#i mean really. cursed knife with a slow acting curse??? he was giving them time to catch him ON PURPOSE

[popper51]

one thing i still cant quite wrap my head around in terms of the time loop is. how the hell did the beast manage to kill jane in 40 but not any of the previous loops. like the one Big Change in 40 is julia not being in breakbills right. so how does that result in mike, some random alumni, getting possessed by the beast, seducing eliot in order to. idk get close to quentin???? and then he just happens to also kill jane as a bonus after getting caught. idk i just want to see like a full step by step butterfly effect chain of events that connects julia being a hedge witch this time to jane beefing it

[sturnlsstuff]

MASK OFF | ghostface!matt x fem!reader

— warnings: smut with plot, dom!matt, sub!reader, knife kink, unprotected p in v, rough sex, kinda mean!matt, edging, cursing, crying, dirty talk, pet names, mention of murder, - english isn't my first language!!

part one | part two

~~~~~~

"n-no!" you cry out with a pout, when for the fourth time matt stops the movements of his fingers, pulling them out. your orgasm just out of reach again. he was not giving you the relief you so desperately needed, practically edging you, making you squirm under him, while he was watching you with a smirk. you knew you were screwed for tonight, but you wouldn't think he could be so cruel. "please!" you whine, giving him the best puppy eyes you got, but matt only let's out a sarcastic laugh, "now y're fuckin' beggin', huh? interesting"

"i didn't do anything, i swear!" you mewl, tears running down your cheeks from the frustration. matt kneels on the mattress between your legs, grabbing the knife that was laying beside you and holding your wet folds spread with his two fingers. he puts the handle of the knife inside your dripping hole, starting pulling it in and out with unholy speed, while you were gripping the sheets, moaning loudly, your walls clenching around the thing. "i told you to keep your pretty mouth shut, didn't i?" he watches how your pussy sucks in the handle of the knife, while the sharp part was slightly digging into his hand with each movement, but he didn't care right now. not when he was able to see you like this. "your folks are downstairs, remember?"

he just smirks when you put your hand over your mouth, legs trembling when you're closer to the edge again, but he slows down, making it all go away, "fuck!" you squeeze your eyes causing new tears to fall down. you could feel his painfully hard cock straining against your inner thigh. "i'm telling the truth, i didn't say anything! please just let me—"

you cut yourself off with a muffled scream, when he quickly throws the knife onto the mattress and instead slams into you, making sure you feel his dick deep. matt doesn't give you any time to adjust, pulling almost all the way out, before going back in and starting thrusting into you.

it wasn't a secret that matt was pissed off. really mad. since the meeting in the park, he called you three times already and all three times you picked up and let him inside your room, when your parents were gone. he would do his job and leave as always. you were starting to get sick of it, finding yourself being more amused by him with each day and less scared, what was stupid for matt whenever he thought about this. you also caught yourself often fantasizing about him without the mask, even had a wet dream about it earlier this day. you had no courage to ask him to take it off or even if he'd agree to it. though matt wasn't stupid and he noticed the little details, how you would slightly put your hand on his mask, but you wouldn't dare to take if off without his permission, which made him feel somehow proud that you listen to him.

so you spent the whole day trying to distract yourself from thinking about that dream and him in general. at some point your phone rang, you picked up immediately after seeing who's number it was and that's how it all.. started.

"hello?"

"you think you're so slick?" by his voice you could quickly say he was mad. he was actually completely pissed off, feeling betrayed. matt really liked you, craved you and would never want to hurt you even if sometimes... sometimes he wasn't really capable to control himself. "what?" your eyebrows frowned with confusion, while he continued, "y'wanna make me lose my shit? wanna be next?"

"what are you talkin' about?" you asked confused, hearing his low chuckle that makes goosebumps appear on your skin, "you really gonna act all stupid now?" there was a moment of silence as you thought what possibly you could've done, but your head was empty. meanwhile matt was frustrated, grabbing the bridge of his nose and trying to calm himself down, "-- make sure your window's open, i'll be there in 10."

"but my parents—" you started, but he was quick to cut you off, "i don't give a fuck." the call ended, leaving you feeling uneasy and confused, but either way you left your window open and locked your door, just in case if one of your parents would want to come in.

matt was in fact watching your every move, no matter what time of the day it was, he knew what you were doing. he'd watch you hanging out in the cafe with your friends, seeing you and your mom shopping, eating dinner in some fancy restaurant or studying in the library. so he really did know everything and sometimes he didn't necessarily like the things he saw. like yesterday he saw you talking to a cop. he wouldn't think much of it, even if it gave him anxiety, but then this morning a police car drove through his neighborhood, even though this had never happened before. so his assumption was that you just betrayed him. maybe you wanted to set a trap for him? he thought about it for half a day, trying to calm down, but in vain, the anxiety and a sense of betrayal mixed together, creating an explosive mix of emotions. so he was really fucking pissed off and his goal for tonight was to make sure you know how mad he actually was.

the wet, squelching sound coming from you was filling the room and making you heat with embarrassment, while he continues pounding into you really fast. matt grins feeling you squeezing him so tight, it was almost painful, "why'd you do that, huh? got bored of my dick? wanted to make me fuckin' angry?" he rasps, holding your hips when you can't stay still, desperately shaking your head but not being able to say anything, only moans and soft sobs leaving your lips at how good he was making you feel. "i- oh! i'm..." that's when he pulls out just as you were almost coming, causing more tears stream down your face. he flips you over, your face pressed into the pillow. while still holding your hips, he lifts them up and enters you again, immediately going with the same pace as before.

"you're too loud", he bites on his lip, holding back a groan when he feels you clenching around him. despite his anger, he loves watching you struggle while he continues thrusting into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every move. matt's pride gets the better of him when he sees you like this, knowing that he's the one making you feel so good. there's no mercy from him tonight when he continues bottoming out inside of you on that fast pace. broken cries leaving you have him weak, getting him closer to the edge, "'m tryin' to understand... but i really can't-- fuckkkk, yeah, keep squeezin' me like that..."

the way he fucks you this time reminds you of the first time. you could literally feel the passion and fascination in every of his thrust, but there was also so much anger which made you shiver. you were trying to hold onto literally anything, gripping your sheets, pillows, even the headboard that was hitting your wall with each movement. you'll definitely have some explanation to do for your parents later.

matt watches how your ass bounce, while his cock continue slamming into you and that sight makes his hips stutter, a low moan leaving him when he fills you up with his cum. he slows down only for a second to ride out his high, making you whine in response, before pulling out and flipping you over again, just to see your hair sticking to your forehead and tears on your flushed cheeks. he looks at your hole leaking cum with fascination, his ego immediately boosted.

towering over you, propping himself on his hands on each side of your head, matt looks at you intensely, which makes you literally feel his gaze on you, so you open your eyes. his mask inches away from your face, making your breath hitch in your throat. you really wanted to see his face, know what he looks like and not only know his body from the waist down. you wanted to see all of him and he was able to notice that in your eyes.

he grabs you by the jaw, squeezing your cheeks, "why'd you talk to that cop, huh?" the tone of his voice was low and rough, but dripping with passion. seeing you like this turned him on even more, while you still felt the desire to be satisfied, his release and your own arousal dripping down your inner thighs. "'n' don't gimme that bullshit again, 'bout not doin' anythin', cause i saw you, sweetheart."

"i swear..." you repeat again, shaking your head while he keeps his grip on your cheeks, making your words a bit muffled. "-- he started asking me questions, 'cause he found out about me and that guy you... you know..."

"killed?" matt tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and trying to process your words. you nod weakly, while new tears runned down your face, he felt it against his skin. "i told him i don't know anything, that i only met with this guy once and nothing happened between us, that i didn't really know him..."

"and he believed you?" his tone was dripping with irony, making your heart skip a beat. "i forced myself to cry and everything, i pretended to be all sad about it and he left me alone, i promise he..."

"pretended to be sad, huh?" matt is quick to cut you off, focusing too much on one thing you said.

it wasn't a secret that you were a little bit insane, matt was aware of it since you'd let him into your room that one night. you also weren't really scared of him. well, maybe a little bit when he was mad, like for example now, but it was making you more horny than afraid, which only confirmed that you were almost as crazy as he was.

you didn't even liked that guy really, he was just a distraction from the fact you liked the hookups with the ghostface a little too much. you weren't able to get to know him, since matt was quick to move him out of the way. though you found yourself being careless to his death, since finding on his phone that he only wanted to use you anyway, just like matt said.

"yeah, i... uh, i mean, if i cared about him and his death, i wouldn't meet with you again—"

"and why was there a police car drivin' around my neighborhood, hm?" matt wanted to believe you, knowing that if you won't convince him of your innocence, then... well, things may go in a direction he doesn't want them to go. "it... it has to be a coincidence..." you swallow nervously, trying not to look away. it was the truth, you really didn't say anything, not really figuring out why. you could set him off fast, matt knew it too, but he just craved you so much, he couldn't bring himself to leave you alone.

"is it now?" he whispers into your ear, moving his tip along your dripping folds, before teasing you with stopping at you entrance, knowing how desperate and unsatisfied you still were. you whine in response, "do you think i'd just let you into my room, if it wasn't a... oh, shit—"

with one sudden movement he entered you again, starting moving with the same hard pace as before, which made you moan out loud. "c'mon, sweetheart, keep... keep talkin'... tell me more, make me believe you, yeah? fuckk, 'cause i wanna... i wanna believe you—" a low groan escapes his lips when you wrap your legs around his hips, making him go even deeper.

"i... didn't care about that guy anyway—" the sounds of you two rasping, the choked moans leaving you and skin slipping against each other filling the room, the wet sound coming from you now louder. "i lied for you, i could tell them everything about us, b-but i... oh!" matt speeds up, making your stomach drop over and over again, but you continue, "-- i... i lied for you even if i don't really know you either, i didn't even see your face..."

a hoarse, low laugh escapes matt, "oh, really now? you tryin' to make me feel bad f'you or somethin'?"

"what?! n-no! i just..."

"i don't think you understand what it means if i take that mask off." his thrusts started being more urgent and hard, immediately making you clench around him and finally getting the release you so desperately needed. matt curses under his breath, feeling how your sticky walls suck him in while you cry out of pleasure, desperately gripping the sheets to hold onto something. "shiiittt... here you go... making this pretty little mess on my cock..."

he doesn't change his pace at all causing you to whine and making it impossible for you to stay still. matt shifts, putting your legs over his shoulders, gripping your thighs tightly, this new angle allowing him to hit your g-spot more intensely. the overstimulation hurts so good, you can't keep your eyes open.

"y'really wanna see my face, huh?" he grunts softly at the feeling of you squeezing him so hard, "but that... changes everything for you... mmhm, oh fuck—"

this whole time matt was sure that he would never show you his identity, knowing that it would complicate things and if something went wrong between you two then... he would have to deal with it in his own crazy way, doing things that he wouldn't want to do to you. but there was something more inside him, a bit of insecurity about what you would say, whether you would actually like him or if you would just immediately kick him out the door and never speak to him again. and this mask hid his shyness, without it he felt so... exposed. yet a part of him wanted to see your reaction, wanted to know what will you do.

"are you sure?" he asks while still pounding into you, but you're so lost in pleasure, you don't even know what he's asking about. "'cause y'know, sweetheart... you won't be able to get rid of me completely, once i do this..."

hearing your quiet, weak "please", matt slows down just slightly and before he could overthink his decision, he grabs the bottom edge of the mask and pulls it off in one swift movement. and that's when you see him.

the moment your eyes meet, he freezes and stops moving inside of you, his fingers pressing into your thigh a little more like he was still trying to maintain control, even if his heart was pounding in his chest. you look at him with wide, aroused eyes, feeling your breath was taken away. he was so... handsome. beautiful. it seemed like you could say he was an angel and it wouldn't be the least bit dramatic.

you didn't know what to focus on, you were so overwhelmed by his beauty. his facial features, that sharp, defined jaw, the prominent cheekbones... but his very blue eyes were doing the main job here, his gaze was so intense, it made you feel small. and those pink lips that just looked so kissable.

now when he was finally without the ghostface mask, you were able to notice more details, like for example the silver chain on his neck, the earrings or how his messy brown hair looked so fluffy, making you want to run your hand through it.

and also the fact that you've already seen him before. now you remembered where you know his voice from. "matt?" you finally speak up quietly, almost hesitatingly, but he hears you and it's enough to make his breath hitch in his throat.

"you..." his voice cracks slightly, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows. clearing his throat, he continues, "you, uh.. remember?"

if you remember? how could you not? that one party a few weeks ago where a guy approached you halfway through. you remember that he was so... almost shy? you were talking like crazy while he was mostly just staring, but he introduced himself. matt. you remembered him because he had such nice tattoos, you couldn't stop staring at his arm.

"yeah, i.... of course i remember."

for him it was like a punch in the gut. he would never think that you remembered him from that party. he was hypnotized by you, just staring at you while you talked, which made him believe he made himself look like a fool in your eyes. this whole interaction was also short, because he quickly realized about his not so little problem he had in his pants, just from staring at you and listening to your voice. so he quickly left you alone, having been obsessed with you ever since.

so matt was just convinced that you thought of him as some weirdo, that you forgot about him as soon as he disappeared from your sight at that party. he was sure that when you'd see his face you would freak out, but you... you looked intrigued. he noticed something in your eyes that he couldn't necessarily name. maybe he just imagined it.

licking his lips, he puts your legs back on the mattress and pulls his black hoodie over his head, allowing you to see his tattoos. it really was him. "i didn't have the chance to tell you this then, but, uh..." you swallow a bit nervously, gently touching his arm, tracing the lines of his tattoos with your finger, unconsciously causing matt to lose his mind. "-- i really think they suit you."

that was it for matt.

letting out a low groan, he starts moving again, but this time slower, though still making sure you feel his dick deep. he now towers over you and after a moment of just eye contact, you feel his lips on yours, which stole a quiet, surprised whimper from you.

and for some reason he stayed over night this time. you were sure you wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow, being too sore, but you didn't care, not being able to get enough of him. you wanted to learn his body by heart. somehow it felt right even if it shouldn't.

a/n: hope you guys like it!! this is kinda basically the "last" part, there won't be any other long part like this but i still wanna continue this au!! so if you have any requests or idk questions about ghostface!matt just write them in my inbox, i'd loooveee to continue with this story if y'all want me to. but i'd mostly make it short, maybe as oneshots or something like that. xoxo.

@certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420

[vitzi9]

Hi, can you write about yandere ethan who thinks he is in a relationship with the reader, and he is very affectionate with her, and always calls her by "honey, baby, love", the reader allows it because they are childhood friends and she knows that his family ignore and neglect him, so she always tries to give him affection, but eventually it becomes unbearable when she wants to meet more people and ethan doesn't let her because he is extremely jealous and possessive with her.

Love me baby

Yan!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my others things.

TW/CW: love bombing (I think?), manipulation, lies, reader curses a lot(she's just going crazy guys), mention of sex

Don't know what to think of this. I came back for Halloween month isn't that crazy (it's not). I probably lost like 70% of you guys but yeah I'm alive. Still writing things that end up WAY too long. And I'm sorry but I'm working on all of your asks I'm just really slow but each of you are genius, so far I had crazy stories ideas.

Idk if that's what you wanted with your prompt but that's what I thought so I still hope you like it.

07/10/2024 (7254 words)

The door of your room creaks slowly, the dark atmosphere creating such a heavy tension in the air you could cut it with a knife. You hold your breath, keeping your eyes closed, praying. Footsteps are resonating on the wood flooring when they come to a sudden stop at the opposite of the bed. Slowly, the blanket is raised and a weight is pressed down on the mattress.

The warm of his body is both comforting and infuriating.

"I love to sleep with you." Whisper Ethan a smile in the voice.

You did not answer because you were pretending to be asleep. There was no way you were going to help him nourish his delusion.

You never understood why Ethan never changed with time. Because, well, most of the time, when a girl and a boy are childhood friends, there's this awkward transition thanks to puberty. It's the moment you realize that he's a man, and you're not. And he realizes it as well.

And normally from then, you have trouble sleeping in the same bed, being stuck together all day, eating each other's food. As people are always looking your way, asking since when are you two together and telling you how cute you are and shit.

But Ethan, it seems, never realized that growing up meant putting boundaries between you.

"You're warm." he says, lodging his face in the crook of your neck. Embracing your body with one arm on your waist and pulling your back against his torso. You're still pretending to be sound asleep.

You thought about asking him. Asking him if he didn't have difficulties to find a partner, since people always assume you are a couple. But you never asked. Because Ethan tells you everything, and you mean everything. So if he had trouble looking for love, you would have known first day.

But you're not even sure Ethan knows what love is to begin with.

His family, well, his family... His family had a favorite child, and it wasn't him. Richie, may he rest in peace, was the perfect golden child. Ethan always has been put aside along with his sister. His father never really tried to know his other kids.

But then Richie died. You're not sure how exactly because it's a taboo subject for him and his family, and you understand them. But from what you've heard, it was a sort of accident. A few friends of him didn't like his passion for Halloween so they tricked him, or something. You ignore all the details.

That's all you know, though. Richie and you weren't even close. He liked drama, for sure. But your friend was Ethan, not his brother. Plus, Ethan was giving you the stinky eye and acting jealous if you even tried to look at Richie. At the time, you found it normal. Richie was the favorite, Ethan didn't get attention as any of it went to his brother. You were his friend, his only friend, who wanted to talk to him and not his brother. Of course he would act jealous if he stole a little bit of you; you were the only support he had in life.

All of this to say, Ethan never received any real love. His sister loved him, you think. They were both neglected. But she loved her father more. And Ethan was conflicted as well. He admired and hated his father. So yeah, love in this family was complicated.

But now, as you're both grown up, sleeping in your bed together, you think you should've say something sooner.

"You're asleep baby ?" he whispers, chuckling in your ear.

Baby.

You don't remember when he first started calling you that. It was so... Smooth. You think he was joking at first, just like you. Calling you pet names just to annoy you. You were doing the same. But he started to slip these baby, love a little bit everywhere. So much that you become accustomed to it ! And you stopped paying attention. To you, his pet names just became another way to say bro, man, girl. There wasn't anything weird behind it. But you were naive.

"You really are sleeping ?"

Ethan is still a complicated man to understand. He seems to have such intense feelings inside him. He's supposed to tell you everything but you're not sure he really does. Like Richie's death.

He often cries the death of his brother, doing violent nightmares as well. Ethan never told you the real reason of his death. But it doesn't change anything, Ethan always ended up calling you in the middle of the night breaking down and asking for your support.

So it's no surprise that you ended up being his roommate.

Because you know him better than anyone else.

"Already ?" he whispers, skeptical.

And he knows you better than anyone else.

"Or are you ignoring me, hm ?"

Privacy with him was non existent. When you moved in, you were so excited to live a new life with your best friend. You even go to the same school ! You thought, naively, that it'd be so much fun ! Discovering your adult life with him and all.

Oh how you hate yourself, today.

Doors ? Always open. Clothes ? You're sharing them. Bed ? You bought two for nothing. He's constantly in yours. Fuck, where are you ? In jail ? You don't need to share everything !

But these days, Ethan acts different. Like, really different. He made friends. Alone. By himself. Friends that are not you. Which is new and a fricking good new. Because that means he'll finally start to live his own life without trying to glue you in it.

"Are you mad at me ?" the tip of his fingers draw invisible pattern on your arm. "I'm sorry."

His sister even is in this group. But she doesn't want you to join. Well, you think she doesn't, at least. Each time you smile at her, she sends you a death glare. Even Ethan choose not to introduce you to them. You're not even sure their new friends know they are related. The Kirsch family liked to stay private about their life. Or Landry, like Ethan wants you to call him now. Whatever makes him happy.

His friends are nice, though. You talked to them something like three times in the year but they're nice people. Their names are not quite in your head yet, but you do remember a few of them.

And Tara's really cute ! You thought that Ethan and her had a thing going on but when you asked him, he got all offended and denied everything in one block. So you don't know.

Well, you're lying. You do know, unfortunately. Ethan's in love with you. It's as obvious as the sun in the sky. You can't even be surprised, you saw it coming. He never talk to girls, you're probably the only one he ever talked to, or even looked in the eyes for that matter.

Since your childhood you've been here for him, supporting him when his family didn't. Loving him when he needed it the most. Of course, at the end, he would fall in love with you. But it wasn't the goal, you swear it wasn't your intention. Ethan is your friend.

Even if he's starting to get really clingy. A little too much. And even if he's trying to establish a routine too domestic for you.

"I don't have a thing for Tara, you know.

There he goes again. He's trying to reassure you. But damn, you don't need any reassurance. You're good. He's acting like you're the one getting jealous over nothing.

That's why he got offended when you asked him about her. Ethan is scared you'll think he's 'cheating' on you. Or do you think. Ethan never elaborated on what your relationship had become. Probably because he was afraid of your reaction, of your rejection.

-It's quite the opposite.

You retain yourself from asking him what he means by that, utterly confused. The opposite ? He doesn't like her, then ? But why is he hanging out with her so much ? Ethan is usually not the hypocrite type. Yes he's shy with people he doesn't know and is scared to give his opinion but when he doesn't like someone, he simply stops seeing them.

And once again, Tara's really nice. What did she do to make Ethan don't like her ?

-But you'll understand.

You stopped trying to understand him, a long time ago already. He just changed so much in the course of a few days. It's like he has too much on his mind. Sometimes, he just disappear from your apartment and come back hours later with a big smile on the face, all disheveled.

Of course, you thought he was seeing someone. Hell, his bag is always so bloated ! It's like he has spare clothes in it ! But it still wasn't the case. What the hell was going on with him ?

-So please, don't be mad at me.

-I'm tired, Ethan. You whisper, lips pursued thanks to your cheek planted on your pillow. He already knew you were awake anyway. Your sentence is enough to tell him you want to sleep and end this conversation.

-Of course, sorry baby."

And that was it. You knew he was smiling behind you but you didn't care. He left you alone, that's what matter. You were already trying to push him away for a long time but now you feel like time is missing. You need to make him understand that you do not like him and quick. It'll break his heart, but you're tired of pretending everything's alright, exhausted from constantly being the one to compromise.

You don't want to sound like a jerk but damn, Ethan is suffocating you. He's ruining both of your lives. The last time you had a partner have to be something like years ago ! You literally have to hide from him when you leave to see someone.

"Goodnight." He adds, ten minutes later. Probably scared that you forget about him so quickly.

How could you possibly change things ? Ethan is susceptible. It doesn't matter what your words or intentions are, he only hear what he wants to.

"Love you." he whispers so lowly you thought you imagined it.

You do not even try to answer.

The next day, in class, Ethan kept pestering you about the new movie he absolutely had to show you. Something along the line of a serial killer in a mine chasing people with a pickaxe, being in love with his ex-girlfriend and sabotaging her couple. Tonight would probably be centered around that film, just like every time you two have any free time. If that idea would have appealed you years prior, you today feel as if this is too much. Yesterday night laid a weird weight on your shoulders, a sort of unease that you can't quite shake off.

"Aren't you tired of always watching movies ? You grumble, annoyed, in hope of giving him the ick.

-No, he smiles, but we can do something else. No big deal. What did you have in mind ?"

You sigh, not even giving him enough attention to answer him. He'll probably still put the movie tonight, whether you like it or not. For sure to avoid another argument between you both. As you're constantly fighting, talking about a movie is the only way Ethan found to prevent an umpteenth dispute. Quite smart actually, if you forget the fact that you now know his strategy.

The hubbub slowly surrounding you alerts you of your soon to be lateness in class. With a nod in his direction, you start turning away from Ethan only for him to hastily grab your hand. Sighing, you raise a brow at him.

"We're walking home together, don't forget.

-Ethan we've been walking home together for years now. Clearly I won't forget." He smiles. His hands grab both of your cheeks and as his face approaches yours, panic settles thinking he would kiss you on the lips but he instead lay a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"See you later." Ethan's too happy voice says. You frown, holding his wrists to take them away from you in what could be similar to disgust. "Yeah, later." You say before finally leaving him for the next few classes, wiping his kiss on the way.

You won't see him for the afternoon as you both already ate together at home, and started class at 2PM (14h), to end the day at 8PM (20h).

These lonesome classes are both a benediction and a curse as you try as best as you can to befriend people but they always seem wary. It's probably too late for you to make friend now, the whole year is almost done. People already made friends earlier in the year and don't need any new ally.

And at the same time, Ethan is not here to harass you. That's why you still cherish this morning. Until you don't; your next class is with him and if you remember correctly the teacher talked about a group project last time. Great. Way to ruin a day.

But when you sit down, no one is there to bother you. Ethan is absent, probably late. A rare occurrence but a lovely one nonetheless.

Ten minutes later and he finally show up along with all of his new friends. Immediately, you lay down on the desk to avoid his gaze. But to your stupor, Ethan does not sit next to you and you hear the whispers of his group, conscious of having interrupted the lesson. Ethan ignored you.

Honestly, you can't pinpoint the main emotion this procured you. Relief at first but also confusion, fear of the harassment and countless excuses that'll come next. Happiness but wariness. The fact he's not next to you doesn't mean he's not watching and that's somehow ten times worse. You can't see him: you have no idea what he's doing.

Anyway, he's finally starting to replace you. Still, isn't that a bit toxic how your days are filled with fear to spend a mere minute in his presence while he acknowledges you only when wants to ? Well, everything about him is toxic. At this point, it doesn't change anything really.

You risk one look behind you to observe his usual shenanigans but he's busy, not even glancing your way. Now that you look at him, he doesn't seem really happy to talk to them, nor does Quinn. What is going on with them ? Ethan just look empty. He's staring into nothing, not even blinking. Just deep in thoughts. Though, as soon as Chad or one of the group talks to him, he gains back his merry behaviour. Weird. But hey, it's none of your business !

And that's the same spirit you sport when leaving for class, alone and not waiting for Ethan. It's good that the teacher reported the group project to tomorrow, you got to enjoy your day. You still hear him and his friends laugh in the background, but he's talking this time. Maybe he just wasn't in a good mood earlier and actually likes his friends, who know ?

And after all, if it's like that, you can go home alone. Not that you complain. You'll just say you didn't want to disturb him with his friends. After all, he's the one who doesn't want you to know them. You won't force him !

And hopefully, you'll finally enjoy some time to yourself. At peace, at home.

You push the heavy door of the building, leaving the place for the day. It's cold outside, too much for you own liking but you're alone and it's priceless. You can look at people in the street and you only realize how bad your situation really is. You do not even allow partners to treat you like this, but somehow you allow Ethan to? It's time to wake up. You can't live like this anymore. Ethan trapped you in a toxic relationship for fuck sake. If you can't change him, you'll change yourself. But he can't find out.

But when you thought you were finally free, rushed footsteps hitting the ground can be heard in your back. Goosebumps raises your body hair as you fear already knowing who's coming.

"You promised!" He shouts and your steps stop abruptly, turning to look at him. You allow him to run the distance left between you before he stops in front of you. "And you left without me. He is out of breath, having ran all the way here.

-You were busy.

-I'm never busy when you're here. Ethan tells you with a playful grin, almost flirting with you, passing his fingers in his curls to tame them. You can come fetch me if you're scared I forget about you.

He's joking, you think, he's just friendly and joking. Nothing's weird and — shit, who are you lying to ? Of course he's not but what the hell can you do ?

-How was you day ? He asks, changing subject. He saw your unease, like always, and try to take your attention on something else. Math sucked today, we worked on... but he suddenly interrupts himself, eyes going wide. I forgot to give my essay to the English teacher.

You already gave yours this morning. But it's weird that Ethan did not. He's usually the perfect little student. Always giving his homework the next day he was asked to do it. There really is something weird, he's a little bit too much in his own head. And it's starting to show.

-I still have my draft, you can just copy mine and give it tomorrow, it's no big deal. You shrug, looking at both sides of the road before crossing. You're always the first to hand homework, I'm sure he won't mind if you give it a little bit later.

"Really ? He smiles brightly when you nod. "Thank you! You know, I have no idea what I'd do without you baby.

Your body tenses. You feel like the discussion is going in a direction you don't want it to go. It's obvious he's not only talking about the homework you let him copy.

-It's nothing, you start, but it's already too late.

-You know, I don't think you realize all the things you've done for me. Not just the homework, like, in all our life.

You hate how he said 'our life', like you share one.

-For real Ethan, you add but much more coldly than before, it's nothing. Are you done ? Can we let it go, now ?"

Yes, being mean maybe wasn't the best solution. But you ran out of ideas. And Ethan never look like he's hurt by your harsh tone. It's like he doesn't even listen to you most of the time you're starting to get angry at him. He just nods and smiles like an idiot.

The rest of the way home, Ethan ranted about everything and anything he did at school and asked you questions which you did not bother to answer to, to what he filled the answers himself.

On the last steps to your apartment, you realize you have to act today for your future.

Ethan opens the door and allows you to enter before him. Turning the light on, you're pleased to see your sweet comfort.

"Happy to be home, you grunt, letting your bag fall on the ground.

-Happy I caught up to you.

Is he being passive aggressive ? What are you even supposed to say to that ? You give him a tight lip smile and walk to the kitchen, getting you a cup of water.

-What we doing now ? He asks, leaning on the counter.

Well, you for sure don't know about 'we' but you are going to sleep. You need to set up boundaries, or at least introduce them to him.

-It's getting late. I think I'll go to sleep.

-Already ? Okay, well, I'm coming in a few seconds.

-About that... Ethan stops in his track. You tub your temples. Here you go again. You're sleeping in your room tonight, you state. Not open for any negotiation.

Ethan stares at you as if you had grow another head.

-You don't want to sleep with me ?

-I had a really tiring day, I just want to sleep alone for tonight. But if you have another nightmare come knock, I'll see what I can do.

Naively, you thought that making him pity you would work, that he'd understand, tell you goodnight and everything would be done for the day. But it's Ethan. And you haven't been separated from Ethan since you guys were kids.

The boy stares at you with doe eyes, trying to coax you into giving him what he wants, before frowning, articulating words that won't come out.

He's trying to gently manipulate you, again. And you repeat yourself that it's not his fault, he's a victim of his shitty family. He doesn't have any social awareness, he's not doing it on purpose. Well, you think he's doing it on purpose but without really acknowledging it. As you told him multiple times his behaviour could be obsessive and he's aware of it. But it's as if he can't help it.

You're confused. But at the same time, you don't really know much about the interactions he had with his father along his childhood. Maybe he's copying this mechanism because he saw his progenitor doing it ? His father could be manipulative after all. Your parents always found him weird but with the death of his first son, he just completely lost it.

-You... You don't want to sleep with me. Mumbles Ethan more to himself.

-Exactly Ethan, I don't want to.

It's like you see the gear turning in his head.

-Why ? he asks which caused a sigh to escape you.

-I wanted to talk to you about it for a while now. It's complicated." You sit on the back of the cushion and scratch at you arm to help you think. "I like you a lot Ethan, you know right ?

His lips turns up to display a bright smile, his face seem to shine at your words and he nods multiple times. You think you see his eyes stare at your lips.

-I love you too. I hope you know that.

Now, 'love' wasn't actually the word you used but you're going to have to ignore that.

-The thing is, Ethan, that we do not have to be stuck together every minutes of the day, you hear me ? Sometimes I want to sleep alone. And I'm sure you want to be alone too, right ? Ethan frowns and laugh nervously.

-I actually don't, I... Why would I want to be alone ? I sleep really well with you. Don't you ? Why do you suddenly hate being with me ?

-Wow okay I did not say that. You are interpreting my words in a way I don't like. I don't hate to be with you I just...

-What do you need to do that requires me to be out of your bedroom ?

Lot of things. But there is some you can't say out loud.

-What ? Tell me then ? What are you-. Ethan says, cheeks turning red. Oh, yeah, you can sleep alone for tonight I guess, he clears his throat. He avoids eye contact, trying to act tough.

Is he thinking about what you think ?

-Ethan, I won't do any weird stuff tonight. I just want to be alone. I like to sleep in a star like position or just being able to move in my sleep you know ? That's all.

-But you can do that with me.

Maybe you should've stick with whatever dirty thought he had. You should have told him you were going to invite someone over or.. Or fucking masturbate if that's what you need to get him out. Because Ethan steps towards you, an empty expression he doesn't give you often on the face.

-You're lying to me. That's not why you want to sleep alone. I really hate you lying to me.

-I am not lying to you Ethan, I'm exhausted.

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and getting defensive. How come you ruined everything ? Nothing is ever right with him, he always find a way to change your words or just get offended over anything.

-You'll be talking all night with him, won't you?

That right now is one of the many reasons as to why you never tried to bring the topic of personal space to a man like him.

-Ethan for the love of god, I want to sleep! I won't talk to anyone, damn.

You don't even know who is that 'him' ! It's not like you have the opportunity to talk to a lot of people, Ethan always ruin everything. And in any case he doesn't, everyone just assume that you two are together already.

-You're lying. You'll chat with him. Give me your phone. I... I can't let you do that. I'll be all alone and you'll laugh with him while I'll be with my broken heart.

The light of the living room was starting to hurt your tired eyes, you couldn't retain many yawns from escaping. Turning on your phone, you learn you've been fighting for ten minutes. You needed to sleep but Ethan wasn't on the same page. It was late, too late for bullshit like this.

-Who are you even talking about ?

He suddenly tries to grab your phone by force, pulling it towards him. Our of pure bewilderment you tighten your hold on the device, grasping it so hard the screen might have broke. You slap him in the face with your free hand, utterly in disbelief. Ethan stands still, shock on his face while he let go of your device to touch his cheek.

-What is wrong with you ? You whisper with disgust. It's the first time Ethan acted physical with you. And probably the last time as the numerous searches for accommodations on your phone testify.

-Why can't I see your damn phone?

-And why do you fucking want to see it ?

Silence. He stands still, frowning. Probably considering if he'll either go for manipulation or violence. But his next words are so out of pocket that you need a minute to compose yourself.

-Are you prostituting yourself or what ? With the number of men you see.

Honestly, it simply is sad to see what you two had became. As children, you were attached to the hip, fusional. You could both end each other sentence. Today, it seems only Ethan is able to do that as he knows you more and more when you know him less and less.

-I think we're done for the night Ethan." You walk to your room, using his stillness to take your time before slamming the door shut in his face, locking it for the night. You hear Ethan knocking his palm against the wood separating you both but you chose to ignore it.

-Open the door please, let's talk." He never stops knocking on the door, probably thinking you'd open it at one point, annoyed at him. But not tonight.

You open your drawers and start changing, frowning at the sight of his boxers laying in your clothes. He's still rambling in the background but you pay him no mind, doing your own life on your side.

-What you're doing is really childish. We're both adults and we should act as such. Open the fucking door, please. You smile.

There he goes. The real Ethan. The meanie. The man after the death of his brother: Ethan Landry. A completely different man.

-Are you listening to me ? Open that fucking door, we are not done talking because I know you're not ignoring me after being the one who left me alone on campus.

Of course he would use that against you but you don't even care. Yeah you left him alone, so what ? He's a big man, isn't he ? Surely he's not scared of walking alone.

-See how you are ? All big and proud before me but then when we really need to talk you hide." He mutters something you don't hear, but then you catch his footsteps moving away.

You're confused but decide it's a good thing he gave up and fall on the bed, it's the first time in probably months where you're allowed to lay like a star fish in your own bed. You relish in the newfound comfort you missed how so much. You plunge your face in your pillow and hug it firmly.

At one point, it falls on you that Ethan never give up that quickly and realize that upon hearing no reaction from you, he must've changed plan as his footsteps are back, along with an unknown sound of something falling right in front of your door. To no one surprise, he now starts apologizing.

"I'm stupid, okay ? Forgive me. I'm sorry. Open please. His voice is muffled through the door, and you ignore it. I'm just worried about you. I know you're not seeing anyone.

Great, he's back.

-And I'm sorry for getting angry at you. I was frustrated.

He's not and you know it. When Ethan has something in mind, he'll go to incredible length to accomplish it. Sometimes, you ask yourself if he's acting this way because of you. If you once told him something, did something that could have impacted him.

-I just really like you, I know I can be a lot sometimes but you forgive me, right ? You always do." You think about definitely moving out of here, once and for all, far from him when you fall asleep.

When sunlight woke you up the next day and you decided to head to the kitchen, you were surprised to see Ethan, sleeping tightly on his mattress on the ground at your feet, right before the door. You completely forgot about him. There's no way he really slept on the ground all night. It's not normal, you're worried about him. Maybe you need to take him to a psychiatrist.

You stay stunned a few minutes, seriously worrying over the state of your friend for him to be doing literally anything. You were going to wake him up, but then you remembered how weird he was being with you recently and decided to let him be.

Ignoring him, you step over his body and start to prepare your breakfast. Of course, Ethan quickly woke up upon hearing you rummaging the drawers.

"Hi baby..." He whispers, tired from his sleepless night, eyes still partially closed. "Slept well ?

-Yes actually. The best night of sleep I've had in a long time. There was a bounce in your steps that couldn't be ignored.

-Well I had nightmares." It's hard to discern the truth in all of his lies. Maybe he really had nightmares, maybe he just wants you to feel guilty.

There was a tension in the apartment this morning that even Ethan couldn't hide this time. He stayed silent for the most part of the walk to class. Something in your relationship changed and the unknown scares you. What will happen now ?

Your first lesson is with Ethan, but he leaves your side to go straight to his friends. Chuckling, you know he's still angry at you and is trying to make you mad.

As soon as you sit, the teacher announces the instructions of the group project everyone will have to do in these two hours and then finish at home. Name by name, she lists duets and the class start to move around, going to their partner. When your name is coupled with another, you see a guy walks towards you with a smile. He stops in front of your table.

"You're the one I'm doing the project with, right ?

You smile to him and nod, giving him your name. He repeated your action, introducing himself. He was cute. He sits by your side, you chat a little, getting to know each other. You hope he usually has good grade, you really don't want to repeat your year.

The man now sat on the chair next to you start planning the organization of the project. Dividing the task to be much more efficient. That's what you do, telling him you can do the second part while he does the first. Everything was going well until you realized that it's been a long time since you saw the Kirsch boy, and of course, he had to change that.

The curly man heads your way, smiling upon seeing you make eye contact with him. He stares one second at the man by your side, immediately displaying a smile who you knew announced no good.

"Hi, I'm Ethan. I asked the teacher to change groups. So you're not with her anymore, you're actually with Amber over there" he turns his back to you and point to a girl further away. "The one in blue." He looks back at you two, using his shy demeanor and lanky posture to appear as the nerd you know damn well he isn't. He knows that by acting this way, he is laughed at but never yelled at. He looks innocent.

-What ? Why ? Why would you ask the teacher that ? You ask.

-Because we're friends so we'll work better together." He was giving you that shy smile you learnt to hate. He thought you'd forgive him quicker this way; he was right. You did forgive him quicker in the past, but not anymore. It's quite the opposite now, each time he was trying to manipulate you like this, you were getting angrier.

"And I know how much you're insecure about yourself and all so, it's for you !"

What the actual fuck is he talking about!

All the while telling you this, Ethan never looked in your new friend's way. His attention was solely on you. He's humiliating you, and on purpose. Confused, embarrassed and sorry, you search the other man's eyes. He was just like you. He raises a brow then shrugs. He packs his things, you apologize and he smiles, telling you that it's okay. You felt like shit.

He's heading towards the girl Ethan forced him to work with.

"Why would you do that ?

He's embarrassing ! You look like two losers who only have each others as friends and don't want to talk to anyone else. It's seriously tiring. You've been each other sole friend for years ! You can't even name someone you've been friend with for more than a month !

-We're friends, remember ? he raises his brow, as if telling you the obvious.

-And that's a reason to push everyone else away ? To humiliate me ? What the fuck are you on about me being insecure ? I get that you're angry at me but fuck it Ethan.

-He's an asshole. I saw him around. You really shouldn't hang around him." He does not elucidate on the other part of your sentences. But you know what he would have said already; it's a test to see if he'd stayed, and he didn't so he's not your friend.

You don't even want to argue with him at this point. It was useless, he was never listening to you. It's impossible for you to count the times in which Ethan drove everyone away. You had literally zero friends here but Ethan.

Once, a girl came talk to you in finance but Ethan arrived and jokingly told her you had AIDS. What the fuck ? Who say that first thing when meeting someone ? Even her didn't understand. She just thought you two were weird and never talked to you ever again. It's like he loves to embarrass you in front of everyone. And when you got angry at him, he just said it was a joke but he was just so awkward with people and- Fuck. He pretended to be the victim, again.

You always try to help him. You know he had a difficult childhood, never received love, never had friends, you know. That's why you always overlooked his flaws. But today and this night was just too much.

That night, you locked yourself in the toilet to chat with the owner who could potentially save your life. She asked you about your studies and your work to know more about your profile.

"I'm in New York right now but I'm almost finished with my degree so that's why I plan to move out." You send her.

The owner shares with you her excitement towards you living in New York, saying how she's doesn't understand why would someone leave a big city to a place as desolated as where she is. You answer briefly, something along the lines of family problems.

You really hope she'll accept your profile. Her house is beautiful and perfectly located. Far enough from the city, but close enough that you can go there for a future work. Rent is high but it's necessary or Ethan definitely will end you.

"Did you die in here ?" Ethan knocks on the door. Yeah, you really need to get out of here. Flushing and washing your hand, to make it look credible, you adjust your clothes before opening the door. Ethan is in front of you, staring at you from head to toe.

"Where are we going ?

You heard about a party going on and decided to join on a whim, tired of being locked up here all the time.

-You're personally not going anywhere, you hide your device in your pocket, fearing he might discover your project of leaving town. But I'm leaving for a party. He frowns.

-Who will there be? Who you're going out with ? Why am I not allowed ?

-You don't know them." You say without looking at him, too busy in closing your jacket. You considered lying to him in saying it's a girls only party. But thought otherwise.

"Then don't go."

You sigh, exasperated, and close your eyelids tightly to try to keep your cool. He's doing it again. Grabbing your purse, you search for your bus card while walking to the door.

"Well I want to, Ethan.

-But I don't."

His sentence stopped you in your tracks. The beating of your heart resonate in your head, giving you a headache. You know if he continues in this direction, you will explode. Frustration and rage were mixing in your mind. He has to stop, right now.

Controlling your breathing turns out to be much more difficult in those conditions. Slowly, your body turns towards him. You tilt your head to the side and chuckle dryly, speechless by his audacity. Staring at Ethan with frown accompanying a fake smile, one too happy for your predicament, you realize he doesn't seem uncomfortable at all after saying such stupids things to your face.

"And since when do you decide of what I do ?" you plainly laugh, not even trying to hide it, both sarcastically and in bewilderment.

"Why are you always trying to go and cheat ?

-Excuse me ?

-I'm literally here." he frowns, staring at you like you're the guilty one. "I'm... What the hell do you fucking need ? We can just spend the night on the couch and watch a movie, why're you always leaving me ?" Ethan is shaking his head angrily, showing you his emotions are true by using his body, making his curls bounce in the process.

Him and his stupid movies !

-You can't decide for me. Where does that come from Ethan ? I'm going where I want, when I want with who I want.

-No you're not.

That was the final straw.

-And who the fuck are you ? Who the fuck do you think you are ? You walk up to him, face dangerously close to his.

-Yeah, who am I ? Who am I to you ? What am I ? What are we ? He pushes himself towards you, making you backtrack. I thought we were bonded forever, why the sudden change ?

-I don't care about your teenage crisis for fuck sake ! Everything is always about you, you and you ! I want to leave, so you're going to let me fucking leave !

-You're in love with Chad, right ?

You frown your brow and open your mouth to answer but the shock and utter confusion prevents any words, sounds, from coming out. What is he even talking about ? What is wrong with him ? Where is the fucking link between Chad and you ? You never even pronounced his name in front of him !

-What the fuck, Ethan ! I don't even know him !

-That's what you're saying, now. But what if you're lying to me ? He looked hurt and you couldn't understand it. He was literally creating problem in his head and then getting mad over it.

-How do you even come to this conclusion ! I- You know what ? I don't want to argue. You need some fucking therapy, Ethan.

-That's why you want to leave tonight. You plan on having sex with Chad.

-What the fuck is wrong with you, Ethan. For real. It's not even funny it's just... It's just worrying. What the hell is wrong with you ?

-I'm perfectly fine, what is wrong with you ?

-Don't you dare play this on me.

-Nothing is fucking wrong with me, you always say that but I'm perfectly fine. I told you I just don't want you to have sex with Chad. Sorry for loving my girlfriend I guess !

-Your what now ? Because I don't recall agreeing to-

-That's not the point, you're gonna fuck that fucking idiot !

-Stop saying that ! Fuck, Ethan ! You're weird !

Ethan was a virgin, for sure. But does it excuse the fact that he was being an absolute creep right now ? No. Clearly not. Why was he so invested in your sex life ? And did he have to make it a whole conversation ?

-Ethan, you hold your face in despair, you really need some fucking help because I can't stand it anymore. You're destroying my life. Your lip wobble, you feel like crying but don't know why. Is it anger or sadness, maybe even exhaust. I am tired. So I'm begging you to please consult a therapist.

Out of shock, Ethan stays silent. Watching as your eyes water. He raises a hand towards your face, slowly. But you push it away and leave the place, slamming the door. In the stairs, you jump over a few steps and almost fall multiple times but you don't think about it. You need to leave. If you can find somewhere to sleep at it would be perfect, but you don't push your luck.

Fortunately, you didn't tell Ethan where you were headed. Once at the party, you would have fun and enjoy the moment without thinking about Ethan. That's the plan.

Only, his plan did not concord with yours as an armed masked man came for a surprise visit.

[gildedkrone]

A TREAT 🔞 (CW:BLOOD)

The last of the enemy crashes to the floor in an undignified heap as König finishes them off with a bullet through the cranium. Before he can react, tableware goes smash into the floor when the behemoth of an Austrian is slammed back first into the oakwood table in the room.

He tastes you on his mouth when you yank his mask up to tongue him in a room of deceased hostiles and he backhands you to get you off.

“’S fucking hurt, Kö.” His eyes narrow into slits when you roll the words off your tongue and cradle your cheek.

“Not here! Are you stupid?” He hisses and you lean into his space with a head tilt.

“Really? Don’t fucking lie.” He fidgets under your glare—the colonel unnerved by a lowly sergeant and your grin is sardonic of a man having slaughtered the enemy forces with your commanding officer. It’s quick work with the streaks of red souvenirs of war.

“Get off your stupid moral high horse.” His eyes move, displeased; you press your pelvis together and yank his chest forward using his vest off the table.

“I want to fuck you right here, sir.”

He sneers and pulls you flush with him with a finger on your throat mic. Careful! You berate him; they just always seem to break for no good reason.

“Filthy dog, you want this so badly?” His native accent always came through when he’s snarling or sneering and by god, it turns you on and your fingers loop through his belt.

Then get it, mutt. And you practically rip his trousers off with your boss on his back on a table ass naked and surrounded by corpses deep in enemy territory. You slick your hands with spit before fingering König to prep him. No lube, no problem.

A pained groan triggers your instincts and your gun finds an injured enemy soldier on the ground. He barely puts up a fight when you grab him by the nape and drop him unceremoniously on the same table. He groans when you manhandle him to disarm him.

“Seems like we have a witness, Kö.”

“You can kill him when you are done here, bärchen. Beeil dich, bastard.”

Satisfied the enemy is too wounded to go anywhere, you sigh in relief when your dick springs free from its cotton prison and already semi hard from the firefight earlier. Thoroughly coated in spit, you push past König’s rim into tight, velvety heat encapsulating your prick in a warm cocoon made just for you as König let out a short grunt when you fully bottom out in him. You’re not small by any means, but he’s big.

Bloodlust melds into nothing more than physical lust when you give a few experimental thrusts as the behemoth grunted and groaned when his rim catches on the bulbous head. He curses a storm in his native tongue when you heave his trunk like thighs up to rest against your chest and shoulders. The new angle allows you to thrust even deeper and the warm channel greedily sucks you in each time you pull back with its walls clamping down hard to draw several moans from your lips.

Two men in heavy combat gear with less sense than one fucking each other in the warzone and you can’t lie—the perverse part of your brain loves it. Victory sex amongst the acts of you and König is a momentous occasion indeed and his hand cups your balls and fondles them when you taunt him again when the friction slows your thrusts.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He refuses to answer until you swipe a hand through the blood oozing from a knife wound in your left arm, all coagulated, to dirty his pristine, soft hips with patches of red.

“Du verdammter Bastard! Ich werde dich bestrafen, wenn wir zurückkommen!”

“I don’t understand you, Kö. How about this?” He swears up a storm when your hands, dripping with your blood, gives your dick several languid strokes. You make sure to wet yourself with more liquid red when you remember just how roughly his ass pulls at you.

“You like it, you fucking pervert. Admit it, you love feeling even more of me in you.”

“Schweig! You foul mutt!”

“Your foul mutt, Kö.” You grin and thrust easily into him—the sight of the 6’10 Austrian clawing at the table with fire in his eyes and blood stained skin—it all pushes your further towards your peak building in deep thrums in your abdomen.

König isn’t faring any better, with how whiny he rasps as his dick drooled messily onto his vest with his ass clenching and itching for more. The fury in his eyes belies the need to feel you seed his ass with hot cum and he gasps when a commotion from the side halts your thrusts.

The injured foe has decided to make a run for it and with your dick still in König, you free the gun on his thigh holster and fired. The enemy topples forward in a spray of red mist and as you turn back to your superior, he moans unabashedly and spasms hard around you. You watch as he emptied his balls in strong spurts as his ass becomes even more greedy than before and your grip on his hips leaves prints for days.

When he is all down from his high, you smirk and he snarls at the knowing look.

“You came from seeing me kill another man? You truly are most pathetic, sir.”

He swats your hand and you breath hitches at how soft his ass is after his orgasm. A radio transmission from Horangi interrupts all the fun and you pull yourself free from König. With you and him in a more presentable state and all traces of the coupling gone, Horangi appears in the doorway and beckons for the Austrian to join him.

Just before he leaves, you yank his hood down. My room, later and shivers run up his body when dirty streaks of blood and cum disappear behind your tongue and once again, König struggles to not cum when your fingers reappear all clean and wet.

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist || kinktober masterlist

[enchantestuff]

hatred - Charles Leclerc

I think I might make this into a mini series with an enemies to civil with each other to friends to lovers kind of vibe but I'm still not sure, anyways here's Charles x reader wanting to rip each others throats but instead end up ripping each others clothes off

gonna dedicate this to the lovely @yungbludz​ happy birthday <33

GIF NOT MINE

warnings; smut as per usual, Charles being very egotistical, choking, language, enjoy <3

2k words 

part two

It was safe to say you and Charles hated each other. You knew hate was a strong word, but you also knew that you felt nothing but hatred for the man. You hated his cocky smile and the fact that everyone seemed to be obsessed with him. You also hated the fact that you had to spend the whole weekend with him.

You worked for Ferrari, meaning that, unfortunately, you had to spend a lot of time with Charles. You were actually excited when you first got the job of being Charles Leclerc's PR manager. You had admired the driver and couldn’t wait to work alongside him, but that all changed once you actually met him and realised what an ass he really was. Everyone else loved him, of course, because he seemed to be nice to every single person on the planet except you.

You and a select number of the Ferrari team had been invited to a special charity event taking place in the ballroom of a luxurious hotel. You had all decided to check into the hotel the day before the event, in order to save time and familiarise yourself with the venue. Of course, according to your job description, you also had to run through the possible questions Charles could be asked with him.

Although Charles loathed you, he had to admit you were good at your job and managed to prepare him for every possible scenario, which is why he hadn’t begged Mattia to fire you, at least not yet.

You sighed as you reached the check in desk, all you wanted to do was flop onto the hotel bed and sleep until the morning. You gave the lady behind the desk your name and watched as she quickly typed on the computer in front of her. “Ah yes, Y/N and Charles, room 506”

Your eyes widened at her words as you shook your head. “No no, that can’t be right” you pleaded as you leaned your arms against the counter.

“Im sorry ma'am, but the booking is for the both of you” she explained with apologetic eyes as she handed you the room key.

“Take your time, Y/N. Not like we aren’t all exhausted from our long trip” you heard Charles scold from behind you. You quickly turned around and shoved the room key into his chest.

“Politetly, go fuck yourself, Leclerc” you muttered as you shouldered past him and walked straight to Mattia on the other side of reception. Mattia sighed once you walked over and gestured for you to begin arguing with him, he knew it was going to happen.

“Why? Why would you stick me in a room with that-that imbecile!” you snapped.

“Listen, Y/N, i know how much you dislike him and vice versa, but everyone had to be paired with someone and I thought this was the best option for you both” he explained with a soothing voice.

“Why do I have to be with her?” you heard Charles ask from behind you. You felt small standing in front of him, his broad frame practically trapping you between him and Mattia.

“Y/N is your PR manager, it's her job to prepare you for this event” Mattia once again calmly explained

“And she couldn’t do that over breakfast?” Charles inquired, you could feel his tense gaze on the back of your head and you whipped around scoffing at him as you placed your hands on his hips.

“Don’t act like this was my idea! Not everyone wants to share a room with you Charles, get your head out of your ass”

Charles opened his mouth to throw a rude remark your way but Mattia stopped him before he got the chance. “The both of you are sharing this room, whether you like it or not. I think everyone would prefer if you took this time to sort out your problems instead of bickering like children. I’ll see you both at breakfast. Goodnight,” he scolded as he walked off with his luggage in tow.

You felt your cheeks redden as embarrassment creeped up your shoulders. “Are you trying to get me fired?” you accused Charles as you grabbed your own luggage and made way for the elevator.

He shrugged in response, “Wouldn’t be the worst thing” he muttered, stepping inside with you. You pressed your floor number and sighed in frustration. “Can you stop breathing so loud?” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

“It was a sigh, dipshit.”

“Trust me, i don't want to be near you as much as you don't want to be near me”

“Glad we're on the same page” you replied, stepping out of the elevator and storming to your room, which in hindsight was a foolish idea as Charles had the key and you had to wait for him as he took his sweet time walking up the hallway.

He unlocked the door with a smug look on his face and stepped in before you, dropping his luggage on the floor as he surveyed the room. “You have got to be kidding me” he complained once he saw the double bed in the middle of the room.

“Oh what is it now, Charles?” you asked as you shut the door behind you “is the carpet not to your liking? Is it too bright? Are there no chocolates on the pillow” you continued and slipped off your shoes, “do you want me to - oh shit” you cursed as you saw the predicament you both were in. “Looks like you're sleeping on the floor” you shrugged whilst walking towards the bed.

“I am NOT sleeping on the floor,” Charles complained.

“What? And you think I am?” you argued, once again placing your hands on your hips.

“I don’t see why not,” he commented, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I am not sharing a bed with you, Leclerc! So you,” you jabbed a finger at his chest, “are going to have to step off your mighty throne and take the gentleman approach and sleep,” jab “on,” jab “the floor,” you snapped.

Charles raised his eyebrow as he stared at you. You could cut the tension between the two of you with a knife, it was almost unbearable. You had never fought this long, somebody had always interrupted you both before you got the chance to really push each other's buttons. “I'm going to say this nice and slow, sweetheart,” Charles growled, taking a step forward, you in turn took a step back as you removed your finger from his chest, “I’ll take the high road, we can share the bed just this once, as long as you stop acting like the spoiled princess that you will never be” he continued to walk towards you as he spoke and you were eventually trapped against the wall.

Charles moved his hand to lie on the wall next to your head, the distance between the two of you becoming smaller and smaller by the second. “I might be ready to step off my throne but are you ready to be a good girl and step off yours too?” he concluded. 

“Bite me, Charles” you retorted and something in the both of you snapped as you grabbed his face in your hands and he roughly grabbed your waist. Your lips violently pressed against his as your tongues practically fought against each other. You almost moaned at the force of his kiss, but refused to give him the satisfaction.

Charles pulled away, giving your mouth a final short kiss before he moved to mark your neck. “Come on, princess. Stop being stubborn for once in your life and let me hear the noises that you can make''

You however kept your mouth shut, Charles smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “If that's how you want to play it,” he smirked before gently grabbing your breast and slipping his hands into the waistband of your leggings. He rubbed circles on your clit as he pinched your nipples. “I want to hear you, sweetheart,” he grunted.

You rolled your eyes back in pleasure and involuntarily let out a moan. Charles felt his dick twitch in his pants and cockily grinned as he kissed right under your nose. “Good girl,” he whispered. It wasn't long before his trousers were discarded as well as your own leggings. You hadn’t moved however and were still pressed up against the wall. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked and although you felt your heart skip a beat you rolled your eyes at him and nodded.

“Yes, please just - just hurry up” you squirmed against the wall. That seemed to be all the validation he needed. He slowly put a condom on before easing into you. You scrunched your eyes at the uncomfortable feeling and tapped him to move. Your lips parting on their own accord as the feeling was replaced with pure pleasure. Charles forcefully grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist, providing him with a better angle for both himself and you.

“O-oh shit” you moaned as you scraped your nails down his shoulders to his arms, which left harsh red marks in their wake. Charles moaned at the feeling and you were almost aroused by the sound. Almost.

One of Charles hands were digging into the soft flesh of your thigh while the other moved to wrap itself around your neck, his signature pinky ring digging into the flesh of your skin causing you to mimic his actions and let out a moan at the pain.

“You like that?” he grunted as he continued to thrust into you, lightly placing some pressure on your throat, not enough to suffocate you, he didn't hate you that much, but enough for you to enter a state of pure bliss.

“I hate you, Leclerc” you found yourself muttering but you certainly did not hate him at that very moment.

“Feelings mutual, love”

You continued to scrape your nails across his back, desperate to pull more moans out of him. Charles however, didn't like being the only vulnerable one and removed his hands from your throat, he grabbed both of your hands in his own and shoved them upwards, beginning his assault on your chest.

Your toes curled as he hit all the right spaces, you knew you were close but you really didn’t want to be the first one to let go. Charles could feel the clenching of your walls and smirked into your chest. “Are you close, princess?” he asked, bringing his mouth to your lips and for some reason you found yourself kissing him back.

“No” you blatantly lied.

You moved your head closer to him when he pulled away but he refused to connect your lips once more and you found yourself pouting at the lack of attention. God, how pathetic had you become.

“Now, i knew you were a spoiled brat but i didn't take you for a liar as well”

“Glad to know your ego has no off moments, Charles” you scoffed and were about to start an argument before he began slowly pounding into you, his precise thrusts made it extremely difficult to formulate a sentence let alone hold onto the knot in your stomach. So, against your brain telling you not to, you let go.

You would have fallen onto the ground if it wasn’t for Charles' strong grip trapping you against the wall and his own body. The noises that he made as he reached his own high caused your heart to flutter in your chest and you began to wonder if having sex with him was a bad idea.

“Are you okay?” he asked after he had pulled away from you. You nodded your head as you furrowed your eyebrows

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you asked.

You were surprised the both of you were capable of having a normal conversation, but you supposed nothing could be normal between you after that.

Charles gently ran a finger across your neck and by the look on his face you knew you looked worse for wear. “I kind of lost myself in the moment, I’m sorry if I hurt you. Really I am” he clarified.

“Its okay” you sighed as you rubbed your neck, “lets just go to sleep”

“I’m still not sleeping on the floor”

“Just stay on your side of the bed, Leclerc”

[cyantomatos]

Kintober - Day 7

Day 7 of the Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen​​

This one ended up being like, full fic length, and I don’t know how. I also wanted to give a bit of a warning for this one, as it does deal with some consensual non-con. The reader has consented to everything that happens ahead of time, but because of the roleplay element, does act like she doesn’t at points. I know that can be triggering for some, so I wanted to warn ahead of time. Also a bit of knife-play, sort of.

Prompt: Roleplay || Object insertion || Stripping/Strip tease

Character: Din Djarin

Just a little further, if you could just make it to the river, just a little further, just-

You burst through the cover of the trees, the glittering waters of the river almost making you cry in relief. If you could get to the other side, maybe you could lose him. The forest on the other side was different, more overgrown, and you could lose him in the underbrush. He was big, clunky, the armor kept him from getting hurt but it also slowed him down, if you could just-

All of your hopes came crashing down when you saw the glint of sun off beskar. He was already there, blocking your access to the river. Like he’d known. Of course he’d known, he was one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy. Had you really thought you could outsmart him?

The Mandalorian just stared at you, expressionless helmet trained on your every move. A little part of you wanted to try to run again, just for the sake of your ego, but you knew he was too close this time. You weren’t going to get lucky again.

That didn’t mean you were going to go easy, though.

You stood still as he approached, binders in hand. You let him bind your wrists in front of you, grateful at least for not having them behind your back. You followed as he led you back through the trees, back towards his ship.

It wasn’t your fault if you stumbled a few times. There was still thick undergrowth on this side of the river, even if it wasn’t as thick as the other side, and you were tired. Your legs were weak. The logs and vines and bushes tripped you up, definitely not on purpose, and you could feel annoyance starting to radiate off the immovable wall of metal leading you.

By the time you made it to the ship, the Mandalorian was practically steaming. He yanked you up the ramp, and you silently celebrated. You might have been caught, but at least you’d managed to make it annoying for him. 

That is until he yanked you to one wall, stretching your bound arms above you as the binders locked to the metal of the ship.

What?

You’d been expecting carbonite. Why was he binding you to the wall?

The Mandalorian stepped back, and that expressionless helmet very deliberately trailed down the length of your stretched out body. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel his eyes taking you in, and a shiver ran down your spine at the feeling.

“W-what...are you doing?” You internally cursed yourself for the way your voice shook, unwilling to show just how much - and in what way - the bounty hunter was affecting you.

He only continued to stare at you, and you started to squirm under his gaze. After almost a full minute of silence he stepped away, and you breathed a sigh of relief. As you watched he tugged his gloves off, setting them carefully on a nearby crate, and you started to think maybe you shouldn’t have been relieved just yet.

He stepped back towards you, his hand going for the knife strapped to his belt. Your eyes widened at the sight and you started to struggle, shaking your head emphatically. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, please, I’ll cooperate!”

The Mandalorian paused, waiting for you to go silent. When you stopped begging he lifted the knife again and you cringed away, turning your head and squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t want to see your death coming for you.

Instead of blinding agony, you felt the knife hook under the hem of your shirt. With a sure moment he dragged it upward, cleanly slicing open the front of your shirt to leave your chest exposed to him.

You gasped at the feeling of cool air across your exposed breasts, face heating as the helmet fixed on them. He secured the knife back on his belt before lifting one hand to cup one of your breasts, drawing a whimper from you.

Your spine stiffened, resisting the urge to arch into his hand. No, the warm feeling of his hand definitely did not feel good, and you most definitely didn’t want it to continue. HIs thumb brushed over your hard nipple, causing you to bite your lip to stifle a whine as you dropped your head back against the hard metal behind you.

“P-please…” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, more of his touch or to be let go, but it didn’t really matter either way. You were at his mercy, and you didn’t think any amount of begging would change that.

A low chuckle sounded from beneath the helmet, and you almost headbutted him from how quickly your head shot up. Was he...laughing at you? You pouted indignantly up at him, only pulling another chuckle from the bounty hunter.

“I think you’re the sluttiest bounty I’ve ever picked up.” You gaped up at him, shocked at his words. As you gaped his hand slid down your bare stomach, coming to rest just above the waistband of your pants. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right. I bet you’re already soaked for me, aren’t you little one?”

You look away, eyes focusing on a crate in the corner so he can’t see the truth in your eyes. You’d been soaked since the moment he bound your wrists, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Pouting only proves my point.” His wrist twisted, hand slipping into your pants, and even with your best efforts you still let out a quiet moan at the feeling of his finger sliding over your dripping folds. The Mandalorian let out a groan of his own, head dipping forward to rest on your shoulder. “Even wetter than I thought, fuck, I think I might just keep you. Your bounty wasn’t worth much anyway.”

You were going to respond, something witty and biting for sure, but before you could he slipped two thick fingers inside you and your brain was overtaken by white noise. A keening, desperate sound filled the hull of the ship as your head dropped back against the wall, your hips trying to grind down against his fingers.

Little by little the sounds of his fingers sliding through your wetness filled the hull, accompanied by the sounds of your moans. The Mandalorian braced his free hand on the wall next to you as he slipped a third finger into your aching hole, drawing a strangled moan from you as he stretched you around his fingers.

You’d forgotten all about pretending now, shamelessly grinding against his fingers as he pressed you against the wall. You were so close, so fucking close, you didn’t even care that you were being finger fucked by a complete stranger in the hull of his ship, you were so fucking close, just a little more-

His fingers slipped out of you suddenly, causing you to lift your head and let out a needy whimper that didn’t sound nearly as demanding as you’d wanted it to. He just chuckled at your response, drawing his hand out of your pants and holding it up so you could see how you had soaked his fingers. His helmet tipped forward, enough that you couldn’t see any of his face as he lifted just the edge and slipped his soaked fingers into his mouth with a filthy groan.

Once his helmet was back in place he took a step back, and you felt his eyes rake over your body once more, taking in the way you tried to subtly shift your hips to quiet the aching need between your legs. You’d been so fucking close and the bastard just left you hanging. You tried to glare at him, but you knew the need in your eyes ruined the effect.

After a moment of just watching he stepped forward again, keeping what you assumed was eye contact as he reached towards your bound hands. A quiet click sounded as the binders detached from the wall, and for a second you thought he was going to let you go. The notion quickly fizzled out as he used his grip on your wrists to force your body to turn, reattaching the binders to the wall with your back to him.

He wasted no time, reaching around to yank your pants down, taking your panties with them. The cool air made you shiver, and also made you realize just how soaked you were. Your thighs were covered in your own slick, and the cool air did nothing to soothe the ache between your legs.

You let out a startled moan as his hand slipped back between your legs, just barely ghosting over your puffy lips. You let your head fall forward to rest on the wall in front of you, shamelessly trying to grind down against his fingers.

“Needy little thing. You want me to fuck you?” Without a second thought you nodded frantically, any notion of embarrassment lost in your need to have him, his cock, his fingers, anything inside you.

His hand was gone then, and you let out a whine at the loss of even that little bit of friction. A rustling sound filled the silence, and within seconds you felt the head of his hard cock slip between your legs. You both let out a moan at the contact, and he gripped one of your hips to hold you in place as he slid his length back and forth between your thighs, coating himself with your wetness.

Finally, finally, he shifted, sliding the head of his cock into your aching hole. Inch by delicious inch he slid into you, and dimly you were grateful he had stretched you with his fingers first. He was thick, and even with how soaked you were from his fingers it still burned deliciously as he split you open around him.

He didn’t stop when his hips finally pressed against your ass, instead drawing almost completely out of you only to slam back into you. You cried out, trying to squirm away from the intense feeling of his cock splitting you open, but you were trapped between him and the wall, forcing you to take what he gave you.

“Are you going to come for me, little one? You don’t even know me, and you’re gonna come on my cock, aren’t you? Such a needy little slut, just letting a stranger fuck her like this.” His words were what did you in, crying out as your walls clenched and fluttered around his length. He didn’t stop when you came, fucking you through your orgasm and pushing you right up to the edge of another almost immediately.

Through the haze of pleasure you feel his hips stuttering and hear his breath catching through the modulator in his helmet, and you know he’s close too. One of his hands snakes around your hip, slipping between your legs to brush a finger over your clit. “One more, give me one more, I want to feel you come again.”

You let out a whimper, his touch pushing you over the edge again, this time much weaker than the first. His head falls forward, digging into your shoulder as he starts to thrust harder into you. “F-fuck, tight fuckin’ cunt, gonna make me come. You want me to fill you, needy thing? Come on, beg for it, I know you want me to fill you.”

With a whine you tilt your head back, letting it hang back towards his shoulder. “P-please, please, fuck, I want you to fill me.” He lets out a chuckle, gripping your hip tightly as he pounds into you.

“I know you do, don’t worry, I’ll fill you up. You’re gonna be leaking my cum for the rest of the day, fuck, maybe I’ll fill you again later. Just keep you on my cock ‘till I’m ready to fuck you again, keep all that come inside you where it belongs.” You let out a whimper at his words, your walls clenching weakly around him at the thought.

A few thrusts later he stills inside you, pressing forward as far as he can as ropes of come start to fill you. The Mandalorian grunts as he presses into you, shaking slightly through his orgasm.

He stays like that for a moment, catching his breath. After a minute of basking in the afterglow he steps back, letting his cock slip out of you and earning an indignant whine at the loss of him. He’s gone for a moment, and then there’s a cool cloth between your legs making you whine in overstimulation.

Din shushes you softly, cleaning you of your combined fluids before setting the cloth aside. He reaches up, undoing the binders from around your wrists and catching you when your legs refuse to hold your weight. He shifts you into his arms, carrying you across the hold to the sleeping quarters, where he lays you gently on the cot. Gently he slips your pants off from where they had pooled around your ankles, and pulls your ruined shirt down your arms.

There’s some clanking sounds and a minute later he joins you, pressing his bare chest against your side as he pulls you close. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you can feel his smile.

“Is that what you wanted, cyar'ika?” You nod sleepily, squirming around until your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you, Din.”

[lunar-wandering]

Lanterns and Lies

surprise!! here we go, the sequel to Glamours and Gauze!

Word Count: 7k

Read on Ao3

-

Macaque had lied, when he said the shadow lantern was gone.

When the Lady Bone Demon had caught him, she had made a specific note of needing the lantern.

And, well, Macaque wouldn't let that happen.

So he'd shattered it, again, and during the Lady Bone Demon's momentary shock, he'd taken the opportunity to gather the broken pieces and run.

One of her minions had cut him with the cursed knife while he was running away.

That didn't matter now though, his injuries had been healed, and the Lady Bone Demon had yet to make another move. For now, sitting on the roof of the noodle shop, he was safe.

He starred down at the shattered pieces of the lantern in his hands.

With a sigh, he carefully extended his magic, putting the pieces back together again, reforming the lantern. He held it gently in his hands as he looked around the roof.

Now where was he gonna hide this-

"Macaque, I brought plums!"

Macaque startled upon hearing MK's voice, he'd been so distracted focusing on putting the lantern back together, he hadn't even heard the other climb up the ladder to the roof.

The.....lantern....

Which he told MK was gone....

In a rush to avoid MK seeing the lantern, Macaque did the first thing he thought of.

He shoved the lantern into himself, letting it mix into his own magic. Not the smartest way of storing it, it was a highly magical item, who knows how it would act while in direct contact with his magic, but it was the first thing he could think of, and this was only a temporary measure, so it should be fine.

....Probably.

"Hey bud, what's up?" Macaque asked, turning around to face MK, who was setting a small bowl of plums on the ground. "...What are the plums for?"

"You said that if I brought you some plums, you'd tell me about the time Monkey King walked into a tree." MK said, "And I fully expect you to keep your end of the bargain."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Macaque said, grabbing the bowl of plums. "Well you see, what happened was-"

-

"That had to be the stupidest shit you've ever pulled, Wukong." Macaque said, breathing heavily as he leaned against a tree. Wukong for his part, just smirked.

"I didn't see you try to stop me." He said, laughing as Macaque glared at him.

"I did try to stop you. Multiple times. But you didn't listen." He said, "You really need to stop picking a fight with every random person you meet."

"You're no fun at all." Wukong said, yawning as he stretched. Macaque rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." He said, "Anyways, we should probably head back to the cave, get some rest-"

"I'm not tired." Wukong said.

"You literally yawned a few seconds ago."

"Doesn't mean I'm tired. Besides, there's still more stuff to do." Wukong said, turning and walking off further into the mountain's forest, Macaque trailing behind him. As they walked, Macaque noticed Wukong start slouching, little by little. He didn't say anything though, knowing that Wukong would only deny it if asked.

It would be better just to watch and deal with the consequences when they came.

And oh boy, did the consequences come: in the form of Wukong turning a corner and immediately walking directly into a tree. The tree snapped in half, falling to the ground, with Wukong tumbling down after it. There was a loud thump, as dust and leaves were sent flying into the air. A few nearby birds called out in concern.

"Timber." Macaque said, a smirk on his face, walking over and crouching down beside where Wukong now lay on his back with a dazed expression on his face. "So. Not tired, huh?"

"Shut up." Wukong hissed, sitting up, pulling dirt and leaves out of his fur as he did so. "The tree just. Got in my way, that's all-"

"You're expecting me to believe that a tree got up and put itself in your path?" Macaque asked, "Wukong. I'm not stupid. Let's just hurry up and go back to the cave to rest already."

"I'm fine." Wukong said, moving to stand up, but wobbling a little, tipping backwards again-

Macaque caught him, keeping him from having another close encounter with the ground.

-

"I ended up having to carry him all the way back up the mountain." Macaque said, making little images with his shadows in order to give MK a better visual of what happened. "He ended up sleeping for like, 3 days. Took him still being tired when he woke up again for me to realize he'd gotten cursed. Wasn't hard to break it afterwards, but boy did Wukong protest the whole time. Practically had to tie him to his bed."

MK scribbled in his sketch book, and Macaque, out of curiosity, moved closer, looking over MK's shoulder to see a sketch of what Macaque had just described.

"....You're drawing this?" He asked. MK nodded.

"Yeah! I've got a lifetime goal of illustrating all of Monkey King's adventures!" MK said, pausing his sketching to show Macaque a quick flip through of the rest of the book. "...You got any other stories?"

"Lots." Macaque said, leaning back. "But you're gonna have to bring more plums if you want more stories. I'm not just gonna hand this info out for free."

"Of course, of course." MK said, standing up and walking back over to the ladder, mumbling to himself as he climbed back down. "I'm going to have to permanently add plums to my shopping list...."

Macaque stayed where he was, waiting patiently until he couldn't hear MK anymore, before letting out a relieved sigh.

That had been close.... No matter what, he couldn't let the others know that he still had the lantern. Revealing that would probably cause the others to push him away, they wouldn't trust him anymore, and he really couldn't have that. Hanging around them was the most advantageous position for him to be in right now, and he wasn't about to give it up any time soon.

...He still needed a place to hide it permanently, keeping it inside of himself probably wouldn't be a good idea in the long term. With that thought in mind, he mentally reached inwards with his magic, shadows starting to surround him as he prepared to take the lantern out-

"Hey, Macaque!"

Macaque startled again, the shadows that had condensed around him vanishing as though they'd been popped like party balloons as he whirled around to see-

Mei, who giggled at his shocked expression, holding up her phone and taking a quick picture of him before pocketing it.

"Would you two stop doing that?" Macaque asked, sighing as Mei circled around him.

"Hey, it's not my fault you didn't hear me coming." Mei said, giggling at the expression on Macaque's face. "Seriously, with all those ears you have it's a wonder you didn't-"

"What do you want." Macaque growled, "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want something."

"Wouldn't I?"

That. Wasn't a question Macaque felt that he could answer. He honestly couldn't think of a reason why any of MK's friends would want to be around him, but they hadn't really been pushing him away either....

Mei seemed a little concerned with how he'd suddenly gone silent though, so it was probably best to quickly change the subject.

"Ah, anyways, I have some stuff to do, so I don't really have time for you." Macaque said, walking past Mei and over to the edge of the rooftop. Distantly, he noted a weird tingling sensation come over him, but he ignored it, figuring it wasn't important.

"Oh, now that's a lie." Mei said, a smirk on her face. "You never do anything other than lounge around up here."

"Do not." Macaque said, crossing his arms. "I do plenty, you just haven't noticed."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Macaque pondered for a moment on how best to answer-

And that was when his foot started sinking into the shadow underneath of him.

Outwardly, Macaque remained perfectly calm, not letting Mei in on the fact that anything was amiss.

Inwardly, he panicked.

That was definitely not supposed to be happening, why was it happening it shouldn't be happening why was he l o s i n g  c o n t r o l-

He was snapped out of his panic when he heard the sound of an engine starting up behind him. Subtly looking over his shoulder, he could see MK, ready to drive off, probably to deliver some noodles.

Macaque made his decision in a split second.

Turning and pulling his foot out of the shadow it'd been sinking into, Macaque jumped off the roof. Ignoring Mei's shout of "Hey, wait!", he slipped into the shadow of the tuk tuk, just before MK started to drive away.

-

Macaque hung out in the shadow of the tuk tuk for about 15 minutes before he actually bothered to wonder where exactly MK was going.

MK slowed down a bit as he turned a corner, and Macaque figured it was as good a time as any to ask.

Carefully, he materialized on the back of the tuk tuk, then, after making sure there wasn't anything around for MK to accidentally hit should he swerve, asked;

"Where are you going?"

MK's foot slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching and Macaque almost falling off from the sudden inertia. As soon as they were still, MK whirled around, staring at Macaque, shocked.

"How long have you been there?" He asked, and the expression on his face genuinely made Macaque laugh.

"Oh, not very long." Macaque said, "I was riding along in the shadow for the most part."

"...You can do that?" MK asked, "You probably save like, so much money when traveling then-"

"Bold of you to assume that I have any money at all." Macaque said, "Anyways, you didn't answer the question. Where are you going?"

"Why do you want to know?" MK asked, crossing his arms. "And why are you here anyways? Usually you just stay on the roof, what changed?"

"Nothing! What, can't I just want to go for a ride once in a while?" Macaque said-

And his hand started sinking into the shadow beside him. Swiftly, he pulled it out, rubbing it to get rid of the remaining tingles. MK watched this happen with a look of suspicion.

"...Uh-huh, sure, like I believe that." He said, tone as dry as the desert. "And anyways, I don't think you'd want to-"

And then he paused, looking as though he'd just been hit with some kind of realization.

"Actually-" MK started, "I think it would be good if you came with me."

He turned back around, taking his foot off the break and turning back onto the road, speeding up a little.

"You still haven't told me where we're going." Macaque said.

"Oh, you'll soon find out."

Macaque had a feeling he wasn't going to like this.

-

He was right. He hated this.

Staring up at a temple that quite obviously belonged to Sun Wukong, Macaque regretted every decision he had made in his life that had led up to this moment.

He regretted it even more when the monkey himself opened the front gate.

"Ah, there you are kid!" Wukong said, "I was beginning to think you'd never show up!"

"I'm only 2 minutes late..." MK muttered, and Macaque couldn't help but laugh a bit at that.

Sun Wukong was not, exactly, known for being very patient after all.

"Oh, I see you brought... an audience." Wukong said, finally noticing that Macaque was, in fact, also there.

"Audience? Please, if anything I'm the lead actor." Macaque said.

"Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that." MK said, and Macaque would've hit him where it not for the warning glance Wukong gave him.

-

Macaque ended up being dragged to MK's training sessions with Wukong, again and again. Some days it was because MK himself forcibly brought him along, and on other days it was because Macaque was simply avoiding Mei. (He denied the accusation that he was avoiding her when asked...and then almost tripped as his foot sank deeper into the shadows. Luckily he'd managed to blame it on a stray tree root, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up...) 

Over the course of said days, Macaque had tried multiple times to find a better place to hide the lantern than within his own magic. (He'd long since figured out that the lantern was reacting whenever he lied, thus messing with his own magic. He had no idea why it was doing this, but the why didn't really matter so long as he could find a way to stop it.) But of course, since karma was apparently out to get him, he was interrupted by someone every single time, forcing him to keep the lantern within himself, lest the others find out about it.

Honestly though, he was shocked that Wukong hadn't noticed, considering his golden vision and all, he should've been able to see the fact that the lantern's magic was contained within Macaque.

(Macaque had nearly panicked when, on day 2 of him following MK to his training, Wukong had leaned close to him with a contemplative look on his face.

"...Why are you so close to me?" Macaque had asked, and huh, how long had that slit been in Wukong's eyebrow? Had it been there for a while and Macaque had just never noticed or-

"I'm checking to see how much of the glamor you're wearing." Was Wukong's response, as he studied him. "You're still recovering, you probably shouldn't be using magic to cover all of it."

So....Wukong was concerned about him. Macaque couldn't really imagine why, but still-

"You didn't need to get so close to me- can't you obviously see I'm wearing it?" Macaque had asked, gesturing at his own face. Wukong, surprisingly, winced at that, finally backing up a bit.

"Well, I guess you seem fine." He'd muttered, turning away, "Don't know why I was even worried."

And Macaque should've been relieved, but for some reason-

For some reason he felt like something was wrong.)

-

Macaque relaxed in the shade of a tree, watching Wukong train MK. It was almost soothing to watch the mentor and student trade hits as they sparred.

But of course, being relaxed didn't mean that Macaque didn't notice things.

Like how Wukong was a full 2 seconds slower in blocking MK's attacks than he'd been when Macaque had stolen MK's powers. Which wasn't really something that would normally raise concern- he probably just wasn't being as serious as he would be when encountering an actual threat, but.

Something about it was making the alarm bells that had been constantly ringing in Macaque's head louder. (Something he, obviously, didn't appreciate. Loud sounds, even mental ones, weren't very pleasant for him).

Macaque, of course, was never one to miss an opportunity to call Wukong out.

Which was why it was so surprising when MK beat him to the punch.

"Monkey King, are you okay?" MK asked, and Macaque sat up straighter, paying more attention, because oh, he wanted to hear this.

"Of course bud! Why do you ask?" Wukong said, and despite the fact that his back was to Macaque, the shadow monkey just knew that the other was lying.

"Well I don't know, you've just- seemed off, is all." MK said, shifting back and forth as he seemed to contemplate what to say. "Like, a little slower maybe? And I haven't seen you use your cloud in days, which is kinda weird, since you normally seem to use it-"

Wukong stiffened, and it was at this point that Macaque got genuinely curious, deciding that he had to see what kind of expression the other monkey was making right now. So, he slipped down into the shadows of the tree, and reappeared out of MK's shadow, startling the both of them as he slung an arm around MK's shoulder. 

"Kid's right y'know." Macaque said, putting on a smirk as he looked at the other. "Even I've noticed, and I've barely even been paying attention."

That was a lie, and he barely kept himself from wincing as he felt the tingle of magic flow through his body.

Only for nothing to seemingly happen. That was...mildly concerning, he'd felt the flow of magic, so something had definitely occurred, he just couldn't tell what.

...Well, whatever. If he couldn't notice it then it probably wasn't important.

Macaque refocused back in on the subject at hand, studying Wukong's expression. Nothing he hadn't expected, the usual nervous smile and look in his eyes that indicated he was lying where all there.

Or, well, most of it was expected.

The slight twinge of fear was new.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing wrong!" Wukong said, taking a slight step back. "I'm fine, really!"

Both MK and Macaque rolled their eyes in sync.

"If you're so fine, then explain to me why you keep waiting until MK is almost right in front of you before blocking him?" Macaque asked, MK nodding along as he spoke. "Seriously, it's like you can't see it unless it's close-"

Both Macaque and MK froze, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. Wukong, seeing the expressions on their faces, scratched his cheek nervously, avoiding their gaze.

"Oh my heavens." MK said, "You need glasses."

"I do not-"

-

Tang had been having a peaceful day at the noodle shop.

Having, being the key word.

Because suddenly, said peaceful day was interrupted as Macaque appeared out of nowhere beside him. Tang barely kept himself from startling out of his stool. (He'd started to grow used to the shadow monkey's sudden appearances, but that didn't really make them any less startling).

Macaque, for a moment, looked confused as to where he was, looking around in surprise, before taking notice of Tang and schooling his features into something unreadable.

"Oh." He said, "Uh. Hello?"

"Hello to you too, Macaque?" Tang said, a little confused, before finally taking notes of one important fact.

Macaque's eyes were fully purple.

"...Ah." Tang said, "Not Macaque."

"Hm, smart man." 'Macaque' said, leaning back, "Nope, I'm not the original. Just a shadow clone, that's all I am."

"Why are you here? Is there trouble?" Tang asked, worry seeping into his voice. The clone just shrugged.

"Dunno." 'Macaque' said, "One minute, I didn't exist, the next, I'm here."

"How can you just not know?" Tang asked, blinking in disbelief.

"He probably created me on accident." 'Macaque' said, almost as casually as though he was reading out a morning newspaper.

"That can happen??"

"Well, not normally, but in certain cases-" The clone started, then paused, eyes narrowing. "Well, actually, if that's the case, he probably doesn't know I exist right now..."

"Shouldn't you... tell him?" Tang asked, and watched as the clone contemplated it.

"Well I mean, not telling him would be kind of funny." He said, before shaking himself out of it. "No- no, you're right, I should probably tell him."

The clone proceeded to go completely silent, and Tang watched him with thinly veiled concern. After about 2 minutes of silence, with the clone making increasingly dramatic facial expressions, Tang decided to comment again.

"...Are you actually contacting him right now?" He asked, and the clone broke out of whatever state he was in to glance at him.

"Hm? Oh- yeah." He said, "Mental connection, y'know?"

"Then how come MK doesn't ever-"

"Cause he doesn't know it exists."

-

Of course. Of course the lantern had made a clone.

That certainly explained why there hadn't been any obvious reaction after the magic tingle.

Although, it was weird that the clone had ended up in the noodle shop. Why on Earth would it have formed there?

(In all honesty, it was probably because, once again, Macaque felt safe there. But he never planned to admit that fact, not even to himself, so he slid that thought back into the deepest part of his mind.)

As it was now though, Macaque sat back under the tree, head in hands, mentally communicating with the clone as MK and Wukong continued to argue about whether or not the Monkey King needed glasses.

"C'mon!" MK said, stomping his foot on the ground, "Just admit that you're nearsighted already! It's obvious!"

"I don't need glasses!" Wukong said, hopping backwards as MK tried to tackle him. "I can see just fine!"

This statement was contradicted, as MK suddenly moved backwards, distancing himself from his mentor. Macaque could see Wukong squint, something he wouldn't normally do-

And then MK moved forwards, with a speed Macaque honestly hadn't seen him use before (and wasn't that funny, that somehow this argument was actually causing MK's speed to improve) and managed to tackle Wukong to the ground.

A roll of parchment fell out of one of Wukong's pockets.

"Oh?" Macaque said, standing up, temporarily blocking his shadow clone's messages out of his mind (it was fine anyways, it seemed to have gotten distracted), he walked over, picking up the roll of parchment. "What's this?"

"Wh-Hey!" Wukong said, looking up from his position of being pinned to the ground by MK, squinting his eyes as he focused on Macaque. "Don't- give that back!"

"Well now, if you're so pressed over it then I kinda have to look, right?" Macaque said, slowly unrolling the scroll despite Wukong's protests. MK, surprisingly, kept Wukong pinned, watching with curiosity as Macaque looked over the parchment's contents. "....Huh."

"What is it?" MK asked, and Macaque turned, holding out the unrolled parchment so that MK could see it. Wukong, at this point, stopped struggling, simply laying on the ground face down.

"Tell me, Wukong, why exactly do you need a map?" Macaque asked, crouching down in front of the other. "You planning on going on vacation again or something?"

"You're going to leave me again?" MK asked, and maybe Macaque was just hearing things (rather unlikely....) but there was almost a note of panic in MK's voice.

Wukong must've picked up on the panic too, as he quickly jumped into reassurance.

"Woah, hey, I'm not- I'm not vacationing any time soon." He said, attempting to shift around a little, before sighing. "...Could you get off me now, please?"

MK scrambled to get off his mentor, Wukong slowly sitting up and stretching a little. Macaque rolled his eyes at the display, shaking the map a little to draw their attention back to it.

"Hey, I'm not letting you off that easily." He said, "Explain the map. Now."

Wukong sighed again, avoiding both Macaque and MK's eyes.

"...Fine, so maybe I.....wasn't exactly on vacation...." Wukong muttered, "I was...searching for something. A weapon."

"...To fight the Lady Bone Demon, right?" MK asked, and Wukong looked at him in shock.

"How'd you-"

"Maybe leaving your successor alone when there's a powerful demon on the loose isn't the best decision, Wukong." Macaque said, rolling up the map and putting into his own pocket, before lightly rubbing his arm, a few specific... memories running through his mind. "Seriously, be glad she still hasn't gotten everything she needs."

"What do you know about what she-" MK started, then cut himself off, looking at Macaque as though he'd been given the answer to everything. "She's the one who hurt you."

Macaque didn't respond, turning around and walking away.

"Hey wait- where are you-" Wukong started-

"I'm going back to my spot under the tree." Macaque said, "You two can sort through whatever your 'vacation' was about on your own."

-

"...Huh." The shadow clone muttered, eyes closed as he seemingly listened in on whatever was happening to the real Macaque. "That's.....interesting."

"What is?" Tang asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Nothing really important." The clone said- and started melting slightly. Tang looked on in confusion as the clone suddenly panicked, stumbling over his words. "Wait- no I mean- it, it is important, but not really something I should be the one to tell you about?"

The melting stopped, the shadow clone returning to normal as he let out a sigh of relief.

"Does that....usually happen?" Tang asked.

"No." The clone answered, but didn't elaborate. Tang figured he'd just have to ask the real Macaque about it later. "...Anyways, do you think you could help the real me out with something?"

"Depends on what said something is." Tang said, crossing his arms.

"It's nothing bad, I promise." The shadow clone said, chuckling. "But, would you happen to know where I could buy a pair of glasses?"

-

"This is dumb. I look stupid."

"Aw come on Monkey King, I think you look cool!" Mei said, MK nodding along with her. "The glasses suit you just fine!"

Wukong sighed, sitting in the noodle shop with his arms crossed, leaning on the counter.

"What's with the sudden need for glasses anyways?" Pigsy asked, sliding a bowl of peach slices over to the monkey. Subtly, he also handed a bowl of plums over to Macaque, who was sitting slightly off to the side in the shadows.

Wukong stiffened, pausing for a moment before opening his mouth to answer-

"And don't lie to me." Pigsy added, and Wukong slouched a little.

(Macaque had to admit, it was kinda fun to watch the Monkey King basically get reprimanded like a child.

The only reason he didn't comment on it was that he was sure that if he did, he'd get the exact same treatment.)

There was a moment of silence, before Wukong groaned, laying his head down on the table, and muttering something that was too quiet for the others to hear, but nearly made Macaque choke on the plum he'd been chewing on.

"What?!" He said, in pure shock, "You- you're losing your powers?!"

Almost instantly, there was pandemonium.

"What do you mean you're losing your powers!" MK practically screeched, "That can happen?!"

"I don't know, but it's the only explanation I've got!" Wukong said, throwing his hands up into the air. "I can't use my golden vision or my cloud anymore- and I don't know why!"

"How, exactly, does this relate back to you suddenly needing glasses?" Pigsy asked, completely ignoring how the others where in varying states of a mental breakdown.

"I- I usually just use my golden vision to make up for it." Wukong said, "Like, magic contacts, you know?"

"...And now you can't do that anymore." Tang said, "Because you can't use your golden vision."

"......Yeah." Wukong sighed.

"Is there...anything we can do to help?" Sandy tentatively asked.

"Well, I was planning on going out and finding.... something." Wukong said, turning to look at Macaque. "Speaking of which, you promised you'd give me the map back once I got glasses, and I'm wearing them now so-"

Macaque tsk'd, pulling the map out of his pocket and tossing it over to the other monkey, who caught it and placed it upon the counter. 

"It's not like I can go and get it now though." Wukong said, the others staring over him to look down at the map. "Since I can't use my cloud anymore..."

"I have an airship." Sandy said, and Wukong turned to look at him in confusion. "We could use that, to travel there."

"What- no. No. Absolutely not." Wukong said, jumping up onto the counter (ignoring Pigsy disapproving glare), and staring down at the others. "In case you don't remember, you guys have something called mortality. I'm not going to just bring you guys with me-"

"Like you have much of a choice." A new voice said, and Macaque barely kept himself from startling as he suddenly noticed Red Son beside him.

"How long have you been there-" Macaque hissed, but was ultimately ignored.

"You coming too, Red Boy?" Mei asked, despite Wukong's faint protests that nobody was coming with him, thank you very much-

"I have nothing better to do." Red Son said, shrugging. "My parents went on vacation a little while ago, I've just been hanging around since then."

"So, we're all going?" MK asked, glancing over at Macaque, who, realizing he was being stared at, sighed, standing up and stepping closer to them, in the light.

"Fine, whatever." He said, "If you guys want me to go, I'll come, but I'm not happy about it."

The others stared at him, with a mixture of confusion and shock.

"....What?" Macaque asked, already dreading the answer. MK slowly pointed behind him.

"Has your shadow always moved like that?" He asked, and Macaque didn't even bother to look, instead immediately slamming his back against the wall to cover it as he threw a glamor over his own shadow. He wasn't sure what it had been doing that the others saw, but he absolutely refused to let it be seen any longer.

"...Whatever it was you saw, forget about it." He said, and while most of the others simply shrugged, accepting it as just him being weird, looking away-

The look in Mei and Wukong's eyes did not promise good things.

-

The first day on the ship, everyone was mainly focused on settling in, making sure all their stuff was where it needed to be, choosing rooms, so on and so forth.

And so, for the most part, Macaque was free from whatever Wukong and Mei were planning.

The second day on the ship, however.

The second day on the ship made Macaque wish the airship had a plank so he could jump off of it.

It had started small.

"Hey, Macaque?" Mei asked, grabbing his attention before practically shoving her phone into his face. "What do you think about this?"

Macaque could barely register the image in front of his face, but eventually parsed it out to be a picture of- a kitten??

"I hate it." He said, instinctively, and almost immediately started sinking into the shadow beneath him. Mei, being so close to him, immediately noticed, confusion flashing on her face for a brief second, before a smirk took over.

"If you say so." She said, and backed off, turning away as Macaque hurriedly pulled his feet out of the shadows before he could sink any further.

Some part of him hoped that would be the end of it.

As soon as he ran into Wukong though, he instantly knew that this wasn't over by a long shot.

"Macaque." Wukong said, leaning against the wall, and Macaque instantly noticed that his glasses were missing.

"You owe Tang 5 cents." Macaque hissed, it was well known that Tang had made the Monkey King promise to pay him whenever the monkey was caught not wearing his glasses. Macaque, of course, didn't really care, but he was looking for some way to distract Wukong from whatever he was planning to do to him.

"I'll pay him later." Wukong shrugged, and Macaque mentally cursed. "So. How'd you sleep last night?"

Macaque wasn't going to be led into the trap this obviously was.

"How did you sleep last night?" He shot back.

"I didn't." Wukong said, perfectly honest. "I did see you walking around for a bit though, so I'm curious as to whether or not you slept. You need it more than I do, remember?"

That.... was true. Macaque did need to sleep more than Wukong did, but-

"I slept just fine." Macaque lied, sighing as he felt the glamor over his ears fade away. Wukong crossed his arms, a concerned look on his face, but Macaque ignored it, choosing instead to walk into a nearby shadow to teleport to another location on the ship, throwing his glamor back on as he did so.

(He, in truth, was in the same boat as Wukong, both literally and figuratively. He hadn't slept at all, instead laying awake all night, worrying.

Wukong was losing his powers. MK was not nearly close enough to being ready. The others, outside of Red Son, might have some powers or abilities, but they are no where near close enough to being capable of beating the Lady Bone Demon.

He'd have to rely on the unknowns of this weapon Wukong was seeking out.

Macaque didn't like relying on unknowns.)

He emerged in the ships engine room-

And very nearly fell right on top of Red Son.

"Watch where you're going!" Red Son huffed, dodging out of the way and angrily brushing non existent dirt off of his jacket. "Seriously, what is with you guys and trying to knock me to the ground?"

"Maybe you just look very squishable." Macaque muttered, not really intending on giving Red Son a proper response. He actually didn't want to interact with anyone right now, especially not Red Son, so he turned, moving to leave the engine room-

"Not so fast." Red Son said, stopping Macaque in his tracks by grabbing hold of the back of his scarf. "I've got some questions for you."

Hm. That didn't bode well.

"What makes you think that I have any answers?" Macaque asked, only to be met by a deadpan look that promised-

That promised fire if he didn't co-operate.

If there was a list of things Macaque strictly didn't want, fire would be number one, at the top of the list.

"...What do you want to know?" He asked, slumping a little in defeat.

"Why you stayed." Red Son said, elaborating when Macaque only looked at him in confusion. "Your wound healed. You were perfectly free to go. And yet.... you stayed. Like you were....trying to protect something."

"Uh, yeah, myself, obviously." Macaque said, shrugging. "Hanging out around the Monkey King and his successor is the safest place to be after-"

"That's not it." Red Son said, and Macaque froze. "Sure, staying around them while you're weak makes sense, you'd need someone to protect you. But after you've recovered? Once you're strong again? Sure, I can understand you getting attached, but always staying around them is a little strange."

There was a glint, in Red Son's eye, and Macaque suddenly remembered a moment, yesterday, where Mei had dragged the fire demon off to the side to have a little conversation. He'd thought nothing about it at the time, but now-

"You say that you're protecting yourself....But at this point, somehow, you're mostly protecting them, aren't you?" Red Son asked, "Whatever it is you're hiding, you're hiding it to protect both yourself and them."

Macaque didn't answer, instead staring at the floor.

Whatever Mei and Wukong had been planning, Red Son was in on it.

And he was very clearly not as interested in taking a subtle approach.

"Your powers have been on the fritz lately." Red Son said, almost like it was an afterthought to his whole theory. "Don't think that we haven't noticed. It's different from Wukong though, in that you're not losing your powers, if anything, it's like they're getting stronger, almost as though they're being drawn from a different source-"

Macaque didn't want to stay here any longer.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He lied, and didn't resist as his powers fluctuated in response, letting himself completely fall into the shadow behind him.

-

He ended up falling out of a shadow on the ceiling.

Luckily, it was in his own room, so no-one else was there to witness it.

Didn't mean it didn't hurt though.

"...That's gonna bruise later...." He muttered to himself as he slowly pushed himself off the floor and stood up.

For a moment, he just stood there, slightly dazed.

And then he started pacing.

This was not good, the others were onto him, he wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer.

Not to mention the lantern, it's influence on his abilities was getting stronger the longer he left it inside himself. There was literally no telling how far it's influence would go.

(He'd already started noticing some strands of his fur turning purple. It wasn't anything that couldn't easily be covered up by a glamor, but the fact it was happening at all was incredibly concerning.)

He had to find another place to hide it. But where-

And suddenly, Macaque was struck by an idea. A rather bad idea, honestly, there was sure to be consequences from this, but it was the only idea he had right now.

-

The ship's clock struck 4 am.

Macaque slipped into MK's room, holding the faintly glowing lantern.

For a moment, he stood there, beside MK's bed, letting the lantern hover over top of him, thinking.

Maybe......maybe he shouldn't do this. He could probably find another way, something more reasonable than a hastily made, sleep deprived, decision. After all, the lantern had proven that it came with side effects, who knows how it'd affect MK?

Well. If he's actually being honest, he was hoping that the Monkey King Magic MK had would effectively cancel out the lanterns effects.

...He had no way of proving that it could do that though.

After a few more minutes of standing there, mentally debating, Macaque finally came to the decision that, yeah, this wasn't a good idea, he should just go back to his room and try to sleep for the few remaining hours of the night, come up with a better plan tomorrow-

A loud sound clanged from the engine room, and Macaque startled, barely keeping himself from squeaking as the sudden noise surprised him, squeezing his hands on instinct-

And snapping the lantern in half, the bottom piece falling and merging into MK's magic.

For a moment, Macaque just stood there in shock.

Then MK curled up, letting out a small noise of pain as little golden and purple sparks started shooting across his body, and Macaque panicked, reaching into MK's magic and hurriedly pulling out the other half of the lantern, shoving both pieces back into himself as MK started to stir.

By the time MK was sitting up, blinking his eyes open, rubbing his arms and looking around the room in confusion, Macaque was gone.

-

The next day, Wukong practically broke down Macaque's door, MK in tow.

"Mine explaining to me why there are traces of shadow magic all over MK?" He asked, before pausing as he registered the scene in front of him.

Macaque was curled up under his blankets, a pillow over his head effectively hiding him from view. The only part of the other monkey that Wukong could actually see was his tail, which was dangling over the side.

This wasn't really that weird, Wukong fully remembered that the other monkey was in no way a morning person.

...It was slightly more weird due to the fact that it was lunchtime.

"Is he...okay?" MK asked, leaning over his mentor's shoulder.

"You tell me." Wukong said, "You're the one with the golden vision right now."

Macaque's tail, which had been swinging idly, froze, and suddenly there was a mad scramble as he tried to pull all the blankets off of himself and sit up at the same time. Essentially, he ended up rather tangled, and was far too late to stop MK from using his golden vision.

-

At first there was nothing MK hadn't already expected. The bags under the eyes, the mussed up fur, the six ears and the scar. These were all things he knew that he'd find.

The purple streaks in Macaque's fur was surprising.

But not nearly as surprising as the lantern that lay intermingled with Macaque's own magic.

"What do you see, kid?" Wukong asked, and MK watched as Macaque sat up straighter, finally managing to pull the blankets off of himself.

"Nothing! He sees nothing! Right, bud?" Macaque asked, a panicked twinge in his voice, and-

MK could see the lantern flare, the magic traversing Macaque's entire body, before condensing around his arm.

Which proceeded to sink into the shadow on the bed.

"...Well." MK started, staring as Macaque pulled his hand out of the shadow and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "That's not something you see every day."

-

"So I was right then?" Red Son asked, "He's been storing the lantern within himself?"

"How'd you even know about the lantern..." Macaque muttered, from where he sat at the kitchen table, leaning back with his arms crossed. His glamor had been taken down, allowing everyone to see the purple streaks in his fur.

The lantern sat on the table in front of him.

"I have my sources." Red Son said, looking overly proud of himself. Macaque huffed, looking away.

"I thought you said the lantern was destroyed?" Mei said, using a spoon to lightly poke the lantern, almost as though it would grow legs and run away.

"Yeah, like, I saw you break it-" MK started, and then was stopped mid sentence as Macaque raised his fist, before harshly crushing the lantern, breaking it into pieces. A few of the others jumped. "What did you do that for-"

Macaque simply raised his hand, letting his magic call out, and letting the pieces slide back into their proper place. By the end of it, the lantern looked as good as new, as though it'd never been broken. MK watched the display with wide eyes.

"I did break the lantern." Macaque said, "It's just not that hard to fix."

"Regardless-" Wukong started, grabbing the lantern out of Macaque's hand, the lantern switching from it's usual purple to a soft golden glow as he did so. "You seriously should've told us that you have this. It would've saved you so much trouble."

"Would you have trusted me, if you knew I still had it?" Macaque asked, only to be met with silence. "...Yeah. Thought so."

There was a moment of silence as Macaque sat there, looking down, not meeting anyone's eyes. Then Sandy softly placed his hand on Macaque's shoulder.

"It's not that we wouldn't have trusted you." He said, gently. "We would've just taken a bit longer to come around, is all."

"Uh-huh, sure, keep telling yourself that." Macaque said, still looking at the floor, and thus missing the entirely silent conversation everyone else shared.

They all agreed they probably weren't going to get very far with this issue any time soon, by the look of things. (That didn't mean they wouldn't bring it up later, though.)

"If you thought we wouldn't trust you if we knew you had the lantern, then why didn't you just, I don't know, throw it away?" MK asked, and Macaque sighed, slouching down in his chair.

"...Lady Bone Demon wanted it." He muttered, and everyone immediately stood up ramrod straight.

"What?" Wukong hissed, staring down at the lantern in his hands as though he was seeing it in a new light. "Why- what could she possibly want with-"

"Don't know, didn't stick around long enough to find out." Macaque said, shrugging. MK and Red Son both looked horrified.

"That's how you got injured." MK muttered, "She must've captured you because she wanted the lantern...."

"The Lady Bone Demon has a cursed blade..." Red Son said, under his breath, only Macaque hearing him.

"Yeah yeah, I got captured, I got injured, whatever, it's all over with now." Macaque said, waving a hand around as though he wasn't making light of something horrifying. "Anyways, anyone else got any bright ideas on where to hide the lantern?"

"....Was that a pun." Wukong asked, "Seriously. You reveal that the Lady Bone Demon is after both you and the lantern and then you swap topics with a pun?"

"You got a problem with that?" Macaque asked, a smirk on his face. There was a moment of tense silence as the two of them stared at each other.

Wukong set the lantern back down on the table.

And then tackled Macaque out of his chair and onto the floor. Macaque let out a startled yelp as they went down, before quickly switching to clawing at the other as Wukong easily pinned him to the ground-

And then suddenly Wukong's grip weakened, and Macaque easily reversed their positions, pinning Wukong to the floor. For a moment the Monkey King looked confused, before a look of nervous realization appeared on his face.

"Uh- guys?" He said, nervously giggling as Macaque and the others stared at him in confusion. "Um. I think I just lost my super strength?"

[nincompoopydoo]

“ what good is heaven, when all i want is hell “ with Loki Laufeyson x reader, enemies to lovers

IN ANOTHER TIMELINE

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x reader WORDS: 1.4k (my hand slipped) SUMMARY: Stranded on Lamentis, the event of the impending apocalypse seem to mend the fire and fury between you and Loki as deeper feelings begin to come to light. A/N: Starting a fic with the f-word is such a classy move 😎Also, why the hell do I keep writing stuff that's angsty? And I replaced the words heaven and hell to fit the situation and their backgrounds a little more, I hope you don't mind. Thank you for requesting, nonny! WARNINGS: Swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

“Fuck you.”

The profanity spits from your mouth, reflecting the spitfire of your personality. You’re like a raging fire that licks through everything in its way with ravenous swipes. Your eyes are sharp, needle-point orbs that prick his own. He would have to turn away from the overwhelming sense of a sting you leave without a care of the world. No touch or a strike to him, yet you have managed to bruise him all over again. It boils down to the only reason he hates you with as much passion as you portray. Forever caught in a time loop with you with the neverending raking of fire—taking turns playing Victory and Bucentaure.

You turn your back against him, hair swinging as it nearly flicks the tip of his nose. Loki staggers in his step as he watches you trudge through the rocky grounds, hiking up the slope of the crater. Moondust seems to shimmer under the violet hues of the imminent apocalypse as it billows into the air like puffs of smoke with every step of your feet, grazing upon the sand. He trails behind you, scoffing in response.

“I beg your pardon?”

Your hair swings again, angered eyes meeting his own. “You heard what I said. Fuck you. Fuck you for pulling me with you into this space rock. Fuck you for destroying our only way out of this mess.” The ground rumbles as falling meteorites leaving fiery streaks in the sky above cast an illusionary halo around your head, hair frizz untameable as you look down on him like you are some saint, some martyr.

He remembers you from his childhood in Asgard. You were an immaculate being. You still are.

The back of his earlobe itches, like an emotion, buried so deep in his brain, wanting to be set free. He knows you are beautiful. He knows that there’s a chance you would be a martyr with your undying faith and loyalty to the Sacred Timeline. You would die in battle for it.

He knows there’s a place for you in Valhalla.

He hates how intelligent you are. How valiant and habitually good-natured in an unpretentious way—you cast a shadow onto him, presenting his ways as fraudulent and outright evil. He tries so hard to do right but you don’t even have to try.

He hates the way you speak to him as if you know him better than he does. He hates that beautiful soul of yours. He hates how the both of you fall into a natural state of bickering, spitting words of hurt. He doesn’t mean any of them but, he doesn’t know whether you do.

All Loki knows is deny and refute.

He pulls himself out of the crater, watching you walk away with fast strides, almost stomping out of frustration. “Correction. I did not pull you with me onto Lamentis. I didn’t even know where it was going to take us. You had a knife to my throat so, it’s your fault we’re stranded here.”

You ignore him. You seem to be walking aimlessly and away from him rather than with purpose and an intention of a destination. Loki quickly catches up with your pace, stepping in front of you and in your way.

“Are you going to ignore me?”

His question comes off as desperate rather than derogatory to his surprise. Perhaps, experiencing an apocalyptic event tends to affect the mind’s filter. Perhaps, it’s the moon dust. Perhaps, it’s the imminent deafening feeling that Loki might want to be honest for once and wanting to be honest with you.

You abruptly halt in your step as your foot collides with his, wincing as you heave a deep exhale out of frustration. “Would you piss off just for one second!” you spit through gritted teeth. With a flash of daggered eyes to his, you continue trudging through moon rocks, shouldering him as you pass by.

Presently, questions were the only thoughts that filled his mind and were the ones that left his scowled lips. Questions don’t provide answers. They avoid the truth that waits to be freed from the chaos of his brain.

Living up to his true nature of existing as the very embodiment of annoyance in your presence, the one word he questions seemed to have triggered the ticking time bomb in you, resetting it to a shorter countdown until the bomb goes off

“What?”

A simple word. But, the tone makes all the difference. Still, he continues to trail closely behind you. The closeness makes you tick.

You whip your head to him. “What don’t you understand from what I just said? Or would you like me to translate it to language that’s best suited to your magnificence and eliteness?” Your voice is loud as you near him in a threatening manner, waving your hands in the air like he’s some flying pest. “Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes, thy majesty!”

If it weren’t for the situation, he would have laughed at how dramatic you were being. Even in anger and hatred, sarcasm still plays an important role in your language and how you express yourself.

He lets you walk away this time but, you don’t stray too far. There’s a rock emerging from the sand, shaped like a slab. You find rest there, sitting by its edge as you watch the city begin to submerge in flames and destruction, accompanied by the screams of its citizens. Death is inevitable but cursed as it could be beautiful.

Moments pass, he watches the back of your still figure. He knows to give you time, to give you space. When ragged breaths have turned to slow ones, you become your true self.

Despite the long-lasting feud between the two of you, there’s a sense of hidden comfort when in each other’s presence. When two people are so often melancholy and lonely, it’s only natural for the two to want to fill the gap that’s been left open from before.

Odin knows you don’t hate each other but only acted as a disguise to the feeling of unrequited love and yearning that remains unknown to the both of you.

Loki finds himself drifting closer to you, lingering by the foot of the stone you sit on. Then, in silence, he watches you shift to the side discreetly, making space for him beside you.

This time, he doesn’t question. He only accepts.

Loki settles beside you, closer than he’d imagined. It’s strange when you’re not wanting to kill him.

Suddenly, your voice cuts through the silence, barely audible with the thunderous crashing of rocks that shower around you. “You know, if we do die here, you’re never going to make it to Valhalla.”

He’s quiet, pursing his lips in thought.

He knows there’s a place for you in Valhalla. Even if it isn’t in battle. You don’t deserve the underworld. The underworld doesn’t deserve you.

“Neither will you.”

You simply hum. “What good is Valhalla...when all I want is Hel?”

There’s a hint of humor in your tone and Loki finds himself staring at your cheek. You’re turned away from him but the despondency in your expression is clear under the bursts of meteorites across the sky as the fractured planet drifts closer to Lamentis.

“Do you really mean that?” You turn to him, brows furrowed. He continues, “Do you really want to go to Hel?”

You shake your head, gaze falling to the ground. “I know I belong there.”

The two fall into silence once more. It isn’t deafening but consoling to two beings attempting to hide the growing fear of the end.

Loki has died before but never this way.

Then, you gently nudge him with your elbow. “Maybe in another timeline, we would have gotten along.”

There’s a smile playing upon your lips. It’s small but it’s there.

Loki smiles at you, too.

“Or if we had more time.”

He takes your hand in his, fingers intertwined with your own. You shut your eyes, trying to memorize the warmth of his touch.

The ground beneath you rumbles once more.

You hold him just a little tighter, breath hitched as the two of you watch the planet descending onto the grounds of Lamentis-1 with the sun casting shadows against the purple hues of the sky.

At that moment in time, you’re just two beings in this universe, finally accepting their fate. Finally, accepting their love.

[ofmythsandmadness]

touch-starved | d.h.

or...the seven times it takes diego hargreeves to realises he’s touch-starved, and the one time he actually acts on it.

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SUMMARY: diego x gn!reader. an idiot in love, told entirely from his pov as he walks back on a series of monumental moments in his life. WARNINGS: a tad bit of foul language (bc i can never contain myself, jeez). allusion to sexual acts (nothing explicit, but if you know, you know). flowery garbage writing. probably poor characterization. a weird ending. WORD COUNT: 5.7k NOTES: it’s way too late (early?) for me to be putting this out. but after literally driving myself to tears over this stupid thing, i’m forcing myself to publish it and leave it to the world, for better or for worse. it’s...yeah. i hope it’s alright. x

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THE FIRST TIME HE REALISED WAS IN THE SUMMER.

“Can I say something weird?”

There is a nervous half-giggle that came after the question, like you aren't quite sure how he’s going to take whatever slipped from your gentle, just parted lips. It hangs much longer than the five words you passed to him and he almost forgets what you asked entirely, so hung up on the breathless fashion your chuckle had come.

But when you blink at him and let your beseeching eyes hover over his, he has to let go of the sound and return to the present.

“Sure,” he says dumbly. “What?”

He loses your eyes then and he finds himself following, eager to see what could have lost your attention so fast. His frown digs heavier as you stare at the table he’s leaned over. There isn’t anything there but his harness scattered across the worn wood and a knife in one hand. He’s been idly fiddling with as some show titters in the background, but his weapon (mal??)practices have never been much interest to you before. So...

Slowly a warm smile comes to cradle your cheeks. It rests as delicate as a crashing wave colliding with the great cliffs you had painted once -- like with everything you did, your smile’s a charging force that transforms you entirely and leaves him in awe that anyone could feel something so strongly. He watches with total enthrallment and for once, he’s not ashamed to feel so.

“You have like, really nice hands.”

You drawl the statement out like it’s some kind of joke. Though, the intense look you so briefly shoot him tells him it's anything but. And suddenly he cannot do anything; the knife falls from his hands and clatters to the table and his fingers tremble under your careful stare, paralysed. 

“I-I-”

“-I know, weird compliment, but,” you chuckle again, low and soft. You shrug. “I was staring at them and realised how nice your hands are.”

“Uh…” he doesn’t know what to do with that information. What does one say to that? Is thank you enough, or is he supposed to just force a laugh and pretend like he is not completely ruined by the way you look at his hands? Compliments are not a usual weapon of choice, but when they come from your lips -- Diego can die right there and go overjoyed.

“Thanks,” he mutters, folding and unfolding his hands on the table. “I...never thought about my hands like that.”

You brighten. In a flash of pastel movement you were pressing close, close, close to him and reaching for a fist. He’s again powerless, forced to just watch you pull his fingers in between your own, softly running gentle pads against his bruised knuckles. The touch is cool but he feels his body combust at the mere swish of skin-to-skin contact and he realises,

maybe he could crave someone’s touch.

“You should,” you grin, exquisite under your apartment’s shitty lighting and the flashes of whatever’s happening on the T.V across the room. “You could like, seriously be a hand model or something. Go-orgeous fingers.”

And maybe, he starts to crave yours.

━

THE SECOND TIME HAPPENS WEEKS LATER. 

He’d fantasized about your touch most of the days between it, but the thoughts had been forced to be fleeting and he had avoided considering the way you looked at him like he could actually hang the moon and stars -- and it only ever caught up to him in the ebbs of night, when he couldn’t sleep and just stared at the ceiling, considering what it would be like to really feel you against his hands and not let you slip away.

He so rarely let the sun touch his skin anymore. It wasn’t intentional to adapt a vampire lifestyle -- but between the shifts that let him keep his dingy ‘home’ and the nights he spends racing around the cursed city, trying to do the right thing (or stick it to his dad, depending on the night and how bleary his head felt), Diego rarely catches himself leaving the gym early than eleven anymore.

A fact that seems to exasperate you, and fuels what you dubbed an intervention. Aka, forcing him to wander around the city just barely kissed by autumn’s chilly embrace. And though he did argue against it (profusely, because he’s still that stubborn sonofabitch), he’s grateful for you still.

“I think we need to make this a regular occurrence,” you sing, tossing a smile over your shoulder. You skip several paces ahead of him as you soak in every bit of sunshine the crisp fall air could offer you. And he flounders and watches as he wonders what it would feel like to have that much energy from merely existing.

“I think I’m gonna have to mandate this. I’ll force you to schedule this into your life, and I’ll take shifts off from work so we can appreciate the afternoon sun while we can. It won’t be long ‘til winter you know.”

He chuckles hesitantly, “the sun’ll still be there in the winter.”

“Sure, but barely. And it’ll be cold then! The sun ain’t nice when it’s cold.”

He laughs again, and you join him. And it’s easy -- because it’s you.

“Diego!”

“Huh?”

You stop then, dropping your hands to your hips and glaring at him. Even from several feet away he can make out the infuriatingly adorable pout that puckers your pretty lips and the way he wishes he could go back in time and learn to paint, so he could capture the curve of your --

“--why are you so slow?!”

“I -- I’m not slow.”

“You are too! You’re dragging your feet like I’m forcing you to go to the dentist or somethin’.” You squint at him as the sun heightens his reach in the great blue sky. “Man, are you that allergic to a good time?”

“Shut up, I’m not that bad.”

The pout gives as easily as honey dripped -- that is to say, he adores the treacly sweet and slow slip from puckered lips to the easy smile you give him. Your entire heart’s behind the look just as it always is. You trot back up the path to him and held your hand out to him, wriggling it in the air.

“What?” he asks, frowning through a slow smile. 

“Take my hand.”

“I…” he hesitates again. “Why?”

“Because you’re slow, and I want to make it to the coffee place before next year. Duh,” you drawl, still shaking your hand like one would to a little kid. “Now, come on!”

You pull and he comes without a fuss, dazed as you bumble on about whatever miraculous happenings go on inside your mind. He hardly hears a thing. Every part of his body is fixated on the soft brush of your thumb against his hand, rubbing soothingly -- he isn’t even sure if you knew you’re aware you’re doing it, but he is. Hell, he can’t feel anything else but that.

Maybe your touch could be a tether.

━

HE HADN’T MEANT FOR THE THIRD TIME. Hadn’t planned to make an event out of it, anyways.

“You’re a fool, Diego. You know that?”

Obviously, he responds silently, grimacing as the cloth presses harder into his cuts. That’s why he did it. Because he is a fool. Honestly, that sums up the majority of the things he does in his life. Or doesn’t do, in the case of you.

Is it bad, if as you scold him, he’s creating a list of even more reasons to love you?

“I mean, one of these days you’re going to come here impaled on like, a pole or something and then -- what am I supposed to do with that?” Your tongue clicks like a disapproving mother’s, but your eyes still dance with childlike mischief as you work. “I am not a nurse.”

“Could’a fooled me, with those hands.”

You glare up at him over your lashes, a sight that made his breath hitch. “Quiet, you.”

Diego does as you said -- but not for any bits or for the joke, only because the way you look at him suddenly made his body tremble with the force of a thousand men and all he wants is to grab your neck and drag you up to meet his lips, finally be rid of the burning sensation in his gut that makes him want to ask the most obscene of--

“--does it hurt?”

He blinks, forcing away the images flashing in his mind so he can focus on the real you again. “Uh -- does what, hurt?”

You take that as a joke, laughing low like his horny idiocy deserved such praise. “This, asshat. Does this,” you press harder with the swab, making him cringe, “hurt?”

“Shit -- yes, it hurts! What’s that for?!”

“Had to make sure you were with me still! Sorry,” you hum, sounding everything but. But your grip softens. “You’re lucky. This could have needed stitches.”

Diego snorts. “It’s not that bad.”

“You look like the fookin’ dino from Jurassic Park felt you up.”

“Not that fookin’ bad,” he mocks back. 

“Your accent is appalling.”

“So’s yours.”

You press harder; when he scowls, you giggle, pleased to have won the battle again. 

The rest comes in silence. You stand between his legs, mopping at his cuts as you are often wont to do when he stumbles into your window. And he tries not to think about the way your weight so casually presses up against his torso as you reach to his temple, parted lips just out of reach. He could do it; he could just reach out and grab your chin, pull you in and kiss you with all the fucking passion that made his stomach roil.

But he doesn’t budge. There is no way you want that and he would never push past that fragile boundary without asking, no matter what the primal part of his mind fantasizes. His eyes fall instead down to his lap, staring at the folds on his pants as your fingers graze across his skin.

“There,” finally comes, along with you stepping away. Your distance leaves a cold chill running down Diego’s spine; he wonders if he asked you to come back, if you would. “Almost done.”

“Almost? What’s left?”

The next few moments move like a movie. The ones he only ever watches with you or with Klaus; the cheesy slow-mo romances, where the two main characters constantly dance around in a will-they-won’t-they that usually drives him nuts. Everything is always so slow in them and he usually hates them -- he did hate them. But when it’s his hands cradled in yours and you are smiling sweet and gentle as a honeybee, hell he’d take every single second of those crap rom-coms, if it leads to that moment more.

You lean in and, holding his hands in your own like an anchor held a boat to shore, press your lips against his temple. The slightest sting from the pressure builds but it falls with the blink of an eye. Your lips are cold, delicate, brushing twice against the cut before pulling away.

“There. Now I’m done.”

Maybe, you’re just some kind of angel.

But then, why are you bothering with him?

━

THE FOURTH HAPPENED SO FAST, he nearly misses it.

You pull him in close, examining his clothes and face for any glaring wounds. When you find nothing but dirt and a couple surface scratches, your worried expression melt into something akin with relief; a shiny-eyed, trembling lip smile that deserves its place in the greatest museums.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whisper, seemingly untrusting of your vocal cords. You sniffle. “I was - I was so--”

“--I’m okay.” It sounds more like a revelation than a reassurance and he repeats himself twice, just to make sure you understand. His hands still grip tight to your forearms, holding you to him in case you would disappear, too. “I’m okay. Everything’s fine.”

You nod and even as you pull away from his hold, you launch. Your arms lace around his neck and your face instantly finds a place to bury itself, right into his shoulder. Your body shakes; he realises that you’re crying into him, so relieved with him being there.

The embrace is short. Too short. He doesn’t do enough to hold your clinging form, only standing there slightly swaying and just barely grazing your back, He considers it too long and doesn’t act enough even when he wants to beg you to never let go again. And when you pull away, you refuse your tears again, sniffling through a smile and asking if he wants some food. But the embrace remained ingrained in his thoughts like a disease; it polluted everything else until everything was you, just you, holding him and wanting him.

Maybe, he was deserving. Maybe he deserved to be wanted. Was that justification enough?

━

THE FIFTH HE ALMOST DIES.

Not literally that time -- no, he’s done enough of that to you. It’s more of a metaphorical sort, making his heart stop as your fingers just graze against his stubble strewn chin, his breath catching on the lump in his throat as he realises yet again that nothing could be more beautiful than your smile.

Diego is not a formal man, nor had he ever really been. Even at the Academy his uniform was almost always somehow out of place or wrinkled or missing a detail. He hates shirts that buttoned all the way up to his throat and pants that have to be pleated that one specific way for no reason at all. If it isn’t important, he wears whatever is closest to him, or his domino-mask-and-leather getup if he’s ‘working’. Hell, the man isn’t even sure he had ever worn a suit outside of his childhood years and Allison’s wedding.

“You look...different.”

He swings fast around to see you leaning against his doorway. You’re all pink cheeks and cheeky grins. Something about the way you look him up and down makes him suddenly want to hide, slip away so you could not see how stupid he looked in this stupid monkey suit clinging to his arms and thighs like stupid plastic wrap. You probably see him as a circus animal, stuck in some stupid performance outfit and told to juggle fire. 

(Honestly, juggling fire would be worlds easier than doing whatever this was, though.)

Slowly, you step into the room, eyes never leaving him. He gulps.

“You look good, Diego.”

He blinks. That is...unexpected. “Y-yeah?” Damn his voice for giving out on him; it comes out squeaky and prepubescent, sounding every bit of uncertainty he feels. “I-I mean, I--”

“--relax, hot stuff,” you wink and his face fills with heat. “You look great. But, your collar…”

Diego glances down only to scowl at the mess of buttons he left around his neck. “Shit, yeah.”

“Let me?”

But you’re already coming to him, though, hands outstretching and delicately folding themselves across his chest. He wonders if you could feel the way his heart beat like there were a thousand drums locked into his chest, or that you knew you smelled like the gods’ ambrosia, honey -sweet smoke dripping from your velvet form. Are you aware how intoxicating your mere presence is?

“Can I?”

He nods dumbly, not trusting his words.

With careful fingers, you weave the buttons together that have been left undone. You then reach up higher, pressing down his collar. 

You hesitate against him, hands still folded into the sharp white fabric. Slowly, one set of fingers unfurl and lift to barely brush against his jaw. It’s a mere allusion to what it would be to have you cradle his face in your caring palms and it only leaves him craving more. 

Your lips curl up too, coloured as deep as the fabric that clings to your exquisite form. Just the tip of hot pink snakes out of your mouth, pressing slyly to the top lip, riling the hotblood boiling inside him right up to the brim.

“What…” the single syllable comes out strangled and hoarse. You’re strangling the life out of him without even moving a finger. Do you know your power?  “What are...what are you doing?”

In hindsight, that’s probably the stupidest question he could have asked.

You baulk and immediately pushed away from him. The fingers glide from his chest and chin and leave him cold. Gone was the confidence you had offered so easily before; he watches, stunned as your eyes fall to the floor, no longer eager to meet his.

“You look good, Diego.” You smile but that time it doesn’t look real at all. “Have fun tonight.”

“Wait, I--”

--you offer a wave and nothing more. Your figure crosses the room and leaves him alone in between the four walls that seemed to press into him without your comforting presence.

Maybe, you could care for him, too. As he wants you too. Is it selfish to think so?

━

THE SIXTH TIME, HE’S ALMOST ASLEEP.

Honestly, Diego isn’t sure how his head had ended up in your lap, or when his body had melted so effortlessly into your own. It wasn’t the alcohol; two beers isn’t enough to kill all of his conditioned issues or turn him into a total sop. It hadn’t even been intentional, nothing about making room or trying to do anything.

But there you are. Your thighs are his pillows and your hands kiss across his scalp, weaving through his hair like it’s yarn to be woven into something beautiful. Once in a while you pause and he thinks that that’s it, you would force him up -- but then you continue like nothing had happened and he continues to lay like a fish out of water across your legs.

Neither of you had talked about the incident before. It was simply avoidance until you both decide to brush it off and move on, forgetting all about the awkwardness. Or, at least, that’s what you silently promised.

But it’s late. Neither of you are thinking. Or, he isn’t at least, when his head slips from the couch to your thinly clad shoulder. And you hardly react when he relaxes even more, silently gesturing for him to use your thighs as a headrest as the movie neither of you are watching drones on. You make some sort of joke, something stupid and it usually wouldn’t be enough to convince him to act so foolishly. But he is tired, and you are you, and it’s all too easy to give in to you.

So he lays. Your hands in his hair. On your lap. Like a baby incapable of even sitting on his own. He should feel unbelievably stupid, right?

“You’ve got beautiful hair,” you mumble, eyes dragging off the television screen to your lap. He barely catches your soft, smiling gaze before it slips back up, but the memory sticks with him long minutes after. “Wish you’d let me play with it more.”

But he can’t bring himself to hate this moment.

He half-snorts, half-laughs because what a funny statement that is. In his state of lovesick, exhausted delirium, Diego hardly recognises himself telling you that ‘you can play with his hair any time you want’.

“Really?”

“Uh…” he had not meant to say that out loud. “I-I--”

“--thanks, honey.” Your hands linger against his temple before stroking down his wavy locks. Honey. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He pulls off of you after a short while -- not because he wants to, because he’s guilty to take your loving hands for his selfish needs. He claims the bathroom excuse and leaves with his head floating in the clouds. The domestic bliss you offer him wasn’t something he thought he wanted, before -- but every time he leaves your bubble, he finds himself more and more starved for your touch.

He leaves your place high on your smile and still stuck on the way you combed through his hair. Even after pulling away yet again, he’s still happy and actually hopeful.

Maybe, he could actually have this, more than just one random rainy night. Maybe he should try.

━

THE SEVENTH TIME, HE ALMOST KISSES YOU.

Almost, because he, Diego ‘number one himbo’ Hargreeves is a self-labelled idiot who loses all cognitive abilities and brain cells when he lays eyes on you, and fails to be able to use them for all the time you’re around him.

And it’s the moment when he finally fully comes to realise the extent of his overwhelming, absolute adoration for you.

He’s never been so bad with that sort of thing. Before he could throw an easy smile and wink his way into a heart he’d no doubt break the following morning and pull a quick-run attraction like it wasn’t anything. But with you? The idea of even your touch turned him bashful and running for the hills, you know...like an idiot.

It takes you pulling him along every single time for him to react and even then, it’s never enough. You’re always left with a pouting lip and that strange, far-off look in your eyes that tells him he’s screwed it up all over again. Every time you get close he’s too blind to react the right way.

Your head on his shoulder, the world’s at peace. He wants you to stay by his side forever. He’ll hold you as long as you want -- hell to his arms, you’re worth the ache or the crick in his neck from bending the wrong way. He’ll let his body waste away and his mind turn to cobwebs if it means an eternity on your balcony, wind in both of your hair and your hands interlacing between his own.

“This is nice,” you murmur. “Yeah?”

He nods. His chin bumps awkwardly against the crown of your head, but you don’t seem to mind.

“I don’t normally like the quiet. But it’s nice like this. With...with you…” you hesitate on the last syllables and the ‘you’ comes out thick and garbled. But he gets it anyways, and somehow he has the emotional strength to pull you even close to his hulking frame. You’re very close to sliding onto his lap and he’d be lying if the idea to just go all the way doesn’t spring to mind. But he doesn’t move.

“It’s nice, knowing you’re here. Safe, alive...with me.”

Diego smiles into your hair. “It is nice.”

Aaand the ‘most obvious statement of the year’ award goes to him. Yet again. Why do you put up with his thick-headed responses? And why can’t he explain the fuzzy feeling in his throat that he gets from being near you, and the desire to give up everything else just to exist by your side? A simple ‘yeah’ doesn’t cover that and he knows that, he knows he has to tell you the entire adoring truth but --

“I like being around you, Diego. You know that, right?”

If he’s being honest...he can’t really believe that. The idea that someone like you enjoys his company is a farfetched concept. But his head bobs up and down again anyways. 

“I, uh...I like our friendship.”

Did you -- did you just friendzone him?!

Did he really just --

“--but sometimes…” you snort out a derisive laugh, “sometimes I wish we were a bit more. Y’know?”

He shifts his weight on the chair and stares down at you, unsure what to make out of any of it. “I - uh - whatdoyoumean?”

“I just, I think we’re good together.” You move too, so he can finally see the pretty way the moonlight bounces off your irises. You’re smiling, and he can’t help but smile too, hopeful and eager as a puppy would be. “And I want to, just...man, I wasn’t expecting this to be so hard to say.”

Vaguely, Diego hears himself respond with a grunt (it’s meant to be an ‘it’s okay’, but apparently English isn’t his strong suit).

“I just like having you around. A lot, if that’s not obvious. I know I’m, heh, kind of a lot sometimes. And I’m trying not to be so uh, affectionate because I know that’s a lot for some people and I never want to overstep, or--”

“--you’re not,” he says quickly, finally finding his voice after oceans of gaping. “I like you being affectionate. It’s nice.”

Your smile grows. “Okay, that’s good.” You hold his fingers a little closer and he’s on cloud nine, staring at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the modern world. “Because if I’m being completely honest here, I don’t want to stop. I...I like you. Generally, in the sense of, more than just friendship. D’you get what I’m saying here?”

“Uh…”

“I don’t want to read into things too much, but I can’t stop myself from feeling really strongly about you. And I don’t want to go on like this, without telling you I’m like, head over heels for you at this point.” You blink up at him, pleading for him to not let you down as you finish with, “is there any way you feel the same?”

What Diego should have done, and wanted to do, was to tell her exactly how he felt, and pull her to him and pull the most cheesy, most cliche Hollywood moment in all the world. He’d finally get the girl in the moonlight as the stars sing above him and the world sleeps below and it would be perfect.

What Diego actually does, is leave.

Cold, and alone, with no hand to hold and no head resting on his shoulder. He leaves you bewildered and probably pissed off and he leaves with no explanation at all -- just a garbled sentence or two that adds up to nothing. He drops his shattered heart at the door and wanders  home shivering and hopeless, knowing he has just fucked it all up.

As he stares at the sidewalk and plods down the street like a lonely, hard down soul, Diego wonders if he’s deserving of your touch. If he was allowed to open up and feel your affection so strongly as you give it. He wants to like you would probably never believe. He wants to hold you and he doesn’t want to let go again. He’s starved for your touch and he’d trade the sun and stars to keep you by his side, no matter the costs.

But you’re worth more than him. Shouldn’t you offer your heart to a better, kinder man? To someone who knows how to hold you properly, and offer his touch right back? Not someone who shivers away or rejects your kindness like a parasite. But someone brave enough to feed you with all the adoration you’re worthy of. Shouldn’t he be who you seek?

Maybe, Diego muses, the universe is wrong, and the mistress is nothing but a cruel meddler too eager to break his heart.

But maybe, it’s his own fault, and she’s not cruel at all.

His pace quickens a beat, and he suddenly knows what he has to do.

━ 

DIEGO’S LIKE NINETY-NINE PERCENT CERTAIN THAT NO ONE, no one living soul, had ever said that the eighth time was the charm.

But if he had to be the first, hell he’d ring that bell a thousand times if it got him where he had to be.

He’s running like a madman. And he’s not drunk, even if at least five people have grumbled that about him -- no he’s as sober as the day he was forced into the world. He’s made a thirty-minute walk of hell into somehow a twelve-minute dash through the cold streets of their shitty city and he feels like a god, if gods were desperate sonofabitches who never knew how to acknowledge their feelings until it’s too late.

He takes the stairs, too high on adrenaline to wait for the elevator. He gasps and huffs and pants his way up but he makes it and keels down the hall to your door, falling against it with all his weight. It’s a foolish move but in his defense...his legs are about to give out, and all the energy he’s devoted to this half-baked, foolish, love-drunk plan is very quickly running out.

He pounds against the door weakly. “Hello? Hello? I--” 

and then he literally crashes into your apartment.

You both tumble to the floor with a loud thud-thump and he’s so glad you have thick carpeting because he could have probably split your skull right open with the fall. He’s smart enough to roll, so he cushions your upper body with his, but you still groan as you make contact with the floor. His entire bone structure quakes at the feeling of ground hitting him and even with nary a breath in his throat, immediate guilt floods his system.

He falls back and silently screams, wishing he had more tact than this.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I’m...I’m so sorry,” he offers with a smile. He quickly props himself up over your body and tries to look as sorry as he truly feels, though it’s hard as his breath still won’t come and he’s still absolutely exhausted from running all this way.

Why did he do all this again?

Oh, yeah.

“I-I love you,” he spurts, followed by him rolling off and promptly falling into a coughing/choking/hacking fit.

You lay beside him, silent and stunned. He can’t see you as he coughs but his mind tries to put the pieces together, and none of it looks good. You’re probably annoyed, and mad that he’s even there so late and after what happened before, and you’re probably tired, and maybe sad, or hurt, or uncomfortable because you just jumped from friends to him admitting he loves you and --

“-did you seriously run all this way and body me, just to tell me that?!” 

He pulls himself together long enough to breathe and then turn so he can stare at you. You’re still beside him, body still pressed against the floor (possibly broken after having a much larger man knock you over, who knows) and you’re…

“You’re smiling,” he responds, like it’s the most shocking thing in the world. “You’re - why-”

“Last time I saw you, you were running out of my place like your ass was on fire. And now you come here, knock me on my ass, and tell me you love me?! Diego...uh...wow.”

Diego just stares back at her. He’s still struggling to breathe and if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he can function after any of this. He just wasted so much of his courage (something he’s never been good at keeping stock of) on just getting here, how is he supposed to collect himself and head out the door with any sense of dignity? Or answer you in any way, shape or form? How is he supposed to even move when you’re looking at him like that?

Wait, you’re...you’re looking at him like that. Smiling, doe-eyed, honey-sweet and beautiful even after being violently collided with and forced to your shitty carpet…

“I love you,” he breaths, soft but still sure. He grins back at you and he feels like an idiot but he holds strong. “And I’m really sorry about before. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just, all this stuff is stuff I’ve never done before, and I--”

And without another word or even the chance to think, your lips are on his.

Well, they probably were meant to be. What really happens is with a grunt and a swift push, you shift over to him and move to kiss him, only you’re both still smiling and absolute idiots who then just bang teeth against teeth. And you’re left groaning and keeling back, both gripping your mouths while still smiling and,

Ohmygodthisisamessbutohmygodishesohappyandinlovewithyou.

“I’m so sorry,” you groan, muffled behind your hand.

“Me too -- for knocking you over, too!”

“Yeah, that’s gonna leave a bruise.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you chuckle, and lift up again. You hover above him. His nose just barely brushes against yours and he’s straight back into heaven again, even as the embarrassment floods and his teeth ache. “I mean, I would have preferred a bit more warning, but...at least you don’t hate me.”

Diego grins and lifts his hand to push a tendril of hair behind your ear. “I could never hate you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Mm-hmm. I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

“Please,” you roll your eyes and shove at his chest. His heart beats even faster. “Like I could ever hate you.”

He lifts his head, trying to pull himself up to meet your lips, but you dart away just enough so he can’t. “Can - can we try this again?”

“Mm…” you pretend to consider his request like one would a business proposal. Your thighs tighten their grip around his stomach and a part of him just wants to pull you in and act as his heart pleads. But, given the last time he did that...and the last time you did...he’ll take this slow.

Instead of answering, you lean down and press your lips to his. It’s gentle and leisurely, but he takes every motion in stride. You’re everything he expected and more. Soft petals of reddened flesh against his, your hips just barely grazing against his own, making him want to pull you into his body and never let you leave his side. He’s jubilant and exhilarated and he almost laughs like a baby as your tongue swipes against his bottom lip.

“If it isn’t obvious,” you breathe as you pull away, “from the way I let you tackle me to my floor,”

“I’m really sorry about that,”

You pull his hand up and intertwine your fingers, shaking your ‘head’ no. “I love your touch-starved ass too, Diego.”

“Good, cause this would have been--”

“--no more talking, chatterbox. Just kiss me and shut up.”

And he lets go of the maybes, and just loves you.

SECOND A/N...this ending is just ackwa!?!hiwogh. very annoyed with how it went, but if you know me, you know i suck at conclusions in every sense of the world and i also always leave them to the very last minute, meaning i’m typing this note as i read over the ending and hate it even more. and i’m sorry for the vague messiness of this! I had an idea, failed to deliver it the way i wanted, and a cool thought turned into a half-baked fic. thank you to those who read this, sorry’s also extended your ways because i know this isn’t fantastic. lmao.

- xx 

[thebiscuiteternal]

This was originally a twitter thread and I told myself I wasn’t gonna clean it up and post it until after I finished the next chapter of Cage, but we all know I have the impulse control of a hamster, SO.

“All Your Sins On Show” Murder Plots, Violent Death, Grief, Talking to the Dead, Literally, Creating Your Own Personification of Guilt, Open Ending, Mixed Adaptations, Second-Person POV

Ao3 Link if you prefer.

__________

It comes down to this: Your father wants the Nie out of his hair by any means necessary.

No, no, that's not right. He specifically wants the Nie heir dead.

"Anyone can see the useless little bitch is their only weak spot. Kill him and they all crumble, especially that oaf Chifeng-zun," he says, then gives you the knife-edge smile he reserves for when he knows you'll give him anything for a more authentic one. "Can you get it done, or do I need to find someone more reliable?"

And you ignore the discomfort worming through your insides, smile back, and bow.

It comes down to this: The plan doesn’t take very many parts to set into motion. The smaller sects are still struggling after the decimation the Wens dealt to the cultivation world. It's easy enough to find a disciple desperate for more than his leader is paying.

It's even easier to goad Nie Mingjue into pushing his brother to join a ‘simple’ training-level night hunt, since Nie Huaisang has been avoiding using his saber yet again.

It goes like this: At your signal, the bribed disciple 'panics' and shoves Nie Huaisang into the path of a rampaging cursed beast that he has no chance of winning against, and then you make sure your turncoat doesn't escape either.

In the chaos, no one notices how seriously Nie Huaisang has been injured until the monster falls and someone realizes he never got  back to his feet.

Horrified Nie disciples crowd around, flooding his body with spiritual energy to try and save his life, but between his cracked open ribcage and bitten throat, anyone with eyes can see it's a lost cause.

Nie Huaisang dies choking on his own blood, and all anyone can hope is that the shock of the first blow left him too numb to suffer.

It goes like this: The inhuman howl of anguish Nie Mingjue makes when heartbroken disciples hand him his brother’s ruined body is everything your father has likely been hoping for.

Only then, watching him fall to his knees, do you remember that their father came home in similar condition after being set up by a friend, and your stomach knots so tightly you nearly throw up right there in the courtyard.

Only then, looking at the small figure cradled in the sobbing man's arms, death white save for where he is covered in rust red, does it hit you that for the first time, you have killed someone who never did anything to harm you.

Who never did anything to deserve it.

Who was only in the way of what your father wanted.

You'd been prepared to fake tears.

You don't have to.

~"Da-ge?"~

It goes like this: The voice, confused and nervous and as wispy as if being carried by wind, makes ice form around your spine.

Because it belongs to the body lying before the three of you.

Your hands clench on your knees as you brace yourself and glance to your right, but neither of your sworn brothers seem to have heard the plaintive call. Lan Xichen has been in meditation since he arrived to join you, the furrow between his eyebrows and the unnatural pallor of his skin the only signs of his sorrow, and Nie Mingjue has long exhausted himself into silence, staring with empty eyes at the coffin.

~"Da-ge! Come on, this isn't funny!"~

The ice spreads into your blood when you see him.

Nie Huaisang pulls and shoves at his older brother, every bit the child upset by an adult ignoring them when they’re used to getting a reaction.

Except Nie Huaisang is also in the coffin, and unlike that one, this one still bears all the ruinous injuries that ended his life at all of twenty-three.

~"I'm sorry about the argument,"~ he pleads, his demeanor growing more desperate and despondent with every moment Nie Mingjue doesn't respond. ~"I'll go on the hunt, just talk to me! Da-ge!"~

Your breath locks in your chest, surrounded by frost.

He doesn't know.

You swallow hard, forcing down the mixture of bile and hysterical laughter that threatens to bubble out of your throat.

Because you are kneeling in a tomb with the body of someone whose death you set up, and he is also right there next to you, begging his mourning brother to acknowledge him because he can’t see that he’s dead.

Who wouldn’t laugh, faced with that kind of absurdity?

"A-Sang."

The name falls from your mouth so quietly that your sworn brothers don't even twitch, but Nie Huaisang straightens like a startled deer.

There are bloody tears steadily trickling down his cheeks, but it's the hope that floods eyes clouded over by death that makes you feel lightheaded. ~"San-ge? San-ge! Tell him I'm sorry, he’ll listen to you!"~

And it's because Nie Mingjue listened to you, despite you having given him so many reasons not to do so anymore, that Nie Huaisang's ghost is begging for your help now, rather than his whole self.

Hands covered in still dripping blood reach for you beseechingly, and that's the last thing you remember before the world goes black.

It goes like this: You wake up in the healers' ward, Lan Xichen hovering worriedly by your bed. "Liu Feng says your qi is disturbed," he says, gentle as always.

You involuntarily glance at the figure by his side, miserably pulling at his sleeve in an attempt to be noticed.

"Too many late nights," you say. "Nothing more."

For once you want him not to believe you, to push for a better explanation than that, but he simply nods. "I'll let the healers know you're up," he says.

And then it's just you and... him .

~"San-ge, why is everyone else acting like I'm not here?"~ he asks, small and broken and unaware of the blood ceaselessly dripping from his mouth and throat and chest to pool around his feet. ~"Even Er-ge won’t speak to me! I know Da-ge and I haven't been getting along, but have I really been that much of a brat?"~

"No..." you say, barely managing to get enough air in your lungs to expel the word. "That's not it. A-Sang-"

'I killed you. You loved me and I killed you because you weren't the one I wanted to be loved by.'

"A-Sang... you went on the hunt you and your brother argued about. There... there was an accident."

The slow dawn of understanding in his expression is horrible to watch.

Worse is watching him break down sobbing.

It goes like this: A lost and dazed Nie Huaisang lingers next to you during the funeral, icy fingers clutching your sleeve, and you can't help but wonder if he can see or experience it at all when Nie Mingjue burns the joss for him, or if he sees only a vacant courtyard.

He only leaves you twice when it's over, and each time he returns to you a little more heartbroken by his continued failure to make contact with his brother.

~"San-ge... San-ge, what will I do?"~ he asks quietly, head bowed and kneeling in the ever-present pool of blood that forms wherever he stops long enough. ~"If I can't make him see me, what will I do? What will happen to me?"~

"I don't know," you say, though you have an inkling.

Clearly the circumstances have bound him to you. When you leave, would he follow? Would he linger? Would he disappear? Would he have a choice in the matter either way?

How the hell did this happen? Surely he hadn't done anything to warrant such a cruel punishment from the heavens, so is it a punishment for you? Or is there a simpler answer, something to do with the specific monster that killed him?

But that... you will look into the matter later, when you have built back up the necessary mental fortitude for what you might find.

For now, it ends like this: Seeking the only comfort available to him, he curls at your side to rest his head against your knee.

It’s a familiar seating position for the two of you, old and comfortable from the days where he would insist on sleeping next to you while you finished late reports.

Except now he is dead and instead of gentle warmth, there is a cold that shocks through you at the point of contact between you and it’s sharp and bitter and spears all the way into your bones.

You bite back a gasp of pain, then collect yourself and reach down to run your fingers through blood-slick hair.  You force yourself to ignore the sensation of frostbite in your fingertips and how each stroke stains your hand a darker red.

Because you deserve it.

Because he needs you.

Because no one else will see.

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

________________________________________________

Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Any port in a storm

Tomura knows a bastard when he sees one, and Chisaki Kai looks like someone who could stab his own mother just to prove a point.

And he’s not only a bastard, but he’s also very full of it. The way Chisaki talks like he knows better than anyone else, questioning Tomura and calling him out on his previous failures, as if he knew anything about dealing with pro heroes and a bunch of overpowered children ruining your plans.

Tomura knows where he’d failed and he learned from it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have to waste his time hearing this asshole lecture him about leadership and planning. After all, Chisaki Kai is nothing but a low thug that works for money or whatever the fuck someone like him cares for. The league, on the other hand, has bigger matters to attend.

He sure like the sound of his own voice. Tomura thinks, narrowing his eyes when Overhaul begins to babble about leadership and pawns like they are nothing else than mere meat at his disposition, and not people with interests and wants.

It doesn’t take long before shit goes down. Magne’s remains puring over them like rain because the bastard makes her explode like a piñata with just a single touch.

Yes, Tomura also knows a deadly touch when he sees one, and Overhaul’s looks ridiculously overpowered.

“Compress, wait-!” Tomura shouts, but Chisaki is faster and before they understand what’s happening, Compress quirk goes off and Overhaul blows Atsuhiro’s arm with a simple touch and the fucker is so damn coward that the moment Tomura lounges towards him, he just orders one of his pitiful pawns to act as a fucking shield and die in his place.

The yakuza has the nerve to call himself the next leader and Tomura is almost impressed by the audacity.

“Now I get it. You should have just started with this, saved us all some time.” Tomura spits making a monumental effort to keep his cool for his sake and the sake of the league.

“Where are they come from?! We weren’t followed, I swear!”

“One of them probably has a tracking quirk.” He’s also trying his utter best to not smack Twice’s masked head for being so damn naïve.

“We’ll cool our heads and try again later. I ow your side an arm.”

“Bastard! I’ll eviscerate you!” Twice barks at his side, holding Compress against his chest.

“Tomura-kun. Let me cut him. Real quick.” Toga ask, pulling out her knife.

“No.”

“it’s my responsibility!” screams Twice.

“No.”

“I don’t wanna rush you, but the sooner we talk the better.” Think things over carefully. Consider how your organization should be run, then when you’ve calm down, call me.” Overhaul speaks like he didn’t just killed Magne, comparing her with one of his ridiculous pawns and Tomura hates him, truly. It’s not like when he says he hates society and heroes, no. This is more personal. He hates Chisaki Kai the same way you hate your childhood bully, the same way you hate someone because you had the misfortune of knowing them.

“They’re gonna pay for this. Why can’t I go after them?!”

“Now thinking, we need to get Atsuhiro-san to a doc. “

“Right.”

“That wouldn’t work…damn that hurts” Atsuhiro whispers almost unconscious.

“Maybe we do have time to make them bleed.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Tomura-kun!”

“Another time.” He orders, watching as overhaul and his band of assholes disappear into the night “You’ll pay for what you’ve done today.” He swears already thinking in a million ways he could make him regret this.

“Shigaraki! We need to see the doctor! Atsuhiro is bleeding out!”

Ah, doctor Ujiko really found and excellent time to go missing, didn’t he? Now without his sensei and the hideout completely wrecked by the heroes, he’s between kidnapping some doctor or finding some abandoned hospital and pray there is some supplies that could work. But kidnapping someone would take time and efforts and the nearest abandoned hospital is forty minutes away and Compress doesn’t have so much time.

Ah, the perks of being a villain.

“Tomura-kun! What do we do!?”

He clenches his fists until his knuckles go numb, his mind rushing, thinking what to do besides the obvious, trying his best to ignore that option.  

“We need to take him now!”

Tomura rolls his eyes and suck his teeth hating his life because this is the last thing he thought he would be doing when he woke up that morning, something withing him twisting painfully between excited and done with this awful feeling he can’t rid off.

“Tomura-Kun! What do we do?!” Toga presses again, panicking because Compress is getting paler and paler.

He groans kicking some rock completely fed up. Why couldn’t Atsuhiro just stay sit there when he told him to wait? Now the itch gets insufferable out of nowhere and Tomura scratch his neck raw, snarling under the hand that covers his face. He doesn’t want to go there, but Twice needs help to carry Atsuhiro now that the man just fainted, and he can’t do copies of himself, so he’ll need someone else. It could be Toga, but Tomura hardly thinks she’s going to be helpful with that tiny body of hers. Besides, they’ll need someone who can clear out the streets before rushing out, so, he’ll have to go anyways.

Tomura sighs defeated, this isn’t about him, so he decides to ignore the knot in his stomach and the quick drumming of his heart against his ribs, preparing for the imminent headache before barking the orders.

“Follow me.”

______________

 A loud bang on your door wakes you suddenly.

You observe your room, remembering that you were studying before falling asleep over your desk after a whole day of paper reading and a pack of oreo’s for dinner. Your laptop screen flashes 00:23 am, so you’ve been sleeping for hardly an hour.

Another bang and this time the sound of someone trying to enter your apartment at midnight shoots your adrenaline levels to the top.

“Big sister! Please!” Toga’s voice sounds desperate from the other side of the door turning your fear in worry, so without thinking, your feet tap quickly through the flat to just opening it before some neighbor sees her, but your mouth falls open the moment Toga rushes into your apartment with Twice and Shigaraki behind her, carrying a half-conscious Compress.

In a second that feels like hours, your eyes travel quickly between all three men, to stop on the red ones that bore into you, sending shivers through your spine as you heart do a flip inside your cage because your infatuation with the villain is right there, in the same place he left it last time he touched you.

“What the…” Your voice gets stuck in your throat when you notice that Compress bloodied wound is in fact him missing an arm.

“Shit. Lay him down on the table” You order already running across your flat looking for a hairband. “Take his shirt off, Toga, bring me some towels.” You rush to your bathroom to wash your hands quickly, and Shigaraki follows you without a word, clutching at your side looking for the first aid kit your keep under the sink.

“Tell me what happened.”

“A Yakuza bastard blew his arm of with his quirk.” He spits carrying the kit to the kitchen. “He shoot him something and his quirk went off.”

“You think it’s some kind of drug?”

“Probably.”

“Crap. It could be dangerous if I don’t know the effects.”  

You run behind him, taking some latex gloves from the kit before approaching your patient. Atsuhiro breathes heavily over your kitchen table, his legs dangling from the edge as he bleeds all over the floor.

Your quirk activates in full force the moment you get close to him.

“Hello, Mr. Compress.” You talk to him trying to calm him the same way you would talk to a child patient as you remove the poor bandage that wraps the remains of his left arm. “Long time no see.”

“Lovely to see you, dear.” He whines with his hand holding the gory pieces of meat that still dangles from his shoulder, a chonk of his broken bone horribly exposed. “It hurts a lot, you know?”

You wince at the sight but straighten yourself to do your job and let your hands hover over his wound, numbing his nerves, keeping his blood from spilling out because he’s already at the brim of drying out.

“I know, but it’s okay now, Compress. I’ll take care from here. Now…sleep…” you lull him with a smile, relaxing him quietly, slowing his heart rate to make him pass out.

“Is he..?” Twice ask watching with trembling voice.

“he’s unconscious now. I can stop the bleeding with my quirk for now, but I’ll need to…sew this…. somehow.”

“Oh! Big sister! Your quirk is amazing to cure people!” Toga says joyfully, leaving the towels close to you.

“Himiko-chan. I need you to wash your hands very carefully. I’ll need some assistance.”

“Okay! I’ll be back.”

You begin to clean the wound, retiring the little fragmenst of bone from between the exposed muscle with some tweezers.

“How bad.” Shigaraki is behind you, towering over your shoulder and you can feel his warmth on your cheek, as he winces watching the mess over the table.

“His arm is destroyed. I need to cut a little of bone, it’s too jagged to just close this, it could lead to an infection. Only after that I’ll be able to rearrange this mess.”  

“What do you need.”

You look at him worried. He’s covered in blood and for a moment you panic thinking that maybe he’s injured too.

“A-Are you al right?”

The question comes out as desperate product of your impossible nerves from having him so nearby. It caught him by surprise from the way his jaw clenches before answering.

“…I’m fine. What else do you need.”

Relief washes over you, so you return your eyes to the man over your kitchen table.

“I…my dad had a garden saw in the closet. Disinfect it the best you can. This is going to be nasty.”

___________

 When she’s finally done, it’s already 3 am.

Compress lays over the couch, finally sleeping after some gruesome scalpel work that lefts her panting from her quirk overuse, siting in the floor with her back against the front door.  

A thick trace of blood drifts down her nose, but she’s too tired to even care, so she just let her head rest on the cold wood.

Silence and shadows fill the apartment. The lights are off so Atsuhiro can sleep, but the lights of the street are enough to see inside the flat. In her room, twice and toga share the bed, already sleeping after helping with the cleaning. Her kitchen looks spotless under the moonlight, none could guess she just operated someone over the table with a gardening saw.

“Are you sure you are okay?” She asks with hooded eyes, her own conscience drifting slowly.

“…I told you I’m fine.”

Tomura watches her, leaning against the wall in front of her. She’s grown thinner and paler than the last time he stood in her home. Her bloodied clothing only accentuating her lack of color and the dark bags that rest under her sleepy eyes.

She stares back, neither of them wanting to look away, not when the three steps gap between them extends so wide and deep that it hurts. The notion of being face to face again stirs quietly inside of him and all his anger and dread goes silent now she’s there at the reach of his hand, and Tomura understand that he doesn’t know how to feel now.

Her stomach growls of hunger and her eyes open in embarrassment and surprise.

“Stop staring at me.” She mumbles cleaning her face with the back of her sleeve, getting up to walk over her kitchen.

“You were staring first.” He mumbles annoyed “whatever…” Before he can even walk to the door, she stops him dead on his tracks.

“You can stay…if you want.”

Tomura looks at her while she prepares a sandwich, trying to avoid his gaze at all costs to no avail. Her hand trembles as she tries to put some butter on her bread, giving away her internal turmoil, because as him, she doesn’t know how to feel about this sudden intrusion in her life. Again.

Well, at least he’s not he only one who feels awkward.

She laughs halfheartedly out of the blue.

“What’s so funny?” he asks looking at the wall, his voice mellow because he doesn’t have the energy to quarrel with her now. Not after everything that happen.

“It’s just…I swore I was going to choke you with my own hands next time I saw you.” She cannot stop the laughing.

He doesn’t know what to do with that statement, finding difficult to keep his distant mask now she’s trying to sound playful. He can feel his anger and awkwardness dissolving into something more bearable so he just smirks amused.

“Bare hands, huh? no quirk involved?”

“Yep. Acapella”

“And how is that working for you?” he asks, gravitating closer to her, standing at her side, very aware of the height difference between them as he leans to see her face better.

“Oh, fuck off.” She smiles.

“Ladies first.” He cannot contain the little smile that blossom in his face.  

Tomura feels his shoulders relaxing softly now. He falls in the ease of her company, the roaring turmoil he’s been feeding all these past weeks, going silent now that she’s finally close, smiling tired and lightheartedly.

It was this, and he almost forgot about it. It was the soft wittiness, the clever jokes and back and forth. He liked to talk to her because it was like playing a game, but somehow, he forgot between his bitterness and rage.

“Sandwich?” She asks, handling him half oh her own.

“…Thanks.”

They eat in silence. Atsuhiro’s breathing is the only sound in the house.

Tomura is tired, his eyelids weight heavy over his eyes, but this moment is enough to keep him awake, so in exchange he memorizes the smell of her home, her presence filling him softly and gently, calming the rage and the fury he’s been feeling over a month in a rare peaceful moment that feels dangerously too much like finally coming home.

What a stupid thought to think he could get rid of this sweet softness, the only one he’s ever felt. A foolish desire made of spite and bitterness in a place that can only be filled with their silent bond.

He feels the gap closing slowly, luring him to stay for the night. He should…he could...maybe this…

“I’ve missed you.” She whispers suddenly without looking at him, her eyes fixed in the wall in front of them.

Time stops and he whips his head so fast he could hear something crackling in his neck.

He definitely didn’t though about this when he woke up that morning.

“Like wise.” He raps swallowing hard, thinking about all the things his done in a month, realizing there was not a single minute of the day in which he did not think of her.

He’s truly smitten, isn’t he?  

“I’m sorry about what I said…i…I got nervous. I thought you would get mad, I just made it worse.”

“Why would you think that, huh? I thought I was pretty obvious.” He says, hiding his hands in his coat before changing his weight to the other leg.  

“Because you are a big bad villain, aren’t you? and I’m just…me.”

“Just you” he snorts “you managed to terrorize one of the most dangerous villains without even touching him. Just you is fine enough to deal with anyone. Even big bad villains.”

She smiles shyly.

“Shigar-“

“Tomura.” He interrupts, finally looking at her.

She looks beautiful under the pale light; the shadows of the night drawing angles and shapes on her face.

“Tomura.” She states, meeting his gaze and he delights in the way his name falls from her lips like a spell and less like a curse. She looks at him decided, certainty written all over her face and he knows she’s about to do something reckless. “I really like you.”

Tomura has learned his lesson. As he always does, so he absorbs her words and weighs them carefully inside his chest.

“A horrible decision, really.” He mocks back with a grin, closing the gap between them until he has her trapped between him and the kitchen counter. “Your parents never told you about big bad villains?” this time he asks close enough for her smell to fill his personal space as he gives her a hungry look, licking his lips.

“Oh, Fuck you.” She sighs laughing quietly.

“I hope you do.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you going to keep talking back or are you going to kiss me already?” She whispers feeling his warm breath against her lips.

He stops entranced with the way her eyes reflect the streetlights from the outside. He’ll think of her like this frozen in time and undercover darkness, just a silver string of light between the shadows of her home and his life.

Tomura kisses her hungry and desperate. His jagged lips bruising against her mouth, invading her, eager to feel her closer, but is not enough. Him yanking her against his chest, four fingers gripping tight over her wrist as his right arm encircle her waist is not enough. Feeling her hands clutching at his shirt pulling him is not enough. Sensing the motion of her rising cage as she began to suffocate is not enough.  

No, nothing is enough when he wants to split her chest open to hide inside her ribs, filling her with this feeling that’s been smothering him for too long.

He’s overwhelmed by this unforgiving desire that goes beyond anything physical. Is about the terrifying nature of the world that surrounds him, where she’s the only hideout that could contain his horror and everything that scares him about himself.

Like sensing his despair, she moves her hands to his face, caressing his jaw enamored with the shape of his face, the texture of his skin and the soft locks of white hair that brush over her fingers every time he tilts his head to kiss her deeper and deeper.

A low rumble fills his chest as she opens her mouth fully to him, giving him access to her warmth for him to gorge on her taste, terrifyingly close and needy.

She breaks contact searching for air, but he moves ever so little.

“The things I’ll do with that bickering mouth of yours” He whispers before biting her low lip, giving her a ravenous look.

“Like wise.”

He considers to just shove her against the wall and take her right there over the dishwasher, finally sinking his teeth on her skin, buried deeply in her; but since she was bleeding not long ago, tired and in desperate need of sleep, he keeps it gentle. They are both tired. Tired from the fight, tired from the operation, tired of this game of cat and mouse they’ve been playing for two months, so he shoves his animal instincts under the rug and treats the situation the same way he holds things carefully with his fingers.

Just this one time he promises, knowing he will go absolutely feral on her as soon as he has the chance. So, he just leans over and kisses her gently…surprised by his own tenderness and the warmth that fills him, something akin to happiness and peace.

Tomura nuzzles against her cheek before resting his face on her shoulder, the awful longing that’s been eating him alive finally shut down.

“Come.” She calls him softly, a ghost of a kiss burning over his lips before she tugs him by the hem of his coat, leading him to the spare room.

He follows her quietly, taking off his sneakers and coat before getting inside the little bed, wrapping his arms tightly around her, fists safely closed at her back.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” She asks merely a whisper, her lips delicately brushing his own.

His forehead rest against hers, her warmth inviting him to close his eyes and rest, lulling him silently into sleep.

“…yes.” He whispers as he drifts away, feeling the light touch of her lips kissing the scar over his mouth.

“Good.”

Chapter 14

[mihidecet]

SBI d&d AU: Wilbur

So ... Here it is! I haven't published anything of mine here for a long time, and especially no fanfictions, so I really do hope you like this!

A special thank you to @whatimevendoinhere without whom this AU would have never existed!! They've been drawing references, expressions and a lovely campfire scene for this au, go check them out!!!

One doesn't get far being an adventurer without being a light sleeper, especially when you're travelling alone. 

For Wilbur, it is a blessing and a curse. It means he's able to survive multiple attempts on his life - he's not to blame for all of them, it's just that sometimes he writes songs about people, and sometimes he improvises, and sometimes he sings before he thinks. 

It also means, unfortunately for him, that it takes him a while to get used to travelling with other people. He loves everything about it, from the security to the companionship, but he can't for the life of him get a good night of uninterrupted sleep: whether it's Phil stoking the dying embers of their campfire, or Techno cleaning his throwing knives ... Heavens above, even Tommy mumbling to himself as he mends his own cape after getting almost-stabbed for the fourth time this week keeps him awake until exhaustion takes over. 

But this night, it's not the gentle humming of an elven song, or the rhythmic *schling* of a whetstone on a sword, that wakes him up: everything's quiet, then he feels something fly in the air next to him and land with a dull thud in the ground. 

Will's eyes are immediately open, hand flying to the small knife he keeps under his own pillow - just to be sure, just to be extra safe - and he rolls to the side. 

He thanks his darkvision, because it's still the middle of the night: right next to where his head was there's a knife, stuck in the ground and glinting in the moonlight. 

Wilbur's mouth opens to alert the others, but his call dies in his throat as he notices a lone figure sitting against the tree. 

Somebody just threw a knife at his head, and Technoblade, notorious thief, assassin and all around badass adventurer, is just ... sitting there. His eyes are open, Wilbur can see it clearly, and he stares at him for a moment before turning his head towards the rest of the group. He seems to be fiddling with something - for now, Wilbur only knows that Techno likes keeping his hands busy, and is apparently unable to keep still; give or take a couple of months of travelling together, he'll have learnt that Techno fidgets when he's nervous, and he's always nervous around new people. 

Techno turns back around, and gives a meaningful look to the knife still stuck in the ground. 

Wilbur sighs. He's awake now, thanks to the adrenaline of an expected attack, so he grabs the knife and wrenches it out, meaning to throw it back to the noisy assassin that decided to wake him up in the middle of the night for ... apparently no reason? 

But that night there's a gentle breeze blowing, so the moment the knife leaves the ground, whatever it was keeping in place starts flying away - it's only thanks to Wilbur's excellent reflexes that he manages to grab it. 

For a moment, he thinks he's dreaming. Mostly because he wishes he was, but also because he's currently holding one of Technoblade's throwing knives in one hand, and a bracelet in the other. 

He blinks. 

The bracelet is still there. 

He looks up, and manages to catch Techno quickly turning his head away from him, as if he hadn't been staring at him the whole time.

Wilbur *really* wants to sleep. 

The bracelet in his hand is hand made. Not because it's badly made, but because there are daisies woven between the yarn and cotton strings, and if he turns his head to the left he can see a path of those same light blue daisies - now slightly smaller than before. 

Now, Wilbur is not unused to having small trinkets. He has a bad habit of stealing small things to remind himself of where he's been, where he's played, things he's done. But this is definitely unusual. 

What is this supposed to mean? Is it to thank him for saving his ass earlier that morning, when Techno got too cocky and got himself shot so Wilbur had to jump from his vantage point to bring him back to life? Or is it because the bard had said he needed something to remind himself of their win against the drake that had been plaguing the surrounding forest?

Wilbur is too tired to think about it. 

"Cheers, Techno. Thanks." He says, voice slurring just a bit as he gives the thief a two fingered salute. Techno nods back silently, and Wilbur lets himself fall back onto his bed - being careful not to stab his pillow with his horns - and tries to fall asleep again. 

Wait. 

Wilbur's eyes open suddenly as his brain rather kindly decides to bring forth a memory of his first meeting with Techno. 

Back when it was just him and Phil, walking from town to town, looking for easy coin. They had been looking for a tavern in the middle of the night, because Phil had said he'd never had pumpkin pie, and the kind lady who had been hosting them - as a thank you for getting rid of the ghost hunting her scarecrows - had insisted they wait until she finished cooking and have a slice. 

It had been worth it after all, as they'd walked with an extra spring in their step with a stomach full of homemade pie and fresh milk, and travelling at night was not that big of a problem for an elf and a tiefling. 

Still, Wilbur should have known not to get too relaxed, because as they turned the corner into a ghostly empty alley, they had found themselves no longer alone. A lone figure stood, partly hidden by shadows, but there was no way to mistake their identity. 

"Hey there, friend!" Phil had exclaimed, tone amicable despite the evident tension in his posture - Wil could clearly see his knuckles turning white from his grip around his staff, and he hoped the assassin in front of them couldn't.

"Your Majesty." The infamous Technoblade had answered, with a slight head tilt that Wilbur had assumed was to be interpreted as a bow. Then, he'd turned his piercing light blue eyes towards him.

"Mr. Soot. I hear you're looking for companions. I'm looking for ... Colleagues. I have a job to do, and it requires more than one person." Wilbur's tail had swung wildly for a moment, both in excitement and indignation. On one hand, this was *the* Technoblade, infamous assassin, notorious thief, wanted in most reigns, the only being able to easily succeed at what most people would never dream of being able to do. 

On the other hand, there were surely less fear inducing ways of asking for help, right? Couldn't he have met them at the tavern, in the morning? Possibly surrounded by other people, where they could feel safe rejecting his offer, instead of fearing a knife in the back the moment they turned?

"What kind of job?" The bard had asked, steadying his voice despite how the thief's stare had seemingly locked him into place.

"A good one. Mostly a well paying one." He'd replied shrugging, seemingly uncaring of how tense the air around them was as he spinned a throwing knife in his hand. Wilbur dared shooting a look to his right, where Phil was now standing a tad more relaxed, and raised an eyebrow. This could be their big breakthrough, a chance to make a good name for themselves - they'd kept mostly to themselves for almost half a year now, doing odd jobs here and there, slowly making their way across the region ... How would it feel to sleep in a decent tavern for one night? What if they could finally afford a horse? Heavens above, did Wilbur wish he could buy a new pair of boots.

"We're in. We can talk in the morning to go over the details?" Phil had asked, sounding as tired and hopeful as Wilbur felt. The bard guessed that, as a king travelling for the first time in his life under false pretences, Phil was the one between the two of them who was less used to sleeping on the floor and eating "whatever". 

As the blade was thrown in the air, there was a sudden flash of pink light and then it was gone, vanished in the darkness. 

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow." And then he'd disappeared too, hopefully not hearing Wilbur's scoffed "showoff" and Phil's chuckles. 

The next morning, slightly more rested, they were in the middle of greatly missing the previous day's pumpkin pie over their meagre portions of stale bread and warm mead, when the whole tavern went impossibly quiet. There was a beat of silence as every head turned towards the newcomer, then Phil leaned back with one arm stretched out and waved. 

"Techno, mate! Come join us!" The thief's ears twitched in their direction, then he immediately started walking towards them - pace steady and sure, despite how everyone was staring at him. 

In the bright light of the middle of the morning, surrounded by other adventurers and staring down in disgust at their breakfast, the infamous Technoblade looked a lot less intimidating, if one was able to look past the entire armoury he carried with him. If he hadn't been an actual, literal hellspawn, Wilbur would have been put off by the bright pink skin and pig-like features of his face, but the bard himself had horns, blue skin and a tail, so he couldn't really judge anyone based on looks. 

Technoblade looked like he was about to say something about their breakfast, but Phil evidently dissuaded him by stuffing his face with what remained of his loaf of bread - which was a chunk about as big as his fist, and even the thief looked slightly impressed. 

Wilbur took a deliberately slow sip of his mead as Phil munched away, eyeing the rest of the tavern as if to dare them to keep staring at the three of them. 

By the time he was putting down his drink, the bloody knife from the night before was back, this time being balanced on the tip of Techno's finger as he stared at it with a bored expression.

Wilbur placed his tankard on the table and the thief's eyes met his for just a moment before going back to looking bored with his balancing act - which Phil was rather enjoying, from what Will could see from the corner of his eye. Then, just as suddenly as the night before, Techno's eyes switched from light blue to a shining pink and his blade disappeared. 

"So ... What's your opinion on friendship bracelets?" 

Wilbur had reared back and immediately choked on nothing, while the utter bastard on his right burst out laughing.

"What?! What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?!" Wilbur had demanded, still breathless, after Phil had half-heartedly patted his back. 

Techno had shrugged, seemingly awkward, Phil had laughed more before steering the conversation towards the topic of their job. Wilbur had thought it weird, a quirk of a lone wolf that was so unused to companionship that they would just say whatever came to their mind, but he'd always been able to switch his focus to business rather fast. 

Meanwhile, in the present day, Wilbur was currently biting his own finger in order to keep the hysterical laughter threatening to spill. Eyes almost tearing up, shoulder shaking - had the thief been serious from the beginning? Was this a joke, a callback? It couldn't be, it was too well made to be a joke! Not that Techno was known to do anything half-assedly ... A muffled giggle escaped him, and Wilbur quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but apparently nothing flew past the infamous Technoblade. 

"Shut up." His gruff voice had come suddenly, still from his position against the lone tree in the clearing they'd chosen to rest in. 

Another giggle escaped him as he sat upright on his cot, his tail swishing on the ground excitedly - and probably filling his cot with dirt and leaves, but at the moment he couldn't care less. There was something, some warm, fuzzy feeling invading his chest, waking him up even better than the threat of an attack as he held the bracelet to his chest.

"Aw, Techno! But I thought we were best friends!" Wilbur protested in a fake offended tone, the warm feeling spreading as he heard the thief scoff and then chuckle lightly, shaking his head. 

"We are, it's final, you're not getting out of this." Techno replies, waving his knife towards him in a way that would have been menacing if he hadn't just said the sweetest thing Wilbur's ever heard - for now, because this is just a step into their friendship; Techno has a way of being devastatingly earnest about his feelings in the best and most unexpected ways, and Wilbur doesn't know really know what he's in for yet. 

Instead, Wilbur just clutches the bracelet to his chest and chuckles, thankful he's not choking on his emotions yet - he already knows he'll be writing a song about this, can feel the energy of it under his fingertips.

"You neither, man. I'm counting on it, you big nerd." 

Techno scoffs, waves him away.

"Do I get to keep the knife, too?" Wilbur asks, because he's never been able to shut up, and there's no way he's going to sleep after all this. 

"Sure, whatever. I have more." 

"Thank you, best friend!" 

Turns out Wilbur can actually fall asleep after all that, because the last thing he remembers before falling asleep is Techno's annoyed groan and the smell of daisies.

----

I do hope you liked it! If there are any mistakes let me know, English is not my first language ajdhwokl

Also if you want to come and ramble about this to us ,,,,,, you are all deffo welcome!!

[eastertag]

@willow-salix gift for @gordonthegreatesttracy

The only thing he was aware of was the pain, pain so great it felt like his entire body had been ripped apart and set on fire. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he wasn’t even sure if he was alive or dead.

A world of pain, beyond which nothing else existed. 

The heavy weight that had been pounding on his chest stopped, his lungs screamed in protest as he tried to suck air into them, fighting with him.

“I’ve got output!”

“He’s back!”

 -x-

THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES EARLIER

“You’re so lucky!”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, something that had been an almost permanent fixture on his face for the past three days since he’d heard that he, a relative newcomer, had been picked over everyone else. It was such an honour, completely unexpected, but an honour nonetheless.

“How did you even pull it off? Did Daddy throw some cash their way?” Browns teased.

“Ha! You wish that was the reason, then you’d never have to admit that it’s all down to my superior skills and outlandish charm,” Gordon preened as he yanked at the left leg of his dry suit. It was cumbersome, far thicker than he was used to, a complete pain in the ass to drag on, but an essential bit of kit that he would not be allowed out without.

Browns helped him hoist the back up over his shoulders once he got his arms in the holes. Gordon rolled his shoulder, settling the stiff material in place as best he could. He still felt uncomfortable but it sure beat the alternative.

“Five minutes to go!” his commander called through the door. “You almost ready, Tracy?”

“I was born ready, sir.”

“Good lad, then get moving.”

Gordon tried his hardest not to run out of the door, so eager was he to get his butt in that seat. Some people would never understand his excitement, but to him it was a dream come true. He’d seen the way his eldest brother would practically vibrate with excitement whenever he called home and told them all about the latest plane he’d been called in to test drive and, Gordon had to admit, he’d never really understood what all the fuss had been about. Now it was his turn and he knew that he’d be grovelling to Scott in a few hours time, begging his forgiveness for all the times he’d teased him about his latest winged crush. He was just as guilty, except his crush had two sleek and sexy foils propping her out of the water like the majestic queen that she was. And he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

The next five minutes had flown by faster than he could track, people had surrounded him on all sides, all yanking and pushing and prodding him into place. One had helped him climb into the cockpit, carefully navigating so as not to knock his helmet on the metal bars of the reinforced frame that would encase him on both sides. Another had buckled him into his seat, bringing the safety straps down over his shoulders and clipping them into the buckle between his legs. Yet another had double checked the air supply to his suit, just in case.

The Navy hadn’t touched hydrofoils for almost a century after they had been deemed too expensive, too unpredictable and of no real use. Now WASP had taken up the challenge.

The project, codenamed Poiseiden, had seen the designing, building and now the testing of the Sea Skimmer hydrofoil, which looked set to be the next shining gem to come out of the experimental watercraft division. 

As long as it worked as it should, there was the potential for it to become a standard vehicle in all branches of WASP before the end of the year, making high speed sea rescues or pursuits all the easier. 

“Did you hear me, Tracy?” the engineer to his left asked again, making him jump.

“Yeah, sorry,” Gordon winced, cursing his lack of attention. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” 

“I’m good, I swear. I was just running a mental checklist and didn’t hear you the first time,” he lied smoothly, refusing to admit that he had been picturing the glory that he’d get from this once the programme was rolled out across the board. This was a career making opportunity and he couldn’t afford to blow it.

“Good,” the man patted the top of Gordon’s helmet affectionately, before bellowing over his shoulder; “Team, roll out!”

The flock of people that had been buzzing around the craft melted away, each person having already completed their specific task or moving to prepare for it, leaving Gordon alone.

His gloved hands flexed on the controls, impatient to get going. The silence around him was broken by the crackle of the radio then the unmistakable sound of a countdown. Thirty seconds to go...twenty...ten...five…

The second clearance was given he was off, easing the boat out of its covered dock and out into WASP’s test harbour. Once he was clear of the floating observation platforms he opened her up, moving her in a graceful figure eight, just letting her glide through the water as he got a feel for the way she handled while gradually increasing speed.

He was five miles per hour off the predicted speed when he felt the first hint of lift, the very thing he had been waiting for. He straightened out, deviating from his previous path to that of a straight line before pushing the throttle a little more. 

As her speed increased so did the lift, the foils doing their job perfectly, raising her hull out of the water, the foils beginning to skim just as they were supposed to. He couldn't help the little woop of excitement that escaped as the bow kept lifting higher and higher. It was only bloody working!

“You’re doing great, Tracy,” the voice over the radio said. “How does she feel?”

“Great, just great,” Gordon replied. “She’s handling like a dream, a little twitchy but nothing terrible. I can feel every little move that the water makes but not like a normal boat, more like when you’re surfing. She’s not plowing through the water, she’s skimming it just as she’s supposed to.”

“How much more can she take?”

Gordon glanced down at the speedometer, registering that she was already at just over two hundred miles per hour.

“Nothing in here, I'd need to take her to the open water.”

“Affirmative, carry on.”

Grinning widely, Gordon steered her straight for the opening that led to the stretch of ocean that was permanently closed to all marine traffic within a hundred and fifty square miles. He heard the safety boat following somewhere behind him but ignored it, they were professionals and would know to keep out of his way, he just had to concentrate on his own driving.

Once he was clear he pushed the throttle forward easing into the last third, ready to push her to her max. He watched as the speedometer readouts climbed ever higher, ten miles, twenty, thirty, she kept going, lifting higher and higher out of the water. He wasn't just feeling it, he could see it, the angle of the horizon line ahead of him changing before his eyes.

“Give her all she’s got, Tracy,” his commander encouraged and Gordon was only too happy to comply. It felt amazing, she was gliding, almost effortlessly, barely skimming the surface of the water as her sleek, aerodynamic foils sliced through all resistance like a hot knife through butter.

“Yes, sir!” 

He pushed the throttle forward that last few millimeters until it could go no more. The engines roared their approval as the numbers continued to tick over edging ever closer to that elusive three hundred mark…

“Yes!” he screamed in triumph as the two rolled into a three. 

“Well done, Tracy!” the voice over the radio praised. “How does she feel?” 

“Like she’s standing still,” Gordon enthused. “It’s effortless, I can barely feel her moving at all. Smooth as silk.”

“Give her one last go around and then start easing back into port.”

“Got it,” Gordon confirmed, moving to do just that.

What happened next was both too quick to register but also felt like it was happening in slow motion. His hand gripped the throttle, starting to ease it back in order to begin deceleration, meaning to execute a large sweeping curve to bring her back around to face port. The handle, which should have moved back as easily as it had moved forward, stayed exactly where it was.

The hydrofil was already coming into the turn and her nose lifted even further, suspending her almost bolt upright for a split second before she left the water completely, shooting up into the air.

She cartwheeled through the air, end over end for three full turns before she came crashing face down into the water. Somewhere during the second tumble Gordon had managed to locate and press the button on the side of the steering wheel that activated the emergency ejector seat. 

He felt the side of his helmet crack against the crumple cage, making his brain rattle in his skull as darkness overcame him.

“Move! Move! Move!” Commander Jennings bellowed as the safety boat he was on rushed to the scene. He could see the pilots seat in the distance, floating in the ocean not far from the wrecked craft. 

His instruments and readouts told him that the safety valves in Gordon’s dry suit had opened, meaning that the suit’s sensors had detected enough ejection force to initiate the rush of air that would fill the suit, acting as both a cushion and a stabilizing force to protect his body as it crashed into the sea like a rag doll. 

The sensors also told him that Gordon was not breathing.

They reached his side in less than a minute, paramedic divers already throwing themselves overboard to reach him before they had come to a complete stop. 

They turned him over, finding a deep crack in his helmet that extended to the visor which was letting in water, filling up the space his head currently occupied. They flipped open the visor, letting the majority of the water drain away, but the hoped for breath was never heard.

A hover stretcher appeared beside them as they released his safety harness and dragged him to the board. He was strapped down and hauled into the boat as quickly as possible.

The second he was aboard they wasted no time in releasing the safety catch on his helmet and removing it as carefully as possible. They knew that they were risking further damage to his neck or spine, its current condition unknown, but getting him breathing was their top priority.

Working in tandem one started rhythmic chest compressions, trying to force the water out of his lungs and air down into them. On the count of thirty the paramedic stopped allowing his partner to seal her mouth over Gordon’s pushing two breaths into his lungs. They waited a beat, eyes searching for any kind of response while another of the team held the medscanner over him, waiting for the verdict. Nothing. 

“Keep going, I’ll get this tube in him,” another ordered as they continued to work. Two rounds of chest compressions and mouth to mouth were completed as they readied the tube, chest compressions continuing as it was inserted.

They worked solidly for more than three minutes until finally, blessedly, the medscanner registered the faintest flicker of life. But it was enough.

-x-

The nurse hadn’t expected the sheer number of people that surged through the doors of her emergency room, all yelling one name and demanding to know what was going on, where he was, to be taken to him, to see his medical records and to talk to his doctor RIGHT THIS MINUTE.

“You can’t all be in here,” she started, trying to instill some kind of order into the chaos that was now clustered around the receptionist, who was blinking like a deer in headlights, unable to form words, her eyes darting from one to the other, trying to decide who to answer first.

“Are you in charge here?” the tallest man demanded to know, his eyes flicking from her face to her name tag, Senior Nurse Sophie Gardner. 

“I am,” she stated calmly, crossing her arms to show she meant business. She’d been on the receiving end of a large number of distressed family members and knew that they would pounce on her the second she showed even the slightest hint of weakness.

“Who are you here to see?”

“Gordon Tracy, he was brought in by air around 90 minutes ago,” Scott told her, trying his hardest not to snap. 

“And you are?”

“His brother.” 

“And the rest? It’s close family only, no friends allowed.”

“His brothers and our grandmother,” Scott answered, daring her to argue.

“All of you are family?”

“Yes! What do you need ID now?” Scott snapped, rapidly losing patience. 

“Can we see my grandson now, please?” Sally asked, inserting herself in front of Scott and into the conversation. 

“Let me just look him up,” Sophie said, moving to the computer to pull up his file. She remembered the state of him when they had brought him in, she had only just come on shift but had been there to do the handover. 

An air ambulance had arrived, landing on the helipad on the roof and he had immediately been rushed through her department, barely giving them time to complete the minimum of observations and take notes before he had been whisked away again. It wasn’t unusual, they were one of the most advanced military hospitals in the country, they were used to life or death cases. 

She could picture him, lying on the stretcher, strapped to a board, his uniform suit cut to ribbons both from scissors and from whatever had happened to him to cause so much damage. He was instantly fast tracked through her department and rushed on to the surgical team for scans and treatment. 

Now Sophie was faced with his scared and demanding family and it looked like it would be falling to her to deliver some of the bad news.

“He’s being prepped for surgery, he might even be in by now. The full extent of his injuries aren’t known but I can promise you we’re doing our best.”

“When can we see him?” Virgil asked, butting in for the first time, leaving John to continue texting Kayo who had stayed behind with Alan. Alan had not been happy with that decision, but the others had stood firm. They didn’t know what they were going to find when they got there, what state their brother would be in and the youngest didn’t need to see anything that would be hard for him to forget. Scott had tried to impose the same restriction on Sally but had quickly given up, knowing it had been a lost cause before he had even started.

“When he’s out of surgery and stable,” Sophie replied kindly, knowing that they didn’t mean to be so forceful and demanding, she wasn’t going to take it personally just yet. “If you’ll all follow me I’ll take you to the relatives room where you can wait for news, I’ll let the surgeons know that you’re here but I’m afraid you might be in for a long wait.”

“Waiting won’t be a problem,” Scott assured her as they stalked down the corridor after her.

It was a silent party that sat in that room all night long, sat for more than nine hours as their little brother underwent one gruelling surgery after another, the first of many trips into the theater that he would undergo over the next few days, or so they had been told.

The member of the surgical team, who had been called in to talk to them, had been kind and very sympathetic as he had delivered the crushing news, revealing the full extent of Grodon’s injuries. Each one more horrific than the last.

The immediate concern was his ruptured spleen, lacerated liver, punctured lung and depressed skull fracture. The plan was, if the current surgeries he was undergoing went well, to keep him in a medically induced coma as soon as he was out of surgery, give his body at least 24 hours to rest and strengthen before taking him back in to deal with the numerous fractures he had sustained.

Among those fractures were a broken nose, broken arm, a fractured wrist, a broken leg, fractured pelvis, numerous broken ribs and, most worrying of all was the two cracked vertebrae in his neck, two herniated discs and the pulled muscles that went along with them.

If the operations to fix and stabilize those broken bones went well, then he would be passed to the cosmetic surgery team who would do what they could for the deep lacerations that littered his skin, friction burns and the removal of any foreign objects that had entered his body due to flying shrapnel.

The nurse had kindly sent a porter in with hot drinks and sandwiches for them once the doctor had left but they remained untouched, none of them able to stomach the thought of eating. All they could do was watch the clock, counting down the minutes and, for some, praying to anyone they thought would listen. They bargained, they made promises, everything that could possibly help.

They had lost too many people in their family already, their grandfather and mother on the same day, their mothers parents a few years later and then, most recently, their father. The thought of losing another person, one so integral to their lives, was too horrible to even contemplate.

“He’ll be fine,” Scott said out loud, feeling the need to break the silence, knowing exactly what his family were thinking because he’d undoubtedly been having the same thoughts. “It’s Gordon, nothing keeps him down for long.”

“He’s made it this far,” John agreed. “I saw the report on the hydrofoil and-”

“Wait, how did you see that?” Virgil asked, happy to be distracted.

“I...well...I have my ways,” John stammered, his face slightly flushed, refusing to look at them.

“John?” Scott’s tone said it all.

John sighed defeately. “I wanted to know exactly what happened, I might have hacked into the accident report that WASP submitted an hour ago.”

“I can’t believe you did that!” Virgil groaned. Honestly, John was supposed to be the brother that he didn’t worry about, because it obviously wasn’t Gordon or Scott.

“I can,” Scott said, glaring at his younger brother who stared right back, undeterred by the look that had had many a young air force recruit shaking at the knees. 

“Are you telling me you don’t want to read it?” John asked innocently, waving his phone temptingly in his brother's direction.

“No, of course not, that’s highly illegal and-”

John wiggled the phone one last time.

“Give it here,” Scott growled, leaning over to snatch the phone. “Just to see if there is anything we can blame them for.”

“Of course,” John agreed placidly. “That was the only reason I looked.”

Virgil tried to hold in the small snort of laughter that bubbled up, feeling that it would be highly inappropriate, but his grandmother caught his eye, smiling softly.

Sally reached for one of the now cold cups of coffee that had been provided and, as always taking their cues from her, Virgil did the same.

“Eat up, boys,” Sally instructed, nodding to the plates of sandwiches. “When that boy comes through, and I’ve no doubt that he will, he’s going to need our strength. He’ll have a lot to deal with and we’re going to be there for him.”

“Yes, Grandma,” they agreed, dutifully reaching for a sandwich each. She was right, their brother was a fighter, he was a Tracy after all, there was no way on this earth or beyond that he would let something like this take him out.

-x-

The first thing Gordon noticed when he regained consciousness was the fact that his mouth was so dry his tongue felt like the inside of a hamster cage and he couldn’t seem to work up any spit. He concentrated hard and tried to swallow a couple of times but something was stopping him. 

He tried to lift his arm to touch his mouth but that one tiny movement was enough to wake up his body as well as his mind. Pain the likes of which he had never felt before engulfed him from head to toe, not one part of him seemed to be free of it. Even his eyeballs hurt. He couldn’t help the little whimper that escaped his nose and, when he tried to speak, to call out for any kind of help at all, he was once again hampered.

“Hey, hey, you’re OK, just calm down for a second, let me get a doctor,” someone said, their voice soothing and gentle, as was the cool hand they placed on his forehead. A buzzer sounded somewhere nearby and he forced his eyes open to see what was happening.

“Try not to talk or move,” said a new voice that was accompanied by a blurry face. “You were in an accident and you’re in hospital. You’ve been through a lot but you’re responding really well, you’ve got a breathing tube but your lungs seem to be working fine so just sit tight for a few minutes and we’ll see about getting that out for you.”

Gordon allowed himself to relax as best he could as the first person to have spoken returned.

“Are you feeling any pain?”

He nodded as best he could with what felt like a neck brace holding him still and even that little movement hurt. How could something as simple as moving his head take so much energy? How could it be such an effort?

“I’ll just give your epidural a little top up, you’ll soon feel better. We had to reduce your medication a little to bring you round and it's always a bit of a balancing act to get the right amount to keep someone comfortable.”

He, Gordon could tell it was a male now, was as good as his word and soon the aching in his body dulled from a screaming roar to a low rumble, far more manageable than it had been before.

“I’m Doctor Clark,” another new voice announced, introducing himself. “I was your surgeon and I’m here to see about getting that tube out of you, but I need to just check you over first, is that alright? Don’t try to nod, just lift your hand or even a finger if that’s all you can do.”

Gordon tried to nod anyway but gave up and commanded his right hand to move, finding it a little easier now that he could barely feel it. The doctor could do whatever he needed to, as long as he got that damn tube out of him and let him have a drink.

Dr Clark checked the readouts, made him breathe deeply a number of times, listened to his chest and, after attaching a suction device to the end of his tube, made him cough a few times to clear his lungs, then listened to his chest again. 

“OK, you’re sounding good, can you just open your mouth for me?” 

Gordon did as he was told and the doctor suctioned away with little moisture he’d managed to produce with his coughing, cut away the tape holding the tube in place and took hold of the end.

“I’m just going to deflate the air cuff inside, you might feel a small easing of pressure but don’t worry if you can’t.”

Gordon felt nothing but assumed that the doctor had done as he said he would.

“I need you to take two deep breaths for me and then when I tell you, I need you to give me a couple of good coughs, can you do that?”

Gordon attempted a thumbs up as nodding or moving his head much was making him dizzy, but he couldn’t move enough to do so and had to settle for just a brief one finger lift.

“Alright, deep breaths, one...and two...and now cough, nice big cough…”

As Gordon coughed the doctor tugged gently on the tube. He felt it slide up his throat, hitting his tonsils on the way out, making him gag and cough as he fought to keep calm. 

“All done,” the doctor praised, and immediately an oxygen mask was slapped over his nose and mouth, easing his breathing just a little. “You did good, how do you feel?”

Gordon tried to swallow, to speak but his throat felt like it was on fire and all he could do was croak. 

“Mouth dry?” 

He coughed again, wincing at the pain in his throat. 

“We can’t let you drink yet, but we can try to make you a little more comfortable.”

The nurse took his mask off again and inserted something wet into his mouth which she swirled around, coating the inside of his mouth. It felt horrible, like a wet slug rolling around in there, but it at least gave his parched tongue a little relief, although it was nowhere near enough.

“What happened?” he rasped after clearing his throat a few times and drinking a little more.

“You’ve been in an accident, but you’re safe now,” Dr Clark told him.

Gordon frowned, although the action made his head hurt. “Was I...mission?” He must have been doing something, there was no way he could have any kind of accident of this magnitude on his island home with his family present… his thoughts skidded to a halt.

“Family?” he managed to whisper, his eyes darting around the room. Had something happened to them?  Had they been in a plane somewhere?

“They are all in the relatives room, waiting for you to wake up,” the nurse told him.

“They...OK?”

“Yes, they weren’t involved,” the nurse answered, obviously used to the way that patients' minds could work. Gordon closed his eyes, relaxing now that he knew his family were safe. That meant that he must have been doing something with his unit.

“Team?” he rasped.

“I’m sorry?” the nurse obviously couldn’t decipher that one.

“My team...hurt?”

“Oh, no, it was just you.”

That gave him a little peace of mind, knowing that no one else had been hurt, but that still begged the question of what the hell had he been up to?

“What happened...to me?

“Some kind of boat crash,” Dr Clark explained, looking up from the notes he was adding to the tablet at the end of his bed. “I didn’t ask too many details, I just got to work. I patch up people, not machinery.”

“Boat?” 

“Yes,” the doctor nodded. “I hear your family are rather anxious to see you, would you feel up to seeing one of them?”

Gordon nodded as hard as he was able, even though he’d been told not to. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to see a familiar face.

-x-

“He’s awake,” the nurse told the waiting Tracys who had become an almost permanent fixture in the relatives room over the last ten days. Sometimes there would be just one of them, more often than not only two, but now there were six of them waiting with baited breath to find out the news.

A sigh of relief rippled around the room as they all let out the breaths they had been holding.

“Can we see him?”

“Is he talking?”

“Does he remember anything?”

The questions came thick and fast as they often did. Grace had gotten used to one or more of them popping up without any notice and demanding information. They had managed to pull some major strings and gotten hold of his medical records, how she did not know, and had sat there poring over them until they knew as much about his case and treatment as she did. The grandmother, it transpired, was a retired surgeon that still kept her hand in now and then, and so she had taken it upon herself to pelt them with questions on an hourly basis when she was there.

“Yes, you can see him,” Grace started, picking the easiest question to answer, clearing her throat to get their attention back when they broke out in excited chattering. “But only one at a time. He’s been through an ordeal and he’s not strong enough to deal with too much excitement.”

“Only one?” Virgil asked.

“Yes, just one,” Grace insisted, giving them that look they referred to as her matron glare. 

They argued back and forth for a few moments, something she’d noticed they did a lot, before coming to their decision. 

Grace led Mrs Tracy into the private room where her Grandson rested. In the brief time that she had been gone it seemed that Gordon had drifted off to sleep again, something that would happen quite often over the next few days as his body rested and the drugs that were keeping him pain free did their job.

“I’ll just sit here and wait,” Sally told Grace, using the same no nonsense tone that Grace herself used with difficult patients and she knew it would be useless to argue.

“I’ll get you a chair,” Grace said, giving in gracefully.

“Thank you, dear.” 

-x-

Gordon didn’t know how long he’d slept for, or if he’d even slept at all. His mind was fuzzier than his first hangover and he had no clue if it was night or day. There were no curtains open in the room he was in, no hint of an outside world, just the clinical bleakness of the white ceiling and the ever present beeping of the machines monitoring him.

Thankfully he was still floating on a blissfully cloud of oblivion, feeling detached from every part of his body, like it didn’t even belong to him. He coughed to clear his throat, his mouth feeling ever so dry once again.

He tried to turn his head, to lift his arm to reach for the glass of wet swabs that had been there earlier, but another hand beat him to it, it’s arm encased in a familiar purple velour fabric.

“Gr-grandma?”

“Right here, son” she said softly, aware that he might not appreciate her speaking too loudly. She nodded for him to open his mouth and with practiced ease, swirled his weird water lollipop around his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

“Better?” she asked. “Had enough for now?” Seeing his small nod she set the glass aside and turned back to face him. “You had us all very worried, young man.”

“Sorry,” he rasped, wincing when it hurt his throat. “What...ha-happened? They said...boat.”

“You don’t remember? Nothing at all?”

“No.”

“You were test driving the new hydrofoil for the experiential watercrafts division.”

“I was?” he paused to cough, the action pulling at his chest, a sharp stabbing pain shooting through him from his ribs and abused lung. “Guess I didn’t do too well with it, huh?” 

“I’m sure it wasn’t anything you did,” she assured him.

“How long was I out?” he asked. The more he was talking the easier it was getting, although his throat still felt like he’d been swallowing razor blades. He must have been asleep a good few hours to feel this weak and woosey.

Sally took a deep breath before delivering the news. “Sweetheart, you were in a coma for ten days.”

Gordon blinked, unable to fully comprehend what she had just said.

“Ten...ten days?” How badly had he been hurt? He tried to lift his head, tried to look down at his body to assess the damage. A gentle hand on his chest stopped him from straining too much, but not before he registered the fact that both of his arms were in casts, so too was his leg and, now that he wiggled, he could feel something like a large stiff belt around his stomach and between his legs. His eyes widened in shock, his eyes darting down to his midsection, his face turning white with fright when he saw the bandages. Had...had something happened to little Gordon? Oh God, please say no!

“How bad?” he demanded to know and, although his voice was shaking, Sally knew he needed to hear the truth. Knowing it would be better coming from her she didn’t mince her words, quickly and clinically rattling off his list of injuries and the treatments he’d had so far.

“Quick bone fusion for the right arm, left wrist and left leg. They reset your nose at the same time. Your pelvis wasn’t as badly damaged as they had feared and didn’t need pinning, just a little lasering, though it is immobilised for no-”

“Just my pelvis? Nothing...else?” he winced, not wanting to talk about such things to his grandma but needing to know all the same.

“Just your pelvis,” she assured him with a knowing smile. 

“What else?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief at the news that he was still whole...down stairs.

“They repaired the torn ligaments in your shoulder, have immobilised your neck due to two cervical fractures of the vertebrae-”

“That’s not...I’m not...can I walk?” he tried to wiggle his toes and thought he felt movement but he couldn’t see to be sure.

“It’s not paralysing, no. No damage from that at all.”

“What else?”

“Apart from the fractures you’ve got two herniated discs and pulled muscles there too.”

Gordon gestured with one finger for her to continue.

“You’ve got a number of cracked ribs from the CPR-”

“CPR?” 

“You hit the water face down, from what we were told it was due to your helmet filling up from a crack in the visor.”

“So I basically drowned out there?”

Sally nodded, keeping her eyes focused on his. With anyone else she would have fudged a little, maybe broken it to them a little more gently and eased them in. But Gordon was, first and foremost, a Tracy, and they liked the facts, all of them, because that made it easier to fight back. And she had zero doubts that he would do just that.

Gordon took a deep breath trying to wrap his head around all the information she was laying out for him. He’d taken it all in so far, like it was happening to someone else, but that, the knowledge that he could have lost his life to the thing he loved most, the sea...well that was just too hard to think about.

“And the rest?” he asked, wanting to know all there was, no nasty surprises in his future.

“Depressed skull fracture, fractured eye socket that will heal on its own, punctured lung from your ribs and the CPR, a particle splenectomy from a reputed spleen and a repaired liver laceration. You’ve also had a number of stautures and some skin grafts already but I’m afraid you might still need more.”

“Is that all? One more stamp and I could have gotten a free cup of coffee.”

Sally didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry when he made such a bad, but totally Gordon, attempt at a joke. There had been a moment, during that long, long first day of his accident, that she had honestly thought that she might never hear his voice again, let alone have him cracking a joke less than four hours after waking from a coma. It was more than she had ever dared to dream but she knew from experience that, when it came to her grandsons, nothing was impossible.

A noise near the door made them both glance over. The sight of Scott’s face pressed against the window greeted them.

“I guess I’m popular today.”

“Yeah, I guess you are,” Sally agreed. “I could do with stretching my legs, so I’ll let him in. He's  been waiting a long time.”

-x-

A steady stream of family trickled in one after the other to see their miracle sibling, but soon he was yawning, dropping off midconversation and when the nurses had their shift change the Tracys were ushered out and told to come back the next day.

Now he was sitting there, alone, unable to get up, unable to do anything to amuse himself, left alone with his thoughts. As was so often the way, he’d been tired and napping on and off while his family had been there, but the moment they had left he’d developed some kind of second wind energy rush and was now wide awake.

He tried closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep, he’d tried counting sky squids like his mother had told him to do as a child, he’d tried thinking about the most boring of Brains’ lectures, but nothing had worked.

Everytime he tried to focus on boring things or to clear his mind in order to relax, his brain insisted on replaying back the information that Grandma had given him. 

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that he was lucky to even be alive after a wreck like he’d had. He’d forced John and Scott, against their better judgement, to tell him all they knew about the accident. He’d needed to know. He needed it to try to remember exactly what it was that had happened to him and how it had gone so wrong.

The lack of memories was disturbing, to know that something had gone wrong, horrendously wrong but to have no recollection of it, it was beyond frustrating. He had a body that was effectively broken, one that, according to his doctor, would take upwards of a year to fully heal from, if such a thing was even possible. He’d been warned, as had they all, that the likelihood of him having complications was all too real and that he had better prepare himself for it.

It wasn’t just the things that he had been told and the prospect of months of painful rehabilitation that was weighing heavily on his mind, it was the thing that no one had spoken of. It was the fact that he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his career, the one that he had worked so hard to achieve, would be over.

Oh, he’d get an honourable discharge on medical grounds. But he'd be leaving in a whisper rather than the blaze of glory that his father and then his brother had done before him. He’d been on track for greatness, just as they had. He’d been the stand out star of his recruitment year, his olympic training and subsequent fitness levels and endurance had given him a fantastic platform from which to dive in with. He’d quickly risen up the ranks, making a name for himself as one of youngest but brightest in his class.

His desire to learn as well as his passion for marine biology and conservation had led to him taking a slightly different path to his fellow recruits. Many had passed on the offer, thinking it too boring but he had jumped at the chance to spend a year in command of his own bathescape studying underwater farming methods with a small but dedicated crew that had quickly become like family to him. 

Any emergency at that depth could have the potential to turn into a matter of life or death and, when one of their generators had malfunctioned, taking along with it half their air filtration works, putting strain on the remaining one, they had found themselves plunged into just such a situation.

He’d had to think fast and stay calm. They had pulled up the schematics and managed to bypass the fault on a temporary basis while waiting for a supply of spare parts to be delivered. He had led his team well, he had kept them from panicking and kept the mission on track. And, in doing so, saved the research grant budget the expense of failing and having to surface to try again the next year when the migration season started again.

His determination, dedication, resourcefulness and persistence had been noted, along with his ability to stay calm under pressure. It had gained him a promotion and fast tracked his offer to join the team on the experimental watercraft division, something he’d always dreamed of. 

Now it seemed that that dream had well and truly come back to bite him on the ass in the form of the hydrofoil that had apparently just wrecked all his hopes for the future in one fell swoop. What was the point of anything anymore?

A wave of hopelessness washed over him like a tidal wave, stealing his breath and the last of his control. The brave face he’d been holding on to all day while in the presence of his family faded away, giving way to heartbroken tears.

“Why?” he asked out loud to no one in particular, was he talking to God, to whatever guardian angel that had been by his side that day or to whatever sick twisted fate it was that had chosen him to pick on. “Why did you let me live?”

-x-

“It’s been a week and he’s barely made any progress,” Scott sighed to John as they walked the short distance to Gordon’s room in the recovery wing from the roof where they had been given permission to land. 

They were the ones on shift for today's stint of what they were all secretly calling ‘Squid Watch’. Now that he was out of immediate danger they had given up the hotel rooms they had occupied for the first two weeks and had begun commuting from the island for the designated visiting hours. They had learnt that the freedom to come and go as they pleased and to stay for long portions of the day had gone once Gordon had been moved from the ICU to the more cheerful surrounds of the high dependency ward.

“Still?” 

Scott nodded. “Nurse Donna told Virgil that he was barely eating, just enough to stave off the threat of another tube down his nose, he hasn’t even attempted any of the bed bound exercises he’s been given and he’s refusing to see the Physio to discuss his long term plans.”

“Stubborn brat,” John huffed.

“Well, he is a Tracy,” Scott shrugged, unable to do much else. “You know that nothing can make us do something we don’t want to.”

“Then we have to make him want to,” John replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, right,” Scott scoffed. “We’ll just walk right on in as normal and say ‘Hey, Gordo, we know that your life as you knew it is basically over but hey, you’re still here. I mean, you can’t do anything you want to and you’re stuck in that bed for God knows how long but eat up your greens, there’s a good boy.’ That’ll go down real well.”

“Obviously we won’t say that,” John scowled, his tone telling Scott that he was being as much of an idiot as Gordon at that moment in time. “It’s obvious that he’s lost his drive, he’s feeling hopeless, which is perfectly understandable.”

“Yes,” Scott sighed, “it is.”

“So we need to give him something to bring him hope, something to work hard for.”

“You’d think the thought of walking again would be enough for him.”

“Would it be for you?” John asked quietly. “Think about it. If you had crashed one of those jets you tested, and you had ended up as hurt as he is, or worse, and you were looking down a long tunnel to an unknown future, one that very likely, won’t match up to the one you had mapped out in your head, would you have any desire to move towards it?”

Scott opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again without speaking. He wanted to say yes, of course he would, because any future was better than not having one. But he tried hard to never lie to himself or his family. 

“Probably not,” he admitted quietly. It was true, if he had crashed and was facing the prospect of never flying again, of never seeing the ground vanishing beneath him as he soared up through the clouds into a brilliant blue sky, he would find it hard to accept it and carry on.

“So we need to show him what he’s missing,” John continued. ��I think we need to show him the Silverfin.”

Scott sucked in a breath, letting it out through pursed lips in a long whistle.

“That's risky.”

“I know.”

“It could seriously backfire, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware of that fact, yes.”

“Because if he sees it, if he listens to our plans and then ends up unable to join in as he’d want, that could make things even worse for him.”

“I know. But, as you just said, he’s a Tracy.”

“It could be the push he needs,” Scott conceded.

“It will be the push he needs,” John promised. “We know him, we know that he can do anything he puts his mind to.”

“He’s stronger than he thinks,” Scott agreed. “Stronger than any of us give him credit for. Look at how much he’s achieved in what, just over two years in WASP? He’s done more in his career than many could ever dream of let alone hope to achieve.”

“He has,” John started walking again and Scott had no choice but to follow along or get left behind. You didn’t argue with John when he was on a mission.

“You heard Grandma, this is the most crucial part of his recovery,”John continued, assuming correctly that Scott would keep up with him. “The first steps. This is make or break time. His injuries are severe, yes, but not hopeless, not by a long shot. People have recovered from worse, he just needs to push himself to do it. It doesn’t matter how well they put him back together if he doesn’t work on holding it all in place.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am,” John shrugged, no hint of boasting in his tone, just John saying the facts as he saw them.

“Yeah, right,” Scott laughed, because he was his brother and everyone knew that you didn’t ever admit to your younger siblings being right more than once in a week if you could help it. “We’re really going to do this?”

“I don’t see that we have a choice.”

Gordon was lying down in bed when they walked in, not too unexpected given the circumstances, it wasn’t like they had been expecting to see him doing much at all, but they had hoped he’d at least be sitting up since the doctor’s had cleared him for gentle movements.

“Hey, Squid boy,” Scott greeted as cheerfully as he could. “How you doing today?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy, I took a little trip to the beach, caught some waves and then I decided I needed a nap,” Gordon drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “What are you two doing here, anyway?”

“We told you we’d be coming,” John answered, picking up the tablet from its holder at the end of Gordon’s bed to study it.

“And I told you not to brother, it’s not like I’m the most entertaining company at the moment and I don’t feel like having visitors,” Gordon closed his eyes again, intending on ignoring them until they went away.

“Have you eaten much today?” Scott asked, ignoring his brother’s blatant dismissal of them.

“Yes.”

“It says here you refused breakfast, you only had a yogurt for lunch and didn’t complete your order form for your evening meal,” John told him, while busily flicking through the notes.

“Hey!” Gordon opened his eyes again to glare at his brother. “Do you mind? That’s my private medical records, it’s none of your business.”

“Of course it is.” John finished his reading and returned the tablet to its rightful spot.

“Gordo, you have to eat,” Scott sighed, sinking into one of the visitor's chairs that sat beside the bed. “How can you expect to get your strength back if you aren’t fueling your body properly?”

“It’s not like I could do anything with the strength if I had it,” Gordon growled out. “I’m stuck in this bed for the foreseeable future. So tell me, oh great and powerful, Scott, just what do I need to do anything for?”

John glanced at Scott, who nodded, answering the unspoken question. Time to enact their plan. He shrugged off his backpack and opened it, pulling out his tablet. With a few quick swipes he found what he was looking for and held it up for Gordon to see.

“What’s that?”

“Our secret project,” Scott told him.

“I can’t see it from there, bring it closer.”

“No,” John stayed right where he was at the foot of the bed. “Sit up and look for yourself.”

Gordon huffed and stubbornly stayed horizontal, but his eyes kept straying to the tablet. He could barely see it, but what he could see looked vaguely familiar. Curiosity and just a touch of boredom won out.

He fumbled with the bed controls, located the remote and pushed the button to lift the head of the bed until he was brought to a sitting position.

“There, happy? Now let me see it.”

John moved closer and offered the tablet.

Gordon automatically reached out for it with his left hand, forgetting that it was encased in an air cast due to the fractured wrist. Growling in frustration he tried again with the right and took the tablet. Unable to hold it with only one hand he lifted his ‘good’ leg which, although unbroken, was covered in bruising, none of which made it an easy task but eventually he was able to prop the tablet against his thigh and scroll with his right hand.

His eyes widened as he took in the images displayed there.

“This is a Silverfin, isn't it?”

“Yep,” Scott grinned.

“But WASP didn’t continue the development, they deemed them too small and slow to be of any use and decided to focus on the Stingray.”

“We know, but Brains saw the potential in her that they didn’t. She might not have been of any use for patrolling the seas but for moving around them like we’d need, she’d be perfect.”

“He’s adapting her?” Gordon’s eyes scanned the pictures, the first one showing the Silverfin in her original form, half completed and scrapped, the funding and enthusiasm for her having dried up. The second showed her to clearly be in some kind of dry dock that was being used as a workshop. She’d been stripped back to little more than a shell, some engine parts and a turbine or two. The third and last pictures showed what looked to be new panels being test fitted and an adapted nose cone. Instead of the elongated nose she’d had originally there sat the cutest little snub nose he’d ever seen, reminding him of an upturned pigs snout.

"With Virgil's help, yes," John said. 

"Why? Has he decided to branch out into contract work now that the work on the space station is almost complete?" 

"Nope," John answered. 

“Then what's this for?” he couldn’t help but ask, his eyes feasting on every little detail he could see. She was barely anything at the moment, but damn she could be beautiful if she was given the love and attention she had always deserved.

“For you,” Scott said quietly. John had been right, the way that Gordon had gone from apathy to interest in a matter of seconds was proof of that.

“Me?” Gordon scoffed. Even though his brother's tone had been completely serious he still couldn't believe it wasn't some kind of sick joke. “You’d need a pretty big bathtub to float her in, because that's the only kind of boat I’ll ever be around again.”

“With that attitude it will,” John said mildly, taking the second seat next to Scott. 

“So do something about it,” Scott pushed. “Look at her, just look.” He stabbed a finger at the screen. “That there will be the next in our fleet, and she’ll need a pilot.”

“Me? You seriously think I’d ever be able to do anything like that, while I’m like this? You’re crazy.” Gordon pushed the tablet away, not wanting to look at it any more. That was the unobtainable right there. That was yet another reminder of what could have been but never would.

“No, not while you’re like that,” Scott sighed, sounding defeated even to his own ears. 

“So do something about it,” John said curtly. “It’s your choice, we're just hoping you make the right one.” Without saying anything else he took the tablet and placed it on the bedside table. “Come on, Scott, let’s go and get a coffee before we head home.”

Scott looked from Gordon to John, taking in the frustration and sadness on one and then the calm dismissive demeanor of the other as John turned to the door.

"I told you it wasn't worth you coming," Gordon sneered, lowering the bed again. 

"You're always worth it," Scott promised him before following John out the door. 

The fast food restaurant just offsite wasn't the best and the coffee was far below their usual standards but it was welcome after the day they had had. 

Scott and Virgil had been called out early in the morning and their relatively simple rescue had turned out to be far more complicated than they had anticipated. When they had returned they were tired, filthy and aching all over. Scott had come straight from the shower, leaving Kayo on call with Virgil, and he and John had left for the hospital. 

Now their attempts at motivating their little brother had fallen flatter than one of Grandma's cakes and they were both feeling like they had done more harm than good. 

"Did we just screw up?" Scott asked quietly, playing with the rim of his cup but not making any move to drink from it. 

"Possibly," John sighed, sipping his own drink and making a face at the taste. "Only time will tell. We've done our best, it's up to him now. He's the only one that can decide if he's going to fight or give up entirely."

They lapsed into silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It had been so hard the first time they had walked in to see Gordon after his first life saving operation. His face had been a puffy, bruised mess from his broken nose and fractured eye socket, his eyes almost swollen shut.

He'd had a bandage around his head where they had shaved off some of his hair to examine his skull fracture and close the wound there. Both of his arms and one of his legs  in air casts to keep them stable until the next day and his torso a mass of bandages and blood tinged gauze from a combination of lacerations and the two operation sites from fixing his spleen and liver. 

He'd looked so small, not in stature maybe, but in energy, his aura if you will. So still and so quiet, something that Gordon only ever was when he was asleep, and that didn't happen very often with his tendency of mumbling in his sleep and turning a full rotation of the bed in a single night.

Then he had been silent, the only sound was the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the whoosh, hiss of the machine that was providing him with oxygen and regulating his breathing as he slept the deep sleep of the heavily sedated. 

Over the next few days they had sat in the relatives room and prayed every time his tired body had undergone yet another operation, the surgeons doing all they could to fix his body for him. 

Now they were hoping and praying that his mind could be fixed too. 

"What was that?" Scott said when a beep broke the quiet, clearly looking for a distraction. 

"My phone," John answered, pulling it out to check it. 

"Who is it?" Scott asked, seeing the confused expression on his brother's face. 

"I apparently sent myself an email."

"Huh?"

The confusion quickly morphed into a wide smile as John's eyes scanned the words. 

"It was sent from my tablet."

"And?"

"It reads 'Bring me up a burger and fries when you've finished your coffees, then you can tell me more about this Silverfin."

-x-

The walk down to the hangars had never seemed to take as long as it was now. He knew it was down there, but he’d been banned from seeing anything of it since those first four pictures. It was supposed to be a surprise. 

He’d tried to sneak in numerous times, he’d tried to hack into the files, he’d tried bribery, guilt tripping and sulking but nothing had worked. 

He couldn't say that he minded, not really, because he knew it was there. He'd known that somewhere deep below their villa, in the center of their island, his baby had been taking shape. He’d not been allowed any input in the shape, the visuals or anything else to do with her design, but her functions, that he’d been allowed to have a say in. 

Brains had spent countless hours on video calls with him, discussing everything that Gordon insisted his craft needed, from her dry tubes to her mechanical arms, the type of sonar she was using to the consoles and onboard technology. And he just knew she would be spectacular. WASP might have their Stingray, but he’d have his little Thunderbird, now dubbed Thunderbird Four after John’s space station had been upgraded and become a fully fledged craft itself, going from a stationary satellite to a fully maneuverable ship.

Sometimes the thought of his girl taking shape, waiting for him, had been the only thing keeping him going through his painful, exhausting and sometimes seemingly hopeless recovery process. 

It hadn’t been easy, on either his mind or his body and he wasn't ashamed to admit that, for a significant portion of that time, he had been the worst patient ever. Once the initial excitement of the Silverfin development had worn off and he had been staring down the long tunnel of recovery to his still quite uncertain future, he'd had times where he hadn’t been sure that it was possible to regain even half of his previous physicality, let alone get back to the full strength that would be needed to be of any use to International Rescue.

He didn’t want to be a dead weight to his family, he didn’t want them to be picking up the slack of his inadequacies, to spend more of their time rescuing his ass than the people they were trying to help.

Depression wasn’t something he had ever considered as a possibility in his life. He was the upbeat one, the one that kept the spirits up of those around him, so to not even be able to rise a smile for himself…let’s just say that there had been some very dark moments over his long months of recovery where he had not recognised himself and hadn’t been sure that there would ever be a time when he felt happy again.

He’d wanted to give up, he’d been so close to it so many times, yet somewhere, buried deep inside, covered in dust and rust, nestled a tiny nugget of steely determination. He’d found that nugget and chipped away at its bonds, had polished it and nurtured it as best he could until finally he had succeeded.

His recovery list had been almost as extensive as his injuries. He’d undergone all the common therapies such as targeted physiotherapy, smaller follow on surgeries, several aborted attempts at hydrotherapy and a rather surprising foray into hippotherapy, along with daily strengthening exercises. 

But all of that had been just about bearable, physical pain and endurance was almost second nature to him, it was the mental side that had been the hardest to push past. Slowly, slowly, day by day he had become physically stronger while growing mentally weaker.

The more his body healed, the longer he was out of hospital, the more of his memories he'd regained, and with them came the darkness. Counselling had been arranged, PTSD had been diagnosed and he’d faced yet another uphill battle to rediscover the person he truly was.

He sighed, stopping for a moment to rest before he entered the hangar itself. Could he honestly say that he felt like himself again? The answer was no. No one could go through the trauma that he had suffered and not change in some way or another. No one could face death head on, shake it by the hand, politely decline its invitation and still be one hundred present themselves.

You need to find your new normal, you need to find yourself again. That had been the words that his third therapist had told him. Joel had been the only therapist he had clicked with, the only one that truly seemed to understand him and the way his brain worked, that or he was the only one to have bothered trying.

Finding your new normal, giving yourself permission to change, adapt and accept that something horrific had happened to you and that you would come out the other side a different person to the one that had gone in, that was to be expected. Joel had helped him see that, along with his family, friends and the medical staff that had supported him on his long, winding journey.

He’d gotten a little lost along the way a time or two, he’d back tracked, stopped to rest and had to drag himself back to his feet more times that he could count. But he’d done it. He hadn’t given up no matter how many times he had wanted to, no matter how many times he had been tempted to just roll over and let life continue to screw him over.

This was it, the moment of truth, the moment where he would sink or swim, the moment where he would decide once and for all if all his hard work had been worth it.

He took a deep breath and rounded the corner, leaving the shelter and protection of the tunnel corridor behind him, stepping into the hangars for the first time since he’d left the island 18 months ago, after his annual leave, preparing to return to WASP. 18 months that could be broken down into two months in the testing division, four months in hospital and twelve gruelling months of recovery. All leading up to this moment.

He walked in, Alan, Scott and John moving in formation to flank him, solid and dependable, as they had always been. They continued the distance as one, a close knit group that he knew would always have his back. The only one missing was Virgil.

“You ready, little bro?” on cue the booming bass of his brother’s voice came over the external speakers of Two to fill the hangar.

Knowing Virgil wouldn’t be able to hear him he settled for a double thumbs up. He was practically vibrating with anticipation, having to fight the urge to bounce up and down in excitement. 

He heard the mechanical whirring as Two began her assent, lifting up on her support struts to reveal the door to the module, one that was painted with a big, white number Four. Slowly, almost as if it were happening in slow motion, the door lowered, creating the ramp way that the pod vehicles would descend. 

His breath caught in his throat as the inside lights of the module turned on, revealing its contents. 

“It’s...she’s....so yellow,” he stuttered, unable to think of anything else to say. There she was, his little bird, painted a bright, cheery yellow, her fin sticking bolt upright like a happy tail. The same little snub nose that had so enchanted him was now fitted out with high powered lights that would allow him to see in the darkest of depths. She was bright, she was gorgeous, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She was…

“Perfect,” he breathed. 

He couldn’t look away, not to take in the happy and somewhat relieved smiles on his siblings faces, not to look at Brains who seemed to have magically materialised by his side to start giving him a technical rundown, not for anything. 

Nothing could compare to this. 

“So, was she worth it?” Scott asked as Gordon reached out to lovingly stroke the curved perfection of one engine.

Gordon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The past year might have been the worst of his life, he knew that he would carry those memories with him forever, that he would continue to dream of waking up in that hospital bed again. He knew that things would never be the same for him, he was forever changed but, out of the darkness of his worst memories there was his little sub of hope.

“This is the best day of my life,” he sighed to himself as he settled in her seat, feeling the way it seemed to mould to his body with his exact specifications. This feeling right here, this made it all worth it. And he knew that one day in the not too distant future someone out there would see a flash of bright yellow in the darkness and know that same feeling of hope. They would know that help was on the way. 

Because that's what International Rescue did, they defied the odds, they did the impossible and they never gave up.

[imagineaworlds]

When the World Stopped -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Smoking tobacco. Mentions of underage drinking. Allusion to the use and trade of drugs.

Pairing: Young!Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 2028

When I first saw him, he was hiding behind the school with his friends, passing around a few cigarettes. While they were certainly hiding from the public eye, they weren’t exactly under cover from anyone like myself who would happen upon them. I mean, their whole operation was out in the open. They weren’t even that good at exchanging the sticks and the lighters in their palms without being obvious about it. The least they could have done was use the shed out on the far off baseball field as cover. But, nope. They were right there, sitting on a bench, lighting up for anyone to see.

I guess I shouldn’t have been exactly surprised, either. The kind of crowd he ran in wasn’t exactly breeding valedictorians. Most of them probably saw themselves winding up in prison or a grave six feet under for their ten years after high school plan. They were the kind of kids who were totally nonchalant about school and socializing. It didn’t matter what their attendance was, how well they did with their grades, or who liked them because they all felt like they had been set up for failure in life, so what was the point in trying, right? But he was the worst of them all. From what I heard in the rumor mill, he liked to smoke more than just cigarettes, and he couldn’t have given a single fuck about what would happen if he got caught with it on the school’s campus. He was probably the one who told the rest of them that they should start lighting up then and there.

As I passed by them though, trying to maintain my distance so as to not draw attention to myself, I could feel his eyes following me. There was a point where I glanced up quickly to see if he really was watching me or if I was going insane, and I could see just how out of place he suddenly looked. While all of his friends were still joking around, shoving each other, poking each other, and putting the lighters in each other’s faces, he stopped entirely to just stare at me. His mouth fell agape slightly and I saw his eyes soften. Suddenly, he didn’t look like the kind of kid who would run with that crowd— let alone run it.

“Aaron—” one of his friends laughed, shoving his shoulder back to catch his attention.

He barely wavered, moving with the impact of the hit, but his eyes stayed on mine. I slowed down ever so slightly, just to see if it was me or if something behind me caught his attention. But as I came to a slow and steady stop, he jumped up from the bench they were sitting on, and he ran over to me. His hair bounced with each step, the cigarette trapped between his teeth holding on for dear life, but his eyes were still on mine.

“Aaron!” his friends called after him.

I started walking again. I wanted nothing to do with him or the friends who were waiting for him to go back. They weren’t the kind of kids I necessarily enjoyed, and I was positive that no one would think it was a good idea for me to get caught up in a crowd like that, either. As the new kid, I had been working over time to ensure that my image stayed squeaky clean. I didn’t need students, teachers, or parents of my new friends judging me based on the simple, stupid fact that the wrong kid ran up to talk to me.

“Wait up!” I finally heard him call when I turned on my heels and nearly made a run for it.

I froze in place and screwed my eyes shut as I cursed myself for daring to look up at him in the first place. Maybe it was my fault. He had been watching me for some reason. Maybe it was because he wanted me to give him a reason to pick on me. Maybe he was going to pull a knife on me and tell me to hand over all the money I had— which wasn’t much, obviously. But him and his friends seemed like the desperate kind to steal just to get enough cash for cigarettes or booze.

I turned back on my heels so that I could face him, and maybe get the upper hand by telling him off before he could try something. “What do you want—”

“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth to exhale the smoke.

I furrowed my brows. “What’s it to you?”

He smirked. “I just haven’t seen you around before, that’s all.”

“So?”

“So… You’d think that I would have noticed someone as breath taking as you before.”

I chortled. What a line. Geez, I couldn’t believe that I actually thought that this kid would try to rob me. He probably couldn’t even hurt a fly, despite the impression he was trying to give the rest of the world. Between the leather jacket, the black shades clipped to the collar of his shirt, the cigarette between his fingers, the fake diamond ear piercing, and the I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, anyone would have guessed that this kid was a low-life, amount to nothing, soon to be high school wash out. Hell, I clearly thought that about him at first, too. But when he stared at me like that, then started talking, then smiled… I realized that he was just a kid like me. Maybe he was lost, or maybe he was just downright stupid for acting the way he did, but he was still a kid.

But that line he hit me with… I couldn’t help but laugh. This act he was putting on for the rest of the world dictated that he needed to be the kind of guy who was a douchebag and could go up to any person with the same line, and somehow get in her pants. Though, I doubt it ever really worked. It certainly wasn’t working on me. It didn’t even roll off his tongue the way he wanted, which was probably a product of the fact that he seemed to cringe himself in response to what he said. It was a douchebag line, and he knew it. He was probably just ashamed that he said it— but more so that he had to play the role that told him he needed to say it.

“I should be going,” I said to him.

“No— Wait—” he insisted, reaching out to grab my hand before I could walk away again.

When his skin met mine, we both froze, staring at my wrist and the grip he had around it. I could feel that I had stopped breathing, yet I couldn’t seem to remember how to inhale. I knew that I needed to breathe eventually, but with his hand on me, I wasn’t sure if I could. There was something about his touch. It didn’t scare me, like I thought it would. It didn’t make me want to scream out for help or to tuck tail and run. In fact, it made me want to stay. Somehow, it made me want to listen to all of his cheesy pick up lines, to give him the chance to make one stick— just as long as he was still touching me. The world felt quiet when he held me like that. It was such an innocent touch, yet, for some reason, it made the reality around us disappear long enough for me to look back up at him and realize that he was just as taken aback as I was. Where he once had an asshole-type smirk, he was now biting his bottom lip, trying to focus on finding his breath again.

My eyes searched his for a moment. I took note of how dark they were. Besides the vivid brown irises, his pupils were dilated to the point I thought that I could get lost in their black abyss. Then I panicked when I actually started to get lost. I pulled my hand away from him in an instant and tried to play it cool by using my palms to flatten out my skirt.

“Who are you?” he asked again, this time more sincere.

I looked at him through my lashes. “Y/N.”

“Y/N… what?”

“It’s a small town. You’ll find out eventually… Aaron.” It felt weird to say his name when I didn’t know him. It felt like whispering the same of a ghost. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait—” he stopped me again. I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot against the sidewalk impatiently. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Not whatever it is you’re doing.” I glanced over his shoulder to see his friends still lighting up while watching us intently. “Like I said, I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

“Hotchner.”

I raised a brow. “What?”

“My last name is Hotchner. Now you have to tell me yours.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to any such terms.”

“You’re right. You didn’t. Will you at least agree to letting me take you to a movie tonight?”

I chuckled. “Why? So that you can try to shove your tongue down my throat for two hours? I’ll pass, Aaron Hotchner.” I made a step to the side to try and escape our conversation, but he caught me again, and I felt the world disappear once more. “Will you ever let me leave?”

“Only if you say yes.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to. That’s the whole point, right? And, well… trying to stick my tongue down your throat for two hours is just an added bonus.” He laughed, returning to his douchebag persona as he let go of me. I gagged. “I’m kidding!”

“Hotch!” his female friend called from the bench.

He shooed them with a waving hand behind his back. “Listen, Y/N,” he let my name roll off his tongue, “I’d really like to take you to a movie tonight. No tongue involved. Say yes, and if you like it, maybe you’ll consider telling me your last name. Say yes, and you hate it, you can say ‘I told you so’ and never see me again. Say no, and you'll just sit at home all night, asking yourself why you couldn’t think or breathe when I do this…” His pinkie lightly ran over my wrist, sending a shiver up my spine. Damn him. “What do you say?”

I sucked in a deep breath as his touch retreated. He was right, unfortunately. If I said no— which, I really wanted to— then I’d just be moping around, wondering why the hell I looked at him, why he came running over, why he seemed to be interested in learning my name, and why the hell the world seemed to stop every time he touched me. But, like I said, I had worked too hard to get where I was with people’s impressions of me to throw it all away for a night of answers. Aaron Hotchner was bad news… He really was. He was exactly the kind of person I should’ve been staying away from. Yet, his eyes seemed to capture me again long enough to practically hypnotize me into nodding and whispering, “Yes.”

Hotch, as his friends called him, grinned ear to ear at my response. He fixed his posture, standing up taller than before. He bit down gently on his cigarette, breathing in a hefty amount of smoke. With his hands now free, he brushed his hair back out of his face, then winked at me. From behind his cigarette, he mumbled, “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“You don’t know where I live,” I rolled my eyes and bit back a smile. “I’ll meet you there at six.”

He grabbed his cigarette again. “Fair enough.” He exhaled carefully, pushing the smoke up into his nose… seductively. “I’ll see you then. Y/N.”

I nodded. “See you then. Aaron Hotchner.”

And the world caught up to reality again as he turned to run back to his friends.

criminal minds family: @peggy1999​ @gorgeousdarkangel​ @marvelismylifffe​  @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​

[spooky-luvur]

I hope this isn’t too specific but I have an idea for Micah. gender neutral! reader sees Micah being outcast from the group, so they start to spend more time with him, hoping he’ll open up. Micah starts to fall hard for reader but scared of rejection he asks reader to help him clean up his act and be nicer to Javier, Charles, the women, etc. Maybe the last scene could be them in private and reader says “You’re a good man, Micah.”? Idk just something thats pretty sweet/fluffy. Thanks!

Idk how to write atm bear with me it’s 5:20 am

But I hope this is good enough god he’s a bastard but I love him

Sorry for any mistakes

-

Dutch had let you join the gang after he had caught you attempting to steal his very expensive pocket watch. Much like Sean, he’d seen your potential and they way you thought about what would happen next. He believed it would be useful and convinced Hosea to let you in.

At first, you didn’t really do anything. You sat on the tree stump on the cliff at the edge of camp, watching the days go by. You’d watch the gang members. How they laughed, how they cried, how they danced and smiled and hugged and sang and celebrated. How they helped and smiled at each other.

Except one person.

Micah Bell.

You watched him too. But he didn’t sing or dance or laugh or smile. Instead he frowned and antagonized and drank and slept.

Your first thought of him was: what a sad man.

Why was he so angry all the time?

Well, not all the time.

Sometimes when the gang was dancing he’d politely ask the young author, Mary Beth to dance. He’d stutter and hold out his hand, but she’d harshly turn him away. Then he’d turn away, and if you looked closely, you saw that he indeed was a sad man.

“Micah.”

The man glances up from polishing his precious guns.

“What?”

“Dutch needs us to scope out the hills. A few camps there that may have something worth taking.”

Micah scoffs. “Us?”

“Yeah. Come on.”

———

“I like your horse.”

At first, it doesn’t register. Then Micah turns to you, face scrunched up in confusion.

“What?”

You hum. “Baylock. He’s pretty strong. Healthy. You take good care of him. That’s admirable.”

Micah looks back at the long stretch of dirt road in front of us.

“He’s all I got.”

“How come?”

You see his jaw clench, and he shifts in the saddle.

“Shut up.”

————

There was a patch of trees not far from the back of the hut a few O’Driscoll’s were holding up in. Dutch mentioned there might be some, but they had pretty powerful looking guns.

You and Micah were hidden between a few tight trees, guns clutched in hand.

“You see any dynamite?”

“No. Got any on hand?”

“Not today.”

“It’s two guys. We hit ‘em hard and fast.”

You quickly grab his shoulder, pulling him back down before he can stand all the way.

“What the hell??”

“There’s more than two, Micah. Look.”

Three more rough-looking men emerge from the side of the rundown hut, each carrying their own guns.

“Shit. Well what do you think?”

Your eyes survey the area. The hut is made of wood, but it’s moldy and rotting. Falling in on itself. Dirty, dry, and very flammable.

“How do you feel about fire?”

“About-“

You stand, whistling sharply before hurling a lit fire bottle. It arches through the air before smashing into the roof of the hut. The flames consume the entire thing within minutes.

The O’Driscoll’s immediately turn and start shooting in our direction, making us both duck back behind the trees.

“You couldn’t have warned me?!”

“I asked you how you felt about fire!”

Micah shakes his head, but there’s a grin on his face throughout the time it takes to take out the men.

The hut still burns as we approach, making Micah holster his guns with an irritated sigh.

“And now we got no money. Good job!”

You merely point to a large chest underneath a nearby tree.

It’s satisfying to see Micah Bell speechless.

————

“You’re good with your guns. I ain’t hardly ever seen such quick shooting.”

“...”

“Them O’Driscoll’s didn’t see us comin, huh?”

“...”

“You-“

“Stop that!” Micah finally snaps, glaring over at you as you both make your way back to camp, pockets full of cash.

You meet his eye, not backing down. “No, Micah. You’re good at things and you deserve to know it.”

His brow furrows, lips curling into an angry? Frown. He huffs, looking back over. “Yeah.”

———

With night, comes the singing, the drinking, the dancing and drinking. Music from the radio in Dutch’s tent. Smiles. Laughter. For them, it’s normal. But not for-

“Micah.”

“(Y/n). What can I do for you on this fine night?”

He leans back, pocketing his knife.

“Another job? Dutch got someone else we need to shoot?”

“Will you dance with me?”

His eyes grow wide, and you have to bite back a laugh. You grin though, and the man sputters, then scoffs to hide it.

“Yeah, right.”

Holding out your hand in an actual offering, he glances down at it before looking back up at you. The look isn’t incredulous. It isn’t disgusted, it isn’t mean or perverted. It’s almost...

...sad.

“Will you dance with me tonight, Micah?”

“Look, you can shoot good, but we ain’t-“

“Oh for heavens sake.”

You pull him up yourself, laughing as he stumbles and nearly makes the two of you fall over.

You hold one hand, putting the other on his shoulder. His other hand hovers in the air for a moment before resting on your side.

The slow song, fluttering in the night like a breeze seems to play louder. Micah can’t meet your eye. Instead, he looks to the side, down, at your neck, anywhere.

“Come on Micah. I ain’t that ugly am I?”

“Shut up.”

You give him a smile before closing your eyes, slowly resting your head on his shoulder. You feel his chest rise sharply, exhaling with a quick, muttered word.

“Shit.”

————

“I don’t understand.”

Micah sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Come on, you’re really gonna make me say it again?”

You blink.

“I want...to change....” the word is forced out, his mouth clamping shut immediately after.

You cross your arms.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really! Javier, the redskin, the women. I don’t exactly treat ‘em right.”

“Okay, first of all, you can’t be racist if you want to get on Javier or Charles’ good side. Or the ladies, for that matter. Now,” you straighten up. “Say their names again.”

“What? I don’t-“

“You wanna be nicer? Say their names.”

He realizes his former mistakes, and his shoulders lower slightly.

“Javier, Charles, Karen, Mary Beth and Tilly.”

“And?”

“Sadie Adler.”

“And pretty much everyone but it’s a start. Sit down, Micah.” You pat the log next to you, scooting over time let him sit.

“Now, what do you think you’re doing wrong?”

————

“Hey, Javier...”

Javier looks up from polishing a throwing knife wit some sort of oil, slightly taken aback from seeing Micah standing there.

“Hey, Micah. You need something?”

“I uh...I heard you needed some Oleander. I found some, could you use it?”

Javier glances down at Micah’s outstretched hand, picking up the poisonous plant, turning it over.

“Yeah, this is...perfect, actually. Thanks, Micah.” He gives him a nod.

Micah quickly turns and leaves, giving you a thumbs up.

—

“Charles!”

His eyes linger on whatever Micah has in his hand for a split second, but Charles’s eyes meet Micah’s when he approaches.

“Yes.”

Micah hesitates. Would this even count as an ‘apology?’ Charles did punch him once, but he admits, he probably deserved it.

“I uh, here, take it.”

His holds out the elegantly carved bow, bound with a strong twine. Charles glances at him before back at the bow, carefully taking it. He runs his fingers over the smooth wood.

“Micah, this is Yew. How did you make this?”

“Well, (Y/n) helped me some. Said you’d care for it.”

Charles sighs, but nods. “I do.” He, like Javier, gives Micah one last look before leaving and for that, Micah breaths out a sigh of relief.

——

Something...odd, was happening, and the gang members began to notice. Micah had begun to yell less, and curse, and mock and accuse and bully. He’d helped Tilly carry a heavy load of clothes, he’d sewn a book cover for Mary Beth, donated more money, (left the hunting to Arthur) stopped kicking Cain, stopped doing things that would make him a *bad person.* Yes, he still got drunk, brushed people off, and pushed Arthur and Kieran around a bit, but other than that? Damn.

At the end of the two weeks, Micah had been sitting beside (Y/n) at one of the tables. They had an odd grin on their face, making Micah a little uneasy.

“You got something to say, say it.”

“Oh I got something to say, but not here. Come on, Bell.”

-

Reaching the large tree (Y/n) had first approached Micah at, they take his hand, surprising him.

“I’m proud of you, Micah. Honestly? I had my doubts. You were such an angry man. All alone, moping.”

“I do not mope.”

(Y/n) laughs, “Well, not anymore you don’t! What would you do without me, huh?”

“Certainly not mope-“

The blond is cut off by a sudden kiss. He doesn’t push away.

Pulling apart, (Y/n) rests their hand against Micahs face, letting him lean into it.

“You’ve changed, Micah Bell. You’re a good man.”

Micah looks away. “I don’t know about that.”

“Things are gonna happen, that we know. But you don’t gotta do it alone.”

————

[greatshell-rider]

Jerry leaned against the open doorway to Lani’s room. “Hey, I killed a guy in the back alley.”

His sister sat hunched over her desk, a lamp pooling light around her head as she scribbled rapidly on a notepad with one hand and flipped quickly through a thick book with the other. Jerry was hardly surprised to find her still awake; it was only an hour or two past midnight. “Cool,” she said without looking up. “Put it over there.”

She didn’t gesture towards a “there”, so Jerry lugged the guy’s corpse into the room and dropped it against the far wall with the window. After a second’s hesitation, he cracked the window open. He didn’t know how soon Lani would get to the body, and while she might not care about a stench, he had to live with her.

“Didn’t think Dalpho would act so soon,” Lani commented as Jerry made to leave. He slowed and she continued, “Might throw a wrench in our current plan.” He saw a smile curve up her cheek at that.

Oh no. No. “Wasn’t Dalpho,” he said hurriedly. “Just some crook jumped me wanting my purse.” He scowled, flexing his hands and feeling the blood drying on them. “Tried to warn him off with my sword, but he was determined.”

“Or desperate. Don’t you ever spare a thought for all those poor souls out there? The whole city’s starving, Jerr-Bear, and you only think of yourself. Tsk.”

Clenching his jaw, Jerry reminded himself of the resolution he’d made this morning: No responding to Lani’s taunts. If he succeeded, he’d promised himself a spoonful of peanut butter (or the closest approximation to it this ’scape could produce) as a reward.

It is not worth it, he told himself. He took a deep breath and walked toward the door.

“It’s funny,” she mused idly, “how this keeps happening. Whenever I get jumped, we’re all friends by the end. But for some reason, showing off your pretty blade always makes things worse. What’s up with that?”

He threw a dirty look over his shoulder, opening his mouth to remind her how her “friends” always ended up. But he saw her smirk, recognized that glint of honed mirth in her eyes, and forcibly swallowed the retort.

“Shut up,” he growled, and slammed the door shut behind him.

She snickered behind the wood, and Jerry nearly turned right back around to tear the door off the hinges and smash it over her stupid head. He stood before it, hands clenching and unclenching, anger radiating through his body so painfully he had to bite down on his tongue so as to not scream. He’d just killed a man and, as always, his sister. Didn’t. Care. So why did he?

Spoonful of peanut butter, Jerr-Bear.

Jerry forced one lungful of air in, then out, then in, then out. He drew back his foot and slammed it against the door, found the shudder that went up the wood to be satisfying if not relieving, and limped into the kitchen to get that peanut butter.

“I’m going to eat the entire fucking jar,” he muttered.

But his sword, still dirtied, was lying on the table. He couldn’t put it away until he saw it cleaned and inspected it for damage. And he couldn’t eat with it dripping on the floor like that.

He sighed, dragging his hand down his face before remembering that it, like the sword, was also covered in blood. Swearing by the names of every deity he knew in both English and Wide and the other alien curses he’d picked up over the years, he went to the sink and scrubbed himself clean as well as he could, though the blood on his tunic was likely going to stain—the fabric was off-world, and so far had reacted poorly to most materials on this ’scape—and he got too frustrated to finish picking his fingernails clean, then stomped over into his room to get his stupid maintenance kit to get the stupid blade all nice and sparkly for its next stupid victim.

“Who’s the real victim, me or them, huh,” he muttered as he sat down with a towel over his knees, the kit set out on the table, and the sword in his hands. “Who’s the one who has to clean everything up in the end?”

Speaking of, there were smears and drips of blood all over the apartment from dragging the corpse in. That needed to be cleaned as well.

“Everything needs to be cleaned around here,” he snarled, scrubbing harder than what was polite with a rag at the blade. “Should just burn it all down and don’t bother building anything on top. Or else the ghosts will get at it.”

He was rambling nonsense. It was too late. He should be in bed. He should’ve been in bed hours ago. No, he wouldn’t have slept, but at least there were no random strangers to murder in bed. Not so far on this ’scape at least. Yeah there had been that one time, but that had been one time—

Rambling.

Jerry determinedly finished cleaning his sword in silence, not letting himself think a thing but focus solely on the monotonous, repetitive motions that had become familiar habit so long ago they should’ve been comforting now. Should have.

When it was done, he held the sword up, tilting it back and forth to watch the steel be highlighted at different angles. It wasn’t reflective enough to mirror his own face in it—which would have been far too thematically symbolic for Jerry to hold his lunch—but as he held it he couldn’t stop picturing the moment again and again, sliding the blade into the man’s gut before he could plunge his knife in Jerry’s throat or arm or whatever his wild swing had been aimed at. One moment, as shiny as it was now, the next, slick with gore. How quickly a thing became spoiled, and how easy to wipe it all away as if it had never happened.

Rambling.

Scowling, Jerry slid the sword into its sheath—good leather and metal, not flesh and bone—and put it on the table again. He tossed the towel onto the nearest puddle of blood (He was not scrubbing floors tonight. Not tomorrow either. He would make Lani do it. New resolution.) and, feeling exhausted, went to the cupboards. He didn’t even really want to eat anymore, but he did deserve at least one spoonful. Miserably, he pulled a cabinet open and dug through the mishmash of their rations gathered across the ’scapes and dumped in here in case of emergency to the fake back he’d installed early on. He pried the cruddy door open and wrapped his hand around the one remaining jar of air quotes peanut butter he had left.

The moment his fingers touched the plastic, he knew something was wrong. The weight was off.

Slowly, he pulled the jar out, dragging it through the rations without trying to maneuver it safely out. Old dusty packs of dried oatmeal and crumbled crackers fell to the floor, piling around his feet, as he held it up to his face.

He stared at the jar.

It was empty. Licked clean. Drawn on the lid in black marker, a smirking face winked at him.

Oh. Oh! Two murders tonight, then. It was a pity he’d already cleaned his sword.

The plastic squeaked. Jerry blinked and realized he had squeezed the empty jar so hard it was now crumbled in his fist, twisted in painfully distorted warpings.

“I’m going to do that to her bones!” he announced, cheerlessly, to no one.

“Wuh?” came a muffled yell from Lani’s room.

“You ate my peanut butter!” he called back, since apparently she’d been listening at the door. Waiting. Knowing. Giddy with excitement, no doubt.

“It wasn’t even good!”

“I am going to kill you!”

“Can’t! Locked the door!”

“There’s a window!”

“Ha! Wait, let me get a camera, I want to remember this!”

“Lani, I’m going to kill you! Straight up!”

“Thought you were bi.”

“You should see what I did to the jar.” He brandished it, though she wasn’t even in the room. “I didn’t even mean to.”

“Funny, the similarities between that statement and what I said about thugs in alleyways . . .”

“Going to kill you!”

“The day you say that sentence in past tense or at the very least present, I might start believing you!”

“Haha!” His voice dropped. “I’m going to bed.”

He closed his ears to whatever Lani said next and did that, crashing face-first onto the cot, which nearly buckled underneath his weight, and lay there with his eyes open, staring at the pilled fuzz of the mattress. He’d forgotten his sword in the kitchen. He always meant to have it on him, or close enough to be within arms-reach. He’d always had it, ever since Lani found out it in the sewers . . . he should go get it. Just in case. It was all he had to keep himself and his sister safe.

From the ghosts?

Rambling.

It could stay in the kitchen. For one night. Please, give him one night.

Jerry covered his eyes with his hand. Maybe that would help him sleep. But he could feel it, the dried blood still under his fingernails. He should’ve just cleaned that out, so it wouldn’t distract him. But it seemed, no matter what he did, he could never get every little bit out . . .