#and then as I was throwing the litter out the bag ripped and it spilled all over

[dalishthunder]

Today was a bad day

[ickadori]

“Wow, that looks really good.”

“I’m not giving you any.”

“I don’t—I wasn’t going to ask for any! I was just paying you a compliment, Kento, geez.” You grumble, and he’d feel bad if he didn’t know this game play-by-play.

He’d eat at his desk, as always, and not even a second after his bento quietly clinked against the metallic desk you were wheeling your chair over to his cubicle, trying and failing to be quiet as the squeaky wheels gave you away. You’d hover for a few moments, ooh’ing and ahh’ing when he removed the lid, and then you’d throw out a compliment.

“That smells amazing, Kento!”

“God, you’re such an amazing cook! Did you, like, go to culinary school or something?”

“You should start a food blog or something, really. I think it’d really take off - I can set it up for you, actually!”

“Aw, you made a little face on the rice ball! I didn’t know you were artistic, Kento!”

And then a comedically timed stomach growl would sound, followed with a ‘I forgot my lunchbox on the counter again’ and a pleading look that could rival the beggars littering the corners - and Nanami was a nice enough man, so he’d usually split his bento in half, sometimes giving you a larger portion than his, but your begging was getting out of hand.

“I actually brought my own lunch today.” You proudly state, your hand thrusting forward to show off your lunch bag. It’s…childish, but with you being the youngest, and newest, hire in the office, he can’t say he’s all too surprised. “This is a new lunch bag, too, do you like it? I got it half off on clearance at the convenience store down the street. I had no idea they even sold them! It was hidden all the way in the back near the…”

You’re a chatterbox, and usually Nanami doesn’t like those, even goes out of his way to make himself scarce when the usual office gossips enter his vicinity, but he doesn’t mind you…too much.

“…what I brought today! I think you’re gonna be really jealous.” You snicker, and he’s forced to scoot his chair over as you plop your bag down on the desk next to his bento box and roll your chair forward. “But don’t worry, I’ll let you have some. It’s only fair, after all.” You practically rip the zipper in your haste to get it open, and the both of you blink at what’s found inside.

There’s a large thermos on its side, the contents that had been in it, a soup that did smell rather appetizing, floating around in the bottom of the bag. There’s a plastic ziplock bag in there as well that houses your crackers, although the hot soup had melted through the plastic and turned the crackers into a gooey mess. There’s a small container of chopped up fruit that wasn’t spared, the lid not having been shut correctly, and your plastic spoon is also a melted mess as well.

“…it said it was spill-proof.” You give him a pitiful look, and Nanami sighs through his nose as his knuckles rap against his desk.

“Did you put the top on right?”

“I thought I did.” You poke at the soup, yelping when you find out that it’s still hot, and you pop the singed digit into your mouth as you whine. “And I was so excited for you to taste it, too. It was my mom’s recipe.” You look dejected, sunny disposition nowhere to be found, and Nanami frowns at the restlessness that creeps up to settle in the pit of his stomach.

You close the lunchbox with a forlorn sigh, lips jutted out in a pout, and Nanami puts himself out there in a way that had grown foreign to him over the years.

“Do you have enough ingredients to make another batch?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, not at all. I kinda used up everything trying to make it taste right.” You flash him a sheepish smile. “This was the sixth batch I made—and it was really good, too!”

“If you’re not busy after work,” he feels a tad nervous, and his fingers itch to loosen the tie around his neck. “We could stop by the market and buy what you need. That way you could make it again tonight and just bring it in tomorrow.” A friendly, professional trip to the market, a small show of thanks for your failed attempt.

“Hm,” you tap your nails against his desk as you hum, and Nanami wonders for a second if he’s crossed some invisible boundary and will be called into HR in the morning. “I don’t think I trust myself with the thermos, to be completely honest. It would probably just end up spilled again…” Your eyes lock onto his as you smile, lashes batting and chair twirling back and forth. “How about you just come over to mine instead? That way you can get it nice, hot, and fresh? It’s best that way, y’know.”

Nanami wants to retreat, go back into his shell and keep the relationship professional, informal, safe, but then you’re twisting again, and your knee is brushing up against his, and he likes the contact a bit too much.

“Is it?” He questions.

“Mhm,” you nod. “I’ll even make sure to give you something sweet for dessert.”

“I’m not a big fan of sweets.”

“You will be after tonight.”

“..”

“Please email me your address at your earliest convenience.”

[silly-jellyghoty]

Oh no, i feel my hand slipping

🌄

Slamming the door shut after him and groaning heavily, Eddie slumps at the second stair to his uncle's trailer and leans back with his eyes closed.

It's been a tight month, even more than usually. He is pretty much out of money, out of patience for the school, and out of ideas how to finish the song he's been brainstorming over for the last week. Also, Eddie is freshly out of cigarettes and his uncle just left for the night shift, taking the car with him, which means half an hour walk to the gas station - the only open business at this time of the day - something Eddie just doesn't have energy for.

And sure, he could have just got into his own weed stash and continue the evening with more smoke in his lungs and less swirling thoughts in his head, but that would mean having less wares to sell and less money for gass and groceries later in the week. So when the frustration of it all gets too unbearable and the call of those sweet sweet joints starts to sound way too alluring, he decides that a change of scenery is in order.

Granted, it wasn't much of a change space-wise - slumping and groaning against the fridge or doing pretty much the same thing with his head on the top of concrete stairs leading to his place - but still.

Without even looking at the bag of sunflower seeds, the last snack of any kind left in the trailer, he rips it open and let's the crinkly corner flutter to the ground.

If Waine saw him, he would sigh and tell Eddie to pick it up, but the thing is, that the trailer park is always full of trash. People don't have strict lines and fences between one another's properties, there aren't any decorative bushes or raised flower beds to break the wind or to clearly distinguish between who is actually littering and who is just in the unfortunate spot that happens to be the final destination of all those chewing gum wrappers and used napkins. On windy days, discarded pages of old news papers and other things racoons digged out out of communal trash cans just fly around freely like tumbleweed, spilling food crumbles and little bits of aluminium foil all over the place.

Eddie personally doesn't give a shit about any of those things. He used to, back when he first came to Hawkings, but it was taking too big of a toll on his sanity. Eventually he learned to accept it as a part of the local scenery and just moved on. It was either that or surrending to angry fits full of tears and hatred towards himself, his father, the world in general, and the unfairness of it all that has led him to this backwater shithole of a place. These days however, Eddie knows better and cares less about things that are out of his control.

And he's not the only one who learned to live in a place where fifty percent of dirt is made of soggy paper pulp and cigarette butts. Birds, especially crows and ravens, seemed to flourish in this kind of environment. They alway hang around waiting for another pizza box to find its way to the ground, feasting on pieces of cheese and mushrooms stuck to the lid.

Eddie spits out chewed shells and watches absendmindedly as the flock crowds around a spot some twenty feet away from his trailer.

There must be something especially juicy there, maybe a puddle of puke or a dead squirrel, because all those birds are being unusually loud. Hard to tell which it is though, because all he can really see is a boiling ball of black and grey feathers. That and a handful of smaller magpies that got bullied out of the murder, just hanging around in a respectful distance from other bigger and more agressive birds, looking all sad and hungry.

"What a familiar picture," Eddie snorts and throws another handful of seeds into his mouth, reveling in the salty burn on his tongue.

"Not your lucky day either, huh?"

He spits more shells in an arch over the shabby railing just for the fun of it. Magpies, obviously, don't give a shit about his antics.

That is, all of them except for one.

The bird that turns around and hops closer to the Munson's trailer is a smaller one. Some of its feathers are short or outright missing, giving the bird a shabby appearance. It has random patches of fluff sticking out at weird angles between its wings and from the side of its chest. The poor creature looks very much the same way how Eddie feels and he hates it. Why does everything have to look like some sort of a sarcastic metaphore of his miserable life exactly when he wants to just brood in peace? Can't it just start raining or something instead?

"What?" He barks, making the bird jump.

"Gagagagaga!" Barks the magpie, twitching its head up and down as it looks at Eddie with one of its beady eyes.

"Shoo, you sky rat," sulks the metalhead, flicking a sunflower seed at it, only to miss by a good foot or two.

Instead of scampering away, the bird jumps forward. It picks the seed up, cracks the shell open, and swallows its content. When for few seconds nothing else happens, the magpie opens its beak and barks again.

"Gagaga!"

Not being in a mood to deal with anything, least of all to argue with stupid wildlife, Eddie angrily flings a handful of seeds at the bird. They fall like a rain all over the space where Waine usually parks his pickup, making the magpie jump.

But the moment the bird realizes that nothing else is comming, it starts hopping around in search of food it has just been gifted so generously.

In the background, the murder is still screaming as two biggest birds play a tug-o-war with a piece of bone. So a roadkill then.

Eddie groans and lets his head fall back onto the concrete. It's getting dark and he can hear random cracks and snaps as mosquitoes and other insects get electrocuted by the blue lamp hanging by their neighbour's doors. Someone somewhere in the trailer park is singing along with the radio. Someone else is whistling at their dog, putting a bowl of kibble for dinner on the wooden porch. The magpie by his feet cracks open another seed. Crickets buzz.

All Eddie wants to do is to fall apart into thousands of little pieces carried away by the late spring breeze and just to cease to exist.

🌌

When he wakes up from his accidental little nap, it's late at night. Eddie's back aches from the middle stair digging right into his spine for who knows how long, and his feet and ass are freezing.

Shakily, he manages to stand up and to stumble into his room. He doesn't remember taking his shoes off or climbing under the blanket.

Crickets keep buzzing.

☀️

The next morning, Waine returns with a loud sneeze that startles his nephew awake. They move around each other in a familiar groggy dance of microwaved fried leftovers and instant coffee, one trying to prepare himself for the day to come, another winding himself down for sleep.

One quick stop in the bathroom and the usual chaotic notebooks packing later, Eddie exits the trailer, only to find himself face to face with his friend from yesterday.

"Gagagaga!" The shabby magpie shrieks from the roof of Waine's car, blinking its big brown eye at Eddie. Surprised, he takes a step back.

"What the fuck?"

"Gaga!" The bird barks again, gliding to the ground next to an empty bag from Eddie's yesterday's snack. When the boy doesn't seem to get the message, the magpie lifts the colourful foil and jerks it into the air.

"GAGAGAGAGAGAGA!" It yells.

"Jesus H Christ, dude," Eddie cringes, as he walks to open the pickup, "calm the fuck down."

The bird flutters up at the hood and stares at the metalhead through car's smudgy wind shield.

Eddie swears as he starts the engine, stabbing the animal with his eyes, willing it to leave. When the magpie doesn't even flinch as car's gears loudly rattle into the reverse, Eddie clicks his tongue and makes a mental note to add a pack of nuts to his next grocery list.

I see so many posts about Eddie being a cat dad but I can't stop imagining him with a bird. He'd found it abandoned and sick as a baby and nursed it back to health, but when he tried to release him, he just kept coming back to Eddie. The third time the bird came back, Eddie sighed and shook his head. "Guess I'm a teen dad." They've been inseparable since. Everywhere he goes, the bird goes along with him; completely content to sit on his shoulder and peck at his shiny earrings.

During hellfire, he sits on a perch next to Eddie and is dubbed 'Dungeon Master in training'. Whenever Eddie wants to annoy the kids, he leans over to whisper to the bird and says it was his bird's idea to introduce the dragon that kills Dustin's character.

The bird doesn't like Steve. He pecks at Steve's fingers and screeches rather loudly whenever Steve tries to lean in and kiss Eddie. Sometimes, he will let Steve pet him, giving him false hope that they've become friends before the bird proceeds to chase Steve around his own house while Eddie cackles. "I think he's starting to like you."

The only other person the bird likes is Wayne. He likes to sit perched on Wayne's shoulder while the older man drinks a beer and watches whatever sport he's into at that moment. Wayne refuses to call the bird his grandson, but that doesn't stop him from spoiling the little thing rotten.

[hnychn]

KARASUNO’S MANAGER !!

SYPNOSIS — it’s a new year and the karasuno team decides to throw a new years party in the school gym

WARNINGS — tooth rotting fluff <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE — none of this is realistic but shut up and let me live laugh and love with the idea it’s real

⇀ HAPPY NEW YEARS BABESS

⇀ so it all started out when noya and tanaka came up with the brilliant idea to throw a new years party

⇀ and since canonically, everyone in haikyuu are losers, everyone agreed 😀

⇀ of course you invited your boo kenma 😼 and the nekoma team

⇀ and kuroo invited the fukurodani team since bokuto heard about the party somehow

⇀ the party is held in the gym, it's byoc

⇀ "bring your own cups"

⇀ cause y'all broke broke 😭😭✋🏼

⇀ kidding . . . about the cup part, y'all are broke though . . .

⇀ anyways, so the team put you in charge of getting the drinks

⇀ . . . but they never specified non-alcoholic 😼

⇀ so you, being the six foot seven giant you were, got some alcohol

⇀ it was surprisingly easy

⇀ like the guy behind the counter didn't even ask you for an ID or anything and he probably assumed you were 21+ because of your features 🤡

⇀ i mean you do be chiselled by the gods themselves 🤪🥴

⇀ not me simping over you 🤺

⇀ so the party is about to start and you come in with literal bottle of alcohol like fUCKING JACK DANIEL'S AND WHISKEY AND RUM AND ALL THAT SHIT

⇀ and when daichi saw you with all the paper bags filled with bottles of alcohol he just-

⇀ . . . 🧍🏽‍♀️

⇀ "y/n. . ."

⇀ "yes? 🤠"

⇀ "why. . .why do you have alcohol?"

⇀ "you said to get drinks. ."

⇀ "i mEANT PUNCH-"

⇀ all daichi wanted to do was punch you 🏌️🏽‍♀️

⇀ LMAO BUT NOYA AND TANAKA TURNT UP WITH THE ALCOHOL

⇀ they poured that shit into those punch bowls? ya know? the ones in those cliche highschool movies

⇀ they got red solo cups and everything 🔫

⇀ anyways, so people start showing up and daichi panics because no sir, these minors aren't getting drink on his watch, but oops-

⇀ kiyoko locked him in the shortage closet 👁

⇀ "i'll let you out in 20 minutes"

⇀ because babes knew that's all it'll take for everyone to be blackout drunk

⇀ and she was right 💅🏽

⇀ fifteen minutes into the party, noya, tanaka, yamamoto, lev and a bunch of first years are drunk drunk.

⇀ suga, kuroo, asahi, and ennoshita are also drunk but like they're the chill typa drunk y'know?

⇀ they playing a game of uno with normal playing cards 🧍🏽‍♀️

⇀ kenma . . . doesn't want to be there BLESS HIM LMAO-

⇀ he's sitting in the corner, red solo cup in hand because kuroo took his pspspsp and won't give it back, even if he is drunk

⇀ and you- good god

⇀ YOU. ARE. D R U N K.

⇀ i'm talking the embarrassing type of drunk

⇀ you're dancing on one of the volleyball poles like a fucking stripper and bokuto is throwing napkins at you like they're ones please- 🔫

⇀ kenma is just in the corner staring like 🐚🌝 hello yes, officer? imma need animal control here asap.

⇀ LIKE DJFJD WTF IS MY BF DOINGG

⇀ he's embarrassed for you 😔✋🏼

⇀ but in the corner of your eye you see kenma sitting all alone so you go over to him, alcohol nearly spilling over the side of your red solo cup

⇀ "what're you doin all alone here, kitten?"

⇀ kenma crinkles his nose because you smell like alcohol, but he just shrugs

⇀ he says something but you can't hear him over he loud music, so you lean closer but you end up spilling your drink all over your shirt and you just

⇀ "ew it's sticky . . . i guess I'll just take it off"

⇀ SO YOU DO

⇀ IN A CROWDED ROOM

⇀ OF DRUNK POSSIBLY NOT STRAIGHT MEN

⇀ and holy fuck-

⇀ how knew you were so foine 🥴🥴

kenma's eyes widen when you suddenly pull off your shirt, your chest still slightly damp from the drink spilling on you. he could feel heat rushing to his face the longer he stared. kenma wanted to look away, he really did, but it was something about the way you rubbed your hands over your abs and chest to wipe off the moisture and the way you looked down with hooded eyes that had him entranced. he couldn't look away, and by the sight of the other people in the room also staring at you with no shame, they couldn't either.

despite being drunk, you could tell people were staring and it filled you with a sort of confidence you only got in the privacy of your room with kenma. speaking of kenma, he wasn't fairing any better. his head was turned to the side to look away, but his eyes betrayed him and stayed focused on your chest.

you smirked.

kenma gasped as you suddenly leaned forward, your hand slamming onto the wall next to him and the other pushing him by the hip, your cold fingers slithering up his shirt and sending chills up his spine. your breathe was warm next to his ear and kenma's blush intensified.

"see something you like, kitten?"

kenma's breathing began to get heavier the longer you whispered in his ear, his chest and pants tightening. kenma refused to look up, knowing half of the people in the gym were staring, but he would by lying if he said it didn't turn him on more than he already was.

your stopped whispering in kenma's ear and began trailing kisses down his jaw and neck, leaving marks behind. kenma had to bite his bottom lip to stop noises from escaping his mouth, but his restraint was limited due to the small amount of alcohol in his system.

your fingers traveled further up his shirt and caressed his waist, pulling him closer to you. pulling away from his neck, you turned to his lips, sucking and biting on them as if it would be the last time you would be able to. kenma's neck was littered with hickies that, even in the darkness of the gym, were extremely visible.

but before things could go any further, you were ripped away from kenma by a fuming daichi, "first you bring alcohol and get everyone drunk, then you try to fuck your boyfriend in the middle of the gym? i'm gonna kill you, y/n."

⇀ you were put on daichi watch for the rest of the night 😔🔫

⇀ but by the time 11 rolled around, you were a bit sober so i guess that's good

⇀ everyone gathered into he middle of the gym and counted down until midnight

⇀ kiyoko and yachi had hung some of those colour changing lights and gave the room some amazing vibes

⇀ and kenma was standing next to you, your arm slung over his shoulder as the lights hit his face perfectly and outlined every feature of his beautifully

⇀ you smiled down at him

"it's already 2021, huh?"

kenma looked up at you and immediately looked away when he saw that you were already looking at him. even after months of dating and nights spent in each other's embrace, he still got nervous when you looked at him the way you were right now.

eyes so full of love and lips pulled into a satisfied smile.

"yeah. . . i guess. . ."

you laughed and pulled him closer to your side, kenma stumbled a bit and grasped onto the new shirt you put on. it was a spare that you left behind in the clubroom one day.

"c'mon kenma! new year, new possibilities! what are your new years resolutions?"

kenma shrugged, burying his head deeper into your side, "i don't have any."

5 . . .

you smiled, "really?"

you looked back up at the digital clock kiyoko hung up on the wall just for new years, your smile never faltering. kenma loved that about you, your ability to smile no matter what. no matter the circumstances.

4 . . .

"what about you?" kenma asked, a small bubble of guilt building in his chest for not answering how he thought you wanted.

you looked down at him with the same lovesick eyes and satisfied smile, kenma felt his heart stop, "me?"

you looked back up at the clock, "hmm. . ."

3 . . .

"i think. . . " you drew out, a playful smile on your face when kenma pouted at your long answer. he slapped your chest when you laughed at him.

2 . . .

"i think," you tugged kenma in front of you and rested your chin on his head, a lazy smile drawn on your face as everyone else yelled about, excited for the new year.

1 . . .

"i think i have everything i could ever want right here."

HAPPY NEW YEARS!!

kenma gasped as you suddenly turned him around, lifting his face by the chin. everyone around you cheered as the clock hit 12 and it was now January 1, 2021.

kenma's heart pounded when he saw the same old lazy smirk on your face and the same old lovesick look in your eyes; but no matter how many times he's seen it, he would always feel the butterflies fluttering in hit stomach.

"happy new years, kenma." you whispered as you pulled him into a kiss.

what a way to start the new years.

⇀ everything after that was a blur

⇀ the party amping up as a way to start the new years and you were sure even daichi had a cup full of some unholy concoction of alcohol kiyoko made for him

⇀ when you woke up, you were in bed, kenma laying a your side.

⇀ with close on, y'nasties 👁

⇀ your head felt like it was going to explode and your stomach turned in ways it shouldn't

⇀ but you were too lazy to get outta bed

⇀ me 🤡

⇀ so you just pulled kenma closer and went back to sleep

⇀ dreaming of a happy future with the man in your arms

taglist:: @stickystrawberrysyrup @420-uwu @nvthvlyy @kaiwai @goshizaki-jun @thetrash-mammal @dprhvn @bakuhore

a/n :: i'll add the read more thing in the morning, i gotta start getting dressed for the new year party. this was kinda rushed too so sorry if it's a bit jumbled or something

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Can you do a smut where Kai kidnaps the reader? Ooo also can u add a part when the reader tries to run away but Kai catches her?

You’re Mine Now // Kai Anderson

request: yes

prompts: none

warnings: kidnapping, non consensual sex, blood, violence, crying, language, knife play, biting, blood consumption, oral sex, smut, degradation, unprotected sex, not proofread

a/n: this is a little intense, so if you’re squeamish i wouldn’t recommend reading this

You felt the bag being lifted off your head as you slowly came back to consciousness. You felt dizzy, and your head was throbbing as you slowly looked at your surroundings. Nothing was familiar. You had no idea where you were.

“Hello little lamb,” you heard a voice in front of you say.

He was tall and pale, with deep brown eyes, and slightly long blue hair. You could’ve found him attractive, given different circumstances. But since he kidnapped you, there was no chance of that happening.

You tried to ask him where you were, but your words were muffled by a piece of tape on your mouth. Your eyes went wide as you tried to escape. You wanted out.

“There’s no use trying to escape. You’re not going to get out. I’m recruiting you to join me. Become a loyal follower and do my bidding, and in return I will not harm you,” he said as he walked closer to you.

You tried to back away, failing, due to the chair. His hand neared your face, and you tensed up, not knowing what to except. Then you felt the tape being roughly removed from your mouth, ripping at the flesh.

“What the fuck? Where am I? Let me go?”

He sighed and walked in front of you, crouching to meet your eyes.

“Where you not paying attention? You’re not getting out of here. You’re mine now. Ok?”

“No!” you shouted, “I’m not yours! You can’t own me! And you’re fucking delusional if you think I’d ever follow you!”

His eyes grew darker. You could see the anger coursing through them. A few veins protruded from his neck as he clenched his jaw. His hand roughly met the side of your face. You gasped at the sting, a tear rolling down your face.

“You should watch your words around me little lamb,” he said, the tone of his words sharp enough to cut flesh.

Meekly you nodded, now feeling extremely terrified. However, your sudden submission did nothing to ease the anger coursing through him.

“I’ll be back later. Hopefully you’ll start to realize your place.”

He stood up and left the basement, shutting the lights off. The pitch blackness only being disturbed by the few moon beams poking through the small windows at the top of the walls.

A few silent tears rolled down your face. You pulled your hands against the bounds, tugging hard. After a few minutes you were about to give up, when you felt the ropes give way. You pulled your arms out, the ropes falling to the floor. You quickly untied your legs, standing up and heading towards the stairs, making sure it was quiet.

Once you were sure you didn’t hear anything, you slowly pushed the door open. The coast was clear. No one was there! You smiled to yourself, scurrying to the front door. Your hand went to reach for the doorknob when you heard someone clearing their throat.

You froze and slowly turned around, seeing the man from before standing in front of you.

“And where do you think you’re going, little lamb?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed and thrashing, trying to get out of his grip. But your attempts were futile, the man being much stronger than you.

He carried you back to the basement, throwing you onto the couch. He climbed on top of you, pinning you below him. You fearfully looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. But he smiled at your fear. Then you felt something poking you leg. You blood froze when you realized he was hard. He liking seeing you like this. He was fucking insane.

“Let me go, please,” you softly begged, trying to convince him to let him go.

He laughed darkly, his eyes filling with lust.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not getting out of here? And because you tried to escape, I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

He leaned down, roughly attaching his mouth to your neck, sucking and biting. Littering you in marks. Small whimpers of pain left your mouth as he continued bruising your neck.

When he detached his mouth, a sigh of relief left your lips. You relief was short lived when you saw him pull out a switchblade. He pressed it against you, cutting through your shirt and bra. He removed the shredded fabric, leaving you half bare.

You skin was covered in goosebumps from the cold air and the fear of what he was going to do you. He reached next to him and grabbed the discarded rope from before, tying your arms to the couch above you head, tighter this time. There was no way to get out this time.

Kai slid down, straddling your hips. His eyes burned into your skin as you looked away, not liking the feeling of being exposed like this.

He pushed the blade into your stomach, smiling sadistically at your cries of pain. You felt the knife drawing a circle into your stomach, blood pooling out. Tears started streaming down your face at the pain of the knife.

Once the circle was completed you thought he would be done. But you were wrong. You looked down and saw him carving a smiley face into you, with an interesting looking nose. The image was disturbing so you quickly away.

He ran his finger over the cuts, collecting blood on his fingers. He brought it to your mouth, shoving his fingers down your throat. You felt the metallic taste mix with the salt of your tears. Once he got all the blood off his fingers, he moved back again, this time slicing off your leggings and panties, leaving you complete bare and vulnerable.

You felt a stinging feeling on your thighs as you realized he was cutting you there too. Little knicks all over. You whined as he gently dragged the knife over your pussy, hitting your clit with blade, not hard enough to bleed, but it still hurt.

“Stop, please,” you begged looked at his with tears eyes.

“I could, but I don’t want to,” he said as he smiled wickedly.

He pushed your legs apart, lowering his head between them. You fought to pull them closed, but he wouldn’t let you. He dragged his tongue along the cuts he made. You hissed at the pain.

He sat up and unbuckled his pants, pulling his hard cock out. He leaned over you, untying you from the couch, but leaving your hands bound. He pulled you up, before shoving you down roughly on his cock. You felt the tip hit the back of your throat as you gagged around his length.

He grabbed a handful of your hair, holding you in place, before ruthlessly fucking your mouth.

“Oh- fuck that feels amazing,” he moaned.

Your tears were falling heavily now. You struggled to breathe as he pounded into your mouth. Groans spilling from his lips.

He let out a loud moan as you felt a bitter liquid hit your tongue.

“Swallow,” he said as he pulled your hair, making you look at him.

You did as he said, and he opened your mouth, checking to see that you did want he said. He then pushed back against the couch, holding you down with only his body.

One of his hands traveled down to your pussy as he ran his fingers up and down your slit.

“Already so wet for me, huh?” he said with a smirk.

Your eyes went wide as you realized you were soaked. Did you actually like this? No, that’s impossible, right? This was awful, he was forcing himself on you. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t the slightest bit attracted to him.

He lined his cock up with your entrance, running the tip along your folds. A small moan left your lips as you gasped.

“So you do like this? You dirty little slut. I bet you can’t wait for me to fill you up with my cock. You’d like that would you? To be completely filled with my cock, to be filled with my cum?”

You meekly nodded, ashamed that he was right. A sadistic smile took its place on his face once more as he started pounding into you, giving you no time to adjust. You moaned at the feeling.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he said in a growl.

You let out another moan as he started rubbing circles on your clit. His lips attached to your neck once more, muffling the groans coming out of his mouth.

You felt that familiar knot begin to build up in the pit of your stomach. Your legs were shaking, and you’re moans faltering.

“I- I’m- I’m gonna-,” you tried to mumble out, being cut off by your moans.

“Cum for me little lamb,” he said next to your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

And you did, releasing all over his cock. He moaned at the feeling. You legs shook with overstimulation as he continued his quick pace.

Soon, his thrusts faltered, and you felt his load spill into you. He pulled out and watched his seed drip out of you. He smiling and leaned next to your ear.

“Like I said, you’re mine. Do you understand that know?” he asked.

You nodded and felt him slap your face. He grabbed your jaw and made you look him in the eyes.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” you trailed off, not knowing what to call him.

“Divine ruler,” he said, realizing he hadn’t told you his name.

“Yes divine ruler.”

“Good girl.”

[sunflowerstache]

Lifespan

A/N: Hello! This is very different from most of my writing, not only because its an OC, but because the storyline is just something out of my comfort zone. But I really hope you enjoy it(: I got the inspiration from a ad I saw on Facebook a long time ago lmao but yeah, come say hi once you’ve read it and tell me what you think! It’s much appreciated! I love you all so very much! Also hugeeeee shoutout to @devil-in-bw-the-sheets​ for spending like six months reading and re-reading this every single time I rewrote it and changed things and encouraging me each time! And @emotionally-imbruised​ for beta reading it for me!💛💛

Word Count: 7.3k

“Doll?”

The fog that seemed to have settled over your mind instantly melted away upon hearing the barista’s voice, her sweet drawl grounding your focus back on her. She was an older woman, probably nearing her sixties based on the collection of grey hairs scattered throughout her small ponytail. But still so incredibly full of life. She had red glasses perched atop her nose - which perfectly completed the red polka dots covering her black dress - a beaded chain dangling from the end to the front of the frame, a pair of silver peace sign studs resided in her ears, and the anatomically correct symbol for caffeine dangled in necklace form on her chest.

“What? I’m sorry.”

“Just asked if you wanted the cream on that.” She smiled, thin lines spreading out and away from the sides of her eyes as her mouth widened. Upon glancing down quickly, you took notice of her clearly hand drawn name tag filled with swirling letters - different then when you stopped by earlier in the week when she had used stickers to spell out “Rita”.

“Oh, um yeah sure. Why not.”

“My husband always says that during weather like this, the calories don’t count. That they disappear with your shivering. Can I just have your name, dear?”

“Georgie. And your husband sounds like a very smart man.”

“Oh, he is.” A dreamy look took over Rita’s features, like just thinking about the man made her heart race. “Been together for forty-two years and he still teaches me new things.”

Your heart ached with each word; the fog slowly started to creep back through your mind while you watched her grin fondly. The hope and excitement for the future that was always so very clear in people’s eyes was what made it so hard not to explain everything you knew, every secret you held. However, as much as you wanted to urge everyone to live the life they’ve always wanted, you knew there was a natural balance to life, and opening your mouth would undoubtedly throw that balance off. So instead, you grinned and nodded your head.

“He sounds wonderful.”

“My best friend. Counting down the minutes until the end of my shift. We’re heading up to see our grandbabies for the week.” It was like she knew exactly what kind of secret you were keeping and made sure to hit you where it hurt each time she opened her mouth. As if her being impossibly sweet didn’t hurt enough.

“That sounds nice.” Digging around in your bag for your wallet made it much easier not to focus on the ticking time bomb in front of you. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh my! I’m sorry, I know I can’t talk forever if no one stops me.” her laugh was soft, inviting, one you would love to listen to while storytelling. “It’s four pounds.”

“You can keep the change.” You said when handing her some cash, but stopped yourself before you turned to walk away. Even if you weren’t ever going to outright explain anything to anyone, slipping in tiny, reassuring comments made you feel at least a little better before parting ways. “Have an amazing night with your family Rita.”

The coffee shop was relatively empty at the hours you stopped by. Other than the same group of men that were there every morning, chatting over the newspaper and a black coffee and a young nurse who was just getting off of her night shift, only customers on their way to work stopped by. But that was just how you preferred it. It was much easier to avoid running into people when the sun had barely just peeked over the morning horizon. You suppose the city isn’t exactly the best place to reside when you’re on a mission not to get close to anyone, but you’d much preferred the hustle and bustle of the city than the silence of the countryside. At least here you were able to escape your thoughts when they got to be too much, out there you were left to drown in the weights you held.

Rita was right when she said the weather would bring shivering. The moment you stepped through the café doors, all sense of warmth you previously had was sucked out of you, leaving the tips of your fingers tingling against the warm cup. You hadn’t ever really gotten to know the woman behind the counter, a few kind greetings every now and again, but she seemed to be someone who brought a lot of joy to those around her. And she always put extra chocolate curls on your drink. You made a mental note to send some flowers to her family within the coming days.

It was a car horn that initially took your attention off of the pavement, turning to look for who was in such a rush at 5:30am, but the hard torso smacking into her shoulder is what brought your attention back. Followed by the searing heat of your hot chocolate spilling down your front.

“Oh fuck!” you yelled, immediately dropping the paper cup and trying to pull your shirt away from your body to decrease the chance of a burn. There goes your chance to get home and drive right to work without any issue.

“Oh my god! Oh shit!” the man that had ran into you gasped, stopping in his tracks and grabbing onto your elbow to steady your wild movements.

Even though his words were quite loud on the empty street, his voice was still husky, almost like he wasn’t awake yet and still had some left over sleep in his throat. And when you turned to look at who had ruined your shirt, your own voice got stuck in your throat. He was tall, which made sense considering your head had bounced right off of his chest. He was wearing black basketball shorts with tall white socks and a light grey hoodie, which was pulled up to cover the dark grey beanie resting on his head. With one hand he was holding a water bottle with ease, while the other was frantically pulling the airpod from his ear. But apart from his sheer stature, you couldn’t ignore how beautiful this man was. How even the worry lines littering his face were perfectly accenting his features. Or how the green of his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the Whole Foods you had been stopped in front of.

“I’m so sorry! Shit are you okay?” he quickly asked, shaking his head before you could even respond. “Obviously not, that was probably hot. Oh god I’m so sorry!”

Finally getting your bearings back, you couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah it was pretty hot.”

“Shit, I don’t even know how that happened. I must’ve taken my eyes off the pavement for one second. I’m so sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” You chuckled, bending down to pick up your now empty cup at your feet and tossing it in the bin by your side. “Don’t worry about it. Really it’s fine.”

“It’s not, I’ve ruined your shirt.” If the disappointment in his voice wasn’t evident enough, the small pout on his lips definitely was. He looked absolutely distraught at the sight of what he’d done. “Let me at least get you a new drink. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” You’d always known it was rude to speak to someone and not give them eye contact, it was something your father had drilled into you as a child, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Looking someone in the eyes meant seeing above their head, and that was an area you actively tried to avoid looking. But there was something about him that drew you in, and you couldn’t help glancing up at him quickly again. “I actually have to be getting to work. Thanks though.”

“Are you sure? I feel terrible.”

“Positive. Have a good morning.” Your touch was soft on his arm as you made your way past him, leaving the mystery man standing on the pavement staring as you walked towards your flat.

You didn’t mean to be so short with him, but it’s just how you’d grown accustomed to living life. It was the easiest way you found not to get close to many people, which meant less hurt in the end. And you’d been around enough hurt in your short twenty three years. It may be a lonely life, but you were happy with your cat, comically named Lucifer, and living a simple life. Sure, there were times you wished you could live the carefree life everyone around you got to experience, your only issues being stresses of work or relationship drama, but that wasn’t who you were. After living the life you did, there’d be no way you could live a normal life.

“Don’t give me that look, Luci.” you grumbled when walking through your front door, your cat perched on the dining table just watching as you moved through the living room, ripping your destroyed shirt from your body. “This wasn’t my fault.”

You’re sure that you looked like a crazy person if anyone was watching on, talking to your cat while walking around your flat in nothing but a pair of black slacks and a bra. But you didn’t care, because this was your normal. You ranted to her after a long day at work or a particularly draining day, and she always sat and listened. Mostly because she was a cat.

“He just ran right into me, like he literally couldn’t see me. How odd, right?” you stopped briefly while searching your closet for a new shirt. “God Luci, he was cute though. So cute. And tall.”

Just because you secluded yourself in the world didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy taking a peak at what it had to offer. It was the forming relationships that put you off, not because there was a level of uncertainty - nothing was uncertain to you - but because you always knew the timeline of said relationships. It was always the same. So why put yourself through it? But also, why not? What if that was just what you needed to make such a painful existence a little more bearable?

“I didn’t even get his name. Maybe I’ll see him around the cafe sometime.” you hummed, throwing the new peach colored blouse over your head and peeking your face out of the hole. “No. No Georgie, don’t go there. Who are we kidding, it’s not like anything could ever happen anyway.”

Lucifer meows loudly at your comment., making you turn around to glare at her. Obviously she didn’t know what was actually going on, but it was nice to entertain the idea of someone listening to your problems and helping you talk them out. You were a secluded young woman, not crazy.

“What? Like I’m wrong? It’s not something I’d be able to keep from a boyfriend forever. And It’s not like I’d be able to just flat out tell them.”

She meowed again, jumping off the table and prancing her way to your feet, rubbing her side against your ankles.

“What would I even say? Hey, I was born with this thing where I can see a floating clock above everyone’s head that literally counts down to the day you die? Yeah because that won’t get me sent to the looney bin.”

From the start of time, there has always been a beginning and an end to everything. No matter if it was an Oscar award winning film, delicate relationships, or even life itself, it all ended. People come, and they go, but the world continues on; taking care of those who stay to see another day. And on a daily basis, the idea of the end rarely floats through anyone’s mind. Except for you.

For you, it was impossible not to think about when it was quite literally staring you in the face. For as long as you could remember, you walked through life with a different outlook on the end than most other people.It wasn’t because you had some near death experience, but due to a gift. Or at least what some people in the world would consider a gift, because in no way would you call being able to see the exact day someone is going to die, a gift.

It was something that over the years you had grown to ignore, trying not to look too far away from people’s eyes and never thinking too hard about the ticking numbers.They weren’t obnoxious or flashy signs hanging above everyone’s heads - like you had seen some films try and depict - but instead, just a simple, faint, white clock just above the tops of everyone’s head, showing each individual’s lifespan. No matter how many hours you sat down and tried to rationalize why you were able to see this, there was never any answer. No one else in your family carried the burden, and because of that, you never mentioned it to anyone in fear of sounding crazy. But you knew you weren’t crazy, not when you prayed night after night for those numbers to disappear or for someone’s clock to be wrong, only to be let down.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you finally saw your favorite florist Don after he spent some time away, and his clock suddenly read 3 years, 20 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes, and 6 seconds instead of the 27 years you had grown used to seeing on him every day before he left. It didn’t take long for you to find out he was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and treatments had stopped working.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you got to watch Kim’s clock - the very sweet receptionist at your job - begin to slow down the more she adjusted to a healthy lifestyle of eating right and taking care of her body. What was once a ticking time of a measly 21 years adjusted what would be a long and fulfilled 59 years more.

And you knew you weren’t crazy when at only seventeen years old, you watched as your best friend’s clock suddenly dwindled down to zero’s across the board like a slot machine while laying on the bathroom floor of a house party. The drugs in her system being too much for her young body to handle and completely consuming the 72 years she once had left.

You weren’t crazy, you just carried a burden no one should ever have. And because of it, you made sure not to get close to anyone in fear of watching yet another clock strike zero.

So you moved on with your life, forgetting all about the tall man who had spilled your drink and run into your mind, making you think things you hadn’t in so long, and instead, focused solely on getting through your days at work and getting back home. It was an easy routine, one you hadn’t strayed from much since moving to the city six years ago; wake up, feed Luci, get coffee, go to work, go home, shower, watch tv, go to bed. And as happy as you were that life wasn’t so painful these days, boring would be the only word good enough to describe your life.

Until your neighbors moved in.

You were standing in the kitchen, lifting the collar up to your mouth to try and quickly lick the hot sauce off the old, ratty Elton John Tour shirt you were wearing before it left a stain, wearing nothing else but some shorts, a nice pair of cheetah print slippers to cover your chilly toes, and one of the two hundred paper face masks you’d ordered off of Amazon in an attempt to clear your skin, when the loud bang on your front door startled you. Not only did your family not live in town, but your neighbors knew that you weren’t a people person. Ever since you made that very clear to them upon moving in, they hadn’t tried to contact you, so you just assumed whoever it was had gotten the wrong flat number.

But the knocking persisted.

Lucifer’s head had picked up from her lap upon hearing the first knock, now watching as you made our way closer to the front door. “What do I do?” but the only response you received was her head tilting to the right, like she was saying ‘Really? Answer it you idiot.’

You wanted to be angry, you really did, because you were nearly ready to be completely settled in for the night after a terribly long day and you just wanted to watch some bad tv with Luci, but the moment you twisted the door knob and peered into the hallway, any anger you had felt, completely washed away.

“Hey! Sorry, my mates and I-” he abruptly stopped mid sentence once his eyes landed on you, like his train of thought literally face planted into a brick wall. A look of realization flashed across his face quickly, and in a matter of milliseconds, what was once stress turned into a look of excitement. “Hey! It’s you!” he smiled.

“It’s me.” something about him made it very difficult for you not to mirror his smile, but that desire was overpowered by the confusion coursing through your mind.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again! I still feel terrible about what happened, are you sure you were alright? You didn’t burn yourself, did you?” The man was incredible at changing his emotions at the drop of a dime, for now his eyes were laced with concern where excitement had just lived. “Or I guess I should say I didn’t burn you, did I?”

He was much more put together this time, the workout attire you had last seen him in was traded in for a pair of light red slacks that looked to be a crushed velvet material paired with a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black vans. He looked like any university boy you’d see walking the streets, but at the same time, like nothing you had ever seen before. Something about him standing in your doorway brought you a sense of calm, like just his presence was enough to wash away the stresses of your day.

“I mean I can’t say that it felt particularly good, but I didn’t get burned, no.”

“Oh good. That’s good.” he nodded, and you made the mistake of following his hand with your eyes as he lifted it up to his curls to fix the glasses perched on his head. You didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see what kind of fate the universe had in store for him because the peace he had brought to you in the few moments he’d been standing there felt better than anything had in the past few years. But you were never that lucky.

Your eyes quickly casted back down, looking back at the white of his shirt while you cleared your throat. “Did you need something….” you dragged out the end of the word to indicate that you didn’t know what to call him since he hadn’t bothered to mention his name.

“Oh, right. ‘M Harry.”

“Georgie.

“Hello Georgie.” if possible, the grin on his face doubled in size, causing two dimples to appear at the corners and the air in your chest to feel as though it was tightening.

The two of you stood in your doorway without saying anything for another moment before you spoke up; “So did you need something or…”

“Fuck, yeah.” his voice was breathy when he responded, standing up straighter, “My mates and I just saw you come home and we’re in desperate need of a needle and thread. You’ve got one?”

It only took a second for him to realize his words and that surprised look from when you first opened the door was back. His eyes widened and his hands raised in front of him as a way to stop you before you could respond.

“Not in a creepy way! We weren’t like watching you or summat, swear! My mates Niall and Louis just moved in across the hall.” using his thumb he pointed to the open door across the hall where you could see two other guys watching yours and Harry’s interaction. Upon realizing they were spotted, they raised their hands in a small wave. “We heard you come in. Not that we were actively listening! Just - ‘m sorry. I swear we aren’t creeps.”

“Good. Thought I’d have to sic my monster of a dog on you.” you replied, turning to dig through the small table in what could barely be considered an entryway. The table had started out as a place to keep your keys and mail, but like most did, quickly turned into a junk drawer. An abyss to put any and everything only to never see it again.

Harry’s eyes frantically looked behind you like some crazy monster was about to lunge at him for bothering you at night, even going as far as taking a small step back when the door opened a bit wider while you were looking for the tool. You laughed when glancing up quickly at the movement. It was obvious he was panicking at the new information of potentially getting mauled by a massive dog while simply asking for thread. So you put him out of his misery.

“There’s no dog. I’m just joking…”

As if on cue, Lucifer waltzed up to see what was going on at the front door, her small body weaving between your legs to get a nice scratch while checking out the never before seen man. “Oh! A cat! I love cats!”

“Yeah she’s pretty great.” you nodded, closing the drawer and holding your hand out to Harry. “Here you go. Um, not sure what colour you need so you can just take the whole bag.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you! Niall has a date in ten minutes and he’s split his only good pair of trousers.” he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the boys inside the other flat, trying to seem like they weren’t listening to the conversation, but very obviously doing just that. “Have to sew him in like ‘m some sort of tailor.” he chuckled, turning back to face you.

“Sounds like an exciting night.”

“Oh riveting. I would ask if you’d like to join but you look very busy-” the corners of his lips were trying hard not to curl upwards with the light sarcasm, wobbling a bit as he continued speaking, “-so I wouldn’t want to interrupt anymore than I already have. I’m sure I’ll see you again, I practically live with these two idiots.”

“‘M sure I will.” Luci hadn’t left your side since joining you at the door, instead, she began meowing quite loudly, so you bent down to scoop her into your arms.

You liked Harry, not only because he was a very obviously a good looking man, but because he seemed to pick up on your social cues fairly quickly. He didn’t linger and try to get as much out of you as possible or make the fact that you clearly didn’t have much interest in talking uncomfortable. And it was the first time in a long time that you felt content being around someone. Not fearing what the future brought.

Harry halted his movements halfway between flats and spun back around quickly. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you press kisses to Lucifer’s head while standing in the doorway. Something you gathered from the very brief times you’d shared an encounter was that Harry was not very good at hiding his emotions. It was almost like he had no control of his mouth, because you could see him try to stop the smile from spreading, but it was no use. The dimples popped out in full force.

“I still owe you for that coffee.”

“Oh, um not a coffee.”  you tried not to be loud enough for him to hear, noting that the fact that it wasn’t a coffee was not really that important, but he heard you anyway.

“Pardon?”

“Just um, it wasn’t a coffee. More of a hot chocolate drinker actually.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead just continued watching you with fond eyes and a now very prominent smile. You felt as though he could sense how out of touch with relationships you had begun to get over the years. What other explanation could he have for being so soft with someone he had just met and barely even known

“Right, well keep your schedule open so I can take you out for that replacement cocoa.”

Your door swiftly closed the second he turned back around, not leaving any extra seconds for him to turn around and look at you again. And the second she heard the click of the lock, Luci leaped out of your arms and made her way over to the sofa, meowing her entire journey.

“Yes that was him.” another meow. “I told you he was cute, and I also told you nothing would be happening there.”

Harry wasn’t lying when he said you’d be seeing him again. It seemed as though every day when you got back to your flat, he was there. Sometimes on his way out, other times just standing outside the door waiting for the other boys. And despite how at peace being around Harry had made you feel that day he came knocking at your door, you never put in much more effort than a “hello” here and there. He and the others had tried quite a few times to get you to join them on their night out, but each time you came up with a different excuse. Even if they were comforting, what was the point in forming that friendship when you knew you’d just isolate yourself again eventually. You had made it this long without getting too close to anyone else, and you weren’t going to start just because two attractive lads moved in across the hall who happened to have a very fit, very inviting, friend.

It wasn’t until nearly a month later that you actually had a full conversation with Harry again.

Typically you tried not to go to the coffee shop by your flat any later than lunchtime because it just got too busy. There were too many people for you to fully avoid them all and seeing too many clocks dampened your mood significantly. But you had already had a shitty morning and needed something to give you a boost.

The place had felt very melancholy since Rita’s unfortunate passing last month, she’d passed peacefully in her sleep while spending time with her family. You’d sent the family flowers as remembered, and also made sure to drop a few bills in the jar on the counter each time you’d been in the shop. Other employees were setting up a fund for Rita’s family since she was such a loved member of the community just with the joy she brought from behind the counter.

“Just a large hot chocolate for me, please.”

“For here or take away?”

“Take away please.”

“Actually she’ll have that for here, please.” a familiar voice behind you spoke up as you were digging through your bag for your wallet. You could see him out of the corner of your eye move from his spot behind you, to gradually standing next to you, looking directly at the barista behind the counter.

“Um..” you felt bad for the young kid, he couldn’t be any older than eighteen and all he wanted to do was get to work and get out. But here you were making his day more stressful than it needed to be. “So… for here then?”

“Harry I -”

“Come on Georgie. Please.” never in your life had you seen a grown man bat his eyelashes, but here he was, trying to lure you in with his breathtaking green eyes.

“Fine.” your voice came out soft and you rolled your eyes, but on the inside you felt giddy, like what you remember life to feel like before you started isolating yourself. “Um, sorry. I’ll have it for here I suppose.”

“Do you want the cream?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, I’ll have a -” Harry’s profile was something you could get lost in. How the tip of his nose seemed to bounce with every word he said, how it looked as if his lips were made to form the words falling from between them, or how no matter how many times he tried to get it to stay back, one of his curls would continue to break loose from the rest and fall past his forehead. From what little you’ve seen of it, Harry had a great sense of fashion. Comfortable. A brown teddy bear jumper was covering his upper body, sleeves long enough to gather just past his hands and torso short enough that you could see his white shirt peeking out from underneath, ripped black jeans, a pair of black chelsea boots, and  those same tortoise shell glasses perched on his nose completed his look.  

“Ready?”

“Huh?”

“You ready? ‘ve got a table back by the door.”

The two of you made your move to walk back towards the front of the shop, but you halted in your tracks when you saw that yes, he in fact did have a table waiting for him, but it was also being inhabited by the two boys you had seen behind him when he came to ask for thread. Neal and Liam? And a girl was sitting between the two as they chatted amongst themselves.

“Harry I don’t -”

“Come on, I promise we don’t bite.” Apparently you still didn’t look convinced because he leaned down to be at your eye level and stuck his lip out in a pout. “One drink. Please? I owe you remember?”

“Yes and you’ve already bought me a new one, thank you by the way, so you don’t owe me anything else.”

“I know.” the apples of his cheeks began getting pinker the longer he stared at you, “But I’d very much like to spend some time with you.”

Just like he did when he knocked on your door, his eyes widened and immediately seemed to want to backtrack what he had said. “Wait no, not in that way. In like a ‘hey I think you’re cute -’ no fuck that’s not -”

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“One drink.”

The relief was instant on his features, his shoulders sagging and eyebrows un-furrowing at your words. “Good. Afraid my mates were going to start thinking I made you up.”

“I live across the hall, they’ve seen me.”

“Well yeah, but I talk about you so much they thi- I - fuck.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from between your lips. You may not have had many friendships or relationships of any kind, but you did know excessive rattling wasn't generally how people spoke to one another.  “You babble a lot.”

“Only when ‘m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

Harry wasted no time in his response, taking a quick glance over to you. “Because I finally get to spend time with the pretty girl across the hall.”

The heat rushing to your cheeks had become something of a common occurrence when speaking with Harry. It wasn’t obvious if he knew what he was doing or not, but you couldn’t imagine someone like Harry not knowing how to flirt. Thankfully, however, someone from the table spoke up before you could dwell on his comment longer than necessary.

“Finally!” the man sitting at the end of the booth spoke. He was dressed very similar to Harry in color - a tan quilted shirt was hidden beneath a cream colored teddy bear jacket, and pleated brown trousers. The light facial hair stubbled along his cheeks made him look slightly older than Harry, but his complete baby face counteracted that.

Harry looked at you briefly, raising his eyebrows with a ‘what did I tell you?’ kind of look as he bent down to slide into the booth next to the other man. His style was much different than the other two, more streetwear. He was wearing black trackies and an old gray band tee under a denim jacket, baseball hat and the very apparent smell of cigarettes finishing off the outfit. Another difference with him was that he had a girl with him. What you assumed to be his girlfriend by the way her head was resting on his shoulder and his hand fell on her knee. She was beautiful, long brown hair fell loose around her shoulders, only kept back by the fragile looking sunnies that rested at the top of her head. She was wearing a simple white top and a pair of white,black, and brown plaid trousers, both of which were overshadowed by the beautiful black Balenciaga jacket hanging off of her shoulders.

“Was starting to think you’d been lying about actually knowing her, Haz.” the one closest to Harry spoke, earning a light slap to his chest from the girl on his shoulder.

Harry disregarded all of their antics and turned to pat the seat next to him, indicating he wanted you to sit down, and he gave you a reassuring nod when you nibbled your lower lip between your teeth.

It was subtle acts like Harry letting you sit on the outside of the booth so you could make a quick getaway if needed that reminded you how easily he seemed to pick up on your social cues - even if you didn’t realize you did them. It made your chest tickle that even just from the two substantial conversations you’d had with him, Harry picked up on things you did.

“Piss off.” Harry chuckled, reminding you a lot of friendships you’d seen on tv where they all take the piss but it was easy to see that they all cared for one another. It was something you’d always been envious of while watching the world from the sidelines. “Georgie, this is Niall, Louis, and Louis’ girlfriend Eleanor. Everyone, this is Georgie.”

You were met with a chorus of hellos and you would’ve loved to just jump right into their conversation about the best places to get guacamole, just so that they knew you weren’t intentionally being rude to them. But not only were you not good at this conversation thing, but you also were still on edge about forming any sort of connection with these people. Apparently you should get used to Harry and his all knowing mind, because before you could excuse yourself from the awkwardness, he spoke up.

“So, how long have you lived in the building?”

Unprepared for the question, you froze for a second. “Oh, um going on six years now.”

“Impossible! What are you, like twenty? No way you’ve lived there that long!” Eleanor asked, her head no longer on Louis’ shoulder, instead she was sitting upright and looking directly at you. Of course, over the span of the years, you had gotten quite good at looking at people without really paying any attention to what was only visible to you above their heads, but it still made you uneasy. The best solution was just not to look at them at all. But these people, people who had no idea who you were a mere ten minutes ago yet were now welcoming you into their lives, made you want to work on avoiding the numbers. Because this was the most alive you’d felt in years.

“‘M twenty three. Be twenty four next Friday.”

“No shit! Alright well I’m coming over so you can teach me your skincare routine because you look flawless.” she gleamed, leaning forward on the table to jot down her phone number on one of the many spare napkins littering the tabletop.

“As much as I love a good skincare routine, let’s not skip over the more important part of that sentence. Your birthday is next week?” Harry asked, gently shoving his shoulder against yours and offering a kind smile when you glanced up at him.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I haven’t really celebrated my birthday since I turned like eleven.” your parents used to throw you a party every year while growing up, a lavish over the top kind of party where all of your classmates were invited and family you had never even heard of pinched your cheeks. But as time went on and you didn’t give up your ‘ridiculous fantasy’ as your mother so kindly put it, they began to stop throwing the party. Now, you were lucky if they sent you a card on the day. Plus, celebrating your birthday alone is kind of a downer.

“You haven’t celebrated your birthday in over a decade?” Niall’s mouth hung open like that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

“Nope.”

“Well that just won’t do.” you may not know very much about the people seated around you, but the smirk on Louis’ face told you everything you needed to know. “We’re having a party.”

“Um, thank you. Really. But parties aren’t really my thing. Plus I’m working that day so…”

“Oh, where do you work?” Harry asked, thoroughly interested in where you spend most of your days.

“Good Samaritan.”

“The nursing home down on Adams?”

“That’s the one. I’m a caregiver.” when you first applied for the position, you thought you were crazy. For someone who doesn’t want to get close to anyone in fear of their untimely demise, you definitely went for a job exactly the opposite. But that was the appeal to you. Sure, it was terribly sad to see one of your patients pass, but in the time leading up to it, you knew exactly who needed a little extra love. It was nice to be able to remind their loved ones to visit while making routine phone calls, and to do things to make them smile in what only you knew were their last days. It was the only time you thought what you were born with was some kind of gift. The tiniest most unwelcomed gift.

“That’s wonderful.” Harry’s voice was gently next to you, like he was hanging on to every short word that you said.

“Well, we’ll just have a party once you’re done with work.” Louis shrugged, but held his hands up when you opened your mouth to remind him you didn’t want anything. “Not a party, a friendly get together with friendly neighbors and alcohol.”

That day in the cafe was the beginning to a new start for you.

Obviously Lucifer had to hear about everything that happened that afternoon, but she was there to experience it first hand when Eleanor came knocking on your door the following day. She got to watch as you bent over in genuine laughter at your shared banter. She watched from the kitchen counter as Harry came by with food one night, saying he just happened to order extra lo mein and heard you come home. And as the two of you sat in the living room watching Big Brother, talking about everything from your favorite color to why he majored in physical therapy in university. Luci got to watch you break out of the shell you’d worked so hard on forming around you, and even though you knew she couldn’t understand what was happening, you liked to think her frequent meows were those of encouragement.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The yells came from all corners of the room when you walked into Louis’s flat the following Friday, making your eyes widen and shoulders straighten. As much progress as you’d been making in your life, with branching out and slowly losing your fear of connection, it would take more than a week to crack down those barriers you’d built so high for so long.

“Thank you.” you laughed, putting down the bottle of wine you’d brought just in time for everyone to start surrounding you in hugs.

“Happy Birthday, love.” Harry’s voice was soothing in your ear, like a sense of relief in the overstimulation the other three had given you. You didn’t regret their company like you would have only a month ago, instead you welcomed the foriegn feelings. But it was still nice to have a moment of calm to fully process everything.

“Thank you Harry.”

“I hope it’s not too much. I told them to cool it on the balloons and confetti - especially since we all know I’ll be the one to pick it up in the morning.” he laughed, offering you a glass of wine that everyone else seemed to already be enjoying.

“No, no, it’s great. A nice segway from doing nothing every year.”

“Still can’t believe you haven’t celebrated your birthday in so long! That’s a day that should be celebrated by everyone!”that same look you’d grown to quite enjoy flashed over his features, his momentary distress as he realized he said something he wasn’t planning on sharing. But the look disappeared when he saw your knowing smile. “Don’t start.”

As promised, there was no party, per say. Everyone was just scattered around Louis’ living room telling stories about absolutely nothing that had everyone in stitches. It was the kind of party you’d always been envious of, one where mates could hang out and lose themselves in the company of each other. It was the first time you didn’t have a single thought about impending doom for more than an hour, a feit you would be sure not to forget.

Niall was laid out on the floor under the windows, a half empty bottle of rum in his hand and the other rested on his stomach, occasionally itching an invisible nuisance. Louis was seated in the arm chair directly across from Niall, a very buzzed Eleanor draped across his lap and the more the night went on, the less chances you had of seeing their faces separated. And Harry was seated next to you on the sofa, his arm hung on the back of the cushion in such a way that everyone so often you would feel the very tips of his fingers skim the exposed skin on your shoulder.

You wished you could freeze this moment in time, because a photograph or video would never do it justice. It was almost as if you were watching the night play out in front of you like a movie, not really in your body but watching from afar. Watching as the girl who hid herself from the world began to hatch, slowly cracking the hard exterior surrounding her. And you would do anything to bottle the feeling of pride that swelled in your chest knowing you had achieved that.

“Literally right in the face mate. No joke.” Niall cackled, his laugh a contrast in that moment; escaping his mouth loudly but carrying throughout the room softly. Taking off like a leaf blowing through the fall breeze.

“Georgie.” your name slipped from between Harry’s lips beautifully, like he was created for the sole purpose of saying your name over and over again; forever. “Alright?”

And sitting in the living room of Louis’ flat, listening to your friends’ wine induced giggles, looking at the most captivating pair of green eyes and curly hair that only whatever magical being that was above could’ve created, you were alright. You were so alright that the minuscule ticks of the clocks of your new and only friends, ticks you tried so hard to avoid paying attention to, almost seemed to disappear completely. Almost.

71 years, 2 months, 10 days, 3 hours, 16 minutes, 55 seconds. 68 years, 11 months, 3 days, 19 hours, 43 minutes, 2 seconds. 68 years, 7 months, 21 days, 1 hour, 58 minutes, 33 seconds. 62 years, 8 months, 9 days, 11 hours, 12 minutes, 2 seconds. 2 years, 1 month, 30 days, 23 hours, 34 minutes, 56 seconds.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 5 (Mischief)

Summary: Aqua doesn’t have a crush on Terra. She doesn’t. Okay, she does. Or, Terra accidentally walks in on her in the shower. || Word Count: 3,476

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I should mention a tiny little warning that there is a reference to nudity in this fic! It’s not described, so it’s totally T-rated but in case that is something you wanted to know. :) This is the shortest fic in the bunch, something cute and fun. The shower scene was a deleted scene in my Terraquanort fic, but I found that it just didn’t fit with the mood at all haha

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

nah.

Accidents don’t often happen to Aqua.

Ha.

Aqua swings her Keyblade upward. The force juggles golden rings assigned for training, usually tied to a pole for a bounce back. The Master mentioned some interesting techniques the other day in class: style changes, or the ability to enhance your power after a string of emotional attacks deep in the heat of battle, when you’re forced to rely on your heart to pull you out of a tough situation. Terra is sure to be developing new tricks, too.

There’s two months left until the Mark of Mastery. Letting the rings loose is a handicap Aqua places on herself: they’re heavy, resisting her magic to bounce in the air. This way, they should mimic what it’d feel like to fight a powerful enemy. She practices her pirouettes, and her waves of magic attempt to buoy them in the air in a violent tornado, but her spell flounders, a small push by a child in a playground. She adds a waltz step, a flip to give it a good kick, but it’s not enough. The rings crash back onto the grass. 

Aqua grunts and goes for the kill—but she twists her ankle at the crevice of a rock, landing on her knee.

“Stars,” she curses, wincing. Her knee is scraped, a hole ripped through her stocking, and her ankle aches. Stars. She casts Heal on her knee to soothe the sting and the gentlest summon of Ice to counter the swelling in her ankle. She tries to stand on it but can’t, so she casts more rounds of Heal and Ice spells until her leg can at least bear her weight.

Aqua limps to the castle through the back entrance, where the communal showers are. Showerheads, each with its own white curtain, are built on one side and sinks on the other in a wide open space. It’s part of a long hallway that connects to one of the gyms and a storage room down a corner. The floor is lilac concrete tile and drains, where it gives way to marble when you enter the castle proper. 

There was a time when the castle housed enough students to justify the size of this room, but Aqua is grateful she has direct access instead of having to drag this stupid ankle up a tower to her bedroom.

She shrugs off her sweaty, dirt-ridden clothes and shoes, and throws them in one corner, picking a shower that already houses soap, careful to put all her weight on one foot. The curtain draws around her in a u-shape and she turns the hot water knob, the pipes whistling as the water gushes through.

It gently scalds her at first but Aqua sighs when she gets used to it, rolling her shoulders and lifting her elbow over her head to stretch. The heat is good for the muscles. She presses her fingers near her neck, where it’s tight, and massages, then bends down to cast more Heal and Ice spells onto her ankle. Grime and sand flow down her skin, losing saturation as it curls down the drain under her feet. The soap stings when it runs over her scrape. 

She can’t keep making mistakes. 

Maybe the waltz step was too much and over-complicated things.

Aqua turns the knob off after rinsing her body and listens to the water drip onto the floor. The repetitive sound is hypnotic. She’ll journal her progress when she gets to her room and make comparisons with entries from the last few weeks. 

Hopefully, she’s improving at an acceptable speed despite the injury.

Aqua tests her ankle. She can’t flex it. Stars.

What is she missing when it comes to her technique? Does she need better endurance with her pirouettes? Does she have the time to do it right before the Mark of Mastery? 

When she realizes that she needs a towel to dry off—and there’s no towel in sight—she realizes that she’s been standing there wasting the time away. The shower is the greatest and the worst place to think.

Aqua figures she could grab a towel from the storage room nearby without anyone noticing. 

She opens the curtain.

Terra is standing right there, eyes as round as oranges with a heavy bag of fertilizer in his arms. He drops it. Aqua shuts the curtain with a screech.

“I’m sorry!” she hears him yell. Through the bottom of the curtain, she sees him scalping for excess that spilled over. Whatever hits the floor is mixing into the water, making mud. He’s barefoot.

“Terra, what the stars—?” she hisses, covering herself despite the curtain (a single piece of thin fabric).

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

“How is that possible?”

“Why are you standing here doing nothing?”

“Just—Terra—” She groans loudly.

There is a pause as he walks backwards. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

“Get out of here.”

His footsteps slap across the floor, a subtle splash and the smack against the tile. Aqua peeks through the curtain when it’s quiet. She’s alone with a sequence of mud heading into the castle. Aqua grabs her clothes, slipping the bare minimum on despite its filth, and treks down the hall, purposefully taking opposite directions from his trail.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their designated table in the library is always littered with books, damaged ones exchanged for the unread when the assignment deems it. There’s an extra stack for Ven since he’s a couple of years behind. 

Aqua (carefully) enters the library (ignoring the throbbing—it will heal quickly, she tells herself). She’s cleanly dressed and re-bathed, and takes a seat at the desk while Terra and Ven babble about the nonsense of a textbook they both hate. 

Terra gives her a quick, panicked glance before turning away from her and staring hard at the book in front of him.

Ven notices. “Aqua, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a sprain,” she says, suddenly clenched in the throat. What happened in the shower was nothing. No big deal. Sometimes best friends see things. So why is she, too, bordering on panic? Heat builds in her cheeks, so much that it hurts. Aqua tilts her head at an angle so her hair covers her face. 

“What’s with you two?” Ven asks and Aqua flinches. 

“Nothing, Ven,” Terra says too sternly. He bites his lip and stands too quickly. “A Heal spell isn’t enough for a sprain, what were you thinking?” he asks her without looking at her. He clears his throat loud enough to make Ven recoil, trying his best to hide how shaky his voice has become. “Excuse me,” Terra says before shuffling his feet like he’s holding his pee and disappearing.

When it’s quiet, Ven leans forward to get into Aqua’s personal space. “Okay, I know something’s up. What’s going on?” He squints. “Why is your face all red?”

“N-no reason.” Aqua opens a book. If she digs her entire face into it, it will look like she’s hiding on purpose. She lowers her chin (casually) to pretend she’s reading.

“You’re a liar.”

Aqua slams the book back down. “I do not lie, Ven.”

“Sure, you’re the definition of perfect. But you’re lying to me now.”

Aqua doesn’t know what to do. Her record is spotless. She’s a good student and a good person. She’s only ever told small, harmless white lies, about being tired when she doesn’t feel like it, or saying she isn’t hungry when she is so they don’t catch her sneaking in a brownie. But not this. 

“I’m not,” she says in the most unconvincing way.

“Fine, I’ll bug Terra about it—”

“There was,” Aqua says, her voice uneven (damn the stars), “an accident.”

Ven raises a skeptical brow. “And? How bad could that be?”

Aqua huffs and crosses her arms. It’s just Ven. Her other best friend, no judgment here. “Terra surprised me.”

Ven rolls his eyes.

“In the communal shower.”

He points and laughs at her, dropping his head in a fit and slamming a fist onto the surface of the table. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in between gasps. “Oh, he must be suffering right now.”

Terra returns, more relaxed, carrying a wooden bowl and bandages. Still, he avoids looking Aqua in the eye.

“So…” Ven says with an obnoxious knowing to his voice and Aqua regrets everything. “Did you enjoy the view?”

Terra stares at her first, his brown skin pale. He glares at Ven with the ferocity of homicide.

Ven bursts into another shake of laughter. “Stars, don’t tell me. You’re blushing so hard.” 

At that, Aqua looks away. The thought is embarrassing and a… relief? At the same time? 

Terra doesn’t honor Ven with a reply. He trembles, forming a claw with his hand. When he waves it, the bookshelves shake. Several books zoom out and flap, hovering over Ven and hitting him on the head like crows on the attack. 

“Wait, stop, how are you doing this?” Ven shields his head with his arms, but Terra is bent on murder. Ven summons his Keyblade and cuts straight through the spine of a book. “Okay, okay, I get it!” The books glide close, ready to torpedo if necessary. Terra refuses to say anything. Ven steps away from the table, on guard. Then he smirks. He sticks his tongue out and bolts out the door. “Maybe that means you guys will finally kiss!” he yells down the hall.

Kiss.

A word as loud as a volcano erupting. 

Terra lets go of his magic and all the books drop to the floor, yet the crash is still quieter than Kiss, quieter than how hard her heart is drumming in her chest.

Without a word, Terra picks up the bowl with both of his hands and mumbles a short-lived Fire spell. It’s obvious that she’s to remove her sock and give her ankle to him. That’s the point, a turmeric and olive oil mix, gently heated to reduce inflammation. He doesn’t need to ask.

Aqua lifts her leg to remove her stocking.

Terra flinches and dramatically averts his eyes.

“It’s just a sock, Terra.”

Terra motions to look at her as a response, but stops himself. “You shouldn’t be walking on it,” he bites.

“Call me stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn.”

She fights the impulse to slap him on the back of the head. “Here.” She offers her naked leg to him.

Terra still won’t look at her, but digs two of his fingers into the mix and holds her calf with his other hand. He almost draws back from her skin. Stars, he is blushing. She is too, she can feel it, a boil in both of her cheeks, a flame building in her stomach. His fingers are warm and strong, a caress on her skin. She likes this. She has all the capability to do this herself but she doesn’t want to.

Shit.

Aqua crosses one arm over and brings her hand to her chest—her way of looking dignified as Terra rubs the solution over her ankle. She has been appreciating how broad his shoulders have gotten, how sharp his jawline is, how tall he’s grown. All things that most people would notice, surely. He’s beautiful, he’s always been.

He opens his mouth to say something.

Aqua panics. “If you dare make a comment—”

“You’ll kick me?” Terra lifts her leg higher out of spite and nearly pulls her off the chair. He takes the bandage and starts to wrap. 

Aqua stammers. How are they going to get through this?

“It was an accident, Terra.”

He freezes as though he can’t decide if he should finish the job or drop her leg. After a pause, he pitches his voice into a high octave to mimic her (badly). “Oh please, Terra, they’re just breasts. Nothing major.”

“You said—” she squeaks and covers her mouth. She shouldn’t be so naive. The heat in her cheeks bake. 

That’s fine. Best friends know lots of intimate things, especially with how long Terra and Aqua have been together. Some of her guts, though, are about to choke her esophagus. She hopes that doesn’t mean she wanted him to see anything. That she’d want him to enjoy it. 

Shit. 

Terra trembles in nervous laughter, soft and quiet, staring holes into her ankle as he knots the bandage. He’s blinking too much. “You’ll need to compress cold rice on it every now and then,” he says, suddenly serious. “And rest,” he stresses like it’s a curse word.

“Terra?”

He hesitates. “Yeah?”

Footsteps approach them from behind, too graceful to be Ven’s. Terra scrambles to pick up the books, choosing the sliced one first to slip into the bookshelf so the Master doesn’t notice. Aqua straightens herself out and slips on her shoe.

“Would someone mind explaining to me the mess in the communal showers?” the Master asks as he enters, before eyeing the mess in the library. He braces his hips with his fists. “What on earth are two concoting here?”

Her cheeks burn harder. 

“Not much, sir,” Terra says, gathering a tall stack of books under his chin. “Pranking Ven. The usual.” 

The tone of his voice is too suspicious and the Master knows them too well.

“Aqua,” the Master says, “you sustained an injury.”

All she can come up with is, “Not in the prank, sir.” 

“So the mud—?”

“In the shower,” Terra says quickly, without thinking. Overcompensating for the awkwardness. He bites his lip. “I mean, she slipped when she was showering.”

“He only knows because I told him,” Aqua says and she wants to slap herself. Of course that’s how Terra would find out in any normal story. Spelling it out makes it seem like he witnessed it himself. Terra glares her a new one.

Eraqus reads her with skepticism. He folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat. “Terra, you remember the discussion we’ve had some years ago regarding certain curiosities—”

“Yes, Master.” Terra inhales sharply and coughs.

The Master smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “You may continue to clear this up. And if you would please, keep the mischief at a minimum. It would be a great distraction from your work.”

Terra grits his teeth and Aqua lowers her eyes. “Yes, Master,” they both say slowly, like they’re about to step on hot coal. 

When the Master leaves, Terra drops books onto the table. He’s finally looking at her, his eyes such a striking depth. It suddenly melts her away. Why so sudden though? He’s always had dark eyes. 

Oh. She’s taken him for granted. Now she sees.

“What was that?” he whispers.

Aqua scoffs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He shakes his head. “I never want to have that kind of conversation with the Master ever again.” 

“At least let me help you,” Aqua says, nodding over to the last gathering of books on the floor.

“I’m not letting you stand on that foot.” He bends over to do the work himself.

“Then I’ll help you clean out the mud.”

Terra puts away the last handful of books, and chuckles to himself. “How do you want to get there? Crutches?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, I either carry you in my arms or I fling you over my shoulder.”

Aqua needs to find a spell to hide the blushing. It aches. “What an obnoxious suggestion.”

“Then I’ll leave you here in the library.”

“No.”

Terra snorts. “Okay.” He hooks an arm under her knees and lifts the rest of her body like she’s a hollow ragdoll. So close to him, Aqua can feel the grooves of his muscle, his chest durable and broad. She wonders if he enjoys holding her this close, too. 

“I am really sorry,” he says as he takes her back towards the showers, passing by the open entrance to that gym, padded for wrestling. It’s not one they use often, since most of their training happens towards the front entrance. “I was on my way to take care of the squash. It was a dumb accident.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder, staring at the way his neck moves when he speaks. Here, they don’t have to look at each other. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yeah.” He sounds almost disappointed, if not relieved. “Glad we sorted that out, right?”

“Definitely.” She wraps her arms around his neck tighter. 

“What were you doing?”

“Pushing myself too hard.” Aqua scoffs.

“Typical Aqua.”

At the way he says that—mock-cocky, snivelish, playful—she blushes. He hasn’t changed since they were little, but it’s a side to him that only she and Ven sees.

There’s a lot to him that he only shows her.

They reach the storage room where the mop and towels would be stored, but he doesn’t enter. “We really need to install a door here,” he says. They reach the communal showers, and he bypasses them too. Terra finally settles her down on the terrace outside.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“No, wait, I’m helping you—”

“Not with that foot, you’re nuts.”

“You can’t stop me from crawling back inside.”

“Then I’ll drag you back out.” He smirks, almost like he’s his old self but not quite. His old self isn’t this adamant. It makes her think that there’s something he isn’t saying, that maybe she’s misreading him, stuck between doing his duty to help her and needing time away from her. That he’s hiding it all behind a joke, and she has to let him go.

“Okay.” She crosses her arms. 

“Rest isn’t terrible for you,” he says as he walks away. 

Aqua stares at dry dirt. Down this path are the flower and vegetable gardens, contained by a fence. Beyond is the trail that leads right to the spot where she started this ridiculous ordeal. If only she didn’t trip. She’s been training for years. She’s too skilled to be having accidents, too far in her studies to think this hard about her feelings for Terra.

Too far in her studies and too mature to keep denying that she wants him to look at her. She does.

She gets tapped on the head. 

“Wait here,” Terra says, heading towards the gardens, barely giving her a glance.

Aqua anchors her elbows onto her thighs and drops her chin into her hands. A sudden thought invades her mind: he’ll come back from whatever chore he has to finish here, take her to her room, and now that everything is said and done, they’ll pretend like none of this has happened.

And that is that. A weird day finished, a blip in history.

Terra comes back into view faster than she anticipated, holding a bouquet of orange and blue flowers in his hand. 

Aqua uses the wall to pull herself up, keeping most of her weight on the good foot. “What’s this?”

Terra opens his mouth to speak, and leaves it there. He licks his lips and offers the flowers. “Um…” He scoffs. “I’m bad at this.”

They smell nice. Roses and bluestars. They must be his way to apologize. “They’re beautiful.”

“Um…” He clears his throat, rubbing something raw at the back of his neck. “Would you like to, uh…” He glances at the ground beneath him, summoning the courage to look at her and speak clearly, overusing his hands to demonstrate. “There’s actually a really pretty cave nearby, full of crystals and minerals. It’s spectacular, and I’ve always wanted to take you to see it.” He blushes, swallowing. “Um, when you feel better, would you like to come see it with me? Spend the night, I mean?” He blushes harder, scoffing. “It’s a nice hike and it’s a great camping spot.”

Aqua squeezes the stems of the flowers and her heart hammers too hard to find her voice. “That sounds…” She exhales. “Nice.” She almost asks for permission—from who, she doesn’t know. Terra is asking her. She’s asking herself. “Yes, I’d love to.” She hopes to the stars she’s blushing less than him. 

Terra has no answer except for a nervous giggle, his eyes gleaming. He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, whipping himself back with a hand to his face like he’s committed the worst sin in the world. 

It’s warm where he left his lips. Aqua touches it with her fingers.

Embarrassed laughter sputters out of Terra’s mouth with many unnecessary apologies.

Aqua smiles, and it comforts him. “Can you take me back inside?” she asks, that smile twisting her cheeks. It hurts so good.

“Sure,” he breathes. “Anywhere you want.”

They exchange rogue giggles and excited glances as he carries her. They talk as if nothing indeed has happened, where they avoid any mention of mischief to be had in the near future, at least for now. Maybe the stars threw her off balance this morning on purpose. Best friends. They’ve always been.

[imomomi]

         The doodles first started when he was 16. Little stars on his wrists when he woke up, a flower curling on his palm before class, an inky sketch of some mountains on his thigh. Rationally, he knew what they were, why they were there, but it didn’t stop the initial stab of disgust at seeing the ink on his body. He washed it off frequently and often right away. By the end of the week, the drawings became less frequent. The loss of them did not hurt, but a stab of anxiety followed when he woke inkless and alone like always. Kiyoomi had never written back. The idea of writing—what if the ink was toxic and made him sick, what if they were allergic to something and it somehow leake---he took a breath, shaking the thoughts from his head.

          He didn’t hate the idea of having a soulmate. It made life easier knowing that he didn’t need to waste his time looking for a partner. He preferred it when things were clear cut, easy to understand, and with a visible end in sight.

          Not where people can see, he wrote on his thigh, just high enough that it wouldn’t show when he was playing. His handwriting was chicken scrawl and despite his attempts to make it neater, he never managed it.

          He waited minuets, checking with such frequency that not even cleaning his room had taken his mind off it. Words didn’t always make it through. No one knew why or how the process worked. Scientists debated that the reason words didn’t appear were because communication as a human method, poets wrote about the mysteries of soulmate marks and fate, but Kiyoomi thought it was simpler than all of that. Soulmate marks lead you to your soulmate when you were ready. Relationships were messy and complicated and despite how alone he was at times, he didn’t want one right now.

          A single word followed, written so neatly it could have been its own font.

          Ok.  

          The eighty-eighth floor of MSBY’s headquarters was not a place that Kiyoomi ever dared enter. He was content in receiving his paycheck on the day he was meant to and waiting for contract negations to raise any issues. Atsumu had managed to sneak his way into the Management and Finance department the first week he’d joined the team. Apparently, the gossip among their teammates wasn’t enough to quell his nosy behavior. How he’d managed to convince him to join in on his lunch-time venture, Kiyoomi wasn’t too sure. All he knew was that he regretted his decision already.

          Couches were scattered in the main room surrounding large flat-screen T.Vs that played the news in a constant cycle. A large-open kitchen faced the back wall where a couple of people hung around, holding steaming mugs. Two people sat at one of the couches, intensely focused on a video-game they were playing. All around the floor, leading up the offices down the hall, were flowers. Some hung from the ceiling, spilling over the pots with vines drifting downwards. Large bouquets in crystal vases littered the tables. Kiyoomi could feel his nose twitching.

          “Come on,” Atsumu said, leading him down the hall where several offices were tucked against the floor to ceiling windows. They came to a stop in front of a corner office where a small shoe rack lined with slippers, some still in the plastic casing, rested outside the door. A pair of pale pink slippers were on the top shelf, bunny ears plastered obnoxiously at the front.

          “Take off your shoes. Y/N-chan hates dust. I’m pretty sure she ripped out the carpet with her bare hands when she got here.”

          “I’m surprised you’re actually doing it,” said Kiyoomi. Too often had he watched in disgust as the man went home wearing the same sweaty clothes he’d practiced in.

          “Y/N almost had a heart attack the first time I came in here, kinda made me feel bad not to listen after that,” Atsumu admitted. Kiyoomi struggled to rearrange his features to hide his doubt at the words and failed.  

          “Yet, when I tell you to stop stealing my face masks and towels, you never listen,” he said, dryly.

          “That’s different. She’s a girl. You’re Omi-Omi.”

          “So, if I miraculously gain a vagin-” Kiyoomi started.

          “Do ya ever shut up? I’m not arguin’ with ya in the middle of the hall,” Atsumu hissed, his accent coming out stronger in his annoyance. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. If anything, it was Atsumu who started every one of their arguments, but his own boredom didn’t help.

          “No need to be so sensitive,” said Kiyoomi.

          “Put the damn slippers on,” Atsumu said, shoving the unopened packet into his gut. Sakusa smirked beneath his mask, gingerly opening up the slippers.

          They were in the office for a full ten minutes before anyone arrived. Atsumu took the time to make himself comfortable in the leather chair behind the desk, making the various figurines of the team fight. Prototypes for the upcoming season, thought Kiyoomi, glancing at the little chibi version of himself in curiosity. The door snaps open and a woman walked in harried and tapping on her phone. She wasn’t dressed in office clothes, rather in an oversized hoodie with the name of a foreign university splashed across the front and leggings. The pink slippers that sat outside were on her feet.

          “I thought I banned you from here last week,” she said with a groan, tossing a bag down onto the couch. She nodded to him in greeting, but otherwise ignored his existence.

          “I bought a friend as a peace offering,” Atsumu said, throwing a hand in his direction. Y/N’s gaze fell to him briefly, brow furrowing.

          “I don’t accept,” she said, turning to glare at Atsumu. “Human trafficking is bad. You would have learned that if you actually made it to college.”

          “Sorry for joining the team,” said Atsumu. He stood from her desk, letting her settle in. Kiyoomi watched the two interact, wondering how long they had known one another.

          “Please, I can replace you any day,” she muttered.

          “We all know you love me too much to do that.”

          “When I finally jump from the roof, I want everyone to know it’s your fault.”

          “Take me with you,” Kiyoomi muttered, shooting Atsumu a look of disgust. Her lips twitched and she offered him a smile. Kiyoomi averted his gaze immediately, not liking that her attention finally focused on him. There was something unnerving in her gaze.  

          “What do you want?” she asked.

          “Business as usual. Sakusa needs you this time, not me,” Atsumu said.

          “I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she drawled.

          “I was brought against my will,” Sakusa acknowledged. She picked up a pen and notepad from her desk, clicking it rapidly as she started to scribble.

          “We can file a report,” she joked, “I’m sure the papers would love to hear how Miya Atsumu was involved in a scandal with his teammate.”

          “Suddenly, I’m regretting all my life choices leading up to this moment,” Atsumu said.

          “You didn’t before?” Sakusa asked. Y/N laughed and Kiyoomi hated how the sound filled the air, bouncing with a levity that he’d never experienced on his own. People like Atsumu---and it seemed like Y/N---had a way of taking up space and never letting it go. They were loud because they thrived on the attention and Kiyoomi who had been surrounded by people but, alone all his life flinched away from it.

          He pushed the thoughts away, explaining quickly and concisely that Atsumu had brought him here to specify how he wanted the locker room set up before games. Kiyoomi anticipated resistance to his requests but was shown a brutal efficiency that he can’t help but admire. Y/N listened attentively, taking notes, and asking questions, before promising that they would implement a new cleaning schedule before their next practice. They leave as quickly as they arrived, but part of him expected more and is left empty with the thought that there was something incomplete about their meeting.

           That night’s drawing was a little cat curled up in a box. It looked like any other stray that he might see in Tokyo, but there was something endearing about the way its eyes were closed in two tiny smiles. Kiyoomi traced it idly. It must have taken a long time, he thought. The urge to draw something back filled him, but he has neither the talent nor willpower to sit and draw on himself for any length of time. Unlike when he was younger, the drawings came less frequently and always at night.

          He watched; brow furrowed in confusion as words appeared beneath the drawing. The rare sight had his heart hammering loudly in his chest.

          Azabu, Tokyo.

Masterlist || Next

Taglist: @haikyuuopalite​ @cuddlesslut​ @sckusa​ @imuziawi​

[crimson-cring-art]

Monster?

One Shot 1

Credit to @dannydarzuski for commissioning my story.

   

It was bigger than the pictures showed, and when she visited it with the realtor it was pretty good for its price...although it was a fixer upper. So once the payment was given and the deed was signed Ming Yue packed up a moving van full of her things and was on her way home.

    Yup she had a home, something to call her own, hang her hat, a place that was permanent...although...dirty…

    She ran her fingers over the wall and cringed. Well it was an old temple that had been repurposed into a home. It was good enough for her, and probably a roommate some day. 

Walking back in from the linen closet she had her hair under a cloth, and her sleeves rolled up. With a bucket in one hand, and a mop in the other she began to pull up the bamboo board and wash underneath. Patting the boards which were full of so much dust. Spraying them down, and then began washing the walls, and windows. Grabbing a broom she pulled down the cobwebs and smiled at her work. 

That was when she noticed a door. She immediately thought it might just be a closet, but a look at the blueprints told her it was the basement. Oh she would need to be able to go down there if something busted in the winter and there was supposed to be a few hook ups. 

She thought nothing of it, and turned the knob. 

Nothing happened…

The door wouldn’t budge. It was locked, she reached into her pocket pulling out the gaggle of keys. 

One right after the other she tried each and every one of the keys. She sighed, she’d have to figure out a way to open it. 

Her stomach growled loudly and she jumped up looking down at the accusing feature. 

“Oh fine! I’ll go to the store.” She said to her stomach. She did need to go grocery shopping. There was literally nothing in the fridge. She pulled down her hoodie sleeves and pulled the cloth from her hair. 

“Yes!” She picked up her purse on the way out. 

The store luckily wasn’t too far away and the walk there felt a bit rushed since the sky looked as if it were about to spill buckets of water everywhere. There was a light rumble off in the distance too, adding to the momentary threat. 

The door gave a soft ding as she walked inside. The cashiers gave a soft welcome as she walked inside. 

“No one saw his face!” The woman said as she unloaded the cart onto the belt. “But my cousin Madi said she saw him in the trees laughing before he flew off with a woman.” Walking through the meat it wasn’t hard to hear the ladies. They didn’t try to make it hard to hear them. They were loudly chatting. Almost like they wanted her to hear it.

“Did they ever find out who it was?” Ming Yue could hear them as she walked through the veggies. Picking up an onion, pepper, and garlic. 

“It was one of the school teachers! She had been turning on the sprinklers when he snatched her up.” The woman looked through her purse and handed money to the woman as Ming Yue tried to listen.

“That's horrible. Stay in doors, that's for sure Yona. It isn’t safe at night.” The cashier called out as the woman waved. Ming Yue picked up a small bag of rice. 

The cashier looked back up from her phone as Ming Yue walked back up to the front of the store. 

“You should be careful too. You are about the age he’s looking for?” The woman said as she started to ring up her things. Ming Yue looked twice as confused about this as she did about some monster running off with school teachers. 

“The vampire.” She whispered as she looked around as if he would jump out of nowhere to grab her. Ming Yue wanted to laugh, she didn’t believe in monsters. It was fantasies used for movies and nothing more. At best it was a hungry demon. 

“Oh! Yes, the one you two were talking about when I walked in. I’ll be careful.” The woman nodded as she handed the two small bags to her. 

With the small bag of veggies, and rice she walked back into her house and into her neatly cleaned kitchen. Sitting down she began to cut up the onions, peppers, chicken, and put the rice in the cooker. 

Turning to throw away the peals there was a splintering noise and down her foot went through the floorboards. It hurt like hell, and she couldn’t pull her foot out too well so she began to pull at the floor itself. 

Ming Yue pulled out her foot and the small section of flooring so she could fix it when she was done eating. 

When she looked into the small area she spotted a black box, and purple finish. She picked it up and looked over it. How odd to hide something so intricate in such an odd place. 

She wiggled the box, it made a soft rattling noise. Opening the box she saw a littering purple key. No instructions, no letter, and no marks. She shrugged as she put the box down. 

“We’ll see if you fit into the basement door key.” She told no one. There was a light click from the rice cooker. She stood up to throw away the fallen items before turning back to the stove and cooking the veggies. 

Going down toward the basement, Ming Yue  found that she was a little bit scared. The sky had begun to rumble louder as she ate dinner. It was rumbling so loud now that it would shake and rattle the house. She was afraid that it would blow away the temple. 

Inching toward the basement door, flinching when the power flickered and caused her to back pattle a bit looking around at the windows to see that the other people down the hills power was flicking too. 

“Stick together. I just bought you.” She patted the door frame before pulling out the small ornate box. Within housing the odd key. 

Pulling it out and lightly pushing it into the keyhole. At least it fit, that was a good sign. Especially as it turned pretty easily. 

There was a soft click, Ming Yue was amazed by this and opened the door. She had to push past a web, which wasn’t unusual seeing as the room hadn’t been opened in centuries or so she thought. Seeing as they didn’t have a key and she found it under a floorboard in the kitchen. The first thing she spotted was a bookshelf with old dusty books. They weren’t dusty like the door was. Actually they looked well taken care of, and was that a manga, a lot of national geographics, and oh no...not Twilight? She turned around and jumped, seeing a large onyx box, with amethysts all around it. Its black glaze, and purple jewels caused it to glisten in the light left by the door. 

There was a soft click and the coffin opened with a soft snap. 

Ming Yue couldn’t help but stare at the handsome face within. It was a coffin...there was a dead guy inside. Probably the former owner of the temple. She had heard this happens sometimes, the owners being buried on their land, but she never heard of it under the house. 

She slowly backed up away from the pale face of the dark furred monkey. She could just make out the fanged teeth over his bottom lip. Oh geez, was that blood on his shirt? Her heartbeat quickened as she turned to run but slammed right into the book shelf. She bent down to pick up the books on impulse because that's what one does when they mess something up. They fix or clean it. But in her bumbling she just knocked down more books. 

There was a chuckle from behind her, her blood turning to a puddle of ice as she stood there. Her heart was freezing cold, and almost all of the fur on the back of her neck was standing on end. 

She slowly turned around to see the smile along the vampire's features. 

“Why, what's a little snack like you doing down here in my shadowy basement?” He leaned in looking over her features. 

“Who...Who are you? What are you?” She asked, obviously ignoring the question he threw at her. He chuckled sniffing the air, she smelled like the rains outside. 

“Names Macaque.” He ran his finger over his tongue and smiled at her. “Six-Eared Macaque.” She wasn’t sure what he meant by six eared. Did he have...she gasped seeing the ears and she blushed looking down. 

“Come on beautiful, how about you and I have a bit of fun?” He smiled showing his fangs. It was obvious now what he was and what he implied. 

“No, No. I just want to go home.” She backed away looking up into his eyes.

His purple eyes looked as if he were pulling her into his soul. She wasn’t aware of him moving in, until she felt the pain of his teeth, and the soft caress of his lips around the bite mark. She wanted to push him away, but she was afraid his teeth would rip out her throat if she did. So she did the one thing she could. She grabbed hold of his shirt and held it. Almost pleading with him to not do just that. She liked her neck not ripped out thank you.

She felt her whole body beginning to grow numb. The fangs began to pull out and he licked her for a little while. Being weak she couldn’t do much about it. But there was blood on her shoulder, and fresh blood on his chin. 

He picked her up and walked toward the coffin. He planned on taking her in there with him? Oh hell no! 

Ming Yue pushed at him, grabbing at his fur, even biting at him to try and get him to stop. It was for not as he lay her down and held her into place as he climbed in. The lid slowly closed on them with a soft click locking Ming Yue within. 

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

Like A Moth to a Flame- Pt. 1

Alright. So the incredible @miscellaneous-bnha pumped out some awesome Mothman Mirio HC’s for me last night because these past few days have been... interesting to say the least. So in return for the excellent meal, I’m dropping the first chapter of my own Mothrio fic! Smut is coming soon, don’t you worry.

————————————————

You’re startled awake by a loud crash in the alleyway outside your apartment, followed by the unmistakable sound of trash cans and recycling bins being knocked over. You sit bolt upright in bed, an icy shiver running up your spine as your brain conjures up images of bloodthirsty axe-murderers and psychopathic serial killers. Groping blindly for your phone, you pull it from under the pillows and dial 911, waiting with bated breath as your finger hovers over the call button. But when there’s no sound of breaking glass or your front door being kicked in, you relax slightly and slowly slide out from under the covers. Carefully, you pad out of the bedroom and make your way to the living room. Moonlight streams through the windows, creating soft, blueish squares on the hardwood floor. As you tiptoe closer to the main window, you look down into the alleyway below, your third floor apartment giving you the perfect vantage point. Overturned cans and trash bags litter the pavement with some of the bags appearing to have been ripped open and their contents strewn everywhere.

“Raccoons?” You think to yourself, before you notice something moving out of the corner of your eye. Something much bigger than a raccoon. The alleyway is capped off by a faded wooden fence, effectively turning it into a dead end. And in the light of the full moon you can see something or someone crouching in the corner where weathered wood meets worn brick. You’re too far away to make out any distinguishing features and they appear to be wearing some kind of cloak or shroud, hiding the mystery lurker’s face from view. Your first instinct is to call the police, as you still haven’t ruled out the possibility of thieves and murderers. But as you watch the figure shrink father into the shadows and notice the tremble that runs through their body, you can’t help but feel a twinge of pity for them. You don’t exactly live in the most glamorous part of town and it wasn’t uncommon to see your neighbors or their friends wandering the streets, drunk or stoned beyond reason. Hell, you’d helped them back home once or twice before, earning their gratitude for keeping them out of trouble with the law along with a bit of compensation. Usually in the form of food, drink, or a paltry sum of cash. So you choose the self-sacrificial route, slipping on a robe and good shoes before pulling up a rideshare app. You also take the liberty of arming yourself with a frying pan as you pass by the kitchen (you’re helpful, not stupid) before grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

You scurry down the stairs and through the back door leading to the alley, pulling your robe a little tighter in the wake of the chilly night air. The lurker is maybe 20 yards away, still cowering in the shadows and obscured by their outer attire. There’s a strange, keening noise coming from them, akin to a dog’s whine or a child crying.

“Hello?” You softly call out, taking a few steps forwards. The noise stops and they freeze at your words. “Are you alright? Do you need some help?”

Suddenly, the moon moves behind a cloud, throwing the alleyway into an eerie, inky darkness. You quickly pull up the flashlight on your phone and point it in the direction of the shrouded figure. You take a few more steps forward, your grip on the frying pan tightening instinctually. They begin to slowly move out from under their makeshift shelter, raising their head up to look at you. Your breath catches in your throat and you can’t decide whether to step closer or back away. The face staring back at you is nothing short of handsome, a bit boyish yet perfectly framed by a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. He has a shock of blonde hair, bright as spun gold and sticking up in a wild, windblown manner. If you’d met someone like him on the street, you’d have sworn he was an actor or even a model. But it’s his eyes that give you real pause. They’re inhuman, round and glassy like twin marbles, and so vibrantly blue they rival the sky and sea in color. You can’t see any whites, or pupils for that matter, and the light from your flashlight makes them gleam like shards of broken glass. Just looking at them, you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight while your skin prickles with unease.

“W-w-who… wh-what…” You stammer, taking a cautious step back. The man, if you can call him that, suddenly shifts onto one knee before rising to his full height, those otherworldly eyes still firmly locked on yours. He’s massive, easily 8 feet tall if not more, and corded with rippling muscle from head-to-toe. His too-long limbs end in clawed hands and feet, caked with dirt and what you hope isn’t blood. A ring of equally golden hair (or maybe fur?) encircles his neck like a mane, tapering down his defined chest and abs. You notice with abject horror that he’s naked as what you thought was a cloak unfurls to reveal a pair of enormous, insect-like wings. They span the width of the alleyway, brushing against the brick walls on either side as the creature gives them an experimental flap. He blinks once and cocks his head, emitting a low, rumbling noise that snaps you out of your gawkish reverie.

You let loose a blood curdling scream and turn on your heel to run back to the safety of your apartment. In fact, you turn too quickly, tripping and sending yourself crashing to the pavement while the frying pan skitters off into the darkness. You flip onto your bottom and scrabble backwards, brandishing the light of your phone at the monster before you. But instead of charging or swiping at you, the beast lets out a high-pitched squeal of its own before hunkering back down in the safety of its wings. You don’t have time to worry or care about this odd reaction as you scramble to your feet and make a break for the alley door. Throwing it open with a bang, you bolt up the stairs to your apartment, fumbling to get the the key out of your robe pocket and keep hold of the phone in your hands. You keep looking over your shoulder as you jam it into the lock, expecting the demonic being to appear behind you any second, until you finally hear the telltale click and burst through the door. You slam it shut (neighbors and noise complaints be damned!) and run into the kitchen to grab a large knife from the sink. Blood is roaring in your ears and you’re breathing heavily as you lean against the counter, keeping one eye on the front door and one on the windows. 

But no sound comes to indicate the creature is pursuing you or if he’s even nearby. Still wielding the knife, you creep over to the living room window and peer around the frame. The moon has come out from behind the clouds, illuminating the alley once more. To your utter shock, the beast is still there, cowering like a wounded animal once again. After a few tense minutes you see him peer out from his self-made cocoon, flaxen hair practically glowing in the moonlight as he looks around. Slowly, almost timidly, the brute uncurls from his fetal position and stands upright. He’s no less terrifying than before, but at least you’re observing from a safe distance this time. You watch as he lumbers forward, leaning down to paw at the spot you had been standing in moments before. He scratches at the concrete, occasionally pausing to sniff his hand before resuming his work. You can only imagine what’s running through his mind, but it can’t be anything good. He seems to grow tired of this activity after a minute or two and begins to pick over the debris at his feet, sifting through it almost like he’s looking for something. Morbid curiosity compels you to strain your neck a little farther, squinting to see what the beast is doing. After a few moments of searching the creature’s wings flap excitedly and he straightens up with something in his claws: your frying pan!

“What the hell…?” You breathe, watching him turn it over his hands, the silver metal glinting cheerfully in the moonlight. He then brings the handle up to his nose, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. You’re about to let out another colorful expletive when his head suddenly snaps up, eyes wide open and staring up at your apartment window. You gasp and hide behind the wall, unconsciously holding your breath as you silently pray the creature didn’t spot you. When nothing happens, you chance another peek out the window. He’s gone, the spilled garbage in the alleyway the only evidence that something had been out there.

“Fuck.” You curse on a shaky exhale, dropping the knife with a clatter and rubbing your temples. “What the fuck just happened? Am I going insane? There’s no way that thing was real!”

You steal another cautious glance into the alley, unsure if you’re hoping to see the monster again or not. But the alley is silent now, save for a few stray cats that have shown up to inspect the trashy feast. With a trembling hand you pick up the knife and carry it into your bedroom, not even bothering to disrobe as you place it on your bedside table and curl up on the mattress. Sleep eventaully overpowers you, but your dreams are haunted by shadowy, winged creatures with glowing blue eyes. You wake up utterly exhausted the next morning, unsure if you’d really seen something last night or if you’d just had a vivid nightmare. Unsure that is, until you can’t find your frying pan anywhere. 

[radiantroope]

Never Let You Go || Rafe Cameron

pairing: rafe x routledge!reader; john b x sister!reader

mentions: jj, topper, big john, kie and pope briefly

requested: no

warnings: angst, swearing, underage drinking, is heartbreak a warning, fluff at the end

a/n: this idea popped into my head so here you go! hopefully y’all don’t hate it as much as i kinda do

masterlist || add yourself to my tag list

FLASHBACKS ARE IN ITALICS

* i do not own this gif; all credit goes to the owner

“Why won’t you look at me?” you asked softly, sitting on the soft, unmade king sized bed.

Rafe stood shirtless across the room, chest heaving with heavy breaths. He had his back to you. One hand was against the wall in a clenched fist, the other running through his long hair.

“Rafe.”

“What do you want me to say? Huh?!” he turned to you, eyebrows furrowed and lips turned down.

“I don’t know, that you feel it too?! I would expect something a little more after I just said I love you!” you shouted, throwing your arms up exaggeratedly.

Rafe shook his head and let out a dark laugh. Something in his eyes changed and you felt a tug at your heart strings. After seeing each other for a year, you figured he would have the same feelings as you. Yeah you were never exclusive, but everyone knew you were together. Everyone knew Rafe wasn’t sleeping with anyone else.

“But I don’t, (Y/N). This has been sex, that’s all. Really good sex,” every word he spoke cut through you like a knife. Then he ripped out your heart and stomped on it right in front of you, “I could never love a Pogue like you.”

Just less than two years. You left home at seventeen and here you were, driving back through the same island you grew up on, almost nineteen now. Figure Eight looked just the same as it used to, a few newer, bigger houses were built. But it still looked the same. The Cut was no different. Your heart ached as you drove past the run down houses.

You arrived at the old house and parked behind the Volkswagen van. Memories flooded your brain of you and John B playing in the yard when you were younger. A frown pulled at your lips.

You walked up to the front door and tried the knob, turning it with ease and swinging it open. You grimaced slightly at the sight in front of you. Beer cans and bottles littered all the surfaces along with dead juul pods and joint roaches. The pullout couch was open and unmade. It wreaked of stale booze and marijuana.

“Dude, I’m telling you, they’re wrong. I’m not signing those fucking papers,” your heart rate sped up significantly when you heard that voice. He sounded so much older but still the same.

You stood in middle of the room as John B came out of your father’s old room. He did a double take, stopping dead in his tracks at the end of the small hallway. His hazel eyes were glued to your face like he’d seen a ghost.

“Hi, bubba,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

John B rushed to you, scooping you in his arms by the waist and squeezing you tight. You heard a choked sob leave his lips. One of your hands rested on the back of his head and the other arm wound tightly around his shoulders.

He was so much taller now. He looked like a full grown man. His hair was longer and his skin was tanner, more freckled than it used to be. But he was still the sweet little brother you remembered and adored.

“I’m here, shh, you’re okay,” you cooed softly, hand stroking over his curls gently.

“You’re all I have left,” John B’s broken voice had those tears falling immediately. You mentally kicked yourself for waiting so long to come home. You should have been here sooner. You’d gotten the call from Peterkin a month ago about your father’s disappearance, you just hadn’t worked up the nerve to return.

“What did I tell you? That’s why I told you to stay off the North side and stay away from those people!” Big John had been yelling for well over half an hour. Instead of comforting his daughter when she came home in tears, he was berating her. He scolded her for getting mixed up in the Kook life and falling for one of them.

“Do you think I meant for this to happen?! I was just doing what you told me to, Dad! I’m trying to make a better life for myself!”

“And how’s that working out for you? The real world ain’t pretty is it, sweetheart? Why don’t you be like your brother and get a real fucking job instead of mooching off rich scum!” Big John damn near flipped the kitchen table as he stood up. “If you don’t get your shit together, (Y/N), you may as well just leave.”

The office door slammed shut and you were left standing alone in the middle of the kitchen, hands shaking and angry tears streaming down your cheeks. In a hurry, you rushed into yours and John B’s shared bedroom. You pulled out the only two duffle bags you had and hastily started shoving your clothes in one. As many personal items as you could fit were shoved in the other.

John B sat crisscross in the middle of his bed. He’d been listening to you and your father fight the whole time. He knew what you were doing but he couldn’t let you go without a fight.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” his voice was so small and pained. Your poor little brother was too young to have to deal with this. He had only just turned fifteen.

You stopped packing and stood up, turning to face John B slowly. He was staring up at you, tears swimming in his eyes. You walked over and sat down next to him.

“I can’t do this anymore, JB. I can’t live with him constantly looking at me like some failure,” you told your brother softly. It wasn’t just your father. Your fight with Rafe and everything he said was weighing heavy on your mind as well. You just wanted to get off that island and never look back.

“Then just make him happy! Do what he says and stay! I don’t want you to go.”

You smiled sadly and brushed your brother’s curls away from his eyes. You leant down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I wouldn’t be me if I did that, bubba. I wouldn’t be living my life,” you explained.

John B’s arms wrapped around your waist and he cried into your shoulder, knowing nothing he said would make you stay. You held him tightly to your side until his cries were mere sniffles. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and looked up at you.

“I love you.”

You bit your trembling bottom lip and nodded, whispering, “I love you too, John B. Always. I’ll come back one day, I promise.”

“We need to throw a welcome back party,” JJ said from his spot on a chair on the screened in porch. He was rolling a joint, eyebrows knitted in concentration, eyes nearly crossed from how closely he held it to is face.

You were laid on the couch, hands behind your head as you stared up at the ceiling. You hummed in response, not completely opposed to the idea. One thing you missed about the OBX were the parties. People on the mainland just didn’t know how to do it like the islanders.

“Kegger at the Boneyard?” John B suggest from the chair beside JJ, eyebrows raised as he looked between the two of you.

“I’m always down for a kegger,” you responded while sitting up, letting out a small laugh. “Am I really about to go to a party with my little brother?”

John B scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Our parties are the best. You’ve been missing out.”

“I’ll just have to see that for myself won’t I?” you responded with a wink, standing from the couch and going into the house to get ready.

You went into your father’s old room and dig through your bags until you found a proper outfit. You took a quick shower to rid yourself of sweat and sand, using your favorite rose scented body wash. You knew there was a chance that you’d see Rafe tonight, and you wanted to make damn sure that you looked your best.

The party was in full swing at the Cameron house. Ward was away on a business trip, so Rafe was taking full advantage of having the house to himself. He kept checking his phone in hopes that he’d see a text with your name attached, but one never came.

Regret bubbled in the dirty blonde’s stomach at what he’d said to you a few days before. He hadn’t seen you since that night and he was craving the feeling of your lips on his. Usually if the two of you argued, it was only about a day before one of you was crawling back. He knew what he said probably hurt you so he was giving you your space.

Rafe’s eyes scanned over the crowd of people, hoping to see your familiar head of h/c hair. He didn’t find you. Instead, he made his way over to his best friend in hopes that maybe someone had seen you. You never missed a good party.

“Hey, Top, have you seen (Y/N)?”

The smile Topper had previously been wearing slowly fell. He glanced around the room and looked back at Rafe with an unreadable expression.

“Dude, what?” Rafe’s tone was annoyed. Clearly his friend knew something that he didn’t and he wanted him to spit it out.

“(Y/N)’s gone, Rafe. Word on the street is she ran away the other night. She left,” Topper told him.

Rafe stared at Topper with a blank expression, heart hammering against his chest. He turned quickly and made a beeline for the backdoor, ignoring the shouts of his name from behind him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and needed to get out of that crowd.

The blonde Kook pulled out his phone and dialed your number, holding the device to his ear with a shaking hand. A dial tone pierced his ear before an automated voice came through.

“We’re sorry, but the number you’re trying to reach has been disconnected...”

Rafe hung up, breathing deeply through nose before trying again. The same message repeated back to him four more times. In anger, he threw his phone against the brick of the house with a shout. He ran his fingers through his long hair and tried to suck in a few shaky breaths.

“Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his hands against the house.

“Yo, chill out dude! What happened?” Topper approached his friend after seeing his outburst. He was shocked when Rafe turned to him with tears blurring his vision.

Rafe’s voice shook as he responded sadly, “She fucking left because of me!” He put his hands on top of his head and turned away. He didn’t know if Topper heard him, but he continued, even if he was just talking to himself, “I fucking told her I didn’t love her and now she’s gone.”

When you arrived at the Boneyard, Pope and Kiara already had one keg set up. John B and JJ carried a second one down to the sand. The were already a few people from The Cut there, catching word early of the party. You couldn’t stop smiling as John B passed you a cup of cheap beer.

You fiddled with the radio that was near the kegs until you found a good station. You turned the volume up and started dancing to the song that came on as you made your way back over to your brother and his friends.

“A toast!” JJ shouted, raising his red solo cup in the air. Everyone followed his actions with grins stretched across their lips. “To (Y/N) motherfucking Routledge! Welcome home!”

The five of you cheered and knocked your cups together then downed some of the bitter liquid. You grimaced as you forced it down your throat and shook your head in disgust. You did not miss warm, cheap beer.

A couple of hours passed and the Boneyard filled up with all kinds of people. Kids from The Cut, Tourons, and even Kooks. So far no one had started a turf war and you were thankful for that. You didn’t want to remember your first party back like that.

You had been chatting with a couple of your old friends near the bonfire when a blonde caught your eye through the flames. You excused yourself from the small group and made your way around the fire to the familiar person.

“Topper Thornton?” you spoke through a laugh, watching said boy turn around. He looked shocked at first then a wide smile stretched across his face.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, marching through the sand and wrapping you a welcomed hug. “When did you get back?!”

“Yesterday,” you responded with a smile when he pulled back. You found your eyes glancing at the people around him, looking for someone.

Topper noticed and his eyes drifted behind you, smile never leaving his face. You already knew who he was looking at so you didn’t bother turning around.

“You should talk to him.”

“I can’t, Topper. It’s been almost two years and I have nothing to say to him,” you sighed, bringing your cup up to your lips and taking a gulp of your beverage.

“Try, (Y/N). He was never the same when he found out you were gone. He’s been fucked up over it ever since,” the blonde boy tried to reason with you.

He fell silent and looked to his right just as you felt a presence beside you. You looked up and directly into the bright blue eyes you fell in love with. The eyes you still dreamt about. The eyes you desperately missed after all this time. They were your favorite shade of blue.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Rafe said nervously, clutching a red cup in his fingers. His other hand was shoved in the pocket of his shorts. He heard the rumors that you were back. He came to the party to see for himself if it was true.

The sound of his voice was a shot to the heart. You almost forgot what it sounded like for him to say your name. You felt dizzy, like you couldn’t breathe and suddenly, you regretted agreeing to this stupid party in the first place. Without a word, you spun on your heel and started walking away.

“Wait,” Rafe called after you, following your quick steps down the beach. “(Y/N) wait!”

“What?! What Rafe?” you screamed as you turned around quickly to face the dirty blonde. You had made it pretty far down the beach, just barely able to hear the music.

“I-I haven’t seen you in almost two years and you don’t even want to talk to me?” he had stopped as well, standing a few feet away from you.

You scoffed and shook your head, running a hand through your hair. You had dropped your cup back where you walked away from Topper. Getting drunk was the last thing on your mind now.

“What did you expect? Hm?” you questioned, taking a menacing step closer to the man in front of you. “Did you really think the first thing I’d do was come to you and beg you to take me back? Expect me to crawl into bed with you?”

“No- I-”

“So you can tell me i was just a good fuck and that’s it?!” you were thankful no one lived in the woods behind you or the cops would have surly been called at the volume you were yelling at.

“I didn’t say it like that!” Rafe yelled back, also taking a step closer to you.

“Ah, you’re right,” you smacked your lips and held a finger to your chin in mock thought. “Your exact words were actually ‘this has been sex, that’s all. Really good sex. I could never love a Pogue like you.”

You were staring at each other now. Rafe was frowning and your eyes were like a fire burning into him. He remained silent.

“That’s right, Rafe. I never forgot. Those words still haunt me to this day.”

He never forgot either. He would regret saying them until the day he died. And he didn’t care if he had to spend forever making it up to. He would give anything to take it all back and maybe you would have stayed.

“I didn’t mean it,” Rafe’s voice shook. “I was.. I was scared.”

“Bullshit,” you muttered and turned to walk away again. He caught your wrist and spun you back around, his face within inches of yours.

“You can believe it or not, I don’t care. I love you, (Y/N). I always have and I was a fucking idiot to make you think I didn’t,” his voice was softer now, ocean blue eyes staring into your e/c ones. You saw no trace of dishonesty on his face. You could see nothing but pure regret and guilt in his eyes. “I was scared of loving you. I didn’t deserve to be loved by you so I pushed you away. We were so young I didn’t think we could even be in love. I will never be able to take back the pain I caused you, but I swear, I will try and make it up to you for the rest of my life.”

Rafe’s grip slowly released on your wrist. If you wanted to walk away, he was going to let you. He said everything he needed to say, and he meant every word. He was shocked when your hands came up and cupped his cheeks. Your touch was delicate, like you were going to break him.

The truth was, he said everything you’d been waiting to hear for the last two years. Deep down you knew that’s exactly what he was doing back then but you were just too hurt to do anything about it. The fighting with your father just piled on top of that, so you ran away from it all. Here and now, you were ready to let go of that painful past. You were ready to be loved by Rafe Cameron.

“Say it again,” you whispered, hands winding around the back of his neck.

“I love you, (Y/N) Routledge,” Rafe’s voice was confident, hands finding their way to your waist. He pulled you closer, until your chests were pressed together and you could feel the rapid beating of the other’s heart.

You pulled his head down and connected your lips in one of the most mind blowing kisses you’d ever had. Two years of pent up emotions came pouring out. Your lips moved in synchronization desperately, savoring each second; making up for lost time. His arms wound around your back and lifted you, your legs wrapping around his hips.

Rafe pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, soft pants leaving his parted lips. You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling like a giddy schoolgirl. John B was going to kill you when he found out, but that thought was quickly pushed away.

“I’ll never let you go again,” Rafe whispered through a smile before reconnecting your lips.

[rikalovesrice]

Together, Dearest

Written for the wonderful @nikibogwater​

Can also be read here on Ao3

Enjoy!

💙💙💙

______________________________________________________________

The sky was red. 

Nari stood at the top of a hill, taking in the vast expanse of utter devastation. Miles upon endless miles of wasteland. Haunting, broken silhouettes of dead trees. Deep cracks splintering the dry, ashened earth. Fires big and small burning like clusters of wicked and ravenous demons.  In the distance, the looming husk of a destroyed city. Smoke was billowing above the ragged skyline.

Nari drew a shaking breath when her feet touched the ground, ice-cold despite the heat. A road littered with wreckage. Glass from shattered windows. Crumbling buildings empty, hollow, the exposed blackness within like gaping wounds or screaming faces. Cars smashed and overturned. A lone baby stroller on its side, the inside hidden by torn, draping fabric.

Nari sensed nothing. Only the suffocating heat of fire. The excruciating stab of the cold. She started to run and slammed into the door to their apartment.

“Oh, what…” Nari backed away, then rushed the door, knocking with utmost urgency. “Douxie? Douxie!” Nari sensed nothing. Except the painful pounding in her chest and the sharp stinging in her eyes. “Douxie!”

The moment she stopped knocking, the door creaked open. Nari hesitated before pushing it all the way open only to reveal more darkness. Every drop of light left in the world seemed to illuminate the apartment. It was faint, barely as bright as a single candle. 

Everything was as they’d left it. Nari’s blankets in a pile on the ground. Archie’s half-eaten can of salmon on the sofa. Douxie’s guitar propped against the back cushions. 

There was a dripping sound. Not a ping like water, but with the splattering of something thick and sticky. Nari looked up. Just as she made out the shape of a wing grotesquely pinned to the ceiling, before she could scream, there was a familiar voice.

“Nari…”

“Douxie?!” Nari snapped her gaze back down, frantically looking around, squinting into the shadows. 

“Nari…”

She whirled around and there he was. That tall figure clad in a black hoodie was all Nari needed, and she surged forward, throwing her arms around him. Nari burrowed into his chest, squeezing him tight.

“Nari…”

“Douxie, I— !!!!” Nari lifted her head and sucked in a breath, horrified. His golden eyes were lifeless, dull. What should have been blue strands of hair were black and sticky with the streams of blood trickling down his face. His face. A face Nari had come to love….The entire right side now a mask of burnt flesh. And then she noticed the hole in Douxie’s chest, seared right through his heart, the wound pulsating ominously with streaks of fiery red magic.

As Douxie sank to his knees and collapsed into her arms, Nari saw two devils. One red, one blue. Their grins wide. Their gross, spindly hands reaching, spinning fire and ice.

The devils’ faces contorted into bulging eyes and gaping maws crowded with rows of jagged teeth. They screeched into her face, Bellroc fisting her hair and Skrael gripping her throat.

“NARI!!!!!!”

*

*

*

It was as if an unseen hand had been pushing Nari down against the floor, so hard that her back was flat against the ground despite her cocoon of blankets. She was ripped from sleep, gasping for enormous gulps of air. Her body was seized with violent shivers, her blankets trembling with her. Her teeth were chattering. Her face was wet with tears. Nari slowly unfurled from her cocoon, sitting up to look around. The light of midday shone softly through the windows. The clock was ticking. The faucet dripped. Nari’s collection of plants bathed in the sunlight. 

Nari, still quivering, scanned over the living room. Archie’s can of tuna on the sofa. Douxie’s guitar on the cushions. The remains of junk food piled neatly on the ground, empty chip bags and microwave dinner plates atop of an old pizza box. And yet, if Nari blinked, suddenly all of it vaporized. Suddenly there was fire and cold and darkness. Suddenly her home was gone. Her friends. Her family —

Nari’s attention flew to the door at the sound of two muffled, familiar voices and the jingling of keys. Bits of conversation filtered in as the door was pushed open.

“...and I, for one, am opposed to sticking objects of any sort into my eyes!,” Archie said, hopping down from Douxie’s shoulders once he stepped inside.

Douxie rolled his eyes. “You think glasses look cooler, Arch, just admit — Oh…” Douxie trailed off as he set a handful of plastic grocery bags down on the sofa. He smiled warmly at Nari, pushing the apartment door shut. “Sorry if we woke you, Nari. Did you have a good nap — OOF!!”

Douxie was nearly thrown back against the wall at the force with which Nari barreled into him, her arms tightly secured around his waist. She was wailing into his shirt before he could comprehend what was happening.

“Nari!” Archie said, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

The initial shock being ebbed away by Nari’s sobs, Douxie’s arms relaxed around her, one arm wrapping around her small, trembling shoulders while the other cradled the back of her head. 

“Nari…,” Douxie whispered, expression filled with worry. “Nari, darling, what is it? What’s the matter….Whoa, whoa, easy…” Douxie dropped down to one knee as Nari, still clinging to him, began to collapse, dead featherweight in his arms. He fell back to sit against the wall as Nari’s legs completely gave out beneath her, sliding out to the side of her. Her arms moved from around his waist to lean against his chest, her small hands gripping his hoodie like a lifeline.

“Douxie…,” Nari whimpered, another wave of fresh tears cascading down her face. “Douxie…!”

“Shhh, darling, I’m right here...I…” Douxie paused, the sound of Nari’s crying making his heart ache. He made his voice small and soft. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“T-they...They d-d-destroyed everything…,” Nari choked out, squeezing Douxie closer, leaning her head up into his neck. She let out a pained, agonized wheeze. “They k-killed...killed A-Archie….Killed y-you…Killed you b-b-both….” Nari was seized with more violent sobs, curling into Douxie further as if she were trying to disappear.

Douxie stared down at the small forest goddess, taking in her words. Hugging her close, Douxie and Archie shared looks of somber understanding. Archie padded forward, climbing onto Douxie’s leg and headbutting Nari’s back, rubbing against her and purring. Archie settled down into a loafing position, remaining pressed against Nari.

“It was only a dream, Nari,” Archie said softly. “As you can see, we are both alive and well.”

Nari shook her head rapidly against Douxie’s collarbone. “No...No, no, no...I have put you in danger...Y-you will be k-killed because of me...I-I am not worth it...I am n-not…”

“Nari, please,” Douxie pleaded, hugging her firm. He shut his eyes, tears of his own threatening to spill. “Please don’t say that. I said I would protect you and I will. Even if the world wasn’t at stake, I’ll protect you, Nari.” Another squeeze, Douxie pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “If it’s the last thing I do.” Archie purred louder.

Douxie’s words were seeds piercing deep into Nari’s heart, taking root. Blooming and flourishing, beautiful. Yet painful as they broke her apart. She sighed heavily into Douxie’s chest, her tears everflowing. Because Nari knew. Nari knew whatever she chose, there would be anguish. Stay with the Order and the world she adored would perish. Run from the Order…

And those dearest to her would suffer.

Dearest to me… Even so, Nari clung to Douxie, to his gentleness and warmth, the kindness that glowed within his spirit, because it was all she had. All she had ever wanted, even if it was only a matter of time before it was torn away from her.

A moment passed, silent aside from Nari hiccuping. Then, Douxie began to rock ever so slightly side to side. First was a gentle hum. Then he began to sing, his voice soft and light as air, no louder than a whisper.

Paper daisies to explain

Sunshine always follows rain

And a heart that’s sweet and true

Will help us weather the weather

That’s what keeps us together…

Nari pulled away enough to gaze up at him, eyes still moist but now soft with wonder as she pondered the words. Douxie smiled that tender smile of his. His arms slipped from around her, one hand coming to rest on her back, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb, while the other rose to caress Nari’s cheek, smoothing away a few of her tears. He then combed his hand through Nari’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head, just at the base of her antler. Douxie continued to hum, his lovely, soothing tone lulling Nari into a calmer state. Douxie held her close again, swaying slightly, and kept singing.

Candy hearts and paper flowers

Sunshine days and skies of blue

Rhymes and songs we sing for hours

Words to say……

“I love you true…,” Douxie finished, then gasped. The words struck his heart like a clap of thunder, overwhelmed with just how much he meant them. Douxie curled in on himself, snuggling Nari even closer. His little Nari. “I love you.”

It was a promise. It surged and churned deep within Douxie’s spirit, overflowing and spilling into his aura. Nari worried her lower lip, squeezing her eyes shut, more tears trickling down her face. But these tears were different.

“I also...love you, Douxie,” she sniveled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “So very much.” There was a small weight on her side, and Nari chuckled and opened her arms as Archie stepped into the space between them. She rubbed her nose and wiped her tears against his fur. “And you, Archie. Thank you…”

“Of course, dear,” Archie purred, kneading her arm.

Nari gazed up at Douxie, fully leaning laxed against him, her head resting on his shoulder. 

Her dear, dear Douxie.

“Your song...Will you sing it again?” 

Douxie laughed softly. “Can’t say no to an encore, now can I?”

Hugging Archie to her chest, Nari listened again to those sweet words and Douxie’s lilting voice. 

Nari knew. She knew the hardships they would face, the consequences of what she’d done. She knew. But in the light of Douxie’s love and forgiveness, she also knew….Well, she had hope that all would be better than it once was. And that for now, though she prayed forever, they could stay this way.

No matter what was coming.

No matter what came after.

They would be together.

[lavendermenaceart]

Violence in the Capital(HeroxVillain whump)

Violence in the Capital

Pairing: HeroxVillain

Genres: Fantasy, Whump

CW: Burning, brainwashing, guns, injury.

Word count: 2,121.

The capitol was quiet at night. The sky the darkest shade of purple imaginable, little lights shining despite the light the capital produced. The hero was a shadow against the walls of tall cement and glass buildings that looked like the fingers of the world reaching up to the starry sky. 

The hero couldn’t help pondering why the streets were so empty this night, but they weren’t complaining. It almost eliminated the need to sneak around the way they were now, but only almost. The hero was in this forsaken city for only one reason. A bloody reason, but a reason nonetheless. 

The hero had been tracking the villain for months at this point. Every Saturday night they could be found in a party of sex, dancing, and drugs at a local club known for its debauchery amongst the rich. 

The villain was the villain for all the normal reasons. A greedy CEO tyrant who had all his money speaking for him, calling in favors with the government, local and federal. They had gotten a disgusting bill passed during a tumultuous time that allowed the government access to all of its citizen’s data, making it very difficult for the hero’s group to function silently as they usually did. 

The hero had snuck out from their safe house while everyone slept, tired from a day full of arguing over what to do next. It was extremely frustrating for the hero, no one seemingly knowing what to do, but the hero knew. They knew it deep in their bones and it stuck in their brain like a dagger. The villain had to be killed. This wasn’t the villain’s first offense. They’d gotten a litany of awful bills passed with their money and favors. This was just the last straw. 

Sure, the hero wasn’t the strongest but the hero didn’t care what happened to them as long as they got their target. If the villain was dead, it was one less person to make the lives of the majority of the population miserable. Even if the hero became a villain themselves, at least they had convictions in their beliefs and they knew they could find others with the same values as them eventually. 

The hero heard the club before they saw it, the vibrations of the music clear through the concrete ground. Thrumming and dumping under the hero’s feet like a heartbeat, deep in the earth. As they grew closer, they saw the squat building with a red rope and 2 guards out front. Important people are there tonight, and many important people will get a clear, blood spattered message on this night. 

While the guards were busy checking in a group of women, the hero slipped past, into the dark side of the building, an alleyway littered with trash, bottles and bags mostly. The hero could see the door, it was just a few feet away. Sweat started to gather on their forehead, their hands shaking. Were they really ready to do something like this? Would the hero’s group forgive them for this transgression or will they be turned away like they've been so many times before in their life?

Suddenly, a loud creak filled the alleyway as the hero ducked behind a smelly dumpster. The guard at the door was now going inside to trade shifts. It was the perfect time for the hero to sneak in, and so they did. After going through the side door, a wall of music and laughter hit them, enveloping them and making them giddy even through the anxiety. 

Taking in a few deep breaths, the hero had to remind themselves that they weren’t there to party and take part in the luxuries. They were here to kill someone, and while maybe later they could think about throwing a celebration, now was the time for action and the hero couldn’t get distracted by the pretty lights and loud music going on around them. 

The hero waded through the crowd of people, the smell of sweat and perfume overpowering every sense the hero had. The hero could see the villain, up in a clear box above the DJ booth. As far as the hero knew, it wasn’t bullet proof. So in the middle of the throng of bodies, always in movement against one another, the hero pulled out a desert eagle and aimed. There was a cry to the hero’s right but they ignored it, aiming down the sights before pulling the trigger. It ricochet off the glass, a huge crack appearing. The club was chaos now. A scream of pain, and then bodies all rushing together like a wave towards any exit. The hero breathed, deep and satisfying. The villain was on the move but the hero was sure they could still get them.

Everything that happened next happened fast and deadly. A trigger pull, a gunshot right as a guard collided with the hero. A woman’s gurgling scream as the bullet ripped through her throat, 3 feet away from the villain. Adrenaline pumped through the hero’s veins as they struggled against the guard, who had hit the hero’s wrist causing them to drop the gun. It scattered under the trampling of a herd of humans. The music still played, even though the DJ had abandoned the station. It was a cheerful tune, playing over all the violence and chaos in a weird paradox of emotion. The hero got in a few good punches, but was soon subdued by multiple guards. 

“No!! No!!” The hero cried, struggling under the immense weight they were now under on the dirty floor of the now mostly empty club. The last thing they remember is a bloom of pain, of blood and spit as they were punched in the face. Hands bruised their neck, cutting off airflow and blood flow until the hero passed out, drifting slowly into oblivion. 

“Wake the fuck up!” The villain snarled, throwing a bucket of ice water on the bruised, beaten, and tied bodied of the hero. They were ripped so hastily from the warm darkness behind their eyes, water soaking them and mingling with their sweat and blood as it spilled over their head and body and then the cold concrete floor. 

This room was sterile, white, and cold. Bright fluorescent lights lit the room to a painful degree. The hero’s head swam and burned and wanted so badly to go back to the warm darkness. 

How could they mess up so bad? Maybe they should have planned better, studied harder, but it was too late to regret. They had to focus on somehow getting out of the sterile room they found themselves in. 

The hero let out a single groan, a broken and wispy sound coming from their parted lips. 

“Good, good!” the villain raised their hands, their posture that of a victor. “You’re awake. Now, I’ve had a large number of attempts on my life but none so brazen as yours. I congratulate you on your bravery, your boldness. I really do.”

The hero could barely keep up. The villain was praising them for trying to take their life? Or maybe just the conviction it took to do something so brazen? The hero wiggled their hands, which were bound tightly behind their back. The position was so uncomfortable, the hero’s back hunched at an angle that made their spine protest. They righted themselves, meeting the dark gaze of the villain.

“I didn’t do it to get praise from you.” The hero spit, literally and figuratively

“Oh, I know, I know. I would suggest you start behaving, though, or things will be much worse than they need to be.” The villain acquired brown leather gloves from their pockets before putting them on, carefully dipping their fingers into the leather until it covered their hand. Their next movement was a quick slap across the face of the hero before fisting their hair in their hands. “Now, tell me. Who do you work for? Or are you a lone wolf?”

Red bloomed across the hero’s face, tears stinging their eyes. The hero blinked the tears away, trying to take deep breaths so they weren’t drowned in the undertow of their anxiety.  

“I work for no one, I’m just tired of you and your dirty money.” The hero responded after getting their anxiety mostly in check. Freaking out wasn’t going to change the situation. They were stuck in this spot until they weren't. The hero didn’t know when that would be, seeing as how they told absolutely no one where they were going or what they were planning to do. 

“Well, then, I have something exciting to show you!” The villain chuckled, a full hearty chuckle. It was grating on the hero’s ears and unsettling. The hero shifted in their chair, wiggling their hands in their bondage, trying to get comfortable, trying to right themselves for what was to come. All the hero’s muscles tensed and shook until they were shivering in fear. 

The villain took a few slow steps towards the hero, bright lights shining behind them like a halo. With much force, they pushed the palm of their hand onto the hero’s forehead. A sharp pain lanced through the hero’s brain and nausea threatened to overflow into vomiting as all the bright lights in the room sharpened and danced in the hero’s vision. 

They didn’t know if they were screaming, the didn’t know how much was passing or if it even existed anymore. All there was was pain and light and pain. The hero’s body convulsed until the chair fell over and their head knocked on the cold, sterile concrete floor. 

“You see, you are mine now. You tried to take my life, I lobotomize you. Or, I guess its most like brainwashing.” The villain got down on one knee in front of the prone hero, running a finger nail gently down the side of the tear stained hero’s face. 

So that’s what the feeling was. What all that pain and light was. It was the feeling of their brain warping and stretching and expanding and shrinking all at once. The hero could still think, could still move their hands of their own will. Was this all a sick joke? The question wouldn’t form on their lips, it was stuck in their throat. The hero’s eyes widened as they realized they couldn’t talk, because they had not been ordered to. 

“There you go, You’re getting it.” The villain watched the hero’s face carefully, a small smile playing in the curves of their lips. The villain reached down and was slowly, ever so slowly, or maybe it just seemed slow, untied the hero’s hands and feet. 

The hero wanted to flee, wanted to run and scream and cry and above all else, kill. They thought of all the ways in that very moment they could bring harm to the villain. The smug, strange villain. The hero’s fingers twitched and it sent a jolt of pain down their arm, electrifying all of their nerves until they finally stopped trying to punch. The only thing they could do voluntarily anymore was cry, and cry, and cry. 

One stupid mistake led to all this. If only they could have landed that shot, if only. So many “if only”s. 

“Now, I bet you’re wondering how I just did this to you?” The villain grabbed a finger of the hero’s and wiggled it around. The hero tensed, ready for the shooting, electric pain, but none came. “You see, you get powerful enough in this world, and lots of things come to light.” A flicker of light to the villains left. They had lifted their hand, pointing one finger up to the veiling and just an inch above it, a lively and dancing flame. 

Magic? Magic is real? The hero’s mind warped once again, trying to figure out of their senses were to be trusted. Suddenly there was a searing hot pain tearing through the hero’s right cheek. The villain was burning their face, some letter, maybe the first letter of the villain’s name. The villain leaned in close, whispering softly into the hero’s ear as their lungs burned with the need to scream but the inability to do so. 

“Magic is very real, for people like me. You’re not my first zombie, and you wont be my last. I’ll make sure no one tries to look for you, so you don’t have to worry about things like friends or family.” The villain chuckled, a hand on their chest. 

The hero was no longer the hero, but the loser. The zombie. For the rest of their life they would be trapped watching themselves be puppeteered by the villain, the victor.

[iwaisa]

► now playing...

- pairing. osamu x female reader

- genre. chlidhood friends to lovers / college au

- warnings. swearing, suggestive content, mentions of alcohol

- word count. 1.9k+

- a/n. happy birthday osamu !! hopefully i can get atsumu’s out later. i stayed up late writing this because i love this food dork :)

you groaned as you exited your last class of the week, dragging yourself outside to begin making your way back to your apartment. it would take approximately twenty minutes to get back, considering how packed the train station probably was. however, you had a solution to this problem, and that was to go visit your friend at work.

osamu miya’s dream and goal was to be able to open a restaurant; an idea heavily supported by none other than his best friend since the third grade, you. currently, he was working on his cooking skills as a chef in a well-known restaurant.

you chuckled as you reminisced on the times you and osamu have shared together, and sighed in contentment upon remembering exactly how the two of you met.

during lunch breaks in grade school, you loved eating your food outside. each day at the sound of the bell, you would pick up your bento and run to the courtyard. you found your seat at the base of a tall pine tree, getting ready to dig into your food. as you began eating, your eyes scanned the scenery, and landed on a boy who was standing a few feet away, bumping a volleyball with his hands. you looked back down at your bento to pick at some meat, and when you looked back up, there were two of the same boy. 

wait what?

you squinted your eyes as you watched the two identical boys pass the volleyball to one another. you shook your head and looked back down once more to grab another bite of food with your chopsticks, but as you went to look back at the two boys, they were gone. 

“hey!” a voice behind you startled you out of your thoughts. you yelped and jumped, dropping your food in the process. 

you turned around to face wherever the voice came from, only to come face to face with the boy you were just watching. he began laughing and pointing at you, “i got ya so good! right, ‘samu?” 

you pouted as he continued laughing right in your face. you glanced behind him to the other boy, who you were guessing to be the identical twin of the boy who was practically rolling on the floor in laughter. 

“‘tsumu, you made her spill her food. that’s not nice,” the boy sighed as he bent down to help pick up your chopsticks. 

by now, ‘’tsumu’ was pouting and crossing his arms as he watched you and his twin interact, “oh shut yer trap, ‘samu. it was funny, right?”

“not really. what’s yer name?” he held out his hand to help you stand, and you bowed as thanks.

“f/n l/n. are you two twins?” you pointed in between the two of them.

“nope! he’s a clone!” the laughing boy exclaimed, throwing his arm around his twin, who simply sighed in annoyance. 

“yeah, we’re twins.” they began bickering, and you felt yourself getting dizzy. the calmer one noticed, and asked if you were alright and if you needed to go to the nurse.

“no thank you, i’m just...confused. what are your names?”

the quieter boy began to talk, but was promptly cut off by his brother. “i’m atsumu miya! the cooler twin!” he pointed to himself.

“no, yer just the dumber twin. i’m osamu.”

you snickered as you watched the two argue back and forth. before you knew it, the bell signaling the end of lunch rang, and the three of you had to head back inside.

by the time you reached your third year of junior high, the three of you were practically attached at the hip. at this point, everyone called you the third miya sibling.

one thing that changed - other than the fact that the twins dyed their hair different colours - were the weird feelings you started developing for one of the miya brothers.  

throughout the rest of grade school and your three years of junior high, osamu made a point of bringing you food whenever he could. he even bought your favourite snacks to hand to you in class, attempting to hide the blush that took place on his cheeks. you didn’t want to assume anything of it at the time, since he was so adamant about it simply being because ‘you always forgot to bring snacks, idiot.’

osamu didn’t think he would be able to handle the way his heart seemed to stutter whenever he caught a glimpse of you. he believed that he should just rip the bandaid off now and tell you exactly what he was feeling. even atsumu was getting annoyed each growing minute from the two of you ‘very clearly pining over each other.’

years later, atsumu’s annoyance only increased tenfold. his idiot of a twin still hasn’t confessed, and the end of your high school days were coming faster than you could’ve imagined. the three of you planned to go to the same college with your own respective majors. atsumu would become a pro volleyball player, and osamu would work in culinary arts. you would go on to do your own major, leaving little time to hang out with your childhood friends.

“just tell her, ya idiot.” atsumu sighed. the two of them glanced over to where you were sitting in the bleachers, waiting for them to finish cleaning up from their previous volleyball practice. 

atsumu watched his twin’s face contort into confusion, then hesitance, then pure sadness. the faux-blond was sure an alien had abducted his brother, as osamu rarely showed any emotion other than his natural stoicism. 

“i..i can’t, ‘tsumu. it’ll ruin everything,” osamu sighed, going back to picking up the remainder of the volleyballs littered around the gym. 

atsumu rolled his eyes, grabbing his twin by the shoulders. “listen. i know f/n just as much as ya do, and both of us know that she would never act any different even if yer feelings weren’t reciprocated. we’ve been friends for what, like, ten years now? besides, i see how she practically eye-fucks you.” 

osamu pushed his now laughing brother off him as he blanched. he glanced over at you, watching you as you played with your phone. he felt the heat rising to his face as he watched you stick your tongue out in concentration. you shook your phone in frustration, sighing as you stood up to make your way over to the twins.

osamu gave you a small smile as atsumu started bombarding you with questions concerning his setting techniques. 

you entered the restaurant, sighing in contentment as the heat inside the building made for a nice contrast from the harsh cold outside.

you hardly noticed osamu with his hairnet covering his silver hair, until he lifted his head up from his phone. he waved you over, giving you a smile that never failed to make your heart want to burst out of your chest.

his breath hitched as you leaned over the counter, “hey, ‘samu.”

“what’s up. how were classes?” he turned around to begin making your favourite drink, which he had memorized by heart now.

“nothing interesting happened, unfortunately. i’m just glad it’s a friday.” you watched the silver-haired male bob his head in agreement.

he turned around and handed you the drink, watching with interest as you took your first sip. “mm! it’s good, ‘samu!” he smiled as he watched your face light up in satisfaction. “‘m glad.”

the two of you basked in the comfortable silence, before an alarm on his phone sounded off. “ah, i’m off work now. where to?” you watched as he began removing the apron and the hairnet, his hair poofing out in what you believed to be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“movie night at mine?” he nodded.

“sounds good. atsumu said he probably wouldn’t be able to join us since he’s got practice and then he’s going drinking with the team.” you hummed in understanding. 

what you didn’t do, however, was tell him that you knew atsumu was lying to his brother. you knew that he would be lounging around in his own apartment, patting himself on the back for earning the two of you some alone time. 

osamu grabbed his bag and motioned for you to lead the way to the train station.

the ride was going by painfully slowly. for a friday afternoon, the train was packed, leaving you and osamu uncomfortably stuffed in the corner. his tall figure towered over you, and you swore he could hear your heartbeat with the close proximity.

“are ya sure this is okay?” osamu whispered. you simply nodded back, not giving your words the chance to deceive you. 

by the time the train stopped at your station, more people seemed to pile on, not allowing you and osamu enough space to exit the train. osamu went ahead, clearing a path to walk through. you felt him grab your hand as he continued pushing through the crowd. after catching up to him, you noticed how he still hasn’t let go of your hand. you chose to ignore it, along with how your heart was begging to burst out of your chest at this point. 

approaching the door of your apartment, you began fishing for the key in your pocket. once you pulled it out, you glanced down to where yours and osamu’s fingers were intertwined.

you began pulling out of his grip, only for it to become tighter. you whipped your head around, watching as osamu used his free hand to cover the bottom half of his face. he began mumbling, and you tilted your head in confusion.

“what was that?” you questioned. he shuffled a bit before sighing.

“f/n, i need to tell ya something. and i’m doing this now because i need to know if i can stay here or if i should go home.” you furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him lift his head up to make eye contact with you. when he didn’t continue, you assured him you were listening.

“since as long as i could remember, i’ve always...uhm…i think i’ve always been in love with ya, f/n.”

your jaw dropped open faster than it ever had before, and your whole body felt numb. osamu noticed this, and he began reeling back. 

“i mean, i totally understand if ya don’t like me like that, and i promise i’ll get over it. just please, don’t stop being my best friend,” he let go of your hand, using it to scratch his neck.

“osamu…” you began, making him freeze. he stared down at you as you slowly wrapped your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest. 

he chuckled as he patted your head, “s-so what does that mean then?” you could hear the nervous undertone in his voice, and you lifted your head up to rest just below his chin. 

“it means i like you back, ya dumb idiot.” you laughed. 

he sighed and rolled his eyes as the two of you pulled out of your embrace. you smiled at him before turning to enter your apartment. you felt a hand tug at your wrist, turning you around. you opened your mouth to ask what was going on before you felt a pair of lips crash onto yours. you were taken aback for a second, before you wrapped your arms around his neck. he moved his hands down to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. you hummed into the kiss, and you felt him smile against your lips. he pulled away, the two of you chuckling before you pulled him into your apartment to begin your movie night.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Beyond the Black Line

The more she strained against her bindings, the more the cable ties cut into her flesh, chafing, and scratching, and cutting. Blood filled her eyes and turned the world deep red.

Rage boiled in her heart. It spilled out, erupting from her throat as primal yelling and spittle that sprayed from her lips.

Kaos thrashed against the small folding steel chair she had been bound to. It clattered on the dirty concrete floor while she lurched forward and shook it and rattled the seat violently. Her muscles bulged. Veins popped on her neck.

The wet taste of iron filled her mouth, owed to clenching her teeth to the point of her gums oozing blood in between her screams of fury. The rage burnt her up from the inside. The pain seized her every limb and she spat out incoherent strings of foulest profanities.

The woman in a black leather biker's attire, Scorch, formed a stark contrast to her. A pillar of stoic calm, standing in front of Kaos in this dingy little cellar. Though the tiny window near the ceiling barely shed any light, the amber in Scorch's irises glowed like fire.

She stared at the young woman tied to the chair, not even blinking once, studying Kaos' every hateful movement, and absorbing her yelling and curses without ever flinching.

When Katie had died and become Kaos, it was Scorch that had brought her back from the dead.

Now, Kaos was dying. Scorch herself was killing her. The rest of her humanity was burning up inside. Soon, only human thought and emotion would remain. And from where she was sitting right now, the only emotion that remained?

Pure and unfettered fury.

It was not like any of this was against her will. Kaos had agreed to this.

Not that it made it a lick less unpleasant, though.

Soon to join the taste of blood, the thrashing, and the burning agony; a pool of inky-black darkness crept up from behind her. It enveloped her, encroaching from the edges of her vision. It threatened to drown her, even if its watery depths could never quite quell the fires of rage. Instead, an icy-cold sweat erupted from her pores.

Every growl and snarling curse that rang with a hollow echo came from her own throat. The more the darkness surrounded her, the more the rage felt alien, even though the fury was all hers to tap and the living shadows were… something else.

As the darkness closed in and the field of her vision shrank by the second, as the furious strength in her thrashing limbs waned, Scorch raised a hand, fingers splayed, pointing the flat of her palm at Kaos' face.

The skin split and parted like lids; an eye opened in the center of that palm. Then many other eyes also opened across her mentor's hand in the same disgusting fashion. Smacking and glistening wet with tears and slime, the eyes resembled those of a cat, black pupils all vertically slit. All golden like Scorch's, glowing, curiously locking eyes with Kaos. Their gazes dug deeper, burning through the oil slick of her dying humanity, and The Many peered into the remaining sliver of this young woman's soul.

The darkness fully swallowed the rest of the world around her. Across those impenetrable dark curtains, more eyes opened. The gold color within them blazed and flickered like flames. The world was soon made of eyes. Only eyes.

All eyes on Kaos, probing her spirit.

Testing it.

The darkness swallowed even the eyes, turning the world fully black.

But unlike losing time, unlike losing consciousness, Kaos fell. Chair and cable ties and all, she hurtled downwards, falling deep.

Not far, though. Her head jerked around, and her neck cracked as she landed sideways in something somewhat soft. Something like tar, as unfathomable and impenetrable as the darkness around her. Bubbling and oily, she sank into it, sinking deeper and deeper.

Raw instinct kicked in and she thrashed once the taste of something bitter and rotten joined the iron taste of blood in her mouth. But being tied to the metal chair still, her thrashing only helped her sink down deeper. She tore at the thin strips of plastic that continued to dig into her flesh and keep her bound to the metal chair, increasingly engulfed by this thick and goopy pool of darkness.

The curtains closed in, but the eyes opened across them again. Thousands of eyes, all cat-like. Burning bright yellow, golden, unblinking, and staring at her from every direction. Simply watching with inhuman curiosity while she screamed in fury, sinking deeper into the pool.

The embers rising from those eyes sparked something, and the tar of this infinitely black pit was lit ablaze. Flames roared, all spreading with lightning speed, matching the burning rage inside of her.

"You wanna live?" asked a chorus of voices. High-pitched and hissing, low and rumbling, growling and spiteful, snarling, and sadistic. So many of them.

"Speak up," sang the hideous chorus. "Or drown in darkness for all eternity."

"Yes," sputtered Kaos, spitting out foul muck. Yelled Kaos, gurgling and growling back at the chorus, repeating her pledge, "Yes! I wanna live!"

She sank deeper and deeper into the tar, painfully slow, inch by inch. The fires encroached quickly and, thanks to her slick-coated skin that was still above the surface level, she was immediately set on fire. The smell of burnt hair and rotten eggs filled the air and made her choke. She thrashed more, trying to stay afloat, trying not to drown despite burning alive. Despite the temptation to sink in fully and suffocate and forever be freed from the agony of the fire that now burned her on the outside, by far eclipsing the fire she had only felt within thus far.

"You wanna make 'em pay?" asked the chorus. "You wanna rain fire and fury upon the suck-pigs that regard humans as little more than cattle and prey?"

Blubbering, spitting out more of the burning tar, she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Yes!"

"Then take the oath. Consign your immortal soul to the Black Legion. Choose your side in the Last War."

Kaos screamed. Spat furiously to not choke, to not drown in the viscous oily substance, even though it would make the burning stop.

She screamed her oath, repeating after the chorus as it instructed her on what to utter.

Kaos jolted up into sitting, covered in a sheen of sweat.

The coarse set of blankets that had covered her were all balled up into a messy, smelly wad at the foot of her cot. Gloomy twilight poured in through the tiny cellar window, casting light on the small grimy space she had tried to sleep in.

Her new "home". The cabal's HQ.

She checked her phone and discovered it was three in the morning. Groaned.

Droning beats thumped and hammered against the ceiling above her, loud music from the strip club underneath which the cabal hid out.

No matter how often the nightmares of crossing the black line returned to haunt Kaos, they never became less vivid. The pain felt so real that, even now, she pulled up the sleeves of her ratty shirt to check her arms for burn marks. Or maybe eyes.

Only the scars from the plastic cable ties remained on her wrists, a reminder that some part of the maddening experience had been unmistakably real. Till this day, she wondered what part of it was imagined.

Maybe none of it.

All she knew for sure was that her mentor, Scorch, had done something to her. And ever since, Kaos only looked human on the outside. Her body no longer behaved like a natural human being's.

Loud music, muffled through layers of concrete and several doors, continued to beat upstairs. Her bare feet slapped down as she swung her legs off the side of the cot with a sigh. She rubbed her face, slick and oily with her own perspiration, then shuffled across the cold filthy floors to open an old used refrigerator that looked like it had survived since the 1940s and been brought here from a landfill.

The blinding light from the little lamp inside the fridge made her flinch. The soothing hum of the cooling container buzzed monotonously. She blinked and looked through the contents inside the fridge.

Reaching past the human heart pickled in a jar and a shrink-wrapped bag of intestines, she grabbed one of the eleven cartons of orange juice and slammed the fridge door shut.

Ripped the carton open, chugging the sweet and sour orange stuff.

Nice and cool. Sticky, but refreshing. One of the few tastes she still enjoyed since—

Since her becoming. Since the rebirth.

She paused to catch her breath and lean against the rusty metal table next to the fridge.

The nearby faucet dripped continuously. The music upstairs continued to thump. Her eyes adjusted to her environment. Part of her becoming, she now saw perfectly in the dark.

This place was a dump. But it was better than nothing and the cabal could not afford to be picky. The only cash they made was whatever they could steal from scumbags—human scumbags—whom they curb-stomped on their cases. And the wads of dollar bills that Scorch sometimes showed up to dismissively drop off with them. Wherever the hell she got the money from.

Kaos chugged more orange juice. Then chugged some more.

She barely ate anymore but drank this stuff by the gallons nowadays.

Nowadays, she was strong enough to rip a telephone book apart with her bare hands. Her fury empowered such.

Matching that, she crumpled up the emptied carton between her fists and chucked the useless wad at the trash bin where it bounced off the edge and landed among the other litter—a handful of candy bar wrappers, balled up pieces of paper, and a crumpled empty pack of cigarettes—all the cabal had failed to sink into the garbage with such casual throws. None of the slobs bothered to pick it up until one of them lost a bet.

Thumping of a different sort filled the basement rooms. Lacking rhythm, indicating a slight limp, thundering footsteps of heavy boots thumped down the narrow stairs connecting their slice of the underworld to the glamorous world above. A light winked on behind the man coming downstairs, transforming him into a broad and shadowy silhouette.

Crumpled trench coat, combat boots, a mess of hair on his head, the bulge of heat in his coat pocket.

He was not happy to see Kaos. He was simply packing one of those big fuck-off Dirty Harry revolvers.

Stopping short of descending the final steps, he visibly stared at her from across the cellar and braced himself against the ceiling.

"Great, you are up. Major break," Razor said in his typically gravelly voice. He sounded exactly like what you imagined one of those hard-boiled detectives should sound like—if the actor depicting them was exaggerating it to the point of ridiculousness. "I think we're good to make the kill. Now, I know you need your beauty sleep—and a lot of it at that—but we got some killin' to do. Ready up, ho."

Kaos flipped him the bird.

The shoulders on Razor's silhouette heaved as he chortled in response. Were it not for the blinding light behind him, she would have seen his shit-eating grin. She knew it was there.

"No, but seriously. Get dressed, pack your big guns, and let's go put this motherfucker six-hundred and sixty-six feet under. I left the engine running. Time's tickin'. C'mon. Chop-chop."

Kaos squinted at him and clicked her tongue.

"The fuck? You wanna do this without Ram? Or Law? Or—and I can't believe I'm suggesting this—without Base?"

Razor tilted his head and said, "All o' them're busy followin' up on the meat-packin' plant case. And Scorch thinks highly of you. I don't see it, but high time for me to be convinced otherwise."

Though she could not see his eyes, his burning gaze was felt.

Kaos set her jaw.

"Fuck you," she sighed. "I'll be right up."

Invisible to her, still she sensed his lop-sided smile. He slapped the ceiling and turned around. Thumped right back up those stairs.

Within the next minute, she slipped into her own combat boots, slung on her windbreaker, and tossed her duffel bag onto the cot. In went a handy little fire axe, a bone saw, two small pistols, a sawed-off shotgun, and her new personal favorite: the big fuck-off machine gun that Ram had taken from some wannabe-paramilitary nutjobs.

A box of shells and bullets each jingled as she dumped them into the bag with the weaponry, and she draped a belt of ammunition for the machine gun on top before ripping the zipper up, slinging the heavy bag over her shoulder, and thundering up those basement stairs to follow Razor out.

The droning electronic dance music was louder up here, but still muffled enough through closed doors. Even so, it could not drown out the clinking and clacking from her bag and her heavy footsteps. Kaos marched down the narrow backstage hallway.

Chubbs, the owner of Pink Exxxtacy, poked his head out of the door to his office.

Once his eyes met Kaos' gaze, he nodded sagely in greeting and then closed the door behind him again.

Good ol' Chubbs. He did not even know what exactly the cabal was doing. Maybe he had an inkling, but more likely than anything, he probably thought they were vigilantes or something along those lines.

This part of the city was a real hellmouth. More so than most people realized.

More literally than they likely ever figured.

No matter how sleazy he looked on the surface, Chubbs was one of the good guys. All he knew was that they were doing good, that they were some sort of messed-up A-Team, so he never had any questions about them being covered in blood, and he asked for very little cash to keep the water running and the lights on in their humble abode. Which was good, because little cash was all they had to offer.

Kaos pushed her way out through the emergency exit door.

Her rusty old Buick's engine merrily chugged away, the silhouette of Razor sitting behind the wheel and the tiny red glow of a cigarette in his mouth flaring up.

With a groan, she dumped the duffel bag onto the back seat, slammed the door shut, and got inside up front, riding shotgun with her fellow soldier. Kaos coughed as she swatted the air and rolled down the passenger seat window.

Razor stepped on the gas and the old piece of junk of a car lurched into motion.

"I vaguely remember tellin' you to stop smokin' in my ride, shit-head," she growled.

The badly shaven man simply grinned his usual shit-eating grin. His mouth drooped into a frown the moment she snatched the cigarette from his lips and tossed it out the window.

"Hey!"

"Can it, and watch the road, asshole," she told him, promptly pointing ahead of them.

He followed her gaze and then swerved hard to the left to avoid hitting a hydrant. The tires screeched and some metal part whined as the car veered onto the trash-littered streets and shook them from hopping off the curb.

"If you're gonna throw your life away suckin' on those cancer sticks—"

"In our line o' work?" Razor chuckled again. Dark, hollow. Not born from amusement, but resignation and bitterness. "Fuck, sister, I think I'll take my chances with smokin'."

She rolled her jaw and glared at him.

"Anyway. You wanna shoot your mouth off, shoot me the downlow on our case. What juicy intel have you got that you wanna go in all half-cocked, guns blazin', not waitin' for any backup?"

He shook his head, eyes trained on the road. He dug around in a coat pocket and produced a toothpick, flicking it into the corner of his mouth.

"Don't you worry your pretty head, sugar-tits. This is gonna be a milk run."

Her stomach knotted at that phrasing and she glared at him again.

There was no such thing as a "milk run" in their line of work.

Razor rolled the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other and back.

"Hunter. Pattern checks out. Motherfucker's been pickin' off hobos and runaways. Took a while to find anybody who'd talk, but the motherfucker always leaves their shoes behind. See, they were not willin' to admit that part because they took the shoes for themselves, so, what I did was—"

"The point, man. Get to it. I don't wanna hear your fuckin' life story."

"Well, I stopped lookin' for witnesses. Realized there was a corner in the industry zone—like a whole fuckin' area, like—completely abandoned. No homeless people there. No squatters, no nobody. And it ain't like anybody's avoidin' it. Nah, they didn't even realize that everybody there had gone missin'. I scoped out the place after dark, and I think it's out on the prowl. But we go now, just before sunrise, we can probably ambush this sum'bitch right when he's back from evisceratin' the next poor fucker. No signs of sepsis either, so this hunter's all solitary. We ain't got no backup, but neither does our target."

Silence. Kaos absorbed his summary.

"Leaves the shoes, huh? The fuck is up with that?"

He rolled the toothpick back and forth again.

"Beats me. Maybe this one's got a foot fetish."

Kaos cleared her mind. Focused on the fury inside of her, now only simmering.

Driving for several minutes in silence, he finally added, "Base said he killed two different Vouzires with the cabal. So, these motherfuckers ain't even unique. But I'll be damned if I ever make sense of why they do the fucked-up shit they do. Like, s'this is what I never made any sense of. If they just need to rack up souls for Armageddon like Scorch says, then why all the extra bells and whistles?"

Kaos shrugged. She did not really care. She could feel Razor's curious gaze sweeping off the center of the road to her and back.

The car stopped at a narrow crossing where a drug dealer and his huddled cluster of customers dispersed, scattering like cockroaches from the glaring shine of the Buick's headlights. The engine chugged louder as he stepped on the gas again and sped past them.

"You ever wonder what she is?" he asked.

"Who? Scorch?"

"Yeah, of course. You ever wonder, like—"

"No."

"Like, if we're not really human anymore, then what the fuck is she?"

Silence.

Kaos studied the people loitering around outside a small grocery store. Everybody here looked poor in some way. Just like them.

The cabal usually blended right in in this part of the city.

"I first thought the others were full o' shit. I used to think she was sent by the big man upstairs," Razor rambled on. "Then I started thinkin' they might be onna somethin'. That she may be from downstairs after all. Y'know? It ain't exactly like crossin' the black line has made us sprout white feathery angel wings and fart rainbows and—"

"The other things don't make any fuckin' sense, either," grumbled Kaos. "If she's one o' them, then why the fuck is she killin' 'em? Why the fuck is she preppin' us to kill 'em like she does?"

"Hell if I know," he sighed. "Maybe there's somethin' she's not tellin' us about this 'Last War' bullshit."

More silence.

But the train of thought stuck with Kaos. No matter how much she downplayed it, the enigma of Scorch's nature always remained stuck in the back of her mind, like a splinter buried deep underneath the skin—going unnoticed, most of the time, occasionally inflicting a sharp spike of pain whenever you moved, and with no pair of tweezers ready nearby for you to use to just yank the splinter out.

And Scorch, well, she did nothing to curb their wild theories. That "woman"—their mentor—she spoke about very little other than business. She only ever cared to drop vague hints about the Last War, and about how to butcher demons.

It was no wonder that the cabal often talked about it.

The gloomy slums made way to the gloomy industrial zone. Tall brick buildings and smokestacks all around, towering warehouses and other big husks that might as well have been completely deserted. If they were still in use by any companies, then their owners were not giving a damn about having any maintenance done on them.

"You remember what it was like?" Razor asked. Though gravelly as always, he suddenly somehow sounded softer.

"What? My first time? I don't kiss and tell," Kaos mumbled, one cheek resting against the fist that propped her head up.

He snorted. Smirked.

"The black line. You remember what it was like for you when you crossed it?"

She shook her head. Shrugged. Kaos lied.

"Nah. It just sucked."

Another short window of silence, filled with her gazing outside.

Only few of the windows on the warehouse they rolled up to had not been smashed. Vines crept up the bottom edges of the chain link fence and some of the muddy-brown brick walls.

Razor killed the lights, the engine, everything. Kaos' rusty old Buick rolled up onto the curb and slowed to a complete halt.

"Sucked how? Exactly?"

"I don't know. Barely remember," she lied again. "It was all fire and darkness and ten thousand angel eyes or some such shit. Who gives a fuck?"

"Hm," grunted Razor.

That was it.

He took the toothpick from his mouth, tossed it onto the dashboard, and whipped the pistol out of his pocket. Clicked it open, checked its chambers. Every one of them filled with a bullet each.

Kaos looked him up and down.

"That's it? Thought you said it was a hunter. And you're just bringing a single six-shooter?"

In the morning twilight, his yellowed teeth glistened as he smiled at her.

"My baby's only got six shots, but I make 'em all count and they all pack a punch. I think this one's a pussy. She'll do the trick."

He tapped his forehead with the barrel of his gun.

Kaos glared at him without blinking.

"Cool. I'm bringing the shottie. And the machine gun. You macho-ass dipshit."

He still smiled, oozing his unearned confidence.

The banged-up old car see-sawed as they both climbed out of it. She leaned inside over the backseat to produce the double-barreled "boomstick", which she shoved into her belt behind her back. Then she grabbed the machine gun, inserted the ammunition belt, and slapped the weapon once she finished loading it.

"Rock 'n roll," she said.

Razor tilted his head. To her chagrin, he had been standing well behind her, staring at her ass while she was fishing out her arsenal for the job. Once their gazes met, he flashed her one of his trademarked, stubble-framed, lop-sided grins.

"More like heavy metal, baby," he replied. Winked.

He cocked the hammer on his gun for emphasis. She battled the urge to break his jaw and shook her head and refrained from hurling another insult at him.

Razor was perfectly fine at making himself look an unlikable dumbass, and now was not the time.

Now was the time to stay on edge.

To channel the fury and point its destructive force in the right direction.

"This it?" she asked him. Jutted out her chin to gesture at the warehouse.

He shot a glance over his shoulder and nodded. "Yep. Perfect center of the abandoned area. I think sepsis might break out if it takes more lives here. I can almost smell the rot."

They marched towards the old derelict. Head always on a swivel, they looked over their shoulders constantly. Straining to hear any telltale sounds beyond the loud crunching of gravel and broken glass and other junk underneath their boots.

The place was dead silent otherwise.

Kaos now knew what he had meant. There should have been squatters here. Or traffic.

The streets well around this warehouse were all deserted. And she felt the onset of sepsis as well. The unmistakable presence of a demon fouling up its environment like a corpse rotting in a small pool of water. Others like Razor said they could smell it. Kaos simply felt it; it made her fingernails throb unpleasantly.

"Paydirt," Razor whispered.

Following where he pointed his gun's barrel, Kaos spotted the conspicuous brown splatters of long-dried blood. They both followed them back down the asphalt field they had just crossed and finally pieced it together.

She was happy she had not eaten anything recently.

All the trash, used needles, broken glass—everything littering the path to the warehouse entrance was sharp and dangerous to tread upon if you were not wearing the same kind of boots that they did. And barely noticeable, lots of the jagged and spiky bits were marked with dried blood as well, forming a distinct trail.

The demon was making his prey walk barefoot over all that junk.

Kaos envisioned how it prodded them and whispered into their ears, a seductive voice telling them that they were free if only they could walk right out to the street without screaming. The way they would cringe and suppress their cries of pain, walking from the warehouse out into the open as metal scraps and rusty nails and sharp glass and dirty needles pierced the flesh of their naked soles.

Slowly inching towards the false promise of freedom while it cackled behind them, waiting patiently as they suffered, as they walked the entirety of those hundred paces, bleeding more profusely with every step.

And whether they screamed or not, it eventually pounced before they ever made it to the end.

Later, claws would gingerly rearrange the garbage to make the gauntlet as torturous as possible to walk across.

The trails said everything.

Kaos had never really learned how to track. She just knew these things instinctively by looking at them. Did not help one bit when it came to people, or animals. She only knew how these monsters ticked.

In some of her nightmares not involving the black line, she caught glimpses of another world she should not have ever known, seeing the demons in their natural habitat, the hellscape they had clawed their way out of to wreak havoc upon earth. She remembered them from alien memories—ones not her own, festering in her mind like a putrid, cancerous growth.

Kaos and Razor shot each other glances.

"Gogrimog," she said.

"Definitely Gogrimog," he said, nodding.

They swiveled and stopped by the large double doors by the building's side entrance. Razor kicked them open, and they barged in, weapons pointed ahead, staring into the darkness.

Their eyes adjusted until they could see in the dark. With that came a faint glow from their eyes as they turned yellow, and their pupils became slit like a cat's.

Another one of the many "gifts" that Razor and Kaos shared since crossing the black line.

Staying low and hunched over, they crept through the warehouse. Guns pointed around every corner, keeping a lookout for the Gogrimog. Searching every nook and cranny for the demon's lair.

This place had fallen into disrepair several decades ago. Mold pockmarked the walls, spackling and other material had begun to crumble in spots, and every window into offices or auxiliary rooms had been thoroughly smashed, both by hoodlums and later by the demon to gather glass shards. Once, there must have been a time when people still squatted here. Now it only housed something monstrous.

Numerous blood splatters, long dried like the rest outside, made the search an easy matter. The whole place smelled like a dusty old locker room, like stale sweat and unwashed socks, and the stinging stench of urine wafted outwards from the warehouse's deepest bowels.

They wordlessly followed that smell. It usually worked out that way.

In a large storage room, where the bad scents converged, the two disciples found it. The wide-open area still contained some dusty old crates, flanked by heaps of junk that someone had stuffed into the corners, but none of that was interesting.

A set of upside-down metal barrels arranged in a semi-circle now resembled a crude shrine. On top of each barrel sat a pair of severed human feet and something else in between them. Some of the feet looked older and shriveled and some looked rotten, while one pair looked particularly fresh. All of them were covered in lacerations, some had glass still lodged in the soles, and all had been ripped off their adjoining legs, judging by the pieces of cracked bone sticking out of the stumps above the ankles. No cuts up there, only evidence of an unnaturally tremendous force having snapped them from their limbs like twigs.

Even up close, Kaos was unsure what the disgusting fleshy slop resting in between each pair of feet was.

"Medulla oblangata," muttered Razor, as if having read her mind.

She shot him a glance.

"Part o' the brain," he added.

"I know that much myself. Dick."

"Real sick puppy we've got on our hands here."

He rolled his jaw and licked his lips. She could almost taste Razor's craving for a smoke.

Razor pointed at a dark corner near a trash heap and said, "How about you take position over there, pop out to draw its attention when it comes to rest its sorry ass down here and admire its collection, and then I blow its head off from behind? If that ain't enough, you blow your load. Y'know, keep it simple."

Kaos was about to reply with a glib remark about him being the one who belonged in the trash until she noticed something drop behind him.

A single drip. A droplet of something thick and slimy. Something dark.

Time slowed to a crawl, so much so that it almost froze entirely. In a fraction of a second, her gaze wandered up to the source of that droplet. To the thing hanging from metal girders overhead.

A leering, smiling maw with rows of perfectly straight, needle-shaped teeth, glistening in the dim light from above. The slime dripped from its slavering jaw. Two huge, bulging, round eyes above the maw almost glowed, filled with excitement and blood lust and pure insanity.

Four pairs of breasts jiggled as the demon shifted its weight from where it was hanging, gripping the steel girders across the high ceiling, holding on with gigantic claws.

It leapt before Kaos could react. It attacked before Razor's face fell, the immediate response to reading the change in Kaos' shocked expression and realizing what was about to befall him.

Time no longer flowed slowly. Things happened very quickly.

His initial shouts emerged with anger. He thrashed, but the massive size and weight of the demon pinned him down onto the dirty floor. Boobs flopped down into his face and muffled his shouts while the demon grinned hideously at Kaos.

Then his shouts changed pitch, rising high and conveying only pain. Those giant claws clamped down and twisted his arms and tore until they had wrenched the limbs from their sockets with wet and cracking sounds and two explosive jets of blood sprayed from the resulting wounds.

The Gogrimog emitted a deep baritone laughter, revolving and darkly amused, but the machine gun's deafening staccato cut it off. Bullet casings ejected from the weapon with a fierce and mathematical rhythm.

The creature shrieked under the fully automatic fire; its awful countenance illuminated by the blaze of the weapon's muzzle flashing. Kaos could not care any less about what exactly it looked like, instead pouring all her focus into keeping the gun steady as she unloaded dozens of bullets into the Gogrimog. It leapt away from Razor with the litheness of a cat, taking with it his severed arms as trophies.

Old empty crates exploded where the demon landed and crushed them underneath its tremendous weight, conveying beyond a shadow of any doubt that it sported the mass of a whole-ass automobile.

Razor was screaming bloody murder, interrupted by a bout of choking and coughing. Then more salvos from the machine gun roared up and drowned out his blood-curdling yells of crippling pain.

The creature had raised a huge meaty arm to shield its face from the gunfire. The big bullets and little splatters of blood peppering its pitch-black flesh looked tiny in comparison to its awesome size. Its maw never shifted, always frozen in that hideous toothy grin, bug-eyed and gleeful about the slaughter it yearned to commit.

It reared back, catching the brunt of several more bullets before leaping up with surprising speed. Glass shattered and rained down nearby from where it crashed through the skylight windows, swinging, and hurtling out of sight with its obscene momentum.

Kaos' teeth hurt from gritting them so hard, and when she noticed as much, she spat a whole gob of profanities at the demon.

Razor screamed, "Get my arms! Give me—gimme my fuckin' arms back, you vile piece o' shit!"

He flopped around on the ground like a fish on the dry, failing to get back up on his feet. Blood continued to pump out from his shoulder-stumps all the while.

A booming, voluminous voice followed and echoed through the warehouse halls, smoky with the crackling of hellfire to punctuate its every growled syllable, "Little human, little girl—I will rip off your head and shit down your neck."

A couple of demon-kills previously, and threats like these would have let Kaos' blood run cold with dread. Now, however, it only made the thunder in her heart rumble—it poured gasoline into the fires of her fury.

She swiveled, expecting the demon to strike from everywhere. Hunters always did.

So, too, the Gogrimog.

A wall behind her exploded, pelting her with pebbles and other chunks of bricks. A piece of rebar lodged itself right into her back even though Kaos rolled away—just in time to avoid the avalanche of demolished wall and the massive weight of the Gogrimog.

She had no time to register the pain.

The demon skidded past her, sharp claws ripping scars into the concrete floor and kicking up a thick cloud of dust. When it turned, the bug-eyed grimace continued to grin at her. Then its maw widened, far enough to shove half a grown man down its gullet.

The fuel named adrenaline pumped through Kaos in unison with the fury, admixing with despair. The machine gun had tumbled out of her grip when she dodged out of the way—sitting on the ground, just out of reach.

The demon jumped again, burying her underneath its tremendous weight, causing the fires of rage to blend with fires of pain. The bones in her legs were on the verge of cracking entirely, and several boobs flopped into Kaos' face, causing her to sputter and curse and flail around until two giant claws seized her by a forearm each.

Then the twisting began. Painful cracking followed. Kaos screamed in pain and unbridled rage and resisted with all her might, refusing to let this thing twist far enough to rip her arms off, but no amount of fury alone was going to prevent the Gogrimog from repeating what it had just wrought upon Razor. It had the strength of an elephant.

The pressure suddenly ceased. The creature let go, shrieking and howling in a monstrous rage of its own. The crushing weight lifted from her and Kaos rolled away, dragging herself another few paces before scrambling to her feet.

The Gogrimog howled and flailed at a figure on its back. Razor rode on it. His chest had split open and connected to a gigantic fleshy cancerous appendage that ended in a lamprey-like mouth. The hungry maw from his chest kept whipping around, lashing out, and chomping on the pitch-black flesh from the demon's back, emitting slurping and sucking sounds after every bite.

Bucking and swatting its claws ineffectively at the insect on its back, the demon failed to throw Razor off despite his lack of arms to hold on. The lamprey-tentacle did all the work for him.

"Yeah," Razor laughed, with madness glinting in his cat-like eyes. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!"

He laughed hysterically as the lamprey-mouth bit down on the back of the Gogrimog's head. The demon then leapt upwards with another sudden burst of speed and force that defied its size and weight, sending them flying upwards into the metal girders above.

Razor's crazed laughter was killed off with a pained and clipped gurgle and the two crashed back down onto concrete floors. The Gogrimog snatched him by the lamprey-tumor and swung him around like a broken toy, smashing him into the concrete once and then tossing him into a pile of junk.

Kaos limped towards the machine gun, but the demon was fast.

Too fast.

It pounced before she reached the weapon, just one arm's length away.

To the demon's surprise, Kaos was fast, too. Faster than humans should be.

And this time, too fast for the Gogrimog.

Its claw clamped down around the barrels of the shotgun she had slung out from her belt. She pulled the triggers all the way through, and the creature's entire hand exploded, shredding it in its entirety and taking away part of its arm past the trunk of its wrist, showering Kaos' face with blood and tiny chunks of bone, and simultaneously blowing away half the demon's teeth and face in the blast.

The Gogrimog howled like a gigantic wolf in pain and stumbled backwards, buying the single second Kaos needed to roll away and snatch up the machine gun with another burst of unnatural speed.

The gun blazed away.

Her teeth hurt again by the time all ammo from the belt had been spent, burnt through. The hypnotic metallic jingling of the empty casings raining down onto the stony floor still rang in her ears like a distant memory, overshadowed by the loud ringing in her ears from the gun's ceaseless discharge of thunderclaps as it had pumped dozens over dozens of rounds into the demon.

She stood on top of the dying Gogrimog. The muzzle of the gun was still jammed into its maw, where it had broken more teeth with the force of her ramming it in there and continuing to pull the trigger until its spine and other meaty chunks and blood had finished re-painting the warehouse's floors.

The rage remained.

Kaos saw red, her chest and shoulders heaving with heavy breaths.

When the demon twitched in its death throes, she gave it no quarter. Not for all the people it had tortured and killed. For all that would continue to be tormented and slaughtered by its kind.

She punched right into its skull, cracking and squelching sounds and all, and she gripped. With all her rage, she ripped the remainder of its brains out, dragging with it a long wiry mass of other fleshy matter. She tore it all out and tossed it onto the ground in front of the Gogrimog's eyes.

To make sure it could watch.

It would never move again. Kaos waited until she was sure of its demise.

When the crimson cleared and her senses had normalized somewhat, she stood over Razor, whose breaths had grown dangerously flat and short. He sat, leaned up against the wall, having left a trail of blood from where the Gogrimog had thrown him.

"Sorry, man. Couldn't find the arms," Kaos muttered.

He tried to smile, but awash with pain and insanity, his face cycled through several conflicting twitches of different emotions.

"Fuck it. Lil' too late for that, Kay," he said, squeezing out the words with immense difficulty, choking on every syllable.

She crammed a fist into his coat pocket, dug around in there, and produced his pack of cigarettes. Dug around some more and pulled out his lighter to match.

Stuck a smoke into the corner of his mouth and lit it up for him.

He managed to inhale, making that tiny little dot glow brightly.

Then he chortled. Muffled somewhat by clamping the cigarette between one corner of his lips, he said, "Thought I wasn't supposed to smoke."

"Not in my car, you stupid dickhead."

He smiled, but his eyes painted a picture of many other things: debilitating pain, dredged-up old memories, and overwhelming grief.

For a few seconds, Kaos wondered what life Razor had left behind before joining the Last War and crossing the black line. Then she packed that thought away and locked it in the attic and threw away the key.

No point in getting attached. Not now, at least.

"Milk run, huh," she muttered, shaking her head. Sighing. "We shoulda waited, you stupid dickhead."

"Hah," he chortled again, smoke billowing out of his nostrils over his pained grin. "Fucker's dead, right?"

A tiny consolation.

Yet she could not help it, could not prevent a feeble smile from overtaking her lips.

"Any last wishes?"

The cigarette plummeted from his mouth, bounced off his lap and rolled across the bloodied floors, away from him.

She expected Razor to grab it, to pick it up. But he had no arms anymore with which to do so. It was almost like feeling the phantom limbs of another person for a split second.

But not even his eyes had followed that imaginary trajectory. When she locked eyes with him again, his had gone vacant. Empty. Soulless.

Dead.

"Fucker's dead, alright," she sighed again.

She closed his eyes and rested her bloodstained hand there for a thoughtful moment, cupped over the upper half of his face.

Then she got up, gathered their guns, and returned to the Buick outside. Every step of the way, the sea of shards and junk crunched underfoot, ghastly reminders of what the demon had done to all its innocent victims.

She dumped the two guns onto the backseat without getting them sorted or reloaded. Currently did not care what happened if she got pulled over. Slammed the door shut as she slumped into the driver's seat and gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

The car's horn honked when she hammered her fist against the steering wheel.

She snatched his toothpick from the dashboard and chucked it out the window. Then she revved the engine, which chugged back to life, and she rode into the sunrise.

Kaos had never liked Razor.

But she liked losing fellow soldiers in this war far less.

Even if the line between Us and Them looked paper-thin, every one of Us counted.

Armageddon was really fucking nigh.

—Submitted by Wratts

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 75 - Home and Away

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 5,794

Summary: The trio seeks sanctuary after the wedding attack

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

The world reappeared in a cacophony of noise and light that for a moment made it seem as if it were daytime. Bright lights strung across the lampposts stretched back as far as the eye could see. A double-decker bus passed beside them on the pavement where they had emerged, and Yato noticed that his and Yukine’s hands were still caught tight in Hiyori’s.

Hiyori broke out of her stunned silence as she took in the road, the streets, and the shops. She dropped their hands.

“Where are we?” Yukine asked.

“Central London,” Hiyori replied. “My parents’ hospital is just down there…”

She looked to the right down the main street, which was swarming with revellers and shoppers, but quickly turned in the opposite direction.

“Just walk quickly, we need to find somewhere to change,” Hiyori said over her shoulder.

Her head swung back and forth as she led them through the crowd, ignoring the glances they received from drunks spilling from the pubs and women bashing their way through with designer bags. Yato took in the sights around him, trying to find any landmarks but none stuck out to him as they meandered into side streets and pulled into a shadowed alley.

“Hiyori, we don’t have anything to change in to,” Yukine pointed out the flaw in her plan. In their wedding attire, they looked out of place for the grimy underground of London’s alleys, but there was not much they could do about it.

Hiyori’s gaze dropped to her clutch bag which was secured to her wrist. Yato wouldn’t have noticed it as it was partially hidden in the folds of her skirt. She pulled open the zipper and rummaged in the bag far deeper than physically possible. Yato and Yukine exchanged looks as Hiyori began to pull out jeans, shoes, tops, and jumpers until they had outfits bundled in their arms.

“How…” Yato started.

“Undetectable Extension Charm,” Hiyori answered before he could ask. Hiyori shifted the bag and clattering could be heard inside, like boxes falling over. She pulled out a long black coat a pulled it on and buttoned it over her dress.

“When did you do this?” Yukine asked. He was already ripping off his tie and dinner jacket, throwing them back to Hiyori who stashed them away.

“This morning when you two went to help set up the wedding,” Hiyori admitted. “I remembered something Yato said when we first got the invitations and… I just got a bad feeling.”

Yato frowned but the words came back quickly – his comment about why Kofuku and Daikoku had kept the wedding secret until the last minute: ‘Don’t want to advertise when and where to kill the Order, do they?’

“I have everything we need,” Hiyori continued. “Clothes, the stuff Tenjin’s left us in his will, the Dark Arts book, your mirror, and Sakura’s wand.”

Hearing the last words, Yato could’ve kissed her. She covered their tracks perfectly. If Deatheaters had raided the Burrow, they wouldn’t have discovered they had been there, nor their mission, and she had remembered the two most important items he had left. If it wasn’t for Hiyori, they would have been sat in London with nothing.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” Yato said.

Hiyori smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

“There’s a café there,” Yukine interrupted. He was pointing at the opposite end of the alley which opened up into a small street. A red neon sign reading ‘OPEN’ was tucked in the window. “We can change in there and work out what to do.”

They trotted up the alley and Yato drew his wand in case something lurked in the darkness, drunk Muggle or worse. They got a curious look from the waitress behind the counter when the three of them piled into the empty café, holding balls of clothes in their arms and what appeared to be a stick in Yato’s hand.

Hiyori politely asked where the bathroom was, and the waitress jutted her head towards two doors on the right-hand side.

Once they had changed and discreetly hidden their clothes inside Hiyori’s purse, they took a booth against the wall, its table sticky with spilled drinks over the years. An old ashtray that seemed cemented to the table along with a basket of condiments gave a nasty smell to the area.

The reality of the attack was sinking in, along with a pit of dread that settled in their stomachs. Yukine was the first to bring it up.

“The others at the wedding – the Order – should we go back?”

“We can’t go back,” Hiyori shook her head. “We don’t know if they’re still there, and even if they aren’t, Kofuku wouldn’t want us to; they came for Yato.”

Silence rippled between them as they thought about what remained of the wedding, who was safe, and brainstormed their next move. The waitress came over to their table, and Hiyori ordered a tea and two coffees. The waitress disappeared behind the counter and back into the kitchen. A second later the coffee machine whirred into life, nearly drowning out their conversation.

“The Leaky Cauldron is close by. We could find out what happened to the Ministry?” Yukine suggested, folding his arms across his chest.

Yato shook his head and dropped his chin in his hands. “I think the glowy ball of light was clear enough. The Sorcerer has taken over the Ministry, just like he wanted.”

The waitress returned with a tray of drinks. The coffee was bitter and gritty, and the teabag had left leaves in the cup, but they couldn’t complain about the price.

The bell above the door chimed and two men – businessmen, by the look of their uniforms – entered the café. They passed by and sat in a booth behind Yukine and Hiyori. Yato watched as they picked up menus and began ordering from the waitress, but his attention was brought back to Hiyori’s and Yukine’s dropped voices.

“We could disapparate and go to the countryside. Let the Order know where we are for a pickup?” Hiyori offered.

“That sounds like the best idea,” Yato agreed. He looked down at the half-drunk drinks, the waitress who had disappeared back into the kitchen and then at Hiyori. “Do you have muggle money to pay for this?”

Hiyori hummed as she swallowed her tepid tea. She put the cup on the saucer with a clatter and reached for her clutch bag. “Sure, I think I have some Muggle money left over.”

The two workmen made identical movements, and without conscious thought, Yato matched their movements. All three of them had their wands drawn and spells leaving their lips.

Yukine lunged across the table, pushing Hiyori down onto the bench. The force of the Deatheater’s spells shattered the tiled wall where her head had just been.

“Stupefy!” Yato cursed.

The first Deatheater, a dark-haired man, was hit directly in the jaw by a bolt of red and collapsed to the floor. The other Deatheater, who Yato recognised from the ambush, aimed at Yukine and Hiyori. He bellowed ‘Expulso!’, but Yukine was quicker on the draw.

“Expelliarmus!” Yukine roared. The Deatheaters wand flicked from his hand but not before the spell darted upwards. The lights above the table exploded in a shower of sparks and cracked plastic and he shielded Hiyori from it with his body.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Hiyori cursed.

A bolt of light shot from her wand and struck the Deatheater in the leg. He became rigid and fell face first in the cracked tiles coffee and plastic shards that littered the near-obliterated café.

Panting, Yato looked to Yukine as he hauled himself up from the bench. Hiyori seemed to have been pushed to the floor as she emerged, hair dishevelled and covered in ashtray dust, from under the table. They surveyed the ruins of the café just as a waitress re-emerged with two saucers and cups. She took one look at the café, the two bodies and the three teenagers, dropped the cups and bolted back into the kitchen.

Yato moved over to the petrified Deatheater and kicked him over with his foot. His eyes darted from Yato to Yukine as they stood above him. With a click, the lights went out, and Hiyori could see the light vanish inside the Deluminator Yukine had pulled from his pocket.

“How do you think they found us?” Yukine asked, far too calmly for what had just happened.

“Don’t know, and I don’t think they’d tell us even when the spells have worn off,” Yato replied. He stared into the man’s eyes but saw no fear – only hatred.

Yukine dropped his voice. “What should we do with them?”

Kill them? Yato thought briefly, but he pushed the idea away quickly. No, they weren’t killers. Yato heard Hiyori take a step in the splintered shards of ceramic, arms wrapped around herself and her wand tight in hand. She looked towards the window, but it seemed no one had heard the commotion.

Yato glared hard at the man before he came to a decision. “Just a memory wipe. If we kill them then they would know that we were here.”

“And the girl?”

Yato shrugged. “She might have left through a back door. The police wouldn’t believe her story either way.”

There was a beat of silence before anyone moved. Yato looked at Hiyori apologetically. It was cruel, but she had the most recent experience with memory charms. “Could you…?”

Hiyori’s mind stuttered for a moment, comprehending what he was asking, before she nodded. She stepped over the broken cups and the Deatheaters arm so that she stood at the top near his head. She aimed her wand downwards and chanted the spell.

“Obliviate.”

Hiyori stepped around to the other Deatheater and repeated the spell as Yato and Yukine set about repairing the café. They heaved the men back into the booth with grunts and swears, but the job was done. When they woke, they would have no recollection of the battle nor seeing them.

“But how could they find us?” Hiyori asked, returning from the kitchen where she had wiped the waitress’s memory. She looked between the two men’s blank expressions. “They couldn’t have used the Trace.”

They had been only apparated less than an hour ago. There were no traces or charms on them, but they had been found instantly. How?

“I don’t know, but we need to get somewhere safe before they can find us again,” Yato replied bitterly.

One safe place came to their minds. One that was invisible to those who didn’t know of its existence. One Yato had been afraid to go back to.

“Grimmauld Place?” Hiyori said tentatively.

Yato nodded. “Time to go home.”

~

Twelve Grimmauld Place grated back into existence. The black door popped and dark windows shivered into place, and then there was silence. 

Hiyori and Yukine stood behind Yato, silent and waiting for him to open the door. They knew how important this moment was. He hadn’t been back to Grimmauld Place, not since Sakura died. The last memory he had in this house was a warm fireplace and sherry and Christmas presents. Now it was an echo of a life he may have known.

Yato took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. The door swung open silently. All the lights were off, as abandoned as it had been for the last decade. Yato’s ears pricked as he tried to listen for Ebisu, or Buckbeak, or Coo Phone, but silence greeted him.

He heard Hiyori’s and Yukine’s soft footsteps behind him as they entered the house and softly closed the door. They stood on the doormat, waiting.

“Where is…” Yato trailed off. Where is everyone? Why is no one here?

The questions never came.

Something shifted at the end of the hall, at the library door. Before any of them could speak, Sakura emerged from the library. She looked just as she did when they reunited, dressed in light clothes that billowed around her, but her hair was loose this time and there was an unnatural shade of grey to her.

“Sakura?” Yato croaked. He felt a hand on his arm and a few words, but it didn’t register. Sakura was here. She was alive. “Sakura-.”

She stepped closer. Yato could see the hollowness of her cheeks, the sunken bones and waxy skin that grew thinner and more translucent as she stepped forward. Yato’s heart stuttered, his mouth hanging open slightly, her name was stolen from his breath.

Sakura threw her arms open and screamed, her face contorted in a battle cry and her eye sockets hollow and black. Her hair streamed out behind her as she glided at the three of them, hands outstretched.

Yato raised his wand but no spell came to him, only the memory that he raised his wand against her before, that he had killed her, and that she would never forgive him no matter what he believed.

The apparition exploded in a cloud of dust as her fingers brushed Yato’s throat. He spluttered and gasped, choking on something he didn’t want to know the origin of, and wiped at his watering eyes. Hiyori had pressed herself in the corner by the door, hands covering her head. Yukine stood beside her, equally shaken as Yato with his wand in hand.

“She’s gone, it was just a trap,” Yukine said.

Hiyori peeled her arms away from her face and looked at Yato. He looked away and up at the staircase.

“She must’ve put some booby traps up for anyone who entered when she wasn’t home,” Yato muttered. He took a decisive step forward, and at the sound of a carpeted floorboard creaking, a shriek erupted from upstairs with a cacophony of thumps and stamping.

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine jumped and closed ranks, wands drawn, as quick footsteps came from the first floor along with some muffled speaking. The squawking stopped, and the house stood silent. They waited, and after a moment a short figure dressed in somewhat nicer rags appeared on the landing.

“Ebisu?”

Yato watched, wide-eyed, as the house-elf came down the last few steps, a hand on the bannister to steady himself. His feet were bare, but his eyes sparkled with what could’ve been mistaken as warmth as he took in the three humans before him.

“Master Yato, you’re home,” Ebisu said. His voice was cracked in places like he had become used to not talking – perhaps he had when his only company was a Hippogriff and a pigeon. His eyes skittered behind Yato, and he inclined slightly at the waist in a bow. “Master Yukine, Miss Hiyori.”

Yato flinched at the formalities; house-elf training that had been engraved in Ebisu and hard to forget even among friends. “Has anyone else been here? Kofuku, the Order?”

Ebisu shook his head, his skin wrinkling in his brow at the question. “No Master. No one has come to this house in over a year.”

Yato winced inwardly. No one had come back to Grimmuald Place since Sakura died, including him. The Order’s headquarters sat abandoned in her death and his desertion, and now in the wake of a direct attack on them.

Yukine opened his mouth to speak, but a loud pop from the living room caught their attention.

“Yato!”

Wands flinched in their hands as Yato cautiously put his head around the door frame. The fireplace had burst into life, flames licking and jumping on the few burnt logs and sending shadows over the darkened room and heavy curtains.

“Yato!”

The voice came again, familiar but relieved as they came into the front room and stood in front of the fire. Ebisu stood a respectful distance out of the way, watching silently. In the flames, they could see Kofuku’s face, shadowed and highlighted by the changing hues of amber and gold. Yato dropped to his knees in front of the fire, his wand on the floor as he leaned in too close to the hearth.

“Kofuku, are you ok?!” Yato asked.

Kofuku’s face showed relief as she nodded. “Yes, we’re fine. The Order fought the Deatheaters off. No losses on our side. Are you three ok?”

“We’re ok, but some Deatheaters tracked us down. We wiped their memories and came straight here.”

“Thank Merlin you’re safe,” Kofuku sighed, but her brow was pinched as she rubbed it. “Did they follow you when you apparated?”

“No,” Hiyori chipped in. She had dropped down beside Yato along with Yukine, leaning into the invisible frame to speak. “Only Yato and Yukine were touching me when we apparated, and they found us about half an hour after we left.”

Kofuku looked over her shoulder, and they could distantly hear Daikoku’s voice saying something. She nodded and turned back.

“I can’t understand how they found you, especially that quickly,” Kofuku said. “You’re sure you weren’t followed?”

“Positive,” Hiyori affirmed.

“Kofuku, what’s happening with the Ministry? Is the Minister actually dead?” Yato said, a note of desperation in his voice.

“It seems that way,” Kofuku said regretfully. “Reports say the Sorcerer has taken the Ministry; Amaterasu’s advisors were traitors from day one.”

The names were distantly familiar, mentioned in the Daily Prophet about a year ago when Amaterasu became Minister of Magic: Mikagami, Mitama, and Mitsuguri. Yato hesitated. The tall man in dark clothes, the one who made them uneasy, who had come to read Tenjin’s will. The one who conveniently kept the Sword of Gryffindor from him.

“Mitsuguri, he’s the one who came to the Burrow,” Yato said slowly.

Madame Kofuku flickered in the flames with a nod. “He must have been sent to case the house; the wedding was the perfect opportunity to attack.”

Yato shuddered inwardly; his comment about Kofuku not wanting to advertise where to kill the Order came true.

“What about the Order? I saw Okuninushi and Kinuha at the wedding-,” Yato started but Kofuku cut him off.

“They’re part of the Order now. We need to unite to fight against the Sorcerer, so we will still be looking for people to join the cause.”

Yato nodded duly, taking it in. That’s why the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students and teachers were at the wedding: for the alliance.

“What’s happening at the Ministry?” Yukine interrupted.

Kofuku juddered in the flames that lapped at her face.

“It's in complete disarray. If the most powerful people were traitors I wouldn’t be surprised if many others were corrupt. If not, they may be Imperioed or coerced into working for the Sorcerer,” Kofuku said.

There was a moment of silence between them, punctuated with cracks and creaks of the firewood.

“For now, stay at Grimmauld Place,” Kofuku broke the silence. “Don’t go outside, I’ll contact you in the morning when I know what's going on.”

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine nodded in response, and Kofuku vanished into the glowing embers.

~

Yato woke up in a mess of blankets that he had taken from his bedroom upstairs. Watery sunlight filtered in between a crack in the curtains they had made to look onto the street for activity, but no one passed the house all night.

They had decided to sleep downstairs so that they would be together and could either protect themselves or make a quick escape through the garden. They’d even slept in their clothes in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

His wand was still in hand across his chest and his other hand lay open on the floor. Above him on the sofa he could just about see Hiyori’s silhouette in the breaking dawn, the steady rise and fall of the blanket around her chest, and the curve of her arm and fingers that were inches from his.

Yato squinted and turned his head on the pillow, seeing Yukine already awake and palming through the Dark Arts book, holding the Deluminator in his hand. The table lamp beside him glowed with a dim yellow light.

“Morning,” Yato said softly.

Yukine looked his way and murmured the greeting in return. He clicked the Delumniator and the lamp turned off.

Yato sat up on his elbows, realising his legs were hopelessly tangled in the sheets. He looked at Hiyori, who was still sleeping and quietly began peeling himself free. “Found anything?”

“Not much,” Yukine shut the book. “There’s not a lot of things that can kill a horcrux besides extremely powerful magic and basilisk venom.”

Yato sighed. They could try magic, but it seemed the best guarantee was the sword. He didn’t have the chance to ask Kofuku if she was returning to Hogwarts, but he could imagine she would be – Sorcerer’s orders, after all. They could only hope that the Sorcerer believed that the Order of the Phoenix had died with Tenjin.

“We should hear from Kofuku soon,” Yukine commented.

Yato mumbled an agreement and looked at Hiyori again. They hadn’t been attacked in the night, which was something at least, but Kofuku’s worry about them being traced back to Grimmauld Place still rang in his head. They could show up at any time.

Yato padded through to the library, his feet tickled by the plush carpets. The bookcase, so very familiar with its books and trinkets, looked down on him. He took a moment to appreciate that he was there in real life, not in a taunting vision as he looked for horcruxes. He knew that two of them were here, and one was still alive.

Yato picked up the goblet and felt the smooth stone of the locket fall into his hand, slightly cold and the chain spilling through his fingers. The familiar call came to him again, begging him to open the stuck clasp, but now Yato knew better than to do what it wanted. He eyed the sapphire goblet but decided to leave the ring; it was dead after all, and no use would come of it.

He slipped it into his pocket and looked at the framed pictures for the last time. His eyes lingered on the original Order of the Phoenix looking back at him hopefully. Tenjin, Kofuku, Daikoku… Sakura.

Yato made a silent promise that he would continue their legacy. That he would defeat the Sorcerer piece by piece until it was just him to kill.

A soft coo came from somewhere downstairs, and Yato stepped out into the hallway. He peaked his head into the dining room where tucked away next to the heavy curtains, was Coo Phone in his battered cage.

The faithful pigeon looked at him curiously as Yato crossed the threshold, stepping lightly and noticing that the families of spiders had moved back into the cabinets and corners. He placed a finger through the wide bars of the cage and smoothed the grey feathers on Coo Phone’s head, murmuring small greetings. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him caged for Merlin-knew how long, but he couldn’t risk using him to deliver messages. Maybe he should set him free, or at least give him a new owner.

Hiyori was awake by the time Yato stepped back into the living room. She was unpacking the clutch bag, comically pulling objects that were far too big from it and placing them on the sofa.

“Tea, Master?”

Yato jumped and spun around. Ebisu stood behind him, quiet and deft on his feet and waiting to serve.

“Yes, thank you,” Yato said slowly.

He watched as Ebisu bowed at the waist again and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He’d never really talked to Ebisu, but he seemed happy to see Yato again, even though he’d practically abandoned him. He couldn’t imagine how lonely he must’ve been in this big empty house when Sakura died.

Yato felt a stab of guilt. He wasn’t family, but he was Sakura’s friend for a long time.

“Yato!” A voice called from behind. Yato jumped and turned, seeing the fireplace had flickered back to life in the form of glowing embers from last night's meeting.

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine knelt in front of the fire once again, hands on knees, as Kofuku came into focus.

“Any news?” Yato asked.

“Unfortunately so,” Kofuku said bitterly. “The Sorcerer has indeed taken full control of the Ministry of Magic, and anyone who defies him faces the Killing Curse.”

There was a hint of sarcastic venom in Kofuku’s voice Kofuku continued. “The Sorcerer has declared that Muggles stole magic from real witches, as found in a ‘new study by the Department of Mysteries’. Henceforth, ‘all Muggleborns are required to register with the Muggleborn Registration Commission, and provide wizarding heritage to prove where their magic came from’.”

Yato, Hiyori, and Yukine exchanged looks.

“Why would he do that?” Yukine asked. “There’s no such thing as pureblood wizards anymore.”

Kofuku shook her head. “The Sorcerer believes there is, as long as the ‘blood-traitors’ of the families are ignored. From the new propaganda the Ministry is spewing out, it looks like he wants to eradicate all Muggleborns from the wizarding world and close us off entirely.”

Kofuku paused before continuing, the silence crackling with tension along with the fire.

“Muggleborns who can’t provide wizarding heritage will be sent to Azkaban, and those who hide them will face the same fate.”

Hiyori froze. She could feel that Yato’s and Yukine’s gaze wanted to look at her, but they didn’t. They looked down at the carpet, fingers itching in the plush threads in uncomfortable silence. They knew just as well as she did what it meant: Hiyori was the first and only witch in her family. There was no magical heritage – not for her.

“What happens if they don’t register?” Yato asked quietly, looking up to meet Kofuku’s sympathetic look.

“They go on the run, or they get snatched,” Kofuku replied.

A dead silence hung in the air, punctuated by the thumping of their hearts and the crackle of splintering logs. Yato felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They could only assume that snatched wizards didn’t end up in Azkaban.

“And what about Hogwarts?” Yukine asked.

Kofuku’s face flickered in the flames in what was a shake of her head. “Oshi will return as headmistress, as decreed by the Ministry of Magic.”

Yato gritted his teeth. Oshi, the witch who had urged Nora to kill Tenjin, would now sit in his office thinking that she had won. There was no way to get the sword back now, not with Deatheaters swarming the place.

“Mandatory attendance from all teachers and students is required, but Hiyori and Yukine have no choice but to stay away,” Kofuku continued. She looked between Hiyori and Yukine, and then at Yato. “If they can get it, they will use anything you care about against you.”

There was another long, dead silence between them. This was no longer a matter of fighting from the safety of Hogwarts, this was them, on their own.

“What’s our next move?” Hiyori asked. “Are you coming here, or should we come back?”

Kofuku shook her head. “If Deatheaters found you that quickly, then you need to stay on the move. We don’t know how they found you, so Grimmauld Place might be compromised.”

“But all the charms and spells-,” Yato argued, but Kofuku cut him off again quickly.

“I’m sorry, Yato, but we can’t risk using Grimmauld Place. This is dark magic, potential that we will never see or use. They could just as well have the house blown to the sky as easily as you can blink.”

Yato shut his mouth. His jaw tightened. He wanted to argue that Grimmauld Place was his home, that it was impenetrable and the best place to hide, just as Sakura did from the Ministry for all those years, but he knew Kofuku was right. They didn’t know the limitations of dark magic, and he wouldn’t let his stubbornness put Hiyori, Yukine and Ebisu in harm's way to find them out.

“Where do we go?” Yukine broke the silence. It was a question that needed answers, but one that couldn’t be given.

“Get the horcrux and leave as soon as you can,” Kofuku said. The flames began to die out, the logs black and shrivelled and smouldering as Kofuku’s face faded from view. “Go anywhere, everywhere, except home.”

The final flames flickered and Kofuku’s voice faded with a wisp of smoke.

“And stay hidden.”

~

“We’ll need enough food for a few weeks. We don’t want to be appearing in every town we stop in,” Hiyori was saying. She had laid out the entire contents of her bag now, and Yato caught sight of Sakura’s wand case on the arm of the sofa.

They couldn’t stay Grimmauld Place. They couldn’t stay in London. They couldn’t go back to Yukine’s, or Hiyori’s. They certainly couldn’t hole up in any of the wizarding inns with Deatheaters and Snatchers on the loose. They had to go off-grid, vanish into thin air where no one could find them.

Hiyori looked at Yato and his attention snapped up to her, thinking he’d missed something she’d said.

“You wouldn’t have a tent and sleeping bags here, would you?” Hiyori repeated.

“I think I saw some in the cupboard under the stairs when we cleaned up…” Yato scratched the back of his head and looked behind at the small wooden door, but Hiyori was already at it and pulling out the contents before he could move.

“Your invisibility cloak is here, isn’t it?” Yukine asked from behind.

Yato turned back to Yukine and dropped his hand. “Yeah.”

“Better bring it.”

Yato and Yukine bundled up the bedding and carried it upstairs. Yukine dumped his and Hiyori’s blankets on a bed on the first floor and came back downstairs, but Yato continued up past Buckbeak’s quiet room and to his own. He pushed the door open and paused.

He hadn’t thought much about it last night, but now it hit him of what could’ve been – hard. He could’ve come back here and lived happily ever after with Sakura, for a time. He could’ve had a proper home and a sister who loved him as much as his friends did.

Yato felt a lump rise in his throat that he swallowed down hard. He dropped the duvet on the bed and crossed to where he had hidden the invisibility cloak. The material sifted through his hands like water, and he thought how easy it would be to just disappear and never be found.

Yato pulled out an old backpack from the bottom of the wardrobe and stuffed the cloak inside along with some of the clothes he’d left behind. He shouldered the bag, took one last look around, and shut the door.

Yato padded down the staircase and heard Buckbeak caw to him. He paused and turned down the hallway.

He gently opened the bedroom door to Buckbeak nuzzling into the crack, forcing the door handle out of Yato’s hand. The room was in disarray: the bed and pillows were torn with feathers littering the floor and the furniture had been knocked over from his frenzy last night. Buckbeak had the good grace not to defecate in the bedroom, which would have only added to the smell.

Yato patted Buckbeak’s feathered head softly, speaking gentle nothings to him. Perhaps he should release him too – a bedroom was no place for a Hippogriff. He thought of the Burrow and its discreet location, the fields that surrounded it and the clear open sky where he could spread his wings. Yato nodded to himself and pushed his forehead to Buckbeak’s.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to stay here anymore,” Yato whispered. He gently stepped back in a bow and closed the door behind him, Buckbeak’s quizzical eyes disappearing.

Yato jogged down another flight of steps and paused again. He looked at the door at end of the hall: Sakura’s room.

He walked to the door, hesitated, and tentatively put a hand on the doorknob. The latch opened with a click and the door swung open. Yato stood looked inside, partially afraid to enter the space where it seemed time had stood still.

The bed, slightly rumpled, was made up in the same sheets Sakura always slept in. Light shone through the open curtains and the waif netting that obscured the neighbour’s dreary back gardens and dilapidated sheds. On the wall opposite was the fireplace, swept free of ash and lacking firewood.

Yato felt a hot lump rise quickly in his throat and tears were already stinging his eyes faster than he could push them down. He sniffed and let out a shuddered breath, wiping at his eyes.

Nothing had changed, nothing was out of place. It didn’t look like Ebisu had cleared the room of any of her belongings – not that there was much to begin with. It would be Yato’s job to go through her possessions if he could bring himself to disturb her room.

His eyes fell on the bedside table and, guiltily, he crossed over to it. He gently slid open the top drawer. Empty. He opened the second drawer, then the third drawer, but there was nothing.

Yato felt a twinge in his heart. Where is the mirror?

The surfaces were clear, and they hadn’t come across it in the house yet. He couldn’t help but feel that wherever she went in the Veil, the mirror went too.

Yato closed the bedroom door with a gentle click and went back downstairs.

Hiyori and Yukine had raided the kitchen for all the camping equipment and non-perishable goods they could carry – which was a lot, thanks to Hiyori’s bag. Yato caught sight of Sakura’s wand case and the Snitch on the sofa. He slid the wand into his backpack alongside his clothes and the cloak and rolled the Snitch in his hand before dropping it into the bag.

He noticed the tea was untouched on its tray, the teapot steaming and the sugar cubes crystalised in their little dish, but they couldn’t afford to hang around.

“Ready?” Yukine asked.

Yato nodded once and led the way out of the living room and to the back door which was hidden beneath the staircase. They stood in the patioed garden and looked at the neighbouring windows, but no one seemed to be watching the strange little group huddled in the morning sunlight.

Yato looked back at the door and saw Ebisu watching them with big green eyes. Yato felt another twinge of guilt to be leaving again so soon, without being able to talk to Ebisu or thank him properly for everything he had done for them.

“Release Coo Phone and Buckbeak, tell them to go to Kofuku’s. And…” Yato shouldered his bag awkwardly. “Stay safe.”

With a touch of a hand, the world faded away.