#like hes scared you can tell hes scared its so pathetic. oh the drunk white man in the park blasting techno is fine he says

[nebuvoid]

nothing like a meeting with your father to put you in a bad mood. lord why have you cursed me so

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twelve: And We All Fall Down

I know I say it every time, but thanks for all the support for this fic so far. It means a lot :)

As usual, you can find this fanfic in full on AO3 here. 

And if you’re reading this for the first time, hello! This is a Chishiya x OC/female reader fic, and I hope you enjoy!

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

That evening, I didn’t leave my room. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Niragi’s face, the glint in his eyes as he turned on me. The image flashed in my brain over and over until I felt sick. He would try to kill me out of revenge. That was a fact. And that night, I drifted in and out of sleep, trying to stay awake just in case he burst through the door to finish what he started.

But he never did.

And then there was the marks he’d left. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I flinched back, seeing another girl’s face. The skin of my neck was purple and red, like splotched lily pads of bites, marks and bruises. My cheek was blue and cut from the way he’d backhanded me, and my ankle wasn’t much better.

If I left my room, people would stare. They would know. Some of them had seen me being dragged into Niragi’s room.

As the alcohol wore off, it became easier to realise how stupid I had been to get drunk enough that I could barely form proper sentences. The way he’d been pretending to listen… how he’d kept refilling my glass… even how he’d licked my cheek right before he had pulled me away from the bar. The scared faces in the hallways, they knew what was going to happen.

They pitied me.

And now, if I left my room, they would know.

The morning after the incident, I stayed holed up in my little cave, drinking water from the bathroom tap in a poor attempt at curing the intense hangover that was turning my mind into slush.

I didn’t have any knives or items I could use as a weapon, but I did manage to find a screwdriver that somebody had left in a drawer. It wasn’t exactly much protection against a rifle, but it was all I had.

But this wouldn’t last. I would have to face them eventually; my visa was due to expire. For now though, I passed the time by translating what I could of The Metamorphosis. The kanji seemed simple enough, but some of the clunky phrasing threw me off.

‘“気がかりな夢. That must mean anxious dreams.’ I followed the kanji closely with my fingertip. ‘But where’s the bit about the cockroach?’  

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

I held my breath, clutching my screwdriver until my knuckles turned white.

There was another knock.

Oh god, this is it. I’m going to die.

And then the person called out. ‘It’s Kuina!’

The relief I felt was a cool breeze, washing over me. ‘Come in.’

The door opened and Kuina entered. She took a seat on the end of the bed, but she wasn’t smiling. Instead, she was looking at me in the same way my mother used to at times.

There must’ve been a full minute where neither of us spoke, trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject.

Then at last, she said quietly. ‘Apparently Niragi’s been throwing a fit. Someone scratched his face… and I’ve heard some rumours.’

I tried to swallow against the lump in my throat. ‘What did you hear?’

‘People say they saw you drunk, that Niragi took you into his room.’ She paused, tentative. ‘Did he—’

‘No,’ I interrupted. I could feel my upper lip beginning to tremble. ‘I got away before he could. He was going to though. He said it was because of Chishiya. He wanted to… you know, get back at Chishiya. Not that he would care, anyway. We had an argument.’

It was that part that upset me more than I thought it would. The fact that no matter how many times he had helped me or saved my life, he wouldn’t give a damn about what Niragi did to me. If Niragi wanted to get back at him, he’d chosen the wrong method entirely.

‘Ah…’ Kuina tilted her head back. I could feel the questions just threatening to spill from her lips. She wanted to know, but she also didn’t want to ask.

I didn’t want to talk about it, or even think about it. ‘Can you see anything that mentions a cockroach in here?’ I pointed at the line of text I had been studying.

She seemed visibly confused by the sudden switch in subject, but she still walked across the room to peer at the book. ‘I can’t see anything that mentions a cockroach.’

I raised a brow. ‘That’s hard to believe. The cockroach is the main character.’

Kuina squinted, then nodded. ‘It says “匹の巨大な毒虫” instead’

‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

‘Giant poisonous insect.’

Snapping the book shoot, I tossed it onto the table. ‘I want words with whoever translated this,’ I said, laughing harder than necessary.

Kuina smiled awkwardly, unsure. I didn’t know what was so funny. There was nothing especially funny about the words. In fact, they were utterly devastating. I was devastated. Then I realised I wasn’t actually laughing at all. Kuina’s arm made its way around my shoulders, as her fingers brushed through my hair comfortingly. She didn’t speak, but just having her there was enough.

‘I’m sorry.’ I wiped at my face with my sleeve. ‘I just, I don’t know what to do. Or even how to react.’

She shrugged. ‘How you’re reacting is fine as it is. There’s no one way of going about it.’

‘Maybe,’ I said, sniffing. I probably looked a sight for sore eyes, and my hangover was still raging. ‘I’m scared of running into him, Niragi, I mean. And Chishiya too, I don’t want to see him.’

How I’d behaved back then was shameful, the way I’d snapped and screamed at him, even though he was stating things I already knew deep down were true. He had been right, but I hadn’t wanted to hear it. Yet despite that, I was still hurt. Right off the bat, he’d dismissed everything I felt, smiling as my anger only grew stronger. He had been in control of the entire conversation, and I’d walked right into his web.

Kuina played with her quit-smoking aide sheepishly. ‘Well, actually, I admit, I didn’t just come down here to see if the rumours were true. I also kind of need to speak to you about something… we both do.’

This was the last thing I wanted. Facing Chishiya again was bad enough after our argument, but now that I was covered in Niragi’s pawprints, it was much, much worse. ‘Kuina, I really don’t want to see him.’

She held up her hands, and bargained, ‘you don’t have to speak to him, or say anything at all. I’ll even talk to him for you. Just hear us out.’

The thought of seeing his smug face again sent dread through me. He’d probably take one look at these bruises and call me pathetic. I knew I shouldn’t care what he thinks, but I really did, even if I didn’t know why. But since it was Kuina who was asking, it was hard to refuse.

‘Fine.’ I nodded stiffly. ‘But I’m not speaking to him.’

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

The rooftop burned under the glare of the sun, the heat radiating through the soles of my shoes. I had to squint, as the brightness clashed with my awful hangover. Standing at the edge, looking down on the patio, Chishiya had his back to us. However, there was something off about his appearance that I couldn’t place at first. Everything about him seemed as normal, except it didn’t. He was wearing the white-grey hoodie that I had painstakingly washed and dried.

Is he trying to taunt me? I wondered.

But the thought flew out of my head as he turned around. When his gaze fell on me, his expression changed. It was one that I had never seen before, as his eyes narrowed, lips parting slightly. It was completely unreadable, and it lasted no more than a few seconds, before he looked away.

He doesn’t look too smug… unless the hoodie’s an apology? I dismissed the idea immediately. I can’t see him doing that.  

He kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke. ‘Before you storm off again, there’s something you probably want in on.’

I glanced at Kuina, and she nodded reassuringly.

‘We’re leaving the Beach,’ Chishiya said.

My stomach fell. Was I was hearing this right? He couldn’t leave, neither of them could. It would only end in disaster. And Kuina… she was my only friend here. What would I do without her?

‘Things are getting tense between Hatter and the militant faction.’ He continued. ‘It’s only a matter of time before Hatter dies and this place turns to chaos. That’s why we plan on stealing the cards and leaving before that happens.’

What?

My head spun and Kuina’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, steadying me. ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ she said, ‘but we’re telling you this for a reason. We want your help… and we also want you to come with us.’

‘We’?

I swallowed, my eyes darting to Chishiya. He was finally looking at me. But it was strange. His expression was unusually guarded, suddenly more serious than I had ever seen it before. I couldn’t see any of his usual slyness, nothing to suggest he was telling something other than the truth.

‘We’d be killed immediately,’ I whispered to Kuina. ‘If something goes wrong, they’ll shoot us on the spot.’

She smiled bitterly. ‘With Hatter gone, we’ll be killed anyway.’

‘Niragi approached you before the Two of Spades game, didn’t he?’ Chishiya said. ‘I’m sure it was about me. As was this.’ His catlike gaze brushed over my skin.

He wasn’t wrong. Niragi had his eye on Chishiya, and given the slightest opportunity, he wouldn’t hesitate to have him captured, tortured and eventually shot. And after yesterday, I had a target on my back too.

I have nothing to lose.

‘Okay,’ I said, at last. ‘I’ll go with you. But first you need to let me know what the plan is.’ Stubborn as ever, I directed my words at Kuina. I still wasn’t prepared to deal with Chishiya just yet.

He seemed to notice this as he stepped away from the roof edge and walked to the door. He kept his head down as he passed, avoiding all contact with me. ‘You’ll have to talk her through the details. I’ve got something I need to do.’  

And with that, he left us alone on the rooftop.

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

Kuina and I must’ve spent at least an hour up there, sitting and watching the other residents flirt, drink and splash around in the pool below. She walked me through the basis of their plan. It wasn’t complex or particularly detailed. Once Hatter had been murdered, the militants would likely force the other executives to put Aguni in charge, at which point there would be a speech with all the Beach members to announce Hatter’s death. The speech would keep the militant faction distracted, and we’d use the opportunity to break into Hatter’s room and steal the cards from the safe. Chishiya had assured Kuina that he knew what the code was. How he knew was still a mystery.

It would be dangerous, but I wasn’t worried for myself. I was worried for Kuina, and dare I say it, Chishiya too. Even though he made me so mad and so hurt, I didn’t actually want anything bad to happen to him. It was hard to admit, but I actually cared. Perhaps more than I wanted to.

What a shame he doesn’t return the favour, I thought glumly, as I made my way back to my room after parting with Kuina.

The Hunting Season game had only given me a two-day visa, meaning mine was due to expire tonight, and knowing how nervous I was, Kuina had promised me she’d meet me down in the lobby.

Let’s hope I’m not put in a group with Niragi.

When I opened the door to my room, it took me a moment to realise that something was off. The air felt different, like someone had been in here.

And then I saw it. On a chair by the window was a stack of books, and as I approached them, a heaviness inside my heart lifted. The first book was an intermediate Japanese language textbook, seconded by an English-Japanese dictionary. The third was the battered, well-read copy of Wuthering Heights. But that wasn’t all. Tucked beside them on the chair was the Walkman-turned-taser that I had last seen in the Tag game. It had a small post-it note stuck to the top.

“For Niragi, next time.”

I couldn’t keep the smile from my face as I clutched the taser. With the edge of my sleeve, I wiped away the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t sure why I was crying, whether it was the shock of Niragi’s attack finally catching up to me, or the knowledge that Chishiya actually did care, even if just a little bit. It was a small gesture, his coming into my room and leaving these items, but it meant the world.

Part of me wanted to go and find him, ask him about it, and even thank him. But I didn’t get a chance, as the announcement for the games sounded throughout the hotel.

[introversiontherapy]

Found - Part Two (Original Fiction)

Image: The Flight into Egypt, 1609, by Adam Elsheimer

Read Found Part One here

Rating: Teen+

Word count: ~650

Taglist: @claranidala @sak-am8

The white owl hovers on ethereal moonlight outside the peregrine’s nest, watching. A person, sitting in front of a vanity in a dressing gown, prepares. He bends down to reach a low drawer on the side. An opportunity. The owl flies through an opened window and lands behind him, with a void of sound that rivals lifelessness. In the flow of a second, the bird slips out of feathers and into the clothes of a man. The other, with an item obtained in hand, sits up.

A yelp from the surprise, clutching a clump of fabric at his chest, he speaks at the end of a settling breath.

“Oh good lord! You almost scared the living death out of me!” He studies the other reflection in the mirror. “Are you here for the party? You are grossly under-dressed and a tad too wet.”

“I found her again, Drey!” The owl-man says. But he is too greedy and too honest. The cracks in his elated voice are nails on dry flesh, scratching, clawing, taking each layer of skin off, not understanding the dire truth of his words until they hit the reality of bone, dressed by a smile as foreign as daylight to a nocturnal bird.

“Found who?”

“Her! She works at Mara’s shop. Her name is Helena.” His grin shoots an ache in his teeth. The sweetness of her name rotting in the unwelcoming acoustics.

The other man takes a brush to his long blond hair, and scoffs. “Mara. I still can’t believe you hung around that old hag.”

And this is what happiness does. It makes him say things he shouldn’t say. A false hope, while he is condemned to count down the days. These easy words come with a price, a string of well-meaning syllables has the bleak flavour of immortal life. In his love-drunk stupor, he has just dropped a helpless hatchling at the feet of a falcon.

A volcano of silence, erupts.

“Why are you telling me this?” Drey turns to address him.

“Because,” the owl-man draws a breath, and with a long sigh, the truth. “You are the only friend I have left.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?” His question, weaponized.

Looking at nothing and contemplating everything, the owl-man walks to the window. “I must excuse myself from your party.” And says with a tired tone matching his age.

“Good. You’d only dampen it.” Taking a length of ribbon in the colour of thunder clouds, Drey pulls his hair into a whip at the nape of his neck.

On the howl of the wind, the man flies, in the form of a white owl.

He stands, and watches the blip of a nocturnal bird in the backdrop of charcoal sky. Returning to see his reflection, instead, seeing a pathetic man in his place. Delicate pink knees meet an unsympathetic floor, with his own hands at his throat, the outburst comes as a brittle hack, pushing the scald of a love unreturned and a hate leashed down into his lungs. He stays kneeling, conceding once more. Because what is one more time, when it is forever? Grabbing at whatever is nearest to him, he anchors himself to the back of the chair he sat in, like a life raft in the middle of open sea. With the last ounce of strength left to be spared, he stands.

A briar of envy rushes forward, its thicket stifles thoughts from his mind. Before he realizes, he has gripped the back of his chair so hard he has shattered the wood, slivers of varnished furniture prick a depth into the flesh of his palm, a penetrating pain pulsates from the reddening release. How much blood has he sacrificed in his name?

“Varden!” And there it is. A hushed spell under a curse, a burn of blue freeze looking back, one that hurts more than a living flame.

****

Author's notes: This is the end of this self-contained story. It introduces all the characters involved and the conflict between the three main characters. If you have not read anything about my OCs before, Drey and Varden are both vampires. Drey can shapeshift into a peregrine and Varden, a white owl.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

“That’s my wife”

Carol:

Carol, your beautiful, amazing, powerful wife, asked you to pick up some papers from the Avengers Tower, you had never been to the city so you were eager to leave as quickly as possible.

Tony's A.I. (whatever the hell that was) took you up to the floor they were on, he apparently he told her you were coming and she did some facial recognition to let you into the building.

When you walked into the floor the avengers were around the corner in some room, before you walked in you scanned the room with your X-Ray vision through the wall. In the room was Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Clint, Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes. You recalled their names from the file that you had read on them, you wanted to know names when meeting them for the first time.

You heard Clint ask, "why are you cleaning?" It was Tony's voice you heard next, "because Carols wife is coming by to pick up some documents. And I enjoy Carols company and I'm excited to meet her wife so don't be an ass." Tony scolded. "Ugh, thank god its not Carol." Your blood sizzled, what was that in his tone. The little incompetent ass.

You heard Clint huff, "Carols such a show off."

You rolled your eyes, of course, when a woman does it, she's a show off but you don't say him saying that about any of the guys.

"She's not that much of one." Wanda said, folding  her arms, her eyes becoming a steel gaze on Clint. Tony was just giving him a look. The rest of them all looked annoyed.

"Yeah, what's your deal?" Peter asked getting defensive. You rose your brows in surprise, Carol mentioned Peter Parker, the timid 16 year old who never "fought back". Your heart warmed at the idea of him sticking up for her.

She told you he was a good kid, and she was right.

"I don't care, it's annoying." He sighed. Hearing enough of the woman you were lucky enough to call your wife.

You stepped around the corner, "yet if she was a man, you'd say she was a powerful badass." You glared, holding your powers back from hurting someone.

"And who are you?" He snapped, not liking being called out for his bullshit. You smiled, "her wife. Y/N L/N-Danvers. I would say it was nice to meet you but I was raised not to lie."

You saw Tony look at you with a look of approval, the rest of them laughed and you asked, "papers?" He gestured to Steve who handed you the thick folder. Steve asked you, "you staying for a while?" You shook your head, "nah, I have a beautiful wife at home. But I promise we'll stop by in the future." With one warning glance at Clint who was sitting wordlessly, jaw slightly dropped. You said your goodbyes, spun on your heel and walked out. You were stiff as a board, head held high and heeled boots clicking you exited the room.

With your super-hearing you heard someone smack something, "nice going dumbass, way to make a first person." The voice was husky and not filled with laughter.

You grinned to yourself and flew home to your wife.

Wanda: Amica mia= my love

Being on missions with Wanda was both a blessing and a curse. There were times where one of you had to be the "catfish" or "slut" in order to get answers, usually you were the one who volunteered, much to Wanda's dismay.

"You give the signal when you need it, don't hesitate, please amica mia." "I know what to do Wanda, this isn't my first time." You smiled gently, kissing her head.

As the others set up, Bucky and Sam were your escorts into the club. Bucky's arm was hidden within his suit and his droid thing was waiting in the shadows for an attack.

Bucky elbowed you, "Wanda doesn't like this." He told you in russian.

You shrugged gently, "I'd rather be out here than her. Besides, I have my wife and my friends looking out for me, I'm not too bothered." You responded back, you smiled a pearly white look at the guard. As three walked by, he stopped your guards.

"Please sir," you said in a russian accent, "I'm new, and these are my guides, surely... you don't mind." You angled your body so your cleavage was on display and you gave him a hundred dollars.

He let you three in without another word. As you two walked away, Wanda's voice was in your head, I want to hurt him.

Oh relax, you said back, all in a days work my love.

You didn't mind doing this, it saved lives, you being the bait. You would rather be out there than Wanda, but you knew exactly where she was in the bar. She was by the bar, keeping an eye out. You didn't find any shame in being the bait, in fact it was empowering in a way. You knew exactly what you were supposed to do and you were good at what you did.

Bucky and Sam went to their corners to watch and wait for the bait. All you were to the "client" was a prostitute who had information, Stark managed to sell your profile as a valuable person who slept with his enemy. The clients, not Stark.

You felt a hand brush your shoulder, and it took everything in your power to not tense up.

That's him. Wanda said to you, you forced yourself to become neutral as the asshole walked and sat next to you.

"Hi, beautiful." He was slimy and gross.

You forced your sweet girl smile, "hello."

You two talked and talked so much that you felt like you were losing brain cells, listening to this pathetic man drone on and on about how hard his life was. You were patiently nodding your head and then suggested to go to the back room.

He anxiously followed, you ignored the fact that he popped a viagra, you tried not to roll your eyes again.

Men like this, liked dominance, you pinned him against the wall and let your thigh rub against his crotch. "I just have a few questions, sweetheart."

"I have the answers." He moaned out, his vodka breath making you wince.

Of course your technique revolved around getting him to talk about his kinks and make him vulnerable. You held a knife up against his throat, "now tell me where the bombs are?" You hissed.

He popped his eyes open to find the knife against his throat, "what- You bitch." He pushed you away, he was a lot stronger and a lot less drunk than you anticipated. He managed to get a knife out and slice your face which caused you to cry out. Luckily, your wife wasn't too far away.

You saw a blur of red come between you and him, Bucky and Sam followed in suit. They knew not to help you or check to see if you were okay, then let the asshole know about vulnerabilities.

"That bitch." Wanda hissed, "is my wife, and you will treat her with respect." Red flared around her arms, and you felt a kernel of her power rest around your waist. Not demanding you to be near her, but more like a warning, marking her territory.

Which you weren't gonna lie, you loved.

You four managed to get him into a quinjet and brought him to Fury.

Eventually you got him to talk about bombs and all the plans for future attacks, you two retired to your quarters and you looked in the mirror. The jagged red line was flaring down your face. She walked up behind you, "sit down." You leaned against the counter, she wet a cloth and grabbed the antiseptic, something that works fast that Banner came up with it.

You tried not to flinch as she rubbed the wound clean. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, just a scratch." You said.

"It's not fine, he should be in pain for laying a hand on you."

"Imagine the other girls he did this to. We know he hurt others."

"Exactly, they didn't have a team." She put a bandage on the cut. "I know better than telling you to not do it anymore just..." she put her forehead on yours, "I love you very much."

"I love you too." You smiled and kissed her.

Maria:

Nobody except Fury knew you existed. They had worked hard to make sure you and Maria's home was off the of SHIELDS grid.

Then one day, you decided to surprise her at work, you were tired of being the secret wife, even though you didn't mind it at first. But, you wanted to meet the Avengers and help them out every once and a while or just be their friend.

It got lonely.

You showed up with a bunch of freshly baked cookies to a meeting, you greeted the other agents with a smile even though they didn't know who you were.

"Hiya!" "Y/N, what're you....what're you doing here?" Maria asked, panic evident in her voice. "I wanted to visit you and Nick, the farm gets lonely." You shrugged and set cookies down on the table, "feel free to grab any!"

Of course they all went for your homemade snickerdoodles. Your smile was so bright as you talked to them that Maria couldn't even be mad.

"Who is she?" Banner asked her. "That's my wife." Maria said smiling as she ignored his look while she walked up to you and kissed you full on the lips.

She tasted the cinnamon sugar from your lips and felt your soft hands on her cheeks. You guys pulled away, you blushed at the attention from the Avengers while she smiled proudly, pulling you by the waist closer to her.

"Everybody, this is my wife, Y/N."

Natasha: This mission scared you, Nat had gotten shot a few months back, nearly lost her life and now she was back in the field with you. You felt better that you were with her but it was still scary.

You honestly should be used to it by now.

You two were with a group of people who refused to do the dirty work themselves and saying how you and Nat "had to" because you were more experienced.

"Here's the thing, dumbass," you said, "to get more experienced you have to actually do stuff and not let anyone do anything for you. I know you're used to mommy and daddy handing you everything but that isn't how this shit works." You hissed.

You didn't have to look at Natasha to know she was biting back a smile. She loved when you got feisty and you really took the point home with him.

"You can't talk to me like that you bitch." "Hey, that's my wife you're talking about," Natasha snapped, "and she can talk to you however she damn well pleases." Natasha snapped.

They all went quiet, "yeah you see how its quiet?" She asked, "I want that same reaction when she talks. Understood?"

It was quiet so she repeated, "I said, understood?"

They all nodded and she looked at you, "great." You clapped, "go get your gear! Now!"

They scattered and she looked at you, "sexy L/N." She said wrapping her arms around your waist, "I like when you get in charge." She said kissing your cheek.

You shrugged, "you're welcome I guess." You laughed.

Shuri: (Shuri is 23)

Shuri and you had been married for six months, yet the Royal Council didn't see your advice fit in situations, despite the fact that both King T'challa and Princess Shuri vouched for you.

You said how people in Wakanda needed more same-sex education when it came to sex because you had to go on YouTube to find out how to practice safe sex. They got all upset because A. you said sex and B. they didn't wanna listen.

They kept blowing you off and you just sighed sitting in your seat, Shuri noticed this and held your hand.

One of the Elders had asked, "any more comments?" "Yes, actually."  Shuri said standing up, "when my wife says something, you listen , understood?"

They nodded, afraid of Shuri for once because they had never seen the young queen mad, Shuri looked at you, "my love?"

You smiled, and continued with what you were trying to say, the Elders hanging on your every word.

Sorry shuri's is so short! I lost momentum.

[rainsongmp3]

it’s a cold and it’s a broken

Dean screws up. Cas reacts. This is the aftermath. here on ao3

The call ends. Dean feels hollow. He sits in silence until the tear tracks dry on his face. He can hear the blood pounding in his ears and the crushing quiet of the house. He knew. He knew. He knew this would happen. He would fuck up and Cas would leave. But this is what does them in? Drugs and a lie? No. That’s not it. The drugs and the lies are symptoms, not the problem. Dean is the problem. God, he knew. He’s too broken and messy and fucked up for Cas and he knew. 

Dean can’t stay here. He can’t stay in his quiet and his misery. Suddenly, it’s all too much. Jo is upstairs. Yes, Jo is upstairs. That’s good. Jo is here. He can talk to Jo. He goes upstairs and opens the door to the bedroom they’re sharing. Jo is asleep. Of course, Jo is asleep. Dean realizes that he can’t wake her up. He can’t wake her up and talk about his bullshit feelings and his bullshit heartbreak. He can’t wake her up and be a burden. Dean goes back downstairs.

Dean looks at Ellen asleep on the couch. She must’ve fallen asleep watching TV. Bobby is upstairs in their bed. Dean is struck with the thought that she has someone waiting for her. So does Jo. Everyone has someone waiting for them. Except for Dean. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Cas is gone and it’s too much. It’s all too much like a gunshot to the heart. Dean’s fingers close around a bottle of tequila in the liquor cabinet before he notices that’s where he was going. This is good. Tequila is good for being drunk. Tequila is good for turning it off. It’s all too much and Dean needs to turn it off. 

Dean unscrews the cap, squeezes his eyes shut, brings the bottle to his lips, and drinks. And drinks. And drinks. And drinks some more. The tequila burns its way down his throat. Good. Good that it burns. Dean drinks again. 

All at once, the house is stifling; stiflingly quiet, stiflingly small, stifling. 

Strange how a house with its high ceilings and large windows can become a prison cell. A house that was once a comfort, filled with friends and family, good memories, and calming ocean air now feels akin to a metal box. Confining. Dark. Air-tight. 

Dean runs.

He runs out the door. The bottle of tequila securely in his fist. No shoes, no jacket, no thought. He just goes.

Outside in the night air, everything seems just a little less. It’s less heartbreaking, less gut-wrenching, less impossible out here. Dean breathes. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Dean breathes maybe for the first time since Cas ended the call. 

The gravel driveway bites at Dean’s feet. The tequila bites at his throat. Cas bites at his heart. It’s okay. Dean deserves to be bitten. 

Waves crash, beating against the sea wall. They crash against the rock. White foam against unforgiving gray. Somehow, the foam wins. It smooths out the rocks’ sharp edges. How can something so soft cut down granite? 

It doesn’t stop. The heartbreak doesn’t stop in the night air. Dean walks down the road. He turns at the space in between houses where man meets the sea. His steps are shakier now. With alcohol burning through his bloodstream, every nerve is numbed. His body doesn’t respond the same to his brain. It’s quieter that way even if Dean’s steps are louder. He climbs the sea wall using the grooves and spaces in the stones like rungs on a ladder. It’s awkward. He’s drunk and clumsy and one of his hands is occupied. He misses steps. He slips a couple of inches down the flat surface. His foot falls out of its hold. He can’t quite get the angle to pull himself up with the alcohol in hand. It’s almost pathetic, but he makes it to the top. Fifteen feet above ground seems a lot higher to a dizzy Dean. Nearly losing his balance in the process, he sits down. 

The moon stares at him accusingly from above. Its choppy reflection in the ocean below blames him. I’m sorry, he almost wants to say. What good would it do to apologize to the moon? It’s Cas he needs to apologize to. Apologize until Cas will love him again. Scream I’m sorry until he’s blue in the face and falls to his knees at Cas’s feet. Weep there, on his knees, until Cas understands. Beg and sob and grovel until Cas takes him back. Because at the end of all of this, Dean is nothing without Cas. Dean is nothing. Cas is everything. Cas is everything good. Cas is everything light. Cas is everything happy. Cas is everything safe. Cas is everything that makes life worth living. Oh, how Dean loves him. Dean loves him so fiercely it hurts. He remembers those moments, those gentle moments, lying in bed together smiling softly and how in those moments his heart cracks open. It spills light into the lingering shadows of Cas’s room. It leeches love into the very atoms of the earth. Cas leeches him. Bloodletting in the most enticing way. How could Dean not bleed when Cas’s deep stare pulls at his soul and his smile soothes cracks? How can something so soft cut down granite? Dean sighs, pulling oxygen back into his bones, and lets it go again. He doesn’t deserve Cas. He never did. This is far from the first time he’s screwed up. He’s not built for this kind of thing— a loving, committed relationship. No wonder Cas gave up on him. Dean tries. He tries. It’s not enough. How could he ever be enough for Cas? He wasn’t enough for his dad. He wasn’t even enough for his own father. He’s never enough to make someone stay. His mom: dead. His dad: absent. His brother: preoccupied. Bobby: distracted. Ellen: disappointed. His old friends: left. All he really has is Jo now. Everybody leaves, huh?

Oh.

Everybody leaves.

Everybody leaves. He really thought Cas was going to disprove that. The exception. His stupid, dumbass exception. His exception with too-blue eyes. His exception with a gummy smile. His exception that knows too much about astrophysics to be a normal guy. (Not that he wants a normal guy. He wants Cas.) His exception who’s overly enthusiastic about bees. His exception that’s grumpy in the mornings. (Cas is garbage before 11 AM and without two cups of coffee.) His exception that indulges Dean’s stupid whims. His exception. His perfect, unfathomable exception. As it turns out, Dean was wrong. Cas is not his exception. Cas is Dean’s most grievous mistake. Not a mistake for having loved him. (No, never that. Never that.) His mistake for pushing him to this. The sight of Cas’s tear-stained face twisted in heartbreak and Sisyphean hope is an image Dean can never unburn from his memory. That would be his own rock to endlessly push up a hill. Cas’s was trying to love Dean. What did Cas do in a previous life to deserve that kind of endless torture?

Dean wishes he could sit Cas down in a coffee shop or maybe on a park bench and just explain. He’d tried, but mostly he just pleaded. Not with words. Or maybe not the right ones. Cas don’t do this isn’t the same as Cas please don’t go Cas please stay Cas please don’t leave me. Dean could explain. He could explain it all. He could tell Cas how he’s so beyond damaged. His dad might love him but it’s so buried underneath alcoholism and orders and grief that it never quite penetrates his skin. His father’s love isn’t even skin deep. It never made its way into Dean’s bloodstream. No matter how hard he tries, Dean can’t quite imagine his father telling him he’s proud of him. Not in the way fathers are supposed to. Everything always has to come second to Sam. ever since the fire, ever since take care of your brother, Dean, Sam has been his wampeter. His whole purpose. His God-given central theme. That’s so much weight to a four-year-old. A preschooler can’t do the job of Atlas. Dean can sometimes hardly stand the weight of it on his shoulders now. There is so much anger in him. It’s coiled tight: a viper ready to strike or a match a second from igniting. There is poison in Dean’s punch. It’s only a matter of time before Dean’s fist is aimed at Cas. Dean was raised with exchanging blows. What is love if not a deep, lingering bruise? It’s the kind that aches for days but you can’t help but prod at. The last thing Dean wants to do is hurt Cas. He never wants to lash out with his hands. It’s all he knows. What if he can’t keep the bubbling, boiling, lava-hot rage at bay? Dean’s lost so much, so many people. It used to keep him awake at night: the gnawing anxiety that he would lose Cas too. The fear of Cas burning sat so heavy in Dean’s bone marrow. The fear of aiming his own blaze at Cas turned every cell in his body to ice. Ice-nine. One touch and everything in him is killing blue-white frost. In those moments, Dean is scared to even lay a finger on Cas lest the blue-white frost gets him too. Dean is made of loss and violence and white-knuckling. The fear of exposing that side of him to Cas… that used to bring bile into his throat. So, Dean kept Cas at arm’s length. Even while they were chest to chest, Dean kept him at arm’s length. Keep Cas at a distance and save him from the snapping jaws waiting to tear at his flesh. Lie about the drinking. Lie about the drugs. Lie about the self-destructive timebomb. Lie about it to keep Cas safe. 

But now. Everything is different. Dean would pour out everything in him to Cas. Take his heart and tip; let his artery drip every nasty thought into a cup and give Cas the option to drink. He would do anything, give anything to just be able to hold Cas in his arms again. He would swim oceans and bottle clouds to kiss Cas again. He would scorch the Earth to just have Cas look at him with love again. 

Dean glances at the bottle still bound to his palm. More than halfway gone. Not a good way to get Cas back. Dean stares at the crashing waves. He watches them hit the stone and the sand. He watches the water caress the earth. 

Dean stands on wobbly legs. Drunk legs are sea legs. He lets his drunk legs take him to the sea. Getting down the wall is less awkward than getting up it. All he has to do is sit and let gravity do the work. He controls the semi-slide down. Sealegs meet the sand. It’s damp. Dean wiggles his toes into it. He makes his way into the water. It’s cold, but not an unforgiving cold. It’s the placating cold of a snow day. He sloshes through the surf. His foot slips on a hidden rock and the world tilts even more as he goes down. His arms go out in front of him to break his fall on instinct. The bottle of tequila hits another obscured rock. It shatters. Dean raised the broken bottle by the neck. The bottom half is gone. It’s almost comical. He holds it the same as he did before but he’s only got a piece now. The ocean took the remaining tequila. He chucks the rest of the bottle as hard as he can to the rocks far to his left. Maybe he’ll make some sea glass. 

Dean wades further into the water. The tide pulls at his hips. He lets it sway him. Everything feels cleaner in the ocean. Saltwater is good for open wounds. The ocean disinfects him. The waves pull the poison out of his blood. He is cleaner now.

Seven days later, Cas calls. 

[ethereousdelirious]

Fandom: The M.agnus A.rchives

Characters: E.lias, P.eter

Pairing: E.lias/P.eter

Tropes: mistaken for drunk, fever, collapsing, flu, coughing, pining, mild humiliation, caretaking, intimacy

Summary: E.lias comes down sick a party he tricked P.eter into attending. P.eter looks after him.

Warnings/Notes: Mild spoilers if you don’t know who P.eter L.ukas is, obviously haha. Mild spoilers if you don’t know why E.lias is a main character. Usually with p.odcasts I try to avoid describing the characters but my h.eadcanons kinda crept through this time. I tried not to be too in-your-face about it Also I have a specific interpretation of how L.onelyE.yes works that you may or may not share??

Umm final thoughts, I’m A.merican and have undoubtedly let some A.merican-isms slip through and you’re just going to have to live with that. Also the symptoms are kinda?? IDK how to describe it. A little inaccurate but done deliberately. You’ll see what I mean. Basically, I know what I’m about and if you see something wrong that isn’t a typo, I either did it deliberately or am aware it’s fudged don’t care enough to fix it

Peter, Elias was delighted to see, was looking distinctly uncomfortable. His shoulders were tensed, his head ducked in a futile effort to make himself smaller and somehow less noticeable.

Elias took another sip of Prosecco and congratulated himself on a job well done. It had been pathetically easy to get Peter to turn up at the Magnus Institute holiday party. Really, all Elias had to do was convince Peter that he wasn't wanted there, and Peter would turn up just to watch him squirm. It had worked like a charm.

"So many people seem to want to meet you," Elias said, only half trying to keep the smugness out of his voice. If he was being honest, the Prosecco had gone to his head a bit, and they hadn't even been here that long. "I did tell you I didn't think you should come. I'm sure they'll all be talking about you for weeks."

Peter eyed him mistrustfully. "You don't seem to mind too much."

Elias actually laughed at this, and passed his glass over to Peter. "Oh, do try to lighten up and enjoy yourself."

Finally, the penny dropped. "You tricked me," Peter said plainly. He accepted the glass and finished its contents in one swallow. "You wanted me here. Why? Just to watch me suffer?"

"Not at all," Elias lied. "Believe it or not, I do enjoy your company, and I knew you wouldn't come if I asked you to."

"There are so many people," Peter said with audible disgust. "And they're all being so friendly with each other. God, I hate the holidays." He looked down at Elias, whose face was flushed. "Are you drunk, Elias?"

"Hardly," Elias said, another lie. The hotel ballroom he'd had Rosie rent was incredibly warm despite its size. Under his jacket, he could feel his shirt sticking to his upper back with a fine sheet of sweat. "Why don't we go outside?"

"I don't forgive you," Peter muttered, but he let Elias lead him around the dance floor to one of the balconies.

He shut the sliding door behind them, and then they both turned and stared at each other with vastly differing degrees of coldness.

Perhaps unused to being scrutinized so severely, Elias broke first under Peter's frigid gaze. "Oh, come on, Peter. Don't be like that. I didn't invite you here just to make fun of you. I wanted you to come." His face was still flushed and he wasn't shivering despite the cold December air that made his breath come out in white puffs.

"Really," Peter said. He went to lean against the metal railing, but thought better of it. The wrought iron had gone icy cold. He rubbed his hands against the thick wool of his sweater and gazed out over the cityscape.

"Really," Elias said. He didn't say more.

Peter continued to stare out at the city. Surrounded by companionship, he pretended he could feel the intense loneliness of one who walked the city streets at night yet had no connections within.

It was part of why he could stand Elias. Elias never made him feel loved, just used. Peter revelled in the wanting, in the desire for something more that he knew would forever be denied to him. He decided. For Elias, for the Lonely, he would endure.

"Fine."

"You'll stay?" Elias lit up, clearly delighted. He took one of Peter's hands in his own, and they were warm. "Excellent."

Peter tugged Elias closer to him because he knew it would annoy him. "When was the last time you felt anything other than smug satisfaction?" he asked, wrapping his arms around Elias.

"Don't, someone might see," Elias protested. He was warm, and he was small. He barely came up to Peter's collarbone and couldn't wrap his arms all the way around Peter's sturdy body. He was staring fixedly through the glass door.

"I thought you wanted me here," Peter teased. He shivered and pulled Elias in closer. “Doesn’t everyone here think I’m your husband?”

"You're cold," Elias said. "Let's go in. I'm sure someone will have spiked the punch by now."

He slid the door open and stepped over the threshold.

"You don't think you've had enough?" Peter asked. Elias had never been a heavy drinker, and he was still pink-cheeked from the several glasses of Prosecco he'd had earlier. Then, just to annoy Elias, Peter added, "Little guys like you should go slow."

Elias huffed and ran a hand over his perfectly-styled hair as though to slick it back. "I think I know my own limits, thank you very much."

They got drinks, avoiding conversation, and posted up against the wall as all the tables were taken and Peter didn't want to share.

Elias clutched at his glass of water and leaned against the wall, absently studying the cable pattern of Peter's sweater.

He didn't look like he was sobering up at all, Peter reflected. His shoulder was pressed against the wall a little too hard to be casual and his pale cheeks were still aglow.

"Dizzy?" Peter asked with faux-innocence.

"A bit, actually," Elias mumbled, which wasn't like him. Peter barely heard him over the music.

Peter smirked. "Want to sit?"

"No." Elias downed half the glass of water in an instant and shivered. "That won't be necessary."

"What's the alcohol content of Prosecco, anyway?" Peter teased. The punch had indeed been spiked. He was careful to just sip at it, the better to make fun of Elias for going too fast.

"12%," Elias answered. He frowned, looking perplexed. "I only had two glasses."

"Two and a half," Peter said. It wasn't often that he had anything to hold over Elias, and he was enjoying this immensely. "Tell me, do you have any special urge to do karaoke? Or dance on the table?"

"Shut up," Elias said, frowning. He took another sip of water and leaned harder into the wall.

"Why don't you introduce me to this new Archivist of yours?" Peter suggested, trying to get something out of Elias.

"Later."

Peter frowned. "Then why don't you eat something? The party's not going to be any fun if you're like this all night.” He shook his head. “I never would have pegged you as a melancholy drunk.”

"I do apologize," Elias said sarcastically.

"Really, sit down. I'll get you a roll or something."

"I'm not hungry."

"You'll feel better if you eat," Peter insisted.

The look Elias gave him was keen and full of mistrust. "What do you care if I feel better?"

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"That's certainly a word for it." Elias sighed and tried to straighten up, but kept most of his weight on the wall. "Where do you suggest I sit so you can fawn all over me, hm? I can't have them knowing too much about me."

"Of course," Peter said with sarcastic solemnity. "That's your job."

"Precisely."

"Look," Peter said. "Just sit down and eat something. Stop acting like a child."

"Fine. But do watch your hands." Elias marched off to a table and set to work scaring off its other occupants. Peter watched him at it, then started filling up a plate with things he knew Elias didn't like.

When Peter returned Elias was sitting slumped, with his chin resting in his palm, the fingers tensed along the angle of his jaw. He didn't look any better, although it had already been some time since his last drink.

Peter didn't reflect on it too long. He slid the paper plate over to Elias. It was piled high with sweets and baked goods.

Elias actually made a face. "I'm really not hungry." 

"You really will feel better if you eat something," Peter said.

"And I'm telling you I don't want to," Elias snapped.

Peter noticed suddenly that he wasn't slurring his words, and hadn't been all evening. "Elias?"

"What?"

"Have you considered that you might be sick?"

"I'm not going to be sick," Elias said, misunderstanding.

"No, no. That you're sick. I think you have a fever." Peter leaned over and cupped his hand on Elias' neck. It was warm, but then, it was a warm room.

"Ah," said Elias curtly, leaning away from Peter's touch. Then, "Damn." He shifted positions, putting his head in both his hands. "I don't even remember the last time I was sick."

"You'd better sit up," Peter said brightly. "People are starting to stare."

"They are not," Elias said, but he straightened up all the same. Sure enough, the group at the next table over was looking at him curiously. "I can't leave early," he said.

"Why not?"

"It'll look bad." Elias took a few shallow breaths and set his jaw like he was in pain. "I'll have to stay."

"Will they be expecting a speech?" Peter wondered out loud, mostly for the joy of seeing Elias go pale with dread.

Elias did indeed blanch, turning almost gray under the low lights. His forehead was shiny with sweat. "I just won't this year. Nobody likes those speeches anyway. I mostly give them because people hate them."

"You need to go home," Peter said. "You look terrible." Now that he knew what the problem was, it was quite obvious. Though a persistent fever blush stained Elias' cheeks a drunken pink, the rest of his face was sickly white. His breathing was irregular and his brow was creased in evident pain. Peter imagined he had quite a headache but wasn't admitting it.

He also imagined that Elias knew he needed to go home, but was resisting for the simple, petty reason that it was Peter who'd suggested it.

"I'll be fine," Elias insisted.

"So you're just going to sit here," Peter said, "all night." He checked his watch. "It's only just now 10:00, and I can't imagine this will be over earlier than 3:00."

"Everyone usually starts clearing out around 1:00," Elias corrected him. He coughed lightly, experimentally.

"You didn't answer me," Peter said.

"About what?"

"Are you really just going to sit in the chair for 3 hours?"

Elias regarded him coldly and coughed again, this time muffling the sound into his sleeve. "Perhaps."

"Do you want some coffee?" Peter asked suddenly.

"Yes," Elias said. He eyes the plate, piled high with pastries and all the things Peter knew he didn't care for. "Please don't do anything strange to it. I'll Know if you do."

Peter went off to get the coffee. He thought about adding sugar to Elias' just to spite him, but didn't, and came back carrying two mugs of perfectly ordinary coffee.

"Thank you, Peter," said Elias with something close to real sincerity.

Peter shrugged, uncomfortable. "Maybe it'll help with that cough."

The night dragged on. Peter, bored and uncomfortable, wanted to leave.

Sitting there watching Elias smolder with fever was not exactly fun, if only because he wasn't getting any sense of personal triumph out of it. Elias didn't seem to be getting any worse, and Peter was worried he wasn't going to get a grand "I told you so" moment. Still, he waited on the off chance that it might happen.

They hadn't bet on it exactly, but Peter felt the thrill of a bet all the same. In his mind, he had bet against Elias making it through the evening and he wanted to see what would happen. Since it wasn't a proper wager, Elias' humiliation would be prize enough. The only thing Peter had to lose was time, and he had plenty of that.

Elias smothered a cough into a cloth napkin.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked.

Elias looked at him with malice. "If you ask me that again, I'm going to--"

"To what?" Peter challenged, beaming. "You wouldn't kill me, Elias, you like me too much."

"Try me," Elias said through gritted teeth.

Every so often, one of the more bold (or drunk) employees would happen across their table and make conversation with Elias. Peter was consistently amazed at Elias' ability to lie through his teeth and act like an ordinary man. He even came off a bit stupid, which was a truly great deceit.

Elias slumped backwards in his chair and rubbed at his forehead.

"Headache?" Peter asked.

Elias looked at him sideways. "Would it make you happy if I said 'yes'?" he asked, sounding exhausted.

"You could ask for paracetamol," Peter suggested.

"I know you don't have any."

"That's not what I meant." Peter smiled sedated. "I could go ask for you, if you like." He affected a saccharine, doting tone and expression, "Excuse me, do you have any painkillers on you? I'm so worried about my dear Elias--"

"Do shut up," Elias said. He coughed a little behind his lips and looked at the army of mugs and glasses surrounding him. Finding the most recent addition, a mug of chamomile Peter had recently brought him, he took a sip. "You put honey in this."

"For your throat. Do you want me to ask about painkillers or not?"

"No. You could sneak into the coat closet, if you were so inclined, and steal some from the red purse or the navy jacket in the back."

It was as close to asking for a favor as Elias would ever get, and it was good enough for Peter. Wondering idly if the Lonely disapproved of such frivolous manifestations of its power, Peter let himself disappear.

Finally, it came time to leave. The music stopped, the overhead lights came on, and Peter got to his feet with a bitter feeling of disappointment in his chest.

He'd babysat Elias all night with nothing to show for it.

"Shall I see you home?" he asked. "I can't imagine you'll want me to stay."

"I don't care either way," Elias said. He stood up and immediately had to grip the back of the chair to keep his balance as the color drained from his face.

He looked awful. Peter realized with no small measure of delight that Elias felt much worse than he'd let on. "I'll take you home," he said.

Elias released his white-knuckle grip on the chair and made slowly for the exit. The remaining employees were leaving in a trickle.

"Quite a lot of people are still here," Peter observed, surprised.

Elias didn't say anything.

They joined the throng in its slow crawl toward the doorway. Elias put his hand on Peter's back and bunched up his fingers in the fabric of Peter's sweater. He didn't seem to realize what he'd done, and had no expression whatsoever on his ashen face.

They reached the exit. Elias' grip went slack and he stumbled.

"Elias?" Peter said, reaching out for him. People turned to look. Elias took a staggering half-step forward and fainted.

"Elias!" Peter repeated. He caught Elias by the shoulders and lowered him to the ground.

They were right in the middle of the doorway, surrounded by people on all sides. There was absolutely no privacy to be had.

The wave of curiosity and concern from the crowd was almost physically repulsive to Peter. He shuddered under the weight of it.

Doing his best to ignore the murmuring from the crowd, Peter put his hand to Elias' cheek. He was burning up, of course. Even as Peter looked down at him, Elias' eyelids began to flutter. He sighed and opened his eyes. Momentarily confused, he looked at Peter, then at the ceiling.

Realizing what had happened, he closed his eyes again and pressed his lips into a thin, white line. "Shit."

Peter remained silent, his hand still pressed to Elias' fevered cheek. Behind him, someone was trying to get the crowd to back off.

"Help me up," Elias muttered, moving his lips as little as possible. Peter wordlessly held out his arm and hauled Elias to his feet.

"I'm quite alright," Elias was saying in response to a whole barrage of questions. "No, no, that won't be necessary. Yes, just a flu, I'm sure. Peter will see me home. Thank you."

And, clinging almost painfully to his arm, Elias dragged Peter across the lobby and out a side entrance, then collapsed heavily on the steps with his head in his hands.

"Don't stop here," Peter said, finally allowing himself to feel sorry for Elias now that he'd gotten a heavy dose of humiliation.

Elias let out a barrage of coughs in response, folding over nearly double. This too had gotten worse. The sound was dry and crackling.

"You're really not feeling well, are you?" Peter asked, almost in a marveling tone.

"Just go if you're going to mock me," Elias said in an unusually thready voice. "I don't have to put up with this."

"Oh, Elias." Peter had gotten the upper hand so quickly it almost wasn't fun anymore. "Come on and let me take you home. They've got cabs waiting out front." He shivered and realized with irritation that he'd forgotten his jacket inside. Oh, well.

"Come on, up you get."

Elias stood up slowly and stood panting for a moment. Peter waited for him to recover then steered him to a taxi. This really wasn't fun anymore. He had never seen Elias so pliant, so agreeable, so…. So vulnerable.

Still, Peter reflected, leaning back after giving the driver Elias' address, he didn't want Elias to die. If word got out that he was ill, someone would most certainly come to finish him off.

So, Peter would have to stay with him until he was better.

"I'm the only one that gets to kill you," he said softly to Elias, who had gone slack against the door.

The driver looked up in alarm, but said nothing. 

They reached Elias' building. In lieu of searching for the keys, Peter phased in through the door and unlocked it.

Elias ignored him, crossed the threshold, and went immediately to bed.

The whole apartment has a cold, untouched feeling that made Peter feel immediately at ease. It was a welcome change from the warm, cheerful atmosphere at the holiday party. Peter shut the door, locked it, and leaned back against it. He closed his eyes and breathed in the abject loneliness of the apartment. Then he straightened and went to go get Elias.

If Peter was going to be looking after him, he could at least exact a bit of torment while he was there.

Although. He was certain nothing could ever be as satisfying as watching Elias faint in front of half his staff, with nothing and no one to blame but himself and his pride.

Peter sighed in satisfaction and flicked on the lightswitch.

"Go away," Elias said, not visible beneath the covers.

"You're not sleeping in that suit," Peter said cheerfully. "Let's get you changed!"

"I'm going to kill you," Elias said evenly. Peter grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him up. He took off Elias' suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.

His skin was still ablaze with fever heat and his skin was slick with sweat.

"I'm going to reach into your mind and pick out the worst thing that's ever happened to you," Elias was ranting, glassy-eyed, "And I'm going to show it to you in such vivid detail that the anguish kills you on the spot."

"Dear Elias," Peter smiled paternally at him. "Meeting you was the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Now take off your slacks."

Elias got to his feet and immediately had to lean back against the bed for balance. When he was standing there in nothing but his boxers, Peter turned away. "Now let's see, where do you keep your pajamas?"

"Peter," Elias said in a warning tone.

"Do it, then," Peter said placidly, digging through Elias' chest of drawers. "Really. I'd like to see you try. Ah! Here we are."

He turned around to find Elias glaring daggers at him. Then a flurry of coughs overtook him. The muscles in his chest and abdomen all jumped with the effort.

"You're so scrawny," Peter said, dressing Elias with ease. "What are these, silk? They're nice."

"I really hate you," Elias said. His head was hanging, his eyes half-open, and Peter suspected that his locked knees were the only thing keeping him upright.

"To bed with you," Peter said.

Elias tucked himself back under the covers and closed his eyes.

"I'll be here when you wake. Shout if you need anything." Peter turned off the light and went out, knowing full well that Elias' pride wouldn't allow him to ask for a single thing.

"Peter?"

Peter woke in confusion, not realizing he had fallen asleep. He was sprawled out on Elias' couch (to the extent that a man of his size and stature could sprawl).

"Peter," Elias called again, gently. He coughed and Peter winced.

He got up slowly, yawning, and shuffled into Elias' bedroom. "What is it?"

Elias didn't answer, but Peter could hear his labored, wheezing breaths.

"I'm gonna turn on the light."

No reply.

Peter flicked on the lightswitch and almost flinched at the sight. Elias had kicked off the covers and was lying on his back, sprawled out and breathing heavily. His face was an angry red all the way down to the neck and his eyes were glassy and distant.

"Hm," Peter said, more to himself than to Elias. "I knew the Eye wasn't going to let you die, but I didn't think it would allow you to suffer quite this much."

For all his faults, Peter did in fact possess and conscience, and he really wasn't enjoying the sight of Elias suffering like this. 

"Obviously I can't take you to hospital," he said, looming over Elias. "Do you even have organs anymore? Or is it just eyes all the way down?"

Elias coughed and fought to draw breath. "I can't--" he tried to articulate. "I don’t--"

"Relax," Peter said. He smoothed back Elias' hair and let out a dismayed sigh at the heat radiating from Elias’ head. He really wasn't sure what to do, but he certainly had nothing to gain by leaving Elias here to suffer.

"Peter," Elias panted. "What's happening to me?"

"I know you've had a fever before," Peter said, consciously refusing to feel too sorry for him.

"Hurts…"

"I know." Peter put his hands on his hips and surveyed Elias on the bed. His carefully pomaded hair was a mess, his pajamas soaked in sweat. Yet his dark eyes somehow hadn't completely lost the sharp quality of Beholding. Even now they seemed to bore into Peter.

"How about I run you a bath?" Peter suggested.

"I don't care what you do." Elias rolled over and winced, pressing his hand to his forehead. "Just make it stop."

Peter walked away to run the bath, then came back to get Elias. He bent down and slid his arms under Elias' back and knees, carrying him bridal style. Elias was so warm it was actually uncomfortable to be close to him.

"What's your temperature?" Peter asked.

"41," Elias said. He slumped bonelessly in Peter's arms, barely able to keep his head up.

"You know," Peter reflected. He set Elias down on the edge of the tub and started to undress him. "A normal person would be in deep shit right about now. But look at you. You can still talk. I bet you could even stand if you tried."

"No," Elias shook his head. He let Peter strip him naked without even a shred of resistance. "I'm so tired."

"Mm." Peter manhandled Elias into the bath, bracing himself for impact.

Sure enough, Elias gave a cry and immediately began to shiver. "This isn't better, Peter."

Peter shrugged. "You were overheating. Let me take care of you a little."

"Take care of me how?" Elias growled.

"I've asked you not to compel me," Peter said with forced evenness."Besides, I thought you could just take that information?"

Elias' shoulders dropped. Stark naked and shaking, wet, with his hair all in his face, he looked so pathetic that Peter almost felt truly sorry for him. "I can't control it. The woman upstairs purposefully broke up her daughter's marriage and there's someone walking by who committed a hit and run three years ago and is still terrified of getting caught--"

"Enough," Peter said. Elias' voice was tremulous, pained. "Just let me wash your hair."

Elias nodded, and Peter rolled up his sleeves and began to run his wet hands through Elias' hair. It was stiff with product, and lightly scented. Elias stopped shivering and gave a deep, exhausted sigh.

"See?" Peter said. "Isn't this nice?" He reached for the shampoo and massaged it into Elias' scalp. He was still incredibly hot, but perhaps a little less than he had been before.

Elias seemed to want to speak but was overtaken by a coughing fit. His shoulders spasmed and leaned forward, coughing violently into open air. Peter rubbed his back until the fit was through, then continued running his hands through Elias' hair.

"Peter," Elias said, sounding almost like his usual self. He hesitated, licked his lips. "Why are you doing this for me?"

"I don't know," Peter said after a long pause. He cupped his hands and started to rinse the shampoo out of Elias' hair. Elias hadn't compelled him that time, yet he still felt a strange need to be honest. "I won't lie, I do like seeing you like this. It's not often you've got your worst enemy helpless at your feet. But…" He thought for a moment. "I don't want to see you suffer too much. When I put you to bed and you were overheating and miserable, it didn't feel like victory. It just felt like cruelty. And despite everything, I don't want to be cruel. Not to you."

For a long time, Elias didn't say anything. Peter started to condition the ends of his hair.

"I wouldn't do the same for you," Elias said.

"I know," Peter replied.

That was the whole point, after all.

[hiagainyou]

ღPuppy Loveღ

“I don’t think it’s a crush anymore.”

 “What?”

 He clutched the stuffed bear resting at his side nervously, burying his face in its soft fur as he softly continued.

 “I know you told me not to get my hopes up and that it’ll fade before I know it, but it didn’t. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t love her to soften the blow but that didn’t work either. My feelings for her haven’t changed at all and have only gotten worse.”

 Silence filled the space between them as he tried to settle his racing heartbeat.

 “She kissed me yesterday.”

 He breathed out, like just recalling the memory was enough to send him rocketing towards cloud nine. So lost in the feel of her lips he hadn’t bothered to look at Tamaki’s stunned expression.

 “S-she did?”

 “It was only on the cheek,” the light in his eyes snuffed out. “But that’s all it took; it was like with a single brush of her lips gravity stopped working.”

 He let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, his arm suspended in the air as if he could feel the thought ghost between his fingers.

 “Like I was sent drifting off into space and it only lasted a second.”

 His arm came crashing down, landing beside him with a muffled thud.

 “It only lasted for a second, maybe even two, but it felt like forever, like I could just stand there frozen in time without any regrets.”

 He turned his head, his royal blue eyes meeting the skittish indigo of Tamaki’s for the first time since they had settled into his room.

 “We felt like forever.”

 He looked up to the eggshell white color of the ceilings, he wasn’t one to fluster easy, but it was just that one thought that got him.

 He wanted to last forever with her.

 Wanted to be forever.

 He buried his face back into the bear’s fur, it was getting hotter by the second with each word that fell from his lips.

 “Then why don’t you,” A light sigh. “Then why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

 “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 His words were muffled by the plush of the stuffed animal. He held it almost painfully in his grip, its body contorting with how white-knuckled his fingers had become.

 “Come on Mirio,” Tamaki gently nudged his tensed-up shoulder. “You are the most confident guy I know, it’s scary I won’t lie to you but the worst that could happen is that she rejects you.”

 His eyes flickered back to the ceiling; his stare heavy enough to pierce a hole through it.

 Rejection?

 It hadn’t even occurred to him that that was even a possibility.

 How could he be so stupid?

 Someone as good as her would never even think to look at him in that way.

 Even if people told him he was the full package, he still felt like she was bounds and leaps ahead of him.

 He was a love drunk fool if he thought that they could be anything more than what they were.

 Her allowing them to be friends was already asking too much.

 “You’re overthinking again.”

 He was so consumed by the waves of doubt that Tamaki’s voice was just above a whisper to him, numb to anything but her.

 “How could I not?” He finally began to speak as the waves began to soften, his mind clearing even if it wasn’t by much. “Have you seen her Tamaki? Her smile means the world to me, her eyes are the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen, and the way she can make anyone laugh, no matter how serious they are, is just so… amazing to me. She’s everything I want and so much more and if I confess and lose what we have I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself anymore.”

 He paused, clutching at his chest as if the thought alone were enough for his heart to tear itself to shreds.

 “I don’t want to lose her Tamaki, I never do, but me dumping all these emotions onto her is bound to make her uncomfortable. She jokes about not being able to handle huge amounts of affection and I- “

 He halted, his eyes widening as his body began to tremble.

 The waves had become relentless, each crash sent him desperately gasping for air.

 “Oh God, what if she ignores me? What if all my affection scares her off? She’ll be too intimated to see me again, too scared to break my heart so she just cuts me off. I’ll never see her again! She’ll find someone else and I get to sit and watch as my heart and soul gets to experience all the joys of life without me. I’d be nothing but a shell of the person I once was, and it’ll be all my fault! Why do I feel this way? Why won’t these stupid feelings go away!”

 The painful grip he had on his blonde hair was enough to push even more tears out of his eyes as he sobbed in frustration.

 “I’m so stupid!”

 “Mirio stop, you’re just hurting yourself.”

 “She never liked me! Why did I think I ever had a chance!”

 “Mirio stop.”

 “I’m nothing but a stupid, pathetic wannabe hero! She deserves someone better than me!”

 “MIRIO!”

 He slowly opened his eyes, his vision was blurry with the ocean of tears he had been shedding, staring at the blue mesh to the side of him.

 “Sorry, I-I.” Tamaki sighed, combing shaky fingers through his hair before meeting Mirio’s gaze again. “I know it’s tough, I felt the same way when I asked Arlo. You see how perfect she is and can’t stop thinking “why would she like me of all people?” The thought of rejection hurts, it hurts so so much, but look at me. I confessed, she returned my feelings, and we’ve been happy ever since. It might seem impossible, but she might like you back.”

 “You don’t know- “

 “You’re right, I don’t know that. But there’s a chance she might have a huge crush on you too.”

 The grip on the bear loosened as he went to rub at his eyes, the weight of Tamaki’s words hanging in the air.

 “You’ve never considered that?”

 “I mean I have I just- “

 “You never thought it was possible?”

 “Yeah, something like that.”

 He chuckled for the first time in what felt like hours, his usual light up the room smile stretching across his face, making Tamaki sigh in relief.

 “Nothing’s impossible now Mirio,” Tamaki got up slowly and walked toward the door. “If I can get into a relationship then I’m positive you have a chance.”

 He slipped on his shoes before opening the door.

 “You can do it, I know you can, just don’t wait too long.”

 And just like that, Tamaki was gone and he was alone with his thoughts again.

 He held the bear Bee gave him in the air, glancing at it as a sigh left his lips before he smiled brightly, his eyes filled to the brim with determination.

 “Okay let’s do this!”

 He placed the bear down before reaching for his phone and sending a simple text.

 Me: Hey do you wanna hang tomorrow?

Me: We can go to that new dog café you were screaming about

 ☀️💛Sunshine💛☀️: You said dogs I’m sold

 He chuckled at her reaction, her childish obsession with dogs was one of the cutest things about her.

 Me: Cool, how does 11 sound? We could do something fun after

 ☀️💛Sunshine💛☀️: Are you telling me that petting a bunch of good bois isn’t fun to you?

 Me: Sunshine we can’t stay there all-day

 ☀️💛Sunshine💛☀️: But good bois

 Me: I’ll treat you to ice-cream after

 ☀️💛Sunshine💛☀️: Togata Mirio are you trying to bribe me?

☀️💛Sunshine💛☀️: Cause it’s working

 Me: Okay tomorrow at 11 don’t be late

 ☀️💛Sunshine 💛☀️: I’m never late!

 Me: Yeah okay

 He flailed around excitedly on his bed before staring back up at the ceiling, the swarm of butterflies fluttering rampantly in his chest and stomach almost made him throw up.

 “What’s the worst that can happen?"

[only-the-lou]

party night

Sooo turns out that i didnt fully finish my last story! Sooo here’s my attempt into putting the whole thing here :)

-

-

-

-

It was the end of finals week, and Peter couldn't be more happy. He had spent the last 2 weeks pulling all nighters cramming as much information as he could into his brain so that he could pass his tests. Sure he was really smart and he didn't really need to study, but that didn't stop Peter from worrying about failing one of his classes. But now that all that was over, he couldn't wait to just relax. He can finally get some decent hours of sleep, actually eat something healthy, and take care of himself. He had decided to call work off for the next two days, and was determined to sleep as much as he could because right now he looked like death, with his pale skin and eye bags so heavy you could put groceries in them. He knew he looked horrible, but he also knew that if he didn't get good grades he could get his scholarships taken away. He only had one more year of high school though, and then he wouldn't have to worry about this stuff for a while, So right now he would work his ass off so that he can have a good life in the future.

It was around 8 at night when Peter heard knocking on his apartment door. He was slightly confused, since he didn't remember inviting anyone over, and his food was already delivered. He put his phone down and walked over to the entrance, not having a chance to fully open his door before MJ and Ned busted right in.

"What 's up loser?" MJ said. She walked last Peter and into the kitchen, and helped herself into Peter's fridge. Ned walked in behind her and sat down onto his couch.

"Hey guys! What are you doing here?" Peter questioned. He wasn't expecting the two, but he also wasn't surprised that they showed up unannounced since they did that often. He closed his door and locked it before he made his way to the living room. He walked to his couch and plopped down next to ned and pulled out his phone.

"Well, it's a Saturday night, you have nothing to do, and there's a party over at Liz's house. So me and Ned decided to come pick you up so that we can have some fun!" MJ explained. She was currently opening up bag of Doritos and had decided to look for a soda.

"A party? Since when do you like going to parties?" Peter asked. MJ was usually the type to stay home and watch Netflix or read. Parties weren't her thing, so Peter was confused when she decided to go to one.

"Well, it is our last year before graduation and our last chance to relax before the second rounds of finals!" Ned chimed. He wasn't wrong, it was their senior year in highschiol and this was going to be their last week before they had to bury themselves in books and cry about life. MJ nodded, and Peter decided that this was going to be his way of taking care of himself.

"Alright. Lemme get ready and I'll meet you guys downstairs" Ned squealed and MJ high fived Peter. They walked out of Peter's apartment while Peter walked towards his room already planning out the night.

-

30 minutes later Peter rushed out of his apartment and ran down the stairs to meet his friends. He had decided on some torn black skinny jeans (that made his booty look bigger) and a plain white button up. He usually didn't wear makeup, but he had decided to leave his insecurities behind and did some light eyeliner with mascara and some lipgloss. He couldn't lie, he felt good about himself, something that was very rare. Just as he was going to leave the apartment he decided to bring his lighter and some blunts he was planning on smoking earlier and made sure that he had everything he needed before heading out.

Just as he was in his last set of stairs he heard MJ whistle and Ned compliment his eyeliner. He smiled and blew a kiss towards Ned and winked. MJ was on her phone texting Liz and letting her know that they were on their way while walking towards her car.

"Actually, do you guys mind if we walk? Her house isn't even far away. Plus, we can smoke on the way there." Peter asked. MJ and Ned nodded, and Peter pulled out a blunt and his lighter from his back pocket. He didn't usually smoke, and neither did the other two, but fuck it, tonight was all about having fun.

The trio decided to smoke as they walked to Liz's house, so they arrived there quicker. The music was so loud you could probably hear it blocks away, and by the time Peter had reached the house he could feel the music's vibrations in his chest. He liked it though, the familiar feeling of excitement coursing through his veins. The front lawn was filled with teenagers holding red cups, couples making out, and those people who partied a little too hard and passed out. Peter chuckled as he looked at them. Lightweights. The house itself was actually quite beautiful. It was big, with three pillars on the front and with 8 rectangular windows on the front part. It was a creamy white, looking homey if it wasn't for the blasting music and the lights inside.

The three were almost done with the 5th blunt and Peter tossed it to the floor and stepped on it to put it out. He could feel the drug start to take its effects, and so when he turned to see his friends he felt like laughing. The other two where getting high as well, so they also started giggling.

They walked in and were hit with the smell of beer, weed, and sweat. They didn't care though, too busy trying to go through the crowds of people to notice. Peter looked around to see if he knew anyone, and quickly noticed two guys whom he was sure didn't go to his school because no one was that hot in queens bay high. Peter sucked in a breath as he checked them out, too stunned but their beauty to notice Ned pulling his arm to walk. He practically got dragged to the kitchen by his friend, and when he looked back the pair were already lost.

"Damm it Ned, I was checking out two- oh hey Liz!" Peter smiled, forgetting about the two boys back there and He leaned in for a hug and kissed her on the cheek. Liz giggled and hugged him back, and fixed her dress.

"Hi guys! Glad you could make it. Theres snacks right over there and some beers! Make yourself at home babes!" She smiled. Peter looked at her outfit, wearing a red dress that went down to her knees and some black heels. She looked beautiful, and even though Peter was really gay, he would still date her. Ned hugged her and went directly into the snack table, and MJ quickly followed. She was too shy to hug her, although she was been crushing on Liz for the longest time. It was quite adorable Peter though, MJ being so bold around anyone but as soon as she sees Liz she completely melts. They would be a really cute couple, if it weren't for MJ's awkwardness around her.

He talked to Liz for a couple of minutes before hugging her again and walking towards the drinking section. He has decided on some vodka, and grabbed a soda to mix it with. He walked over to his two friends and leaned against the fridge.

"So, what's the plan?" Peter asked. Ned shrugged and MJ kept eating some chips, and Peter realized that their idea of a party was to stay near the snack area. He shook his head and smiled, telling them that he was gonna go out and dance.

"If you're gonna get fucked someone don't forget to use protection!" Ned hollered. Peter laughed and told him 'no promises!' knowing that he was going to use it. He wasn't planning on catching an STD, and even though it didn't feels as good, he didn't wanna get infected.

He walked around the crowds of people and bumped into a much taller male. Luckily he didn't drop his drink, or else it would've caused Peter to go of on the other person. He looked up to see who it was, and to his luck it was one of the guys who he was checking out earlier. He was tall and had shoulder length hair which holy shit made him look more hotter and was wearing all black.

"S-sorry I wasn't looking where I was going" Peter stuttered. The other male chuckled and Peter felt like he died right there. He was usually confident and bold, but that clearly went away when he saw the taller male. Must've been the alcohol, or the weed, or both.

"It's okay princess, no need to apologize. I'm Bucky by the way." Bucky extended his hand towards Peter, and it took a second for him to register what was going on, but quickly shook Buckys hand. The size difference in their hands was huge, making Peter feel smaller, and blushed. "I'm Peter. You don't go to queen bay right ?" He asked. Bucky shook his head and explained to him that his friend Tony was invited to this party and practically dragged him here. So that's the other guys name.

"And uh, what about you?" Bucky asked. Peter told him how he was going to spend the night with his two other friends, but they decided that food was more important. Bucky chuckled and Peter died yet again, suddenly aware that he was in heaven and Bucky was an angel leading him to the paradise because there is no way someone so perfect could exist. That's what he had thought until Buckys friend, Tony walked up to them and smiled at Peter. Peter smiled back and tried so say something, but was too scared that he was going to sound pathetic. He looked at Tony's outfit, similar to Bucky but instead of a leather jacket he was wearing a blue jean jacket with a white shirt and black jeans. Both of them looked so handsomely good, and Peter decided right then and there that he wanted both of them.

Peter was now very sure that he was high and drunk as shit, because his normal self would never dance on a guy (let alone 2) like he was doing right now, His dignity flying out the window as soon as he turned around and started moving his ass in front of Tony. He still didn't care when Tony grabbed his hips to close the gap between his crotch and Peter ass, and he didn't care when Bucky was in front of Peter and started kissing his neck. He didn't give two flying shits, too focused on trying not to moan when Bucky started biting his neck. He moved his hand to Buckys neck and tangled his fingers in his neck, softly gripping it whenever Bucky started sucking at his neck.

Peter didn't really remember how or when he ended up in a bedroom, or if he even was in the same house as before. All he remembered was dancing with Tony and partially making out with Bucky, and then he ended up in here. Not that he was complaining, because he really fucking wasn't, but he was just caught off guard. He suddenly stopped thinking about that when he felt Tony's lips against his own, somehow rough and gentle at the same time. He bit Peter's bottom lip, and Peter couldn't help but groan. He was suddenly aware that he was on top of Tony, his legs on either side of him p, with Tony's hands grasping on his hips, pushing him down to rock on Tony's crotch. The both of them groaned at the same time, getting pleasure from the friction. He decided to do it again, rolling his hips against Tony's, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

He didn't see how Bucky was looking at both of them from the doorframe, and didn't hear when he closed the door and locked it. He slowly made his way to the bed, and decided to get in on the action.

He saw Bucky laying on the bed, and he kissed tony one last time while getting off his lap, crawling towards Bucky, and got on top of him. He leaned down to kiss Bucky, running his hands down Buckys chest. Bucky then broke the kiss, and flipped them over so that he was on top, and started taking his shirt off. Suddenly Peter noticed that the three of them were fully dressed, and starting taking off his shirt too. He couldn't really see Tony, but he hoped that he was getting undressed as well. Once Bucky and Peter were just in boxers, Bucky leaned back down and started kissing peters neck. He found peters sweet spot and Peter big his lip to not let out a moan.

"You sure you wanna do this ?" Bucky asked. "You don't have to if you don't want, babe." Tony said. And although Peter wasn't sure if it was him or the alcohol speaking, Peter looked at both of the innocently and bit his lip. He saw how Buckys eyes flickered over to his lips and smirked, and he knew he was in for a long, fun night.

—

So there you go! Sorry it's really bad :( I'm not the most experienced writer haha 😃

[cipherstarker]

Can you pretty please do a prison au with SIM!Tony? Xxx

Hi, I got way too carried away with this and there will definitely be more parts so keep an eye out! This is also my first prompt so thank you! Also, warning there are mentions of rape/non-con so be careful! Part Two is now up!

Peter knew that one day his baby face was going to get him in trouble. He always thought it would be from being in a club, probably drunk, only looking like an 18 year old. He was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Peter kept his head down and picked up his pace when the guard stabbed him in the back with a baton. He remembered he once dressed in a smaller version of the overalls he was now wearing one Halloween, playing criminal to Uncle Ben’s cop. Peter laughed quietly, under his breath. There was no playing now. He was a criminal. He tightly closed his eyes for a second as he rounded another corner to show more lines of cells. His closed eyes brought no respite, instead it brought to mind the haggard image of Aunt May, so small and weary in the court stands waiting for the verdict. Weary because of him.

He tried to throw the thought away, into a black box never to think about again in the back of his mind, as the inmates started to shout obscenities at him – about him – that caused his stomach to twist and bile to rise in the back of his throat. He hoped he didn’t look at scared as he felt, but he could see how pale his skin looked, how large his eyes wear, in the reflection of the shiny, metal bars. Even if he didn’t look like that, he couldn’t stop the slight shaking of his hands.

The guard shoved him into what looked like a random cell. The door closed with a bang and locked with an unsympathetic click and Peter could hear the guards outside placing bets on how long he would last. 

Peter bit his lip and looked at his new cellmate.

The guy was huge, lying on the bottom bunk with his eyes closed. He was tall, his feet almost hanging over the edge of the bed, and with shoulders so wide that Peter felt that he could probably crush him like a nut. Dark hair with an ever so slight wave, neatly trimmed facial hair and pouty lips with slightly tanned skin. He looked about 30, but Peter knew better then to assume age based on looks. 

“Are you done yet?” the guy asked, almost politely, without opening his eyes.

Peter couldn’t contain his flinch, God dammit he probably already pissed the guy off. “Y-yeah, sorry,” Peter stuttered.

“Top bunk is mine.”

He wanted to ask why he was lying on what was supposed to be his bunk then, but bit his tongue. He already pissed the guy off by staring at him, it was probably best he kept his questions to himself. 

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

The guy opened his eyes. They were blue, icy cold and intense.  His gaze swept Peter up and down making him feel oddly exposed in his new overalls and causing goosebumps to settle over his arms (Definitely from fear, not anything else, nope, not at all) before they stopped at his lips. Peter automatically ran his tongue over them and the man’s eyes heated.

“Tell me Pete, how good do you suck cock?”

Peter choked slightly on his own salvia. “Oh, I’m, I’m straight.”

The guy lifted an eyebrow, a cruel smirk curling his lips. “Everyone’s straight in here, Bambi,” he sat up and leaned towards Peter, “doesn’t stop me or anyone else.”

“I have a girlfriend!” Peter shouted a bit too loud, as though to make sure that the very ominous anyone else could also hear.

The man looked unimpressed and then he let loose a mocking chuckle. “Girlfriends. Wives. Doesn’t make a difference in here, Bambi.” He got out of the bunk and he was so much taller standing up. A predator in a cage, and Peter was trapped inside with him. Peter couldn’t help but step back, natural instinct kicking in and telling him that he wouldn’t win in a fight against this man.

Instead of pouncing on him, the guy held out his hand, making the overalls look like a three piece suit. “I’m Tony.”

Peter shook the hand warily, half expecting to be pulled and raped on the bunk beds.

“It’s probably been a long day for you Bambi,” Tony said. “Get some sleep, nobody bothers around here on a night.” 

Peter wanted to ask why nobody bothered around here on a night, when he walked in all the men seemed rowdy and ready to fight but now you could probably hear a pin drop. In fact, it seemed that they were the only ones talking. 

“Alright,” Peter sighed, almost relieved to be given an order. Tony was probably just joking around. A bit of a laugh at his new cellmate.

Tony leaned in, next to his ear and Peter struggled to keep his composer, now so aware of how much taller, broader, the other man was. “I’m not going to fuck you tonight, Bambi, but I will fuck you. Goodnight.” He placed a kiss behind Peter’s ear and Peter felt his arms come up in a pathetic attempt to push Tony away. Tony backed away. Peter felt like he could think again.

“You’re not fucking me,” he bit out, aggressively baring his teeth.

Tony smiled. It was a surprising nice smile, all white with no gaps, but all Peter could see was a panther smiling at its prey. “I won’t force you, Bambi. I wouldn’t hurt you that way. But, if you’re a good enough fuck, I’ll protect from the others who won’t be as nearly as nice as me. Stick with me and you’ll be fine.“

“If you won’t force me, then it’s not going to happen. I have a girlfriend who I am very much in love with, and I won’t whore myself out for some protection.” Peter kept his voice firm, even though deep inside something screamed that he would in fact need Tony’s protection. 

Tony chuckled again. “I love a good challenge, Bambi.” 

Before Peter could think of something clever to say, Tony climbed onto the top bunk bed and was silent. Peter stood still, staring at nothing for a long time, Tony’s even breath the only noise. When he did crawl into bed, it was too hard, too cold, too not home. He barely slept all night.

—-

The morning came with guards banging on every jail cell door with their batons - every door except their door. After a horrible breakfast of sludge, which he thinks was supposed to be porridge, he was set to work. He was ogled at, groped at, leered at more than ever before but it never went anywhere. The guards were also keeping a close eye around him but Peter didn’t know why. Yeah, he was the new guy, but what did they think was going to happen?

After work, it was shower time. Just great.

Once in the showers, Peter didn’t know which way to turn. His hands were loosely covering his cock in a false sense of prudency, yet he didn’t want to turn his back to anyone. The inmates seemed more disorderly, in a way which they seemed to know that they could get away with anything in here. In the corner, there was a big man with blonde hair forcing his cock down the throat of another dark haired inmate. The guards didn’t seem bothered. Peter tried hard to keep his gaze from wandering that way; he thought he might be sick.

There were a couple of guys eyeing him as he finally started to wash himself. One guy was even roughly stroking his cock as he looked Peter up and down, but no one tried to touch him. Peter would like to think that it was because he was glaring at them but he knew it was because of Tony, who stood near him, his face blank.

Peter glanced at Tony, he didn’t seem interested in what was going on around him. It was this quiet confidence that Tony exudes that made Peter relax. It was a mistake. 

He was just about done cleaning himself, just a few soapy suds clinging to his skin when he felt it: a hand on his arse. A big, warm hand that squeezed ever so slightly and broke Peter out of his frozen state. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he hissed quietly, his head tilted towards Tony. He knew better than to cause a scene, it would only end up with Tony having to prove he was top dog in their little part of the prison and Peter didn’t feel like getting beaten to a plump in the shower.

Tony looked at him calmly, his eyes betraying his mirth at seeing Peter in this situation. “You need everyone to know you’re mine, Bambi, or they might start to get ideas,” he said slowly, his eyes raking up and down Peter’s body, “You don’t want that now, do you?” The question was said mockingly.

Peter glared at him. He hated that Tony was right. A hand on his arse versus being gangbanged in the shower. It was an easy choice to make. It’s not like Tony was going to go any further, a hand on his backside should be enough to let people know that he was under Tony’s protection….right?

So he stood completely still, with a warm hand on his arse and his gaze cast downwards. It was humiliating. Tony’s possessive hand was huge and cupped one of his arse cheeks fully. In this moment, he felt like he belonged to Tony. A pet that he had to keep happy and fed.

When shower time was over, Peter shook off Tony’s hand, dried and got dressed before quickly walking back to the cell. He kept his gaze lowered and out of the corner of his eye he noticed a guard following him. When he got to the cell, the guard stood outside with his back to him. The guard was silent and clearly observing everyone who walked past. Why was there a guard outside his door? Was this normal?

When Tony finally returned (No, Peter was definitely not waiting for him) the guard nodded at Tony and then left. What the fuck? Peter gripped the book he was trying – and failing – to read tighter.

“Relax, bel ragazzo,” Tony smirked.

“What does that mean?” 

“Pretty boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Peter snapped.

“I’ll call you whatever I want bel ragazzo because you are mine.”

Peter felt a surge of helpless anger, but he didn’t do anything because he knew Tony was right. In here, he was Tony’s property. Not to mention that Tony scared him. He was so different from the other inmates, as though he was better than them, and he had seen the way the others had acted around Tony: scared and respectful. 

“What did you do?” Peter asked, no longer able to push his curiosity down.

“Excuse me?” Tony sounded almost offended.

“I mean, why are you in here? What did you do?” Peter clarified.

“Went on a killing spree. They found 35 of them.” Tony looked him in the eye.

Peter blinked. “You’re joking, right?” Surely, Peter would remember something like that being on the news.

Tony made a gesture with his hand that could be interpreted either way and climbed onto the top bunk.

—–

Days passed and Peter settled into something of a boring routine. Not that the routine was his choice, everything he did was controlled by someone else and it was slowly driving him insane. He missed the days where he could just go for a walk because he wanted to. Sometimes, he wanted to throw something, punch someone, just do something uncontrolled to break the regulations. He never understood why there was so much violence in prison until he was there: it was just a way for them to entertain themselves, to break the tension surrounding them.

The other inmates mostly left him alone, but that didn’t stop the stares. He was too damn “pretty” for them to stop and Peter hated it. Hated the way they looked at him, as though they were watching a stripper give them a free show, their eyes always hungry for more. The most fucked up thing was that he had started to become thankful to Tony, to his heavy hand that was always on him in the shower, as it stopped the other guys from trying anything. He knew everyone thought he was Tony’s bitch, he just never expected anyone to call him that to his face.

“I’m not his bitch,” Peter snapped.

Bucky – the guy who he had formed a tentative friendship with, who happened to be the guy who had sucked the blonde guys (Steve’s) cock in the shower – just looked at him with a confused smile.

 “Okay then,” Bucky paused for a moment and then looked him in the eye, “His whore then, whatever he calls you when he fucks you.”

“He isn’t fucking me,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

At that Bucky gave him an odd look, as though he just said that pigs can fly, and didn’t respond. Instead, Bucky put down his two cards showing pontoon and they continued their game.

When he went back to his cell later that same day, Tony stood in the middle of it like a brick wall. His arms were crossed, eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together. Peter paused and his hesitation brought Tony upon him, pushing him up against the wall with his hand around his throat. Peter’s automatically came up, scratching at Tony’s arm, wrist, hand, anything that he could reach until Tony grabbed both of his wrists in his left hand and forced them above his head.

“Do you want me to kill you, hmm? Is that it?” Tony growled out.

“N-no,” Peter choked out as he started to feel light headed from his air being cut off.

This answer didn’t seem to appease Tony, who pressed against him even harder until Peter could feel Tony’s breath on his face.

“Then why are you making me look like a fucking liar?” Tony’s eyes were alight with anger.

“I-I didn’t think- think he would tell anyone,” Peter replied, his eyes going wide as what he had done setting in; if he loosed Tony’s protection – stopped being his “bitch” – then it was going to be open season on him. That is if Tony didn’t kill him first.

At his reply, Tony’s eye seemed to soften.  “You’re so naive Bambi. So naive. Never trust anyone Peter, got it?” Tony released his throat but kept his arms up.

Peter gasped for his breath. “Not even you?”, he breathed out, his eyes looking up to meet Tony’s.

Tony leaned in so their noses were brushing against each other in an Eskimo kiss. “Not even me, Bambi. Especially not me.”

“What if I do trust you?” Peter asked, but it felt more like a confession. 

Tony smiled, an actual smile that caused wrinkles around his eyes. “If people call you my bitch, my anything, then you say yes. Okay?” 

Peter couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t answer the question. “Let me go,” Peter struggled against Tony’s hold but instead of breaking free, he just ended up rubbing himself against Tony, “fuck you!”

“Oh, Bambi, I will,” Tony murmured into his ear, biting the lobe.

Peter hid his whimper with a “Fuck off.” It lacked conviction though.

“I bet you’ll be begging me soon, Bambi, what a pretty sight you’ll make when that happens.” Tony pressed harder against him. His warmth, his weight, his strength, his scent… it was all so overwhelming to Peter’s senses, made him weak in the knees in a strange, disturbing way.

“Never,” Peter sighed in bliss.

Tony moved away. Peter could breathe again. 

“Fine. You don’t want my protection, I’ll let the others know that you’re free.” Tony clenched his jaw and turned away, walking over to the bunk bed.

Peter felt his lip quiver at the thought, if he wasn’t under Tony’s protection it wouldn’t be long before he was pushed to his knees in the shower. “Wait, don’t, I-,” Peter didn’t know what else to say. 

Tony didn’t respond but his shoulders relaxed. 

“Get some sleep, Bambi.”

Peter did what he was told.

Part Two

[rosaetae]

the chrysanthemum effect | 2

[this chapter is apart of the chrysanthemum effect]

☇ “Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it’s already everything you need to move on. How do you move on from things if you’re not willing to accept them?“

➣  pairing: taehyung x reader

➣  genre: hanahaki!au, model!taehyung, weddingplanner(ish)!au  

➣  word count: 2.6k 

➣  summary: the hanahaki disease has become a stigma in this world where if you had it, you are looked down upon. her flowers were white chrysanthemums and they have been for the past two years. she was in love with someone who obviously didn’t feel the same way, and this was her way of moving on— along with the people in her life who had to conform around the hanahaki disease.

There was an odd construct on the night where you're supposed to feel like shit, you feel good— and slightly annoyed— that you brought the two drunk-wards into Somin's room safely. You were exhausted and oddly thirsty, but the sudden thought of Taehyung flooded your mind and you really couldn't go to sleep for an hour or two. Usually he makes an appearance into your mind once every so often, but that night was really an unusual occurrence that cost your sleep. So it really is an odd construct on how you felt that night.

You decided to crash on the couch, your muscles tired from carrying the weight of your friends and at that moment of time, the couch looked lovely to sleep on for the next 4 hours of sleep you were going to get.

You ended up not finding the couple until 3 o'clock when during your late night philosophical talk about the meaning of the disease and life in general with blue poppies was rudely interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing.

Blue poppies' actual name was Minji, and she had spilled her entire love story to you that night knowing that she wouldn't remember even telling you about it once she gets her flowers removed. Quite reckless, but you listened intently throughout the whole thing.

Minji, like every fool with the Hanahaki, was in love with a boy named Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook, the boy who you see on TV or YouTube and especially hear through different music platforms. They met through a friend, introducing the two and hitting it right off the bat.

"We were never public," Minji stated with a scoff following after. "He was a damn star and I was— well, damned. His agent wouldn't allow it. I mean— I'm from a fucked up family. Imagine the scandal that would be if people actually found out."

She went on to say how blue poppies was a song that he wrote just for her, a song that was now floating in the toilet water eliciting from her own mouth. She really thought that they would make it. But as always with the Hanahaki, there was a downfall, and though you didn't want to say it and you do feel bad for even thinking it, you knew that the relationship was dead when it started.

You flinch when you hear her hasty cough, a few of her petals in her hand as she sighed loudly. "I don't know how you're living with it especially after two years. I was walking to work when I saw him on that bigass fucking screen in town square— fuck. I threw up right then and there. I looked pathetic."

The way she spat the word out made you reminiscent of when you would say that word the exact same way. Spitting it out with a bad taste on your tongue, you used to dread that that was the only word you can describe yourself.

And yet, you didn't think she was pathetic. You felt empathy, knowing how much her situation was almost like yours. But pathetic was not a word that you would ever call anyone with unrequited love with— you only wish to realize that sooner.

And though the farewell was abrupt, you hoped the best for her after the surgery.

You hoped that her life would turn around and she would find herself. That maybe one day you can see her again. No tears and no make-up smudging to mirror what she called wretch, but rather plain contentment painting her face.

Because though it took you awhile to realize it, you believe that unrequited love isn't pathetic and sad. It's a bump in the road. And like every bump in the road, you learn to overcome it. And you wished that universe would know that, too.

-

You were coming home from your check-up where Doctor Wren was relieved that you didn't pull a last year's move.

The day? It was when Taehyung kissed you under the city lights and the night stars. It's rather foolish that this was a day you remember, but so be it; you remember how abrupt the kiss came and how much you realized you needed it when you had it. You'd think it'd be somewhere private, but it was in the middle of the street when he had stopped you for a moment after you were in the midst of a conversation with him.

And it was like one of those movies, strangers passing by, moving around you two, as time had speechlessly stopped.

Maybe you are a fool for remembering that day.

Doctor Wren addresses that your vitals were okay and when you tease him for being so worried, he only rolls his eyes and goes, "Well someone's got to keep an eye on you. It's not everyday that it's someone's second year of having the disease, for the love of gods."

And you couldn't help but smile at him and just be wholly grateful that you have someone who cares enough about you to try to keep you living out the next day.

As you were walking into your humble abode, you can hear Somin yelling at someone— most likely Hoseok or her boss. But seeing that she had yelled Hoseok's name too loudly as you closed the door behind you, you can tell that something between the two had erupted.

"Hoseok, no."

Not intending to listen to it, but you could Hoseok speaking in reply, assuming she was probably on FaceTime. "Babe, I think she should know."

"I don't give two flying shits about what you think! We are not telling ___ and that's final."

Hearing your name, you pause. Instead of walking into your room, you peer over outside of Somin's door, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as to what Hoseok was willing to tell you and not your own best friend.

"Somin, I know how scared you are for her, but just think about it."

"No. We're not telling her."

"Not telling me what?" You spoke up, an eyebrow raised at your best friend who had looked up from her laptop. Her face morphed from surprise to immediate realization in a split second when she saw you standing.

"Tell her, Somin," Hoseok pushes from her laptop.

"I'll call you back, Hoseok," Somin says through gritted teeth and shuts her laptop closed.

There was a moment of hesitation but the look on your face knew that you wanted to hear what she wasn't going to tell you, or you'd have to pry it out of Hoseok yourself.

Sighing, Somin runs a hand through her hair and shrugs.

"Taehyung got a job," she starts. Her voice seemed wary by just saying his name because she knew that the sound of his name never fails to make your insides jump. However, hearing that his name in the current context was anti-climatic, you nod your head slowly at her statement. "He's finally under a modeling agency."

You nod your head.

"Here," Somin finishes. "He's under a modeling agency here."

Your lips slightly parts. "Oh."

And it was Somin's turn to nod. "Look, I didn't want to—"

"Somin," you cut her off, a smile painting your lips. "It's fine." The look on her face said otherwise, but you knew she was just being her worrying self. "You don't need to be so cautious about him around me."

"I'm just worried is all."

And you couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt. Mostly because Somin has always been your best friend and you felt guilty that she still is. Being with you even though you're marked with a thousand words that relate to "weak", "pathetic", or "foolish".

"I know you are," you softly began. "But, I don't want you to fill your heart with worry, especially if it's for me. I can't live with it."

Silence filled the air, and though you can understand for Somin it is a big pill to swallow, you can only just hope that she would come to realize that. However, feeling bad is an understatement.

Somin is the next person in line to you to be affected by your flowers. She witnessed the heart-wrenching moment where you realized that you were another victim of the Hanahaki Disease. She constantly pushed that you would get the surgery, but because she was your friend, she supported your decision— no matter how much it hurts her every time there's flowers down the toilet or when she comes across your medications. And the worst of it all is that she understood why you were doing it— she just wishes that you wouldn't have.

But if the Hanahaki Disease were to work amongst your greatest friends, you knew you wouldn't even think about taking the surgery, because just like Taehyung, Somin is someone you want to know forever, even if forever isn't for a long time.

-

It was another day at school, the same thing apart of your consistent routine— except your anatomy teacher didn't show up to class, so you opted to go to work a bit earlier than usual to get your homework done in the meantime.

As you were walking to work along the streets at its usual busy time, you get a sudden call from Hoseok.

"Hey, Sugartits!"

Hearing his voice and the nickname he gave you, you laugh at him. "What do you want, Hoseok?"

"Does it always have to result to what I want?" Hoseok feigns innocence in his voice and you can tell by the way his pitch had slightly raised. "Ok fine," he eventually gave in, . "I need you to do me a favor."

You stifle a laugh as you walk through the crowd of busy people. "That depends on what that favor is."

"It may seem like a stretch, but I was hoping you can ask your boss to come to my event tomorrow night? Pretty please?"

Reaching to halt due to the red crosslight, you suck in a deep breath. "The charity event?"

You were confused as to why he desperately wanted your boss, Kang Eunmi, a wedding planner to show up to a charity event so much. Though, you weren't as surprised knowing that Kang Eunmi holds one of the best wedding organizations in the city.

"Yes," Hoseok says and as you don't respond, he knew you needed more reasoning. "I need her to help a friend out for his wedding. You know Jungkook, right?"

You stiffen. "Jungkook?"

Blue poppies.

"Yeah, yeah, the super cute singer that everyone loves, yeah. He got engaged to Annie like a couple of months ago," Hoseok explains and the thought of Minji with her smudged makeup and blue poppies began to hurt your chest as you realized why she was throwing up flowers in the first place. "Jungkook is in the midst of the wedding process, and he likes to blame Annie for not showing up to my events, but I call bullshit because he isn't—"

"Hoseok."

"Yeah. Anyways, the point is... I told him and Annie that I know an amazing wedding planner— that's your boss, by the way— to help 'em out, you know. So... in the spur of the moment, I told him that I talked to Eunmi and said that she agreed to plan their wedding... but only if they meet with her at the event."

"Are you serious right now, Hoseok?" You groan, knowing where this was heading to.

"She never RSVP'd!" Hoseok exclaims. "Please, can you just get your boss to go? It's detrimental to my job."

"Hoseok, first, you're literally a famous figure, and second, why the hell would you tell them that the most busiest wedding planner would agree to plan a wedding last minute?"

"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm not proud of the white lie either. But all I need is for her to show up— she doesn't need to agree on planning any bits of the wedding, but if you can, then you're a godsend. Just for now, can you just please tell her to go?"

"She's not gonna go if she hasn't RSVP'd in the first place," you warn him.

"Please, ___. I'm begging. At least try to get her to go."

Letting out an exasperated breath, you silently curse at him in your thoughts. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you immensely, Sugartits," Hoseok says. "Tell her I'll hire a chauffeur to pick her up and I'll buy you all the chocolates in the world if you actually pull through."

"I make no promises."

"Love you!" You hear him chirp before you hung up.

Cursing under your breath, you adjust your falling tote bag on your shoulder that carried all the anniversary ideas and paperwork you sorted out for Eunmi— and now you had to add to the pile of asking her to go to social event? You just hope she would be in a good mood.

Looking up ahead and seeing that the light was still red, you shove your phone in your pocket before anyone calls you to ask for a "favor".

As you look up, your eyes fall upon the other side of the cross walk, and you feel a sudden itch in your stomach. Clearing your throat a couple of times, you result into grabbing your water from your bag, but the sound of the cross light turning green caught your attention.

Taking a step forward, you immediately stop.

There was a reason as to why your flowers were threatening to elicit, and that was because you notice a familiar face amongst the crowd that made you freeze.

The first thing you notice is his hair. It was a dark chestnut. Not like the red or blue or blonde that he had when you met him, when you fell in love with him, and when you last saw him.

And what really made you believe that was him was that with each step he took closer, your eyes immediately recognized the shape of his face, his lips, his nose. How could you ever forget it? You spent days memorizing it.

In the beginning, you thought that it was some sort of symptom of the disease— that the man in front of you was a fictitious image fabricated by your brain, but it was nothing of a sort. He was right there. Walking and breathing.

It only took you a few seconds to realize that the closer he got, he could have easily recognized you by how strange you looked standing in the middle of the street, people curving around you. And just the sole thought of him having a glimpse of you itself scared you.

With swift motions, you force your rooted feet to walk before the light would turn red, but in a way of avoiding making eye contact, you pretend you're searching for something in your bag just so your face wasn't in his line of sight.

The feeling of having to walk past someone you knew wholly and completely and entirely of was something that heightened your anxiety with every step you made. The sound of the crosslight was louder, people's voices around you were jumbled but piercing, and you could almost feel like everything was slowing down.

It was inversely parabolic.

The way that everything had come to a slow motion in such a gradual time to reach a point where you could almost feel that small instant of him passing you was such an odd and unusual feeling. And when everything had slowly went back into its regular motion, you felt that you've held your breath for too long.  

In that wave of emotions, you realize you had reached the other side of the cross walk and so did he. It was almost relieving to the extent in which your breathing reached a level or normality.  And with that, you both continue onto your day, going in different directions.

As you do, you constantly tell yourself that it was a ghost. Someone you didn't see.

Because it was no one. Absolutely no one.

[barbarasbae]

Just a Taste

Vampire!Billy Hargrove x Reader (female) 

Word count: 1.6K 

Warnings: badly written smut, first time writing smut, periods mentioned, blood mentioned,blood play(?), under age drinking, drunk sex, oral sex (female recieving), consent does not remain enthusiastic consent. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with the idea of blood or period sex.This first chapter is literally just p*rn (shh don’t tell the bots), please God forgive me. 

SMUT BELOW THE CUT, be cautious young readers.

Billy Hargrove was gorgeous. Warm skin and golden hair made it easy to make girls crazy about him. However, people were starting to notice that once a girl got with him, they would avoid his gaze, like they were scared. 

Y/n had been feeling pretty good about herself lately, having gotten good grades for the last few weeks and had started running to give herself a hobby that didn’t involve school. So she decided to reward herself by going to a party with one of her close friends, Nancy Wheeler. She drank a little too much, getting very tipsy. Then she felt hands on her hips, crotch rubbing up against her as she felt an all too familiar ache in her belly. 

“Hey princess,” a voice cooed in her ear. “How about we get outta here, hm? You smell real good.” He purred, her shivering. “Okay.” She slurred a little, very aware of his body against hers. Especially his hard on. As she stumbled through the crowded party, she thought about what the hell she was doing. Was she really about to let the most desired guy in school take her virginity? Yes. Yes she was. Admittedly, she wasn’t the most fond of really debating her actions when it came to guys who showed her interest. It had gotten her heart in trouble a few times. 

They made it out of the party, away from the smell of sweat, alcohol and vomit, Billy leading her into the woods. “Where are we going?” 

“Somewhere special.” They made it to a little cabin, the place empty. He led her through the semi musty cabin, flicking on lights until they entered the room he had been looking for. His lips were on her in an instant, forceful and hungry. He walked her backwards, hands firmly on her ass. Her vision was already blurry, but the white dots now dancing in her vision seemed to finally bring it to her brains attention that her lungs were burning. She ripped herself away from him, breathing hard. He nipped at her lip, her hands going to grip his biceps. Another ache hit her lower body, much more intense than the first time. He pushed her onto the bed, climbing on top of her. He lifted her a little, moving her farther up the bed so he had plenty of access to the heat between her legs. “I need a taste.” He groaned, an animalistic noise following as he pulled her jeans off. “W-wait. I’m on my period.” 

“I know.” 

His pupils had become huge. But she didn’t get much of a chance to look as he pushed her panties to the side, testingly licking a stripe up her slit. He let out a groan, wrapping his arms around her thighs. “Delicious.” Those...those were fangs. He had fangs. Holy shit. She scrambled for anything to help her pull away, gripping the bedding to inch herself away from the thing between her legs. “Hey, baby, its alright. I won’t hurt you. I’ll make you feel incredible.” He promised with a wide smile. She was terrified. He used a little bit more of his strength, holding her thighs down on the bed. “I haven’t eaten in so long.” She shook her head. She couldn’t find it in herself to do anything, fear swallowing any words she wanted to say. He started lapping at her slit, glancing up every so often to watch her face. He moved one of his hands, middle finger pushing into her, her biting back a moan, leaning up onto her elbows to watch him carefully. He sucked a little too harshly on her clit, drawing a little yelp of overstimulation from her lips. A second finger slipped into her, the metallic smell of iron invading the air.

She wanted to hide when he pulled his hand away from her heat, but couldn’t, watching him lick his fingers. Then that hand grabbed her again, a little blood left on her hip. A moan was ripped out of her when his tongue dipped in between her folds, teasing her entrance. She reached down, tentatively tangling her fingers in some of his curls, using her other hand to loop her pointer finger around one of his that were gripping her thighs. She wanted to feel involved if this was what was happening. It must’ve been the influence of that alcohol with some punch in it that she had been drinking because it was almost irresistible to start petting his hair, just a little. Her thighs started shaking, him smirking up at her as he lapped up the blood that kept him ‘alive’. She came with a shocked gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. He kept going, her thighs trying to come together to stop him from teasing her, but his grip kept her from going anywhere. He suddenly got up, blood on his face practically from his chin to his nose, his arm wiping over his mouth in a failed attempt to clean himself up.

“Take it off.” He tugged on the top she was still wearing, tossing his own to the floor behind them, quickly moving to the belt at his hips. Y/n pulled off her top and bra, watching him wiggle his pants off, letting out a little laugh as he almost face planted, tight jeans not allowing him to gracefully undress. Vodka worked wonders to suppress the nervous system she was finding. “Turn over. Hands and knees.” He practically growled, her obeying quickly. He entered without warning, Y/n gasping sharply at the pain. He moved his hand to underneath her for support, thankfully giving her a little bit of time to adjust. He started thrusting, her biting her lip rather hard until the stinging pain turned into pleasant pressure. He kissed her shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture. “You taste even better than I thought.” He let out another groan, her shivering as a hand slid up to grab her breast. He got faster, her letting out a moan, relieved for it to finally feel good. Sharp teeth grazed her neck, drawing a whimper of fear from her. 

“Just a little taste, barely feel it. Promise.” He whispered, lips against her ear. His voice was thick with want, cock throbbing inside her. The prick of his teeth in his neck made her mewl in a way that had her feeling pathetic. He reached down and began to rub slow circles against her clit to distract her. Billy drank for what felt like an eternity, Y/n never more thankful in her life than for the moment he decided he was full. “So tight.” He grunted before turning his attention back to her neck, gently licking at the wound he’d caused. Y/n was feeling light headed. “F-fuck.” She whined, him slowing down, the harshness of his thrusts increasing. The coil that had been steadily growing in her lower belly was about to snap. He kissed her shoulder, heavy breath fanning over her ear. “Come on, baby. Let go.” He practically purred as she released around him. “Fucking hell,  you feel so good.” He was getting close himself. And it wasn’t going to happen quietly. “How’s it feel, giving your virginity to a monster? Sinful?” He asked, bitterness seeping into his voice as he refused to slow down his movement against her clit. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, him becoming a little louder, previously keeping his groans and moans as quiet as he could. He came with a choked gasp, teeth pinching her skin as he bit her shoulder (not hard enough to drink this time though). He pulled out, Y/n falling forward, her breath ragged. He stayed hovering over her, hearing him pull deep breathes into his lungs even if it wasn’t really a requirement of survival any more. He turned her over, putting her legs around his hips. He leaned over her and kissed her hard, Y/n choosing to ignore the unpleasant taste of blood as he became gentler. He stole a few more softer kisses, kisses of comfort and appreciation. He dropped his head to her shoulder, her turning to gently bump her forehead against him. He then got up, leaving her in the bed. As soon as Y/n heard water running in the other room, she scrambled for her clothes. She managed to get her bra and top on, hearing the water cut off. He came back in with a wet dish towel, any evidence of her blood gone from his body. Damn that was fast. “Oh are you going?” He asked, her pants halfway up her legs. She nodded, him coming to stand in front of her. “Here, sit.” He pulled her panties down, wiping her off wherever blood was visible. “Can I drive you home?” She tasted drunk. “Okay.” Her voice was soft as he helped her fumbling fingers with her buttons. “Thanks.” She murmured and looked for her shoes. He was smiling when she looked back up.

“I can’t believe I’ve never noticed...your teeth.”

“Most don’t.” He got dressed, watching her sitting on the bed from the corner of his eye. She was the best so far. He’d been watching her for awhile but she didn’t strike him as easy to convince nor was she usually in scenarios where what they just did would be easily explainable. She held his hand as they walked through the woods, trying not to trip, her exhaustion written on her features. He thought it was cute. Most humans were. Her neck was still bleeding a little, Billy pulling out a little first aid kit he kept in his glove box when they got in the car, putting a Transformers bandaid (it was all that they had) on her neck. 

He pulled into her driveway. She didn’t tell him where she lived. Maybe. “Thanks.” He didn’t say anything. “See you around I guess.” She got out of the car. Billy sat and watched her stumble into her house. 

[nightroze]

Untitled

The world slowed to a full stop as her ears filled with a strange roaring. She watched as the monitors went flat and the female’s chest stopped rising. She watched as her own body let out it’s last breath and heard her mother’s wail of heart broken anguish. Her father tried his best to take his grieving wife away from the warm corpse. It was strange, really, she’d expected more, she expected the blinding white light and the fear, a hand reaching out to her and bringing her to some other world. In the end she felt… numb, a faint grasp squeezing her poor heart. She tried to stop the spill of nonexistent tears as she reached for her parents one last time. Her parents- they lost a child- they lost something which they had brought into this world, created, and then be destroyed. It happened much too quick, too quick for her to even begin processing. 

The midnight bugs buzzed in the silence of night, the drunk driver coming around the corner couldn’t be seen because he was too intoxicated to know that his own damn headlights weren’t on. He swerved into her lane as he saw her coming, swerved towards the light. She barely had time to react before he hit her, the car spinning out and going over the railing, down a 200 foot descent. It was like a roller coaster, her car making flips and and airy turns, turning her stomach inside out and making her heart flutter.

“Oh sh-,” was the only thing she was really able to say as she came to the terrifying realization of the situation. On impact she let out an oof sound, glass shattered, a muted pain already spreading throughout her limbs. Her body shook with adrenaline and she looked around wildly. Warmth escaped from her nose and the broken glass clattered down her body with her shifting. The seat beneath her groaned and the car lurched down. Something felt off, like the gravity wasn’t holding, like the ground beneath her would escape at any moment. The girl had the sense to freeze and hold her breath as the car around her groaned again, tilting forward as a strong wind blew. 

“Oh gosh… please please no..” She whispered to whatever god was listening. The car tilted further and further till the branch that was supporting the heavy machine gave way, giving her a clear view of her impending downward descent. The fall was too fast for the girl to do anymore than let out a shout. When the final impact hit, the metal around her bent and contorted, the world upside down, it was suffocating. Panting and panicking she struggled against her confines, the adrenaline too high in her body for her to really feel the true extent of her injuries. 

“Hel- Help..” She mumbled as she tugged and twisted in her seat, the roof of her car closed closer to her head and blood pooled on top of it, her blood. 

“H… help me someone.” She tried to say louder as she finally managed to rip her seatbelt off. Her limp limbs tried their best to kick at the door next to her. A yelp ripped from her lips as her broken body hit the solid build. Her world started to spin as her body temperature increased rapidly, little black spots dancing in her vision. Whimpering again, that woozy feeling increased tenfold and she finally fell unconscious. By the time she came to, sirens sung in the distance, flashes of color filling her mind, flashing into her still closed eyes. Help… help was on the way. 

The tube in her throat was the worst, stung like no other. The multiple IV’s and lines around her body made her feel crushed, crowded. They stitched up her broken and bruised body, hung bags after bags of blood to keep her body working, but it wasn’t enough. She could faintly register crying and a hand holding her own. Someone was speaking, almost like a script. She heard faint clicking as the lines and the IV’s were removed, then-the tube helping her breathe. ‘Finally, I’m getting better.’ she thought to herself. This was a good sign.. Right.. Removing her from the machines. As the tube left her throat, panic filled every cavity within her as she tried to take a breath but realized she couldn’t. She tried to struggle, tried to talk or move anything that would let the health care workers know that it wasn’t working, she couldn’t- no response. None. She wouldn’t move, she lied there still in the bed. Her body on fire, like someone was tearing her apart limb from limb. With one final burst of energy she sat up, a scream tearing from her lips. 

“Mom, dad.. I’m ok!” She stuttered out and it was true. She felt fine, she could breath and move and talk.  No reaction. None at all. Her mother still wept at her side as her dad looked distant in the background, silently grieving for his child. The doctor was still going through her script as she kept removing the machinery. Her body- her body now lay beneath her, still, unmoving. A sense of cold fear rang through her, grasping with its dark claws to surround her.

“No! No! Don’t…. Give up! What are you doing?” She tried to yell at the nurse with the pity filled eyes. Their voices were muffled. She hopped off of the bed and waved a hand in front of his face, no response. ‘They… can’t see me. They can’t see me.’ She thought to herself, another wave of pure fear rushing through her spine once again. 

“This can't be happening. This isn’t happening.” Kitty said aloud, more to herself than anyone else. Well, no one would have been able to hear anyway. She couldn’t do anything else but sink to the floor, needing to feel the solidness of it beneath her, needed it to ground her to this new reality. 

She watched, watched as they wheeled her quickly coldening body down to the morgue, watched as her parents filed whatever paperwork they needed to and eventually took the liberty of driving home to prepare for what she was sure to be her funeral. It was like she was frozen, a spectator of her own sick end. She stayed curled up in her little ball in her little room which had yet to be refilled. Eventually, the tears stopped, leaving her numb once again in their wake. She could feel it, like a phantom limb, that emotion. She wanted to be sad, wanted to grief fully, but her brain simply wouldn’t let her. She stared blankly at the wall as the world around her continued on. She was alone, so alone and void and angry and sad-

“Katherine” a voice hissed from outside the room. Her head whipped in the direction of the door. A person. It sounded clear, much clearer than the doctors’ and her parents’ voices had been. She leapt up. Body preparing for the woozy feeling from doing so so quickly, but nothing came. ‘Right, I'm dead.’ She thought as she exited the room, even the smell of the hospital was muted, as if she didn’t exist. 

Around her, the hospital buzzed, the world moved through her. She looked left and right in search of the hissing voice, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. At the nurses station a woman was scribbling on a chart, a man coughed from somewhere within the hall. 

“Katherine,” the voice hissed again. There, from the left, towards a dark hall.

“Well, that's not terrifying and mysterious,” she nervously said to herself as she took a step in advancement towards the noise. 

“The name is Kitty, doll, Katherine was much too formal for my tastes.” Her voice wobbling slightly as she tried to put on a fake facade. The mysterious voice chuckled from within the hospital as she advanced, for a second sounding inhuman- dangerous. 

“Is, doll,” the voice corrected her in a mocking tone. 

“Is? But I’m not alive anymore. Who are you? Show yourself.” She demanded, maybe this person can give her answers. A flicker of movement was seen in the hall, Kitty’s head tilted as she watched. Till she watched, to her horror, what became in front of her. 

A tall, shadow creature with billowing black wings and glowing blue eyes towered over her. She stumbled back some, every instinct left in her mind telling her to run from such an unnatural thing. She stuttered around for a response, but nothing came. 

“Kitty, you said..” The thing spoke and all she could do was nod her head. “You are correct.. You are dead, there is no going back,” her heart dropped to the floor at the creature's words. Dead. She was dead. There was no hope. There was nothing at all. “And yet, unlike most humans you are here. Why?” She looked up at the thing. 

“Why? Well aren't you supposed to tell me that.. Uh..” She stumbled in her words, wondering what to call it. 

“Azazeal,” the creature- Azazeal- bowed down. “But I do not know either, young one.. It seems that this is a task for the both of us to accomplish.”

“Well, Azazeal, it's been super nice meeting ya hon, but…” Kitty started, but she truly had no excuse as to why she needed to get away. It's not like she had anywhere to go. She was stuck here, like he said. “Well, what do you mean?” She said slowly, her words still trying to form. She was still trying to wipe away the fog of grief. 

“It is my duty to help the ones like you, the ones who get stuck here in the in-between, it's not the natural way of things, something is holding you to your past life. We just need to sever the tie and you can be on your way to eternity,” Azazeal’s expression had no movement as he spoke, his voice flitting around the room as if it didn’t belong to him. 

“Sever the tie… my past life,” Kitty pondered aloud, “Does that mean there is a possibility I could go back?” Hope bloomed in her chest as she looked at him. 

“No,” he responded almost immediately and her heart fell. It was finally sinking in, “Your body is dead, you are no longer.” Dead. She was dead. She tried her best to just stand there and nod, to have no reaction, to be strong. Her emotions had other plans. She broke down, crumbling on to the floor, a broken sob heaving out of her. Her parents. Her friends and family. She’d never see them again, never interact with them again. 

“M..Mom, mommy.. Dad,” another cry left her lips. Scared, so scared and alone. Her whole life had changed in one night, changed because of one man’s stupid decison. Dead. She was dead. So she pathetically broke down in front of the creature. Azazeal just watched, stood there in silence and said nothing. This wasn’t the first dead one he helped and it won’t be the last. 

After a few hours spent between wailing and staring at the floor, Kitty finally lifted her head. A brand new fire in her eyes as she looked at Azazeal.

“Help me get past this, help me move on. It’s what they would have all wanted, maybe I’ll get to watch over them, who knows. Maybe I’ll get to see their lives progress, so help me.” She said in a whispered tone as she held out her hand. Azazeal simply nodded and together they went. 

[pastelwitchling]

All Hallows’ Roswell New Mexico Fictober Challenge

Week 4: Occult (All about magic, and witches, and warlocks)

Rated M for Graphic Violence

***

               “You look troubled, my dear.”

               “Hm?” Mimi looked up. Her mother’s old friend, skin as white as snow and hair as grey as a storm cloud, frowned at her. “Oh, it’s nothing Aunt Margarite.”

               “Mimi,” her mother, Lily, frowned, her hands around her mug of coffee. Her dark eyes still twinkled as brightly as Maria’s when she looked at her daughter. “You don’t think I can tell when you’re upset? Has someone bothered you?”

               “It’s Maria,” her aunt Sophia shook her head. “Don’t bother yourself about it, baby, it’s this whole generation. All they do is sleep with one another and get drunk off their chairs, they don’t have time to spend with their parents.”

               “Maria’s working,” Lily said with a rather stern look at her sister. “It’s not like she’s off lollygagging.”

               “It’s not Maria,” Mimi said. “It’s Alex. I’m scared for him.”

               “Dakota’s son?” Margarite’s eyes widened. “What on earth for? Has he been hurt?”

               Mimi shook her head. “It’s the alien forces, the ones we feared. He got his hands on a spaceship, and I’m afraid it’s already started affecting him.”

               Lily frowned. “No, that’s not possible. Alex is one of the saviors destined to save the alien race, he couldn’t be hurt by it.”

               “Not by it alone,” Sophia said. “But that boy has always been on a very thin thread between light and darkness.”

               “What about that Michael Guerin character? He certainly seems to be on a thread!”

               “Guerin has a temper,” Lily waved her friend off, “but his heart is pure. Alex, on the other hand…. If the potential for evil inside of him wins –”

               “He and the aliens he was destined to protect will suffer,” Mimi agreed. “And he keeps everything so close to his chest, the poor boy. All the pain, the misery, the anger – it could devour him –”

               “You told him to let it go, didn’t you?” Lily demanded.

               “Of course I did!” Mimi said, her eyes burning with the thought of her Alex flinching with pain, his eyes shut tight as he tried to carry the weight of that heartache all by himself. “I just worry,” she whispered, “I worry that, after so many years of suffering, it may not be enough.”

               Lily shook her head, her eyes filled with hate. “Damn that man. He should never have been allowed to be a father.”

               “If you’re talking about Jesse,” Margarite started.

               “Who else would I be talking about?” she snapped. “Look at his youngest son! Look at what he’s endured, and now, he is forced to endure again! I never liked him, I told you I never liked him!”

               “Mother,” Mimi sighed. “Can we focus please? What do I do about Alex?”

               “Aren’t his friends helping him?”

               Mimi hesitated. “He doesn’t speak to Maria anymore. They think I don’t notice, but I do. Nor does he speak to Michael.”

               “Great,” Sophia groaned. “Wonderful. Maybe the one person who could’ve helped him, and he and Alex aren’t even speaking?”

               “Too much has happened,” Mimi said with furrowed brows, her eyes shut. “I’m hazy on the details.”

               “Well, what about you? That magic you inherited, what did you think it was for? Growing daisies?”

               “My magic isn’t as powerful as yours was,” Mimi said.

               “You may not be a witch, Mimi,” Margarite said. “You’ve inherited too much of your father’s human blood, but you still have magic. So long as you have something to fight with, fight. Fight for your son.”

               Mimi nodded, and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I keep waiting for Alex to come to me. I’ll have to pay him a visit myself. I admit I’m a little scared. If I can’t save him –”

               “You will,” her mother said, covering her hand on the table with her own. “You’ve got a coven on your side, Mimi, no matter how small.”

               “You’re right,” she said. “You’re right.”

               “Mom?” Maria stepped into the kitchen, her brows furrowed. When she saw her mother, she smiled hesitantly. “Um – who’re you talking to?”

               Mimi looked around the table. Lily, Sophia, and Margarite looked at Maria with a fondness and longing for a life they no longer had. Mimi wondered if someday, she would carry that same look. “Your grandmother,” she said, “and some friends.”

               Maria’s expression faltered, and Mimi’s heart jumped. Could it be her daughter could finally see what she could? Did Maria have the magic of their family?

               “Oh,” Maria finally said, smiling. “Okay.” And she left, taking Mimi’s hopes with her.

               She heard a sigh behind her. “What’d I tell you? It’s the generation,” Sophia said. “Blind to everything.”

               Alex stood at the door to the bunker. The sun was high in the sky. Alex looked down at his hands; the violet, blue, gold, and orange in his veins bright and vibrant. He closed his eyes. He knew they were of the same color. He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw that the coloring in his veins had vanished completely. He smiled.

               Alex pushed the steel door open, and stepped inside. The place was cool, normally biting into Alex’s skin and chilling his bones, but this time, the airman hardly noticed.

               He clicked a few buttons on his computer, and Michael’s mugshot shone on the screen. Alex felt a pang in his chest. He gasped, his hand over his heart.

               “Whoa, soldier,” he huffed a chuckle. “He’s the enemy, remember? I’m trying to protect you from him.” Alex looked up at the curly-haired cowboy. He sighed, letting his hand fall limp to his side. The pain didn’t last longer than a second. It felt like a victory. “And I will protect you.”

               The bunker door opened, and Kyle stepped in. Alex remembered the way he would hurry to hide how he felt, destroy the evidence of any emotion he had, of any love he might’ve carried for Michael Guerin. Now, he felt nothing.

               No, Alex thought. That’s wrong. I’m excited.

               “I’ve looked over all my dad’s journals, I can’t find anything I haven’t already…” Kyle’s words trailed off as he set his bag on the table, and looked up to see Michael’s face on the computer screen. “You – uh – you good?”

               Alex raised a questioning brow at him.

               “Come on, Alex,” Kyle said. “You don’t have to put up the act for me.”

               And Alex felt anger surge through him. Act? Was he meant to be devastated and falling apart because of someone who’d chosen one of his best friends while he’d waited on a chair with his bad leg for hours in the cold? Was he meant to cry for the man who’d blamed him for his father’s mistakes?

               It made his blood boil to have his brother now, of all people, question whether or not Alex could survive disposing of someone so toxic.

               But he mustered the best comforting smile he could, a smile filled with the same guilt and pity and fear that had always haunted him, yet he knew deep down he had never deserved to feel.

               “It’s tough,” he croaked. “Obviously, I-I’m devastated, but, you know, I have to keep working. I have to stop my family’s crimes.” He inhaled a shaky breath for dramatic effect. “No matter what.”

               Kyle nodded. “Whatever you want, Manes. Just remember I’m here.”

               Alex smiled appreciatively, then, when Kyle turned away, rolled his eyes.

               He searched through the files, the locations where aliens had been spotted since the crash-landing, unidentified heat signatures that continued to come up years later, paths that led to Caulfield, as well as other places.

               Weak, Alex thought. What a pathetic race his turned out to be. They had powers of destruction, powers to turn the world on its back, and they just cowered away. None of them had had the anger Alex did, none of them the great potential for destruction.

               Alex grinned. “You see, little soldier?” he muttered. “See how well we fit together?”

               Alex’s mind and heart hammered, and he could feel the old Alex fighting back. It didn’t matter, he thought. It was only a matter of time until the airman saw things his way. Once he ripped off Michael Guerin’s head, once those who had turned their backs on him were pleading to be spared, then Alex would find the satisfaction he deserved. Alex would know true power, and he’d be happy to have it. Alex would love his darker counterpart, and he would welcome it in with open arms.

               “Only a matter of time,” he repeated.

               “Hm?”

               “Oh,” Alex looked over his shoulder at his friend. “I’m just reading some of this stuff out loud.”

               “You find anything interesting?” Kyle asked.

               Alex made a pensive face as he looked back at the screen. “I think so. Look at this coding here, it’s so familiar. I think it might be a poem, but… it’s hard to tell for sure until I can compare it to your dad’s journals.”

               Kyle’s expression faltered. “You mean the poems he wrote when he was –”

               “—losing his mind,” Alex finished, and saw his friend flinch. He backtracked. “I mean, slowly – because of the illness. Poor guy.”

               “Yeah,” Kyle said with an unreadable look on his face. “Yeah. Here, let me look through his writings. Can you figure out which poem it is?”

               “Yeah, let me just… what the hell?” Alex feigned surprise as the computer screen began glitching. He felt the heat and electricity running in his body surge through the keyboards and every bit of equipment.

               “What’s going on?” Kyle tried touching a key, but it electrocuted him and he stepped back, holding his hand.

               “I have no idea,” Alex pretended to click a few buttons, and through his fingers, the virus continued to eat away at everything, the glitching getting worse and worse. Only Michael’s mugshot was left on the screen before it, too, glitched and disappeared. The computers all turned black, the lights flickered, and then stayed off. Alex and Kyle were left standing in the dark.

               “What the hell just happened?!” Kyle pulled his phone out, and turned the flashlight on.

               Alex beat at the keyboard, but the computers stayed off. “I think something just wiped out our hard drive.”

               “Wh – you can bring it back, right?”

               “It’s a covert operation,” Alex said. “All the information we had was all the information we had, Kyle. And now it’s gone.”

               Kyle shook his head. “Do you – I mean, do you think it was your powers?”

               “How?” Alex said. “I got rid of those.”

               “Here, let me see your arm,” he said, leaning the phone against the table so that the light shone on them.

               With a sigh, Alex unbuttoned his shirt. Kyle seemed momentarily taken back, and Alex remembered that he wasn’t usually the kind of person to strip so easily.

               Still, Kyle searched his skin, and found no trace of any abnormal coloring.

               “Like I said, I got rid of it. All that stuff that was eating away at me is dead.”

               Or it will be.

               Kyle nodded, his thoughtful eyes searching Alex’s face. Finally, he sighed, pressing the bottom of his palms into his eyes.

               “Well,” he finally said, “at least we still have the journals.”

               Alex gave him a small smile. “At least.”

               Kyle patted his friend’s shoulder and headed outside, the light flooding in through the open door. Once he was gone, Alex faced the black computer screen, his smile falling off his face.

               “Let’s see how long you survive, cowboy,” he hissed, “when I’m not there to save you.”

               Kyle didn’t think he’d come back to the Wild Pony so soon, but he needed a drink. He had made the resolve not to answer any of Maria’s questions about Alex. Alex wouldn’t have wanted him to.

               It turns out it was something he had to worry very little about as his thoughts had been so entirely consumed by what had happened that it was only when Mimi touched a cold glass of water to his cheek that he realized he was being spoken to at all.

               “Your mind’s running,” she said with the kind smile she always wore, though her eyes held something else that Kyle couldn’t read.

               “Mimi,” he breathed.

               “What’s going on, Kyle?” she asked. “Two women have already tried speaking to you, and you hardly noticed they were even there. What are you worried about?”

               Kyle tried huffing a careless chuckle, though it sounded forced even to his own ears.

               “Me? Come on, I’m never worried.”

               “Kyle,” she said softly. “Whatever you tell me stays between us. I promise you that much.”

               Kyle hesitated. He ought to have said no, ought to have assured her there was nothing wrong, but he remembered the way she’d held on to Alex when he was in pain, the way she’d cared for him. Kyle didn’t remember much of Alex’s mother, but he was sure that Mimi came pretty close.

               “It’s Alex,” he finally said.

               Mimi tensed. “Is he alright?”

               “Yeah, he says he’s fine,” Kyle shook his head, “but I don’t know, something just feels off.”

               “Off how?”

               “I can’t explain it,” he said. “Today, all of our computers in the bunker were wiped clean. Everything we had on Michael Guerin, and Max and Isobel, it’s all gone, and… Alex didn’t really seem to care that much. He nearly burned his own house to the ground yesterday, but when I checked his arms today, everything was normal. The danger’s just gone. Is that even possible?”

               Mimi frowned, her brows furrowed as she stared at Kyle.

               Kyle sighed, staring into his drink. “Like I said, I don’t know. I’m probably just worrying too much.”

               “Alex’s history with Michael – it’s strained, isn’t it?”

               Kyle frowned. “Are you saying Alex didn’t care because he doesn’t want to help Michael anymore? No, I can’t believe that. Alex wanted to stop Project Shepherd from the beginning because it was hurting the aliens. He wouldn’t abandon them just because he broke up with one.”

               “That’s not what I’m saying,” Mimi said. “You don’t think I know what Alex is like? I know what he’d risk, I know the sacrifices he’d make to protect the people he loved, and whether or not he ended things does not change the fact that he does love Michael. Not caring about someone is not the same as hating them, Kyle.” She looked into the distance, her eyes darkening. “If Alex doesn’t care, then we have a problem.”

               “What does that mean?” Kyle asked, and when she didn’t answer, he leaned in, his voice quieter. “Mimi, is Alex in danger?”

               “I –” she started, but her words were cut short by the sound of a large crash.

               “Damn!” a man in a cap, obviously drunk out of his mind, laughed hysterically as a woman cowered against a corner, shards of broken glass in her hair. “Did you see her fall? Like a rock!”

               Some of his friends, it seemed, were trying to pull him back, but he kept fighting them. Kyle stood, ready to pin him to the ground, but Maria had already directed one of the men to toss him out the door.

               When she was sure the woman on the floor was alright, and had dusted the glass shards off her (thankfully, they’d left no mark), she made her way towards the bar, huffing. “I should call Max, have him arrest Joel before he does anything he’ll regret tomorrow.”

               Kyle raised a brow. “Does Joel ever really regret doing anything?”

               “Fair enough,” Maria muttered, and disappeared into the backdoor as she dialed the sheriff’s number. She looked like she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night.

               “Get up,” Mimi suddenly said, throwing her scarf over her shoulders. “We have to go.”

               “What?” Kyle hurried after her. “Go where?”

               “To save Alex,” Mimi said. “Before he does something he’ll regret.”

               Alex had known exactly where he would go after destroying the files in the bunker. And he knew exactly where to look. He could feel the alien power of the spaceship consuming him, and he welcomed it. Power led to power, and it was as Mimi had once told him; everything looks for its home.

               That was where the voices echoing in his head were leading him. Home. Alex thought of that drunken idiot he’d seen only moments ago when he had first stopped by the Wild Pony, hoping to catch a glimpse of Maria through the window. To his satisfaction, she looked exhausted.

               Guilt-ridden, he thought with a grin. As she should be.

               Of course, he’d been irritated with Joel who had failed to cause her the slightest bit of harm. The dimwit had had half a broken glass bottle in his hands, yet he’d been unable to do more than cause Alex’s ex-friend some inconvenience.

               When he’d stepped out of the bar, Alex was waiting for him. He looked down at his bloodstained shirt, and turned his jacket collar up to hide it. Not that there was anyone around to see it in the desert.

               He thought of the way his anger at Joel, anger at Maria, anger at everyone had surged from him through Joel. How the pressure was too much to take, how Joel’s nose began to bleed, then his ears, then his eyes, and how his whole head had burst like a balloon.

               Alex felt the urge to laugh, so he did. He had been so frustrated with the idiot, so frustrated with Kyle for talking to Mimi of all people, so frustrated with everything. And he’d let go so easily. It was such a relief.

               He neared a bunch of caves, and let the power coursing through his veins guide him through one. He found the pods almost instantly, and his smile widened.

               “There you are,” he cooed. He touched the surface of one ship, and sighed deeply at the way it rippled under his touch, reacting to his body. He chuckled. “Let’s see if you break as easily as I remember you do.”

               “Alex?”

               Alex whipped around. There Kyle was with a frown on his face, his eyes looking from the pods to the airman.

               “What’re you doing?”

               Alex blinked. “The pods, they radiate some heat signatures that I thought might match the ones in our files, or what’s left of them anyway. I told you I would look into that, didn’t I?”

               Kyle’s frown deepened. “I don’t really –” he shook his head. “Look, I’ve been searching for you. I’m worried.”

               “What’re you talking about?”

               “There was a murder outside the Wild Pony,” Kyle stepped closer. “His head had just exploded. Max thinks it was an alien attack.”

               Alex gasped softly, his eyes widening. He covered his mouth with his hand, subtly pulling his jacket collar further up. “Another alien?”

               “Yeah, and when I couldn’t find you in the bunker or the cabin, I figured you already knew, and you’d gone to Guerin, but he said he hasn’t seen you since yesterday.”

               “No,” he said. “Oh man, I – I had no idea. I don’t even really go near the Wild Pony anymore, I thought you’d know that.”

               Kyle stared. “Alex, are you sure you’re okay?”

               Alex scoffed and shrugged a shoulder. “Do I look like I’m glowing to you?”

               “No, but you don’t have to be for something else to be wrong.”

               He smiled tightly. “I’m fine, Kyle.”

               “Alex, I’m just –”

               “And, by the way, all of these checkups are getting kind of annoying. Michael and Maria weren’t really my life source. Believe it or not, I’ll learn how to live without them.”

               “But you loved Guerin.”

               “I don’t even know why,” he said with a clear edge in his voice. “He never deserved anything I’d done for him anyway! He could end up just like Joel tomorrow, with his head splattered against the pavement, and I wouldn’t bat an eye. Good riddance.”

               There was a moment of silence when Alex returned his attention to the pods, his back turned to Kyle. Then –

               “Alex,” his voice was barely below a whisper.

               “What?”

               “I never told you the victim’s name.”

               Alex froze. His hands fell limp to his side, and he stared at the cave ceiling. “Damn it.”

               When he turned to face Kyle, the doctor was pointing a gun at him. “I knew something was wrong. I was right. You’re not Alex.”

               Alex rolled his eyes. “Put that away, Valenti, you and I both know you’re not good with it.”

               “Who are you?”

               He shrugged. “I’m Alex.”

               “No, Alex is good. You murdered someone.”

               Alex scoffed. “This is a treat, it really is. Kyle Valenti finds me out? Seriously? Well, then again, you are the only one who’s ever been family to me.”

               “I’m Alex’s family,” Kyle seethed. “I’m not going to ask again. Who are you?”

               “Oh, okay,” he huffed. “But only because you’re so sexy when you’re angry.” Alex took a deep breath, allowing every bit of anger and resentment inside him to surface. As he did, his veins changed color, spreading like a glittering spiderweb all over his body. His eyes, he knew, had changed to that same violet, blue, orange, green, and gold color.

               Kyle’s gun nearly fell out of his hands. “No,” he whispered. “Alex killed you.”

               “That’s the rule, isn’t it?” Alex grinned. “No body. No death.”

               “I saw him get rid of you! He beat you!”

               “Why would he want to do that?” Alex asked. “I’m the only one that gives him the freedom to breathe, to feel what he wants to feel!” He scoffed. “‘Do this, Alex, do that, Alex!’ No appreciation, no one cares how he feels or what he’s going through! Everyone just needs him for something. I actually love him. I’ll actually protect him!” He huffed. “Even from you.”

               Kyle felt like there were chains around his heart. Even now, with Alex possessed by whatever he was possessed by, Kyle could still feel his pain. The airman really had been suffering for too long a time, but even so –

               “He’d never choose you,” Kyle said, and Alien Alex seemed startled at the certainty of that statement. “He’d never choose darkness. He’s a hero.”

               “Is he?” Alien Alex said. “Because according to everyone else, he’s the villain. Nothing is enough, nothing is right, nothing is good about him. What’s the good in being good if no matter what you do, you’re always at the bottom of everyone’s list?” He sighed. “He’s tired, Kyle. You know he’s tired. He deserves a family who loves him, doesn’t he?”

               “I love him. Mimi loves him, and so does Liz and –”

               “Who’re you kidding?” he barked a laugh. “No one loves him.” He shook his head at Kyle with a look of disgust. “And you? If you don’t understand that this will help him, then you’re no different.”

               Before Kyle could understand what that meant, Alien Alex raised a hand at him, and he went flying into the cave wall, his breath knocked out of him. He struggled to sit up, his gun flying to the other end of the cave as he tried reaching for it.

               He looked up at his friend with blurry vision.

               “You know,” Alien Alex said, “I should thank you. Pretending to give a crap about any of those assholes was getting really difficult, really quickly.” He started laughing. “Alex really hates them, especially Guerin. I mean, he hates him.”

               “You’re wrong,” Kyle breathed, though even that sent a crushing pain through his chest.

               “Yeah?” he knelt in front of Kyle, hands rested on his knees. “How do you figure that?”

               “Because when Alex loves,” Kyle tried, “he loves with everything he has. That’s why he forgave me. Because he loves me. And I love him.” He reached out and grabbed Alex’s arm. “And I’m not the only one.”

               Alien Alex’s brows furrowed, and just as he opened his mouth, Mimi walked in. She flicked a finger at Alex, and he went flying across the cave, hitting the wall hard.

               “Get out of my son,” Mimi hissed.

               “DeLuca,” Alex said with a bloody grin, though Kyle could see the fear that flashed in his expression. “Never thought I’d see you again. I thought you would’ve gone crazy in some mental hospital by now. Tell me,” he slumped against the wall, “how are the hallucinations coming along? Can you even recognize your own daughter anymore, or do you still see one of the Dream Girls? Because that’d be hilarious.”

               Mimi pointed another finger at Alex, and Kyle didn’t miss the way he flinched. He’s afraid of her, he realized. All of these years, Kyle could never imagine Mimi hurting so much as a ladybug. Now she towered over the bravest man Kyle had ever known. It was both relieving and heartbreaking at the same time.

               “You’re not getting to me, you demented piece of space dust,” she said.

               “Fine,” Alex grinned. “Then how about this; If I can’t have Alex, no one will.”

               Mimi’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

               “Wouldn’t I? I’ve fought your coven once before, but this time I have leverage. You see, I love Alex too much to give him up now. So if you so much as try to get me out, I’ll kill him from the inside, and we’ll die together. Poetic, isn’t it?”

               Mimi glared at him with more hate than Kyle had ever thought it was possible for her to have.

               “What’s it going to be, witch?” He scoffed. “My bad. I meant bitch.”

               To Kyle’s, and evidently the alien’s, surprise, Mimi leaned forward, brought her hand gently behind Alex’s head, and pulled him in to kiss his forehead. “I love you, Alex,” she whispered. “And I promise we’ll save you.”

               The alien frowned. Mimi tapped two fingers to Alex’s temples, and he suddenly closed his eyes, falling back against the wall.

               Kyle stood, his eyes wide. “Did you just knock him out?”

               “I only know a few spells,” Mimi muttered, wringing her hands together. “They’re small, but effective.”

               “Spells, witches, aliens,” Kyle groaned, rubbing his face. “One of these days…”

               “I don’t have nearly enough power to pull that alien out of him,” she said.

               Kyle leaned down, brushing Alex’s bangs from his eyes. The coloring in his veins had yet to fade. He sighed. “Sorry, Alex, but we’re doing it my way now.” He pulled out his phone and began dialing.

               “Who’re you calling?” Mimi asked.

               With his eyes on Alex, Kyle braced for what he knew would be the longest night of his life. “Guerin. I’m calling Michael Guerin.”

***

I don’t think I’m very good at this. I realized, about a week ago, that I might’ve been better off creating an au type of thing because I don’t really think I’m following the prompts particularly well.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed reading. Halloween’s coming up, and I’m very sad because I can already feel the season and holiday slipping away. Still, I plan to enjoy what’s left of it, and I hope this little piece of mine gave you the spooky feels as well. Happy Halloween 🎃👻🦇🧡

[beerecordings]

The Blue Light

Chapter 20 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)

Very excited for next chapter. I think you’ll like it. Thank you to all of you still reading <3333 My taglist is a separate post. If you’d like to be added or removed, or if you’ve been removed and want to be put back on, just let me know!

Edit: oh my gosh @garlicgladiator made the most perfect piece for this chapter!!!! you should totally check it out once you’ve read, the mood is so perfect and cool!!!! here look at this beauty!!

Grief howls through the house like a cold breeze, and they’re all approaching their breaking points. With Henrik and Chase breaking down and Jackie increasingly ill, Jameson finds his opportunity to run and summons his courage. He can’t stay here. He can’t. He can’t. Can he?

At eleven-thirty that night, Henrik has not yet asked him if he's ready to get some sleep.

He always says it exactly like that – “ready to get some sleep, Jameson?” – and with the same warmth in his voice, the same quiet warmth.

Jameson sits on the couch in the living room, waiting to be invited up to his room for the night. There's safety with Henrik beside him. Or at least he feels like there is. And feeling safe is so rare, so rare.

He nibbles on a packet of crackers, tucked up against the couch, pillows arranged comfortingly around him. Is Henrik mad, maybe? Or just grief-stricken, to hear the news of his brother's death? Jameson can still hear the echo of his screams throughout the house, but they had ended some hours ago. Was he still upset?

Maybe he should go check on him. No, he shouldn't, what if he's angry? Did he do something wrong? He must have done something wrong. Just like when Anti wouldn't come to sleep with him for nights on end. If he was better, someone would be willing to lie next to him, but he's done something wrong, and now Henrik doesn't want him. No, that couldn't be it, could it? Should he go check?

Caught in his own insecurity, he gets up and hovers at the bottom of the stairs til midnight comes, wringing his hands, wishing Henrik would come invite him to bed.

“Ready to get some sleep, Jameson?”

So warm, all safe, why doesn't he come?

He creeps up the stairs, anxious as a mouse.

Before he even reaches Henrik's room, he is greeted by loud heavy snoring, and he pauses at the top of the stairs, staring through a crack in Chase's door. Vaguely, he can make out his brother's shape, curled very tight in his bed, wrapped around pillows and blankets, snoring.

There's a bottle on his dresser. Jameson can smell the alcohol he was named after from here. He recoils slightly, blinking. He's never seen Chase so drunk.

This is what happens when you love people.

They die, or leave, or break your heart otherwise, and then you're just.... left. With the pain. Like this. Pathetic.

That's what Anti told him. Don't truck with loving anybody, Jameson. Just stick with me. Do what I say and nobody will need to break your fragile little heart.

Chase looks so fragile.

A low groaning gasp cuts through his reflections and he becomes aware of a soft murmuring across the hall. His hairs stand on edge as he recognizes the sound of Henrik in pain; he almost rushes forward, but a second voice pauses him –

“Sh, sh,” whispers Jackie, clutching Henrik tighter to his chest. “Sh, sh, it's okay.”

“No, no,” Henrik whispers in reply.

Stepping back to the other side of the hall, Jameson can see them through the open door.

Henrik's eyes are so blank, his face so full of fear, Jameson wishes the door was closed.

He is rocking his way through hysterics, stiff with terror and flashback, ghostly in the white glow of the nightlight beside the bed he has shared with Jameson for days. Jackie is clutching him tight, trying to hold his nails away from his wrists. Henrik stares forward like a corpse, unseeing.

“No, no, he will have tortured him, as he tortured me,” he groans, shoving his head back against Jackie's collarbone.

“No, Schneep, no, no, it was fast, okay, I promise, it was fast...”

“I never... I never told him... I loved him, will you tell him when you see him? Where is he, why is he gone, my brother, killed...”

“Schneep, please, please, it's going to be okay.”

A low sob chokes its way out of his throat. Jameson sinks back into the shadows. Tears are trickling down his own face.

This is what he gets, for falling in love with Henrik. With Chase. Anti was right. Love is just pain standing in wait.

“My big brother,” cries Henrik. “My big brother, where is he gone? Bruder, bruder, katze, God!”

His voice rises in pitch and then shatters, shatters down the middle, and suddenly he is screaming again, wailing for the whole house to hear, though it does not even rouse Chase, and Jackie can barely hold him through the heat of his own fever; Jameson turns to run, turns to flee, turns in fear –

“Marvin, Marvin, my brother! Anti took him from me! Anti stole my brother away! I can take no more of this!”

“Schneep, Schneep, please, please, oh, it's okay, it's okay – ” Jackie dissolves into sobbing, holding him tight, as tight as he can; he tries to summon his power but nothing comes; the nightlight flickers weakly.

“Why is this happening? Why can't I sleep? Why won't you leave me alone to die? Sh'ma, sh'ma, Yisra'eil – I can bear no more, I can take no more – El maley rachamim shochen bam'romim – ”

Darting downstairs, the whole house seems to groan with despair around him, illuminated by a shuddering blue light, the source of which he does not know. Jameson reaches the room at the end of the hall, the room meant to be his own, still bare with misuse, smelling of plaster and wood. Trembling too hard to run, he collapses on the bed and hides himself under the covers, holding the blankets so close they threaten to suffocate him, too close, too close, too heavy.

He never should have come to this place. Muffled sobs echo through the vents.

Tonight, he must run.

The blue light, as it turns out, comes from the room across from Jackie's.

Jameson stands at the end of the hallway, staring at the blue-lit door.

He rubs his sweaty hands on the pair of Chase's jeans he's been wearing and tugs at the collar of Henrik's button-up. Clutching at the arms of the backpack thrown over his shoulders, he shuffles in place and tries to convince himself to go.

It's easy. It's easy. He's run with Anti before. He'll just grab the shoes by the door, slip them on, slip out.... go wherever the wind takes him, snacking on the crackers and fruit in his backpack... cold, yes, but he has Chase's jacket, he'll be okay...

There's something he's supposed to find, isn't there? Something Anti wanted, something to redeem himself? Why can't he remember? He'll just have to go and just – just search.

Search for something he can't even put words to.

He wipes at tears on his face.

Come on, Dapper! Come on, we've had worse, we can do this! If we don't get back to Anti, we'll be in such terrible trouble. Can't stay here.

He breathes in deep and glances back at the room that was supposed to be his own. Pallid in the blue light, he takes a moment to regret the things he does not have here – memories, belongings, fondness. Oh, if only Anti had never stolen him away, if only he had any choice...

Another voice in his head – he is used to it being softer than the others, but today it is cold, unyielding: You have a choice. You choose to go. Let us lie to ourselves no longer.

Shaking his head, he grits his teeth tight and he steps forward. The steak knives he stole out of the kitchen clink in his backpack and he grimaces, taking the pack off to clutch it to his chest instead, keeping the silver quiet.

He slinks down the hall.

Really, the blue light is strange.

He's never seen it before. It lights the ceiling of the hallway a clean blue. Jameson can hear owls cooing gently in the trees outside.

And then –

Scritch scritch scritch scritch.

Startled, Jameson stops short between Jackie's room and the blue-lit room, staring left to the room he's never entered before. He was always too scared to risk exploring too close to the Mask's room.

But now....

Scritch scritch scritch scritch scritch.

Anti always called him a curious little cat.

Jameson pushes into the strange room.

It is the smell of magnolia that strikes him first.

Magnolia and dust and copper, one-third like Anti used to smell.

“Meow,” howls Athanasius at the window, standing up and scratching at the screen. “Mowow!”

Stunned, Jameson takes another step towards him, and his feet hit a plush rug on the floor. The blue light is shining from a soft paper lantern attached to the wall by the light switch, glowing quietly in the darkness. A bookshelf with one broken board leaving fallen books in the corner stands tall and patient next to the window.

The walls are hand-painted with vines and flowers. Three candles are suspended in an endless dripping on the bedside drawer. There are still clothes strewn on the floor from the last time the room's owner was here – a nice white shirt and black pants, sweats and a jumper and glasses on the bed. A small book is open on the floor beside the bookcase.

“Meow!” Athanasius insists, irritated now, and Jameson hurries across the room to help him, pushing open the pane of the window and then the screen, letting the little grey cat leap into the room and curl around his legs once, twice, purring loudly. Jameson reaches down to scratch his head, his eyes drifting to the open book on the floor.

Don't go far off, not even for a day, read the pages. Because – because – I don't know how to say it.

Athanasius meows as the fingers draw away from his head. Jameson is sinking towards the ground, staring at the little dark words, trying to make out what they say.

A day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station, when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

The ink-strokes are soft and curling on the pages. Athanasius calls a goodbye and slips out of the room. Jameson does not even notice.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.

Jameson's fingers brush across the paper.

And they burn.

They burn.

There is power in these words.

He lets himself sink down to the ground, the backpack slipping off, his hands reaching out to the book, the book full of a feeling so strange and yet terrifyingly familiar.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into empty distance.

Footsteps come down the steps slowly, slowly, but Jameson does not hear. He is entranced. He is enthralled. He is crying.

Who wrote these words so gently? And why, oh, why do they feel like the silver river?

Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander mazily all over the earth, asking – Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

The end of the poem.

Beneath it, the name Pablo Neruda in the delicate, scrawling font, the date 1/9/17 and then:

You're always running off on me! When will you stay? I don't know how to admit that I'm lonely without you. I have other people, I know. But I look forward to the day when you and I can really be together. It's easy for you. For me... I have to wait. Are you even safe? Lately when we are together all you do is pace, and I watch, and wish that you would stay longer. I guess you'll be off doing whatever it is you do, and I'll be here, with my poetry and my spells. Come see me again soon.

A soft drawing of a clock.

And for a second, as Jameson pulls his fingers away from the open page, he could swear that he sees, upon his skin, warm droplets of blue water, the scent of magnolia and the forest rises up to him again, powerful and sweet, his fingers are wet –

“Marvin?”

Jameson whirls around, gasping.

And Jackie stands in the doorway, grey as the cat in his arms.

His silhouette shivers and his moonlit hands shimmer with sweat. Jameson cannot make out the features of his face, not even the bold scars, raised whiter than the rest of his flesh, constellations on the warm surface of his skin.

Jameson's hands are shaking again. He didn't realize they had stopped.

He remembers, suddenly and painfully, being caught in Anti's room, the demon appearing behind him in the doorway, cooing and soothing, only to – only to – later that night, with the great silver blade of the knife –

Stiff through his panic, he chokes and rocks gently on his knees, reaching up to grip his own shoulders, to hold himself still. What else is he supposed to do? Freezing up has always been safer than running or fighting. Hold still and maybe Anti will ignore you. Comply and maybe you won't be punished. Clam up and stop moving or reacting and thinking and maybe you can drag your mind far away enough that you can watch yourself be tortured like a black and white film, and survive with your sanity intact.

Jackie stands behind him.

Moves slowly forward.

Jameson sits cross-legged on the floor, clutching the little book in his hands, trying not to breathe.

Jackie kneels down beside him, coughing softly in the darkness. He is close enough that Jameson can feel the heat of his fever – it must have spiked in the night; both of their hands tremble. Jameson cannot meet his eyes. If he could, he would see that they are glazed over with fear and grief and sickness.

But not with anger.

Not with hate.

A scarred hand touches his cheek.

“Marvin?” croaks Jackie.

Oh, please. Oh, please. Jameson does not react. Lie limp in the mouth of the mountain cat.

“Little brother,” whispers Jackie, and, taking his chin in his hands, pulls his face towards him.

Their eyes meet like the headlights of a car meet the body of a man who thought he was alone, standing on a bridge above a river at two in the morning.

And Jackie is crying.

There's a certain warmth on his mouth, an up-turn that was probably meant to be a smile, but his eyes are red and hot wet tears run rapid from them. Jameson is so startled that still he does not move, fixated as though his clock has stopped.

Monsters do not cry.

This is something he knows.

Anti never cried over him or anyone.

Anyone, anyone, anyone.

Jameson is tired of his memory.

“Jameson,” says Jackie.

JJ jerks away and staggers to his feet, knocking his hip hard against Marvin's bookcase, scattering poetry across the shelf. Jackie's eyes follow him, but he does not move to stop his little brother, just lets him slam himself back against the wall and cover his face with his hands, breathing too hard and too fast.

“I'm tired of being your enemy,” Jackie croaks.

On the floor, Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and Song of Despair has fallen open. Jackie rubs his hands back and forth across the thick downy rug, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

“Don't go,” he whispers. “Don't go, he will hurt you again.”

“I know,” says Jameson. “I know.” The first words he has ever spoken to Jackie.

“Stay,” says Jackie. “Stay. Jameson, stay here. Be my brother. Give him up. Be mine.”

He looks up and meets his gaze, meets his gaze square on, and Jameson sees, in his eyes, nothing at all worth fearing.

And this is the most horrible thing to find of them all.

Anti lied.

Anti lied.

He didn't just hate him, he didn't just abuse him, he turned him against everyone who ever could have saved him, and everything he ever did in his whole life was useless, was wrong, every murder at his hands was a damnation gifted him by someone he thought he loved, and all along, all along, the dream of the boy in the red hood could have been true.

The boy in the red hood was real and warm and loving.

For that, Jameson hates him.

It is an explosion inside him, a hemorrhage; he is bleeding hatred from the inside out, bursting with hatred, seething, sizzling, weeping, gritting teeth and clutched fists – oh, oh, could he have been saved so long ago? Was he really so wrong?

“Hit me,” cry his hands. “Hit me, hit me, hit me.”

“What?” Jackie blinks dizzily. He rubs at his face, trying to focus. He needs to be here with his little brother. “Hit you, I would never – ”

“Be cruel!” Jameson moves forward, towering over him where he kneels. “Be cruel, hit me, beat me. Tell me you hate me. I can't bear – ”

He drops off and falls back, covering his mouth with his hands.

“Can't bear what?” murmurs Jackie.

“If you're not what he said, then nothing is as he said. And if nothing is as he said, then I am just...”

A murderer. A slave. A fool. A pawn. A coward, a child, a weakling.

“You didn't know,” says Jackie, in a hoarse croak, frail as a bird. “It's not your fault.”

That's not something he's ever had the strength to believe, and he can't find it now either. Just stands in the moonlight.

He's so tired of hating himself.

“I wanted you to save me,” he admits. “For so long.”

And for this, Jackie has no answer. He looks up at him in silence.

“But you didn't.”

Jackie closes his eyes.

“I would never be your brother. I hate you so much I would kill myself just to make you cry over my corpse. You're cruel and you only care about yourself and your brothers and your master, your Mr. Jack. You're just his attack dog. That's what Anti said and he was right. He was right, he can't have been wrong. Can't have been. Can't... can't... please...”

Jameson turns away from him, shaking.

Jackie cannot speak. Cannot see through quiet tears in his blue eyes. One more time, he tries.

“Stay,” he whispers.

He used to shout words like these. Used to have these moments on the tops of roofs, not huddled against a carpet that used to belong to his little brother. Used to be angry instead of tired.

“Stay,” he cries. “Stay here, don't go. You belong at my side. I can't bear to lose you all over again. Stay, stay, don't go. I'm so sorry. You don't know how sorry I am. Don't go. Little brother, little brother.”

But Jameson moves, and hurries past him, and runs away from everything that could ever help him save himself.

The front door is locked, so he goes by the back, bare-foot.

Upstairs, Henrik's nightmares wake him screaming.

“He went into the forest.”

“Into the forest, into the forest – he can't escape that way, let him run.”

“He is gone,” Henrik screams, pulling against Jackie's grip. “He is gone, he is returned to him!”

“Schneep, Schneep!” Chase grabs his brother's shoulders and Henrik finds himself held tight between the two of them, but his vision is darkening and all he can see is Anti's face. He groans and slams himself into Jackie's chest, crying out without words, some part of Jameson's name mangled on his lips.

“Chase, listen!” cries Jackie. “He can't escape by way of the forest, but he doesn't know that! He'll freeze! And at the end of Marvin's world there are – ”

Jackie cuts himself off, hissing. Jameson wouldn't go there, would he?

“The thorns,” Henrik whimpers. “And he wants so badly to go back to him.”

“Fuck, shit,” Chase hisses, leaving Henrik's side to scramble towards the mudroom, throwing on a coat and two mismatched pairs of shoes, panting with adrenaline between exhausted rubbing of his face. Shit, why did he drink so much? The world's still spinning. “Jackie, you're faster than me, come on.”

“Not since Anti shattered me,” mumbles Jackie, gripping Henrik close as his brother begins to throw his head hard against his shoulder, wailing to be let go. “And I'm not feeling well. Go without me, Chase.”

“What?”

“Someone has to look after Schneep!”

“But Jackie – ”

“And anyway, the kid doesn't fucking want me.”

“Jackie, that's not – ”

“Chase, please!” shrieks Henrik, half-collapsed in Jackie's grip, and Jackie cries out “Don't argue with me!” at the same time.

“Fuck, shit!” Chase screams, with more emphasis than he's ever mustered in his life, and then he is bursting through the back door and racing through the forest, panic coursing hot through his chest. He can hear Henrik howling like a werewolf on a full moon night and he cannot tell if the tears in his eyes are from panic or the whipping of the cold spring wind. “Jameson! Jamie, where did you go? Jameson! Jameson!”

A yowling cry answers his own, and there, there she stands, magnificent in all her glory, white as a ghost and resplendent as the light of the moon: the Queen herself.

Marvin's favorite cat.

And when she turns and sprints down the eastern path, her long white tail lashing behind her in the dark, Chase does not stop to question why he follows.

No, Jameson won't get away tonight.

There is only one way out of this forest, and he has not taken it. Marvin knew every path, every step, every stick of this forest.

Right down to the great wall of thorns, which govern the edge of that endless abyss which encircles this reality.

Jameson heads towards them as fast as he has ever run.

He no longer cares much where he ends up.

[hecohansen31]

A Little Pick Me Up:

Fire & Reign! Michael Langdon+Reader

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I do have to say that this little fic is extremely out of my comfort zone and much different from my usual writing so if you want to send me a feedback about it I will be extremly grateful and love you for ever, because I am low key scared of how this can be perceived and if I did a good job!

(My DMs and asks are always open, also guys: do you see my ask button? Because people have told me that they can’t see it, and I don’t know why...).

I started with the idea of a much sweeter idea, F&R! Michael comforitng you because of your assholes friends, but it slowly developped into something more dirty and I mean... Michael does do the comforting but... be warned... that’s what I am trying to say...

AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU LIKED AND WANT MORE! (I honestly had fun, but I don’t know if I will ever get a similar idea in the future).

SUMMARY: You are in need of a little “pick-me-up” after your friends ruin the night, and an handsome strange might be what you might be indeed needing.

WORDS: 4,3 K

WARNINGS: Hard Unprotected (Stay Safe Lovely, and use condoms) Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Fingering, Choking and Degradation through harsh names and insults. Also use of dirty and vulgar terms.

Her night had been distastefully bad, but it hadn’t hit its worst yet.

Still she had had to have a little break from her assholish friends.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like her friends: they were her friends because when they had met, she had honestly loved them (also all the other best friends had been taken…) but slowly she had grown and their interests hadn’t matched anymore.

She didn’t want to seem presumptuous, but she had felt like she had always tried her best to succeed, never being simply satisfied by arriving but shooting for the stars, whereas her friends had simply chosen the easiest way.

And worst of all, they didn’t understand those who had a different vision from them: she had been constantly bugged on being single, not in a relationship, not wanting to start a family and living her best life.

It just seemed difficult for them to fathom that her life could be perfect that way and at first they had taken away her self-esteem.

But then she had learnt that they weren’t worth the loss of her last  precious brain cells and she had tried her best to avoid them.

But her friends had insisted so much, saying that she wasn’t going out anymore so much that they all forgot how she looked like (she had said they had social media for that, but swiftly she had discovered it was easier to give up than to fight with them).

In the end she had fallen in the vicious circle of going back to her friends and she had spent exactly only five minutes and she was already annoyed by the entire atmosphere, choosing to go outside to be able to breath properly ad not surrounded by the smoke of cigarettes and lousy laughs, also to check her phone, since her friends labelled as antisocial, her checking her phone.

She had actually been expecting an important answer to a message, but her phoned showed still no notification, so she just decided to enjoy for a bit more the chance to breath regularly and not through her nose, before going back inside, adjusting slowly her hair.

And meanwhile she did this, she accidentally stumbled against a tall surface, much warmer than she had expected, immediately realizing that she had gone against a human body.

A very handsome body, she had reasoned, as soon as she had looked up, meeting beautiful azure eyes, shining even in the dark fall night, a thrill of definitely-not-because-of-the-cold-air appearing under her skin, reaching her hand, which trembled lightly.

He had the same constitution of statue sculpted by Fidia, with perfectly balanced elegant traits.

Each completely full of expression and elegance that made her immediately blush, under such a watchful gaze, making it all seem so unimportant to him, as if she wasn’t nothing than an annoying breath of wind on his face.

-… mind where you are going, lady- he simply warned her roughly, without even sharing a simple glance at her, which made her feel even more self-conscious and unable to reply anything properly, just choosing to nod, with her head down to avoid any kind of eye-contact.

She moved faster toward the bar, feeling immediately safe as soon as she entered it, knowing the stranger’s gaze wouldn’t follow her, there.

Although she could still feel it right on her back as if she had drawn a sign over it, a target practice for beautiful men with a huge ego.

She joined her friends and decided to let go for a few drinks, nothing to make her truly drunk, but enough to feel less self-conscious, meanwhile she danced around the bar.

But soon, even there, her amusement was interrupted shortly: a drunkard splashed horridly his beer on the front of her dress pants, and immediately one of her friends pushed her in the small bathroom of the club, suggesting she immediately rubbed off the stain or it would have stayed.

She had undressed, remaining just in her white shirt, and pink panties, and after she pushed her bag away from the ground, she had started brushing the pants together, having pushed them under the water a few minutes before, to let them soak.

When she was sure that the smell of beer was almost gone, she pushed them under the hot air supplier in order to dry them.

… and there, the door opened.

Catching her half-naked, her ass perfectly showed to the door, she turned and came face to face with the invader to reprimand them, just to find them to be the stranger she had met outside.

Now that light shone even better on him right, it brought out each curls of his molten gold hair, meanwhile his azure eyes were bright with amusement.

She didn’t understand if he was simply amused by the situation or satisfied with what he saw.

She managed to speak up finally, immediately shielding her modesty with her pants, meanwhile eyeing him with indignation.

-Can’t you see it’s occupied? – .

He didn’t seem to care, giving her an annoyed glance, moving closer which prompted her to try her best to back away, till she felt the wall against her skin.

Why had this shitty bathroom to be just a little room, with a sink and the toilette and nothing else?

The man still stopped a bit before her, enough that she could fit her whole arm between them.

-You were honestly taking too much time- he replied uninterested, although his eyes shone with feverish excitement at her shocked state, which got a furious glare from her.

-It won’t take me too long, I swear five minutes and I will leave you all alone- she pleaded, knowing that she was at its mercy.

That cruel smile roughly telling her that it wouldn’t have been that easy.

-… oh but I think that I lost any interest into anything I wanted to do before, after I saw a pretty girl bump into me- she tried not to give to the “pretty girl” too much thought (although she did), knowing he was toying with her exactly as a cat would do with a mouse.

She was just a game.

And she honestly was having the time of that night, playing it.

His rough demanding voice sent a few good thrills down her spine and hadn’t she bee so damnably embarrassed by what had happened and because of the danger of the entire situation, she might have thought about trying something against him back.

Thankfully she didn’t have to, because feeling her indecision, he moved closer, much more swiftly than she thought was humanly possible, pushing her front roughly against the wall, her face slamming decidedly without grace against the lattices at the window, but any pain she felt was immediately relieved by the gentle friction of his hard-on, against her barely-there panties, which prompted a low moan of appreciation from her.

-… still want me to get out, pretty girl? – he breathed in her neck, before pulling her hair back to expose more for his lips, starting to tease it mercilessly, kisses were followed by nibbles and hickeys, she was sure, would be soon blooming.

And her hips would be bruised by his grip, keeping her pushed against him, not leaving her any decision for their movements, just a slow, barely accentuated grinding session going on down there, meanwhile she tried to fathom the words.

She knew that the rational part in her was totally fighting against this.

She didn’t know the guy, but she wanted to be fucked by him oh so badly.

It had been so long since she had a man in her, and she missed more than the sensation, the intimacy of it all: a warm body against her, her most secret zones exposed for him to discover them and the little shivers of pleasure that followed an earth-shattering orgasm.

What he seemed to promise with his languid moves and expert touches.

He seemed to already know her body.

And he knew even her darkest secrets as soon as a sound slap was delivered to her ass for taking too much answering, meanwhile he gently distanced himself from her.

The coldness and the friction gone did help with thinking, but she couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, meanwhile he turned around, with a look that called her the most pathetic creature in the universe, sweetened partially by his interested eyes, looking and wanting to hear an answer.

-I asked you a question- he articulated slowly each word, as if she needed him to do that for her to understand him, as if she was nothing more than a disobedient child (she should have seriously answered  with the rational part of her brain and got the hell out of there) -… do you want me to get out, leave you unsatisfied, to take care of yourself or do you want me to stay and take care of you, if you will be a good girl? -.

-I want you to stay- she uttered.

Maybe it was the fact that just a small taste had gotten her already addicted.

Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t gotten enough “action” lately.

Or maybe it was just the fact that he honestly looked like a dream come true and these occasions didn’t happen so often…

… so, she would be a stupid to refuse it.

… and freaking irresponsible to accept it.

-… I want you to stay… what? – and each word was punctuated with a slap to her ass, alternating her cheeks, before he roughly grabbed them both, smiling at the hiss she breathed out.

He was apparently in something much kinkier than what she had expected

-I want you to stay, Sir- she hoped she got it right and apparently she did, because this time he gently caressed her ass, meanwhile his other hand pushed itself under her shirt, searching her breasts, and cupping them through her bra, before also intruding itself in it, pinching her nipple and soft moan was released from her lips.

-Good girl- he mumbled, pushing her closer, till their lips mashed together, and his hand came to her neck blocking it there, the other hand tangling even more in her hair.

Meanwhile an hand made a quick work of her bra, the other moved into her panties, at first testing out the water, her own wetness sipping gently through her thighs, meanwhile he expertly brushed his long fingers against her heat, teasingly at first, letting her feel every inch of it, before he suddenly dipped one finger in her.

She immediately recoiled by snapping herself closer to him, impossibly close.

The moan she was halfway through releasing was again caught by his lips, but this time, another sound slap was delivered to her ass.

-Oh, babygirl, you need to be quiet, I didn’t say you could utter another word …- he smirked deviously -… unless it’s obviously sir or you begging for my cock-.

She nodded slightly, focusing more on his controlling tone than the actual words he was speaking out.

And everything was obliterated by the adding of another finger, which got her to try to grasp his hand, overwhelmed by the sensation, the burning of the penetration, her body needing a minute to ease the unease, not used to the stretch anymore, and the pleasure from the gentle pressure.

She felt herself lose completely in whatever he was doing to her, completely destroying her last shreds of dignity.

He cooed her moans mockingly, allowing her at least those, but no pity with his thrusts becoming more and more faster, meanwhile his thumb started roughly brushing against her clit.

-Aren’t you eager? – he made fun of her, and of her hips pushing back against his fingers -… and for who? A stranger… what a little cock-starved whore-.

She didn’t care even slightly about the insult, not when his words seemed so sweet and so alluring.

… and not most importantly, uncapable to have any kind of bite in her tongue, when he brushed against her softest spot.

He saw her face, turning blank and then her eyes almost rolling in the back of her head, and he just smirked deviously (she was sure it was a permanent feature of his), intensifying the movement of his finger and worst of all, pushing another in.

This got a very loud moan from her, chastised away with a rough slap on his part.

-… quiet, pet-.

… and worst than the reprimand was the fact he retrieved his fingers, just when she was the closest to losing her mind, in that fall that people liked to call orgasm.

This obviously got her to be bold:

-You can’t…- but before she could finish the phrase, he grabbed her throat, choking her lightly.

-What, pet? – he tried to make her speak, but she wasn’t able to utter a single word, meanwhile he was choking her roughly, applying more and more pressure, pushing her even more against the wall -… tell me you didn’t speak back, like a very bad girl-.

She wasn’t able to give an answer but tried to shake her head, not wanting to displease him.

It didn’t work.

His choking grip got harder, and she felt herself slowly losing herself again, but then he just released so suddenly that she immediately fell on her knees, breathing a relieved breath, meanwhile he gave her a minute to collect.

But her meditations and calm breaths came to a halt, the fingers, that had been in her, were swiftly pushed in her mouth, with the implicit order to clean them up, chocking her again, meanwhile they searched the inside of this throat, making her gag on them.

But the stranger was relentless.

He just made them exit her mouth, when he had enough for the pathetic show of her choking on them.

The desperation in her eyes seemed only a turn-on for him.

-Oh, sweetheart of mine, you have done so many bad things- he spoke up after he had cleaned the saliva of his finger on a side of her face -… first you ask for me to let you cum, when you have done nothing to deserve it-.

He faked being disappointed, even going as far as shaking his head.

-… then you go against my order of staying the fuck quiet-.

His shoe came between her thighs, spreading them, and revealing her panty clad core, not that the pinkish fabric did nothing to cover her arousal, coating even the inside of her thighs.

She seriously should have been ashamed to give a stranger such a show.

But she honestly didn’t care about dignity in that moment.

All she cared was to convince this stranger to soothe the painful ache in her center.

-… the punishment for all this misbehaving would be not to let you cum for tonight- her face must have shown her utter sadness at that, making him smile almost kindly, his fingers going under her chin to raise it -… but I am feeling generous tonight, and I will allow you another chance of redemption-.

His fingers left her chin so suddenly that she found herself staring at the ground, a laughter being emitted from his mouth, meanwhile his hands went to his belt, undoing it quickly, meanwhile another hand tangled in her hair.

She immediately understood what he was doing and in search of some redemption for her previous misbehaving she moved closer, nosing the evident bulge in his trouser, mouthing it over the fabric, stealing a hiss from him, meanwhile he brought her closer.

-… see… shit… you can be a good girl, can’t you, sweetie? – he cooed, meanwhile he helped her get it all out from his trouser and if she had thought the bulge was massive, the real thing was even worse.

Monstrous and slightly leaking already, although the stranger seemed unaffected by any of her ministrations, vocally.

And he gave her no time to recover from the discovery, pushing his cock between her lips.

His hand on her hair guiding her through it all, at first slowly, inching her closer to the base, meanwhile she tried to breath through her nose and not choke on it, remembering the teeth and stroking her tongue around it a few times.

But soon he became rougher, following only his pleasure, pushing and pulling her against his cock.

And worst of all he said such dirty things that went straight to her leaking center.

-What if somebody walks in on you like this… - he said, meanwhile he kept her choked against his pubic bone, her throat being stretched to unexpected lengths -… they will think that you are an whore for blowing the first guy that comes around-.

He finally released the grip, but didn’t let her get away from his cock, no matter the fact that she was roughly gagging on it, slowly losing her breath.

-… I bet your friends would have never thought to have such as an whore like you amongst them- he laughed loudly, almost childishly -… thank God, I found you before any of them, I would hate to share such a body and such a pretty mouth-.

And to enforce his affirmation he traced her swollen lips, meanwhile they circled his cock.

She knew that, no matter the mocking words, he was close to finishing and was surprised when he moved her off of his cock, thinking that she might have done something wrong, but all she saw was the damned  smirk, almost mocking her for her own desperation.

But she hadn’t thought about the worst.

The stranger started jerking himself of off her and immediately she understood what he wanted to do.

A splash of cum hit her face and she made it just in time to close her eyes before her entire face was sticky with his cum, her mascara running down and her gloss appearing even more shiny.

She honestly couldn’t fathom how humiliating it was, but she didn’t move or did anything out of pure fear of what he might have done…

… how worse how he could have tortured her, teasing her for longer than she could wait for.

-… see, my girl can be quite good when she wants to- he winked at her, before helping her up, much more gently than he had handled her a few minutes before, gently picking her up, and pushing her against the wall, meanwhile she instinctively gripped her legs around his waist -… I think that now that I know how your mouth feels, I can’t wait to discover how tight your little cunt is-.

And he pushed in her, not losing for even a moment his hardness.

On her part she lost again her breath, hissing roughly on his shoulder, meanwhile her nails sink themselves in his back: she felt pain, at first, the stretch was so sudden, but pitifully he gave her enough time to adjust herself to the new sensation, soon pleasure blooming by the friction between their bodies, heightened by his sleight of hand of touching her clit, rubbing it furiously.

Her swollen folds welcomed him inside with every thrust, pushing her against the wall and closer to the edge, because if she had been excited and aroused, now that she had a taste, she was reckless and free, trying to ignore the burning stretch of her muscles, overused and tired of the uncomfortable position.

He carried her as if she weighted nothing, encouraging her to moved faster and faster on him, murmuring the dirtiest praises in her ear.

“What a good little slut for me” “Only a whore of my cock” “The fact that someone might walk in meanwhile I fuck your little pussy open is actually exciting you, isn’t it?”.

She was done, much faster than him, but each time she was the closest to getting her well-deserved orgasm, he relented the rhythm, even going as far as to pinch her oversensitive clit, looking at her, expecting.

She was so lost in pleasure and her own destruction that she didn’t know what he was looking for, till his eyes felt to her lips, which she opened, finally pleading her case:

-Sir, let me cum… ? – although it was worded as a question, there was some sick desperation behind it which spoke of endless nights spent alone and the willingness to do anything to get a single orgasm in that night.

… possibly, in that moment.

-You didn’t say the magic world, slut of mine- his hands went to her throat pushing her against the wall even more and pulling her hair back, making her throw her head back, making her roughly buckle her hips into him, trying to bring him closer.

-Please… please- she was breathless and her hips were slowly losing their ways, tired and unsatisfied, almost as if this was worthless, but thankfully the stranger kept up the pace for her, definitely pushing her closer, his hand again on his clit.

-… good girl- he cooed, delivering a few pretty brutal thrusts to point out each word -… but do you deserve to cum? -.

She honestly wanted to tell him that he was the one who didn’t deserve to cum was him.

But no amount of her being a smartass or talking back would have brought her to the finale she deserved, so she just shook her head, some of the tears which had formed, fell faster on her cheeks.

-I don’t… but…- a thrust cut her off, but she could see from his smirk and the fact that the force which lead his thrusts -…I will be on my best behavior, sir, if you let me-.

Her entire breath gave out under here and she choked on air, but she knew she had gotten what she had wanted, when his gaze finally became serious, pleasure taking over any scheme he might have had in his mind.

-Say my name when you cum- he just replied, meanwhile his thrust hit her right in her perfect spot, his hands pushing her shoulder up his and finally giving up any semblance of control, letting her finally feel truly free.

Free to crash and fall and let go.

-Michael! – she just screeched, her nails digging in his skin to keep herself anchored on him, meanwhile the flow of pleasure brought her to another planet.

The proverbial knot in her stomach immediately unknotting herself as she let go, all over him.

She didn’t care about anything.

He held her tight and kept her legs from giving out, pushing recklessly just for his own pleasure, which he reached a few minutes after, his seed pooling in her, but some also tricked down her thighs.

And then all the tension and tiredness came back and slowly they untangled form himself, with him also exiting her, his seed flowing largely outside of her, and he reached down gently collecting the mix of their pleasure, tasting the mix of the two, meanwhile she tried to collect her breath.

And after he had a taste of her, he finally snapped out of it.

His visage becoming gentler and he reached for her bag, pushing out her tissues and staining it with a bit of water, before moving to clean her cum-filled face and holes, with a gentleness he didn’t own, before, meanwhile his  lips traced gently her neckline, as if shushing a scared child.

-Sweetheart, aren’t you happy I decided to pay you a little visit? – he cooed gently, meanwhile she basked in the afterglow of her intense orgasm and his gentle affection.

-Uhm..- she mumbled, trying to connect her last brain cells to answer him -… I thought you weren’t supposed to arrive till tomorrow-.

-Missed you too much- he nuzzled her shoulder, meanwhile kissing the little hickey he had left there.

She and Michael had discovered this kink, “the-impersonating-strangers-and-fucking”, one night over at a bar, when Michael had joked about not knowing her, trying to pick her up and flirt with her and she had kept up the game.

This had led to a mind-blowing sex experience they usually replayed whenever they were stressed or needed a little pick-me-up, indeed.

She had been surprised to see Michael outside but seeing his reaction, she had immediately recognized that he had wanted to play and acted out the entire thing, imagining he was a stranger.

It just gave them the right adrenaline thrill, but also it was safety into exploring such a wild fantasy with somebody you knew.

-… also, I saw that you were in need of a little pick-me-up- he giggled, completely moving away from his dom persona, unlike her who was half-asleep and still half in her sub-space.

Her legs burning like hell and she was halfway through slipping on him, with them giving out on him.

-… and it worked- she smiled, sweetly, before leaning in for a kiss, meanwhile she wrapped her arms the tightest around his neck -… I am the most satisfied ever-.

He laughed at her sleepy voice, and immediately he threw her over his shoulder, after having pushed his coat over her shoulder, in order to shield her naked ass.

-I hope you are not too satisfied…- he asked almost threatening her, a dark age of erotism clear in her voice and she was suddenly brought awake from her tired cage -… because I intend to have a second round with you, in a proper bed-.

-Getting tired, old man? – she made fun of him, just getting a dark laugh from him, the one that promised her not to be able to walk in the morning.

-No, I have a lot of alone nights to make up for-.

...

So, lovelies... I hope you liked this, let me know what you thought about it (I am very curious to know your thoughts, mostly because this was very out of my comfort zone...) and here it is a lovely list of my favorite people, who might enjoy this!

@so-langdon @blakewaterxx @emmyrosee @rocketgirl2410 @hplotrfan @1-800-bitchcraft @lovelylangdonx @drama-penguins @dramapenguinthe3rd @yourfavoritefairy @rosz93 @eternalnostalgia @langdonsoutpost @hxdesworld @michaels-fallen-angel @daddyjiel @langdonsinferno @signatureroast-burntasshole @kleineshaschen @ladynuwanda

[huffle-dork]

Enemy of my Enemy (Swap Boys AU)

(Heavily inspired by this post:

Enjoy ;3c) 

Crack! Another fist connects with the side of Chase’s cheek, sending him spiraling into the brick wall behind him. He breathes heavily, blinking back his blurry vision and trying to concentrate on the foe before him. He has just enough time to see the flash of her holographic coat and duck before her fist makes a connection with the wall behind him. The hero gives a wild war cry and dives for the villain’s knees, knocking them both to the ground. The masked woman gives a wild laugh, prying off the white mask and letting loose her messy fray of purple hair, barring a sharp tooth grin at the hero.

“Oh? Are we playing dirty today, Fantastic? Who knew a few drinks could do that to you~,” Overdose teased, tiptoeing light fingers up Bro’s arms, making him shiver. He grits his teeth together and shoved her hand off him.

“Shove off, Overdose-” Chase spat. “Just hand over all the stolen shit and we can both go home and call it a day.”

Overdose blinked big eyelashes up at Chase, her eye makeup sparkling in the streetlights.

“Why, Bro! Are you actually thinking of sparing me jail time? Who knew my charms had worked on you after all~.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “I just want to go home and sleep off this hangover- so just shut up and let’s end this.” He starts to reach into her coat, reaching for where he saw her stash her newest batch of contraband earlier. But, before he can, the hand he hadn’t pinned down is suddenly on his stomach and- a sharp pain erupts in his side as a needle is pressed into his skin. Chase jumps away, eyes widening as he quickly ducks down to check where he was just injected. God- it hurt like hell!

“What- What d’ya do to me?” He already starts to slur, looking back to Overdose as she rises to her feet. His legs and arms, he felt like he couldn’t control them. Even more so since he was kinda drunk and he nearly splat back to the ground as the world started to shift before him. Then, the world felt… separate from him. Like he was separating from it- Like the ground wasn’t really there. He was floating and he was scared he couldn’t come back down. His breathing was picking up faster and faster as sweat started to drip heavily down his face. He was gonna throw up. He couldn’t remember where he was- what he was just doing- everything was cracking and breaking.

A chuckle wormed its way into Chase’s ear. “Oh don’t be that way, super boy. I was just giving you a little gift for being so kind to me~!” Boots clunked heavily on the ground in front of him and Chase had a hard time attaching them to a body before Overdose appeared out of the dizzying void of color before him and snatched his chin, huffing a gentle cloud of white into his face with pursed lips before she smiled. “Now that’s usually given in a drink but.. I figured you already had enough tonight.”

She then roughly throws Chase’s chin back and his head cracks loudly against the concrete, stars flashing brightly before his eyes, disorienting him further. Were- were they real stars? They looked real… like they could stab him in the eyes. He whimpered and tried to shut his eyes but he could still see them and all the colors and bursting lights in his head were causing him to panic. He couldn’t understand what was happening-!

“M-make it s-stop…” He begged, curling up. Overdose giggled and planted a foot on his side. Right on his tender injection site, causing him to cry out.

“Aw, are you not having fun?” She replied with false sympathy, “Well if only someone here could help you!” She then shoved Bro over on the ground with her boot, her tone turning darker, “Wouldn’t count on it though, Fantastic. No one here to help a pathetic hero like you. Maybe next time you won’t drink and crime fight.”

The sound of the boots walking away fills Chase’s ears before a giggle breaks through.

“Oh! If there is a next time~!” Overdose’s triumphant laugh can be heard echoing among the warehouses as Chase lays on the floor, shivering and trying to make sense of his surroundings. But, he can’t tell which way is up and which is down. He can hardly feel his body anymore. It’s like he’s hardly there at all. His heart is slowing down though is breathing is panicked.

If there’s a next time Overdose said… does that mean this could kill him? Chase didn’t want to die! He couldn’t die- The city needed him. His friends needed him. His brother needed him! This thought alone was enough for him to open his eyes and try to push himself up- despite the dizzying vision and nausea stirring in his stomach. He.. he had to find someone. The hero lifts his heavy head and tries to see if he can recognize where he is…

The warehouse district- fuck! Overdose was right- where the fuck was Chase gonna find help here? The nearest hospital was on the other side of town! And nobody lived here… nobody except for-

...Magnificent.

What was Chase even thinking? How could that kitty cat bastard help him?! ...but then again… did he even have any other choice?

The hero heaved a heavy groan and tried to lift himself off the ground, despite how the effort sent his head spinning in dizzying circles. Like a toy lost in the drain- like a fish flowing, looping down an endless river, over and over. His head swam, and he tried to shake the feeling free. Oh no bad idea- that made the explosion of colors and intense nausea worse. Chase almost fell back to the ground, heaving and struggling to not spill the contents of his stomach out.

“M’kay….- take this slow Brody…”

But, not too slow. Who knows how long he had before...

Shakily, Chase flops on his stomach then gingerly pushes himself up. Carefully, he leans up and blinks the neon gunk out of his eyes, focusing on what feels like the neverending rows of warehouses ahead. He… he should be able to spot Magnificent’s right..? He’s only fought in it like what- a thousand times already?

With a dry laugh, the hero staggered to his feet. He sucked in air through his teeth as his posture tugged on his sore side. But- that was the least of his worries. Taking a few steadying breaths, Chase closed his eyes before bursting them open and taking a running start down the concrete. He kicked off and took to the air, and almost immediately regretted it as the drug made him feel like he was upside down and inside out- god he was gonna throw up.

It wasn’t a pretty sight but Bro was airborne and at least at a decent speed. And that’s what he needed. Through blurry and confusing vision, the drugged hero searched for any sign of his arch nemesis’s hideout. But- god he was starting to see things… the city skyline was shifting in and out of what it was supposed to look like. The moon was glitching- changing positions in the sky. Chase was hearing things- endless cackling and static-laced laughter that sent shivers up his spine. The sky was dripping blood. He could feel it prickling across his skin like electric wire.

His senses were getting all messed up- his heart was going too fast- his breathing getting too worked up. The hero was falling out of the sky like a comet- crashing to the cement like a falling star. Debris clung to his ruined jacket and super suit like stardust- and the hero wanted to sleep amongst the darkness. It wouldn’t hurt as badly there… right? Would the weird noises and strange feelings and weird colors stop if he just- let go? It was tempting- now that he was buried half in the ground from falling.

And Chase almost lost to the darkness- but it seemed like it had some… fuzzy friends. Before the hero could drift into unconsciousness, a warm muzzle nudged his bruised and bloody cheek, causing his eyes to flutter back open. Chase slowly turned to see who… only to be met with the bright green glowing eyes of a few black panthers. And… the gaze of a certain dark magician, staring down at the fallen hero with an unreadable expression.

The panthers gathered around Chase, slowly prowling. Some sniffed at his hair. One gently licked his wounds, causing the hero to flinch and curl in on himself, though he tried to weakly laugh it off.

“N-Nice kitties- g-gentle…”

Slowly, Magnificent knelt down by Bro, studying him with a tilted head.

“... You look like shit, Fantastic,” The villain finally said. “Where the hell were you trying to go like this? You’re not that much of a moron, despite how you look.”

Chase laughed, though it caused him to wince as it hurt his ribs and side. Shit- the fall must have damaged something there too… He feels so delirious… all of this felt like a dream. Maybe he’ll wake up soon. Make this nightmare end already. The hero turned slightly and gives the cat masked magician a lopsided not-all-here smile, a lightheaded giggle popping through his sentences.

“I-I got- into a f-fight… I was l-looking for y-you actually-!” Chase laughs even more, before curling in on himself, the pain starting to be too much as his voice starts to warble, the edges of his vision going black.

“D-didn’t… know where else… to go…”

The hero gets to see the subtle widening of Magnificent’s eyes before the drug pulls him under completely.

It started off in pure warm blackness- nothingness. A fucking relief, as far as Chase was concerned. No voices, no static, no crazy glitches or sights. Just… peace. Just dark.

Then- all of sudden, like being thrown from your seat in a car crash Chase was thrown into a new setting. Somewhere he’d never seen before. But somewhere he felt like he should know.

It was a small cozy little home. It looked well lived in. Toys were strewn across the floor. Piles of laundry topped the couches. Chase could see the frills of tiny dresses and the bright colors of sporty clothing and dinosaur shirts. It made him smile faintly to himself, a warm feeling in his chest.

He was sitting at what looked like a dining room table though, peeking into the living room. He looked down at what was before him and it made his heart stop- his insides freeze. Official documents in too neat of print… spiraled already with one signature at the bottom, ready to be matched with another. Divorce papers.

There’s pressure behind his eyes as a hot tear falls down his cheek and drips onto his hand. He looks down to his left hand, where the tear dropped and feels a black hole in his stomach. Where’s- where’s his ring?

He scoots out of his chair in a panic- he might be losing his wife but he won’t lose his ring! He started frantically turning over plates and other piles of mail and paper, trying to catch a glimpse of it.

The squeaking of a door behind him alerts Chase to a new presence. Quickly turning his head, he sees another man enter the room, looking much like him but wearing a black shirt and a worn blue hoodie. A black handkerchief is wrapped around his neck with a smiley face stitched sideways on its surface.

“Hey bro, you ready to go?” The man says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking up at Chase expectantly. Chase is at a loss for words.

It’s… it’s Alt. His brother- but… that can’t be right. Chase doesn’t have a brother. Not here. Alt doesn’t belong here.

“...who are you…?” Chase asks quietly, taking a step back away from the boy before him. “You- you shouldn’t… be here.”

Alt stares at him incomprehensibly for a second. Then, slowly a cruel grin curls on his lips as his eyes darken to pure black. His form glitches- his hoodie and mask phasing off and his neck- his scar suddenly starts to drip blood. A mad giggle pries itself from Alt’s throat as he cracks his neck and steps closer to Chase.

“͞N͏é͟i̧͞t͟h̡e̕r̢̧ ̸s̶h̢̕ǫù̶l̨͡d͡ ̶͘y̨o̵͞ư͟.̴̢”

Before he can even register it, Chase is thrust to the floor. The scenery shifts suddenly cast in bright red light. The glitch cackles insanely, a knife materializing in his hand. Chase panics and manages to catch Anti’s arm before the knife can get close to his throat.

The demon giggles more, his form glitching so much it’s hard to concentrate. One second he looks like Alt- the next he looks like this.

“͜U҉s͜͟i̡͟n̢g͞ ̷y̸o̧̕u͞r͟ ͘͡h̵e͠r̷̕o̵͢ ̴͘s҉t͟r̕҉e͠n̢ģt̢h҉̢ ̡h̨҉e̷r͟e̵?̴͝ ̸D̡͘o̷n̡͜’̢̀t҉͝ ̸́y̨o̡҉u͜ ͟͝t̢͝h̸̵i̷̵n̕k̡̛ ̨͜t́h̷͜a͜͝t͞’̶s͏͡ ̵̢c̴h̴e̷a͟͠t͟i͟n͜͡g̕ ̴͡B̵͘r̕o͏͘d̡͡y̸̕?̧̧”

“W-What are you talking about?!” Chase stammers, trying to keep his upper hand. Though said hand slips- and the knife goes plunging into the floor right next to Chase’s ear. The father grits his teeth then thrusts two powerful kicks into the glitch’s stomach, launching him off. Chase quickly gets to his feet and pulls out something from his pocket, as if on instinct. A gun.

“Where are they?!” He screams, pointing the barrel at glitch on the ground. “Where're my kids? My wife? Marvin, Jackie?! Schneep?! JACK?! WHERE ARE THEY?!”

The glitch is just pulling himself up to his knees and then looks up to Chase. His freckled face is filled with fear, wide blue eyes pleading. He scrambles backward, limbs shaking as tiny harmless glitches buzz on his shoulders.

“C-Chase…” Alt chokes out, “Y-you wouldn’t u-use that one m-me right?” He sounds so scared… so unsure.

Chase stares at the boy for a second before it clicks. A weight sits on his stomach and he quickly lowers the gun, feeling disgusted with himself. What was he doing?

“A-Alt I- I-I’m Sorry-“

Alt then grins again as his eyes turn black as night and he glitches underneath Chase’s feet. As he does- the ground gives way, causing him to fall- fall away into nothingness- to blackness. Chase feels himself screaming but hears nothing, sees nothing. The red light of that hallway gets swallowed whole.

…….

Beep...beep….beep…

The steady sound a heart monitor is what greets Chase as he starts to enter back into the waking world. And waking- well, waking sucks.

Chase’s lungs feel like they’re on fire. It’s really hard to breathe, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. It takes him a second to realize he has something inserted into his nose… a ventilator. It’s working slowly to help get proper air back into his lungs. Chase closes his eyes and wheezes, not liking the uncomfortable feeling.

Taking stock of the rest of his body… the hero can hardly move. His body is stiff- too heavy. He could have been sedated- but was it the drug Overdose gave him or…?

...Overdose!

With a wild gasp, Chase’s half-lidded eyes fly open and he flops to try to sit up, chest heaving and panic on his face. He has no idea where he is- how did he get here? It’s some kind of- hospital? Who took him here? He can’t- he can’t remember! All he remembers is getting injected and then- glitching and darkness-

There’s a warm flash of green in front of the hero’s eyes before a force sends him falling back onto his pillow with a soft oof. Chase blinks in confusion and looks into the corner of the room, where the sunlight isn’t hitting and the shadows can easily hide the room in mild darkness. A single green eye flashes at him as a hand lingering with green magic lowers into a brunette man’s lap. The man- he’s not familiar. His hair is long- swept to the side and pulled into a ponytail. He’s dressed semi-casually, a dress shirt and blazer over a nicer pair of jeans. He glowers down at Chase before smirking slightly.

“Careful Fantastic, don’t go soiling all my good work with your idiocracy.” The man says in a sarcastic tone.

It clicks in Chase’s head as he blinks, shifting on his pillows to sit up better.

“...M- Magnificent…?”

The disguised magician grins as his left eye glows again. He puts a finger to his lip, “The one and only.”

The hero’s mind is reeling.

“I… I don’t understand… y-you… you saved…me…?”

Magnificent’s smile falls and he looks away slightly, crossing his arms and sitting back in his seat. He looks out the window of the little hospital room, contemplating his words before he finally says, “... Cat tranquilizer.”

“...Excuse me?”

“The drug given to you. I recognized it. It’s ketamine. Also known as cat tranquilizer.” The dark magician said shortly, acid in his voice. He refused to look at the hero, instead keeping his eyes on the city skyline outside.

Chase’s mind was still so fuzzy but… “...You knew… right away- right as you found me- otherwise I wouldn’t have…” Chase swallows and looks up at the villain, his emotions all confused.

Magnificent is silent for a second before a bitter laugh bubbles out of his throat. He flutters his fingers, green magic forming into a shape. The particles swirl into the shape of cat, that climbs up Magnificent's arm and he half smiles at it fondly and pets its chin.

“I am well acquainted with the drug. Very personally.” His smile drops as his hand around the cat construction turned from kind to cold, clawed nails suddenly digging in and bursting the magic in between his fingers. Furious eyes finally met Chase’s from across the room.

“Let’s just say, the other villains of this town sure do like their dramatic irony. Especially when dealing with a new, themed villain.”

Chase had a problem processing Magnificent’s words at first but once he did- his stomach dropped. Even Magnificent… had to deal with others being so cruel to him?

Finally, the dark magician broke contact and stood up, brushing himself off and adjusting his clothes and hair. He gave the hero a withering look.

“Anyways. Consider yourself lucky, Fantastic. This line of work is too boring without decent heroes to fight. So- recover. And don’t be so stupid next time. I’m not going to save your ass again.”

And with that, Magnificent turned heel and headed towards the door. But, just before he left, he paused with a hand on the doorframe and turned towards the hero.

“Oh… and don’t worry.” He touched his face where Chase’s mask was, making the hero realized it hadn’t been removed. “I didn’t peek.” The magician’s face broke into a sinister grin at that and he put a finger up to his lip again. His appearance then suddenly seemed to shift, never settling on one single appearance, blurring with color and confusing Chase’s already addled mind.

“After all, that would ruin our little game, wouldn’t it?”

Magnificent chuckled and waved, and in a buzz of static and color, he was gone.

Chase sighed and sat back fully on his pillows, exhausted beyond belief. He… still couldn’t believe all that had just happened. Or...get that too realistic dream out of his head-

He… he was feeling like he was missing something… something important.

Chase ended up rubbing his ring finger on his left hand absentmindedly before he drifted back to sleep.