his hand, Jungkook jogs towards you, heaving extra hard to sell the act of a dog-owner-who-has-been-chasing-his-dog-for-the-last-ten-minutes to you.

You look up to him when he stops in front of you, eyeing him. Jungkook stands there, bend over, his hands on his knees, breathing like he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Uh…. hi,” you start, brows pinched together.

Jungkook puts on his most charming smile, ignoring his thumping heart to the best of his abilities.

“Hi.”

“Oh, we’re starting- okay, showtime: I’m sorry, are you okay? My dog- he just ran and I couldn’t stop him. I’m so sorry,” Jimin says in his ear.

“I-I’m so sorry.” There’s a quiver to Jungkook’s voice, and it isn’t on purpose. “Are you okay? He just ran and I-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him with a small smile, still petting Gureum who has clearly taken a liking to you. During practise with Seokjin and Yoongi, Gureum always ran back to Jungkook, but now he’s staying at your feet, relishing in your pets. “Is that your dog?”

“Yes, yes, it is. I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a second, but then he ran away and I couldn’t catch up with him. Are you okay?”

“Yes, and I’m so sorry. I just unleashed him for a moment, thinking it was okay, but-”

“Can you prove it?” you interrupt and Jungkook pauses. “I mean that it’s your dog. It’s just that he isn’t really reacting to you, you know?”

Jimin’s response comes a bit late. “Oh, yes, I can. His name’s Gureum and he is- what’s the breed of your dog again? I don’t remember. If you look at his collar, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

“Oh, yeah, I can,” Jungkook smiles, wiping the non existent sweat from his temple. “His name’s Gureum and he’s a white Maltese dog. If you look at his collar, you’ll see that I’m not lying.”

You actually look at the collar and part of Jungkook is offended that you don’t just believe him. Does he look like a liar to you? “Actually, I have pictures too-”

“No, no, it’s fine. I believe you,” you say before gesturing for Gureum to go back to Jungkook. He does, but somewhat reluctantly and Jungkook doesn’t know how to interpret this.

“Ask her if she’s okay again.”

“Are you really okay?” Jungkook says and offers you a smile the way Jimin taught him to. “I really am sorry about-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him and wave him off. “Nothing happened. Don’t worry about it. Just leash your dog.”

And then, you turn away from him. Jungkook stands there awkwardly for another moment before kneeling down to Gureum, absentmindedly petting him, mind filled with questions because what now? How does he communicate to the others that you turned away from him? That the conversation has ended and he has no idea how to start it again?

“What’s going on Kook? Is she smiling-”

“Ah, Gureum, no,” Jungkook cuts in. “Don’t turn away- I can’t leash you if you do that. Don’t turn away.”

“Oh, shit, she turned away, huh?”

“What now, Jimin?”

“Shush, Joon. Let me think, yeah?”

Jungkook fiddles with the leash like he has a problem clipping it, hoping that maybe you’re going to offer him your help. You don’t. And why would you? He’s an adult after all.

Before Jimin can come up with anything though, the solution to the problem presents itself. It comes in the form of a girl running and tripping right next to Jungkook and him catching her just in time before she can faceplant in the dirt and scrape her knees open.

“Oh, hey, careful here!” Jungkook brings the girl back up on her two feet. She stares at him with big eyes, and he recognises her from the pictures. It’s Siyeon, the seven year old girl you babysit regularly, the reason why you’re spending your afternoon at a playground today. ”You okay?”

“Kook, what’s happening right now?” Namjoon asks.

Siyeon looks at you, and you’re already kneeling beside her, fixing her hair.

“Siyeon, I told you not to run. See, you almost fell now!” You say it the same way a mother would, less strict though. “If he hadn’t caught you, you would have hurt yourself, wouldn’t you have? Now, what do you say?”

“T-thank you,” Siyeon mumbles, and Jungkook isn’t sure if she’s staring at her hands because she’s embarrassed or just about to cry.

“Who’s that? Who are you talking to? Who’s he talking to?”

“Was that a kid?”

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks Siyeon, ignoring Namjoon and Taehyung to the best of his abilities.

“Y-yes, thank you.” She won’t look at him.

Jungkook smiles. “Well, I’m happy that you didn’t get hurt there.”

“Kook, answer please. Do you need help?”

“Should we interfere?”

Jungkook’s about to snap. Does it seriously sound like he needs help? He’s talking to a seven year old, for fuck’s sake! Sure, he didn’t practise this scenario, but God, he was capable of improvising!

“Thank you. She’s really clumsy,” you say to Jungkook.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m like that too. After all, I let,” he looks down at Gureum and finishes his sentence by gesturing to him and then you. You laugh.

And that’s when Siyeon seems to notice Gureum for the first time, eyes growing big at his sight like she has never seen a dog before. A chance.

“His name’s Gureum. You wanna-”

“Do you think we should go over there? See if he’s okay?”

And with that, Jungkook snaps. Yoongi is going to give him an earful for destroying his oh so precious equipment, but he can’t do this any longer with Jimin, Namjoon and Taehyung in his ear. So in one smooth movement, Jungkook digs out the earpiece and crushes it between his fingers, hiding it in his hand.

“Sorry, a fly, I think,” Jungkook says, swatting at his ear, and before you can think about it, he moves on. “Do you wanna pet Gureum, S- Is it okay if I call you Siyeon?”

Siyeon stares at Jungkook like he can’t believe he just asked her that. It’s probably the first time an adult has asked her for permission to call her by her name, and she seems to appreciate it immensely because she beams at him and gives him a huge nod.

“Okay, Siyeon, do you maybe wanna pet Gureum? He doesn’t bite, I promise.” Jungkook can feel your eyes on him. He’s doing it, charming you!

Siyeon turns to you.

“Can I-?”

You hum. “If Gureum is okay with it-”

Siyeon kneels down. “Hello, Mr Gureum. Sir, can I please pet you?”

Jungkook melts, and so do you.

Receiving no response from Gureum, Siyeon looks back up to you. Jungkook quickly takes his paw and waves. “Hello, Mrs Siyeon, if you promise not to hurt me, you can pet me. I like it especially if humans pet me at the back of my head. Just, please, be nice to me.”

In all of the years he has had Gureum, Jungkook has never tried to imagine what his voice would sound like, but he knows for a fact that he doesn’t sound like a chain smoker. It’s a questionable choice, but he doesn’t regret it. Because not only does it make Siyeon laugh, it also elicits a chuckle from you.

You look at him with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, have I?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jungkook says, and you two rise to your feet when Siyeon starts to pet Gureum and he doesn’t bite her.

“Well,” you stretch out your hand, “I’m Y/N.”

Jungkook swallows the ‘I know’ that wants to slip him and takes your hand. He has to stop himself from bursting with pride, only allowing his smile to grow into a blinding grin.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, and he means it. It’s really nice to meet you. “I’m Jungkook.”

coming sunday, may 30th 2021

[the-huntress]

Little Moth - Chapter 2 - A Friend

[Thank you to everyone that has read my story so far. I really hope that you enjoy it. My apologies for the slow burn, but all good things come to those that wait… <3]

Masterlist

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg. [18+]

Summary: Awoken by the clang of metal another strange dream haunts you as you make your journey towards the ominous ‘village’, searching for your life-long friend, Leon.

Trigger Warnings: Supernatural violence.

Song Suggestion: ‘Keep Me Alive’ by All We Are.

[Photos are my own] The next 24 hours were a blur; bagel, taxi, airport, flight, layover in airport, Frankfurter infused pretzel, flight to worryingly small airport, ride in the back of a 1980s Toyota pick-up truck (with cages full of chickens and feathers flying about), which took you to the smallest train station you’d ever seen (one platform), two steam trains later, a weakened moment of purchasing unidentified brand of cigarettes with picture of a goat on the front from a man that smells profusely like garlic, and then a moment of mildly suppressed panic at being in a completely unknown to you part of the world with not a word of Romanian to your repertoire.

Standing at what kind of looked like maybe the side of a road-ish, you pulled out the badly printed map, co-ordinates and a compass. You looked up at the sky, despite it being overcast the clouds were still thin enough to be able to see roughly where the sun was sat. It was 2pm, your phone no longer had a hope in hell of working out here signal wise, but at least for now, it could tell you the time, after that it would just be you and the sun.

You couldn’t deny as the treck took you further away from the already very small towns and villages, and further into the countryside and wilderness, that the landscape was incredibly beautiful. Snow-capped mountains, like you’d never seen anywhere but the movies graced the horizon, leafless tree branches began to out-number their more lustrous looking sisters, and yet, dotted amongst the white, a spattering of green, forests and woodlands a-like, untouched by the torrents of snow, as if by some magic. The fresh air in your lungs made you feel powerful somehow, like you were on a path leading to destiny, something inside you was being fulfilled. Even during the time sat alone on the steam train, staring at the hillsides and woodlands as they flew past, catching your own reflection in the glass here and there, you’d felt as if you were heading towards something exciting yet familiar.

The day seemed to go much faster than you’d imagined, but then it was late into the year, the days much shorter. Grateful for the fact that you’d chosen to wear a zip up hoodie under your usual work jacket, you still had to give the tops of your arms a rub with your gloved hands. You’d also prepared with thin leggings under your black combat trousers and worn hiking socks under your military boots. There was still more than enough light to see, but the Village was still not yet in sight. The hike had been challenging, your knee was now starting to protest, both with an ache and with a sharpness too it. Just a little further, you thought, wincing against it.

You stopped dead in your tracks. There was a noise nearby but not anything that you were used to. What was that? A train? There were no train tracks running through this part of the wilderness as far as you knew, you’d hoped not at least, else you’d be kicking yourself in the ass if you could have saved yourself from the pain that you were in after all this time. A rumbling, chundering, rickety sound, drawing closer and closer. A light in the distance, a lantern, two of them, swinging wildly now on the front of a carriage and a man’s face, crazed with panic, and what a man, at least two times the size in both height and girth of anyone that you’d ever met before.

“Run my darling adventurer, run, for it is not safe for you here!” He yelled towards you. But you couldn’t, you were frozen solid, seeing now what he was trying to escape; and you’d thought this man was larger than life. What approached behind him… was unearthly. The wind was thrown out of you as you were yanked by the collar and swung onto the back of the carriage. The man had tossed you up to at least temporary safety, although how stable this thing was you did not know. You stared back towards the rear of the carriage, eyes narrowing on what you now identified as your target. In short, you could see some kind of humanoid being, roughly 8 foot tall, muscles rippling, pale, sallow skin, with patches of thick hair covering various parts of its body, a loin cloth, beady, mean cold gold eyes, pointed ears and a mouth full of needle sharp teeth. Hurtling along in front of it, in its grasp were two humungous beasts, covered in shaggy hair, almost like two huge dogs or bears, but with some of the most nightmarish faces that you’d ever seen. All you could see was that fact that they wanted nothing more than to tear you limb from limb.

You didn’t mess around for shit and your pistol was in your hand before you could say ‘boulder punching bastard’. You fired one, two, three times, each shot tearing through the shoulders of the front two beasts.

“You really think that thing is going to take them down?” Yelled the driver, craning his head around to take a quick glance at you. You grimaced, thrown down to the roof by a sudden jolt, and quickly tore your glance back at your enemies. They were closing the gap.

“Make a quick turn, here, around that rock!” You yelled, pointing ahead. The man began his manoeuvre as you’d instructed, and without question, for which you were grateful, you only had a couple of seconds to act and one shot at this. You pulled the aerosol from your pocket. This wasn’t just any can, this was something that you’d created yourself. Looked like a normal deodorant or spray can for sure except for two minor differences; it was re-fillable, and it had a range of up to 15 feet. You swiped the lighter back from your cap and took aim, lighter in your left hand in front, aerosol in your right hand, the U-turn took your right back past the trio as they came tearing down the slope. The noise wasn’t quite deafening, but it was loud enough, and you’d succeeded. The two hairy beasts were covered in flames and yelping, running frantically and tore off into the forest. HAHA! You laughed, another bump and you were back on the roof, stealing a glance at the man steering who had a grin on his face too. “Trick shot!” You called back.

The wolven giant roared in fury, for he was scorched, but his rage burned savagely more so than any flame that you could create.

“Very good little moth, but we need something bigger for that one. In the carriage, the room below you there is something that will help, you will know it when you see it, retrieve it now.” You nodded, not noticing for a moment what he’d called you, but you didn’t have time to think and ask. You slid down through the small hatch in the roof, just wide enough for your body, some kind of sky light you guessed and fell to the floor. The dwindling sun light now blazing red over the horizon and through the silhouettes of the trees lit the inner carriage just enough for you to take in what was around you; a lot of meat for one thing. You were never any good at hiding your thoughts on your face, but no one was here to see that right now. There were a couple of larger crates, a globe, typewriter, trinket boxes. Parts rolled and rattled, but you knew what you were here for, right in front of you on the bed. You pulled yourself back up through the hatch.

“This it?” You called to him, holding up a hefty and yet ornate bow. It seemed to be built in the way that somewhat resembled a modern-day compound bow but had a more traditional look to its materials and smaller details. “That’s the one’” he called back. “Here, take these.” He went to pass a bundle of arrows without quiver, but as he did so the beast threw itself at the back of the carriage. You yelled, the impact threw you into the arrows, your blood now over a few of the heads, and all at once you were thrown into darkness, your back slamming against the floor of the inside of the carriage. Shaking your head, you realised what had happened, scrambling on the floor and grabbing as many of the spilled arrows up as you could. Blood began to soak the garments covering your right hip. It was just a flesh wound, but deep enough to sting, reminding you of a time in your childhood when you’d crawled through brambles and the thorns had left 12 longs scars down your torso.

Back on your feet, you booted the doors open, throwing them into the beast’s face, both his clawed hands firmly sunk into the wood either side of the carriage, half running, half being dragged along. He reared his head and roared at you, and you roared back, raising the first arrow and taking aim. “FUCK YOU!” You cried out, the arrow sliced through his cheek but this only made him angrier, throwing one arm into the carriage now, half in, the other arm pulled him further, you realised quickly with terror that you were very quickly being pinned against the bed at the back. It grabbed you around your waist, yanking you down onto the floor, roaring madly once again, into your face, the foulest smelling breath hot and slick with spittle. Something crashed off the shelf above you and onto its head, almost like it shot out of place of its own accord, against the natural trajectory of the way of which the carriage was now turning. It threw the beast back out of the carriage and you only had a moment to grab onto a fixture on the wall which held tools in place before you felt the carriage begin to topple and hurtle.

You lost count of how many rolls it took, but when it stopped it was deathly silent, like a veil had been pulled over this part of the woods. Rain began to fall on the deathly branches above in the would-be canopy. You pulled yourself out, scathed and bleeding, but you weren’t done. Good job you’d thought to throw on your light armour mid hike. You looked around at the driver, he didn’t say anything, but he was breathing. “Are you ok, friend?” You asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. He brought his head up and looked up at you. “Yes.” He replied, placing one of his hands over yours. You nodded and started walking to the hulking heap of hair, blood and muscle only meters away. With each step you took you felt the presence of something growing behind you, like a shadow. The sound of metal scraping. “He’s here.” You heard your companion breathe. You had no idea who or what he meant, but right now you had one thing on your mind and that was your kill.

Still closing the gap without a falter, you took three arrows that you had clipped to your bag only moments ago, set their heads ablaze with the fluid and lighter. You set them against the nock, the flames burning bright now in your eyes, and a shower of metal, knives, bullets, scraps came flying down from around you and into the flesh of the beast. They didn’t just stop upon impact, they kept going, embedding themselves further and further into its flesh. It bellowed and swung its arms in pain, standing tall above you, arching it’s back, but still you stood your ground, unblinking, until it fell back down to the ground, writhing now. You leapt up onto its twisting shoulder, taking aim with the bow and let the trio of burning arrows do their work, shattering through the skull, two ending it all at once, and one at an angle coming back halfway out of its blood shot eye.

You stayed there for what seemed like an eternity. Staring and waiting. No thoughts going through your mind, the darkness in you waning back to the parts of your mind where it usually hid, flowing away like black smoke or the tide going out.

Something was calling. Not out loud, but in your head, your heart, something was calling just for you, but without any sound. You looked up towards the carriage, which strangely was now upright again, though in a bit of a mess, your friend there besides it, a little worse for wear, and a glint of light, the reflection of the flames that had begun to grow around you in the darkness just beyond, the crunch of the undergrowth, and whatever it was, was gone.

[pippytmi]

ceo!au + enemies to lovers + is that the best you can do. Please thank you

“You have a real mean way about you.”

Click. Click. Click. The lighter refuses to do its job; Lena finally just places the unlit cigarette between her lips and inwardly bemoans her luck. What are the odds—a pissed off Kara Danvers, a lighter that won’t light, and to top it all off, the faint bass from inside sounds suspiciously like the electronic music she’d told the DJ not to play.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Lena says dryly. “How did you get past security?”

Kara comes up beside her; Lena tracks her in the corner of her eye. “Your security isn’t very good,” she replies simply.

“Figures.” Lena turns, then, and leans as lightly as she can against the metal railing. “Your manners aren’t very good either. No hello?”

“We don’t say hello to each other.” Kara looks more disheveled than Lena has ever seen her. Tie undone, white shirt wrinkled where it tucks into her pants, bun of hair unkempt. For a moment she says nothing more; Lena watches as she rests her elbows against the railing, shoulders taut with tension. “I’m tired,” she declares suddenly. “Of fighting with you.”

Lena sighs, rolls her cigarette between her thumb and forefinger and wishes it were lit. “That's all we do,” she says. “We fight each other. You cause trouble for me, I cause trouble for you…” 

“You stole my merger with Edge.” Kara’s voice is quiet, but as bitter as expected. She asks no questions, makes no probing inquiry, just states the fact hollowly.

“I did you a favor,” Lena says flippantly. “He would have severely underpaid you.”

“So you decided to—what, exactly? Make sure he paid you more?” Now there is anger sharpening at the edges of Kara’s words, but not a dangerous kind of anger. It is a muted kind, one more self-directed.

A weariness makes itself known in Lena’s chest, heavy and confusing. “Yes,” she says. She has no qualms of stealing mergers from anyone, but somehow this time…this time, she feels a bit of pity. “He was making a fool out of you, Kara.  I stepped in, blackmailed him a little, and then he doubled his offer. That's how business works. You wouldn't know it because you're too naive, but—”

“Oh, I’m naive?” Kara laughs, but unkindly. Her expression is pinched; she makes a move to run her fingers through her hair, but it’s still somewhat upright, so she settles for clenching her hand into a fist. “Forgive me for trying to be a good person and not a cutthroat bitch.”

“There is no place for good people in our line of work.” Lena has long since mastered an impressive poker face, and she tries her best to remain impassive when she adds, “I suggest you get used to it. And while you're at it, you can make your way out of my house.” That seems to spark some kind of guilt—Kara slumps against the railing with a low, empty sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Kara apologizes lowly. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you’re a bitch at all.”

“I’ve heard worse.” Lena, in order to not see the look on Kara’s face, tries the lighter again. This time a flame emerges, flickering in the wind, thin and shaking. But it lights her cigarette all the same. “Do you smoke?” Only then does her gaze lift, and she sees Kara watching, now straightened to her full height.

“No.” Kara places her hands in her pockets, shifts sideways slightly. She is taller than Lena, and Lena inwardly berates herself for not wearing heels tonight. “Why?”

“Well I was going to offer you a cigarette, but I guess I won’t.” Lena takes a slow drag, feels her body warm with it. Smoking is a habit she can't seem to quit, and it's her one vice she's actually ashamed about. “Unless you want one anyway.”

Kara shakes her head. “No, I’d probably choke,” she declines. “It wouldn’t be very attractive.” The wind picks up; a few tendrils of hair that have escaped from her bun brush over her forehead, and she makes no move to tuck them away. “Knowing you, you would use that as blackmail for me next.”

Lena inhales smoke and sighs. “I already have enough blackmail material on you, Kara Danvers,” she says. This, too, is a fact.

“You do? Like what?”

“Like…I know you took over your cousin's company because of a kidnapping scandal involving your nephew.” Lena takes immense pleasure in the way Kara's eyes darken dangerously; she has always suspected there was some steel under that goody-goody exterior. “Clark Kent must have paid a pretty penny to the press to keep his little boy out of the papers.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Kara says sharply.

Lena shrugs. “It's not bad blackmail material,” she points out. “Everyone loves a good sacrifice story. It would make you look heroic if it came to light.”

“It would put Clark and his family in danger.” Kara’s face twists into the harshest kind of disgust—the kind Lena expects. 

“Then you better hope I never have a reason to use it against you,” Lena says airily, stubbing her cigarette out; even smoking can’t bring her joy right now. Something about the way Kara stares at her—disappointedly—makes her skin crawl.

Kara takes a step towards Lena. They’ve gravitated close already, but this is deliberate. Her eyes, blue and sharp, are locked entirely on Lena’s. “Right,” she says. “Is that the best you can do? Threaten my family?”

Lena tilts her head up to meet her gaze head-on. “That’s just the surface of the knowledge I have on you,” she warns, and she leans in now, tugging at the undone knot of Kara’s tie. Kara comes when she is pulled, though she swallows hard enough that it’s audible.

“What else?” Kara asks. She breathes in tune with Lena now, their faces mere inches from each other.

“I also know…” Lena has more details about Kara Danvers. She does. But right now there’s one glaring fact right in front of her—one that is all too delicious to pass up. “I know that you want to kiss me right now.”

Kara stiffens; Lena feels it in the resistance of her tie. She jerks away a beat later, cheeks red and jaw clenched, to put some distance between them. “That’s,” she breathes out. “That is—” She can’t seem to be able to string her words together. “There you go again, with the mean streak. It’s not nice.”

“I thought we established I’m not nice,” Lena reminds her, an odd pang settles in the bottom of her stomach. “At least, not to anyone who poses a threat to Luthor Corp.”

“I’m not a threat to you or your company.”

“It’s not personal, Kara,” Lena says, and wishes she hadn’t put out her cigarette. “I have appearances to keep. You understand—it’s politics, all of it. Business politics.”

“So you hate me because I’m your competition?” Kara frowns. “Just like that?”

“I don’t hate you.” And as she confesses it, Lena realizes that it’s true. That maybe—maybe for once—she is also tired of fighting. “Even though I would like to, I don’t.”

“You want to hate me?” Something in Kara’s voice is raw, hopeful, and it hurts to hear. “Why?”

“I’m Lena Luthor. I’m supposed to be selfish and self-centered, remember? That’s the image everyone wants.” Fuck it; Lena reaches for her lighter again. But before she can, Kara’s hand covers hers.

“For the record,” Kara says, “I don’t hate you either.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Lena quips, casting an uncomfortable glance towards the balcony doors. Inside the party rages on, and no one is witnessing this show of weakness, but it doesn’t feel right. Lena feels exposed; there is no coming back from this,

Kara smiles and it’s faint, but a smile nonetheless. And for all her shortcomings—the messy state of her evening wear, the stubborn shade of blue of her eyes—Lena has to suck in a breath when Kara leans in. Her hand rests on Lena’s cheek, her skin frozen and her touch overwhelmingly gentle.

“You were right,” Kara says quietly. “I did want to kiss you tonight.” Her thumb traces a slow, steady path down Lena’s jaw, and Lena feels her heart hiccup. Then Kara surprises her—she leans in enough to brush a kiss to Lena’s cheek softly, cold breath exhaling against her skin. “You can add that to your blackmail list, too,” she says, stepping away, and when she places her hands in her pockets this time it’s with a sense of finality.

Lena almost lets her leave. But her heart thumps loudly in her ears and clouds her judgement entirely; she pulls Kara back, says “Wait—” and not much else, because then Kara is kissing her properly. Or maybe she is kissing Kara, winding her arms around Kara’s neck and squeezing her close because she fears the moment she will have to let go.

Kara is the first to break away. For a moment all she does is gaze down at Lena, bewildered, and says nothing. Then: “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react.”

Lena bites her lip. “You could exploit this,” she says, “and use it as blackmail against me.”

“Right…or?”

“Or,” and Lena smooths out the collar of Kara’s shirt, which seems to be stained with some kind of liquor. “You could kiss me again.”

“Well, blackmail does sound fun.” And then Kara is smiling, soft and ridiculously wide, and Lena knows everything has changed.

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation 

Chapter II

link to first chapter

link to AO3

“It’s dead.”

Levi’s unimpressed, vacant gaze observed the lifeless body of the bird lying in her palms. He held the door to their house with one hand and wore a sweatshirt over a pair of plain sweatpants. His straight, black hair was combed.

“Seems like it,” he confirmed, voice flat. Then looked at her eyebrows rising, but he didn’t seem quite curious. “What do you want to do with it?”

“Bury it, obviously,” Hanji replied. “I found it on my way here. I thought it was just wounded at first, but its heart isn’t beating.” She lifted the little body to her ears one more time, lips curled downwards, waiting to hear the sound of a silent heartbeat. She wore gloves so she didn’t feel its body temperature, but no doubt, there was not even a flutter of a beat coming from the body, it was dead.

“The snow is too thick,” Levi spoke as Hanji lowered her hands down with the bird. “You can’t reach the earth. Even if you do, you can’t make it halfway without having your hands get frozen.”

“But I can’t possibly leave it out in the snow like this, Levi!” Hanji objected, overcoming the urge to tap her foot furiously on the ground. She didn’t want to be seen as a grouchy child.

“Hanji, you’re supposed to be smart.” He folded his arms, locking his eyes with her. “Do you really want to take this risk?”

“You’re exaggerating,” Hanji frowned, responding to his gaze. “I won’t lose my hands. I am wearing gloves.”

“What a great protection,” Levi murmured sarcastically, then turned his head over his shoulder and shouted, “Mom!”

“Coming!” Levi’s mother responded from somewhere inside the house. Hanji supposed it was the kitchen. Delicious smells were coming to her nose. As Hanji had learnt from her earlier visits here, Kuchel was a great cook and a beautiful, kind woman. Much like her son’s opposite.

“Hanji!” She smiled at her widely when she came in a hurry, drying her hands in her apron. Her long, black hair was tied as a ponytail, and her blue eyes were shining warmly. “How are you darling? Oh, why are you standing there? Levi, why didn’t you invite her inside? Come on in, honey.” Before Hanji could say anything to reject her, she caught her arm and drew her inside, closing the door behind them. The house was warm, and she immediately felt her cold face lulling with it. “I’ve just made an apple tart. Take off your coat and come to the kitchen with Levi.”

Hanji was dizzy, listening to her rapidly putting one sentence behind the other. Kuchel didn’t notice the dead bird which was still lying in her palms and it was Levi who in the end stopped Kuchel just as she turned her back to get back to the kitchen.

“Mom,” Levi called. “Hanji wants to bury a dead bird.”

Kuchel looked at Hanji, with a somewhat surprised expression plastered on her face. She blinked her eyes a few times, “Oh,” she said as if she was trying to digest what Levi had just said. And when Hanji pulled her hands upwards, she finally saw the bird. “Oh!” she said again, as realization sunk in. “A bird!”

“A dead bird,” Levi deadpanned.

“I want to bury it,” Hanji said, after glaring at Levi for a few, intense seconds for good measure. “I can do it on my own though. I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Ah, but Hanji, darling,” Kuchel sighed, she seemed like she was trying to find out ways to reject her without breaking her heart. “The snow—”

“I know,” Hanji interrupted. “But I don’t care. I can’t leave it on the cold like this.”

Kuchel’s eyes were soft as the summer clouds while they were looking at her, and there was a little smile on her lips. “You’re such a sweet, sweet child.”

“No, mom she’s such a weirdo,” Levi presented his own idea, his arms were still folded, and he looked bored out of his wits.

“Levi!” Kuchel chided him, her soft look was replaced with a frown. “That’s a very rude thing to say to your friend.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he defended himself.

“Yeah, it’s okay Mrs Ackerman,” Hanji nodded. “He knows he is as much of a weirdo himself too. So, I don’t really get offended when he says that.”

Kuchel was apparently confused, but she was most probably convinced about the fact that her son and his possibly the best and only friend were a pair of odd, little human beings. “You can just call me Kuchel, sweetheart,” she said, at last, smiling again.

Hanji spared a moment to think, swirling the name inside of her head until she was satisfied with how it sounded. Then nodded, beaming at her. “Okay.”

“Good,” Kuchel reached with her hand and patted her hair which was covered with a green knitted hat.

“What are we going to do about the bird?” Levi asked, emphasizing each word. They both turned their gazes on him to see him impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, one eyebrow high above the other.

“We’re going to bury it, of course,” Kuchel said before Hanji even opened her mouth to give a response.

“Haa?” Levi was shocked, eyes widening and his foot stilling its motion. “Mom! I called you here so that you could talk some sense into her!”

“What’s so senseless about burying a poor, dead bird?” Kuchel asked innocently and Hanji smirked, barely stopping herself from bouncing but she did throw Levi a triumphant look, making him even more irritated.

Levi was still more or less astonished, so he just stared at his mom as she removed her apron and folded it neatly. “Come on, little grump, go change your clothes. Put on something thick and warm. Wear gloves and a scarf.” Then she turned back to Hanji and winked. “You wait here, honey. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”

She walked away to climb the stairs and Levi finally moved, murmuring “Women,” under his breath as he followed his mother upstairs. Hanji just grinned, then leaning her back to the wall she knelt to a sitting position. “You’re going to have a funeral little bird,” she whispered and smiled woefully at the inanimate, still body of the dead animal inside of her palms.  

-

The three of them walked or rather struggled to walk on the thick, soft snow. Some parts were frozen which made the whole journey even more tough and risky. Hanji tried her best not to fall face down, which would also result in her crashing the innocent bird. But she put far too much focus on not dropping the bird rather than not crashing it so when she absentmindedly stepped on an iced part of the pavement, her supposedly sturdy boat slipped, and she lost her balance.

A panicked yelp escaped her mouth just as the world moved around her, she saw the blue, wide sky rather than the white, snowy road and readied herself for a harsh landing as her body locked itself and did nothing to save her from her situation.

A gloved hand caught her collar. “Watch out, idiot,” Levi hissed, drawing her close to him. She stared at him, blinking her eyes in shock as she was trying to decipher the events of the last few seconds.

“You saved me!” She exclaimed, eventually, looking at Levi as if he was the embodiment of a Marvel hero.

“Yeah, thank fuck for that,” he winced visibly as he checked his back to glance at his mother, face painted with pure fear but much to his relief Kuchel was way too occupied by trying to just walk so she didn’t seem like she had noticed anything. Also, she was far behind them, so she hadn’t possibly heard her son swearing. Levi sighed, relieved then glared at her. “Give me that damn bird.”

“Language,” she whispered harshly under her breath. Levi swore a lot for a boy in his age. Hanji thought it was most probably his uncle’s fault who lived with him and Kuchel. Levi didn’t accept it though.

“Give it to me,” he repeated. “Before you break your ass.”

Hanji scowled and almost pouted in annoyance but put the bird in Levi’s open palms. Her arms had been hurting as a result of carrying the bird in the same position for too long anyway. She shook them on her sides, wrinkling her face as she felt the pain spreading from her joints and shoulders to the rest of her arms. Then her hazel brown eyes turned to the bird again, lying motionless in Levi’s palms this time.

“Poor thing,” she sighed.

Levi observed it for several seconds, his sharp blue-grey eyes distant and thoughtful. Hanji wanted so bad to know what was going on inside of that raven-haired head. “We all have limited time,” he said at last.

Hanji hadn’t been expecting to hear that, so it caught her off-guard. It sounded way too gloomy coming from an eleven-year-old boy. And Hanji wondered if there was any specific story or event to push him to utter these words now. She wanted to ask but didn’t think he would answer. Talking to him sometimes made her feel like she was preying on a gazelle, trying to be as cautious as possible with her steps as to not scare and made it run away.

“Yeah,” she agreed for now, as another bird flew past above their heads, fluttering its wings and twittering as if it was lamenting for the dead.

-

They buried the bird under a big, old—ancient in fact—tree which was located in a park near Levi’s house. It was indeed hard to dig up the snow first and earth later. They had to take turns and rest every now and then for some blood to reach their fingertips. Hanji had taken her hat off and lied the bird on it, ignoring the fact that they were going to put it under the cold earth anyway. And everything was okay until they covered it with brown soil and then white snow.

After that something started to tickle her nose like she was going to sneeze. Then her eyes followed, they were also burning, and her lips curled downwards again, and she pressed them together as a gulp shaped in her throat and then pat—

Her vision was blurry but not because of the tears, but because there was snow on her glasses and her face was icy wet.

“Don’t start weeping like a baby.”

She heard Kuchel gasping in shock but couldn’t look at her for her eyes were tightly shut. Slowly, she took her glasses off then wiped her face in a deadly calm. Then used the tissue in her pocket to clean her glasses, she had taken it with her before she left home for she knew her glasses were going to get foggy one way or the other.

And then she put the glasses back on, in slow motion, cautiously.

Now that the world around her became full HD again, she could clearly see Levi’s sly smirk as well as Kuchel’s wide, bewildered eyes. “So, you wanna play it dirt, Ackerman?” she asked as she gathered snow in her hands and formed them as a big, fat ball.

“Afraid, Zoe?” Levi asked back as he copied her, making a snowball in a respective size.

“You wish.”

They threw the balls at the same time but both of them dodged the attack. Hanji immediately got up, already forming another ball in her hands. She took quick steps away from him and just as Levi stood up from where he was sitting, she pulled her arm back and threw the ball. And it hit him right on the head. His shoulders rose to his ears as he tilted his to the side. She was laughing victoriously when suddenly she tasted snow in her mouth. She spitted aggressively and had to swallow some of it, frankly, it didn’t taste that bad. Then she wiped her mouth with her sleeve, “Ugh, you little—” she grunted and crouched down again.

After that, it just became a vicious and bloody snowball fight. Neither of them was backing down, despite Kuchel’s warnings like, “Levi don't throw it to her face, you’ll break her glasses,” or like, “Slow down you two. You will get sick.” They didn’t listen to her though. Hanji was having so much fun, even though Levi was not holding himself back in any way. She had a ball to her face her head and chest countless times and they were very harsh ones at that. Yet she had also managed to hit Levi from the same places just as harshly. Her face was hurting from smiling and from the cold, but she was hot inside the coat and her sweater underneath.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Kuchel said, with a stricter tone this time. “Levi—”

A snowball to her face cut her sentence in half. It was her son who had thrown it, and she was solid as a rock for a second. Then she wiped her face and smiled viciously just like Levi did at the time. And Hanji thought the mother and the son had never looked this much alike.

“Oh, you’re so on, my boy,” Kuchel said and kneeled.

The three of them played snowball for the rest of the afternoon. Their laughter, screams and sometimes painful groans filling the air until they were exhausted to death. But as she laid down on the snow breathless, with a grin attached to her face as if it had no intention of leaving and watching the quiet movements of the clouds, she thought with all sincerity that it was worth every damn second of it.

-

Kuchel invited Hanji to their house after their intense snowball fight. Hanji accepted because she was too tired to walk back home and too hungry to gather enough strength in a short time. They took off their coats and wet socks. Kuchel helped them hanging the clothes on top of the heater. Hanji had to borrow a pair of socks from Levi and was very amused to see they were Sponge Bob themed.

“Don’t say a word,” Levi had stopped her coldly when he saw how her face had brightened up.

Currently, Hanji was sitting in their kitchen, as Kuchel was preparing hot chocolate for her from her own special recipe and Levi was making tea for himself. Hanji found it weird for an eleven-year-old boy to be so fond of tea but then again everything about Levi was kind of weird. She was getting used to it slowly.

“Good evening my dear family.” A man around his thirties stepped inside the kitchen, removing a black, bowler hat from his head. He was a tall and slim man, wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers. His eyes were a dark blue, and his hair was long, combed back.

“Welcome,” Kuchel greeted him shortly with a smile on her face before going back to her work. Levi merely tched quietly upon his uncle’s appearance then went on preparing his dear tea. “You left work early?”

“Yeah, left it to Traute to close for today,” he said as he left his hat on the kitchen table and then he noticed her. “Hello, little one.”

She beamed at him. “Hello, Kenny!”

Kenny took the seat across from her and reached the inside of his shirt pocket. “How’s your father?” he asked as he took out a packet of cigarettes.

Her father was a doctor working in the town’s hospital and Kenny had a little market at the centre of the town, so they more or less knew each other. “He is fine,” she replied, putting her elbows on top of the table. “Trying to get on well with furious patients.”

Kenny laughed, “Everyone is sick for no reason nowadays,” he said placing a cigar in between his lips.

As if she had sensed it, Kuchel turned to Kenny and slapped his hand, causing the tobacco to fall from his mouth. “Don’t smoke in front of the children.”

“Alright, alright,” Kenny grunted. “Geez.”

A great opportunity to fill them in, Hanji thought. “Did you know that smoking causes %90 of all lungs cancer deaths and %80 from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease?”  

“What language are you speaking, kid?” Kenny snorted as he put the cigarette back in its packet.

“She is warning you, scientifically,” Levi placed a tray next to Hanji’s elbows then put two plates of apple tart on top of it. “Not that you would understand. Also, you have no will power to quit it anyway.”

“Hanji, don’t you have anything to say to that brat?” Kenny asked, waving his hat in Levi’s direction lazily. “He is drinking tea like he is sucking his mother’s milk. Don’t you think he is too… small for that?” He travelled his gaze around Levi as if trying to emphasize his point.

Hanji opened her mouth to respond just as Levi said, “At least I am not going to die pathetically from a lung disease because I inhale poisonous smoke.”

“You little scumbag,” Kenny scoffed, and his face crumpled in discontent as he looked at his niece.

It caused a slap from Kuchel to his shoulder this time. “Talk properly to my boy. He is just a kid.”

“A kid! Hah!” He exclaimed then put his hat back on his head. “Right. I don’t like kids anyway.” Then he looked at her. “You are an exception though little Einstein.”

“I’m surprised you know about Einstein,” Levi murmured, and it made Hanji laugh drastically, but she put a hand to her mouth right after. Afraid that she would offend Kenny. Yet he didn’t even spare a glance at her.  

A muscle moved on his jaw. “I am sparing you for the sake of my sister, brat. Don’t push your luck.”

“I am not afraid of you.”

“Oh, you should be—”

“Enough!” Kuchel interrupted, putting two cups one of which contained hot chocolate and the other black tea on the tray. “Leave the kids alone, Kenny,” she warned and looked at them. “You can go to your room, love. Call me if you need anything.”

Hanji nodded and slipped from her seat as Levi took the tray in his hands. They were about to leave the kitchen when they heard Kenny saying, “Leave the door open.”

“Kenny!” Kuchel yelled, while Levi simply rolled his eyes and Hanji merely blinked at him. “They are just children!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he whispered under his breath as they left the kitchen and started climbing the stairs.

“I don’t understand,” Hanji said, confused.

“Never mind,” he sighed.

They sat on the floor, leaning their backs to Levi’s bed and ate their tarts which were as delicious as they smelled. Hanji swayed left and right unconsciously, savouring the taste on her tongue and hummed happily. “Did your mother learn to cook like this in Heaven?”

“No,” Levi replied shortly.

Hanji rolled her eyes sipping her hot chocolate.

It had been almost five or six months since they have met. Ever since that night on the roof of a half-constructed building their friendship started to build up. Throughout the days they met in the same place, Hanji had told Levi about everything she knew about the sky and space. The names of the constellations and stars, the planets and black holes. Levi listened quietly, so quiet that it nearly made Hanji suspicious that he wasn’t interested in or didn’t care about anything she had told him. But then he had started asking questions and even saying the names of the stars and the facts about the planets with her. Talking with him eased her mind and also thrilled her in a way that only her books managed to do. Unfortunately, they didn’t go to the same school, but the nights spent on that roof and days on his or her home had been an almost miracle like an escape for her.

“Your uncle is nice,” Hanji blurted suddenly when the silence stretched far too long for her liking.

“He wasn’t,” Levi replied, unexpectedly, taking a long sip from his tea.

Hanji stared at her, curiosity climbing up to her eyes. “What do you mean?”

He looked beyond his window, watching the pink sunset and its reflection on the cream, tulle curtains. “He used to have a gang.”

“Oh?” She sounded way too excited without even meaning to. “Do you mean… like… an illegal gang?”

“Are there even legal gangs?”

Hanji shrugged. No idea.

“Whatever,” Levi put the teacup back on the tray. “He was actually the leader of the gang and, I heard that he had done some very… dirty things.” He clicked his tongue. “Useless man.”

It was quite rare to see Levi willingly talking about his life, so Hanji held her breath to not make a sound so that he wouldn’t get distracted and stop.

“He had been to jail before I was born. During the same time my dad passed away, I guess. Mom said she had to take him out of jail with the money she had put aside and with some money left from my grandpa.” He played with a stray string poking out of his t-shirt absently. “She said, he had deserved a second chance.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I am kind of angry at him for being a pain in the ass for my mom but also, you know—I am glad that she wasn’t alone when I was born. And he is not that bad anymore, though still an asshole. But that’s a given. He was born like this; he cannot help it.”

Although his words carried an air of heaviness and severity, Hanji couldn’t help but laugh at his last sentence, the cheerful sound dispersed the gloomy atmosphere. And she was glad that afterwards, his features had relaxed and soften albeit barely, it was there still.

“I like spending time with you,” she said, suddenly.

He was taken aback, eyes widening slightly. “You do?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Hanji replied. “You are my only friend.”

He snorted, amused. “Same.”

She smiled and drank from her hot chocolate which was losing that specific quality gradually.

“I like spending time with you too,” Levi said after a while. It was so quiet and tender that Hanji thought she was daydreaming. Then, when she looked at him surprised, she had seen the slight pinkness on the tips of his ears.

Her smile turned into a toothy grin. “I know,” she said. “It’s very obvious.”

He smirked in return.

-

Levi insisted on walking her home because he didn’t trust her in walking properly in the limited light now that the sky was somehow dark, and the stars started winking and blazing from their respective places above.

“Say hi to your mom for me,” Kuchel said as she was seeing them off.

“Sure,” Hanji waved at her. “Thank you for today, Kuchel!”

“Anytime, darling.”

Walking at night was slightly harder because the area of the town Levi’s house was located didn’t have great lighting. They opted to walk on the side of the road rather than the frozen pavement. Cars were sweeping past them, and it had started to snow again. The wet asphalt reflected the yellow streetlamps lined side by side, and little snowflakes melted the second they met the ground.

The boy walking in front of her reached behind with his hand as they were about to cross the road. And he didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Hanji took her glove off from one hand and reached forward, grabbing the steady and warm hand stretched out for her and her mouth curled upwards. And the wet road reflected the blurry image of a raven-haired boy and a green hatted girl, holding hands on a cold, frosty winter night.

---

Hanji’s father was a tall man with a bearded, straight face and brown, slightly balding hair. He wore thick-framed, rectangle glasses. Behind them were a pair of soft-looking, hazel eyes and above them were dark, bushy eyebrows. They were raised, creating wrinkles on his forehead as he looked up from his book when the two of them entered the room.

“Dad,” Hanji gestured to Levi with her hand. “This is Levi.”

Her father looked over the boy, glasses slipping down his nose. It was the first time Levi meeting him, despite the times he had been here within almost a year they had known each other, Levi had never come across with her father.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Zoe,” Levi, the ever-respectful boy that he was, greeted her father in such a nice manner that Hanji was shocked. So, he did manage to be decent at times, ha! One of the things that she most liked about Levi was that there was no end to getting to know him. And just like it was impossible to count the drops on a river, she thought a day couldn't come in which she didn’t learn a new thing about him.

“Levi, huh?” Her father closed the book that he was reading and adjusted his glasses. “The infamous Levi that my daughter keeps nagging about?”

“I don’t nag about him,” Hanji objected, feeling her cheeks getting hotter. She knew introducing Levi to her father was a huge risk.

“That’s me,” Levi confirmed. And Hanji nearly pinched his side.

To both of their surprise, Mr Zoe let out a loud, uproarious laugh. “So, you are not imaginary after all, ha kid!” The man went on laughing, leaving Hanji stunned and annoyed and very much embarrassed.

“Dad!”

Worse thing than her father laughing like he had been watching videos of people tripping down, was that Levi snorting right beside her as if he had no shame.

“I am sure she has imaginary friends as well,” Levi pointed out, his face giving nothing away, except for a vague tremble on his lips.

It made Mr Zoe laugh even harder. He was beating his knee basically at this point.

Hanji glared at his head. You are so going to pay for this.

He responded to her stare from the corner of his eyes. Challenging. Bring it on.

“We’ll be at the attic,” she informed her still laughing father while feeling quite betrayed by her own biological parent. His father was a more  obnoxious  version of her so to say. He had this habit of laughing at things that were not relatively funny to others.

“Sure, sure,” the man replied, wiping the tears from his eyes with his index fingers. “Nice to meet you, Levi.”

Hanji dragged Levi out of the room before he could answer. Then pushed him towards the stairs while also putting her hands on her shoulders. Then positioned herself securely, a mischievous smile placed on her lips and she jumped on his back.

“What the hell, Hanji?” Levi snarled, sounding both astonished and frustrated. They stumbled left and right dangerously at first until he grabbed her legs on instinct to find his balance. Hanji grinned.

“Revenge.”

“Are you fuc—” He gritted his teeth, his hands gripping her legs painfully. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am.” She patted his shoulder and then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come on, Captain Levi! Carry me up!”

“God-fucking-dammit.” The swear left his mouth in a sharp, but a quiet whisper. Hanji laughed. Levi grunted, scoffed and swore under his breath as he began to climb up the stairs one by one, cautiously and slowly. They were almost half-way done when Hanji remembered something very important.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. “Wait! No-no-no-no-no! Stop, Levi! Stop! Stop!!!”

“What!” he snarled.

“Get back down,” she urged his shoulder. “I need to take something from the kitchen.”

He inhaled heavily like he had swollen a curse so big it would probably ruin her life lets it come out. Then, without uttering a word, he turned around and started to walk down, quietly. Hanji could feel the angry tension radiating from his body as if he were an atom bomb ready to destroy everything at any second. For that, she kept quiet as well. There was no need to provoke him even more. Just until they entered the kitchen. It was a success for her standards anyway.

“To the fridge,” she ordered, and Levi obeyed, still silent. Hanji opened the door of the fridge and searched the shelves knitting her eyebrows in concentration while doing so yet, couldn’t find what she was looking for.

“It’s not here,” she pouted. “Come on. Over there.”

Levi inhaled again through his nose, possibly absorbing yet another curse. Hanji pointed to the kitchen cabinets and Levi walked closer to the counter. She searched the cabinets until she found what she was looking for inside one of them and at the top of the shelves.

“Hold still,” she warned before putting one hand on Levi’s shoulder to lift herself up a little bit. However, she must have put so much pressure that Levi hissed between his teeth. “Almost there,” she informed, as her fingers touched the items at least and she pushed them closer with her fingertips. She bit her lip, and wrinkled her face, a sweat drop slipped down her temple, and just as she pressed a little more on his shoulder and Levi let out a whopping, “Fuck,” she grabbed two packets of chocolate milk, holding them tightly between her fingers and let out a loud, huge sigh of relief.

“Mission completed,” she said, as she wiped the sweat away from her forehead with her sleeve, and her body relaxed. “We may return to the head-quarters.”

“I am going to kill you,” he said, darkly, but carried her out of the kitchen, nonetheless.

“Maybe I’ll let you,” she laughed, boisterously. “Come on now! Up, up, up to the attic!”

It took a little too much effort on Levi’s side and a little too much fun on Hanji’s until they made it safely to the attic. She turned the light on after they climbed inside one by one and gestured the room with her hand.

“Ta-da!”

Levi observed his surroundings, trying to seem like he wasn’t interested but Hanji noticed the sparkle in his eyes when he took everything in. “You have a tent here.”

“Yes!” She jumped a little on her feet. “A book tent!”

It was indeed a book tent. She had piled the old books on top of each other, creating a short wall of two sides. Another line of books was behind them to support, and to avoid an avalanche. A wide and thin, navy sheet was spread from one end to the other. It was also a cave of sorts. Somewhat small, and just a little bit vulnerable. Yet, it had walls made of books and a floor made of a star-map.

Oh, right.

“Let’s get in,” Hanji grabbed his arm and pulled him forwards. “You’ll love it.”

They crawled inside under the sheet. The atmosphere here was dim and darker because the sheet was filtering the light, but it only increased the mystery and made it even more dreamy and so very exciting.

“Is that a star-map?” Levi asked, looking at the dark blue blanket they were sitting on.

“Yep,” she approved, nodding. “My father bought it for me as a birthday present. And I thought it would be cool to use it like this. It feels like I am sitting on top of the stars.”

Levi snorted. “Four-eyes, that’s kind of creepy.” He shook his head, and a ghost of a smile flew above his lips. “You’re a goddamn genius.”

She beamed at him, and her cheeks almost hurt from smiling so wide. She felt like there were fireworks in her eyes, and while she didn’t think it took that much of a brain to spread a blanket on the floor the fact that Levi complimented her caused the fireworks to explode in her stomach and their lustre reached up to her eyes.

“Orion,” he pointed with his finger and traced the lines all the while saying the names of the constellations he knew. “Taurus, Hyades, Auriga, and… what was that Pse- Pso- Poseidon?”

“No,” Hanji giggled. “Pleiades.”

“Right,” he chuckled.

Hanji opened one of the chocolate milk and gave the other to Levi. “Sorry, I forgot to prepare tea for you.”

Levi eyed the milk, sized it up for good before taking it from her hand. “Whatever.”

His grumpy face was hilarious as he put the straw in between his lips and drank the milk almost pouting. He didn’t have much tolerance for sweet things, unlike Hanji. Chocolate milk especially was her religion.

After they finished their chocolate milk Levi played with the straw absent-mindedly until he said, “Hanji?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did your father say that?”

“Say what?”

“That I wasn’t imaginary after all?”

“Oh,” she laughed, nervously. “It’s because I don’t really have any friends. I wasn’t joking when I told you you were my only friend.”

“But we are in middle school now,” he raised a brow. “Even I made some friends in class.”

“That’s great!” she said, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t envy him just a little bit.

“You’re actually outgoing,” he went on. “Why?”

She sighed. They were going to have that conversation then. Levi’s grey eyes watched her seriously, and with caution. He was giving her all his attention, focused on the words that were about to leave her mouth. Hanji thought that was the actual reason why they were so close. Because when no one cared to hear a word from her Levi listened to her telling stories of gods and goddesses, heroes and villains, ancient people and ancient folks, tales of love and tales of hatred. When no one bothered seeing her colours, Levi sat down in front of her and let her paint everything she ever wanted.

“They think I’m a weirdo,” she confessed. It wasn’t that hard though. She wasn’t even getting that offended anymore.

“I think you’re a weirdo too.”

“But you mean it in a good way,” Hanji pointed out. “They don’t.”

At that, his eyes turned as cold as an iceberg. Hanji swirled her index finger right next to her head. “Like I have a screw loose here,” then she tapped her temple. “I too thought that it would change in middle school, but it didn’t. Kids are cruel wherever you go.”

“Assholes,” Levi grunted. “Fuck it, Hanji. You’re obviously too smart for them.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I don’t care. I have you,” she shrugged and ignored the disturbing thought that Levi had other friends now and it was just a matter of time for him to get bored of her and then she would be alone yet again—

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her, and she twirled her head in shock. Had he just read her mind? “I won’t leave you alone.”

Oh, God, oh, no. She was about to tear up. Her nose started to itch again as if she was about to sneeze, and she did sneeze too or pretended to so that she could send the tears back to their places.

“Gross,” Levi said in disgust.

After that, they laid down and Hanji talked and talked. Telling him about pheromones and how some animals used them to trick their preys and a neurological condition called synaesthesia which was basically seeing colours on intangible things. Levi asked some questions and hummed every now and then to indicate that he was listening. Sometimes he made sarcastic comments like, maybe you’re unintentionally releasing trick pheromones, four-eyes, or comments like I think you are a rainbow basically when he couldn’t think of only one colour he thought he would see on her. Hanji told him he was black and blue. And he said how smart of you, I didn’t know the colour of my eyes and hair.

If I am a rainbow then that would make you the sky, genius. She told him and he didn’t say anything back.

She put her head on his stomach and he placed his arms under his head. “Hanji,” he said.

“Yes?” She asked feeling curious about what he had to say.

“You’re a cool weirdo.”

She laughed and smirked up to the navy sheet. The light flowing through the little holes on it made her feel like she was watching a starry night. “You’re not so bad yourself, clean-freak.”

now

She is dead.

Dead. How simple it is for one’s tongue. How easy to say, to summarize and fit a whole life in only one syllable, in mere four letters. Years are hidden within that single word, memories lost behind its dark shadow, loved ones buried under its cold weight.

Kuchel is dead. The woman who is always so full of life, so beautiful to exist in such a cruel world, so good to face its dreary winters and so gentle to deserve the hard slap of fate is gone now. No longer breathing. Just like that. But no scratch that. Not just like that , death never is. The living will never know, and the dead will never be there to tell.

Hanji holds her head with her hands, elbows resting on her knees, she leans forward. What now?

“How is he?” she asks, her heart already aching for she knew the answer beforehand.

“That’s… actually the reason why I called you, kid,” Kenny says. “I can’t reach him. I haven’t seen him since the funeral and couldn’t find him anywhere.”

Panic is quick to boil her blood. “Where might he be? Maybe he left the city?”

“He wouldn’t. Not yet,” he sounds thoughtful. “But I don’t think I can find him. To be honest, I am afraid I would make things even worse.”

“Why?”

“He needs someone who knows him,” he replies. “And there is no one left who knows him better than you. Kid, I know it’s too much to ask, but that brat is the only family I have left. I don’t want to fucking lose him too.”

“But how…”

“Just think about it,” Kenny cuts in, he sounds tired Hanji realizes and she feels her sorrow doubling itself just by hearing his voice. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come, but just think about it at first. Then let me know your answer.”

Levi. Hanji cannot even imagine the pain he is going through on his own. He had always been so fond of his mother, always so protective and caring even though he was trying to be subtle about it, it was never hard to tell. He must be devastated.

“What am I going to do?” she groans.

“What you need to.”

Hanji shrieks and jumps in her place as she looks at the person who has just talked with wide eyes. “Mr Jeager!”

Zeke adjusts his glasses and throws a leg over the other. Then inhales through his nose. “Such a lovely night, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for the bus,” he replies simply.

“No, I mean—” she sighs, obviously she had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed him sitting next to her. “Whatever.”

“So,” he continues. “How many days do you want off?”

“Huh?” She blinks her eyes at him. She didn’t remember mentioning him about asking for a day off.

But Zeke doesn’t look at her, instead, he searches the road to see if there are any busses on the way. It spares her a moment to consider his offer and she realizes that once Kenny asked her the question, she had already made her mind.

“About a week please,” she says, without hesitation. “I need to help an old friend.”

[sinsatmidnight]

Donation

Pairing - Yves (Ha Sooyoung) x Male Reader

Words - 3133

Sins - Smut, mutual masturbation, sumata

So Loona got their first music show win over a week ago and I was hoping to put out a Loona fic before a week was up, but better late than never, I guess! I’ve been running through so many ideas and have so many half-written fics these days. Congrats to Loona! Also, this one is going to have a follow-up sequel although that might not come out immediately. Lastly, stay safe from COVID-19 everyone!

Sperm donation. You had heard that there was some money in it for you, you made an appointment and so here you are, listening to a very attractive medical intern talk to you about all the steps to go through to become a donor. Long dark hair, thick pouty lips, cat-like eyes, sharp nose and narrow jawline. The doctor’s coat over her collared long-sleeved white blouse doesn’t show off her figure very well, but her skirt is quite short and highlights her legs effectively. You look over the lanyard tag she is wearing to find her name. Yves Ha Sooyoung.

“So, we need to do some tests before we can accept your donation. We will be taking blood samples from you to check for genetic conditions and infectious diseases. We will also need a sample of your semen for testing. We will get both of those from you today. There will also be a recorded interview and psychological evaluation, which we will arrange for another day.”

Standing across the reception counter from her, you nod your way through her words, your eyes focused on her pretty face. The intern picks up the form you filled out when you first arrived with all your personal details. “So, your ethnicity and nationality are both Korean, your place of residence is in Seoul, you are single and have never used any drugs and no known drug allergies. Okay, did you bring your personal and family medical history?”

You hand over a few sheets of paper in a large manila envelope, they had told you to bring all these documents when you were arranging the appointment on the phone. “Thank you, now I need to make sure that you have not had sex or masturbated in the past 72 hours. Have you?”

They had also mentioned this requirement on the phone. “No, I have not.”

Yves smiles politely at your answer. “Good, you’ll need to repeat that again before the actual day of the donation. We will arrange for that if you pass all the necessary tests. We will be getting the sperm sample first, and then we will draw your blood after, just in case you feel weak after drawing blood and need to rest. Please follow me.” The pretty intern stands up from her seat behind the counter and walks down a hallway with you following behind.

She leads you to a small room with dark purple paint and blinds drawn over the glass panels serving as windows. There is a couch the same colour as the walls and a small glass table in front of the couch. on the table, you see hand sanitiser and anti-bacterial wet wipes. There is also a single “Do not disturb” sign that repeats its message in English, Korean, Chinese and Japanese, the type that a hotel might provide for guests. There is a small cabinet at the side of the walls that holds more supplies of hand sanitiser and wet wipes and there seems to be nothing else in the room.

Yves hands you a large glass vial with a cap for the opening. “Here you are. Feel free to take as long as you need, you can lock the door and there is the ‘Do not disturb’ sign that you can hang on the door as well. The room is soundproofed quite well, so any noise you make will not be heard from the outside. Let me know if you need anything else, if not, I’ll be at the counter outside.”

An immediate concern crosses your mind. “I’m really sorry if this question sounds weird, but is there any…uh, inspiration that I can use when getting this sample for you?” The question was awkward, but you’d heard about American sperm banks having porn in the rooms for this purpose. And it would be a much easier task with some form of stimulation beyond your imagination.

“It’s okay, we get this question a lot here. I’m very sorry, but as you know, all porn is illegal in Korea, so we can’t provide any. We used to have a few copies of magazines like Maxim Korea in the rooms, but they’ve all been either stolen, damaged or had pages torn out. And so we stopped providing them.” The look on the intern’s face is sorry as she bites on her lower lip while thinking of a way to help you.

You are about to tell her that it is fine and thank her for her help, but then she comes up with an unorthodox solution. It’s one that you like.

‘Well, this is not how we normally operate at all. But if you might have trouble with getting the sample…maybe I can stay and help you with that? Only if you don’t mind, of course. If you prefer to go at it alone, I can go wait outside.”

You didn’t expect that, but you are secretly thrilled at the prospect of Yves helping you. You nod. “I don’t mind at all. I’d love your help. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad for the company. Could do worse than have a stunning babe with me.”

She nods in response as a slight blush colours her cheeks. Yves picks up the ‘Do not disturb’ sign, hangs it on the doorknob, closes the door and locks it. As she turns back around to face you, she pulls out a white surgical glove and fits it over her right hand.

Yves walks up to you, biting her lip, hips swaying. When she reaches you, she gently takes the vial from you, places it on the table and then her demeanour changes entirely. There is a dark glint in her eye as she runs her hands over your chest, your abdomen and stopping at your groin. “Let’s begin extracting your semen. Doctor’s orders.” Yves gives you a soft squeeze as she lowers herself down to her knees, never breaking eye contact with you. You’re sure you are quite fine with her taking charge here.

Yves nuzzles her face against the growing bulge in your pants. The friction is pleasurable, and her teeth catch hold of the zipper and pull it down. She presses soft kisses upon the fabric separating your cock from her lips and sighs softly in satisfaction. “You know, I really like the musky scent of a cock. I mean, it would be terrible as a scented candle, but it’s wonderful for making me wet and horny.”

Every time her lips part, you can feel her hot breath on your member even through the fabric of your underwear. “It’s too bad I can’t give you a blowjob. We can’t risk contaminating the sample with my saliva.” Yves grabs your hands and guides them onto her head. Then she makes you press her head down against your bulge, her open mouth taking in the tip of your cock, but with an unusual condom of fabric around it. You can feel that her mouth is warm and wet, but the feeling is somewhat muted, dampened by your underwear. The sight of her lips open and taking you in is hot though.

Your hips can’t help but thrust forward slightly a couple of times for more pleasure. Yves lets go of your hands and stands back up, her hands undoing the buttons on her shirt. “We need to arrange for a facefucking appointment soon. I need to examine your cock independently of this donation process.”  She looks pointedly at the couch. “Sit down.”

You walk over and take a seat, joined by Yves sitting at your side, her black bra and incredibly toned abdomen exposed after she had unbuttoned her top. She notices you staring. She leans in and breathes into your ear. “Go ahead. Touch me.” You don’t need a second invitation. Your hands are immediately drawn to her body. Her abs are toned and hard, and she’s not even clenching them. “Damn, you must work out a lot.” You whisper as you slip your hands under her bra. Her breasts are soft but firm, her nipples harden at your touch and her skin is heated against your hand. You start to unclasp her bra straps. You want her naked now.

“I work out a bit, but I really just have a lot of sex, mostly with my roommate.” Yves smiles slyly as she helps you by removing her coat and shirt and tossing them to the floor. You have her bra off shortly after. “Female roommate?” You ask as you toss the bra to the floor.

Yves stands up, unclasps her skirt and steps out of it before bending down and pulling your pants and underwear off, revealing your erection standing at attention. “Yeah, I love pussy as much as you do. I know guys find that hot, but right now…right now I really need to control the urge to suck you off.”

Yves gets back on her knees and her tongue starts to lick all over your cock, starting from the base and going up but missing your swollen, throbbing cockhead. You notice that she also has one hand down her panties as she’s doing this, groaning softly in pleasure as she slathers your shaft with saliva. “I’m just going to get some lube here…” It still feels good, but the tip of your cock would really like some attention.

Once she has gotten your cock well-licked, Yves gets up and sits next to you on the couch again, and her gloved hand reaches over and starts to lightly stroke it. Her thumb runs over your sensitive tip, and you can’t help but shudder at the contact.

Her other hand takes a couple of your fingers and brings them to her mouth. Slowly she sucks on them, getting them wet with her saliva. And she never breaks eye contact, even as her other hand continues to slowly jerk you off. “Damn, your bedroom eyes are so sexy.” You groan as she takes your fingers all the way to the knuckle, her tongue wrapping itself around them.

A couple of minutes later, she removes them and pull your hand over to her silky black panties. “Don’t leave me out, why don’t you help me cum, get your hands working.” As you slide you hand into her panties, the first thing you notice is how wet she is. You gently press against her slick entrance and your fingers slide in with ease. “Fuck, it’s always better when it’s another person’s hand.” Yves mutters and then rewards you with a passionate kiss, moaning into it.

Her tongue slips into your mouth just long enough to brush teasingly against yours. It beckons your tongue to explore her mouth and withdraws back in. You oblige and your tongue slides straight in; to wrestle with hers on her own turf. Your fingers continue to fuck Yves and she increases the pace of her stroking as she gets more heated herself.

You break the kiss and your lips seek out her neck, taking in the scent of her shampoo as you do so, and you pepper her with soft nibbles and licks of her skin down from her neck until you reach a hardened nipple, which you happily take into your mouth. The sharp intake of breath she makes is music to your ears. You suck on her nipple as your fingers slide into her all the way to the knuckle and curl inside her.

The intern’s breathing is ragged and the only sounds coming from her mouth now are soft moans of “Oppa…’ as you alternate between attacking her two nipples and her sensitive neck with your lips. She’s given up on her handjob at this point, her hands instead finding purchase on the back of your head and neck. You sense that Yves is close to orgasm. And this is when you start running your thumb roughly over her engorged clit.

Yves runs her two hands into your hair and grabs it roughly as her entire body tenses, and then there is a strangled half-cry as she goes taut and cums all over your hand and her panties. You continue to fuck her with your fingers through her orgasm until her body relaxes and she flops down to the couch, spent.

As you remove your fingers from inside of her, Yves lies back, a contented smile on her face. “If that was what your fingers felt like, now I really can’t wait to be fucked by your cock.” She says breathlessly, as she winks at you. She leans in and gives you a peck on the lips as her hands help your remove the shirt you’re still wearing, tossing it onto the floor, which is, by now, littered with clothing from the both of you. “I need to do my job and get that sperm sample now.”

Yves sees that you’ve softened a little in her neglect and so wraps her gloved hand around your cock again, stroking quickly while her mouth attacks your nipples. In no time, you are fully hard again. She gets up to her feet, and one hand gently tugs on yours, urging you to stand with her. She picks the container for the sample off the table with the other.

You follow her to the wall, where she uses her free hand to push you up against it, and then she locks her thighs together and guides your cock into the smooth, damp space between her thighs and just below the panty-covered lips of her pussy. Aided by how slick her thighs are with a combination of sweat and pussy juices, your cock slides right into place. One gloved hand still holding onto the glass vial, she rests the other upon the wall for balance.

Yves has her near-naked body pressed up against your own body; her breasts rest against your chest and her hips are almost connected to yours. In this position, you can feel the heat and wetness of her pussy even through the thin, lacy fabric of her panties separating your shaft from direct contact with it. Your hands wander behind Yves and you rest one hand on the small of her back, the other grabs a generous amount of ass and pulls her that little bit closer to you. “Nice ass.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

Yves starts to rock her hips back and forth, fucking your cock with her thighs, and your hips also buck forward, unable to resist the friction of sliding across her smooth thighs. “The Japanese call this sumata. You know some men prefer fucking like this? Since it’s safer than normal sex and the pleasure is just as good.”

You are in no position to argue or answer as Yves increases her speed and her mouth roughly devours one of your nipples as well. You feel your orgasm slowly building and she correctly senses that her sperm sample will be arriving soon. “Are you going to cum soon, oppa?”

You nod as you squeeze her butt tighter. Yves pulls off you, which draws a frustrated low groan from you, but she quickly pulls you forward and swaps places with you. The sexy medical intern then bends over in front of you, still in her heels. “Not inside. Same as before, but this time, you do the fucking.”

“I have to do the hard work now?” You jokingly pretend to be annoyed, but in truth, the only thing you want to do right now is fuck Yves senseless until you’re both sweaty, exhausted messes.

As Yves locks her thighs together again, she places the container right at her crotch and holds onto the wall with the other hand. When you unload your sperm, it will all go into the vial. You slide into that small space once again, but this time her butt is bent and facing you, so you take the opportunity to lightly spank her ass cheeks and give them both a good squeeze. Yves shivers and turns her head back to look at you.

“You know, we should get together another time and then you can give me a good fucking in the ass. And mouth. And pussy. But probably not in that order. You want to be my fuckbuddy?”

You pull Yves’ panties to the side and run two fingers across her outer lips, causing her to moan softly. “So…fuckbuddies, then. Just like your roommate? I can do that.”

The sound of wet flesh slapping together fills the room as you start thrusting into Yves’ thighs, and she also moans and urges you to cum for her. “Oppa…please cum for me, I wanna taste your cum, fuck me hard, please….”

You are unable to hold back at her needy voice and a few minutes later, you unload all your built-up sperm into the glass vial with a loud groan. Yves quickly gets off your cock and then gets on her knees and tugs on your cock with her gloved hand to make sure that she gets as much as she can out of you.

Yves seals the vial with its cap and turns her attention to cleaning your cock with her mouth. You shiver and moan as her lips first touch and then engulf your sensitive shaft and she thoroughly licks and sucks you clean, even going so far as to deepthroat your spent cock. It feels amazing and you almost wish that she had sucked you off instead. Another time, perhaps.

As she gets to her feet, Yves runs a finger over a bit of your cum that ended up on her thighs and sucks that finger clean as she goes for her clothing to get dressed.

“You can rest for a bit; I’ll get the sample stored safely. When you’re ready, you can come find me at the counter and we will get your blood samples.” The both of you slowly cover up your sweaty bodies with your clothing once more. When Yves is done, she gives you a smooch on the cheek and then turns to leave.

Yves goes to the door, looks back and winks at you. “I’ll have your phone number from your patient records, so…I’ll KaTalk you tonight.” She unlocks the door and leaves.

You eventually recover enough and go to get your blood drawn by Yves who has cleaned up her makeup very quickly. After that, you are sent back home to rest for the rest of the day.

That night, you receive a message from Yves on KakaoTalk. It’s an audio recording of her masturbating and having an orgasm while calling out your name. That tease.

Damn it, you’re looking forward to getting a date sorted out to meet up and properly fuck.

[youngster-monster]

The City v. Ahamkara

Prologue - Bloody and Raw

The way back is a blur. Cayde can’t tell if he’s moving through a dream or reality, if he’s moving or sitting still with the world flowing around him. It comes to him in disjointed snapshots, brief bursts of movement before everything freezes again like an old laggy monitor. Fire from the wreckage of the Prison; a gunshot; Petra’s voice, concerned, and his own, distant to his own ears, pantomiming humor even though he has no idea what words are leaving his mouth.

Through all of it the only tangible constant is a hand wrapped around his wrist. Razel, his brain supplies, insistent even as a part of him argues back, not quite. He thinks he can feel claws scratch lightly against the painted surface of his arm. It’s false, of course. He can’t feel input that sensitive usually and certainly not now, with half of his receptors shot to hell. Maybe his processor is making up for lost feedback with imagined ones. Not reality as much as what he expects reality to be like — new, and absurd, and scratchy like a bird perched on his arm and poking its tiny little bird-claws into the joint of his wrist to keep its balance.

Perhaps the pinprick of not-quite-pain is impossible but what isn’t, today?

He’s walking on his own two feet, although there’s a great deal more stumbling than walking involved: that’s one. He won’t call it a miracle but it’s a struggle to find a word that fits the impossible-made-possible just as well.

Sundance is dead. He forces himself to think the whole sentence, even though it hurts like a bitch in a deep part of himself he’d rather not look at. Better to have it hurt now than fester in the dark and poison him. He’s seen what that kind of grief does to guardians. There’s a good reason so few of them survive the initial loss of their Ghost. He never thought he would, himself: anything good enough to kill Sundance would surely get him, too.

But it didn’t. That’s another for the Impossible tally he’s keeping for himself.

Razel’s grip tightens slightly, protectively, as if he caught the tail-end of that thought. Here it is. The last item on the Impossible list, the one Cayde is even less keen to linger on. Sundance’s death is not an immediate, pressing matter. It’s done; there’s nothing else he can do but withstand it now. Whatever’s up with Razel is an ongoing issue and there’s nothing he wants more than to avoid thinking about it.

He’s unlikely to get any luck with that but a man can hope, yeah?

It takes an eternity to reach their ship, falling forward rather than walking until they’re in reach of a transmat and then wincing his way through the touch of an unfamiliar-familiar Ghost as Cubix transports them to the Queen of Hearts. The impact of his feet on the metal flooring makes a heavy, echoing sound. Razel doesn’t make one at all. He’s like a ghost himself, suddenly, taking twice as much space as usual with none of the flailing that should come with it.

That’s when it catches up to him in earnest — no more of that shell shocked avoidance shit. It must be something in the air, he muses, that settles too heavily on his mind until he buckles under it. Something about the quiet of his own ship, the distant sound of howling and crashing and chaos replaced with the gentle hum of an idle engine; something about the stars blinking cold and distant through the cockpit; something about the persistent rattling in his chest, where the universe twisted itself to fulfill Razel’s desire and still didn’t manage to fix the minutiae of his internal machinery. As if water-cooling is a concept beyond even paracausal miracles.

It’s all, suddenly, too much.

Cayde collapses into the pilot’s seat, clunking and creaking, all the air wheezing out of him like a sorry bagpipe. He feels his entire weight suddenly, every pound of metal and wires, in a way he can’t blame on the difference between the Coast and the artificial gravity aboard the ship. He feels his entire age, each and every single endless year of it, remembered or not. Fuck, but he’s too old for this.

And Razel still won’t stop touching him. Hasn’t ever since— ever since. Even now he has a hand on Cayde’s shoulder, fingertips tucked under the collar of his cloak to lay on the bare metal of his neck underneath.

It’s a comfort. It’s a threat. It makes Cayde’s skin crawl. He wants to jerk away from it. He wants to lean into it. He doesn’t know what he wants, or what he feels beyond confusion, exhaustion, and a bitter kind of relief — the exhausting feeling of having held a snake in your hands and trading the fear of being bitten for the venom.

He’s not used to feeling like that near Razel — one of his closest friends, someone he trusts.

“You okay?”

Stupidly, he expected Razel’s voice to sound different. It’s the same as always: a little higher-pitched than you’d expect, with that slight Awoken flanging to it. At least he’s always pinned the sound of it on Razel being an Awoken and, as such, a little bit weird, as is expected. Now he’s not so sure.

“I’m alive,” Cayde replies grimly. “Sundance is dead and my best friend—” he stumbles there, but what good is a Hunter who balks at a challenge? “Is a wish-granting space dragon in disguise, but I’m alive. Silver lining, right?”

Razel curls into himself, looking small and hurt. It’s hard to see the monster in him just then — even harder than before. He just looks like Razel, and Cayde hates seeing Razel like that — like he just got hit over the head and doesn’t know what to do about it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice winding into a white at the end.

All the fight goes out of Cayde at once. It’s not guilt; not quite. He’s too drained for guilt. But it’s a little bit close to it.

He lifts a hand and lets it fall heavily on Razel’s head, ruffling his hair. “You did what you could, buddy.”

The frown he gets in return is fierce, but no fiercer than seems normal for Razel. He’s quick to anger and even quicker to forget about it, and as dramatic as his moods may be they’re rarely destructive. At least not for the right people. Cabal are all out of luck on that front. Still there’s something in his eyes — a wild, unnatural sharpness to the familiar orange-gold glow that makes a previously unknown animal instinct in Cayde raise its hackles. Whatever happened in the Prison, whatever bolt broke open to release the creature hidden under his features, there’s no locking it back up.

It suits him, though. Perhaps it’s always been there, lurking under the surface, showing glimpses of itself through Razel’s weirdest habits. Perhaps Razel isn’t that different now from a day ago; there’s comfort in that.

After all, he broke open reality to save Cayde. That must mean something, right?

“I didn’t,” Razel says mulishly. “There has to be something more I could have done. I mean—”

He never finishes that sentence. Not that Cayde needs him to. He’s seen what Razel did do. There’s still blood flaking on his fingertips from when he wiped it off Razel’s face; there’s still a dent in his chest where a hit that crumpled his chest like a soda can should have killed him and didn’t. What else might an Ahamkara do if given the chance?

There, he said it. The damning word. It’s not as if there’s a point pussy-footing around it anymore.

“You did what you could,” Cayde repeats, giving Razel another headache-inducing pat from his half-numb arm. “And a damn sight better than what anybody else could have done for me in that situation, lemme tell you. You’re not a miracle worker.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Well— okay, maybe you are. But you’re about as qualified as I am to grant wishes, so no one’s about to blame you for botching it somewhat.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he catches Razel’s wince in the corner of his eyes, but that goes ignored as another matter occurs to Cayde.

They might not blame Razel for the botched resurrection — knowing what they do of the limit of Ahamkara abilities, and that’s very little, it’s hard to tell whether or not he could have done more. But they will blame him for everything else. Not the near death experience, no. But being an Ahamkara? Hiding it from the City, the Vanguard, even unknowingly? It would be a crime, if any of them had known it was possible enough to make a law punishing it. It will be a crime once they catch wind of it.

And Cayde is thoroughly weirded out by the whole thing, but he’s not about to let his best friend get locked up for having saved his life.

“I have a few questions,” he says, although he’s not sure he truly wants them answered. Unfortunately there won’t be another time for it. “But once we’re home— not a word of it. Capische?”

Razel nods hard enough to dislocate a vertebrae.

Satisfied, Cayde punches in the code for manual piloting and sets the ship on course for the City. They’ve got this.

-

It occurs to Cayde that they have not got this when Ikora comes knocking at their door two days later at five a.m.

At any other hour it would be nothing out of the usual. He likes to think they’re friends, the two of them, and although it’s usually Vanguard business that brings her to their front step she’s always welcome to drop by unnanounced. He’s been expecting her, anyway.

When Razel and him crawled back to the Tower, dirty and exhausted and shell shocked, she was there to greet them. She was the first one to see Cayde’s sorry state, to ask — in a reassuringly familiar kind but straight to the point manner — what had happened. She’s the one who told him to take a leave, before Zavala even got there to order him the same. It was only a matter of days before she came by to see how he’s doing and kick him out of any self-pitying hole he might have dug for himself in the meantime.

But that’s a visit one makes during the day, or in the evening when she manages to claw back some free time from her mercilessly tight schedule. Nothing good ever comes from a five a.m visit.

Cayde opens the door in his pjs, bare feet against the cold floorboard, to Ikora and a Guardian in full armor he doesn’t recognize. They’re holding a rifle against their chest, in that kind of parade rest that Titans naturally adopt when they’ve been told they won’t have to use it and they don’t entirely believe it.

He fell asleep not two hours ago, but any bleariness remaining from his dramatically shortened night disappears at that sight.

“Mornin’,” he says, hand clenching around the door. He could slam it in their face, but the grim set of Ikora’s mouth tells him they’re far beyond that point. He shouldn’t even have opened it.

Her voice, when she speaks up, is that of the Warlock Vanguard — all business.

“Holliday sent me your records.”

Blinking, Cayde tries to connect that information to the current situation. Holliday, the shipwright. Holliday who’s been working on fixing the Queen of Hearts with a fervor that suggests it’s the only thing she knows how to fix in this damned situation. Holliday—

Who would have had to access the ship’s records to know exactly what to fix. The kind of records that include any and all audio captured aboard in the last few days.

“Fuck,” he says plainly.

She gives him a compassionate look that only makes him feel bad, until it darts up — towards the rest of the apartment — and then he feels worse. The Titan’s grip tightens on their rifle. The faint creaking of their gloves is the only sound for a good long while.

Slowly so as to not startle them into action, Cayde turns his head to look behind his shoulder. Razel has frozen in place next to the couch, holding Admiral in his arms. The cat jumps out of his grasp and pads towards Cayde, rubbing against his legs. Razel just stands there, licking his lips as if wondering if he still has time to bolt back inside their room.

“Is everything okay?” He asks eventually. He looks directly at Ikora when he says it — always does, when he’s not sure what’s going on. She’s his Vanguard; his lighthouse.

“Razel,” she says. It’s not a greeting. It’s the beginning of a longer sentence — of something worse. “You stand accused of treason, perjury, and crimes against the City at large. You will be put into Vanguard custody and judged in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court—”

The rest turns into senseless muttering as electrical buzzing overtakes Cayde’s ears — the sound of some Light-forsaken processor going into overdrive in an effort to keep him from hyperventilating. The Titan shoulders their way past him, marches to a still immobile Razel and snaps a set of handcuffs around his wrists. There’s a burst of light as they close; Cubix materializes next to him, the first Cayde has seen of him since they left the Shattered Coast. He’s been keeping his distance to make it easier on him, Cayde thinks dumbly, that small, idiotic kindness the only thing he can focus on at the moment.

Cubix’s voice has gone shrill with worry. “You can’t do this! Ikora—”

She shakes her head, her face set in a stern expression to cover any deeper feeling she may harbor. She’s a professional; Cayde doesn’t have it in himself to admire that, right now. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Cubix, I’ll have to ask you to come with me. Alone.”

Reluctantly, he does, flying up to her. The Titan pulls Razel aside as he floats past, and they put themselves between him and Cayde when they march him past. As if they’re afraid allowing him to touch either of them would make him explode out of his restraints somehow. As it is, he remains meek as anything as he shuffles after them. It’s an incredible sight: Razel with his hair down and messy like a bird’s nest from an uneasy sleep, dressed in nothing more than a shirt — Cayde’s — his underwear — pink — and a single sock — it has a hole at the big toe — being led away in handcuffs by a Titan twice as large as he is who keeps a tight grip on his arm as if he’s liable to eat them.

But he doesn’t, and the door closes on them with a soft click and one last apologetic look from Ikora. Cayde is left behind, in a dark apartment, empty save for himself and the loud meowing of his cat in the kitchen and the gnawing impression that none of this would have happened if he wasn’t such a gigantic idiot.

Somewhere, the sun rises.

He doesn’t see it.

[Read ch. 2 on AO3]

[nevermore-ocs]

Parents

Author’s note: SO *claps* We got something pretty serious this time y’all, about 2.4K words, a story from Rayne’s past but this has REALLY SERIOUS topics in it, SENSITIVE STUFF IN IT, seriously if you CAN’T read it OR IT’S TOO DIFFICULT TO, you can totally skip it, Rayne’s story is the most REAL one and it was difficult for me to type it not gonna lie, I’M GONNA TAG WHAT’S IN IT HERE AND ALSO IN THE TAGS FOR DOUBLE PROTECTION-

SO, WARNINGS HERE: tw // blood tw // abuse tw // violence tw // homophobia

The car was hot now.

The windows, once clear, now had a layered sheen of condensation on them from the inside. Determined little beads of built-up water steadily rolling down the glass in a silent race. The car reverberated with the low rumble of R&B playing from the radio just to set the mood, she figured. Rayne, her face tinted with a light crimson to her cheeks, gradually sat up in her side of the backseat while she panted out, she licked her lips, she could still taste her essence tainting her mouth and printing itself onto there. Allison, this, brunette haired, blue-eyed, long-legged, and slender girl that went to the same high-school as Rayne was laid out next to her. Her trembling legs were still spread apart, too sensitive to even think about closing, her head was leaned back against the door. She gasped out harder and louder than Rayne did for she was coming down from the orgasmic high that had hit her harder than a speeding bullet train. Rayne settled her hand on one of Allison's knees, "You gonna get up?" She muttered with a twinge of impatience, pushing the other girl's legs closed for her practically, Allison huffed, "Can't you give me, like, fucking 10 seconds, Rayne, Jesus!" She snapped, harsher and quicker than she originally intended. She glanced down the seat and caught just in time of Rayne glancing away with narrowing eyes and a furrowed brow, she stared through a gap in the fog on the window thanks to her wiping it away with the side of her fist. The brunette, drifting her eyes away for a moment, looked back at her and she gently sat up, "I'm sorry," Allison murmured, her hand going to Rayne's shoulder to provide some sort of comfort, she even gave it a tender squeeze. Rayne, without even giving her another glance, snatched her shoulder out of Allison's grasp, "Least I can get you to fucking cum anyway," she growled, taking a hold of the door handle, she pushed the door open hard, and before she closed it, she leaned in once more, "Last time I checked, Jack can't do that for you right?" She shot, and she slammed the door close, leaving Allison inside with her stunned and terrified expression at the sheer mention of her boyfriend. Rayne glared once more at the condensed and covered window, staring it down in a way before turning and beginning to trudge in the opposite direction when the car turned over and drove away. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out an open, crinkled, and an almost empty box of cigarettes, along with a blue lighter that had noticeably low fluid in it. She flipped open the lid when she raised the box to her mouth and she caught one of the smokes in between her lips. Whilst she slid the pack back into her pocket, it took a couple of tries, but the lighter awoken with a bright, burning orange flame and she held it to the cigarette, lighting the end of it and taking a deep and much-needed drag of it. She held the cigarette in between her index finger and the middle one, taking it out of her mouth. She breathed the smoke out in a deep sigh, letting it leave her lungs for now.

She longed this walk, this rut she's imprinted into the sidewalk, she knew it like the back of her head and she hated the destination. She tapped the built-up ash off of the cigarette and put it back in between her lips and let it hang loosely there as she got closer and closer to her house with every hesitant step. Her home didn't feel like a home anymore, so, better to call it a house than ever a home. As she approached the porch, she glanced towards the illuminated living room window. She studied it, the tv was on and playing some kind of sporting event, it looked like football but she didn't care a single bit. All it told her was that he was awake, and was probably a six-pack down already. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and put it out by grinding the lit end against the wooden rail of the porch, then she crumpled the stick up and threw it to the side, in the garden barely attended to anymore. She's done this process so many times now there was a small build-up of extinguished, thrown-away smokes and small, black, circles brunt into the cedarwood. She haltingly stepped up the porch stairs, she knew what was going to happen, it was inevitable, it was every day now, like clockwork, right on the dot too. Rayne stood at the door, her eyes glared down at the worn in welcoming mat. "Welcome to our happy home!" The bold, elegantly inscribed words taunted her silently.

Happy home. What a bunch of shit.

Turning the doorknob, the front door creaked open and she stepped inside, letting the door shut behind her. She didn't even bother to lock it as she was already hurrying to the back of the house to the rooms. "Where the Hell were ya tonight, girl?" Her father, a slim man, more skin and bone than muscle with his hair shaved down to a buzz-cut and dressed in a white tank-top and shorts glared over at her. His words were slurred, the simple sentence seemed to be a struggle for him to even think of. Rayne scoffed, barely looking over at him, "Like you fuckin' care," she retorted, already hearing him begin to shuffle and stumble around when he tried to pull himself out of the sofa. She never wanted to see him. She couldn't stand him, his smell that always reeked massively of liquor, how disheveled he was, he was like a leech just sucking the dwindling life-force of what once was a pleasant and happy home. That seemed like such a distant memory now. As she approached the target door, she fixed her hair with a simple brushing of her fingers going through the somewhat black, tangled hair. She tugged on the front of her flannel shirt, fixed the collar, and took in a deep breath, and let it out to calm down her infuriated nerves. She wanted to at least seem happy for her, she didn't need any more stress on her heart. With a firm grip on the golden doorknob, she gradually turned it and creaked open the door open, it squeaked with its minuscule movement, the invading light of the hallway seeping into the dark room. When there was a big enough gap in the open doorway, she stepped in and closed it behind her, this time she did lock it behind her. She didn't want anyone disturbing this time.

"Hey mom." She murmured gently, her words had a minor waver to them at the sight of her mother, swaddled up in two or three blankets with her head buried in a bevy of pillows. Her once beautiful, wavy, red hair, now lazily put up in a messy bun, unkempt and rarely cared for. She glanced at her mother's face, her tired eyes looked sunken in like she got clocked in both of her eyes and had little life after the hits. Hearing Rayne's voice, however, seemed to have sparked her engine a little. Weakly, she lifted her head from the pillows and glanced over her shoulder at Rayne before relaxing again. "Hey baby..." Her words were so quiet, if it weren't for the stillness of her bedroom she wouldn't have heard her speak up at all. It pained Rayne just to stand there, shifting on her feet, unable to do anything about the illness that ran rampant through her body, destroying everything in its path to leave nothing but an empty shell to deteriorate in a black box buried six feet deep in the ground. "How was today? Any pain?" She always asked this question and always got the same answer, "Same old, same old, sweetie..." Just like clockwork. "Right, yeah," letting a defeated sigh escape her lips, she trudged over to her mother's bedside. Every step closer brought tears further to the dangerous brink of pouring out of her eyes as two steady, strong rivers.  She loomed over her at her bedside, she didn't want to cry despite it being so tempting to, she was sure that her mom wouldn't be mad at her for it, even understand it. However, she wanted to be strong for her, even if that meant bottling up every true feeling and everything single thing she wanted to vent out and scream and cry and shout for all to hear, and putting it away, and locking it up. Just to lessen to worry on her heart. Rayne leaned down, she pressed a chaste, little peck to her mother's forehead, and let her own rest on the side of her head for a few moments. She didn't want to leave, if she could, she'd stay in here for the rest of her life just comforting her mother, to ease her through the pain, to remind her to take her medicine, and just hope that one day, she'd just sit up in bed all vibrant and happy and laughing, and just be herself again. Nowadays, hope was dwindling, her old family became a fragment of a memory to be dusted away, to never be remembered.  "I'll see you later, okay?" She muttered, she leaned back up, turning, she trudged back to the door, shaky, stuttering breaths slowly seeping out of her mouth, some impatient tears coming up to the corners of her eyes and they ran down her cheeks, "Love you, little rain cloud..." hearing her childhood nickname come from her mouth as weak and as quiet as it did was the final, killing stab in her gut. It made her stop in her steps, right at the doorway again. It took a few moments, to stir up the strength in her to even attempt to say goodbye, she glanced over her shoulder a little hesitantly, her eyes glossy with tears, "I love you too, mom..." She whispered, closing the door behind her with a heavy heart.

She needed a drink. She wanted to go into the kitchen, grab one of the cheap bottled beer from the numerous six-packs littering the fridge and just forget about her troubles for at least tonight. Who was going to stop her from that? Taking hold of the fridge handle, she swung it open, grabbed a beer by the neck of the bottle, and took it out of the fridge. She twisted it open and tossed the metal cap to the side, she raised the bottle up to her lips about to take a drink but stopped midway when she saw him at the door. Her father. She chuckled, irritation already leaking into her tone, "Thought it started to smell bad in here," she muttered, staring at her father who stalked at the doorway, "You didn't fuckin' answer my question earlier," he grumbled, the drunkenness evident as clear water in his voice, he lumbered up to him, if it weren't for the wall to prop his hand up against, he would have fallen flat on his face and hopefully knocked himself out. He got close enough for the stench of the hard alcohol to invade her nostrils and take over her air, it made her turn her head with a grimaced expression. "Where the fuck were ya tonight?" He growled, and with a sigh of annoyance, she slammed her bottle down on the kitchen table and snapped her head back to him, "I was out, with friends, why do you care?" She retorted, "You trying to get good jack off material from them, you don't need to know everything about my fucking life!" Shoving him away with her hands pushing against his chest, she started to hurriedly walk around him and towards the exit. "Get yer ass fuckin' back here!!" Her father launched his hand swiftly to the back of her head and grab a fistful of her hair and he tugged her back, hard. "Ah, fuck-! Let me the fuck go, you fuckin-" Her words were silenced, he threw her down onto the tile floor hard enough for the back of her head to crack against the hard surface, causing her to curse out loudly with pain. "Ya know what I think you were doin'? Ya were with that little slut again, weren't ya," he stomped to her side and propelled his leg forward in a strong kick, right into her gut, causing her to lurch forward and hug her abdomen while she coughed out roughly, her eyes threatening to water, "Yeah that fuckin' little Allison slut, ya were with her again, ya fuckin' faggot! Chokin' on her cunt again, fuckin' disgusting!" Rayne was gradually sitting up, the kick having knocked the wind out of her, but when she was at least sat up, her father glared back down at her and pulled his fist back. He sent his fist right at her mouth and it connected in a hard right cut, it sent her back down onto the tile in a hard slam, the corner of her lip sliced open, and a steady deep crimson stream of red blood poured out of it and dripped onto the floor. Standing over her, her father stepped to the side and grabbed her open beer bottle, and took a deep swig of the alcohol. When the bottle lowered from his lips, he let out a heavy, relieved sigh at the numbing liquid, he glanced at her, raising the bottle, he turned it to its side and let the alcohol pour out of the glass and down onto her and when just drips were left plinking onto the side of her face, he casually rested the bottle back on the table. "And clean yer shit up," he rubbed salt in the wound every time, he would have done more to make her feel lower than dirt if it weren't for his team playing against their all-time rivals in the playoffs on tv right now. He stepped out of the kitchen and left Rayne there, her eyes were blurry and her chest heaved with wheezing breaths, she stared the best she could at the growing pool of red blood building up around her head so monotonously, so slowly. It would stain the tiles, she was sure.

What a happy home, right?

[blissfulparker]

12 days of Christmas pt. 8

Summary→ when tom plans on proposing to you Christmas day and comes back 12 days before, what happens when untold feelings come back up

Warnings→angst

A/n→this is somehwhat later than I expected but here it is I hope you enjoy! Also somewhat unedited

Previous part

Winter never seemed to be toms favorite when it came to weather. He was more of a spring type of person. The way it was cool in the mornings and the feeling of warmth in t afternoon. Not too hot, not too cold, it was simply perfect. Winter could be too cold, oftentimes too harsh to where you couldn’t even go out.

He sat outside on the cold bench you guys had on your back porch. He wiped off the snow with his hands and sat down. It was cold, wet, not ideal but he didn’t want to go inside. Two months wasn’t that long for him, in fact with working everyday it was nothing but with you gone did feel long. Now those two months felt longer than ever knowing you two were left alone. Maybe Amanda was right, and she herself even knew she was just something to keep Harrison occupied. Maybe it was Tom who was the clueless one and he shouldn’t have left you all that time.

“Tom?” You open the sliding glass door. You have a blanket, some tea as well. His beer was colder than ever against the floor of the porch, something he wouldn’t want to put against his lips.

“You two kiss and makeup?” He was petty. He hates being petty and jealous because that’s not who he is.

“Look, I want to tell you everything that happened.” You come sit next to him. Offering him the tea and takes it into his cold hand. You spread the blanket over the both of you and make sure he’s more warm than you.

“Then tell me, leave nothing out. Don’t lie.” He looks at you with the soft brown eyes he always is willing to give.

“I didn’t fall for haz. I don’t have feelings for him. I never have and never did. But I did miss you, I missed you like crazy. And I think a part of me thought maybe doing things I’d do with you with Haz would make me miss you less. Make me feel like you were there. I can see where I was borderline flirting but that was never my intent. I mean tom, I cried for about a week when you left, because I just missed you so much. Haz helped me a lot, just made me feel less lonely. But you can even ask him about the excitement I’d get when you’d call. I’m sure he was annoyed.” You laugh a bit at the last part and he does a little as well. “But the night before you came back, I was in the kitchen, we were doing cinnamon rolls, he got close and his arms found my waist...he wanted to so badly but I backed off. He backed off too and immediately started apologizing saying how what he did was wrong and then you called and we both pretend nothing happened.” You tapped on your mug a few times and looked over at him. He wrapped the blanket more around you because he could see you’re shivering. You smile softly as a thank you and lean against his shoulder.

“Its just...I knew haz had feelings for you before it’s just I thought all of them were gone. He promised me that all of them were gone.” He swallows hard.

“Then the awkward tension you saw between us was the kiss and the fact that he got back together with Amanda so quickly.” You shrug and he rubbed your shoulder.

“He’s with her as a rebound.” He was honest with you.

He brought the warm apple cider tea to his lips as he drank. This was your favorite, favorite of the season.

“I told him he has to move on and that I’m in love with you and he told me that would be hard. I believe him. I just don’t want his feelings to be even more broken then they were before.” You held onto toms shoulder as you looked up at the sky. The clouds covered the moon and soon enough it would snow. You hoped for a white Christmas this year, secretly tom hoped for one too. He hoped that he could propose with the snow gently falling outside.

“Maybe we should join the party again, it is our house.” He looks over at you and you nod slowly getting up trying not to slip.

“You must be freezing.” You touch his arms and he shivers at the cold hand but it doesn’t really bother him.

“Doesn’t even matter.” He pulls you in against his chest and you giggle a little. “I love you, you know that?” He asks. The jitters were getting the best of him. He felt the coming closer as the day came closer.

“Of course.” You smile softly. “I love you too.” You kiss his cheek and he leans in for your lips which you gladly take against his. He holds you there for a second, feeling how soft they are and how he just wants to be against them forever.

“Let’s go inside, seriously I’m freezing cold.” You hold his hand and bring him back inside.

-

Harrison was left in the kitchen after you ran after tom. He knew what he said came out wrong but he didn’t exactly know how else to say it. He saw the situation still very different than you, his feelings really did get in the way for how he was feeling for you.

When he saw you outside leaning against Tom on the back porch his heart broke a little more but he knew it was wrong. He knew he had someone out there just for him.

“Hazza, where’d you go?” Amanda was somewhat drunk, not something he really wanted to deal with at the moment.

“Just helped (y/n) with the dishes, tis’ all.” He mumbled as he sat back down next to her. Everyone was invested in their own conversation but Amanda was invested in him.

“Where’s tommy?” She spoke. Her calling him tommy almost reminded him of your sweet voice as you called out to him or spoke on the phone.

“He doesn’t like being called that.” Haz spoke defensively. He didn’t mean to get defensive but how he fucked everything up he was a little upset.

“Okay, well...I haven’t seen those two in awhile I was just wondering. I was thinking maybe we should go back to my place…” she starts and touches his collar and he shrugs her off.

“I can’t be with you anymore.” He simply spoke. She moved back and he kept staring off into space. “It’s been a rough few months and I’m sorry but I can’t even focus on you.” He admits and she scoffs and looks around hoping no one can see the two of them. Everyone can hear and see them but no one really wants to pay attention.

“Is this about your crush on (y/n)? Hazza she’s getting married to tom. She doesn’t love you the way she loves you.” She causes a bit of a scene but he doesn’t care.

“Well I don’t love you the way I wished to love her.” He snapped and this time the room died down. She was offended, folded her arms and bit back tears. Amanda was terrifying, normally she scared you but now she was weak.

“I guess if we’re sharing so much about yourselves then I only wanted to date you because of tom. I wanted to fuck tom and then when I got to fuck you I was okay with it. But even after I did fuck you I still wanted tom. Guess what Haz? We can’t have everything we fucking want.” A few people looked at the two of them. You and tom were now back inside and giggling being back to normal.

“We both fucked up. We both did things that were fucking wrong and now we’re stuck here with each other. But at this point I’d rather be alone.” Haz spoke and she nodded. Her long red nails moved some hair from her face as she looked down.

“I want to go home now.” She bite her lip. You come out from the kitchen and see what’s happening. How everything was falling apart this holiday but would hopefully heal itself.

“Good. Me fucking too.” He grabbed his keys from the counter along with his phone.

“Harrison—“ you tried to stop him and he shook his head.

“(Y/n) you’ve done enough.” He looked at you with hurt eyes. Yes he wants your comfort but he can’t take it. Comfort would even hurt him in the moment.

“Text us when you get home? R-Roads are pretty frozen.” You look over to Amanda who has a look on her face of anger.

“Of course.” He smiled softly and turned around. His eyes still bloodshot red from what happened but he didn’t want much people to see. He didn’t need his friends to see how fucked up he was.

He didn’t want to mess up anymore of his best friends relationship than he felt he already did.

Taglist: @bibby-baby @spideylovin @wonderland-londonboy @peter-man-parker @sleepingthestral @spiderbibby y @thevelvetseries @simplylia @sighbastian @moonliightbabes

[loverofyaoi22]

Erin was terrified as she sat there before three measly, greasy looking hunters. Wing hunters that is. Wing hunters went around capturing any fairy they could get their hands on and ripping their wings out which they would later sell on the black market for loads of money.

It was a painful process that would either kill the fairy or would leave them forever unable to fly. The psychological affects of ripping a fairies wings out were devastating. When a fairy had their wings ripped out, it took away a fairy’s freedom to fly and enjoy the skies. Wings also changed form and shape as they grew which helped with magic development. When wings were ripped out it could lead to server depression, feelings of alienation and a slow descent into madness. Fairies needed to fly. Without it the crave to fly and be free would slowly drive the fairy insane as it took over.

That usually lead to death by suicide sadly or the fairy would slowly shut down as wings helped show emotions. They’d flutter when happy, droop when sad, be displayed when angry or challenging someone, etc. Fairies needed them and Erin had seen too many fairies die at the hands of greedy monsters like these! Erin herself was a fairy but she had hidden her wings from view because of the rumours of wing hunters within the local area.

"What a cute looking fairy, i bet your wings are gorgeous." One of the humans laughed darkly as he used his hand to lift her face up to meet his eyes. Erin glared at him, fear deep within her eyes. “Your wings will be the most gorgeous ones ever sold. Tales of gold and silver with hanging jewels off of the tips unlike normal fairies. The blood said to sparkle as the wings are pulled from the body and they twitch. God, I can’t wait to cut your wings off!” He laughed, eyes holding a psychotic and greedy glint. Such a disgusting human; with such a vice covered soul she was surprised he hadn’t been killed by his greed.

“Go fuck yourself! You won't have my wings." She growled angrily, shuffling about even though she had been bound up by rope, keeping her arms bound to her torso. Her ankles and wrists were bound together by made draining chain and her body was bound by strong rope that rendered her immobile. The guy chuckled and laughed, bringing tears to murky eyes. The guy was around the age of 26 with long greasy blonde hair and dark blue eyes. The man had been spoiled his entire life by rich parents -that was easy to see by the way he acted and dressed - and whenever he didn’t get his way would make sure the person suffered.

What a disgusting human being!

He wore a long sleeved white top with a blue waist coat overtop that had gold chains hanging out the pockets. His black leather pants were clean and were very pristine, showing he took care of them and prided himself with that. A good leader always keeps themself clean and presentable even when doing dirty work. The leather was that of top quality and was not cheap by any means. "Oh but Fairy Queen, your wings are the best out there. That is, unless you want us to rip the wings out of all your people. We’ll tie you up and force you to watch as we cut out the wings of every man, woman and child in your stupid kingdom!” He threatened, pulling her hair causing her to look at him.

Erin had to laugh. This mere human thought he could get past her kingdoms protection barrier?! Fuck no! Not even a boss monster could! Only she could break the barrier! “Hahahaha! Good luck you pathetic human! You can’t even make a scratch on that barrier. You wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near my people!” She snarled. The human man clearly didn’t like this back chat and got in her face.

“Oh really?!” He shouted. “And how would a slut like you know?! Humans are stronger than monsters!” He screamed, face red with anger. “I’m not a full monster!” Erin growled back and spat in his face. He didn’t like that and grabbed his knife from the holster on his belt. He grabbed it and began cutting down her face and eye with the blade. It caused her to scream in pain; crying and shaking.

She just wanted to go home! That’s all she wanted!

Erin's screams and the humans maniacal laughter echoed out into the surrounding foliage making Error stiffen. He could smell blood and fear and hear the sounds of sobs and skin opening. Looks like he had new powerful senses. He looked around wildly, his senses on overdrive.

The person was in pain, whoever it was and they were clearly not alone if the dark laughing indicated anything. His slit eye-lights were looking around and scanning for any indication to show where the screams and laughs were coming from.'its ok, i will find you! I’ll stop your pain! I won’t let you suffer like I did!' He thought in desperation. He didn't want someone to be hurt like him, someone becoming so broken it left them questioning as to why.

Null looked up at his daddy, wondering why he looked so frantic. Another pain filled scream sounded out making him whimper and curl closer to his daddy's chest. His tail curled around his legs as his ears went down. The screams sounded so sad and like his when he begged them to stop, when they hurt him with their needles. "Daddy, please stop those screams. They're hurt! Stop them like you stopped him." Null whimpered out, clutching onto the others ribs.

Error didn't have a chance to put his top on when he jumped into the void from the other multiverse so all he was wearing was his shorts and trainers with his makeshift, blood soaked bandages on his ribs which had stopped bleeding and dusting but he had to be careful as to not reopen his wounds again. "I WiLl nUlL, i WiLl sToP tHeIr sCrEaMs AnD tHe OnE cAuSiNg ThEm." Error promised. Closing his eyes, he decided to use his enhanced sense of smell to find the direction on which the screams came from.

The smell of flowers blended in with the smell of firewood, alcohol, tears and blood?! Shit, this was worse than he thought! ‘North west!’ He thought in shock, eyes snapping open.

The green plants and trees looked all the same to him so he didn't know as to where he was and how far away he was from the nearest town, but the place was beautiful and the perfect temperature. The forest called to him and his senses, making him feel somewhat alive. His nose caught wind of a floral scent with a hint of the sea. It was coming north west from then and the smell of blood clearly indicated the person was hurt.

He narrowed his eyes and growled, showing huge fangs as his lip was brought back in a vicious snarl. It seemed no matter where he went, someone innocent was getting hurt for no reason and it angered him. He didn't want anyone turning out like him, being broken beyond hope, being unable to be put together again.

His bones broke, his soul rejecting itself and ripping itself apart to please someone else who would never be pleased or satisfied. "BoYs hAnG oNtO mE, AlRiGhT?" Error said as he took off running. As he began running, he used all his body weight to give himself a boost which left a huge hole in the dirt.

Null giggled as his daddy ran, his movements jostling him and his brother in his tight grip as he held onto his fathers rib. This the most fun he’d ever had! He didn’t want it to stop! The scents and colours blurred together as they moved, making everything go by quickly.

"Fun, fun!" Null laughed happily, his tail swishing happily. Void giggled too and shrieked with laughter. "Ahwoo~ ahh! Hahaha!" He cooed out. It made no sense at all but he was happy and to Null that's all that mattered. He held his little brother’s tiny hand and smiled. “See? Daddy is very awesome!” voids little giggles were his answer.

Error panted as he ran, wincing as some wounds reopened at his harsh movements and began to bleed again. 'Please hang on just a little longer, I'm on my way!' He thought frantically. He wasn't going to let someone else get hurt if he could prevent it.

Erin hit the deck, her voice raw; face wet and sticky with tears and blood.

Her left eye ached and so did her cheek and eyebrow from the two large gashes cut into her eye and skin. She was glad she had super regenerative abilities as the fairy queen so she could fix her eye but she’d have scars. She ached all over, her muscles burned and the new cuts throbbed as they bled. Her left eye was shut even more tightly as a cut on her hairline bled and blood poured down the left side of her face.

"Fuck you!" She sobbed out, bruises forming on her cheek and staining the pale skin dark purple. She spat out some blood onto the others clothes, making him frown in displeasure. "Bitch." He hissed and used his foot to turn her onto her back and began kicking her stomach. Erin groaned and moaned in pain at every painful blow. More tears fell. All she felt was pain! ‘I don’t want this! I can’t protect myself and it hurts!’ She thought.

Bruises littered her arms and legs as well as bleeding cuts that were filled with the mud from the forests floor. Dirt stained her blue top and brown skirt. Her clothes were torn from the beating and covered in blood. The guys workers laughed as they sat on a rotting log nearby and drunk some whisky from their titanium flasks. Her wings would win them a fortune!

Their black and brown guard dogs sat by with red collars on, gold spikes sticking out as well as collars. They barked angrily, saliva going everywhere. "You get her boss." One laughed. He was a convicted sex offender and domestic abuser. He was a wanted man but with his boss’ help and constant moving around he was never caught.

He wore a black trench coat with silver seams and chains on the pockets with a brown top and grey jeans that were accompanied by scuffed black boots. His brown eyes was hazed by alcohol and his brown hair was swept back. His brother sat beside him, wearing a long sleeved button up t-shirt whose sleeves were pushed up to the elbow and some blue pants with brown shoes. His brother was a wanted man for murder and rape of a young child. He was truly disgusting. Their breaths reeked of alcohol and it made Erin feel sick.

Her body felt overloaded and her thoughts raced as did her soul. ‘Please, someone save me! I don’t want to die! My kingdom will be unprotected and Claudia..my friends...I can’t leave them!’ She thought as kicks kept going and screamed as a rib broke. ‘Claudia, help me! I’m scared!’ She thought with desperation.

The boss -who went by the name Terry- finished kicking her and kicking her onto her right side, making her face away from them. Erin coughed up blood and vomit, whimpering. All she had to do was go to the market to do some shopping, but her basket was lying in the bushes as they were ripped from her hands by the three assholes above her. "Show us your wings Fairy Queen." Terry hissed, smirking.

If he got the Fairy Queen's wings he could make a goddamn fortune selling them on the black market. He would be rich and he would be able to live in a grande Villa in the south of Snowdin. Erin sniffled and used her bound hands that were rubbed raw and bleeding due to the magic draining chains to sit up and glared. "Go to hell. I won’t show you my wings!” She hissed as tears flowed and blood dribbled down swollen and purple cheeks. She would never show a mere human who wanted to steal her wings what he wanted!

Terry grew angry and pulled out the dagger from his back pocket holster again. It was a fine blade of steel around 6 inches long and with a gold handle that was said to have been crafted by a local blacksmith within Snowdin's capital. "I will kill you!" He shouted as he lifted the dagger up

Erin closed her eyes and sobbed silently waiting for the final blow but all she heard was a scream of "what the hell?!"

Confused, she snapped opened her eyes and gasped. A tall glitchy skeleton with midnight bones stood before her in a crouched position, growling. His ears were pulled backwards, his six ombré tails swishing angrily as he guarded her. 'A...kitsune?' She thought in shock. For a second there, she thought she was going to die at the hands of greedy humans but it seemed that a demon fox skeleton had heard her cries for help.

Tears of pain turned into tears of relief. She wasn’t gonna die! She was safe!

Error stood before the tied up girl, fury coursing through his veins. They had tried to kill an innocent person for no reason, after tying her up and beating her to the point her skin was black and blue with multiple cuts. He came across the sight, panting and his bones creaking. Null watched the mean humans cut and kick their captive and he whimpered, burying his face in his fathers chest.

It hurt to watch!

Ir reminded him of the scientists who experimented on him. "Daddy, their mean." He whimpered. Error growled, his lips moving back in a snarl. Putting Null on the floor, he petted the younger kitsune.

"StAy HeRe nO mAtTeR wHaT. LoOk AfTeR VoId fOr mE." His daddy said before rushing off. Null hid within the bush, Void cooing and looking around; touching the leaves and flowers. 'Daddy can do it. If anyone could help her its daddy. Daddy is safe after all.' He thought.

‘You disgusting bastard! People like you should be burning in hell!!’ He thought in absolute fury. His marrow boiled. They hurt a mere child!

When Terry tried to go and stab her, Error kicked the human on his ass, snarling and crouching in a fighting position in front of the girl. The girl was bleeding and bruised to no end. He growled and snapped his head in the direction of the dogs who walked over to protect their masters.

The dogs growled and barked roughly but he roared loudly causing the dogs to whimper and their ears to go down, tails between their legs and lay their heads on their paws.

A sign of submission.

He turned to the human who scrambled back. "What the hell?! A kitsune?! What the fuck, i thought they were endangered!" He said in fear, his face ashen pale and sweating buckets. Kitsunes were rare and were hunted to pretty much extinction by humans for their fur which was not only used for rope making, clothes making and that, it made good medicine too.

His two goons pissed themselves from fear and screamed as thinly slit eye lights turned to them and big fangs snapped at them. "You're on your own!" One brother screamed and ran off into the surrounding foliage, his brother following as well as their dogs following him. They weren’t dying today!

"Hey, don't leave me you cowards!" Terry screamed in fear. This kitsune was angry, the feral eyes and growling as well as body position showing its fury and will to pounce. “You sick bastard!” Error screeched furiously and punched in him. He pinned the fucker down and proceeded to gut the guy with his razor sharp claws.

It was relatively easy as cutting into his abdomen was like a knife through butter. It was soft and fleshy, not a lot of resistance to his claws. As claws cut deeper and deeper past muscles, fat and tissue, blood spilled onto the ground. Terry screamed in agony and blood ran out his mouth making his screams gargled.

“Stop, please stop!! Stop, stop, stop, stop!! I’ll do anything just please stop have mercy!! Please have mercy! I beg of you!” He sobbed out. Error stopped and for a moment they locked eyes with eachother. Erin watched in shock as the Kitsune snickered and laughed with a static filled voice. “You don’t deserve mercy and whilst I’m merciful to people, I am not to you!” He growled and began cutting again. Soon he was at the intestines, ignoring the others screams. He pulled the intestines out and threw them aside staining the floor, plants and his hands with blood.

He continued to cut out and remove organs one by one, showing the organs to Terry before throwing them aside qirhna sick splat. Terry watched in pain and horror at his own organs and screeched as bones were also broken. Error laughed darkly. No he would feel the pain he inflicted on others! Soon screams fell silent and Terry was dead; chest cavity wide open and empty. The other hissed, standing tall and glaring down at him.

How pitiful. In the end he was nothing but a coward.

Error sighed. Humans truly were greedy and horrible; hurting an innocent person for no reason or for money. He would never get humans and their ways of life or thinking. Turning to the girl, he chuckled at her awed and slightly horrified look. Sure he was merciful and didn’t like being beaten or killing innocent people and their homes but people like him? He loved killing them slowly and inhumanely so they could suffer!

He would say the girl was around the age of 16 to 17 with long brown hair tipped blue that cascaded down her shoulders to her hips and blue eyes holding confusion and slight horror.

Dried blood caked her face and bruises littered her skin. Her cheeks were swollen and her left eye was not only badly cut up but swollen shut. From the tears in her clothes, he could see her stomach was a dark purple. The cuts had started to clot and he frowned. "YoU oKaY kId? YoU’Re bAdLy hUrT." He asked her as he bent down and began to cut the rope binding her. He got a good look at her clothes. She wore a button up, pale blue top that's sleeves ended at her elbows and a long brown skirt. The clothes were torn in places and stained with mud as well as blood.

Erin nodded. "I am fine. Thank you so much for saving me." She said with a wince and small smile as the chains came free. She was not telling the full truth. She wanted to cry, to scream and be at home safe but with how she was, she couldn’t be. She needed to heal. She rubbed her wrists and smiled up at the kitsune. She finally took in his appearance.

He was around 6”10 and he was wounded; badly. His skull was covered in tons of cracks and scars that made his skull look fragile and ready to cave in from the slightest touch. His ribs were broken or had healed wrong in many places; some being held together by blood-soaked make shift bandages. His spine was scratched to shit and she was surprised he could walk. She couldn't see his hips or his thighs but she could guess they were also covered in cracks and scars. His legs and feet were also covered in multiple cuts and scars, including his toes.

Wow, and she thought her wounds were bad.

She frowned at how someone could be so hurt and look as if it didn't bother him. She had seen grown men like him scream at broken bones before, so how this monster wasn't screaming in agony was beyond her comprehension.

His eye sockets were red and his left eye light was white whilst the right was yellow with a blue ring and pupil. He had blue lines on his face, showing he had cried so much he had been branded by it. His skull was black as was the palms of his hands but the rest of his bones were red.

The dark red areas signified defied blood or bruising which was so server, he shouldn't be able to move let alone be standing proudly above her. Her heart broke knowing that he had been hurt, abused even, by someone so much he had been branded by his tears of pain and he was no longer bothered by the pain; clearly he had gone though worse times.

His ears were black tipped navy blue and filled with red fur. His tails were the same bar the red. He glitched and had 'ERROR" signs all over her. The skeleton kitsune smiled and sat down cross legged before her. "ThAts GoOd. NuLl, VoId, yOu tWo cAn cOmE oUt nOw." He said, his Deep and glitchy voice startling her a bit but not much.

Null and void came out.

Erin smiled as the tiny kitsunes went over to their father and crawled into his lap. They were both small, one clearly under the age of one and the other just under age 4 and a half. They had white bones and didn't glitch like their father, leading Erin to believe he had adopted the pair. They had white furry ears and tails but the oldest had his tipped blue and the baby tipped pastel orange.

Both wore high end, silk dresses even though they were male, not that she cared. She had a male friend back home whom could pull off dresses perfectly. "You saved her daddy! Daddy good man!” Null squealed happily, Void cooing and clapping his tiny hands. Erin smiled.

"I'm Erin, I'm the fairy Queen." Erin said standing up only to hit the deck again. Everything hurt so bad!

Error helped her up gently. “Kid, you’re very badly wounded you shouldn’t be moving around as it could hurt you even further.” He said with a serious but soft tone. Erin chuckled. “I’m fine sir. As the fairy queen I have certain healing and regenerative abilities.” She watched the others eyes widen slightly at that. "I know I don't look like much but its because of my magic. Its nice to meet you and your kits." Erin said offering a hand.

Error started at her hand but took it and shook it gently. "HeLlo ErIn, I'm ErRoR aNd tHeSe aRe my SoNs NuLl aNd VoId." He said.

Null waved at her, smiling. Erin waved back. "Its my pleasure. Sorry about those assholes -never use those words boys, they're bad- are wing hunters." Erin said as she went over to a nearby bush and decided to pick her basket out from within the leaves. She ignored the organs nearby. It was a simple basket that Erin was glad wasn't damaged.

Error didn't like the sound of that. "Wing hunter, someone who pulls the wings from creatures and sells them for money and profit." He said in disgust. He didn't like them, he had seen them in pervious AU's where the inhabitants had wings such as RebornTale, Angeltale and BirdTale. He loved watching them fly so it angered him when people tried to remove the wings like he was removed from his AU years ago from fate.

"Yeah. They wont do it again thanks to you though." Erin said with a cough of blood as she began to use her magic to heal her wounds. She placed a green glowing hand on the cut on her forehead. It began to knit itself back together until the cut was gone and then did the same to her eye. Once the wind was closed she had two scars and blinked. She could see!

She moved to the bruise, wincing at the pain as it was tender and used it to bring the swelling down and get rid of the internal bleeding. The kicking had torn open and wounded her organs but luckily she could repair them and the ribs that fixed itself with a snap making Error wince.

He knew how that felt.

Once the bruise and swelling had gone down, green flame like magic surrounded her body as she used her healing magic to heal most wounds she had sustained from the beating, especially the one to the stomach which had done the most damage. Pulling her top up, she showed her dark purple stomach. It was badly bruised and super painful. Error winced even more Humans skin wasn't supposed to turn that colour, especially where it housed their vital organs.

"T-That looks painful. Will you be okay kid?" Error asked with concern. Erin nodded as the bruising began to fade as all internal damage was fixed. "Yes i am Error. I am fine." She said with a slight tremble. Everything that happened was starting to take affect.

‘No meltdown, no meltdown, no meltdown!’ She thought. She had autism so things like what just happened could overload her. Error frowned and hugged her which she didn’t expect. Null looked at the glowing flame aura and gasped in awe. "Pretty!" He said making Erin chuckle. "Thank you. It's healing magic." She said letting her top fall.

(I'm no longer doing Error's voice LiKe ThIs.)

“Kid you’re not ok. It’s okay to cry when scared so if you wanna cry, cry.” He said softly and hugged her lightly. She needed it. Erin’s trembles got worse and she began sobbing and hitting her head violently. She didn’t feel safe, she felt exposed and overwhelmed. She hated it! ((Authors note: I have autism as I was diagnosed at age 12. I have violent meltdowns and it isn’t nice at all so I’m going off of my own experiences.))

“Kid no! Don’t hurt yourself.” He said gently holding her hands to stop her from hurting herself. Null hugged her round the waist and Void held her ankle. Poor lady must be scared! ‘Don’t worry! Hugs and kisses makes it all better!’ Null thought kissing her hand and void her leg. Error chuckled. They sure liked making people happy.

Soon the meltdown was over and Erin was exhausted, leaning against Error. “Sorry. I still have so much to do and I just made myself look like an idiot.” She mumbled. Null frowned. “You’re not an idiot ma’am. You’ve been hurt and it’s okay to cry. Daddy saved us from a bad man too. It’s okay to cry.” He said with determination.

Erin chuckled weakly and let his skull. “Such a nice boy. Your daddy taught you well.” She mumbled. Error smiled and decided to change the subject.

"So, you said you were the fairy Queen. I thought fairies were supposed to have wings." Error said in confusion. She had no wings what so ever so how was she the fairy queen? He had seen his fair share of queens before, Toriel was always the queen and was a king ruler but some AU's were the exception. "I am but i can hide my true appearance with magic." Erin said as she finished healing herself and stood up on her own.

She felt weak from the magic use and meltdown but a little bit off food and some sleep would make her feel good a new. She activated her magic again to reveal her wings.

Error watched in awe as a pink aura burst around her form. Her messy hair straightened and became slightly curly at the tips as a forehead crown made of pearls and pink tear drop crystal in the centre formed on her head.

Her clothes changed shape, becoming a light pink, off the shoulders Dress, the skirt becoming slit just below her hips. The front half of the skirt had sewn on dark pink gemstones and blue crystals arranged to make a flower. The gems were also on the back around the sleeves edge that widened near the wrist and at the neck line. She wore a gold corset made of metal that sat above the dress. It looked heavy when in reality, it was charmed to be weightless. It was encrusted with rubies, sapphires and rose quarts.

Erin wore gold ankle cuffs that was also encrusted with gemstones. Her wings opened up, shocking him. They were like three wings in a pair of wings.

The wings had fuchsia outer boarder with blue and gold tips. There was three silver jewels in the centre of the wings and then light pink. She had some blue jewels dangling of the six tips and they sparkled in the sun.

"Now i can see why they call the Fairy Queen." Error said in shock. He had never seen magic so advanced before in someone who wasn't him or Inky so this person was very powerful if they could use their magic to conceal their true appearance and appendages from sight.

He sighed. He could never have a normal friend could he? He looked at her wings and wondered if they were made of living tissue or magic like Skeletons were.

"Its fine, my magic makes it hard for anyone to see my appearance once I conceal it." Erin said, carting her basket. "Error, may I ask, who has hurt you. I can assure you the person who has hurt you will be found and punished, this looks like inhumane torture!" Erin cried out, looking absolutely horrified at his injuries.

"Its a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?" He asked as he stood up; causing his bones to crack and creak from the movement.

Erin shuddered at the sound. It made her anger boil at the fact someone could be so damaged, so broken yet still be in once piece as if it was okay. "I would love to hear it. You can tell it to me as we walk to the market, i am not leaving you without a home after saving my life." She said with determination.

Erins wings began to flutter allowing her to fly right beside him. "Alright. Fate is cruel and has one child who they adore..." And so Error told her off Fate, of Inky, Of how he had been ripped from his AU and forced into a job of destruction, killing people so peoples AU's could grow and how they hated him for a job he had no control over because of an out of control creator.

He watched in shock as Erin again broke down in tears and sobbed at his tail, angrily sobbing about how if she ever met this so called 'creator' she would rip his body into pieces only to put him back together again and let her friends torture him in the most gruesomest way possible until he was begging to death.

Error had never seen someone so angry about his treatment. It happened everyday and he was see to all the fights, the beating, the insults.

She grabbed his hand and looked him in the eyes with determination and sincerity. "I swear to you Error, no one will ever hurt you or your Kits again, or i will personally kill them myself." Erin growled out. Erin was furious. How could people be so ungrateful to a demigod?! A demigod who was forced and who was broken in both mind, soul and body?

Error would admit he drowned in fates strings, struggled to keep everyone alive.

He hated the pain, he hated that no one could see the truth and blindly followed the one who would lead to their death but when no one knew the truth he didn't blame them. Sure everything hurt -he screamed, begged, bones breaking and blood pouring whilst his soul broke and was reattached itself- he admitted he learnt thing they didn't know.

He checked her quickly. The last of her family, an autistic child and queen of a huge kingdom. She had many friends and a fiancé. She was powerful with over 1,800 in attack and 1,500 in deference. Her soul trait was SINCERITY so her soul was turquoise. What an Interesting character.

“But I’m used to it. I’m broken and chocking on Fates strings. Fate likes one and I am not that one. There is nothing you can do and even if you could, you have over millions of Sanses to fight.” He said as he followed her.

Erin narrowed her eye that flashed turquoise for a second before returning to blue again "Those so called Judges seem very blind in their judgement if you ask me." Erin said as they walked into Snowdin's Market place. There were shops and stalls for miles; each stall filled with food, clothes, meat, medicine and other things people would be interested in buying.

Clothes were lined on racks, giving colour to all the bleak grey walls. Baskets were surrounded stalls that were set out with things Error had never seen.

Null watched the stalls and looked around at the people who crowded the streets. The sun beamed down from the sunny sky and warmed his bones and fur up.

The chatter and laughter of the crowd made the atmosphere light and fluffy. He didn't notice his daddy's confused face at the beautiful fairy's words but he enjoyed the smell of the cooking meat that permeated from the cooking stalls.

"Daddy, I'm hungry." He pouted as his stomach grumbled, Void even beginning to cry as his little tummy rubbed too. Error frowned and rocked the pair of them, even though he was concerned. They had no money and he couldn't leave his sons to steal anything in such a populated area. It would be a disaster!

Guards would run after them and people would have to move aside and try and catch them and there was NO WAY in hell he’d let them go for his children. They’d have to get through him first! “I’m so so sorry little ones. I do not have the backpack on me so all food is as Toriel. I’m sorry but you’ll have to wait till I can find us some shelter and get you some food.” He said with sadly.

Erin frowned as Void cried and Null whimpered In hunger. "May i?" She asked.

Error turned to her apprehensively and frowned. "Only if you explain what you meant earlier." He said. He was confused as to what she meant that their judgement was blind. Erin nodded and took Void from his arms. "Shh, shh, its okay. We'll get you something to eat." She cooed, rocking and nuzzling the small baby kitsune.

Void's cries slowly came to a stop and she smiled; wiping his orange tears away. "There we go, happy baby." She giggled.

Turning to Error, she flew beside him as he walked into the crowd. "I meant that they are blind to their own misdoings. They see their actions as good and only good, not considering their own actions immoral and wrong. They cant see that what they have done had lead to you having great pain and suffering. They are also blind lapdogs I guess you could say. This Dream sounds like a love sick puppy with his tail between his legs.

If they believe one persons words and not bothering to exhaust all options before violence; if they don't see the reasons behind someone's action and someone history, and just go straight ahead into violence, then they are the idiots and the ones who should take a step back and think 'Whoa, hold on a minute, is what this person saying the and do i know what he is telling me is true? What do i know about this person? Do i know their reasons behind their actions, do i know what they've been though?' If not, then they're blind and easily lead." Erin explained, angrily, not caring when Void grabbed her hair and began chewing on it.

Error stared At her and couldn't believe it. He had never thought of it that way. He could see where she was coming from and what she meant.

In ways, the sanses and papyruses were blind to everything, only taking Ink's words and falling upon their own knowledge. They knew nothing about him, about Nightmare's gang or the Chara's. They only knew what Ink told them but never decided to find out their reasoning behind their actions and their history; what they went through.

"I never thought of it that way. Like I said, i could only do so much without Ink having everyone breathing down my neck and beating me to pieces. I could never find time to do anything and when i could find time, I would spend time in the Antivoid watching Undernovela, making puppets and clothes or hanging out with Nightmare's gang and the Chara's." Error said as he looked at the crowd. They watched him in horror, whispering about his wounds and promises of pain to the one who hurt him.

Other bowed as Erin came though as she was the queen. Erin nodded, handing Void back to his father. "Understandable. They will pay for it. Anyway, as you're here you can relax and no longer have to destroy." She said as she began to buy what she needed. She brought bags of vegetables and fruits as well as packaged meat.

Medicine was a must, she brought loads of it and she got things such as bread, butter, potions and baby food for Void. Error was in shock that a tiny basket could hold so much but Erin divulged that there was a spell on it so some of it was teleported to her palace.

Erin explained how she lived in the palace her parents left behind when they died with her friends who he would meet when he went home with her as she wanted him to have an actual home. Error didn't understand why she was determined to help him as he was used to the pain and he would heal overtime after all, once he had been pulled into tiny individual pieces and he just went back together again but she was having none of it. He sighed.

Null smiled as Erin handed him a small basket of freshly baked chocolate cookies.

“Thank you!" He said happily as he took one and bit into it. It was soft and the chocolate melted in his mouth making him moan happily at the taste. She was nice and lot more friendly then the others they had run into. He liked her. "You're welcome Null." Erin said happily and gave Error a bottle of formula to Error.

"Thank you Erin." He said as he put the nipple of the bottle in Voids mouth and the small infant began to suck the formula down like no tomorrow.

Null munched on the cookies as Erin went over to her last stop. Error watched as she approached an elderly man whose long grey hair was pulled back in a bun. He wore a dark blue shirt and grey shorts with black shoes. She said something in a language he didn't understand and he watched as the man pulled a piece of clothing off the rack and gave it to her. Smiling, Erin paid him and turned to him.

"We can go now." She said, going in the opposite way they came in from. Error followed, ignoring the rest of the people. "Also, you need to start eating again." Error looks at her, eye brow raised. "Why?! I have no need for eat, i cant die! I can survive without it." He said. Error would never understand eating. "I know but it will make you sick. Not eating means your kitsune mana reserves will deplete severely and make you very weak and sick." Erin said seriously. "OH."

[jemej3m]

to ruin a royal wedding

idek man i wanted one royal au that wasn’t entwined with fae/magical elements

Prince Nathaniel Abram Wesniski. The name granted him power he’d never asked for in the first place, and yet it was the only way he could have survived. His father reigned with terror, and if he wished to usurp the man, he had to hold onto all resources at his disposal, being his advisor, the honourable Matthew Boyd, and allies from near provinces, Danielle Boyd, Allison Reynolds, and, most importantly, Crown Prince Kevin Day.

There was only the slightest of hiccups: His soon approaching wedding to his father’s allies. Riko Moriyama.

“Kevin assured me that you will keep me safe.” From my father, went unsaid. The knight who stood before him was shorter, broader, and hired by the Wesninski King. Those who betrayed Nathan didn’t live long. Neil clasped his hands behind his back. “That I should trust you.”

“You shouldn’t trust Day’s judgement of character.” Andrew Minyard stated. The man was renowned for his keen swordsmanship, impeccable use of the bow and arrow, and infamous for the blood on his hands. It made sense that the Butcher would hire a once-manic, bloodthirsty man to escort his son, to be a constant threat, should Neil cause trouble. His eyes were voids that Neil found himself spiralling within. “I will be waiting outside your door if you require my service, Prince Nathaniel.”

“Neil.” He said, quickly.

With only a moment of hesitated, Andrew said: “Prince Neil.” He huffed. “Lock your windows.”

“Good night.” Neil said carefully.

“Good night.” The knight returned.

Andrew remained stood by the door, watching Neil with a keen eye as the prince was fitted for his new finery. It would be white, of which the seamstress insisted would be beautiful against his tan skin. He wore an under-shirt now, to cover the scars across his chest, despite Marissa’s fretting and irritation.

His knight barely blinked, nor slept a wink. With all the chaos of the wedding preparations, Neil was exhausted: Not having to watch his own back as he slept was somewhat of a relief.

His window of opportunity to escape was closing. Rapidly.

Marissa checked her watch. “I must run and grab something from my carriage. I’ll be back at once. Don’t move!” She warned, before closing the door.

Neil didn’t move: Instead, Andrew locked the door and came to stand in front of him.

“You should burn your letter correspondences, to those friends you so adore.” Andrew said. Neil’s heart fluttered with fear. “Someone may find them.”

It was the first time Andrew had spoken to him in the past week.

He fiddled. “I fear I would forget their contents.”

“I do not forget things.” Andrew promised. “I will be able to recall their contents for you, if desired. Burn the letters. It’s not safe.”

“You do despise him, don’t you.” Neil said, in a hushed voice. “My father. The Moriyamas. Please tell me you won’t betray me.”

“I detest that word.” Andrew’s perfect facade cracked with an angered grimace. “I do not break my promises, and I vowed I would escort you to safety, to Kevin, when the time comes.”

“Riko Moriyama will not let me out of his grasp, once we are wed.” Neil confided. “You do not have much time.”

“Riko Moriyama will not touch you, for as long as you may live.” Andrew said. His fingers, warm and oddly gentle, brushed over Neil’s cheek.

A rapping upon his chambers’ door disturbed the strange moment between them, and Andrew moved to the door to let the seamstress in.

An idea struck, as the fitting resumed. Neil glanced at his knight, the sultry curve of cheekbones and blonde tufts of hair. Yes, he thought. It might just work.

“Tell me, why are we covertly meeting at a derelict church, in our best finery?” Nicholas Hemmick inquired, Neil’s soon-to-be cousin by marriage.

Andrew had taken but a mere moment to agree upon Neil’s terms: As the knight was allied to Kevin Day, rather than bound under the Wesninski jurisdiction, Neil would be able to choose whom he follows: His husband, or his father. It would force his father to renounce Neil’s position as the heir to his throne, and grant Neil freedom from his father’s kingdom.

And so, he and Andrew had snuck out from Neil’s quarters - it was all very exciting - to snatch the newly crafted wedding garments, intended for Neil’s wedding to Riko Moriyama in two days. Now they were here, with Kevin Day and his fellow allied representatives. Neil was rather chuffed: They all detested his father, and thus he had anticipated they would be cold and unforgiving towards him. But they had taken him under his wing, scheming to free him from his father’s grasp.

“I, too, would like an explanation, Neil.” Kevin said, irritated. As the only fellow Crown Prince in the cohort, he was the only other who wouldn’t call Neil by his title. “It is most tiring, being up so late.”

“It’s freezing.” Allison snapped. “Whatever ludicrous scheme it is this time, I want some mulled wine to accompany it.”

“I’m getting married.” Neil said.

Danielle Wilds, Dan, rolled her eyes. “Yes, Neil. We are aware. In two days, in fact. We were all invited.” Her (secret) husband and Neil’s chosen advisor, Matt, shook his head. Neil was very fond of Matt: He was glad he agreed to come tonight, even if it was difficult to escape the Wesninski castle.

“I wish it weren’t so.” Matt said. “We will lose you to those Moriyamas.”

“No.” He said, gently. “I’m getting married tonight. To Andrew. I asked: He has accepted my hand in marriage.”

The odd dozen faces gathered before the church were distorted with utmost shock.

Wymack, Kevin’s illegitimate father and the late Queen Kayleigh Day’s advisor, sighed, taking his wife Abigail’s hand. “Gracious, finally. I thought Andrew would never settle.”

“But -!” Nicky spluttered. “Neil, you have refused this plan thus far! You did not want to marry. You insisted.”

“You must admit, we’re short on time.” Neil continued to fiddle with his garments. There were too many lace frills. “There isn’t much choice in the matter, is there?”

“But -”

“I know what I said.” Neil snapped, irritated. “I’m marrying Andrew. Anymore qualms, queries, concerns, regarding our partnership? Or is everyone happy to simply shut up?”

“Yes,” Aaron said quietly, eyes boring into Andrew with vehemence. “We will discuss this later. Won’t we?”

“What is there to discuss?” Andrew said flatly.

“Who will unite you in matrimony?” Nicky inquired. “I am yet to have the qualifications.”

“I am.” Said a quiet voice, from the shadows.

Renee Walker was most unnerving for Neil, as he had never truly spoken with her in his life, but it seemed as though the two had both nothing and everything in common. She and Andrew trained together as vigilantes. Now she was a woman of the church.

“Shall we?” She gestured to the church, helping usher everyone within.

Andrew’s hand halted on Neil’s shoulder, a blossom of warmth in the cold, dreary night. “You do not have to marry, if you do not wish to.”

“I must admit, the construct itself seemed undesirable. It was why I refused it, initially.” Neil admitted. “But I find I do not mind. Not with you.”

It was so strange. Over the past few days, almost two weeks, Neil and Andrew had mulled over possible escapes, or ways to break the binding contract between the Wesninskis and Moriyamas. The quiet peace that had developed between them was unparalleled. Neil had never felt so safe.

Beyond his marriage and resulting escape from his father’s clutches, what was it that they would have in common? Not much, but he found he didn’t mind. Talking with Andrew was easy, regardless of subject.

Andrew offered his arm, and Neil hooked his hand through Andrew’s elbow. “Let us be wed, then.”

Neil hated his father’s chambers. An ominous portrait of the late Queen Mary hung over a fireplace. The rug in front of it was stained red with the blood of those who dared to cross Nathan Wesninski. The windows, broad and paned with red stained glass, opened onto the lower courtyards with a deadly drop.

He was sat in front of the fireplace with a placid woman by his side, when Neil knocked upon the wooden doorframe at the chambers’ entrance.

“What is it?” His father growled. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“It’s me, father.” Neil glanced across at Andrew, before reaching out to grasp Andrew’s hand. Andrew nodded: Neil laced their fingers together, the gold bands that united them warm to the touch.

“Nathaniel. Why must you disturb me at this hour?” He snapped his fingers at the girl, who scampered away.

“I fear I cannot marry Riko Moriyama.” Neil’s fear of his father ricocheted to and fro within his lungs. “It’s most stuffy in here, isn’t it, father?” He pushed the windows closest to the fire place.

His father lurched to his feet, murderous rage curling his hands into fists. “You will marry the Moriyama boy, Nathaniel. I will not hear another word on the subject. Close that damn window, the drafts will extinguish the fire.”

“It will be objected to.” Neil said. “I am already married. It is not possible that I may marry another.”

His father’s nostrils flared. “What? What are you saying, boy?”

He held up his hand. The gold glinted in the firelight. “I was wed, last night. I am not marrying the Moriyama. I will be departing this castle, and the Wesninski kingdom, at sunrise.”

“Like hell you’ll be leaving.” He snarled, reaching forward to snatch the collar of Neil’s shirt. “I’ll kill whatever rat you’ve pledged yourself to, or I’ll kill you. Those are your options, you conniving little fucker. I knew there was too much of your cowardly bitch of a mother in you. I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You will not harm him no more.” Came a cold voice, the chamber door slamming closed. Andrew held a knife loosely in his fingers, pointed directly at Nathan Wesninski’s throat. “Your reign of terror is done, Wesninski.”

“You -” Nathan gave a guttural scream of frustration. “The academy promised that you were the most loyal, the most bloodthirsty, of your companions! How dare you fool me thus!”

“You forget,” Andrew’s smile was small, cold, and incredibly deadly. Neil’s heart fluttered. My husband. “The academy is hosted by David Wymack, allied to Kevin Day, who opposes you and your paradigms, and is a sworn enemy of the Moriyamas. Now, let go of my husband.”

“Him!” Nathan barked out a laugh. “You married the knight? His hands are just as bloody as mine, dear Nathaniel. You fool.”

“Let me go, father.” Neil said.

“I’ve had enough of you.” Nathan smiled, wickedly sinister, as he shook Neil by the neck. “I’m going to crush your neck as your husband watches. Then I’ll incapacitate him, throw him to a rabid crowd. Let the wolves have him. They’ll rip him to pieces.”

Neil fought to free himself from his father’s grasp, stumbling to Andrew, who accepted Neil into his welcoming grasp. His father charged at the two of them, and so he sprinted, towards the window, before skidding to a halt. His father barrelled towards him. Neil ducked, onto the floor, to avoid being crushed against the brick wall.

Then, in a split second decision, he threw his leg out from where he was crumbled on the floor, and watched with glee as his father tripped and stumbled out of the wide-open window. The panicked yell quickly faded away, before there was a disgusting splat! in the distance.

“He almost crushed you.” Andrew growled, hauling him off the ground. “Don’t dare attempt such acts of idiocy again.”

Neil let himself lean on his husband. “That’s enough for today, yes.”

Andrew merely served him a flat glare.

They fled the chambers, to remain innocuous. It would be frightfully difficult to reclaim the throne if he was charged with his father’s murder.

Within his own chambers, he paced. Desperate for a distraction, he turned to his husband. “Tell me a truth.”

“I committed matricide.” Andrew said, taking Neil’s hands. “You committed patricide. We are most the same. Your turn.”

Neil paused his pacing to look at Andrew. His eyes glowed golden, like the bands of metal around their fingers that linked them together. His lips were curled down with concern as he surveyed Neil. Neil felt his gaze upon his skin like tongues of fire.

He took a deep breath, and let the confession roll off his tongue.

“I told you that I would not develop romantic attachments to you, as I had not expected to.” Neil admitted, cheeks flushed. “I apologise for being unable to control myself, and adhere to the agreement that we both consented to, but I must be honest with you, my husband. I’m most fond of you. Incredibly so.”

Andrew stared at him.

“And you do not need to act upon my desires - I’d never force you. We are equals, regardless of prince and knight status. But if you are -” He hiccupped. “If you are uncomfortable, we may separate. If that is what you wish.” He inhaled sharply, unable to control the shaking of his fingers.

Andrew placed his hands, his warm, strong hands, on the back of Neil’s neck. A while passed before Andrew spoke. “I may also have neglected to adhere to that aspect of our agreement.” His breath washed over the skin of Neil’s neck. Neil felt giddy with the lightness of his heart at Andrew’s confession. “May I kiss you?”

“Such a gentleman.” Neil murmured against his lips, the kiss irresistibly gentle.

“I’ll prove you wrong.” Andrew insisted, walking Neil back to the bed. He then guided Neil’s hands to his hair and warned him, “Just here.”

Neil nodded eagerly.

“Your father toppled from his chamber’s window late in the evening.” The messenger confessed, when Neil cracked the door open to his frantic knocking. The sun was barely up: Neil wanted to return to his bed, where his husband lay, bare to the skin and warmer than the frightfully cold stone beneath his feet.

“You will be crowned as king.” The boy continued. “Your father’s advisors suggest that you should remain engaged with Prince Riko Moriyama to maintain alliances.”

“Tell them that they’re all fired.” Neil said with conviction. “You should also notify them that we are hereby allied with the Days. And that I already have a husband. Run along, now.”

White-faced, the messenger fled.

The minister, Rhenmann, smiled warmly as he placed the golden halo upon Neil’s nest of red curls. The smile crinkled his eyes.“And with the crown bestowed upon you, I declare thee as King. Please announce your title to your new subjects.”

Neil turned around, the crowd weighted upon his head.

The merry band of Neil’s close friends and family that he had gained through his and Andrew’s marriage who were sat in the front row of his coronation, however, Andrew stood by Neil’s side. Neil granted Andrew’s attentive gaze with a small smile, and took his hand.

“King Neil Abram Minyard, of Mary Hatford and Nathan Wesninski.” He turned to Andrew. “A kiss?”

Andrew leant forward, granting Neil a small peck at the corner of his lips.

The crowd stood, and bellowed: “All hail, King Neil!”

i love cute fluffy things, like andrew minyard and cliches and this royalty au

[who-thehell-is-bonky]

The Blood is on My Hands

hi, here’s an Irondad-Spiderson fic eee

warnings: death, fires, vomiting, panic attack.  it’s not a happy fic but there’s fluff too 

word count: 2663

heh

Peter swung down, heels skidding slightly as he landed on the pavement in front of the burning apartment building that had caught his attention from a few miles away.  In general, it looked like the situation was mostly handled.  Huddles of families swarmed the surrounding block and firemen were trying, in vain, to stop the damage from spreading.  

But Peter’s spidey sense was insistent.  

“Karen, scan the building for more victims,” He murmured, poised to jump into action at the first sign of survivors.

‘A 20 year old male is currently taking refuge on a fire escape.  Floor 20, south side.’

Peter nodded, mostly to himself as he mapped out the safest route to the south side.  It looked like a corner conjoining the west and south side of the building was mostly untouched.  He’d start there.

He bit his lip, aiming his webshooter to the highest point he could latch onto before launching himself into the air.  Smoldering wind soared past him and he scrunched his nose, overtly grateful for his mask.  Just the thought of breathing in the contaminated air made his lungs burn.

He was able to land fairly securely on a ledge protruding from the 16th floor.  He crouched down, squinting as he tried to make out anything on the 20th floor above him.

“Which fire escape is it, Karen?” Peter pressed, the urgency of the situation starting to weigh in as a wretched groaning sounded over the roar of the nearby flames.

‘The one diagonal to you on your left, but I’d be careful, Peter.  The scaffolding is wearing down.  A collapse is bound to occur at any moment.’

Peter hummed, ignoring the warning as he began to scale the wall.  As he neared the targeted fire escape, he could make out the huddled shape of a person, cowering as close to the side of the building as they could manage.  Another groan creaked around the fire escape.

“Hey!” Peter called, as he leveled himself just below the escape, “I’m comin’ to help ya, hang on!”

The guy turned a startled eye on him, confusion etching itself across his face before being quickly replaced with relief.

“O-Oh, Jesus, thank god,” The guy gasped, shifting onto his knees, “Please, hurry, I-”

Before the guy could finish his sentence, the fire escape let out another valiant whine.  Peter watched in horror as the flames seemed to engulf the entire thing.  It tilted forward, almost in slow motion- as if it were taunting him.  He had time.  He could shoot a web and secure the damn thing, or at least catch the guy.  But his limbs wouldn’t work.  He felt frozen.

Then, all at once, time caught up with the situation and the fire escape detached itself completely from the wall, taking down with it surrounding scaffolding.  

The guy let out a shout and Peter seemed to snap back into his senses.  He let out a matching shout as he shot a web towards the guy, but it only managed to grip a piece of the charred railing, which broke away from the rest.  Peter gaped as the fire escape hit the pavement below.  He could hear shouts rise from surrounding pedestrians, but nothing seemed to register.  All he could see was the guy, limbs twisted at unnatural angles and blood seeping out from under him.

He wanted to be sick.  He wanted to scream, to turn back time, to do anything- anything at all to change the outcome of what had just happened.  His chest tightened as the sick reality sunk in.  The guy had died and Peter could have saved him.  

“Oh my god,” Peter murmured to himself.  The world seemed to crash down on him as fear set in.  Everything else left his mind except the primal instinct to escape.

With a final curse, he turned and swung away.

Peter gasped, knuckles whitening as his grip on the sink tightened.  He could hear a few of his fingers crack, the pressure taking a toll on their integrity, but he couldn’t find it in him to loosen his grasp.  He couldn’t find it in him to do much of anything.

For how late in the night it was, the world was alarmingly loud.  The cacophony of white noise that surrounded him rendered him useless to his mind, distracting him from any semblance of control.  That and the noise of his memories proved to be entirely overwhelming.

He wanted to throw up.

He pried his eyes open, sick of seeing the vision of that twenty year old guy dead on the ground.  

“Fuck,” He breathed, shaking his head.  Twenty years old.  That was only five years older than him.  That guy still had his entire life in front of him.

And Peter kept him from living that out.

He stared at the porcelain bowl of the sink, distantly noting how much whiter it was than his own back in Queens.  Then again, everything at the compound was nicer and newer than his stuff.  

He wasn’t sure how he ended up staying at the compound for the night.  If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure when or how he’d even gotten there.

Everything in his mind’s eye was a blur- a jarring swirl of guilt, pain, and fear.

He wanted to throw up.

Bile rose in his throat and he lurched forward, emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the sink.  The smell was putrid, snapping him somewhat out of his all-consuming thoughts.

He became acutely aware of how fast his breathing was.  It barreled in and out of his lungs relentlessly, fogging up his vision and numbing his fingers.  He lifted a hand to his chest, frowning as he tried to suck in a decent breath.  But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t breathe.  Was he even getting oxygen?

Maybe he was dying.  Maybe he deserved to die.  He certainly deserved to more than that guy had.  

He felt himself back into the wall behind him, falling unceremoniously into a sitting position as his legs gave out.  He reached up a hand to grip at his hair.  God, he’d never felt so out of control in his life.  Not even when he’d been kneeling over Ben, helplessly trying to stop the bleeding in his chest.

Ben.  Ben was dead, too.  Peter could have saved Ben, too.  Ben-

“No,” he bit the word out between painful breaths.  He was not going to let himself spiral that far right now.  He couldn’t.

The sound of footsteps suddenly entered Peter’s auditory and he cringed, the noise proving to only hinder his mental state.

The footsteps stopped directly outside of the bathroom and Peter slammed his mouth shut, breaths still ripping through his nose at unnatural speeds.  God, why couldn’t he breathe?

“Peter?”

Peter dropped his head between his knees, an inadvertent whine escaping his throat.  He did not need Tony seeing him like this right now.  He didn’t need anyone seeing him like this.

“Are you alright? What are you doing up? I heard you fall.”

Peter tried to stay silent, working to reign in his breathing.  Maybe if he didn’t answer, Tony would go away.

“I can hear you breathing, Pete. Which, for the record, doesn’t sound too good.  I’m coming in.”

The bathroom door opened slowly and Tony slipped in, letting out a small string of profanities before closing the door behind him.

“Kid, hey,” Peter could sense him kneeling next to him, “Whoa, okay, hey.”

Tony reached a tentative hand out to grip the back of his neck, tightening his hold when Peter leaned into it.

“You need to breathe, pal, c’mon.”

Peter reached a hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose, trying to stay conscious through his haze.  He was nearing hyperventilation.  Or maybe he was hyperventilating.  He couldn’t tell.

“Can’t,” Peter managed, “M’tryin’ n’ I can’t.”

“Shit, alright,” Tony adjusted so that he was sitting criss cross next to Peter, hand still grasping the back of his neck, “Don’t try and talk, just listen.  I’m gonna squeeze the back of your neck.  Every time you feel me squeeze, breathe in.  Every time you feel me release, breathe out.”

Peter bit his lip, trying to focus as Tony began to apply pressure to his neck.  His chest stuttered as he attempted to breathe in, and for a panicked second, he nearly succumbed back to hyperventilation.  But the longing for a proper breath held him in the moment.

After ten agonising minutes, and constant assurances from Tony, Peter could suck in a breath on his own.

“There you go,” Tony muttered, “Good?”

Peter swallowed, feeling thoroughly drained and lightheaded, “Think so,” He winced at how scratchy his voice was.  He scrubbed a hand down his face, eyebrows furrowing when it came away wet.  When had he been crying?

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he allowed his hand to loosely grip the collar of his stiff night shirt.  

Tony squeezed the back of his neck once more before withdrawing it, “Right, good,” he paused for a moment and Peter could feel his eyes on him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed.

“What happened there, kid?”

Peter took a shaky breath, opening his mouth to answer but stopping short.

“Did you get sick?” Tony asked and Peter opened his eyes to find him peering up at the sink.

“Yeah,” his voice was low and tired, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Tony said, “I’ll clean it up later, no worries.”

Peter hummed.

“Okay, kiddo, we need to talk about this, but let’s get somewhere where your sense of smell won’t be screwed by that,” he gestured to the sink before standing, “You think you can stand on your own?”

Peter blinked owlishly, moving sluggishly to grip at the towel bar above him.  He hauled himself up, keeping his hold on the bar as the blood rushed away from his face.  He was shaky as hell, but he could stand.

“Yeah, m’good,” He said, running a hand through his tangled curls.  

“My room or your room?” Tony asked, voice indifferent so Peter could choose genuinely.

“Um,” Peter shifted his jaw, feeling mildly irritated that his mind was being so slow, “My room...yeah.”

“You sure, bud?” Tony raised an eye at him, “It’s fine either way.”

“Actually, can we go to the kitchen?��� Peter asked, voice gaining some strength back, “I want water.”

“Kitchen, got it,” Tony nodded decisively, “c’mon.”

Peter followed him in a dazed silence, legs moving robotically as they entered the elevator down to the common level.  A few moments later, he found himself perched at the kitchen counter, glass of water secured between his palms and Tony sitting across from him, instructing him to take small sips.

Tony waited until he’d finished the glass before the questions sparked up once more.

“Has that ever happened to you before?”

Peter shrugged, “Uh, dunno.  Think something like it happened once after Ben...yeah.”

“Do you know what it was?”  Tony was studying him with an expression he couldn’t place.  

Peter shook his head.

“Okay,” Tony sighed, eyes flicking away as he seemed to mull over a few options in his head, “We’ll tackle that can of worms another time.  For now, can you tell me what caused it?”

Peter dropped his gaze to the countertop, visions of the fire and the guy and the fire escape flooding back into his mind.

“Whoa, where’d ya go?” Tony pulled him back before he could sink too deep, “If this is too much right now we can put a raincheck on this conversation ‘til tomorrow and-”

“No,” Peter cut him off, clearing his throat, “It’s fine, um…” he fiddled with the glass, trying to keep his hands from shaking too violently, “Earlier, there was a fire in-”

“Brooklyn, yeah I saw,” Tony grimaced.  

“Yeah,” Peter continued, “And I got to the scene kinda late so people were mostly out but there was this one guy stuck on his fire escape,” he broke off momentarily, hand flying to his thigh.  He squeezed, trying to ground himself, “And he...well, the fire escape broke off and I don’t know, Mr. Stark, I froze and it fell and the guy-”

The seemingly permanent lump in his throat rose once more and he reached his other hand back up to yank at the hairs at the bale of his neck. Heat rushed to his face as his composure crumpled.  It took him a moment to realize that the keening sounds he heard were coming from him.

“It’s my fault, Mr. Stark,” he sobbed, “I don’t know why I froze, but- I- I couldn’t, I didn’t-”

“Kid, hey,” Tony rushed around the counter, hands hovering awkwardly over his shoulders before Peter leaned into him.

It was all Tony needed to cave and Peter fisted his shirt in his hand as steady, strong arms were wrapped around him.  Everything hurt and he was so, so scared.  Scared of the guilt, scared of death, scared that the guy had been so young, scared that it could have been him- that any one of these days he spent web-slinging could be his last.  Scared that he was taking on this load.  He was just a kid.

He was just a scared kid.  

Tony let him cry until all he could manage were small hiccups.  Even when he’d thoroughly worn himself out, he kept his embrace around him tight.  

“In this...line of work, shit happens.  We try, god knows we try to save everyone and we all do a damn decent job of doing that.  But, you gotta know, kid.  You gotta know that there’s always that one case where the odds don’t line up exactly or shit just doesn’t work out.  There’s nothing you could have done, Pete.”

Peter wanted to argue.  He wanted to scream that he tried to save him, but failed.  Because he had.  He’d truly and utterly failed.  And the guy was dead because of that.

“It doesn’t mean it was your fault simply because you were there to witness the inevitable.”

Peter lifted his head a fraction, the finality of Tony’s words holding some sort of weight to them that seemed to lift some off his own shoulders.

“I...I froze, though,” Peter whispered, “And when I finally unfroze, it was too late.  I missed.”

Tony thought for a moment, pulling back a little, “Kid, have you ever heard of the fight, flight, or freeze response?”

Peter shook his head, frowning, “I thought it was just fight or flight?” “I mean, it is, but there’s also freeze.  It was added recently or something.  Fight or flight is when your subconscious knows there’s something that could truly be done.  Freeze is when there isn’t hope.  I think you subconsciously knew there wasn’t a way to stop the fire escape from falling.”

The words made sense.  Applying logic to the situation made sense.  But it still hurt so much.  He still hurt so much.

“Will this ever get easier?” Peter asked, his voice small and tired.

Tony sighed, “‘Course it does, kiddo.  It sucks.  It’s gonna keep sucking, but you’re gonna get through this.  You’re hands down the strongest kid I know and if anyone’s going to rise from this god awful shit, it’s you.”

Peter leaned back into him in lieu of an answer.  He didn’t feel strong.  He felt like crap.  But it helped to feel Tony’s presence and comfort.

“And you know what, kid?” Tony asked softly, placing a hand on top of his head.

“Hm?”

“I’ve got you.  I’m not gonna let you fall.  That’s a promise I made to myself and god forbid I don’t make it to you.”

Emotion welled up in Peter’s chest and he haphazardly wrapped his arms around Tony’s middle, “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

He felt a hand run through his hair, “I got you, kiddo.”

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

[gasttaton]

“Deeper than the Void”: Pt. 1/?

Well, it’s been several years since I’ve tried writing actual fanfics, but I figured I might as well give it another go! This is an Undertale shipfic for W.D. Gaster and Mettaton, somewhat based on an old RP I had with my best friend years ago. I might continue if enough people like it, so please enjoy!

Mettaton couldn't believe his rotten luck as of late. First his high heel broke, then he fell down a staircase, and then he cracked his NEO panel, right on the face. He managed to make it to Alphys' lab without too many others seeing him, only to be met with a note.

"Dear Mettaton, If you see this, I'm helping Undyne pack up and get ready to go to the surface, now that the barrier's opened. Just stay here if you need anything, I should be back soon! If you aren't reading this, then, um... -Milk -Eggs -Ramen -Dog food"

The android rolled his eye with a huff. "This isn't something that can wait," he groaned.

Mettaton looked around, and saw the elevator doors. He knew what was down there. Everyone did, since Alphys had allowed the amalgamates to go home and admitted her mistakes. Nobody else would be down there. Nothing but tools and parts. Such a realization gave him an idea.

"Well, if she isn't here to repair me... I'll just repair myself," he decided. After all, I need to look perfect for my grand debut above ground, Mettaton thought, as he stepped into the elevator.

As he descended, the elevator became dark, yet darker. He couldn't believe how impossibly deep this place was.

Eventually, the doors opened. Nothing greeted him but dead silence. A foreboding aura hung in the area. Without the amalgamates or Alphys there, the True Lab seemed even creepier. It still smelled of old chemicals and dust. A shiver went up Mettaton's spine. Despite the place being empty, he didn't feel alone.

Mettaton turned up the brightness of the heart on his belt, and used it as a flashlight. Slowly, he began making his way, looking for tools. Every step echoed down the empty halls.

As he walked in front of a corrupted monitor, he heard a crunch beneath his feet. When he looked down, he saw a white shard. He picked it up curiously. Turning it over in his hands, he whispered to himself. "Is this... a shard of bone? ...Must have fallen off of one of the amalgamates," he guessed.

Mettaton kept staring at it for a while, wondering what to do with it. Figuring it should definitely not be on the floor and stepped on, he decided to carry it with him for now. He could always figure out what to do with it later. With that, he kept going; ignoring the strange, hand-like symbols that began glitching onto the corrupted screen.

The True Lab was maze-like in the darkness; even with the light he had, Mettaton found it hard to navigate and find what he was looking for. Eventually, his streak of bad luck seemed to end as he happened upon a breaker box. After flipping a few switches, the lights overhead came on, and air began to flow through the vents.

But at that same time, deep within the lab, something rumbled so deeply that it made the whole place shake. Mettaton held himself steady until the quaking subsided.

"What was that??" he wondered aloud in shock. Curiosity getting the better of him, Mettaton put his search on hold and hurried towards the source of the noise.

What he found was nothing short of technologically engenius work. A device, massive in size, suspended by a countless number of cables. It almost looked like the skull of a cow, except deep maroon and metallic. Two red lights in the eyes of the skull were glowing red. They locked onto Mettaton as he stood before it, and scanned him. It picked up on the bone shard. And as soon as it did, heavy metal doors slammed shut, sealing Mettaton inside.

The robot gasped fearfully, and watched as bright red lasers shot from the eyes of the machine. Rather than damage anything, the lasers took hold of the bone shard and suspended it in midair. A voice programmed into the machine spoke:

"ORGANIC MATERIAL SECURED. DETERMINATION EXTRACTION BEGINNING IN SIXTY SECONDS."

Mettaton was confounded. That thing was alive? And it had Determination?? He quickly entered a state of panic; if this thing was really so important, he couldn't let it's Determination be extracted, or it surely wouldn't survive! But he had no idea how to work this machine.

"FIFTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

He decided it didn't matter if he knew how or not, he just had to try. Mettaton dashed to the control panel and began blindly pressing buttons and clicking icons on the screen. Surely something would come up that could stop this!

"FOURTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Mettaton swore to himself. His hands were shaking now, making his attempts harder. He opened a folder labeled "Settings", and found a subfolder inside: "Processes".

"THIRTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

Half the time was already gone. The android rapidly scrolled through all the processes available in the file--cripes, how were there so many?? He reached the process labeled "Determination", and clicked "Options".

"TWENTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

The Options page displayed everything related to the process: the amount of Determination it had stored in it's tank; virtual blueprints of the device with everything colored green and captioned with a status of "OK"; the countdown until the process began; and a set of three buttons that could change the command that the machine would follow.

"TEN SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

Mettaton clicked the first button he saw in rapid succession.

The machine hummed and seemed to power down.

"EXTRACTION PROCESS CANCELLED."

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and slid to sit on the floor. He couldn't believe how shaky his legs were.

"INSERTION PROCESS INITIATED."

"Oh fuck!!" Mettaton yelled, and got up to stop the machine again. But the process had already started, causing the page to become locked. He couldn't do a thing now.

A pulsing energy beam blasted from the mouth of the device, and made contact with the bone shard. Mettaton covered his mouth in fear. An overdose of Determination was what created the amalgamates; what was this tiny shard being saturated with the same thing going to become??

The bone shivered in the air and began to glow with energy. Then, close by, a tiny black circle appeared. Another bone shard came out, attached itself to the piece, and the circle vanished. As Mettaton watched, the same thing happened again. And again. The more it repeated, the bigger the mass of bones became. It almost felt like an eternity by the time the last shard had added itself to the new form; a large skeleton, curled up in a fetal position, still suspended in the air by the machine. The head of the skeleton had two cracks in it: one above the right eye, one below the left eye.

The strange skeleton's eyes opened. In an instant, he unfurled himself, and screamed as he sent a wave of black magic out from his Soul. The dark soundwave blew out the lights in the room, short-circuited the machine, and forced Mettaton to cover his ears. The idol backed up into a corner and sat down fearfully. Though the screaming stopped, his ears were still ringing.

This... THING just destroyed the machine with a scream! Mettaton thought to himself as he sat in the dark. How powerful is this thing?? Should I fight it?? Shit, my NEO panel is still broken, I won't stand a chance!

The ringing in his ears slowly faded away. Instead of the ringing, now Mettaton could hear footsteps. They were coming closer. Through the blackness, a pair of glowing, mismatched eyes gazed down at Mettaton. Blue and orange. Something seemed... familiar about those eyes.

"You are the one who saved me," said the skeletal figure, matter-of-factly.

"Y-Yes?" Mettaton responded. "Who... Who are you?"

The skeleton smiled calmly. He held out his Soul in his hand. Cracked as it was, it radiated with a green light, allowing Mettaton to see him more clearly. Somehow, the skeleton had gone from being completely naked to being dressed in a white turtleneck, a long black coat, pressed black trousers, and polished, fancy shoes. He had holes in the palms of his hands, and a name tag on his collar, written in strange symbols.

"I am Doctor Gaster," he responded warmly. "And you... are my savior."

[luftballons99]

how alone you are

fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

relationships: Platonic Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive (s*baciel shippers don’t touch!)

summary:

“I have no one,” Ciel whispers, shaking. “I have no one.”

“You have me, my lord, until I bring you victory,” Sebastian assures him softly.

Ciel lets out a short, frost-bitten laugh. “Until you claim my soul,” he corrects.

or

A Faustian pact is a poor cure for nightmares.

tags: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, platonic fluff, Platonic Relationships, seriously if you ship seba/ciel dont touch this fic please, Trauma, References to Book of Murder and Book of Circus, venting, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Banter

chapters: 1/1

read it on ao3 here or under the cut

(i dont know why but somehow i found myself catching up all the way on the black butler manga after years of not reading it and was hit with the urge to write a fic that 1) explores sebastian and ciel's dynamic as unlikely friends(???) and 2) allows ciel to reach something of an emotional catharsis with the help of the only person (entity?) who, for better or for worse (probably for worse), actually understands him (kinda). they're both incredibly tough characters to write so i hope i at least somewhat got their personalities right? the idea of ciel venting is in and of itself pretty ooc but i suppose if any fanfiction was perfectly in character, it would all be canon, so. yknow.

anyway i cannot stress this enough i do not want any s*baciel shippers in my notifs ok? don't comment. don't even look at this fic. though i guess if youre reading this you already did, in which case, fuck you for not checking/straight up ignoring the tags. point is i dont wanna hear any shippy shit alright keep it classy. ciel's 13, give him a break. he needs a guardian, not a love interest, especially not one thats thousands of years older than him. yikes.)

There are some things - however few - that Sebastian cannot protect him from.

He is content to leave it that way, at first. It’s not his job to be a shoulder to cry on or to chase away nightmares. That was never part of their deal and he wagers that Ciel would prefer to keep it that way. Whether it is because of self-delusion or pride, he will not confide in Sebastian; not when it comes to the scars that lie beneath his skin, invisible but lethal. And truthfully, it is just as well; Sebastian is unsure what he would even do with the information. Handling someone’s emotions without exploiting them is not really his area.

All he needs to do is keep Ciel alive and healthy. All he needs to do is watch the corpses pile up at the foot of Ciel’s throne. All he needs to do is kill some time before his next meal.

And yet all Ciel needs to do to keep Sebastian at his heel is call his name.

And that, as much as it pains Sebastian sometimes, was very much part of the deal.

It has been a while since Ciel has had a nightmare; at the very least, it’s been a while since he’s had one terrifying enough to rip a grating shriek of his butler’s name from his lungs and through the quiet air of the Phantomhive manor. Sebastian has noticed, however, that Ciel has not been sleeping well, regardless. Just this morning, the young lord nearly fell asleep on his feet as Sebastian slipped his silk eyepatch on for him, and then later did fall asleep in his study, drooling into the pages of a book. Something is weighing on his mind, and while usually Sebastian would argue that it’s none of his business what goes on in his little lord’s head, it seems to be becoming his business right now as he rises from his desk and ascends the stairs to answer his master’s call.

He is at Ciel’s door in a matter of seconds and, because no one is around to see it, conjures a tray of warm milk and honey with an elegant flourish of his wrist. He sighs inwardly. He knows that Ciel is still plagued with trauma; has ruined too many gloves wiping vomit off the corner of Ciel’s mouth and reminded him to breathe too many times to forget. Still, he was hoping that his young master would have grown out of his nocturnal panic attacks by now.

After all, a violent flashback while witnessing a child’s murder makes sense to him. A nightmare after a quiet, peaceful evening at home does not.

Regardless, Sebastian dutifully knocks on Ciel’s door three times, signalling his presence. He waits before entering, watching the warm milk he prepared ripple in the flickering candlelight illuminating the hallway. He hopes the young master has enough sense to swallow his pride and invite him in before it gets cold.

“Sebastian?” he hears Ciel call after a moment, his voice raspy and muffled on the other side of his door.

Slowly, Sebastian pushes it open and steps inside. Warm light from the hall spills into the room, a slant of yellow cutting across the young master’s trembling form, tucked deep under the covers. It disappears as Sebastian shuts the door behind him.

“That’s right, my lord,” he replies softly. He balances the tray in one hand as he walks toward the sconce attached to the wall by Ciel’s bed. Knowing that Ciel will want to be able to see him clearly, he pinches the wick of the candle between his forefinger and thumb, and when he lowers his hand, a small flame has already begun to burn at the tip.

Sheets rustle as the young master stirs, emerging from his linen cocoon with a white-knuckled grip on his thick blanket and a terrified stare aimed at Sebastian. Sebastian smiles down at him pleasantly, unfazed by his master’s horror. He sets the tray down on Ciel’s nightstand and wordlessly spoons honey into his cup of milk.

“Nightmare, master?” he asks idly, stirring. Ciel doesn’t answer, still busy panting from lingering panic. “It has certainly been a while since I’ve had to come feed you milk in the middle of the night like a starving pup- “

“You shut your mouth this instant ,” Ciel barks, voice raw and loud and sudden enough to make Sebastian’s hand still and his eyes go wide, his smile slipping cleanly off his lips and leaving his expression blank. He glances up from the tray he brought, meeting Ciel’s multicolored glare. “You forget your place, butler .”

Sebastian releases the spoon he was holding, letting it clink lightly against the rim of the cup. He places a hand over his heart and bows deeply.

“My apologies, my lord,” he says evenly and, because he is sure Ciel won’t be able to see it from this angle, arches an eyebrow at the floor in incredulity. His young master certainly has a shorter fuse than usual this evening. It is true what they say about children becoming agitated when deprived of their nap-time. “Please forgive me.”

He remains still, awaiting the boy’s response. It comes a moment later in a frightened, colorless whisper.

“Come here,” Ciel says, lacking his usual authoritative tone. It’s like he’s reverted back to how he was on that first night, skinny and quivering and sick with fear. The only difference now is that he’s a few inches taller and that instead of smacking Sebastian away and commanding him to keep his distance, he seems to need human proximity - or the closest thing to it he can get his hands on. Sebastian glances up, taking a step forward and kneeling obediently at his master’s bedside.

Ciel regards him fearfully, as if Sebastian might disappear into thin air like smoke from a snuffed out candle. He reaches out a small hand from underneath the covers and curls his nimble fingers into the collar of Sebastian’s shirt. He squeezes and releases the crisp fabric repeatedly, like he needs to make sure both it and Sebastian are really there.

Sebastian remembers something Doctor Arthur said on his first and final visit to the manor; about how, in sleep, the young master looks a little less like an Earl and a little more like a Ciel. He may posture as much as he wishes, but he will always remain that battered little boy sticking his blood-brown hands out from in between the grimy bars of his cage; the boy who was forced to grow up so fast that he didn’t truly grow up at all. The boy who spit upon God and shook hands with the devil. The boy who chose hell over happiness.

“What is it, my lord?” Sebastian asks, curious and amused as Ciel continues to pat down the front of his jacket with frantic hands. They still suddenly, cupped around Sebastian’s shoulders as the young Earl thinks, his face indecipherable. Sebastian looks up at him, waiting patiently.

Ciel’s face crumples like parchment over an open flame. The ominously glowing magenta mark of the covenant in his right eye flickers as he blinks back his tears.

“I’ve had enough,” he whispers, voice trembling - from rage or sorrow, Sebastian is not sure. Rage at his own sorrow, perhaps. His fingers dig into Sebastian’s shoulders, tight like twin mouse traps. If Sebastian were human, he might flinch. “I’ve had enough of this.”

Sebastian places his hand over one of Ciel’s in what he thinks is a reassuring gesture. “Enough of what, my lord?” he wonders.

“I asked you,” Ciel starts, gritting his teeth, “for power. That was our deal, demon.”

Sebastian cocks his head to the side. “Has my service been unsatisfactory?”

Ciel smacks his palm over Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian blinks. He does not try to pry his master’s hand away, even though it would be easy. He could snap Ciel’s arm like a twig, if he wanted to, and has mused about doing so before. But they have a deal, and it demands that Sebastian never let any harm come to a single hair on Ciel’s head. And besides, it has been a while since Ciel, difficult as he is, has inspired any violent inclinations in him, and that includes now.

“I asked you for power,” the boy continues, “and yet my mind remains weak.” His voice tapers off into barely a whisper, as if he’s still afraid of admitting it out loud - even to someone who already knew. The true horror for Ciel, Sebastian knows, is not so much the torture he endured three years ago, but the fruitlessness of his efforts to take vengeance.

“The dreams do not cease,” he hisses in disgust with himself, “and I will never leave my cage.”

Sebastian is quiet for a long moment. He could say, This is the lightless path you chose. He could say, There is a difference between power and strength. He could say, You are only human. And he could spend the rest of the night with a red, stinging cheek as a result.

Ciel’s hand slips from Sebastian’s face and grips the silky lapel of his jacket. He seems to want an answer, after all.

“My lord, you are overtired,” Sebastian says gently, deciding to hedge his bets. “Please help yourself to the milk I brought; it may soothe your nerves.”

Ciel scoffs, releasing Sebastian’s jacket and hugging his knees. Sebastian stands and attends to the tray he left on Ciel’s night table, letting his hand hover over the cup of milk and feeling satisfied when it warms his palm. It hasn’t gone cold quite yet.

“I’m not a child,” Ciel spits suddenly. If it weren’t for his small stature, anyone else might believe him. He carries the title of Earl and the weight of the underworld with it on his tiny shoulders and not once has anyone but Sebastian seen him buckle under the weight - and even that is a rare thing. He’s proud, he’s greedy. He’s the worst that humanity has to offer, and he’s the best at being so.

He’s thirteen.

“Of course not, my lord,” Sebastian says graciously, though the amusement in his tone is not lost on his master, who snaps his head up and seems to bristle like a cornered cat. “Shall I take it away, then?”

Ciel’s response is an immediate, “No.” Sebastian grins down at him knowingly. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That smile. It makes me sick.”

Sebastian picks up the cup with one hand and tucks his smile behind the other. “Please accept my sincerest apologies once again, young master,” he says, voice wavering as he tries not to laugh.

“Your ‘sincerest apologies’ don’t do me any good, Sebastian,” Ciel points out hotly, accepting his cup when it is offered to him. “Just do as you’re told.” When he looks up at Sebastian, his eyes are still glassy with poorly-masked fear. His emotional refractory period is not as short as he would like his butler to believe.

Sebastian watches Ciel peer down into his cup with a shaky sigh before taking a tentative sip of from it. After ascertaining that it isn’t too hot, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back as he continues to drink. Eventually, he lowers the cup so it rests in his lap, held in place by his small hands. His eyes remain closed as he takes a steadying breath.

“Are you sure you’re alright, young master?” Sebastian pries gently.

“My emotional state is none of your affair,” Ciel shoots back, eyes still stubbornly shut.

Sebastian’s eyebrow twitches in irritation. Obstinate brat.

“I see,” he says, tone cold. “That must be why you summoned me to your chambers in the middle of the night. Of course. How foolish of me.” He gives Ciel an icy look, patience wearing thin.

(Yes, he is immortal, and yes, he will have an eternity left at his disposal long after Ciel has died, but hours of managing the boy’s schedule while attending to the daily calamities the other Phantomhive servants cause has made him reluctant to waste time. Every minute he spends in Ciel’s chambers is a minute not spent planning their itineraries for the coming day or preemptively preparing himself mentally for his coworkers’ blunders.)

On that very first night, Ciel ordered him to never lie. Sebastian had figured out quickly that the little lord would not afford him the same luxury.

Ciel gapes up at him, appalled. “ Excuse me,” he starts indignantly, “Since when do I owe you an explanation for my orders?”

“I would never dream of expecting such a thing,” Sebastian assures him, but they both know it’s insincere. “I simply wished to express my concern for…”

He lets the statement taper off into silence when he realizes what he’s trying to say, his jaw going slack before his mouth snaps shut.

Ciel’s eyes shoot wide open before narrowing into skeptical slits, luminous amethyst and candle-lit sapphire shimmering through his lashes. “Your concern for what?” he asks, insistent but wary.

Sebastian considers his master for a moment, thinking. So much for hedging his bets.

“...Your well-being,” he answers finally, and it isn’t until the words slip off his tongue that he tastes their truth. He blinks.

Ciel’s brows pinch together, the eyes underneath searching Sebastian’s face like a bandit looting a vagrant’s corpse. He flounders. Finally, in a test of Sebastian’s meaning, he says, “Your concern is unwarranted. As you can see, I am not injured.”

And it is true - Ciel is healthy as can be; he hasn’t suffered so much as a papercut in over a month. And it has been, by all accounts, a quiet, peaceful evening.

And yet Sebastian has not felt at ease ever since he heard his master scream.

“Indeed,” he says thoughtfully, brows knitted, “but it is not an injury that had you calling my name.”

Ciel’s eyes widen as he looks up at Sebastian, stunned. “I’m fine now,” he insists after a moment, suddenly impatient.

“‘Fine’ has variable definitions,” Sebastian points out and Ciel rolls his eyes, “None of which I would use to describe your current - “

“So what?” the young master demands, incensed, the very foundations of the manor Sebastian built him quaking at the sound of his voice. Sebastian closes his mouth. “I’m alive. That is all that has ever mattered to me.” Ciel’s thin fingers press tighter around his cup of milk as if he’s trying to crush the delicate, flowery design painted on its exterior into oblivion.

What outstanding hypocrisy. Sebastian has had enough.

“You,” he begins in a rough sigh before dropping into a crouch in front of his master, unimpressed, “are quite the nuisance.”

Ciel gapes, immediately raising one hand high. Sebastian’s arm snaps forward before the young lord’s palm can make contact with the side of his face and squeezes his brittle wrist tight.

Ciel flinches, fear striking his features like lightning, and Sebastian is surprised when he doesn’t feel satisfaction at the sight. When did that change? He loosens his grip, but does not let go.

“How dare you ,” Ciel spits, outraged. Tears blur and distort the smoldering mark of their covenant. Still, he swallows a hiccup and growls, “You are trying my patience, Sebastian.”

“What a coincidence,” Sebastian remarks, feigning enthusiasm. “You are trying mine.”

The dam breaks. “You insolent - ” Ciel begins in an angry sob, face twisted in agony, but cannot seem to struggle to the end. His gem-like eyes overflow, his princely nose leaks, his heart-shaped face is blotchy and red. In this moment, he is no Earl.

Why, then, should Sebastian masquerade as his butler?

“It is your stubborn refusal to confront your emotions that results in these puerile night terrors of yours and my subsequent subjection to your misdirected, hysterical outbursts,” Sebastian informs him strictly, red eyes cold. Ciel, through slime and salt water, manages a powerful glare and a snarl. Sebastian is undeterred. “Therefore, if there is so much as a ghost of a chance that you airing your grievances now will result in even a single night more uninterrupted by this nonsense, I believe it is in our best interest to take it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ciel begins to wrench his wrist out of Sebastian’s grasp and Sebastian allows it, even though he anticipates the sharp slap to his cheek that follows. He sighs loudly in annoyance and looks at the floor, listening to the boy in front of him sniffle and hiccup pathetically. He takes a moment to compose himself; to let the flicker of anger in his chest to go out, eyes falling shut.

He does not anticipate Ciel’s arms hooking around his neck in a distraught embrace.

Sebastian tries to remember the last time he was held.

It was probably by Mey-Rin; she trips over her skirt or her shoelaces or other people’s shoelaces or the floor at least twice a day, and it is often Sebastian who catches her before she falls and breaks her nose - or worse, the dishes she carries. And though the encounter did not leave much of an impression on him, he did sleep with Beast to find information about her benefactor.

This, however, is obviously, markedly different. This is his young master. This is a child desperate for emotional reprieve. This is a little boy in need who would rather die than admitting so.

Carefully, Sebastian places his hand on Ciel’s head, cautious and curious as to how it feels to comfort someone he’s actually invested in. He smooths over Ciel’s tousled dark hair; feels tears seep into the collar of his shirt; thinks vaguely about all the laundry that’s piled up this week. Ciel shivers against him pathetically, muffled whimpers spilling from his lips into Sebastian’s shoulder, and Sebastian keeps stroking his head the same way he’d stroke a cat’s - sans the enamored cooing.

“I hate this,” Ciel grits out spitefully, yet holds Sebastian tighter. Sebastian chuckles softly, amused by the contradiction. Ciel always has been a walking, crawling, squirming juxtaposition.

“If I may be so bold, my lord,” Sebastian offers quietly, “You need this.”

Ciel responds with a pitiful hiccup. Sebastian lifts the hand not occupied with Ciel’s hair and runs it down his back in slow motions that he can only guess are soothing.

“I have no one,” Ciel whispers, shaking. “I have no one.”

Sebastian almost asks, I thought you had no need for emotional attachments? , but manages to restrain himself. Now is not the time for banter, and he’s already been slapped once tonight.

“You have me, my lord, until I bring you victory,” Sebastian assures him softly.

Ciel lets out a short, frost-bitten laugh. “Until you claim my soul,” he corrects.

Sebastian was not expecting that. They do not discuss that part of their deal often, despite both knowing its inevitability. Strangely, the pang of hunger he feels in his core at the reminder is accompanied by something else - different, but equally as painful. While hunger leaves him hollow, this seems to fill him past capacity. He is being torn apart.

“Victory first,” he vows after a quiet moment, suffocating his feelings like he would a kitchen fire. “You have my word, sir.”

Ciel’s fingers dig into Sebastian’s back as he buries his leaking nose deeper into the crook of his neck.

“How cruel,” he whispers bitterly, “that the same hand protecting me is the one by which I will die.”

Sebastian’s hand stills mid-stroke of Ciel’s ducked head. He had never thought about it like that. Ironic, yes. Poetic, yes. But never ‘cruel.’ When he thinks about it, he finds the word fits just as well.

“You chose this, my lord,” he reminds the boy and himself, but still does not feel absolved.

“Indeed,” Ciel agrees and holds Sebastian tighter. He is never this clingy unless his life is in danger. Sebastian supposes that, in a sense, it is.

“Now, now, sir,” he chuckles, slowly leaning out of Ciel’s embrace. It is late, they have a busy day ahead of them, and one of them has to be the first to stop playing house. “I have kept you awake for far too long already.”

Ciel’s arms loosen around Sebastian’s neck as he pulls away, though his hands remain clasped at its base. His eyes are swollen red, his cheeks flushed and glittering with moisture to match. Sebastian tuts lightly and shakes his head as Ciel sniffles, reaching into his pocket and producing a handkerchief. He rubs the boy’s cheeks and nose clean, suddenly rocked by the memory of the last time he had to do this - just under three years ago. Ciel was ten and still readjusting to life outside of cages and cult rituals. It took a while before he started bothering to wipe his mouth after a glass of milk or his nose after a sneeze, and it was Sebastian who would remind him by example.

Once again he is filled with that emotion he cannot place. Confusion wrinkles his brow and parts his lips. Ciel seems to notice and gives him a curious look, but before he gets the chance to investigate, Sebastian is pulling his handkerchief away, slipping it into his pocket, and rising to his full height. Ciel’s mouth, which had fallen open when he meant to begin his interrogation, shuts silently. Sebastian cannot decide if it is a relief or not; that Ciel isn’t prying.

(He wonders - long after tonight - what Ciel does not say.)

When Ciel finally does speak, it is to interrupt Sebastian’s movement to extinguish the candle bathing the room in soft orange light with a firm, “Wait.”

Sebastian tilts his head questioningly, retracting his hand. “Master?”

“The light,” Ciel says quietly, tired eyes drooping as he looks up at his butler; his confidant; his murderer. “I like it. Don’t put it out until after I’ve fallen asleep.”

Sebastian smiles, deciding it is safe to tease once again. “The esteemed Earl Phantomhive, unable to sleep without a nightlight. How sweet,” he cooes, a hand over his heart. Ciel narrows his eyes at him. “Shall I tell you a bedtime story while I’m at it, my lord?”

“I dare you,” Ciel challenges him irritably. Sebastian knows better than to accept. He grins and watches Ciel’s eyes fall shut.

“Then I take it I am not yet permitted to retire for the evening?” he asks with a put-upon sigh.

“Do you even sleep?” Ciel wonders flippantly in a yawn that he does not bother to cover with his hand. He rolls onto his back and pulls the covers up to his chin.

Sebastian is surprised, but not put-off, by his master’s interest. “No, sir,” he says, “however, like you, I do require rest.” He pauses, chuckling. “Though obviously not as much as humans do.”

Ciel snorts. “Obviously.”

“Well then, master,” Sebastian begins pleasantly, standing with his back to the wall adjacent to Ciel’s bed, “I will remain by your side until you fall asleep.” And until the day where you do not wake up again.

Ciel hums in acknowledgement, rolling onto his side away from Sebastian and curling into a crescent shape against the mattress. Sebastian, although - or perhaps because - his master can’t see him, allows himself a genuine smile. There will be no more nightmares tonight and, hopefully, for the foreseeable future.

“Sebastian,” he hears the young lord say suddenly and glances up to the back of his head, dark against the soft white of his downy pillows.

“My lord?” Sebastian prompts softly, standing at attention.

There is a long pause before Ciel speaks again - so long that Sebastian wonders if the boy has finally succumbed to sleep - but just when it seems like the conversation is over, Ciel breaks the silence once again with a firm, albeit sleepy, “You did well today.”

Sebastian blinks. He has lived a long time; has seen many things and met many people. He is not easily stunned.

Hearing those words from his master, however, will shake him every time.

I invoked your ire to the point where you slapped me, part of him - the same part that got him slapped, incidentally - wants to remind the boy, but he keeps his quip to himself. They have gone back and forth enough for one night. Surely there is no harm in accepting the gift of his master’s acclaim.

“My lord, I am most honored by your praise,” he tells him, smiling in gratitude and pride. “If I may offer my own - “

“Oh, spare me. All I did was ruin your shirt with my stress-induced optic and nasal secretions.”

Sebastian grimaces at Ciel’s wording. “Now, my lord, surely there is a more graceful way to - “

“Just accept the compliment without patronizing me, Sebastian,” Ciel huffs, frustrated, and rolls over to meet his butler’s eyes. He points at him decisively. “That’s an order.”

Sebastian, still smiling, sighs and raises his hands in surrender. “As you wish, young master,” he concedes.

With a final nod and fluff of his pillow, Ciel settles under his covers. When his eyes shut this time, Sebastian knows they will not open again until morning. He shakes his head, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms as he watches the young lord’s thick covers rise and fall with each of his steady breaths. When Sebastian is sure Ciel is asleep, he extinguishes the light. The room plunges into the comforting darkness of night, softened by milky rays of moonlight filtering in through the window.

Sebastian collects the tray and dishes he brought, being sure not to make a sound when he lifts them up from Ciel’s nightstand. He glances down at the boy over his shoulder before making his way out of the room, remembering his words - You did well today, Sebastian.

A bittersweet smile forms on his lips as he pushes Ciel’s door open. With one last look back at his master’s sleeping form, Sebastian whispers, “As did you, my lord,” and slips out of the room.

[elphabun]

If you're dong prompts at the moment could you please write Madatobi for the "My cat keeps going to your house to eat and you got my number off the new collar I gave him” AU

Sorry this took so long! I kind of lost the doc it was on haha. Hope you enjoy :)Also on AO3

“What the—” Madara yelps and jumps back almost half a foot, trips over a shoe and falls hard onto his side.

Seething, he glares at the grey and white ball of fluff staring down at him from atop his fridge.

“You little shit,” he curses and picks himself up off the floor. “If you kill me you’re not getting any food, just so you know.”

It only cocks its head and purrs.

The damn cat has been breaking into his apartment almost every day for the past two weeks. First it had been eating the the leftover sandwiches on the counter, then when Madara stopped leaving food out it figured out how to open the fridge. In the interests of keeping his food safe, Madara now buys tuna for the little monster.

He groans at the twinge in his ribs and walks over to the pantry, the cat jumping down and following him. He takes out a can of tuna and the cat meows and tries to jump up his body to reach it.

“Nuh-uh.” He pushes it away with his foot.

He sets the can on the counter and as soon as he opens it the cat is right there gorging itself. Madara runs a hand down its back, snorting at the fat he feels. He rubs up to the cat’s neck and frowns when his hand hits something. He grabs at it and pushes fur away from the spot to see a pale blue collar wrapped around the neck.

Huh, Madara thinks. That wasn’t there before. He feels at the front of the collar and pulls a tag away from its neck. Raijin, it reads, and there’s a phone number underneath. Madara smiles and takes out his phone. Finally, he can get rid of this cat. Whoever it is that owns it better keep a damn leash on it now that Madara knows it’s not a stray.

He dials the number and the call is answered with a low growl. Madara frowns, confused, and then– “What?” The word is sharp, and Madara bristles.

“Your cat is in my apartment. Come get it,” Madara practically demands.

There’s a pause while the person on the other line processes, and then a sigh. “What apartment are you?” The man asks, sounding a mix of relieved and exasperated.

“212. It’s right by the fire stairs,” Madara says, and then the call goes dead.

Madara pulls the phone away and looks at it. That guy actually hung up on him. He scowls and starts rubbing the cat again.

Ten minutes later, Madara is trying to keep the cat from scratching up his couch when there’s a knock at the door. Oh thank fuck.

“Coming,” he yells and pulls away from the cat, wincing at the stinging pain on his hands as he walks over.

He opens the door and there’s a white-haired man standing before him, looking somewhat familiar, though Madara doesn’t know where he’s seen him before. The man’s face is blank, and Madara gestures inside.

“Come in, your cat is destroying my couch,” he says through a tight smile.

The man gives him a short nod and walks in, looks around, then goes straight for where the cat is now scratching up a pillow.

“Raijin,” he scolds, scooping the devil animal up.

Madara looks despairingly at the tears on his favorite pillow, and the marks on the base of his couch. The guy turns to him, and Madara glares at the cat cradled in his arms.

“I’m Tobirama,” the man says, holding a hand out to Madara. “Sorry for any inconvenience Raijin has caused you; she’s normally very well-behaved.”

Madara doesn’t believe that for a second, but he huffs and shakes the hand anyways. Internally he’s trying to think. The name Tobirama sounds really familiar.

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles. “I blew 20 dollars feeding that monster, and it repaid me by ruining my pillows.”

Tobirama looks a bit embarrassed at that, and Madara is viciously satisfied. If he can’t keep his pet from running off and complicating other people’s lives, then he should be embarrassed.

“Right,” Tobirama says, leaning forward. “If you want I could make it up to you,” he suggests. “Buy you a dinner.”

That… isn’t such a bad idea, actually. Disregarding the irresponsible pet ownership, Tobirama is attractive and Madara knows they’ve met sometime before. Friend of a friend, probably, so it wouldn’t be too bad.

He shrugs. “Alright, that sounds good. Tomorrow maybe?”

Tobirama smiles and nods. Madara realizes that he never actually introduced himself and his face flushes.

“I’m Madara Uchiha, by the way,” he blurts out, the embarrassed one now.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow. “I know.”

Madara frowns and asks, “How, exactly?” Is he going to find out where he knows Tobirama from?

“I was at Hashirama’s birthday party last month,” Tobirama says with an air of amusement that makes Madara feel judged.

Wait.

“You’re Tobi?” He asks, incredulous. How did he not remember the name of his brother’s best friend? Hashirama never shuts up about him.

This time Tobirama actually laughs. “Yes, I am.”

Madara’s cheeks burns even more and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Whatever,” he says. “It’s completely understandable. I always tune Hashirama out whenever he starts going on about his friends because he’ll go on for fifteen minutes.”

Tobirama snorts. “He does the same about you, but at least I pay attention.”

Madara is about to retort but then the cat breaks into the conversation with a yowl and Madara jerks back when it leaps out of Tobirama’s arms and runs out the door. Madara is glad to see it go.

Tobirama sighs and looks put-out. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says and moves forward.

Madara nods and walks with him to the door. “See you,” he says and waves a bit as Tobirama walks out.

Tobirama gives him a little smile and goes of in pursuit of his cat.

Bonus: “I can’t believe your demon cat burglar was Tobi’s cat!” Hashirama laughs so hard he almost falls off of his chair, and Madara is tempted to shove him the rest of the way.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, his face pink.

Hashirama laughs again. “And you’re going out with him? I’m so happy for you two!”

Madara huffs and crosses his arms. “It’s one dinner, not a date. He’s making up for his cat costing me a bunch of money in tuna,” he says, looking determinedly away.

Hashirama snorts. “Sure it is. Oh well, it’ll happen sooner or later. You two will get along so well.”

Madara watches in disgust as his friend starts sniffling.

“My brother and my best friend. I’m such a lucky person,” Hashirama says, a hand placed dramatically over his heart.

Right, time to leave. Madara stands and stalks to the door, pushing Hashirama’s chair over as he passes. Ah, what a wonderful sound, Madara thinks as Hashirama shrieks and crashes to the floor.

[maternalcube]

Kidgance video games date :D or kidge freeing lance from galra, who is serverely injured and almost lost a limb for talking back at galras :))) i like angst.

angst huh ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It’s pathetic, really, how quickly Lance gave up.

He didn’t give any secrets away, of course, nothing that could lead the galra to Voltron; he knows the universe is at stake here. But they kept… saying things. Whispering in his ear that no one’s gonna rescue him.

And god, how long has he been here? Hours? Days? Weeks? And he already believes them.

Like. If it were Hunk that’d been captured? He’s the heart of the team and a genius to boot, they’d come to his rescue in no time. And Shiro, he’s the leader–but he’d probably rescue himself, anyway. He’s done it before.

And… Keith and Pidge. A brilliant pilot and a computer whiz. They’re amazing, of course the others would try to rescue them. They’ll be fine without him, though. They have each other, and anyway, it’s not like they’ve ever loved him as much as he loves them.

So when the galra walks into his cell, the one that’s been torturing him for the last–hours, days, weeks–he grins. They’re not gonna get a thing out of him. They won’t even get the satisfaction of using him as bait.

“Get up,” the galra growls.

“Five more minutes, Mom,” Lance says. He’s rewarded by a very claw-filled slap to the face. Ahh, yep, that stings.

“Get up,” the galra says again, and Lance is dragged roughly to his feet. Claws dig into bruises as he’s marched down the hall to the torture chamber. If he gets to see any color but black and purple and the red of his own blood before he dies, he’ll die a happy man.

He can feel blood dripping down his cheek already as he’s chained up. Today’s gonna be fun.

“So,” the galra says shortly, picking up something that resembles… a red hot poker. Classic. “Where is Voltron?”

“Sorry, I’d tell you, but I’m a little tied up right now.” Lance rattles his chains for effect. “Maybe some other time?”

The poker-thing gets swung hard and fast at his kneecap–motherfucker. He gasps and hunches over as much as the chains allow, which isn’t much, trying to take his weight off his leg.

“You’re pathetic,” the galra hisses. Lance knows that already.

“You’re weak.” He tells himself that every day.

“No one is coming for you.” Fuck, that’s all that’s keeping him going.

“So tell me,” the galra says, pressing the poker into his stomach–shit, it burns, ah, fuck, it burns–and leaning in closer. “Where is Voltron?”

Lance tries really hard to suppress the thin whine that escapes him as the poker digs deep into his side. He can hardly think, hardly breathe, it’s all he can do to pull at his chains, trying desperately to escape the sensation–he can only tell the poker’s not still there when the galra waves it in his face.

“Tell me.”

Lance wheezes. “Go…” he whispers, the galra leans in, “…fuck yourself.”

The galra roars in his face. The poker hits his leg again, and something cracks loudly, and fuck Lance wishes he could say he’s gotten used to the pain, that somehow he’s gone numb from it all but he’s excruciatingly aware of everything, from the burning in his side and the sharpness in his leg like a knife, down to each and every bruise and cut and wound that reopens as he writhes against his chains.

Fuck.

He’s, uh, a little out of it, so when an unfamiliarly bright source of light presents itself to the other side of his eyelids he pretty much doesn’t think about it at all. The shouting is a little odd, too, but it’s not really his concern right now.

When the pressure around his wrists holding him up suddenly gives, and he falls against something somewhat softer than a steel floor–that he notices.

“Fuck,” a familiar voice says in his ear. “Lance? Lance, talk to me.”

It takes him a second to gather the breath for that talking thing. He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating or something anyway. “…Pidge? What… are you doing here?”

“What do you think we’re doing?” another very familiar voice calls. “Saving your ass!”

“…Keith…?”

“Keith, I can’t carry him,” Pidge says, and Lance finally opens his eyes–he’s pretty much draped over her, there’s no way his leg is gonna support him, but he can see down her back and the familiar white and green paladin armor she’s wearing–shit, this is real.

“Why?” he breathes. His support shifts, and suddenly the world goes topsy-turvy–Keith has hoisted him up in a fireman’s carry. Yeah, this is real. Pidge’s face appears before his own as they set off down the hall.

“Why what?” she says, as Keith reports back to the others–is everyone here?

“Why… did you come?” he rasps.

She squints at him. “What kind of question is that?”

An alarm goes off and Keith swears and picks up the pace, making Lance bounce uncomfortably against his shoulders–he yells as the motion jostles his leg.

“Be careful, Keith!” he vaguely hears Pidge chide.

“We have to hurry!”

“You’re hurting him!”

Keith slows instantly. “Lance? Lance, are you okay?”

Lance wheezes. “It’s just my–ah!–fucking leg, I think it’s broken…” And everything else, but he doesn’t have to worry them with that.

“We’ll get you to a healing pod soon,” Pidge says, and reaches up to hold his hand. “Don’t worry.”

And–he’s still confused as all hell, because they came for him, they actually came for him–but he loves them so much right now he might cry. 

He’s already crying because of the pain in his leg and the way the fresh wound on his side keeps rubbing against the collar of Keith’s armor, but that’s another matter.

He doesn’t quite fall unconscious but he slips into a kind of painful haze for a while until suddenly Keith is lowering him to the ground. He vaguely recognizes the inside of the Green Lion before Keith’s concerned face fills his vision.

“Lance,” he says, as the floor shifts–Green must be taking off. “What did you mean, ‘Why?’”

“I meant you… shouldn’t have come,” Lance says. He closes his eyes. “It wasn’t worth it… I’m replaceable.”

“Like hell you are!” Pidge shouts from the cockpit.

“How can you–how can you say that?” Keith asks, and a hand cups his cheek, kind of sudden and blunt the way Keith can be but gentle all the same. “You know we care about you, right?”

“You’d get over it…”

“No.”

“You would.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Lance, I swear to god I have lost way too many people I love to give up on you just like that!” Pidge hollers. “Did you really think we wouldn’t rescue you?”

He opens his eyes. Green must be on autopilot, because Pidge is backwards in her chair, looking over the back at him; Keith is still kneeling over him. They’re both looking at him like he’s turned into a galra himself.

It hurts almost as much as the burn on his stomach, so he closes his eyes again.

“Yeah,” he admits. Silence.

“Keith,” Pidge says finally. “Come fly Green for me so I can slap some sense into him.”

“I think he’s hurt enough, Pidge.”

“It’s just a–nevermind, I’ll wait till he’s out of the pod later.”

Another silence. Lance says nothing, just focuses on breathing. In and out. In, and out.

“You’re not replaceable,” Keith says finally. “I swear. Not for Voltron, and not for us.”

“Seconded!” Pidge calls.

“Say it,” Keith says. “Say, ‘I’m not replaceable.’”

“Keith…”

“Say it.”

Lance takes as deep a breath as he can manage. “I’m… not replaceable.”

“Again.”

“I’m not replaceable.”

“Again!”

“I’m not replaceable!”

“We’re almost to the castle, guys,” Pidge interjects. “I think we’ll have to continue this later.”

“Yeah.” Keith’s hand leaves his faces and closes around one of Lance’s hands. “We will.”

I’m not replaceable. Lance sighs inwardly.

Maybe one day he’ll believe that.