#i would even take an EAR INFECTION which has deafened me over feeling like this. im not even kidding.

[cicidraws]

i miss how i felt before this year.

[sohemotional]

Firestarter - Brittana AU

Summary: Santana has two secrets that no one in the world can find out about. One is the fact that she’s head over heels in love with her best friend. The other is that she has the superhuman ability to create fire from thin air.

Or

Exposure to a strange, red meteor rock gives Santana the ability to create fire and now it’s threatening to burn her up from the inside out unless she admits her true feelings for Brittany.

Rating: M, NSFW

A/N: This is a Brittana AU set in the Smallville universe that I’ve been working on for a while. It’s set in the same universe as my other story “I’ll Keep You By My Side (With My Superhuman Might)” so if you’d like more context you can check that out. Frankenfinn’s “Red Fire” is based in a similar universe. So according to the Smallville wiki: "Red Kryptonite brings out the rebellious and immoral personality of Kryptonians and rids them of their inhibitions. The effects of Red Kryptonite are likened to that of being under the influence of too much alcohol or narcotics, without the loss of physical capability."

I’m bending the rules a little on how this kryptonite works. So during the meteorite crash, Santana gets infected with the red kryptonite and it causes a mutation which leads to her developing fire powers. Whenever she’s exposed to red kryptonite again, it makes her powers much stronger and has all of the same effects on her as a human that it would have on Kryptonians.

Part I

All she remembers is explosive anger. It’s the emotion that takes over the entire Lopez household and reaches a boiling point inside of little Santana. To their neighbours, they’re a picture perfect family, always decked out in the finest, most expensive clothes and appearing at church every Sunday or parties held by the richest local WASP families in the community.

Behind closed doors, everything is volatile. Santana’s Papi and Mami are fighting again, as they always do, while her uncles and aunts are joining in with vicious words. Anger is how everything starts. Their voices get louder, reaching a deafening pitch.

All of the appliances in the house are running on full blast, her mother trying to busy herself with cooking an elaborate meal in the kitchen in the middle of the shouting match. Santana is five and she covers her ears with a grimace, frowning when Abuela gives her another disapproving glance as she storms away and shouts that she hates her family.

“Santana! Behave yourself right now!” Abuela’s furious tone sets Santana off even more when she grabs the little girl by the arm forcefully as she scolds her. “No! Leave me alone, you old hag!” Sometimes Santana likes her Abuela but right now she glares at her, annoyed at the judgmental look on the old woman’s face and she hates her. She’s annoyed by the way she can never do anything right for her grandmother.

Abuela gasps, appalled and slaps her on the same arm. It’s her left arm and Santana thinks about how Abuela never liked how Santana has only ever been able to do things with her left hand. She always mumbles things about “The Devil” whenever she notices Santana using that hand and encourages her to try with her right.

Her Mami gets angry at Abuela for saying such things.

“You little viper! What has happened to you, Child!?”Santana runs away with an angry scream before Abuela can hit her again. Mami and Papi would be furious with Santana if they found out how rude she was but luckily they’re too busy fighting each other.

She goes into her room and hides under her bed, curling into a ball. The house remains loud and then it’s as if something snaps. Everything explodes. There’s heat, then the smell of smoke reaches her nostrils as she crawls out from under the bed and tries to get out of her room. The door jams and she can’t escape so she starts to panic.

No one seems to hear her when she screams for help. Sweat begins to pour down her small face and Santana can’t breathe. Shouting turns into fearful screams down below. There’s another explosion, a ball of fire hits her and it’s a complete blur as she flails her arms uselessly. She feels suffocated and the room around her eventually fades to black.

When she wakes up on a stretcher and wondering if she’s really alive, she’s surrounded by firefighters and there’s the sound of Mami weeping nearby. The pain is excruciating. The firefighters struggle to put out the flames that are still engulfing the Lopez mansion, pieces of shiny rock fragments scattered all around the garden by the basement window. There’s a shower of more of those red crystals all over the Lopez complex and sharp pieces of them are wedged into her skin.

“Meteor rock” was what Papi would call it later when Santana found a piece while they made their way through the wreckage of the house days later and had shown him, her eyes lit up in fascination. That blood red crystal is glowing now, almost tauntingly at her from every angle, like red eyes, unaffected by the flames and she irrationally hates it. It terrifies her. She swears the rock is somehow feeding those flames, making them more intense and the fire itself turns an unnatural shade of maroon like the colour of the rock but no one other than her seems to notice.

There’s no time to think because people are screaming and it’s not just her house that's on fire but many in the same street.The doctors say Santana has second and third degree burns all over her body when she gets to the overcrowded hospital. There’ll be craters and scars all over her forever, they say. Yet something inexplicable happens, the burns disappear just hours later to the amazement of everyone.

No one can explain it. Santana’s skin is even smoother and more even than it was before. It looks polished. Santana doesn’t feel a thing, relieved that the pain is finally gone. No one in the family talks about how odd it is that Santana healed so quickly. She thinks about the meteor rock and wonders if somehow that ruby-red stone that she was surrounded with had somehow protected her.

Maribel Lopez moves herself and her daughter to a new house in Smallville once the divorce is finalized and Santana breathes a sigh of relief that the arguments between her parents are done after Papi is no longer around.

___

“Carlos has been getting straight As. He’s already at the top of his class,” Tia Carmen, the older sister of Santana’s mother, boasts with that smug smirk she always wears as she parades her immaculately dressed children around after church when they get back to Maribel’s house. “Of course, he’s also so very athletic and so popular at his age.”

“Yes, yes, Carmen. Congratulations,” Maribel replies in a slightly bored drawl. “I do wish Santana would study harder and try to apply herself. I can’t get that child to behave. She has such a hot temper.”

Santana has heard these talks a million times before from her grandmother, aunts and uncles. According to her family, nothing she can do measures up. Whatever she does will never be as impressive as what her cousins do. So Santana doesn’t see any point in trying too hard.

“Don’t worry, Dear. Not everyone can be brilliant. I’m sure your Santana will find… something she can do.”

Santana hides under the table, listening to her mother talk to her aunts. She scowls and the anger wells up in her until it has nowhere else to go. She runs out from under the tablecloth and it’s as if the flames just burst out of her, engulfing the furniture and the carpet.

“Santana! What did you do?!” Abuela demands, rounding on her and grabbing her by the sleeve. “I know you had something to do with this. You… you found my box of matches!”“I didn’t do it!”

Santana argues back loudly in her high-pitched little voice. Maribel rushes for the fire extinguisher, trying to get everything under control and her relatives all turn to glare at Santana while she shrugs, shaking her head before storming away.

It’s tough being different. She’s already different because she likes girls the way she’s supposed to like boys and now there’s this… this weird fire thing she has. Her mother doesn’t know for sure what’s wrong but after one too many accidental fires at Christmas parties and birthdays, she tells her she needs to control herself.

The family thinks this is a phase, a ploy for her to get attention. Though it says a lot that the only time they give her any attention is when she accidentally torches yet another thing. They tell her that if she keeps it up, she’ll be arrested for arson and ask her where she’s hiding the matches.

“Don’t think I will be the one bailing you out, Santana. You make your bed, you lie in it.” Abuela reminds her for the five hundredth time while the child rolls her eyes.

She’s insecure about a lot of things, mainly her parents’ divorce that she’s sure she caused and knowing that she’s a weirdo with freak powers. She makes her first and only real friend soon.

Being a human flamethrower isn’t easy but Brittany S. Pierce is the most beautiful thing ever in existence. She makes all of the torment worth it. The other kids are wary of her edginess, seeming to sense her anger and all stay away from her. Brittany doesn't get scared of her at all.

“Hi, I’m Brittany.” A six year-old, freckled blonde with a pretty, rosy flush to her cheeks smiles sweetly.

Santana attempts to growl and bare her teeth on instinct, fearful of other people but all that comes out is something like a nervous whimper. That never happened to her before with another kid. She tries to scowl to make up for the pathetic sound.

 Brittany’s smile doesn’t go away and Santana is somewhat annoyed but flustered about how Brittany doesn’t shrink away from her in fear like the other students do whenever she threatens them. She tries a scarier approach. Brittany is too pretty so she can't have her around.

“I’m Santana Lopez and you better stay away!”

Brittany just tilts her head to the side and stares at her blankly, then she smiles. Her smile is so cute that Santana forgets everything she is about to say.

“You’re really funny. I like your black hair and your red shirt.”

No one has ever complimented Santana on anything before at school and it makes her lose her cool for a moment, her heart beating a little faster. Brittany just smiles even wider and hugs her when Santana attempts to look scary. Santana doesn’t push her away.

She has never let anyone hug her like this before.She completely melts and hates the fact that she likes Brittany’s hug so much. Santana has seen blue eyes before but never the warm, playful ones Brittany has that are upturned and cat-like and seem to be able to see right through her.

Her entire body feels hot, as if there’s liquid fire running through her veins and she feels like she can do anything with Brittany at her side. They’re best friends after that, just like that after one comment by Brittany. She takes the blonde’s hand and holds it tightly, leading her over to the playground.

They’re closer than best friends, really. She walks around the school aimlessly, feeling lost whenever Brittany is sick and home from school. Santana starts to imagine them as grown ups, still doing everything together.

Then quickly the image morphs into just the two of them, living together. It’s as if they’re married to each other. Just them and their love for each other, as it should be. It’s a silly image, she thinks and tries to bury it deep, to pretend she doesn’t desperately want that life with Brittany.

“I really wanna kiss you right now.” The blonde girl comments casually out of nowhere, laying on her bed sideways and hanging upside down off of it as they do homework together.

Sparks fly from Santana and she nearly explodes, in the literal sense of the word but she exercises every bit of self-control she has to avoid torching Brittany’s bedroom.

Kissing Brittany is all Santana can think about for the rest of the night and the next week yet Brittany is so casual about it as if she hasn’t just caused Santana to practically spontaneously combust as soon as she uttered the words.

One day, a group of cheerleaders are bullying Brittany, calling her names like “Stupid” and “Weird.” Santana sees the tears welling up in the blonde’s soft blue eyes along with the way her chin crumples and her lower lip wobbles.

She goes ballistic, marching up to the group of them as Brittany starts to cry openly, covering her face with her hands.

“How dare you treat her like that!” She roars, shoving one of the girls so hard she slams into a wall and turning to face the others furiously.

“You have a problem with that, Santana?” Chelsea drawls. “Brittany’s the dumbest girl in the entire school and I guess you must be too if you’re defending her.” 

She creates the tiniest flame on the tip of her finger and flicks it onto its intended target. Of course, she’s discreet and no one sees her. Predictably, the group of girls begin to scream as the ends of Chelsea’s long, dishwater blonde hair are now on fire.

When the girls run away after the flames have been outed, Santana gets down onto her knees, pulling Brittany into her arms as she nuzzles into the crook of the darker-skinned girl’s neck as if seeking her protection.

The thing about Brittany is that she thinks on another wavelength and lives in another world. A beautiful world, Santana thinks. Fairies and mermaids and every other kind of creature exist in Brittany’s world and Santana is amazed by that.

At the same time, not everyone thinks as innocently as the blonde and she has to protect her from the cruel world they live in.

“Britt, where are you going?” She finds the blonde heading in the wrong direction with her head in the clouds and puts her arm around her shoulders protectively, pulling her in close and steering her gently back towards their math class.

“Oh sorry. I was thinking about cats and I guess I got lost,” Brittany sighs in relief, resting her head against Santana’s shoulder. “Good thing I have you.”

Santana isn’t expecting it, accidentally setting fire to the wall nearby as flames blast out of her hands when the blonde leans in to brush her soft lips against hers for just a few seconds.

In her effort to not burn Brittany, she uses every cell in her body to concentrate on burning the wall instead. She holds Brittany close, taking her to safety as the fire begins to spread and her eyes dart around, making sure that no one else saw what just happened.

It’s a good thing the hallways were almost completely empty and Brittany was in front of her, blocking her body from view. It’s at that moment that she realizes how deep her feelings are. They don’t talk about what the kiss meant but it’s as if everything has suddenly changed, every touch and conversation between them charged with tension.

Santana is lucky enough that the school doesn’t link her to the fire this time even though she has been in the same place as two incidents now.She can never tell Brittany how much she likes her or about her powers.

Smallville is a weird little hick town known for nothing except its endless fields of corn and that weird meteorite shower from way back when she was a kid that no one ever wants to talk about. Someone like herself will never fit in here.

Read more on AO3

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Scream Therapy

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x gender neutral!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: extremely vague allusions to mental illness, metaphors about wounds, angst with a relieving ending, let me know if i’ve missed something

AO3 mirror

So you know those tiktoks where people go out into the woods and scream? Just like expel all the shit that’s been holding them down into an open field and let the earth reclaim all their dark, restless energy? Reveal the burdens that have been creaking in their joints and trapped in the prison of their ribs for the trees to swallow?

I’ve been thinking about that and Shigaraki a lot. 

Like the rest of the league too, but mostly Shigs. 

Just imagine: 

It’s late, it always is when shit is going down at the hideout. The League of Villains is practically nocturnal at this point. Shigaraki’s mind is a loud place—lot’s of rabid, train tearing down the track lines of thought that clatter and roar and gush toxic coal smoke.

So as annoyed as he makes himself out to be, he doesn’t actually mind the din of the bar all that much. Twice and Toga chattering in the corner, random bits of too loud laughter and the clink of Kurogiri polishing glasses as he tells off Dabi for the umpteenth time about smoking inside—hell, even Compress rambling about the health benefits of high quality wine to nobody in particular is somewhat...comforting?

That’s not quite the right word, but their noise settles around him a bit like a thick quilt and dampens the rampage inside his head for a while.

He thinks about a lot of things.

Some good, most bad, all obsessive. He’ll get stuck in these loops sometimes, small questions evolve into bigger, more complicated webs, and suddenly it’s been four hours and he’s done nothing but stare at the same spot on the wall just left of his desktop monitor.

Sleep is a terrifying venture for much the same reason. Once he gets caught in that cycling it’s so hard to break out, and that’s when he’ll stumble down the stairs and sequester himself away at the end of the bar.

There he will sit and listen to the incessant white noise of his team—which is frustrating too but infinitely better than whatever anxiety coated sludge his brain will come up with if left to its own devices, so he bears it.

And then there’s you.

Who you are isn’t entirely important.

Maybe you’re just another member of the League, dedicated to helping your boss spread villainy across the city. Maybe you’re a morally ambiguous civilian who just stumbled in much like a stray cat into a depressed college student’s apartment and simply never left.

Whatever the circumstances, where you came from doesn’t matter.

To him, your contributions to the din are just another layer of insulation against the storm. He couldn’t really care less what you do, or where you go when you weren’t there. As long as your voice could offer a different type of grating against his ears than the silent throbbing of his head when he is alone, then your presence is justified.

Shigaraki only takes notice of you when you leave, when your voice is no longer adding to the uproar drowning out whatever new thought spiral he was trying to claw his way out of.

It’s very late then. That odd, in between time when it’s closer to the sunrise than to it’s setting but somehow also the darkest portion of the night. Of course, it’s never totally dark—not with all the light pollution laying an ever present, glowing haze across the horizon—but it’s as close as it gets out here to pitch black.

He catches the tail end of your coat, a glimpse of your shoe soles as you slip up the stairs and climb the wrought iron ladder that leads to the roof. Shigaraki often catches himself wondering how you figured out exactly how to avoid each board that creaked. He thinks sometimes it’s because you like going unnoticed, that too much attention makes you feel just as shaky as he gets when he’s been inside his head too long. Or possibly you just don’t want to wake anyone up in the rare moments that some League members are actually asleep.

Regardless, he watches you go and feels strangely...compelled to follow and because he rarely feels compelled to do anything unless it’s furthering the downfall of hero society, he does.

He takes an unsteady step, then another until the brisk, cusp-of-summer air is washing over him. It bites through his thin black top and the worn holes in his jeans, but the sting feel likes something.

And since he almost always feels nothing at all, it’s good.

You’re stood a few feet from the edge of the building, where the ledge has begun to crumble away from age and poor maintenance. The wind is strong enough that it makes your limp arms sway by your sides. Shigaraki is so thin now, he’s almost afraid for a moment it might blow him away. He’s found himself feeling so insubstantial as of late, it’s shocking when his feet don’t lift off from the roof entirely. He crosses the distance towards you slowly. 

If you hear him approaching, you don’t show it.

Normally he wouldn’t start a conversation of his own volition but he did follow you up here and the silence is getting a bit deafening, even with the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

It’s simple, but it’s all he can think to say. Funny, with how many words that run through his head, he can never find the right ones when he wants them.

You turn then, and your face is...well it’s a face. He tends not to look at people’s faces much—doesn’t want to see their expressions when they look at him, but from what he can tell you aren’t upset that he’s here at least.

“I love the city at night.”

That’s all you offer in response and he knows somehow that you’ll keep talking even if he doesn’t answer. That you know how much he hates the quiet but can’t ever fill it himself.

“When you’re up high enough, you can pretend the streetlights are stars,” you divulge, as if it’s some sort of great, long kept secret.

Maybe it is.

Maybe you have a lot of secrets. You seem to him like the type of person who would. Who keeps life changing truths tucked under your tongue to drop suddenly over convenience store dinners and cheap beer.

He thinks that maybe he’d like to know them.

“It’s always so alive during the day, the streets I mean,” you continue, eyes trained out on the buildings below, tracing constellations from block to block. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s rotting too like….”

You trail off and don’t finish the thought, but you don’t have to. He knows what you mean: like the city is a wound that’s festering. That all the people and the heroes that corral them like cattle are just an infection waiting to spread.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, because he hasn’t been able to come up with anything else.

Your gaze flits over his face this time, and Shigaraki almost misses the small smile that plays at your lips. He’s close enough now that you could touch him, and you almost do, shoulders just inches away from brushing. But you don’t close the gap.

You touch the others, a lot actually, though he gets the sense you’re the type to ask first. And with his mind running on overdrive every waking second, he gets overstimulated easily. He should probably be thankful you aren’t as familiar with him. That you bother to notice the distance he keeps even when he rarely pays you any mind.

Maybe you’re thankful for that too.

“You know, scream therapy is a very effective and cheap alternative to professional intervention,” you say matter of factly in response.

He waits for you to continue and you do.

“There’s no one out this late but heroes on patrols and they won’t come to help us, so this is a perfect opportunity to give it a try.”

He can feel his brow knitting together and you raise your hand for a second as if to smooth your thumb over the wrinkled skin. Shigaraki doesn’t move, but watches your fingers pause in mid motion and drop back down.

There’s a strange charge in the air between you—a spark he distantly wishes would ignite if only so he could stop churning in his gut.

“How do you do it?”

He’s never asked so many questions of anyone in his life. But he finds he truly wants to know.

And you’re the one that can show him.

You breathe deeply beside him, letting your eyes drift shut and taking a step towards the ledge. With hands balled into righteous little fists, you bend a bit at the waist and you...scream.

Shigaraki isn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but for some reason it wasn’t that.

He’s heard shouts before, cries for help or out of fear, but nothing like this. The sound seems to bubble up from some deep, dank pit inside you and bursts forth from your mouth like a geyser spewing boiling water from the earth. It’s long and low and loudloudloud. It isn’t a sound he could ever imagine you making, but it rumbles in his chest as if it’s his own.

Just watching has a weight lifting from his shoulders.

You keep going even when he knows you should have run out of air. But you aren’t really making the noise, you’re just letting it escape. He’s not sure how he knows that but he does.

Your voice cracks and snaps and rages forth and you scream in a way he feels in his very bones. The garbled, awful sound is so clearly understandable despite the wind that carries it away.

It says: I am free and young and can feel none of it.

And then it’s words. Words that tumble from you in a torrent.

About your family, about what’s been done to you, what you’ve done to yourself.

About the lies and the injustice of it all.

You’re heaving by the end, deflated as though all the screams had left behind an empty space—an abscess drained and ready to heal over or fill back up.

“It’s your turn.”

Shigaraki stares at you, silhouetted by the dull, silver glow of the city and panting. You both look at each other for a moment, reveling in the odd connection that sometimes forms between strangers who know far too much about each other.

He doesn’t think he could top that, but the energy you’ve created is invigorating and he’s determined to ride the wave while he has it.

Taking a step, he joins you by the ledge again, and you back up as if allowing him into the spotlight. The wind will swallow whatever he says, it will eat the words like a starving behemoth and he finds himself ready to feed the beast.

He has to dig deep, scratch at old sores to make them bleed again, tear at scabs so he can let the contaminating thoughts leak out. Once he feels like he’s breached far enough, Shigaraki takes a breath.

And he screams.

His body doubles over with the strength of it, foot slamming down onto the roofing and four fingers fisted in the hem of his shirt.

It hurts coming out, rips at his vocal chords and has his throat raw to bleeding after just the first few seconds but he pushes past it.

He wonders if this is what a runner's high feels like, when you’ve pushed beyond the side stitches and knee aches and your blood finally rushes with all those elusive feel good chemicals he never has enough of.

Whatever it is, the feeling is addicting.

Shigaraki is dimly aware of you in his peripheral, encouraging the tsunami thoughts in his head to be thrust out into the uncaring arms of the city skyline.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have to search for the words. They simply come. All his frustrations, some he wasn’t even conscious of, spill fresh and steaming like blood. Physically, his body remains but somewhere in the depths of his mind he is younger and hurt and alone and trying desperately to scream.

“I destroy everything I touch!” he roars at the apathetic, grey sidewalk below.

After the last word leaves him, he feels the same weightlessness he’d seen in the sag of your shoulders. The same snapping of the coil slack in his spine.

And suddenly, with this glorious, awful sense of revelation, Shigaraki realizes that everything in his head has gone quiet.

He’s over taken by a silence that requires no filling, a peace that he’d imagined only existed at the bottom of abandoned wells, far away from any chubby child’s hands that may toss foolish wishes down them.

He thinks about kissing you then.

And he knows now that this thought has always been there, but it was drowned like a subway rat in the aftermath of the hurricane brewing in his brainstem. He has always noticed you no matter how hard you try to blend into the background. Your voice has always been a bit better at shutting out the unending, worthless choir in his head.

He wouldn’t have followed anyone else up here—not Dabi, not Spinner, not Compress or even Kurogiri.

He can see that now. In this new enlightened state, everything is so much clearer. Though he is quickly thrust back into the present, into his body once again, as another kind of soft weight settles on his shoulders. Your coat is skin warmed and smells like you and everything he’s ever loved in his own screwy little way. He realizes then that you’ve been trying to talk to him this whole time.

“Shigs,” you call again and tuck the coat tighter around his shoulders, “you were shaking.”

Shigaraki nods, feeling relief from the cold he hadn’t quite been aware of till now. He’s not sure if you’ve ever addressed him so informally before, but he decides he likes the nickname.

It feels a bit like a gift.

“Better, yeah?”

He’s not really sure if it’s better, but it is different and it’s been impossibly long since anything has been different, so he thinks it must be good.

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a general yes, both to your question and to you, whatever that might mean. He doesn’t say anything more because he’s done enough talking and you nod like you understand.

Neither of you moves to leave the roof, but you do inch closer to him this time, closing the gap and tucking him into your side. Your arm is slung gently across his shoulders and he finds the weight of it relieving.

That seems like it shouldn’t make since but it does—a paradox of sorts, weight being a comfort.

Then the sun begins to rise and it’s as if he’s seeing you in a new light.

Your profile outlined by the stark daybreak rays, so horribly strong despite the scream he knows is forming again under the surface.

And Shigaraki wonders if you see him that way too.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - The Delta Paradox. Chapter 1: Deceit

Rumor is the outbreak spreading like fire around the world is somehow Dr. Morbius’ fault: people turned into monsters after getting bitten by the ones already ravaged beyond the irreversible mutation. The last news broadcasted four months ago suggested not all creatures are mindless beasts, a few might still remember who they are and The Joker is about to find out if the story is true.

“Dad…” you whisper and point at the box on the shelves. “I found some peas.”

The Joker turns around and silently walks your way, signaling you to fill up your backpack while he patiently waits for his turn.

The King of Gotham and his 23 year old daughter are scavenging the convenience store on Halsey Street for supplies: food was running low and they had to come out of the bunker in order to acquire basic necessities.

It’s hard to see in the darkness with the tiniest flashlight since they can’t risk being detected.

“Did you find water?” you mumble under your breath.

“No.”

“Dammit, we only have six bottles left,” you sigh, upset at his disclosure. “Should we raid the mall too?”

The Joker covers your mouth, carefully listening.

You can’t discern much until an unnerving screech echoes in the air followed by others in the next second.

“Ssstttt,” J removes the restrain and you clutch to his arm, scared to death.

“Dad…”, you gulp at the commotion happening in the distance: the creatures are probably hunting and you are not willing to become the prey.

“What do we do?” you barely utter and The Clown shakes his head, worried.

“Let’s use the sewers entrance by the dumpster to make it passed the dangerous radius; it’s still open from last time we were here.”

“Ok…” Y/N quietly agrees.

J adds the rest of the containers to his rucksack and lifts it up when he accidentally knocks off a light bulb: the fragile glass shatters to pieces and the two of you stare at each other terrified for a few moments.

The turmoil outside immediately intensifies as The Joker urges:

“Run!”

The panicked Y/N follows her father and she can’t even hear what he’s saying over the deafening roars that seem to come from above the building. Suddenly, the mad man turns and gives you a violent push against the loading dock exit; it’s so unexpected you stumble and before you have the possibility to process what’s going on, J locks it.

“Dad?!” your eyes pop at the small, broken window just to distinguish him backing away. “Dad?!” you start crying. “What are you doing?! Let me in!” The Princess pleads with her parent.

The Joker bites his lip, conflicted at his desire to survive no matter the cost: even if the price to pay is his own daughter.

“Daddy?!” Y/N sobs, petrified at his behavior. “Please?...”

“Better you than me,” he grumbles and runs in the opposite direction, covering his ears when your screams reach him. J rushes out of the shop and drops in the sewer, three monsters already on his trail attempting to grab him; yet they fail because thankfully these beasts are so much larger than the humans they used to be: they can’t fit through the narrow gap The Joker used.

Your father keeps navigating the convoluted catacombs in the darkness while the dim flashlight fails to warn him of the obstacle floating in front of him. He staggers on the dead dog and plunges in the disgusting waters, instantly resurfacing after the initial shock of how bad it stinks. J crawls to near the concrete wall, panting up a storm succeeding the whole ordeal and it hits him: Y/N didn’t pursue.

How could she? The Clown sacrificed his daughter in order to save himself and her agony still resonate in his mind. She was brutally ambushed without any chance of escaping her fate: The Joker made sure of that when he forced her out of the mini-market.

The same daughter that came back for him at the Penthouse when it was clear things are going downhill - no other gang member ever returned; the same daughter that accompanied him in their perilous searching trips as it all went to shit; the same daughter that took care of him when he got sick in the bunker and risked her life in order to bring her father antibiotics; the same daughter that was the only family he had left on this God forsaken planet.

And now she’s gone.

The Joker is all alone like he was always meant to be: nothing can withstand his poison.

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

8 Months Later

The King of Gotham sneaks in the blackness with precious cargo: tonight was a lucky one. He found soda, crackers and peanuts at a vending machine inside the mall. The road to the bunker is not a short one and he has to be alert; food is scarce and each time he has to venture further and further to find needed items which is why he’s still roaming at this late hour.

Surprisingly calm atmosphere in this neighborhood; J saw a lot of creatures on McCormick Avenue and then an infested Main Boulevard made him backtrack and take this path. It was the correct call because his progress has been steady: moving in shadows has developed into a skillful talent.

He abruptly stops noticing movement blocking his route West of 5th Street. The Joker had no idea it’s swarming with the infected also.

J barely notices something splattering at his feet and freezes: it’s difficult to discern what it is but he has a vague concept. He looks up only to see one of the winged scouts landing on the broken light pole whilst drooling and sniffing the air. The Joker’s body is stiff, his senses sharpened to the maximum: what is he supposed to do? Try to leave? That’s an enormous risk and motion could unleash a chain reaction among the beasts if the one above identifies the helpless individual. Stay? The threat would be equally menacing.

The high pitch snarl belched by the demon’s throat makes him inhale in fear: was he spotted? Or is this merely a power display from the crazed predator?

The Joker feels there’s something behind him and before he can act a sharp pain in his forearm makes him yell. Another bite in his leg makes him lose balance and he collapses to the ground, unable to defend himself from the hoard. The burning sensation is taking over completely: the creatures tear his flesh apart and he passes out without having the strength to shout for help anymore.

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

The Clown opens his eyes and rapidly blinks since the sunlight is hard to endure.

“Ugh…” he groans and rolls on his side on the concrete pavement.

Everything hurts, including the brain: it’s as if someone drilled holes and he can’t concentrate or form thoughts.

He aims to lift his torso off the walkway unsure why it’s strenuous to accomplish such a simple task; J doesn’t register the reason why is the different anatomy he now has: scaly, gray skin, long, distorted arms with sharp claws, inverted knees and membranous toes. The wings certainly don’t add to his ability to sport the same agility he was blessed with while still a person.

He finally manages to gather himself up, surprised to experience an odd sensation: The Joker is so much taller after his mutation and everything crushes down once the hideous reflection shown in the partially broken glass belonging to “Macy’s” department store glares back at him.

“Ahhh!” J blurs out alongside an uncanny roar emerging from his transmuted vocal cords. The frantic sound gets the attention of beasts in his vicinity, then they ignore him because he’s one of them.

“Fuck…” he mumbles in disbelief at their reaction, grateful they didn’t attack.  

The Joker’s raspy breath scores big with a creature nearby though.

Apparently a female due to her red orbs, she’s approaching the former human with a certain restrain.

The Joker would love to bail: unless he can control the horror of what’s happening to him in a few moments, he might get out of there in one piece.

The curious monster is inches away and J had nothing better to do than articulate:

“… Do you… understand me?”

“Grrrrrrr…” the female sneers, unraveling her fangs.

“Y/N… is that…is that you?” The Joker tosses the question out there for the lack of a better plan.

No answer, just a low howl that makes a few males digging in rubble unhappy: why is the group’s favorite displaying interest in the newcomer?

They shriek and emerge more and more agitated, drawing the attention of others in the proximity. The displeased attitude seems to elevate the mood in a negative direction to the point of having a large flock landing on the same street too.

“Crap…” The Joker assesses his situation and it’s not good. “Shoo!” he gently gives the female a nudge and she coos as her distorted fingers touch his grotesque face. Nevertheless, her gesture unlocks the gates of hell: the female’s keen dart towards the unfortunate Clown with the sole purpose of finishing him off. Competition is not tolerated from a rookie and that’s how The Joker is perceived by the mindless crowd--a threat to the hierarchy.

A loud, eerie scream covering all others makes the murderous bunch halt in their tracks: a humongous female leading the group that arrived moments ago is making them retreat. She keeps shoving them and growling while followed by a huge specimen: definitely The Alpha Male with his yellow eyes and dominant figure that don’t allow disobedience.

The party showing The Joker affection gives up on her advances as you stand in front of your father, not necessarily excited about the encounter.

“Dad?...” you smell the air out of habit.

“… … Y… Y/N?... …” The Joker stammers at the inexplicable revelation. “You… You’re alive??!!”

“If you consider this being alive.”

“Delta, we have to go soon!” one of your fighters announces. “They might snap again!”

Your parent is baffled and you bother to enlighten him a bit:

“I’m part of a coven made of turned humans still self-aware. You’re lucky we flew by and saw you. I felt you were born but I didn’t know it was you until I sniffed you. I wished I knew so I won’t waste my time!!!!” the bitter statement brings to life past memories. “Let’s go!” you raise your voice.

“We’re not taking him with us?!” The Alpha Male inquires, baffled. “He’s self -aware!”

“Trust me, we don’t need someone like him amidst us!” you spread your wings and prepare to fly.

“Y/N… “ The Joker gulps. “Can I come?... Please?... I don’t want to die here.”

Y/N ignores his plea and angrily replies:

“Better you than me!”

How can he justify his behavior in these circumstances? It’s impossible to request forgiveness when you’re at an obvious loss regarding your daughter.

“I’m sorry I did what I did, ok… Pumpkin?”

“I am NOT your Pumpkin!! I am Delta!!!” Y/N mutters.

“Huh?” the clueless King inquires and your obvious disapproval suggests you hate where the conversation is headed.

“Delta is more valuable than any of us and we must protect her at all costs until we find Morbius,” one of your companions gives away details you don’t care your father knowing about. “She can do incredible…”

“Enough!!” you cut him off. “We’re leaving!”

“What… what things?...” The Joker attempts to distract you from the imminent departure.  

“None of your business!” you float in the air, the other 40 sets of wings following you while he is left behind with the horde that made him an outcast: brainless monsters already clustering around once more in order to punish his transgression.

“Hey!!!” The Alpha Male glides on top of The Joker. “Delta said you can come!”

“Really?” hope flourishes in his heart.

“Hurry up before they shred you to pieces!”

“I don’t know how to fly!” J shouts.

“Don’t be an idiot! Move your shoulder blades!”

Your father would normally go ballistic at such affront but he actually ignores the disrespectful sentence due to the insane events leading to today’s reunion.

What other choice does he have besides taking advantage of this unique opportunity?

The Joker clumsily bumps into a trash bin and finally ascends towards the blue skies trying to keep up with the flock.

His daughter might be a mystery now but one thing is undeniable: he would rather suffer a thousand deaths before abandoning her again.

 Also read: Masterlist

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho

[babieyangyang10]

violent ends (chapter 8)

(chapter 8)

series masterlist

genre: hunger games!au

pairings: huang renjun x oc, na jaemin x oc

warnings: language, mentions of blood, fighting, deaths, mentions of sex

A/N: I’m curious, tell me if you’re team Renjun or team Jaemin!

previous | next

Athena's POV

Sixty.

That's how many seconds I have before I have to step off this metal circle. It's all the time they give us to survey our surroundings. I look around to see the other tributes scattered randomly, all facing towards the cornucopia. Heart thumping, I spot Jaemin on the complete opposite end.

There are supplies almost an arm-length away from me, however everyone knows that the most useful supplies is placed in the mouth of the Cornucopia. Almost beckoning for me to take one, knifes are displayed on the walls.

Thirty Seconds.

I'm counting down in my head. Should I grab the book bag in front of me in case there's a weapon in it? But then, by the time I get to the Cornucopia, others will already be waiting for me with their fresh pick. However, if I'm quick enough I could get them while their backs are turned.

Twenty seconds.

Breathe. I look around to see no other than Haechan placed exactly to my right. That's a huge problem. No matter what I choose, he's going to be right on my trail. But the bag is so close!

Bag or Cornucopia?

Fifteen seconds.

My eyes dart, back and forth trying to come up with a decision. Then, suddenly I question how I will even be able to find Jaemin during the chaos, if he decides to ditch me and run away to the lake. He wouldn't, right?

I look him in the eyes and discreetly nod towards the Cornucopia, praying he gets the message. Or that he even saw it, considering he's about 20 tributes away from me.

Now back to the bag situation.

10 seconds. Big, yellow letters appear on a screen in the Cornucopia, counting down. 

Back and forth, I struggle to come up with a quick decision on which I should do first. However, when I look over to my left, over two tributes away is Renjun. Noticing my visible distress, he shakes his head at me.

"Don't." He mouths.

I get into running position and keep my eyes on the knifes. Guess I'll give up on the backpack. Although, since Renjun is officially my competition now, should I trust his input?

Is this a secret plan between the three of them to collectively slash me to bits?

5 seconds.

Fine, I've made up my mind. Okay, Huang Renjun, I'll forget the dumb fucking bag.

3 seconds.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Breathe you fucking moron, before you pass out.

2 seconds.

Then, I hear it, the gong. My body takes over and I'm sprinting as fast as I can. I'm so close now, I can practically already feel the blades in my hands. My lungs are burning, but I don't care.

I reach out and grab several, random knifes from the wall. However, once I turn around, my whole body collides with the sharp wall behind me. A boy from District 5 has his bare hands around my throat, making me drop the knifes.

Pivoting my body to the right, I strike his arm with my left palm. Once he falls forward, I use the same arm to lock around his neck. Squeezing as hard as I can, I grab whatever I can from the wall with my free hand and thrust it into the side of his neck.

Blood violently seeps in squirts from the wound onto me, as I release him from my hold. I grab my dropped weapons and a backpack by my ankle. When I look up, I am greeted by absolute madness.

Lee Jeno is standing over a young girl from District 3 with an axe stuck in the middle of her head. Meanwhile,  Renjun has just slashed open the District 8 boy's neck. Too occupied, they don't even notice me running past them. However, I feel someone leap on my back, causing me to crash face-first into the ground. I use all my strength to roll the large boy off of me, before stunning him with a sharp and painful punch to the nose. Wasting no time, I jab a knife into his throat, before pulling it out to keep.

Jaemin.

I desperately try to look for the blond boy, but he's nowhere to be found. There's beginning to be less people, meaning the Careers will spot me if I stick around much longer. While they're occupied with hacking away at the poor tributes, I decided to immediately follow Taeyong's advice of collecting water. It's important that I get there before Renjun does the same. I sprint through trees, trying to achieve a safe distance.

Once I've gotten away far enough to no longer hear the deafening screams of the dying children, I could softly hear the sound of moving water masked under the chirping birds.  At this moment, I can't help but feel jealous of them. They have no idea what's truly happening beneath them.  Stuck in their own little world, safe from harm's way in the trees. Even if something where to happen to them, they have wings to fly away with. I guess, they remind me of the people from the Capitol.

As the sound of water gets louder, I make sure to tread quietly. The Careers can't be far, and right now I'm alone and vulnerable. God, I wish Jaemin was here right now.

Noticing the dirt become muddier as I walk near the sound, I know I should be extremely close by now.

Snap.

Alerted, I quietly crouch behind a tree. Knife ready, I wait until the crunching of leaves get close enough, before I jump out and tackle the noisy perpetrator to the floor.

They put up a good fight too, attempting to push me off their back. During our wrestling, I notice them looking around frantically, probably looking for their weapon since they dropped it during the tackle.

Suddenly, the head becomes locked in one direction. Following his gaze, I see a trident laying on the forest floor.

A trident?

They notice me pause, throwing me backwards into the ground. My head smacks backwards against it, my eyes shutting in pain.

Once they open, I am face-to-face with the sharp prongs of the trident.

Cowering backwards, I frantically say, "Jaemin! It's me."

Once he realizes, the alerted look on his face fades away into one of concern, "Athena, are you okay?"

Jaemin chucks his weapon to the side and thoroughly looks over my face and body for injuries.

"It's not my blood," I assure him, "Ran into some people at the Cornucopia." 

"It's literally everywhere. Here, follow me to the lake, so you can wash it off." He gently pulled me up off the ground.

Grabbing his trident in one hand and my own hand in his other, he leads me to the lake. We crouch down by the waterside. My hands scooping up some water to cure the dryness in my throat. Then, I began scrubbing off the blood from my face and body.

"What happened out there? I couldn't find you at the Cornucopia." He asked, curious.

I watch the blood fading away into nothing in the river, as I speak, "I made it to the center. The guy from District 5 tried to choke me out right away. Then, after I started looking for you, I got tackled by a guy I couldn't see."

Frowning at the now clear water, "Honestly, for a second, I thought you left without me, when I couldn't find you there."

"I wouldn't leave you. We're in this till the end, okay?" Jaemin promises.

"Til the end, then," I agree, "What happened to you?"

"I only got to this," He held up his trident, "before Haechan is launching at me with bow and arrows. He kept chasing me, and before I know it I ended up far behind the back of the Cornucopia.That's where I spotted this lake from. He kept calling out for me, but eventually I guess he just gave up. That's when I decided to leave and set out to find you."

Taking in his words, I point out, "It sounds a lot like they were trying to purposely separate us, so they could kill us easier. Don't you think?"

"It makes sense, " He suddenly laughed, "it's funny though, we almost killed each other for them."

"I'm sorry for tackling you like that." I apologized.

"It's fine. Is your head okay?" Jaemin softly patted the back off my head.

"It is now." I bat my eyelashes, playing it up for the cameras. Looking around, I notice some  flowers sticking up through the water, surrounded by Lilly pads.

"What are these?" He curiously picked one from the water.

"They're pond lilies. They're good for infections and burns. Plus anti-inflammatory too." I remember what Taeyong taught me.

"Hm, so smart," He smiles down at me, before tucking the flower behind my ear, "and pretty too."

I don't hide the way my cheeks flush. Just like they did last night, when I was with Renjun.

Distracting myself from the thought, I decide to look throw the bright orange back pack I picked up after killing the District 5 guy. While rummaging through it, I found a pack of crackers, a pack of dried beef strips, a bottle of iodine, a box of wooden matches, a bit of coiled wire, glasses, and an empty black water bottle.

Grabbing the bottle, I began to fill it up with water for later. Then, I place it back in the backpack along with some of the knifes I've been holding onto. While doing so, Jaemin proceeds to try on the glasses.

"Wow, these really do suck. I can still see the sun." He murmurs, looking around.

"Then, they're probably supposed to be used during night. That'll be useful for hunting. Speaking of hunting, you hungry?" I ask, feeling my stomach rumble at the first mention of food.

"Yeah, let's go."

Renjun's POV

Jeno, Haechan, and I had decided to turn the Cornucopia into our own little camp. We had  all the supplies we could ever need. I mean, sure, there's about ten bodies just laying around, but home sweet home, right?

However, right now it wasn't feeling too sweet.

"What the fuck happened out there, Haechan? The plan was whoever was closest to her would kill her as soon as she stepped off the platform. You were the closest." complained an irritated Jeno.

I don't feel guilty that Haechan is unknowingly taking the hit for me. In fact, I was the one who stopped her from getting that bag and immediately dying by the bare hands of Haechan. I'm not sure what made me do it. I keep telling myself that maybe I was thinking about her being defenseless and unable to put up a fair fight would be unfair.

Or maybe I'm just pussy-whipped after last night, I don't know. My hand subconsciously goes to the hidden mark she left near my collarbone. Although I can't see it, I can feel the slight pain as my fingers pass over it. A reminder of last night.

Ripping my hand away, I try to tune back into the argument to avoid popping up a boner, while on live national-fucking-television.

"She was just too fast. I was sure that huge dude from District 5 was going to finish her off for me," Haechan suddenly remembered something, "Besides I was the one who made sure they were separated like our Plan B said to do."

I guess he's right. If we were able to kill them, we were going to do our best to separate them. Without Athena, Jaemin probably couldn’t survive, since District 4 is entirely a beach district. That fish boy probably has no idea how to survive for a week in the woods.

On the other hand, Athena, for some reason, needs him just as much. The three of us had debated on the reason why. Maybe she’s using him for his fame and sponsors? Although, she had received a lot of positive attention based on her own charms. She didn’t need him for that.

That’s what led us to the conclusion that she had a little girl crush on him. The thought makes me sick. I thought the Lee Athena I grew up with, would never waste her time on a guy like him.

As the sky becomes dark, I wondering what they’re doing now. Are they dead? Or still all alone? I can imagine Athena, hiding in a tree all by herself, frightened and scared. A little part of me wonders what would happened if she joined the Careers. Would she be here right now sitting next to me? Listening to these annoying boys bicker with each other.

Where are you, Lee Athena?

Maybe they found each-other. Maybe they’re looking up at the same sky right now.

I can see it. Them huddling close together, blaming it on their need to keep warm for the night. His arms wrapped around her, tightly. Her head resting against his check, watching the stars.

God, it makes me sick.

[i-growl-growl-growl]

I just read the request of the hybrid and I love it, I could ask for a second part in which wangji and wei take him to the waters that the lan have that help heal faster but the hybrid does not want to get in because as it is kitty no he likes water thanks

The water was steaming giving off the impression that it would be hot to the touch but, upon thorough inspection, one would find that the crystal-clear substance feels, in all actually, the opposite. A chill sending shivers deep into one’s bones is what one can expect to course through their bodies as they plunge themselves into the welcoming waves that flow within the subject of their vision. Some would say that the soul of the water belongs to that of a kindly trickster, fooling one into believing they’ll be blessed with warmth only to be dealt winter-like coolness upon entering the waters but, all would be forgiven from those having been fooled for they would soon see that, should they carry any open wounds or aching parts, the magic of the water would carry it away with its gentle waves.

Despite this knowledge, there are some who are apprehensive of entering the waters, and some who downright refuse to do so. For hybrids, this is most particularly the case. There are few that don’t mind entering or nearing the sources but for Wangji and Wuxian’s hybrid this is not the case.

“yah! (hy/n)! You’re hurting me!”        Wuxian screeches as he helps Wangji attempt to suppress the half-feline’s attempts to escape from being put in the water. The feline-hybrid is a lot stronger when in its half-human/half feline or completely humanized forms. With all of the effort its giving in its attempts to get away, and with how loudly it screams as though it’s in pain- as though its being forced into a death trap waiting to kill it- one would think that the two men are torturing it.

Grunting all the same as his helping companion, Wangji works to push (hy/n) further into the water. The task is tiresome and tedious, seeing as he has to dodge his hybrid’s attempts to swat at him in hopes to get their owners to back off enough that they can escape the horrifying clutches of the cool water that currently works at dampening the lower half of their body. But, where Wangji differs from Wuxian is his ability to keep ahold of his hybrid in a way that prevents them from getting their wishes, whereas Wuxian will occasionally back off completely in order to dodge the attacks, Wangji holds his ground as much as possible.           “The water will help you heal” he grunts as he pushes the hybrid further into the water with a harsh push against their shoulder “your leg needs to heal after Wen’s attack. It’s best that your entire body be submerged in order for the healing powers to work to their full potential.”

The screech that comes out of (hy/n) as Wangji tells them this could be described as deafening. As though they are having their body severed piece by piece, the hybrid howls at the top of their lungs. Surly those back at the Cloud Recesses would be capable of hearing such a painstakingly, ear-pearcingly, loud cry.       “I DON’T WANT TO! I DON’T WANT IT!”

Frustration pulls at Wuxian’s face as sweet gleams from his forehead, the effort being put into subduing the human-feline being more than he wishes to handle.        “yah! The water is going to help you!” he simultaneously sneers and screeches at (hy/n) “we can’t risk you getting an infection from your injury!”

Nothing seems to catch (hy/n)’s attention enough to calm them however, they continue on screaming and thrashing about as though their life depends on getting away from the water. With each passing moment the two human’s patience wears thinner all the while their hybrid’s strength only seems to get stronger and harder to handle.

“Wuxian!” Wangji calls “keep ahold of them, I’m going to cast a spell on them.”  

Wuxian nods, pursing his lips into a fine line as he pressures all of his strength into holding down his hybrid on his own.

Once Wangji is certain that Wuxian can hold the hybrid on his own, he backs away, taking only a spare moment to wipe away at the sweat that has formed on his head before summoning a right spell to cast that would render the (hy/n) into a still state. The summon takes but mere moments before it is ready to be cast. With no time to waste, Wangji casts it and watches as he and Wuxian’s hybrid falls silent and stiff. He hates to look of fear still present in their eyes, but he knows that they can handle what’s to come much better this way than keeping up their intolerant backlash which has only served to cause their fear and suffering to elongate.

Wangji quicker returns to Wuxian’s side and helps him lower their hybrid into the water completely up to their neck.     “Thank you” Wuxian says and he relaxes. Wangji only grunts in reply.

It takes longer for hybrids to heal than humans so Wangji and Wuxian both end up holding (hy/d) in the water for nearly an hour before their healing process is complete. Once done, they pull the human-feline out of the water and wrap it up in towels before casting away the spell. Betrayed eyes meet glare their way once (hy/n) is capable of moving. A growl and hiss are also earned when Wuxian moves close to pet the feline, which they shy away from.

Wuxian seems hurt by this but Wangji looks his way and silently calms him. “They forgive us once they’ve realized that we only did this to help them.”

Nothing more is said or done except for heading home before the sun sets upon the lands. (Hy/n) is pissed and shows this by turning to their full-fledged cat form in order to avoid speaking to them before they head home but the two men don’t mind this. Wangji gently picks up the feline once he can get close enough to grab them and hands them over to Wuxian, knowing that doing so would make the other happy since the hybrid had previously turned away from him when he had tried to comfort them.

As they head home, the pair know that their hybrid will remain angry with them for awhile but, again, neither of them mind. SO long as their hybrid is safe, they are happy, even if they have to deal with their anger latter, which they both know will be a handful to handle once they arrive back home.

~Savie

[buckybarnesdollface]

Bruised

Summary: It takes a rescue mission & a near-death experience for Bucky to admit how he feels.

Warnings: Violence, Smut

         With one final rough shove of my shoulder, the heavy metal door gave way with a groan of protest. Blinking a few times to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting that the underground dungeon – unsettlingly medieval in its appearances – provided, I made my way along the damp, chilled corridor, keeping my eyes and ears trained for any sign of life.

           Spending my first Thanksgiving as an Avenger in the dungeon of a HYDRA facility in Austria had been the last thing I had planned to do, but when Steve had informed the team that Bucky had been captured during a mission him and Sam had been on, I had been the first person to agree to help Sam and Steve rescue him. The team knew Bucky and I were friends – the best of friends, actually – so they hadn’t been surprised at my insistence on helping. What they didn’t know, however, was that my feelings ran much deeper than friendship.

           About halfway down the corridor, I heard a low groan coming from one of the cells. My heartrate picked up its pace as I sprinted forward. In one of the grimy cells, slumped against the wall like a ragdoll, was Bucky.

           The barred door was locked, but the Stark tech laser in my pocket made quick work of that. As soon as I was inside, I dropped to my knees in front of him.

           “Bucky…?” I breathed, setting a hand on his arm. His normally-blazing skin was cold – apparently even a supersoldier was susceptible to the chill of a damp dungeon in Austria at the end of November. As I repeated his name, more urgently this time, his head lifted slowly.

           Even in the dim lighting of the single bulb outside the cell, I could see how pale he was. He looked sickly, dark smudges under his eyes that had sunken into his face. There were lines in his face that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen him, and his dark hair hung limply in his eyes. I reached out to brush the dirty locks from his face and he let out a ragged breath.

           “(Y/N)?” he asked, his voice hoarse as recognition and then disbelief took over his features. “(Y/N), what are you doing here? You have to get out of here, they’ll be back soon and if they catch you here –”

           I silenced him with a finger against his lips. “I’m here with Steve and Sam,” I explained. “We came to rescue you, Buck.” I gave him a wry smile, though it didn’t touch my eyes. “No man left behind, remember?”

           The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched, but when he tried to sit up straighter pain flashed across his face and he let out a sound between a groan and a gasp. Alarmed, I hovered over him, trying to pinpoint the injury. I noticed his right arm was circled protectively around his midsection, and without waiting for his permission I gingerly pulled his arm away and lifted his shirt to inspect the damage.

           I felt bile rise to my throat at the sight. The right side of his abdomen looked as if it had been beaten with a meat mallet, the flesh raw and oozing both blood and pus. The skin around it was black with bruises, and I knew he’d have at least a few broken ribs, if not one or two that were completely shattered. I looked up at him with horrified eyes.

           “Did they…did they just do this to you?” I squeaked, and Bucky shook his head with a grimace.

           “They did this two days ago, doll.”

           “Then why hasn’t it started healing?” One of the advantages of being a supersoldier was that his wounds healed rapidly, but it looked as if nothing had even begun to heal.

           “I think they’ve been poisoning me,” he rasped. “Not enough to kill me, but enough so that none of the effects of the serum work.” He gave a half-smile. “If I’m weak then they can control me. They did something to my arm, too; I can’t move it.”

           Sure enough, his vibranium arm hung limply at his left side. Anger surging through me, my fists clenched at my sides. “Can you stand?” I asked him through gritted teeth.

           “I think so,” he replied, “but (Y/N) –”

           I cut him off, pressing a finger to the comm in my ear. “Guys, I found him,” I said to Steve and Sam. “We’re in the dungeon. Let’s get him out of here.”

           I could hear them both sigh in relief. “Stay where you are, (Y/N),” Steve ordered. “This place is crawling with HYDRA. We’ll come get you.”

           “Change of plans, Cap,” I muttered as I heard footsteps echoing down the stone corridor. Bucky heard them, too; his head shot up towards the cell door. “We’ve got company.”

           Before Steve could say anything more in my ear, I had drawn my pistol from its place in the holster on my thigh. Bucky’s voice rattled from behind me.

           “(Y/N)…” he croaked, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he’d stood up. I glanced frantically to the cell door and then back to him.

           “What are you doing?” I hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

           “So are you,” he snapped. “Give me a knife.”

           “Bucky –”      

           “I know you have at least three on you, (Y/N). Now give me one of them so I’m not unarmed.”

           Begrudgingly, I pulled the knife from my belt and handed it to him. Bucky took it, wincing as the movement disturbed his broken ribs, but then he straightened his spine next to me and gave me a curt nod. Injuries aside, he had my back and I’d be damned if I didn’t have his as well.

           The footsteps got louder, and then three men armed with pistols rounded the corner and came into view. Acting quickly, I lunged and kicked the pistol from the first man’s grip. It went flying a good thirty feet down the dim corridor, and although he was momentarily stunned from the unexpected assault the other two men wasted no time. One raised his pistol and aimed it at me while the other lunged for Bucky. I managed to dodge the bullet in time to raise my own pistol and shoot my attacker in the leg. The first man, having recovered from his shock, came at me with a knife as his comrade fell to the dirty stone floor with a strangled cry.

           He reached for my gun, and although I was quick, he was quicker. He grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip and bent it backwards until I screamed in pain and dropped the pistol, which he then kicked into a dark corner of the cell. With a grunt I managed to twist away from the man and landed a well-placed kick to his groin. He crumpled with a curse in Russian and I chanced a quick glance at Bucky. The large man he was fighting still held his gun, but it looked as though he didn’t intend to use it – No doubt HYDRA wanted to keep Bucky alive so they could use him.

           Bucky, on the other hand, was losing both strength and balance quickly. His steps were unsteady and he was breathing heavily as him and the bigger man circled around like two dogs in a fight. My attention was quickly diverted, though, when the cell was filled with the deafening shot of a pistol once again. This time my reflexes weren’t fast enough, and the bullet grazed my upper arm. I let out a strangled curse as pain shot through me, but it wasn’t fatal so with a snarl I drew my knife from my thigh holster and lunged at the man.

         We crashed into the stone wall, both scrambling for the upper hand. I fought to wrestle the gun from his grip; he was a small man, roughly my size, but stronger. He managed to flip me around so my back was pressed to his chest as an arm tightened around my throat, constricting my air flow. I struggled to get free, and managed to sink my knife into a fleshy thigh. The man cried out and released me, and in a split second I spun around and elbowed him in the face, which in turn jarred his head against the stone wall behind him with a sickening crunch.

         I had time neither to catch my breath nor check to see how Bucky was doing before the other man was coming at me again. I had only one weapon left; a small knife tucked into my boot that I had now pulled out. I gripped it tightly in my sweaty hand, still gasping for breath as the man advanced on me. I chanced the first swing but came up short, earning me a hard blow to the stomach that knocked the wind out of me and definitely cracked a rib or two. I fell to my knees, but as I reached for the knife I had dropped a large brown boot kicked it away from me and then a large hand grabbed roughly onto my hair and yanked me off the floor and into the air. I screamed in pain, but he only grinned a yellow-toothed grin and tightened his hold as pain shot through my scalp.

        “Now you die,” he said, his Russian accent thick, but as he lifted his free hand to my throat another hand reached up and plunged a knife – my knife – into his own throat. The man’s eyes widened as he let go of me, and as I dropped to my feet he staggered back and collapsed lifeless to the floor. I noticed that the man Bucky had been fighting was also lying motionless across the cell. Bucky stood in front of me, his shirt soaked through with blood and a black eye already forming, his broad chest heaving with exertion. He staggered a bit, and I lurched forward to catch him as best I could before he crashed to the stone floor.

       Steve and Sam found us not long after, the two of them taking Bucky, now unconscious, from my arms and lifting his limp body out of the cell. I grabbed one of the discarded guns and followed, exhausted but on guard for any attackers jumping out of the darkness.

        We got Bucky to the quinjet, where Sam and Steve gently laid him down on the cushioned bench seat before making sure we hadn’t been followed. As Sam prepared to take off, Steve looked at me with concerned eyes.

       “Are you alright?” he asked, and I nodded.

       “I’m fine. I’ve had worse,” I answered. “I’m more worried about Buck. They did something to his arm, and they’ve poisoned him so he isn’t healing like he should. He has some shattered ribs and possibly an infection, among some smaller injuries. We need to get him back to the compound as quickly as possible.”

       Steve nodded, but then the look on my face must have been concerning because something in his own expression changed. He stepped forward to set a comforting hand on my shoulder.

       “He’s gonna be alright, (Y/N),” he assured me. “He’s been through far worse; he’ll get through this, too.”

        I hadn’t even realized I had tears in my eyes, but now I swiped at them fiercely with the sleeve of my tactical jacket. I glanced at the limp body on the bench and struggled to swallow the lump in my throat.

       “It just kills me to see him like this,” I finally managed to whisper. “He’s always so strong and fierce and healthy. Look what they’ve done to him, Stevie.” My face hardened. “I’m going to kill every one of them.”

        To my surprise, Steve chuckled. “He’s lucky to have you,” he mused, giving my uninjured arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry, kiddo; we’ll get him home and back to being your Bucky in no time, I promise.”

       My Bucky. My cheeks flushed at Steve’s words, and as I was overthinking what he had said he gave me a warm smile and then headed to the cockpit to accompany Sam. I was still overthinking when I heard a rustling coming from the bench behind me.

       “(Y/N)?” Bucky breathed, and I turned to find him looking up at me with weary eyes. I was kneeling beside him in seconds, my hand smoothing the hair from his face.

       “I’m here, Buck,” I murmured soothingly. “You’re safe now, it’s alright.”

       “Have you…have you been crying?”

        Ducking my head, I cursed for not doing a better job of keeping my emotions in check. Bucky went to reach his flesh hand towards my face, but when his outstretched arm caused him to grimace, he instead settled for laying a hand on my arm.

       “Don’t cry, doll,” he murmured. “I’m okay, I’m alive.” He cracked a weak smile. “You saved me.”

        I met his gaze. “But what if we were too late?” I retorted. “Buck, you could have died! Or they could have…”

        I trailed off, but I didn’t need to finish my sentence for either of us to know what I had been going to say. They could have made you the Winter Soldier again. A possibility all too real and all too frightening. I shuddered involuntarily and Bucky pursed his lips.

        “Come here,” he murmured, and I looked at him with my brow furrowed.

        “What?”

        “Come here,” he repeated, and when he started to sit up, I shook my head and pushed him back down gently.

        “Bucky, you need rest,” I protested, but when I looked at his blue eyes – really looked at them – I realized they were burning with an unspoken agony.

        “Stay with me?” he then asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay with me, (Y/N), and hold me, please.”

        My heart broke at the sudden change in his tone, all broken vulnerability. Wordlessly, I stood, and with some effort Bucky lifted himself enough that I could slide onto the bench and then he laid back down with his head pillowed in my lap. His flesh hand held tight to my leg, and my own hands cradled his head and stroked through the tangles in his hair. It was like this that he eventually fell asleep, and I wasn’t too long after him.

        It was Sam that roused us when we got back to New York.

        “We almost didn’t want to wake you; you both looked so peaceful and I’m sure you both need the sleep,” he said with an apologetic smile, “but we gotta get Frosty here to the infirmary right away.”

        Bucky, who had sat up with the help of Steve, glared at Sam. “I told you not to call me that, Wilson,” he grumbled, and Sam flashed him a grin.

       “Would you prefer ‘old man’?”

       “Alright, that’s enough messing around,” I intervened, noticing the sweat beading on Bucky’s forehead. He was still in pain. “Let’s get to the infirmary so Dr. Cho can do her thing.”

       It took both Steve and Sam to hold Bucky up and help him off the quinjet and to the elevator, and even though they were doing their best not to jostle him I watched as his eyes tightened in a wince with every step he took. I wanted to push Sam away so I could hold him myself, but I knew I wasn’t strong enough to hold up half the weight of a supersoldier that couldn’t stand on his own.

       “F.R.I.D.A.Y., take us to the infirmary,” Steve ordered the AI as we all piled into the elevator.

       “Right away, Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, and then the elevator moved up. Bucky was now leaning heavily against Steve, breaths coming out ragged and hollow. When he caught me watching him, he forced a grin onto his tired face.

       “Don’t worry, doll, ‘s not as bad as it looks,” he told me with an attempt at nonchalance, but I shook my head and narrowed my eyes at him.

       “We’ll let Dr. Cho be the judge of that,” I retorted, just as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal the infirmary. Either F.R.I.D.A.Y. or Steve had warned of our arrival because Dr. Cho was already waiting for us, as well as a handful of nurses and Tony.

       “Bring him in here,” Dr. Cho said, motioning to one of the operating rooms. “We have to get that poison out of his system and do something about those shattered ribs.”

       “And I need to take a look at the arm,” Tony added, and Bucky nodded as Steve and Sam led him into the room and carefully laid him on the operating table. I followed, but as Dr. Cho administered a sedative to Bucky, Steve turned to me and shook his head.

       “Go get yourself seen to,” he said.

       “But Steve –”

        His large hand was gentle but firm as he steered me towards the door. “You have a bullet wound in your arm that needs to be disinfected and stitched, and judging from the way you’ve been holding yourself you’ve got a couple of cracked ribs. You aren’t a supersoldier; your injuries aren’t going to heal well on their own.”

        “Bucky’s injuries are more important than mine right now,” I protested in exasperation. I tried to twist away from Steve and duck past him back into the room, but the pain in my ribs stopped me and Steve arched a blonde eyebrow at me pointedly.

       “Bucky is in good hands, (Y/N),” he assured me. “If anything changes, I’ll come get you. But for now you just have to trust that Dr. Cho knows what she’s doing, and go take care of yourself before your own injuries get any worse.”

        I wanted to argue, but I knew he was right. With a sigh, I glanced once more at Bucky’s now-still body on the operating table before I let one of the nurses usher me out of the room.

        The nurse cleaned and stitched up the gunshot wound, and then gave me painkillers for the fractured ribs I had. As I slid stiffly off the table, Natasha came into the room.

        “How you feeling?” she asked, and I frowned.

        “Fine. It’s Bucky I’m worried about. I’m going to see him.”

         Natasha sidestepped me as I beelined for the door. I shot her my best death glare, but she stood her ground.

        “Steve told me what happened,” she said. “And while I understand why you’re worried about Bucky, you need to worry about yourself as well, (Y/N). I don’t think you’ve slept at all since you found out he’d been captured, and you probably haven’t eaten much either. I ordered pizza, it’s in the kitchen. Come eat some and then you can go upstairs and get some rest. You need it.”

        I shook my head. “I can’t sleep,” I argued. “I have to be awake when Steve comes to get me so I can see Bucky.”

        I could tell Natasha fought not to roll her eyes. “Fine,” she sighed. “We’ll grab some pizza and watch a movie in the common room, then. But you have to do something other than pace around worrying.”

        Begrudgingly, I agreed, following Natasha to the kitchen. We grabbed some pizza and headed to the common room. I picked at my food and paid little attention to the nineties romantic comedy she had put on, but eventually even my worrying couldn’t compete with my exhaustion and I fell asleep on the couch.

        When I woke up, I was in my bed; Steve must have carried me up to my room at some point. Sitting up, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ten forty-two. The blackout curtains in my room made it impossible to discern whether it was ten forty-two in the morning or at night.

        “F.R.I.D.A.Y., what day is it?” I asked.

        “Tuesday, Ms. (Y/L/N),” the AI replied, and I swore softly. I had slept through the whole night. Jumping out of bed and ignoring the pain in my ribs, I stripped out of the tactical outfit I was still wearing and pulled on leggings and a t-shirt.

        “F.R.I.D.A.Y., is Bucky still in the infirmary?”

        “Sergeant Barnes was moved to his own quarters early this morning.”

        Relief flooded through me. That meant he was okay. I pulled open my door and made my way down the hall. The living quarters at the compound took up an entire floor, and Bucky’s room was on the opposite end of the building from mine. When I reached his door, I hesitated before knocking.

        “Come in,” he called from inside, and I opened the door.

        Bucky was standing at his dresser, back to me, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He was looking for a shirt to wear, but when he heard me come in he turned around.

        The breath caught in my throat and I couldn’t help the tears that sprung to my eyes at the sight of him. The flesh of his abdomen that had been beaten raw and bruised black and blue was once again the smooth, unblemished pale gold wall of muscle I was used to. The colour and life had returned to his face, and he held himself without pain. Tony had even managed to fix whatever had been wrong with the vibranium arm; it now once again moved with the same ease as the flesh one.

        “You’re okay,” I breathed, and the tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn’t help it; after seeing him the way he was yesterday, seeing him now as strong as ever felt as if someone had breathed life into my own body as much as his own.

        A look of alarm crossed Bucky’s face, and then he was across the room and his hands were firm yet soft on my arms. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?” he demanded, his blue eyes searching my face. “Why are you crying, doll?”

        I reached up to swipe away my tears embarrassedly. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I just…Yesterday I thought I was going to lose you; you were so weak when I found you. And now…” I shook my head in disbelief. “Now you look as if none of it happened.”

       Bucky’s face softened, and he reached up to catch a stray tear that had rolled down my cheek with his thumb.

       “Because of you,” he murmured. “You found me, (Y/N). You saved me.”

       “No man left behind,” I reminded him, and he chuckled.

       “Steve told me how worried you were,” he said. “He told me that you all but flew the quinjet to Austria yourself when Sam got back and told you what had happened, and how stubborn you were in the infirmary yesterday.”

        I blushed and ducked my head. “Of course I was worried,” I said. “You’re my best friend, Buck. I couldn’t let HYDRA have you, and then even after saving you, you were so weak, I wasn’t sure…” I trailed off and bit my lip. Frowning, Bucky gathered me in his arms. I wanted to melt into his warm embrace, but instead I let out a grunt at the discomfort in my ribs. Bucky immediately let go of me, and I cursed the HYDRA goon for my cracked ribs.

       “Are you hurt?” Bucky asked me worriedly, and I shook my head.

       “Some fractured ribs and stitches in my arm,” I replied breezily. “Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

       Bucky frowned, and then he led me over to the bed and sat me down on the edge of the mattress. “Can I see?” he asked me, inclining his head towards my torso. I nodded wordlessly, and with gentle hands he slid my t-shirt up enough to expose the mottled skin. He swore softly and then looked up to meet my eyes. “Are you sure they aren’t broken? There’s a lot of bruising…”

        “They’re just cracked,” I assured him. “The pain wouldn’t even bother me, except I forgot to take my painkillers in my rush to see you this morning.”

        “Jesus, doll,” he chuckled, and then he stood and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. He was quiet for a couple of minutes before he spoke again, and when he did his voice was softer. “For awhile, while I was trapped in there, I wondered what would happen if I didn’t get out,” he admitted, and my eyes widened.

        “Bucky –” I breathed, but he shook his head.

        “Let me finish, (Y/N),” he insisted, and I pursed my lips. He passed a hand through his dark hair before continuing. “I thought of what would happen if HYDRA had control over me again – What it would mean for me, for our team, and for the rest of the world. I thought about how I’d sooner have them kill me than turn me back into him.”

        Bucky’s jaw clenched, and I felt a lump in my throat. I reached over to set a hand on his flesh arm, and the tense muscles relaxed slightly under my touch.

        “I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want Steve to have to see me like that again, either,” Bucky continued. “And I…” He swallowed hard and kept his eyes focused straight ahead rather than on me. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing me like that, (Y/N). I know you’ve heard the stories, but seeing it firsthand is another thing entirely and I couldn’t risk you looking at me and seeing him instead of me.” He shook his head suddenly and then looked over at me, blue eyes intense and a small smile on his face. “Funny thing is, though, that worry is what kept me going. That, and…”

         Bucky trailed off and ducked his head, and my brow furrowed. A million things were racing through my head, and I needed him to speak and make sense of it all. “And what?” I urged softly. “Bucky, tell me.”

         “When it got really bad, I would think about you,” he finally admitted, in a voice so quiet I had to strain my ears to hear him. “About how your laugh sounded, or the way you smelled like rose petals, or the way you’d scrunch your nose and bite your lip when you’re concentrating on something, or the way your face lights up like a Christmas tree when you see a dog.” He let out a short huff of a laugh and shook his head. “If I focused on all the little things I loved about you, it gave me motivation to get through whatever torture HYDRA inflicted on me, and to come up with some plan of escape. But then you showed up in that cell like my goddamn guardian angel and I knew if we made it out of there alive, I couldn’t let another day pass of me lying to you.”

        At this point my head was swimming, unable to make sense of anything Bucky was saying. “Lying to me…?” I breathed, and he nodded, his cheeks tinted pink.

       “Here’s the thing, doll,” he said quietly. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. You’re one of my best friends, and although there aren’t enough words in the world to tell you how much I appreciate your friendship, I’d be lying if I said I was truly happy with what we have.” My eyes widened and Bucky shook his head before I could speak. “No, that came out wrong. What I meant to say is that I don’t want us to be friends, (Y/N). I want more than that. I want us to be more than that.”

       Swallowing hard, Bucky stood up and knelt on the floor in front of me. He looked nervous, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took my small hands in his larger ones. “The truth is…I’m in love with you, (Y/N). I have been for awhile now, but I didn’t want to tell you because you’re the best thing in my life and I didn’t want to lose you. I was already amazed you wanted to be friends with me, I knew there was no way you would ever want more. But after almost losing everything, I…I had to at least tell you.”

        Bucky was silent as he waited for my response, and I could tell he was growing increasingly anxious with every second that passed that I said nothing. My own emotions were a hurricane inside of me, trying to comprehend what he had said to me. This man – this beautiful, kind, perfect superhuman of a man – had just confessed that he was in love with me and that he thought he wasn’t good enough for me? The universe was a strange place.

        “You…you love me?” I finally managed to get out, sounding dumb to my own ears. Bucky nodded, eyes still searching my face anxiously for clues as to what I was thinking.

       “I love you,” he confirmed softly. “And if you don’t feel the same way. (Y/N), that’s fine; I just needed you to hear it, once –”

       He didn’t get to finish, because I had thrown my arms around him, causing him to stumble at the unexpected impact and land on the floor with me in his lap. His eyes were wide and questioning when they met mine, but when I leaned in to press my mouth to his he didn’t resist, moving his mouth against mine as his hands came up to rest on my waist.

        “I love you, too,” I said breathlessly as we broke our kiss for oxygen. I took his face between my hands; his skin was warm and his cheeks were stubbled and it felt so natural, as if it were a gesture I had done a hundred times and not just once. “God, Bucky, I love you. You have no idea how good it feels to finally say it out loud.”

        With a soft little groan that warmed me from head to toe, Bucky captured my lips in another kiss, this one much more urgent and passionate than our first. His hands pulled me closer to him, and because I was still in his lap this placed me right over the front of his sweatpants and the unmistakable bulge underneath them. I hadn’t been expecting it, but I’d be damned if I was just going to ignore it.

        My lips still attached to Bucky’s and my hands clutching at his biceps, I ground my hips experimentally against his. Caught off-guard, Bucky’s lips ceased their assault against mine and a low growl escaped his throat as his hands tightened just slightly on my waist.

       “Doll,” he said, his voice low, “what kinda game are you playing at here?”

       I pulled away enough to see his face. His eyes were blown with lust, the blue irises almost swallowed whole by the pupils. My teeth caught my bottom lip between them and suddenly I wanted him so badly I was aching.

         “I want you,” I whispered, grinding myself against him again, and Bucky’s eyes narrowed. The next thing I knew he was lifting me up and laying me on the mattress, crawling on top of me and capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. One thick thigh slid between my legs to rest against my core, and the contact felt so deliciously wonderful that I let out a breathy moan into Bucky’s mouth. It was at that moment that I knew I was no longer the cat in this game of cat and mouse that we were playing.

       “Bucky…” I whined shamelessly. He detached his lips from mine to trail them down my jaw to my throat.

       “Mmm, doll?”

       Between his kisses and the way his hands were kneading my hips I was dizzy, but I needed more. “I need you to touch me,” I breathed, and I felt him grin against my skin.

       “I am touching you, baby doll,” Bucky murmured, hands teasing the skin just below the hem of my t-shirt. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

       I bit back my sigh of exasperation. “Stop teasing,” I then said, and in response Bucky’s teeth grazed against the skin at the pulse point in my throat. I gasped, back arching off the mattress and in turn pressing my aching core against his thigh. This drew a sinful moan from my lips and I could feel the coil in my belly tighten.

         “So responsive,” Bucky murmured appraisingly. “Hard to believe that the same girl who can walk into a HYDRA facility without breaking a sweat is a hot mess after a few well-placed kisses and caresses.”

         “Barnes,” I growled, glaring up at him, “if you don’t take these clothes off me right now, I swear to god you will end up back in that infirmary. And you can explain to Dr. Cho how your dick got –”

        But my sentence was left unfinished because Bucky had silenced me with a mind-numbing kiss. His hands were slowly sliding my shirt up my torso, one hot flesh and one cool vibranium. The contrast had me squirming underneath him. Bucky grinned, but when he crawled down my body to kiss along the path his hands pushing away the shirt left, he stopped, frozen.

       “Buck?” I said, suddenly self-conscious. “Buck, what’s wrong?”

       “(Y/N), we can’t do this,” he said suddenly, and I felt my eyes go wide in confusion. Bucky shook his head. “Your ribs, (Y/N). You’re injured, I’ll just hurt you more.”

       And then I remembered the bruises that covered my abdomen. I shook my head quickly. “Buck, I’m fine,” I protested. “It isn’t that bad. You won’t hurt me –”

       “I don’t want to take that chance.”

        “We can go slow! Just…please, Buck…” I looked at him with wide eyes. “I need you, so bad that if I don’t have you pretty soon I’m gonna explode.”

        This may have been an exaggeration, but I sure as hell felt that way. Bucky had barely touched me yet, but electricity coursed through my veins so strongly that I was sure the only way to release it was him. I hated begging, but he was looking at me with doubt clouding his eyes. “Please,” I breathed.

        Bucky sighed, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I never could say no to a pretty dame,” he murmured. “Especially one who’s practically beggin’ me to take her.”

        His Brooklyn accent came out and I could feel a fresh wave of heat between my thighs. Bucky pressed a few soft kisses to my bruises before looking up at me.

        “I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, and I frowned.

         “Bucky, I won’t break,” I protested, and he shook his head with a faint smile.

        “I said I’d be gentle, not that I’d be boring.” With that he slid my t-shirt up and over my head, revealing that I hadn’t been wearing a bra. He cocked a dark eyebrow at me playfully as he tossed my shirt to the floor, and under his gaze my body grew flushed. He cupped my breasts in his hands and I let out a soft sigh of contentment at finally being touched.

        “So beautiful,” he murmured, thumbs brushing over my nipples and drawing them to attention. I moaned, arching my back into his touch, and he chuckled before leaning in to take a nipple into his mouth. I squirmed underneath him, and when his flesh hand skimmed along my body to dip under the waistband of both my leggings and my underwear, I had to fight to keep my breathing even.

        “Oh!” I gasped as Bucky’s fingers swept through my slick folds and then found my clit. He groaned, mouth releasing my nipple as his fingers continued their exploration of my heat.

        “Fuck, doll, you’re soaked,” he said, voice husky. “Goddamn…”

        “I told you I needed you…” I keened as he slipped one, then two fingers inside me. “And fuck, Bucky, as good as that feels I need you, now. I can’t wait any longer. I want you inside of me.”

       In no time at all Bucky had stripped him and I of the rest of our clothes, and then he was pressing his lips to mine as he slid his hard length through my folds. I bucked my hips up into his, and he finally pushed the head of his cock into me, eliciting groans from both of us.

        He pulled back out until just the tip remained in me, and then slowly slid back in, sheathing himself a little further this time. He continued this until he was fully enveloped inside me, allowing me a moment to adjust to his size. His forehead rested against mine, hot breath fanning against my face, and I tilted my head up to capture his lips in a kiss.

         “I’m good,” I said breathily. His eyes met mine imploringly.

         “I’m not hurting you?”

         “No,” I assured him. “You’re doing quite the opposite, I promise.”

         Bucky grinned, and then he set a languid pace, dragging his length in and out of me tantalizingly slow. He had promised to be gentle and he was, his thrusts controlled and unhurried, but his hands and lips roaming the curves of my flesh as he moved inside of me had my body ablaze and I realized what he’d meant when he said he wouldn’t be boring. This wasn’t sex, this was love-making; every tender kiss and caress had me spiralling closer to release at a much quicker rate than I had thought possible for the pace we had set.

        Suddenly Bucky’s arms were circling behind my back and he was lifting me, still inside me, into his lap so we were face to face and my legs straddled his hips. With this new angle he filled me even more completely, and I bit my lip.

        Bucky’s strong arms were still curled around me, and he was looking at me with pure adoration. I reached up to trace a hand along his jaw softly and he smiled.

         “I love you,” he murmured, and I leaned in to kiss him.

         “I love you too, Bucky,” I whispered, and then he was thrusting up into me and I was gripping his shoulders to ground myself. Both of us already so tightly wound and drunk on each other, it only took a few thrusts before we both found our release. I let my body go limp against Bucky’s as we came down from our high, and then he smoothed a hand over my hair and pressed a kiss to my neck.

         “I should have told you I love you sooner,” he murmured, and I chuckled, nuzzling my face against his shoulder.

         “I have a feeling you’ll more than make up for it,” I teased. “You can start by getting me some food, Barnes. I’m starving.”

         Bucky laughed, the sound vibrating through his whole body and in turn through mine as we were still joined together. And in that moment I couldn’t think of a time I had ever been happier.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Habits, pt. 2

Summary: Old habits are hard to break, especially when they come in the form of a broken ex you still have feelings for. So when Ethan shows up at her doorstep once more, Y/N is forced to push him away for her own sanity. Problem is, he’s just not ready to go.

Warnings: angst, swearing, anger issues

Word count: 1500

Part 1   

It’s the same knock – twice in a row with a delayed third one. It’s closer to 2 AM, a little later than he usually comes. She stared at the door for a minute or two, aware his knock isn’t going away. If anything, Ethan Dolan is a persistent man and while she used to admire that quality, she was hoping he’d find someone else to be persistent with. However, her anger took over and she wasn’t pleased with just staring blankly at the door, partially afraid he might break it as the door isn’t really sturdy to begin with.

Cracking the door open, Y/N was ready to blow. Her eyes are red from studying long into the night, her mind on edge with upcoming exams she needed to do perfectly to keep her scholarship and having her ex-boyfriend at her doorstep was pushing her over the edge she had tried balancing.

Ex-boyfriend…The word alone is enough to make her choke up. In her dreams they were married, then came the babies... Now he is just an ex, not even by an official break up – he just disappeared from her life and drops in whenever his life is shitty and she’s supposed to be okay with that. Well, she’s far from being okay with that, even if she never says anything.

“Seriously?!” She exclaimed, her voice high and her eyebrows furrowed at his hunched form. He leaned on the doorframe, his neck bent to be closer to her. A faint smell of his Wakeheart perfume reaches her, enough to intoxicate her, but not enough to make her forget. It hasn’t been that long this time around. Perhaps if he spaced it out and showed up a week later, but two days? Twice in one week? Three times if she counts it as a seven day period instead of a conventional week!

“This is some kind of a record! You broke up three times in a single week!”

“Can I just -” Ethan began quickly, aware he’s there on borrowed time for she would close the door on him any moment now and if he didn’t speak his mind, he’d end up alone for the night. That alone is a terrifying thought that makes him want to push all the right buttons and he knew exactly which buttons and just how much pressure she could take.

“NO!” She slammed the door in his face, pushing her back against the wooden door with her heart clawing its way out her chest.

“Sunshine, please.” He has all these high emotions that make him so attractive, they tumble about, taking their turns to rise and fall. But when all's said and done they really don't get him anywhere, the cycle just starts over again. And Y/N was desperate to end it, especially now when she had barely anything left to give him. She had become an empty cup herself, no more warmth or love reserved for this broken man she adored.

Y/N snorted at the audacity he has for using the old nickname, shaking her head at both him and herself. She envies those that marry their childhood sweethearts, the ones that never feel the lingering sting of betrayal, the anguish of forming a bond so strong only to have it ripped from your still beating heart. It's an invisible wound that never gets treated and the infection only gets worse. She still feels like herself, but with a caution and a tinge of bitterness she never wanted. Ethan did that to her. He changed her for the worse – made her lose all self-respect and confidence he once loved. She had become a numbing agent for him and it had to stop – the lack of genuine communication and apologies had to stop.

“Fuck, no! Just because you’re hurting doesn’t mean you can go around breaking other people’s hearts. I’m done!” She yelled through the door, not knowing he’s on the edge just as much as she is. In fact, he’s already falling. When you hold too much of yourself inside, hiding it from the world, the only reaction you can get is an inevitable explosion.

“Besides, my neighbors complained about the couch creaking and I don’t need a repeat of that conversation.” She mussed in a sad attempt to crack a joke, running her hand over her face before turning around. She leaned in, her ear placed against the door to hear if he’s even there anymore because the silence is deafening. She always hurts when she lets him in, more so when he’s done using her, but she never knew it would be far worse not letting him in at all. She couldn’t help but worry for him, utterly lost in all the possibilities of what he might do when she turns him away.

Would he go home?

Would he find someone else?

Would he ever come back?

If he did, she hoped he’d come as he is. There was a missing link somewhere in this story – a reason why he didn’t stay with her but held on like his life depends on it.

Did he talk to Veronica?

Was he honest with her about what plagues his mind?

Does he love Veronica like he used to love her?

Does she know the way he drops his voice when he's feeling love, the way he flicks his eyes to the left or runs his fingers all the way through his hair - and he does that with Y/N all the time. Even now.

Before she can call for him, she’s startled when his fist connects with the door. The sound is loud, aggressive, too violent for the guy she is used to always being the calm in every storm. Grayson always told her to be prepared for the day Ethan cracks, but she never thought it would be tonight.

“You need to go.” She told him sternly, her breathing fast and shallow as cold sweat began to collect at the back of her neck and fear gripped her. She didn’t know what to expect from him, but she never dealt well with violence and Ethan felt violent. He felt like an out of control wildfire that was burning everything in its wake.

“I’m so sorry.” He whimpered from the other side of the door, his voice muffled by the wood. “I’m so fucking sorry for being a fuck up. You deserve so much better, I know you do but I can’t quit you. It’s impossible to forget you.” She could hear the tears in his words, each of them drenching her heart as well. But what can she do? Can she really trust him to control himself around her? Even so, could she let him go in such a state? She thought about calling Grayson, but by the time he gets there, it could be too late. So, she inhaled deeply before swallowing thickly, knowing her decision was never a decision really.

Moving to the door, she cracks the door open again. He stumbles, finding footing just before he falls. Sniffling, he wipes his nose with the back of his forearm, the anger seemingly gone but she still held her breath in anticipation of what could happen.

“I get if you don’t want to see me ever again, but there’s a video Gray and I did with Shane and it’s gonna be up in a few days. Can you do me a favor and watch it?” Fixed with his intense, heavy gaze, Y/N presses her lips together before nodding. She always watched his videos anyway. Sometimes she watched the old ones from before the entire mess began – back when they were a secret and he would always be so happy. Other times she watched the ones after he had dropped her, seeing through his mask and lies, but she seemed to be one of the few. But the new ones? Those were by far the most unconvincing videos they’ve ever made. Neither of the twins seemed right and yes, she would still watch to keep up with their lives, but she knew they weren’t happy.

She wasn’t happy either.

Especially not as she watched him leave.

She was supposed to be ecstatic about managing to break her bad habit for the first time, but why did it hurt so bad?

Turning around with a broken smile upon his plush lips, Ethan throws her a glance over his shoulder with a single purpose - to leave her with something else to think about.

“I’m done with Veronica. For good this time.”

PART 3

Tags: @beinscorpio​​ @godlydolans​​ @dolanstwintuesday​​ @peacedolantwins​​ @dolandolll​​ @heyits-claire​​ @ethanhes​

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 8 - THE OTHER SIDE

As soon as all the gods were spat out of the labyrinth and into the sweltering desert heat, Seren informed the gathered crowd about the fate of the Stone, and how the World Guardian and Sliske were left behind when it exploded. Though it was implied that they would have perished, Icthlarin knew otherwise, as did Death.

Zamorak and Saradomin left soon after, not caring to spend anymore time among one another’s company than they had to. The Stone - their prize for these tedious games - had been destroyed, therefore what was the point in remaining?

Armadyl decided to stay. When he noticed Icthlarin and Death hadn’t left, he didn’t want to either. Their presence meant there was still hope for Jahaan. He discussed with his avianse about the feasibility of tunneling down to provide the World Guardian with some assistance. Even though it was agreed that such a feat was impossible, Armadyl refused to leave until he saw either Jahaan or Sliske emerge from below. He prayed it was the former.

Seren stayed too, as did Zaros. If Sliske was the one to crawl out from the depths below, they wanted to be the first to greet him.

After what felt like an age had passed, Zaros suddenly vanished. There was no teleport spell cast - he just vanished. Naturally, panic and paranoia followed, Azzanadra nearly coming to blows with the elves that guarded Seren. He was convinced she had something to do with his disappearance, despite her affirmation that she knew nothing and there was no evidence suggesting otherwise. It took Armadyl and Icthlarin to quell the tension, but they barely managed it.

After only a few minutes, Zaros blinked back into the gathering like he’d returned from a ripple in existence, though considerably angrier than when he left. Seren tried to call out to him, but he simply stormed over to his entourage and teleported away with them, a dark cloud lingering where he left.

Not long after that, Jahaan returned to them.

Or at least, what was left of him.

Jahaan was conscious when he hit the ground, though that sharp return of his agony made him wish he wasn’t. What happened next, however, barely registered for him - the dirt and tears in his eyes, coupled with the deafening ringing in his ears, made focusing impossible. All he could concentrate on was the pain, hoping it would get to the stage where he would black out from it. At least then he wouldn’t have to endure it.

Instead, he felt hands grab at him, rolling him over. He didn’t realise just how much blood he was lying in. An involuntary, blood-curdling shriek escaped from his lips when hands tried to put pressure on the wound.

He felt a cool ice coat his abdomen, a subtle pressure attached to it - a female voice followed it. Seren had temporarily stopped the bleeding with a layer of crystal. Not that Jahaan noticed. All he felt was a nauseating jolt as he was lifted up into the air, head-spinning and limbs crying out in protest.

Seren told the others to follow her to Prifddinas, which to Jahaan was nothing more than an echoed mumble. Whenever he was going, he hoped a bed was on the other side of it. A nice, warm bed… can’t I just sleep now?

Fortunately for Jahaaan, he got his wish.

The spell was intended to comatose the World Guardian during the operation. Elven medicine was far superior to anything else on Gielinor, therefore Seren knew Jahaan’s best chances were with her. But there was a lot of blood lost already, alongside damage to the small intestine, some of which would have to be removed. It would take days to see if the procedure had worked, and Jahaan’s condition could deteriorate in a matter of hours if they had missed a source of internal infection. Herbal remedies were infused into him to keep his vitals stable and to provide nutrients.

Whenever Jahaan was awake, he wasn’t ever ‘there’. Some delirious mumbles, a glazed expression, and a refusal to eat. Then, he would fall asleep again, sometimes for the rest of the day.

The chief healer, Lady Heledd, estimated that he would be sitting up, talking and eating within five days. Eight had passed, and all he did was sleep. Often, Jahaan would talk in his sleep, a crude blend of languages, some that even Lady Heledd and the other healers didn’t recognise.

Heads turned whenever Icthlarin and Death visited the affirmed, and assurances had to be made that, if they were there to claim Jahaan’s soul, they wouldn’t be coming in through the front door.

While Icthlarin was unaware of when Jahaan would pass, he knew that Death held that information. Death knew the ‘when’ and ‘how’ for every being on Gielinor. Of course, Death never parted with this information, not even to Icthlarin. Doing so would ‘upset the balance’, he would always say. Icthlarin couldn’t resent his friend for doing his duties, but hated not knowing if the next time he saw Jahaan would be in the Underworld. Not that Jahaan wanted to go through the Underworld, or to an afterlife. Icthlarin knew that, if the time came, he would have to respect the World Guardian’s decision.

Jahaan was never awake for their visits, nor was he awake for the handful of times Armadyl dropped in on him. The avianse deity had diligently stayed at his bedside, sometimes for hours on end, never getting anything more than a delirious groan from the World Guardian. Despite trusting the elves and elven medicine, Armadyl invited Gaw’kara to join him in a visit to Jahaan’s hospital room, just to see if he had a different take on Jahaan’s condition. Unfortunately, he didn’t, reaffirming what Lady Heledd and the elven healers had told them: time will tell.

When Jahaan slept for thirty-six hours straight, having to be kept alive by the constant chanting of an air spell to assist his breathing, there was the fear he might never wake up.

Until he did.

Groggily, Jahaan dragged himself back into consciousness, blinking away the haziness of his vision and trying to sharpen up the world around him. It was bright, very bright. Everything seemed to shine, like the walls were made of pure cyan crystal. It reminded him of Prifddinas, or what little he had seen of it.

Has Icthlarin accidentally taken me to Seren’s afterlife? Jahaan thought to himself, though reconsidered the likelihood after trying to sit up slightly and feeling a searing pain in his abdomen. Surely the afterlife doesn’t come with lasting agony?

Then, he heard a voice beside him, “Don’t move. I’ll get Lady Heledd.”

A brush of turquoise flittered past his vision. Soon after, a tall elven woman with curled blonde hair tied into a high bob entered the room. Her gown was white and pristine with a turquoise diamond emblazoned on it.

“Where am I?” Jahaan hoarsely whispered, his croaky throat coughing with the effort. A straw was forced near his mouth, and Jahaan hungrily sipped down the contents like he hadn’t drunk in months. More coughing followed.

“Steady on, love,” the pointy-eared healer cooed. Her warm voice was reassurance incarnate. “You’re alright now. Can you tell me your name?”

“Jahaan,” the World Guardian replied, needing to take a deep breath as he continued, “Jahaan Siad-Samak.”

“Alrighty Jahaan, and can you tell me your age?” Lady Heledd asked with a soft tone you’d usually use when addressing a child. In fact, she continued on with about a dozen more questions Jahaan deemed as asinine, his repeating inquiries as to his location ignored every time.

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what’s going on,” Jahaan huffed, feeling slightly more invigorated now. Not enough to move, no. But enough to sound slightly irate. “Where am I?”

Setting down the notebook she’d been penning his answers into, alongside other comments and remarks, Lady Heledd perched on the bed beside Jahaan with the friendliest smile he’d ever seen. She probably gave this smile to everyone, but Jahaan wanted to think that it was reserved purely for him. “You’re in Prifddinas, love, in hospital. You’ve been out a while. I needed to ask all those questions to make sure you were fully with me this time.” “Fully with you?” Jahaan queried at the odd turn of phrase. “What do you mean? How long was I out?”

“Just under two weeks, dear,” Lady Heledd replied. “You’ve been awake before now, but you weren’t all that responsive, talking slightly delirious and all that.”

Jahaan tried to run his mind back over the last two weeks, but came up empty. He remembered nothing from that period. He forced his mind back further, but it was a mighty effort.

The labyrinth, the fight, the stab, he winced at the last one, tying it to the ache in his stomach. Then, his eyes widened. “Jas!”

“Steady on, dear,” Lady Heledd held him down as he bolted up in bed, the World Guardian instantly regretting the action, crumbling back into the bedsheets with an extended groan. “What’s this ‘Jas’ anyhow?”

Panting from the exertion, Jahaan said, “I need to talk to Seren.”

“World Guardian!” Seren cheerily greeted when she glided into the room. “I’m glad to see you compos-mentis.”

There were pressing concerns on Jahaan’s mind, one’s he wanted to share urgently before they were forgotten in the depths of his memory. But naturally, he first wanted to say, “Thank you for everything you have done for me, Seren. It sounds like you saved my life.”

“My elves saved your life,” Seren corrected, humbly. “It was touch and go at some points, I must say. But it’s a relief you pulled through. Your death would have been a loss for all of Gielinor, after all you have done. What happened down there, after the Stone exploded?”

Briefly, Jahaan informed Seren about the battle with Sliske and how the drain on the Mahjarrat’s energy weakened him severely. He told of how he was stabbed by the Staff of Armadyl, and how Sliske stabbed himself too, no doubt trying to forcefully siphon Jahaan’s soul into himself. But, for some reason, the process failed, and Sliske turned to stone.

Then, he finally arrived at what he needed to tell her the most, about his meeting with Jas.

After the tale ended, the elven deity was rendered speechless.

Jahaan had to prompt her, “What should be done?”

Seren gulped. “I… am not quite sure. I am not surprised at my brother’s attempt to ascend to elder godhood, and I am glad he was denied. But Jas said that mortal life has to prove it is worthy of existing, or the Great Revision will commence again… how do we prove ourselves to a being that considers mortal life a mistake? How can we...”

Her tone became faint, trailing off towards the end. To Seren, she had been burdened with the task of ensuring all life in the universe continued. To Jahaan, he’d relieved himself of the issue for now. No doubt it would weigh on him at a later date, but for now, tiredness was crawling back into his mind, his eyes suddenly feeling a whole lot heavier.

After a few minutes of solemn contemplation, Seren noticed her audience was waning. “I shall leave you to rest. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll be up for an audience? Icthlarin has been visiting repeatedly, much to the disconcertion of the elves.”

“I’d like that,” Jahaan said with a faint smile before allowing his eyes to close.

When Icthlarin walked through into his room the next day, Jahaan was finally sitting up and managing to get some soup down him. Solid foods were still too much of a struggle, and his appetite was far from its usual self, but this soup was divine. Never had hospital food tasted so damn good. Maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten much of anything in a fortnight, but this soup was one of the finest culinary delights he had ever had the pleasure of enjoying. This was a hill he was prepared to die on.

“Icthlarin!” Jahaan grinned, the soup’s warmth and happiness increasing his mood tenfold. “I must be the only human alive who’s glad to see the god of the underworld.”

“It is good to see you here, alive and almost in one piece, my friend,” Icthlarin replied, a broad smile that revealed his large canines. It soon faded, however, as he said, “I… apologise for the state I was in during Sliske’s labyrinth. I am embarrassed you had to see me like that.”

“Don’t apologise,” Jahaan fervently finished up the last of the soup. “I’m just glad you’re back to your usual self now. Can’t say the same for me though. Lady Heledd - the chief healer here - thinks I’m going to be bedridden for a while.”

Jahaan didn’t frankly care, as long as he had his soup.

Naturally, Icthlarin was curious as to what occurred after he was ejected from the maze, and Jahaan regaled him with the tale in full. Afterwards, there was a prevailing question on Jahaan’s mind he had to ask, even if the subject loomed over his good mood like rain clouds threatening to burst.

Mentally preparing himself, he breathed deeply before asking, “How was Ozan when you saw him?”

Icthlarin furrowed his brow. “Ozan?”

“You remember Ozan, don’t you?” Jahaan checked, slightly puzzled. The two had met on adventures in the past, and Icthlarin never forgot a face. “He was one of Sliske’s wights. He’d have passed onto the afterlife after Sliske died, right?”

“I remember Ozan well, but he never passed into my domain.”

For a brief moment, Jahaan could have sworn he felt his heart stop. “C-Can you explain that?”

“I… I do not know how,” Icthlarin looked as concerned as he did confused. “If Ozan was bound to Sliske as a wight, Sliske’s death should have released Ozan’s soul. That is the natural order of things.”

Jahaan didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to dare get his hopes up. The pain of having them crash down around him might finish him off for good. And yet, he couldn’t help himself. “Are you saying… Ozan’s alive?”

“I can only confirm that he is not dead,” Icthlarin spoke slowly, like he was calculating equations in his mind, ones that were written in a language he couldn’t quite decipher. “At least, not fully. Perhaps he is still trapped as a wight, but that should not be possible. He should-”

He was interrupted by a tight hand squeezing his own. Jahaan bolted upright in bed, wide eyes showing more signs of life than they ever had. “Can you find him for me? P-Please, I… I need to see him, please can you try to find him?”

Features softening, Icthlarin rested a paw on top of Jahaan’s hand. “I shall try, my friend.”

When Icthlarin shut the door to Jahaan’s room, he leant back against the firm mahogany, his thoughts trying to catch up with him. Indeed, Ozan was still on this world - something the god of the underworld just knew. But how? Icthlarin never saw the man as a wight, but if indeed that was the fate that befell him, Sliske’s death would have released the man into his domain.

Something was off. Something was also off about Jahaan, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was just a smell around him, something about his usual scent that didn’t match.

Rubbing his temples, Icthlarin resolved to sleep on the matter, then locate Ozan in the morning. Perhaps by talking to him, Ozan could shed some light on the situation.

The next evening, Jahaan heard the swish of a teleport spell land outside his door and the faint mumblings of Icthlarin’s voice. When he spoke to the elves, he spoke in elven, so Jahaan had no idea what was being said.

But Jahaan didn’t care what they were talking about. All he could think about was if Icthlarin had brought company with him.

Scrambling to sit up in bed, Jahaan’s heart beat faster and faster, making a home inside of his throat. The anticipation was killing him.

Then, after one twist of the door handle, his heart threatened to burst.

Ozan walked through the door.

He was still a ghostly green, translucent in some places, with robes that seemed decayed and withered. In fact, he looked exactly the same as he did in Sliske’s chasm, though thankfully without the damage to his legs that Jahaan had inflicted.

Both men just stared at each other in disbelief for too long, debating the chance that the other was a mirage.

Eventually though, Ozan plucked up the courage to remark, “Wow, finally someone that looks worse than me.”

Jahaan practically choked on his own tears as he started to laugh. Just to hear Ozan’s voice again made all of this worth it. Every single memory he’d be forced to relive, every single injury he’d have to endure for the rest of his life… Ozan made it all worth it.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Jahaan stammered through the tears, desperately trying to wipe them away with his bedsheets.

“Neither can I,” Ozan laughed, nervously scratching the back of his head. He was never good with hospitals - they freaked him out, but he tried his best to hide that fact through a broad smirk. “Now, you aren’t going to break if I hug you, right?”

Grinning, Jahaan beckoned him over. But as soon as Ozan embraced him, the man recoiled suddenly, inhaling a sharp breath.

Jahaan froze. “Are you okay, Ozan?”

Gulping, Ozan’s hand slowly moved to gently rub his neck, taking a tentative step backwards. “Didn’t you feel that?”

“Feel… what?”

“That… shock,” Ozan cleared his throat, exhaling a shaky breath. Shaking his head, he tried to chuckle, “Maybe it’s the side effects of being dead?”

Jahaan forced a faint laugh, but he was unnerved by the scared look in his friend’s eyes.

The two talked for ages long after that, but Ozan sat firmly on the other side of the room, as far away from Jahaan as possible. For a man with no sense of personal space, it was rather concerning, but Jahaan refused to think too much about it. He had his best friend back - nothing else mattered.

“I just woke up back at the Barrows,” Ozan recalled. “I didn’t have that grip on me anymore - I had control again, free will. The others were there too, Ahrim and Dharok… all of them felt the same way. Sliske’s hold over us had gone.”

Jahaan replied, “I’m just confused… when Sliske died, you should have passed on, not be trapped on Gielinor.”

“Icthlarin said the same thing when he found us,” Ozan informed. “Said he had no idea why we were still here. He offered to take our souls to the afterlife though, if we wanted it, since we were already dead and all. Some of the Brothers are considering it.”

“What about you?” Jahaan tried not to sound nervous.

Fortunately, Ozan’s grin reassured him. “Oh I’m not going anywhere. A world without Ozan would be a very dreary place indeed.”

More guests visited him throughout his weeks in bedrest, but Ozan was the regular, bringing him books and sneaking Coal in to visit him when the healers weren’t looking. The man had gone back to the Wizards’ Tower and received a tearful reunion with Ariane, which warmed Jahaan’s heart. He and Ariane had shared their differences in the past, but she made Ozan happy, and that was all that mattered.

It took severe persuading from the city’s elders, but eventually, upon Seren’s insistence, Azzanadra was allowed to visit Jahaan. Not that the Mahjarrat was pleased at all with having to enter Seren's domain. In fact, he loathed the idea. But he felt a duty to Jahaan to at least visit him once. If the World Guardian can fight alongside him in a Mahjarrat Ritual, this was the least he could do.

But he didn’t stay long. In fact, as soon as he entered Jahaan's hospital room, he wanted to leave. Something was not quite right. There was a feeling, a pull, a familiar presence lingering… like a ghost trapped within the walls.

Azzanadra listened intently to the story of what happened after he was cast out of the labyrinth, trying not to let his stony features betray the trepidation he felt.

One part of the story stuck with him, however, threatening to bring his darkest theories to light.

“Which end of the Staff did he stab you with, again?” Azzanadra checked, biting on the inside of his cheek

“The bottom part,” Jahaan replied, “Thank the gods he did. If I got stabbed with those wing things on the top, well…”

It was as Azzanadra feared. He had seen the work of the Staff, the Siphon, first hand before. Memories of the Empty Throne Room and Zaros’ assassination by the Staff were still fresh in his mind, just like it happened yesterday. Zamorak had used the Staff to siphon power from Zaros into himself. Sliske must have intended to use it to extract Jahaan’s soul, but instead he made a fatal error.

Wahisietel did not want to visit Jahaan.

Jahaan understood. The wound was too fresh; he would not want an audience with the man who was effectively his half-brother’s murderer. If Wahisietel would accept him, Jahaan would visit him when he could, explain what happened, and apologise for the role he was forced to play.

It would take time, Azzanadra had told him. The Mahjarrat had visited Wahisietel in his Nardah home to find the place a wreck, and Wahisietel himself was in no fit state.

“Can you tell him...” Jahaan started to ask Azzanadra, but was unsure how to sum up everything he wanted to say in just one sentence. “Just… can you tell him I’d like to see him at some point, and that I’m sorry.”

The words would sound hollow to Wahisietel. ‘Sorry’? Would ‘sorry’ bring back the only family he’d had for generations?

Jahaan quite enjoyed his time confined to bed rest. For once in gods knew how long, there was no weight inside his chest, no looming shadow of Sliske to cloud over his mind. Responsibilities could take a back seat. He had earned his repose.

Of course, there was the issue of the elder gods’ ultimatum to prove that life was worth existing, but Jahaan decided he’d cross that bridge when he had to. In fact, from how he felt right now, Jahaan was rather content with never crossing that bridge. He’d been Gielinor’s hero enough for one lifetime - someone else could take over the role for all he minded.

Yes, the idea of retirement seemed pretty good right now…

...until Jahaan heard a disembodied laugh rattle through his mind.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

Previous chapter / Next chapter

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Told You So

aka Three times Tony and Bruce take care of each other.

For @twentyghosts. Happy Birthday, Renata! This is a birthday fic and also my excuse for writing Science More-Than-Bros for the first time. It’s hurt/comfort because that’s me, but nothing dark.

Major thanks to @whumphoarder​ for beta reading. Enjoy :)

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

Bruce wakes when the sky outside is still dark, hours before their alarm is set to ring. That’s nothing new - between him and Tony, they have assembled so many potentially nightmare-inducing traumas that there is hardly a night in which both of them sleep until morning - but today it’s something else that woke him.

Tony is facing away from Bruce in a futile attempt to not disturb him with a wet and seemingly painful coughing fit. He is hunched into himself, trembling slightly, sucking in rattling breaths between the coughs.

“Hey, Tony, take it easy,” Bruce mumbles as he blinks himself awake, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

He props himself up on an elbow and starts to rub circles on the other man’s back. Tony shivers visibly under his touch, and Bruce’s hand goes up to his neck. He sighs when he feels the searing heat coming off Tony’s skin. The chest infection Bruce warned him about when he went on a three-days workshop binge with a cold is now in full force. Of course Bruce was right, but he doesn’t feel satisfaction, only worry. Bruce isn’t one to say ‘I told you so’.

Tony coughs and coughs and coughs, then wheezes in a breath and coughs some more, sounding increasingly frantic.

“Okay, you need to get upright.” Bruce scrambles out of bed and helps the other man sit up.

Tony takes a rattled breath before doubling over and hacking again. He brings a hand to his chest in a pained expression. “Can’t - breathe -”

“I know, I know. You’re okay, Tony, it’s just the infection,” Bruce assures in the calmest voice he can muster, trying to radiate confidence. He knows that not being able to breathe is one of Tony’s most prominent triggers, and the last thing they need right now is a panic attack.

“JARVIS, can you start the steam in the shower?” he addresses the AI.

“Of course, Dr. Banner.”

“That should help you,” Bruce encourages, hoisting Tony up. “Come on.”

Steam is already filling the shower. Bruce sits Tony down on the ground, asking him to lean forward and breathe evenly.

Tony tries, then descends into another coughing fit. He tries again and hacks up a mouthful of mucus, his fingers clawing into Bruce’s arm. There’s panic in his eyes when the attempt to fill his lungs with oxygen yields no result.

“Okay, try again, just breathe with me,” Bruce instructs. He takes both of Tony’s hands into his, holding them tight. “I’m right here, okay? Let’s do this together.”

He counts them down from ten a couple of times until finally Tony’s breathing eases. For a minute, Tony just sits there with his eyes closed, swaying slightly, relief visible on his face. Then he slumps against Bruce, exhausted and clearly feverish.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “‘s was awful.”

“You’re okay now,” Bruce soothes. “Maybe just listen next time when I tell you to take a day off.”

Tony sticks out his tongue at him, then buries his face in Bruce’s chest.

“Do you think you’ll be okay here for a moment while I get us a change of clothes?” Bruce asks. He personally wouldn’t mind cuddling his partner on the bathroom floor all night, but the heat of the steam really doesn’t help with Tony’s fever.

Tony nods sluggishly, already half asleep. Bruce helps him shift so he can support himself against the tiled wall.

He goes to change his own pajamas, leaving the wet ones on a heap on the floor to deal with later. Then he fetches a pair of sweatpants and a shirt for Tony and returns to the bathroom.

“Brucie?” Tony is still sitting on the shower floor, and when he looks up at Bruce, there’s a smile on his tired face and a sparkle in his eyes. “Your bedhead looks adorable.”

*

“Something about this smells fishy to me,” Tony says into his comm and Bruce grins because this is the third time he’s heard that same line during the past hour. He can almost see Steve taking a deep, measured breath on the other side of the channel.

Missions are always Bruce’s least favourite part about being an Avenger. This time, at least, it isn’t the Hulk who is needed but actually Bruce, the scientist, and there are definitely worse things to do than investigate an abandoned Hydra base together with Tony.

That’s what he thinks anyway, until the moment when the air resonates with a deafening explosion from further down the corridor and he realises that they have walked right into a trap.

“I told you so,” Tony snaps at Steve through the comm, and Bruce almost laughs because this is such a Tony thing to say, but then there’s an ominous crunch from the walls, and the next moment the building collapses over their heads.

The dust settles and by some mysterious fortune, Bruce is still Bruce, although a Bruce who’s lying on the ground on his back without any memory of how he got there. He tries to get up with a groan, but he can’t. His chest is pressed down by something metallic, and he realises with a surge of fear that it’s Tony’s armour. He tries to turn to his side, but that doesn’t work either as there is debris all over him and possibly the remnants of a wall nailing him in place. He tries to lift his hands to free himself just to realise that he can’t even do that, and that’s when the panic takes over.

He mutely notices Tony saying something, but he can’t concentrate, his own increasingly frantic breaths sounding too loud in his ears. The weight on his body seems to grow heavier with each second that passes, and he is almost sure that he can feel the oxygen decreasing.

The Hulk stirs in the back of his mind, and Bruce is nearly glad to let him take over, but then he realises that this can’t happen because Tony is lying above him, which means that Tony is trapped together with him under the debris, and if the Hulk comes out, he will squeeze Tony to death and -

“Bruce? Are you okay?” Tony’s voice interrupts his racing thoughts and Bruce realises from his tone that this is not the first time he must have asked the question.

Get me out of here, he wants to shout, but he can’t answer, the weight pressing down onto his vocal chords robbing him of oxygen.

“Bruce?”

“N-No,” he manages. “C-can’t -” He breaks off, panting.

“Okay, hey,” Tony says. “Calm down, big guy.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, Bruce thinks, because it’s not the what that is the problem here, it’s the how. Tony mumbles something into his suit, and then Bruce can feel a gush of fresh air on his face, because of course Tony’s suit would have an A/C function.

He gulps in a breath, and another, and another. It doesn’t do much to take the weight off his limbs, but at least the fear of suffocating is gone for the moment.

“Bruce? Talk to me, you’re freaking me out. Are you okay?” Tony sounds a little panicked himself.

“Yeah - yeah, I’m sorry,” he rasps. “Just, uhm, I don’t really like small spaces.”

He can hear Tony let out a breath. “Yeah, somehow I guessed that… You’re not injured, right?”

“No, I’m-I’m good, just, there’s debris all over me. And I can’t move.” He tries not to make the last sentence sound too pathetic, but it’s a close call.

“I’d help you out, but my suit’s holding the structure upright, so I can’t really move either,” Tony explains.

Bruce can feel the minute shakes of the armour betraying the strength it takes Tony to keep the building from collapsing further - can hear the low hum of the armour. He wonders how much energy it has left.

“FRIDAY called for backup, they should be coming soon,” Tony goes on. “Don’t move until then, it’s a very...fragile situation.”

Great. That’s just great.

“Are- Are you hurt?” Bruce asks, because no matter how close to losing it he is, he needs to know whether Tony is okay.

“Nah, I’m good,” Tony responds, the strain in his voice obvious. Bruce is inclined not to believe him, but on the other hand, he is carrying a building on his shoulders, so of course he’d sound strained, and god there is a whole building trapping them and he can’t move -

“Slow it down, big guy,” Tony instructs firmly.

“It’s not - It’s hard - “ The edges of Bruce’s vision are shimmering green.

We are safe, he tries to convince the Hulk, You don’t need to take over, we’re okay- but he has such a hard time believing it himself.

“Bruce. Just breathe with me. Like that night in the shower, when I was sick, you remember?” Tony manages the miracle of keeping his voice soft even though he himself is almost panting from exertion.

“Yeah,” Bruce manages, pulling up the memory in his mind. If Tony got through bronchitis without a panic attack, Bruce can get through his claustrophobia. Has to, actually - it’s not like there’s much of a choice.

“Okay,” Tony directs, “Count your breaths. Easy-peasy.” There is a groan and something in the structure shifts. For a horrible second Bruce thinks that this is it, it’s going to collapse and the Hulk will come out and Tony will die - but then he feels a hand reaching for his, and realises that Tony has somehow freed his arm.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Tony asks.

“Y-Yes. Thanks.” Tony finds Bruce’s hand in the dark, and he can feel the nanite casing of the other man’s suit retracting, his warm fingers enveloping Bruce’s own.

“Here. I got you.” Tony soothes. “Now, just breathe. They’ll come for us soon.” His fingers hold Bruce’s tightly, pressing his hand in rhythm with Bruce’s breaths.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce says when he manages to calm down a little bit.

“For what? Was it your fault that Captain The-Structure-Is-All-Clear Rogers got the wrong intelligence?”

“No, of course not, just...if I wasn’t there, you could just use your repulsors -”

“Goddammit, Bruce, stop apologising for existing!”

“S-Sorry,” Bruce whispers, feeling a tiny smile form on his lips.

“Stop saying sor -” They are interrupted by a rumble from somewhere deep in the structure.

Bruce flinches, but Tony’s fingers press his reassuringly. “It’s the team. They’re coming for us. Don’t worry, we’re going to be safe.”

Thankfully, Tony is right once again.

*

“Sorry-  for making you late -” Tony rasps, spitting a string of bile into the toilet bowl.

“What do you mean, ‘late’?” Bruce frowns. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, we are so going-” Tony stops to rip a piece of toilet paper off the roll and roughly wipe his mouth with it. “I’ll just - give me a few minutes, I’ll be able to keep down a painkiller and then we can leave -” He interrupts himself to retch once more.

“Tony, the stupid ceremony is not important. I’m not letting you go in the state you’re in.”

“This’ nothing  - jus’ a stupid migraine - I’ve worked through worse -”

“Is that supposed to reassure me? Because it definitely doesn’t.”

Bruce braces himself for another comeback, but Tony has gone quiet, holding his head in his hands with his eyes screwed shut, reeling slightly. His adam’s apple is bobbing up and down as he is visibly trying not to be sick again. The pain on his face is almost too much for Bruce to bear.

“Okay, hey.” Bruce brings his tone down to a soothing whisper. “Do you think you’re done for now?”

Tony nods minutely, so Bruce helps him up to standing. Tony whimpers involuntarily when the change of altitude dials up the pain, grabbing at the basin for balance. When he can stand more steadily, Bruce fills a glass of water for him to rinse his mouth.

FRIDAY has already dimmed the lights in the bedroom. Bruce sits Tony down on the foot of the bed and takes a moment to tidy up the pieces of the fancy suit that are laid out on the mattress, evidently left there when Tony got sick while trying to get dressed. Bruce is glad that he came home early to find the man in the bathroom throwing up instead of meeting Tony directly at the science award ceremony like they had planned originally. He is sure Tony would have forced himself to go despite a migraine bad enough to make him sick.

“‘m useless. And stupid. More stupid than Dum-E.” Tony is struggling with the buttons of his suit shirt.

“I have a hard time believing that, coming from the man who was supposed to receive a science award tonight with me.” Bruce smirks.

“I feel stupid. Can’t use my brain. ‘n my hands.” He pulls at the buttons irritably.

“It’s okay. I got this, see?” Bruce helps him out of the shirt, eliciting a small, grateful smile. He nudges him to change into sweatpants before Tony gingerly curls into the blankets.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Bruce tells him quietly.

“Can’t. Not tired, ‘s not even seven yet.”

“Keep lying there and I bet you’ll be asleep within half an hour.”

“Sure.” Tony responds sarcastically.

“Are you still feeling nauseous?” Bruce asks. The answer is a small nod, so Bruce fetches the trash can from the corner of the room and sets it next to the bed. Then he goes to wet a washcloth with cool water and lays it over Tony’s eyes. Tony lets out a breath of relief.

“You can still go, y’ know?” he speaks up when Bruce slides under the blanket with him. “‘s boring here, ‘m no fun.”

“Tony, you don’t have to be fun for me to want to be around you,” Bruce protests. “I don’t want you to be alone when you’re sick.”

“Oh. ‘kay.” Something in his tone expresses genuine surprise, and Bruce feels a sudden green flash of anger at whoever it was that made Tony believe he has to be a source of constant entertainment in order for people to stay with him. Bruce draws in a breath.

“How’s the pain?” he asks, more softly.

Tony shrugs, flinching when he does so. His face is abnormally pale, sweat beading on his hairline. Bruce realises that he still has a clenched fist pressed to his left temple. Migraines typically hurt on only one side of the head, Bruce recalls, and with Tony, it’s always the left that gives him trouble. Carefully, Bruce reaches out, removing Tony’s fingers and starting to exert light pressure on his head. Tony bites back a whimper.

“Does that hurt?” Bruce asks, immediately pulling back his hand.

“Nah. ‘s good,” Tony exhales.

Bruce starts to lightly massage Tony’s temple, then runs his fingers through the man’s curls. They’re damp from sweat and messy, giving him a softer look than the careful style in which he usually keeps them. Although Tony would disagree, Bruce likes them much better this way.

Bruce massages the pressure points at the base of his skull and Tony moans quietly, rolling over so that Bruce can reach the other side of his head. His jaw is still set and the pain is visible in the lines around his eyes, but the tension is slowly decreasing.

“Last time anyone did that was like, 35 years ago,” he mutters.

“Your mom?” Bruce asks, thinking of how his own mother used to take care of him - whenever she could, which was usually when his father wasn’t home.

“Nah,” Tony huffs. “Jarvis. The human Jarvis. He use’ to - used to stay with me when I was sick as a kid.”

“Oh.” Bruce knew about Tony’s closeness to the butler, but it starts to occur to him now that Jarvis had probably been more of a substitute parent. Bruce’s own childhood had been pretty much a horror story, but he wouldn’t really want to switch with Tony either.

Bruce buries his hand in his partner’s curls, focusing on the sensation of the hairs being smoothed under his fingers.

“Thank you,” Tony mumbles after a while, reaching up clumsily to grasp Bruce’s hand and stop it in its pace. He doesn’t let go of Bruce’s fingers and instead pulls the hand close to his face so that the knuckles press onto his forehead. “Thank you fo’ stayin’…”

Bruce smiles a little in the dark. “Always, Tony.”

He keeps sitting in this position, holding Tony’s hand in his. Five minutes later, Tony is asleep.

Bruce he bends down and presses a kiss to the other man’s forehead. “Told you so,” he whispers.

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

All my fics

@badthingshappenbingo - This is my fill for the square “Raspy Breathing”.

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 8

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

________________________

Peter doesn’t sleep on Friday night. He checks his phone for any emails and texts from other packs, and the silence is both deafening and pointed. The Hales are on their own. Deaton has emailed him. He’s heading down to Mexico to talk face-to-face with Araya Calavera, the matriarch of a hunter family known for its strict adherence to the Code.

It’s a long shot, probably, but Peter appreciates the gesture.

If the Calaveras didn’t give a fuck about the Argents going rogue six years ago when they burned the Hale pack to the ground, why the hell would they care now?

Scant hope, he supposes, is better than none at all. So Peter is grateful to Deaton for the attempt, even though he’s cynical enough to know nothing will come of it. That scant hope comes with a stab of guilt as well, because Peter has pushed Deaton away since the fire, and told Laura exactly what he thinks of emissaries and their useless advice. He hasn’t been fair to Deaton, he suspects. But then it’s been a long time since Peter has felt inclined to be fair to anyone.

It’s still dark when he pads downstairs for something to eat, even though it’s nowhere near breakfast.  

Peter helps himself to the cereal. It’s some sugary brand that Matty loves and insists that they buy for him. Nobody else eats it. Peter pours himself a bowl to save it from going stale, but he discovers that he doesn’t have the stomach to finish it.

He hopes Matty isn’t too homesick. He hopes he’s enjoying the tree house by the lake. He hopes that this ends soon, and he can come home.

That feels like the most hollow hope of all.

He thinks of John Stilinski, and how defeated the man had looked the other night when Peter had watched him through his kitchen window. That’s how Peter feels most of the time, although he doesn’t have the luxury of sinking into a bottle of whiskey. Peter might not be the alpha, but his pack—small as it is—relies on him. Laura needs to know that her left hand is steady. Derek needs to know that he isn’t alone. And Matty…

Matty needs his Uncle Peter to come home to.

Peter looks up at he hears footsteps on the stairs. He tilts his head and hears Derek’s familiar heartbeat. Moments later, the loft door opens.

“How was the party?” Peter asks.

“Why are you lurking here in the dark?” Derek mutters.

“I’m cultivating my persona,” Peter says. He doesn’t need light to know that Derek’s giving him a death glare for that. “I couldn’t be bothered turn a light on.”

Derek grunts.

“How was the party?”

“Scott kept control,” Derek says.

Peter doesn’t need to be a left hand to know there’s something Derek isn’t saying. He’s his uncle. He’s been able to read him like a book since he was a toddler. “And?”

“And nothing,” Derek says, gruff and flustered.

Well then.

Peter allows himself a slight smile at that. So Derek got distracted by some pretty thing, did he? It’s been a while. Peter doesn’t begrudge it. Derek’s no Scott, after all. He knows how to prioritise safety over sex.

These days, at least.

It was a hard-learned lesson though, for everyone.

Derek flops down on the couch opposite Peter’s.

“Deaton’s going to Mexico,” Peter says. “To speak to Araya Calavera.”

“What will that help?” Derek asks.

“Something Laura said the other day,” Peter says. “She said that even if we could win against the Argents, what would stop the other hunter families from coming? Well, this might.”

“You really believe that?” Derek’s eyebrows tug together.

“It’s a slim hope,” Peter admits, “but it’s better than nothing. Which is our other option, by the way.”

Derek shows him a tight, grim smile.

Peter thinks again of John Stilinski. Stilinski is like a pebble in his shoe. An irritant. There’s something about him that Peter just can’t ignore. Peter doesn’t like it when he can’t solve a puzzle, and that’s what John Stilinski is. He’s a puzzle, with pieces that refuse to fit together.

Derek leans over and inspects Peter’s bowl of cereal, and then, with a shrug, steals it and begins to eat.

Peter watches him with a smirk.

He isn’t sure how much Derek and Laura know about what happened on the night of the fire. They were both out and, when they were finally able to see Peter at the hospital, there was just so much to take in that night, and over all the followings days and nights, that he’s not sure that one little detail—John Stilinski breaking the line of mountain ash so Peter could escape—wasn’t swept away under the sheer weight of everything else.

The loss of their parents, their siblings, their pack.

The loss of their home.

Laura’s new alpha status.

Derek’s crushing guilt when he realized that the woman he’d thought he’d loved had been the one who struck the match.

Matty’s slow recovery from his burns and his smoke inhalation. There had been more than one occasion where, when he was fighting infection, that the doctors told them to prepare for the worst.

Peter stretches and stands. “I’m going out.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Peter flashes him a smile. “Then don’t wait up, nephew.”

***

It’s not the middle of the night at all. It’s almost dawn when Peter finds himself at Stilinski’s house. Peter approaches it from the back—he has a working relationship with the dog next door, and Jasper hasn’t given him any trouble since that first night years ago when Peter growled right back at him. There are lights on in Stilinski’s house—upstairs in his bedroom, and a few downstairs. An early shift? Peter might be a hell of a stalker, but even he doesn’t know the man’s roster.  

And then he hears voices: low and angry.

Peter slips down the side of the house to the front yard.

There’s a black SUV parked out the front of the house, and Chris Argent is standing in the sheriff’s open doorway.

Well, he’s standing when Peter first sees him.

And then he’s flying backwards and landing on his ass on the porch, and John Stilinski is stepping out of the doorway to stand over him.

Chris Argent shows the sheriff his palms. “John,” he says, and then: “Janusz.”

“Get the hell off my property,” Stilinski says.

So it’s not a lie, and it never was. John Stilinski really isn’t a hunter anymore. He’s not an ally though either, is he?

Peter watches closely.

“John,” Chris Argent says again. He climbs carefully to his feet, and takes a few steps back. Peter doesn’t blame him. Stilinski looks like murder. “You broke the Code.”

“That’s a lie.” Stilinski’s heart doesn’t skip a beat. “If that’s what he told you, it’s a lie.”

Chris flashes a bitter smile and shakes his head. “You betrayed us.”

“I didn’t—”

“You left us!” There’s more hurt in Chris Argent’s words than Peter would have thought a hunter was capable of feeling. And then his stoic mask is back, like it was never lifted. “You’re a traitor to every oath you swore to uphold, John.”

“Get the fuck off my property,” Stilinski says. “I won’t tell you again.”

Chris shakes his head again, and turns and walked down the porch steps. They creak under his boots. He stops when he reaches the ground, and turns back. “I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry it had to end this way.”

“You keep telling yourself that, you son of a bitch,” Stilinski says. “See if it’ll help you sleep at night.”

He slams the door.  

***

“Derek,” Laura says on Tuesday night, “are you even listening to me?”

Derek looks up from his phone guiltily. “What?”

“I asked if you were even listening to me,” Laura says, rolling her eyes.

Derek flushes, colour rising in his cheeks, and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Sorry.”

“You’ve been checking that thing for days,” Laura says. “Did you and Scott accidentally bodyswap Friday night? Because I’d swear you’re as ridiculous as him right now.”

Derek glares at her.

“Oh, you did!” Laura exclaims. “You turned into Scott, and you met a pretty girl at the party too, and now you’re in lurrrrve! Any second now all your higher brain function will migrate to your dick, and you won’t be able to form a single coherent thought!”  

“Shut up,” Derek mutters, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I’m not in love.” His flush deepens. Even the tips of his ears turn pink. “And it wasn’t a girl.”

Laura’s eyes widen. “Tell me everything! Is he cute? God, no, it was a high school party. Acne-ridden nerd, or acne-ridden jock?”

Derek tries to disappear into the space between his hunched shoulders.

Peter might enjoy moments like these, he thinks, moments of teasing banter, if only the shadow of the Argents didn’t loom over them.

“Alpha,” he says pointedly. “While I’d love to tease Derek as much as the next person, can we please focus on the issues at hand? This is a strategy meeting. How about we try some actual strategising?”

Laura perches on the edge of the couch, her smile fading. “You’re right, sorry.”

And Peter feels like a monster, for stealing this moment of levity from her. She’s had so few since the fire.

“So do we have a strategy?” Laura asks. “Or are we just sitting ducks?”

“We fight,” Peter says. “That’s the strategy. We take them down before they take us down, and we hope that Deaton can make a case with the Calaveras to keep the other hunter families off our backs.”

Laura nods, and exhales slowly. “It’s the only option, isn’t it?”

“I think so, yes,” Peter says.

Derek nods slowly.

“I think that—” Laura stops suddenly, and draws a sharp breath. She sways, and Derek reaches out to steady her. “Oh god!”

“Laura?” Derek asks.

And then Peter feels it too. A sharp burst of not-quite pain, like a flash of white in his vision. It shoots along his pack bonds in his mind, a discordant twanging string on a musical instrument Peter knows well enough to play by feel, suddenly out of tune with all the others.

Something’s wrong with the pack bonds.

Something’s very, very wrong.

Peter sees the bonds in his mind’s eye, and one is rapidly fraying, strands unravelling, the pieces holding it together thinner and thinner by the moment.

Peter can almost hear it when it snaps.

Laura gasps, and her hand flies to her throat. “Scott!”

[monikafilefan]

#72 from the prompts pleaseandthankyou 😀

I finally got around to writing this and fought through a bout of writers block, but ta-da! I hope you like it @allyinthekeyofx I took some liberties with Scully’s chip regarding her being sick. 

I’m combining an angst/romance prompt with an earlier request for a pre revival sickfic. Since I’ve ready written a Mulder S-6 sickfic, I wrote a sick Scully this time. Also, this is sort of a follow up story to the angsty chapter 1 of this: 

Tagging @today-in-fic @kyouryokusenshi @fragilevixenfic @scully-eats-sushi @peacenik0

---

#72 “You need sleep.”

Feb. 2016: Several months before MS1

Mulder ran a hand through his hair for at least the tenth time with his phone glued to his ear as he paced the cold creaky floor throughout the unremarkable house. The fact that he had to resort to calling her office at the hospital at all this morning would be worrisome enough. But because he hadn’t heard from her at her usual once a week phone call time yesterday, he was concerned to say the least.

Truth be told, they had only started talking on a regularly scheduled basis for about three months now and had only seen one another in person sporadically since she’d left. But on one Friday night, Scully called him to discuss whether he was okay with celebrating Thanksgiving with her. Eventually, she had confessed that every night before bed she would stare at his picture in her room and tell him what was on her mind. Her therapist had advised her to bridge the gap and tell him herself. And that’s what she has done ever since, until last night at least.

His bare feet slapped along the hardwood towards the entryway door and he leaned his forehead against it, frustrated with a familiar nervous churning roaming his gut as the ringing of her phone continued to go unanswered.

Ever since his ‘whole life’ walked out of their front door he was currently grinding his head into, he has worked his ass off both physically and emotionally to find himself again. And he knows that, with her own therapy, she has too. His depression and obsessions with the future and secretly searching for clues about William consistently for the last four years had secluded him even further away from Scully. And he hated it—hated everything about it, including himself. Yet, he just couldn’t stop himself from doing what she begged him not to do—go searching through the darkness without his light.

After a while, it finally dawned on him to really look at her—his light—and what he saw scared the hell out of him. He painfully watched Scully’s own guilt and depression that she had tried desperately to keep hidden away, coil tighter inside, dimming that light, and choking her like a noose. All of it brewed into a perfect storm, creating the catalyst of that one dark night in 2014.

“Come on, Scully, answer the phone.” He ended the call to her house phone without leaving a message and quickly switched back over to her cell number. Mulder wandered over to the mantle where most of their shared items still sat, mocking him. Memories of their past that they had created together were collecting dust.

The ringing shrilled through the earpiece again as he stared at a recent photo of them taken at Margarets house sharing a kiss on New Years Eve just over a month ago. Scully hadn’t wanted him ringing in the new year alone and Margaret’s quick photography rewarded him with a rare memento of their halted intimacy that night.

They were better in 2016. Happier together than apart. Mulder knew she wasn’t ready to come back home yet and to be honest, he wasn’t either. Even so, his resolution was to make damn sure he was ready when she was. And that’s exactly why he was currently on the verge of panic as he leaves her yet another voicemail just minutes after receiving a callback from her office stating that ‘Dr. Scully had called in sick two days ago’.

“It’s me again, Scully. Please call me back. I’m worried about you and in fact, if you don’t call back in the next five minutes, I’m coming over to check on you. You know if you’re sick, I help you—no matter what, Scully,” he rushingly said and huffed as he clicked the end button, stuffing his cell in the pocket of his sweats.

Dammit, that’s just like her too. Her calling into work and telling them she’s too sick to work and no one else. Which in the language of Scully means that she literally cannot function enough to crawl out of bed and get dressed. Scully rarely ever got sick, especially after her cancer remission. Which Mulder knew the chip most likely protected her from any serious virus infecting her immune system. But when Dana Scully did feel ‘under the weather,’ as she called it, she was usually bedridden for days and completely reliant on him for help. Whether she admitted it or not.  

She must really be ill this time and that scared the shit out of him. Not being able to see her, to touch her, to dote on her when she normally would scoff at his babying, had his anxiety riddled heart nearly pounding out of his chest.

Yes, Scully was an excellent doctor and always has been. Yet, she was also his wife, his other half, his partner in every respect of the word, and had felt that way about their dynamic from the beginning.

He worried back then and worries still. It’s silly he knows, but he worries that if he doesn’t lay eyes on her for several weeks at a time then he might miss some subtle change in her appearance. Yet, he worries when he finally sees her face to face that he just might cry and beg her to come back. He worries more that she might even cry right along with him. But what he worries about the most while laying in bed alone at night, is that she might not care enough anymore to cry at all. He figured that this was some kind of cruel karma for all the worry he’d laid on her shoulders throughout the years.

But the fact remained, he relished every moment spent with her and worrying about her through every illness. Even when she hadn’t known about half of it.

Mulder had hoped to be the one she leaned on since the beginning if she’d ever gotten sick and shockingly, she had done just that. He would wait on her hand and foot, pretend to leave her apartment when she told him to go home and sleep, but would instead lay on her couch while she stubbornly thrashed alone in her bed just feet away from him. He’d bring her water and a cool rag to wipe down her sweaty skin when her cancer invaded her nights with fevers, or curl up next to her when the chills wracked her body so hard she couldn’t sleep. Mulder would even happily sacrifice what little sleep he did end up capturing to hold her hand while he sat scrunched up on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed just listening to her raspy breaths filling the silence between them.  

On nights like those, Mulder would quietly leave just before the sun came up, but not before placing a kiss upon her cheek that she would pretend to sleep through. It was just one of their many silent agreements that lay between them throughout the years. Much of their struggles were silent, yes, but it was their silent adoration for one another that screamed the loudest.

Breaking that silence was deafening—an altogether beautiful thing, and that’s exactly what Mulder intended to do all over again.

He ran up the stairs, threw on his shirt, and grabbed a couple personal things of Scully’s that she had left behind before he hurried out the door. The realization that he was also one of those things that she had left behind, felt like a slap in the face.

Nearly slipping on the unsalted porch, it suddenly registered to him that the last time Scully stepped foot on the wooden beams beneath him, it was sprinkled with freshly fallen leaves and not snow.

Pushing aside a sudden new wave of woe, he tossed her things in the seat as the Mustang roared to life. It echoed into the cold February air as he put the pedal to the metal and raced towards the familiar D.C. city limits.  

---

“Scully?” Mulder closed the front door of the smart house he hated and punched in her security code. He’d only been here a handful of times since she moved in eighteen months ago, and it looked exactly the same way every single time. Sterile and uncomfortable. “Scully, it’s me. Where are you?” He searched the tidy living room, tossing her things and his coat on the couch, and walked through the kitchen, taking in the scene of how clean and orderly everything seemed without him.

His head spun at the thought of her choosing this life over the one they built together.

The sound of coughing had him swiftly moving down the hall and into her bedroom. And sight before him, sucked him back almost twenty years in the past. The room was a mess. Her bed was piled high with multiple comforters, clothes riddled the floor by the nightstand which was covered with pill bottles and Nyquil. He took a step and noticed a giant wad of used kleenex in the overflowing trash can the floor next to her bedside. Mulder gasped when he saw that some were clearly stained in various shades of blood.  

No! It can’t be!

“Scully…” His heart was beating so loud, it was surely enough to wake her.

Her wild haired head popped up beneath the mound of blankets with a look of shock and relief in her expression. “Mulder?” she yelled out, swiping a tissue across her nose. “Ugh! There you are!”

Swooping down upon her without thinking twice about it, he grabbed the hand she had hovering over her nose and wrapped her up in a tight embrace, smashing her face against his chest. “Jesus, Scully you scared the shit out of me.” Pulling back when he heard her grunt, he held up her hand that gripped the used tissue and examined it. “No blood.”

“Mulder!” her droopy lids, stark white face, and red tipped nose had nothing on the overly loud barking sound of her voice. “I’m so glad you came!”

“What? Scully you never called me. And why are you yelling?” Looking at her sleepy confused face, he realized that she was probably drugged up on sleep aids and decongestants.

“Oh, I can’t hear very well!” He watched her eyes narrow as she tried focusing on reading his lips. “I’m talking too loud?”

He had to laugh even though he was still concerned over seeing her blood soaked into anything again. “Yes, but that okay,” he spoke louder than before. She tossed the mucous laden tissue over his shoulder and flung the blankets off her legs. “That would explain you not answering your phone I suppose.”

“My phone?” she questioned him quieter now with a crinkle in her brow.

“I called you over and over. I was worried.”

Reading his lips, she nodded and said, “sorry I haven’t gotten out of bed much yesterday or today. I’ve got an upper respiratory infection and a double ear infection and can barely hear with all this congestion. I’ve resorted to knocking myself out every chance I get,” she grinned.

Oh loopy Scully was always fun, but that didn’t explain the crimson streaks on the kleenex.

“What’s with the blood?” Her mouth opened and before she could utter a word, he jumped in and told her not to lie to him with the tone of his voice he hoped she could hear well enough. “Scully…”

“It’s not what you think, Mulder. I’m fine.” Mulder winced and she quickly amended her usual brush off line. “It’s not what you think. There are broken blood vessels in my nose and my lips were cracked and they bled on and off this morning.” She must have seen the relief wash over him as his eyes fluttered shut because she brought his hand up to her face and held it to her cheek. “I’m okay, Mulder. And… I’m really happy to see you.”

Mulder wasn’t shocked at her choice of words. She had told him several times when he saw him that she was happy to see him but the way she said them with such reverence, took him by surprise.

She removed his hand from her face and rolled out of bed onto wobbly legs. He grabbed onto her arm with one hand and clutched her slender hip with the other as she stumbled over a water bottle, making sure she didn’t face plant on the uncharacteristically messy floor.

She relaxed and sighed under his touch. “Thanks. My equilibrium is off a bit,” she chuckled with the volume of her voice wavering.

Mulder sat there staring at her as she closed the bathroom door, stunned at how easily she accepted his presence. Then again, she’d been confused and thought she had called him at some point in the last two days to come over. Glancing over at the medications lined up like soldiers awaiting orders, he understood why. All of these had the side effect labeled, ‘May cause drowsiness and/or confusion. Do not operate heavy machinery’.

Fucking great!

Now he had no idea if she really meant anything she has said so far to him tonight, let alone the possibility that she might not remember him being here at all tomorrow.

Swinging the door open, Scully gave him her now very rare and honest smile that’s done things to him since day one. She looked so small standing there in her bare feet and underwear wearing an oversized t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one of his missing workout shirts. She had no makeup on which highlighted the freckles scattered disobediently on her face. Without a second thought, he stood up, bent his head forward, and planted a kiss on her nose.

She gasped and cleared her throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not really wanting to apologize for kissing his wife as he locked his eyes onto hers. “I should probably take off then since I know you’re alright,” he pointed to the bedroom door over his shoulder with furrowed brows. “You need sleep.”

“What?” Scully looked up at him, her big blue eyes shining under the dim lighting. “You’re leaving? A-choo!” Scully sneezed then rubbed her ears, yawning. “Oh, that helped my ears. I can hear a little better now.”

Laughing, he repeated “you need sleep,” louder this time and rubbed her shoulder for his own comfort just as much as hers.

Scully cocked a brow and still too loudly blurted out, “not as much as I need you.”

Mulder’s smile faded slightly and felt his knees bob as the weight of her words smacked into him. “You seem high as a kite with all of those meds your on. Not to mention you probably have no idea what day it is and will very likely think this whole conversation was all a dream in the morning,” he reminded her, offering her an opportunity to take back her words.  

“Mulder?”

“Yes?” She stepped closer and his hand moved from rubbing her shoulder to rub the expanse of her back.

“I love you.”

“Oh brother,” he threw back, replaying their conversation from the past while clearly understanding now just how foggy her head is at the moment. Yet, no matter the context in which she spoke those three words to him, he always took them to heart.

He swallowed hard and looked away from her stare. It was safer this way. He could listen to her words or look into her eyes, but not both at once. He might not survive the honesty of her regret if she rescinded them.

“I miss you, Mulder,” she mumbled, and he could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears from his peripheral. “I do. So much. It's just… Just not time for me to come home yet.”

He risked looking into her bright blue eyes again, his stomach churned, and his throat tightened so much that he thought he’d choke right there. “Oh I know, Scully. Me too—and you’re right.”

Even in her increasing lethargic state, she managed to toss him a perfectly arched brow and a mock look of surprise.

“Yes,” he said louder, ensuring his words wouldn’t be blamed on pain meds, muffled congestion, and swollen eardrums. “You’re right, Scully. It’s not the right time. For either of us; not yet.”

He watched a lone tear leak out of the corner of her red rimmed eyelid and slide down the swell of her pale skin that she didn’t even attempt to hide. He fought the urge to swipe it clean—to wash away evidence of her sorrow. It was exactly that; evidence that her internal pain equaled his own.

“Soon,” she nodded and limply held out her hand to him. He took it gratefully and she laced her fingers within his. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Are you sure?""I want you here and you sleeping all the way out on the couch isn't going to help right now. It's running away and that's what I do, not you."Mulder balked at the sharp self-deprecating words she’d just used. That was the sort of thing he has hear himself say many a time. Not Scully. If she felt that way, she had never expressed that to him before. The concoction of medication had loosened her lips—breaking through the silence.

Forcing himself to brush off her words, he pushed back the comforter and sheet and as she slid in, gingerly laying her ear atop the propped up pillows.

“Oh, I brought over a couple things from the house for you. It’s probably unnecessary now that I’m thinking about it, but I know how much you love wool socks and your eucalyptus body cream.”

Her heavy eyes lit up and she smiled. “You brought me my blue wooly socks, Mulder?” To him, she sounded too excited over a pair of socks she had likely replaced long ago. But looking at her face, he saw that she really was. “You know me so well.”

“That I cannot deny. I’ll get them for you.” He went to the couch and grabbed her slippers and lotion, feeling pretty excited himself at the thought of being useful to her once again.

Mulder sat the container of green body cream onto the only open spot next to the near empty Nyquil bottle and knelt at the edge of her bed. Scully outstretched her bare legs into his waiting hands so he could slide her navy blue wool socks onto each small foot. If it were close to two years ago and she had done this to him, Mulder would have massaged the minty smelling lotion into her feet from heel to toe and sensually worked his way up her soft slender body until she begged for more. Right now, he would just have to be grateful she was letting him comfort her at all.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Scully, you know I love your little feet,” he smirked and reluctantly removed his hands from her ankles. She didn’t move to cover herself back up so he stood to adjust the balled up comforter around her, but her hand wrapping around his bicep halted his progress.

“Lay here next to me.” It wasn’t a question and Mulder opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off. “Come on, Mulder. No reverting back to sitting on the floor uncomfortable while you stay awake and hold my hand all night long. Please just… hold me tonight?”

Blinking away rapidly rising tears, he nodded and responded the only way he could. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, whispering along her skin, “I can do that.”

Mulder carefully climbed over her and pulled the blankets up, tucking it around them. Her bed seemed huge, the space between them cavernous. It felt good to be this close to her like this again, too damn good and his arousal blooming beneath his sweatpants agreed immensely.

He slowly wrapped his arm around her waist and she laced her fingers between his as a silent thank you. The back of her chest rose and fell in tandem along the front of his own and he knew if he closed his eyes, he could picture every single night spent embracing is wife in their shared bed. But he didn’t close his eyes, didn't dare. Because he knew that the next time he and Scully lay in bed, It wouldn’t be in their shared one together.  

“Sleep, Scully. I’m here.” Mulder pressed his lips to her ear and rested his head along the crown of hers.

Breathing deeply now, he felt her slight nod and her backside snuggled in closer, no doubt noticing his ill-timed erection.

“Mulder...”

“Yeah.”

Scully tucked their entwined hands under her chin and he felt the heat from her lips warming his fingers. Waiting with bated breath for her next words, Mulder moved down and nuzzled his nose through her mussed hair, inhaling her scent within the crook of her neck. It was something so familiar and comforting to them both, showing her affection like this as they laid alongside one another. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.  

“I meant what I said,” she murmured.

“Said about what?”

“That I’m still in love with you,” she turned her head towards her shoulder when his breath hitched. “I may be medicated and half asleep, but I can never forget that. I never want you to either.”

He kissed her neck, her cheek, her ear, and told her, “and you forget, Scully, that I could never forget anything about you.” He heard her sigh and felt her whole body melt into the mattress. “You need sleep,” he said again. Mulder moved his mouth away from her face before he gave into the powerful urge to kiss her once more. This time on the lips, crossing over their convoluted line of separation.

When her breathing slowly evened out minutes later and sleep reclaimed her, Mulder carefully untangled their fingers while he gently moved out of her embrace. He stood at the end of her bed, taking in every detail of her peaceful face before he needed to force himself to leave.

He missed seeing her smile, the caress of her touch, the comfort of her warm body next to his lulling him to sleep every night. He missed his Scully. And tonight, Mulder was lucky enough to witness the fact that his Scully had missed her Mulder just as much.

---

[falseroar]

Dark Laughter Part 9: Storm Warning

((Hi! Here are links to Part 8: Studio Time and Part 1: What Dark Saw if you want/need them! Quick warnings for gunshots and a brief mention of blood.))

“Hey there Chica Beeka, who missed me?” Mark said as the dogs ran around him and Amy back at his house. They acted as if their people had been gone for days not hours, and when Mark patted his chest and called, “Up! Up!” it took several tries before Chica listened and he could catch her front paws and gently swing her back and forth.

“I’m never sure who’s more excited when we come home, you or Chica,” Amy teased as she pet Henry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mark said, grunting a little as he picked Chica up and spun her around a few times before putting her back down. He kept up the baby talk for the dogs a little longer, but they were soon distracted by the new toys Mark and Amy had brought home with them.

“Thank you,” he said, again. “I think getting out of the house was good for me.”

“Sunlight will do that to you,” Amy said, smiling as she went to put her bag down on the couch. “Good thing we went out when we did, it looks like it’s going to start pouring any minute now.”

“Yeah,” Mark said. He pulled back the window curtain to look up at the darkening sky. “It’s just supposed to rain, right?”

“I can check,” Amy said, already pulling out her phone.

Chica walked up to Mark with her new rope toy in mouth, and he managed to distract himself for a second trying to pull it away from her before Amy said, “Oh.”

She showed him the new storm warning on the weather app and he immediately said, “I should call Y/N.”

Amy nodded, and Mark could feel her listening as he called up your cellphone, only to swear when it just rang and rang before going to voicemail. Without bothering to leave a message, he hung up and had to dig through his contacts to find a number he rarely used.

“What’s it to you?” Abe answered his phone.

“What kind of—” Mark stopped himself. “Abe, it’s Mark. Can I talk to Y/N?”

“Y/N? Oh, right, I forgot to tell you,” the Detective said. “I dropped Y/N off at the other guys’ house. Doc said they were running a little fever, but it wasn’t anything serious.”

“What?” Mark said.

“What?” Amy mouthed from the other side of the room.

“Something wrong?” Abe asked.

“Y/N’s with Dr. Iplier, they’re not feeling well,” Mark said to Amy. “I should go over there, if the storm gets bad…”

He trailed off and Amy nodded. She had seen you jump even at the sound of thunder on the TV, and knew what it meant to you and the others who had been at the house that weekend.

“I can stay here with the dogs and keep them calm,” she said and Mark hesitated. As much as he didn’t want to leave them, he didn’t want to drag her or the dogs out into bad weather.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised.

“Wait, you’re going over there?” Abe asked, and Mark could hear the rattle of blinds on the other end of the line. He could imagine the Detective peering out at the sky overhead as he heard a sharp inhale before Abe said, “My place is on the way. If something’s wrong, then I’m coming with you.”

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” Mark said and heard the disbelief on the other end. “I’m going to check up on them, that’s all. Besides, you can’t just invite yourself along. I am not stopping to pick you up.”

“Then I’ll drive over there myself,” Abe answered. “This is my partner we’re talking about—”

“That has nothing to do with anything!” Mark heard the rattle of the Detective’s keys and sighed. “You know what, fine. But you better be ready to jump in when I drive by, because I’m just going to slow down and open a door. Last thing I want to do is be caught out in LA traffic in the rain.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I jumped into a moving car,” Abe said. “Or out of one.”

Mark didn’t bother with responding to that and just hung up on the Detective before giving Amy a real goodbye. Out in the van, he popped his phone into the holder on the dash and had it call Dr. Iplier as he backed out of the driveway and took off.

Almost immediately, he heard, “You’ve reached the office of Dr. Iplier. If this is about how you’re dying, please—”

Mark ended the call and told the phone to call Dr. Iplier’s cell, but that also went to voicemail. He was halfway to Abe’s house before his phone rang with a Google G in place of the caller’s image.

“Hey Google, are you with the doctor?” Mark asked.

“That is correct. We have only just now found a signal in our current location,” Google answered.

“Your—Aren’t you at the house?”

“Incorrect. This unit accompanied the doctor and the so-called King of the Squirrels into the woods, where the cell signal is entirely inadequate. Even here at this cabin, we only have a minimum connection to the other units.”

“Cabin?” Mark felt a bad taste rise in the back of his throat and swallowed it back. “What are you doing there?”

“The Host is incapacitated. Dr. Iplier has only just been able to bring him around, and he is babbling—”

“What?” Mark had to swerve back into his lane and forced himself to focus on the road and not on his phone. “What was he doing at the cabin?!”

“Unclear. The King of the Squirrels says that one of his… ‘subjects’ saw him enter this place, and when he arrived, he found him bound and incoherent. My words, not his.”

Straining, Mark could hear the doctor’s voice, clear and professional, and below that a raspy, rambling murmur. He pulled the van into a parking spot on the street in front of the low, run-down building the Detective called home and just stared at the phone, trying to let this sink in.

“Someone attacked him?” Mark asked.

He guessed that it was the King who answered, judging by the tone of his voice as he said, “He just kept saying he wasn’t infected, that he was in control. Over and over again.”

Silence fell on the other end of the line, and by straining Mark could hear the Host’s voice, faint and strained past recognition.

“Mask…is back.” A rasping wheeze. “It looked like…Y/N.”

Mark stared at Abe’s house as silence fell on both ends of the call before Dr. Iplier started barking orders and Google spoke about protocols, directives. Their words fell on deaf ears as Mark just kept hearing the Host’s words over and over again.

Suddenly, he swore, and then swore three more times in quick succession before jumping out of the van without bothering to end the call or even shut the door behind him.

Because it just sank in that the door to Abe’s house was standing wide open despite the rain already starting to come down, despite the fact that the Detective would never forget to lock the door behind him. It creaked in the wind as Mark ran toward it, and made a deafening crack as he pushed it out of his way and went in.

Only to come to an abrupt stop in the front hall, frozen at the sight of Abe standing with his back against the wall, both hands on his gun but unable to point it directly at the person standing opposite him.

It looked like you, except its eyes were two black holes that revealed nothing underneath and its mouth was turned in a horrible slash of a smile as it stared at the Detective. As if waiting to see what he would do.

“Abe, get away from it! It’s not Y/N!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Abe yelled, a vein showing in his forehead as his eyes kept flickering toward the bloodstain on its chest and then back up to those empty eyes. He tightened his grip on the gun, but it only seemed to tremble more as he tried to raise it. “What is this thing? Why does it look like Y/N?!”

“Shh, it’s okay, detective, we’re not here for you,” it said, the Mask wearing your face. Its voice was like yours, but just slightly distorted, as if just a pitch higher or lower than it should be while putting the emphasis in all the wrong places. “Hahaha, that would just be silly. Our business is with the man with all the masks. Of course, you could always shoot me, if you wanted to. This wouldn’t be the first partner to die at yours hands, would it?”

“You’re not my partner,” Abe said, but his eyes flickered toward Mark.

“No, this is the thing that attacked everyone last year,” Mark said, keeping his eyes on it. “It ran around looking like me, taking over most of my egos and trying to kill the rest of us until we got rid of it. That thing is just a mask, Y/N is—"

He stopped short and the smile on its face got just that much bigger.

It had possessed the others before, making them all look like it with those empty eyes and rictus smiles.

What if this really was you?

Abe looked from him to the Mask and back again, eyes too bright as he demanded, “Well? Is this them or not?”

“I…” Mark trailed off.

“How do we snap them out of it?” Abe said, voice growing louder with every question. “What did you do last year?”

“I didn’t do anything; we could barely do anything to it! Y/N did something, dragged it back into that place they were trapped in inside the mirror—”

The mirror, which was now completely shattered.

“So long in that mirror, in that nothing, so long being nothing without even a face to call my own. Heh, you have no idea, do you? Oh, not when you have so many faces to choose from.” It laughed, its mouth not quite matching the sound, and pulled a wallet out of its pocket. Abe shouldn’t have been able to tense any more than he already was, but that vein in his forehead grew bigger at the sight of his gift to Y/N in the hands of this thing. As it spoke, the Mask opened the wallet and began tossing cards out of it and onto the ground. Mark recognized them as the cards the egos had given you back at the beach on your “birthday”, each of them a promise to spend time with you. Cards of Bing, Dr. Iplier, Bim Trimmer, one ego after the other clattered to the floor as the Mask tossed them aside as if they meant nothing. “One, two…There’s just so many to choose from, and that’s just the start when so many of your lovely fans want to be just like you.”

The last card fell to the ground and the Mask tossed the wallet aside with a laugh that made both of the men shudder.

“Not going to happen,” Mark said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “What’s it going to take to get rid of you again?”

“Silly. Haven’t you been listening? Only thing we want is to just make everyone happy. Once we’re through, there’ll be so many lovely smiles, so many people who look just like me, like us. That’s why we have to take care of all those people who ruined our fun last time!” The Mask laughed and then tilted its head at an angle your neck shouldn’t have been able to go. “Maybe we can take care of all that pesky unfinished business by the time you join us. Even if we have to make them smile.”

The Mask wearing your face moved for the first time, stepping on the fallen cards as it suddenly broke into a sprint toward Abe, empty eyes trained on his as its smile opened.

Mark called out and winced, hands going to his ringing ears as one shot then two rang out.

“Abe! Abe, put the gun down,” Mark said, and repeated it before prying the weapon out of the Detective’s unresisting hands.

The moment the gun left Abe’s hands he pressed them to his head and slid to the ground, eyes clenched shut as he began to hyperventilate. “No, no, no…”

“No, Abe, look, there’s nothing there,” Mark said. He shook the Detective’s shoulder. “It’s gone, you didn’t—It’s gone.”

Abe opened one watering eye and stared at the empty hall in front of him. There wasn’t even a sign of where his bullets went in the opposite wall, but his ears still rang with the sound of the shot and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking no matter how many times Mark tried to tell him it was okay.

“I could have…” The Detective inhaled, his breath breaking on the words.

“Abe, I can’t stay here,” Mark said. “I have to get to the house, if that wasn’t Y/N…I have to make sure they’re okay, warn the others—”

He stopped and swore, remembering the call. It had already attacked the Host, if it went after the others looking like you—

And then he swore again.

“Dark saw it, he saw it last night, so it can’t be Y/N.” And he would keep telling himself that to keep from thinking about the alternative. He patted himself down and realized his phone was still out in the van.

Abe grabbed his arm as he started to stand and said, “I’m…I’m going with you. Just, just give me a second.”

Mark offered a hand to help the Detective up to his feet, but without a word Abe stood and picked up the wallet the Mask dropped, along with all of the scattered cards. He lagged behind as Mark ran out to the van in the downpour that had really started to come down while he was inside and picked up the phone. In his haste before, he hadn’t ended the call and voices were still talking on the other end.

“Google,” he said.

“You left me,” Google said, accusing.

“Yes, but it was important—”

“I was still speaking, and we registered gunshots on your end—”

“We saw it, we saw that…demon or whatever it is,” Mark interrupted. “It’s gone now, but we think it’s going back to the house. You need to send a warning to the others, now.”

He looked up as Abe got into the passenger seat and the Detective nodded and said, “It said it had unfinished business with the people who stopped it before.”

“I have already initiated the lockdown,” Google answered. “My other units have gathered the egos and are keeping them in their current locations until it is determined to be safe to leave or take other action.”

“What about Y/N? Are you still in the cabin?” Mark asked as he pulled the van out into the street, its windshield wipers struggling to keep up with the rain rushing down in torrents. At this rate, the roads were liable to start flooding.

“We can’t go anywhere,” Dr. Iplier answered. “The Host is in no condition to be moved, and Google can’t make it back to the house in this storm without risking a short circuit. But we left one of the other Googles with Y/N, they’re not alone.”

“Interfacing with other units,” Google said, and there was a beeping sound on the other end of the line. “The storm is interfering with my reception. Please hold.”

In the van, it was silent except for the rain pounding against the roof and the steady rhythm of the wiper blades across the windshield as they waited for what seemed like forever before the android spoke again.

“Red unit is in the studio with Bim Trimmer, Yandereplier, and Eric Derekson. Yellow unit is in the kitchen with Chef Iplier, Silver Shepherd, Ed Edgar—”

“You don’t have to list them all!” Mark shouted at the phone.

There was a pause and then Google said, “Green unit is in the infirmary but not responding. Y/N, Wilford Warfstache, and Darkiplier are currently the only ones unaccounted for.”

“What do you mean, he’s not responding?” Mark said, feeling his foot pressing harder against the accelerator even though he was already going too fast. Beside him, Abe tightened his grip on the handle above the passenger door but said nothing.

“The unit is receiving messages, but has yet to respond. Location indicators place it in the infirmary, and last directives it acknowledged included taking care of Y/N.”

“The Host,” Mark said, desperately. “He’s there, ask him.”

Dr. Iplier answered again, after a long pause. “Mark, the Host is in bad shape. I don’t know what they did to him, but judging by his bandages and his overexertion this morning I suspect he’s in need of a blood transfusion that we can’t give him here. He can barely speak, and even if he could narrate, he’s confused and delirious.”

“What about one of the others, back at the house?” Abe asked. “Can’t you send one of them to check?”

“Lockdown was initiated for a reason,” Google said. “Based on previous data, this so-called ‘Maskiplier’ prioritized infecting those who were alone and vulnerable. Splitting up the others would only put them at risk.”

Alone and vulnerable.

“Dark,” Mark muttered, his voice lost in the sound of the rain. Of course it would show itself to the one person no one would listen to or trust.

He remembered last night, the doubt and whispers and the sense that he hadn’t been alone in the hall and sped up again, his grip so tight on the wheel that his knuckles were turning white.

It could have done something last night, attacked him or Dark like it did the Host. But it chose to mess with their minds instead, and as lightning flashed across the sky Mark realized that it was still playing with them. Why else would it show up at Abe’s house, just when Mark was supposed to arrive? It wanted to taunt Abe into shooting “you”, and it wanted Mark to know exactly what it was doing.

As the others continued to talk and argue about what to do, as thunder shook the van and the rain continued to pour down, Mark stared at the road ahead and kept driving, even though he knew they would never make it to the house in time.

((End of Part 9. Thank you for reading! Google also forgot to account for the many, many squirrels, who are weathering out the storm in the living room and maybe a couple of the bedrooms. The King of the Squirrels was pretty sure no one would mind.

Here’s the link to Part 10: You Look Like Me.

Tagging: @silver-owl413​ @skyewardlight​ @withjust-a-bite​ @blackaquokat​ @catgirlwarrior​ @neverisadork​ @luna1350​ @oh-so-creepy​ @purpstraw​ @weirdfoxalley​ @95fangirl​ @lilalovesinternet-l​ @thepoolofthedead​ @a-bit-dapper​ @randomartdudette​ @geekymushroom​ @cactipresident​ @hotcocoachia​ @purple-anxiety-blog​ @shyinspiredartist​ @avispate​ ))

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of July 31st, 2019

Best of this Week: Batman: Last Knight on Earth #2 - Scott Snyder, Greg Capullo, Jonathan Glapion, FCO Plascencia and Tom Napolitano

The last case Batman will ever solve, might just be his most terrifying.

Beginning with Batman confronting an older Joe Chill in the past over the dead child in Crime Alley that looks eerily similar to Bruce. Our hero kind of surprises and disarms him by removing all of the weapons he’s hidden around his apartment. Chill seems to have been expecting him, preparing what he calls an “end of an era feast” for Bruce, implying he knows his identity. To make matters even more interesting, he insinuates that he didn’t even kill the Waynes for Marth pearls and makes it seem like there was an even larger plan afoot than anyone realized.

Cutting back to the Nightmare future, Batman and Joker’s Head are taken by surprise as a Speed Force Storm tears through the desert. Never let it be said that Greg Capullo hasn’t been improving his skills at body horror because the tornado is terrifying. Consisting of the constantly shifting, twisting and stretched bodies of Barry Allen, Bart Allen, Jay Garrick and possibly others, the faces scream and cry for Bruce to help them. It’s a shocking and unsettling sight as one can almost hear the deafening cries of atom splitting agony that they’re going through. The deep red of the storm doesn’t help as it just makes things FAR more threatening than they need to be. Bruce and Joker sit in a cave for safety while Bruce laments that there is absolutely nothing that he can do to save them.

The pair continue on, hang gliding through the air, crossing over a base named Fort Waller. Joker tells Batman that originally it was the last bastion of hope, where Mr. Terrific, Dr. Sivana, Ivo and others could combine their knowledge with the powers of the new avatars of the Green and Red to repel those incensed by Luthor. Batman asks him what happens and Joker’s narration ends as they watch the battle. Unknown Soldiers fighting abominations of the Red in a hellish battle of blood and fire until a Swamp Thing appears from the crimson dust of their fight, no longer appearing to have any faculties or emotion other than: KILL.

The tone shifts as they reach an area known as the Plains of Solitude, seeming a mass of crystalline structures similar to Superman’s secret base. The cool blues of this area offer something of a safety in a book that has otherwise been overbearingly tense since it began. It doesn’t help that Joker’s been doing variations of “can I be Robin, are we there yet, and knock knock jokes the entire time. Bruce snaps that he could never be Robin because Robin was a good guy and who in this world was still like that? Pods shaped like Superman’s baby rocket start landing close to Bruce and Joker before the pair are saved by… Superman?

Or so we think, this “very talkative” (end sarcasm) Superman leads the pair to a farmhouse in the middle of the plains where a surprisingly alive and potentially insane Lex Luthor greets them. Batman, furious at the state of this world demands to know what happened, what did Luthor do? Luthor answers that he had a debate with Superman. What makes this so interesting is that, Luthor says that he knows that he should have lost. The stakes were such that, the loser would be impaled by spike of Kryptonite and Luthor, having almost crapped himself a speech mostly using platitudes from others in his own words, didn’t hold a candle to Ka-El… but in the end, Superman ends up skewered and the world goes to hell with him.

It begs the question of, what happened? Did all of the people just side with Luthor on impulse? Did something happen to sway them or was someone else manipulating things? Everything is speculation. Things are cut short, however as Bane and Scarecrow show up to punish Luthor and bring Batman to their new God, Omega. Bane appears to be absolutely rotting with venom as his veins are green and his skin is pale. Scarecrow looks absolutely scraggly with long, gnarled fingers with syringes at the end of his fingers. Scarecrow has poisoned the Superman clone and forces him to try and break the Bat.

Suddenly, as Superman lifts Batman above his head, a sword pierces his chest as it’s revealed that Wonder Woman has returned to save the Caped Crusader. The two are told to run away by Luthor, to save the world as he opens a portal for them and is summarily torn apart by other infected Superman Clones. 

We see the full extent of the utter destruction Luthor’s actions have caused as they land on the cloak of The Spectre. Wonder Woman tells Batman that the fighting eventually spilled over and destroyed both Heaven and Hell. It only makes sense, doesn’t it? The forces of magic are very powerful in the DC Universe. How much trouble would it take for a Mordru or Neron to tangle with Doctor Fate or Zatanna, culminating in the ruination of the afterlife, damning everyone to a non-existence at the end of everything?

They enter the cloak and take a ride down the River Styx. Diana tells Bruce that the voices of the dead will be calling out to him for sending them there. Capullo stuns with a double page spread of many of DCs biggest heroes, showing Batman the sheer weight of what his as-of-yet unknown role in Luthor’s scheme was. There are far too many to name, but I will say that I appreciate Capullo putting Kyle Rayner among those in the front. His deaths in many alt-stories will always irk me, but I do like seeing him recognized and put higher than Hal Jordan or even John Stewart.

Things take an even darker turn as Alfred shows up among the dead and Batman almost climbs out of the little boat, knowing that he just saw Alfred not too long ago and he and Wonder Woman make it to the real Gotham City with a cliffhanger and a surprising reveal at the end.

Last Knight on Earth pulls no punches when it comes to depicting a desolate world where Doom wins. I want to say that it’s almost dour to the point of being almost being hopeless and that’s exactly what I love. I adore how much is being packed into this story, how many references to the greater DC universe we’re getting. Capullo’s art is probably the best it has been in years and the quality of the writing is right on part with Dark Knights: Metal. It’s a righteous trip as Batman lugs the annoying head of the Joker around like a planet hopping adventure. It’s really fun and very dark.

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

The world needs more Swamp Thing stories.

Runner Up: Justice League Dark Annual #1 - James Tynion IV, Ram V, Guillem March, Arif Prianto and Rob Leigh

This annual was dark, far darker than most of the Justice League Dark tales so far because of how self contained it was and the sheer weight of the situation therein. Sure, it wasn't a world ending cataclysm like the one they just stopped, but that doesn't make it any less horrible. I'd never heard of Ram V before, but their storytelling, combined with Guillem March's art makes me feel like I've been pulled back into the old days of Vertigo.

Magic is broken. After Wonder Woman and Zatanna used the Ruby of Life to repair the damage they did to magic after defeating the Lords of Order, magic itself is repairing itself, but in a manner that throws the old rules out of the window.

Consequently, the Parliament of Trees has been destroyed and now Swamp Thing has no one to answer to as the new Parliament of Flowers is seeking a new champion. After confronting Constantine about coming on as a consultant for the League, the con-man convinces Swamp Thing to go on the search for the new Avatar before he loses his humanity like Swampy did. Swamp thing tries to act like he doesn't care, but goes off to find the man.

The story descends into something of a tragedy as we're introduced to Oleander Sorrel, a flower botanist, and his wife Natasha. 

What makes this story so great is that, like the best Swamp Thing stories, it focuses on other characters and their own personal situations. The pair suffer in a broken marriage after the death of their son which causes Natasha to leave Oleander and himself delving deeper into his work, later resulting in his death. He becomes the Avatar of Flowers, but refuses to let go of his humanity after Swamp Thing tries to convince him that he is no longer a man.

He seeks out his wife and watches over her until Jason Woodrue, a very old DC villain that really hasn't been seen since the early days of The New 52, whispers in Oleanders ear. Oleander listens and suddenly a boy that looks very close to their son appears at the door. Natasha is happy, then another child appears and another until Natasha is absolutely blind with love for her new kids.

But not all gifts are good. There's no way that Woodrue doesn't get something out of this himself. There's always an underlying plot and Swamp Thing manages to uncover what really happened to Oleander. The fire that killed him was actually a pool of caustic that he laid in his flower bed and kills himself in. Oleander did die in the pool, but his memory lived on in the flowers that he planted. This revelation stuns Oleander and the children he created out of flowers begin to dissipate. He grows weary, knowing that Swamp Thing was right and Woodrue manages to convince him to rest for a while before feasting upon his flower flesh, regaining his own connection to The Green.

This annual definitely fit the title. It was Dark, not only from a storytelling standpoint, but also visually. Natasha’s post crying face was heart wrenching to see and Gullem March squeezed every bit of emotion out of it that he could. Her lips quivered, her eye makeup ran just a bit and there was a hopelessness that could be felt. Oleander’s transformation was a beautiful kind of macabre with his appearance, composed entirely of flowers, looking very sinewy and skeletal at the same time. Colors are very warm, juxtaposed against an ever growing sense of dread that culminated in the most haunting scene of Oleander growing more and more flower children. The shot is perfect as Oleander is shown to be a hapless man whose only intent is to make his wife happy, but his methods are horrifying almost wrong.

When the children begin to disappear following the revelation, light is shown on them while the background remains dark. Their petals waft away with the night winds as Natasha has to watch in horror, likely to be absolutely broken by the experience of losing her kids. Woodrue eating Oleander afterwards, however, is brutal. The color shifts to a deep red and Woodrue furiously munches on the flowers, gnawing and tearing his way into Oleander’s body and emerging as a new creature unto himself.

I haven’t been able to find anything about this Ram V person, but I want to read more of their work. This book was absolutely stunning and I hope that it does well enough to warrant another Swamp Thing mini-series or full run. Amidst the cancellation of the show after just one season, it’s definitely something the world needs more of. This story was chilling, well paced and had a great focus on someone else while keeping it’s main star tangential as he should be in things like these. This is a definite high recommend from me.

[royal-writer]

Anywhere you go

let me go, too

- - - -

In the deepest dark she’d ever known, no sound was ever so ghastly and hair-raising as that of the unnatural echo of Penimra’s words. They were less words and more horrifying sounds; whispers that clawed at the back of her mind and made Essätha shudder as he read aloud the alien runes upon the pillars and walls in the corroding labyrinth. He had stopped entirely translating them in the common tongue; for which she was grateful. Hearing the twisted language of Deep Speech was enough. Knowing the incantations he murmured were gruesome promises of torture ahead was even more unnerving.

As each gnarled turn lead to more dead-ends, damp corners, and overgrown areas where deadly plants had taken over and the decayed bodies lay stacked, her hope began to fade further and further into away.

They would not be leaving this hellish place alive.

“We should stop to rest,” Ravamora insisted, her sleeve covering her nostrils to block the stench of mildew. “I haven’t smelled any decaying bodies lately. Maybe no one has gotten this far in?”

“Or maybe whatever abominations may yet reside in this hell devoured their victims whole,” Abernathy concluded. Essie had to side-step to avoid a drip of blood falling off the end of his axe from the fiend he had cleavered in half not but just a few turns and twists ago. Or what felt like a few turns and twists. She felt hopelessly lost in the depths of the chaos of the winding maze.

Lingering behind her; still adjusting the darkvision goggles upon their face with discomfort, Sulhadur added in: “Unless anyone is feeling unwell with fatigue, I agree we should keep moving forward. I’d like to get out of this place.”

“I don’t think I could sleep here even if I was exhausted,” Adela choked, wrapping her tail firmly around herself like a security blanket.

“Let’s just keep moving,” Pen stated; his voice hoarse from uttering the harsh ancient language. “There’s more of these scriptures to read.”

Hoping the mental health of their warlock wasn’t becoming obsessed in the texts, Essie shuddered and without argument, pressed on. Her wary legs were tired; feet dragging sluggishly. The walls felt cramped the further they got themselves lost within the realms of tunneling walls. Every second felt endless; spiraling further into nothing with no result.

The scurrying of Pri’cha’s small limbs bounded in random spurts to catch up to them. Glancing back, the Yuan-Ti woman noted the helpless bug trying to make sense of their surroundings. Within their clawed digits they held a journal, which they were scribbling notes on direction and flipping through tirelessly to try drawing an accurate map should they become lost.

Too late for that, she thought sourly. Not wanting to upset the fluffy innocent Thri-Kreen though, Essie didn’t snark her bad mood upon the distressed looking cleric. They were only doing the best they could, in uncertain circumstance.

As something brushed by her right side, Essätha shuddered and flinched warily. With a squint of her gaze, she glimpsed over to where the nobleman, too, had jumped in surprise. His boots scuffled against the slick cool ground, trying to give her space in the cramped quarters.

“Difficult to breathe,” she rasped, her lungs feeling constricted from the stale air and pungent odor.

“Mmm,” Lord Amon agreed in a rumbling echo. His mouth was only parted enough to breathe through; not daring the smells to enter his nose. She didn’t blame him.

A slight haze continuously covered at the lenses of his nightvision goggles, and he wiped at the condensation with irritation from the hot puffy air of his breathing with the linen tightly grasped in the hand baring his shield. As he reached up to repeat the action for the dozenth or so time, she reached for the handkerchief to gently wipe at them herself.

He smiled. “I can do it; I’ve got two hands.”

“And the other is carrying a sword,” she reminded him. “I’m still waiting for you to bonk yourself on the head with the shield every time you raise your hand to do this.”

To her amazement, he rasped a chuckle despite their dire circumstance.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered by your gesture, or offended on the blow to my common sense.”

“To be fair, I’m considering my own intelligence when I say this, not your own.”

He huffed at her remark in a way that said he disagreed. With no further response however, she turned her attention back to the front of the group as Penimra lead them onward further into the black void of passages.

Through the crooks and bends, snaking past crumbling walls and stumbling over cracks and risen blocks, the party trailed along the silent corridors. Only their boots and breathes echoed like an eerie symphony. Essätha felt as though she was going mad, listening to the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

“Hurmph,” Penimra paused, swaying their rounded hips in place as they stood before what appeared to be another dead end. He tilted his head slightly, the mask upon his face adding to the comical bird-like gesture.

“What is it, nister Peninra?”

Ignoring the hushed inquiry from their devoted cleric, the warlock raised a gloved hand to rest upon the stone. The rune upon this one didn’t appear inscribed, so much as scribbled on with ink.

“This one’s different,” the high-elf remarked. “It’s newer; not written like the others.” The transcribing smeared a bit beneath his touch. The Yuan-Ti’s stomach knotted as it revealed a reddish tint beneath the aged oxidized brown.

Blood.

The verse letters began to glitter faintly, and the wall began to part before their very eyes. Everyone shuffled a few steps back warily, as the opening yawned open before them. The transaction was smooth; timeless as though built yesterday. The walls did not groan, and barely any dust stirred from the settled structure.

“Oh thank Torm,” Abernathy brightly explained. “Finally; a way out.”

“I don’t trust it,” Adela whispered. “Pen, what did that rune say?”

With one foot already slid over the threshold, the paladin orc came to an abrupt halt. They appeared torn between running through, and remaining a statue in place from the sorceress’ words.

“Enter,” Penimra validated, standing curiously still. “All that rune meant, was ‘enter’.”

“What do you suppose we do, Adela?” Essätha spoke up; her voice dry and croaking. “Continue wandering in hopes for a better way out?”

“There’s no reason for attitude-”

Sighing, Essie crossed her arms, ignoring the red Dragonborn’s lecture. She was achy, thirsty, and fighting hunger purely through her disgust for her surroundings She didn’t trust to eat or drink a drop here, without something dripping from the ceiling into her food and contaminating it.

“Allow me to go first,” Abernathy politely offered. “If this is a chance at getting out, I think we should take it. I will protect you, Adela, I promise.”

She worried for a moment that the pink Tiefling would reject this notion. Chewing on her lip, her jewelry jingling quietly in the dead silence. But Adela finally and thankfully accepted after a few moments pause, bobbing her head up and down, and with no further argument from the tired remainder, Abernathy proceeded onward through the new gateway.

A light shoulder brushed against hers as they squeezed through the doorway. Essie leaned away instinctively, trying not to suffocate anyone with her presence. With a glance, she spotted the green filters of the darkvision goggles on Amon’s face, stealing away the dark blue of his eyes as he looked back at her.

The contact was not accidental. His hand grazed along hers; the shield to his back. A touch so light it was easy to consider she was only imagining it.

She took his hand and squeezed with a demure smile.

He appeared unsettled.

“M’lord?”

“We’re going to follow the instructions painted in what could arguably be blood at a dead end stone wall?” he contended unhappily. “Does this really sound like the best course of action?”

She sighed uncomfortably. “No. But what if it does offer us a sustainable exit? We don’t know who, or what, made this entry, let alone if it’s still alive.”

“And if it is how it appears: a trap?”

“We’ve had to behead, burn, and assault various monsters so far in this labyrinth,” Essie pointed out. “If it’s just one more, I think we should be able to handle it.”

A long, tired sigh escaped the nobleman. He flexed his hand around hers as he murmured to himself, “Are you sure about that?”

Those had to be some of the most eerie words she’d ever heard. They plagued doubt into the mind like a scavenging infection, raging on the mind. It was the whispering uncertainty of a god’s mockery in the back of the mind, and it made her feel much less certain about her enthusiasm in running headlong into what she hoped to be freedom.

The single path seemed to take them deeper and deeper into the unknown, and further away from the maze left behind them. She began to question the length of the open room, and it’s security, when something crunched beneath Abernathy’s boots ahead.

Everyone came to a deafening halt, to examine what he’d stepped on.

“Rat bones.”

An exhale of relief echoed amongst them.

“You’d expect vermin, right?” Adela laughed almost hysterically with fear. “There’s nothing strange about rat bones scattered around the room, right?”

“Scattered?” Sulhadur breathed. “They’re all pretty uniform to me, Adela.”

“No,” she corrected, her voice showing her confusion. “There’s more, right over here.”

“… And here,” Ravamora whispered. “And here,” Pri’cha chirped.

Sure enough, as Essätha followed their pointing fingers, her eyes zeroed in on the random other pieces of bone. They all appeared mostly small, but none appeared to be part of the skeleton of the rat Abe had stepped on. These were random pieces. Part of a rib here of some small creature, a femur from what looked like another there, and then there was a finger bone there…

“Are they all parts of rats?” Penimra asked almost hopefully.

The tightness of Amon’s hand against hers increased. “Let’s keep moving, quickly.”

There was no disagreement to investigate. In a burst of energy, the cautious footsteps that had began to take them through the new passage began to pick up speed. As it did so, the air temperature; which had been unnoticed to them as growing chillier, began to change. It grew colder and colder the deeper into the rabbit hole they fled. The air seemed to have a draft; or perhaps it was simply them, rushing, feet clamoring, the sound of their footsteps like thunder in the bleak silence.

Walls began to open further and further, revealing a chamber’s space. The air was misted with hanging crystals of moisture. It caused Essätha to shiver not just from the biting cold to her sensitive nerves, but from the liquid suspended in the air. It was almost artful; rain frozen in time, you could almost make out the visible microscopic snowflakes drifting as the air escaped lungs in clouds.

“There’s a door!”

Essie followed the bubbly, sob-like relief in the jeweler’s voice. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a half-collapsed threshold on the opposite side of the room. It looked like a tight squeeze to pass through for some of the party members, but it was a promising change to the dreary room and nightmare tunnels far behind.

As they stepped inside the misty terrain, a growing sense of paranoia enveloped her. Static seemed to sizzle and crackle in the air; or was it just the chill in her goosebumps? Her eyes moved around the room, and she quickly realized she was not the only one to recognize the charge as some of the others began to gaze around.

To her deepest regret, Amon released her hand to retrieve his shield.

“What are all of you pausing for?” Sul asked, oblivious. He scanned the area like the rest of them, taking up his impressive shield to offer cover towards anxious-looking warlock near him.

Essätha held her breath as she turned in a tight circle. Amon’s attendance shifted from her side, to angular; giving her partial cover with his body and shield as the group formed a loose ringed circle with each other. His breathing was relaxed compared to her own; more ragged, adding to the haze of white swirling around them.

To the right, just out of sight between the fog and darkness, a boulder quivered and moved. It’s bumpy, discolored surface flexed like a quivering egg ready to hatch. It rolled to one side, and then the other.

“I can’t see shit,” the warlock whined.

“Shush,” Abe growled. “Look. Listen.”

Essätha squinted through the darkness with her superior darkvision, seeing something floating independently in the air. It’s shadows moved; a spherical orb of milky flesh white.

A singular crimson eye turned towards them and hovered.

Instead of words, a horrified and breathy hiss burned through her chest as she raised a hand; a flurry of magic sparking in violet hues along her fingers.

The words barely spat out of her mouth, and suddenly, the mound of cancerous looking skin flew in their direction. Her Chill Touch missed the erratic movement of the hovering creature as it twisted out of the way, and her companions all turned their attention in the direction she was.

Emitting curses in the Deep Speech she only recognized the sound from Penimra’s repetitive translations, the creature launched itself at them. Some of the ridges and bumps on its bodies suddenly extended. Arm-like appendages exploded outward; further, and then further still, and the collective screams of half the startled party filled the room in a unified echo as tentacles came swatting upon them from the monstrosity.

The one directed towards her was quickly adverted; slamming against Amon’s shield as he flung it up protectively. A second limb smashed against Sulhadur’s thick armor, doing effectively nothing. The third slapped Penimra, looping itself partly around his waist.

The high-elf let out the most alarming screech; their beak-mask opening to reveal rows of gnarled teeth. As disturbing as the cursed elf’s face was, Essie had seen it before. Seeing the rows of teeth at the end of the alien creature’s appendages; their color red and pulsing with life-blood, pierce through his clothes and into flesh however was a whole new kind of terror.

Gushes of red swelled around where the tentacle planted itself, and like a vampire to prey, it fed in horrifying gulps from its toothy limb like a ritualistic death kiss.

“Let go of my boy!” Abernathy suddenly roared, lifting the axe from his shoulder as he charged forward. His arms reared back, his legs braced, and Essätha watched as the weapon came down upon the monstrosities rounded, ugly body.

It screeched; the sound coming from seemingly every direction. As it howled and writhed, it’s many-limbs flinging themselves wildly around, Abernathy too let out a startled cry. Arcs of static seemed to burst from the wound; lightning coursing up the paladin’s arms and leaving dark scorch marks and the smell of seared flesh stinging the air.

She sucked in a breath as Amon stepped forward on one side, Sulhadur on the other, and the pair raised their swords to bring them down upon the appendage wrapped around Penimra. The creature bellowed and thrashed further as blood oozed and spurted; the limb nearly detached from the furiousity of the two blows. Unlike the previous blow directly upon it’s body, there was no after-shocks of electricity to catch on their weapons like lightning rods.

Fear overwrote all reason.

Adela casted; a flurry of fireballs zipping past the floating orb of the creature’s mass as it jerked from side to side. Pri’cha, quick as their little feet could manage, barreled to the front to raise their lit candlestick and utter a cry to Pelor. To the utmost misfortune; it was thrown off entirely by the beast’s movements.

Another lashing of its limbs, and the beastly abomination flung its limbs around once again. One struck Abernathy this time; finding nothing to latch to than armor, which cracked a few of its ‘teeth’. The second hurled towards Pri’cha, finding it hard to make purchase on the cleric. The third, still weakly squirming, turned redder in color as it sucked a massive surge of blood out of the warlock.

In a single violent shudder, Penimra collapsed.

Run.

Her legs were stuck. She could not urge the muscles to move. It was as if she was turned to stone.

Essätha watched, transfixed, as Adela howled in terror for their high-elf companion. She flung herself to grab at him, falling with the man as he slumped down. Another rise of their weapons, and Amon and Sulhadur hacked into the squirming limb, leaving it hanging by only tendrils. Almost as soon as they were lifting their weapons again, Abernathy let out a curse of his own as a sneaky tendril throttled him; physically knocking the man- the towering figure of their impervious paladin- flat on his rear and failing to suffocate his arm in a vise-grip.

Ravamora; who had taken towards running for the exit, lifted their bow to fire an arrow towards the orb, missing entirely. “Come on!”

The creature’s eye locked on to Essie, meeting her gaze.

Run, little girl.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She could run.

How far, though? How fast? Would her legs fail her, or would they never stop; never halt, never give her a chance to look back, to see what she left behind, to see the slaughter, the massacre, the failure, the devastation in wake of a lifetime of mistakes.

Amon grabbed hold of Penimra, grunting heavily as Sulhadur’s sword came down once more to detatch the remaining repulsive limb. No sooner, he turned to grab Pen’s legs to help carry him out; a shimmer of magic emitting from his hands.

“Niss Essie, help us!” Pri’cha urged; lifting their candle. The source of light was vanished in an instant; just like their lives seemed to be. A wriggling limb slapped the candle, breaking it, and swatted the tiny bug hard enough to make them trill sharply in agony.

Adela tripped over her own tail, yelping as she lifted her hand. A blast of fire erupted; searing the chilled air and making condensation rain drops drip mid-air. One ray pelted the monster’s body and it recoiled, leaving a guttural sound of pain and anger. Abernathy in turn winced, trying to hack at the creature as embers rained down upon him, spots of blood appearing where the teeth gauged into the side of his neck.

She felt like a detached entity. Her hand raised, the snake-shaped magic missiles warping into existence and volleying across the span of distance. Two seemed to blankly be dismissed, striking limbs, a third to its side, and then the final hit just below, infuriating the beast further.

As Ravamora fired off another arrow; the end jabbing a limb, the monster lunged. One limb pulsed with Abernathy’s blood, and two more came flying out towards her braced position.

Run.

She did not even flinch as the extended body part hit her. One struck her squarely in the face; and she gasped with surprise more than anything. The other hit her abdomen, the winding of the limb dragging against her stomach as it latched on to soft skin beneath her shirt.

It was like being bitten and having electric currents bursting into your blood vessels all at once.

Essie shrieked; her brain screaming at her to function, to release the tension in her legs.

“Follow Rava; we’ll see if we can’t blockade the exit!” Abernathy gurgled, thrusting his axe downward in an arc. Between the pouring blood that spurted out of the wound, and the visible charge of electrical fields zapping outward, the paladin of Torm cried out in astonishment.

Adela, way ahead of Abe, was already with the other two gentleman carrying away Penimra. She said something; something Essie’s muffled eardrums could not make out, before gesturing with her hands and casting yet another bombardment of pluming fire. They sporadically went everywhere in her panic; one lighting Abernathy’s pants leg on fire and another coming dangerously close to Ess as she physically grabbled with the strength of the appendage draining her of blood.

“Sir Adernathy!” Pri’ weakly exclaimed, raising a dagger. They seemed to hesitate with the physical embodiment of a weapon, before bringing it crashing down upon the beast’s limb, and throwing yet another at it’s body.

It roared with fury, twisting and lashing it’s limbs.

Boots and clawed-feet clamoring, Sul joined the bug-cleric in raising his sword to hack at another limb. Another arrow followed; puncturing the animalistic being’s side with a warbled sound of pain. It flung out more of its tentacles, one smashing into Sul’s horns uselessly, another slapping at Pri’, and it’s third and fourth draining blood from its captors.

The color in her cheeks was pale as Essie struggled. Her head felt like it was full of cotton.

Run.

The limb had all but ensnared her waist, and she could feel her vitality faltering.

Flee now.

A blade came flying down at full force, severing the limb nearly in two in a single swipe.

“Run, Essätha!”

She gasped for breath, her head spinning. Pools of crimson dots on her shirt, and growing. She barely staggered in place, disoriented. Abernathy and Sul were yelling distantly; trying to gather the beast’s attention as the remainder of the party headed for the exit, violently waving arms to come.

Lord Amon’s face broke through the surface waves clouding her. He was close, the smell of blood, sweat, and pine lingering on him.

“Essie, we have to go, now!”

The blade came down again, piercing through the limb and forcing it to detatch helplessly, barely in one piece. Amon swatted at it, grabbing her by the hand.

She was a dead weight, and nearly fell against him as he dragged her forward.

One of its limbs not assaulting in vain upon the armor of the paladins was barely deflected from either of them as the nobleman raised his shield.

“Essie, please!”

His voice was helpless. Terrified. She could see the fear in his eyes through the tunnel-vision.

When he pulled at her again, her legs found themselves. Every step felt like an agonizing mile in strained calves.

Another lashing of its legs as fire and arrows came hurtling at it across the room. The beastly thing cursed them some more in the foreign tongue, and a limb came within inches of missing Amon, only to circle back and strike her as she lagged. Her legs stumbled, and she fell against the Illiad heir.

He hit his knees, biting back a groan as she nearly toppled over him.

“Almost there,” he panted, sheathing his blade to take her hand. “We’re almost there, Essätha, come on.”

As he scrambled to his feet, he grabbed her hand and surged her along with him. She was almost dizzy with the vertigo of standing so swiftly, her entire body felt like it was on an entirely different plane than her mind. She sucked in violent gulps of air, fumbling to keep up with his pace as Amon hurtled them through the tight, narrow space to squeeze into the next area.

Sul and Abe broke through seconds behind them.

Slamming weapons and magic into the crumbling gateway, two limbs managed to shoot through before they were trapped. A wall of stone came tumbling down, breaking the monster’s limbs. A distant shriek could be heard as it’s twitching, blood-sucking mouth-ends fell limp on the floor mere inches from them all.

With heavy panting the others turned to glance among each other. A murmur of words, and Sul and Abernathy were busily exchanging the divine healing granted from their God’s to Penimra and each other from glance blows. A dazed Penimra sat on the floor, Adela and Rava on either side of him as they murmured encouragingly to the confused-looking elf with droopy ears. Only Pri’cha, interested by the new and unexplained, cracked open their notebook with a muted ‘fascinating’ as they began to sketch the creature from memory and it’s crushed limbs, jotting down notes.

Essätha breathed out a held breath. Her body visibly shook; grabbing at herself; her chest, her limbs, any part of her she could reach. Her legs felt lead-laid again. Her mind was still in a viscous cycle, screaming at her to run, over and over again. Tears danced in and out of her vision as she tried to comprehend the urgent sense of fight or flight rearing up like a phantom memory.

A hand reached out for her, gently grasping her own. “You’re hurt. Let me-”

Before he could finish his sentence, stepping closer, she jerked away with a winded, wheezing gasp. Her arm fell away from the tender gentleness of his grasp to be held against her shirt, now spoiled with dust and rows of tattered shirt, shredded skin, and blood.

“Essätha, it’s only me,” Amon urged, his voice gentle, but raised to be hurt. He reached for her once more, slower this time, letting her see that it was just his hands, and nothing more.

“May I see, please? Would you let me-”

Another raspy breath, and she ignored him entirely. Run. Run the voice repeated, over and over again. She was afraid and her body hurt; her legs hurt, her tummy especially hurt, she hurt.

Run.

“Essie?” he murmured, more confused as his hands gently, gently, folded around hers.

She met his gaze this time, wordlessly.

His expression was filled with pleading. Worry etched in the lines of his face; drawn deeper than ever. The window to his soul was naked in his gaze. Bruised feelings of worry in those dark blues.

“What happened, back there?” Amon whispered. “Why didn’t you run?”

Warmth like the sun trailed from his touch. She’d forgotten entirely this new magic. The healing artistry of his touch, even before the magic, was pure in just the soft ways he held her hands. Usually it made her so calm, but now, her thoughts were rampant. She wanted to dive her fingers into his hair and fall into his chest and promise it was nothing; and smile up into his endearing face and watch the ways his smile grew. She loved that, most of all; the transition, the way his eyes squinted every so slightly, the softness of his mouth pulled, tugging, trying to restrain himself from a full-blown grin, the tenderness in him and the ease of his expression.

Still trying to find enough air to breathe; it felt so thin and unfulfilling, her eyes could not settle anywhere. Not on Amon; the worry in his face making her insides fidget further. Not on his hands, as she impulsively wanted to ask him to cradle her instead. The floor, mostly, was the safest option.

“I wanted to,” she explained hoarsely. “More than anything.”

“But I was afraid if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I promised you I’d be there. I promised you I’d stay. I couldn’t live with myself, if I broke that promise. I couldn’t live with myself, hurting you.”

Her voice cracked and broke into a faltering silence at the end. The wash of light from his hands extinguished; healing a great deal of the worst of the puncture marks in her chest. It made her breathing no less easier. In fact, her lungs felt more constricted now, than ever.

“… Oh Essätha.”

The wavering notes of her name were so painstakingly drawn out on his tongue. It sounded so beautiful, such a simple thing as a name. It brought her attention up to him, drawn by his voice; a call in the dark.

His eyes were even more lovely than his voice. It was strange to see herself reflected in the dark pools. The center of his attention, and she was unafraid. Quite the opposite in fact; she felt safe, and warm, and special as he wrapped his fingers tighter around her own, taking a step closer into the circumference of her space.

She caught her breath all at once.

“There is no place I wouldn’t follow you,” Amon remarked; his voice thick. “I’d find you, if only to be sure you were safe; and if you never wanted to hear from me again, I would understand, and never bother you again if you desired. If your spirit tells you you need the room to roam free, run until your legs give out, and I will find you if only to assure you that there is still a place for you, at my side.

“But if you ever need to run because you were scared, or in danger, or the world was too much to carry, or you were hurting, you can always run to me. You can always run to me. I will always have room for you, in my arms. I will always take you in; to be your shelter, your shield, your friend, whatever you may need me to be, I will be for you. I am always here for you, Essätha; always.”

He paused, his fingers weaving between her own. “Anywhere you may go, let me go, too.”

With her mouth hanging speechlessly open, she clung to his fingers. They were careful, even in his strength. The returned affection of his squeeze was pure gentle affections.

“… You would chase me, if I fled?” she cautiously inquired, licking her lips.

“To the very ends of the earth.”

“Why?”

His smile was almost pained. “To make sure you are comfortable, and that you are safe.” He paused to take a breath. “I would leave the moment you asked, but I… I would have to make sure you are okay. That you are living the sort of life you deserve, wherever that may be. That you’re happy.”

“I am happy,” she blurted out; all attempts to refrain nonexistent. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“I just- I have bad habits; I get frightened and it’s like an impulse, it’s how I’ve… survived so long-”

He held her hands fiercely. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Essie.”

“I feel I owe you that,” she barely breathed. He was so close; the weight of his lashes were half-mast.

Amon gave the smallest shake of his head. “You don’t need to do that, anymore than I wish for you to drag yourself through memories that may hurt you like fresh wounds trying to explain. I understand all I need, and that is enough. You owe me nothing; you haven given me more than enough kindness, and I trust you. You are entitled to yourself and your privacy.”

Her heart squeezed. She loved him so much, her body ached with longing.

She took the last two steps into his chest, and his arms found their way free of hers and around her as hers did to him. He was filled with the suns rays; warm, inviting, homey. Her body relaxed; melting entirely into the embrace.

“Thank you, m’lord.”

The broad sweeps of his palms rubbed the length of her spine in soothing circles as he nestled beside her ear. “You owe me no thanks, Essie.”

Oh but I do, she wanted to cry. For all the gentle ways you nurture my heart, I owe you that and so much more. Everything. I owe you everything for your kindness.

Stay, her heart whispered.

Stay, her brain echoed in agreement.

For what felt like the first time, a peaceful, coherent agreement. The pair of them, surrounded by their crumbled walls of fear from a lifetime of solitude and agony. Now they were sharing the sun, dancing in the wild unknown, interlocked. His breath tickling against her ear so she shivered. A yearning more profound than any words echoing through her in an endless cycle; filling the chasms of her voided soul.

Stay.

The idea was tantalizing. Tempting. Filled with want.

Gods, I’ll stay the rest of my days, if he’ll have me, her thoughts mused. A flutter in her chest, and her heart twisted and hummed and raced with agreement.

Home is where the heart is, they said. And that was all the reason she needed to stay.

[jiminniethemarshmallow]

Let Me In (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word Count: 11k

Summary: “Were you about to Netflix and Chill with Park Jimin? You hoped so.”

Warnings: Neighbors!AU, sex with a stranger (plz be safe and don’t go into stranger’s bedrooms), oral (both receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

(A/N): This has been in my drafts for MONTHS (around 7 if I’m not mistaken) and I honestly just could not finish it. But I was suddenly inspired so here it is finally! Enjoy!!

The pouring rain slapped against your windshield as you drove cautiously down your street. As you neared your townhouse complex, you realized that you were heading deeper into the storm. Pulling into your driveway, you parked the car and stared out of the window, clutching your work bag and keys. The distance from your driveway to your front door was not that far, but with the rain coming down like this it was inevitable that you were going to get drenched. Taking a deep breath, the door handle was pushed open and you stepped into the harsh outside weather. Your footsteps splashed on the concrete as you ran to the front door, seeking refuge under the small overhang above the front step. Once you got there, you patted down your pockets for your keys and fumbled in search of the one that opened your home. Then it hit you. Last night you had gone out with friends. You took your house key off of the chain because you only needed the one instead of your car keys and forgot to put it back on when you got home. Currently it was sitting in a small clutch on your bedside table. Great.

Leaning against the locked door, you thought of all of your possible options. You could go to the owner of the complex and ask for a new key or for her to let you back in, but the office was at least a 20 minute drive away and with this low visibility that was a risky plan. You could find a way to break into your house through a window or door, but that wouldn't work either. You lock all of your doors and windows before you leave the house, so you would have to physically break something to get in and you were not paying to repair a window or to get rid of the fungus that would subsequently grow as a result of the water leaking in. Your third option was to go to your next door neighbor's house and ask for help. You didn't know him that well and you two had never really spoken before except for the occasional wave or 'hello' out of courtesy. His car was out front and his lights were on so he must've been home, but you hesitated.

Just then, a blinding flash of lightning struck the field right in front of you, followed by a monstrous boom of thunder that shook the ground beneath you. There was no time to think, you had to act now. You screamed in fear and sprinted to your neighbor's house, leaping onto his doorstep and banging on his door. You didn't want to knock too hard because it might scare him, but with the deafening sound of wind and rain in your ears, you had no perception of how hard you were actually knocking.

The door swung open and you were pulled inside before you could react. The young man shut and locked the door behind you then turned to meet you with concerned eyes. His name was Park Jimin and he was around your age, maybe a little older than you but not by much. He was extremely handsome and, from what you could tell, a very caring and generous person. Even though you had had limited interactions with him, you observed a lot about him since you moved here. He had a pretty good social life; he regularly went out with his friends and threw parties every so often. But he wasn't a noisy neighbor or anything, his parties consisted mainly of just his 6 closest guy friends and whoever they wanted to bring. He rarely had women over so you assumed he was single, which confused you because you always imagined women throwing themselves at him because of his good looks and charm. The job he worked had weird hours, sometimes he would leave before sunrise and come home close to noon and other times he would be out practically all evening and return home close to midnight. Not that you payed attention to any of that of course, you weren't a stalker.

"Are you ok? You're drenched!" Jimin's voice was angelic and you had to put in effort not to stare at him and get consumed by your thoughts. Now that you were up close to him, you realized just how gorgeous he was. His face was smooth, his soft features complimenting his perfect skin. He had the cutest nose and the fullest lips and eyes that were gentle and sweet toward you. His jawline was so sharp it could slice a tomato and his Adam's apple poked out from his throat prettily beside the adorable moles on the side of his neck. You couldn't help but study every feature of his face, he was an angel sent down from the heavens. You had to force yourself to look away.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You breathed, allowing Jimin to take the work bag from your hands to place on a side table. "Thank you for letting me in." You say meekly, looking down at the floor in embarrassment.

"Of course, I couldn't just leave you in the rain like that." He smiled at you. Your heart fluttered at his perfection and you tried your hardest not to blush. How could you not have known your neighbor was this gorgeous? "Hold on, I'll get you a towel." He rushed up the stairs and returned swiftly with a towel to wrap around your shoulders.

"Sorry for dripping on your floors."

"Don't worry about it, it's fine. What were you doing out there? It's dangerous to be outside during storms." He looked you up and down, as if he was gathering information about you and silently judging you.

"I just got back from work and I... kinda... forgot my house key." You reply sheepishly.

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah. It's on my bedside table." You felt stupid saying it out loud.

"Bummer. That's happened to me a few times, but I keep a spare hidden away for times just like these."

"I wanted to make a spare key, but I never got around to it. I'm such an idiot sometimes." You sigh.

"Hey don't beat yourself up about it, everyone makes mistakes." Jimin comforts you and you crack a little smile, although you doubt someone as perfect as him has ever made a mistake in his life. When he sees you shiver, the concerned look on his face returns and he steps closer to you. "You must be cold, you need to get out of those wet clothes before you get sick." You only nod. "I'll find some clothes for you and dry those. You can follow me." He says before walking off toward the stairs again and you reluctantly follow him deeper into his house without a word.

He brings you into his room, which is surprisingly very neat (neater than yours at least), and begins rummaging through drawers to find something that would fit you. He hands you a soft sweater and a pair of pajama pants that have an elastic drawstring so you can tighten them around your waist. He leads you to a bathroom and lets you change, waiting downstairs to take your wet clothes to dry them.

In the bathroom, you contemplate what you want to do. You can't stand the feeling of wet underwear and you would go insane wearing a damp bra, but you couldn't get completely naked at a stranger's house. If you kept the wet underwear on, you would get his pants wet and would probably get a rash or yeast infection, but it would be weird, not to mention gross, to not wear them with his pants. The sweater he gave you was pretty thin, but it was loose enough to cover you adequately aside from your nipples poking out because of the cold. After debating with yourself, you decided to take your panties off, throwing them in the pile of wet clothes along with your bra. After drying your hair, you looked at yourself in the mirror and approved, reassuring yourself that everything would be ok. You inhaled deeply and got a noseful of Jimin's scent. He smelled so nice and you couldn't help but sniff the fabric covering your body. The small crush you had on your neighbor was growing bigger by the second.

You went back downstairs to give Jimin your clothes and were greeted by the delightful smell of food. Jimin turned to you when he heard you nearing.

"You can just leave your clothes in front of that door over there." He pointed in that direction and you listened, plopping them down on the floor, making sure that your undergarments were at the bottom. You walked back over to him and watched him cook from a distance. "Have you eaten?" He asked.

"No, I was planning on cooking at home but.."

"You can eat dinner here. I'm making more than enough food." He makes eye contact with you and gives you a friendly look. It makes you wonder why he cares so much, why he's making it his duty to take care of you. Maybe it was just because he was courteous. You try not to question it.

"Are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

"Of course! The storm doesn't look like it's stopping anytime soon and you can't go home. You gotta eat something. Please? It's on me." His generosity melts you and you agree, thanking him again for his kindness. You boldly move toward him, standing beside his figure to watch him work. The food he was making looked amazing and you marveled at his skill, making everything from scratch was not an easy task. The entire process all looked complicated and you could only stand out of the way and look on in awe. "Do you want to help? I could use a hand."

You stare at him briefly before you realized he was speaking to you and stutter out an answer, laughing in embarrassment. "S-sure, what do you want me to do?"

He motions you over to the counter and hands you a knife, instructing you to mince vegetables. Taking the knife from his hands you try to remember how to do that, you've seen it plenty of times on cooking shows but you've only done it yourself once, and you did a pretty poor job. Hesitating, you turn and confess that you don't know how to complete his task and he kindly offers to teach you.

"It's actually really simple. Hold the knife like this and put your fingers here, make sure they're lined up at the side of the knife so you don't accidentally cut yourself." Jimin comes behind you and guides your hand, his close proximity making you shudder. You are engulfed in a cloud of his cologne, the scent intoxicating and sweet, and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck causing your hair to stand on end. His hands rest on top of yours as his arms wrap around yours and your skin tingles everywhere that is in contact with him. It's a dizzying experience but you force yourself to focus and endure the lesson, successfully mincing the vegetables once he lets go. He applauds you and thanks you for your help before continuing his cooking, assuring you that the food would be done in a few minutes while it cooked on the stove.

He walked away for a moment to dry your wet clothes and you stood and monitored the food. When he picked up the pile of your clothes, he noticed your lacy black panties and bra. Walking into the laundry room, he swallowed as he held them in front of his face, the thought of you wearing nothing beneath the clothes he gave you turning him on. Oh, how he would love to see you naked, wishing only for a wardrobe malfunction so he could sneak a peek at your body. He returned from the laundry room quickly after turning on the dryer and found you cleaning up a bit.

"You don't have to clean up for me, I'll do it later." He walked over to stop you but you shook your head.

"It's the least I can do to thank you for cooking for me." You smiled at him and he shrugged.

"Well I'm not gonna stop you.." He mumbled and you grin.

Resuming the food, Jimin tended to the meat that was simmering in a pan. He reached for a mysterious bottle of liquid and poured about a tablespoon of it into the pan, watching as it seemed to evaporate into the meat and puff up into a cloud of delicious smelling smoke.

"Do you want to know what the secret ingredient is?" He asked.

"Yeah it would be nice to know what I'm eating. For all I know, it could be poison." You joked and he laughed.

"No it's a type of liquor. Kinda like soju but with more flavor and a little less alcohol."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" The question was lighthearted and flirty but it also reminded you that he was practically a stranger and could be potentially dangerous. But for some reason you were comforted by his presence and his aura gave off friendly vibes. The atmosphere in his house was light and welcoming and it put your mind at ease.

"Cooking with alcohol doesn't work that way." He said through adorable giggles. "But I do have some wine if you want." He said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle but you both laughed his comment off. After adding a few spices and seasonings for flavor, Jimin declared that the food was finished. Everything looked delicious and your mouth was practically watering at the sight in front of you. "Would you like a taste?" He asks holding up a piece of meat with his chopsticks, giving you an eye smile that melted your insides.

"Uh, sure." Just as you were about to lean in and taste it, Jimin pulled his hand away to blow on it lightly. His action made you blush and you fought the smile threatening your lips. As soon as the meat hit your tastebuds your eyes widened. He looked at you expectantly, awaiting your response but you just stood there with a surprised look on your face as you stared back at him.

"...Well? What do you think?" He looked nervous. "Good, bad? You gotta give me something!"

"This is the best thing I've ever tasted!" You say and you weren't even exaggerating. Nothing you could cook would ever taste this good and you were sure you wouldn't be able to find anywhere that could make a home cooked meal like this.

Jimin sighed with relief and the smile returned back to his face. "I'm glad you like it. I didn't even ask if you even liked what I was cooking. If you didn't I would have made something completely different for you."

"I probably would've still eaten it anyway." You shrug.

"Yeah, but you're my guest so I would want you to at least enjoy the meal that I cooked for you."

You were touched by how much he cared about pleasing you and making sure you were comfortable. His hospitality was completely unexpected considering that you came to him unannounced in the middle of the night. He didn't know much about you, but he still treated you like a good friend and it warmed your heart.

After you helped him set the table and place all of the food in the center, he pulled out a chair for you and you gladly took it. Dinner with him was amazing. His cooking was probably the best you've had in a very long time and you couldn't stop yourself from complimenting him. You expected it to be awkward, eating dinner in a random stranger's home was not a normal occurrence for you, but conversation came naturally to the two of you and you felt completely comfortable around him.

By the end of your meal you felt like you had known Jimin for years. He told you about his friends and hobbies and you both shared stories about yourselves. You learned that he was a chef and that he owned a small restaurant in your town, which explained why he was so skilled. You found out that you had a lot in common with your neighbor and you wondered why you hadn’t gotten closer to him during the time you've lived next to him. After you helped him clean up the dishes, you moved to the living room area, taking a seat on his couch while he turned on the tv. You noticed that the screen kept flickering and freezing occasionally and it reminded you of the storm outside.

"I hope the power doesn't go out." Just as the words left your mouth a brilliant flash of lightning struck outside the windows followed by a ground shaking boom of thunder that seemed to vibrate throughout the entire house. You couldn't help the flinch that overtook your body and you blushed when you found Jimin staring at you with concerned eyes.

"Are you scared of thunder?" It was a genuine question and he looked at you as though you were a cute little kitten, but you felt embarrassment creep through you nonetheless. You nodded shyly.

"I know it can't hurt me but I still don't like it." You felt the need to explain yourself to fight off the feeling that he was judging you. A loud beeping noise sounded from the tv and startled the both of you. A banner flashed at the top of the screen warning of a severe weather alert that included flash flood and thunderstorm warnings and the possibility of tornado watches in certain areas. Your nerves were through the roof. Jimin could sense the tension in your body as you peered at the flickering screen with widened eyes. He reached for the remote and turned off the tv, effectively silencing the alert.

"We don't have to watch tv. Let's keep talking." He offered in a clear attempt to distract you from the weather outside. He shifted closer, eliminating some of the space between you.

"O-okay," You took a breath to compose yourself. "Again, thanks for letting me stay here. I owe you a lot.”

"Like I said, I couldn't just leave you out there. How would I be able to ask you out if you got swept away in the storm?" Jimin smiled sweetly as if he didn't just say he wanted to ask you out. It was so casual that at first you thought you were hearing things.

"You w-want to ask me out?" You stuttered, causing him to giggle cutely at your flustered state.

"I've been thinking about it for a while now but I never could work up the nerve to knock on your door and ask you." You stared at him in shock. "I don't see you that much so it's hard to find time to talk to you." He said, suddenly glancing down nervously. You wondered how someone could go from confident to shy in less than a second but you found it extremely charming.

"I would have said yes." He looked up at you with hopeful eyes. "If you had asked me on a date." You added and watched as his eyes lit up, confidence returning to his figure. A silence took over the space around you and all that could be heard was the rain and soft rumble of distant thunder. Jimin stared at you silently, unidentifiable emotions swimming in his eyes and you had to look away to relieve some tension. Inside his head he was debating whether or not it would be okay to touch you but he decided against it. Your eyes wandered around the room until they landed on him again to find him still looking at you, his body closer to you than you remember. He was sitting so close now that his leg was almost touching yours and you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin. His lips looked so full and soft up close and a sudden urge to kiss him came over you, but you resisted it.

"You look really good in my clothes..." Jimin's gaze trailed down your body and lingered on your breasts, making you painfully aware of the visibility of your hardened nipples underneath the fabric of his sweater. You didn't say anything— you couldn't— because of the dry patch at the back of your throat that was growing under his hungry stare. His eyes returned to yours and a comforting grin crossed his lips, instantly relaxing you. "I think the sweater paws suit you."

When he changed the mood with his cute little eye smile, you noticed that you probably looked uncomfortable. Maybe you just imagined the look he gave you? Relieved that the dense air around you had lightened, you felt confident enough to speak.

"Normally I don't start stealing guys' clothes until after the first date. This is an exception."

"Is this considered the first date?"

"I just had dinner with you, so I think this qualifies." You grin brightly at him and it's not even forced. Being around Jimin made you feel like a fool. After a short pause, Jimin shifts.

"Do you want to go up to my room? I don't usually spend a lot of time down here at night. We could watch a movie on my laptop if you want." His offer came out of the blue but you accepted anyway. Logic was telling you not to go up to his room, warnings from your parents of how you shouldn't follow a man into his home or bedroom rang in the back of your mind, but you ignored them. You knew what could happen, but to be completely honest, you hoped that things would turn in that direction.

Judgement clouded by curiosity, you trailed close behind Jimin, for the second time tonight, up the flight of stairs that led to his bedroom. He seemed a little more conscious of the items in his room because this time you would have a chance to actually look closely at the space. Jimin's bed was neatly made and there was nothing on the floor, the complete opposite of what your room looked like. You had the tendency to drop things on the ground while or after using them and then leave them there until you either tripped over it or you just couldn't take the mess anymore.

"Your house is so much cleaner than mine, it's amazing." You thought out loud and Jimin chuckled as he pulled his laptop from his desk.

"It's honestly not that clean, I just know how to place things out of the way so it looks like I have more space. Out of sight, out of mind." He didn't look up from his screen as he spoke.

"That qualifies as clean in my book. My room has so many clothes and shoes all over the place that you can barely see the floor." That might have been a bit of an exaggeration.

Jimin thought about what your room probably looked like with everything out in the open, his mind automatically reminding him of the undergarments that he saw in your pile of clothes. He couldn't help but imagine your lacy panties and bras hanging off of various objects in the room, indiscreet and on display, and it made his cheeks turn a light pink at the thought.

"What movie do you want to watch?" He quickly changed the subject as he pulled up Netflix. Were you about to Netflix and Chill with Park Jimin in his bedroom? You hoped so. Your heart beat sped up at the idea.

"Doesn't matter to me. As long as it's not anything cheesy or cliché." You reply casually as he takes a seat next to you on the side of his bed. This time he sits much closer to you and your legs do touch but you don't move away. You enjoyed the contact. Jimin didn't seem to mind either.

He picked an action comedy and you both agreed on it. He hadn't gotten the chance to see all of it and you hadn't seen any of it so you felt like it was an okay choice.

"Um, do you mind if we sit against the headboard? This isn't the most comfortable spot." He asked and you nodded. Turning to crawl on your hands and knees to the top of the bed, you made sure to arch your back and stick your ass out to give Jimin a little show. He swallowed as he moved to lean against the headboard, eyes trailing your backside until you turned around to sit on it. His hand brushed your leg while he was trying to get comfortable and you could feel the goosebumps crawl up your skin underneath your clothing. Once you were both sitting comfortably, Jimin placed the laptop on one of your thighs and one of his, wiggling closer to make sure you were a stable foundation. It felt weird being this close to a virtual stranger but you liked it. You liked him.

Hitting play for the movie, Jimin allowed his arm to rest against yours. Your shoulders were touching just slightly but it was enough contact to make your heart race. His subtle touches did not go unnoticed by you and your reactions did not bypass him either. He couldn't focus on the screen at all because his mind was filled with dirty thoughts of you. The way you looked sitting in his bedroom wearing nothing underneath the clothes he gave you was making it hard for him to control the urge to pounce you. He wanted you and you were so close. After the first 10 minutes of the movie, Jimin decided to take his advances further by placing a hand on your thigh, cautiously planning every move he made, trying his hardest not to come on too strong and scare you away. He rested it there gently and could feel your muscle tense up beneath his fingertips. When you didn't shy away from him or push his hand away, he smirked.

His thumb rubbed slow circles into your thigh through the fabric of his thin pajamas and you couldn't bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the motion. When you finally do, you look up to see that Jimin is already staring at you, studying your face intently, his eyes flickering down to your lips. Heat rushed to your cheeks under his gaze and you found yourself nibbling nervously on your bottom lip.

"I usually don't do this on the first date, but I really want to kiss you right now." His voice was low and sultry, its softness making you crumble and you feel yourself leaning in toward him.

"Then do it."

The next thing you know your lips are colliding with his, the pillowy soft flesh feeling amazing against you and you instantly crave more. His fingers squeeze your leg gently when you bring a hand up to close the laptop and run your fingers up his arm. Jimin's skin feels so smooth under your fingertips that you can't stop stroking it, taking this chance to feel the strong muscles just beneath it. His lips move with yours in perfect harmony, both of you equally as hungry for the other. You don't remember who initiated it, but your tongues eventually worked their way into each other's mouths and started fighting for dominance. Jimin was stealing your breath away.

Everything was moving so fast you felt like your brain couldn't keep up. His kiss made your head spin and you surprised yourself by how willing you were to kiss someone you barely knew, but this felt so right. Pulling away for only a few seconds to catch a breath and move the laptop out of the way, you look into Jimin's eyes and see nothing but lust as he peers back at you and you are sure you look exactly the same way. Your attraction to him was more than obvious and it did wonders for his ego. Connecting your mouths once again, Jimin pulls you into his lap so that he can kiss you deeper. His  fingers sneak down your waist and dance along the waistband of your pants.

"I know you don't have any panties on." He mumbles into the kiss and you gasp, both from his words and the feeling of his hands slipping into the pants to grip your ass. Jimin's hands feel hot on your skin and the heat seems to travel straight to your core. You couldn't ignore how his touch made your body tingle and ache in all the best ways. Apparently he felt the same way because soon he was pulling you higher up in his lap until you were straddling his hips. A hard bulge pressed against your thigh and you were fully aware of what it was.

BOOM!!

Loud thunder shook the house once again and it sounded like the rain was getting harder outside. You released Jimin's lips to let out a shriek of fear. The lights flicker slightly. Even in the heat of the moment your fear overrode lust and made you temporarily forget about Jimin as you glanced at the window and the bolts of lightning flashing outside of it. Way to ruin the mood.

Jimin gently cupped your cheek and turned your head to face him again.

"If you focus on me I'll make you forget about the storm, I'll keep you safe." You should have found his words cheesy, but instead you found them romantic and sweet. The gentle tone of his angelic voice made your heart flutter. Moving his hands under your sweater, Jimin wrapped his arms around your back and pressed his lips and body against yours. The kiss got heated again quickly and soon you were rolling your hips into the hardness beneath you. A groan escapes Jimin's throat and you swallow the noise. Pulling away from him, you move your body down his legs, all while maintaining eye contact with him.

"Do you want me to take care of this?" In a sudden stroke of boldness you begin palming him through his jeans. Jimin closes his eyes briefly and nods, giving you the ok to take things further.

Immediately you unbutton and unzip his pants, suddenly in a hurry to rip his clothes off. He helps you pull them down along with his boxers and your mouth waters at the sight. His dick is standing tall against his covered abdomen and the tip is an irritated red color. The girth is thicker than you imagined and you can't keep your eyes off it.

Jimin is already breathing heavily as he watches you gawk at his size. His length twitches slightly and the movement pulls you back into reality.

"I've wanted to see you naked from the moment I walked in." You confess quietly as you take him in your hand and give him a slow pump. He hisses at the feeling.

"Wait," He grunts and you look up at him curiously. "Take off your shirt." Easily following his request, you pull the sweater from your body and throw it to the side, exposing your breasts to the open air and Jimin's expectant eyes. He swallows thickly as he observes your hardening nipples.

"Your turn." You say, pulling at the hem of his shirt. He brings it above his head and your eyes widen at the sight of his chocolate abs. He always seemed to be coming from or going to the gym whenever you saw him but you didn't expect him to have muscles like **this. You were practically drooling by now.

Jimin wasn't one to brag, but he found your expression priceless. He grinned to himself as you raised a hand to touch him, running your fingers across the cuts of his muscles all the way down to his V line until your hand wrapped around his base. The smug look on his face faded as you pumped him steadily, maintaining eye contact with him as you licked your lips. He felt thick and veiny in your hand and you couldn't wait to feel him inside you. Your hand moved along the smooth skin of his shaft, occasionally swiping across the tip to spread the precum leaking out to lubricate your movements.

"Your cock is so beautiful, the prettiest I've ever seen." You bat your lashes at him. "You are beautiful." He twitches in your palm and it prompts you to take the head into your mouth.

"Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?” Jimin's voice sounds strained as he fights back the moan bubbling in his throat and you shrug.

Your tongue swirls around his tip before you dip down to take more of him in your mouth, relaxing your jaw to accommodate his size. He was slightly bigger than what was comfortable for your mouth but you enjoyed the discomfort and loved the sounds he was making for you. One of his hands comes down to move your hair out of your face, pulling it gently away from your neck and into a ponytail so he can see you better. Jimin's jaw hangs slack as he watches you bob up and down his length, taking more of him with every dip of your head. His pupils are completely blown and his eyelids droop as you send him into a daze of pleasure.

"Fuck, (Y/n), you look so sexy with your mouth around my cock. You feel so much better than I imagined." Hearing the polite Park Jimin say these things about you made you feel hot all over. The fact that he admitted to imagining you sucking him off made pride swell in your chest and encouraged you to deep throat him. You glance up at his face before relaxing your throat and taking his entire length into your mouth all at once until his tip hits the back of it. You have good control of your gag reflex and are very experienced in giving blowjobs (you can thank your ex for that), so you’re confident in your abilities, but he was bigger than you were used to so it takes a bit more concentration to take him all the way. When your nose hits his abdomen, you feel his muscles clench at the small touch. A groan slips past Jimin's lips as he tightens the grip he has on your hair to hold you in place. You put your hands on his enormous thighs to brace yourself as you begin to move. “So good.” He breathes.

You come back up for air only to deep throat him a few more times. His moans get louder every time you go down on him and his vocality causes you to smirk around his length. When you take him in for the fifth time, you stay there and swallow around him. Jimin gasps at the action and you can feel his thighs shake beneath your palms, so you do it again to see his reaction but don’t expect the sudden thrust of his hips into your mouth, causing you to gag. The moan that escapes him is louder than the sound of your throat constricting around his thickness and you fight back the tears swelling in your eyes from the lack of oxygen. You pull back to breathe but hollow out your cheeks and suck especially hard on your way up, Jimin whining in response, restraining himself from pushing your head back down on him.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum." He breathes, readjusting his hold on your hair as a few strands fall in front of your eyes. His words invigorate you and you pick up your pace, bobbing quickly up and down his length with hollowed cheeks as your hand grips him and moves to pump at his base. Jimin pants above you and begins moving his hips to chase after his orgasm, wanting to stay in the warmth of your mouth. The sounds of the thunderstorm outside are quickly forgotten and covered by the noises erupting from Jimin's mouth as he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. Your jaw starts to hurt a bit, but the way Jimin responds to you is worth the pain. You peek up through your lashes to watch him fall apart beneath you, abs clenching and unclenching, thighs trembling, chest heaving, lip trapped between his teeth, and sweat beading at his forehead. He looks so unbelievably hot at that moment that you almost cum from the sight.

You’re so wrapped up in how he looks that you don’t realize how close he actually is. He cums unexpectedly in your mouth with a high pitched call of your name and you take all of it, some of his semen dripping from the seal of your lips and down his shaft. Jimin lets out a deep exhale when you release him, opening his eyes to take in the sight of you.

"I've never cum that fast in my life." He huffs, trying to regain his composure. "You don't have to swallow, it's ok if you sp-"

Before he can finish his sentence you swallow all of it, licking up the streams dripping from the corners of your mouth. You bend down and lick a long stripe up Jimin's softening member, collecting everything that had spilled out of him, making sure not to leave a single drop. He holds your gaze the entire time and curses to himself at how sexy you are.

"Spitters are quitters." You say simply and smile at him when his cheeks redden.

Pulling you up to sit in his lap again, Jimin crashes his lips on yours, tasting himself on your tongue. You moan at the roughness of his kiss and grind yourself down onto him, trying to relieve the pressure in your core, eagerly awaiting him to return the favor. He pulls away and looks at you, eyes traveling down to lock on your perky breasts before he leans down and plants kisses on the tops of them. You arch into him when he takes one of them into his hot mouth, tongue playing with the nipple while his hand massages the other. You try to grind down on him more as he stimulates you, but the position isn't satisfying you so you whine. Jimin understands immediately and lets go of your breast.

"Take these off." He pulls at the elastic around your waist, letting it snap back on your skin and you quickly move off of him to snatch the garment from your legs. Your wetness has created a dark patch in the pants he loaned you and you look at it before throwing them aside. You're practically dripping by now. Jimin moves you so that you are sitting comfortably on his muscular thighs, your arousal glistening from your core and he groans. "Fuck, you're so wet. Is this all for me?" You nod.

"Yes Jimin, I want you so badly." You move your hips, seeking friction.

"Good. I should make you cum until you’re weak just to make up for all the times I dreamed of making you scream for me." Jimin's voice sounds a bit deeper than before and it’s dripping with lust. You find it extremely sexy and you can’t help but get wetter at his words. "Let me please you." He whispers as he slides his hand down your front to reach your lower lips.

As soon as his fingers glide along the outside of your core, you’re putty in his hands, a whining mess from the way he teases you so delicately. His fingertips pad along your plush skin, never straying closer than a brush against your labia, all too far from where you need him. He never looks away from your face, watching as you bite your lips and attempt to grind down on him again, pleading with your eyes for him to stop this torture. With a knowing smirk, Jimin looks down between your legs and spreads your lips, observing the string of arousal that drips down from your entrance onto his lap. He sucks in a sharp breath, swallowing hard to appease his hungry mouth that waters at the sight of you.

“Mmm, such a pretty pussy. Wonder how it tastes.” Jimin runs his middle finger through your wetness, gathering the juices on his digit before plunging it inside your waiting hole. You moan unconsciously when you feel him poke around, and you press your hips harder into his hand to force him to go deeper, but he pulls away at your motion. Bringing the finger up to his lips, you watch as he seductively sucks the liquid off, closing his eyes and savoring the taste like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. You can see his tongue swirling to catch every drop, slicking his finger more than before and soon he adds in another one, wetting that finger too before pulling them out, drenched in his saliva.

His hand drops back down to your core and this time he forcefully thrusts both fingers into your entrance, giving you little time to adjust before he’s thrusting them in and out harshly, curling and wiggling skillfully. You grasp onto his shoulder for support, lowering your head and moaning his name in a daze, but Jimin lifts your chin with his free hand, coaxing you to meet his eyes. When you do, he smirks and leans in to kiss your cheeks, jawline, down to your collarbone and you can’t control how your neck lulls back to give him more access. He scissors his fingers, stretching your walls, and you grind deeper into his palm to feel more of his plump digits.

“Jimin, more.” You whine, loving the feeling he was giving you, but craving to feel all of him. You didn’t know if you wanted more fingers or his dick or his tongue, you just wanted him. But he decides to push in another thick finger alongside the others, and you lean forward into him to wrap your arms around his neck. Your rapid breaths blow on his skin and he can tell he’s already making you breathless without even doing much. This brings a devilish half smile to his lips that almost looks too good on his face as he sucks at the delicate skin on your shoulder, leaving a mark as dark as the stormy sky outside.

“Mmm, so tight... how do you expect to take my cock if you feel like this around just 3 of my fingers, babygirl?” Jimin teases, biting his lips, but you can see the excitement swirling in his chestnut eyes. He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer against his chest, reaching just a little bit deeper into your sopping heat. You let out a mewl when his thumb makes contact with your clit, brushing over it a few times just to work you up before rubbing treacherously soft circles into it.

“Please, Jimin,” You whine, bucking your hips into him in hopes of more friction. He chuckles at how desperate he’s made you already and deliberately presses his fingers into a soft spot within you just to hear you beg, the movement so purposeful that it’s like he knew it was there the whole time. You clutch onto his shoulders with strength, chewing on your lower lip in order to keep the last strand of sanity within you, and Jimin can feel the shakiness of your limbs as you cling to him, struggling for more.

Taking mercy on you, he finally uses his thumb to spread your wetness and draws generous patterns on your sensitive bud. You squeak at the pressure, a needy moan following as he bends down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, a satisfied hum in his chest. Your body is buzzing at his touch, his skillful fingers sending bolts of electricity up your spine like the flashes of lightning in the long forgotten storm just outside his window. Even though the lights are dimmed and starting to flicker due to the ferocious weather, Jimin can still see every detail of your beautiful face as he looks up at you. How your lips press together when you try to conceal a whine of his name, the way your eyelids flutter whenever he does something you like, only opening to catch a glimpse of his awestruck face before squeezing shut again, a vivid flush on your cheeks as he works your temperature higher with every hard stroke of his fingers. God, he was going to go fucking crazy. He needed to taste you.

Abruptly, Jimin shifts his weight so that you land on your back, head now pointing toward the bottom of the bed as he hovers over you, his fingers still lodged deep within your heat. Kissing his way down your body, Jimin wastes no time reaching your core, licking up the juices that seep out alongside his fingers. A throaty groan leaves his lips before he’s removing his hand to spread your folds and get a good look at his meal.

“Spread those lovely legs wider for me, baby girl.” His pet name for you was driving you wild and you instantly comply, dangerously susceptible to his every whim. You were sure that if he asked you to do something crazy like run around naked in the near hurricane outside, you would do it in a heartbeat despite your extreme fear of lightning and being publicly exposed. You were a puppet in his hands, unconsciously submitting to him, and it felt good not to have to think for yourself, especially when your legs flew open as far as they could go and he attached his mouth to your core.

Your compliance makes pride swell in Jimin’s chest as he ravishes you, pleased to know that you’re as desperate to have him as he is to have you. He’d never plan on abusing his power over you of course, but the fact that he has you under him letting him do whatever he pleases fulfills every one of his fantasies about you. He licks up and down your drenched folds, cleaning up the mess of arousal coating them, and you tug desperately on his fluffy brunette locks. Sloppy, wet noises travel up to your ears as he begins moving his fingers inside you once again, choosing a rapid pace against your clenching walls. A hoarse whimper leaves your lips when he sucks eagerly at your clit, focusing on the bud. Jimin wants you to cum on his fingers and tongue, wants to feel how you squeeze him and pulse against his ministrations, moaning his name in that sexy voice of yours. Fuck. He’s so hard again already and his throbbing erection urges him to finish you quickly so he can finally feel you around him. He draws fast circles around your nub with his tongue, free hand running along your sides to cup one of your breasts, playfully pinching your perked nipple to pull a groan from your throat.

“Shit, your tongue feels so good,” You murmur, gasping for air under the assault of his wet muscle and he only smirks into you, burying his face farther into your core.

You quiver at the sensation, trying your hardest to keep your legs pried open to give him more space to work. You can’t help the loud moans that leave you while he builds up your release, deep groans leaving him at the praise he’s receiving. His chin is soaked in your juices, lips still suckled around your engorged clit and you see stars when he gives you a good hard suck, pressing his fingers into your spot again and reducing you to a shaky mess on his bed sheets. Your back arches off of the bed as he rides you out with his fingers, silently admiring the look of bliss on your face and the reddish quality of your lower lips. You look absolutely fuckable and all he can do is scramble to his knees and wait for you to come back down, placing soft kisses along your collarbones.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Jimin whispers into your skin when you come back to reality. 

You can feel his hard length pressing into your abdomen as he sucks marks around the base of your neck, his hips grinding subtly into you, and a spark is reignited in the pit of your stomach, a burning need to feel him inside you. You reach down between your bodies to grab his length, giving it a few languid pumps before you’re teasing his tip with your entrance, but Jimin stops you, grabbing a tight hold on your wrist then flipping you onto your stomach. Instinctively, you raise yourself onto your knees and wiggle your ass to entice him, receiving a swipe on your right cheek accompanied by a low grunt from him. Jimin pushes your upper body down onto the mattress, applying pressure to your shoulder blade as a signal to stay still while he lines himself up with your dripping cavern.

“Aigoo... look at you, so eager to be taken. Your cute little pussy’s just begging for my cock, huh?” He coos as he slides his hands over the globes of your ass. You can feel his length leaking precum onto your skin as it rests in the gap between your cheeks and your core throbs in need.

“Please take me, Jimin. Fill me to the brim.” You whisper in encouragement and you hear a sinful growl behind you, followed by the ripping of the tin foil condom package he managed to fish out of his bedside table.

Without further hesitation, Jimin grips himself at the base and slides it into your opening in one swift motion. Your walls clamp down on him the instant he splits you open with his girth, the thickness of his member greater than even three of his chubby fingers. You moan loudly when his head pops past your ring of muscles, the twinge of pain far overshadowed by the pleasure of him sliding in and hitting you deep with little resistance. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet for anyone in your entire life and you can tell by how hard Jimin grips your hips that he’s satisfied by just how aroused he’s gotten you.

“You take me so well. Such a good girl,” He praises, giving both of you time to adjust to the new feeling. It’s a tight fit and his nails dig into your waist as he tries his hardest to restrain himself. Pulling out slowly, he pushes back into you cautiously to make sure he’s lubricated enough, and when he sees just how smoothly he slides into you he loses all control, his next thrusts much harder. “Fuck, (Y/n), you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

You never expected to hear these things come from your angelic neighbor; yet here he was, fucking you into his mattress with increasingly more powerful strokes, taking you from behind like a man gone mad. Honestly, you were surprised that he was this into dirty talk, but you found it entirely too hot. And the harder he went, the more filthy things fell from his perfect mouth.

“You’re so— fuck— so soft and warm,” He groans, pulling your ass cheeks apart to get a better view of him slipping in and out of you. “I just wanna destroy this little pussy of yours.” Jimin snaps his hips extra hard into you and it sends you flying forward, hands finding purchase on the bed sheets to brace yourself against his assault. You move backwards into his hips, every impact of his pelvis against yours bouncing you forward and adding to the force when you push back. Jimin’s hands pull your hips into him greedily, chasing after you each time he pulls away with grunts and groans of your name and you feel the slickness of sweat on his skin from the fast pace he’s worked up going back and forth into you.

Loud slapping noises fill the room as your sticky skin collides with his, pants and moans filling the unoccupied space and suddenly the room feels too hot for you. Jimin can feel every pulse of your walls and the way you react to his skillful movements, and you can feel every ridge on his dick through the thin rubber between you two, both wishing that he would just take the damn thing off. A frustrated sigh leaves his lips when another hard slam of his hips propels you forward and his solution to this is to wrap his arms around your middle and pull you up to a sitting position. Your back melds into his front and although you’re on top, he’s doing all the work, rutting up into you from below.

“Ah! Jimin~ so fucking good!” You whine, leaning your head back onto his shoulder and letting your eyes drift shut as a knot builds within you. You can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of you repeatedly, his pulse felt clearly through the thick veins that ran up and down his length, and it only heightens your pleasure. He growls into your ear, feeling himself get carried away, but he pushes his orgasm away to ensure that you reach your end before he does. You have to cum before him. It’s the polite thing to do and, of course, Jimin is a gentleman.

Both of your movements shake the bed with loud creaks, the headboard knocking against the wall with every harsh movement he made against you. Both of your moans had gone up in volume considerably, almost drowning out the storm, and everything combined was almost louder than the thunder that was still roaring outside. You knew the neighbors on the other side of Jimin’s home could probably hear you, a middle aged couple that enjoyed the tameness of your housing complex, and you knew in the morning there would probably be noise complaints, but at the moment the only thing on your mind was Jimin’s cock impaling you and bringing you closer to your high.

“Do you like this, (Y/n)?” He breaths into your ear huskily, a smirk evident in his tone. “Am I making you feel good?” He already knew the answer, he could tell by your cries of his name, but verbal affirmation is what he sought. “Let me hear you say it.”

“Yes, Jimin! Please give me more!” You spread your legs farther apart on either side of his, trying your hardest to grind down to get him to go deeper. It was all too much, yet at the same time it wasn’t enough and you felt like you were going crazy. You needed that sweet release. But he had other plans and with his strong arms Jimin grounded you to his body, stopping all motion abruptly and making you gasp and whimper. Leaning down to your ear, he nibbles on the lobe before whispering.

“If I let you cum will you do me a favor, baby girl?”

This of all times was not a time to negotiate, but you were desperate and needy so you played along.

“Yes, anything!” Your attempt to move your hips fails when he presses you tighter against his body, prohibiting all movement.

“I want you to cum on this cock you love so much and then let me cum inside you. Raw.” His words send a flash of heat throughout your body and you’re sure he can feel it where your bodies are connected. With unthinking sureness, you agree wholeheartedly, wanting nothing more than exactly that.

“Oh my God, pleeease,” You groan, eyes practically rolling to the back of your head at the thought. He twitches inside you and you smirk to yourself a little.

“Are you sure?” He asks, sounding not so confident anymore as though he didn’t expect you to accept his offer.

“I’m on birth control, it’s fine. Please hurry.” Your words are rushed as you lift yourself off of him, Jimin releasing his grip on you so you can hover above him and pull off that irksome piece of rubber covering his beautiful flesh. God, his cock really was the prettiest you’d ever seen.

Taking hold of him at the base, you touch his bare tip to you and both shiver from the fresh contact, eager to feel the difference when he enters you. And when you finally sink down on him, you do it slowly, taking him inch by inch to revel in the feeling of flesh on flesh. An audible sigh sounds behind you and you’re sure Jimin can hear the shakiness of your moan when he bottoms out, tip touching your cervix and girth stretching your pussy wide open around his cock. It never occurred to you before that this is what sex had been missing in the past. That this is what you needed. Someone to fill you up completely until there wasn’t any space left, someone who could push the limits of your walls and make you feel used and overworked. You’ve never had someone’s dick steal your breath away before, and Jimin wasn’t the biggest you’ve ever taken, yet with him you found it hard to breathe whenever he entered you because he knew how to work his hips and he was very clearly versed in the ins and outs of female pleasure. His small hands were the perfect size for your breasts that jumped every time he plowed into you, the entirety of his palms covering the mounds and rubbing over your sensitive, perked nipples. You felt like you were committing pure sin, but you couldn’t care less.

Jimin was in heaven. He never thought you’d allow him to fuck you raw, especially since this was his first time with you, and he certainly never expected it to feel this fucking good. As he ground up into you erotically he could feel your walls clenching tightly, neglected clit pulsing desperately, and he knew you were close. Your arm reached back to intertwine your fingers in his hair and he moans when you tug at it, dick twitching in response. Looking down, he marvels in how your body works against him, you putting in a little more work to begin riding him in synchronization with his thrusts. The rolling wave-like motion of your hips puts him in a trace as he watches you chase after high erratically while moaning his name sweetly and he swears his name has never sounded better on anyone else’s tongue.

The sound and feeling of his balls slapping against your ass makes you bite your lip. They’re so full and heavy and you know he’s got a big load for you, and that fact alone makes you weak in the knees. Upon realizing this, you bounce a little faster on him, feeling a tight knot wind up in the pit of your stomach, growing bigger by the second.

“Please Jimin, it feels so good,” You whimper, not even sure what you’re begging for but it doesn’t really matter when your mind is this hazy from pleasure.

“You close, baby girl?” He asks in a voice that was meant to be teasing but instead comes out as a breathless sigh.

“Yes, yes, I’m s-so close.” You begin to stutter and tremble as the effort catches up to your tired limbs and you almost feel too weak to move. Jimin’s hands are roaming the expanse of your torso, taking in as much of your body as he can as if he were trying to commit it to memory. They end up on your waist and help lift you up and down his shaft when you start to constrict around his length, the knot in your stomach feeling like it would combust at any moment.

“Shit, (Y/n), you really like my cock don’t you?” He mumbles, nuzzling into your neck to leave scattered purple marks, soothing over the skin with his delicate tongue that has you tilting your head for more. You hum in response to him, acutely aware of the rumbling outside that seems to also agree. “Then cum on my cock, baby. Can you do that for me?”

One of his hands roams over your stomach and down to your core where he gathers your wetness and circles over your sensitive clit just right, propelling you into your orgasm with a cry of his name. You shake and arch your back as he keeps thrusting into you, grunting from how tight your pussy squeezes him with every contraction and how hard your hand is gripping his hair. You hear him curse quietly behind you and suck in through his teeth, trying to control himself. When he can’t take the build up any longer, Jimin pushes you forward abruptly, landing with your ass high up in the air and he assumes his position behind you, propping one of his legs to the side to get better leverage as he continues to thrust deep inside you.

The wood of his headboard sounds like it’s about to break from the intensity of his strokes and there will most likely be a dent in the wall from it, but those were discoveries for the morning because right now the only thing Jimin can think about is cumming while buried deep in your cunt. His grip is strong on your hips as he rams into you and you lay there boneless, body quivering in the wake of overstimulation but so satisfied at the same time. Jimin lets out a mixture of deep growls and high pitched moans as his thrusts turn erratic. He loses his pace and rhythm, hips speeding up involuntarily and you can feel how his length twitches against your walls, hot and hard and ready to spew the load it’s been saving all night. And you want it. You want every last drop.

“Ah, I’m gonna cum,” He moans, fingers digging into your hips so hard it almost starts to hurt.

“Do it Jimin, cum inside me. Give it to me.” You entice him with a squeeze of your walls and that’s all it takes for him to explode within you, thick spurts shooting from his tip to fill your canal. He groans your name as he presses himself against you, holding you both still while his cock pulses with every stream of semen that shoots from it. You can’t help but moan at the feeling, this being the first time anyone’s ever cum inside you like this, and you love every second of it, panting into his sheets contently.

After giving you a few more shallow thrusts followed by a few more weak spurts from his reddened tip, Jimin pulls out slowly, length softening as it exits your warmth. You both look down between your legs to see his cum drip down your inner thighs in thin streams and he groans at the sight. He catches the streams on the tips of his fingers and pushes them back into you gently, getting one last good look at you.

“So fucking perfect.” He whispers mostly to himself as he lets his hands roam your body once more before pulling you up to lay against his pillows properly.

You’re tired and unsteady, limbs feeling heavy with exhaustion, but you’ve never been more satisfied. Jimin snuggles you into his chest and pulls his sheets over your bodies, not caring that you’re both sweaty and that his cum is probably staining his bed. You let him lay there and rub his hand up and down your back soothingly, listening to his calming heartbeat and the sound of the rain and thunder of the storm that still rages outside. You tilt your head up to look at his face and as soon as your eyes meet, Jimin leans down to steal a kiss from your lips, soft and sweet, much different from the needy kisses he gave you earlier and it makes butterflies flutter in your chest.

"I know we're doing everything out of order today, but will you go out with me?" He asks when he finally pulls himself away from your intoxicating kiss. You don’t even fight the smile that crawls onto your lips.

“Like, on an official date?” You clarify.

“Well I’d consider this an official date too, is this not good enough for you?” He jokes, widening his eyes comically and you laugh at how quickly his cuteness returns even when he has messy sex hair and looks all fucked out.

“Actually, I think this is one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.” You admit causing him to break out into a wide grin. “But yes, I’d love to go on a planned date with you sometime.”

At this he gives you his signature eye smile and looks up at the ceiling dreamily. He doesn’t say anything and silently acknowledges your acceptance, but you can feel his heart rate increase against your cheek and it makes you blush. Lightning flashes on the other side of the window and thunder booms intimidatingly, but you aren’t scared anymore, because you’re protected inside Jimin’s warm embrace as his heart beat lulls you to sleep.

(A/N): Hope you enjoyed!! I really appreciate comments and feedback. Thanks for reading!