#its not done but the dent is hidden well and there's a few other pretty ones

[guinevereslancelot]

dented my new water bottle but i bought 100 flower stickers and now it's pretty and you cant see the dent. simple pleasures will cure me

[plush-rabbit]

Smile For Me

Warnings: Noncon, Somnophila

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: I’ve really fallen for Ghostface and that seems unfair (Part 2 to Picture Perfect)

You’re easy prey. Nothing more than a simple deer, a lovely little rabbit that he gets to stalk and hunt. There’s something odd about you, something so sweet and incredibly cute that he wants to corrupt. You change your locks, you add a sensor light that must have made a pretty dent in your wallet. He can see how you move behind the blinds, your silhouette, the way you walk and how you hold something in your hands, and he runs the first few times, but after the third time, he decides to push his luck, linger close, hidden behind a shed in your backyard and minutes pass until he realizes that there are no sirens. You don’t call for help, your alarms are nothing more than for decoration, to ward off a lesser person. You trust that whatever was lurking outside, has fled. And he falls for you naivety more. He falls deeper in love with you, covering his mouth with a gloved hand, the faint bitter taste of copper still lingering as he bites down to avoid his laughter ringing throughout your backyard.

Ghostface stalks you. He watches and learns what security system you have and it’s almost laughable when he finds out that it is nothing. All you have to protect yourself are different locks. The lights were nothing more than that, sensor lights that can do nothing more than to catch a rodent that lurks in your backyard. The locks might be different, but you don’t have an alarm, there are no cameras inside your home to record that he wandered around- drank from the bottle of your cranberry juice, sat on your couch and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, dried mud that crumbled and he stared at it, wondering if you would even notice, but with a swipe of the side of his palm, it falls and disappears into your carpet. You have no camera to watch as he grabs your underwear and jerks himself off in your bed, his mouth open behind his mask as he creams himself on your belongings, the memory of how you felt already fading in his mind. And once he’s done, he‘s left sticky and wet, creamy slipping down and it’s only a matter of time till you come home. He wonders how often you wash your pillowcases and he dries himself on your pillow, a soft thrusting motion that leaves his already sensitive cock dribbling with more seed, spreading it on your pillow. When he comes back to watch you, he sees through the blinds how you touch the pillow, your lips pouted and your fingers brushing against the hardened cotton. He wonders if you know.

You’ve captured his attention- enough for him to leave his other prey and focus solely on you. You fret around your home, clean and check every crevice, a pair of scissors in hand and he scoffs in amusement. He palms himself through his jeans. He wonders how you would really react if he were hiding inside your house. He can hide himself in your closest, jump out and wrestle you to the ground, watch as your eyes grow fearful and he’s salivating at the thought of entering you already, knowing how well you’d take him. With a soft sigh, he pulls his hand away. All he has to do now is wait for you to fall asleep.

Grateful for the night, he watches in silence. You walk around in your room, towel around your body, letting it fall off of your body and rest against the bed, your naked body alluring, the soft yellow light glistening off of your body, and you walk to your dresser, lotion against your body, spread thin, the creamy white disappearing onto your body. You sleep in a camisole, a lace trim around the straps, stitched onto the soft dip where your naked breasts lie, nipples already pert and peeking through the shirt. Your underwear are a soft blue, raising up your hips with a teasing dip to your sex. He doesn’t have to wait long until you’ve fallen into your slumber, body still and after a few minutes, he’s inside your home. 

It doesn’t take much to break-in. A simple twist and a careful step, and Ghostface is undetected, inside your home. The weeping mask stares down at you, a single twist of his fingers and your lamp is on, the glow of the light doing nothing but make you furrow your brows and with a simple shush, a coo under his breath that makes him feel like a dotting lover, you return to your relaxed state. It’s not much, but seeing you asleep- vulnerable and willing- is enough for him to kick off his boots. Clothes are slowly discarded, the pale, horrific mask still kept on, the soft cloth of the hood tickles at the base of his neck, and he’s above you. 

There isn’t much that makes him actually lust for others. He’s always been more fascinated in other areas of the human body, but there was and still is something about you that makes him yearn, to grab at you and mark your body. And one day, he’ll do it with your consent. He’ll come and greet you as Daniel- have you call him Danny- pull out the smile, pull you close and throw you on his bed, have you want him and there will be the sick pleasure of knowing that you’re fucking a killer and your personal tormentor without you knowing. But for now, he slips off your clothes, raises your thin shirt and he’s slow and methodical, pulling you into a sitting position and having you lean against his body, your gentle, warm breaths against his chest, your shirt is removed. He lays you back on the bed, hair fanning out into a halo, strands falling in front of your face and with a simple brush, the smooth fabric of his gloves cold against your skin. Your underwear is too delightful to tear off, simple and pure against your skin, something so sweet that it’s almost wrong of him to dip his fingers underneath and pull down your bare legs. 

Asleep and undisturbed, his hands are on you. For a brief moment, his mask is off, eyes that hold something fierce in them watch you, the low rise of your chest, goosebumps pricking at your skin and his smile is hungry. His face buried into your sex, tongue at your heat, his spit warming you and moistening past your folds. The tip of his tongue swirls around your entrance, a gentle dip into you, and in your sleep you clench your walls, a soft squish against his muscle and he smiles against you, wide and teeth pressed against your soft flesh. He presses his face forward, nose pressed against your clit, lips puckered and he kisses you, a soft, sensual kiss against your cunt, tongue slipping past his lips, and into yours, flickering inside and on the tip of his tongue, he can taste your sweet nectar, oozing in a thick puddle against him. 

The mask returns, hiding his identity and in it’s in place, the gloves are removed. There’s a sound outside, a racing car that screams through the night and in his chest, his heart races and his body flushes, his face heating up, sweat beading on his forehead and two bare fingers enter you. You’re slick enough to enter but he can feel the tight grasp of your sex, something that he’s sure stings by the way you shift under him. His fingers curl in, a beckoning motion inside of you, fingertips brushing against your walls, slick slowly starting to form until the clicking noises in the room intermix with your breathy, soft moans- a cry that whimpers past your lips. He grows hard above you, watching your breaths deepen, the wet, shucking noises of your cunt grow louder, fingers slipping in and out, your arousal dribbling past his fingers and down to his knuckles. It’s awkward, fingers pushed deep inside of you, his knuckles kissing at your cunt as a strong hand reaches to grab his camera, holding tight onto it, his fingerprints dirtying the screen and it’s shaky, a horrible picture when compared to his previous works. He forces himself to still, fingers half way inside of you, limp and still compared to your throbbing, wet cunt that still leaks and there’s a click. On the screen is a captivating photo of your cunt teased with his fingers. And as always, Ghostface isn’t satisfied. 

Metal clicks against each other, a soft chime in the room that acts as a lullaby, pulling you back into sleep, your body relaxing, breath going back to its own undisturbed tempo and all that remains is a wide-eyed man staring at you through a mask. Dark eyes are unwavering as they stare at your sleeping body- you look so peaceful, so rested and deep in slumber that he’s sure you must have had a heavy day and he feels almost sad at that thought. Bare hands grab at your breasts, thumbs pushing around the pert nipples- he’s almost sad that you had to grow through something so heavy without him- his hands lower to rise against the swell of your belly- he promises to himself that you won’t face it alone next time- one hand holds onto your hip, the other against the base of his cock, pre-ejaculate beading off his slit in opalescent pearls. 

He lowers himself to you, the plastic of his mask brushing against the shell of your ear and he’s hopeful that you’re listening to him. “No one is allowed to touch you, you know? I’ll make sure of that.” His cockhead is pressed flushed against your entrance, arousal mixing and getting lost with each other. Nails dig into your hip, perfectly formed crescents appear on your body, the hint of blood is familiar to him and makes him almost inhumane. His laugh is sharp, unforgiving and cruel, as he presses himself further into you, the welcoming hug of your walls wrapping tight around him and he releases his hands from your hip and himself. “My fucking muse,” he whispers harshly, stilling himself inside of you, your walls pulsing against him, a gentle pull deeper into you. “My naïve-” his hand covers the swell of your belly- “dumb little muse.” He wonders if you’re late. He wonders what you have done to either rid yourself of his kin or to prevent yourself from being bred. “I wonder what it’ll be like-” his thumb arches gracefully over your stomach- “seeing you with a child, tits full of milk, cunt always creamy, ready for a good pounding.” He laughs lowly, hooking an arm underneath you, hand spread against your spine, arching and he’s deep inside of you, feeling you tighten against him. 

The masked killer is grateful that he’s forgotten how you feel. You’re limp, nothing more than a warm sex-toy for him, curved and heavy underneath his hand, neck bent and mouth parted, and he smiles when he sees your eyes begin to flutter. That’s what he wants. He wants to see your fear. Intruding on you in your sleep is wonderful, invading your home and snooping around your things is nothing more than an extra step for him, something for him to relax himself with, but with all your fearful glances, he’s never realized that he could force you to look scared, to see it up close and personal. 

He continues to thrust against you, moving his cock and a hand, large and heavy, fingers that look perfect and immaculate, wrap around your throat, small, pale scars wrap around his fingers like rings of past lovers, memorabilia that is only seen when looked upon closely. He tightens his hand, cutting off air and your body reacts first, going rigid, hands raising and eyes popping open in horror and he truly does ponder what it must be like to see him. Your nails dig into his hands, eyes already wet with tears, and you’re horrified. He can practically smell it off of you, the dripping arousal, the way he can feel your heart speed up through the pulse in your neck, the way you gasp for breath and he can hear you whisper out something, strained and hoarse, only able to be heard when he stills his hips and stops the lewd noises that scream from your cunt. 

“Ghostface,” you mumble, bottom lip trembling and a lovely blue color forming on your face. 

His smile is stretched comically beneath his mask. “That’s right.” He pulls out, the tip still warm inside of you, leaking with arousal and he slams back into you, legs tensing, muscles strained and taut as he fucks you. “The one and only,” he whispers, pressing the mask against your face, the soft mesh of the black mouth kissing against your frightful parted lips.

He keeps a hand around your neck, loosening it enough for you to breathe again, while his other hand slips between your meshed bodies, dipping past your mound and into your slit, circling around your clit, feeling it throb under his touch. He laughs and it’s full of pride. He holds you close, pulling you deep against him, a soft cry when you instinctively clench as he circles around your pearl. Tears slip past your eyes, catching against your eyelashes like pearls, latching onto his hands like dew on the morning, and he’s pressed himself still against you, hand leaving your clit, and reaching blindly for the abandoned camera, taking a picture of you with a hand around your throat and tears a simple, but handsome ornament. On the screen is you, terrified and crying and he tosses the camera to the side, plastic buried into your chest as he fills your hungry cunt with his seed.

“I can’t wait to see you with a round body.” He pushes himself further against you, cock dribbling inside of you, filling you with copious amounts of semen. “Fat fucking tits-” his tongue pushes against the black fabric covering his mouth, licking at your chest that has moistened with his quick breath- “a creamy, little cunt that will beg to be fucked.” His hand returns to your clit, pinching the bud between two fingers and hearing you squeal makes him thrust his hips, shivers running down his spine, the sensitivity making squirts of thick discharge fill your already prepped cervix. “Trust me-” he rises and looks at you and he knows he’s making eye contact- “when I’m back, I’ll make sure to make you feel good.” 

He latches onto you, hand escaping your neck and he hears you gasp for breath. You wheeze and croak, crying and pleading for him to stop and it only pushes for him to go further, to fuck you until your muscles start to tense, twitching and pulsing. You moan and it’s muffled by a bite of your lips. It’s a short sound, cutoff and ruined by you, but it’s alluring, melodic and making him shove two digits into your mouth, pulling your jaw down by your teeth and his fingertips rest flat against your tongue. Your moans are stretched, muffled and broken and it’s still enough for him to want more, to push himself deep inside of you, to have you reach your own high if it meant he could hear more of your perverse sounds.

“Say my name,” he murmurs, naked body sticking to yours by his sweat. “Scream. I want to hear you say the name of the one who’s making you feel this good. Scream and I promise that you’ll survive this night.” He kisses you through the meshed black of the mask, salvia swapped and spreading into a thin puddle of his mask, pushing his tongue through it until he feels as if it’s going to rip. You were always going to survive. He’s had too much fun to ever let you go but you don’t know that and he uses it to his advantage.

It’s a whisper, a soft movement of your lips against his. Your nipples rub against his chest and his name is broken with your voice. “Ah,” you sing, tightening your legs and your high is approaching. “Ghost-” he can hear the disgust and lust mixed with each other- “Ghostface,” you murmur. It’s repeated until your voice is hoarse, lust taking over, eyes heavy and rolling back, arms reaching around him and you’re entangled in a gruesome hug with him, moaning his name as your cunt clenches around him, flooding with your release, his name a mantra under your breath, echoed in the room and he stills, spilling inside of you. Eyes closed and resting his body onto you as you squirm underneath, desperate to continue your high. His name, “Ghostface” slowly murmured, a mess of his name as you release against him.

[fruitcoops]

would you potentially write sirius wearing remus’ jersey? 👀 (i love your writing btw!!)

I sure can! I really hope Haz writes this in Vaincre, but for now, this is my take on it. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut and mild overstimulation

Remus heard footsteps approach from the hall and closed his eyes with a sigh. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—

��Y’know, I don’t think Earth should qualify as a planet.”

“Fuck you,” he fired back, though it came out as little more than an incomprehensible slur around the hunk of plastic in his mouth.

“Really, I do,” Sirius continued. Remus took a deep breath through his nose and did his goddamn best not to bite through the still-soft mouthguard as it molded to his teeth. “Other planets don’t have life on them. We’re the only one. That makes us an outlier.”

“As soon as this thing comes out, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Kinky. Anyway, have I told you about that article I read that talked about the moon landing?” Through the blood pounding in his ears, Remus heard the clink of a water glass being taken down from the cupboard. “Turns out the whole thing is a hoax.”

Remus dug his phone out of his pants and furiously typed out a message, cursing every higher power that he got stuck with that idiot as his husband. Damn you for being pretty. “Read,” he ordered, closing his eyes and holding it over his shoulder.

“I’m illiterate.”

“I detest you.”

“What was that? Sorry, I’m having some trouble understanding you.”

“Sirius fucking Black—”

Remus’ mumbled retaliation cut off abruptly with a soft huh as he whipped around, and his jaw fell open. Sirius smiled, easy as you please, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Yes?”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus whimpered around his mouthguard. A sly grin curled the edges of Sirius’ perfect lips upward; he quirked an eyebrow and turned in a slow circle.

“Fits better than I thought it would,” he remarked as Remus whined, desperately checking the timer on his phone. Two minutes and seventeen seconds. Shit. The golden number 6 on the back caught the light of their kitchen like a beacon—a sexy, sexy beacon that beckoned toward every atom in Remus’ body while he tried not to drool on himself. “Mine was a bit big on you, non?”

“Baby, c’mon. C’mon, don’t do this.”

“Should I take it off?”

“No!” Remus blurted, nearly spitting the mouthguard out in his hurry. Sirius shot him a teasing look and sauntered over, then braced his hands—his fucking hands, Remus was so gone for that irritating bastard—on the back of the couch and leaned over until their noses nearly touched.

“What?” he asked, quiet and yet low as thunder. “Cat got your tongue, Loops?”

Remus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sharp peak of his collarbone beneath a drape of red-and-gold fabric; he couldn’t wait to get his teeth on it. His hands only shook a little as he reached up and rolled the hem between his fingertips, sliding his palms up to the strong planes of Sirius’ chest, hidden by his jersey. A meteor could strike the earth, and Remus would die happy for having seen his name and number emblazoned on the most beautiful man alive.

“Are you going to take it off?”

Remus shook his head without looking up and skimmed a thumb over Sirius’ nipple, feeling a thrill race through him when his breath caught. “Gotcha.”

“Bummer about the mouthguard,” Sirius panted. “If you didn’t leave it to the last second, you could already have that pretty mouth on me.”

As if on cue, the timer went off. Sirius’ face went slack in surprise. Remus grinned, and carefully popped the mouthguard out, laying it in its case before yanking Sirius into his lap. “You were saying?”

“I will admit, I thought that would take longer to set.”

“So you decided to torture me?” Remus guided him down to his neck and felt Sirius shudder.

“I always torture you on mouthguard Fridays.”

He hummed, opening a new package as quietly as he could. “I think I found a solution.”

“Seeing me in your jersey?”

“No. This.” Ignoring the confused noise Sirius made when he leaned back, he slid the new mouthguard mold between his teeth with a sugar-sweet smile, making sure to highlight his dimple. “You look gorgeous. You’ll be sorry for it, though.”

Sirius’ brows pitched and he mumbled a word that might have been ‘kisses’ if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

“You’ll get kisses eventually. That thing’ll be done in ten minutes, and it better be perfect.”

Without giving him a chance to appeal his case, Remus pushed him flat onto the couch, set the timer, and settled between his thighs with a tight grip on his narrow hips. The first touch of his tongue to the outline of Sirius’ dick drew a deep groan from him; he saw Sirius’ next tighten and reached up to grab him by the jaw.

“What did I say?” he asked patiently as Sirius squirmed under him. The tension released, and he smiled, placing a kiss to the side of his mouth as he rubbed his palm along Sirius’ shaft. “Je t’ai, mon amour. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

In a moment of shocking foresight (which Remus was eternally grateful for), Sirius had chosen to wander about in just the jersey and his underwear. The fabric was already sticky when his breath fanned hot over it—Sirius closed his eyes with a soft sound and reached back for the armrest.

“Harlot,” Remus teased as he ran his hand along his inner thighs. Sirius huffed a laugh, but it quickly transformed into a moan as Remus pulled his boxers away and took as much of him into his mouth as he could.

“Oh, god,” Sirius said, clearly winded as one knee knocking against Remus’ ribs while his lower back arched. “Please, please, ngh—”

Remus pulled away with a sigh and took his jaw again, giving it a little shake. “Sirius. Don’t clench your teeth.”

A shaky sound slipped through; he stared up at Remus in a silent plea, but managed to relax.

“You have eight minutes left.” Remus rubbed his thumb in small circles over the head of his dick and watched his eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Count if you want, but that should be good enough for you to wear.”

Sirius nodded, his breaths coming harder as if he had just run a race. Under his palm, Remus could feel his heartbeat pounding in his broad chest—he smoothed the jersey down, then scooted back to resume pulling Sirius apart thread by thread. He had felt that exact fabric almost every day for months and rarely found anything attractive about it, but on Sirius it was astonishing how fast his whole body lit up in response. He wanted to see him wear it and nothing else.

He pulled off with a soft laugh when Sirius put his forearm over his mouth. His thighs were trembling on either side of Remus. “Oh, baby, is that hard for you?”

A keening noise was his only response.

Remus kept a tight grip on the base of his shaft, sliding his thumb along the underside as he swallowed Sirius down and nipped kisses along his sensitive hips. “Relax, I’ll take care of you.”

He grinned to himself as a shudder rocked through Sirius’ whole body and more precome dripped over his lower lip. The clock on his phone read three minutes. Plenty of time to take him apart, Remus thought, slipping two fingers into Sirius’ mouth to stop him from biting down. He made a muffled noise of protest, but it was weak, and within moments he was putty once again.

“I don’t think it really matters which skate you put on first,” he said casually, bracing an arm over Sirius’ lower belly as his hips jerked. “And at the end of the day, superstitions are bullshit.”

Sirius’ eyes flared open in disbelief; he tried to retort, but the mouthguard and Remus’ fingers made him incomprehensible.

“Sorry, I’m having some trouble understanding you,” Remus mimicked. Sirius’ chest buzzed with an angry sound, but he just smiled and licked a long stripe up his length, laving his tongue against the spot just beneath the head. “And you know what?”

“Hmm?” Sirius managed, clearly frustrated as his hands flexed.

Remus pulled back and leaned over him. The contrast between the warm colors of his jersey and the quicksilver of Sirius’ eyes drove him wild, and he closed his eyes as he bent down until his lips just brushed the shell of Sirius’ ear. “Sometimes, if it was a really long day and I was tired and ready to go home…”

Sirius made a questioning noise and Remus bit down on the hinge of his jaw.

“I would sharpen your right skate before your left.”

Sirius froze. Remus sat back up with a smug look and took his thoroughly slicked fingers out; from the expression on Sirius’ face, he may as well have told him he burned down the rink. The slack-jawed horror dissolved into pure indignance in half a second. “You mother—”

For the second time in about fifteen seconds, Sirius was lost for words. He replaced them with a yelp that Remus prayed the neighbors wouldn’t hear, rolling his hips back onto the finger that crooked upward in a practiced movement. The mouthguard may have muffled his words, but it did nothing to stop him from moaning.

Remus redoubled his efforts as the clock ticked down the final minute—he had plans for later, but they would only work if Sirius was properly handled first. He finally fell silent, reduced to gasping and writhing as Remus worked two fingers inside of him and kept up so much suction his own jaw was beginning to ache. Finally, with a desperate little sound and a harsh grip on the couch cushion, Sirius shook to pieces, his stomach jolting as Remus stroked the underside of his thigh in soothing motions.

The timer went off a few seconds later, and he carefully pulled the plastic out of Sirius’ mouth. There were a few dents from his lower teeth and the back was decently mangled, but overall…

“Huh. Not bad,” he said, setting it on the coffee table. Sirius blinked slowly at him, his mouth still open and his pupils blown wide as he tried to catch his breath. “Alright, up.”

Sirius silently shook his head, never taking his eyes off Remus’ face.

“Yep, c’mon. You’re still wearing my jersey, and I need to thank you for it.”

A quiet puff of air left his lungs as his dick twitched. “I c—I can’t.”

Remus sighed through his nose and stood, then hoisted Sirius into a bridal hold and headed toward the stairs. “It’s a good thing I’m strong enough to do this, or else you’d have to get yourself upstairs all by yourself.”

“Re?”

He maneuvered so Sirius’ feet wouldn’t smack into the banister and smiled when a kiss brushed against his cheekbone. “Yes?”

“You were kidding about the skate thing, right?”

“Depends.” He nudged the bedroom door open with his hip. “Were you kidding about the moon?”

Sirius’ shoulders shook with laughter as Remus set him down on the bed and settled on top of him, bracketing his face and waist. His hands were warm and broad on his cheeks, pulling him down for a kiss at long last. Remus hummed into it; his insides turned to happy mush, and he began running his palms along the outside of Sirius’ bare thighs.

“You look fucking amazing in my jersey, love,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“You say that like you didn’t already know.”

Remus kissed the smile off his face, lacing their fingers and pressing them down over Sirius’ head—he stretched his back like a contented cat before shifting until he was comfortable. “I still think about that night, you know.”

“Well, yeah, we won the Cup.”

“I think about the way you let me push you against the door,” he continued, paying Sirius no attention as he mapped each curve and angle of his neck. After over a year of practice, he knew the best spots by heart. “And the way you looked at me when you saw what I was wearing. And when you held me like you were going to break if I stopped moving. I wish you could’ve seen your face when I begged you to let me come again. Remember that?”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for Sirius’ shallow breaths and the rustle of the sheets as he squirmed.

Remus pulled back from his neck and ran a thumb over his wet lower lip. “Hey. Answer me.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Sirius said on the tail end of a slow exhale. “Fuck. You can’t just say things like that.”

“You kept your hand right here,” he said, pressing down on Sirius’ chest with just enough force to feel his lungs hitch. “I might not have a badge, but I’ll figure something out. I think I understand why you like it when I wear yours so much.”

“Every time you wear it, we fuck, and it’s always mind-blowing. There’s no way I’ll be able to see it on you outside of bed.”

“I have the sneaking suspicion we’re on the same page with that.” He took the backs of Sirius’ knees in his hands and pushed until they almost touched his chest. “Hold.”

Through the grace of God, the lube was easy to find. Remus really didn’t know what he would have done if it wasn’t—he might have been confident on the outside, but his fine motor skills were sorely lacking and his brain was playing a loop of sexy boyfriend jersey sexy boyfriend jersey that he couldn’t even dream of stopping. Sirius made a series of cut-off keening noises as he opened him up, and Remus wanted to memorize the look on his face.

“Deep breaths, baby,” he soothed, resting a hand over Sirius’ heart when his legs began to shake. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh, god,” Sirius choked out, leaning his head back into the pillows. “Re, please—”

“Shh.” Remus moved his free hand up to hold one index finger over Sirius’ lips while the other pushed and pressed inside of him, skimming over his prostate in a random pattern that drew harsh exhales each time.

“I can’t,” Sirius whined. “Mon amour, I can’t.”

“You don’t need to do anything but hold.” Small white spots were appearing on Sirius’ knuckles as he clutched at his thighs; his dick was already starting to drip again. Remus slid into him and stifled a moan into his own shoulder, though he really didn’t have to worry—Sirius’ short cry would have covered any other sound easily. “There you go, nice and easy.”

Sirius blubbered out a string of incoherent words as Remus began to move and the mattress began to creak, but he was far too preoccupied with the way his jersey shone in the light of their bedroom and stood stark against the sheets in a blaze of red. Sirius’ smooth skin, so warm and flushed under his touch, blended almost seamlessly with the golden edges until Remus couldn’t think to do anything but lean down and kiss him. He responded eagerly, craning his neck for a better angle and pulling Remus’ lower lip between his teeth with a breathless moan. Once, he tried to let go of his leg and bring him closer, but Remus calmly took his hand and guided it back to the proper place without breaking stride.

“I need—I need—mon dieu, merde—need you, please,” Sirius panted, squeezing his eyes shut with a wavering moan.

“Je t’ai,” Remus repeated as he sucked a mark on the junction of his neck. Sirius’ whole left side went limp at the feeling. “I’ve got you. Christ, Sirius, you look incredible.”

A gasp left his kiss-swollen lips as he looked up at Remus. “I don’t think I can come again, Re, please—”

“You can. Color?”

“Vert, green, but—” He bit down on his lower lip as Remus held his waist in a firm grip. “I really don’t think I can.”

“I think you can,” Remus said, combing his fingers through the top of Sirius’ hair and giving it a tug. His whole abdomen tightened and his knees knocked together; it took Remus several seconds to get his breath back to the point where he wasn’t about to come on the spot. “I’m taking care of you right now, remember? If I say you can, you can.”

Sirius’ gaze was bright and untethered as he gulped—Remus gave his hair another pull, harder, and he shivered. More precome painted his stomach and darkened the hem of the jersey. His vocabulary seemed to be reduced to oh, fuck on repeat, growing slightly higher in pitch each time until he was just whimpering. “Re—Re, now—”

Remus caught his mouth in a slow, gentle kiss and wrapped a hand around him, not changing his pace until Sirius crumbled into a puddle of bliss and his shins connected with Remus’ ribs. He buried his face in Sirius’ sweaty neck with a sharp gasp and followed him over the edge mere moments later; he didn’t even try to catch himself as his knees slipped on the sheets and brought him down to lay across Sirius’ chest.

For a few seconds, all he could hear was their breaths and heartbeats. Part of him was tempted to doze off right there, but he rallied the last of his energy and peeled Sirius’ hands off his legs, pulling them down and out so they wouldn’t cramp. Sirius was staring at the ceiling in a daze; the jersey was rumpled and rucked up around his ribs, and Remus slid that down as well.

“Baby?” he said, kissing each of his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Sirius’ voice cracked and he bit back a laugh.

“Ça va?”

“Mmm. Très bien.” His arms were little more than noodles as he wrapped them around Remus’ shoulders.

“Come on,” he said after a bit, disentangling himself despite Sirius’ grumbling. “You did so well, but we still have to clean up. You can be the little spoon, if you give me a hand.”

“You’ll have to carry me.”

“No,” Remus laughed. “I barely hold myself up, are you kidding?”

Sirius cracked one sleepy eye open, then narrowed it. “Depends. Were you kidding about my skates?”

[pyrrhesia]

FF14 Write - ‘Crane’

In which Cwenthryth Sadler finds a round peg for her ro--

...

In which Cwenthryth Sadler finds a better fit.

Aislona Rymmahrwyn belongs to @catpella

People often compared Cwenthryth to a lizard. Mostly, they meant she was cold-blooded, or that there was something in the way she seemed to stare through you without blinking. The most apt comparison, though, was that Cwenthryth liked to get close to the sun. She liked to climb in general. There was a satisfaction to finding a way to scurry up from a back alley, finding footholds in weak limestone or windows. Where a more... uniformly built city, or even the nicer parts of Ul'dah, might have confined its citizens to the street, the slums encouraged movement as the crow flew. There was, for a time, peace. She watched the birds for a time, before closing her eyes, letting the sounds of the world melt away. She'd never have considered herself to meditate, and yet, in these little moments of quiet, she found the strength to keep going... A grunt, followed by frantic scrabbling at the rooftop, sheared through her peace. What. She opened her eyes and put a hand to her dagger, looking over at... the man from the alchemy shop. She craned her neck, this way and that, trying to figure out why he was here. Or, failing that, remember his name. "You're... agh... a hard woman to find, Cwen," the man wheezed. "Good." "Ah... ?" She closed her eyes again. "Didn't want to be found." Grunt. Scrabble. Scuff. "Well, I figured, since we-- nngh!" Cwenthryth sniffed. Her priorities changed. She looked back over. "You brought food?" "I thought... you might..." She unfolded briskly, and hoisted him over the lip. He was a lean, rangy highlander of a similar background, though a second-generation immigrant while she was first. He talked like a local, acted like one, too, but he'd definitely liked the sight of what he saw as a compatriot turning up on his storefront. Cwenthryth, for her part, liked the sight of shawarma. She took it up and gnawed at it, while looking inquisitively at Thelred as he tried to get his breath back. "You figured since we were what?" Cwenthryth asked, between bites. Thelred forced himself to sit up, looking up. Cwenthryth blocked out the sun. "It might be nice to spend time together." "We do spend time together. Did you want sex? It's too open here." She chewed on the shawarma some more. "Maybe time doing something a little different?" he tried. "Just talking." "I'm not good at talking." "Well... neither am I, but you've always been good at listening." He fidgeted as she ate, still looking down at him. "I'd like to think we could do more than just sleep with each other," he hinted. "That maybe we could become partners." "I don't know alchemy. That's why we met." "Not business partners," he said, desperately. "I meant... I wanted to see you as a girlfriend. Not as... whatever we were." Cwenthryth stared at him for a few seconds. It took some time to process. She quite liked what they already had going. Work was hard, she needed relief, she figured he needed relief, they rolled into bed and she was gone by dawn. The idea that someone wanted more... that someone might even want her? That was enticing. "I mean that--" "I know what you mean," she said. "Okay. We can try it. I mean, I'd like that."

Cwenthryth had a few simple rules as a debt collector. She wouldn't hurt peripherals, because that made people act irrationally. And she always made good on threats. The faster she could narrow someone down to making the right decision - that was to say, finding the hidden cache of money which always had a way of mysteriously appearing after some persuasion - the sooner she was out of there. Following these rules, her reputation had grown to the point where, by now, she usually didn't have to get her hands dirty anymore. This was useful. Blood stuck under the nails. She'd managed to get a decent return on her current job, a scion of a Monetarist family who was rich, but not so rich he couldn't bankrupt himself with gambling debts, it had turned out. It was a familiar story. Some genuinely did just wait for death, blowing through whatever they had left and praying their families would bail them out. They generally did, once Cwenthryth had sent them enough fingers. This one, she sensed, might have been of that vintage save for losing his nerve at the last moment. As she forced open the door and slipped inside, she saw, quickly, the telltale signs. Ruinously expensive grog, some tacky new art, and - her eyes lingered - a shape under the covers of a luxurious bed. But the window was open, letting in what could generously be called the atmosphere of Ul'dah. She went over to the window, scanned the area, but the only sign she saw was a distinct dent in the tree beneath. The covers shifted behind her. "Mmn, Alfric, where's my money..." Cwenthryth turned, saw the shape of legs - long, tight legs, her hindbrain noted - stretch out like a cat's, pulling down the covers to reveal a sharp, angular face, with the telltale 'hewn from purple-tinted stone' look of a roegadyn. Her eyes fluttered open, saw Cwenthryth, shut again, then opened wide. "Oh," she said. "He's gone," supplied the debt-collector. "Really? Damn." "You didn't ask for money in advance?" The roegadyn raised an eyebrow. "Generally, people don't dare stiff someone two feet taller than them. The ones who try aren't much of a bother. Are you going to kill him?" "Depends. He's in debt to two different people. Hiring escorts isn't a good look." Cwenthryth cocked her head, considering the other woman. "And you don't look cheap," she concluded. The roegadyn laughed. "Well, thank you! So friendly, for hired muscle. We've no quarrel, right?" "No, so you can stop reaching under the pillow for your knife." The roegadyn paused, then broke out into a laugh. "Can hardly blame me, under the circumstances. When an armed stranger breaks in, no matter how pretty..." Cwenthryth's heart skipped a beat. "Uh," she said. "Can I at least take some of his stuff? I can't imagine he'll ever pay me what he owes. And that was not an experience worth putting on the house, believe me." The roegadyn sniffed, and shifted upright in the bed. For a tantalising moment, it looked as though she wouldn't bother to keep the fabric pressed against her chest. "Asked you a question, darling," she reminded her with an outrageous wink. "Sorry to have distracted you." "Uh," said Cwenthryth again. Without twenty-six years of emotional suppression under her belt, she'd have turned red as falling Dalamud. "Take everything. He deserves it." She started to move back towards the door, but couldn't tear her eyes away from the escort. Because she was just... watching her back, for the only potential threat in the room. Yeah. "Ah, you are a treasure," said the roegadyn. "I'm sure we'll see each other around!"

"You should smile more." Cwenthryth's smile died on her lips. "Huh?" "You were smiling," said Thelred. "It's nice. I don't see it enough." "Thanks." Cwenthryth filed it away. She'd learned a lot about what girlfriends should do lately. It meant an end to going missing on rooftops. Odd phrasing, she'd thought. She knew where she was. Now her only time away was out working - and he disapproved of her work - or at home - and he was dropping hints even Cwenthryth could pick up on that they should soon share a home as well. "I was thinking about this woman I saw yesterday. She was..." She had been a lot of things. Cwenthryth settled on, "beautiful." "Oh? More beautiful than I am handsome?" "Yes." After a half-second's pause, Thelred laughed. "Oh, thank Rhalgr I've you to keep me humble." "Ha," Cwenthryth managed. They walked for a while down through the market stalls. Cwenthryth felt Thelred's fingers wrap around her hand, and decided to force a smile. "There's my girl," he said, and she tried to stifle her bile reaction. "You'll need to practice that smile, you know. When I get my shop, I'll need your help." She looked across, with rare surprise. "You're going to be a money-lender?" Thelred's burst of laughter quickly faded away. "No, no, I... Oh, you aren't joking." "I'm not good at jokes," she said earnestly. "Well, Fafarino's not getting any younger, and he's been... dropping hints, perhaps that he might leave me the place, when I'm ready. And I think that'll be soon. Then we're set, right? And you can finally quit your... uh, work, and settle down..." Some tiny warning bell rang in the deep recesses of Cwenthryth's brain. "Wouldn't that be nice?" he prompted, as they reached the front door of his house. "Yes. You'd like that," she said dutifully, accepted a kiss on the cheek, and weaved away through the streets.

That night, she found herself on the rooftops again, hugging herself in the cold. All her life, Cwenthryth had felt, or sometimes just been told, she didn't... fit right, in the world. That there was some agreed-upon ruleset she just didn't play well with. But she had to be doing something right, didn't she? She had a partner, and they had a plan together. Right? And he loved... her, maybe, or at least, loved who he thought she was, or perhaps who he thought she would become. She wasn't... unhappy. And it was a way out of the cycle of violence. It wasn't that she liked hurting people, she had to keep telling herself that, to keep her apart from the sadists and the madmen, she just happened to be good at holding her nose and getting the job done. She could make herself happy. And learn to smile and be happy behind a counter, and say the right things at the right times, and then at last she'd be the upstanding Ul'dahn woman her mother had wanted her to become, the life she'd been told her father - the fighter, the revolutionary, the martyr - would have wanted for her. But when she coiled up in her bed that night and closed her eyes, she dreamed of winking roegadyn.

[miaicefyre]

My headcannon

Juane washes Oscars wounds

“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up”

They sat in the giant Shnee bathroom, his coat hung on a peg outside, his boots sat just beside the door so he was down to just his top and trousers.

He nodded “Mm’kay”

At first Oscar had protested against the idea, saying they’d only been given an hour and they shouldn’t waste time on him, but given they had some explaining to do anyway...he agreed so long they agreed to listen to what Emerald had to say.

Jaune went over to the bath and set the tap running, testing the temperature then looked back at Oscar in time to see him wince trying to take his top off. Jaune felt a rush of sympathy and regret looking at him. Beneath the scorched fabric, the burn was red-raw, and angry dent in the boys chest. He wandered if it would ever fully heal. While his aura-amp had fixed up most of his ribs, the bruises still seemed to be there. At the time, he’d just focused on getting Oscar back on his feat after the explosion. He honestly hadn’t had much aura left himself after there run in with Salam. and even where there weren’t bruises, patches of dust and dirt had still managed to seep through his coat. He really did need this bath.

Leaving the tap on slow fill, Jaune took the discarded shirt and opened the door just enough to try and hang it on the same leg as the coat. Someone would come for them later, he knew. Weather it was Wiess, Cline or even mrs. Shnee, he felt sure they’d have some clean clothes by the time they were done.

When he looked back, he found Oscar leaning over the edge of the tub, with his hands on its edge. He looked as though he was finding it somewhat difficult to get in, his arms and legs shaking slightly. Jaune went to help, giving him something to lean on while lowering himself gently into the slowly expanding stretch of water. He suddenly realised it wasn’t just a wash he needed, but rest as well.

He still had those bandages he always wore on his neck but when Jaune took them off he noticed some old scars across his throat. “How long have you had those?”

Oscar raised a hand to the scars, as if he’d only just remembered they were there. “About a decade.”

Jaune took up a sponge, squeezed it full of water and gently rubbed the boys shoulder. “You never told anyone about them.”

He shrugged. “No one ever asked.”

He decided to drop the subject, and not to mention it to anyone else either.

Neither of them said anything else until Jaune got his wrist and a reflex caused Oscar to wince and pull away.

“Sorry.” Jaune said “does that hurt?”

“Only a little.”

He could see why. Thin markings were clearly visible all down his wrist. When he started on his other shoulder and noticed similar markings on his other wrist, the realisation struck him. “Did they tie your hands?”

“Only when it was him.” Oscar stifled a chuckle. “I don’t think she really saw me as much of a threat...but she didn’t wanna take any chances with him.

All of a sudden, his feelings of anger towards Ozpin mixed with his feelings of responsibility for Oscar and he found himself feeling bad for the old man.

“Hold still.” With the softer side of the sponge, he dabbed at the blood by the corner of his mouth, only mildly surprised to see the cut underneath had completely healed. “Sounds like he had it pretty ruff...did take all of it though, did he.”

Oscar didn’t bother asking how he knew that. “No. But that was because I didn’t want him too. He wasn’t gonna force it. Not again.”

Momentarily confused, Jaune let the sponge fall. “Why? Why wouldn’t you want him to?” He realised just a second too late how mean that question actually sounded but Oscar didn’t seem to mind.

“I didn’t want them to know he was ready there. Otherwise, it would’ve been worse...was, worse.” He looked at the markings on his wrists. Once again, Jaune felt a pang of sympathy for Ozpin.

Filling a jug full of water, Jaune said “head back.” And Oscar did so, letting the water wash though his hair to drop back into the tub. It was getting dirtier now but they were almost done. “Your very brave.” Juane told Oscar, running his fingers through his wet hair. “You always have been...but that was kinda foolish.”

Once more, he saw the boy holding back a laugh. “It was him she really wanted...and I wasn’t gonna give her what she wanted.” Juane could help but smile too at that, but then it quickly faded when he realised “but you did in the end.”

Up till then, Oscars eyes had been closed but now he opened them. “Yeah.” He lowered his gaze to the slowly dirtying water.

“Hay.” Abandoning both jug and sponge, Juane put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be ashamed. You held up for as long as you could. And...in a way I-I’m glad Oz was there for you...to take hits when, you no longer could.”

That didn’t seem to help much. Oscar lowered his head, his eyes becoming hidden in the dripping locks of his hair. Juane sighed, letting the subject simmer for a while. He would realise in time.

They kept quiet until Juane turned his attention to the scar on Oscars chest. He didn’t want to risk touching it, for fear it would just cause more pain, so he just placed the sponge just above it and pressed it there, causing the water to run down the wound. Even that cause the boy to wince and suck in his breath in pain.

“Shh, this want take a sec.” Jaune tried to reassure him.

Hoping the boy wouldn’t notice, he also tried a bit of his aura amp again but, not to much of his surprise, it didn’t seem to make it any better.

That just left the bruises over his ribs. The water had risen to just below his chest by now, meaning those bruises were partly submerged. This made it a little harder to see them but easier to get them clean.

“Did Hazel do this to you?” Jaune asked, rubbing the bruises away, careful not to press to hard.

“Most of it.” Oscar told him, nodding.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Juane said “Why would he suddenly go from beating your ass to saving it?”

For a moment, Oscar started to look a little smug. “Cause even while he was doing that, I was tryn’a get him to turn...make him see what he was doing was wrong.”

“And how did you manage that in the end?”

“Simple. I told him the truth.”

But before he could ask any more questions, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

Getting up, Jaune turned off the tap and went to see who it was.

It turned out to be Wiess, holding a pile of clean clothes. “Freshly washed.” She says, handing them to him

That was bloody quick

“We’re waiting in the dinning room when your done.”

Jaune took the cloths. “Thanks. We should be out in a minute.”

When he closed the door and looked back, he saw Oscar was laying back in the water, his arms outstretched above him, as if he were examining something on his hands. The marks on his wrist were still there but they were much less visible then before. You had to actually be looking for them and even then to be pretty up close to be able to spot them.

He looked up when Jaune took a towel from the rail and came towards him. Crouching down, he let Oscar put an arm around his shoulders in order to help him out of the tub and Wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

“There.” Juane told him. “That didn’t take to long.”

Meanwhile

“What did you do to him?!”

Emerald stood pouting in a corner while the others looked at her accusingly. “I never touched the boy. I barely even saw him. It was mostly Hazels job to...try and get him to talk.”

“But why...what was she wanted to know?”

Emerald shrugged. “Probably a few things. All I know is that at that moment, she has the lamp but didn’t know how to use it.”

Blake nodded. “So that’s why she needed Oscar.”

There was a pause for a while.

“Did he?” Yang asked, unable to take the silence much longer. “Did he tell her?”

Emerald shook her head. “But I...sometimes a-I could hear it...all the hits...and the screams.” She closed her eyes and looked away. “It was horrifying...listing to him cry out like that”

Was she actually feeling sorry for him?

“But you didn’t try to stop it!”

She actually laughed. “How could I? Then it would’ve been me on the receiving end. They tortured him...beating him until he wept but...he never gave in. I kind of admired that.” She looked up to where Jaune had taken Oscar to get cleaned up. “He’s a brave boy.”

There were looks of shock and sympathy all around. Ruby in particular looked close to tears.

“But wait.” Yang realised “he said Ozpin took the torture for him.”

That seemed to stump Em for a second. “I wandered about that too when I heard cause...I’m pretty sure it was the boy to begin with. Even though it wasn’t really him she wanted...that was the other thing she thought the torture would do. Try and draw the old man out. And I guess it worked in the end but I-I honestly couldn’t tell the difference.”

But that just caused them to ask more questions.

“Why would he want to keep control while going through that?”

“Because I think he knew. If she knew Ozpin was really still there, it would’ve been harder on both of them. He knew that.”

“Well then why would he end up giving it to him in the end.”

Em shrugged again. “I don’t know, I guess it just became too much.” Then when they all just looked her blankly. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I knew what was going on in that head of his, But if I had to guess, I’d say when we were all brought to the bridge to watch the whale land on atlas, it was him in control then.”

“So you did see him.”

“That was the first time I saw him. Being dragged from that cell it...it looked like he could barely walk.”

Two things happened one after the other: Ruby stifled a sob and the door opened to reveal Wiess coming in. Thanks that later, no one seemed to notice Ruby.

“They say there almost done.” Weiss told the others, referring to Jaune and Oscar. She glared at Emerald as she passed but said nothing.

“Good, cause we really need to talk about things.”

Maybe he’d be able to validate Emeralds claims but they had other problems.

It was a another few minutes until they came in. He still looked a little pale but at least he was clean. Yang moved towards him but he waved her away. “I’ll be fine, don’t fuss.”

He stopped just in front of Emerald. “They treating you alright?” He muttered to her.

She nodded vaguely.

He went to stand my the window...

Let’s be real, it probably didn’t actually happen like this but it still would’ve been nice to see how Oscar went from beaten and tattered to clean and fresh.

[l-sincline]

Cybernetics - Cyberpunk!Sonic AU

Amy Rose has been working tirelessly at her broken down booth for as long as she can imagine. Ever since Tails left their work to join forces with the revered hero of Mobius, 'The Blue Blur', she's grown lonely and desperate to make her life exciting. A strange customer comes in one day asking her to fix his cyborg arm, what she didn't know was that he would be the catalyst for a brand new life.

AO3 Tags:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Amy Rose/Shadow the Hedgehog, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles "Tails" Prower, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Rouge the Bat, Whisper the Wolf, Cream the Rabbit, Knuckles the Echidna, Badnik (Sonic the Hedgehog), E-123 Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Slow Burn, Partners in Crime

AO3 Link

Next

Amy reached up and wiped the sweat off her brow harshly with her hand that held the wrench. At the beginning of the day, she may have worried about getting grease or even Thuluhide on her forehead, but it was getting late, and she already had dozens of grease smudges all over her, and a few splotches of Thuluhide on her cargo pants and crop top. Grease, of course, came with the job description. She was a mechanic, fixing robot parts and hover cars and other things of the sort caused her to get pretty messy. Thuluhide, however, was something she hadn’t been aware she’d have to deal with until after her friend Tails had taught her to fix even more advanced things, like cyborg parts and androids.The world they lived in was teeming with them, it only made sense that she learned how to fix them to make more money, she already charged low for her services as it was, she didn’t exactly live in a rich town, it felt like a crime to try and sell her time for more than the people she serviced could afford, so the more she could do, the more money she could make. 

Anyways, Thuluhide had proved itself hard to remove from clothing, as her pants had many other stains that had refused to come out other the years. Thuluhide was the blood of those advanced cybernetics, cyborgs had Thuluhide integrated into their own body along with their blood in order to properly control and maintain function in their robot parts, Androids were simply filled with Thuluhide. As she tightened the last screw on the oldish radio that sat in front of her, on her desk at the very front of her shop, she became aware of a presence standing just ahead of her, on the other side of her booth. Amy looked up, slightly startled that she hadn’t heard them. Even though the street filled with various booths and shops like hers she worked on was often bustling with noise, she usually hear someone at least a few moments before they arrived. 

“You service cyborgs?” They asked- sounded male. 

“Yes-“ she replied “is that what I can help you with today?” 

He wore a cloak that covered most of his body, even the hood cast too much of a shadow on his face for her to see much else other than the fact that he had some pretty sizable fangs for a Mobian that didn’t seem to be some sort of lizard or lion. He responded by tossing an arm up onto her table- it was unlike one she had ever seen before, she usually saw cyborg parts that were steel or black, and if they weren’t their pain job was usually pretty shabby. This arm, however, was sleek white with two red stripes, one running down the outer of the the arm, the other down the inner. The joints were covered in well serviced black rubber- the entire thing was well serviced save for sizable dents made to the forearm. 

“I couldn’t move it at the elbow anymore, fingers and wrist wasn’t working either.” He said, gently using his other hand to push aside the cloak ever so slightly, all she could really see was the matching port on his shoulder where the arm connected, even his other arm stayed hidden by the cloak. 

“Well, I would’ve preferred if you’d let me remove it myself...” she started, picking up the arm to get a closer look at it. The stripes she observed earlier now seemed to just be lights that weren’t turned on. She frowned. 

“You know, I’ve never seen any arm, any cyborg part at all for that matter, that looks like this.” She commented as she continued to turn it over in her hands. 

“It was custom made.” He responded simply. 

“Shouldn’t you bring it back to whoever made it then? They’d have less of a chance of messing up on it than I do.” Amy placed the arm back down on the table and looked up to where she thought she could see the smallest gleam of light off the mans eyes. 

“Can’t. We’re not on speaking terms anymore.” He responded shortly, making it clear that would be all she was getting on that subject. 

“Shame.” She responded simply, putting her hands up in defeat to reassure him she would press no further. “Well, I’ll see what I can do then. I estimate it’ll be done by-“

“Can I have it by tomorrow night?” He interrupted. Her disbelieving look must have made him realize he sounded like an asshole, because he quickly followed up with; “I’ll pay more for it to be done faster.” She let out the breath she had been holding and slumped tiredly. 

“Yes, that will be forty units added on to the down payment then.”

“How much is the down payment?” 

“Twenty units.”

It was his turn to look at her like she was crazy, or at least, it felt like he was looking at her like she was crazy.  “That cheap?”

“Yeah, well, if I just have to tighten a screw then you’ll get money back instead, it’s just easier this way, I don’t know how much servicing this arm will cost until I actually do it. I could give you an estimate if you want, but you’ll have to stick around for another ten minutes.” 

“I just thought it would cost more.” He defended his reaction. 

“Closer to the middle of the city, sure. But out here people don’t have much, and I don’t want to take what little they have away from them.” She responded with a shrug, leaning back on her stool and crossing her arms over her chest. He seemed like he wanted to keep arguing, but kept his mouth shut as he dug around under his cloak a bit before his other arm snaked out and dropped her units on the table. 

She tried her hardest to hide her surprise, but clearly it hadn’t worked well, because his arm shot back into the abyss of the cloak as soon as she had noticed his other arm was also robotic. It was pretty rare to find someone with more than five percent of their makeup being robotic. With one full arm he’d already slightly over come that, but with two full arms he had officially gone pretty wildly over. 

“I’ll be back this time tomorrow.” He said suddenly before turning and walking quickly into the crowd. Amy tried to follow where he was going, but just as suddenly as he had appeared, he disappeared. She swiped the units into her hand and dumped them into a jar that sat below the table before picking up the arm again. 

There was something about it that made her feel as if no one else should see it, as if it was specifically given to her to be in her hands only- maybe the mystery guy had known her mechanic partner had moved on to bigger things and she was the only one in the shop now- either way, she tucked the arm under her own pink arm, which was quite dusty this late in the day making her seem almost purple, and reached up to close the screen in front of her booth to signal she was closed to the market that was still teeming with mobians even after dark. 

Soon she was left in the dim light of her lanterns that hung from either side of the buildings that surrounded the booth. The roof had been constructed out of old tarps and dingy blankets nailed to the walls (with permission from the building owners) and some burlap hung down over the back entrance that lead to the back alleyway to create sort of a tent like entry way. Wires zig zagged across the floor, all leading to different tools and one leading to a lamp on her work desk that all converged at one very over worked extension cord. Amy set the arm down on her work desk and dragged the stool from the front of her booth over to it so she could sit, turning on the lamp once she had. 

She stared blankly at the arm in front of her- perhaps the thing that made it strangest was it’s resemblance to something most mobians lived in fear of; the evil robots sent from the mad doctor, Robotnik, who came from a planet they had strained relations with: Earth. 

Earth and Mobius had only become known to each other in more recent years, after Earth ravaged the land in a war that the Mobians just barely managed to finish off. That was half a millennium ago, so perhaps not as recent as one may think, but still recent enough to keep sour tensions. Both planets leaders were constantly back and forth, looking to negotiate a peace treaty, but nothing had come yet. Constant changes of power on both planets lead to constant changing of peace treaties, it was a turbulent activity. 

But that was besides the point, the arm that sat in front of her resembled some of the most evil robots known to mobians, killing machines set upon them by a man who had made it his goal to take over their planet. 

Trying not to dwell on its resemblance to the doctor’s robots too much, Amy finally chose a tool (a flat head screw driver) and dragged the arm closer to her. She gripped it tightly and popped off the outside panel of the forearm where the flurry of dents were. She held up the gleaming white panel in one hand, and in the light it appeared that the dents had come from kicks, very strong ones to be able to dent this kind of foreign metal. She placed it back down on the table- she’d push the dents up and repaint the panel later, for now she wanted to get an idea of what it looked like inside the arm. 

Inside the arm looked somewhat similar to typical Mobian cyborg limbs, the Thuluhide sat dormant in the tube structures that resembled veins, and sure enough the red stripes she’d spotted earlier were lights, but it seemed that somehow they were activated by the Thuluhide. All the mechanisms on the inside were black, making it rather hard to tell anything apart. Even the wires were black instead of their usual mess of primaries, and she began to wish she still had Tails in the shop to lend a hand. Amy bit her lip as she leaned closer to the arm. She could call him, but he also seemed to be infinitely busier than normal these days. Tails was lucky, extremely lucky. She would probably envy him for the rest of her days. 

With the appearance of the robots that this arm reminded her of many years ago now, had come a vigilante of sorts to save the people from untimely demise. Super fast thanks to his Cyborg legs, sickeningly badass, and supposedly pretty handsome, the Blue Blur had become a household name. He never asked for payment, he never left anyone behind, he just did what was right- absolutely admirable! Amy still remembered the feeling of shock when she had come to the booth one morning and Tails was jittering around excitedly with a smile that looked like it could’ve torn his face in half. Apparently the Blue Blur himself had come by early that morning for maintenance on his legs, and a few days later, had asked Tails to come on board as his official mechanic. 

Amy was so happy for him when he’d told her, but the twinge of jealousy always sat not too far behind. She missed the life Tails brought to the shop, she missed his stories and his expertise, but she supposed it was his expertise that got him such a spectacular opportunity. 

She stared blankly at the ProjScreen she had taken out of her pocket, finger hovering over the call button before finally giving in and tapping it, setting down the screen so the hologram could pop up. 

It rang a few times, and then just as she was sure that Tails’ smiling face would pop up, it was instead the typical camera icon followed by the robotic woman’s voice telling her: “Miles Prower is not available at this moment, please leave a message at the sound of recording, thank you.” Amy managed a quick sigh before straightening back up when the beep sounded and slapping a strained smile on her face. 

“Hi Tails... I was hoping you wouldn’t be busy but... I guess you do have a lot more going on these days.” She laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I have something pretty interesting here that I thought you might want to take a stab at, but it’s due tomorrow night so I guess I’ll just try to figure it out on my own... have a good night- miss you!” She tried to end enthusiastically as she grabbed the ProjScreen to get it to stop recording. Amy threw the screen down on the table and grumbled as she leaned foreword and thumped her forehead down on the table. 

“I guess I’m just gonna have to sleep on it.” She spoke aloud to herself, voice muffled by the dirty pink fur of her arms. 

She would have to work on the arm all day tomorrow trying to figure it out, so that meant she’d have to keep the booth closed for the majority of the day, or at least only keep it open to simple fixes, but hopefully this client would pay good. After all, they’d been willing to spend extra money to get it custom originally and pay her extra to get it done fast- so they wouldn’t haggle... hopefully. 

Amy stood from the desk and popped the front panel back on to the arm before placing it gently in her satchel and slinging the bag around her shoulder. After turning off all her lights, she slid through the burlap curtains and headed out into the back ally, ready to go home and take a cold shower. 

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Coming Home Chapter 2

Hello fuckers I know I promised this chapter yesterday but then I fell asleep because I was incredibly exhausted. So I'm posting it today because I deserve it Also, the song for the last chapter was Revolution Radio by Green Day, which no one guessed! I'll give you a hint for this chapter- it's very far off from Green Day or My Chemical Romance.

Title: Coming, Coming Home

Chapter Title: Cause I’m with you this time

Chapter Wordcount: 3333

Chapter Summary:

Cherri Cola settles into living with Dr. Death Defying and White Lily, figures out that someone actually cares about him, and makes some reckless decisions.

Warnings: implied/referenced past abuse, referenced past misgendering, light panic/anxiety attack, non-graphic/canon-typical violence and injury, uhhh i *think* that's it? (If you want to know what parts to skip, go to the end notes on AO3- I also put a brief summary of any important info in those parts. Stay safe!)

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen​ @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 AO3 Link

Chapter 1 Tumblr Post

(Actual fic under the cut)

It took a few months for Cherri to really settle in to living with the other two. He was younger than them, and lacked the shared experience of fighting in the Helium Wars. But all three of them had the shared understanding of having grown up too fast, the pain and weariness in the other’s eyes mirroring his exactly. Not to mention that running a pirate radio station and attempting to spark a rebellion did tend to bond people. Having each others’ backs in firefights, fixing the radio equipment together, and eating their meals as a group only aided that process.

So 109 WKIL slowly got off the ground, heading into the sky just as promised. Their transmitter was fairly decent, and so their range was large even if few listeners were tuning in right now. But the rebellion grew daily, neutrals and Battery City folk abandoning a more peaceful life under the hand of Better Living Industries for the wild world of a killjoy. White Lily spoke over the radio at least weekly, encouraging them to fight, to not let themselves be squashed under bli’s heel. 

“Power is not given, but taken. If you hate oppression, you better be ready to fight against the oppressor and give it everything you’ve got.” 

Cherri was sitting in his usual spot under the broadcast desk, making sure that all the equipment was running smoothly as White Lily spoke above him. Her voice didn’t have the deep, gravelly weight of D’s, but the fire in it was inspiring. There had always been something about White Lily that made people want to follow her, D had told him. Some spark in her spirit that kindled fires in others, bringing them together under her leadership. 

“Better Living may have bombs, and gas, and more ray guns than we can dream of getting our grubby little killjoy paws on. But we have something they can never replace: spirit. You can’t make a fiery heart with pills and white walls. They can take our bodies, shoot us full of plasma and throw us to the wolves. But they can never touch our spirit. Never. We will rise again, as many times as they try to throw us down.

"The spirit of the desert is something they can’t kill with any amount of laser beams. Any size of bomb, any number of exterminators. None of it will squash our spirit, and that’s what makes us invincible. As long as a single killjoy rises to fight, Better Living Industries cannot win. So get out there, crash queens! Get your vehicles, motorbabies. Angel kissers, grab your med kits, and kerosene saints, your matches. We’ve got a corporation to overthrow, and we’re not stopping at just nipping at their heels. Killjoys, it’s time to make some noise!”

She clicked off the radio. “How was that?”

“Good,” Cherri told her. “Inspiring. Makes you want to fistfight an exterminator.” 

“Oh good, that’s what I was hoping for.” Lily paused. “No fistfighting exterminators though, that’s a bad idea.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Oh yes I can,” Lily laughed. She was still grinning as she reached to help Cherri out from under the desk, a grin both achingly close and achingly far to one he remembered. There were days when she looked so much like his sister it hurt, not in her features but in the way she laughed and her teasing grin as she and D bantered back and forth. 

Cherri tried not to think about it as he pulled himself to his feet. “And how do you plan on stopping me?”

“Hmm…I think I shall tackle you.”

“Then what?”

“Make D lecture you nonstop until you fall asleep.”

Cherri laughed as they headed back into the house. "Good luck with that."

So far, they hadn’t had to move the van from its position in front of their home in Zone Four, but all of them knew it was only a matter of time before bli would be breathing down their necks.

“We have some time,” D said that evening. “Our signal will be hard to track, and we don’t have a wide enough reach to be a threat to Better Living Industries yet.”

“We’re getting there, though,” Lily commented, digging around for the last bit of power pup in her can. 

“True, we’ve got a lot more listeners now than we did before.” Cherri was already finished with his, playing with his dented spoon and reflecting the sunlight across the room idly. “It’s going to be hard to stay hidden for long, not when the other killjoys whisper about our station and spread the word between themselves.”

“The more people who know, the easier it is for Better Living to find us,” D agreed. “Of course, we need people to know so they’ll tune in, but we’ll have to be careful as we get larger.”

“Careful, careful, you’re always careful.” Lily leaned back in her chair, setting down her spoon. “I’m not saying we abandon all caution, but there’s going to be risks running a rebellion. A lot of the time, we’ll just have to decide if they’re worth taking.”

Cherri nodded, still examining the spoon. “And a lot of the time they will be.”

“Didn’t know you were such a daredevil, Cher.” He made to glare at Lily, but she went on. “You’re right though. Everything’s a risk, and we’re going to have to take a lot of them.”

“I don’t like that,” D put in.

“None of us do, except maybe Cherri the daredevil over here. But we’re doing it.”

“We’re doing it,” D agreed tiredly. 

“I’m not a fucking daredevil,” Cherri muttered. That was….mostly true. Risk for the sake of risk wasn’t exactly his thing, but risk for any other sake was. As long as only his life was at risk, it was a risk worth taking. He figured, at least.

“You’re pretty fucking daring, Cher.”

“Only risks that are worth it, though.” He pretended not to see the two older ‘joys exchange glances. 

-

True to their predictions, the rebellion grew. Their radio was a contributing factor, Cherri hoped. It certainly seemed to have grown in popularity as more killjoys entered the desert and more neutrals lay down their peaceful ways and took up arms alongside the killjoys. WKIL was something whispered about in killjoy circles, told to the newbies, the undergrads of the desert.

Cherri knew because he was the one who went and talked with them, the lesser-known face. Everyone recognized at very least the voices of D and Lily by now, the two radio speakers who rallied the rebels, but Cherri Cola was not a name whispered in legend yet. He was just a sixteen year old with a shitty ray gun and a bad haircut, which had advantages and disadvantages. 

One of the advantages was the ability to go talk to random people and be seen as relatively harmless, just a teen with a bright pink mask. There was nothing about him to suggest that he was an incredible shot with a ray gun or a dangerous fighter, not in the slightest. He wore oversized clothes and perpetually looked disheveled, so he had been told. And if you didn’t look too closely at his eyes, you wouldn’t even see the fire in them. 

So Cherri used that hidden advantage, appearing perfectly harmless to anyone who didn’t know him well. It was helpful for White Lily and Dr. Death Defying, since neither of them could go anywhere where there were a lot of rebels without being recognized.

And the rebellion grew and grew. Their voices were growing louder, their colors brighter even as Better Living Industries tried to squash them down. The spirit of the desert truly was rising, and a faint sense of hope had started to permeate the air. White Lily never promised that they would win. But she promised that Better Living Industries wouldn’t, so long as a single killjoy stood, and that was enough for most of the desert. 

They were teenagers, mainly. The bulk of the force that was forming the current rebellion was either teenagers, running from their pasts in Battery City, or twenty-something former soldiers of the Helium Wars, running from what they had done or trying to put it right. They were young and invincible, so it seemed. The reality that they could easily die doing this hadn’t sunk in for most of the younger population of the desert, intoxicated on freedom and the thrill of the desert.

D and Lily knew that reality all too well, Cherri knew. He knew they knew what all of them were up against, had watched death in their own right in the Helium Wars, had wrought it with their own hands. 

He knew what the consequences were too, a memory of bli employees in clean white suits coming to respectfully ‘recruit’ the person he loved most hovering behind a door in his mind. That door would remain closed, Cherri had decided. The past was the past- but he fought because of it anyways, knowing the horrors Better Living Industries had done.

Cherri might have been young, but he was no fool. He knew quite well that he could die, and he couldn’t be bothered to give a fuck, as Lily would put it. There were things more important than living to some grand old age, and this rebellion was one of them.

He would be lying to himself if he said that some part of him wasn’t in this for revenge, maybe a larger part than he was willing to admit. 

“If you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down,” Cherri muttered to himself, aiming his shitty old ray gun at the empty cans Lily had set up that day. Despite how long he had already been out here, they still hadn’t managed to locate him a better weapon. That was fine, he thought, he was deadly enough even without one, but D and Lily both insisted that it would be a lot easier for him with something that wasn’t outdated by at least three years. 

“What?” Cherri jumped as D came to stand next to him, aiming his own black and blue ray gun at the cans. “Did you say something, Cherri?”

“Oh, uh. Nothing.”

D shrugged, tilting his head to take aim. “You don’t have to tell me, I just figured I’d ask in case you were trying to tell me something.”

Cherri lowered his ray gun, glancing down. “I said if you take away someone’s world, they might just burn yours down.”

“Ah. True, and insightful.” Cherri didn’t have to glance over at D to know his face would be gently concerned. “Somewhat dark though, you could say.”

“Guess so.”

They were silent for a moment, apart from the zap of ray guns.

“Pasts are something to be forgotten here,” D said finally. “But if you need someone to talk to about yours, Lily and I will support you.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it, you know.”

Cherri fiddled with his ray gun. “Yeah.”

“Just putting that out there.” D turned back to their target practice.

- 

Despite D’s words, there was a silent agreement amongst the three of them that pasts were not to be spoken of or asked about. Occasionally, D or Lily would tell a few stories, mainly from their childhood. They rarely talked about the Helium Wars, only occasionally with each other. And Cherri said nothing about his past. Instead, he pretended not to notice the days when the other two flinched at any loud sound, and they pretended not to hear him cry out in the night, when everything was silent and there was no buffer against the memories. It was a courtesy more than anything, a way to keep each other from having to speak about their darkest times. Usually, Cherri appreciated that, finding it easier to deal with any hurt alone than worry about burdening the others.

Tonight, however, was different. No matter how much he tried to calm himself down, his breath kept coming too quickly and he couldn’t drown out the voices of his past. Worthless, never going to amount to anything…should be more like Samantha…your grades are slipping again…never going to be a boy…

Cherri shivered violently, even though the blanket was tucked safely over him, and climbed off the window seat he had been using as a sort of bed, picking up said blanket. It was cold in the desert at night, no use leaving it behind. 

It took him more rests of leaning against the wall and trying frantically to draw a single breath than he wanted to admit before he was down the hall to the room D and Lily had claimed. Their door was cracked open, but Cherri pushed it open a little bit further to see both of them seemingly sleeping peacefully as he stood in the doorway.

“Cher?” That was White Lily, lifting her head a bit from the mattress. “Everything okay?”

He managed to shake his head, and she gestured for him to come sit. 

“What’s going on, friendo?”

“Bad dream,” Cherri whispered.

“Ah. Those are no fun. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Lily nodded as if to say that didn’t surprise her, and she looked dreadfully like someone he used to know in that moment. “Come on then, lay on down. D won’t mind if you elbow him, he gets up at ass o’clock in the morning anyways.”

Cherri was quite certain D would, in fact, mind, but he did as she asked anyways, settling down on the creaky mattress. Lily put her arm out in what was clearly an offer, but didn’t touch him until he rolled over towards her. When he did, she wrapped her arm around him fully, pulling him closer, and Cherri felt like he could breathe for the first time since waking up. 

Lily didn’t say ‘I love you’ or anything of the sort, but she did ruffle his hair and give him a quiet “Goodnight, Cher.”

And Cherri didn’t say ‘I love you’ either, but he leaned into her embrace. “Goodnight, Lily.”

-

True to Lily’s words, it was, in fact, what Cherri would qualify as ‘ass o’clock in the morning’ when D woke up and proceeded to wake the other two up while getting out of bed.

“Is it even light out?” Cherri questioned as Lily gave a massive yawn.

“No, which is why D’s being an asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Lil. Or you, Cherri.” He didn’t question why Cherri was there, much to Cherri’s relief.

“You did anyways,” Lily grumbled, but she released Cherri and sat up. “I guess it would be time to get up soon anyways.”

“Exactly,” D huffed.

Lily just yawn-laughed as she got up, and Cherri reluctantly followed the others downstairs. They had quick breakfast in the predawn light, followed by a bit of fussing around as they got ready for D’s morning broadcast, organizing all the news and things that had come in yesterday. Killjoys had started to send them news of the desert, to the point where they got almost as much from what people sent in/dropped off/radioed to them as what Cherri found out on his almost daily runs. It was starting to pass what he could find out on daily runs, really. But he went anyways because they still needed his info, and they needed to eat.

“Bye, Lily, D!” 

“See you, Cherri,” Lily hollered back. “Be careful!”

“I will!”

The three of them split the tasks that living in the desert and running a radio station required. Today, D and Lily were taking the radio station van to drive around and talk to people, encourage them to join the cause. Cherri was taking the motorcycle to get any news and see if he couldn’t grab some power pup from a supply truck.

He sped down the road, getting in position to raid the supply truck. A one-killjoy raid was a dumb idea, for sure, but Better Living Industries hadn’t started to arm their trucks very heavily yet, and Cherri was confident enough in his ability to think he could pull it off. This was a small one, anyways. The initial raid went off without a hitch- the driver and few accompanying dracs were dead before they had time to see the teenage killjoy who hurried down from the dune to pull out as much of the contents of the truck as would fit in the sidecar of the motorbike. It was afterwards that became the problem, as a full two cars of bli employees came rushing towards the site.

“Fuck,” Cherri hissed under his breath. He quickly assessed his odds. One teenager with a shitty ray gun and a motorcycle against what must be at least one scarecrow and probably at least eight dracs was not good odds, but he doubted running away would be any better. They would chase him down, and then he wouldn’t even have the advantage of his higher vantage point. Hiding wasn’t an option either, given that dracs would search the entire area, so Cherri crouched behind the motorcycle and got ready to fire.

When the first person hopped out of the car, Cherri almost swore out loud. Not a scarecrow. An exterminator. He was so fucked. 

Cherri’s hands shook slightly as he lifted the ray gun and aimed. He had to take down that exterminator as soon as possible, or he was dead. The shakiness proved his undoing, as the shot whistled past the exterminator, missing by barely half an inch and causing the Better Living operative to turn.

Fuck it. Cherri got out from behind the motorcycle and ran directly towards them, firing off shots indiscriminately. His best shot now was to overwhelm and confuse them. It seemed to be working, given that one thing they did not expect was a teenager in a bright pink mask to come running directly at them. In fact, most of the dracs froze, enough that he was able to get in a few good shots before they realized what was happening. One shot even hit the exterminator in the shoulder, but unfortunately not their shooting arm, leaving them perfectly capable of raising their gun to retaliate. 

Retaliate they did, and Cherri screamed as a shot hit him in the side. “Fuck! Fuck you!” He was shaking too hard to shoot back as the exterminator held up a hand, quite calmly.

All the dracs stopped, and the exterminator strolled casually towards Cherri. “Greetings, rebel.”

Cherri spit at their feet. 

“Rather rude of you, wasn’t that? I’m tempted to kill you here, you ill-mannered rebel scum.” They reached out and tilted Cherri’s chin up to look them in the eye, letting him see the cold fire that lingered there. 

“Get fucked,” Cherri spat out as they took his ray gun from a shaking hand and tossed it over their shoulder. 

“I do appreciate the suggestion, but I suggest you keep your mouth shut if you want to live.”

Their ray gun was positioned at his neck, and Cherri knew he had a low chance of surviving even a stun shot to that spot at such a close distance.

“I would kill you now, ill-mannered rebel, but I think I’ll let you live for one reason and one reason only- I want you to go to that ‘Doctor D’ and his friend White Lily, and tell them they will not win. We will find the radio station you killjoys speak of, we know your precious leader is hiding out in Zone Four. So go, tell them. And pray you survive that shot.”

They shoved Cherri, and he stumbled away, ignoring the pain in his side as he climbed onto the motorcycle. He revved the engine, throwing it into action and barely caring if some of the supplies fell out of the sidecar. 

The exterminator watched him go with a cruel smile.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 30

It’s finally here, and Happy New Year everyone 👋

2021 is finally here, and it’s the perfect time to wrap up the first cour with the big confrontation with Doctor Fukurokov. It should be the last major action for a while (though with this AU one can never say), so please enjoy...

    Sonic was far from in top form, and gathering Rings was proving to be far more time consuming than he had planned. Compounding matters was that he was having a hard time even holding on to his rings.

    “ACHOO~!” Sonic sneezed fiercely, a moment later a shot from a Battle Kukku cannon relieving him of his gathered Rings and sending him flying. Crashing headfirst into the wall of another airship, Sonic let himself slump down and sigh. “Well, the ole danger sense is working, but I’m definitely off my game today. Tearing up all of these airships manually is taking too long too.”

    Pulling himself free from where he took his short break, Sonic grabbed a nearby Ring and casually leaned to the side, letting two bird soldiers shoot each other. “Or maybe the danger sense is a little slow to– AHCHOO~!”

    Rubbing his nose as he walked to the edge of the airship deck, Sonic looked at the burning fleet. He had done plenty of damage in a surprisingly quick amount of time, but the presence of so many Rings made the ships forged with Rings in their development easy to repair with the golden loops.

    “Never thought I’d complain about there being too many Rings,” Sonic mused as he looked around for a solution to his problem. “No way I can gather that many fast enough to make a long-term dent in this fleet either before Amy gets herself in over her head. That Red Star Ring is going to cause me more trouble than it’s worth. …!? Wait a second!”

    With a sudden moment of realization upon him, Sonic turned his eyes towards Battle Kukku Island which now hung above him below the ever-mysterious tiny planet that loomed in the daytime sky. “Heh! I should have thought of it sooner. I can wake up all the Rings in the airships and let them crash on their own. The chaos from the ships crashing into each other and the Ring Gates formed in the process should be more than enough to put these guys out of commission.”

    Pulling the Ring Gate Rosy leant him in its dormant state from where he had hidden it in his spines, Sonic twirled it on the end of his finger while he checked the device he wore on his wrist. Pushing his glove cuff out of the way, he smirked as he noted the location of Rosy’s matching device. “Not bad kid.”

    Looking up at the island, Sonic tossed the small Ring out and missed it grow into a Ring-framed portal he could step through as he was taken over by another sneeze. As he looked up it was just in time to see an arrow come through and expend the gate’s energies.

    “Woah!” barely dodging the projectile, Sonic looked back at it as it lodged itself in a wood plank in the airship’s side. “Well, so much for Plan A. Guess I’m running instead. Fine by me, but what type of trouble did you get yourself into this time kid?”

~|~

    The trouble Sonic questioned about was in fact caused by his spectacular timing. The Ring Gate he opened had appeared just in time to catch the arrow Draw fired and the machine holding the Red Star Ring stood unscathed. “This is why I hate Rings!”

    Draw’s shout was accompanied by him desperately reaching for another arrow as Doctor Fukurokov dove over a low wall and began pulling a series of levers. In response the entire lab started to shake and the contraption that held the Red Star Ring rose up through the opening ceiling.

    “Wait!” Rosy called out, but she could not get her footing as the whole of the room started to collapse.

    “It’s over for you interlopers!” Doctor Fukurokov called from above as the giant propeller on the island’s underside came into view below the collapsing floor. “A shame I won’t be able to make use of you now, but no matter. When my armada rains terror upon the whole world unchallenged, the fool fox will surely know who the true rulers of the skies are!”

    Bursting out into maniacal laughter as rocket thrusters on the underside of the main platform of the once enclosed lab came to life, Doctor Fukurokov felt on top of the world. Or would have except for two things. The little planet hanging in the red sky above him, as though it were mockingly looking down on him, and an ever-irritating voice belonging to a cute, leotard clad, pink hedgehog girl.

    “Sorry, but my destiny is with Sonic!”

    “He’s dead!” Doctor Fukurokov shouted as he rushed over in the direction Rosy’s voice came from.

    “He looked pretty alive when I met him,” Draw countered from a different direction and pulled Doctor Fukurokov’s attention away from where Rosy’s voice came from.

    Looking back and over the edge of the main platform, Doctor Fukurokov’s eyes widened in horror as they followed a massive cable back towards the main wall of the shaft above the impossibly large propeller. “Get away from there!”

    “Oh?” Draw questioned with a sinister smirk. “Is this oversized wire important?”

    “OF COURSE IT’S IMPORTANT YOU USELESS FLIGHTLESS FOOL!” Doctor Fukurokov screamed at the top of his lungs. “THOSE CABLES ARE ALL THAT’S KEEPING THIS LAB CONNECTED TO THE ISLAND!”

    “So, we should break them then?” Rosy asked as she tilted her head and pressed a raised finger into her cheerfully smiling muzzle.

    “OF COURSE NOT! THE ENERGY OF THE RED STAR RING WOULD BE RELEASED UNCONTRABLY IF YOU DID!”

    Though he screamed it out of panic, Doctor Fukurokov knew he had made a mistake. Adjusting his glasses, he took a deep breath and tried pleading with the two troublemakers who threatened to unravel his ambition. “Perhaps being allowed to be left alive by the Battle Kukku Armada is enough to convince you to leave peacefully. Perhaps?”

    “What do you think Draw?” Rosy asked and revealed she had been standing on the central column that had lifted the lab out of the chamber it had been in. Doctor Fukurokov could hardly believe that the design oversight had given her a safe place to survive the collapse of the island’s center, and one that gave her access to where the four massive cables that fueled the whole island connected to the main platform. For all his terror, he knew he had to pay attention to the conversation taking place though.

    “You say Rings are taboo, and this one is threatening to give a bunch of mean old pirates way too much power.”

    “Then let’s break it.”

    “NOOOOO~~~~~!!!!!!!!!!”

    Draw may have gained the speed to keep up with Rosy, but he lacked her spin attack and was effectively helpless. Doctor Fukurokov was not so similarly inhibited, even as Rosy’s spin attack shook the whole platform as a cable was knocked free and crackling red energy erupted from the exposed socket. Instead, he managed to grab a jet pack and immediately flew about opening fire with integrated machine guns on Rosy.

    “Wah~!”

    There was barely any room to build up the speed she needed to leap to safety, and with Doctor Fukurokov firing on her it was unlikely Rosy would make it at all. Fortunately, Doctor Fukurokov had to dodge another fired arrow from Draw.

    “YOU WILL NOT STO–?!”

    “Hi!” Rosy cut off Doctor Fukurokov as she landed on his shoulders and offered him a pleasant wave. “We don’t have to do this you know. If you just turn off the machine and give me the Red Star Ring… Though you should give up this life of hurting people too. There are plenty of other exciting ways to live where you help people too. You’re really smart–!”

    “ENOUGH YOU IMPUDENT–!”

    Trying to dislodge Rosy, Doctor Fukurokov’s erratic flight instead allowed her to jump out and land on one of the outer cable ports. Turning to open machine gun fire on her anew, he was greeted by her pulling down on her eye and sticking her tongue out at him. That and an arrow which ruptured one of the twinjets of his pack.

    “NOO~!”

    As he struggled to recover and return to the main platform, Doctor Fukurokov refused to give up and continued to fire as he spiraled upward wildly. Rosy was more than fast enough to evade him, and then one and two more cables fell as she Spin Attacked through them. The last cable would not go immediately as she had to get herself and Draw safely up it to the main platform. This afforded Doctor Fukurokov the time he needed to land and turn his full attention onto Draw as he was tossed up over the railing.

    “Gyah~!” Dancing about to avoid the machine fire, Draw ran and leapt over a massive pipe to take cover on the other side of the device that held the Red Star Ring. He nearly over did his jump as Rosy’s attack on the final cable coupling caused the platform to wrench fiercely before the rockets holding it afloat were overwhelmed with power and launched the three who occupied it with tremendous velocity towards the little planet above.

    “Not like this!” Doctor Fukurokov denied the impending doom that was but a few seconds away from him and scrambled towards the main control console. As he approached a golden light which bested that of the Red Ring appeared above him and he looked up to see a Ring Gate spin open well above him and soon on top of him.

    “Sorry I’m late,” Sonic greeted everyone as he fell through and gave them a two fingered wave as he extended his other hand towards the Red Star Ring. “Woah!”

    As his outstretched palm neared the out-of-control Ring, the entire platform came to a sudden a stop. For a moment everyone hung in the air and Rosy turned her questioning eyes on Sonic and called his name.

    “Mote!” Draw called out a different name as his fairy companion took advantage of the momentary pause to fly between Sonic’s outstretched hand and the Red Star Ring as it suddenly stopped spinning and fell on its side. No sooner did it fell flat did it start to rotate perpendicular to its axis and start to grow rising up into the sky. As it passed Mote and Sonic, everyone fell to the platform, though Sonic scooped up the suddenly exhausted fairy.

    “Don’t know what you did little guy, but I hope it didn’t interfere with what I was trying to do. Anyway, time to go! Kid! Tyke! Grab on!”

    Running in their general direction, Sonic put his arms out for Rosy and Draw to grab, but Rosy took advantage of them both and jumped into Sonic’s arms while Draw latched himself onto Rosy’s back.

    “Really you two?” Sonic asked with an awkward laugh as he found himself carrying two people at once bridal style. Though with Draw clinging to Rosy’s back, Rosy was free to wrap at least one arm around Sonic as she nuzzled him joyfully. Her other hand was required to hold onto Mote who she pressed tenderly to her chest to keep safe. Sonic noted the motion and smirked a moment before growing more serious and putting on a fierce look of concentration. “Whatever. Just don’t let go!”

    Vaulting the railing, Sonic fell with the other’s hanging on into the collapsing shaft as everything seemed to transform into Rings around them.

    ~I never even saw the Ring Gate there were so many Rings. I didn’t know what Sonic had done either, and though I think Mote told Draw, he refused to tell me. Whatever it was that happened though, there was no denying that the entire world would know the consequences of Sonic’s actions that day.

    ~From the mountain peak we appeared on, and likely from anywhere else too, the Red Star Ring could be seen filling the sky. It was massive unlike what I had glimpsed of the last one Sonic used. But the effects of the Ring Shifts on the world were indisputable. I could see them happening everywhere I looked and there was no stability to the world at all. Even the Red Star Ring was not safe from the chaos it wrought.

    ~In a flash of red light, it exploded and a rain of red motes of light rained down all over the world. Beyond it, and that sinister little planet that was always watching me, a red crack appeared in the sky, like a bolt of lightning frozen in time that arced across from one horizon to the other. If you looked closely enough, you could see lands beyond it as though we were looking at another planet. And as my travels resumed, it became clear that those lands were also affected by Rings Shifts as the scenery beyond surely changed. But what else was beyond that crack in the sky was a mystery, but the world had changed. Everything but that ever watchful planet in the sky. Almost.

    ~It no longer only appeared in the day and had begun to watch me even after the sun had set. And at night, it was clear there were cities up there too as the lights twinkled so bright. But… But those lights didn’t bring me joy like the stars.~

Scene 30 · CLEARED Mark of a Red Star, End

-----

And with that, the first cour is done. From here and as we head into the new year, Sonic Ring Bond will go back to a more travel centric focus, but that is far from meaning there will be less enemies and grand encounters. It’s time for Sonic and Rosy to start learning what is really going on in the world, and whether they can afford to keep looking for their friends or try to stop what is coming.

I’m really excited to keep building up the world and really hope everyone will be able to join me and help the world grow through your prompts and partaking of the occasional survey. Let’s make 2021 a great year, and start it off with something amazing! thank you everyone! Happy New Year!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Second Advent – Tsutomu Narita, GRANBLUE FANTASY – Granblue Fantasy Original Soundtrack: Chaos

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[modestlyabsurd]

Survival Pt. 3 (Loki x Reader)

So far, a few things have been discovered through your Asgardian-Jötun defense training: for one, Loki is literally a soldier. Well actually, a warrior. He's a goddamn fighting machine. For some odd reason that has never crossed your mind. With the privilege of guns and bows and knives, exactly how skilled he is in hand-to-hand combat has never really come into play.

The second thing you've learned is just how unskilled you are in hand-to-hand combat.

It's embarrassing when you think about it. Of course, thinking about it is what got you knocked down with a blade to your throat probably eight out of ten times. Oh yeah, Loki wasn't fucking around. He showed you a few things. Without any weapons, you're shit.

You shudder to think what you'd be without him. Dead? No, probably worse. In a lot of ways.

He lay, after finally giving in to slumber a few hours ago, under a pink mildewy comforter on the mattress. He'd trained you all night and well into the morning. Gone was the bright springy sun from yesterday, and in its place was a grayish blue sky covered in fish-scale clouds. That's always a sign of a cold front, but damn, how could it get any colder? Surely some sort of solar collapse would take place if it did. Regardless, that meant problems.

The physical training had not been the best thing for Loki to do. He won't admit it because he's as stubborn as a jackass. But he's hungry.

Despite feeling the effects of not sleeping much after taking the Advil, you got up at daybreak when the light came in the kitchen window and reviewed your stocks. You already know it's bad but that doesn't matter; Loki's gonna eat today even if you have to force feed him.

Not that you could possibly restrain him long enough to do so. Not that you could restrain him at all ... God, you're sore from training with a famished person. It was nice, though.

Loki had already replaced the food into your backpacks, but he left the notepad open on the counter with them. At first you struggle to read his ridiculously pretty, loopy cursive handwriting. It's prettier than your grandma's.

18.2.2020

x1 tinned pineapple

x2 tinned tuna fish (cat food)

x1 handisnacks cheese and crackers (what?)

x1 smashed cereal bar

a bit of peanut butter.

We MUST find more.

~L

"Well no shit, Sherlock," you mumble.

The logical option is obvious. You dig into your backpack and find the cans of tuna, as Loki begins to stir in his sleep. Green eyes shine from across the room and long arms emerge from the blanket like butterfly wings. You can't help but grin a little.

He groans upon seeing you. "Good morning."

"Morning. Nice hair."

"Mm, yes. The morning after look suits you nicely as well," he murmurs. Damn your burning face.

"You wish."

Loki sits upright and slowly stands up, looking around the heart of this small house. As if it didn't look bad enough, it became sparring grounds last night. Everything was fine - until he decided to reverse the roles and let you practice a bit. Scattered glass from broken artwork, a dented kitchen cabinet, and now one of the floor boards is bowing up. Loki smiles, remembering that last take-down of yours and feeling something come loose beneath him.

You'd thought you broke one of his bones, and he let you think it. His muscles cramping from laughter and nearly getting punched in the face established the end of your first training session.

The floors creak even louder now as he approaches you by the kitchen sink. He places a hand on your shoulder with pride. "You did well last night."

You scoff, "Tell that to my ass that got kicked."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," he encouraged, his voice not fully awake. "I'm no easy teacher. But you learn quickly. You just need a bit of patience, grasshopper." He booped your nose.

"Yeah, whatever," you try not to smile. "Oh, by the way, this is not cat food. It's real tuna and you're gonna eat it."

Loki visibly gets on the defense. "Are you ordering me?"

You notice the jab but remain composed. "Yeah, Mr. Prince of Asgard, I am."

"And if I refuse?"

"Don't worry, I have a plan."

He shrugs. "I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are! Would you stop lying?!" the slam of the can rings through the walls and makes Loki jump.

"I don't need - "

"What did we agree on?" you demand.

He purses his lips solemnly. "No lies. No lies between us."

"And you've been lying about this for a minute."

"I haven't!" he hisses. "I don't know what you're so worried about but it's senseless! I can take care of myself, my body is not the same as yours - I'm not human!" The harshness of his eyes, so literally and figuratively transparent, along with the gauntness of his cheeks unnerved a distant part of your mind.

"I think you're the one that's worried."

His slightly agape mouth sighs and his eyes blink in disbelief. The harshness melts away. He looks anywhere but in your face. You're so bloody perceptive. Normally it's quite helpful, and it's one of the things he likes about you. But not when you read him like a cheap, paperback novel.

"Loki, I don't wanna be mad. I don't want us to yell and scream at each other. Just ... be a good cat and eat the fucking tuna." You slide the can over to him, "For me."

He picks up the can with pale, deft fingers, looking it over deep in his thoughts. The only other person who knew him so well was Frigga. His hidden feelings. The right things to say. The code to crack his walls. How, especially in such a tumultuous world, does someone else know the same things? A human nonetheless. Of course, he knows if he thought about it too much he'd eventually figure out the answer.

He's not sure he wants to know the answer. At least for now. Maybe even for eternity.

Having gathered the will to look you in the eye, he notices your face painted with dirt. Your hair, growing over your eyes and nearing your shoulders. The rip at your jacket collar. The healing cut on your lip.

"It seems you possess patience already. What you lack is the ability to harness it."

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. "Was this a test?!"

"It was," Loki chirps while opening the tuna can, "and you passed with excellence."

~

More training filled the rest of the morning easily. Amidst the physicality of sparring in life-and-death scenarios, Loki assessed your mentality as well. He sharpened your strengths, which grew the fastest in your fighting, and honed in on your weaknesses. Most, if not all, stemming from your emotions.

He went so far as to create illusions to test you. Only, you didn't realize they were illusions.

Whilst showing you one of the many ways to escape someone's grip without the help of a weapon, he mounted you with his knees pinning your shoulders. Your arms useless, your neck exposed to his silver dagger. The coldness of the blade was paralyzing.

"This feeling means you're not dead and you have time to act."

"Fuck, your breath reeks."

Loki nearly loses it all. "Focus, you sausage! You have to act fast!"

You try to move what little you can when suddenly the weight holding you down is thrown to the floor. A man has Loki down and connects with a few punches before you can launch to your feet. The dagger was dropped in the struggle so you grab it and drive it through the stranger's neck, only to lose balance and nearly fall. Your hand went through air.

The man was air?!

Someone seizes your mishap from behind and wraps their arms around your throat. You distantly hear Loki scream your name before the feeling of cold, hard metal presses against your skull.

"Whatever you've got, give it!"

Once your vision focuses you see Loki, his hands above his head, begging. "Let her go. Please."

"Now!"

"We don't have anything!"

"The backpacks! Get 'em! Empty everything out!"

Loki keeps looking at you, as if he's begging you to do something. Then you remember the dagger you're clutching in your hand.

You swing toward the stranger's head. Again, your arm goes through air, but at last you're free. Frantically you look around to find where the air people are coming in. Before you pass Loki, he haults you.

"Come on! We gotta stop them - "

"Easy, darling, easy," he coos, "it's alright. There's no one here."

"But they, they are! They were here ... "

"Shhh," he grips your shoulders down to your triceps, looking deeply into your eyes. Instantly calming you down. "It's alright, darling. It was all an illusion. We're safe."

"Wh... Illusion..?" you ask breathlessly. The house is quiet. The wind howls outside. Everything begins to play out in your head again; how your hand kept going through the robbers. They weren't real. In one hand, you want to melt into Loki's embrace due to the draining withdrawal from raw fear.

But in the other hand is the dagger.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you swing wildly, not aiming at anything but definitely aiming for something. Loki disarms you before you poke an eye out.

Many, many obscenities later and you're sitting on the mattress together discussing your strengths and weaknesses while cleaning your weapons.

"Your reflexes are a bit slow, but they're improving. Just when the fear is about to consume you beyond return, you recover, and you recover well. Your strikes are deadly. But that bit of time when your emotions dare to take over ... it could be enough time for anything to happen."

"Yeah, yeah. What's my grade?" you wipe the barrel of your rifle.

Loki laughs. "You've graduated from grasshopper to novice. Well done."

You smile at him.

Then, you hear it.

Far off, but approaching.

Your eyes dart toward the sound, then drift back to Loki staring back at you.

A herd.

Loki frowns, his brows furrowing above sorrowful green eyes.

"We have to move."

~

i aint fuckin around no more y'all. this is a motherfuckin Last of Us AU

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai

[3rachanstuff]

Poison

GROUP: Seventeen MEMBER: DK PAIRING: DK x reader GENRE: Smut WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, bondage, blindfolding, orgasm denial, overstimulation, rough sex, D/s dynamics, face fucking, a bit of dirty talk. WORDCOUNT:~3.8k

•·················•·················•

You could have never imagined what you were in for when you had suggested it. Instead of the flustered reaction that you were expecting, you got a cautious silence, followed by a dark gaze that you never thought you'd get to see on Seokmin's face. 

•·················•·················•

You had been thinking about it for a few weeks. You needed a change. It's not that you were unsatisfied with your sex life, far from it. However, it did get boring doing the same all the time. Always soft and sweet, nothing too crazy or out of line. You would find yourself daydreaming about Seokmin being rough, pinning you against the wall and grinding into you, making you beg for more. Ideally, he would have you tied up, maybe even blindfolded, totally at his mercy. You'd have to beg for him to let you come, and then he'd have you beg to stop when your legs were unable to hold you anymore, your whole body shaking from the overstimulation. You craved for something different, and you were ready to ask for it.

You were on your apartment having dinner together. It had been a while since you last got a night for yourselves, so Seokmin had decided to sleep over. You thought about the stuff you had carefully stashed away in your drawer. There were several ropes of different colours and thicknesses, as well as some silky-smooth ribbons. There were also many different gags and blindfolds, and a few toys and tools completed the collection. You had kept most of it in a box, hidden away on the furthest corner of your closet while you waited for someone who'd hopefully use it on you. You shifted on your seat, returning the smile Seokmin was giving you. The wait was almost unbearable, but you kept telling yourself it would be worth it. You smoothed out your skirt, smiling wider when you felt the leather garters that you were wearing under the fabric. Your mind wandered off to the lingerie set that you were wearing, the exact shade of pink that he had told you he loved on you.

"Is everything alright, honey?"

You almost jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. You felt your face getting hotter as you nodded and looked down to your lap. The rest of the dinner went by in a blur. The conversation between the two of you flowed smoothly as always. You almost forgot what you had planned for the night. 

Before you could realise, you were making out lazily on the couch. His hands were on your hips, almost touching the garter belt. You felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of him discovering your little surprise before you had a chance to tell him about it. You wondered how he would react. He'd be so shocked; he probably wouldn't even know how to act. You had half the mind to push yourself off of his lap, but before you could, his hands found the leather strap. He tilted his head to the side while he ran his hand all over it, trying to figure out what it was. You kept your eyes on his even when his hands traveled down your thighs, following the garters to where they ended. He shoved his hands under your skirt, following the harness all the way up to your waist and back down again. You could almost see the cogs in his head turning. He lowered you onto the couch, turning his body to yours before speaking.

“Darling, what the hell is that?” His voice didn’t sound any different than usual, if anything, he sounded cautious. Your cheeks were burning. You kept your eyes fixed on the way your hands clenched and unclenched around the fabric of your skirt. Explaining what you wanted was easier in theory than it was turning out to be. You were sure that your voice would falter if you spoke up, so you decided to stand up in front of him and strip down to your underwear, letting Seokmin see your whole get-up for the first time. He raked his eyes up and down your body. He took in the way the pale pink lace looked against your skin, just as soft and delicate. The faux leather harness, a few shades darker, was a stark contrast to everything. The metallic details caught on the light, making it look even sharper than it did. It had already started to leave soft dents on your thighs, which didn’t go unnoticed by him. His fingers traced the slight marks as his eyes found yours. You swallowed under the weight of his gaze. He was so intimidating without even trying. You could tell that he was still waiting for an answer, a verbal one. You took a deep breath and started talking.

“You know I love you, like, a lot.” You didn’t wait for him to reply before going on. “And you know I’ll love you no matter what, right?” He nodded slowly as you caught your breath. You relaxed a bit. “So, don’t take this into account but… But lately I’ve been feeling our sex life is a bit…” He squeezed your thigh reassuringly. “...More like very dull.” You let out a nervous giggle before going on. “Anyway, I was just thinking that maybe, if you want, we could… perhaps try something kinda new. I mean, there is this bunch of stuff that I was kind of into before we met, and then when we got together I just didn’t bring it up, so I kind of forgot about it until… well, until I started missing it.” You giggled again. “So yeah, that’s… But we don’t have to do it if you feel uncomfortable or you don’t want to, it’s probably kinda silly anyway so-” He cut you off before you could go on.

“Baby, it’s not silly if it’s what you feel.” You shivered at the pet name. “Tell me, what are those things? I’m sure we can do something about it.” 

“It’s- Well, I think it will be easier if I show you.”

You led him into your room and guided him to the bed. When he sat down on your bed, you took the drawer out from the nightstand and placed it carefully on his lap. His eyes widened when he saw all the different toys and accessories that you had managed to rack up over the years. He let his fingers run through the ropes and ribbons. He picked some ropes out and laid them on the bed. He placed some gags and blindfolds next to them, as well as some of your toys. When he was done, he put the drawer back on its place and signaled for you to sit next to him. You sat on your bed, taking one of his hands on yours. He lifted your chin with the other one, making your eyes meet his. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Listen, babe. I know it’s hard to talk about these things, but you need to be more clear about what you want. There are many different things that we can do with all this stuff.” 

You sighed. He was right, and you knew it, but it wasn’t easy to voice all that you wanted him to do to you. Even though a weight had lifted off your shoulders when you saw he was interested in what you had to say, you were still scared of rejection, or of scaring him away. You mustered all your courage and told him all the things you would fantasize about, trying not to leave anything out. The more you told him, the easier it became. His kind eyes never left your face, and his hand was still on yours, squeezing encouragingly whenever you hesitated to say something. His reassuring presence had made a burdensome task become almost enjoyable. When you were done speaking, he looked at you. His expression was unreadable as he studied your face, nodding slowly. He seemed to think for a moment before standing up in front of you. You kept your eyes fixed on his shoes, scared to look up.

"So, let me get this straight. You want me to be rough, tie you up, gag you, blindfold you and basically take complete control of you, and you thought there would be any part of it that would make me uncomfortable? Do you know how many times I've thought about ruining you, baby?"

It took you a few seconds to register the fact that those words had actually come out of Seokmin's mouth. You lifted your head slowly until you met his eyes. Your jaw dropped when you saw his devilish grin and his dark gaze. You had never imagined he'd have this side to him. You were starting to believe you were in a dream. He knelt in front of you.

"Should we get started, or do you want to keep watching me like that?" You shook your head in embarrassment. "Great then. How about we get you out of those clothes now? They're too pretty to go to waste." 

You stood up from the bed and took off the lingerie set straight away. The harness was being a lot more challenging than it usually was. After a few minutes of fumbling uselessly with the buckles, you turned your attention back to Seokmin. The sight you were met with left you breathless. He had taken the chance to get everything ready while you were busy with the garter belt. He had left some pink and purple ropes prepared on the bed, as well as a blindfold and a couple of your toys. All the other things were back on the drawer. Seokmin looked at you, undoing the top button of his shirt. Your knees faltered and your arms fell to your sides;  you had forgotten all about the harness. He quirked his eyebrow up. 

“Are you having trouble, baby?” You nodded once. There was something intimidating about him. His voice was lower than usual, and the aura he gave off was completely different than what you were used to. He signaled you to get closer, and you obeyed right away. His skilled fingers had the offending item off in a matter of seconds. You sighed gratefully. Finally, you’d get what you wanted.

You spent the next thirty minutes on your knees while Seokmin secured the ropes around your torso on an intricate design that he hadn't even needed to check a reference for. He looked focused and at ease, totally in his element, which made you wonder how often he practiced. You fidgeted around. The position you were in was starting to become uncomfortable. He only had to do a few more adjustments before he looked satisfied with his work. He pulled you up to your feet and made you do a couple slow twirls to admire the final result. You managed to take your eyes away from Seokmin and sneaked a glance down. He had built a beautiful pink and purple harness around your body, from your neck all the way down to your crotch. The ropes were tight enough to feel each and every one of the knots and twists, but not enough to feel uncomfortable. It was perfect. He waited until you looked back at him to tug you closer to him. He hooked his fingers on the ropes around your hips. 

“You’re so pretty like this baby, but before we go on, you have to tell me if everything’s good.” You nodded. “Use your words.”

“Yes, sir.” Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as you felt your face going red. Seokmin bit his lip.

"Don't worry, babe. You can call me whatever you want. Besides, it sounds so nice when you say it like that." You blushed even harder at his words. "Is the rope too tight?”

You shook your head before you remembered he had told you to use your words. "N-no, it's perfect like this." 

Suddenly, Seokmin lifted you on his arms and threw you on the bed carelessly. You moaned his name as your back hit the mattress. You had told him to be rough, and he was delivering. You positioned yourself properly on the bed while he looked for something else in your drawer. He climbed onto the bed and crawled between your spread legs, holding a shorter rope between his teeth. He pulled your hands up above your head to tie them to the headboard, you supposed. Sure enough, he looped the rope around your wrists a few times and secured the rest of it to the metal surface. You tugged on your restraints to make sure they felt right, nodding your approval before he even got the chance to ask you about it. Pleased, he moved on to the next item. He grabbed the blindfold and held it up to your eyes, but instead of tying it right away, he leaned his face closer to yours. He let his lips brush your earlobe, somehow still holding the blindfold in place. His voice was low and rough when he spoke.

“Poison is the safeword, got it?”

With that, he tied the blindfold to the back of your head. His hands drifted down your body, from your bound wrists to your thighs, which were still at either side of his body, on a feather-soft touch, making you squirm underneath him. He stood up. You hadn’t been aware of how close he was until now, when you felt the cool air on your skin. You could hear his dull footsteps on the carpet, back and forth from one side of the bed to the other. You heard him getting closer to you again. After a few seconds of silence, you heard a soft click and very faint vibrations, followed by another soft click when he turned the toy off. He did it a few more times. You guessed he was weighing the many possibilities that having you so vulnerable and so eager to please had. You felt the bed dipping under his weight on your right side, followed by the soft touch of his fingertips dragging down your arms, giving you goosebumps. One of his hands continued on the same way on your neck and down the ropes, pressing them further into your skin. 

You pulled on your restraints, screaming as you felt him press one of your toys against your clit and turn it on in the highest setting. His other hand was still on your body, tracing the soft rope marks that were visible where the harness had shifted. You were starting to feel your first orgasm building up. You tried to press your thighs together, but Seokmin wasn't having any of it. He slapped your thigh and pushed your legs apart again. He ran the vibrator up and down your slit slowly, making you whine. After a few minutes, he turned down the toy until it was off. He turned it on again without a warning when your breathing had slowed down. You let your legs fall flat on the mattress and arched your back, trying to grind on it. Seokmin pinned your hips down on the mattress with his free hand before pushing in the tip of the toy. A high-pitched moan slipped your lips as you pulled against your restraints again. You could feel your high building up once more. The sensation disappeared as suddenly as it had started when he took the vibrator away from you. You whined and moaned, already begging him to let you finish. You took his amused chuckle as a negative. The night had only just started, and you had a feeling that it would be long.

You had lost count of the amount of times that he had kept you from coming. He had repeated the same process– teasing you, getting you close, stopping, then pushing in a bit further and starting all over again– until he was thrusting the full length of the toy in you. He had set an unforgiving pace, hard and fast, with the vibrations turned all the way up. You let out cries of his name in between your many begs and broken moans. You could barely hear his praises, encouraging you to endure it just a little bit longer. The tears that were streaming down your face mixed with your sweat and the thread of drool that was spilling from your mouth. You could tell that he had leaned closer from his hot breath on your neck. He sounded more affected than you had expected when he spoke.

"Babygirl, I'm going to let you come now, and then we'll go for six more; one for each time I kept you waiting."

He kept his teeth on your skin, dragging them along your neck as his hand sped up. Within barely a few seconds, you felt a wave of pleasure washing over you. You thrashed around on the bed while he helped you ride out your orgasm. He removed your blindfold and wiped your face clean while you came down from your high. Eventually, you opened your eyes slowly to the sight of him staring at you. Except for his lust-blown eyes and rolled up sleeves, he still looked like as put together as he did when he had arrived in your house. He ran his hand through his perfectly styled hair as he adjusted his position to be even closer to you. He held your face on one of his hands and rubbed your cheek with his thumb. 

"You did so well, honey. Let's count out loud, shall we?" You nodded, mumbling one as clearly as you could. He let you see his proud smirk before securing the blindfold back over your eyes. "That's a good girl." 

His hand had started moving down your body again. "You'll be coming on my fingers alone now." You nodded again. His hand stopped on your belly. "Let me hear you, dear."

"P-please sir... make me come on your fingers… plea-" 

Before even letting finish you the sentence, he shoved two fingers in you. He still kept the pace he had set earlier. To your relief, he wasn't telling you to wait, opting instead for whispering praises and words of encouragement on your ear. You clenched around his fingers, chasing your second orgasm. He let the heel of his hand rub against your clit. It only took you a couple of minutes to finish this time. He slowed down enough to let you catch your breath but not enough for the feeling to lose intensity. 

"Aren't you forgetting something, baby?"

"...t-two…" He let out a content hum and picked up the pace again, pushing you over the edge for the third time in under a minute. You moaned out a soft three. He didn't slow down. You clenched your fists; you were close to an orgasm again, almost before you were done with the last.

"Do you like sir's fingers, dear? Should I let you finish like this again?"

"Y-yes plea-" You came again, a silent scream leaving your lips. You counted four right as he pulled his fingers out. 

Without wasting a second, he loosened one of your wrists and flipped you over. He knelt  behind you and hoisted your left leg up on his hand. He pulled you closer to him and thrust his cock in almost straight away. He started pounding hard into you. The new angle was driving you crazy. Seokmin had finally lost his composure; he let curses slip through his clenched teeth whenever you clenched around him. He held the hand that he had loosened behind your back, using it as leverage to thrust into you even harder. He pulled out almost all the way in before slamming back in every time. It wasn't too long until he had you screaming five. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, but they weren't losing any strength. He managed to rip your sixth orgasm from you within seconds from the last, pulling out as you repeated six all over. 

He untied the blindfold before flipping you on your back again. He looked absolutely sinful. He was still dressed, only having lowered his pants enough to pull his cock out. The sweat was making his hair stick to his forehead, and his lips looked swollen, as if he had been chewing on them. He knelt over your chest, keeping his legs on your sides. You looked up at him. He slicked his hair back and leaned closer to you. 

"Let me fuck your face, babygirl."

You locked your eyes on his and nodded, letting your jaw go slack. He thrust in your mouth slowly, stopping when he hit the back of your throat. You looked at him with pleading eyes, trying to push your head further down his length and placing your free hand on his thigh as encouragement. He seemed to understand what you were trying to tell him; he started thrusting hard into your mouth, so deep that your nose touched his body. He tangled his hand on your hair to help himself to keep the thrusts steady. You kept your eyes open. It was one of the hardest tasks you'd ever had to do, but the sight was worth it. You could see him getting closer by the second. He had his head thrown back, his eyes closed and his bottom lip between his teeth. Droplets of sweat were rolling down his neck, into his shirt. His chest heaved up and down almost in time with his thrusts. After a couple minutes, he slowed down, pulling out so that only the head of his cock was in your mouth when he finished. You sucked him through it, until he pulled you away gently by your hair. Your eyes were still on his as he tugged himself back in his pants and pulled them up. The fact that he had stayed dressed through all of it was as disappointing as thrilling, being as exposed as you were. You let some of his come dribble down your chin, still keeping eye contact. He took in the sight and, without hesitation, leaned down to crash his lips to yours on a hungry kiss, tasting himself on your lips. The feeling of his tongue brushing against yours was distracting enough for you not to feel his hand sneaking up to your cunt until he thrust three fingers deep in you. You moaned in his mouth as he started finger fucking you. He held your face with his other hand, keeping you locked in place as he kept using his mouth in a way that he never had. He only pulled away when he felt you clenching around his fingers. He bit his way to the base of your neck to your ear to whisper seven on the filthiest way you could imagine. That was all it took to make you finish.

You collapsed back on the bed, panting heavily. Seokmin freed your other hand before letting himself fall next to you. The both of you laid there, coming down from your highs. You could get used to it.

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 4- Angels & Demons

I was hoping I wouldn’t have any close calls with this prjoect, but apparently when you write too many words it takes a lot of time. Dunno why this one ended up on the longer end. Ah well.

I really liked this one! Both conceptually and coming up with a story. I also ended up learning a couple things. I never knew ‘cambion’ were a thing until I was researching supernatural crossbreeding.

This one’s Sin and Bedman, but it isn’t romantic (I’m saving that for later!)

When his father talked about heaven, he talked of glimmering monoliths and flowers that grew higher than the eye could see. Of massive floating continents carpeted in grass and an endless sky, so vast and hauntingly beautiful that even angels feared it, just a little.

When his mother talked about hell, she described endless winding, warm tunnels and gentle light. Walls embedded with shining ores and muted colors, eerie to some but comforting to others who dwelled in them.

Sin was pretty sure he preferred being on earth, though. It had a bit of both, scattered in places he didn’t always expect. The little flowers peeking out of cracks in the concrete instead of towering over him. The twinkle of rhinestones and tin cans and iridescent puddles on parking lot asphalt outside the grocery store. The slivers of a gorgeous blue sky between the trees in their backyard.

Ky and Dizzy still had times where they grew wistful of their old homes. Sin couldn’t help but feel ashamed whenever that happened. No matter how much they tried to assure him that he wasn’t at fault for anything, it felt like no matter what he did, he was just a constant reminder that he was the reason they had been banished to earth. Angels weren’t supposed to fraternize with demons, and demons weren’t supposed to pine for angels. And they definitely weren’t supposed to have a child together.

His left wing was his mother’s, slender and leathery, and the right was his father’s, fluffy and blue-white. His halo was visible only in the darkest rooms, and his horns had never grown past little bony nubbins that stayed hidden by his hair. His parents told him that they loved him no matter what, but it was little consolation for the fact that Sin simply didn’t know who or what he was supposed to be. Angels had taken human lovers in the past, and those children were called nephilim. Demons had done the same, and theirs were cambion. But there was no word for the offspring of an angel and a demon, because it wasn’t something that was supposed to happen, or something anyone would have ever expected. Maybe it was fitting that they had called him ‘Sin.’ That’s what he was. Nothing more.

He had the impression that his parents didn’t have much of a clue, either. Though they didn’t know much about the concept, they had done their best to raise him as a human, without any of the expectations angels or demons had. There were still some things they just couldn’t ignore- his wings, which were the reason he had been homeschooled until he could learn the techniques to hide them from mortals, or his burgeoning magical abilities- but aside from that, he considered himself indistinguishable to the naked eye from any other human boy. He grew, he learned, he played, and he was very, very curious.

And that curiosity was the reason he was currently sitting on the roof at 10pm, staring up at the empty sky.

There was supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and the concept utterly fascinated him. As a child, Sin had used to think that meteors and falling stars were made in heaven and dropped down to earth. Ky had chuckled at the idea. Heaven wasn’t really ‘above’ and hell wasn’t really ‘below,’ so to speak, and meteors came from outer space. Still, it apparently made for a beautiful sight, and he wanted to see it if it really was as breathtaking as everyone said it was.

His parents had foregone watching the shower in favor of visiting a friend’s house for dinner. They had invited him to come along, but Sin had been too enraptured by the idea of a meteor shower that he chose to stay home. He was old enough now that as long as he cleaned up after any messes and didn’t stay up all night, they were willing to let him be responsible for himself.

Sin tried to find a way to lie down and relax without pinching his wings. Ky didn’t like when he climbed on the roof, but it offered a lot better viewing than the tree-lined backyard. If it was his first shower, he wanted to be good.

It took a while of just lying there and staring up at the sky, but eventually, Sin started to see little streaks of light. It wasn’t the most jaw-dropping beauty he’d ever seen, but he could still feel his breath catch in his throat. Every minute or so, a new little smear began twinkling and painting a line across the dark night sky.

“Woah…” His wings flapped against his back. Did they have meteor showers in heaven or hell? For as much otherworldly beauty they seemed to have, Sin wondered if there were some sights that could only be found on earth.

Right before she had left, Dizzy had given him a kiss on the head and told him to make a wish on a falling star. Apparently, that was some kind of human custom. If you didn’t tell anybody what you wished for, then, hypothetically, it was supposed to come true.

It sounded like such a silly concept, but he was already watching, so what was the harm?

Sin shook his head at his own foolishness and sat up, pressing his hands together and squeezing his eyes shut as a golden comet began streaking across the sky. “Dear God, or whoever is in charge of stars. I wish for…”

What was it that he wanted? To be human? To be just an angel, or a demon? Both of his parents were important to him. He didn’t want to give that up. But it didn’t feel like anyone, human or otherwise, really ‘got’ him. Nobody knew about all his sides. Not even his...

Oh! That was a great idea! He closed his eyes again. “I want a friend. But not like the kids at school. I want a friend that really understands me. Somebody who can accept both halves of me. I want a friend that I don’t have to hide anything about myself when they’re around.”

He sat in silence for a moment, before he cracked and opened one eye. Absolutely nothing had changed. He was still sitting on the roof, alone, trying to pray on a meteor.

Sin let out a disappointed groan and flopped back onto the roof, glaring up at that golden meteor as it continued to fly. He didn’t even know why he was disappointed. What had he honestly expected? Of course nothing would happen. It was just a falling rock, after all.

A falling rock that, if he was looking at it right...almost looked like it was heading right towards him.

Before he could realize what was happening, the meteor arced down and slammed into the backyard right in front of him, hitting the dirt with an unexpectedly quiet ‘thump.’ Sin jumped back at the burst of light, but just as quickly scrambled to his feet, moving to peek off of the roof.

It was difficult to discern much of anything. He could see that a few tree branches had been snapped off, but most of the backyard was enveloped in a cloud of dust. Ky had said meteors made craters when they hit the ground, so maybe that was why.

He hopped off the roof, slowing his descent with a few careful flaps until his feet hit the ground. The dust had just begun settling, and he could make out the edge of a ragged hole where the flowerbeds used to be. Dizzy really wasn’t going to be happy about that. She really loved those magnolias. But at least it hadn’t been his fault.

The dirt underfoot began to shift and give as he approached the rim. Sin managed to flap and jump back before he could tumble into it. He watched the little crumbs of dirt roll down along the curved edges until they vanished into the dissipating dust.

Sin considered hopping in anyway, but he was interrupted by the appearance of the meteor as its outline slowly became more prominent and clear. He tried inching forward again, closer but not too close as to fall in. When he thought about it, he wasn’t really sure why he was unnerved. Meteors were rocks, weren’t they? Why would he have any reason to be afraid of a rock?

He leaned forward and squinted his eyes. Well, it had to be a strange one It didn’t look much like a rock. Actually, it really looked a lot more like a kid.

As soon as the thought hit him Sin jerked to attention again. He did a double-take, and began inching back towards the house. Unless it was a ridiculously realistic carving, it just had to be human-shaped. They didn’t have any statues or sculptures in the backyard, and even if they did, it probably would have been destroyed by the meteor...but then again, he couldn’t find anything that looked like a meteor anywhere in the massive dent. All of the dirt had parted around the strange, limp figure that was currently curled up in the bottom of it.

Could it really be a person? How had they managed to fall out of the sky? It just had to be a coincidence, right? Maybe they had climbed into the backyard to try and break into the house while his parents were gone, and just happened to have fallen in. Hesitantly, he reached for the porch broom his mother had left out, and hefted it like a makeshift polearm. Maybe he’d get lucky and they would run away as soon as they realized the house wasn’t abandoned.

He spread his wings and took off again, trying to find a place to land on the steep curves. Despite his best effort, his feet slid out from under him as soon as he landed, and he managed to fall over on his ass. The broom slipped out of his reach as he tried to catch his fall, and Sin watched in dismay as it rolled to a stop right by the center of the crater.

“Easy...easy…” He tried to coax himself, inching down with his hands and feet, breath catching every time he skidded. “Take it slow...don’t panic…”

As soon as he was close enough to the broom, he put his toe on the handle and dragged it up to where he could grab on with his hands. He sat there for a moment, in a confused little ball, holding a dirty broom in the bottom of a meteor crater in his backyard to defend himself from an unconscious person five feet away from him.

Yeah. Even by his standards, this was definitely weird.

When he was pretty well convinced they weren’t going to leap to life and begin clawing at his face, Sin reached over and prodded them in the shoulder with his broom. It didn’t get him any reaction. He let the end of it sit on their back, and he could see the small rise and fall of it. Okay, so they really were just unconscious and not dead. Sin lifted it back up and pulled it into his lap again.

There was something sooty caught up in the broom’s bristles. He moved to wipe it away, but his fingers slid against something soft, instead. When he plucked the odd bit of debris out and held it up to his face, he found that it wasn’t dirt, but a single ink-black feather.

Immediately curious, he let himself scoot closer. Though he hesitated at first, Sin managed to reach across the unconscious body and turn it. Yep, it was still warm, just in case the breathing had been a fluke. He didn’t care about that detail for long, though, because as soon as he rolled them over, he could see swathes of black feathers, arranged in messy lines, folded against their back like a pair of...wings?

No, that couldn’t be right. Ky had said angel’s wings were supposed to be pale, and Dizzy had said demon’s wings were supposed to be leathery. He’d never seen, or even heard of black-feathered wings before. Did that mean they had to be fake? He gave one of them a tug.

“A-agh, ow-”

Sin immediately pulled back once again, pressing himself against the dirt as the body suddenly began moving. At the last moment, he thought to grab the broom, just in time to be face-to-face with a pair of glowing yellow eyes when he faced them again.

He tried to think of something to say. Sin genuinely had no idea how to respond in this situation. Was there etiquette in talking to strange boys that fell out of the sky?

His palms were sweating. He readjusted the grip on his weapon. “I-I’m not looking for trouble.”

The stranger stared at him, silent but seemingly content. As soon as he began to speak, though, he mirrored Sin, throwing himself back against the side of the crater.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” He shouted, remarkably loud for someone his size. Sin was pretty big for his age, but the stranger seemed small even by normal human standards. At least it meant that if this did end up turning violent, he’d be at the advantage.

“Hey, hey, woah, hold up a second-” Sin raised his hands. “I just said, I’m not looking for trouble.”

That didn’t seem to help. “WHO ARE YOU?!” He screeched again.

“I’m- my name is Sin!” He tried, raising his own voice a little so he could be heard better. “My name is Sin, and you’re in my backyard.”

“WHY DID YOU BRING ME HERE?!”

“I didn’t! I was just watching the shooting stars fall, and then you fell out of the sky instead and landed in my backyard. I have no idea why you’re here. I don’t even have any idea who you are!”

He must have given the stranger what he wanted. Sin watched his muscles unclench. His jet-black wings began doing restless, useless little flaps, the same way his did when he was confused or distressed.

“...What are you?” Asked Sin. “I’ve never seen wings like yours before.”

“Wings?” He responded, though it wasn’t really a response. Sin watched him turn to look at his own black wings.

He nodded. “Yeah. They don’t look like either of mine.” His own wings extended until the other could see them. “You don’t look like a demon, but you don’t really look like an angel, either. Can you tell me what you are?”

“I...I’m…” The other boy still seemed baffled by the sight of his wings, and seemed more focused on them than what Sin was saying.

“You can’t be both, can you? ‘Cause then yours would look like mine. Are you something else? You came from the sky, does that mean you came from space? Are you an alien? Or like some weird, alien-angel-demon thing? If that’s even-”

“Do you babble this much around everyone?” The stranger cut him off with an irritated look.

Sin huffed. “Well, you’re not all that nice. Probably not an angel, then. Then again, dad did say not all angels are friendly…”

“-ngh!” Anything else he was going to say was cut off, as the stranger suddenly winced with a cry.

His eyes flew open with alarm. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

When he didn’t get a response, he tried to get a better look on his own. He brushed messy purple hair out of the boy’s eyes and tried to get his attention. “Hey. Let me see where it hurts.”

“S-stay back- !”

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Sin spoke with calm confidence, trying his best to be reassuring. “I just want to see it.”

With enough coaxing, he finally caught sight of the trouble spot as a pale hand came away from his side, dirtied by...something.

“Huh? That looks awfully dirty, maybe it’d help to clean it first-”

As soon as he touched the other’s hand, a stinging pain shot up his arm. Sin yelped and pulled away. A bit of black stickiness clung to his fingertips, and the pain continued until he wiped it off on his hand.

“Ow, ow, ow-” He hissed, wincing at the angry red coloration that had overtaken his fingers. “What the hell…?”

What he’d thought was dirt was actually a strange, sludgy material that weeped from the slice in his side. “Is that...your blood?”

“Well, it has to be, doesn’t it?” The other replied, though he didn’t sound especially sure himself. “Why did you start shouting?”

Sin flexed his fingers tentatively, to make sure they still worked alright. “My hand started hurting as soon as I got it on me. Why would it do that?”

“I…” Maybe it had been dumb to ask, it seemed like neither of them had any idea what was going on.

“I guess it doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go inside, we’ve got bandages in the bathroom.” It took him a minute to find his balance in the crater, but when he did, he helped the other up and pulled the two of them out, with a few dirty knuckles and pained whimpers, but otherwise nothing too serious. He threw the stranger’s arm around his shoulder and managed to find a way to support him without bending his wings or putting his hand right on the wound, for both of their sakes.

“We’ve got juice and stuff inside, too, if you want it.” Despite the situation, Sin was trying to remain upbeat. “I’m sure you’ll feel a whole lot better when you’re got something to drink…” He trailed off. “Um, sorry, what’d you say your name was?”

His companion was quiet, initially looking very confused before it slowly began morphing into fear. “What’s wrong?”

“N-no, that can’t be, I can’t- I can’t be-”

Sin stopped. “It doesn’t have to be everything all at once. I just don’t really know who or what you are.”

His expression finally crumpled into abject horror. “...neither do I.”

[jaeminlore]

Leap of Faith | Jaemin

summary: jaemin is spider-man. he’s also in over his head, and head over heels in love with you.

words: 7.6k+

category: ps4!spidey universe, fluff, angst, bad writing 

warning(s): brief mentions of blood, fighting, and threats

a/n: you don’t have to have played the game to read this story. but if you did play the game, yes, i changed the outcome of **** *** because i’m selfish.

The streets of Brooklyn seem almost dead at midnight. You walk to your apartment, one earbud in while the other hangs off and bounces against your name tag every few seconds. Clack, clack, clack... 

You ignore it and focus on the beat of the drums that play through your head. Work was rough, and the weather seems rougher as white breaths surge through your lips. Winter feels horrible here, and walking home during the cold and dark season is not — and never was — your first choice of transportation. However, the subway is sketchy around this time, and you feel like you’ll fend better on the streets. Your apartment is in a well-lit area anyways, so who would try anything?

Clack, clack, clack... thud!

Nearby, a trashcan falls to the ground. The clatter alerts a nearby alley cat, who runs across the road towards safety. Trash falls across the ground. You keep walking.

You reach your apartment safely, but you don’t let out a breath of relief until you’re in your living room with the door locked behind you.

Then you turn on the light and see that everything in the room has been ransacked, and your pet cat is nowhere to be seen. Drawers and cushions are scattered across the linoleum, and all your clutter is, well, cluttering up any free space. You notice an old MCR cd and focus on it as you try to figure out what’s going on.

The first thing you do is pull your cellphone out of your pocket and dial 911. It rings once, twice, then “911, what’s your emergency?”

“My apartment has been—“ your phone flies across the room. You shriek in fear when it crackles with electricity. It drops to the floor and you watch as it glitches a few times before turning off completely. 

“Oops.” Timidly, the culprit appears, and it’s Spider-Man. The actual Spider-Man, with his red suit and tall stature. Your eyes focus on the large white spider that spans across his chest. Was that always there? You don’t think so. Maybe it’s an upgrade.

You still don’t know what he’s doing in your house.

Well, right now he’s shaking his hands, letting a few crackling strings of web fall to your floor. “I didn’t mean to use my electronic webs. I’ll buy you a new one.”

You blink. “What are you doing here? Did you mess up my place?”

“No!” Then he looks guilty. Well, his mask looks guilty (you aren’t sure how that’s possible). “I mean, I didn’t do it alone. I certainly didn’t mean to ransack your place specifically it’s just... me and my friend were roughhousing and it got out of hand.”

“Just say you were fighting bad guys in my house and go.” You grumble and make your way to the fridge, where the frozen pizza you bought is luckily still residing. “Why can’t you take your fights into the street? Or, like, not in someone’s home?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really didn’t mean to. I can’t exactly control where the fights go. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“I hope there won’t be a next time,” you say honestly. “My insurance is pretty nonexistent.”

“Can I bring someone to help you fix the place?” His voice sounds shameful.

You’re upset that there’s a giant dent in your cabinets, but you don’t doubt that Spider-Man’s intentions were good. “I think I can handle myself. Thank you for getting your, uh, friend, out of my house.”

“It was Hammerhead,” Spider-man says goofily. “And no problem!”

You slip the pizza in the oven and when you turn around, Spider-man is gone. Nothing but an open window and a gentle breeze is left as evidence that he was even here.

Well, except for your destroyed kitchen. You sigh and close your window, flicking the lock. “Be safe,” you whisper against the cool glass.

🕷️

The broken cellphone looks even worse under Octavius Labs’ fluorescent lighting. You grimace, wondering if you could somehow get this fixed before your mother gets worried that you aren’t answering her calls. Luckily, Octavius Labs is pretty famous in Greenwich for its kind scientist and his assistant, who will almost always fix something for little to no cost.

Dr. Octavius must be out, seeing as his assistant is the only one in the lab when you enter. You’re pretty sure his name is Jaemin. You’ve seen him around, especially when his Aunt May owns the F.E.A.S.T. Shelter in Chinatown that you work at. Jaemin is known for making quick friends of the occupants there. He makes many of them feel comfortable and safe. He is exceptionally well at it.

He’s dressed in his usual: jeans and a too-long sweater. The only thing that’s distinctive about the outfit are his bright red Converse, scuffed beyond repair. His back is turned to you, and all his attention seems to be focused on the desk in front of him. You notice he’s sewing some kind of cloth — red and blue — together. Maybe he’s patching up a hoodie? Or some kind of electrical blanket?

You clear your throat.

He jumps, and the cloth is so quickly hidden away that you wonder if it was even there in the first place. Jaemin turns around and leans against the desk casually. “H-Hi.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him, but in this cramped lab, you can see the soft brown curls that threaten his eyes. You can see his shiny white teeth, partly hidden behind chapped lips. He’s pretty; boyishly pretty, part of you thinks.

“Hey,” you say, confused by his not-so-secret secrecy. “Uh, do you, uh, know how to fix a phone?“

The boy winces when you hold up your phone in all it’s glitching glory. “What happened?”

You think about the masked stranger in your dorm last night. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Jaemin lets out a laugh that sounds a little too forced. “That bad, huh?” But he doesn’t question you any further. “I can probably have this done before the week is over.” 

You sigh in relief. “Thanks so much, Jaemin. I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes are leveled, lips drawn in a thin line. “Really.”

🕷️

Ever since the last bust at Rikers, Jaemin has been resuming his duty as friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. As exciting as huge battles are, battling five arch nemesis’ at once can take a lot out of a man. Jaemin thinks he has had enough broken bones to last him a lifetime. Or at the least, the next few years.

He’s perched atop Octavius Labs, listening to his headset spout off different crimes throughout the city. Sometimes he wishes that — despite the famous saying — the city would sleep. Just for a few hours. Enough for him to take a nap, or find a job more stable than Octavius Labs, or go on a date.

He scoffs at himself. “Date. As if anyone would deal with my secretive nature and inconsistent schedule.”

His earpiece beeps. He presses the call button. “Hey, Aunt May.”

“Jaemin, uh, sorry—“ the voice that comes through is flustered, but Jaemin knows he’s heard it before. “—it’s Y/n, from F.E.A.S.T.? Anyway I was just gonna let you know that I took the night shift here, and May said you might come by. I was just thinking that you could bring the phone?”

Each word sounds more nervous than the last. Jaemin is already swinging towards Chinatown when he replies. “Yeah, no problem! I’ll bring it by.”

He wonders why you sound so nervous when he’s the one who tore up your apartment and broke your phone. Not that you knew it was him, but still. His guilt should trump your nerves.

He drops onto the roof of F.E.A.S.T. and extracts the backpack he has webbed to the underside of the air conditioning unit. He quickly slides his sweater and jeans over his suit before tucking his mask in the bag. He hastily runs his fingers through his hair in an effort to look presentable, and then he’s walking down the fire escape and entering F.E.A.S.T. through the front door.

F.E.A.S.T. is essentially a giant gymnasium, with beds and chairs and tables all scattered around for whoever is occupying them at the moment. Jaemin figures Aunt May is either in the kitchen or in her office, but he finds you at a table, playing chess with an older woman. “Y/n, I brought your phone.”

You look up from the checkered board. Your cheeks are still rosy from the chilly air, and your hair — albeit tied up — is rather windswept. There’s one strand that hangs just over your eyes, and it makes him want to tuck it back behind your ear. Then he thinks that sounds too intimate, too weird when he’s just the boy who broke your phone. 

Then you’re tucking your hair behind your ear by yourself, and the moment is gone. “Thanks! How’d you fix it so fast?”

Jaemin’s neck feels hot when you smile at him like that. “I-It was nothing, really.” He doesn’t want to admit that he nearly wiped out your entire cloud, and it took him a good few hours and a few deep dives into reddit forums to figure out how to get it back. He’s still working on getting the hang of his new web designs. It was extremely unfortunate that Hammerhead insisted on fighting inside of your apartment. In retrospect, you’re lucky Hammerhead didn’t decide to ram through your wall.

“Of course it is! You saved me a lot of money and time.” You reach out and squeeze Jaemin’s arm reassuringly. “I know I probably interrupted whatever you were working on, so is there any way I can thank you? Maybe take you out for pizza?”

Jaemin nearly denies, because he knows this scenario all too well: someone nice shows the littlest amount of interest in him, and he ruins it because of his spidey schedule.  He knows what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna schedule a time for pizza, and he’s gonna get a dispatch call, and while he’s stopping thugs from holding up a gas station, you’ll be leaving the pizza place, vowing to never call him again. 

It always happens like that, because he can’t be Spider-man and lead a normal life. He’s tried. He’s failed. Horribly. Multiple times. He’s not ready to do it again.

But then May is sidling up to the two of you, and her eyes are sparkling in a way they haven’t for a few months. “Jaemin would love to go out with you! Gosh, it’s been years since he went out with someone his own age.”

You squeeze his arm again, and Jaemin knows it’s supposed to be reassuring but it’s dizzying more than anything, and he blinks a few times before he remembers where he is. He’s at F.E.A.S.T., with you, and his Aunt has just set him up for a date. Wait, a friendship get-together. Not a date. Because Spider-man doesn’t date, and that means that Na Jaemin doesn’t date.

You seem all too excited about the thought of pizza, and it makes Jaemin’s heart ache when he thinks of your pretty lips turned into a frown once you realize he’s stood you up. But he thinks you might give him the same look if he says no. “Okay. How’s tonight, after your shift?”

“Great!” Then you let go of his arm, and you’re walking away, and Aunt May has this look on her face like she knows.

So Jaemin blushes. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

🕷️

He doesn’t go for a walk, he goes for a wall-crawl downtown, patrolling the streets as the day turns to the dawn. He put his number into your phone when he fixed it, so it’s really up to you to drop a call whenever your shift is over. He prays that until then no call comes in. He prays that for once this city’s police force can hold their own. Just until he can get pizza with you.

He thinks of this pizza when he swings towards Central Park and stops a mugger from taking a lady’s purse. He thinks of your clear and happy eyes when he rescues a cat from a tree. He thinks that he’d really like to hear your soft giggle again, because he’s almost forgotten it, and he’s sure it’s a nicer sound than cars honking and men cursing. 

Jaemin makes a joke to a robber just as the man getting pushed into a cop car, and then his phone rings. It’s Yuri, alerting him of some illegal gun trade in Brooklyn. It makes him worry, wondering if it’s anywhere near your apartment and if it’s safe for you to go home.

Someone called him while he was on the phone with Yuri, and he checks his voicemails to hear your sweet voice. “Hey, Jaemin. It’s me again. Y/n, that is. I don’t think you’ve forgotten me but I don’t know how many people you talk to. Does that sound weird? Sorry. Anyways, I was thinking we could just order pizza and eat it at F.E.A.S.T during my ten o’clock break? I know it’s late but just... just let me know, Jaemin. Thanks.”

Jaemin wants to go. He can make it too, if he busts this trade quickly. 

He’s Spider-man, so he thinks he might be able to do it, but he’s also Na Jaemin. And Jaemin is bad at time management and even worse at relationships.

The clock strikes ten o’clock and he’s still trying to get through the intricate ventilation system. He curses under his breath; he feels angry at himself once again for breaking a promise, but there’s a city at stake.

There’s no telling where those guns will go; who they will hurt. If he can get to them in time and destroy the guns, everything will be worth it. Even breaking up a relationship before it even starts.

🕷️

He reaches F.E.A.S.T. just before the clock strikes midnight. His suit is covered by civilian clothes. His mask is tucked away in his messenger bag. The guns are all destroyed.

You walk out of the back door just as Jaemin is about to walk in. “Oh. Hey.”

He feels nervous again. That jittery feeling in his chest is back, but it’s smothered by guilt. “I’m so, so sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to be so late. Something came up and—“

“It’s okay,” you say. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d get the voicemail, so don’t sweat it.”

Jaemin is sweating it. Literally. He can feel the perspiration creep up where his suit meets his skin. His heart is beating fast again. His palms are warm. “Still... I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you? Walk you home, maybe?”

“How about you walk me to my train?” You smile softly, “I’m taking Q at Canal Street Station.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin breathes, “I can do that.”

He spends most of the walk trying to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest. Once he can hear over his heartbeat, he realizes you’re telling him about your day.

“May said we’re getting more people the colder it gets,” you start. “Which is a good thing, I suppose. It’s better they stay at F.E.A.S.T. than out on the streets, but we still need more volunteers. I was thinking of staying over a few nights, so that May will get the nights off, but I have classes and an apartment to keep up, so I don’t know.”

“What are your classes for?”

“Teaching,” you reply. Your cheeks are suddenly dusted with pink under the streetlight.

“Oh yeah? What for?”

“Just early childhood education. Preschool or daycare or something like that, you know? Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” Jaemin scoffs. “That’s like, the most important job in the whole world. Teachers shape kid’s lives. They’re like, modern day heroes.”

“I think our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man took that role already,” you say.

“Right.” Jaemin suddenly feels hot under his hoodie. He’s hoping desperately that you don’t notice the red, white, and blue suit just underneath his clothing. “What do you, uh, think of him. Spider-man, I mean?”

“Funny you should ask,” you mutter. “You might not believe this, but he’s the one who broke my phone.”

Jaemin feels a thin sheen of sweat line his suit. “No way.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “I’m just glad you were able to fix it.”

“It was the least I could do.” For ruining your apartment. For breaking it in the first place.

Jaemin’s earpiece beeps. He pretends to scratch his ear as he answers the call. “Spider-Man, did you miss me?”

He nearly groans out loud before remembering where he is. He quickly mutes the call just as you reach your building. “Goodnight, then. Have sweet dreams.”

You smile softly, and Jaemin can’t help but return it. “See you later?”

Jaemin nods. “Yeah! Yeah, of course.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, he unmutes the earpiece. “What do you want, Screwball?”

The girl cackles through the comm. “Welcome to the grand show, Spidey! Today’s challenge is stopping the Brooklyn Bridge from blowing up! But not before you answer my riddles, and find the bombs!”

🕷️

A late night commercial is a murmur in your living room as you continue to study. You don’t have any classes or work tomorrow, so you figure pulling an all-nighter won’t hurt anything. You’ll sleep in tomorrow and then head to the store with the list of supplies May emailed you. You know she’s been overworked as winter draws nearer, so it’s the least you can do after she’s given you the day off.

The commercial ends, and it’s replaced by the late night news. You reach for the remote to turn it off, but pause when they mention Spider-Man. You turn it up. “... Screwball is a well-known adversary to Spider-Man, always creating challenges to stream live. Tonight, bombs were planted under the Brooklyn Bridge, and while police filed to the area immediately, they were unable to find the explosives. Spider-Man managed to crawl under the bridge and dispose of them just in time, throwing them toward the sky and webbing them so that they blew up out of harms way. Twitter blew up over the surprise fireworks, while Screwball was quickly found and arrested. Reports say her lawyer is willing to fight under the grounds that Screwball herself didn’t plant the bombs, only live-streamed Spider-Man’s mission. Her identity is still remaining a secret, but rest assured, she’s locked up tonight...”

The television clicks off as soon as you hear a knock on your window. Keeping the remote in your hand, you raise it above your head and quickly pull the curtain aside. You nearly shriek at the sight of Spider-Man himself, all dressed in red and blue.

You raise the windowpane. “What’s going on?”

“Aw, you didn’t miss me?” Spider-Man leans his hip against the sill and you swear you can hear a smile in his voice. He quickly straightens up. “Actually, I came to make sure your phone was okay, and that no one has broken in.”

“Since you broke in, you mean?” you quip, lowering the remote. “I’m fine. My friend fixed it, actually.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” 

You grin. “Yeah, it was cool of him to do it for free. So... this Screwball business, huh?”

Spider-Man lightly taps his forehead against the fire escape. “She’s killing me. She uses all these loopholes to basically stay out of Rikers. Stupid, really.”

He moves backwards, and then winces suddenly. 

“What’s wrong?” You don’t know why you feel so concerned. After all, Spider-Man has done nothing for you except break your phone and give you a minimum of two heart attacks. Still, he did come to check on you (a week late.)

“Nothing,” Spider-Man says. “Just sore from all the swinging. I’ll go home and take a soothing bubble bath before I get back into the swing of things.” He — his mask? — winks at you. 

It was such a stupid pun that you couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, well good luck with that.”

He’s gone after that. He shoots a web at the building across the street and swings away, like some kind of phantom. You wait until you can’t see him anymore before closing the window.

You get back to your studying, thinking only briefly about the web-crawler.

Because really, what he heck was he doing here?

🕷️

When you wake up at noon, you check your email. Then you see that Jaemin sent you a text, asking if he could come along on the shopping trip. May must’ve told him about her plans for you.

You tell him to meet you at F.E.A.S.T. in an hour, which is just enough time to eat and get ready.

Jaemin is a very cute boy. Especially when he wears his oversized blue sweater brandishing Octavius Labs’ logo. His wire-rimmed glasses keep slipping off his nose as he talks to Miles, another volunteer-slash-worker at F.E.A.S.T., and he keeps pushing them up absentmindedly. You kind of want to take a picture and keep the visual forever. But Miles peaks over Jaemin’s shoulder and notices you. “Y/n! Hey!”

“Hi, Miles.” You wave gently and sidle up to Jaemin. “Thanks for working on a weekend so I could have the day off.” 

“No biggie,” Miles returns with a nonchalant wave. “Jaemin wouldn’t forgive me if I took the opportunity of spending the day with you away.”

Jaemin’s gaze flicks towards you, and his cheeks suddenly turn red. “I thought you’d need help.”

Your cheeks lift as you smile. “I appreciate it, Jaemin. You ready?”

The two of you make it to a department store, where you stock up on the clearance blankets and pillows. May has a budget for F.E.A.S.T., and you and Jaemin intend to get as much stuff as you can with it. You pick up a small plushie shaped like Spider-Man and nearly make a quip about last night before Jaemin gets a text alert.

He checks it and groans. 

“What’s wrong?” You peak over his shoulder and glance down at the text. It’s a news alert, and the news is that Screwball has been tweeting about another challenge for the masked hero. “Again? This soon?”

Jaemin pulls his aunt’s credit card out of his wallet and hands it to you. “You can finish the list, right? I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait—“ you grab his sleeve before you can think. “Why?”

“I— uh—“ Jaemin grimaces. “I forgot I had to be at the lab. I have, uh, a project I need to finish by tonight and I’m afraid I might not make the deadline.”

“Oh, okay,” you whisper, feeling insecure all of a sudden. He’s lying, that much you know, but you don’t know why he feels he needs to lie to you.

He walks out of the store, and you finish shopping for the list.

You return it to F.E.A.S.T., ignoring the blare of the television as it covers yet another one of Screwball’s schemes. As you hand out blankets, you ignore the sick feeling in your stomach.

How much of these challenges can Spider-Man take before he fails?

🕷️

That night feels like déjà vu. Another knock comes at your window, and this time, you let Spider-Man into your apartment. He’s groaning in pain, so you ease him into a sitting position at your table. 

You’re in the middle of making him tea when he speaks. “The challenges are getting harder. She’s timing them now, and the police still can’t find a real reason to keep her in jail for longer than a day. I think she’s in for a week for this one though, so that gives me a break.” He accepts the tea with a quiet thanks.

You watch in silence as he lifts his mask up just above his top lip, enough to take a small sip from the mug. His mouth looks familiar, but you can’t really place it. Besides, he pulls his mask down after every sip, so it’s not exactly easy to tell. “Can’t you just ignore her? Won’t she go away if you let the FBI handle it? It would make it less fun for her, right?”

Spider-Man leans his head against his palm and let’s out a long sigh. “I’ve never been able to trust those guys.”

“Okay, what about Sable?”

“Ew, worse.” 

“I figured, but wouldn’t it be better for them to take the fall instead of you?”

Spider-Man lets a bitter laugh escape him, “I’d have to take the fall no matter who Screwball challenged. Jameson would certainly talk about it over his stupid radio show that everyone seems to believe—“

“I don’t,” you say, because it’s important that he knows. It’s hard to see someone who is clearly just as young as you, risking his life every day. “Anyone with half a braincell can see that you’re doing your best.”

“But is it enough?” Spider-Man says. “Because Screwball nearly flooded the Rockefeller Center today. And that’s certainly not as bad as blowing up a bridge but after a week in prison? She’ll have a horrible plan, I know. And I don’t know if I can keep up. It’s creeping into my personal life, too.”

“What do you mean?” 

Spider-Man takes an anxious sip of chamomile tea. “There’s this... friend. And I kind of really like them, but keeping my secret— my life, basically from them is really hard. I would love to tell everyone close to me, you know? But it’s such a huge risk. If anyone knew who I found important— if Screwball knew...”

“I understand.” Your words are barely comprehensible. You reach forward and grab the boy’s gloved hand. It looks kind of silly: his bright red gloves again your bare skin. But it also looks like your hands belong there; together.

Spider-Man swings away within the hour, but your mind stays fixed on him deep into the night.

🕷️

The next time Jaemin has free time, he visits you at F.E.A.S.T. Today you’re supervising the children that live there, as they paint pictures.

“Hey,” Jaemin whispers. 

You turn towards him, a bright smile on your face and pink paint on your cheek. 

Suddenly Jaemin feels too warm under his lavender sweater. “This is a cute little class. Is it new?”

“Well, May’s driving a bus full of adults to the job fair across town. I needed something to keep the kids distracted until their parents came home.”

“Do you need help?” Jaemin asks, looking around. “Is Miles here?”

“He said he has extracurricular activities,” you shrug. “It’s okay, we’re having fun.”

Jaemin gets along with the kids well enough. They like him as long as he complements them on their paintings. There’s even a little girl that seems to have a crush on him. She ends up following him around the majority of the time, so Jaemin lets her hold his hand and help him clean up the cups of dirty paint water.

You’re in your element. Jaemin can see why you want to be a teacher, as you’re good at it. You’re gentle and encouraging, but authoritative enough to keep all kids at bay. Jaemin would’ve never pictured you as the authoritative type, but now he certainly doesn’t want to get on your bad side.

He feels affection bloom across his chest. There’s something so genuine about watching someone in their element. Someone so invested in their own interests that they don’t even notice how big their smile has gotten; how their eyes suddenly seem to glow. There’s this halo of purity and love that circles around them, and right now it’s around you and Jaemin thinks he’s going to melt at the sight.

He absolutely adores you. He adores you and all you stand for. Though he’s only known you for a short time, he wants it to be more. He wants to make it official and be able to hold your hand. He wants to kiss you hello and goodbye. He wants people to know he’s your boyfriend and tell him how lucky he is so he can reply, “I know.”

He wants to show you the love you show the world. 

You look up and brush your hair out of your face. “What’s wrong? Is there still paint on my nose? I thought I got it off...”

“No, you’re good.” Jaemin clears his throat and returns his attention to the kids.

🕷️

Jaemin walks you home after your shift. Out of hospitality (and your extreme fondness for Jaemin) you invite him inside.

He walks straight to the kitchen and grabs a mug out of your cupboard. It’s the same one you usually give to Spider-Man when he comes over, and you feel a bit possessive over it for that reason.

You take it out of his hands. “Maybe... let’s use different mugs. This is— My friend, he— This is the mug he uses when he comes over.”

“Oh.” Jaemin blinks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I—“ Jaemin isn’t even supposed to know where your cupboard is. Only Spider-Man has been in your kitchen.

Stupid.

“It’s okay.” Your features soften and Jaemin notices the way you hold the mug close to you.

“Is your friend- I mean- Do you like him?” Jaemin doesn’t know why he feels jealous right now. If you say yes, you’ll be talking about him. He’s not sure why it bothers him so much that you might like Spider-Man more than you like Na Jaemin.

“No...” You place the mug back in its place. “I just- You know a lot of people at F.E.A.S.T. are just people looking for safety? Away from their homes or relationships or whatever?”

Jaemin urges you on with a confused nod.

“I don’t think my friend has a place like that. He’s got a lot of enemies and I want him to always feel welcome here. So I don’t want his favorite mug to be dirty if he arrives late tonight for some tea.”

Jaemin knows it’s not the appropriate time, but he really can’t think of anything but pulling you into his arms and kissing your breath away.

There’s no one else in the state of New York as caring as you. Not to Jaemin. Even as Spider-Man, no one has so casually extended their hospitality to him. He carries danger around with him wherever he goes, and yet you make sure his favorite mug is filled with tea every night.

“Jaemin? Are you okay?”

Jaemin bites his lip to keep his affections from spilling out. “Yeah. I’m great, actually.”

🕷️

Jaemin wants to scream. Every single time he sees you, he wants to confess that he’s the masked boy that’s been visiting you every week.

But it’s hard. He doesn’t know who to trust anymore. Not that he doesn’t trust you, but he has no idea who Screwball’s minions are. What if they find you and take you away? 

Hanging out with you as Na Jaemin is dangerous enough, but as Spider-Man? Jaemin seriously begins to wonder if he has any brain cells at all. 

But he likes you. He really, really likes you. He likes you so much for just being around him — Spider-Man, that is — and never demanding anything of him. He can’t remember the last time someone has seen the mask and not asked for any favors.

And as Jaemin, he’s failed you. He always fails you because he has Spidey business to get to. He’s left you disappointed more times than not, and at this point he’s pretty sure you like his alter ego better than him. Not that he can blame you.

It’s another night of infiltrating demon warehouses when he finds himself wishing he could just be honest with you about everything. It’s really selfish, though, so he tries not to think about it and focuses on alerting the police that he’s caught more demons.

“Yuri,” he addresses the captain tiredly, “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

“I wouldn’t do that yet, Spider-Man. Sorry, but the networks getting alerts of a hostage situation in Greenwich. We don’t have any other info yet, but we might need you.”

Spider-Man’s comm beeps. “I’m getting another call, Yuri. I’ll swing to Greenwich and call you back for more info.”

“Thanks, Spidey.”

He answers the new call. “Hello?”

“Aw, did the police already tell you? I was hoping to be the one to break the news! Anyways, today’s challenge is for you to go on a scavenger hunt through Greenwich and find the prize!”

Jaemin’s stomach suddenly feels heavy. “What’s the prize, Screwball?”

“Don’t you know? What’s most important to Spider-Man right now? Who owns that apartment you’re always visiting? My viewers are just dying to hear what’s up. Maybe a love story to tell?”

“Screw off, Screwball.” Jaemin swings towards Greenwich. How did she find you? How would she know that you’re important to him and not just a business partner?

Jaemin can feel the tears stinging already and it sucks because he’s gotta make smart quips to Screwball. He’s gotta play her game so she cooperates. All she wants is content. If Jaemin gives her content she won’t hurt you. It makes him so angry that Screwball is using you for views. Using you to force him to play this stupid little game. 

He wants to cuss Screwball out but he isn’t sure how young her viewers might be. 

“Are they safe?” He hopes the fear in his voice isn’t as evident as he thinks it is. 

“Your precious little darling is hanging out with me! Don’t worry, I’ve got a bucket of popcorn for the two of us and a blanket to cozy up until you get here.”

“Let me talk to them.” He swings over the Rubin Museum and perches on top of the building. He struggles to catch his breath as Screwball cackles.

“Can’t go a minute without talking to your sweetheart?” Screwball coos, but she hands the phone over anyway.

“I’m okay,” is the first thing you say, though your voice is shaky. You follow up with, “Just stay safe. Take your time; I’m okay.”

As soon as your voice catches in your throat Jaemin wants to confess. He wants to you to know that he’s not just some random boy in a mask. He’s Jaemin, your friend, and he loves you so so much. He needs you to know that just in case he- 

Just in case he fails you.

But he can’t tell you because your phone call is being live-streamed for all of the stupid world to hear and damn it if the police couldn’t do their job just once and get you to safety.

The comm begins to break up and Jaemin knows this stupid wild goose chase is almost over. He knows this is when Screwball drops the plot twist and tells him he only has so much time left. But he’s still swinging from building to building with no idea where he’s going or where you are. 

“Y/n here certainly would like you to come quickly, Spidey. We’re just chilling on the balcony, enjoying the night air. Would be a shame if they fell off, huh?”

“You do anything to Y/n and I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” Screwball cackles. “You’ll turn me in? I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re blackmailing me. You’re holding someone hostage, you—”

The comm switches, and it’s Yuri in a distorted voice. “We blocked the stream for thirty seconds. You’re not live. Screwball’s stream has a private network and firewall to break through. Our team’s working on it but we need you to keep talking. Alright, time’s u-“

Jaemin listens silently while Screwball tells her viewers that she’s back online. He does his best to try and pick apart the background noises. Any small clue that might show him where you are. He knows the two of you are on a balcony, or a ledge, or something you can fall off of because Screwball doesn’t make empty threats. 

Then he hears it: the sirens. They’re loud through the stream but faint through his own ears. 

He swings toward the sound, desperate to find you before Screwball does anything.  

“What do you want from me, Screwball?” 

To keep Screwball talking, he’s gotta ask her questions about herself.

🕷️

Okay, so you don’t exactly know how you managed to get ambushed by Screwball. All you know is that you were on your way to F.E.A.S.T one minute and the next, you were being dragged into a dark van. After screaming — and being consequently gagged — Screwball revealed herself to you. 

Now you’re tied to stool, balanced on the edge of a balcony in the middle of some neighborhood you aren’t familiar of. 

You’ve managed to stop your blubbering for now and focus on the sky until Screwball lets you speak to Spider-Man. That’s when you’re voice breaks and you find yourself panicking because that’s not Spider-Man’s voice over the comm.

It’s Jaemin’s.

And it sort of makes sense now that you think about it — Jaemin and Spider-Man have never been in the same place at once. Jaemin went directly to Spider-Man’s mug as if it were his own. And Jaemin seemed almost over-eager to fix your phone, as if he somehow had something to do with it.

Right now you don’t really care. Right now you just want him here, with you. You want Screwball arrested and you want to be home, in your apartment, snuggled under a blanket with Jaemin where nothing can hurt you. Either of you.

You want Jaemin safe too.

The tears bring on an instant headache so you do your best to keep them from forming behind your eyes. Instead you focus on the city. If you try hard enough, you can ignore Screwball’s annoying voice. 

You gaze at the skyline and focus on looking for Jaemin. He’s gonna be here any minute now. He has to. 

“Better hurry up, Spidey, or it’s sleepy time for your little sweetheart!” 

“Aren’t you talking about yourself?” Jaemin swings from a nearby building and kicks the camera out of Screwball’s hand.

You close your eyes during most of the fight. Based on the quips the two keep shooting at each other, it doesn’t sound like a dangerous one. Jaemin’s probably just stalling for the police. Still, it makes you feel queasy and a little bit scared, so you’d rather not watch.

The police finally arrive around ten minutes later, after Jaemin has successfully webbed Screwball to the ground so that she can’t escape.

As soon as she’s in handcuffs, he turns to you and begins to free you from your restraints. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I had no idea she’d ever find out about you. I didn’t know they kept such close tabs on me. I shouldn’t have been so reckless and stupid. I shouldn’t have visited you so often, but I didn’t want to stay away and—”

You grab Jaemin by the shoulders and pull him into your embrace, burying your face in his neck. “Jaemin, it’s okay.” 

He chokes out a sob and squeezes you tighter. “I’m sorry I did- didn’t tell you earlier...”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Now, let’s go home.”

🕷️

The two of you take turns showering at your place, and while Jaemin is cleaning up, you watch the news to make sure that Screwball is being locked up for good.

After a positive confirmation, you turn the television off and go to your room.

Jaemin walks in moments after, face red from the too-hot water. He’s got on one of your hoodies and a pair of your sweatpants, and he looks so broken-hearted that you can’t help but feel sad too.

“Please don’t blame yourself.”

Jaemin crawls under your dark blue covers. He turns to face the wall, away from you. “You could’ve died.”

“I know,” you whisper. Anxiety pools in your chest at the thought. But you don’t want to think about what happened. You want to be distracted, and you want to feel safe.

You wrap your arm around Jaemin’s waist and press your forehead against the space between his shoulder blades. “I didn’t, though, and that’s thanks to you.”

Jaemin’s body shudders again, and your heart breaks at the sound of him crying. You squeeze him tighter and kiss his nape. “We’re safe now. It’s okay.”  

🕷️

Jaemin keeps his distance from you for the next few weeks, and while you know why, it doesn’t make it any easier to bare.

You miss him greatly, and constantly ask May how he’s doing. She’s tried to get him to reconcile with you, but it’s no use. He’s blaming himself for the Screwball incident. You want to yell at him and remind him that •he’s• the hero of this story. He’s the one who saved you. 

Without him you wouldn’t even be here.

But Jaemin doesn’t see it that way. You keep up with the news and follow all the Spider-Man blogs you can, trying to figure out whether or not Jaemin is okay. The last thing you want is for him to do something reckless out of guilt. Luckily, though, he’s back to fighting smaller-scale crimes and tweeting from his Spider-Man account.

So he’s okay. At least, he’s okay enough. 

You know it’s all just one big distraction from that night, so you keep a tea kettle on the stove every night, just in case. You never know when he’ll finally break and swing by.

Your intuition rings true by the end of the week, when a familiar knock appears at your window. You open it with haste, hopeful of a tearful — or just joyful — reunion with your friend. Instead, Jaemin seems rather reluctant to be back at your place.

His mask is off, but his suit (or what’s left of it) is still on. His hair is a mess, and his face is covered in sweat and grime. There are tears in his suit from who-knows-what, and to top it off, Jaemin’s lip is bleeding.

“Jaemin, what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, clutching at his ribs. “It’s just... I need help and no one else knows my secret. Except Aunt May, and she’ll worry too much. And Miles, of course, but he’s just a kid—“

You interrupt him. “Miles knows?” 

“Long story,” Jaemin grunts. “Can I come in?”

You help him onto your sofa and run to grab some supplies. After making him change into more comfortable clothes, you take a damp washcloth and begin to wipe the sweat and dirt off of his face. “What happened?”

His eyes stay focused on yours for a moment. Your heart skips a beat at the way his eyelashes flutter when he blinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

“I- It was just a drug bust. I was distracted because my earpiece was on and it picked up Jameson’s podcast. I should’ve turned it off, but you know how he likes to insult me, and I felt like I deserved it so I listened. It cost me a kick to the rib and a punch to the face, though.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled noise. “Ow.”

“I’m gonna get an ice pack,” you say, already halfway towards the kitchen. You open the freezer. “Do you think they’re broken?”

“No, they’ve been through worse.” Jaemin watches you walk back towards him. 

You sit right beside him and hand him the frozen pack. “Here. You apply it. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

Jaemin is still watching you. Although you feel nervous under his gaze, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking as his eyes flit over your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. “I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

“Oh,” you mumble, suddenly too shy to look at him. “It’s okay. You needed your space.”

“Yeah, but you were affected too. You were affected more than me, and I abandoned you when you needed me. I shouldn’t have done that, and I hope I can make it up to you.”

You smile sadly. “Jaemin, all I want is for you to be safe. Safe and happy, that’s all.”

Jaemin is still looking at your lips, but this time he’s leaning in. His eyelashes flutter again as he closes his eyes and you find yourself frozen in place as you prepare for the inevitable.

Jaemin is going to kiss you.

His lips find yours within seconds. They’re warm and soft, and when they slot between yours you think some people were just made to fit together. 

You feel one hand go to cup your jaw, but it doesn’t stop there. Jaemin reaches up and takes a gentle hold of your hair, tugging at the roots every moment or so. 

Being so close to him is overwhelming. You can smell his cologne, and although it’s mixed with sweat, it isn’t any less desirable than before.

You think of Jaemin’s soft eyes and warm smile and low voice, and you sigh into the kiss. Your heartbeat quickens when he smiles suddenly against your lips. “I like you, Y/n.”

You giggle and break contact. “I hope so.”

Jaemin manages to contain his blush as he rubs the back of his neck. “I really missed you when we were apart, and I don’t want to feel like that ever again.”

“So let’s try it out,” you whisper. “Me and you. We’ll protect each other, alright?”

Jaemin hums and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Alright.”

[basketofverbiage]

Hold On

This is my first writing post I’ve made. I had this in my head for a while and finally got it out. I have a part two, but it’s still being edited. I am so open to feedback!

Warnings: suicide attempt; hospitals; panic attacks

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

For the past few weeks, Seokjin has known that something is wrong, but has no idea what it is. And without knowing what it is, how the hell is he supposed to fix it? His entire life seems to revolve around the need to take care of the people he loves most, and he can see that Y/n is devastatingly hurt but has no clue how to heal it. It’s like a surgeon trying to operate on a patient in a dark back alley somewhere; he can’t see what’s ruptured, can’t stop the bleeding, and he has this sneaking suspicion that he might lose his patient.

It’s been three solid weeks since he first noticed that something seems to be affecting the woman he loves. She put on a brave face and a faux smile when she knew he was paying attention. But in quiet moments when she thought he was distracted, he could see the darkness wash over her features. He’s tried everything he could think of to draw out what is wrong, comfort her, cheer her up, but nothing has worked and he’s starting to get scared.

It all began on a normal Tuesday afternoon. He was finished with his schedule fairly early in the day and came home to find her sitting in the kitchen floor with her back pressed against the cabinet below the sink, her legs drawn up into her arms and her face hidden in her kneecaps, with dark swirly curls hiding the rest of her features.

“Baby, are you okay?” he called quietly, rushing over to kneel in front of her. Her head snapped up and she smiled the fakest smile he’d ever seen from her.

“Yes, Jinnie. I’m fine. I just haven’t slept well, and just sat down after washing dishes.”

He knew she was lying to him by the darkness swirling in her eyes and the way that the smile didn’t soften the pain in her features, but he decided not to push it. She really hadn’t been sleeping well. More than one night this week he’d woken up in the twilight morning hours to her thrashing about a bit in fitful nightmares, but she’d settle down a bit when he’d pull her in and hum softly into her ear. So, he reiterated to himself that it’s okay not to push it, and that she’d open up once she was ready. He’d scooped her up off the kitchen floor into a tight hug then they’d spent the afternoon curled up in bed with mindless tv shows and drifting in and out of dreams until he started to believe she was okay. She’d laughed at his silly jokes, so Y/n is fine, right?

After that, he noticed that she began sleeping so much more. Sure, she’d had a stressful few months at work with a major project she had been assigned for a high-profile client, but she’d completed that project well and the client had been singing her praises to the heavens. In doing so, she had spent as many sleepless nights slaving away as he had spent missing her beside him in their king-sized bed. It made him wonder how she survived the long months of him being away on tour, lying so tiny in the vast wasteland of a cold, empty bed. Seokjin is not tiny by any means, and without her, he felt so small and vaguely empty in satin sheets, surrounded by so many pillows. And no matter how many extra blankets he added, the bed was so cold without her. So once the project was completed, it made perfect sense that she’d catch up on sleep, right? There is nothing to worry about, right?

Y/n had also pretty obviously stopped eating and cooking. This was driving him insane. The love of cooking and feeding other people is one of the many things that brought them together, and they took turns showing their love to each other with food. She hadn’t baked a single item in three straight weeks. While Seokjin could not bake to save his own life, Y/n baked the most amazing creations and her favorite thing to make was bread. All different varieties of breads from simple, rustic loaves to delicate fruit-filled sweetbreads, she once told him that baking bread made her feel alive. Something about the way the dough responded and how much encouragement it needed to become something from nearly nothing. In fact, in the two full years they had been together, Seokjin had not one time bought a loaf of bread from the store. He forgot that store-bought loaves were even a thing. She kept her own sourdough starter and had to bake at least one loaf a week to keep it growing healthily without it taking over, so he would come home at least one day a week to the slightly sour, yeasty twang of sourdough bread wafting about as two beautiful loaves cooled on a cooling rack. One loaf was always for them at home, and the other for his brothers. Before they shared a home, she would regularly bring her bread experiments over to the dorm and the boys would all ooh and ahh over her creations; Seokjin and Namjoon had had to nearly break up physical fights between the maknaes over who got to eat the last of the loaves on more than one occasion. But it had been two solid weeks since a loaf had been baked in their apartment and he was desperately trying to squelch the worry that was building.

Seokjin realized that he might be out of his element with this. He’d tried everything he knew to do. They’d been on three fancy dates, and he’d sent her a gorgeous bouquet to work. Seokjin bought her the earrings she’d been eyeing subtly when they were shopping for his mom’s birthday present and left them on her pillow one morning when he had to be at an interview at 4 am. He had made love to her slow and sweet on a rainy Sunday afternoon like she loved; it had always been enough to bring her back to him before as he’d remind her of why he loved her both with words and with his body. But not this time. He had told her every joke he could think of, even the worst ones that sounded like they had come off the stick of a melted popsicle. He made her coffee like she liked in the morning, tea in the afternoon, and heady glasses of red wine in the evening. He’d even gone so far as to fly her best friend in for the one weekend he’d had to be away in Japan, knowing that if he couldn’t fix it, she usually could. He had asked if she was okay at least twice a day for more than a week, then given up already when she tried to keep her work mask on all the time and lied straight to his face that she was fine. Y/n was not fine, but he didn’t know what was wrong and nothing he had tried had even made a dent in the darkness, so Seokjin did the only thing he could think of and asked for help to the smartest man he knew.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Namjoon asked when Jin barged into his studio one afternoon without even knocking. The king of manners never forgot something so simple.

“I’m okay, but Y/n is not. I’ve tried everything, and I can’t bring her out of this funk she’s in.”

For the next few minutes, Namjoon asked pointed questions about her behavior and her responses to Seokjin’s attempt at cheering her up. After he had basically verbally vomited all over Namjoon’s lap in RKive for nearly 45 minutes, Namjoon said the most obvious thing.

“Jin-hyung, she sounds depressed. Like seriously, clinically depressed. She has all the classic symptoms. Exhaustion, lack of sleep then sleeping too much, not much energy, disengaging, giving up activities she loves…”

Of course, Namjoon and his sexy brain would identify the thing he’d been seeing wreck the love of his life in practically no time at all. The only thing is that he really didn’t have many solutions other than trying to get her to see a doctor to talk about it. Y/n is stubborn and hates doctors, so convincing her to go would take some doing, but he had an idea of how to go about it. Seokjin thought about it more as he walked down the hallway leaving from Namjoon’s studio and gathered a game plan in his mind. He was done for the day after having recorded all of his parts early in the morning, and it was just now 2:30 in the afternoon. He has time to put things in motion before Y/n should be home from work at 5; if he makes a special dinner for her, then maybe he can soften her heart enough for her to hear him out when he asks her to please either let him in to help or to see a professional. Preferably both if things went well.

Seokjin left the building in a bit of a hurry and drove to the supermarket closest to the apartment. It was a small, family run market that regularly got ingredients in that were difficult to find in other places. Y/n had made friends with the owner’s daughter-in-law as they were from the same home country and had bemoaned how difficult it was to find ingredients for certain dishes, even in a city as big as Seoul. Seokjin planned to make this one soup that Y/n called Comfort Soup that she’d taught him to make; it was the food her mom had made her when she was a child anytime she was sick, hurt, or even just sad, and it brought a piece of her home to her now when she felt homesick. He also wanted to bake a crusty artisan loaf to go with it using the one recipe that Y/n had taught him that he could usually bake without an issue. In fact, Y/n called it the Idiot-Proof Loaf, so surely he wouldn’t screw that up. The best part was that while it took an hour and a half from start to finish, the dough only had to rise once, and finished its growth in the oven instead of multiple risings like most of the breads Y/n made. He rushed in and got all the things he needed, then popped into the florist shop next door for those silly purple roses she loved. His final stop was to a little bakery nearby where their second date had been, and bought chocolate covered strawberries and two beautiful slices of the strawberry cheesecake that they’d shared on that date.

When he finally arrived at their apartment building, Seokjin was relived to see that he’d only used 45 minutes of his precious time and had still had time to bake the bread as long as he did that first. He could make Comfort Soup while the dough rose. After unlocking the apartment door, he kicked off his shoes by the door, then took all his ingredients to the kitchen. He put away the strawberries and cheesecake in the ice box then looked down at his outfit. Even with an apron, he should change so that he isn’t covered in flour and dough.

He didn’t notice it at first. Oh my god, how could he not have noticed? He had walked into the closet to change without turning on the bedroom light, so how could he not have noticed the light filtering under the bathroom door? The light he had turned off before leaving this morning. Y/n had left first since she had an early meeting at the office before he had to be to the recording studio, and there is no reason that she should have already been home. He didn’t see her keys on the hook by the door when he came in or her shoes on the rack where they belonged. Seokjin turned around as he pulled the white t-shirt over his head and stood there perplexed for a few seconds staring at the brightness on the carpet before striding over to open the door and turn off the light.

“Oh my god, Y/n!”

He opened the door to see darkening blood on the white tile of the bathroom floor, and Y/n slumped over against the tub. Her wrist was bleeding in her lap and the shining razor blade was lying beside her on the tile. While the volume of blood was disconcerting, there wasn’t as much as he’d ever thought there would be in a situation like this, so Seokjin knew he might have a chance to save her until he noticed the empty bottle of pills in the sink. Then, came the panic.

Seokjin ripped the hand towel off the drying rack and tied it around her bleeding wrist tight enough to put pressure on the wound while he full-on sprinted to the kitchen for his cell phone. He’d left it lying on the kitchen island when he went to change, and he grabbed it and dialed for an ambulance while running back to her. The dispatcher gathered their address and told him that help was coming, but Seokjin could barely hear her. He was shaking Y/n gently trying to get her to respond. He could just barely hear a pulse when he pressed his ear to her chest and her breathing was so damn shallow it barely grazed his skin when he hovered his hand in front of her face. Oh, god, she’s so pale, he though to himself before hanging up and dropping his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Y/n, baby, can you hear me? Please wake up, please. I need you to wake up.” He didn’t even realize he was crying until he spoke, just begging her to open her eyes.

He barely registered the banging on the front door as help arrived. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had to, so he ran to the door and flung it open for the paramedics and just left the front door gaping open and ran back to the bathroom. Luckily, they took the hint and followed him back to where Y/n was still limp on the floor. They worked quickly and got her all strapped onto a stretcher and told him that he could ride to the hospital with her.

As an afterthought almost, Seokjin grabbed the empty bottle out of the sink and took it with them. Once they were in the ambulance and the paramedics were doing their jobs, Seokjin finally looked at the bottle and immediately felt worse. The empty bottle had his name on it. It had contained muscle relaxers from a couple of months ago when Seokjin had pulled a muscle in his back overworking himself and the doctor had given them to him to help him relax the muscles around it enough that he could sleep. There had been around 10 pills left in the bottle, and Y/n is so much smaller than him in size. Seokjin didn’t know much about medications but he did remember that they were prescribed taking size into consideration, and for the second time in the last 20 minutes, he realized that she might really die.

“Please, Y/n. Please. Oh God you have to wake up.” Seokjin choked on a sob before he could say anything else.

Seokjin felt like the minutes that had passed since he found her were moving through molasses, thick and slow to drip through the hourglass. The ambulance stopped in front of the hospital and the doors flung open into bright late afternoon sunlight, and this nightmare kept going. The paramedics unloaded the stretcher and Seokjin chased them into the emergency room. He kept following them through two sets of double doors, not hearing any words that were being spoken to him until a nurse physically grabbed him.

“Sir, you can’t go any further. We need space to help her,” she said then guided him into a tiny private waiting room. “Wait here and I’ll come back to update you as soon as I can.” She had just made it to the door when he remembered the bottle that he’d been squeezing.

“Here,” he said shakily. “I found this in the sink when I found her. I know that there were at least 10 left in there.”

The nurse thanked him and left quickly, shutting the door behind her. After several seconds of being attacked by the silence in the room, Seokjin’s legs couldn’t hold him up anymore and he just collapsed. He couldn’t stop crying but found the strength to pull out his phone and called Namjoon.

“Namjoon-ah, I was too late. Oh my god, I was too late,” Seokjin sobbed into the phone.

“Jin-hyung, where are you?”

After hearing that Seokjin was at the hospital, Namjoon told him that they’d all come to him. Seokjin had no concept of the flow of time as he remained crumpled on the floor when all six of his brothers tumbled in the door, and he lost it even more when Jimin and Taehyung both wrapped their arms around him. They held him while he sobbed and told them about what he’d found when he’d opened the bathroom door. After a while, Seokjin felt like his chest was gaping open and all of his internal organs were falling out at once, but the tears slowed down as the panic flooded back in; his chest constricted in terror and anxiety and sharp, wracking pain.

“I can’t breathe. Oh, my god, I can’t breathe,” he gasped out as he looked up and met eyes with Namjoon.

Jimin and Taehyung backed up a little to give him some space as Seokjin started hyperventilating. The edges of his vision were starting to get blurry and almost sparkled a bit as his body seemed to reject every breath he tried to take. He barely registered the sound of the door opening as Yoongi ran out to get help. Seokjin struggled to breathe and tried desperately to cling to consciousness as the panic attack really set in.

An unfamiliar feminine face was in front of him then, encouraging him to focus on the sound of her voice. She spoke softly and calmly to him, but she might as well have been speaking to him in Greek because he couldn’t understand any of her words. For that matter, he could just barely hear her over this loud whooshing sound in his ears. The tone of her voice was soft and forced him to focus on nothing else to try to understand what she was saying, and after a few minutes the whooshing noise quieted down enough to hear her properly and he began to lose some of the tightness in his chest.

“Seokjin-ssi, that’s it. Keep breathing slowly and deeply. You are safe. You are just having a panic attack right now, and that’s understandable. Just keep listening to my voice and keep breathing in…then out…now in again,” she murmured to him.

After she was sure that he was calm and wouldn’t panic again, she turned to the other men in the room and asked them to help Seokjin out of the floor. Jungkook stepped up with Namjoon and they physically lifted him up and into a chair. Seokjin couldn’t help them because his legs had been substituted with lemon jello that hadn’t fully set up yet.

Yoongi held a cup to his lips. “Drink, hyung,” he said softly.

Seokjin sipped obediently a few times until Yoongi was satisfied and sat the cup on a nearby table. Seokjin was shocked when Yoongi wrapped his arms around him. Yoongi rarely initiated physical shows of affection, but he understood this entire scenario in a deeper way than he wanted to admit and he knew exactly what Seokjin needed in this moment.

“Yoongichi, I think this is my fault,” Seokjin whispered into his ear.

“No, Jin-hyung. It is not your fault.”

“But I think it is. I must not have loved her well enough. I wasn’t home enough. The pills she took were mine. If I had gone to Namjoon-ah for help sooner…” Seokjin’s voice cracked and he couldn’t finish the thought.

“It is not your fault. Trust me. Do you not remember where I was emotionally when we met? And how close I came to trying too? Do you remember what I said to you the night you walked in and stopped me?” Yoongi countered gently.

“You said that you didn’t want to weigh us all down and that you’d rather hurt yourself than hurt us. And that everything is all your fault.”

“That’s right,” Yoongi replied with a soft smile. “And what did you say back to me?”

“That just because you feel like it’s your fault doesn’t mean that it is. That leaving us that way would hurt more than any burden you handed us. And to let me be your tether when you needed something to hold you down to the earth.”

“Yes, So, now I get a chance to say part of it back to you. Just because you think this is your fault doesn’t mean it is. You saved her, Jin-hyung. You are the reason she’s still breathing now, just like you are the reason I am still breathing now. Yes, she got a little closer to the fire than we’d like, but she can still come back to us. And when she does, Y/n is going to need a tether on the hard days, yeah?”

Seokjin couldn’t speak at that. He still felt like everything was his fault for not realizing what was happening sooner, but Yoongi was right. He had to stay strong because Y/n needed that right now, so he squeezed Yoongi a little tighter then let go before he started to cry again. Yoongi moved from kneeling in front of him to plant himself in the chair beside him. Now that his panic attack had stopped, Seokjin felt like someone had buried him under the weight of about 100 tons of brick. Everything was so heavy, and he was too tired to try to climb out. He finally looked around the room and took it in for the first time.

The waiting room was small but big enough for all of them. Namjoon was in the corner speaking quietly into the phone, presumably updating their managers on what was happening. Seokjin hadn’t thought to call anyone except Namjoon since Namjoon was the only person he’d spoken with about this. Jungkook was standing by the door with his arms crossed, almost as if he was standing guard over his brothers; his stance portrayed his worry a bit in that his first instinct when one of his hyungs was hurting was to cry with them, then protect them if he could. Hoseok was sitting on a small couch on the left side of the room smashed in between Jimin and Taehyung, both folded into Hobi for security and comfort. Hobi had both boys tucked under his arms and was trying to help them stay calm. Both Jimin and Taehyung were empaths and this scenario had them both on edge from the emotions in the room. Jimin still had tears running down his cheeks from the fear of Seokjin’s panic attack and worry for his friend. Taehyung was staring at Jin with wide eyes, seemingly trying to decide if he was okay and what he should do to help.

“I’m okay, Taehyungie,” Seokjin said softly. “I’m just scared.”

Taehyung got up and moved to sit at Seokjin’s feet and wrapped his arms around Seokjin’s legs. It was a small gesture, but somehow it helped to settle some of the remaining anxiety in the pit of Jin’s stomach, and he knew that the physical contact would help Tae relax a bit.

Time seemed to stop moving. Seokjin had no concept of how long they had been in this room. It could have been seconds, or it could have been 10 years, but not knowing what was happening with Y/n was making him crazy. Just when he thought that he couldn’t handle another minute of this stretching unnerving silence, there was a knock at the door, then the doctor stepped in.

“Kim Seokjin?” he asked.

“That’s me. How is she?” Jin stuttered out.

“She’s still alive, but in critical condition. She had lost quite a lot of blood when you found her. We had to give her three pints just to stabilize her. We also did have to pump her stomach for the pills she had taken. We wouldn’t have known about that if you hadn’t brought the bottle in. Honestly, if you had found her 5 minutes later, the outcome may have been very different. As it is, she’s still very weak and unconscious. Hopefully, she will wake up in the next few days, but we still have to wait and see.”

“Can I see her?” Seokin asked.

“Yes, but just be prepared. Her color is still really pale, and she’s hooked up to quite a few monitors. We have also inserted a ventilation tube to help her with breathing for tonight. We hope to remove it tomorrow morning, but we can take it out sooner if she wakes up before then. It’s not standard, but due to the scenario, you may want to bring someone with you,” the doctor advised then smiled softly. “I really think she will be okay, but I can’t be 100% sure.”

Seokjin looked around the room at each of his brothers, meeting eyes with Yoongi last. “Come with me?” he whispered. Yoongi nodded then stood. Taehyung unwrapped himself from around Seokjin’s legs and allowed the two men to follow the doctor out of the room.

The doctor lead them down a seemingly endless hallway before they arrived at a set of double doors. The doctor waved his name badge in front of a keypad and the doors swung open to another hallway. They walked past 4 doors before the doctor stopped and knocked on a door on the left side then let them in.

“Just let me know if you have any questions. I’ll be in to check on her in a couple of hours,” he told them before leaving and closing the door.

Seokjin watched the door close before he finally looked at Y/n lying in the bed. It was like he was standing in his worst nightmare and couldn’t wake up. She looked so small lying there, and so, so pale. There was an IV coming out of her right arm that connected to a couple of bags of fluid hanging limply from a pole beside the bed. There was a plastic mask over her mouth connected with the ventilator at the bedside, and wires that connected from cathodes on her chest to a large beeping heart monitor on the left side of the bed. At the shock of seeing Y/n like this, his knees almost buckled. He would have hit the floor if Yoongi hadn’t grabbed him. Yoongi guided him over to the chair beside the bed and helped him sit down.

“She almost looks dead, Yoongi. Oh my god…” he whimpered.

Yoongi didn’t say anything, he just grabbed Seokjin’s hand and held it tight. It had been nearly 5 years since the night Seokjin had walked in on him with a knife in his hand standing in the bathtub of their shared bathroom. Seokjin had talked him down that night and 3 more times since. Yoongi can’t help but think that while he has recovered so much, this could have been him at some point, and his chest ached. He hurt for his friend lying in the bed, and he ached for his brother who loved her so much and he was upset with himself for not being able to help either of them. He settled on being as comforting to Seokjin as he possibly could and released his hand just long enough to drag an empty chair up beside him, then grabbing his hand again.

Seokjin gently held Y/n’s hand in his right and Yoongi’s in his left. He tried to take the comfort he got from Yoongi’s hand and pour it into the gentle grip he maintained on Y/n’s hand. Tears were dripping silently down his cheeks as he watched the machine take breaths for her and listened to the beeping of the heart monitor. The heart monitor’s sound was comforting somehow as the steady beating reminded him that every beep was a beat of her heart. Seokjin just sat and stared at her motionless form in the bed, and after a while, the beeping of the heart monitor lulled him to sleep without him realizing he’d drifted off.

A loud frantic alarm went off and Seokjin jarred awake, taking a second to remember where he was and why he was there. When he jerked upright, Yoongi’s head fell off of his shoulder where it had landed and Yoongi woke up too. The heart monitor was beeping loudly and erratically now.

“Oh god, Yoongi get help. Something’s wrong.”

Yoongi ran out into the hallway, and Seokjin could vaguely recognize his voice calling for the nurses to come help. Y/n’s eyes hadn’t opened, but she looked paler than she had been and Seokjin couldn’t help but to panic.

“Y/n, no! Please wake up! You can’t leave me like this,” Jin cried, shaking her gently.

The nurses ran in just before that same alarm that shocked him awake sounded again, and they shoved Seokjin out the door and out of the way to have room to work.

“No, please! I need to be with her! Please! Y/n! Y/N! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME. PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” Seokjin started screaming and crying trying to fight off the arms that were holding him back.

Yoongi spun him around to face him then and pulled him into a hug. “Hyung, you have to let them work. You have to let them help her.”

Seokjin felt like he had lost all control and he wasn’t sure he could just stand here when his entire world was behind that closed door dying. At the same time, he didn’t know what he could do to help, and he was so angry that he couldn’t just fix this. Seokjin let Yoongi lead him a few feet away from the door so they wouldn’t be blocking the way if anyone needed to come in or out. After an eternity it seemed, the nurses opened the door and called Seokjin over.

“I’m sorry for shoving you out the door. The alarm you were hearing was the heart rate monitor. Her blood pressure was dropping, and we had to give her a big shot of some medication to correct that. She has stabilized a bit and you can go back in and wait with her if you’d like.”

Seokjin just nodded and walked back in and headed back to his chair at the bedside. Yoongi grabbed his hand and squeezed it for a moment before speaking, “Hyung, I’m going to go update everyone. I know they are all worried about what’s happening. I’ll send someone else to come back with you for a bit so that they can visit Y/n too. They love her too.”

“Okay,” Seokjin whispered. “Would you send Joon-ah?”

“Of course I will.”

After Seokjin heard the door click closed, he took a closer look at Y/n. She was still so pale and looked like she was so breakable. Even through all of that, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he couldn’t just sit there by the bedside anymore. He needed to hold her in his arms, so he gently navigated all of the wires and tubes to climb in the bed beside her and wrap his arms around her as gently as he could. The bed was so small, but his entire body relaxed a bit when he was able to feel her beside him. Seokjin kissed her gently on the temple before speaking softly into her ear.  

“Baby, I hope you can hear me. I love you so much. I am so sorry that I didn’t realize what was happening with you sooner. I tried so hard to help in subtle ways and not to force you to open up about what was going wrong. I should have pushed even if we fought. I’d rather live with the knowledge that you are angry with me than for you to not be alive at all. Please. Please, don’t leave me.” Seokjin couldn’t stop himself from sobbing into Y/n’s hair, and he was so exhausted with worry and fear. After a few more minutes, he had cried himself back to sleep.

As Seokjin’s sleep addled brain woke back up a few hours later, he had difficulty remembering where he was, but then he opened his eyes and reality bitch-slapped him in the face. He glanced down to see Y/n still unconscious beside him. He needed to visit the restroom and something to drink. He had cried so much that his entire body felt like it was drying up from the inside out. He slowly sat up and maneuvered out of the bed so that he wouldn’t disconnect any of the vital tubes and wires connected to her and got out of the bed. When he did, he saw Namjoon slumped over asleep in the chair he’d vacated the night before and smiled a bit to himself before slipping into the connected bathroom.

Seokjin stared at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. While he still was as handsome as he’d ever been, his eyes were swollen and a bit red from crying and sleeping in his contacts. His hair was sticking up everywhere too from sleep, and there was a big brown streak of dried blood across his white tee from where he’d found Y/n. He looked like hell. He splashed some water on his face a bit then came out of the bathroom. As much as he didn’t want to leave her, he wanted to check on the others down the hallway. After exiting the restroom, he sat down beside Namjoon and lightly shook him.

“Namjoon-ah, wake up.”

Namjoon startled awake a bit, looking around to see what was happening. “Wha…What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing has changed. I just want to walk down the hall to check on the others and get a cup of coffee. Will you stay with her please? I don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up. I just feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I stay still in this room for another second.”

Namjoon agreed immediately, and Seokjin rose and left the room as quietly as possible. He wondered down the hallway and back to the double doors. There was a sign beside the door that notated a 4-digit code so that he could get back in without a doctor’s name badge upon his return, so he committed that to memory before heading back into the room where he’d left the others. He walked in and saw Yoongi and Hoseok curled up on the sofa, cuddled up together asleep. The maknaes were all three curled up in the floor together using cushions they had removed from the chairs around the room as pillows, but they were all touching. Jungkook was in the middle, with Taehyung draped around him. Taehyung had one arm and one leg thrown across Jungkook, and Jimin was holding his hand. Jimin was lying with his left side pushed against Jungkook’s side and his head tilted so that it touched Jungkook’s shoulder. Seokjin chuckled a bit at the sight, glad that he had these men as his family. At the sound of his laugh, Hoseok looked over at Seokjin where he was standing just inside the door. Hoseok had always been the lightest sleeper of the group, and any sound would disrupt him.

“Hyung?” Hoseok asked, “Is Y/n awake?”

“No, Seokie, she’s not. But I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust from not being able to help her, so I came out to get some coffee.”

“Oh.” Hoseok’s face fell as he learned that Y/n was still not awake. “Sejin-hyung brought you a change of clothes and a toothbrush in the middle of the night. Joonie told him about how you…about your shirt.”

Seokjin found the bag in the corner of the room, so thankful at how much like family their managers were with them. They had always looked after all 7 as if they were their own children, so when something happened to 1 member, it happed to the entire staff too. Seokjin stepped into the small bathroom connected to the waiting room to change and brush his teeth and immediately felt a bit calmer. There had been black sweatpants, a white tee shirt and an oversized blue sweater in the bag. The sweater helped immensely. It was the one that Y/n had stolen to sleep in the other day, so her scent was still woven into the fabric and it helped him to stay calm and hopeful. He stepped out into the waiting room to see that the maknaes were starting to stir a bit.

“Jin-hyung, I’m going to get coffee and breakfast for everyone. Can I bring you something?” Jimin asked.

“Just coffee, Minnie. I don’t think I can stomach the thought of food at the moment. I’m going to head back to Y/n, so just call when you get back and I’ll come out and get the coffee.”

Seokjin then headed back towards Y/n’s room in the intensive care unit. He heard Namjoon screaming for someone to come before he got back through the double doors and his heart nearly exploded in fear. What if she’s crashing again, he thought to himself as he was running down the hall. He nearly collided with Namjoon midway there. Namjoon grabbed both his arms to keep from falling backwards, before he said two words that made Seokjin’s heart flutter from relief.

“She’s awake.”

[supposed2bfunny]

Effigy-a 2D drabble

Not really a full-fledged fic, but this was another gift I wrote around the holidays for the SUPER TALENTED @stupotato! Wanted to give 2D some appreciation! Please check out their blog if you’re in the mood for some good 2D content! <3 <3 <3

Stuart sat on the back porch of the Spirit House, smoking. One last afternoon like this, to enjoy this quiet little suburb, and then it was back to London, back to Damon’s demanding schedule, Jamie’s intrusive photoshoots, and Murdoc’s insufferable…Murdocness.

He sighed wistfully. Detroit had been pretty good to him. He’d never dreamed it possible that he could produce an album almost singlehandedly, and yet here he stood, glowing with the success of The Now Now. It had been overwhelming at times, and he couldn’t lie: there was some relief to having Murdoc back, to having the band resume its old dynamic and feel the thrill of the unexpected future coming on and coming on. Anyway, autumn was coming in fast, and he liked being able to wander through SoHo in this kind of weather, smoking, people-watching. It would be good to get back to England, to get some decent curry and to behold the absolute grayness of the Thames once more.

Now if he could just finish packing up, they could start planning their last meal in the States before catching their morning flight.

Ashing the end of his cigarette, Stu straightened up from where he’d been bent over the rickety porch banister, looking out at the quiet backyard, the backyards of the other peaceful little houses. It had been a good run, really it had.

“I think he’s out here,” Noodle’s voice carried over from the door, and he turned to find her heading out, her signature fluffy blue jacket draped over her shoulders. “Yeah! 2D’s out back, you guys!”

“Hey, Noods, what’s up?”

“Something came in the mail, something that we want you to see,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

“What is it?”

“Hey man,” Russel came outside, pulling a leather jacket on and easing down into one of the creaky Adirondack chairs that they had brought out not long after moving in. “Saying goodbye to Spirit House?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Bittersweet, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’m always sorry to leave the States.”

“Oi, Dents!” One last, loud voice, instantly grating on his nerves, bounced down the stairs. There was the sound of heeled boots clicking their way along tired wooden steps, and then Murdoc was practically falling out onto the porch, his hands behind his back, face split in half from the wide smile he wore.

“Right,” Stu sighed wearily. “What’ve you done then, Muds?”

“Placed a little order a while back,” Murdoc replied. “Best investment I ever made. Got my package today, in fact. Actually, anyone who placed the order should be getting it within the week, I’d imagine.”

“What’d you order then?” he raised a brow. “Another upside down rubber cross? That why you’re so giddy, tosser?”

“Oh funny Stu, very good. Vulgarity suits you.” Murdoc’s dark eyes flashed playfully, and despite the barbs they hurled at each other, they were both trying not to laugh.

As much as Stu and Murdoc loved to hate each other, an antagonistic friendship, a deep, often flirtatious, utterly mental bond had formed years ago, and since being reunited after Murdoc’s stint in prison, Stu had to admit that they spent less time fighting in earnest, and more time fighting to outdo the other in lewd comments. Middle age had turned their rivalry more companionable, and the bassist, though he would never say it aloud, had clearly been impressed by what Stu had accomplished in their months apart. Stu bore the bassist’s respect with a cocky pride: it was something he’d longed for since the band had first formed.

Murdoc sauntered towards him, and Stu stood up on his tip-toes, trying to see what he was holding behind his back. He couldn’t quite make it out though.

“Well then? Gonna show me?”

“It’s you,” Murdoc giggled, utterly manic.

“What?”

“Its you!” He said again, now whipping the hidden item out from behind his back and startling Stu so much that he nearly careened backwards over the railing. In his hands was an absurdly lifelike figurine of—him—in the outfit he’d worn during the shooting of the “Tranz” music video, down to the microphone clutched in his hands. And, just like in the video (curtesy of special effects), the figurine’s eyes were glowing bright white.

“What the fuck?!” Recovering his balance, Stu stumbled forward to reach out and touch the figurine. “You have this specially made?”

“Of course he didn’t!” Noodle laughed. “2D, don’t you remember a few months ago when we asked you to sign off on that copyright paperwork? For merchandising?”

“I thought it was gonna be for shirts or mugs or sommat. Not…we’ve done figurines before, haven’t we?” As he spoke, he reached out, wanting to touch it but also a little alarmed. The figurines they’d sold in the past, those had been much less realistic. This 2D showed his age from the lines on his forehead to the stiffness in his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“We definitely clarified it to you,” Russel disagreed. “You just weren’t paying any attention.”

“Isn’t it hilarious? The eyes are what get me!” Murdoc said, delighted, allowing Stu to take the figurine from his hands and look it over.

“Why’d you order one?”

“Needed an effigy, didn’t I?”

He glared at the bassist. Fuck Murdoc and his tendency to latch onto lyrics. “Gonna stick pins in this then, set it on fire?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Murdoc replied casually, reaching into his back pocket and producing a cigarette. “Got a light?”

“Not for you.”

“Maybe if I hold it to the glowing eyeballs, they’ll warm up the butt and it’ll spark: y’think?”

He rolled his eyes, handed over his lighter without further complaint. “So, where’s the Noodle and Russel one? And did they make one for you in your prison garb, or did Ace get a figurine for covering a single album? That would be his luck, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, there’s no figures of us. Only you, Dee,” Russel answered.

“Huh? Why?”

“This was your album, you’re the face of it,” Noodle said, taking a seat on the bottom of the porch steps, reaching out to touch the dying leaves of tomato plants she had cultivated during the summer months in large pots. They were withered away now, having served their purpose, ready to be abandoned as the band moved on.

“Really?” Stu looked at the figure more closely. The glowing eyes, he had to admit, were pretty cool. “Just me?”

“Frankly, I deserved one more’n you since our poor fans missed me something dreadful while I was gone. But then, you always were the pretty boy. And the media favors a pretty boy to someone more ruggedly handsome, unfortunately,” Murdoc spoke between pulls.

“Well, I think this will satisfy fans just fine,” Stu said, deciding that however strange this toy was, he quite liked it.

“You’re saying that because you haven’t seen the best part yet,” Russel said, and something in his smile unnerved the singer.

“What do you mean?”

“Try switching the eyes off,” Noodle suggested.

“The eyes? Oh, you can turn them off?” He turned the figure around in his hands, looking for an On/Off switch, a button, anything like that. He touched the eyes gently with the tips of his fingers, wondering if they were touch-screen, like his smart phone. Nothing. “Uh, turn off?” He suggested to the figurine’s face.

The rest of the band erupted in laughter, and Stu pouted, indignant. “Well then, you lot’ve had your laugh. Anyone gonna do this for me?”

“With pleasure,” Murdoc said, heading over to him and reaching out for the mini-2D.

“Wait, you’re not gonna break it, are you?”

Murdoc gave him a look. “D’you really think I’m that much of a wanker?”

“D’you really need to ask me that?” He countered.

The bassist shook his head, and then he reached forward, grabbing the figurine by the hair and pulling upwards—only to remove the entire hairpiece, as though the figurine was wearing a wig.

Stu yelped, almost dropping the plastic in his shock.

Again, the rest of the band lost it for a moment, laughing at his expense. Murdoc seemed the most delighted as Stu beheld a bald version of himself, though he had to admit that now he could see the On/Off switch, which had been hidden beneath the removable hair.

“What kind of design is this?” He asked. “Whoever came up with this ought to be fired!”

“I think it’s great,” Noodle admitted. “People are going to have a great time with their 2Ds when they get them shipped. We’ll have to follow on Instagram and Twitter!”

“Look, Dents. It’s what you’re going to look like in another ten or so years!”

“Oh piss off, Muds! You’re older’n me! You’ll definitely be losing your hair first!”

“Tell that to the receding hairline, old man,” he cackled, poking the singer’s forehead, still laughing as his hand was swatted away. “Okay, okay, we’re done, we’re done! We had our laugh. Don’t be such a priss, mate.”

“Give me back my hair!” He demanded, and Murdoc gave him a silly, wide-eyed face as he delicately returned the plastic bunch of hair to the singer’s large hand so he could press it back down onto his poor, defaced effigy. “Poor Mini 2D,” he cooed. But then he was smiling too. “Can’t lie; it’s pretty excellent craftsmanship, innit?”

“We’re glad you like it, it’s yours,” Russel said.

“Really? I get to keep it?”

“Do you think we’d want it?” Noodle giggled. “Really, 2D, it’s a gift from all of us. A thank you. For a job well done.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The album, dullard!”

“The Now Now,” Russel clarified. “We proposed having this made to kind of…immortalize you, I guess. For your accomplishment. It was no easy feat, what you did over the past year, man.”

“I…” he cleared is throat. “I don’t know what to say. I thought you lot were angry with me; I know I was a real prick at times during production and recording.”

“Oh, you were,” Noodle agreed readily. “But your appreciation for what we are as a band was always there. You took Gorillaz in a slightly new direction, sometimes making us worry about you a little bit with how you acted—”

“You made us worry a lot, actually,” Russel interjected.

“But overall, you worked your butt off. And it was an honor to be there with you. 2D…Stu, congratulations on what you did from the time we left Spirt House to travel to the time we got back here.”

“Yeah, man. You did a great job. You really proved yourself as a musician. Can’t wait to see what we create as a band next.”

Stu’s grip tightened on the figurine then, and for just a moment, he feared he might cry in front of them like a baby.

Then, Murdoc’s hand shot out, touched his wrist. The singer met his gaze, saw the trepidation there.

“I really missed a lot,” he admitted, his voice just a little gruffer than usual. “Think you can stand to write an album again…with me around this time?”

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, knocked his wrist softly against the bassist’s hand. “Of course,” he answered, embarrassed to find his own voice was rather gruff at the moment too. “We’ve only just begun, old man. Hope you can keep up.”

“Good answer, because I would’ve flown back to England to start writing with or without you,” he said, smirking.

“Like hell you would,” he chuckled, cleared his throat. “You need my pretty face to make the magic happen, don’t you?”

“Well that’s why we got him!” Murdoc exclaimed, pointing to the figurine.

“Ha, ha,” Stu reached out, took the cigarette from Murdoc’s hand, the one he’d lit and then let go mostly to waste smoldering. He took a long drag, exhaled the smoke into the bassist’s face. Even a year ago, the move might have been seen as aggressive, a display of power or ill will. Now, Murdoc only grinned as though he sincerely couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. “Let’s get a move-on then. We have to figure out where we want to go for dinner, right?”

He held the plastic version of himself in front of the bassist’s face and gave it a high-pitched voice: “I’m hungry, Muds!”

Murdoc’s face again split into a wide, genuine smile. It was a new thing, being able to make him look like that so easily. The singer found that he quite liked this new ability he’d gained.

“Can’t have our littlest member wasting away then, can we?” He asked, throwing an arm around Stu’s shoulders and guiding him back towards the house. “Let’s let the toy decide on where we’re eating!”

Stu cradled the figurine to his chest and let his gaze drift from Noodle to Russel to Murdoc. After their tumultuous run, he still had his family here with him. He couldn’t wait to get back to England.

They had serious business to get down to.

[shadow-assassin-blix]

Blix walked into her apartment after a long day of working with Gotham's Crime Lords. Or rather what was left of them since the Dent Act. Blix sighed as she took off her jacket and shoes. Something felt off though, as she stood near her front door. She vaguely heard someone breathing and moving about in her living room. Blix quietly pulls out the knife she kept hidden in her jacket, before flinging it out toward her intruder with deadly accuracy. She flicked on the lights quickly, and sighed heavily when she saw Barsad standing before her holding the knife between two fingers.

"You've improved greatly, little fox, I almost didn't catch this," He praised before throwing the knife onto the couch next to him.

"Why are you here Barsad?" She asked with a tired sigh.

"Need your help, m'dear. Don't know if ye heard but Bane and Talia have taken over the League, and we are trying to get justice over the attempted murder of Ra's," Barsad informed her as he took a seat at the island in her kitchen.

Blix blinked, "Attempted? Pretty sure he had a subway line shoved up his ass. Thats dead. Unless you are telling me he somehow survived that."

"Eloquent as always, Miss Lage, but yes. I did indeed survive," Ra's voice came as he slowly stepped out of the shadows of her hallway. As he stood in her living room other members came out of the shadows of the various rooms in her home.

"How fortunate for you. Now, why exactly are you invading my home?" She asked as she walked over to her fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

"As Barsad stated, we need all the help we can get. You have made quite the network of allies in the criminal underworld here in Gotham, as well as maintaining a line in Gotham's wealthiest members. We need to use someone to fund our operations. Can you think of anyone who could be easily manipulated into our services?" Ra's asked as stood before her.

Blix thought for a moment before answering, "Daggett. Hates Wayne like its going out of style. Would literally do anything to try and buy out Wayne Enterprises. Likes to feel in control. Make it seem like parts of the scheme were his ideas. When his usefulness run out, no one will miss him. Not even his assistant."

Ra's smiled a bit and said, "Good to see that your efforts here have not been wasted. Now that is out of the way, go pack a bag. You are coming with us."

Blix rolled her eyes and mumbled as she walked towards her room, "I see you haven't changed much. Sure, no problem, I'll just go pack a bag. S'not like a I have life here or anything, or any plans or whatever. But sure. I'll go pack. Where? Don't know. But I'm sure I won't like it."

She walked into her bedroom, making her way to her closet to grab her bag with her gear, and a duffle bag to pack other clothes. Barsad wandered in behind her, and leaned against her door, quietly watching.

"Where exactly are we going?" She asked as grabbed a couple pair of jeans.

"South Africa," he replied.

"You're joking, right?" She asked angrilly, paused midway into grabbing some shirts.

"I know. Your favorite place, right? Listen. Its one of the few places where we can operate freely with no one asking questions. You know this. I know that our history there has not been.... great, but-"

She interrupted him, "'Has not been great?' You mean when your ex-fiance had me whipped for stealing something I didn't take? Or when your mother, YOUR OWN MOTHER, tried to curse me? Or how everytime we go there, I get shot? I am really tired of getting shot, Barsad. I have a damn good life here. Know why? Because here I'm not getting shot at constantly. Because here, I am not considered your plus one, the distraction, the damsel in the distress. I have worked my ass off for the respect I have here and I will not have you or Ra's or any of the rest of the merry band of psychos of the League ruin that. God. I have been here for 2 years and not once have you ever come to see me. You finally show up and you drop this bullshit on my lap. And I'm supposed to what? Be a good girl and follow along without a complaint?"

"In a word? Yes," He said shortly. "We left you to your own devices for good reason. You know how to blend in. You know how to manipulate and wheel & deal. No one bothered you because you know this city better than any one else in the League. As for me, I seem to recall YOU leaving MY room and never coming back. So, I don't think you are the one who should be upset."

"You know why I left, Barsad. I asked you to leave with me and you chose them over me. You chose some misguided glory over a person who actually gave a damn about you," Blix quietly lamented. "You were the one who left me no choice."

Blix sighed heavily and continued packing her things. "So exactly how long am I going to be trapped in Hell? I need to know because I do actually have work here ya know?" She questioned annoyed

"A couple of months, at the least," Barsad answered before asking, "Tell me something. Did Falcone really leave his criminal empire to you?"

"Unfortunately, between that and being an event organizer for the rich and fabulous, I have seen the full spectrum of arrogance and greed. Its... tiring," she admitted grabbing her bag of weaponry before declaring she was ready to go.

Barsad snorted at her and grabbed one of her bags before walking back out into the living room with her. Blix made some phone calls on their trip to the airport to get things set up for remote access and have her second in command to temporarily take over for the time being, while being on call for any problems. It took about 20 minutes to finish up and by that time they had reached the airport and were walking towards the private jet owned by Ra's.

As we stepped in we were greeted by the sight of a hulking figure looking over maps. "Hello Bambi, how are you doing?" Blix asked as she stepped up beside him.

"Hello little fox. I am well. I hear you've done quite yourself. Being named the Falcone heir must have been quite the honor?" Bane politely asked.

"If having the world's largest target on my back for week's on end after that little annoucement was made because men cannot handle taking orders from a woman, than yes. It was quite an honor. It was surprising to say the least. I figured he would have given it to one of his buddies but no. He gives it to me, the person who honestly has no clue how to run an empire," Blix replied bitterly. "So what are our plans for world domination?"

"Not the world. Not yet at least. Just Gotham for now," Ra's replied omniously.

[theundercovermarvelfan]

(Trying to get back in to writing by catching up with the Whumptober Challenge for @whumptober2019!)

Alternate prompt for today!

Day Twenty-One - Breathless

You’re just lucky they want to take you in alive, Clint thought bitterly as he ducked a punch and barely got his bow around to block the knife coming at him from the other side. 

“You are a fool, Hawkeye,” Zane Maddox hissed. “Coming here alone? Thinking that you could take me on alone?” 

As if on cue, the building suddenly shook with the force from a small explosion. As Clint held the knife at bay, he grinned. “Who said I came alone? I’m just here to keep you occupied.” 

A horrified look consumed Maddox’s face as he realized what was happening. Clint seized the opportunity to take the upper hand, shoving Maddox back and sending him stumbling. Clint pushed his advantage, pursuing the man and using his bow as a staff and forcing Maddox to use his knife defensively to keep from getting pummeled. 

“You are done, Maddox,” Clint growled. “That explosion means that Stark finished hacking your systems, and the rest of the Avengers are laying waste to your weapons. The only reason that you’re still alive is to make sure we get every last one of your snake holes.” 

“You will pay!” Maddox shrieked as he blocked Clint’s bow with his knife and made a wild swing with his other fist, a frenzied look in his eyes. 

The sudden shift of the man’s demeanor threw Clint off balance, and he used his forearm against his bow in order to shove Maddox away again. Clint took several defensive steps back in order to get some space to regain himself and drew an arrow. If Maddox wasn’t going to back down easily, Clint might have to explore the “damaged but alive” contingency that they had discussed during the briefing. 

What Clint hadn’t anticipated… was the gun. Maddox was a cruel man who enjoyed using knives to do his dirty work, because he liked to be up close and personal. So, when he suddenly brandished a gun from a hidden holster under his jacket, Clint needed a few seconds to adjust. But he didn’t get those few seconds. 

Shots rang out immediately followed by an explosion of pain that ripped from the middle of his chest. The world tipped wildly around him and he went sprawling to the ground. Clint’s brain whited out in agony for just a split second, but he forcefully dragged himself back to reality, his ingrained survival instincts taking over. 

Ignoring the pain that tore at his every nerve, he twisted and pulled himself up as much as he could into a defensive position. Without a conscious thought, he nocked the arrow in his hand on his bow, but when he went to draw it the pain almost sent him spiralling into oblivion again. He snapped off the shallow shot to buy him a precious few seconds. As Maddox lunged backward, Clint yanked his sidearm out and fired two shots, taking out each of Maddox’s kneecaps. Maddox went to the ground with a spray of blood and agonized screams. 

Clint’s muscles all released at once, sending him back down to the ground as he gasped in several shallow breaths as he tried to catch up with what had happened. He… had been shot? Right? His hands went to his chest, but even just that small movement caused the pain to skyrocket. 

“Thor, Stark, contain Maddox. Clint! Clint, are you okay?”

Clint blinked in confusion, unsure what was happening until Steve’s face suddenly entered his field of vision. The team was here. He should be relieved, but all he could think about was the horrible pain that was trying to consume him. 

“Clint?” Steve was suddenly gone and Natasha immediately took his place. She was pale, looking him over frantically. 

“I… maybe… got shot?” Clint said between gasps for breath, his hands now desperately searching his chest for the wet blood that had to be there. 

“Stop, let me,” Natasha said briskly, knocked his hands away impatiently. She quickly undid the clasp for Clint’s quiver, pushing the straps out of her way. Then she pulled the zipper on his outer uniform to reveal his Kevlar vest underneath. Natasha’s hands went to his chest, and even just the light pressure from her searching fingers caused a hoarse groan to claw its way up Clint’s throat. 

“Your Kevlar is dented, but I don’t think it went through,” Natasha reported cautiously. Her brow furrowed. “There are several dents. Jesus, were you playing target practice in here?”

Clint made a pained, coughing noise that was supposed to be a laugh, but didn’t come anywhere close. “Turns out he’s… he’s a decent shot.” 

“Okay, we need to get this vest off before we move him,” Natasha said firmly. “See what we’re really dealing with here.” 

“You guys got this?” came Tony’s voice from somewhere beyond Clint’s small world, which at the moment only existed within his line of sight. “As much as I’d like to watch him slowly bleed out, we need to get Maddox into custody, we unfortunately still need the bastard.”

“Yeah, get Maddox to Interpol,” Steve said. “And brief Bruce on the situation, we’ll get Clint out to the Quinjet after we assess the damage.” 

Natasha was already reaching for Clint’s vest, peeling back the velcro strap on one side, causing Clint to wince at the way it pulled at him. Steve did the same on his other side. Then they were carefully lifting the heavy Kevlar vest up and off of his chest… and for several long moments the only this Clint could concentrate on was the blessed air flooding abused lungs. It was a dizzying mix of relief and anguish. 

“Well, you’re gonna be bruised to hell, but it looks like the Kevlar did it’s job,” Natasha said with a sigh of relief. 

“This bruising is already pretty bad,” Steve said. “He could have some fractured ribs.”

“We can’t do much about that here,” Natasha pointed out. “Let’s get him back to the jet and let Bruce take a look.” 

Steve threaded his arm behind Clint’s shoulders, slowly lifting his upper body as Clint moaned and gasped in pain. He let Clint sit for a minute, struggling to regain his composure. Finally, Clint looked at Steve and gave a small nod. Steve ducked under one of Clint’s arms and the leveraged him up to his feet, Natasha steadying him on his other side. Despite the two of them going as slowly and gently as possible, the pain was still horrible and left Clint gasping desperately for breath as his chest protested the movements. 

“Clint?” Steve said worriedly.

“Just… go,” Clint panted. No use in waiting on him when this wasn’t showing any signs of improving. 

The trip through the building a blur to Clint. Every movement was agonizing, but he determinedly put one foot in front of the other as best as he could as he was supported by Steve and Natasha. 

“How’s he doing?” Bruce’s voice floating to him through the fog of pain was a comfort. 

“The bullets didn’t pierce his vest, but he’s still in a lot of pain,” Natasha reported as Steve helped Clint lay on a cot in the back of the Quinjet. “He also started to wheeze, like he’s not getting enough air.”

“He was shot in the middle of his chest?” Bruce asked as he knelt next to Clint, studying his bare chest. 

“There were several dents in his Kevlar,” Natasha said. “I’d say he got shot three or four times by a high powered firearm at close distance. All clustered around the middle of his chest.” 

“Clint?” Bruce prompted, looking at him expectantly. 

“Soun’s… righ’…” Clint managed to ground out. The air in the jet seemed so much thin all of a sudden and the world blurred around him. 

“Okay, Clint, it looks like you’ve got a pneumothorax,” Bruce said as he disappeared from Clint’s line of sight. Clint heard him rummaging through medical supplies. “You’re going to be fine, but I need to place a chest tube to release the pressure. It’ll make it easier for you to breath.”

Natasha appeared above Clint’s head, placing a gentle hand on each side of his head in order to provide support. Clint looked up at her and allowed his fear to show through his eyes. It felt like his lungs were strangling themselves and it was getting so hard to breath. 

“It’s okay,” Natasha told him quietly. “Bruce is going to fix you right up.”

“Here, get that on him,” Bruce said, and the next thing Clint knew, Natasha was slipping an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. “Sorry, Clint, but we have to do this right now, we don’t have time for painkillers. It’ll only hurt for a minute though.” 

Bruce working on the side of his chest drew Clint’s gaze down, but Natasha put her hand under his chin to stop him from seeing what was happening. “Don’t look,” she told him quietly. 

He reached up his arm on his free side to put it over the hand that Natasha had on the side of his head, hoping to absorb some of her calm composure. There was a sharp pain in his side… and then a harder, sharper pain that caused him to yelp hoarsely. 

“Okay, try to take a few deep breaths, Clint,” Bruce instructed. 

Clint tentatively did as he was told, wary of the pain that promised to intensify. But though his chest still protested any and all movement, he found that he was able to breathe a little deeper than before. Over the next few minutes, his breath started to come much easier and Clint finally started to relax a bit. 

“I’m going to give you some morphine to help with the pain,” Bruce told him just before there was a pinch in his arm. “You’ll still need medical attention, so this will keep you comfortable until we can get you back to the Tower.” 

“You’re a lot of work, Clint,” Natasha said teasingly as the warmth of the morphine lulled Clint into a deep sleep.