#so many thoughts they keep ricocheting off each other and getting lost

[its-short-for-jackalope]

THE SEARCHER IN THE SHADOWS

☆ Thoughts On Part One ☆

I have many thoughts and feelings and I am definitely not gonna be able to wrangle every last one in here, but I can do my darnedest to hit most of the big ones!

Dropped From The Clouds

The contrast of this first song compared to the start of TGOA makes me a little insane. Both songs are full of questions and uncertainty and take place after the characters have been teleported to another time and place, but When Are We? has the comfort and assurance of being with friends while Dropped From The Clouds has Rose isolated and alone without any familiar faces, and the parallel just reminds me of how much has changed and how quickly things are continuing to change. When are we going to slow down? Not now, it seems.

Dakkar's introduction, oh my god — "I'm nobody." [mildly threatening Radiance noises] "Give me the orrery." — and then he immediately goes into science mode. I need to draw him so bad. Also, side note, I already adore Jesse Bhamrah's voice.

He was/is a Traveler and a Searcher? so it seems the titles aren't mutually exclusive, then. I wonder if his unclear status as a Traveler has anything to do with whatever he's got going on that we heard in Transmission 14.

Fast Friends

CAPTAIN ADDISON ARVAD!!!!!! THE SCREAM I WANTED TO SCRUMPT!!! (also Natalie Masini sounds amazing)

"Lower your weapon, for God's sake." "The gun was your idea." I love them, your honor

So Dakkar and Addison were absolutely taking precautions in case Kal had possessed Rose, right? That's the vibe I get, anyway. Maybe they know he's capable of doing that sort of thing (maybe Sia has seen it happen? or, y'know, ✨️seen✨️ it) and that's why they wanted to check if she knew the GAD's publication date—Kal doesn't seem to automatically gain his host's knowledge, like when he didn't seem to know Morgan had already been sent away, so if he was possessing Rose then he probably wouldn't have known the date.

...Actually wait, you know what? Maybe it was Itzal they were worried about. We don't really know anything about what magic he could have at his disposal—maybe he can also possess people or change his form. and since he's a bigger, badder threat, I think it could make more sense for them to avoid saying his name rather than Kal's. 🤔

ADDISON IS A ROSE FAN???? ROSE IS PRETTY FAMOUS ON THEIR ISLAND??!? THEY HAVE A BRICK FROM TOWNSHIP NUMBER 9??!!?! Rose deserves the hype 100% of course but I have so many questions

okay I didn't expect Rose to meet Addison the very hour she arrived 2 weeks in the past, so I did not consider the fact that she and the crew would be here and they wouldn't have disappeared yet. I am now deeply afraid, because I know something happens to her. I have been so afraid of how the time travel will hurt me irt the twins that I didn't think about how many OTHER ways the time travel could hurt me.....

AND ROSE CAN'T WARN HER!!! So she just has to keep her mouth shut and let it happen and Addison must know that something happens, she and Dakkar didn't seem surprised that Rose didn't know who she was, but she's gonna go in blind anyway... 😭😭😭 okay wait, what if Addison and Sia's plan was for them to leave the Antikythera drifting for the others to find, but instead of returning to Lincoln Island Addison and her crew disappeared??

Destiny Strange and Sublime

...well now I just feel silly for not even considering that Dakkar would be the Searcher in the shadows 😂

I can't quite tell if the people he mentions he'd been unable to save is like... a personal thing, as in he actively failed to save them because of his own mistakes, or if it's more of a shared grief for the Blazing World and all its inhabitants. the first interpretation is definitely more angsty, lol.

I wish I had more coherent thoughts on this one but at this current time it mostly boils down to ohh pretty music, Dakkar is cool, Jesse Bhamrah is awesome, et cetera.

Arrival, part 1

HELLO PART 1 SONG!!!! I am excited to see how parts 2 and 3 may emotionally devastate me in the coming week!

so many people from the Blazing World! pleasantly surprised my island of refugees theory was correct. then again, I've spouted off enough theories that odds are at least some of them gotta be right, lol

Ahlaam my beloved!!! Virginia's voice is gorgeous, omfg.

The different creatures and plants from all over the world.... have the Searchers been looking for things that remind them of the Blazing World and bringing them back to the island to make it feel more like home? Crafting a facsimile of the Blazing World from pieces of Earth? (aough, and I thought "Ipomoea, just like home!" couldn't hurt any more than it already did...)

the phrasing of "OUR planet's biggest ocean" is interesting to me. Is the Blazing World connected to Earth somehow, thereby making it the same planet in some way, or is it just that this island has been home long enough for Ahlaam to feel attached? Or. Or. If the Blazing World is on the moon, then it would make sense for Ahlaam to refer to the Earth as her planet because the moon revolves around it and it's the moon's planet. (yes, hi, hello, it's a new pulp episode, we are once again in the Overthink Everything And Fire Off A Bazillion Theories era <3 )

They've been waiting for Rose for YEARS? ...would that be since 1835, or 1829? and we know they've been waiting for Margaret because, well, duh, but have they been waiting for Samuel and John, too? or are they all just Rose stans?

the crew of the Antikythera....... 😭😭😭

I love that a good portion of this song is basically just Ahlaam going "check out our sweet digs" lmao

The nights have been dark but this is the spark that will set the whole lighthouse ablaze — YELLING RIGHT NOW, oh my god. lighthouses are guides through darkness and stormy weather and they also cut through fog, I want to bite something (/pos)

this has got to be both very nice and very overwhelming for Rose, lol.

Addison & Dakkar and Ahlaam & Dakkar are both very fun dynamics

A Spell Is Just A Rule Made With Magic

THE FOG IS FROM A SPELL!!! ITZAL CAST A SPELL AND CORRUPTED HIS PEOPLE! "It saturates the heart with darkness 'till you forget life before the blight" oh my god, he convinced all of them that the fog is how they always were & were meant to be? No wonder Kal considers Sia and Margaret traitors. So when Kal says "soon the Blazing World will meet its end" he might not be talking about an actual place—in his mind he's probably talking about the traitors' movement & the ridiculous, dangerous ideas they have about replacing Itzal's world with one of light...

"A spell is just a rule made with magic, and any rule can be broken" AOUGH. CHILLS.

ooh they believe Rose is the key? aw man this adds more weight to "I was a hero and the heroes win — don't they?" in Vanishing...

"Capital." oh my god Mr. Dahan you can't do this to me. The similarities between Dakkar and AJ have to be intentional, right?? ...oh god, is Dakkar gonna make a bad deal to save lives? Is he gonna sacrifice himself in some way to save his people?

Two Weeks

I love this montage, it's such a nice way to go through this part. also I just really like how this whole first part is structured, having this entire part dedicated to Rose in this time is a great way to handle the time travel without being confusing by jumping back and forth, AND it gives us time to get to know the new characters a little bit! It's also a bit of a breather after how hectic the end of TGOA was. (I feel like part 2 is going to get super intense super quickly, lol.)

So they start with science and testing her mind, giving Rose access to all their research to see if she figures out anything there. And then they go to the volcano and scan her, starting to test her body for evidence that she might be able to help them in some magical way. (They're probably still going over the research too, ofc. Those were a lot of books, Dakkar.)

Day 9!!! Sia is here!!! I desperately want to know exactly what she and Addison were talking about. I think it might be a plan to abandon the Antikythera for Margaret and the others to find in a few days, but that's mostly speculation.

also Sia seems so much more relaxed and at ease here. maybe it's because she's at home with her people and she can be less secretive than she was on the satellite? (and because she isn't in a literal magic battle, lmao.)

Dakkar mentions phase three and they go to the lake to try doing stuff with illusion magic—do they want to try using magic on Rose to see if they can get her to activate whatever magic she may have? Or maybe how Rose reacts to the illusion magic could reveal something...?

Rose not wanting to go in the water, aoughhh 😭 and Sia helping her when she's scared 😭😭😭

Dakkar's Grotto / Mobilis In Mobili

when I saw this scene during the premiere I said "holy sci fi" and I stand by that. this environment is so cool. I wonder why the rest of the island isn't like this when they're clearly people with a lot of knowledge and technology... it's probably a matter of supplies. They fled to this island from Itzal and his spell, so they wouldn't have had time to pack a lot of stuff. I imagine whatever they did manage to bring and/or build is all dedicated to their efforts to find a cure and protect everyone.

we know they haven't found anything yet because they're still testing Rose's blood. man, that's gotta be stressful for her. (And the Radiance folks, yeah, but c'mon. so much pressure on Rose right now and she's brand new to all this. 🥺)

The Nautilus is here!!! and it's a spaceship!!! AHHHH!!! 🤩

SHIT IS GOING DOWNNNNNNN! Margaret is radiating and I am going to be Thinking about what it means that Sia can sense it—is it a part of her precognitive abilities? is it part of whatever bond they have that allows them to combine their power?

Rose blurting out a warning about the fog and Ahlaam and Sia immediately getting more concerned.... I hope that maybe since she waited until right before Sia left it won't influence anything negatively, if at all—it's only a very small part of the present that will be influenced and it's not like they totally altered their actions across two weeks to accommodate for that information so I'm sure it's fine. hopefully.

Rose is worried about Samuel almost drowning like she did (and is/will be)... she is not going to like hearing about the dangers he's actually facing. well, if anything is gonna wake up potential magic in her, learning that one of the bad guys attacked & has been harassing her baby brother will probably a good contenderrrrroh fuck I had a thought. uh, stay tuned, we'll get there.

oh god the Ellen Austin will be arriving soon and Samuel and Rose will reunite (they BETTER REUNITE ASAP) and Rose is going to be two weeks older and I am going to perish

not the little reprise of The stars appeared... that made me so sad last time.... 😭 I love how this version of it is positive. the parallels,,,,,,

Rose and the Stars

IT'S HERE AT LAST!!!!

The past stays soaked into our skin 😭

we are lit by suns that shatter through the dark.....

WE TRAVEL WITH THE SPIRITS THAT WE KEEP — ough, makes me think of the ghost of all my yesterdays in Behind Me. also the change from "Don't spend a second looking back" in ep 1 to "only looking back to see how much we've grown" has me feeling things idk how to describe rn, lol

THE CONSTELLATIONS TURN INTO A CROWN!!!!!! 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

Rose will shine again 🥺😭❤

A Few More Thoughts

Is the day Sia arrives also the day Addison and her crew left the island? we don't hear from her after this, and her disappearance isn't mentioned in the rest of part one but Sia knows that something happened to the crew when she confronts Kal on the Ellen Austin. If they had a plan for the Searcher crew to return to Lincoln Island and leave the ship for the others to find & investigate to kickstart Margaret's memories, but then the crew just didn't show up, I would think it would be mentioned? Unless they didn't want to overwhelm Rose and distract her from her work, or maybe they avoided discussing Addison & the Antikythera with her because of time travel rules...

oh and it is gonna take me a bit to grasp the time travel rules, lol. (sorry Matt, I haven't seen any Back To The Future since I was a kid.) I am going to be pondering the timeline for a while, particularly where Sia is involved. I feel like they probably want to avoid going back into the past as much as possible just based on how they are with Rose and how they put a lot of effort into not altering the present with her information about the future, but I don't think Sia would have gone from 1835 and skipped right ahead 39 years and stayed there? Like she has people to take care of and plans to make, she probably wouldn't just disappear on them for such a long time? maybe the Travelers who are experienced in abiding by Time Travel Rules are able to navigate backwards in time with more freedom because they know what they're doing. idk, like I said it's gonna take me a bit to wrap my head around this. maybe parts 2 & 3 will make it a little clearer.

OKAY, CONTINUING MY SAMUEL THOUGHT FROM EARLIER: Sia and her bunch believe Rose is the key. What if Itzal and Kal think Samuel is the key? What if that is why Kal was interested in Samuel on the Ellen Austin and why he seemed to really delight in antagonizing him? If Kal was hanging around long enough beforehand to see how close Margaret and Samuel are, then that could have convinced him that Samuel is Important™ to the Blazing World and that Margaret knows he is important to them. And maybe both sides are only halfway there, maybe it's both twins, together, who are the key, and that's why they haven't made progress towards the cure with Rose over their 2 weeks.

okay there are probably plenty of things that I'm missing and more that i could come up with and tack on, but I've been working on this post since last night and i want to finish it and get to other things so I am calling it here, lol.

...that is a horribly long sentence but I am not editing it. hope you enjoyed. <3

[takashixreader]

And Yet-

  A/N: I have no idea what to name this, but here’s that thing I was talking about earlier! Like I said, I wrote this so long ago, I have no idea where I was going with it, so I guess just take it and do with it what you will😭

Pairing: Takashi Shirogane x GN!Reader

Tags: Fluff. Disregard for personal space. Also, Shiro is taller than you. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Word Count: 0.9k

༄༅༅

Captain Shirogane was pacing the floor of the conference room.

Though it had been nearly a half-varga since the others had called an end to the briefing, he had stayed behind to collect his thoughts about the situation at hand and, apparently, check “run a hole into the floorboards” off his bucket list.

This is how you found him as you approached the room: Alone, with his arms crossed, brows furrowed, and a deep frown on his lips– something you noticed to be more frequent with him recently.

At that, an idea you’d been nurturing for a while now cemented itself and pushed you to enter fully into the meeting room.

“Sir!” You made your presence known, and saluted your captain. He, taken by surprise at your sudden outburst, paused in his pacing and turned to greet you.

 “Y/n, there’s no need to be so formal,” The man says amusedly and steps closer to make the distance a little less awkward for the conversation’s sake, “Please, just Shiro is fine. How many times do I need to ask you?” Though strained from his initial thoughts, his voice was soft and teasing.

“At least once more, Sir,” You tried to keep yourself steady and not to look as winded as his smile made you feel, then continued quietly, “As always.”

He felt something jerk in his chest. You had always been polite and you were very adamant about making sure you were as respectful as you could be. Lately, however, and for some silly reason, he’s felt as if your words belied something deeper than what he first thought them to be. A few times had he accidentally caught your eye, and each of those times he noticed an emotion he couldn’t quite place swimming behind your gaze.

Those occasions, brief as they were, never failed to mystify him. But just as quickly had he seen these emotions, they were snuffed out and replaced with the same composed readiness he would see with any other recruit.

After a couple of moments of you continuing to stand at attention, he dejectedly sighs an ‘At Ease’ and waits for you to continue with whatever you came to inform him of.

At the words, your stiff posture relaxes and you return your arms to rest behind your back.

A few seconds pass in awkward silence.

You.. you had to do this before you lost your nerve. 

How long have you been standing there staring at him?

You open your mouth to speak, but the words tangle together on your tongue before you could say them. So you clear your throat once, then twice, and try again, surer this time. “Permission, Captain, to do something stupid?”

He was struck with confused amusement for a moment and took a second to study you, deciding whether or not to humor you and your unusual request. And after what felt like an eternity (see: one minute), he gave in and replied with a cautious, “You may.”

You nodded gingerly and began to make your way closer to him, nearly shaking with each step. What you were about to do could get you into a whole world of trouble if things didn't go right. And that, coupled with the fact that you were now standing so close to him you could see the subtle shift of his eyes as they flickered back and forth between your own– you were surprised you hadn't melted into a puddle where you stood.

It was now or never.

Before you could break your resolve, you lurched forward and enveloped him in a hug. As sturdy and as comforting as you could, you wind your arms around his midsection and held him, hiding your face in his chest.

You felt him release a long, tired breath, and the deep vibrations ripple through his chest where you rested your head and ricochet through you. His soft baritone warmed you down to your toes.

“Y/n, what are you doing?”

You wound your arms around his midsection a little bit tighter, a little more snug, and took a deep breath in, trying to steady yourself, “Something stupid.”

The soft, earthy scent of his cologne did wonders to distract you from the situation you had made. You unconsciously press your face deeper into his chest, chasing the scent when you realized just what you were doing and stopped yourself from going any further.

A few seconds passed with nothing but silence–you standing in awkward anticipation for his reaction to your oh-so grand idea. And you began your mental spiral because oh gosh, oh Gosh, THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA-

“Please do not forget,” his words snapped you back to reality, and you’re eyes met as you chanced a peek up to his face, “We are in a fairly popular conference room of the Galaxy Garrison– the highest distinguished aerospace sector in the country, maybe even the world-”

You felt something in you shatter at that and began to lower your arms from him in embarrassment and dejection.

“Needless to say,” he released a sigh again, then began to wrap his arms around your shoulders cradling you to himself as he relaxed into the embrace, “This behavior is very, very inappropriate.”

What he was saying would have –should have– on any other occasion, made you come to your senses and immediately apologize for your actions. Yet the feeling of his voice, smooth like velvet, and the warm embrace of his smile wrapping around each word he spoke lulled you to fall deeper into him.

Isn’t this backwards? Wasn’t this whole idea to get him to relax?

And yet here you were, being held and swayed, nearly falling asleep on your feet in the middle of this empty conference room.

And yet, you realized as he gently rubbed your back, you couldn’t care any less.

[raggaraddy]

hello if you want you can ignore this of course but I was wondering what would vampire Hoseok do if he found out someone turned oc? Your fics are amazing by the way!

Bitten to death

A/N: Thank you for your request :) It was fun to write. However I took it less as a reaction, and more of a story prompt. So it's not exactly a conclusive answer to your question. I hope you still like it, though ^-^ 💜💜💜

Summary: You thought you knew everything about Vampires but when you wake up one you learn there are some important things you did not know. And it's only going to let worse once you learn why you were turned.

Trigger Warnings: Blood, death, maiming, choking, violence, mind control, abduction, yandere themes.

Vampire! Hoseok

It was like a horror story within your already horrific story. Some man you've never met before broke into Hoseok's house when only you were there. While you screamed and fought and instinctively called for Hoseok, he covered you in bites unlike any other you had felt before. Ones that made you suffer as if fire was coursing through your veins. You wish that you could say you were strong enough that your fight had some kind of impact. But in truth, it was over after only a few seconds. And it was in those few seconds that you felt your chest burning and your breath fill your lungs for the last time.

Waking you're met by the stranger hovering above you. Your head aching and your body throbbing in ways you had never experienced before. With a quick glance, you can see everything around you, and that does mean everything. Every single little detail. And the information is overwhelming.

Your mind feels as if it's breaking from everything you're taking in. For as far as you can see there are pallets and long isles of shelves lined up, the contents on every rack crystal clear. You can hear the sound of his shoes on the concrete and the dirt gritting underneath, and how each peak of sound travels and bounces off the farthest point in the warehouse. Even the smells, there are hundreds of them all hitting you at once. A few you know like the fragrance of the treated wood or the oils stain, but others you couldn't guess at. It's as if all of your senses are on high and you have no way to focus them.

Despite your panic, no matter how much you want to run, you can't. Laying on your back with your arms spread out to either side of you and your legs held together, you're being bound by the thinnest most delicate length of silver chain. Though, it's not tied. It's only draped over you, but still holding you as if it were stronger than any steel. Burning you as if it were touched by the sun.

You may have only seen a few newly made vampires before, but you have still been around them enough and know enough about their existence to recognize how and why your body feels wrong. And absurdly you can't help but feel betrayed. This was not supposed to happen to you. It was the only safety you got from belonging to someone who was called The Immortal King, and The Origin of Cruelty. No one was supposed to be foolish enough to steal from him, and most importantly, no one was supposed to be able to hurt you. But now because Hobi didn't keep you safe, he's now lost his blood supply and you've lost your humanity.

The stranger snaps his fingers, the sound bursting in your eardrums making you groan and wince as he repeats it. "Focus your attention on just this one sound. On just the sight of my hand. Feel the air around it." He coaxes you, snapping again. The noise echos dozens of times, ricocheting off every wall. The dull thud of his fingertips hitting his palm only sounding the once though.

Opening your eyes your concentration goes to the hand held above your face as he said, the space around it blurring. On the back of his pointer finger on an otherwise porcelain complexion, you notice a small patch of dry skin just below his knuckle. Clear blue-black defined veins wrapping the back of his palm. He clicks his fingers again and you catch the sound of friction from the way his finger rubs down his thumb, feeling the most minuscule shift in the air created by his motion.

The pinpointed attention helps for a moment, but then you shift your eyes to his face and the explosion of information overpowers you again. His hold comes around your neck keeping your head from turning. The tight pressure on your throat while stifling your movement, nearly makes you smile. There's no airflow to restrict. Your chest isn't heating, your body isn't convulsing trying to breathe. Even in this tense moment, you can't help but find it humorous, thinking how many times over the years had you wished for this exact thing when Hobi had squeezed the air from you.

"Watch my eyes," on his words your vision becomes immersed in them. They're piercing blue. Made up of streaks of white interlacing with a clear sapphire shade, like thousands of threads made out of the purest tropical ocean. A transparent irregular line encircling his pupil, and beyond that every distinct strand blurs together with the others until it reaches the shadowed grey edge that holds the circular shape. Slowly his jet black pupils dilate, stretching and filling his entire iris till every trace of colour is removed. As if transfixed, you're unable to close your own eyes, a flooding of bright light filling your field of view. The strength of it is so intense that the tendons in your sockets ache and your eyes begin to water. Tears rolling down the sides of your face, cresting in your ears.

"Apologies, you are only my second." He confuses you with a vague explanation you did not ask for. The black finally receding into its natural size. Your own eyes scrunching as you try to blink away the soreness. The bizarre occurrence leaving you feeling drained of strength, filling you with anxiety caused by the uncertainty, which is only worsened by the glimmer of triumph in his gaze.

Searching past him to the ceiling your brain is again processing the whole image instead of the sum of its parts. The strain in your head slowly fading, your tight held muscles releasing as everything begins to normalize. You don't know what he did, but it seemed to help.

He doesn't back away, continuing to invade your personal space. Although, the way his fingers are trailing along your skin while you're restrained on the floor is still not the worst thing he has done to you. Seeing as he killed you.

"I had almost given up hope that Jung Hoseok would love." His hand daintily caresses along your neck and up your jaw. Your eyes shutting as his fingertips run over your lips. "I began to fear it might not be something possible for him." He divulges, his touch still aimlessly wandering.

The way he speaks you can feel his vailed anger. Despite his soft words, this is not someone who cares about Hoseok's wellbeing, this is someone who hates him deeply.

"However, you restored my lost faith. And for that, I would like to thank you, Inamorata."

He thinks Hoseok loves you? Is he crazy?. He's possessive of you, that is all. Even in moments of deception or weakness when you had told him that you loved him, he's never said it back with any sincerity. And he has never said it of his own accord.

"Sir," your eyes reopen. "I think you've misunderstood. These," you weakly gesture to the silver, each slight movement searing the links deeper into your flesh. "aren't necessary. We are on the same side. I hate Hobi, more than anyone."

"Truly?" He asks tilting his head to the side. His white hair messily hanging across his forehead.

"Yes," you nod trying to insist your point. "He's kept me locked up for years." you chuckle dryly. Finding it nearly risible that all of this is because this man believes in a fantasy.

"Well then, you are free to rise," he nods resolutely. Plucking the chains out of your melted skin as you grit your teeth. The sound of the sizzle on his own skin baffling you as to how he can even lift them.

Sitting up you gently pull your limbs in, inspecting the blistered and bloody marks. The skin on your wrists already starting to intricately knit itself back together.

"Come here." The stranger calls from a rested place on one of the pallets to your right.

Standing, it is a bit hard to walk with your ankles still cut up but you make it to him decently. Looking around you, you can see the sun streaming in from the high windows that line the whole length of the warehouse. It's enough to light up the otherwise dark space, but with the sheer size of this place, the beams of sunlight do not get close to the two of you in the centre. Still in the middle of the day, it means Hobi can't get to you. Not easily at least. So you're on your own for now.

"Kneel." He instructs plainly. And you follow, lowering onto your knees in front of him. Your only thoughts are of escape. You may be in your first minutes as a vampire, but it should be simple to move quickly. It always seemed like something that came easily to them. "Inamorata, you will call me Master." he declares abruptly.

"Yes, Master." You smile confusedly. Inamorata? Why does he keep calling you that? You're unsure if it's a name or a title, but it's weirding you out.

Your face drops, your heart thumping, realizing what you said. The words you just spoke replaying in your head. You hadn't meant to say that.

Why did you say that?

In fact, why had you knelt? Why were you doing what he said at all?

With a gaped mouth you climb back to your feet. "Look, I think-um." You start not knowing what you want to say.

"Kneel." He orders again more forcefully yet with a knowing, jovial smirk. You shake your head hard, staying upright. You're not going to let him order you around. He has to be kidding.

Your brows furrow, your mouth drops open, and your forehead tightens as your knees bend against your wishes. You drop back into your knelt position. Grunting as your jaw clenches, your fingers digging into your legs, doing your best to resist without success.

Your eyes go wide in shock.

"Good. Now stay there," his voice makes your stomach drop. But your muscles relax, your shoulders dropping and your bottom lowering on your calves. Your body resting in this position.

This is nothing you have ever seen before. It's nothing that you knew was possible. It shouldn't be possible. On top of all the horrible advantages they already have, you're sure you would have known if mind control was one of them!

"How?" You gape, shaking your head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Why?" a smile fills his face, "What you have told me is far different than what I had heard." He stands and turns, tapping his foot against the top pallet sending it and its boxed contents flying. He grabs at the bottom slats of wood underneath and drags them closer to you with a horrid screeching on the concrete. Sitting back down he is now much lower and much nearer to you. So much so that his legs spread straight out on either side of you. "See, I had heard stories of the self-proclaimed King of Vampires, who had fallen in love with his human pet. That he kept her close, kept her safe, and drank from her exclusively."

"That's not love." you interrupt with a scoff, "That's imprisonment."

"Well, let us see what the truth is. Tell me honestly, Jung Hoseok's little Inamorata, do you love him?"

"Yes." You're mouth answers before your mind has time to think. "No!" you instantly correct.

The smile grows larger on his face "And what do you feel about him?"

"I'm scared of him. But I care for him." The words are pouring out of you uncontrollably, your face placifying as you speak. "and I miss him when he isn't home."

"And does he love you?"

"I think so, yes." You wish you could make yourself shut up! Your calm tone drops and you bite your jaw trying to take back your own body, growling as you do. "No! He doesn't." you snarl in a rapid shift.

"You think so? Then my last question; Do you want him to love you?" He asks satirically.

"Yes," The word slips out. Being accepted joyously from him. "You can't just make me say anything you want!" you shout. Your body is rigid and stiff as you think to stand with nothing happening.

"I did not," he chuckles, "I made you say what you believe is true."

"No, you didn't! Tha-" his finger raises to his lips shushing you, cutting you off like your voice had disappeared.

That is not how you feel! Hobi may have gotten better as time has gone on, but he is still cruel and malicious and heartless. The only thing this man is doing is speaking to your primal brain. The part of you that gave into its survival instinct and it's the part that you fight every day to repress so that you stay in control. You can't love him, it's not possible.

"Ha, you are far more amenable than my last. I can hardly feel any resistance." He mocks, tapping his temple. "And I recall Jung Hoseok trying to move heaven and earth to break free. Even Mansueto struggled to contain him. But you," he reaches down holding out his hand and you follow his gesture, your body moving independently to accept it. "You are a broken little thing."

You don't understand his ridicule. You're not moving consciously. Your own mind isn't connected to your actions. So you can't fathom how your body is even reacting, let alone how you should be able to fight it.

"Stop." You complain, your voice coming out with far less strength than you had intended. "Look, Hoseok doesn't have my blood anymore, okay. So just leave me out of whatever fucked up feud you have you have going with him."

"No, that is not enough." his tone becomes suddenly harsh. He lifts his hand and you stand as he raises it. "He stole someone precious to me and he must feel the same agony of loss."

"You're wrong." you swallow, working to overcome your nerves, "I'm sorry, but you just are. He doesn't love me. I'm not precious." You try to reason, seeing your pleas falling on an unreceptive man.

"We will see."

The sun has barely set before you hear commotion beyond the metal walls.

You had tried over and over to pry information from this man, to convince him to let you leave. But you were unable to gather so much as a name from him, and clearly, you failed to be let go. After a certain point of ignoring you, he stopped you from speaking altogether. Not allowing you to say a word until he permits it. More than that though, he filled your head with many instructions. Telling you how to behave in anticipation of Hoseok's arrival.

100 meters in front of you the locked doors are ripped off their hinges, a dozen men and women pouring into the warehouse with inhuman speed. But as if time slows down your eyes adjust and you can see them, see their movements with full clarity. Hoseok comes in last and straight down the middle into the open square that you all occupy. And you must admit, you are genuinely happy to see him. Now you just want him to hurry up and get you out of here.

The man steps forward to meet them while you are sat on the stack of pallets behind him. Your only instruction at this time is to sit quietly and wait for him to call you. Hating the feeling of being restrained by your own body.

Watching them all lineup versus a single man, you find it comical how outmatched he is.

Hobi always said that when he got tired of playing with your human body, he was going to turn you. And he was furious if anyone robbed him of even your smallest reactions, so clearly, he was going to be beyond pissed that someone sped up his plan, and took your death away from him.

"That's mine," Hoseok puffs up his chest, looking past the man's shoulder to you. 

The only thing that's confusing you, though, is if this man knows who The Vampire King is, why he didn't expect to be met with hell on earth, and why he didn't prepare better.

"Jung Hoseok, always so impolite. Do you not think you should greet an old friend after so many years?"

"We can talk all you like, Kol," Hoseok snarls, finally giving a name to your killer. "Once I get my property back."

"I think you'll find this is my belonging now." he chuckles in a brief pause. Hoseok's expression darkens, his eyes becoming murderous. The fury around him actually making you shiver. "Do you like the modifications I made? She is much more durable now."

Supposedly, Hobi's already noticed your change, because he doesn't look at you again. Instead, the two men have an intense staredown. All of the vampires on his side looking ready to kill on a word.

"And far more obedient. Come here," Kol calls you, holding his hand out at shoulder height for you to take. Moving automatically, you jump down from the stack of wooden pallets placing your fingers on his palm.

Unable to stand the rage on Hoseok's face you look down, just missing the exact moment he charges. But you see an instant later as he is thrown back like a paper doll into four stories of shelves, his weight bringing the metal, the shelves, and the products down on top of him as the whole structure collapses. His men looking as startled as you to see Hoseok so easily discarded.

Before the toppling construction settles, Kol breaks from your side and an incredible, horrible scene breaks out. His speed is something you can't follow, even now. You only see the trail of destruction when he stops. One after the other, he made his way through half of the vampires, ripping them apart. Literally tearing some in two halves. Decorating the square with blood and innards.

The others are as belated and overwhelmed as you, only just having the sense to react as his blurred image stops. When he advances again, this time he doesn't use his quickness for an advantage and simply ploughs through them. They attack all at once, and still as they grab and strike at him, their forces barely move him. And his response is terrifying.

You can only bear to watch the first one. Kol's fist driving through a woman's chest, the horrid cracking of her ribs as he tears it back out making you want to scream. But his orders have you completely silent. Instead, you close your eyes, sealing your hands over your ears. Trying to block out the violent sickening sounds of his destructive rampage.

There's a last thud before it falls quiet again. Your eyes springing open to see as horrific of a sight as you had imagined. He's dripping in blood. Drenched in it. And Hoseok's people are strewn in every which way. Not a single one having survived.

Sauntering through the sea of dead bodies, he makes his way to the side where Hoseok is unmoved, tossing away the beams and panels as if they were nothing. Grabbing him by the ankle, he drags him from the rubble into the clear space in front of you. The man you once thought of as the most powerful in existence, and his troupe of vampires, was completely demolished in mere seconds of work. And you can only watch on with your body shaking. Your hopes of rescue decimated. Your chest aching with worry, even for Hobi's sake.

"Now that it's a more intimate number of us, should we talk?" Kol releases him, brushing past you as he sits where you had before. His action triggering an instruction he provided earlier, forcing you to follow him and kneel at his feet.

Sitting up, Hoseok rubs the back of his hand against a large gash under his eye. The ferocity not having left his mannerisms. "You disappear for 90 years, and you show up to what, gimmie a blood bath." His laugh falls into a grimace as he stands himself back up.

"I was created in the 13th century and you brought infants to a fight with me. What did you think would happen?" Kol asks scornfully.

"I was hoping they would do a little better," He smirks, shrugging off their deaths. "Okay, that's my bad. But still, that doesn't tell me what you want. Or did you just want to remind me that you're still alive?" He taunts, his sardonic nature returning, "Remind me that you're still pissed and you can kick my ass. Good job. You put on quite a show." he smiles, his tongue running over his fangs as he gestures around at the gruesome display. "But she," he points to you with two fingers, bitterness lacing his next words, "is worth nothing to you."

"Oh, she is worth everything to me," Kol slides forward, his hand brushing down the back of your neck, "because she is worth everything to you."

On those words, you get the most heart-wrenching sight. A pang of insecurity shows up in Hoseok's eyes. Uncertainty and something so close to fear. The smile fading as he looks him up and down.

"I am curious, though, Vampire King, do you think she will detest the Sire bond as greatly as you did?" he punctuates the question, tugging your head back by your hair. "If I treat her as Mansueto treated you, how long do think until she breaks?"

With immense speed, Hoseok splinters one of the wooden crates near him, lunging at Kol, aiming to drive the shard into his heart with a roar. But he's caught before his hand ever plunges forward. Instead, Kol takes the sharp wood and spikes it into Hoseok's stomach. Continuing to dominate him with a solid blow, knocking him off his feet, smacking him into the concrete in front of you. Stepping down, he swings his foot punting Hoseok in the chest hurling him back among the remains of his fallen creations.

You had thought if you ever saw Hobi being handled as roughly as he treated you, that you would enjoy the Karma of it. But seeing him so easily immobilized is making you sick with fear and mostly sadness.

With Kol having stood, you're no longer bound on your knees and you scramble to your feet. You want to run to Hoseok's side but before you have the chance Kol drags you into him, his hand wrapped around your waist, his other crudely brushing the hair from off the side of your face.

"Call out to him. Tell him your every feeling." He hushes the order in your ear.

"Hobi!" you yell, not sure you would have even needed to be compelled to want to shout for him. "Get up, please. I'm scared. I wanna go home!"

"Go to him," Kol releases you and you sprint to his side, hardly able to slow your sudden frantic speed.

Doubled over Hoseok is bleeding profusely. He needs your blood- but you can't do that anymore. And you have no idea what to do. You don't know how to help him or how to get out of here. He's the one that is supposed to keep you safe.

Coming from behind you, Kol bends down shoving you out of the way to lift Hoseok by the throat. "Stop!" you follow their movement, hanging on Kol's arm. "Stop! Please." But you have no effect. Instead, he jerks the wood dagger out making Hobi yell in pain.

"Do you recall what you said as you killed our Sire?" Kol whispers maliciously. "You told me that 'I will get over it'." Releasing him, he lets Hoseok plummet to the floor and you drop with him trying to catch his weight. "In 100 years from now, I'll let you see her again and you can tell me if you were able to take your own advice." he smiles spitefully.

"Hobi," you whine lowly. Brushing his hair from his sweat and blood wet forehead. "I don't want to go with him. Rather the devil you know, right," you softly chuckle, trying to pull his energy back.

Even though you know the both of you have no chance at the moment, you guess you're just looking for an affirmation that he isn't going to let you go and let this other man keep you for the next century.

"Please," you whisper, your waterline filling with tears.

Reaching towards you, Hoseok's hand constricts around your throat, pulling you into him like he has countless times before.

"You're mine," he growls through pained grunts. His anger lessened, distress replacing it. But he gives you the answer he could see you searching for.

"Yes," you nod subtly. Closing your eyes as you lean further into his hold.

"Get up," Kol orders, interrupting you.

Despite his tightening grip, you pull away from Hobi, standing as you were told. The elder vampire taking your arm leads you away through the bodies to the open doorway.

"Say goodbye Jung Hoseok," Kol calls back, leaving him injured and alone, making you wish more than ever that you could pull back. "And do not worry, I'll take very good care of her for you."

[safertokiss]

Lost in Translation

A/N: Heyyyyy guys...remember when I used to post like every two weeks? Yeesh that’s awkward...but I’m backkkkk woooooooo party time! I was so excited that my discord buddies organized another fic swap because it was so much fun the first time. This time around I was chosen to write a doozy for the wonderful @writing-in-april and I have decided to bless you all with a beautiful subby boy. Sub Spencer lives in my head rent free, no cap. So sit back, relax and pretend it's you getting fricken railed. Peace out girl scouts;)

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: SMUT hehe oh yeah and fluff

Word Count: 4.8k

ENJOY:)

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

For as long as she could remember, Y/n had always wanted to learn Russian.

So, naturally, when she found out that their newest case involved two lovers who also happened to be Russian criminals trying to escape the United States government, she simply couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity to become more involved in the investigation. 

It’s not that she’d never been on a stakeout for the Bureau before, in fact she’d probably been on so many at this point that she’d lost count. The only difference that this specific stakeout brought to her life was the fact that it was her first one to have ever been shared with Spencer Reid.

Her and the young doctor had lived in the same apartment building since her first day at the BAU, but their relationship pretty much began and ended at that. Of course they greeted each other whenever they passed in the halls of their building and ricocheted off of each other’s theories whenever necessary during their meetings in the round table room, but it would be a lie to label their relationship as anything other than casual acquaintances as well as amicable coworkers. 

She had never been able to fully get a grasp on the elusive Dr. Reid. The fact that he was already such an integral member of the F.B.I. at the ripe age of 25 astounded and, well to be honest, perplexed her. Not that she doubted his abilities or intelligence in any way, quite the opposite really. She admired how utterly brilliant he proved to be day in and day out, even with the shy exterior he presented himself with to the world. Well, shy was definitely more of an understatement. 

She had never met someone more socially awkward in her entire life, but with that being said, she couldn’t help but find it endearing and pretty dang adorable. Y/n constantly found herself enjoying his pathetic attempts at human interaction on a daily basis. From the nervous stutters to the out of this world hand gestures, there was much for her to dissect about the young doctor. And while she could openly admit that he was quite easy on the eyes, in a boyish-innocent kind of way, she had never really been able to see him in that sort of light.

If she thought his normal social interaction skills were entertaining to witness, his reactions to any of the conversations that took a more raunchy turn were to die for. The speed at which his features would ripen red like a tomato whenever anything of a sexual nature was brought up during cases was truly amazing, impressive even. However, unlike the rest of their team, she knew he wasn’t completely innocent. The walls in their apartment were as good as paper when it came to thickness, so it wasn’t that big surprise that the sounds created within them carried fairly well. 

Or at least that was what she had discovered after the first night she heard him touching himself just through her bedroom wall. 

Yes, it was less than ideal that their bedroom walls just happened to be adjacent to each other, but what could she do about it? It wasn’t as though she never sought out her own pleasure while alone in her apartment...although she would bet money that she was much better at withholding her noises. Instead, she learned to adapt to the sounds from next door and continue on with her life, having accepted that guys will in fact be dudes, no matter how innocent and meek they may appear.

When her boss had explained the nature of the assignment to them, there wasn’t anything of significance that had jumped out at her. It was all pretty standard instruction. They would wait, parked, in a government issued SUV overnight at a location close to the whereabouts of the criminals and simply translate their conversations using the mics that were planted prior. While Hotch knew that Y/n herself couldn’t understand Russian, it was common knowledge that the resident genius easily could transcribe the language.

And that was how she found herself cramped next to Spencer Reid in the stagnant vehicle, pen and paper in hand, patiently waiting for the translations to begin. 

It was almost completely silent inside the car, apart from the quiet whirring of the heat coming through the vents, and she could basically feel the nerves coming off of the man next to her in waves. That’s why she was completely thrown off her game when his timid voice was the first to break through the silence that had encompassed the space they inhabited together.

“So um Y/n..h-how have you been recently?”

She did her best to hide the small smirk that started to form on her face from the stuttering mess that spilled out of his mouth. She definitely didn’t want to make him feel even worse about himself so she decided to humour his adorable attempt at conversation with her...well...sort of.

“Oh ya know Reid, just counting the days until I get some action. How about you?” If she  thought he was sputtering nervously before, that was nothing compared to this treasure.

“Oh um well uh I-I mean...I don-I don’t...uh...w-what was the question a-again?”

This time she couldn’t stop the airy chuckle that escaped her lips as she leaned over and patted him gently on his thigh.

“Relax Reid, I’m just fucking around with you. Well for the most part...I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to some action, but that’s a whole can of worms I am not about to open during a stakeout”, Y/n laughed, not at all missing the steadily spreading blush that coated his sharp features.

“Yeah...no..yeah right of course...I t-totally knew you were just um fu-messing with me! Uh we should probably um r-review our assignment...you know just so we’re all s-set before we start.” How adorable.

“Aye-aye captain Reid. Ok so..”, she muttered while fiddling with the listening device to secure the right frequency. “...we just have to wait until they get back so we’re in range of their conversations. That’s when you’ll have your time to shine and prove yourself as the resident genius once again. And I’m sure that you’re aware that I don’t know a lick of the Russian language so I will be the best damn transcriber for you that the world has ever seen”, she finished with a smirk. 

Even Reid chuckled a bit at her words, the ever-present blush slowly creeping back upon his face and neck. 

“I’ll uh-I’ll hold you to that then.” Y/n had to admit she particularly liked to see the boy smiling, especially when it was the result of her own words. His innocence seemed to call out to her like a siren and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Oh-oh there they are! Ok get the pen and paper ready because as soon as they’re in range I’ll start translating.”

Getting themselves situated, they waited the few seconds it took for the couple to get close enough to the vicinity of the SUV for their conversations to begin to be broadcasted through their system.

“Как вы думаете, они идут по нашему следу?”

“Do you think they’re on our trail?”, Spencer easily understands, leaning slightly closer to her so his words were clearly heard.

“Ни за что. У этих глупых американцев нет шансов поймать нас.”

“No way. Those stupid Americans don’t stand a chance at catching us.”

At this point, the couple had already disappeared behind the door at the entrance of their current base, leaving only their words to give the closely listening agents much needed context clues.

“Я когда-нибудь говорил тебе, как сильно мне нравится твоя уверенность?”

“Have I ever told you how much I love your confidence?” 

Even Spencer let himself smile at the chuckle that left Y/n’s lips. “Awww how cute...they’re flirting with each other over mass murder. I strive for that kind of intimacy.”

“Да у тебя есть. Но почему бы тебе не показать мне, насколько тебе это нравится.”

“Yes, you have. But why don’t you show me just how much you love it.”

Uh oh, Y/n thought to herself. Not a second after the untimely thought permeated her brain, the sounds of wet lips sloppily colliding against each other filled the otherwise silent vehicle. After the few seconds of shock wore off, their heads whipped to face each other, eyes wide and mouths wide open. “Huh...well this was certainly an unexpected turn.”

“I uh um-uh well w-what do we do now?”, Tomato Boy nervously sputtered out over the chorus of moans and groans that were currently bouncing off the SUV’s walls. As unexpected as the present situation was, she was absolutely eating up his reaction to the crude sounds.

“Well, Hotch did say he wanted us to take down every single word that was shared between them so...I guess we’re just gonna have to keep moving forward with the translations. You can do that, can’t you Reid?”, she explained, not even attempting to hide the growing smirk on her face.

“Yeah! Yes! Mhmm I can do that, I c-can definitely do t-that.”, he gushed, trying to subtly clear his throat to clear the steadily growing tension in his body.

“Good to hear, Doc.”, she cheekily replied just as the raunchy sounds echoing through the system transitioned to different methods of communication, more legible ones.

“Ты была для меня такой хорошей девочкой. Я дума��, ты заслуживаешь награды.”

Quickly clearing his throat once more, he jumped back into action, with what Y/n noticed was considerably less confidence than before. “You’ve b-been such a good g-girl for me. I think you deserve a r-reward.” Spencer’s voice had noticeably dropped to a whisper by the end of the sentence, forcing Y/n to lean closer to be able to hear his translations, only magnifying the already present tension in the air. 

“Пожалуйста, папа, я сделаю что угодно.”

“P-please daddy.” His voice broke at the end igniting something deep inside Y/n’s being. “I’ll do anything.” In that moment she truly believed he would do anything, his own words or not, based on the obvious strain in his pants that her eyes glanced over, and also by the way his skin completely succumbed to goosebumps as her warm breath caressed the shell of his ear. She didn’t really know what the hell was happening, why her body was absolutely loving the way he gradually leaned into her’s, submitting all of his vulnerabilities into her hands. 

“Тебе это нравится, не так ли, маленькая шлюшка. Как член папы глубоко внутри тебя?”

She watched the way he inhaled a deep breath and released a high-pitched sigh before continuing on, subtly pressing her legs together to control the excitement thrumming through her body at his pathetic tone and mannerisms. 

“You like t-that don’t you, you little-uh-you little s-slut?�� From their close proximity, she could clearly make out the speedy heartbeat clambering against his chest as he spoke. And if that was the case, he must’ve been able to feel hers as well. “Like daddy’s c-cock deep inside of y-you?” She could’ve sworn she saw his dick twitch slightly in his pants.

“Маленькая шлюшка уже придет за мной? Тогда умоляйте об этом. Бля, умоляю позволить тебе кончить.”

Y/n certainly did not miss the airy sigh that escaped his lips, watching as a bead of sweat dripped down his temple, confidently guessing it was not from the heat that had been coming through the vents.

“Is the little-little s-slut gonna come for me already? B-beg for it then. Fucking beg f-for me to let you c-come.” Spencer was speedily falling apart at the seams and she was loving it. More than loving it. She was craving it. Craving the little noises that he was trying to stop from escaping his lips. Craving the way he slightly bounced his leg in an attempt to control his arousal, which was futile because it had obviously already reached its full potential in the confines of his khaki slacks. 

“Пожалуйста, папа. Пожалуйста, позволь мне прийти. Мне это надо. Пожалуйста.”

Without even hearing the words translated back to her, she could hear the utter desperation in the girl’s voice. She no longer needed to understand the Russian language to be able to finish the translation, and as she sat there with her thighs tightly pressed together, she knew exactly what it meant.

“Please!” The utter need that was present in the original audio was somehow mirrored perfectly by the young doctor’s breathy voice, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, a prominent vein popping through the skin of his smooth forehead. “Please, p-please, please let me come. I n-need it. Please!”

“Приди за мной, детка.”

Deciding that she could regret her actions in the morning, Y/n quickly grabbed his face before he could translate, angling his head so she could whisper directly into his ear at the same time he spoke the last line of the night.

“Come for me baby.”, they both spoke at the exact same time.

Pulling away as fast as possible, she watched his clamped eyes shoot open as the most obnoxiously loud moan she had ever heard escaped the poor kid, his whole body spasming as a result. And using the large stain on the crotch of his pants as a guide, she was pretty certain she knew what had happened.

For the next few minutes there was silence in the SUV, apart from Spencer’s heavy breathing as he came down of course, leading them to believe the couple had fallen asleep after their...activities. Of course she wanted nothing more than to tease the trembling mess next to her, but she could already tell he was mortified beyond belief because of what happened so she didn’t want to make it any worse for him than it already was. 

After waiting a few extra minutes just to make sure that they had actually gone to sleep, the pair drove away from the stakeout location, Spencer not having said a word since his...big finish. As much as she loved watching him fall apart in front of her, she really didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable around her. 

“Well that was certainly an unexpected turn of events for the night, huh?”, she said, lightly chuckling with the intent of lightening his mood. She was very glad to see it had the intended effect.

“Uh y-yeah...you could definitely say that again.”, he mumbled with the ghost of a smile on his plump lips, though she could still clearly make out the blush coating his features.

“So hey, I know that you usually take the metro, but I’d be more than happy to give you a ride home after we drop the SUV off at the office if you want.”, she warmly smiled in his direction without taking her eyes completely off the road.

“Oh um..yeah that would be perfect. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it Reid.”

~~~

The rest of the ride back to the office was pretty much spent in silence, but it was much more comfortable than it had been before, which was a huge relief. After dropping the keys to the SUV in the lock box inside, the two agents piled into Y/n’s car to go back home to their shared building. On their way back she considered just asking him if he wanted to ride with her everyday just to make his life a little easier in the long run.

Once they got to the parking lot and exited the vehicle, they began walking towards the entrance together, the awkward tension from before creeping back into the air around them. Soon enough, they found themselves standing in front of their respective doors, both unsure of how they were supposed to end the night’s interactions. After a few moments of painful silence and eye contact, Y/n was the first one to rip off the band-aid.

“So...I guess I’ll see you tomorrow Reid?” He seemed to be broken out of his trance by the sound of her voice, snapping back to attention.

“Huh? Oh yeah uh yes of course. S-see you tomorrow Y/n. Goodnight.” He scampered into his apartment before she could even get a chance to respond to his bidding.

“Goodnight.”, she whispered to no one other than herself as she unlocked her door and headed inside to shower quickly before diving into her soft sheets.

She was sitting up in her bed, book in hand, with only the small glow of her reading lamp illuminating her room when she heard it. Of course she knew immediately what they were, a talent that had developed and strengthened from living adjacent to a pretty much pubescent boy.

The tell-tale sound of moans and groans vibrating right through her wall.

She knew she probably shouldn’t be listening, something about a violation of privacy or whatever, but she just couldn’t help it. He sounded so desperate it was driving her insane. So much in fact that she was in the process of skimming her own hand downwards when she was interrupted by a certain something from the Doc’s room.

“Y/n! Oh god, please. Please.”

Oh. Oh.

Not even giving herself a second to consider her actions, she was up on her feet basically sprinting to his door, pajamas and all. Not even bothering with knocking, she noticed it was unlocked and let herself in, beelining for what she assumed was his bedroom by the increasing volume as she approached it. Standing in his doorframe, she was utterly mesmerized. There he was, sprawled across his sheets, completely bare with sweat coating his hair as he rapidly pumped his angry, red cock, her name tumbling from his lips like a chant.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” She smirked as she watched his head shoot up to where she was standing, his hand immediately stilling it’s rapid movements. Watching the panic spread on his face was intoxicating to her as she slowly approached his bed.

“Y/n! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I uh-I didn’t um...” His words trailed off and his eyes widened as he watched her slowly begin removing her clothes as she moved closer to him. 

“Shhhhhh.” She managed to remove both her shirt and pajama pants in the short trip over to his bed and she had no intention of stopping there. Now standing directly in front of him, she let her eyes wander over his still frame completely, soaking in the amazement in his dark eyes and the slight tremble that was periodically rippling through his body. Maintaining eye contact with him the whole time, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it pool on the floor next to her.

It was honestly shocking his eyes didn’t actually fall onto the floor with how far they bulged out of their sockets, a small moan leaving his mouth. 

She giggled at his enthusiasm before bringing her soft hands up to caress his face gently, his body shuddering at the contact. “Do you want me to keep going baby boy?” Taking a second to process the question that had left her lips, he slowly nodded while looking her in the eyes, his own full of awe. 

Happy with his answer, she reached for the edge of her panties before pushing them down to join the other pieces of clothing already inhabiting his floor. Spencer couldn’t speak. He could barely even breathe. Five minutes ago he had been jerking off to his neighbor, who also happened to be his coworker, and now said neighbor was crawling onto his bed, completely naked, with a wicked smirk on her face.

Straddling his lap, but making sure that there was no actual contact, she reached up to cup his face again, slowly rubbing circles into his defined cheekbone. “Is this ok baby boy? Is this what you want?”, she cooed. 

Spencer looked like he honestly might cry from the pure compassion laced within her words, but still found a way to nervously nod his head in affirmation of her questions. With a warm smile on her face, she leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his lower jaw before continuing up the side of his face, basking in the small whimpers that fell from his pretty lips. Finally reaching his ear, she let her warm breath tease him before proceeding. 

“Do you want me to take control of you? Is that what you want sweet boy?” While the whine that immediately escaped him was answer enough, she pulled back searching for a more concrete answer to her question. “Hmmmm, you’d like that?” 

“Yes.”, he whispered, nodding his head anxiously. 

While he was answering she had leaned back towards his face, placing soft kisses all over. “As you wish baby boy.”, she whispered, changing course to attack his neck with her eager lips as soon the words left her mouth. Spencer gasped instantly and she couldn’t help but smirk against his pale flesh, increasing the pressure in which she was assaulting his neck.

Through the groans that spilled past his lips, she was able to make out his pathetic attempt at words, not slowing down her lips at all. “J-just make sure not to leave any m-marks. We’ll g-get in trouble at w-work.” Of course Spencer would be the only person on the planet to remember their office guidelines while getting his neck sucked like a vampire.

“No marks...that’ll be difficult. I want everyone to know just how thoroughly I fucked you.”

Feeling extremely satisfied by his enthusiastic response to her vulgar words, she slowly lowered herself down his body, pausing with her mouth right above his groin. Somehow the poor kid already looked completely fucked out and she hadn’t even done anything yet. Hearing him wince as she gently grasped and started stroking his cock, she knew this was gonna be fun.

Staring directly into her eyes, he watched the string of spit leave her mouth and drip directly onto his dick, eyes bulging at her bold actions, still in shock that any of this was actually happening. 

Entranced by the way his chest expanded rapidly as he watched her curiously, she leaned forward and licked the tip, his head falling back onto the pillow behind him. “I’m gonna suck your cock...but only because I want to see if you can not be a spaz about getting head from me.” Her words made Spencer whimper and she smirked as she took him fully into her mouth, soaking in his pretty noises. 

Y/n had only been going for a minute or two when she heard his groans get louder and felt him twitch in her mouth. Pulling off of him with a pop, she hummed at the sight of the completely wrecked boy in front of her, panting and shaking adorably. It wasn’t long before the perfect idea infiltrated her head, her body thrumming with anticipation and excitement.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me. I think you deserve a reward.”, she smirked, reciting the words that they had heard verbatim. Seemingly catching on to what she was pushing for, he responded accordingly.

“Please Y/n. I’ll do anything.”

She quirked her eyebrow in his direction questioningly, slowly grinding her dripping core against his achingly hard cock. “Anything, baby boy?”

Snapping his heated stare directly to her eyes, he cracked a beautiful smile. “Anything.”

She couldn’t control the grin that overtook her lips as she lowered herself down onto his erection, writhing in pleasure at the feel of him inside of her and the sound of his wanton moans. “Good boy.” 

Wanting to give Spencer time to fully adjust and control himself, she started her movements out slow, lifting herself up until only his tip remained inside before dropping down completely into his lap repeatedly. He was a moaning mess on the sheets below her, sweat coating his body along with goosebumps covering every visible expanse of his skin as he panted like a dog. He was so fucking pretty like this. 

Deciding enough was enough, she picked up the pace considerably, bouncing like a mad woman on his dick, while her sharp nails scratched down his creamy, pale chest in front of her, leaving angry, red streaks in their wake. Spencer had devolved into a blubbering mess underneath her and that lit her soul on fire.

“You like that don’t you, you little slut? Like your cock deep inside of me? Huh?” 

Y/n was pretty sure that he was short circuiting below her, his brain cutting off all control over his body as he spasmed uncontrollably and moaned for the entire fucking building to hear. Good, she thought. Let them hear how whipped he was for her. Even though it had only been a few minutes since she increased her speed, she could feel his cock starting to twitch violently inside of her and she knew he was close, really close.

“Is the little slut gonna come for me already?” All he could do was whimper in response, having to nod his head emphatically due to his loss of speech.

“Beg for it then. Fucking beg for me to let you come!” She was on fucking cloud nine right now, floating through the motions, as his whimpers increased in volume and speed. Mustering up all the strength he could, he spit out as many audible words as possible.

“Please! Please, please, please let me come! I need it! Please!” He was crying now, tears rapidly pouring from his eyes and spilling down his cheeks out of sheer desperation and need to release the tension built up within his body.

She was in awe of him. As she watched the tears pour down his face, she couldn’t help but whimper too. Desperately needing to finish, herself, she brought one hand down to make circles around her clit, while the other she brought up to wrap gently around his flushed throat, leaning over to whisper in his ear like she had earlier that night.

“Come for me, baby.”

She once again pulled back to witness his reactions to her hushed words, the outcome only more amazing than before. She watched as his eyes rolled back as far they could possibly go into his head as his mouth dropped open in pure ecstasy, high-pitched whines escaping his lips, his release shooting up into her like it had always belonged there. Maybe it had.

Watching him come undone below her, combined with her hand speedily rubbing circles on her clit, she was catapulted into the most amazing climax of her entire life, her body buzzing with excitement as she tightened around him and collapsed on his chest, weak as could be after that activity.

The pair laid silently, apart from the heaving breaths whirring through the room, still in shock over what had just transpired minutes before. Slowly shifting her eyes to the shivering boy below her, she saw he was caught in a trance, his eyes dazed, a soft grin on his lips. 

Breaking him from his stupor, she gently cupped his cheek with one hand as the other drew lazy circles on his blotchy chest. Rubbing the skin on his face lightly, she leaned forward and kissed his nose, making him scrunch it up and giggle as a result. “Such a sweet boy for me. Such a sweet, sweet boy.” Her words made him melt inside and words tumbled out of his own mouth before he could even think about stopping them.

“Вы красивы внутри и снаружи.”

She looked up at him in shock, before breaking out in giggles. “Did you just serenade me in Russian? How romantic.”, she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

He couldn’t seem to control his giggles either, a fact that warmed her heart. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Smiling up at the adorable boy she just had to ask. “What does it mean?”

Y/n watched as his signature blush quickly coated his features once again as he looked down at her with a shy smile. “You are beautiful, inside and out.”

With the warmest grin she could muster, she leaned up and kissed his jaw once more before snuggling up against the young doctor who had melted her heart.

Tag List: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake @racharr @etherealgubler @furiouspartyrebelhoagie @andiebeaword @liaabsurd @cielo1984 @starkeybaby @victomizedbyreginageorge @rainsong01 @moonlight-jukebox @gretaamyk @httpnxtt @rachelxwayne @goldnratio @cheyxminds @kricketc29 @cupcake525 @pinkdiamond1016 @slutforthegubes @shadyladyperfection @emilysallysmith @babblingbrookex @legendaryanimeaestheticclou @sunstspidey @ashwarren32 @pixels-impulse @eviewildflower @spencerreider @awkwardsadaa @dirty-pan-goblin @spencerspecifics

[thatharringrovehoe]

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

[royalwilmon]

fic: all my life is arm in arm with you

wilhelm/simon: the world doesn't seem as overwhelming when Wilhelm has someone by his side, holding his hand through it all.

Leaving a couple of things purposely ambiguous. Namely, the when, where, and what. The focus here is on Wilhelm’s anxiety and Simon’s response - the setting and circumstances of this interaction can be whatever you imagine, or nothing at all. Content warning for a detailed description of the physicality of an anxiety attack. Note that I’m basing this on my own personal very real experiences with anxiety. The title is from “When You’ve Got Trouble” by Liz Longley. I strongly suggest you give it a listen after you read this!

[Read on AO3]

The room was getting smaller.

Or maybe it wasn’t. It was hard to tell. Wilhelm’s eyes darted from wall to wall. Each time he looked back, he could have sworn that they were closer still, inch by inch. It scared him as he thought about what might happen if the walls closed in on him completely. He began to feel claustrophobic. He could feel the lost air in the room tighten in his throat. It felt like two strong hands were reaching through the back of his chest to grip both of his lungs, firmly squeezing with increasing intensity.

Wilhelm brought a hand to his collarbone and pressed down, countering the phantom pressure with his own. Slowly he rubbed, willing the balance of forces to provide some sort of relief. When it didn’t, he pressed harder.

At the same time, Wilhelm’s breathing quickened, letting itself out of his body in erratic puffs. He tried to breathe normally, but it felt like his lungs were working independently from the rest of his body. The more he focused on trying to control it, the more he felt like each and every part of him had disconnected from the rest, unable to work together to keep him breathing.

Wilhelm hated this. He hated this too familiar physical reaction to the world around him. He hated his mind for causing it, his body for reacting, hated himself, hated this, he hated, hated, hated. The thoughts bounced around his mind, ricocheting off the edges and multiplying to create a swarm of hateful ideas. It was suffocating.

Just as he felt his knees begin to buckle, gravity tempting him to pull his body downward and collapse, he startled at a sudden touch. He felt a pair of arms snake around his middle. Warm, soft, familiar. One hand resting flat on his stomach, the other reaching up, trailing along his arm gently until the hand settled on top of his own. The hand that still pushed helplessly against his chest.

Simon.

“Wille?”

Simon’s voice was barely more than a whisper, hardly more than a breath, but it still rang clear in Wilhelm’s ears and instantly filled his body with unexpected yet comfortable warmth. Wilhelm wasn’t expecting Simon to be around. But then again, Simon always did seem to have a sort of sixth sense for knowing when Wilhelm needed him most. It was one of an infinitely growing list of things he loved and appreciated about his partner.

Wilhelm didn’t answer Simon’s greeting right away, the fullness in his throat still too sizable to allow for enough air to speak. Wilhelm instead focused himself on the feeling of a second heartbeat behind his, where Simon’s body stood flush against his own. It was slower and steadier than Wilhelm’s, keeping time with the gentle breathing he could feel warm the back of his neck.

Wilhelm then remembered something he and Simon had practiced many times before - trying to get him to match Simon’s steadier breathing. Inhale, exhale. It had been a long time since Wilhelm’s anxiety had been this bad. As he focused in and slowed his breathing - inhale, exhale - Wilhelm took a moment to be so thankful that Simon had been nearby to help him through this now. He had been doing so well for so long and wasn’t sure he was still able to handle it on his own. Inhale, exhale.

“Wille, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Simon let go of him, and for the briefest moment, the hands on Wilhelm’s lungs began to tighten again. He struggled on his inhale. Before he could exhale, Simon was there in front of him, and he reached out to pull him close in a needy embrace.

Wilhelm clung to Simon like the world would end if they did not perfectly merge their bodies together into one. He buried his head in Simon’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. Wilhelm took every opportunity to use his arms to try to pull Simon closer and closer. Simon was simply there for him, letting Wilhelm grasp at his body and offering his embrace in return. They stayed that way for some time, mostly in comfortable silence, save for when Simon would occasionally whisper Wilhelm’s name or words of comfort sweetly into his hair.

After several minutes, Simon pulled away to get a good look at Wilhelm. He reached up and held Wilhelm’s head in his hands, his fingers curling around his neck and thumbs resting gently on his jaw. Wilhelm immediately relaxed into the touch.

Simon was calm. His eyes were warm, and they were looking directly into Wilhelm’s. The only sign of distress was the slight frown on his lips. Simon brushed his thumbs across Wilhelm’s cheeks, wiping away some tears that Wilhelm hadn’t even realized he’d shed.

Simon kept on holding his gaze, not breaking eye contact even to blink. Wilhelm realized at this point that he was waiting for him to speak. Although he knew that Simon was patient and would give Wilhelm as long as was needed, he wanted Simon to understand that he was alright. Or, rather, that he would be alright soon. He closed his eyes, swallowed, took a shallow breath, and then looked back up to Simon.

“Hej.” Wilhelm’s breath hitched as he spoke, but he was glad just to have gotten sound out.

“Hej,” Simon replied easily as his frown began to turn upward. He removed one hand from Wilhelm’s face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The piece of hair promptly fell right back, but Simon let it be. “How are you feeling?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Simon to ask this question at any given time on a typical day. That was one of the many things Wilhelm adored about Simon. He always wanted to be in tune with how Wilhelm was feeling. The pair had worked hard early in their relationship to make sure they communicated their emotions well enough to stay on the same page, through the good and the bad alike. The more they were able to talk about how they were feeling, the stronger their relationship became. So, Wilhelm made an effort to always answer the question as honestly as he was able.

How was he feeling? Wilhelm carefully considered the question.

Mentally, his thoughts were still racing at a rapid pace: jumping to conclusions, dwelling on the “what ifs”, fixating on the unknown. This was true of how Wilhelm’s mind functioned normally, but the anxiety amplified it tenfold. Physically, his breathing had slowed, but the pressure on his lungs still weighed down on him. His body now felt uncomfortably warm. Wilhelm felt the heat burning in his fingertips. Meanwhile, his head was so full it felt empty.

He answered. “Dizzy. A little.”

“Okay,” Simon nodded. “Okay, let’s sit you down.”

Simon pressed a kiss to Wilhelm’s cheek and then grabbed his arm and led him over to a nearby sofa. The pair sat side by side, each at an angle to face each other, knees touching. Wilhelm immediately took Simon’s hands into his own.

Wilhelm traced his fingertips against Simon’s, grateful not only to busy his hands but also to touch something so familiar to him. He knew every surface, bend, and scar on those hands by heart. Simon’s fingers were calloused from the guitar he had been picking up to practice more and more frequently as of late. These hands made music. Wilhelm loved these hands just as he loved the man they belonged to.

“Sorry, I didn’t think this would-” Wilhelm began, eyes focused on where their fingers were intertwined. Simon shook his head and interrupted him.

“No, don’t apologize, Wille.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Wilhelm exhaled. He shifted his body to rest his head on Simon’s shoulder. He smiled. “Thank you for being here.”

“Do you want to talk about it now or later?”

Wilhelm appreciated the question. He knew it was important to talk about what triggered this intense burst of anxiety, and he absolutely would speak with Simon about it in time. Still, having the option to wait a while before starting to tackle his problems was a great comfort to him. Simon had always been great about giving Wilhelm proper space and time when he needed it.

Wilhelm answered. “Later.”

“Okay,” Simon nodded, turning his neck so he could press his lips to Wilhelm’s forehead. “What can I do for you now?”

“Just stay with me.”

“Of course,” Simon answered as if it was the only response that existed, his voice so full of certainty and assurance. Wilhelm had never felt safer.

Sometimes, the world felt too big for Wilhelm. It made him feel small when he knew that that was not what the world needed from him. There were expectations and traditions he needed to abide by that often felt difficult for Wilhelm to handle. It was then that Wilhelm started to doubt whether or not he could truly be what everybody around him wanted him to be.

It was Simon who made him feel like he was enough. Simon made him feel safe, and loved, and seen. Simon made him feel capable and strong. Knowing he had this man’s love and support made Wilhelm stronger, and Wilhelm knew he would move mountains to give it all back to him. They were a team.

The world didn’t seem as overwhelming when he had someone by his side, holding his hand through it all.

It would be okay.

He would be okay.

♫

[blush-and-books]

my favorite color is you (you keep me young and that’s how i wanna be)

was listening to ajr again today. thought about juke hugs. this happened. 

SUPER fluffy, rated E for everyone, just sweetness.

title from sober up by ajr but seriously go listen to some ajr and maybe you’ll calm down. if you want ajr recs then hit me up because i have bars

Unspoken, tight-lipped secrets are some of the best ones. Especially when they involve illicit meetings to hold and be held by someone you love; especially when you get to tiptoe around your house at night with the thrill rushing through your veins that you are about to be greeted by your loved one’s smiling face.

Julie cannot quite recall how their midnight rendezvous snowballed into a beautiful sequence of reuniting every sundown, but she remembers the first night it happened. The fierce tug against her spinal cord that told her a teddy bear wasn’t enough to appease her craving for Luke’s touch.

Her dinosaur slippers silently sneak her down the stairs and out the front door. There’s no plan for what she wants to do - just, maybe, desperately, see him. 

But when she opens the gate, he’s already in the driveway. 

Her jaw slacks and her lips part - she should say something. Say hi. Ask why he’s up. Offer to write with him for awhile, since neither of them can sleep. 

But Luke doesn’t say anything, and the pull grips her soul harder, and she finds herself stumbling down the concrete and latching her arms around his waist. A warm puff of air sinks through his shirt when she exhales because finally, the ache is gone. She knows what her soul wanted.

She just wanted him.

His arms are almost cradling her, they’re so sweet and snug around her. Julie doesn’t know how she goes through her day without feeling like this - warm and protected by someone who is made of air. When he’s pressed against her, it feels like she’s been made whole again. Like they are puzzle pieces finally put together.

Affectionately, she feels him lightly rub his cheek into the top of her hair. Getting closer and feeling her in every way he can. She smiles into his collar bone and hopes that it stamps into the skin. She wants both of them to remember this. She wants it to linger, to last.

After an unknown amount of time passes, their holds relax. Cold air flushes between them when it has the space to do so, and Julie is stammering out an awkward “thanks,” and he’s watching her walk away. 

The gaze that drags over her path buzzes in her stomach so heatedly that she almost turns around and finds her way back into him. 

But she charges ahead instead. 

The next night goes the same way, but it feels completely different. Julie tries to make her hair as presentable as possible and puts on some cuter pajamas, and the pull whips at her gut, so she runs down the stairs as quietly and as quickly as possible. 

Luke is there, once again, when she makes it through the gate. 

And he poofs in front of her to pull her into a tight embrace without waiting for her to come to him. 

“I was hoping you’d come back,” he whispers, and it’s so quiet that Julie doesn’t know if he realizes he said it. “I missed you.”

As she sighs, her body sinks into his embrace even more. “I missed you, too.”

The few words feel like they mean so much more.

I missed you.

I want you.

I love you.

In a repeat of the night before, they linger, they cuddle, and they part with longing stares and thrilling glances. The next morning, when Julie goes to hug the boys before leaving for school, her hold with Luke lasts just a fleeting moment longer than the others. 

His fingertips trace up the curve of her spine as they pull away. Goosebumps ricochet off of her skin and the smirk that Luke gives her makes her blush like he’s just flirted in a secret language.

The secret language of touching. 

Every night after, the same thing happens. Julie wishes her father a bashful goodnight and anxiously walks to her bedroom with a smile on her face, just waiting for her family members to retire. Instead of laying in her bed, she paces across her carpet and checks the clock every other second to see when it would be an appropriate time to go outside.

One night, the tug grabs her harder than other nights, and it occurs to her whether Luke can feel it too when he appears at the bottom of the porch stairs and not in the driveway. Like he was just as eager to see her, to hold her.

She’s struck so hard with wanting that she launches herself off of the second step of the porch and jumps into his awaiting arms. He isn’t phased at all - just laughing, deep and velvet, in her ear and spinning them around to get her feet onto the cobblestones. 

Urges for him to be quiet are lost in her smile. She feels home again. 

Sometimes, when Flynn pokes at her over her crush on Luke, Julie almost spills everything. How every night she spends an ungodly amount of time wrapped up in him, because the fact that they can touch is a miracle in itself and all that they  want to to is press into each other and wait for the universe to take the ability to feel away from them. 

But she doesn’t tell anyone. Luke doesn’t tell the guys, Julie doesn’t tell Flynn or her family, and they keep sneaking around with mischievous glimmers in their eyes like they are doing something they shouldn’t. 

Her dad actually almost catches them on a particular occasion that involved Luke brushing against a particularly ticklish spot and their laughter becomes too loud for it not to rouse Ray. 

“Mija, why are you out here so late?”’

She jumps away from Luke so quickly that her heart nearly stops beating, but Luke won’t allow it. Even though she’s facing her dad, Luke encompasses his arms around her waist from behind her, and holds himself close. 

Julie barely stutters out enough to convince her dad that nothing is wrong; something about a noise coming from the bushes and many repetitions of “I’m fine!”

 Some days, though, are harder than others. 

One night, Julie doesn't sprint down the staircase. She doesn't run out of the door and smile like a lovesick idiot, and she doesn't even really feel like getting out of bed at all. 

 But Luke would notice. And she doesn't want to fuck this up. 

So she trudges out of bed, and she goes. 

They don't normally greet each other or anything special; they usually stick to small smiles and strong grips. Tonight, Julie can't even muster a smile as Luke grins blindingly at her - the joy draining from his face when the tear stains on her face reflect in the light. 

 "Julie," he whispers, poofing to stand right in front of her at the gate. "Jules, what's wrong?" 

 Tears well. She can't speak. She doesn't want to speak, she doesn't know what she would say. 

When she doesn't answer, Luke does the only thing either of them went there for: He hugs her. 

A damn breaks. 

She cries freely, and his hands create parallel lines up and down her back, and there are tears all over his shirt but that is the last thing that either of them are thinking about. 

Why she's crying - there's a thousand reasons and no reason at all. Too much happened at dinner for her to articulate one clear reason. It's like a wheel of colors, where they all come together to make white. You can't just start picking colors out of the white again - once they're there, they're there. All mixed together. One unit. 

The white is making her cry. 

But now, blue is filling her senses, her emotions, her body - it drowns the white until there's no white left. Her fingers claw against his shirt as if they can soak up more of the blue, more of Luke, more of something that can cry the tears and make the white go away. Blue is her new favorite color, because it’s making the bad things go away.

That night, they hug the longest they've ever held each other out of all of these nights.

Luke has his own night like this, even though Julie is pretty sure he has more sound reasoning for his breakdown in that it starts with Trevor Wilson and ends with Emily and Mitch Patterson. But she’s content to dig her fingers into his back until he stops shaking underneath her, and do everything humanly possible to assure him that he deserves the world and everything in between.

He holds onto her because he needs her. Because she is his source of love and reassurance and something that he hasn’t messed up.

She holds onto him because she needs him. He is her source of passion and affection and someone who completes her in a way that a ghost shouldn’t be able to do, but he can. 

Every touch is loving. Every embrace is treated as the last. 

Every meeting is secret - and they want it that way. Their love doesn’t need to be shared with anyone else. 

[solomonish]

Growing Pains (Lucifer & Mammon)

At first, Lucifer thought that to fall with those he loved more dearly than anyone was the final blessing the Celestial Realm would bestow upon him.

But Father did not intend to stop after taking Lilith from them. He just took her first - the brothers still had themselves and each other to lose.

ao3 link: here!

---

The office in the manor was slowly becoming more and more cluttered as Lucifer continued to drag stacks of paperwork and countless manuals on Devildom culture into the house when he returned from his meetings with Diavolo. The business he had been tasked to sort out for the rest of his existence needed to be started on right away, leaving Lucifer tied up with an amount of work fitting for the place he now had to learn to call home. Instead of navigating the new life with his brothers, he had to spend his time navigating the halls of the palace or bent over an old wooden desk. The impressive castle doors now instinctively sent a pit into his stomach and finding the Royal Butler Barbatos waiting for him to lead him so he wouldn't lose himself in the halls hurt Lucifer in a weird, bruising way he had never felt before.

By the time he got home, the house was normally quiet. It scared him, at first: after spending so long in battle, silence could only mean something bad. During the first days, he found his brothers huddled up in the same spot, unwilling to be alone. Beel and Belphie would be curled around each other in some way, inseparable as they had always been. Mammon could be found sprawled over the carpet,, one hand gripping Satan's ankle or wrist as if that'd be enough to stop one of his rampages. Perhaps it was; from what Lucifer heard, every day he was getting better, learning more. Mammon wasn't the only one gripping him; Asmodeus was often cuddled next to Satan, clinging tightly to his arm or sometimes even to him. He was getting awfully affectionate lately, but maybe it was doing Satan some good. Only Levi wasn't directly touching anyone, but even though his back was turned, his new tail would occasionally twitch and brush against one of his brothers.

These scenes gave Lucifer pause, the feeling he was learning to be pride swelling in his chest. Everything was alright. Mammon had kept things under control.

He left them alone, not wanting to disturb their peace, and continued his work, the task distracting his mind and the affection distracting his heart from the crippling grief that loomed above them all.

Eventually, though, the brothers disbanded. The quirks he had noticed growing in them soon became hallmarks of their new beings: Asmodeus' affections were becoming increasingly licentious, Belphegor could hardly be found awake regardless of the time, items turned up missing and wound up in Mammon’s possession...each of his brothers seemed to spiral further and further towards degeneracy, save for Satan, who was as sinful as it got and instead retreated into himself and forming a grudge against everyone for his status as what seemed like a half-baked replacement.

Ever the dependable brother - a thought that was now strangely accompanied by a twinge of something unpleasant instead of the warm, affectionate delight Lucifer was used to - Mammon still tried to keep everyone together.

At first, it seemed to work. Nobody seemed entirely willing or even purposely trying to avoid the others. However, it seemed that the sin they began to embody were too great an obstacle none of them knew how to hurdle. Any interruption infuriated Satan, and Asmo seemed offended at the concept of taking his own time away from himself to check in on his brothers. Beel and Belphie could never be taken away from easing the effects of their sins for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation, and Levi had already dug himself so deep in a self-deprecating hole he seemed convinced any efforts to connect were the beginning of an elaborate prank to make fun of him. When items turned up missing immediately after Mammon’s visits, doors started slamming if they even opened.

Still, his attempts to keep the camaraderie alive meant Lucifer had more time to spend on the paperwork. It was a good system - at least, that’s how he felt. Evidently, Mammon didn’t feel the same.

Normally, on the days where Mammon made a futile attempt at his rounds (days that were becoming more and more scarce throughout the week), Mammon passed by Lucifer’s door. This time, there was an angry knock on the door, more of an alert to Mammon’s presence than a request for permission. The door didn’t bang against the wall, but Mammon had twisted the doorknob rather ferociously and Lucifer almost flinched at the noise it made. Taken aback by his brother’s stormy entrance, he nearly watched him approach impassively. There hadn’t been any opportunity to discuss the proper, respectful way to enter his workspace - clearly, this needed to be remedied soon.

“What’re ya even doing in here?” Mammon bellowed, looking around. The shelves that had books in them were put together nicely, the sturdy wood packed with old books about a life they both used to find reprehensible. How cruel of their father to force them to live what He made them fear most.

“You can lower your voice,” Lucifer answered, dropping his pen on the desk. When he leaned back, ignoring the way his upper back twinged at the change from his previous slumped posture, he met Mammon’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine frustration behind them. “I’ve been working.”

A scoff had never sounded more irritating to Lucifer’s ears. “Is that what it is? Because to me, it seems like you’re avoiding us.”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “Where did you-”

“Is that it? What, we all lost so now we’re losers and you can’t stand to look at us?”

“I never-”

“Or you couldn’t fill the void left when you were thrown out as the world’s best lapdog, so you became Diavolo’s instead?”

“Stop right there, Mammon,” Lucifer commanded, standing from his seat. His voice had a steely chill to it that it never had before, one to match the resentment burning inside of him. Instinctively, Mammon backed off. They didn’t know much about their new predicament, but they knew how the seven of them ranked in power, and Lucifer would always come out on top. “I’m won’t concern myself with where you got these foolish thoughts from. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend less time with Levi-”

“Levi? How could you know if he even had anything to do with this? When’s the last time you saw him?” Mammon shot back. “Spending less time with anybody isn’t the answer to anything, though of course it’d be your answer to things.”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m working out the details of this situation so you don’t have to worry yourselves with it.”

Mammon didn’t have an immediate response to that, instead watching Lucifer with betrayed eyes. He seemed to deflate over time, a resignation falling over him that forced his fire out with a sigh. "We were a team, Lucifer. What the hell happened?"

There were obvious answers to that, and there were not so obvious answers. Faced with so many options, Lucifer found himself unable to choose between them, and instead stared blankly at Mammon. Slowly, Lucifer sat back in his seat without breaking eye contact.

We've been ripped away from everything and left to become scabs over the wounds we've been given. All I'm trying to do is give you the freedom to heal however you need to, to keep you from the chains that could have just as easily awaited us as this fate did.

I'm hiding from you a burden that is too heavy to pass on - if I move it from my shoulders, I fear my arms would be too weak to carry it to you.

There were so many ways to tell Mammon that Lucifer had to lock himself away, the door a heavy shield against his own grief and the ever-growing work that buried him and the secret he carried. Even if Lucifer didn’t trust his own mouth to only say what was necessary, he could just thank Mammon for his efforts, tell him that he trusted Mammon more than anybody to keep together the one thing that ought to stay intact after the holy hell they’d created. But something inside him bristled, swelling uncomfortably until he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Gulping down his thoughts, Lucifer resumed his writing, the pen scratching against the paper more ferociously than the claws of any creature by which they now found themselves surrounded.

"I don't need your help," Lucifer answered simply, with finality. Though the words rang true in his mind, they were leaden with the way they pulled on his heart and tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mammon scoffed again, narrowing his eyes so Lucifer wouldn't be able to notice the tears that began to gather within them. "Fine, then. I-I didn't wanna help ya out anymore anyway."

As Mammon stomped out the door of his office with a huff, Lucifer felt something snap inside him. It wasn't in the way pent up rage unleashed itself, apparently, somehow in the form of a sixth brother, but more in the way one holds on desperately to a branch too thin for the weight. Once it snaps, the plummet is rough, with stronger branches breaking up the fall and taunting tossing them around in a cruel ricochet. Outside of the thick wooden door, it was startlingly quiet, as if the house itself was forcing Lucifer to grapple with the final thread holding them together being cut with his own words.

The pain started in his chest, the way it always did, wrapping around his heart and lungs like thorny vines. The spot on his lower back, occasionally tickled by phantom feathers, throbbed as his entire brain seemed to weigh heavier in his head. After a near eternity surrounded by laughter and the beautiful, enchanting hum of Celestial life and a thundering of battle that would ring in his head for the rest of his existence, the silence seemed like a stifling blanket, the final lock on the cage they had been forced into.

When one opposed Father and lost, he truly did lose everything.

[starkeristheendgame]

I had this idea and- Tony and Peter in the lab working together when suddenly Peter gets a call and it’s Ned just talking about LEGO stuff so Peter puts him on speaker. Thing is, Ned has no idea he is with Tony because Peter didn’t address it so he suddenly says “So how’s it going with your Iron Daddy crush?” Or something like that and Peter and Tony look at eachother absolutely SHOCKED

I spent a solid ten minutes wholly entertained by this idea and cycling through all the reactions Peter could have. I hope I did you proud on this one, Non! Thank you so much for considering me ❤️

No triggers/warnings. SFW

Working with Tony was fast becoming one of Peter's favourite things to do. It was even better than building LEGO sets or patrolling the streets, and that was saying something. He lived for the long hours spent in the lab, working alongside or merely coexisting with Tony as they worked, playlists cycling through in the background. It was calming, it felt right. 

If he were to hazard a guess, he would say Tony enjoyed it too. He obviously didn’t have much evidence to compare to how Tony had been in the lab prior to his arrival, but these days Tony sang along to the music and talked to Peter about their projects and ordered too much takeout even for the two of them and sometimes, even fell asleep against the workbench after too many long hours. 

It was one such night when they were working together; each on their individual projects but bouncing information and ideas between them. Peter was working on adding a small-scale explosive to his web mechanism for things like blowing up concrete or doors and Tony was working on what looked like part of the suit, but could frankly be anything at this point. Peter had once asked him how working on the Gauntlet was going only to be informed it was a vase. A mechanical vase, no less. 

“Diamond laser, diamond laser…” Tony muttered, petting about the bench. Peter picked up the tool laying on his own bench. 

“Here,” he called, tossing it over. Tony caught it, offered him a brief, warm smile, and dove back into his work. Time passed quietly, until he heard a soft mutter of oh, that’s not good and then-

“Duck!”

Wordlessly Peter dropped down, tucking himself under the safety of his bench as there was a hiss, a clang, and a piece of metal flew over where he’d just been standing, ricocheting off the wall before it clattered to the floor. He righted himself, peered at it curiously, then went back to his own work. Mishaps in the lab were far too common to make a fuss of. 

It fell back into a lull, working in tandem and comfortable silence until Peter’s phone rang on the table besides him. He paused, nose crinkling. Aunt May wasn’t expecting him to be home tonight, so that left…

“Hey, Ned,” he greeted as he swiped the call, lifting it to his ear. There was a scuffle and a huff on the other end of the line and he waited patiently as Ned got himself set. 

“Dude! Have you seen the new LEGO Avengers set? You gotta get one. It’s got everyone! Well, except you, but technically you’re not an official Avenger yet-”

“Gee, thanks for reminding me,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as he fiddled with a coil one-handed. Ned continued to speak, rattling off the pieces, the details and resolutely demanding they went the moment the store opened tomorrow to get the set. Peter hummed along in agreement, interjecting here and there to demand details. 

“Oh, I thought about what we could do for our science project, too!” Ned began, and Peter huffed in irritation as he tried and failed to connect a wire with just one hand. Tony more or less comfortably forgotten in the background, he shuffled his phone down onto the desk and tapped the speaker icon, picking up his tools once Ned’s voice filled the room. 

“So I was thinking, right? And I was thinking; hey! Peter has access to all this stuff now! And I know we can’t do anything too dramatic because we’re still losers, but what if we use…” Peter listened intently, tongue sticking out as he focused on screwing on the pressure plate. Ned’s idea actually wasn’t all that bad - Taking inspiration from the web shooters to make a spray-able temporary hole/crack fix. 

It was nothing Peter hadn’t already made, so it ought to be easy enough. It was easy to listen along and work; both motions equally soothing. Tony said nothing in the background, engrossed in his own tinkering and content to let their conversation be background noise. 

"Oh, and hey! How's the whole thing with Mr. Stark going?" Ned asked on the tail-end of a ramble about how Peter could use the web formula to start his own business and make billions. Peter opened his mouth to explain their current projects, temporarily forgetting that he hadn't actually told Ned he was at the Tower right now. 

"Or should I say Iron Daddy now? Was that just a one time thing? Its so weird saying that, though. Just get his Iron Rod already so we don't have to keep-" 

Peter froze, staring at the phone in movie-comical horror. Across the lab there was a deafening clang and a curse as Tony jerked upright and knocked his head on Butterfinger's mainframe, dropping the diamond laser to the table. 

"-Like just go right up to him and say 'I want you to be my Iron Daddy,' like how hard can it be? You could tell him about your old fan account, I bet he'd be flattered. I bet he'd even-" 

Peter made a high distressed sound, flailing on the spot. His mind screamed SHUT UP NED SHUTUP HE'SHERERIGHTHERE SHUT UP but his throat wouldn't work to get the words out. On the other bench Tony looked vaguely like the arc reactor had glitched, eyes more white than iris as he gripped at the edge of the table. 

Panic rose like a tidal wave and Peter gave a strangled sound, operating on pure fear and horror as he raised his palm and pressed the trigger on the web shooters. The StarkPhone went up in a spectacular display of sparks and flying metal, Ned's voice cutting off abruptly. 

Dully, Peter thought huh, it works. As the last pathetic sparks fizzled to the ground Peter turned his head, staring meekly somewhere near Tony's shoulder. 

"Sorry. That was... Your phone," he excused lamely, belatedly noting he no longer had his chappy old IPhone but Stark Industries' latest, sleekest model courtesy of Tony. 

“Technically it was yours,” Tony replied back rather dazedly, leaning heavily against the bench. An awkward silence fell over them for several seconds, before Tony’s expression twisted. 

“Iron Daddy?” 

Peter made a sound between a groan and a whine and collapsed against his own bench next to the smoking remains of his phone. “Oh my god. I was a meme. I sent him a meme one time.”

“And my Iron Rod is…?” 

“Mr. Stark, I am begging you to stop talking.”

There was a terse pause where Peter awaited morosely to be told to leave; to be dropped outside his apartment again with a bye, c’ya, don’t call. And then - 

“Do you?” Tony’s voice sounded... Small. Peter looked up quizzically, brows furrowing as he watched Tony rub at his arm. It was a tic - an emotional tell. “Want me to be your Iron Daddy?” 

Peter almost groaned. Might’ve, if the meaning behind the words hadn’t rendered him incapable of anything other than surprise. 

“I’d... Always thought it would be more a boyfriend thing,” he admitted. His crush had never been a secret but had always been swept under the rug as idolism and hero worship, never taken seriously. It had only been in his dreams and fantasies that Tony had ever reciprocated the feelings or taken his compliments to heart. 

“Hm.” It was a flat response, thoughtful and veiling any true emotion as Tony moved to rub at his jaw, then turned away. “I’ll get you a new phone. FRI has all your data on back-up, so you won’t have lost anything.”

Peter’s heart sank a little and he took the unspoken rejection graciously, lowered his head with a short nod. He willed himself to be mature about it, sweeping away the remains of his old phone into the waste disposal and thanking the older man in a small, fragile voice when he was handed a sleek new device.

Tony had turned it on whilst he brought it over and it cycled through an installation before vibrating in his hand.

[Iron Daddy] I can do boyfriends. [19:21]

[keeroo92]

Breaking Point

My SFW contribution to @jackpot-dantezine, where Dante falls apart on the way to confront Urizen.

Word count: 1,909

-------

The air hung stagnant around him, oppressive and unnaturally warm. Shades of red and brown, grey and a sickening green encroached up the walls. When he called the smell, “hot garbage”, he’d been far too kind. Veins pulsated a stern drumbeat as Dante stepped forward after his two female companions. 

“Bet you both I bag the first Queen!” Lady taunted. Trish responded with a cool smirk and a quickened pace, but Dante’s mind was elsewhere.

What if it was Vergil?

Dante had his doubts, despite what the weirdo client told him. What were the chances, right? Vergil’d been gone for years, stuck in hell after their last meeting. Getting back here, let alone in good enough shape to pull off this bullshit, was a longshot.

Still. His brother had a way of popping up and causing trouble. 

The first boom of battle ricocheted off the nauseating walls, reminding him where he was and what he still needed to do. He’d better catch up. Thinking about shit wasn’t his style; killing demons was. 

Time for a good ol’ fashioned beat down, that’d get him out of this funk. 

Dante cracked his neck, hands twitching to grasp the twin handles of his beloved Ebony and Ivory. The staccato thud of his boots mirrored the thudding of his heart, hastening as he got closer to a fight.

He turned a bloody corner just in time to see Trish deal a death blow to a Hell Judecca, its skeletal arms dissolving into ash as she spun to find her next prey. Her signature yellow sparks glowed brightly from her hands, her body dashing across the blood-stained ground to strike a pair of Antenora. Show off.

“That puts me ahead by two, Lady! What, are you taking a nap?” the blonde called.

“Not even close!” Lady replied, firing her bazooka straight down the throat of a Caina.

Dante grinned and picked a target, spinning on his heel as a scythe hunted his flesh. Too easy. He twirled Ebony and shot the ugly bastard in the face behind his back. Why did all demons look like the ass end of a bad burrito, anyway?

Eh, who cared?

His heart lurched. Vergil would. When they were children, Dante’s brother never ran out of questions about the nature of demons. He’d asked everything imaginable, from how they fought to how they multiplied. 

Dante tried not to think about that part.

And for every question Vergil asked, their dad had an answer. He’d stop whatever he was doing to explain, smiling proudly all the while. Like Dante wasn’t even there. It used to annoy him, but now the memory only brought bittersweet longing. What he wouldn’t give for them all to be together again…

“Dante, duck!”

Leather snapped as Dante instantly dropped to a crouch. A stream of fire licked his flesh, a Hell Bat above screeching its displeasure at the near miss. Annoying bastard. He never should've let it get so close. 

I gotta keep it together, he thought cynically, or the girls will get on my case.

Plus, banter always helped keep his mind from visiting its darker corners.

The man in red summoned a smirk and fired a few rounds, his bullets poking holes in the bulging orange belly overhead. A sound not unlike a whoopee cushion signaled his success. Nice.

“Sayonara, sucker!” he crowed, watching as the bat’s leaking body propelled it into a wall to explode. “Let’s call that one twenty points.”

“No way, lazybones! You don’t get extra for making fart noises,” Lady called with a scowl. 

Dante raised his hands in a placating gesture as soot settled to mark the deaths of their foes. He hoped Ver- Urizen sent a few more their way; he needed to warm up before kicking the king’s ass. Maybe he should stretch, just to keep his blood flowing.

Dante sighed and shook his head. He’d never hear the end of it.

It turned out he didn’t need to worry; as the trio progressed, they encountered wave after wave of demons, all vying for fresh blood. Trish and Lady didn’t falter, picking off one after another as Dante did his best to stay on task, but his mind kept drifting back to his brother.

For decades, Dante held only anger at his twin for not being there, for forcing their mother to search for him. To a child, the immature logic made sense. If Vergil hadn’t run off, things would’ve turned out differently. Simple cause and effect.

But time dulled the blade of his rage, and a broader understanding of life took hold. Any number of choices may have changed the outcome of the attack, but obsessing over it wouldn’t change what happened.

None of them had the power to predict the consequences, or to change them. All he could do was keep fighting, and hope that by doing so he spared other families from sharing the fate of his own. 

If Dante was being honest, the constant battles tired him. His body didn’t move like it used to, and the first aches of middle age warned him it was time to slow down. He couldn’t chase demons forever, and part of him didn’t want to. It was a lot of work.

It might be time to leave it to someone younger.

Then again, what the fuck else was he going to do all day? The only thing worse than being tired was being bored.

And the thought of retiring while Vergil was still out there somewhere, doing who knew what… it didn’t feel right, as if the balance would shift to the demons and they’d go unchecked. As a descendant of Sparda that gave a shit about humanity, Dante felt a certain responsibility to bear the weight of defending them. It was what his dad would’ve wanted.

What his mother would’ve wanted.

Besides; if he didn’t, then who would? Nero sure as hell wasn’t ready, not yet. 

But above all else, if it came to a fight to the death, his brother deserved to go at the hands of his family. Someone who understood what he’d gone through and all that he’d lost. It was Dante’s responsibility, and he damn well wasn’t hiding from it. Not this time. 

The thought left a hollow ache in his chest, a bitter sorrow he desperately wished he could ignore. If there was any alternative, any chance of helping his brother instead of ending his life, Dante knew he’d take it. That he had to even consider killing Vergil showed how twisted life could be. It made him want to scream. 

“Aw, shit,” Trish said, breaking his rambling thoughts. A quartet of Nobody’s waited in the next clearing, scurrying back and forth like excited cats. Perfect timing - Dante hated these guys.

And he really needed to kill something.

He flew at the demons with a cry of fury, drawing all four to him as he pulled Rebellion out. The girls followed in his wake, but he saw nothing save the nearest mask as his blade struck home. It left a deep crack in the clay, but the prick backed off before he had the time to kill it.

He really hated these guys. 

“Lady, finish him!” he cried. The other three were already swarming him. Damnit.

He dodged a stray arm and slashed at another as a blast reached his ears. The grotesque floor shook from the force and Dante roared, unleashing a vicious series of slices at the stumbling Nobody closest to him. It whimpered and tried to back off, but he refused to let it go that easily. Rebellion’s heavy blade sank deep into the creature’s core, splattering hot blood on its fellows and its killer alike. Two down. 

Two to go. 

There were days he didn’t see the point of it anymore; no matter how many would-be demon kings he took down, there’d always be another, and the peons were even worse. Useless, feral things, their only desire to destroy and kill.

It only added fuel to the fire of his rage. He needed to get closer.

Dante sheathed Rebellion and pulled at the thread of dark energy connecting him to Balrog, summoning the metallic pseudo-armor even as he threw a powerful punch. A rapid kick followed, his feet cracking against the reddish mask of the third nobody. He’d kill it before it fought back.

But a fiery blast on his left hurled him to the side, the last demon cackling as he fell. Years of getting pummeled proved their worth as Dante rolled with the blow, using the momentum to get on his feet a beat later. He grimaced and flipped a finger at the laughing jerk. 

“Is that all you got?” he shouted. Who knew if it understood.

It screeched and slammed a limb at him, slashing at his chest. He stepped aside and brought his arms together, crushing the appendage and tugging the beast closer for a solid headbutt. He punched and kicked, again and again. Demon blood splattered his face, each drop like a balm to his wrath. The chaotic battle surrounding him faded away; it was just him and the demon and the sounds of his strikes pulverizing its desecrated body. 

“Dante?” Lady called, her voice barely piercing the fog of his anger. He ignored her and punched the Nobody in the face again. “Dante, it’s dead. You can stop hitting it now.”

How many people had this one killed? How many families did its hunger shatter? For all Dante knew, it might be the bastard that killed his mother. He punched it again.

“Dante, come on…” Trish said. 

Maybe this was the demon that left nothing but smears of blood on the playground outside. Or the one that tore through a local grocery store, or that small house where he found those god awful husks. Another punch. He didn’t notice his female companions coming to stand beside him.

“Dante, knock it off. We need to keep moving,” Lady said, her palm coming to rest on his shoulder as he pulled back for another punch. Trish mirrored her.

The edges of the creature’s face began dissolving, a fine grey powder all that remained. Dante’s panting breath sent the dust aflutter as he slowly lowered his arm. His jaw ached; had he been gritting his teeth the whole time? Fuck.

Better crack a joke, something to keep it light.

“So, that’s what, four points to me?” Dante said. Both women shot him fierce glares.

“What the fuck, Dante?” Lady began. 

He wiped away the blood still clinging to his face and sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Trish chimed in. “You good?”

The red-clad man released the tendril of energy connecting him to Balrog, the blood-stained metal vanishing a beat behind. He didn’t know what to say. His rage still flickered within him, an ever present ember waiting for the right moment to flare into an inferno. It might give him an edge; it might consume him. 

Talk about a double-edged sword.

It didn’t matter what was happening in his heart or what it did to him. There was a big ass demon tree growing in his city, ugly bastards swarming the place and who knew what else. It was his job to clean up the mess, no matter who made it. 

Dante snorted. He was, in essence, a janitor. 

He cracked his neck. It was time to clean. “I’m good.”

[calpops]

red ruins | c.h.

Under every full moon Calum would get lost. Pain would set in and the world would fade. He would change, shift, and phase with the moon. He became something less than human and something more than any ordinary animal. He was content to wander from place to place in an attempt to escape himself and the ruins he thought he left behind. All until he met her and felt the influence of her words and the gravity in her eyes keeping him grounded in himself—even when all of his instincts tried to make him lose himself to the night. 

6.6k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included). 

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Fog floated through the town, crept along cobblestone streets from the depths of the forest surrounding small homes. The sky was deep purple, tinted with red as the sun dipped below the horizon. The village was quiet save for the cry of circling birds overhead and the rustle of leaves falling from the trees. The moon was nearly full by the time it made its appearance, the last of purple and red tinged light fading. Wind picked up and started blowing through trees, howling around the town and rattling closed shutters. Fire crackled, red and orange casted haunting shadows against the dark of the cottage lonely on a hill. Calum looked over to the corner where a bed claimed the north wall of the one room holding. She was buried beneath the sheets, hair splayed across the pillow and a smile taunting and teasing and begging him to join her.

They had met under a moonless sky. The dark was foreboding but his touch was light and his voice was easy. He told her his name was Calum but she couldn’t be sure of that; he was a wanderer, a traveler moving from place to place with secrets following him. She couldn’t fault him, she had not offered her true name to him; instead she told him to call her Honey so as to keep secrets sweet. She invited him to her home and into her bed and he stayed as the moon phased from nothing to glowing. She saw the scar on his back when his shirt came off, four jagged lines running parallel to each other. He regaled her with a tale about a boy traveling with a caravan, left to sleep under silver stars—he spoke of howls in the night and eyes that followed through the foggy tree line. She shivered when his hands cupped her jaw and his breath hit her neck, lips following soon after. He never usually stayed so long but she was enchanting, something in her eyes bringing him in and keeping him there.

She sat up when he stayed still, the sheet pooled around her waist. She gathered it around her and made her way over to him. He stood by the window where the wooden shutters stayed closed, just a sliver of moonlight shining through the crooked cracks. He felt her behind him, heard the faint thump of her heart and the small, even breaths that escaped her.

“Will you stay the night?” Her question was simply asked and her tone held nothing but wonder.

Calum turned, as tempted as he was to open the shutters and feel the bite of wind and see the glare of the moon he suppressed the urge, and took her in his arms instead.

“Only one more,” he said and ran a thumb over her bottom lip when she pouted. She shivered though it was not from the cold nipping through the thin blanket shrouding her. “Then I will be gone.”

“You could stay,” she said, longing lingering in her voice but words of want staying trapped within her. “You don’t have to go.”

“I do,” he responded without hesitation, thumb running from her lip to her cheek and jaw and down her neck where his hand settled on her shoulder. His other hand claimed the curve of her waist. “And you know why.”

She shook her head, hair falling in her face and a sarcastic laugh pouring from petaled lips. “That’s just a fool’s tale. Trying to scare me for a laugh, that’s all,” she said. The blanket dipped and her hand came up to catch it as Calum caught view of the marks his own lips left on her exposed skin.

“I told you my truth,” Calum whispered, even though he knew the truth he offered was just a sliver, and some was told as a story. “In so many words.”

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will my eyes. The scar on my back glints silver and that’s what can kill me. When I leave it won’t be on two legs.”

He had whispered those words to her the second night after they met. Usually he was gone before the sun could rise but she kept him entangled in the sheets, enchanted by her eyes and voice and the songs she sang of lust and pleasure. He found refuge in the one room cottage warmed by a continuous fire. He sought solace in her arms and bliss in the way they moved together. He couldn’t bring himself to leave after the first night, not when he had never known a calm and storm so bright and unwavering before. He stayed a second night and felt a tug of guilt in his chest when her eyes held hope. He told her the words that had been emblazoned in his mind for years. They ran along the lines of the scar on his back, told the story of the wound and the war that lived inside of him.

“So many words and none that I believed,” she said with another shake of her head. Her free hand trailed up his chest, her index finger light and ticklish against his skin. She followed the curves of his collarbones and circled around marks she made with her lips and teeth during their nights together. “Just stay. For me.”

“It’s for you that I leave,” Calum promised, knowing the truth in his words and reasons. The shutters knocked against the cottage, pounding out an erratic rhythm that echoed around them and the silence they fell into. She didn’t believe his words and even if she did Calum feared she wouldn’t understand.

“Then go now,” she said and took a small step back, the sheet around her swaying at her feet and dragging on the wooden floor. “Why waste another night?”

“If that’s what you want,” he heard himself say, voice resigned and wandering to wherever he would end up next. He made for the door but he heard the small intake of breath and the creak in the floor as her weight lurched forward.

“No,” she said, the word sudden and loud. “You don’t have to go,” she repeated her earlier words verbatim and while the meaning was the same there was an added layer and desperation to the plea. “Not until tomorrow,” she added on, finally relenting to his words and plan. “Stay one more night. Tell me that story again? Maybe this time I’ll believe it.”

Calum stopped before his hand could even reach for the door. He turned back to her, felt a pull in his chest and a drag in his feet as he moved back to her. They found their ways to the straw stuffed bed and sat back down, her pull on him bringing his back to the sheets and back into her. A strike of lightning lit up through the shutters and a rumble of thunder quickly followed, making work to shake the cottage and Calum’s resolve. Rain joined, the sound of it pelting against roofs and the earth ricocheting around them. He had told her the tale twice before. The first time to warn her, the second to remind her when she laughed at stories of the village she perceived as myths.

He would tell her one more time in the hopes that it wouldn’t be just a story or a notion to scare her. He wanted her to understand it was his past and it tied heavily into his present. It was the reason he must leave. She was quiet beside him, affording him time with his thoughts. Her silence was strong and effective. She was able to sway him without words or thought or trying. Calum swallowed past a lump in his throat and turned to face her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and focused on the pattern in her irises. Her eyes were hypnotizing, a force she didn’t know she had. Calum’s skin prickled and he looked away, up to the roof that leaked under heavy rain. If he were able to stay longer he would have fixed that for her.

“I was only a boy,” Calum began, his words a stark contrast to the way he had told the story before. The two times previous it was a boy, any boy, this time, it was him and it was honest. “I had just turned ten and was traveling with a caravan of people searching for refuge amid the war. My parents and sister were missing—presumed dead—and I had nowhere to go and nowhere to stay but the torched remnants of our home. So I left, as soon as I saw the people marching I followed.”

She made a noise of interest and sympathy, the sound as sweet as the name he called her. Honey simmered and sweetness followed, her nose pressed into his neck and her lips placed a small kiss to his skin. He didn’t want to continue but her influence was enough to bring the words out of him.

“The first week was fine. We scrounged up money to sleep in the stables of inns that were still standing. Once the coins ran out we slept under the stars, hoping the number of our people would scare off any outlaws.  It worked. But numbers meant nothing to the animals that lurked in the woods. Simple blades and bullets weren’t enough to stop them. The attack was swift, the screams still haunt me.”

“Animals?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing as she laid beside him. Her hand came up to trace four lines down his chest, four lines just like the ones on his back. “Your scar?”

Calum nodded, let her eyes calm him and swallowed harshly. “Animals,” he confirmed. He would tell her what kind but there was still an air of mystery in the sheer size of them, in the footprints and bloodstains left in soft earth. He knew what they were but they were even more than that. “Wolf like,” he added on, wanting to paint a picture in her mind so she might grasp some semblance of understanding. “Bigger than ordinary wolves. Two or three times the size. I could see their eyes through the tree line. They were eerily quiet as they watched. I woke everyone but as soon as the panic set in a howl sliced through the night and”—Calum sucked in a breath, let his fingers curl into his palm—“they descended on us.”

Honey came closer, settled into his arms and rested her head against his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating the way he could hear hers from yards away. She was cool against him but that was nothing new, he ran much hotter than her, his blood ran faster and his body strengthened as the full moon came closer.

“I tried to fight back but I was too weak and the blade I carried was made of steel—it did little to wound and could not kill the beasts among us. I don’t remember what made me lose consciousness but everything went dark for a time. I woke under a willow tree, my shirt was crusted with blood and my shoulder seared a pain I’d never felt before. I could tell I was running a fever just from the feel of my forehead, I was drenched in sweat, blood, fears and tears. The wound on my shoulder blade was deep and it took many nights to nurse it. Almost two fortnights went by before the true symptoms began.”

“You already had a fever,” she said, mistrusting his recount of his life. He knew his words were tangled and double meanings left wonder hanging in the air. “What more could have afflicted you?”

“Pain. More pain than the first day I woke with the claw marks sunken into my skin,” he explained, and held his breath, knowing the next part of the story would take a lot of convincing to believe. His words didn’t hold the same sway and influence as hers did. He couldn’t make someone believe just with a certain look or tone of voice. “The pain was bone deep. It felt as if I was being crushed and reformed. Every muscle held an ache, every bone hurt. My heart rate quickened. My temperature spiked. The world spun. I started to change.”

She shifted, eyes shooting to the ceiling as the tale of old prowled through Calum’s life. When he was a kid, before the caravan and the night of terror came to life, before his family was missing, his mother would tell him stories. Stories of half wolves, half men who lurked in the woods and stalked prey under the full moon. He had been enthralled by the tales, the stories scary enough to keep him awake at night. Her words took on a life of their own.

“Change,” she repeated, knowing the rest of the story from his words telling it of someone else. “You really want me to believe that?”

“I want you to listen,” Calum pleaded, voice near to trembling as the rest of his story simmered between them. She nodded beside him, eyes softening as she took in his honesty and the desperation he exuded for her to understand. For her belief. “The last thing I saw was the full moon, how bright and yellow it looked. That was before the pain was overwhelming and my senses shifted. I could only feel. I couldn’t think. I had no control. I lost an entire night to residual darkness and unknowing wander. I woke by a river but I don’t remember how I got there but there were prints in the mud, four clawed feet tracking right up to where I laid.”

She bit her lip and contemplated the rest of his story, took in the new details that he had omitted and the power of his truth. She blinked slowly, eyes once more enchanting Calum. Shadows from her eyelashes danced along her cheekbones, her breaths came shallow and short, a scattered symphony against the downfall of rain and cracks of thunder. Calum reached for her when she didn’t say anything. He hoped she was processing the new information and understanding.

“. I’d wake in the morning miles from where I once was. I’d wake with blood on my skin and fear creeping through the towns I could manage to find. Village people shunned me when they set sights on the scar on my back, they burned mixtures said to ward off evil and curses. It’s not a curse,” Calum explained.

“Then what is it?” She finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, whether she believed it or not.

“An affliction. A disease. Something past skin deep that sank into my bloodstream when claws raked my skin. I’m not the only one plagued by it. I roam alone but some wander in packs. Some resent the skin they’re bound to live in and fight against it tooth and nail. Some like the power and give themselves to it completely. Burning mixtures won’t cure it; I’m near sure there’s no cure. The only way to get rid of it is to kill it.”

“And how would that be done?”

“Silver,” he said, voice and mind long lost to the stories his mother would tell him.

People would try to rise up against the monsters that stalked the night but steel and bullets did little with their efforts. Only silver was enough to cut through and sizzle, it’s properties burned from the inside out. It ate away the afflictions and stopped the bloodstream. It killed. It killed the disease and it killed the person.  Lucky it was hard for the common folk to come by a weapon forged of something so expensive. Unlucky as well.

“Or another of my kind,” Calum added on, a shiver descending down his spine.

It could be another to strike with claws and teeth to meet a demise. Or something different but as equally as afflicted—a different type of poison settling into their body.

“Let’s say I believe you,” she started around a breath that spoke the opposite. “Why leave? And if you must, why not come back?”

Calum had already considered those questions through the nights he spent with her. Honey was tempting, enthralling and a craving he wasn’t sure he could kick. But his mind tumbled through scenarios more powerful than that. They put a pit in his stomach and coursed fear through his veins. He didn’t know what he would do during the night, he didn’t know where he would go or what he would walk into come morning if he were to come back. He had to leave. He voiced those thoughts to her and felt himself ease when she ran soft fingertips along his jaw.

“Then if it’s truly our last night together let’s not waste it,” she said, voice breathy and speaking a silent need as she pressed closer to him.

Calum received her and let the night slip by in beautiful bliss. She was still sleeping when he woke to the first sliver of sunlight creeping through the shutters. The air was thick after the night of rain and storm. He distentangled himself from her and the sweetness of their time together. It was the first time he would be leaving with regret and want following him. Her hair was a tangle across the pillow, skin smooth but interrupted by the press of his lips. She didn’t stir when he stood but she shifted when his lips brushed her forehead in a silent goodbye. Before he could step out of the door he stopped at the hearth where the fire had turned to nothing but embers clinging to life. He kneeled down, hand fishing into his trouser pockets to pull out a folded piece of cloth. He left it on the floor beside the logs and hoped if she needed it, she would find it.

He left her behind and made his way through the still sleeping village. He memorized the curves of the roads and the identifiable structures. The woods curved around the village, trees thickening the town line. With nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a spare change in a small pack and the memories with a woman as sweet as honey he descended into the forest, wanting to put as much time and distance between him and the common people who shrouded the town. The farther away he was when the sun began to set, the better. His footprints lingered in the soft earth, a trail following him with every step he took. He couldn’t help but think they were also a path back to her. He shoved the thought away, knowing he couldn’t but not knowing if he wouldn’t. The day passed him; he knew the air and wind was cold but his body was heated and he could feel the change start to ache inside his bones as the sun began to set.

Calum found himself in the thick of the forest when his heart began to race and the ache in his bones made him stop. He kneeled beneath a tree, it’s foliage falling to the ground around him as the wind swept through the woods. Leaves stirred up and floated through the air. Calum sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wandering his surroundings dipped in a golden haze as the last of the sun graced the grounds. It reminded him of her; of honey and golden glows during mornings they woke together. He didn’t want her to be his last thought before the inevitable took away his mind, his body and rationale. But images of her drifted through his mind and made his heart ache with a yearning he had never known before. His knees pressed into the soft earth below him, leaving indents in the dirt he was sure he would leave behind. His back arched, neck craned so his head looked up. The sun was leaving, the sky darkening from gold to a blue silver that could have been calming for anyone else.

He ran hot, sweat beading on his forehead, fingers curling into his palms and his chest rattled as a guttural noise escaped him at the first of the intense pain to ripple through him from head to toe. The scar on his back burned to the point he felt it was sizzling. He was still semi aware, clinging to thoughts of honey and sweetness and all that she was when clothes ripped, breath left him and fingers unfurled from his palm, claw marks claiming the ground. His last thought was of the moon and the way she might look under it’s full and shining beams. His eyes caught slivers of moonlight through the trees, conjured up her image glowing around him and then the world faded with the last of his human form.

***

The village was quiet as Honey spent her day around the town, wandering and lost among the people. She wasn’t in search of Calum but if her eyes spotted him in the fray it wouldn’t be a bad thing. His story echoed around her thoughts, and would barrel through her mind under the sunlight. She shivered at the haunting words and the pain in Calum’s voice when he relived his past. She wasn’t sure she believed him, she wasn’t sure she believed in anything. She had grown up around superstition and curses, of stories told through her village that had no evidence to back them. Her mind was skeptical but her heart yearned to believe in something more. To believe in Calum—though she still wasn’t sure that was his true name or why she had grown so fond of the stranger who stumbled onto her property two fortnights ago.

She left town, made the trek back up to her cottage where it stood on a grassy hill away from the rest of the people that plagued the town. The cottage was quiet save for the creaks in the floorboards as she paced the small room and the drip from the ceiling as rain from the previous night leaked through the roof. Sunset loomed on the horizon, her lookout from the window atop the hill showing the entire horizon. Everything was yellow and golden and it reminded her of eyes that would glow like the moon. She trembled as she walked away from the window and resigned herself to her bed that was too cold for one. She let her eyes close and wished for sleep, knowing the first night alone was always the most difficult.

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will his eyes,” she whispered into the night as the sun bid a temporary goodbye to the world. “The scar on his back glints silver and that’s what can kill him,” she continued, the warning burning on her tongue. Words of an affliction having no cure but silver through bloodstreams making her dip under the covers. “When he leaves it won’t be on two legs.”

The cottage darkened as the sun left and the sky turned deep blue and eventually black with streamlines of silver from the full moon working its way through the open window. She tossed and turned, body and mind restless, heart breaking from the feel of cold sheets beside her. Minutes or hours may have passed, time was bleeding away unbeknownst though it felt drawn out like many lifetimes. When she couldn’t lay there any longer she stood, walked to the hearth and prodded at the fire. Worn cloth beside the pile of logs caught her attention. She reached for it, knowing it wasn’t hers but curiosity needing to be satiated. Something hard laid within the bundle. It took one unfold to reveal what was inside.

A bullet glared and glinted back at her under moonlight. The feel was smooth and as her throat burned she realized the cost of the solitary bullet. Silver was expensive; worth a life and then some. She dropped the cloth and bullet and heard it roll along the hardwood floor. She lurched away from it and ran to the window. Palms hit the wooden sill and gripped with a strength she didn’t know she had. Eyes roamed the hills and the village below her. She bit her lip and sucked in air when a howl echoed around the open air. She didn’t know she was shaking until her body swayed and her shoulder hit the frame of the window with a bruising force. She heard rustling in the distance, her first instinct to push away ridiculous notions being drowned out by childish fears coming alive inside of her.

Eyes lurked in the dark, yellow and glowing and brooding it’s sights on the small cottage. She heaved a breath and let fear freeze her. Wind whistled and a howl followed, a beat of pause where her heart stammered out an erratic rhythm ensued. She swallowed down a tight lump in her throat harshly, grip on the sill tightening as she fought against her limbs content to stay still. It was as if her mind was convinced if she didn’t move she wouldn’t be seen. But she knew the tales, the stories and the myths come to life. Eyes that glowed in the dark could see leagues further than those that could not. She shivered and the eyes stalked closer, her body finally catching up to her mind, hand gliding slowly up the sill to find the where the shutter was closed and latched.

Before she could so much as get a proper grip on the wooden panel the animal afflicted was prowling forward and taken down. A guttural rip of a snarl cutting through the night. Another appeared, larger than the first. A broken cry left her lips, dry and cracked and breathy as she finally found purchase on the shutter and slammed it closed. She turned abruptly, back to the wall and eyes slipping shut as her chest heaved with staggered breaths. All she could do was listen. Remember that Calum had asked her to do so and now it fell upon her in howls and whimpers and bodies double the weight of an ordinary animal crashing to the ground. The noises neared and she thumped to the ground, knees hitting the splintering wood with a resounding thud. Her eyes sprang open and she forced herself to crawl back to her bed, pulled herself to the sheets and surrounded herself in the comfort they offered. She almost covered her ears but felt vulnerable with another lost sense.

She could only see flashes through the crooked shutters. She could hear the movement and the fight. She felt fear clawing through her, burning her eyes and heart and shoulder blade as the flashes and noises and myths came even more alive in front of her. A bang ricocheted against the cottage, bodies hitting the wood as a startled scream left her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, body trembling as she shook her head, trying to maintain disbelief. Another hit to the cottage rattled her, the shutters splintering and breaking under the force of the combined weights. She tried to get up, to run for the door to make an escape. But another slice of fear trembled through her. The noises died but her fear stayed alive. Wood fell to her floor along with a wash of blood much darker than she’d ever seen before. Wolf-like was the only thing she could think of when one beast rose amid the other, a giant paw slamming with finality into the other presumed dead beast.

The fire lit a glow of orange around yellow eyes. Dark fur was raised along the creature’s back, standing up on edge as if struck by lightning. Honey was still and stricken. The living beast neared, slow steps carrying its sheer size towards her with thumping paws hitting the ruined floor. She sucked in a breath, eyes unblinking until the beast whimpered and backed off, headed for its kill, the other beast being taken by the dark one’s teeth, dragged out the ruined wall and into the night.

***

Morning came in a rush. Calum woke within the woods, on much higher ground than he last remembered. The sky was pink through dying leaves and muted brown trunks. He was still hot, skin simmering and bones still aching. Blood was on his skin and a metallic taste lingered in the back of his throat. Paw prints in the earth wound a path away from the woods. His sights became set on them and then beyond, to where the tree line broke and the familiar air that carried through the breeze. He managed to bring his change of clothes with him, the ones he started the day in tattered and abandoned somewhere in the woods. He quickly dressed though the pain in his body lingered and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. But the woods were filled with dangers. If not creatures of his own kind then things that were worse, other stories come to life beneath the moon and stars.

A feeling of dread consumed Calum as his feet dragged through the dirt and out into open air. The hill was calm but the destruction spoke volumes. Honey and home were in red ruins. One wall of the cottage was dilapidated, the window now a hole in the wall. Red ran over wood and though Calum’s body protested he started running too. Anxieties took over, made his heart race and his deepest fears flickered through his mind. Honey.

She was nowhere to be seen within the cottage and it’s ruined remains. The fire was dying in the hearth yet Calum felt a wash of heat against his face. He knew he lost control the night before, he knew his memory never held but a flash of something familiar hit him full force. He could almost recall added warmth in the night. The damages cried something akin to him, something he could almost recall, something that sat on the tip of his tongue and the back of his mind.

“Honey?” Calum called out, hoping his attempt wasn’t futile. Hoping that he hadn’t destroyed sweetness in the night.

A beat of silence had his heart falling, throat burning and eyes watering against the few tendrils of smoke claiming the air. HIs lip jutted out and trembled. A wave of nausea hit him but broke a faint heartbeat prickled his senses and had him turning. She stood outside the cabin, dress stirred up in the breeze, hair in disarray and influential eyes carrying a haunted glow.

“Wolf-like,” she said, voice unwavering and shoulders squared as she took a step forward. “I guess I should have believed you.”

Calum nodded and kept his eyes on her, let his gaze flicker down when her hand outstretched and her fingers opened from her palm to reveal what he left her. He remembered the previous morning, leaving the silver bullet by her fire, hoping she wouldn’t need it. His gaze flickered back up and he shook his head while she pursed her lips and tried to offer the silver back to him.

“Keep it,” he insisted.

“Seems I won’t need it if you’re leaving again,” she said, voice dropping and eyes narrowing. “You came back, though. Twice now. Saved my life.”

“I should leave,” Calum murmured, the latter half of her words seemingly lost upon him as a tangle of thoughts entered his mind. “There’s more than me out there, keep it,” he insisted again, took a few steps forward to close the distance between them and let his fingers brush hers and close them over the bullet. He felt a sizzle in her touch, it wasn’t for the silver in her hand but for the fiery cold of her hand and the way she made him feel.

“I know there is,” she mused, hair blowing in the breeze. “Now, anyway. You killed one right before my eyes.”

“I did?” Calum wondered, suddenly caught in the destruction around him, his mind trying to catch up to the animalistic instincts that swiped his rationale and tore away his memories and thoughts. “I did…”

It came back in a rush with just one look into her eyes, the pattern of her irises enrapturing and filling in the gaps the night left him. The warmth of the fire on his face as blood dripped down his jaw, his feet approaching her, his eyes seeing her—truly seeing her—the push and pull of her influence having him turning and taking the last of the danger from her home. He couldn’t remember how he ended up back at her cottage on the hill but he was sure it was due to her pull on him, that she was something more than what she knew.

“There’s more to the world than I know,” she admitted and dropped her hand holding the silver bullet to her side.

“And there’s more to you than you realize,” Calum said, grasping for an explanation and a way to tell her what he could only assume as true. She neared him, the press of her body delicate but sure against his.

“What might that be?”

Her hand came up, fingertips trailing along his jaw, her breath warm against his skin. “You’re enchanting.”

She smiled, the curve of her lips begging him to kiss her. “You’ve told me that before,” she said and he heard her heartbeat pick up.

Calum’s hand came up to stall hers from its path along his jaw. He held her hand and played with her fingers as their hands dropped and swayed. “More than that. I should’ve known it from the first time I looked into your eyes. I should have realized it when it felt like you could sway me and the earth underneath me. I should have told you sooner.”

She was confused, eyebrows furrowing and nose twitching as she tried to process his ominous words. She was quiet, waiting for him to further explain. He was caught in a whirlwind of her, chasing down words and moments to help her understand.

“You’re not just enchanting. You’re an enchantress.”

Her breath caught in her throat and Calum saw a war within her. He knew she knew what that meant, she had laughed at stories of the like. Stories of mystic people with persuasion in their eyes and words and spells that could be spoken and never broken. Tales of old that followed centuries of life lived before them. She didn’t believe in the far fetched. But the far fetched had broken through her home, broken through her resolve and created belief in her heart. She nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation but took a breath and pressed on anyway.

“How do you know?”

“You kept me calm. One look in your eyes and I felt like myself again,” Calum explained, a sudden rush of memory from the night previous invading him. He remembered the gaze they shared and the sense of himself that came crashing back into him. He knew the moment he first looked into her eyes, the pattern in her irises one he was familiar with. He’d only seen it once before, just before the moon phased him. “I met someone like you before,” he said though that wasn’t entirely true. He was nearly positive he hadn’t met anyone quite like her, only someone with a similar ability. “He tried to use me but the full moon took away my senses.”

“He didn’t keep you calm?”

“I guess some people have a stronger pull. Maybe it’s less to do with what you are but more who you are,” Calum explained, almost certain that whether she was born with the power of persuasion he could find himself within her grasp in any case.

“Stay?” The question was simple but the emotions evoked from looking into her eyes was stronger, more complicated and a battle in and of itself. “I won’t ask again,” she warned with glossy eyes.

Calum shook his head no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stay and now he was convinced neither could she. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if she stayed and anyone else were to find out about the power within her.

“Come with me?” Calum asked, the three words escaping him before he could think them through. But he knew deep down they were the right ones.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” he said with a far off look in his eyes. “We can follow the river or the sea,” he added and took a deep breath, knowing he needed to convince her, knowing he lacked the power of persuasion the way she did. “We can keep each other safe.”

She took a look around the remnants of her home and guilt tore at Calum for a moment until he realized all he did was to keep her alive and well. He could keep her safe. She could keep him as himself even when the moon phased and tried to tear away his humanity.

“Okay,” she agreed with a small smile, surprisingly needing no other convincing. “I’ll go with you.”

***

Water rushed past rocks, jagged edges meeting the smooth flow of the stream. Wind blew softly through the forest, a day of calm following the harrowing night of the full moon. The sun shone a little bit brighter than usual, the clouds were nonexistent and the town Calum and Honey left behind stayed unaware to the altercations and revelations the night brought. Flashes of fire and silver in Calum’s mind left them running at first, but ignorance swayed them to a slower pace. The village knew of stories and superstition but their reclusive stay at the cottage on the lonely hill bid them time to make their escape. His hand held hers and he realized the lifelines on their palms aligned and ran parallel to each other. She was cool though the sun beat down. She was calm though her world had shifted overnight.

They walked on, leaving footprints in the earth and the past behind them. Calum wasn’t sure where they were going, he never really was when he left after the moon changed him. He figured they might follow the stream, wander out of the woods and find the sea. With her at his side he was certain it didn’t matter where they ended up. She swayed their hands, caught gazes with him and didn’t so much as falter when a howl carried through the breeze. Calum stiffened but kept walking, his senses heightened at the call—though he was certain it was a regular wolf in the woods there was still a bite of apprehension flowing through his bloodstream, making the scar on his back burn with curiosity. The world was filled with more than met the eye. Calum knew there was more than him and her, more than wolves and persuasions, there was sharpened teeth and blood, beautiful songs of the ocean that turned to watery graves, fire and death, the natural turning to something more and something less. He led them away from the howl.

“You still have it?” Calum asked.

Honey nodded, hand reaching into the pocket on her dress, the bullet shining under the glare of the sun. He nodded his approval and kept them walking. He wondered where they would end up, what would happen at the next turn of the moon. He hoped they could stay together in spite of the silver scars and red ruins that brought them together. 

<< >>

To be continued...?

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[luv-eddiediaz]

Where You Scars Meet Mine

"Let me see it,” Buck whispered, and caught Eddie by the wrist as he passed by him to get another beer from the fridge.

"You wanna be more specific?"

"You know what I'm talking about,” and yea, Eddie knew exactly what Buck was talking about.

"You've seen it."

"Not for a long time. Not up close. And today - today, I need to see it."

"Buck -"

"I won't push you, but… Please?"

"Okay."

Eddie stood between Buck's open legs where they dangled off the counter. He undid the buttons of his shirt, and let it fall open before he slipped his arms out. He's still in his A shirt, but the scars were visible anyway.

Buck stared at the raised flesh. It wasn’t as ugly as the last time he saw it, when it was fresh and healing. Now, it was just a pale, discolored bump of skin, slightly out of place where the rest of him shimmered like a golden relic.

Eddie's breath caught in his throat as he watched Buck's hand reach out from where it lay at his side. His fingers were steady, but cold as they ghosted over it. He was gentle as his fingers walked the circumference, because Buck was always so fucking gentle; too afraid that all those feelings he felt would hurt someone if he ever let them out. Sometimes Eddie wanted to scream at him, tell him to just fucking say it already - put them both out of their damn misery, but Eddie too was gentle, and he too knew it was better to keep it to himself, lest he wanted to get hurt again. Because, maybe his body had scars, but his heart was marred with so many more.

"We never talked about it," Buck said.

And no, they hadn't. They opted for a different approach to processing their shared trauma in the dark shadows of one of those nights Buck still slept on Eddie's couch, when their hearts were still supposed to belong to someone else. They leaned into the love they'd built up for so long, but rather than claim it for what it was, they labeled it desire; mistake, and they didn't talk about that either.

"What's there to talk about?" Eddie shivered as the pads of Buck's fingers pressed firmly on the knot of scar tissue.

"You were shot. Again." He turned his attention to Eddie's other shoulder, the other scar that reminded him, not how precious his own life was, but other people's. Buck followed the same path along the raised edges, a little more jagged than the other, a little more permanently pink - the anger and chaos of war more evident than the sterility of a hospital.

"And overall, it was the third time you almost died."

"I kept track."

Buck's chuckle was dark, and it only scared Eddie because he'd never heard him sound like that before.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me, but it happened. I survived. What good is talking about it going to do? What good is reliving the moment I lost someone I was supposed to protect, or the moments I thought I might abandon my son the same way his mother did? What sort of healing is meant to happen if I blab on and on about -" Eddie's voice cracked, and Buck looked away from his scars for the first time, and into his eyes. He knew they were glossy, and that they threatened to spill over with tears, and he didn't want Buck to see, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from his comforting worry.

"About?" Buck asked, gently.

"About how, in Afghanistan, I was supposed to get shot at, and as a firefighter, I might be trapped in a dangerous situation, but I'm not supposed to be shot in the middle of the day, on a busy street. Not when I'm trying to help someone, not in front of" - his voice broke again, and Buck's hand was suddenly warm against his cheek, catching the tears that began to fall.

"And I think sometimes, how many more times is this going to happen? How many more scars will I bear before the universe finally gets me?"

"The universe is going to get us all eventually, and I'm going to love each and every scar it leaves on you until then."

"Fuck, don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. And I don't just mean the ones you can see," Buck raked his fingers through Eddie's hair, "the ones in here too; and here," his other hand came to rest where Eddie's heart beat loudly in his chest.

"Buck, please -" Eddie begged for the sweet torture of Buck's touch to stop before it completely ripped him apart at the seams and saw everything he kept hidden away inside.

"Are you in love with me?" Buck asked.

Too late.

His voice was soft, but the words ricocheted against the walls of the loft; another bullet meant just for Eddie.

"I - you know the answer to that question, Buck. You have to know."

"I think I know. I know that one night late last year, I was pretty damn certain, but then...we didn't talk about that. You swept it under your rug, and I let it go."

"We decided together it was a mistake."

"But you still broke up with your girlfriend. And then I broke up with mine, and I thought - I thought maybe we were done being so afraid of each other."

Eddie scoffed, "I'm not afraid of you."

"Well, I'm afraid of you. Of the way you make me feel, how I think I've made you feel. It fucking terrifies me."

It was too much. Eddie's head spun, and his wounds pulsed with phantom pain in sympathy. He felt himself start to panic, to look for an exit out of where he was caged by Buck's body, so he could run.

Buck looked at him for a long second, and then he removed his hand from Eddie's chest, and parted his legs just enough to let Eddie feel like he could breathe.

"It's okay," Buck said, "if you're not ready. And I've obviously had too much to drink, and it was already a heavy day, so, why don't I go sleep this off, and maybe in the morning you can forgive me, huh?"

"Buck -"

"Nope. In the morning." He gently pushed at Eddie's shoulders to back him away, and then jumped down. He handed Eddie his shirt from the floor, "blankets, pillows - behind the couch. Goodnight, Eddie."

"Buck -"

"Goodnight, Eddie."

He watched Buck retreat upstairs, missing one or two along the way, and all Eddie could think as he stood alone now, in that kitchen was what the fuck?

It was a heavy day, yes, and Eddie expected they would both drink a little too much,and Buck would wanna talk, because talking helped Buck,and Eddie was more than prepared to listen, but Buck knew, almost too intimately well, that Eddie found comfort in doing rather than speaking.

So, for him to push Eddie like that; he just didn't know why.

Eddie made up a bed on the couch, and tried to find sleep with Buck snoring above him. Maybe Buck was as tired as Eddie was; wanted this whole crazy thing that spun around them like a whirling dervish to just stop and stand still. Maybe he was trying to do exactly what Eddie wanted him to do all along.

Eddie pushed back the covers and padded gently up the stairs. He stopped when he got to the top, watched Buck, wrapped in just his t-shirt and shorts turn onto his side, and open his eyes.

"Fucks sake, Eds,” he said into the dark, “what are you just standing there like a damn ghost for?"

He pulled back the covers to invite Eddie to crawl in next to him, and Eddie did.

"I am in love with you,” he said to Buck, “and what I'm afraid of is that it's just not enough. That I'm not enough for you."

Buck propped himself up on his elbows, and looked down at Eddie, "you are enough," Eddie looked away from Buck's hot gaze, but Buck caught him by the chin with his thumb, "Eddie, you are enough. For me. Okay?"

Eddie nodded against the pillow and tried to choke back his urge to cry yet again, but there was no sense, not when Buck's touch was so soft against the stubble that lined his jawline, not when he whispered, I'm in love with you, too, and kissed Eddie's ear like a precious gift.

"I already know you're strong, so you don't always have to be with me."

"Yea, okay."

Buck laid his head on Eddie's shoulder, and circled the hard bone of the other with his finger, avoiding the scar this time.

"Buck?"

"Hmmm?"

"Let me see yours."

Buck pushed the covers down all the way, and Eddie dropped to his knees on the side of the bed. It was dark, but Eddie found the line that drew up from his ankle past where Eddie wouldn't touch - not tonight, but he did press a soft kiss to it before he got back in the bed, and settled into Buck's arms.

Maybe they were too broken to ever truly be put together, but maybe, as long as one had the other, they didn't need to be as whole as they thought they did. It was enough that they loved the ugly, torn and frayed pieces just as they were.

[olivinesea]

No One Else But Me

a/n: Trying this Whumptober situation. No real warnings, things get a little suggestive at the end. ~1.7k

Emily is trying to adjust to new life by running away from her old one.

Whumptober 2021: Day 3: insults - taunting - “Who did this to you?”

She stared out her office window, eyes unfocused as the fog swirled around the buildings, masking their shapes, muting every color to a thin, interminable grey. She didn’t really see any of it, instead it acted as a background upon which she could project her memories. This time of day was always the hardest. Nearly time to leave, the rush of investigations and consultations past, only a few lingering forms to fill out. This was the time when she felt the most homesick. She hated that she knew how that felt now, after having spent the first several decades of her life without a home to be sick for. There had been residences and staff, grounds and gardens, each location only differentiated by the language that wove through the hallways and kitchens. In the ambassador’s presence it was always English. But Emily, so often lost to the shadows and corners of her mother’s political ambitions, was captivated by the intricacies of each new language she encountered. Her quick mind absorbed vocabulary and structure, trying to capture the one thing she could take with her when they inevitably left, searching for something that might connect her back to all the places she’d been.

Her childish hunt for a home in words became a useful skill when she chose her profession, helping her to blend seamlessly into various backstories, to move without notice through foreign countries, never attracting attention as the loud American who insisted on English. She found it a little bitter that of all the foreign places she could have ended up, she’d picked the only one with closer ties to English than America. Conversing in foreign languages didn’t just help with her job, it helped Emily become someone different, someone with roots, with a history of more than loneliness. Supervisors were always pleased to discover the breadth of her ability, thinking they’d lucked out on such valuable tool. They didn’t realize she was using them as much as they were using her. They were her ticket to places farther and farther removed from Emily Prentiss, places she hoped she could find someone different to be, someone worth being.

Now Emily was in London, running a unit for Interpol, having taken the ultimate journey away from herself, all the way into death and back. Despite getting exactly what she’d thought she wanted when she threw herself into different identities, she found herself wishing she could be the old Emily again. She’d been there about six months and still hardly knew anyone. She was purposely keeping distant from her co-workers, not yet recovered from the mess she made back in Virginia.

For a few years there she had allowed herself to believe she had found a home, been part of a family. She’d given everything to keep that family safe, to the point where she could no longer exist for them. Then, against all odds, she’d had a chance to return, to fit back into the space she’d left only to find it would never work. She was a different person to them now. Not in obvious ways but just enough to make it hurt. She wasn’t really leaving them, she reasoned, because they had already left her. Despite their best intentions to make her feel welcome they couldn’t undo their mourning, couldn’t forget the weight of her casket.

Turning away from the window, she repeated her promise to herself. She would’t make that mistake again. She’d lived a life without attachments for so long, this was just a return to form. She could do her job without making friends, without finding a family. The other agents had stopped inviting her out for drinks after too many declined offers. She was aware of their whispers—she was cold, she was aloof, she was calculating. All things she had heard before, insults so unoriginal they were bereft of any power. As she watched the group leave, laughing, jostling, she had a brief moment of unreality, a layering of wistful memories over her vision. Shaking her head, she turned back to her work, twisting away from the feeling. If she didn’t think about it, it didn’t matter.

Later that evening, after the lights in the office had long been turned off, the take out she’d mostly ignored gone cold on the counter, she went out to a bar. It was not one of the ones her coworkers might congregate at. This place was full of dimly lit alcoves, more corners than seemed logical for a standard shaped building. Far too loud for conversation, but no one went there to talk. She drank until her hands were numb, a sensation that reminds her of being dead. Unconcerned, she sipped at another drink while simultaneously drawing in the attention of a stranger, like she has so many nights before. It didn’t even take any effort anymore, she knew all the right moves to make. Her chest felt hollow as she flashed a smile, tilting her head just enough to make her intentions clear. Soon they were stumbling out the side door, ricocheting off one another as they made their way to the other person’s apartment.

Time blurred, sounds and colors fading in and out. Laughing up the stairs, fumbling the lock. Another drink offered and forgotten. A door opened into unlit bedroom—no just leave the lights off. The sheets smelled of a fabric softener she recognized but couldn’t place. Come here. All so familiar, she wasn’t sure if it was happening now or if she’d passed out on her couch again. It all felt the same. But no, she was in this particular bed, the other woman asleep beside her, breathing lightly. Emily stared up at the ceiling, thoughts trailing behind her actions, gradually catching up to herself. She was trying to remember how many times she’d been in this position. Wondering if the count reset when she died.

She was so deep in her memories she didn’t feel a hand slip under her shirt, sliding up her stomach slowly until it stopped abruptly, met with an unexpected change in terrain. The thick knot of scar tissue raised on her chest, just below her sternum.

“What—what is that?”

Startled, she pushed the hand away and sat up, trying to remember the other woman’s name. She twisted her fingers into the soft t-shirt fabric, grounding her thoughts in the present moment. That’s the real difference, she thought. She kept her shirt on these days. This was what differentiated now from her youth of doing all the same things—losing herself in the same kind of bars, the endless string of one night stands, the faces blending together. She didn’t usually stay long enough for anyone to notice this quirk. They’re usually too intoxicated to care, to push at this flimsy boundary. She’d gotten good at managing it, making it seem accidental, too rushed to get every piece of clothing off. Besides, the kinds of people she sought out didn’t care about her specifically, only looking to fill the same sort of void in their life as she was in hers. A body to occupy the invisible hours, the times when there wasn’t anything louder than unchecked thoughts. They were all just looking for passage through the night.

No one had ever asked her about her scar before now. Not even her team back at the BAU. She could tell they had wanted to sometimes—Spencer needing to see the proof of her resurrection like the stigmata, Hotch craving restoration of balance years after she had seen his own marks of mortality. But they were all too afraid to ask, too afraid of this new, not-quite-Emily.

She didn’t respond, but looked at the other woman, trying to hold the specific details of her in her mind. She was tired, too tired to keep running. What did it matter if this one stranger saw? She would’t remember her in the morning. She couldn’t even remember her name right now. When she saw that Emily wasn’t moving away, only waiting, watching for the next move, the woman lifted her hand to the hem of Emily’s shirt again.

“Can I?”

Emily’s nod was tight, already angry with herself for wanting this connection, for allowing this vulnerability. But she didn’t stop her. She lifted the shirt up slowly until the scar was fully exposed. Emily looked away as she traced a fingertip across it, always hating the not-feeling sensation of being touched along the dead nerve endings. Knowing she should feel something and being unable to.

“Who did this to you?”

Her voice was hushed, sounding awed, as if Emily was some sort of mythical creature rather than a human being with a lifetime of stupid mistakes. Like she expected to hear a fairy tale of magic and heroes, like there is some purpose behind the scar. As if it was not the never ending reminder that she had lost everything she ever wanted and only had herself to blame.

She had thought she was so smart, that she could keep everyone safe and handle it on her own. She’d thought that right until the moment she died. Like every other fool, she hadn’t realized what she had until she lost it. She had insisted to herself that things were as they had always been, that she had to handle them the way she always had. She knew now that it could have been different but it was too late.

The scar was a hateful reminder every day when she looked at herself in the mirror. She wished she could avoid looking at it but it pulled her attention like a black hole, taunting her with her frailty, her desire for connection thrown back in her face. He could have just as well stabbed her in the heart, the symbolism would have fit better.

Emily scowled. This wasn’t what she came here for. She just wanted to forget about herself and she knew exactly how to do that. She pulled the hand away again, this time rolling on top of the other woman, knees braced on either side of her hips. She laced their fingers together, bringing the woman’s other hand up to meet the searching one, trapping them against the pillow above her head. Emily leaned forward, her face close to the stranger’s, pupils dilated as anticipation flashed heat across her cheeks, arching her back to try to meet Emily’s body with her own.

“It doesn’t matter.”

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Soulmarks, Part 17

First part

Previous

~~~

She swung her gavel idly as she jumped from gargoyle to gargoyle.

Even if she didn’t have a grin stuck to her face, she’d be smiling so widely that Joker would be jealous.

What a productive night she had been having! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much go well for herself!

Lila would never hurt anyone again! Alya would be more cautious! Adrien and Tim would understand what it was like to have no one believe them! Joker and Harley were likely on their way! She was even on track to give Master Fu and Hawkmoth their just deserts!

And all she’d had to do was get a bit of a powerup and lose her morality!

Her eyes traveled down to the streets, where a crowd was slowly forming. A few of them were pointing up at her hostage.

She watched Bruce sway slightly in the wind. He was being careful not to move in the ropes. She didn’t know why. She’d secured him pretty well, the only way he’d fall was if someone broke the rope above him. Even then, they’d given Kaalki some bread. Tim would save him if he fell. And, if he missed, the bats were all waiting on lower towers to catch him.

Good. They couldn’t try to stop her if they weren’t closeby. Sure, it had taken holding Bruce off a ledge precariously to get them to do it, but at least she’d gotten all the bats distracted...

Well, that wasn’t completely true.

She found her soulmate, who was standing beside the stairwell with a frown on his face.

She giggled, leaning on her gavel.

“Cheer up! They’re about to get what they deserve!”

~

He sighed and closed his eyes.

He really didn’t know what to do.

Using a text-to-speech app to talk was difficult. Explaining everything that had happened to the bats had been hard enough, but even the idea of trying to have this kind of conversation with an app was enough to get him frustrated preemptively.

He had to try, though…

But how do you convince someone without morals that what they’re doing isn’t okay?

He pulled out his phone and took a seat on the ledge beside her. He was careful to stay out of view of the people below as he typed.

“Nette --.”

“Inamovibi-Lady.”

“-- they don’t deserve whatever ironic justice you’re about to give them. They deserve to spend their lives in jail like everyone else.”

The akuma shook her head slowly. “I wish it were that easy, Cheval, but they’re never going to face consequences. They keep getting out of going to jail by getting marked as insane and going to Arkham, then getting out of Arkham by letting psychiatrists find them sane. It’s happened a million times before, it’ll happen again.”

He sighed lightly. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?”

“Please, I know you’re doing this for me, but I don’t want this.”

She stepped off her gargoyle and strode over to him, leaning down until she was at eye-level. “You’re not the only reason why I have to do this. I have to think about the civilians, too. He’s a serial killer. He needs to be punished.”

Fine. Time to try the Disney approach. He didn’t know what else he could do.

He was glad he had to type to speak, now. It was difficult to look her in the eyes. But he had to. There was no way to put any inflection in his voice when he wasn’t speaking, so he needed to look completely earnest to get his point across.

“Nette, I know you’re in there. You need to fight back. What you’re doing isn’t right. You have to know that. Please, let’s just deakumatize you and go home.”

She shook her head slightly and carefully brought a hand up to cup his cheek.

“She’s in here alright, but that doesn’t mean she’s against doing this.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Are you sure about that?”

And then she pushed him.

~

She felt a twinge of… something other than anger or satisfaction as he fell. Even as she watched Barbara catch him, she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling.

It had been necessary. The moment he realized exactly what her punishment was going to be, he’d try and stop her. She couldn’t have him close enough to do so in time.

But still…

She tightened her grip on her gavel and turned away from the ledge.

Someone was in the elevator. She watched the number beside the doors slowly increase, climbing higher and higher…

Ding!

Joker and Harley stepped out.

She pointed her gavel at Harley’s hammer. “Hey, lookie! We match!”

The woman didn’t seem as amused, hefting her weapon onto her shoulder. “Aren’t you the bat’s newest kid?”

Inamovibi-Lady shrugged calmly and morphed it back into her yoyo. She’d just wanted to mess with Harley by pointing out an easy similarity, now she should at least prepare for the fight that was sure to come.

“No, that’s my friend. If he adopted me it’d be pretty problematic.”

“What do you --?” Began Joker, and then stopped and started laughing like he’d just heard the funniest joke. “I know who you are! You’re Robin’s soulmate!”

Harley’s eyes travelled to her yoyo and she joined in on the laughter. “So, that’s what this is about. Here for revenge, are you?”

“I prefer ‘justice’, but yes.” She gave a tiny, sarcastic bow. “Cliche soulmate, at your service.”

“Don’t you know that revenge is against the bat’s code? Just ask Jason Todd.”

Inamovibi-Lady didn’t know who that was, or how they were relevant, but she found she didn’t care at that exact moment. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not trying to join Batman’s little crew, don’t you think?”

“Okay. You really are new, aren’t you?” He sighed and pulled a gun from a pocket of his suit. “Since you are new, I’m only going to say this once: I’m the only one that gets to kill Batsy over there.”

She giggled and started toying with her yoyo. “Called dibs, have you?”

“They have a special bond,” said Harley with just a hint of annoyance.

Inamovibi-Lady raised her eyebrows slightly. “Sounds cute, but if you want rights to kill the bat, you’re going to have to fight me for it.”

Joker made a gesture with his hands, a ‘well, what can you do?’, and then raised his gun.

Tw: murder

She spun her yoyo in front of her idly and watched the bullets ricochet away.

Joker emptied his gun before he seemed to realize that none of his shots were hitting. Then he stared at it with confusion. “How is that possible?”

She giggled. “Who knows. Love it, though!”

He seemed to consider this for a second, then he grabbed Harley and practically threw her at Inamovibi-Lady. “Get her, poo!”

“Wow, great boyfriend you have,” the akuma joked. “Really seems like he loves you.”

Harley hefted her hammer and ran at her.

Oh, a sore spot?

She dodged a swing of the hammer and her eyes widened slightly as the ground around it exploded. Hm. That was a bigger problem than she’d thought it’d be…

Whatever.

“Honestly, though? You’re a smart lady, got a degree and everything, so… why the Joker?”

Harley swung again and Marinette had to do a back handspring to avoid having her head popped clean off. “We love each other.”

“Cute way of showing it, he has. He tossed you in chemicals.”

The hammer and yoyo connected, sending them both back a few steps.

“I mean, you’re a psychologist. The man’s got so many red flags he might as well be speaking in semaphore.”

“Shut up!” She yelled, slamming the ground in front of the akuma.

She went flying, skidding across the rooftop until she hit her head on the edge.

Harley walked towards her, mallet raised over her head for a finishing blow.

Inamovibi-Lady looked around wildly and her eyes locked on Bruce. This was meant to be something she did later, to distract the bats when she was killing Joker, but…

She hooked her yoyo around the rope holding up Bruce and pulled tight.

“NO!”

Bruce dropped.

Harley paused in front of Inamovibi-Lady, her mouth open wide in shock as she stared at where Bruce had been.

The akuma grabbed the hammer. “I’ll be taking this, thanks,” she chirped, before throwing Harley over the side. She watched her fall for a few seconds and sighed in relief when none of the bats went to save her, too distracted with getting their father to safety.

Harley splattered on the pavement.

She strapped the hammer to her back and turned on her heel.

She advanced on Joker slowly.

She knew his major weapons. He didn’t seem eager to try using another gun after the first attempt, so those were out of the question. Besides that, she could only see his acid flower. No cane, no cards…

He’d come wholly unprepared.

“Wow. You really didn’t think I was a threat at all, huh? Rude,” she said, twirling her yoyo idly.

“You killed him! You fucking killed Batman!”

Inamovibi-Lady rolled her eyes. “Please. The bat kids saved him.”

Joker looked slightly relieved, but it didn’t last long as she looped her lasso around him and pulled tight enough to start digging into his skin and clothes.

“Now, I wanted this to be long and painful, but I’m on a time crunch here, so… any last words?”

The man stared at her for a few seconds before breaking into laughter.

She would have frowned if she could. She glanced over her shoulder, half expecting a bat to be looking at her disapprovingly, but there was no one, so…

“What’s funny?”

“You. I was going for snapping your little boyfriend, but I got you instead! That’s hilarious!”

She narrowed her eyes in confusion. He got her? Snapped her? Was her translator working right? She was perfectly fine. He’d lost.

But he was still laughing. And she couldn’t stand it. His stupid, high-pitched laugh and that wide, ever-present grin and he shouldn’t be looking like that! He was finally getting what he deserved, this was payback for all those people he’d killed and tortured! Why was he amused? That wasn’t right!

She pulled tighter and tighter, but he wouldn’t stop. His acid flower malfunctioned and spilled acid over him, his bones were cracking, his blood was slowly leaking from his wounds… but he wouldn’t stop laughing. She pulled tighter. He had to stop at some point. She’d make sure of it.

And then her yoyo sliced clean through him.

He’d stopped.

Finally.

Tw over

By the time they’d gotten there, she was sitting in front of one of the craters Harley’s hammer had made. She thought it was pretty cool. Maybe she could start using it...

“Nette?” Said Dick hesitantly.

She looked up and waved. “Hi! Inamovibi-Lady. But hi!”

Barbara looked like she was going to be sick as she stared at what was left of Joker. All the bats looked a little green, actually, now that she was paying attention. Whatever, they’d thank her later, when the amount of deaths the city had per year went down.

She caught Adrien’s eyes and flashed a thumbs up.

To her surprise, he looked horrified. She’d thought that, even if the bats would have disapproved, he at least would have understood. It was for the greater good. They always worked towards the greater good. She’d done well…

Right?

She felt something drop on her and jumped slightly, only to realize it was just a coat.

She gave Tim a slight smile and mumbled her thanks. He only nodded and took a careful step back.

Inamovibi-Lady drew it tighter around herself. Had she always been shaking like this? Why was she even shaking? She should be happy. They’d gotten their justice.

Her gaze found their way to the yoyo in her lap. To the blood slowly dripping from the string...

She felt a weird pressure in her chest and brought a hand up to rest over her heart.

She’d killed people before, but that was different. They were always soldiers of akumas, she’d always be able to fix it at the end. But now everything she was doing was permanent, and she had murdered two actually sentient people. Terrible people who would have done the same to her if they were in her shoes, had even tried to do so, but people all the same.

God, what had she done?

Those people are gone.

Because of her.

She was only fourteen.

Why was this her responsibility in the first place?

Her grip tightened on her yoyo and she found Tim again.

“Master Fu’s house, please.”

~~~

Next part

Taglist

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[mimiwrites2000]

When I Was Human

a one shot

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie

Words count: 3751

* spoilers for chapter 131 and up

Summary:

The boat sailed in the middle of the ocean, trapped within blue from all directions.

On it sat two lost souls, that forgot what it was like to be human.

  Armin told Annie many tales when she was in the crystal, however, there was one story he never got to finish…

Annie asks about it, and Armin finds himself in a swirl of memories of how he was revived four years ago…

He was used to letting it out.

It was natural, as spontaneous as breathing; he would sit down and talk talk talk.

Maybe the first few minutes were awkward, but as soon as the knot in his tongue lessened, he unleashed the avalanche kept captivated in his chest. On and on he went, until all trembling thoughts were spent, his mind left with an unoccupied room, enough for a night with only a nightmare or two.

Back then, he gazed at a heap of a crystal-clear rock, a girl floating within it, trapped in a loop of stillness. In a cold basement he sat, torches fluttered and blazed, but their warmth a marginal drop in a bitterly cold ocean.

But now, he was side by side with that girl, the same one who was frozen for more than four years. Her warmth radiated off her now-lively skin, her hair teased by the ocean-salt breeze. Her eyes open, the blue in them as vibrant as he could remember.

The ship sailed into the vast blue, seagulls as their companion in this journey towards the unknown.

“Have you ever thought… that I was listening all these years?” she asked, side-eyeing him, as she embraced her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them.

“I…” he averted his eyes when they caught hers, as much as he desired to never look at anything but her ocean-blue eyes, his cheeks would betray him with a tint of red, he had no control on that, and he hated it when he loses controls, “I… I imagined things…”

“Like what?”

A shaky sigh left him, he wondered how he so easily talked to her for four years, “Sometimes… I thought it was possible that you were listening, but I didn’t let myself think too much about it.”

That was a lie; he did think a lot about it, before he slept, alone in his room, at night.

Her eyes lingered on him for a second, before she swiveled her head, watching the horizon stretching endlessly before them.

“It explains a lot…” she murmured.

Armin’s eyebrows furrowed the tiniest bit, “Explains what?”

“There were times when you stopped talking in the middle of a sentence… I used to think you lost your train of thought, or felt stupid for talking to me, but now… it explains it.”

“Oh…” 

Armin couldn't think of a retort… or maybe he did, he wanted to tell her that he himself couldn’t believe he spent hours talking to her, his own voice echoing back to one pair of ears, no response but the crackling of fire in the inflamed torches.

“I can’t believe you actually wasted hours talking to me,” she said, the corner of her lips up ticked.

Armin snorted, shaking his head.

“But… I can’t find an explanation for one thing,” Annie said, looking at Armin, “you never finished one story.”

“Oh…” He already knew what story she was talking about, “which one?”

“Bertholdt’s”

A rock dropped in Armin’s stomach, he looked away promptly. He tried to swallow, but it was as hard as swallowing his own tongue, which knotted on itself, pressing at the roof of his throat, shallowing his breathing.

“Yeah…” he choked out, giving up on settling his voice.

He didn’t blame Annie for spreading this topic on the table, out and in the open. After all, there was nothing untrue about what she said; he told her tales of when he was six, without jumping over any detail, except for this one tale, that he had a hard and a long time believing.

Armin tried many times to talk about it… but he never dared to finish it.

He tried to avoid this subject even with his closest friends; Mikasa tried countless times to make him open up, but he shut himself away, locking this one exact memory in a metal box at the far corner in his mind, it would crack open after midnights, when he would storm out his room for the closest bathroom, holding himself back from throwing up on the carpets or in the hallways.

The inevitable day of unlocking that box had come, it was no other than Annie Leonhart that had the key to its steel-hard lock.

Armin glanced at her; one look was enough to see the displeasure of bringing up this topic, but the determination of hearing out this tale until the very end.

He took in a deep, slow breath, closing his eyes, trying to decide from where to start.

“I could tell you… my own experience,” Annie said, fidgeting with the rim of her sleeve.

He watched her, and when their eyes met, he nodded once.

“In the Warrior Training Unit… after we were chosen, we are supposed to spend time with the past holders,” Armin furrowed his eyebrows, “it’s been discovered that the deeper the connection between the receiver and the giver, the more memories are transferred.”

Armin nodded, understanding, but then his eyes lit up with a question, “Wouldn’t that make it harder for you? I mean, to eat someone you know well…”

“They did that so we can use their memories to control our titans faster, would save a lot of time.”

“That’s inhumane.”

“When was anything humane? When was I ever a human? When were any of us human?” Annie clenched her fists over her knees.

“Annie-”

“I talked to her only once,” Annie interrupted, raising her hand. She shrugged her shoulders, “as expected, I didn’t see much of her memories, but I was lucky I took control over the Female Titan really quick.”

“I see…” 

“It didn’t make it easier though…”

Armin watched Annie; she didn’t meet his eyes.

Those ocean blue eyes that hid more than any soul’s endurance. An ocean with a far bottom, a limitless hole of mysteries and sorrows. He saw her tale in her eyes, a reflection to her words.

“One moment… I felt… fire…” Annie opened up her fists, mimicking the small, harmless flame of a candle, “last thing I thought was my lungs ruptured, then I woke up in my bed, with a ring on my finger. The next thing I knew, I was a warrior and I had a mission to complete.”

A beat of silence.

A shamed hand scratched Armin’s neck; he used to avoid thinking about how Annie had her powers…

He tried to stop himself from asking, but the question was out his mouth before he could stop it: “Did you gain your memories? The memories of that moment?”

He shouldn’t have asked it, he knew what it was like to have these thoughts stuck in your head, ricocheting against your skull, but you keep them all in, safe inside your shell.

“I did…” she answered, she didn’t seem bothered, or maybe she acted unbothered, “or more like… I saw her last moments… before I ate her…”

She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“Unless you wanna talk about it,” he answered it.

Annie pressed her lips, she sighed: “I saw myself, my mindless titan form, right before I closed my mouth on her…”

Armin waited patiently for her to finish her sentence.

“It’s… I don’t know how to feel about…” Annie let out an exacerbated breath, annoyed at her feeble speech, “that was the last thing she saw before she died, and that horrific thing, that horrific pain… it was me, I was the reason behind it.”

Armin scooted closer to Annie.

“You would think it gets easier after all the killing I did, but it never did… maybe it’s because…”

“Because what?”

“Because it was the last thing I did when I was a human.”

Armin shivered, hugging himself, rubbing up and down his arms. His bones trembled, because-

“I know exactly what you mean,” he confessed, and it wasn't empathetic, it wasn’t the kind of empty words people exchange for comfort, it was true and honest.

The breeze caressing their skin softly, reminding them of their surroundings, anchoring them to the present, away from the haunting past.

Annie scooted closer to him, until their thighs touched.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he whispered, very close to her ear.

She glanced at his lips, then gazed in his eyes.

Their eyes a mirror of each other, reflecting their deepest fears. A bottomless lake that was pouring out into the other’s. After all, no one knows the depth of the ocean, its shiny, glimmering surface a mere artifice of the perils it conceals.

“I…” Armin started, Annie’s attentiveness motivating him, “Eren told me what happened, and how it happened, right after I woke up.”

Armin found words flowing out his mouth; any restraint from earlier flew with the wind, and the metal, locked box in his mind was shattered open, releasing cuffed thoughts and suffocating emotions, and Annie was there to embrace these haphazard thoughts, tame them, and accept them.

“I didn’t believe Eren, at first, I didn’t want to believe him.”

Annie’s fingers were an inch away from Armin’s.

“The first thing I thought about… was commander Erwin. He died, because of me.”

Armin noticed Annie’s jaw clench; she wanted to say something, but stopped herself.

“The first few weeks were… a blur, I was seeing new things, feeling new things… the only bright side was that… all the scars on my body were gone.”

Annie smiled, a small, fleeting smile, but a smile nonetheless, it faded as fast as it showed.

Armin found himself mirroring that smile, lingering for a few longer seconds, before it faded as well…

“Something was wrong with me, back then… I didn’t understand what it was,” Armin let out a quivering breath, “I started seeing more of Bertholdt’s memories, nothing to benefit the survey corps, but… enough for me to understand the world from his perspective…”

Annie’s fingers touched Armin’s; cold and warm, meeting in the middle.

Armin glanced at Annie’s hand, before he said: “but then… that day… I saw it.”

For a moment, it was only silence. 

Annie’s hand clasped over Armin’s.

“I got the memory of that day back, the day I ate him.”

Annie rested his palm on her own, her other hand rubbing circles on his skin.

“It was different from what Eren told me; we were fighting against him, and I came up with a plan.”

The grip on his hand tightened.

“I was midair, and he let off steam, and all I saw was scorching red and orange,” the heel of his shoes dug deeper into the wooden floor, his toes curling in them.

If he was in the basement, he would’ve stopped at this point, and let the rest of the story captivated within his mind, lingering inside his head all night long until dawn broke.

But this time was different.

Annie was there, right beside him, hair dancing with the wind, skin vibrant and alive, her breath mixing with his, their fingers intertwined.

“And I was burning,” He continued, his own voice unrecognizable, distant and far, as far as the memory felt, yet so close, hovering over his skin. “My skin was aflame,” he looked at his hands, “and I couldn’t breathe, it was impossible to breathe, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t.”

He closed his eyes, took in a shaky, labored inhale: “My skin… it was numb, I was numb, I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I was dying, I thought of Eren, and the ocean, but I didn’t feel myself, I didn’t feel my body, I couldn’t feel my fingers-” he held out the hand Annie was caressing, swinging it, “I didn’t know- I was- I don’t think it was real- I-I don’t feel like it was real-”

“Armin-”

“But it was,” he hissed, his voice low and choked, back hunched, and his eyes wide open, boring into Annie’s.

Annie put their tangled hands on her lap, all the while holding Armin’s gaze.

“It’s real, it happened, I killed him.”

Bertholdt’s screams echoed inside his mind.

Armin searched in Annie’s eyes, waiting for hate and anger to ignite in them, waiting for her to get up and leave him where he was, hunched on a hopeless ship, on a hopeless mission.

But he saw nothing, only the pressure of her hand on his increasing.

His throat tightening as if an egg clogged it, he attempted to swallow: “An-and then Eren and Mikasa made c-captain” he choked, “captain Levi to use the serum on-on-on me! Annie they gave it to me!” 

Annie’s jaw clenched, she watched Armin’s eyes glistening.

“And I still don’t know how to feel about that,” he flailed his free hand around, shaking his head, “I don’t know if what I’m doing is right or wrong, but I don’t have a choice.”

Armin let out several breaths before he continued: “I can’t stop, I can’t let him down, I can’t let anyone down, but it’s not enough, it’s never enough, and I don’t know what to do.” his voice lowered and was only a whisper at the end.

He looked at their entangled hands; their knuckles white, that’s how tight they were holding each other.

Armin released his hand from Annie’s grip, put his head in his palms, and murmured: “Now I know what was wrong, I know what is wrong with me,” his hands rubbed his cheeks violently, then he froze, as if a thought just popped in his head. He swiveled his head towards Annie and muttered: “I was no longer human, I’m no longer human.”

Annie’s mouth opened and closed several times, words departed her mind, her throat dry, tongue in a knot.

Silence followed, fraught by a blend of wavering anger and long-kept-in sadness. Armin’s shoulders shaking, he gripped his knees, tightening his grasp on them, gritting his teeth together.

Annie’s hand rested on his back, slowly rubbing circles.

They were no longer humans.

Annie eyed Armin, his head tilted, eyes unfocused on an invisible spot on the ground.

They were no longer humans.

That thought didn’t occur to Annie before her mission, or perhaps it did, but she shoved it to the back of her mind, fighting and staying alive always occupying the front porch of her thoughts.

But then she was sent to the island, she met Paradis’s devils, and she questioned her life, since the day she was born.

She liked to think that she was over the ‘I’m no longer human’ dilemma, but the projection of her own life onto Armin’s, the cycle repeating itself, and these thoughts that she shoved away jostled their way in front of her eyes.

“I have two years left,” Annie found herself saying, Armin tensed, “three, if I was lucky.”

The breeze blew softly around them, Annie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, closing her eyes, Armin watched the movement of her fingers.

“You were conscious… all this time,” Armin said.

“I was…” Annie confirmed, “It felt like a long dream…”

“Why didn’t you come out?”

Annie almost snorted, “Why would I?”

“I don’t know…”

“Yes you know, you want to say that I wasted these four years of my already short life don’t you?”

“I… no… I wanted to say that… maybe we could’ve worked it out,” Armin admitted, it was only half the truth.

“That’s you, not everyone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one is as forgiving as you…” She said, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, “no one else knows what it feels like to be me, or to be you.”

“Maybe I would’ve convinced them…”

“And then what? Use me as a weapon? Fight on your side?” Annie asked, her tone harsher than she intended to.

But he only looked at her, a sad smile pulled at his lips, he chuckled: “I would’ve run away with you.”

Annie lips parted, she didn’t see that coming, and was out of words.

Armin took her hand, covered it securely with his palms, looking down at her small hand in his relatively bigger ones: “I would’ve ran away with you, we would live some place far away, live for our day.”

His fingers traced spontaneous shapes on the back of her hand, she watched him in silence.

“I wouldn’t think of tomorrow, or yesterday, there would be only today, and tonight…”

Annie looked away. That fairytale life was far from reach, she knew it, and he knew it, but was there harm in dreaming?

“Would that make us human?” he asked, looking in her eyes, leaning closer to her.

No

“Yes,” She answered.

Their foreheads rested against each other, their shuddering breaths mixing. Gazing into each other's eyes. All these words encapsulated for years poured out like an avalanche into the small space between them, all these unspoken thoughts, regrets, tracing around their blue pupils in dark hues, ensnaring them.

A part of them that would never leave them.

Adhering to them for whatever was left of their short lives.

His hand under her chin, lifting it up, his thumb brushing over her bottom lips,

She cupped his cheeks with trembling fingers and hesitant breaths, eyelids fluttering shut.

It was weird, foreign, the invisible strings that pulled her towards him, a magnetic force made her want to stay by his side for as long as she could.

He watched her face for a few moments, her cheeks, a tint of a pink hues blushing them, her closed eyelids. He shivered, and wanted her to open her eyes, he gazed at her for four years, with her eyes closed, frozen midair.

His lips were an inch away from hers.

Armin leaned in, lips touching in the middle, closed-tight, inexperienced lips placing peaks on each other, 

Warm.

Annie thought, his lips were warm, his touch soft, and warmth sheltered her body, from the tip of her toes until the tip of her ears.

He wanted this for so long, to feel her in his arms, her warmth. It would be a lie to say he didn’t dream about the feeling of her lips many times before, imagining what it would be like to press his lips over hers, over and over, soft and warm.

There she was, in his arms, her lips on his, hesitant moves, scared, indecisive.

Fire ignited right where their lips touched.

Armin pulled away, just enough to whisper: “I want to be human again.”

“Me too… me too…” She murmured against his lips, and he shivered.

Her lips, her skin, her scent, drastically different from his fantasies. Years ago, whenever she slithered into his mind, a crystal barrier engulfed his senses, cold with sharp edges, cutting through his skin.

Now, all he felt while moving his jaw against her was warmth warmth warmth.

That warmth intensified, no longer a comforting heat, but a scorching heat that awakened desires in Armin that he long put out. He shifted, not approving of his body’s reaction, uncertain of his rapid breathing, holding back his hands from trailing any further.

Annie wrapped both of her arms around his shoulders, holding him in place.

And he didn’t hold back any longer.

His hands going up and down her back, barely reaching her hips before they go up again. The kisses sloped and their lips barely touched because their movements morphed into frantic touches, striving to touch as much as they could from each other with clothes still a barrier between them.

That was when Annie pulled away, held Armin’s face in her hands, and whispered breathily: “I want to feel human,” her fingers brushed his bangs off his forehead, “just one time, I want to feel human one more time.”

Looking into her eyes, Armin’s thoughts banging in his skull, deafening his surroundings, but he knew what he wanted, he knew that for so long.

He got up, stretched his hand towards her.

With clutched hands, they sought a distance-safe cabin, private from eavesdropping ears and sneaky eyes.

With a click, the door locked, and their hands were all over each other once again, but this time with the comfort of a bed behind their bare backs, and the walls of the cabin to hide behind.

Moans and whispered words, sounds, looks and touches.

Oh how long Armin had waited to feel Annie against his own skin,, he pressed every inch of his skin into hers, sharing the warmth radiating of her body, obliterating the memory of her encapsulated in frozen crystal, in a cold basement.

She was there, beneath him, lively as a human can ever be, squirming with pleasure, letting out incoherent words, his name slipping out of her every now and then.

He wasn’t aware that he was as messy as her, her name like a mantra on his tongue, his limbs shaking and his breathing trembling.

His hands on her body delicate yet firm.

Her breath against his neck erratic yet warm.

And they were lost in time and space, only focused on each other. The walls, the bed, all fading into a blurry unremarkable fog,

They made each other human again.

And then their tears mixed, alongside silent sobs and bursts of pleasure. The heat in the room accumulating with every passing second.

Then they saw stars, their grip on each other tight tight tight as they slumped on each other, holding one another, holding onto that moment.

Breaths calming down, as Armin pulled a blanket over themselves, hiding their lack of modesty. The temperature in the room cooling down...

A distant voice in Annie’s mind whispered:

Human human human…

For the first time in years, she was alive, vulnerable under a blanket with this man who taught her what human meant and felt like…

Her thoughts drifted off, as her eyelids fluttered shut. The last thing she saw was a smile on Armin’s face, as he muttered something… she couldn’t decipher his words, but comfort washed over her body. She nuzzled her head in his chest, placing a kiss over his heartbeat, feeling her own heart pulsates warmth in her veins.

Armin watched Annie falling asleep in his arms, his own eyes fighting against closing. He found himself muttering three words he never imagined he would have the chance to say out loud to her…

 “I love you…”

 When her breaths calmed and quietened, he pulled her closer to him, kissed her head, and joined her in the still, silent sleep, a peaceful moment in their chaotic world, that was engraved in their minds for as long as they lived.

.

.

.

I hope you guys enjoyed this!!

this was a request from an anon on, and this is the first time I ever write a request uwu

I hope it was good enough!!

anyway, with manga ending... too many emotions...

but ANYWAYYYY

I'd love to write more requests, so if u have any, you can leave them in the comments or send me an ask uwu

Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated

thanks so much for reading!!

[i-like-plan-m]

the wind on another star

[On Ao3]

Lan Zhan wondered if pirates, of all things, were going to succeed where dozens of far superior fighters had tried and failed to kill him before.

The wide open void of space mocked him. Millions of escape routes within sight, and all worthless to him with a sabotaged hyperdrive and navigation system. The Hanguang-Jun was stranded in the middle of nowhere and caught in the crosshairs of a rather established band of mercenaries who doubled as pirates when they were between paid jobs.

Lan Zhan stood at the helm of his wounded starship and watched the empty escape pods drift away with so much fury he half expected them to explode.

Su She had conned his way onto Lan Zhan’s ship, hacked the navigation controls to drop them out of hyperspace and straight into the heart of a company of heavily armed mercenaries, and taken the only escape pod that he hadn’t already ejected into space.

Lan Zhan’s crew was trapped. Lan Zhan was trapped-- his ship’s weapon systems were mostly offline, brought partially back to life only by Lan Jingyi’s sheer desperation and skill. It wasn’t nearly enough to keep a dozen fighter planes and two cruisers at bay.

“Ambush,” Mianmian said tightly from beside him. “This was carefully planned, Captain.”

“What did we ever do to piss off these guys?” Lan Jingyi asked over the open comms, an edge of panic to his voice that made Lan Zhan’s mouth twist. It was his fault that his cousin was here in the first place, after all; he’d offered him a position on his ship due in part to Lan Jingyi’s skills and also to get him out of Lan Qiren’s hair. Apparently a too-clever, loud mouthed teenager trapped in the peaceful City of Clouds in Gusu had driven everyone up the wall.

He’d reminded Lan Zhan of Wei Ying-- the irrepressible character, the frequent mischief, a voice that ricocheted off of steel walls like a blaster shot. He was joy and humor and noise, a welcome change from the solemn silence aboard the Hanguang-Jun. It made him think of things loved and lost, bittersweet memories that perhaps made him more lenient with Lan Jingyi than his family would approve of.

And Lan Zhan had brought him straight into a trap, likely to be picked off by power hungry mercenaries or held as a hostage.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the control panel beeped urgently, warning him that the cruisers had locked their missiles onto the Hanguang-Jun.

So they had decided to kill him after all.

His brother would be devastated, Lan Zhan thought distantly.

“I’ve still got the sonics,” Mianmian said, strapping herself into the copilot’s seat and reaching for the weapons controls. As his security expert and weapons master, Mianmian had seen them through insurmountable odds before; she remained as cool as ever under the flashing red warning lights. “I can pick off the missiles as they come, unless they unload several at once on us.”

“Can we use them to hit first?” Lan Jingyi asked, breathing heavily as he worked in the overheated mechanical room. “No one in the galaxy can counter Lan sonic tech.”

“They’re out of range,” Mianmian said regretfully.

“They haven’t attempted to hail us?” Lan Zhan asked, staring the largest cruiser down as it loomed over them in a blatant attempt to intimidate them. He suspected there was more at play here-- cruisers like this cost serious money, and even if simple mercenary crews got their hands on one, they didn’t keep them long. But two? Lan Zhan knew a set up when he saw it.

Lan Jingyi-- their mechanic and communications officer, because he was “skilled like that”-- made a sound of disgust. “No. So much for intergalactic law, right?”

“So many for just us,” Mianmian said, scowling out the front shield. “That’s half a damn army out there.”

The Hanguang-Jun had a reputation, though. Lan Zhan and his tiny crew went where the chaos was, and recently they’d taken on a number of jobs that had required the full force of their combined skill and strategy to survive. Except they’d not only survived, they’d demolished multiple bands of the rogue mercenaries that wandered the galaxy, terrorizing the helpless colonies too small or poor to defend themselves.

Someone had been paying attention, it seemed. And they had gone so far as to plant a spy-- Su She, hired only a week ago as extra support-- to lead them to an ambush in the middle of nowhere.

No one would know of their deaths for some time; the largest cruiser had an active jammer to block any distress signals, and Lan Zhan wasn’t due for a check in with his family for weeks.

He regretted the deaths of his crew. His friends. The loss his brother and uncle would soon face. And, privately, Lan Zhan regretted that he would never find Wei Ying. The bright, brilliant boy who’d vanished entirely after the Sunshot Wars, wherein the galaxy had come together to bring down Wen Ruohan before he could harness a sun’s energy to demolish entire planets.

So much left unsaid. But Wei Ying had broken the Wen remnants out of a prison world and disappeared into the darkness between the stars. No one knew where he’d gone. If he was alive. If they’d ever see him again.

Lan Zhan, it seemed, would never find out.

“Our shields?” He asked quietly, gripping the sleek rail separating the pilots’ seats from the rest of the control room so tightly his knuckles were white.

“In tatters,” Lan Jingyi said, trying to sound brave and landing somewhere around apprehensive. “I’m doing my best, Captain, but…”

“It’s alright,” Lan Zhan said gently. “We will try the sonic cannons.”

Mianmian’s eyes flickered to him, but she kept quiet. They both knew it would only take one missed shot to destroy their ship, and they were laughably outnumbered. But the comms were open and Lan Jingyi was listening intently from the engine room, so they kept their mutual understanding nonverbal.

“Well. It’s been an honor, Captain,” she murmured, too low for the comm line to pick up.

“For me as well,” Lan Zhan said, and dropped his hands to the pilot controls. He would try to help Mianmian dodge missiles as best he could, despite the futility of the situation.

The beeping became frantic, screaming in urgency as the second cruiser locked onto them. The cockpit was dim, lit only by the flashing warning lights that cast them in hues of red.

They waited, braced for the first burst of light that would signal a dispatched missile, surrounded on all sides, caught in a killing field with no way out.

Three bright souls on the cusp of darkness, facing a death that would leave them floating adrift in the eternal expanse of space. Not so terrible an end, he supposed, for a crew of wayfarers.

Mianmian suddenly jerked in place. “What the...?”

Lan Zhan’s attention snapped to her, wondering if he’d missed the beginning of the execution. He followed her baffled gaze, and then froze at the sight of a mid-sized, battered red cruiser dropping out of hyperspace, right on top of the armada.

He knew that cruiser. Had seen it only once, when a small collection of Wen prisoners had boarded it in the midst of a fierce storm with a slender, defiant figure guarding their escape.

The Yílíng Lǎozǔ drifted casually along, drawing the attention of the armada when its heavy artillery cannons dropped into active position. Half of the mercenaries turned their starships around to face the new threat.

“Is that who I think it is?” Mianmian whispered. Lan Zhan could not answer, though the hope in her voice matched the rising sun of his own.

“Is what who you think it is? What’s happening?” Lan Jingyi asked. They didn’t answer, too focused on the Yílíng Lǎozǔ and its unhurried course through the mercenaries’ ranks. Neither took much notice when he skidded into the cockpit to join them, breathing hard with wide, fever-bright eyes.

MianMian made a noise low in her throat when one of the cruisers disengaged their missile lock and turned it onto the Yílíng Lǎozǔ. “They’re going to get blown into pieces, why aren’t they moving out of range?”

Lan Zhan didn’t even notice the moment he stood, so tense his bones felt as though they’d shatter into pieces at a single touch. Wei Ying, what are you doing?

As if in answer, the largest cruiser angled to give chase to the Yílíng Lǎozǔ-- and exploded so abruptly and violently that Lan Zhan nearly staggered back in shock. Mianmian swore in mingled fear and delight, and Lan Jingyi exclaimed similar feelings at the top of his lungs.

“They dropped mines, did you see that?” She asked, leaning forward with bright eyes. “Completely off the radar-- we didn’t get so much as a blip, and this radar’s the only damn thing that is working on this ship.”

“Wei Ying has always been inventive,” Lan Zhan said, chest tight with something huge and undefinable.

“Fucking brilliant is what he is,” Mianmian said, and then made a face. “Don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

That implied Lan Zahn was going to see him, which promptly overrode every other thought in his head and made him feel as though he’d been struck in the head with a Lan sonic cannon.

Debris from the destroyed cruiser littered the battlefield, briefly hiding the Yílíng Lǎozǔ from sight.

“They won’t fall for that trick twice,” Mianmian muttered, leaning forward. “Careful, now.”

And then, so suddenly Lan Zhan and Mianmian made twin noises of shock, the starships closest to the Hanguang-Jun exploded. He thought at first it was another trick with the mines, but--

A ripple of darkness rocketed past the nose of their ship, far too fast to track. It was utterly undetectable except for the trail of destruction it left behind. The starship moved at impossible speeds; not even the Nie’s most advanced fighters could move like that, and they were the foremost engineers in the galaxy.

It took another moment, during which starships blew up like a pre-planned chain reaction, for Lan Zhan to realize there were two of these ships-- starfighters, combat aircraft built for speed and stealth. They worked off of each other like they were a hive mind, targeting clusters of enemy ships and annihilating them with some unknown invisible weapon that pulverized the ships into fragments.

A series of explosions along the remaining cruiser nearly tore it in half. Lan Jingyi whooped as it careened wildly out of control and erupted into blinding light.

Lan Zhan’s focus, though, was drawn inexplicably to the shimmer of darkness flitting through the ranks of the armada, slipping into impossibly narrow spaces, performing acrobatics that only someone absolutely fearless would even dream of.

Wei Ying had always taken “attempt the impossible” to heart.

“Look!” Lan Jingyi exclaimed, pointing outside their windshield to a furrow in the black void of space. A third ship, this one hovering just beside the Hanguang-Jun as a clear threat-- come any closer, and you’d be decimated like the rest of the ruined armada. Lan Jingyi waved, and the ripple of black dipped low and then back into place.

“What kind of weapon is that?” Mianmian wondered, watching in awe as a single shot from one of Wei Ying’s starfighters dissolved a starship into particles.

Lan Zhan remembered Wei Ying’s theories on dark matter, and he wondered.

It did not take long for the battle to end. None of the ships even had a chance to escape, and any that tried were chased down within a few heartbeats and destroyed.

The communications system blipped as the two starfighters finished off the remaining enemies. Lan Jingyi looked at Lan Zhan in question, who nodded and waited for him to open the channel to say, “This is Lan Zhan, Captain of the Hanguang-Jun.”  

“Hello, Captain,” someone replied. A young man, by the sounds of it, and politely cheerful. “Our captain has asked me to escort you to the Yílíng Lǎozǔ, if you are amenable.”

That was almost certainly not the way Wei Ying had likely worded it. Lan Zhan found himself wanting to smile. “I am amenable,” he said. “My ship is badly damaged and in need of repair.”

“We can help with that,” the boy replied, and was then interrupted by a voice that made Lan Zhan’s stomach swoop violently.

“Lan Zhan! Are you really going to let me put my grubby hands all over your shiny ship?”

He closed his eyes, emotion swelling in his chest. “Wei Ying can put his hands on anything of mine he wishes,” he said calmly, and meant every word.

He heard a squawk, a faint crash followed by an angry beep, and then a third voice calling in concern, “Wei-gongzi!”

“I’m fine, Wen Ning,” Wei Ying said hastily. Lan Zhan eyed the small piece of debris spinning away into the void, as though it had been clipped by the wing of a starfighter, perhaps.

“Ah,” Wei Ying laughed. “Lan Zhan, I didn’t expect you to have jokes now! I’ve missed a lot, it seems.”

“I have missed more.” Too much, if Wei Ying had made advancements like this; he’d clearly discovered some secret to the universe and left the rest of them far behind.

Lan Zhan had let him slip between his fingers once before. He was tired of being left behind.

“Wen Qing is bringing the Yílíng Lǎozǔ to you,” Wei Ying said with more warmth than Lan Zhan deserved. He had, after all, let Wei Ying down all those years ago. “I’ll see you soon, Lan Zhan.”

“Soon,” Lan Zhan agreed, and let the comm line fall to silence.

Soon. He felt his heart skip a beat in anticipation. Soon he would be face to face with Wei Ying again, the boy he’d loved and lost before he truly understood the potential for what it was, too busy being offended by the concept of his own stupid infatuation.

Soon, Lan Zhan thought again, and his tiny, hopeful smile was witnessed solely by the blanket of darkness and the glittering, luminous lights of a nearby star. A secret of his own, held between him and a universe full of possibility.