#it’s easier to clean the shit off the walls if the house isn’t burning

[katistrophe]

This fucking sucks. But please, don’t do the work of the fuckers who want you dead for them.

And to everyone in countries where elections are coming up: VOTE.

[starryhyuck]

just like magic. (m)

pairing: fuckboy!jaehyun x fuckgirl!reader

words: 4k+

summary: jung jaehyun’s body count is almost as high as yours. however, after yuta spreads a nasty rumor, you learn that jaehyun’s always imagined those girls to be you instead.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: multiple sex partners, public sex, sex on the roof, multiple orgasms, degradation, wall sex, creampie

Your head rests on the bathroom mirror, inhaling and exhaling loudly as Mingyu finds a wipe to clean you up.

“Ugh. I can’t believe we did it in Bambam’s gross bathroom.”

Mingyu chuckles, the deep sound echoing in the small space. “Please. Don’t act like you’re so disgusted now.” You roll your eyes at his comment while he cleans the cum smeared on the inside of your thighs. “Besides, it’s not like you were having fun at the party anyways.”

You shrug and jump down from the sink, straightening out your skirt and trying to look somewhat presentable.

“True,” you murmur, fixing your hair in the mirror. “Jungkook couldn’t come tonight so it was way easier to find you.”

He scoffs. “As if Jungkook could fuck you better than me.”

You laugh and find the lipgloss sitting at the bottom of your bag. “Oh, he can. He’s not a little gym rat for nothing, you know.”

Mingyu huffs, leaning down to pull your panties back up and straightening your skirt. This scene isn’t unfamiliar to the both of you, although doing it in Bambam’s bathroom certainly was. You’re pretty sure Bambam smoked a shit ton of weed before his party started, and Mingyu opens the bathroom window to release some of the odor.

“See you in 104. Did you finish the extra credit paper already?”

You shook your head, opening the bathroom door and hearing the lively party continue downstairs.

“Nope, not planning to,” you give him one last kiss on the cheek. “Nice fuck, Gyu. Tell Jungkook to show up next time.”

He rolls his eyes again and you two depart, almost toppling over as you bump into Jung Jaehyun on the stairs. His arm quickly slides around your waist to prevent you from falling. He smiles at you.

“How was Mingyu?”

“How was Jennie?”

He chuckles. “Good. As always. You really have to start expanding your little black book. Mingyu and Jungkook aren’t always going to be around, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow and step away from him, shooing his arm away from you. “You don’t think I have backups, silly? Doyoung is at my beck and call, I assure you.”

He smirks, raising his red solo cup to you. “If you ever need me.”

You dismiss him, walking down the stairway of Bambam and Yugyeom’s place. You and Jaehyun had always been similar in many ways, especially in the way you ‘connect’ with other people. If you two ever had a body count competition, it would surely have Johnny’s head spinning all night at the numbers. You never fucked Jaehyun, however, simply because you had no desire to. You’ve known Jaehyun for as long as you’ve known Mingyu, but the only personality trait you’ve ever deducted from Jaehyun was that he’s excellent in bed.

That, and the fact that during your first year of college, Yuta spread some rumor that Jaehyun masturbates to the thought of you.

No big deal.

You find Minghao and Sicheng speaking in the kitchen, and you whine when you clutch Minghao’s arm.

“I’m tired, Hao.”

“You leave us to go fuck Mingyu for a hour and now you want to go home?”

You can hear the condescending tone in Minghao’s voice and you do your best to ignore it. You offer him your best toothy grin. “Come on, designated driver. You’re not even doing anything remotely fun!”

“Hey!” Sicheng interjects. “We were actually just talking.”

You lean over to pinch his cheeks and Sicheng nearly growls at you.

“You’re cute, but you and Minghao talk all the time. Nothing new. Plus, all of us are roommates, dumbass! We could talk at home any time we want to.”

“Fine, fine,” Minghao concedes, laying his cup down on the kitchen counter. You ignore the fact that Yugyeom’s tongue is shoved down some girl’s throat only five feet away from all of you. “Did you already clean yourself up? I don’t want any of Mingyu’s germs in my car.”

“Are we sure it was Mingyu?” Sicheng counters. “It could’ve been Jungkook or Doyoung or Wonwoo or Jinyoung or-“

“Alright, alright,” you glare at him. “And yes, it was Mingyu. He already cleaned me up so you won’t get any Gyu germs.”

“Good.”

Minghao still has trouble trusting you after that one time you wore a skirt with no panties and let Kun’s cum spill all over Minghao’s front seat. Sicheng is still extremely traumatized from the situation.

You exit the house party with your roommates, almost stopping at the sight of Kunhang looking like a fucking dream near the speakers-

“Come on, you horny asshole,” Sicheng grunts, pushing you out the door.

—

“Did you hear the news?”

Your eyes flutter at the sight of Nakamoto Yuta, who is leaning over your desk, smiling. You sigh and decide to entertain him.

“What is it now, Yuta?”

“A little birdy told me that a certain Jung Jaehyun has fallen for Mingyu’s girl,” Yuta’s smirk widens when you furrow your eyebrows.

“Mingyu has a girlfriend?”

He huffs. “You, dumbass.”

You giggle at the thought of dating Mingyu and roll your eyes. “You’re full of shit, Nakamoto.”

He stands straight, his figure towering over you. You peek your head out to see if the lecture has started yet so Yuta can get the fuck away from you.

“Then why did I hear Jaehyun calling your name when he was getting his dick wet this morning?”

The accusation has your eyebrows raising. You barely know Jaehyun, only from fleeting stories from Mingyu and Jungkook. You also know that Yuta’s always full of shit, spreading rumors about various people just because he can.

“Get your head out of your ass, Yuta.”

He laughs at your dismissive nature, leaning in again. There’s a troublesome glint in his eyes.

“And what if I told you Mingyu said Jaehyun’s loved you since you were five?”

You challenge him. “I would say that the cum in Miyeon’s panties say otherwise.”

He smiles and steps back when the professor finally enters the room.

“Whatever you want to believe.”

That conversation with Yuta was three years ago. He’s graduated long since, but the rumor about Jaehyun still pops up here and there. Jaehyun never addressed it with you, and when you asked Mingyu about it once, he just laughed.

“A lot of guys on campus jack off to the thought of you. Are you surprised?”

You think about the memory as you watch Soojin straddle Jaehyun, her hair falling over the side of her face as she leans in to kiss him. The rest of the party ignores them, mainly focused on how Bambam is nearly toppling over trying to do a keg stand.

A hand slides around your waist and you feel someone’s lips attach to your neck.

“Gyu told me you were looking for me the other day,” Jungkook murmurs lowly in your ear. “Did you miss me?”

You smile when you feel his fingers inch closer to your breast, hands roaming all over your body.

“Yes. Your absence made me fuck Mingyu in Bambam’s germ-covered bathroom.”

He chuckles lowly, and the sound shoots straight to your core.

“I’m here now, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

Your eyes drift upwards again, startled to find Jaehyun already gazing at you. Soojin’s sucking at his neck, but his eyes are locked on you, watching the way Jungkook paws at your breast.

Yuta’s voice rings in your ears. Jaehyun’s loved you since you were five.

You push the thought away as Jungkook’s mouth envelops yours. Jaehyun couldn’t love you, Yuta was just full of shit.

—

“You’re late.”

You narrow your eyes at Mingyu, who brushes off the time. He promised to meet up with you yesterday to finish your project for 104 and give you a quick lunch time fuck. You’re a little disheartened to see he’s tugged Doyoung and Jaehyun along.

“Don’t be so upset, frowning doesn’t look good on you,” Mingyu teases, sliding in the chair across from you. Doyoung sits next to him, and Jaehyun awkwardly takes the spot next to you. “We were just playing a little basketball outside. The time slipped my mind.”

“Well, I guess it slips my mind that I’m supposed to fuck you before your next class.”

Doyoung laughs and seizes the opportunity. “I, on the other hand, never promised anything and my schedule is conveniently free for the whole day.” He winks at you, his gums showing brightly as he smiles.

You smirk when Mingyu elbows him in the side. Jaehyun is oddly quiet and you turn to face him while Mingyu hisses at Doyoung.

“I saw you and Soojin getting it on last weekend. How was it?”

He smiles tightly. “Good, as always. Jungkook per usual?”

You nod. “The little gym rat won’t stop exercising. He was talking to me about his routine all night. I almost just got myself off instead.”

Something flickers in Jaehyun’s gaze, and it’s gone so quickly that you might’ve missed it.

“I can’t imagine why that would be preferred, especially when you have most of the male population lining up to get a taste of you.”

There’s a hidden implication in his words, and you take the chance.

“Are you part of that male population?”

He smirks at your question. Before he has a chance to answer, Mingyu’s voice fills your ears again.

“Anyways, my dorm is free and I can afford to miss my next class. Wanna head up? Promise I’ll go down on you as an apology.”

You scoff at Mingyu’s half-assed proposal, and stand to leave. “I’ll pass. Get a watch next time if you want your dick wet. I’m assuming you’re going to finish most of our project since I was waiting here for over a hour.”

Mingyu frowns. “But-“

“But?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

His shoulders slump. “Fine. I’ll finish the damn project.”

You lean over to pinch his cheeks. “Good Mingyu. I’ll see all of you at Minghao’s birthday bash.”

You depart without another word, ignoring the burn of Jaehyun’s stare. When you arrive back to your apartment, Minghao is organizing his wine cabinet while Sicheng talks to Tzuyu at the kitchen counter. You sigh and throw your bag across the island.

“Boys are dumb.”

Tzuyu laughs. “Did Mingyu forget what time it is again?”

“As always,” you confirm, searching for anything consumable in your fridge. As expected, no one’s gone grocery shopping in a week. Guess you’ll have to raid Wonwoo’s apartment tonight.

Sicheng huffs. “Good. I don’t need you getting any more Mingyu germs before Minghao’s party tomorrow.”

“And what does Hao’s party have anything to do with me getting laid?” Sicheng rolls his eyes at your question, and you smile sweetly at him. You decide to favor the leftover pieces of ham sitting at the back of the fridge. “Tzuyu, back me up here. Didn’t you have a good time with Jaehyun two weeks ago?”

Tzuyu’s cheeks flush as she recalls what you’re referring to. At Jungwoo’s party, she and Jaehyun were practically fucking each other in the middle of the living room.

“I guess. He was weird about some things.”

You frown, removing the lid off of the container and shoving a piece of ham in your mouth. “Like what?”

She looks embarrassed to be talking about such intimate things in front of Sicheng, but your roommate is unbothered. He’s heard enough of your escapades to be unfazed by any mentions of sex.

“He didn’t want to look at me when we did it. He told me I had to face the pillow or else he couldn’t cum that way.”

You shrug. “So he likes it from behind. Nothing too weird about that. Which way do you prefer, Sicheng?”

He glares at you. “None of your business.”

You giggle at how cute he is before Tzuyu continues. “I mean, it wasn’t just that. He didn’t really like it when I made noises. I had to be as quiet as possible.”

“Ugh, that’s fucked. Guys can grunt in the nastiest ways possible but they hate it when we make an ounce of noise. I hope you’re not that way, Sicheng.”

His glare burns. “None. Of. Your. Business.”

“Yeah, it was weird. He’s really good in bed though.”

You chuckle. “I would hope so. Anyways, who’s on the guest list for tomorrow night?”

Sicheng sighs, and you wonder if he thinks about moving out and living with a less horny roommate.

“Basically anyone you’ve fucked before since you’ve slept with all of Hao’s friends.”

You frown. “That’s not fun. I like someone new once in a while.”

“No funny business at Minghao’s party, I mean it. We can’t be cutting his cake while you’re getting railed in your room.”

You boop his nose. “No promises.”

—

Sicheng’s done this on purpose.

All of the men at Minghao’s party have flocked away from you, like Sicheng sent them all a mass text before the party started or something. You tried to slide up to Mingyu but then he was quickly taking the offer to do body shots with someone else. It’s as if you would bite all their dicks off with the way they’re running from you.

It’s the middle of the party when you grow tired of hearing Jieqiong’s banter with Jun.

You step out of the apartment for a few minutes and head up to the roof, arms wrapping around yourself to shield from the cold. You know you should’ve went to Wonwoo yesterday, especially since Sicheng has apparently made it a no fuck zone for tonight.

You jump when you feel a jacket moving over your shoulders. You’re even more startled to see Jaehyun next to you.

“Oh, hey. When did you get here?”

He smiles, and it hurts your eyes a little by how pretty he is.

“About a hour ago. I’m not surprised you didn’t notice, considering I could feel your rage from five feet away.”

You laugh dryly. “Did Sicheng send you a text too?”

“No, but Mingyu told me about it. I assume he only sent it to the guys you’ve slept with before.”

You nod. “Yeah, probably. I’m off limits to all males tonight.”

The two of you stand together in silence, gazing out at the view of your city. You’ve never felt an urge to get an answer from Jaehyun before about Yuta’s rumor, but now that he’s here, it’s all you can think about.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about the rumor Yuta spread around in freshman year?”

His back stiffens. The seconds pass in a deafening thump, and you’re starting to feel like you shouldn’t have brought it up.

He finally sighs. “How long have we known each other?”

You blink. Did he really have to respond to a question with another question?

You think back to when you first met Jaehyun and Mingyu. You were only five then, and you screamed in the middle of the classroom because Mingyu had spilled paint all over the front of your shirt. You remember Jaehyun handing you a wipe to clean yourself up, ears bright red.

You grin at the memory. “Since I found out Mingyu was the clumsiest kid on earth.”

He chuckles. “You never really saw it, did you?”

“Saw what?”

You’re even more confused by Jaehyun’s vague ass answers. He averts his gaze from you, and you suddenly feel a lot colder on this rooftop.

“How much I liked you.”

The statement causes you to freeze. So Yuta was right - Jung Jaehyun has loved you since you were five. Still, it doesn’t make any sense. You’ve been fucking Mingyu since high school and Jaehyun never seemed bothered by it, considering he and Mingyu were still best friends. In fact, you’ve been in bed with most of his friend group and he’s never said a word about it. His friends never even mention his liking for you, so you have to assume that they don’t know of it either.

As if he could sense your rampant thoughts running wild, he squashes them.

“I thought you loved Mingyu. I thought that when the two of you first started sleeping together, it would develop into something more. It’s why I never said anything to him. He knew, but I’m sure he thought I didn’t mind.”

You’re baffled. You don’t even know how to respond to this newfound information. Maybe you should’ve stayed downstairs at the party.

“Mingyu is an asshole,” you finally conclude. Jaehyun’s shoulders relax when you speak. “And so am I. I swear, I didn’t know, Jaehyun. I would’ve-“

“You would’ve stopped seeing Mingyu? And Jungkook? And Doyoung, and Wonwoo, and-“

“Okay, okay,” you raise a hand up to stop him before glaring. “You’re not entirely innocent either. I’m friends with most of the girls you’ve slept with too.”

His eyes darken. “And have you asked them what it’s like to be with me? How I have to turn them over and imagine it’s you before I can get hard? How I have to keep them quiet because their moans are too loud or simply because it doesn’t sound like you?” How-“

“Jaehyun,” you whisper, feeling like the wind has gotten knocked out of your chest. You’re also trying to ignore the wetness that’s pooled in your underwear. “Are you saying-“

“I’m saying that I’ve been running circles around you since we were five and you’ve never noticed. I’ve had to hear countless nights of Mingyu and Jungkook talking about how sweet your pussy is when they slide into you. How pretty you are when you’re stuffing their cocks far down your throat. How you let them take you anywhere, any time, because you enjoy it as much as they do.”

You swallow. He’s inches away from you now, hands dancing around your waist carefully. You quickly check the time.

One hour before Minghao cuts his cake. That should be enough.

You grab the fabric of Jaehyun’s shirt, pulling him to you as his lips crash into yours. He grunts, gripping your sides and pressing you against the railing. Your eyes glance down briefly to see how high up you two are.

“Drop me and I’ll kill you.”

He laughs, chasing you again and quickly moving to undress you. You ignore the goosebumps rising on your arms when Jaehyun nips at your neck, fingers dipping into your panties. “So pretty,” he murmurs, licking a stripe across your collarbones. You moan when he slides a finger into your heat. “That’s it, baby. Sound so fucking good.”

He slips another finger in, basking in the glory of your moans. “We have to hurry,” you mumble breathily. “Sicheng will come looking if he knows I’m gone for too long. It’s like he can sense when I’m fucking someone.”

Jaehyun laughs, moving back up to kiss you. “He can watch if he wants to then.”

“I wanna-“ you gasp when he curls his fingers. “I wanna suck you off.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. He’s fingering you faster now, and you can hear the squelch of your wetness fill the air. You gasp, desperately holding onto his forearm. “I’ll fuck your mouth next time, I promise. I need to see you cum now.”

You unravel in no time, moaning loudly as you fall apart on Jaehyun’s fingers. He coaxes you through your orgasm, murmuring praises in your ear. You whimper when he pulls away from you, licking up the remaining essence on his fingers.

“Jaehyun,” you say frantically, pawing at him. “I need you inside me.”

You turn over so that your back is facing him, and you think he’s about to slide your underwear down but instead, he swivels you around.

“Need to see you,” he whispers. “Jump.”

You do as he says, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing him with much more fervor. You moan when his hands grip your sides roughly, pressing you against the concrete. You sit on the ledge of the rooftop, trying to ignore the genuine fear of falling.

He’s quickly shoving his jeans down his thighs and you whimper.

“Hurry, Jae.”

“Fuck, baby. I’m here, I’m right here,” he hisses, pulling out his cock and giving it a few strokes. Your eyes widen at the size — he was surely bigger and thicker than Mingyu or Jungkook. He chuckles at your stare, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Bigger than what you normally have?”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t tell me you idiots had a dick measuring contest.”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

Then, he’s pushing your panties to the side and sliding into you. You gasp, his fingers roughly gripping you in place to make sure you don’t fall. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, thrusting rapidly as soon as he feels you.

“Good little slut,” he grunts. “So pretty and pliant for me. Is my cock too big for you to take, baby?”

“You’re gonna fucking,” you pant, whining when his cock hits you deeper. “You’re gonna fucking split me in half, asshole.”

He grins mischievously. “That’s the goal.”

You’re so lost in the feeling of him that the both of you fail to hear the door to the rooftop open. You’re startled when Sicheng’s voice booms in the air.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! We haven’t even cut the cake yet!”

“Sicheng, I-“ you shamelessly whimper when Jaehyun hits your sweet spot, not slowing down in the slightest despite Sicheng watching. “W-We’ll be d-down before Hao c-cuts the cake.”

“Horny assholes,” you hear your roommate mutter before the door to the rooftop is closing again.

Jaehyun chortles. “He should’ve sent that text to me too if he was so concerned.”

“Fuck him,” you groan. “And fuck me harder.”

He listens to your command, pushing into you so deep that you almost fall off the ledge. You scream as your upper body dangles off the rooftop, but you can hear Jaehyun’s giggle. Your fear is overtaken by arousal when you realize his cock is hitting you deeper in this position.

“Cum, cum,” you whisper. “I’m cumming.”

He groans when you tighten around him, convulsing around his cock. When you recover, he’s hoisting you back up, bringing your chest to his as he carries you. You have no idea where he’s going, but with every step, his cock slides deeper into your soaking cunt.

The door to the rooftop is opening again and you realize you’re in the stairwell.

“Get down, hands on the railing.”

You shakily follow his command, ignoring the wobble of your legs as you grip the metal bars. He’s pushing into you again before you can take a breath.

“I-I thought you needed to see me,” you say, your back turned to him.

“You’re right.”

Then, he’s pushing you against the wall with force and abusing your pussy. You practically scream, clawing at his back while he pounds you into the wall.

“Do you want to know exactly what Yuta heard three years ago?” He groans against your neck. You can barely form coherent sentences, and you’re pretty sure you had another orgasm that you haven’t even revived from. “He heard me desperately fucking my cock into my hand, whimpering your name. All I could imagine that day was the little short dress you wore to Yugyeom’s party, and how Jungkook’s hands were all over you as soon as you stepped through the door. I fucking came so hard that I had to wash my sheets before Mingyu came back to the dorm.”

“Jaehyun, Jaehyun,” you whisper frantically. You’re unraveling again — cumming around his cock while he fucks you hard. “Cum with me. Inside, cum inside. Please, please.”

He grunts lowly. “Yeah? You want my cum? What about the rest of them — how many of them have spilled inside you?”

“I’ll keep it in,” you promise him, just wanting your hole to be filled. “I’ll walk around Hao’s party with your cum dripping down my thighs. How does that sound?”

And he’s groaning, giving one final thrust before he empties inside of you. You gasp at how much cum he has to give you, some of it spilling down your lips and onto the floor.

The both of you are panting lowly, trying to recover from your orgasms. You faintly hear a chorus of people singing Happy Birthday two floors down.

“Fuck, Sicheng’s gonna kill us.”

[cdroloisms]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

Hi! I'm the anon that asked for any requests you are comfortable or not with, first of all, thanks for answer my question! And second, would you be so kind to write about a male villain confessing his feelings to a female hero with some sexual tension in the middle and then if you want that the thing ends up in something nsfw, please?^^

Request #24

Warning: nsfw.

Man, this one came out long, but I'm hella happy with it! Also, having the characters have different genders really made the writing easier, so I'm probably gonna be doing that more often, lmao.

Enjoy, dear anon!

~~~~

"Ugh! Why are you like this?!" - Hero exclaimed, frustrated as she threw another punch in the villain's direction. He dodged it with ease and caught her wrist, swiftly bringing her closer and landing a hit on her face.

Disoriented, the hero couldn't do anything as Villain pinned her against the wall, her arms held above her head. They were both panting, gasping for air from the exhausting fight that had led them to this point. She tugged at her wrists, trying to break free, but his grip was unyielding.

"Why am I like what?" - the villain asked, making Hero's blood boil even more.

"Don't play dumb!" - she growled out, snarling angrily. "You've been doing this shit for weeks now!"

Before Villain could question her more, the hero lunged her head forward and bit him on the face, catching him off guard. His grip loosened, and his nemesis was quick to take advantage of it. She freed her arms, grasped onto him, and threw them both to the ground.

They thrashed around, rolling all over the dusty floor of the abandoned warehouse they were in until eventually, Hero found herself on top of her enemy, straddling his hips, pinning down his wrists on either side of his head.

Now, even more tired, they glared at each other. The woman decided to voice her frustrations further. "Every. Fucking. Day." - she started.

"Every fucking day, you've been doing whatever you can to waste my time and force me out into the field."

The villain grit his teeth. "I'm not doing this to waste your time."

"Oh, yeah? Then why-" - the hero was never able to finish talking as Villain jutted his hips and threw her off balance. He rolled them both over, swapping their places so that he was on top.

"BECAUSE I WANTED TO SEE YOU!" - the villain exclaimed without thinking, too frustrated to think twice before speaking.

She gaped at him, trying to understand his words. "You-? W-What?"

He faltered, regret starting to eat away at him. He should not have said that. He should not have said-

They switched places again. Hero was on top of Villain, and- ah, shit- he hadn't realized just how close she was- how- how intimate this felt...

A blush threatened to take over his face, but he fought against it, successfully keeping it at bay. Or at least, he was successful until the hero decided to hover her face right in front of his own.

Suspicious, she questioned, "What do you mean you 'wanted to see me?'"

"I- I uh..." - what the hell was happening?! Since when did he stutter?! He couldn't come up with a reasonable answer, and he refused to tell the truth. So, he just shut his mouth.

She waited a few more seconds, hoping he would answer. But silence and shifty eyes were all that she got.

"Villain, c'mon! What is up with you recently?" - Hero tried again, but the villain still refused to talk. He wasn't even looking at her anymore.

Annoyed, she held down his wrists with one hand while the other grabbed his chin, tilting his head and catching his attention. Their eyes locked, and she swore his pupils were more dilated than usual.

"You've just been acting so weird lately! And, I- I just-" - she stopped, furrowing her eyebrows as she got lost in thought. Was... Was Villain blushing? This was all so- so unlike him!

His pupils are wide, he doesn't want to look at her, and he said he was doing all of this because he 'wanted to see her?' What did any of this mean?! And what the hell is poking her in the-

Oh

A blush assaulted her face as the dots suddenly connected, her lips forming into a thin line as she looked down at their touching crotches.

She looked back at him. His face was even brighter, a look in his eyes.

Oh

Hero's brain scrambled to break the silence, but her words did not want to cooperate. "I- Do- Do you- Are you-"

"I like you!" - Villain blurted out. He could feel the sweat going down the side of his face as the hero above him became stunned.

"I- I really uh- really like you." - he said again.

Breaking out of her daze, she responded, "Uh... Yeah, I- I can tell."

...

Holy shit, this was awkward.

...

The hold on his chin had loosened at some point, and he looked away again. She broke the silence once more. "How long?"

He almost choked on his spit, looking back to her. "H-Huh?"

"How long have you uh... had feelings for me?"

Oooh, right.

"I- I don't know..." - he admitted. "It just... kind of... happened somewhere along the line...?"

She took a deep breath as if steeling herself for something. Oh, God, what will she say? This is the part where she calls him a weirdo and runs away, isn't it?

"It's... nice to know I'm not the only idiot around here then."

...

"What?"

Clearing her throat, Hero shily muttered, "I- I like you too."

Villain was pretty sure his brain had just short-circuited. Did- Did he hear that right?

"I- You- You like me back?"

She nodded in reply. He was still shocked that this was happening. What were they supposed to do now? Fight? He didn't really want to fight. He had some... other activities on the mind.

Sighing internally, Villain did his best to collect his thoughts. Someone had to move this conversation forward, and it seemed like the hero wouldn't be the one to do it.

"Do you... still want to fight?" - he asked. She looked at him a bit puzzled before her equally fried mind caught up. "I mean- I just... don't really feel like it anymore."

"Uh... Y-Yeah, alright." - she responded, releasing her grip and carefully moving off him so that their crotches wouldn't brush against one another. The villain sat up, and they both remained there on the ground, playing with the dust to keep themselves distracted.

...

It was quiet again. Villain almost groaned, angry with himself. He wanted to say something, but- How was he supposed to say this? It's not like he could just-

"Do you wanna fuck?" - Hero suddenly blurted out, and he sputtered, unable to respond like a functioning human being.

She panicked a bit. "S-Sorry! Uh- Too- Too forward?"

"Y-Yes! I- I mean no! I- I mean-" - he buried his face in his hands. Why was this so difficult?! He was an adult! Both of them were!

Wait- An adult, yes! Just- Think, Villain. How would a sensible adult proceed in this situation?

He uncovered his eyes, taking a look around. They were both on the ground, covered in sweat, dirt, and decades-old dust. They had gotten some good hits on each other, so they had some bruises and cuts.

So, if they were to... have sex - he still couldn't believe this was happening - the most responsible thing to do would probably be... going elsewhere...? But where? To one of their houses, perhaps?

Villain sighed audibly, catching the hero's attention. "Do you... want to come over to my place?"

Her eyes widened, and her face burned brighter at his question. He added frantically, "O-Or we could go to your place! Or- Or no place at all! We could just forget this ever happe-!"

He froze as fingers pressed against his lips, silencing him. He looked at her again. She smiled nervously before saying, "W-We can't forget about this. We could try, but..."

Her eyes traveled up and down his body quickly, studying him, and he couldn't help but shiver under her gaze. "...I'm pretty sure we would both fail miserably."

She pulled her hand back, and he already missed her touch.

"So..." - she started. "...Your place...?"

"S-Sure." - Villain managed to answer. He lifted himself off the ground and offered her his hand, which she took. Upon pulling her up, their bodies lightly collided, Hero's hands landing on his chest to steady herself and one of the villain's hands catching her by the waist. They silently stood there for a moment, blushing as if they had never touched another person, before swiftly separating.

With some awkward coughs and clearing of throats, they were on the move again, working together so they wouldn't get seen.

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

"This is your house?" - the hero asked, looking around. The tension between them had eased a bit since they left the warehouse. "I won't lie, I always imagined it to be... a lot less normal than this."

Villain snorted at that. "What, were you expecting red string and cork boards?"

She didn't answer, only biting the inside of her cheek and crossing her arms, making him chuckle a bit before getting back on track. He led her through the house, arriving at a bathroom. "I think it'd be best if we got cleaned up a bit since we've been rolling around in dirt and whatnot all day."

"Why, Villain. Are you being responsible?" - Hero asked playfully. He gave her an "Oh- shush." before showing her where everything was. A smile crept onto his face regardless; he had missed their casual banter.

"Now, I have another bathroom upstairs connected to my bedroom, so once you're done, you can uh... you can join me... I guess..."

"Smooth." - she replied teasingly, getting a blush from him. "I got one more question, though."

"Yes?"

She grinned, looking forward to his reaction. "What am I supposed to wear?"

Villain seemed to freeze for a moment before it registered in his brain that Hero did not, in fact, have any spare clothing to put on. His blush worsened tenfold, and she laughed.

Through her giggles, she asked, "Do you want me to just come upstairs nake-?"

"Bathrobe! Yup! There's uh- There's one right there!" - he blurted out, not letting her finish. She looked to where he was pointing, and there was indeed a bathrobe hanging there, next to some towels.

She gave another small chuckle. "Alright."

Turning back to him, she lightly bit her lip and gave him a look, tracing a finger along his jawline. "But you better wear one too~."

Hero didn't realize a person could blush this badly. For the poor villain's sake, she kept her giggles in this time, letting him respond. "Y-You got it!"

With that, Villain left. He walked out calmly, but a few seconds later, she still heard him sprint down the hall and couldn't keep her laughter to herself.

As he moved up the stairs - way too quickly for it to be normal - he silently cursed himself. Why was he acting like such an idiot?! He had sex before! This was nothing new!

No, no, it's not that this was new or something. It wasn't his fault! It was Hero's!

Hero with her stupid smile that made his knees weak, and her dumb laughter that made his heart flutter, and- and...

...

Has Villain ever felt like this before? Has he ever... fallen for someone like this?

Perhaps before he had become the villain, but... that was a long time ago. He no longer remembered anything from that part of his life. He only remembered the now. He only remembered his fights with Hero.

As he arrived at his bedroom's bathroom, he smiled. The woman really had taken over his mind, hadn't she? She was incredible, no other like her. And amazingly enough, she returned his feelings too.

The villain stripped free of his ruined clothing and hopped into the shower. Rubbing soap onto his dirtied skin, he pondered on that thought. Did she truly feel the same way? What if this was... just some elaborate trick...?

He faltered for a moment, having not considered such an option. What if the hero wanted to catch him off guard...? While he was vulnerable...?

He shook his head. No, that couldn't be the case. He knew her. He knew how her real laughter sounded. He knew how she looked when she was acting, pretending to be happy. And this... this was no act.

Hero loved him back.

Villain knew that. His mind just enjoyed tormenting him sometimes.

As he scrubbed at his scalp and hair, he returned to the present. Hero was here, in his house, and they were basically about to have sex together. His face flushed red again as another thought crossed his mind. Who...

Who would be on top...?

...

Honestly, the villain was fine with being either but... he'd be lying if he said Hero didn't look hot as hell on top of him.

Dear Lord, he was getting turned on just thinking about how she had pinned him down earlier.

...

He really needed to get out of the shower already. Getting back on track, he fully rinsed himself and turned the water off. Hurriedly, he grabbed a towel and dried himself off. Once done with that, he wrapped himself in a bathrobe identical to the one downstairs. It was soft and warm. It helped calm him.

Taking a deep breath, he gripped the door's handle and opened it. Upon doing so, Villain was met with the sight of Hero casually lying on his bed, loosely wrapped in her bathrobe. He could see her cleavage and- shit, he was staring-

Looking away and clearing his throat, he closed the bathroom door.

"Took your sweet time in there, huh?" - she asked with that playful expression back on her face once more. The villain went to respond, but she smirked and continued. "Didn't start the fun without me, did you~?"

"N-No." - he said, and she chuckled at his nervousness. Why was he like this? This was his house and his bed that Hero was lying on! She was just being so confident and... and taking charge and...

She grinned wider, amused as she looked at his crotch. He also looked.

...

Shit.

Well, if that didn't make it obvious he was enjoying this...

...

He looked back up at Hero, and she wiggled her finger at him, beckoning him to come and join her. He silently obliged, crawling onto the bed and sitting in front of her. She was leaning against the headboard, soft pillows arranged so that they would support her back.

The hero scooted forward a bit. Feeling daring, Villain copied her and gasped as he suddenly found himself under her. She had grabbed him and switched their places before he could react, pressing him against the headboard and straddling him.

He stammered, trying to come up with something to say, but grew silent as Hero cradled his cheek. Her thumb rested on his lips as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I hope you weren't planning on being the top~?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he answered, breathless, "No... I wouldn't have this any other way..."

She grinned at him, eyes half-lidded as she tangled her hands in his hair. He sighed, relaxing under her touch as she brought their lips together in a soft kiss. Villain's arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer.

A moan hummed in his throat as Hero's hands trailed down his chest and landed on his bathrobe's belt. Slowly, teasingly, she untied it, the fabric loosening around him, letting her slip it off him, exposing his body to her.

Shivers coursed through the villain as her hands glided along his bare skin. He wanted to feel her too. His hands traced her curves, sneaking towards her belt. As his fingers brushed against it, she caught his wrists, scolding him lightly. "Ah, ah. Not allowed~."

He opened his mouth to protest, but only a gasp left him as one of her hands went to his cock. The hero's fingers brushed against it, her touch feather-light, experienced. Villain grasped at the bedsheet below them, breath coming out uneven as she slowly stroked him.

Even as she drew pleasured mewls from him, she took a moment to admire his shaft. It was a decent length, not the biggest one out there, but certainly above the average. It was just right for her, and she complimented so, whispering in his ear again, "You're the perfect size~. And it looks so nice too~."

He shuddered at her words, and she moved her face in front of him once more. Their mouths locked again, her free hand grabbing the back of his head, pulling him in. She seized his bottom lip in her teeth, nibbling on it gently. Her tongue asked for entrance, and he let her in, deepening the kiss. She explored the inside of his mouth, memorizing every nook and cranny.

Villain sucked in a sharp breath as Hero's hand stopped, and her thumb began running small circles on the tip of his dick, smearing pre-cum across it. As their lips parted again, they gasped for air. Another smile graced her features as he begged. "F-Fuck! Hero, please, can I touch you? Please."

The woman hummed, considering his plea. She adored the needy look on his face, the way his fingers twitched around the clutched bed sheets, desperate for contact. The hero gave a small chuckle. "Well, since you asked so nicely~."

With the permission given, the villain's hands immediately moved to strip her free of her robe. She laughed some more at his haste before kissing him again. Low moans left them both as they touched and teased each other. His hands trailed down her spine, making her arch into him and raising more pleasured sounds from her.

Showing her approval, Hero stroked Villain a few times, her movements swift and firm, drawing another shudder from him. They separated for air again, her hands moving up to cradle his face as she suggested, "How about we get to the fun part now~?"

His hands trailed to her hips, his mouth opened to reply, but he suddenly pulled back, looking as if he just remembered something. "Oh, hold on."

The hero watched curiously as he leaned to the side of the bed towards a nightstand. The villain opened one of the drawers and pulled something out of it. She gave an amused snort once the two objects entered her vision.

"What?" - he asked as she giggled again, looking between her, the bottle of lube and condom in his hands.

"I don't get to see you being a responsible adult very often. It's cute." - she admitted, making him blush once more without fail.

He grumbled under his breath, but the smile on his face told her there was no bite behind it. She took the small bottle from him and moved back a bit. Villain paid her no mind, focused on getting the condom out of its package and slipping it on. Once he successfully finished his task, he looked up again.

His dick twitched at the sight that greeted him. Hero was sitting on the other end of the bed, her legs spread wide as she poured some lube onto her throbbing sex. She gasped lightly as the cold substance made contact and then used her hand to tease at her folds.

The villain watched as she slipped a finger inside herself, slowly moving in and out. His own hand went to his cock, stroking himself as he grew entranced by the show. He matched her pace, and she groaned quietly as she slipped a second finger in, stretching herself in preparation.

Their eyes locked, and they stayed that way for a little bit, pleasuring themselves and listening to one another's soft gasps and moans. Eventually, Hero's impatience got the best of her. She pulled her fingers out and crawled over to Villain.

Grabbing onto his shoulders, she positioned herself at his dick, and he held her by the waist, giving her some additional support. They inhaled shakily in unison as she took in the tip of his cock. She moved down slowly, letting herself adjust to his size, and he made no complaints, haphazardly leaving small pecks on her face, which got another giggle out of her.

Once he was fully sheathed inside of her, he ran his hands down her thighs, making her shiver and pull him into another kiss. Her touch trailed over his sides to his hips and then back up to cradle his head. His own hands moved up her body, one grasping her breast, squeezing and kneading while the other moved to get tangled in her hair.

Experimentally, the hero moved her hips forward, making them both moan against one another, the sound muffled by their connected lips. Leisurely, she began moving up and down, setting a calm pace, the slight pain of being stretched around him fading into pleasure. Their mouths parted again, and quickly, they got lost in their lust and each other's eyes.

She sped up, their skin beginning to slap together, sounding across the room but still drowning in their moans and mewls. As their pleasure began to build up inside their guts, their hands traveled without a set destination, wanting to feel as much as they could.

A gasp left Hero's lips as Villain's shaft hit the right spot, and she angled herself, focusing on it and moving even faster, her breasts bouncing in rhythm with her rapid pace. Thrust after thrust, their breathing swiftly turned shaky, chaotic. Their minds grew frantic as their orgasms approached them.

The hero's head tilted back, and she tightly held onto the villain's shoulders as release washed over her. His name left her lips in a low moan that echoed in his head, and it didn't take long for him to come as well, Hero's name leaving him in an identical manner.

Coming down from their highs, they slowed down, enjoying the pleasure for a bit longer with some calm thrusts and movements. They locked in a soft, short kiss before eventually parting and coming to a stop. Together they gasped for air and took a moment to rest as sweat dripped down their bodies.

Once she had regained some energy, Hero slid off Villain, making them both shudder at the feeling. She collapsed on the bed beside him, and soon, he copied her, lying down next to her. The two remained like that for a few minutes, calming their racing hearts and basking in the afterglow.

A small chuckle caught the villain's attention, and he turned his head towards the hero. She gave him a lazy smile before explaining her giddiness. "Looks like we'll need another shower."

He gave her a chuckle of his own before an idea crossed his mind. "Well, I do have a jacuzzi tub..."

With a grin that Hero considered too charming for Villain's own good, he offered, "Wanna take a bath together~?"

She giggled fondly. "Sure."

And then, together, off they went to get cleaned up again.

[absolute-flaming-trash-archive]

Hurt - Part 2

Was not expecting that many people wanting a part 2, but who am I to deny y'all?

Trick question, I myself am insatiable

Pairing: Hisoka x Fem!Reader

Smut and Angst

Word Count: 4′645 This was supposed to be short

Warnings: NSFW, Dubcon (bordering on Noncon), Unprotected Sex, Blood, Hisoka being a cheeky little shit. Semi-edited.

I’m gonna use this opportunity to say that, even if your partner doesn’t outright say “no”, that is NOT consent. Unfinished sentences, hesitation, and no response at all does not mean “yes”. Always check in for consent.

That being said, enjoy my fellow Hisoka fuckers. I loved writing this and I will actually cry if this flops.

Part 1, Part 3 

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

The silence that filled the room was palpable, interrupted only by the rhythmic drips of water falling from the cloth into the bowl.

Hisoka had yet to release his hold on you, making you narrow your eyes in annoyance. He licked his lips as he stared down at you, enjoying the direct line of sight he had down your shirt.

“And what if that isn’t my cards, what would you say then~?”

“Then I’d say that if you have enough energy to be thinking about that, then you are capable of cleaning yourself up. Your wounds have stopped bleeding, anyways.” You wrenched your wrist from his hand, trying not to think about how easily he let you go as pushed yourself to your feet. “You know where the shower is, there’s clean towels under the sink as usual.”

He leaned back against the couch, tilting his head slightly as he regarded your aloof attitude with a chuckle, “What if I really do require your... assistance? I have lost a lot of blood, after all.”

You scoffed and folded your arms in front of your chest, “I think we both know it takes a more than a little blood loss to make you lose consciousness.”

He hummed and stood, walking towards you to bring a finger underneath your chin, “Will you be joining me, just to make sure?”

You swallowed thickly as your cheeks burned when his hot breath fanned across your face, and you wanted to kick yourself. His heavy-lidded gaze did nothing to help the feeling that stirred deep in your gut. You pulled yourself away from him, taking a step back to collect yourself and fixing another glare on him, only making his smirk widen. “Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t use up all the hot water.”

I’m gonna need one after cleaning up all your shit

You let out a sigh of relief as he relented, walking towards the bathroom. You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath.

Running a hand down your face, you slung the bloody cloth over your shoulder and turned your head to examine the damage done to your couch since his arrival. You groaned at the sight. Deep red patches stained the cushions and armrest, there was no way that those were coming out no matter how deep you cleaned. There was only so much that online tips and laundry detergent could do, but that was a problem for later.

Your attention turned to the bloodied shirt that Hisoka had tossed unceremoniously on the floor, grimacing slightly at the way the clotted blood stuck to your fingers when you picked it up. Fuck, it was.... absolutely drenched! How the hell he was even able to stand was a miracle to you, but you didn’t want to think about it too much. That man was an enigma enough as it was.

The faint sound of the shower starting filled the silence in the house, making you relax slightly; the tension from earlier finally beginning to dissipate a little bit. You moved to the kitchen in order to attempt to restore the atrocity in your hands. It would need to soak in cold water for at least an hour before you could even begin to try scrubbing the blood out.

The sound of the sink filling with water aided in calming your nerves further as you held your fingers underneath the stream to test the temperature, tossing the bloody cloth onto the counter. It didn’t take long for the water to reach the halfway point before you turned it off.

The water immediately turned a deep red as soon as you placed the shirt in the sink. You repressed the urge to gag as gobs of clotted blood began to float off and onto your hands. No matter how many times you bandaged him up, you would never get used to the sight of the blood...

You paused briefly; your hands starting to get numb from the cold of the water as your mind wandered. How many times had you done this? How many times had he come into your house whenever he pleased, only for you to treat him without question? You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at yourself. ‘Without question’ wasn’t entirely accurate, but who could blame you for asking the Magician with a death wish what the hell he gets up to every once in a while. You frowned, looking over your shoulder towards the hallway that led to the bathroom. What were you going to do with him?

Guilt began to eat away at your heart as you thought about the gash going down his chest. You made him clean himself up, then again, he deserved it, but you wouldn’t leave him to patch himself up. You sighed, and picked the shirt up out of the water, ringing the material as much as you could before pulling the plug in the sink. You’d have to keep changing the water if you wanted any hope of getting the majority of the blood out.

While the sink filled again, you retrieved your kit from the living room and set it on the counter by the sink; pulling out what you believed you would need. Gauze for sure, it didn’t matter if the wound had stopped bleeding, you would need to pack it. From the state of his clothing though, you figured the worst of the bleeding had stopped before he arrived. Antibiotic ointment was mandatory... so was the compression bandage...

You groaned and massaged your temples in an attempt to relieve the oncoming headache. You couldn’t do stitches, which meant he would have to stay in your home so you could monitor his recovery. Which meant you’d have to get close to him to change his bandages. Multiple times.

The couch was out of commission as a place to sleep on now, given the state it was in...

You wanted to scream.

Hitting the handle on the tap a little harder than necessary, you placed the shirt back in, this time the water turning only a dark pink as it began to soak once again. You worried your bottom lip while wiping your hands with a dishtowel, trying to think of any possible sleeping arrangements that didn’t result in him sharing your bed; your anxiety rising the more you realized that it was looking like he might just have to share your bed...

God. Fucking. Damnit.

You shook your head, glancing over at the stove to read the bright red numbers that displayed the time.

11:06pm

With another sigh, you threw the towel on the counter and turned around to go deal with the couch. What you did not expect was to see Hisoka standing directly behind you, making you flinch in surprise and letting out a startled gasp.

“Holy mother of hell, Hisoka, warn a girl would ya?!” You panted, placing a hand over your now racing heart, sending yet another glare to the offending man in front of you. The glare, however, was short lived as soon as your realized his state of undress. The only thing keeping this man from being entirely stark naked in your kitchen was a grey towel that was slung a little too low on his hips for your comfort. You coughed and averted your eyes, despising the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks.

“Would it kill you to put a pair of pants on?”

It was difficult to keep yourself from tripping over your words at the sight of him, and you glared at the wall when you heard him laugh in response.

“You’re so red, my dear, am I making you uncomfortable?”

You grit your teeth in frustration, seething at how his casual drawl wasn’t making anything better for you. You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose in an effort to calm yourself down before looking back over at your newly acquired house guest.

“You are beginning to overstep your bounds when it comes to my hospitality, either cover up or find someone else to treat your wounds.”

It was an empty threat and you both knew it. You both knew you were too kind to kick him out of your house, despite how uneasy he made you. It just wasn’t in your heart to do so. You ran your hand down your face again, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt the headache begin to form once again.

“Just... grab the pair of sweatpants from the top left drawer of my dresser at least. I’ll wash your clothes tonight, since that’s the only guess I have for you being naked as a jaybird. I’ll meet you in the living room when you’re done.”

Grabbing your kit and a chair from the kitchen table, you brushed past him as quickly as possible and placed it in front of the one patch of the couch that wasn’t covered in blood and set your kit down on the floor. You peeked over your shoulder to see if he was still standing here.

He wasn’t. Thank god.

He reappeared moments later in the pair of grey sweats that looked way too good on him for how small they were. You felt heat creep back into your cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“Take a seat in front of me, please.” You began to pull out what you would need, “it’ll make things easier if I don’t have to crouch in front of you.”

It would also make it harder for him to pull the same stunt he did before. A look you didn’t recognize flashed through his eyes before he complied. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, holding your hands under your chin as you began to reassess the damage.

The injury on his torso wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. It was deep and would still require stitches, but with the blood washed away it didn’t look as horrid as before. Clearing your throat, you began to work.

“I’m going to have to do this once or twice a day depending on how you heal,” you said, scooping some antibiotic ointment onto your fingers, “you won’t be able to do any more jobs until the large gash is fully healed, or anything too strenuous really.”

He simply hummed in response as you began to apply the ointment to his chest, trying to ignore how his muscles twitched with every swipe as you worked over his wounds. God, his skin was so hot against your hands...

“That being said, this isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” you began to pack the wound with gauze, being careful not to press to hard on the wound, “with the amount of blood on the couch and on your clothes, I was expecting a lot worse...” you trailed off, the realization hitting you way later than it should have.

The sly smile that graced his face was frightening.

“Most of it isn’t mine, darling”

Your stomach lurched when he confirmed your suspicions out loud, but you forced the bile rising in your throat down; only nodding as you reached for the compression bandage. Your discomfort was still noticed by the magician, however, who leaned forward towards you a little more than necessary as you began to wrap the bandage around his chest.

“Because of the state of your injury, I would suggest you stay here for the next little while so I can keep an eye on your progress.”

You didn’t like the smile that crept across his face at that, or the way he leaned in closer to you when you wrapped the bandage around his back, “How long are we playing house then, hmm~?”

You gulped. His voice was teasing as always, but the implication behind it combined by the fact it was spoken directly in your ear sent shivers down your spine.

“I’d say about week or two.” You didn’t trust yourself to say much more as you secured the bandage with tensor clips. You checked your work over one last time before beginning to gather your things up. A frown tugged at Hisoka’s lips from the less than pleased tone in your voice.

“Don’t you want to play with me~?”

You shot him an unimpressed look as you stood up, wanting to be away from this man sooner rather than later. “I’m not your toy, Hisoka. I’m doing this for the sake of your health, because believe it or not, you are mortal.”

He followed your movements, standing in front of you before you had the chance to create any more distance between the two of you; once again taking your chin in his hand, this time more gently than before. It was.... caring almost.

“And it’s for reasons like that, my dear, that you are my favourite toy, and the idea of... playing with you in such a way is too much to pass up.”

It was your turn to frown at his words, “I don’t know what you mean, and I’m quite sure I don’t want to know.” That was a lie. You got the message loud and clear, but by god you wanted it to be wrong.

A dramatic sigh left his lips before he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“My my, do you need me to explain it to you more simply?”

He didn’t. Shit.

You stared up at him, his red locks tickling your face from how close he was to you.

“Why me?” Your voice was barely a whisper. He tilted his head almost mockingly so.

“What was that, my dear?”

You narrowed your eyes, a sudden resurgence of bravery. “You could have anyone you want, why me?”

You expected him to give you that insufferable smile of his, or to at least laugh at you for even daring to ask such a question. Instead his eyes bore into you with an intensity that you’d never felt before, “Because you’re the only one that I want. You healed me when you didn’t have to and did so without question. I don’t think you understand what that means, my dear.”

You let out a surprised squeak as his lips collided with you in a kiss that held pure unbridled lust, teeth clashing from the intensity. He left you panting when he pulled back, licking along the shell of your ear. “You’re mine”.

You couldn’t even get your bearings before he kissed you again, just as bruising as before. Your gasps granted him the access to your mouth that he so obviously desired. The feeling of his hands wandering up your sides to your breasts brought you back to your senses enough to pull away from him and send a hand flying towards his face.

The smack resonated around the room, leaving your hand stinging while your chest heaved. You felt dizzy. Too much was happening too fast.

“How fucking dare you,” your voice was barely audible as a whirlwind of emotions ran through you. Hate? Want? Fear? You didn’t know anymore, but all you knew was that it was too much for you to handle, “You mistake my kindness and hospitality for something more. I am not yours, Hisoka.”

His head was still knocked to the side from the force of your slap. He wouldn’t admit it, but you hit harder than he expected. His shock was quickly replaced with a look that could only be described as predatory as he looked back towards you, licking his lips, tasting the blood from the small split you had caused; a mixture of a moan and growl leaving his throat.

“Oh, but you are, Y/N. You have been mine for a long time.” 

The dread hit you like a bus. He had never said your name before, never in all the times he had come into your home. He was serious.

Oh fuck... what had you gotten yourself into...

In a last ditch effort, you bolted, but you didn’t get far.

You felt yourself getting yanked back, making you lose your balance and land on the floor; knocking the wind out of you. You wheezed, coughing from the force of the fall, stars littering your vision from your head smacking against the floor.

You regained clarity to the sound of your clothes being torn from your body, making you yelp, kicking and slapping the man on top of you in a vain attempt to get free. He chuckled and easily batted your hands away, gathering them into one hand and pinning them above your head. You whimpered, your clothes around you in ruined strips, leaving you bare beneath the man you had just treated moments ago; a small feeling of betrayal forming in your chest.

You were trapped.

The room was silent as Hisoka stilled above you for a moment, seemingly admiring the view. You were frozen in a state of shock and fear, tears beginning to form in your eyes while he ran his other hand down your body, stopping to cup your sex. You squirmed at the look he gave you when his fingers came away wet. How could you be wet from what he was doing to you?

He began to stroke your folds, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck and letting out a loud groan.

“Why you, you say?” He dipped one of his fingers into you, smirking into your neck as your breath hitched, placing open mouthed kisses along your throat as he began to thrust slowly.

“Because of this.” He punctuated the word by biting into the skin on your collar bone and sucking harshly, making you keen when he inserted another finger. “I’ve dreamt of this~”

You turned your head to the side, refusing to acknowledge the pleasure he was giving to your body when his lips wrapped around one of your nipples; his teeth lightly scraping making you shudder involuntarily. He groaned in response, shifting his heavy-lidded gaze towards your face and releasing your nipple with a pop.

“Oh, no, no, no, my darling~” He quickly withdrew his hand from your cunt hand and gripped your cheeks, forcing your head straight; his nails on his fingers, still wet from your arousal, digging into your skin harshly. You whimpered when your eyes met his, the intensity almost too much for you to bear, “I want you to watch every single thing I do to you.”

He slowly let go of your jaw, dragging his claws lightly down your throat to your breasts, giving them a light squeeze. You flinched, your hands clenched in fists at your side.

“I’ve dreamt of you under me...” He continued; the sentence broken up by wet kisses placed down your body. Your eyes widened, realizing his intentions immediately, but forcing yourself not to look away in fear of what he would do if you did.

“S-stop.” God, you hated how weak you sounded. Tears began to slip down your cheeks as he ventured lower down your body until you could feel his breath right on your cunt. “Please, Hisoka, I-”

A loud growl against your skin killed whatever pleads you had on your lips; the pupil of his eyes blown so wide they nearly swallowed the golden iris. He looked feral.

“I love the way you say my name, Y/N”

A squeal left your throat when you felt his tongue on your slit, your hips bucking on their own accord when the hot muscle dragged from your core up to your aching clit before he latched onto it and sucked harshly; making you toss your head to the side as you squeezed your eyes shut at the burst of pleasure that shot through you, more tears dripping onto the floor.

The breathy moans and growls from Hisoka only added to your reluctant growing arousal as he ate you out like a man starved. His hands gripped you from under your thighs so he could pull you close to his face while holding you down; the sounds coming from his mouth loud and downright lewd as he lapped at the new slick.

“I want you to say my name over, and over again; I want you to scream it so loudly your neighbours can hear exactly who you belong to.”

Your breathing hitched as you felt a familiar tightening beginning to form in your lower stomach. You bucked against him, the last of your resistance starting to die out as your orgasm continued to build. You felt him groan into your core more than you heard him, making you shudder.

“Moan for me darling, don’t hide any of those pretty noises from me.”

You cried out when you felt his fingers back at your entrance, dipping into you with less caution than the first time. You could feel his nails dragging along your walls as he fucked his fingers into you at a steady pace, scratching lightly on your g-spot in a way that should not have felt as good as it did.

“Hisoka!”

“Cum for me, darling, let me hear you~” He purred, suckling on your nub with vigor as he pumped his fingers into you faster.

You came with a chocked sob mixed with a moan, your pussy clamping down on his fingers like a vice, gushing around him. You felt sick as you came down from your high, watching as he released his assault on your clit with a lewd pop, a thin trail of drool connecting his lips to your swollen cunt. 

“You’re so good for me, darling.” He cooed. You could only muster up a withering look, your words failing you. This, of course, just made him chuckle as he pushed the grey sweats down his hips, his length springing free and slapping against his stomach. “However, I’d much rather feel you come undone on my cock.”

Your eyes widened... he couldn’t seriously go through with this... could he?

Could he?

“Hisoka wait!”

Your shout made him pause briefly before he kissed his way back up your body, coming to hover just above your lips; that insufferable smirk back on his mouth that shone with your slick. Your face flushed at the sight, and you rolled your head back to the side in shame.

“Please... please don’t...”

Another silence filled the room as he regarded your trembling form pinned beneath him. A spark of hope was reignited in you, his hesitation giving you the courage to bring your hands up, pressing lightly against the bandage on his chest in your attempt to push him away.

That spark was quickly snuffed out when he let out a guttural moan, his eyes rolling back slightly before focusing back on you.

You forgot he liked pain.

“Didn’t I already say, love?” He teased the head of his cock against your swollen clit making you squirm, new tears forming in your eyes from a combination of the stimulation and the hopelessness. Your back arched off the floor and your jaw fell open in a silent scream as he sank into you in a slow, agonizing thrust. He licked a stripe up your neck with a possessive growl, stopping just in front of your ear. “You belong to me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust to his size before he pulled back and thrust his hips against you harshly, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the room along with your moans and hiccupping sobs.

“Oh fuck, Y/N...” He gasped, his head tilting back in ecstacy, your walls fluttering around him as he hammered your insides; stretching you out in a painfully blissful way.

You loved it, and you hated yourself for it.

“Oohhhh darling, you were mine the first time you treated me.” He grunted, shifting the angle of his hips to penetrate you deeper. You bit your lip, desperately trying to contain the whines leaving your throat with each brush of his cock on the bundle of nerves deep inside of you, his words only making you flush deeper... if that were even possible.

“I would’ve taken you then and there, had you begging and crying under me like you are now.” You felt his dick twitch inside you at his own words and your pussy clenched around him.

God, what was wrong with you?

He growled, and suddenly pulled away from you. Relief flooded your system for a split second before you felt yourself being flipped over, your hips being pulled back and his cock sheathing back inside you with a thrust that made the whines finally spill from you; your arms laying limply next to your head as he resumed to pound into you at a pace that could only be described as inhuman. His balls slapped against your clit each time he bottomed out, making your breath come out in quick, desperate gasps.

“Do you like that, my dear? Knowing that I could’ve done this to you sooner?”

You only groaned in response, the coil in your abdomen beginning to form again. The tears slipped from your eyes as you weakly shook your head. Why did this feel so good? Why did your body react to him like this?

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip when you felt his hand circle around to your clit, rubbing in rough circles that made your eyes roll back into your head.

You couldn’t take it.

You couldn’t help the wanton moan that passed through your lips as you came, your head hanging loosely as your body continued to bounce from the power of his thrusts; your pussy convulsing around his cock as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Hmmm~ you didn’t want to cooperate a few minutes ago, look at you now,” He fisted the hair at the base of your skull and pulled you back to his chest, his thrusts never wavering as he spoke into your ear, “coming undone for me a second time.” His chuckle gave way to a breathy moan as his thrusts became more erratic, losing rhythm as he began to slam into you with fever.

“I’m going to fill you up, my dear.” He growled, biting down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, making you cry out when his teeth broke the skin. The sight of your blood making him thrust into you harder and faster. “Then you’ll truly know that you are mine.”

Your moans left you with no restraint, incoherent babbling falling from your lips at the overstimulation. You could no longer think, all your energy focused on the dick that was pistoning in and out of your squelching cunt.

Hisoka’s hips stuttered as he came inside of you, his cock spurting thick hot ropes of cum right against your cervix, coating your walls as he bit down on your neck once more, lazily fucking into you a few more times before he stilled.

Your breathing was ragged as everything slowly came to a stop, the weight of everything crashing over you as your lids dropped with exhaustion. You whined weakly as he pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness now foreign to you. You slumped to the floor, emotional and physical fatigue washing over you as you stared blankly up at the man who had just ruined your trust and your body. Your eyes flickered to the bandage on his chest, a thin line of red beginning to form from your exertions.

Even after all that... you still cared.

Damn him.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stared down at you, a pleased smile on his face as he took in your fucked out form, his dick twitching at the sight.

Oh yes.

He would enjoy playing house with you much more now.

----

Part 1, Part 3

Tag List: @prettycutebunny, @my-child-gaara, @shorkbrian, @luesi, @mynameseri, @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes, @trash-writings

[beerecordings]

Okay, here is part three of the latest Marvin's Cage story. Find the whole story so far here Let me know if you enjoy! Thanks for reading. Tws for mentions of possible cannibalism, mentions of past torture, panic attacks, and imprionsment . Light through the side of his box. “Marvin, Marvin,” he mouths, soundless, tears in his eyes. “Brother, brother.” Marvin does not come. “Jameson,” the soft voice is calling. “JJ. We won't hurt you, I promise."

No. This is not right, not right! This has never happened! He clutches at his hair and bites down on the collar of his shirt, tears racing down his face. They need to go away! They're not supposed to be here! They're not supposed to know! Marvin will be so, so, so angry! He can't do it again, can't go back to being alone alone alone alone. His skin so untouched it hurts, so he scratches at it, at his lonely skin, his lonely bones. Marvin will not touch him hold him call him little brother. He can't go back. Makes his brain so numb and then so crazy. Can't can't can't. “Jamie, breathe, Jamie – ” “Give him space, dude! He's scared of us. Jameson... just... he's really just – ” “Marvin did this to him!” He flinches at the loudness of the voice, biting his collar til he feels thread tear. No, no, no. This is Marvin's worst nightmare. His brothers know about him, and they're angry at Marvin. Angry at Marvin who was just protecting all of them, who takes care of him and loves him. This can't be happening. They need to understand. How does he make them understand? How does he even try to explain when his heart is beating so hard it hurts all the way up to his throat and he can't stop crying? This is why you can never fight Anti off, sneer an old pair of hands in his head. You're the most pathetic little creature ever to walk across the earth. Of course Marvin locked us away. Him and Anti are both right. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he signs desperately. “Brother, brother, M! Please! I want M!” “It's been so fucking long since I took that BSL course. I'm the worst brother.” “Don't start, Jackie, shit. I don't think I ever bothered trying to learn for more than, like, two Youtube videos. Schneep would know. He learned it in about three days and he doesn't forget things.” “Brother – that was brother, I remember! Yeah, JJ, we're your brothers, dude. I mean, if you want us to be. Can you just – please, breathe.” No, they don't understand. These are not JJ's brothers. These are Marvin's brothers. It's a term of endearment more than anything technical: the relationship does not transfer. Marvin always made that very clear and JJ understands. Chase and Schneep and Jackie are not dangerous like he is. Chase and Schneep and Jackie do not have to live in cages, and they get to come find Marvin whenever they want, and they can have things like their own money and lots of friends. They can walk around the city at their leisure. See the sky. Have jobs. Walk around stores and talk to girls and make friends. They pick out their own food and books and toys. They're nice people who have never killed anyone or stabbed each other or made Marvin so upset that he burned their faces on accident and left them alone for days at a time. Schneep is even a doctor who saves lives, and Jackie is a real-life superhero, and Chase has babies who love him. Of course Marvin had to keep them safe from JJ. He's just grateful that Marvin never listened to him when he would beg to get out. Marvin even took care of him when he could have so easily left him to rot like he deserves. “JJ, JJ, please. You can trust us. Didn't you say you remembered me? Please, please, I'm begging you – come here.” Yes, of course he remembers Jackie – remembers the warm voice trying to calm him for hours, and the gloved hand in his own, and the presence watching over him as he drifted close to sleep, the safe and loving presence. How could he forget it? Some days, it is all he thinks about. But it's not something he can have. No, he won't come out. He won't risk making Marvin angry, and he certainly won't let Marvin's brothers get hurt because of him. He will stay here alone like he has to. He is a good boy like Anti told him, like Marvin told him. He is good and he is not hurting anyone ever again. He is staying right here. “Fine, I'll go to him,” comes a vehement voice, and then someone is pushing at the broken wood around his door. Jameson sucks in a wheezing scream and darts behind the curtain over his little bathroom, shoving himself between the wall and the toilet

and squeezing himself into as tight a ball as he can manage around his little stuffed dog, the first present Marvin ever brought him. Jackie can't come in here – neither of them can! Anti will kill them! “Jackie, he's freaking out, stop, stop!” There's a low howl of frustration, but no one comes any closer. His box falls quiet again with nothing but soft murmuring from Marvin's brothers as JJ sobs, biting at deep scars in his palms, the result of being possessed on repeat by a demon with a passionate love of any kind of blade. His hands raise the knife – no hilt. The blade goes down, goes into his palms, goes down, goes into his palms. Goes into her chest. He can hear her screaming. Can hear himself laughing. There's blood in his mouth that isn't his. His birds are already picking at her as she suffocates around the silver of the knife. The bugs are creeping onto her flesh and crawling up his shirt. No, no, no! If Marvin would come – if Marvin would quiet the memories like he always does – But Marvin does not come. Marvin does not come find him. Alone, alone, alone. “JJ, JJ,” they are calling to him, begging at him, but this is not something he can let himself have. He'd rather die right here. No, no, no, no. He is not going anywhere. Ever. His little stuffed dog is licking at his face. He closes his eyes and rubs its fur til the panic fades. His good dog, good boy. He drifts in his head. He's playing with his dog in the yard. Marvin is on the porch reading. The sun is warm. His dog licks his face. He is staying right here... everything is okay... there you go, JJ. There you go. There's a good little brother. You know how much I hate to see you cry. Cut it out, okay? I don't want to hear that anymore. Be good and I'll come back tomorrow. Be good and stay right here. Yeah, he's good. He's good. And when he's good, Marvin comes back again. Marvin will come back. . The soft scrape of cardboard on wood wakes him. He sits in the darkness behind his privacy curtain. Things are quiet again. “I wish he would just...” “I know. But you can't stay here all day.” “Well, neither can he!” “Shhh, keep your voice low. He obviously does, I mean...” The voices devolve back into incomprehensibility, too soft for him to understand. He wipes at his ruddy, weary face and sniffs, curled up against the side of the toilet. He's a little germ freak, as Marvin says, but he doesn't have to worry. He cleans everything every morning so Marvin will not think he's messy. The decorations are always dusted and straightened. He wipes the toilet and his little mirror down, and the sink too, so it's clean when Marvin comes in to shave him on Wednesdays. He isn't allowed to have a razor in here – Anti will try to cut him up again – but Marvin takes care of him anyway. The bathroom smells like their shaving cream and the lemon scent of his cleaners, stacked neatly on the shelves in his back-left corner next to his laundry: Marvin's clothes and some old t-shirts and sweatpants. He isn't allowed to wear anything that isn't Marvin's. Marvin has to be the one to put it through the wash, and if his brothers saw it, they would ask why he was washing things that did not belong to anyone in the house. JJ lets out a tired sigh, a little soothed by the quiet and the reminiscing. Marvin takes care of him. Still, he wants to know what that sound was. When Jackie and Chase's distant voices stay distant, he squeezes his dog for courage and creeps out from behind the curtain, blinking at the light of his sun lamp. The leaves of his plants and the lead in the drawings on the walls gleams quietly in the yellow glow. His place, his things, his presents from Marvin and pictures of Marvin and his shared space with Marvin. Maybe when he comes to see him, they can lie down on the mattress and have a nap, or play some games, or watch pictures on Marvin's magic screen together. Yeah, he feels better. Yeah, there's my tough guy. Stop crying, JJ, I mean it. He gets to his feet and sneaks over to the sill of his box where Marvin sometimes leaves him

things. There's a little pad of paper on his shelf, the sort of book you might use to make grocery lists or notes to pin up on the fridge. He pulls it towards himself, looking right and left for one of Marvin's brothers to leap out at him, but nothing happens. Hi, JJ,reads the first page, in messy, crooked handwriting. My name's Chase (I'm the one in the grey shirt) and Jackie is the one in the red hoodie. He doesn't know what a hoodie is. He glances down the way Marvin usually comes from and can still hear them talking. I'm sorry if we scared you. We're still figuring out what's going on. You don't have to get close to us if you don't want to (but I promise we won't hurt you if you do). I thought it would be easier for you to have a pen and some paper. Is there anything you need? Or anything we can do to show you we are on your side? Do you remember us? I also left some food by your door. It's perfectly safe, I promise. I will eat some with you if you want. Please don't be scared. We aren't with Marvin right now, or Anti. We are not going to let anyone hurt you. If there is anything we can do to help please tell us. I hope you do remember us a little bit. If you don't, though, we want to say hi! Maybe you can write me back? The paper is all for you. - Chase There are some smiley faces and even a little drawing of the plate of food on the paper. JJ glances over at his door. A dish with rice and meat is tucked on the plate alongside fat slices of oranges, a neat line of bright green cucumbers with ranch drizzled on, and a big sweet-looking roll with pecans. His mouth waters. He listens for Marvin's brothers one more time, and when they're still far away, he steps over to pick up the plate and brings it back to his mattress, sitting down and eating with relish. It's hot and fresh and home-made, better than he remembers food tasting. Most of the stuff he gets is take-out from a restaurant or leftovers. Not that he minds! It's just a lot of tasty food. He's eating faster than he means to, scooping the rice up with his plastic silverware and tearing the soft bread of the roll between his teeth. Meat between his teeth – hot flesh, red blood – Anti's smile is crimson and beaming, his own eyes are wild with delight – cannibal – No, no. He hugs himself for a few minutes and goes through the breathing exercises Marvin taught him. He's okay. He does not eat all the beef, but he eats everything else, scooping up the leftover ranch with his spoon and licking his fingers clean of the orange juice and sticky frosting from the roll. His stomach hurts with how full he is. It's a good feeling. “Jameson?” He jerks upright, pupils blown. A figure leaps back from his window. “Sorry! I just – I was just checking if you wrote me back or – sorry, I'll give you some space...” He backs away again. Jameson grabs at his chest, shuddering. Sudden voices in his box only ever mean Anti until today. And Anti – Anti hurts him. Even when they're playing. He doesn't think Anti ever learned how not to hurt someone. He thinks that's why he plays like that – testing his limits. Interested in human suffering as a primary characteristic. He plays with the edge of Chase's note, trying to think. He hasn't talked to anyone but Anti and Marvin in so long. What would Anti say? Pet, look, he's almost as pretty a present as you were. Oooh, but already a scar in his head. Who wants a scar on him I did not put there? Hm. Still pretty though. He looks like my master. Tell him to come over here and snuggle with us, Jameson. I will wrap my hands around his throat and see if he chokes the same way Jack does. Jameson chews on the end of his pencil, sighing. They need to stay away. What would Marvin say? Who, Chase? He's my baby brother. I guess I was always pretty attached to him. I was all jealous when Jack added Schneep, and I do snap at Jackie a little when he ticks me off. Chase, though, he's my – he's my little brother, you know? He's a special person. Well, anyway, it was him you stabbed the night I had to lock you up. Within about five

minutes of finding you, you stabbed one of us. I started to imagine what would happen if we just let you roam free and... you get it, right? Why I had to? Yes. Of course he does. This is what he needs to express. He clears his throat and sets his pencil shakily to paper. Dear Chase, Thank you for my dinner. It was very tasty. You are a good cook. I do remember a little of that night you all found me, but not much. I was rather unwell. I am dearly sorry for stabbing you and I hope your shoulder has healed well. I should not like to stab you again, but I do not always have a choice. Unfortunately, despite Marvin's best efforts to find a way to help, I still fall victim to possession against my will. Please leave me alone so I do not stab you or your brothers. If you will get Marvin for me he will know how to fix the box. I am not bothered by your presence but the thought of what might happen to you is very alarming. It would be in the best interest of you and your family to kindly exit this place and leave me to my own devices. There is no need to be concerned about anyone hurting me, though I appreciate your worry on my behalf. Thank you for your time and understanding, and, again, for the food. Sincerely, Jameson Jackson There. That's okay, isn't it? Maybe? P.S. I would like to see Marvin very much. Is he all right? Thank you. Okay, there. Then he will not have to wonder. Hopefully everything's okay and Chase can go bring Marvin for him. Then things will go back to normal. Things will go back to... To normal. Normal is good. Normal is... His box is quiet. The light gleams on the leaves and the lead. There are scratchmarks in the wood where he has tried to claw his way out during breakdowns. He closes his eyes. Things will go back to normal. He can never leave. He lets himself drift off in his mind again, walking in circles around his box with his eyes closed. He's on a beach with his dog and a big family... little kids come running up to him and he picks them up and plays with them in the ocean, yanking them back from the waves or ducking them under the water while they shriek in delight. The sun is so warm and the sand is hot between his toes. Marvin is suntanning on the beach while Chase and Jackie play in the sand beside him, and everyone is laughing. His box is dead quiet. Not even the wind to keep him company. Alone, alone, alone. . “I'll kill him, I'll kill him.” “Jackie. Breathing.” “I'll – oh, he – I'll tear him to pieces, look at this, he – I'll kill him, I'll destroy him, how could he...?” “Jackie. Jackie.” Chase is so tired he doesn't even get to his feet to try and calm Jackie down. He's slumped across the couch of the living room with Queenie on his stomach, kneading her claws into his t-shirt and purring. Her belly's all swollen with kittens, but instead of becoming more reclusive like a normal cat mother, she has decided she wants to be on top of someone twenty-four hours a day. Chase scratches her ears and sighs. “How could he do this?” groans Jackie, for perhaps the hundredth time today. Chase still doesn't have an answer. Jackie is clutching JJ's note in his hands tightly enough that he's definitely torn a hole or two in it. “He made him think he has to be – he has to be in this box. He – he won't come out to me. He won't come out to me.” Chase reaches for Jackie's jacket, catching his sleeve, and tugs his brother down onto the couch beside him. “Jackie. This note – it could be good news.” Jackie looks at him like he's finally lost it. “Hear me out! I know it's... not great that he seems to think he really does have to stay in there. But Jackie, look, he's not scared of Marvin! What if we jumped to conclusions about how this went down?” “He locked my little brother in a box,” says Jackie flatly. “But what if JJ asked him to do that?” Jackie blinks and looks down at the smudged note. “He... does seem to think he's dangerous.” “And, well, he is, isn't he?” “Don't say that.” “Jackie, it's just facts. Er, not JJ, I mean. Anti is the dangerous one, but he uses the

little man like a weapon. That's not his fault, but it's the truth. He did stab me that night.” “Anti stabbed you!” “Yes. But he used JJ's hands. Jackie, is it so wild to think that maybe JJ was just so scared by the things Anti has made him do that he actually asked Marvin to help him protect us from him?” Jackie's eyes water. He shakes his head. Chase sighs and touches his brother's shoulder. “It still wasn't right of Marvin to do what he did. He definitely should have talked to all of us about it and not left us thinking something terrible had happened to him. But if JJ really came to you and begged you to keep him away from us – well, maybe, as a temporary solution, you might take him somewhere safe and secluded, and take care of him yourself, right? Maybe not a little locked box, but... somewhere. It's not – Jackie, it's not unthinkable.” Jackie just shakes his head, staring down at that note. “What's wrong?” asks Chase softly. “Wanted to make him feel safe,” croaks Jackie. “I should have – if I had made him feel safe, he wouldn't have thought he needed to be locked away. And Marvin – yeah, should have told me. Even if JJ did beg. My baby brother.” After a long day, the tears are finally coming dripping down Jackie's face. “I know, man,” whispers Chase. Jackie falls against his shoulder. Chase wraps his arm around him. Queenie nudges her way into their laps and sits contentedly down, purring like a little motorboat. “Maybe JJ and Marvin really were just working together to protect us,” mumbles Jackie. “Maybe he did take good care of him. If he had told us, maybe it is... thinkable.” “I shouldn't have told Marvin we weren't brothers anymore.” Chase rubs at his face. “I was too quick to think it was the worst scenario.” “No, it's not your fault,” replies Jackie softly. “It's his for not telling us, so it really did look like the worst scenario – and my fault, for exploding on him instead of listening. I should have been calmer.” “I honestly think you were surprisingly restrained for the situation,” says Chase, a little amused. “If it were true that he just locked JJ up against you will, you oughta have kicked his ass.” Jackie snorts, rubbing at his face. “Yeah. I guess. I don't know, though. There's just... there's something really off about that box. The kids' toys and the – I don't know. I get a really bad feeling. It's hard to describe.” Chase hums and nods. “Well, what we need to do is talk to JJ more, right?” Jackie perks up, glancing over at him. “Right. Figure all this out.” Chase smiles at him. The weight on his chest is so much lighter than it was a few hours ago. This – this makes so much more sense than what they thought before. Of course it was unimaginable that Marvin would lock JJ up like a prisoner against his will and abandon him in there, unloved. What he did was still wrong, but this alternative is so much lighter than that one. Maybe they can still fix this. Marvin could come back with Schneep, and once they were all on the same page Marvin would apologize for leaving them out of the loop. Together, they'll all be able to find a better way to keep JJ safe from Anti. Then they can all be together like they're supposed to be. Yeah. He can see it now. Marvin and Schneep will come back home, and JJ will come out of the box, and everything will be wonderful. Just a few hours ago, that seemed so impossible. “You're crying again,” says Jackie, touching his face. “Chase?” “No, it's okay,” chuckles Chase, wiping at his face. Happy tears. He's so relieved it hurts in his chest. For a few hours there, he really thought Marvin might have done something that cruel. But not his brother. Not his Marvin. No wonder it didn't make sense. It wasn't true. He should have known Schneep was right. Schneep is always right. Chase chuckles, shaking his head. “Just a rollercoaster day, that's all.” “No fucking kidding. I'm going to go write back to JJ. Do you want to come with?” “No, no, I think I'll get started on dinner.” Chase has already moved on to their reunion meal in his head. He'll cook

something Marvin loves and make JJ so much good food they can't even eat it all. Bread, ice cream, pasta, casserole... there's so many options. Maybe he'll just make everything. His heart is light again. It's going to be okay. “Okay, then,” says Jackie, heading back towards the mirror. “I'll be in there with him if you need me.” “Got it,” Chase replies, getting up to head to the kitchen. “Oh, um – Chase?” “Yeah?” He turns back towards his brother. Jackie smiles at him in the evening light. “I'm really glad you're here.” Chase smiles back. “Me too,” he says.

Things are going to be different. But surely, surely - they have to turn out okay. Just this once.

. Dear JJ, I don't really know how to right to you. This is Jackie. I'm glad you remember me a little. I'm your older brother. You don't want to come out of the box? When did that start? Was it your idea to be locked up like that? I guess I can see how you would think you could be dangerous. Trust me, I've encounterred Anti enough times to get it but if you give me a chance I promise I will keep you safe. JJ there has to be a better way then you being locked up like that! I don't even care if you and Marvin thought it was a good idea it's terrible. You do not have to be a prisoner you are my brother. I really want you to come stay with me. What can I do to get you out of there? I will do anything to make you feel safe, JJ. I promise I will keep you safe. Marvin is okay. He's just staying at another house right now. He knows I am talking to you. I'm worried about how he might have treated you, can we talk some more before you talk to him? Tell me about how he treats you. I want you to be able to make your own choice. Don't worry about him, okay? Who decided you should be in that box? I want you to be here with me. I really want you to be here with me and I promise I will keep you safe. Maybe we can talk face-to-face? Even though I'm bad at sign languge. I have wanted to see you for a really long time. I love you. I don't care if you hid from me or if Anti has used you, that doesn't matter now, none of us ever blamed you for Chase's shoulder. I've been looking for you, JJ. I've been looking for you this whole time. I thought about you every day. I would have looked forever if I had to. Every day of my life. If you think you have to stay in that box, please tell me why. I need to understand. I won't lose you again. You won't lose me too. I'm your big brother and I really want you to be here. I promise I will keep you safe. JB . Dear Jackie, Please, just go. You weren't supposed to know. I will be in trouble and I will hurt you. It is my fault. I'm not like you. I can't fight Anti. I'm not what you think I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you looked. He said maybe he would tell you I was dead, but he knew you would not stop looking unless there was a body, so he couldn't even though he wanted to. He loves you. He didn't want you to be in pain. But he didn't know how to stop it either. He cried over it so much. Maybe now that you know, you won't have to worry about me anymore, and you and Marvin can be happy again. I'm happy here. Marvin has taken such good care of me. He treats me very well. Please go home to your brothers and don't think about me. I'm sorry I made you all so sad for so long. Sincerely, JJ There are patches of wetness on the pages. . JJ, who decided you should be in that box? Tell me. . This time, there is no answer. Big blue eyes look up at Jackie from the corner of the cage, and all he wants is to go in there with him. But when he moves forward, JJ flinches and flees back to the bathroom, and all Jackie can do is sink down beside the cage, hold his head in his hands, and try not to think about the words he wanted to tell you I was dead. . Chase: Schneep you ok Schneep: Yeah. We're at Stacy's Chase: Did you tell her Schneep: Kind of. Still not sure really what happened Chase: Us either dude. Marvin say anything more? It sounds like maybe he and JJ both decided he should be locked up or whatever Schneep: He is all freaked out still. I gave him something to calm him down and he fell asleep. I am worried though. He insists the Jameson must be kept in the box. I think Anti is pulling strings Chase: I don't have any idea what's happening at this point Schneep: How is he? Chase: Very shy. Scared of us. He also thinks he has to stay in the box Schneep: Healthy? Chase: He kind of hides. Won't let us in to see him Schneep: I come by tomorrow and check on him Chase: Ok, sounds good. Tell me if anything changes? Schneep: Yes I will Chase: And say hi to the kids for me. Maybe not a good idea for me to have them this weekend after all Schneep: No worries. We will figure everything

out, my friend. Take care of JJ for me Chase: You take care of Marvin. I think it's going to turn out alright. Schneep: Yes, it will. See you tomorrow, love you Chase: Love you . There's blood in his mouth. JJ circles his cage, using a rag to clean the walls and wipe down the boxes and sink. When it's clean, he sits down again, reaching for his violin. There's blood in his mouth. He gets up again and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. He sits down and rubs at his face, exhausted. There's blood in his mouth. No. The box is clean. He's not going to clean it again. There's blood in his throat. He covers his face in his hands. Stop imagining it, JJ. Distract yourself. His dog licking at his face, warm sand between his toes, Marvin is holding him – Blood in his throat. In his teeth. He picks flesh out from between his molars. Copper tang against his tongue. He feels the weight of the blood settle in his stomach. He bites into flesh. Jameson. I am not going to listen to this story again. That's fucked. Anti isn't here. Stop crying, okay? The corpse is going cold beneath his fingers. Anti is laughing. The blade swirls around in his hands. He is torn between hoping Anti will stop possessing him so he can have even a minute alone in his own head and praying that Anti never leaves again, because when he does, that is when JJ becomes the victim of his curiosity. There's blood in his mouth. JJ gets up and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. “Jameson,” murmurs Jackie. “Are you okay?” He's standing just outside the box, looking at him. JJ avoids his gaze, scrubbing the clean right wall with vigor. Jackie doesn't seem to want to hurt him. He supposes that makes sense. It's not Jackie JJ should worry about – it's what Anti might do to Jackie that's concerning. He wishes Marvin's big brother would leave. “Can you show me your stuffed animals?” asks Jackie. “Or your puppets? Why do you have all those?” JJ pauses, chewing on his nails as he glance at his animals, arranged neatly on his mattress. The finger puppets are in their box by the barred window. They're just for fun. For distraction. He knows each of them intimately. All the puppets have names and families and jobs and aspirations. All the animals have their own place in the world in his head. It's just a game. It's just a game he plays for hours at a time. He tells the same stories on repeat. The important part is that he knows they're not real people right now. Marvin was so relieved. There's blood in his mouth. He circles his cage. Cleans the walls and boxes and sink. It's already clean. He knows it's already clean. “Do you play the violin?” JJ pauses again, eyes flickering over to Jackie. Yes, he does. For hours a day. “Would you show me?” asks Jackie gently. JJ hovers. He's not sure he should. But he never gets to show anyone except Marvin and the toys. It would be nice. He never got to show anyone Marvin's birthday song. It's not going to hurt Jackie. It's just his music. He picks the violin tentatively up. Sets it back down again. Jackie is looking at him uncertainly from the window, smiling a faint, confused smile. Fuck's sake, he's – he's weird, isn't he? Not Jackie – JJ. He turns away from Marvin's brother, biting at his nails again. It's been so long since he interacted with anyone other than Marvin and Anti. What must he look like to Jackie? He's treating him like he's so fragile. Maybe he is. But this is how he lives. This is how he has to live. He used to fight. Does Jackie know that? Does Jackie know that there were days that he would come out of possession kicking and striking at Anti, spitting at him and writhing before Anti could stuff him back into whatever hiding place he had found to contain him? Does Jackie know that JJ used to curse at Marvin and demand to be let go? That he eventually crumpled beneath the isolation and the monotony and just collapsed in on himself, sitting mindless for days at a time no matter how much Marvin begged at him to

get up? Does Jackie know that he hates this? There are tears dripping onto the violin set beneath his chin. He can't think like this. This is where he has to stay. He can't go. He can't leave. There is blood in his mouth. This is what he has to do. He can't tell on Marvin, can't tell Jackie that Marvin dragged him into this box and locked him up while he cried. This is what he deserves because he's done so many bad things and he will do so many more if he is released. Oh, there is blood in his mouth. He can't get out. He has to be a good boy – he has to stay – he has to – “Major freak-out,” he signs to himself. This is what Marvin calls a major freak-out. Yeah. Okay. “Have to stay calm, JJ, you can't come out of your cage. “Come hold me, Marvin, please! “If you calm down I'll come in there. Okay? “Please can I come out just for a few minutes? Oh, God, I want to see a priest. Are you going to keep me here my whole life? I'll die here! I'm going to die here? I can't take it anymore! I can't take it! Oh, God, I want to see the sky, I want to hear birds, oh, God, our father, who art in Heaven – “JJ, be good. Penguin, stop that. You know you can't come out. So be calm. I'm working on finding a solution. “But you never do, you never do!” “JJ.” And now the voice does not sound like Marvin's. JJ isn't sure why. He keeps signing to himself, circling his cage, chewing on his collar. He talks to Marvin. Marvin isn't there, but he knows what he will say. Yes, Marvin is here. They're talking and hugging each other, yes, Marvin is making it better. Marvin isn't here. “Jameson, hey. Jamie, can you look at me? Jamie, can I come in there with you?” Yes, yes, he wants that! He hates to be alone for freak-outs. They last hours and sometimes he slams his head against the wall so hard the light hurts his eyes for days. Sometimes he scratches at the wood til his nails split. Sometimes he clings to Anti and begs him to take him away from this place, because even the torture and the killing would be better than sitting in this same – fucking – spot – for the rest of his miserable existence. He hates to be alone. Alone, alone, alone. “Please, please,” he begs. “Please, please.” “Okay, I'm coming, Jamie, I'm coming.” Marvin doesn't call him Jamie, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later, there are arms around him. There's no torture quite like the touch-starvation, and JJ is someone who knows torture. When Marvin started touching him and hugging him and sitting with him, it changed everything. And the most wonderful part about it is how those months of his skin crawling and his brain going numb and foggy with a bizarre and visceral sort of insanity as he rubbed at his own skin and rocked and day-dreamed about being touched til he could hallucinate it – they all just fade into the background when someone puts their arms around him. He latches on like a cat in a tree. Octopuses himself around their body. And in return – joy of joy, he is being squeezed back, squished against their body and rocked. He is scooped all the way off his feet, making him giggle. He buries his head in their shoulder and shakes, pressed so tightly together it's a little hard to breathe. “My little brother, my little brother,” someone is singing. “My JJ. Here you are. I have you back again, I have you.” He's grabbed by the waist and spun in a circle before he's drawn back to their chest. He laughs weakly and hears them laughing back. “Here you are. Chase was right. This is all that matters. You are everything that matters.” Kisses along the side of his head. Hands on his back and cupping his head. He's rocked back and forth, back and forth. Steady and strong. Gloved hands. A red hood. The smell of rain and sweat and coconut on the jacket. And that feeling – that feeling of safety... Yeah. He remembers. How could he forget? When this was what he dreamed about for so long? Jackie is holding him. His awareness comes back to him in pieces as he comes down from the second or third panic attack of the day. Jackie has crashed down onto the

mattress with him. He's being held like a little kid, but Jackie doesn't seem bothered by his weight or his neediness. Jackie just clings to him. Clings to him as tight as he's clinging to Jackie. JJ cries quietly as he comes back to himself. Jackie wipes at his face and hums to him, nonsense music in the air. “My JJ, my JJ.” He doesn't seem bothered by the crying either. “I missed you, JJ.” His voice breaks. Jackie coughs and kisses the side of his head one more time, his voice fading away. “Have to go,” signs JJ, crying into his chest. “Have to go, before he hurts you!” “I'm so sorry, James, I never really got to practice with the sign language, I should have worked harder...” “Go, go!” He points to the door. “Go away!” Jackie shakes his head at him. JJ should push him away, but he just – he just can't. Marvin will kill him for this. Anti will kill Jackie for this! “Nothing's going to hurt you anymore,” whispers Jackie. “Never, you're never leaving my sight again. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again.” And he wants it to be true so badly it hurts. He just clings to Jackie, shaking. “Oh! He let you get in there with him!” A new voice in the expanse of the mirrors. JJ feels Jackie nod. “Do you guys... do you want some space?” “Yeah, please,” whispers Jackie. “Maybe he'll let you come in too in a minute, but if we could just... just get a minute...” “Just text me if you need anything.” And it's just him and Jackie in the quiet of his box again. “Nothing matters but this,” sings Jackie, brushing at his hair. “My baby brother. I love you.” Love, love, love. He closes his eyes and holds to Jackie, and just for one moment of weakness, he lets himself have this.

[yeeharley]

sweater weather

for @yourfriendlyneighborhoodnerd

word count: 1576

warnings: none

⋆

Harley’s closet has always been full of hoodies- well, not his metaphorical closet (that had been full of him), but in every house he’s ever lived in, he’s had a small clothing shop of his own tucked away in his room, and he takes care of it like it’s his child.

He’s spent more money on it in his entire life than he probably has on food, and that’s saying something, because Harley loves food. Every month, there’s a small portion of his salary that he sets aside in a little box labeled hoodie fund in red sharpie. He empties it out whenever he feels like it, stocking up on every sweatshirt he can get his hands on.

Abercrombie and Fitch? Check.

H & M? Check.

Macy’s.

Pacsun.

Literally every hoodie that Harley finds, whether it’s at a gas station or in his mother’s closet, he takes and stashes away in his room, pulling his favorites out whenever he feels like he needs a bit of comfort.

It’s always been his thing. Abby, his sister, collects flannels (very gay of her, he knows- half of them belong to her girlfriend, Lila). His mother has a cardboard box full of baseball caps, some tattered and worn, others brand-new. 

The Keeners are a family of pack rats. They always have been, and they always will be.

Harley loves it. 

The hoodie stash comes with him to New York when he decides to move in with Tony for college (Columbia) to avoid paying rent in an apartment. There, he meets- and subsequently falls in love with- Peter Parker, who is the polar opposite of a pack rat.

The boy owns two hoodies. Only two, and one of them is a school sweatshirt. He’s got one pair of sweatpants, one good jacket, and a set of superpowers that send Harley spinning.

Spider-Man only owns two hoodies. Harley has to have over twenty at this point.

He resolves to fix that particular issue after about half a week of knowing Peter, starts dating him after a month, and sets to work immediately.

⋆

Peter’s always had trouble warming himself up without heating pads and blankets, that’s for sure- and it’s only gotten worse now that he’s got spider powers. Apparently, inability to thermoregulate is an absolute bitch, and that absolute bitch is making it really hard for him to keep saving people when he can barely keep himself from shaking apart.

Teeth chattering after a particularly long patrol, Peter swings around a skyscraper in a wide arc that nearly sends him tumbling into a billboard. He overcorrects, twisting his body so hard in midair that he feels his spine pop, and brushes so close to a picture of a car that his foot clips the side. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, water squelching in the fabric of his suit from the latest rainfall. “Shit, shit, shit-”

The easiest way to catch pneumonia is getting cold and wet and not warming up in time. Peter should know- he’s had it before, and wow, had that been an awful three days. 

The fact that his body can’t seem to take care of his temperature on its own and requires the amount of upkeep that he puts into it doesn’t make this any easier. In fact, it’s much harder; Peter can already feel the cold seeping into his bones and settling there, condensing into heavy liquid. His marrow is like a sponge, soaking it up and letting it sit, and he feels like a bundle of damp wool in a freezing river.

Sinking.

Peter grits his teeth and keeps pushing despite the chill in his bones. Stark Tower is on the horizon- he can stay there for a little while. Take a nap and warm up. 

Tony and Pepper should be out for the weekend, and if he’s got his dates right, Harley has a job interview today. He’ll be alone.

Nobody to question his admittably-questionable decision-making abilities.

Brilliant.

Ever since a scarring experience regarding windows made of bullet-proof glass, the bedroom windows of the tower had been replaced with easy-to-move sliding windows.

(no, Peter hadn’t thought he’d be able to break them. Yes, Peter had broken them- flying through the window of Harley’s room, collapsing on his bed while he’d been studying for a chemistry test, and bleeding all over his sheets)

Peter lands on the side of the building as lightly as he can, wincing as a full-body shiver wracks his muscles, and slides the window to his boyfriend’s room up far enough to slide over the wooden frame and onto the warm carpet. There’s a subtle change in temperature- yeah, he’s still cold, but heating system. Yes. Brilliant.

It is with a clouded mind that Peter, freezing and tired, slips out of his suit and deposits it on Harley’s rug before grabbing a folded set of clothes off of the foot of the bed and quickly stepping into them. 

Harley’s room has a certain calmness to it- the pale blue walls, the gray color of his comforter, the way he keeps it a messy sort of clean. Peter’s always loved it, ever since the first time he’d visited. This is the room where he and Harley had watched Star Wars together for the first time, where they’d kissed for the first time, where Harley had first told him that he loved him (and when Peter had said it back).

That said, it takes maybe two minutes for Peter to nestle himself up in Harley’s blankets, burying his nose in his pillow (he really needs to ask what kind of cologne Harley wears), and fall asleep wrapped in warmth and happiness and him.

⋆

“Fuck supervillains,” Harley hisses, stepping into the elevator with the air of a man scorned. His boots squelch every time his feet hit the ground- he hadn’t really bothered to avoid stepping in puddles after the cafe his job interview had been set up in had gone up in flames.

His hair, normally floating around his face in light curls, keeps flopping down into his eyes in wet, dripping ringlets. Harley’s head feels about ten times heavier than it usually does, and he does not like that, thank you very much. 

No, he’s going to blow-dry his scalp until it burns, change into one of his favorite hoodies (maybe the Midtown one he’d bought in support of Peter’s high school science fair? he likes that one), and fall asleep.

He’ll probably text Peter first, come to think of it. Just to make sure he’s alright.

Lord knows he needs some checking in on.

Leaving a puddle of water in his wake, Harley stomps his way off of the elevator when he gets to his floor. The lights are off, just like he’d left them, and he’s ready to take a long, long nap. He needs one. Deserves it.

But there’s a light on in his room.

“Dammit,” he mutters, stripping out of his sopping jacket and pulling his ever-present switchblade out of his pocket.

Of all the days for a home invasion-

But, no, Harley realizes, it’s not a home invasion.

The anxiety seeps out of his body, replaced with a warm kind of happiness that he doesn’t feel very often, as he steps into his room and closes the door behind himself as quietly as he can.

It’s Peter.

Peter, with sopping wet hair dripping water onto Harley’s pillow.

Peter, wrapped up in his warm comforter like a bug in a coccoon.

Peter, who is wearing his hoodie and sweatpants.

Oh.

Oh.

It’s the one Harley bought on vacation in San Fransisco- a gray hoodie with bright blue lettering across the chest- and it absolutely dwarfs Peter’s wiry frame. The sweatpants are more of the same, drooping over the shorter boy’s feet with at least four extra inches of fabric.

Harley knew he was taller than his boyfriend. Much taller. But he didn’t know Peter would look like that.

(that isn’t a bad thing. in fact, it’s a thing so good that Harley can hardly contain himself. he should not feel this happy about seeing Peter in his clothes.)

He unlaces his shoes and, disregarding the soaking-wet Spider-Man suit in the corner of the room, kicks them aside before carefully leaning down and planting his knee on the side of his bed. Peter shifts a bit as Harley’s weight pushes the mattress down, turning onto his back and stretching a hand out in his general direction, fingers outstretched, palm open wide.

Harley muffles his laugh and places his own hand in Peter’s. Laces his fingers around to the back of his knuckles. Creeps closer, closer, still in his jeans, before turning onto his side so that he’s facing Peter.

“Hey, honey,” he whispers tiredly, chuckling as a dopey little smile curls across Peter’s lips. “You miss me?”

Nodding slowly, Peter shifts onto his side as well before inching forward. He tucks himself into his chest, eyes still closed, and bumps the top of his head against Harley’s chin.

“Alrighty, babe. Alright.”

It takes a moment for Harley to situate himself, winding his arm over Peter’s shoulders and worming his feet beneath the blankets. When he does, Peter hums contentedly, hot breath puffing against Harley’s throat.

He feels the moment the smaller boy drifts off to sleep, and after a few minutes of feeling Peter’s chest drift up and down, up and down, up and down...

Harley isn’t far behind.

[dhampirslays]

✂ - a vivid memory

" This is shit. "

My gaze rose to meet Hope's as she pushed her bedding off her legs and marched towards where I sat, legs folded one under the other and leaning back against the old wallpaper. For a moment, she stood tall before me, curiously observing the plate I had been trying to paint for the past few hours before taking it in her hands and carefully dumping it over by the window's wardrobe alongside the rest of my creations. With the curtains drawn closed, the area was illuminated by the dim light of our lamp posts, standing tall by the side of our beds, and what faint rays of moonlight managed to peek past the curtain's heavy material ― even so, Hope's face was cast with shadows, making it incredibly hard to read.

" Hey, I was working on that ! "

She didn't answer. Instead, she squinted her eyes on the plate, studying it. " Isn't that the Council's gift to the school ? And wasn't it hanging on the wall by the main entrance ? "

I grunted my reply, setting the brush and the colouring palette down. " They send one of those every year. I highly doubt they'll even notice one's missing. "

" There's like, a dozen of them here. "

" Exactly my point. "

Snorting a chuckle, Hope pushed the brush and the palette side, making room for herself to sit before leaning back and bringing her head to rest over my lap. A grin crossed her face as she grabbed a hold of the paintbrush, slapped it over to the side of my face before I even had time to turn away, let alone shelter myself. Casting her a pointing glare, I turned my head towards the mirror where my eyes widened double their size at the red line starting above my bow and descending in waves down to my cheek. My lips parted, ready to voice my protest when Hope rose her hand still holding the brush ― I watched it closely, ready to dodge if she felt like splashing colour to my face again, but instead, she tossed it away and I was simply left to stare at how the brush rolled upon the old, wooden floor until it bumped to the side of the carpet.

Blinking my confusion, I looked down at her. " What the hell was that for ? "

" If I'm going to die I ain't leaving them with a clean floor. They can clean it themselves. " She huffed, crossing one leg over her knee. " Aren't you nervous about tomorrow ? "

So that's what it was all about; the Tento di Cruciamentum, or, as us normal people who thought that Latin was a waste of time to learn liked to call it, cruelty test. At least that was its direct translation ― the Watchers always referred to it as the Test, possibly recognising that telling a bunch of teenagers that they were going to be cruelty tasted wasn't the best idea, especially since said teenagers had the power to burn the entire school to the ground. Personally, I always thought that cruelty was the wrong noun to describe it ― death, was a better fit for it, more so since it wasn't exactly guaranteed that if a slayer went in, she came out; in one peace, that was.

The process had changed ever since Buffy threw a fit about it when she had first undergone it, but the key points remained the same; upon maturity, the slayer was injected with a mix of muscle relaxants and adrenaline suppressors. When the drug kicked in and she was rented powerless, she'd be sent in to fight a demon ― and although the manual didn't exactly specify which type of demon it was, more often than not, it was vampires as they were considerably easier to subdue. The Watchers always bragged that it was more for the experience than anything else, claiming that whilst they were trained to fight, this was meant to establish intelligence; practical thinking. It was also meant to be a controlled environment but accidents had happened before. Or such they were listed as, anyway. The truth was that as long as a vampire was set loose, no one was really safe ― and a powerless slayer detained in a closed space with it was basically a snack with a bow.

I never thought it was about the experience though. They could have easily taken us out in the field to get that done. Rather, it was about control; seeing if, aside from the physical factor, we were in the right headspace, still capable to get the job done once we were past that age peak. It was like Hollywood but. . . deadlier.

And the changes the test had suffered ? We now got a one-week notice paper and an instructions manual. Some would like to argue that training Watchers didn't have a different fate since they had to undergo a test of their own, but at least theirs targeted their mentality. No one would come to rip them to shreds.

Alas, I nodded. " A little. Worrying about it won't change anything. " In fact, that was the reason why I had started painting that plate. To get my mind off the fact that in less than twelve hours, I'd either be alive and graduating or having a very heated conversation with Saint Peter.

" So you don't mind that they'll barge in, in the middle of the night, while we're asleep and inject us with God knows what ? "

I had to admit the thought was pretty unsettling. We knew what the syringe contained but, at the same time, did we, really ? I grabbed a wet tissue as I started to rub it all over my face, trying to get the paint off my skin. " They don't have a reason to further hurt us. They need us for the, you know, slaying thing. "

" No, they needed us. Past tense. Now there are too many of us and it's easier to pick and choose who you want. "

I didn't want to admit that Hope was right but. . . she was making some strong points there. Although the old council was thoroughly replaced, they were quite known for going to extreme lengths when it came to disobeying slayers, evident with what had went down with Faith Lehane. And back then, there were just two slayers, not an entire race of them. Admittedly, it'd make no difference now if one girl were to die while taking the Tento di Cruciamentum. The world had survived with fewer before.

Shifting beneath her, I moved across my bed before laying down, face-first into my pillow. This was all too much to think of in one night; I was tired and suddenly unsure of tomorrow. " I guess, " I returned, turning my head to look at her. " Will you stay here ? " It wouldn't make any difference if she slept in my bed or hers, given the distance between them was already short, to begin with. But, it would make me feel a little better knowing that she was there.

Hope stared at me for a good second before nodding her head and squeezing her way on the bed to lay beside me. Using one of the extra pillows for support, she then turned her back on me, as if preparing for look guard.

" G'night. " She sang. " Don't let the vampires bite. "

I felt like someone had run me over with a track, stitched me back together and then ran me over again. And had then dumped me on the floor.

With a groan, I rolled into my back before sitting up on the hardwood floor that creaked beneath me. Pressing a hand at the back of my neck where I still felt the biting of the needle, I looked around me in question.

The room didn't have much furniture in it; aside from the old fireplace that stood in the very back, there were two stray and broken into couches, a coffee table, and a longer, higher table a few feet from where I was standing ― other than that, the room was naked and judging by the cobwebs and amount of dust on the legs of the two tables, I could only assume this place wasn't used much. My head snapped back at the couches, where I squinted.

There were two couches in this room, and I had been left on the floor like a pile of dirty laundry. Worse even; at least the dirty laundry belonged in a hamper.

" Assholes, " I muttered under my breath as I slowly rose to my feet. They felt like they were made out of jello, and when they swayed off balance, I had to catch hold of the table before I found myself on the floor again. My body cried out for the strength it was missing, for the strength that had been taken away from it, and such was evident on my every waving step, slightly missing, slightly out of balance. I knew this was only temporary, that the power taken from me would be returned in a couple of days when the drugs wore off ― but for that to happen, I had to survive until then.

When I got the hang of human walk, navigating my way around the estate wasn't so bad. Turning left from the room I was previously in, I walked up to the door and gave its knob a hard pull; locked, and it wouldn't even budge. I tried again, praying to whatever mystical force or God there was out there to give me back my power so I can kill the demon and be done with it ― but, alas, the door stayed put ( if not slightly shake at its edges ). Sighing in defeat, I moved towards the door's little window to the right, hoping to at least get a sense of where I was, or, if that was too much to ask for, perhaps the time. Using my sleeve to rub upon the dusty glass surface, I grimaced in disgust at the dirt that was now plaguing my pajama sleeve before pushing my face against the glass, glaring outside. The other side was still smudged, still blurry but I could at least see the rays of sun peeking past the dirt. It was day alright, which meant that for the next few hours, I had the greater advantage.

Now, all I had to do was locate the demon.

Grabbing myself an iron weapon from the fireplace, I took the stairs to the upper floor. With the iron shovel in hand, I traveled from room to room, searching for my opponent. And yet, every room I checked was void of life ― or, non-life in this case. I came to a stop in the very last room, glancing around me puzzled, still in hand. There was no demon or anyone in general in that house. Did they forget to unleash it ? Or maybe the test on itself had changed and they had instead been monitoring my way of thinking ? They did say it required intelligence.

First, I heard its growl, and then, I got smacked across the floor. Crashing on the wall behind me, the impact had me seeing stars and flashing colours. My back, on the other hand, sent paralysing jolts of pains all the way up to my skull which, in their own turn, took a hot second to recover from. And when my vision returned to normal, I saw it ― him, whatever the vampire was anyway. One second he was in the middle of the room and then he was kneeling before me, black eyes eagerly taking me in curiously, hungrily, as if I was a sandwich in a glass case. And then he leaned down and patted my hair down like he was trying to fix what the impact had done to them.

I wasn't really sure I was breathing during that time. All I knew was that my heart was beating loudly in my chest and I could feel it all throughout my body.

Grabbing a hold of my shoulder, he pulled me up to my feet, and now I had the chance to study him as well. With matted dark hair, his dark clothes contrasted against his pale complexion, the dried bloodstains on his shirt indicating that he had been in there a while. And then, his face turned wrinkly, his forehead bumping out as his eyes turned a bright yellow shade and his fangs making an appearance. Swallowing past the deja-vus and the paralyzing fear it brought along, offered me a toothy smile before craning my head to the side, to expose my neck and very little bits of my shoulder as his tongue ran across his fangs. If I didn't feel like lunch before, I certainly did now.

" I look forward to this time of the year, " He sighed in content, voice slightly muffled by his fangs. " You'll have to excuse me if I skip the introduction. I'm so hungry and you look very delicious. "

My fingers tightened in a fist, brushing slightly against the wall and the curtain from aside; a longshot of a plan, but it was all I got ― and when his fangs were almost a breath away from my neck, I pulled on the curtains as hard as I possibly could. The rusty hinges gave in, the curtains fell onto the floor, and light, beautiful, sweet, light painted the room an orange-golden shade. The vampire screeched in pain and brought his hands up to shelter his face that was soon starting to smoke as he stumbled away, attempting to regain composure at the shadowy corner of the room. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I grabbed the shovel and bolted out of the room, despite the fact that my back was now painfully aching due to the prior collision.

I had some time on my side; judging by the sun's colours, it would take approximately twenty minutes until the sun would start to set ― twenty minutes that the vampire would spend trapped in that room ― twenty minutes to come up with a plan or I wouldn't live to see the next sunrise.

Panicked, I entered the first room I saw and locked the door behind me. Dropping the pliers to the ground, I anxiously paced up and down, as I ran my shaking hands through my auburn strands. Plan, plan, plan, I needed a plan. But nothing would come to my mind, and the room started to close in and spin around me and ―

Startled, I jumped up when someone started banging the wall to my left. Holding the shovel close to my chest, as if it was my very own bodyguard, I hesitantly marched up to the wall. Given how every single trust of the person behind it would echo into this room, this wall was fake; holding a wooden entrance door at the very middle, I tried its handle, slowly twisting it to check whether it was unlocked but at the same time trying not to alert the person banging behind it. The knob didn't nudge ― the door was locked.

" For fuck's sake, let me out, I'm hungry ! "

My eyes almost popped out of their sockets at the sound of the familiar voice. Scooting closer to the wall, I gave my hardest hit which, in this state, still wasn't enough to make a single crack. " Hope ? "

There was a pause. " Jo ? What's happening over there what are you doing ? "

" I'm having a vampire on my tail. " I explained the very obvious. " And I have approximately ten minutes before he eats me. "

" Shit, " She cursed. Then, another pause. " Is the door locked ? Can I come through ? "

" It's locked. " I sighed, staring up the wall in an attempt to come up with something, anything to join the rooms. Glancing down at the shovel, and then back at the wall, I frowned before I started to hit its door edge with it, watching as the surface dented in every hit I landed on it. " Hold up. " I called out before fully shoving the shovel inside the crack. Before today, all it would have taken for me to break through would have been a punch; and now, I had to dig through an entire wall just to get a small opening done. It was pathetic but alas, I put my whole body weight against the tip of the shovel, trying to force it to break through ― and it did; but it also took an entire chank of the wall with it.

Grabbing through the now enormous crack on the wall for support, I watched as Hope poked her head through it, glanced around the room, and then pulled back. A mere second had passed before I now saw two legs poking through, pushing and squirming around the crack in an attempt to wiggle their way into the room. It couldn't have taken more than a minute until she was fully in my side of the room, panting and undusting herself as she straightened her back.

I had the overwhelming urge to hug her, and cry, and hug her some more but the clock was ticking and we had now five whole minutes to figure out how to dust the vampire in the next room before the sun went down. With Hope here, my mind was more at ease; more capable of filtering through idea after idea before they all came crashing together to form a hint of a plan. I glanced back at the shovel, now cracked at the edges into a slightly sharpened tooth before I grabbed both it and Hope, dragging her downstairs. As soon as we were in the room I had first started in, I grabbed a hold of the ashy log, still inside the fireplace, and shoved it into the floor.

" What the fuck are you doing ? "

" Sharpening the log into a stake, " I curtly answered as I thrust the log into the floor, time after time until the burnt parts of it had given in to good, old wood. Exactly what we needed.

" How ? " She pressed, kneeling down next to the log, her interest peaked.

" With this, " I said, pushing the broken shovel forward. " We don't need it to be perfect, just pointy. Get to sharpening. "

By the time we had finished digging and sharpening, my nails and hands hurt. I was pretty sure some splinters had poked their way into my fingers, but alas, we had created a pretty solid stake. With a good hit, it could puncture the vampire's heart; it had the potential for it. After that, Hope left to hide with the stake and I, went upstairs to be the personal bait; to lure him downstairs so that she could deliver the final blow.

I didn't wander around for long before the vampire took a couple shaking steps out of the room, flashing me with a wicked smile. Even from a good distance away, I could smell the burnt skin, I could see the burning marks across his face and his hands. Facing the sun as he was, it was a wonder that he hadn't caught on fire on the spot.

" That wasn't very nice, little red. " He cooed, taking several steps towards me. For each step he took forward, I took one back until my hand rested upon the staircase's banister. His smile widened in the idea of a chase, of the thrill of having to chase your food before you ate it.

I set off in a run and the vampire followed closely behind me. Whereas my back ached, pulled with every step I took, the vampire only grew stronger, gaining more and more ground by the second. Finally, we made our descent in the staircase; I ran down as fast as my legs could possibly carry me, even skipped some stairs in hopes that it'd give me a small leverage but alas, just before the heel of my foot managed to hit the last step, something pushed my body forward and I landed with a grunt on the very bottom of the stairs.

I barely had time to roll upon my back as the vampire hovered over me, clasped his than around my throat, and squeezed until I was left gasping for a mere breath. Content with his victory, he loosened up his grip before, for yet again, growing his fangs but this time, wasting no time as he leaned down to bite upon my neck. I closed my eyes shut, body stiffening and ready to take the blow ― yet, the bite never came.

Opening my eyes, I turned my head to look at the man before me, frozen in place and with eyes double their size as he stared down at me. I moved my gaze to his chest, where the handmade stake was now coming through ― and not long after, I witnessed the vampire's body crumple and fall, its flash and bones turning into dust and dissolving over me.

Coughing the dust away from my face, I grabbed the hand Hope had extended for me to take and helped myself to my feet. My chest burnt as the oxygen flew back to my lugs.

" So that's done, " said Hope, shifting beside me. " How do we get out now ? "

" Grab the shovel and break through the window ? " I returned, brows arching. Following her shrug, I grabbed a hold of the shovel and walked up to the window, raising its tip to collide with the glass surface, but before I brought it down, the door to my left opened wide and a suited man walked in, fixing the collar of his jacket.

" No, no, that won't be necessary, please. Do not wreck the house more than you already have. " He scolded as if I was a toddler about to ruin my mother's finest vase. Extending his arm towards Hope and I, he added, " Poe Fillcraft, Council member. "

I didn't bother shaking his hand; neither did Hope. Instead, we just stared at him, the shovel still raised in my hands as if debating whether to start hitting him, or the window. I was still pondering my decision. Seeing that he wouldn't get a handshake anytime soon, he lowered his hand and cleared his throat.

" Having witnessed your examination thoroughly, I'm not sure how we feel about two slayers sharing one demon. It's possible that you'll have to reta― "

" Wait, " I cut in, brows furrowing into a deep frown. " You saw that ? "

" And you did fuck all to prevent us from dying ?! "

" Twice, " I pressed in, eyes narrowing. Would smacking a Council member with a shovel count as a serious offense ?

" Language, " He chastised Hope before sighing. " It was a monitored examination, we aren't allowed to offer help of any kind. " Hope scoffed in response and Poe's eyes narrowed at her frame before he continued; " I'm afraid you'll have to repeat the test. Separately. "

" That won't be necessary. " Mrs. Lovegood stepped in, offering both of us reassuring smiles. I waited, shovel still in hand until my hands started to grow sore. " The test is complete and the goal has been achieved. And besides, fixing and setting up the house would take a good couple of weeks, not to mention the test preparation and the syringe, and ― "

" Okay, fine. " Poe sighed, stepping out of the doorway. " You're free to leave. Don't forget to stop by the administration office to get your papers. "

Hope and I stepped out of the house. We walked down the stairs, and into the pathway to get back to the school but I stopped dead in my tracks. Instead, I turned around, lifted the shovel, and threw it across the window, watching as it broke the glass and tackled the curtain into the ground. Poe parted his lips, about to scold me for my outburst but Mrs. Lovegood shushed him by placing a hand upon his shoulder. Glaring at both of them, I turned on my heel, ready to follow Hope.

" Oh, and Joyce ? "

" What ? "

" I'd love to see those plates of yours. "

[songsformonkeys]

Burning Alive (dave york x reader)

summary: Dave York smut, inspired by the lyrics to the song Fire Meet Gasoline by Sia

word count: 2600

rating: explicit

warnings: there’s no plot here, just filth

notes:  Thanks to my lovely friend @yespolkadotkitty​ for beta and enabling this weird and sudden obsession with Dave York <3

Link to AO3

Burning Alive

It's a beautiful house, small but picturesque. It has a big wrap around porch and it is painted in a light shade of blue, which you suspect makes it blend into the sky on cloudless days. It's too dark to tell now. There isn't really a garden but rather a big expanse of grass with the occasional appletrees strewn about and, standing just outside the front door, you would have the most beautiful view of a mirror-flat lake during daytime. The place would look like the perfect postcard. If it weren't for the four dead bodies inside and the, close to, overwhelming smell of gasoline.

”Come on now. Strike the match,” your partner says, a little impatiently, as he emerges from the depths of the house with the now empty canister of gasoline. You have half a mind to tell him to chill and ask him if he'd preferred that you set fire to the house while he was still in it, but you're a little too afraid of what the answer would be. Besides, you know that whatever argument you start with a man like Dave York, you're going to regret later.

Dave snaps his gloved fingers. The sound of the snap is dulled but it gets the point across. You pull the box of matches from the pocket of your jacket and strike one. For a moment, as the small flame flares up, it feels like time is slowing down and you look up at Dave's face. He's watching the tiny flame too and the harsh shadows the glow casts across his face makes him look just as dangerous as you know he is. You want him to kiss you senseless, take you right then and there against the car. Your grip on the match tightens and you toss it into the house before you accidentally snap it in half.

The flames immediately take hold and start spreading. Dave spares it only a moment's glance to make sure the match survived the trip through the air before turning back to the car. You stay for a few moments longer, to watch, feeling a sense of wonder at the beauty and power of the flames as they engulf the house.

When you eventually tear your eyes away and turn to join Dave, you catch him leaning against the side of the car watching, not the house but you. It's too dark to make out the expression on his face but you know and as you walk over to him you put a little extra sway into your hips.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

The car ride back to the motel is silent, apart from the purr of the engine. The purr might as well be coming from you. The thrum of excitement and anticipation has your body feeling taut like a bowstring. Every time Dave moves, you almost jump out of your skin. You never know when the first touch will come and his face is impossible to read, even after years of watching him. Sometimes you don't even make it off the scene of the crime before he's on you, and sometimes he suggests you stop for dinner on the way home and by the time his hands finally touch you, you're close to tears. You can't tell which scenario you prefer.

You and Dave have been working together for five years. On the job, you know just how he works and what he's capable of, but outside of the jobs you do, you know next to nothing about him. You don't know what he does other than killing, if he has a different job or a family even.

Dave knows more about you than you know of him. You don't know exactly how much. He knows where you live at least. He proved that a couple of years ago.

It had been a particularly nasty job. Things had gone to shit, the wrong mark had been killed and you had decided that was the final straw. You wanted out. So the next time the phone rang with an offer of a job, you ignored it. It rang again half an hour later. You ignored that too. After the third time, it stopped ringing. As the day passed, you felt lighter, like the air was a little easier to breathe. You went to the movies by yourself and watched a movie you had little interest in, but you felt normal. On the way home afterward, you even bought a bouquet of yellow tulips. You felt free.

Right up until you'd entered your apartment and found Dave in the kitchen. He'd been furious, demanding to know where you'd been. He'd paused for a second when he spotted the flowers in your arms. It had been as if he couldn't quite fit the puzzle pieces of you with flowers, instead of a gun or a knife, together. The confusion lasted for a brief moment before he'd stalked over to you. You'd dropped the flowers, ready to defend yourself, but Dave hadn't fought you, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead, he'd crashed your mouths together with a force that you thought might crack a tooth. That was your first time. After a kiss that felt like a punishment, you had proceeded to rip each other’s clothes off, the tulips trampled to bits on the floor, before Dave had bent you over the kitchen counter. And as he'd sunk deep into you, he'd leaned over your back to hiss in your ear:

”You don't get to quit. We burn together, you and I”.

Sometimes you still entertain the thought that he will show up at your home again, but deep down you know that if he does, it'll be to kill you.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

You get to the motel and Dave kills the engine. He doesn't say anything and there's a frown on his face. It doesn't matter. You know the drill. In a smooth motion, you slide out of the car and walk towards the front desk. As you walk, you can feel the slick between your legs that has begun to seep through your panties. You rent a room for the night and the person behind the desk hands you the keys without barely even looking at you. You wonder if that's something they've trained themselves to do. The people who come to a place like this don't want to be seen.

As you walk out, you wave the keys in the air for Dave to see before heading straight for the room. You hear the car door open and slam shut behind you. The numbers on the keyring are a bit worn and it takes you a minute to figure out whether the last number is an 8 or a 9. In the end, you're 90% certain that it's a 9 and you decide to try it.

You have barely gotten the key in the lock when two hands suddenly grip your hips roughly and pull you back against a hard chest. You jump, hadn't heard Dave come up behind you, and as the surprised noise escapes your throat you hear him chuckle.

Dave bats your hand away from the key and unlocks the door himself. He yanks the key out and tosses it on the table, where it skids to a stop just before it slides over the edge and onto the floor. And damn if that isn't symbolic of what you're pretty sure is about to happen.

Dave propels the two of you forward, kicks the door shut behind you and before you have time to register what he's doing, he has you pressed up against a wall. His forearm is like a vice across your chest and he uses one of his knees to nudge your legs apart. He's staring you straight in the eyes. There's a wildfire there and you know, without a doubt, that you're gonna let him burn you.

”Dave,” you breathe and when he reaches a hand up towards your face, you think for a second that he's going to caress you. Then he presses the tip of his index finger lightly against your lips and murmurs ”Open.”

You immediately obey and suck the digit into your mouth. Dave makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and presses closer. You can feel the hard line of his cock firmly against your hip.

The pad of his finger feels rough against your tongue when you suck it deeper into your mouth, still holding his gaze with yours. His hand smells faintly of gasoline.

When Dave pulls his finger out, it's with a soft 'pop' from your lips. His other hand has cleverly worked open the button of your pants and the slow 'tic tic tic' as he pulls the zipper down, sends shivers down your spine.

You've done this so many times before. There's never a question of if this is going to happen, only of when and how. There's an unpredictability about Dave which makes every time feel as exciting as the first.

He holds you trapped against the wall as he works his fingers into your pants and into you. You gasp at the first stretch of his fingers and he wastes no time before hooking his fingers to rub at that spot inside you, that's he's well aware drives you absolutely wild. Your eyes fall shut. You toss your head back and it connects with the wall behind you with a thud.

”Careful,” Dave says, in one of his rare moments of showing consideration.

”The wall isn't what's gonna kill me,” you whimper as his fingers pick up pace.

”I know,” Dave says and your eyes fly open as he roughly thrusts his fingers deeper inside you, forcing you up on your tippy-toes. You don't ask him to elaborate on his comment.

Dave knows just how to keep you balancing on that fine line between pain and pleasure. He's rough but it's what you need, to know for certain that you're still alive. Years of working these jobs have turned you numb to so many things in life. These moments with Dave are the only times when you truly feel something. It's not love. That's too sentimental an emotion. But desire, pure and raw, and all-consuming. You want Dave, and there's no scenario where that ends well.

Your first orgasm has your knees buckling and it's only Dave's arm, still across your chest, that keeps you standing.

In yet another act of kindness, he lets you catch your breath slightly, before he pulls his fingers out and holds them up to your mouth. You lick them clean and he watches you like a starving man.

His fingers are soon replaced by his lips and he gives you a bruising kiss. Dave's left hand rests gently around your throat, his thumb and index finger only just grazing your jawline for support. He doesn't press down, not yet anyway. But with Dave, you can never quite know how far he will take it. Sometimes you suspect that he doesn't quite know either. More than once, after the heat and flames have died out, you've caught him touching a bruise on your skin with an almost surprised look on his face. Like he can't quite remember marking you that way.

It's all part of the Dave York experience, and you want more. Reaching between you, your fingers find the zipper to his green camo jacket. You yank it down and push the jacket off his shoulders before reaching for his pants. Dave doesn't help you. Instead, he just watches you, with his own face inches away from yours and with an infuriating smirk on his lips, as your desperation increases over not getting his clothes off fast enough. It's only when your fingers attempt to sneak under the edge of his underwear that he steps back and lets you go. You stumble as the pressure of his body against yours suddenly disappears, but manage to regain your balance just in time to catch Dave kicking his pants off. He stands before you and for a few seconds, you allow yourself to just drink in the visage of this man before you, wearing nothing but a worn t-shirt and a pair of underwear.

Beautiful isn't the right word, but your body yearns for him.

So you quickly shimmy out of your own pants and soaked underwear, and pull your shirt and sports bra over your head.

Dave holds his hand out for you, like he's asking you to dance. In a way, that's just what this is. When you take the hand, he yanks you close and bites down on your neck as he lets his hands rediscover the newly exposed skin. You can practically feel the bruises forming as he grips your hips tight and grinds you against him for some friction.

”Bed,” he orders and by God if that doesn't send a surge of heat through you. You grip the hem of his t-shirt and begin walking backwards towards the bed. Dave follows but lifts his arms to allow you to pull the shirt off. As soon as he's free of the fabric, he manhandles you onto the bed.

It's half wrestling, a half-hearted attempt for dominance, but Dave always wins and soon he's got you on all fours in front of him, keening as he runs his thumb along your slick folds. You can't think straight. You hear the tear of a condom-wrapper and when the head of his cock pushes into you, you feel like crying from desperation.

Luckily, Dave is well past the teasing portion of the evening and so he immediately sets a brutal pace that would have had you banging your head against the headboard repeatedly, if you hadn't anticipated this and given yourself some extra space.

You moan and say his name, the sounds forced out of you which each violent thrust. His breathing is labored but he doesn't say anything. You're used to this. Dave isn't really a talker, unless it's to give orders.

Your second orgasm is rapidly approaching and you can feel Dave's thrusts getting more and more erratic, which is a sign that he's drawing close as well. Balancing your weight on one arm, you reach down to touch yourself with the other. You're impossibly wet already and your finger slides easily over your clit, which is good because the pleasure is making you rapidly lose all fine motor skills.

Dave comes first, with a low groan and a few more punishing thrusts before he folds his upper body over you to suck a mark into the skin of your shoulder and to reach around and help push you the last short distance over the edge. The second orgasm is just as powerful as the first and this time you actually do collapse onto the bed, with Dave still on top of and inside you.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

Afterward, Dave is still silent. But it's a different silence from the one before, less charged. This is where you take the reins. This is where he shrinks and you grow. He's next to you on the bed, with his head resting on your chest. He looks smaller somehow. Softer. This is where you get to push his buttons.

You grip his chin gently and tilt his head up. Then you kiss him like he's something precious and with each kiss, you feel him break a little against your lips.

”You and I, we burn together,” you whisper. This is all you have and there's no telling for how long. There's no happy ending for people like you. Just a box of matches and the promise of a spark.

[andromedarune]

[Vampire!Leon/Witch!Reader] “A Night of Tricks and Treats” (Halloween Fic~!)

A/N: HAHA, I did it! It’s later than I wanted to post this, but it’s here! So enjoy the story that y’all voted for: A Vampire!Leon AU, with cute/fun elements, and a black dahlia thrown into the mix (along with other creative liberties). Thanks to everyone who voted on that poll - this one’s for you!

Vampire!Leon x Witch!Reader - “A Night of Tricks and Treats”

Word Count: ~3k

Rating: Teen (mild blood, reference to death, adult language, spooky stuff)

The third set of feverish knocks on your front door pulled a frustrated groan from your lips. You were finally drifting off to sleep when some rando decided to assault your door at some ungodly time in the night (or morning, since you checked your phone to see that it was a quarter past three). Pouted lips set on your face, you groggily slip out of bed, hardly bothering to grab the cardigan that you kept slung over your desk chair. Another fit of knocks was just starting up when you threw open the door, ready to say a few choice words to your unfortunate visitor.

But unfortunately for you, this wasn’t just any visitor.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Leon gave a cheery smile, oblivious as ever.

Ah. Maybe you should have put on some better clothes. But you’re already this far in - you decide to just play along like nothing’s wrong. Knowing him, you’d at least have a couple of minutes before the awkward sets in.

“Uh, yeah… You do realize it’s three in the morning, right?”

Leon shrugged.

“I’m aware, but it’s so much easier getting here at night. You have no idea how annoying paparazzi can be…” You sink in your hip a bit, watching his eyes flit down past your head for the briefest of moments. He tries to meet your gaze again, but the awkward smile twitching with some odd emotion that settled onto his face cues you in that he most definitely noticed.

The weather’s been oddly warm despite it already being autumn, so you were still wearing your summer pajamas. Which, of course, were a simple set of purple Wooloo PJs. Short-shorts that were baggy and comfy, a tank top that was equally baggy and comfy. Nothing scandalous, but definitely more revealing than what you normally wear.

You can practically hear the dial-up sounds going on in Leon’s mind as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, one hand tangling itself around a strand of that obnoxiously long purple hair, him just desperate to find something to distract himself with. It’s kind of fun to watch, actually.

“Did you need something?” you eventually sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as a hint of self-consciousness rumbles through your gut.

“A-ah, right!” he snaps out of it and lifts up his arm. Carefully pulling back the sleeve of his casual red hoodie, he reveals to you his forearm. A large, dark-colored burn covers most of the arm, even reaching down to his fingertips. You can’t help but wince, leaning forward for a closer look. “I, um, could use some of your help with this, if you don’t mind.”

“Again, really, Leon?” you can’t help but scold him a bit. He laughs, anyways. “This is the third time this month - one of these days there’s not gonna be much of you left to heal.”

He mutters a soft apology, but you’re still playing like you’re irritated with him and spin around into your living room. You don’t make it far before you realize that Leon’s still standing just before the threshold.

“Oh, right - you can come in.”

“Thanks,” Leon sighs in relief, still holding his arm with a smile.

Just like always, you guide him through your house, leading the significantly taller man down the halls towards a dark down just at the opposite end of your little cottage house. Expertly, you unlock the mystical mechanism that you yourself created (probably seven or eight years ago now? Man, how time flies) to reveal the ominous, shadowy basement. The two of you descend down the steps; you pass by a set of candles and light them with a snap of the fingers, a sight that surely puts stars in Leon’s eyes. He’s always been a sucker for parlor tricks like that.

Leon waddles over to the simple wooden chair you have waiting near the center of the room, taking a seat to watch as you tugged on your long black cloak (the one you made a habit to keep hanging down here for these very instances) and began pulling out various ingredients from one of the numerous cabinets that lined the upper walls of the room.

“Wish you’d just commit to being nocturnal, already,” you couldn’t help but sigh, checking the date you had written on the little jar of beeswax you were inspecting. “If you keep getting injured like this, your healing abilities might become permanently disabled.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still champion,” he laughed, seeming more amused by your reaction than anything. “I can’t just step down for no reason.”

“Sure you can.” You climbed up onto a lower shelf to dig further into a cabinet. You left that jar of chamomile here somewhere. “Gym leaders do it all the time.”

“It’s different for champions. We’re the best of the best, the image of the ideal trainer for our region. Galar isn’t known for giving up, so that’s not an option I’m willing to consider.”

You almost settle for the bag of rosemary, only to quickly set it back in the cabinet. That would be bad, using rosemary on Leon. You were trying to heal him, here, not destroy the guy. You decide to check another cabinet.

“I know, I know, Mr. Unbeatable Champion. I’m just saying that it hasn’t even been a year since you’ve turned and now I’ve basically become your primary medical provider. And you don’t even pay me!”

“I pay you!” He whines a bit before pausing, no doubt trying to think of instances of proper “payment”. “I, um… Well, I’ll pay you back this time!”

You finally find the chamomile, and even stumble upon that jar of honey you were looking for earlier today (of course, they were both behind the several jars of cinnamon sticks). So you throw the man a perked eyebrow while walking over to your giant black cauldron, which rested within a rustic brick fireplace.

“Oh yeah? What have you, Good Sir Champion, have to offer to the likes of me?”

“Name your price and I’ll double it.”

You snicker, lighting the fire with a clap of the hands rather than snapping. You can barely catch Leon’s amazed smile from this far away. How is any of that exciting for someone like you, you can help but wonder. Champion, genuinely cool guy, recently-turned vampire… still gets amused at basic baby magic. Same ol’ Lee.

“Hm, that’s a bold offer, young man,” you muse, adding a dramatic raspiness that makes you sound like some aged witch from a shitty Blockbuster horror film. “A wise man would think twice before dealing with a witch~.”

“Please,” he snickered, “you still call me to catch baby Joltiks that wander into your house. Don’t even try.”

A playfully sour look from you spurs a booming fit of laughter from your old friend. You hide your smile by turning away, focusing more on getting some dandelions to add to the mix. A small bag of garlic slumps over in the cabinet, so of course you grab it and reveal it to the man. He instinctively leans back a bit, a nervous grin settling onto his face.

“Hey, maybe this’ll add some extra zing to your salve, huh?”

“Uh, n-no thanks…”

“That’s what I thought,” you cackle, tossing the garlic away. Thoroughly satisfied with what you have, you dump a shit-ton of beeswax into the cauldron, watching it slowly melt before adding in the other items. While all that boils away, you wander over to your other writing desk, skipping past your grimoire in favor of digging into a drawer. There, you retrieve a small glass vial and a bag of jumbo marshmallows; those in hand, you walk back over to where Leon resides.

“Time for the secret ingredient.”

“It’s not really a secret ingredient if I already know what it is,” he frowned.

“Shut up and open wide.”

He rolls his eyes a bit, but does as he’s told. If you didn’t already know the truth here, you might have not seen anything unhuman about his teeth. Overly white from years of meticulous care and likely bleaching or whitening strips (though the thought of Leon walking around at night with whitening strips on his teeth nearly made you choke on your spit), but otherwise normal-looking human teeth. However, you knew better, and peered a little closer to his canines. Sure enough, you could see it; a slight shimmer, something like seeing heat rising off the earth during the summer, wavy and hardly noticeable. You took a marshmallow in one hand, the vial in the other; expertly, you stabbed the treat into one fang and simultaneously propped up the vial against the other tooth. Leon flinched a bit (“It feels really weird,” he had told you one time, following the same procedure the night he needed a quick fix after accidentally grabbing one of his grandmother’s rosaries when cleaning up his mother’s house, “kinda like I’m spitting with my teeth. Yuck.”). In seconds, small spurts of a dark, sort-of maroon-colored liquid fills up most of the vial. You give it a few seconds more before pulling away, taking a moment to drain the liquid from the marshmallow before offering the remains to the champion. He childishly takes it with glee, stuffing it into his mouth with that stupid smile on his face (goddamn his smile was gorgeous, but it’s way easier to just say that it was stupid, instead).

With the last and most important ingredient, you return to your work, carefully pouring the vial’s sibylline contents into the concoction. You pick up the large wooden spoon that hangs over the fireplace and give a few generous stirs.

“Y’know,” you hear Leon’s footsteps creeping up behind you, keeping a slow, leisurely pace as he meanders around the room, “this really wasn’t the future I thought for us when we were kids.”

You exhale a chuckle from your nose. You almost say that you feel the same, but the fear of him inquiring further about what you did envision makes you choose a different set of words.

“Don’t even think about getting all Byronic on me,” you peered over your shoulder. He simply smiles at you - an even stupider smile - hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way towards you. “I’m not going to listen to you moan and groan about your tragic fate for all eternity.”

He chuckles, something surprising soft instead of his regular bone-shattered laugh.

“Of course not. I’m just saying that I figured we’d be, y’know, doing other things.” You try not to think about what he could mean by that. “But I’m not really against this. I don’t think I would’ve found out about your little shop of horrors down here, otherwise.”

He’s got a good point there. Literally the only reason you admitted to your secret life as a decently skilled witch was the night he turned. You could still remember it all; he stumbled into your house, desperately holding his wound with that terrified look in his eye, as if he was looking at Death, itself. You’d never personally treated a victim of vampire’s night out (not a live one, anyway), but you did everything in your power to keep Leon alive. But you knew that it was nothing short of a miracle that he managed to wake up the next morning, having survived a night of literal death in slow-motion. Not so many victims were so fortunate to make it through the process, but like hell you were about to let your childhood friend die like that. So now he knew your secret, and you protected his. At least you didn’t have to worry about the two of you drifting apart any time soon, especially with him always forgetting basic vampyric flaws like sunlight all the time.

He settles beside you, offering a soft smile.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really grateful to know someone like you. You’ve got better things to be doing, and yet you always make time to bring me back after I do something stupid again and again.”

You look into his eyes a moment too long before looking back into your task. The gooey mixture, now dyed a deep red, bubbled down below, seeming almost alive.

“You make it sound like I just started doing this. I’ve been patching you up since kindergarten.”

“Fair enough. But still… I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. So, thank you.”

He’s got that look in his eyes again, golden irises burning brighter than ever, and he’s far too close for you to be comfortable. So, logically, you look even deeper into your cauldron, grateful that the darkness of the room likely hides your ever-burning cheeks. Thankfully, the brew looks just about ready. You reach over and grab a small bowl from the table nearby, spooning some of the waxy goo into its hold.

From birth, it had been decided that you would carry on your mother’s family tradition of witchcraft. And you have - with much pride - and it’s become your greatest secret that would spell disaster should it be learned by the wrong people. You didn’t make many friends, but Leon’s dumb smile was so infectious that you were always drawn to him, even if he drove you bat-shit with his innocent antics. The two of you were close for so long, but after he became champion, things became a bit more strained. You figured that it wouldn’t be long before he forgot about you altogether - but then last year’s “incident” happened, and now a whole new understanding unknown to much of the world had formed between you both. You knew it was far too late to ever consider confessing any of your possible feelings for him (feelings of annoyance, you always told yourself - what an unfortunate lie that’s come to be), but now here you were, likely stuck as his clandestine nurse for the rest of your mortal life. And then what? You’d be reincarnated, would likely stumble upon memories of your past lives (such is the fate of those who take on the witch’s mantle), and see the man you once loved (or loathed, as you’d rather say) finding someone else to take care of him in your absence. For him, it’d hardly feel like a change. But for you, it’d truly be a fate beyond that of death or eternal damnation. You should be happy that he has a reason to stay with you for the rest of your life, but instead, all you can feel is a bitter aftertaste that you have no choice but to suffer through.

“I can’t say I believe in fate,” you shrug your shoulders, “but every now and then the stars align in such a way that has us thinking that God has a sense of humor.”

Leon chuckles again, but you don’t really know. He doesn’t really know what you’re referring to. Right?

You shuffle him back over to the chair, sitting him down and resting his arm across the armrest. As gentle as possible, you spread the salve across the burn area, letting it soak in a bit before applying a second coating that you massage into his skin. Leon watches with that dumb, stupid, bothersome smile of his; you make a point never to meet those eyes, not when you’re so close to him like this.

After a few minutes, you give an affirmative nod and pull back, inspecting the injury. Sure enough, it’s already starting to lighten up.

“Looks like we got power in the healing department,” you smirk. “You’re all ready to go, Good Sir Champion.”

“Not quite.” You must’ve made a weird face, because he’s quickly backtracking, rubbing the back of his neck with a laugh. “I mean, uh, I still have to pay you back double, right? You never said what kind of payment you want.”

You don’t like the way he phrased that. No, you hate the way he phrased that. It’s got your mind in all sorts of a jumble, now. So as quick as you can (before you accidentally say something stupid), you make up a response.

“Flowers.”

Okay that’s really fucking dumb.

Leon quirks his eyebrows at you, seeming amused once more.

“I, uh, I mean,” you stumble for words, hoping to dig yourself out of this hole you’ve thrown yourself into with one stupid word. “What I mean is… I’ve been looking for a specific set of flowers for this spell I’m working on, but they don’t really sell them in stores nearby. So, uh, yeah. Get me flowers.”

“Flowers? For a spell?”

“For a spell,” you affirm.

“Okay,” there’s a strange tone to his voice that you don’t really want to try and decipher, “I can do that. What, uh… what kind of flowers do you want - er, what kind do you need? For the spell?”

You run through a mental list of all the most non-romantic flowers you can think of. Unfortunately, you like flowers, so all of them kinda felt romantic. God fucking dammit.

“Uh… dahlia’s? Black dahlia’s - yeah, those’ll be good. For the spell.”

“Right, the spell,” he nods, glancing off to the side for a millisecond. “I think I can do that, yeah. For a second, I was kind of scared you were gonna make me get a bunch of super poisonous flowers. Not sure how I would explain that one to my bank.”

“Y-yeah, right.”

A brief (and awkward) silence settles over the two of you. Eventually, Leon moves to get up; you shuffle a few steps back to give him enough space to stretch.

“Well, thanks again for helping me - I feel a thousand times better. I swear, you’re a better doctor than, well, actual doctors.”

You smirk with a smidge of pride. “Magic is just a science that hasn’t been accepted yet. And it looks cooler, too.”

“Maybe you can teach me a few things, some time.”

You narrow your eyes at him, playfully glaring in such a way that has him laughing just at the sight of it.

“That’ll cost you more flowers, Lee - are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want - any kind you want.”

You wait a minute for him to backtrack, or to say “For the spell” in a rushed manner like always. But that’s it, the end of the sentence. He just stands there, smiling in that stupid way evermore, eyes focused entirely on you.

It’s a look that you can hardly describe, the look in his eyes at that moment. It pulls something from your chest that you had spent years keeping locked up tight.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You don’t know what scares you more - the fact that you said that, or the fact that he grins even brighter.

You’re the witch here, and yet he’s the one trapping you in this terrible enthrallmetn that has you seeing stars with just that stupid-dumb smile of his. It’s hard to blame it on his status or his altered state of humanity when this has always been the case. No, that’s just the kind of person Leon has always been and (hopefully) always will be. And you would likely be stuck with this (gorgeous) idiot for the rest of your mortal life.

It’s got your heart beating faster - you can’t tell if it’s from fear or from excitement. Maybe both. Most likely both.

[littlemisslol-fic]

Summary: Eugene was raised in a world of fire and blood. He barely remembers a time before the lights went out, the Blackout, that plunged humanity into a chaotic realm of violence and desperation. It’s been ten years since the end of the world, the birth of a graveyard that wasn’t kind to those too weak to take care of themselves- and it is there that Eugene finds a kid, abandoned to the wasteland and desperately trying to return home. Varian’s unassuming, easy prey in the hard-knock world Eugene’s come to call home, so it’s with begrudging acceptance he agrees to help the kid out. Not everything is as simple as he’d believe, however, and Varian hosts a few secrets of his own. In order to survive, they’ll have to learn to trust one another- though trust is a rare commodity in a world like theirs. No one man is an island after all.

Chapter Notes: It’s the end!

Eugene hadn’t expected to wake up again.

 The first thing he notices is that his mouth tastes terrible. It’s a strange thing to notice first, but really, who can blame him? There’s no real noise, but he can hear something muffled; everything sounds like it’s through a filter, or underwater. Eugene’s thoughts swim through his head, impossible to catch, it’s like trying to grab a fish with his bare hands. Infuriating.

 Whatever he’s lying on is soft, warm. A bed for sure. It’s a far cry from the rough concrete he’d been splattered on before. Eugene groans, shifting and reveling in the comfort for a second, allowing himself to nearly drift off again. God, he’s tired, he could sleep for a thousand years if the pain in his left shoulder would just knock it off for a bit-

 Wait.

 Pain. Getting shot. Andrew.

 Varian.

 Brown eyes snap open as Eugene feels a sudden pulse of panic. The man shoots up into a sitting position, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. The kid, oh shit, where’s the kid, his mind screams at him on repeat, a cacophony of thoughts piling on top of each other in a way that keeps any of them from fully making sense.

 Eugene flails on the bed, his legs quickly tangling in the sheets and sending him toppling to the hardwood floor with a harsh thump. It’s agony, a fiery pain that laces from his upper shoulder and into his chest properly, but Eugene doesn’t stop to contemplate it. He’s in unknown territory, with unknown people. He’s only in his undershirt and pants- boots, gone, jacket, gone, backpack, gone.

 Kid, long gone.

 Shit.

 Eugene’s mind brings up the image of Varian’s face, streaked with tears and blue eyes blown wide in terror, and feels himself steel. The kid needs him. Andrew’s sure to be pissed, and something tells Eugene the Saporian isn’t going to be kind about that fact. The man can’t help the feeling of anger at the brief memory of how roughly Andrew had treated Varian when he’d seen them in the same space.

 Case and point, he has to get going after them, and fast.

 …As soon as he figures out where the hell he is.

 It’s probably not with the Saporians, Eugene can’t see them healing him after attempting to murder him. Bandits, maybe? Sometimes they liked to grab people from the wastes once they were too weak to take care of themselves, and then coerce them into repaying the kindness of saving their ass. Seems the most likely, for sure.

 Eugene grumbles as he pushes himself up off the floor. He stands on shaky legs, nearly falling over from fatigue and only staying upright by clumsily grabbing at the headboard of the bed he’d been laying on. His bare feet slap against the wooden floor, making a series of loud thumps. He groans, whoever had grabbed him probably knows he’s awake now.

 Eugene rolls his shoulders, wincing at the stiffness. He sends a questing hand towards the wound in shoulder, assessing. Thick, well wrapped bandages cover the wound, which stings as he touches it. It was definitely a shot at his heart, but it had hit too high. Right in the fleshy part of his shoulder sits five new stitches, expertly done from the feeling of them. He doesn’t trust it, to be honest.

 A good look around the room doesn’t yield much in the way of information. He’s in a smaller room, a bedroom to be sure. It’s barren, save for the bed, a nightstand with a pitcher on it, and a table pushed against the opposite wall. There’s large windows to his left, a door to his right. Bright sunlight flows in from the window.  It’s a homey enough space, warm and clean, but Eugene knows better than to trust it. A closer look at the table brings good news. Eugene grins when he catches sight of his stuff, jacket folded primly and backpack seemingly untouched from how full it still looks.

 That’s… suspicious.

 But not what he needs to focus on right now.

 The wooden floors creak slightly as he heads towards his stuff. Eugene’s mind whirls with a million plans. First, he has to get out of the house. Second, he has to figure out where the hell he even is. Third, and the most important: he needs to find the fastest route back to Saporian territory. Andrew thinks Eugene is dead, thinks it’s safe to take Varian back to their home base, and that is an incredible advantage. Eugene knows where they’re going, knows where Varian is going to be, which makes getting the kid back leagues easier than if the Saporians had split to somewhere new out of fear of being caught.

 Eugene quickly slips his boots and jacket on, ignoring the burning fire in his shoulder at the motion. Damn he’d gotten lucky, even if it meant living with an injury this bad for at least a month. The backpack follows soon enough, something of a grounding weight. Varian’s boon, he notes, is missing.

 Teeth grit, Eugene turns towards the window.

 If he’s a prisoner, there’s no way the door isn’t rigged. If it’s not locked, it’s a trap. Eugene cracks his knuckles, quietly moving towards the window with practiced grace. It seems whoever had bandaged him up had yet to figure out he’s still awake, another stroke of luck.

 He reaches the window, a medium sized opening that’s just as well maintained as the rest of the room, and slips his hands under the wooden sill. It opens soundlessly, allowing a fresh breeze to flow through. Eugene allows himself the quick moment to let himself enjoy it, as well as the feeling of the sun on his face. It’s a warm day, probably about mid-afternoon if he’s to guess, the air crisp with the smell of apples, of all things.

 It’s during this moment of reprieve, that Eugene hears growling.

 A blur of grey fur comes bolting through the window and into the room, startling the man into falling backwards with a very manly shriek, thank you. His ass hits the floor with a loud thump, muffled by the sound of high-pitched snarls coming from-

 “A raccoon?!” Eugene snaps, shoving the furry creature away from his face. It lands on the bed with a yowl, its beady black eyes narrowed in a glare. “What the hell-?“

 The rodent snarls again, spitting and pacing on the bed. It’s weird looking, for a wild animal, its coat shiny and fluffy. It looks like it’s had baths, like it’s a pet-

 Eugene’s mind suddenly makes the connection, and he throws out his hands.

 “Uh, shit,” he mumbles, “What did the kid call you? R-Reggie? No, that’s stupid. Remington?”

 The raccoon stops the feral act, his little head cocking as Eugene stumbles over a few more R names.

 “Ruddiger!” Eugene finally shouts, snapping his fingers. At the sound of the name, the raccoon perks right up, chittering something that almost sounds like a question. Eugene sees the spark of recognition in those beady eyes though, and things quickly start to fall into place.

 “You’re Ruddiger, right?” he asks, grinning when the raccoon blinks. “And you belong to Varian?”

 At the kid’s name the raccoon makes an excited noise. Eugene holds out a hand, smiling when the critter pushes into his palm with a purr. The raccoon, Ruddiger, is surprisingly soft. His little eyes shut as he shoves his face into Eugene’s hand. It’s ridiculously cute. Eugene feels a small smile cross his face, scratching the animal behind his ears.

 “Alright, you weird cat.” He says, “Want to tell me where the door is? I know where your human’s at.”

 Ruddiger squeaks at that, eyes wide at the mention of the kid. His ringed tail perks up, swishing from side to side. Eugene also notices that one of his ears, the one towards the door perks. The raccoon looks past the man and towards the exit; Eugene only has a split second to spin around before the door to the bedroom flings open.

 With a startled yell Eugene bolts backwards, putting the corner of the bed between himself and the two people who come running at him through the door. They’re two women, one holding a sword and the other swinging a frying pan like it’s a bat. All three of them scream, the women in rage and Eugene in fear.

 The one with the sword gets to Eugene first, swiping at him with a fierce cry. Her dark hair swings with the motion, nearly distracting as Eugene’s forced to duck to avoid her blade. He’s made a mistake, but he only realizes that when, with a perfectly executed switch, the women reverse positions and the blond one swings her frying pan up in a wide arc. Eugene can’t avoid it, taking the hit in the chin and toppling to the floor with a grunt.

He lands hard, blood filling his mouth from a bit tongue. Before he can even move the black-haired woman has him pinned, kneeling by his head with her hands keeping him on the floor while the blond one looms over him. Eugene’s head spins, his mouth filling with the taste of copper.

 Eventually his vision focuses again, snapping onto a pair of stunning green eyes. The blond woman leans over him, holding something in her hand. He blinks at it for a second, confused and probably concussed, if he’s honest, until his head finally clears.

 “Where did you get this?” Blondie demands. Varian’s boon sparkles in the sunlight. When Eugene tries to get his tongue to work, she shakes it in his face and leans forward.

 “I said.” Her face darkens. “Where. Did you. Get this?”

 “A friend!” Eugene finally snaps, struggling against black-hair’s grip. “A friend gave it to me, okay? And he’s in trouble, so I’d really appreciate you letting me go-“

 “Who.” It’s less a question and more a demand. The woman’s green eyes are stony, there’s a rage there that Eugene can’t help but fear a bit.

 “A kid.” He finally relents. The blond woman is familiar, and Eugene thinks he knows where from, though he’s not stupid enough to drop Varian’s name on assumptions. “I was helping him get home, we got separated. I got shot, and the people who did it took him.”

 “Was his name-” Blondie starts, but black-hair cuts her off with a hiss.

 “Raps, we don’t know this guy.” She says, “He might be lying.”

 That cinches it.

 “It’s from Varian.” Eugene says. The two women’s heads look down at him, blondie’s- Rapunzel’s- eyes going wider than dinner plates.

 “You were with Varian?!” She gasps. Before Eugene can register what’s happening, she grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to sit up, her face getting concerningly close. “Was he okay?! Where is he now?” She shakes him once; Eugene swears he can feel his brain rattle in his skull.

 “I- yeah, yeah, I was with the kid!” Eugene snaps, lightly slapping at her hands. She lets go with a sheepish expression, but Eugene continues on without prompting. “He’d been running from the Saporian gang, said they’d taken him from Corona.”

 “They did.” Black-hair grunts. “Right under our noses, those bastards-”

 “Cass.” Rapunzel chides quietly. “Please. Let him finish.”

 Eugene feels oddly self conscious under her stare, trying hard not to look into her desperate eyes. It seems that now that he’s started talking, he can’t make himself stop. The words spill out, fast and rough- though that could be the blood loss talking.

 “I found Varian out in the wastes,” He says. “He’d gotten away from the Saporians, asked me to help him find his way back… well back here, I’d assume. We were close, but Andrew found us.”

 “Shit.” Black-hair, Cass, hisses. “If we’d known you were coming, we could have sent help. You were only a few clicks from here.”

 Eugene grunts, testing his shoulder. “They took him again,” he says. The women’s faces fall. “But I know where they’re going.”

 Rapunzel perks up at that, considering. “You’d help us go get him?” She asks, and her face breaks into a smile when Eugene nods.

 “I promised to get him home,” he says. “And I’m not done until I’ve kept that promise.”

 Rapunzel pauses, looks Eugene over with a calculating face. “And what’s in it for you?” She asks, and he freezes. It’s like a deer trapped in headlights, Eugene being faced with the horrific reality that he might actually care. A large part of him wants to deny it, to claim profit, but… well it just wouldn’t be truthful. He thinks of the kid, of how far lying got them at the start.  

 “Originally it was supplies,” he finally admits. “But… I dunno, the kid’s endearing, I guess. He grew on me like a mold.”

 Cass snorts, standing from the floor. “That’s our Varian.”

 Rapunzel smiles, something almost sad. Her eyes focus back on Eugene, before she keeps grilling him.

 “Was he okay? Did they hurt him?”

 Eugene bites at his lip, not sure if the truth would help at this point, but at those pleading, green eyes, he breaks.

 “He was mostly fine,” he admits. “Lot of bruises. Pale, thin. They definitely weren’t feeding him enough. I don’t know what he was like, uh, before, but the kid’s skittish. Flinches a lot, scares easily.”

 Rapunzel’s face falls with every word, but Eugene can see the rage building. “They hurt him,” she hisses. Eugene nods.

 “Most likely.”

 He sees her jaw clench.

 “They’re dead.” Cass says, placating her friend. “We find them, they’re dead. With, uh-“

 “Eugene.”

 “-Eugene’s help, we’ll find him. We’ll bring him home, Raps. We just have to go and get him.”

 Rapunzel nods at that, looks down to Eugene again. She stands, breathing deeply, once through her nose.

 “Okay.” She says, and it’s more of a war cry than Eugene’s ever heard.

 She extends a hand down to him. He takes it. “They think I’m dead.” Eugene says as she pulls him to his feet. “They don’t know that I know where their base is. Or at least, close to where their base is.”

 “It’s more than we had to work with before.” Cass nods. Eugene can see the way she thinks, face flipping though multiple emotions. The hand holding her sword twitches. Eugene shifts his weight on his feet looking between them.

 “It’s a fair way,” He admits.

 “How far?” Cass’s face is grim.

 “About a week. Me and the kid have been walking at least that long, maybe a little shorter.”

 Rapunzel’s face falls again, before she looks to the two of them with a fire in her eye. It’s… well it’s attractive, Eugene will admit. She’s got spunk, especially when she twirls her frying pan with a showy sense of flair and focuses on the two other people in the room.

 “Well,” she says, “I guess we’d better get going.”

 >>>><<<<

 Varian has had… better nights.

 He shudders against the cold wind of evening, back pressed firmly against a tree. It’s freezing out tonight, the last of summer’s heat slowly giving way to fall. He knows his face is set firmly into a scowl, a bitter, angry expression. Good. Varian shifts his weight a little, wincing when the thick handcuff wrapped around one of his wrists digs into his skin when the movement tugs on the thick tree root Andrew had tied him to. Varian hates that’s he’s used to it, to the feeling of iron keeping him in place like a good little pet. Varian can feel as his anger festers, sinking deeper into him.

 This marks the second night since Andrew had found him, since Varian had been dragged, kicking and screaming, onto the hot air balloon he’d designed and forced to watch as the highway had disappeared over the horizon. He’d been so close to home, barely a few hours more before they would have hit Corona. If they hadn’t stopped for the night, they would have made it, and Eugene…

 Varian sniffles, rubbing his sore eyes with a bare wrist. They’d taken his hoodie long ago, leaving him in nothing but a thin T-shirt. He’d thought he’d cried himself out earlier, but the thought of the man always seemed to drag more tears from him. Varian couldn’t help but feel guilty, a festering, angry thing. Eugene had helped him, had ignored what his instincts had told him in order to help Varian to get home. He’d been kind, and it killed him.

 Varian feels tears drip down his cheeks. The boy blinks quickly, scrubbing at his face. He casts a worried expression towards the center of the clearing the Saporians had landed them in, where a dull fire crackles. Andrew and his cronies sit around it, unaware of their being watched. It’s late in the night, a few of them have long since gone to sleep, but Andrew and a few others stay awake to keep watch.

 Varian tugs idly on the cuff, yanking it against the thick root. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t budge, the root embedded deep into the earth. He sighs, curling up under the meager safety of the tree and wiping at his red rimmed eyes. The sky above is dark, thick with clouds that hide the moon’s glow. Shadows reach towards them all with creeping fingers, choking out any light left.

 Varian chances another look to the Saporians. They’re all chatting, clearly not focused on him in the slightest. They’re relaxed, easily confident that they’re safe for the evening.

 Varian scowls, knowing they’re probably right.

 He doesn’t have anything on him that he can use, Andrew had made sure of that, but he still had a trick or two under his belt. He manages to find a larger stick, long since split in half by the passage of time, along with a thinner twig. They’re bone dry, the summer heat sapping the moisture from the wood, so it’s in rapid succession that Varian’s able to pin the larger stick under his knee and swipe the smaller back and forth rapidly across a groove in the center. He repeats the motion as fast as he can, scraping the wood together until he can see smoke. Varian huffs out a small hah as he scoops up a few dry leaves, tipping the charred, smoking bits onto the tinder and gently blowing on it.

 “C’mon,” he murmurs to himself, “C’mon.”

 A small flame sparks to life. Varian nearly chokes on his gasp of excitement, dropping it to the forest floor and blowing on it again. The little fire splutters to life, catching on the dry tinder. Varian breathes a sigh of relief as it begins to grow, a tiny, flickering thing that finally offers a little heat, a little warmth. He slowly brings his hands away, intent on grabbing more fuel for the fire, when something else enters his view.

 A boot comes slamming down, snuffing the fire out with a firm stomp. Varian cringes, looking up and seeing Andrew glaring down at him. The boy shrinks into himself, curling back as Andrew’s face darkens.

 “Whatcha up to, buddy?” The man asks, twisting his foot firmly into the dirt. Varian feels a pulse of fear as Andrew looms over him, his back pressing against the bark of the tree. For a brief second, he finds himself longing for Eugene. He has to choke down the wave of sorrow the feeling brings right after.

 “It’s cold.” Varian mumbles, refusing look up from the boot to meet Andrew’s glare. “I was-”

 “Trying to escape?” Andrew asks, his face pulling down into a frown.

 Varian’s breath hitches. “No!” He stutters, hands pulling up close to his chest. “No, no, I promise, I wasn’t trying to get away-”

 “That’s good.” Andrew cuts him off again. Varian’s protest putters out, the boy going quiet. He tries to hide it, but his hands shake. Andrew notices, and his face splits into a smile. “You remember what happened last time you ran, don’t you? It was only a few days ago, after all.”

 Varian’s breath hitches, the boy’s eyes going wide. “I…” He trails off, looking down to the earth.

 Andrew’s weight shifts, the man crouching down into a squat. “Didn’t you learn anything? Fitzherbert died, because of you.” He says, and his face pulls into an exaggerated frown. “It was all your fault, Varian. Because you ran away, like a selfish little prick, a man died. Remember?”

 The boy’s breath hitches, eyes going wide. “No, it’s- you’re the one who killed him!” His voice cracks, Varian’s face crumbling.

 “And if you had just stayed put, I wouldn’t have done it.” Andrew shrugs like it’s an easy thing. “You dragged Fitzherbert into it, you made that choice to involve him. So yeah, bud, it’s on you.”

 Varian’s face goes pale, the kid refusing to look up. Andrew reaches out, ignoring when the boy flinches away. He grabs Varian’s chin, forcing the boy to meet his eye. “I guess this was just what it took for you to learn your place,” he says, grinning when Varian’s shoulders hitch in a silent sob. “But it is what it is. So long as you do as you’re told, no one else needs to die.”

 Tears run down freckled cheeks. Andrew lets go of Varian’s chin with a sigh, standing. “You’ll learn, one day. And when you do, we’re going to do great things together.”

 With that, he turns and goes back to his fire. Varian covers his mouth with his hands, trying to muffle the fresh round of tears. His eyes burn from the salt, the boy blinking as his vision swims. His eyes slam shut as he lets himself be taken by another wave of despair, his whole body shaking with the force of the sorrow, the devastation.

 The guilt.

 In front of him, the small patch of soot quickly grows cold.

 >>>><<<<

 Eugene’s shoulder kills, but he refuses to let it stop him. The jostling of the horse underneath him does nothing to help, but he grits his teeth and bears it. They’d been riding for two days, hustling along the highway that Eugene had been found on, the same highway Andrew had attacked them. The horses are leagues faster than walking had been, and even Eugene knows that a hot air balloon is slow as all hell. At the rate they’re going, they’ll catch up with the Saporians sooner rather than later.

 They only break for about eight hours, taking the risk of having no lookout to spend the minimum amount of time stopped before they’re off again. It’s a brutal pace, on rider and horse both, but Cassandra had made the good point that if Andrew and his crew could get the kid back to their base, rescuing Varian would be considerably more difficult. If they could catch the gang out in the wastes, it would simply be a matter of grabbing the kid and running like hell was on their heels.

 Sure. Simple.

 It’s been two days of riding. They’ve got to be close; they’ve already reached close to the gorge where he and Varian had almost died. They’d even stayed a night in the same farmhouse, its once cheery interior all the colder without the kid there. It’s early in the night, the sky dark and cloudy. They’d pulled off to the side of the highway to stop for the night, but Cassandra had stopped them before they could start to unpack a camp.

 “Wait.” She whispers, quietly gesturing towards the forest. Eugene follows her motion, catching sight of dull light in the distance. A campfire. His eyebrow raises, a weathered hand settleing on the hilt of his sword.

 “Could it be...?” Rapunzel trails off, hopeful. Cassandra shrugs, but catches Eugene’s eye. The man nods, already knowing what she’s implying.

 “We should check it out,” he says. “The balloon barely caught up to us at a walking pace. I wouldn’t be surprised if we managed to overtake them on the horses.”

 One of the animals, named Maximus as Eugene had learned, looks nearly smug as Eugene speaks. The man rolls his eyes, but still turns to where the fire burns in the distance.

 “If there’s a chance it’s them, we have to check,” he says. Rapunzel nods, frying pan already in hand.

 They creep forwards together, drawing close to the fire on quiet feet. The forest around them is alight with life, bugs and birds and small animals moving around and hiding their approach. Eugene is easily the quietest of them all, though Cassandra gets to the edge of the clearing first. She ducks into a thick bush, waving the others forwards once she confirms it’s a good spot. Eugene and Rapunzel dip in behind her, moving to either side. The thick brush is hard to see through, but it’s hidden, and for now that’s what’s important. The dirt under his knees is cold; Eugene shivers in the colder evening temperatures. From their place, kneeling in the dirt, Eugene can see the whole camp.

 The first person he notices is Andrew.

 “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “It’s them.”

 The Saporians have a nice little camp going, to be fair. A large fire in the center of a clearing, the five of them scattered about. Three of them are asleep, the only ones awake are Andrew and the younger woman, Juniper. They relax next to the fire, relaxed and content with their places. A deflated hot air balloon sits nearby, small and chock full of odd little gadgets that must be Varian’s modifications.

 Speaking of.

 “Where’s Varian?” Rapunzel asks, her voice strained. “I don’t see him.”

 “Me neither,” Cassandra hisses back.  

 Eugene scans the area near the fire. “He’s got to be around somewhere,” he mutters. “Andrew wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight, not after Varian gave him the slip once.”

 “Wait- there!” Rapunzel nearly moves forwards, lurching towards the clearing. Cassandra snaps out a hand to stop her, grabbing the blonde by her arm and pulling her back down. Rapunzel struggles for a second more, but stops when Cass shakes her head. Instead the blonde points to the edge of the glen, where a large tree sits. There, handcuffed to the base of the tree…

 “Varian.” Eugene whispers. Something in his chest, a knot that had been twisting in his gut for days, finally begins to unwind at the sight of Varian, though any sense of relief is cut short by the state of him. The kid looks like shit, even worse than the last time Eugene had seen him. The kid looks beat to hell; a fresh, purple bruise splays across Varian’s face, his wrist bleeds from where he’s been chained to the tree. Worst of all, however, is the obvious signs of the distress the kid’s in. Baby blue eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot. The kid’s crying, wiping at his face in a futile attempt to keep himself composed, but there’s no hiding the flush of his cheeks and the shaking of his lip.

 Rapunzel makes a noise that’s close to a growl. Eugene can see the way her hand tightens around her frying pan. The sight of Varian’s distress obviously effects all three of them- Cassandra looks ready for murder, and Eugene’s sure his own expression can’t be much better. Even at the relief of seeing the kid alive, the sight of Varian in so much pain without anyone even trying to comfort him stirs a rage that Eugene rarely ever feels.

 It’s not right- it was never right of course, but these bastards had ripped Varian away from his home, from his family. And now, faced with a crying kid that they had hurt, they couldn’t even be damned to give the kid a sweater or something, since they’d chained him far from the fire. Varian gets cold easily, even Eugene knows that.

 The anger is like fire, spreading up from his gut and into his chest, a raging warmth that spurs the grip on his sword and the glare in his eye. It’s not right. He grits his teeth against the gnashing rage, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

 “What’s the plan, blondie?” He asks, eyes never looking away from the distant figure of Varian. “Kid’s close to the edge of camp, but I don’t know how long the cuff will take to pick.”

 “I can make a distraction.” Cassandra offers. “Go back to the road, make a bunch of noise. Excluding Andrew, they’re not the smartest bunch. Bang two sticks together and they’ll come running.”

 Rapunzel pauses, thinking. “There’s five of them,” she says. Her eyebrows furrow together in thought, the woman biting at her lip. “I don’t think splitting up is a good idea.”

 Eugene shakes his head. “We can’t take them head on. Even if we can get the kid free, it’s four against five. Varian’s not a fighter, he’s a-”

 “A man of science.” Rapunzel finishes the sentence, catching Eugene’s eye. “That’s what he always says.”

 Eugene’s mouth shuts with a click of teeth. Rapunzel’s face sinks into a warm smile. She puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning forward as much as she’s able. “You’re close with him?” She asks.

 Eugene wants to deny it, wants to still pretend that this is all about some stupid ego-code, or revenge, or just because he wants to… but he’d be lying. He meets Rapunzel’s eye, nods.

 “Varian’s… he’s a good kid.” Eugene scratches at the back of his neck. He looks away, refusing to acknowledge the heat in his cheeks. “So sue me if I got attached. He’s like a puppy, you can’t not.”

 Rapunzel shakes her head, quietly laughing. “That’s exactly it,” she says. “Thank you, though. For taking care of him, I mean.”

 “It was nothing-”

 “No it wasn’t.”

 No, it wasn’t.

 Cassandra makes a small noise. Eugene looks back towards the clearing, glaring when he sees Andrew step away from the group and into the woods.

 “Now?” He asks. Rapunzel pauses only for a second, weighing the options.

 “Now,” she says. “Try and get Varian’s cuff unlocked without getting caught. If they spot you, Cass and I will step in.”

 “Got it.” Eugene says, already moving back into the brush. He swings wide, keeping his distance from the camp as he circles around to where Varian is. His boots barely make a sound in the night, Eugene sneaking as quietly as he can. If he gets caught now, it will only end badly for Varian. They have one shot at this, and Eugene’s going to use it wisely.

 He eventually gets close enough to see the kid properly, barely containing himself as the bruises, the blood, gets more pronounced against freckled skin. The kid looks worse up close, and it makes Eugene want to punch something. Specifically Andrew.

 But that’s for later.

 “Kid.” He hisses, trying to get Varian’s attention. The boy’s half asleep, cried out and obviously exhausted as he huddles against the tree to his back. Varian’s head looks up sharply at the whisper, staring directly at Eugene’s hiding place with wide eyes. The man takes the chance of popping out from between the trees, showing himself for a quick second.

 He doesn’t get the reaction he was expecting.

 Varian goes as white as a sheet, the blood draining from his face as it drops into a horrified expression. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. To be fair, though, from Varian’s perspective he probably has.

 “E-Eugene?” He whispers, looking back and forth from Eugene’s hiding place and the campfire. “You’re alive?”

 “Andrew’s a shitty shot,” is all Eugene says. It looks safe enough, so he chances crawling out from the brush and towards the kid. Varian’s face is still pulled in shock, baby blue eyes wide and nearly popping out of his skull. When Eugene gets close, he raises a shaking hand, looking scared to try anything more. The chain keeping him tied to the tree rattles with the movement.

 With a small sigh, Eugene leans forwards and gently takes the cuffed hand. His heart aches at the shocked intake of breath the kid makes at the touch. Varian’s shaking, but not from cold.

 “I thought you died…” The kid says. Eugene looks at him, sees the tears quickly springing up.

 “Nah,” Eugene shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m like a cockroach. I’d love to see something actually succeed in killing me, I’m basically immortal.”

 Varian laughs wetly, wiping at his face to dispel the tears. Eugene feels something in him settle as the kid’s face splits into a small, cautious smile.

 “You’ll never guess who picked me up, by the way,” the man continues. Varian perks up, tilting his head. Eugene tilts his head in thought, playing it up to keep the kid laughing. “Some blonde chick and her crazy-ass friend, right. And, get this, they had a raccoon with them.”

 The kid’s eyes go wide with surprise, the weak smile splitting into something closer to the wide grin Eugene’s come to know. “Rapunzel?” He asks quietly, like he can’t believe it. “And Cass? And Ruddiger?!”

 “What are the odds, huh?” Is all Eugene replies with, trying not to smile as Varian grabs at his wrist.

 “Are they here too?” The kid asks, nearly vibrating with excitement. “Did they-”

 “Yeah, goggles. They came to help me get you home. Thought I could use the backup, this go around… but first we have to get you loose.”

 Eugene looks down to the kid’s hand, more specifically the cuff around Varian’s wrist. It’s old, even in terms of the time after the blackout. The cuffs are rusted, but the metal’s still holding strong after all these years. Eugene is nothing if not resourceful, however, and he’s got just the thing.

 “Hm,” he says. “Looks like an old police cuff. Should be easy enough to get you out of there.” Eugene reaches into his boot, drawing out his most valuable possession. The kid makes a confused noise, something small, but welcome.

 “A paperclip?” Varian asks. “Are you serious?”

 “Hey, don’t knock the paperclip.” Eugene quickly unbends the thing, shaping the little metal stick into a right angle. “This little guy’s gotten me out of more than one situation, thank you very much.”

 He slips the impromptu lock pick into the keyhole of the handcuff, starting to shift it around in the mechanism. Varian watches with a keen eye, curious. Eugene catches the look, and begins to quietly explain.

 “The lock has two latches on the inside,” he murmurs, barely even paying attention. “So, see, you want to bend the clip at about a ninety-degree angle and then hit both of them at the same time. Just gotta find the right spot-”

 Click.

 “Et voila!” He grins as the cuff falls open. Varian gawps at his freed wrist, pulling it back towards his chest as Eugene lets go. The man risks a peek over to the Saporians again, seeing Andrew still missing and the others half asleep. Good.

 “Alright, kid.” He says, drawing Varian’s stunned attention back. “Let’s say you and I blow this roadshow, huh?”

 The kid starts to nod, but pauses, thinking. “They’ll just follow us,” he says. Varian worries at his lip with those buck teeth, thinking hard. “We need to destroy the balloon.”

 “Wha- Goggles, no, listen-” God damn it they don’t have time for this. “Your sister brought horses, we can outrun them.”

 “And then what?” Varian’s voice nearly cracks. “We just wait for them to show up at Corona? Hide away for the rest of m-our lives? What happens when we can’t keep running?”

 Eugene can’t even find anything to say. The protests die on his tongue, especially when Varian’s face hardens.

 “If we don’t do something, they’ll keep hurting people.” The kid’s insane- “If I can stop them now, it’s my responsibility to do that.”

 “It’s your respons- kid, we’re trying to survive, here!”

 “What’s the point of survival without helping other people?” Varian snaps, “Without charity? Without hope?! I’ve seen the world survival brings, and I don’t want a part of it; I want to make things better, even if it’s a risk.”

 “There’s no room for thinking like that out here.” Eugene’s protest is weak, and he knows it. “That kind of shit’s going to get you killed. Now, let’s get the hell out of here!” He reaches for Varian’s hand, and only feels a little hurt when the kid pulls back.

 “I’m ending this.” Varian says. “For good.”

 And like that, the kid’s up like a shot. Eugene makes another grab at him, hissing Varian’s name, but the teenager’s gone too quickly, off and vanishing into the darkness. The man grits his teeth- what the actual hell is the kid thinking- before getting to his feet and following.

 The forest is dark all around them, but Eugene catches up with the kid quickly enough. Twigs snap underfoot, a barely-there crack in the silence of the evening. Eugene huffs for breath as he sees Varian skid to a stop in front of him, the kid crouching behind a tree.

 The man follows the boy’s eyeline, sees the balloon parked near the trees. Its deflated for the evening, the garish, purple fabric laying flat on the forest floor. A large, almost ship looking platform sits nearby, connected to the balloon with a series of ropes and thick cables. It looks strong, to be honest, much sturdier than the hot air balloons Eugene thinks of from the before. If anything, it’s more of a warship that happens to be floating under balloons, than a hot air balloon in the traditional sense.

 And there, bolted above the deck in the center of the ship on a pyramid of thin, metal supports, is a large burner. Or, at least, Eugene thinks that’s what it is. The way Varian stares at the balloon seems to confirm it; the kid’s glaring at it like it’s personally offended him. Eugene sees the same spark in his eye that Varian had the day they met, when the kid had refused to take no for an answer and had pushed until Eugene agreed to get him home. The man sighs, knowing exactly what that look means.

 “So that’s it, then?” He asks, sidling up next to the kid and hiding behind the same tree. Varian jumps for a second at the sound of his voice, but the kid finally nods before looking back to the balloon.

 “Andrew keeps the plans on the ship.” Varian whispers. “I saw them when… uh, after we were separated. They don’t understand how the ship works, so if things broke, they used the blueprints to figure it out.”

 “So let me guess,” Eugene can hear the resignation in his own voice. ��You want to get the plans, too.”

 “Or just destroy them.”  Jesus, kid, “Either way, if we don’t remove the plans from the equation, they can just build a new ship.”

 “Fantastic.”

 “Ha. Tell me how you really feel.”

 Eugene takes the time to glare down at the little shit. Varian grins brightly back, and honestly, it’s worth the irritation to see the kid smile.

 “Okay, goggles,” he says, “This is your song and dance. What’s the plan?”

 Varian worries at the bottom of his lip, looking around. “I think I can get close enough without getting spotted,” he whispers, “All I have to do is destabilize the reducer bell, that would make it burn too quickly, causing the fire to be an uncontrolled burn, meaning-”

 “To the point kid, please.”

 Varian grins, something reveling and almost mean. “Meaning boom,” he says.

 Eugene can’t help but laugh, tweaking the kid’s ear. “Boom it is, then,” he grins. “We’ll stick together, better to run in pairs.”

 Varian nods. Together they slowly creep out from the woods. Eugene can’t say he’s pleased about being so exposed, but if this is what it takes to get Varian to agree to leaving… well they’d better make it quick. Varian reaches the balloon first, quickly hopping into the wooden portion and out of sight. Eugene follows, pressing his back against the wooden wall. They hold the position for a second longer, waiting, listening. Nothing happens, the Saporians still unaware of their loose prisoner. Together they breathe a sigh of relief, Varian slouching more than Eugene against the panels.

 The kid’s gotta be tired, there’s no question of it. Better get this done sooner, rather than later. Thankfully, there’s a series of crates that will keep them mostly hidden, with a few odds and ends stacked on top. It’ll be more than enough to hopefully make this quick.

 “Alright,” Eugene murmurs. “Tell me what to do.”

 Varian peeks up pausing. “I’ve got it,” he says. “If you do it wrong, we could blow up with it.”

 “Ah.”

 “Yep.”

Varian flips onto his feet in a squat, quickly reaching into a nearby crate. With a grin he pulls out his hoodie, still stocked from the way that it seems to glow from the chemicals within. The kid slips it on, looking already more like himself. He also pulls out the knife Eugene had given him, still sheathed. The boy waves it with a small flourish, smiling widely at the ridiculous look Eugene shoots him.

 “Andrew knows better than to chuck a good knife just because he wants to be petty.” Varian shrugs. The kid moves closer to the burner, tilting it this way and that before pulling the knife from its sheath. He uses the tip to unscrew a panel from the bottom of the machine in a precise, practiced motion. A sense of amusement makes Eugene snicker as the kid sticks his tongue out in concentration, fiddling with the guts of the burner.

 “Just a little more,” Varian whispers to Eugene. The man nods, looking around. Something doesn’t feel right, like it’s too easy. It gets his hackles up, the quiet of the evening. In theory it’s good that it’s quiet, but something about it just seems too perfect. Their luck has sucked so far, so something going right sets him right on edge.

 Case and point, a sudden shout comes from the other end of the glen not two seconds later.

 “Where’s the kid?!”

 Andrew.

 Varian flinches violently, borderline dropping to the deck of the ship. Eugene follows, settling into a crouch before peeking through the top railing with a cautious eye. He sees Andrew storming into camp from where they’d chained Varian, shaking the empty handcuffs. The fury across his face is evident, a snarling, vicious anger.

 Eugene hears Varian suck in a terrified breath next to him.

 All the Saporians have turned to look at their leader, shock written across their faces as the man shakes the cuffs roughly.

“I said,” he spits, “Where. The hell. Is the kid?”

 “I- we- he can’t have gone far!” Juniper stumbles over her words, fear written plainly across her face. “He’s just a kid, we caught him before, right?”

 “We caught that little shit because we shot Fitzherbert, which scared him into listening. You want to volunteer next, Juniper?”

 Oh, Andrew’s pissed. Juniper wilts immediately, shrinking down. “We’ll find him,” she says, more a pleading thing than a declaration.

 The boy next to Eugene shakes at the mention of the night on the highway, flinching as the man quietly offers his hand in consolation. The kid takes his hand, clinging tightly to the illusion of safety. Varian shudders and shifts, to try and see the camp better.

 Knocks into a nearby crate.

 The whole thing rattles, sending a glass bottle toppling to the deck below. Eugene throws a hand out, trying to catch it, but he’s just short; his fingers graze the bottle before it passes him by, slamming into the wooden surface of the ship and breaking into a million pieces. The noise it makes rattles in Eugene’s ears, the high-pitched crack of shattered silence.

 There’s a pause, Eugene and Varian staring at each other in abject horror before they hear hurried footsteps.

 “Whelp,” Eugene says, already standing. “I think it’s time to go, don’t you?”

 “Agreed!” Varian shouts, shooting to his feet and starting to bolt. His knife drops to the deck, abandoned in the panic. Eugene vaults over the edge of the ship first, landing in the dirt. He unthinkingly twists, already holding his arms out to catch the kid. Varian lands in his grip with a little oomph, clinging tight as Eugene softens the fall. It’s a quick second of unconscious comfort, feeling Varian safe in his arms, though it doesn’t last long.

 Eugene can hear the Saporians shout behind them, angry and loud. He chances a look towards them and see all five charging towards the airship, and towards them. Varian locks up in fear for a second, but a small push from Eugene gets him moving. They run, bolting for the woods, a fierce sprint that Eugene knows he’s going to feel in his knees tomorrow. Varian easily overtakes him- damn the kid’s fast when he wants to be- but skids to a stop at the edge of the forest. Eugene finds himself running past, digging his feet in to stop before he ends up leaving the kid behind. He twists on his heel just in time to see Varian reach into the depths of the hoodie and draw out a bomb, throwing it with a practiced motion.

 It explodes into a cloud of fuchsia dust, the gas spreading through the entire clearing. Eugene can hear the Saporians shout in surprise- at least one of them hits something with a loud thump and a curse- but he loses sight of Varian in the process.

 “Shit, goggles!?” He shouts, looking frantically around. Eugene stumbles over a rock, unable to see his own hand in front of his face. The sword in his hand is heavy, a comforting thing, but he doesn’t dare to use it. If it’s a friendly face and he swings… it would end badly, to say the least.

 “Varian!?” He yells again, hearing chaos in the thick cloud. There’s a sudden clang of metal on what’s probably a skull from the way someone screams; it’s enough to set Eugene’s hair on end as the noise was close-

 Another clang, another scream. Eugene whirls around with his sword held high, caution be damned-

 Rapunzel.

 The blond woman pauses, her frying pan held behind her not unlike how someone would hold a bat, ready to swing. Eugene jerks to a stop, bringing his sword down. Cassandra’s close behind the blonde, her green glare scanning the smoke. Rapunzel does the same, her eyes widening when she doesn’t see the kid at Eugene’s side.

 “I thought you had Varian?!” Her voice pitches higher in a way that screams frantic. “Where is he?” “I lost him!” Eugene snaps, “He threw the bomb and vanished, what do you want from me?!”

 He would keep shouting, but a quick motion behind him startles him. Eugene whirls on his heels, bringing his sword up in a block. He feels, more than sees, the impact of another blade connecting with his own, a harsh weight that makes the hole in his shoulder scream. He just catches sight of grey-green eyes before Andrew snarls, pressing hard into the block before backing off. Juniper stands at her side, already moving around like a stalking predator.

 He hears Rapunzel shout behind him, the shuffling of footsteps interspaced with the clang of metal on metal. He chances a small look behind him, sees Rapunzel and Cassandra backing away from Kai, the large man towering over them. Juniper starts to move to Eugene’s left, even as Andrew stands in front.

 They’re trying to flank him, he realizes with a dawning horror. Distract him long enough for one of them to get an in and cut him down. It’s a dirty ploy, but one that he’s seen done even in the animal kingdom. Unsurprising that the Saporians would use such a tactic.

 “Fitzherbert,” Andrew’s voice is cold. “Looks like you’re harder to kill than I thought.”

 Eugene shrugs. “You shoot like a bitch,” he says. Andrew scowls, a sour look crossing his face. Eugene can’t help but smirk, shifting his weight to keep both Saporians in his line of sight.

 The girls seem pre-occupied with Kai, from the sound of it, so he knows he’s on his own here. He’s never fought Juniper before, but she looks capable, especially in the way she circles him with a quiet precision. For a second there’s an almost peaceful moment between the three of them, a weird sort of stalemate.

 That is, until Andrew starts to back away, disappearing into the pink smoke.

 “Juniper,” he says. “Be a dear and entertain our guest, would you?”

 Eugene catches the glint of her smile. She holds a silver rapier in her hand, her dark skin turning nearly white at the knuckle with how tightly she holds it. His attention flits back to Andrew; the cocky bastard’s fully turned away now, waltzing into the pink cloud without a care.

 “Don’t worry, Fitzherbert,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll take real good care of the kid, I promise.”

 Eugene’s hackles raise at that. He starts to go after Andrew- ready to tear that asshole limb from limb, how dare he threaten the kid again- but Juniper stands in his way. Her sword’s held parallel to the ground, blocking his path. Her face is nearly blank, save for a calculating gleam in her eye.

 There’s only a fraction of a second that passes before Juniper lunges forwards, a loud cry leaving her as she swings her sword. Eugene only just deflects it, a pulse of adrenaline guiding his hand as he knocks her sword away and parries with a swipe of his own. She barely gets out of the way, crouching and throwing one of her legs out in a perfect arc aimed directly at Eugene’s knee.

 The man manages to hop over it, landing in a solid stance as Juniper switches her weight onto her hands. The woman continues her leg’s arc around in a full circle, swinging back around to connect her foot perfectly on Eugene’s jaw. It’s a good hit, solid. Eugene’s head swirls from the impact, the man bending double as his vision goes cross eyed.

 He tastes blood where he’d bitten his cheek.

 Juniper somehow ends up back on her feet, directing another kick at Eugene’s undefended side. It topples him, the taste of dirt mixing with the blood. Pain flares up from his shoulder like fire, burning until it’s all he can focus on. He flips onto his back, staring up at the moonless sky as Juniper towers over him.

 In the distance, he hears someone scream.

 Juniper isn’t much of a talker, it seems. She simply raises her sword high, obviously gearing up for a killing blow. Eugene winces, ready for the hit like all the others before. His eyes slam shut, waiting for the agony-

 Only to hear the crack of a frying pan meeting skull.

 His eyes fly open as Juniper goes oddly stiff, wobbling for a second before toppling into the dirt. Behind her stands Rapunzel, haloed in the light of the fire. Her pan’s held high as her backlit figure holds itself like a queen.

 Beautiful, Eugene can’t help but think.

 Time slows, the two of them meeting eyes and staring at the other with a sense of magnetism Eugene can’t place. He feels drawn to her, her fire, her drive, her joy. Something in her calls to him, like a lighthouse on the coast. From the way she stares at him, he thinks she must feel it too.

 “Are you okay?” She asks, lowering her pan now that Juniper is well and truly knocked out.

 “Fine,” he says. The pink smoke around them is still thick and cloying, nearly impossible to see through. “Fine. Are you and Cass-”

 “We’re okay too.” Cassandra. She appears through the smoke, the fuchsia swirling around her like a shawl. “But there’s no sign of the kid.”

 “Andrew was going after him,” Eugene gasps out, pushing his aching body off the ground. “We have to get to Varian before he does-”

 A sudden explosion of wind bursts from the edge of the haze. Eugene slaps his hands over his ears and slams his eyes shut, crouching down to protect his head as he had learned to do during the chaos after the Blackout. When he opens his eyes again the pink smoke from Varian’s bomb is mostly gone, dispersed by the shockwave. He spins, looking for-

 Oh, no.

 Andrew stands tall on the airship, the gust being caused by the whirling propellers on the tail end starting up. The man smiles, raising a hand to wave at them as the ship begins to raise into the air on the newly inflated balloon. Andrew’s hand lazily waves, the other holding onto a struggling figure by the wrist.

 “Varian!” Eugene hears Rapunzel scream, only just registering what she says past the roaring of adrenaline in his ears. As he blinks away the last of the pink fog that’s exactly who he sees, the teenager shoving at Andrew with his free hand as the airship raises higher into the moonless sky.

 “Son of a bitch, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Eugene mutters, already kicking himself into a sprint. He hears the women close behind, Rapunzel shouting insults to Andrew the whole time. The ship’s only a few meters off the ground, but they’ll never make it at their current pace. Eugene’s heart races from the exertion, from the panic, anger, and adrenaline cocktail that comes from seeing Andrew with his nasty mitts on the kid again. The rabbit’s pace of his heartbeat is wild in his ears, drowning everything out as he sprints the twenty-meter distance between them and the airship.

 By the time he gets there the ship’s at least five meters off the ground, easily higher than any of them can jump. Eugene only pauses for a moment, staring up at the underbelly of the machine with a sense of dawning horror before Rapunzel sprints past him and snatches a rope that’s dangling off the side of the ship. Cassandra follows without question, grabbing a rope of her own. Seeing their plan is enough to shock Eugene to life again, the man grabbing another line; he can’t help but feel grateful for balloons having to be tied down in order to keep them in place.

 Eugene grits his teeth as his feet leave the ground, tugged higher and higher by the raising ship. He doesn’t dare look down as he starts to climb towards the ship, but the way the passing trees start to seem shorter and shorter isn’t a good sign.

 Rapunzel and Cassandra climb nearby, the tree of them scaling the ropes towards the main body of the ship. Eugene’s shoulder burns, the exertion of holding his body weight and having to climb causing a strange numbness in that arm. Probably not good, but he’s in it for the long haul that this point. He’ll just have to deal with it later.

 Cassandra and Rapunzel are on the two ropes attached to the left side of the ship, Eugene on the right. They all swing like pendulums as they clamber upwards, the wind battering at them. Eugene breathes through his nose, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as the lower side of the ship draws close, so close-

 Cassandra shouts as her rope suddenly gives way, the woman plummeting into the trees below. Eugene sees her manage to grab a hold of a branch a meter down, stopping her fall. Her line falls to the ground, the cut side of it hitting the side of the ship. Cassandra shouts in rage, quickly left behind as they continue to float away.

 ”Andrew!” Rapunzel barks. No prizes for guessing who’s cutting the lines, then. Eugene behind to push himself harder, climbing faster as the edge of the ship draws close. He hears Rapunzel scream, catches sight of blond hair disappearing into the trees just like Cassandra had. Her cut line swings uselessly in the wind.

 “Later, princess!” He hears Andrew cackle, laughing as Rapunzel curses at him from the treeline. Eugene’s only a meter away from the railing, the stress on his shoulder burning.

 The ship cracks the treeline at last, bursting from the forest in a sudden boost of speed. Eugene feels the tips of his boots skimming the tops of trees, even as he finally gets a grip on the railing. He hoists himself up with one last pull, forcing his aching arms to bring him up and over the edge.

 Eugene’s boots hit the wood, already drawing his sword from the scabbard. It’s easy enough to take stock of the scenario, it’s not like the ship is overly large. The same crates and tools are scattered about the deck, obviously in a state of chaos after the hectic takeoff. The main burner still chugs away in the center, a large plume of flame spluttering from the top and heating the air in the balloon to make it fly. Varian’s knife’s still laying nearby from where the kid dropped it, the light of the burner reflecting off it. The shards from the broken bottle are long gone, scattered to the wind.

 And there, on the other side of the deck, stands Andrew and Varian, locked in a scuffle.

 The kid’s fighting with everything he’s got, smacking at Andrew despite the sword held in the man’s other hand. The brunet’s got a hand locked around Varian’s wrist, keeping the kid in place even as Varian struggles. Two ropes swing from the railing, obviously Cassandra and Rapunzel’s lines that Andrew had cut.

 “Let go!” Varian screams, kicking at Andrew. The man grunts with each hit, though one good kick to the ankle is enough to get him to swing his sword to a stop under Varian’s chin. The kid tenses, eyes darting between the blade and Andrew.

 “You,” The man hisses, “Are going to shut. Up. Are we clear?”

 “Go to hell!”

 “Ha, hell spat me out, try again.”  Andrew shakes the kid once before shoving Varian down to the deck. “Don’t give a reason to chuck you over the edge.” He threatens, smiling as the kid flinches.

 The second Varian’s out of Andrew’s grip Eugene charges.

 The taller man doesn’t even have time to turn before Eugene’s on him, tackling the man to the deck of the ship. They land with a thump, the contact rough on Eugene’s injuries. His shoulder aches, even as he pins Andrew down with a hand. Something in Eugene screams for blood, for revenge, for justice for what he’s done to Varian, to countless others.

 There’s something infinitely satisfying as he draws a fist back and brings it down, cracking his knuckles across Andrew’s smarmy face.

 In fact, it feels so good he does it again.

 Andrew yowls at each punch. Eugene feels flesh give way under his fist, a burst of crimson red blooming under the bruises he leaves. It’s good, the feeling of this bastard’s pain at Eugene’s hands, the feeling of blood and suffering for once caused to those who choose evil.

 But it can’t last.

 Andrew manages to get Eugene off him, a rough shove sending him backwards and onto the deck. His back hits wood with a thump. Eugene doesn’t pause to think about the aches, flipping onto his stomach and pushing himself up with a grunt. He hears the whizz of a blade through the air, and only just manages to roll out of the way before Andrew’s sword cleaves his head from his shoulders. He keeps the momentum, rolling clean across the polished wood of the deck.

 He comes to a stop by a familiar pair of boots.

 “Hey, kid,” he says, quickly standing and putting himself between Varian and Andrew. The boy looks dreadful, gaunt and thin in the harsh light thrown from the burner. “How’s it going?”

 “Been better,” Varian responds, an exhausted look fluttering across his face even as he borderline hides behind Eugene.

 “Fair enough,” Eugene shrugs. Andrew paces in front of them, spitting blood onto the deck. “Got any bright ideas, goggles?”

 “I used my last bomb down there,” Varian admits. Shit.

 “Hm. We’ll take care of this the old-fashioned way, then.”

 “Can you stall him?” Varian whispers. “I have an idea.”

 “No, just stay out of it-”

 “Eugene.”

 He’s forced to look back. Sees those baby blues focused on him, a fire burning deep within them. There’s a light, a determination, that he hasn’t seen in Varian before.

 “Please, trust me.” Varian begs, his eyes wide and pleading.

 Before Eugene can reply, Andrew makes himself known again.

 “Are we doing this today, Fitzherbert?” He tone is demanding, only punctuated by the slight ting of the tip of his sword hitting the ship’s deck. “Or are we just going to stand here and glare at each other until one of us drops dead?”

 Eugene’s sword is a heavy weight in his hand.

 “You’d better have a plan, kid.” Eugene mutters.

 And then, he strikes.

 Andrew’s fast, Eugene will give him that, but it’s also easy enough to keep him distracted and away from the kid. If Varian’s got a plan, Eugene would trust him on it. It’s like pulling teeth, allowing someone else to take the reigns and control the situation while Eugene does nothing but distract and put himself in harm’s way, but…

 Well the kid had done more than enough to prove his mettle.

 Neither Eugene nor Andrew are in top shape at this point. It’s been a long fight, Andrew’s tired, Eugene’s injured. They’re both about as even as they’ll ever get, even as their swords clash in a shower of sparks. It’s obvious in the way that Andrew sticks to circling that he isn’t strong enough to be as offensive as he usually is, despite the fact that Eugene is just as exhausted as he is.

 Doesn’t stop him from trying, though.

 There’s a few more parries and dodges. Swipes of blades through the midnight air. A block here, a kick there. A splash of blood on the polished wood of the deck. Eugene catches sight of Varian, out of the way of the fighting, fiddling with the burner again. Ah, so that’s his plan, then.

 Andrew makes another swing of his sword, yelling with rage. His face is shiny with sweat and blood, his hair dishevelled and wild in the wind. The Saporian looks near feral, bloodied and animalistic as he sloppily slashes at Eugene. Something in him, Eugene thinks with a pulse of fear, has snapped.

 “I’m going to fillet you!” Andrew hollers over the wind, “And when I’m done? I’m gunna take that goddamn kid and I’m going to throw him off the ship!”

 There’s a sudden whining noise behind Eugene, high pitched and nearly agonizing to listen to. He whirls around, seeing Varian pull his arms away from the burner with a mean smile, the boy facing the two men. His eyes glint in the light of the fire, as does the knife in his hand.

 “Hey, Andrew?” He says, quiet and casual, and almost confident. The Saporian sees the knife, sees the burner. His eyes go wide, something almost like fear sparking. Varian raises the knife high, still looking at his abuser with a sudden sense of power.

 “Get fucked,” The kid says.

 And he brings the knife down.

 From where Eugene’s standing he can’t see what exactly Varian hits, but from the resulting scream the burner makes, it must have been important. The burner immediately lights up in a way that seems uncontrolled, fire bursting from the top in a plume of light and crackling flames. They raise high into the balloon, so hot that Eugene can even feel them from three meters away.

 Varian runs, leaving the knife embedded in the burner. The kid sprints for Eugene, grabbing the man’s coat and tugging. The fire puffs even larger, and then-

 The fabric of the balloon catches.

 Andrew lets out a panicked shout as the balloon holding them up quickly bursts into flames, bright and hungry as the canvas begins to turn to ash. The ship gives a sickening lurch, quickly beginning to lose altitude. It’s too slow to be called a drop, but it’s certainly fast enough that the trees they’d left behind quickly begin to skim the bottom of the ship, and then within the blink of an eye they’re coasting through the treeline instead of above it.

 Eugene shouts as the ship gives another lurch. The purple fabric of the balloon’s nearly gone now, pockmarked with steadily growing holes as the fire claws at it. Varian screams as the deck beneath them shudders, the ship bashing into a larger tree trunk with a horrible thunk. The platform begins to spin, thrown off its trajectory by the impact. It’s nauseating, the added rotation as they fall, and before Eugene can think he’s grabbing at Varian and tugging the kid close.

 On the other side of the ship, Andrew screams in fear. Eugene just catches sight of him disappearing over the edge of the ship, his section of the railing snapping away under the stress of the hit. Eugene holds Varian close, deliberately shielding the boy from seeing as Andrew plummets to the ground.

 He’s not sure if the man would survive.

 Part of him really doesn’t care.

 They’re only a few meters from the ground at this point. One of he lines holding the ship to the balloon snaps; the whole deck begins to list, held only by one side. Varian screams again, Eugene can feel small fingers clutching tightly in his shirt. Fire crackles louder now, with the majority of the balloon eaten away. As the ground draws closer at an alarming rate, Eugene feels a sense of dawning horror.

 They can’t stay on the ship.

 “Kid,” he shouts, his voice nearly lost to the raging winds. “We’re gunna have to jump!”

 Varian lets go of where he’d been clinging to Eugene like an octopus, staring up at the man with barely concealed fear.

 “Are you insane?!” He screams. Eugene flinches at the loud voice next to his ear. He chances a look down, sees the ground only a meter away from the belly of the ship.

 “Varian, you gotta trust me, okay?” Eugene’s voice is stern, but more so to stay off the rising panic. “We can’t be on here when it hits, it might explode.”

 Varian looks shaken, but Eugene can tell the kid knows he’s right. “I- okay.” Varian stutters, “What are we going to do?”

 Eugene doesn’t waste time, scooping Varian up. The kid shouts in protest, though Eugene’s momentarily distracted by the fact that Varian weighs about as much as a handful of grapes. The minute we’re out of here, I’m feeding him, Eugene’s thoughts grumble. With the kid secured, he peeks over the railing at the ground whizzing by. He winces, knowing this isn’t going to be pleasant by any means.

 “Alright, hang on,” Eugene mutters. He feels the ship shudder again, feels Varian flinch at the harsh noise of another one of the cables snapping under the stress. He looks down once last time, sees a large set of overgrown bushes at the base of a tree. Varian shakes like a leaf in his arms, clinging tightly. Eugene grits his teeth.

 And then, he jumps.

 The impact is painful, a series of small aches and pains that Eugene knows he’s going to be feeling for over a week. His shoulder burns, the agony of it hitting hard. Varian shrieks as they fall, only to go frighteningly quiet on impact. The bush breaks their fall, but only just. It’s like landing… well it’s like landing on a pile of sticks and leaves. There’s no two ways about it, it sucks.

 Eugene rolls with the inertia. The dirt under him is cold, but soft, so at least there’s that to be thankful for. He finds himself borderline skidding along the ground, popping out the other side of the bush with a shout. He feels his grip in the kid loosen, Varian yelping as he rolls to a stop a little ways behind him. Eugene finds himself flat on his back, staring up at the moonless sky. The stars are out now, he notices; small, twinkling lights scattered across an inky sky.

 The ship crashes to the ground nearby, a large boom rattling the teeth in Eugene’s skull. It’s a fair way away, though, far enough to be safe.

 Eugene takes a moment to pause, let himself breathe. He forces air into stuttering lungs, watching as the stars swim. Everything hurts, but if a limb is hurting that means it’s still attached, which is good.

 There’s a rough cough to his left. Eugene rolls over, sees the kid slowly shift, flat on his back in the dirt. Varian lays closer to what used to be the airship, sprawled on his back after probably getting thrown by the force of the explosion. Eugene feels a spike of panic for a second before the kid sits up, his black hair standing straight up, and his face covered in ash. Eugene slowly forces his aching body the few feet towards the kid, already scanning for injuries.

 As he draws close, he hears a small litany of shocked laughter coming from the kid as Varian watches the ship burn. The fire spreads quickly, the balloon already eaten away and the wooden structure quickly following. Plumes of white smoke fly from the burning wreckage, thick and cloying in the moonless sky.

 As Eugene draws close, he can hear Varian’s laughter putter out. The boy turns to Eugene, his eyes wide with shock.

 “I-I may have miscalculated how big the blast would be,” he chokes out.

 Eugene can’t help but snort, flopping down onto the ground next to the kid.

 “You think?” He asks. The fire burns in front of them, bright in the evening. It’s… well it’s kind of nice, to be honest. Warm, at least. Eugene throws an arm over the kid’s shoulders, drawing Varian closer. The kid leans into him, hugging tight.

 “Hey, goggles.” Eugene whispers. He hugs the kid to him, taking a second to press a small kiss to the crown of Varian’s hair. “You did good up there.”

 “You were okay,” Varian mumbles. “Might need some more practice.”

 Eugene sighs. “Well, maybe your sister will give me some pointers.” He says, feeling the exhaustion of the day sinking into his bones. Varian pauses, pulling back and looking at Eugene with a tilted head.

 “So you’ll stay?” He asks, voice laced with a feeble hope.

 “For now.” Eugene shrugs, like it’s a casual thing.

 Varian smiles brightly. He leans back into Eugene’s embrace, hugging tight. The man returns it, wrapping the kid up in his arms and rocking them, happy to enjoy the moment. Eugene feels himself finally settle, that tight knot in his chest finally easing knowing the kid’s safe. He lets himself breathe, taking the moment to just be content.

 Above them, the moon finally peeks out from behind the clouds.

 >>>><<<<

 There’s something to be said about the quiet of the settlements.

 Corona is quaint, simple. Calm. Eugene can walk the streets of it without needing to look over his shoulder all the time, which is a new feeling but not one he’s upset about. Corona is… different from other settlements. Be it Rapunzel’s rule keeping the peace, or the people just generally being good, Corona runs like a smoothy oiled machine.

 The streets are paved still, well maintained and swept. He wanders past stores and homes with a sense of ease. Eugene’s been in Corona for a few months now, more than long enough to know where he’s going. It’s been a good amount of time, between getting to know everyone, especially Rapunzel, better, and adapting to working with others, but to Eugene it hardly feels like any time at all.

 He used to fear living in a settlement. Needing the support of other people, needing to support other people- being left on his own had always been more appealing, but after being exposed to Rapunzel and her group, after helping Varian out… well he can’t say he misses it.

 He comes up to a larger building near the center of the town square, probably what used to be a town hall of some kind. It’s a huge structure, plumes of fluffy white smoke splutter from the tallest chimney and into the bright blue sky. It’s a grand building, made of large stones and heavy timbers, huge even in context of before the Blackout. Eugene hops up the stone steps, taking them two at a time, before pushing the large, oak front door open.

 The space within is organized chaos, a myriad of machines and chemicals taking up a lot of the open room. Thick stone walls are covered in different colour mixtures, the results of failed experiments from years gone by. Dozens of tables are scattered around the room, all of them just as cluttered as the rest of the laboratory. It’s anarchy, but obviously a laboratory, lit by a series of large windows and candles placed strategically around.

 And there, sitting right at one of the tables in the middle of the room, is Varian.

 Eugene smiles, waltzing over. “Hey, kid,” he calls. “How goes it?”

 Varian perks up, looking up from whatever it is he’s been building. He’s wearing his goggles, giving him a hilariously bug-eyed look. The kid smiles when he sees Eugene, shoving the goggles up onto their usual place on his head. He looks… better. Great, even. The miserable little slip of a boy that Eugene remembers from months ago is gone, replaced by a heathly, perky teenager. It’s a good look on him, to be honest. Rosy cheeks and bright eyes, fluffy hair and tanned skin.

 Varian looks like the kid he’s meant to be.

 The boy waves Eugene over, scooting his stool over so the man can get a look at what he’s doing. It’s a mess of wires, all hooked up to a small drum and what looks almost like an engine. A small lightbulb, obviously made by Varian himself, sits in the very center, hooked up to it all.

 “Hey, Eugene!” Varian grins. “You’re just in time, I’m about to run trial thirty-seven of the flynnolium, to see if it’s a viable energy source.”

 Eugene raises a brow, settling onto his own stool next to the kid. “And how’s it going?” He asks, smirking when Varian blushes.

 “Uh,” Varian gestures to the nearby wall, where a new, charred hole is still smoking. “It’s questionable, but this time for sure it’s going to work!”

 Eugene nods, watching as Varian fiddles with his invention a little more. It’s like night and day, this new Varian and the one he’d met before. Even if he looked the same, the way Varian acts is almost an opposite of how he used to. Once Andrew was out of the picture, once he’d gotten home and cleaned up and back with his family, the kid had shown the excitement he had rarely had on their little walk.

 And with the excitement came the talking.

 “See, it’s a steam engine!” Varian says, “Using the flynnolium as a fuel to burn, boiling water, making steam.” He gestures to each piece as he talks. Eugene pretends to understand, nodding along. He’s just happy to see the kid excited, to be honest. Varian keeps chattering, gesturing wildly.

 “And look, here,” the kid continues, “The steam turns the turbines, right? And that generates electricity.”

 “Wait, like before the blackout?” Is he serious?

 “Exactly!” Varian’s smile is wide. “In theory, we could get some lights going, maybe even an irrigation system!”

 “Kid… That’s amazing!”

 Varian blushes, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I still need to test it,” he mumbles, “So no promises yet.”

 Eugene still claps him on the shoulder, encouraging him. “Let’s give it a shot, huh?”

 Varian’s face lights back up, the kid pulling his goggles back down onto his face. His smile turns nearly manic as he brings a nearby match close, lighting the compound on fire. It’s controlled, a slow burn. Water suspended above quickly begins to boil, causing steam. Just like Varian had said, a little turbine over the water begins to spin.

 A tiny motor made from pillaged car parts begins to whine as the turbine spins, turning the interior mechanism. The flynnolium makes a strange pop noise; Varian cringes back, flinching and waiting for another explosion, but the compound settles down slowly. Eugene steadies him on the stool with a hand to his upper back, keeping the kid upright.

 Varian spares a second to smile gratefully, before going back to watching the contraption. Eugene snickers at the way he sticks his tongue out, quickly writing in a small notebook. The engine makes another noise, the whining getting a little louder.

 Eugene grins, reflecting. The kid in front of him is going to do amazing things, so long as he had the support to do so. Eugene, as much as he would deny it outwardly, can’t wait to watch him succeed, to mould this new world to his whims. He’s going to do amazing things, with that big brain of his, and Eugene can’t wait to see him do it.

 It feels like years ago, when he’d found that skinny, scrappy kid stealing for survival in the wasteland. Before he’d known exactly who he’d been dealing with, when they both were lost to the wasteland caused by those who came before them. When Eugene had been resigned to a life of suffering and scavenging.

 It feels like a different life. Eugene smiles, a sudden surge of gratefulness for the kid to his left hitting him like a freight train. Gratefulness to Varian, for showing a bitter old asshole how to have a little hope, a little faith in humanity. A little determination to see a better future. It’s something he didn’t know he needed, but now that he has it, Eugene can’t see himself ever giving it up. Not for anything.

 The machine before them makes another strange noise, the container holding the burning flynnolium rattling on the table. It looks ready to explode, to be honest, but even as Eugene’s hands tense, the kid seems confident in his invention. Varian bites at his lip, stressed but determined.

 “C’mon,” he whispers. “C’mon.”

 Eugene’s hand pats at his back, Varian leans into the touch, his eyes begging the machine to work. There’s a tense silence as the engine whines, only broken by the soft bubbling noises of the water.

 And then, flickering in the darkness, coming from the bulb.

 Light.

[meganshinsou-tm]

i’m still here. (a)

☙ pairing: bakugou x reader / bakugou x kirishima

☙ theme:  angst

☙  cw/tw: profanity, grief/mourning, emotional distress, slight talk of wanting to die, could be seen as unhealthy grieving but there are no right or wrong ways to grieve, talk of death.

☙  a/n-request: so here it is, the spontaneous continuation of ‘i’m here’ - i just couldn’t help myself, I needed to get this out of my system. It hurts for a bit but I promise it gets better - also hope you don’t mind the end pairing, baku needs love and he deserves to be happy with that person. 

It’s been four months and Bakugou is - well he’s as good as he can be.

Sometimes he likes to think that the days are getting progressively better but then he finds himself awake way past the hour of midnight, walking around the house aimlessly and searching. Searching for something that he doesn’t even know. After a few more hours of talking to himself and cleaning random things, eating a small snack, Bakugou finally finds himself in bed tossing and turning until sleep finally takes him. 

Izuku and Kirishima have become his rocks and practical caretakers. 

They check in on him constantly but in a way that isn’t overbearing. Both of them make sure that their friend doesn’t stay holed up inside the house for longer than needed by becoming gym buddies, dragging him out to guys’ nights with them and the squad. Bakugou goes without too much resistance. Of course he rather stay in and wait for something that’ll never come but he knows he has to keep his sanity and he knows that you would kick his ass for sulking and wallowing in grief for too long. So he goes and by the end of the night, he’s always happy that he did but he’ll never admit that to the two idiots he calls his best friends. 

And more than anything, Bakugou is grateful how they have never brought up the topic of … moving on. Because they know better - everyone does. 

Of course everyone agrees it’s way too soon to even consider Bakugou trying dating again but not only that, anyone who knows the guy knows that he probably never will even think about trying to find anyone else. You were it for him.

You weren’t like everyone else. 

It’s cliche to say but you were indeed special - you completed Bakugou in the ways he was imperfect and flawed yet you still loved those parts of him. His edges were still rough and brash but you somehow softened them without changing truly who he was because well - you loved him for who he was and the way he was. Such a fucking sap you always were. 

Bakugou doesn’t move to a new home, he doesn’t want to or need to. Your home wasn’t massive; it was the perfect size for just the two of you. 

And it was only a few weeks ago that he finally found the strength to part with your belongings. It was a rough day but thankfully the whole squad was there. Kirishima may or may not have tried to bribe them with beer and food but obviously it wasn’t needed, they were gonna be there for their friend no matter what. 

Starting out, Bakugou was okay while packing everything. Everyone reminisced on fond and happy memories of you. Izuku and Kirishima felt a sense of relief from seeing the blonde genuinely smiling a few times and hearing his laughter. For a moment they thought everything would go smoothly for the rest of the day but nothing ever really goes smoothly when you’re saying goodbye to what’s left of your deceased spouse.

It was when Mina and Sero started to pull out of the driveway in the U-Haul that Bakugou bolted out the door after them. Kirishima and Izuku were right behind him and barely managed to catch him before being hit by a truck. 

The three of them rolled around on the black-top road, all shouting and crying. 

“Let me fucking go you pieces of shit! Fuck!”

Kirishima bared his teeth, trying to fight back his own sobs from the heart wrenching sight of seeing his best friend like this.

“Kats, please calm down, don’t do this!”

Bakugou only growled and tried to blast off an explosion in his face but Kirishima knew better and hardened his skin to block it. Izuku choked on his own tears and ended up using black whip to help pin down the uncontrollable blonde, despite him and Kirishima being over 200lbs and holding him down the best they could.

“Kacchan, you could’ve just fucking died, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“I don’t fucking care … let me … I - I can be with her.”

Izuku and Kirishima both went rigid at those words and looked at each other with tear filled eyes before resting their weight on top of their broken friend in a pile there in the middle of the road. For the next half hour they all stayed there, crying and holding Bakugou together until he finally exhausted himself and didn’t fight about Kirishima picking him up and carrying him back inside.

“Kats I don’t care if you hate me for doing it but I’m calling a professional tomorrow. We love you … I love you man but we can only do so much for you. Please … just let us help you. We can’t lose someone else we love.”

Izuku nods in agreement and they bring Bakugou to the bedroom and tuck him into the bed like a child. He doesn’t complain or try to bite their heads off for it. 

“We’re proud of you for today Kacchan, please know that. Y-You still have the important things,” Izuku sniffles as he places a worn-looking rag doll cat in Bakugou’s arms. “You’ll always have the important things.”

Kirishima tries to smile as Bakugou turns his back to them and cuddles the item close to his face. It's instinctive and totally against his control but Kirishima reaches out and combs his fingers through Bakugou’s hair and it gives him hope when he feels the blonde relax under his touch.

“Try to get some rest Blasty. We aren’t gonna leave you alone so if you need anything, we’ll be here.”

A few weeks and plenty of therapy sessions later, Bakugou is back to doing okay. He’s back to being able to stay home alone without needing Izuku or Kirishima crashing on his couch. He returns to work and some days it helps while on others it hurts. 

It’ll take more time to get used to Kirishima being his new side-kick but as long as it's him, he’ll be okay. 

Life slowly but surely starts to get easier … until those nights like tonight where Bakugou is wide awake at four in the morning. It’s been a while since its happened and truly Bakugou is exhausted but he just can’t sleep - he doesn’t mind though. It’s nights like these where he’s glad to still be awake with tired eyes and body because it’s nights like these where you come to him.

It may be crazy but Bakugou is adamant that you’re still there sometimes, your spirit at least. And when he's exhausted and delirious enough like he is now, you’ll become more than just memories and a presence. Soon enough you start to become real again and he can feel you holding him close and petting his hair. Feel those soft kisses on his lips and all over his face and neck. Bakugou can see those bright eyes again and feel your own warm skin against his in bed. 

And even though he really is getting better at all of this, he still has his moments. He’s only human after all. A human who lost the most precious and important thing in his life so tragically. So no one can blame him for feeling the things he does and for having a down moment - hell even his therapist reassured him of that. 

‘Everyone grieves in their own way and these occurrences don’t mean you’re crazy. Just as long as you see them for what they truly are and know that eventually they will end.’

It hurts to think that these will end so Bakugou cherishes them and prolongs them for as long as he fucking can. He gives into the phantom feelings, finds comfort in them. Then he starts to hear you and you talk to each other. He tells you how some days he’s okay and others he just misses you so fucking much and he doesn’t want to go on, he wants to be with you. 

In those times you quiet him with kisses and hums, telling him it’s not time yet. 

“The world needs you,” is whispered upon his skin and it makes him groan in disagreement.

“Fuck the what the world needs - I need you!”

You chuckle and lightly flick the tip of Bakugou’s nose and he wishes it hurt like it used to.

“You don’t need me Katsuki, if anything, I’m not what you need at all right now … at least not like this,” you speak quietly but still smile. “But you will always have me. I’m all around you.”

Bakugou pouts and you brush your thumb over his bottom lip before looking down and taking his hand in yours. Your finger traces the hard edges of the wedding band that’s now a matte black color after he found a jeweler who was able to add a small amount of your cremains into the material of it.

“You literally take me everywhere you go and even before then, I’ve never left you. Someone’s gotta watch over your crazy ass. I’m just glad Red is there to help me out.”

Bakugou smirks and moves to nuzzle the crook of your neck, his hair tickling the underside of your jaw and causing you to giggle and hold him tighter. The sound pains him and Bakugou starts to softly cry. You hold him even tighter and he holds you with a death grip.

That feeling is returning in him and he hates it. It’s overwhelming and it's cold. It’s hopelessness.

“How am I supposed to keep doing this? I don’t want to spend four more months like this … I don’t want to spend years like this … fucking - tell me how I can get you back, I need you … I fucking need you so much, I can’t - “

“Shh, baby breathe, I'm here - you know I’m always here.”

Bakugou frowns hard and buries his face into your chest to muffle the heartbreaking sob he lets out, his fists start to smoke and he shakes his head.

“But you’re not! You’re not fucking here!”

He pulls away from the pillow he’s burning now in order to breathe and scream out in agony. Bakugou continues until his vocal chords feel raw and there’s a giant hole in the wall above the headboard from him repeatedly punching it. Looking down through teary eyes, Bakugou notices his knuckles are bloody and throbbing in pain. A few minutes pass and he’s on his knees hunched over in the middle of the bed, sheet-rock is crumbled all around him on the covers and he sighs, wiping angrily at his tears. 

Soon the feeling of fingers in his hair, scratching against his scalp soothingly causes Bakugou to deflate and he sinks back as you hold him close, back to your chest and your cheek pressed against the top of his hair. He clings to your arms around him. Tears roll from his irritated and red eyes, snot down his nose as he sniffles. 

“I’m sorry,” you both whisper out in unison.

You press kiss after kiss against soft ash blonde hair, against ruddy warm cheeks and tear filled eyes. Bakugou suppresses his whimper, he can feel what's coming and he doesn’t like it.

“Call him … you need him right now, do this for me please,” you speak upon the side of Bakugou’s neck. 

Bakugou grunts and leans over to grab his phone from the nightstand, laying down on his side in the process. You move with him and place yourself before him to hold close, letting his arms wrap tight around you. The ghosting of fingers against his cheekbone makes Bakugou look down at you with red tired eyes. He can see the choice in your own and can feel it in the way you lean in and kiss his lips so softly that it feels like air before pressing your forehead against his.

“You’ll be okay Katsuki, I know you will. Just - breathe for me; and always know that I’m right here baby,” you whisper while placing your palm to the space over his heart.

Bakugou’s bottom lip trembles and he nods. He shifts to press his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of strawberries and cream that's ingrained in his senses as his eyes squeeze shut before kissing the top of your head and letting out a long breath.

“I’ll be okay.”

When his eyes open, Bakugou swallows the lump in his throat and eases the death grip he has on the charred pillow. He sighs and swipes a finger across the screen of his phone and moves to lay on his back, pressing the device to his ear.

It rings only a few times before a raspy voice is answering with concern.

“Kats, what’s wrong?”

Bakugou looks up from his newspaper and cup of coffee when the door to the backyard opens. He smirks and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and watches as Kirishima and Ghost both come barreling in. The giant mastiff is slobbering and panting, so is Kirishima, except the slobbering part - well sort of. 

“Whew - oh hey sleeping beauty,” Kirishima gleams and takes a step towards where Bakugou is seated at the kitchen counter, lips puckered and arms open wide.

He’s stopped by a finger to the mouth, halting him from going any further.

“Don’t even think about it, you’re disgusting!

Kirishima gives those stupid puppy eyes that everyone, even himself, were always weak to and a whimper coming from below makes Bakugou look down to see Ghost also giving her own literal puppy eyes. 

“You’re both pathetic, there’s no way I’m - oof!”

Bakugou is tackled off his seat and onto the ground by Kirishima, knocking his glasses off in the process. Ghost joins in and smothers him in an abnormal amount of slobber as she licks his face excitedly and Kirishima kisses his cheeks - which, gross, he doesn’t even care that he’s kissing where there is drool. But Bakugou can’t help cackling and grinning as he tries to shove them off. 

 “Both of you fucking stink, get offa me! You need baths!”

Kirishima smirks and pulls away enough for Bakugou to wipe his face.

“I’ll make you a deal Blasty, I shower then give this pretty lady a bath - if you make us breakfast!

Kirishima firmly pats and pets the giant dog, looking at his boyfriend with a playful light in his red eyes.

Bakugou sighs, “If it’ll get you gross animals off then fine!”

Smiling victoriously, Kirishima sits back on his knees and helps with pulling the dog away. She quickly forgets about them and trots off to her toys in the living room. Kirishima offers his hand, Bakugou takes it and together they stand from the floor. 

Bakugou rolls his eyes but smirks and playfully pushes at Kirishima’s shoulder. His wrist is caught and Kirishima pulls him in for a hug. It’s sticky and sweaty but a smile forms on his face and Bakugou accepts it without question, along with the gentle kiss to his temple.

“Slept okay?” 

Kirishima asks, running his fingers through Bakugou’s hair when they pull away from their hug. Bakugou leans into the touch and nods.

“As good as I could with two giants hogging the bed and snoring loud enough to shake the fucking walls.”

Kirishima chuckles and takes Bakugou’s hand, letting his thumb brush over the black band that still remains on his finger, he smiles fondly at it.

“I’ll take that as a ‘I slept great babe!’”

Bakugou snorted and patted Kirishima’s chest, leaning in to kiss his sweaty cheek before lightly pushing him away and wiping the salty taste from his mouth. 

“If you want breakfast, you better get your rank ass in the shower and hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Aye, aye captain!” Kirishima salutes with a massive smile and turns to jog out and towards the bedroom.

Shaking his head with a smile, Bakugou picks up the mess of his forgotten newspaper on the counter. He skims over the front page and smiles at the picture taken of him and Kirishima. Their backs face the camera, Kirishima’s arm around Bakugou as they look upon the cherry blossom tree that was planted in your memory at one of your favorite parks. It had bloomed just in time for the one year anniversary of your passing and there were numerous gifts left around the trunk of it from fans and friends.

Bakugou runs a finger over your printed name on the paper and for the first time since that one night, he feels you pressed against him, hugging him close from behind and pressing your cheek to his back. Smiling, Bakugou rubs at your hands over his stomach and he looks up when he hears Kirishima walking back into the kitchen with a question that he doesn’t hear.

The redhead looks him over confused at first and Bakugou just gives him the softest and fondest smile, still rubbing over the space of his stomach and Kirishima’s eyes widen. He crosses his arms and leans against the fridge, smiling at Bakugou while he states softly.

“She’s here.”

[carmenlire]

Meddle About

read on ao3

On the one hand--

But on the other.

Alec groans, rakes his hands over his face and leans back until he’s staring at the stars. The grass is cool on his back and it pokes through his shirt, dry and a little itchy. It’s a visceral feeling and it tethers him to earth, makes him feel like he’s sinking into the ground.

It’s a welcome feeling because Alec doesn’t feel like he belongs most days. The balmy air whispers through the trees and he shivers a little even though he’s warm. The ground is cool but comfortable and as he looks up, he feels small and insignificant. It’s not unpleasant.

If anything, it helps him feel like maybe it’s not a big deal if he’s broken, cold, a fucking robot--

No.

So maybe Alec’s head is a mess most days. He goes back and forth. It’s a running joke with Iz and Jace-- that he’s a robot, so cold as to verge on icy, and he humors them. He stares at them, unamused and stoic when they prank him, has no problem staring his bitch of a mother in the face as she berates him in full view of the servants, keeps mum as Jace ribs him goodnaturedly about his lack of a love life.

But then he goes to his bedroom after a long day where nothing seemed to go right and he feels like he’s suffocating as he chokes back a scream that would scrape his throat raw if he let it. He lays in bed for hours at night, mind going in circles, as he wonders what the fuck everyone else means when they say love.

Because sure, he loves Izzy and Jace and Max. He’d die for them without hesitation, and would only hesitate a little when they bug the shit out of him for the last salted caramel cookie that he’s been hoarding like a goddamn dragon.

He thinks he understands what it means to say he loves reading because when he loses himself in a good book, it almost feels like he’s somewhere else, somewhere free where he can be himself. There’s love in the pages of a novel where there are no pretenses, just earnest appreciation and a desperate kind of joy.

But that’s lowercase love, casual and informal and to everyone else-- lesser. There seems to be a difference between that and love with all caps, with fireworks, with a marching band playing the world’s sappiest, most cliche ballad.

And that’s what seems so foreign to him because when people say love in that voice they mean something Alec can’t put his finger on and it’s maddening, that the entire world just knows how it feels to be head over heels, to feel butterflies, to be in love.

It’s romantic love that makes him want to tear his goddamn hair out because that-- that he doesn’t understand.

He watches Jace make a fool of himself with over the top gestures and while he’s supportive and encouraging, privately he can’t understand why his brother would make such an ass out of himself because of an ephemeral feeling. He listens as Izzy goes on and on about someone in her class, talking about the way they fucking laugh and smile with their eyes or whatever the fuck and can’t help but feel like his sister-- his ever practical sister-- has lost her goddamn mind.

He can comprehend grand gestures and overwhelming fondness and while it’s a secret he likes to keep close to his vest, Alec is a bit of a hopeless romantic when it comes to media. He loves a good romcom and he has an entire shelf dedicated to romance novels in his bedroom.

But that’s fiction and in real life, he’s left wondering if everyone is playing some sort of elaborate joke on him because for a reasonably intelligent nineteen year old, he just can’t understand what people say when they say those words.

He made it through his entire high school career without a crush while his classmates seemed to fall for someone every other period. He’s never hooked up with anyone, never felt the need to lose himself in someone else.

And it’s those realizations-- noticing that he seems to be falling behind everyone else, that even if he doesn’t particular care that he hasn’t slept with anyone, that he’s never been on a date, everyone else has and because of that, something is missing in his life-- that make Alec feel like he’s going crazy sometimes.

He likes being single. He likes his life, but when the whole world is shouting that he needs to find his other half, it’s hard not to want to fall in line even as he balks at the very notion.

Phone vibrating in his back pocket, Alec’s thoughts break off as he reaches for it. He smiles a little as he sees the incoming text.

On my way and I have milkshakes.

Shaking his head a little to clear it even more, Alec shoots back a reply before letting his phone drop onto his stomach. He hears the rustle of leaves under him and closes his eyes.

Quietly, he thinks he could fall asleep like this. This is their park, halfway between their houses and it’s always deserted this time of night. It feels like he’s the only person in the world and that makes the hint of hollowness in his chest ease a little.

It’s hard to feel broken when there’s no one else to compare to. It’s easier to think that being a robot isn’t so bad as long as he’s not hurting anyone.

Because sometimes his siblings’ ribbing pierces clean through him. He’ll never admit it but there are times when he replays their words over and over and wonders if they’re right, if they’re true, if there’s something fundamentally wrong with him.

Because sometimes-- just sometimes because it’s all he can bear-- he wonders what’s the point. He’s come to terms with being gay even if there are only a few people he’s told. But when a voice whispers that if he doesn’t want to have sex and he doesn’t particularly want to be in love-- what’s the point. There’s nothing for him and he’s nothing for anyone else.

Sometimes he thinks he shouldn’t be here. Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t.

He’s not maudlin, not even really sad. It’s just that when he lets himself, he measures what everyone else values against what he can provide and it seems embarrassingly obvious that he’s lacking.

Everyone places such importance on romance and attraction and Love and it feels like he doesn’t fit in with his complete apathy and mild distaste for it all.

Alec’s thoughts fracture as something lands on his stomach. Huffing a little, he opens his eyes and he swears the moonlight makes his best friend glow.

“What the fuck,” he mutters and Magnus laughs a little before dropping down next to him on the same faded blanket they’ve been bringing to this park since they were in middle school.

“Now is that any way to greet someone who brought your favorite milkshake?”

Narrowing his eyes, all Alec shoots back is, “Cookies n Cream?”

Glaring at him, Magnus all but shoves the drink in his face before he fairly sneers, “Extra Oreo.”

The two of them stare at each other for a long moment before they break out into laughter and God, Alec thinks, as he snags the straw Magnus holds out, there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, alone with his best friend.

Sitting up and grabbing the bag that Magnus had tossed at him, Alec knows there’s no place better and it’s in these moments that he casts a giant fuck you to anyone who would tell him that this is less than a boyfriend.

This is all he needs, he thinks and is only a little embarrassed at how mushy he’s being, if only in his own head.

Even by moonlight, Alec sees the grease soaking through the bag and he grins as he opens it to reveal an extra large order of fries from the same diner Magnus bought the shakes.

“You know me too well,” he mutters as he snags a fry and pops it into his mouth before wincing as it burns his tongue.

Magnus tsks even as he shoves a few into his own mouth. “I was hungry,” he shrugs, “And figured you probably were too.”

Alec just echoes, “You know me too well,” and lets the silence settle between them.

It’s not a bad silence. It’s not oppressive and there’s no pressure to fill it. Alec’s long since learned that he can be himself with Magnus, whatever that means. Magnus deals with taciturn, abrasive Alec just as well as he does sleepy Alec with cracked walls and silly jokes, which is the same as when Alec’s knuckles are bruised and bloodied and there are tears that seem to leech from his damned soul.

Magnus has seen every side of Alec and he’s stayed through them all.

Alec tells himself that this is different, though. He’s not told anyone, not even his best friend, not even Magnus, about these thoughts that make him sick, that make him feel angry and weird and other and less.

He doesn’t think Magnus would understand. Scoffing to himself as he brings his milkshake up for a long sip, Alec knows Magnus can’t understand what Alec himself is confused about.

Confused, terrified, and yet strangely uncaring under everything else. It’s all a tangled mess in his chest. It gives him a headache.

When Magnus speaks, it spooks him a little but Alec doesn’t look up from where he’s staring at a dandelion. This isn’t the first night one of them haven’t been in the mood to talk but Alec still feels like he should be better at compartmentalizing.

The thing is, there’s a niggling voice in his head and while he tells it to shut the fuck up, it whispers and insinuates and Alec doesn’t know what’s up from down.

Because sometimes he looks at Magnus and it’s his best friend. And then sometimes he looks at his best friend and wonders if this is what everyone else feels when they say they’re in love.

Because Magnus is beautiful, there’s no denying that. Magnus is perfect to Alec. Even with his ridiculous bedhead in the morning, and his tendency to bottle emotions up until they explode all over the place, even when he’s being a stubborn ass, he’s perfect, perfect for him.

Still. Alec thinks about what other people talk about when they say it’s love and he doesn’t want to sleep with Magnus. He doesn’t want to necessarily go on romantic dates and hold hands and wax poetic about Magnus’s goddamn hands.

He likes their weekly sleepovers and looks forward to rooming with him at NYU next month. He likes that Magnus makes him feel safe and accepted and that he can be himself with Magnus and that Magnus is one of the only people on earth he’d drop everything for, no hesitation. Some of his favorite afternoons have been hanging out at a nearby coffee shop working on homework or blatantly blowing it off. It’s a running joke between their friends and families that they’re joined at the hip, that where Magnus is, Alec is sure to be following. It’s been like that since they were kids.

They’re best friends and that’s enough but Alec doesn’t like that everyone else wouldn’t agree.

Izzy and Jace tease him about Magnus sometimes. In between telling them to go fuck themselves and rolling his eyes, he knows what it maybe, possibly looks like from the outside. It looks romantic, it looks closer than two friends should be, it looks different.

Alec doesn’t mind different, though. Not when it’s Magnus. Not when it’s them.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, darling?”

Alec still doesn’t look up, even though he feels Magnus lean into his shoulder, even when he wants nothing more than to pour his heart out and have Magnus tell him it’s okay, he’s okay, everything is going to be okay.

He shrugs into himself, scowls at the innocent flower and wishes he wasn’t himself. Maybe a stupid wish but a wish nonetheless. And because it’s midnight and dark and the person next to him is Magnus-- his best friend, his person-- Alec tells the truth.

“I wish I wasn’t me.”

Magnus’s voice is soft as he asks, “And why is that?”

And that’s why-- one of the hundred thousand million reasons why-- Alec loves Magnus. Magnus doesn’t tell him not to think like that, doesn’t give him weak if well-meaning platitudes. Magnus plays the game out and sometimes Alec wonders if Magnus doesn’t know him better than he knows himself.

Teeth digging into his bottom lip for a beat or two Alec tries to think of the best way to phrase his jumble of thoughts. It all boils down to one thing, though, that thing being, “I think I’m broken.”

His voice comes out a hoarse whisper, raw around the edges. That’s what it all comes down to-- Alec’s not like everyone else and if he’s not like everyone else then there’s something wrong with him, something not right.

Something wrong. Something broken.

The words might seem like a plea for help to others and Alec supposes he can’t fault them for that. Magnus gets it though because he gets Alec-- this is the root of his issue and at the end of it, he’s just confused. He just wants answers.

Leaning into the arm Magnus wraps around his shoulder, Alec keeps his gaze down as his best friend lets out a considering hum. “Why do you think you’re broken, Alexander?”

Taking a shuddering breath, Alec feels relief at not having his problem brushed away. His mind races and there are a dozen things that come to mind. He kind of wants to throw everything at Magnus and let someone else put the pieces together. There’s a sort of checklist in his head, All The Ways Alec Lightwood Doesn’t Fit In and included on that list is that while Alec likes the idea of marriage, he doesn’t see himself ever actually getting married.

He looks at relationships around him and they don’t make sense. They leave a sour taste in his mouth.

At the end of the day, he doesn’t know if he wants what everyone else has because they tell him he should want it of if his want is true, is real.

On the one hand, he likes the picture perfect idea. On the other, the thought of actually having it makes him queasy.

Swallowing hard, Alec looks up and meets Magnus’s eyes. His best friend is looking at him with the world’s patience and, even if Alec is hopeless at reading faces, a good amount of fondness seems to break through, too.

It’s just the two of them in the park as Alec finally lets his failing slip. Strangely, it’s not as scary as he’d thought it’d be, even moments ago.

“I don’t think I know what love is. I don’t think I know how to love.”

The words fall between them and it should sound absurd and a little pathetic. And it does because how does someone make it through high school, how do they become an adult and not know how to love or what love even is.

But that’s how it feels to Alec. He has familial love because he’s always had it. He can intuit his love of hobbies and other random inanimate objects because it’s what everyone else says and at the end of the day, it isn’t really that serious to exclaim that he loves the movie Pride and Prejudice.

He used to hesitate when it came to telling Magnus he loved him and the truth is, he still hesitates. Because to him, love seems unknowable and too meaningful and he didn’t want to lie to Magnus.

Still, Magnus told Alec that he loved him and didn’t seem to hold the same uncertainty or fear. Alec never wants Magnus to feel bad for loving him, so he said it back. He’s gotten better at saying it first because he likes the way Magnus smiles when he does and he likes making his best friend happy.

There’s a part of Alec that wonders if this isn’t love after all because he feels more towards Magnus than he does anyone else and if that’s all he’s capable of, then maybe it’s good enough to call it love. Maybe he’s not lying after all when he says it and wants to mean it.

If he wants to mean it, then maybe he does mean it. Maybe it’s enough that if he wants it to be true, it can be, it is.

Alec watches as Magnus smiles, just a little, just enough to see the twitch of his lips as he leans into Alec’s space like he's sharing a secret. “You are one of the most loving people I know, Alec.”

Startled, Alec blinks a little dumbly as he leans away to see Magnus better. Before he can open his mouth for a retort, Magnus is continuing.

“I’m serious,” Magnus says and Alec sees, from his eyes, that he is maybe the most serious Alec’s ever seen him. “You love without thinking, without hesitating. Isabelle, Jace, Max, that eccentric elderly woman that you help every Thursday evening with her correspondence, the underclassmen you tutor and treat to dinner even if you roll your eyes the entire time-- it might be quiet but it’s always there.”

Alec frowns as he notices, “You didn’t name yourself.”

Magnus shrugs and his expression is a little coy as he replies, “This isn’t about me, Alexander. It’s about you and letting you know that you love and are loved dearly.”

“I don’t understand love, Magnus.” Alec’s voice is soft as he adds, “I’ve never been in love. I’m not sure I want to be, not really, not like everyone says I should.”

“And that’s okay,” Magnus immediately says. “As long as you’re happy, you can be anything you want.”

“What about us?”

Magnus raises a single brow and while ordinarily Alec would tell him how stupid he looks, he just stays silent as Magnus asks, “What do you mean, what about us?”

“I’m not in love with you.” Alec’s voice is barely a whisper and he wonders if he’s just said something wrong. He clears his throat. “You’re my favorite person and I-- I think I have to love you more than just about anyone else on the planet but that’s it.”

He twists his hands in his lap as he waits for Magnus’s reaction.

His best friend just smiles patiently. “And I’m telling you that’s okay.”

Frowning a little, Alec looks up. “Is it?”

Sighing, Magnus pulls Alec close until his chin is resting on top of Alec’s head. It’s a little cramped but Alec huddles just that little bit closer and thinks that there’s no place else he’d rather be.

“You’re my favorite person, too, darling. My best friend. I love you and I know you love me and that’s more than enough for us.” Magnus’s voice drops to a whisper as Alec swears he feels lips against his hair. “You’re perfect just as you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

The only sound around them is the distant thrum of New York as Alec focuses on his breathing, on taking in what Magnus just said. “Kind of seems like everyone else expects us to start dating or some shit.”

He feels more than hears Magnus start laughing. “Kind of seems like everyone else should mind their fucking business.”

There’s a pause before Magnus quietly asks, “Are you happy? With the way things are?”

Alec doesn’t hesitate as he replies, “Yeah, yes, of course. I love us.” He straightens up, though, making sure he’s looking Magnus in the eyes as he replies, “Are you?”

Magnus nods, grins a little. “I am,” he answers confidently. “I’m happy as long as it’s you, as long as it’s us. Whatever that means, however it happens. And to hell with what anyone else thinks.”

Alec stares hard at Magnus, can’t help but wonder if his best friend is lying to spare his feelings-- wonders if maybe Magnus is in love with him and trying to hide it, if maybe he doesn’t think Alec isn’t overreacting and is making a mountain out of a molehill.

But his best friend’s eyes are clear and bright and Alec might not be great at reading people but he knows Magnus better than most anyone else and this-- this is Magnus at his best, at his most happy and relaxed.

“Whatever that means,” he echoes.

He pulls Magnus into a hug and breathes in familiar shampoo. He decides that this is his favorite spot, right here with his best friend, and that maybe it’s okay not to have all the answers as long as he’s happy, as long as he’s not hurting anyone.

Maybe it’s okay to be different, as long as someone understands, as long as Magnus get it, gets him.

This is enough, Alec thinks. This is more than enough.

[dabblescrawl]

Saving Santos - Part 2

Read Part 1 Here

Oscar’s POV

I’m posted up at the grill like normal.  Tonight I am making burgers, it’s easier and el novia always seems to like it when we have that.  I won’t admit it to her or anyone else but I don’t just feel like I have to take care of her, I mean all the Santos feel that way, I want her to be mine.  I want her to stay here at the house where we can spend time together.  

A few of the homies are standing around at the grill chopping it up with me.  I can feel her before I see her, I always do, but I see el novia out of the corner of my eye.  She approaches with that hesitant look she always has but she looks happier to be here tonight.  I hold out a taste of the grilled pineapple I am making for the salsa.  She smiles and leans towards me.  I can feel the heat of her breath on my hand and I wish she’d let me hold her close so I could feel the heat of her whole body against mine.

The others greet her with nods or salutes with their beers and she nods.  She may not speak but you can always read her face.  Tonight, she’s open, she’ll hang around outside.  Some nights I can tell when she first approaches if she’ll stay and hang or if she’ll go inside and make herself useful cleaning up after others.  I tried to stop her from it once but that seemed to make her more nervous so now I let her.

She’s nodding her head with the music and it’s least reserved I have ever seen her.  And I am admiring how beautiful she looks when she’s letting herself have fun.  I turn back to the grill as she turns to look out over the crowd.  Before I can register what’s happening I hear her intake a gulp of air, feel the back of my shirt rise and the heavy gun pulled from my belt.  I don’t even have time to turn before my shirt falls back into place and I see her back sprinting across the yard.  When she reaches the fence post she stops on a dime, sets her feet, and pulls the gun up in one fluid motion.  Two things register pretty quickly, first she knows what she’s doing, she’s pulled up and sighted, her feet are set and knees slightly bent.  The right hand holds the gun but not too tightly and her finger is on the trigger.  In fact she’s ready to pull.  Her left hand holds the base of the gun so she’ll have a clear and steady shot.  She knows what to do and isn’t fucking around I follow the barrell of the gun.

And second, standing across the other side of the road part way to the house is a guy.  He looks about my age, give a few years maybe.  He doesn’t look like a cholo.  He’s dressed in a pair of more fitted jeans and a brand t-shirt.  He’s muscled but he I know I can take him.  He’s got his hair cropped like he might be in the military.

I take a few steps towards her and then realize that she has my gun so there’s not much I will be able to do if I have to.  I falter, I clench my fists and chomp my teeth.  I have more pieces inside but I am not leaving her out here without eyes on her.  Sad Eyes and a few of the others realize what’s happening a second after me and pull their guns out of their belts.  They start heading in her direction.

I realize that he’s smirking now and continuing to cross the street.  He’s talking too low, I can’t hear him but I’m furious at this point.  I can feel the rage burning through my veins.  Puto.  Who does he think he is.  Doesn’t he know who we are?  I spare a glance around me since my homies are already moving in as back up.  As I notice one of the new guys I decide I can take his gun.

The guy across the street now decides to pause as he sees the Santos start to flank her into position.  “Alright” he says raising his hands in the air.  “Match point” he smiles at her again, humor in his eyes and laughs as he turns around.  

There are a couple of midlevel Santos to my left.  “Follow him” I say, “And DON’T let him see you.  Someone will come switch later.  24 hour eyes homies”  I finish through my teeth.  They take their orders bumping the table they are sitting behind twice with their fists before they take off down the yard.  

It’s not until he’s down around the corner and has to be down the street a ways before she relaxes her stance and turns back towards the party.

“Not as innocent as you seem are you novia” someone says she smiles at them giving a half smirk but her eyes are still tight.  I know it’s not possible but I still feel like I can see her heart pounding through her veins.  Sad Eyes claps her on the shoulder and I’m sure I see her flinch away a little.  She nods at him in thanks and fist bumps him.  

As she strides back over to me I hold out my hand for my gun.  She raises it, flips the safety back on and drops it in my hand.  The metal piece feels heavy in my hand and hot from her touch.  But what I notice more than any of that is the trembling in her hand.  I reach out to her but she turns out of reach and picks up the things she toppled on her sprint through the yard.  No one else seems to notice how fake those smiles are as she makes it look like she’s cool and thankful for the back up. 

I can see her eyes wide with fright still well after I am done with the food and put it out.  I go back over to her with a burger and she waves it off.  I kiss my teeth, she’s blowing me off and it's pissing me off, what was that?  

She heads off towards the dance floor.  I watched her a few minutes before turning around and sitting to eat the food I prepared for her.

An hour or two later Cesar approaches me, “You want to stop her or you want me to?” he asks.  I follow his gaze and see el novia near the bar.  She has a tequila in each hand downs them, drum rolls on the table as it burns down her throat.  She shakes her head and bends down to the cooler.  So she’s drinking now.  Pulling two Corona’s out of the cooler she pops them open and sets to drinking them.  And she’s drinking quickly.  “Shit, how many have you seen her have?” I ask Cesar.

“I haven’t been her long” he says, taking a breath like he’s counting, “but when I got her she had a beer in each hand just like that”.  He says.

“Fuck, I got it” I say and make my way through the crowd.  When I get to her she can barely even stand and she has finished most of the beers.  I’ve seen angry drunks, I have seen happy drunks, stupid drunks, sad drunks you name a kind of drunk and I thought I had seen them all.  But I have never seen a drunk like this.  It’s a completely defeated kind of drunk, it’s like I am looking into the eyes of someone who is already dead, or thinks they are.  She’s like a caged animal, like one of those tigers we saw at school once on a trip to the zoo, the kind that pace out their stress and then refuse to eat and end up killing themselves.

When I started over here I was pissed she was pissed but as I look into her eyes all that fades away.  I desperately want to know what happened.  She’s always been like a wounded bird but this is different.  I want to hold her and solve all her problems. 

“El novia” I say quietly, but she’s so drunk when she looks at me I can tell she can’t really sort out where she’s supposed to be looking.  I grab the beers from her and put them on the counter.  Now her nostrils are flaring and she’s angry.  But rather than coming at me she starts clawing at her throat.  “Ay, ay” I reach for her holding her hands still.  “Come on, let’s get you inside”.

We make our way inside and though I want to grab her and haul her inside I know that’s not the best idea.  Instead I support her as she stumbles inside.  I open the fridge and grab the gatorade I purchased for my own hangover tomorrow and we continue into my bedroom.

When I get there I haul the door shut and sit her on the bed.  Handing the bottle to her I order her to drink.  She takes the cap off and sips obediently.  Taking that as a good sign I turn and head for my clothes.  I grab a hoodie off the floor and walk back.  She grabs the hoodie from me and holds out the gatorade shakily.  I take it and she stands.  Pulling off her pants she’s standing in her underwear.  She leans over fishing her phone and a pair of earbuds.  She goes to straighten and nearly falls over.  I stead her on her feet.  And before she’s even fully stable she starts pulling off her top.

I would have been thrilled about this even a few hours ago, but it's dark in here so I can’t really see her body.  And the look in her eyes is haunting me.  I want her to want to be here, not like this.  She pulls the sweatshirt over her head and crawls off balance up the bed.  When she gets to the corner between two walls she pushes herself hard into it and puts the earbuds in.  Connecting them to her phone she hits the button and drops it into her lap pulling her knees in and her hood over head and the top of her face she circles her arms over her knees.

Since she doesn’t really talk anyways I hadn’t expected her to say anything but I thought there would be more than this, she has completely cut herself off from me.  I sit on the edge of the bed closest to the door and watch her for a long time, she seems to be asleep.  After a while I lay on my back legs still bent over the bed and touching the floor and fall asleep myself with that look on her face burned into my brain.  I need to fix her, I need her back.

Read Part 3 Here

[mail-me-a-snail]

Playing Doctor

part three is here now! we arrive at the next morning…where marvin wakes up to something quite troubling

part 1 part 2

Marvin brings coffee with him to Henrik’s door—black and bitter, the way the doctor likes it. He knows how much Henrik needs it, especially after the night before. It should jumpstart his morning no problem. There’s something wrong, something immediately off when he approaches Henrik’s door. It’s the same feeling as finding something where it’s not supposed to be.

He shakes it off. It’s just the tension from last night, that’s all. It’s getting to him. He knocks on Henrik’s door. Three times, softly, with his knuckles. “Henrik, good morning,” Marvin greets, “I brought you coffee. Not the whole pot this time, mind you—you drink the stuff like it’s water. I’ll never understand it, you being a doctor and all.” He waits for an answer from the other side. Silence speaks instead. He knocks again, with a little more urgency and volume. Three knocks. Louder. “Henrik, are you there? It’s 9 o'clock. You’re usually awake at this time. It’s not like you to sleep…” He tries the knob. He finds it unlocked. “…in? What the hell…? Are you there? Answer me, please.” He can’t bite back the panic in his voice. He opens the door before he can stop himself. Henrik, limp and bleeding, the crimson red on the back of his head and neck a stark, almost beautiful contrast against the pallor whiteness of his skin, sprawls out onto the floor. His eyes are closed. His breathing is shallow, but there. He is alive, but just so.

Marvin drops the mug. It shatters on the floor but he couldn’t care less, even as the coffee spills all over. There is only the now; he’ll leave the cleaning up to his future self. He needs to clean wounds, not coffee stains. “H-Henrik,” he sputters, once he gets over the shock. He kneels, putting one arm under Henrik’s back and the other under his legs, and lifts. The other’s head lolled. “Shit. It was…it was him, wasn’t it? It was…?” He can’t even say the name, but he knows. Because it isn’t the first time that this has happened, nor the first time that the walls of this house have seen blood. Henrik’s coffee brown hair is messy and sticking up in places, like someone had pulled it. His neck is lacerated by wire-thin scratches that ooze a bloody paste. His fingertips are coated with the same blood, like he had tried to pry whatever was strangling him off. The wound on the back of his head is the worst of it. It drips thick blood onto the floor, splattering in wide droplets, mixing in with the coffee. Henrik is out cold and it’s no surprise why. Marvin knows that this much blood is dangerous. Marvin turns, careful not to swing him around. As he does, he sees the bloody, faded splatter against the door, then a trail downwards. Henrik’s head had been smashed into the door. Marvin grits his teeth because he cannot clench his hands. He doesn’t want to hurt Henrik more than he has been already. “Anti will fucking pay for this,” he growls under his breath, hands already warming with a twisted magic. Henrik doesn’t even respond. Marvin snaps out of it and his hands go cold again. “I’ve got you, doc. I’ve got you.” He rushes down the stairs and into Henrik’s clinic. His footsteps echo around the house—no one is awake at this time but him. Chase is supposed to come over in a few hours. Marvin texted him last night about their situation, promising everyone was in good health. What is he supposed to tell him now? He lays the doctor gently on the examination table and spins around to search the medicine cabinets. The only problem being this; he doesn’t know jackshit about medicine or treating a concussion. He rifles through the medicine drawers anyway, hoping something, anything, will click, because goddamnit, he’s not good at restoration magic. He once gave Jackie a nosebleed instead of healing an old acne scar. He doesn’t exactly have time to do a quick Google search. When Marvin comes up with nothing, he groans in frustration and shuts the drawer with a little more force than he means to. He goes back to Henrik. The bleeding has stopped somewhat, but the blood that is there is shiny and goopy and the skin around it shiny with sweat. Marvin takes both as bad signs. He holds out his palms over Henrik. He’s going to attempt something very, very dangerous. He doesn’t normally play doctor, but neither Henrik or him have much of a choice. “Okay, doc,” Marvin’s voice uncharacteristically shakes; he knows how bad he is at healing magic. “Here goes nothing.” When Marvin uses his magic, he lights a proverbial fire. The bigger the fire in him, the more magic being burned up like firewood and expended out into his hands for use. It’s why, when he casts a spell, his brothers will say he’s warm, like a hearth. His magic works on a feeling; an experience. It’s like an oil lantern. When the right fuel is there, the flame will burn bright. Starting a campfire is easy—putting one out is a whole other ball game. So, instead of building a great, burning flame, he looks for a reservoir. Cool, gentle water that’ll heal any burn and put out the warmth Henrik’s pain is radiating like a hundred acre wide forest fire. He has the water in mind when his hands begin to lose their warmth, until he can’t feel his fingertips. All he feels is the lapping of the waves, pushing and pulling against him, like he’s submerged in one of the water tanks he uses onstage. Henrik lies on the other side of the glass. That’s the downside of his powers; once he ties the feelings to something concrete, his imagination magics it up for him. In some ways, it’s a test of might. If he’s going to attempt something this big, his magic challenges him, then he’ll have to fight for it. For a single moment, suspended in that tank, he hesitates. He’s never done something of this magnitude before in a college of magic he hasn’t even studied for. He didn’t have to do this for Jackie because Henrik knew what he was doing. And now…he hasn’t got a choice. He draws his hands back as far as they can go. Then, he bangs the glass wall of the tank with his fists. They bounce off. He swears and does it again and again, the glass slowly cracking, splintering his hands, but he keeps going. Thump. Henrik’s face is getting paler. He doesn’t have much time. Thump. Is that the sound of him hitting the glass or his heart hammering in his chest? Thump. He doesn’t take the time to think about it. Thump. Marvin wants to scream at himself for getting them into this mess. He tries again and now his knuckles are bloody and full of scratches no bigger than a sewing pin. He has to get to Henrik. Thump. He has to. Thump. Henrik is depending on Marvin and he can’t let everyone down, not again. He can’t fail to protect them again— The glass wall shatters into a million pieces and the water bursts out. It washes over Henrik. The blood is dispelled and the wounds close, leaving only scars. Color returns to Henrik’s face and he breathes a little easier. Marvin’s teeth chatter like castanets as he feels the biting freeze of his own spell. The magician’s clothes and him are bogged down with water that isn’t there. He uses the last of his magic to pull Henrik’s desk chair towards him as his eyes roll back into his head and he falls onto it.

[impossible-rat-babies]

quarter past (two am) 

word count ~4891 | angst pre-hb | chargestep | mostly under the cut!

read on a03

--

The streets in Los Diablos are rarely deserted at two am, the headlights dazzling as they pass by, bubblegum pink and electric green neon lights in store windows scattering hues across puddles on the concrete. Gasoline and spilled oil refract in electric rainbows, fine leather dress shoes scuffling and stuttering, disturbing the kaleidoscope.

“Y-You are....my bestest friend...! You are my bestest, best friend!”

Pollux rolls his eyes behind the mask, adjusting Ortega’s arm draped over his shoulders, keeping a hold on his wrist. He keeps blabbering on his ear, trying to rock them side to side across the sidewalk, kicking up water with god knows what in it. Pollux struggles to keep them from falling into a heap, cursing under his breath. Ortega would find it down right hilarious if they took a tumble into one of the heaps of trash, or perhaps smacked right into a telephone pole, the drunk bastard. He’d be finding their current struggles hilarious too if he didn’t have his pea sized drunk brain occupied singing to the heavens of his adoration.

“Hey....hey there, Lux?” He cajoles with a poke at his cheek and Pollux jerks away, giving him a grimace even though the mask. “Y-You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Yes, you’ve been singing about it for the past hour, ass.” Pollux shoots back, sighing out of his nose. 

They’re still a couple blocks away and all he wants to do is dump Ortega on his couch, make sure he won’t throw up all over himself and drag his own ass back to his bed. He blinks quickly to dispel the creeping heaviness across his eyelids, adjusting Ortega once more as he goes into another verse of the same made up jabbering nonsense.

Pollux glances up at Ortega  as he keeps going, his brown eyes staring above and all around, glassy and vacant from the eight or so beers he’s had. Maybe a few other drinks bought for him in between; he’s not paid to watch how much Ortega imbibes. 

But there’s honesty in his eyes, in how despite the awkward looks and snickering laughs from the few people still out as they clumsily pass by, he means every word of his stupid ballad. Drunk Ortega isn’t suave, isn’t the actor, wearing his heart on his sleeve instead of a mask on his face, looking picture perfect, taking it all in stride. It’s honestly slipping out of his mouth unbidden, the facade peeled back, the lies stripped away. The pretense and the formalities all gone and he’s just some drunk guy draped over a friend taking him home.

Pollux likes the pretense, when they don’t say the things they want to say--when he won’t drape himself all over him. Makes it easier to pretend he doesn’t feel like he does--makes it easier to lie to himself.

“I-It’s...it’s true, ya know? You are my, uh, my best friend.” Ortega waves his hand around theatrically, tripping over his own misplaced feet with a giggle. A giggle. God so help him. “An-And I don’t think you hear it enough. From anyone. You’re special, Lux.”

Oh he’s heard plenty of how he’s special--her words purred in his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulders, urging him on--more and more and more. Pollux swallows hard, smothering that voice in the back of his head. 

“Oh I hear plenty from you about how special I am, lover boy.” Pollux huffs because as much as he is an honest drunk, he’s also stupid as shit and mushy as fuck. He doesn’t have the space in his head to think about how differently it sounds when Ortega says he’s special, how his ears are burning and the strange roll of his stomach.

“It’s-It’s because it’s true, Pebbles.” Ortega objects, rather loudly and pointedly. “You really are my best friend an-and I care about you. A lot.”

“You’ll be caring a lot more about the toilet than me in a bit.”

Ortega blows a large raspberry and waves his hand, Pollux dragging him away from yet another hapless pole he’s aiming to smack into.

Going to Hoots on Friday nights is both equal parts exciting and the worst thing he gets talked into doing; the music leaves him with a pounding headache and the flurry of so many minds leaves him damp with cold sweat and shaky hands. Still its Ortega’s favorite place to go on a Friday night, plus Anathema had volunteered to come along and Pollux was feeling indulgent. Fat lot that did when he drew the short straw.

Should’ve told Anathema to do, damn them when they winked and smirked, ducking out the door in a flash, leaving Pollux to wrangle Ortega. 

Pollux sighs and he swallows down the lump, Ortega still mumbling away at his song as his building comes into view. Thank god--it’ll be easy to dump him at home and leave behind the weird feeling that refuses to go away. Going out with Ortega is always dangerous.  It’s far too easy for Pollux to convince himself to give up some of his boundaries and self imposed restrictions—the things that keep him from saying things he shouldn’t. Doing things he shouldn’t. Like walking Ortega home.

He gives an inch and Ortega takes it for a mile, drawing him out bit by bit like thread unraveling from a spool and he uses it to tie them in closer. Convinces him to stay for a little while longer, one more longing look.

One more chaste kiss...or maybe not so chaste kiss.

Ortega nearly falls and Pollux curses, half dragging him up the stairs to his building and he wrangles him through the door to his building. He’s half slumped over him now along with most of his weight on Pollux’s shoulders and he might as well be dragging his feet.

“Can you please stand on your own fucking legs?” Pollux huffs, knees groaning and he’s only twenty two--his body shouldn’t groan like that.

“Gravity is too much, Pebbles.” He mumbles against his shirt near his neck and that is most certainly not helping the situation, his face flushing the under mask.

“I’ll dump your drunk ass on the floor.”

“Please Lux don’t do that.”

Thankfully there’s an elevator or he might have sooner just dumped Ortega in the lobby and left rather than drag his ass up the stairs. The doorman knows Pollux well enough by now that he just waves them on and shakes his head, grinning to himself. Oh the indignity of the Marshal of the Rangers being dragged drunk through his apartment lobby, but the doorman has tight lips. Plus there’s undoubtable amusement in watching Ortega getting wrangled into an elevator when his feet aren’t working correctly.

The door closes before Ortega can spill his guts about how much he likes him to the doorman, or spills his guts all over the tile floor. That would be a mess and Pollux wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. He’s had enough of cleaning up vomit, acid dripping down his chin from his nose, the corners of his mouth..

“Please tell me you have your keys.” Pollux nudges him off and leans Ortega against the elevator wall, patting around his pockets. He finds his wallet—thankfully tucked in his back pocket still—but no keys.

“I got em Lux don’t worry.” Ortega oh so helpfully pats his butt and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“That’s your wallet, you ass.”

Ortega snorts. “You touched my ass.”

Pollux groans loudly, face flushing under his mask and Ortega laughs in self satisfaction. A sharp pinch of his side and he yelps, grumbling under his breath as he rubs the tender spot. His coat pockets next and Pollux finds the jingling ring of keys--thank god.

“At least you have some sense of hindsight...” Pollux grumbles to himself and the elevator dings. He helps him out of the elevator and they drift side to side down the hallway, Ortega mumbling something or another in his ear the whole time, oh so helpfully close like earlier. Pollux tries not to care--his cheeks are most certainly not warm--fumbling with the lock until it clicks open and he pushes Ortega inside. He kicks the door shut and miraculously Ortega is standing on his own two legs and even more miraculous is that he’s looking at him.

“Can’t believe it took this long t’get you to come to my house after Hoots...” Ortega mumbles with a lopsided grin, subtly lost when he’s still got that drunk look to him--the smell of beer and stale french fries still on him. Pollux’s face flushes and his ears burn, quickly squashing down *those* sprinting thoughts. 

“Save the drunk flirting for someone else, lover boy.” He helpfully turns him around to push him towards the living room, putting the keys down. Ortega somehow manages to not bump into too many walls along the hallway, hands outstretched to guide him. Pollux sighs and quickly squashes the little soap bubble thoughts of his goofy sashay down the hall--he was not staring. Not at all, no wandering eyes.

Ortega is reasonably safe in the living room. Not like he can go many places--he could fall down and break his head open on the coffee table his head helpfully tells him--and Pollux heaves a deep, long sigh.

There are pain killers and other meds he’ll need in the cabinet above the bathroom sink; Pollux picks out the ones he’ll need for tomorrow among the menagerie of orange bottles, sifting through what it means to keep a modded body running--thousands of dollars tucked away in that cabinet. They’re the ones he’s watched him take when he won’t stop complaining about the pain in his back and elbows. Others he’s listened to Ortega lament at how bad they taste.

Pollux pulls the throw blanket from off the bed where he’s held frozen peas to the side of Ortega’s head, listening to him talk about how the fight went--the good parts and the bad parts. He’s stitched bleeding wounds there and gathered up stained blankets to clean later, wrapped gauze over washed abrasions, keeping chiding words tucked behind his teeth. 

A cup for water in kitchen and he’s sat on the counter top and watched Ortega cook him all the foods he’s never tasted before. Pies that tia Elena makes, a beautiful cake that his cousin’s aunt makes which reminds him of this tiny hole in the wall place in downtown Los Diablos. He could rant for ages of all Pollux has missed like a fool, how he hasn’t lived until he’s tried this, or tried that. It’s sad just how close is accidentally gets to the truth.

Laughter calls from the living room and Pollux peeks his head out of the kitchen, finding Ortega sprawled out on the couch, one shoe on and the other off, holding a decorative pillow under his chin. Who knows what he’s laughing about now, something stupid inevitably.

“You need to take off both shoes, Ortega.” 

Pollux reminds him, picking around for the biggest bowl and settling on a rather large sauce pan instead. By the time he comes back he’s figured that out along with getting his jacket off, leaving it in a heap on the ground. Pollux knows he’s watching him, setting both the painkillers and the water on the coffee table for when he gets the sense to need them.

“Hey, hey Pollux?” He pauses putting the pan down. “Why do you always got your mask on?” Ortega asks, brows furrowed like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Pollux mirrors the expression behind his mask, lips slipping into a familiar frown.

“My face is a secret.” Pollux retorts and Ortega grumbles.

“Friends don’t keep secrets...!”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of secrets you don’t tell me.” Pollux gives him a pointed look and Ortega waves his hand dismissively.

“Nothing like my entire face, Pollux.

“You’ve seen the lower half of my face.”

He’s kissed him too, cupped his face and the back of his head and held him like he was all that mattered in that moment. But Pollux isn’t telling him that at all. He certainly does not want to think about that right now and he scoops up Ortega’s jacket, balling it up in his arms.

“That doesn’t count!” Ortega laments and oh this is just a piss poor attempt to cajole him into showing his face that’s for certain.

“Well tough luck lover boy.” Pollux heaves a sigh and sits down on the floor near Ortega’s head, face resting against couch cushion, jacket still balled up in his hands. He has half the mind to take it with him, as payback for making him drag his ass through the street at 2am. He’d be looking for it up and down his apartment tomorrow and the thought of the frantic text he’d get makes him bite his lip to suppress a smile.

Plus it is a nice jacket--a pretty leather bomber style, well loved and well taken care of.

“You’re so mean to me.” Ortega grumbles, playing with his lip between his teeth, and Pollux ugly snorts, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m just the worst best friend huh?”

“Yes, the absolute worst best friend. You’re so awful and mean to me in the worst ways imaginable, Pollux.” He can’t help but snort and that sets Ortega off with a loud groan.

“I *cannot* believe that you are finding this funny, getting all this amusement out of you being so mean to...”

Pollux zones out watching Ortega rant, the clumsy way he’s speaking and the way he moves his hands like he needs them to speak, snapping for the words he’s struggling with. It’s...interesting watch the facade crumble, how he’s so perfect with words and oozing charm for crowd and cameras, but just the two of them in his apartment and he’s stumbling, stuttering. 

He’s not the Marshal when he’s sprawled across the couch, one foot dangling off the edge, slurring and tripping over his words, little unabashed laughs slipping out. It’s more real seeing him like this, less questions to ask, more straightforward. There’s no guessing here, no games of chess to play where he needs to be five steps ahead, no guessing his thoughts by the tilt of his brow or the quirk of his lips.

It’s just the calm even breaths between them, enough space to breath the same air and yet it’s still like an ocean dividing them.

Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat and he pushes the thoughts out to sea, staying on the shore where he keeps watching Ortega talk, the turn of his lips and the slope of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone. Places where Pollux has put his lips and felt Ortega’s breath hitch--his pulse race. Put his hands and felt him breathe in his chest, the rise and fall of rushing breathing, the scratch of five’o clock shadow on his cheek, under his nose, the gasp of air in the space between wet lips.

If he was the betting kind of person, he’d put money on Ortega not remembering anything tomorrow and it would so easy...could pull the mask off and let him see for a bit. His hands sweat at the thought, giving an inch and losing a mile to a silly drunk man’s smile and how comforting it is--how is so completely and utterly easy to lose himself.

H’s betting on him not remembering and Pollux is running low on chips. Either and neither way he’s screwed and he takes a long breath. Steadying his hands and he reaches under his mask, pulling it up and over his head.

He blinks, adjusting to the soft hazy light of a nearby lamp, the flush of alcohol and cologne in his nose. Cool air on his sweaty face and he resists the urge to sneeze. Ortega keeps talking, eyes even fluttering over to him once, twice, three times and...there he gets it, brown eyes growing big. 

He blinks once, twice, three times and a wide smile breaks across his face, eyes focused on him. With difficulty, Pollux shoves down the urge to yank the mask back on, cover himself back up and hide; he worries the jacket between his thumb and index finger instead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Happy?” 

Pollux chokes out past the lump, face flushing. Ortega keeps staring, keeps his eyes focused on him and it’s because he’s drunk, Pollux tells himself, and he’s never seen his face before, and he’s staring at him like he’s something far too precious--a twinkle in his eyes, the curl of crows feet. Pollux’s skin itches and he resists the urge to scratch and pick, tear and yank yank yank--

“You have red hair...” Ortega mumbles and instinct makes him take a deep breath to quiet his nerves. Neither here nor there and Ortega’s hand twitches like he wants to reach out, but he can’t quite get there

“Nice observation there captain obvious.” Ortega snorts at his reply and Pollux runs his fingers across the fuzzy curls starting to grow back in.

“Do you know how many freckles you have?” He still has that half stupid grin on his face, eyes darting about his face, taking it all in like he’s piecing together the person he’s always wondered about under the mask. Fitting him into the image he’s made of him, constructed in his head. 

Pollux is too used to that and he fights the roll of his stomach.

“A million.” Pollux grumbles and Ortega whistles dramatically. “You’ve seen them on my hands before, don’t act so surprised.” Tacking that on and he rolls his eyes too.

Ortega found his hands fascinating back then too, his fingers long and slender compared to his palms, compared the whole of him. Piano fingers Ortega had called them as they measured palm to sweaty palm one lonely day in the break room. Ortega’s fingers daring to slip a fraction, to slip his fingers into his, to hold his hand palm to palm, five fingers interlocking. It was enough to set a fire in his gut then, like pressing his hand to a stove and he’d yanked his hand back and shoved his gloves back on too. Too much of a touch--far too real and new with skin pressed to skin.

“You’re very handsome, Pollux.”

He blinks, tossed from his thoughts by the sudden admission, scrambling, eyes shooting up to look at Ortega. 

That wasn’t what he was expecting--not the words like that, for Ortega to blurt that out and there’s that damn honesty again. 

Ortega is staring at him, eyes more focused than he should for how drunk he supposedly is...or was, for that matter. Damn it. There’s the truth wrapped around his tongue, coating his words and fuck Pollux doesn’t like how it makes him feel, not one single bit.

He blushes deep red and his ears burn, tucking his chin against his chest like that will do any good. If pulling the strings on his hoodie tight to hide his face would do any good he would.

“Shut the fuck up, Ortega.” He manages and fuck his voice shakes more than it should—more than he wants it to.

“I’m not lying.” Ortega’s got that stubborn look in his eyes and there’s a frown of his own on Pollux’s face, lip twitching in an almost sneer.

“I...” Pollux snaps his mouth shut and bites his lip hard. “I don’t care if you’re lying or not, just shut up.”

That’s a lie of his own and he pinches hard between his thumb and index finger, worrying his lip.

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I’m lying. I am being honest, Pebbles.” He presses further and Pollux looks up at him and he shouldn’t have because Ortega is leaning in far too close.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get to call you a bastard.” Pollux replies, breathing harder than he should, less butterflies and more like a beehive in his stomach, waiting to be shaken.

“You would call me a bastard no matter what.”

“That’s because it’s the truth, Ortega.” Pollux doesn’t lean away even though the rational part of his brain is screaming otherwise. Ortega’s breath still smells like booze, but he smells more like cologne this close, the subtle musk that tickles his nose, stale french fries a thing of the past.

“Do you want the truth?” Ortega asks and that is the question.

It’s always been the question, the one he can’t find answers to no matter where he goes looking—what is the truth? What does he need to know the truth about? What happens when the truth is laid before him--or if it’s set in front of too many people, naked and exposed. Far too many questions for the skinny space between them right now, breathing in sync.

“Could I stop you from saying it?” Pollux asks in return, eyes sliding down the slope of Ortega’s neck, fingers itching. He can’t remember if he wore a necktie or not, but the top buttons are undone regardless. Pale pink cotton sharp against deep brown skin and Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat.

“No...” Ortega grins, a soft flush on his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol. “But I would very much like to kiss you.”

Pollux bites his lip and he’s still, holding himself just so he won’t bolt from the floor, knuckles tense in the jacket. He steals a glance at Ortega’s face and fuck that isn’t any better than staring at other parts of him, his stomach twisting itself in knots of indecision.

“You smell like beer.” Pollux skirts the question, Ortega’s lips just inches from his--breathing in time, breathing in the same air and if it were anywhere but here, anywhere but this moment. If he was anyone--anything--but what he is.

“Is that better than blood?” He asks and Pollux quietly snorts. Bastard.

“I’m used to blood.” 

Pollux unknits his hand from the jacket, reaching and pulling back and he knows he’s touching what he shouldn’t be--feeling what he isn’t mean to feel--but he’s doing it regardless. Reaching again, his fingertips ghost up the side of Ortega’s neck. He smooths his fingers up bronzed skin to the curve of his jaw, jagged thumbnail slipping along the rough line of stubble there, thumb finding his chin. He swears there’s a sharp intake of breath, but Ortega is still, staring, eyes searching his. 

He knows it’s almost three am and he doesn’t know how he’ll drag himself back to his bed with how tired he is now, tired enough to think that kissing Ortega is a good idea, tired enough to loose his inhibitions. He’s seen his whole face and he hasn’t run, trembling fingers still holding his face in a gesture far more intimate than palms pressing together, fingers almost linked.

Pollux supposes he’ll wake up the next morning and if his phone isn’t dead he’ll have a slew of text messages waiting for him; supposes Ortega will remember and ask a dozen questions, or he won’t and still ask a dozen questions like he’s used to. Either way Pollux supposes he’ll lie to him, tell him that nothing happened, that he just dumped him on his couch and got him settled in. He supposes they’ll both know better than that, but neither will say anything. Supposes Ortega won’t even remember his face in the morning, or remembering kissing him.

His thumb is still stroking his chin, eyes staring at his lips.

“But I can make an exception. Just this once.” 

Pollux lies to himself, to both of them. Another one to add to the dozens, a pile like he’s digging his own grave. 

He crosses the gap between them and he pauses just enough to know how bad of idea this is--how screwed he’s going to be. Ortega doesn’t give him time to back out, cradling the back of his neck and he yanks him close, lips pressing against lips.

He tastes of stale beer--better than fresh blood, the taste of metal and electricity on his tongue. Here he feels the shape of his chapped lips against his, the curve of his jaw, hand curling sharp into the nape of Ortega’s neck, fingers slowly bunching in his hair. Ortega’s hand cupping his cheek and jaw, hand warm against his already flushed skin. Nose bumping nose to try and fit lips together and it’s soft, tender, worming into the dark places he’s hidden away, pulling lengths of thread to bind them together. Pollux pulls away, forehead to forehead, biting wet lips.

Oh he’s certainly going to be cursing himself later, Ortega pulling him back in for kisses upon kisses that keep bleeding into each other, one after another, tongue and teeth and he wonders how much Ortega is trying to memorize the shape of him, the flush of his lips against his, fitting puzzle pieces together. Ironic considering he wasn’t meant to be remembered and here Ortega is, slowly, achingly, trying his best to do just that and fuck it *hurts*.

It isn’t fair, kissing Ortega when he’s drunk on his couch, Pollux’s fingers knitted tight in his hair, hand finding it’s way under his collared shirt to press against his chest, needs these needy kisses. Hands holding his own face, the back of his own neck, hands daring--wanting to explore more. Fuck he wants to hold him tight, let him keeping touching him, drink in every single kiss and then maybe he won’t feel so empty. 

Maybe he’ll feel like an actual person, like he’s more than what’s on his skin, what’s buried deep down--the terrible, gut wrenching truth. 

 And that is one of the scariest thoughts he’s ever had.

He pulls away from the kiss, peels his hands from Ortega and Ortega’s hands away from him, hiccuping with each time he tries to breathe, trying to hold the panic steady in his gut. 

“Stop.” His hand is firm on Ortega’s chest, keeping him at bay as he tries to lean back in, to try and kiss him again. “You’re far too drunk, Ricardo.” Pollux whispers, sense crawling back up his spine, a cold weight filling his gut.

“Just drunk on you.” He’s trying for smug and the way he’s looking at him through his eyelashes would almost be charming, but it’s just not fair, not fair at all.

(It’s always the almost, isn’t it?)

“Stop, please...” Pollux presses his hand firm against his chest, enough to push him back a bit and Ortega’s brow scrunches together, confusion slipping into worry and further into scarier emotions.

“Pollux? Are you okay” 

“You’re drunk and I’m going home.” 

Pollux says again, trying to be firm, to hold his ground, despite knowing what he wants to be feeling, his chest tight. He needs to go, needs to leave before those feelings get the better of him, before he decides to do dangerous things--things that come attached with regrets. Things he can’t even fathom, ones that leave his skin like pins and needles.

(Needles under the skin, needles in veins, wrists chafing)

“Pollux, please, I’m sorry...what did I do?” Ortega tries again and Pollux gets to his feet to stay out of reach of scrambling hands, jacket knitted in his hands once more, knuckles squeezed of their blood.

(blood on white tiles, muffled screeching and sobbing)

“You didn’t do anything, I’m sorry.” Pollux chokes out, pursing his lips into a thin white line, looking everywhere but at Ortega.

“No, I-I did something...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you--” He tries to get up, but Pollux puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down, quickly pulling his hand back out of reach.

“No, I’m...I’m going back home. You’re drunk and didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s right, it’s always him making the bad choices, going against the boundaries he’s set for himself and they’re there for a good reason--to keep him safe. Keep his secrets safe, locked away behind his teeth and his lips still taste like Ortega.

“Pebbles, come on...pl-please...”

“No, I am going home, Ricardo. I’m sorry.”

He takes his mask out and slips it back over his face, adjusting the fabric and he can hide again, pretend like he’s calm and not that his stomach is still twisting itself into knots upon knots, that he doesn’t want to bolt down the stairs and out the door.

“Don’t throw up all over yourself, please. Take your meds. Call Steel in the morning so you don’t cause a panic when you don’t show up at eight am.” 

Pollux speaks quick, sliding the pan closer towards Ortega with his foot and he skirts around the couch, jacket still locked in his hands. He hears Ortega scrambling to extract himself from the couch, still whining for Pollux.

Pollux reaches the door and disregards his pleas, opening the door to the cold hallway bathed in green florescence from the flickering lights overhead. 

“Bye Ortega.”

He slams the door closed behind him, the sound ringing in his ears over and over again, a rhythm as he takes the stairs in sets of threes and he’s out into the night, disappearing into the dark.