#and i was desperate to take the hideous blue lighting out of this and put color back into it sooo

[seorikkun]

bang chan x changbin in < ★★★★★ (5-STAR)＞ UNVEIL : TRACK 1 DLC

bonus coloring because jype why

[peppermintquartz]

The watch strap is worn out and stained on the inside. Buck takes note of it, and when Tommy's taking a shower, picks up the watch to see if there's an inscription anywhere.

Nothing. Just a regular watch.

But if Tommy has worn it to this state, then he probably really likes it.

Buck hums to himself, then takes a picture of it, front and back, with a dime for scale in case he needs it, and puts the watch back where Tommy left it.

-

They miss their dinner reservations the next week when Buck sees Tommy in a new shirt and decides that Tommy is not allowed to wear that shirt for more than five minutes.

He ends up gasping for breath under Tommy, his legs and arms shaking with exertion, and Tommy is no better, one thick arm wrapped about Buck's soft middle, biting marks into his shoulders.

After they both came - Buck first with a desperate wail, dragging Tommy after him with an equally desperate "Evan, god, Evan" - Buck is a limp puddle of satisfaction. His gaze falls to the side and he sees the bedside lamp, its shade faded to a nondescript beige. It's clean, because Tommy is on top of his housekeeping, but it's old.

"How long have you had that lamp?" he asks, his words slurring together while Tommy wipes him clean.

"I don't know. Since I left the army, I think? It works." The washcloth is tossed towards the laundry basket and Tommy mutters a happy "three points!" like the dork he is when it lands among the dirty clothes.

Buck turns his head and smiles at Tommy. "I love you."

"I love you too. So, frittata or ramen? I have some frozen shrimp dumplings I think." He kisses Buck on his forehead, like Buck didn't cause them to miss their dinner.

"Frittata and ramen," Buck says, because he knows he can get away with being spoiled for a while.

Tommy only chuckles fondly.

Buck stares at the matching lamp on the other side. Beige.

--

Tommy holds onto things, Buck discovers. DVDs, CDs, tools from his army pilot days, his high school football jersey. Not necessarily because of sentimental value. Because they still work.

But some things are old and breaking apart, like the clock in his living room, or the fan that's in the garage, or the ancient vacuum that chokes every five feet.

Like it doesn't occur to Tommy to buy a new and better one.

"It still works," Tommy says. His vacuum coughs. "It just needs a little tinkering. I'll make do."

--

When Buck gives Tommy new watch straps, Tommy just. Blinks. And then he smiles that soft, amazed smile, as if he can't believe Buck is real. Like he can't believe anyone will notice something so trivial about his stuff, and do something nice about it.

"Thanks," he says, and switches out the straps.

--

Buck buys white lampshades and paint, and he makes it a date for them to paint the two lampshades. Purples and blues, with a touch of pink. Buck jokes that it's his bisexual lighting. They're hideous, objectively speaking, but they were painted by them both, and Buck figures he can get better ones in the future when they're tired of these.

After they replace the old beige ones, Tommy rides Buck, lit only by the new bisexual lighting lampshades.

--

When Buck replaces the clock, the fan and the vacuum, Tommy helps to discard the old ones.

"You deserve nice things too," Buck tells Tommy when the latter sputters something about making do with the old stuff. Buck kisses him and repeats, "You deserve nice things too."

If he can keep bringing that slightly stunned and amazed and soft expression to Tommy's face, Buck will consider himself a good boyfriend.

[girl-next-door-writes]

I Hope You Understand

Characters: Loki x reader

Summary: Looking back at his time, Loki witnesses three times in his life that he really needed to hold your hand but didn’t.

Word Count: 1591 words

Prompt: I Want to Hold Your Hand – The Beatles

A/N: This is for the wonderful @caplanbuckybarnes and the fabulous decades challenge I snagged this prompt from.

This is angsty so please be warned going in! This may have made me cry when I was writing it.

If you enjoy this, then please REBLOG it.  Thank you.

Sitting opposite Mobius in the plain, grey room deep within the TVA, Loki remained steadfastly uncooperative and sullen. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he refused to show anything other than sheer boredom.

“Perhaps we should come at this from another angle.” Mobius hummed, leaning forward on the desk as an image of you appeared and Loki’s body stiffened, a change that the Time Agent took note of with a hint of a smirk. “Ah, that struck a nerve. Let’s see…”

The image shifted to a much younger Loki. He remembered this, it was moments after he had discovered his true origins, that he was a frost giant. After confronting his father, he had hidden in his room, and stared at his hands. Slowly, the blue hue began to shine through, intricate red patterns appearing as he let go of the Asgardian illusion of him that he hadn’t realised he’d been projecting his whole life.

There was a soft knock on his door, and he looked up, startled, fear and panic in his eyes as he tried to figure out how to switch his skin back to a more acceptable colour. Before he had quite managed it, you had entered the room and he ducked behind a curtain.

“Loki?” You said gently, aware that he’s had another run in with his father, but ignorant to the contents of the argument. “He’s an ass, we both know that. You cannot take anything he says to heart.”

Watching the scene playing out, seeing the expression of concern on your face, it made his heart ache. You had been his best friend since childhood, the one person he knew without any doubt he could count on, and yet, there he was hiding from you. If he could go back, if he could just shake some sense into his younger self, he would have reached out for you. His brow furrowed as he watched himself do just that. He didn’t remember… oh. Yes, he did.

Loki reached for your hand, only to snatch his arm back when he saw the hideous skin of a frost giant. He was a monster, unworthy of your touch, unworthy of your comfort. No matter how much he desperately wanted to hold your hand in his, he couldn’t let you see him like this.

“You sent her away. Not for the last time, as I see in the file.” Morbius stated as the scene froze and Loki swallowed thickly, a lump in his throat.

“She is inconsequential.” He tried to put conviction into his words, but he knew Morbius was right, he had pushed you away from that moment on until you had stopped pushing back. It was better you were out of his life. Better for you.

“What about this, though?” Morbius frowned, pulling up yet another memory.

Loki was pacing in a cell, the bright light illuminating him as he ranted about how he was not to blame, not responsible. You stood serenely by the wall, watching him with a sad smile on your lips.

“This isn’t real.” Loki informed Morbius, unable to take his eyes off the scene.

“What do you mean this isn’t real? This is from your timeline.” the TVA agent insisted, studying the memory intently.

“Loki.” Your voice had caused him to stop his movement, and reluctantly, he had turned to look at you. “You weren’t to know. You could not have predicted the outcome. Your mother’s death is not your fault.”

His bottom lip quivered. Somehow you always saw right to the core of him, understood what he was feeling before he did. Although, in this case, of course you knew what he was feeling, you were nothing more than a projection his mind had created to comfort him.

He watched his younger self lean against the wall beside you, he had reached for your hand, his fingers slipping through yours, the illusion of you flickering at his touch. What he wouldn’t have given to feel the warmth of your skin against his, but you were off on some grand adventure somewhere, far beyond his reach.

“Ah, I see what you mean now.” Mobius nodded, glancing at Loki and frowning slightly when he saw unshed tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t real because she wasn’t there. We can discount that one then, unless you want to see more?”

“No.” Loki said simply, not trusting his voice not to betray him.

“You were reunited though, in the end.” Mobius hummed as he checked his notes.

“What?” This news sparked Loki’s interest, and he looked almost eager to hear more.

“Oh… erm… I can show you, but I have a feeling it is going to upset you.” The older man looked up at the Asgardian with a hint of pity in his eyes. He knew that nobody truly wanted to see their own death, but that was the unfortunate circumstances that the two of you had reunited.

“Show me.” Loki said, clenching his jaw, preparing himself to see you with someone else, getting married perhaps, or with child. He was not prepared for the scene which unfolded before him.

"I assure you, brother, the sun will shine on us again.”

Even as the life was being squeezed from him, his eyes searched the room and found yours. He could see the pain and the sorrow so clearly. His arm was limp, but he focused what energy he could, tried to reach for you, to assure you that everything would be okay. There was a snap, and his body fell to the floor like a rag doll, his arm outstretched in your direction as if reaching for your hand one last time.

“A hero’s death. You went out on the right side.” Mobius offered, though it was little consolation. The silence was thick in the room as Loki stared at the image of you. The moment your heart had broken was written on your face plain as day, and he regretted every unkind word, every cruel action that he had employed to banish you from his side. His fingers itched to reach out for you as tears slipped down his cheeks.

Mobius stood up and scooped up his files, opening his mouth to say something, and then deciding against it. Sweeping out of the room, he left Loki with the image of you crying over his death. It was a picture that twisted and tore his heart. He had always loved you, right from the moment you had chosen to spend an afternoon in the library with him rather than with Thor and his friends out in the arena, but he’d had no idea that you may have felt the same way. His chest ached. All that wasted time, wasted happiness. He was an idiot, over and over again. His hands came up to cover his face in an attempt to stifle a sob. What could the TVA possibly achieve by torturing him like this? Was it purely to break him?

“Loki?” Your voice was quiet, uncertain, and he looked up, expecting to witness another memory, but the scene was still frozen on your anguished expression and his lifeless body.

“Loki.” That sounded closer, somehow. Slowly, with a great amount of trepidation, he turned in his seat, and it was as if all the air had been sucked out of him.

There you stood, in one of those ridiculous uniforms, watching him uncertainly. He shifted from elation to suspicion in record time, jumping from his seat and backing away from you as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was no way it was actually you. This was another trick.

“Loki, it’s me.” Your eyes searched his, and he could feel you desperately scrambling for something to prove this was real.

“I told you something, once, the real you.” He narrowed his eyes, his body in a strange limbo between wanting to run to you and away from you.

“You told me a lot of things.” you chuckled, shaking your head. “You told me that your brother wears a wig. You told me that I should never take a drink Fandral offers me. You told me that holding hands with me is like a promise that, if even for a brief moment or a few hours, we don’t have to face the world alone. The thing is, we both know that all those moments will be readily available to the TVA, so none of that proves it’s me.” A sad smile played on your lips as you took a small step closer to him, something shifting in your expression as an idea began to form.

Slowly, you raised your arm, offering him your hand. Cautiously, he moved closer, his own hand raising until he found his palm pressed to yours. In that moment, he knew it was truly you and he let out a laugh before pulling you to him, wrapping his arm around you tightly as he fell apart. No matter how good this agency was, he knew your hand as well as his own. He knew the soft texture of your skin against his, the temperature, the rises and falls of your knuckles, each line, each blemish. There was obviously some ulterior motive for them bringing you here, but in this moment, he didn’t care about any of that. Right now, he had you in his embrace, his hand holding onto yours so tight in a silent promise that he was never going to let you go again.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 131.2 Tease (Part 2)

(you can start with part 1 if you'd like.)

It's not forever. Harry reminded himself as he sat in his fourth meeting today with a board of people he barely recognized. His eyes searched for Draco who was across the room, his head bowed as he spoke in hushed tones to a witch in a hideous magenta robe.

It's not forever he repeated as he listened to the arsehole leading the presentation about all of the ways that the war had helped the economy boom.

It's not forever he thought again as the board congratulated themselves on a war well won when not a single one of them was there.

He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to replace every person he'd lost with one of these arseholes instead.

His gaze met Draco's across the room and he wondered if the other man could see how this was killing him.

"Mr. Potter," the wanker who'd been running the meeting, Sebastian if Harry remembered correctly, said, "You've been awfully quiet," he added jovially and the room chuckled with him. Harry forced a smile. "What are your thoughts?"

"Thank you for the invitation to speak," he said courteously. "Yes, I agree," he lied, "It's really something that we've had such a boom in the economy." He paused as the people around the room congratulated each other again. "There are several things that I would personally love to see some of the excess get funneled into."

"Oh-" Sebastian started but Harry continued over him.

"The number of children orphaned during the war doubled," Harry said bluntly. "Our orphanages don't have enough room to hold them and they're being put in muggle orphanages or into muggle homes. Many muggles aren't equipped to handle a wizarding child."

"Mr. Potter-"

"Excuse me," he said. "If I could just have another moment of your time." He cleared his throat, "I would like to see better processes in place for how these children are placed. An extra set of interviews, even." There were murmurs around the room but Harry plowed on.

(Read more below the cut)

"The number of people who are now affected by lyncathropy has nearly quadrupled but our funding has remained the same for that department in St. Mungo's-"

"Yes, but-"

"And," Harry continued, "The potion typically used for treatment is really expensive. With all of the prejudices against lycanthropes, it's difficult for many of them to find gainful employment, they can't-"

"Mr. Potter," Sebastian interrupted more forcibly, "I don't really think this is the appropriate time or place."

"Then where and when is?" Harry snapped. His eyes found Draco once more and watched as the other man lifted his chin and inhaled slowly, deeply. And Harry took a deep breath and shook his head, looking down at his hands, "I apologize, I don't mean to be rude," he said even though it was a complete lie. "I must be feeling a bit peckish. Congratulations on your success," he managed.

"Yes, thank you," the other man said amidst a third round of congratulatory murmurs. "I think we're all a bit hungry," he chuckled. "Let's end early," he suggested.

Everyone was quick to pack up and leave, several people stopping to congratulate him but not a single one of them saying anything about orphans, or werewolves, or any of the other things that Harry hadn't managed to say.

Draco was talking to a wizard, patting him on the back and Harry pretended to be digging around for something important in his bag until that wizard left the room, leaving only him and Draco.

Their eyes caught and held, Draco looked at him helplessly and Harry broke. "I can't," he whispered.

"Not here," Draco said, voice soft and achingly tender.

He nodded and told himself that it didn't hurt when Draco simply walked past him and out the door. After another moment, where he let the emotions swirling inside of him rage, he took a fortifying breath and tamped everything back down.

Harry made his way out of the room, down the hall, and through the atrium; he was stopped every several feet by people wanting to talk to him, to have their minute in the limelight. When he'd started working with the ministry, he'd imagined that he'd be able to do anything he wanted because of these frequent meetings but none of them wanted to actually help. It was a game to them.

When he finally made it to the apparation point he barely had the energy to lift his wand and apparate home.

"Don't sit," Draco called when Harry's feet touched the floor.

He whined, "I'm exhausted."

"I know," Draco called back, "But we both know that rest isn't what is going to help you."

Harry wanted to argue, wanted to lash out. Godric, he was itching for a fight, desperate for an outlet. It's how he and Draco had gotten together in the first place, after the war and the trials. Fighting had turned into fucking which had turned into making love and now Harry could hardly imagine not loving Draco.

"I know," Draco repeated as he came into the living room where Harry was still standing in the middle of the floor. "Here," he said, holding out a pair of muggle jeans, a plain black tshirt, flip flops, and a pair of sunglasses. "Get changed."

Harry looked at him then, the other man was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a blue polo, blue sunglasses perched in his hair.

"What are we doing?" he asked even as he stripped out of his robes and the clothes he'd been wearing underneath.

"We're having a taste of someday," Draco said.

Harry paused buttoning his jeans and grabbed Draco's shirt, pulling him in and kissing him fiercely, pouring all of his frustration and desperation into the kiss.

"I know," Draco whispered, pressing his forehead against Harry's. "I know, love."

He swallowed and took a step back so he could finish zipping up his jeans and pull his tshirt on over his head.

"Ready?" Draco asked after he'd stuffed his feet back into his sandals.

Harry nodded eagerly and accepted Draco's arm.

When they blinked back into existence, they were on a bare, sunny stretch of beach by the ocean. "Give me your glasses," Draco said, holding out a hand.

"But I need them to see," Harry protested.

Draco rolled his eyes, but the fond curve of his mouth gave him away, "These," he said, holding out the sunglasses he'd brought down with Harry's clothes, "Are prescription sunglasses."

"You're brilliant," Harry breathed, leaning in to steal a kiss. "Sorry," he said, pulling back quickly remembering that they were still in public, even if the beach seemed deserted.

"Hey," Draco whispered, cupping Harry's cheek and drawing their lips together softly, sweetly, "This is someday, remember?" he murmured, lips brushing tantalizingly over Harry's before he leaned in and closed the distance once more.

Harry grasped his shirt in his hands and kissed him back for a long moment.

When he pulled back, Draco was smiling, warm and open and real, and a bubble of light expanded in Harry's chest. "Give me your glasses," he said again, holding out a hand.

He pulled them off his face and handed them over, accepting the sunglasses and watching as Draco carefully folded them and put them in a case. "Come on," he said as he shoved the case into a bag and held out a hand to Harry.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, reveling in the feel of Draco's hand in his, fingers entwined as they set off down the beach.

Draco smiled, "Right after the war," he said, "When I was trying to get my head on straight, I wanted to understand muggle culture."

"Oh?" Harry asked, greedily gobbling up every word out of Draco's mouth. They didn't talk much about the time just after the war.

He nodded, "You weren't there seventh year but what we were taught in Muggle Studies by the Carrows," Draco shook his head, "well, it doesn't bear repeating. And I wanted to know what they'd lied about; I wanted to see it for myself."

Harry squeezed his hand encouragingly.

"The new professor at Hogwarts who's teaching Muggle Studies now gave me port keys to different places that would let me experience muggle life."

"You did that by yourself?" Harry asked.

Draco laughed, "I know, it's outrageous to think about now, isn't it?"

"Sorry-"

He squeezed his hand and waved him off, "Don't be. It was crazy but I needed to see it, you know? The poor bloke I tried to pay the first time I had muggle food," he laughed again. "Oh Salazar, his face."

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled this much, the muscles in his face actually hurt from disuse.

"Anyway," Draco continued, "This was one of my favorite places. I'd been taught that muggles were stupid and lazy, but this," he said as they walked around the corner and a boardwalk came into view. "It was magic," he said simply.

The scent of fried food wafted down the beach toward them and the sound of children's laughter reached his ears. "I've never been to the boardwalk," he said.

"You'll love it," Draco assured, tugging his hand.

Harry tugged back, pulling Draco around so he could kiss him. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Draco replied softly, bumping his nose against Harry's.

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

The afternoon stretched into evening, the sun burning red and gold, and setting the ocean on fire. Harry leaned against the railing and watched the sun setting as he stole bits of the funnel cake that Draco had purchased. "They're never going to listen," he said.

"Sorry?" Draco asked through a mouthful of food and Harry loved him all the more.

"I love you," he said simply, distracted.

Draco grinned at him, "I love you, too," he replied. "What did you say before that, though?"

"That they're never going to listen."

The other man frowned, "We don't have to talk about this now," he said. "We're in someday," he added.

"But I want to actually, you know," he said, gesturing vaguely, "get here someday."

"Politics take time," Draco said gently, in the way he had a thousand times.

And Harry recognized it was a product of his upbringing, that Draco had been raised from a very young age to measure every word that left his mouth, to look at a room and size up the people in it to know who was the most important, to make connections and build on them, to calculate every move he made. It's why seeing him here with powdered sugar at the corner of his mouth made Harry feel like he could fly; because Draco could be free when it was just them. And Harry knew from experience that he'd slip back into the role he played without hesitation or difficulty. He'd make a great politician.

But not Harry.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm done with that."

"Harry-"

"I'm running for Minister of Magic," he said.

Draco gaped at him and Harry stored that mental image away for a rainy day. "I'm sorry. What?" Draco asked.

"It's the only way that I'm going to be able to get anything done," he said. "I'm sick of the games."

"But the games are what you'll need to get elected," Draco said.

He laughed, "Nope. I'm pretty sure I've found what all that fame will be useful for. I don't need the support of the idiots who work for the Ministry, I just need the support of regular people. And I'm pretty sure I've earned that. Then once I'm in office I can fire all of them and put in people who actually give a shit."

Draco stared at him for another moment, "Are you sure about this?"

He shrugged and looked out over the water, "As sure as I am of anything."

"Anything?" Draco asked, bumping him with his shoulder.

The corner of his mouth curved up, "You excluded, of course."

"Of course," Draco echoed. "Fuck, Harry," he breathed, "You don't do anything by halves, do you?"

He shook his head, "I think about where Teddy could have ended up if not for Adromeda and I can't sleep," he said. "I think of the way Remus was treated. And of the way the trials went after the first war, the way yours would have gone if I hadn't shown up." He rubbed his fist against the railing, "Every day I walk into the Ministry and I see that fucking fountain where wizards are stepping on other magical creatures, and I just," he shrugged, "I can't."

Draco shifted so he was behind Harry and wrapped his arms around his waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder. "I know," he said softly.

"Will you help me?" Harry asked.

Draco started nodding before he'd even finished the question. "Always, love."

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

part 1 | part 3

[queenshelby]

The Policeman’s Daughter – Part Two

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mention of Assault, Murder, Fluff, Mild Smut

Words: 2,345

Birmingham, 12 September 1924

It was Saturday night and seven days have passed since your encounter with Thomas Shelby and you have not heard from him. Perhaps he had changed his mind, you thought. You could understand if he did. He was probably still grieving the death of his wife or perhaps you simply weren’t a match for him.

Over the past seven days, you had learned that Thomas Shelby and his family owned most of the factories and industrial buildings in Small Heath as well as several streets of back-to-back housing.

He must have been a wealthy man with no interest in a common woman like you.

That same night, your father was away for work, investigating two recent murders in Small Heath in a pub called the Garrison and he had left you with two men who were employed by the Crown as security guards.

You felt safe with the men around the house and certainly didn’t expect an intrusion to occur on that night. But you were wrong. You weren’t safe at all. At least so it seemed as, at around 8 o’clock, you heard a knock on one of the windows behind where you were sitting, inside the reading room which was facing the forest.

Your heart began to pound as you turned around and peeked through the curtain only to find that it was Thomas.

Surprised and shocked all at the same time, you quickly opened the window while covering up your skin with a large satin robe.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked with slight anger.

‘I said I would find you’ Tommy smirked, whispering as he did. ‘Get your coat’ he then instructed, not really giving you a choice to say no.

‘I am not leaving the house with an armed man who I barely know’ you said reluctantly and Tommy raised his eyebrows for a short moment before giving you a smile.

‘Fair enough’ Tommy said, reaching beneath his coat, taking the gun out of his holster and handing it to you.

‘Now you are an armed woman leaving with an unarmed man’ he then smirked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

You quickly got your coat and boots from the next room, not bothered by the fact that, beneath all this, you would be wearing only a thin nightgown.

Tommy then held the window open and helped you to climb outside while ensuring that you wouldn’t slip on the wet grass.

‘So where are we going?’ you asked quietly, knowing very well that you shouldn’t be going anywhere with this stranger. You didn’t know why, but for some reason, you trusted him. His deep blue eyes appeared honest and comforting in a way and your attraction towards him clearly had gotten the better of you.

‘Just follow me, eh’ Tommy said somewhat reassuringly before taking your hand.

‘My father is a policeman and will get very angry if something was to happen to me’ you said nervously, wanting to ensure your own safety.

‘A copper, eh?’ Tommy said somewhat unbothered, thinking that your father is probably one of Moss’s men and therefore on his payroll.

You simply nodded and then followed Tommy into the woods, nervously and excited all at the same time.

After about fifteen minutes, you reached a small camp near the river and Tommy was quick to introduce you to some of the men, women and children who were there.

‘I thought you might like to be with kin for a change’ Tommy said after he introduced to the Lee family.

‘Your mother used to travel with us when she was young’ a woman named Esmeralda said to you and it was obvious to you that Tommy had told her your name. It was also clear that Tommy had done his research on you before visiting you that night.

You immediately felt comfortable around the Lee Family and spent several hours at the camp, talking, drinking and eating.

Whilst you appreciated Tommy’s gesture, introducing you to the Lees after what you had told him about your life when you met at the orphanage, you also desperately wanted to be alone with him and get to know him better. He seemed to know so much about you while you knew so little about him.

Eventually, Tommy noticed that you were cold, clearly not dressed for the occasion and he finally suggested that you sit down by the fire with him.

‘Go on Tommy Boy’ Johnny Dogs shouted after you as followed Tommy to the fireplace near the river bank.

In response, Tommy swore using gypsy tongue, before telling you to ignore Johnny Dogs. According to Tommy, he hadn’t been accompanied by a woman since his wife Grace had passed away and, therefore, your presence took Johnny Dogs by surprise.

As you finally reached the fireplace and you sat down on of the blankets scattered around it, Tommy took off his coat and placed it over you in order to keep you warm.

‘Thank you’ you said shyly as his blue eyes locked with yours. ‘Now tell me Tommy, how did you know where I live?’ you asked curiously, knowing that you had never told him your address.

‘I simply asked your employer’ Tommy winked and it was when you realised that you just asked him a completely silly question. Of course, he knew your address. The charitable organisation of which he was the founder and chairman had signed your employment contract.

‘You never told me what brought you to Birmingham’ Tommy then went on to say before asking you to hand him the cigarettes from the pocket of his coat.

But, as you reached into the pocket on the right to retrieve his cigarettes, smokes weren’t all you found. In fact, the first thing you inadvertently took out was a small case containing a blue bottle of cocaine and a brown bottle of opium which, without questions, you quickly put back into their place.

‘My father’s work is what brought us here’ you eventually said as you handed Tommy his cigarettes.

‘You said he is a copper, right?’ Tommy observed before lighting himself a cigarette and you nodded before Tommy continued on.

‘What is a copper from London doing in Birmingham? It doesn’t seem like a good career move to me’ Tommy chuckled and you simply told him that he wanted a change of scenery for the both of you and an easier life.

‘Well, I am not sure if he came to the right place then, eh’ Tommy laughed.

‘Why, is there a lot of crime here?’ you then went on to ask and Tommy shook his head.

‘Just the usual brawls you can expect in a town full of working men’ Tommy chuckled before quickly changing the topic.

You then talked for at least an hour about your respective upbringings and gypsy roots and Tommy appeared genuine and kind. It was obvious to you that he felt attracted towards you and, over the hour, you moved closer and closer towards each other, sharing one cigarette after another as you talked for what felt like an eternity.

You sat so close to him that you could smell the scent of his aftershave, a hint of musk and sweetness and it was at this point that Tommy made an admission to you.

‘I have to be honest Y/N. I didn’t just bring you out here to introduce you to the Lee Family’ Tommy said, just as the moment was right.

‘So, what are your alternate motives then Mr Shelby?’ you asked shyly but with a smile.

‘This’ Tommy responded quietly while caressing your face with one of his hands before drawing your face towards his with ease and pressing his lips onto yours.

You gave into the kiss, parting your lips slightly as you did and allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

His lips were soft and warm and you ran your hands through his hair gently as you deepened the kiss.

Tommy’s hands then moved from your face over your chest and beneath his warm coat, brushing your breasts in the process.

It was at this point you abruptly pulled away and began to breathe heavily. His hands were too close to the scar which carried all your bad memories.

‘Don’t. I am sorry’ you said, your hands shaking as you broke out in tears.

‘Hey, look at me Y/N’ Tommy said calmly, unsure why you reacted the way you did but wanting to calm you down and comfort you.

‘Whatever it is, its alight, eh’ Tommy said, his both cupping your face, making you look at him and nod.

‘I am so sorry. I just…’ you said, looking down at the fire, unable to finish your sentence as tears built up in the corners of your eyes again.

Tommy sat there patiently, telling you to breathe before wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

‘I am ashamed of my body Tommy. I just am not ready for this’ you went on to say and Tommy looked at you, his eyes full of questions.

‘Then we won’t’ Tommy said calmly, his thumb running over your cheek as he smiled at you. ‘Although, you really have no reason to be ashamed. You are beautiful’ Tommy then whispered reassuringly before giving you another quick kiss, intending to leave at this for the night.

‘Yeah, well, you say this now but that might change when you see the hideous scar covering my stomach’ you said rather upset and it was at this point that Tommy stood up, took off his suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.

You weren’t quite sure what he was doing and you were slightly concerned about his actions when he suddenly pulled you up and reached for your hand.

‘Count them’ Tommy said as he guided your hand over his bare chest before telling you to reach behind him and run your hand over his back.

‘Six’ you said, swallowing harshly, realising that he had just a few more scars than you which evidentially all came from bullets and stabbings.

‘Seven actually’ Tommy chuckled as your hand left his chest and you took Tommy’s hand and guided it beneath your nightgown and right over your scar.

Your scar was large, covering the right side of your abdomen. But Tommy didn’t seem bothered and simply kissed you again, as passionately as he could and you would allow him.  

‘Who did this to you?’ Tommy then asked as your lips drifted apart and it was at this point that you broke down, confiding him about what had happened to you.

You never confided in anyone before and the truth was, you didn’t know why you told Tommy that night. But you felt that it was the right thing to do.

Shortly thereafter, Tommy walked you back home and, just as you reached the house and sneaked past the security guards which, quite evidentially didn’t do their job, Tommy kissed you again, gently but yet passionately.

‘Can I see you again?’ he then asked and you nodded shyly.

‘I didn’t think you would want to after tonight’ you said somewhat embarrassed about how things had ended.

‘You have no idea, do you?’ Tommy chuckled just as one of the security guards came walking around the house.

Without his coat and gun, Tommy kissed you goodbye in a rush before disappearing into the night, ensuring that he wouldn’t get caught.

‘Everything alright Miss?’ one of the guards asked, curious as to what the noises were which he had heard.

‘Yes, just two rabbits out and about. So cute’ you said as you stuffed Tommy’s coat and gun beneath the blanket on the sofa while looking out of the window.

‘Rabbits?’ the guard asked.

‘Yes, the small animals with the big ears and the fluffy tail’ you said.

Birmingham, 17 September 1924

Following your evening at the river with Tommy, you hadn’t heard from him for days and thought again that, perhaps, he had changed his mind.

But he didn’t and, on the morning of the 17th of September, you received a telegram, delivered to your house along with the daily newspaper your father had ordered.

With a cup of coffee, you sat down in the reading room, opening the telegram.

****

‘Y/N,

I ensured that this telegram would only reach you in your father’s absence.

Meet me tonight, at 8 o’clock. Your father will be busy and security will be taken care of. I will be waiting for you outside the gate of your property’

Tommy’

****

After you read the telegram, you couldn’t help but smile while a feeling of warmth and butterflies rushed through your body.

Nonetheless, you were surprised by his influence. How did he know that your father would be busy and how would he take care of security, you wondered?

But those thoughts soon left your mind when you opened the newspaper and read the headlines.

****

Judge dead in house explosion

Judge Kent has died along with his 24-year-old son in what appeared to have been a house explosion caused by two hand grenades.

Mysteriously, their death occurred just an hour before two killings in a London Nightclub in which another two men had been shot. This also appeared to be a targeted attack.

The two men identified as Jonathan Cohen and Lucas Cohen, friends and acquaintances of the Judge’s Kent’s son who, several years ago, escaped charges for assault.

Whether the murders are linked is yet to be determined and no arrests were made.

 Tag List:

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[tokisguitarpick]

drunken skunk

Characters: Toki Wartooth x Reader

Words: 2500+ holy FUCK 

A/N: hey i written in uhh 1000 years and i just binged metalocolypse on hbomax which apparently unlocked something in me. this fic takes place immediately following fertilityklok because I’ve had a weird amount of experience talking to men who want but for some reason can’t/don’t have children and watching Toki worry about it gave me feelings i just wanted someone to kiss him and tell him he was okay:( so he turned down the woman in the ep, went home and fucked, wakes up and doesn’t actually feel that much better so drinking, smoking, not being understood by his bandmates, leads to going somewhere else to drink, and that’s where we are. i also like the idea that the band members have slutted around so often that even blitz drunk, they’d still be quick and nimble in the sack 

“Y/N, can you come to my office, please?” Charles’s voice came through your cell phone.

You had the phone pressed to your cheek, despite the spikes digging into your shoulder, as you pulled on a pair of socks. When you saw Charles calling you, it was almost always to request you come to his office for a task so it was second nature to get dressed when his name popped up. “Of course, sir.” His thanks were short before the line clicked off and you were left alone to finish getting ready.

_________

Scooting past a masked employees leaving Charles’s office, you stood in front of your boss and nodded when he met your eye over the documents on his desk. “Y/N, thank you for coming. We’ve got a small situation I’m hoping we can keep small.” Your brow furrowed as he picked up his phone and start swiping through it.

“What’s the matter, sir?” you asked.

Charles held up a finger, continuing to swipe until he finally clicked a button and a whaling voice suddenly filled the room.

“Whys is this happening to mes, iS AMS I UGLIES?! Ams I- Ma’am, MA’AMS, AMS I UGLI-“

The silence that followed Charles pausing the recording was deafening. “Um, was that-“

“Toki, yes,” Charles cut you off. “He’s currently at the Drunken Skunk and is living up to the name. I need you to go collect him as discreetly as possible.” As though that was all the information you needed, Charles began looking over the paperwork in front of him again.

You sighed quietly, you hated how little you got told about your tasks since they always spiraled into some kind of crazy mess when the members of Dethklok were involved, but Charles wasn’t one to question. “Yes, sir. Consider it done.”

You turned on your heel and began to head out but when your hand touched the doorknob, Charles spoke again. “Oh, and Y/N? Be careful. Toki has been sensitive since his birthday. Tread carefully.”

Brow furrowed again, you glanced back but Charles was already looking away, eyes on his documents. You wondered what he meant but as always, better not to question him. Stepping into the hallway, you let his office door swing shut behind you as you headed into the night.

___________

The Drunken Skunk was a dingy little bar on the edge of downtown whose usual crowd were streetwalkers and weary men, so it wasn’t crazy that Toki had decided to come here but as you drove closer and closer, you were surprised how dingy it in fact was. It was cheek to cheek with the industrial district, had an empty printing shop on one side, and a storefront covered in plywood on the other. You parked in front of the boarded-up shop and did a quick check on all sides for sketchy characters before you stepped out of the car.

The bar was choked with cigarette smoke, and the stench of stale alcohol and vomit. You frowned, standing in the door while you scanned the dirty room until your eyes fell on a heaving form slumped across the bar. Toki.

His long hair was draped over his shoulders and hung down his back, quivering slightly with each heave. It seemed like he was crying, his head buried in his arms. “AMS I UGLIES?” rang in your ears again and your frown softened. You weren’t sure what had happened, but you had noticed he’d been… off since his birthday.

You had thought it was related to the fake kidnapping that kicked off the party- a horrific and idiotic idea you had spoken out against and were immediately told by Nathan not to be a bitch about- but even that wouldn’t lead to the question of if he was ugly. Would it? The Dethklok members were strange. Five lives full of tragedy and unprocessed trauma all packed into the most popular band in the world made for an uneasy balance in the workplace and living quarters. You were skilled at navigating it when you had to clear up the messes, but you were hardly ever around for the inciting event so it was always tricky to understand how it all connected. 

You approached cautiously and made sure to make a little noise so you wouldn’t spook him. If he heard you, he showed no reaction, so you perched on the bar stool beside him. “Hey, Toki?”

The guitarist lifted his head finally and his red rimmed eyes were bleary when they met yours. “Y/N? Whats is *hic* you doings heres?” His voice was hoarse and thick with tears, a few of which were clinging to his eyelashes and glittered in the dim light. It made his grey-blue eyes shine and your breath caught in your throat. You had to admit, Toki was your favorite member of the band and it had little to do with his musical talent. You weren’t one for metal much anyway.

What drew you to Toki was first his appearance. Back when you were just applying for a position at the record company behind Dethklok, he’d caught your eye on the poster in the lobby. Long hair on men was something of a turn-on and his piercing gaze struck a chord inside you. His angular face and extremely fit build made him one of the hottest members in your opinion but on top of all of that, he was a sweetheart. That wasn’t written on the poster, of course, it was something you’d discovered about a week after you started when he was the only person besides Charles to take the time to learn your name and point your in the right direction. You wouldn’t say you were close but you had a causal friendship, just right for making light conversation during elevator rides and not much else.

“I’m here for you, Toki,” you replied, trying to master a tone that was both soft and cheery. “I came to take you home.”

“Takes me… No! I wants to stay heres. I-I-” His bottom lip started to quiver as he spoke but you put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, relax, Toki. It’s just late and I think it’d be good for us to get you into bed,” you gave him a small smile, trying to coax his drunken mind into listening to you. He might be slim but if he tried to fight you on leaving, you’d have your hands full. Maybe you should’ve asked for an escort…

Toki slumped on the bar again with a huff before sliding off his stool towards you, prompting you to hop up quickly to catch him as he stumbled to his feet. He was heavy with alcohol and leaning on you to keep steady, so trudging to the door became a task. Despite having at least half a foot on you, his face was nestling further and further in your hair until you could feel his breath on the back of your neck.

You could feel your cheeks warming but it wasn’t until you got out the door, opened the back of the car, and loaded Toki halfway in that you really had a reason to blush.

“Y/N, ams I uglies?” Toki asked suddenly, looking up at you from under his lashes. He only had his butt on the edge of the car’s bench seat, looking at you with his face inches from yours, and fresh tears welling in his eyes.

Your eyes widened and your blush raged in full. Working around the object of your affection, even when that work was dragging him out of a shitty bar, was easy enough. Being asked directly about it by him was a whole other thing. Swallowing against the sudden knot in your throat, you decided to be honest and lightly shook your head. “No, Toki, not at-“

Anything and everything else you might be about to say was thrown out the window because the moment you said no, Toki launched forward. One hand on your hip, he lifted the other to your shoulder and pulled you to him lightening fast, his mouth finding yours with a squish. In his drunken state, he was a little sloppy at first but his skill began to show itself. His tongue traced the dip between your lips as he pulled you against his chest, your head fogging when he nipped your bottom lip. It was finally enough to coax your mouth open and Toki took full advantage of that fact, squeezing your hip as his other hand, warm and calloused, slipped around your neck and held you to him. Electricity jumped through you when his tongue met yours, twirling together for a moment before he moved on to exploring your mouth with a greedy moan.

“Wa-wait,” you mumbled around his lips. This was moving too fast, or maybe the fact it was happening at all was what was making you feel overwhelmed in the moment. It took everything in you to pull away, a solid percentage of your mind screaming at you to continue, to let Toki think he had control of the situation and see how far you could get with him. But you couldn’t. He was drunk and clearly something was bothering him enough to drink in the first place. You needed to just get him home. Plus if you did anything with Toki, you’d like for him to remember it, too. “Toki, wait.”

Your eyes met his just in time to watch his face crumple. The only way to describe his expression was pure heartbreak. The disappearance of his hands on your body made you miss the weight of them instantly but you hardly noticed, watching him melt right in front of you.

“I ams uglies, I knews it! I knews it!” Desperate and broken, his voice turned your stomach. His shaky hands found his hair and he began tugging on the ends, seemingly unaware of the motion. “No ones will loves me, I’ms hideous, I wills never find love! I wills never finds the mother ofs my childrens!”

While you had been paralyzed with bewilderment, his last sentence only compounded your confusion but brought you back into the moment enough to move again. Toki had cringed away from you, burying his face in the back of the passenger seat while still tugging on his hair, and you hurriedly heaved his long legs into the footwell before shutting the door and jogging around to the other side.

Even sealed in the car, you could hear his drunken crying. It twisted your heart but still, the mother of his children? Is that what he thought of you? Your blush burned your cheeks once more but you shook the thought off. He must’ve been crying about this when he left that voicemail for Charles. But what had happened?

Opening the back door on the other side, you slipped inside and snapped the door closed behind you. Toki seemed worse than before, now holding his face in his hands and heaving with small sobs. “Whats is it, Y/N? Whats makes me so uglies? I can change! I has monies, I can change!”

You furrowed your brows and put a hand on his arm, scooting closer to him. “Toki, you’re not ugly.” Quicker than you expected, his head snapped towards you.

“Then whys do you not likes to kiss me?” His lip started to quiver and you expected another outburst but his eyes stayed locked on you, expecting an answer.

Your mouth was dry and you scrambled for an answer that would keep him from crying again. How had you ended up here? Eyes darting around the car, you quickly mumbled, “I do, I liked the kiss! I jus-“

Once again, the Dethklok guitarist moved faster than you thought in his state. His hands found your face and pulled you up to him, putting you nose to nose with the lanky musician. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed red from tears but it only exacerbated how bright his stormy irises were. You felt nervous and excited and tingly all over from being held so close and you hardly dared to breathe. Hypnotized by his gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. “Thens kiss me,” he murmured in a throaty voice. It made you shiver and lust began to haze your thoughts, the previous kiss still so fresh in your mind when his lips found yours again.

Slowly this time- painfully, delightfully slowly- Toki kissed you. His hands nearly covered the sides of your head as he held you in place, his lips closed while he kissed you once, twice, three times before deepening it. You let him without hesitation, heat coiling in your stomach. Of course, the thought of breaking the kiss occurred to you but with every motion of his, that thought got further and further away. Toki’s tongue slipped past your lips again and he gently stroked over yours as he made his way around your mouth. You returned the kiss with fervor, trying to match his speed to keep him close as long as possible.

One hand on top of his over your cheek, you let your other wander. His knee pressing into your thigh, then up the outside of his leg to rest on his hip and give it a squeeze. He moaned in your mouth and your body responded in kind, your own moan escaping as the heat in your belly moved south. When his free hand fisted in your hair and tugged, you wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Toki didn’t remember your hookup. Hell, maybe it would keep things from getting awkward at work?

Skwisgaar’s best guitar solo blared through the vehicle, interrupting your mental plan to get the man in front of you undressed. It was your phone, ringing out from your back pocket, and you knew without looking that it was Charles. He tended to check status on the jobs he gave people, especially when they went alone, as the Dethklok members seemed to have a way of making mountains out of molehills and then exploding the mountain into a bunch of fiery chunks raining from the sky.

Toki hadn’t stopped kissing you. If anything, he seemed more desperate, his hands falling to your shoulders and tugging at your shirt. But you straightened up and caught his large wrists to still him. Pulling away, your lips tingled and you had to blink a few times to gather yourself. “I have to get that, hang on.” Your voice was hoarse and you cleared it twice as you pulled the phone from your pocket and selected ‘Answer’. Toki huffed but he seemed much more relaxed compared to the last interruption, leaning back against the seat and putting his large hand on your thigh with his eyes closed.

“Hello?” you asked, still trying to steady your voice.

“Y/N, any updates?” Charles bluntly asked back.

You cleared your throat again and replied, “Everything’s going well, I just got Toki in the car,” the guitarist squeezed your leg at the sound of his name, “and we’re about to head back home.” The thought of leaving the back seat, of having to drive with the fruity taste of whatever he’d been drinking still on your tongue and the memory of his hands on you front and center in your mind, nearly made you groan aloud but you held yourself back.

“Good, good. Knew you could handle it.” *click*

Just like that, Charles had broken the heady mood and hung up in under a minute. You sighed, knowing what the right thing to do was and knowing exactly what you wanted to do instead. As if reading your thoughts, Toki spoke, “Wes don’t has to leaves yet, does we?”

“We does,” you replied playfully, trying to convince yourself of that fact. It wasn’t often that you wished for another job, one where you could be a groupie, act a little slutty, and turn one of your daydreams into a reality. But this was one of those times. However, people got fired- or killed- at work for less and you wouldn’t have even gotten into Dethklok if it weren’t for your job.

Toki sighed, squeezing your thigh again and holding it for a moment. Glancing at him, you’re eyes scanned his face thoroughly. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back on the headrest, giving you an eyeful of his neck and throat. He had the slightest stubble growing and as you watched, he gulped, making his Adam’s apple bounce. You wanted to remember this moment, every detail, as though that would make it last longer. While you were looking, he opened his eyes and caught yours.

“But you liked to kissing mes?” he asked, his voice more nervous than you’d heard all night. “You thinks I’ms is handsome?”

You hesitated before concluding the cat was fully out of the bag on this one and nodded. “I liked kissing you and I think you’re handsome, Toki. If you asked, I might even say you’re hot as fuck.”

Toki beamed at you, nudging you with his knee. He seemed too tired to move as fast as he was in the heat of the moment but he reached to put his hand on your hip and squeezed. “Okies, you cans drives us home. We is goings to my room,” you blushed but he continued without notice, “we cans talk, I ams asking you questions, it is ams dates.”

[thinking-about-sw33ts]

αѕ ρяσмιѕє∂ нєяє ιѕ σиє σf тнє fαиfι¢ѕ!! ι ωιℓℓ ρσѕт тнє σтнєя σиє αѕ ωєℓℓ, ѕσ ∂σи'т ωσяяу! αи∂ αѕ αℓωαуѕ ιf тнєяє αяє αиу ѕρєℓℓιиg мιѕтαкє(ѕ)/єяяσя(ѕ), ρℓєαѕє тєℓℓ мє αи∂ ι ωιℓℓ fιχ ιт тнє ѕαмє gσєѕ fσя тнє тяαиѕℓαтισи(ѕ)!! αи∂ мαувє fσя α fєω σf тнє ∂єfιиιтισи(ѕ)! αgαιи, αℓℓ σf тнєѕє ωιℓℓ вє σи ωαттα∂ тσσ!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⭐️Corsets⭐️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anime:

🗝Nanbaka🗝

Supporting ship(s):

🎥Tsukumo🎥 X 💢Honey💢

Type:

🌸Fluff🌸

🌶Spicy🌶

AU(Alternative Universe):

🗝Normal🗝

Love interest for Reader:

🛠Trois🛠

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

“For the last game! Is of course, the sake barrel tournament!” Mitsuru claimed, while floating over the roaring audience. After explaining what the objective was, the game soon began.

Samon immediately charged after Kiji, while Honey and Trois quickly ran towards the large wooden barrel, with cell 8 on their tail.

I feel myself getting worried, knowing that Trois and Honey weren’t really much of a fighter. So cell 8 beating them wouldn't really be much of a surprise.

“Quit it Monkey! Don’t you dare ruin my makeup! Do you know how much time I spent on this!” Kiji cried out, using his dual weapons to dodge Samon’s swinging staff.

“Shut up, Pheasant!” Samon shouted, trying to at least hit one of the pressure spots on Kiji’s body.

Suddenly Trois grabs Honey’s leg before swinging him around, and tossing him towards the wooden sake barrel, Honey landing perfectly in the middle, breaking the wooden seal over the wooden sake barrel, before falling in, and getting soaked by the sake.

The audience being completely silent, clearly shocked by what Trois had done, before roaring out cheers of excitement.

“And there ya have it folks! Seems like Building 3 finally won the new year's tournament, for once!” Mitsuru announced over the mic, clearly pumped up.

Suddenly Kiji brings one of his hands, and places it on his hip, striking a victorious pose. “Hmp, and that’s what you all get for doubting me.” Kiji purred out, his confidence showing.

Honey soon rises from the wooden sake barrel about to shout at Trois for what he just did, before trying to process everything that had happened staring back at the said frenchie.

Once he realizes what had happened he gets out of the barrel before cheering himself. Trois on the other hand stares at me, before flashing a charming, but gentle smile.

I felt my cheeks getting warm, before smiling back. Giving him a thumbs up. “Aren’t you going to give him a victory kiss, inmate 6?” Ahato asked, giving me a closed-eyed smile.

“I suppose so.” I replied, leaning against the red railings, desperately trying to calm down my raging blush. Soon enough Cell 6 returned back to their seats. Each boy being seated on my side.

“I, Ahato, is always and very impressed with what you do! You did great, Kiji Onee-sama! We’ll finally get a raise!~” Ahato fanboyed, high-fiving Kiji with both of his arms.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Mon Amour~” Trois asked, tapping his cheek with his pointer finger. I rolled my (E/C) coloured eyes at him, before giving in, and giving him a victory kiss on his cheek.

While Honey sat on the other side of me, completely ignoring the both of us. The warden soon started her speech congratulating the winning building.

During said speech I had managed to nudge Honey’s arm using my elbow, catching his attention. I pointed to a different building, building 13.

While pointing to the said different building, I was also directly pointing at a certain pink haired shinobi. This action made Honey blush, turning his gaze away from me, and staring at the shinobi.

‘He totally has the hots for him.’ I thought to myself smugly, while smirking. From the corner of my eye, I saw the said shinobi waving at Honey, which Honey waved back. A little smile grazing his face.

‘I didn’t know he could make that face.’ I thought to myself, finally ignoring the two of them, and focusing on the speech.

Soon enough, the speech was over, and the feast took place! After the feast we got escorted back to our cell. “Goodnight you three!~” Kiji announced, doing his final rounds before going home.

Suddenly Honey raises himself using his elbows. Trois doing the same shortly after. While I just turned at them, laying down, too lazy to sit up.

“This year was nice.” Trois commented, smiling softly. “Another year, where I get to see your hideous face, once again, Trois.” Honey teased, a smirk planted on his face. Trois ignored his comment, paying attention to me.

“What did you two want, exactly?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me. “A lingerie viewing exhibit~” Both of them purred out, clearly excited. A little blush could be seen on their cheeks. While their eyes sparkled.

I just shivered, not knowing why they’re so fascinated with women’s underwear. “Lights out!” Ahato announced, before shortly shutting off the lights after. “What about you, (Y/N)?” Trois asked, while Honey didn’t say anything. Although, clearly listening in.

“A phone that stores all genres of Manga, Manhua, Manhwas, and Anime!” I announced, excited. My (E/C) eyes sparkling. “That sounds nice.” Trois commented, a small smile grazing his features.

Soon enough Honey slowly went to sleep, snuggling deeper inside his dark purple futon, the both of us following shortly after. Trois slowly gets up from his mint green futon, and slips in my (Y/F/C) futon.

Trois held me protectively, yet softly, his legs tangled with mine. He raises a few of my (H/C) coloured hair out of my forehead, before planting a soft kiss. Giving my lips a small peck as well. I placed my hand on his cheek, caressing it. He softly grabs my wrist, before planting another kiss directly on it.

Giving me yet another gentle loving smile. Me, softly smiling back.

“Ugh, get a room.” Honey groaned out, annoyed. “Says the one who has a crush on that ninja from building 13.” I replied, annoyed as well, clearly just trying to enjoy peace, and quiet with my lover.

“What!?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

The next day soon came, as well as our prizes. After eating breakfast in the cafeteria. Feeling absolute euphoria eating (Y/F/F), my favorite!~

While Trois ate some Cream stew, and Honey a clam chowder. We quickly got escorted to Kazari’s lab by Kiji. “Oh, hello there number 6. Just wait here, while I grab your prize.” Kazari explained, hurrying to go get the prize from another room.

I sat on a chair, patiently waiting for Kazari to come back. Soon after she comes back with a (Y/F/C) coloured phone, which she hands to me.

“It has all the latest Mangas and Animes, along with some of the oldest ones, and ones in between.” Kazari added, petting my head.

“Thank you so much Kazari!~” I cheered, quickly opening the phone. Hopping on a Manga I’ve always wanted to read. Soon enough we got to the boy’s prize.

Trois inviting Uno, thinking he might want to see it as well, much to Honey’s dismay. Kiji soon comes back, fetching us, before taking us to another separate room. The boys quickly head inside, clearly excited.

“Oh my~” Both boys mutter out, surprised. Once they settle down from their excitement, they scatter looking at the different lingeries, bras, and panties.

“Oh my god! This is pure heaven!~” Honey cheered, looking at the different selections of panties. “They even have white lace~” He mutters out, reading the sign on the bottom. His emerald eyes sparkling with endearment.

Uno soon joins in, entering through the door, before looking at a certain baby blue lingerie two piece set. His ocean coloured eyes sparkling with excitement.

I just stare at the unnecessary commotion their making, my (E/C) orbs judging them ever so slightly. As much as I loved my perverted boyfriend, Trois, sometimes his pervertedness can get out of hand.

I quickly go back to reading (F/M) on my(Y/F/C) phone, ignoring them, and leaning against the wall. That focus slowly breaking from the commotion the boys were making.

I walk around, looking at the different things as well. Before stumbling on a plain (Y/F/C) corset vest. ‘I have been wanting to try a corset for the last few days.’ I wondered to myself, not knowing that I was actually muttering it out. All of a sudden I felt someone hugging me from behind, making me jump, since I was surprised.

I looked behind me only to instantly calm down, seeing that it was only Trois. He places a few strands of my (H/L) (H/C) behind my ear, before trailing a few light, fluttery kisses down my neck. I chuckle, the sensation making me feel slightly ticklish. Making me blush lightly.

“Did that one catch your eye, mon chéri~” Trois asks, his deep rose coloured eyes showing nothing but mischief. “And what if I say yes?” I asked him back, wondering what he had stored.

“Ugh! I told you before, get a fucking room!”

“Damn pretty boy!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

✨Timeskip✨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚻(Y/N)’s P.O.V🚻(Point of View):

“Apparently Honey was allowed to stay at cell 11, building 13 for the night.” Trois explained, using his towel to dry his hair, before brushing it. I nod, to show that I was listening.

“Lights out!” Kiji announces, before doing another round. Soon after the lights shut off, covering us in total darkness. The only light coming from the moon in the starry sky.

“I got you a little of something (Y/N).”

“And what might that be?”

I sat up from my (Y/F/C) futon, curious for what he got me. He quickly goes towards one of the white fancy wardrobes, pulling on one of the bottom drawers, before fetching a medium sized (Y/F/C) wrapped box.

He hands me the box, excited for me to open it. Once I opened it, I realized that it was the corset vest I took a liking to. “How did you even get this?” I asked him, generally surprised, before excitement took place.

He ignored my question, quickly pecking my lips. “You’re too cute for your own good, Mon Amour.” Trois purred out, taking my hand, and kissing it.

“Such a gentleman~” I praised him, feeding his ever growing ego. “Do you mind if you put it on me?” I ask him, turning away in order to hide my red face. “Whatever you need sweetheart~”

Trois sits beside me, before grabbing my wrist, which makes me fall directly on his lap, facing him. He quickly fetches the corset, placing it on me.

I hook the pieces on the front. I feel Trois’ hands on each side of my hips, guiding them up and down, before getting the two strings from the back of the corset, wrapping it around his hands, and pulling.

I slightly jumped, getting startled, before relaxing once again. Once he had completely pulled them he quickly tied them. “You look like an absolute God/Goddess in that (Y/N).” Trois whispers into my ear, before placing his head on my shoulder, cuddling me.

He soon raises his head, capturing my lips against his. Our tongues moved smoothly against each other. We quickly pulled apart, since the need for air was growing stronger. A string of saliva connecting to each other’s lips.

We both panted, clearly out of breath. He headed over to my neck, covering it with noticeable hickeys, and love bites. Before I could moan, I covered my mouth with my hand, so that I wouldn’t make any embarrassing noises.

“People can see them.” I panted out, blush covering my cheeks, from what had earlier happened. “Good~ People can see that you're mine.” Trois replied, smirking to himself.

“Oh my God! Trois what are you doing!” Kiji shrieked out, shining his flashlight on us. “Wait, is that the corset from the exhibit?!” Honey questions, a mixture of surprise and disgust hinted in his voice. “Honey weren’t you supposed to be with your ninja boyfriend!” I questioned back, panicking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translation(s):

• Mon Amour = My Love.

• Mon Cherie = My Dear.

Definition(s):

• (Y/F/C) = Your Favorite Colour.

• (Y/N) = Your Name.

• (H/L) = Hair Length.

• (H/C) = Hair Colour.

• (F/M) = Favorite Manga/Manhua/Manhwa.

• (E/C) = Eye Colour.

• (Y/F/F) = Your Favorite Food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[syndianites]

A Queen Serves and Protects

Chapter Three

First Chapter --> Last Chapter --> Current --> Next Chapter Summary:

Post-Style Queen, Pre-Queen Wasp.

Chloe finds the Bee Miraculous, but instead of finding an obliging, subservient Kwami, she finds the Kwami of Order and Subjugation, and Pollen is not about to let herself be used like Nooroo was.

Granted, the only danger in a teenage girl is the damage she poses to herself. Can Pollen shape Chloe into a hero? Or will she stubbornly refuse to change and remain the bitter, harsh person the city has long since known?

[My take on how Chloe’s character could have developed] ——————————————————————————————

Getting akumatized was a special sort of uncomfortable. But it was exhilarating in all the same ways. Everything that one felt became louder, bigger, something beyond what it used to be. It grew into power. The power to act and take what was yours.

For Chloe, it just made her more upset. The anger had almost fizzled out, but the akuma brought it back with a vengeance. But unlike the last time she had been akumatized, her sorrow manifested much stronger than her rage.

Her skin darkened to a deep blue, almost purple, like the edge of the night sky after the sun had set. Where her hair had been in a high ponytail, it was undone and draped down and around her face. It looked stuck together and damp as though she had just been rained on. Chloe’s makeup looked washed out and runny both from her own tears and the transformation.

Most notably, her clothes became a simple long t-shirt and sweatpants that looked worn down and overused. The pants were a bright, light blue, while the shirt was a dark, deep crimson. To top it off, her sunglasses molded into a hat not unlike what her mother wore, but with goggles inlaid into them.

Without a word, Chloe put her hands before her and a large pair of scissors, easily the size of her chest, formed in her hand. Transformation complete, she turned on a dime and walked out the locker room.

A moment of silence followed before Pollen poked her head out the locker she had hidden away in. “Well, this isn’t good.”

//////

Marinette had never been so uncomfortable in her life. That included that time when she was seven and her twice removed cousins from her dad’s side came over and asked her why she didn’t wear dresses if she liked making them so much. And that one time she stepped foot first into a mud puddle, lost her shoe, and had to walk home with a sock soaked in mud.

It was bad.

Audrey, once Chloe had stormed out, continued on her tirade. “Ugh, how dramatic. Little Charlie needs to learn her place. She simply can’t compare to talent like yours, dear.”

Starting at being addressed, Marinette gave her a pinched smile.

“Now,” Audrey continued. “You simply must come to New York with me. The opportunities are endless, and skill such as yours would flourish under my attention!”

Her heart skipped a beat. New York was a big deal for fashion. Next to Paris, it was the place to be, and opening up her contacts to overseas big names would be a huge step for her career.

But could she work with someone this awful?

Sure, Marinette didn’t like Chloe, but even she thought that how her own mother treated her was cruel. It made her feel bad for the girl. It explained a lot about her, and for a moment Marinette considered being nicer to Chloe.

Not that that would make Chloe suddenly decide to be a good person. It would take the inevitable explosion of the sun for that to happen.

“I-i, um, I need to think about it, Mrs. Bourgeois.” Marinette glanced over at her parents. “I have a lot to consider about leaving or staying, and my parents still need my help at the bakery.”

Her parents, and oh how she loved them, spoke up immediately, “Oh, we can manage the bakery dear! Don’t worry about little old us, what’s important is your future.”

Please, take the hint guys.

Before Marinette can struggle to find more excuses to deny her request, Adrien pipes up, “Mrs. Bourgeois,” he flashes her an award winning smile, “Don’t you think that the way Chloe was handled was a bit… out of hand?” Gabriel laid a hand on Adrien’s shoulder, squeezing it gently before sharing a look with Natalie and wandering off.

Audrey rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Oh, darling, for such a sweet thing you can be so daft. Girls like that need a quick strike down before they let their misguidedness get to their head.”

Adrien, for his part, kept smiling. For those who knew him well enough, they could see the twitch in his eye as he struggled not to snap at the woman. “Ah, my apologies. In my experience, the best growth comes from a guiding hand that focuses on building a person up rather than tearing them down. But I suppose, for a critic, that is not the case at all. Though, the modelling experience is often different from the experience of those who make judgement calls on others’ hard work.”

Bringing a hand to her chest, Audrey sniffs derisively. “Sure, dear. Of course, most models are meant to make anything they wear look pretty, so it can be hard to see where their accessories are lacking when all they see is themselves.”

Marinette wanted to desperately be anywhere but where she was standing. She almost wished that someone had bust in with the Bee miraculous and caused a scene just so she could excuse herself.

She’d rather deal with her own mistakes a million fold over than this.

Mayor Andre, for his part, smiled a shaky press smile as he tried to talk his wife down. 

Adrien, fed up with Audrey, grabbed Marinette ’s hand and pulled her away quickly. Natalie spared him a glance before going to converse with his bodyguard.

“Can you believe her!” Adrien simmered. “How cruel can you be to your own child!”

Marinette laughed awkwardly. “I mean, at least we know where Chloe gets it from?”

Adrien rounded on her. “Chloe is not as bad as her!”

Taking a step back, she watched Adrien wide-eyed. He sighed, taking a breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That display was just awful.”

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up carefully styled locks.

Hesitating, Marinette asked, “Is she… always like that?”

Adrien gave a tense nod. “Since we were young. Chloe always wanted her mother’s support, but well,” he waved his hand back in her direction, “You try reasoning with that.”

Before either could pick the conversation back up the front doors to the building burst open. Carrying comically large scissors and dressed as what could only be called a fashion disaster was an akuma that looked one bad day away from a mental breakdown.

Or, well, in the middle of a breakdown.

“Audrey Bourgeois! You claim to recognize talent when you see it, but failed to see how your own daughter can be exceptional. Well, I am the Queen Killer and if I cannot be exceptional then no one can! I’ll cut your reign to shreds.” The akuma accented her speech with a threatening snip of her scissors before launching forward at the Style Queen.

Before anyone could react, Queen Killer had Audrey between her blades and closed. A thing, white line appeared where the blades connected and, as Queen drew her weapon away, there was a horrifying moment where Marinette was sure Audrey was split into two pieces.

Instead, a dark shadow started spilling out of Audrey, enveloping her body as she screamed. When the shadow dissipates, a twisted, snarling version of Audrey that looked like she was fused together with five other versions of herself appeared. It lashed out at those around her, screeching and clawing at them.

Queen Killer laughed. “Now everyone will see how hideous and cruel you are!”

Marinette jolted out her shock as Adrien roughly pulled her away. This, unfortunately, brought Queen’s attention to them as the rest of the room also began to run. 

“Dupain-Cheng!” If she had any doubt that that was Chloe, she had none now. ”You stole my mother’s love from me!”

As Queen launched forward with her scissors open, Marinette screamed, “That was not my intention! I didn’t know she would ask me to go to New York with her all over a hat!”

Alas, her pleas were not enough. Stuck in her civilian form, Marinette could not outrun the enraged Queen. Twin blades circled around her waist and cut, forcing Marinette to stumble and fall.

Adrien, worried for his friend, stopped and tried to go back for her. But, between a snarling Queen and Marinette urging him to keep running as a dark shadow overtook her, he kept running. The best thing for Marinette would be Chat Noir and Ladybug. He would have time to check on her later.

Marinette , meanwhile, felt the shadows come off her and… she looked the same. For a moment, she was confused. What was the akuma’s power supposed to be?

But then it bubbled up. Nothing physical. No, that would be too easy. As she looked up towards Queen and thought ‘I need to transform into Ladybug’ a wave of crushing doubt and insecurity gripped her throat.

She would just mess up again. Like she had when she started out, when she lost the Bee miraculous, and every time she let someone get harmed by an akuma. There was no way she could do this. Chat Noir would be better off without her.

As the building cleared and Queen ran out to terrorize the fleeing patrons, Marinette stayed on the ground, shaking. What could she do? Make things worse? Disappoint all of Paris? Put Fu and Chat Noir in danger?

Distantly, she heard someone talking to her, urging her to get up and move. The voice disappeared as he heard footsteps and she was lifted into someone’s arms. A hop, skip, and a jump later had her safely placed down on a chair in a private room, looking into the eyes of Chat Noir. His eyebrows were brought together in concern.

“Stay here, okay? I promise Ladybug and I will fix things for you.” He offered a reassuring smile before dashing out of the room.

When she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, Tikki flew out of her pocket. “ Marinette !” The little ladybug placed her paws on her face, getting her to look at Tikki. “Are you okay? What happened after she cut you?”

Shaking her head, Marinette focused on her breathing. ‘C’mon Mari,’ she thought to herself, ‘You can’t let Chat do this alone.’

“I, uh,” she looked back at Tikki, “It’s so bad Tikki. I’m going to mess up and make things worse. Like yesterday with the Bee miraculous! I lost it! Instead of getting help, I lost a potential ally and a powerful magical artifact. If I can’t even keep track of things placed under my care, how can I protect Paris?”

Tikki was at a loss for words. This reminded her so much of the Marinette she first met- unconfident, afraid, and so uncertain in her actions. It was like the cut brought out all the most hurtful parts of herself…

“ Marinette ,” Tikki began, “We all make mistakes. What’s important is working to fix them. Sure, if you do nothing you can’t mess up or disappoint people, but you also can’t grow and succeed. Paris needs its Ladybug, regardless of what the people think of you. I know you can do this. Chat will be there to help you too, I’m sure of it.”

Doubt in her eyes, Marinette nodded. While her doubts and insecurity swirled in her mind, the urge to help others reigned supreme. She had to at least stop the akuma and set things back to normal.

“Alright Tikki,” Marinette swallowed thickly. “Spots On!”

///////////

Chat was not having a good time.

His first thought upon finding Queen snipping people in half with her scissors was that he could easily beat her in combat. What could she do with a pair of large scissors when he had a versatile staff?

A lot, apparently.

As he dodged backwards from another attempt to cut him in half from Queen, he tossed a jab her way. “So is clashing colors the new look, or did I miss the memo?”

Queen huffed at him, “Says the boy in full leather! I would know a fashion disaster when I see one!”

She ran at him again, holding the scissors completely open so she could swipe at him with a blade. Chat blocked it with his staff, before pushing her away as she tried to close the blades on him.

“Excuse you, Queenie!” He retorted. “I’ll have you know that my outfit is purr-fect.”

Clearly, she disagreed, if the groan and slash at him was anything to go by.

What a party pooper.

But what was worse was that he couldn’t get close enough to her to properly disarm her. Nor could he figure out where the akuma was while trying his best to not get cut in half. Chat needed to regroup with Ladybug, but she was nowhere in sight.

Biting his lip, Chat jumped back and up onto a rooftop. Giving Queen Killer a salute, he started away from her.

“Get back here you mangy cat!” Queen simmered on the ground below where he ran off. “You better bring back Ladybug so I can take you both off your high horse!”

///////////

Pollen was not the best at sneaking around. Not for lack of trying, of course, but people were ingrained to see a blur of yellow and the sound of buzzing and think ‘Bee!’ It didn’t help that she was larger than the average bee.

What did help, however, was people being too busy staring at an akuma running full tilt down the street to pay attention to the yellow being that was trying to stay unnoticed behind them. So Pollen got a front row seat to Queen’s akuma speech and display of her powers. When Chat Noir showed up she waited for her chance to talk to him or Ladybug whenever she came around.

And, well, there went Chat running for his life.

Pollen sighed. At least flying along rooftops was less obvious than following an akuma.

After shooting past building after building, she manages to get closer to the black blur that was Chat Noir. He was vaulting along, keeping an eye out as he worked on not plummeting to the ground. When he finally stopped to catch his breath, Pollen nearly sped past him.

As Chat retracts his staff and starts to dial Ladybug, Pollen drops down in front of him. “Oh!” He stumbles back, “Hello? Who are you?”

Pollen smooths out her fluff and offers a paw. “I am Pollen, Kwami and Order and Subjugation, and the one who dwells inside the Bee Miraculous. You must be Chat Noir. A pleasure.”

Chat, mystified, offers a finger. “Nice to meet you. I thought you would be with Master Fu and your miraculous?”

“Ah, well,” Pollen tilted her head. “Did Ladybug not tell you?”

He pinched his lips. “No?”

“Ladybug lost my miraculous in the fight with Style Queen. You weren’t there, though, were you?” Pollen considered him for a moment. “I don’t blame you for that, nor do I blame Ladybug for losing my miraculous. But that isn’t important right now.”

Accepting the hand Chat placed out for her, she settles into his palm. “I need to talk to you and Ladybug, but the akuma is our first priority. What do you know about them?”

“Well,” Chat began, “I believe it is Chloe Bourgeois. But as for the akuma,” He scratched the back of his head with his free hand, “I’m not too sure. My current two guesses are her scissors or her hat, since she normally doesn’t have either on her.”

Pollen nodded thoughtfully, despite having seen the akuma land in Chloe’s sunglasses. There was no way she could tell Chat Noir without him having at least some suspicions as to who she was with at the moment. At the very least, he could narrow it down to who had been around Chloe when she transformed.

Chat pushed on. “Even if we managed to subdue Queen Killer and get the akuma out, we wouldn’t be able to do anything until Ladybug gets here to purify it. The best we can do is wait and try to stop as much damage as possible.”

“Actually,” Pollen butt in, with a slow smile spreading across her face, “I may have a solution to that.” Chat tipped his head to the side. “I can immobilize people with my power. As long as I can hold onto the power they will remain frozen, or until I touch them to let them free.”

He perked up, stars in his eyes. “Like how Plagg can use Cataclysm when he’s himself! That’s perfect, Pollen.”

She nodded eagerly, before stopping. “Wait, did you not know kwamis can use their own power?”

Chat looked confused, but nodded slowly. “I didnt figure that out until he used it to free from an akuma a while ago.”

Pollen buzzed, frustrated, before saying, “The Guardian should have told you that! It’s important for a holder to know about their miraculous and kwami, especially a trouble maker like Plagg.”

“Well,” Chat scuffed his foot on the roof, “I don’t speak to the Guardian that much. Last time we talked was when he came to my house and talked about the Miracle Box and such.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Pollen moved out of Chat’s hand and floated in an irritated circle. “You should be just as informed as Ladybug. It’s not fair to you or her to pile information on one of you and expect the other to just go along with it!”

Chat shrugged. “That’s how it’s been for most of it. Besides, I trust Ladybug with my life.”

“But, when keeping so many secrets, can she trust hers with you?” Pollen replied with a meaningful look in her eyes.

She received no response. Instead of dwelling on the matter, she urged Chat to get back to Queen Killer. They still had a job to do, after all.

/////////

Ladybug arrived on the scene to find Chat nowhere in site and Queen Killer happily snipping at random citizens. Great. Before she can engage with the akuma, she hesitates. Could she really do this without Chat? What if she lost her miraculous because she let her civilian self get hit with the akuma’s power?

Shaking her head, she prepared to head in when a flash of black caught her eye. The familiar form of Chat pole vaulting across the rooftops to her left filled her with a sense of relief. She really, seriously needed to keep it together.

Taking a second, she throws her yo-yo to wrap around a chimney in Chat’s path. Her heart races as she tests the line and jumps. Shit, shit, shit, she’s gonna hit the wall, then Queen will notice her, then-

She made it on the roof with two scraped knees. Not flawless, but still unseen. Chat landed beside her, more than happy to see his Lady. A frown creased his brow as he took in her demeanor.

“Are you alright?” He checks her over for wounds, but comes back with nothing beyond a few scratches. “Did something happen?”

Ladybug goes to dismiss the idea before Tikki’s words ring in her head again ‘Chat will be there to help you too.’ Shaking her head, she gave Chat a grimace. “Queen managed to cut me while I was in my civilian form. Even after I transformed the effects are bothering me. It’s… brought back a lot of my insecurity and confidence issues. But we can do this, I know we can.”

Chat nodded, resting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, I have a plan. And some back up.”

“Backup?”

A yellow figure lands on Chat’s shoulder. “Hello, Ladybug. It’s nice to see you again.”

Blinking in shock, Ladybug exclaims, “You’re the kwami from the Bee miraculous! Oh god, another thing I messed up, I’m so, so sorry.”

Pollen holds up a paw, stopping her. “It’s not your fault. You were in a tight situation and did the best you could. Besides, I’m with someone who may be a good ally in the future. They just need time.”

Chat and Pollen brought Ladybug up to speed on their ideas, to which she poked and prodded at. They exchanged glances before nodding and Chat and Pollen split. Still standing on the roof, Ladybug calls her Lucky Charm. It dropped from the sky as a red and black spotted crowbar.

Keeping the crowbar in hand, Ladybug drew Queen’s attention with a hit to her scissors. “Hey!” Ladybug called out, “Don’t you know scissors are dangerous?”

Queen Killer growled back, “Of course you would start preaching at me, little miss perfect. I bet everyone in the whole city loves you. Well I’m here to cut your heroic tales short!” She launched forward, bouncing off a car and digging her scissors into the side of the building to propel her up to the rooftop to get on Ladybug’s level.

Ladybug, in a quick move, flipped over her and flung her yo-yo around the scissors to send Queen flying back to the ground. Before she could hit a lamppost, Queen dug the blades into the street to slow herself down, only to run back to Ladybug.

‘Good,’ Ladybug thought to herself, ‘Keep coming.’

In the moments before Queen got back in range, Ladybug took a moment to eye the area around her for clues on how to use the Lucky Charm. Nothing stood out, so she sprung from the rooftop to land before Queen and send her yo-yo swinging at her feet.

Queen, quick to the punch, lowered her scissors to cut the yo-yo string. Ah, what a lovely and easy mistake to make when fighting a person who used scissors with a string based weapon. Panicking, Ladybug brought up the crowbar to stop the scissors from striking her.

Pulling back, Queen raced in again with the blades open, looking to trap Ladybug the same way she had Chat in their fight before. Ladybug readied her crowbar, bringing it up to block again. Queen smirked, shutting the blades in a smooth motion. By luck or skill, Ladybug managed to sidestep the action, getting the crowbar’s hook caught in between the blades. Seeing her chance, Ladybug used the hook to pull the scissors from Queen’s hands.

Spitting a curse, Queen abandoned her scissors to tackle Ladybug.

Chat, meanwhile, called forth his Cataclysm and rushed the scissors, destroying them with a touch. When no akuma appeared, he looked back confused. Queen kept fighting Ladybug, managing to get the upper hand as Ladybug hesitated in kicking her off. As Queen pinned Ladybug’s hand with one of her own and reached for her miraculous Chat sprung towards her.

He wouldn’t make it in time.

But Queen stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide beneath the wide-brimmed hat. Pollen popped up from behind her, giving Ladybug a little giggle. “Sorry, I meant to do that a little earlier.”

This time with no reservations, Ladybug pushed Queen off of her. Chat bounded over to her to help her up, to which she shook her head and pointed at Queen. “Find the akuma.”

Receiving a nod, she picked herself up to retrieve the cut off part of her yo-yo. Chat, in this time, took Queen’s hat and ripped it. For good measure, he broke the goggles on them as well. Lo and behold, the akuma haphazardly fluttered out. Before it could escape, Ladybug snapped it up in her yo-yo.

“Bye, bye little butterfly,” Ladybug murmured, letting it fly off into the sky. With a nod to her partner, she threw her crowbar into the air and let forth the rush of ladybugs to fix the damage done.

Pollen, seeing Chloe safely de-akumatized, gave Chat a little nod before rushing off. He made a move to go after her when a bawl reached his ears. Chloe, freshly purified, was trying her best to keep it together. But as Chat knelt to help her to her feet, she jumped him for a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry that I was too pathetic to not get akumatized again. My mother was right about me, I’m so, so sorry.”

Chat rubbed her back slowly. “What your mother said was cruel and unfounded. You’re not pathetic at all, Chloe.”

“And it’s definitely not your fault. Even the strongest, most exceptional people can get akumatized,” Ladybug added, “Besides, even heroes have bad days.” Not that she considered Chloe even close to a hero.

Andre chose this moment to come bustling through the doors of the building behind them. “Princess, my darling!”

Seeing that she was in good hands, Chat and Ladybug pound their fists together and part ways.

Ladybug, however, is stopped by Pollen two blocks over. “There you are! Thank goodness. Can you show me where your miraculous is so I can return it to Master Fu?”

“No,” Pollen told her quietly, “But I want to ask you to trust me. I’ve found someone who needs my help. Maybe one day she could be a great hero, maybe not. But this person has gone through a lot of heartbreak and I don’t want to be another person that leaves her behind. I want you to tell Fu that I have decided to stay with them.”

“Wait, but what about secrecy? How will we know they won't spread the word about the miraculous or accidentally lead Hawkmoth to you?” Ladybug fretted, cupping her hands for Pollen to land in.

“I haven’t told her the transformation words, yet.” Pollen stroked her hand reassuringly. “That way if things go south I can still manage to keep my power from being abused. Please, Ladybug, trust me.”

Biting her lip, Ladybug hesitantly nodded. “Please stay safe, Pollen. If you ever need my help don’t hesitate to ask.”

Giving her a bright smile, Pollen floated up to nuzzle Ladybug’s forehead. After giving parting words, they went off in different directions.

Hopefully, Pollen hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

In the Heat of the Fire....

Fireman!Poe Dameron x Female Reader

Warnings: description of fire, brief mention of hospitals, mention of depressive feelings, angst, fluff mention of smut and mention of pregnancy. NSFW 18+

Word count: 2585

Summary: Your flat catches fire and you’re saved by a dashing young Fireman who then takes you under his wing when you have nothing left.

You coughed, your eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed. You frowned, unable to take a deep breath you coughed again, this time it wracked your body violently and you finally opened your eyes. At first you couldn't see anything as it was dark, but as your eyes adjusted and you woke up you could see and smell the smoke. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to water, you got out of bed, finally seeing the orange glow under your bedroom door, you grabbed a top and held it over your mouth before opening the door. You cried out as pain flared from your palm, the door handle was so hot it made your skin blister but you didn’t have time to even register it as the fire surged towards you, licking into your bedroom like it had been starved of air.

Panic began to bubble up inside you as you backed away in horror from the roaring inferno. You opened your window coughing and spluttering the more intense smoke, you could see the blue lights below you from the fire engines and the group of people from your building. You tried to call out but your throat was so sore you could barely form words let alone shout over the noise. You saw someone break away from the crowd and grabbed a firefighter, they pointed at you vigorously as you slid down the wall and out of sight. Your chest was tight, you could feel yourself becoming light headed and the smell assaulting your nostrils was making you feel sick. The fire was making its way round your bedroom and tears began to track their way down your face as you shook with fear. You thought of your parents, your friends even your work colleagues as you felt the heat roil around you.

Is this what the desert feels like? You felt a giggle try to erupt from you but all you could was cough, each time you did your head swam and your body ached as you slouched even more. The fire was close now, the blistering heat making your turn away as it consumed your bed, billowing more smoke into the room obscuring everything from sight.

You tried to gasp as hands reached out of the smoke and grabbed you, placing a mask hurriedly over your face. You gripped onto the rough coat of the firefighter as he lifted you up in his arms.

‘Cover your face.’ You pulled the top you had completely over your face tucking yourself as close to him as you could. ‘I’ve got you.’ Pain blossomed from your burnt hand but you tried to ignore it knowing you didn’t want your grip to fail. You tensed as the heat increased, surrounding you with a blazing intensity as he carried you bravely through your burning flat. You could feel him heading down the stairs and finally the cool air of the night kissed your skin. More hands grabbed you putting you on a stretcher, asking you questions, shining lights in your sore eyes but you didn’t let go of the firefighter who had pulled you from the building. Your vision swam as he took his mask off, he was talking to someone and then suddenly he was getting in the ambulance with you. Your body started tensing all over as you convulsed on the stretcher and the last thing you heard was a paramedic shouting.

The beeping noise was annoying. It cut through your grogginess waking you up with a start as the sounds of flames roaring echoed in your mind.

‘Hey, it’s ok.’ You turned to the voice beside you as saw a guy, he had a firefighters coat on and his helmet was sat on the table next to you, his face was still dirty with soot and all you could smell was smoke. You tried to speak but you ended up coughing into your mask, you winced at the ache from your chest and you settled back down against the pillows. He cast a look over the screens around you before resting his deep brown eyes on you again. ‘The doctors will be round to talk to you soon, they’re pleased with how well you’re doing considering the amount of smoke exposure you had.’ You found yourself relaxing at the sound of his voice as you gazed at him, this was the man who saved you. You owed him your life. The door opened to your room and some doctors came in, the nurse took some blood and they spouted some information at you but you couldn’t really take it in as you searched for the firefighters for reassurance. He smiled a lopsided smile and nodded slightly letting you know he was still there and you smiled slightly back, hoping he wouldn’t leave anytime soon.

After a few days the hospital released you, the fireman, who’s name you learnt was Poe, he visited as often as he could and now he was picking you up and taking you back to the flat to see if you could salvage anything. He had warned you it wasn’t pretty and he was right. You stood outside the building, your bandaged hand aching just at the sight of the block, black soot was smeared on the brickwork from all the windows and you could see your bedroom window. Poe put a hand on your back as he surveyed the damaged building with you.

‘You don’t have to go in.’ You lent into his touch slightly as you looked at his handsome face. You’d only known him a few days but he had saved your life and was offering emotional support so you weren’t on your own. You didn’t have anyone else really, your parents lived far away, your friends were great but you mostly kept to yourself immersing yourself in work all the time.

‘I need to.’ You walked towards the door, ignoring the panic crawling over your skin making you want to run in the opposite direction. You finally made it to your flat, the smell burnt your nose as you walked around. Smoke, melted plastic and dampness all mingled into a hideous musty aroma that made you feel slightly ill. One look around told you nothing could be saved, your kitchen cupboards hung off the wall in a haphazard way, everything was burnt or smeared with soot and you knew the smell would never come out of whatever you took away. You stopped at the doorway of your bedroom, your bed was just a mass of twisted blackness and you could see the path the flames had taken. The echo of flames made you tense but suddenly Poe was there, his comforting presence washing over you as he closely watched your reaction.

‘Do you have somewhere to stay?’ He asked softly.

‘Er, no. I haven’t really thought about it. I could ask a friend I guess.’ Tears threatened to well up in your eyes and you blinked them away, not wanting to fall apart right now.

‘You’re not going to find anything here, why don’t you come back to my place? I’ve got to go to work soon so you can have the run of my flat.’

‘I barely know you.’ You said and he smiled.

‘True, but I did save your life. The least you could do is cook a meal for me,’ he said with amusement in his tone.

‘Are you being serious? Right now?’

‘Yes, perfectly serious.’ You looked at him as you stood in the ruined tatters of your life and you felt a rush of gratefulness that however roughly he’d been shoved into your life, he’d still been shoved into your life for a reason.

‘Sure. Ok. I need to go shopping though, I need clothes.’

‘Come on,’ he put an arm around your shoulders as he led you out of the burnt flat. ‘I’ll take you shopping.’

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

And so the days turned into weeks and Poe had given you his spare room, you had gone back to work as you waited for the insurance money to come in and he had long shifts at the station so you didn’t see each other very often but when you did you’d watch a film and have a home cooked meal. The longer you stayed with him you could feel your affection grown for him, he was good looking, funny, cocky but kind as well. Being with him made you realise how lonely you actually were.

You were standing in the kitchen frying some chicken and peppers, the wraps warming in the oven as you grated the cheese, tonight was fajita night. The door slammed shut announcing his arrival but he didn’t stop and greet you like he usually did. He walked past you without a word and you instantly knew something was wrong, you cleaned your hands off before approaching his bedroom door.

‘Poe?’ You knocked gently but you got no response. ‘Poe? What happened?’ You steeled yourself, feeling bold you opened his door to find him kneeling on the floor, his arms wrapped around him as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He looked up at you a desperate look on his face and you knew today had been a bad day. Without thinking you got down on the floor with him, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he embraced you just as roughly. His entire body shook and the words started tumbling out of him, his voice wavering as still he tried not to cry.

‘I tried, I couldn’t get to her. The fire was too much. I could hear her screaming for me and I couldn’t get to her, I couldn’t get to her,’ a sob finally choked its way out of him and you could feel wetness on your neck as his soft curls brushed against your face.

‘It’s not your fault,’ you whispered as you held him. You looked back at the door painfully aware the frying pan was on. ‘Come into the kitchen with me or dinner will be burnt.’ He got up with you and you noticed as you finished cooking he tried to stay as close to you as possible, a dark haunted look in his eyes as he watched you prepare the food. You led him to the sofa as he looked at the food on the plate but he didn’t pick it up. ‘Poe,’ he looked up at you worrying his bottom lip.

‘Can we, can you….would you sleep with me tonight?’ His eyes widened as he realised what it sounded like and he began to try and stammer his way out of it. ‘I mean...I just… comfort….just hugs….’

‘Poe. Yes I will.’ He sighed with relief and finally he started eating.

You cleared up not letting him help and he stood by the hallway as he waited for you, once you’d turned the dishwasher on he reached for you. His touch tentative as your fingertips brushed his, you studied his face and gently brushed his curls off his forehead.

‘You ready?’ He nodded and tugged you with him leading you to his bedroom. He pulled his top off but left his joggers on as he slipped into bed, you were already in loungewear so you slipped in next to him. Without hesitating he grabbed you, pulling you flush against him as his warm breath fanned over the skin of your neck. You buried your hands in his curls as you sighed softly enjoying the feel of being close to someone. You thought he was asleep at one point until his hand moved lightly down your back and causing you to arch against him. His face pulled away from you and you saw the dark look in his eyes in the dim light, your heart hammered inside your chest as you traced the lines of his face. His hand slid up your arm and traced the line of your neck burying his fingers on your hair. Your body reacted instantly, desire racing through you as the heat of his body melded with yours. His lips pressed gently against you and you couldn’t help but groan into him. The desperate need for comfort took you both over as you striped quickly, coming together in a clash of limbs, unspoken words and heated craving. You took what you needed from each other hard and fast, just lost in the feel of one another until you were both spent finally drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

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

And so your relationship blossomed, some days it was amazing, until the arguments started. His job took a lot out of him, having lost his own mother in a fire he seemed to have this need to save everyone he came across, more than his colleagues. He would take unnecessary risks, putting his own life on the line more than anyone else everyday. You began to fear you were losing him, and even though you respected what he did and understood why he did it you couldn’t accept the risks he was taking. You had a massive row the worst you’d ever had leaving you crying on the floor as he left for work not coming back until the next day. You stayed up all night going over the argument thinking what you could have said instead, wondering if you were being unreasonable or if he was just a reckless person with no regard for himself. The sun rose warming your legs as you sat rigid on the sofa when the front door opened. He closed it quietly and you turned to see him in his uniform.

‘I couldn’t leave it like that. I’m sorry.’ You nodded and got off the sofa, his eyes watched you wearily as you approached him.

‘I’m sorry too.’ He pulled you into a tight embrace, crushing his lips to you trying to get across how sorry he really was when a radio crackled.

‘Dameron get down here we’ve had a call.’

‘Go, just be careful.’ He smiled at you, that devilish lip sided smile you’d grown to love so much.

‘I promise I’ll be careful because now I have something to live for.’ The door shut behind him, his words still lingering in the air around you.

‘I love you,’ you whispered to the empty room.

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

Rain beat down on your umbrella as you stared down at the ground, the echo of your memories tormenting you everyday. You placed a hand on your swollen belly feeling the life stirring inside you as you read the words on the stone before you, your eyes tracing them like they had a million times before. Grief gripped you tightly as tears threatened to fall, it had been 8 months without him by your side. 8 months of coming home to an empty flat. 8 months of crying yourself to sleep as you hugged his favourite clothes. And now a whole new chapter of your life yawned before you with promises of life and giggles, tiny hands and feet gripping your clothes and a little person loving you with their whole heart. But you had to do it alone.

‘I miss you Poe,’ your voice cracked as you put a hand on the headstone wishing with all your might he was still here at your side. You hated leaving him alone in the cold ground and you swore your child would know what a brave man her father was.

He’d never be forgotten.

[the-silentium]

Rock Bottom

Masterlist - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 4150 words

Warnings: Blood, gore, monsters, killing, ANGST, cruel world in action.

A/N: I just reached 500 followers?! This is crazy! I love you all people who somehow put up with my insanity  ♥️

Taglist:  @haloangel391​ / @lightning-wolffe​ / @cherrydemon5​ / @and-claudia​ / @clone-rambles​

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The vice grips around your upper arms burned as the talons cut through the fabric and tore through the skin. The humanoid creature hissed in pain when your bodies switched position and he got the worst of the branches. Soon, you found yourself falling on top of the Algax, out of breath and in pain. 

It quickly rolled over, throwing you to the ground right under itself. You heard yells and saw lights illuminating your surroundings, but more importantly, you saw the eyeless, noseless face mere centimeters from your face, the hideous lining that you thought was its mouth looked burned and sewn shut as if to prevent it from feeding on its prey. 

You would have been relieved of the fact if the pain in your arms hadn't moved to your whole torso. He was crushing you to death! 

Out of your daze, you trashed around, feet kicking what would be its chest, attempting to push it away. Screeches erupted from tiny slits at the side of its hectically rotating head, the Algax abruptly jerked away from the ground, your body still in its grip. It started moving away from the clones, unbothered by the blaster bolts hitting its back successively or by your movements. 

Orders were barked in your ear but they didn't register. All you could acknowledge was the building pressure around your bones, how it was becoming almost impossible to breathe even the tiniest of breath. You were positive that your ribs would start to break at any second now. 

The primal part of your brain then took over, reaching for your knife and plunging it forward in the dark blue arm holding you above ground. 

The effect was instantaneous. You were thrown like a rag doll to the side, right into a trunk. The thud of your head hitting the wood resonated through your skull, stilling you. Your whole body seemed to completely stop functioning for a whole second before remembering that this wasn't the time to chill out. 

A moan nearly escaped your mouth as the first satisfying breath of the last minute filled your lungs. How could you never realize that breathing felt so right? Breathing felt so good. So much better than being squished like a miserable insect. Oh no. Was this how they felt every time you'd step on them? This was so crue-

"Are you okay?" Confused, you blinked at Tech's question. 

"Me?" You pointed to yourself as if the question wasn't clear enough. 

Then the pain in your arms registered and-

"Holy mother fucker that hurts!" You whined, experimentally poking the bleeding skin to see if this really was the source of the pain. 

"Don't touch it!" Tech chastised, slapping your hand away, to which you glared in return. 

"I'll die of a blood disease." You pouted, watching as your wound touched the disgusting bloody mix you spread on your clothes earlier. 

"Highly possible." You felt the color leaving your face. Maybe you said it, but you didn't want it! 

"But we won't let that happen." You jumped at the gauze tightening around your wound unexpectedly, your opposed hand almost shooting out to hit him instinctively. 

"That was an Algax, correct?" Hunter approached behind Tech, keeping an eye on the surroundings while the engineer fixed your other arm. 

"Spot on. He ran away, right?" The dark blue monster was nowhere to be seen, not that it bothered you. 

"Right after you stabbed him." He handed you your knife that you apparently dropped at some point. "Look like those things are blaster proof or something." 

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that there's no blaster in the lore." You gladly took the life-saving weapon back, securing its handle in your grip where it belonged. 

"Does your head hurt?" Tech inquired, getting up when he was satisfied with the makeshift bandages. 

"Nope. All good." It was pounding in there, but whatever. 

Getting back on your feet with Tech's help, you took a second to stabilize yourself before giving a heart attack to the nerd. 

"Don't do that!" He yelped, catching everyone's attention on your stretching self. 

"I'm just stretching..." 

"You just hurt your back! Don't flex your spine like that!" He successfully got you back straight with a slap to your abdomen. 

"We have to leave." Crosshair cut you off, pushing between the both of you to get ahead. 

"I agree with Cross. No more fuss." You speed-walked to catch up to the abrasive clone, desperately trying to keep the laugh in at the rhyme. 

"Thanks for that." You whispered to him, eyes already moving from shadow to shadow. 

"Don't thank me. If you stretch again I'll make your life more miserable than it already is." Oh how this only made you want to stretch to push his buttons. 

"Can't make it miserable if that means you'll be around." You grinned, unabashed by the meaning of your words. It was time for him to warm up to you a little more.

Every second of silence made you cheer inside. Rending the snarky sniper speechless was an exploit after all. 

"I can figure something out." He countered weakly after a while. 

Chuckling, you rotated the handle of your knife between your skilled fingers, alternating it from pointing forward and backward to pass your sudden regain of energy. Why did he have such an effect on you? It still was a mystery that you'd have to elucidate later. 

"I hear a voice." Hunter informed the group. 

"Is it calling you?" This was never a good sign, the Venuste were really effective critters in their task of enchanting everyone around. Keeping him with you and away from them would necessitate Wrecker's muscles. 

"No, it's a kid's voice. Whining about flee- fleeing? Something like that. It's not clear." 

"A kid?" You stopped dead, deeply confused. Had the council gone mad?! What could possibly justify sending kids out to their death? Or did they get caught outside like you did? "Where?" 

"Sure it's not a trap?" He pointed over your shoulder to your right. 

"One way to be sure." It genuinely hurt to stay in position and not speed walk through the trees to verify if the council had gone from a bunch of imbeciles to a cohort of assholes running the whole village to their doom. 

You had to remind yourself that when you agreed to join the commandos, you'd made a promise to fight for them as well as with them and that you'd be a reliable asset at any time in any given situation. You weren't alone anymore. 

It didn't change the fact that it was hard. 

"It's personal?" Crosshair clearly saw the shift in your mood, from the tightness in your muscles that wasn't there before to the sudden lack of motion of your armed hand. 

"I just want to know if I'll break my hand again or not." 

"Break your hand?" 

The question passed over your head when you heard the young boy's voice. He wasn't from the village, you knew every kid there mainly because you liked to help them build traps for strangers to fall in and they liked your prank ideas. You didn't know how to tell Tech that you were the one to propose the phosphorescent bird poo mixed with loth wolf puke idea. Maybe it was better to take it to your grave.  

You halted at the edge of the clearing illuminated by the moon and its stars, eyes glued to the young boy walking in circle a couple of meters away, his bare feet bleeding profusely from the incessant walking he endured for who knew how long. Your heart squeezed at his fate. No one deserved this kind of torture, let alone an innocent child. 

Your eyes adjusted to the new light, a new serene pallet of color taking over the gradually fading shades of blue and black. 

The boy's clothes were torn up and dirty to a point where you couldn't say for sure what color it was initially or if there was a design on it like most children liked to wear nowadays. 

"What's wrong with him?" Wrecker's worry hit you in the gut. You shouldn't have to tell him this because this shouldn't exist. 

"He's a Wanderer, now. A Lumsin got his soul." You slumped, defeated. 

"His soul?" He tilted his head and although you couldn't see it, you were sure there was a frown hidden under the customized helmet. 

"Yes. Everyone has a soul and Lumsins feed on them. When they eat a soul, the body becomes lost and wander around, walking and walking until it dies." 

"His soul got eaten." He reiterated in a whisper, the hand lifting to his head not lost on you.

"Y-" Your heartbeat shot through the roof when your eyes found a crest necklace around the kid's neck. 

You knew that crest all too well. And those beautiful red hairs, they should have made you realize sooner. Way sooner. 

"I know him." It unconsciously escaped your lips before you leaped forward, not able to repress your urges anymore. 

Crosshair was hot on your tail, the others staying in the shadows to keep an eye out. 

You jumped before the boy, hands rising to his cold cheeks, wishing that the gesture would pull him out of his spell. He merely rammed into you with his small 6 years old emaciated body, barely making you budge. 

He continuously mumbled the same sentence, the last thought his body heard from his soul before the contact was lost. 

"I want Fleena."

"Nixon, buddy." You grazed the freckles on his cheeks with your thumbs. He was so familiar. 

You'd never met him when he was still a lively boy, their village wasn't one to be in close contact with the others, but you've seen extremely detailed drawings of him. Plus, he looked so much like his sister. 

"We have to go." Crosshair pressed, anxious to be so out in the open. You knew you were being delusional and were basically putting him in danger for someone who couldn't be saved, but you had something to do. 

"I'll be quick." You assured the sniper before taking the robin carved necklace off Nixon's small neck to store it in your pants pocket. 

"Your sis' loves you very much, Nixon." You tenderly kissed his forehead like any child should be kissed, with utter softness and care. "And she wants you to be free." 

You could easily remember the nights out between the local cantina and the general store, where Fleena would show you drawings of the beasts that attacked her village when their gates got breached. You were terrified. Her whole village was wiped out in a single night, leaving her behind with a mind plagued with nightmares and grief. 

She talked often about Nixon who had turned 6 the week before it happened. She would relive her best moments with him, where laughs and smiles were a common occurrence. Then she'd close on herself, praying to the merciless gods above to at least let her brother be in peace. 

It broke your heart to know that it wasn't the case. That he was still trapped, may his soul be somewhere else, hopefully, in a better world, his body was still living in a wicked world. 

"You deserve to rest Nixon." You ruffled his hair like Fleena used to do. 

With a quick movement of your hands, you freed him from his torment in this cruel world. 

The world numbed for a moment, mind blocking the events for your own sanity, but it wasn't enough. It didn't stop all the injustice of this world. A vast beautiful world that you couldn't explore because of monsters waiting for the right moment to bounce. You were forced to live in a cage when the world was so vast. Kids were forced to grow up too fast or couldn't grow up at all. This world was sick. 

It took 2 hours for your stomach to empty itself on the ground for the first time of the night. In all honesty, it was longer than you initially expected. 

Oh. You didn't expect either to find yourself back into the woods, without any memory of making the way back. Hands alternate from patting your back to stroking up and down between your scapulas. 

Someone's tears fell onto the bile, or maybe it was raining. Yes, it was raining. You felt the water stream down your cheeks like rivers, the two trails joining at your chin to fall on the ground. 

"You freed him." Crosshair crouched to your level so you'd not tune him out like you did the others. "You helped him." 

"I helped him." You repeated. It was true. 

"You did." A finger moved across your cheek to remove the remaining rain from your face. No. They were tears. Your tears of pain. 

"I hate to force this on you, but we have to get back to the rav-" 

A scream of distress pierced the night, cutting off the sergeant in the worst way possible. Everyone froze, listening to the yells asking for help that only you understood. Another hunter. He wasn't that far away. 

"He's asking for help." You mumbled slowly coming out of your daze. 

Your eyes moved away from the bile splattered before your knees to meet the black and white helmet of your sergeant. You were in no position to decide, the fog in your mind only beginning to dissipate gradually. 

"We can't help." The requests for assistance had already morphed into screams of pain and agony that they didn't need to be translated to understand. 

"We hurry back and get off this rock." He cut short, the yells fading quickly in intensity. 

Hands under your armpits helped you up. Shaky legs stilled after a couple of seconds and a few deep breaths. Slowly as if you'd double over at any second, Wrecker's huge hands let go of their grip on you. With a muttered thanks you harshly wiped your face with your hands to get yourself together. 

You needed to bottle up every event happening tonight for later. You'd have time to scream, thrash around and cry when you'd be safe within the Havoc Marauder. 

"Ready." You affirmed after swallowing the lump in your throat. 

The night was silent again, meaning that the beast could either be feasting or roaming around again. The group will have to be extra careful to return to the ravine and stay under the radar. Many species could have caused this kind of screams and they weren't to be messed with. 

Hunter took the front while you took his place in the middle, just behind him. Crosshair grazed your right arm, Tech your left and Wrecker got your back. 

You purposefully ignored the worried glances coming from Tech, it surely must have been a shock to see you do what you did in the clearing. It was so out of nowhere for them. But it wasn't for you. A big part of your brain simply wished they would not abandon you on the planet once you all make it back to the ship. 

This time, you were the first one to notice the change in the atmosphere. What was interpreted by Hunter as the wind humming through the trees was in fact a very angry Kribat protecting its territory. 

"Hide!" You whispered harshly in the comlink you hurriedly pulled out of your pocket. There was no way they'd see your hand sign at your current position. 

It was so sudden that they stopped for a millisecond, unsure of where to hide. You pushed through them to lead the way to a deeper line of trees on your left, feet moving faster to get more distance between the Kribat and your group. 

Your feet slipped under yourself when you ducked behind a particularly large tree. Despite your best efforts to stay upright, gravity pulled you down to your fall, as it clearly enjoyed to do, both physically and mentally. 

The ground wasn't as hard as you remembered, a bit soft if you were to define it, and warmer. 

It wasn't until Wrecker pulled you upright once again that you realized that your fall had been broken by a shredded body. Dread washed over you as you saw the two other hunters who'd suffered the same fate, laying close by in a pool of their blood, missing some limbs. 

You knew them. They never had a place in your heart, but you knew them nonetheless and would never have wished them to suffer like they did. You knew two of them had families waiting at home. Well. Maybe they weren't waiting, merely hoping that they would come back by some miracle. 

Two feet away from a Kribat's preys was the worst place to be right now, but you couldn't move to another spot. Not with the howling Kribat right behind yours and Wrecker's hiding spot. 

It was awfully close. Too close to your liking and way too angry to hope to survive its attacks if it were to find you. 

Wrecker had you pressed to his chest by a hand right over your breast, detail that flashed into your mind although it was totally irrelevant. He was just stressed like you were. His hands simply reached for you in his haste and happened to find the friends-are-not-supposed-to-touch spot so you dropped it. At least he wasn't groping. 

The ragged breathing of the feral beast passed as it reacted to a movement nearby, giving chase to the unfortunate creature. For a painful second, you thought that it might be one of your teammates, Tech and Hunter were out of view while Crosshair was peeking back to get a glimpse of the retreating beast. 

Just as you tried to push away to see if the missing clones were around, Wrecker's hand pushed you more into himself, crushing your boobs like they were never crushed before. 

"Everyone's okay." He informed you to keep you still, not releasing his grip. You hummed in acknowledgment. 

"Wrecker." He hummed back, waiting for you to continue. "Hands off my boobs." 

You've never seen a hand fly away as quickly as Wrecker's did. Yours didn't even move that fast when you accidentally put your hand on a lump of red coal and you remember having a good reflex then. 

"Hands off what?" A harsh whisper in your right ear caused the demolition expert to sputter. 

Apparently, the comlink in his helmet caught your voice. 

"I didn't know Sarge!" He explained without any more delay. "Sorry Y/N." 

He kept his free hand far from your body now that the danger has passed. It would have been hilarious if only you weren't at the lowest emotionally. 

" 's fine Wrecker." You shrugged, unbothered by all of it and way too exhausted emotionally to care. It was an accident in the midst of action, nothing more, no need to create a whole drama because of it. 

A piece of wood in the bloody mess caught your gaze. Your heart skipped a beat at the recognizable darker tint of the object, tonight was getting slightly better. 

Crouching, you reached for the thick wood stick, fingers moving along the carvings etched into its length. Both in relief and satisfaction, you found the energy in yourself to smile. 

"Found something?" Tech approached from your side, the remaining missing soldier in tow. 

"Yeah. Most useful stealth weapon on this planet." You showed him the bloody bow, your other hand sliding your knife into its rightful place in your boot. 

Rolling the body to the side respectfully, you checked for the quiver that you found still strapped to his back. Slowly, you pulled it over his head to pass it over yours.

"This is a fine piece of work." Despite his words, you could hear that he clearly would never use it to defend himself if he had the choice.

Taking back the weapon, you cleaned the grip and loaded an arrow, muscle memory doing a splendid job into positioning yourself perfectly in a flawless shooting stance. A sigh of relief almost escaped your lips at the feeling of finally being adequately armed. 

"Think it will hurt them more than our blasters?" Crosshair gave you some extra arrows he found laying around, still unconvinced that wood sticks with metal points could surpass their own advanced technology. 

"We'll know it now." 

You frowned, quickly grabbing an arrow to arm the bow, pulled on the string while aiming over the engineer's shoulder and suddenly released the tension on the string, scaring the shit out of Tech but hitting your target perfectly. 

The Algax screeched as the arrow hit it right where its left eye would be, retracting its dangerous talons reaching for the goggled clone to grab at its face. 

The troopers jumped at the unexpected screech, although they recovered in record time, turning around, blasters at the ready. They only had time to shoot at its already retreating form. 

"Don't lose that." Hunter turned around, pointing at the bow in your hands. "Now let's go." He urged everyone forward. 

Quickly, you grabbed the arrows in Crosshair's hand and stored them with the others. 

As you took your position back at the front, a hand softly grazed the small of your back, by possessiveness or just to ensure that you were alright, you weren't entirely sure. But Hunter's gesture was very much welcome. 

The bow was a game-changer. The weapon may not be able to kill them, but it could very easily gain you some time when needed. 

Now, if luck could still stick by your sides, the next useful thing you'd find was a shelter. 

In the following hour, you managed to scare away the next 3 Algax you encountered with a single arrow neatly shot between the hollows where their eyes should be and avoided another Kribat. 

Apparently, these two species were the main population of these parts of the jungle, it was a two-edged knife. The boys got used to hiding around the environment and knew how to react properly at an Algax jumping on them out of nowhere, but you knew those weren't the only danger around. Would they react adequately when a new monster presented itself?

Tech changed his opinion on your weapon, affirming that he'll have to build one himself, more technological of course, improved like he said. You kicked his shin at the 'less-primitive' insinuation behind his words.  

"It's a great weapon that deserves respect Tech." You reprimanded, arrow pointing to the ground and ready to engage if needed. 

"It does need improvements!" He countered on the defensive and he proceeded to explain what he would do to add more strength to the bow, allowing it to shoot further and at a greater impact. 

Just as Hunter shushed the engineer, you heard your name being whispered in the distance. Fear tensed your muscles in apprehension, expecting claws to tear at your skin any second now. Time went on without any foes jumping out of the shadows, prompting you to continue your route with the others, passing it for the wind or a trick of your mind.

That is until everything went downhill. 

"Do you guys hear that?" Wrecker suddenly asked, immediately catching everyone's attention. 

Silence followed, seconds after seconds passed in utter silence until, "That! Heard that?" 

"No." Hunter stopped the group to ensure that they weren't missing something important. 

"Wrecker, what is it? What do you hear?" A cold sweat ran down your spine, already knowing what he was going to say but praying otherwise. This couldn't be happening. 

"It's 99." Even without knowing who was 99, you knew that it would end badly, there was too much raw worry in his voice to calm him down in so little time. "He's in danger Sarge!" 

"No! Don't listen to it!" You jumped out to grab his armor, his hand, his blaster, anything really, not that your small muscles would have been able to stop the bear of a man anyway but your body thought it could. 

He was unexpectedly fast for someone his size, easily dodging your hand to push through his brothers like they were nothing. He ran like a desperate man chasing a dream and it hit you like a punch to the face. This was exactly it. His most desperate dream finally came true to haunt him. 

As you expected, the boys were on his tail in a heartbeat. 

But as you ran after them, you realized that for a team comm that should be flooding in orders for Wrecker to stop and pleas for him to understand that this was a trick, it was dreadfully quiet. 

Your blood froze in your veins as soon as realization dawned on you like a an ice cold bath. 

They all believed it.

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.10 "The Gruesome Aftermath"

CW: gun mention, nightmare/ptsd/panic attacks, character death mention, murder mention, low self worth, emotional whump, brief medical mention, drugs/alcohol/cigarettes, tics/tourettes, injury description, past noncon/dubcon mention, aftermath of sexual abuse, begging (let me know if I missed anything!)

"You left me," August spat, the gun shaking in his hand. He was pressing it to his own temple, tears of anger were streaming down his face. He was going to hurt himself, he was going to hurt himself horribly and it was all Elias's fault and he couldn't do anything to stop him. "You needed me, you stupid bitch! I took care of you and you left!"

"August please!" Elias sobbed. He didn't know when or how he ended up there, but he was on his knees, hands clutching desperately at Augusts shirt. He couldn't move more than that, his body aching and weak. He wasn't entirely sure what happened to put him here, but he could put the pieces together. It was often that he was left in this position when he was with August, bruised and bloody and hurting. "Please don't do this, I'm so sorry! I won't ever leave again! Please!"

"You are nothing without me. You are made just to amuse me. So I'm going to show you what it feels like to be nothing, you'll never see me again."

"August no!" Elias screamed, bolting up out of bed. His chest was heaving quickly, every time he took a gasping breath images of blood and brains clouded his vision. He flinched away from the hands that reached out of the dark and grabbed his shoulders, crying out in fear. When the light flickered on, he saw Tyson facing him, his eyes wide.

"You ok?" He asked, his voice rushed and panicked, unable to think of anything else to say after being jolted out of his sleep.

"I'm ok," Elias sobbed, wiping furiously at the tears on his face, "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Tyson frowned at the apology, as if it was Elias's fault that he had a nightmare, then shook his head. "Hey, it's ok. Are you hurt?"

Elias looked down at his body to try and find any new injuries. There wasn't any new pain, at least, he could only feel a dull aching from the old bruises that tightened at every gasping breath. "No, I'm ok," he repeated. Even as he said it though, his breathing was still quick and he was choking on his tears.

Tyson nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts. Elias wasn't hurt, he was safe, nothing bad was happening. "Come here," he whispered, holding out his arms to him. He was pleased when Elias crawled over to him and nestled into his chest, allowing Tyson to hold him close. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Please just hold me," Elias murmured, "just tell me it's gonna be alright."

Tyson did just that, holding him close and placing kisses against him here and there and rubbing his back gently, whispering that "its all ok, Eli. Everything is gonna be just fine."

"I killed someone Tyson," Elias whispered abruptly, his hands suddenly clutching at his shirt. "He made me shoot him in the face. I fucking killed hi...him." he wasn't sobbing anymore, just speaking in shaky, fragile words.

Tyson was shocked into silence for a good minute. He tried to imagine the trembling person in his arms holding a gun, pointing it at a living person, adding pressure to the trigger. Even the Elias that he knew before August could never do something like that, he thought. Sure, he was short tempered and rough around the edges sometimes, but he couldn't picture even that version of him killing someone. "Oh Elias..." He murmured softly, prompting him to start whimpering out broken cries of guilt again.

"I didn't want to!" He insisted, like Tyson would ever believe otherwise. "They pushed me in the pool and shot at me and when I got out he made me shoot him. I begged him not to Tyson, I swear I didn't want to kill him!"

"I know baby," Tyson said, "of course you didn't want to. It's not your fault."

"He ruined me. He made me into a fucking monster." He curled closer into Tyson's grip, squeezing his eyes shut. "He made me hideous."

"Hey, stop it, Elias. You've done nothing wrong. He's the monster, not you." He pulled away and took his face in his hands. He wiped his tears gently, holding him with a softness that often overwhelmed Elias with how little he felt deserving of it. "You're perfect, you're just hurting right now. It's gonna be ok."

Elias bit his lip and leaned into his touch, wanting to believe that he was telling the truth, but not able to escape the harsh feeling of dread he still felt. He stopped crying after that, leaning against Tyson's chest and listening to his breathing, his heart beat, the rumbling in his chest when he spoke. He fell back asleep after awhile, feeling safe and comfortable being held, being protected.

He woke up the next morning soaked in the sunshine bleeding through the window, he could smell weed and Tyson's cologne in the air around him and he felt at home, safe. He stretched a little, huffing when his body was still tender and sore, then sat up. Tyson wasn't in the room with him, but he could hear him speaking to someone in the kitchen. Great, more strange people who he had to let stare at him and try to look pretty for despite his ugly injuries. Maybe he would just stay in bed. Maybe he could just ignore every problem until it was just him and Tyson. But then he was hearing his own name dropped into the conversation, and he felt like he was being summoned, so he stood up rather quickly and rushed out of the room, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen.

Tyson was leaning against the kitchen counter, Allen and Leo were standing across from him, and they all looked up at him as he stumbled in. He regretted leaving the safety of the room the minute all of their eyes were on him, he wanted to go back to bed, crawl under the covers and pretend he didn't exist.

"Good morning," Tyson smiled at him, holding a joint in between his fingers. Elias grimaced at how it reminded him of August smoking. He could picture the way he would take a drag and close his eyes, looking focused and calm and almost harmless until the exhale. He remembered how his eyes would get red and puffy and he would grin at Elias and look very relaxed. That relaxation would often turn to him sitting on the couch, forcing Elias to his knees in front of him and undoing his pants. Elias would feel so embarrassed and disgusted in himself that he couldn't help the tears streaming down his face and the saliva dripping down his chin. August would hum to himself and he would say such sweetly vulgar things to Elias when he looked like that.

Instead of allowing those memories to bother him, he stepped forward and took the joint from Tyson, taking a long drag. Tyson didn't say a word as he watched him, but he did grab his wrist gently and rub his thumb against him.

"Morning," Elias finally coughed out, "why didn't you wake me up when you got up?" He kept his voice quiet, refusing to look up at anyone but Tyson. He knew that it would give them permission to stare back, and he didn't want that.

"You were sleeping so peaceful, I just wanted to let you rest." He took the joint away from him, grinning playfully. "You gotta be careful, lightweight." Elias smiled at him as he ruffled his hair, leaning into his touch.

Allen couldn't help but stare at Elias, or rather Elias's visible injuries, from the second he walked in. He felt sick to his stomach at the reddened bruises on his neck and the barely healed ones around his wrists. One of his hands was mangled with purple and blue splotches, and when he got a quick glace at his face his eyes were incredibly bloodshot and the bags of his eyes were scarlet with popped blood vessels. He could only imagine what he was hiding under his sweatshirt, Allen had hidden under a hoodie for a long time, too, and knew the secrecy of it all too well. He knew the way the fabric would sometimes rub painfully against burns and scrapes, he knew that people often would touch or grab injuries they weren't even aware they were hurting and all he could do is wrinkle his nose and try to breathe through the pain.

He felt Leo's hand on his own, and when he looked at him he was met with concern. "You ok?" He mouthed. Allen forced himself to nod, then reached for his pack of cigarettes with nervous hands. As he searched for a lighter, he saw Elias moving toward him. When he looked up he saw that he was holding a lighter in his hand, looking up at Allen with wide eyes.

"Can I join you? I'll share this," he wiggled the lighter at him, offering a dull smile.

"Yeah, of course," Allen said politely, stepping to the side to let him lead the way outside.

Elias looked wistful as he held the cigarette to his lips, staring off at something that Allen couldn't see. His eyes were sort of droopy from the weed, and Allen felt a little jealous. He wasn't allowed to get high to numb the pain that August caused him, why could Elias? He shook his head at the stupid thought, lighting his own cigarette.

"They think it'll help if we talk to each other," Elias mumbled, "about what happened."

Allen nodded slowly, surprised when Elias turned to look at him. "Yeah, Leo was saying that."

"Do you....do you think it would help?" He whispered, his voice suddenly small and broken.

"I think...we've both gone through things that no one else would understand. Even Leo and Tyson, they were scared and hurt too, but they don't know what we went through."

Elias was tearful suddenly, and he cleared his throat to stop the tears. Allen was looking at him closely, waiting for him to break. He had to, didn't he? He'd been with August, after all, and Allen was well aware that Elias had to have been pushed past his breaking point long ago. Yet here he was, smiling and joking and acting fine. If Allen couldn't see his brutal injuries, the physical evidence of what he'd been through, he would really think he'd just been having a hard week.

"I feel so ugly now." He finally choked out, his hand shaking as he brought it up to wipe at his eyes.

All at once, Allen could feel the weight of Elias's aching, the turmoil that he had been so good at hiding moments ago, right inside. He had been through a horrific amount of pain all alone with no comfort or support, he was so much younger than all of them, he wasn't equipped to handle that amount of violence. He had been killed, had been considered medically dead, at only 19 his life had come to a screeching halt and then was jump started again.

"I know," he breathed in understanding, leaning toward him and placing his hand over Elias's, "but you're not. And that feeling will go away overtime, I promise."

"I uh...did he ever tell you that you weren't a person? He told me I was made just for other people's entertainment. I'm no one if I'm not used."

You are just a worthless toy, a piece of meat. You exist just to amuse me.

"He's a liar, Elias. He would say anything to make you easier to manipulate." He took a deep breath as he chose his next words carefully. "You are more than what he told you. We are both more than what he tried to turn us into."

Elias broke down in pained sobs, barely resisting when Allen pulled him into a hug. "When do you stop-" he choked on a cry, clutching at Allen's jacket, "stop being scared?"

"Oh, Elias..." Allen cooed, like he was talking to a hurt puppy. "You... You don't. But listen to me, he's gone now. He can't hurt us anymore."

"But I can't handle it! I can't stomach the fear, it's eating me alive!"

"Hey, hey!" Allen hushed, pulling him closer. "I promise you it's going to get easier. You've got Tyson, he's so great and he really cares about you. Like, a crazy amount. Trust me, it's a little ridiculous how much he cares about you. And you have me and Leo, if you need us. You're not going through this alone and it's going to get easier."

Elias pulled off of him all at once, wiping his tears away quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry all over you. I'm sorry."

Allen sighed, reaching out to pay his back with a shaky hand. He knew what Elias was feeling, the dread that came with crying, waiting for the shouting or the pain.

Why are you crying like that? I've hardly even done anything yet. Pathetic. I can't wait to see just how hard you cry when I actually hurt you.

"You're allowed to cry," he assured him, "nobody's gonna hurt you for it."

"How do you do that?" Elias whispered. "I mean, how do you just tell yourself that and believe it? I keep waiting for Tyson to swing at me. I feel like...like I'm hoping he does."

Allen nodded slowly. "Yeah, I felt like that for awhile, too. You just stop wanting that pain, eventually. You realize that you don't actually deserve it."

"Ok," Elias mumbled, putting out his cigarette and then immediately lighting the next one. They sat outside and talked for a long while after that, both of them cried a bit at the overwhelming comfort and simultaneous horror of being understood. Elias was so relieved to find that he hadn't been the only one August was horrible to. Allen, in a way, felt a sick sense of pride that August had been senselessly violent with Elias, it meant that Allen had behaved better. He hated himself for thinking that way, knew it was just August's own twisted words in his head, but he couldn't help it.

They must have lost track of time, because soon Tyson was opening the door and peering out at them nervously. For a long time, he just stared between Elias and Allen, taking in their matching red puffy eyes, evidence they'd both been crying. He noticed that the looks that passed over their faces when he opened the door were identical, a timid hopefulness that was akin to begging to be told their doing something right. "Please tell me I'm good. Promise me that I'm not doing anything wrong, that you won't punish me", it said. Allen only had it for a split second, like it was reflexive, and then he seemingly soothed himself down to relax again. It only got worse with Elias, though, every second longer that Tyson stood silent, observing him, was another ounce of desperation added to his face.

So, with lungs weighed down by the sympathy pains he felt through the both of them, he forced out: "You doing ok? Been out here a while."

Elias nodded, standing up with a huff. "Yeah, I think I wanna go lay down." He kept his distance from Tyson, still freaked out from what they had talked about, still not ready to be touched. He leaned away from Tyson as much as he could as he passed him to go inside, like they were two magnets, like the idea of the comforting touches Tyson would inevitably offer was enough to repel Elias. His throat was raw as he did, he could almost feel Tyson collapse when the person he ached to protect and comfort shrank away from him like he was the one who had given him all of the ghastly injuries. It wasn't his fault, right? Elias just had to have time to heal. Allen let Leo touch him now, Elias just had to heal a little before he'd let Tyson touch him again, right?

Still, it was difficult not to take that shit to heart.

Allen followed them both in, watching Elias sink down to the couch with a pained expression. Once he was relaxed, he focused his stare at the floor, and all at once he looked vacant and far away. Allen cringed, wishing he could just reach in and pull the poor kid out of those torturous memories, ones he knew all too well. Leo must've been waiting for him to come back in so they could leave, because he was ready to leave by the time they all came back in, and they hastily said their goodbyes. They had to get on with their day, after all.

"You and Allen were gone for awhile," Tyson remarked after they were gone, sitting next to Elias. "Did it help?"

"Um...I think so. A little." His voice was just a soft murmur as he sat up and moved closer to Tyson, nervously leaning in, like he was waiting for Tyson to jump on him. Tyson could tell he was thinking hard about something, that whatever he was debating saying was dancing right on the tip of his tongue, and he wasn't sure if he should say it or just choke on it instead. "Hey Ty?"

"Yes love?"

"Did you ever think about...about having sex with me?" He looked down at his hands, suddenly ashamed. "I mean, before all this, before I got all used up-"

"Elias." Tyson said firmly. Elias cowered a little, when his name was said that like that it sounded like a curse word. He told himself that this was it, that Tyson was finally going to hit him, tired of his brainless questions. But then he was talking again, his voice soft and patient, just as it always was. "You aren't used up. You're a human being, you have value outside of what he did to you."

"You didn't answer my question," Elias whispered, despite how afraid he was to push Tyson any further into frustration, "did you want me or not?"

Tyson sighed, leaning toward Elias until they're shoulders were touching. "I want you, Eli. All of you, you as a person. Of course I desire you, but I want it when it's the right time."

Elias looked up at him, glancing down at his lips as he reached forward and ran his fingertips over his cheek. "Can now be the right time?" He asked.

Tyson was reminded of the first time Allen got back from August, how submissive and trained he was, how he offered himself up just to feel like he was doing something right, just to be praised. Tyson didn't understand the weight of his damage then, and now he'd have to walk with the guilt of foolishly sleeping with Allen in that newly broken state. He was smarter and more in control of himself this time, though, he couldn't possibly take advantage of Elias like that. "I don't think so, baby. You're not in the right mindset for it."

"Please, Tyson," he breathed, closing the gap between them until their lips barely brushed, and Tyson dropped his frigid shoulders a little at a time. "I want to know how it feels when it's with someone I...someone I care about."

All that Tyson could think of was that it would be so perfect to hear Elias begging like this, if it wasn't because he was practically rewired to plead for attention, for touch, for a distraction from the pain. He wasn't able to fully enjoy the way his hands nervously brushed over Tyson's clothes, or his shivering breaths against his skin, or the barely audible desperation in his voice. Not that it wasn't ravishing to hear him so desperate, so close to bothered without anything having happened yet, not that it wasn't mouth-wateringly enticing, but because it wasn't for him, not really. It was Elias's trained need for reassurance, to get affection in any way that he could get it.

"Elias, I can't do that to you. Not right now, not while you're hurting." He pulled away from him, watching his face fall to a dejected frown. It was gut-wrenching to see him look so pained by the rejection, but Tyson was more worried about the ugly alternative if he gave in.

Elias felt suffocated, he felt like he could still feel August's hands all over him, his stare burning into him and his body pressed close enough to crush him. He didn't want to belong to him anymore, he didn't want to exist feeling like some used up toy. "You don't understand," he whimpered, "I feel so filthy, I need you to clean me."

Tyson sighed heavily, looking up at Elias as he crawled into his lap, arms looping around his neck. "You're just not in the right head space. I'm not gonna take advantage of you."

With a dismissive shake of his head, Elias pressed himself closer, kissing gently at his neck. "Please," he gasped, eyes welling up with tears, "please, Ty. I don't want to feel like this anymore."

Tyson pushed him away, taking his face in his hands. He inspected his bloodshot eyes, his pale face and his purple stained skin. He was so fragile, so breakable, so weak. Tyson was afraid if he touched him the wrong way he would crumble and die. "I can't take that feeling away, and you know that. Doing this would only help for a second, and then it will be worse. Trust me, baby, it's not worth it right now." The way he spoke had an air of finality, one that told Elias that he was going to get absolutely nowhere by pleading with him.

Tyson didn't want him that way, Elias was meant to just fester in the filth that August left on him. While the idea of that made him sick, he tried to console himself as best he could with the reminder that any type of emotional turmoil here was better than all of that pain August put him through. At least here he was with Tyson, safe. Unwanted, but safe. He would just have to live with it that way.

After a moment of thinking, Elias swallowed back his tears, nodding slowly. "Can you at least kiss me?" He tried one last time, obviously afraid of the answer.

It was a request Tyson could do, it was innocent enough, so he pulled Elias close and kissed him gently, holding his face as he did. Elias was submissive in this way, too, making himself pliant in his arms and following whatever Tyson was doing, simply melting into the kiss. When he pulled away, Elias was breathless and had a new wave of tears in his eyes, this time accompanied by a light blush.

"Thank you." Even though he spoke in a hushed mutter, it was earnest and full of emotion. He smiled when Tyson kissed him one last time, then slid off of him and onto the soft couch. Tyson stroked his thigh lovingly a few times, reaching for one of the nearby blankets to hand to Elias when he yawned.

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 2

Can also be read on ao3 by clicking here

First part is here (:

Third part is here

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

Chapter 2:

At 03:45 in the morning, under a night sky covered in a thick blanket of storm clouds, Zarifa was woken, not by any natural phenomena, or by her antique alarm clock, but by the sound of her phone screeching out what was effectively deafening trumpets. Though this had never happened before, Zarifa knew instantly what it was, and threw off her warm, cotton duvet immediately. 

 Grant, who frankly was the only one who had anything even close to technology related competence, had wired up an alarm system in the shop not too long ago, and connected it to Zarifa’s phone. He had also, of course, been the one to design the hideous sound. As she gripped her phone with a speed that almost made it go smashing to the ground, she turned it on to see that the alarm of Thorn’s Antiques had, in fact, just gone off.

 She rubbed her temples, shivering slightly. Neither the room nor the outside world were particularly warm, with a chilly wind seeping on through the wall and around the room. Her bed was a haven of heat, and a place that could soothe the ever-growing, tired ache in her bones, and her entire body protested when she turned on her heels and began walking towards the closet, shuddering.

 Zarifa threw on clothes at an impressive haste; a warm turtleneck and a pair of jeans that were just the slightest bit too small, then snatched her phone and purse, and put on her necklace, before rushing out the door. 

 She wasn’t all that worried about the robbery, not really. While they were an antique shop, they didn’t have anything really valuable, at least not that she was aware of. 

 Besides, if anything of value truly had been stolen, there was pretty much only one culprit, and lucky for them, Zarifa knew exactly where to go should that be the case.

 No, her haste came not from a place of fear of the robber, or worry over the supply, but from Valour’s reaction. Valour, though usually apathetic, had an overprotectiveness of the shop, and any damage to it, might lead to the new rising of a mass murderer. The butterfly over her turtleneck saw one last glimpse of the light, before it was covered in a thick, black coat, and slipped outside into the shadowy night.

 The breeze was particularly strong, fiery trees not so much swaying in the wind as almost being knocked down by it. Zarifa pulled her coat tighter, shivering as a cracking whip of gust slammed her face. The stars above, usually visible in the dimly lit dirt paths, were shielded behind towering, puffed-up storm clouds, almost menacing in their own way. 

 She walked onto the pavement, passing her small and worn car parked outside the small cottage. She debated on taking it, before deciding it really wasn’t worth it. Lunewell was so small anyway, and the shop hidden in the far corner was but a ten-minute walk. Though driving should technically have been faster, navigating her way around the roads and towards Lune Lake, where the shop lay, would take just as long as walking there. Even after living there for five years, Zarifa still found the roads and paths an absolute maze, like the village was purposefully trying to trap its inhabitants.

 As she rounded a corner, and headed towards what had become a very small street of other local shops and one bar, a wave of newly baked pastries broke through the ozone-scented air, sending yet another hard hit of a gust that pushed her back ever so slightly. She didn’t mind the wind though, as her tight expression morphed into a delighted smile and her body became infinitely more aware of how long it has been since she’d eaten.

 Zarifa relished in the smell for just a little longer, though she kept her pace up, before she froze in place at the edge of a lamppost light. Mr. and Mrs. Carr, both bundled up in striped, hand-knit scarves, were walking towards the bakery hand in hand, clearly preparing to open for the day. Zarifa stood almost inhumanly still in place, as though the Carrs were hunting predators and she was their prey, her breathing having grown shallower and tighter. 

 Taking a step back further into the shadows, she hoped the light was poor enough and their eyes old enough that she would slip under their senses. Or, at least, that was the plan, until her feet knocked against an empty can on the ground, sending a rattling sound that resonated through the street.

 Their heads snapped up, landing first on the can that had rolled into the light, and then on Zarifa herself, who was still holding her breath, even her heartbeat muted. Mrs. Carr, who had never particularly liked Zarifa for whatever reason, gave a wave and a slightly tight smile as her greyed hair blew haphazardly around her head.

 Her husband turned to see what she was looking at, lighting up when he saw Zarifa, who had edged herself into the event horizon of visibility. “Zarifa!” he greeted enthusiastically, but quietly, “Hello dear. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

 Zarifa rubbed the back of her neck, shuffling further forward. “Good morning Mrs. Carr, Mr. Carr-”

 “As I’ve said before, just Harold’s fine love.”

 “Apologies,” Zarifa said, hands moving from her neck to the gold that hung around it. “I’m not in the best mindset right now,” Mr. Carr sounded an ‘Oh?’, as Mrs. Carr headed inside slightly huffy, “you see, the alarm for Thorn’s Antiques just went off.” 

 Mr. Carr’s eyebrows shot up in concern, wrinkles bunched on his ever-balding forehead. “That’s dreadful,” he exclaimed, “not the kind of thing you’d expect to happen ‘round here. You better be off, Lilly and I’ll drop by with some of the baked goods later in the day.”

 “Oh, that’s very generous but you don’t have to,” Zarifa reassured in a slight panicky tone, “no point in dragging you two into this mess.”

 “Nonsense,” he said, “everyone needs some baked goods in situations like this. Besides,  I’m sure that young lad of yours with the glasses - Graham? Brant? - would be very appreciative.”

 “If you’re positively sure it isn’t an inconvenience, that would be lovely,” Zarifa said, finishing it off with a warm if anxious smile. Any lingering silence was broken by the sound of Mrs. Carr calling for her husband and co-worker in a way fit for a dictator. Mr. Carr turned towards the door 

 “Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted, back, a stark contrast to the gentle lull of his tone before. “I believe my wife needs me. We’ll stop by later. Good luck!”

 Zarifa took off like a jetfighter, sprinting away with a wave and footsteps that bounced into the streets. At her speed, it wasn’t long before she was no longer landing on cobbled streets but on overgrown dirt paths covered in damp leaves. The shop, a small stoney thing with dirty windows that practically looked abandoned, came into view, and her eyes moved to the door, which was in fact left just the slightest bit open.

 Sliding inside, she closed the door behind her, though the shop remained equally cold. It looked almost eerie at this time, the furniture remnant of old times, empty and abandoned, a few vases smashed on the floor from where someone had been in a rush, and a stillness so quiet that it was deafening to her ears.

 Picking up a blue floral patterned shard, she continued onwards, keeping her footsteps as light as a ghost. Well, as light as a ghost that could not sneak past a deaf person, but she digressed. Pushing open the door to the back, wincing as the door hinges made a shrieking creek, reminiscent of a whining child, she made her way in. 

 The employees’ lounge looked, as she had expected, fine. Everything was exactly as they had left it, slightly disjointed, except for Bruin’s desk that had been organised meticulously. She began heading for the downstairs, to see if any of the inventory had been stolen, when she heard a muffled thud from upstairs, releasing the pressured silence in her ear and exchanging it with dread.

  Thud, thud, thud , multiple slamming sounds, equally light, equally muffled, radiated from upstairs. She could track the being’s every movement from the sound alone, see the continuous patterns of thuds make their way through the upstairs rooms. Her eyes trailed them vigorously, pupils jumpy, as she tightened the grip on the shard. The fact that it dug into her hand, almost piercing through her thin bicoloured skin, didn’t register.

 The shop yet again went quiet, though any illusion of silence was broken by Zarifa’s hammering heart. She glanced around the room, gaze going to the cellar where she could take her hiding, to the second exit, and back up to Valour’s personal floor. She looked up, waiting for any more signs of life, before snailing sneakily up the stairs with the shard held out in front of her. 

 The steps, normal stairs instead of the never ending spiral leading to the basement, stayed as silent as herself throughout the ascent, as though they themselves were afraid of the intruder above. Zarifa tipped-toed up them, the yellow stained walls that the stairs were encased in almost suffocatingly tight, and ever closing in. 

 At the top of the carpeted steps sat a black door crested in a slightly lighter shade, with a pair of Bobby pins stuck in the lock. It was the only entrance Zarifa had never taken in the shop, looming above her and guarding a floor that even so much as seeing would lead to great punishment. 

 It was too dark to peek into the room, and there was no sound but her own swallowing and the wind that had picked up outside. She took another step up, and reached for the handle as though it was shatterable glass. With a prayer directed more towards the cosmic force of luck rather than anything specific, she gave one push of the door.

 Luck, it seemed, was on her side, as the hinges opened without the slightest squeak. She took the final stairs up, giving one last glance to where she came from, and stepped inside what was effectively Valour’s house.

 Even through the fog of darkness, she could see the layer of dust, and the sheer amount of things thrown astray on the floor. Outlines of books with unreadable titles spilling over the carpet, sheets of aged papers crumbled into what she assumed had once been a paper bin, and antique knick-knacks placed in tall piles, disfigured by the low lighting.

 At first glance, it seemed disorganised, but as her eyes adjusted more to the lightless room, it became clear that similar items were bundled together, and that there was some kind of system. She just hadn’t quite figured out what that system was.

 Looking away from the silhouettes of mess that seemed ever-shifting, she turned her eyes downward, looking at where a path had been cleared. Whether it had always been there, or whether the dear intruder had made it, she was unsure about. She walked across it like a minefield, eyes trained on the ground and not looking at the piles which were getting higher as she went along and spilling further towards her. 

 She stopped at a hallway, leading in two different directions, which was deserted compared to the room she had just arrived in, only containing a painting, a few near empty shelves, and a drawer. Though equally riddled with swirling, sand-like dust, it felt cleaner, and had a little bit of light poking through a curtained roof window. It shone on the portrait hanging large and proud above the wooden desk, enough so that she could see the illuminated face of a younger Valour with colour still in her hair and a rather androgynous person she couldn’t quite recognise. They invoked the same familiar feeling she had felt yesterday, albei more distant.

 She took a step closer, staring intently. The person, a sickly pale figure with light brown hair and odd, pink, heart shaped sunglasses, was almost entrancing, to the point she had barely realised just how close her hand was to the canvas. 

 The trance was broken not by the touch of the oil canvas, but by a sound that Zarifa, when asked at a later point, could only have described as bounding . It was the sound of a constrictor wrapping around its prey, of tight ropes encircling a wrist, of becoming trapped and helpless.

 A flash of light blue light, ever so faint and ever so quick that one couldn’t be scolded for mistaking it with a hallucination, appeared in the corner of her eye. Her head snapped towards one of the doors, hair on her arms rising, as she made her ways towards the source.

 From the outside door, she could hear whatever was making that sound wrap further, deeper, and for a second, her mind cleared. She considered walking out; walking safely home, telling Valour that she couldn’t find anything stolen, and not getting involved. Letting this, whatever this was, live its life or death peacefully. 

 After all, was that not why she had come to find herself here in the shop in the first place? Was that not why Grant, Bruin, or even to an extent Valour herself had found themselves in this antique shop? To escape a past of unexplainable events, whilst simultaneously saving others from having the same brush with the eldritch, the unexplainable?  To, for even just a split second, live in the illusion of normalcy, the lie that nothing had ever been wrong?

 Zarifa turned on her heels, sneaking past the portrait of Valour and Heart-Glasses, which almost seemed to be judging her choice. Valour wouldn’t have turned away, which perhaps explained the scars and bruises. She couldn’t, however, bring herself to care, as her ever growing frantic footsteps made their way down the hall.

 Now, what must be understood for the following sequence of events to make sense, is that Zarifa, deep down, was one thing; caring. She sees her fellow employees as great friends, always up to help or let them take breaks, she handles her books with delicate strokes and gloves hands, and she is always up to help.

 Whether Zarifa’s caring nature always outshined her cowardice and self preservation is debatable, and a subject she preferred not to dwell on. However, in the word always , lies a hidden, implied one; sometimes.

 Like when Zarifa, halfway down the hallway, heard a cry and groan of pain that was so distinctly Lottie , that she would have recognised it even if her ears got chopped off. As though someone had a pressed a button, she turned right back around, sprinted with loud thuds, and pushed the door with a speed that almost broke a whole in the wall.  She stood panting in the doorway, all fear evaporated into a feeling that was not quite protectiveness, not quite caring, not quite pity, and not quite anger, before the muddled emotion transformed back into fear as her eyes landed on the strawberry blonde. 

 Lottie sat on the floor, legs dug into by long vines dressed in a barrier of thorns, arms tightly pressed against her body in a twisted bend that no human should have been able to achieve, and a streaming, jet black smoke arising from the leaf engraved ornate box in front of her and travelling right into her deep green eyes. Zarifa moved towards her and the box without even thinking, making her jerk, digging the thorns even deeper into her skin. “Don’t… to-touch a thing,” Lottie commanded, voice unbelievably hoarse, as though she had been shouting for hours, and Scottish accent more intense.

 “I can’t sit by and watch… whatever’s happening!” Zarifa shouted frantically, panic stirring in her. She crouched down to the floor, even as Lottie made a sound of protest. “How can I stop this?”

 “Y-you can get the fuck out,” Lottie managed to gasp out meeting her eyes. Her brows were stern, but her expressive emerald eyes were scrunched and her face was in a grimace that drew at Zarifa’s heart strings like a wound bow. All the while, the black smoke from the box-

 The box. Of course. If she just closed it, Lottie would, theoretically, be fine. She began reaching for the moonlight-reflecting gold leaf, one of the only items visible in the otherwise almost pitch black room. She stopped as she heard her name called desperately from beside her, followed by a string of curses.

 “Don’t touch it!” Lottie pleaded with a tone laced in anger, voice teetering on the edge of death, “Just get out of here, butterfly!” And oh, if her heart didn’t skip at that slip-up, “Don’t want to…” she gasped again, not quite managing to bite down another whimper, “d-drag you into this shit again.”  

 Zarifa looked at Lottie, her pained glare, the arms that looked like they had been put on backwards, and the pierced legs. She took a breath; “I’m sorry,” she said, and before Lottie could say so much as a word, she snapped the lid shut with a snap that hit like an atom bomb.

 As soon as the bomb landed, everything went quiet. Zarifa moved quickly, as Lottie fell limp into her chest like a stuffless ragdoll, arms clicking back into the place with an audible sound, and eyes fluttering open to give one last angered, intense stare before shutting. The smoke, escaping Lottie’s eyes in a violent manner, balled itself up into the center of the room, the thorns vanishing and joining it to create a rotating, black and dark green, spiral-patterned sphere.

 Keeping a close eye on the orb, she scrambled further backwards, pulling Lottie along with her. Her mind raced as she scanned the thing, trying desperately to decipher what it was, what it could possibly be. Though she wanted to leave the room, to drag Lottie and herself outside and never enter again, her eyes were entranced in the beautiful, indescribable spiral. It was, Zarifa thought grimly,  a bit like the train incident all over again. Or the summer camp, for that matter, but she preferred to keep a lock on those memories. 

 The orb continued spiralling, room still quiet except for Zarifa’s heavy breathing, and the wind outside. It was then that she saw something in the spirals, something beyond the mist of black. She squinted, though in the light and with the colour it was hard to see much of anything except the swirling pattern. She began leaning in ever closer, though recoiled almost instantly as soon as the orb came to life.

 A hand, pink and fleshy and clearly human, pushed against the pattern, stretching the orb to translucency like a tight latex glove. It pushed against the swirls, followed by another, then three hands, then 10 hands, and then an uncountable number. Everywhere you looked where skin covered fingers, all trying to break the barrier that had slowly stopped swirling.

 Though they pushed and pushed, hands clawing with the ferocity of a starving lion, pounding with all the force of a hurricane, the barrier refused to move, just stretching to expose the arms further up. It had gotten to the point where Zarifa could clearly see knobbly elbows bending robotically, aimlessly through the cover. She regarded the arms from where she sat, eyes trailing their every movement, before she turned over, head still on them, and took a single, crawling movement towards the door.

 All the hands stopped pushing, falling limp into the orb as though their strings had been cut. They were dragged back jerkily into the core, pulled out of sight as quickly as they had appeared. Zarifa held her breath watching the orb move towards her and out of the moonlight, the colours fading to nothing but a monochrome silhouette, and the shape morphing into something reminiscent of a bald human, albeit with arms just the slightest bit too long. She could not see its face, or any details on its body, even as it took an unsteady tumble towards her.

 When Zarifa was twenty-one, and visiting Lunewell for the first time since the train incident, a seventeen year old girl, younger than herself, but already the owner of a shop, named Valour Thorn had taught her a very important lesson; When faced with the unexplainable, always close your eyes. At that time, Zarifa had yet to see what that would do. After all, simply ignoring danger when it was so close seemed like a sure fire way to get yourself killed, but a method of saviour.

 Now, however, faced with an ever-approaching, vaguely human-shaped blob, staggering towards her like a drunken man with a concussion, she realised that situations like this could only have two outcomes, and closed her eyes. She kept her breath and body stiff, even if she knew she had already been spotted by the sound of bagged, wet meat slapping against the ground. The sound stopped completely mere inches in front of her, and everything went quiet, on what could very well have been the last moment of her life.

 A breath, muffled as though it was coming through fabric, though no less warm and moist than what would have expected, blew against her cheek. It sounded strained, as though it’s lungs were thick as needles, but the breathing was rhythmic and distinctly alive. The breath inched closer, warming by the second as she squeezed her deep brown eyes tighter, mind caught in a loop of prayers to all the gods she could think off.

 Lottie, who had previously been nestled comfortably against Zarifa’s jacket, let out a slightly pained groan. Her heart stopped, as she felt the creature's breath pan over her face, and towards where the pigtailed girl rested. In a flurry of movements that made Zarifa flinch violently against the wall, she felt the weight of Lotie lifted off her in one sharp movement. A dazed whimper once again admitted it from her, but it sounded distant compared to the one that had been right against Zarifa’s ear. 

 She desperately wished to open her eyes, to see what was happening, to make even a singular heroic movement to save Lottie, but she stayed in her prey position; paralysed and blind. It was a grim but realistic reminder that she had and would never be a saviour, nor a survivor, just lucky. Regardless of prior experiences, she was no more competent or threatening than a shot deer.

 The squishy sound returned, just as the warmth where the creature had poised left her neck. There was a distinct dragging sound on the floor, a sharp leather and zippers scrapping on wood, as the wet splotches rounded around her. She still didn’t dare open her eyes, until the footsteps and dragging vanished. 

 As the house and flat quiet, her eyes opened slowly, the lids still recovering from the glued fear. She glanced down to her hands, and realised that somewhere along the way, they had reached up to grip the necklace, which she squeezed as she took a shuddering, shallow breath. She reminded herself that both she and Lottie would be okay, that they’d both been through far worse, but the comfort only resonated on a surface level. 

 Looking around the dark room, she noticed the outline of a light switch right by the door, which stood more ajar than she had previously thought. With a final, semi-deep breath, she flicked it on. The room burst harshly into a bright yellow lamp, her eyes burning at the harsh contrast. She blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the tears that at first came from brightness, but as her vision cleared, came from a true realisation of what had just happened.

 In the light, it became clear that this tiny room was a study. There was a dust laden desk with old, leather-bound journals, a desk light with a shattered bulb, and a computer just slightly more modern than the one downstairs, a corkboard with images connected by different coloured strings that looked like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream, and lots of shelves populated with antiques and books. However, Zarifa was not so much focusing on the small glimpse into Valour’s elusive personal life, as the floor where the encounter happened.

 Splattered across the planks were puddles of a black, tar-like liquid, intertwined with small specks of blood. The ornate box itself had at some point been knocked over, tilted on its side, spreading a few small, thin sheets of ancient looking paper out. Zarifa gently made her way over, stepping past the puddles with a scrunched up nose, before reaching the papers. She didn’t pick it up, nor touch it, instead tilting her head to read what the dull, brown ink said.

  To whom it may concern…

  In this letter lies the seal, which I fear must not be opened till The Dawn. If the time is not right, you must close this box, and ignore this. Do not read onwards, or you will bring upon yourself the cruelest of fates.

  In a worst case scenario, if the seal has been unsealed before The Dawn, if doors ideally locked stand open, you must be prepared to make a key. 

  A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

 Zarifa’s eyes widened, turning the page frantically looking for the continuation of where the text had been ripped off. She glanced around the room, looked once again inside the box, only to find it an empty chasm. With a shaky breath, she wiped away her tears, determaimly, and pulled up her phone.

 Zarifa furrowed her brows as the time, reading precisely 06:00, appeared onto the screen. Had it really been two hours already? Nevertheless, she decided to ignore it for now, opening up her contacts, and quickly clicking the one person who she knew would already be up at such an early hour.

 “Hey Grant? I need you and Bruin to come in as soon as possible. We have a slight… situation on our hands.”

[prose-for-hire]

The man behind the monster

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Opera Phantom Spike Imagine. And for the side of his face could be the vampire morph side

Requested by: @everlastingartist​

Warning: Blood mention. Biting. Spike pushes the reader.

A/N: I guess this is an amalgamation of scenes loosely inspired by the phantom of the opera. I wanted a comforting moment from the reader to Spike surrounding his vamp face though and there’s no other person. Just spike and reader. This is an au. Hope it’s okay, I give you Spike in the Vampire of the Opera.

You danced and acted in the opera house. You were part of the ensemble, you had been grateful to land such a role especially as you hadn’t been training for as long as the talented people that you worked with. You were in the background most of the time, but you worked hard and decided that one day you would land more central roles.

Little did you know, you were already playing the central role of someone’s affections. You had long since heard the rumours. Of a monster or a spirit that haunted the opera house that you worked in.

He watched every performance you were cast in, from the shadows. There was little else for him to do but he found himself enjoying the way you moved. Held yourself. You weren’t like the others. Stuck up and taking themselves too seriously. You were real. You were going to be his.

You were in his dreams, in his every thought. Every evening he would look forward to the curtain call. To seeing your face once again from the box he reserved next to the stage. He loved the way your voice would carry, a melodic confession of love straight into his ears. He could pick your voice out above anyone else’s.

There had long since been rumours of the vampire of the opera. A demon that haunted the opera house. Hidden away from the rest of the world for reasons unknown. He used the audience as people he could feed from, his life blood. With the occasional rat if there was a quiet period. He lived in the underground dungeons, only coming out to catch a glimpse of you.

He would often leave you his handwritten poetry in your dressing room. The only contact you had with him throughout the last year. Describing the way you would glow. His affection growing every second he saw you. The way he watched you onstage, his eyes never able to move from your form.

One evening, you were feeling lonely. You heart aching for something you couldn’t yet put into words. You had no plans or anywhere to go after the performance. You absentmindedly looked towards the mirror and it was the first time you saw his face. There he was. Slicked back white blonde hair, a mask covering one half of his face and a long, cloak-like leather duster. He took your hand, through the mirror, bringing you below. To the place he called home. You were stood taking in your surroundings. It was an underground cave and you found yourself feeling at home. Because he was there. You were drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Knowing you could get burnt at any moment. The potential danger rolling off him in waves. But the desire for his touch, his love was too strong.

Spike had now moved behind you, gripping your hips. His strong hands were now roaming over you. Your hips. Your thighs. He ran his hands over the material of your outfit, his body flush against yours as he spoke. You closed your eyes, relishing his touch. Leaning back, pressing your body into his as he whispered a string of hushed confessions into your ear, “Touch me, love. I need you to trust me… to devour this. The touch we share” You nodded, sighing at his words. Words you felt within your very soul. The words that had been written in the poetry left in your dressing room. It was him. His words. His love.

You were drawn to him. Your feelings bubbling towards the surface as his passionate embrace swelled your affections further. He spoke lowly in your ear, “I’ve seen you, where your heart lies. I know you now, you belong here in the dark with me” he insisted, “Let your darker side give in, love” He pressed this into your skin with a kiss against your pulse point. You shivered, leaning your head back against him. Leaning the side of your face against his.

The sensual touch making you bite back a moan. You reach up to the side of his face with one hand, his form still behind you. You moved your hands, resting on your body and he swiftly moved both of his hands to rest over yours. His eyes closing briefly at the pure pleasure he felt at having you here, responding to his pleas. His passionate demonstration of his feelings. He felt so deeply for you. Would kill for you.

You felt yourself wanting to stay with him. Wanting to embrace the darkness, so long as it meant being by his side. You nodded softly and his undead heart rose. His eyes widened slightly in wonder, searching your face to confirm this further. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and moved from his hold slightly. You walked around, with him closely following, exploring the underground that he had now made into a home.

You moved the curtain as he spoke lowly, telling you of the affection he had held for you since he had seen your face. When you opened the curtain, you were staring back at you. A doll with your face. A life-like figure. He had designed a version of you. To keep him company. You didn’t know whether to weep or embrace him once more. Instead, you merely gasped in shock, falling back against him. Fainting. He pulled you into him, carrying you toward his bed. It was grand, but you didn’t see it until you woke.

He stroked the side of your face as you slept, his blue eyes scanning your form. He had dreamt of you in his bed, longed to see you this way. He lingered for a moment before he left you to rest, drinking from his bottle of liquor and moving away to a different part of the dungeon to give you some space.

 When you woke and walked towards him, he was hunched over his desk, feverishly writing. He could sense your movement and he relaxed when he heard that your footsteps were slowly coming towards him rather than running away. You run your hands along his shoulders, he closed his eyes at your touch. He had dreamt of you for so long. You pressed your face against his once more. This time, it was the side that held the mask. You frowned, moving back slightly and peeling away the mask. You slowly take the mask from the side of his face. He snarled, almost overturning the desk. Turning swiftly and pushing you from his face, the mask still in your hand. He growls as he pushes you away. You land on the floor, eyes widened in horror at his temper.

“You stupid-! You bloody horrible– is this what you wanted? To laugh? To jeer at the monster?” He shouted, “Oh yeah that’s right, everyone look at Spike and his hideous demon half” he continued, kicking at the metal gates in the corner of the room. He was covering one side of his face as he spoke, but you could see the fangs now on that side of his face.

You pulled yourself back to your feet, the mask still in your hand. You could see that his eyes cast towards you, pain in his features as he saw what you did. He expected you to turn and walk away, although he wasn’t sure he would be able to let you walk off. Instead, you surprised him. You move back to his side instantly, willing him to feel your comfort.

“You’re not a monster, you could never be a monster to me” You say softly, swept up in the passion that never dissipated, “Your words are so beautiful, no doubt your heart is too. I can feel it”

“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrow, moving his hand away to prove you wrong. You saw his face, one half of his face had been twisted. He was paler, with purple veins lightly showing on the side of his face. Contorted at the forehead that was ridged and textured in a way that stuck out. There was also a piercing yellow eye now evident where you hadn’t noticed one before.

You reached to touch the roughly textured but he grabbed your wrist, a firm grip keeping your hand in mid-air. You take an intake of breath, shuddering at his cold touch only in temperature. But the warmth that spread through you from this action was one that couldn’t be denied. You shook your head softly and he released your wrist, allowing you to continue.

To anyone else, it may be shocking, grotesque even. But you stared in a way that could only be described as lovingly. He had cowered slightly, waiting for you to laugh. To begin to make fun of him for both his affection and his form. His insecurity had gotten the better of him again.

You reached to stroke his face and this time he let you. Your hand contacted his face, running gently over his forehead. You had expected it to be rough, but it was smooth like the rest of his face. You stroked him softly your touch feather-light. The adoration evident to him. 

“I love you, y/n”

“I love you too, Spike. I’ll never stop” you confirmed. Everything had moved so fast but if this was what love was you wanted more of it. You wished to drown in it by his side. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, to that side of his face.

As you leaned in again, he moved so that his lips were now hungrily on yours. Parting your lips, moving urgently against you. His lips felt so good you never wanted to break apart from him. It was a revelation, his love pouring into you. His hold on you tightening as your emotional attachment grew further. Your lips on his feverishly, willing him to feel the honesty of your love. The intimacy that both of you had longed for for what felt like your whole lives. The amorous exchange becoming increasingly desperate. Both of you swept in the passion of the moment. In the attraction you couldn’t escape.

He pressed you against the wall, pulled you to the side. Moving your head so your neck exposed to him. He landed a kiss along your neck before he moved back. His fangs more visible as he held you in place, his hand firmly in the crook of your neck. You gasped and he gripped you tighter. Pulling you into him as he pierced your skin. His fangs sinking into the side of your neck. He drank deep. Your blood slowly dripped down your neck as he tasted you.

Now you would be his, forever.

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting It Back Together Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @bookworm-christina​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @amwolowicz​ @delightfulheartdream​ @frostbitten-written​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @tom-hlover​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @myraiswack​

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Hunched over his desk, Adam scowled at the blank staff on the music composition page before him. In his mind he could hear the notes that he had composed two nights ago but when he tried to concentrate and write them down they refused to stay clear in his brain. Twice already he had crumpled up the dried out old paper and hurled it across the room. Now, after his pen scratched through another mistake, he swept the entire pile of paper off the desk.

Leaning back in his wingchair, he glared across the room. It was all the fault of that thing. There against the wall, clashing with his dark hued room, sat a garishly bright neon yellow tool bag. It was not just that it was an eye sore, though that was bad enough. Really, who in their right mind would purchase anything so hideous? It was the knowledge that it belonged to her. That horrid, sobbing girl who had cried all over him last night.

Adam suppressed a shiver as he remembered it. She had clung to him like a python, face buried in his chest has he flailed to find a way to calm her. He had been so startled by the way she melted into him he had not known what to do. He was no longer, he realized, used to experiencing any form of physical contact.

She was tiny. That had been his first, irrelevant observation. Her watery face had only come up to the middle of his chest. She was also surprisingly warm. Holding her felt so different, so very different than holding Eve had felt. His late wife had been nearly as tall as he was, and like him she lacked the blood pumping through her veins to warm her in the night air.

Blood. That was the next, unshakable realization. She was full of throbbing, pulsing blood. Adam could sense it coursing through her, adding a flush to her face and a beat to the chest pressed against his stomach. With her hair piled as it was on top of her head he could see clearly the blue tinted vein running down her long neck. Staring at it, he felt his animal side begin to stir within him.

It had been ten years since Adam had eaten from a living person. On that desperate night in Tangier it had been a matter of life or death, him or the young woman unfortunate enough to cross his path when he was literally starving. He had turned the girl, and Eve had done the same to her lover. They had given them immortality, curse or gift depending on your mindset. In the end, it hadn't mattered. Both of them had died along with Eve when tainted blood had been sold to them. Adam would have been dead too, had he not been out scouring a rare bookshop for a gift for his beloved.

Years later, the proximity of a carotid artery, just there for the taking, caused a physical sensations within him. Adam could feel his fangs fighting to descend. Alarmingly, he could also feel his cock hardening in his jeans. Live feeding was not the only thing he had gone without for years. The small woman in his arms, so helpless and so unaware of her peril, was all but begging to be devoured in all sorts of ways. He could imagine tearing away her clothes and sinking into her, first his cock then his fangs, as he satisfied his cravings upon her unsuspecting body. Had Adam been other than what he was, had he not had all of those centuries with Eve to civilize him, she would have been done for.

Instead, he had clumsily patted her on the back, eyes rolling in his head as he did so. He could not quite bring himself to mouth the platitudes he knew she would expect of him, but he did his best to bite back the sarcasm that was his defensive habit. She had lost someone herself, and while the pain of losing someone known only for one short lifetime could never compare to the loss he had suffered, it still touched a chord within him. He knew the deep, unending pain of love taken too soon.

When at last she had managed to breath regularly again, Adam had quickly walked her back to the hatch that led to her own home. She had uttered a ceaseless string of apologies that he neither wanted nor needed, and he had mumbled something inane in return, sounding for all the world like just another zombie. The relief he felt when he shut the hatch behind her had almost brought him to his knees. And yet...

She had been so very warm. So warm and so alive. Irritating and encroaching, yes, but her questions about his electric system had been intelligent, and her observations startlingly apt. He was used to zombies being disinterested, focused so inward on their own petty problems that they didn't see what was right in front of their faces.

Her face had been pretty, the thought ran through his head. A little older than he had expected at first, though they all seemed young to him. Big eyes, full lips, high, almost elfin cheekbones.

With a growl, Adam stood up and stalked over to the offensive yellow tool bag. He should have left it up on the roof. She would have realized it was missing eventually and gone back up for it. But the skies had looked threatening, and he didn't want her tools to rust. It was a matter of conservation, he assured himself. Not wanting to do something nice for a zombie. Certainly not that.

He obviously was not going to be able to concentrate with the hideous thing in his home. He would take it back over to her. The home she lived in had a double style doorway; if he was lucky the outer door would be open and he could leave it between them. No need to see her again. The last thing he needed was to be dragged into another encounter with her.

Pulling his leather jacket on without bothering with a shirt, Adam grabbed the tool bag and headed for his front door. Best to get this over with. Yanking open the door in his rush, he collided with something soft and with a shock watched the very person he had been hoping to avoid fall backwards off of his front stoop.

"Fuck!" she yelped, as she toppled down.

Adam blinked as she looked up at him from the ground where she sat inelegantly on her ass.

"Are you alright?" he asked as sense returned to him.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she smiled unconvincingly at him. "Luckily I don't have too far to fall."

"I was going out and didn't expect you to be there," he mumbled.

He heard the accusation in his voice, but didn't seem to be able to help it. What the hell had she been doing there?

"Of course not," she blushed. "Um... would you mind?"

She held out her hand and Adam gasped. Her palm was scratched from breaking her fall, and a small pattern of blood was beading up on the skin. Instinctively he took a step back at the same time his head moved forward with a will of its own. The woman looked at him with confusion, and he forced himself calm down. Why the fuck hadn't he put on gloves?

Working hard to control the trembling of his hands, he reached out and helped her to stand. Hyper aware of the siren call of her blood he pulled his hands back as fast as he possibly could, hoping she didn't notice the way they trembled. Fortunately for him she seemed too concentrated on her own discomfort.

"Did you want something?" he asked brusquely when she had gotten her balance back.

"Not really. Well, I mean, yes. To... to apologize. For last night. For crying all over you. Sorry."

"No need," he told her "Forget about it. I have."

"Oh. Well, okay then," she stood for a moment worrying at her lower lip, and he noticed again how full her mouth was. "Were you going somewhere?"

"Out," he said tersely, old habits dying hard. As he saw her flinch, he made his tone soften. "Actually, I was going to see you."

"Really?" he eyes lit up, and Adam felt a panic that he could not place.

"Yes. You left this on the roof last night. I thought you might want it back."

"Oh," she said again, face falling once more. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it," he said, grimacing. Why was she just standing there? "Well, see you."

"Yeah," she blinked up at him.

"Alright then."

Honestly, wasn't she ever going to move? Giving up, Adam gave her the closest he could muster to a half smile and turned back inside, shutting the door behind him in her face.

Only when the wood was solid between them did he shakily raise his hand in front of his face. There, crimson in the dim light of his apartment, was a smear of her blood. Unable to control himself any longer, he brought his hand to his mouth and desperately sucked the sticky liquid off, moaning with the taste of it. So fresh, so pure, so sweet.

Falling back on the sofa conveniently behind him, he realized he was hard again. Licking to make sure he had gotten every last drop, he stroked himself with his other hand. If he was picturing a certain set of wide eyes and lush lips, it was only because their owner's blood was still hot in his mouth. There could not possibly be any other reason.

***

Well, that had been an unmitigated disaster.

Lilly held the bag of frozen peas to her ass and tried not to dwell on how thoroughly she had humiliated herself. If that was an example of her improving her image she obviously needed to never leave the house again. She was not fit to be around other people. Certainly not fit to be around someone so flawless as her neighbor.

Good lord, when he had walked out the door and into her, it was like being hit with a load of bricks. Lying there on her backside staring up at him, Lilly had been almost stuck dumb by the sight. She had thought he was beautiful from a distance, or in the dark light of the roof. Standing as he was in a halo of porch light he was almost god-like. It did not help that his black leather jacket was parted to reveal a very well muscled chest and abdomen. Lilly's eyes traveled the length of him from the bob of his adam's apple, over his defined pecs and six pack, and down to the thin trail of hair and the vee that drew her eyes past the edge of his low slung jeans.

Sweet bajeebas, but he was perfect. She was hardly the same species. What had she been thinking?

The playing began sometime later that night, around midnight. Lilly was hunched of a jigsaw puzzle she had found in a cupboard. Her Grandmother had loved to do them, and Lilly had caught the bug. She had lost count of the number of nights she had stayed up obsessively putting them together, unable to go to bed until she had found just one more piece, only to see the sun rise as she finished it.

The wail of a guitar came through the wall, sounding plaintive and introspective. Lilly had been drawn to all of the music she had heard from him so far. His melodies were complex, and he seemed to favor minor keys. Her Grandmother would have liked it as well. No doubt she had enjoyed hearing the strains come through the thin walls. Certainly she would have preferred it to the fighting and drunken antics of the students that had always assailed them before.

Lilly found herself humming along to his playing. She loved music, even if she was self-conscious of her voice. Having a Grandmother who had made a career of crooning songs in smoky clubs made her all too aware of her own deficiency.

There was something so comforting about music. It was almost mathematical in the way it worked. Patterns created and repeated, only to be subverted and return in a new and unexpected ways. If the composer was good, that was. Her neighbor was very good.

Of course he would be good. God forbid he be less than perfect at anything.

So when he kept reaching the end of a delicate passage, only to end on a note that didn't quite resolve the phrase. Lilly could hear the frustration in his fingers clearly through the layers of sheet rock that separated them. At first it amused her; so he was fallible after all. Good. She allowed herself to take a superior pleasure in his failure.

By the time it was approaching two in the morning, she was ready to scream. She was over halfway done with her puzzle - a scene of Paris at night, all lit up - but was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. Her gorgeous, grouchy neighbor must have played through the piece a hundred times, and every time it ended wrong. It was driving her insane. He was so close to finishing it. Every time he hit the not quite right note she felt her entire body twitch. She could only imagine how he was feeling.

It started one more time. Lilly held her breath, willing him to find what was right there, waiting to be put in place. The final phrase started, she scrunched her face, waiting to hear it fixed. The note he played was achingly close, but not quite what the song cried out for.

"Half a step lower!" she screamed out, unable to resist any longer.

The music stopped. Everything went silent on the other side of the wall. Now she had done it. Lilly could see him, glaring at the wall with that intense, closed off set of blue eyes. She was inordinately happy now that a solid hunk of material kept them apart. Any hope of a friendship developing between her and her haughty crush had surely been dashed now. And all because she could not control her stupid impulses.

After a stretch that seemed like forever, a length of time where Lilly died and was forced back into existence repeatedly, the music started up again. She made herself a small lump in the corner of her sofa, as if somehow she could hide even though it was impossible for him to see her. If she could have fit below the cushions she would have.

He reached to end and after the slightest of pauses he played the note she had suggested. It sounded perfect. The chord rang out, slowly fading, and she felt a small smile fighting to exist on her lips.

The music stopped abruptly again, and for the rest of the night only silence greeted her through the wall between them.

[angelic-holland]

Halo Effect ‣ demon!Tom

Y/N just wants to save her little sister. What happens when a handsome stranger promises her so much more? 

“I was too busy noticing all of the intricate ways in which the house at 11 Blackthorne Road seemed to collapse in on itself, that I failed to notice the horns peeking through your messy brown curls.”

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: mentions of cancer, supernatural elements, demons, hints at a possible mental illness/delusions, talk of death, open ending (take that as you will), psychological horror/thriller (I guess), mild smut

Author’s Note: i deleted this because I adapted it into a play but if people from irl find me here... welcome to my sins! 

October 31st, 2019

Your hands shook as you kneeled in the dirt of the road, digging a hole big enough for the small wooden box in your hands. You double check the contents. A polaroid picture of you and your sister, before she got sick, you were pushing her on a swing, her mouth was wide and mid-laugh and you had the brightest smile on your face. A small mason jar full of dirt from the graveyard. A yarrow root. And the bone from a black cat. It took finding the creepiest small ‘remedy’ shop in Salem, but when you told the woman what you were looking for, she was able to sell it to you for a hefty sum. That price didn’t matter. What you would get from this was priceless.

You look around you, the crossroads incredibly obvious, four roads that all met together, all dirt. The city never bothered to pave them, the only thing down one road was a big farmhouse, a run down bar along the other, the road back into the main town of Salem, and then there was your road. Sort of. The dirt road that led to 11 Blackthorne Road. Your house. It was old, built in the 1800s and you swore the entire foundation moved when more than two people were inside the house, but it was yours. You and your sisters. You smile slightly before you bury the wooden box, standing up. You don’t know how long this would take. Almost everything you read about summonings told you that they appeared in an instant. You check your watch, it was a little past three in the morning, the witching hour, the time at which you were most likely to summon one. The moon was high above you and reflects off the glass of your watch. You look around, feeling a slight breeze that sends a shiver down your spine and goosebumps up your arms.

You jump when you see him, his beauty takes your breath away. That definitely should not be the first thing you notice about him. It should be the way that his eyes seem to glow red before quickly disappearing to reveal a light brown. You notice the freckles and a little divot in his chin, the way his nose was just slightly crooked.

“Are you-, you’re-,” you stutter out, eyes roaming the body of the man standing in front of you. He’s wearing dress pants, a matching dark blue suit jacket, a fitted white shirt, shiny black and blue shoes. His hair is nicely done, dark brown curls brushed back out of his face, and his head is tilted to the side. It’s as if he enjoys watching your reaction to him.

“Who else would I be? Who did you summon?” He takes a step towards you.

You take a step back, stumbling over the pile of dirt you created. He catches you before you can fall, one hand on your back, the other holding your hand as he pulls you back up. You feel heat rise to your cheeks as he steps back again.

“You’re the, you’re a crossroads demon?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t look like a crossroads demon. From what you’ve read online and in the books they were terrifying. Glowing red eyes and a hideous demeanor. This man, if you could call someone who looked so young, a man, is almost ethereal.

“The one and only,” he holds his arms out and laughs slightly, shaking his head, “not really the one and only, but the one you summoned.”

“Well how would you- did I choose you? How do you decide who gets to, you know, show up?”

You have so many questions, so many curiosities that you almost forgot the reason you summoned him in the first place.

“So you can grant wishes?” You ask, watching as he chuckles.

“I’m not exactly a genie. But I can give you something you want, it will cost you.”

“How much?”

“Your soul,” he answers with a shrug, this was nonchalant for him, a business deal of sorts.

“My soul?” You take a sharp inhale, logically, you knew that was what it would cost. Everyone said it. Everyone that agreed to their deal lost their soul after a specified amount of time. That was how this worked, to get something you had to give them something in return. But none of what you read really had much proof. They could very well have been ramblings of crazy people, much like so many centuries ago people accused ordinary women of being witches in your very own hometown.

“Your soul, not now, no, you can enjoy your soul for, how about one year?”

“Only one?” you nibble on your bottom lip, thinking about how little time one year seemed to you. That is, until you remember that one year for your sister was a lifetime, it was a shot in the dark, something that seemed impossible. Until now. Until a demon was standing in front of you, agreeing to give you anything you could possibly want for something that seemed incredibly trivial in return. You were never quite sure what a soul was. There were lots of conflicting philosophies regarding souls, consciousness, the afterlife. You felt that a soul was only a small part of what made you who you were. Surely your brain and heart were much more important than something without a physical representation within your body.

“I mean, I could just go,” the man begins to turn and you throw your hands out.

“Wait, no, one year, I’ll take it, please don’t go,” you sound desperate, but that was because you were, there was no hiding that. It was 3 in the morning, and you stood, shivering under the pale moonlight, begging someone that shouldn’t exist to take your soul in exchange for something. And it wasn’t just anything. It wasn’t something selfish like so many deals you read about. People sold their souls for money, for power, for fame. Apparently five of the United States presidents only won because they sold their soul for the pleasure of working at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Saving your sister in exchange for you soul wasn’t selfish, right? You aren’t saving her for you, not completely. You want to give her years and years of a life she never got to live.

He pauses, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, raising an eyebrow before nodding, “Now, I’ve got your soul, in a years time, what is it that you want?”

“My sister, she has Ewing sarcoma, a type of cancer and she’s dying. All the chemotherapy, the radiation, it stopped helping since the cancer spread to her lungs and brain. There’s no-,” you suck in a sharp breath, hope. There’s absolutely no hope, except for him. He was the last ditch option that you thought was a scary story kids told each other. That is, until he showed up and promised to give you something in exchange for your soul.

You don’t notice the way his brain seems to go elsewhere as if he’s looking for something while you ramble. You don’t notice the way his eyebrows turn in and his lips turn down ever so slightly as you continue to talk.

“So we stopped treatment, she relaxes at home now. But she’s in pain, I know she is. She keeps telling me that it’s okay, that she’d rather spend her last few days reading at the little blue cushioned window seat but I know she’d rather have a lifetime of doing that. She deserves a lifetime of that. I want to give her a lifetime of that.”

“So that’s what you want? You want your sister to be healed? No more cancer?” He asks, watching the way you tap your fingers against your thigh, partially hidden by your thick wool sweater sleeves. You are tapping out a tune, a song you would sing to your sister while she was going through chemotherapy years ago.

“Yes, she’s dying. I want you to save her.”

“And what do you need?”

“My sister! I told you! She’s dying. That’s what I need. I need you to save her.”

“You want that. And I will save her. She’s a done deal. But that’s what you want. What do you need?”

“I don’t understand,” you shake your head. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe you were dreaming and he was actually an angel, a sign telling you that everything would work itself out. That you didn’t need to sell your soul to a demon to make sure your sister was okay. Maybe a new treatment would come out tomorrow and this deal would be for nothing.

“There has to be something you’ve always needed, maybe you were too busy giving everything to your sister to take anything for yourself.”

“I mean,” you pause, shaking your head, “no, this is stupid, I don’t need that.”

“What is it?” the man implores. You don’t step back when he takes a step towards you.

“Love. I mean, I’ve never gotten the chance to do much since my sister got sick at such a young age. It’s dumb right? To want a boyfriend, or something, while my sister is sick? I’m so fucking selfish,” you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck self-consciously.

“Quite the contrary, you’ve taken care of her for so long, you never got the chance to take care of yourself.”

He smiles but his eyes are sad, deep bags under them, he looks exhausted. You wonder if demons slept.

“I guess so.”

“So that’s what you need?” the man asks.

You nod, glancing back up at him, “what’s your name? How does this contract work?”

You have too many questions. You want to invite the man back to your house for coffee and stay up until morning finding out everything you could about him. It is as if you were on a first date.

“I’m Tom,” the man says, holding a hand out, you stare at it for a moment.

“Is that how you seal the deal?” You ask.

Tom laughs, shaking his head, “no, not at all.”

“Then how do you-,”

“A kiss.”

“A kiss?” You raise an eyebrow as he puts his hand back in his pocket.

“Or I could go,” Tom begins to take a step back. You follow him.

“No! Let’s kiss, and then it’s done? My sister won’t be sick and I’ll-,”

“You’ll find love, that’s correct.”

“Okay,” you’re only an inch away from Tom now. He cups your chin, bringing your lips to his. Your eyes flutter shut before you can see the way his eyes glow red and his other hand rests against your hip. It’s warm above your wool sweater and there’s a pain that sparks up your side, seemingly wrapping around your ribs, gently scraping against them.

“Ah,” you cry out as Tom’s lips leave yours.

“It’s the contract, etched into your ribs, an unbreakable bond,” he holds you as the pain begins to subside in one side before sparking up the other.

And then he kisses you again. It distracts you from the hollow feeling inside each of your newly carved ribs. It distracts you from the fact that you just sold your soul to him. Your hands find the back of his head, one holding his lips against yours, the other running through his curls.

“It’s done,” he breathes out as he pulls away.

“Did you want to meet my sister?”

He nods, his fingers slipping easily into the space between your own, “lead the way.”

“You know, I still don’t think you’re real,” you flush as the sleeve of your sweater brushes against his watch.

“You just kissed me, didn’t you?”

“I’ve kissed people in my dreams before.”

“This isn’t a dream.”

“How can I be sure?” you quicken your pace down the dirt road, passing trees with dark red and orange leaves, they seem to turn in on themselves as you walked past. You can only focus on the way the moonlight reflected off of To’s shoes. You pass your mailbox, running your fingers along the chipped paint, over the wooden curves, over the indented ‘11’ of 11 Blackthorne Road.

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll know. Your sister, she’s going to wake up and she won’t feel any pain. She won’t lie about it either, she’ll have the brightest smile on her face.”

“How can I trust you?” you ask, he doesn’t need to know that you already trust him. That he has already given you so much in that one instant with his lips on your own than you could ever give him in return. You forget for a moment that you gave him something priceless as well. You handed over one of the most important parts of yourself without thinking twice about the implications of what you’ve done. A year was a long time. You have 365 days with Lexi that you wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.

“When you realize your sister is okay, that she can do things you wouldn’t have ever dreamed she would be able to do before, that’s when you know you can trust me.”

You walk up the four steps to your porch, your hand digging into your pocket to grab the key that would unlock your door. You know Lexi is asleep, so you tell Tom to be quiet. You freeze in your spot when you noticed that the doorknob was on the left. It was odd because the door always swung open to the left, the doorknob has always been on the right. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, maybe the man who appeared out of nowhere at the crossroads was a sign that you were dreaming. Why else would the door change like that?

When you open them, the doorknob is on the right, and the door swings open to the left. The foundation doesn’t move when you and Tom walk inside.

All is well at 11 Blackthorne Road.

You and Tom sit at your kitchen table, two mismatched seats on opposite ends of this old rickety table that was at the house when you moved in. His chair is a light blue metal one, yours a dark brown wooden one, three of the five back slats missing. You watch as he wraps his hands around the warm mug, he waits for you to speak as your foot taps against the white tile.

Eventually the silence is too much for him. No matter how many centuries he spent in hell, deafening silence as he was tortured, learning how to make deals, drowning out the quiet with his own tormented screams, this is somehow worse.

You have so many thoughts, so many things you want to say, to ask, but you can’t seem to think of a single one at the moment. You can’t form the questions on your lips.

“How long has your sister been sick?”

The question takes you by surprise, the genuine curiosity in the way his voice raised at the end of the statement. You figured demons were all knowing beings. They could grant wishes that otherwise weren’t physically possible. They could perform better miracles than the Catholic church. But Tom sits here and looks genuinely interested in learning more about you.

“She’s had cancer for a little over eight years. At first it was just Ewing Sarcoma, she noticed it one time, we were on the playground, she was 8, I was pushing her on the swingset and asked a mom who was playing with her little boy to take a picture of us. I just told Lexi a joke, I can’t remember what it was now, but she was laughing so hard when the mom took the photo of us. On the bad days, when she’s in so much pain she can hardly get out of bed, I try to imagine her like that. A little kid, happy, laughing, without a care in the world. But after the woman handed me the polaroid camera, Lexi stood up. She felt this horrible, horrible pain shoot up her leg. I took her right to the hospital. Our parents met us there. The next day she was diagnosed. They started her on chemotherapy, radiation, a whole medicine cabinet worth of drugs. She was in and out of the hospital for so long. One day she looked at me, the cancer spread to her lungs, her brain, she said ‘y/n, I don’t want to live out the rest of my life in a hospital bed. Take me home, let me enjoy the little time I have left.’ So I did, and we’ve been here ever since.”

You watch Tom’s eyes wander along the wall behind you, watching as the moon slowly crept along the horribly ugly wallpaper. It illuminates different parts of it, like a never ending tapestry, it appears to tell a story. When it shone on the curve of the darkened yellow, it is a bulging throat, full of unspoken words dying to get out. As the night progresses the moon shines on the part where the dark yellow drew in. The words came easier and easier and the throat is cleared.

As the sun replaces the moon you hear Lexi’s footsteps come padding down the stairs. Her cup of peppermint tea waiting for her in between you and Tom. You count the steps as she comes down. Thirteen.

“Lexi! There’s someone I’d like you to meet!” You call out to her.

She isn’t out of breath as she enters the kitchen like she normally is.

“Good morning,” she smiles brightly, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected guest sitting opposite of you.

“This is Tom, he’s a friend of mine.”

“Well hi Tom, friend of y/n,” Lexi smiles, picking up her mug.

“How do you feel?” You sit up, glancing at Tom excitedly.

“Great actually, I don’t have a headache, my leg doesn’t hurt. I think I’m going to open the window and listen to the robins sing while I read,” she smiles as she walks past you and you ruffle her hair.

She slips out of the kitchen and makes her way to the living room. You turn back to Tom, a wide smile on your face as a tear slips down your cheek.

“She’s really okay?”

He nods, his gaze still caught on the wallpaper an inch above and to the left of your head.

“And so are you,” he responds.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, it bounces off the walls and echoes around his empty mug, he taps his ribcage. You’re reminded that he isn’t a doctor or a miracle worker. He isn’t an angel or a god. He is a demon and you sold him your soul for this. You would’ve gladly done it all over again.

You hear Lexi quietly reading her book, humming along to the song the robins sang.

You tell Tom you have to head into work later, at the Salem witch museum, the job you’ve had since high school.

“Is it alright if I head into town with you? Maybe pick up some clothes?”

“You want to stay?” You ask, face lifting up into a smile as Tom nods.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Sure, there’s this great thrift shop next to my work that has all types of clothes, you’d probably fit in best around here if you wore something other than that fancy outfit.”

“Business deals require business casual,” Tom stands up. And you remember that this was business as usual for him. Maybe he is just going to stay the night, to make sure you didn’t try to turn back on your deal. Maybe he’d be gone before the moonlight could force more words out of the ugly yellow and bloated throats that rise and fall on the wallpaper.

“Right, I uh, I’ll show you where the store is, and Lexi can let you in since you’ll be back before I’m out of work. I’ve only got one key.”

You change and Tom sits on the thirteenth step, feet tapping against the floor until he hears you coming down the stairs.

“Bye Lexi! I’ll be back by dinner time!” You call out to your sister and she calls back, she tells you she loves you and you call out a quick love you before locking the door behind you and Tom.

Your hand slips easily into Tom’s. It was as if your fingers were hand carved and crafted to fit between the space of his own. You point out different parts of town as you walk towards it. Even as the wind and cold bite your skin, he keeps you warm. Just his gentle hand in your own keep a fire burning low in your stomach. When you get to Main Street you point out the thrift shop, Tom squeezes your hand once before slipping inside. You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before opening the door to the museum.

“Hi Sally,” you wave at your boss who’s sitting at the information desk. You’re about to walk towards the employee room when she stops you.

“Y/N, I didn’t expect you to be here today. You can take the next few weeks off, I uh, I should’ve called you, I’m sorry. Why don’t you see about coming back on November 15th?”

“I’m here though, I can work, I uh, I’m okay to work.”

“It’s okay honey, really, go home, rest.”

“Okay? I guess I’ll see you on November 15th.”

“And if you need more time that’s okay as well,” Sally rests her hand on your shoulder but it feels cold. You nod, walking backwards out of the door and meet Tom inside the thrift shop.

“I thought you were working?” He asks, a bundle of winter clothes in his arms.

“I forgot I took some vacation time off the next two weeks,” you shrug, “I have such a scatterbrain sometimes when I’m running around trying to take care of Lexi.”

The weeks passed and the other shoe never dropped. Lexi’s left leg no longer ached, her migraines that used to keep her in bed all day were gone. You go back to work on November 15th like you told Sally you would. She greets you with a warm hug and Jeremy, the boy who you went to high school with, smiles when you sit down at the information desk with him.

“How are you?” He asks.

“I’m good, how was your Halloween?” You strike up casual conversation, never quite finding it easy to talk to Jeremy during the dull time in between visitors.

“Pretty good, how was yours? I mean, nevermind,” Jeremy shakes his head, looking disappointed in himself for asking. Before you can ask what he means, a family walks in.

You greet them, they ask you different questions about the Salem Witch Trials. They are visiting from Wisconsin and are really into the haunted history of your town. You walk with them throughout the exhibits, falling into the easy routine of telling the history of the trials, pointing out different artistic depictions of the time period. It felt easy, you’ve been giving the same speeches for over seven years now.

When you get home that night you fix up Lexi’s favorite sandwich, turkey and cheese on wheat bread. You set it down next to her, she hums and thanks you. She hasn’t quite gotten her appetite back. You figure it was only a matter of time before she did though. She’d beg you for apple cider donuts and you’d have to fight the box away from her before she ate them all and made herself sick.

And Tom stays. You didn’t think he would. But he did. He didn’t quite explain himself, but you didn’t mind. You want him to be here. He likes to ask you questions. While Lexi was too busy buried in her book, sitting up against the frosted glass window, Tom talks to you at the kitchen table. He sits in the blue metal chair. You sit in the wooden one. Just the other day it was missing 3 slats. You stand up and looked at the chair, counting the slats and the holes where the slats should have rested.

One.

Two.

Three.

There are only three slats total, two missing. You sit down again, maybe you aren’t looking at it right, you feel one slat against your back so you close your eyes and sit so your back doesn’t touch the wood. Your thigh almost falls off the chair, it has to have been smaller than the last time you sat in it.

“I said have you always lived in Salem?” Tom asks, distracting you from the way you felt like the edges of the table were closer together than they were when you sat down.

“Yeah, I uh, yes, we have,” you nod. Your fingers tap against the wood of the table. It feels hollow.

***

Tom doesn’t sleep. You figure as much when he would keep you up very late asking you all sorts of questions. You’d lay on your side of the bed, the homey indent felt safe. He found a spot next to you, and slowly, as slowly as the frost hardened the grass and snow began to fall from the sky, his side of the bed became indented as well.

The next morning you wake up, your head finds his chest and his hand finds your shoulder. He presses a burning kiss to your forehead, you appreciate the gesture at 11 Blackthorne Road, for it has no heating and as December is drawing to a close, you are getting colder and colder.

“You don’t sleep do you?”

“Hmmm?” Tom asks as you sit up, swinging your feet off the edge of the bed and standing up. You pause as you listen to the fifth floorboard creak underneath you.

“Do you sleep?”

Tom stands up. The floorboard under him doesn’t make a sound.

“No,” he begins to get dressed for the day, you didn’t care for an explanation. It all seems routine now, he would change in the bathroom, you would change in the bedroom. Then you’d knock and join him to brush your teeth. The bathroom is always twelve steps to the left of your bedroom. Today you only took eight. When you see Tom smiling widely at you, toothpaste and all, you convince yourself you just took bigger steps to get to him quicker.

He kisses your cheek, leaving a toothpaste stain which you wipe off with a grimace. You playfully scold him until he wraps his hands around your waist and sets his chin on your shoulder.

“You look really pretty when you frown darling,” he kisses your cheek again.

“I feel like I look better when I’m smiling,” you begin to brush your teeth as Tom smiles against the skin of your neck.

“You always look great,” he shrugs. You can’t help but wonder if the mirror in front of you is smaller than when you walked in.

***

You’ve never had a better Christmas than this one. Honestly, the last good Christmas you can recall was when you were 15 years old. It was the last Christmas before Lexi was diagnosed. It was the last Christmas you spent with your mom, your dad, and her in your small apartment above the laundromat on Main Street. Every Christmas since then was spent in a hospital room or here, alone, with Lexi too sick to get out of bed. She is in somewhat of a bad mood, but you convince yourself that with a cup of peppermint tea she will be feeling better.

Tom laughs and pokes your side as you pour a glass of eggnog for you and him, “maybe she’s finally going through the angsty teen rebellion era now that she’s better.”

That shouldn’t make you smile as big as it does, you couldn’t help but break out into laughter as you bring the glasses down the hallway towards the living room. You laugh so loud you almost don’t count the 28 steps it should take you to get there. You freeze at the door, it only took 20 steps.

You shake it off when you hear Lexi’s gentle hum from the windowsill.

“Could I get some more tea?” she asks, sticking out her empty mug.

You look at it, bright yellow bumblebees painted along the old white ceramic.

“Sure let me grab you a new mug and I can wash this one later-,”

“No!” Lexi snaps at you as you take the mug from her hand.

“What is it?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at your sister. She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs out a sigh.

“I don’t want a different mug.”

“You can use mine, the one with black cats on it, I’ll wash this after we open presents and-,”

Then Lexi does something you’ve never seen her do. She stands up and she gets angry.

She’s been angry plenty of times before. Angry at the world for giving her cancer, angry at a God she didn’t know if she believed in, angry at the snow that fell that one December five years ago, obscuring your parent’s vision on their drive to the hospital and taking them away. But she’s never been angry at you.

“I don’t want another mug! I can’t have another mug!” She screams, eyebrows knitted together as she almost dares you to do anything but decide to walk the 28 steps to the kitchen and wash her mug.

“Why don’t you and Tom relax while I go clean this then? Tell him about the different ornaments on the tree,” your voice shakes as Lexi rolls her eyes but sits down on one side of the tree.

Tom gives you a gentle smile before sitting down next to Lexi. You smile back, watching as he asks her about the witch sitting atop the tree in lieu of an angel.

You count only 17 steps to the kitchen. You walk to the sink as tears blur your vision. You know this is Lexi acting out, acting like the teenager she never previously got the chance to be. It still stung that she is as cold as the winter. It sends an uneasy shiver down your spine, you clean her mug, smiling at the bumblebees, three of them painted in light yellow and a strikingly contrast black.

When you get back to the living room she smiles when you hand her the mug. But then she is upset when you try to give her a present, it’s just a book. An old copy of The Awakening that you found at the thrift store a few days ago.

“I don’t want the Awakening! I like reading Frankenstein! Can’t I just read Frankenstein?”

“Of course! You can read Frankenstein! You can read whatever you want, I was just giving you something you might like.”

“Well I don’t want it.”

“Okay,” you set the book down by your side, she doesn’t even touch it.

You were never one for getting gifts, she doesn’t get you anything. She doesn’t have to. She gives you her time, she gives you warm smiles and humming by the window even though it is all too cold. She gives you a purpose in life. What use would a silly Christmas gift be?

Tom gives you a beautiful satin black nightgown. You almost cry when you take it out of the bag and run your hands across the material.

“It’s beautiful,” you smile through teary eyes. You don’t expect the reaction from Lexi that you get.

“So now all of a sudden you want presents?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

You take a deep breath before looking out the window. You notice that no matter how wide and expansive it once was, it was now no bigger than a normal size window. You see the snow falling on the ground. You wish you and Lexi could make snow angels. A gentle squeeze on your hip from Tom and a snide comment from Lexi brings you back to reality.

“What does he give you that’s so special? Do you love him more than me?” She stands up and you drop the nightgown, standing to chase after her.

“No! Enjoy Christmas with Tom, he clearly means more to you,” Lexi storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. There is only six floorboards where there should be nine.

You don’t drink any eggnog and Lexi’s peppermint tea gets cold.

Tom carries you up the stairs, your head tucked into his neck, the nightgown clutched in your hands.

Because you aren’t walking up the steps, you don’t notice that there are only twelve instead of thirteen stairs.

That night you don’t do anything routine. He doesn’t change in the bathroom, you don’t kiss his cheek with a toothpaste smile.

Instead you cry while he helps you change. And he calls you beautiful even while you have tears running down your cheeks and the moon reflects the redness in your eyes. He feels that they almost glow red like his own. There is something deeply intimate in the gentle touch of his hands on your skin, taking your sweater off, unzipping and pulling down your pants. He is a gentleman, keeping his eyes on your face the entire time, kissing your forehead as he stands back up. He helps you hold your hands up and pull the nightgown on, kissing the palm of your hand to your inner elbow. Every touch sets your skin on fire. It distracts you from the aching in your ribs.

“I’m scared Tom,” you whisper.

“Why darling?” He asks as he pulls the covers over the two of you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder and a leg over his own. It isn’t needed, he keeps you so warm there is a fire that burns incredibly deep inside of you, you can’t help but feel terrified that maybe it is filling your lungs with smoke. But even so, you would gladly let him.

You cry into Tom’s shoulder, “I think something’s wrong with Lexi.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because, I feel like she’s changed.”

“Changed how?”

“Her personality. Like she’s harsher and she gets very angry easily. I don’t know, she’s different.”

You can’t help but notice the change that blanketed over 11 Blackthorne Road and its occupants. The way that there isn’t the right number of floorboards or the way Lexi snaps at you, the way the mirror is smaller than when you first moved in or the way you allow yourself to cry for the first time in years, and the way the window seems to draw smaller and smaller each day or the way the newest occupant never seems to move the foundation of the house.

“I know you think she’s different, but she’s 16 right?” Tom asks and you nod.

“Darling, like I said earlier, maybe she’s just being a moody teenager, I wouldn’t think anything of it.”

Tom presses a burning kiss to your forehead and you fall asleep in his arms in your new nightgown. You almost don’t notice the way that you have to huddle close to Tom because the bed is getting smaller and smaller.

***

As the snow melts and the trees begin to perk up with beautiful green leaves, Lexi seems to be happier. At the very least she is eating. She insists on making her own meals, she always ate at the window before you wake up or when you are at work, but you notice the dishes from her food piled in the sink. She even makes grocery lists for you. You ask her if she wants to go with you one day. It is April, it’s been about two weeks since it last snowed.

You are standing at the sink, making small talk about an upcoming exhibit with Tom. You’re washing the dishes, he is drying them.

“Why?” Lexi crosses her arms over her chest and even though you aren’t looking, you know she is rolling her eyes.

“Just thought it would be nice for you to get out of the house, but if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Are you feeling okay?” You turn, nervous now. Maybe she is starting to feel sick again. Maybe she would feel another pain in her leg and you’d go to the hospital and the doctors would sit you both down and say ‘I know you thought you were cancer free Lexi, but cancer has a funny way of showing up at the most inconvenient of times’. You glance at Tom wearily, he rests the dish towel on his shoulder and moves a gentle hand to your waist.

“I don’t feel up to it today,” Lexi shrugs.

“Okay, anything else to add to the list?” You dry your hands on the dish towel, setting it back on Tom’s shoulder.

“Could you pick up those apples? Not the green ones, the like almost yellow ones?”

“Of course,” you nod and are taken aback when she hugs you, arms wrapped tight around you. You smile until you feel how cold and skinny she is, you pull back, “Why don’t you put on a sweater and close the window before you go back? You’re freezing.”

You hurry Tom along at the grocery store, afraid if you take too long and if you leave Lexi alone at 11 Blackthorne Road for much longer that she will sink into the blue window seat and never be seen again.

***

It is July and you take Tom to see the fireworks down at Salem Willows. You ask Lexi to come with you, but she shakes her head and says the noise would give her a headache. She blows up on you.

“Can you stop trying to get me to do things?” Lexi crosses her arms over her chest.

“I just miss all the fun things we used to do together Lex, don’t you? If you’re better now, why can’t you come with us?” You feel tears in your eyes.

“Just let me go when I’m ready! It’s not up to you if I feel up to going places! Why don’t you just forget about me and run off with Tom? You hardly pay attention to me anymore anyways.”

Lexi has to know that that wasn’t true. That you spend every single day waiting for the other shoe to drop, that you are terrified of this change that has crept inside of Lexi’s heart and makes her cold.

But you don’t want to argue with her. You will gladly let her yell at you now if it means that at some point in the future she would get the courage to go outside. See the fireworks, walk around town, visit you at work, go apple picking.

Tom guides you out of the house, you only count three stairs down the front porch. He keeps walking too quickly for you to stop and count them again.

Tom holds your hand as you walk through town, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin as you say hello to various people in town.

“It’s so nice to see you y/n,” your old high school English teacher hugs you, pulling back to smile at Tom, “and who might this charming young man be?”

“Name’s Tom miss, I’m y/n’s boyfriend,” he smiles as he slips his hand back into yours.

The word feels amazing coming from his lips, and spread a huge grin on your own as you lay out the blanket. Tom kisses you under the fireworks, his hand rests on your ribcage over your tank top, you cup his face, fingers brushing over his freckles.

You walk back home with your head on Tom’s shoulder, your hands intertwined and swinging between you. You don’t notice as you walk up two steps to the front door instead of four.

***

The leaves are beginning to change colors again, from crisp green to soft reds and oranges. People flock to the town of Salem at this time of year, the museum was always busy with tourists wanting to learn all about the Salem Witch Trials. It keeps you busy. You are starting to enjoy the times you aren’t at 11 Blackthorne Road. When you walk through the exhibits of the museum, telling people all about the history of your town. When Tom and you  walk hand in hand to the grocery store, he likes to kiss you in line at the check out, one hand on your hip, the other gently curled around your side, gliding up your ribs. You look forward to your grocery store trips.

When you walk home later that night, after a particularly long shift, Tom is sitting in the kitchen, you can smell peppermint tea and you shiver as you slip your shoes off by the front door. You pass the living room door, pausing when you notice the window is open. Lexi is probably going to catch a cold if she is sitting at the window the entire day, the cold air isn’t good for her. You tsk, attempting to rub warmth back into your arms as you count the floorboards to the window seat.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

There is supposed to be nine. You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head as you shut and lock the window. You promptly turn and count the floorboards as you walk back to the door.

Nine floorboards. You exhale as you walk to the kitchen. Tom is sitting on the wooden chair, you sit down opposite him in the blue metal one.

“How was work?” Tom asks, taking a sip of his tea.

“Not bad, very busy, all these kids wanted to know if the Bloody Mary myth was true, I had to explain to them that it wasn’t. They kept asking me if all of this paranormal stuff was real, ghosts, demons, I had to bite my tongue,” you let out a laugh as Tom reaches his hand across the table and traces a line in your palm.

“Probably not the best idea to tell them that demons are real,” he smiles, biting his lip.

“Yeah, then they’d try to steal you away from me.”

“Never,” Tom trails his fingers up to the crease of your inner elbow and gently taps at the skin.

“Want to get ready for bed?”

“Sure, let’s go darling,” Tom rests a hand on your hip and follows you up the stairs. You don’t realize there are only twelve instead of thirteen steps.

You both brush your teeth in the bathroom, and he places a toothpaste covered kiss on your cheek, which you groan at and wipe off. You return the favor before rinsing your mouth out and making your way back to your bedroom.

You change into your nightgown, the black satin one Tom got you for Christmas almost a year ago. You have a warm smile on your face as Tom opens the door and walks towards the end of the bed, the moonlight casting a shadow across his face. It doesn’t scare you when you can’t see him fully and completely, it only brings a warmth to your belly when he stands right in front of the bed, the moon shining high above his head now.

“You keep saying that I’d find love Tom, but love was right in front of me this entire time,” you watch as he gets closer and closer to you.

You sit back against the headboard. You ignore the way it seems to warp against your body. You ignore the way his shadow on the far left wall is inverted and shorter than it should be. Or maybe it’s the wall that’s shorter? You scan the green wallpaper, the very top corner curling in on itself, shrinking.

“You love me?” He asks, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Your legs are stretched out in front of you, his knees almost touching your toes.

“I mean, I didn’t want to admit it for a long time, but you were the person I found love in. Is that such a bad thing?”

Tom smiles and shakes his head. “No, because I love you too.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No actually, after you said your sister was better, I figured I could leave. I would let you fall in love with that nice boy who works at the museum with you. He’s had a crush on you since high school you know?”

Heat rises to your cheeks and you shake your head. You have no idea Jeremy even gives you the light of day. But he doesn’t matter. You love Tom. You love the way the moonlight curled around the side of his face, whispering up his jaw, across his cheek bone, trailing up his hair to rest gently above his head. It stands out against the green wallpaper, Tom’s biceps standing out against his white T-shirt, for a moment you swear the moonlight turns into a ring and sits atop his head like a halo. You gasp as his warm hands gently run up your legs and he settles between them.

“I love you too, I love you because of your selflessness. I love you because you let me into your life, a big scary demon, and you accepted me for that. You didn’t love me because of that. You didn’t love me despite that. You loved me as a completely separate entity from the worst quality I have that I can’t get rid of. You are the first person I’ve met in centuries of deals that has ever made me feel anything at all.”

“Tom,” you feel tears well up in your eyes as you sit up. The headboard stays warped and you cup his cheeks in your hand, bringing his lips to your own.

“I love you because I can’t picture spending eternity anywhere but right next to you, on top of these blue sheets, making peppermint tea and eating apple cider donuts,” he admits when he pulls back slightly.

“I love you Tom,” you smile, focusing on his eyes instead of the way the wallpaper continues to curl in on itself, then the wall, slowly the door is closer to the bed than it should be. The moon reflects off the very top of the door instead of the corner of the room. He helps you lie back on the pillow. The headboard is smooth again.

“May I?” He asks, running his hand up your thigh, watching as you shiver beneath him.

“Please,” you nod, his fingers brush against the edge of your black nightgown.

He pushes the satin material up past your waist, kissing across the skin of your thigh, passing your underwear, trailing soothing kisses along the skin of your stomach, his chin lightly pressed against the top of your panties.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles and you whimper as his fingers inch higher and higher, hooking into your underwear, “may I?”

You nod, giving him permission with a breathy moan.

Tom can’t help but notice how bittersweet you taste.

You can only focus on one curl brushing down in front of his eyes, and the way one of his hands tightens on your thighs, leaving fingerprint bruises as you cry out his name. You are gasping for air when he brings you to completion. You are utterly overwhelmed by the feeling of his fingers inside of you and the way the moon reflects over the white door to your room.

But that isn’t where the moon should be. You glance over at your clock as Tom kisses up your body. It is 3am. The moon should be right in front of you, staring back at you. You close your eyes as Tom’s lips press against yours. You feel his fingers brush against your ribcage and you whimper as you remember the contract etched into your bones.

“Do you want me to stop?” His lips wet and red against your neck.

“No, please, I need your love Tom,” you feel hot wet tears on your cheeks and then his burning kisses taking them away.

“You have it,” he whispers, kissing you as you run your hands under his shirt, across his stomach to rest against his beating heart.

He sits up, helping you take his shirt off. His skin seems to be on fire, blotches of red patches stain his chest, you stare in awe as he helps you take your nightgown off.

“You’re so beautiful darling,” Tom whispers as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

He takes off his sweatpants and underwear and when you wrap your legs around his waist and he fills you so completely, you swear you feel the edge of the bed creep up against your shoulder. You have to close your eyes as he buries his face in your neck because you’re afraid if you keep them open the bed will be reduced to something so small neither of you will fit. And you don’t want this moment to end because 11 Blackthorne Road decides to grow smaller in the most inconvenient way.

So you keep your eyes squeezed shut. And you don’t notice the hazy red glow of Tom’s eyes. You don’t notice the way the upper corner of the wallpaper curls away from the wall, revealing the old stained wood and insulation. You don’t notice the way the back legs of the bed scrape against the twelfth floorboard instead of the eighth. You don’t notice that the floorboards get thinner and thinner, that even though they seemed to multiply, the room continues to shrink.

You gasp into his mouth as you come, his hand seems to curl against your side, almost past your skin, past the muscle, like his fingers whisper against the bone, tracing the words he put there what seemed like so long ago.

You’re cold after everything. You thought Tom would’ve set your insides on fire like he always does, and he did, from the time his lips attached to your own and his hands ran up your sides. He reached inside of you with red wispy tendrils of fire. You are still cold. His arms are tight around your bare middle, but you are freezing cold.

You both clean up, he lets you wear his grey sweatpants after you pull the covers over both of you and you are still shivering in just your nightgown. Then you take that off and change into a sweater. When you open the closet to grab it, you falter for a moment. Your hand collides with solid wood where the doorknob should be. The doorknob is always on the right. The door swings open to the left. But now the doorknob is on the left. You close your eyes. You think of Tom’s fingers whispering hidden universes into your sides and his lips breathing beautiful smoke into your lungs. You allow the fire to settle in your stomach. You open your eyes and the doorknob is exactly where it should have always been. The door swings open to the left. You pull your sweater on and climb back into the homey indent your body made, curling up next to Tom. You rest a head on his bare chest and he maneuvers an arm around your shoulder.

All is well at 11 Blackthorne Road.

****

October 31st, 2020

You wake up with your head resting on Tom’s chest, it is peaceful, the sun shines in through the dull green curtains, illuminating the freckles and bumps and grooves in his skin. He is lying awake, his mind elsewhere until you speak.

“You know, sometimes I think you’re really an angel,” you smile into Tom’s bare chest as he runs a hand up and down your arm.

“Why’s that?”

“You gave me everything I could have ever wanted. You gave my sister the miracle of remission. You gave me love. Besides, I read about it. Demons are only supposed to give someone one thing in their deal. I’ve read about deals between humans and demons they’ve documented. None of them are given more than one thing in their deal. Tangible or otherwise.”

“What makes you think I gave you anything else?”

“What?” You sit up, pushing your back against the headboard and staring down at Tom. He rests his hand under his head and raises an eyebrow at you.

You feel a warp in your headboard that wasn’t there a moment ago. The wood seems to bend to the shape of your body and you pull away from it, standing up and scrambling to grab your bathrobe, pulling it over your suddenly all too cold body.

“What is it?” Tom asks, running his hand along the bedspread, the indent where you were just laying.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, stepping back, the floorboard is supposed to creak here, it always did when you stepped on it. The house is all too eerily quiet. You step forward, not because you want to go back towards Tom, but because you need to hear the tiny squeak that the floorboard always makes. It is the 5th floorboard that makes that noise.

There’s a sharp pain in your ribs as you stumble back, “what’s happening?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Tom’s voice is laced with pain as he sits up and the bed groans.

“Couldn’t tell me what?” Tears sting your eyes as Tom stands up. You glance at his side of the bed. The headboard isn’t warped. There’s no homey indent in the soft blue sheets. He takes a step towards the end of the bed, towards you. The eighth floorboard squeaks. Or is it the seventh? Your eyes wander to the faded green wallpaper, scanning to the baseboard running along the bottom of the wall. You count the floorboards with bated breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Tom is standing on the eighth floorboard.

When you first inherited the house, after your parents died and you and Lexi packed up your things and moved to this old plot of land that belonged to your mom’s family for centuries, you felt like this room was the largest room in the entire house.

It has a huge lovely window opposite the door, dusty green curtains that to this day, no matter how many times you washed them, still collected dust easier than it reasonably should have. You should have known though. Nothing in this house is reasonable. Not even yourself.

Now the window seems to be hardly the size of a piece of paper. You could barely look out of it. You notice how the curtains would make a lovely scarf.

The dark oak floorboards were wide and ran horizontally from the window to the door.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

The floorboards seem to get thinner and thinner. Even as you counted them, a watchful eye inspecting their change down to the millimeter. They are sneaky. But they shrink anyway.

Tom shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The 8th floorboard creaks again.

It doesn’t make sense, it is your side of the bed that has the creaky floorboards. And it isn’t the 8th, it is the 5th, it was always the 5th. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. On the exhale you shift your weight and the floorboard under you creaks

Your eyes dart to the baseboard and you begin to count again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

You look at the floorboards underneath your feet, just as wide as when you dragged this old bed up here years ago. The fifth floorboard creaks underneath you.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Tom’s eyes are nothing but full of concern as he joins you on the fifth floorboard, resting his hands on your shoulders so he could look you in the eyes.

“What couldn’t you tell me Tom?” Your voice raises as your hands shake at your sides.

“The last good day,” he breathes out, as if saying that lifted this incredible weight off his shoulders.

“What do you mean? Come on, don’t talk like that, just say what you mean to say.”

“Your sister, her last good day. October 29th, 2019.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was her last good day. She sat on the window seat, it was still worn down and indented from how often she would sit in it. She drank peppermint tea and read Frankenstien. It was an old copy,  one you found at a bookstore on Main Street when she begged you for new books to read during chemotherapy. She’s had to have read that book hundreds of times. It was one of the only books she read.”

“Stop, Tom, what are you saying?”

Tom just smiles sadly and continues, “You went to give her her pain medication, she just smiled at you and said she didn’t need it. That she wasn’t in pain. She said that maybe later that day the two of you could go apple picking. You laughed, it seemed like a ridiculous request, she hasn’t walked without a walker or stepped foot outside of the house in over a year. She wanted to go apple picking? And then she looked at you and shook her head, she said that ‘today, y/n, I can do anything I want.’ You ruffled her hair, and she scowled but she secretly loved it. You agreed with her, said that you could drink apple cider and eat apple cider donuts, that maybe you couldn’t pick the apples, but the apples could come to you instead. Then you told her you were going to run to the store, you needed to pick up those groceries. She said she loved you, and you said ‘love you too Lex’.”

“Tom, stop,” your lower lip trembles as bits and pieces of that day come flashing through your mind.

You remember a skip in your step as you walked back to the house, a bag of apples in one hand, in the other were a box of apple cider donuts and a half gallon of apple cider. You were going to be sick of apples after that day, but you didn’t mind because Lexi wanted apples. You remember the way the police sirens signaled to you the end of the world. You remember the way the red and blue ambulance lights reflected against the trees lining the dirt road up to your house. You remember dropping the apples, stumbling over them and crushing one underneath your foot. You remember dropping the apple cider and donuts, the cider splashed against your pant leg as you took off in a sprint towards your house.

You remember the noise you made, the high pitched scream as your knees collapsed beneath you and they told you she was gone.

“Lexi,” you gasp, pulling away from Tom’s hold and running out of the room, you run down the hallway, it seems to narrow, the area where the staircase was is now a small pin in the distance. You keep running. You’re out of breath by the time you get to the stairs. You count them as you gasp for air.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

You stumble and fall to the wooden floor, there is supposed to be a thirteenth stair. There has always been a thirteenth stair.

Tom’s footsteps tumble down the stairs behind you as you struggle to stand up.

“Y/N, please, wait!” Tom shouts as you run towards the living room. You run right past the door. It’s supposed to be here, you stop and turn, face to face with the light yellow wallpaper that wraps around the hallway down towards the kitchen.

You take two steps back, why is the door here now? Tom watches your confusion. Is the house getting smaller? Each pass down the hallway the living room door seems to inch closer and closer to the front door.

You throw the door open, eyes landing on the empty blue window seat. The soft indent where Lexi usually sat is no longer worn down, you run to it, almost colliding with it. It should be nine floorboards away from you but it is only six. You fall to the ground as your fingers grasp at the soft material of the seat.

“You only gave me one thing,” you gasp for air, trying to smell the familiar scent that seems to seep into the walls of 11 Blackthorne Road. Peppermint tea. Golden apples.

“I couldn’t have given you what you wanted,” Tom says, kneeling down next to you.

You feel tears drip down your cheeks as you remember.

You signed your sister’s body over to the medical examiner, Lexi always insisted her body be donated for science when she died. You had to give her what she wanted. You almost didn’t sleep that night, you curled up on the blue window seat with her Frankenstein book. That very next morning, you woke up to a gentle nudge on your shoulder.

“That’s my seat,” Lexi smiles at you, snatching the book from your hands.

“I couldn’t give you Lexi’s remission. She was gone when you decided to summon me.”

“You’re lying,” You shake your head, “that was a nightmare, the next morning she was there, she took the book from my hands and sat back down in her seat. She asked me for her pain medications and her peppermint tea. I knew I had to help her, help her more than I ever had. And I did! I found you! You made her better! You took away her pain!”

“Where is she now? If she’s alive where is she now?” Tom asks, he’s pleading with you.

“She’s gone for a walk, she wanted to, she wanted to go apple picking. You know what? She’ll be back soon, I should make her some tea before she gets back,” you brush Tom’s hands off your shoulders and stand up. There’s an indent where Lexi sat. You busy yourself counting the steps towards the kitchen. There should be twenty eight. Exactly. You catch yourself before you can almost walk right out the back door.  You turn and walk back to where the living room door is. Then you walk towards the kitchen again. Sixteen steps to the entrance. You don’t have time to recount, you know what 11 Blackthorne Road is doing by now. You know it is closing in on you. But you don’t have time to fret. Lexi would be back soon. You have to get her tea started.

You turn on the stove, setting the kettle on top of the flame. You step one foot to the left to grab the peppermint tea from its spot in the cabinet, you tilt your head because the cabinet isn’t there anymore and take a half a foot to the right. Was the cabinet always this skinny? It seems to stretch upwards for a mile, you have to reach up on your tiptoes to grab the box. It is empty.

“Tom! I’m going to run to the store to pick up some peppermint tea, turn the stove off when the water finishes boiling!”

You count twenty eight steps to the living room door. You slip off your bathrobe and hang it on the staircase, slipping into your shoes. You tug at your wool sweater, the sleeves hung at the tips of your fingers and as you shut the door to 11 Blackthorne Road behind you you have to wrap your arms tightly around yourself. The autumn breeze nips at your skin as you kick a rock down the old dirt road. You pass the crossroads where you met Tom all that time ago. You continue walking as goosebumps rise on your skin. You buy three boxes of peppermint tea. It’s best to stock up, that way you won’t have to leave Lexi alone too often. The woman ringing you out smiles sadly as you tell her your sister is out apple picking and you are going to make her a nice warm cup of tea for when she comes home. You kick the same rock back down the dirt road. You pay attention to that rather than the billowing smoke rising up from 11 Blackthorne Road. You look up, red embers reflected in your irises.

Tom stands amongst the flames, hand outstretched, beckoning, inviting.

You drop the paper bag from your hand.

You watch as the house gets smaller, the wooden shingles of the roof burn, the wispy green curtains seem to evaporate, the porch steps engulfed in flames, fire whispering up the sides of Tom’s dark blue dress pants.

You run your hand along the wood of the mailbox, fingers tracing the ‘11’ of 11 Blackthorne Road. A jagged piece catches your thumb, tearing the skin. You watch the blood drip onto the dirt in front of you.

You notice there are only two steps up to the porch. You squeeze your eyes shut and think of the flames that Tom’s fingertips always seemed to draw out from your ribs. You think of the way his lips felt on your own. You think of the hazy red glow in his eyes that you ignored. You think of the moonlight shining over his head, etching along the green wallpaper of your bedroom as he showed you how much he loves you. You think of the words that tumbled easily from your mouth and the bulging throats of the yellow wallpaper of your kitchen. You think of how much you love him, the curl of his fingers against your ribs, the gentle brush of his lips against your skin, the soft brown curls that always managed to fall into his eyes so you could brush them away, the toothpaste kiss he would press to your cheek. You open your eyes again. There are four steps leading up to Tom, like there always were.

How easy would it be to slip your fingers into the space between Tom’s. How incredibly easy would it be to let him press a burning kiss to your forehead. How terribly easy would it be to collapse in on yourself as the house at 11 Blackthorne Road collapsed in on you.

All is well at 11 Blackthorne Road.

***

Tagging people who liked my post about this: @kickingn-ames​ // @littlekidsteve​ // @parker-holland-osterfield​ // @rebekkah4766​ // @mysmileyspideyboi​ // @beelzebubsgirl666​ // @sexytholland​ // @definitely-not-black-cat​ // @goofycactusbear // @truly-y0urs // @bombing-daisies​ // @hollandcreep​ // @bi-infinity 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Choice: Chris

CW: References to past noncon, torture, conditioning, and training. Trauma response including ‘freeze’ response, flashbacks. PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump

“Chris?”

It’s only when Mari speaks that Chris even realizes he’s stopped. She and Ben are a few feet ahead, the three of them heading to the little ‘food court’ in the Student Center to grab some lunch that wasn’t meal-plan food. Mari’s hair laid over her shoulder and caught the light just so in way that she always claims is accidental, but Chris has seen her put enough time and effort into her hair to know it really, really isn’t. 

Except right now he can barely see her at all.

His heart is suddenly still inside his chest, held there through some endless eternal second, and he’s startled into a gasp when it starts beating again. Adrenaline floods his system at the same time and Chris opens his mouth to say I’m just fine but nothing comes out. 

No words. How can he make words happen?

He knows how to speak, except sometimes, when he’s scared or the world is overwhelming the connection was broken.

He can think the words, we need to go I need to go I can’t be here with him but nothing happens when he tells his mouth to move. Only breathing, nearly silent, like an animal hiding under a bush and hoping the predator wouldn’t find him.

“Chris, what’s up?” Mari moves back over to him in a swish of long flowery skirt, putting a hand on his shoulder. When Chris flinches back and away from her instinctively, she pulls her own hand back like she’s been burned, then turns to look at Ben. “Hey, Ben?”

Ben had initially stopped to look back at Chris, too, but now his eyes were moving - not lingering on Chris’s pale face, the bright red spots in his cheeks the only color other than the faintest, faded smear of freckles, but instead following Chris’s gaze to a series of booths set up down a side hallway. “Oh, I forgot all those career guys were here today.”

“Yeah, they come every couple of months, my sister said. She used to go here. What’s up, Chris?” Mari reaches out again but this time, she hesitated before touching him.

He can feel the pressure of her fingers before they reach him, the way they part the air around her. He can feel the weight of the fluorescent lights overhead, hear the soft high buzzing sound they make that sometimes it feels like nobody else can hear but him.

There’s a part of the Student Center he can’t even go in because the ventilation system makes a squeak and he’s the only one in his friend-group who can hear it and it drives him crazy and none of that matters because he’s right here, he’s right here, he’s here and Jake’s not and he’s here.

Chris’s foot feel rooted to the spot even as he desperate to run, staring at a single one of the booths, having to remind himself to blink. 

Can’t run. Have to be still. Have to be so still.

Chris’s left hand drops down to the outside of his thigh, tapping there, half-hidden simply by how quietly and quickly he moves. Have to learn to hide it, have to hide it, can’t let anyone see, stillness is better than what I do-

Help. He can think the word but can’t say it. He’s here. How to explain who ‘he’ is? How to even start. They don’t know, nobody knows, he can’t tell anyone. He can’t tell anyone why he’s scared of the WRU booth.

The logo is cold water down his back all on its own, but he’s seen the logo enough that it’s not the scariest part. He doesn’t feel suddenly terribly small because of the heavy white drape hung with the WRU design printed over it in a vibrant, bloody red. 

The table has the same kind of fabric over it, covered with brochures and paperwork that Chris knew about but had never tried to read, himself. It wasn’t worth giving himself headaches just to see-

Fucking lies, Jake had said, bringing home a stack he’d found to shred and soak in water and then dump in the trash can to be perfectly useless. Lies and lies and fucking lies, and those rich assholes buy every single one because it’s easier than looking any of you guys in he eyes to see that you’re people.

None of that is what holds him still.

What freezes Chris isn’t even the familiar black uniforms of the two men who stand by the booth shaking hands and saying friendly hellos to anyone who paused to take a look. 

What freezes him is one of the men wearing the uniform, a man he knows so well that even his bones go cold just at the sight of his profile, the straight line of his nose, rounded chin, angular jaw. The blond hair graying around the edges is a little grayer, now, but no less recognizable. 

His smile is still branded in hideous fire along the inside of Chris’s mind, along with a trainee’s shaking need to do whatever it took to make him smile, because that’s what it means to be good-

“H-handler.” It’s the only word he can remember, in that moment. It’s the only word he knows, the only person in the entire world is his handler who will come to unlock the door and bring him his food and take him for training or showers or all the other terrible moments that will never stop being etched in Chris’s memories and running like soft fingers down his spine and gripped onto his hips-

“What?” Mari’s voice breaks the moment. “What’d you say?”

Chris doesn’t look at her. He can’t.

He can’t, because Handler Petrus turns and looks right at him.

Kneel. Kneel. Fucking kneel get on your knees show him you’re good Position Two Position Two Position Two-

His knees start to buckle but he catches them, rocks forward and then back just once to remember that his body is his own, he can move it however he wants. If he doesn’t want to kneel he doesn’t have to kneel but the handler’s eyes lock on his eyes and they’re cold, so cold in his friendly smiling face.

Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, 223499? Get up, there’s mouthwash by the sink.

Hold position, or you’ll get another day without food.

Good boy, there, see, you’re a quick learner when you want to be-

“I, I, I don’t want to be,” He whispers. But it doesn’t matter. What he wants is irrelevant, Handler Petrus always gives you choices, you can choose to be good or choose to be bad and get disciplined, and there’s a choice but both of the choices mean you do what he wants because what the trainee wants is irrelevant.

Doesn’t matter.

You’re not a person anymore, so stop the sniveling and hop up on that table.

“Hey, Earth to Chris.” Mari snaps her fingers in his face and the moment breaks, all at once. Chris jerks in a breath only to realize he stopped breathing at some point, dizzy with lack of oxygen, blinking rapidly to get water back to eyes that had gone painfully scratchy and dry from no blinking. “We’re gonna be late to class if you keep just staring at nothing.”

“Lay off, Mari,” Ben says, and Chris wonders if it’s accidental or on purpose when Ben steps between Chris and the handler’s gaze. “He does that sometimes. Come on, Chris, do you need a sec? We can go to the basement, nobody ever goes down there. If you just need some quiet.”

“Um. I... I, I... I d-don’t-... I-I-I-” He looks around Ben, and realizes that Handler Petrus isn’t looking at him. The older man has turned away, is shaking someone’s hand, giving them a brochure with a friendly welcoming smile. 

Chris wants to run and grab it out of the pretty boy’s hands, yell at him that it’s a lie it’s all a lie and it’s going to hurt and it’s hell-

but they’re not here to pick up new pets, are they? No, that boy Handler Petrus is talking to isn’t going to be a pet. He’s going to be a Handler. 

Going to learn to hit and terrorize and torture and train people just like Chris. Is he in it for the hitting, the hurting? Handlers enjoy it, mostly. They like that part, they’re supposed to like that part, and it’s only the pets who would do anything to make it stop-

Anything, whatever you want, please I’ll do whatever you want I’ll sign your stupid paper just please let me out let me out let me out

Handler Petrus isn’t looking at him anymore. That moment of what had felt like eye contact, the paralyzing realization that he was right there and he could walk over and say kneel, pet and Chris would and then everyone would know what he was and is and will always be... it’s gone.

Handler Petrus didn’t know who he was.

He’d just seen someone staring, he didn’t see a pet, he didn’t see 223499, he didn’t see the scars where his barcode used to be so carefully hidden by his long sleeves. No... no, he’d just seen a gawker. Some college kid taking a moment to look. 

He didn’t know him.

The relief Chris feels realizing that his long blue hair and his narrower face, without the hint of puppyfat roundness he’d still had when he went to Sir’s, went unrecognized, nearly knocks him off his feet. He grabs onto Mari just to steady himself and she smiles, puzzled, but holds on.

“Hey. We can go somewhere,” Ben repeats, softer this time, but more serious, too. “If you need a minute.”

Chris turns back to Ben and gives a thin, frightened smile. “I’m okay. Let’s... let’s, let’s go get l... get, get lunch. I, I just-... maybe I’m j-just hungry.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Ben shrugs, and Mari links an arm in his, and Chris lets them lead him away.

He looks over his shoulder only once to see that Handler Petrus is still talking to the same boy, who is writing something down on a piece of paper. There’s another boy, in shabbier clothes, clutching an old backpack and watching but not moving any closer, not yet.

Chris knows what he’s looking at because Jake would know what he’s looking at.

One boy talking about taking a job... another watching and wondering if becoming a pet would solve whatever problems were roiling around inside him.

Chris tells himself he can’t do anything to stop it, not without putting everyone he loves at risk, and he lets Mari and Ben lead him away. He doesn’t think about the boy with the backpack through his lunch. He doesn’t daydream through all his classes about finding him and telling him what it’s really like. He doesn’t think about him at all.

He definitely doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare that night about the boy with the backpack signing his contract, and pad out to the end of the hall to be alone.

He doesn’t clutch his phone like a liferaft.

He doesn’t call Jake at 4 AM and beg him to say it’s okay if he can’t save anyone else but himself, if he can’t be the one to help other people be saved, that it’s okay if he’s too scared to ever have his handler’s eyes on his face again. 

He doesn’t ask Jake to remind him it’s been four years and he never has to go back.

He doesn’t.

Except he does, and Jake says all the right things, and then Chris hangs up the phone and hugs his knees to his chest and rocks and rocks and rocks and cries for the boy with the backpack, looking at the WRU booth and thinking he sees a way out of anything, when all he’s looking at is a way into something worse than whatever hell he’s living through.

Chris hopes and prays to nothing and no one that the boy walked away, that he didn’t make the choice.

Maybe next time he’ll be strong enough to risk the handler’s eyes and be as strong as Jake is and ignore his own fears to stand up for someone else. Maybe next time. Maybe-

Chris is still there when the sky goes grayish pink and the sun starts to rise.