#so it's kind of hard for him to place himself in the shoes of mortal beings now

[nightcolorz]

Prompt: for whatever reason (cursed object, vengeful witch, wrong wish to a djin, whatever) Armand is human and his memories are only until the point where he got the mortal wound

He doesn't remember ever being a vampire, now he is in a strange place where strange magical things are everywhere (the elevator, the TV, cars, the blender...) and he doesn't know how he got here, doesn't recognise the strange old looking man nor does he understand his language but it is clear to him that he is like the Master

He is confused and scared but the man who is like the Master seems kind and he looks at him with love on his lilac eyes, he is very confused when the man doesn't respond to his advances and fears he'll be put out in the streets to fend for himself in this strange land so he tries extra hard to seduce the stranger

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT I NEED THIS FIC!!!

I loooveee fic concepts like this. Human Armand (Amadeo) is also like, so much of a different character than *The Vampire Armand*. Armand is incredibly resigned and self victimizing and weak willed, and Amadeo is a bad bitch who takes no shit. This little shit mocks the millennia yr old vampire to his face while he actively is beating the shit out of him + could rlly kill him, throws an ax through said millennia yr old vampires door cuz he’s been a dick to him, tells the performers at the party that Marius is killing people at to play funeral music as he dances around them, is a super athletic actually and a very skilled swordsman who won in a fencing battle against his violent ex to save his brothers (Assad zamans impressive pecks r character accurate believe it or not), responds to sexual harassment and rape threats by laughing in their faces, etc etc I could go on. My point is, I think it would be such a fun and interesting ride for Daniel to meet Amadeo, an armand who was still incredibly traumatized but hadn’t yet had his strength and agency cult indoctrinated out of him.

what’s interesting too is that Amadeo has experience with being thrust into a strange technologically advanced world full of perceived magic and devils work, that’s how he thought of Venice when he was sold there, and I think he would be able to adapt to it unusually well considering his situation. I could see an Amadeo equivalent of Armand’s technology explorations and blender experiments happening 100%. And he would 1000%% attach himself to Daniel and get weird and panicky over it. The idea of him trying to seduce Daniel to get himself security and failing bcus Daniel doesnt want to have sex with someone in such a vulnerable position and neither of them r either to communicate their perspective is heartbreaking 😭 but so character accurate. I imagine Amadeo would be confused by Daniel is refusing his offer of sex but still taking care of him and offering him shelter. He’s probably anxious as hell waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Sooooo much potential here!!! Anon I rlly hope u write this cuz omg!!

[cosplayproblemsposts]

Dysfunctional as always

Summary: Your family was not the greatest by all means, but it doesn't mean there wasn't any form of warmth.

Warning: Angst, comfort, and words of encouragement.

Male characters x Male reader

A/N: Written by phone and not proofread.

"I don't remember you," the man who has embraced his son frowns while he pulls away. The two men stood in a parking lot of a recently closed fast food restaurant with the intention of reconciliation. Nothing came of this due to the much older man false promises and impulsive disappearances.

The Cullens filled the void of the lack of family, your father leaving you with an ill grandmother to care for. Running and cutting you loose for anything that did not include you. Now, here you are dealing with the loss of the only mortal figure who truly cared for you.

Crimson eyes watch the man grow confused with an uneven smile. "I'm your father. Of course you remember me," the man who claims to be your maker stood here before you for one thing inheritance. The leech himself knew his mother in law must have left something behind for her one and only surviving grandchild.

A level-headed vampire out stretched arm prevents his platinum haired coven mate from departing the slimy leech head from his shoulders. "Leave him. We can not reveal ourselves. " A low growl comes from an equally angry vampire.

"You weren't there," your voice low barely a whisper. Your so-called father's staggers back at the somewhat light impact of a shove, a shove you delivered with uncertainty. Uncertain if you could bring yourself to truly turn away from him, the man you known half of your life before he became unbearable.

"What? Of course I was there, " a habit you had developed due to his absence. A habit where you insert the man face, voice, body, and once adrimible smile.

Replacing certain people who were present, Carlisle and Esme were the people who would suffer the swap. Your grandmother was Carlisle patient, always coming and going.

Made sure to answer her calls and never complain. Carlisle took notice of the newfound shoes at the front door. "It seems you have a shadow," the ill womam points out as a little face peeks out from the safety of the stairwell.

Carlisle knew you knew there, your little heart giving you away and your breathing. You were twelve years old, always watching and always imagining your father stood in his place. Your father false figure stood instead of the kind gentle blonde who made sure to leave his wife's homemade meals in the kitchen for you and the sick woman.

"Does he have any distant relatives who could take care of him?". A trip to the hospital turns into a nightmare, a nightmare the woman tried to avoid. "No, they are either far too busy to juggle anymore kids, or they are located across the country." Carlisle nods, striken with sadness at the thought of the boy who stood outside of the room.

Far too scared of the pale doctor and how the said doctor might say or do something to ruin the child's illusion. A lie, a lie where his father is a doctor who studied medicine to aid his mother in law and possibly save her from her fate. "He has been passed from relatives to relative, but he always comes back to me."

Alice has already foresee this at the request of Carlisle. He has already made up his mind. It'll be hard to convince certain individuals, but he is not turning this child down because of his nature.

"No, I don't see why he can't live with his father or mother." Rosalie is about to regret mentioning the boys' parents."What do you mean?," Rosalie undead, heart breaks alongside the many others present. "I agreed to take care of him while his grandmother spends a few weeks in the hospital. Waiting for an answer. " "I didn't know, " Emmet leans into his once unmovable mate.

"It took me by surprise too, the boys mother scummb to birth complications." Esme set a hand upon Carlisles clothed chest "and the infant. " Carlisle shook his head. "She never made it to see her fifth birthday," Alice squeezes Jasper hand.

"All he has is his grandmother and the hope of a foster family or distant relative. I doubt they'll take him in. So I ask each of you to consider a new member. " It didn't take long for the Cullens to adjust to the small boy and his oddities.

"You weren't there when she was born," the overwhelming memories of the Cullens took over your sense. Slowly, stickers peel off, revealing the true people present in your major and minor memories. From the ice rink of your first game of the season to the last.

To the time you fell sick, to your first ever big win to the moment your grandmother passed a few weeks back. To the time you acknowledged Bella as a sister and how you brought Edward back to reality. How you drill both Bella and Edward when they become unbearable and how they don't think before they do.

The man lets out a grunt as a fist breaks his once correct nose. The man falls back as you begin pulling and shaking the man. A struggle of somesort breaks out in the parking lot concert grounds.

"You weren't when she died!" You let out a long, drawn-out groan as you laid a hard blow to the man's face. "Alright, stop it!" But you didn't want to stop. You wanted him to feel the pain you had endured from the funeral arrangements of your fallen grandmother to the funeral of your little sister.

"Where were you!?" You hadn't taken notice of the blood that painted your knuckles. You never took into account how you could have handled this situation. How the sudden phone call made you claw at the skin of your forearm until Bella enclosed you in a hug.

A cold, gloved hand held your wrist in a gentle grip. "That's enough, I believe he understands," Stefan blood eyes meets yours, unaware you began to shed tears. "You have done enough little one." Stefan effortlessly pulls you to your feet.

You didn't protest or deny his embrace. "I'm sorry." Stefan made a tsk sound. "Don't apologize. You have every right to act out, " Vladimir watches as he keeps the third party from escaping. Trapping him underneath the albino boot, "Stefan is right. He should be the one apologizing, not you. "

"Blood, my hands," you pull away from the ancient ruler. "We have self-control, don't we? Vladimir, " the blonde nods with a little smile. "Let him go. Where will he go? Who will he turn to?" Your words shook the two vampires, but they obliged.

"You are lucky you have an understanding, son," Once Vlaimir lifts his foot from the man, he scrambles away. "He may come back?" You said while watching your once present father run away. "A risk a fool like him will take." You shook your head at Vladimir, who can see beyond your vision of the dark.

The texture of a handkerchief took you by surprise, "Don't want the Cullens to believe we are bad a influence." Stefan wasn't the only one who began cleaning your hands.

Vladimir was soft and slow, just like his coven mate, who took your left hand while he coddled your right hand. Once white handkerchiefs grew, Crimson red. You didn't make it easy either you were fidgety and anxious.

The adrenaline washed away from your once flaming body. Warmth seeping away at the thought, your father may report you to the police. A cold kiss to your palm brought you back. "You must remain still," Vladimir spoke against the palm of your skin.

You cast your gaze down "sorry" another pair of cold lips meets your wrist. Stefan freezing lips peppers small, slow, comforting, pecks upon the veins of your wrist. The sound of blood flow and the touch of your warmth engraved a smile on Stefan face "you done well, can't imagine what you will be capable of once you turn."

Vladimir agrees with another lingering kiss to your palm, "Your speed and strength are hard not to imagine." The two vampires will never let you down, nor will they ever leave you despite the Cullens' threats.

[shisnhou]

kill gojo

pairing: gojo x gn! reader

cw: toxic exes, toxic relationship, unhealthy obsession with one another, hints at cheating, do tell me if a missed any!

wc: 1.08

you're at the brink of your sanity.

and it's all because of your ex boyfriend who is insane himself.

you two have been broken up for eight months— nearly nine. the break up was not your idea. if anything, it was one thing you didn't even think about. you were more than ready to kill for him, to be his ride or die, to be everything and anything he wanted you to be. you used to have an obssesion with having him in your hands and any kind of separation made your heart beat in worry.

when you two broke up, it felt like you were going to split the world in half. the insanity was getting inside your head, the break up felt like the end of the world. you still chased after him since he was everything you knew and you had, but he threw you away and simply looked at you with disgusted eyes before he slamed the doors before your very eyes.

but after a few weeks of words from getou and a load of night outs with shoko, you brought yourself back in no time. you healed and forgot, you forgave for some reason despite holding every single grudge against him and his girls, and now you are thriving in a better environment.

the break up scarred you badly and you want nothing but to be free from all that hurt and anger.

you truly thought you could leave and make him a mere fragment of your memory.

that's laughable, gojo says.

"what the fuck, gojo?" you screech, kicking the door of his expensive sports car, denting the metal with your shoes. but gojo could care less about the dent, he can get his car repaired tomorrow, buy a new one even. the only thing he's thinking about is why you're so pissed at him. "why would you fucking punch him like that?" 

gojo zones out for a second. he looks at the dent and forgets that you are trying to lecture him about punching your excuse of a date- which he thinks is pointless. why would you argue with him when all he did was do the right thing? 

the right thing? what is it? oh, it's not a big deal. he just punched your date in the face because the man placed his hand around your waist without asking which caught you off guard. not that it made you felt uncomfortable, you were just surprised, you actually liked it, but gojo thought thinks that it's a mortal sin for another man to touch you, so he sent the man a punch to the face.

"he touched you." he deadpans, holding an expression that will make you lose your mind.

"okay, so what if he did? what does that have to do with anything?" you roll your eyes digging your nails into your scalp and trying to scratch the unscratchable itch inside your brain that's caused by your ex that's standing before you.

he does this all the time and you wish that you could just catch a breath.

"you're fucking insane." you mutter underneath your breath.

gojo laughs at that. he looks at you with his blue eyes piercing deep into your own, causing a shiver down your spine. "i can't believe that you're the one saying that." he smirks, brows raising, finger moving to tip your chin. "you were chasing me around nine months ago, hunting down girls i went around with, even after we broke up."

you scoff, wrapping your hand around his wrist and bringing it down. "i did." you proudly say. "you know why? because i didn't understand why we even broke up in the first place. i did nothing. infact, i did everything you wanted me to do, so imagine what position i was in when you abruptly left with a fucking text talking about how i'm too much for you." 

he says nothing back, simply watching you point all the arrows at him. it's clear to him that you want nothing to do with him anymore, but god that's too hard for him to bear.

truth be told, gojo doesn't even know why he broke up in the first place. he though  you were too much for him, but now that he's the one chasing you around after months after the break up, he wonders if was clinically insane.

"well, that was in the past. i'm here now! i'm here, right in-front of you." he opens his arms wide, as if to engulf you in a hug. to his dismay, you simply glare at him, unimpressed by his act. 

gojo heaves a deep sigh, putting his hands back down. "look, i know i made a grave mistake by breaking up with you. that was uncalled for. we both didn't need that." the glimmer in his eyes make you want to believe him, but you mentally shake your head, refusing to fall for his act. "being far away from you was a pain and i admit having you chase me around sucked. yet when you stopped chasing after me, i felt like i lost a piece of me—"

at that sentence you moved away from him, taking a step back and showing him your disgusted expression. "i can't fucking believe you. you fucking disgust me." you seethe, glowering at him and shaking your head. "i thought that you maybe changed, and you did, but for the worse. god, gojo, i really thought we could make ammends, but you make me want to walk away and forget you forever."

at your words gojo's brows furrow. you say nothing else, simply turning your back and walking away. but before you're able to walk a mere step away, he grabs your wrist. you're forced to halt, preparing a rally of words to tell him. but your literacy slips away when your eyes meet his dangerous ones.

"walk away and forget forever? you can't do that." he darkly whispers, smiling as if his intentions were innocent. "you can't have anyone else. i might love seeing you smile, but if it's with someone else it's going to be a problem. any other man with you is going to be a problem. a very big problem." 

the hold on your wrist becomes loose, but in return, his hand cups your cheek and forces proximity between you both. "i'm a mature man, but you drive me insane. if any other man tries to have you they can't.. because if i can't have you, nobody can."

this is not made to fantasize toxic relationship in any way shape or form. if you or someone you know needs help getting away from a toxic relationship, please contact local authorities.

[blametheeditor]

A Little Bit Goes A Long Way

Run Down: To be faced with your own mortality, would it change you for the better, or worse? David never thought he'd have to answer such a question.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Death scenes. Slight gore. Mentions of death and murder. Peril. Calling someone 'it' or 'thing'. Experiments. If you're new to this household, only happy endings, but certainly a roller coaster

*Cough cough*

______________

One minute, David is storming into the kitchen to demand why it’s taking twice as long as usual for food to be delivered out into the dining room. 

The next, the suited man is nearly sent flying back into the hallway from the swinging door slamming into him. Barely gets out of the way in time before a shoe as big as a bus stomps on him. Feels his limbs lock up and refuse to move as he slowly realizes what’s in front of him. 

He’s still in the kitchen of Fazbear Entertainment Center, all too familiar with the layout he changed around after signing paperwork that made him the sole owner of this franchise restaurant, as well as the faces of those he hired who were competent enough to keep their jobs for more than a week. He had opened the door a few feet away only a few seconds ago. 

And yet, somehow, everyone and everything currently tower over him. David couldn’t move the door a single inch now no matter how hard he tried. A rolling counter has wheels that are as tall as him and easily provides a place for him to hide. Chefs and waiters seem more like skyscrapers than people he signs paychecks for. 

That’s not the worst part. The sounds of people talking and food being made are so loud it makes his head feel like it’s going to split open. Simple actions such as walking within ten feet of him cause earthquakes that shake him to his core.

David can’t help but stare. He can’t look away despite knowing he could be killed at any moment if he doesn’t get to safety. Feels himself begin to tremble as it becomes harder and harder to deny what’s in front of him is real. 

Even though it’s impossible for someone to suddenly shrink, there’s no denying the proof before him. Unless he’s simply having an incredibly vivid dream, or hallucination, or something because this can’t be real. 

“Are those pizza’s done?” 

“Careful, how many times do I have to tell you-!” 

“Door!” 

David feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and in that moment dives under the service cart that stands beside him. Groans from his ungraceful landing before staring in horror as the door opens and someone steps directly where he had been only a  few moments ago. The thought of what would’ve happened, the idea this isn’t a dream and that could’ve been the end decides he’ll be treating this like it’s life or death. 

The business man tries to ignore his heart thumping painfully against his chest as he watches the bustling kitchen, catastrophic giants unaware of his presence. Reminds himself he can’t get stepped on while he cowers under the service cart. He’s safe, at least for now. Unless someone realized what happened and are searching for him. Or the cart gets moved. Or something gets dropped and- 

“Nope,” David murmurs as he closed his eyes to block out the world, clenching his fists to focus on something other than the constant trembles through the ground. 

Those kinds of thoughts are not helpful. He needs to think about finding a safe place, then figure out a plan on how to get his proper height of six feet. But safety’s first. 

...where the hell would he be safe at a size where shoes can crush him like a spider. 

Taking a deep breath in the attempt to calm his nerves, David opens his eyes one at a time. Forces himself to look at the layout down at the ground. Ignoring the fact everything that’s familiar is now deadly, just focusing on places he can run and hide without putting himself in danger. 

Going anywhere near the door is completely off limits. But if he travels further into the kitchen, there’s potential for a safe place to at least wait until the restaurant closes. Such as the toe kick space under the counters, though there’s not much depth to it and someone could spot him from the right angle. There’s small space under the ovens that goes as far back as the wall and seems to have the most cover, but he wouldn’t know if it’s too hot to stay down there. Out of everything, the pantry might be the best option, with plenty of shelves to hide under, and he’d be the farthest away from any possible incidents prone to happen in busy kitchens. 

With that settled, now he just has to figure out how to get there. There’s no cover between where he is now and the pantry door, just a full mile of open air in which he’d be completely vulnerable to dropped items, shoes, and being spotted. 

An involuntary shiver runs down David’s spine at the thought of someone seeing him. That would open an entire can of worms, especially if it’s realized he’s human instead of a pest. Getting killed is one thing, but there’s no telling what someone would do if they get their hands on him. It could range from making him pay for screaming at them because they weren’t doing their job right, to selling him to make a quick buck. 

A glance is sent toward the wheels of the cart he’s currently using as shelter. Because while this could be moved, it doesn't necessarily mean it will be. It had been put here for a reason. He can’t remember if this is normally here every other day, meaning it’s a toss up if it’ll get moved again. 

Which one’s better, then? Taking a chance out in the open, or hoping no one moves the cart? 

...what if he moves the cart? 

David stares at the large wheels for a moment before walking closer, willing to at least give it a try no matter how ridiculous the idea seems. If this actually works, he’ll take it. Though, he does hesitate to actually touch the wheel once he’s close enough to see just how filthy it is. Flinches when it dawns on him he’ll be covered in dust and dirt by the end of this ordeal. 

He sighs long and hard with the reminder of yet another earthquake it’s either this, or an almost guarantee of getting crushed. Grits his teeth and tries to shove at the wheel with all his might. Growls when doesn’t budge, changing his position only to end up with the same results. Meaning he did that for absolutely nothing. 

David looks back out at the kitchen. Narrows his eyes when he realizes the large island is closer to him than the pantry. And if he runs from the island to the counter...he’ll be covered for almost the entire walk. 

It’ll be a lot more work, and shoes are constantly walking between all of the counters, but it’s certainly safer. 

Now there’s three options. He doesn’t like any of them, but he hadn’t asked to get shrunk so these are the cards he’s been dealt with. As shitty as they are, he just has to make the most of them. 

Honestly, taking the long path to the pantry seems like his best bet. It almost seems like he’s been taking too long, so he needs to- 

His train of thought is lost when he sees a pair of shoes suddenly begin to walk toward him. And then words are booming through the air almost directly above. 

“Hey, is the cart claimed?” 

Fuck. 

David freezes. Almost screams when the wheel beside him is suddenly turning, scrambling to get a safe distance away. Feels his blood run cold when the entire thing begins to move. And then David starts running. 

He runs after the cart. If there was time to think, he might’ve recognized that as the worst thing he could’ve done, but adrenaline had taken control. The only thing he knew was that his only shelter was being taken away, and there was nothing he could do about it except follow. 

It could’ve ended with him getting caught under a wheel. With it stopping abruptly and him slamming into it. Getting left behind and ending up underfoot from someone walking past. 

None of those happen. Somehow by some miracle David stays with the cart before almost colliding with the underside of the counter. As soon as he hits the wall, he collapses, legs trembling so harshly it’s impossible to stay standing. Arms and chest aching after taking the brunt of the impact. 

But he made it. He made it and that’s all that matters. 

The business man pants, choking on air a few times. Takes a few minutes to slow his breathing and calm his racing heart. Makes the promise to fire every single person on staff for not realizing someone’s peril despite it happening right in front of them. It would be seen as unfair, and he could be sued for a lot of money considering he most likely wouldn’t be able to prove anything, but the thought makes him feel a lot better considering everything. It’d also be worth it. 

David doesn’t know how long it takes to recover, just that it’s dangerous for him to stay any longer. So despite the fact his limbs are still shaking, he carefully pushes himself to a stand. Absolutely refuses to take off his suit jacket even though that would make running easier and help keep him from overheating. Like hell he’s loosing an expensive piece of clothing. He might be shrunk and fighting for his life, but he still has standards. Would rather die with dignity over living with a tarnished reputation. 

Call him shallow and egotistical. The train of thought was able to calm him down, however. Distracted him from the thundering footsteps walking right past him as he walks under the cabinet's toe kick. Hoping its true purpose is rarely used. Unsure if he should be glad he’s short enough he doesn’t have to worry about hitting his head on the overhanging wood, or miffed that he’s shorter than four inches tall. 

The conundrum is forgotten as he turns a corner and becomes face to face with clog, one that’s not blocking his way, but the toe of the shoe so close David could walk forward and shove at it. 

Of course that wouldn’t do anything. The owner of the shoe wouldn’t even notice the attempt. With such a catastrophic object that he’s been terrified of ever since shrinking just staying in one place, it’s almost a slap in the face just how small he really is. He’s not even the size of a mouse that can easily clamber over the shoe. More like a large insect that would need to laboriously climb if it blocked his path completely. 

...he didn’t even think about that. Giants are terrifying, but what if he encounters animals at this size? There’s no shooing away a rat or crushing a roach beneath his shoe, they’re now threats to him instead of nuisances. 

Good news, as long as he doesn’t leave the restaurant, he should be perfectly safe. He ensured all pest had been eliminated on the first day, and has an exterminator on speed dial whenever someone reports having seen so much as a shadow creeping along the ground. 

As for the giants, he can hope he doesn’t have to interact with one anytime soon. 

“Is an oven finally open?” 

“Everything that was cooking the previous round is done. Did you forget to pull the pizza’s out?” 

Part of David wants to yell about how much those he hired are dumbasses to not check if something was left in the oven. The other part slumps in relief as the person standing at the island quickly leaves. The only condolence is the fact it doesn’t smell like something’s burning. 

He needs to focus. Forget about what’s happening around him, concentrate on getting somewhere safe. Fire everyone later. 

David looks across the vast distance from where he stands to the line of cabinets that connect to the pantry. This time, there isn’t a service cart to act as cover as he runs across. It’ll just be him, completely exposed. 

He already feels himself begin to shake at the thought of making such a risky move. His muscles protest at running the large distance in which the only time he’d be able to stop is when he gets to the other side. 

What if he doesn’t make it? What if someone walks by and never notices a miniscule figure? What if they do notice and trap him inside a jar? And what happens if he stays here? The toe kick is only four inches deep, that’s not enough space to guarantee safety. 

David steels himself before carefully leaning out from under the counter. Looks up to barely make out the timer’s on the oven saying there’s ten minutes left. Glances at his left where the pantry sits, door shut tight with the lights currently off. Checks his right to see this area of the kitchen void of stomping shoes. 

Go.

He doesn’t hesitate, knowing this might be his only chance, and sprints. Without a single look back to make sure no one’s coming. There would be nothing he could do, so he runs. Never slows down even as his legs burn from overexertion and his lungs send sharp pains through his chest. 

Then the ground starts to jump. David can see he’s already past the halfway mark, but cover is still too far away. He can’t turn around and go back because that wouldn’t be any closer. And even as terror races up his spine and he feels his adrenaline kick in, it’s not enough. He would be an idiot to ever think he could outrun a giant. 

He doesn’t stop. Though the footsteps growing closer and closer attempt to trip him with the earthquakes they bring. It’s a miracle they haven’t gotten to him. 

Until someone gives a small gasp. 

“Shit, there’s a bug in here.” 

“Are you serious?” 

David doesn’t stop. The counters are only ten feet away he’s almost there. 

“I can’t tell what it is, but I need to finish this. Can someone take care of it?” 

“I’ll get it, where is it?” 

Just a few more- 

The business man crashes into the counters at full tilt, not realizing he had actually made it. He swears he broke something this time. But he’s alive. He’s alive he made it he didn’t get crushed. 

“It’s under the counters by the stove.” 

It takes just a little too long for David to realize what that means. Stares out at the kitchen, almost confused why one pair of shoes is pointed directly toward him. Are taking steps toward him. Because he’s safe, he made it. 

It finally clicks. That even though he is somewhere he deemed to be ‘safe’, someone saw him, and they’re coming to take care of the pest infesting an area that needs to be sanitary. 

Once it finally processes David is far from safe, he scrambles to his feet even though he wants to do nothing more than to go limp. He doesn’t know what ‘take care of it’ means, but it can’t be anything good. Where is he supposed to go, though? 

If he was in the right state of mind, the idea of going for the pantry would’ve been recognized as the worst thing he could possibly do. Panic can do so many things, however, and the only thing he could think of was his original plan. Meaning it was the only logical thing to do. 

Yet just as he starts to turn and run in that direction, a hand grabs his wrist. Immediately has David turning to look at who it is, unable to remember why that shouldn’t be possible. 

A teenager stares up at David with wide eyes, tugging at his arm in the opposite direction than was previously chosen. “Follow me, hurry!” 

Any other time, David would refuse. This isn’t any other time, though. No, he was shrunk, had ran for his life, and is now being hunted down by a giant. So there’s not a single protest as he’s frantically led toward the ovens. Doesn’t hesitate a single second to continue following as he’s forced to hunch over to duck into the small area normally impossible to gain access to. Sends a look over his shoulder briefly to catch sight of someone searching all the wrong places for him. 

Then the entire kitchen completely leaves his sight, and he’s left with an alien landscape of metal over his head and a dusty floor. The worst part is how it gets dimmer and dimmer the further they walk. But David is now completely safe from becoming an exotic pet or being treated like an unwanted pest. The teenager who saved him from such a horrific fate never letting his arm go. 

That’s when everything starts to catch up with him. The terror of nearly dying. His limbs completely exhausted. No longer feeling dazed to finally process what just happened. 

“Wait,” David begins, breathless as he comes to a stop. As soon as he does, however, his knees buckle and he sits harshly on the ground. Sighs in relief he can finally rest without the threat of ending up dead. 

Instead of leaving him there, the kid immediately kneels down beside him. It’s almost impossible to make out features and expressions in the darkness, but a stranger wouldn’t be indifferent if the first instinct was to stay close. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

David shakes his head.  “Not hurt. Just...ran for my life.” 

“That’ll definitely do it,” the kid murmurs, his voice never raising above a whisper. “I have a safe place we can go, but we can stay here for a bit. We just need to be careful that we don’t overheat.” 

...now that something was said, the business man realizes it is a bit hot where they are. Not burning, but definitely uncomfortable. Especially with the running he previously did and his jacket acting as the main perpetrator for making him overheat quicker than usual. 

But he can survive a few minutes. By then he’ll be able to at the very least stand up again. 

“Here, drink some water.” 

David hadn’t noticed any movement until something is being offered to him. At the promise of it being water, he quicky accepts it, hesitating at the odd texture as his mind recognizes the shape of a cup. Decides it’s not worth making a fuss over and simply drinks. 

It’s water, clean if a bit warm, but he can’t get over just what the fuck he’s using as a cup. “What, is this?” 

“The wat- oh! The cup, it’s just aluminum foil.” 

David stares at the shadowy figure for a moment. Glances up at the metal ‘roof’ above their heads to confirm they’re both only a few inches tall.  “Where did you get aluminum foil?” 

“Long story,” the kid says. “I can tell it to you later. Are you okay to start walking again?” 

David doesn’t want to go anywhere with a complete stranger until he gets answers. Who is this kid? Why does he have supplies? Why was he in the kitchen near the ovens at this exact time? 

It’d be a stupid idea to get on the kid’s bad side now. It was promised there is a safe place to go. So instead of earning himself a death sentence by being left here after making an enemy with the only person who can help him, David bites his tongue to keep from yelling. 

Instead, he carefully stands up, nearly hitting his head on the oven after forgetting there’s not as much space as there was under the counters. “Lead the way.” 

Out of everything, he was not expecting his arm to be grabbed again. “Just to warn you, it’s going to be pretty dark. But I know the way, and I’ve kept the path clear of rodents and insects, so it's not dangerous. Just, terrifying.” 

Wonderful. 

David has to grit his teeth to keep from sprinting in the opposite direction as he’s led to a fairly wide hole in the back of the cabinets. One that’s pitch black and promises a death worst than being treated like a roach. 

Yet the kid doesn’t even stiffen before walking through it. Which means the business man isn’t declaring he’s not going anywhere near it if some teenager is able to be that courageous. Meaning he allows himself to be led down the tunnel without any objection, secretly glad the grip on his arm gets tighter to promise he won’t be let go. 

They walk in complete silence. It amplifies the sound of their footsteps, but it also means they’ll be able to hear something making its way toward them. And then a faint glow appears in the darkness. Getting brighter the closer they get. David feels his chest get lighter when he’s finally able to see there’s a wall to his right, the wooden cabinets to his left, and absolutely no signs of eyes reflecting in the darkness behind him. 

It’s also revealed their destination was a piece of cardboard. 

“Come inside,” the kid encourages. Before David can demand what’s meant by inside, the cardboard is pushed open like a door. 

Admittedly put off by it, David warily walks through the apparent doorway. Finds himself standing in what he can only describe as a third grader’s shitty attempt to make a diorama of their house for a school project. Complete with a bed that’s nothing but a pile of fabrics, a plastic pizza saver repurposed as a table, and odd $1 prizes the restaurant gives away in exchange for tickets scattered across the room that could be interpreted as anything. And he can’t forget to mention candles meant to be put on birthday cakes acting as lamps. 

When he imagined a safe place, an odd hideout tucked in a corner impossible to access from the outside wasn’t it. Then again, what was he expecting? 

After taking in the room, David turns back toward the person who brought him here, finally able to get a good look at the kid now that he isn’t fearing for his life. Looks over the mop of red hair, bright green eyes watching him nervously, the numerous freckles decorating the nose and cheeks. Gives a glance at the patched up clothes so dusty it’s hard to tell what their true colors are. 

“I need answers, and I need them now,” David growls. “Who the hell are you?” 

“My name’s Fritz,” the kid offers quietly. “You’re David, right?” 

“Mr. Harrison,” is automatically corrected. But then the implication has him glaring. “Have we met before?” 

“Briefly,” Fritz begins. “I...h-here, sit down and I’ll tell you everything.” 

David isn’t given a chance to protest. The kid closes the poor excuse for a door before taking off a bag that wasn’t noticed previously to place it on the floor. A cardboard stool for the lack of a better term is then pushed toward him. 

Fritz then grabs an odd vase that looks like it’s made of metal. Untwists the top before extending a hand toward David. “Would you like more water?” 

He's confused, until he realizes he’s still holding the cup from earlier, one that looks like it’s made from the same material of the odd pitcher. Sighs as he hands it over to be refilled, it being abundantly clear Fritz is going to take his sweet goddamn time. David then carefully sits down, genuinely surprised the crude seat holds his weight. Begins to tap his fingers impatiently. Doesn’t think about how his legs appreciate the rest and how grateful he is for the water after such an arduous adventure. 

“When and where did you shrink?” 

David gives a look at the explanation starting with a question. “Not too long ago, about an hour or so. It happened right as I walked into the kitchen.” 

“The same thing happened to me,” Fritz reveals as he stares down at the table. “I walked into the kitchen to take an order out to a table, and then I just...shrunk.” 

David freezes. So this is apparently a thing that just happens? How is that even possible? Have other people been shrunk as well? Why didn’t he notice employees disappearing? 

And why has Fritz stopped talking? 

A sigh is withheld at the teenager looking as if he’s remembering something unpleasant. “And when did that happen?” 

“A-A few months ago,” is barely said loud enough to be heard. 

...wait. Hold on. 

David wants to call bullshit. There’s no way someone only a few inches tall has managed to survive for a couple of months. David almost died within the first hour. Fritz has to be lying. 

Except, the kid can’t be. The pilfered items scattered around the room seems more than what could be collected in a single day, or even in a full week. Fritz also looks underfed and exhausted. The long term kind. Like he really hasn’t had access to proper care for a while. 

Suddenly, David feels sick to his stomach. At the thought someone could’ve been crushed under the sole of his own shoe, and he never would’ve known. At the realization that if Fritz shrank more than a month ago, and is still shrunk, then the business man’s future is bleak. 

“So you have no idea what caused this.” 

“Not a single clue.” 

Then he really is stuck at this size for the rest of his life. However long that is. 

David stares at Fritz. “What have you done during these past couple months?” 

The teenager shrugs, looking everywhere but at the business man. “Surviving. The kitchen wasn’t the worst place to end up since I have access to food and water. After a month I ventured out into the main area after the restaurant closed. I couldn’t really go far, though. The animatronics could spot me, or I wouldn’t get back to safety before someone came in for the morning shift.” 

A shiver travels down David’s spine at the thought of encountering the animatronics at this size. Quickly pushes the thought away for a different time. “And no one realized you were missing?” 

Fritz flinches at his question. Finally meets his gaze with glossy eyes. “Did you?” 

For the first time since he could remember, David feels remorse. For not knowing someone who worked for him vanished without a trace. A kid for that matter. Didn’t care because he fired people daily, what was one waiter out of the multiple he goes through in a single week. The worst part is that instead of someone going into debt or not being able to pay rent for the month, Fritz had been damned to this kind of hell. 

Even though David would never have thought someone shrunk, he should be able to say he at least looked for Fritz. Make a missing report, check the cameras. If he had, who’s to say he wouldn’t have found the kid. Because attempts were most likely made to get someone’s attention. If David had been looking, would he have noticed? 

David clears his throat. “I will not live like this.” 

Fritz shuffles nervously. “Um, is there someone you could call?” 

The business man almost scoffs before freezing. Because he does not like the idea at all. But it’s either call someone who can at least offer help, or live off of dropped crumbs in his own restaurant. And he’d rather die than take the second option. 

“How the hell would we call-” 

David cuts himself off. Doesn’t address Fritz’s confused look, too embarrassed to look the kid in the eye. Instead, he digs his phone out of his pocket. Blinks against the light much too artificial against what the candles emanate. Stares in disbelief he actually has service. 

“Does it-?” Fritz begins, voice filled with awe. There’s no response to his question. David allows the screen to turn off as he stares at it. 

Who should he call? 

David doesn’t trust a single person on this earth except himself. That means he would have to completely rely on someone he normally wouldn’t even at six feet tall. And considering just how small he is, trusting the wrong person could end with his demise, even if that wasn’t their intention. 

Alright, if he thinks about this logically, his best bet would be Scott. Because if anyone knows about dealing with the impossible, it’s the man who’s William’s lapdog. 

...fuck, William. 

David doesn’t know why it took him so long. His boss is a smart man, knows how to get what he wants. But he’s also created a monstrosity David wishes he never had the honor of meeting. And if William is capable of making something like a certain mutated grape he had first been told was a highly advanced AI, then shrinking someone wouldn’t be completely out of the question. 

Why the fuck did William shrink him! 

“Da- Mr. Harrison?” Fritz asks with a worried look at David’s hand clutching his phone like he wants to break it.  “Are you okay?” 

No, he is far from okay. Good thing he’s able to finally take his anger out. Scrolls through his contacts before selecting Scott’s phone number. 

It takes a few moments for the call to actually do through, but it’s picked up on the first ring. “Hello, hello, David.” 

“My restaurant, 8 o’clock sharp. William has given you quite the mess to clean up,” David snaps. Not in the mood for pleasantries. Even if Scott is a giant to him. 

“I’m not a dog,” the sandy haired man growls. “I would also appreciate a little bit more information.” 

“Come to the kitchen, watch where you step, and listen carefully. Is that enough information for you?” 

“David, are you serious? At least tell me what Afton apparently did.” 

“He apparently shrunk me so I’m shorter than four inches tall and currently hiding behind the cabinets,” the business man huffs. 

Scott suddenly goes silent on the other end. When a minute passes, David checks his phone to make sure the call wasn’t dropped. 

“I swear to God,” the older man breathes. “If you’re lying-” 

“I’m not,” David interrupts. “8 o’clock, kitchen, watch where you step.” 

“Stay safe until then.” 

With that, they both hang up. And David’s met with Fritz looking a mixture of horrified, hopeful, and another emotion he can’t quite identify. 

“I, I-I take it you know someone who can help?” the teenager asks. 

Right. Fritz doesn’t know anything about the truth around Fazbear’s. Granted, it took David a few months to have a proper initiation, but he’s not a small fry employee. He has a lengthy contract that ensures his safety while working for the company. The teenager, on the other hand, is as disposable as the other night guards. If he’s being honest, William might’ve assumed the kid would’ve died within a few hours. Might’ve used him as a guinea pig. 

Surviving multiple months at this size is something William would at least have to respect, right? Or, would that just prove the kid is a liability that needs to be silenced. 

Now David’s faced with a choice. Have Scott meet Fritz, and they both confront William on getting the kid back to his normal size. Or, they play it safe, and David promises to find and care for Fritz once the business man is at his proper height. 

One look at the resigned expression conquering Fritz’s face, and it seems like his thoughts were heard. 

“Th-There’s still a few hours until 8. Would you like to rest for a bit?” 

“You won’t leave this room, will you?” David finds himself asking. Not because he’s protective and genuinely worried for the kid who could get into trouble before help arrives. He’s certainly responsible over Fritz, though. Meaning he can’t let anything happen under his watch. 

Fritz thinks it over for a moment. Nods his head. “I’ll stay here.” 

David doesn’t say another word. He drinks the rest of the water, turns to the poor excuse of a bed, and flops heavily into it. Uncaring if the owner hadn’t meant to give him permission to claim it for a nap. 

And if there was any objections, the business man was already falling asleep before he could hear them. 

”You killed him.”

David whirls around to see Scott staring at him like he’s some kind of monster as they stand in a kitchen that’s all too familiar. 

Anger flairs up, and the want to punch the shorter man in the face rises like a tide. He’s being judged like he’s some kind of murderer? What about Scott being best friends to a literal monstrosity? What about him following the orders of someone like William? What about the night guards? 

“I haven’t killed anyone,” David snaps. 

“Oh really?” Scott growls. “Someone didn’t disappear during a shift inside your own restaurant?” 

The business man bristles. “How was I supposed to know! It’s not like I would’ve known he shrunk. And he’s a teenager, they always walk out without telling anyone and just refuse to show up for work the next day.” 

“Do you know how many times he tried to get your attention? Tried to ask for help? Do you know how many times you ignored him?” 

...is that true? Did Fritz make it all the way to his office at some point? Did David nearly crush him like an irate gnat? Unimportant and nothing but a distraction from his work? 

“What about you? Don’t act so high and mighty when you have actual blood on your hands. How many guards died because your recordings didn’t tell them how to survive?” 

“The difference,” Scott muses. “Is you feel guilty.” 

That’s an implication he doesn’t like for numerous reasons. The confirmation Scott doesn’t care people die despite it being his fault. The truth David is remorseful to not notice someone vanishing from his own staff. That he was close to playing a large part in William’s game without even knowing it. That his actions do have consequences. 

“I didn’t kill him.” 

“Don’t lie to yourself. He’s only alive because he fought for his life. You still pulled the plug.” 

“How was I supposed to know!” David shouts. “I didn’t ask for this! My job is to help the reputation of the company, nothing more! It’s not my fault William thrust this kind of responsibility on me!” 

“Neither did I,” Scott says so condescendingly David's fists clench automatically. “You don’t see me mourning every guard that gets killed, do you?” 

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” 

“And you’re any better? Tell me, David, what’s the real reason you don’t want to bring him to Afton?” 

“That’d be a death sentence.” 

“Or it’d be his only salvation,” Scott shrugs. “Let’s look at the savior complex you currently have. If you’re truly worried Afton would kill him to tie up loose ends, then what? Would you actually take care of someone you barely know?” 

David bristles. “Of course I would.” 

“Oh?” and he’s this close to giving in a punching Scott. “As a person, or as a toy.” 

He wouldn’t, no, David wouldn’t do that. He’s seen what it’s like being this small first hand. Nearly died numerous times, he wouldn’t offer Fritz help and only treat the kid like a desk trinket. Technically that would still be better than the way he’s currently living, but the business man wouldn’t do something like that. He’s an asshole but he’s not cruel. 

Yet he can’t help thinking about what will happen a month from now. When Fritz becomes more of a burden than anything. The one thing David can’t stand are people who contribute nothing to this world. It wouldn’t be the kid’s fault, he didn’t ask to be shrunk, but old habits would die hard. 

And David...he’ll forget what it’s like to be that small. Will stop being careful, won’t pay enough attention, and get upset if he’s told about his mistakes until- 

“Well?” Scott probes as David refuses to answer. Makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat after the silence stretches on. “They deserve more, David.” 

Now they’re talking about more than just Fritz. About the people he stepped on to get to where he is now. Everyone he’s fired from every business he’s helped in his career, uncaring about how it will affect their lives. 

Actually, you know what, he’s calling bullshit. David deserved getting to where he is. He’s done nothing wrong, and Scott of all people has absolutely no right to judge him. 

He gives into the temptation to wipe the goddamn smirk off the fossil’s face. Raises a hand as he steps forward to grab Scott’s shirt. 

Feels his heart stop when he hears a soft scream before it’s suddenly cut off. 

...no. 

He doesn’t dare look down at his shoe. Can only stare at Scott sighing long and hard with a sad shake of his head. “I tried to warn you, David.” 

No. 

“I didn’t.” Panic starts welling up inside him, his breathing getting shorter and shorter. “H-He’s not, I didn’t-” 

“You did.” 

No!

The words are only stated matter-of-factly. As if he didn’t just kill Fritz. After surviving on his own for months, and the kid’s fatal mistake was saving David’s life. 

”Was it worth it, David?”

“No!” 

David jolts awake, gasping for air before a panicked yell rises in his throat when all that greets him is pure darkness. Where is he, where’s Scott, and where’s- 

“David?” a voice suddenly calls. One the business man almost lunges at to confirm it’s real it has to be real he didn’t kill Fritz. “Oh, the light, sorry! Hold on, I’ll light one.” 

It sounds like actual footsteps and someone moving things around. But without being able to even see his own hands right in front of him, David can’t help but think his talk with Scott was reality and this is the dream. A sick and twisted nightmare where he’ll be forced to hear the kid, but never see him. 

Then there’s sparks, and a flame appears to reveal a corner of the room, as well as a short figure with red hair. 

Offers an apologetic smile before it turns into concern. “Dav- Mr. Harrison, are you okay?” 

Fritz is alive. Fritz is alive. 

David watches for a moment to ensure the kid doesn’t disappear. Once he determines it won’t happen, he flops back into the nest of fabric. Remembers lying down to take a nap. And the promise Fritz wouldn’t leave the room without him. 

“Just...wasn’t expecting to wake up to an empty void,” he manages to grumble. 

“Sorry,” Fritz repeats. “I just didn’t want to waste the light. But I forgot you wouldn’t be used to it.” 

David doesn’t respond. Too drained to do anything more than watch Fritz’s silhouette walk around the room. Almost looking like he’s packing things into the bag from earlier. Realizes he doesn’t know how long he slept for, reaching out to his right to tap on his phone screen. 

7:50pm. The restaurant is closed, everyone on staff should be on their way home after getting everything cleaned, and Scott will be arriving soon. 

Fritz clears his throat. “Would you like to head back to the kitchen to meet your friend?” 

David’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach for more reasons than one. But he forces himself to stand up. Glances at his phone’s battery at 50%. “I’ll lead the way this time.” 

That earns him an incredulous look before he turns on the phone’s flashlight. Fritz jumping back in surprise manages to make his lips curl up. After the scare, the kid beams. “That’s so much better then carrying a candle.” 

“Of course it- you've carried a lit candle around?” David demands once he processes the full sentence, sending a glare after the kid as he puts out the flame. 

“It was the only way to see until I got really familiar with the path,” Fritz explains. “I didn’t have a phone, and no one realizes when a pack of birthday candles from a box of hundreds goes missing.” 

Some people would be impressed by the lengths that were gone to adapt. David’s only thinking about how it’s a miracle Fritz didn’t accidentally kill himself by his own stupidity. 

Instead of validating what he was told with a response, the business man makes his way to the ‘door’, Fritz taking the initiative to open it and then close it behind them. Then they slowly walk down the dark path that’s barely illuminated by the week flashlight, but it keeps the darkness from becoming suffocating. It does nothing to calm David’s thoughts, however. Not just his terror on facing Scott at this size, but about what he should do concerning Fritz. 

“Fritz, did you ever try to get my attention after you shrunk?” 

“...a few times.” 

David suddenly stops. Feels Fritz bump into him before the teenager quickly steps back. He then turns so the light shines on both of them. 

Stares down at someone who has every right to yell and scream at him. Every right to hate David for not being there. For leaving him for dead when his life was on the line in the business man’s own restaurant. Failing to make up for his mistake when there were multiple opportunities if he just paid attention. 

Fritz doesn’t glare or even look upset now that the truth is out. The kid just looks...patient. Not entirely resigned, but not hopeful either. Just, waiting. 

“You recognized me when you saved me,” David says. Earns a nod for confirmation. “So why did you?” 

Fritz becomes panicked. “Why wouldn’t I? They could’ve killed you, I couldn’t let that happen!” 

And that’s when David realizes that even if Fritz was angry that his calls for help were never answered, the kid is nothing but selfless. Was willing to save someone who by every definition didn’t deserve it. Give up his resources even with no promise to be repaid for it. 

...unless he’s been hoping David is his only ticket out. 

“I don’t think there will be a way to grow you to your normal height.” 

There. He ripped the band-aid off. It was going to happen at some point. It’s best if the kid knows now so he doesn’t waste anymore of his time. Yell that he never should’ve saved David if he wasn’t at the very least going to finally escape from this hell. 

Fritz jolts like he was electrocuted. Stares at David for a moment as his green eyes well up with tears. Curls in on himself as he looks at the floor. “O-Oh.” 

Silence. 

The kid takes a deep breath, wiping his eyes before looking up again. “Um, would y-you...do you still have a chance?” 

...what? 

“I...I guess I had a feeling,” Fritz continues, voice shaky. “I mean, n-no one was looking for me, and after a week it seemed like this was...permanent. I-I didn’t want it to happen to anyone else, though. As terrifying as it’s been, no one deserves this. You don’t think you’re stuck too, do you?” 

It’s said with such a genuine tone of concern. Not for himself. Purely for David. 

“I don’t know,” the business man says. 

Fritz straightens up. “Th-Then we shouldn’t miss your friend if it’s your only chance!” 

David is a bit too stunned to do anything but allow the kid to grab his arm and guide him down the tunnel. Immediately ducks his head once they exit the hole and make their way into the main part of the kitchen from under the oven. 

“David?” 

Both of them freeze at the booming voice calling for the shrunken man. All at once, the terror he felt a few hours ago comes rushing up, and it demands he stays as still and quite as possible. 

“David, are you in here?” 

Fritz slowly comes back to life at the sound of Scott growing worried. Tugs at David’s arm until the business man starts to follow again. “Y-You trust him, right?” 

It’s a miracle the whispered words weren’t drowned out by the sound of fabric moving. “I-I do.” 

Not much. But enough. 

“David,” Scott rumbles, impatience seeping into his tone and causing the two to flinch. “I’m not in the mood for games.” 

They make it to the toe kick. Blink against the blinding light until they can finally make out the towering figure standing by the kitchen door. 

At this angle, David can see Scott entirely. From his sandy hair, to the obscure band t-shirt, to the black converse shoes. Despite the distance, there’s no denying the man normally half a foot shorter than him is a giant who’s shoes could crush him. Hands with fingers longer than he is tall. Hazel eyes similar to his own as big as his head. 

Ones that are narrowed in their direction. 

“David?” 

Oh shit.

Scott is suddenly walking toward them. Fritz immediately flattens himself against the counters. David, on the other hand, wasn’t quick enough and ends up falling onto his back from the earthquakes. 

“Please don’t be a large insect...” 

Look, David is genuinely terrified. But he can’t stop the feeling of indignation surging through him, finding himself sitting up with a glare meant for Scott for comparing him to a bug. 

It vanishes when a hand slams down a few feet away, a face the size of a billboard leaning down, the massive being going completely still when their eyes meet. 

“Oh my God,” has David recoil when the simple action of Scott talking ruffles his hair and suit. “David?” 

“Sc-Scott,” the business man manages. Feels his entire body trembling. “It’s me, I-” 

He hadn’t seen it coming. Even though Scott set his hand down close by, David thought he would be able to get out of the way in time. He didn’t even see it lift off the ground. One moment it seems harmless, the next fingers are curling around him. 

“No, don’t-!” 

David frantically attempts to scramble away as fear claws at his throat. But he's too slow, much too slow. A thumb the size of his torso settles on his chest at the same time another digit folds over his legs. He shoves with all his might to try and get the finger pinning him down away from him, gasping in pain when it only presses harder, forcing the air out of his lungs. 

Then vertigo makes his stomach flip. Meaning he’s being lifted up. Away from the ground, from safety, closer to the giant that’s staring at him like he’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me.

“I can’t believe it,” Scott breathes. “He actually shrunk you.” 

David gasps as the grip gets tighter, shoving at the thumb and kicking his legs in the hope he can escape. “Scott...tight!” 

“S-Sir, you’re hurting him!” 

Everything freezes. 

“Wha-?” the giant mutters intelligently, and all David can see is Scott’s eyes looking at something down on the ground. Lets out a strangled yell when he’s squeezed suddenly. Pain erupting at the feeling like he was punched in the stomach and chest. 

“Open your hand!” 

David chokes on air as the thumb is finally lifted, curls onto his side as he just concentrates on breathing he can finally breathe. 

He sends a glare up at the giant watching him with a troubled look as soon as he can think again. “What, the fuck, Scott?” 

“I’m sorry,” the sandy haired man apologizes. As if it makes everything better. “I hadn’t realized. Are you hurt?” 

He chose the wrong person to trust. “Put me down!” 

Scott seems apprehensive. But then the hand is lowering, and David suddenly remembers Fritz once the kid comes into his line of sight. Had completely forgotten about everything that happened before a hand attempted to squeeze him to death. 

Bad news, his limbs are too shaky to get him away from the giant who’s proven himself to be deadly. Worse news, Fritz comes running over from the safety of the cabinets despite the fact Scott nearly killed David within the first five minutes. 

“Are you ok-k-kay?” the kid whispers, sending a fearful look up at Scott every other second. Offers a hand that’s immediately taken to help sit David up. Gently pats at his chest before recoiling at a painful groan. “Did anything break?” 

“Did anything break?” Scott repeats, at the very least sounding remorseful. 

“No, nothing broke. But I couldn’t, breathe for a good minute,” David snaps with a wheeze. “Now I owe Fritz for saving my life twice.” 

David was not expecting the weirdest part of his day to watch pupils dilate, unable to help watching in fascination as the brown ring seemingly retracts to reveal an almost gold color. 

Then cold fear races down his back at the realization Scott is looking at Fritz. “Twice?” 

The giant better not touch the kid. “It’s been a long day.” 

“I’ve got time to hear about it,” Scott says, doing a great impression of a thunder storm. Looks between them for a moment. Makes David curse and Fritz jump away when fingers curl in closer. “God, you make me feel like a monster.” 

“You almost crushed me!” 

“Your size,” the giant clarifies with a scowl. And despite the revelation of just how big the man is to them, Scott fails to connect the dots such a seemingly harmless expression only meant to show his frustration makes David shake from the thought there will be retaliation he’ll have no way to defend himself against. “But you’re right, I got grabby when I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. Let’s, start from the beginning.” 

“Fritz help me get down.” 

The kid slowly approaches Scott’s hand again. Grabs David’s arm even as he trembles to help the business man down the surprisingly high platform a palm makes. Nearly collapses onto Fritz when his legs give out because he’s still not at 100%. He’s on the fence whether to feel grateful or fearful of the finger offering assistance to get him standing upright. 

But Scott completely withdrawals his hand once David’s knees aren’t threatening to buckle. And with it, warmth the business man hadn’t realized was keeping the chill of the room at bay. 

David takes a deep breath. Well, as much as he can without it becoming painful. Looks up at Scott towering over them even while kneeling. “I shrunk the moment I walked into the kitchen, and apparently I wasn’t the first one. The same thing happened to Fritz a few months ago, and he managed to keep me from getting squashed because the staff mistook me for a roach.” 

Scott’s jaw drops. “Months?” 

Not what David thought the sandy haired man would latch onto. Then again, it’s not hard to see the kid is just a teenager. He thought the revelation of William shrinking any and all employees would be the most concerning part. But, this is only new to the business man. Scott’s been with the company long enough to be far too familiar with these kinds of scenarios. That anyone’s up for grabs with experiments, not the shrinking. 

David nods, because he has no reason to not believe the timeline. “Does that mean anything to you?” 

Scott hesitates. Looks at the kid cowering in his shadow. “It sounds like he was the first field test if I’m being honest. Did anyone come looking for you?” 

Fritz jumps when David elbows him, giving a small ‘oh!’ realizing the question was directed at him. “Um-m-m, no one called my name. Or, looked under the cabinets. I-I just, I remember a shadow when I first left the kitchen.” 

That sounds like Vincent. And Scott wincing just proves it. “So he was the guinea pig.” 

“He was,” Scott confirms. “I don't understand why Afton would make such a risky move. His parents would’ve-” 

David doesn't catch it until the giant stops talking. But Fritz’s head is...shaking. “Not my parents...” 

And that’s why David never received a phone call about someone missing while working a shift at his restaurant. Why Fritz vanished and no one really noticed. The kid was so unimportant no one would care if he was dead. 

David clears his throat. “Do you think William can grow Fritz back to his normal height?” 

“I-I’m okay Mr. Harrison,” is said at the same time Scott sighs. He pretends he didn’t hear it. 

“Even if he’d be willing to, I don’t think he can. If it took months to shrink you after shrinking him, it meant results he got in his lab weren’t the same as when Fritz shrunk. Meaning he had to make a few adjustments.” 

Meaning the kid is most likely permanently this size. 

Fritz doesn’t make a single sound. Scott’s careful not to betray any emotion. 

“Take us both to William,” David commands. 

“Mr-” 

“You are my responsibility,” the business man growls down at the kid. “Don’t be a dumbass. We’ll see if he can get you back to your proper height no matter how short it is. If he can’t, we’ll go from there. But you won’t be leaving my side to get crushed like a bug or end up as somethings dinner, understood?” 

Fritz stares up at him in shock. Like he was fully expecting to get left behind despite everything he’s done. And, if they’re being honest, that had been a genuine possibility. But David owes the kid his life. Besides, if he ever suggested not bringing Fritz along to fend for himself however long they’d be gone, Scott would kill him. 

That’s the only reason. 

A small but hopeful smile tugs on Fritz’s mouth. “Understood.” 

“Wonderful. Scott, set your hand down and we’ll walk on,” David directs. “Don’t grab us.” 

“I learned my lesson,” Scott murmurs as he sets a hand down palm up in front of them. 

He absolutely hates the idea of willingly putting his life in the hands of the giant. It’s the only way to get to William and demand their rightful size back, though. So with clenched teeth and fists, David steps up onto a middle finger almost as thick as he is. 

One that twitches and sends him tumbling. 

David scrambles to try and sit up, arms raising to protect himself from the bone crushing curling fingers. “Scott please don’t!” 

The hand opens again. “That was reflex, I apologize. I wasn’t trying to pin you, I swear.” 

David kicks at the nearest digit, sending a fierce glare up at Scott. “I’m starting to think even Fritz would be a better giant than you.” 

“I don’t have a guide on what to do when I find someone who was shrunk,” the sandy haired man defends. “This is new for both of us. And I don’t think you realize how ticklish you can be.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. You feel like a large bug crawling into my hand,” Scott smirks. Before David can protest, the giant looks away, face softening. “He’s okay, Fritz. Just a little rumpled.” 

“Way to scare the kid,” the business man grumbles as he sits up. Sees Fritz shaking like a leaf with skin so pale his freckles look like they’ll jump right off of him. “It’s safe, Fritz, Scott’s just a dumbass.” 

A small step forward as the strap to the bag is held in a white-knuckle grip. A careful step up onto Scott’s first finger. A fearful glance at the giant before another tentative step. There’s a shuddering breath as Fritz continues onto the hand until he makes it to Scott’s palm and immediately sits down. Curls up in a tight ball as he looks around in terror, expecting the fingers to snap shut around them at any moment. 

David slaps at the giant’s thumb. “Why didn’t you trip him?” 

“I was expecting it that time,” Scott grouses. “Unlike some people, I learn from my mistakes.” 

He doesn’t try and refute the claim. Not when he latches onto the fact that Scott now holds both of them. To do whatever he wants with. Put them in a pocket to take home instead of William. Close his hand until he crushes them mercilessly. Trips while walking and let them fall a hundred feet to the unforgiving ground. 

“Ready?” shakes him to his very core. 

...Scott will keep them safe. 

David nods once. Gasps when the hand lifts up way too quickly, gravity flattening him against the palm. Yelps and the same time Fritz shrieks when the ride up suddenly stops, leaving both of them lifting into the air before falling back down. 

This was the worst idea he’s ever had why did they ever trust a giant. 

“Are you two okay?” Scott asks, sounding confused as to why he earned such terrified reactions. 

“You...have no idea how physics works, do you?” David breathes, trying to get his heart to calm back down from the scare. 

Scott stares before his eyes widen, making a soft ‘ah’. “Was I too fast?” 

"Both starting and stopping.” He looks over at Fritz, relieved the kid at least doesn’t seem traumatized. 

“I’ll go slower,” Scott reassures. This time, the giant doesn’t wait for confirmation they’re ready, instead starts to stand up without warning. 

It feels like David’s stomach got left far behind, and he doesn’t dare try to look over the edge of the hand. But to Scott’s credit, he’s much slower. Careful to not abruptly stop so it feels like they’ll go flying. When they don’t scream again, the giant takes it as a que to continue on his journey. Turns slowly, but wind still tussles their clothes and hair. Footsteps jostle them so harshly it feels like their teeth might crack. 

“Feeling okay?” Scott asks. 

“Fine,” David spits out, not wanting to be reminded he’s being held tens of feet above the ground, completely vulnerable to someone he barely trusts on a good day. Catches sight of Fritz looking ten times worse than him, eyes shut tight and holding his knees as close as possible like his life depends on it. “Fritz?” 

“H-H-Heights,” is all the kid can say. 

That must be the worst phobia to have while shrunk. Scott’s sympathetic look says the giant agrees. “If there’s anything I can do to make it better-” 

Scott doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Because the second he steps through the kitchen doorway, David’s falling. Lands before he can try to scream. Braces himself for nothing but blinding hot pain. 

Nothing happens. When he opens his eyes, he sees Scott sitting on the ground, hand on his head as he groans from pain. And the sandy haired man is his size. 

What the fuck just happened? 

David pats down his chest. Winces at the pain from it still tender from Scott squeezing him, but other than that, he’s perfectly fine. No broken bones. No ruptured organs. He’s unhurt, and most importantly, he’s six feet tall again. 

...where’s Fritz? 

“Fritz?” David calls. Looks to his right and left. Next to Scott. But the hallways void of the teenager. Meaning he didn’t grow back to his normal height. “Fritz?” 

“David?” Scott blinks. Gasps when it hits him David grew. “How-? 

“Where’s Fritz?” the business man demands. Looks at hands completely empty of miniscule figures. Feels his heart clench at the thought the kid fell. “Scott where’s Fritz?” 

The sandy haired man gapes at him. Once it processes, once he realizes what it means to not know where the kid is, his eyes dart across the floor. “I don’t know. I didn’t even see what happened, I was just knocked into the wall.” 

“Fritz,” David all but pleads. Not daring to move. Afraid he won’t see the kid if he does. Afraid what he might find. “Don’t be an idiot, tell us where you are, kid.” 

“M-M-M-” 

His eyes snap over to the kitchen door at the softest sound he’ll ever encounter. Stares unblinkingly at the tiny figure trying its hardest to become part of the wall. Breathes a sigh of relief when it doesn’t disappear and the familiar features of red hair and a bag over the shoulder confirms it’s Fritz. The kid’s alive, the kid’s alive. 

“You dumbass,” David berates as he turns toward Fritz, careful to go as slow as possible to not spook him, especially with how the poor kid looks like he’s going to bolt at any moment. Trembling so badly it’s impossible to miss despite how small he is. 

Was David really that size? So miniscule that a strong breeze could knock him over? Not even as tall as one of the checkered tiles on the floor? It makes him want to do nothing more than pick Fritz up so he’s safe from everything that could possibly hurt him. David is all too familiar with how dangerous it is to be alone on the ground. 

“Took you long enough.” 

The voice makes David’s skin crawl. After checking to make sure Fritz won't move, he looks down the hallway to see a living shadow standing a few feet away. 

“What the hell do you want?” the business man growls, not happy Vincent decided to show up. What a fantastic end to the worst day of his life. 

“I was just going to make sure you didn’t lock yourself in the kitchen all night,” the purple man shrugs. “I assumed you didn’t want to stay three inches tall for a full 24 hours.” 

That sick son of a bitch. “You mean to tell me that if I had gone right back through that goddamn door, I wouldn’t immediately grown again?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

David’s head snaps over to give Scott a seething glare, silently demanding he take responsibility over his mutated grape. The sandy haired man sighs, fixing Vincent with an unimpressed look. “Was Afton’s intention to put David’s life in danger?” 

“Not at all. But accidents happen, and David deciding to go into the kitchen in the middle of a rush instead of during his rounds after the restaurant's been locked up was just unfortunate timing.” 

“Unfortunate?” David seethes. “I was nearly killed! Several times! Why didn’t you come to save me!” 

“I wasn’t around to help,” Vincent smiles and fuck him. “Besides, it was a happy accident. We’ve been trying to get your companion to come out of hiding for a while now, so I’ll just be taking him and be on my way.” 

Companion? Who-? 

David’s hand hovers protectively over Fritz. “And what exactly will you do with him?” 

“A few tests, a physical, a questionnaire,” Vincent lists. “After that, he no longer has any use.” 

That means Fritz is disposable. After surviving for so long, and is only reward is to be killed once William gets all of the information he wants. 

“You won’t return him to his proper size?” David questions. 

“Can’t,” Vincent says. “Though, if it was possible, he’s a liability, and we can’t have that. You know that, David.” 

Maybe he does. Because that was why he was hesitant about bringing Fritz to William. The cruel man can’t let experiments wonder around. Not with the possibility it can be traced back to Fazbear’s. 

And maybe he doesn’t really give a shit what William wants. “Then he won’t be leaving with you.” 

“It’s not a choice, David.” 

“He’s not hurting anyone, Vince,” Scott pipes up, and the sandy haired man might not be as heartless as originally thought. “He’ll stay within the company, David and I will make sure no one gets their hands on him.” 

“It’s a bit too risky for William, Scotty. What he says goes.” 

“He’s my employee,” David counters. Barely holds back a flinch as amber eyes lock on him with a death stare. The kind that says he’s pushing it. “He got shrunk in my restaurant under my payroll. That means I have first say. And I say he’ll stay here, completely out of the public eye. No one will know he exists.” 

Vincent stares at him for a long moment. David is expecting a knife to slice his throat open at any second. 

The purple man hums. “I will inform William. I may return with orders that it’s your life, or his.” 

They can’t give a response, not when Vincent disappears into the shadows. He fucking hates that thing. 

“Afton’s going to make you pay for that,” Scott huffs. 

“I already can’t go into my own damn kitchen without shrinking,” David growls. “I think I’ve paid plenty.” 

He then ignores Scott completely, turns to Fritz cowering under his hand. Glad the kid didn’t make a break for it, because who knows if that would’ve triggered the mutated grape into hunting him down. 

“Back to you being a dumbass. If I call your name, you better answer, or else I think you’re dead. Are we clear?” 

Fritz seems to look down in shame, but he nods his head in agreement. “Yes, s-sir.” 

David sets his hand in front of the kid. Curls his fingers in twice as a command for Fritz to climb on. “We’re getting you some proper food, and then we’ll talk about arrangements.” 

There’s hesitation. “You...y-you’re letting me stay?” 

“And making sure you’re properly taken care of,” David says. “It won’t be perfect, but you won’t have to risk your neck just to survive.” 

It’s the least he can do. Fritz has more than earned it. And the kid doesn’t deserve to die by William’s hand after surviving against all the odds. 

Miniscule shoes walk across his fingers, David smirking at the fact Fritz isn’t even as tall as his thumb. And unlike Scott, there’s no twitching to send the kid tumbling. Slowly lifts his hand up until they’re eye level without any turbulence. 

If he didn’t know Fritz was there, it’d be hard to feel the miniscule weight of an entire person in his hand. But the kid is here. Terrified, refusing to look anywhere except the palm he’s sitting in, breathing short and quick, 

Instead of an overwhelming sense of power, all David feels is the need to protect. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t lift a finger to nudge at the kid, absolutely fascinated by the miniscule movements of surprise. He could definitely get used to this. 

With the confirmation Fritz is alright, David tucks his hand against his chest before carefully standing up. Looks over at Scott standing up as well and dusting himself off. “Scott, grab a pizza and meet us in the main area.” 

“You can’t grab one?” Scott questions. 

“Not unless you want me shrinking again,” the business man responds as he slowly walks down the hallway. 

He hears a soft ‘I might’, followed by the sound of his request being heeded. Leaving him to glance down to make sure he isn’t jostling Fritz too much. 

David didn’t expect the kid to be looking back at him. “I’m not as bad as Scott, am I?” 

Fritz jolts. “N-No! I mean, he wasn’t bad. Just not...cautious?” 

“He was the worst giant we could’ve asked for,” David declares. 

That earns him a smile. “I wanted to say thank you.” 

This isn't something that earns him a ‘thank you’. This is making up for not being there when Fritz needed him. But he will be working hard for it. 

“I should be thanking you.” 

[corvidcrybaby]

Say, after reading your last commentary on Integra, now I need your POV on something I've been wondering.

What do you think will happen to Hellsing once Integra dies? To Alucard and Seras? Integra has expressed no interest in having children, and since she wants to avoid becoming a vampire, we know she won't be alive forever. Does she have a plan for that?

Hi! Omg so sorry to take so long to get to answering this, life has been insane on my end.

To answer your question, I'd wager there's a plan in place. Whether it pans out according to Integra's expectations or not is what remains to be seen. Integra mentions that the Organization will be passed over to the general military once she passes, and the Crown will thus assume direct control of the agency and its vampires. I'm willing to bet good money that the sigils that bind Alucard and Seras could potentially be transferred. If they are, then they'll keep up their job as the UK's resident vampire pest control until something extreme happens to break that bond of servitude. The nature of these sigils is unfortunately never explored fully, nor how they work, which leaves us with naught but speculation. However, this is my educated guess at how they probably work.

On the other hand, let's entertain the more interesting prospect of if those sigils are less malleable than we think, and it becomes impossible to bend Alucard and Seras to the will of someone else. From there? If the British military effectively has to try to keep these two under control through... What, good will? Threat of force? Both ideas are ultimately laughable. If that is the case, then I think Alucard is going to assess the inheritor's character and convictions. If he finds Integra's replacement to be unworthy, and there are no magic spells forcing him to play nice, then I think he probably peaces out to take a nice long nap. I think he probably goes into hibernation after Integra's passing - which, mind you, I think he'll be destitute following. It would be hard to read from him, but he holds Integra in high esteem, and went out of his way to return to her after Schroödinger-gate. That shows a high degree of loyalty, and I think Alucard would be laying low for a minute. After he wakes up, however, is when I suspect he might piss off into the unknown, wandering around the world - perhaps in search of interesting people to meddle with the lives of, secretly hoping he'll find the next Anderson, the next Integra, et cetera. I suspect he'll probably go right back to eating people, though. I'd put money on him perhaps being a bit more Punisher-esque on the humans he kills for food than before, since he has hinted at the idea of humans rubbing off on him in the series before. So less the kind of guy who devours the most innocent and defenseless people imaginable, and more likely he interferes with mortal affairs that he can justify to himself are morally bankrupt so he has a steady supply of enemies to destroy and humans to feed on. I don't see him turning all of England into a necrotizing wasteland with him at the head. I think that would beneath his interest by now. I think harassing and stalking people he deems unique or entertaining would occupy much of his time post-hibernation.

Seras, however, is interesting. I suspect Seras would stick around at Hellsing of her own volition, and would continue aiding Britain in its cause to protect people and slay undead monsters. That's what she became the person she is while doing, and I think with or without Alucard, she'll keep on generally being a goody two-shoes. But I think even she would grow weary of it eventually. With Integra gone, I think it becomes less and less like the home Seras "grew up" in - and if the new commanders are inept, then I think eventually Seras would reach a breaking point where she too, might go rogue. She might tag along with Alucard for a while, and I'd wager they keep regular contact and check in with one another on a semi-frequent basis (which, for vampires, might mean catching up once a decade or some shit). Seras is her own independent person, especially after accepting her vampirism and drinking blood to become autonomous as Alucard always urged her to be. But just as that's true, I feel their relationship was always one of Seras, despite everything, wanting to remain by Alucard's side. Their relationship would no doubt shift, and I suspect they might grow more reserved with one another, but I think they might find a new kind of emotional intimacy with one another - not romantic (I like Aluseras from time to time but this is my baseline read), to be clear, but I think Seras has the vampire equivalent of her late-twenties-development after Teggy passes. And from there? Anybody's game, but I think she keeps on bumping off rogue vampires - although I think with time, it might become more territorial than altruistic in how she carries herself. Less general heroics talk and more like, a vigilante warden type of dealio. She might come to see Britain as HER TERRITORY which would spell doom for any foreign vampires thinking they can feed on "her" humans. I think time as a vampire makes everybody go a little dark, but this is still pretty tame. It's Seras, after all. She'll flay you to ribbons but only if you really, REALLY press her.

Thanks so much for the ask!!!

[immortalsarcasm]

“Colour” – Echo Grid

Spotify | YouTube

He had found Daniel one night, splayed on the splendid rug before the grand fireplace which Marius so loved for it’s modern convenience and electric design (as much for his own peace of mind as for Daniel’s safety), the younger immortal nestled amid a heap of blankets from an overturned basket at the hearth side, and dressed in a familiar red sweater that Marius knew to be one of his own.

Marius’ gaze had lingered on that lovely sight; Daniel infrequently looking so tranquil as he did then in the lighter sleep of a mortal, which they too could still enjoy; Daniel’s build accentuated by the thick cable knit that draped heavy over that lithe frame, slender hands rising up from too-long sleeves to rest against his own chest. The firelight accentuated the delicate fan of Daniel’s lashes against his cheek and caught the golden threads of Daniel’s fine hair, imbued that fine lingering color of mortality in preternatural flesh that Daniel had yet to lose to time with a pallor that whispered of warmth. And Daniel was warm still compared to Marius, so young in the blood as he was, warm to the touch and his skin not yet so hard as it would become over many more nights and years.

Marius held to that hope still, that Daniel would continue to endure, would continue to change as he continued through time, thought at that very moment Marius was loathe to think too long on those hallmarks of passing time. Daniel who stirred in his slumber, who exhaled and sighed as if mortal breath were still a necessity, who aside from perhaps the most newly made of their kind, retained more lingering humanity than any of them, even more now than Louis du Pointe du Lac. Daniel drawing his arms closer to himself, burying his face into those plush sleeves and breathing deep before relaxing once more with the lowest and contented of hums.

How those movements and sounds pulled at something within Marius. Something long dormant, long forced down, long denied. It was not the first time it had happened, nor would it be the last. Nor for the first time he resisted the desire to reach out and touch that fine cheek and feel the suppleness of it beneath his hard fingertips. The very thought of it caused his hand to close and tighten, as surely as his own throat tightened. Far too impulsive and impetuous to act upon he had reasoned, also not for the first time. Daniel was too precious, too tender for such base longings such as the ones Marius had been caught up in for some months then; and how very often as of late he found himself in the snare of Daniel’s laugh, Daniel’s careless and unruly way of moving, the flash of Daniel’s eyes when, in those rare moment of lucidity, Daniel fixed his gaze on Marius and held him riveted. Daniel was everywhere, had become everything, and had unwittingly become the very center of Marius’ isolated and lonely world.

And Marius had learned to make do in his own way. Stolen, secret pleasures those; fingertips pressed to recently vacated chair backs to feel that dissipating warmth where Daniel had been slumped; taking up those little items left discarded and forgotten in Daniel’s wake, be it book, pen, an errant shoe kicked off halfway down the hall and holding them before at long last returning them to their place where Daniel could again find them and begin the cycle anew.

That too became how he sated himself later that same night; when before sunrise Daniel had come to him, wordlessly pulled off that sweater and pushed it into Marius’ hands before disappearing into his own room, and Marius had been left holding it, feeling that warmth still caught up in the fibers. Marius had, in the privacy of his own room where he retired, lifted it and breathed in deeply, as if the scent of Daniel alone might quicken and sustain him.

[piratesfromspace]

Poison (Billy Butcher x Reader)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Reader

!! Spoilers for The Boys Season 3, episode 2 !! I’m interrupting my Top Gun mania to write for The Boys. I wrote this while on withdrawal from painkiller/AD and it turned out more angsty than I intended, but I’m pretty proud of this piece. Hope you’ll like it! TW: mention of death and alcohol, smut, p in v sex, kinda rough sex, angst, age gap, Reader is female and younger than Butcher but definitely of age (in her 20s or 30s)

MASTERLIST

Butcher had - has - many vices. Addictions come easy to him. But sex is not one of them. Not since he lost his wife. The first time at least. Now he doesn’t even have the hope of finding her alive. He knows she’s dead, she won’t come back. He can’t decide if it’s worse or not than being in the limbo of maybe.

Her death has dug a new hole in his heart. In his already flimsy ethics. He just doesn’t care anymore about what happens to him, he has decided to follow his instincts - all of them, even the lower ones. It’s a death wish and a hedonistic impulse all wrapped into one. Into his sick mind. Into his oh so very mortal body.

The last remnants of compound V are running in his veins. The green poison is temporary - but it’s a poison nonetheless. He hates every minute of it. It enhances everything: his strength, his senses, his wit, but also his darkness, his impulsiveness, his ugly desires. He has one hour left before withdrawal, maybe two. And his mission is done. He found the supe he was looking for, he had squeezed the answers out of him, and then he had killed him. There is blood on his shoes, on the lapel of his ragged jacket. He can still smell it, and it’s driving him crazy. All this power at the tip of his fingers, and nowhere to put it. No more supes to smash to a pulp. He’s growing restless. Frustrated. He needs an outlet.

And then he runs into her when he gets back to the safe house. He knows her somehow. She’s a friend of a friend of Frenchie. She helped them once or twice. Or they helped her? He’s not sure but he remembers her because she looked pretty and young and out of her depth. Not the kind of girl who would usually hang around the likes of Frenchie and Chérie. She had been kind to Kimiko, when most people act afraid or like she doesn’t exist. She was different in a way he couldn’t really describe. She also had been nice to him. Flirty even, if he must believe MM’s taunt. She had looked at him like he wasn’t the monster he is, and he had been unsettled for a second. If he weren’t trying to lie to himself, he would recognize she reminded him of Becca.

It’s dark outside - he has lost track of time. All he knows is the feeling of power pulsing under his skin. And the girl, she smiles at him, she asks where the others are, she offers some food she brought back just for them. She still looks pretty. Still looks out of place in this rundown basement.

Are you okay? You look like you just snorted a kilo of cocaine. She quips, and he chuckles because her french accent makes everything she says sound so damn cute. Is that blood? Are you hurt? She adds when she gets closer, and he can see the faint freckles on her nose, the way her eyes grow big and concerned under her long lashes. Her hands find his chest, she wants to soothe him, to understand and to cure. The compound V is still thrumming in his body. He still has all this energy to spare. He doesn’t know how to cure that, until her lips fall on his.

It’s kind of a blur - experimental drugs will do that to you - but he’s now pressing her against the wall, kissing her senseless. He buries his face into her neck, getting drunk on her smell, something sweet and girlish, until he rucks her mini skirt up her thighs and drags his fingers against her clothed cunt. The fabric of her panty is damp, and he swears he can also smell this. He’s rock hard in his jeans, already leaking, like he’s a freaking teenager again. He snatches the fabric aside and gathers her slick before pressing circles into her little clit. She gasps and pants and it makes his ego swell. She grabs his arms as he pushes her even more against the wall, and he has to step back, let her breathe because he just forgot for a moment that he could crush her in a blink if he wanted to.

Please, Butcher She begs. He hates that she has to call him by this name, but it’s the only one she has for him. Still, he’s more than happy to comply, and to finally open his fly. He notices the way she tenses when she sees him. He’s never been this hard, this big, full of his drug-enhanced blood. He keeps his fingers on her clit, rubbing slow as he breaches her. He has to remind her to breathe and relax before he starts moving. He’s holding her, driving her up against the concrete. He can do that without breaking a sweat, without worrying his bad elbow will give out. She weighs nothing in his arms, it’s like carrying a cloud. She feels hot, scorching hot and tight and wet around his cock. He grinds his hips carefully, he wants to stay in control, to make it good for her, even though the green shit in his veins commands him to go fast and hard. Top take, to rip open, to not worry about the consequences.

**

She had always found him kinda hot. She finds everyone kinda hot actually, that’s her problem. But the first time she saw him, with his stupid grin and jerky attitude contrasting with his rugged appearance, she knew she was doomed. Butcher, two syllables that don’t try to sugar coat who he is. It’s not a hyperbole either. He has that violent aura, that assured bravado dipped in a very dark sense of humour. He also has the body count - in the very literal sense - to back it up. Everything about him screams danger, and the stories she heard should raise a thousand red flags. But she decided that he was too handsome to dwell on such consideration. It was actually part of the appeal. Her survival instinct was already fucked up, another dubious choice in her so called romantic life wouldn’t make a difference in the mess that was her existence.

The concrete wall is unforgiving for her back. She’s deliciously split open on his cock, pinned there with nowhere to go. He had swept her clean off her feet effortlessly. He looked buffed anyway, but she was not ready for this. Something was wrong with him. He was too quiet. There was a faint glimpse of too bright orange-y light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He seemed on edge, ready to take on the world and to burst into tears at the same time. She wanted to help, as always.

He moves slowly, filling her so well, one of his hands between her legs, touching her where she needs it. Calloused fingertips on her tender flesh, the pressure perfect. It’s surprising because she thought he would be way rougher than he is - and she would have been happy with that. She could have dealt with the manhandling, and the quick fuck with no tomorrow. It would have been the perfect way to flush him out of her system. The almost-tenderness he’s displaying, the care, yet basic enough, he’s putting into this - she’s not sure she can process. She peers up at him with half hooded eyes, and he looks on the verge of crying. She surges forward, kissing his lips, drinking whatever sorrow is bothering him. She wants to help, as always.

***

Butcher keeps fucking her through the kiss, he licks into her mouth with a renewed hunger. She tastes like bubblegum and vodka, and it makes perfect sense with the rest of her. He tries to forget the sudden realisation she was the first girl he was sleeping with since Becca’s death. It had hit him from nowhere. Compound V has the nasty side effect of making you believe you’re unstoppable - that is until something you can’t break with your bare hands, like emotion or memory, comes back to bite you in the ass.

Butcher… butcher! She calls him back to reality. A pang of guilt crosses his face when he notices the way she’s huddled harshly between the wall and him, the thin tank top she’s wearing not enough to cushion the soft skin of her back from the hard concrete.

He mutters an apology and he carries her to the old couch below the dirty window. She’s still so light in his arms, she feels unreal. A ghost. An elaborate hallucination. Maybe he’s slowly losing his mind because of the greenish liquid sloshing in his skull. The only thing convincing him she’s somewhat true is her warmth, her smell, the soft noises she makes. It’s crazy how being a supe sharpens his senses until he can pick up the smell of her sweat under her perfume, of her wet cunt, until he can hear the slightest hitch in her breathing, the thump of her heart speeding up when he pushes inside her again.

Soft moans fill the room again as he rocks gently against her. Her hands are buried in his hair, grabbing at the luscious locks. She tugs at his scalp, bites his bottom lip, and snaps her own hips to take him further. He smiles against her neck as he understands what she needs.

‘You fancy it rougher, luv?   He whispers, voice hoarse with this heavy accent of his. She nods greedily. What a pretty dirty little thing you are He acknowledges, a hand collaring her neck, and her pussy clenches on his cock at this.

A grunt escapes his lips, something feral, almost victorious, as he feels the last surge of cursed power coursing through his body.

[angry-geese]

For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

[astaroth1357]

What Would it be like to Switch Bodies with the Brothers

In honor of the swap event I suppose (but also needed an easy prompt because I’ve been really busy trying to clean/fix our house and the exhaustion is getting to me)

Lucifer

… Feel the power.

They would literally be so tall and so strong it’d be insane. The kind of body that’d make them want to break things because it’d just be So. Easy. They feel like they’re one of the strongest people in the room and they’ll start to believe it too!

But also, so much fatigue… Lucifer probably deals with muscle tension and back pain because of all the paperwork and stress so they’d be feeling all of that too...

Using his commanding powers would also be hella fun (and easy to abuse) so someone like Barbs is probably going to have to follow them around to be sure the mere mortal doesn’t get drunk on the sudden power...

Bonus:

Lucifer wants out of their body NOW. He hit his toe against a wall and is STILL limping it off… It’s humiliating and he hates feeling this fragile so somebody fix this!!!

Mammon

Why can’t I stop stealing things…?!?

Mammon’s hands practically have a mind of their own… The MC keeps walking by places and casually slipping other people’s things in their pockets without realizing it. It’s like a reflex!

It’s kind of bizarre for everyone else to watch because, from the outsider’s perspective, it’s scumbag Mammon taking their things… then apologizing like five seconds later then handing them back. He’s losing some thief cred over this for sure...

Aside from that, they have almost never-ending energy too so even the sleepiest MC is going to be bouncing off walls… Good luck to everyone else.

Bonus:

Mammon is now literally in the body of his favorite person and has zero clue how to feel about it. If he hugs himself is that like getting a hug from the MC…? 🤔 One thing is for certain though, he’s going to be glued to their hip the entire time. I hope they’re used to seeing themselves (literally).

Levi

aaaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaAAAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhHHHHHHhhhh STOP THE RIDE!! I want OUT of this nightmare!!!

They find out very quickly why Levi distracts himself so much: they feel inadequate All. The. Time.

If they can doubt themselves in any capacity, they will. If they walk into a room, they’ll instantly feel the (non-existent) judgement. If something makes them feel even slightly bad then it can snowball out of control. It’s… It's hell, it’s actual hell.

Chances are they’re going to end up a blubbering mess about as often as Levi if they don’t find a way to distract themselves too… 😔

Bonus:

Poor Levi is trying his best to help them manage being him but it’s not like he was super good at it either… 😥 At least in their body he feels more confident than ever so if nothing else he can step up and comfort them like they would him. Talk about role reversal… 🤷‍♀️

Satan

I can’t stop grinding my teeth and wOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP OVER THERE OR I SWEAR THAT I’LL-!!!

Their emotions are chaotic and they have no idea how to control them. At best, they’ll feel a steady level of irritation and at worst it'll snap into full blown rage. It’s like being a toddler all over again!

They’re going to end up counting to 10, 200 times over… and that might not even help.

On the plus side, though, they’ve never felt smarter! If there’s any time to sit in a wingback chair and ponder the meaning of life, it’s now so take advantage of it!

Bonus:

… Is this what normal is? Is this what CALM is?? A guy slammed into Satan on the street the other day and he didn’t feel the sudden urge to commit homicide… This is great!! Excuse him, MC, as he hijacks your body to go zen out around the House… 😌 Human Satan’s chill meters give Belphie a run for his money, who knew?

Asmo

*they’ve been staring at themselves in the mirror quietly for the last twenty minutes… and they feel the odd urge to moisturize…*

Being Asmo is actually a little freaky for the uninitiated. Suddenly SO MUCH attention is on them! They can’t walk into any room without being noticed, most of the time by total strangers. 🤷‍♀️

They also notice that people are waaaay more friendly to them now, though whether it's they're gorgeous or the accidentally charming them is anyone's guess…

It seems a lot of Asmo's beauty routine has also been absorbed into his very being because they may start autopiloting toward his bathroom if they don't catch themselves first...

Bonus:

Their body has never looked better than the day Asmo got into it. However they take that information is on them.

Beel

*too busy chewing silverware to say anything*

If Levi is emotional hell then Beel is physical. Being constantly on the brink of starvation is a real chore… 😩

Though at least they get to walk around in what amounts to a tank. They can look Lucifer in the eye and even feel like they can literally uproot trees! (which they may actually do if they got some fruit out of it...)

They also learn pretty quick that Beel can digest right about anything so the brothers try really hard to keep them fed. Otherwise, there'll be bitemarks in the drywall… (they don't even have Beel's marginal self-control so they're screwed! 😓)

Bonus:

Poor baby is doing whatever he can to keep then fed because he gets it. He doesn't envy being in his shoes, though he does feel a little guilty for enjoying being full for change… 😔

Belphie

So tired… Body heavy… Whhhy….

Belphie's body apparently runs with exactly ¼ the energy needed to get through a 12 hour day by default.

It WILL make them go to sleep. Even if they think they're fine one minute, they might blink and be passed out for an hour.

It's also somehow immune to all forms of caffeine and probably even cocaine. 🤷‍♀️ Someone else is going to have to fix this, because the MC can't be bothered… Please just let them sleep…

Bonus:

Belphie's boooored... Days feel twice as long now and he can't get this human body to take naps right! Lucifer is going to have to fix things soon because an idle Belphie is far worse than a crafty Satan... 😣

Check out my Masterlist for more!

[laequiem]

Kiss-proof

/ Jude has lost Cardan in the mall. Of course, he is in the one place she would never go. Domestic fluff, fluffy fluffiest fluff

Fandom: The Folk of The Air

Rating: T for mention of characters having a sex life, but that's it.

The flaw in Cardan's glamour is the same detail that infuriates me when I look at his face when he wakes up: he is impossibly beautiful. Not handsome like a popular actor, not pretty like the members of a boyband. He is absolutely devastating, just as he is as a faerie.

read on ao3 • part of Tales from the Mortal Realm

I check my bulky flip phone for the 5th time.

4:23pm.

I don't know why I expected Cardan to be back on time. I had some errands to do—which might include lingerie I wanted to keep secret until our anniversary—so I told him to explore the mall on his own. I gave him some (real, non-glamoured) money to spend like a child with an allowance.

There are so many red flags with this whole plan.

I do not like to admit it, but I'm worried. My extravagant husband has enough trouble fitting in with humans when he is with me, I can only imagine the trouble he can get himself in without me. Or the trouble that can find him when I am not there to protect him.

I get up from the bench that I had designed as our meeting point. Where could he be? Anywhere I would not go, which does not narrow the list down very much. As I walk around, I can imagine him enjoying every single one of these places.

Cardan smelling some bath bombs and chatting up with a pushy Lush salesperson. All that glitter, all that dye—the servants would rage at having to clean the tub afterwards.

Cardan entering a sterile-looking jewelry store, eyes glittering at all the precious gems.

Cardan browsing Hot Topic, digging into bowls of plastic rings and looking at shirts for bands he does not know.

My stomach drops as I stand before the one store I know I will find him in. Black-and-white striped pillars stand on either side of the storefront and the dreaded white font over black spells out the name of the store: Sephora.

I have never entered a Sephora before. They are intimidating and I know nothing about their products. Whenever I needed new eyeliner, I would just ask Vivi to buy me whichever one she thought was best. Nowadays, I can count on my husband's extensive makeup collection and skills.

“We have servants to do this!” I had insisted the first time he approached me with a kohl pencil. He had laughed, and I let him line my eyes. Ever since, I look forward to it. It’s a small, intimate gesture with which we prove our love to each other without saying a word. It is his way of showing care, and my way of showing trust.

I pass the threshold of the store and I spot him immediately. Even without my True Sight making his glamour ripple when I gaze at him, I would still have a hard time believing he is human. His glamour is perfect—rounded ears, no tail, the glitter of his skin dulled down to a normal healthy shine—but every glamour should have a flaw. The flaw in Cardan's glamour is the same detail that infuriates me when I look at his face when he wakes up: he is impossibly beautiful. Not handsome like a popular actor, not pretty like the members of a boyband. He is absolutely devastating, just as he is as a faerie.

Even amongst gorgeous people who perfected their faces through makeup and good lighting, he stands out.

For me, however, bewilderment comes from seeing Cardan wait in line like a normal person. Like a boy who did not grow up as an entitled prick. It shakes me so much that I stop in my tracks and watch him walk up to the register once the previous client leaves.

He adapts better than I give him credit for. My heart swells with love for this male who keeps challenging and surprising me.

I go to bypass the line and I catch a snippet of his conversation with the boy manning the cash register. On the counter lay piles of makeup, from eyeshadow palettes to colorful eyeliner.

"A good choice!" the cashier exclaims, holding a dark lipstick, "it has the best matte finish. It even passes the kiss test!"

I swear I can see him wiggle his perfectly defined eyebrows. The smile he gives Cardan is wicked—the same kind of grin my husband gives me over dinner then he's feeling particularly hungry.

"The kiss test?" my husband asks, a grin forming on his sinful lips.

"Yeah," the cashier replies, "you can make out with someone, it won't budge. Or transfer."

I get to Cardan’s side and the cashier notices me then. His brows raise in surprise for a moment before he schools his features into a socially acceptable customer service smile.

I can't blame him for his surprise—Cardan and I could not look any more mismatched. His sharp features are accentuated with contouring and a lighter version of his usual silver highlighter. I, on the other hand, barely had time to brush my hair before putting on an oversized hoodie and leggings. I bet I look like someone he took pity on and brought to the mall for a makeover.

"Where is the fun in that?" Cardan looks at me then, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Still, I suppose I will have to try."

I roll my eyes and he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

The cashier tells Cardan the total, and he raises a brow when my husband starts counting cash. I know other humans use cards nowadays, but without a permanent address in the Mortal Realm, we have been dealing exclusively in cash—mostly given by Vivi in exchange for Elfhame goods.

The boy thanks Cardan for his purchase, and it's all I can do not to laugh when he replies "you're very welcome", like that is a normal thing to say to a retail employee.

On our way out, Cardan stops by one of the many mirrors in the store and applies his new lipstick, ending with a pop of his luscious lips.

"Really? You couldn't wait until we got back to the hotel?"

I smile teasingly at him, and he grins back. The lipstick is deep, dark purple.

"If I did, nobody would see it but you." He slides an arm around my waist and winks. "That would be a shame, when it looks so good."

I roll my eyes and slip out of his embrace, making towards the exit. When my back is turned to him, I allow myself a smile. It does look good, I think, though I won't give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

"Jude, wait—"

With those long legs of his, Cardan catches up to me quickly. He puts a hand on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. I lift my chin to look at him, and his expression sends a chill down my spine. This face used to send unwanted images of our younger days to my brain—Cardan spitting on my shoes, pulling my hair, kicking my lunchbox. Nowadays, this wickedness sends my blood rushing south and fills me with memories of his clever fingers and his face between my legs.

"I was not done," he says as he circles my waist again, pulling me towards him sternly. "I have to debunk the claims the boy made."

"Fine," I say, and peck him quickly on the lips.

He chuckles. "You know that won't do, Jude dearest."

Cardan leans towards me. Instinctively, I part my lips and close my eyes. Even after all this time, I hate that he has this effect on me, even though I know it's not fair. I have spent my whole life training with a blade while he spent his training his mind and body to seduce and manipulate.

His lips claim mine and I all but melt into him. I forget where we are, how utterly exposed we are to the judgement of others. I seek out his tongue with mine and bite his lip the way he likes.

Cardan pulls away and I chase after his lips, desperate for more, until I feel his mouth on my neck. Slender fingers grip my chin, angling my head to allow him access.

I open my eyes and finally remember myself, where we are and how inappropriate this is—

"Cardan!"

He hums in question as his cruel mouth continues kissing its way up to my ear. His hand moves back towards my nape and tangles in my hair, pulling lightly.

"We're in—you can't just do that! People are—"

I look around, mortified. The mall is not that crowded, but I see people looking abruptly away when I look in their direction. A mother covers her child's eyes as she notices us. An old lady sneers.

I feel Cardan grin against my skin before dragging his teeth up my ear to nibble at the curved cartilage.

I give a small shove to his chest and he pulls away with a chuckle that curls my toes.

"You're shameless," I say.

"You look like you drank an entire bottle of faerie wine," he replies, then gives a quick kiss to my heating cheek.

When he pulls back, he inspects my face with narrowed eyes, then my neck. He lets out an impressed hum.

"It seems he was right. No marks."

I laugh and his eyes light up, a genuine smile forming on his dark lips.

"Will you buy more, then?" I ask.

"No. I prefer when it leaves marks."

[topaziraphale]

Love to imagine that there were a few close calls with Gabriel where aziraphale had to pretend to smite crowley, which involved a lot of aziraphale pinning him down and a lot of sword bearing. Crowley very quickly finds out he has one hell of a kink ;)

    “Of course I’m letting you win,” Crowley answers, banishing the dirt and wrinkles from both his and Aziraphale’s clothes with a snap of his fingers. Then, on a whim, he clears off any lingering sweat beading on his skin. He can’t do anything about the flush on his face and neck, or the way his legs are still wobbling. “Can’t have you losing in front of your own lot, can we? They might try and help you out, y’know. Might be worse for me in the long run, ‘s only selfish.”

    Aziraphale’s frown deepens at the implication. “Oh. I assume this means I’ll have to let you overtake me when your people show up, then?”

    “Er, you won’t. Have to. Do that, I mean.” Crowley stammers. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “They won’t crawl all the way up here to talk to me,” he elaborates, “they’ve got the radio and telly for that.”

    “Oh,” Aziraphale says again, fumbling with the lowest button on his waistcoat for a moment. “Yes, quite right.” He smiles nervously. “Erm...” Crowley pretends he doesn’t notice the blush subtly rising on Aziraphale’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Well, knowing that, I must say that is very—”

    “—no—” Crowley groans in annoyance, knowing exactly where that sentence is going, throwing his head back and grimacing.

    “—kind of you to do, to let me win even though it’s all a ruse,” Aziraphale continues, his smile changing from nervous to irritatingly fond and knowing. “Rather considerate.”

    “Fantastic,” Crowley grumbles, his face burning brighter for a different reason now. “Really made my day with that one, you did.”

     In the short silence that follows, Crowley sniffs and looks down at his shoes, pretending to inspect them for any clumps of dirt. He realizes, belatedly, that neither of them cared to fix the messy state of the greenery and soil beneath them. It clashes with the rest of the neat, freshly mown blades of grass in this conveniently empty section of the park — a stark reminder of what just happened. The sight of it makes Crowley shiver. Suddenly his resolve to stay cool and collected vanishes into thin air. He hastily looks back up to find Aziraphale fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch, and he gulps.

    “Er,” he starts awkwardly, nearly freezing when Aziraphale makes eye contact with him. “Right, anyway, I just remembered I have something to do. It’s important. I’ll pick you up later, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins on his heel, turning his back on Aziraphale and shoving his hands in his pockets, making his smoothest attempt at nonchalance as he starts walking away. “I’ll meet you in the front of the bookshop.”

    “What? Wait,” Aziraphale calls. “You’re leaving already?”

    Crowley stops in his tracks, shock still, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn’t have been found out. He wasn’t that loud, was he? Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t know. If he knew…

    “Won’t be long,” says Crowley, gritting his teeth, hoping he doesn’t have to outright lie, hoping Aziraphale doesn’t push. “An hour, at most. We won’t miss our reservation.”

   “I… er, very well,” Aziraphale eventually says, sounding confused and a little hurt. “But, before you go, I need to ask you about… just now.”

    There’s a brief moment of silence, and Crowley holds his breath, chills cold as ice sliding from the back of his neck down along the knobs of his spine as fear builds in his lower gut. When Aziraphale speaks up again, his voice is slightly deeper than normal.

     “I hurt you this time, didn’t I?”    

      Crowley blesses under his breath. It takes all he has in him not to react outwardly, to lose his carefully constructed neutrality right then and there. Instantly, his mind plays back the stunt Aziraphale pulled only minutes ago.

    It’s practically routine for them at this point, really; it’s a way for them to get out of a damning situation in a pinch. If someone from work unexpectedly shows up, they pretend to be mortal enemies, doing what mortal enemies are obliged to do should they ever cross paths: fighting to the death. (Discorporation, in these cases — and even then, they only need to make the viewer think that a discorporation has taken place, should it ever go that far.) It’ll be seen as two adversaries busy with work, and whoever it was that checked in will usually leave within a minute or two to let them get back to it.

    They were taking a leisurely walk and having a (slightly heated, in the angel’s case) conversation about some of the menu changes at the Criterion, when Aziraphale suddenly kicked Crowley’s feet out from under him, pinning him face-down into the ground with his knee pressed onto his back. He had yanked his hair, forcing his head up, and swiftly brought the edge of a sword — having manifested the weapon from thin air — onto Crowley’s exposed neck. Crowley was hard in his trousers before he even realized what was happening, before he could even guess that Gabriel or any other one of those wankers was probably nearby, watching, and that Aziraphale was faking the attack like he had done many times before to keep them both safe.

    But for a moment, Crowley didn’t know that.

     As Crowley had grabbed fistfuls of dirt and grass and writhed under the perfect weight of Aziraphale’s body, he had thought it was real, and that Aziraphale really was going to smite him this time, and that he was truly at his mercy, finally getting everything he wanted. It was too much, the ringing in his head from falling to the ground, the pain in his spine, the white-hot burn in his scalp. Crowley couldn’t move and the sword was cold and sharp on the delicate skin of his neck and Aziraphale put his lips to his ear to whisper something and it sounded harsh and commanding and he whimpered—

    “Crowley?”

    Crowley blinks back to himself, his eyes wide behind dark lenses. He hears Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching him, the soft crunching of the grass beneath two Oxfords deafening amongst the low rumble of blood rushing through his ears.

     “No,” he blurts out, his voice thin. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

    The footsteps stop. His entire body is trembling now, every inch of skin charged as if with electricity, surely to go off at the slightest touch. He clears his throat, vaguely wondering how much of a disaster it would be if he had to look Aziraphale in the face during all of this.

    “I’m fine,” he repeats in a more natural tone. “Don’t make a fuss over it, you didn’t hurt me.” You did. “Same as always, nothing different about it this time.” Hurt me again. And again and again, until my throat is raw from screaming, until my face is wet with tears. Make me beg for it.

    “It most certainly was not the same, you had no idea I was even going to attack you,” Aziraphale comments, sounding just this side of stern. Crowley’s stomach curls with something too close to pleasure from the tone of voice. Aziraphale sighs. “Are you quite sure I did not hurt you by accident?” he asks gently, because it’s just like him to have concern for Crowley’s well-being, even at the worst possible times. He takes one step closer, the space separating their bodies no bigger than an arm’s-length. Crowley can feel his stare burning right through his soul, can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “I only ask because, ah, when you cried out, just then, you seemed…”

    Alarms blare in Crowley’s racing mind.

     Cried out, cried out.

    Aziraphale did hear him.

    And now he’s asking about it.

    Crowley goes from half-hard to fully erect so quickly that it makes him dizzy, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Aziraphale only has to take a couple steps toward him and circle around to his front, and then he’ll have full view of the state Crowley is in. Then Crowley would have to explain himself, and he would be mortified, he’d be so humiliated, and the fear of it only makes his cock harder. There’s just not enough self-preservation in his current, lust-crazed state of mind to not want anything more than that.

     “— truly distressed,” Aziraphale continues, pronouncing the words with the same caution one would use when walking on a tightrope. Crowley hears the faintest of wavers in his voice only because he’s known the bastard for too long. “I was afraid I used too much force this time.”

     You could have used more. Used all of it. Put me in my place. Burned me with your light until I’m nothing, until I’m dust at your feet. Please, angel…

     Crowley holds his breath again, the muscles in his neck tightening and his jaw aching with the effort it takes to kill the moan forcing its way up into his throat. His legs feel like jelly. The temptation to fall on his knees and admit it is palpable. He might as well come clean. Even if nothing happens now, Aziraphale will bring it up again later. That’s just how he is. Better to get it over with…

    “No,” he croaks. He’s blushing so hard that the skin on his face and scalp itches furiously. “I wasn’t, I didn’t…”

    “You’re sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Truly?”

    “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, I told you I’m alright,” Crowley snaps. More than alright. Crowley knows he’s going to revel in the ache for days, but he also knows, acutely, that he’s only jeopardizing himself more the longer he stays in this blasted park. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of questions; he can already feel his admittedly weak resolve slipping in the face of those warm, seaglass eyes, beckoning him to spill his guts and spew the awful, contemptible fantasies of being taken right there in the dirt, like he deserves, with a sword trained on his back and the angel’s name in his mouth. The only thing keeping him from doing it is his knowing how said angel would react — with an upturned nose and a look of disgust only reserved for the lowest of scum. He can’t do that to him, can’t be that to him.

“Oh, right then, that’s good,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie, sounding disappointed, “that’s a relief.”

Crowley then hears the telltale rustle of clothes as Aziraphale fidgets, probably adjusting his waistcoat, before he calls out, “Well then, don’t let me keep you, dear fellow. Do mind how you go.”

    “Same to you,” he says back, feeling moderately guilty.

     He snaps his fingers, bringing himself to his flat. He lands on his back on his luxurious bed. The cool satin sheets do nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the lick of shame that follows as he claws at his belt, the zip’s teeth not daring to catch as he shoves his trousers down and takes himself in hand. The guilt instantly melts away, but the shame stays, however it only proves to spur him on even more.

    Aziraphale will forgive him by the time they meet back up for dinner.

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

((I originally meant to use a couple lines of dialogue as an answer to this ask but then it turned into a small little fic, thingy, yeah. Huge thanks to @divinehedonism for beta reading this for me!!))

[writers-worst-nightmare]

Kittens (Keith x reader)

Song you are singing

Warning(s): A TON OF CUSSING, reckless driving, got lazy at the end, Keith loosing one of his lives

THIS IS A REAL LIFE AU WHERE THERE IS NO SPACE OR ANYTHING AND THEY ARE ON EARTH

Fandom: Voltron

Word Count: 1,510

Pairing(s): Keith x reader

Genera: chaotic fluff

A/N: this is basically a Voltron version of “no braincells“ but I added a twist to make things more interesting

Request are always open!

Keith stared at the tiny kittens surrounding him, he froze in place and looked up to you as a plea of help witch was rudely declines when you started snickering before bursting out into laughter. Soon the whole crew joined in on laughing at Keith with a bunch of kittens. Pidge was snapping pictures and uploading it to their Instagram, Lance was recording a tiktok, Shiro was trying to get the cats off of Keith, Hunk was laughing, and you where adding more cats to the pile on his lap. “Y/N DON’T ENCOURAGE THEM!” Shiro scolded. You rolled your eyes before grabbing a small black and white kitten and placing it on Keith’s lap. The crew had decided to meet up after band practice and stay at your house. Little did they all know that you fostered animals, you had a couple of dogs and Birds but you mainly fostered cats cause they look so fucking cute.

“But it fuuunnnn!” You wine, only making Hunk laugh even harder until he was literally on the ground laughing so hard.

“They are kind of cute…” Keith muttered as he stared at the cats and back at you and then back at the cats.

“Why don’t Keith and I go to get some cat stuff at the mall, you three can make yourselves at home by the way!” You called as you dragged Keith into your car and hopped in the drivers side.

“Oh no…” Keith muttered as he stared wide eyed at you starting the car.

“What?”

”Please don’t tell me—“

”Oh, yeah I am driving!”

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!”

You locked the car doors and started to drive on there highway. Keith relaxed a bit as he thought that you where going to be normal

Big mistake

As soon as you saw all the muscles sink into the car seat you smirked and pulled up a radio station. Since Keith hasn’t been with you in the car before (for a good reason since everyone that has let you drive a car was gotten sick) he didn’t know that you LOVES music. Probably even more then you loved anime (which was saying something).

The fuck? Hold on Bitches got beef but don't wanna fight me Quit all that barkin', ho, bite me Bitch Hold on

”What the fuck is this?” Keith asked as he started to lean forward before the song started and you higher Ed the volume all the way up

Bitch, you fat, need a tummy tuck (Yep) You dropping diss songs, man, bitch, get your money up (For sure, then)

”It is called ‘go best friend’ and it is awesome” You answered as you rolled down your window and started singing along to the beat of the song and speeding slightly.

If you 'bout it, then run it up Used to be cool with this bitch, but she mad that I'm coming up

Keith hesitated softly before pulling up the lyrics on his phone and starting to sing along slowly. Afraid of what would happen next. You turned right and got on the off-road. Keith stiffened as he has heard one to many times what happens when you go off road and onto the dirt paths that you have most likely made yourself.

You a thot, you gon' suck it up I got a white bitch in the club, wanna pump it up (Woo, woo)

You started speeding even faster the before and Keith was prepared for the worst. Looking for a pencil and a piece of paper before settling on a anime journal that you had and a pen

Fuck a speech, I'ma sum it up $hy on the track and you already know she gonna fuck it up (Ayy, yeah) Bitch need to worry 'bout a bag I'm rocking these shows, and that's why she mad (Aha)

”I am going to give Lance my fuck you energy, Shiro my Hot Topic shirts, Pidge my suicidal thought, Hunk my fuck boy energy, and y/n my outmost hatred.” Keith started to say as he wrote out his will.

“Oh come on I am not that bad of a driver!” You pouted, looking away from the road and staring at Keith. Keith widened his eyes and grabbed the steering wheel so he could drive.

After this diss, you goin' out sad Bitch, you not bougie, you don't got no class (Bitch) Turnt in the booth and I'm piped off that gas Spin on yo' block, then we hitting the dash (Shoot, shoot)

”The last time you said that Pidge ended up in a flicking tree!” Keith argued, holding back the urge to choke you out, you rolled your eyes and elbowed the emo boy out of the way to take control of driving

It's still love for you, though But, bitch, I'm 'bout to get on your ass (Haha)

You started screaming the lyrics and Keith’s heart seemed to be going backwards as he grabbed his phone and gripped it tightly in his hands before button the record button.

$hy gotta potty mouth You wanna talk shit? Bitch, let's talk 'bout your body count You stink, throw your body out Tryna hang wit' the kid, I'm the life of the party now (Yeah)

He stopped the video and sent it to the “why do we still exist?” Group chat that consist of the gang

-character development Sasuke sent a video-

Non-binary owl: WORK IT Y/N YEAAAH

Sapnap but better: oh no…

Panda dude from beastars: have you written your will yet?

-character development Sasuke sent a picture-

Character development Sasuke: already got it written out

Won’t shut up about how bisexual this man is: I GET FUCK YOU ENERGY?!

Sapnap but better: I GET FUCK BOY ENERGY

Non-binary owl: can we all collectively agree to play/sing WAP at Keith’s funeral

Your lil' sister look up to me (Yeah) Bitch, you can't rap and you really not touching me (No) Just like a virgin, lil' bitch, cannot fuck wit' me And I never been pussy, bitch, you know what's up with me (For sure, then)

Won’t shut up about how bisexual this man is: As long as I get to do the dance

Panda dude from beastars: NO ONE IS PLAYING WAP AT ANYONES FUNERAL

Panda dude from beastars: Look Keith you are going to be fine

Why this bitch wanna pop shit? We was just cool, now this bitch wanna act like a opp bitch (The fuck?)

“What happens if I go off the edge…?” You wonder out loud, Keith looks up at you with a panicked expression.

Oh, she mad she can't stop shit Said that my breath stink 'cause I'm spittin' that hot shit (Hot, hot)

“NO Y/N DON’T GO OFF THE EDGE! THIS IS NOT FUCKING MINECRAFT!!” Keith lectured as he tried to roll down the window but silently cried to himself as he realized that you had child’s lock on.

Quit all that barkin', lil' bitch, and come bite me Bitches got beef, but they don't wanna fight me (Wait, wait)

You ignored Keith and smiled up yourself as you almost ran over some ducks

Turnt to my music, but swear they don't like me You got my number, ho, FaceTime, Skype me These hoes wanna be me I'm on your radio, soon I'ma be on your TV John Cena, bitches can't see me (Nope) I'm goin' up, and it's hella fans wanna meet me (Hey, haha)

“WHY DID YOU ALMOST RUN OVER DUCKS?!” Keith screamed as he plastered himself against the window.

Bitches don't get me Bitch, why you hatin? You could've been goin up with me (For sure, then) Spear on the bitch like she Britney You could dissed any bitch, but instead, you gon' pick me (Okay, the fuck?)

You did a wide turn and Keith practically flew in the air, he got up off the floor and cursing the seatbelt for failing to protect him against your ruthless grasp.

Make a bitch wanna hit me (Ayy, ayy) Bitches be cap on my name, the shoe did not fit me (No, it didn't) Show these bitches no pity (Yeah) These bitches wanna be friends, admit it, you miss me (Go)

Keith peered over the dashboard thanks to him now being on the floor and distantly saw the mall “YESSS WE ARE ALMOST THERE!!!!” Keith exclaimed as he got exited ready to leave this hell hole that mortals calls a car

Wrap up the beat like a doobie I don't give a fuck 'bout opinions, you know I'ma do me (Hey, hold on) Bitch, you a gnat, you a groupie Told that lil' bitch it's some snacks, and we pulled up with Scoobies

you lowered the volume to one as you pulled up in the parking lot and slowed down the car before parking somewhere close to the mall. You didn’t even look bothered to the fact of your reckless driving while Keith was looking like a whole tumbleweed fell over and hit him in the rib cage.

[delldarling]

diving stars | hior

male bog mummy x male reader 3754 words citrus | mild description of death, minor mention of blood, mild description of mummy having stitches (though not getting them), kissing, implied future relationship test match-up: Waaaayyyy back when, I decided I should try my hand at some match-ups. I wanted a unique experience for those coming to me for commissions, and so went through several versions of a 'choose your own adventure' kind of personality questionnaire. Matt, or @severedreamerbeard, was one of the people lovely enough to let me test out my match-up process! Thank you a whole gosh darn bunch Matt, for letting me do so in the first place, and I'm going to heap on extra thanks because I've been such a snail about it! <3

————-　🌠　————-

Much of the bog is a terrible endless black, with nothing to reflect but the cloud covered nighttime sky. Scrubby, dried grass circles the edges of the water, the torchlight making their flickering shadows look like creeping, growing thorns across the opaque surface, ready to snag the unwary and drag them down into the depths. There’ll be no coming back out of that dark water, Hior knows, not once he’s been pushed in.

I’ll close my eyes before I go under, he silently promises, though either way he supposes it shouldn’t matter much. The last thing his body sees will only ever be darkness. He swallows, tucks auburn hair behind his ears, calloused fingers catching at his skin, and pastes on a grim smile, turning to face the gathered people. He can’t linger any longer, no matter how much he would like to, not if he wants the rest of the village to make it through this. Not many of them have gathered, either. Just enough to see the ritual through to the end. Honestly, it’s better this way. If his brother had been allowed to leave the defenses, then Hagan would have interrupted Mother Gree, ritual or not. He would have tried to stop her, tried to stop Hior, even if it meant the loss of the village.

Hagan will be angry.

Hior sweeps his eyes over the surrounding villagers, their frightened faces and trembling hands, their teary eyes reflecting the torches in the misty dark. Hagan will be angry, but the fact of the matter is that he will still be alive to hold onto that anger. Hior can’t find it within himself to regret that.

There’s no time for being maudlin, Hior tells himself, and his smile becomes a bit too wide, stretching painfully at the corners.

This will be the last he ever sees of the village if the Gods deem his offering worthy, but that’s alright. Really. As long as he knows the village will be protected, as long as he knows that his people will do their best to endure, he's willing to fight his way through the Beyond and stay there.

Mother Gree begins to speak in a rough, ragged voice, worn through by years of pipe smoke and leaning over heavily herbed fires. Her words—the spell, the prayer—drape themselves around Hior’s shoulders like a heavy blanket, sweeping away the tension of his worries and the fear of the crowded villagers. Hior’s smile softens.

Mother Gree’s only warning is the icy grasp of her fingers, twisting sharply into the hair at the nape of Hior’s neck. The blade pinches. Wet heat spills down his throat and over his chest, soaking his clothes as he begins to fall backward.

Overhead, the clouds part, and a fierce rumbling fills the air, punctuated by sharp screams. A star, smaller than a pebble, but more brilliant by far than any flickering fire, falls out of the sky. It dives after Hior’s falling body, following him down into the depths of the bog.

The last thing Hior sees is light.

————-　🌠　————-

It’s midday, or just after, and there are odd shapes in the clouds, like reaching hands backlit by the sunshine. The shifting shades of them make it look like they’re trying very hard to break through the atmosphere, a primordial being grabbing for mortals like marbles. The wind picks up, and the flicker of pale warmth and the cloud hands are blown swiftly away, hidden by a tumult of grey and violet. It shouldn’t rain for hours yet, it’s not supposed to, but you’re starting to doubt the truth of the weather forecast. The sky is very clearly telling all watchers that a storm is on the way.

And here you are: distractedly doing your best to carefully skirt the edges of dreary, muddied water, hunting for a folktale. There are weak spots throughout the area, and one wrong step will have the ground turning to mush underfoot. Which, while fitting with the tales, is the last thing you’d ever want. Risk of drowning aside, all the local stories claim that it's your soul you really need to worry about, or you'll be trapped for eternity as 'a ghost given solid form'.

In other words, from what you’ve pieced together, that might mean something like a zombie?

Water sloshes, lapping strangely at the grassy shore and pulling you clean away from your thoughts. You know you shouldn't linger with the storm on the way, but something about the water keeps you from getting more than a few paces past. The noise, rising steadily, almost bubbling, draws you closer even as tension weighs down your steps. Whatever might be down there, you doubt it's anything pleasant, and you’ve had stories of zombies running through your head all afternoon. You edge closer anyway.

The shore grows terribly soft underfoot the closer you get, and it looks like something is struggling just under the surface, wriggling, a bit like—the water fountains. It soaks your shoe and the hem of your pant leg, while icy droplets speckle over your shirt and face. For a moment, a breath, your eyes fall closed as you attempt to wipe the water away. Something smooth and cold grabs hold of your ankle, yanking your foot forward so you slam back into the ground, a quick burst of pain flares in the back of your skull. Fingernails dig into your skin. You can’t remember shouting, can’t remember a loud noise, but your ears are ringing, adrenaline rocketing through your veins as the hand—the literal hand—heaves with all it’s might, pulling you towards the water. You scrabble backwards, you kick, trying to get free, but the arm tenses, fingers curling tighter around your ankle, heavier than iron. You haven’t gotten loose, but you’re starting to pull whatever is in the water out as you struggle.

The water burbles and the haze of panic begins to clear. This isn’t a story. Someone has just grabbed hold of you. They’re not trying to pull you in, they just want you to pull them out. Because they’re trapped. You suck down air, scrabbling at the hand wrapped around your ankle, trying to get them to grab hold of your wrist instead. Their skin is strange under your touch, hard and smooth and fragile, like flowers dipped in paraffin.

A head finally crests the water, a choking, wheezing noise filling the air as liquid cascades off of his body. His breath sounds wrong though, and his cheeks are hollowed, hair and skin stained with peat. He releases the death grip he has on your ankle, bony, wet fingers smacking against your arm so you can grab hold and pull. His other hand twists into the scrubby grass, ripping handfuls of it free as he does his best to work with your desperate bid to get him out of the bog. And then a few startling things happen all at once.

Your eyes drop to his throat and the wide, old injury spanning the entirety of his throat, stitched shut with a pale cord. His eyes snap open. An eerie light gleams in his eye sockets and you do shout this time, words tripping over themselves as you give up on holding him to try and yank yourself out of his grasp. Lightning quick flashes of the zombie stories and a variety of undead flicker through your mind. He’s too strong for you, you can't push him off, even with the wasted-looking muscles of his arms. He holds on terribly tight, knees and calves and feet splashing in the water and sliding through the slick scrub grass. You continue to try to get his hands off of you, breath coming far too fast, but he lets go as soon as he’s clear of the water. His hands fall away, clutching at your thigh for balance before he finally removes his hands from you entirely. He drops to the grass, retching, and then grabs at his own throat. The tie keeping his hair back crumbles, falling away like drying clay, and though most of his hair is still slick and dark with peat, it looks like it’s normally a bright coppery red underneath the muck.

He wheezes again, hands hovering over the injury, fingers feather soft over the strangely clean stitches. After a moment, he lifts his chin, spotlight eyes roving over your face with awe.

"..you..you answered?" He asks, voice warped by withered musculature. His stained cheeks stretch, a painfully tight smile exposing teeth that don't look altogether human. They're even, and clean, but they gleam with a deep blue patina, as if they’re actually polished stones. “I—I must conf-fess,” he rasps, hands falling to his knees, nails digging into the tattered trousers barely clinging to his body, “I doubted. I..” He leans forward, gasping once more as he stares at the ground. “He answered,” he whispers, and his eyelashes flutter, the light of his eyes flickering. Despite his apparent frailness, despite his inattention, you can't bring yourself to run away now. You’re caught, the desire for knowledge outweighing the potential danger. “What would you ask of me?” He breathes, and your heart twists painfully in your chest. He sounds wretched, reverent and fearful, both, anxiously waiting for you to strike out.

"What would I ask?" You struggle to murmur, tongue thick and too-dry in your mouth. Slowly, you get up, rubbing awkwardly at your wrist and forearm. His grip had been a shade past 'uncomfortably tight', but you don’t think you’ll get anything more than faint bruising.

"In exchange," the man says, clutching tighter to his knees. He doesn't notice when you flinch, not with his head still bowed.

Your heartbeat nearly drowns out the distant thunder, adrenaline chasing the wariness out of your veins. "For what?" You demand, pleased when his head jerks up. He's acting like you're going to kick him back into the bog with a boot to his chest. "For saving you? Why would I want anything? I was just-" Your mouth snaps shut, brain desperately clamoring for you to acknowledge that there's a mummified man currently speaking to you. He’s talking, not groaning, not calling out for brains or blood or violence. He may as well be straight from the local legends and he’s… Fully conscious of his actions, nothing like the eerie embellishments all the tales carry.

"I was being decent. Helping. I didn't do it so you would owe me." Any further words slip your mind as soon as your eyes catch on the stitches in his neck again. The rest of him is withered and warped by the peat in the bog, permanently stained—but the stitches are still silvery pale. What on earth happened to make him this way?

Hesitant, he raises his head, the inhuman brightness of his eyes more than enough to make you wince. Your gaze darts to the soft glint of metal in his earlobes, trying to keep from squinting.

"For… For saving my village," he finally clarifies. "You accepted my sacrifice and allowed me the chance to speak, but surely I must complete some task to prove my faith? To win a boon and guarantee their survival?"

Thunder rattles your bones and the mummy tenses, looking past you to the sky. Nerves or not, you can’t stay out here in this, not if you want to escape the weather… Or the panic that will spread like wildfire if anyone happens to catch sight of him. You offer him your hand.

"You'll help me?" He asks, hand lifting from his knee, but not yet reaching for yours. Mist dots his cheeks, rain trying desperately to break free of the heavy cloud cover.

"Help? Yes. In the way you’re asking me to?” You can’t stop yourself from cringing, but that doesn’t seem to have deterred the bog mummy still kneeling in front of you. He’s still staring with rapt attention, caught on every word you speak. “I—I don't know if I have any answer you want, but I do know we shouldn’t stay out here in the rain." You take a single step closer, fingers splaying as you reach for him. He slips his hand into yours and the rain falls heavy upon your heads.

————-　🌠　————-

From what you’ve gathered from Hior on the trip back here, he has for all intents and purposes, traveled through time, via his death. You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, mind whirling as you attempt to puzzle out whether he can eat or drink anything. He hasn’t needed to, not while he’s been in his enchanted… sleep down in the bog. But he’s actually dead, isn’t he? You hadn’t felt a pulse when he’d taken your hand, but you hadn’t been searching for one either, keen as you were on getting him out of the torrential rain and out of sight. He hasn’t asked for any food or drink, but your brain has seized onto hospitality like a lifeline. No matter what age Hior is from, sharing what you have is always appreciated.

Decision made, you fetch the glass, ears straining for any noise, for any hint of where he is in the house. He’s done nothing but stare at modernized gadgetry since you brought him in, taking the towel you’d offered as if he were in a dream, but he’s bound to get curious eventually. You move a little faster, though when you find him back in the living room, sitting straight backed on the edge of the couch, dampened towel around his shoulders, you feel rather silly. He just crawled out of a bog, knowing that he’d given his life for his village. Maybe he’s frightened? This can’t be like any afterlife he’d expected. “Would you like some water?” You ask, still unsure as to whether he can actually drink it or not. He’d been gasping for air when he’d broken free of the bog, but that might only be reflex, seeing as he is very much mummified.

Hior clambers to his feet, lamplight eyes skittering over your face and then down to the floor before he kneels, towel flaring out like a cloak. You pause where you are, fingers tightening around the glass in your hand, but your brain doesn’t catch up to what he’s trying to do until he speaks. “I must thank you for your hospitality. Truly. To be welcomed into the home of a God-”

You nearly spill the water, breath caught fast in your throat as you hurriedly urge him to get back to his feet, fingers brushing over his shoulder. “Ah, no, not—how about some water first?” Hior rises, the fine hairs of his eyebrows catching the light as he furrows them. They’re the same coppery red as the hair on his head and arms, and even on his legs when you take the time to glance down. “Here,” you mutter, slipping the glass into his hand as soon as his fingers uncurl. “If you don’t want it, or, or you can’t, then it’s fine. But, uh, I’m not a deity. Not a God. Just a man.” Like you, weighs down the tip of your tongue, but you clamp your jaws shut. You can’t honestly claim similarity, seeing as you still have blood flowing through your veins and your neck doesn’t have eerily clean stitches from ear to ear.

"A man," he repeats, but he doesn't sound like he believes you, "of course." Hior sniffs at the water, but he must not need it. He cradles the glass against his chest, water untouched and risks another sly glance at your face, waiting, as if he expects you to change your mind and confess to a different identity. Your brain buzzes, skipping over the hint he’s attempting to fish for.

“Those… It looks like that was a bad injury,” you murmur, gesturing to the neat stitches, a permanent, unsettling necklace. It doesn’t really help change the subject.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, reaching up a single hand. For a moment, he marvels at the sight of his own skin, turning his wrist this way and that before he finally ghosts his touch over the stitches. Hior doesn’t shy away from them, or even appear concerned, fingertip dipping between each rib of cord. “I’ve little idea how I came to possess these,” he confesses. “It wasn’t you?” You grimace, and Hior croaks out a laugh when he notices. Warmth blossoms in your chest, the sound of a real, genuine laugh soothing away some of your nerves. “No. I can see that now. And it wasn’t Mother Gree either,” he says softly, eyes lowering. “No one would have taken me from the water. The… the star?”

“Star?” The God you think I am? You want to ask, but the stiffness is easing from his limbs, memory returning, and you don’t want to interrupt. Frankly, you might be a little shell shocked yourself, but something about his question makes your brows furrow.

“It followed me into the water,” Hior adds, and your heart skips a beat, your own memories a cacophony in the back of your head. You’ve read something about that before, you’re certain of it.

“The star followed you?” You ask, clarifying. “Dove after you?”

For the first time, Hior isn’t staring past you or searching your face for any hint of divinity. A wry smile twists his lips, exposing the polished stones serving as his teeth. “From what I recall, yes. Of course, I was dying at the time,” he says quietly, humor in the arch of his eyebrows. “Perhaps I could not comprehend the visage of our Gods? They often take other shapes, so as not to cause alarm. Such as that of a man,” he says. He’s hinting again, gaze heavy on your face, but all you can think about is the phrase: the star followed me into the water, on repeat.

You lick your lips, darting past Hior for the stacks of books you’d left out this morning. “The Diving Stars,” you explain, pushing two volumes to the side and letting them fall to the floor with a clatter. You seize the elderly green book, whirling so you can brandish it in Hior’s direction. The title glitters, faintly golden but worn away by the passing years. “It’s a folktale, a legend, about… About you, I think.”

————-　🌠　————-

Hior never does drink the water. He sets it aside, fingertips lingering along the rim before you settle down on the floor, book laid open across your knees. He joins you, and as respectful as Hior has been up to this point, he sits close against your side, pressed against you from shoulder to hip so he can better see the pages. It’s intimate, and strange, and he’s… He’s not cold, not exactly, but the lack of human warmth is enough to have the fine hairs along your neck prickling with awareness. It only takes a moment before his attention drifts from the book to your face, staring at your mouth as you read the short tale aloud.

The Diving Stars

For the greater good of a war torn village, a sacrifice was made. A favored son was chosen, one beloved by the village, and kind to all he knew. He was strong, and clever, and though he was leaving behind his family, he knew he must act for the well being of all. When it came time for his sacrifice, he smiled and walked willingly to his ending, hoping that the Gods would accept his service and defend the village from invaders.

A God took notice.

You do your best not to lift your eyes from the text, heat spreading over the back of your neck when you realize how hard Hior is staring at you. You might keep trying to ignore his assumptions, but Hior isn’t going to let you forget about them completely. He still fully believes that you’re the deity from his tale.

Moved by his plight and coveting the favored son’s courage for his own hall, the God left his domain. He dove from the sky as a star, following the favored son into the depths and setting the entire blog ablaze with his magic. When the light faded, when the villagers uncovered their eyes, two men stood by the side of the water, the light of the stars in their eyes. One was the favored son, strange and withered, having sacrificed his vitality to the Gods. The other was the God who had accepted his bargain, and behind them, marching up out of the water, was a brigade of the village ancestors, led back from the underworld to help defend the home of their children.

When the battle was won, and the ancestors had marched back into the water, the favored son wished his people farewell. Lit up from within, the favored son and the God slipped back into the depths, and then two brilliant lights fountained up out of the water, diving back into the sky as stars.

When you lift your gaze away from the book, Hior’s eyes are still on you. They’ve grown even brighter than before, the shine of them sharp enough to make you wince. His hands, resting gently on his knees, are steadily curling into fists, and he’s smiling. Small and sweet and absolutely enchanted. “I knew it,” he whispers, voice tight and low, and then Hior yanks you by the neck of your shirt halfway into his lap, knocking the book completely out of your hands. He kisses you, in want or in gratitude, you’re not sure, the taste of rainwater and the chill of stone heavy on his lips. It’s… It’s not unpleasant at all, the kiss. His lips are smooth, and cool, and tingling, like the sharpness of static in the air, seeping through your skin and racing through your veins. When Hior finally allows you to wrench yourself away, lungs heaving as you attempt to remember how to breathe, all you can think about is the way he’s smiling, arousal pooling heavily in every limb.

“No matter what you might believe,” you mutter, trying to keep your thoughts in order, “I’m not a God. Not of any sort, Hior. I swear I’m not lying.” You lick your lips, the taste of rainwater still lingering on your skin. “Though, even if I don’t know how to help you yet?” You take his hand off of your arm, lacing your fingers with his. “We’re bound to find out together.”

————-　🌠　————-

[pennybells]

Consummation (warning, contains sexual content, occasional bad language)

As you gaze into each others eyes, his arms around your waist, you raise your hand to caress his face. He responds deeply to your touch, and covers your hand with his, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, he kisses your palm tenderly, then places your hand on his chest. His heart is pounding as fast as your own, and you can resist each other no longer. You lean into him, and kiss for the first time. His full red lips are soft and sensuous, and his kiss is intoxicating, flooding your body with raging desire, you have never felt so alive.

When you pull away, you stare into his beautiful face, you can see the lust in his eyes, it matches your own, and in that moment, you realise that you are about to be fucked by a monster. It's all the encouragement you need, and you smash your lips into his. He deepens the kiss and you explore each others mouths with ardour. Without warning, he grabs your hair and pulls your head back exposing your neck. He kisses, licks and gives you a little bite occasionally, and you gasp with pleasure. Lost in your lust, he scoops you up and gently lowers you onto the animal skins and lays down on top of you. He feels so good, and kisses your sweet mouth again, and you run your fingers through his auburn hair, it is so soft, and he seems to like you doing this, moaning into your mouth as he kisses you harder. You wrap your legs around him, and he starts to grind against you. Whatever it is hidden in his pantaloons is huge, hard and screaming to be freed.

As you writhe together in unbridled passion, he traces one gloved hand from your chin to your navel, and slides it under your top, stroking your belly. He grabs the hem with both hands, and you arch your back to allow the garment to slip over your head. For a few seconds he stares at your bra. "This is pretty, cerise coloured lace, it is beautiful against your skin, but now it is coming off."

With the skill of an expert lover, he unhooks the back and slides it down your arms, freeing your breasts. "Oh, what have we here? Toys for Penny to play with!"

He lowers himself onto you and kisses one of your nipples, then suddenly pulls back. He is fascinated that it has hardened because of his kiss. He gives the other nipple the same treatment with a little bite that makes you wince, but sends shock waves to your sex. "Eeee he he he heeee," he giggles like a child, a sound that is music to your ears.

He continues his exploration of your body, placing gentle kisses on your belly whilst you stroke his hair. Your need for him is reaching fever pitch. "Penny, I want you naked, but I need you to show me how to get this costume off."

"All in good time my sweet, I haven't finished undressing you yet."

He sits up and removes your shoes and socks, then tickles your feet, making you cackle like a maniac. This makes him laugh too, and you feel like you are two star crossed lovers.

When he stops tickling you, he pulls down your pants, leaving you naked except for your panties.

"You are beautiful, I have waited so long for you, and I am going to make you mine, forever."

With a Devilish glint in his eyes, he removes your panties and lays down on top of you. The feeling of the silver silk of his costume on your naked skin drives you wild. You wrap your arms and legs around him whilst you kiss passionately.

As you caress his body, he sits up and starts to remove his costume. First he undoes the ruff around his neck, slowly, teasing you. Then he reaches behind his waist where there is a secret fastening to remove his belt. He tickles your nose with the pompom and steals a quick kiss. You can see there are hook fastenings behind the pompoms of his jacket, you reach up to undo them, and he stares into your eyes with raging desire as you unhook each one. He slips the jacket off, which reveals another layer of fabric attached to his pantaloons. There is a zip which starts at his neck and stops where the pantaloons begin. You pull the zip down, and he slides the garment down his arms. To your surprise, he suddenly stands up. He towers above you, and he lets the pantaloons fall to the floor and steps out of them. You can now see just how big the bulge in his pants is, and you know instantly that you are about to be pleasured in a way most women could only dream of.

He drops to his knees, and removes the white silk shirt which is the last piece of clothing on his upper body except his white gloves. Slowly and seductively he peels them off, and you realise just how long his fingers are. He cups your breasts in his hands and you close your eyes, his naked skin against yours is the most beautiful feeling, and as you enjoy his caress setting your body on fire, you feel his lips on yours. You run your hands down his back, pulling him closer. When you reach the waist of his pants, you slide your hands inside over his naked buttocks and he moans into your mouth, kissing you harder, his hands stroking every part of your body he can reach, and then he finally settles on your sex. Gently he strokes your pubic hair, and you close your eyes enjoying the eroticism of the moment, then he slides two fingers inside you.

"Ooooh, you are so wet for ol Pennywise."

"Yes Penny, that's what you do to me."

He slides his fingers in and out, whilst he massages your clitoris with his thumb, and you are so close.

"Please Penny, I need you inside me, I want you so much ."

He slowly withdraws his fingers and sits up, his fiery eyes burn into yours, they seem to see into your soul, and as he holds your gaze, he hastily removes his boots and socks, then his pants.

He stands in front of you in nothing more than a pair of white silk briefs, a wicked glint in his eyes. He laughs with a filthy gutteral laugh and you give him an ear splitting smile.

Slowly he removes his briefs and let's them fall to the ground.

He is a sight to behold, his body is as beautiful as his face. Incredibly tall, lean and perfectly toned, with an erection any mortal man would envy.

You stare at him, drinking in his physical beauty. His skin is flawless, and his erection is huge. Completely humanoid in form, but larger, not only in length, more importantly for you in girth. A light dusting of pubic hair as red as the hair on his head adorns his armpits and testicles, and you so want to bury your face in his testicles and take him in your mouth, but that would be a treat for another night, the first time he must be inside you for you two to become one, giving yourself to him completely.

He walks towards you with purpose and drops to his knees, climbing on top of you. Eyes burning with desire, drool dripping from his mouth onto yours, which you lick off and he smothers your mouth with his, fisting your hair. When he pulls away, he buries his face in your neck and holds you tightly. He doesn't move, it is as though his very existence depends on the warmth of your skin and curves of your body.

After a few minutes he starts to caress you, and you do the same to him, feeling the muscles of his back and arms. You are completely intoxicated, his sweet scent, the romantic setting, the sexual chemistry between you, is like nothing you have experienced before. He looks into your eyes, his erection pressed against your thigh.

"Fuck me Pennywise, fuck me hard."

He smiles at you wickedly, and places his enormous member at your entrance, and slides into you with ease.

"Aaaaaaahhhh," you both cry out in unison, overcome by the sensation. He fits you perfectly, stretching you to the max. You are all sensation, every nerve ending on fire. This entity that everyone calls a monster, in Its favourite form of a beautiful clown, who kills your own kind for sustenance, has chosen you to be his mate. This is real, visceral, dangerous, and you love it, and Him.

He starts to move, and it feels divine. He growls into your neck as he nuzzles you, and your hands begin to explore his wonderful body. He likes this, throwing his head back and his eyes rolling back into his skull, breathing through gritted teeth as he loses himself inside you. He kisses you hard, pinning you to the ground as he thrusts into you harder. His cock is so huge that it is almost painful, but this only intensifies your pleasure.

As he quickens the pace he becomes more animalistic, revealing the beast he truly is. The sounds he makes are inhuman, and every now and again he yips and cackles as he loses himself inside you.

Holding him tightly, you know that you cannot hold on much longer. He kisses, licks and bites your neck, then nibbles your earlobe with his buck teeth, and it is your undoing. You cum, harder than you ever have in your life, crying out his name repeatedly as your entire body goes into spasm. You have never felt pleasure like it, and as you come back down to Earth, He finds His release. Throwing his head back whilst pinning you to the ground, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your buttocks, he shoots load after load of his hot seed inside you. It is all you have ever wanted, and at last you feel complete.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck and breathing hard in your ear. He is completely spent, and as you stroke his back, he starts to shake uncontrollably.

"Hey Penny, are you OK?"

His eyes meet yours, and you notice that his eyes have turned blue, and are full of genuine warmth. He kisses your mouth clumsily with trembling lips.

"Penny, did I just pop your cherry?"

He looks at you with an expression that you can only describe as coy, and you know that he is desperately trying to guard his ego, because you have discovered his secret. The only things that betrayed him were his shaking, and the fact that he was so fascinated by your nipples turning hard from his kiss. You would never have known otherwise, he was the most incredible lover.

"Oh Penny, how lucky am I."

You kiss his forehead, his cheeks and his mouth, and wrap your arms and legs around his beautiful body, cradling him, and eventually his shaking subsides.

Having calmed him, you notice he starts to breathe deeply, and to your complete surprise, he starts to make a noise that you can only describe as purring. It is the sweetest most adorable sound you have ever heard. This demon who eats children and everyone calls an evil monster, has not only given you the best sex of your life, not that you had been promiscuous, but you had enough experience to know the good, the bad and the completely useless, was an incredible lover, and purrs like a cat whilst asleep. He is adorable to you, and no mortal man could ever compare to him.

As you lay there in your post coital bliss, a thought creeps into your mind. You knew he had lived for eons, but he had been a virgin all that time, never having experienced the joys of the flesh. Sleeping most of the time, and waking only to eat. What a pitiful existence, no wonder he was angry all the time.

The thought is almost too painful to bear, and a silent tear rolls down your cheek onto his hair. You kiss his forehead and hold him tightly, as feelings of love for him wash over you, and in your heart you promise he will never be alone again as long as you have breath in your body.

You listen to his contented purring, and the sound of the water in the cistern. He is so heavy, but you have no intention of moving him, you bear his weight gladly, and as you lie there in your euphoric state, sleep finally overcomes you too.

[onesillybeach]

New Beginnings Ch. 18

F!Reader x Liu Kang/Kung Lao

This one is short and I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me. Also, yay Helena cameo~ But also, aw, Helena cameo ;-;

@ancientowlgirl @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @shang-hung

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 *15 16 *17

You two hadn’t had sex. You’d made out. You’d talked. You’d made out some more. You’d talked some more. You’d fallen asleep with Liu in his bed. His light snores had lulled you to sleep comfortably. Finally, relaxed.

You’d woken up the next morning when Liu had shifted. You felt his lips on your forehead and smiled before opening your eyes to look at him.

“Good morning,” Liu said softly.

“Sure is,” you said, then returned the kiss, but to his lips.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright.”

“Did you want to train with me this morning?”

Yes. You did… But you trained with Lao in the morning. And today was supposed to be Lao’s day with you as well. If you ditched him for Liu… You didn’t want to think what would happen. But, instead of telling Liu that, you shook your head and snuggled under his covers, inhaling his scent. “I’m gonna sleep a bit more. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

He grinned and nodded as he got out of bed. “Take your time,” he told you, grabbing his gi-top from the floor and tossing it into a basket. He took another moment to watch you with a smile before stepping out into the hall.

As weird as it was to notice, Raiden had not been acting like himself lately. Him being distant wasn't new. Raiden had seemed to keep a distance between everyone. But as you trained with Kung Lao, you noticed Raiden watching with a solemn expression.

When you finished training, Lao had given you a kiss. Oh, that kiss. It wasn’t a simple kiss. No. You’d learned that Lao wasn’t a fan of giving you those little pecks. When he kissed you, he did so with purpose. He’d held your face. His lips engulfed you. That alone could be all the encouragement you needed to train harder. As he pulled away, your smile brought him to smile in return. You could tell the kiss encouraged him as well. It was a reward for both of you. But instead of following him to Breakfast, you told him you would catch up later.

You watched Lao walk off… watched his ass a bit selfishly, then turned your attention towards Raiden. He was watching you.

You gave him a respectful bow.

He gave you a bow of his head.

"Lord Raiden," you addressed as you approached him. "Are you alright?"

He raised his brows to you. "Of course I am, Y/F/N."

"You don't look it," you pressed.

Raiden took in a stiff breath. "I assure you, I am fine."

"You can't lie to a nurse," you told him. "We know better."

That got a little chuckle from him. "You are quite observant."

"I was trained for it."

"I suppose you were."

"So what's bothering you? Is it me? Am I not training hard enough?"

"You are doing well."

“The kiss? Was that awkward for you?”

“No.”

"Then what is it?"

Raiden sighed. His glowing eyes shifted away from you. "Your issue has painfully reminded me of my own."

"Of the person you loved?" You’d remembered.

"I still love," he corrected you.

"Didn't you say it's been like five-hundred years?"

He nodded.

"They're… still alive?"

"...No.”

"Oh..." You weren’t sure what to say.

Raiden sucked in another breath. You could tell this was difficult for him to talk about. "She was killed in a tournament."

"What was her name?"

Raiden frowned a bit. "Helena Morana," he'd breathed.

You blinked at him. "A human?"

He nodded.

"What was she like?"

“Just and selfless. She used her magic to help others, even myself.”

"She was a witch?"

“A sorceress.”

"Like Shang Tsung?"

Raiden frowned. "No. Not like Shang Tsung. Shang Tsung is a snake corrupted by evil… Helena Morana… My Helena… Was once a beacon of light and hope for me." As Raiden stared at you, you could tell he was hurting. You could see the pain in his eyes. He wanted to say something else, but no words came from his lips. You frowned to him.

"You are concerned for me?" Raiden asked, now amused.

You nodded. "She must have meant a lot to you.”

“She still does.”

You were quiet then. The way he spoke of Helena, as if she still existed, made you wonder. He must have read your mind again, because he chuckled and nodded. He then offered you his arm. You took it carefully despite your confusion. He began to lead you through the halls.

"What do you know of Mortal Kombat's history?" He asked you curiously.

You cringed. History was never your forte. You barely passed your history classes in highschool. And you honestly didn't remember much of what Liu had told you. You blew out your cheeks.

"Ah." Raiden nodded, not at all disappointed. "It is a complicated history. Do not worry."

"Liu told me all kinds of things. I just…" You made a vague motion with your free hand.

"It is alright. You are being forced to learn much in little time."

"Yeah…" You frowned despite Raiden's understanding.

"He did not mention my Helena?" He asked.

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. I know he told me about a bunch of people, but I think I would have remembered your girlfriend. It’s kind of… odd.” He lifted a brow to you then. You quickly tried to explain yourself. “I mean. You don’t usually hear about gods falling in love with humans… Except for like, Greek mythology.”

Raiden laughed. A good laugh. But he said nothing as he continued to lead you through the halls. Eventually, they grew totally unfamiliar. You'd never seen this part of the temple, but you knew you were deep in. The air smelled different… musty.

Raiden stopped before a large wooden door and turned to look at you. "Prepare yourself. I know mortals are rather uncomfortable with what rests behind this door.” And before you could answer, the door had opened and revealed to you the source of that musty smell.

Tombs. Catacombs. Hundreds--No, thousands— of bodies were at rest, lined neatly along the walls, dressed in robes. Most of them were nothing but skeletons now. Some seemed mummified. You quickly realised who these people were as you stepped in: Monks. Your brows knotted. Why had Raiden brought you here? And why weren’t you grossed out?

Probably because you’d seen your fair share of disgusting things. Being a nurse wasn’t all bandaids and booster shots.

“Come,” Raiden said, pulling you from your head. You turned to see him walking further into the catacombs. You quickly followed. “Those who perish in my service, do not go forgotten,” Raiden said.

“Are all of these people… Did they all serve you?”

“Yes,” he simply answered. The further he led you, the more you were grateful he was there to guide you. The catacombs were an absolute maze.

“This place is insane…” You whispered as you looked from one body to the next.

“Those here are only the ones who wished to be here… or had no other place to go.”

You turned your head to look up at him.

“You may be put to rest here as well, if you choose.”

Your jaw stiffened. You were sure Raiden meant that as a simple offer, and not a warning of what was to come. “Thanks…” You said. “But… I don’t think I’d match the dress code.” Joke. Humor. Always when awkwardness hit.

Raiden glanced to you. “There is no dress code.”

Maybe he just didn’t understand that it was a joke. “The robes… And the… bones. I think I’d look too fresh.” Oh, God, what was wrong with you? You weren’t a slab of meat! “I mean—”

“They were not all just bones and robes when they entered here.”

“No, I… I guess so. I just… I’m sorry. You just threw me a curve ball and I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Ah,” He nodded.

You must have followed Raiden for several more minutes before you began to notice a change. Some of the bodies wore armor instead of robes. Were those… fighters? Former Earthrealm defenders? Wait, if those ones were here… “You’re taking me to her, aren’t you?”

Raiden let a small grin pull his lips.

“How did she die?” you asked. “I know you said in a tournament, but… how?”

“Shang Tsung defeated her. He took her soul.”

The catacombs had twisted and turned the whole way so far, but Raiden now led you into a large, circular room. The walls were lined with more remains, all in different clothing. Some with beautiful armor, some in simple clothing. One section of a wall in particular caught your eye. Nine bodies, each with their own burning incense, were lined up on their own shelves. And the shelves and remains themselves were neat and clean. Stepping closer to them, you could hardly see a speck of dirt nor dust on either of them. It was such a stark contrast to the rest of the bodies in the room, and in the rest of the catacombs, where the bodies had mostly seemed left alone. But these nine seemed actively taken care of. Why?

“Kung Lao’s ancestors,” Raiden answered your curiosity.

Lao’s ancestors. Nine of them? Surely there were more...

“This room is for Earthrealm’s former defenders,” Raiden answered your thoughts again.

“So these are all the past Kung Laos?” You asked, stepping back to look them all over as a whole. “Then this one here—” you pointed to the one you figured was the oldest.

“The Great Kung Lao,” Raiden answered. He sighed then and rested his hand on the edge of a raised, open, sarcophagus in the center of the room. “And this is my Helena,” Raiden said slowly, painfully. He wouldn’t even look at his lover’s remains. It was too painful. You looked, though. You couldn’t help yourself. You’d stepped right over and peered down into the stone sarcophagus.

She wore a dark dress. You weren’t sure what color it used to be. She wore simple shoes, not too different from the ones you were offered by the temple. Her hands were folded neatly over her stomach. Her hair was long and black and draped over her shoulders. And you could tell, even with how horribly sunken her face was, how mummified she was, that she used to be pretty… gorgeous even. You frowned at the sight. “She’s beautiful, Lord Raiden,” you said softly.

A small, single sound of disbelief left him. “She is nothing but brittle skin and bone now.”

“Well… Yeah,” Your frown sunk. You supposed it did sound silly to say such a grotesque sight was beautiful. “But… That’s not how you remember her.”

Raiden nodded, then let his grin come back to his face. “No, it is not.”

“She’s beautiful, Lord Raiden,” You repeated.

“She is,” he agreed.

[plainlo-inthemorning]

Shine a Light, part 6

A Loki series/Lokane fic. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

He is already spinning around and bracing himself as his boots touch the concrete, half expecting to see the beast come tumbling towards him.

But the air is mercifully still where the door has snapped shut.

The evening sky above him is heavy with clouds, and a light mist of cool rain touches his face.

Cool.

He looks down at his hands. They are still shaking from the adrenaline, but no longer blue. Nor do his clothes feel rough against his skin.

Did he consciously change back to his Asgardian form as he went through the door? He is not sure. Whatever the shape or shade, his body feels oddly disconnected from his brain and Loki idly wonders if using the tempad so much within a short time span might be affecting him on a cellular level.

Then again, if that was the case would the Minute Men and analysts at the TVA not have been suffering from chronic time travel fatigue?

Who knows, perhaps they did. A number of them certainly looked worn out.

Tempad “jetlag” (an apt mortal word) or not, unwillingly running into variants upon variants of old enemies on this treacherous timeline coupled with the incessant longing for her has caused Loki’s grip on reality to slip ever more from one destination to the next.

What reality? a mocking voice in his head whispers, sounding maddingly similar to the little devil clock.

You have no idea where you are, who you are or where you’re going. You’re a man out of time, for all time, always.

He straightens and draws in a few deep breaths, surveying his new surroundings: A narrow brick terrasse. At the back wall, a glass sliding door reveals a room covered in darkness, but as nothing moves inside (his night vision remains far superior to that of mortals), Loki turns instead to take in the view of … London.

There is a taste of early spring in the air, and before him as far as the eye can see, the rooftops and spires of the city stretch out into the distance.

Millions of little lights flicker in the dark and the fumes of traffic and city grime mix with whiffs of different cuisines drifting out of air vents.

He has been here once or twice before, though not in decades, and there are whole clusters of towering structures of glass and steel that he does not recall from on his previous visit.

The house by the ocean in 2016, Budapest in 2015, New York in 2014 and now London in what he assumes must be 2013. As methodical as the backwards count has proven to be, as confusing are the destinations and varying seasons.

Only they cannot possibly be random.

Free will is an illusion.

The eerie feeling that even this, his ill-thought-out ‘quest’, is being guided by an invisible hand in charge of his destiny is so dispiriting it’s comical. He can’t quite decide whether to feel perversely honored that some higher being – a version of He Who Remains? – would take interest in toying with him, or furious that he has been singled out for this preposterous punishment of drifting through another Loki variant’s timeline.

It is no use dwelling on either emotion. He has no one to measure his pride against, no one’s expectations to live up to expect for his own, and, frankly, by now that bar is scraping the floor. There is no telling where the female variant of him went and Loki has no means of contacting the TVA or the analyst-interrogator even if he wanted to (he really does not anymore).

Loki unclenches his fists.

Seeing as each destination may have been an intentional set-up for whatever bizarre reason, the question is which character from his past he will encounter in this place. He vows to himself that no matter who he bumps into, he will attempt to reactivate that silver tongue of his and gather actual, useful information.

No more chaotic exits.

Provided no one tries to kill him on sight or squash him through a wall.

The terrace is furnished only with an old sun chair and a few plants, but the room beyond the glass door appears very lived in, with books stacked on the floor and several shelves, a large couch, a couple of armchairs, and what looks to be an adjacent kitchen area with a dining table.

Amazing how most mortals spend their years in such small, crowded dwellings.

Using only his magic, he slides open the door. It makes a low swooshing sound. Quiet as a cat, he steps over the threshold.

//

It hits him immediately, like walking into a wall: The scent of lavender.

And Thor.

The apartment is quiet, but they were here and recently.

He has been delivered right to them.

Loki is once again frozen in place.

His initial plan when knocking out that man in the canteen at the TVA and stealing his tempad was to find Thor and Jane at the scene of his own moral redemption (well…) on Svartalfheim. Where he supposedly saves their lives. Find them and use the momentum of their unfiltered gratitude to deliver the news that, most regrettably, the universe is likely coming to an end if they do not devise a plan together to prevent a multiversal war – preferably enlisting the help of Thor’s colleagues, too, and in the best of scenarios, Asgard.

Seek out Thor before saving Jane’s life, and Loki would have to first win his brother’s trust in the aftermath of the attack on New York. Find Thor after Svartalfheim, and there would be the small matter of explaining how the variant faked his own death and, after having thus broken Thor’s heart again, took the throne of the Realm Eternal.

Not an ideal conversation starter, even for them.

From the reel, he knows that there were other moments, much later, when he and Thor would become friendly again. After Ragnarok, before his end.

But Loki also knows that this need to get to Svartalfheim has as much to do with her as it has with Thor. Perhaps even more so.

Something important transpires between himself and the brown-eyed scientist on that brutal, barren planet and if it is the last thing he does, Loki will find out what it means.

It does not make any more sense now than it did when he sat in the kill me kind of room, transfixed by her face, but if he had had any initial doubts as to whether he was simply imagining the magnetic pull of her, those had been effectively shattered to atoms when she threw her arms around his neck outside the white house.

“Where did you go, handsome?”

Nothing on this timeline seems to be playing out as it should. Which of course also means that the events on Svartalfheim may never have occurred at all.

On this timeline, a variant has more or less befriended the Avengers in the years after New York when, according to the proper Loki fate, he should have been on Asgard. And, in a few years from now, the variant will somehow be with Jane.

Jane, who has stayed in this very apartment. With Thor.

Briefly, Loki is back to wondering if Thor dies and how, but then he remembers what Bruce said about their “family soap opera” and Loki’s “victory”.

Could it be that he and Thor actually fought over Jane?

As much as he wishes it otherwise, even Loki finds it hard to believe that his variant would have beat the God of Thunder in a fight. The might of Mjølner is formidable. And though his brother has not quite discovered it himself yet, Loki has always suspected that Thor has his own kind of magic.

Then there is Jane: Without having ever conversed with her, Loki would be surprised if Jane would appreciate being treated as a prize to be won.

He is getting a headache. A rare thing for a god, but there is no putting the puzzle together with so many pieces missing from the board. Since he has no hope of using the tempad to transport him off Midgard, maybe the best thing to do would be to just wait here and see if Jane and Thor come back. He has been specifically sent here, has he not?

Without really noticing, Loki has moved to the blue, puffy couch. He sits himself down and leans back into the soft cushions, letting out a sigh. When was the last time he slept or ate anything? There is a sense of fresh paranoia as he realizes that he cannot remember doing either at the TVA, expect for when he fell asleep during research.

“Time works differently at the TVA. You’ll see”.

He stretches his legs out in front of him and yawns. On the wall opposite from the couch is a paper calendar: 2013.

He takes in the rest of the apartment but does not magic any of the lights on. There is the open kitchen, a tiny hallway with a coat rack and a few pairs of shoes, and two more doors to the left of where he is sitting.

Getting up suddenly feels immensely tasking, but Loki nevertheless hauls himself to his feet and goes to inspect the other rooms. First, there is the washroom. The scent of lavender is stronger in there, even more inviting, and spotting a stack of fresh towels on a shelf, he considers taking a shower. It is not as if he cannot easily use magic to uphold appearances (wait, were there showers at the TVA?), but that is no substitute for the soothing feel of warm water running down his body, relaxing his tired muscles.

Yes, he will shower. And cast a spell on the apartment, so he will be alerted if anybody attempts to enter.

He takes a small comfort in his powers being restored.

Loki reckons the other door leads to the sleeping chambers but just to be sure, he magics it open with a flick of his wrist.

A window with closed blinds. A wooden bookcase to one side, volumes and magazines piled high. An old, white wardrobe with brass grips. A pile of clothes strewn haphazardly on the thick yellow rug on the floor near a large, unmade bed.

Unmade – and not empty.

//

Loki stands perfectly still, one hand still raised.

Why did he not sense that someone was here?!

Seeing as Clint (Bird-Eye?) managed to surprise him in Budapest, perhaps Loki’s “wolf’s ears” really are failing him.

Even so, his nose is working just fine. Unless …

Then he knows. Of course.

His tongue tastes bile.

Inching closer, he sees the black hair spilling over the madras. His own lean, sculpted body whose long limbs and handsome Asgardian features Loki has never felt less appreciation for than right this very moment.

The variant is deep asleep. And half-naked under the sheets.

Something twists in his stomach at the scene. Something small and pathetic and evil that wants out. A foul, winged creature batting against his ribcage with sharp claws.

He takes another step forward.

How has the variant not been alerted to his presence yet? He seemed strong – very strong – in 2016.

Loki studies his twin’s face. His own exact face. Same high cheek bones, same long, dark lashes against a pale complexion. Only this close, the man’s skin has a faint ashen sheen to it. A few tiny beads of sweat glisten on his temples and, yes, Loki hears it now, his breathing is slightly labored.

He is injured. Enough to dull his senses.

It is not the madman from the Void, as Loki had feared after their first encounter. His energy is quite different from any of the other variants, and Loki suspects he may be the closest to a perfect double that he’s encountered yet (and please, let this one be the last. No more variants or Loki will forget which life was his own).

Stepping so close he can lean over the bed, the reason for the variant’s sedated state becomes evident:

Tied around the man’s mid-section, just about visible over the sheets, is the upper edge of a large bandage. Loki sniffs. Yes, he can sense the wound and the ugly tinge of dark magic still surrounding it, like a poisonous signature: This was inflicted by a blade of the dark elves. The variant has come from Svartalfheim after all.

The cut must have been near fatal, but from the smell of it, it is healing well, aided by the variant’s own powers and what can only be human medicine, judging by the clinical odor.

Even so, why was he not taken to the healers on Asgard?

Because he is evading his punishment for the attack on New York, Loki guesses.

Thor and Jane must have brought him to London instead of delivering him back to Odin. Although thanks to Heimdall’s watchful gaze, the All-Father will be aware of what has transpired. In his condition, the chances of the variant being able to use his magic to shield himself from Heimdall are next to none.

Still, he is here. No one has come for him yet.

Loki does not know which is stranger: That the variant is legitimately, badly injured and not currently in the process of dispatching Odin off to some home for the elderly in New York, or that Odin has allowed the variant to be taken to Midgard instead of the dungeons.

Presumably neither the All-Father nor Thor are aware of the variant’s role in Frigga’s death.

Though he tries to shake them off, the images remain crystal clear: The queen mother, killed by one of Malekeith’s monster.

A shiver suddenly runs through the variant’s body on the bed and Loki holds his breath. The man shifts under the sheets but does not wake.

So, dear ‘brother’, your Nexus event was that you nearly died for the people who care for you instead of following up your heroism with deceit, as I would have done.

What sentiment.

The winged creature growls.

Loki could kill him right now.

Kill him and take his place.

It would be easy, so easy to slit his throat. It is not as if he has not committed murder before.

“I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t enjoy it …” But this is not ‘people’.

This man is a murderer as well.

The variant has already veered spectacularly off course from his fate, and yet there are no Minute Men next to his bed, holding him accountable for his “crimes against the sacred timeline”, nor will he be apprehended in the following years.

This man got “the Time Keepers’ stamp of approval”, just like the Avengers.

It is so monumentally unfair it is enough to make Loki’s fingers grasp for an invisible dagger. The variant’s existence makes a mockery of the life that was cruelly stolen from Loki by the TVA and for that he loathes him with every fiber of his identical body.

Why should the variant have any more right to live?

Because he will make her happy.

Loki forces himself to rein in the rage. The man will play a part in Jane’s life.

He stares at his sleeping double.

The variant is worthy.

Or just simply unbearably, ridiculously lucky.

No matter what, he must live, but if Loki stays here much longer, he fears the variant’s chances of making it past 2013 will rapidly decrease by the minute.

Loki cannot stand to look at him, nor will he contemplate the fact that the variant is comfortable enough in the apartment to discard his clothes.

If he does, he will stab him to death. And relish in it.

Loki is about to magic himself away to find somewhere nearby to wait for Thor and Jane’s return, when a noise reaches him from the hall outside the apartment.

Someone is coming towards the front door, keys in hand.

Jane.

//

He should leave immediately. Disappear before she can turn the key in the door.

But he does not.

Still looking at the sleeping, half-covered form in front of him, something finally snaps instead. The winged creature shrieks in delight.

A quick spell ensures that no sounds from outside the sleeping chamber can reach the variant, no matter how light his sleep becomes.

Another one renders all the light switches in the apartment useless.

Then Loki swiftly picks up the clothes from the floor, looks it over, and changes his own black outfit into what he is holding: A dark green, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of soft, well-known black leather pants that makes him feel both a bit homesick and a lot stronger.

Don’t do this, don’t do this.

A voice, not the clock this time but his own. He ignores it.

He does not know what Jane’s relationship with the variant is of this time or what state of mind she expects to find him in, but she has let him stay here – and right now, she is alone.

Her fingers weaving through his hair while the sun beat down on his back.

His conscience will not allow him to kill the variant, yet Loki cannot resist the temptation to be him.

Again.

But just for a heartbeat or two.

This last part he promises to himself and to her, though it does nothing to bury the shame.

Perhaps he did not change at all during his time at the TVA. Perhaps his true, villainous self just lay dormant, biding his time, while various oppressors walked all over him.

Is a stolen moment with her worth more than his honor? Is it worth jeopardizing his one chance of enlisting Thor’s help?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

This is lowest you have ever sunk.

Shut up.

He steps out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him, but not before catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall. His hair. The variant’s hair is noticeably longer. He cocks his head to the side once and the difference is levelled out.

In the hall, Jane is fiddling with the keys. When the lock clicks, Loki is sitting on the blue couch again, trying to appear casual while his pulse is racing as fast as when Bruce turned green before him.

And there she is.

Hair windswept, cheeks flushed from the cool evening air, wearing a dark green parka, jeans and boots.

Her eyes find his in the low light and a warm smile spreads on her face. His heart leaps into his throat.

“You’re back”. She does not stop to take off her jacket or attempt to turn on the lights before coming towards him and, unsure of what to say, he stands up. She stops in front of him, apparently a little unsure of the situation herself. She bites her lip.

“So how did it go?”

Her voice sounds at once both concerned and hopeful and her eyes are wide with expectation.

She is searching for some sort of positive affirmation and so Loki smiles down at her and says the only thing that seems fitting:

“It went well”.

Jane exhales loudly and her smile returns. “It did?!”

“Yes”, Loki replies, grinning at her (her smile is too infectious) and hoping she will not ask him to elaborate on whatever the subject is.

“Of course it did! I mean, you’re still here, aren’t you? Oh Loki, I’m so insanely relieved!” Jane laughs and looks like she is about to throw herself into his arms (automatically he reaches for her) when she stops herself mid-motion. “Sorry! I nearly forgot. Again!”

She takes one of his hands in both of hers, and Loki swallows hard as her fingers softly caress his with unmistakable intimacy.

“But seriously, you two didn’t fight, like fight-fight, did you …? I hope Thor didn’t …”. She trails off and looks at him questioningly.

“No. No, we didn’t fight. Don’t worry. We both … behaved”. Loki tries to catch up while keeping his replies as vague as he hopes he can afford.

The variant and Thor have had words, and Jane has worried about the outcome. Could it have been a discussion of whether to return Loki to Asgard? But then why has Thor not come back to the apartment?

In fact, why go anywhere else to talk at all, with the variant being as beat up as he is?

Because he and Thor both expected a row not suited for the indoors.

“Okay, you sit, you’ve moved around enough for one day. I’ll fix us something to eat and you’re going to tell me everything”. Jane gently lets go of his hand, then shoots him a teasing smile. “Unless you’ve emptied the fridge. Again”.

“Um”, is Loki’s inspired contribution to the conversation.

“Uh oh, pasta it is then”, Jane laughs, and goes to shrug off her jacket and boots in the hallway, revealing an open flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath.

Was she wearing the same thing that day in the desert town? It looks familiar.

Jane flips a light switch next to the coat rack and makes a “huh”-sound as nothing happens. She tries a lamp next to the dining table with the same result.

“Has the electricity gone again? Was it out when you got back?”

“Ah, yes. It was”.

“The landlord seriously needs to fix this, that’s the third time this week…good old London”. Jane scoffs but does not sound all that bothered.

“Can you work a little magic for us?”

When Loki does not move, Jane walks up to him (now even shorter without her footwear) and lightly places a hand on his arm, nudging him back on the couch. “Sit. And shine a light, please”.

He lets her push him down, and her hand moves up to rest on his shoulder. Now he is the one looking up at her. She is standing between his legs and there it is, the affection in her eyes that almost makes him forget that he is not the man it is meant for.

He wonders for how long he can get away with not saying anything remotely coherent before she suspects something’s amiss.

Obeying her wish, he holds out his palm and a small, orange flame appears, casting a warm glow on both their faces. Motioning with his fingers, he makes the flame float elegantly over the low coffee table in front of the couch where it stills in the air.

“I was thinking more along the lines of just making the electricity come back on, like last time, but okay, that is very pretty too”. Jane looks at the little light with wonder and Loki thinks he sees the stars in her eyes again.

Then her attention is back on him. Her fingers brush against his hair. They linger by the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know if it’s relief, but it’s almost like you look a bit … different”. Jane’s eyes roam his face, his hair. “Do you even still have a fever?”

Before Loki can answer her hand is touching his forehead.

Jane shakes her head in surprise. “It’s much better than this morning. Maybe it was good for you to get some real air after all. It has been almost three weeks …”

How easily she touches him. How sad that he's not used to being touched anymore.

He has only to lay his hand on her forehead in return and he could use his powers to reveal glimpses of her past (yes, he kept many of his gifts from the female on Lamentis).

More specifically, what has happened between her and the variant.

But not without revealing himself in the process.

Her left hand is still on his shoulder while the other now travels down the side of his cheek. He leans into her touch and closes his eyes, just breathing in the scent of her skin when he feels her bending down and locks of her auburn hair tickle his face.

He opens his eyes and looks right into hers, inches from his.

You have not earned this.

You are deliberately, selfishly, monstrously taking advantage of her.

I am a monster.

And then her mouth is on his and he does not say no.

To hell with his soul.

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

For a second, she thinks she feels him tense up.

But as soon as her lips melt onto his and he immediately, hungrily reciprocates the kiss, everything is right again.

Crazy, sure, but also oh so right.

Jane literally never wants to stop kissing him.

She actually told him exactly that the other night. Or, accidentally blurted it out as they were coming up for air, since she is falling for him so fast her brain apparently cannot keep up with her mouth.

Immediately she had felt embarrassed, but it did not last longer than it took for him to raise a teasing eyebrow at her and pull her close again. “Why, Doctor Foster”, he had purred in that low voice that he absolutely knows makes her go weak, “by all means, please…(and he’d kissed her) don’t…(another kiss) stop … (kiss) Ever”.

Then he had leaned back a little, still gently cupping her face between his large hands, and flashed her the most gorgeous, happy, wickedly lascivious smile she had seen on him so far.

Not many people radiate smoldering sex appeal while simultaneously suffering from the agonizing pain of a wound inflicted by an alien sword, but of course Loki pulls it off with flying colors.

From there on, there had been no returning to ‘movie night’.

Now, trying not to break the kiss, Jane carefully moves to sit herself down on the couch as well, making sure not to press against him. For two weeks, they have been making out like teenagers whenever they are alone. Somewhat hindered by his injuries, obviously, which prohibits him from moving much – it is both very, very hot and insanely frustrating.

The first time she had kissed him, he had been too stunned to move a muscle anyway.

The second time, he had nearly ripped the wound open again.

Since then, they have tried to take it slow, although on more than one occasion, Loki has been all but begging to throw caution to the wind – “I’ll heal!", “It doesn't hurt!” (said as he looked like he was going to pass out), and, Jane’s favorite, “It might make me heal faster”.

His impatience would be quite funny if it was not because Jane was feeling just as dizzy with want.

She has been going for a lot of runs in Hyde Park lately.

“Do you have a death wish?!”, she had asked him teasingly at one point when he had spontaneously grabbed her hand as she passed him the kitchen and pulled her tight against him, only to groan loudly in pain when her body collided with his bandage.

Then he had looked suddenly very serious and let her go, and she had instantly regretted the comment.

She knows enough about his past not to joke about things like that.

“Oh. Oh, no”.

That was all her mind had been capable of thinking when she and Loki had locked eyes in the palace on Asgard, right after she had slapped him (surprising both herself and everyone around her).

He had looked down at her with his trademark arrogant smirk, except as soon as Thor and Sif had turned away, his gaze had turned infinitely softer, and Jane had felt something monumental start to shift inside of her.

Something that had nothing to do with the Aether coursing through her veins.

Not long after that, on that awful, doomsday-looking planet, he had saved her life. Twice in quick succession. And for a horrifying second, it had looked like he would die right in front of her.

The memory makes her involuntarily shudder a bit and, drawing her legs up on the couch so she can twist to face him more directly, she runs her fingers through his long, silken hair, and nips at his lower lip… and is startled when his head jerks. For real this time.

Jane draws back.

“Are you okay?”. Perhaps things did not go as smoothly with Thor as she had hoped.

It was a big ask after all.

Once more she feels a sharp pang of guilt. It is not just her and Loki’s worlds that have been turned resoundingly upside down in a matter of one turbulent month.

Loki seems lost for words, and the sadness flooding his face shocks her.

He is far from okay.

In fact, he looks close to tears. Were it not because she had just felt his cool forehead, she would have assumed it was the fever flaring up.

Jane feels her stomach tie itself into a knot. They are taking him away from her before they have even had a chance be together.

Or, even worse still, he has regretted everything about their unlikely union.

“Jane, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry…”

Here it comes, Jane thinks as nausea builds. Erik is about to be proved right about him.

She lets go of him. He is clearly wrestling with himself.

And he does look different. Is this what him dropping the mask looks like?

It is more than just his facial expression, it is his entire posture. Even wounded and half delirious with fever, Loki usually carries himself with no small amount of pride.

His eyes are so lost.

What the hell is going on?

“Just tell me, Loki”. Jane tries to disguise how alarmed she suddenly feels. His touch is the same, and yet it is like a stranger is taking over the man in front of her.

He inhales deeply and runs both his hands through his hair. Entirely without wincing as he lifts his elbows above his chest, she notices.

“Okay”, he begins. “Jane…” (the way he says her name, like he is tasting the word) “…you have every right to hate me for what I’m about to tell you. I truly deserve nothing less.”

She feels the tears welling up.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice breaks and Loki has the audacity to look taken aback.

“Are you being dragged back to Asgard, or are you dumping me? After trying so hard to get into my pants?!”

It comes out way too harshly, and Loki appears genuinely flummoxed.

Also, his face has gone red.

“Oh, Jane, no, he’s not going to… He won’t leave. I mean- ”

“What?” A chill runs down her spine.

“’He’? ‘He’ who? Thor?”

Before he can answer, they both jump a little as her phone suddenly goes off in her bag by the door.

That inane ringtone.

She still has not changed it.

Erik. She promised she’d let him know as soon as …

Jane wants to ignore it, but then her mentor will most likely keep calling and she cannot put it on silent from the couch. Loki probably could though, but she is not about to ask.

“Wait”. She holds up a hand and gets up.

While rummaging in the bag, a single tear runs down her cheek. No. She will keep her composure and listen to what he has to say like the commonsensical grown-up woman that she is.

Was.

She’s only just begun to get to know him properly, so why does it feel like she won’t be able to live without him?

She pulls out the damn phone and presses the button on the side.

The she straightens up again and turns. “Okay, Loki …”

Jane gasps.

The room is dark. And empty.

No, he didn’t!

“Loki!”

No answer.

She stalks over to the couch and frantically looks around. Nothing.

“Loki, don’t you dare!”

The phone vibrates in her hand. Shaking all over, Jane answers the call. “Erik?”. Her voice is very small. “Yes, hi, Jane, it’s me. Listen, has Loki gotten back yet?”

She starts crying. “Erik, he left. He was here when I came home and just now, he disappeared! He didn’t even say goodbye.”

She can hear how desperate she sounds.

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” Erik sounds confused.

“He is gone! I turned my back on him for one second and he vanished!” Jane’s voice breaks.

“Look, Jane, I really can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe you misunderstood him? He came to see me not two hours ago after that thing with Thor and, well, let’s just say he went out of his way to make a case for himself. And you…”

“What? What did he- ”

“Jane?” Darcy’s voice cuts through. She must have taken the phone from Erik. “The lunatic is absolutely batshit crazy about you, okay? Stop blubbering. He’s probably just bored and fucking with you since you’re not actually f- ”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Muffled sounds, as Erik wrestles the phone back.

“Come on over, Jane, okay? We’re all still at the lab. Ian’s made tortillas if you can believe it”.

“But…” Jane wavers. Is Loki really playing a joke on her?

Erik is not taking no for answer: “Jane, don’t indulge these little games of his, okay? Come have dinner with us, and I’ll tell you what he told me before. And if he isn’t back later tonight, it’ll be my pleasure to enlist Thor to beat the crap out of him. It’s long overdue”.

Despite herself, Jane cannot help but smile.

“Okay. I’m coming over”. She exhales. The feeling of unease is subsiding a bit.

“Good girl”, Erik says. “Tell her to bring beer!” Darcy shouts from somewhere in background.

Jane hangs up and puts on her boots again. Loki and Erik had an actual conversation with no casualties?

She grabs her jacket and slams the front door behind her.

He really is infuriating, that prince of hers.

If he turns up later, she will make him pay dearly for scaring her.

No making out for a week.

(Yeah, right.)

To be continued in part 7 ....

This was supposed to have been the final chapter. Only 'someone' needed extra time star gazing. Please forgive me him!