#like i couldn’t stop other than like small intervals

[just-jammin]

i think there’s like a quarter of whatever was inside left—

gonna eat some Shapes

they taste nice! :D

[noosayog]

gravitate ft. miya atsumu

wc: 2.2k part 2 of 2

part 1

contents/warnings: fwb dynamic, a lil bit of jealousyyy <3, angst to fluff, suggestive but sfw, she/her! reader, referred to as girlfriend, wife, reader has minor social anxiety

Atsumu thinks he did the right thing. 

It’s the truth after all, that even if he got a committed partner now, he wouldn’t be able to give them the time and attention they deserve. 

It’s the responsible thing to do. 

Never mind the fact that he’s fallen absolutely head over heels for you. It’s okay, though, because you had always seemed so on board with casual. At the end of the day, he’d only be hurting himself by getting more involved with you; you were the better one at drawing boundaries and saying goodbye.

Yet, after that night, he’s never been more grateful for a lull in the season, a brief break before the games begin again. He could dedicate time to practicing and conditioning and more importantly, no games meant no afterparties for him to give himself the wrong idea.

The idea that you might also have feelings for him. 

It’s wishful thinking right? He’s reading into the fact that you asked if he could wear his jersey right? Logically, he couldn’t stop you from wearing it, so why did you ask? Some roundabout way of asking if that would give all your friends the wrong idea? Of course it would. They would never miss out on a chance to clown him. 

All to say, the break in the season gives him some time away from you.

It’s all completely ironic though because all it does is gives him nothing but more time to think about you. The longer his runs are, the more time his brain has to drift to thoughts of you. At the gym, every rest interval between sets is spent remembering your smell, taste, sounds. And rest days, rest days were the worst. 

The time passes excruciatingly slowly and quickly at the same time until the season picks up and your unsaid meeting time comes around again. 

– 

A part of him had expected that you might not show up to the after-game party after what had gone down between the two of you. 

That’s if you even see what happened as note-worthy. 

So when you show up, laughing it up and enjoying yourself like nothing happened, he’s convinced that he did indeed make the right decision. This is and always has been casual to you, like what was agreed upon. It’s like a stab in the chest, but a foolish part of him thinks that means maybe the two of you will casually be drawn together at some point tonight and he’d be able to take you home and get the small piece of you he sees as his. 

But, damn, he had missed you. He can’t help the way his eyes drift to you every 5 minutes to see when he’ll finally be able to catch you alone. 

Typically, it wouldn’t take long, since he knows you tend to run low on social battery within a couple minutes of mingling. But tonight, you’re like a different person, talking and drinking all night. Every time he looks over at you, you’re a part of some circle of friends laughing like you’ve been friends forever. 

As the night drags on, Atsumu gets antsy, glancing over every other minute. He finally catches you when you break away from your group. 

“Hey,” he says, hoping he sounds significantly less – just less – than how he actually feels. “I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you all night, miss Popular.” 

You raise a brow at him. 

“I haven’t seen you talk to this many people ever,” he jokes. 

You give him a weak smile at that. “So you think catching me during my one and only break is gonna win you any favors?” 

He relaxes a bit at the quip. “My company should count as a break.” 

You laugh and he grins back. At long last, the sound he’d been wanting to hear all night. Not aimed at some stranger, not the forced robotic sounds he knows you offer out of politeness. He’s about to throw his arm around you and lead you to someplace quiet when you seem to catch the eye of someone you know. You wave them over and he suppresses a groan. 

How many more minutes until he can have you to himself? 

A girl he dimly recognizes from some other gatherings wanders over to the two of you and Atsumu’s eyes narrow a fraction when you take half a step back to let her get closer to him. 

“Atsumu, this is Yukie. Yuki, this is Atsumu.” 

“Hi! Nice to meet you!” She comes in for a hug and almost instinctively, Atsumu shifts his body to turn it into a side hug. He pats once at her shoulder before pulling away but she keeps her hold around his side for one second too long to be friendly. 

“Well then,” he hears you say. His gaze whips to you, like knows what you’re about to do and can’t believe you’re doing it. “I’ll leave you kids to talk alone. I need to take a bathroom break. Don’t have too much fun!” 

Don’t have too much fun? He mocks you in his mind. Could you make it any more obvious? 

Atsumu pries the hand from his side off, intent on chasing you but Yukie steps in his path, starting to chat up a storm, leaving Atsumu frustrated but trying not to be rude. Something akin to rage starts to fill up in his gut, clouding his brain with impatience to end this conversation already and find you to figure out the what fuck your intentions are here.

He finally got one moment, just one moment alone with you after weeks of nothing and you just pass it off to someone else like you don’t give a damn. 

It takes several reassurances that he’d be seeing her again at other mutual friends’ gatherings to break away, and he immediately weaves through the crowd to find you. Fuck subtlety and whatever cat-and-mouse bullshit the two of you used to play.

He half expects you to have gone home; he could feel the social exhaustion oozing out of you in waves even in the couple of minutes he did manage to get with you. So imagine Atsumu’s surprise when he does indeed find you still present, chatting up Tobio-kun of all people. Sure, being high school friends with Shoyo-kun means you had the same relationship with Tobio, but why the fuck do you have a hand on his shoulder, doubling over with laughter as if listening to Tobio’s jokes made your whole night of small talk worth it. 

The red hot feeling bubbles over, and before he knows what he’s doing, he stomps over to rip your arm off Tobio’s shoulder. 

“What? You just pawn me off to some other girl so you can go off and find someone else for tonight?” 

Tobio, bless his heart, with all his social ineptitude picks up the cues and makes himself scarce. 

You shake Atsumu’s searing grip from your wrist and put some space between you two, but he’s not having it. He steps even closer, backing you up until you hit the wall. Suddenly, the hallway seems too empty, too quiet. Atsumu doesn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears anyway. 

You only look at him for a moment before closing your eyes and turning away. “What are you talking about, Atsumu? It's not that seri-” 

“It is and you fuckin’ know it.” 

“Atsumu, I don’t think this is the place to talk about this– ” 

“So come over to mine. Let’s talk.” 

“Atsumu…” 

“Please,” he’s damn near begging, one degree from being on his knees.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

He grabs your chin and forces you to look right into his eyes. “And why not? I think we both know something happened tonight that we need to talk about.” 

“Tonight?” you echo. You slap his hands away and shove at his chest, forcing him half a step back. “Something happened last time too and you didn’t seem to wanna talk about it then. Well, now it’s my turn to tell you. Nothing happened tonight, so there’s nothing to talk about.” 

His chest aches, so much so that he can’t get any words out as he processes what you’ve just said. So he didn’t do the right thing after all. 

The aching intensifies hearing you refer to whatever went down tonight between you two as “nothing.” 

He takes a deep, heavy inhale before eking out, “don’t say that, baby. I’m sorry. Can we please talk about this?” 

“I don’t want to. In fact, Atsumu, I don’t think we should-” see each other anymore. 

“No,” he cuts you off. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, my answer is no and that’s final.” 

“And what I want doesn’t matter?”

“It does! But I won't allow you to make that decision for us until we talk properly.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you anymore.” 

“Just-” 

What should he say? What can he say? He’s running out of words to convince you and you’re not budging. It’s pure panic that arises in his throat when he watches you desperately try to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

He grips tighter. He has a feeling that if he gives up now, it would be that easy for you to venture beyond his reach. You’d never come to another one of these gatherings. Maybe he’d get a glimpse of you at a game against Tobio, you wearing an Adlers jersey with a #20 printed in the back and fuck- 

That’s such a terrible image, he almost feels like physically doubling over to soothe the stabbing jealousy in his chest. 

“I love you,” he utters out. 

“What?” 

His forehead comes down to rest on yours, pouring out his entire being into those three words again. “I love you.” 

“Atsumu! That is not casual!” you whisper urgently. 

He can’t help but laugh. It’s a mixture of relief that the confession has finally freed itself from the confines of his ribcage and at your alarmed but adorably frank comment. 

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.” 

“So then… why did you… that night…” 

“That night, I was an idiot that didn’t realize how much I felt for you. I took for granted that I’d always be able to see you again like this and have you like I always have. But I don’t wanna live on hope or ‘next time’ anymore. I wanna know that I can and when I will see you again.” 

Foreheads still pressed against another, he leaves you with nowhere to run. You close your eyes. He does too. 

“So will you please come home with me so we can figure this out together?” 

Much like that very first night at the bar, you waver between going back out to the party or staying with him. He sees the indecision in your eyes and for those few moments, he walks on a tightrope and you hold the scissors. 

“Okay,” you whisper, so quiet it barely makes a sound. 

–

“Missed you so damn much.” 

“Atsumu, wait-” 

It’s immediate when his door swings open. Suddenly, you’re pressed against the wall and the door slams shut. Atsumu pushes closer one leg forcefully opening yours up and picking you up by the thighs. With nowhere to run, you wrap your legs around his waist and open up for Atumu to deepen the kiss. 

“Thought we were gonna talk,” he hears you say between breaths. 

“Later,” he rasps, kissing you harder and starting to rock his hips against you. “Missed you so fuckin’ much.” 

“Me too,” you admit quietly and that’s all you get to say before you succumb to his desperation. 

– 

“You know,” you say, much later that night as you rest your cheek on his chest. “You still owe me an explanation. Just ‘cause we slept together doesn’t mean I totally forgive you.” 

Atsumu considers making a quip about how you being here with him, drawing indiscernible patterns on his torso with your finger, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, smelling like him is making it look pretty good for him, but he figures he flew way to close to the sun for today. 

“I know. And I promise we’ll talk more. No more dinin’ and dashin’ in the mornin’, yeah?” 

You consider this for a moment, before propping both arms on his chest and resting your head on your fists thoughtfully. 

He thinks it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Just so I don’t misunderstand anything again-”

“You’re not misunderstanding anything, I promise.”

“I know, but I have to hear it.” 

“Will you be my wife?” 

“Atsumu!” 

“Okay, okay sorry. We’ll do that later then. Can we start with girlfriend?” 

“Hmm… I’ll need to think about it. Not sure how I feel about a guy who goes straight to home plate before he even takes me out to dinner.” 

“Y’know what, now that you mention it, I don’t know how I feel about a girl who goes home with a guy she just met-” 

“Shut up.” you snort and something’s definitely not right because every sound you make is the most adorable thing. He swears he’s got hearts in his eyes.

“And ‘Tsumu?” 

Lovestruck, he croons, “yeah, darlin’?” 

“I’d love to be your fiance.” 

“That’s my girl.”

[pedriache]

Hi sorry if I’m insisting but are we getting anything for Jobe soon?

Kingston — Jobe Bellingham.

Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Summary: Starting a new relationship came with it’s perks, and your boyfriend seemed to love learning everything about you.

Word count: 587

Disclaimer/s: this is purely fluff!

A/N: i have sm req’s piling up, sorry if i don’t see them all xxx i’m trying to get around to them more though!

Sitting across the wooden table from Jobe, you fiddled with the plastic coffee cup in your hand. You were nervous, he always made you nervous. Especially when he looked at you in the way he did.

His lips curling at the sides, showcasing the dimple you loved so much. The way his blinking came in short intervals and fluttered quickly, like he would miss something if he kept them closed for too long. The corners of his eyes crinkling when you said something that made him laugh, oh God you couldn’t even think about his laugh or you’d go nuts.

Jobe was a listener through and through, he always urged you to speak more, to tell him things you enjoyed, the things you were passionate about.

That’s what he was doing right now. He’d asked you about your favorite animal, to which your face had brightened at.

That expression was why he asked these questions. You talking about something you were passionate about seemed to bring out an expression he rarely got to see.

You’d stopped speaking suddenly, though. Confusing the boy. “Is something wrong?” He asks, eyebrows pinching together in concern.

“I’ve been speaking this whole time.” You point out, “it’s not fair.”

Jobe chuckles at this, his head dipping down before he looks back to you. “No, no, I want to hear you talk.” He explains, “I want to know these things.”

Oh, that got you.

Your dace flushes a crimson red, “that’s sweet, Jobe. But, it’s not fair because I want to know these things about you.” Bringing the cup to your lips, you take a quick drink and motion for him to speak. “Tell me about something you like, other than football.” You finish after swallowing.

Jobe’s eye’s widen dramatically, “me? Love something that isn’t football?” He feigns offense, hand clasping over his heart.

Laughter bubbles in your chest as you roll your eyes. “I’m being serious! Okay, if you were able to be anywhere right now, where would you go?”

“Why would I want to be anywhere else right now? I’m with you.” The corners of his lips twists into a small smirk. He was being oh so cheesy, and it made your knee’s weak.

Your head lulls to the side, a groan escaping your lips. “Oh my lord. I’m trying to get to know you, Jobe!”

Leaning back in his seat, the brunette crosses his arms, eyes flickering across your face. “What?! I’m being serious!”

“You’re insufferable.” You point at him accusatorially. “I’m not answering another question until you give me a serious response.”

Jobe huffs, “okay. If I could be anywhere, and it wasn’t with you,” he adds, just to tease you, “i’d probably be in Madrid, with my mum and Jude.”

“Aww, Jobe Bellingham, are you a momma’s boy?” You ask, humor evident in your tone, teasing him right back.

He gasps, “is it so wrong to miss my mum?” Jobe clutches his hoodie, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ll be sure to let her know you’re making fun of me for loving her.”

“Wha—hey! Do not go telling the poor woman such things.” You lean forward, propping your head into your palms. “So, let’s go question for question, okay? You ask me one thing, I ask you something after I answer. That way, it’s fair for both of us.”

Jobe leans forward, mirroring your movement. He grins widely, “Okay, but i’m going first.” He insists, leaving you with a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Go ahead.”

Likes , comments , & reblog’s are all appreciated <3 + lmk if you want dt’s on any of my future posts , specific or all!

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[theemporium]

witch!reader being drained from using too much of her powers and she just slumps over onto the back patio couch and passes out and wakes up to find two wolves nosing at her with worried whines and she’s like “hi Charles, Max” and then falls back asleep while the boys are sharing a look and going WHAT THE FUCK

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

You found it oddly endearing that the boys thought you were clueless to their secret.

You had known what they were the second you met them. You felt the shift in their auras, felt the rush of their true selves when you touched them for the first time. You knew. And you knew how protective wolves could get when it came to their kind, to their pack and the bonds they formed. You respected the fact they wouldn’t want to tell you instantly, but you knew. 

The relationship grew stronger when you came clean about yourself (though you hadn’t done much to hide it), and both boys had accepted you instantly. There was no fear or hesitation or concern about the powers you harboured. If anything, it made them love you more but it wasn’t enough for them to come clean. And once again, you respected that. 

But it was sweet how unbelievably unsubtle they were with their attempts to hide their secret. You don’t think they realised how bad they were, but it amused you nonetheless. It became pretty obvious to you who the two wolves at the bottom of your garden were, or the reason they were following you when you would head into the woods to collect some ingredients. 

Yet, it still warmed your heart every time you saw the two large wolves—one dark brown and the other blond—always checking up on you.

And truthfully, you hadn’t meant to reveal your knowledge of their secret in such a way. 

It had been a long week. With the moon in the perfect position, aligned with the planets and stronger than it ever could be on a full moon, you had been overworking yourself. Most other witches had covens, they had someone else to supply them and take off the stress of the magic. But that wasn’t the case for you, and it meant that every spell was quickly dwindling your reservoir to the point of exhaustion. 

You tried to pace yourself, to give yourself enough time between spells to rest and rejuvenate. But the planets were shifting and you were losing time and you pushed yourself over the edge for one last spell. 

You didn’t remember making it back to your house, not a second of the walk back from the woods in your memory. You didn’t remember crawling up the steps of the patio. And you certainly didn’t remember passing out on the couch outside, your body falling into some makeshift comatose state to try and reserve what little energy you had left. 

Everything was bleary when you felt someone nudging your arm. 

You waited for it to stop but it never did. The nudges became more insistent, and then you felt someone nudging your leg too. You made a noise of discontentment but your eyes remained shut, which didn’t seem to please whatever was nudging you. 

You felt a little more awake when you heard a low whine. It sounded scared, like a plea for help rather than anything else. It sounded concerned. You tried your best to force your eyes open, to blink them open to see whatever was nudging you.

It took a few seconds for coloured splodges to become actual shapes but once your eyes focused on the two wolves in front of you, you couldn’t help but let a smile take over your face.

“My boys,” you murmured happily as you let out a deep sigh. “Just such caring puppies, hm?”

If it was possible for wolves to look comically confused, you would have thought you were seeing said expression right then.

You let out a small snort. “Of course I know it’s you.”

Both wolves stayed frozen in their spot as you reached out towards them, your fingers brushing against their fur before your hand fell limp at your side again. You blinked, a little slower and your eyes stayed closed for much longer intervals too. You could practically feel the concern radiating off them.

“M’fine,” you murmured as you nuzzled your face into the couch cushion with a sleepy smile. “Just a lil’ tired. Just…need a nap.”

Everything felt far too fuzzy and it didn’t take long before the exhaustion won over your body, pulling you back into a deep sleep before you could even realise the boys were shifting back into their human forms.

“Mon amour,” Charles whispered in a worried voice, kneeling beside the couch as he gently stroked his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “She’s out cold.”

“She needs to rest so she doesn’t burn herself out completely,” Max said with a frown on his face, shaking his head. “She was reckless. She could have hurt herself if she wasn’t careful.”

Charles hummed, nodding his head in agreement. “And she knows.”

“We were stupid for thinking we could hide it from her,” Max replied honestly before he grabbed a blanket, placing it over your body before you got too cold. “Let’s take her inside, help warm her up.”

Charles turned to the other boy, eyes wide and a little glossy. “Will she be okay?”

“We’ll take care of her,” Max reassured him, running a hand through the boy’s hair until he melted under the touch. “C’mon, I’ll make us some dinner for her to wake up to too.”

.

[hvlplvss]

| welcome to the moulin rouge

summary: in which colby’s girlfriend stars in the hit broadway musical, moulin rouge. with little knowledge on the musical, he’s surprised when he first watches it.

warnings: smut, dirty talk, fingering, shower sex, praise, slight degradation, cream pie, hair pulling, slight edging. lmk if i missed anything !!

authors note: for those who haven’t watched moulin rouge, i recommend searching ‘welcome to moulin rouge-west end cast’ to get an idea about it. but if you don’t want to, it’s a musical based on a cabaret club and y/n plays one of the main girls from the club. i highly recommend it if you have never watched it!

y/n had recently been casted as ‘nini’ in one of her top three musicals of all time. moulin rouge. ever since the musical had come out, she’d adored it. knowing that she would love to be in it herself one day.

and that day was here. it was the opening night for the new cast of moulin rouge. she was also performing amongst some of her most favourite broadway performers.

her boyfriend colby and his best friend sam, who she were also really good friends with, had bought tickets for the first public opening show. they decided they might as well buy the most expensive tickets, which were the ones right at the front of the stage, where you got your own little table for two.

in true honesty, y/n had barely spent any time with colby recently. she’d been so busy at rehearsals and taking promotional pictures. so the only time she saw him, was once she arrived home, which was usually later than 11pm.

the boys sat at their table at 7:28pm, waiting for the show to begin. sam turns to colby, “so you have no idea, what this show is about?” sam asked.

colby shook his head in response, “nope. i’ve watched loads of other shows with y/n, but she won’t let me watch this, cause she wants me to see her in the show first,” he explained. “have you seen it?”

sam nodded, “yeah. y/n told me to watch it before we came to see this,” he answered. colby rolled his eyes, but a small smile stuck on his face. but he was slightly confused. how come sam could watch the movie, but he couldn’t?

the lights slightly dimmed, taking colby out of his confused state. aaron tveit, who y/n had spoke about, walked out onto stage and past the two boys, where he stood to the left of them.

aaron looked around the audience, then he looked back to the bright glowing red ‘moulin rouge’ sign. aaron lifted his hands slightly and the sign lifted up, clearing the view of the stage. the music began, a low thudding noise, with a drum every few beats.

aaron disappears off of stage, and a spotlight flashes on the back wall, where there is a silhouette of four girls. colby could recognise one of them immediately.

‘hey sister, soul sister, flow sister’

the curtain they were standing behind lifted, revealing his girlfriend. colby’s eyes widened in shock at what his girlfriend was wearing.

y/n stood there in barely any clothing. it was all lingerie. black to be specific. her hands and arms adorned red velvet gloves which stopped at her bicep. she wore black stockings, which were connected to the black corset like bodysuit by a thin piece of fabric. the corset revealed a great deal of cleavage, and left little to the imagination.

as the four stepped forward beginning to dance, colby didn’t know what to do with himself. his girlfriend dancing half naked on stage in front of hundreds of people.

the dance was as sexual as you could get, grabbing onto your own waist, dropping to the floor. doing anything that was vaguely provocative. and colby still didn’t know how to react.

what really riled him up though was when another character came on stage, someone called ‘the duke’ something like that anyway, colby wasn’t in the right mind set to even focus on that.

y/n had gone over to said character, and in simple words, had to rub herself against him. colby’s eyes stared dead at y/n. he wasn’t mad or annoyed. but he was so jealous.

the interval had just begun and colby still couldn’t stop thinking about you. sam spoke up, “you good there, colby?” he asked.

colby nodded, looking over to his bestfriend, “did you know all about that?” colby questioned.

“what your girlfriend being half naked on stage?” he answered, colby nodded, “well yeah, she’s been showing me behind the scenes things for ages. she wanted all of it to be a surprise for you,” sam added. colby hummed in response, turning back to look at the stage as the show resumed.

colby and sam walked out of the theatre and round to stage door, to meet y/n after the show. when they arrived there was a slight crowd stood there, asking for photos and signatures and what not.

y/n was amongst them, signing playbills and taking photos with fans of the show. colby and sam stood back from the crowd, allowing y/n to take her time. but colby didn’t want to wait. he was desperate for his girlfriend.

after what seemed like forever, the crowd had dispersed, meaning y/n could make her way over to the boys.

“there she is!” sam smiled, hugging y/n and telling her congratulations. she thanked him and then turned to her boyfriend.

y/n reached to kiss colby on the lips. and just from that, she could tell. she knew colby was riled up. y/n grabbed onto colby’s hand, as sam led the way to the car.

the three arrived home not much later, as they opened the door, y/n spoke up, “i’m gonna go shower real quick,” the boys nodded and y/n ran off upstairs.

“i’m probably gonna go to bed now,” colby stated, “it’s already pretty late,”

sam nodded, with a slight eyebrow raise of disbelief. he knew his friend wasn’t going to sleep, he knew exactly what was going on with the boy. but he wished him a goodnight and walked off into the kitchen.

colby walked up the stairs and into his room. he could hear the shower running from the en-suite, which was connected to their room. he could also hear y/n’s light humming of some of the songs from the show.

colby began undressing himself and walked into the shower with y/n. “you know, what you did to me, y/n?” colby suddenly asked.

y/n jumped in shock at the boys voice, “shit colby, you scared me,” y/n smiled, turning to face her boyfriend, taking him all in.

“you know, how i felt? when i was sat there watching you,” he repeated, “seeing you dance against everyone,”

y/n bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. but colby could tell. it was a habit she always had.

“you think it’s funny? that your boyfriend was sat in the audience with a hard on?” he asked seductively, “it won’t be funny soon,” he said lowly.

colby grabbed his girlfriends cheeks and brought his lips to hers roughly. he held her face with one hand and her lower back with the other.

colby wasn’t playing nice at all. the rough yet passionate kiss was clear enough to say how frustrated he was.

colby’s mouth left hers and began making it’s way down her neck, biting harshly, causing y/n to let out a whimper. “come on, let me hear you,” colby said.

y/n had only seen her boyfriend like this a couple of times. usually when he’s jealous or wound up by something.

“don’t tease, baby,” y/n pleaded.

colby hushed her, “i’m taking my time. just like how i had to sit there for two whole hours, watching you dance about with barely anything on,”

colby grabbed her tit, going back to roughly kissing his girlfriend. y/n let out a moan, but it was sealed by colby, who’s mouth covered hers.

colby let go of her tit and reached down, letting his fingers cascade down y/n’s sides. she arched into his touch, “so needy,” colby spoke against her lips.

his fingers finally reached where she needed him the most. his thumb pressed firmly on her clit, rubbing in circles.

y/n moaned out, leaning her head on colby’s chest, letting the water from the shower run down her back. colby removed his fingers, causing y/n to let out a small whine.

“you’re such a desperate whore, aren’t you?”

“only for you,” y/n answered.

“only for me, huh?” colby smirked, “you’re mine, aren’t you.” y/n nodded, “say it, y/n. say you’re mine,”

y/n removed her head from colby’s chest and looked him directly in his eyes, “i’m yours, colby,”

colby nodded in approval, “good girl,” y/n’s head went back onto colby’s shoulder, as two of his fingers pressed inside her cunt, stretching her out.

y/n stifled a moan. as her boyfriend worked his fingers inside of her, she latched her mouth onto his lower neck, causing colby to groan.

she littered dark purple bruises across his neck and chest, admiring her work after each one. she knew he’d eventually get her back for the mess across his neck as he couldn’t show it all over social media, or else people would talk.

colby could feel y/n approaching her orgasm, so he removed his hand. causing y/n to remove his mouth off of colby, “what-”

colby hushed his girlfriend, “want you to cum at the same time, baby,” he answered.

he aligned his cock with her pussy, letting it glide against her folds, teasing her.

“please colby,” she begged.

“awh, you’re begging now? that’s cute,” he answered.

colby slid his cock in slowly. y/n moaned out and colby let out a low groan, watching the pleasure that washed over his girlfriends face.

he wrapped one arm around her waist and placed his other arm on the back wall of the shower.

after a few seconds, colby began moving his hips. snapping up into y/n, causing her to moan out loudly. her arms clung onto colby’s shoulders, staring directly at him.

she grabbed onto colby’s wet hair, and slightly tugged, causing the boys head to loll back.

“you getting close?” colby asked. y/n nodded, her bottom lip coming between her teeth, “thought so. feel so tight, baby,”

y/n pulled colby in by his hair to kiss him roughly, which made him speed up his hips. colby mumbled against her lips, “cum for me,” he looked at his girlfriend, who stared directly back at him.

colby felt y/n release around him. he wouldn’t last much longer himself. his hips stilled, realising himself inside of y/n.

after a few moments, he removed his cock from her. placing a kiss on her forehead and then a soft one on her lips.

“you okay?” he asked.

she nodded, “are you?”

“i’m more than okay. and i’m so proud. so incredibly proud of you,”

“well, if when you come and watch me perform and it ends up like this, you might have to come watch me a few more times,”

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Ok ok, but the prompt “if you die, I die! Don’t you get that?!” with Peter yelling it at Tony 😂😂

Fine. Fine. Yes. Let's reverse it. Another mini!

874 words, a little more angsty with a hurt Tony Stark and a very passionate Peter Parker. Enjoy!! :D [Click here for a reversed use of this prompt]

If You Die... Part. 2.

As Tony came back to awareness the first thing he noticed was the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. It was one tone after another, in two second intervals. Beep… Beep… Beep... He tried to turn away from it, but he couldn’t get his body to cooperate. He was exhausted in a way he’d never felt before. His limbs felt like lead and his eyes refused to open. 

For a few minutes, he simply laid there mildly aware of his surroundings but lacking the energy to interact with them. Beep… Beep… Beep… The sound was starting to get on his nerves. He wished it would stop. He tried to clench his fist but managed nothing more than a small twitch of his finger. His forehead creased slightly in concentration. Another two fingers moved, flexing upward and dropping back down to the sheets. That seemed to get the attention of whomever was in the room. His hand was suddenly engulfed by a firm warm grasp.

“-ister Stark?” Tony used all his strength to turn towards the voice. His head moved marginally but he managed to crack an eye open. “Mr. Stark?” As his vision focused he was able to see Peter hovering above him.

He parted his dry lips and pressed his sandpaper tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Kid?” he rasped. It came out in barely a whisper. But he was certain Peter heard it. His kid’s hand tightened around his own and tears started to break free from his eyes.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter leaned forward until his head was resting heavily on his chest. Hot tears were soaking into his shirt and wanted nothing more than to comfort his kid. He felt more alert with his eyes open and his strength was slowly returning. He pulled his heavy hand out of Peter’s grasp and repositioned it so he could wrap his fingers around his kid’s wrists.

“I’m right here, Buddy,” he murmured, while fighting his other arm off of the mattress. Eventually, he managed and was able to get his hand to the back of his kid’s head. “I’m right here.”

“You almost weren’t!” Peter stood up, sniffed and ran his free hand over his cheeks. “You almost- You almost died, Mr. Stark!”

A painful lump formed in his throat. He looked at the bleached-white sheets and tried to swallow past it. “But I didn’t.”

“But you could have!” Peter shouted. Fresh tears started to flow. That time, he didn’t try to stop them. “The doctors said- they said you might not- We almost lost you!”

Tony licked his dry lips and coughed. Seconds later, a nurse walked into the room, raised his bed and offered him some water. Once he’d had a few sips, she started tugging at the various tubes and wires. She shined a light in his eyes and started asking questions. He answered them with an absentminded nod or shake of his head. His gaze had yet to leave Peter. Even from across the room he could see his kid’s puffy eyes and tear streaks cheeks,

The nurse finished with him and started talking to Peter. He couldn’t hear what she was saying but he could see his kid nod his head. Then, the nurse was gone and Peter returned to his bedside still sniffling. 

“You can’t do this again,” Peter said, his voice eerily calm. He gathered a shuddering breath and pressed his lips into a tight thin line.  “I can’t- you were in a coma for three days! You can’t-”

All of a sudden Peter’s anger and upset finally made sense. Tony’s eyes momentarily winded in response. Six days was a long time to wait for someone to wake up. “I’m sorry, Bud. I never-”

“You can’t die!” Peter shouted loudly enough to make Tony flinch. “If you die, I die! Don’t you get that?” His fists balled up by his sides as his face crumpled in anguish. “You- you’re the only one I have left!”

Not quite understanding, Tony pulled his brows together. “You have May, your friends and-”

“They aren’t you! I need you, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice cracked on the last syllable. He ran his hands down his face and crossed arms defensively over his chest.  “I’ve already lost my mom and dad! Then I lost Uncle Ben too! I need you!”

tony felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. “Pete. Honey-”

“Stop it! Stop- Don’t patronize me!” The anger didn’t last long. Within seconds Peter was back to leaning over the bed, one arm wrapped around Tony's stomach. “Just- next time let someone else make the sacrifice play! Because, selfish or not- I need you here!”

His kid was crying again and Tony could feel his own eyes starting to water. “Oh, kid. That’s not- that’s not selfish, Buddy. That’s-” 

Peter squeezed him tightly enough that it was starting to hurt. He didn’t complain. He simply held on with equal ferocity, 

When Peter let go, it was so he could look Tony in the eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.

Tony smiled and placed his hands on either side of his kid’s damp cheeks. “I- I love you too, Pete. So much. And I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: angst???

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

it’s the OTHER moment youve all been waiting for

part forty

❝ CRISIS ❞

TUESDAY — AUGUST 21 — 11:49AM

BENTLEY LIKED QUARANTINE MORE THAN ACTUAL SCHOOL.

It was actually much, much nicer. He got to do his work at his own pace, got to spend the whole day with his friends, didn’t have to deal with Tyler, and didn’t have the stress of classrooms and late bells and all the things that stressed him out about public high school. He didn’t have to wake up at six every morning, didn’t have to change out of his pajamas. The only thing remotely similar to a normal school day was the fact that a nurse came in every evening to change the filters in Bellamy’s machines. But it was quick, and she never spoke to anyone else. Everything was peaceful.

The Dad 1, Dad 2, Dad 3 group chat was blowing up again with Dick, Jason, and Bruce all checking up on them in varying intervals. Asking if they were sick, how they were feeling, if they liked the quarantine, what they were doing in class. The normal stuff. 

Chloe had stopped texting Bentley almost three days ago, now. He didn’t want to bother her if she didn’t want to talk to him. He asked how she was feeling and she left it on read, so he just… y’know. Didn’t text her again. What was he supposed to do? Blow up her phone?

Vera and Layla facetimed and called him often, to talk about everything and nothing and do classwork together. Vera never spoke about her brother, not even about the funeral that Layla had told him she went to, or about being drunk that night, so he never did, either. He just talked to them about whatever it was they brought up. Which was usually, like, being mad that theater was canceled, or that Vera’s band couldn’t practice, or that figure skating was off for the quarantine. Things like that.

Overall, it was pretty… chill. Bentley preferred it over speed walking across campus to seven classes anyways. His teachers had very few expectations — as long as he got the week’s work done by Friday, he was good. So pretty much all the other days he decided he'd do nothing at all.

Like today. It was Tuesday, but he was waiting until Thursday and Friday to worry about work, so he was sitting at the dining table at almost noon, playing a mean game of uno with Asten, Varian, Koa, and Bellamy. They’d played it four times already and Bellamy had won every single game. He was sitting in a living room chair at the head of the table, with Varian and Koa on the bench to his right, and Bentley and Asten on the bench to his left.

“I’m starting to think this is rigged,” Koa muttered with a sigh, bluish-green eyes flicking across the fan of cards in his hands. “All my cards are the same color.”

“It’s probably because you can’t shuffle,” Varian shot back with a playful glare, and Koa gaped across the table at him.

“I’m the best shuffler here! I can even do the bridge thing!”

“Being able to do the bridge thing does not make you a good shuffler,” Varian retorted.

Bentley glanced at Bellamy, who was right across from them with a small smile tugging up on his lips. Bentley smiled, too -- it made him really happy to see Bellamy feeling safe enough to smile and laugh with all his roommates. Bentley remembered how difficult it had been for him, moving into the Manor with everybody. The strange combination of trusting them immediately but also being terrified they’d end up like his dad… was hard. It took him a long time to get used to that sort of thing -- trusting people, being with them all the time, sharing parts of him he typically wasn’t allowed to or had been too afraid to share before. He didn’t know Bellamy’s story, and he didn’t plan on knowing it unless Bellamy wanted to share it. But he was glad that, whatever his past may have been, that he felt safe with them.

Amidst Koa and Varian’s bickering, Bellamy reached into the center and put his final card on top of the deck, again. “I won.”

Varian and Koa both silenced and glanced over at him. Then Varian exclaimed: “Are you serious?!”

“I think he’s a magician or something,” Koa added.

Bentley glanced up at the soft clack of a door, eyes catching on Valor and Rockie as they came out of their bedroom for the first time that day. He expected them to still be in their pajamas, but they were both fully dressed -- Rockie in black jeans and a black shirt, and Valor in joggers and a big blue hoodie that covered his wings.

“And where are you two going during quarantine?” Koa questioned, glancing backwards at them with a mischievous look on his face.

“On a city adventure,” Was Valor’s cheeky response. “Wanna come with?”

“No thanks, I’m trying not to catch the plague,” Koa replied, turning back to the table and gathering everybody’s cards again. “My immune system is such trash that I catch anything that even thinks about going around. It was a literal miracle that I didn’t get sick when Varian did.”

Valor didn’t say anything, but pointed at Varian, who shook his head immediately at the very thought of stepping out of their dorm. “I am not going to risk catching that again. I thought I was going to die.”

Valor scrunched his face up, then shrugged. “Any takers? If not, we're heading out without you.”

Bentley glanced at them, his eyes catching on Rockie's green ones for a second. There was something in them. Something subtle, and he didn't really know what it was, but it was there.

“I’ll go,” He muttered, and Asten glanced over at him, as did everyone else. “I like going to the city. Just let me put some clothes on.”

Valor shrugged. “Okay."

Bentley glanced over at Asten, who was right next to him, vaguely moving his hands under the table. Is that okay?

I think they’d both take a bullet to protect you, Asten signed back. Just reply if I text you. Ringer on.

Bentley gave him a thumbs-up as he hopped up from the table, hurrying into their room and changing into jeans and an old red hoodie of Tim’s. He shoved some money in his phone case if he would need it, and made triple sure his ringer was on before he journeyed back out to the living area.

Apparently, Rockie had made and drank an entire cup of coffee in that time, because he was washing a mug in the sink when Bentley came back out. (He swore he was in his room for less than five minutes.) Valor was standing against the wall next to the door, looking at something on his phone.

“Ready?” He questioned, and when Bentley nodded, he put his phone in his pocket and swung the door open.

“Don’t get sick!” Varian called as the three of them filed into the hallway. Rockie, who was the last one to leave, gave them a two finger salute.

“If we do, we’ll make sure to bring it home to you!”

There was a series of muted groans that came in response as they closed the door. 

As soon as they were in the hallway, cut off from the dorm, Rockie's entire demeanor changed startlingly fast. His entire body seemed to deflate, his posture going closed off, eyes immediately dulling as he brought a hand up to rub at one of his temples.

Bentley blinked, glancing at Valor, who was also watching him with a visible level of concern.

“Are you okay...?" Bentley asked quietly, falling into step on the right side of Rockie as they made their way down the hall, Valor staying tight to his other side.

“Yeah,” He shrugged. Bentley wasn't too convinced, though -- he seemed to have lost color just since the door had closed, and his entire mood was different. Like he had taken off a mask or something.

Bentley didn’t say anything, just sort of looked at him. 

Rockie glanced over at him, made eye contact for a second, then looked away and sighed: “Okay, well, I feel like absolute shit. But it's fine.”

"We're going to pick up a refill of his medicine," Valor butted in, glancing over at Bentley. "He gets grumpy without it."

"Feel like shit on it. Feel like shit without it. The pharmaceutical industry is laughing in my face right now," Rockie muttered.

Bentley wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't.

"Exhibit one," Valor continued, gesturing to Rockie, who rolled his eyes. The three of them stopped at the elevator, which was new because Bentley had never actually taken the elevator up to their room before. Ever since he, Asten, and Bruce took the stairs, that was always just what he did.

"Is your stomach feeling bad again?" Bentley questioned, glancing at Rockie as he mashed the elevator button.

"Like it's dying. Among other things. Like my will to live,"

Bentley, again, didn't say anything. He and Valor caught each other's eyes, but unsurprisingly, the older boy didn't seem very caught off-guard. (After all, he was Rockie's roommate.)

"Exhibit two," He continued.

Bentley stayed mostly quiet, venturing into the elevator with them without saying anything. Rockie usually didn't talk much, but then, his silence was shrouded with something different -- something cold and mean that made Bentley sort of wary to speak at all.

Valor didn't seem to care, though, because while they were waiting for the elevator to reach the bottom floor, he shoved Rockie's shoulder so hard he collided with Bentley. "Lighten up."

Bentley halfway expected him to, like, punch Valor in the face or something, but he didn't.

"Sorry," Was what he said instead.

The elevator dinged, and they all stepped out.

The lobby of their building was empty, as expected. It smelled like sterile cleaner, and the sun was shining brightly outside, making the entire room much brighter than the fancy light fixtures on the ceiling ever could.

The three of them went off campus the same way they always did -- through the parking lots behind their buildings. The entire school was, more or less, dead. Not a soul was venturing outside but them. Bentley had almost expected there to be security to keep kids from leaving their buildings, but there wasn't a single human being in sight across the entire part of campus he could see.

Didn't the website brag about security? How come he hadn't seen any since he'd gotten there?

The walk through New York City was far less exciting than normal, probably because Bentley just kind of kept looking at Rockie to make sure he was okay. Even if the walk was kind of weird, he didn't hate it -- He wasn't sure why, but Rockie had specifically singled him out in the dorm and basically stared him into coming with them. Bentley would be lying if he didn't say he was a little bit honored to be chosen to tag along when Rockie was 'feeling like absolute shit.'

That's about when it dawned on him why exactly Rockie may have invited him, and it made the whole thing just a little bit worse.

He could've invited him along because he wanted to be with someone else who dealt with her.

Something mean seemed to bloom in Bentley's chest when he realized that maybe his medicine wasn't the only problem there. (And if she was part of it, why couldn't she just leave them the hell alone?!)

They didn't go to Times Square on the way like they had the other day. Which Bentley didn't mind -- because it was so loud and bright and so much there that it would probably bother Rockie if he had a headache of any kind. It was actually a little shorter to go straight to the sketchy pharmacy than it had been going through Times Square.

Bentley and Valor floated around the building as Rockie got his medicine, then left with him, just like Bentley had the first time. Except much quieter.

They were about halfway out of the city when Bentley realized they weren't going the same way they'd come.

"Where are we going?" He questioned softly, and both Rockie and Valor glanced over at him.

"To see Georgia," Rockie replied flatly, looking forward again. Bentley pretended he didn't want to cringe. "She's working today."

(Rockie was going to see her at his worst, little did he know she was...)

Bentley chose not to think about it, as best he could.

They made it to the diner a a few minutes later. It was hustling and bustling like the rest of New York -- Bentley could see waitresses buzzing around on roller skates, delivering food to tables through the window.

The three of them went inside, greeted by a myriad of smells and the overlapping chatter of a few dozen people spread across the interior of the building. Bentley glanced at all of the waitresses that were rolling around, but... none of them were Georgia.

He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

Rockie seemed to have the same dilemma -- he kept looking around for a few minutes from the doorway, then went in and actually glanced into one of the doors off to the side (a break room or kitchen, maybe?) Before he came back over to them with a perplexed look on his face.

"She isn't here," He stated simply.

Bentley said nothing, and Valor hummed thoughtfully. "Do you think she goes outside for her breaks?"

Rockie shrugged, but went back out the door anyways, Valor and Bentley staying close behind. He looked around the crowded sidewalks, and when he didn't see her, turned to go check the alleys on the side of the building that wasn't on a street corner; where the dumpsters and stuff were, Bentley guessed.

He was too busy looking at his feet and wondering where Georgia was that he ran directly into Rockie's back when he stopped dead in his tracks at the mouth of the alley.

Bentley glanced up at him, and then in the alley, where he was looking, and-

Georgia was there, in her little waitress dress and rollerskates, her hair straightened instead of braided, and she was...

...kissing someone else. A guy, in a uniform similar to her's.

Bentley seemed to malfunction, all of his signals firing at once when he realized that he was there and they were there and Rockie was there and he was looking at them and it was all really happening right then-

"...Georgia?"

Again, Rockie's response surprised him. As opposed to absolutely exploding or going off the rails, he just... whispered. It was just one word but Bentley practically felt the years of betrayal building up behind it like a dam that was holding too much water. When he listened, Rockie's heartbeat was through the roof.

Georgia immediately turned on her heel, shoving the guy away from her with all of her might with a sudden: "Oh my God!"

And they all just stared at each other. Georgia stared at Rockie, and he stared at her, and Bentley stared at Rockie, and Valor's eyes flicked between them all, and everyone was quiet.

"Wha-what are you doing here? B... Babe?" She asked, stuttering and stumbling all over her words, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of her neck.

"Babe?!" The other guy (that Bentley thought should really go away now.) asked incredulously. "You didn't tell me you had a-"

"Go back inside," Georgia replied without looking back at him, keeping her stunned, wide eyes glued on Rockie. The guy obeyed without protest, even slamming the door behind him.

And then they all just stared some more.

"Georgia?" He asked again, sort of in disbelief, quiet, but with something else, too, that Bentley couldn't place.

Georgia looked around like she was trying to maybe find a way out of the conversation, and when she came up with nothing, looked back over at them with tears pooling at the bottom of her brown eyes. "Rockie, you... you can't blame me. I can't get anything out of you anymore, you hardly even kiss me..."

"Are you seriously trying to defend yourself right now?" It was Valor who spoke up that time, quiet, too, but with the same tone of voice he used on Tyler Abbott after Koa was hurt.

Rockie just looked at her. And Bentley thought he might start crying, but he didn't. It was just nothing -- this freakishly blank look on his face, like he was rethinking absolutely everything he'd ever said and done.

"Rockie, please, c'mon..." Georgia continued, and she even had the audacity to come up closer to him, a few tears falling down her face. "I can't-"

Everything happened really fast. Rockie dropped the brown bag from the pharmacy. There was an incredibly quick succession of three click, click, clicks, the clank of something heavy and metal hitting the concrete. Then Rockie had her by the throat, shoving her back against the wall with his bare hand. His glove was on the ground.

And the only thing Bentley could think in that moment was: oh shit.

Rockie's eyes turned this almost hauntingly white color, and so did her's. His hand started to glow like something out of an action movie, and his feet slowly left the ground as he started to levitate a few inches off the concrete, siphoning the power out of her like some kind of leech.

And it was over as fast as it started -- because Valor grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked him off of her, very nearly tossing him to the other side of the alley.

"Stop!" He ordered, glancing between them with a look of pure disgust splayed across his features. He picked up Rockie's glove and held it toward him. "Go back to the school. Now."

Rockie stared at him with his (green again) eyes for a solid ten seconds.

"Until you two can talk about it, go," Valor continued. Taking another step toward Rockie, he whispered: "Please. You aren't in the right headspace for this. Not right now."

Rockie looked at him for another few seconds with that blank, empty look on his face, before he took his glove, clicked it on, and left.

Georgia turned to go, too, but Valor grabbed her by the arm before she could even get two steps off. "Don't fucking move."

And then he pointed at Bentley. "Go with him."

Bentley turned to go, but Valor continued with an audible urgency in his voice: "Bentley, I mean it -- stay with him, don't let him be by himself. Break the damn door if you have to."

So Bentley went.

--

He nearly had to run to keep up with Rockie on the way back to Redwood. Bentley couldn't really focus on anything other than the fact that Valor had been so hellbent on not letting Rockie be alone. He wasn't sure why, but he would be damned if he didn't do it -- he couldn't screw up when his friends were counting on him for something as simple as company, even if Rockie probably didn't want it.

They both flew up the stairs when they got back to their building, and Bentley could've swore he almost lost him there. Rockie pushed the dorm door open so violently that it slammed against the wall hard enough to probably make a hole in the wainscoting behind it.

Everyone inside jumped -- Varian, Bellamy, Asten, and Koa were still playing uno but abruptly stopped when he came in, and Bellamy jumped out of his seat and onto his feet like he thought Rockie was coming to personally murder him.

Bentley hardly had time to close the door behind them before Rockie's bedroom door slammed with a wham! loud enough to shake the walls of the entire dorm.

And then it was quiet.

Bentley glanced over at the table, barely hearing the quiet questions Varian and Koa asked him. He only looked at Asten, who already seemed to know what was going on and looked absolutely petrified -- kind of like he might vomit on the spot.

Something in Rockie's room shattered.

Bentley turned on his heel and went to the door, repeatedly telling himself that this was what Valor explicitly said to do. He tried the handle and found it unlocked, so he pushed it open, went inside, and closed it back.

The bedroom lights were off, the blackout curtains keeping it pretty dark inside. The bathroom light was on.

Rockie was standing at the sink, not looking in the mirror, just kind of staring down into the basin. There was glass around his feet that Bentley could see the ceiling in. The mirror.

His own heartbeat was sort of loud in his ears (because Rockie really could kill him so fast), but he he inched his way closer to the door anyhow. He didn't know what to say. What the hell was he supposed to say? Why couldn't he think of anything?

When he got close enough, he spotted the mirror above their vanity -- completely shattered to pieces with only a few slivers left in the frame, and shards of glass peppering the countertop and sink and floors. Thankfully, there was no blood, due to Rockie's gloves, he guessed.

Bentley looked at him, but all he got was the same empty look from the alley.

Bentley tried to come up with something to say and failed, but it didn't matter anyway, because Rockie just looked at him and immediately started freaking sobbing without any warning at all. The bad kind that was so hard it was dead silent.

Bentley sort of felt like he had whiplash from how fast everything went down, and how fast Rockie's mood changed, and he might've even felt like crying, too, but he didn't.

He just sort of gently grabbed Rockie's arm and tugged on him a little, to get him out of the bathroom because there was glass on everything and he didn't trust him to not accidentally cut himself. He expected him to fight back, but he didn't. He just moved with him. Bentley thought he was actually doing okay at leading him to his bed before Rockie hit the floor only halfway there, and Bentley did, too, because he was holding onto him. But it was okay.

Bentley never left.

--

tag list that KINDA works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

[fever-project]

Succession of the Third Kind - LU AU

The Chain begins to learn about the Downfall Timeline, and the secrets Legend holds. Ao3 Link Here. After the Finish the Prompt thing I did I suddenly got inspired to write this. Well, I’ve been trying to write this before, but the first version was literally just one sentence and the second I just did not like. Focusing on Legend and eventually the doppels once I get to them. The abandoned doppel is the only one here so far.

This is not sci-fi, unfortunately. There are no aliens. Sorry if the title mislead you into thinking that. Four/Vio’s POV.

Chapter 1 - Four’s Successor

The reveal of Four’s ability to split went far better than he thought it would. Vio looked out at how Wind was running circles around Red, his kid curiousness taking full force as he asked them loads of questions. Red tried his best to answer them, but he kept looking at Vio for help. He was the smart one after all.

But Vio preferred to just sit down and read a book, rather than interact with people. Blue was arguing with Warriors and Twilight about something stupid, Time and Sky were off to the side and looking after Red and Wind, and Green was chatting with everybody else.

Except for Legend, who was leaning against the next tree over. Staring at him.

“Are you wondering why I’m not with the others?” Vio asked without looking up from his book, but he wasn’t reading anymore.

“Kinda,” Legend answered, still not looking away from him. Does he even blink? “I’m just thinking.”

“Hmm. Nothing important it seems.”

“You don’t know that.”

Vio sighed and closed his book, looking over at Legend. His face was blank, blinking seemingly manually at odd intervals. Did he always do that or was that a new thing? Hopefully it was a new thing.

“Are you okay?” Vio asked, more confused than concerned.

“Eh, I’m fine. You?”

“Obviously,” Vio stood up, “But you seem like you’re trying not to fall asleep or something. No one’s forcing you to stay awake you know?”

“I think I’m your successor,” Legend dumped out of nowhere. Vio blinked a few times, stumbling back. He knew that they obviously weren’t on the end of the timeline compared to the others, but he couldn’t yet figure out where in the timeline he was. If Legend only just figured it out-

“You have the Four Sword, don’t you?” Vio asked, having regained his composure. Legend slowly got off from the tree, stretching, looking away from Vio. He waited for the veteran to speak, he was patient.

Vio looked back over to the others, the joyous scene continuing from before. He remembered that Four still hadn’t revealed the whole shrinking thing, and wondered about what would happen when he did. They’d probably let him ride on their shoulders, and coo at how small he was. Yeah, that’s what they do.

“Happy at the scene, or that I could be your successor?” Legend asked, making Vio straighten up. He didn’t know he was smiling.

“The scene. And we still haven’t confirmed that you’re my successor.”

“That’s fair. Just depends on whether you’re…” he trailed off, grimacing. He looked over at the others, staring at Time for a bit longer than the others before continuing. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” Legend stared at Vio until he nodded his head in agreement, “But I know of the Hero of Time. He was before me, but I’m not sure if he was before or after you.”

“Well I’ve never heard of him so-“ Vio stopped abruptly. If Legend wasn’t his successor, “-Is Time my successor?”

“Could be,” Legend had the same blank look on his face as he stretched again, “But he clearly never heard of you.”

“But you have?“

Legend makes eye contact with him, briefly. His eyes carry as certain sadness to them as he spoke, “I’ve…been to your tomb.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well that’s not too surprising, I guess,” Vio waved off the way his stomach had dropped, “Of course I’m dead by your time.”

“So was the Hero of Time.”

“Now how long we both were dead is the important question.”

“I…think you could’ve been dead for longer.”

“Then Time’s my successor.”

“Seems like it.”

“And you’re his.”

Legend flinches. Vio doesn’t understand why he would. Was he just wrong about that then?

“Are you Twilight’s-“

“Third option.”

“Wha-“

“Third. Option.”

Vio’s brain works quickly to figure out what Legend’s trying to say. Twilight is one of the options, Time is also an option, and then there’s Wind. But he obviously isn’t Wind’s successor, and Time and Twilight are somewhat close in time. Twilight and Wind are both Time’s successors from two different timelines, but a third timeline could exist. That was the third option.

“A third timeline!” Vio’s eyes widened, a smile encroaching upon his face as he figured it out. Legend laughed heartily.

“Yeah. I was thinking about telling Time after we all figured out the timeline stuff about both Wind and Twi, but…"

“Something happened to the Time before you.”

“Annnd that’s why I’m talking to you now. I’m just hoping you won’t tell Time.”

“So you’re withholding the information you know about me over my head, so I won’t tell, aren’t you?”

A moment of silence passed. Vio looked at Legend right in the eyes, his blank look annoying him. That’s Vio’s thing damn it.

Unexpectedly, Legend laughed, a sly sort of laugh, accompanied with a sly smile. He had to have picked up on Vio’s thirst for knowledge, his need to know more, he had to. He still didn’t know if Legend had the Four Sword. Or what happened with Time. Or why Legend was in his tomb. Vio needed answers. He needs it.

“If I was Blue I would’ve strangled you,” Vio said a nonchalantly as he could.

“Uh huh, sure, sure,” Legend waved his off as he looked at nails, “Listen, I’m telling you this because I can’t tell anyone else. Even though I’m technically Time’s successor, I feel more like I’m your successor. I know more about you and that sword compared to anybody else here. Except you guys of course.”

“…What do you know about it?”

Another moment of silence passed. How annoying. But he must have a reason for this. Vio sat back down on the ground, letting out a sigh. He returned to his book, and a while passed before Legend speaks again.

“So, why are your names so basic?”

Well that definitely wasn’t what Vio was expecting. Might as well answer this since it’s not like the veteran would answer any questions he had. Not like he had anything better to do. Might get him to open up a bit more as well.

“We were around ten and Red couldn’t think of anything better,” Vio closed his book again, “At least I think it was Red, I could be mistaken. What names would you choose?” Legend scratched his chin, thinking. Whether he was actually thinking or not, Vio couldn’t tell.

“I…would name us after the goddesses,” Legend began, already baffling Vio yet again, “The red one would be Din, green would be Farore, blue would be Nayru, and purple would Hylia, now that I know of her because of those guys.” Legend gestures over at Wild, who was currently running around with Warriors and Red, all of whom had Fire Rods, with Sky, Twilight, and Green chasing after them. “Should we check up on them?”

“Us,” Vio said simply, “Name us.” Legend made a strangled type of noise. A Freudian slip, was that what’s it was called? Vio looked at Legend directly in the eyes again, the blank stare now gone, uneasiness clear as day.

“I never used the Four Sword,” Legend quickly spat as he crossed his arms, looking away from Vio’s inquisitive stare.

“I never said you did,” Vio said with a small smirk, “Who knows, it could be something different, yet similar to my experience. You are my successor after all.”

“…Yeah, I guess I am.”

Their conversation ended there.

▲

“Alright, whose time is this?” Time asked. The group looked around the forest they were now in. It was a pleasant and rather normal looking one, save for the logs large enough for a person to walk through and the random swords on pedestals dotted around the place. The one next to Four was made out of cardboard, for some reason.

“It’s my time,” Legend said. That immediately excited Four. The last time they were in his time, it was brief, only being in his house for a few hours as they met Ravio. Then the black blooded monsters appeared as well as the portal, so they left without even seeing most of Hyrule.

And now Four knows this is his future, one of his futures, at least. He was a little curious about where his tomb would be. A little sacred as well.

But first they needed to get out of the forest.

“We’re in the Lost Woods, north of Kakariko Village. And don’t even bother with the swords-they’re worthless,” Legend said, annoyance tainting his voice for some reason.

“These remind me of my first attempts at making a sword,” Four remarked, poking one of the swords, and it wobbled like paper. Actually, this one was made out of paper. Why? Who would do this?

“How likely are we to get lost in these ‘Lost Woods?’” Wild asked, leaning over Legend, who scoffed.

“Not likely, it not that big,” Legend grabbed Wild and went over to grab Hyrule, pulling them both along. “Just follow me, I know the way out. We’ll be in Kakariko in no time at all.”

“Thank you Legend,” Time spoke, “Don’t wander off you lot, just follow the veteran.”

And so they did. Four held the back with Twilight and Wind, Warriors and Sky near Time, and Wild and Hyrule were with Legend.

The vet lead them through the logs, the occasional fucking crows being the only monsters they encountered. It was a nice and short walk all things considered. Four could see Wild pick up a few swords that were made from actual sword materials, and Four got a couple as well. They were shoddy, to put it nicely. But he could probably salvage something if he had the right tools. Soon enough they were out of the woods.

“Alright guys, we’ve made it,” Legend announced once they all filed out. Four could see the village in the near distance. It would likely take less than an hour to get there.

“Woohoo!” Wind cheered once he stepped out, “When are we going to your house Leg?”

Warriors snicked, as he always does when someone calls Legend ‘Leg’, “Yes Leg, where is your home and your rabbit-themed friend?”

Legend groaned, “It’s east of the village. Let’s just stop there and restock or whatever.” He slumped over as he made his way towards the village, mostly ignoring how Wild and Hyrule tried to talk to him.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Wind asked as he leaned over to Four and Twilight.

“He could be tired,” Twilight looked over at the vet, “But he has been acting strange lately.”

“Yeah! Ever since…” Wind trailed off as he looked over at Four. “I-I mean who knows when he started being a grump you know-“

“Wind, it’s fine,” Four sighed, “It’s…a bit complicated.”

“He’s your successor isn’t he?” Warriors suddenly appeared behind them, causing them all to jump.

“Gah! Wars!” Twilight lightly slapped Wars’ arm, glaring at him. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“Whoops, sorry,” Warriors said with a smile, “I just saw him talking with the purple you for a while, so I assumed you must’ve had an important conversation.”

“Like Legend being Four’s successor?!” Wind looked very excited at the thought, before his face scrunched up, “But when are you guys in the timeline? Probably before Time, right?”

Four shrugged, putting on the best poker face he could. Which was much easier when it was just Vio doing it.

“How about we talk about this after we find a place to rest,” Twilight reasoned, “Also, we’re falling behind.”

The four of them rushed to catch up with the others.

Four soon figured out he was right about it not going to take too long to get to Kakariko. The streets were lively, the people were nice, although a one did run away from them-from Legend. Legend proudly stated that the woman had once reported him to the knights after he was framed for kidnapping the princess, when he was ten years old nonetheless. Now she was way too scared to even go near him, and everyone seemed to hate her. Four also hated her now.

Everyone restocked on their resources, and Four visited the blacksmith with Legend and his posse. The blacksmith and his family were very nice, not looking down on Four like most blacksmiths usually do. Four and Wild gave him the swords to to melted down, which wouldn’t give much useable materials because of the way they were made. But Four didn’t really mind that. He and Wild payed the blacksmith, they all said their goodbyes, and went out to find the others.

Four and Legend didn’t speak to each other the entire time they were there.

Night soon arrived, and with it, the gaggle of heroes arrived at Legend’s house.

“I’m home Ravio!” Legend called out as he opened the door. Immediately, Ravio’s little bird, Sheerow, flew right into his face. Some Links-especially Wars-laughed at how much Legend was taken aback by it.

“Mr. Hero! You’re back!” Radio called from within the house, “Come in, come in. Oh! And I see your family has came along again as well.”

The group headed in, and noticed that the place was a lot neater. It looked like there was slightly less stuff, but most of it was there, either organized in neat boxes or large, nice display cases. Everyone immediately started to wander about, each trying way too hard to stop themselves from touching everything. Four did not know why they were like this. Four did not know why he was like this.

“Did you move my stuff?” Legend sounded like he was trying to hold back his anger. His hooded friend shrunk back, holding his hands up in defense. Sheerow was now perched on top of his head.

“Listen, listen. I can explain, alright? I simply reorganized everything because I kept tripping on everything,” Legend shrunk back this time, a bit embarrassed, “It’s simply safer this way.”

“Some stuff is missing,” Wild muttered. How he noticed, Four didn’t know.

“Oh! I put some things in the basement. I also made a basement!” Ravio said cheerfully, Sheerow chirping along.

“I wonder if there’s anywhere to sleep,” Sky asked.

“I wonder too!” Ravio said, still somehow chipper, “I have made myself a cot to sleep on,” he gestured over to the dark purple mattress at the uppermost left corner of the room, “I don’t know where your bed went Mr. Hero, but I forgot to ask you before you left.”

“You didn’t find the attic?” Legend asked. He was fiddling with a yellow cape with red accents.

“There’s an attic?”

Legend sighed as he strode towards the upper right corner, slinging the cape on. In a swift motion he pulled out his sword, half-swording it and hooked the cross-guard onto something. A quick pull and a set of stair fell down to the floor.

“That’s the attic,” he stated simply. A couple of them oohed and aahed. “Now, I’m going to sleep in my room. Have fun!” In an instant, Legend jumped up, higher than usual and it quickly clicked in Four’s mind that it was because of the cape.

Everyone was surprised, no being able to react in time to stop Legend from going up into the attic and pulling up the ladder, cackling like a mad man as some of them-mostly Ravio, Time, and Sky-tried to get him to stop and be normal. It didn’t work as Legend was successful in locking the attic door behind him, and no one could unlock it.

Four noticed something on the wall near the door hatch. He resolved to check it out later.

“…Well,” Ravio twiddled his thumbs, “I can make some room for some sleeping bags! Free of charge, since your Link’s…family.”

“I don’t wanna sleep in a sleeping bag again!” Wild and Wind both whined.

“Ravio,” Warriors snapped to get his attention, “Is there any space in the basement?”

“Well, yes, but it’s cold down there. I uh, I can-was going to move these boxes down there, but if some of you help, I’ll give you all discounts for future purchases!”

“Well-“ Time began before being quickly cut off by Wars.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t we help? Come on men! Let’s assist our merchant friend.” The rest of the Links sighed. Of course they would help but it not like they wanted to move boxes all night before they could go to sleep. It’s not like it would take too long with all of them working together, they just wanted to go to sleep as soon as possible.

Legend was a lucky man indeed.

After clearing enough space, everyone obviously went straight to sleep. Ravio was the only with the bed, and it was clear that he felt a bit bad about it. Would’ve felt even more bad if Warriors didn’t keep encouraging him the whole time. What was the deal with that? But nobody really questioned him, because fatigue was starting to get to all of them.

But Four couldn’t sleep. He said he’d go out for a walk before he did and no one objected. In reality, he was going for a bit more than just a simple night walk.

It didn’t take long to find one. A Stump Entrance. A Minish Portal. Jackpot.

Four stepped on the stump and shrunk down, falling in between the cracks of the wood. He had missed jumping on the mushrooms within these Stump Entrances. The tiny stones that once framed the portal door with were worn and chipped, maintenance having stopped long ago.

But the Minish were here, he knew it. Where they’ve gone now, he didn’t know. He at least hoped that they were still around long after he was dead. They were no longer in Hyrule, or this part of Hyrule. As he made his way back to Legend’s house, he wonded how Ezlo was doing, what could’ve happened to him. He thought about Vaati, who once was a Minish as well. Did Legend know about him? Had he ever even heard of the Minish?

These thoughts continued once he finally got to the home. There was a small door near the front door, big enough for only Minish to go through. At least they were still here when the house was built, at the very least.

Four had to be very careful when traversing around the home. It was like a maze to avoid his sleeping companions, to not wake him up. After a terrifying time of almost getting smacked by wondering hands, he finally reached the corner the attic door was at. And Four silently cheered when he noticed the very worn engraved steps going up the wall, with a tiny hole up on the top. He was very glad for his Grip Ring, but he still almost fell down numerous times. But he eventually got to the attic.

The first thing that pulled his attention wasn’t Legend, no. It was a mask that he’d only seen before in the hands of Wild. Four now understood why Legend thought it was one of a kind. And now he understood it really was dark magic.

It was covered by a glass case, hanging upon the top of wall. Shaped like triangle, fitting perfectly between the roofs. The dark magic still seeped through, barely, but Four could feel it in his tiny form. He forced himself to look away, for fear that it’ll convince him to try to covet it’s power, like how Time had once described the legend behind it. The old man knew more about that mask than just that legend, even if tried to make it seem like he didn’t. Why did Legend have this mask? And how did he get it? Was it all connected to Time?

Four turned his focus to Legend, the scene before him being a surprising sight. He was sitting on a wooden stool, a stone statue the same size as the vet in front of him. It looked like him too, except for the outfit and hair being much more simple and blocky. It was chipped in various places, and Legend was repairing them at a rapid pace. It must’ve looked a lot worse before he started working on it, Four knew.

The statue had an odd mask on where its face would be, two large hollow holes for the eyes and a smaller one for the mouth. There was…an aura, around it, that Four could sense. Not really an actual aura, per se, but a feeling, a feeling that made it seem more than just just a statue. Like it was alive, yet resting, somewhat similar to an Eyegore Statue and yet very, very different. It was like it was in a deep slumber, like it was never alive to begin with yet it’s heart was beating proudly.

An odd sight for Four’s eyes.

Four wandered about the attic, looking around Legend’s quaint room. The closet was slightly ajar, enough for Four to see what was inside even if he wasn’t Minish size. But if he was normal size, he wouldn’t be able to jump inside of it. There were a lot of colorful outfits inside, and he felt a bit overwhelmed. The closet was also much bigger on the inside, like an actual walk-in closet. Legend really did love his magic items huh. The outfits were also probably magic items as well, due to the fact that Four couldn’t ever imagine Legend wearing full body tights. One of them was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen, and the other was clearly based on Tingle.

There was also one that looked a bit like Time’s armor, with a mask hung next to it that had the markings that Time had on his face, except the red markings were under both of the eyes. The eyes are painted to be entirely white, an odd, but important choice to note down in Four’s opinion. But it was yet another thing related to Time, Legend’s actual predecessor. Yet he told him that he felt more like Four was his predecessor, despite having so many things connected to Time. He still hasn’t found the Four Sword. And despite his efforts, he couldn’t find it within the closet. He did, however, find a number of different tunics in different colors. Most of them green, but there was a certain set of tunics that caught his eye.

The tunics were simple, each having matching, lighter shirts of the same color. There was a swirl on the belt buckles, reminiscent of Wind’s. There was a red one, a green one, a blue one, and a purple one, the last one looking newer compared to the rest.

Before Four could question why that was, Legend suddenly opened the closet. The tiny blacksmith quickly ran to hide underneath one of the many different robes. Peaking from underneath the robe, he saw Legend grabbing the purple tunic he was just looking at and walked out. Four scrambled to follow him as quietly and sneakily as he could.

Legend thankfully didn’t notice the tiny hero behind him as he walked over to the statue, now fully repaired in such a short time. Or it could’ve been a long time, spread out across many months or many many years. He put the clothes onto the statue, an anxious look on his face as he did so. Four was also a bit anxious, deciding to wait this out before tying to figure out what exactly was going on.

Legend cheered silently as he finished dressing the statue. Four found himself cheering alongside him.

“Looking good Hylia,” Legend whispered with a wide smile, “Hylia. Yeah, that’s a good name for you.” He sat down on his stool, examining the statue from there. Four inched his was towards the hole near the door, since it seemed like Legend was almost done with this.

“I just need to figure out how to make you like the other two,” the other two colors, Four noted, “But I don’t really want to go back to Hytopia. Hmm…” Legend bit his lip as he thought about what to do. Four was finally at the hole, standing in front of it. Without a warning sign of any kind, Legend glanced over to the attic door, to where Four was.

The both of them froze. Legend definitely noticed the colorful little speck that stood out like a sore thumb against the wooden floor. The vet’s eyes were wide, but didn’t move much other than that. Four didn’t want to move at all, his mind racing on what to do now. Legend kept staring at him, wide-eyed and unblinking, for the longest time. What was less than a minute felt like hours as Four became more and anxious about what his friend would do.

Legend inhaled sharply as he pressed his lips together, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Well then,” Legend spun towards the statue, leaning forwards, propping up his head with his hands, “I suppose I could figure out something with the Four Sword. That could help. But that’s something for another day, don’t you think?”

Four fervently nodded, but he didn’t think Legend could see that. Either way, he then ran out out the attic, slowing his fall down with his Roc’s Cape. He was able to glide away a good distance, soon able to go through the small door, go to Minish Portal, turn back to normal size, and return back to house through the normal door. As quietly as he could, he wormed his way into his sleeping bag.

He couldn’t fall asleep. All he could do was wait for night to pass, and process what just happened.

His shadow was definitely laughing at him.

[cinnanaan]

I’m revamping this at a later time, so you can have this version.

Elias Bouchard rounded the corner of the tight hall. It was dark, and cramped. Black lights illuminated neon markings on the walls. He passed by black painted doors. Thick paint chipping away, to reveal chunks of green, or deep red underneath. Each door had an illuminated neon painted symbol. A bloody knife in bright pink. A theater masquerade mask in orange on the next door. Two faces, one with eyes open, one with eyes closed on the door opposite.

All around him were the muffled sounds of pleasure. Breathy little moans. Muted sounds of begging. The thwack of something being slapped.

Elias ignored it all. Keeping his eyes on the door at the end of the hall.

Fresh black paint, against a striking illuminated neon green eye. Wide open, and watching him approach.

Elias swallowed. The warmth that always came with keeping this appointment settled firmly between his legs. He smirked, and straightened his tie, as he came to stand before the door.

He raised a hand, and knocked lightly twice.

“You may enter,” a voice called.

The door opened easily, and Elias felt his mounting excitement in a shiver down his thighs.

The room was well lit. The walls were dark, highlighted by a deep red glow in intervals. Various toys lined the walls. Whips, vibrators, gags, mostly black, but some colored a soft pink. All framed by heavy curtains. The poster bed off to the left of the room, was large, with shiny black sheets. A metal chair sat across from it, restraints sat loose on the arms and front chair legs, ready for use.

But across from the door. On the other side of the room, stood why Elias was really here.

The owner of this room was short, and had a thin frame. His dark hair, highlighted with hints of white and grey, was loosely braided. The braid hung over his right shoulder. He wore a waist corset, and matching corset collar. Dark colored, the thread the cinched them close a deep red. His legs were covered in dark stalkings. They went all the way up to the garter belts attached to the lacy floral lingerie that adorned his waist. The sole of his black heels was the same deep red, matching the corsets.

His body language told Elias he was already in a mood. And Elias couldn’t hide his excited smile.

“You may shut the door,” the voice commanded.

Elias did as he was told. Shutting the heavy door. But he didn’t move after it thunked close.

“Lock it,” came the next instruction.

Elias felt his cock leak as he clicked the lock.

“Come here,” the voice said after a minute of making Elias stand with his hand still on the lock.

Elias turned, and walked towards the figure. He reached the middle of the room, and heard a sharp, “Stop.”

Elias froze. His cock twitched.

The figure turned slowly. Elias’ insides fluttered as he was fixed with a steely gaze. His braid fell off his shoulder as he continued to turn. He faced Elias, arms crossed, riding crop gripped in one hand.

Elias bit his bottom lip as green eyes bore into him.

“Get down on your knees,” commanded the small man.

But Elias was feeling bold today, every bit as much as he was looking forward to this. He ignored the command.

The figure tilted their head, and Elias saw their eyebrow twitch. He dropped his crossed arms, and his heels clicked as he strode up to Elias. Getting right into Elias’ personal space. Even with the tall heels, he was shorter than Elias. Elias looking down at him, as he glared up at Elias.

“On. Your. Knees,” his voice dripped with dominance.

Elias’ everything shivered. He carefully began to lower himself. Careful not to touch his beautiful dominatrix as he finally did what he was told. Lowering himself down onto his knees.

Now he was looking up at the shorter man, and Elias had never felt like he belonged somewhere more in that moment.

“Good boy,” the dom said sweetly, reaching out to caress Elias’ face.

Elias sighed, barely audible, at the touch. Just beginning to lean into the palm, when it was gone.

“Is what I would say, if you were a good boy,” his dom began to walk around him, running the riding crop slowly over his chest. “Sit.”

Elias dropped immediately, sitting with his legs underneath him. Gripping his knees, all too eager to hear how he was not in fact a good boy.

“You missed our last appointment,” his dom said, as he circled Elias, running the riding crop up his chest, over his shoulder, and down his back.

“Mr. Sims, I—-,” Elias started.

Mr. Sims was infront of him immediately. The riding crop slapped sharply under Elias’s chin. Not enough to cause pain, but it made Elias shudder as his chin was raised slowly. He was once again faced with those green eyes. Forced to meet them, despite their utter disappointment in having to look upon him.

“Did I say you could speak?” Mr. Sims said in a low voice.

Elias swallowed, and shook his head.

Mr. Sims sighed, flicking the riding crop out from under Elias’ chin, “Honestly. You miss one session, and you forget whose in charge.”

Mr. Sims took a step back, crossing his arms once more. He stared down his nose at Elias.

“Who is in charge?” Mr. Sims asked. “Speak.”

“You are,” Elias answered quickly.

“Correct. Good boy,” Mr. Sims reached out and gently patted Elias’ head.

A fresh wave of wet spread between Elias’ thighs. But once again, the gentle touch was far too brief. Mr. Sims was once more circling Elias. His heels falling heavy on the carpet.

“Which is why I cannot fathom why you would waste my time,” Mr. Sims shook his head, and Elias stayed still, wishing he would touch him again. “My time is so precious, you know? I could be spending it with someone far more important. Instead of waiting around for you.”

Hit him, punish him, remind him that he belonged on the floor like a dog.

Look at me. Punish me with your gaze.

Mr. Sims was behind him. He leaned down and grabbed a fistful of Elias’ hair. Elias shivered as he felt warm breath on his ear.

“Is my time not precious to you? Speak,” Mr. Sims growled in his ear.

“Your time is very precious, sir,” Elias shuddered out the words loudly.

“Good boy. You are so right,” Mr. Sims released Elias’ hair, and Elias bit back a whine.

Mr. Sims walked slowly around Elias again. He still wasn’t looking at Elias. He looked bored, as he pulled out a black handkerchief from inside his corset, and began to clean the riding crop. Just the end, where it had touched Elias.

“Which is why, dog. I won’t be playing with you today,” Mr. Sims said, keeping his back to Elias.

Elias stopped. Staring at his dom’s back. He made to stand, made to grab him.

“Jon, wait—-,” Elias reached out, but the man whipped around.

“Color?” Jon asked.

Elias swallowed, regretting breaking character, but nodded, “Green.”

Mr. Sims nodded, and swatted away Elias’ outstretched hand. He took a step forward, lifted one of his heels, and brought the red sole down on Elias’ crotch. Elias bit back a shuddering moan as the tip of his cock was pressed down against the floor, the cock cage he always wore before coming here, keeping his shaft from being fully stepped on. Mr. Sims grabbed his hair, and forced his head back. Making sure this lowly dog met it’s master’s eyes. Elias see the small key to his cock cage dangling from one of Mr. Sims’ ears. Glinting in the light.

“This is a lesson, dog. You will come when you are told to come. You are on my time. You are here by my grace. You will learn not to waste my time again,” Mr. Sims hissed, leaning down over Elias.

Elias listened to every word with reverence. He had truly overstepped. Forgotten his place under his master’s heel. Where he belonged.

“Do you understand?” Mr. Sims’ gaze bore into him. “Speak.”

Elias squirmed, nodding, and gave a quick bark.

Mr. Sims smiled gently down at him, “There’s my good boy.”

He released Elias’ hair, and stepped back. He turned away, and walked back to his dresser, where he was standing before. Elias watched him go sadly, but was ready to accept his punishment.

“Stand. You are dismissed,” Mr. Sims called over his shoulder.

Elias got to his feet on shaky legs. A wet spot now visible at the crotch of his pants. He turned, feeling pins and needles down his legs from where they had started to go numb. His cock still strained against his cage as he slowly made his way to the door. He had just unlocked, and opened the door. A couple and their master stood in the hallway, pausing upon the door next to their’s opening.

“Oh, and puppy?” Came Mr. Sims voice.

Elias looked back. Very aware of those green eyes looking at him again, and the gaze of the people outside the door now blatantly listening in.

“No touching yourself until our next session, okay? I’ll know,” Mr. Sim’s smiled at him, and waved good bye.

Elias did as the wave commanded, and stepped outside the door, closing it behind him. He straightened his tie, and pulled his suit jacket down to hide the obvious stain of arousal at his crotch. He ignored the eyes on him of the others in the hall as he raised his chin, and walked down the hall and back around the corner.

[reborrowing]

a mouse in the basement part 5 /6? (probably 7)

this is a project to prompt me to make sentences for a conlang. here are 2200 words exclusively in English.

First | prev | ao3

Kíkítok masterpost | AMITB Translations

Someone slips up and David takes the opportunity to make an escape attempt before he runs out of time. word count: ~2200 taglist: @whumpsday (comment/dm if you'd like to be added please) contents: captivity, injury, restraints, manhandling, fear, gun, alcohol, alcohol abuse, assault/violence, threat of death, suicide discussion (no actual suicide occurs/occured), drug mention, eye trauma (definitely non-graphic). I think that’s it. Confrontation Time :)

Time passed slower when David was alone. Kiwi had offered him a brief break where things happened and time had meaning. He knew that the room darkened for a while as the sun set and he had lost track of how many times it happened. As he waited for something to happen again, he fell in and out of sleep at what felt like random intervals to dream of escape and better times. He knew he had fallen asleep several times since Kiwi left, but the kidnapper had yet to bring him breakfast to signal the next morning.

Silent light filtered through the narrow window and David woke up suffocating on an afterimage of his mother beside an empty grave.

How much time had to pass before they assumed he was dead? Before they gave up?

He stood up and paced to get away from the thought. The chain laughed along behind him, reminding him that it was inevitable unless he found a way to do something and get out.

He could imagine all sorts of very cool scenarios in which he overpowered the masked man that held him here, but he was a little too practical to believe in any of them. He was a head shorter than his captor and his fighting experience ranged from getting his nose broken on the playground and being mediocre at Mortal Kombat. He didn’t see either of those holding up too well, even if his unbound hands gave him the advantage of surprise.

The door rattled open and David quickly smoothed the duct tape back over his mouth and held his hands behind his back. A weight settled in his chest as he realized he would have to overpower the stranger now or go back to those chains. He couldn’t work himself free, that had been Kiwi’s doing. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know how to fight. He couldn’t.

Several bits of metal clattered down the stairs, either spilled change or dropped keys. Most lost their momentum halfway through, but a couple bounced off the sides and clinked onto the cement floor below.

His captor thumped down the stairs and David stiffened and pretended he hadn’t noticed anything strange, instead watching the other man descend. It was a pointless bluff. The man stopped about midway down the stairs to bend down and pick up his scattered belongings. His eyes flashed at David and he retreated, closing the door with a sudden slam. 

David stared, not sure if he could believe it. His captor hadn’t spent any time on mind games so far, but…

He waited a little longer, just to be sure the man wasn’t coming back, and crept towards where he heard the uncollected keys fall. He found three, all small and silver, all with mismatched teeth. He could reach two of them.

He couldn’t be that lucky. 

His captor wouldn’t have left that key behind.

David forced the first key into the padlock around his ankle and, unsurprisingly, it didn’t fit.

Obviously.

But he couldn’t not try the other one.

His heart skipped when the lock clicked open. He was glad for the duct tape back over his mouth because it kept him silent as he pulled the padlock open and the chain fell to the ground. He rubbed his chafing ankle. He felt like he was breathing helium, he was so light. 

He was almost free.

He was still here in the dark, but he didn’t have to be. There was still the kidnapper lurking upstairs, standing between David getting back to his life. But David would be an idiot not to try to get away.

He stood. It took every ounce of willpower not to break into a run. He took a long, slow breath and carefully snuck up the stairs. He waited for several long seconds (at least) at the door, listening for signs of someone on the other side and hearing no one. He tried the door and it opened with a small creak.

Sun filtered through the curtains on a beautiful white back door. David covered his mouth to smother the victorious relief and continued his slow creep forward. Something fell to the floor in the room to his right and David pressed himself against the counter as his heart jumped into his throat. He pulled a knife off the countertop and held it with a white-knuckle grip. He doubted he would be quick enough to use it if it came to that.

David recognized the kidnapper’s voice as he muttered to himself. He was somewhere just on the other side of the wall. The voice didn’t seem to be getting any closer. David held his breath.

There was a loud thud, like someone punching a wall. David moved faster until the kidnapper raised his voice.

“What is wrong with you? Is that all you know how to say?”

David froze.

Kiwi?

He couldn’t leave her with this guy. 

Well… he could. The door was right there. And, apology or not, she had already left him behind. A part of David still wasn’t even sure that she was real and not just some strange coping mechanism.

“What were you doing down there? What are you?” the kidnapper demanded.

David skulked back towards the doorway to peek into the next room, just barely leaning past the wall. The living room was nearly as sparse as the kitchen. Everything was centered around an old couch, angled in such a way that the occupant wasn’t faced towards the kitchen, but would be able to see it out of the corner of his eye if he thought to look. In front of the couch was a coffee table, bare except for a quarter-full bottle of whiskey and a small bundle of duct tape.

The man there was unmasked, a large but otherwise generic white man in his early 30’s. It was obviously the brute that had been feeding David in the basement. He slammed a hand down beside the duct tape and it shivered with the same broken squeal Kiwi had made when David had grabbed her.

David’s stomach flipped. He stepped forward and spoke up to demand the stranger let Kiwi go. He did it without thinking, without even bothering to catch what words he was using. His brain didn’t catch up with his mouth until the man’s barely-focused eyes landed on him, making him flinch back towards the kitchen.

“No, no, get back here,” the man said, picking up a pistol. “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

The gun’s safety clicked as the man waved it towards a spot on the carpet on the other side of the table. David opened his mouth to argue, to fight back, and his resistance died when the unsteady barrel found its mark across the room.

“Man, shit. I knew I shoulda counted, I was just…shit. How the hell did you train this thing to steal keys for you? I snapped its leg and it still won’t even sit still for me,” he said.

David’s face twisted in revulsion. His gaze remained fixed on the gun, not even willing to blink, but he could hear Kiwi crying on the table in front of him, apologizing over and over again. He soured over with guilt.

“No, not important,” the man slurred.” Clock’s ticking. I’m supposed to-to—fuck this. You ever had to clean up a mess a client or someone makes? Probably, right? You work hospitality or whatever you call it. Hotels. Customer service is always a bitch.”

The dark barrel wavered in the man’s unsteady hand and retreated towards the edge of the table. It was still ready to fire as he reached over to pour himself another glass. David wondered just how full that bottle had been when the man sat down. He watched intently, trying to gauge how impaired the man was—if he was slow enough that David could grab the gun.

That would still leave him in the same predicament as before. He’d never held a gun. The man might be drunk and slow, but he was big and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to having his weapon stolen. David had survived this long on cooperation, right? He did like the idea of this guy not having a gun, though.

“One of your coworkers has a real rich aunt, you know? Something Kim? They’re close enough to bet she’d give up a good ransom for him, too. Good enough to find someone like me to make him disappear. So I do my job just fine, nice and clean, but she ignores us once my partner gets in touch. Dumb bitch, right? Blocks us once he starts sending pictures even. Except it turns out the client’s a fucking idiot. Pointed me at you.

“Partner says he dealt with the client, sorted out our payout, but I’m still stuck with you. And every day you’re messing, there’s a chance someone finds a clue that points them in the right direction. To me, you know? I’m pretty good, I’m clean, I look normal. I’ve got a day job, all that. But you being here’s…it’s bad. So I need you gone, but I don’t…I never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it. So,” the man threw back the rest of his drink with a grimace. “Liquid courage. It’s not helping like it’s supposed to.”

The stranger pouted at him, waiting for pity. It was hard to feel sorry for him, what with Kiwi crying and broken on the table, the gun beside her, not to mention days David had spent in the basement or the task at hand. David took a deep breath and put on a sympathetic face anyway, as if he were dealing with an angry guest and not a killer. 

“You could let me go. I don’t know where we are. I couldn’t say anything about you except you’re six-foot-something and have brown eyes. You could just dump me off by a bar or something somewhere and I wouldn’t be your problem anymore, y—”

“Nuh. If I thought I could trust you, I wouldn’t have chained you up. That’s not gonna work for me. Partner’s sending someone to collect you tonight, dead or alive. And the connections my guy knows, you’re gonna want to be dead.”

David swallowed.

The other man tilted his head thoughtfully. He slid his glass back onto the table. Kiwi squeaked as it came to a stop just shy of her hip. She was so helpless there, pinned with just a few pieces of tape.

“But maybe you’d be willing to do it yourself?” the man said

David looked down at the table. The man shook his head and laughed, pulling the gun away. David was left to stare at Kiwi. What little of her could be seen beyond the duct tape looked terrible, shaking and soaked with sweat and tears. David squirmed. The man only found her because she was trying to help him.

“I’m not giving you a gun, I’m only so stupid. But you could send you back downstairs, give you a knife.  I might have some oxy laying around somewhere too, if you’re afraid of pain. Rat friend stays with me.”

Heat rose in David’s chest and he had to work to keep the snarl off his face. Why keep her? What did she have to do with anything? Just more bad luck?

“I—Maybe I could try a drink first? Liquid courage, like you said?” David said, voice shaking.

The stranger sagged with relief and laughed. He set the gun back down—now on the couch, well out of David’s reach—and went to refill the glass. Acid rose up his throat as he took the drink and thought about his next move.

He wished he hadn’t dropped the knife in the kitchen.

The stranger raised the bottle for a toast. David nodded grimly and waited for the other man to tilt his head back, then threw the only weapon he had left.

He lunged for Kiwi before he knew if the glass landed or not. He hissed his own apologies as he tore the tape off the table with her still caught within it. She squealed and buried her face in his forefinger as he jerked away from the table.

Shattered glass fell to the floor as the stranger stood. David lingered for only a quick half-second to take in what he’d done. He felt sick. The left half of the man’s face was covered with blood. He pawed at his eye with one hand and groped for the pistol with the other. David pressed Kiwi to his chest and ran.

Half-blind and full-drunk, the stranger missed shot after shot, even at point-blank range. 

As David threw himself into the kitchen, a bullet finally landed, just kissing his right arm. He stumbled but kept moving as the stranger staggered after him. David thought his heart stopped at least twice while he fumbled with the lock on the back door and the stranger’s silhouette appeared in the corner of his eye. 

Another round of shots rang out as David fell through the door and into a bright, early spring afternoon. 

Across the street, a gray-haired woman had been unloading a trunk full of groceries. She heard the gunshots and had frozen with several bags hanging off one arm until the sight of a bloodied, filthy man emerged from her neighbor’s yard. She shouted as she made sense of the scene and rushed David from the sunlight into the safety of her home.

[faux-fires]

(not a) drabble a day #3

Friendship ended with drabble-a-day, now random 5k handers fics about solitary confinement are my new bff

In this freedom we found (M!handers, 5119 words, look it's about solitary so it's gonna have dark themes & stuff).

The worst of it was the shame.

He'd told himself he wouldn't cry. He'd gone whole days without speaking when they brought him to the Circle, what was a week in the dark to him? He'd sleep through most of it, surely; he was made of stronger stuff than they thought.

But it wasn't about the silence, or it wasn't only about the silence. In the dark he realised that they could just stop feeding him. It was so small and so empty and he felt small and empty, even though he tried not to be. He tried to be quiet and contemplative and stoic but it had never really been in his nature, and so he had begun talking to them when they opened the tiny slot in his cell and shoved in his food, and then when that didn't help, talking to himself to fill the space. When they came to change his chamberpot once a week he found himself trying to make eye contact and then, gradually, as even that was denied him, to touch - to lay his palm on silverite just in case there was a human being beneath it, one with eyes and hands and a maker-damned voice, pathetically grateful even when his jailers just tore his fingers loose disdainfully.

Eventually he began to rage, and even as he did so he felt like a toddler battering his fists against the walls of his door and screaming until his throat gave out and kicking over his slop bucket, hoping some of it would leak out through the gap under the door, even though sometimes it worked and they'd open up the cell to sluice him down with a bucket of ice water, and he was so fucking grateful to just see them that he didn't even care that they were unhelmeted, and that they looked at him in disgust like he had chosen to live this way.

And worse was the silence and what it did to his control and his sense of himself, of his own courage and his own dignity and his own humanity: the intervals. Sometimes when he begged he could hear them laughing on the other side of the door; one time after he'd been hammering on the door for so long he'd broken at least one of his knuckles a templar flung it open, snorted, "You cracked sooner than most, robe," and shoved a healing potion at his chest; the way they spoke about him at shift change as though he were an animal (the runaway been good today? And the response, Yeah, managed to get most of his piss in the bucket for once, like it was his fault he couldn't see) and he was so raw, he'd thought he could live through it but in the dark he was nothing, they made him nothing, and even after they brought him back to the light the cell stayed.

It hadn't been a week. He'd known that on some level but they didn't tell him the truth for some time. They put him in the infirmary afterwards because his legs were funny and he couldn't walk and he couldn't chew anything or hold anything. Wynne treated him with a sympathy he hated (I'm sorry, Anders, there is no cat in Kinloch Hold - I don't know what you saw) and the templars at the door wouldn't look at him and he couldn't stop wondering if they'd worked any shifts down there and had seen him, weeping, bleeding, unravelled and broken. He didn't want to know.

At first he kept going back there at night in his head, woke screaming so loudly Irving had to get the Tranquil to put silencing charms on the infirmary doors, and that was shameful, too, that he couldn't just get better despite being a healer of no small skill. Nobody at Kinloch talked to him about it because all of them were aware it could be them, and as the months went by his shame and humiliation began to curdle, turn vicious and heavy in his gut, something in his eyes putting them off.

He'd been out the cell for six months when the Blight came. He stole a templar uniform and walked out with the rest of the bucketheads, fingers flexing inside his cold silverite gauntlets, and it was the dumbest escape plan he'd ever executed and should never have worked but it did. Maybe Kinloch itself wanted him gone. Maybe it could feel his rage and his hatred seething in his belly and wanted him out before Uldred split the veil, because if Anders had still been there he knew his Rage would have left no survivors.

At Vigil's Keep he talked too much and too fast, and he needled his new, fellow, Wardens, testing always the limit - what would it take to end up back there in the cells? He slept with Pounce on his pillow and a candle burning at his night table, and although Oghren bitched about the light when he was trying to sleep they all let it go, because Anders had been woken up by the screams of every single one of the other Warden recruits and most of them were to do with Darkspawn but maybe not all of them were, and not one of them would ever push.

He told the Commander, airily, and when she looked back at him with sympathy but no real understanding he didn't bring it up again. When she gave him the world's ugliest blue scarf he wrapped it around his wrist and played with it whenever he thought he wasn't real, which was happening less and less the longer he stayed with the Wardens, with people who called him Anders because that was the name he'd asked him to use and who treated him as annoying colleague and not a ghost haunting Kinloch without even the decency to die first. He wished he'd taken the scarf with him to Kirkwall but by then he had something better: light he carried within himself and another who slept beneath his skin and whispered in his dreams, What they did to you was wrong. It will never happen again.

After the Commander left he killed six templars with his bare hands and thought, pleased, now I am not nothing - even in the worst places of Kirkwall with the Chokedamp oozing through his lungs, even in the dark and the damp of the sewers. But at night sometimes he dreamed of walls and bars and silverite and blood under his nails, and he made his clinic in an old mine-shaft half open to the sea air and told himself it was because it would help circulate the bad air, and hated himself for that, too, the way he cringed from the truth like a beaten dog.

He didn't tell anyone in Kirkwall. Isabela waxed lyrical about her time in the drunk tanks of every port city from here to Rialto; Aveline thought anyone in a cell had to be there for a reason. Fenris carried his trauma so openly on his skin that it made Anders even more ashamed that he had come from his unmarked, which made him angrier, so much so Hawke stopped inviting them to Wicked Grace at the same time. Sebastian asked him once whether something had happened in the Circle and Anders picked a fight with him about demons, because his knees had gone weak just at the idea and that too was humiliating.

Hawke thought it was romantic that Anders slept pressed so tight to his side, his hand splayed across Hawke's broad chest so that he could track his lover's heartbeat even in his dreams, and Anders loved him so deeply and so selfishly that he never once told him because he didn't want Hawke to know, ever, that Anders had once been nothing. Hawke was a man he could have dreamed into being, strong and handsome and talented and so Makers-damned kind, and Anders hated that even in the safety of their bed - with Hawke's heart under his palm and the fire banked low but never extinguished - he sometimes thought not sweet nothings like a lover should but instead, I will kill you myself before I let them put you in a cell, and he hated the templars all the more for making him think it in the first place.

He was so angry, all the time, but it got worse after the Arishok died - after Meredith began to squeeze and Kirkwall began to crumble, and his anger was a self-stoking blaze, because the more it grew the more he hated himself for damaging his spirit in this way, of taking something as good as justice and warping it with his hatred and his fear. It was a cycle he couldn't get out of and his friends - Hawke's friends - began to avoid him as he became crueller and colder and even Hawke began looking at him with such concern, and that hurt most of all, because some part of Anders wanted so badly to curl against him - to draw strength from those broad arms and say, I am so afraid all the time. He never would because he knew with gut-deep certainty that if he said anything at all Hawke would leave him, because that well of cowardice and shame ran so very deep through the core of him now and had done for so long that he simply did not know who he was without it. Better that it was anger. Anger drove him onward, anger got the door open even if just to sluice him down with an ice-bucket, anger got the templars banging back on the door and yelling Shut up in there! and that was so very much better than being nothing.

Anger got him sela petrae and anger got him into the Chantry basement and anger got him through that last night in their room, the moon shining in through windows that Hawke never drew the curtains fully across. Anger got him through their last night of lovemaking, teeth and tongue and fingernails biting as Hawke held him close and he responded in kind. Anger was there for him when Hawke touched his cheek so gently to turn them face-to-face, expression sad and uncertain in the dim firelight that he had never once questioned and said, You'll tell me, won't you? If there's.... if you need me?

Anders wanted to say, I'll always need you, and he wanted to say, I am sorry I cannot be whole, and he wanted to say, hold me and show me I am real. But when he opened his mouth all that came out was a comment about the cause, and it played in his head all through the next day until they stood before Meredith in Lowtown and he cut through their bickering, and Hawke said, "Anders, what did you do?"

The red light was so fierce and so bright he could see it through his closed eyelids, and it felt like that bucket of ice water. It felt purifying. It felt like losing a rotten limb - a moment of sharp, intense pain, and then... nothing. He opened his eyes and looked at them, at the horror and fear on their faces, and thought, Nobody can ever say I am not real now.

He took a seat on some spare crates while they argued, and realised he didn't much care what they were arguing about. How had he forgotten how it felt, to be this peaceful? They were fighting, but the sun was going down, and for a time he sat and he watched the embers falling through the reddening sky with nothing in his head at all. There was no rage. No fear. No shame. There was a pang of grief for Hawke, who had loved him so well and so gently, but even that was distant, like his heart had been wrapped in such a thick suit of armour nothing could pierce it.

For a moment he simply existed in his body, worn and unkempt as it was. His socks were damp and there was a hole through which his big toe protruded; it was uncomfortable, he should have darned it. His coat was heavy on his shoulders. He knee twinged. His knuckles - never quite right after the breaks in the cell - ached a little, but nothing unbearable. His throat itched with the smoke. All the damage had always been on the inside, and he was suddenly glad that nobody would see it even after he was gone. It was the only thing Kinloch Hold had let him keep and it would be his now and... in whatever came next.

When someone touched his shoulder, he thought for a second it might be Meredith or one of her lackeys - but then Hawke squeezed gently. He had questions, which Anders supposed was fair, and he answered as best he could, for this brave man who had loved Anders and also spent so many years fighting for this city. The dead needed their Champion to be their voice more than he did, he supposed, until Hawke said, "Help me defend the mages," and everything turned upside down.

He rose, and Hawke clasped him by the cheek in a mirror of that last night in their bed. His face was unreadable. His eyes were clear and thoughtful. He didn't stop staring at Anders, not even when Sebastian swore bloody vengeance upon them, and Anders couldn't have moved out from under that gaze if he had tried. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he had no name for the emotion he felt - something quick and bright and growing by the second; something so massive and out of his sphere of knowledge that he felt almost a boy again, going for his first walks through the Fade, struggling to find the vocabulary to describe things never intended to be pinned down by words.

The fighting was brutal and bloody. He had known it would be but hadn't thought too much about it, having assumed that it was a part of the process he'd never live to see. Hawke fought as efficiently and cleanly as he ever had. Every time Anders glanced over he was focused on the task at hand, but at moments he thought he could feel the weight of Hawke's gaze on him. Even in the courtyard, when Hawke agreed to flee the city with him, to become fugitives, together (like it was that easy!), he thought maybe Hawke was keeping himself back. He wondered if Hawke was struggling with his own rage, if his hate was choking him the way Anders' was.

After they fled the city nobody would look at him at all. Hawke had given them time to go home and gather what belongings they wished to carry and they came to Isabela's ship one at a time, bodies exhausted and hands curled around both weapons and knapsacks. They gathered on the main deck and dropped their belongings where they sat and sank down atop them, one giant sprawl, and not a one of them watched him as he stepped carefully over and through discarded shields and daggers and swords and made his way up to the forecastle. The sky was grey now, smoke choking out the moon and stars, and the water was as black as the cell, but the fires raging across Kirkwall left enough light to see how filthy his hands were - coated with ash and blood, and little of it his own. He had always been a healer of no small skill. He set them on the rail and waited for the guilt and the shame, and none came.

Instead Hawke found him there, two ship bells later as the Siren's Call carefully managed her way out of the narrow shipping channel, slipping underneath the lifeless Twins on her way out to the ocean. He announced his presence in the form of a small ball of crimson magelight in the shape of a butterfly, which flitted onto the railing next to Anders' right hand and flapped its wings a few times. Anders could see how tired he was from the poor shape of the butterfly, the lack of detail in its wings, and turned so that his back was to the water to take him in.

He was covered in ash and blood. His trousers were torn mid-thigh, where one of Meredith's bronze statues had nearly taken his leg off. His face was filthy, and he walked slowly, like all his joints were creaking and old. Anders thought he looked magnificent, and only when Hawke's mouth quirked did he realise he'd said it aloud. "Are you sure you don't need any healing?" He asked the question carefully. He thought he'd healed them all completely before, when Cullen let them go, as they walked the damaged pier of the Gallows and tried to find a boat sea-worthy enough to take them back to Kirkwall's docks. There had been bodies floating in the water, and Hawke had been using his force magic to shove them out of the way so that they could leave the berth.

Hawke shook his head. "You got it all earlier," he said. He stepped closer, and in his own magelight Anders could see he was just dirty. The bags under his eyes came from exhaustion, not bruising, and the blood was old, or not even his. His expression was so hard to read. His mouth moved, like he was thinking about what to say, but all that came out was, "I came to tell you we're sleeping on deck - Isabela says she's not sharing her cabin with any of us while we look like this." Ruefully he plucked at his own sleeve. Anders watched him cautiously, waiting for the anger, the revulsion - the ash he was failing to brush off had been perhaps people. Instead, he closed the distance between them and leaned on the railing next to Anders, heavily, like he genuinely needed the support to stay up.

"I wasn't planning on sleeping in Isabela's cabin," Anders said slowly.

"Good," said Hawke. He glanced sidelong at Anders, who was shocked to see him smiling, a sharp cut of a thing. "I don't share."

"Are you -" Anders swallowed. "Do you mean that?"

Hawke just watched him, his eyes roaming over Anders' face, searching for something that Anders couldn't understand, and then he looked away, back over the black waters. "I packed a bedroll for each of us," he said. "I don't think I told you about the emergency packs behind the wardrobe."

"I, ah, already found them," Anders said. He winced when Hawke levelled an unimpressed glare his way. "I was - looking for a secret place to put something of my own. As I'm sure you can imagine."

He'd kept the sela petrae in his clinic, but the crushed high dragon fire gland Hawke had given him from the Bone Pit dragon needed somewhere else. The glass jar hadn't been very big and he'd wanted it close to hand, but when he'd lifted that loose floorboard in their room and seen the two stuffed knapsacks lying there - had realised why he'd mysteriously been running dry on socks and underwear and hadn't been able to find his favourite whalebone comb those past few weeks - he had replaced the floorboard and vowed to say nothing. Hawke was an apostate too. He understood.

He'd thought Hawke would start in on him for his own secret, which had been so much bigger, but instead he just nodded, like it was a satisfactory answer. "We've got money, weapons, and some travel rations," he said. "I've told everyone but Isabela we're heading for Ferelden, but I was thinking we could get off at Ostwick instead. A lot of people will be wanting to find us and the sooner we start being unpredictable, the better."

Anders felt like he had prepared a different version of the conversation than Hawke had. His stomach felt tight and tense. "But - your brother," he said, and when Hawke shrugged, pressed - because he'd never been able to leave well enough alone - "You're going to leave him behind? Your friends? For me?"

Hawke laughed bitterly, which was a relief. "Here we go," he said, to the great night sea.

The anger was back, albeit smaller, and Anders said, clipped, "What do you mean by that?" His voice was waspish, and got lower pitched as he stoked that fire in his belly. Hate me, loathe me, leave me - just don't look too closely at me. "I gave you a choice at the Gallows - if you didn't want to travel with me you should have said then. "

But instead of getting indignant or shoving back or anything Anders could use, could build on, Hawke just grinned at him crookedly, no humour in his eyes at all, and said, "When are you going to let the Circle go?"

"What?" Anders pushed himself off the railing, momentarily stunned, and then hissed, "This has been my goal from the start, Hawke. I've never been less than honest. I burnt it down -"

"You bombed a Chantry," said Hawke, "And then we killed some templars, and hopefully saved some mages. I know what you did, and what you wanted to achieve. And I hope that it works the way you planned, Anders, I really do. I don't give a shit about the Chantry. I know I should, and I have been trying all evening - maybe it'll come to me later, but all I see when I think about the body count tonight is fucking Orsino stitching himself into an abomination made from his own murdered apprentices. I see the bodies in the water at the docks with the stab wounds in the back as they ran away. I think about the mages we found in their cells butchered under their beds as they tried to hide.

"I meant everything I said in the Gallows," Hawke continued. His fingers were curling around the railing, the tips of his stylized talon gauntlets digging into the wood; the magelight flared a little with his anger and Anders realised there were wisps of smoke escaping between his palms, wrapped tight to hide the shaking. He was still staring straight ahead at the water. "For the sake of the mages I will follow you across Thedas, Anders. I'll kill more templars, I don't give a fuck. I'll support the cause no matter what because it is my cause." And now he looked at Anders, and his expression was terrible to behold because it was so familiar; lip curled in rage, but in his eyes nothing but fear and - helplessness. "I won't follow you if you're going to try to push me away because some part of you is trapped in Kinloch fucking Hold."

Anders said, too quickly, "What happened to me there -"

"Don't," Hawke begged, hoarsely. "Please. I'm not Sebastian. I'm not Varric. I'm not looking to - get into your brain or dig into your story. I am the man who has loved you for six years. I have heard you crying in your sleep. I have watched you find a reason not to follow us into caves. I was there in the Deep Roads when the campfire burned out and you panicked and set fire to half our bedding, do you even remember that? Anders, I'm not - I'm not your enemy," And his eyes were wet, now, and somehow this was the most awful thing of all the things that had happened tonight.

All the blood that had been shed because of him, all the lives that had been lost because of him - none of it mattered as much as this man, this one single man, looking at him with such awful despair and heartbreak on his face, and Anders felt a surge of shame course through him, so strong that when he opened his mouth to argue what came out was instead a humiliating high, keening noise, and he clasped both his hands over his mouth, horrified, but it wouldn't stop, and for a moment he was back in the dark, screaming I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry until his throat bled, begging for pity from people who had taken everything from him and deserved nothing in return, and he thought that there might be no way out this time -

And then Hawke pulled him into an embrace so tight that left no room for the nothing. He clung to Anders with a savagery Anders could never have expected - his face pressed tight into the side of Anders' head, and he was crying now like Anders had never seen him cry before, and Anders realized with a mix of abject embarrassment and deep relief that he was, too - horrid jagged, broken little sobs that came from somewhere deep inside even as he tried to force them back in, to seal shut his throat, to fill his chest with the comforting familiarity of rage.

But Hawke's tears were pooling in his ear, and it would have been awful enough if he hadn't been whispering, "I thought you were going to die, Anders, I can't lose you, I thought you were going to die," over and over again, and Anders thought - maybe we're in this together. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. But he hooked his arms around Hawke's waist and pressed himself closer, closer to that sweat-smoke smell and the uncomfortable wetness, the heat and light and warmth of him, and took everything he was being offered as he cried like he hadn't since the cell.

He didn't know how long they clung to to each other in the night. Nobody came to find them. They'd left Kirkwall behind for good now, slipping past the lighthouse, and were loose on the Waking Sea; with the smoke falling behind them the stars had crept out, and a faint blueish patch that must be Satina, lurking in her gibbous form behind the clouds. At some point Hawke moved them away from the railing and they sat, pressed into each other, under one of the cabin windows. Anders didn't think his legs would work if he tried, but he wasn't trying; he curled half into Hawke, his face tucked so tightly into his throat he could feel every exhalation his lover made as a cool breeze against his still-drying ear. Hawke's left arm wrapped around his torso but he had both of his hands clasped around Hawke's right hand, holding on closely.

They hadn't said anything, not since at least the lighthouse, and yet Anders felt... better. Fuller. Like some hollow part of him had been filled. It wasn't quite as peaceful as he'd felt sitting on that crate awaiting execution but it wasn't too far from it, either, and this time he could honestly say he did not expect to die.

He had fought so hard to keep Hawke from his weak places; the shame he felt in that cell, the hatred at his own cowardice, the fear that it could happen again. That he was himself everything they said about him - paranoid, crazy, twisted by Vengeance. Hawke hadn't turned him away. Instead he had shown Anders the parts of himself Anders could never have guessed at - the terror he felt at being alone, born from a lifetime of apostasy. The templars lurking around every corner. The desperate loneliness, the yearning for a connection inhibited by that fundamental need not to be caught. The stubborn, white-knuckle viciousness he displayed to the world on behalf of those he called friend and family.

Anders had always thought of Hawke as a Just man. Even sharing his life with the man - entangled in his bed, struggling their way through domesticity together - part of him had thought he could never deserve Hawke, not truly. He was too noble, too brave, too good to be trusted with those awful, deepest parts of Anders' own heart. He was coming to see that this was not the case, that Hawke had felt that same, deep-rooted self loathing, and had made choices not because they were good and right and just but because they kept him close to the people that he loved. He didn't care about the Chantry, for example, and Anders suspected he never would - which felt odd, given that Anders himself did care. He had made deals with monsters - like the boat they were on, for another; Isabela had traded it for an opportunity to catch a slaver lord, and Hawke had let her because he thought they might need an escape route. Anders still didn't know how he felt about that.

It felt strange to look at him as another human being, and not a man on a shining pedestal, a Champion and a hero. Perhaps these dark, wounded places were something common to all sentient beings. Or perhaps it was the magic, the shame they had both been soaked in by the Chantry and its adherents before they were even born. Anders rubbed his cheek lightly against Hawke's throat, stubble rasping against stubble, and considered this for the second draft of his manifesto.

Hawke said, his voice gummy and weary, "If it's alright with you I'd rather stay here tonight. I don't think I can face everyone else like this."

Anders wanted to say something sarcastic and light; he wanted to say something that slid off the edge of everything they had just been through. Instead he forced himself to take a deep breath and said, "I'm with you, love. To the end." After a moment, he added, "Fugitives, together."

The arm still wrapped around his torso tightened. In response Anders squeezed Hawke's hand where he held it between both of his, and eventually Hawke's bearded jaw scraped across his forehead as he pressed a kiss into the crown of Anders' head. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. They'd come through the darkness of the night together, and it had made them stronger.

He didn't tell himself he wouldn't cry again. In fact it felt entirely possible he'd cry more tonight. But he'd experienced the worst of himself, and the worst of Hawke too, and they were still here. Filthy, dog-tired, and with an uncertain path ahead of them: but still here.

He wasn't afraid any more.

[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Forty Five

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count: ~3,300

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Masterlist Read on AO3

Three days.

Eva had been in that house for three days.

Mostly, she sat in the armchair and watched the TV with Alexei. Josh, eager to please his friend, had it brought in from somewhere. She’d managed to find a channel with telenovelas (although not her telenovela) and happily explained some of the major plot devices to a dubious Alexei.

During commercial breaks, Eva did what she could for him, although he was further along in his healing than she anticipated. He could walk, if slowly. His range of motion was almost at a hundred percent. And, he was itching to do something other than lie around all day. Eva felt for him. She was also itching to do something. Escape, mainly.

She just couldn’t find her opening.

If it wasn’t Juan at the door, it was another man named Xavier. They rotated on twelve hour shifts at six and six. Eva could only assume it was the same for the man at the door. If that weren’t enough, Myra had a habit of stopping in at regular intervals, claiming that she was checking on her ‘patient’.

She would come in, ask Alexei how he was doing. Sometimes she would give him a small bit of news from town. Every time, she ignored Eva. Which was fine. Eva didn’t much feel like making small talk.

Alexei didn’t seem to sleep. At least, not deeply. He dozed now and again, sometimes falling into a light slumber that lasted maybe twenty minutes. Even then, he startled at the smallest noise. She had to be very, very quiet if she wanted to work on getting the cuff open.

There were no pins like the one Horacio had taught her to use, just a pair of scissors that she’d disassembled. They were small enough to fit into the lock, but not so small that they could catch the hooks to loosen the cuff. It was frustrating work made even more frustrating by the fact that she never got more than a moment to herself.

Eva felt like she was being constantly watched—by Alexei, by Myra, by Juan and Xavier, by Josh. She couldn’t even breathe without someone noticing. It was starting to stress her out, and Eva needed to be calm about this.

After another round of failing to unlock the cuff, Eva tossed the scissors aside and started to look for another tool. The bathroom was full of gauze, and antiseptic, and all kinds of medicine, but little in the way of long, thin, tiny pieces of metal.

Sighing, Eva stood and dragged the chain along behind her into the bedroom. Alexei was snoring softly and the TV was on mute. The room was quiet. Suffocating.

Crossing to the window, Eva looked out onto the street. No one was on an afternoon stroll. No children played with brightly colored balls. There were no street vendors with fruit. It was empty. Barren. Lonely.

Which was kind of weird.

This was a new development, looked like a nice place to live. There should be all kinds of people putting in offers for the available houses. The street should be busy with cars going to and from work in the morning. But, it wasn’t. There wasn’t even a mailman.

“Napping the day away, Alexei?”

Eva turned to find Josh sauntering into the room with a grin. He looked markedly improved. The shadows under his eyes were gone and he’d taken the time to put on a suit. His jovial attitude was as natural as it had ever been, which meant he had some kind of good news to share. Good news that may not bode well for Eva.

Alexei stirred and opened his eyes, “I was having a beautiful dream of kicking your ass.”

Josh laughed, “You’ll get to live out that dream in a few months.”

“Can’t wait,” he replied. Then, “Been in this bed too fucking long.”

Sitting nearby, Josh gave Alexei a sympathetic look, “You’re right. How do you feel about a little field trip?”

Alexei lifted a brow. Eva held her breath.

“Got a new med for you.”

A groan, “Not another experiment.”

Josh held up his hands, “Its just a protein modifier. It’ll help with your muscle tone.”

“A fucking walk would help with my muscle tone, Josh.”

Eva, who had been standing across the room listening to them argue, finally saw her opportunity, “He’s right. He can’t sit here all day watching TV.”

Josh glared at her, “Are you a doctor, now, Eva?”

She shrugged, “Seems like common sense to me.”

“Leave her alone,” Alexei groused. “She’s been putting up with an injured man for three days.”

Angry, Josh stood and paced towards the door, “She’s the reason you’re injured.”

“Diego is the reason I’m injured. Which reminds me, where are you with tracking the man down?”

Josh crossed his arms, “I’ve had men at his apartment. He hasn’t returned. I think someone tipped him off—maybe the complex manager.”

Eva tried to keep her breathing steady while she listened for any small detail that could tell her where Horacio was and what he was doing. If he wasn’t at the apartment, where was he staying? With Javier? Were they anywhere close to figuring out where she was? How long would that take?

“So, you’ve lost him.”

“I haven’t lost him,” Josh sneered, “He’s just being sneaky.”

Alexei rolled his eyes and looked at Eva, “You’re coming with me on the field trip. I need someone with common sense along for the ride.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“I don’t think you have a choice. Get the chain off her and bring me my cane.”

Josh, who had never taken an order in his entire life, stood up.

Stunned by the strange turn in their dynamic, Eva stood back and watched Josh do as Alexei asked. He left the room and came back with a cane, then pulled a set of keys from his pocket to unlock Eva’s cuff.

Free for the first time, Eva tried to act natural as she reached for her clutch. Josh caught her arm and tugged her towards the door, “You won’t need that where we’re going. Out. Let me help Alexei get dressed.”

Dismissed to the hall, Eva stood awkwardly near the door while Juan waited at the top of the stairs. He was still wearing a bandage from where she’d hit him. It was clean, at least, no residual blood. She hoped he wasn’t going to hold it against her. Seek revenge, and all.

She tried to smile at him, “Uh, sorry about your head. And your arm.”

Juan looked away briefly, “Its fine.”

“Cool,” she replied, not knowing what to make of his response, “Cool.”

The door to the bedroom swung open, Josh waltzing through it with a pleased expression, “Let’s go!”

Behind him, Alexei moved along with his cane. Slow. Steady. Eva had to squash the urge to move to his side and assist. He’d probably rebuff her, anyways. Even injured as he was, Alexei was still a proud man. Together, they followed Josh down the stairs and out the front door to where the car was waiting. Same car, different driver.

Alexei got in the passenger’s seat and Josh climbed into the back with her. Eva would have rather sat next to Alexei. He would have, at least, made conversation. Instead, she was stuck with Josh practically bouncing in his seat with anticipation. Just watching his boyish glee made her stomach turn over.

The drive was very, very short. A matter of a minute and a half. The neighborhood was more or less sitting in the back yard of a warehouse. Eva stared at the brutally minimal construction, the complete lack of any character. From the outside, there was no way to tell what went on within.

It had to be the factory.

Eva turned her head left and right, staring at the cars around them. She looked at every face, hoping to see Horacio looking back at her. He knew where the factory was, knew Josh was staying somewhere nearby. He could be prepped right now to bring her back to where she belonged.

No luck.

“So this is where you’ve been working?” Eva couldn’t help but to ask.

Josh shook his head, “The main plant is about ten miles from here. This is where I do my experimental work.”

Eva felt her heart drop. Horacio knew about the main plant, but there was no telling if he had any idea about the magnet location. A ten mile radius could take weeks for him to work through to find her. It was looking more and more like Eva was going to have to get away from Josh, herself.

The car pulled to a stop in the back near a pair of large loading docks. Inside, massive fans pushed the air towards a ventilation system that was far more advanced than it had any reason to be. Not for simple manufacturing.

Josh strode ahead of them with purpose, making his way towards a supervisor’s office. The supervisor rose to greet him, speaking in heavily accented English. Eva listened to the conversation with half a smile, wondering if Josh had made any attempt to learn the language or if he demanded all his employees speak in his native tongue.

“The samples are ready, yes,” the supervisor assured him. “In the spare office, like you said.”

“Great! Thank you. Wonderful work, as always.”

Eva nearly laughed at Josh’s flamboyant enthusiasm before she caught herself with a light cough. The supervisor glanced at her in curiosity, but seemed to know better than to comment. Josh had him well trained, already.

The spare office was exactly like it sounded. Spare. A desk, some chairs, and a few filing cabinets. On the desk was a black case and a sharps container.

Alexei sat heavily in one of the chair, “Alright, let’s do what we came here for.”

Josh waggled his finger at him, “You just rest there for a minute. There’s no rush.”

“I’m going to miss my show,” Alexei grumbled with a pointed look.

Eva covered her smile with her hand. She worked to school her expression and couldn’t quite manage it. Was her life this ridiculous back in Louisiana? Was Josh?

He opened the up the case and began sorting through its contents with a frown. “Oscar, get Michael in here,” he ordered. Then, louder, “Michael!”

After a moment, the supervisor peeked his head in, “Its, uh, Miguel, Dr. Moore.”

Eva’s hand, which had been covering her mouth, moved to cover her eyes.

“Whatever,” Josh retorted, “There was supposed to be four vials in this case. I only see two.”

Miguel squeezed awkwardly past the driver and held up his hands in supplication, “Yes, sir. The, uh, product, did not come in.”

Josh’s eyes narrowed and his frown deepened, “Why?”

“There was an accident on the highway. Our truck was overturned,” he answered. “I was told that you were aware.”

“I am obviously not aware,” Josh muttered, “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking about it.”

Miguel, sensing danger, put his hands together and said, “I am sorry.”

Josh looked at the man for a few seconds in anger, then waved him away, “Have them ready for me by the end of the week.”

“Yes, sir.”

Miguel scuttled from the room while Josh set up the two vials and syringes, saying, “Honestly, you can’t find good help in this country.”

Alexei rested his hands on his cane and fixed Josh with an annoyed expression, “Does this mean that we came here for nothing?”

Josh’s brows lifted, “No, no. You’re still going to get your shot. Eva will just have to wait for hers.”

Eva was all surprise, “I’m getting a shot?”

“Yep!”

Alexei rolled up his sleeve, “Why is Birdie getting a shot? Is she injured, too?”

Josh circled the desk with the vial and syringe in hand, “I guess you could say that.” He drew the medicine in to the syringe, “I know that you’ve noticed Diego forced the bond on her. You can’t be too weak as to miss that stench.”

Alexei’s eyes met Eva’s with the barest hint of sympathy, “I noticed.”

Eva tried not to convey anything with her expression—positive or negative. She leaned into old habits and made her expression neutral and passive.

Josh chuckled, as if he’d made a particularly funny joke, “Can’t have her smelling like a dirty drug dealer, can I?” A pause while he administered the injection, “I’ve got a lovely little cocktail that should eliminate the bond entirely.” With a happy smile, he added, “Its new!”

Alexei looked shell shocked, “That’s impossible. You’ll kill her.”

Throwing the syringe into the sharps contained, Josh replied, “Nothing is impossible with the right formulation, Alexei. I think I’ve found something that will do that job nicely.”

Eva had never been more grateful for a car accident in her life. But, deep down, she knew it could only provide a slight delay in Josh’s plans. As soon as he got his hands on the new batch of product, he would be bringing it to the house to test on her—and, God help her, if he was anywhere near successful. Even if she didn’t die from the shot, itself, Eva would die from the force of the bond breaking apart.

Alexei noticed her vague panic and started arguing with Josh about how dangerous it was to perform that kind of procedure outside of a clinical trial. He spouted off facts Eva didn’t even know he had picked up over the years, relaying his points in words she had absolutely used in the past.

“And,” Alexei concluded, out of breath, “there is an easier way to fix this problem.”

Red faced and frustrated, Josh made a sweeping gesture with his hand, “Alright. Let’s hear it. What is this better way?”

“We kill him,” Alexei said, simply.

Eva felt her heart constrict at the suggestion. She held it back by the skin of her teeth.

Josh paused, as if the thought had not occurred to him, “You think it will be that easy? To kill Diego?”

Alexei nodded, “We have something he wants.”

“So we, what, lure him into a trap and put a bullet in his back.”

“I’d prefer his head.”

“Good point,” Josh acknowledged. He looked at Birdie with an assessing gaze, “You think he’ll go through all that trouble just to get you back?”

Eva, uncomfortable, replied, “He can get an accountant anywhere.”

Alexei groaned and put his head in his hands. Then, after a long breath, looked up and said, “She’s his bonded omega. It doesn’t matter if he wants her, or if he needs her. If Diego is going to have any kind of sanity, he’s going to get her back. That’s how it works.”

The room fell into silence while Josh thought about Alexei’s proposition. His mouth screwed up in thought and his eyes settled into the middle distance. Alexei watched Josh with a focused look, possibly trying to will the other man to agree with him.

Across the room, Eva crossed her arms and hoped Josh would side with Alexei. Best case scenario, Horacio got information as to her whereabouts. At minimum, it would buy her time that she might not have had otherwise.

“Alright,” Josh said after taking his time to seriously consider what Alexei was saying, “I guess we’ll have to extend an olive branch to him.”

Alexei, looking at little relieved, said, “How are we supposed to do that when you can’t even find the man?”

Josh smiled, “I have some contacts in the area. Locals, you know? I’ll give them a little incentive to get me information.”

Humming doubtfully, Alexei replied, “You haven’t tried that already?”

“Well, I’ve been a little busy making that protein modifier for you,” Josh shot back, defensive. “I haven’t even heard a thank you.”

“Thank you,” Alexei murmured dryly.

“Honestly,” Josh bit out, “I work day and night to get our life back together and this is how you treat me?”

Alexei lifted his chin, “I got shot in the head, Josh.”

Josh drew back a little, “Yes. I know. Thank you for not dying.”

“You’re welcome.”

Eva stood there during this whole exchange, growing increasingly confused. She was used to their arguing, but actually resolving the issues between them was new. In the space a few minutes, they had gone from being at each other’s throats to...whatever this was.

She didn’t like it.

Alexei pushed to standing with a tired groan, “Are we done here?”

Josh nodded, “Yes. I suppose we are.” Then, “Myra’s making a nice gumbo for dinner—just like home. What do you say we eat downstairs tonight?”

Eva did not get to eat downstairs. As soon as they were back in the house, she was pushed back into Alexei’s room and chained for safekeeping. This time, she didn’t mind it so much because she finally had something more precious than gumbo—privacy.

With care for how she disturbed the chain behind her, Eva picked up her clutch, intending to find a spare hair pin in its depths. What she found, other than money, lipstick, a scarf, and Horacio’s spare lighter, was a gun.

How could she have forgotten? Fucking how?

For three days, she had the ability to fucking shoot someone, and Eva had fucking forgot about it.

She was an idiot. An absolute idiot.

Cradling the weapon against her chest, Eva decided that she needed to use it wisely. She only had the advantage of surprise once, and there were a lot of variables to work out to make sure she used that advantage efficiently. A gunshot was going to make sure everyone in the house, and possibly the neighborhood, paid attention.

Eva stopped—what if she wasn’t in the neighborhood?

What if she waited just a little bit. For the next field trip. For the next dose of Alexei’s medication.

She could get out of that warehouse quick-like, and then the highway was seconds for her running feet. It wouldn’t matter who chased her, someone would see. Someone would stop.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Eva carried the gun into the bathroom and closed the door. She then lifted her shirt and (after double checking the safety) tucked the gun into her bra. Turning side to side, she examined the way the fabric fell over it, hoping that everyone would be a little too busy to notice the slight hump between her breasts. Wanting extra security, she pulled the scarf from her clutch and draped it beneath the collar of her shirt.

There. Much better.

Later, Eva curled up in the armchair with TV muted and Alexei half asleep. She stared out the window towards the warehouse, calculating the distance in her head. The angle of the house and the height of the window weren’t much more than guesswork, but Eva thought she could make it if she hauled some serious ass across the road.

The next day, she would keep careful watch to see when the traffic was the most dense. From there, it would be a matter of working to manipulate Josh into letting her out of the house for even a few minutes.

Pressing her hand to her chest, Eva felt the weight of the gun. The metal was warm from her skin and strangely comforting. She could do this. She could do this.

Alexei stirred, half awake. Eva watching him turn over restlessly. She would need to sleep, too, if she wanted to get away safely. Knees to her chest, Eva closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was at home, in Colombia. She tried to pretend that the fan was going at top speed above, that Horacio was laying next to her, and that tomorrow she would wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of him puttering around the kitchen.

[vincess-princess]

The Weavers

made a moodboard to put in the header until i finish the art im currently drawing <3

Chapter 1

Ch. 2

Word count: 2126

One cage replaced another, but at least he could stretch his legs and arms in this one. There was even a wooden bunk there, providing some refuge from the cold emanating from the stone. On the other hand, now he couldn’t see anything but stone walls, and the only barred window was so up high he could never hope to reach it even if his legs were still working. He detested being confined to a small stone box, constantly feeling like the walls closed in on him, crushed his chest, making him suffocate and scratch his skin till he drew blood. When the sun shone into his window, he would drag his body to the sunny spot on the floor and curl up there, catching the rays of warmth on his skin like a man dying of thirst would catch drops of water.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed since he was thrown in here. He could no longer keep track of the changes of the day. He noticed humans walked past his cell at similar intervals, their heavy boots booming against the stone floor. Every time they neared his cell the speed of their steps picked up. It brought him a hint of satisfaction. Even at this pathetic state they were still afraid of him. He couldn’t do anything to them, not like he could before, without the burning bracelets on his wrists, but they didn’t know that.

Pathetic, useless, worthless, degraded. His life was worse than his death could ever be. Yet the days came and went, and he still couldn’t get what he wanted. It even became somewhat funny. He was such a failure he failed to die. Truly an achievement. Fortunately, none of his kin lived to see that.

One time, when the rays of sunshine on the floor were slowly turning red, loud voices from the corridor awoke him. Humans patrolling the corridors didn’t usually talk, just breathed heavily in their metal head coverings. These two- three? no, two – talked out loud, and very emotionally at that. Once voice was raspy, like its owner’s throat had been cracked and mended, speaking in hurried whispers. The other was ringing, clear, replying in a laconic yet authoritative manner, cutting short every sentence the first one began. For some reason, some sicklish gut feeling, he didn’t want these two to reach his cage, to look at him with their round-pupiled eyes, eyes of a daytime predator – which they were, in a way. Humans’ looks felt like bugs crawling on his skin; only when he wanted to smack them, there never were any. Neiro remained silent all that time since the flash, but he still tugged the string, begging for these two to pass by his cage and not stop. But Neiro, of course, didn’t hear him.

His eyes caught a glimpse of fire reflecting off slimy walls of the corridor. Voices grew louder, steps slower. He pulled himself up on his arms, crawled away from the bars and leaned against the farthest wall – if he had to face them, he would not do that from the floor.

They showed up from behind a wall, and his stomach tied into a knot. One of them was a human that caused the flash, the presence in his Neiro. The other was a thin, white-haired human of a darker complexion, bent with age. Dark-brown hands flailed helplessly around the other one, as if they wanted to touch but couldn’t. The human in a red tunic – it had a different pattern today – didn’t seem to notice the old human’s efforts in any way and strode forward confidently. He could hear their breath, though, and it was fast and shallow. Scared, he smiled. You can fool your companion, but not me.

They stopped talking when they noticed him watch them. The darker human shuddered visibly and pulled the human in red by the arm away from his cage. The human in red didn’t budge, just shook callous, trembling fingers off. Their eyes locked again.

It was less intense this time – no flash - but the feeling was there, the presence of another mind in his own head. It resembled somewhat the thread-pulling he did with his kin, but closer, more personal, more intimate, like the thread was so sensitive a mere directionless thought could trigger it. Like someone was peeping inside his own mind and fumbling in there, trying to catch his thoughts and feelings like fish in a creak.

Humans didn’t have access to Neiro. But there were no more alves around, and this didn’t feel like typical thread-pulling. More like a forceful invasion... very typical for humans.

The red-clothed human stopped dead in his tracks, their eyes widening and breath quickening. Were they feeling something too?

The human rubbed their temples, their brows curving, looking completely confused. The alv wasn’t sure if human and alvish emotions matched, but he could still tell.

Then the human raised their head abruptly, narrowing their eyes, and a wave of resentment washed over the alv, resentment that wasn’t his.

Then the human reached for his weapon.

***

Stormwell stepped into the dungeon behind Stern and carefully closed the creaking door. As the servant promised, the guards were absent, although a moshu stick in an ashtray on the table was still smoldering. They would be back soon. There was little time.

Stern took a torch off the closest bracket and turned to Stormwell. The light of the fire danced in his milky eyes, cast a grotesque shadow over his features.

“Are you sure, master Storm?” he whispered, looking around hastily. “His High Honor wouldn’t like you to be here.”

“His High Honor won’t be disappointed if he never learns about it.” Stormwell pushed past Stern into a narrow corridor, a cold stone wall by his left side, a row of cells by his right. The air smelled of rusty metal and torch smoke. “And he won’t, right, Stern?”

“Of course, master Storm,” Stern bowed his head with a sigh. “Then we shall hurry. We’ve only got a few dectas[1] before the new shift arrives.”

“It’s enough.” Not looking back, Stormwell set off into the darkness of the corridor. He didn’t really need the torch light – it was distracting him even. But others didn’t fare so well in the dark, especially old man Stern. He could hear his heavy, whistling breath behind his back – he struggled to keep up with Stormwell’s pace.

Stormwell didn’t slow down. Stern did his job already, nothing bad would happen if he fell back a little. It was even better, in a way. He didn’t want anyone to interfere.

“Master Storm! I can’t keep up with you!” he heard Stern’s voice. Just once in his life could people leave him alone when he wanted them to?

“You don’t have to!” he said, irritated. He knew the old man would rather fall dead than lose sight of his fosterling – and Stormwell couldn’t suppress a wish for him to opt for the former.

But Stern was the only one in court who never recoiled from him. As annoying as he was, he was also devoted, and that was rather scarce for Stormwell.

Stormwell slowed his pace. When he felt the heat of the torch, he turned to face Stern.

“If we don’t get there in time because of you…” his threat trailed off. He knew very well it wouldn’t be Stern who’d be questioned and pestered endlessly over this. “And I don’t want you to get in my way when we get there. Stay back, I’ll handle it myself.”

“Handle what, master? You never told me what you want to do with the creature.”

“I-“ Stormwell himself didn’t know exactly why he was going down here. The creature was about to die anyway, if not from starvation (it almost doesn’t eat, he was told) then from the surgeon’s blade. It was rare to encounter an alv in the mountains, and they needed to learn everything they could about their capabilities while they have a living specimen.

For some reason, he wanted to look at it before the experiments took place. “I have some ideas.”

“It’s not going to be anything dangerous, is it?” Stern clarified carefully. Stormwell could understand his worry, but his growing irritation prevented him from sympathizing with it.

“Whatever I do, it’s none of your business. I can handle everything myself. Do you doubt me?”

“No, of course not! It’s just that His High Honor-“

“Shh.” Stormwell raised his hand, silencing Stern. Distant anticipation stirred inside his stomach. They were approaching the right cell.

“Stay back. I’ll handle everything myself,” he said again, wrapping his palm around the hilt of his sword.

Stern gulped audibly. Stormwell could almost see his worry for his master battling with his innate fear of alves. He had come from the lands where they were plenty, killing travelers and wreaking havoc in settlements that had set down too close to their territories.

Maybe he should fear too - but all he felt was curiosity. Maybe some faint uneasiness. Maybe.

He grabbed the torch from Stern and stepped forward. He knew the right cell even before he looked inside it – a strange anticipation spiked in his chest, making his heart race.

The creature was half-lying, half-leaning against the farther wall, the flame of the torch reflecting in yellow, cat-pupiled eyes, casting a shadow over thin, sharp features. Charcoal hair, thick and straight, was weaved into a complex braid that hadn’t lost its tightness even now, curled like a snake on the knees of the alv. Black lines formed intricate patterns on the skin of dark, rich green color. It reminded Stormwell of skin drawings he saw on some travelers – but the alv was covered in them head to toe, and there was no discernible meaning to them. For a second he was bewitched by these intricate cobwebs, but then shook himself out of it. It was trying to enchant him. These creatures, he heard, could kill a man with just a glance.

That very moment the yellow eyes opened wide, and the alv’s gaze met Stormwell’s. Shivers went down his spine, even though nothing particular happened – he wasn’t dropping dead, or even getting mind-controlled, and the strange flash in the circus tent didn’t come back. He was just tired… overwhelmingly tired and disenchanted, and the feeling grew and grew, and the ground felt wonky under his feet. But he wasn’t tired just a decta ago. Where’d this come from?

“Master Storm?” he heard Stern’s worried voice, pulling him out of his trance. “Master Storm!”

“Huh?” He turned back to Stern, and the feeling started to slowly fade away. “What?”

“Are you alright? You’re pale as Astor!”

Stormwell rubbed his eyes. He’d never felt so tired. He wasn’t even aware his body was capable of feeling this way – a young, strong, lithe body of a fifteen-year-old should never know such fatigue.

“I’m… alright,” he said slowly. “Just a bit dizzy. Haven’t had lunch.” It was a lie, obviously, but he didn’t want Stern to panic. They still had to get back somehow.

“Master Storm, but what if it’s the alv-“

“It’s not,” Stormwell interrupted him angrily. “Do you think I can’t see the difference?”

“You can’t, master. These creatures will make you cut off your own hand with a smile on your face,” Stern suddenly said calmly, all panic gone from his voice. “We don’t have much time, master.”

“Yes, I understand. We’ll be moving in a moment,” Stormwell murmured and turned back to the cell.

The alv was smiling. He swore to Decantah, the alf was smiling, with slightly pointy teeth, unnaturally white even in dim light of the torch. The yellow eyes focused right on Stormwell, and he realized – the creature was laughing at him.

He gripped the hilt of his sword so tight his knuckles went white. A crack crept across the torch in his other hand, deceptively slowly, until, with a loud crack, the stave fell apart. The flame went out.

Damn it. He could manage well without light, but Stern, already half-blind, would definitely break a leg, if not his neck.

“Master Storm?! What did it-”

“Shh, shh. I did it. I’m sorry.”

“You? Why?”

“You talk like I control it,” Stormwell grumbled.

“I can’t see a thing,” Stern said piteously.

“I will lead you. Take my hand.”

His hand found Stern’s, wrinkly, dry and warm. Light was coming from afar, but no torches were lit in this section of the corridor. If they wanted to impede an alv with this, Stormwell thought with sudden derision, then they only made patrolling harder for themselves. He- it didn’t need light to see them well.

[1] 1 decta ~ 6 minutes

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Happy Monday! Hope all is well is your world. Any PFR snippet to share today? 😊

Sure! Let’s pick up right where the last one left off, in the heat of chapter two. Fair warning that this story is far from being posted so it hasn’t been edited, but this should begin to sketch out the general tensions of the piece:

Jane pulled her close, front to front. Maura’s brain powered down. When Jane’s hand splayed against the small of her back, her sex powered up. “It’s how we talk to each other, isn’t it? What’s wrong with that? English can be sexy, too.”

“When it’s…” when it’s coming out of your mouth. Maura stopped herself with a touch on Jane’s shoulder. She rubbed there, moved to raise her other arm, but Jane grabbed it.

Jane stared. “Uh uh,” started Jane. “This ain’t dance class. C’mere.” Then, she splayed the fingers of her left hand over Maura’s hip, tugging it forward until Maura turned, back against Jane’s front.

The spell had been broken and reality disoriented Maura. Lights peppered the otherwise dark club at intervals in time with the song’s drums, and she caught glimpses of people in positions just like hers, but they were moving. There was sweat and sloshing mixed drinks and sloppy kisses shared from awkward angles that somehow still looked salacious enough to cause pregnancy. Is that what they would be doing? Could she do that?

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna go slow,” Jane whispered into her ear, as if reading everything Maura had been thinking. And then, as if to disperse all of that insight, Jane doused Maura with ice water. “It’s just for fun,” she said, and Maura shuddered.

“I don’t -” I don’t want that? I don’t want it to just be for fun? Is that what Maura really meant? She couldn’t have said. The tequila melted her inhibition and her limbs started to loosen.

Jane took advantage, and if she heard Maura’s half sentence, she didn’t acknowledge it. Both hands went to Maura’s hips, and shoved them back into Jane’s front. Then, rather than forcing Maura to move while the music sounded around them, Jane moved. First, it was her left thumb in one of Maura’s belt loops, a seatbelt to keep her in place, and then it was a slow cock of her waist, up then down - slow. “Not about the beat yet. Just about the motion. Go with it.”

“O-ok,” Maura answered. She closed her eyes so that she could feel herself against Jane, so that she could feel Jane moving and then follow it. Since when had Jane assumed the role of temptress in their friendship? Since when had Maura wanted to be tempted? Since, apparently, Maura’d gotten the hang of winding her hips and they’d sped up to match the music. Then, oh, Jane dropped back while keeping her pelvis forward and the training wheels dropped off.

At that moment in Jane and Tatiana’s sequence, Tatiana had employed ungodly amounts of confidence and had bent forward, letting gravity and her knees shake her ass in ways… well. It was new to Maura. And it was calculus to this very algebraic equation she and Jane were building.

But, on top of that, when Jane dropped away to watch, something hooked into Maura’s heart and pulled. The injury tasted like reflux and hurt like a burn. Not like the tequila was making a reappearance, but like, oh fuck it.

Maura turned, and wrapped an arm around Jane’s shoulders. She kept up their sensuality strong with the sway of her body and pulled Jane close.

Jane straightened her back and stood up straight, bringing Maura closer because of the way Maura still hung on her. She curled one brow. “Miss me?” she asked with a drunken little chuckle.

Maura pouted. “I wanted to see you. What is the point of this if you can’t see the person you’re trying to seduce?”

Jane’s chuckled turned into a bark of laughter. “Oh I could see you alright,” she said, her hand resting on the top of Maura’s ass as it moved, though it slowed. She made a show of peeking around to look right at it.

Maura smacked Jane’s shoulder and huffed. The song wound down while they swayed together, and she sighed. “I’m getting quite drunk,” she admitted.

“Yeah me, too,” Jane moved to a respectable hug across Maura’s back and sighed. “And you know what that means,” she said, “gotta get more shots till the awkward goes away.”

Then Jane turned Maura’s jaw toward Frankie’s small table closer to the edge of the dance floor, and tossed a glance in that direction. Frankie lifted a few beers at them as he sported an ear-to-ear grin. “Oh no,” Maura lamented, “I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

“We all are,” Jane said, pulling Maura by the hand back toward their group. “Let’s live a little anyway.”

“You’re certainly uninhibited!” shouted Maura as they moved through bodies.

Jane pulled her closer until they were flush again, Maura’s front to Jane’s back. “Blame the Casamigos, kid,” said Jane.

“Or should I blame the very beautiful Martinez sibling we’ve encountered?” Maura replied much more quietly than her last statement.

“Yeah, I guess you could do that, too,” Jane said through another laugh. When they approached, Frankie shoved a beer in her face. She put her hands up even though Maura took hers. “Uh uh,” Jane told her brother, “bathroom first. It better still be here when I get back.”

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé 2

Chapter 15: Gunshot

Months passed. Or well, that’s what it felt like. You lost all sense of time as well as the day and night cycle in the blackness. At times, you even lost your ability to sense space. Some days, the room could be small and cramped, like you were stuck in a tiny box at the bottom of the ocean. Yet other days, it felt like you had been locked inside a gigantic warehouse by the docks or a shopping mall with no inner walls or floors.

Of course, you inspected the room the best you could, swiping your hands and feet all over the walls and the floor for some kind of tool or opening to exploit. The tiniest nail, glass splinter, wire; any kind of crack, depression or hole - really anything that might be useful.

But there was nothing.

The frustration made you want to scream, and you probably would have without Jung-Hyun there with you. With him, the coldness was never unbearable and his stiff, somber voice soothed your restless mind. It wasn’t as if though you two were conversing; no, you rarely exchanged more than a few words every so often. But Jung-Hyun kept quietly counting to himself at regular intervals. It took you a while to figure out what he was doing, and when you did, you couldn’t hide your surprise.

“Jung-Hyun?”

It could have been days after the two of you had last seen sunlight, or even weeks. You were tired, as you so often were in that dark, cold room, and leaned against the side of his body, which, at least to you, seemed to grow hotter with each unknown hour that passed. Though that might just be because you were getting a cold. Your throat had started to become scratchy, and you had caught yourself before you could sneeze more than once.

The answer didn’t come until after he had finished counting. “Yes?”

“Are you maybe counting the thuds from upstairs?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Some of them are footsteps.”

“And?”

“I want to know how many there are.”

“Why would you want to know that?”

He didn’t respond. You felt a chill crawl down your back and curled up into a ball. Your stomach growled, but that wasn’t the biggest concern you had at that moment. You needed to go to the bathroom.

Over the course of your stay, a woman you presumed to be Yoo-Jin, the “boss’ girlfriend” and apparently the person who chose the building you and Jung-Hyun had been brought to, visited regularly. You only knew she was a woman thanks to her physique, since she, too, wore a balaclava to disguise her facial features. And though she never spoke to you, you were always grateful to see her.

It was only thanks to Yoo-Jin’s visits that the two of you received food, albeit nothing but a few spoonfuls of rice and half a bottle of water that you needed to share, and the chance to relieve yourselves. She also helped you cling to a semblance of an awake and sleep rhythm, since she came two times over a stretch of time before being gone for what felt like a much longer duration.

Occasionally, you thought you caught a flash of regret in Yoo-Jin’s light brown eyes whenever your gazes accidentally met. Her body motions and unavoidable mannerisms also quite obviously belonged to a timid person. You didn’t think she was fully on board with the criminal activity conducted by her supposed boyfriend - or girlfriend - and his - or her - underlings.

But she didn’t stop them either.  

Yoo-Jin’s visits might have been a good chance for you and Jung-Hyun to escape. However, the woman was always accompanied by at least three armed men. Their eyes never strayed far away from Jung-Hyun, who barely moved whenever they showed up.

That was another concerning element. It was only during Yoo-Jin’s brief stays that you were able to gauge Jung-Hyun’s physical state for more than a few seconds, and each time, your heart sank.

Bruises and scrapes aside, Jung-Hyun looked as if though he had been tied up and beaten like a dog. And you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what happened to him. Because whenever the door opened and Yoo-Jin wasn’t there, you knew that Jung-Hyun would be dragged out of the room. The first times a handful of men had barged in to get Jung-Hyun, you tried to fight them, but all that earned you was a slap hard enough to send you whirling to the ground. Jung-Hyun had said nothing, but there had been a silent pleading in his brown eyes for you to stay still.

And so, you obeyed. You did not cry; you did not scream. Even if it felt like an eternity passed before he returned. Even if he sometimes returned drenched. Even if he always returned with fresh bruises.

Even if you were absolutely terrified at the prospect of being left alone in the dark.

“Do you think Yoo-Jin will be here soon?” you asked.

“Yes. I can hear her footsteps.”

You frowned, and even though you could not see, you found yourself staring skyward. “How can you make out hers from everyone else’s? How do you even know which thuds are footsteps and which are just random sounds?”

“I guess, mostly. But hers are easy to identify - she’s the only one who doesn’t walk like they teach you to do in the military.”

You swallowed. At the mention of the military, you couldn’t help but be reminded of Jong-Yeol, who still couldn’t get rid of his old habits while being in service. And that hurt.

Because as soon as you thought about Jong-Yeol, your thoughts inadvertently always veered further. Toward your mother, who probably was busy hiring a whole army of detectives, if not even mercenaries, to find you. Toward your father, who most likely had buried himself in work to forget about his worries at least temporarily - and whose weak health gnawed constantly on your mind. Toward Se-Eun, who you hoped would be able to concentrate on her life even with the heavy cloud of concern that surely hung over her regarding your disappearance.

Toward Jungkook, whose career you prayed your disappearance wasn’t disturbing.

Even though you still could not remember the last time you and he had met, you knew that there was something you needed to tell him. Or was it the other way around? Your head felt like it would burst whenever you started thinking about the strange pain in your heart that surfaced whenever Jungkook’s name appeared in your mind.

And so, once more, you pushed all your thoughts of the outside world aside and focused on the present.

“Oh,” you uttered weakly. “That’s a good point. But how many do you think they are?”

“Anywhere from nine to fifteen.”

“Oh. Is that a lot?”

“Yes.”

The conversation fizzled out just like that. You didn’t know what it was, but Jung-Hyun’s silent disposition seemed to grow more and more dominant the longer you remained in that room. He didn’t stay close to you either, not unless you asked him first. And when he did wrap his arm around you, it felt reluctant, but not in the way reluctance might normally feel like. It didn’t feel like he was avoiding you on purpose.

Rather, that he avoided you because he needed to.

Sometimes, when the cold wasn’t so horrible, you fell asleep alone. If you had to be honest, you didn’t really want to since Jung-Hyun was so irresistibly warm and just… large. It was stupid, but when you fell asleep next to him, it felt like you were protected.

Like things weren’t so bad, after all.

Anyway, one day, or night - or really, anything - you woke to the sound of him huffing and panting strenuously. Your first thought was to ask him what was going on, but you refrained in the last second. While pretending that you were still asleep, you kept your breathing calm and somewhat noisy, and continued to listen. Soon, there were quiet clapping strewn in between the heavy breaths.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Jung-Hyun? What are you doing?”

It went deathly quiet. You almost thought you were stuck in a dream - or rather, a nightmare - when Jung-Hyun’s stiff, somber and slightly out of breath voice broke the silence.

“I’m exercising.”

Your eyes widened. “What? Are you out of your mind?”

“I need to keep my body strong if I want to get out of here.”

“But you’re hurt!” You scrambled in the direction of his voice and bumped into his back. “You need to rest,” you said and grabbed his shoulders. They were hot to your touch.

“When I get out of here, I will. Until then, I cannot afford to.”

“You’re acting crazy,” you said, your heart squirming with fear at the thought of Jung-Hyun having lost his mind.

“Maybe. But my thoughts are still mine.”

“You’re hurt,” you said again. “What have they been doing to you?”

No reply.

“Jung-Hyun,” you said firmly, no longer patient enough for a future explanation. “Answer me.”

“They want to know the secrets of my late boss.”

“And?”

“...I don’t understand.”

“What have you told them?”

“Nothing.”

“Is that all they want from you?” you wondered, your concern morphing into anger, a much more easily manageable emotion.

“It seems that way.”

“Then just tell them!”

“I can’t. I don’t know who their boss is but it’s clear he or she isn’t loyal to the Hwan Song Sung Pa.”

Your grip around Jung-Hyun’s shoulders tightened. “You’re not a part of this scene anymore,” you told him. “Why not just tell them what they want to know and get out of here?”

“Do you think they’ll just let me go after that?”

A flicker of irritation had entered Jung-Hyun’s stiff, somber and usually emotionless voice for once. You pursed your lips and loosened your hold of his shoulders. “I guess not,” you said dejectedly.

There was a long pause. You were just about to withdraw to the corner you had been sleeping in when a hand came to rest on top of yours.

“Thank you.”

His gesture and words startled you. “For what?”

“For worrying about me,” said Jung-Hyun in a calm tone. “But you really shouldn’t. Think about yourself first, (Y/N).”

“It sounds like you’re going to leave me.”

“I’m not. But you’ll leave this place before me.”

“We’ve already discussed this,” you said with a frown. “We’re walking out together.”

“That’s not possible.”

You backed away from him with a sigh, too frustrated to be near him, even less touch him. But your rising levels of frustration weren’t caused solely because of him.

Because you, too, knew, deep down, that the chances for Jung-Hyun to leave that basement as a free man were slim to none.

More time passed. Again, it was impossible to say whether days or months or just a few hours had passed. You and Jung-Hyun exchanged even fewer words than ever before, but your roles had reversed after the last argument. It was you who shied away from physical contact and communication, and it wasn’t until Jung-Hyun offered his warmth that you even considered touching him. Your stubbornness would come to bite you in the backside, however, for within a handful of visits from Yoo-Jin, you started coughing.

Strangely, this elicited a new development in Yoo-Jin’s visits. Both your and Jung-Hyun’s bowls were filled with more rice, and she even came with what looked like leftover soup. There weren’t many ingredients remaining within it, but it was still hot enough to burn your tongue and therefore more than you would have ever dared to ask for. One time, Yoo-Jin even brought you a thick, knitted cardigan you could wear.

“Thank you for everything.”

You were inside the bathroom combined washroom that was situated next to the stairs leading up to the ground level. Yoo-Jin was inside as well, probably to keep an eye on you, but she stood with her back toward you as you finished your business.

Now, you weren’t going to lie, you had imagined sneaking up behind her and knocking her out numerous times. But you knew that would benefit neither you nor Jung-Hyun. The men were still waiting on the other side of the door and the window was barred from the outside. Also, to be honest, you didn’t want to harm her. Sure, she hadn’t done anything to help you, but you doubted she had much choice in the matter, considering her relationship with the men’s boss.

“What?”

Yoo-Jin’s voice was sharp, but not even nearly as piercing as your mother’s, and you shrugged it off easily.

“For the food and the cardigan,” you replied as you washed your hands in the dilapidating sink. The fact that clean water somehow could run through the rusted faucet shocked you every time you touched the sluggish handles.

“Can’t have you getting pneumonia or something serious like that. Not with all the money you have on your head.”

“Ah,” you said, hesitating before you spoke again. “How… how much time has passed since I was brought here?”

Yoo-Jin turned around. “Are you done?” she asked harshly instead of responding.

“Yes,” you replied immediately.

“Then get moving.”

You scratched your arm and continued to do that even after you had been locked inside the dark room again. It had been dark outside as well, you had seen that through the frosted window. But you still had no idea where you might be. Or well, judging by the occasional car rumbling past over the seemingly countless of times you had been to the nearly disintegrating bathroom, you had to be somewhat near civilization. And the orange light you had seen belonged to a street lamp most likely.

Jung-Hyun had said that the men - and Yoo-Jin - were the Hwan Song Sung Pa’s Seoul subunit. But Seoul was huge. You knew its inner parts very well, and could probably find your way home so long as you could see the Han River. But without any point of interest in sight, you would have no way of knowing where to go once you and Jung-Hyun escaped.

Because, yes. You were still fixed on the idea of getting out of that room together with him. Partly because you just straight up refused the notion of leaving him there, all alone and with nobody to lean on. And partly because you found it eerie that you hadn’t been bought out by your parents already. If you now were a hostage, why hadn’t you been extracted? What was taking your parents so long? Money, your only way of escaping, couldn’t be the issue.

Right?

Even more time elapsed. Your restlessness fueled your frustration over your and Jung-Hyun’s predicament, until it reached a point where pure hopelessness clutched your senses. You were colder than ever and started feeling more apathetic despite the increasing portion sizes of your daily food intake. Perhaps Yoo-Jin noticed, because you suddenly found pieces of grilled meat and kimchi hidden underneath your rice. Although you were thankful and your body truly relished the taste of something other than the same dry rice and hot but runny soup, her efforts did nothing to stop the growing hole inside your chest.

Jung-Hyun also seemed to have noticed the shift in your attitude. He talked more, which would have made you glad ordinarily, but this wasn’t your normal world. This was a nightmare with no ending or beginning, a constant circle of the same things coming and going.

Were you going to be stuck down there forever?

Click .

You had barely registered the sound of the door unlocking before two sets of hands pulled you off the floor. Your eyelids flew open, and you found yourself propped up on your feet by a masked man on one side of you each. The silhouette of a third man towered above you in the doorway.

“Now, now, no need to stand up.”

The man in the doorway’s words had been aimed to your right, where Jung-Hyun was slowly getting to his feet. Your heart threatened to break as you took in his appearance. He was more bruised than ever, with scrapes covering practically every inch of skin that wasn’t hidden underneath his now dirty, bloody t-shirt and sweatpants, and he pressed a hand against the side of his stomach where you remembered that he had been cut. He couldn’t even stand straight and had to lean with his whole body against the bare wall.

“Her ransom has been paid,” said the man. “I’m only here to escort her to the exchange point.”

Immediately, Jung-Hyun deflated. Relief smoothed the tight expression he until then had been wearing, and he slowly sat down again. You, on the other hand, wasn’t so glad.

“I’m not going without him,” you said. Although you had hoped to sound demanding, your voice was weak and even broke toward the end of the sentence.

“Don’t be difficult, little heiress. We’re taking you to freedom.”

This caused the man on your left to snicker, and you tensed. “No. Either Jung-Hyun’s coming with me, or I’m staying.”

“Don’t listen to her.”

You stared at Jung-Hyun in disbelief. He wouldn’t look at you, however, and kept his eyes firmly planted onto the man in the door opening. “Just take her with you, Jun-Ho.”

The man in the door opening, or Jun-Ho, glared back. “Don’t say my name, you dog. Boss isn’t here to stop me from giving you exactly what you deserve, so you better fucking show some respect, traitor.”

Traitor? You sent Jung-Hyun an inquisitive glance, which he ignored.

“What’s wrong with me saying your name, Jun-Ho?” he asked in the most playfully taunting tone you had ever heard from him. It wasn’t much, but it was such a stark difference to his usual voice level that your jaw fell open.

“Get her out of here,” said Jun-Ho without breaking eye contact with Jung-Hyun.

“Really?” asked the man left to you.

The one to the right of you also spoke. “But I thought you were desperate to--”

“Shut the fuck up and go. I’ll join you and the others soon.” Jun-Ho dropped some familiar-looking fabric and plastic ropes in the hallway and cracked his knuckles as he stepped into the room. “I just need to show this dog his place.”

“Are you sure we should leave?”

“Look at him!” exclaimed Jun-Ho as he gestured in Jung-Hyun’s direction. “This piece of dog shit can’t even stand up straight!”

“But still, he’s--”

“I know who he is,” said Jun-Ho sharply and produced a pair of matching brass knuckles from the back of his jeans. “But not even the Black Dog can bite after all the beating he’s been fed. Can you even feel your face, Jung-Hyun?”

“Jung-Hyun!” you called out, desperately digging your naked heels into the concrete floor as you tried to tear yourself out of the men’s grip. “I’m not leaving without you!”

“Just go.”

His voice was gentle, almost painfully so. You nearly wrung every muscle in your neck in your attempt to look back at him as the two men forcefully pulled you into the hallway, but caught nothing but a reassuring nod from Jung-Hyun before a blindfold covered your vision. You punched and kicked and struggled, causing both of the men to swear profusely, but managed in the end nothing. You were bound, gagged and carried away and upward with tears soaking through the thick strip of fabric wound around your head.

“(Y/N) bit someone - mind telling me who it was?”

That was the last you heard of Jung-Hyun before a door closed behind you, and his familiar voice - and presence - was no longer.

Your fighting spirit withered. What could you do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except for sending a prayer to the universe that Jung-Hyun would be alright. That he wouldn’t die or have to suffer before you would come back to him.

Because once you got out, you were going to invest every won Phoenix Inc. had in order to find and save him.

The loud, cheerful sounds from the TV were so alien to you, you suddenly fell in a daze. Because it felt like you were hallucinating. Perhaps you really had lost your mind in the blackness and were nothing but dreaming at the moment. Perhaps the sharp smell of cigarette smoke and the heavy sweetness of soju and beer and something else was just a figment of your imagination.

Perhaps the feeling of being carried up another set of stairs was just your delusional mind playing a trick on you.

Wake up, you told yourself. Wake up, you crazy woman. Wake up!

But you didn’t. No matter how hard you tried, the whole world remained dark. No matter how hard you tried to envision yourself back in the pitch black room that had been your prison for who knows how long, you couldn’t regain consciousness.

That’s when the horrific realization dawned upon you - you weren’t dreaming. You were in reality.

And the two men weren’t taking you outside.

With a terror you could have never imagined even in your worst nightmares, you wriggled and struggled against the men, who were holding you like you were a heavy package. The man holding you by your legs dropped you as you managed to get in a nice kick with both of your feet and all the strength you managed to muster. You yelled into the gag as your heels collided against the hard edge of a step on the staircase, but the pain was still overshadowed by your fear. It felt like there was a tiny crawling creature growing rapidly inside your stomach, like those monsters from the Alien movies, and it was doing its best to eat its way out of your chest. You would have actually almost preferred that, because at least the fear would have escaped your body and would no longer be your problem.

But now, it simply stayed in your system, suffocating you, consuming you up from the inside.

“Fuck! Stay still, you bitch!”

A punch in your stomach nearly made you throw up. Your throat stung as the taste of bile filled your mouth, and you knew you would have puked if you had more food in your stomach.

“Mmm!”

Despite your breathlessness, you managed to muster a scream as a pair of hands returned to your legs. You screamed again, until it felt like your lungs would collapse, yet you still couldn’t even drown out the sounds coming from the TV below.

Or the growing sounds of people - men - conversing.

“We’ve brought her!”

You groaned as you were thrown onto what felt like a rugged carpet. Your cheek and knees burned against the scratchy material, and the smell of something sour penetrated your nostrils. Although you tried your best to situate yourself upright, you couldn’t do more than just lay there on your stomach. An unnatural silence fell around you and even the TV sounded like it was several miles away.

Because you knew you were far from alone.

Your heart slammed harder against the inner side of your ribcage than ever, and you could hear your blood rushing through your ears as the silence continued. You felt several pairs of eyes on you, and the sensation made your skin crawl with unease.

Please, just be a dream.

But it still wasn’t.

You felt like a prey that had wandered straight into a group of predators. An immobilized, defenseless prey in a den of hungry, greedy predators with no sense of human morals and ethics. You couldn’t even see. You couldn’t even talk.

You could only hear and feel their hands.

Of course, you tried everything. You tried to roll out of range even though it felt like your shoulders were going to dislocate. You tried to get the gag out of your mouth in order to bite whoever and whatever came near. You tried to kick and squirm and pose as much of a threat as you could.

However, all that your struggles rewarded you with was a continued series of laughter. Raw, cold laughter that couldn’t possibly belong to another human.

“Should we take off the gag?”

“Gag stays,” said a second voice. “The fuck are you looking at me like that for? Didn’t Gyoung-Su show you his wound? He nearly lost his finger! You want her to bite off your dick?”

A third voice laughed. “I don’t think Dae-Chul would mind. He always has the craziest girlfriends.”

More laughter. Too many for you to actually place.

“Untie her and hold her down, for fuck’s sake. I can’t get it up when she’s rolling around like a crazy bitch.”

You stopped breathing. You recognized that grouchy voice. It was the man who had carried you down to the basement in the first place.

“Oh? She went still.”

“I think she recognizes your voice, Gyoung-Su! Isn’t that cute?”

There was more laughter, but you barely registered it. A cigarette-heavy breath rolled off your cheek, causing every hair on your body to stand on edge, and a pair of lips brushed against your ear.

“We’ve got a score to settle, you heavy bitch. Or well, I guess I shouldn’t call you that since you don’t look so heavy anymore. I think I actually like how you look now.”

You felt the fabric grow wet against your eyes again, even more so than earlier, and your body started shaking uncontrollably in terror. You couldn’t even flinch away from him as you felt a hand ghost down your back and squeeze your backside.

“Aw, fuck, Gyoung-Su! How can you be that close to her? She stinks all the way from here.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I could fuck her even if I got paid.”

“Don’t be pussies,” said the grouchy-voiced man whose name you now knew was Gyoung-Su. “I know you’re afraid of what the boss will say, but if we all keep out mouths shut about it, he won’t know. And to ensure that you pussies keep your word, you need to stick your dick in her. Now untie her!”

“But isn’t she still a hostage?” It was the younger man’s voice, the guy who had untied you and taken away the blindfold and gag when you first were brought to the basement. “And what about Yoo-Jin?”

“Boss’ bitch is sleeping with earphones on as usual. She won’t hear anything.”

“Haven’t you watched the news lately, kid? Her company is on the border of ruins! Her family will never be able to pay the ransom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Phoenix Inc. in ruins? How could that have happened? Was it because you had been kidnapped? But no, your parents could have just stepped in again, even if it risked your father’s health. It couldn’t be something like that.

“Yeah, and even if they will, it won’t be soon. We’d all have to work our fucking asses off for the rest of our lives to pay that stupid amount.”

“Doesn’t that make you mad, though? This rich bitch probably spent that amount every week. Enough money for a whole family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Don’t you think she should pay for her greed?”

“Well,” said the younger man’s voice. “I guess you can put it that way…”

“That’s more like it. Now shut your mouth unless you want your hyungs to do it for you.”

You didn’t know how many pairs of hands struggled with your plastic ropes, but you were determined, despite your crippling fear, to not just give in. You couldn’t lose this battle without a proper fight. In fact, if you just managed to kick or punch someone, you would allow yourself the win.

You would allow yourself to forget what was surely going to happen to you.

You weren’t able to do either of those things, however. For just before the ropes came loose, which was the moment you had waited to pounce, a cold, metal piece pressed against your left shoulder blade.

“I know what you’re thinking, bitch,” said Gyoung-Su. “But you’re not going to do anything unless you want a bullet through your spine. Or--” the cold sensation moved upward, toward your head, and stopped on your bottom. “--here. Understood?”

You nodded so frantically the tip of your nose scratched against the mat, completely choked up with fear to even utter a yelp.

“Good. Now, who wants--”

Gyoung-Su wasn’t able to finish his sentence. Because as soon as the pressure from the pistol disappeared, you counted to two and punched in the direction of his voice, which had still been close to your ear. Even though your strike had been in an awkward, backswing angle, you still felt something relatively soft bend underneath your knuckles. Something warm sprayed across your knuckles, and although you had begun scrambling to your knees in order to further hit Gyoung-Su in a blind but desperate rage, a pair of hands managed to catch fistfuls of your hair. Another pair grabbed your wildly swinging arms and held them over your head.

You yelled into the fabric inside your mouth as you were dragged away from a howling Gyoung-Su, but it was more out of disappointment than pain. You wanted to hurt him so much more. Until the point he couldn’t even open his mouth anymore. Until you could get rid of the disgusting feeling coating every cell that he had touched.

“Fuck, is she really a conglomerate heiress? She’s fucking insane!”

“Yeah, I’m not touching her.”

A tiny ray of hope illuminated your fear-clouded heart. This was good. If they thought you were too disgusting and crazy to touch, then you would be safe. You would probably still not be able to get out of there since you were still blind. But at least they would take you down to the basement, back to Jung-Hyun, where you could together plan an escape. You were going to survive this.

However, even that tiny ray was extinguished as a third voice spoke.

“Are you kidding? These are the fun ones!”

To your horror, someone started forcing up your skirt while the two men who had grabbed your hands and hair respectively grabbed you with renewed strength. You attempted to worm out of their clutches, but they weren’t underestimating your strength anymore and held you so hard you lost feeling in your scalp and hands. Tears gathered anew in the corners of your eye as a sickly sweet soju breath washed over your nose, and it was only barely you managed to dodge away from the mouth that accompanied that breath. The man didn’t seem to mind, however. He started licking your cheek, his stubble scratching your skin like microscopic razor blades, while he forced his body between your legs. Your muffled screams turned into pitiful sobs as the sound of an unbuckling belt reached your ears, and the already bottomless dread inside your chest tripled as he merely snickered in response.

“This is going to hurt, little heiress. But don’t hold back - I like hearing your voice.”

You wished you could have just passed out due to all the panic accumulating within you. You wished there was some kind of mental technique that you could use to just turn off all your senses. You wished you could die on command, and as the man’s fingers reached the waistband of your underwear, you screamed at your heart to stop beating.

And suddenly, you felt nothing.

For a moment, you really thought you had died. You had heard stories about ancient warriors and devoted servants who were able to kill themselves using nothing but mental strength, but you had thought those were nothing but legends. Had you perhaps been stupid for thinking that?

No. Reality soon settled when you realized the faint pounding sound in the back of your head was the rhythm of your heart. However, nobody was holding you down and you were able to squeeze your legs together again. There was another distant sound, a wet, repeating sound that crystallized the more you focused on it. Still, you couldn’t fully put your finger on what it was.

Not until you reached up for your blindfold and untied it.

The room you found yourself in was in utter chaos. Rotting furniture, dirty clothes, soju bottles, beer cans, empty takeaway boxes lay scattered everywhere. Moonlight poured in through the barred windows, drenching everything in a pallid light, and the sour smell of old sweat and spilled alcohol, mixed with something darker, something heavier, something metallic made you wrinkle your nose. And it wasn’t difficult to understand why.

For spread throughout the room, just like the rotting furniture, dirty clothes, soju bottles, beer cans and empty takeaway boxes, were the bodies of fourteen men.

Their balaclavas had all been torn off. Some wore guises of shock, others of fear while one or two looked like they had expected to die. Among the lattermost was the owner of the younger male’s voice, whose eyes you recognized. Nobody moved.

All except for one.

You didn’t know who it was. If it was Gyoung-Su, or the man who had pulled up your skirt. It did not matter, though.

Because nobody, not even the two of them, deserved the ruthless, methodical beating Jung-Hyun inflicted on them.

“Jung-Hyun?”

Even though the tape had made a loud tearing sound in the deathly silent that dominated the whole house, which you realized it was, he didn’t react. It wasn’t until you spoke his name that he froze, mid-punch.

“Jung-Hyun?” you whispered again.

“I saved him for last. The man who was on top of you.”

You shivered, but not because you were cold. Because although you understood mentally that it was Jung-Hyun who had replied, it didn’t feel like him. It felt like another person, a stranger, had replaced him. It felt as if though he was possessed.

“Okay,” you said as you shakily pulled down your skirt and got to your feet. “But don’t you think you’ve done enough? He’s barely breathing.”

“Yes. I wanted to drag this out for as long as I could.”

“Please,” you pleaded and took a tentative step toward him. “It’s enough, Jung-Hyun. Please stop.”

“I will. But not yet.”

And with that, he slammed the man’s head into the edge of a table. First once, then twice. Then again when a piece of the table broke. Then again when that piece broke. Then against the floor.

Jung-Hyun kept going until there no longer was a head you could distinguish.

When his grip of the man’s neck finally loosened, it almost felt reluctant. His face was shadowed by his own silhouette, but you saw that he kept looking at the bloody and beaten body. Like he was waiting for it to just rise again. Or perhaps secretly wishing it would.

Just so that he could break him again.

However, when Jung-Hyun finally turned to face you, there were tears in his eyes. Tears of relief, sadness, shock - perhaps all of them combined.

He reached out for you with a blood-soaked hand. “(Y/N)--”

The next word never reached your ears. Because in that instant, your whole world was torn asunder by a sound so loud your hearing went missing temporarily.  

A gunshot.

And as Jung-Hyun crumbled to the ground, his face locked in pain, he revealed the shooter standing behind him.

[harrison-abbott]

The boy came into his office. All at once, his body language gave off the vibe of edginess. When he sat in the invited seat he couldn’t stop trembling; didn’t stop moving as he talked: and when he did speak it was all jumbled and sparky, all in different intonations. The doctor had never met anybody like this boy before. He didn’t know why he was here. Not a ‘boy’ per se. The man was 23. But he wasn’t a a man, either ... Jesus, the Doc thought, this person has some problems that I cannot deal with. The boy/man started talking about his “lady friend” and how he had been to his big brother’s wedding with her recently and how her dig about his being more successful than him had cut him internally and he was all fucked up about it. But he didn’t say it as simply or straightforward as that. Went off on this lawnmower pace. The doctor had never met this lady friend and didn’t even know that the kid meant it was his girlfriend. Nodding, and saying, yep, at intervals, the doctor listened. The boy eventually started talking about therapy. How folks had suggested to him a few times about how he could ‘goan speak to somebody’ and that he’d taken offense of such a notion before but now he was keen on it. Thank the Lord, pondered the Doctor, as he wrote out the details for a Shrink which he looked up there and then on his computer. “It’s worth going to speak to them about it.” And then there was more. Boyo started yammering on about his alcohol habit. “How long have you been doing that?” Doc said, after Boyo told him how much he’d been nailing beer each week, each day, on average. “Five years,” was the answer. So he wrote the kid out the details for the local AA group and this other opportunity for a REHAB group. The kid thanked him. He was very young and still healthy and he could have given up alcohol in two weeks if he’d properly tried. The doctor concluded, in their seven minute session in the small room. The problem was that the boy was, quite clearly, crazy, and he needed psychological help. The doctor was a nice man and did want to provide aid; but he just didn’t have the ability to do that. So he gave the lad the two bits of paper with the mental & alcohol advice stuff. And the boy never ever returned to the GP. Doc never knew what happened to him.