#i also dreamt that my lip and teeth were bleeding

[butchlifeguard]

only slept for 25 minutes but dreamed that i had to calculate the angle that my arm was making with my body. physics might be getting to me

[extasiswings]

You can all blame @thisissirius for this one because I was going to write some sweet fluff but instead...also on ao3 here.

“Diaz! I’m out of ammo!”

“ETA six minutes.”

“We don’t have six minutes.”

Bullets flying, the sound of gunfire popping in his ears—but then, no, he’s back on the transport, alarms blaring, falling, falling, falling out of the sky—

He’s trapped and it’s burning all around, hot, twisted, sharp metal—he scrambles over to the patient—

Hen. Burned and coated with ash, she coughs and tips her head as she looks at him.

“At least no one’s shooting at us, right Eddie?”

“Eddie?”

“Eddie.”

Eddie jerks awake, his head whipping around as his heart pounds, only to see Buck, close by with his hands raised, palms open as if he had been touching him and just pulled back. Eddie’s mouth is dry, and there’s a burn in the back of his throat like he might be sick, but he swallows hard to get himself under control as he takes in his surroundings.

They’re in the truck, he reminds himself, the surroundings familiar. He and Buck are alone, Hen up front driving—when Eddie looks at his watch, he realizes it’s only about halfway into her most recent driving shift and they still have at least another five hours before they get back to LA. Despite the darkness of the interior, Buck’s face—and specifically the concern written across it—is clear.

“It’s just me,” Buck says quietly. “Sorry, I—I wasn’t sure whether it was right to wake you up or not, but it didn’t seem like—you were sort of twitching? And you made this sound—”

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures. “It was—yeah. Um, thank you.”

His voice is raspy and there’s a cold sweat drying on his skin that makes him feel somehow dirtier and more uncomfortable than when he’d been in the field covered in soot. At home, or even at the station, he would get up in a situation like this. Would take a shower or work out until his hands stopped shaking. But he doesn’t have those options here, trapped in a moving vehicle. Is flayed open and exposed, a heady cocktail of fight-or-flight chemicals buzzing under his skin as the echoes of alarm bells and gunshots fade from his ears and his best friend looks at him like he’s a basket case—

No, that’s not fair. Buck’s looking at him the way he would look at any of them he was worried about, because Buck is a good person with a big heart. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just naked concern, and Eddie tries to remember that as he sets his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands, blowing out a shaky breath.

“Hey, Hen?” Buck calls, raising his voice. “Can we make a stop? I need to pee. Sorry, should have gone earlier.”

“You’re lucky I love you, Buckley,” she calls back. “And that we’re not totally in the middle of nowhere. There should be a rest stop at the next exit, I’ll turn off there.”

“Thanks.”

Eddie presses the heel of his hands to his eyes for a moment before dropping them, rolls his head on his neck to work out some of the tension in his muscles before finally looking back at Buck.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, despite the relief that floods him at the thought of escaping the confined space for even a few minutes, getting the chance to stretch his legs and breathe and maybe even splash some water on his face.

“Yes, I did,” Buck replies, his voice equally low. “Besides, you would have done it for me.”

“Sure, but I wouldn’t have needed to do it for you,” Eddie shoots back, frustration heavy on his tongue. “You can fall asleep on a road trip without worrying about—”

He cuts himself off and sighs. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m—fuck.”

“I’ve been fine,” he insists, because it feels important that he make Buck understand that. That he’s capable, that he has himself together.

He always needs to have himself together.

“I had a couple bad weeks after everything with the well last year, but I bounced back. It’s not—this doesn’t happen that often, I don’t know why—”

“Eddie, I don’t even know what this is,” Buck says. He reaches out—stops, hesitating before his hand makes contact with Eddie’s shoulder, his eyes flicking up to search Eddie’s before finally closing the rest of the distance. It’s instinct to flinch from the touch, but Eddie tamps down on the impulse, instead focusing on the weight and heat of Buck’s hand pressing down, grounding, anchoring.

“So you had a bad dream,” he continues, shrugging. “Everyone does. The other day I woke up panicked because I dreamt I was kidnapped by a supervillain who pulled all of my teeth out. It happens. Plus, I still—”

Buck looks down and swallows hard. “I still dream about the tsunami. Sometimes. And about being trapped under the truck. And it never matters how either of those things actually turned out because in the dreams—nightmares—I always lose. Christopher. My leg. Brains can be assholes. But it’s not—you had a bad dream. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Alright, boys, we’re here,” Hen calls as the truck rolls to a stop. “Try to make it quick? I’d like to at least try to make it back in time to sleep a few hours in my own bed before my afternoon class.”

“You’re the best, Hen,” Buck replies. Eddie pushes himself up and opens the door to climb out. Even just standing on solid ground helps—he sucks in several breaths of fresh air, letting each one out slowly. The stars are bright and clear against the ink-black sky, the rest stop far enough from any major cities or the wildfire that light pollution or smoke don’t dim their shine. Buck’s hand brushes against Eddie’s back as he climbs out of the truck as well, a gentle, casual thing that feels more like habit than a deliberate touch. A subtle, familiar ghost that whispers I’m here, behind, hello.

Eddie doesn’t feel the urge to flinch away from that touch.

When Buck starts off in the direction of the restrooms, Eddie pushes off the truck and follows.

“I got my silver star after my platoon’s medical transport helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan,” he admits a few minutes later, after he washes his hands and splashes water on his face for good measure. “We crashed, I got almost everyone out of the wreckage. We took heavy fire...I really thought I was gonna die that night. Wound up with three bullet wounds and a medal and a hell of a lot of guilt over the one guy who didn’t make it home.”

“And Hen was in a helicopter crash yesterday,” Buck fills in. “That you watched happen.”

Eddie sighs. “And Hen was in a helicopter crash yesterday, yeah,” he admits. “I didn’t think—we were doing search and rescue in a wildfire, it wasn’t a battlefield, we weren’t getting shot at, and she was fine. She is. Fine. And I’m fine. There’s no reason—”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

Buck goes quiet for a moment, catching his lower lip between his teeth. And then he says—

“I’m in therapy.” His tongue sweeps out and wets his lips. “I’m fine, too. But I’m in therapy. Because I realized that I didn’t want to settle for fine. And also that I could be...more fine. Finer. Finest.”

“Do you think that’s something I should be ashamed of?” He asks.

“Of course not,” Eddie says, his stomach dropping at the very thought. “I would never think—no, Buck that’s great—if it’s helping, I’m happy for you.”

“Then why are you ashamed of yourself just because your fine isn’t perfect?”

“I—” Words catch in Eddie’s throat as he squirms at the logic. He doesn’t think because it’s me is a response that’s going to fly, but that’s all that comes to mind. And maybe that means Buck has a point.

Buck takes a step closer, closing the distance between them. His hand curves around the side of Eddie’s neck, thumb pressing ever so lightly under Eddie’s chin to tip his head up. The look in his eyes is soft and makes Eddie feel exposed in an entirely different way than he had in the truck. But he doesn’t think he dislikes the feeling.

“You went through hell and you survived,” Buck says quietly. “So you have a few scars. You never have to be ashamed of that. Especially not in front of me.”

Eddie shudders out a breath and leans in, closing his eyes as he drops his head to Buck’s shoulder. Buck adjusts to wrap his arms around him, holding tight, and they stand there embracing for a long moment as the remaining tension bleeds from Eddie’s shoulders.

“Why did I hear TK telling you he’s in a serious relationship before we left?” Eddie asks once he feels steady enough to pull away.

Buck’s cheeks go pink as he laughs. “Uh—well. I think he thought I was coming onto him?”

Eddie bites his cheek to keep from smiling. “Were you? I guess he’s okay...if that’s the kind of look you’re into.”

Buck rolls his eyes. ��You know there was only one person there I wanted to flirt with.”

“Marjan?” Eddie offers, and the eyeroll becomes an exasperated stare.

“I agreed to glacially slow, not nonexistent,” Buck points out, stepping in and leaning in and—

Eddie’s fingers curl into the front of Buck’s shirt as Buck’s mouth ghosts over his, using to grip to pull him down into a proper kiss.

“If he had stuck around long enough for me to get over my surprise, I would have told him I was spoken for,” Buck adds, a little breathless when he steps back.

“Glacially slow or not?”

“Glacially slow or not.” Buck’s lips curve up as he laces their fingers. “I told you months ago I didn’t mind waiting. I’m in this. However long it takes.”

Eddie squeezes his hand.

“Thank you,” he says. And there are so many things that could be meant by that, he’s not even sure he can name them all. But Buck seems to get it anyway.

“Come on. Let’s go back.”

“Let’s go home,” Eddie adds. Their hands slide apart as they leave the restroom, but Eddie still feels Buck’s warmth sinking into his skin, like sunlight chasing away shadows. And as he climbs back into the truck, he thinks that maybe Buck’s right. Maybe he could be more than fine. Maybe admitting that isn’t a bad thing.

When he falls asleep again, he doesn’t dream.

[fluffyfranny]

So hey! Might as well start posting! 

Starting off with an oldie in my past writing archives when I was at my peak in the Markiplier fandom. Still love his content dearly, but I don’t think I’ll write for his egos anytime soon.

Posting this with a lil motivation from @yaysof11037 who has become such a great mutual earlier on this week! (If ya haven’t checked out their works you totally should btw). In return for the lovely angst they provided for me, angst is what you shall receive in turn >:3

Hope y’all enjoy this piece I conjured WAY back in April :0

TW for descriptive gore, past and present character death and overall angst in general under the cut >:3

~Gone Too Soon~

Paranoia.

That was one of the primary emotions Eric felt all the time. The poor boy had been through a lot. He had lost a majority of his family, including his mother and the rest of his brothers, in a tragic accident, and he considered himself an “omen” of bad luck, of sorts, since things seemed to die around him.

Unfortunately, that was about to come true, once again.

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

It all started one brisk night, when Eric was having trouble sleeping for what seemed like the fifth time this week. He tossed and turned underneath the sheets, clutching his worn-down, yellow handkerchief with an iron grip in one of his fists. This lasted for about an hour.

The primary cause for this state of unrest, however, was not only his ever present state of anxiousness, but the fact that a nightmare unlike any he had ever dreamt was roiling through his mind.

He had dreamt that the rest of the Ipliers currently living in the manor, including his father, had mysteriously disappeared. Eric had been wandering the halls, calling out for them, his cries becoming squeaky as tears threatened to spill over...

Before he found his family and the states that they were in...

But then, he shot bolt upright in his bed. His breaths were rapid and his forehead was layered with a fine sheen of nervous sweat. He pinched his hand to make sure that it was all a dream, and fortunately, it was.

Eric tried to stabilize his breathing then and there, attempting to calm down. “It w-was all j-just a bad d-dream,” he kept repeating to himself. “None of t-that was r-real.”

With a sharp exhale of air, he dragged himself out of bed and left his room. He figured a walk around the vast, ever-expanding halls of the manor would calm his nerves, along with a glass of water.

The weight of his prosthetics made the stairs creak, but the other Ipliers knew better than to interrogate whoever was making such a ruckus. When they heard the familiar metallic clunk against the steps, they knew it was Eric, and they either left him be or awoke to provide him assistance, if needed.

As he made his way down the stairs and into one of the bigger hallways, he sensed that something was off. The air felt thicker, as if some invisible force was adding weight to the environment without anything actually being there.

In addition, he thought he caught a whiff of something along the lines of smoke. He shivered slightly at all of this, but shook his head in denial, brushing these factors off as remaining slivers of his nightmare that still plagued his mind.

Eric was just about to step foot into the living room when one of his prosthetic legs slipped in something wet, nearly sending him careening to the tile floor. Fortunately, he grabbed onto the railing on the side of the wall with a less than elusive yelp to stabilize himself.

He caught his breath and, with fear laced in his vision, glanced down slowly towards the ground. He nearly started having another panic attack when he saw a smear of red coat the tile and flow around the bend. The red coloration was so deep, it nearly appeared black as ink.

With even shakier steps, Eric clambered around the corner to locate the source of the stain…

Only to be met with the pale, lifeless stare of his father, lying in a pool of his own blood.

This time, Eric’s screech could be heard across the entirety of the mansion, had it been any louder. He immediately knelt down and began inspecting Derek’s clothes with quivering hands. His red, white and blue polo shirt was now dyed with an even darker crimson due to the blood seeping out of a massive hole in his chest.

“D-dad?” Eric whimpered, his handkerchief slightly speckled with Derek’s blood after placing it next to him. “W-what h-happened? Pl-please get up!”

He began shaking his parent’s shoulders rather forcefully, causing his head to loll to the side rather limply, then softly thumping back down onto the floor once Eric had ceased his actions.

Before he could let loose a scream of his own, several more heart-stopping yells proceeded to echo throughout the living room and the halls surrounding it, followed by the crashing of bodies. Eric’s head snapped up and glanced in all directions to locate who was screaming. However, despite the noises sounding like they were coming from right around him, there was nobody else with him. Aside from his father.

Then, that’s when he heard them.

“Why, hello there, Eric.”

His head whipped to his left to meet the gaze of a man talked about throughout the household, but none too kindly. Said man stood before him in a red tailcoat and black dress pants, both of which had gashes torn in them, and from these gashes seeped both red and black. Various other cuts also covered his bare hands and face. The red was definitely blood, Eric assumed, but why was this man bleeding black as well?

Either way, it didn’t matter as the man strode in Eric’s direction and placed the blunt end of the cane he clutched on the area where his heart would be before giving the area a gentle tap and stepping back again, smiling wickedly all the while.

“Wh-what have y-you done with m-my friends?” Eric stammered, trying to lace some confidence into his voice. “M-Mark?”

“Oh, poor, sweet Eric,” Mark tutted, shaking his head and scattering loose flecks of blood and pitch-black ichor. “I’ve been waiting a while now to exact my revenge against your...family here.”

“R-r-revenge?” Eric questioned with wide eyes and a more noticeable quiver in his voice. “B-but the others a-are so sweet t-to me. They’d n-never do-”

“Oh, but my friend,” Mark interrupted with a wave of his hand. “You’ve just missed out on all the horrendous things they have done to others. Even to me.”

“T-that’s a l-lie!” Eric tried to shout. “They’d never d-do anything b-bad to others! You’re just t-trying to c-convince me o-otherwise!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mark began to raise his voice, inky-black ichor seeping out of the corners of his mouth. “You’re just too naive to see it! The others are evil…”

“No, t-that’s y-you!” Eric finally found the courage to retort back semi-confidently. “Y-you’re the e-evil one!”

At this, Mark’s eyes widened, and he turned his head slowly towards him, a pissed look in his eyes and on his face. He snarled, his lips quirking up to bare his teeth back at the boy.

“You insufferable brat!” Mark said, ever angrier. “Just for all that you’ve said and done, I’ll show you what has been made of your “family” and be on my way.”

Before Mark disappeared in an explosion of smoky black mist, he gave Eric one final glare and remark:

“Don’t be surprised if you end up being next.”

And with that, he was gone.

However, once he vanished, the air around the room began to shimmer before the environment revealed a truly horrendous sight from behind Mark’s illusion.

Blood and gore everywhere.

Eric felt like he was going to be sick at the sight of his friends plastered around the house, laying in their own life essence. He hesitantly gazed around and, one by one, took note of what happened to each of them.

First, he spotted Wilford in the kitchen, draped over the countertop with the broken end of a wine bottle stuck in his head, the jagged ring of glass biting into his scalp and sticking there, all the while drawing blood that flowed off of Wil’s head like tiny rivers.

Then, he saw Bim hanging from a taxidermy deer skull in the living room, the antlers emerging from above his eye sockets to make it look like he had sprouted the appendages.

As Eric shook his head in both fear and denial, he practically bolted out of the conjoining rooms and down the hall he came from. There, he saw both Google and Bing’s dismembered parts scattered across the floor, with a few limbs laying on the stairwell and a head posted atop it. Whoever’s head it was was barely recognizable, for the artificial skin was peeled away to reveal the mechanical insides.

Eric, surprisingly, only started to cry harder now, tears rapidly streaming down his cheeks as he realized that this was not just a dream.

It was a nightmare come true.

He then came across Dr Iplier, whose corpse was laying halfway inside a closet and covered with crudely stitched gashes that still leaked blood, which, to Eric’s horror, was a mixture of the red and black that Mark was coated in.

As he rounded the corner, avoiding going upstairs again, he nearly tripped over Host, whose blindfold was ripped clean off to expose his empty, bloody eye sockets. In addition, he was also missing the skin on one side of his jaw, exposing the teeth and bone beneath to give him a zombified look.

This drew a gag from Eric at the sight of Host’s mangled face, and he quickly fled deeper down the hall.

At this point, he had exhausted himself, so he simply let his back hit the wall and slide down to the floor, where he held his head between his knees. He then began to let loose gut-wrenching sobs that would make anyone else cry, as well.

He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and began to fidget with it, nearly tearing it in half with the force he was using on it.

Just as he was about to fling the cloth away, he felt the air around him drop in temperature, which caused him to look up. There stood Dark, his hair disheveled as if he were running his fingers through it all day. His jacket and shirt were both wrinkled, and his tie was missing.

At the sight of Eric curled up in a sobbing mess, Dark got on both knees in front of him and patted one of his own. He looked up to see the pale man smiling at him sadly.

“I’m terribly sorry, Eric,” Dark spoke at a low volume. “We couldn’t save them.”

Eric choked out another sob as he gazed up at Dark with watery eyes. “Th-they’re all dead! Even m-my d-dad is g-gone. My whole f-family is g-gone!”

He put his head between his legs again so Dark wouldn’t see him cry anymore. He felt a heavy hand rest atop his head and ruffle his hair, a seemingly kind gesture amidst these depressing times.

“Look here, Eric,” Dark said as he gently pressed a fingertip underneath Eric’s chin and raising his head to look back at him. “You still have me. We can be our own little family.”

“B-but what if M-Mark comes back f-for you?” Eric whined. “Th-then I’ll b-be all a-alone!”

“Trust me as you have in the past,” Dark drawled out, moving the hand away from his chin and dropping it back to his side. “He won’t be back.”

“P-promise?” Eric questioned, voice shaking harder than it ever had.

Dark merely responded with a nod and one word:

“Promise.”

Before he could get up and take Eric away with him, he let out a grunt and got back on his knees. Eric could only stare in horror as a spot on Dark’s dress shirt became soaked in black. The spot only grew bigger, as if he were hit with a bullet, and the blood was spreading further out.

Dark gently prodded at the fresh hoel in his gut before looking back up at Eric and uttering two words that would be the last he’d ever hear.

“I’m sorry.”

After uttering those final words, Dark collapsed right into Eric’s lap, his head landing in his cupped hands. He let out a shocked gasp and lifted Dark’s head up to look into his eyes and wave his hand in front of them.

“Oh...oh n-no, D-Dark, please d-don’t!” He began to babble uncontrollably, tears falling faster than ever, with a few landing onto Dark’s cheeks to make it seem as if he were crying. They ran down his face, which seemed to be getting paler by the second, even though it seemed impossible for him to pale any further.

“P-please don’t l-leave me,” Eric sobbed, cradling Dark’s head as he felt his blood soak into his own polo shirt, staining it black. “N-not alone in th-this place.”

Dark could only let out a faint wheeze that sounded like a chuckle before he took one final deep breath and let it out. His obsidian eyes seemed to dim as this last breath fled from between his lips.

Eric gasped as he heard this and, not wanting to lose the last friend he had left, clutched onto Dark’s body and held him close, his head lolling over and landing limply onto Eric’s shoulder.

He sat there, clinging to Dark’s body amidst the massacre of his family that had taken place just mere moments ago, and cried for hours on end.

This was truly a nightmare that Eric would never wake up from.

[plush-rabbit]

It’s Just A Crush

Word Count: 2.7K 

A/N: It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve written anything

When you’re a villain, you don’t have many dating options. Sure, you hide your identity to the public but it gets harder and harder to explain why you’re sporting a rather nasty bruise on your face, why you’re limping, or why you can’t go out tonight but you can’t come out and tell the truth. As much as you enjoy (Is ‘enjoy’ even the right word?) being a villain, you don’t want to lose your day life. There’s an odd thing about wanting to have your cake and eat it. You grew up with a fairly normal upbringing, nothing out of the ordinary, no tragic past, but the night life always called you, enticing you to drop the good act for a second and join in on the fun and sure it’s dangerous and leaves you burning the candles at both ends but god, is it exhilarating.

But then you join the League of Villains, enticed by Stain’s message and when you’re almost cut, burnt, and/or decayed to death, you can’t help but feel giddy. To feel as if you’re finally alive, that the whole life that society has for you, isn’t cutting it out but you get to do something and feel as if you’re changing the world. And you grow attached- bumping shoulders, bringing back snacks that they can no longer buy on their own accord- and you want to stay with them, to see their- his message be brought into reality. Late night talks where he snaps and rants, hands that tear into his skin and decay glasses into dust helps you see him not as a leader but as a person who’s too caught up in their world to enjoy the other wonders it can bring. But you never open your mouth, you keep it shut, nodding along and scooping the dust into your hand and tossing it in the bin. It’s late nights where his voice lowers and his head is lowered with shoulders slump as if he holds the weight in the world in his own arms- and perhaps he does- that makes you realize he’s human. Eventually, your admiration turns into something different, something softer and harder to swallow.

You feel like you’re drowning every day, at every hour with each passing second when you’re around him. You don’t know when it happened, how it happened, or even why. You wished you had an answer for it, that way you’d at least know something. But those questions remain unanswered and they probably will remain like that forever. But, sometimes, when he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, you think you know the reason. You think you know why when the light catches in his hair and turn the pale blue into a white color, engulfing him in light and making his features more apparent, sharper and handsome. You suppose it’s when he asks for your opinion, when red eyes stare into your own, waiting patiently for you to contribute. You don’t know and never will, but you welcome these feelings, wanting to bask in the warmth that he gives you. You want and crave for his praise, always some lovesick grin on your face when he tells you good job and you want to dance and jump when he smiles because he’s just so gosh darn cute.

You feel like a teenager all over again. Smiling too wide at him, your ears burning red and tongue tied around him. You wish that it isn’t obvious how much you admire him, that ever gaze at him isn’t meet, every chance taken to just sit next to him is never question but you have to be honest with yourself and realize that perhaps you aren’t as sly as you thought you were. But then Dabi snorts, foot kicking you underneath the table and it just makes you burn up and lower your head, shooting a glare at Dabi for a quick second. It must be obvious to everyone then. It has to be obvious to him. It’s strange to know that he has some clue and he isn’t acting on it, isn’t at least baring his teeth at you and to focus. It’s frustrating that he isn’t at least making it apparent that he isn’t interested, letting you drown in your thoughts and feelings every time he calls you over.

Shigaraki Tomura is a strange man. He’s intimidating, wild, and murderous. He’s everything that you were told to avoid when you were younger. To go after someone who was kind and could give you the life you deserved. But with more and more nights spent with him, you know he can be kind and that he can not only give you the life you deserve but also the world.

Maybe you’ve spent too much time with him. Changing your own personality to fit with his, trying to be something that you can give to him. You want to hold his hand, to feel his fingertips rest against yours and hold onto you. But he won’t be able to do that without risking your own life.

“Hey Shigaraki?” You bite into granola bar, the sweet flavor of chocolate filling your mouth. You both are alone in the dimly lit room, papers scattered around the table where you two sit.

The scratching of the pen stops. “What is it?”

“Aren’t you tired? You can always finish this up in the morning.” The granola is scratchy as it goes down your throat. “Clearer mind and all, you know?”

You can feel his eyes on you. “Better to finish them up now,” he mumbles, the pen returning to bleed onto the paper.

You furrow your eyebrows. “Shigaraki, you need rest. We- You’ve had a long day today.” You move to sit beside him and fail to notice how his shoulders raise by a fraction of an inch. “Some rest will do you good. Tomorrow we can be done with this but for now—” you place your hand on his wrist— “you need sleep,” his pen slips from his fingers and his eyes dart to you, “Come on, don’t you trust me?”

He’s silent for a moment, eyes studying your face for a trace of whatever game you’re playing at. He looks down to his wrist, a fleeting thought that the pen will dry out. Your hand is warm compared to his. Fingers that are soft and are laid upon his bare wrist. He’s forgotten for a second on how to breathe. When he looks up at you again, he notices how your ears are a bright shade of red and how your eyes are wide, your body leaning closer to his and his eyes dart to your lips.

“Fine,” he huffs out and snatches his wrist away from you. He gathers the papers together carefully, pulling them into a neat stack. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Want me to help you with the papers?” You ask, coming to stand next to him. “Or like get you anything? I’m sure there’s a water bottle around somewhere if you’d—”

“It’s fine.” His fingers pinch the paper between his index and thumb. “I’m just—”

“Of course you are,” you speak softly. “It has been a long day. Come on Shigaraki.” You don’t comment on the way he straightens himself when you bring your hand to his back, urging him to move in the direction of his bedroom.

It isn’t a long walk to his room by any means but with your palm pressed his back, it seems as if you’d never reach the destination. The only noises that fill the silence between you two are the pitter patter of the rain that hits the ceiling.

“Why are you so persistent to be close to me?” The paper creases under his touch. “You always want my attention, why is that?” He stops in his tracks and so do you. “You’re not going to get special treatment for it.”

“I,” you pause, your mouth forming into a thin line. You can feel your body begin to burn. “I don’t want special treatment,” you remove your hand from his back and continue walking forward, “I just- I don’t know Shigaraki,” you can hear his footsteps trail behind you, “I guess I just like you?” You wrap your arms around yourself and your stomach twists. “I thought it was like admiration but I don’t know? It turned into something more.” Your face burns as you walk forward, refusing to turn around. “Look, it’s just a crush. Okay?” You turn around and face him. His eyes are narrowed and when you sneak a glance to his hand, one is curled into a fist and the other is twitching, resisting the urge to mimic the other. “Shigaraki please say something, you’re like scaring me a little here,” you smile nervously and your foot inches backwards. You hope and pray that he returns—

“What do you want me to say? Want me to tell you that I like you back? Want me to confess to your stupid little crush? His voice takes on a sickly sweet tone that makes you sick with dread. He has a sinister smile that spreads itself too wide against his face, his features twist and then it all drops- his face curling into disgust and annoyance. “Well I don’t,” he spits out. He steps closer to you and like a deer caught in headlights, you stand still. “I don’t have time for your feelings or anything to do with you.” The papers in his hand are dropped and flutter to the floor. “Oi! Pay attention!” He growls, his hot breath fanning across your face. “You wanted my attention well guess what,” he seethes out, venom dripping from his lips, “you got it.”

You nod meekly, averting your eyes from his and staring at his nose. “Of course.” You should have known better. He wouldn’t return your feelings. Why did you ever tell him? Why couldn’t you just lie and tell him you were a friend or something- anything!

“What did you want? Did you want to share a kiss? Is that it?”

“Shigaraki, no, I—”

“Then what is it?” He seethes.

He steps closer to you, invading your space. He hunches over, pressing his face closer to yours, teeth bared and heavy breathing with deadly eyes that capture your focus. Even like this, you’re still attracted to him. You’re scared to death but you still want to be near him.

“I-I just, I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you,” your voice wavers and eyes shine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your chest is heaving. You try to relax your breathing, your hands bunching your shirt in bundles. He isn’t budging, isn’t showing the least bit of guilt for making you uncomfortable. The blood is pumping in your ears, heating up your skin and causing your hands to get clammy.

He blinks and looks at your lips and then blinks again. “You want affection? Fine.”

Before you can register his words, his lips are on yours. It isn’t a sweet that you dreamt of, it’s not a soft brushing of his lips that shows how hesitant he is to touch you, it isn’t loving. It’s rough and his teeth hit yours. His lips are chapped and you fear that he’s going to cut yours. Your mind is racing, swirling with thoughts and you can’t seem to remember anything else at the moment except for savoring how his lips feel. How dry and sharp they are, peeling skin brushing sharply against yours. How much it hurts, how much emotion or passion or whatever you can call it, that he’s pressing into you- that he’s willing to show you. Your cheek burns where the tear slips. All as sudden as it was, it ended just like that.

“Open your eyes.” You don’t remember closing your eyes. “Did that make you feel better?” You give a curt nod. “Good. Now leave me alone.”

You’re left alone in a dimly lit hallway with scattered papers on the floor.

-

You walk into your apartment. It’s dark and you’re wet with rain and tears. You’re silent as you lock the door, silent as the shower muffles any noise that comes from the outside world. And when you’re in the comfort of your pajamas, you take in a shaky breath and start to cry.

You’re crying and can’t breathe, and everything hurts. Your heart hurts. As cliché as it is, you can feel it break, you can feel it being crushed and it’s so stupid. It’s so dumb and annoying and god, you don’t even know why it hurts so much but it does. You’re clutching your chest and the tears won’t stop and you just wish you never met him. You wish you were spared of this heartbreak. You played with the idea in your head that he could be nice when he wanted to be, that he could be nice to you but in the end of it all, he was and will always be the same Shigaraki Tomura.

-

You don’t go back the next day. You don’t go back for a long time. You woke up and you were humiliated, angry, confused- you were done and left empty. You moved on with your life. You threw away and left the whole “dark side” in your past. Who were you kidding when you tried to play the big bad guy? You don’t have a hit on your head, there’s no number to entice people to turn you in. You always made sure your identity was hidden. You wanted to have you cake and eat it but it ended up being foul.

You move on, you cut your hair; you eat ice cream until you feel bloated and you cry. And your heart still hurts. You still watch the news waiting- hoping- to hear something about the League. You wait and shake when the news reports them. You don’t know what you want for the League. But you know what you want for yourself and that’s enough for you.

You meet new people. You meet someone who doesn’t force a painful kiss on you. You meet someone who touches you with the same softness that you once gave to Shigaraki. Your feelings are returned and you’re happy.

When you cook dinner with them one night, their large hands gripping your waist and swinging you side to side, tilting your head up to press a kiss to your temple, you fail to notice the set of eyes watching you from outside. They can tell your smiling, laughing maybe, but you’re definitely smiling as they pepper kisses your face, hands pressed against their chest in a mock attempt to push them off. Peering into the warm glow of the kitchen and failing to hear the pop song that plays on your phone. They disappear into the night, not even a glanced spared to the window.

No one dares to speak to him. No one dares to even acknowledge you anymore. You came into their life, you left and you didn’t rat on them. That’s fine. No one jumps when the door to his room is slammed shut.

He can’t breathe. Red eyes are wide and blown out, his head hurts and he can’t form a coherent thought. He doesn’t know who that other person is but he loathes him. He wants to dig his nails into their skin and watch them bleed. He hates them. God, everything around him right now is sickening, the air is putrid and he forgets for a second his own quirk when the lamp he’s thrown at the wall decays before it can even get halfway through the room. They don’t deserve to kiss you, he does— Oh. Oh for all the godforsaken things to happen to him, this was one of the most laughable and distasteful thing to happen.

His hand is inches away from the doorknob, shaking and clammy and he can’t bring himself to open the door.  He can’t force himself to barge into your new life and take back what’s his. You’ve been gone for so long, why is it just hitting him now? He wanted to torment you, to push you until you showed your true colors, your true feelings but he went too far. He scared you off and you fled. They waited with bated breaths until heroes stormed them but they never did. You never came back. Now you’re in the arms of another and he feels sick.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Male Drow (Dark Elf Vevmis) x Human! Female Reader Part 5 (FINALE)

The final chapter to The Underestimated, so I hope you’ve enjoyed this five-part series. - Stay safe guys -

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

The Underestimated Part 5 (FINALE)

Of the high shadows and prowling outlines, you acknowledged them as your demons and mistakes; even when you were locked away in slumber.

The seclusion swarmed you, it was just as cold and sharp as you had remembered it being; more so bitter than a fever.

The people: the people you saw, of the distressed faces of your mother and father, opposing of your wants and desires for medicine and to become a doctor, the subtle words of those who said you could never do what you dreamt of craving; their words wanting you to give up.

You were belittled, laughed at, told to give in and try something different, all while telling yourself one day, you would prove them wrong. 

Maybe even in the eternal slumber between the states of existing and drowning, you could not even prove yourself anything, nor them.

You couldn’t remember much: the scuffle with the group of Drow, the pain you felt that had numbed in your flesh, Vevmis-- oh, Vevmis, was he okay? Alive even?

You didn't want to believe it, never in a thousand years, but you accepted that his kind hadn’t been so merciful with sparing his life. The darkness, was this what all Drow saw in the Underdark?

When you had to open your eyes, the reality was dim and sullen, the sky was overcast and drab, with the sound of rain flooding through, dropping down in buckets around you.

You could hear it properly: the sound of the drops hitting the roof of something with such force, smashing down like a wave over cliffs below.

You keened softly, shifting, your bones creaked with the make-shift bed that you laid on, where you felt the dull ache reside in your ribs, your head tender from how you had fallen.

There was a sound that vibrated beside you when you registered it, not realising someone was there, talking you through something thoroughly.

Standing before you was a high elf that had been described many times before in the books you had read: of knights who were bold and brave - he looked to be one with his rich gold-green mail; a bleeding star sigil in the breastplate.

He was towering like all the other elves except he was pale in complexion compared to Vevmis: pale-silver hair that came past his waist, braided back, it fell beautifully past his shoulders with little movement when he moved. He radiated the pride his kind held grandly; with his appearance made him look like royalty.

With a hard disdainful look; his eyebrows raised to you when you saw his features, his eyes carefully: one eye was as fair as spring growth, whilst the other had a long fading scar that reached just above his eyebrow arch and down the middle of the lid - the pupil the hue of dull clouded moss.

You watched his mouth move open and close, his eyes scrutinising you when you didn’t answer but rather gape. When you came around to it, you blinked owlishly. “What?-”

“Common? Do you speak Common?” He asked impatiently.

“I-Yes. I do.” You found your voice again, the hoarseness resided in the back of your throat and when you moved your tongue, it ached with the pain of veiled swelling. Your fragile hand came to touch at your throat waveringly rubbing it.

The high elf sighed beside you, bringing forth a cup from his grip, holding the back of your neck so you had no other choice but to take down the liquid, the cup coming to your lips. “Drink, it’ll help your head.”

“What- I-” You choked nearly between swallowing and talking, your words muffled as you took down the earthy mixture; as syrupy as marsh water.

You nearly gagged but took it down, squeezing your eyes tight as you drank it down with too much force, finally having it removed from you as you wiped your mouth from the slop. There was a consistent feeling in the back of your mind, driving you to speak the one thing you had been worrying you since you had come around.

“Vevmis-- where is Vevmis?”

“The��Drow?” He leered at the one word, his face wrinkled. “Probably fighting my men. Provoking them of some kind.”

Your heart sank like lead in a river, dropping to the bottom, your eyes glaring back at the high elf once more for little regard. He sensed your disdain for his mockery, stepping away but keeping his posture stiff as bark.

“I’ll go get him. I’m sure he’ll be most eased to see you awake.”

“Yes, uh, thanks-“

“Fenrith.” He coolly replied, leaving with not much else to say, leaving you surrounded by the deafening sounds of the weeping sky. You listened to the best of your abilities, hearing nothing but the rain pour heavy through the tent you were in, the only body surrounded by hundreds of empty ones.

A lost soul. You lamented. Perhaps that is what I have been in this life, nothing more than a nuisance. Your head was pounding, thrumming like a constant drum who’s percussionist is consistent in the rhythm and pace. A pair of shuffling feet heavy and chaotic could’ve sounded similar to the heavy rain falling around you, but your eyes had known well enough that the footsteps belonged to someone important. 

The smell of rainwater strung up your nose when you heard the smallest of exhales released, a cold damp hand brought you out of your misery with a startle when it touched the knuckle of your hand.

Your name was spoken so soft you had mistaken a spirit to of been present at your bed instead of the Drow. Vevmis’ presence was dishevelled and unkempt, the rain had soaked his silver hair to look nearly greying in the dim light, his amethyst eyes so sharp and clear. “Vevmis.” You croaked, trying your best to shift to reach for him.

He noticed and with some tentativeness and wariness, came to the side of your bed and kneeled, his shaking hand came to hold at your head carefully, his eyes glistening with opaque drops that looked like rainfall. “I’m here.” His voice was gravelly as if he had been caught mid-screech and was trying to cool down. 

“I—what happened?”

“A camp came through, just before we were to both be executed. A Band of the Faith regimented by whatever high lord ruled that area came and slaughtered them, putting each one of them to the sword, sweeping through them like butter.”

You were a loss for words, astonished. “They spared you though.” 

“Hardly,” Vevmis had laughed humourlessly, his wine-red eyes flickering, “I knocked one of their teeth in when I had the chance to, another I broke their arm.” You chortled dryly, knowing that Vevmis would do such a thing. “they dragged me chained and bolted to the end of a horse, where we ended here in their camp. That was almost—” his light eyebrows scrunched in awareness, “that was almost three days past.”

You were left wordless, thinking about everything to yourself silently, the pressure of his hand on yours a soothing reassurance to bring you back to reality. “But I promised myself that as soon as you would wake up, I would get you out of here, no matter how.” There was a brittleness to his word as if the promise to you was everything you needed, but he knew more to the end of the story, a few pages ahead.

“You… wanted me to get back to my village, didn’t you?” You questioned softly. The Drow’s’s face fell downcast, full of emotion compared to when he had never once shown it anything to you but callousness in the beginning. “Vevmis, you know I cannot leave you.”

“But you could, and that is for certain. You could go and live and die in your quaint little village and live a wonderful life, with a husband and child, but what about me?” His irritation was not hot nor full of rage. It was him having to grasp at this being his only choice. “No matter where I go, my sister’s wraith will see to have me miserable in this life and beyond. No matter where I go, I shall never be welcomed.” 

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes at his words, the Drow hadn’t raised his voice nor show any tears. But he had shown you that there was a growing part of humanity he had that you had shown him and he had grown to accept one human. “You wish to become a doctor, but you will wish to become one in your village.”

“How so?”

“It has been your want, and you have that want to help people.” Vevmis accepted. “I cannot be happy anywhere.”

“I have a want- yes, but I also have learnt much more along this journey with someone who I did not believe would accept me.” You began. “There has been so much we have gone through and I will not stand to just have one person happy, Vevmis. I will not stand with it.”

He squinted his eyes quizzically to your words. “What do you mean, pet?”

You smiled at the nickname he had given you once, one that had the connotations to something sour and awful, but now, that little word had become something so much sweeter. “What do you dream of, Vevmis? The arrival of spring? Eternal wealth? To live on a farm in the middle of nowhere and live the rest of your days as a farmer?”

He had smiled at them all, but he had not said yes to any. “I could see spring every year and not miss it. Wealth only makes you happy for a short time, but not for forever. And to live on a farm spreading cow shit? Now, perhaps that would be your dream. I like no animals.”

He had cradled your face in his fingers, stroking the flesh there. “No, one thing would make me happy, and that would be to be beside you and live out the rest of our days in contentment.”

A soft groan had come from the pitched bed and the soreness of your bones and body when you had tried to sit up, Vevmis was hesitant in letting you when he helped you to the end. You had collected the strands of his moonglow hair, a small smile on your face when you had spoken.

“Then, what are you waiting for?”

-

The glare had been bright but heartening, it soft glows came in through the gaps of the sheltered interior, with the smell of buckwheat and hay strong in the air. Maybe a long time ago, Vevmis would never have believed he would’ve liked the long days of the summer, but he had grown to like many things. 

His dirk had been shining and pure, the cool smooth silver-blue stone had been clasped in his hand when he sharpened the silver blade over and over again; his own state of euphoria and tranquillity that had lulled him into a dream of hope.

He couldn’t have lied if he said he didn’t like the smell of nature around him, the constant essence of being outside, with crops flourishing in an everlasting heat that grew throughout the day and never ended in the nights.

Through the afternoons when the sun was not so high, he found serenity through meditating, controlling his breathing and going into a state of silence, breathing in the past and exhaling the future. This, he found was the most peaceful thing about his days, resting and keeping out of the sun and seeking shelter for a state of serene. 

He had been known he was being watched when a small sneaky snap of hay came from metres behind him, the noise that made Vevmis’ ears prick upwards immediately, a small smile gracing his features, pretending to remain oblivious.

The steadiness made Vevmis count in-between the waits, his breathing stilling as he awaited the strike, the moment for all to go stale and cold- “Gotcha!” 

A squeal came when he had been as quick as a deer, he swiftly grabbed the culprit and raised them high above his head, the joyous sound of laughter filling the sweet air. The Drow lowered the small one down, his wine-coloured eyes assessing with false discipline. “You almost had me there.”

“Almost,” Vevmis had looked over the little one with curls of silver-white just as bright as his, dusky skin with freckles along the skin, bright eyes that no Drow had before. “but I’m becoming quick.”

“I could hear you as soon as you were by the door, Rayelle.” Vevmis grinned, his white teeth gleaming. “But you’ll get there.” He was swift to once again lift the little girl up and swing he around and about, her joyous giggles and squeals echoing through the barn. “Again, papa!”

“No, we must get inside before mama has a go at the both of us.” He said, before finally putting his daughter over his shoulders, her small dusty feet dangling just below his neck. “You’re not wearing shoes, pet.”

“No,” Rayelle grinned from ear to ear, holding her father’s silver hair in her round fingers, “mama told me to get you.”

“Ah, so you thought you could test your stealth on me?”

“Uh-huh!” She beamed, pulling at his long ears.

“Hmm, you will have to remember them for next time. It is dangerous not to have them out.” Vevmis hummed as he sheathed his dirk into its holster, knowing that his daughter’s eyes were on the blade when he put it away. “When will I get a sword, papa?”

“When you’re older.”

“But I am older than I was today.”

“When you’re older than you already are tomorrow.”

“Aww.” Vevmis knew she had been pouting, so he compromised. “You can have a pony or another goat. I know your mother would like another one of both.”

“I don’t want a pony.” Rayelle thought for a moment, giggling to herself as she blurted. “I want a dragon!”

“A dragon huh?” Vevmis chuckled warmly. “They smell and always burn things. They would be irritating.”

“But I’d get to fly! Like now!” Rayelle brought her arms out to both sides, swaying side to side as she screeched and roared. “I am Zirenth the Old!”

Vevmis rolled his eyes playfully, pretending to sway with her when she rocked side to side. “Come now, young dragon. Before mama dragon calls for us.”

The two had wandered through the long tall grass, watching over the endless sunset that was beginning to fall slowly across the horizon, a sea of trees below in the distance. Vevmis wondered had he hadn't gone with you and lived this life of solitude, what would his life be like now? 

They entered through the back of the small home, the soft humming drawing Vevmis to the kitchen as he lowered Rayelle off his shoulders. The small home you had made five years ago had been filled with old scrolls of sepia and tubes full of crushed medicines and herbs, the constant smell of sage and mint burning in the air; a healer you had become and a good one too.

“You two back in?” You called. “Mama! I’m a dragon!” Rayelle pretended to breath fire when you came through to peer at the two, needle and thread you had put down as you picked your daughter up.

“Oh, and what a mighty one you are!” You exclaimed brightly, Vevmis watching from the side as he took in your matured features of the new wrinkles you had picked up and small fine silver-grey wisps growing through your roots. You had still looked beautiful in his eyes, no matter how much you had aged within the last few years.

Your eyes had been on him when he had looked to him, the glint that he had know a long time ago, bright and bold still. “But I see another one not too far. He is rather old too.”

He had chortled dryly at that as he neared to you, running his hands over your hips and along your waist. “My little family of dragons. Bold and daring, my two girls.”

You leant over to kiss Vevmis’ lips, earning an exaggerated “eww, that’s gross!” from Rayelle, before lowering her down. “Come now you two, dinner is ready. And this dragon wants to eat everything before it is consumed!”

Rayelle joined you with a linked hand as Vevmis joined behind, smiling broadly at the life he had made.

Maybe his luck wasn’t so thin.

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Tell Me Everything

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary:  Reader works as a costume designer in Marvel. She's currently working on Endgame, designing the costumes for each superhero (but especially her favorite one), when Chris stops by. Later, he tries it on. Mutal pining goodness and fluff all throughout :) Warnings: None :) A/N: It’s been a while. I’ve written for chris once only, and I already miss it. Here’s some fluff.

Earphones plugged in deep in her ears, blocking every other sound apart from her music. The side of her hand is dirty with pencil lead, leaving occasional smudges on the paper that she forgets to erase. It’s- there’s a lingering fatigue she can’t really shake off. She’s beyond exhausted, working so late in the night, still in her office, but doing this, right here, it feels so damn good. It doesn’t matter that she should be heading home, because all her repressed creativity is bleeding in the paper, flowing as if it’s pouring out of her veins . Finally, finally , doing the thing she’s great at, the thing she loves.

Her music is deep, dark, has a strong but slow beat to it, and she bobs her head along, uncaring of the strands of hair that are furiously escaping her ponytail. She gets lost in the design, vigorously making swooping lines and hard edges, scribbling to her heart’s content, erasing a line and coming back in. The tedious process of adding details makes her settle just a little.

These past few years have been incredible. Working for Marvel was a dream she didn’t even know she’d had, the opportunity of a lifetime, truly. During the time spent working with all these amazing people, she’s learned, she’s grown, she’d developed as an artist and as a person. She can say nothing less than she’s happy, truly happy here. She means, designing and creating costumes for this franchise has been a job she couldn’t have even dreamt of. It may get tiresome, sometimes boring and tedious, but right now, designing… she feels like she’s been born to do this and just this.

It’s been a while since she’d gotten so lost in a design. It may be the fact that this particular one, and the actor that’s supposed to wear it, is her favorite. She may be biased. But she’d had amazing ideas and she was so eager to just make them come to life.

She’s coloring the last of the star in the center of the chest, when fingers tap her shoulder. Having been so lost in her work and music, she feels like someone poured a bucket of water over her without warning, and she jumps, pulling her earbuds out by their wire and swiveling her chair to look at the intruder.

Chris smiles down at her, all teeth and soft eyes. His hands are in the air flamboyantly, It’s me!, dark grey, long sleeved Henley loose on his biceps, and dark wash jeans hugging his thighs tightly. His hair is grown longer, tucked behind his ears, his beard is… new , and very nicely trimmed. Her heart thumps a little louder at the sight of him. If anyone were to ask, she’d blame the jumpscare, but she knows better.

“Chris!” Excitedly getting off her seat and throwing her arms around his shoulders in a friendly hug. His own wrap around her tightly, squeeze her to him, if only for a second, and she exhales.

“Hey!” He tells her, just as excitedly, and she pulls back. “I’m sorry I scared you, I knocked and there was no answer.” She waves a hand to show him it’s okay and plops back on her seat unceremoniously.

“What are you even doing here?! I thought the cast was gonna show up next week, for the fittings?” A strand tucked behind her ear and she’s suddenly kind of self-conscious of her disheveled state. Chris leans his hip on her desk and crosses his arms over his chest casually, looking like one of those bad boys in 2000’s coming-of-age rom-coms. She tries not to stare, but it’s a struggle, and a funny thought crosses her mind. If she were looking at him for the first time, he’d be screaming trouble. He still does, but less because he’s scary and a heartbreaker, and more because she’s hopeless when it comes to being functional around him.

“I had some business up here in New York, and the Russo’s asked me to drop by. Something about paperwork.” He shrugs lightly and she ‘ah’s, accompanied by a nod and a brief eyebrow twitch to show her understanding.

“Well, I’m happy you dropped by. It’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it,” she smiles at him, and Chris nods, a bit of an apologetic, regretful almost, look in his eye.

“So,” he says and shifts his weight a little, “whatcha working on?”

“You, actually.” Lead-stained fingers pull the sketchbook under the light a little better, closer to him, and he gets off his hip, places his left hand on the back of her chair, leaning all his weight on his right, on the desk. His chest is suddenly so close to her face, her shoulder brushes his torso and she’s holding her breath , because he smells so good –cologne and aftershave?- she might fucking faint . She can feel her face heat up. She wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, if he knows at all. She watches his expression.

“Waddaya got?” It’s all interest in his voice, and he doesn’t seem to intend to move. Damn.

“Well,” she takes a shaky breath, “I figured, y’know-“ a mindless shrug, and his shirt is exceptionally soft and fairly thin, two layers between their bare skin, and- oh gosh, she's supposed to be explaining things. Focus! “Cap needs a new suit, and he’s a fugitive now, right? He doesn’t really care to get a new one tailored.” Chris exhales a chopped, amused breath and nods sideways, as if saying You have a point there . “So the old one would have to do.

“But it’s different now, because he can’t have the same exact one, completely untouched, and he’s a different man now anyways.” Scooting the chair closer to the desk on instinct- and fucking great , now she’s literally pressing into the bottom of his ribcage lightly with her shoulder. It’s getting harder to breathe. She can feel his exhales on her face, Jesus. “So basically,” a steadying, shaky breath, “I made it dirtier- that’s why the colors are darker. It’s supposed to be aging fabric. But it’s also more comfortable for you.

“The sleeves will end right here-” without giving it much thought, she traces a line under his right elbow, the one on which he’s leaning, and he follows the motion with his gaze intently, “and you’ll wear some fingerless gloves with buckles on them.” He nods, eyes still not off her design, occasionally flicking to glance at her. “But,” she begins.

“The detail I’m most excited for is this,” a tap on the star in the middle of the uniform- or rather lack thereof. The space where the plastic white thing once resided is now dark blue like the rest of the uniform. She grins up at him when his features twitch in interest. “I pitched this to Joe and he really loved it. Basically, my logic is that, as we said, Cap’s a fugitive, yeah?” Chris nods, attentive as ever. “He’s gone against every government official he knows, against a big chunk of his own team. The news have probably said awful things about him and painted him as a superhero gone rogue or something. So what does he do? He rips off the star.

“He no longer fits the Captain America title, in the sense that he doesn’t want to be associated with the government’s lap dog, their dancing monkey. Instead of faithfully following orders as a soldier, he’s his own self, still a Captain, but on his own terms. It’s symbolic! He’s carving his own  path, leading like he was always meant to, and he’s dramatic enough to have done this- ripped off the star I mean. The suit should feel more familiar to him now.”

She’s been rambling for a while, her mouth is drier, but she was so excited when the idea manifested in her head. A big sense of pride washed over her, she couldn’t wait to design and implement it in the costume.

And Chris, well… Chris is looking at her with this small little smile that grows the more he considers it. “I…” he shakes his head, a grin stretching his pretty lips, “I fucking love it,” he tells her, with so much genuine warmth in his tone. She’s never heard him this confident and proud , like a parent almost, glowing at her like she’s something brighter than a star. “That’s brilliant , Y/n, holy shit ! The fans will go nuts!” He leans close to inspect the design again with the new parameters in mind, shaking his hand as if disbelieving, smile remaining on his face. “You’re amazing .”

A hot, red blush spreads across her cheeks fiercely, and there’s a lingering urge to sit up straighter, to square her shoulders in pride and happiness, because she’s so happy he liked it¸ but she is now acutely aware of how close he is, still not having moved away from her since she pressed into him accidentally. She resorts to a one shouldered shrug. “Thank you,” her voice is meeker than she’d like it, but Chris doesn’t mention it. Instead, they share a smile.

=

“Ready?”

“I’m, unf, gimme a sec- I’m coming.” Some shuffling, and then the sound of the curtain being pulled back, and she puts her phone away, swiveling in her chair and- oh Christ.

“Chris… ” she says, eyes racking from the tops of his shoes, up his legs, his thighs, his belt. The way the comfortable material stretches over his fit stomach, up his curved chest, and extends up to the base of his neck- it’s, fuck, he looks so good. His veiny forearms are exposed to the warm lamp light in the room, and he’s not wearing the gloves, seeing as they’re sitting on her desk.

The dark blue of his suit makes his newly dyed hair look golden .

“How do I look?” He says with a grin, striking an exuberant pose just to make her smile, and she grins.

“I’ll give you like,” she pretends to think for a second, “a six out of ten.” A shrug and a bitten back smile, and his hand goes to his chest dramatically, thick eyebrows furrowing and blowing out a breath.

“Damn,” he tells her with a look in his eyes that she can’t really place, something teasing, but like they're sharing an inside joke of some kind. “Harsh critic,” it’s teasing and happy, and she chuckles, because yeah. This is quite  perfect. She grabs his gloves off her desk and gets off her chair, going up to him and holding them for him to squeeze his hands in. She tightens some buckles, smooths a hand over the leathery material, making non-existent creases disappear.

A step back, she inspects the way the material hugs his thighs so nicely, but is also still baggy, to give him some freedom of movement. His boots are almost knee high, and- it actually looks like it might be a bit tight in the neck. She steps closer to him, barely tests the two buckles in front of his shoulders, checking that there’s give for him to move in. “It’s good? Comfortable, I mean?” A finger dragged between the collar of his top and his neck, purely professionally she swears, it was a subconscious move to check how much space there is for him to breathe and move his neck. And that’s the moment stupid Chris chooses to hum and she feels it in the exhale hitting her face, the vibration of his throat.

God .

Her lips purse and she squints a little, pulling back her hand. I can make this better , she decides. “Don’t move,” she orders and heads to her desk, grabbing some needle and a thread that matches the color of his suit, along with a small blade. She walks back up to him again and, with a careful hand on his chest and the threaded needle carefully placed between her lips, she makes a few, strategically placed rips near the star with the blade.

“Don’t stab me,” he says, tone low for a reason she can’t understand but makes a shiver run through her.

“Don’t give me ideas,” she counters, and Chris’s stomach shakes a little with a short, contained laugh. Continuing, she distresses the fabric, and patches up the edges so they won’t tear further during filming, allowing a string or two to stick out.

She is absolutely, of course, not ignoring how she can feel every single one of his breaths, and how he’s so good and still, and his hands are only a handful of inches away from her waist, his face hellishly close to hers.

A released exhale and a nod to herself. “Perfect,” she says quietly. She wraps the threaded needle around the handle of the blade so as to not lose it and throws it back on her desk haphazardly, to put away later. Unmoving from her spot near him, she gazes at the rips and decides it was a good addition. For just a second, it seems she forgets exactly how close he is, and now she looks up to him for approval, finding that same intent stare, straight into her soul from only three inches away.

There’s a sudden urge to shrink and disintegrate, confidence gone. Clothes she can handle. Chris she really can’t.

Baby blue eyes are watching her, standing perfectly still for her to do her thing, but there’s a, dare she say , affection of sorts in his gaze, and she’s very much struck with it. “You look great, Cap’n,” breathy and quiet, because she can’t fucking sit in silence when he looks at her like that. Chris smiles.

“All thanks to you.” A grin at the praise, at the lowered tone of his voice, as if he doesn’t want to break the moment with loud words. She should step back, b- but she physically cannot. Her muscles are seriously unwilling to move. This is her being weird, right? She’s crossing a line by taking advantage of his proximity, right? Why- He’s not showing any signs of awkwardness or discomfort though.

She’d like to know how one stretches a moment to eternity, a piece of knowledge she'd most certainly use right now. His cologne is the same as last week, when he visited in her office, comforting and musky, and he’s- he’s just looking at her with his beautiful eyes boring into hers, his warmth just centimeters away.

“You’re very close to me,” what a stupid thing to say , she scolds herself, but she just- she doesn’t know what else to do. Is it normal to feel such heat radiate from his body, or is that her mind playing tricks? She wants to curl into him, into said warmth, bury her nose in his neck and nuzzle there. It’s an urge that hits her like a tidal wave, and it almost makes her stagger on her feet. Her heart beats faster, inflated and full, adrenaline coursing through her veins all of a sudden. Chris swallows a little and nods. “What are you gonna do about it?”

There’s almost no charm in his tone, he looks borderline nervous, but there’s still some confidence in his velvety voice for him to flirt with her, the bastard and- she’s not imagining this, right? She’s not dreaming or anything? Chris actually enjoys this proximity, this closeness, he’s not pulling away. He just- he just sort of gave her consent to do something, anything. The ball is in her court, a challenge, proving she actually can do something about this.

With a shaky hand, she presses her palm flat on his chest.

A mental barrier is broken by that  touch and Chris seems to curl closer, if possible. His gloved hand goes to her waist, holding her near him, his head dipping lower, and she’s standing on her tiptoes. Noses brushing together, a challenge, emphasized in the teasing curl of his lips, sharing the same air. Beard tickling her top lip as she inches closer. A small hand on his face, and she licks her lips instinctively, parts them a little- and closes the gap between them.

It’s soft and wet and everything she’s ever dreamt of really, and holy shit , she’s dreamt of this. It’s actually happening, right now. He’s in his dumb Captain America uniform, pulling her close so now their chests are pressed together, moving his lips against hers slowly, and his hands are in leather gloves with buckles on them. The thought makes her smile a little, to the point where now the kiss is all teeth, and he pulls back for a second, as if sensing her amusement.

“What?” he asks. Her forehead leans on his chest, a sad attempt to hide her grin. His arms, one wrapping around her waist, his other hand on her back.

“I’m kissing Captain America,” and Chris lets out a single, incredulous breath, eyes rolling to the back of his head as if to say, you’re unbelievable. She grins up at him, a challenging eyebrow raised. Am I wrong though?

Teeth trap her bottom lip and she worries it for a moment as they quiet again, lost in thought and looking at him absently. She wants to kiss him again. She likes how his hands are warm on her back, how his chest is lean under her. Leaning on her tiptoes again, she smiles softly and brushes her nose on his cheek affectionately, because it’s suddenly okay to do so, the hairs of his beard scratchy against her skin. Chris is not having it though, and he turns his head to capture her lips again.

It feels so good, she thinks, as she instinctively places gentle fingers on his jawline to keep him tilted to her. It’s like the world is blooming. Like her heart is bursting through the seams, chest far too small for it. She kisses him, and he holds her just this much closer.

She’s kissing Captain America. And it’s a damn good fucking kiss.

Tags: @thegetawaywriter​ 

[voidstilesplease]

Bursts

demigod au ficlet [5] | prev

---

Derek

"Chip!"

Derek hastily straightens in his seat when he hears the familiar voice. His visiting little cyclops brother, Chip, who's as tall and broad as Derek, races down the front porch of the Big House, screaming to his favorite person at camp: son of Athena, Stiles.

"Stiles!" is Chip's answering cry as they meet in a bone-crushing hug. Chip picks Stiles up off his feet and twirls him around, all the while shrieking in glee. "I missed you!"

Stiles grins up at the cyclops when he brings him back down. His pale face is flushed, and the freckles on his face stand out. He looks so excited to see Chip. It's no wonder. They were instant buddies since the first time they met last summer, Stiles's first at camp. 

"Let's read Stiles!" Chip takes one of Stiles's arms, shaking it. He's bouncing on his giant feet as he continues babbling. "Can we read about Lord Pegasus? Oh, oh, I also want to read about Medusa! Oh, oh, and the other gorgons, please!" Chip draws out the last word and blinks his big eye at Stiles.

Stiles gives a hearty laugh at Chip's antics. Then his eyes widen a small fraction, "Oh," he mutters, looking down at the book his other hand is holding and back to Chip, biting his lower lip. "Oh, no. I'm mentoring today, kid."

"Yes!" Chip nods his head, not losing the broad smile. "You're men-to-ring me!" Chip giggles, swaying Stiles's arm playfully.

Stiles's expression morphs back to an open-smile after a moment of contemplation. "Of course! Anything you like."

Chip pulls Stiles up the front porch, only letting go to arrange the table and chair for their session. Derek clears his throat, standing to give his previous space to Stiles. "Do you want anything to eat?"

Stiles turns and acknowledges him for the first time. His smile tightens, and he doesn't look at Derek's eyes. "No, I’m fine."

Derek purses his lips. Well, Stiles's treatment of Derek makes sense after all his asshole business last summer, but knowing doesn't equal accepting. Derek tries again, "How about a can of diet coke?" 

Stiles looks at him, then, arching a brow. "Mr. D would castrate you on sight," he declares matter-of-factly in his deadpan tone whenever he thinks something is stupid. "Or worse, turn you into a dolphin."

Derek snorts, knowing it's the truth. "I'm not taking from his godly stash. We have some in the supply store."

Stiles squints his eyes, studying Derek in silence. Derek fidgets, feeling small despite having a few inches on Stiles and pounds of muscles. It has been their lengthiest interaction since the previous year. Derek remembers how just last summer, he was the one belittling the demigod. He wishes he knew better, then.

In the end, it's Chip who breaks their gaze with his loud, exuberant, spirited nature. It reminds Derek that Chip is still an equivalent of a ten years old in mortal years. "Stiles! The table is ready! I have a seashell to show you. I picked it up from dad's palace just for you!"

Derek lowers his eyes, face heating up, while Stiles hums awkwardly. The Athena child turns to go but rotates back eventually, less closed-off. He nods, "I would like some diet coke, Der."

Derek tries not to choke. He, especially, tries to reign his fast-beating chest at the nickname. Any other person and Derek will immediately douse them with saltwater. But today, Der sounds good, he concludes.

•••

Derek comes back about ten minutes later, bringing two cans of diet coke and a bag of fresh strawberries from the Demeter cabin. He also includes a carton of milk for Chip that the cyclops calls Hera's mortal nectar  - courtesy of Cora’s suicidal humor, who Derek counts as lucky not to be mangled by the queen of Olympus's herd of angry cows at the disrespect.

As he nears, he pauses at the sight of the new camper, a son of Ares, charging angrily for the Big House toward Stiles and Chip. The boy looks ready to maul somebody. And judging by the flash in his eyes directed at Derek's unassuming brother, the Ares boy sets to accomplish just that.

Derek forgets the coke, fruit, and freaking milk and runs.

He comes just on time to take the boy by the back of his orange camp half-blood shirt and tackle him down to the floor before he can land a punch on Chip.

"Get off me!" The son of Ares screams, completely mad with rage that his eyes almost look like they're in flames. He grapples against Derek's hold, thrashing and attempting to bodily lift Derek off. "He's a monster! A murderer!"

The guy is unexpectedly tough, and Derek's hold on him is starting to slip. He has no choice. Derek closes his eyes and concentrates as much as he can - summoning. Quickly, he feels the familiar response, the powerful tug from the depths of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. There's a rushing noise, then metal clanking in an effort to hold, the current rumbling within them. The pressure becomes too much, and a pipe breaks in their midst. A forceful burst of water coming from every which way aims at the son of Ares.

Derek doesn't let go as water floods the anger and aggression from the boy. A few seconds only and Derek calls off the water, which instantly dries back to the ground, leaving only small puddles in its wake and a drenched boy on the porch of the Big House. Derek remains dry, fists clenched on the wheezing Ares boy's shirt.

"What the hell's going on?" A voice shouts. When Derek raises his head, he sees that their altercation has called the attention of many. A tall boy with dark hair hurries forward. It's Fred, cabin five's head counselor. "Theo!"

Theo, the boy Derek has pinned to the floor, pushes at him, and Derek tumbles off. Theo scrambles up, wet and dripping, and even more outraged. Fred appears beside Theo in an instant. The head counselor holds him back when Theo tries to launch at Chip again. His interference causes a flailing arm to hit his nose, and Fred's fingers loosen on Theo at the impact. Before Theo can come near at the whimpering cyclops, however, Stiles puts himself between Theo and Chip, wielding a shiny dagger that kisses Theo's throat in warning.

Stiles's nostrils flare as he grits out, "I hope you have an adequate excuse for what you just did."

Theo is heaving, giving Stiles a look of disbelief, and glances at Chip with loathing. Stiles presses the blade more firmly. 

Derek gets on his feet at once and takes his brother in his arms. The poor terrified cyclops is sniffling, tucking his face on Derek's neck. He's shivering, and Derek feels his blood boil. Who would want to hurt an innocent kid? He should have drowned the Ares boy sixty seconds longer.

"He's a murderer," Theo snarls, pointing at Chip.

Stiles replies with a clenched jaw, "He's a child!"

"He's a monster,"

"He's a cyclops, Theo," Stiles grinds his teeth, "A monster is one who attacks the helpless and innocent."

Theo opens his mouth for another nonsense, but Derek cuts him off. "Fred!" Derek growls, finding the counselor's eyes and having enough of all of it. "Take your brother."

Fred, nose bleeding, steps forward cautiously, reaching to wrap a hand around his brother's arm. Theo remains immovable. Fred tugs again, "Let's go, you idiot."

Theo and Stiles are locked in a glaring match, the Ares boy not backing down despite the blade thrust to his throat. 

"Theo!" Fred hisses, hard and sharp, pulling at him harder now. The authority bleeds in his tone and touch. He's still the Head Counselor.

"We will discuss this," Derek says to Fred.

Fred cocks his head to the side in silent agreement, but Theo scoffs, finally stepping back. He slips his glare to Derek, droplets crawling down his sneering face. "You bet we will," and with one last menacing glance at Chip, he allows Fred to lead him away.

•••

"I don't understand where his rage is coming from," Derek tells Chiron later, pacing back and forth in his office. Chiron had been away with Mr. D during the dispute and was immediately alerted on his arrival. "He just attacked Chip,"

Chiron's forehead creases with worry, a thoughtful look on his face. His lips a thin line as he asks, "How's the young cyclops?"

The question makes Derek halt, the tautness of his shoulders relaxing a little. His arms stretch to lean against the back of a chair in front of Chiron's table. "He's with Cora and Stiles," he shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. "He's distraught, understandably so. And Cora is plotting revenge, and Stiles is angry enough not to stop her."

A soft knock brings their attention to the door. Upon Chiron's permission, it opens and admits Lori from cabin seven, daughter of Apollo. She looks sheepish, ducking her head a little as she closes the door behind her. "Sorry for interrupting."

Chiron hums kindly, waving a hand for her to state her case.

Lori steps forward, fingers tight around the hem of her shirt. "It's about Theo," she announces, getting the full attention of the trainer and director.

Derek straightens, crossing his arms. "What about him?"

Lori visibly hesitates for a moment, then clears her throat. "During his first day at camp, he had sprained a muscle on his back from training. Brett told him to stay in the medic tent for the evening to recuperate."

Chiron's brows draw together, "All right?"

She wets her lips and continues, more sure of her words now. "While Theo was asleep, he dreamt. He was sweating and muttering on the bed, obviously distressed, so I decided to call a son of Hypnos to help him sleep better." She glances back and forth between Derek and Chiron for their reactions. "He manipulated Theo's visions to calm him. But he told me before leaving that Theo wasn't dreaming. He was reliving a memory."

Dread settles in Derek's stomach. Somehow, he senses that Lori's next statements won't bode well for him - or Chip and even Cora. He breathes through his nose, prompting, "And?"

Lori swallows, "His memory was of an older girl named Tara," the daughter of Apollo delays, calculating her words. Finally, she huffs, "I didn't want to talk about this; this isn't my story to tell. But after what happened today, I think maybe this will help you approach Theo."

Chiron nods in understanding, but his expression reflects the same apprehension that Derek feels.

Lori grimaces, sending Derek an apologetic look before she finishes. "Tara was taken by a cyclops, Derek. It might be after Theo, too."

~•~

[seiya234]

thunder only happens when it’s raining

 for @feferipeixes, even if they’re a big jerk who calls me out on my tropes.

Prompt: “Dipper, pre-2012, has intermittent visions of the far, far future. He doesn't understand them and he's scared.”

To be honest, by the time the twins were two, Anna slept through any noises that she heard from their baby monitors.

Not that she thought that they really needed them any more but it had taken them such a long time to get the kids on a decent sleep schedule, and they were still having to give a bottle to Mabel to get her to sleep and shit her teeth were going to come out all fucked up and it made Mark feel better and...

Well. Anyway. Being the mother of twins meant as a defense mechanism Anna Pines had trained herself to sleep through any weird bed noises she heard the kids doing at this point in order that she could get some sleep. 

The bloodcurdling scream that came from Dipper’s monitor at two am however? That not only had her awake, but tripping over the blanket in her hurry to get out of bed and into his room, her heart thumping painfully in her chest because what was wrong with him, what was wrong with him?

(this wasn’t I woke up and I don’t like it. this wasn’t even I had a nightmare. this was adult fear. Anna couldn’t tell you how she knew that until it was far too late.)

She ran into his room and turned on the light, not even caring about keeping the light low to help ease him back to sleep, she needed to see him, she needed to make sure he was okay.

Outwardly, he was fine, though he all but leapt out of the crib in his attempt to get at her, soft baby fat cheeks glistening with tears. She picked him up, and he nuzzled into her chest. Anna laid her face on Dipper in turn, smelling the sweat of the playground in his hair, the spit on his pajama collar, the playdoh under his nails...everything that made him him.

“Baby, did you have a bad dream?”

“Reh!”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying... red?”

“Reh! Reh! Red! Reh!”

That was definitely what Dipper was saying. But what could he have dreamt of that was red that scared him so? A fire truck? Strawberries? Blood?

Wait. Blood? No. No that was ridiculous. He had barely ever seen blood, how would Dipper know what that was?

Anna sighed as she sat down in the rocker with her still crying son. “I told your daddy that Clifford the Big Red Dog was going to scare you. It’s okay. Momma’s got you now.” 

(if Dipper was twelve instead of two, he could have told his mother that he had a dream where he was covered in blood. swimming in blood. drinking blood. drinking and laughing and crying blood and everything, everything was fucking blood. 

But Dipper was two and all he knew was he didn’t know what he just dreamt about, just that he didn’t like it.)

----

"Fuck, kid, you look like Ford at this age.” 

Dipper looked up from the blocks that he was stacking impossibly tall. “Bad word,” he said primly.

The woman in the long purple dress started and looked at him. She looked different than anyone Dipper knew in his life. She had big chunky gold earrings and smelt weird and had a short stick in her hand that gave off smoke like one of the candles Daddy would occasionally light. 

“Kid, you shouldn’t be able to see me.”

“Why not?” Dipper knew that dreams were a time where he could do whatever he wanted.

(”ah, lucid dreaming my boy! a valuable skill,” a grand uncle told him years later, before the world ended)

“Because you don’t have the right eyes,” she said. “Look, I’m going to go and figure this out, you be a good boy now you hear?”

----

“WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL IF IT ISN’T PINE TREE.”

“You’re a triangle,” Dipper pointed out, slightly disgruntled. He had been having a very good dream, one where he was allowed to eat a second and third slice of cake, and he wanted very much to return back to that.

“WHAT’S THE MATTER? CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?”

Dipper knew without knowing how that as soon as the weird triangle snapped his fingers something bad and owwy would happen to his mouth. Dipper did not want that to happen. So he looked at the mountain in the distance and pulled stepped back before the triangle got near him. 

The triangle snapped. Then he snapped again. Then his eye got angry looking when Dipper just started eating cake while watching him. 

“SO! YOU THINK YOU’RE CLEVER DON’T YOU?”

Dipper didn’t answer. He wanted to take advantage of eating as much red cake as he could before he had to wake up.

“WELL, I GOT PLANS FOR YOU DIPPER PINES! B͟I͙G̱̖̭̞̩̗̙ ̴͚̹̘͚̝̥P̩̝̞LA̕Ņ͍͇̤̮̘͔̳S͈̜. A STORM IS CO-”

“Are you going to keep shouting or do you want some cake?”

The triangle stopped talking for a second, twirling his cane in thought, and then said, “SURE. I’LL HAVE SOME CAKE. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BURN SOON ANYWAY.”

“You make no sense.”

“I MAKE PLENTY OF SENSE! YOU JUST DON’T KNOW IT YET!”

----

At the end of every month Dipper and Mabel’s teacher would pack up all the drawings they did in their pre-k class and send it home with them.

Mark was of mixed feelings about this. On one hand he enjoyed his children’s drawings and seeing what was going on in their heads. On the other hand, they insisted on having all of their drawings either pinned on all the walls or saved.

(anna threw a few away once, mabel found them in the trash, and there was no living with the twins for a week after.)

And then there was the subject matter....

For Mabel, everything was on fire. Everything. Every thing. She drew an apple tree... but on fire. She drew their visit to their grandparents... on fire. Their kitchen... on fire. Mabel and Dipper playing... with a fire in the background.

The teacher assured them that was normal, a lecture on fire safety having stuck in Mabel’s mind....

He couldn’t explain Dipper’s drawings to Mark however.

There was blood (it was very definitively not just coloring with only the red crayon.) There were rudimentary organs (and how did Dipper know what the liver looked like? Mark asked and Dipper was uncomfortable and then started to cry and Mark felt like a dick.) There were knives and candles and shapes that made Mark’s head hurt.

Mark knew what the problem was.

He resolved to ask his Dad to stop letting the kids watch Unsolved Mysteries.

(but he knew deep inside that that wasn’t really the reason why.)

----

“Dipper there’s a lady here.”

Dipper looked up to see the lady in the purple dress again.

“Hello,” he said politely, before going back to building a sand castle with his sister.

“That’s... that’s really your sister.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Mabel murmured, filling a bucket with wet sand. 

“Huh.” The lady tapped out her weird smoking thing, and brought it to her lips before speaking again. “I should have guessed there would be some bleed over. Any way kid- look, what’s your name?”

“He’s Dipper and I’m MABEL!” Mabel said, pulling Dipper around the neck for a big hug. 

“Huh. And you two are-” her eyes unfocused for a second- “Shermie’s kid’s kids.”

“You know Grandma?!”

Dipper didn’t know until now that a smile could be sad. “Yeah, I sure do. Look, I came here to say that I figured out your-” she pointed at Dipper, “deal.”

Dipper didn’t say anything, because he didn’t understand and he knew Mabel would do it for him.

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, so, your shit’s fucked darling. Totally ass over teakettle bad. Sorry lovey but, that’s just how it’s going to be. That’s how you can even see me.”

None of this made any sense to Dipper, though he saw Mabel mouthing along to what the lady in purple was saying and saving the Bad words for later. 

There was a moment of silence and then Mabel asked “So.. Things bad?”

“Yes.”

“Why you tell us then?” 

The lady in purple looked at them for a solid minute without saying anything. The stick in her mouth dropped on the ground and she ground her foot over it. 

“I...Fuck, I’m sorry kids. Look, do you want a candy cigarette?” She proffered two sticks to them and they took them.

(yes she was a stranger. But this was Dipper’s dream and they would always be safe in here, and also...Dipper had the feeling she was and wasn’t a stranger. Not really.)

The weird lady ran her fingers through her hair. 

“Look kids... Christ, I was never good with talking to kids. Barely managed talking to my own, and look how-”

She saw their blank looks, and said “Never you mind that. I guess just... look, not gonna lie Mason-”

“Dipper.”

“-Dipper, things look really, really rough for you going ahead. But-” And now she kneeled down until she was eye level with him, and her hands were on his shoulders, and her nails were digging into his skin and it was uncomfortable but he didn’t let it bother him because he knew, somehow, that this was Important.

“The bad? And trust me, there’s a whole lot of that, but....It’s outweighed by the good, I promise.”

She turned to look at Mabel, who was currently eating sand because she could get away with that in dreamland. 

“She’s a lot of your good. But remember to not only rely on her for your good. That’s not fair to her. And that’s not fair to you. Promise... Can you promise me to remember that?”

“I promise.”

The woman in purple looked into his eyes, then grimaced. “No. No. No, you’re going to forget that, you won’t remember, you won’t listen-”

Her hands began to hurt.

“I’m- I’m sorry-”

She paused. Her hands released from his shoulders, and instead she grabbed him into a hug.

“Bubbeleh. My love. You never, never have to apologize to me, okay? There’s.... there’s so much that will happen to you but here and now, don’t apologize, okay? It will be okay, okay?”

She was crying and Dipper didn’t understand, and he looked at Mabel and he could tell that she didn’t understand either so all he said was, “Okay,” and let the weird lady who was weird yet kind of like Grandma Shermie hug and cry on him.

---

By the time Dipper was in kindergarten, the dreams had ended.

That was probably for the best. 

[hecohansen31]

Only Destiny Can Judge Us

Supreme! Michael Langdon+Alpha! (Female) Reader.

(A/N): Hello there lovelies!

This is kind of a take onto my Supreme! AU (it is completely different from the original one, since it is a different origins story, but it keeps up that plot).

Also it is based onto two asks that I received on the witches resurrecting Michael:

The witches resurrecting Michael to fight the antichrist 2.0. And he be like “you can eat my shit, you can defeat a bad bitch” attitude. Of course, they bring him back in their outpost form because he was more powerful in that form. Can u do that promp please??

outpost!Michael back from the dead helping the witches to defeat the new antichrist

As always, any kind of feedback, especially comments are welcomed, in order for my writing to get better and understand what you might truly be interested with!

Have a nice day and reading!

SUMMARY: The cycle that the prophecy spoke about is going to start again, and your nightmares are only the proof of how horrid it will all be again.

WORDS: 5,2 K

WARNINGS: Resurrection Talk, Violence, Non-Sexual Choking, Prophecy, AU; Unprotected (DO IT WITH PROTECTION, BABES!) Sex, Oral (Female Receiving) Sex, Fingering, Hate-To-Love.

You ran, holding your bleeding wound.

You knew that your efforts were useless: everything would be reset that night, but you knew it meant much more than Cordelia had planned.

You had discussed and fought with her about that.

‘‘Delia your plan won’t solve anything! We’ll have to fight another antichrist as soon as this one is buried! It is no use to run from destiny! We are just bringing this one further along the way, in a path of pain and loss’.

‘What do you know of pain and loss, little (Y/N)?’ had shot back arrogantly Cordelia, looking at you with desperation and pain ‘Have you lost your coven? Is the world in crumble underneath you?’.

‘I understand your grievances, ‘Delia, I do more than you think, and I tell you that this circle of pain and loss will just repeat itself if we don’t cut it with the proph…’.

‘You know exactly like me that those prophecies are nothing more than lies that get to those who have an open mind towards black magic. And let me tell you, little (Y/N), I didn’t think that you would be one of those’.

‘It’s to extreme remedies that this disgrace has brought us, ‘Delia’ you had mumbled, before you had dared more ‘… and at least my mind is open…”.

Cordelia had petrified you on the spot and her mind had become even more closed to your idea than it was before, hence you were running trying to suffocate the bleeding wound on your lower stomach, but you could already feel dizzy.

And you could already feel him coming onto you, and then a force smashed you against the closed wall, effectively bruising your back, meanwhile your nails tried to sink in the stone walls to calm the pain going through your wounded body.

But it wasn’t enough.

The healing enchantment died on your lips as Michael Langdon was onto you, his body slamming into yours, and kept you attached to the walls behind you, bruising further your back.

You let out a moan of pain and he smirked, pleased of how he was torturing you.

“You can���t outrun the destiny, little rabbit” he smirked with an evil glint in his eyes, as he brought your head up to meet his and you gritted your teeth together, both for the pain and the humiliation.

“I know that for sure” you knew better than anybody what would be happening that night “… in a few minutes I’ll be laying breathless and without a soul onto the floor”.

“I like girls who know what will happen to them and don’t run from it” he pushed an hand around your neck and you were unable to hide the goosebumps the cold touch created as he pushed it to tighten around your frail structure “… you aren’t like the others for sure”.

You knew it: you had always stuck out among the others as a sore thumb, but it had never mattered, because you hadn’t known what you knew now.

The antichrist would make the world crumble to pieces and the witches would fight it, they would destroy him, but they wouldn’t destroy the curse around it, creating and being stuck in a circle of rebirth and time-travelling, which was quite not useful for both the parties.

The grip onto your neck tightened.

“For this… knowledge of yours, little rabbit, I’ll allow you a bloodless death, you’ll die as pure as not many have, your body keeping the resemblance of the youth which has been stolen by those witches” he smirked, and suddenly your breath was stolen from your lungs.

You didn’t fight it, knowing all too well that to be truly reborn you would have to die, but still you couldn’t deny the scariness of the act, which brought your soul to lose his resoluteness.

Dying wasn’t a pretty look on you, although your death was the cleanest you had seen, amongst all your sisters.

And in Michael’s eyes, at the moment of weakness you had been having, tears shone.

You could feel and see a small boy, being scared of what he was doing, wanting desperately to stop what he was doing, but it was all his destiny had made him useful for.

The prophecy had done all of you dirty.

You woke up suddenly, the scream stuck in your throat and your hands went around it to search for the hands which had been choking you a few minutes before anything stopped and your eyes opened, revealing that you weren’t in an ancient manor anymore, but in your own dormitory at Hawthorne.

And you hadn’t been the only one awake at that cursed hour.

John Henry stood in the doorway of your room, probably having been left open, because you had fallen asleep onto your books (and you had quite the mark of it on your face) and hadn’t even been able to close it and reach the bed.

“How many times have I told you that reading those books before sleeping will give you nightmares?” he asked, although his tone held no bite to it, a slight worry being shown in the way he pawed around, wondering whether he should enter in your room or not.

And you simplified his choice offering him the chair next to you.

“And how many times have I told you that they are my nightmares to deal with?” you retorted, but quickly closed the elegant volumes you had been studying onto.

Since you had come to Hawthorne, in some kind of exchange study visit, you had been attracted by the darkest part of the library, where prophecies about the end of the world were written and held.

The nightmares hadn’t come with the prophetic books, they had actually started before.

For as long as you could remember what you dreamt and had a nightmares about, you had this horrifying thought about a man holding your throat, choking you till you lost your life to it, and you hadn’t been able to think about anything else.

You had tried any way to shoo them away, but they were more resilient than you might have thought and slowly your mind had taken them as a premonition of what was to come and your search through any prophetic book had pushed you to research a way out of them.

Which you still hadn’t found.

“They are not yours to deal with, when you scream loud enough to wake up any warlock in this wing of the palace” spoke back John, although again worry showed up in his eyes.

He had been the only teacher who had been willing to work with you, since you had arrived at Hawthorne: warlocks didn’t have a particular pendant for witches, even more when they knew all too well that you were there to keep an eye on them and their newest student, Devan Campbell.

You avoided Devan, like the plague, when you could, still: something about that boy wasn’t quite right.

“Are you enough pretentious to call all this shit a ‘palace’” you replied sarcastically, meanwhile you got up from your chair and moved your legs, which had grown rather sleepy and threatened your ability to actually walk to the bathroom to change.

“Was it the same dream again?” John Henry’s voice didn’t have any kind of amicable tone to it, and you couldn’t deny its seriousness with some sarcasm of your own, this time.

“What else would it be about?” you replied, lowering your eyes onto your hand, ink staining them and your ring catching the low light of the only candle surviving in the room, and you also made a mental point to light up another one, since you wouldn’t be able to sleep in the total darkness “… a game of cat and mouse, my knowledge that nothing will ever change and then… a beautiful man comes and chokes me to death… and the worst part is that… I feel pity for my murderer”.

“And you are sure that this is your future…?” you nodded slowly, and although John Henry hid it better than others, you saw that he was skeptic about the entire thing: who wouldn’t?

You didn’t have any ability in clairvoyance, hence you shouldn’t have been able to predict such a thing, even more when it hunted you without your control “… have you ever thought it might have been your past?”.

You now looked at him shocked.

“What do you mean?”.

John Henry shrugged off his jacket, to be more comfortable, since he knew this would take much more time than he had thought.

“Past lives are a bit more than people simply think them these days”.

“You are suggesting that what I am dreaming about… is my… past lives”

“No need to be so skeptic, sweetheart” he mumbled, reaching out in his pocket for his cigarettes, just to reminded by your harsh look that you didn’t like that gesture, mostly when he smoked in your clean room, smelling like lilies and oranges “… what I am saying is that you are looking too much through this: past lives sometimes come back to us in dreams, details that hunt you through the last shred of sanity”.

“Somebody choked me to death in my past life?” you tried to mumbled, thinking whether it made sense or not, and strangely it did, although you didn’t understand the way the dream kept on appearing almost each night you would dream.

“There are worst ways to die than this one” John Henry mumbled, sadly caressing your face “… just get some rest, I can put a spell onto you if you need it…”.

“You know how they don’t work…” you replied softly but thanked him with a quite caress to his shoulder, as he got up and you tried to do the same on shaky legs.

The only thing that would work on you was the truth.

Slowly the dream had become more detailed and you had been able to rebuild a story around them, and you were sure it was all due to Devan Campbell’s awakening powers, building up the prophecies you had been studying.

You had told John Henry that it was all linked.

And when the Campbell House trip had brought new knowledge, you hadn’t been able to handle the situation much longer, even more when it all spoke about things you had read in the prophetic books.

You had gone back to Cordelia and explained the entire situation, revealing much more than she had expected…

… than her and Mallory had expected.

“This is not the first time we are in this situation” you spoke, surprising anybody “… isn’t it, Mallory?”.

She seemed surprised, almost caught red-handed, but then spoke.

“It isn’t, but I had no idea that you had kept your memories” now all the witches in the Council were looking at you confused.

“They came back to me in my dreams, but I can’t quite piece everything together, but I know it’ll happen again, the books said that it will till the circle isn’t broke”.

Mallory smiled sadly, before moving to Cordelia sending her a smile who asked forgiveness for her omissions.

“We have already fought an antichrist: his name was Michael Langdon, and exactly as Devan he showed extraordinary magical abilities, but he was something more, something much darker… we managed to defeat, but… it is happening again”.

“I warned you it would happen” you mumbled, meanwhile Cordelia simply stared shocked at Mallory.

“You… came from the future…?” she said, evidently shocked.

“… and I had visions about it! And if you hadn’t noticed… we are all witches… this is fucking normal!” you shot back: now that you were sure you weren’t going crazy and something was happening, you didn’t understand the witches’ uneasiness.

Maybe it was because you had already gone through meanwhile for them it was simply fresh news.

“… (Y/N)…this isn’t… oh Gosh… this all seems crazier than it is”.

“We have defeated one antichrist already, we can do it again” replied encouragingly Mallory.

“We almost died in the last fight… shouldn’t we try to focus on avoiding what almost killed us…?” you didn’t want to again ‘I told you so’, but you had to use what you had found in your researches.

“… we know better and we are stronger than him, we know what mistakes not to commit” commented Mallory, taking the danger lightly and you couldn’t help but harshly send her a scared look, remembering all too well the way your neck had sounded as Michael had twisted it.

The way Madison’s head had exploded and the sick way he had bitten into Coco’s.

You couldn’t survive this again.

“… we won’t be defeated, this time”.

You had.

You still remembered the day when Mallory had left you and Cordelia had fallen to the ground, you and your fellow sister had been barely able to push her away from the horrible scenery and only Misty had been allowed to comfort her.

The following day she had come to your room and had asked to know what ‘your researches had taught you’.

Although she seemed skeptic, she had lost any hope the same second Mallory’s corpse had touched the ground.

And you had explained.

“It’s a prophecy: the antichrist is the contrary of Jesus Christ, hence we need a Christ, since this is not anymore an affair of witches and… that’s what the prophecy talk about: a new reborn human which will defeat the cursed son”.

“We should resurrect somebody and make him fight with the antichrist… that prophecy is bullshit!” commented Madison, meanwhile Cordelia seemed shocked.

“Not… anybody… there is the circle and who we should resurrect is…” you didn’t know how to give this news lightly, mostly when it was so heavy on everyone.

“… the previous antichrist, right?” Myrtle completed and you just nodded your head, meanwhile Cordelia gently fell on top of your bed, looking at her hands.

“… this is fucking fucked up” mumbled Madison, meanwhile you joined Cordelia on the bed

Indeed.

It had been a struggle to convince all the witches to join you in the possibility to resurrect Michael Langdon, not only because nobody thought it would work, but also because they couldn’t help but distrust him.

He would probably just join with his ‘brother’ had he been awakened, and you would have to deal with two powerful beings at the same time.

To prevent this, you had suggested to link up Cordelia and Michael and you knew all too well that he wouldn’t be resurrected as an antichrist but as a simply powerful warlock, maybe just as strong as you and Cordelia.

But definitely not an antichrist.

You had also tried to reassure the witches on the ‘betrayal’ part reassuring them that he would have had much more reasons to join you than his brother, one being the treatment that he had been reserved after his death: if an antichrist didn’t complete his mission, he would burn in the worst living nightmare Hell could conjure up.

Michael wouldn’t certainly help his ‘good ol’ daddy’, who had punished him for his failure and had quickly disposed of him, replacing him with a new and more efficient brother.

You also had to understand why he would ally with any of you, the people who had destroyed him, but that…

… could wait…

Once you had descended in Hell, you had found him in horrible conditions, burning fire consuming him and eternal damnation making him atone for every little failure that had happened in his plan.

“What are you doing here, witches?” he asked, a smirk working up to his scrunched and burned face “… did you come here to gloat for your success?”.

“We came here to make a deal with you” you spoke, since Cordelia was too shocked by the sight, the proof that the prophecy had been true and there had been a past to this horrifying present.

“… a deal?” he asked, and then, with a great pushing onto his leg, he pushed himself up, walking closer to you, the fire following him “… you aren’t the witches I used to know, but you… remember, don’t you, little rabbit? I sure remember the way your little neck sound as I broke it…”.

He expected fear to shine in your eyes, but only resolution was to be found there.

“You are not afraid of me”.

“Should I be afraid of the latest rendition of the ‘Human Torch’? Because the Hulk is honestly scarier”.

“We need help” spoke Cordelia, getting to the point “… we have been having trouble with another antichrist and this time… we couldn’t turn back time…”.

“Oh, I am sad to hear that, but how can I help you here? I am stuck in this literal hellhole… unable to do anything but suffer… and you know what it is the most interesting part… you fucking put me here” his voice had gone quickly from sarcastic to rageful and Cordelia seemed to almost fidget about what to do next.

“We are more than aware that you hold… a grudge… against us…” you mumbled, not leaning back from his touch “… but we might offer you something better than this ‘literal hellhole’, we might offer you freedom” you explained, trying to appear convincingly.

Your plan hadn’t admit Michael not accepting your deal, so you had to ensure he would accept, even if it came to bowing due to ‘his royal firey shit’.

“You are not going to give me such thing” his voice was spoken between gritted teeth, pushing his tongue against them in a cruel combo that resonated in his words “… if I have learned one things from you, witches, it is to never trust one of you, you are heartless, although you pretend to care about all those… ‘girl power’ shit”.

“I don’t allow you to offend my coven” tried to retort Cordelia and you had to hold an hand to her to shush her protest: you needed Michael much more than her proudness, right now.

“… you can trust me: what would we gain from making you walk the Earth again? Nothing but destruction” and you took a quite look around the place, making sure that disgust was evident in your gaze “… but if you prefer to stick around here… I underst…”.

“If I agree with your fucking treaty, what will be the hoax? Do I have to go around wearing Patagonia? Or will it be something like getting run over by a land rover again? Because in that case… I prefer something more elegant… don’t you have a Porche or a Lamborghini?”.

Well… the most difficult part was done.

You looked at the little fireplace you had set in the safehouse the witches had chosen as their bases in the operation against the Campbell antichrist (Madison had wanted to call him ‘The Omen 2’ but… you weren’t sure that somebody would have gotten that reference).

You would have to attack him before Apocalypse came around, since this time the option to go back in time wouldn’t be easy.

You would meet him the following day and put your best to fight him and defeat him, destroying the circle, since you had one of the past antichrists on your side (now nothing more than a warlock and half of the witches population had quite the fun remembering him about it… groaning dramatically ‘aaaaalphaaaa’ as he walked in, everywhere) and you would defeat the actual antichrist.

In the prophetic books, this was all it would take to destroy the mechanism and finally bring a bit of peace to the universe, which you hoped was what would happen, after you defeated the Campbell Antichrist.

… which was something everybody seemed to think was painfully obvious, and you should have: you had passed your entire life studying books for this moment, but you still couldn’t help but feel still… at unease about the entire subject.

But you hadn’t wanted to destroy the beautiful atmosphere going on in between your fellow witches and warlocks, knowing that half the success of this mission was set onto your own belief that you could defeat him.

Hence you had exiled yourself to the fireplace in the sitting room, meanwhile everyone was either getting drunk in their rooms, getting high or getting some action, which you just felt too much uncomfortable doing, your body shaky and tense and the warmth wasn’t able to soothe it in the slightest.

Still you tried to deal with all alone, as you had always done.

You had always had some kind of distance from the witches.

You felt fine talking with them, but magically talking… you were different, and had always felt that way.

That was why you had felt immediately more comfortable at Hawthorne.

“… so, this is how great nights are spent” Michael’s voice, surprised you and you almost turned around, chanting a soft enchantment under your breath, still unease around the warlock.

He, instead, seemed drawn to you, as if he was linked to you and not Cordelia.

You couldn’t help but be remembered of the past whenever his face saw yours, although the nightmares had stopped.

But it was difficult for you to simply forget.

The image in his eyes of a little boy being forced into this, was enough to make you understand that for Michael this wasn’t as easy as it might have seemed.

“Didn’t you take on Madison’s offer?” you asked, referring to when, over dinner, Madison had asked him if he needed some ‘job’ to relax himself before the great battle.

“I wouldn’t want Zoe to kill me, she is quite the strong witch” he mumbled, as he set onto the back of an armchair, meanwhile you turned to control the fire, lightly warming up more the room, since you were in two.

“… but you are stronger” you reminded him.

“Not as strong as I was before…” he mumbled, and what he said further, surprised you, extremely “… I don’t miss it honestly”.

“Hey!” you turned around, catching Michael’s azure eyes as you did so “…who are you? And what did you do to the power asshole that Michael Langdon is?”.

“I just… it isn’t… it wasn’t my power to start with” he replied, shaking his hand and looking at his eyes, a little light appearing in them “… and it felt always so out of control, like… it was what owned me, instead of me being the owner of it”.

“Can’t believe that also the antichrist could be sad…” you replied, moving closer to him, not knowing what eased your discomfort towards him.

Probably his pretty blue eyes.

“… it is a lonely world, the post-apocalyptic one” he stated, looking at the consuming fire, probably nightmares going through his mind of what had been going on in Hell “… and shouldn’t you be partying with Myrtle and Cordelia, I know that those two bitches have gotten the best liquor”.

“Ahhh… I think that I am missing a party: getting drunk and passing out, my ideal Saturday night”.

He laughed and you couldn’t help but be delighted to be there to witness it: it made him look younger much younger than he truly was, almost innocent.

“… I am glad to know that you won’t take advantage of me, because you are not in altered state” he joked, and you just retorted with a raise eyebrow giggling softly.

“You never know, you look pretty cute, without the burning marks…”.

“Only pretty cute?” he faked being disappointed, turning away from you, meanwhile you giggled, truly “… you need glasses”.

“If I survive this, I’ll get new ones”.

“If we survive? We are surviving” his words weren’t lighthearted ,and his eyes met yours “… I am making sure of it, I don’t want to go in that hellhole again!”.

You breathed deeply, the uncertainty of tomorrow heavying onto your head as a sword meant to cut your head off, had your prophecies worked out to be uncertain.

And Michael felt your insecurity.

“You are worried for tomorrow” you gritted your teeth and had no choice but to nod your head “… even if there are proph…”.

“Prophecies could be bullshit, and this time the Apocalypse will be permanent…” you finished, watching your hand, which Michael gently collected in his, the gentleness being a strange contrast with the idea you had of Michael… the one who snapped your neck…

“… I have seen many people… fighting destiny… I was one of them, trying desperately to be good, even thought, it wasn’t what Fate had for me… and what I am saying is that… it isn’t your fault if anything goes wrong, you fight, you give your best, the rest is in the Destiny’s hand, and I think that this is off-limits also to God and my father”.

“That’s very reassuring” although your tone was sarcastic, his words reassured you a bit, making you grip his hands back a bit tighter.

“I am more good at destroying the world than at comforting, sorry” he joked and you didn’t know what brought you to act that way (probably the cute way he smirked, all so proud of himself for what he had said), but you got onto your knees so that you were eye-to-eye with Michael and kissed him on the lips.

They were incredibly soft and plush, and Michael gently circled your back with his hand, to bring you closer, not squeezing to making you feel trapped but gently reassuring you were safe.

Which was a strange thing for the man who in a previous life had killed you.

A little cough brought you apart and Myrtle was staring at you, with a little eyebrow crook of disappointment and a knowing smirk that made you blush slightly, as a teenager being caught making out.

Michael also coughed of his embarrassment and you thought that a red-cheeked Michael was a miraculous sight.

“… please don’t desecrate the couch, your room have rather comfortable beds” she mumbled, before sprinting off away, probably to avoid seeing whether you were desecrating or not the sofa.

Michael got up, probably taking this as a cue to move away, to retire to his room, but you stopped him, gripping his hand.

“My bed is quite comfortable won’t you like to try it out?”.

You let Michael undress you, and he looked at you almost surprised that you were letting this happen.

You also were quite surprised.

But you just felt like it was right, and it was what you wanted to do.

You gently let him touch you, get acquainted with your body, from your soft lips, his fingers gently tracing the outline of them tentatively before they slipped inside and your tongue enveloped them, as you looked languidly at him.

Then his fingers moved down your neck, followed by your collarbones, tasting also the sweetest spots onto it, following your pretty collarbone, which he took his time bruising with his lips, till a little field of violets grew onto it.

And he then pushed away as you undid your bra, throwing it into a dark corner of your room, allowing Michael to take in your topless body, as he whistled lowly, making you blush softly and smack him on his arms, this time, definitely much stronger.

“… oh c’mon! Don’t hurt me, I need to save my energy for tomorrow” he muttered as you sent him an unbelieving look, and you guided one of his hands onto your hardening nipples, letting his fingers brush lightly against it, a tremble going through your body.

“Oh, you think you won’t spend any energy for this?” you asked, meanwhile his fingers started to have a mind of them own and caressed your nipple softly, before he lowered himself onto it, taking it in his mouth, gently, as you took his hair in your hands, pushing and pulling.

“… from what I can see you are the one doing anything, leading me through it…” he shot back, smirking before he sunk lightly his teeth into your skin, lightly reddening the areola.

“Just because I can’t trust you, around me, the last time … you choked me to death” something dark and sad appeared in his eyes and suddenly all the joking atmosphere had disappeared, for a single minute but you had felt the change.

“I promise it won’t happen this time” his voice was steady, truthful, as he gently kneaded your breasts, moving his lips onto the valley of them in a rather tender gesture, before he dipped between them, reaching slowly your stomach, the promise being repeated over there and then again onto your soft Venus peak, pushing itself past it “… the only thing that you are supposed to die from, right now, is… pleasure”.

And his tongue slithered dangerously close to your most secret parts, before he discarded your panties for more and more, till it broke you completely apart, as he, with much more expertise than you had given him the thought for, moved between your thighs.

He knew exactly what to do to make your thighs clench, to make you ask for more friction as you rubbed your folds together, bringing your legs closer around Michael’s head, as you pushed onto his rich curls, making him moan right onto your pearl, as he pushed himself further in you.

His fingers coming to join the party, as he pushed them to keep your eyes open, as he devilishly devoured you in a show of desperation that got you right over the edge.

And as you reached further, you pushed Michael with you to tumble onto the bed, in an ungraceful movement that gifted you both a huge smirk and a simple laugh, as Michael moved onto you, but you quickly changed the position, looking at him in the eyes, as your hands came to find their rightful place onto his chest.

“… didn’t you say I was the one doing the leading?”.

He couldn’t do much more but surrender to you, even more when you let him enter your warm heat, pushing him into tight walls and a lustful mix of juices that would create a mess onto your prettiest sheets.

But you didn’t care.

As you got past the initial shock of pain you finally came quite in control of your pleasure and rode Michael through it, your hands diving with more force onto his chest, leaving light red marks as he  gripped the sheet till they broke it off from your bed, making you again laugh, almost dizzily, as your hips followed the orgasm in a desperate search.

Every muscle in your body ached, but the reward for that wild ride was quite rightful for its pain.

Breath was stolen from your laughs, but the thrill of pure utter pleasure that went through your body was enough to make you forget that tomorrow you might die, that tomorrow the world might end and just let you remind that that night you had been given the last gift of your life.

Michael met you halfway through your own peak, holding you down onto his chest, probably needing to ground himself in some way, and the feeling of human warmth literally shook you, calming you and lulling you in a dreamless sleep.

Tomorrow was just in the Destiny’s hands.

---

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[dreamcatcherjiah]

Part 5

Inside that little bubble that you didn’t want to burst, you just knew that you were hugging your lifeline. You wouldn’t want to let go for the rest of your life and that was okay with you. The euphoric feeling was slowly fading, and it was leaving a sweet aftertaste all over your body, the taste of a very special connection that you couldn’t name. It had happened and there was no turning back now, that much you knew. Something didn’t allow you to distinguish where you started and the other person ended; whose heartbeat was whose; were you breathing anymore or were you just getting your oxygen from the other person? No, that was a ridiculous idea; if you weren’t really breathing, you would have already passed out. In all earnestness, something was different from mere minutes before, and it wasn’t only the fact that you weren’t in pain anymore. Your world had shifted, somehow you knew that now its centre was in your arms and you were incredibly okay with it. The problematic use of those words would crash on you later, when you realised how strange it was, and made you reflect in all your decisions from that same moment; but for now it was time only to enjoy the flying ecstasy that took over your two bodies and made you feel things that could not belong to you, but an amalgam of different emotions that no doubt belonged to both of you and none at the same time.

The way you would describe it if someone asked you to elaborate would be an extracorporeal sensation that somehow felt so raw and, while it gave your two bodies wings to fly high, it also rooted you to the earth and to each other. Your nervous terminations didn’t feel like yours anymore; they were his and his were yours. Your hands weren’t just yours anymore, but his to hold. It would scare any sane mind, only the mere recollection of your thoughts not belonging to you anymore, of having another person inside of your head, that could feel every little thing, read the most latent of thoughts, make it impossible for you to hide any secret from them. And so were you thinking, until a calming wave of blind love and devotion washed over you and these thoughts were erased. Such powerful connection was making it difficult for you to see clearly, blinded by so many powerful emotions, stimuli that your brain, saddled with the consequences of stomaching pain for such a long time, couldn’t seem to grasp. You wanted to yell, to tell that traitorous organ of yours to snap itself out of the daze, to realise how wrong it was to trade freedom, with every sense the word had, for a small respite from the pain. This same connection could take such a dangerous form if you weren’t careful. In those few seconds before the bubble burst, you could only think about how happy and liberated you felt, while in some remote part of your brain that little girl who dreamt of being her independent self in the future battled with the sedating infection of the bond and yelled, wanting the freedom from the pain, while not having to tie herself to another person. But in the end the sedatives worked their effect and the little girl was silenced by the romantic and marvellously painless appearance of your soulmate. 

As good things are almost always short-lived, it was almost a question of time before the people around you decided to interrupt the moment. The recognition that had happened almost blindly was about to become visible, you would open your eyes and everything would turn into focus, the blissful ignorance of the moment would disappear. Did you want it to? Your now liberated heart screamed for you to do so, to open your eyes and end the spell that so much bliss had brought you, but you were a coward and you couldn’t bring yourself to end the illusion. 

It was the exhale you heard from your soulmate lips that brought you back to the present. Their voice repeating the word “finally” over and over again was so familiar it almost turned your trust into despondence. It couldn’t be, now could it? The probabilities that your soulmate was one of the seven men you had seen up on the stage not two hours ago was one in a billion, there was no way in hell the man you were clinging to was one of them.

Apart from your soulmate’s voice you started hearing some other voices, some calm and soothing, others in hysterics and some others just laughing. It was fitting, you had to admit. Each and every one of those emotions were going through your mind that same second and it was incredibly funny how they were reflected in the people around you.

With much of the little will you had left in your body, you disentangled your arms from around your soulmate’s neck and took a deep breath. It was time, it was time to end the illusion and to open your eyes. You couldn’t contain your curiosity any longer, and it was incredibly difficult to silence your thoughts, which were running wilder the longer you remained blinded. Taking a couple of seconds to steel your nerves, you finally opened your eyes. 

Holding you was a beautiful man, whose dark brown eyes were brimming with tears, latching onto his long lashes. One of those little tears had made its way along his small, straight nose and had positioned itself just above his upper lip. Those lips that formed a perfect heart, showcasing his perfect, white teeth. His face was utter perfection, but the most outstanding quality of his features was the way his eyes alone were smiling at you. They creased on the corners and little bags appeared below them, turning them into little crescents; the best thing of all was the love and devotion they showed, one hundred per cent reflected in your own eyes. Or was it the intoxication talking?

“I can’t believe I found you just when I was ready to give you up,” you said, completely in awe. Your right hand, moving on its own accord, reached up and caressed his cheek tenderly. How could this beautiful man be your soulmate? What had you done right in your previous life to deserve him? These and a thousand other questions filled your heart, such was the happiness you were being subject to that a little bit escaped your eyes as tears.

“Please, don’t cry,” he pleaded. “I can’t bear to see any other expression in your face other than that beautiful smile.”

His words did only just that, made you smile the sappiest grin your mouth could form, and his followed suit, turning into a little heart. What a beautiful soulmate you’d gotten yourself.

“Look, I’m not saying I’m not happy they found each other…” said a voice a bit behind you, reaching your ears as if your head was underwater. “But this is getting ridiculous. Did they hit their heads when they crashed against each other? That right there isn’t my Hoseokie.”

“Hyung I think you should give her your water bottle,” said another voice, “I think she might collapse due to the shock.”

“Hey, look here young lady, breathe in… breathe out… it’s okay, you’re okay…”

“OF COURSE I’M OKAY,” shouted your friend, completely out of her mind. Hearing her so stressed did somehow manage to break through your haze and you turned your head to look for her. “BUT MY FRIEND WAS CONVULSING AND HER NOSE AND EARS WERE BLEEDING AND SHE FAINTED AND THE NEXT SECOND SHE’S UP AND RUNNING AS IF SHE WASN’T HALF DEAD TEN MINUTES AGO!”

She was sitting on the floor, hair completely in disarray and clothes wrinkled and dirty. She had tear stains running down her cheeks and her makeup was all smudged over her eyes and temples, as if she had tried to dry her tears with her arm. 

“And she says she’s okay,” whispered another voice, prompting Hyejin to turn her head snappily towards them, giving them the deathliest glare you had ever seen. “Ooops, I guess…”

Worried for your friend you hadn’t noticed how your soulmate buried his face in your face and inhaled deeply, adding to the intoxication surrounding the both of you. His senses went into overdrive and he hurried his face deeper into you, kissing that place between your neck and your shoulder. That you did feel, as well as your knees failing you and how your soulmate had to tighten his hold on you so you didn’t collapse due to the scalding sensation that travelled through your body as his lips touched your skin. 

“For God’s sake! This is getting ridiculous! Someone get them off each other!” Ordered a deep voice, getting closer and closer to you.

A hand suddenly gripped your elbow and, applying a bit more force than necessary, tore you away from your soulmate.

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water down your head. The feeling of euphoria left your body, the cloud surrounding your brain dispersed and you could finally think clearly. Turning on your heels, you wasted no time in running to your friend and kneeling in the floor in front of her.

“Hyejin! Oh my God, I am so sorry!” You cried.

She looked at you dead in the eye, not saying a word, with her brows creased and her expression neutral. You were acutely aware that there was a good amount of people surrounding the both of you, but being able to think clearly once again, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were focused on your friend and making sure she was alright.

“Are you okay now?” Was the first thing you heard from Hyejin’s lips after her shouting match not five minutes ago. Nodding profusely, you weren’t ready for her to jump you and start throwing punches at your arms or at your stomach, not punches that could harm you much, had you not been in pain for months on end before this day.

“Stop, please,” you pleaded, trying to use your arms to cover your chest and ribs, the parts of your body that had been most affected by the pain, making you a bit paranoid in case she landed a good punch somewhere near those areas. “I didn’t mean to scare you that much! I swear, it wasn’t intentional!”

“I know it wasn’t intentional, but I swear to God, if I have to see you ever again in this condition I am ending you myself!! I — I thought you were— I thought you were d-dead, back there,” she hiccuped, her voice retreating back into her body as her movements stilled too. “I can’t believe you were so sick and I didn’t know, how could you hide this from me, Y/N? I know we are not that close, but seeing the state you were in… Oh my God, you could have died tonight…”

The emotion behind her trembling voice moved you to the core and, throwing your arms around her shoulders, you hugged her how you had been unable for months due to the pain. She finally relaxed and hugged you back, whispering nonsense in your ear, sentences that you couldn’t make sense of, but you automatically assumed it was due to the shock. Hers or yours, you weren’t really sure. Taking calming breaths, in and out, you took and evaluation of your surroundings and could hear people whispering.

“This could either be too good or too bad,” said someone with a characteristic deep voice. “You shouldn’t touch her for the time being, hyung.”

“I don’t know what got into me, I swear, I just couldn’t get enough…”

“And we do NOT need to know that much Jung Hoseok!” Screamed someone else.

You turned your head so fast, you were sure something had snapped in your neck, and looked at the group of men standing a bit over to your side. And just in the middle of them was standing your soulmate. You could tell just by the way your heartbeat accelerated that the man who was looking at you was your soulmate, Jung Hoseok, surrounded on all sides by the rest of BTS and their bodyguards. 

“And I thought I was screwed before.”

💞Tight Hearts (Idol!Hoseok x Reader)

Plot: The red string of fate was visible when our grandparents were children. They would play around, following the strings from one person to their soulmate and laugh happily when these two people inevitably found each other. It was a reason for happiness. But little by little, people stopped seeing the threads. In bad times, it was dangerous, it was a liability, so people stopped seeing them to protect each other from harm. When I was born, nobody saw them anymore, they just felt their soulmate. Anxiety, happiness, sorrow, love, the hearts of the soulmates are one, feel the same things, but it is almost impossible to find your soulmate, now that the threads cannot be seen.

Tight Hearts Masterlist

A/n: What did you guys think of this update?? I am not really happy with it, but things are getting interesting from now on hehehehe😏😏 Let's chat!!

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list.

Love 💜🌙

Tag list: @obsessoverthesmallthings247 @threedecadesofawkward @mabel-k3 @tremendousminyoongi @justignoremepleaz @demonic-meatball @hadaises @littlestsweetpea28 @rjsmochii @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @gali-005 @salty-for-suga @indicisive-af @nomimist7 @lyssjeon @raisatarannum1234 @purplelady85 @threedecadesofawkward @valentynxmgc @acopenhagenarmy @ephyra1230

[dibidibifiction]

Criminal In My Mind: Chapter 1

Warning: foul language

Pairing: Choi Minho x Reader

Word count: 2k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

masterlist  

Y/N

“What... What’s happening?”

Different voices sound faint in the background. I try to adjust as my sight is still cloudy. I have no idea where I am. I start to fail catching my breath as soon as I realize that I can’t feel my arms when I attempt to feel my head where there’s excruciating pain other than the rest of my body aches all over.

Although everything is dark and blurry, I noticed that I’m sitting down with my knees bent to my face, a cloth smelling of gasoline fumes covers my nose and mouth. I’m in a cramped space that I can hardly move in, some kind of a big container. I look up and I see a small hole with light shining through.

What is going on? I can hear myself breathing rapidly.

Two men appear from above me and grab me forcefully on both of my arms to stand me up as I feel another severe pain. This time it’s somewhere on my hip.

Shit, it hurts! It hurts, it hurts. It fucking hurts!

Still catching up with my breath, my sight is fading black again while I hear drilling and hammering but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I feel myself being dragged as burns forming on my heels. I start to panic—trying to jerk every part of my body, trying to break free. I’d shout for help but my lips down to my throat are too dry as if frozen.

I must have passed out for a minute because the next thing I know is complete silence and complete darkness. Suddenly, in front of me appears another man with blood all over his hands and a sledgehammer in one. “Stay still,” he says.

I try to scream again and finally, my voice rips out the loudest that I can, “Help!”

“Shh, relax, this is just a-” 

“Dream!”

I jolt up. My pores drip with cold sweat and my heart throbs as if to break free from my ribs.

“It was just a dream,” I think out loud.

It’s been over a year since I last dreamt something about what happened when I was thirteen. I don’t even remember what exactly happened anymore. I just remember exactly how it felt, how terrifying it was. How I thought I was going to die. I’m not even sure how I survived, especially my surgeon. I received quite a beating from that event, such as severe bruises and deep cuts all over my body, internal bleeding along my insides. Two rib bones were so complicatedly twisted on my lower right flank that I needed surgery just for the doctors to fix them, which left a big scar down my side. I don’t know what’s worse: remembering how everything happened or remembering how it all felt. The memory of it all, although unclear...

I get freighted by the vibration of my phone against my nightstand. Jinki is calling.

“Lee Jinki, isn’t it too early for a flirtatious phone call? I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, hey! I didn’t expect you to pick up right away. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just a bad dream. Gonna take a shower. I’m late for-”

“Wait! Stop by for breakfast. It’s on me.”

I roll my eyes and hang up. Jinki and I dated shortly after college for like a week or two so nothing was serious. We’re good friends now but he’s still claiming that there is still some kind of remaining spark between us. It’s getting old so I just always assume he’s joking every time he tells me that.

I decided not to wash my hair and just let it loose since I really am going to be late for work and I hate to bother going out with wet hair. I get dressed, I go for a pastel pink long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted light blue jeans and my ivory cream high-top Chucks. I don’t bother for any makeup, which rarely happens, and rush out the front door then lock it behind me. 

I hop on a cab taking it that there won’t be a bus stopping any second now.

I arrive at Jinki’s café, which is just on the next parallel street of the flower shop and just two neighborhoods away from home, “Hi, I’m here,” I call out even before I spot him.

“Good morning, Y/n!” Jinki greets cheerfully with his usual bright smile. “Wait, I think there’s something different,” he gestures both of his hands on my face.

“Oh, maybe it’s because I haven’t put any makeup-”

“You’re extra beautiful today,” his smile widens, and eyes almost disappear.

“-on,” I grit my teeth at him. “You shut up, Jinki! I’ll see you later,” I walk out the glass doors and nod at the barista as thanks for opening them for me.

I flash all the way to the flower shop that my sock slips off from my heel when I walk in, to already witness an early customer.

“There she is! My favorite employee. Y/n, sweetie, please come and talk to this fine lady right here. She has a lot of questions that are far beyond my energy to handle.”

“Sorry, I’m late, Mr. Lee. And everybody knows I’m your only employee who isn’t your son,” I joke back as Taemin pops in yawning, still in his morning glory.

“And everybody also knows that my son sucks at his job,” Mr. Lee shouts and smacks the back of his son’s head then points to another customer that has just walked in, ordering him to go and entertain.

As I mind my own customer, I catch a small glimpse of the guy Taemin’s talking to, who looks unimpressed. He has dark hair in a layered bowl style with his fringe covering more than half his forehead and would’ve definitely looked cuter if he smiled. They seem to already know each other. Weird thing is I feel like I’ve met him before. Was he in one of my classes in college? Does he go to the same gym class I do? 

“For the petunia bouquet, can you add something else so it won’t look so plain?” the nice lady inquires further.

“Absolutely. Maybe I’ll add some purple azaleas or lilies, or maybe both if you’d like. What do you think?”

“Great! I’ll just entrust this on you, dear, okay?”

“No problem,” I assure her, not breaking a smile while I work the cash register for her down payment, I take one more quick look at the guy, who may now think I’m creepy so I’ll stop now. I hand over the receipt to the lady in front of me.

“Thanks! I’ll come back Friday to pick them up,” she announces.

“Thank you for coming in! I’ll make sure to ready your bouquets by then. Have a nice day!” I say, still smiling, opening the door for her to walk out.

As soon as I approach the guys, the other customer, probably coincidentally, is just walking out of the shop. I don’t know about everybody else who’s met him but he seems hostile to me. 

And really really familiar. I can’t point my finger at it. “You know him?” I ask Taemin beside me.

“Yeah, we’re in a photography class together,” he tells me. “I tend to talk to him at school but he’s kind of scary.”

“Seems likely.”

“But I like him. I think he’s better once I get to know him.”

I laugh. “Anyway, what time do your classes start this afternoon?”

“2 o’clock.”

“Great. Can you deliver those bouquets due today for me? Please and thank you!” I sweetly ask him, pointing at a big box across the counter.

“Sure thing, Noona. Tell Dad I’ll be home late tonight,” he informs me while grabbing his backpack and the box of deliveries.

“Hot date?” I tease him.

“We’re just friends,” he said with a jokingly evil grin and a wink. 

“Hey, Lee Taemin, don’t do anything stupid!”

Just like that, he’s out the door before I even finish my sentence.

Lunchtime is finally here. I’ve been arranging flowers all morning and handling customers whenever somebody comes in. Although I could never complain about my job since this is what I’ve ever wanted growing up.

I was born and raised in a different city where my parents live to this day about a two-hour drive away from here, or three hours if you took the bus since it has a lot of stops and depending on traffic. I moved to this city in my first year of college. 

My mom and dad had been tight with me growing up, especially with academics, since they both have families that got master’s degrees and PhDs. At first, I didn’t mind studying hard and graduating with honors because I didn’t really know what I wanted to be in the future at the time. However, the more I aged, the more I realized that I hated studying. I’m not smart enough like my parents and my cousins and they had no idea how hard I must have worked in order for me to please them. I hated the attention whenever I received a first-place certificate or won local quiz bees and academic decathlons because, you know what, none of the trophies and medals I earned made me happy.

When I was kidnapped and held captive in some kind of box for days, all I thought about was flowers. I was missing my mom’s garden at home, and how it smelled in the morning before I went to school. I figured that flowers were all that I drew with crayons in kindergarten. It was the highlight of my days. At the time, in that container, I had foreboded that I was going to die.

Since the universe provided me a second chance to live, that’s when my life began. I did not want to be an academic overachiever, I wanted to have fun. Since then, my parents always scolded me for getting a B or a C, but I didn’t care. At least I never neglected my studies.

The day came when I had to move out to go to college and I couldn’t be more excited. Still without neglecting my academics, I started partying almost every weekend and dated whoever I wanted. Although, I honestly have never been in love before.

The rest is history, I found Mr. Lee’s flower shop. I applied for a job here three years ago, before I graduated.

“Did somebody order lunch?” Jinki walks into the shop. “How’s my love doing?”

“Fine, thank you for asking. And shut up,” I say. “You didn’t have to do this. You already gave me breakfast.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want my girl to starve,” he winks at me.”

“Hey, Lee Jinki! Give me a break, won’t you? I’m not yours.”

“Come on, I’m kidding. It already sank into me that you’re never gonna be mine. Plus, I actually met somebody.”

“No shit, really? Who?” I ask, surprised.

“I’m not gonna tell you now. We just started seeing each other and we’re not exclusive yet. I don’t even know if she likes me.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you moving on. Let me meet her when you’re ready.” I say to him as I pinch his cheek.

“Here we go,” he says after laying out all the food on the counter.

“Looks good, thank you,” I’m always thankful for Jinki. Even though we didn’t work out as romantic partners, I’m glad we’re friends. “Oh, by the way, Kibum is coming into town this Friday.”

“Oh, great. I only got to meet him once before but I think he’s really funny. How long ago was it when he last visited?” he asks while his mouth is full with rice.

“I think it was over a month ago when he told me the news about his engagement.”

“Looks like we have a fun weekend ahead. Although I might not join you the next day since I’m going home to my mom’s.”

“Great! Say hi to her for me.”

Chapter 2

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Consumption: A Critical Role Fanfic

Okay so for day 7 of @essek-week...it’s a Vampire AU but I feel like I should tell you guys the story behind this fic because it’s honestly pretty funny. I’m part of the Essek Theylss Fanclub Server and it’s an amazing place full of amazing people and we have a rule about being inclusive. Which is like hella awesome, and one of the rules is no nsfw content to make sure everyone is comfortable. Which is like, a great rule and I’m 100% for it. But I’m writing this fic...a vampire AU...and I go...wow this is sexy (because vampires are sexy)...I think it’s too sexy to go with my other fics...uh....I’m probably not going to be able to post this in the ETFC...well you know what I may just go all the way then.  

So that’s how we got this fic. Enjoy! 

Trigger warnings:  NSFW, Vampire related content (biting, blood drinking, hypnotism), corruption kink, master and servant play, voyeurism 

Read on AO3

You would think facing an eternity of endless darkness would be depressing, but Essek often found that the key was to remain busy. If you remained busy, interesting things tended to happen. One couldn't be busy all the time though, and even the undead couldn't stay awake forever without suspicion, so when that happened Essek commissioned a nice coffin for a handsome rich socialite who oh so tragically found their life cut short in whatever way it was fashionable to go in the time period. And then he played dead for a few years before picking up again wherever he left off. 

This time, it was consumption. There was a small closed casket funeral because an open casket was so gouache, what was the point of everyone looking at you when you couldn't enjoy their attention? And then Essek buckled down for a nice long nap in a marble mausoleum that was in a graveyard in a property by a mansion that of course was in his name and tied up in so much legal nonsense that no one but the person who had the deed would ever be able to claim it. 

So Essek slept, and slept for a good long while. Sleep for a vampire was different than for a mortal, for all intents and purposes it was much like death had been...even if death had been a temporary state for Essek when he had first been turned.  There were no dreams or consciousness of any sort, just darkness. It wasn’t comforting or distressing, it just was and there was nothing else to it. Essek, when he was awake, often wondered at the simple pleasure of it. When he was mortal he had tranced, dreamt seldom, but now he couldn’t even remember what that had been like. It seemed too messy for his tastes. 

And then one night, Essek woke up. 

Essek knew immediately that something was different than usual because he definitely was not ready to emerge from sleep. Usually he would awaken when his body at least ran out of its stores of energy, but this was not the case this time. It was the sense that someone else was there that sent him on alert. There was someone else’s presence ripping him from his darkness and back into consciousness. He was thirsty (ravenous he supposed) and outside of his coffin Essek could hear the sound of a heartbeat thick in his ears, of something metallic being settled down. A vampire hunter? No, there was no garlic and there was no sense of danger.  He couldn’t yet smell, because the coffin was sealed, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt...would it? After all, whoever had awoken him had clearly been rude. 

Essek remained still as the lid of his coffin was slid off heavily. Once the coffin was cracked open the scent of a human was perfumed in the air, there was silver but not enough and far enough away that Essek knew he was not dealing with a hunter. But he waited, and waited--

There was an intake of breath, and then-bizarrely Essek felt a finger trace his cheek. 

Essek grabbed the offending hand, causing whoever it was to yelp in surprise. Essek’s eyes did not need any time to adjust to the darkness as he lunged out of his coffin and pinned the attacker to the floor. There was a man underneath him, frozen in fear. Essek’s other hand found an anchor, fingers were settled on his throat--hard enough to threaten but not hard enough to kill. The man underneath him was scruffy and underfed, his heart moved and at a jackrabbit rhythm in his chest. There was candlelight--the fool underneath him had a lantern. In the flickering light there was a blue shine to his eyes and it was the only color he seemed to possess. Everything else about him was sallow and starved and a layer of dust and grime clung to him and soot stained his fingertips and caked his nails. 

“I think we both know that you have done something wrong,” Essek admonished him sweetly, like a nanny scolding a misbehaving child. “It is very rude to wake up someone who is sleeping. I shall have you know that. Now, what you are planning on doing to make it up to me is the question.” 

“You-you-!” the man stuttered before cutting off in a desperate sound as Essek’s fingers slid up his neck, raising his chin so he could see exactly what treasure he had in front of him. At the sight of the pale freckled skin rooted with thrumming blue-green veins, Essek felt his canines ache and elongate. What an utterly delectable prize this human was in possession of, it would really be a shame not to open it up. Essek could smell the fear rolling off the man in waves, ruining his revelry.   

“Now, now. No time for that. Speak convincingly and quickly,” Essek told him, licking his teeth. “I am very hungry and you are extremely distracting. But if you convince me, I may not leave your corpse for the crows to peck at.” 

“I did not...mean to disturb you,” the man croaked, struggling beyond his panic. Essek felt him attempt to take a steadying breath. Good, he could take orders. That was a pleasing sign. “I was simply looking for spell components. Tombs and graveyards are full of things that can be used. That was a mistake on my part, one I understand was grievous.”

“So you fancy yourself a tomb robber,” Essek chuckled in spite of himself. He liked this human’s voice, his accent and the soft deep tones of it. “Stealing off the backs and from the coffins of poor dead grandfathers and grandmothers.” 

“I am a wizard,” the man corrected guiltily before closing his eyes, the violet hollows underneath stark and beautiful despite what they meant. When he turned his head Essek could see the lantern-light caught in his curls. And below the grime, Essek could tell his hair was a rare red. “A poor one. I ask only for your mercy, that you should leave me alive once you are done feeding from me...not that I deserve it.” 

“Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t,” Essek sighed, giving the man’s wrist a teasing squeeze. He released his fingers from the man’s throat and caught his other wrist before he could move. “Now, relax. This feels so much better when you are at ease.” 

Normally Essek would have charmed his victim, but he wanted this one to have the full effect of a feeding. After all, he hadn’t made up his mind yet about whether what he had done was a killable offense. The punishment did have to suit the crime, after all. With little hesitation, Essek savored the sensation of his fangs sheathing into skin. The taste of his blood was utterly exquisite, hot and sweet with the dying embers of his magic. It soothed the ache of his parched throat, instilled new strength into his limbs. The man made a broken noise, caught between a cry and a moan, but then went quiet and still except for the occasional whimper as Essek drank long and deep from him.

He had talent, was easy on the eyes, and had a delicious flavor to boot. It would be a shame to not ruin him, when there were so many more interesting things they could do together. 

“Good boy,” Essek purred as he pulled away, careful to press the punctures and blooming green-blue bruises with pressure to stop the bleeding. Though he had been pale before, his intruder was now almost translucent. “See, that was not so bad was it? I have been told that the feeding is as pleasurable for you as it is for me, and you certainly are delicious.” 

“More,” slurred his guest, head lolling to the side in an adorable attempt to seduce him back to his neck, where two trails of blood traced the hollow of his throat from the place Essek pressed. “Please...please, more.”  

“You are quite talented at begging when you put your mind to it,” Essek soothed, using his free hand to trace his lips, they opened under his touch like a spring flower in the sun. “I will be happy to indulge you again soon, but only once your marrow has seen fit to fill your veins completely. Now tell me, what is your name?” 

The man’s blue eyes fluttered open. His expression was utterly guileless and dazed, it made something in Essek shiver in desire. But it would have to wait...good things came to those who waited.  

“Caleb...Caleb Widogast,” the man said before frowning, and Essek could see the effort he was putting in trying to think beyond the poisoned haze. As much as Essek would have liked to praise him for it, he also knew the benefit of restraint. After all, why give praise away easily when you could make the beneficiary work for it? The best things always came to those who waited. 

“Well Caleb Widogast,” Essek said, testing the name...tasting it, and finding it satisfactory. Caleb was a lovely name, he had always had a penchant for strays. “Tonight seems to be your lucky night. It appears that I have an opening available for a student, and you are in need of a teacher with the funds to support your endeavor. I see no reason why we cannot come to a simple agreement that will benefit us both.”  

____________

Caleb settled in nicely to Essek’s estate. He had already proved himself smart, and as sharp with numbers as a knife on top of being a talented wizard once he had the funds. The property itself found its way back into Essek’s hands easily as usual, and Essek found teaching to be a happy way to spend his days and a good excuse to stay inside and away from the light.

 Soon enough the whole estate was up and running once more, awoken from its dormancy like a hibernating beast. All the proper signatures and dotted i’s and crossed t’s that usually took Essek some significant effort were dealt with in a manner that was orderly...and honestly impressive. Servants were acquired from the surrounding village with relative ease...which provided Essek with a steady source of sustenance. He had always had a good amount of self-control. Though others in his coven had often accused Essek of being cutthroat, Essek found it to be so much better to keep your meals alive. After all, why feed deeply once and arouse suspicion when instead you could feed lightly and conservatively and stay alive. There was a reason that Essek had outlived a good many of his brethren.  

But speaking of aroused…

“My lord…” the maid gasped, her whole body trembling as Essek ran his tongue over her wrist...where she still bled. She was a pretty youthful looking half-elf, not that feminine beauty did much for him outside of just aesthetics. This wasn’t really for him though, and considering the response he was getting from the shadowed alcove by the door the act was appreciated. The dulled effect of the charm kept her compliant...while the poison did its work. However, as he saw when looked off to the side, this was all having its desired effects. 

“Now, now, no need to fuss,” Essek bid her as he extricated himself from her wrist, taking his handkerchief from his jacket and tying it to her wrist to stem the flow of her blood. She leaned forward, love-drunk to kiss him but he chuckled as he dodged it, and gave her hand a pat. “That was quite careless of you...holding that knife in such a way. But it is alright now. You may feel a bit lightheaded but that’s normal.”

“Yes...the knife…” the maid repeated, the story seeping into her ears sweetly.  

“You know I eat lightly, I’ll have the cook package some food up for you...to make up for the trouble and to keep you strong. Go home to your husband and be sure to get some rest...he’ll tend to your needs well.” 

“Thank you...thank you I’ll just…” she said, before swaying and stumbling off. Caleb caught her as she approached the door, making sure she was steady on her feet before letting her go.

 Essek took the moment to appreciate him. Even with just a few weeks of good food and Essek's meticulous care he had already filled out nicely. Essek certainly had to pat himself on the back for that. Gone was the diamond in the rough, and there stood a man who looked naturally fit to stand between marble statues and crystal chandeliers. Part of that was the work of Essek's newly acquired tailor, outfitting Caleb in high collars and waistcoats that brought out the blue in his eyes and the red in his tied back curls. Truly on that night Caleb looked the part of the nervous bachelor arriving at the matchmaker. He was a present for Essek to unwrap. 

“Make sure that’s done, Caleb,” Essek said as he tossed the napkin on the table before offering Caleb his own pristine plate and motioning towards the filled dining room table. “And please, as always feel free to help yourself as well. I have heard from the other servants that the cook’s beans are to die for.” 

“You are doing this on purpose,” Caleb accused softly. “You have been for weeks.” 

“Oh? Are you not hungry?” Essek asked innocently as he placed the plate down and pushed out his chair to angle towards Caleb. “Well, I suppose I am doing it on purpose. You were nearly skin and bones when we first met and having a mansion with no cook is suspicious-”

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Caleb said, blue eyes dark with longing as he crossed the space between them and stood before him. “Night after night...you make me watch this. Why?” 

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Caleb?” Essek asked, crossing his legs. “You should be grateful you aren’t my meal...that I’ve given you a warm bed and books and spell components and a job. A little blood is enough to make you regret it? Why...now I am feeling a little unappreciated, Caleb. I suppose I can excuse you from this...all you have to do is ask.”   

Caleb’s breath caught, loud and ragged. His face was flushed deliciously, rounded ears warmed through with color. Essek could hear his heartbeat from here and his grin felt victorious.  

“So it is not the watching then, you naughty thing? You like that part, I know you do...watching me ravish a poor maid or stablehand. Though I must admit the maidens are more for your benefit then mine.. they don't get my blood going if you'll excuse the tawdy joke. Perhaps it is something else, Caleb? Go ahead, tell me.” 

“Essek...I…” Caleb swallowed heavily, fists clenching and unclenching. His voice cracked and frayed with barely contained desire, as plain as the very attractive nose on his very attractive face. “Why is it them? Why not...why is it not…?” 

“Ah...I see,” Essek said, a victorious smile spreading across his face. “Am I making you jealous? All of these things I’ve given you...a home...food in your belly and coin in your pocket...my hands bathing you...and yet you feel covetous over this? You know I charm them...they only feel a dull watered down sensation to the pleasure you felt, and yet you are fantasizing about me opening your skin...sinking my fangs into you and filling your veins with poison. How greedy of you, but that’s what you want isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Caleb admitted raggedly, sinking to his knees, taking Essek’s foot in his hand, kissing the top of his shoe. “Yes, please.” 

“Ask and you shall receive,” Essek said leaning on his hand as he smiled sharply. “Don’t fret, my love, I’ll give you an even greater pleasure than any of them could ever dream to achieve tonight. I will always give you what you deserve so long as you ask nicely.”  

“Thank you,” Caleb gasped, fingers sliding up his pants...hot on his calf and running his tongue along his shin. Essek had known vampires who scoffed at the common pleasure of sex...after all nothing ever would compare to the ecstasy of a feed. The sensation of hot blood filling the mouth and wetting the throat was truly a pleasure most profound. But sex was not just a physical act, and with the right person of a similar mind? Well, that too could be something profound. Essek certainly found something interesting and worthwhile with this beautiful man on his knees before him. 

 “Patience, Caleb. Patience is indeed a virtue,” Essek promised him. “Go ahead, I’m watching you now Caleb. You have my attention, tell me...what would you like?” 

“Anything,” Caleb begged, eyes dilated. Kneeling on the ground he made quite a pretty picture, flushed and wanting already with his legs spread so Essek could see and smell how affected he was. “Anything you want.” 

“And if I just want to watch you debase yourself?” Essek asked him, pressing his heel into Caleb's shoulder. “Maybe I’ll deny you instead, you should know by now how entertaining I find that...to see you so tightly wound. Perhaps you don’t even want me? You just want something to fuck into like an animal in heat. I'll find a pretty maiden or handsome gentleman for you to have your wicked way with.”

“No...it’s you, it’s only you,” Caleb promised desperately. “I’ll give you anything you want, I’ll make it good, I’ll-”  

“Now, now,” Essek soothed, cradling the back of his head and bringing him to lean against his knees. At the sensation of Essek carting his fingers through his hair, Caleb shuddered. “I’m just teasing. I am sorry if I ever made you feel as if I don’t appreciate you. Tonight I’ll have my fill of you, and you shall have your fill of me. Sometimes it’s the wait that makes it worth it.” 

“It’ll never be enough,” Caleb said astutely standing, catching his hand to kiss it. Caleb looked up at him, with eyes half-lidded and tender. They certainly were a pair the two of them, that meeting had been serendipitous in more than one way. After all, a vampire was a creature who only knew how to take...one needed someone to give as well. 

“No, I doubt it will be,” Essek observed with a smile just for Caleb. 

[paperficwriter]

The Boy and the Seawolf

A Mumarou story for @anonymousedward! In which Mumen (Rider) meets a certain protective sea spirit.

Dirty Paper warning for, well, tentacle sex. There it is. I said it. Cut is for length AND content.

“Stay to the public beaches, my little Mumen. We do not go to the cove.”

The small boy stands with his pail and shovel, staring at where he can see the land dip further in. The waves hit the cliffs surrounding it, but there’s an easy path they could take, either around and down or straight in on the shoreline, when the tide is out. He points this out, because he is a clever boy, and he loves to explore.

His grandmother smiles and strokes his messy brown hair back from the glasses that make his eyes look huge. One day the rest of his face will catch up but for now, his gaze is so painfully earnest that she can’t help but stoop down and kiss his forehead.

“This is not a matter of ‘can we,’ my child. This we ‘should not’ do.”

He wants to know why.

“Because that place belongs to the Seawolf.”

Patiently, the small boy tells his grandmother that wolves don’t live in the sea. He proceeds to explain all the places that wolves do live, until she laughs.

“This is a Seawolf, Mumen. A guardian beast of the ocean. They say that once he was fully a spirit, but when humans began to live near the water, he let the strongest man join with him, become one with him. Even today, it is considered very good fortune if you see one.”

The boy tugs her hand in reply. This only seems to make him more intent to go to the cove, if that is the case (which he still doubts, but…)

“No, Mumen. Now, he rules from there in seclusion. You’ll find no fish we can eat there. Only jellyfish, stingrays and occasionally sharks, all which he uses to deter passersby. Just like you.”

The boy shivers. Jellyfish. It’s the only thing that he is actually afraid of, when he visits her by the shore. Ever since one stung him when he was a toddler, sneaking up on him in the shallows and barely brushing him with its bright red body.

It’s easy enough to convince him to come to the main beach by the boardwalk after that, but he never forgets the cove. He always looks, craning his head around from his bicycle, hoping to catch a glimpse of something; fin, fluke, flipper, or maybe something else.

He doesn’t see anything.

And he doesn’t know that something is looking back at him.

---

“Okay, steady on, you can do this.”

Mumen rode his bike down the shoreline in the dark, the large, sloshing cooler balanced on his handlebars threatening to overturn at every bend. He had thought that if he waited to do this admittedly very silly thing until nightfall, maybe he could avoid getting caught, but tonight there were several clambakes happening on the beach that had attracted the attention of locals and tourists alike. Lights had been strung along the piers, and people were milling around, stargazing, drinking beers.

He had been invited but declined.

“Come on, Mumen! Something like this will cheer you up. Get you out of that house for a while,” his grandmother’s neighbor insisted.

That  house. He liked that house. He had always liked that house, the way it smelled like the ocean even when you had washed it all off, all the blankets and pillows the only things that had been kept smelling like floral laundry detergent, clean of the remnants due to regular washes. “No, thank you,” he replied with a friendly smile. “I still have some work to do.”

Maybe he was doing this errand for her too, now that he thought about it.

When he came up to the cove, he almost turned around. Not because he faintly recalled something that his grandmother had told him about a local cryptid of some kind that lived there, but because huge signs had been erected since he was a child. Dramatic bold lettering screamed at him about riptides and the fact that there were no lifeguards posted past this point, and there were icons of fins and crashing waves.

“Perfect,” he said to himself. All of that meant no one else would be there either.

He rode his bike as far as the boardwalk would take him, and then he dismounted, beginning to walk it into the cove. The temperature dropped significantly, and when he followed the sandy shore further in, along the cliff and into the enclosed area, he was most surprised by the silence of the area, a still quiet that made him feel like he was actually the first person here in a very long time.

Turning on the headlamp of his bike once he was out of sight only confirmed his suspicions. There wasn’t a single sign of another footprint in the sand.

“Okay. Let’s get you guys home.”

Mumen felt a little bad as he dragged the cooler into the shallows, the cold water lapping at his ankle and making him dance a little as he got used to it. He was sure that although the fishmonger was happy enough about all the money he gave him for the twenty-some lobsters, the fishermen and other customers wouldn’t be at all.

But what was he supposed to do? Walk past the tank at the market and leave them there?

He picked up the first one and so, so carefully removed the rubber bands from around its formidable claws. When he put it down he walked a small distance to the right, then did the same thing again. And again. And again. Sweat dripped down his face, and for a second he stopped to slap some of the cold water on his face, licking the salty drops from his lips. Now, his legs and arms were beginning to ache as he dragged the cooler, but dumping all the lobsters out didn’t seem right. What if they were territorial?

When he suddenly heard a substantial splash up ahead of him, Mumen froze. In the yellow light across the surface, cast by the moon and his headlamp, he couldn’t see anything in the inky depths, but he was still only in the water up to his calves. No, not even his calves. More like his upper ankles. So it wasn’t like anything could get at him. Right?

It wasn’t the first time Mumen was wrong, but never, ever this wrong. Never so wrong that he would have dreamt he might suddenly feel powerful limbs wrapping around his legs and pull them out from under him. Even though there was no way he would have seen them in the dark, he couldn’t see past the cloudy sand and water blinding him, rushing up his nose. His glasses...where were his glasses?! Was he going to drown?

And then...hands. Hoisting him up, pulling him from the water, pulling his whole body from the water until he could feel air on his feet.

“What are you doing here?” a cold voice asked.

Mumen tried to respond, or at least to start, but he choked, sputtering out water from his lungs and onto his chest. He tried to scrub at his eyes, to clear the salt out of them.

“You shouldn’t be here!”

“I’m sorry! I was...was…” Another mouthful of water from his burning throat. He had been taken by surprise, and he didn’t even realize he had breathed so much in…

“Taking things that don’t belong to you!” It sounded so angry, insistent, and he was shook a bit. Now, he could see clearer, and Mumen could make out a pale face, light hair - white? Silver? - and bared teeth.

“No! I was putting them back!” He held up his wrist, where he had been placing all the rubber bands. “See?!”

At that, he was dropped back into the water. It wasn’t much deeper here, so he winced when his butt hit the sandy bottom. His hand hit something sharp, and when he touched it, he could feel where the skin had torn. The salty sting confirmed he was bleeding, but when he stood up to try to get out of the water, there was still...something...around his legs. “Help! I’m stuck!”

“You just wait!” The voice was farther away now, back near the shallows, and Mumen could hear him muttering as he searched around and picked up one of the lobsters. Now, he could just see him - or his back at least - muscular and bright, reflecting the light like metal. He could only make him out from the waist up, though; he was clearly kneeling in the water…

When he turned his face back around, Mumen gasped softly. Was this what people meant when they talked about someone or something being terrifyingly beautiful? Because the man was definitely still angry, full of fury, but also...Mumen had never seen someone so gorgeous in his life. “Who are you?” he asked, and the...things...that were around his legs moved away. “I’m...my name is Mumen.”

“Garou,” the man replied, approaching him again. All of his hair was that bright silver, and Mumen wondered what it would look like dry. Maybe white? What color were his eyes? It wasn’t light enough to tell. “You’re not supposed to be here. Nobody is supposed to be here.”

“I...didn’t want to get caught on the beach.” Something rough brushed his thigh, and Mumen jumped. “What was that?!”

Garou said something quietly again, and this time Mumen thought it clear he was not talking to him. He did directly answer him with a grin that made him shudder. “I brought some of my brothers to handle you, if you gave me trouble.” A straight fin broke the surface, coming just close enough for Mumen to see striped patterns along the back of the large body.

“You were going to get a shark to eat me?!” Mumen was entering into a realm of hysterics, waving his hands. “Are you insane?!”

The other man chuckled and came closer, grabbing his hand from the air. “I love how the thought I could get a shark to attack you on command is somehow harder to believe than everything else happening. Including that I could will it not to eat you.” Mumen tried to tug his hand away. “Let me see.”

“It hurts.”

“Yes, it’s bleeding.” Garou said it like Mumen must be stupid. He stared down at his hand in the water, stroking his fingers over the cut. “I’m not doing this because it hurts. You’re making them uncomfortable.”

One of the sharks caused a splash as it came by, circling them. Yes, this was definitely several sharks, because this one was more reddish. And bigger. “Yeah, I know the feeling!”

“They won’t hurt you. I’ve told them not to.” Garou brought one of his own fingers to his lips and bit down until a drop of what Mumen assumed was blood began to seep from the spot. He had to assume, because it was a dark purple, like ink. Garou started to rub it into the wound.

“Ow! And ew! That’s...there are so many things wrong with this!” Things that included someone who could supposedly talk to sharks, and who looked human but certainly didn’t act like it, and who was now putting his mouth directly onto the cut, sucking at it, mingling their blood together.

A jolt of something rather lewd travelled down his body, and he stared at his thin lips until he asked, “Why did you come back here?”

Mumen blinked. Did he know him? Did they know each other? “What do you mean? How did you--”

“You used to come close to the cove, on that...thing you ride on.” Garou nodded at the bike. “It always looked like you were going to approach, but then you would go. Every year. And then...you stopped.”

“I…” Why was he blushing? Why did he feel so put on the spot. “I used to visit my grandmother. She lived at the house on the hill, overlooking the lighthouse.”

“Why did you come back here?” Garou was glaring at him, still rubbing insistently at the mark between mouthing it. It hurt less now, which also made it feel more scandalous when Garou licked it. “I like when humans leave. I like when there are less of you.”

“Yeah, well, it evens out, because she died, okay?”

As Garou’s fingers stilled, Mumen felt a little sick. It was the first time that he had come out and said that, to anyone. Most people here at the shore knew, so they would offer apologies. And anyone else, he would say that he had a family emergency. Why? Why not just say it? Clearly this was why.

“I’m sorry.” Mumen glanced up at Garou, at his face. It hadn’t exactly gotten softer, but he didn’t seem as angry, as seemingly put out by all this. “I haven’t been here long, so far as my people go, but...she always believed in us.”

“You knew her?”

“I had seen her. And heard the stories she told. She told you too, I know.”

Seawolf. It came back to him suddenly. “Even I couldn’t remember that...how do you?”

Garou let go of him. When Mumen took his hand out of the water, he could just see a pale pink line across a third of him palm, but other than that, there was no sign of the cut. “My memory is much better than yours,” he said, smirking.

“Hey, you there!”

Both of them looked up the shoreline when they heard the voices calling out from the sand. Flashlights were bouncing back and forth, held by a pair of what Mumen thought were probably cops. Before he could think to reply, Garou shot forward to the shallows, taking out the last few lobsters. “Help me with them!” he hissed in the dark, and they both scrambled to remove the rest of the rubber bands.

“Out of the water!” one of the two yelled, and there was a sound of sand being kicked as they ran closer. Garou reached down into the water and emerged with something small in his hand. He threw it, and the light on the bike shattered.

“Hey! That was mine! What are you--” Garou grabbed him up in his arms, and Mumen felt his cheeks going red yet again. His chest was so firm, so secure, but at his waist, it was very, very different. Like the flesh changed there...

“Take a deep breath.”

“What--” He barely got in even a small breath before they were under the water again. Suddenly, they weren’t simply floating but shooting through the current in the dark. It was so fast, so full of bubbles and rushing water that Mumen couldn’t even tell what direction they were going in. It reminded him of being in a slide at a water park.

<Hold onto me.>

He did. He did, even in spite of how he was pretty sure he was losing his mind, because Garou’s voice was in his mind. In fact, he was clawing at his torso now, because he needed to breathe. It had been only a few seconds probably, but his lungs were aching. Where was the surface?! Where were they?! How far...how deep...how...

<Mumen!>

It was too much. As the water invaded his nostrils, filling up his chest, everything around them went bright white with pain, then finally hazy and dark.

---

And then...he was waking up. Something was touching his mouth, pressing against it, and there wasn’t a good opportunity to really know what it was before what felt like a pint of water shot up his nose and mouth.

He opened his eyes though, and...Garou. He was hovering over him. It was lighter around them, shimmering like the inside of an aquarium. His eyes were gold. How would he ever have guessed?

Sitting up to cough, he said, “You saved me…”

“Technically I drowned you first, but...sure. Also, I think these belong to you.” Garou handed Mumen his glasses, and he breathed a sigh of relief. When he put them back on, Garou smiled a little, his eyes no longer as severe as they were in the surf, and Mumen had a chance to look around.

They were in a cave, now, like an underground shore. The ground was a mosaic of turquoise and sapphire stones, and the sand was the softest Mumen had ever felt. “Where are we?”

“Under the cove. I had to swim pretty far down to get to the cave. I'm glad you just breathed in a mouthful of water and didn't get all weird with the pressure.” He trailed off when he noticed Mumen staring below his waist. “What?”

From about an inch below his belly and down, Garou… wasn't human. He was deep, rich purple and black, slightly opalescent, and where there should have been legs were…

Tentacles. Eight of them. Long and spread out across the ground but powerful, not limp like he had seen octopi at the market when they were left on the ice to stay fresh. In fact, as he watched him there, Garou straightened and sort of sat on top of them.

Suddenly, he remembered the feeling of being held in the water, like something was surrounding his legs and…

“Oh my God.”

“I know, I’m a vision to behold. You may bask in my might.”

Then, Mumen noticed something more immediate to be concerned about. “Oh my God! I’m naked! What did you do with my clothes?!”

Garou made a light ‘tch’ and gestured at a large rock behind them where the clothes were spread across it. “Even I know that if humans sit around in soaked clothing they’ll get sick.” He said it like he was surprised Mumen hadn’t come to this very logical outcome as well.

Doing his best to cover himself, Mumen closed his eyes for a moment to breathe. Why was he taking this so easily? Why wasn’t he more afraid? Why did it seem like Garou wasn’t going to actually hurt him? What was --

“Stop thinking so hard.” Mumen opened his eyes and jerked when he saw Garou right in front of him. “And so loudly. Obviously you need a distraction from your grief, and I am grateful for the way you saved my people. What more do you need?”

“How did you know --” Garou was coming closer, and his tentacles were wrapping lazily around his legs. He didn’t pull away, only breathed a little harder as they moved up a bit, around his calves, leaving neat little round sucker marks behind them.

“We’re bound now. By blood.” He held up the tiny prick on his finger, then pointed at Mumen’s hand. “I could tell that you were truly a hero - well, the little ones told me that too - and it let me talk to you too. Should have maybe mentioned that before the whole trying-to-breathe-water situation.”

Mumen stared up into his gold eyes for a moment, then down at the tentacles. They had stopped just above his knees. “Can I...touch them?”

“No,” Garou said sarcastically, then rolled his eyes. “Of course you can.”

“You’re really sarcastic for a...spirit of the sea or whatever.”

“I’m part human, too. And I watch the humans, listen to them on their boats. You learn a lot when people can just say whatever they want.” One of the tentacles moved up, curling into Mumen’s palm. He wasn’t sure why, but Mumen thought it would be rough or scaly, but it was surprisingly soft, the purple flesh almost plush in a slick way. He immediately thought of putting his hands on rays in touch tanks as a child.

“You’re not gonna, like...lay eggs in me, are you?”

Garou blinked slowly, like this was honestly the most ridiculous question he had ever heard. “That’s not how any of this works.”

Mumen licked his lips. He wasn’t unaffected by the feeling of the soft arms surrounding him so close to his groin, no matter how nervous he still was. “And you’re not going to eat me afterward? Or!” he quickly added, “Feed me to sharks! Or anything else!”

Garou kissed him then, instead. He thought his mouth might taste like ocean water or the shore, but it just mingled with his, warm and wet and hot. He didn’t waste any time adding his tongue in, long and rubbing, touching his teeth, the top of his mouth, everywhere he could get to. Garou pulled him forward and laid him down on the ground.

When Mumen opened his eyes again, it looked like Garou was hovering over him. Mumen went to put his arms around him but quickly found that he couldn’t, his whole body covered with flexing, exploring tentacles. They squeezed his arms, his middle, and around his waist and legs, like he was something to take apart and put back together.

“Take a breath,” Garou laughed softly, his hands cupping his cheeks. “If I wanted to do something to you, I wouldn’t have protected you or brought you back here.”

“I’m not afraid.” It was only a half-lie, because what he meant was that he wasn’t as afraid as he was turned on. One of the tentacles moved to play with his nipple, and Mumen dropped his head back, moaning.

“Hmm, interesting…” The tips of two purple arms moved to flick and toy with his chest, and Mumen squirmed. He felt like some kind of animal caught in a trap, unable to escape, and under any other circumstance that would terrify him. But here? Now?

“Ahh!” Mumen glanced down to see one of the limbs wrap around his cock, rubbing it up and down. “Oh god, oh god…”

“How do humans handle having a tentacle so small and...not dextrous at all?” A tendril flicked under the curve of his head, and Mumen could swear he saw stars. When Garou licked his face, Mumen realized then how warm his cheeks had grown. “It’s just hard and-- oh!”

He came suddenly, spurting, the strange otherness of having a tentacle being what was squeezing him too arousing to actually hold back. White drops of fluid stood out against the dark of Garou’s lower body, and he smiled, licking his lips. “I can taste it, you know,” he shared, kissing him again, hard and deep, making a vibrating noise through it as he shifted, sitting Mumen up, arms over his head to stretch him.

“Where is your…?”

Garou slipped one of his tentacles past his lips and onto his tongue, sliding it in and out between his front teeth and the top of his throat. Mumen shuddered, letting out a muted, muffled moan against it. “See? I can use mine for many things. Yours, you either use it or…” Mumen sucked hard as Garou once again gave it a squeeze. “You just take what you get, huh?”

“Mmm…”

“I think you like that, though. Well, I kind of know you do.”

Mumen flushed at that. If he had had any idea that Garou taking care of his hand would lead to him having such a firm idea of his proclivities, he might have reconsidered letting him. But this was so good...so good…

Garou delved a bit deeper into his throat, and Mumen tried to relax. He squirmed in his hold, feeling the tentacles tighten and touch all over him, stroking even at places like his armpits, his navel, the small of his back...places Mumen never thought would make him light up with arousal and yet somehow managed to do so.

He nearly choked when a particularly curious tip found the line of nerves running from his hole to his cock. “Aha! That's an interesting spot...you reacted strongly to that…” Garou did it again, slower, dragging the textured flesh across his taint.

“Mm!!” Mumen's chest heaved, eyes watering slightly from the way Garou's cock was pressing now in his throat.

“I didn't realize how tight it would be in there,” Garou murmured, pressing his torso in close, his fingers touching either side of the line of his neck. Mumen could feel his digits around his tentacle cock, curious, interested...and it should have been frightening. It should have made him panic, but…

All he wanted was to make him come. To even them up so maybe - maybe - Garou would be more of a mess like he was.

But the moment he considered that, Garou looked at him, amusement in his gaze. Although his cheeks were rosy, a shudder running through him, he straightened a little. “Do you really want to challenge me in stamina, little human?”

Okay. Mumen could work with someone who took a challenge like that.

Although he did not have the use of his hands to add to it, Mumen set to the task of sucking on Garou with even more vigor. After all, he didn't taste fishy or odd; really it was the texture that was the oddest. Smooth and slightly slippery, the suckers at the end small enough that he could slip his tongue in a circle around them without getting them stuck.

“Mmm...fuck…” Garou's curses sounded alien, like he was trying them out for the first time. Bolder than a child but less confident than someone who had said such words for years. “Mumen…”

“Mmmph…” Tipping his head forward, he let more of Garou in his throat again, having gotten used to it.

“I...I...ah!” Garou came suddenly, and, sure, Mumen hadn't exactly been with many men (mostly having only experimented with his childhood friend Saitama when they went to the same University together) but this was not at all how it was before. Garou came not only forcefully but plentifully and although Mumen swallowed as much as he could, quite a bit of the fluid messily fell down his face and chest.

He coughed, and immediately Garou pulled back, and for a moment, though they remained around him, the tentacles felt more like...a full-bodied hug than the sexual adventure it had been only a moment before. Garou licked up the remaining mess, kissing Mumen again. “You are very, very good at that…” he said in a throaty voice that was more growl than purr.

“Thanks,” Mumen croaked, clearing his throat as much as he could. Then, he watched as Garou lifted his hands and cupped them in front of his face, water magically gathering there. It was the crispest, coolest drink that he had ever had. Or was it because it followed the strangest thing he had ever put in his mouth? He wasn’t sure.

Garou attacked him with his mouth again, a mouth that was human in all the right ways, with soft lips and just-sharp-enough teeth. He bit and pulled at Mumen’s bottom lip, and when Mumen gasped and opened his eyes - they were closed so much of the time, trying to surround himself in the surreal, carnal dance he was taking place in, letting his nerves and flesh do the looking - he saw those slits of gold: a little mischievous, intrigued, and full of lust.

“Fuck me,” Mumen pled. “Please fuck me...Garou…”

“Is that what you want, human? Already?” He panted the words, just far enough from contact with him to reply. Long nails rake down his sides, toy with his ass.

There’s that tentacle again, rubbing, pressing. It’s like he’s riding on it, and then -- “Ah!” He wasn’t sure how he could describe the sensation. It was sort of like a shock? A vibrating shiver? “What...what was that?”

“It’s how I feel where I am through the water. I send it out, it bounces back, I can see what’s even in the darkest depths.”

“E- ahh, echolocation?” Garou did it again, and he could feel it travel all the way up to the tip of him. He struggled a bit in Garou’s arms, but the seawolf seemed more than intent to have his way.

“Whatever you want to call it.” Garou was tonguing his chest in broad strokes, probably to lick up the thin, viscous spunk that had dripped there. “Your body tastes amazing, by the way...gods, I’ve had a lot of humans but…” Garou laughed when Mumen pouted behind his glasses. “I was just kidding!”

“Do you bring many here?” he asked, seriously, then added, not wanting to ruin the moment or make Garou back off. “Because...I couldn’t blame them. You’re beautiful and amazing and...and...I’ve never been with anyone like you.”

Garou seemed amused by his confession more than anything, his hands going down to grab his waist and pull him in, rubbing him against what would have been his crotch. Mumen moaned at the soft flesh against his hard, sensitive cock. “No, no I do not. Most people heed the warnings, you know. Read the signs. Stay away from beasts like me.”

“You’re - mm, right there, yes, please - you’re not a beast. You’re…” Mumen trailed off, because he didn’t actually know what to say, as much as he wanted to say something. So he didn’t say anything; instead, he pulled out of Garou’s limbs, a cacophony of suckers popping following the movement, and initiated his own kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and climbing more firmly into his lap. “You’re something I like, and that can’t be but so beastly.”

Smiling, Garou held him close, shaking his head as the tentacles that had been on his biceps and wrists took more to his legs, spreading them. “Something you like,” he purred in his ear. “I’ll take that.”

Mumen let out a deep, loud moan as Garou’s still-slick cock slipped into and around his hole. It wasn’t a definitive thrust to enter, but rather a feel, as though it were getting its bearings. It curled around and made that same, intense vibration, and Mumen sank his fingertips into Garou’s shoulders. “Oh God…”

“I like how warm you are inside,” he whispered, and another jolt made him clench. “It’s a challenge making room for myself...don’t worry, I won’t go too far.” He chuckled. “Just enough that you’ll like it.”

“Garou...fuck, Garou…” He nosed under his ear, sucking on the pale flesh there, the muscles. “Please...harder…”

He entered in more, still worming his way in, and just when Mumen thought he would stop, he hit the deepest end of him, nearly making him scream when he sent another wave into it.

“There...that’s what I want.” Garou pulled him back by the hair, devouring his face, sucking on his tongue in a way that made Mumen’s toes curl. When he did the same thrust and shock once more, he tried to bring his legs together with a whine. “Mumen…”

“I...I’m not going to be able to hold out!”

“I think you can.” Every time his canines scraped his chin, Mumen thought he might faint. “I want you to come with me. Don’t you?”

It was embarrassing how he whimpered. “Depends on how long you can go…” He gasped as the tentacles shifted for another angle that Garou pummeled vigorously, making it apparent that whether he said five minutes or five hours really wasn’t going to matter. “I-if I come, will you keep going?” he huffed out with each movement.

“Obviously!” Garou grinned, looking much more wolfish. His hair had started drying more, and it stuck up in two ‘ears.’ God, that was cute. He was so interesting…

Garou kept pumping, and when Mumen came again, it didn’t matter that it technically hadn’t been that long because he milked him with bump after bump on his prostate, twisting and making it throb. His orgasm made it so his whole body shook and jerked, dripping onto the blue stone floor.

He figured maybe that the way he went rigid would urge Garou with him, to join him.

It didn’t.

“Ooh…” Mumen moaned, suddenly so sensitive and aching that he got a little teary-eyed from it. “G-Garou...please…”

“Please?” Garou laughed. “Again?”

It was a bit like blacking out, then, because Garou picked up his pace, so fast and hard that the sounds of it echoed in the cave. The seawolf grabbed him up with his entire body, squeezing him, leaving circular bruises all over as he spilled out again, the hot mess leaking between and down his legs.

Mumen twitched, coming dry, and when it finally eased off like a fire being put out, he was in the water, being touched with such tenderness that he thought he might melt into it, float like seafoam that would fall apart once the moment ended. Garou’s voice was soft in his ear. “Okay?”

He opened up an eye and smirked. “We’re bonded, right? You tell me.”

Garou grinned and tugged him against his chest.

---

After that, there was only one person who could get him to leave the house, the one he moved into the next week.

And it wasn’t any of the neighbors.

[feelingsinwinter]

Under the snow a new beginning

Part 3 of The Rain Serie

Part 1 : Under the rain (I met you) 

Part 2 : The rain washes away the pain of yesterday

It’s been weeks since Bucky last saw him but the sudden movement in front of him, among the walking crowd, made Bucky snap to attention and sharpen his gaze. A mop of dark hair wasn’t specific to one person but despite knowing the statistics weren’t on his side, Bucky needed to be sure. The body was thin, thinner than Bucky remembered, but maybe it was his mind playing tricks. A habit it had taken since that rainy day. The hoodie looked familiar, and two or three size too big on the man’s smaller frame. The jean looked the same as that fateful day, although maybe rattier.

It was snowing like it hadn’t in years, the ground covered in a thick blanket of white powder. It has been going like this for a day or two and it kept falling, big balls of cotton catching on people’s hats and scarves, sticking out of unprotected hair. The man had no hat and no scarf, his shoulders were up almost to his ears and his hands were deeply stuck in the thin jean’s pockets.

It couldn’t be effective against that kind of cold.

Despite the thick, long scarf wounded around his neck and his wool cap, Bucky could still feel the cold, waring against the warm clothes to get to him. His thick jacket and his hoodie underneath were barely enough to keep him warm. It was hard to tell if he felt sorry for the man or resentful. Maybe it wasn’t him, maybe Bucky was just projecting and the poor guy was freezing his ass with nothing on his back and on the receiving end of Bucky’s resentment all the while not deserving it.

The thin silhouette ducked to the right and disappeared.

Fear struck like a bolt of lightning, straight to Bucky’s chest, and he ran the last meters separating him from the corner. He stopped there, taking in the dark alley. It looked like one of those he used, back in Brooklyn’s old time when he and Stevie got themselves in troubles and needed a place to hide.

There, crouched beside a dumpster and snow climbing up to his ankles, was the man Bucky had dreamt of kissing. Or punching, depending on his state of mind.

Bucky hadn’t been wrong.

“Tony?”

The frail, unprotected silhouette startled and whirled around, slipping in the snow and landing on his ass. Wide brown eyes stared back at Bucky, fear and shame and hope and a whole bunch of emotions going through Tony’s eyes and face, clear as day and at the same time hard to decipher.

“Bucky? Shit, you scared me,” Tony said, voice shaking.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. Sorry for the scare.”

Feelings were crap and bullshit and fucking annoying. There wasn’t anything he had wanted more than seeing Tony once again. To yell at him, scream his voice raw and fight back angry tears and disappointment. Now that he had him right in front of him, available and all ears to hear him out, Bucky wanted nothing more than to leave and forget all about Tony and giving him his number to never receive any phone call.

He turned on his heels, determined on going back home and maybe spend the rest of his day moping and sulking.

“What? No! Bucky wait!”

He heard shuffling behind him and Tony cursing but didn’t stop. He would not. The dead silence of his phone was answer enough, it was his turn to remain silent. Tony could have just sent a text, tell him he wasn’t interested. Even sweet lies would have been better than silence. Tony had seem so happy and eager, smiling brightly when Bucky had given him his phone number. He had seemed so honestly abashed when he had told him and Stevie he didn’t have a phone yet and would text him as soon as he had one. But Tony had pocketed the paper and swear he would contact him. Nothing had come and Bucky’s phone had remained desperately silent.

In the end, Bucky didn’t get a choice. The cursing got louder and closer, a hand clamped on Bucky’s upper arm but instead of finding himself turned around, he felt a hard tug and his feet slipped on the snow. He flailed uselessly, yelping as gravity took hold of him as he fell backward. Sprawled on the icy ground, Bucky groaned, angry words and venom ready to fire but Tony beat him to the punch.

Quicker than Bucky would have expected, Tony sat down, ass in the snow and looking like he didn’t give a shit about it.

“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call I got… They found…”

Tony clicked his mouth shut and growled, pulling at his hair and looking infuriated. Melting snow was leaking through Bucky’s collar but the chill that ran down his spine had nothing to do with it.

“I lost your number,” Tony said finally, slumping his shoulders. “I came back to the coffee shop a few days later but I couldn't find you. I tried again but…” He shrugged and looked at Bucky. “I have a phone now, I can give you my number. If you want to punish me and not call, you can, I’d understand.”

Slowly, Bucky stood up and looked down at Tony, still sitting in the snow and looking up at him. His cheeks were red and his lips almost blue, snow was melting in his hair and some might be going down his nape but Tony didn’t seem to react to it.

“You’re cold,” Bucky said gruffly.

“Yeah, well, it’s snowing,” Tony said with a shrug and rose to his feet, brushing off flecks of snow from his jeans, rubbing at his ass. Which might be numb after staying so long in the snow. Numb and wet. That couldn’t be comfortable.

Bucky couldn’t help but notice Tony’s hands. They were an angry shade of red, skin dry and about to crack open and spill blood. They were also covered in cuts and small wounds, some scabs had broken and were already bleeding. His nails were cut short, probably nibbled on on a daily basis and stained with a dark matter. A glance to Tony’s eyes, now that he was looking for it and able to go past their warm brown, showed the exhaustion and the dark circles underneath.

Tony looked nothing like the playful man who had mischievously made Bucky blush, laugh and smile like nothing could ever stop him. Today, Tony looked like he had fought to keep his right to smile, holding on with teeth and nails and the kind of determination only despair could provide.

It also appeared the battle was still ongoing.

Resignation settled in Bucky’s chest as he drew a heavy sigh, knowing himself enough to leave all pretense behind and accept what he knew he was about to do, despite reason and logic screaming at him not to.

“Listen, we can talk but I’d prefer if we’d do it somewhere warm.”

Somewhere where I wouldn’t have to worry about you dying in front of me, Bucky added to himself. Tony was shivering but didn’t seem to be aware of it, staring at Bucky with something like uncertainty and hope.

“My apartment is close by, c’mon,” he added, jerking his head toward the alley’s entry they came from.

It was still too far from anywhere Tony should go with that kind of clothes but closer than the nearest coffee shop. Besides, Bucky didn’t feel like going anywhere near any coffee shop with Tony anytime soon. It would be too familiar and too easy to fall back where he didn’t want to go.

Tony nodded, a small, shy smile starting to play on his lips as he came closer.

“Yeah, o-,” Tony stopped and frowned, frozen on the spot. He shook his head, seemingly confused. Then he looked back toward the dumpsters lining the alley’s walls and shook his head stronger. “Wait, no. I was here for a reason.” Tony made a first step back toward the dumpsters but stopped, looking unsure. He rubbed his hands, entirely unaware of the way it pulled on the brittle skin and drew out blood, and looked at Bucky. “Please don’t go?”

It felt like a punch to the gut and Bucky wondered about the fairness of feeling like he was the one who never called. He, of the two of them, was the one feeling guilty when he had been the one standing near his phone, looking at it with growing despair.

“I’m not the one who didn’t call,” Bucky bit out angrily.

Tony hunched in on himself, looking smaller and frailer. Bucky stomped on guilt and remorse, clenching his teeth to keep the apologies from spilling out. From under his metaphorical feet, the guilt still managed to slither and climb up his shoes to bite him.

“Need any help?” he gritted out, looking everywhere but in Tony’s direction.

Even though he wasn’t directly watching him, Bucky saw him shrug before stumbling toward the alley’s back, shoes soaked by the melted snow and slippery. Tony kneeled between two of the dumpsters, entirely unbothered by the filth lying underneath the snow and a soft smile playing on his lips despite the tightness of his eyes.

“It depends on if this is to your liking,” he said slowly, his words slightly slurred. From the ventral pocket of his hoodie, he drew out a thick towel that might have kept this part of him a little warmer than the rest, and laid it on his knees.

Bucky opened his mouth, a question already on his lips when he heard the first mewl and he closed it quickly. From between the dumpsters came a small, skinny white and grey kitten. It stumbled toward Tony, mewling louder as it came closer. Tony took it carefully and set it in his lap before gathering the towel around it. He then stretched and grabbed another one from where the first one had came, settling it in the towel where the kitten disappeared with an offended mewl. Tony was about to catch another one when he drew back his hands with a hiss, his eyes squinting despite the smile never leaving his lips.

“If your offer still stands,” Tony said lightly, directing his smile toward Bucky before looking down, his face doing a weird trick where it couldn’t choose between smiling and frowning sadly.

Bucky startled and before he knew it, he was kneeling in the freezing snow, feeling it dampening his jeans. Tony hesitated just a second before settling the wriggling towel in Bucky’s lap. When he took Bucky’s hands in his, making him startle at the icy fingers against his skin, he cradled them around the makeshift den. “Keep them warm, please.”

Bucky nodded dumbly, feeling under his palms the kitten moving without trying to escape, their little mewls sounding inquisitive and their little claws prickling at his skin. He couldn’t care less. Tony was crawling between the dumpsters, entirely unconcerned about lying face first in the snow, stretching and struggling to catch something. When he came back he was holding a furiously hissing and spitting black kitten. Bucky worried it might hurt Tony’s hands but then Tony cradled it against his chest and the hissing stopped almost instantly, the kitten curling up tightly.

“She’s scared,” Tony explained uselessly when he crossed Bucky’s eyes, dropping his to where the kitten was curled up in his hand, looking small and pitiful.

Tony took back his wriggling towel, arranging it around his proteges, careful and protective before holding it to his chest where the three cats where now staying. They were making attempt at escaping but Tony seemed to be taking care of it with enough ease that Bucky wondered if he had done it before.

“I came here for them,” Tony explained lamely, looking down at the cats before going cross-eyed when the white-grey one put its paw on his nose, little claws digging in the skin without making Tony react otherwise than a small wince. “I got an apartment last night, couldn’t take them in before,” he added, smiling when the cat tried to climb up his face.

“They can come too,” Bucky said gruffly.

Tony beamed up at him and Bucky’s heart went lighter in his chest. It felt like the first good idea he had since his decision to go on a walk, allowing him to meet Tony.

***

Later, when Steve came home and found Tony fast asleep on their couch, three kitten curled up in the crook of his neck and over his chest, he stared dumbfoundedly at his friend crouched right beside.

Bucky crossed Steve’s gaze and sighed like he had given up any chance at a fair fight, his gaze soft as it went back to the couch. Tony was breathing peacefully, his hair damp and peaking out of one of Bucky’s sweater. He was wrapped in a thick blanket and a second one had been thrown over him.

Steve frowned and stepped further into the room, taking off his jacket and putting it on a seat as he arched an eyebrow at his friend. Bucky shook his head and jerked his chin toward the kitchen so they could talk without waking Tony up.

Steve nodded and followed him, wondering what kind of change had happened and how Bucky had managed to find Tony. It wasn’t so long since Bucky’s bitterness about his phone staying desperately silent and his resolve to give up any hope concerning Tony. They had had a great time at the coffee shop but it wasn’t worth all the time Bucky had wasted glancing hopefully at his phone.

They closed the door halfway to keep the noise to a minimum all the while being able to keep an eye on Tony. Despite everything, the guy was mostly a stranger. Not one Steve was entirely bent on trusting either.

Bucky poured two mugs of hot chocolate and Steve smiled, wrapping his cold hands around it, delighting in the feeling of warmth spreading through his palms.

“So?” he pushed, looking patiently at his friend.

Bucky wouldn’t start talking, pushing him could either help or make it worse but Steve knew him well enough to detect which treatment he needed at the moment.

“He gave me his number,” Bucky mumbled to his chocolate, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes. “Lost mine few days after that day.” Bucky sighed heavily and raised his head, finally meeting his friend’s eyes. “I don’t know what to think but I’m not sure he did it on purpose.”

“You’re not sure or you want to believe?”

Bucky frowned and rubbed at his neck, “Both.”

“Listen,” Steve started before being interrupted by a weak mewl. He looked down to see one of the kitten previously curled up on Tony’s chest trudging into the kitchen and toward Bucky. Steve didn’t know shit about cats but this one looked terrifyingly small and weak. It stumbled at Bucky’s feet and then put both front legs on his pants, claws creaking and cracking on the jeans’ material, and started to climb its way up. Bucky winced, the prickling of claws startling an “ouch” out of him before he scooped the thing up and put it in his lap.

The kitten was of a pearly white though some patches of fur were of a light grey but it seemed to be more because of dirt than natural color.

“We washed them,” Bucky explained as he petted the white devil. It was now purring loudly in his lap, paws padding at his warm hoodie, turning around and around as if unable to stay still. “I think this one is white but we couldn’t get out all the dirt, Tony thinks its motor oil, it’ll take time to go off. I thought the third one was black but she’s grey. You should see her, she’s beautiful. And adorable.” Yeah, sure, Bucky was a sucker for strays and the smaller the worst it got. Tony was just the bigger Bucky had ever brought home.

“The one close to Tony’s shoulder?” Steve asked, remembering bright green eyes glaring at him from where the cat had its head nestled in Tony’s neck. Maybe it hadn’t feral but definitely wild enough to jump if provoked.

“Yeah. He crawled under a dumpster to get her,” Bucky snorted.

“In that snow!?” Steve shouted, horrified. The snow was inches thick and the wind was as cold as it got, it had been snowing since the day before and it kept on going like it would never end, snowflakes bigger than cotton balls.

Bucky shushed him hastily. In his surprise, Steve had also startled the kitten which was now hissing at him, fluffed out and tail bigger than its whole body. It looked like an angry dandelion and Steve couldn’t help but snort at the thought.

They waited, tense and alert, to see if Steve’s outburst had wakened Tony but nothing happened and they relaxed with a silent sigh. Bucky glared at his friend, turning his mug between his hands as he waited for the next question to be spoken.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“So, what are you planning on doing ‘bout it?”

Bucky shrugged. He never thought that far. Seeing Tony, about to die from cold and shivering so hard his teeth were clacking and his lips had turned a concerning shade of blue, had awaken the same feeling he had had, that fateful rainy day. Then, as they washed the kitten and tried to remain unscattered despite the little beasts wishes to scratch them to death, the feelings had followed the same path. Amusement. Fondness. Attraction. And what could become love one day, if Bucky allowed it.

That was the actual question, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t so long ago that Bucky had glared at his phone, heart squeezing painfully in his chest as the disappointment morphed into anger. He had felt betrayed over something that shouldn’t have taken that much importance. Tony had been one guy met by accident during a heavy rain. Just a guy, with nothing much taking him out of the lot. Yet, Bucky couldn’t shake him out of his thoughts.

Tony’s laugh and the way he scrunched up his nose, the sparkles it lit in his eyes. How Tony had wrapped himself in Bucky’s sweater and sniffed it, once or twice, when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking. The jokes, appropriate and inappropriate, that had been said that day. How Tony had been so confident and easy going, like he had nothing to fear and everything to hope for.

Somehow, that had changed except for how Tony looked ready to fight any fight that needed to be fought. It reminded Bucky of Steve but in a very different way. Steve would punch you in the face if provoked, always righteous and stubborn as all fuck. Tony looked like he might bite someone’s nose off and spit it back in their face if no other choice could be made.

Bucky shrugged again, rubbing his thumb against the ceramic, the smooth surface soothing his nerves has he spoke. “I don’t know any asshole who’d crawl in the snow for strays like he did.” He couldn’t help another shrug, glancing up at Steve. “I’m not sure he really lost my number,” he disclosed slowly, “but I’m sure he doesn’t have my number anymore, though not on purpose.”

Steve frowned, pondering Bucky’s words and trying to understand what meaning his friend was trying to convey without saying it aloud. Bucky was one hell of a bastard when it came about sharing facts. Either he outright said it without cutting around the bushes or he felt like giving a goddamn enigma and Steve had to figure it out on his own.

Soft noises came from the other side of the kitchen’s door and they both turned around to see Tony, hair sticking in every direction and rubbing his eyes like a four years old, shuffling inside. He looked at them with blurry eyes, stumbling until he sat, more like dropped, on a stool. Bucky let out a soft snort and rose to his feet, pouring a third mug of hot cocoa and settling it in front of Tony.

Steve watched in horror as Tony took immediately hold of the mug and drank straight from it.

As scalding hot chocolate went down his throat, the guy froze for a second before slowly, very slowly, putting down the mug, looking at it like it had betrayed his mother, his father and all of Tony’s family. He then looked up, frowning - Steve had to admit it even to himself - adorably at them.

“This is not coffee and you are not Rhodey.”

“No shit Sherlock,” Bucky snorted, a smile curving his lips.

Tony looked around, confused and lost. Still frowning a little, he went back to his mug and sipped it slowly and carefully, much to Steve’s relief.

The kitten in Bucky’s lap wriggled out of his hiding spot and climbed clumsily on the kitchen’s table to go and headbutt Tony’s hand, startling him out of his doze. He blinked at the kitten, staring at it until recognition lit up his face and he grinned brightly. With more care than he had any reason to, he cradled the little thing in his hands and held it against his chest. The kitten headbutted him as hard as it could, wriggling in his hold as Tony nosed at the kitten’s head. It purred like a small engine, squirming and pawing, trying with all its might to smother Tony in cuddles.

“Oh, I remember now,” Tony whispered. Relief seemed to wash over him and his shoulders relaxed. Tony looked up at Bucky and mouthed a “thank you” over the kitten’s head, which was purring loud enough that Steve feared it might shatter apart. The two remaining kitten trudged into the room and, as the white one had done it before, climbed up Tony’s pants’ legs to settle in his lap. They seem happy to stay there, even though the grey one glared at Steve and, in equal measure, at Bucky.

Tony rubbed his eyes with one hand, the second resting over the three kitten now curled up in his lap, purring softly. They were so tightly wrapped around each other it was a hardship to find where one began and the other ended.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have slept on your couch,” Tony said, looking at his mug. He then glanced up at Steve. “Hi Steve, I’m-uh… it’s nice to see you again,” he said lamely.

There was a very, very big part in Steve that wanted nothing but to be mean and retort something meant to hurt. That part, however, was quickly fading in the face of Tony’s misery. There was no point in ignoring the way the hands wrapped around the mug were clumsily dressed-up, some with a bit of blood peeking through the band-aids. Despite his nap in their couch, Tony’s eyes were puffy with lack of sleep and dark circles laid under them. He looked thinner than the day they had met, which was some kind of a challenge since the guy hadn’t been much of a weight back then.

“I’m happy to see you too, Tony,” he said carefully, unable to put everything aside but still observant enough to see the clues Bucky had probably seen too. “I’m gonna leave you to it,” he added with a look to Bucky, “I’ll be in my room.”

Tony’s eyes widened instantly and Steve was sure enough that if Tony hadn’t had the kitten sleeping peacefully in his lap, he would already be up and ready to dart from the room. He looked enough like a startled bunny for that.

“You shouldn’t have to. I’ll go,” Tony said, wriggling off his seat without disturbing his charges. Though he frozen before he could set foot on the ground, realizing he was wearing yet again Bucky’s clothes and would have to leave with them or stay longer to take back his own.

“Stay here, Tony. I don’t mind,” Steve said with an eye-roll, “that way maybe I won’t have to put up with a grumpy, sulking Bucky any longer. You’d do me a favor, really.”

Bucky squawked loudly but Steve ducked out of the room before he could be cursed to hell and back. Not even a second after he had closed it, something thudded heavily against the kitchen’s door and Steve wondered what Bucky had thrown at him to make that kind of noise.

***

Hours later, when he heard the entry door close, Steve listened to Bucky’s footsteps as he approached his bedroom. A soft smile playing on his lips, Steve waited patiently, fake-reading his book as Bucky stood behind the door, probably fretting or second guessing pretty much everything he could second guess and then some.

After some time, though, Bucky knocked quickly and entered without waiting, padding across the room to come and sit beside Steve, his whole right side almost plastered against Steve’s left. Bucky stayed silent and Steve left him, this was one of those moment Steve had to leave him gather his thoughts and leave him to decide what to say.

It took him a handful of second but Bucky finally looked up, eyes clear and a shy, hesitant smile curling up his lips.

“I’ve got a date.”

Well, Steve thought, it could either go well or be a disaster.

[turnupswritessometimes]

Banana Fish - AshEiji - Skipping Stones - Ch9

Title: Skipping Stones

Part: 9/?

Word Count: 5542

Description: A collection of oneshots filling in some scenes that probably didn't happen in between episodes/scenes, but that I like to think did because these boys need to talk to each other.

Edit: This fic is also available on A03 and ff.net under the same name. I would post a direct link but Tumblr then doesn’t put the post in searches so..

“I had a dream about you, you know,” Ash said.

“Hm?”

He curled his arms around Eiji’s waist as he stood, pouring the kettle. “In the hospital? I had a dream about you.”

“Was it a good dream?” Eiji was strangely unmoving in front of him. There was something stiff in the way he was standing.

“No. It wasn’t a good dream,” Ash murmured the words against Eiji’s shoulder. He didn’t want to say them. But then Eiji was twisting around in his arms his forehead bumping against Ash’s and his hands resting on Ash’s hips, then waist, then finally settled just underneath his ribs.

“Damn,” Eiji whispered. “Oh, Ash.”

“I saw-“ he found that the word didn’t drop from his tongue the way it used to. “Him too.”

Eiji tried not to let it show, but Ash heard his breath catch. He pulled away slightly, enough to see that Eiji was biting his lip and not looking him in the eye.

“It wasn’t your fault. I shot the gun.”

“If I hadn’t of- I don’t know-“

“It’s – in my dream – you, you hated me.”

“Then it was total nonsense,” Eiji murmured, his hands cupping Ash’s face. “I don’t hate you. I wouldn’t hate you – ever.”

“Ever?”

“Never ever.” Eiji pressed his forehead against Ash’s, and Ash folded into him, pressing their bodies flush against each other. He watched the steam rising from the mugs on the side. It was such an ordinary day. Ordinary sun streamed in through the ordinary window.

He was back in their apartment. It was such a strange feeling to be back here. Their normal apartment. Where they had spent the whole summer. Now the trees outside were orange and the sky was lilac, even though it was only half three. Now it was autumn. Ash hated autumn. He hated seeing the world slowly die around him.

Something was dying inside the apartment. Or, not dying, Ash supposed that was a little dramatic. But something was definitely changing. Eiji was not the person he used to be. Ash wasn’t either. He felt like he was becoming even more shattered – held together by even less. Now he had caught Eiji with that far away look in his eyes.

But Eiji couldn’t hate him. Never ever. There was still the boy who ate vanilla cupcakes on his birthday with stars in his eyes who said stuff like ‘never ever.’

“I dreamt about you too,” Eiji whispered into Ash’s ear, his arms wrapping around Ash’s back. “Every night, I think. When I did sleep.” He paused. Ash felt him breath against him and remembered to let out the breath he was holding. “I couldn’t – not properly. I just felt too wired up all the time. I thought of you so much. When I closed my eyes, I saw you.”

Ash sucked air in through his teeth. He could see out the window from here. They were so far away from that railway bridge, the buildings here were completely different. For a moment though, they seemed the same. For a moment, he thought he could see a tiny Eiji staring up at him and for a moment, he felt himself covered in hot, sticky blood.

“You saw me with a knife in my hand?” he could barely hear his own voice. “Blood all over me.”

“Blood all over you,” Eiji said. He leant backwards, so that he was pressed against the counter. “No knife. You in the ambulance. I kept – seeing you in that ambulance. You were so pale.”

“Sorry I don’t have your beautiful skin,” Ash mumbled. He wanted to press his mouth against Eiji’s cheek, open his eyes and see that coffee coloured skin. He wanted to pull away and stare at Eiji’s face. But he wanted to stay here, feeling Eiji coiled around him and feeling his weight on Eiji. “Your beautiful brown skin.”

Eiji snorted. “But I don’t have skin as white as snow, do I?”

“Hair as black as night,” Ash closed his eyes, pressing his face into Eiji’s hair. He smiled as he heard him laugh.

“You were pale. You looked – so pale. And you were bleeding. And I couldn’t help you – and I thought you were going to die – I thought you were dead – Ash!”

Eiji’s hands dug into Ash’s back, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt. He was pressed against him so tightly that Ash could barely breathe. He could barely breathe hearing Eiji take small, gasping breaths like that.

“It’s okay,” he said. He felt numb, completely numb – like he’d been bathing in cold water for hours. “It’s okay, I’m alive. I’m alive – Eiji.”

“I couldn’t do anything – they wouldn’t let me go with you-“ Eiji had to swallow several times to manage to get the words out. “They wouldn’t-“

“I know, I know,” Ash said. His words came back to him. From that first car ride, when Eiji had suddenly surprised him by hopping in the driver’s seat. When he had been nervous and his voice was shaky and he was so aware that he was Ash Lynx. “I wouldn’t have wanted you there. No offence.”

Eiji hiccupped. It could have been a laugh. It could have been a sob. It was hard to tell, but Ash was sure that he remembered it as well.

“None taken?” Eiji whispered.

“It was – I wasn’t good,” Ash said. He rubbed his thumbs in circles on Eiji’s back until he felt his muscles start to relax. “Honestly, Eiji – the nurses – it was a nightmare. They were all over me.”

Eiji gave another hiccupping laugh. “I’m sure it was all very tempting.”

Ash got the courage to pull away then, cupping a hand under Eiji’s chin. “I told them I had a wonderful, handsome boyfriend waiting for me. A gorgeous-“

“Stop-“

“Incredible-“

“Stop, Ash,” Eiji half-heartedly batted Ash’s hand away, but he was smiling.

“Brilliant-“

“So brilliant that I didn’t even visit you at the hospital?” Eiji asked. His eyes were still rimmed with red.

“You were tied up with something else,” Ash said. He had a casual tone, but he noticed Eiji glancing away. He tapped his finger on Eiji’s chin, making him look back at him. “Weren’t you?”

“You know about that?” Eiji gave him a sheepish smile. He was the picture of feigning innocence, glancing up at him like that from underneath damp eyelashes.

“You thought you could hide anything from me?”

“Eiji shrugged.

“Were you okay?” Ash noticed his voice harden and he smirked when he saw Eiji’s gaze drop.

“I was fine.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Ash tapped Eiji’s chin again. He leant closer.

“Worrying about you was worse,” Eiji said and his tone matched Ash’s. “I thought you were dead.”

“And I had no idea what happened to you.”

“What happened?” Eiji asked, he hopped up onto the counter and Ash found his hands on his hips, helping him up. He was changing the subject, and Ash knew it. “Where did they take you?”

Ash shook his head, stepping forward so that Eiji’s knees were against his waist. “Don’t want to talk about it. Would rather talk about what happened to you.”

Eiji smirked and shook his head. He pushed Ash’s fringe away from his forehead, a soft smile on his face.

Ash leant into the touch, finding his mouth smiling too.

“What matters is I’m okay,” Eiji said. “And you’re okay and we’re okay.”

“That’s not-“ Ash sighed. He was still smiling and Eiji’s eyes were sparkling. “And they call me a devil.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eiji shrugged, swinging his legs slightly.

Ash shook his head again, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning. He wanted to stay worried about Eiji, but it was so hard when he was smiling at him like that. It was so hard when his chest was full of warmth. Being with Eiji, again, he felt like he was buzzing. He had missed him – so much. He had felt it in every inch of him, but he hadn’t realised how relieved he would be to be next to him again. It was heaven. This was as close to heaven as he would ever get.

It had only been a week, he knew, but it felt like a year. It felt like a lifetime ago they were sitting in the living room with beers. They had been grinning like this then. Ash hadn’t realised the buzz that went through him when he was near Eiji. He got high off of that buzz.

Eiji was looking from Ash’s eyes to his mouth, looking hopeful. But he didn’t make a move.

Ash rolled his eyes and leant forward to kiss Eiji. It was difficult when they were both grinning.

“I missed you,” Eiji murmured.

“You missed me so much that you couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t stop thinking about you,” Ash said. He kissed Eiji’s cheek and stayed with his mouth pressed against him. He was so warm. Ash hadn’t realised how cold he had felt in the hospital and how hot Eiji’s body was.

Eiji was stroking his hair like he was something precious. The idea was becoming less unbelievable now – it was almost comfortable. Eiji thought Ash was something precious, and that didn’t seem revolting. It was wonderful.

“Okay,” Eiji whispered. “We tell each other everything, at the same time, on the count of three. Fair?”

Ash smiled, taking a moment to pepper the side of Eiji’s face with kisses before he answered. It helped to hide the swell in his stomach.

But Eiji already knew so much. Nothing he said now could change that.

And that idea – that was wonderful.

“Fair.”

*

Ash stumbled, rather than walked through the front door. He knew that he was making too much noise, but he also knew that Eiji was a heavy sleeper. He didn’t used to be, not unless he was drinking, but since Yut Lung, nothing would wake him. Exhausted, he told Ash when he had pointed it out. Eiji had exhausted himself worrying about Ash in the hospital. Not because he was being held captive, because of Ash.

Exhausted was how Ash felt. His body felt numb, like he had just jumped into the cold end of the swimming pool. The gunshot was still replaying in his head, a faceless killer leering at him from the window.

Someone knew something. Someone was following him.

Or, if not following him, they knew where he would be tonight. Somehow. That was the worry. If they knew about that, did they know about-

“You’re covered in blood.”

A lamp turned on as it was said. Eiji was sat on the sofa, staring up at Ash. Not shocked. Worried.

“Eiji,” he blinked at him. “You’re up.”

“Yeah,” Eiji stood, started towards Ash. His gaze flicked towards the windows – the blinds were drawn and the drapes pulled across. When had Eiji got so trained to that?

“Let me rephrase – why are you up?” Ash asked. Eiji was taking his wrist, pulling him through the flat without a word.

“You think I can sleep when you go away for the night?” Eiji said. He was sitting Ash down on the bathtub and Ash let him. He’d never seen Eiji look like this – there was the smallest hint of anger mixed in with all the worry. “When you go away for the night and don’t tell me where, or when you’re coming back? Last time you disappeared in the middle of the night I found you bleeding on a subway bridge and then you were arrested and in hospital and dead!”

“Not dead dead,” Ash said. “They only faked my death. I was being used as a guinea pig for the development of Banana Fish.”

“That’s even worse!” Eiji took Ash’s face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. To realise that Eiji was stressed and that even though he was trying to frown it was really more of a pout. He looked on the verge of tears. “And then you go off tonight and you say you’re prostituting and what am I supposed to think? I couldn’t stop wondering-“ Eiji broke off.

“I’m flattered,” Ash muttered. He took Eiji’s hands in his, twisting their fingers into each other and smiling up at Eiji. He wondered how it looked when he had blood down the side of his face.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Eiji muttered. There was that pout. He slipped his hands out of Ash’s and took a flannel from the corner of the shower, running it under the hot tap. “Is it yours?”

“I know you didn’t,” Ash said softly. He reached the steam coming from the water. “No, it’s not mine.”

Eiji nodded, pushing Ash’s hair away from his face gently. He sponged at the blood and Ash flinched away.

“That’s too hot!”

“No. You’re just cold, Ash.”

Eiji sponged at the blood in silence for a few moments, and when Ash kept flinching he muttered "baby." It stopped Ash flinching, at least, and it made Eiji soften.

"Am I allowed to know what happened?" Eiji asked quietly. There were rings under his eyes, his eyelashes casting shadows over them as he looked down.

"I went to get information," Ash said. He closed his eyes as Eiji wiped more of the blood away. "I had the guy at gunpoint, he was going to give it to me. He got shot."

"Just like that?"

"Mm. Sniper."

"Think it was Golzine?"

Ash hated that name coming from Eiji's mouth. "I don't know yet. He can't have known what I was doing."

They fell silent. Ash hated letting that lay in the air. It was like putting a loaded gun in the room. He was used to the loaded gun – the weight of all that information, but he didn't want Eiji to be. Eiji was getting used to it, to this, he knew it somewhere inside him and it seemed like just another blow against his heart.

He kept his eyes closed as Eiji kept wiping away the dried blood on his face in silence. The only sound was Eiji breathing softly, there wasn't even the sound of a tap dripping or the hum of old lights.

At every stroke of the flannel, Ash felt a muscle in his body start to relax. Safe. Whenever he was with Eiji he had started to feel that warm feeling in his chest that let him know he was safe.

It seemed like an age before Eiji pulled the flannel away. His fingers grazed where the blood had been, tracing the side of Ash’s face with a feather-light touch.

"Back to normal," he muttered.

Ash half-opened his eyes, enough so that he could see Eiji's soft smile. He caught Eiji's hand in his, pressing his mouth against the pads of his fingers. They were soft.

"Ash," Eiji was watching him, that fond smile still on his face, even if his cheeks were turning pink. It felt like in the time they'd spent apart Eiji had retreated back into himself. He had taken a few steps back to the shy Japanese boy Ash had first met. He still loved that blush but he also loved the teasing Eiji. The Eiji who didn't give a shit that he was Ash Lynx, he just wanted him to eat his damn breakfast.

He kept hold of Eiji's hand, cupping his cheek with it and leaning into the touch. Soft and warm and safe.

"Thank you," Ash said, and it slipped out before he could stop it. "Sweetie."

Eiji smiled, his gaze like melted chocolate as he looked at Ash. He leant forward and placed the ghost of a kiss on Ash’s forehead. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Ash wanted to tell him then. He wanted to look up and say the words to Eiji. He knew that Eiji would say them back. That was why he couldn’t. It would make this too real. If it was real then they would have to pin it down and it would become a thing. Things could end. “Your shirt, Ash.”

“What?” he blinked out of his reverie.

“You’ve got blood down here too,” Eiji tapped Ash’s collarbone with his free hand.

He gave a dramatic sigh, like it was a lot of effort – it was a lot of effort, as he relinquished Eiji’s hand back to him. He undid the first few buttons of his shirt, pulling it down so that Eiji could dab at the blood that had run under his collar.

“I would have taken a shower, you know,” Ash said, just to say something.

“So that you could hide it from me?” Eiji glanced up, mostly teasing. “I’d be angry with you then.”

“And what would you do if you were angry with me?”

“I wouldn’t cook for you, for a start,” Eiji said. His eyes flickered up again and he smiled to himself. “And I wouldn’t give you any more kisses.”

“And they call me a devil.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” Eiji stuck the flannel back under the sink, squeezing it so that the water turned pink.

“I’ve killed people,” Ash looked away from the blood as Eiji came back.

“There are people who’ve done a lot worse,” he said, simply.

Ash’s arm wrapped around Eiji’s waist, it felt like it did it of his own accord, and pulled Eiji against him. He pressed his face against Eiji’s stomach. He could hear him breathing. He could feel it against his cheek. He was so vulnerable. They both were. It didn’t take much to stop that breathing.

He could’ve said it. The words rung through every inch of his brain. Instead, he muttered, “you’re weird.”

Eiji’s fingers were on his hair, just stroking the top. His touch was so different – someone scared of making a bird fly away. It made Ash’s scalp tingle with the ghost of a hundred past grips in his hair.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eiji murmured and Ash gave a breathless laugh against him.

“Tired?” Ash looked up, pressing his chin against Eiji’s navel and smiling up at him.

“Well, yeah,” Eiji paused, his fingers still on Ash’s hair. “Do you think you can sleep?”

Ash nodded. “If you stay?”

“Of course,” Eiji was helping Ash up, keeping hold of his hands as he walked back to the bedroom. Ash’s bed untouched, Eiji’s a tangled mess of sheets. Neither of them bothered to turn on the light.

“You can’t sleep on that,” Ash said, his fingers trailing from Eiji’s as he headed to his own bed. He sat on it, closing his eyes for a moment and seeing blood splatters. It didn’t bother him as much as it should have.

“Can’t I?” Eiji was standing in front of the bed, looking down at Ash with a grin and crossed arms.

Ash shook his head. “It’s a mess. Irrecoverable.”

Eiji laughed, he sat on the edge of Ash’s bed, his back to Ash. He sighed, his whole back sloping down.

“You okay?” Ash asked, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and pulling an old one out from under his pillow.

“I should be asking you that,” Eiji replied. He stood and pulled the covers down from the bed, waiting until Ash had laid down before he slipped in, like a school boy sharing a bunk. Like he was scared they were going to be caught at any moment.

Ash pulled the covers back, shuffling so that he was facing Eiji – so that they were nose to nose. The covers almost covered their heads.

“I’m fine,” Ash whispered. “It was a shock, but I’m used to it.”

“Good,” Eiij whispered. He was laying with his hands by his face like a child, his eyes sparkling in the dark. He was full of stars, that boy.

Ash wanted to sigh.  He slipped his arms around Eiji, pulling him closer until Eiji’s nose bumped against his collarbone and Eiji was forced to put his hands on Ash’s shoulders. Their legs tangled into each other’s like seaweed. He was warm to touch, almost like a hot water bottle, radiating warmth onto Ash, heating up his hands and cheeks.

“Night, Ash,” Eiji whispered. He closed his eyes and Ash realised just how exhausted he must have been, because it was barely moments later when Eiji’s breathing evened out. He breathed in and out slowly, his breath puffs against Ash’s cheeks.

He closed his own eyes, listening to Eiji’s breathing and feeling Eiji’s stomach rising and falling against his own.

He couldn’t sleep. His brain was stuck on that moment – on looking out at the buildings and wondering which one it came from. Knowing which one it came from and wondering who on earth it was. Who could possibly be that good a shot? Who was that good a shot who worked for Golzine?

Did they know about Eiji?

Of course they did. They must have known about Eiji.

How was he going to protect Eiji? He couldn’t hide him away here forever. He couldn’t send him back to Japan – Eiji wouldn’t let him. He’d probably get a plane back out of spite and give Ash a lecture when he got back.

But he couldn’t be there every moment of the day to watch over him like a dog. Eiji wouldn’t let him do that either.

Stubborn, stubborn Eiji.

Ash sighed through his nose and opened his eyes again. Eiji looked like an angel when he was asleep, his lips parted ever so slightly. That tiny part they did whenever Ash leaned in to kiss him. He ran his fingers through the dark hair, pushing it away from Eiji’s forehead. It was thick, very thick. He was tempted to plait it, if he knew how to plait.

Eiji stirred in his sleep and buried his face in Ash’s chest, one hand clutching Ash’s t-shirt to him.

He was a nightmare. Ash should hate him.

He loved him.

He hadn’t been quite sure of what that meant – a vague idea but nothing more. Now he knew. He loved Eiji Okumura. He loved Eiji’s starry eyes and soft smile and careful touches. He loved Eiji, who stayed by his side for the sole purpose of just wanting to. No one did that. Everyone had their reasons to stand by Ash.

Eiji just wanted to, because he stayed up and worried about if Ash was dead or alive. He worried about if Ash was dead or alive because he cared about Ash.

It was an enigma. Eiji cared about Ash for some reason.

And that was the best thing in the entire world.

*

Eiji managed to get out of bed to open the door. He knew he shouldn’t have, but it made him nervous not to. Just in case it wasn’t Ibe. Just in case it was someone like Yut Lung and he just called him in.

Like Yut Lung was a vampire and he could only get in if he was invited.

He was scolded immediately, as he knew he would be.

“Eiji! You should be in bed – you have a fever,” Ibe was closing the door, taking Eiji’s shoulder and guiding him back to his room.

“I’m feeling better,” Eiji lied. His head was swimming. He let himself be sat back down on his bed, but he didn’t lie down, he just sat with his hands linked on his lap.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re meant to be resting.” Ibe said. He was talking Japanese and Eiji realised just how long it had been. Ash was right, it was something of a relief to hear it again. To not have that fear that he would use the wrong word or that he just sounded too foreign.

“How can I rest when Ash’s gone?” Eiji asked, then realised exactly what he’d said. His face flooded with heat and he backtracked. “Not that he’s gone – it was the way he left. He was lying to me, I know he was. I know when he’s lying and he told me not to worry – so I know I have to worry. He told me he was going to sort everything out. What does that mean?”

Ibe wasn’t telling him something. He had pulled a chair next to the bed. He shuffled and wasn’t meeting Eiji’s eyes. He knew something. Eiji wondered if he’d be able to get it out of him.

“You can tell when he’s lying?” was what he asked.

“Yeah. He goes calm. It’s like he’s planned it all out in his head,” Eiji said. Ibe was smiling at him and he felt a prickle in his stomach. “What?”

“It’s just – you know him so well, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

Ibe shifted again. He reached over and placed his hand over Eiji’s.

“There’s a lot you haven’t been telling me, Eiji.”

“What do you mean?” Ejii’s hand twitched. He knew exactly what Ibe meant, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. It meant coming back to reality. It meant admitting that being with Ash was dangerous and that he was in danger. What he was doing was dangerous. He hadn’t wanted to drag Ibe into it – not when he had been the one racing after Ash in the first place. He didn’t want to see him get hurt.

Now his own thoughts were starting to sound so like Ash’s that he was scaring himself.

“You don’t call nearly enough. You drop off the map constantly – I have to ask Max to ask about you, or call Ash myself.”

Eiji licked his lips, taking a breath. Guilt was gnawing at him and his head was still swimming. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on? Why aren’t you talking to me?” Ibe’s eyes searched his. He looked worried – really worried, and Eiji had to avoid his look. It wasn’t anger – Eiji would have preferred that. It was disappointment and panic and fatigue. They made him feel a hundred times worse. This was it – this was why he hadn’t wanted to have this conversation. Why had he thought that avoiding it would help?

“I don’t know,” Eiji admitted. “I don’t know what to say, Ibe-san.”

“Okay. Then, just - just answer me, okay?”

Eiji nodded. He took a deep breath. He seemed to be doing a lot of focusing on breathing today.

“What’s your relationship with Ash?”

He let the pause draw itself out again, staring at the floor. He felt awkward about it – like he probably should have come out to Ibe. Maybe he was meant to now. It felt like admitting it to his parents. But it was also the question that he’d been asking himself lately. He loved Ash, of course he did and they joked around about it – but were they together? Would they be, tomorrow, when Eiji was sure he’d wake up to find Ash missing?

”We’ve not put a label on it,” he said, slowly. “Not really.”

“But you’re together?”

“Yes.” All Eiji seemed to be doing today was nodding and breathing. Now, though, he felt a small smile on his face. “That’s not a surprise, is it?”

Ibe smiled and shook his head, looking strangely comforted. He looked more like himself now – like the panic and guilt that had been permeating through the room like a fog had just evaporated. It gave Eiji the confidence to cross his legs, making himself comfortable on the bed.

“He’s taking care of you okay?” there was a hint of playfulness behind the concern this time. Of course, the worry was still there, Eiji could still see it etched into every line on Ibe’s face, but this time it wasn’t about life and death.

“I think I’m the one taking care of him.” Eiji couldn’t believe he was smiling now, even though his shoulder felt as though it was on fire. “We take care of each other. It’s mutual.”

“I’m going to have to talk to him, you know,” Ibe leant back in the chair, a shadow passing over his face suddenly. For a moment, he looked intimidating. The thought was enough to make Eiji laugh.

“Why is that?”

“No one dates my boy without going through me first.” He half-expected Ibe to crack his knuckles.

Eiji gave a dry laugh that turned into a cough. He looked up, his eyes wet from the effort, but Ibe was smiling at him, his eyes glittering like he was proud.

There had been a twinge in his heart, though. A little voice that said it didn’t matter anyway. Ash might not come back.

What was he going to do if Ash didn’t come back? The thought was enough to wipe the smile off of his face.

“This might not be such an easy one.” Ibe’s smile disappeared too now. He leant forward, wringing his hands like he was nervous. “What happened to you, Eiji? When Ash was in the hospital, and you were missing, where were you?”

“They took all of us to the station,” Eiji spoke carefully, wondering which parts of the story to cut and which to keep. “Yut Lung paid my bail. I was…stuck with him for a while.”

“What?”

“He didn’t – it wasn’t like-“ Eiji swallowed. “I don’t know what his plan was – to just keep me out of the way, I guess. It was just a locked room. I managed to get out a few times. I didn’t get very far.”

“And then?” Ibe’s voice was gentle. Almost like he was scared. He was looking at Eiji like he didn’t even know him.

“When it came on the news that Ash – the fake news of his death – I-“ Eiji took a breath. “I broke the window.”

“What?”

“I broke the window. With my hand. And jumped out.”

“Eiji-“

“Yut Lung followed me. I pointed a gun at him. I didn’t shoot.”

“Your hand?”

“It’s all healed now, see?” Eiji flashed his hand, forcing a casual grin onto his face. Like it was nothing. At the time, it had been nothing. There had been a million other things going through his head. He hadn’t even felt the pain. “And Ash found us soon after.” He paused, because Ibe was still leaning forward, his eyebrows drawn tightly together as he looked at him. “What?”

“You’ve changed,” Ibe said. “I thought bringing you here would help you get back to who you used to be. But you’ve gone a different way completely.” Ibe took a breath, studying Eiji with such an intensity that he shuffled. “You’re – I’m proud of you. Worried about you every moment, but you’ve really found yourself here.”

“Yeah,” it was true – a thrill went through Eiji at the thought. This was who he was now. And he liked that. “I guess so.”

He stayed there, smiling slightly as he finally managed to meet Ibe’s gaze.

It was like the wind shifted again. The air turned heavy again as they turned serious.

“Do you want to stay?” Ibe asked softly. It was like he knew the answer but was still scared of it.

That one was an easy question.

“Yes.”

“No question, huh?”

“Nope.”

Ibe leant back, heavily. There was still a smile on his face as he looked at Eiji. He spoke quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay, then.”

Eiji smiled back. Then, for a moment, it was as though the whole world tilted. He lurched forward, for a moment believing that his brain had just completely disappeared. His head was just full of air.

He was caught by strong hands and pushed back onto his bed, so that he was lying down. He didn’t want to be on this bed. He had wanted to be on Ash’s – whilst he wasn’t here. It smelt of him. He had wanted to close his eyes and pretend that Ash’s arms were still around him.

But Ash was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Eiji murmured to Ibe. He opened his eyes to find him standing over him, looking panicked. He wasn’t sure what he was apologising for, but he knew he had a hundred more in him. There were a hundred more inside him that he needed to say.

“You need to rest, Eiji,” Ibe said. “You shouldn’t have even been up in the first place. Ash told me to come straight in.”

“Screw what Ash wants.”

“He’s looking out for you, Eiji.” Ibe said. He used ‘chan’ and it made him smile. He was pushing the hair off of Eiji’s forehead and he closed his eyes. It felt like he was at home. It was like he was a child at home again and he wasn’t involved in anything scary or gun-related. He wasn’t worried about whether he’d see his boyfriend alive again. He hadn’t been shot. He was just sick.

He took a breath. The pain was spreading, a red, angry itch over his torso.

He wanted to say ‘I love him,’ but he didn’t get the words out. He wanted someone to know.

But the burning was taking over him. It was hard to stay awake when he was so comfortable and when his head was spinning.

He was asleep five minutes later.

[spectralarchers]

Pietro as a ghost visits Clint after events of IW to ask what happened to his sister, because he no longer can feel Wanda in the world of living, but also she didn't join him in death.

(also on Ao3)

It’s been a long couple of days. Nights, too.

Clint hasn’t slept for at least a week - he’s been able to get a minute here and there, but never more than absolutely necessary for his body. Whenever he catches himself dozing off, he wakes up again, because he can’t allow himself to rest. He just can’t. Not after-

He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about the smell of ashes in his nose, the feeling of her hands falling apart, of her presence just disappearing as if she had never existed. He’s afraid that if he closes his eyes, he’ll wake up and have forgotten about her.

About them.

He struggles for a moment, pulling out the used and scratched picture of his family he keeps in his vest. He hates himself that it’s been folded so many times, because now there’s a line across Laura’s face and there’s one across Lila’s face, and the top of Cooper’s head too. He’s afraid he’ll forget how they looked if he- if he allows himself to stop, even if just for a second.

It had all happened so fast - they’d been watching the news, making breakfast, as everyone did, when the battle over Wakanda had broken out. With the time difference, what was broad daylight in Wakanda was still early morning and Clint had been busy beating the pancake dough.

There had been news, and even his SHIELD pager had made a sound. He’d heard it from the kitchen, because he knew that high pitched noise from anywhere - it was different from the mosquito repellents, and all the other loud sounds there were in his home. The loud screech of the television when the plug wasn’t entirely pushed in, the mosquito repellent device, the sound of electricity around the neon light in his office. No, his SHIELD pager vibrated at a loud frequency enough that he heard it.

But he ignored it. They got this, he had thought to himself, as he’d continued beating the dough, waiting for his kids to wake up, so they could go to school. He’d spent the morning folding clothes that had been thrown all over the floor, and he’d set a wash over, so he could hang the clothes out to airdry as soon as it was done.

Laura had come down, fresh and pretty from the shower and after applying make-up, followed by Cooper who was wearing a hideous Walmart Spider-Man themed hoodie, and Lila, in a pretty floral dress, with her two front teeth still missing, but a smile that could melt anyone’s heart. 

Nathaniel had been sitting by Clint’s feet, on his plaid, laid out with his favorite toys, and playing as he listened to the sounds of the kitchen. 

Picking up Nathaniel, Clint had picked his youngest up and sat him down in his high chair, before quickly applying a kiss to Lila’s forehead and one to Laura’s lipstick clad lips. She was going into town to meet with the bank about Nathaniel’s college fund, there had been a deposit and Clint suspected it was Stark meddling, but he didn’t want to go look for himself. He was never good with the big words and the small writing at the back of contracts, so Laura would be the one to go.

The news were muted, so Clint didn’t realize what was happening. He had been pulling Laura in for a hug, grabbing her from behind and putting his hands on her belly, as he kissed the crook of her neck and told her how pretty she looked and how good she smelled, was that his perfume? He’d asked with a smile nestled on his face, and she’d laughed and Clint had thought that it was the most beautiful morning he could wish for.

Right up until he’d looked down when she had tensed. 

Right up until the scar on his chest had flared up, burning across his body, as if the mind stone itself was burning its way through his body yet again. 

She’d said his name. Then Lila had too. And, before Clint knew it, they had gone. Blown apart, into tiny little particles, gone from where they stood. Cooper took a second to take it all in, looking paler than usual, asking his dad what was going on, before the spoon he’d been holding fell into the bowl of cereal too loud, dropped from where his hand had been moments before.

Clint looks up. He remembers it clearly. He’d looked around, at a loss for words, and before he knew it, he’d gone to check the pager. Something was wrong. Fury had activated the Marvel protocol, and that meant things were wrong. Oh so very wrong.

He’s stopped alongside a road, in the middle of nowhere Minnesota. He’s on his way to New York, to commandeer one of Stark’s jets. He has to get to Wakanda. He has to- he has to figure out what’s going on. Why his- why-

He looks over at Nathaniel who’s sleeping in the portable crib he’s secured him in and Clint sighs. At least his youngest is still here. At least he’s- at least none of it was a dream. He’d packed the car with a his bows, his guns, his swords and his knives, and all the toddler things he could think of. He’d found his stash of cash, American currencies, Euros, kroners, pounds and all of it. He had no idea what was going on, and in the early hours of the following morning, he’d set out.

The world had been chaos: whatever happened to Laura, Lila and Cooper had happened here too. People had disappeared, he found out, in the middle of their tasks: trains had crashed when the drivers had gone, planes had fallen from the skies when the pilots disappeared, ships had sunk, and everywhere around the country, people were in a survival frenzy. Employees around Nuclear Power Plants were trying to shut them down to keep them from going into a reaction, the military had found itself halved down with planes, ships and helicopters grounded because pilots had gone and staff and-

It was chaos. He’d had to fight off a mob when he’d reached the city, at Walmart, to get some food. Everyone was biting, hitting, and someone even brought a gun to the supermarket. Clint had wrestled the shooter out of it, and gotten smacked in the back of the head by one of the school teachers who had been out for as many cigarettes as she could.

Clint had made it back to the car bleeding and bruised, but he’d handed Nathaniel an apple juice box and had sat behind the wheel, contemplating the barrels of extra fuel he always kept under the backseats of the truck. He’d never thought his plan for world collapse would ever come into action.

He’s fallen asleep, and he knows he’s sleeping because the world is bluer, darker, grayer. He knows because ever since Loki, he can tell when he’s dreaming and when he’s awake because there’s a blue edge to everything. 

He’s learned to control it over time, but now he isn’t entirely sure what it means. He can’t force himself to wake up. Maybe his body finally gave it, and he fell asleep in the car, next to Nathaniel.

He opens his eyes in the dream world and looks around - it looks familiar, but he it takes him a couple of minutes to recognize the place. It’s the old church, from Sokovia. Where the core of Ultron’s machine was. Where he’d fought off sentient robots, side by side with the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. He frowns, and pushes himself up - there is no dust on his hand when he pushes away from the floor. He turns around when he hears footsteps and goes for a punch.

His fist only meets the empty air, as his eyes lock on the figure.

“You didn’t see that coming?”

“Pietro?” Clint exclaims, as he takes a deep breath, looking around. There is no sign of anyone else, and Clint closes his eyes. “Am I dead?”

“No, you are not,” Pietro Maximoff replies, in that accent of his Clint first had hated, and then come to love when he had gotten to know Wanda. Wanda? Clint looks around as Pietro bites his lips. He looks older, and his hair is silver in the moonlight that is travelling down from above. 

“You are in my world,” the Sokovian boy replies and after a couple of minutes, Clint finds himself hugging Pietro. With his whole body. It is so nice to see him, even if this world- this dreamworld isn’t real. He hasn’t dreamt of Pietro in months. So he takes this as a nice sign of destiny.

“Why am I here?” Clint asks as he lets go of Pietro, and watches the young man. He looks so good. He looks alive and well. Clint feels a bit jealous, but he doesn’t let it show.

Pietro sighs, before pursing his lips. “What happened in the real world?” he asks, and Clint frowns. “I cannot see- I cannot see beyond the horizon, and- and-” He pauses again, and takes a deep breath. Clint looks to where Pietro was looking, and recognized the edge of the rock Ultron had sent flying. A peaceful moon and sky light up the universe, and he understands the quiet Pietro found here.

“I cannot feel Wanda anymore,” Pietro finally admits. “She is not dead, for she is not here,” he comments, and the look he gives Clint makes Clint want to cry. “I could always feel her, and she me,” Pietro explains. “Even in death I could sense my sister,” he goes on, before he frowns, looking worried, looking so much like Clint would when he was worried.

“What happened?”

Clint purses his lips, unsure of what to answer. The truth is, he doesn’t know. 

“I don’t know,” he starts, and he has to take a moment to find the words. “There was a- there was a fight, in Wakanda. Wanda was there. I think- I think we lost,” Clint admits, and looks over at Pietro.

Pietro doesn’t look surprised, and Clint wonders if Pietro knew. He wonders if this is a test, and if this is a way for him to accept what happened, but then Pietro motions for him to follow him and Clint does. They walk among the rubble, the remnants of the Battle of Sokovia, as Clint had fought side by side with Wanda and Pietro, protecting them as much as he had could. 

He gazes over at Pietro and realizes Pietro still wears the same clothes as the day he died, and that his wounds are still visible. Pietro brings Clint all the way over to the edge of the island, of the rock, of the meteorite and shows Clint. All around them, there are lights. Different worlds and universes, Clint understands. 

“The dead come here,” Pietro explains, quietly, as if afraid of waking up the spirits around them. “They come here when their time in your world is done, like mine was.” Pietro points to a soul, not too long from there, shrouded in purple and anger. “This one came from Wakanda,” he explains. Clint looks, and knows in his heart. Killmonger.

“But my sister has not come here. And your wife and children have not come either,” Pietro says.

Clint looks over the edge, and thinks about what it means. He looks at Pietro, his eyes trying to figure out what the meaning of this dream is.

“You will find no answers here,” Pietro finally admits, as he pushes Clint over the edge. Clint doesn’t scream. He doesn’t say a single sound as he falls, surrounded by lights, near and far. He falls for an eternity, as he thinks about what Pietro said. 

Clint wakes up with a jolt. There’s a bobcat on the hood of the car, sleeping in the morning sun. The mist is clearing around them, so it must be early morning. Nathaniel is still sleeping.

Laura isn’t dead. Lila isn’t dead. Cooper isn’t dead. 

Clint knows this, in his heart. He pulls his shirt up, and looks down at the mark Loki’s scepter left. The mind stone. The one that Vision had held on his forehead. The mark glows a slight blue, as if confirming whatever it was that Clint had just realized. 

Wanda wasn’t dead either.

Pietro had shown him the world of the dead, and his family wasn’t there.

And if they weren’t dead, it meant they could be saved.