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deadsetobsessions · 5 months ago

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Sea Cryptic! Danny Pt.9

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.10]

"Fan-sea meeting you here. You must be Phantom!"

Danny slowly turned around, grin blinding. "I shore am. Who's asking?"

Danny knew exactly who was asking. Bludhaven's vigilante, Nightwing. If the giant dark blue bird emblazoned on the front of his suit didn't give it away, the friendly demeanor and the puns would have. Plus, now that Danny's figured out who Tim was, the rest were pretty simple dots to be connected.

"Hi. I'm Nightwing. Thanks for saving Batman."

"I am Phantom. You are welcome. Please lecture him on the necessity of keeping the waters clean."

"Uh, I think he knows," Nightwing grinned. “So, why are you cleaning Gotham’s bay? I heard the Atlantic is nice this time of year.”

“Exactly. This?” Danny flapped a gloved hand around them, specifically at the moldy docks and the paint scraped board. “This is not nice. If it were nice, I wouldn’t need to be cleaning it. Look at that paint! It’s flaking off into the water! Does Gotham not have proper boat maintainance? That’s dangerous for the waters and seafarers!”

“Woah, you know a lot about boats,” Nightwing commented, crossing his arms and leaning back. What the hero didn’t know was that he knew more about boats than Danny did, as Danny’s hyper fixation was more focused on space ships and Dick had education à la maison de Bruce Wayne which usually meant an absurd amount of information for someone who doesn’t actually use boats as a regular mode of transportation.

“Rust! Rust is very much a thing!” Danny ranted, using his ice to scoop up water and using it like a makeshift filter. “It weakens bonds! It’s a tetanus hazard! And oh, don’t even get me started on how you people mutated the ocean life!”

“Mutated ocean life? I’m pretty sure we hadn’t. It’s just a little weird, right?”

Without another word, Danny dove into the weird ecosystem that was the Gotham bay. He came back holding a wriggling green thing the size of a worm.

“Do you know what this is?” Danny demanded. The thing flopped around on his gloved hands.

“A sea monkey?”

“They’re brine shrimp. Brine. Shrimp. Do you know what regular brine shrimp look like???” Danny shoved the thing at Nightwing, who took a step back.

“Not like that?” He replied, a quizzical look on his face.

“No, not like that! What in the ancients is this?!” Danny waved the weird sea brine that had started glowing faintly, like Danny’s natural ectoplasm glow. “Far be it from me of all people to judge evolution but this was all man made!” Danny gently tossed the brine shrimp back into the bay. “Brine shrimp is staple food for the ocean! You’ve got weird brine shrimp? You’ve got weird fish! Why is it impossible for this place to, for even one day, refrain from dumping hazardous chemicals or dead bodies in the water?”

“Ooookay, how about we take a breather?” Nightwing quickly glanced around, trying to find something to change the subject, feeling oddly guilty at the earnest expression on the kid’s face. “Uh, I was actually wondering if you’d swing by the waters near Blüd?”

Danny crossed his arms. “I clean the waters as a past time because you humans don’t know how to keep it clean. I am not a personal, on call, seakeeper.”

“Batman will pay you for your time,” Dick offered. Danny straightened. Amity didn’t actually cost that much to live well, but Gotham was a whole other ball park. The rent might be dirt cheap for a city, but the special pricey little add ons such as gas masks and space level insulation on top of the sky high insurance policies were draining what’s left of his half dead soul. As they say, Danny was a city dweller first and Phantom second.

“How much, when, and I won’t fish up the bodies unless he pays me extra.”

“Four thousand base pay, extra one hundred per identity, fifty for bodies with no shades, and on the weekends.”

Danny straightened as his mother’s steel spine, Jazz’s whip sharp wit, and his own craftiness made their appearance as he bargained. “Five thousand. Rate agreed, but I can only do every other weekends and I’ll have to call out some days.”

“Okay.” Nightwing rocked back on his heels with an affable smile. It’s Bruce’s money and it’s going towards his probable future baby brother, after all, even if said baby brother is a dead immortal Atlantis founder. Or something.

Danny groaned. “You are supposed to bargain back. But I’ll take it.”

“Great! Who do we got tonight?” Nightwing looked down at the plastic/burlap wrapped person Danny dragged onto the shores a bit ago.

“The lake kept the body cold, so it should be preserved adequately if you want to examine him,” Danny tilted his head to the side, the flames of his hair tilting with him. “He said his name is Gorganzo Bean.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a nickname he got for eating a whole can of beans straight.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Any more details?”

“Sure.”

When Danny reached to take the money from Nightwing, he found that the hero had tightened his grip on it.

Danny pointedly dropped his gaze from Nightwing’s face to the money.

“Wait. I- I heard from a source that you could possibly smell souls.”

Danny yanked the cash out of Nightwing’s hand and shoved it into his shoulder. If that didn’t confirm Nightwing’s identity, he doesn’t know what would other than the guy telling Danny who he was. “You’ve been speaking with Danny. Yes, I can.”

“Can you tell what’s wrong with my brother?” Nightwing blurted out.

Danny stared at him, his legs flickering in and out to his tail form. “…Other than dressing in probably leather or Kevlar and going out to beat criminals with his bare hands?”

Nightwing opened and closed his mouth. He coughed awkwardly. “Other than that. Why is he- um, stinky? Soul-wise,” Nightwing added, clearly humoring the tinny little voice at the base of his temples that was an annoyed Red Hood saying that he showered. “He showers often. And is definitely not stinky body odor wise.”

“I am not a doctor. Well, not now anyways,” Danny said, thinking about his future PhD. “But he’s got a… soul infection. His natural immunity- all souls have a natural immunity against regular outside influences- is working hard to repel the equivalence of chronic bronchitis.”

“There’s… no way to help him?”

“I never said that,” Danny tilted his head. “Bring your brother to meet Danny. He could probably handle it.”

“The civilian?”

“His parents hunted my kind, once. He helped protect me and my people. If anyone knows how to cure it, it would be him.”

Phantom could not afford to deal with this right now, because Danny had a presentation tomorrow that he needed to finish.

“Oh. Thank you, Phantom.” Nightwing said, looking relieved and pensive. Danny decided right then and there that was Future Danny’s problem.

Danny nodded distractedly, blinking out.

He blinked back in. Nightwing jerked back. “Do you happen to have any examples of corrupt politicians in Gotham?”

Nightwing blinked before laughing. “It’d probably be easier to name the ones that aren’t.”

“Good to know. Thank you!”

——

A couple of days later, Tim and two older guys ambushed him in the quad.

“Hi! I’m Dick! This is my brother Jason! We’re Tim’s older brothers!”

Danny looked down at his hand- trapped in an overexcited handshake- and back up at Dick.

Whatever expression he was making, it must have been ha-fucking-larious because Tim and Jason burst out into laughter. Danny cursed his past self.

“Yeah?” Danny blinked. Wait. His smile grew and he made a face like he just realized something. “Oh. So you’re Nightwing?”

The laughter cut off.

“Haha, what?”

“Phantom told me you’d be coming but I, uh, thought you’d be in gear. Not… straight up telling me who you are?”

“You’re in regular contact with Phantom?” Tim demanded.

“Yeah, dude. After you- wait, you’re Red Robin!” Danny whispered.

“Oh shit, B’s gonna be pissed,” Jason drawled, looking mildly amused and hiding an extremely cautious, possibly lethal (if it weren’t for the fact that Danny’s pretty much impossible to kill with regular weapons) reaction.

“You’re one to talk. I’d smell your soul no matter what your disguise was.”

“…About that.”

——

You might be wondering: wouldn’t Dick know not to show up in civvies?

Yes. Except for the fact that Tim stalked Danny for weeks after he met Phantom and Danny hadn’t hung out with (himself) at all. They think Danny doesn’t know Phantom well enough to even talk to him much, despite being from the same town because: they’re all big city kids and have never experienced small town solidarity and, more importantly, gossip grapevines + they have no idea these two are the same people.

A deleted scene:

“When did you have time to talk to Phantom?” Tim demanded. Jason nudged Tim. That had hinted too much at what Tim was doing on his off hours and stalking was usually frowned upon.

“When I wasn’t talking to you, duh.”

#danny phantom #batman #dpxdc #dcxdp #Tim Drake #Nightwing #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #bamf danny #red hood #stinky red hood #danny: oh wow they just handed me the perfect excuse #sea cryptic! danny au

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runariya · 2 months ago

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🥸🤫☠️ : JK

He wants something 🤫 as down payment before he lets u inside safe haven (a place where survivors go to seek refuge)

(yandere+smut+apocalypse) part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L, yandere-ish? warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, dark creatures, denied prostitution for safety, Jungkook is whipped from the start so that should suffice for yandere, foul language, smut, oral (f. receiving), squirting, JK comes in his pants, fluff, lmk if I forgot smth (still hate writing warnings) word count: 3.239 (upsiiii)

a/n: I couldn't rly make JK more yandere without it feeling a bit too dub-con, so I hope that's alright 💕 also it's heavily inspired by the trilogy '2033' by Dmitri Gluchowski (and to my Russian readers: Московское метро выглядит так круто на фотографиях в интернете, надеюсь, однажды смогу его посетить☺️)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You’ve been wandering for what feels like years, though it could be months, or perhaps just weeks; time’s an abstract notion now, in this world broken to pieces and baked under a nuclear sun.

With each step you take, the weight of exhaustion and your protective suit presses harder against your bones, but you don’t let it stop you. The world may be a dying beast, choking on its own ash and poison, but you still walk through it, a lone ember that refuses to snuff itself out. The remnants of cities whisper ghost stories to you as you pass, their bones twisted metal and crumbling concrete, charred earth for flesh. The wind sometimes hisses through the ruins, carrying tales of survivors—others like you, fighting, scavenging, enduring—and sometimes it’s silent, as if even the air is holding its breath for fear of what’s out there in the deep silence of the aftermath.

The black creatures—those twisted silhouettes of the apocalypse—roam the earth like shadows unbound from their hosts, moving through the poisoned fog with an unnatural grace that chills your very marrow. They are things of nightmares, remnants of the old world, perhaps, mutated beyond recognition by the fallout or born anew from the hatred that festers in the radioactive soil.

Their eyes, if they have any, are voids, consuming light and hope in equal measure, and their movements are barely perceptible until it’s too late, until they are upon you, whispering your end in a language only the dead would understand. They hunt relentlessly, not for sustenance, not for survival, but as if driven by some primal force deeper than instinct, a desire not just to kill but to erase, to wipe away the last remnants of humanity like dust from the pages of a forgotten book.

And you—battered, exhausted, teetering on the edge of oblivion—cannot rest, not here, not ever, because even in your sleep they find you, crawling into your dreams with their inky tendrils, reminding you that peace is a luxury no longer afforded to the living outside of shelter.

Your gas mask, an old friend now, covers your face like a second skin at this point, the filters clogged and heavy with days of dust, radiation, and fumes. You’ve noticed the way it pulls in air with more effort now, as if it’s trying to remember how to breathe.

You check the filter again. It’s nearly gone, the little red marker ticking closer to empty with every breath you take. You’ll have to find something new soon or you’ll suffocate on the very air that should sustain you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to find shelter. In those early days, the optimism hadn’t yet drained from your veins and the desperation to belong somewhere, anywhere, had clouded your better judgment.

There had been men—those ones with teeth like wolves, eyes like death, always leering, always demanding. You’ve had to pull your knife more than once to remind them that your body isn’t for sale, that safety shouldn’t cost that much. That death, perhaps, is a kinder alternative to what they would have asked of you.

You can still hear their laughter sometimes, echoing in your skull—mocking, cruel. You had fled from them, from their dark gazes and cruel hands, from the taste of fear that licked at your throat when their eyes lingered too long on your body. Better the damnation from outside than their promises of protection.

But today… today you find yourself at the mouth of the metro. The entrance yawns wide like a secret, and the shadow of it draws you in, as though it’s reaching out for you. Your steps falter, but only for a moment—just long enough to recognise the hesitation in your chest, the uncertainty gnawing still on your mind. The thought flickers briefly across your consciousness—what if the people down there are like those others? What if all you find is more violence, more degradation, more proof that humanity has shed its last skin and become nothing more than base instincts and brutality?

But the mask is running low, and you can feel that desperation is creeping back into your bones, burrowing deep. You tighten your grip on the strap of your pack, pushing the fear down, burying it beneath a layer of resolve. You’ve come this far; you won’t turn back now.

The entrance is quiet—eerily so, as you push the tall hermetic door open and step inside, closing it quickly after. You glance around, eyes scanning the wreckage for signs of life. There’s nothing at first, just the silent exhalation of wind and the low hum of the distant, underground world. Then, movement.

You hear him before you see him—a soft shuffling of boots against stone, the faint click of a weapon being cocked. You freeze, instinctively tightening your grip on your knife as he steps into view.

Tall. Taller than most of the men you’ve encountered in these forsaken times. Muscles sculpted from necessity, sinew and strength coiled beneath his clothes like a waiting beast. He’s staring at you through the mask, gun raised, the barrel pointing at your chest. For a second, neither of you move. Then his eyes flicker downward, just for a moment, taking you in, assessing, like all the others. You brace yourself for what’s to come.

But it doesn’t come.

“Take it off,” he commands, voice low, barely more than a growl. His weapon doesn’t waver, and his expression is hidden behind a mask, eyes glinting through the cracked visor.

You hesitate. There’s a moment where you think of running, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s only the metro behind him, and the world ahead, both full of uncertainties, both as equally capable of destroying you. You suck in a breath, let it fill your lungs like a final goodbye to the stale air in the mask, and then you reach up to peel it away from your face, your skin sticking to the rubber for a moment before it falls loose.

The air tastes strange on your lips—metallic, sharp, almost alien after all this time behind the mask. You lift your eyes to his, half-expecting some sort of reaction, maybe disgust, maybe lust. But instead… there’s something different there, something you hadn’t anticipated. His gaze softens, though his grip on the weapon remains steady. He stares at you as though you’re something out of place in this hellscape, something fragile, a curiosity more than a threat. His gun lowers, just slightly, but his eyes don’t leave your face, as he too rids himself of his mask.

He’s younger than you thought. Ink spills across his skin—tattoos that ripple over his arm, dark lines twisting around muscles. You catch a glimpse of two piercings through his lip when he tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out, and then his lips curve, ever so slightly, not quite a smile but not quite hostility either.

“Shelter,” you say, your voice rough, the words like stones scraping against the back of your throat. You cough once, clearing the dust away. “I need shelter.”

He eyes you for a moment longer, his gaze wandering down your frame, but it’s not like before—not like the leering stares of the men who sought to take more than they were willing to give. This is different. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as though the mere fact that you’re still standing here, after all this, after the end of the world, is enough to stir absolute disbelief in him.

“Alright,” he says, after a pause that seems to stretch out longer than it should. “We’ll see.”

He gestures with his head, motioning for you to follow him into the metro. You hesitate for only a heartbeat before stepping forward. The air inside is cooler, the shadows deeper in the few flickering candle lights, and for a moment, you think you can almost breathe easier.

“Wait here,” he says, nodding towards a bench half-buried in dust. “There’s a process. Need to fill out a form.”

You blink. A form? The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—almost. But you’re too tired for laughter, too worn down by the world to even consider the possibility of joy. So, instead, you sit with an exhausted plop. You watch as he disappears for a moment, hear the soft scrape of papers being shuffled, and then he’s back, clipboard in hand, a pencil poised like a weapon in his grip.

He doesn’t sit down. Just stands there, towering over you, his presence impressive but not oppressive. You glance up at him, and there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you feel exposed—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that makes you feel seen for the first time in a long time. It’s unsettling.

He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the clipboard. “Name?”

You give it to him. He writes it down, slow and thoughtful.

“Age?”

Again, you’re honest, coughing right after. He writes again, his eyes lifting to your face between each question as if checking to see if you’re lying, or maybe just to remind himself that you’re real.

“Where did you come from?”

You answer, though the place you once called home feels distant, like something from a dream you can’t quite remember. His pen scratches the paper, and you almost lose yourself in the sound of it, that soft, repetitive scrape, the only noise in the otherwise still part of the metro.

“Any medical conditions? Injuries?”

You shake your head, your body numb to the aches and pains that have become part of you, the exhaustion that’s settled into your bones as permanent as the sorrow for the destroyed outside world.

He writes.

The questions continue. And all the while, his eyes keep returning to you, scanning your face as if he’s trying to commit every line, every shadow, to memory. You can feel his gaze lingering on your skin, not in a way that makes you want to shrink or hide, but in a way that makes you want to ask why he’s looking at you like that, why his lips keep twitching into something that almost resembles a smile, sometimes a pout.

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes writing, his pen stilling against the paper. You think he’s done, that maybe this bizarre interaction will end and you’ll be allowed to rest, to sleep, to breathe for just a moment.

But then he clears his throat again. And this time, when he looks at you, there’s something different in his eyes. Something you can’t quite place.

“There’s one more thing,” he says, and the air between you feels too much like outside, chocking and not fit for you.

You stiffen. You feel that old familiar dread curling up inside your chest again, clawing at your ribs. You’ve been at this stage before, the formality of it, the false promises of security, of kindness. The moment where it all comes crashing down, where the mask slips and you’re left standing there, alone and defenceless against the greed, the hunger that always lurks just beneath the surface of those too desperate to remember what it means to be human.

He sees the shift in you. You know he does. You see it in the way his brow furrows, the way he toys with his lip piercings as though he’s searching for the right words, something to say that won’t make you bolt for the hermetic door. He takes a breath, and for a moment, you think you might run, you think you might grab your mask and take your chances with the toxic air outside because anything—anything—might be better than this.

But then, he speaks.

“I—” His voice falters, and you see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His grip on the clipboard tightens, the knuckles going white. “I want to… I want to eat you out.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. You blink, stunned, and for a moment, you’re not sure you heard him correctly. Did he really just—?

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to process the absurdity of it, the strangeness, the unexpectedness.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, almost pleading. There’s no threat in his posture, no demand. Just… want. Raw and unfiltered. Like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t even be allowed to ask, but he can’t help himself. His breath is shallow, and you can see the way his hands tremble slightly, the tension in his body like he’s bracing for you to reject him, to walk away.

And maybe you should. Maybe you should get up, leave this place, leave him behind, leave all of this strangeness and vulnerability and run back into the wasteland where at least the dangers are known, where the air is poison but the intentions are clear. But instead, you sit there, frozen in place, your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your chest as you look at him.

He’s not like the others. That much you know.

He’s so painfully handsome, a rare sight in this broken world, and it’s been so long—too long—since you’ve felt the heat of another body, since before the fallout turned everything to pure survival.

So, when the chance arises, when you catch the hunger in his dark eyes and feel the thrumming ache in your own bones, you seize it like a lifeline in the endless wasteland. Your fingers tremble as you pull the zip of your protective suit down, the rough fabric parting like a sigh, and you free your legs, peeling it off your lower half. You shift on the bench, boots still clinging to your feet as you raise them to rest beside you, and open yourself to him, your legs spread wide, exposing your cunt like a silent offering, need pulsing through your veins.

Jungkook barely hesitates. The clipboard thrown, clattering to the ground behind him, forgotten, his focus now laser-sharp on the sight before him, his eyes flickering wildly between your face and the growing wetness glistening between your thighs. He steps forward with a pull that feels almost sacred, falling heavily to his knees as if the ground beneath him is the only place he belongs. His warm, calloused hands trace their way up your bare legs, the roughness of his skin sparking something primal under your own.

He leans in close, close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your slick skin. He takes a deep breath, inhaling you, and the word falls from his lips like a prayer, “Fuck,” and then he’s there, tongue pressing into you with a hunger that’s suffocating, lapping at your cunt as if he’s desperate to prove himself worthy of it, as if he knows exactly how lucky he is to be granted this wish.

A moan escapes your throat, unbidden, as his tongue forces its way into the tight heat of your hole, your hand reaching instinctively for his dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as you push your hips into his eager mouth. The sound that rumbles from deep within his chest vibrates against you, a groan of raw pleasure that seems to send waves of newfound pleasure coursing through your body, arousal dripping from you, coating his tongue.

“Taste so good,” he rasps between breaths, his voice rough and broken with want. “Fucking angel sent from heaven.” His gaze flicks upward, catching yours, his eyes wide with disbelief, adoration simmering beneath the surface despite the fact that you’re strangers, despite the fact that the world outside has crumbled to nothing.

You find yourself moving against him, riding the flat of his tongue, his fingers dancing over your clit in a rhythm that feels almost divine. His other hand grips your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh with a kind of desperation, as though he’s terrified that if he lets go, you’ll disappear, that this will vanish like a dream.

“Yes,” you cry out, breathless and shaking, as he finds the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, his mouth and hands working together with an almost agonising precision. And neither of you can tear your eyes away from the other, locked in this frantic, desperate exchange of need and lust and something deeper you can’t yet name.

He gives you everything—every ounce of affection and euphoria you’ve been deprived of for months—and you can feel it in the way his own body trembles, the way his hips move mindlessly against nothing, rutting into the air as though he’s just as desperate to be filled with pleasure as you are.

“I’m close,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair, pulling him harder against you, urging him on, desperate for more, for him to push you over that edge.

And he listens, his tongue working with relentless skill, circling your clit with a pressure so precise it almost drives you mad, and then you feel it—your orgasm tearing through you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, shockwaves rippling through your body as you squirt onto his tongue, something you’ve never done before, the surprise of it lost in the haze of pleasure. Jungkook groans beneath you, greedily lapping up everything you give him, cleaning you with his mouth like he never wants to stop, his hips stuttering forward as he spills into his pants, caught in his own silent climax.

“Fuck…” he moans thickly and long, collapsing against your stomach as your legs tremble and fall to the floor, muscles too weak to hold them up any longer.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the silence between you filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing, the disaster of the world momentarily forgotten. But eventually, he pulls himself together, straightening up with a sheepish grin, adjusting his pants which are now damp with his own release, his expression cringing just slightly.

You quickly dress again, pulling your suit back into place, feeling a flush of heat creeping into your cheeks. There’s an embarrassment there, sure, but not disgust—not even close. If anything, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction, of relief, and you catch yourself hoping this won’t be the last time you see him, that he isn’t bored now that his hunger has been sated.

But as you reach for your pack, Jungkook’s voice breaks through the quiet, and he gestures for you to follow him deeper into the metro, his arm draping casually around your shoulders as if he can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he says, a grin spreading across his face, his eyes bright with something that looks almost like joy—something you haven’t seen in anyone since the fallout. “You can stay with me if you want.”

There’s a pause, your heart skipping a beat at his offer, and you hesitate only for a second before whispering, “I’d like to stay with you, if that’s okay.”

He beams down at you, stars shining in his dark eyes like you haven’t seen in months, and he takes the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Good,” he says softly. “I’d like that too.”

PART 2

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nhaaauyen · 3 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART IV: TONIGHT, I WALK AWAY

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part V

wc: 7.8k cw: violence, angst, major character death author's note: Honestly I'm starting to get why TWD writers do what they do after writing this chapter... I also apologize for taking so long for this chapter, my classes are starting now so updates will be a bit a slower </3 **also some eastereggs but the sonnet 73 quote I have is mentioned in the scene where Grayson talks about love. It's pretty much the translated modern English definition of the quote! The make a wish dialogue is also from the movie Dangerously Yours (1937), that scene always gets me so I had to include it haha

You drift in and out of consciousness, the world around you a hazy blur of pain and disjointed voices. Through the fog, you catch glimpses of three figures engaged in intense discussion.

Sevika's there, her face etched with worry. Beside her stands a tall, bald gaunt man and a mask covering the lower half of his face. His eyes are sunken, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. The third figure is shorter, with slicked-back dark hair and a prominent scar running down one side of his face, his right eye a striking shade of green.

Their voices filter through your muddled thoughts:

"...low on medical supplies for a procedure like this," the masked man says, his voice muffled and clinical. "There's no sure chance she can make it."

"I'll go to the hospital."

"It’s too dangerous." The scarred man's voice is sharp and skeptical.

"We've been low on supplies for too long," Sevika argues. "It's time we do it now. We cannot lose any more people."

Their words fade as you slip back into darkness, only to resurface again as you're being moved. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you're on some kind of gurney, the ceiling passing by overhead. You try to move, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Glancing down, you see your wrists are handcuffed to the sides of the bed.

Panic surges through you as you realize you're being rolled into what looks like a makeshift operating room. The masked man and the scarred one are there, now wearing blood-stained surgical gowns. You try to fight, to call out, but your body won't cooperate.

The scarred man leans over you, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. "It will be over soon," he says, his voice oddly soothing despite the circumstances. Then he's lowering a gas mask over your face, and the world fades to black.

When you wake again, your mind is clearer, though your body feels like it's been run over by a truck. The scarred man is sitting in a chair beside your bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Ah, you're awake," he says, leaning forward. "Good. I was beginning to wonder if we'd miscalculated."

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, raw. He holds up a hand, silencing you.

"No need to strain yourself. I just wanted to... observe you.” He pauses. "It's been a long time since I've had to perform a procedure like that. It’s quite a reminder of what still lurks beyond these walls. How we’ve grown complacent."

Your eyes drift to his face, lingering on the scar that runs down the right side, bisecting his eye. The eye itself is a startling shade of green, almost luminescent against his pale skin. You must have been staring, because the man chuckles, a dry, humorless sound.

"Curious, aren’t you?" A sardonic smile twists his features. "It’s only natural - people always wonder. But few ever ask. It’s a souvenir from when Zaun was still crawling out of the muck. When men I called brothers tried to drag me back down for a piece of land."

His finger traces the scar slowly, almost lovingly. "This... this was their parting gift." He trails off, then continues in a near-whisper. "Have you ever felt pain so exquisite it becomes transcendent? For days, I danced on the knife's edge between genius and madness."

His gaze refocuses on you, sharp and penetrating. "But pain, you see, can be transformative. It stripped away my naivety, my weakness. It forged me into something stronger, something capable of truly leading Zaun."

“I think I understand why Sevika is so fond of you." His lips curl into something that might be a smile but doesn't reach his eyes. "There's something in you, just like her. That part that's willing to sacrifice."

You furrow your brow, confusion, and wariness warring inside you.

"Some sacrifices are necessary to be made. But they're also weaknesses," He stands, smoothing down his shirt. "Something to consider."

With those cryptic words, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You're left alone, your mind racing with questions. Who were those men? What exactly happened to you? And how much time had gone by?

The weight of uncertainty presses down on you, and exhaustion soon follows. Despite your churning thoughts, your eyelids grow heavy, and you drift into an uneasy sleep.

When you wake again, its by the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of a door opening. The haze of sleep still clings to your mind as you slowly become aware of your surroundings.

Sevika enters, holding a plate of food. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

"Hey," she says finally, her voice softer than you've ever heard it.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep a slight tremor from your voice.

Sevika sets the plate on your bedside table, then stands awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with her hands. "Thought you might be hungry," she mumbles.

You nod, a thousand questions bubbling up inside you. Where has she been? Why didn't she visit sooner? What happened after the surgery? But looking at her now, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she holds herself - tense, guarded - you decide those questions can wait.

Instead, you pat the bed beside you. "Sit with me?"

Sevika hesitates for a moment, then complies. As she settles beside you, you feel the warmth of her presence, so familiar yet somehow changed.

"I missed you," you say simply.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before she schools it back to neutrality. "I... I'm glad you're okay," she replies, her voice gruff but sincere.

As you and Sevika sit together, you try to maintain a casual conversation, but there's an undercurrent of tension you can't ignore. Sevika's responses are clipped, her gaze never quite meeting yours. It's like she's looking through you, not at you.

"Hey," you say softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "What's going on?"

She turns slowly, her eyes finally meeting yours. But there’s something different in them, something that makes your heart clench. It’s infuriating, this distance she’s putting between you, this wall she’s building brick by brick.

“Sevika,” you say, trying to break through that wall. “Talk to me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Nothing can happen between us again,” she says, the words falling heavy between you like a death sentence.

You stare at her, disbelief mingling with hurt. “What?”

Her gaze flickers, something like pain flashing in her eyes before she steels herself again. “We can’t do this,” she says, her voice low and strained. “We can’t keep pretending this… whatever this is… can last.”

You feel the ground shift beneath you like the world is falling away, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. “You’re really going to say that after everything?” Your voice cracks, the hurt seeping through despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. “How do you kiss someone, make them believe there’s something real, and then just—throw it away?”

Sevika’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, as if unable to bear the sight of your pain. “You can be mad at me, hate me if you want,” she says. “But it has to be this way.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, your heart breaking with every word. “I’m hurt, Sevika. I’m hurt because I care about you, and you’re pushing me away like none of it matters.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the hum of the machines.

“Then why?” you demand, your voice wavering as you struggle to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

She finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the anguish in her eyes is like a punch to the gut. “Because if I let myself love you,” she says, her voice breaking on the word, “I know we’d never have enough time. ”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the despair that’s been brewing in your chest. “But isn't some time better than none at all? I'd rather have a handful of precious moments with you than spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'” The tears you’ve been holding back now streaming down your face.

“Even if it hurts, even if it's brief – at least it would be real.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression a storm of anger and fear. Her words come out in a rush, like she can't hold them back any longer.

"You don't understand. I was okay before you. I was okay with the idea of dying, of existing day after day without purpose until my time ran out. But now?" Her voice hardens. "Now I'm terrified. I'm not okay with losing you. I'm not okay with the thought that you could walk out that door and never come back."

“I didn't need this. I didn't need you to come along and give me a reason to call this godforsaken place home. I didn't need you to make me want to survive instead of just exist.” She’s practically pleading now. “Don't you see what you've done to me? Needing you means I have something to lose."

The weight of her confession crushes you, the finality of it sinking in. She’s not just pushing you away—she’s tearing herself apart to do it, ripping out the very thing that might make her feel alive, all because she’s so afraid of the pain it could bring.

“I’d shatter every bone in my body again if it meant keeping you safe,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’d do anything for you, Sevika, and it hurts so bad that you won’t let me.”

She turns her head away. “You’re too stubborn,” she whispers, her voice resigned. “You won’t stop, and neither will I, and it’ll kill us both in the end.”

“You look at me like I’m already dead,” you say, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Like I’m a ghost you’ve been carrying around, waiting for the right moment to bury me.”

She flinches, the words cutting deep. “Because that’s what it feels like,” she confesses. “I feel like I’ve already lost you, and it’s killing me. I’d rather lose you now when we still have a chance to walk away than lose you out there, where I can’t protect you.”

The following silence is deafening, the air thick with everything neither of you can bring yourselves to say. You reach out, your hand trembling as you gently caress her cheek, trying to offer comfort in the only way you know how. She leans into your touch for a moment, her eyes closing as if she’s trying to savor it, to hold onto it before it’s gone.

“Are you doing this to protect me, or are you protecting yourself?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline, offering her one last chance to admit the truth.

She opens her eyes, and the pain you see there nearly undoes you. “Both,” she admits. “I’m protecting both of us. I’ll never survive the day I lose you. And I can’t—” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “I can’t live.”

Your heart shatters as the reality of her words sinks in. She’s already decided, already convinced herself that this is the only way to keep you both safe, even if it means tearing herself apart in the process.

“Can I be alone?” you ask, your voice small and broken, the words barely escaping your lips.

Sevika nods, her expression tightening as she takes a step back. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll go.”

She turns to leave, but before she can take another step, you reach out. “Sevika, wait,” you say, your voice filled with desperation. “Can you hand me my bag?”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the bag and then back to you. After a moment, she nods and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments, sending a jolt of longing through you. You rummage through the bag, your heart pounding as you pull out the familiar fabric of her shawl.

You hold it out to her. “This belongs to you.”

Sevika stares at the shawl, her eyes widening as she realizes what it means. For a moment, she just stands there, looking at it like it’s a lifeline she’s too afraid to grasp. Then, she takes it from you.

She looks at you, and in her eyes, you see all the things she wants to say, all the things she’s too scared to admit. And then, without another word, she turns and walks out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the scent of her shawl lingering in the air.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You didn’t accept any visitors for days, under the guise that you were too tired and needed the rest to recover. But as tempting as curling in bed and crying over a woman that you never even had a proper relationship with was, you knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

Blinking, you see a group of people piling into your room.

Vander's deep voice rumbles, "Easy now, let's not overwhelm her."

Caitlyn is standing over you. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Before you can answer, Powder chimes in, "Bet you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Am I right?"

"Something like that," you croak.

Your attention is drawn to the doorway where Grayson stands, little Ren in her arms. The child is clutching Grayson's yellow armband tightly.

Grayson sets Ren down gently. "Go on, little one," she says softly.

Ren doesn't need to be told twice. She rushes to your bedside, her small hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Miss, are you okay?" she asks, her voice shakes slightly. "Will you be like Sevika?"

The innocence in her question tugs at your heart. You reach out, ignoring the twinge of pain from the movement and the mention of Sevika, to pat her hand. "No, darling," you reply softly. "Sevika is unique. I'll be just fine."

Grayson moves closer, her stern expression softening slightly. "That was brave," she says. "But also very idiotic of you."

You frown at the comment, the words too similar to Sevika’s at the prison.

Vander's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "You gave us quite a scare," he says. "But you're tough. You'll pull through."

Caitlyn nods in agreement. "We've managed to replenish some of our medical supplies thanks to the hospital mission." she informs you.

Vi adds with a smirk, "And don't even think about trying to get up and be a hero again anytime soon."

“Yeah… I wouldn’t dream of it,” you respond hoarsely.

Over the next week, your family comes and goes, their visits being the highlight of your monotonous days. Grayson usually stopped by with Ren, the two were closer than you expected but Marcus had flitted in and out of Ren’s life so often that Grayson stepped up as a parental figure. You offered to take care of the kid while you were still bed-bound, and Grayson only reluctantly agreed when you assured her it wouldn’t obstruct your healing process.

You find yourself sitting up in bed, Ren cross-legged beside you. Math worksheets are spread out between you.

"If an apple cost three dollars and you needed to buy five apples, how much would that cost?"

Ren's brow furrows in concentration. "Um... fifteen dollars?"

You beam at her. "That's right! You're getting good at this."

A knock at the door interrupts your math lesson and Vi pokes her head in, her red hair slightly disheveled.

"Hey, time to get moving," she says with a grin.

You turn to Ren, giving her a warm smile. "Let's do this again tomorrow, sweetie?"

Ren nods enthusiastically, gathering her papers. "Alright! Bye-bye, miss! I hope you feel better!"

As Ren scampers out, Vi approaches, offering her arm for support. You wince as you stand, your body still protesting the movement.

“Easy,” she murmurs, her tone softening as she watches your struggle. “Take it slow.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on her voice, on the feel of her arm supporting you. Slowly, you manage a few steps, each one a little less painful than the last.

“How’s it feel?” Vi asks, keeping pace with you, her gaze never leaving your face.

“Like hell,” you admit with a shaky laugh, though there’s a small sense of victory in the simple act of standing on your own two feet again. “But better than yesterday.”

Vi nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Progress,” she says. “You’re getting stronger.”

As you slowly make your way down the hallway, Vi starts chatting about her day. "You wouldn't believe the shit from yesterday. We were chasing some survivors that tried to steal our shit through an alley, and then Sevika shows up out of nowhere and--"

The moment the words are out, Vi winces, realizing her mistake too late. You feel a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of Sevika's name.

"Uh, anyway, we got the guy in the end.” she says.

“She… was?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Vi looks away, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s good,” you say, though the words feel like a lie even as they leave your lips. “It’s good that she caught them.”

Vi nods. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s just… I miss her. It’s stupid, we weren’t anything.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s not stupid.”

There’s a long silence, the kind that’s filled with all the words neither of you know how to say. “If you didn’t have Caitlyn, would you be okay with all of this? Would you be able to live with everything we do?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she considers your words. “Do I have a choice?” she finally says, her voice tinged with a sadness you’ve rarely heard from her. “I have Powder. I have you, Vander… my family. I’d feel incomplete, sure, but I don’t have a choice. I have to keep going.”

“We’ll keep going, together.” She adds.

“Thanks, Vi.” Despite your gratefulness, her words feel like they’re coming from a distance, muffled by the grief you’re still trying to process.

Your family helps you through it all, they talk to you about everything and nothing, filling the silence with stories. The days pass, and slowly, you begin to reclaim small pieces of yourself. You walk more, the physical therapy sessions become less of a struggle and more of a routine.

And each night, when the room is quiet and you’re alone with your thoughts, you think of Sevika. It’s not easy. Some days, the weight of it all feels unbearable, like you’re drowning in a sea of what-ifs and lost chances. But you keep going, step by step, knowing that it’s all you can do.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting session, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts drift. You think about Sevika, about the last time you saw her, the pain in her eyes as she walked away. And you wonder if she feels the same weight, if she’s struggling just as much to move on.

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you imagine her here, standing by your side. And as you drift off to sleep, you could swear you hear her voice, soft and broken, whispering in the dark.

“I failed you.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The pantry is filled with the scent of canned goods and the faint rustle of paper bags. You’re focused on stacking cans of beans when your grip falters, and one slips from your fingers.

Before it can hit the ground, a hand darts out and catches it. You look up to see a man with a cocky grin. He’s tall and lean, with slicked-back hair and piercing teal eyes. You don’t know why, but he looked oddly familiar.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing down here? Are we that understaffed that we’re making the injured work now?”

You snatch the can back from him. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you reply curtly, setting the can back on the shelf, “but I wanted to do this.”

He chuckles, leaning against the shelf with a casual arrogance. “Looks like supplies are running a bit thin,” he comments slyly, his eyes flicking to the half-empty shelves. “Maybe you should take it easy before you use up what little energy we have left.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not interested in your opinion.”

Before he can retort, the door to the pantry swings open with a loud creak, and Sevika steps inside. The air changes instantly when her gaze zeroes in on the man.

“Finn,” she growls. “What are you doing here?”

Finn straightens up and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure our friend here isn’t overworking herself,” he says innocently.

“Get lost,” Sevika snaps. “Now.”

With a lazy shrug, Finn backs off, giving you a final, lingering look before sauntering out of the pantry. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone with Sevika.

Sevika turns to you. “I was told you’re working here again,” she says, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Are you stupid? You’re barely healed.”

You bristle at her tone. "I needed to do something."

"Yeah, like babysitting Ren," she snaps. “Not this.”

"Why does it matter what I do?" you challenge, your voice rising.

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t answer, but then her eyes widen.

“You’re bleeding.”

You blink, confused. “What?”

You look down and see a trickle of blood seeping through the bandages on your side. The pain hits you a second later, sharp and burning, but you grit your teeth, refusing to show weakness in front of her.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “I can bandage it myself.”

But Sevika is already moving toward you, her expression darkening with worry. “You’re not going back to your place like this,” she mutters. “Come on. My place is closer.”

Before you can protest, she’s already scooping you up into her arms. The world blurs around you as she carries you through the streets and you’re too shocked to resist.

When you reach her place, she sets you down on the edge of her bed, her touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before she pulls away.

“Just sit,” she instructs as she moves to grab a first aid kit from a nearby drawer.

“I can do it.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression set in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I have experience with this,” she says quietly. “Let me.”

You watch in silence as she works. Her hands, usually so strong and rough, are gentle as they press a fresh bandage against your skin. There’s a tenderness in the way she handles you, in the way she refuses to meet your gaze as she focuses on the wound, that makes your chest ache.

Finally, Sevika finishes. She stands, the distance between you growing once more as she busies herself with putting away the first aid kit, her movements stiff and mechanical.

“Thanks.” You want to leave, not to be any more inconvenient than you already were but Sevika replies before you can say anything.

“You should rest,” she says, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth that was there just moments ago. “Don’t push yourself like that again.”

You reluctantly agree to stay and the tension in Sevika's shoulders eases slightly. She mumbles something about bringing dinner later and leaves you to rest.

Left alone, you take in your surroundings. The room is sparse, almost impersonal. Unlike the chaos in the other rooms, this space feels hollow. There are no personal belongings, no knick-knacks, nothing to suggest that she even uses this bed. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, existing in a state of perpetual temporariness.

Exhaustion soon overtakes you, and you drift off to sleep. But you soon wake again at the sound of muffled voices. Through the haze of half-consciousness, you hear one of Sevika's people inviting her to a party, but she declines.

"Nah, I'm staying in today," you hear her say.

The voices fade, and you slowly wake up, disoriented. You stumble to the doorway of the living room, blinking sleep from your eyes. Sevika is there, dressed in casual clothes – a grey tank top and worn jeans with her hair down, falling in messy waves around her face. She's cleaning up, a pile of bottles in her arms when she notices you.

"You're awake," she says, startled. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

You shake your head, your voice still rough with sleep. "No, you're good... Do you need help with that?"

"No. Fuck, sit down. What are you doing walking around?"

Still groggy, you comply without argument, sinking into the couch. Sevika dumps the bottles in a bag and turns back to you.

"I'm making dinner," she says, washing her hands at the sink. "You're okay with instant noodles and spam?"

The domesticity of the moment catches you off guard. "Sounds delicious," you manage to say.

Sevika nods and turns to the small kitchenette. You watch her move around the space. It's surreal, seeing her like this – relaxed, casual, making dinner for you both. For a moment, you can almost pretend things are different between you.

Sevika settles on the far arm of the couch next to you, the small distance between you both feeling more like a chasm.

"Chopsticks or fork?" she asks, holding out both options.

"Chopsticks," you reply, and a ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

"Good choice," she murmurs, handing them to you.

You eat in comfortable silence, stealing glances at her when you think she's not looking. When you finish, Sevika collects the empty bowls.

"Want dessert?"

"Sure," you nod, watching as she retrieves an apple from the kitchen.

She settles back on the arm of the couch, peeling the apple with a small knife. "How's the physical therapy going?" Sevika asks, breaking the silence.

You shrug. "It's... going. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless."

She nods, placing slices onto a plate. "That's good. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Says the woman who never knows when to quit," you tease gently.

A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Do as I say, not as I do."

As you reach for the last slice, Sevika’s hand brushes your cheek. You freeze, the touch unexpected, and you look up at her, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.

“There’s an eyelash,” she says softly, her voice gentle as she carefully removes it from your face. She holds it up for you to see, the tiny, delicate lash resting on her fingertip. “Make a wish.”

You stare at the eyelash, your mind racing with all the things you could wish for, should wish for. But the words stick in your throat, and you find yourself frozen, unable to think of anything that could possibly fix what’s been broken.

“Did you wish?”

You shake your head slightly, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile. “I... I didn't get the chance.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing as she studies you. “And there’s something you wish for?”

“Yes,” You hesitate, the words coming slowly, painfully, like pulling them from some deep, hidden place inside you. “I was wishing… that we were two other people. Two people who didn’t have to say goodbye.”

The silence that follows is thick, charged with the tension of emotions neither of you can afford to express. Sevika’s expression tightens, her jaw clenching as she absorbs your words.

“You know, if you say it out loud, it doesn’t come true,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s fighting against the vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you believe that?”

She looks down at the eyelash, still resting on her finger, before blowing it away into the air. Her gaze follows it for a moment before she looks back at you. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unmovable, like a finality neither of you can escape.

“We should sleep,” Sevika says finally. “It’s late.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. There’s nothing more to be said, nothing that can change the way things are.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

Sevika looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, just once, and steps back, letting you go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, your heart heavy as you turn and walk away.

As you reach the end of the hallway, you glance back, just once. Sevika is still standing in the doorway, watching you, her figure framed by the dim light. There’s something in her posture, something in the way she’s holding herself that makes you think she might be wishing too—wishing for something that neither of you can have.

But then she steps back, closing the door behind her, and you’re left standing in the cold, empty hallway, the echoes of what could have been ringing in your ears.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the makeshift shooting range. You and Grayson stand side by side, both of you facing a row of targets at the far end of the field. You’ve been practicing your aim for a while now, but your focus has been off, your shots missing the mark more often than not.

“You haven’t said anything about my shit shot,” you mutter, glancing sideways at Grayson, expecting some form of criticism.

She shrugs, her eyes on the distant targets. "You're injured. Why would I?"

You snort. "Liar. Weeks ago, you'd have torn me apart. What's different now?"

Grayson doesn't answer, instead gesturing to a nearby bench overlooking the community below. You follow her, settling onto the worn wood with a sigh.The elevated view makes the world seem vast and small all at once.

Grayson passes you a canteen, and you take a long drink before speaking again. "You snitched to Sevika about me working."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Snitching? Are we ten?"

"She didn't need to know," you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

"You were going hurt yourself," Grayson says softly. "And you needed to see her. For closure, at least."

You fall silent, not wanting to delve into the complicated mess of emotions surrounding Sevika. Instead, you change the subject. "How's Ren?"

“Ren’s sleeping in today. She’s been up late these past few nights, working on that puzzle I gave her.” Grayson’s face immediately brightens at the mention of Ren.

“She’s got that stubborn streak. Wonder where she gets it.”

“Must be the company she keeps,” Grayson replies, her voice laced with affection. “Marcus is at the walls today, keeping an eye on things. It’s been quiet, for the most part.”

You nod, your gaze drifting back to the field. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” you muse. “Every day is the same. We do the same things, see the same faces… What makes it worth living?”

Grayson leans back on the bench, her eyes scanning the horizon as she considers her answer. “You make your own reasons,” she says finally, her tone thoughtful. “For me, it’s taking care of Ren. Making sure she has something to hold onto, something good in this world.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Grayson is choosing her words carefully. “I never thought of myself as the maternal type,” she continues, sounding almost wistful. “But with Ren… It’s different. She’s taught me more about love than I ever knew. In whatever time I got left here, I want to continue it with her, to see her grow up and prove there’s still something more for us here.”

You feel a pang in your chest, suddenly remembering Sevika and her belief that there would never be enough time for the two of you. But where Grayson found strength in loving deeply despite that, Sevika chose to close herself off, to protect herself from the inevitable pain.

Grayson looks at you, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is to keep loving, even when you know it won’t last. But that’s what makes it worth it. Knowing that you made the most of the time you had, that you loved fully, even if it hurts in the end.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the truth of them resonating with a painful clarity.

“It’s hard,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “When you know it’s not going to last.”

Grayson nods, her expression gentle. “It is. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. You have to find your own reason to keep going, to keep loving, even when it seems like everything is falling apart.”

The conversation settles into a quiet lull, the words lingering between you as the sun dips lower in the sky. You take another sip from the flask, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the ache in your chest.

“You’re always looking out for us, making sure we’re okay.” you say after a moment, your voice tinged with admiration.

“I’m satisfied – knowing that I’ve done what I can to make this place a little better, to take care of the people who matter.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies gently. “We’re all in this together. And besides,” she adds with a small, teasing smile, “someone has to keep you in line.”

You chuckle, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere just a bit.

But the peaceful moment on the hill was brief, the tranquility shattered by the sound of rapid footsteps and panicked crying. You and Grayson turn to see Ren running towards you, her face streaked with tears and her small body shaking with sobs.

Grayson immediately drops to her knees, catching Ren in her arms. "What happened, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice calm but laced with urgency.

Ren tries to speak through her tears, her words coming out in broken gasps. "Daddy said... we were going on a trip... but the monsters... they blocked us and he couldn’t close the gate... now they're coming to get us!"

As if on cue, screams erupt from the direction of the community. You and Grayson exchange a quick glance, both reaching for your weapons without hesitation.

Ren clings to Grayson's yellow armband, her eyes wide with terror. "I want to go with you!" she cries.

Grayson cups Ren's face gently, her voice soft but firm. "Darling, listen to me. I will come back, I promise. But right now, you need to get to safety. Can you be brave for me?"

Ren nods, her lower lip trembling. You know without words what needs to be done - get everyone to safety.

You both sprint down the hill, Grayson carrying Ren. As you near the community, the chaos becomes more apparent. Gunshots ring out, mixing with screams of panic and pain. People are running in all directions, fear etched on their faces.

Vi appears beside you, her red hair wild and her eyes blazing. "We're seriously underarmed right now!" she shouts over the noise. "Sevika's crew is out!"

"We have to make do," you yell back, scanning the area. You spot Caitlyn and a few others on the walls, their snipers picking off threats in the distance.

You, Vi, and the handful of armed residents form a protective line, herding panicked civilians towards their homes. "Get inside! Lock your doors!" you shout, your voice hoarse from the effort.

Children cry for their parents, the elderly struggle to move quickly enough. You see a young mother stumble, her baby wailing in her arms. You rush to her side, helping her to her feet and guiding her to safety.

Everywhere you look, there's movement – people running, fighting, falling.

The air is thick with the stench of death and the deafening cacophony of gunfire. You're shoulder to shoulder with VI, both of you firing relentlessly at the endless wave of walkers. Sweat stings your eyes as you shout, "Vi! On your left!"

She pivots, taking down three walkers in quick succession. But for every one you drop, two more seem to take its place. The situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, and a sinking feeling in your gut tells you you're fighting a losing battle.

But suddenly, powerful headlights cut through the darkness as a convoy of trucks roars onto the scene. Your heart leaps – you'd recognize that cavalry anywhere.

As if materializing from thin air, more trucks appear, effortlessly mowing down walkers and clearing streets. One screeches to a halt in front of you, and then there she is.

A familiar figure vaults from the truck bed – Sevika, her red shawl billowing behind her. She swiftly unslings a shotgun from her back and starts blasting walkers left and right. Her face is composed, every feature carefully controlled, but when her eyes find yours, a fleeting shadow passes over them—a trace of fear and concern.

"You okay?" she shouts over the din, closing the distance between you.

You nod, breathless. "A lot are injured. I don't know, there's too many – I think they're coming from the west gate. Ren said something about Marcus not being able to close it."

Sevika's jaw tightens. She yanks out a radio, barking orders to dispatch teams to the west gate. In seconds, she's handing out weapons, her voice ringing with authority. "Split up! I want a team grabbing as many injured as possible. Anyone bitten, take them out."

As you move to join the fray, Sevika's hand clamps on your arm. "No," she growls. "What the hell are you doing? Get to safety with the others. You're still injured."

"Fine," you concede. "But I'm finding Grayson first."

Sevika gives a curt nod before sprinting back into action. You catch a glimpse of Vi, her red hair unmistakable as she leaps into a truck bed.

You weave through the chaos, dodging walkers and searching for Grayson. Gunfire echoes off buildings, punctuated by the revving of engines and the sounds of walkers being dispatched.

A scream to your left – you spin, firing instinctively. A walker drops, inches from a couple. You quickly wave to them to follow and you sprint to the safe house together. Your leg protests, but adrenaline keeps you moving.

Your heart pounds as you finally spot Grayson, but she's going the opposite direction.

"Grayson!" you shout. "Sevika and her team are here. We need to get everyone to safety!"

She doesn't slow down. "There's someone stuck in a car!"

That's when you see it - a vehicle surrounded by a writhing mass of walkers, their decaying hands clawing at the windows. Inside, you catch a glimpse of a terrified face.

Without hesitation, you sprint after Grayson. The two of you work in tandem, picking off walkers. When you reach the car, Grayson covers you as you wrench the door open. A young boy, no older than seven, practically leaps into her arms.

"We've got to move!" Grayson shouts.

You guys run, the child clinging to her as you lead the way. You’re clearing the path, and you’re halfway to the safehouse when you hear the dreaded click of an empty chamber.

"I'm out!" you yell.

Grayson turns, her eyes flashing with a decision you can see forming before she even speaks. "Take the kid. Go!"

"Wait, we can make it together!"

She shakes her head, placing the boy into your arms. "Sevika's crew is here, remember? I'll be okay. Get everyone to safety!"

Before you can protest, she's shoving you toward safety, using her body as a shield for the child. You run, every step feeling like a betrayal, but knowing you have to trust her.

You make it to a house, handing off the child to waiting arms. Your lungs burn as you gasp for air, eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of Grayson.

Suddenly, Sevika's there, her face smeared with grime and blood but her eyes alight with fierce triumph. "We closed the gate. Got them all."

Relief floods you for a moment, but then reality crashes back. "Wait, where's Grayson?"

Confusion flickers across Sevika's face, but before she can respond, a heart-wrenching wail cuts through the air. You both rush outside, joining a growing crowd.

The scene that greets you turns your blood to ice. Caitlyn is on the ground, her body wracked with sobs. Vi kneels beside her, arms wrapped around her shaking form. "I couldn't save her," Caitlyn chokes out between gasps. "I couldn't shoot them fast enough."

Her sniper lies discarded in the dirt, and that's when you see her. Grayson.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. You stumble forward, unable to process what you're seeing. Grayson, who was just beside you moments ago. Grayson, who sacrificed herself to save a child. Grayson, whose quiet strength held your community together.

She now lies on the ground, her body wracked with violent coughs, blood staining her lips. Her breaths had grown shallow, each one more of a struggle than the last, and when she reached for Sevika’s hand, you knew what she was asking for. Sevika’s fingers trembled as she grasped Grayson’s hand, and when Grayson whispered, “Do it,” you saw a flash of something break inside Sevika.

She obeyed.

The gunshot echoed in your ears, louder than the chaos around you, but it was the sight of Sevika gently closing Grayson’s eyes that broke you. Sevika had always been unbreakable, she seemed immune to the horrors of this world. But as she knelt beside Grayson, you saw the cracks forming. She closed Grayson’s eyes, her hand trembling just for a second before she stood up, towering over the body like a stone sentinel.

You could barely breathe, the grief suffocating you, making it impossible to think about anything other than how many bodies that needs burying tomorrow. How many families would be broken by the news? How many children would cry for family and friends who would never come home?

“Grayson?” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with innocence and confusion. The kid was supposed to be inside the safe house but instead, she stood there, eyes wide and uncomprehending, staring at the lifeless form on the ground. “Why is Grayson sleeping? Tell her to wake up… We won, didn’t we?”

You wanted to tell her something—anything—but the words choked in your throat. Ren dropped to her knees beside Grayson, her tiny hands shaking as they touched the cold, lifeless body.

Sevika finally moved, her expression unreadable, her walls up higher than ever. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Grayson’s yellow band. She knelt down, her massive frame suddenly so small beside Ren, and gently placed the band in the child’s trembling hands.

Ren looked up at Sevika, eyes full of questions. But before anything could be said, Silco emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. He was flanked by his men, their faces grim and cold, and at the center of it all was Marcus.

He was barely recognizable—his face a mangled mess of bruises and blood. He was dragged forward, forced to his knees in the dirt where Grayson had fallen. The sight of him brought Sevika to her feet, her fists clenched tight. You could see the battle raging inside her, the desire to end him right then and there, but she held back.

"Look at him," he began, his tone soft, almost conversational, as if he were discussing something trivial. "A man who betrayed the very community that kept him protected him fed and protected. Who left nothing but the ashes of his own cowardice."

He walked slowly around Marcus, like a predator circling its prey. "This is the price of betrayal, the cost of thinking you can stand in the way of what must be done. You all know him," Silco continued, addressing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the broken man at his feet. "You know his face, his uniform, his lies. But you must also know this: in a world where there are no second chances, there are no second thoughts."

Silco’s voice grew harder, colder, as he leaned down close to Marcus’s ear. "Your cowardice, your betrayal, a mistake that cost how many lives today? And now, you will pay the price for that."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and Marcus’s body shuddered, knowing what was coming. Silco straightened, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to all who would think to cross us, to cross me. There is no forgiveness in this world, only retribution."

You don’t know what happened next, because you’re taking Ren into your arms and you’re moving – away from the crowd, away from the punishment that you know her father will face.

Ren clings to you, burying her face in your chest, and you hold her close, wishing you could shield her from all of this. "What’s happening to Daddy?" she asks, her voice muffled by your shirt. "And Grayson?"

You didn’t have an answer. The only thing you could do was hold her tighter, trying to block out the screams, the fire, the blood.

Time passes, the night dragging on in a blur of grief. Inside the house, the silence was deafening. You had scrubbed the blood from Ren’s skin, but it still lingered in the air, the scent of death refusing to leave. Grayson’s face kept flashing before your eyes, her last breath, her last words, the way her body crumpled in Sevika’s arms.

And now, as you stared out the window, you saw them—Silco’s men, forming a straight, omnious line as they marched out into the night. At the center of it all was a giant wooden cross, and tied to it was Marcus. His head hung low, his body limp, but he was still alive.

Your breath caught in your throat when Sevika looked up at the window. For a moment, your eyes locked, and you saw nothing in her gaze but a cold, empty challenge. The Sevika you knew wasn’t there, but replaced by someone who had buried whatever was left of her soul beneath layers of survival and duty. She turns away, breaking the gaze as she climbed into the backseat of a vehicle. You watch as the trucks disappeared into the night until the only thing you could see was the small form of the cross.

The night presses in around you, heavy with loss, and you wonder if anything would ever feel whole again.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove @pinkyykisses @glass-apothecary

@mulan-but-gay @lesbnrock @hyuckiesoftie

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika imagine #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #grayson arcane #wlw fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #sevika x female reader

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3leafstem · 22 days ago

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Thinking about what kind of tech Jason has in his helmet.

Ignoring the og bomb. For sure he's got voice modulator, which implies some sound proofing so the voice is mostly filtered through the mic, which also implies mics/speakers to pick up sound outside the helmet and filter it in, unless there's much less proofing around the ears, but it would still be muffled.

There's gotta be air filtration. If a toxin is released, he's not gonna take it off to exchange for a gas mask. But I can't recall any canon times he's been seen around a toxin with his helmet (granted I haven't looked), so just gotta assume. This also means the helmet is air tight, some type of latching devices around base.

Comms are a question of are they built into the helmet or separate. If he lost his helmet, it would mean losing his comms too, so I like to think that even if there's comms built in, he has an earpiece at least as a backup just in case.

Then there's the lenses/eyes. They've gotta be lenses rather than holes for the air tight thing, unless it's air tight only around the bottom half of his face. There may be a part inside that juts in to fit snugly over his nose and cheek bones, but that seems unlikely, unnecessary, and uncomfortable.

From here, it's all just speculations and head canons. Are they just lenses? Do they have night vision? Are they opaque on the outside? What other kind of tech could you fit in there? WayneTech, what can you do? I'm sure he'd have more leeway in his helmet than the other bats' lenses do, because he has room for proper wiring, whereas you're working with very limited microtech for dominos.

Speaking of, is he wearing two layers of lenses because of his domino? Can they flick up the lenses, or like slide them up in the dominos if they wanted? I feel like they would have to be malleable for that. Otherwise it's just an all or nothing deal.

Back to Jason, is there a coloured film on the world? Is he seeing the world just extra pale/white because of having two white lenses?

How the hell do one way glass/mirrors work? Can that apply to this situation? Can they be super thin?

I'm so sleep deprived.

#insomnia thoughts #jason todd #red hood #batman #dc #dc comics #waynetech #headcanon #hc #jason todd headcanon #if my logic doesn't make sense it's cause it's stupid early/late at night #and I've slept like #3 hours in the last um. time frame #40+ hours or whatever #I'm not doing math #rambles

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foundfootageromcom · 1 month ago

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Idk who needs to hear this but an N95 is not sufficient PPE for the particulate matter produced by a large chemical plant burning down in one's immediate vicinity & it's irresponsible to suggest folks simply "mask up" in their preexisting covid PPE to protect themselves w/out any additional caveats. To my knowledge nothing short of those respirators w the face shields & P100 cartridges will cut it in the face of chlorine gas like we're seeing in ATL rn — I understand most folks in harms way won't have those things on hand may wear their N95s anyway in hopes that "something is better than nothing" but I think those ppl deserve to know that chlorine gas WILL 100% pass directly through an N95 (or equivalent) & they are not "safer" wearing one, period. It's true an N95 may aid in filtering other unknown particulates during a chemical fire however conflating that potential protection w protection from chlorine gas specifically is, again, irresponsible public health messaging. That being said even w a proper respirator protecting your eyes & airways u can still be exposed through your skin!!!! Staying indoors w windows closed & ventilation systems OFF is the only real protection for those in harms way rn & I hope that info is getting thru to those who need it. There is no cure for chlorine exposure. Do not rely on your N95.

#I'm crossing my fingers we'll find out there's not actually enough chlorine in the air 2 justify specialized PPE btw #there's a good chance most of the haze is other stuff made of larger particles that can be easily filtered!#we just don't know yet #& until we get more comprehensive unbiased info abt wtf that smoke is made of ppl should proceed as if it's all fucking chlorine #just in case #OH & the guy claiming to have measured huge quantities of formaldehyde in the area is total crank thank goodness ignore that #@ the pink brony club

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strljaem · 6 months ago

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“i want my wisdom tooth back”

“ah wah ma wizum toof bah”

It was early Saturday morning, and I was sweating buckets in the passenger seat of Jaemin's car. Jaemin glanced at me as we stopped at a red light, his hand finding mine. "It's gonna be fine," he said, squeezing my hand gently. "You're just having your wisdom teeth out, it's not like they're removing your actual wisdom."

I didn't laugh at his joke, which probably scared him a little, but I was too nervous to even smile. I was about to have two wisdom teeth pulled, and the thought of sharp objects in my mouth was not my idea of a fun weekend. Jaemin drove on, his soothing voice trying to calm me down with stories about the latest drama in his gaming guild. I think he even mentioned something about his cat getting stuck in a shoebox, but I was too focused on the upcoming appointment to really pay attention.

The dentist's office was everything you'd expect: sterile, white, and full of equipment that looked like medieval torture devices. Jaemin led me to the front counter, where a cheerful nurse with glasses perched on her nose asked for my name. I squeaked out my name, and she nodded, telling us to take a seat and wait for my name to be called.

I sat down on a hard plastic chair, clutching Jaemin's hand like it was my only lifeline. He caressed my fingers and smiled at me, his grin warm and reassuring. "You're doing great," he said. "Just remember to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth."

It wasn't long before the doctor called my name. Jaemin and I stood up together, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we walked into the treatment room. The doctor was a tall man with a big smile. He looked at Jaemin and then at me. "Is he your boyfriend?" he asked, grinning.

"Yes," I replied, my voice trembling.

The doctor chuckled and gestured for me to sit in the dentist's chair. "Don't worry, you're in good hands," he said, motioning for me to lean back. The nurse came in, and they began to prepare for the procedure. There was some kind of mask, a lot of beeping equipment, and a tray full of shiny, terrifying tools. I was having second thoughts about this whole thing, but Jaemin was standing right beside me, holding my hand and rubbing small circles on the back of it with his thumb.

The doctor adjusted the mask over my nose and mouth and said, "This is just laughing gas. You'll be asleep for a bit, and when you wake up, it'll all be over." I nodded, trying to stay calm as the gas started to take effect. Jaemin pulled out his phone and started recording, which, looking back, was a little mean, but hey, it's not every day you get to see your significant other on laughing gas.

Everything started to get a little fuzzy, and the last thing I saw before I fell asleep was Jaemin's reassuring smile.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke up, I felt like I was on a cloud made of cotton candy. Jaemin was still there, holding my hand and watching me with a smirk on his face. I tried to sit up, but the room spun, and I fell back into the chair.

"Where am I?" I asked, my voice all slurred and groggy.

Jaemin chuckled. "You're at the dentist. You just had your wisdom teeth out, remember?"

I blinked at him, my eyes heavy and unfocused. "You're so handsome," I said, my voice dreamy and totally without a filter.

The doctor and nurse laughed, and Jaemin just shook his head, his cheeks turning a little red. "Thanks," he said, helping me to sit up carefully. "Let's get you to the car, sleepyhead."

He walked me out to the parking lot, his arm around my waist to keep me steady. I was still in a daze, but at least I had my handsome boyfriend to guide me. He helped me into the car, buckled my seatbelt, and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

"See? That wasn't so bad," he said as he started the car.

I groaned, my mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton balls. "I need a smoothie," I mumbled.

Jaemin grinned. "Smoothie it is," he said, and off we went, my wisdom teeth somewhere in a biohazard bag, but my heart firmly in the hands of the sweetest boyfriend ever.

Jaemin drove carefully out of the parking lot, glancing over at me every few moments to make sure I wasn't about to topple over. My head was lolling a bit, and my cheeks were swollen like a chipmunk's. The gauze in my mouth felt weird, and my brain was still foggy from the anesthesia.

As we turned onto the main road, I suddenly had a thought. It seemed important, like one of those random ideas that feels like a breakthrough even though it's completely silly. I turned to Jaemin, my words garbled and slow because of the gauze.

"I want my wisdom tooth back," I mumbled, trying to sound serious, but it came out more like, "Ah wah ma wizum toof bah."

Jaemin looked at me, puzzled at first, then he burst out laughing. "What?" he asked, shaking his head. "What are you going to do with your wisdom tooth?"

I tried to explain, but the gauze and the anesthetic made everything difficult. "I... I just want it... you know, like a trophy," I slurred, feeling oddly proud of the idea.

Jaemin was still laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'm pretty sure the dentist keeps those," he said, patting my shoulder. "Trust me, you don't want it back."

I groaned, feeling a bit disappointed. "But... but... it's mine," I insisted, though it sounded more like, "Bah... bah... izz mine."

Jaemin just laughed harder, his hand squeezing my shoulder as he drove. "We'll get you a nice smoothie, how about that? It's way better than a bloody tooth."

I grumbled something unintelligible, but even in my dazed state, I could tell his laughter was infectious. The rest of the drive was filled with Jaemin chuckling at my silly, half-conscious remarks about reclaiming my wisdom tooth, while I occasionally moaned in exaggerated despair.

In the end, I might not have gotten my tooth back, but I definitely got the best care and a whole lot of laughter from the sweetest guy I knew. Maybe I'd settle for a smoothie and some ice cream, as long as Jaemin was there to share them with me.

#jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin scenario #na jaemin imagine #jaemin imagine #jaemin ff #nct dream fluff #nct dream imagine #jaemin fluff #nct dream #kpop

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moonlight-prose · 1 year ago

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✧ MORE THAN ENOUGH ✧

a/n: i wrote this at 3am, sleep deprived but somehow still thinking about this man. honestly i fully think my best works come out of the 3am haze. the thots are always around though when it comes to miguel. it's hard to believe kinktober is already almost done. seriously october has gone by so fast i'm actually upset. but nonetheless, the show will go on. so enjoy this filthy miguel fic my darlings.

day eighteen - sex pollen | kinktober 2023

summary: "this life was dangerous enough. neither of you wanted to make it harder by being stupid and falling in love. but that was the worst part. he had fallen long before you ever did. and there was no escaping the grasp you had on his heart."

word count: 2.4k+

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, sex pollen (which means slight dubious consent/dubcon), consent is given, p in v sex, miguel being a tortured soul, angst, the ramblings of an exhausted writer.

The mission was routine. Simply another anomaly that you had to secure before heading back home. Each move, each maneuver was familiar—something your body knew by muscle memory now. You apprehended them, grabbed a meal on the way home, and climbed through your living room window at a quarter past two in the morning. Exhaustion riddled your body when you finally entered your bedroom, the dirty suit you wore now an irritation as you slipped out of it.

Even though you wanted to collapse, give into sleep for as long as possible, you were in desperate need of a shower. With a groan, you headed towards the bathroom, suit discarded on the floor, watch still attached to your wrist. Thankfully it was capable of handling a bit of water in the shower.

Halfway through the mission the villain had sprayed you in the face with a powder. Bright red that covered your suit, mixing with the black fabric and practically disappearing. It wasn’t until you saw a red stream into the water did you remember the pungent floral scent that nearly suffocated you. One single spray and you were brought down to your knees, gasping for breath.

Yet the fact that you were simply able to shake it off made you think nothing of it. Until the water turned warm.

A hot stream from the nozzle soothed your aching muscles, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. You needed it after the night you had. But the heat simply continued to build. Steam rising in the room and clinging to your skin the longer you stood there. Your fingers twitched at your sides, senses ringing loudly in your ears as you tried to figure out what part of your body was going haywire.

Hissing at the burn, you scrambled for the nozzle to turn it cold. Yet even that didn��t cure the painful incapacitating ache that began to overtake you. Turning your legs into jello and sending you to the ground with a hard thump. You gasped, clawing at the walls for some reprieve to get out, but your body had gone limp. The heat now seeping lower, curling around the base of your spine and screaming for something.

Something red flashed on your watch, drawing your attention to it quickly. And it wasn’t until the harsh beep of a call came through did you realize it was your vitals notifying you that something was wrong. Slamming your hand down on the watch, a small form of Miguel popped up. His mask covering his face. Yet even from this angle you could tell he stood rigid and worried.

“Miggy,” you sighed, head falling back against the shower wall.

“Something’s wrong.”

You scoffed, pressing your thighs together at the painful ache that surged through you simply from the sound of his voice. “No shit.”

“Nena,” he warned, the soft whine you let out filtering through the call and grasping his attention.

With a sharp inhale, you dragged your hand up your thigh, feeling the way your body jolted. “The mission went wrong.”

“Explain.”

“There was a fucking powder,” you said, eyes trained on the way he moved in the small hologram. It became clear to you that he was pacing. “A red one.” You gasped softly when your fingers slid along your inner thigh. “I’m burning up.”

He let out a harsh breath. “Your vitals are all over the place.”

“Need help.” Letting your fingers dip even further, you felt the pool of wetness that trickled down your leg, your pussy fluttering around nothing. “‘S hot. Can’t fucking—ah—need you.”

Miguel stiffened, mask vanishing and eyes narrowing as he took in the way your eyes fluttered shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Before you could beg him again—your voice sweet and enticing—he was ending the call with a guttural noise. A portal already opening up beside him seconds later—your window in his sights.

He could feel a weight fall on his shoulders the second he climbed in, swiftly sliding it shut behind him and flipping the lock for an extra measure. It didn’t do much, but it put his mind at ease knowing the safety was set in place. Miguel wasn’t one to drop everything and go, but this was you. The person whose smile was permanently etched into his heart. Who lit up his day by simply starting up a conversation about nothing—your words quickly divulging into a rambling mess.

Yet he listened anyway.

Content to simply hear the sound of your voice.

Ten steps into the apartment he felt it. His senses flying off the charts, your scent filtering through the air, stronger than normal. Two steps away from the door he nearly fell to his knee as he heard you. The utterly obscene echo of your moans muffled through the door—the sound of your fingers plunging into your slick with reckless abandon. His mouth went dry, eyes darkening and claws descending as he softly knocked. He hoped you were still okay enough to acknowledge his presence; to ask him for help.

“Miguel,” you softly whimpered, pain lacing your voice and that’s what had him shoving open the door. His eyes raked down your naked form to check for injuries before settling on your face. Entirely contorted in a mixture of anguish and bliss.

“Amorcito,” he murmured, face softening as a tear streaked down your cheek, hand reaching out for him.

He fell to his knees beside you, gathering you close. It was hard to ignore the way his cock twitched at your moan—your body reacting to his touch without hesitation. As if you were opening up to the underlying feelings you had both shoved down. This life was dangerous enough. Neither of you wanted to make it harder by being stupid and falling in love.

But that was the worst part.

He had fallen long before you ever did. And there was no escaping the grasp you had on his heart.

“What can I do?” he asked, lips brushing against your temple.

The water still thrummed loudly against the shower floor, heat spilling out into the rest of your home. But Miguel didn’t care. Not when you were curling yourself around his body, lips dragging along his neck and hips bucking up into his stomach. You were wanton and needy. Breathy moans and pleas of needing him falling from your lips—eyes glassy with lust.

“It hurts,” you gasped, somehow managing to catch your clit on the bulge of his suit.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he let you work out your needs. Biting down on his bottom lip until copper burst on his tongue while you grinded shamelessly against his body. Your moans being pressed to his neck, fingers digging into his back. It was its own kind of torture. But Miguel refused to take pleasure in the fact that you were in pain. He couldn’t.

Not when your mind was elsewhere.

On his way to the bathroom he spotted your suit on the ground. The red substance clearly marked on the fabric and he made a mental note to take it with him for testing. Whatever the fuck you’d been infected with wasn’t something he wanted out on the streets. Not if it was this painful.

A sharp gasp signaled the end of his sanity. Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth forming an O as your body shuddered. A gush of slick now coating the outside of his suit. His body was screaming at him, fingers digging into your soft skin. For a brief moment he wondered if it was safe to pull away. Simply to regain some control over himself. But then your teeth sunk into his neck, hips moving once more, and Miguel heard the thin strand of his control snap.

With a groan, he pressed you back onto the shower floor, your yelp covered by his mouth. Tongue slipping in to taste you, your moan being swallowed by him licking deeply into you. Hands pulled at his hair, twisting the now soaked locks around your fingers as your legs locked him in place. A gasp echoing in the small space as you pulled away—eyes taking in the way he practically fell apart for you with a single look.

“Please,” you whimpered. “I need you.”

He fumbled with his watch, pressing the buttons needed for his suit to dematerialize, leaving him bare above you. Yet something tight pulled at his chest. A feeling he couldn’t ignore, even as your mouth parted, eyes going wide at the sight of his cock jutting up into his stomach. Miguel wanted to capture that image of you and keep it in his lab. The pure raw desire on your face, blatantly clear for him to see.

“What do you need nena?” he asked, his chest heaving and eyes focused on your face. He hadn’t allowed them to drop ever since he pulled you close, too intent on making sure you were going to live to see tomorrow.

“You.” Your hands slid along his back, pulling him close until your lips brushed against his. “Please. It hurts so fucking bad.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

A soft puff of air washed across his cheek as he guided his cock to your entrance, feeling the way your slick practically poured across his length. Coating him in a shiny layer of you. It made his mouth water, his body calling out to you even as he pressed into you slowly. Biting back a cry at the feeling of you tightly wrapped around his cock. You were warm. So fucking warm Miguel nearly shoved his way in, but he could sense the slight tinge of pain that bloomed across your body. Your face scrunching up as a loud moan echoed in the room.

“So big,” you gasped, hips canting down to let him sink in an inch further. Until his hips were pressed to yours—filling you so much he felt the wires in his brain fry.

“Mierda.” His hand slapped to the floor beside your head, body going taut as his head tilted back, the veins prominent on his skin. “‘M not gonna last bebita.”

You watched transfixed as he finally looked back down at you, his teeth clenched and bared as he slid out of you slowly, only to shove himself back in. Crying out, you dug your nails into his lower back, feeling the muscles contract beneath your fingers as he moved. Thrusting into you swiftly—barely even pulling out.

It scared him how quickly he became addicted to the feel of you. The way you writhed in pleasure beneath him, moaning out a garbled version of his name. He wanted to bury himself in your chest. To make a home in your heart without any promise of leaving, but he’d settle for this. The heat of your body against his, your eyes rolling back as his cock kissed right where you needed him most.

“Eres mía,” he gasped, sliding his hand up your back and lifting you slightly. He fucked you deep, feeling the way your body trembled beneath his touch, breaths erratic and filled with high pitched whines. “Never fucking leaving this.”

You cried out, your walls clamping down around his cock and dragging a low grunt from his chest. “I-I don’t want you to.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, hips stuttering when your nails dug into his skin, no doubt leaving a mark—or so he hoped. “Yeah?” He shifted the angle, pounding down into you and dragging a sob from your chest. “You want me to stay nena? Fuck you full of me?”

Your walls tightened even further, head falling back as he did what he could to shove you towards what you needed most. What would finally put your body at ease. Tears dripped into your hair, the heat practically radiating off your body and seeping into his. And with one final deep grind of his hips against yours, you broke. Sobbed his name so loud for the entire apartment complex to hear as you soaked his cock.

Miguel nearly dropped you to the ground, his body giving out at the feeling of you dragging him in so tight he never wanted to leave. White flashed behind his eyes, the breath now stolen from his lungs, as he came so hard he nearly collapsed. Catching your lips in a messy kiss, he cried out, spurting into you until he nearly spilled out. Filling you so full you were sure to feel him for days.

With a gasp, your release finally came to an end, body going limp in his hold. He was soaked from the water—now cold—that still echoed thunderously in the bathroom. With a shaky hand he reached out and switched the knob off. Panting into your mouth as he attempted to regain some of his strength.

“Miguel,” you sighed, hands sliding along his sides.

He grunted, lifting himself up with effort. “Let me get you up, amorcita.”

You shook your head, a whine leaving your lips and legs crossing over his back, effectively shoving him back down over you. “Don’t. Please.”

“I have to. The substance is out of your system.” As much as he wanted to give in to those feelings, to stay right there on the floor with you, he knew this was fleeting. Something to help you when you couldn’t help yourself. Because Miguel knew he would always be there when you needed him.

But then your lips met his once more, hands tangling in his hair. “I meant what I said Miggy.”

“It was—”

“Not entirely the powder,” you said, pressing your thumb to his lips. “I care about you Miguel. More than I probably should.”

That weight from earlier slid off his chest and he swore he could hear it crash to the floor. Shattering on contact. Crimson eyes met yours, an emotion flickering in them so prominent it tore at your heart—forcing your feelings to the very forefront of your body. There was no turning back after this. No possibility where your emotions didn’t clash with reality—intertwining dangerously with the role you were given.

But that was the thing when it came to him.

You wanted the danger. You wanted him in whatever form you could get. Even if it was in fleeting moments like this.

“I know our life is dangerous, but I want…” You sighed, your head falling to the ground with a soft thud. “I want you.”

“Amorcita…”

“If that’s what you want too.”

He smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours, hands sliding along your sides. “More than you know,” he murmured, settling his body over yours completely, finally giving into the feelings that clawed at his chest.

Content to remain right there with you.

For as long as you wanted.

#miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #my writing #kinktober 2023

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turonzamin · 2 years ago

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gassywill · 1 year ago

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Camping Fart Slave Training - Part 1

I didn't want to go camping with Joeseph due to not wanting to be in an enclosed space with him for an extended period of time.

We had been friends since school, always around at each other's houses but recently Joeseph started to enjoy teasing me by being gross, farting around or sometimes on me, burping constantly and sometimes making me wake up with his shoe tied to my face.

However, nothing could prepare me for this.

I arrived at the campsite Joeseph stood there, his blonde scruffy hair blowing in the wind and his silky tracksuit bottoms and the tent that didn't look too big.

As I approached I could see the campfire on with a disposable BBQ cooking some burgers and sausages. I went into the tent and set up my side, there wasn't much room in the tent however as I moved something fell out of Joeseph's bag, what looked like a gas mask from the war...

"Mate what the f**k is this?" holding the gas mask in the air, "Oh that's for later don't stress man food ready" Joeseph replied with a beaming smile on his face.

Confused I finished getting sorted and headed out.

It was cold outside so we just sat and quickly ate, the food was lush. Unfortunately, the quiet location wed chosen was ruined by a large rumble in Joesephs belly then a huge fart erupting out of his ass.

He laughed as I companies about the smell, even outside it was putrid. "Don't do that in the tent man we will both die" smiling Joeseph responded, "Oh don't worry I have a solution for that".

I just laughed it off, we chatted some more but then it was too cold to stay out so I headed to the toilet while Joeseph got sorted.

I entered the tent to Joeseph topless, with his tracksuit bottoms still on and no socks, he was laying on top of his sleeping bag and was stroking his dick.

I laid down in my sleeping bag and zipped it up, shortly after a smell started to fill the whole tent, a rancid eggy smell from Joeseph ass.

"F**k man that's rank, you said you weren't gonna do this," I said while choking on the putrid smell that had filled our small tent.

At that very moment Joeseph sat on my chest, looking down at me he smiled and said "Ah yes the solution" he grabbed the gas mask I had seen before holding it up and inspecting it "You see, I want a fart slave full time as my gas has been getting so bad. So I thought you'd make a good candidate"

I started to struggle in the sleeping bag "Mate what?!? Please don't I can't take this anymore" As I finished that sentence Joeseph gagged me with one of his dirty socks. Ensuring I could no longer speak.

He placed the gas mask over my face, making sure it was airtight. He placed his hand over the filter of the gas making me squirm as I couldn't breathe and released it once I reacted "Ah good, no escape".

He then attached a specially fitted hose to the gas mask testing that the same way to ensure it was airtight. He then got off me, on his knees he turned round to show me a zip on the back of his tracksuit bottoms. He unzipped it and attached the other end of the hose to a specially fitted attachment.

The foul smell of his ass shot down the hose and into the mask, filling it within seconds of his musty ass smell.

He then got out some tape and taped it around my sleeping bag meaning I couldn't get out of it, secured into it and secured to his ass. I couldn't even move my hands out of the bag because of his tape.

"Ok, fart sniffer here is what's gonna happen, when we leave this campsite your gonna be under my control forever. You'll want to do nothing but inhale my gas". He said as he stroked my dick.

I thought to myself that it won't happen, how could I love and beg for his farts when they were so disgusting and made me feel ill.

"What I am going to do is make sure that every time I fart I stroke your dick, I want you to think of the pleasure you get down there every time I fart. I am going to make you cum from my gas"

I squirmed again and once tried to reason in my head what was happening. Then it his me, the foul stench, he had farted

I began to squirm from the stench that had begun to fill the mask until the hose started to vibrate and then the sound came to PPFFFRRRTTTTRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Oh fuck that felt good," Joespeh said as he laughed loudly "How was that fart sniffer," he said while stoking my dick which was soft.

I was squirming around, the tent shaking. Joseph laughed as he released silent farts continuously into the mask. This was hell.

#gassy farts #gay farts #male farts #fart story #gassy boy #gasmaskfart

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dairy-farmer · 1 month ago

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Reverse Robins Damitim (this one is romantic as opposed to sexy. Although it could definitely get sexy afterwards 😘)

Damian was in love with his younger brother/father's ward Timothy. At first he had been angry and unsure when his father agreed to take it in the neighbor boy after the horrific accident that killed his mother and injured his father - partly because he was worried about losing his father's regard, also partly because Tim basically blackmailed them with his knowledge of Batman so that he wouldn't go into the foster system.

But those feelings went away pretty quickly as he got to know young Timothy. He was sweet and intelligent and clever and so hard working it was hard not to love him. And then he started to get older and Damian realized he was also beautiful. But of course Damian couldn't do anything about these feelings: Damian was a full grown adult and Tim wasn't even 15 yet, and Damian was supposed to care for and protect him, not take advantage of him. It doesn't matter if he swore he saw love and Timothy's eyes or that he sometimes blushed when he saw Damian shirtless.

...And then Jack Drake wakes up from his coma and takes Tim away. Drake industries was in some trouble what was the coma and everything, so Jack makes the insane and suicidal decision to work with the Joker. Joker had been all 'Batsy has a son and sidekick, so why should I?!?" Jack, give me your son. Also I'm going to shoot you dead just for the LOLs!

Tim is put through torture and conditioning and druggings in order to turn him into Joker Junior. Batman and Nightwing are caught and brought to Joker on the top of a partially constructed building. Joker orders Tim to shoot Batman but Tim kills the Joker instead and takes the bomb (because of course there's a bomb) and jumps with it down an elevator shaft, dying from combination fall and exploding, while sparing Bruce and Damian. Both are obviously distraught. Because of Jack's actions, even though Tim wasn't officially adopted, he gets buried in the Wayne plot with Thomas and Martha and their ancestors.

A few years pass and Bruce meets a little tire thief who manages to make him laugh for the first time in what feels like forever. He adopts Jason and eventually makes him the third Shrike (Damien definitely wouldn't have chosen 'Robin' or 'Batboy' as his name, because he'd want something cooler). And then? News of the new crime lord/antihero/vigilante(?) in Gotham: Phoenix (I don't think this Tim would want to be connected to Joker again, and a phoenix is a bird and something that can come back to life and they're related to fire like dragons (Drake)(Yes, I do feel clever ☺️)).

There is something disconcerting about Phoenix. There's just something so oddly familiar about them, but no one can quite place it. And then he ends up saving Jason. Phoenix wears a combination of gas mask/face filter and domino mask (like the current Red Hood outfit), and the eye mask gets damaged enough that Jason sees that Phoenix's eyes look the same shade of green that people who come into contact with the Lazarus pit usually end up with.

Damian starts gathering evidence, putting pieces together, and eventually just straight up marching into Nanda Parbat and yelling at his Mother and Grandfather until he gets his answers. He rushes back to Gotham and shares what he learned: Phoenix is Timothy.

Now that they know at least some of what happened, they are all determined to find him and bring him back home. It takes a while, a lot of hard work, and no small amount of luck but eventually they managed to corner him. Damian takes point, and approaches the restrained Phoenix. He gets the mask and filter off, and there is Tim. Older, with Lazarus green eyes, almost impossibly pale skin, and faint, barely noticeable scars extending from each corner of his mouth, but it's definitely him.

There's a moment of silence while the Bats process the fact that it really is him, and maybe Tim takes the silence the wrong way and snarkily asks Damian "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. Is this face too repulsive for you?"

Damian gently holds Tim's face in his hands, presses a gentle, tender kiss to his forehead, and whispers "You are as beautiful as the day I lost you."

Needless to say, that pretty much takes all the wind out of Tim's sails and destroys all his worries about being rejected or hated or forgotten after how things ended. Bruce is obviously not a fan of the killing and stuff, but figures they can work on it (it's not like he doesn't have practice deprogramming League Assassins). Jason is also so excited to meet his other big brother: He's heard so many things about Tim, and Tim also rescued him that time!

There are lots of conversations between Bruce and Tim, and Tim and Damian; there are so many old fears, guilt, and miscommunications that need to be dealt with. And Damian barely lasts a week before dragging Tim somewhere private and finally confessing to the feelings he's held onto all these years: he refuses to be a coward anymore, he already lost Tim once without the chance to confess his love. He refuses to do it again. It's definitely a good thing he does, because Tim had been worried that Damian had simply meant everything he said in a platonic way and he had just been reading too much into it. Tim confesses back, and they share a long, slow kiss and gentle embrace that seems to last for hours.

Things are quiet, calm, and fairly happy in the family for a while... And then they all go to the circus.

~❤️🦇

(And yes, this is based on that scene from How to train your dragon 2)

reverse robins is sometimes too much for my tim-loving self😭😭😭 but that ending!! things are finally getting better, the family is tentatively together and damian is not letting fear hold him back from telling and showing tim exactly what he means. the circus comes to town and they just want to go out together as a family, it had been tim's idea to go. both damian and bruce were hesitant because circus meant clowns and tim's issues with the joker are...complex. not to mention that tim's path to healing isn't linear- he hasn't lived life outside a mask in years and with his very prominent and visible facial scars...more than one small child has startled and started crying at the sight of him and it hurt them to see how tim would recede into himself when that happened.

so tim asking to go out as a family, to go somewhere public, somewhere happy but where there will be clows? they're worried but they don't want to make tim feel worse so they go. they buy tickets and cotton candy, they go to their seats, and they watch a family die and leave their son orphaned.

and its a hard night.

damian and bruce and jason get to work but tim- tim stays in the circus. he stays and waits with little dick grayson until the paramedics arrive and the police swarm the scene.

and dick clings to tim, sobbing desperately and whimpering and even days later when dick is in the manor with them, because tim had refused to let social services shuffle him to juvie because the foster homes and orphanages had been to capacity, he still clings to tim.

he doesn't run at the sight of him, isn't frightened of tim or his face and too pale appearance.

dick is a deeply sad little boy and tim is a deeply pained individual but they connect. and tim is made a little bit more whole with dick around.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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anonymous-dentist · 26 days ago

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Bleeding Heart Part Three

Part One | Previous Part

Cellbit leaves his apartment an hour after midnight, hoping to make a bad impression. He's going to be late. He's going to be rude. He's going to be annoying. He's going to be the worst person that Hombre Misterioso has ever met, and he is going to make them hate him and never want to associate with him again.

The aquarium is clear across the city from Cellbit's apartment, and the busses don't run this late at night (especially not in the Favela.)

So, naturally, Cellbit skateboards, and he ignores the car following him the whole way there.

He has had just under a week to plan out exactly how this meeting is going to go. And he's sure that it's going to be the worst meeting ever. Of all time.

After a solid hour and a half of skating, he finds himself in front of the aquarium's main entrance holding his skateboard and trying not to pass out because, wow, he's out of shape. Fuck.

(The car pulls into the parking lot and idles under a broken streetlight. Inside, the driver reaches into the passenger seat and opens a backpack.)

Doubled over and struggling for breath, legs sore and shaking like jelly, Cellbit looks up at the two ceramic dolphin statues flanking the aquarium's doors. The lights at their bases paints them a bright pink, and Cellbit kind of fucking hates them, actually. (Bad memories.)

He's two and a half hours late, so he takes his time picking up his skateboard and tucking it under his arm. He takes even longer to pull out his phone and text his accomplice the first code phrase of the night:

'I'm awake.'

A few seconds later, the aquarium's doors audibly click themselves unlocked, and the security cameras hidden in the dolphins' eyes go a bit fuzzy. Their video feed will already have been looping footage from eleven p.m., but now they're also looping audio. (Or something, Cellbit never was the security guy of the team.)

With a sigh, Cellbit brushes a chunk of hair out of his eyes and behind his ear, and he enters the aquarium.

Tonight, nothing is going to happen. He's decided this. Whatever deal Hombre Misterioso wants to make with him won't happen. Nothing will happen.

Cellbit walks past the first coral reef of the building. The tank's lights are off, so he can't see the fish inside. But the emergency exit sign by the nearby bathrooms light the whole room a vibrant (beautiful) red.

Nothing will happen.

Hombre Misterioso hadn't told Cellbit where exactly in the aquarium to meet them, so he's stuck going through each and every room in order looking for them. Which. Sucks.

Even his accomplice in the car hadn't been able to find Hombre Misterioso on any of the cameras on the way to the aquarium; he'd apologized even as Cellbit asked him why he was hacking and driving at the same time, Really? That's the kind of example you're setting here? Being reckless? What'll Richarlyson think?

So Cellbit goes through the first coral reef. He passes the penguins. He walks past the freshwater fish.

...He pauses in front of the tank full of piranhas. Pygocentrus nattereri, the red-bellied piranha.

He looks at the sleeping fish. The tank is dark enough that he can see himself in its reflection, and he does not like what he sees.

His phone buzzes in his pocket:

'Isn't he cute??? 🥰😭'

And then there's a picture of Richarlyson asleep in the car's back seat snuggled up against a huge Pikachu Squishmallow and wearing one of Pac's hoodies and using it as a blanket.

Despite himself, Cellbit smiles.

His smile freezes as a gust of cold wind brushes against the back of his neck.

He spins around, phone buzzing with picture after picture after picture being uploaded to the family group chat. And he finds himself inches away from Hombre Misterioso's face.

"You're late," they plainly say.

They're so close to Cellbit that he can actually feel the faint exhales through the gas mask's filter. But, despite the proximity, he can't see their eyes. It's too dark, and the glass is too thick.

Silently, Cellbit turns his phone off with a press of the button. He slides it into his back pocket.

Hombre Misterioso's head tilts curiously to the left. "You aren't wearing a mask."

Cellbit shrugs, crossing his arms. "Figured there wasn't a point. What do you want."

It isn't a question. Cellbit already knows what they want. He's just being polite.

Hombre Misterioso doesn't move.

Cellbit blinks, and then they're crouched in front of the piranha tank poking a gloved finger against the glass repeatedly.

"-name was originally supposed to be 'Piranha'," they say, apparently in the middle of a sentence that Cellbit didn't get to hear the first part of, "but you said that that's actually some sort of slang in Brazil."

Cellbit's mind races, what? When did he...

Oh.

Cellbit snorts humorlessly. "Never let journalists name you. The Demon learned the hard way, he wanted to be called 'the Muffin Man'."

"That's terrible," Hombre Misterioso comments. They stand and turn to face Cellbit again. "I learned from you. I gave the police my name, just like you did."

"Yeah, because you're stupid," Cellbit snaps. "Why would you even contact the police?"

"Because they're stupid. They really thought that I was you."

Cellbit can practically hear their offended eye roll; he doesn't know whether he should be offended or not. No, right?

Whatever.

"Still stupid," he huffs. He can feel his phone blowing up with texts in his pocket. What is Pac doing?

Hombre Misterioso's head tilts again. This time, their entire body tilts with them as if they're trying to get a look at Cellbit's back.

"You were late," they say, "and you're communicating with someone."

They finally notice his skateboard, and they visibly double-take.

"Did you skateboard here?" they ask, looking back up at him.

Cellbit ignores them. This is a bad meeting, and nothing will happen.

"Whatever you're doing with the Federation, you should just give up," he tells them. His mouth tastes sour just from the insinuation that he's on the Federation's side, but it's fine. It's part of the plan.

Judging by the way Hombre Misterioso's shoulders tense, the plan is working.

Cellbit bites back a smirk and continues, pacing away from them and heading further into the aquarium: "It isn't worth it. They're too strong."

He turns the corner towards the manta rays, and Hombre Misterioso is by the touch tank. Waiting.

"What are you talking about?" they quietly ask, and, wow, even their voice modulator sounds offended. Perfect.

Cellbit just shrugs. "I retired for a reason, man. It's pointless to even try."

Hombre Misterioso's fists curl at their sides. "Right."

"I'm telling the truth! After Sharkboy fought me that day, I realized that there was no point in continuing to fight the Federation."

He walks calmly past Hombre Misterioso and the rays. (He makes a mental note to bring Bagi here one day soon; they can make up for lost time.)

"Enigma-"

"Enigma is dead!" Cellbit snaps. (Rude, irritable, annoying-)

He's walking into the next room as his phone actually rings.

Oh, no.

Hombre Misterioso can fuck themselves, if Cellbit's accomplice is calling, then something has gone terribly wrong.

In a flash, he has his phone out, and he has it to his ear.

"What?" he demands in Portuguese (can't take any risks...)

"I'm so sorry," Pac breathes, "I tried to stop him, but-"

Cellbit freezes. "Stop who? What happened?"

"Thank goodness the cameras are still hacked, Bagi would kill us if she got this footage..."

Ignoring Hombre Misterioso's still form in the other room, Cellbit leans against the big open doorway and puts his face in one hand with a groan.

"Calm down," he says. "Just tell me what happened. Do I-"

He's cut off mid-sentence as he hears a very familiar voice shout from the piranha room, "Stop, villain!"

And then he's dropping his phone to the floor and booking it across the room. Fuck Hombre Misterioso, fuck Hombre Misterioso, fuck the plan, fuck, fuck-!

Hombre Misterioso is still by the tank.

And then they aren't. They're running towards the door to the piranha room with their sword drawn.

And a bunch of piranhas with legs are running out of the piranha room and right towards Hombre Misterioso.

Cellbit grins proudly despite the whole Thing going on. That's his kid!

His face pales. That's his kid.

"What the fuck is this?" Hombre Misterioso demands, swinging their sword at the piranhas.

Cellbit answers by pulling out his skateboard from under his arm and swinging it right at their big stupid head. It CRACK!s against their skull and splits right down the middle, sending them staggering forward right into a piranha's jaws.

Suddenly, the aquarium's lights all turn on. That'll be Pac, then. But... why? What the fuck are the lights going to do?

Abandoning his skateboard, Cellbit runs past a very angry Hombre Misterioso and into the piranha room.

Richarlyson, standing by the tank holding his iPad, grins and waves with one hand.

"You," Cellbit hisses, running forward and scooping his son into his arms, "are so grounded."

Over Cellbit's shoulder, Richarlyson continues drawing more piranhas on his tablet. More fizzle into existence around the two of them and charge towards Hombre Misterioso.

Entirely unconcerned, Richarlyson shrugs and says, "They put you in the hospital. Fuck them."

"You were supposed to stay in the car!"

"You really thought I was gonna do that?"

Cellbit groans, "He said he was going to have you under control!"

"Get a babysitter next time. I want Uncle Bad."

"Do you know how late it is?"

"Uh, yeah. Uncle Bad lets me stay up this late all the time."

"Then Uncle Bad is grounded, too," Cellbit declares.

He manages to take one step with Richarlyson in his arms before he's being choked from behind by two very strong hands.

"Leaving so soon?" Hombre Misterioso taunts. "We haven't even gotten acquainted yet!"

Richarlyson gasps and squirms, trying to get free, but there's no way Cellbit is letting him loose in a room with a supervillain. What kind of parent would he be if he did that?

But. But he can't breathe.

(But he can smell blood.)

"Now," Hombre Misterioso muses, leaning in close, so close that Cellbit can feel their voice rumble down the length of his spine, "who do we have here?"

Frantically, Cellbit's eyes flick towards the room's security camera. Pac, hello? Fucking hello?

Richarlyson responds by smashing his iPad into Hombre Misterioso's face.

They shout in alarm and recoil, hands momentarily lifting from off of Cellbit's neck.

But that moment is all Cellbit needs.

He spins and takes off in the opposite direction from the entrance. It'll loop around eventually, he knows it.

As he brushes past Hombre Misterioso, he subtly extends a hand towards their body, and then he closes said hand into a fist. He runs, and he gets farther away, and he pulls, and-

And Hombre Misterioso is in front of him with their sword pointed directly at his chest- at Richarlyson's back.

At Richarlyson's back.

Cellbit skids to a stop. He takes a step backwards.

Hombre Misterioso follows him, step for step, inch for inch, head slowly cocking to the side with every passing second.

"I see," they lowly say.

They laugh, slowly. Deliberately. "Hah. Hah. Hah."

Teeth grit, Cellbit adjusts his hold on his son- one-handed.

(He can smell blood.)

He whispers, "Be ready to run back to the car. And take the board with you."

Richarlyson grumbles, but he knows better than to argue when it comes to the skateboard; it's sacred.

To Hombre Misterioso, Cellbit says, "Fun fact, piranhas are actually pretty chill animals. They're omnivores."

"Cool," Hombre Misterioso responds. "But what about you?"

By his side, Cellbit's hand angles itself towards Hombre Misterioso's body. They're bleeding somewhere...

"Oh," Cellbit mildly answers. "I like meat."

For whatever reason, Hombre Misterioso pauses at that. And it's a real pause, not one of their... weird pauses.

That's fine! Perfect, even.

In one swift, motion, Cellbit turns on his heel and ducks towards the ground. With one arm, he puts Richarlyson on the floor. With the other he closes his hand into a fist, and he jerks his arm back as if he's shooting a bow and arrow.

Immediately, blood comes shooting out of a wound on the back of Hombre Misterioso's thigh, hidden by their cloak but absolutely caused by Richarlyson's drawings.

They cry out in pain and crumple to the ground, dragged down by their own blood as it ties itself around the leg of a nearby bench into a knot, signaled by a flick of Cellbit's wrist.

"Go!" Cellbit shouts, not looking behind himself.

He hears Richarlyson run for it, little feet tapping against the floor.

And then, it's just him and Hombre Misterioso once again.

Sniffing back a nosebleed, Cellbit stands. He wobbles on his feet slightly, but he manages to walk past Hombre Misterioso and towards his abandoned phone. He picks it up and sighs at the cracked screen.

Great.

Hombre Misterioso struggles to stand, but the blood rope keeps them on the floor.

"I told you before," Cellbit tells them, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I'm not interested in helping you."

He looks at them and shakes his head.

"I can connect you with the Order," he continues, "but that's as far as I'm willing to go. I'm done. With... with all this."

Hombre Misterioso's grip on their sword tightens.

And then they laugh, tossing their sword to the side and collapsing onto their belly on the floor.

Cellbit takes a hesitant step backwards, body tensing as they just laugh and laugh and laugh.

"Good!" they cackle. "Good! You've still got conviction! I'm impressed, Enigma!"

"There is no Enigma. There hasn't been in years, and there never will be again."

"Mhmm, I get that. But you've convinced me. I don't need Enigma anymore."

(As they look up at him, Cellbit swears that they're smiling.)

"I just need you."

With that, the aquarium's lights shut off again, probably Pac trying to help.

Cellbit's eyes adjust to the darkness. When he can see again, Hombre Misterioso is gone, and a trail of blood is left where they laid on the floor.

...Fuck.

---

A/N: Let me know what you think in the tags or in my inbox! I want to hear your theories, thoughts, opinions, everything!

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#enigma misterioso au #i love writing hm they're so evil #such is what happens when a man gets so desperate as to become a supervillain

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