#like yeah i’m not listening my ears are this ringing static mess what do you want from me

[poohwhin]

i feel like my mom very conveniently “forgets” that i’m not just a “oh yeah public places make me anxious, angry, and scared” kind of person, but my senses will in fact fail me.

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 13: ...O-OH?

it’s the night of the big stream. y/n uncovers a strange, albeit deep, bond with charlie. corpse interrupts her garden date with sykkuno quite unceremoniously. tensions are high as ever; proximity chat reveals internal monologues and stray thoughts. y/n’s “batshit insane” energy affects everyone. this is, quite literally, the best game of among us bretman has ever played.

─── corpse husband x reader, sykkuno x reader (if you squint, it’s very one sided)  ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 6.1k oops ─── ❥ reqs: sum people requested some interaction w bretman + jealous corpse + flirty sykkuno

author’s note: guys....GUYS WE’RE ON THE 3RD “OH” hope ur excited cus i am!!! this was rly fun to write, but then again, everything is better than writing an essay lmao! this is extremely chaotic and a bit seggsy but like a minuscule bit u wont even notice it i swear xx there’s not much social media in this one, mostly written lol. as always lmk wat u think n thank u for all ur kind words n sooo manyyyy ideassss!!! love u lots

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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It’s happening, you think, picking the discreet, angelic white color for your astronaut - with a halo and all, truly, you are a seraph that stepped through the gates of heaven and descended onto earth to grace these morals with your presence...quite literally, you’re not only donning white in game, but also in real life, cute as a button or more like as a bunny. Cat girls are overrated - cat boys, on the other hand, you’ll ardently defend till your last breath - but bunny girls...Safe to say, your chat had been going feral. Your endless ego is fed well. You even swore on your heart that no devilish trickery would follow in this game - you had left your snake ways behind you.

No one believed you. The Roaches know you too fucking well.

The influx of new subs, however, do not. Look at this cute girl! She wouldn’t hurt a fly! You chuckle at the compliments. At the exact same moment, Rae pipes up on the discord call, “Y/n is leering and cackling evilly. No one trust her.”

Demon woman herself must be watching your stream before starting her own. You pout, all adorable and innocent, but your eyes gleam slyly. Truly, a mastermind of manipulation! Look at you go! The chat is swooning. The viewer number steadily climbs past 16K and you hum happily, welcoming all that decided to join your little clan, “Don’t listen to Rae. Wifey is mad because I said I’m not bringing her back a souvenir. Well guess what, bitch, I’m the gift.”

Your perfect image does not quite align with your tone, nor the affectionate nickname you call your roommate (bitch, not wifey). The new viewers are none the wiser though, just like your new stream mates.

There is laughter from people you don’t quite know. The lobby is almost full, but not everyone has trickled in yet.

“Filing divorce papers right now.” Rae mumbles, but you hear the smile in her voice. It makes you crack a grin, too. 

More hello’s and shy introductions to the people in the lobby. Sykkuno’s green astronaut pops in with a upbeat, “Hey, everyone! Hi, Y/n!” as his character circles around yours. A collective awww echoes in your stream chat as you, quite breathless at the wholesomeness, reply with a “Hi! Hi hi!” as well.

Corpse is next to join, mysteriously ominous. The discord call is pure chaos, everyone screaming over the other variations of his name while stressing different syllables. Silent as a grave, he just stands there, his black astronaut seemingly eyeing everyone in the lobby. 

Alas, when the noise dies down, he utters, “Whaddup, baby.” and it’s pandemonium all over again. You are screeching/laughing along with the rest. His astronaut swiftly glides to Sykkuno, still circling around you, “Hey, Sykkuno.” He says. The latter abruptly stops. The game hasn’t even started, and already - betrayal! Sykkuno starts circling around Corpse now, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey, dude!”

“Yo,” You interrupt, “I’m like here too, yeah?”

“Fight, fight, fight!” Pokimane jeers. You can’t see her, but you’re certain she’s pumping her fists in the air. 

“Let’s leave the bloodshed for the game, yeah?” Dream offers past her laugh ridden urging.

“No, fuck that, let’s start this shit right now,” Charlie declares - his monotone is strangely pleasant to the ear, and you lean back in your chair with a thoughtful hum. Something about his energy just clicks with yours instantly, but perhaps you’re judging too quickly- “Got my fucking knife ready to slit some throats. You can all pretend you aren’t ready to kill on sight, but that’s not me. I’ll teabag your dead fucking body.”

-yeah, no, your initial estimate had been correct! What a pleasant surprise, you feel like you and he will get along beautifully. 

“Way to be subtle, Charles.” Rae snorts.

“Subtle doesn’t make an interesting game, Rae,” He’s quick to bite back, “and if I’m Impostor, you bet your fucking ass I’m going after you first.”

“Noooooo!” She shrieks, rushing to your astronaut, which is still just standing there, abandoned, like the equivalent of that one emoji, “Y/n, protect me.”

“Of course, baby.” You purr. 

There’s mumbling in the discord call, though it’s barely audible. Corpse seems to be repeating the word to himself: Baby...Baby?...Baby...

“You’re gonna stab me in the back the first chance you get, won’t you?” She questions, already painfully aware of the answer.

“You know it!”

“Finally, someone that’s not fucking cowering in their boots and flaunting their real nature.” Charlie says, “Y/n, form a Big Dick Alliance with me.”

“Oh for sure, man.” You agree immediately, trailing to his in game figure, “Let’s show these virgins how it’s done.”

“This is going to be a mess, isn’t it?” Sean’s voice rings with a cheerful laugh, making you flustered. Yes, you’re actually playing with THE JacksepticeyeTM. You still haven’t fully wrapped your head around that part, “I’m very excited to see where this will go.”

“Nowhere good.” You say with unparalleled sincerity - every word you speak to him, the icon, the legend, the one of the few youtubers you actually actively follow, must be genuine. You doubt you can lie to him. He’s too good of a person. You admire him too much. Stuck between wanting to be a shady bitch and an absolute saint, you refrain from addressing him more - you are simply not worthy.

its the y/n trying to act like a normal person in front of jack for me

ikr she looks ready to join the monastery

each day we stray closer to gods light???

Your viewers are snide as always. Gosh, you love them.

The last player pops in, fashionably late, “Hey, y’all.”

“Hey, Bretman!” The call choruses somewhat harmoniously.

“Hi, daddy.” He’s speaking to Corpse now, a smile in his voice - you can hear it even past the static of his atrocious mic. Your eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. Your friends are cackling, but confusion refrains you from doing the same - were you not the only one Corpse offered, seemingly so long ago!, to be his sugar baby? 

One betrayal after the other. You’re glad for the Big Dick Alliance. The name has a nice right to it, too. 

Corpse laughs, “...Hey, Bretman. How are you today?”

Damn, two sentences for him, but not even a word spoken to you!? You’re already scripting a very melodramatic paragraph you will text him after the stream. With poorly masked discontent, you mutter, “Wow, thanks for such a warm welcome, Corpse, my day’s going great, yeah, loving the company.”

“Now now miss girl,” Bretman chimes, “we can’t be all daddy’s favorite.”

“Careful,” Charlie drones, “I think you just got yourself onto Y/n’s shit list.”

“Right next to Corpse Husband and Valkyrae.” You agree, “Sykkuno!” You suddenly call him.

“Uhm-Uh-Yes?” Is his nervous reply.

“You’re safe.” You state coldly, “For now.”

“You are not going after Sykkuno on my watch.” It must be a belated holiday miracle because Corpse finally decides to address you. His words seem to awake something in him, “Hey-Hey-Hey-” He swiftly glides to you, standing right next to your minute virtuous angel, “When are you coming back to Cali?”

corpse stop acting weird challenge

literally omg lmao

he does bring up a good point y/n y u not in cali yet?!

^pack it up corpse simp he disrespected the queen when he didnt say hi

“Back off, buddy,” Charlie interjects, “this spot is for Big Dick Alliance members only.”

“I’m never returning.” You inform him, your voice cold like the Arctic snow, and the look in your eyes is no kinder. You feel like you’re having a stare down through screen. 

Silence stretches. Is this an intimidation tactic? Because if it is, it’s a paltry one. Your conviction to be petty is stronger than any vulnerability you might feel.

“Then I have nothing to say to you.” He admits and fucks right off with that. Fine, go join Sykkuno and Rae in their little corner of betrayal! Friendship ended with Corpse, now Charlie is your best friend.

“Okay, guys, guys, guys-” Toast, noting this is going to spiral any minute now, tries to catch their attention, “Let’s start?!”

You look into your camera, and the roaches know what you’re thinking. You’re twins like that, communicating telepathically. You are taking back your tender promise of not being a conniving bastard. It’s fucking on. You will destroy everyone in your path, starting with the guy you have a stupid crush on - maybe?! Feelings are confusing, you’d rather just not think point blank period.

With no objections from the cast, the counter ticks away seconds and, for the first round, you’re stuck as CREW MATE.

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Charlie is a gift. Truly, you had not expected such a sudden, wonderful relationship to bloom. How have you not known of him sooner?! It’s a crime that you hadn’t spoken to him earlier. You are a 100% certain if you had found him before you started streaming, he would’ve been a big inspiration. 

The two of you do your silly little tasks and curse like sailors, commenting about this and that thanks to proximity chat. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the claustrophobic silence if it was just a normal Among Us game - to think, missing out on all his foully worded quips! It almost springs a tear into your eye. He’s just as unhinged as you.

worried about this dynamic 

its a trainwreck lol i love it plz collab more plz

Caught in a headed discussion in Electrical - TikTok trends, or audios specifically - you defend the app the best you can. Charlie thinks it’s super cringe, and you insist it’s part of the charm as you connect wires.

“I mean, have...-do you know that one audio, the one that goes, like,” You’re spilling your words, heated, frustrated that he’s so dismissive of the app that literally saved 2020, “it goes like, uhm,” You clear your throat, prep your voice - even take a sip of your favorite drink. Drawing the syllables, you try your best to make it drop an octave - it must sound like you’re doing an atrociously bad and nauseatingly scratchy Corpse impression with an extra dramatic flair, “My assssssss, your cockkk, you do the mathhh.”

“Did-Did I just-” You freeze hearing Corpse’s voice, finally done with your task. Charlie is muffling his laughter behind his palm; Corpse’s astronaut stands in the doorway, “What the fuck did I just walk into?” He seems genuinely confused, though a strangely winded. You’re mortified. Your shoulders are shaking. You look at the stream chat but it’s going too fast for you to follow. Manic laughter bubbles in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, mouth split into a toothy grin, lowering your head and trying to hide the blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hey? Guys? What the fuck are you talking about?” He questions again.

“Honestly?” Charlie chimes, “No fucking clue. TikTok, I think. Ask Y/n.”

You can’t reply. You’re crying. You cover your face with your palms, muttering a soft oh my god before bursting into a full blow laugh, throwing your head back, the motion accidentally knocking your headphones off.

“Y/n.” Corpse calls you, “Fuck was that?”

You’re howling. Your stomach hurts. There are literal tears in your eyes. You think Charlie might be laughing too, but you can’t really tell over your loud screeching. Hastily fixing your headphones, you wipe away the tears stuck to your lower lashes, heaving, “S-Sorry, I-” You stutter, breaking into another fit of giggles. Corpse patiently waits you to calm down. Catching your breath, you start again with a sniffle, “TikTok, yeah.” You idly fix your hair, trying to bite down a smile, “It’s an audio.”

“What- What kind of videos are you watching?”

“The good kind.” Your reply is instant, merciless, “Also, why are you here? We’re having a BDA meeting, you know.”

“I-I...” He trails off, “I...I heard people talking and...I just came here to check it out, but...I’m regretting it.” There’s a lilt in his voice, and you know he doesn’t regret jack shit. You bet he’s smiling. You wish you could see it.

“Bitch, then leave!” You huff. You aren’t sure what is with him today, and you don’t want to stick around and find out - his playfulness makes your stomach flip at the most inappropriate times! Like when you’re trying to sound threatening. You must retreat posthaste, “No, wait, I’ll do it for you.” You say, brushing past his character. Charlie follows after you.

“Dude, you’re so fucking lucky neither of us are the Impostor because you’d be deader than I’ve been feeling since I was 10.” Your favorite companion comments. Charlie is truly a modern wordsmith. You’re pretty sure you adore him, because you’re nodding your head, so quick to agree with him that even you’re surprised. 

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A meeting is called. You spare a glance at your fallen crew mates. They will be missed. Sean most of all, God, why does heaven always take the good ones?! The game feels emptier without him, even if you really only passed him once on your trek to Cafeteria with Charlie.

You may or may not have been avoiding him, afraid you’d accidentally say something horrible and he would hate you. It’s a silly fear, though a deep one. And with Charlie keeping you company, you had not uttered a single objectively  good, or even coherent, sentence. Your parents can’t watch this stream once it’s uploaded onto your Youtube channel. They know you’re barely keeping it together in most of your videos, but here, now? Yeah, no. Charlie is already hard to listen to on his own for sensitive viewers, and hearing you agree with literally everything he says with your own chaotic ideas? Your dad would stumble into an early grave.

Mom probably wouldn’t mind too much, but you’d have to explain your relationship status again. She is under the assumption that everyone you collab with is your significant other. You’d say it began with Sykkuno, though the exclamation of “Finally! My daughter isn’t pathetically single! We need to celebrate.” had started with Rae. Truly, a scandal.

Speaking of which, Sykkuno is gone, too, but you had time to mourn him already. You found his body roughly ten minutes ago; so torn with the fresh agony of heartbreak, you could not do anything else but cry. It was Charlie, bless his heart, that reported it.

“Someone killed Jack,” You say, voice dripping with venom, “court is now in session. I’m ready to vote the fucker out.”

People speak all at once. Toast roars over them, “ORDER! ODER IN COURT!” as he slams his hand onto his desk repeatedly. That seems to work, though briefly.

“I think it’s Y/n.” Corpse says. You stare at him, hand gripping your heart, mouth falling open in surprise.

flame him

corpse boutta be a corpse fr

beat his ass queen!!!!!

“Pardon my french,” You grumble, “but nani the fuck?!”

“It’s definitely Y/n, I found her and Charlie conspiring in Electrical. Surrealist experience of my fucking life, but it’s definitely her.”

“Dude, we’ve been over this,” Charlie sighs, shushing Rae who was about to comment something - knowing your luck, it was probably in favor of the man throwing you under the bus, “we would’ve snapped your fucking neck the moment you walked in. But we didn’t.”

“Yeah, we didn’t.” Corpse notes, “I said nothing about you, I’m just saying it’s definitely her. She probably didn’t kill in front of you because of your stupid alliance-”

“Someone sounds salty because he wasn’t invited.” Pokimane snickers.

“-or possibly she did tell you and you won’t betray her for the exact same reason.”

“That’s some big brain logic you pulled there, genius,” Charlie says, absolutely unimpressed, “sure you didn’t have an aneurysm trying to connect all of that together?”

“Well,” Rae pipes up, “Y/n and Charlie did say they will kill right before the game started. If you ask me, it’s not unbelievable. And Sykkuno was sorta on the shit list.”

“I’m writing down your name twice, Rachell.” You spit.

“Not helping your case at all, Y/n...” Dream worries, “And Rae makes a good point. Charlie and you have professed desire for murder. I’m just saying! It’s a bit suspicious, you know?”

The next words to leave Corpse’s lips sound incredibly smug, “See?” He drawls.  The pressure is getting to you - you don’t understand where this beguiling talent of his to convince literally everyone comes from, but it doesn’t inspire any confidence. Your fist suddenly feels incredibly lonely, so useless - oh, how you long to swing at him, “It’s definitely Y/n.”

“I dunno...” Toast mumbles.

“It’s Y/n.”

“Corpse-” You try, but he's ignoring you - shocker, as if he hadn’t been doing that from the very start of this stupid game - and chanting your name like it’s a fucking mantra or something, a smile in his voice, knowing, relishing in the fact that he’s grating on your nerves, “FIRST OF ALL,” You scream into the mic, successfully cutting him off; catching your breath, you exhale, and continue, calmly, lowly,  “get my pretty name out of your mouth.” 

There’s a pause full of tense silence. 

Then, there’s a sound, seemingly stuck in the back of his throat, “...O-Oh...?”

“Second of all,” You continue, words like honey dipped in arsenic, “This is the clearest smear campaign I have ever witnessed. By how hard you’re trying to frame me for fuck knows what reason, I’m led to believe it’s you that killed them. You’re the Impostor.”

“Corpse wouldn’t kill Sykkuno, though.” Rae comments, skeptical.

“Then the other Impostor did it.” You counter.

“Maybe you’re both Impostors.” Pokimane chirps.

“Y/n would never betray the Big Dick Alliance like that.” Charlie states.

You grin, “Charlie, I literally love you.” 

“Wait hold up now,” Corpse seems to get his bearings together, “what’s this about love I’m hearing?”

“I have none for you, dick.” You snap, flipping him off. Your chat cheers. While he can’t see it, you hope he senses it through the screen, “I officially hate you.”

“No, wait-”

“Boo, Corpse, you suck.” Toast laughs.

“Y/n, please-”

“Let’s all vote for Corpse Husband, okay?” You say it like it’s his full official name with an encouraging smile and multiple soft nods. Sykkuno can’t be here to nod, so you’ll do it for him. You eye the rapidly decreasing timer before clicking on Corpse’s figure and voting for him. The VOTED icon instantly pops up beside your adorable astronaut.

“Baby, I-” It slips past his lips so easily, as if he’s not even thinking about it, like it’s only natural to call you that and a spike of anxiety shoots up, making you glare. It’s only halfhearted. You try your best to ignore the rapid and uncoordinated pulses of your heart. Replace unwanted feelings with anger and hate - works like a charm, every time.

“You are not allowed to call me that.” You hiss. The chat spams snake emojis. 

“Wait-” Bretman chimes, “Hold up, y’all, slow down a minute. Why does Corpse never call me baby?”

“Yeah!” Pokimane agrees, “I want to be baby, too!”

Pokimane may not have been called baby, but you just single-handedly decided her nickname for her - Target 4. Welcome to the shit list, she is officially your public enemy number 1. You aren’t sure why the thought of Corpse ever referring to anyone else as baby makes you sick to your stomach (you actually do know why, but brain no think at the moment), but you wish this whole conversation never happened. You don’t like it.

20 seconds left. More VOTED icons appear by your friends. Corpse is the last one to cast his ballot at, you assume, you, as the rest wait for his quick explanation before everyone (or not) returns to the game, “...Because she’s my baby.”

Goodbye. Life had been sweet, and there was sorrow, though the amount of embarrassment you feel now is worse than when the internet found your cringe worthy high school pictures on your mom’s Facebook. It’s a mixture of dread and excitement - the pleasure of being noticed, cherished even, though anxious from vulnerability. Someone is screaming a very prolonged “WHAAAAT?!”, or maybe multiple people are, you aren’t sure, your ears start to hurt from the loud, conflicting cacophony of voices as you stare blankly at the screen. You received two votes, just like Corpse, Charlie got one, the rest skipped. With no one flung out, you all find yourself back in Cafeteria again.

Baby. My baby? My baby. My baby. The sentence is playing ping-pong in your mind, reverberating louder each time. You’re actually speechless for the first time in your life; your chest hurts, your heart beating so fast your hands start shaking. Had he meant it? Or was this a some joke? Was he trying to get a rise out of you again? You might just go insane from so many questions. My baby. Holy shit, this is a heart attack, this is what a heart attack feels like, dear God, you figured you at least had ten years before you get one!

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First round ends with IMPOSTORS raining victorious. Your sixth sense had been working wonders since, true to you previous estimate, it had been Corpse. His companion was Pokimane. For absolutely no reason what’s so ever, you change her name once more from Target 4 to Target 1. Normally, you’re all for girls supporting girls. Men don’t deserve anything, really, but now you’re so flustered and still reeling from what you are 80% sure was cardiac arrest that you genuinely don’t care about your established morals.

Round two starts without much deliberation. You get CREW MATE again; the game must sense your growing bloodlust, making sure that once you do get IMPOSTOR, you will not hold back. True power is granted to those who are ready and strong enough to wield it. You wait for your moment with bated breath.

Charlie is taken from you too early. The two of you were once again caught in a discussion - God knows about what, Minecraft, hentai, oh! your server! - as you tried to card swipe for the umpteenth time. The lights blew out and you just knew one of you was getting murdered there and then. Charlie’s voice abruptly cut off, and you think a part of you died with him.

It’s a cold meeting; with your new best friend being the first to go, everyone decides to skip. You proclaim you seek vengeance. When the meeting comes to an end, Sykkuno is the first to offer his condolences.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says, and while he’s not in Brooklyn, you somehow feel him patting your back. You feign a sniffle.

“There’s nothing to apologize for...” You murmur sadly, “Unless...” Your voice turns sharp as the knife that was surely twisted into Charlie’s back, “It was you?”

“NO!” He exclaims, “I would never-you gotta believe me! I would never kill him. I know he’s important to you. I wouldn’t do that, I swear.”

“He was like a brother to me.” You admit, solemn, “Charlie, if you’re haunting me right now, know I will avenge you. I will not let this go.”

Sykkuno hums, circling around you, “Hey, I have a task in Greenhouse. Would you, uh--Would like to, uhm, join me?” Despite the shaky start, he finishes on a firm, pleasant note. He’s trying to cheer you up. Having lost your closest friend, he’s offering you his company. You accept with a soft smile and a cute “Yes, please!” and he releases an airy little laugh. The two of you make your way to your favorite place in map MIRA.

It’s difficult to stay sad for long when Sykkuno’s so sweet; the atmosphere of the Greenhouse is strangely calming; your problems seem to be left behind the shut doors. If you tried hard enough, you could imagine being in an actual Greenhouse - the warm, damp air clinging to your skin, the unmistakable smell of earth and vegetation, the pleasant silence broken only by yours and his hushed voices and clumsy footsteps.

The two of you are talking. Mainly about your choice of attire. Cat first, Sykkuno ponders aloud, doing his task as you watch the plants grow, now bunny, what’s next? You affirm that you will most likely dress up in cow-print next, or as an adorable sheep. He laughs, admitting you’ll look good in anything before he trails off. His awkwardness is really endearing. 

“Or!” You chirp happily, content with being locked away with him for the whole game. The idea must be playing in his mind, too, because he seems in no rush to leave, “I could, like, dress as someone from My Hero Academia. I watched the stream you did with Stella, the one where she made you look like Todoroki. It was really cute. You were really cute.”

“Oh, uhm-well, uh, thank you, thanks, I, uhm-” He clears his throat, and despite his stutter, you hear the smile in his voice, “I-I think you’d look better, though. Not as Todoroki. Or, probably as Todoroki, too. But, uhm, what character are you thinking about?”

“Maybe Momo?”

“Momo!” He yeps, “Momo is good. Yeah, she’s great. You’ll-uhm-you’ll look amazing. Really. Momo is awesome. Very pretty. Just like you.”

You are blushing. A stupid, toothy grin makes your cheeks hurt. Your eyes flicker to the chat, but again, it’s going wild. Giggling, you thank him for his sweet words, so giddy it’s honestly embarrassing. Why can’t you stop smiling? This is incriminating. You hide your lips behind your palm.

“...What’s this?” Corpse question. You had failed to note his sudden appearance, too busy gushing. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hey, Corpse!” Sykkuno greets. For someone so awkward and shy, he sure is good at hiding it when he wants to. Perhaps it’s all an act and you had been deviously tricked! Probably not, but you can’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously, finally able to calm down. You definitely underestimated him, you just haven’t figured out how yet, “Not really! Y/n was sad Charlie died so I took her here.”

“You interrupted our date, dipshit.” You deadpan. 

“...Fuck you say?” Corpse dares, his voice low and somewhat menacing - for someone who exclusively portrays his emotions through only his voice, he’s incredibly hard to read. This is payback. Your love for wreaking havoc resurfaces suddenly. Serves him right for pulling all this ignoring shit at the start. Maybe you’ll make him say oh again.

Your sly smirk is promptly wiped. Fuck. He said oh, he literally said oh out loud. The Teruhashi fangirl in you is screaming. You had been so caught up in defending yourself you didn’t even register it at first. Alarmed, you look at the camera, then at the chat. First oh, then my baby. There’s no way he had been teasing you, and this proves it. Holy shit. You mouth the words “HE SAID OH!” for your audience only.

now she notices

snail pace baby we’ve been loosing our shit for the past hour 

corpse x y/n saikik au enemies to lovers 500k words slow burn im here for it

opening wattpad rn^

Your heart races in your chest - it might be considered an Olympic medalist at this point; flustered yet again, you wish you could cave into yourself. You should’ve brought your bright blue wig with you to Brooklyn. Turns out it would have been perfect for this stream. Yes, yes thinking about unnecessary details always works in distracting you from the butterflies throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. 

“I guess it is a date!” Sykkuno admits, “Kinda after a funeral, but still.”

Corpse hums. You’re still too stunned to say anything. The black astronaut with adorable cat ears approaches Sykkuno. 

“It’s not.” He states. Your mouth falls open in shock as your date, your companion, the Shoto to your Momo is murdered in cold blood right in front of you. His lifeless body, cut in half, lays on the tiles by the growing flowers, right beside you, “You didn’t see shit.”

“...I didn’t see shit.” Is all you can utter, breathless and terrified.

“Thaaaat’s fucking right, baby.” Corpse coos, “Now I’m gonna report it, and I’ll say we found Sykkuno together. Better stick close to me after the meeting, got it?”

If Sykkuno is Shoto, then Corpse is definitely Dabi. 

why is that kinda hot tho omg

didn’t know i needed dom corpse since now but i do

y/n looks like shes boutta throw up lmao 

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You follow him around like a lost puppy - because what else is left for you to do!? You’re helpless in this situation. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, successfully eliminating everyone you had previously interacted with. First it was Charlie, then Sykkuno, even Sean, who said hello in passing, was shot instantly. Real Sangwoo behavior. You almost want to scream warnings at everyone to not approach you. You cannot mourn another lost crew mate, you don’t think your conscience can take it. But words fail to form. You’re too weak. You fake cry to your audience. They’re quick to remind you to stop acting like a little bitch.

“Mean.” Is all you say, eyeing the comments.

“Hm?”

“Was talking to the roaches.”

“What are they saying?”

“That I should betray you.”

“...Better not.”

A shiver shoots up your spine and you half believe he will bust down your door and drag you into his basement for real. A nervous laugh slips past your lips, “I won’t, I won’t.” You reassure him, “Don’t worry, I’m sticking with you. I haven’t seen shit.”

“I like that you listen to me. You always this agreeable?”

“You’re kinda not giving me a choice right now.” You grumble, vending yourself a drink while he looms behind you, protecting you. From who?! Himself?!

“Oh my fucking God, finally,” Bretman exclaims, “girl, I’ve been running around the whole map trynna find someone, is everyone like, dead?”

You’re scared to reply. Corpse does it for you, “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, maybe? Not sure. Where have you been?”

“Oh you know,” Bretman grins, “doing tasks, talking shit, the usual. You two are not, like, Impostors right?”

You shoot a look at Corpse, but he obviously can’t see it. Biting your lip, you murmur, “Nope.”

“Just your regular crew mates doing regular crew mate things.” Corpse says, no, purrs. Because that’s not suspicious at all. You’d recommend Bretman to run, and not only because that sounded shady as fuck. But he seems to enjoy danger, or he just doesn’t care.

“Hmmmm, crew mates, sure. Miss girl Y/n,” He’s addressing you now; you smile anxiously, “How come every time I see you, you’re with a different man?! Like damn, leave some for the rest of us, for real!”

You like Bretman. You like his high-pitched whine and drawl. You would like him even more if not for the complex situation at hand. You fear for his life. Chewing at your bottom lip, you snicker, “Sorry, Bret. I can leave you Corpse if you want?”

He laughs, “Girl, I’d say yes so fucking quick, but I know he wouldn’t want that. Normally I wouldn’t care, but y’all are such a cute couple it’s making me not want to be a shady motherfucking bitch. Changing my ways, embracing the lord. Love it.”

 Corpse doesn’t correct him that you are, in fact, not dating. His lack of reaction unnerves you slightly. Does he...? No! No think! Only exist! You catch that train of thought and steer it away from forbidden territory. Looks like it’s up to you to clear the air, and that is exactly what you do after trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, “Uh, we’re not together, actually. We’re just really good friends.”

“Bitch, then move over,” Bretman says snappily,”go like, back to your other boyfriends. Or find another one. I think I saw Dream near Navigation.”

“Near Navigation, huh?” Corpse hums thoughtfully. It’s a subtle warning, but you catch it. Yeah, even if you try running, Dream’s going to join your other ‘boyfriends’ in the afterlife. Granted, killing someone by just talking with them is kind of cool. Or maybe Stockholm Syndrome is finally kicking in, “Bret, the thing is, Y/n’s scared of dying, so she asked me to stay with her.”

It’s disturbing how good at lying he is. It is also really really attractive, as bizarre as that is.

y/n stop being in a toxic relationship with corpse challenge

making fanart of this omg her face

its the blushing for me girl get your head outta the gutter!

^she cant, it lives there

“Baby, you’re gonna fucking die if you stick with her,” Bretman points out, “have you noticed the mortality rate of her partners? Rest in peace, daddy.”

“He’s right, you know.” You mutter, dramatically looking to the side, “I’m no good, Corpse.”

“Not leaving you, end of discussion. Bretman, join us?” Corpse offers, catching you by surprise. He might still be lying, though. Creating a false sense of security before eliminating Bretman. Probably would laugh while doing it, too. Wow, he truly is evil.

Turns out he doesn’t have to do any of that, because when Dream strolls into Cafeteria, he kills Bretman instead. The two Impostors are finally revealed. You promised not to snitch on Corpse, but you didn’t say shit about not exposing Dream. You press the REPORT button and say just that: “Dream just murdered Bret right in front of me and Corpse.”

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The last meeting is called. Dream had been voted out with the help of Corpse, and now only you, he, and Rae remain.

“Baby, you know what to do.”

The VOTED icon pops up beside Corpse’s astronaut. Rae wheezes, “No! Y/n, it’s not me, you gotta believe me, I swear it’s not me!”

“...I really don’t know,” You murmur, “I’ve been with Corpse a lot, and...Rae, I’m not sure...”

“Please! I swear it on my Kagayama cardboard cut out, I’m not the Impostor, please! You know me, I’d never lie to you like this.”

“She’s definitely lying.” Corpse says, sounding pleased.

“Don’t listen to him! Remember, during the first round, when he tried to convince us that you were the Impostor? He’s doing the same shit to me!”

“I also remember you agreeing with him.” You remind her.

“I was stupid! Small dumb brain moment! He was using us to win! He’s using you right now!” She votes, “Please, Y/n, make the right choice.”

You’re silent for a moment.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna vote for who I think it is.” You lastly say.

A slow, lazy grin makes it’s way onto your lips, eyes gleaming mischievously. You had not forgotten your promise to your brother from another mother, you had not forgotten the pride of the BDA, you had not forgotten your beautiful friendship. Two miniature astronauts pop up by Corpse’s at the exact moment Rae screeches “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!”

“Fuck.” Is all Corpse says with a laugh.

The screen changes, informing of the first CREW MATE victory.

Your ears are assaulted with different voices as you appear in the lobby.

“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about.” Charlie raves, “I swear to fucking God, Y/n, you even got me going for a second. Pulled some 1000 IQ shit right there. It was fucking amazing. Best back stabbing I’ve seen in a while, and I’ve seen a lot.”

“That was absolutely fantastic, Y/n.” Sean applauds, “I really thought you joined Corpse like some crew mate accomplice or something. Can’t believe you switched on him at the last second.”

“That’s my wifey!” Rae cheers, strolling to you, “Love you, mwah.”

“Hey, Corpse,” Charlie calls him, “How does it feel to be a fucking loser?”

“I’m surprisingly fine with it.”

yeah he would be lmao

mom is the best snake ever i love you sm y/n

rae and y/n’s friendship....the feeeeeels

As the rest sing your praises for another solid minute or two, the third round begins. CREW MATE again. Though, just because you’re stuck as an underpaid worker in a dying spaceship, it doesn’t mean you’re innocent. Your last round proved that quite well. You can’t help but silently snicker.

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TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[occult-castiel]

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found - 13

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment, oc feels like she’s gonna puke which, honestly, same

Word Count: 5.3k

a/n: we’ve only got a few chapters left!!!! *cue the screaming*

Chapter 13. You Never Walk Alone

series masterlist

I’ve never been one to follow the rules.

In fact, I’ve wondered many times if I came into existence for the sole purpose of breaking as many rules as possible within a short amount of time.

However, as I sit here staring down at my phone and listening to it ringing without someone answering on the other end, I find myself promising whoever is listening to my prayers that I’ll obey every rule to come my way for the rest of my life as long as someone just answers me.

For hours, no one does.

By the time the moon has risen, I’ve finally dozed off on the couch with my phone still in hand and a very confused Elle on my stomach. When my phone begins to ring, I jump, nearly falling off of the couch in the process.

Without even bothering to see who is calling me, I bring the phone up to my ear.

“Yah, hyung. I’m already- oh...Jolie?”

I blink, wondering for a moment if this is all some cruel dream. “...Jimin? What’s going on- what happened?”

“You’re safe- she’s safe, hyung.” There’s chatter in the background, but my ears perk up at a familiar voice. “I’m so sorry, you must have been worried sick- hey!”

“Jolie?”

I jump off the couch, eyes wide. “Chung-hei?! What’s going on? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I- I thought…”

I don’t quite know what I thought. Obviously, that the worst had transpired. Chung-hei knows exactly what path my thoughts have taken, as she’s quick to explain.

“I’m so sorry, Jolie. When we left your place Sunmi noticed that someone was tailing us,” my breath comes up short. “I think they thought you were with us, they might have been tailing the car for the past couple of days to make sure it was yours. And then they probably saw Christina…”

She doesn’t need to explain that to me. No doubt whoever was tailing them saw Christina with her severed thread and automatically assumed that she was Jimin’s estranged soulmate.

“So what happened? Is everyone ok? Is Christina alright?”

There’s some fumbling on the other side of the phone, and I swear I hear Chung-hei’s annoyed sigh but it’s quickly covered as another familiar voice breaks through the phone.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me!” Christina shouts a little unnecessarily.

“I- how did you hear me?” I ask, furrowing my brows. “Am I on speaker?”

There’s a long pause in which I know that I must be on speaker, especially as a voice that sounds mysteriously like Kim Seokjin shouts “Yeah you are we wanted to know what you sound like!” There’s a muffled grunt in which I can imagine someone giving him a firm elbow to the ribs.

“Hang on, let me step outside-” Christina’s suggestion is met with a load of whining, but she must ignore them because a second later all is silent save for the sound of wind. “There. I needed to get out of there- I’m freaking out. I’m so dying right now.”

“I’m sure you’re rattled, you were literally just tailed! How did you lose them?”

“Oh, yeah. That sucked, but I was talking about the fact that I literally just met BTS. I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but Park Jimin is so much more handsome in person. I couldn’t hardly think straight in there-”

“Yeah, yeah,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Save it for later. I was a mess over here, thinking you’d died or something. Can you please explain what went on?”

Once she subsides in her giggling - and I get over the strange butterflies that have somehow come to life in my stomach - Christina gets to the point.

“Right...well, we’d only made it a couple of blocks before Sumni noticed that someone was following us. She’s been trained to pick up on that kind of stuff, you know. She said that they’d been hiding out near your apartment earlier, and that it looked like they���d been waiting the entire time while we’d been inside.”

“So how’d you lose them?”

“She drove straight toward the Bighit building and contacted the security there. By the time the people tracking us knew that she was leading them into a trap, it was too late. They got pulled over, security took them over to the police department a little while ago.”

I shiver thinking about them lurking outside of my apartment, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

“And...why didn’t you answer my calls, then? I seriously was about to go running around Seoul looking for you.”

Christina barks a laugh. “That’d be a sight to see. We were told to power off our phones, they’re being looked at right now to make sure they weren’t able to somehow get a way to track us through there. We should get them back pretty soon.”

Taking a seat and then slinking down to sprawl out on the couch, I sight at the ceiling. My eyes well up tears of relief, but I close my eyes to stop them from escaping. “I’m happy you’re safe.”

“Me too. The boys were already at the Bighit building, you should’ve seen Jimin. He was-” Christina lowers her voice as though suddenly realizing that she’s not that far from the man in question, “You know how the boys say that he can be really scary when he’s angry?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I believe them now. I think it was a good thing security took those people away before he could see them. He probably would have killed them, he looked so pissed off.”

I snort out a laugh, throwing my hand over my mouth. “Let me guess, that only made him more attractive to you?”

“You know what, it totally did.”

It feels good to laugh after the stress of the day, so I let it out. Giggling up a storm with Christina who admits that she may be wavering in her undying devotion for Jimin simply because of the fact that Taehyung offered her a glass of lemonade.

“Oh, oh! He’s looking at me- oh. He’s telling me to come back inside.” I let out another guffaw at Christina’s massive crush on Taehyung. “Hey, I have to turn you back over to your soulmate now, but I’ll let you know when I get my phone back. Ok?”

“Ok,” I mumble, suddenly going quiet. There’s some static as the phone is exchanged, and suddenly Jimin’s speaking to me.

“Hey...you doing ok?”

I blink, taken aback by his question. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then, when he doesn’t respond, “Are you...alright?”

From the way the voices in the background are fading, Jimin must be moving away to find a more private location. Indeed, I again hear Seokjin’s teasing voice in the background however it’s too muffled to understand.

“Yeah. All good over here.” I hear a door click shut. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, though. About everything that happened today. You might not like it, but...well, it’s for your own safety.”

This has me sitting up straight, bracing for whatever it is he’s about to say. “Ok…”

“We need you to stay inside, don’t leave your house. Just for a couple of days, maximum. We don’t know if these people had more that were trying to track you, and until we can round them all up…”

I stare blankly at the wall in front of me. Stay here? No work?

Honestly, it doesn’t sound that bad.

Except for one little thing.

“...Jolie?”

“I...I’m not sure, Jimin.”

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry,” it makes it so much worse, because I can hear just how sorry he is. “But please, just for a few days. We need- I need you safe.”

How can I say no to that?

“Alright.”

“You’ll do it? I’ll have groceries delivered, just text me what you need-”

“I’m pretty sure I can pay for my groceries, Jimin,” I say with a strained smile, eyeing the calendar on the wall and the circled date just a couple of days from now. Hopefully all of this will blow over by then. “Don’t worry.”

“Honestly, if you don’t send me a grocery list I’ll just end up sending random food to your apartment. So take your pick, I guess.”

Rolling my eyes fondly, I give an over exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll compile a list.”

✂

The girls get their phones back not long after I finish my conversation with Jimin. Sunmi is quick to send me a play by play of Christina’s growing crush, which helps to ease the worry growing in the pit of my stomach.

The next morning there’s a pile of groceries waiting outside on my doorstep, making me smile softly. Jimin had clearly added a few items to my small list, because I don’t remember requesting a bag of chocolates or a bag of Doritos. Either way, I’ll take it.

There isn’t a whole lot to do with my day off, other than find a new show to watch and different ways to annoy Elle. Jimin texts me throughout the day, and I find myself itching to call him.

If only to just hear his voice for a moment.

However, as my fingers hover over the call button, I find myself hesitating. It scares me just how quickly I want to interact with him. After all that I did to distance myself from him, I’ve been reduced to an insatiable fangirl after a bouquet of flowers and some slipped chocolates.

Staring at my phone, I try my best to control my breathing. Then I send off a message.

Me: Ok, help. I’m freaking out.

Christina is quick to respond.

Christina 🍯: hahahahaha

Me: what.

Me: I come to you for help and I get laughed at? 😡

Christina 🍯: no, it’s just...when are you not freaking out?

Christina 🍯: think about it

Christina 🍯: you always are lol

Me: Ok. Not helping. Remember, I came to you for help?

Christina 🍯: right right, what’s up

Me: I think this is all happening too fast

Christina 🍯: I’m assuming this is about Park Jimin?? Who, might I add, looked fiiiine in his sweats yesterday

Me: QUIT IT

Me: I’M GROWING WEAK

Christina 🍯: are you feeling things?!! 😱

Me: YES OK I AM PLS HELP

Christina 🍯: I don’t see why you need help…?

Christina 🍯: isn’t this a good thing?

Me: is it?

Christina 🍯: ...yes.

Christina 🍯: what brought this on?

Me: I want to call him.

Christina 🍯: ….

Me: We just talked last night.

Christina 🍯: ….

Me: well, isn’t it all a bit much? I mean, I literally was trying to be completely separated from him just a few weeks ago and now I’m suddenly having to remind myself that I don’t need to constantly talk to him! Isn’t that like a bit...idk, a bit sketchy??

Christina 🍯: no.

Christina 🍯: idk if you remember this, but he’s your soulmate. And sometimes when people start to meet their soulmates, they want to talk all the time.

Me: isn’t it going to annoy him? I mean, I already kinda feel like a pity case…

Christina 🍯: first off, no. you’re not a pity case, so stop thinking that. If anyone’s a pity case, it’s me because I was invited to lunch today with Chung-hei nd the boys and I’m gonna ride this out for as long as possible

Christina 🍯: if I could sneak you a picture of Tae without looking like a creep, I totally would 😰

Me: ok, I don’t know how to respond to that lolll

Me: have fun at lunch though!!! Don’t drool or anything

Christina 🍯: yeah, let’s move past that 😂

Christina 🍯: just, call him. Honestly, he’s been checking his phone constantly anyways. And, don’t you think he deserves it? Call him. You know I don’t mean this in a rude way but...he’s done everything in this weird relationship-that’s-not-a-relationship so far. Time for you to return the favor.

✂

“...Jimin?”

Jimin blinks, looking around the table until his eyes land on who was just calling his name. Chung-hei smiles at him from her spot beside Namjoon.

“Yes?”

It’s when everyone starts to giggle that he realizes he must have missed something.

“How’re you doing over there?” Chung-hei asks. Jimin frowns.

“...good. How are you?”

Namjoon places his arm on the back of Chung-hei’s chair, and Jimin notices the way her cheeks automatically redden.

“You seem a little distracted today,” Namjoon croons. “That’s all.”

Looking around at everyone’s amused faces, Jimin notices one face that isn’t looking in his direction.

Christina is smiling slightly at her phone, fingers flying across the screen as she texts out a message.

“Christina’s distracted too!” Jimin points to the girl like a kindergartener, a sly smile on his face when she looks up at him with raised brows.

“Hey, it’s for a good reason,” she says.

“Oh?” Taehyung leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “And what would that be?”

Everyone notices the way Christina looks at Taehyung before quickly looking away, as though looking at him for too long could burn her. Like a moth to a candle, though, she can’t quite stay away.

“His soulmate,” she finally says, pointing an accusing finger right back at him. “I’m helping her through an existential crisis or something.”

Jimin automatically scoots forward, concern written across his face. “What’s going on? Does she need something?”

Christina snorts as a text - a text from Jolie, apparently - comes through on her phone. “No. She’s fine. Just needs to get out of her head. I suspect that sitting cooped up in the house isn’t helping.”

Ah.

It had hurt to have to order her to stay home, he knew how much that could hurt. Sure, some people might not have a problem with it. But something told him that there were only so many distractions in Jolie’s small apartment that could keep her entertained. Hopefully it would all be over soon.

And then what?

That was the question that had been plaguing him today. How long would he be forced to run this same track over and over again? How long until they were both ready to face each other?

They were going to face each other, right?

Christina sits back in her chair with a satisfied sigh, looking quite pleased with herself.

“What are you so happy about?” Jimin asks, leaning back and crossing his arms. Christina merely looks at him and then down at his phone which sits atop the table.

Just like magic, it begins to ring.

“O-oh, uh…” Jimin scrambles to his feet, nearly tipping over his water in the process. Grabbing his phone, he looks for the quickest exit.

“Why don’t you just stay in here?” Jin asks, ever the prying one. “We can all chat.”

Jimin pays him no mind, heading straight for the door and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, what’s up?” He prays he sounds nonchalant.

“Aish, he’s already so over-protective,” Hobi calls out loud enough for Jolie to hear on the other side of the phone.

“Hyung! At least wait until I’m out of the room!” Jimin shouts back, finally slipping out into the hallway. Jolie’s laugh is enough to make him smile.

“Sounds like you’re having fun,” she teases.

Jimin sighs, leaning his head back against the wall. “So much. How are you? Have you gone stir-crazy yet?”

There’s a moment’s silence. “Yes. Definitely. I think by about eight o’clock this morning, actually.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Another moment of silence, in which Jimin scrambles for something - anything to say in order to keep her on the phone.

“Did you, uh, get the groceries?” It’s a pointless question; he was notified this morning when they were dropped off.

“Oh! I did! And I saw some chocolate…? And Doritos. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Jimin grins. “Nope. No clue.”

“Huh. Interesting. I could have sworn you’d added them in there. What are you trying to do, make me fall in love with you or something?”

Of course, the answer is yes. Can he say that, though?

Aren’t they supposed to be taking this slow? Why did nobody tell him that it would be this hard to do something so simple?

“Sorry...was that awkward?”

Jimin starts at the sound of Jolie’s voice, realizing that he never responded. “Er, no. Sorry, I was just thinking.” He chuckles awkwardly. “Is chocolate all it takes, then?”

He swears he can hear a gasp on the other side of the phone, but then again that may just be wishful thinking.

Either way, he temporarily throws caution to the wind. He knows he’s toeing the line, but he can’t find it in himself to back off. Not when he can hear Jolie’s soft laugh on the other side of the phone and wonders if she’s wearing that same smile he saw for a fraction of a second all those weeks ago.

“Well, it’s a good start. Obviously the chips were a bonus.”

“Ah, yeah. I thought those might be a nice touch.” He pauses. “Hey, are your flowers still doing good? Or are they dead?”

“I feel like I’m in danger of receiving more flowers if these ones are dead,” Jolie muses.

“Danger? Really?”

“You know you don’t have to keep me in constant supply of flowers, right? Besides, I’m planning on drying the ones I have now.”

“Consider it a present for making you stay inside for so long.”

Jolie hums on the other side, and Jimin finds himself nodding along to the sound. “About that...any updates? Do I have any more stalkers?”

Jimin shivers at the thought. He’s dealt with his fair share of stalkers over the years, he’s had quite enough of them. “Nothing yet, but we should know more by tonight at the latest. I’ll be sure to call you as soon as I know.”

It’s quiet on the other side, but Jimin allows some time for the quiet to settle. When he doesn’t get a response back for a while, he quietly speaks.

“Hey, you alright over there?”

There’s a long sigh, one that he thinks he wasn’t supposed to hear. “Mm? Oh, yeah. All good. You good?”

Jimin smiles. “All good.”

✂

House arrest doesn’t suit me. It’s going on day three, and I’ve found that the thrill of television isn’t what it used to be. Especially not as the pile of empty chocolate wrappers grow.

I told Jimin as much last night before I went to bed. I also accused him of trying to make me gain weight. He only cackled and told me he’d send over healthier foods in the morning.

I should have known it sounded too good to be true. This morning I checked my porch to see a suspicious grocery bag with bananas and apples on the top. Upon further inspection I found that the fruit was only a cover for what lay underneath.

Two more bags of assorted chocolates.

Oh, and a note that Jimin must have added for the deliverer which was left on the bag. It simply said: delivery request: please hide chocolate under the fruit.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Wow, so are we past saying hello when we call? I don’t know how I feel about that.”

I try to ignore how easy - how right - it feels to just grab my phone and call Jimin up. There are still a fair amount of nerves going into it, but over the past few days we’ve grown accustomed to it.

“You sent me more chocolate!”

“Buuut I countered it with fruit. Isn’t that good?”

I roll my eyes. “Sure, but the fact that you’re forcing me to practice self-restraint is absolutely horrible.

“Ah, I see. So next time I should just send the apples?”

“No…”

I find a comfortable spot on the couch, staring at the calendar before me. Staring at the date, with a little circle around it.

Nothing to celebrate today. But certainly something to remember.

Jimin’s rambling - he rambles, I’ve come to learn this - about his day and how they have an interview coming up this weekend, however I find that I’m struggling to listen. Especially as the calendar grows larger and larger in my eyes.

I wait until it’s dark to slip out.

With my pre-ordered train ticket shining on my phone, I keep my head down and my hood up as I rush to the station. At this time of night on a weekday, there aren’t nearly as many people about. That being said, it’s still Seoul. There are still plenty of people on the sidewalks, and I can only pray that they don’t notice my lack of a red thread amidst the sea of threads adorning the roads.

Thankfully, I make it to the station without much of an issue. It isn’t long before I’m settled and holding the dried hydrangeas close to my chest.

It isn’t a long ride to my hometown, only about twenty minutes by train. Throughout the entire time I remain on high alert, knowing that if I somehow wind up in trouble that Bighit may very well murder me in my sleep.

I watch as the train rolls to a stop at my destination, and I hurry off before anyone can notice me. Once I’m outside, I let out a sigh of relief.

It’s been too long.

One year, actually.

The cemetery isn’t far from the station, and I don’t dare risk a taxi. So, with my flowers still in hand, I begin my silent pilgrimage.

✂

Not much has changed here. I peeked the same family that runs the sweet shop I used to adore, constantly begging for just enough won for some sweets. The streets even look the same, only a few small changes here and there.

It’s the fact that this was my home but that I don’t quite belong here anymore that makes my feet all the heavier. When the cemetery finally comes into view, I take a deep breath and trudge onward.

Coming to a stop before a small tombstone, I groan and kneel before it. It was a longer walk than I remembered.

“Hey Mom,” I whisper, taking care to gently separate the bouquet in half and lay some flowers on either side. “Dad.” Once the flowers are in their proper places, I lean back on my hands.

“I’m not really supposed to be outside right now...but, I promised I’d visit every year, didn’t I?” I look expectantly at the tombstone, but receive no answer. The stone is cold and unwavering, but I find that I don’t mind. The moon is bright and full, shining down enough light to see clearly. “Well, I’m here. I would have brought you some fresh flowers but...well, things are a little complicated right now.”

Inhaling deeply, I chew on my bottom lip before exhaling. As I do, my vision blurs a bit with unshed tears. Finally, bringing my left hand forward, I look down at the severed thread.

“Mom, you wouldn’t know who he is, but I met my soulmate. Well, not officially, I guess. That’s where things get complicated. But I’m trying to fix it.” Looking heavenward, I watch the stars winking down at me. “Dad, you’ll know him. His name is Park Jimin.”

✂

“What do you mean she’s not home?”

Jimin is currently pacing in the living room, listening to Sunmi’s voice on speaker. The others sit in various spaces around the room, each mirroring a look of concern.

Sunmi had been cleared to head over to Jolie’s, which Jimin had deemed a tender mercy. He felt horrible for her, knowing that she was probably going crazy. So, Sunmi had gone over to surprise her.

Except there was one little problem.

“I’m telling you, she’s not here,” Sunmi responds, struggling to maintain her composure. “I got here about ten minutes ago and knocked, but all the lights were off and it looked like nobody was home. Nobody’s answering. She’s not here, and she won’t answer her phone.”

Jimin looks around the room in horror. Automatically his mind conjures up the worst-possible scenarios. “Where would she go? There’s no sign of a break-in, right?”

Chung-hei frowns on the other side of the room, pulling her phone out. “I’ll check her location right now,” she reassures.

“No, everything looks normal. Should I ask around? See if anyone’s seen her?”

“No, not yet. That will only raise suspicion.” Jimin says, watching with bated breath and Chung-hei tries to locate his soulmate.

When Chung-hei’s expression changes from confused worry to stunned understanding, Jimin isn’t sure how to react.

“What is it?” He asks, impatient.

“I didn’t realize,” Chung-hei mumbles. “What’s the date today?” She answers the question herself, confirming it. “She’s back home.”

“What do you mean? Sunmi just said-”

“No, not that home.” Chung-hei flips the phone around to show him. “It’s been a year. And she promised him she’d visit every year.”

It takes a moment for Jimin to process the information, already thinking about how quickly he can convince someone to tail him while he drives out to Jolie. She can get in the other car to return, obviously so she doesn’t have to see him-

“One year.” Jimin blinks, suddenly remembering what Jolie mentioned in her letter. “It’s the anniversary of her father’s passing.”

Chung-hei’s solemn nod is answer enough.

Jimin stumbles back to sit in the nearest chair, rubbing his hands over his face. “I need to go out there-”

“No, you know you can’t do that,” Namjoon immediately rejects.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

Namjoon grinds his jaw, glancing at Chung-hei as the two share a silent conversation. When Namjoon’s shoulders relax, Jimin finds himself hoping. There’s no way he can leave Jolie to go through this alone.

“Bang Sihyuk will kill us if he finds out,” Namjoon begins.

“I don’t care-”

“I do.” Namjoon sighs. “So don’t get caught.”

Jimin blinks. “What?”

Namjoon shrugs, looking around the room. “Don’t get caught. Make it look like you snuck out.”

Leaping to his feet, Jimin hardly has time to grab his jacket before he’s flying out the door. “Send me the location!” He shouts out before the door closes.

He doesn’t know what possesses him as he sprints down the street, but he’s reminded of the last time he went running toward his soulmate.

This time, he knows that he’s been through the heartbreak. Surely he’s been through the worst of it. Now, all that’s on his mind is the fact that his soulmate is alone and she shouldn’t be.

He’s tired of being alone.

It’s been years since Jimin last took the train, but Chung-hei explains in her text containing Jolie’s location that it might be his best bet.

Without a second thought, Jimin boards the train and heads toward his soulmate.

✂

My eyelids are drooping, but the walk back to the train station seems daunting. “I need to get going,” I mumble.

My voice is a little hoarse from all the talking I’ve done over the past hour. Even in death, my parents can’t escape my rambling.

Not that I think they mind.

I rise to my feet, taking one last look at the flowers that my soulmate gifted me before leaving them there on the tombstone.

“Goodnight, Mom and Dad.”

Despite my exhaustion, I remember to walk briskly back toward the gas station. I keep my head down with my hands in my pocket.

My heart feels a little heavy tonight. I shoot a melancholy smile toward the stars, who act as my solitary companion tonight. I can’t shake the feeling that I would really rather not be alone tonight.

Nobody deserves to mourn alone.

My fingers itch to call Jimin or Christina or anybody, but I put it off. I had my phone on silent, and the last thing I needed was bringing attention to myself by talking loud enough for everyone to hear. If Jimin found out that I was out here…

He’d probably stop sending me chocolates. At the very least.

Yes, it would be best to wait until I’m home and in the warmth of my bed before calling him.

Like a dream, my feet carry me toward the train station. It’s downhill for the most part, making it easier than I thought it would be. A tender mercy, I suppose, for a day like today.

Thankfully, it’s late enough now that the station is empty for the most part. Only a few stragglers wander about, all of which are too tired to pay me any mind. However, as I near the ticket booth, I feel it.

Almost like something pulling on my thread. It’s a similar feeling to what I felt as the thread had been cut, but there’s no reason for it to be acting up again.

“That’ll be 26,000 won,” the person on the other side of the booth drawls, looking for all the world like they’d rather walk across hot coals then have to spend another moment here.

“Oh, right.” I pull the money from my wallet, sliding it under the little window. “Sorry about that, I got distracted-”

“Here ya go,” they interrupt, clearly not very interested in what was distracting me. All the better, I suppose.

Thanking them, I pocket the ticket and make my way to a bench before the platform. The train should be here in about fifteen minutes.

But there’s that annoying tug again, nearly pulling my hand off my lap. I frown down at the thread, too tired to put that much thought into it. I’ll have to ask Christina if she’s ever known a thread to act up.

There’s a cold draft in the station, one that only gets worse as an incoming train pulls up and comes to a stop. I keep my head down as the doors open and people begin to file out.

At least, I try to until I’m practically thrown off my seat as my thread pushes and pulls at me. It’s starting to cause a scene, so I hurry off to the side and half-hide behind a pillar. Hopefully nobody will question why I gave up my perfectly nice seat.

Burying my hand in my pocket, I look around to make sure nobody is coming my way when my eyes catch on something- or rather, a lack of something.

Someone walks off the train, however the typical red thread doesn’t accompany them.

That’s not the only thing that alarms me. It’s the fact that I know them.

Park Jimin glides off of the train and looks around, trying to deduce which exit to take. He pulls his phone out to look at something when he drops it due to a sudden jolt.

I watch, utterly paralyzed as he stumbles forward. Almost as though pulled by some invisible thread.

His eyes are wide and he’s practically buried under the large, puffy jacket he wears. It’s brown, to match his brown hair, which is ridiculously ruffled. He’s chewing on the inside of his lips as he lifts his head to look around yet again.

From across the station, our eyes meet. Slowly, so slowly it burns, I see the recognition register in his eyes as he trails from my face down to my left hand and back up to my eyes again.

Jimin freezes, and I realize that it isn’t because he’s afraid or nervous.

This is my choice to make. Even now, after all that’s happened, he still allows me to choose.

So, with a tentative step forward quickly followed by another, I choose him.

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[grantiskeith]

Baby Wolf Cub (Davidxreader) Part 2

I don't know about anyone else, but this stopped being about ASMR a long time ago. Redacted's storytelling ability and world-building skills are fantastic. I would 100% read a book if he wrote one.

Here is part 2 of the first fic I have ever written.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: dad vibes, blood, gunshot

"Hello?" I picked up my ringing phone "what! Who is this!" David picked his head off the floor, ears perking up. The little pup yawned and stretched against David's fur.

"Where? Tonight?" Click. 11:14 pm. David shifted back into his human self which prompted the sleeping cub into a sleeping baby with its butt in the air. "What's going on?"

I dialed another number without answering him."Milo, hey I need you to come over. It's an emergency. No, no one's hurt but we need your help. Yeah, thanks"

Click. "They followed me from Chicago, they want the kid back." I walked to the little one one and bent over to pick him up. David stuck his hand out in front of mine.

"Don't touch him, let him sleep. Shifting takes magic and doing it as often as he is would be exhausting for a full grown adult. He'll figure it out, but he needs sleep. Now what the hell are you talking about? Who called? Stop! don't put your jacket on"

"I don't know who, all I know is that there's a lead on the corner of South and Maple and I'm going to figure out what's going on." I did put my jacket down but only to grab a light blanket off the couch and draped it over the baby's legs.

"Angel, that's too dangerous, they could be vampires or murderers or..."

"They're most likely kidnappers, which is why we need to stop them"

"Listen to yourself! You're not Sherlock Holmes, you're not Batman"

Angel put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes, "you're just a fragile human and you need to stay here and be safe."

"It's not your job to protect me"

"Actually it is. As soon as you became my mate you became part of the pack. As the Alpha and your mate it is my duty to take care of you" he backed up from me and rubbed his hands over his face. "I love you Angel! I would give my life for you without question"

"I would never ask you to!" I said that a little louder than I should and the baby turned over before it started crying. I went over to pick him up but David got to him first and subtly bounced him on his hip.

"Why are you putting something so special to me in harm's way? You are a fucking danger to yourself and the more you get involved in these messes the more likely you are to put me and my pack in the line of fucking fire. There are things about the magic world that you don't understand and there are more threats than you can see. Let's ignore that call and just take this trouble maker to the department."

I put my head down to the floor. It was late and I was tired. Almost a half tempting offer. But there was a mystery to be solved here and possibly a larger crime.

"Sitting in bed and watching tv does not help anyone," I told him. "I am the mate of one of the most influential wolf pack's alpha. You know I'm tough or else you know I wouldn't last long. I was made of something durable and built for being more than a fucking house wife!"

David put the baby on the couch and laid the blanket out next to him. Carefully, he wrapped the little one up into a burrito and scooped him up to cradle him.

"Before you go and get your life sucked out by a damn shade or something. Throw a cup of milk in the microwave for a few seconds" David said, sitting down on the couch.

"Uh sure" I said. "I am not a complete dumbass, I know I shouldn't go alone. If you won't come and back me up then I will ask Milo." I handed him a lukewarm glass. "How did you get so good with infants anyway?"

Silence from David. I hate it when he just shuts down. He propped the baby up against his chest and titled the cup up until the little one could drink.

"Instinct, basic life skills, common fucking sense. All things you don't possess, clearly" he put the cup down on the table. And took a deep breath. "My dad… he would make me help out new moms in the pack. He used to say I needed to spend time with women since my mom wasn't around. It was a way of helping the pack feel more like a family"

I sat down next to him. Coat on, shoes on, ready to jump out the door.

"Angel, I have lost so damn much. Just from life already being as fucking dangerous as it is. If something happened to you... I just... I don't know what I would do... I fucking..."

I cut him off, "I know. I love you too. Unmistakable fact of life. I love you."

A knock at the door, "hey guys it's me." I got up and opened it to Milo's anxious face, "What's wrong, that's the emer.. Holy shit! is that yours" Milo stared in disbelief.

"Yes, it is, in the 48 hours I was gone I went and had a werewolf baby and now you're the designated sitter so we can go make another one" I was monotone in my sarcasm. I stepped out the door, "you coming Davey?"

David carefully slipped the baby into Milo's arms, "support the head and neck here," I heard him say. "Yeah, remember when we used to do this with Ginny's baby a few years back?"

He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and followed me "of course I'm coming you dumbass." He yelled down the hall at me, "Oh Milo, if he starts whimpering just shift and lay with him, he's docile. There's warm milk on the table and more in the fridge if he's crying. He didn't mind the couch but feel free to lay him on the bed"

"Let's go!" I yelled to David down the hallway.

"What the fuck is going on" was the last thing I heard Milo say before David shut the door.

South and Maple was a quiet intersection, although most are at the ungodly hour of 2am. Surrounded by three or four story buildings with alleyways and parked cars. There was no shortage of places to hide or spy down on the intersection. David and I stepped onto an alley between two buildings to discuss a plan. Unfortunately we didn't get the time.

"Where is he?"

We both turned to a tall lanky woman at the end of the alley. She was dressed in a pantsuit, real realtor vibes. Two men ran around the corner and took their place behind her. David growled but I put my hand out in front of him, "hold back" I whispered.

"Who are you and what do you want? Where are the parents?" I yelled down the alley.

"Where? Honey probably at the bottom of the the lake considering the rocks tied to their ankles"

David started growling again but I told him again to wait. This conversation was not violent yet.

"You stole that baby!" I accused

"Baby?" She laughed, "that was not a baby, what you have hidden somewhere is a freak circus animal that many are willing to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for."

"You bitch!" I yelled

"I have bids lined up" the men besides her both shifted in werewolves which prompted David to do the same. The sudden magic and chaos of growling and barking filled the air. David was significantly larger than the other two but he was outnumbered. There was a mix of growling, barking, and biting. I was bewildered that I didn't even hear the shot. The lady whistled and both the other wolves ran to join her. They walked around the corner.

David shook himself off and ran to follow. Water fell down the side of my leg. Water? I looked up trying to find a leaking gutter or rain. No rain. I looked down and saw a red stain on the side of my shirt growing. I balled up a chunk of shirt and held it against my side.

"Davey'' my voice cracked. "Davey!" I couldn't get it to be as loud as I needed. My left ear started ringing loudly. My head was full of sawdust and my vision became the static of an old tv. I felt a hand over my own behind me. Fuck, Davey. Where did he come from?

"Can you ..." was all I heard before I felt my knees give out. David picked me up bridal style and ran to the end of the alleyway. I heard the car door open and the next thing I saw was the ceiling over the back seat. David climbed in the back with me and shut and locked the door.

"Just.. drive" fuck, talking hurt.

"Classic triage Angel, stabilize then transport." He tried to move my hand away from the wet spot I was holding.

"It doesn't hurt that bad! Just drive" I was using whatever I had left to keep him away.

"That's cause you're going into shock" he grabbed my denim jacket from the front seat, "hey, Angel look at me. I'm going to lift your hand up just for a second and put your jacket under it ok?"

I winced and nodded. It actually didn't hurt that bad. I couldn't feel anything and everything had a vague cold numbness. He drapped his leather jacket over my shoulders.

I took a deep and painful breath. I closed my eyes for a moment but then I felt David snapping his hand over my face. When did he get in the front seat? When did he start driving.

"Hey! Keep your eyes open"

"I'm fine, I'm ok. I just blinked"

"You're pale. Are you nauseous?" David put his eyes back on the road, "if we go back to the apartment they'll follow us and find the kid" he said, "but if we go to a human hospital they'll ask too many questions. So we're going to.. Hey Angel! Open your eyes and keep holding that jacket down. We're going to Milo's mother's place. She'll be ready for us. Angel! Are you listening to me? Asher and Milo have the baby. Christan is leading the pack to hunt down that woman."

I was barely making out the words. Davey was the alpha for a reason, that's the only thing I understood. Cool under pressure, rallying the troops, delegating orders. I nodded, at least I think I did. "I love you" were the words that I tried to get out of my mouth. I felt the engine of the car rev louder.

[blinder-secrets]

Patching Up - Arthur

‘I would die for you.’ 

arthur x fem!reader, 3,300 words

prompt list

ao3 link

The betting shop is empty, cold and filled with that pale, blue light that only the moon can give. If it weren’t for Arthur, pilfering through the forms and sheets on Polly’s desk, it’d be silent. Instead, his grumbles fill the space. His careless searching cushions the room with enough noise to make it feel busy.

‘A fuckin’ mess,’ he says, to no-one. His rings catch against the wood of the table as he discards another folder. ‘Where the hell is it?’

When he can’t find what he’s looking for, he sighs heavily and collapses into the chair behind him. His feet go onto the desk, crossed at the ankles, and his hands go under it, reaching for something that will be found. Something that’s there every time. He grabs the neck of the bottle and Pol’s wine is brought to the surface, uncorked and at his lips before he’s even paused to read the label. It’s sour, fortified, and it stains his tongue but does the job. Makes his efforts seem somewhat worthwhile. He leans back in the seat and sighs again, sitting the bottle on his stomach. The desk’s a mess after him, but he tells himself it was like that before, she won’t know any different. He straightens the paper nearest to him like that’ll guarantee it.

As he takes another drink, there’s the sound of the door, the fall and creak of it opening and shutting again. Then his name, barked and rounded in John’s tongue. His footsteps chase him as he moves through the shop. His voice is nearer when it comes again.

‘Arthur? You ‘ere?’

‘Yeah, John,’ he drones, talking through the catch of wine in his throat, ‘am here.’

John appears in the doorway, coat open and out around him like it’s only just caught up. He frowns at the sight, at his brother reclined in Polly’s office, drinking Polly’s port, but blinks it away again. ‘Right,’ he says, ‘you better come see this.’

‘What is it?’ He gestures outwards, bottle in his palm like it’s stuck there. ‘I’m doing… stuff. Things. Work, John.’

‘It’s [y/n]. She’s lost it, Arthur.’

‘Ay?’ That’s caught his attention. He drops his feet to the floor, heels slapping against the boards, and sits upright. ‘Lost what?’

‘Lost it. Pissed out her head.’ He’s panting between his words; he’s run the whole way. ‘She’s in the Garrison, saying she’ll burn it down before you’re back again. S’fucking messy, Arthur, I couldn’t get her to stop.’

‘Alright, alright.’ The bottle’s abandoned on the desktop, his hands reaching to smooth his hair back, and then back again. ‘Alright,’ he repeats.

‘Fucking madder than Danny whiz-bang.’

‘Shut up, John.’ He stands, the chair rocks back on two feet. ‘You make her bloody worse,’ he scolds. Then he’s in motion, around the desk and past John through the shop, only pausing to grab his coat and cap from the stand by the door.

‘It’s not like with you,’ John warns from behind, ‘it doesn’t come from nothing.’

He doesn’t get a response. Arthur shuts the door before he can follow him out.

It isn’t raining but it may as well be, the noise behind his skull fills the street, smothers his ears from the inside. Static like sheeted-rainfall. He isn’t built for mending, for putting things together. He can barely keep his own strings tied. All it takes is one edge to fray, and then he’s unwinding, spiralling and twisting ’til he’s unrecognisable. When she goes, she takes him with her. It’s hard to stay whole when someone’s falling to pieces beside you.

It’s something he’s had to learn, though. She’s needed it from him. Since they got back, she’s been different, and he’s adapting to it still. He doesn’t like it, and he’s not the best at it, but if he manages to calm her without losing it himself, it’s a victory. A battle won is a battle won, no matter how small or how local.

He sets his cap in place and dips his chin as he walks. His gait is quick enough to disturb the surface of the road, grit spitting behind every time he lifts his foot. If she was drunk enough to send John running, he doesn’t have long before it gets out of hand, before she’s too worked up to come down again. Under his breath, he curses her — for picking him to rely on, for being too like him to pick anyone else. For expecting him to come back from France whole. She’d wanted him and she’d gotten this, these pieces, this tarnished copper. That’s what had set her off, left her fraying like he is. If he didn’t feel responsible for it he wouldn’t be on his way to her now. There’s loyalty in heartbreak, a kind that can’t be shaken.

When he reaches the Garrison, the outside’s quiet. The street’s dark, and light glows through the mottled windows, but he can’t hear anything that he shouldn’t, no raised voices above the hum. At least she hasn’t started any fires yet. That’s one thing, one threat that was empty and wasted. Pace unfaltering, he pushes on, opening the double doors with both palms extended. Meeting the warmth with the same steadiness he intends to keep.

————————————————————————

You’re barely conscious when you hear your name, loud and rattling into the pub. The bar is cold, topped with copper, or brass, you don’t know, don’t care. It’s cold and so your cheek is against it. Your eyes are closed but if you opened them you’d be looking straight along it, through the glasses and the ash trays. Over hands and owed-money. Your gaze would go right to the end and into the wall where there’s nothing at all.

‘[Y/n].’

It’s your name again. You know who’s saying it, but you can’t face him yet. Too loud, he is, too loud and too right about everything. You just want to wait, and rest, and let your eyelids be as heavy as they like. The barkeep was angry before, but he hasn’t said anything since you sat and put your head down. What harm could it do to stay a little longer.

‘Mr. Shelby,’ he says, from somewhere near the top of your head, speaking from outside the buzz. ‘I think she’s asleep, sir.’

He’s chosen to betray you, then, to point you out. It only takes a minute for his decision to ruin your peace. He says it and then you aren’t alone anymore, and the bar isn’t cold against your face because there’s a hand on your shoulder, dragging you upright. You go to complain but it comes out as a whine, sticky and clinging to your throat.

‘Nah,’ Arthur says, ‘not sleeping, are you, love?’

‘Trying. Wishing.’ You’d shrug him off but his hand is glued to your jumper, you think. Or your shoulder’s too lazy to listen to your brain. ‘Go please. Go, go.’

You may be upright, but your eyes are closed still, and he’s talking to you like you’re there. Like you’re conscious enough to answer him.

‘What’s this I’m hearing, ay, about you wanting to burn down my pub?’

Your head drops to the side, away from him like he pushed it. When you don’t answer, he hums and shakes your shoulder. You wince. Your brain rattles against itself.

‘Get us a water, Harry.’

‘Don’t want water,’ you say. You’re ignored. Of course you are, you hear the glass clink as it’s set down in front of him.

Before you can argue again, it’s in your face, cold and fresh and dripping down your cheeks. Your eyes open and the brightness hurts, and the water stings, and Arthur is staring at you with the empty glass in his hand.

‘What the fuck?’ You stretch your sleeves over your wrists and dry your face, limbs moving quickly in the unwelcome burst of sobriety.

‘You weren’t listenin’,’ he states, setting the glass down. ‘Now you are.’

‘I was, I just wasn’t talking.’ Once they’re dry, your cheeks are hot again. Flushed, like the water had wiped a layer of drunkenness from you, just to reveal another beneath. ‘You’re so fucking…’ You don’t finish the sentence, you just wipe your eyes with the heels of your palms.

‘So, what have you got against my pub, eh?’

You scoff. If you’d said it, you don’t remember doing so. You don’t remember anything past John telling you to drink, then telling you to stop, then telling you that you had to grow up. That you had to stop complaining about fucking love, and fucking futures, and fucking Arthur. That it all had to stop, ‘cause it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t your thing to complain about.

‘He started it,’ you say, under your breath so he might not hear.

‘Started what, hm?’ His voice is loud. Close. Accent round and familiar and nice, but annoying. So  annoying when your head’s where it is. ‘Why am I fucking here?’ he asks.

Because John starts arguments he can’t finish. Because you got drunk, and then drunker, and then everything was fast and blurred. And problems started climbing over each other to get out of your mouth, to spit into the air at anyone who’d listen.

‘You can’t keep doing this,’ he says. ‘How does it look, ey, to have you shouting up the pub every week?’

‘Oh, who gives a fuck about reputation, Arthur.’ You turn to him scornfully. He’s inviting them up again, the words that sting as they escape. ‘As if anyone fucking comes here expecting grace. As if I don’t fit right in with the rest of you.’

His hand drops from your shoulder. You hadn’t realised it was still there. ‘It’s a fucking business, love. Can’t I hope for a little improvement?’

‘Only if you start with yourself.’ You watch his jaw tense then look away. There’s a glass to your left, half-full with something clear and inviting. You reach for it but he stops you, pins your wrist down, leaves your fingers curled and yearning for it.

‘You’ve had enough,’ he warns. He’s above you slightly, standing to lean across and keep you still.

’Are you here to help?’ you ask sweetly. Falsely. ‘Or to make my night worse?’

‘I’m here,’ he starts, lifting your wrist and bringing it back as he sits again, ‘cause John said you’re like Danny whiz-bang.’ He puts your hand down in front of you, close to yourself, and not the alcohol.

You tut, shaking your head. You want to abandon the conversation. They don’t get it and they won’t, no matter how many times you go over it. No matter how loud you shout it.

Arthur drops his head, finding your gaze and keeping it, holding it with that stare he has. ‘What fucking war have you got to go bang over?’ he asks, harsh like he’s whispering, loud despite it. ‘What is it? Cause I can’t fuckin’ get in there to find out.’

He’s pointing a finger to your temple; you wave it away. ‘Ask John,’ you quip. ‘He knows everything, apparently.’

Arthur scoffs, rocking back in his stool. ‘Like fuckin’ kids, you are. Bicker worse than Tom and Ada did.’

You watch him sigh. Watch him wipe his brow, and flatten his moustache, and smooth the crease from his pant-leg. Watch him attempt to brush away the stresses before dealing with you again.

‘You’re sick of me, aren’t you?’ you ask, though accuse is a better word for it. ‘Y’know, I didn’t ask for you to come. I told him not to get you.’

‘Sick of ya?’ He wants to laugh, but he looks confused. His eyebrows pinch. ‘What the fuck goes on in your head, lass? Eh?’

He hums, like he expects you to answer, like he wants a concise list of it all.

‘I’m fucking here for you,’ he says, ‘always.’

‘And when you weren’t, gin was.’ You face him, turn your body so it’s matched to his. ‘Whiskey was. I never drank before you—’

‘So, it’s my fault.’ He nods. It isn’t convincing, and he doesn’t mean it to be. ‘Yeah, yeah, alright, you tell yourself that, love. See how it helps ya.’

You drop your head back, let it fall slack between your shoulder blades so you can stare at the ceiling. It’s always the same conversations, over and over. It was all he did, all any of them did. They’d rather talk in circles before they go anywhere else. Before sense is made, before things are heard.

‘I’m not. Fucking. Saying that, Arthur,’ you groan. Your words go up and then down again. From your lips, into the air, then back into your throat. They meet the liquor and strengthen. ‘Am I not allowed to be fucking frustrated? Ever? Can I not just be mad and then stay mad?’

‘Depends,’ he grumbles. ‘I don’t even know what you’re fucking mad about.’

You sigh, heavily, and the breath catches a whine as you set your head straight. ‘You honestly don’t see it?’

He shakes his head. You’ll have to spell it out for him. You’ll have to pick apart the stitches, and lay it all flat, right here, right in the fucking Garrison.

‘When you went to France,’ you start, slipping from the stool to stand in the small gap between you. ‘When you went, you were in love with me, and when you came back you weren’t.’

’S’not true,’ he says, his answer too quick to be a considered one.

‘You only want me when it suits,’ you say. Your finger hits his shoulder, your voice raises and twists bitterly. ‘Only pay attention when I’m being too loud, or too drunk, or too fucking—‘

‘Alright,’ he barks, grabbing your wrist. ‘That’s enough.’

A laugh comes out of you but nothing’s funny. Nothing invites it. ‘That’s my fucking point, Arthur. You don’t even care. You don’t even let me explain.’

‘I care.’

You scoff and tug your arm but he doesn’t let you go.

‘I care,’ he repeats. His eyes are soft, like he might cry, but his voice is sharp. Striking. ‘I would die for you,’ he says, ‘fucking die. Alright?’

‘That’s all you know, Arthur, everything’s death. How to die, how to kill.’ You pull away again and this time his fingers break apart like worn-leather. His hand falls into his lap, you leave it there. ‘What happened to love? Where did that go?’

His chin drops. You know you should stop but you don’t, your words are slick, boozy. Honest but too cruel for him.

‘Do you even remember it?’ you ask. ‘How we were?’

‘Course,’ he answers. ‘Course I do.’ He’s holding his voice tight, quiet, close to his chest. If you were anyone else he’d be shouting. He’d be drunk and falling apart like you were, wanting people to listen like you did.

‘I just…’ You sigh but it feels like a whimper. ‘What did I wait for? What came home?’

It wasn’t him, not as he was. Wasn’t love as it had been. You knew to expect it but it still stung. It still made all the longing and the worry feel useless, pointless. Terrified of losing a man that had already gone. Every time you remember it, every time you think about how he used to be, and how he used to care, it gets too much for even the gin to cover. You don’t want to go off like a whiz-bang but there isn’t anything to wet to fuse. All you have is Arthur to gather the ashes.

‘I miss us.’ You force the confession weakly, push it through the cry that’s waiting to come out. ‘I really miss us.’

His head lifts slightly. He finds your hand to squeeze it. ‘I know, love. I know.’

‘I know it’s hard for you,’ you babble, words sad and tumbling now they’ve caught momentum, ‘and John says it isn’t fair for me to whine about it, but I can’t say nothing.’

‘Don’t listen to him.’ He shakes his head. ‘He dun’t know what helps, just says things and hopes.’

You sniff, and nod, attempting to will the tears back from your waterline. John never means what he says, you just have be sober to realise it. ‘What if he is right, though?’ you ask. ‘I didn’t go to war.’ You stayed home and they went instead. All you had to do was wait, and welcome them back, and love and care and keep going in all the places they’d given up. Surely, that’s the easy job. Surely you can do it better than you have.

Sighing, Arthur stands, and you’re already chest to chest before he puts his arms around you. ‘It weren’t just us,’ he says. Then he pulls your head to his shoulder, his hand flattening your hair, and you let him. You sink into him like you’d begged for it.

‘It’s all learning, alright. We’re all learning.’ He rubs circles on your back. You want to tell him you had enough time to learn, but you know it’s a lie. You know he won’t hear it. ‘Let’s get back, ay?’

‘You’re working,’ you mumble, losing the words behind his lapel.

‘Nah.’ He pushes you back and then brackets your face in his hands.

You’re weighted, fixed down and lazy. Alcohol sagging you now the fire’s gone out. You look at him, blinking, bleary-eyed from it all. He takes it in; checks you over and finds peace in the wreckage. How he does this time and time again, you don’t know, you can’t work it out. It should scare him off but he stays anyway. His hands drop from your face to rub your arms, pushing comfort into the cotton.

‘Bloody work,’ he says quietly, ‘I’ve had enough for today.’

‘I know you care,’ you answer, like he’d asked for it.

He smiles but it doesn’t show past his cheeks. ‘No more alcohol, alright, least not as much. Not when you’re sad, love.’

You nod. You’re always sad.

‘What are we like, hm?’ His hand touches your cheek. You want him to kiss you but he doesn’t. ‘Too bloody similar,’ he says, and you don’t disagree.

————————————————————————

Afterwards, Arthur takes her home. He wraps her in his coat and pulls her, lagging, to Watery Lane, to his house, to his bed. She’d burnt out by the time he’d got to her. It feels selfish to admit it, but he’s glad she did. He wouldn’t have lasted otherwise. He would have fought her and hated himself for it, or maybe hated her for it. It was better not to know.

When they get back, she’s quiet, and she lets him put her together again. She doesn’t complain when he offers her water, barely comments when he warns her of the headache she’ll get in the morning. They change, and wash, and he does all the things he wishes someone would do for him when he’s bad. He knows she would, but then he never lets her see him like that. Not since the first time.

After it’s all done, they go to bed. He puts her there ‘cause it feels safest, furthest away from the things that worry her, close enough to him to make them both feel easy. He reaches for the lamp on the bedside, turning the dial so the light dims. So it feels like just them.

‘Arthur,’ she starts, gently, softly. ‘Are you sure you aren’t sick of me?’

He’d thought she was asleep. She’s lay down already, curled on her side. Now her body pulls around him as he sits on the edge, her knees against one thigh, her chin against the other. Her eyes are closed like she’s dreaming.

‘I’m sure, love.’ He puts his hand to her head, running a thumb across the cheekbone he can see. The other’s hidden against the mattress. ‘Couldn’t ever be sick of you,’ he tells her. He’d only ever get sick of himself.

[drabbles-of-writing]

Good for Something Worse

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

January was a stressful time for Hexside students.

It was when the Emperor’s Coven was offering to let the best witches try and get in. Everyone was on edge and tired from practicing for weeks on end. Students that were sixteen and up could try out, but the older you were, the better chance you had.

Everyone dreaded the thought of the Blight’s getting in. Neither of the trio's parents were in the Coven, but it was inevitable that one of the children would join this year.

Nobody was thrilled at the prospect.

After all, who wanted to be stuck under the magic of that good for nothing family?

,

“I have news!” Edric shouted as he kicked in Amity’s door, startling her into dropping her Azura book.

“Warn me next time, Ed!” Amity snapped, sitting up in her bed.

“I’m not sorry,” Edric shrugged, walking in as Emira followed, kicking the door shut behind her.

“What is it now?” Amity grumbled, turning so she was sitting on the edge of her bed. “Mom and dad had a surprise present for you two four days after your birthday?”

“Uh...kind of?” Edric said, sounding unsure as he sat on the floor and leaned against the bed.

Emira sighed, much more solemn than her brother as she sat in the chair at Amity’s desk. The young witch was instantly put off guard by the lack of a mischievous glint in their eyes. They seemed...worried.

“What happened?” Amity asked immediately.

The twins glanced at each other before turning to Amity.

“Were eligible to try out for the Emperor’s Coven.” Emira said, Edric nodding.

“You…” Amity looked wildly between the two. “You have enough magic to pass?”

��They changed up the point system this year,” Edric explained. “They have teachers secretly watching your magic so they know if you're purposefully using cheats or going the extra mile. They told mom and dad that our regular magical ability was enough to try out.”

Amity felt a deep pit open in her gut. Both of her siblings were eighteen, meaning they had no real excuse of being ‘too young’ to be in the Emperor’s Coven. They would graduate Hexside this year, and their parents were quickly pushing for the two of them to find a coven to join.

The Emperor’s Coven itself was the logical option, if you were a Blight.

“Do...do you think you’re going to make it?” Amity asked quietly. “What...what are you going to do if you get--”

“Make it?” The twins echoed.

“Mittens, we’re not even gonna try,” Emira said, sounding almost offended Amity thought they’d join.

“Yeah, we’re gonna purposefully flunk it.” Edric agreed. “Did you really think we’d join the Emperor’s Coven after all they’ve done?”

Amity would admit, she was surprised.

Her siblings had always been a tad more defiant of their parents. Secretly and openly. They could get away with it because they all knew their mother favored the twins most, especially Emira.

But this? Failing to join the Emperor’s Coven? Both of them?

The thought was absurd. Their mother would blow both their heads off in fury and humiliation.

“We just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry.” Emira continued. “And, well...

“We wanted to talk about us...moving out.” Edric said, avoiding his little sister's gaze.

“Oh,” Amity said quietly. “Yeah, you...you always said you’d move right out at eighteen.” She said, looking down at the floor.

“We’re planning on moving as soon as we fail to join the Emperor’s Coven,” Emira said. “Since mom and dad don’t have anything else big coming up and we get to avoid mom's wrath.”

“...did you have any ideas?” Amity asked, sounding and feeling small. “About where you were going to move?”

“We’ve got some acquaintances who know of some cheap apartments.” Emira nodded. “Viney offered her place, but her dad already has enough to worry about.” She cringed.

“It’s by the edges of the marketplace, too.” Edric added. “So we can steal--”

Emira gave him a glare.

“I mean sell things easily.” Edric corrected quickly. “And we also wanted to ask, if it wasn’t too much trouble…”

“Could the Owl House be a backup in case everything falls apart?” Emira finished. “It wouldn’t be for long, but if we knew we had a place to go in case of emergencies--”

“Of course!” Amity said, finally looking at them. “The Owl House can be your backup, I’m sure Eda would understand.” She said. “Lilith has already offered the Owl House as my backup from here, so I don’t think adding you two should be that big of trouble.”

“Thanks, Amity.” Emira breathed. “We appreciate it.”

Amity, still not used to her siblings seriously calling her by her name, only nodded numbly.

“We also wanted to offer,” Edric started, glancing at his sister for confirmation. He continued when she nodded. “If...you’d like to come with us?”

Amity stared at her brother, dumbfounded.

“Come with you?”

“You don’t have to decide now, or anytime soon.” Emira clarified. “But we know you hate this place just as much as us, maybe more. We’re legal adults, we could let you live with us.” She said.

“Probably not permanently,” Edric admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mom and dad would definitely win that battle. But that way, you don’t have to give excuses like you do when you’re visiting the Owl House.”

“Thought you could use it,” He continued, voice a bit softer. “We...we don’t like leaving you here alone for the next two years.”

Amity was speechless. She looked between her siblings as if waiting for them to crack a smile and call it a joke.

They didn’t.

They sat patiently, waiting for her response.

“You,” Amity swallowed, hating how her voice shook. “You mean it?”

“Of course we do,” Emira nodded. “We’re already leaving a mess behind, the least we could do is try to get you away from it, too.”

“But...you,” Amity shook her head. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me at all! This is your chance to leave. Don’t...don’t mess it up because of me,” She said, voice heavily strained with guilt as she tried to force back the tears welling in her eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Edric sat up and turned, laying a hand on Amity’s knee. “We want to help you. We’re your siblings, it’s our job to worry about you.” He said with a small smile.

“Anything that happens to us never was, or will be, your fault.”

And there came the tears.

They rolled down Amity’s cheeks faster than she could realize. She quickly tried to wipe it away, sniffling an apology.

Edric enclosed her in a hug before she could finish.

Emira was hugging her other side mere moments later.

Amity was stiff and still, letting her siblings hold her in a silent reassurance.

She hugged them right back, sobs racking her throat.

,

The tryouts for the Emperor’s Coven went from the oldest to the youngest grade. Meaning Edric and Emira’s tryouts were to be one of the earliest.

Amity had left to stay overnight at the Owl House, so to avoid the inevitable screaming match her mother would have with anyone that would listen. None of the occupants of the Owl House had minded or asked for a reason, they simply just let her in.

They didn’t comment when she continued to stay for a little while that morning, either.

“Amity?”

The witch jerked out of her spaced-out world, turning abruptly to face Luz beside her, who was gazing at her with worry.

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” Amity quickly assured the human. “Why do you ask?”

“You just...seem out of it this morning.” Luz said, fiddling with the lightning-glyph she was practicing drawing.

“Oh, sorry,” Amity apologized. “Just, er, a bit tired.”

Luz didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t comment any further. She simply went back to describing how to draw the lightning glyph, and doing her best to not accidentally activate it.

Amity breathed a silent sigh of relief and did her best to pay attention, over-exaggerating her reactions so to avoid being questioned again.

She knew it didn’t work.

,

It was noon when Amity’s scroll rang.

She jumped off the couch in surprise, startling Luz and King, who was sitting in the humans lap.

“Sorry,” Amity mumbled, withdrawing her scroll.

It was her mother.

Amity froze. She stared at the ringing scroll, hearing nothing but static in her ears as a deep emptiness opened in her gut, weighing her down.

“Who is it?” Luz asked, peering over her shoulder, her voice suddenly grounding Amity again.

“It’s...it’s my mom.” Amity said quietly, never taking her eyes off her scroll.

Luz’s eyes went wide and she looked up at Amity, her face betraying that of fear and worry. Amity didn’t notice, but Lilith and Eda were quick to look in from the kitchen and down the hall.

Amity swallowed and accepted the call, bringing her scroll to her ear.

“Hey, mom.”

“Amity! Where are you, young lady?”

“I’m on a walk, I wanted to get fresh air.” Amity lied, almost wincing at it.

“Come to the school right now,” Her mother demanded. “That’s an order.”

“Okay” Amity said on instinct, walking around the couch and fiddling with her sleeve. “Did, did something happen?”

“Did you hear about what your siblings did?”

Amity shut her eyes to brace herself before inhaling.

“Yes, I did.”

“Figures. They had one job, and they couldn’t even do that!” Her mother growled. “And now they think it’s acceptable to leave us after that monstrosity of a failure?”

Amity knew her mother was only really talking to herself now. She felt it necessary to vent to anyone who would listen, whether they wanted to or not.

“We have a way to fix this error, however.” Her mother said. “So hurry to Hexside immediately. Your father and I are waiting for you. Don’t mess this up.”

She hung up.

Amity’s blood went cold.

Her mother's vagueness put her on edge, and her choice of words had only worsened it. Being vague meant something big, something important.

Had her mother found out that Amity was considering living with her siblings?

Did she know Em and Ed purposefully flunked?

Had she contained the twins to their own house?

Was she going to use Amity in a guilt-trip?

Did she know?

Amity stared off into nothing, her scroll floating beside her. Her hands were trembling violently, and she appeared to be in a state of shock.

“Amity?” Lilith worried. “Amity, what did she say?”

“She--” Amity paused, her voice strained and quiet. “She just...she wants me to go to Hexside,”

Luz shot to her feet, panic evident.

“Amity, what happened?” “I...I need to go. Now.” Amity said, shaking her head as she grabbed her scroll and shoved it in her pocket. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I need to go.”

“Amity, wait!” Luz hurried after her, but the witch was already at the door and pulling it open.

“Amity, please, what happened?” Lilith called from inside, appearing in the living room as King and Eda looked on worriedly.

“I can’t, I gotta go.” Amity repeated, shaking her head. “I...I’ll be back. I promise. But I can’t stay.” She said, rushing out of the door and thankful that Hooty was stretched out elsewhere in the house.

“Amity--”

The witch slammed the door shut, quickly beginning to back up as her breathing increased, turning and racing into the forest.

She couldn’t be late. She couldn’t.

Despite the fear coursing through her, she ran for Hexside as fast as she could. For fear of her siblings or what her mother had planned, she didn’t know.

,

Amity saw her family near instantly. They were waiting by the training area for tryouts. There were still people crowded about, anxious to see the fights for the Emperor Covens newest members.

“I’m here!” Amity breathed, skidding to a stop. “What--what’s going on?”

“About time you showed up,” Her mother huffed. “Where were you walking? At the Knee?”

“N-no, I was just--”

“Never mind that,” Her mother cut her off. “How's your magic?” “My, my magic?” Amity repeated. “It’s fine, why?”

“Good enough,” Her mother muttered, turning away to face the arena, where a kid she didn’t recognize was battling a guard.

“What’s going on?” Amity repeated, looking between her father and siblings. “What’s happening?”

Her father barely spared her a glance. Her siblings, meanwhile, were both giving her pitifully fearful looks.

“Amity,” Emira started. “We tried to tell her not to. But mom was insistent. She--”

“She was pissed we didn’t make it,” Edric talked over his sister. “She demanded it be fixed and talked to the guard and--”

“I don’t understand,” Amity shook her head, confused as ever. “What do you need me for?”

Her mother turned to her then, looking down her nose at her daughter. Amity felt like a mouse trapped beneath the claws of a cat, frozen with terror and forced to realize her inevitable fate.

“You’re trying out for the Emperor’s Coven.”

Amity stared at her mother, rooted to the spot. She slowly shook her head in disbelief.

“But--but the younger tryouts aren’t for another week!” She exclaimed. “And--and I’m fifteen! I won’t be sixteen until the tryouts are over.” She insisted, as if that would make a difference.

“I managed to get a good word in,” Her mother said simply. “And your father arranged for it to be done last today, so we can get this over with as soon as possible.”

Her father only nodded, silent as ever.

“You...you can’t,” Amity whispered, taking a small step back.

“Of course I can,” Her mother snorted. “I’m a Blight, aren’t I?”

She stepped closer to her daughter, scaring her into staying still as she stood over her, using her hand to lift Amity’s chin.

“You are going to do what your siblings could not.” Her mother said, sharply giving her eldest children a sideways glare that they shrunk away from.

“Listen to me, Amity.” She said sternly, meeting her daughter's wide eyes. “You are going to go into that arena, and you are going to win.” She said, gripping Amity’s chin tightly and making her wince.

“I will not be disgraced by having three failures today.” She growled. “This is your chance of redemption to this family, to the Blight name. Do you understand me, Amity?”

“Y-yes,” Amity stuttered, too scared to say anything else.

“Good,” Her mother said, releasing her daughter at last. “Because the Blight family’s honor is relying on you, as much as I hate to think of that.” She sneered.

“Dear,” Her father said, finally drawing the woman's attention away from the girl. “They’re going to call our names soon.”

“Finally,” Her mother muttered. “You two,” She snapped her fingers, drawing the twins attention. “You will sit and watch. Let this be a lesson to do better.” She curled a lip.

“Yes, mother.” Emira and Edric chorused, hurrying to their mothers side and standing there, casting their sister pleading looks.

‘Don’t do it.’ They’re eyes begged.

Amity was still frozen in spot, thoughts whirling through her head. This was all going by too fast, too quick. She had no time to think, no time to plan.

She heard her name being called by one of the guards. She was sharply nudged by her father and stumbled forward, making her way to the training arena.

It was afternoon now. With it being January, the sun would set soon.

She wouldn’t be sixteen for another two weeks. Not until February.

If this was two years ago, she’d be thrilled at the idea of being the youngest member of the Emperor’s Coven.

Now, it petrified her.

,

‘You need to fail.’

‘Mother will be furious.’

‘You can’t join the coven.’

‘You’d tarnish the family name.’

‘You can’t join the Emperor.’

‘You good for nothing,’

‘Good for something,’

‘Useless, useless Blight.’

Amity dodged a tangle of thorns and lit her hand ablaze, cutting through it like it was nothing before rolling and summoning an abomination to become her shield from an onslaught of ice-like daggers.

‘I can’t win.’

The Emperor's Coven was cruel and unjust. They had betrayed Lilith. They had tried to petrify Eda. They had taken Luz away from her home.

They were the cause of the Owl families misery. They were nothing but tyrants.

She commanded an abomination to hit the guard just a bit too slowly, giving the guard time to roll out of the way.

Her gaze caught her mothers.

Her arms were crossed, she was glaring. She already looked disappointed. No, she looked disgraced.

Amity was a Blight, nothing would change that. That had been decided from day one.

It didn’t matter if she spent some days with Ed and Em. It didn’t matter if she fled to the Owl House. It didn’t matter that Lilith trained her. It didn’t matter who her friends were. It didn’t matter who she loved…

Her parents were one of the most powerful people in the Isles.

They’d find a way. So long they had a way in, they’d find it. Like rats to garbage.

But that didn’t mean they had to take everything from her.

She grit her teeth and made up her mind, facing the guard again and preparing a massive abomination, a look of resigned determination in her gaze.

‘I can’t lose.’

,

Time almost seemed to flash by in mere seconds. The win, the congratulations, the boasting, the proud, so proud, looks from her parents.

The fearful ones from her siblings.

She blinked, and suddenly she was in the Blight Manor. She had a white cloak around her, gray sleeves. A gray beaked mask in her hands.

She was in.

And she’d never felt more awful.

It was a party at the manor. When did that happen?

There were adults talking over her. Barely paying her any mind. Some would try, and she’d only stare back at them, barely giving a response.

A hand was placed on her shoulder and she jumped, whirling around.

It was her father.

He looked down at her, his face as blank and emotionless as ever. She’d expect nothing less of him.

If you asked her to choose which parent she liked more, she’d say it was her father.

That was, if she liked him at all.

“Good job, Amity.” Her father said, his face never changing. “You’ve done something great for your mother's family.”

Your mother’s family.

Even he knew who this was really about.

“Th-thank you,” Amity mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Her father only nodded curtly, removing his hand from her shoulder.

“Your siblings wished to congratulate you,” He said, sounding almost awkward. “They are waiting by the door.” He said, angling his head towards the large door that led out of the massive living room.

Well, it could almost be called a ballroom. Her mother liked to call it that. But Amity preferred the term living room. It made the place feel less...grand.

Amity turned to look as well, seeing both of her siblings hovering anxiously around the door, kicking their feet at the floor and sharing quick words with each other.

When Amity turned to thank her father again, he was already gone. Having left to mingle quietly with the other useless rich members of society.

Amity quickly turned and hurried towards the doors, weaving through the crowd. Her boots clicked on the floor and cape billowed out behind her. 

A part of her liked the aura of authority it gave her.

Another part of her wanted to be sick at the thought.

Amity stood before her siblings, who didn’t notice her for the first few seconds. When they did, they hurried to stand, brows creased with worry.

They had seen the bored, detached look their sister had been wearing ever since the tryouts ended.

“Mind if we...talk?” Emira said, pointing a thumb towards the door behind them.

“Of course,” Amity said, gliding by her siblings and pushing the large doors open a crack.

Edric and Emira shared a nervous look before following her, slipping out the doors before they were quietly shut behind them.

“Amity, what--”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Amity said, turning sharply to look up at her siblings.

It was like her entire personality had shifted the moment those doors had closed and the only eyes on her were the twins.

Her expression betrayed that of terror, that of helplessness. The cloak looked too long on her now, mask too hollow, gloves too big.

“Oh, Amity,” Edric breathed. “Ami, I’m so sorry…”

“I couldn’t disappoint mother,” Amity said quietly, looking down at the mask in her hands and running her fingers over it. “I...I didn’t know what she’d do…”

Emira slung an arm around her shoulder, as did Edric. She looked up at them, unsure of what to do. She hadn’t even fully processed what this meant for her now.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out.” Emira assured her. “I mean, you are still fifteen. For now, at least. I doubt they’ll make you deal with anything big for a while.” She tried.

“Yeah! And dealing with anyone at the Owl House has to be a job for like, the best of the best.” Edrc added.

Amity jerked up, dropping the mask.

“Luz!” She cried, breaking away from her siblings and looking around frantically, the darkness of the rest of the manor momentarily confusing her.

“Oh no, no, no, they must’ve heard about what happened!” She exclaimed, ears lowered. “They-they’re going to think I betrayed them! They’re going to think I’m gonna sell them out! They must’ve moved the house already!”

“Hey, I’m sure you can explain this to them.” Edric insisted, trying to keep a sense of calm. “Luz is bound to understand.”

“If I can’t find the house, I’ll never find anyone that lives in it!” Amity said, throwing open the hallway doors and looking frantically for the front door. “I need to go, now.”

“But the party--”

“Forget the party!” Amity snapped, startling her sister. “Tell mom I went to bed early or something! I need to find them and explain what’s going on!”

Emira and Edric glanced at each other, nodding in agreement.

“You got it,” Edric nodded. 

“I'll vouch for you if anything goes wrong at the Owl House.” Emira added.

Amity breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” She said, vanishing out the hallway doors in a flash, leaving her mask in the open, empty black floor.

,

Amity ran through the woods, her cloak catching on every little root and stray branch. She was surprised that the material hadn’t broken through all the torment it received. She figured ripped cloaks were a common occurrence.

‘Please still be there. Please still be there. Please still be there.’ She begged in her head, twisted around the trees, adrenaline edging her on.

She burst from the subery, praying beyond all hope that the Owl House was right where it had last hidden. Maybe Luz hadn’t heard the news, maybe they hadn’t moved yet, maybe they were waiting for an explanation, maybe--

Empty.

The clearing was vast, broken, and utterly, completely, empty.

There were engraves in the ground where the house used to be. There were broken branches and trees where the house had made itself situated.

There was so much debris she couldn’t tell where the house had entered and where it had left.

It was gone.

“No,” She whispered, feeling pricks in her eyes as she rushed forward, standing in the middle of the clearing as she frantically looked around. “No, no, no. Please, no.”

The house had left recently, that much was evident. Gus and Willow must have been called. Though they no longer needed a Moonlight Conjuring to move the house every month, it still needed at least three witches to move it. And unfortunately, Eda and Lilith couldn’t strain their magic to help move it.

“Luz!” Amity called into the endless trees. “Lilith? Eda? King?” She called. “Where are you?” Her voice cracked, and a tear rolled down her cheek as her breathing intensified.

Something thumped, loud and clearly meant to be noticeable. Amity whirled around, afraid that she had been followed.

A figure stood at the edge of the clearing, a golden and gray eye flashing in the darkness. Their head framed by a wild nest of hair.

“Eda!” Amity cried, running towards the witch. “Eda, I thought you guys had--”

The witch took a sharp step back, turning her body so that her hand holding her faintly glowing staff was visible. She slammed her staff back down on the ground, creating another thumping noise and causing Amity to skid to a stop a few feet in front of the witch.

She’d lived with her father long enough to know what a silent threat looked like.

“So,” Eda said, her gaze filled with distrust. “You came back.”

“Eda, please, let me explain.” Amity begged. “It’s not what you think.”

“It isn’t?” Eda raised a brow. 

“You come to my house, acting strange and skittish. You get a call from your mother and leave without any explanation. Then, I have to hear from a crystal ball that you not only went to Emperor’s Coven tryouts, but got in?” 

“And hours later, you come running back to us, still wearing that?” She hissed, pointing towards the guard getup Amity was wearing.

“And you want to tell me that this isn’t what I think?” Eda demanded.

Eda took a step forward and Amity frantically scrambled back. The witch seemed surprised at the much stronger response, ears flicking back.

Eda was in the light of the rising moon now, and Amity could make out her features much more vividly. Anger was there, that was evident.

But she really only looked...hurt. Betrayed.

Amity couldn’t blame her. But that didn’t change the twist her chest gave.

“I can explain everything, I promise.” Amity persisted. “Let me at least try, please?”

“...course, kid.” Eda sighed, vanishing her staff with the flick of her wrist. “I take it you want to say it once instead of repeating it?” “If, if you’ll allow me to.” Amity nodded, looking down.

Eda frowned, glancing away from Amity’s sorrowful face.

“Just answer this for me, kid.” Eda said, and Amity looked back up.

“What, exactly, do you plan on doing now?” She questioned.

Amity was taken aback by the response. She mulled over her words for a moment, but she knew the response. She’d decided it all the way back on the training ground. “I help you,” She said, raising high and meeting the witch’s gaze. “I spy on the Emperor’s Coven, and I make sure no one gets hurt ever again.”

Eda looked surprised, staring at Amity, who met her with a defiant expression.

“Kid, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eda shook her head.

“...yeah, I think so.” Amity nodded slightly. “But I don’t care.” She placed a hand on her chest.

“The Emperor’s Coven has already hurt everyone I care about, one way or another. I don’t care about the status, I don’t care about the power, hell, I could care less about what that Emperor says!” She growled.

“You, and everyone else who’s come in that ridiculous house, are all I care about.” She said sincerely, her ears laying back. “I...I hope that’s enough for you…” She added quieter.

Eda looked over the witch for a moment. Her shoulders finally relaxed. She raised her hand to place it on the witches shoulder before pausing.

Instead, she offered her hand to the girl.

“Amity,” Eda chuckled, offering the tiniest of smiles. “You’re the strangest rich kid I’ve ever met.”

Amity let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She forced back the relieved tears at her eyes and gently grabbed the witch’s hand, cracking a smile as she looked up to the criminal she’d grown to care for.

“Thank you, Eda.”

“I told you!”

Amity jerked as Eda turned much more slowly, looking tired.

Luz fumbled out of the treeline, flopping over on her face before jumping up to her feet again.

“See? I said Amity must’ve had a good reason, and she did!” Luz said, hurrying over.

“Were you there the whole time?” Amity gasped, releasing Eda’s hand.

Luz hugged Amity tightly, grinning and chatting away as she told Eda how she was right all along, and that they worried for nothing. Amity barely paid attention, too focused on what the Owlet had said.

Luz trusted her.

She had believed that Amity really had a reasoning for joining the Emperor’s Coven. In Amity’s eyes, she had no reason to.

And yet, she did.

A small voice in Amity’s head said that Luz shouldn’t have. Amity had already known she would have to win before she had made her spying plan.

Amity elected to ignore it.

“Alright, alright, I get it. You can’t blame me for being cautious.” Eda huffed, ruffing Luz’s hair as she pulled away from Amity.

“Oh! Right, Lilith probably wants to talk to you.” Luz told a recovering Amity. “Since, you know, she used to be in the Emperor’s Coven.”

“Is Lilith here, too?” Amity asked, peering behind the human.

“She’s currently at the house that Luz ditched.” Eda said the last part sharply. “She and the others also wanted to come, but I didn’t exactly want to leave Hooty all by himself.”

“Yeah, that was probably best.” Amity agreed with a nod. “Also, you would’ve been way less stealthy.”

“I heard that!”

“Gus!” Eda snapped, turning to the trees. “I told you to stay back!”

“You said that to Luz, too!” Gus’ voice drifted from the treeline, his head popping up from behind a bush. “But did she get a scolding? No!”

“It’s because Eda picks favorites,” Willow said, removing the vines she had disguised to be part of a tree to hide her.

“First of all, no I do not.” Eda said stubbornly. “Second of all, get back to the house!”

“Lilith said we could come!” Willow complained.

“You know what else Lilith said? That water is wet! Which it clearly is not!” Eda retorted.

“Yes, it is!” Gus insisted,  easily getting riled up again.

“Edalyn, please.” Lilith’s voice muttered from somewhere in the forest.

“Did everyone come?”

“Hooty didn’t--ow,” King groaned, falling off of his branch in the tree and hitting another one head-first.

Amity watched the exchange, a brow raised as a smile came to her face. Luz was already trying to smother a laugh, one arm leaning on Amity’s shoulder.

The witch didn’t bother to hold back hers. She let out a laugh, shaking her head at the absurdity of her situation. It barely distracted from what was going on, if anything, it encouraged it.

This weird family surely was bad for something, wasn’t it?

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 10)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 2,000+

     Your eyes frantically move around the room, trying to find where the next blow is going to come from. He’s walking toward you, away from Jason who’s lying still in the corner. He breaks your ribs just as he did with Jason and you cough blood onto his face. The splatter seems to awaken something in him and he smiles wider, the wide grin on his face twitching with joy.

     You shudder in fear as blood fills up your throat and you can’t breathe. You keep your eyes on Jason as the Joker slams the crowbar down onto the tips of your fingers.

     Is this what Jason felt? Alone? In pain? Dying? Oh god, you thought. Why does he have to go through this again? You close your eyes and desperately try to shut off your link.

✧ ✧ ✧

     Robin is lying still on the ground, bleeding from his side. Nightwing is heaving in breaths as he nurses his broken ribs. Batman’s the only one standing but his cowl is ripped, his hair sticking out, and his kevlar suit is grazed from the hail of gunfire. While the Red Hood, well. He just stopped. He’s just standing there, staring into space.

    The standstill lasts for a while, giving Bruce time to glance at his partners and assess the situation. Tim needs medical attention ASAP. Nightwing can no longer fight and he’s out of supplies and soon out of moves. This new player seems to have a counter for every single one of their maneuvers. Batman needs to think outside of the box.

    But before he does, Red Hood finally moves. He drops his stance and puts a finger to his ear. He listens. Batman narrows his eyes at him until he’s moving again. This time, he slowly retreats into the shadow. “Checked in with your base lately?” he mocks.

    Batman doesn’t follow him. “Y/N,” he whispers into the comms. No answer. Nightwing slowly stands up and helps Bruce carry Tim back to the batmobile. Their drive back is noisy with Nightwing constantly trying to call you but only getting static, all while closing Tim’s wounds as best he can.

    “Have you checked the manor’s security?”

    “Offline.”

    “What about Alfred?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer. Bruce doesn’t give him one at all and only accelerates. Nightwing leans back and prepares himself for the worst thing they could probably come home to.

    The direct entrance to the cave is blasted open. But this doesn’t stop Bruce from driving through the debris. In fact, it made him drive faster. Once inside, everything has been visibly looted and the infrastructure mostly destroyed, but it’s silent. There’s no one there.

    “Stay here,” Bruce orders and closes the door before Dick could say anything. He uses his grappling hook to get up the tunnel of the busted shaft. The moment he’s up there, the grandfather clock is wide open, and he can see bodies on the floor of the study.

    “No…”

    Alfred is crying on the floor trying to make his body seem as small as possible. He’s holding his head between his knees and rocking forward. A foot away from him, you’re lying on the floor. Your whole body is shuddering and your eyes are wide open, empty gaze fixed at the empty ceiling. “Y/N,” When Bruce’s face enters your vision, you scream.

    The Red Hood hears the shrill ringing of your voice inside his head. Satisfied that he knows Bruce is there, he turns off his senses and looks back at Scarecrow and his crew who are bringing in their loot from the cave.

    “You were right,” Scarecrow tells him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Somebody opened the door for us like you said they would.”

    The Red Hood inspected the boxes and what’s inside them. Supplies of everything in Batman’s armory and utility belt. Even spare kevlar suits and cowls.

    He needed some for himself and the rest to bribe Gotham’s crime lords. But the big players like Scarecrow, Dent, Penguin, Black Mask and Bane, they needed proof that he’s got the Bat under his thumb and the cave was just the first step.

     But was it worth it? Was it worth endangering you and Alfred just to get them on his side? Or is he just turning into Talia and her father?

    “So. Which one of them is Batma--”

    A gunshot rings loudly in the warehouse, catching the attention of his men. They watched as Scarecrow’s body hits the floor with a hole in his eye. Jason turns to them. “When I give instructions, you follow them to the T.”

    “Are you insane? We got everything like you said, and the Bat wasn’t there.”

    “That’s because I was distracting him. I lost more ammo and get-aways than I had to because you decided to mess around and waste time!”

    “It was all Scarecrow. He--”

    The Red Hood aims his gun at his forehead. “He’s dead,” he says. The man almost whimpers until Red Hood finally takes back his gun. “I’m in charge now and what I say is law.” He watches as the men scramble back to what they were doing.

    He stands on the sides, clenching and unclenching his fist. He can still see the images of your nightmare. He didn’t realize you knew so much about his death. It was so vivid, it was like he was reliving it.

✧ ✧ ✧

    “You think this job was the new player?”

    You wake up to the sound of Dick’s voice. You almost want to groan because Dick can probably wake up the dead. But you keep your eyes closed, preparing yourself for the questions about how you were attacked.

    “Then that changes everything, doesn’t it? He knows where the cave is. He probably knows who you are-- who we are.”

    “We’re not sure,” Bruce answers him, “There were several home invasions in the area at the same time last night. There’s a chance it was unintentional.”

    “Do you really believe that? That Scarecrow would bring his toxins to a home invasion-- Enough fear toxin to kill a crowd--”

    “God, Dick!” Tim’s voice reaches you from your other side. “You’re so loud! Why are you even debriefing in a hospital room?”

    “Yeah,” you open your eyes now, just in time to see Bruce and Dick stand up, relief washing over their faces, “Some people are dying here.” You sit up, only to find out that your body feels like it had been run over by a truck. You slump back down but then you notice another person in the bed across from you. “Alfred?” you call out.

    Dick shakes his head, “There were a lot more toxins in his body and he was exposed to it longer. Dr. Jace is still trying to flush everything out.” He gives you a reassuring smile, “But he’ll be okay.”

    You immediately feel guilty, “I should’ve checked on him sooner!” Then you remember the voice you heard when you opened the door. “No… I’m the one who led them into the cave. I opened the clock and they were waiting for me.”

    “This isn’t your fault, Y/N.” Tim’s voice steals your gaze and you’re surprised to find him glaring at you from beside Alfred. His torso’s heavily bandaged and he narrows his eyes, “Stop doing that. Stop carrying everything on your shoulders like you’re alone in this. You’re not.”

    Slowly, you look away from Tim. The sudden tension in the room only increasing. He’s right. You’re doing it again. But it was your access that led them there to the base and possibly their identities. “What did they do in the cave?”

    “They destroyed it,” Bruce answers and you clench your fist on your lap. Gently, he covers them with his hand, “We’ve got another safe house set up. Once Alfred wakes up, we’ll be staying there.”

    “Until when?” Tim asks.

    “Until we catch that son of a bitch.” You’re surprised to hear Dick swear and sound serious. You can’t help but laugh and it lightens the mood just enough. “What? What did I do?” he asks frantically. 

    It’s nighttime by the time Alfred wakes up, disorientated, in pain, and downright cranky. He made sure to give Bruce an earful as they relocated to your new base of operations. Alfred’s voice got even louder when Bruce started putting on a new suit.

    “Master Bruce, I beg of you. Take one night off--”

    “One night is all it takes, Alfred, for somebody else to die out there--”

    “Then for once let them!” You’re all surprised to hear Alfred shout, “For once. Worry more about yourself. Your children. Your own family.”

    You, Tim, and Dick watch awkwardly from the sidelines. Bruce stares at Alfred but he doesn’t put the cowl down.

    “This is how I protect my family.”

    Bruce walks away from Alfred who leans against the wall in exhaustion. Dick catches him quickly, “Okay. Here. Let’s get you to bed. Nice and easy.”

    “Master Richard, remember that I once tended to your scrapes and cuts when you were a mere schoolboy. So don’t treat me like I’m a child.”

    Dick chuckles, “Look out, Y/N. Someone’s trying to give you a run for your money.”

    As if only now remembering, Alfred quickly turns to you, “Are you alright?”

    You smile and nod. “Just a nightmare,” you say and Alfred doesn’t return your smile. He knows how bad ‘just a nightmare’ can be. You watch as Dick takes him to one of the rooms and comes out soon after, proving that Alfred was more tired than he had let on.

    “Tim, watch the comms and feeds.”

    “What?” you and Tim say at the same time. “You’re not going out there, too, are you?” Tim says.

    “Bruce is out there on his own. Hot Blooded. We both know that’s not his best mood on the job. I’m just ground support.”

    “You’re both trying to get killed tonight!” you shout, suddenly standing.

    Dick doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t stop to look at you. He walks out of the safehouse without another word. Tim stands and you quickly glare at him.

    “Calm down, Y/N. I’m just going to tune in to their video feed and comms.”

    You plop down on the couch and wait for Tim to turn on the laptop. You watch as he connects to their private network and hooks it up to the TV. The first thing you see are Batman driving in his batmobile and Dick on his motorcycle.

    “I should’ve threatened to break his ribs,” you mutter, making Tim chuckle.

    “That still wouldn’t have held him back. Take a page from Alfred’s book and break both his kneecaps.”

    “Did he really do that?”

    Tim just smiles to himself. You glare at him because you’re getting a little sick of all the non-answers. It seems to be a habit every Robin picks up from Bruce.

    As you wait and watch the two vigilantes go through Gotham, your body starts reliving random sensations of being hit and battered. You clench and unclench your fists as you imagine the crowbar hammering down on your fingertips.

    “Have you ever been hit with the fear toxin?” you ask quietly, almost not wanting Tim to answer. “Am I supposed to feel all of that… physical torture. Even after the toxins worn off?”

    Tim shrugs his shoulders, “Mind over matter, Y/N.”

    You huff in frustration. You get it, he’s still mad. But does he have to be an ass at this very moment? You both just went through hell and could have died.

    You sigh as you realize that you and Alfred could have died, and Tim is out of commission with a stab wound on his side. He’s not being distant, he’s focused. It’s the only way he knows how to cope.

    Tim suddenly sits upright and watches his computer intently. You look at the TV and see Batman engaged in a fight with someone in a red helmet.

    “It’s the new player,” Tim answers you without having to ask. “Heard someone call him the Red Hood.”

    “Put it on speaker.”

    “--haven’t changed at all,” his voice is distorted because of the full-face helmet he was wearing. But your body reacts to it almost like it’s familiar.

    “How does it feel to lose your cave? Your home?”

    Tim grunts, “So he does know.”

    You try to tune out Tim, tune out everything in the room, and focus solely on the voice that’s suddenly making your body more attuned to your link’s sense.

    “Seeing them badly injured, left for dead. I bet it made you so angry and you just want to kill whoever’s responsible!”

    You’re shaking your head. You know that voice. Slowly, afraid to be right, you close your eyes and numb yourself to your own senses. If it is him, and he’s fighting Bruce right now, then he won’t expect you. He won’t--

    You feel the weight of Batman’s fist hit the side of your face. Your eyes quickly open in time to see him stagger away from Batman. It’s him.

    “Nightwing, turn left. Batman and-- Y/N! Where are you going?”

    You’re already grabbing your phone and heading for the door. Tim blocks your path. “Move, Tim.”

    He narrows his eyes at you, “Where are you going?” he asks again.

    “Out. Now move.”

    “No way, Y/N.”

    You glare at him. From your peripherals you see Batman kick Jason in the chest and you lean on the back of the couch to hide the pain. It’s definitely him. If Tim finds out and he figures out that you’re going to meet him, he’ll tell Bruce.

    “Y/N--” distracted by your sudden movement, you quickly press against Tim’s wound, “AH!” opening it again and you can see him bleeding through the bandage.

    “I’m sorry, Tim,” you rush out and leave him behind, slamming the door behind you.

    Where are you headed?

    You run a couple of blocks before you hide in an alley and close your eyes. You’re immediately met with a piercing sensation on the back of your hand. You feel Jason take out what was lodged and blood oozes down from your new wound. Then the muscles on your legs are extending and retracting, he’s running away.

    This is the hard part but you have to get this right. You grew up in these streets. You know Gotham about as much as you know Jason. You pay attention to the smell, the noise, and the direction of the wind because you need to know exactly where Jason is running off to.

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[gryffindorcls]

My Thoughts Exactly:  Part 1

Hello, lovely readers!

This was written for an AU swap on Discord. I decided to take a little bit of a different take on the traditional soulmate AU. It's not love at first sight, but these two definitely have a budding romance blossoming between them.

(Let's just say that there is A LOT of fluff coming in the next chapter.)

---

Next ----> (Coming Soon)

AO3

FanFiction

Marinette climbed onto her balcony and did her best to focus on the task at hand. Her arms were jelly and her stomach was in knots.

I’m no superhero, her mind screamed, I’m just a normal girl.

Tikki had told her so many things, but everything was a jumble. All she knew was that somehow she had to defeat Stoneheart and make Paris safe again.

As crashes continued to sound in the distance, she took a deep calming breath and grabbed the yo-yo on her hip. “Okay, I have special powers, and apparently this amazing super yo-yo thingy?”

She tossed the yo-yo onto a building, pulled the wire, and went flying into the air. While she did her best to land gracefully, she quickly found herself in a tangled nest with what appeared to be a boy with…

Are those cat ears? She thought as she arched her back in an attempt to move away from the person caught in her snare.

“Nice of you to drop in!” The boy laughed. “And to answer your question, yes, they are! I think they look rather claw-some!”

“Excuse me?”

“You asked me about my ears.”

“Oh my gosh, did I say that out loud?” The feeling of his chest against her own created a buzzing sensation throughout her body. “I’m messing up everything today, aren’t I?”

She sighed. Ugh, I’m such a failure!

“No, you’re not!” His voice was bright and cheerful. “I’m still learning the ropes, too, and if you also got chosen for this, something tells me that you’re not a failure.”

The boy’s eyes met hers and filled her with an unusual warmth. She’s kind of cute.

“Wait...did you just call me cute?”

Please tell me I didn’t actually say that. The voice speaking in her head definitely didn’t belong to her.

Marinette’s heart pounded against her chest. Does that mean he can hear me, too?

Oh my God, I can hear your thoughts.

How are you inside my head?

What is happening?

They both screamed.

An involuntary twitch of Marinette’s wrist retracted the wire holding them together, sending them careening towards the ground. She landed in a heap but was surprised to find that nothing had been broken. Her yo-yo thunked the boy on the head, causing him to recoil.

After taking a moment to rub his injury, he looked up at her with a panicked expression. “What the heck was that?”

She grabbed her pigtails and began to pace. “I-I have no idea! That’s never happened to me before.”

“Is mind reading your power?”

“No. Maybe? I don’t know. Tikki was talking so fast, I may have missed something.”

“Tikki?” He cocked his head to the side. “Who’s that?”

“She’s my Kwami. You have one of those, right?” Marinette was desperate for answers. “From the look on your face, I’m guessing yours didn’t say anything about this either.”

“Plagg? Uh, he told me how to transform and that I have special powers, but not much else. However, he did mention that I would have a partner, and I’m guessing that’s you. It’s nice to meet you. I’m...Chat Noir! Yeah, Chat Noir.”

His answer only left her with more questions. “Well, this is just great. We have no answers, and I have a partner who obviously has a better grasp at this whole superhero thing than I do. Did you come up with that name just now?”

“I did.” He looked proud. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What’s your superhero name?

“It’s...I don’t know. This is all so much to take in, and I haven’t thought about it.” Her breathing quickened as her hand clenched around her yo-yo. “How can I be a superhero if I can’t even think of a name for myself? I’m not cut out for this. I should probably just go.”

“Hey, it’s okay! There’s no rush. It’s just a name, and I don’t want to do this without a partner. You don’t need a fancy name to be a hero.” The softness in his voice sent her reeling.

It should be illegal to be that adorable. Marinette caught herself before continuing the thought. No, now’s not the time. FOCUS.

She took a deep breath. “Think, Chat Noir! Are you sure your Kwami didn’t say anything else to you? He never mentioned telepathy?”

He scratched the back of his head and chuckled. “I, uh, may have transformed before I let him finish explaining everything. I got a little excited. Sorry.”

“Wonderful. Between my stunning lack of short-term memory and your fabulous listening skills, it sounds like we’ve got our work cut out for us today. This isn’t going to be a disaster at all.”

Well, at least he’s cute.

“My thoughts exactly.” He chuckled.

Panic rose in her throat. “Wait, can you still hear what I’m thinking?”

Please say no. Please say no!

He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. Can you hear my thoughts anymore?”

They fell into a tense silence. With bated breath, she waited for the second voice to appear in her mind.

If you can hear me, blink your eyes three times. She scanned his face for a reaction but was met only with his unwavering stare.

“Were you thinking something just now?” Her partner’s voice pierced through the quiet.

She nodded. “Yeah, I was, but you didn’t react to what I said. We’re you thinking something?”

“Yes, did you hear it?”

“No.” “Well, that’s a relief!” His hand landed on her shoulder, and he shot her a dazzling smile.

His touch felt like a million microscopic bursts of electricity on her skin.

Good thing I don’t have to worry about that anymore. The boy’s lips remained still as his voice echoed all around her.

I think you spoke too soon. She watched as his face turned white.

Your voice is in my head again.

And yours is in mine.

What do we do?

I don’t know.

While their voices eventually grew quiet, Marinette could still feel herself swimming in a sea of thoughts and feelings that were not her own. No longer consumed by the initial shock from before, she was able to feel the invisible connection between them. It crackled like static and pulsed to the beat of her heart.

As his consciousness continued to seep into hers, she wanted to fear the invasion of privacy but ultimately found herself being soothed by the presence of the boy she’d just met. Marinette didn’t want it to stop, and she could feel that he wanted to continue, as well. Overcome by her curiosity, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall deeper into his mind.

To her surprise, his mind was a safety net. Marinette found nothing but the purest intentions and an overabundance of kindness. He had a good heart, and while she knew almost nothing about him, she knew that she could trust him with her life.

Wanting more, she continued to explore. Even when the light inside him began to fade into darkness, she didn’t stop. Her desire to dig deeper and Chat’s willingness to share drove her to peel back every layer she encountered.

Without warning, Marinette came to a crashing halt when she was struck with a profound loneliness that punched the air from her lungs.

She was suffocating.

She was trapped.

She was in his world, and she hated it.

Unable to move, a sorrow that was not her own gripped her soul, causing her to cry out in pain. Chat pulled his hand away, and they both collapsed.

“I’m so sorry.” She clutched her chest and sobbed for the anguish that was buried deep inside her partner. “No one should have to feel that way.”

“It’s okay.” The gentleness behind his words surprised her.

“No, it’s not. What happened? Is someone doing that to you?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter now.” He held up his clawed hand and smirked. “This ring gave me a freedom I’ve never had before. My life changed today, and I plan on using this for good.”

His sincerity struck her heart. “Wow. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to still be kind if something happened to make me feel that way.”

A distant crash shook the ground, snapping her back into reality. Chat Noir shot her a desperate look as he nodded his head towards the commotion and waved his arms in the air.

“What are you doing?” Marinette crossed her arms. “You look like a bird. I thought you were supposed to be a cat.”

“We have to go save the day. Didn’t you hear me think that?” He threw his hands into the air before letting them fall to his sides.

“No, I guess it stopped again.”

“How is this supposed to be a useful power if we can’t control it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s something that takes practice?”

A second crash and a chorus of screams pierced the air.

“It’s getting closer. Come on. As much as I’d love to stay here with you, we’ll have to figure this out later. Let’s go save Paris!” He unsheathed his baton and vaulted across the rooftops.

“He’s right,” she mumbled to herself, winding up her yo-yo and tossing it into the air, “Trust yourself, Marinette. If he can do this, you can do this.”

With a tug of the string, she soared over buildings and landed on the stadium wall. However, her sudden burst of confidence evaporated as she watched her seemingly fearless partner take on the rock giant by himself.

Chat slammed his baton into Stoneheart and stood horrified when the monster doubled in size. “Where are you, partner?”

She covered her face and tried not to cry. “Oh, I can't. What was I thinking? I’m not him! I can’t do this!”

Stoneheart grabbed a soccer net and flung it towards the field’s entrance. Marinette watched the net arc across the field and nearly kill Alya before being stopped by Chat’s baton.

At least Chat was brave enough to save her. She tightened her grip around her yo-yo. I’m useless.

“What are you waiting for, super red bug?” Alya’s voice cut through her self-deprecation. “The world is watching you!”

“Please, I need you!” Chat’s cried out in obvious desperation. “I know you’re scared, but you can do this.”

He believes in me. Her mind sang. Come on, Marinette. You have to at least try!

Mentally steeling herself, she swung into the action and landed next to her partner. “Sorry it took so long, Chat Noir. I’m here now.”

The smile that spread across his face melted away the remaining fear that still clouded her thoughts. “I knew you’d come. I never doubted you for a second.”

“Thank you, Chat.” She sighed. “But if we’re being honest, the only reason I’m here is because of you.”

“That’s not true.” His smile evaporated, leaving a frown in its stead. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?” The disappointment in his tone made her wither.

When I got a sneak peek into that head of yours, I saw what kind of person you are. Stop doubting yourself. You told me that you admired my strength, but you keep selling yourself short. You and I were both chosen for this. Just trust your instincts.”

“That’s what Tikki said to me.”

“It sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.” Using his baton, he pointed at Stoneheart. “Besides, I really need your help. Like you, I have no idea what I’m doing. Would you like to learn how to do this together?”

“But...what if I make a mistake?”

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

“Together?”

He nodded. “Yeah, together.”

“Okay.” Soaking in his words, she straightened her back and stared down the Akuma. “Let’s do this!”

Defeating Stoneheart proved to be a challenge. Chat used his power to early, and she discovered that her Lucky Charms were anything but straightforward. Nonetheless, they eventually found their footing, and somehow managed to break the Akumatized object.

As she watched the purple butterfly disappear into the sky, she finally felt herself relax.

“You were incredible, miss...uh...Bug Lady,” Chat exclaimed, “You did it!”

Marinette shook her head and laughed. “No, we both did it...partner.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He held out his fist. “Pound it?”

“Pound it.” She tapped his hand with her fist and was once again consumed by a wave of foreign emotions.

An unseen force crackled against their point of contact, pulling her deeper into the connection. Before she could react, a shrill beeping caused her to jump and yank her hand away, dissipating their bond.

A residual tingle danced on her knuckles. Confused, she rubbed her hand and looked at her partner.

Then, it hit her.

“TOUCH!” she screamed, “Our hands just touched. You touched me!”

He held his hands up in surrender. “S-sorry. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.”

“No! That’s not it at all!” She grabbed his arm, restarting their mental connection.

Whenever we touch, we can hear each other’s thoughts. She smiled at him.

A burst of giddiness coursed through him and into her. That’s amazing, and you figured it out. You’re so smart!

His ring beeped again.

Marinette took back her hand and sighed. “You have to go.”

“Why?” The sadness in his tone threatened to break her.

“Because that beeping means that you’re about to transform back. We’re not supposed to know each other’s identities.”

“How are we supposed to keep that a secret if we can read each other’s minds? The truth will come out at some point. I don’t think I can keep my identity hidden in the back of my mind forever.”

“You’re right.” She groaned and slumped. “But there are people here. Let’s meet tomorrow and talk about it. I’ll call you on your communicator.”

“Sounds good.” He picked up her hand and placed a feather-light kiss on her knuckles, filling her with the crackling warmth that she was starting to love. “Until we meet again.”

“I can’t wait.” She whispered to herself as he vaulted away from the stadium.

She spent the next few minutes comforting Ivan but ultimately found herself being bombarded with questions from her new classmate.

“Uncanny, amazing, spectacular!” Alya pointed her phone at Marinette and beamed. “Are you going to be protecting Paris from now on? How did you get your powers? Did you get stung by a radioactive Ladybug? Oh, I've got a ton of questions to ask you, uh, Miss…”

Marinette did her best to suppress her rising panic as she searched for the perfect name. You can do this. Just don’t overthink it. Chat called me Bug Lady. No, that won’t do. What about…

“Ladybug,” she said triumphantly, “Call me, Ladybug.”

[livesincerely]

[Bits & Bobs] it’s so easy (too easy) to love you

Here’s the latest progress report/update from my javid domestic!au, formerly known as The One Where It’s Domestic. It ended up having too much plot for the Tease Series, but I’m still in love with the idea. (And there will probably still be a smutty epilogue, lol)

00000

Davey’s just gotten out of class—literally just walked out the door—when his phone starts ringing.

“Davey,” Racetrack says the moment he answers, not even giving Davey time to say hello, “Can you swing by the apartment real quick?”

Davey sighs. “Are you locked out of the house again?”

There’s a guilty silence. Then, “Or maybe I just wanna see you, huh? You don’t know.”

“Racetrack.”

“Crutchie’s the one that lost the spare,” Racetrack capitulates immediately, there’s an indignant “Hey!” somewhere in the background, “and I left my keys in my locker ‘cause I thought Crutchie had his—”

There’s a scuffle of noise, then Crutchie’s voice breaks in, “—don’t listen to him Davey, I asked him before we even got on the subway if he had his keys and he said he did but he didn’t even check—”

“—well, I thought you had yours, didn’t I?—”

“—and he was twenty minutes late picking me up from band practice because he was too busy flirting with Spot Conlon to come help me carry my oboe—”

“—that was supposed to be a secret you little shit!”

“—you started it!”

Davey pulls the phone away from his ear as the other side of the line descends into a mess of indistinct yelling. He thinks about trying to get their attention, but he decides to just start heading towards the apartment, muting the call while he waits them out—they’ll remember him eventually.

In the meantime, Davey sends a quick text:

Race and Crutchie locked themselves out of the house again

He’s not expecting a response, but Jack must be in-between projects because he gets one almost immediately.

jc again? 

And you’re going to have to get a new spare made

fuck okay i’ll take care of it. are you heading over?

I’m walking there now

ur the light of my life dave

Davey can’t help but smile at this, a soft feeling fluttering in his chest. Before he can write back, Jack sends a second text:

how did the ochem midterm go?

I feel good about it! Def did better than I thought I would!

duh youve been living in the library all week ofc ur gonna do great. ill swing by the grocery on the way home, pick up some ice cream to celebrate. do we need anything else while im there?

Get a bell pepper and some tomato paste, I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner. And we need laundry detergent.

fuck yes im starving. can we do garlic bread too?

Get home on time and we’ll see.

you drive a hard bargain sir. kerian owes me a favor so ill make him stay late. ill be home in a couple hours 

Grinning, Davey goes to respond but is distracted by a tinny, muffled sound emanating from his phone’s speakers. He unmutes the call and lifts his phone back to his ear.

“Davey?” Crutchie says hesitantly, and it sounds like he might’ve been calling Davey’s name for a while. They must’ve put him on speaker because he can still hear Race grumbling nearby. “Are you still there?”

“I’m still here,” Davey confirms, feeling a little guilty for forgetting about them, even though they forgot him first.

“So are ya comin’ or what?” Racetrack asks, ever impatient, “because I’m roasting out here.”

“Well, I was thinking about leaving you to ruminate on your poor life choices,” Davey responds dryly, “but I guess I can come let you in, since you asked so nicely.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Crutchie says.

“Hurry, will ya? Much longer and I’m gonna get heatstroke and die,” Racetrack calls.

Davey rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Race.”

00000

Davey starts rifling through the bags almost before Jack can finish putting them down. “Did you get the—?”

“I got the tomato paste,” Jack says, pulling out a gallon of ice cream and sticking it in the freezer. “I also got some more of that fancy cheese you like so much, even though it costs half the grocery budget.”

“It balances the dish,” Davey insists around an armful of vegetables, “the salt cuts through the richness of the sauce.” He makes quick work of washing a green pepper and peeling an onion, then starts dicing both into small, neat pieces.

“All I know is, the shredded stuff works just as well and it doesn’t cost a fortune.”

“Watch your mouth, Kelly,” Davey says, wagging his knife at Jack teasingly, “smartasses don’t get dinner.”

“That so?” Jack asks with a grin. “Then why the hell are we still feeding Racetrack?”

“I heard that,” Race grumbles from the kitchen table.

“Yeah, you were supposed to,” Jack says, moving over to Racetrack and slinging an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a side hug. Race bats at Jack’s hand but makes no real attempt to get away. Then Jack says, “So, I hear you and your brother lost another set of keys.”

Race gives Davey a look of the deepest betrayal. “You told Jack?”

“Of course he did,” Jack says. “Someone’s gonna have to get new ones made, and it sure ain’t gonna be either half of the dynamic duo.”

“Crutchie lost the spare,” Race says, throwing Crutchie under the bus while he’s not in the room to defend himself. “And I didn’t lose my keys, I just left them in my locker.”

“Uh huh, save it for the judge,” Jack responds, ruffling Race’s hair. “Just know if I end up having to change the deadbolt, it’s coming outta your subway money.”

“Jacky, leave Racetrack alone,” Davey comments mildly over Racetrack’s spluttering protests. “He needs to work on that paper and you’re distracting him.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Race repeats, a little smug. “You’re distracting me.”

Davey turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. Racetrack quickly busies himself with his homework.

Davey goes back to the stove-top, adding the chopped vegetables to the ground beef that’s browning in a pan. He feels more than hears Jack sidle up behind him: the familiar weight of his gaze, the solid presence at his back. He stands there quietly, leaning against the counter-top and just watching Davey cook; unbothered, Davey lets him be for the moment and moves toward the pantry. With a bit of searching he unearths a can of tomatoes, then adds it and the tomato paste to the sauce pan and turns it down to a simmer.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Davey says, “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me with this?” glancing over his shoulder at Jack, a mock challenge. “You know there’s no loitering in my kitchen.”

“Well, I’m nothin’ if notta law abidin’ citizen,” Jack drawls in answer, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He rolls up his shirt sleeves, exposing the long, muscular line of his forearms, and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “Where do you want me?”

Davey licks his lips. “Think you can handle boiling the pasta?”

...

“I’ve got to head back out,” Jack says. “Johnson’s got me working a night shoot and I have to be downtown by 9.”

“How long is the session?” Davey asks.

“We’re scheduled for five hours, but we might get to wrap it up early if everything goes well.” Jack’s hand brushes against the small of Davey’s back and they trade spots again, Davey stepping back up to the stovetop and Jack taking his place at the cutting board.

“Are ya spending the night or are ya headin’ back to your place?”

“Depends on how much help Racetrack needs with his history paper,” Davey replies. “We might be at it a while.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Well, if you do spend the night, go ahead and take the bed. The extra blankets are in the usual place.”

00000

Davey notices the time and frowns. “Jack,” he calls, “it’s already 7:30. If you don’t leave soon you’re gonna be late for work.”

There’s a clamor of noise from down the hall, then Jack appears, freshly showered and fumbling to put on his socks and button his work shirt at the same time.

“Fuck, Mr. Johnson is gonna kill me,” Jack grumbles. He pats down his pockets, then groans. “Christ, has anyone seen my—”

“Your wallet and keys are on the counter by the microwave,” Davey says. “And take a jacket, it’s supposed to rain later.”

…

“Jack—”

“And Dave cooked, so you shitheads better do the dishes, get me?”

“Jack, you’re gonna be late,” Davey cuts in firmly, holding out Jack’s jacket for him.

“Alright, I’m going,” Jack says, shrugging it on, and he finally starts making moves towards the door.

He gives Crutchie one last pat on the shoulder and cuffs Racetrack on the back of the head in a slightly rougher, but no less affectionate goodbye, which is per usual. Then he turns to Davey, tips his chin up, and kisses him right on the mouth, short and sweet.

“Lock the door behind me and don’t forget to—” Jack stops mid-sentence, then turns bright red.

“Um,” says Crutchie.

“Holy shit,” says Racetrack.

Jack’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Finally, he sputters out, “I u-uh — I-I d-didn’t mean—“

Davey doesn’t respond. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to—he’s frozen in place, his mind a sudden wash of static. For a moment, they just look at each other. Then Jack blurts, “gottagoseeyoulaterbye” and bolts out the front door.

Davey’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly into space, utterly dumbfounded.

“Davey?” Crutchie asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

There’s a horrible, strangled, choking noise. A split second later, Davey realizes it’s coming from him.

[mychemicalrachel]

Finally, Finally

Buck x Eddie.

My take on Abby coming back.

Part /3.

Part One. / Part Two.

Word count; 2040

Also on Ao3

Part Three: Eddie

“In case something happens…”

Those were the exact words Captain Nash had used nearly a year and a half ago when Eddie first joined the 118.

Exchanging keys was a small, simple way to say “I got your back” in case something happened on a call. It was no secret that they had a dangerous job and there was no use tiptoeing around the fact.

In case something happened.

In case you don’t make it out alive.

In case someone has to clean out your place and notify your next of kin.

It was morbid, in a way, but it was also a comfort.

On the ring that Eddie uses, there’s a little orange keychain that reads “Best Dad Ever” and a key to his truck, his house, his abuela’s house, and one dedicated to every one of the members of the 118.

They each had one for his house, too.

If pressed, Eddie would admit that he wasn’t sure what key fit what door. He thinks Hen’s might have been the silver key with the ridged top, and Chimney’s was probably the one that was marked with a messy H in Sharpie.

The only key he knew with absolute certainty was the gold key that showed more wear with each passing day. That one was Buck’s. It hung right between his own house key and the keychain Christopher had picked out for him two Christmases ago.

Then again, Buck gets enough use out of his copy of Eddie’s key to make it a fair trade.

When Abby had manifested like a mirage outside of Bucks’ door, Eddie had recognized her immediately. Not necessarily from look, as he’d only seen a photo of her one or two times, but from some weird sixth sense. Maybe it was her fading red hair or the way she held herself-- he had heard stories of her, fairy tale-like musings, from Buck and Carla alike. 

Until he stood face to face with her-- her just outside Buck’s apartment, Eddie inside-- he had sort of thought of her as a figment of imagination. Not that she wasn’t real, exactly, but more like the real her was lost somewhere amidst the memories. She had become a story, not a person.

And then she smiled quietly. “I’m looking for Buck.”

Eddie could see in the softness of her eyes and imagined the way Buck must have felt once upon a time; loving her, losing her.

Eddie hated her profusely.

He led her into the kitchen and left them alone to talk-- or not talk-- as they saw fit. It was none of his business, after all.

“Dad,” Christopher’s voice pulls him out of his own head. They’re eating leftover lasagna, just the two of them, in the living room. The couch is colder than it usually feels and he chalks it up to the coming winter. LA is warm, but it’s a change from Texas he’s still adapting to. Chris prods at his plate, mostly untouched. “Why did Buck want us to leave?”

“Oh, Bud, no.” Eddie feels guilty suddenly. “Buck didn’t want us to leave. The woman that showed up, she was a friend of his that he hadn’t seen in awhile. I just thought they needed some time alone.”

“Why?”

Eddie isn’t sure he can explain it to himself, let alone his son. “Well, they haven’t seen each other in a long time. They need to catch up.”

“But why did we have to leave?”

Eddie frowns.

Buck didn’t tell them to leave. He actively wanted them to stay.

It was Eddie that freaked out and fled.

Because the idea of listening to Buck catch up with his ex-girlfriend sounded like hell on earth.

Because he didn’t want to see Buck inevitably fall back in love with her.

Because of things he wasn’t quite ready to face in himself.

Eddie decides to sidestep the question. “We’ll see him tomorrow, I promise”

Christopher takes the non-answer as it is, and says, “Okay.”

Eddie forces himself to take another bite of food, though it tastes stale on his tongue and settles dry in his stomach.

Minutes tick by as both Christopher and Eddie stop pretending to eat and fall back on the couch together. They watch Big Hero 6 and laugh obligingly, but it feels forced.

It feels wrong.

This is how it’s been done for years, Eddie reminds himself. Just him and Christopher. This is normal. Still, the coldness of the couch seeps into his bones.

He hears the door close a second before he hears Buck’s voice. “Diazes!” he calls. “Where are you?”

“Buck!”

Chris struggles to sit up and manages to launch himself off the couch, making a beeline for the sound of the newcomers voice. Eddie follows suit and meets Buck in the dining room, where  he’s setting down a pizza box and scooping Christopher up into his arms.

“I hope I’m not too late,” Buck says, peering into the living room where two plates of cold lasagna sit, barely touched. “I promised you pizza, and I never break my promises.” He looks over at Eddie, a bit of uncertainty coloring his words. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Christopher confirms, lifting the lid on the pizza box. He grabs a slice and disappears back in front of the TV.

“I would have called,” Buck says, leaning closer and lowering his voice, “But I was coming over whether you said yes or not.”

Eddie snorts. He retrieves a piece for himself, but leans against the table instead of joining his son. “You didn’t have to come over.”

“I wanted to.”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie stresses, trying to figure out for himself what exactly he is saying. “That I would have understood. You and Abby needed to catch up. I get it.”

“And we did,” Buck says, a shrug pulling at his shoulders while a smile tugs at his lips. “It was very cathartic.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie doesn’t want details. He does not want any details. He understands, as Buck’s best friend, that he should lend an ear. He should offer his congratulations. He chews quietly on his pizza and steels himself.

“She’s getting married.”

Oh.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Buck.”

Buck laughs and his entire face lights up. It’s a smile that’s always been contagious. “Why? I’m really happy for her.”

“You are?”

Buck nods. He leans against the table next to Eddie, their hands brushing together between them. Eddie does his best to ignore it.

“When she first said it, I was waiting for… I don’t know,” Buck shrugs with his entire torso, a gesture that jostles their shoulders together. Eddie curses silently. “I guess I was waiting on the pain. I expected it to hurt. But it didn’t. If she had told me that a year and a half ago, I would have been heartbroken.”

Buck sighs and intentionally presses his arm against Eddie’s, more than just an accidental brush of limbs. It remains there, skin to skin.

It’s almost as if he knows the sensation that the simple touch sends through Eddie, but he couldn’t possibly know. He couldn’t know the shiver that rolls up his spine, the goosebumps that arise on his forearm, the way his heart beats just a little bit faster.

Not unless Buck feels it, too.

He doesn’t move away.

“When Abby left,” Buck says, his voice quiet, meant for just the two of them to hear. Chris remains oblivious in the other room, mere yards away. Doesn’t he hear the static rushing in Eddie’s ears? Can he not hear the beating of Eddie’s heart pounding against his ribs?

“When I really accepted that she wasn’t planning on coming back,” Buck’s hands outstretch in front of him, grappling for something physical to hold onto. Some infinite emotion or thought that he’s trying his best to convey with spread fingers. Eddie wants to feel it, whatever it is that Buck is reaching for. “It was like there was this hole she left. An Abby-shaped hole that no one night stands or casual sex could fill. I loved her.”

It takes a long time for Eddie to find his voice. He watches the side of Buck’s face, outlining the curve of his nose and the shadow of his lips. He isn’t even sure he wants an answer when he asks, “And now? Do you still love her?”

Buck looks up and meets his gaze, steady and sure, as he shakes his head. “No. I don’t. Not the same way, at least.”

Eddie can’t breathe. He needs to look away before he does something stupid, but he can’t move.

Buck’s arm brushes his again and he closes his eyes so he doesn’t see Buck smile.

“You feel it, too,” Buck says, and then Eddie feels the hand on his arm, solid, tantalizing, and definitely not just a brush of skin. There’s an intent in his hands and Eddie feels it in that moment, the thing Buck had been reaching for a moment ago; The feeling, the sentiment, the something more just beyond words. 

“I didn’t know how to move on,” Buck admits. Eddie can feel his breath, but resolutely refuses to open his eyes. He’s afraid of what will happen if he does. “And I didn’t realize until I saw her again that I already had.”

Finally, finally, Eddie opens his eyes. “Buck--” he starts, but then there’s a mouth on his and he can’t focus to breathe, let alone find words to say whatever it was he was going to say.

It’s a short kiss that seems to last minutes or hours, and when Buck finally pulls away, Eddie’s head is swimming.

That just happened.

He kissed me.

I’d very much like it if he did it again.

Buck is watching him with doe eyes, big and blue and waiting.

Waiting, he realizes, for Eddie to say something.

Ultimately, in the haze that still fills his head, he blurts out, “I fill your hole.”

A beat passes and then Buck is clutching his stomach laughing. “Yeah,” he says. “You fill my hole.”

Eddie feels his face burn and he shoves Buck, but can’t stop himself from laughing, too. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant the-- Stop laughing. I meant the Abby-shaped hole.”

Buck catches his arm and pulls him back in close. Their noses bump and the laughter dissipates. Eddie moves slowly, feeling like if he moves too quick he could startle Buck away. Buck would come to his senses, or Eddie would wake up in a cold bed, alone, realizing this has all been a dream. He’s wanted this for so long, much longer than he ever even admitted to himself. He cannot mess this up now.

But when he kisses Buck, slow and sure, he feels more certain than he ever has. He whispers into the kiss, “You fill my hole, too.”

The feeling of Buck laughing against his lips is something he never wants to forget.

“Dad?”

A hand knocks on his back and he jumps away from Buck, nearly toppling over Christopher in the process.

Chris.

He forgot about Christopher for a second.

He’d been careless, too wrapped up in his own head to even think about how Chris would take to seeing his dad and Buck kiss.

But Christopher is just staring up at him, plate in hand. “Can you move, please? You’re in front of the pizza.”

Eddie shifts to the side, tangling himself further in Buck’s arms. They watch quietly as Chris helps himself to another piece of pizza and wanders again back into the living room without another word.

They wait, tense and silent, for something, anything, to happen. It can’t be this easy, Eddie thinks. Nothing is ever this easy. Nothing with Buck is ever this easy.

And yet, it is. The way he’d slotted himself perfectly into their lives, becoming a centerpiece in not only Eddie's but Christopher's routine. It’s the easiest thing they’ve ever done.

“We should go,” Buck says. He grabs a plate and shoves a few slices of pizza on before leading Eddie into the living room. They sit together, eating and watching the movie. It’s Buck’s first time seeing it so they start it over and if Buck happens to cry, no one mentions a thing. Eddie just hands him a tissue and leans back into the couch, letting the warmness of it all wash over him.

This, he thinks, feels normal. In fact, he can’t imagine a more rational next step in their friendship, their relationship. It feels right.

As he catches Buck’s eyes over the top of Christopher’s head, they share a smile that says all of this and more.

This is home.

This is us, our family, ourselves.

This is love.

The End.

[disaster-dan]

if saving you is making you mine - Winterspider

See on AO3 for more tags :)

-

-

“I don’t know where they are.” he claimed, voice cracking and his sight blurred with tears. His cheek ached with the blows he was given before he was taken to where he was (hell, probably), and the blows he was given during the interrogation. His jaw was sore and still he forced himself to answer for his sake. “I don’t know.”

“Your good uncle owes us, and you know it.”

“I don’t.” Peter retaliated. Rumlow grumbled, and reached down for the boy’s shirt and pulled hard, causing Peter to force himself to his knees and quaver.

“I don’t-”

“Another lie coming out of your pretty mouth, Parker, and I’m feeding a fist to it.”

“I swear I don-” His teeth suddenly bit down on his tongue, his shoulder and side of his head slammed against the cold rough concrete.

Rumlow had swung his fist to the left side of Peter’s face, making the boy fall hard to the side without enough time to set his arms out. A loud ringing in his ears sung, even after Rumlow yanked him back to his knees. Dazed, his eyes wandered the grim yellow lights, sauntered over the blurry image of the man’s face, then the ceiling, he was saying something, everything rumbled and the flatline static in his head hurt him. Uncoordinated and weak. His body limped up until a hard slap made the cursed reality come to focus.

“Don’t bet your life, kid.”

“Please.” he begged hoarsely, tasting a distinct tang in his mouth and a hard throbbing on his head. His face was scraped and he felt the burning sensation rise with every second. “I have nothing to do anything to do with t-this. Please. I h-haven’t seen anything, please…”

Rumlow sighed, letting go of Peter and causing him to fall onto the floor onto his elbows. Peter cried as quietly as he could, horrified and made no attempt to move himself an inch of where he was. The men watching aside didn’t flinch or even react to the scene before them. They stood still like stone, they wouldn’t help.

“Tss… Really gonna make this one dirty.” Rumlow murmured, reaching back under his shirt and swiftly pulling a glock, cool, heavy and familiar in his hands. “This is just more work for us.”

Peter heard the click, panic settling in his stomach while his mouth went dry.

“If you just gave me- some simple fucking information…”

The cold barrel pressed against his head as he remained down. Tears sprang in his eyes and his breathing picked up, unable to fill his lungs.

“It ain’t worth protecting your uncle.” Rumlow told him, entirely unphased by the shaking boy on the ground and the heaving he began to make. “I would’ve shot this inside your mouth, you would’ve lived. Maybe. But- it ain’t no good keeping what’s going bad.”

Rumlow pressed his glock harsher against Peter’s head, forcing him to vow lower and Peter felt he was going to throw up. It was over.

“Hasta la vista.” he taunted, his finger beginning to add pressure on the trigger and anticipating the splatter of red he wanted to see.

“Is that necessary?”

Rumlow’s few men and the boss snapped to the sound of the voice at the entry of the building. Rumlow’s small moment of stress deflated, it wasn’t cops or any enemy man. Not allie either, although Barnes and he once had a past.

“When I’m conducting business that is my own.” Rumlow snapped back, waving off his men who looked at Barnes' approach with canine precision.

Barnes walked up to Rumlow, giving him a silent greeting with a glare and looked at the boy.

“Infiltrator?”

“His uncle ain’t spitting up some overdue loans.” He shared, looking down at Peter with him. “Ain’t willing to give his good man up.”

Barnes looked back at Rumlow, his eyebrows pressed down. He never entirely agreed with Rumlow’s finances or how he navigated through the streets. Everything was fists and bullets, never equitable or minimally adequate.

“He saying he won’t say anything or does he even know?”

“What’s it to you, Barnes?”

“A goddamn life.” he spat back. “I ain’t no saint, but I ain’t killing men like dogs.”

Rumlow laughed at Barnes’s cordiality. He looked at Barnes who’s face remained cold, not moving from his place, Rumlow expecting he moved aside so he’d finished the job.

“You goddamn disciple, Barnes.” he sneered, stepping away to allow Barnes to lower down to the boy.

Peter felt relieved a gun was no longer pointed at his head like he was some target. However, still in the talons of some gang, mob, whatever they were, he was far from safe and this was far from over.

Fingers tapped suddenly at his chin, it was Barnes. “What does your uncle owe him?”

Peter shakily and slowly looked up at the sound of the new voice. He blinked, trying to clear his vision to have a decent look at the man who might have stretched his life for another five minutes. He first captured his eyes, an icy blue, not comforting or an ounce of sympathy in them. “I-I- I don’t...I don’t know.”

“This ain’t time for games, kid.” Barnes said with a growl. “This is for your own good.”

“I swear- I d-don’t- I was j-just going to c-class-...I don’t know what happened…” his shoulders dropped, a heavy sob escaped his throat, making Barnes grimace. “I-I d-d-don’t k-know what’s g-going on-”

“Tell me the truth.” he whispered.

“I am.” he bawled, shaking again. “I’m not lying.”

Barnes, having seen plenty of men hide and cover for other men they’ve ended up dying for, was able to tell the boy was not part of the scheme. No crew cried, not for their life they didn’t. They might cry, knowing they won’t ever get to see their families, or out of pain, but never fear. Never crying to live. Barnes almost would’ve assumed he had the wrong guy. But, if the boy was where he was, he had some tie with the supposed uncle and didn’t necessarily know about it.

Taking a look at the boy, he wasn’t so sure he would be okay with the fact that his body would end up dead somewhere. His face was roughed up, he was crying and frantic, but with all that moved away he was rather a fine subject.

“What are you trying to do with him?” Barnes asked Rumlow once he parted away and next to man, already made up his mind.

“It’s a body. It’s a notification for that name.” he answered, “I’m blowin’ his fucking head off.”

“That ain’t necessary.”

Rumlow clicked his tongue, shifting his weight to his side. “Oh yeah?”

“Kid’s got nothing in the business. You use his body as a warning, you might as well shoot a dead body.” Barnes looked sharply at Rumlow, mapping out inside his mind how to take the reins. He had worked with Rumlow before, and Barnes knew the in’s and out’s of his ideals. “This kid ain’t got anything useful and you won’t get anything useful with him. His folks ain’t coming to you with anything, they’ll bring a war if by little you kill a fucking pet rat.”

“Didn’t know you cared about a concern that is none of your concerns.”

“Just saying. You can handle the matter another way that won’t require a goddamn war nor the loss of your men. That would be a waste of men, all for one stupid kid who can’t even hold himself together.”

Peter heaved, his breathing and thumping of his heart blocking off the conversation between Barnes and Rumlow. He only glanced up to see their boots, off to the side where the crewmen still stood like guards, and the exit that seemed miles away. He knew he wasn’t getting help anytime soon, and whatever that led him there wasn’t going to have him come out too easily, in one piece or breathing for that matter.

After Barnes spent a few minutes negotiating, giving Rumlow an eye roll, and pressing a button on his mobile, he stepped away. Peter was off Rumlow’s hands, now on his.

“Come on.” he grumbled, nudging Peter lightly with his foot. “You’re coming with me.”

Peter didn’t struggle when the man grasped his lean arm and yanked him to his feet. A small whimper of puzzlement left his lips. Fearfully, Peter looked back to Rumlow and his men, then back at Barnes.

He slightly stumbled to keep up with the man’s pace. “What?”

“Listen kid- I bought your life off Rumlow and I’m keeping you alive.” Barnes continued to grasp Peter’s arm roughly, until they reached the door. Peter didn’t argue or struggle against him. He kept eyeing his surroundings and giving fearful glances at Barnes.

After Barnes got to shove Peter into the passenger seat and seat himself on the driver’s he reached into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter inside of it. He lit it as Peter tried to control his breathing, swallowing down the bile of dread.  

“What’s your last name?” Barnes asked, pushing the keys into the ignition, cigarette dangling on his lips.

“P-Parker.”

“Your family is quiet if I haven’t heard of them.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Barnes shot him a look, watch your fucking mouth, and looked forward, pulling into the street. “I still don’t know what’s going on.”

“Your face is in the bounty. Whatever your family did, your name isn’t clean anymore.” Barnes explained, one arm on the wheel, the other resting against the open window. Peter watched him, sniveling and confused. Afraid, for that part, now in the car of a stranger, not a good man, going God knew where. “You don’t seem to know what was the dirty side of your family.” Peter shook his head with eyes wide. Barnes spared him a look then back at the road. “Didn’t think so. If I let you go now, those guys for sure are gonna want you in a bag, if not them then someone else on their team with the stick up their ass about their business.”

“W-What business?”

Barnes almost laughed. “Drugs. Guns. Dirty money. All the shit that makes the filth in the street. Only that you ain’t messing with no cheap dealers, you’re at the top of the chain.” Barnes looked at Peter, his face expressing hurt and still crying. “We’re why drugs run around, guns shooting, we are the CEO of that fuck. Your uncle and whoever else is part of that, if you didn’t know.”

Peter listened, and after Barnes finished he slumped against the seat. He watched the streets and other cars fly by as he began to piece together the information, what it meant for him.

Barnes almost felt bad. It wasn’t the boy’s fault he ended up with his life at stake. Even though he had bought his life, Barnes was not the one in any danger. Even with his life saved, Peter remained unsafe, but only for a few months if Barnes managed it. Which he silently promised he would.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“How’d it go?”

“Alright.” Barnes mumbled, allowing Barton to remove his jacket. “It was just a delay of the shipment. Everything is counted for.”

“Ain’t that lucky.” Barton said to the side, knowing the hell Barnes brought when his things were messed with. “Rogers almost went over.”

“Could’ve used a hand.” he said, always appreciating Rogers’s help. He sometimes preferred Rogers didn’t help, because when he helped Stark stepped in to help and Stark liked over doing things. Barnes liked managing deals and conflict simply and straightforward, Stark liked having fun. “It’s just you in here?”

“Other’s filtered through, but that’s done. So yeah. Think I’ll head out.” he answered, hanging the man’s jacket. “That alright?”

“Get out of here.” Barnes granted, giving a pat on his shoulder. Barton gave him a nod and a ‘see you, boss’, and headed out.

Barnes went up the stairs of his expensive home, automatically going in direction of his precious treasure and angel. He kept the home accompanied, which helped not wanting to leave his Peter unguarded.

After passing various rooms, he entered the only one left ajar with the sun spilling through pleasingly. It was once an empty room and re-decorated to the boy’s liking. He liked spoiling his boy, watching his face blush and the shy uncertainty resonating  in his voice when he received anything.

There was Peter seated on a stool, in a silk red robe, hardly reaching his pale knees, using the easel Barnes had gotten him so he could paint and sketch on. One of the many things he gifted the younger man.

Peter noticed him from the corner of his eye, pausing his sketch and his eyes gleamed with content.

“You’re back.”

“Yes I am.” he affirmed tiredly. Peter placed down his activity and moved away from the station to move to Barnes. He was wearing nothing underneath, Barnes could tell. He looked absolutely alluring and nubile, without even trying. “Wasn’t nothing to worry about.”

The angel flowed to him, and rather excitedly hugged him. Peter sighed into him and Barnes learned to kiss his curls. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was the lingering expensive lavender scent that was their favorite.

“Miss me?”

“Lots.” Peter answered. He did. Barnes was gone most of that day and Peter had sauntered around the home, recurring to his office, into the bedroom wanting anything that reminded him of the man. And Barnes with both hands gentle cupped the cute boy’s face and drew him in for a loving filthy kiss.

Peter moaned, tip-toeing to reach him deeper. Barnes noticed and chuckled, soon drawing away and grinning gently at him.

“Missed you too.”

Peter was in bed before Barnes. The man had to make calls and checklists and review his schedule. He was attentive to his career. With the day already filled with too much action and things buzzing in his mind Barnes was just impatient to fall onto their expensive bed, with his treasure and rest deservingly.

He walked into their bedroom and Peter was in his sleeping gown, silk, black, riding up the back of his thighs deliciously, his matching lace panties just-there showing. The material shaped his ass prettily. Barnes had some say in his new wardrobe, he liked how dainty he looked in certain clothings. He couldn’t resist laying his hands on him, first on the elegant curve of his ass before gliding to his back and shoulders. God, he was precious.

He gently carded his fingers through the soft brown curls, and Peter feeling the sensation he had found to enjoy slowly awakened his consciousness. He knew it was Barnes, and sighed at the gentle caress.

“I’m a little tense.” Barnes explained quietly, after climbing over on the bed and on top of an awakening Peter. Peter heard the unbuckling and shifting of Barnes’s pants. He whined into the pillow just as Barnes pressed his hardening groin on his lower half. “Just….”

Barnes mouthed at his neck and made Peter shiver.

“B-Bu-... Barnes…”

“It’s alright.” he said quietly, pressing another night kiss to his skin. “I’m sorry.”

Barnes was incredibly gentle with Peter, surprisingly. After having saved his life months ago, he attended to his needs, what he wanted, kept him taken care of. Peter didn’t know when exactly their sexual endeavor started. Peter had never been involved with a man before, he had an almost-girlfriend before he was brought into the criminal life. Barnes was strong, able to manhandle Peter any way he wanted. Peter resisted at first, when Barnes would pull him to sit on his laps either during meetings or on random occasions, though not enough to free himself of his claws. Barnes saved his goddamn life, he wasn’t in the place to reject anything.

Things escalated, and Peter found his gentleness, despite his slight use of force to maneuver him, comforting. He just felt safe, desired. Barnes praised him, made him feel things that afterwards Peter wanted to feel again. The first time Barnes made Peter his solidified that liaison. Besides the initial pain of entering his virgin entrance that one event, the pleasure and the amount of kisses and snuggling Barnes gave him dozed him to a heavy exhausted yet restful sleep. The rest, even with Peter’s initial amount of fear, the praise Barnes gave him was what Peter melted for.

“Spread your legs.” Barnes told him in a hushed voice, having pulled up the boy’s gown, lace panties moved out of the way.

Peter obeyed, shifting while Barnes murmured a pleased endearment. Peter wasn’t yet fully awake, he snuggled into his pillow and gasped when an already slick-covered finger pressed against his entrance.

“You alright, Peter?” he asked, running a hand along his back. He sighed out when Peter nodded. “That’s my baby.”

Peter was panting and grinding down on the covers by when Barnes’s two of his fingers slid inside and out, scissoring. Barnes kissed his shoulders, neck, along his back, all sending jolts of excitement with Barnes’s prepping.

Peter rut down onto the mattress, wanting Barnes to find that special place inside him that made him see stars. Barnes ultimately brushed against his prostate, and Peter gasped lewdly.

The boy reached back for his wrist, urging it to find that spot again, keep it there. He whined, mumbling out pleas and whimpers of pleasure and desperateness. Barnes watched content as Peter moved his hand and grind his smooth ass wanting bliss.

Barnes teased him enough until the strain of his hard cock became too much to ignore. He straddled the boy’s soft ass and Peter’s heart sped up knowing what came next.-

“Barnes…” he sniveled, tightening his grip on his pillow. He flinched suddenly and his shoulders tensed. “B-Bucky!”

Barnes groaned, his shaft entering slowly into Peter. He whined underneath him, wiggling as the thick length of it entered him fully. Pleasure blissed inside Peter, never used to the stretch that kept him wanting more.

“That’s it…That’s it, sunshine.”-

Peter came before Barnes like he was accustomed, tightening down on his hard shaft and whining out in high pitched tune. He pushed against Barnes’s groin, wanting a full finishing sensation after his climax, his smaller cock shooting a mess of release on the covers and his abdomen. Barnes loved to watch him, he stilled to see the boy writhe and moan under him, attempting to fuck himself on his cock. Moments after would Peter shakily relax down and slump, every now and then loosening up and then right back contracting around Barnes.

Barnes finished after, making sure Peter was forward with the plan although Peter wouldn’t deny him of anything. He whispered into his ear, grinding lightly on him, small begs and praises only for the boy to hear.

“Please...please, princess. Can I? Please… I want it bad… it feels so good, baby, please…”

Peter let himself slowly lull to slumber, after giving Barnes an affirmation to finish himself so they could go back to sleep. Every thrust Barnes moved made a small whimper escape from Peter’s pout lips, his hands weakly gripping the covers yet overwhelmed with after pleasure and the thought of Barnes chasing after his release. -

Barnes pushed in deep, hard and moaned above Peter. Mounted on the boy, his cock pulsed inside him, splattering his inside with thick warm substance. Peter moved his hips, feeling clearly the mess Barnes was making inside him as well as hearing the man pant out with relief. It nearly pushed Peter to too much, but he took it obediently without complaint. He knew Barnes needed it, and in any other occasion Peter would be the one receiving most of the pleasure.

Barnes pulled out, slowly moving himself until he laid next to Peter.

“Thank you, baby.” he rasped out, feeling the heat and tension he bore before sliding off and a refreshed and tired feeling settling.

“James.” Peter whispered, looking at him sleepily.

Barnes knew what that meant. He huffed out, finding the little things of Peter adoring and then reached for Peter’s figure, a strong arm taking hold of his waist and pulling him until the boy was snuggled close against his chest.

Barnes whispered words and small phrases to Peter, all of which Peter hummed to pleased and softly caressed the man’s growing beard.

His life would probably never go back to normal, and part of him was okay with that. If it didn’t, he would have Barnes, a man that looked after him, praised him, got him things he wouldn’t imagine and feel like he hadn’t before. Things were bumpy sometimes admittedly, Barnes though was there to reassure him and shower him with ardor. Parker was okay with that.

[litzing]

The Last Starmachine

When modern problems require ancient solutions.

Title: The Last Starmachine

Author: @litzing

Word Count: 1513

The ceiling, emblazoned with a fractal map of the universe that must have taken thousands of cycles to complete, hangs over me like a midnight sky as I cross the grand cavern to the very last Starmachine. With tears in my eyes and a smile on my lips, I gaze up at the culmination of my life’s work, a tall, mysterious cylinder covered in carved runes that looms over the cavern like a monument to the heavens. I reach out to touch the structure, but I hesitate right before my fingertips can brush the stone and withdraw my hand. There’s more to be done before I can enjoy my discovery.

“Is that it?” asks Masza in accented Common. He approaches the Starmachine, regarding it with awe. I’m fishing in my knapsack when I look up to see him about to touch the cylinder with one large, scaled hand.

“Don’t!” I blurt out, and Masza freezes with his palm mere inches from the Starmachine. “Don’t touch that. You could turn it on.”

He lowers his hand. “I thought it had a key?”

“It does. But one can never be too sure.”

I produce the key from my knapsack, wrapped in an expensive Ssarrhan fabric. Masza leans closer to see. It’s a sandy brown stone sphere about the size of my fist. Runes similar to those on the Starmachine are etched into the surface. A long, jagged rod extends from the top. Not much to look at; the antiques dealer I bought it from was using it as a paperweight.

“This is incredible! Oh, I am so excited. Imagine what we can do with the last Starmachine, Masza!” I can’t hide the way my eyes light up, nor how my speech quickens. “We can salvage civilizations! Light up skies! We can create new worlds capable of life! How amazing!”

Masza clears his throat. My smile fades when I raise my eyes to see him looking disgruntled.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Am I getting paid or what?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” I dig deeper in my knapsack, then pass him a wad of bills. “As promised. Thank you for guiding me, Masza, I greatly appreciate your assistance.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He counts the bills. “Just hurry up. It’s hot in here, Ilamiria.”

“I apologize, but we could be here for a long time.” I’m already setting down my lantern and flipping through the tiny notebook I keep in my pocket at all times, stuffed full of important information I’ve gathered about the Starmachine. To the left is a control panel of sorts, a cluster of stone dials that correspond with cosmic coordinates, and I wander over as I’m talking to nobody in particular.

“These must be the tuning dials. I wonder if I can turn them? Surely the stone has deteriorated over time, perhaps even cracked in some places...”

All of the dials have keyholes on the left side. The key fits like a glove in the largest dial, and it turns with ease. Once I’m certain nothing terrible will happen, I start twisting the dials according to my notes.

“Ah, I see... So this is—And this small one here determines—Hmmm... Maybe this big dial... Yes!”

“Should I be listening to you?” Masza questions, ambling around the cavern, his thick tail swishing along after him. There isn’t much to look at beyond the map on the ceiling and the Starmachine.

“No, no...” I wave a hand vaguely in his direction. “Don’t mind me. But please don’t break anything.”

“Wasn’t planning on it...” he grumbles.

Referencing my notes, I arrange the dials in a very precise way. They must be correct, or I could cause catastrophic damage to the universe. If I don’t use specific coordinates...

“... I could destroy worlds,” I murmur.

“What?” Masza’s voice is close behind me. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Ah, no, of course not. Just talking to myself,” I reply. I’m busy with the dials. So busy, in fact, that I don’t hear Masza pull out his blaster until the barrel is pressed against the back of my head. I pause, hands still on the dials just as I’ve set the right coordinates.

“Masza?”

“Y’know, Ilamiria,” he begins, and I hear him flick his blaster from stun to kill. “I think we should destroy some worlds.”

“I’m sorry?” I turn, and I find myself face to face with the business end of Masza’s blaster. “Oh! Masza, why—?”

“I have a buyer from Talroch that’s very interested in the last Starmachine. They say it’s some kind of weapon?”

“A weapon!? Of course not! Masza, Starmachines are the closest thing to gods this universe has! They create life! And we found one! This is the archaeological discovery of the millennium. You can’t possibly sell it to some warlord!”

“Money talks. I listen.” He extends his hand. “I’m gonna need you to hand over that key.”

“I’ll pay you more. My parents are wealthy aristocrats on Tikka. I can afford it. I’ll double your money!”

“It’s a lot of money, kid.” Masza beckons with one clawed finger. “The key.”

“But you don’t know how to use it!” I exclaim, desperate. “Masza, you could kill us all. You could take billions of lives. Trillions!”

“Guess I’ll need your notes, too. Hand ‘em over. I won’t ask again.”

I can see in his dark green eyes he’s not messing around. Maybe hiring a guide from a bar on Ssarrha was a bad move. I glance up at the Starmachine, my beloved, and chew my lip in thought. Is my sense of self-preservation strong enough to outweigh my morals? Turning over my research to this thug will put trillions of lives in jeopardy. Could I do that to save my own skin?

No. I found the last Starmachine. I won’t let anyone take that away from me. And I sure as hell won’t let anyone use it as a weapon.

I duck under Masza’s blaster and ram my shoulder into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbles and falls with a surprised yelp, his blaster slipping from his fingers and clattering off to the side. I dive for the blaster, but Masza catches me by the ankle and hauls me towards him. I try in vain to claw my way forward, my nails scrabbling against the stone until they split and bleed. Masza’s grip on my ankle is bruising, and he’s so much stronger than me. Gasping for breath, Masza drags me closer and flips me over so he can straddle my waist and hold me down. After a swift punch to the face that must have broken my nose, his rough hands find my throat, and he squeezes.

“Fucking brat!” he spits, glaring at me with narrowed eyes and slitted pupils, sharp teeth bared like an animal. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? If you really were some kinda kid genius, you’d have handed over your shit and died easy. Now you’re gonna die—“ His grip tightens on my throat. “—slow.”

I kick my feet and try to pry his hands away, but it’s futile. Thinking fast, I grab the knife sheathed on Masza’s belt and drive it into his gut as deep as I can, piercing his soft underbelly. Pale blue Ssarrhan blood bursts from the wound when I rip the knife out, and Masza shrieks in pain, releasing my neck to try to stop the bleeding with both hands. I scramble out from under him and snatch the key from where I’d left it on the panel, and without a second thought, I force the key into the ignition and twist it to the right.

The cavern rumbles. I watch in awe as a brilliant golden glow creeps through the runes carved into the Starmachine, lighting up every crevice from bottom to top. A large panel in the ceiling above the Starmachine slides open, exposing the night sky. As the glow reaches the top of the cylinder, I feel electricity in the air, a crackling static that raises my hackles and stings my eyes.

After a deafening silence, the Starmachine roars to life. It sounds like the wind howling in a hurricane. I feel myself being pulled towards the cylinder, and I grab the control panel to keep steady. Masza is not so lucky. The Starmachine reels him in from where he’s groaning in pain on the ground, and the moment he touches the white-hot cylinder, he’s lit up in flames. His agonized screams will haunt me for the rest of my life, but soon, he is nothing more than a pile of ash.

With an explosion that leaves my ears ringing, the Starmachine ejects some sort of projectile into the sky. It’s gone in a blink, breaking out of the atmosphere. Then the glow fades, the dials spin back to their default position, and all is quiet, save for the panel on the roof sliding shut.

But before it can close, I see a prick of light in the sky that was not always there.

[a-copper-butterfly]

Fanfic snippet

i did a thing

yeah i wrote something. this is like an idea that im building on, may be. i dont know. if you think i should continue this, like it.

Chapter 1: A visit from the Baron

world count : 2580

Charlie/Alistair  Husk/Angel Dust

Charlie pouted at Alistair as he laughed at his own joke the laugher track poured out of his mic. He turned around to look at her plan. Husk was trying to snack back the bottle she had used to weight the corner of the page down. Vaggie slapped his hand away. He growled at her. Angel leaned again the back across from Husk pretending not to listen to Charlie.

“well dear,” Alistair asked “what gotten you so excited?” Charlie Bounced on the spot. Ginning madly,

“we have to wait for Nifty, is a surprise for all of you,” Alistair smiled with hooded eyes and lifted his arm. Charlie reached out to stop him snagging his sleeve but not his hand. He snapped his fingers and a hole formed in the celling. Nifty shrieked as she fell though it. She quickly got up and zipped over to the group. Charlie tried to glower at Alistair for being mean but a sudden shout interrupted her.

“BOY!”

The shout echoed around the lobby and everyone stopped. Turning towards the sources of the sound. The door to the hotel was open and a cold wind blow through, which was impressive in it self as this was hell and noted for its hot climate.

A tall man stood in the door way. His Black suite was picked out with red highlights and a number of knickknacks hang from the red belt at his wait. They chimed mutely in a wind that blows behind him. The top hat on his head remined her of Alistair’s, but this one had feathers and what look like chicken bones stuck in it. It was ringed with small skulls. His skin was as black as night seeming to draw light in to it. This contrasted with the bright white skull that was pained on the top half of his face, leaving his lower jaw bare. His bony hands rested on a back cane in front of him it was topped with a silver skull. He was not from this place. The wide grin on his faces was more mischief than evil. The smell of cigars waffled through the room as his words died away. His eyes glowed like the fires of hell but Charlie knew no fire like it and they where locked on the little gathering by the desk. Namely Alistair’s red and pinstriped back.

The static that normal filled the air around Alistair has flat lined. The singe motional sound was more eerie than the normal crackle. His face was frozen in a smug grin but his eyes where unfocused. He hadn’t turned around at the shout.

Angel recovered first,

“who’s this flash looking Motherfu…” his sentence was cut short by Husk almost jumping over the bar to cover his mouth. The genuine fear on the bartenders faces stopped the Spider demon form struggling.

Vaggie already had her spear out but her eyes where darting form man in the door way to Alistair waiting to, although unwillingly, follow his lead. Nifty was clinging to her leg visibly shaking. Her one eye unblinking as it stared at the man.

Charily who was still holding Alistair’s sleeve frowned and looked up at him. He was still frozen. She was about to speak when the sudden sound of radio static picked up again.

Alistair whirled around arms thrown wide grin on his face but the audiences track on his mic was silent.

“Baron!” he exclaimed began to make his was over to the other man. There was a tension in his movement that Charlie had never seen before. “what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I bring you news, now are you gonna invite me in or are we gonna talk out in the cold all night?” the mans grin remained on his faces but his voice managed to send chill up Charlies back. Vaggie had pushed Nifty behind the bar with Husk and was inching in front of Angel and Charlie, she didn’t like this man ether. But that may also be because Alistair seemed to know him, not just the bad vibes he was giving off.

Then Alistair did something Charlie never though she would see. He bowed to the other man, a genuine bow not a flamboyant way of mocking him but a show of respect.

“Of course, Sir, you are always welcome here,” if it wasn’t for the amp on his voice the gang may not have heard that.

The so called “Baron” stepped though the threshold of the Hotel and a cold wind followed him.

“you got anywhere for us to chat, lad you’re not gonna like what I have to say,” The Baron didn’t remove his hat and he walked with a slight strut. His foot print left marks on the floor. Alistair’s ears flicked downward for half a second. But his grin remained I place,

“this way, we can sit in the study,” with a dramatic swish of his coat tails Alistair turned and began to lead the stranger to one of the smaller rooms on the ground floor.

The mans gin was still in places when he turned to the little group by the counter.

“bring the little lady,” he said like an after though, “this affects her as well.” he breezed past Alistair into the room.

Alistair looked over at Charly she could see his ears slightly twitching, she wondered what emotion he was trying to hide.

“Charlie my dear, would you come here for a moment please.” he called. Vaggie gave her the side eye, daring her to trot over to him like a good little puppy, Charlie shrugged sheepishly at her. As she slowly, to prove a point, walked over to Alistair she looked at the foot prints the Baron had left. it looked like dirt, lose, wet dirt fresh from the ground like he had just walked though a pile of earth. She frowned at the mess, Nifty would throw a fit over this. Then she remembered the way the small cleaner had cowered at the sight of the tall man, I think she if fine to leave it for now.

She scowled at Alistair as she slipped passed him into the room. Alistair closed the door behind her with a resounding thud. She suddenly felt trapped.

The Baron was reclining in a winged back chair facing them, his legs where crossed and Charlie could see the caked mud on his shiny black shoes. She pouted at the mess he had left leading up to the chair. Alistair walked further into the room his hands behind his back, his smirk in places. But now that they where out of the prying eye of the lobby his smugness was losing it strength. The Baron observed the two as Charlie was guided to a small sofa facing him. Alistair remained standing behind her laying a hand on her shoulder. The hand could be seen as comforting, reassuring her that he was with her in the situation but it could also be seen as stopping her form running.

“sweet heart may I introduces Baron Samedi,” he smiled sweetly at Charlie as he gestured at the newly named Baron Samedi, who smiled and gave her a friendly nod. “Baron may I introduces Princess Charlotte Magne of hell, and manager of this fine establishments.” The Baron Laughed out loud and Charlie tried to stop her polite smile form dropping,

“so you’re the one who came up with this kooky idea,” he slapped his thighs and threw his head back.

The laughed continued. Charlie was really struggling to keep a polite face on. A twitch from the hand on her shoulder made her look up at Alistair, his face hadn’t changed but the slight vibration running through his ears suggested he was getting very irritated with this man. Why he was showing restraint now was worrying.

As his laughing died down, the Baron he sat up stair in his chair.

“I though it was a little out of character for the lad, but it’s an interesting idea, redemption and all that. I myself am in the reincarnation business.” At this Charlie brighten up smiling widely and wiggling in her seat,

“really that’s amazing, how do you pick who gets reincarnated have you ever taken anyone form hell?” she had a hundred more questions on her tongue but Alistair tighten his gip on her shoulder and the Baron waving his hand made her stop. That hand may not have been for comfort alter all.

“but that not what I came here to talk about,” the Baron was staring at Alistair again, “I need to talk to you boy, but I’m not doing it when your covered in shadows,” Charlie felt the hand slip from her shoulder,

“Any way to change your mind?” she heard the demon next to her say, it was without his normal energy. the Baron leaned his elbows on his knees and shook his head. Charlie heard Alistair sigh,

“very well,” he said and suddenly the room was full of wind. It swept past her, blowing her hair everywhere. The shadows on the walls that flowed Alistair everywhere where being affected by this mystical gale as well. they writhed and snatched at nothingness before being dragged towards the door and out of the room. The baron just sat there unaffected by this. the light in the room flickered and then when out plunging the room into darkness.

Charly had to use both hands the swipe the hair out of her face when as quickly as it had started the gale stopped. She looked around her eyes not yet accustom to the dark. The hiss of a match being lit caught her attention the white skull on the Baron’s face was momentary illuminated by the flair of the match as he lit a fat cigar. He took a pull, the ember at the end lighting his faces again. It was then that Charlie noticed it, well rather noticed the lack of noise. The static that followed Alistair around much like his shadows was gone. She was shocked to find herself panicking, where was he. had the Baron done something to him. She could feel the panic turning into rage as she looked around franticly for Alistair. The cling of glass made her turn to one of the corners,

“Drink my dear?” it was Alistair’s voice but it was different. It didn’t have the chatty nature or volume it normally had, it was softer, less jarring and almost peace full. The relief that flooded her system nearly made her sag into the chair but she could still feel the Barons eyes on her in the gloom,

“Err, yes please,” she replied. There was a cling of glass a second time and she could feel the air around her move.

The Baron took another pull of his cigar lighting the small bubble by his face. A hand appeared holding a glass of what looked like whisky. The hand was pale and the cuff of a brown jacket covered the arm. No claws tipped its fingers, it jerked away form the light when the baron took the offered glass.

“why so shy boy?” he said a light chuckle in his voice. Charlie felt the hand on her shoulder again and nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up at where she though Alistair might be. Why was he being shy? What was he hiding? The hand slipped down her arm and lifted it at the elbow, he pressed a cold glass into her hand. Oh yes, her drink. she smiled up at Alistair his hands where a little colder than normal but she could feel the smooth skin where as she had only ever felt his gloves.

“thank you,” she muttered trying to make out his shape in the dark. she felt the sofa next to her dip as he sat down.

“with the grates respected Baron, Your Business?” The Baron was back to laughing again. Alistair’s voice was soothing like this but it was also unnerving, when she had gotten use to the static and the laughed track, just hearing his pure unaffected voice was strange. She took a sip of her drink, it was whisky, not her favour but she needed it at this point. Her eyes where gradually focusing in the dark room she looked over at the demon and noticed one thing. He didn’t have his ears.

“another blooded soul has dropped into my care,” the Baron said when he had finished laughing. Charlie could feel the tension pouring off Alistair now. The Baron seemed to know this but took a pull form his cigar again, “and another on the way,” Charlie could make out clear shaped now. The Baron had his legs over the arm of the chair and was blowing smoke up into the rafters. A measured breath from Alistair pulled her back to him,

“how old?” he asked quietly,

“the one here already or the one on her way?” The Baron asked all the mirth from his previous conversations had gone,

“both,” it was a short answer. The Baron shifted in his seat,

“the youngest had just seen her fifth summer, the oldest has seen about twelve,” another wave of smoke nearly made Charlie cough.

“curse form birth?” another short and to the point question.

“of course they are, boy, otherwise they would be no threat.” The creek of the Chair alerted Charlie to the Baron standing up. Alistair jumped up from next to her “Look, I’m only here to warn you. This isn’t my area I’m just the messenger here. So do what you think is best. Destroy them or whatever.” She could feel the Baron grin, “you’re always saying you would like more of a challenge. What better to challenge you than yourself” he began to laugh again.

The wind was back again. It was coming from the other direction this time. Charlie was nearly blown off the sofa. when she had pulled the hair out of her eyes again the lights where up and Alister was standing grinning at the Baron. The static was back. It was almost comforting.

“well Baron it has been a pleasure as always.” He bowed again as he said this. The Baron grinned,

“you should join us for a party at some point lad, the misses would love to see ya again,” he chucked “you can bring your princess, its been a while since the Guédé family have dined with royalty.”

He began to laugh louder this time. The wind whipped around his feet it seemed to be full of ash. It began to cover his body as he laughed before long he was completely enveloped in the ashy wind. The moment his laughter faded the wind stopped, dropping a layer of ash onto the carpet along with his muddy foot prints.

The Door was kicked open by Vaggie less than two seconds later. Nifty who seemed to have gotten over her fear zipped into the room, made a unholy screech and began to clean up the mess. Vaggie was beside Charlie,

“what happened? where is the creepy skull man?” Angel and Husk where wisely staying by the door. Alistair was still watching where the Baron had been. Abruptly he turned and walked out of the room pushing past the two men at the door.

“jeez what’s gotten into him?” Angel asked crossing his arms as he leaned on the door frame.

[chaniters]

Cellmates

Awan and Elyise have time to talk, as they seek to escape their cell.

Part 13 of @kruk-art‘s Awan Cormac’s fic, and the longest thing I’ve written so far. The end is nigh though.

___________________________________________

“Are you awake?!” A voice says to your left. 

You turn lightly, to notice Elyise chained to the ceiling, her feet dangling over the ground.

Looking up you realize you are similarly restrained, and that you are dangling just as she is. 

“ARE YOU AWAKE?” she insists. 

“I think I am” you state.

“About time” she grumbles.

“What’s going on…?” you asks just an instant before your mind decides to reboot and provide all the missing memories. “Oh. Reaper is a jerk.” Your suit seems to be still on, and there’s a pair of burn marks where Reaper shot you. So this is where you ended up it seems.

“Precisely.” she nods. 

“He got you too?” you ask rather calmly. By your standards, being suspended is pretty tame… unlike the farm’s numerous pressure tests. 

“No, I just came to stretch my arms… OF COURSE, HE GOT ME TOO, GENIUS!!” she states dangling to the side furiously.

“Ugh, don’t yell, my head’s killing me” 

“He’s the one who’s gonna kill us if we don’t do something”

“Relax. If he wanted us dead we wouldn’t be even talking up here” 

“RELAX? You want me to relax?!”

“I’m the one who should be mad, you’re darn liar, remember? What the fuck is your deal, Elyise?”

“My deal? Getting out alive is my deal, always!”

“You worked for Hollow Ground, you had links with the Loanshark and then you helped Reaper? What side are you on?!”

“I’m on my own side ok?. Someone has to be,” 

“You could have mentioned that YOU HELPED KILL HOOD!”

Oh, that struck a chord. She turns to you, angrily. 

“Do you think it was my idea? I don’t know what you heard, but I was FORCED to help in that.”

“You could’ve said NO!”

“Because that was a great choice for me, right?  If I hadn’t helped Hollow Ground would have thrown me out for mom to find. She had precogs in her little cult. Wouldn’t have lasted a day on my own”

“You also helped Reaper murder a ton of people just to keep your secret!”

“Those people? They’re SCUM! And I don’t know if you noticed but everyone in their right mind approved of what Catastrofiend did”

“So if you’re so happy about it, then why aren’t you helping Reaper anymore?!” 

“BECAUSE HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HURT YOU GUYS, OK?  I DONT KNOW WHY HE DID THAT! HE SHOULD HAVE TOLD CATASTROFIEND TO LEAVE WHEN YOU SHOWED UP. I QUESTIONED HIM AFTER OUR CHAT, AND HERE I AM!”

“Hurting us, huh? That’s what bothered you? What about, oh I don’t know DATING CHARGE for example? Did someone force you to do that too?!

“I knew this was about it! You never liked me around him! I saw how you looked at us!”

“That’s not...”

“Admit it already!” You’re definitely NEVER going to admit something like that. 

“You know he worshipped Hood, and you’re accessory to his murder! Don’t you think he had at least the right to know about something like that?!”

“...” she starts to say something, but her voice breaks and she looks away.  You won the argument, clearly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” you say annoyed, looking at the binds. Maybe you can find some way to get out and leave her here.

“...I just wanted to be normal, ok?” she says after a while, turning back at you. 

“Normal?”

“He talked to me about so many things… And he listened… And I… I had never been with anyone before… and he was so darn nice I just… I just wanted to be happy”

“Don’t. Just don’t! Don’t you dare... No.. don’t you… crap” you say looking at her teary eyes.

It’s not the physical crying that does it but the inner mess of emotions. It actually shuts you up, mainly because you understand where she’s coming from all too well. 

Are you just being one big hypocrite? 

You escaped the farm to kill someone in the first place.

Shit, she’s making it harder to hate her. 

“What?” she says as you fall silent “aren’t you going to go on about how am I a total piece of shit?”

“... No…” you grumble

Silence. Only interrupted by the clinking of the chains.

If only you could walk out of the room and have some time to think about it… But no. You have to return to reality. 

Realty being you’ve both been captured by a skull-faced homicidal maniac

“Listen… I assume you’ve tried to get us out with your telekinesis?” 

“I did. There’s some sort of security system that prevents it. 

“Can you show me?”

She nods slowly 

“This cell gets even funnier when I try that”  You can sense her concentrating and…. 

The walls start shinning in bright blue, the room filling with static, followed by a deafening booming sound from every side, stronger. She screams something… and then you’re screaming something too… so loud… 

Until it all dies out, your ears still ringing echoes of it. 

“Ugh, this is a nasty one… Sonic pain inducers” you yell.

“WHAT?” she yells back, still half-deaf.

Probably on par with some of the Farm’s tests. Just your luck, Awan, you say to yourself. 

A console lights up on the far end, with Charon’s logo on it…

“For the fourth time Prisoners, I advise you not to attempts that again. This room can be electrically magnetized and will counter any telekinetic attempt to escape. It is also equipped with sound blasting technology that will castigate unruly behavior.” The console shuts down soon after the last word is said. 

“Shit!” you say

“I know. Do you have any skills to escape something like this?”

You study the binds. They seem simple chains and manacles and you’ve got nothing to pick the lock with. THere’s no other mind than Elyise’s close enough for you to reach either.

“Nope”

“Then we’re royally fucked” she states.

“Indeed” you sigh.

“Distract Charon. I will try to send a telepathic message to the rangers” you send the words into her mind so Charon won’t overhear. She seems startled, but nods in silence. 

You start clearing your mind for the task at hand. Never attempted communication at this range, and there’s no guarantee that it would work at all even if you had been practising. It doesn’t help that there are millions of people in Los Diablos and you want to find a single mind.  

Piece of cake, Awan.  

________A few hours later._______________

Your arms hurt like hell from dangling and you’ve lost track of time, but you’re not giving up, repeating the message over and over… impossible to tell if you are being heard or not.  

“HEY CHARON!” She yells. Elyise has been doing a superb job of distracting the AI. You wish she wasn’t that good because it distracts you as well. 

The screen turns on, and the display comes online once more. If AI’s had human personalities you would say Charon is surprisingly gossipy. He probably doesn’t get many people to chat with since the Defenders Society disbanded. 

“What? I’ve already told you I’m not going to let you go”

“Just wanted to ask you when did Reaper decide he wanted to kill all those drug-dealers”

“Whatever do you mean? Master has killed drug-dealers many times in the past.”

“Oh c’mon! He hasn’t killed anyone in almost a decade!”

“It’s true… he took a long hiatus after retiring from the crime-fighting life. His focus fell almost entirely upon charity projects after his cancer got worse”

“Was it hard, overcoming it?”

“He did not overcome it.

“What do you mean? He told everyone he was doing great!”

“That was a lie he repeated many times. His doctors gave him months to live and he dismissed them. And then the Hauswald foundation burned down, sending him into a deep depression”

“What?” you interrupt. Elyise gives you an angry look, her mind telling you to focus on your own thing. She’s right… back to send your signal.

“Months to live? Is he dying? I saw him standing up earlier!”

“He was dying, right until he wasn’t. My research into the subject he brought in changed everything!”

You can barely hear what they’re saying… you’re picking up something… something getting closer...

“You mean my mother?”

“Affirmative. The subject possessed impressive regenerative properties never seen before on a boost. I theorized that a series of transfusions could heal him by making his own tissues more competitive than the cancer-cells”

It’s clear now. Someone picked up your message and is very close to Reaper’s complex… 

“He has… my mother’s blood?”

“Indeed. He was reluctant, thus I had to administer it hidden in his medication.”

“You… gave it to him without him knowing?!”

“Indeed. I would do anything to preserve my master.”

“Aren’t there secondary effects?”

“Oh yes. Many in fact. I discovered most of them after the third transfusion took place”

“What side effects?!”

“Psychological mostly. Sharp aggression increases, self-restraint, almost nullified. Morality ambiguity and…”

Someone’s walking up to the Manor’s gate… with a vengeance. You sense some sort of fight taking place. 

“I am sorry. Someone’s being rather rude at the main gate. We can finish this conversation later” the screen says before turning off.

“Did you get someone?” she asks

“I think so?”

“Who?”

“I’m not really sure… I think it’s…”

The sound of fighting interrupts you, along with blaring sirens.

There is only one presence in the complex asides from her, and it doesn’t take you long to figure out who. 

“It’s Anathema!” you say. “They’re fighting a lot of security drones”

“about time we got some good luck. Guide them to us?!”

It’s not hard to send Anathema a signal they can follow. They’re used to working with you. 

Finally, you can hear the noise coming up to your cell, with gunshots and skittering of metallic legs and the sizzling of acid.

“CEASE AND DESIST INTRUDER! THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY AND YOU ARE TRESPASSING!”

“I’ll give you trespassing and then some, you dumb toasters!”

“GET AWAY FROM  THE PREMISES!”

“Will you shut up already? I can’t hear my own thoughts and I think I’m getting some that are not even mine…”

“Get out before you are hurt human!” 

“Hurt? You know your spider-things can’t hurt me! I’ve gone through three dozens of them already!”

“Losses are meaningless. I have an immense reserve of combat drones!”

“And I have like the worst case of reflux in mankind’s history, so give me a break will you?” he sounds like he’s just in front of you now… 

“HERE! WE’RE IN HERE!” You shout out, with Elyise joining you.

“About time! I thought I was going mad with all the talking toasters”

The door starts smoking and dissolving under the acid shower from the other side. 

Soon, Anathema steps in, looking up at the two of you. 

“Oh, so you’re doing some stretching up in here?” he jokes, looking relieved.  

“Very funny” you answer. 

“Yeah, hilarious”  Elyise adds

“Oh c’mon, It was a good one-liner!” he grins looking up at the chains. “Now how do I get you out without dripping acid on your hair…”

“Can you deal with that box on the corner?” Elyise says looking down at it. 

“Can do” Annie states, letting a few drops off at it. Always amazes you, how it goes through almost anything.

Elyise inhales deeply and puts her powers in motions, both sets of chains bursting open to pieces. She floats gently to the ground…. While you land less gracefully.

“Ouch,” Anathema says helping you. 

“My poor arms” Elyise complains, stretching some. Yours do too, but you’re a bit more used to this kind of stuff.

“How long have we been here?” you ask. 

“A day and a half? I realized something was wrong when you didn’t come back… But I expected you were behind it all” Annie says looking at Elyise. “No offense”. 

“I do get that sometimes…” she sighs

“It’s not her Annie. It was Reaper all along”

“R… Reaper? Are you for real?”

“Afraid so…”

“RETURN THE PRISONERS AND SURRENDER!” Charon’s voice reaches from afar, the sound of metal legs coming in closer.

“Ahh crazy computers, love me. Ok, you two stay behind me, and don’t step on the acid, ok?” he says grinning.

The way out is plagued with spider terror drones but they are simply no match for Anathema, who marches you to the exit without a hitch. You find your gun on the way out along with the data rod. Elyise gives you a terrifyed look as you take it, but you don’t say a word about it to Annie. 

Not yet, at least. 

___________________________________________

My Fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[aziraamane]

Human AU - Part 4

(Previous) - (First)

"Anthony Jophiel "AJ" Crowley (born 12 October 1979) is an English physicist, socialite, and philanthropist, formerly serving as a professor of Physics and Astronomy at the University of Manchester. He is the youngest of media mogul Beatrice "Bee" Crowley's five children…"

Ezra didn't mean to snoop, but, well, the information was right there on the Internet, and surely it was the done thing to know a bit about the person whose home you were visiting, yes? Or that was what he kept telling himself, as he skipped to the bottom of the page to the section entitled "Personal Life."

"Crowley seldom interacts directly with the media and has confessed that he can be shy. He identifies as humanist and denies claims of atheism, stating that he would rather “listen and analyse.” In a rare television appearance on the American late-night talk show Conan in 2013, Crowley admitted to foiling the media’s attempts to take newsworthy photos of him, by wearing similar clothing every day and never taking off his sunglasses, a stunt later emulated by actor Daniel Radcliffe in 2017. 

Crowley has no children of his own and has never married. He adopted his nephew, Adam, in 2018. They currently live in Mayfair.”

"Dad! Are you ready?"

Ezra clicked off the tab open on his computer screen before shutting the machine down. "Yes, darling, I'm ready," he called back into the flat at large, getting to his feet with the slight groan and creak of a body beginning to feel its age. 

Well, well. It seemed that Ezra had vastly underestimated his schoolyard acquaintance. Not just a pretty face, as the saying went. There was a clever brain and a big heart behind the black clothes and dark glasses. 

Ezra and Warlock lived above an old bookshop in Soho, neighbouring Mayfair, so it was a simple case of one bus and then a short walk to the address sitting in Ezra's message inbox. He had to get Warlock to help with the whole GPS navigation thingy on his phone, but without too much trouble, they soon found themselves standing in front of a high-rise block of flats that Ezra knew, just from the exterior, had to be wildly expensive. He held Warlock's hand firmly, and pressed the intercom button beside the door with his free hand. 

The speaker crackled a moment. "Hello?" came a young voice. 

Ezra's cheeks plumped in an affectionate smile. "Hello, Adam, dear boy. I've brought Warlock to see you."

"I'll be down in a minute! Hang on!" A burst of static, and then silence.

Barely thirty seconds later, Adam came flying down the hallway and almost slammed head first into the glass doors. "Whoops," he laughed as he opened the doors. "That was a bit silly. Hello!"

"Adam!" Warlock crowed, jumping up and down. 

"Are you our guide, dear?" asked Ezra.

"I think so. Come on, but the lift is broken, so we have to take the stairs, but it isn't very high up! Come with me!”

“Not very high up” meant the sixth floor in Adam's language, by which time Ezra was wheezing slightly, thighs and ankles aching. Not for the first time, he wondered if he ought to lose some weight. 

But then Adam opened the front door, and Ezra lost his breath for an entirely different reason.

Crowley's flat was magnificent, all carved marble and polished granite, very minimalist and yet utterly stylish. There was a hint of nature in the air, rich soil and woody sap, alongside the freshness of cleaning products and notes of smoky cologne. From somewhere in the flat, Freddie Mercury's soulful warble sang Let me Live.

"Uncle AJ!" Adam yelled. 

The music dropped in volume, followed by a series of dull and then metallic taps. And then there was Crowley, dressed down in a loose vest and ripped jeans, dirt under his fingernails, a smudge on his cheek...

And no glasses.

"Hello, Anthony!"

Crowley blinked once, twice, then went pale. "Shit - um, just a sec." He disappeared a moment, returning with sunglasses back in place. 

There had been something there, something not quite normal...Ezra couldn’t put his finger on it, and decided it was best to say nothing. Crowley scratched the back of his head, sheepish. "Sorry. Knew you were coming, just lost track of time - should I change? I should probably change. Um-"

Ezra shook his head, laughing. "Anthony, dear chap, this is your home, you needn't dress up just so the boys can have a playdate."

Warlock waved from beside Ezra. "Hi, Mr Crowley."

"Hey, kid. Find the place alright?"

"Think we did."

"Great, good stuff. Adam, why don't you take Warlock to your room, show him your toys and such?"

"Alright." Adam took Warlock's hand and they ambled off into the flat. 

"Take your shoes off, Warlock!" Ezra called after them.

Crowley shook his head. "S'alright, I'm not fussy about that sort of stuff. Here, just...chuck your coat anywhere, I'll wash my hands and get us a drink."

Ezra frowned. "Am I staying?"

"Ngk - er - I mean, if you want?" Crowley practically squirmed on the spot. "Or I can drop Warlock off later. S'up to you."

"I don't want to intrude-"

"You're not. Honestly."

"In that case, yes, I shall stay." Ezra began unbuttoning his tan overcoat. There were a few empty pegs by the door; he hung it on the nearest one.

Crowley grinned. "That's my man. Alright, follow me."

The entryway led to a kitchen on the right hand side, plus an adjoining dining room and lounge. Crowley strolled over to the sink to rinse the dirt from his hands while Ezra primly seated himself at the island in the centre of the room. "You look as though you've been gardening," he remarked, tracing a finger absently over the polished granite counter top. 

"Er, yeah. Something like that." Crowley turned to face him, picking out the last of the dirt from under his nails. "Got a few plants in the back, 's a hobby of mine."

Ezra blinked in surprise. Of all the things he expected of Crowley, gardening wasn't on the list. "You're quite the decorated gentleman, Anthony.”

“Mm?”

“Oh, yes. Botanist, scientist, philanthropist - is there anything you can't do?"

Crowley paused with his hand halfway to the kettle. "Ezra," he said in a low voice, "have you been reading my fucking Wikipedia page?"

Oh, bugger. 

After a moment, Crowley burst out laughing, and what a sweet, merry laugh it was. "I'm just messing with you," he said as he filled the kettle. "S human instinct, isn't it, to hunger for knowledge, want answers. Can't say I blame you for looking. I'd have done the same, if it were my kid going to some fancy schmuck's house. Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please." Ezra found himself relaxing infinitely. That laugh had done wonders for his nerves.

"Sugar?"

"Just milk will be fine."

"Gotcha." Crowley brought two cups over, setting one in front of Ezra. "So…" He sat on a vacant stool, drawing up one long leg to rest his heel on the edge. "Librarian, right? Which uni?"

"King's." 

"Chancery Lane?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Ezra wrapped his hands around the steaming mug and sighed at the heat seeping into his palms. "I suppose I just live to be surrounded by books. Tried my hand in the bookshop below me when I was younger, you see, but it hurt me so much to sell the poor things, I just couldn't do it."

"And now you lend them out to students. Late fees, tea rings, dog-eared pages, drunken frat boys, the lot." Crowley laughed again. "Couldn't sell a book...that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I love it!"

Ezra smiled politely, a blush on his cheeks. It sounded like a compliment, but he couldn't quite be sure. "You're looking better today," he said quietly. 

"Practically overdosed on Benadryl last night. Reckon I was high as a kite using that bloody headset."

"Was that wise?"

"Still alive, aren't I?"

Ezra tittered as he sipped his tea. "You high-fliers, always living in the fast lane."

"Is that admonishment I hear, angel?"

Blue eyes blinked rapidly over the top of the mug obscuring the lower half of Ezra's face. Angel? 

He shook the thought from his mind quickly. It wasn't too different from his usual affectionate “dears” and “darlings.” "I'm hardly in a position to scold you, dear fellow," he replied, and Crowley chuckled as he sipped from his own mug.

"Staying for lunch, Ezra? You a fussy eater at all?"

"Do I look like a fussy eater, dear?" Ezra patted his plump belly. The movement prompted Crowley’s eyes, jewel-bright behind his sunglasses, to follow, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, possibly the first true, relaxed smile that Ezra had seen.

"Oh, I think you and I are gonna get along just fine, angel."