#the one who’d burn the world but wouldn’t let a single flame touch her

[nateezfics]

was reminded of this hongjoong from mama 2020 (not that, i ever really forget about this), and i thought all of you should be reminded too.

[whythinktoomuch]

Tentatively stepping through the doorway, Lena was greeted by the natural wintry gleam of the Fortress of Solitude. She had only been there that one time all those months ago, but the surroundings appeared familiar enough, seemingly burned into her memories as a particularly difficult flashbulb of an experience.

Cold. Dimmed lighting. Wide open spaces that gave off the illusion of emptiness despite holding some of the most important secrets to be kept in the world.

And in the middle of it all, stood Kara Danvers, still dressed in her Super regalia, staring off into the distance like little else mattered.

“Kara.” Lena rushed forward, the clack of her heels bouncing off the polished walls in an anxious rhythm that rivaled that of her heart.

Kara looked over, blank expression slipping slightly. “Lena?” she murmured, sounding surprised, though not at all startled. “How’d you get out?”

“… Out?” Lena echoed, but Kara didn’t elaborate. Maybe the disconnect was to be expected though, and there were more important things at stake for the moment, so, “Kara, you need to come back.”

“Back.” Kara chewed on the word, tasting the implications like they weren’t quite to her liking. Then she gave a single nod. “Oh. I see.” And with that, Kara turned her back on Lena and walked right off, right into the distance that gradually converged into a yawning doorway.

--

Lena had no choice but to chase after her. “I know why you’re doing this, Kara. And you have to know that it wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

Kara didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her silence was already speaking volumes just by stretching on and on, running parallel to the seemingly never-ending hallway.

“Will you at least explain what you’re doing here?” Lena demanded, her patience eaten up by a sense of urgency that was somehow eluding Kara. Time was of the utmost importance—that much had been impressed upon her repeatedly and emphatically before she made this journey. “Look, I’m not going to leave until you talk to me.”

Mild amusement flitted over Kara’s features as she looked back at Lena. “How’d you even get here?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

Then when Kara made no move to continue their conversation, Lena sighed in exasperation, “I have my ways, okay?”

“Of course you do,” Kara said easily. “I’m just… surprised that they’d send you, of all people.”

“I volunteered to come. Well, I insisted anyway.”

Kara glanced back at her again, expression now unreadable. “We’re not even friends anymore,” she said, matter-of-fact, no malice intended or needed. “We haven’t talked for—what—six months? I guess what I’m trying to say is that, you wouldn’t have been my first pick.”

“And I’m sure the many people who were opposed to my coming here would agree,” Lena said, but Kara didn’t take the bait, falling silent once more. “Where are we going anyway? What’s down here that’s so important that you have to see it right now?”

Kara took an abrupt left turn, and the hallway opened up just as abruptly into an endless series of shut doors, all evenly spaced out along either wall. Each door was fashioned with its own nameplate, which was of little interest to Lena until she started recognizing the names. By then—trailing behind Kara, passing by doors that read James, Winn, Kal-El, and a few with lettering that could only be Kryptonian—it became all too clear why they were there.

Lena’s sense of purpose was renewed, however, when Kara walked right past a door labeled Alex without slowing. “Wait, that’s where we have to go,” she called out in realization. “We need to get to Alex, right? Right, Ka—Kara! Hey, where are you going?”

But Kara evidently wasn’t listening, her stride only cut short upon arriving at another door altogether. The door was plain and simple enough, except in that it was one of the very few without its own handle. The name Mon-El was etched into the dull gold, just barely catching in the light at eye level.

“They disappear sometimes,” Kara said. “The doorknobs, I mean. Well, the doors too, but there’s always another to replace them so… it’s hard to keep track.”

Lena tried her best to not acknowledge the predictable twinge of nausea that twisted in her stomach. “What’s in there?”

“When I could still open it, I’d just see his spaceship disappearing into the horizon.” Kara shrugged. “I’m sure there were other things too, but it’s been years.”

“… Kara, let’s get back to Alex’s door,” Lena said, clearing her throat, ridding herself of any lingering pangs of unjustified jealousy. “It still has a doorknob, so we can still get in there, right? That’s what that means?” But Kara was ignoring her. Again. “Are you even listening to me right now?”

“You say that to me a lot in here.”

And just as Lena was about to ask what the hell Kara possibly could mean by that, she noticed yet another door, just a bit farther down the hall, literally with her name on it.

“You can go in there, I think,” Kara continued, shrugging again. “There aren’t really any hard and fast rules here, but that might be the only door you can open without me.”

Lena, inevitably, took a pause.

Her door appeared more intricate the longer she studied it. The rich, glossy oak with accents of rose gold. The plumerias carved into the wood at every corner. A touch of cursive to her name, lovingly engraved across the polished nameplate. It had a delicate padlock that looked more decorative than practical, but Lena already knew that it would fall away for her, if she wanted.

Admittedly, it took a rather lengthy moment for Lena to successfully tear her eyes away from the door. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Well, there isn’t much else I can give you besides that,” Kara said, promptly moving on, venturing deeper into the hallway that only opened up to more and more hallway with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of doors.

“Kara, stop…” Lena abandoned her door to chase after Kara again. “I’m serious,” she pleaded, seizing Kara by the elbow, tugging insistently. “Let’s go through the Alex door. We can go together.”

Kara shook her head, shaking her arm when Lena refused to loosen her grip. “Let go,” she snapped, eyes briefly flashing red, and Lena unfortunately flinched away from her. Huffing hard, Kara then pivoted away, slipping through the closest door and Lena slipped in right after her before it could swing shut.

The whole world was on fire.

Proud buildings coming down in flames. Air condensed into a thick black smoke. Everyone dying around her…

Coughing, Lena was immediately forced to press her sleeve to her mouth and nose. The door was nowhere to be seen. After a more thorough survey of her surroundings, she finally noticed a slumped figure in the relative distance. It was hard to make out anything in the light of the fading red that made up the sky, but who else could it be? Lena made her way over.

Thankfully, Kara wasn’t too far. She was just sitting atop a darkened precipice, arms around her knees as she watched the world die before her.

“This…. is Krypton,” Lena said as she realized. “Kara. You can’t stay here. This can’t be healthy…”

“And you, of course, would be the resident expert on keeping healthy habits,” Kara said, and her sarcasm didn’t even need a bitter tone to land.

And that about settled it.

Lena grabbed a piece of smoldering debris—still warm, somewhat spongey, surely not fatal—and lobbed it as hard as she could at the back of Kara’s head.

The projectile bounced off harmlessly enough, but Kara slowly turned around, eyes widened. “Ow…?” She pressed a hand gingerly to the back of her head, no doubt still tender from the blow. “What are you doing? The sun isn’t yellow here!”

“None of this is even real!” Lena snapped, and to prove it, she lifted a much larger piece of debris that normally would have buckled her with its mass. When she sent that hunk of rock sailing through the air, Kara finally demonstrated some life and dove out of the way.

“What the hell, Lena?” Kara said, some frustration and thus vigor breaking through the monotony. “What are you doing here? Why did you even come?”

“I want to see what’s behind Alex’s door!” Lena threw back, just as frustrated and then some. “What is this, Kara? Behind one door, you see your home planet imploding. Behind another, you see the man you loved leaving you forever. So, what the hell could possibly be happening in the one for your sister? Whose life, by the way, is still hanging in the balance, in case you forgot.”

Kara huffed, whirling away. “That’s none of your business.”

“You made it my business by fucking off to wherever this is,” Lena said, fighting to maintain eye contact as Kara tried repeatedly to turn her back on her. “You made it my business by making me come after you! So, just do me one fucking favor, and just tell me—”

“I kill her.”

Lena fell silent, blinking, the soundtrack to her sudden hesitation coming alive in the sounds of the world burning up around her.

“I kill her in there. Over and over and over again.” Kara’s words were falling out like she couldn’t stop them, an outpouring of shame and relief rolled into one. “She dies by my hand, only to die all over again, and again, and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Lena hastily cut in. “Well, no. I don’t get it, get it, but… what do you mean you kill her? How…?”

Kara covered her face with a sharp exhale. “Lots of ways! Heat vision. Super strength. Sometimes I’m just throwing her off a building. Other times, I’m choking the life out of her with my bare….” She broke off, voice drying up. “I don’t want to go in there, okay? Stop asking me.”

“Kara, this… this is ridiculous,” Lena eventually sputtered. “Alex isn’t dead. She’s hurt bad, yeah, but how could you possibly give up on her when—”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Kara said flatly. “Because if not now, it’ll be some other time. She’ll die, and it’s going to be all my fault.”

“But what happened to her isn’t your fault.”

Kara sighed, heavily and exhausted, and suddenly she looked every bit the lonely woman who’d lost everything in a way only few people have. “Lena… Everything down here’s my fault.”

Her entire body sagged then, and she was back on the ground, curled up and watching the horizon again. So, Lena just walked over and sat next to her.

Everything was steadily plunging into darkness. There were more cracks ripping apart the earth than there were buildings, people, or even life in general. The fire climbed higher and everything was smothered in smoke, but all Lena had to do was consider taking a clean breath of air, and she could.

“What happens when it’s over?” Lena asked.

“Just starts up all over again.”

“Okay then.”

After a while, when the sky was too obscured to distinguish from the ground, Kara directed her gaze to her own feet. “… You ever think about what yours would look like?”

“My mind palace, you mean?” Lena asked, and Kara nodded. “Oh, I already know. Boxes.”

Kara exhaled a dry chuckle or two. “Boxes? That’s it?”

“Maybe some filing cabinets too. Just to keep everything organized,” Lena said, and she was mostly joking, but also not. “Boxes just always worked for me.”

“… Is there a box in there with my name on it?”

Lena blew out a breath, shakily laughing at the self-evidence of it all. “Of course there is, Kara.” Maybe even more than one, though they didn’t have to get into that now, or ever.  

“Do you want to know what happens behind your door?” Kara asked haltingly, gaze still dropped.

“Not at all. I’m sure whatever it is, I’ve imagined much worse on my own terms,” Lena said, and Kara kinda laughed again, but wouldn't disagree. “… You know what happened to Alex wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Might as well have been. Should’ve been there.”

“You can’t be everywhere at once, Kara. That can’t be expected of anyone, even Supergirl.” And when Kara gave no indication that she was listening, Lena continued with a sigh, “If Alex could be here, she’d say the same exact thing. Though I’m sure she’d include some Midvale lingo and much more swearing.”

“What’s Midvale lingo?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be above using it right now.”

Kara didn’t laugh this time, just nodded solemnly before asking, “How long have I been in here?”

“You’d been out for almost six hours when I made my way over.”

“Did Alex improve at all while I’ve been gone?”

“That’s not really a thing you can tell just by looking,” Lena said vaguely. She didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to give Kara any reason to stay behind.

But Kara looked at her like she knew exactly what Lena was trying not to say. She’d always been so good at reading Lena, or maybe Lena had always been so bad at hiding things from Kara. Either way, if only it had been vice versa, maybe they’d be on better terms now.

“I don’t want to come back just to watch her die. I’ve already done that too many times in here.”

“If she does die, you’re going to regret not being there.”

The ground underneath them started to crumble and come apart, falling in on itself, and Kara watched it happen with disinterest while Lena just watched Kara. But eventually, finally, Kara seemed to come to a real decision because she carefully took Lena’s hand in hers, and Lena let her.

“… Thank you for coming,” Kara said quietly, barely audible over the world falling apart.

“Thank you for coming back.”

They watched the last of the world collapse around them, swallowing them up in a pitch darkness.

//

Lena jerked awake with a gasp in her corner of the room, but everyone was by Kara, clamoring around her, greeting her with words of worry and such. And Lena just nodded to herself because everything was back to being how it should.

She disengaged the electrodes and pulled the wires off her head, and Brainy appeared by her bedside to help her remove the last of it.

“You were successful,” he said. “I knew you would be. You had the best chances of getting her out of that state, though 67% of the people in this room did think differently. But thank you for bringing her back.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” Lena said honestly. She glanced down at her watch out of habit, and the numbers blurred and made little sense to her weary brain, but it was time to leave. That much was obvious. “It’s late. I should get going.”

“You don’t want to talk to Kara?”

Lena looked over, and just past Nia’s shoulder, she saw Kara staring right at her. “I think she has better things to do tonight,” she said, stepping into her heels, neatly pulling her hair into a tidy bun. “Please give our hero my best, and… keep me apprised of Alex’s condition as well.”

Pausing on her way out, Lena threw back one last glance. Kara was still staring at her. Her mouth was moving and answering questions as they were offered up by the people around her, but her eyes would only meet Lena’s from across the room. Kara half-raised her hand in a subtle gesture, and Lena took the wave for what it was and turned on her heel to leave, refusing to entertain the persistent itch to look back the entire time.

[vickyvicarious]

A short late-night ficlet based off an ask sent to @captainkirkk that I saw reblogged by @muffinlance .

Now on AO3: the place you need to reach

What if Azula had been the one to burn Zuko?

.

Zuko thought - he'd thought it would be General Bujing. It made sense, that was who he'd disrespected, that was what he had done that was wrong, speaking out of turn when he should've known better -

When he said he wasn't afraid to fight, he had thought it would be against someone who had done wrong. Someone who would hurt the very people that he was supposed to protect. Someone who the Fire Lord felt it his duty to support, but - but not a person who mattered. No one who would propose such a plan could really matter.

He took a deep breath and stood, turning to face his opponent. Ready to strike them down.

And Azula smiled at him, from what suddenly seemed very far away.

"Father," Zuko said. He wanted to yank his head away, to stare at the seat of honor where Ozai sat watching, but his sister's smile was so very sharp. "Father, I thought - I don't -"

"You will fight for your honor," his father said. Azula began walking forward, each step measured and slow. "Show that you are not weaker than a mere child. Learn respect from the princess who has always shown it."

Zuko watched Azula approach, steady and smiling. Her hair pulled up and back, her hands relaxed at her sides. She was too young to fight an Agni Kai. Truthfully, Zuko was on the verge of being too young, himself - but it wasn't right for her, barely past her tenth year. It had never been done, not that he knew of.

He hadn't disrespected her. He hadn't spoken a word to her.

"Fight me, Prince Zuko," Azula said, close enough now to touch. Her smile was a poison thing. She looked happy to be here. Proud of herself.

Of course she felt proud, she was about to defeat him in front of all the world. To dishonor him, to demonstrate that the prince was not only a fool but a weakling at that, unable to match his own younger sibling. Zuko felt such a rage flare up in him suddenly, such a hatred that fire was sparking off his hands before they were even fully raised.

"I spoke with the Fire Nation's best interest at heart," he said, shifting his stance into a ready position. "I meant no disrespect!"

His voice rose to a shout against his will. His fingers were trembling. He wanted to turn, to face his father and ask openly for forgiveness. Azula shouldn't be here. She was too young, she hadn't been in the room. She would not be here unless Ozai was very angry.

Zuko had not fought his sister in years, since she had moved on to more advanced sets and a new firebending tutor more skilled than his own. Even so long ago, she had always won. Everyone in the Inner Palace knew the young princess was a prodigy, far outstripping her talentless brother.

Azula's regal smile slid wider, showed her teeth. She finally lifted her hands.

"It's alright, brother," she said. Kept her eyes locked on his: "I will teach you respect."

Zuko moved first, feeling something like a sob building in his chest. He already knew he would lose. He knew he would never win against her.

.

She didn't tire. Didn't err. Moved deadly, quick and precise and her fire bled blue through the center of his own, again and again.

Zuko did his best. He didn't hesitate, didn't falter even when his techniques were shown to be lacking, again and again and brutally still more. She knocked him to the floor each time, and then stepped back.

Waited for him to get back up, every time.

Zuko did. He was sweating hard, his muscles aching, his heart racing. Small burns dotted his torso, souvenirs of a hundred successful hits. His hair was falling into his eyes.

For her part, Azula still looked perfect. The picture of an honorable warrior. Her breathing remained steady, her eyes shining bright. She grinned at Zuko as though they were playing a game, as though Mom would be along soon and scold them for playing too rough.

Zuko's breath came harder and harder. It was so loud in the quiet of the hall. He knew he was scowling, knew he looked a mess. He knew they could all see how this would end. He knew, knew without ever looking once, that Ozai would be frowning, ashamed of his heir's shameful display.

It wasn't fair. Azula shouldn't be here. She was too young, he hadn't wronged her, she was too strong for him and Father knew that, everyone knew he couldn't defeat her -

She wouldn't have fought to enter the meeting. She wouldn't have spoken out of turn. She wouldn't ever show such a disgraceful performance as this, skidding down to her knees yet again, sobbing on a harsh breath out, shaking all over. Getting back up.

Azula knew respect. Zuko knew only that he couldn't give up.

He hated her for letting him rise every time. For never dealing the final blow. It was nothing but cruelty, but she kept smiling, she looked so so very proud -

.

This was no Agni Kai anymore.

Zuko could barely produce a single flame. He couldn't think, couldn't remember even the most basic forms. He even tried to tackle her, graceless and inelegant and no honor to anyone involved. Of course he failed.

The deathly silence of the crowd had vanished, a low murmur filling the hall instead. It wasn't proper, an Agni Kai deserved a respectful hush, but Zuko wasn't fighting an Agni Kai anymore. He didn't know what he was fighting. He only knew that he couldn't stop, couldn't give in, couldn't let himself fall and stay fallen because if he did -

If he did, Father -

He had been crying for a while now. Azula wasn't smiling anymore.

Her form was still perfect, but her face had grown pale. She didn't wait as long for him to rise from each new blow; dove back in the instant he staggered upright, hit harder each time. Her fire was so hot against his bare skin, new burns on his chest pulling with each gasping breath. He could tell she was growing frustrated. Knew she wanted him to just give up.

He didn't know if she understood why he couldn't. If his opponent had been anyone else, any other person, he would. He'd let himself slide to the floor and accept his defeat with grace. He'd still lose his honor, still fall far in the eyes of his people, but he would be seen as a prince who'd made a mistake and could learn from it. The consequences wouldn't last forever.

If he allowed his sister to defeat him like this, in front of everyone like this, with his honor on the line - if Zuko surrendered here, Ozai would never look his way again. He couldn't explain how he knew this; he'd simply understood, from the moment he saw Azula. His father had chosen this test for him, had ordered him to learn respect, and if he lost here he would lose everything.

Azula hit harder and harder and hotter, her eyes panicked now. She was so smart, had been a genius from the cradle. She'd always been better than Zuko, had always been the clever one who thought things through to their conclusions. How was it she hadn't seen the ramifications of this from the start?

Everyone knew an Agni Kai could only end in surrender or death.

Azula sent him tumbling again, rolling to a painful halt on the edge of the raised platform. Zuko gasped, choked down bile. When he lifted his head he saw the Fire Lord, seated directly across from him. His face was shadowed, beyond the reach of the torches, but he sat tall and strong.

Zuko stared into those shadows as he dragged himself to his knees once again, thought a tiny formless prayer, just please. He didn't know who he was asking, or for what.

"Azula," the Fire Lord said, voice firm and clear. "Teach him."

Zuko didn't have any time to move. She stepped in front of him, blocking his view of his father. He had no time, no strength to rise anymore regardless, could only look up at her and -

And she looked so scared -

But her fist was drawn back and burning the brightest blue. It shot forward and Zuko was too tired to dodge. He'd known all along it would end like this.

He forgot not to scream.

.

The Fire Lord pronounced that Prince Zuko had shown great dishonor during his Agni Kai. He had refused to stop fighting; his inability to acknowledge the superior strength of his opponent was a shameful display that only highlighted his own weakness. As punishment, he was banished. Only when he captured the Avatar would he regain his honor and be allowed to return home.

All agreed that Princess Azula had shown great skill and wisdom. Though only a child, she had completely outmatched her older opponent, and her future clearly held great promise. Her only error was small, hardly worth mentioning, a perfectly understandable fatigue after such a drawn-out battle: the final blow losing its distinctive blue heat, fading to a cooler orange just before it hit.

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright - Part Eleven

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: soooo um i think this may be a little tension relieving ;;;;)))

Warnings: angst, language, SMUT (18+ ONLY)

MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART ELEVEN

** Two years later, Manhattan, New York **

You scrolled down on your phone, pretending to actually be doing something, while you waited for Natasha. A group of teenagers had come into the cafe, loud, laughing, challenging each other to some stupid fight. You rolled your eyes, chewing on some gum, making sure they kept their distance with you. Who knew what those kids had touched. Ew.

Nat texted you that she was around the corner, and to keep from staying a second longer with the obnoxiously loud teens, you all but ran out the cafe. You marched down the street, spring air brushing through your hair. There was a smell between a wood fire and flowers that drafted from God knows where. The sun was high up, the afternoon in Manhattan hot. Many people walked by wearing shorts or tank tops. Summer was approaching. It brought a smile to your face.

But that smile soon faded as you walked by the newspaper outlet and caught sight of the title. 

TWO YEARS SINCE NEW YORK ATTACK

You gulped, biting on the inside of your cheek. It had already been two years since the last time you’d spoken to him? It seemed like way longer. It seemed as if you’d walked into a parallel universe. No one ever talked about him, least of all your friends and family. Least of all you. 

You shook your head, brushing away the thoughts that brought you back to all those years ago. You shook away an image of a loft, of a coffee table full of leather-bound books, of hands on your body.

“Hey!”

You looked up, Natasha standing before you in a trendy outfit that made her look like a runway model. She had huge sunglasses perched on her nose, pink bubblegum in her mouth. 

“Ready?” she asked. 

“Yeah!” you answered, trying to hide the newspapers with your body, but you saw how her chin dipped when you walked by. She would surely see the titles and tell your brother. Dammit. You’d been doing so well.

Technically, you’d been doing fine. 

Ever since the Avengers had defeated Loki and Thor had brought him back to Asgard, you’d never seen or heard of him. You’d gone to a few rounds of therapy, mostly with psychologists who dealt in soulmates, and after a few months of isolation, Bruce had let you go. It had been a relief to have your phone back, your liberties, your God damn car. 

When you’d gotten the keys to your apartment back, it had felt final. But as the last people invited to your “homecoming” celebration had dwindled out, you’d found yourself in a pit. 

Everything was muted. Yes, you still saw colors, but without the person behind those colors, you just drifted. Yes, you were happy, somewhat, but whenever you saw couples together, something in your chest burned, like a slow leaking flame. You’d never be like them. Even though you’d heard stories about people marrying someone who wasn’t their soulmate, the simple thought of having another man - except Loki - in your life sent shivers down your spine. 

“I heard they got free donuts,” Nat said, bending her head close to yours. You giggled, but there was no heart it in.

She was bringing you to a stupid singles night out. Even though she briefly skirted on the fact that you’d already found your soulmate, she said it was an opportunity “to get out there”.

Hell, maybe it would make you forget Loki, although you highly doubted.

The night went on in a sort of downward spiral. It started off really fast and funny, with music and drinks, and a lot of men fighting to come to talk to you and the hot redhead. But with every passing guy, the more they didn’t look like him, the more they said things that set your teeth on edge, the duller you felt. 

Like being emptied slowly, hand by hand, touch by touch. 

By the time Nat brought you back to your apartment, you could barely manage a smile.

You tried, once again, fixing your stupid leaking tap but decided against it and went straight to bed. Because of that stupid newspaper, you had nightmares, plagued by a dark-haired prince wearing green and gold armor. 

In the morning, you ignored the tap and went to work. When you came back, the tap wasn’t leaking and you thanked your lucky guardian because if you had to hear one more drop, you’d lose it. 

The next night, coming home after drinks with your brother, the windowpane was fixed.

You knew something was wrong when your squeaking front door slid on perfectly oiled hinges. 

Someone had been in your apartment. Multiple times. 

Stepping in your apartment that night, eight nights after the tap was “fixed”, you looked around in the darkness. The shadows seemed denser, more menacing, as if they hadn’t been standing there every night, ever. 

You looked at your tiny kitchen. Nothing seemed amiss. You checked the lock, but it locked on its own with no problem. Even better than before.

You couldn’t actually complain about your little home invader because they had fixed all the problems that were slowly driving you to the brink. But you hadn’t said a word to anybody, not even Bruce, because deep down, you knew who’d be waiting for you one night, eventually. 

The bathroom light had been changed. It used to flicker all the time, giving you the creeps while you took a shower. But now it opened wildly bright and stayed there. 

There. That was the daily change. 

You changed in the bathroom, taking a hot, quick shower, keeping the door firmly locked. You felt watched as you padded across your apartment in your jammy shorts and tank top, your hair a wet rope down your back. 

The cabinet where you kept your mugs had a faulty knob that had cut you on more than one occasion. It was polished now. 

Hands trembling, you pivoted in your kitchen, fingers white-knuckling the countertop. 

“I know it’s you,” you murmured, feeling your heart throbbing in your throat. The shadows seemed to listen. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

You apartment seemed to breathe, swallowing your words, digesting them. But nothing came back to you. You kept expecting the shadows to linger, to move, to break away, but everything remained still, quiet.

Your heart plummeted. 

You went to bed looking out the window, noticing just how clean it was for an apartment in downtown Manhattan. 

You had dreams of him, vivid dreams. You swore you could feel fingers on your cheek the next morning. 

It’s when you walked in to the scent of flowers and found a bouquet of your favorite in the kitchen that you truly lost it. It took everything in you not to pick it up and smash the glass vase against the wall. There was no note, but just the fact that now, he wasn’t being so subtle about him breaking and entering, made your heart bash wildly against your ribs. 

But you knew what he was doing. He was trying to get to you without the others knowing. He’d surely scourged the place for microphones or cameras, just like you’d done two years ago, and found none. He knew the Avengers, or anybody watching, wouldn’t know he’d been here. And just the fact that you’d told no one about the mysterious repairs in your flat meant everything for him.

You turned, flowers at your back. The shadows seemed to be smiling. They knew he was here. 

You were older now, wiser. You knew how to play his little games.

“I’m not afraid,” you said to the dark. The curtains had been drawn in the living room, you noticed, as you made your way there. He’d wanted this to be done in private. 

“I know you’re here,” you continued, inching to the windows, intent on pulling them back to shed some moonlight in your apartment. “You can... you can talk to me,” you whispered, heart heavy and harsh in your ribs. Your hands had begun to shake the closer you got to the curtains. 

When you wrenched them open, exposing the city beneath you, you could barely take your eyes off the horizon.

Because you saw it.

The flicker.

His face there and then not, your heart wrenching in your chest, causing an audible gasp from your lips to echo in the room.

You felt the heat of him at your back. “I thought you were unafraid?” he asked, his voice rumbling, something vicious seizing your insides with a hot grip. 

Something akin to a puzzle piece clicked back into place at the sound of his voice. You could breathe lighter now, see colors more vividly, hear the world around you clearly. All this time, you’d suffocated, been drowning, and now you weren’t.

“I’m not,” you answered, but neither you nor he missed the way your voice trembled.

You felt the warmth of his hand on your hip, saw the reflection of him flicker in the window as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the space beneath your ear. Fire lit everywhere on your flesh as he brought himself flush with you. 

He inhaled. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled against your skin, the sound of it vibrating in your bones. 

“Where...” you licked your lips and restarted. “Where have you been?”

His other hand braced just under your throat, long fingers seeping warmth through the fabric of your t-shirt. 

“Away,” he mumbled. He slid his hand from your hip to the sliver of skin under the hem of your t-shirt and you hummed involuntarily. His touch was like no other’s. “You’re so soft,” he mumbled. 

You tried not to forget that he’d left you there on the floor two years ago, but the way his body fit against yours made any logical thought seep from your brain.

“I’ve dreamt of you for so long,” he drawled, making it seem as if you’d been separated for an eternity. “I’ve dreamt of your eyes. Your voice. The way your body fits right onto mine.” He shifted slightly, pressing you harshly against him. “I’ve not the heart to take another woman to bed. I want it to be you.”

His words sent a strange heat dripping down into your belly, heavy and wanting. Your mouth parted, and the hand Loki had against your chest slipped up until his thumb pressed against your mouth. “How sweet of you,” you said against his thumb. 

He chuckled lowly. “I can show you sweet,” he said.

“I rather you practice restraint,” you mumbled, even though deep down, you meant none of it.

He chuckled again, shaking his head, lowering his hand back so it lay lightly around your throat. Then his chuckle turned into a groan, his force deepening. “Y/n,” but now his voice was pleading, like a man who’d been deprived of everything. “Please. I’ve thought of you all this time. Don’t push me away. Not you.”

The last part made you frown, but you nonetheless pushed from him, turning to face him. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes, his face ashen as if he hadn’t slept in a millennia. His hair was slightly longer, curling along his jaw, hiding his ears. He wore a white t-shirt and black slacks, but he was cold as you pressed your fingers against his shoulders. 

“Okay,” you whispered. You tried not to maintain eye contact because the haunted look in his green eyes made you sick. 

He bent forward slightly, grasping your face between his huge, warm hands. The first brush of his lips was soft, sending butterflies scuttling across your belly. But then he gripped your face, bringing you to him, and kissed you like he was a starving man and you were his reprieve. 

A strangled moan left his throat, his lips molding to yours, driving you backwards until your spine hit the window. One hand went to the glass to soften your fall, but he didn’t let up his rhythm. You could barely keep up anyway.

He kept kissing you so harshly, delving his tongue between your teeth, angling your head back to kiss you deeply, that every rational thought in you just went to dust. 

You gripped his back, marveling at the strong muscle, bringing him flush against you. One hand went to his hair, knotting in the raven locks, tugging until you swore you’d hurt him. But he kept kissing you, hands venturing to your hips, sliding over your ass, gripping your thighs and hauling you up. 

On instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his arousal just where you wanted him, and he spun you away from the window. How he moved with such eloquence as he devoured your mouth befuddled you, but when your ass found the countertop and Loki pressed himself between your legs, your brain fizzled. A whole jar of butterflies now flew in your belly. 

He broke from the kiss momentarily to grasp your breasts, kneading them in his hands, marveling at the sight. 

“Restraint, Loki,” you mumbled breathlessly, lips swollen. 

One of his brows furrowed, but he went right back to kiss you, holding your tits in his hands, then moving to grip your thighs with such strength it should have hurt. 

“I can’t stop,” he breathed between kisses, holding the back of your head. “I want you. I want you so fucking bad.”

You squeezed your eyes shut harshly, ignoring the red alarms in your head. Because it was him. Because it was him, always him, and now that he was here, touching you almost everywhere, his scent invading your senses, you never wanted him to go. 

He pulled your head back and kissed down your neck, over the swell of your breast, taking one nipple lightly between his teeth. A gurgled moan left your throat, Loki holding your head back, exposing everything to him. 

“No bra?” he grumbled against your skin, his tongue soothing the ache on your nipple. 

You just breathed in response, your legs clenching against his arms. 

He chuckled against your body. His left hand, the free one, slid down the length of your chest until he took one finger to lightly circle you through your pants. 

You gasped, jolting in his grasp, his mouth possessively clamping shut on your nipple. 

“Eager,” he hummed. He was so warm, smelled so fucking good, that the second time he applied pressure and circled his fingers, you all but moaned for everyone to hear. He teased you some more, licking and pleasing you all through your clothing.

Then his mouth left your hardened nipple and traveled up to your ear, where the warmth of his breath made you shiver. “If I can do this to you,” he whispered, circling your core through your pants. “Imagine how it’ll feel when I fuck you.”

His words made you want to clench your thighs together, to keep the heat and pressure there, but his body was still between your legs. He chuckled, biting your neck, hard, knowing it would leave a mark. He yanked your head forward until your eyes met his.

“I can feel just how much you want me,” he mumbled, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling. “I can smell it.”

You rocked once against his hand, eliciting a groan from him as your thigh briefly brushed him through his pants. He was hard. Wanting. The hand behind your hand squeezed until it hurt, but when he soothed his tongue against your neck, circling your clit, you lost yourself in him again. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, chanting your name like a prayer. You were almost there and you couldn’t believe it. You rocked against his hand, biting your lip, and when he saw that, he brought your mouth into a breathtaking kiss. “Cum against me,” he said through each kiss. “Cum.” It was a command. 

You squeezed your eyes, grinding against his circling hand, and when he licked your neck, you all but came apart with a moan. Loki quickly kissed you, swallowing your sounds of pleasure as he slowly, leisurely circled you through your pants. Your legs shaking, you trembled against him until his fingers stopped and he brought his forehead to yours. 

“Run away with me,” he whispered. “Let me ravage you every night, y/n, please.”

Lost in the dizzying aftermath of your orgasm, all you could do was breathe, eyes closed. You fisted one hand in his shirt, feeling his heart beating savagely under his breastbone. 

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

“No,” you said.

AAAAHHHH omg i was so shy writing that little smutty part lmaooo BUT YES MORE TO COME OOOOHHHH (you will get a whole smut scene soon, let me get used to writing smut again hihihihi)

tags:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor @winchescumberholland

[misskikuwrites]

Paper Thin

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Bederia Week 2021: Day 6 - First Sleepover

Tags: Fluff, angst, grief/mourning

Words: 6,869

-

Bede took in the mix of Gym Leaders and League Staff with a sigh. The tension that had coiled tight in his stomach all day finally loosened and left him deflated. He’d worked himself up for nothing. Gloria, the Champion of Galar, the very reason why his nerves had been alight and dancing uneasily in his chest for hours, wasn't even here.

“It’s just like her to skip out on something like this,” Bede muttered beneath his breath. She never did well in crowds, especially when the media was involved. In the late afternoon light filtering in from outside, Bede could see the reporters clambering to get closer to the windows, the doors, of Motostoke’s Gym like a flock of hungry Wingull ready to swoop on an unsuspecting victim’s lunch. The frenzy of reporters was enough to put him off, so he could hardly blame Gloria for not wanting to show up.

However…

“But missing the opening ceremony rehearsal?” Another sigh. Even for Gloria, that was a new one. “She’s the Champion, for Arceus’ sake. What sort of reputation does she think this is going to give her?”

Bede tsked. Nervous energy that had pestered him until this moment turned to frustration. At himself, for getting so worked up over seeing Gloria in the first place, and at Gloria herself for skipping the rehearsal. The air between them had been constantly shifting, leaving him confused and hopeful and wanting, yet unable to tell what, exactly, they were to each other. He’d hoped to catch her here and at least have a brief conversation with her. Even an amicable greeting would’ve sufficed. He needed something to ground himself back to reality. To remind himself that they were friends.

Merely friends. Nothing more.

Friends who’d kissed three times-

No, no, no, no, no. He was not going to think about that again.

Bede flicked a hand through his hair with a huff. Sparks crackled through his chest, making his heart flutter and his cheeks begin to burn. Enough of that, he chastised himself. Now wasn’t the time to be recalling how soft and warm her lips had felt against his, how adorable she looked when she’d accidentally kissed him when he saw her last, her eyes widening and her faint gasp piercing his heart like a blazing arrow.

And oh, how she’d melted under his touch when he’d kissed her, when she’d let him kiss her, on that bench beside the lake. How it was everything he’d wanted and more, and how she’d wanted it too-

Bede tore out of his memories with a sharp shake of his head. He had to stop doing that. Gloria had made it clear that the kiss they’d shared hadn’t meant anything, hadn’t changed anything between them, and despite the steady thrum of longing in his heart, he’d said the same.

He’d sealed his fate.

Not only that, but he vividly recalled the look on her face when he’d tried to press her as to why she’d kissed him at the Gala, when she’d explicitly told him she’d never kiss anyone she wasn’t dating. Absolute terror had flashed behind her eyes. Her voice had broken. She had broken, and pleaded with him not to ask her that. Bede had never seen her like that before. As if a single word from him would have shattered her into pieces. He’d swallowed his question, let it drop, and knew he had to tread carefully from then on. He’d pushed her too far. Taken that first kiss, and the ones that had followed - accidental or not - as a sign that the cage around Gloria’s heart was beginning to crack.

But that cage, the walls that Gloria constructed around her heart, weren’t ready to fall just yet. If they came down too soon, then so would she.

And Bede would never forgive himself for doing that to her.

No, he needed to keep himself, and his feelings for Gloria, in check. She didn’t love him. If she realised how he felt towards her, he didn’t know how she would react, but that it would certainly drive a wedge between them. Would she grow to fear him, as she feared love?

There wasn’t any point to thinking about that now, not when he needed to focus on the task at hand. The rehearsal, from the order they were to walk out, to their positions on the pitch worked out to the nearest inch, and the expected interviews following. Bede sent a sardonic glance out the window.

“They’re in for a world of disappointment when they find out their Champion decided not to show up,” He said, a part of him relishing that moment.

“They already know.”

Bede turned to Marnie with a slight frown. He hadn’t noticed she was in earshot, and for the briefest second of panic, he wondered how much of his internal struggle she had seen. Marnie’s expression was unreadable, her teal-green eyes watching him.

“Gloria never attends the rehearsal,” she said. “Wasn’t here last year either.”

Bede hadn’t noticed. At this time last year, Gloria was nothing more than the Champion, a rival to beat, an inconsequential Trainer who had the title he longed for. Her non-appearance wouldn’t have phased him in the slightest.

“I see.” Bede folded his arms and skipped his gaze elsewhere. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

Marnie’s brows knit together. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

There was a hint of something in Marnie’s tone. Surprise, confusion, disbelief, he couldn’t place it. Whatever it was, it made something twist in his gut, and that only worsened when Marnie didn’t respond immediately. As if it was something she couldn’t say.

“What is it?”

“Not sure if I should say,” Marnie eventually said, “I only heard about it ‘cause of Hop, ‘n’ even then he weren’t that keen on tellin’ me.”

She looked away, her words hanging uneasily in the air. Bede’s head spun.

“What happened? Is she okay?” He took a step towards Marnie, into her line of sight, and met the worry in her gaze. “Where’s Gloria?”

Marnie looked conflicted. “Can’t say. She’s not… well enough to be here,” she offered non-committedly, and folded her arms. “The rest you’ll hafta ask her yourself. If she’s able to talk to ya, that is.”

Bede’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Questions jumbled into knots on his tongue, his mind reeling, and before he could form a coherent sentence to try and coax more out of Marnie, a League Staff called her away, leaving him to deal with the implications of what she’d told him.

The conclusions his mind came to made him feel ill. He swallowed thickly, mouth going dry, and dug out his phone. There was only one way to put his mind at ease, only one person who could give him the answers, and reassurance, he needed. He dialed Gloria’s number and pressed the phone to his ear to drown out the thundering of his heart. Each ring seemed to ripple through his body. Seconds passed. Bede held his breath, vision going out of focus, the world blurring into a haze of colours.

A click.

“The number you have dialed is not available, please-”

Bede whirled on his heels, shoved his phone into his pocket, and made for the doors. He didn’t think, didn’t stop to respond to the calls following him as he stormed out of the Gym and hailed the nearest Sky Taxi. Reporters, League Staff, the rapidfire of cameras clicking, it was all background noise.

He shrugged everything off, slammed the Sky Taxi door shut, and told the driver to head to Postwick. He didn’t care what he looked like, fleeing the Gym part-way through rehearsal, the blood having drained from his face. He didn’t care what rumours would start, nor about the pictures that would surely circulate across the internet in a flash. He didn’t care what damage, if any, this would do to his reputation as an upstanding, conscientious Gym Leader.

Right now, it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not until he knew Gloria was safe, until he knew she was okay and confirmed that with his own eyes. The rest he would deal with later.

-

The sun had begun to set by the time Bede was met with silence at Gloria’s house. He tried her number again, receiving the same automatic message that told him her phone was off. His heart sank deeper and deeper into his churning gut and, despite knocking on the door a half-dozen times already, he rapped his knuckles firmly to the wood again, before checking the windows. All was still behind the glass. No one was home.

Where is she?

He didn’t want to think about what that meant, or to entertain any thoughts as to where else she could be. Bede marched down the path and made for Hop’s house. If she wasn’t there- He quickened his pace, leaving that thought behind. Images, memories, flooded his mind as a familiar fear gnawed away at his heart.

Peering through frosted glass, hands gripping the windowsill. Unbalanced on his toes, craning and teetering for a glimpse of the outside world. A small flame of hope flickering in his chest. Faint, growing smaller every day. The same thought playing again and again in his mind.

Where is she?

Laughter piercing the silence. His name, followed by taunts, jeers, insults. Shame washing over him, shame and something more, something darker and colder and dousing that final flicker of hope. Hands released the wood. Clenched into fists, clenched tight, nails biting into flesh. The cold burn of rage.

The words his mother left him with faded into silence.

“Be a good boy and wait for me, alright?"

He snuffed out that flame himself. The first crack of his fist against a jaw sent a ripple of agony down his arm. Then another. And another. Faster, faster, faster, a roar tearing from his throat. The pain was worth it, even when returned onto him three-fold, even when his vision swam and he tasted blood, and when that blood mingled with tears and he saw stars, he knew that this was it. This was reality.

And she was never coming back.

Bede clenched his jaw, forced the past from his mind. Cold dread filled the hollow of his chest as he recalled the fear he’d felt, how it had frozen him in place, when Gloria had left him in the Wild Area as she ran into a wildfire. The smile she’d given him, evoking memories of a face he could no longer recall. That same look. That same acceptance, forlorn yet warm.

No.

A burst of indignation flooded Bede’s veins as he rounded the stone wall by Hop’s house.

It’s not happening again.

He thumped his fist on the front door, heart in his throat.

I won’t let it happen again.

Movement inside. Bede swallowed thickly, his tongue twisting in his mouth, and couldn’t stop himself the second the door opened.

“Gloria-” her name fell from his lips as a gasp “-is Gloria here?”

Hop’s mother blinked for a moment, before recognition filled her eyes and she nodded, albeit confused.

“You’re Bede, right?” she said, pursing her lips. “One of Gloria’s friends?”

Bede straightened. Desperation had gotten the better of him, his mild a jumble of memories and fear, and he quickly collected himself so as to not repeat that mistake.

“Yes, I am,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I apologise for turning up unannounced. I’m looking for Glora.”

Hop’s mother shifted uneasily. “She’s here, but…” She looked away, glancing towards the stairs, and Bede’s stomach dropped. “Well, I suppose it’s better if you see for yourself. She’s upstairs with Hop.”

She stepped aside to let Bede in, and he nodded stiffly.

“Thank you,” he said, and made for the stairs. He took them two at a time, and when he’d reached the landing, voices met his ears. He turned towards them and threw the door open. The scene before him stole the air from his lungs.

Whatever he’d been expecting to find, it wasn’t this.

-

Gloria jolted her head up as the door to Hop’s room abruptly swung open. Bede, staring at her from the doorway with wide eyes, let out a heavy sigh. She stiffened in shock. Gloria quickly blinked to make sure no tears were left, though her red, puffy eyes were evidence enough that she’d been crying on and off all day, and managed a smile to mask her panic.

“Bede, what- what are you doing here?” she asked. Her heart clenched as tightly as her hands on her lap, threatening further tears. The breath she took shuddered. With Bede’s eyes on her, she felt vulnerable. Paper thin- no, even worse than that. As if a simple breeze, a simple word from Bede, would topple her over.

For it to be Bede who found her today, of all people, was the worst.

Bede studied her for a second, though it felt like a lifetime. As if he could see everything she was desperately trying to hide.

“You weren’t at the rehearsal,” Bede said quietly. His expression, having been one of surprise and then relief, dropped. He knew. He could see she’d been crying.

Gloria forced a sheepish laugh. Panic continued to rise like a creeping vine around her throat, and she couldn’t swallow it down. Not like this, not with him here.

“I didn’t think that’d be an issue,” she said quickly, shooting a glance at Hop. “I called ahead to let them know I wouldn’t be there.”

Hop noticed her silent cry for help, their eyes meeting briefly before he stood. “Come on, mate, there’s no reason for you to-”

“I thought-” Bede’s voice caught. Hop paused, about to usher Bede from the room. “I tried to call you,” he said, slower this time, and the unspoken hurt in his voice rippled through Gloria.

She’d worried him.

All because she was too weak to face the world.

“I… turned my phone off,” she admitted, staring into her lap. Her heart thrummed painfully. With guilt, for not saying anything to Bede, and with fear. With every second, she felt it build in her chest, pulsing like a deadly poison through her veins.

Why is he here? Why now?

Why Bede, of all people…?

Why today, of all days?

Her heart couldn’t bear it. As much as she longed to see him, as much as her heart betrayed her, grief overwhelmed it. Swallowed it. Crushed everything into dust, into pain, into fear.

“I thought something had happened to you,” Bede said. He wasn’t looking at her. “Marnie said… that you weren’t well.”

Gloria couldn’t stop herself from flinching with guilt. “I…” The words wouldn’t form. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t explain. She met Hop’s gaze again.

“Look, we appreciate you coming to check up on her,” Hop began, “but as you can see, Gloria’s fine, so…” He gestured to the door.

“I see,” Bede said flatly. He glanced from Hop to Gloria, eyes landing on her for an infinitesimal moment, not even a second, and it sent an ache through her heart. He turned his back to her, and she broke.

“Wait-”

Tears blurred her vision. Her throat burned with everything she couldn’t say. She was crumbling. Above the fear, the panic, the shame and grief, she didn’t want him to leave.

“It’s alright,” Bede said. “I understand.”

No- her heart ached. You don’t.

He moved to go.

“Hop, please-” the hitch of her voice making Bede snap his head towards her, finally seeing her tears for the first time. “Tell him,” she said. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” Hop’s question was gentle. She palmed away her tears, pressing her hands to her eyes, and tried in vain to swallow her sniffle. All she could do was nod. “Alright.”

Hop gestured towards the door again, stopping Bede mid-step from moving any closer to Gloria. Bede paused, before allowing himself to be directed from the room. The door clicked shut, leaving Gloria in silence, and when she finally let out the breath she’d been holding, her whole body shuddered with it.

-

Bede whirled to face Hop as the door shut behind them.

“What happened?” he asked point-blank, the sight of Gloria failing to fight back tears all too fresh in his mind.

Hop folded his arms uncomfortably. “Nothing happened. Not today, at least. Gloria’s fine.”

“She didn’t look fine.”

Hop took a breath and sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He ran a hand through his hair restlessly before sending a glance back to his room. “This time of year is always difficult for her.”

“Why?” Bede had a feeling he knew, but asked anyway. He dreaded the confirmation of Hop’s answer when it came.

“Today’s the anniversary of her dad’s death.”

Every fibre in Bede’s body stiffened at once. He was painfully aware of what the expression on Glora’s face meant now, when he’d burst into Hop’s room. Anything he could say fled his mind. How could he respond to that? Gloria had experienced a loss he’d never had the chance of going through himself. He knew grief, but not like that. Not in such a tangible manner.

“She can’t really be around people at the moment,” Hop continued. “Sometimes she’ll be fine, but the next second it’ll hit her again and she’ll break down. The rehearsal’s always held on this date, so…”

Bede nodded slowly as Hop’s words fell into place. It made sense. Damnable, chilling sense. And all the while, at the rehearsal, he’d been frustrated and complaining about her nonappearance, and she’d been grieving the death of her father. A heavy wave of shame crashed over him.

“She’s alright, mate,” Hop said, nudging Bede with his elbow. “This is just how she gets through it. I distract her for as long as possible, and let her cry it out when she needs to. She’ll be alright.”

“I know.”

Except he didn’t. He didn’t know what she was going through, the level of pain and grief she was feeling, something he’d never understand.

“Um…”

Bede blinked at Gloria, as she poked her head through the doorway. Their eyes met, a stab of pain needling Bede’s heart, and Gloria quickly looked away.

“Hop and I were going to head to my house to watch some movies,” she said. She opened the door fully, and stepped out into the hall. “Since you’re already here, I was wondering if you wanted to join us?”

It took a moment for Bede to gather his thoughts enough to answer. “Are you sure?”

Gloria nodded, managing a slight smile, and met his eyes again. Her tears were long gone, but a ghost of them remained in the weariness of her face and the shadows beneath her eyes. “Of course. I was… going to ask Marnie to come as well, since the rehearsal’s finished.”

Bede stiffened sheepishly. “It’s not actually over yet.”

“What?” Gloria gaped. “But you…? How come you’re here then?”

Hop struggled to cover up his smirk, muffling his laugh into a cough. “Dude, seriously?”

Bede crossed his arms as a slash of heat burned across his cheeks, having been caught out by his own honesty. He fought back a scowl as Gloria stared at him.

“I… may have left early,” Bede managed to say without his voice cracking.

“What? Why? Was that- because of me?” Realisation hit Gloria all of a sudden, making her straighten. She stole a breath and Bede could have turned to cinders on the spot.

“We’d already gone through everything once,” he said quickly. “There was no point in me sticking around any longer.”

For a split second, Bede could have sworn Gloria’s expression fell. Then she laughed, and he wondered if he’d been mistaken.

“Yeah, those things tend to drag on endlessly, don’t they?” She nodded and dug out her phone. “I’ll see if Marnie wants to ditch too. Are you… going to join us?” Gloria tilted her head at Bede. “If you don’t have anything else on, that is?”

Bede swallowed. The way she cocked her head to the side made his heart swell, and he tore his eyes from her lest he begin to blush any harder than he already was. Any more blood rushing to his face and he’d surely get dizzy.

“I may as well,” he said, shrugging. As if his mind hadn’t latched onto joining them the second she’d asked. “Since I’m already here.”

“Great!”

Gloria lit up as he used the same phrase she had, and Bede coughed to clear his throat, keenly aware of the amused expression on Hop’s face as he watched this unfold. The way Gloria was acting, upbeat and smiling, if Bede hadn’t witnessed her tears moments earlier, he wouldn’t have suspected anything. Now, however, he could see how hard she was trying to hide her pain. It was there behind her eyes, in the second her laughter faded and her smile dropped. As they headed for Gloria’s house, he spotted the moments when her attention drifted. When memories played in her mind, her eyes glazed over. She quietened. Then, as if on cue, Hop would say something, make a joke or wisecrack, throw his arm over her shoulder, and she’d snap back to reality. Her smile would return.

Her smile, her laughter, was genuine and yet forced at the same time. Her enjoyment was real, and yet overdone. When Marnie arrived, Gloria embraced her for longer than usual, her smile brighter, her voice too upbeat. All signs of the grief Gloria wanted to forget.

Marnie met Hop’s eyes, and Bede witnessed a moment of understanding pass between them, and so Marnie acted as if nothing was up. As if Gloria was always this excitable, always this bubbly. She even let Gloria drag her by her hand into the lounge to dig through their movie collection, leaving Hop and Bede to get the snacks ready.

“If I’m in charge of snacks, they’ll all be gone before the movie stars,” Gloria said with a laugh.

“I think you mean you’ll burn the house down instead,” Hop threw back. “Remember what happens when you try to make popcorn?”

Gloria’s scoff was heard loud and clear from the lounge. “That was one time!”

“And it was spectacular!”

Bede raised an eyebrow as he set the pot of popcorn kernels onto the stove, deciding not to comment on that himself.

-

It wasn’t long before they were all crammed together on the couch, crisp packets open, popcorn in hand, passing a bag of sweets between them. Gloria curled her legs beneath her, wishing she could focus on the movie and not the press of Bede’s arm against hers. The contact between them dug a cold knife into her chest, spreading ice through her veins until she went numb, an acute and burning reminder of why she wanted to stamp out her growing feelings for him. She didn’t want to feel this pain ever again.

Gloria bit back tears, biting hard on her bottom lip as she refused to let herself cry. Not now, not here, not with Bede next to her. But, as always, the memories that flashed in her mind were all too clear, all too real.

Waiting, wondering, confused, as the afternoon turned into night and her father hadn’t returned. A knock at the door. Running excitedly to answer it, finding a stranger in her father’s place. The crack of her mother’s voice. Hearing, but not understanding, what the officer was saying.

And the sound that tore from her mother’s throat. The sound of a heart breaking.

The movie turned into a blur of colours behind tears, and Gloria hurriedly blinked them away again. When the credits ran, they ordered food in, and she took that opportunity to flee to her room for a moment of silence. A moment alone. She leant against the door, hands clenched into fists, and took a shuddering breath. She would get through this. She would. Bede’s presence here hadn’t changed anything, she tried to remind herself. It was just Bede. Just a friend, just a movie, just another, ordinary day.

Except it wasn’t.

And the heavy, gnawing ache in her heart reminded her that Bede was no longer just a friend. Not to her.

Gloria sucked in a deep breath and steeled herself. She wasn’t going to give in. These feelings were hers, and she would control them. She had to. It was just another challenge for her to overcome. Another battle to win. Like any Pokemon battle, she had to calculate every move, had to size up her opponent and not back down. If she lost, she’d try again. Harder, faster, until she finally came out on top. Avoiding Bede didn’t work - she’d already tried that, and it only made the longing in her heart worse. She had to find a different strategy. She had to adapt.

Failure wasn’t an option here.

Gloria risked a glance at the alarm clock beside her bed and winced. It was that time again. Another detail she couldn’t forget, sewn into her mind, her memories, from the day her world changed. As much as she wanted it, nothing could distract her from this. From reliving it again and again every year that passed. Tears came quickly. Her legs buckled, and she sank against the door as wave after wave of grief crashed over her and left her breathless. Through clenched teeth, she sobbed. Tears escaped around the palms of her hands that she pressed firmly to her eyes, blocking the world out. Grief and pain burned in her lungs. Holding her breath, forcing it down, to silence her wails. To stifle her cries.

And she crumbled into a heap on the floor.

It hadn’t worked. The company of her friends, a great movie, all the snacks she could want, and it hadn’t worked. It never did. Grief came after her like a vice, striking the second she let her guard down. Striking through her defences. It left her weak. Vulnerable. No matter how many years had passed, it always came for her.

A gentle knock on her bedroom door made Gloria stiffen.

“Gloria? Hun?” her mother’s soft voice filtered through the door. “Can I come in? I’ve brought your food.”

Gloria couldn’t respond beneath the crush of grief.

There was silence for a few seconds, before Gloria’s mother said quietly, “It’s that time, isn’t it?”

A sob escaped. Gloria curled into herself further. Doubling over. Pain reared up the hollow of her throat, but made no sound.

“Can I come in?” her mother asked again. “You don’t have to handle this by yourself. I’m here too.”

Somehow, Gloria managed to draw an affirmative noise from her throat, and shifted enough away from the door so her mother could come inside. She held a container of take-away Kantonian food, and carefully knelt beside her daughter, placing the food to the side. Gloria’s lips wobbled, her face caked in tears, and fell into her mother’s arms with a wail. All the grief she’d been holding in, the agony she’d buried, came forth at once in a torrent of heartache. She couldn’t stop it. Even knowing her cries could be heard throughout the house, she could no longer keep it in. In the arms of her mother, she let it all out.

The pain, the grief, her fear and her weakness, how it felt like it was tearing her in two, as though her world was crumbling once again, she let it all out.

She clung to her mother and cried until she had no tears left to shed and her food went cold.

-

When Gloria emerged from her room with her mother, she hurried over to the microwave with her cold Kantonian take-away meal, and sheepishly focused on that instead of the overwhelming feeling of being watched. She knew Hop, Bede and Marnie were waiting for her, that they’d heard her cries. She cleared her throat awkwardly. It was too quiet, and the gentle humming of the microwave made the silence coming from the lounge even more obvious.

“Is everyone staying the night?” Gloria’s mother asked.

“I… I haven’t asked yet.” Gloria tried to ignore the fluttering of her heart at the idea of Bede staying the night. Usually, after she and Hop binged a few movies, they’d fall asleep on the couch or on mattresses on the floor, having talked late into the night or early morning.

“Would you two like to stay the night as well?” Gloria’s mother called to the lounge, making Gloria flush. “We have more than enough mattresses, and we’d love to have you stay.”

“Mum!”

Her mother shrugged, grinning. “It’s easier for me to just ask them now, right?”

“That’s not the point!” Gloria hissed.

“I’ll hafta check with my brother, but I’m keen,” Marnie said from the lounge.

Gloria swallowed, waiting. Her heart thumped harder in her chest, and she yanked her food from the microwave with more force than necessary.

“Of course Bede’s going to say yes,” Hop called, vaulting over the back of the couch before Bede could protest. “I’ll grab the mattresses!”

“Looks like my decision has been made for me,” Bede said and rolled his eyes, “but… as long as I’m not imposing on you, then I'll take you up on that offer.”

Gloria’s mother smiled pointedly at her. “Of course you’re not imposing on us. You’re very welcome to stay the night!”

Gloria shot a dark look at her mother, and at Hop as he passed her with two rolled up mattresses in his arms. Hop stuck his tongue out at her in return. Soon enough, the mattresses were spread out on the floor, a bundle of blankets and pillows strewn across them, and the movie-binging resumed. No one mentioned Gloria’s prior absence. Everything carried on as if nothing had happened, and she silently thanked her friends for that. The heavy ache in her heart settled into its place once again, like a raging beast having exhausted itself, and finally calmed. It remained inside her, tempered for now. A pain she doubted she’d ever be free from. At least, at this moment, she felt at ease. She felt safe.

Grief remained in her memories, slowly retreating from the marrow of her bones, and as she curled up on the couch again, her friends by her side, Gloria smiled. As the night wore on, conversation took over the movies. The TV continued playing without an audience. Even as hours passed and they had to stifle their yawns, no one suggested going to sleep. Topics jumped from one to another, from Hop’s research to the upcoming League Challenge, and how they’d have less time to catch up once it began. At some point, Marnie moved to one of the mattresses on the floor. Hop sprawled across the now-free space, and was the first to fall asleep. Gloria clicked the TV off, plunging them into darkness.

“Oh, wow, that’s dark,” Gloria laughed. Their only source of light had been the TV once Gloria’s mother went to bed and switched off the lights in the rest of the house. “Do you guys want me to turn a light on?”

“Nah, ‘m good,” came from Marnie, somewhere on the floor. She sounded muffled, as if speaking through a pillow, and Gloria wondered if she was close to falling asleep.

“I haven’t stayed up this late in ages,” Gloria said. She toned her voice down to a near-whisper. “It always makes me feel like a kid again. There’s something special about staying up past midnight.”

“It’s not something I do regularly, I’ll admit.” Bede’s voice sounded louder and closer than Gloria had expected, and she stopped herself from jumping in shock. In the darkness, she couldn’t tell where he was. It made her heart skip, her pulse scattering.

She laughed, trying to hide her nerves. “Hop and I used to stay up late all the time when we were younger,” she said quickly, keenly aware of the warmth of Bede’s arm against hers, trying to keep the conversation flowing to distract herself. He hadn’t moved, but somehow, he felt closer. “Sometimes, we’d sneak out at night and find a paddock to stargaze in. We learnt very quickly to bring a blanket or two, the first night we almost froze to death!”

“That definitely sounds like something you would do,” Bede said.

She heard the smile in his voice, and was suddenly glad that he couldn’t see her as she flushed. Affronted by her own reaction to the sound of Bede’s voice, she curled up tighter on the couch in defiance. Her insides bubbled and crawled at the same time. Enjoying yet despising the feeling. The contrasting emotions swirling within her fought against each other for dominance in her mind, and it left her drained and sapped of energy. She didn’t know whether to relish or fear the way Bede managed to tug on her heart.

“Have you ever stayed up all night?” Gloria asked. She needed to fill the silence, to stop her mind, and heart, from wandering. All was quiet from the mattress on the floor, and she couldn’t tell if Marnie had fallen asleep, or was just listening.

“A few times,” Bede admitted. “Mostly after I’d just taken over the Fairy Gym. I’d work late into the night and before I’d realised it, the sun was rising.”

Gloria snorted. “You workaholic.”

“That’s rich, coming from a slugabed.” Amusement softened his voice.

“Says you! At least I don’t have grey hair!”

“It’s platinum-blond.”

Gloria suppressed a laugh. “Sure it is. That’s why you fit right in at the Fairy Gym.”

“I’m wise beyond my years, something you could learn from.”

“And go grey before my twenties? No thanks!”

“Who’s fault would that be, I wonder?” Bede said, his tone light. “I believe the greatest stressor in my life would be you at the moment. Haen’t you already taken the blame for that?”

“You’ll go grey and no one would even notice!” Gloria snickered. “How sad!”

“I’d rather overwork than put a Snorlax to shame. Or was it a rock?”

Gloria gave him a shove with her elbow. “A girl needs her beauty sleep!”

“Then I’m not sure you’re sleeping enough for that-”

“Hey!” Gloria scoffed.

Bede’s stifled laugh set her heart skittering away in her chest. “I had to, that was too good to pass up.”

Gloria pouted even though Bede couldn’t see her in the dark, her cheeks flushed hard enough to burn. His teasing always had this effect on her, stirring her blood and stealing the air from her lungs, leaving her mind blank.

“If I had one of those pillows, I’d throw it at you,” Gloria huffed.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“You’d better believe it’s a threat!”

“Wow, Gloria,” Bede feigned disbelief, mirth coating his words, “I never knew you could be so violent.”

“Just you wait until I get my hands on a pillow.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Gloria narrowed her eyes towards Bede’s voice.

“Unless you’re too scared to lose…”

The insinuation, the challenge, in his words made Gloria bristle. “Oh, that’s it!” Instead of fumbling in the dark for a pillow, she yanked the couch cushion out from behind her and thwacked Bede with it. She got a satisfying, and muffled, gasp of shock from him, right before the cushion was snatched from her hands.

“Hey-”

A cushion to her face cut Gloria off. She swallowed her grumble, and wrenched out the cushion from behind Hop, using it as a shield before swinging it blindly at Bede. Hop made an incoherent noise that was lost under Gloria’s squawk as she struggled to keep her cushion out of Bede’s hands.

“That’s cheating!”

“There are no rules in pillow fights,” Bede said, before a loud thump followed, and his grip on Gloria’s cushion slackened. She tugged it back, barely making out a second figure in the dark.

“Marnie?!”

“I got your back!”

“Now that’s-” Bede was cut off by another thump “-definitely cheating!”

Gloria bit back her laugh. “There are no rules in pillow fights!” She lifted her cushion to swing again, and it was snatched from her. “What-?”

“Ha! Sneak attack!” Hop cried, smacking Gloria in the back with her cushion.

“It’s not a sneak attack if you announce it!” Gloria huffed at him. “Now give that back!”

“Never!”

Gloria raised her arms in time to block Hop’s blow, but the impact shoved her backwards enough for her to topple onto Bede. A split second later, a pillow whacked her in the face. Her cry was muffled by the pillow, and another blow came before she could right herself or pull herself off of Bede. He stiffened against her, a sharp gasp escaping him in the midst of the chaos.

“Wait-” A cushion thumped into her as she scrambled to protest. “Let me get up-!”

In the dark, she couldn’t tell how, exactly, she was positioned on top of Bede, except that his legs were definitely beneath her back. She tried and failed to push herself up in between blows, her hands fumbling to find purchase on something that wasn’t Bede’s thighs.

“Hop!” Gloria hissed. She tried to swat away his next blow and ended up hitting Bede’s face instead. “Sorry!”

With nothing left to lose, and receiving blows from multiple directions, Gloria struck out with her foot. Hop groaned, and she took her chance. Pushing up off Bede, she snatched back her cushion from Hop, and smacked him in the face with it.

“Low blow!” Hop wheezed. “Against the rules!”

“There are no rules in pillow fights!” Gloria, Marnie and Bede echoed each other.

“Alright, alright, alright!” he said hurriedly. “Truce! I’m calling a truce!”

A light clicked on, blinding them all and making Gloria wince.

“I was wondering what was going on in here,” Gloria’s mother said, staring at them by the lightswitch, dressed in pyjamas. “This looks like an unsanctioned pillow fight to me.”

“Oops.” Gloria grinned sheepishly, slowly lowering her cushion.

“Gloria started it!” Hop said quickly.

“Hey!”

Gloria’s mother shook her head, though a smile remained on her face. “I’m glad you’re all having fun, but you do realise what the time is, don’t you? I thought you’d at least try to get a few good hours of sleep.”

“I apologise for disturbing your sleep,” Bede said. Any amusement that might’ve been present on his face drained away and he slid the cushion in his arms back into place on the couch. “I wasn’t aware of how loud we were being.”

Marnie shrunk, holding her pillow to her chest.

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” Gloria’s mother said. “With Gloria and Hop, I’m well and truly used to disturbances like these.”

“Sorry, mum!” Gloria chimed. Despite taking multiple blows from cushions and pillows alike, she felt lighter. As if a weight had eased off her chest. When they settled into the darkness once more, cushions back in place on the couch, the slow pull of fatigue descended over Gloria, and the weight returned. All too quickly, the moment of laughter they’d had vanished from her mind.

Silence, and darkness, took hold. The night wasn’t over just yet. Not willing to give in to grief so easily, Gloria tried to fight it again. She led the conversation, keeping everyone talking until Hop’s steady breathing came from her left, and soon Marnie stopped replying. Gloria’s heart sank, threatening to drag her back into memories, into pain. She shifted to keep her mind occupied, and accidentally bumped the side of her head against Bede’s shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry,” Gloria said, shuffling away from him. She curled up into a more comfortable position with her back to Hop, and nestled into the couch cushions. Her eyes drifted shut as she tried to block out the hollow ache building in her chest.

Bede’s voice gently floated out of the darkness. “How are you feeling?”

She didn’t know how to answer that.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he continued. “Just… know that we’re here for you. I’m sure Marnie would agree with me when I say that you can rely on us too. If, for whatever reason, you can’t lean on Hop, you can always come to us.”

Gloria pressed her lips together to stop them trembling. Her throat tightened. Heat washed over her eyes. She wished to say something, to reply to Bede with more than just silence, but nothing came out. Instead, she reached for him. Fumbled in the dark for his arm, giving it the slightest squeeze, and without thinking, Gloria leant towards him and pressed her brow to his shoulder. Her heart clenched as Bede rested his hand over hers. She began to shake, to buckle, to break. Warmth enveloped her, an arm looped around her back to hold her close. In the silence, no words were needed. As Gloria shook, as her tears came without a sound, as she held Bede’s hand so tightly she feared hurting him, they remained together.

And finally, after what seemed like endless tears, endless hours, the night gave way to dawn.

It was over.

[arhvste]

KUROO TETSURŌ - PERMANENT PLAN

➵ summary : ‘love’ a word with multiple meanings, given and taken in different forms and an untouched territory you’d always been frightened of. everyone’s temporary, so you didn’t need to know what love is anyway, but kuroo insists that he’s anything but momentary to you.

➵ genre : x reader - angst , fluff

➵ an : this was just a drabble that eventually became a fic, it’s something i’ve been playing around with in my drafts for a while but this was my personal perception of the world before someone showed me that the worlds a lot nicer when you see the glass half full rather than half empty and there are people who want you to be part of their permanent plan

➵ inspo : sincerity is scary - the 1975 - american money - BØRNS

Love.

The word the world seemed to revolve around. Such a trivial thing to you.

How could one rely on a single emotion so much? How could people find motivation to seek out a feeling that’s just meant to find you naturally and in it’s own time.

In a world with countless people, how could you be so sure you’d found ‘the one’? Surely there was always going to be someone who’d be a better match for you somewhere else.

How bothersome.

You’d watched friends insist they’d found their ‘one’ only for that to have been a lie a handful of months later when you’d get calls from them sobbing on the other end of the line.

Love seemed like an indescribable feeling to you. You were certain you’d never experienced it past family bonds and somewhat platonic bonds, but that was as far as your knowledge on the subject reached.

You were frightened of the feeling in all honesty. Untouched territory you’d refused and continually refuse to enter.

From the outside, love seemed like a good look to wear. People you knew insisted it was the best feeling in the world to become fond of a special someone, to experience all the clichè scenarios one could only read about in books. You had to admit, some of your friends wore it well. You saw a brighter side to them while they embraced the thrill of what they claimed was love. The world seemed a little more pleasant in their eyes during the time period they were going through the phases of these unexplored but seemingly exciting emotions.

That all came crashing down in a matter of time though. You’d seen it over and over again. The once praised and celebrated feeling suddenly unbelieved in and torn apart to shreds. The world dimmed a little darker than it was before and tears clouded visions.

The feeling of love then became distasteful to you. Not wanting to ever go through the shattering heart break you’d seen so many go through, you swore off long-term connections with the same people. Everyone had a time limit and in your head that was the safest option.

The plan you’d kept in action over the years was simple. Keep people at arms reach for a while and gradually let them slip off by themselves. Everyone was replaceable and everyone was temporary. The world moved on and so could you.

Over the years, your mindset slowly set in and people would come and go. Some would linger a little longer than other who’d sometimes disappear as quickly as they apperead. You didn’t mind though. That was what you wanted anyway. It was for the best.

Of course, the world will always throw a spanner in your personal works and this particular spanner the world had tossed your way came in the form of Kuroo Tetsurō, your neighbour and close enough friend of 3 years now.

Kuroo was someone who had been around longer than you seemed to keep others. He never questioned it, noticing signals that you weren’t the type to touch on emotions and feelings out loud, he let you get on with your life and was content with being kept just at arms reach to you.

For now he was anyway.

You didn’t go out of your way to talk to many people and people who you had previously called friends that now scrambled for meaningless small talk with you if you were unfortunate enough to run into them. The feeling of awkwardness wasn’t a personal favourite of yours, you often opted to stay close to Kuroo to avoid having to deal with forced conversations elsewhere.

You weren’t quite sure what it was about Kuroo that kept him in your life for a longer limit than others. Maybe he was a little more persistent than others. Or maybe he felt the need to stay on good terms with you since the two of you were neighbours and you’d already been introduced to his grandparents and father. There were various reasons you assumed were the conclusion as to why Kuroo hadn’t let you slip from his grip just yet, but you were always prepared for it to happen eventually after all, everyone is temporary and Kuroo Tetsurō was no exception.

Fridays were the days most people you knew would go out and let go of the stress pent up over the week just gone. To you, Fridays were a routine. You’d go to Kuroo’s house for dinner with his family and then yourself and Kuroo would head out to a field closeby and lay down a chequered blue and red blanket behind the hill that blocked out the city lights from the view over the farmland and talk for hours on end under the stars.

The scenario itself could be seen as romantic perhaps, but to you, it was nothing more than de-stressing with a friend. You had a right to let out all the built up frustration the same way everyone else did, you just did it in a different way.

Today was a Friday and you were glad. Glad you’d have two days off from cramming pieces of information you were almost certain you’d forget and never need to use again after exams. Glad you didn’t have to watch one of your friends whine about her ex boyfriend's new girlfriend. Glad you were going to be able to voice out these silenced thoughts that had formed and bothered you all week and receive no judgement for it.

“Ready?”

Kuroo was leaning against your locker like he would everyday when you’d walk home together.

“Yeah.” You hummed as he took his place beside you as the two of you strolled back to your neighbourhood.

Conversations on the walk back home always consisted of Kuroo telling you about training. Various stories about members on his team were retold to you and he’d always make sure to tell you every detail. You’d always listen and give input when he asked or given clear signs of implication he wanted it. That was something you liked about Kuroo.

You were transparent enough with each other.

Both of you were able to read the others behaviour well and knew what the other wanted. Kuroo was able to read you emotionally well and you hadn’t even realised it until this year. He always respected your feelings and situations regarding other people. He never once questioned your morals or ties with others and left you to your own devices. Sometimes, he’d test the waters a little and try to see if he could perhaps get something out of you.

Any sign that you would open up to him a little more, let him in a little more, anything he could get a grasp of. He’d always stop when he knew he had gotten as close as he could get to you. He never tried to pry the doors of your life open but instead waited patiently outside the door and would wait for it to slowly creak open every so often but still never taking it upon himself to increase the gap in the door when a crack was opened and letting himself in.

You appreciated that about him.

A part of you wished you could open the door a little more for him, but Kuroo Tetsurō was not an exception to your life and you’ve had to remind yourself of that a little more often in the recent days.

By the time you’d reached the Kuroo residence, he’d told you an amusing story regarding his best friend Kenma and teammate Lev who you knew was a first year. According to Kuroo, Kenma had been given the task to help Lev out a little more in training much to his demise. You found the story ironic given that Kenma had been unenthusiastic about the sport until recently he seemed to be a little more willingly involved.

You had assumed this was because the National Spring Tournament was approaching fast and this would be Kuroo’s last chance as a highschooler to attend and go far in the competition. To you it looked like Kenma was preparing to move on ready to acknowledge that Kuroo wouldn’t be competing alongside him next year. He wanted to make Kuroo’s last year worth it and even though Kenma hadn’t admitted it out loud, you knew enough about both his and Kuroo’s friendship to know that it ran deep and unspoken promises were constantly fulfilled in their tight bond. They had the type of bond you had previously wished to contain with someone a few years back but that desire was nowhere near as present these days.

Still, that didn’t mean the burning yearn had completely been extinguished yet. A small flickering flame was still alive deep inside of you, you just refused to ignite it further.

“Yeah, Kenma wasn’t thrilled with the new responsibility he’s been given but he’s still doing it and I know he’ll actually try to help Lev in his own way.”

“I’m sure he will Tetsurō.”

At this point, Kuroo was unlocking his front door as he concluded his story. A few more seconds of his messing with his keys and the door opened. He pulled the silver key out and stepped out the way to let you in first, bowing slightly as he did so.

“God you’re so pretentious.” You hummed as he snickered behind you and closed the door once the two of you had stopped inside and been welcomed by the smell of cooking food.

“Tetsu, Y/N! Is that you two?” a shrill but somewhat soft voice rung from the kitchen.

“No, it’s some thieves who are about to ransack your house!” Kuroo teasingly called back as his grandmother scoffed at him emerging from the kitchen doorway.

“Well, aren’t you just the stand up comedian today.”

You laughed and smiled at his grandmother whose face brightened as she caught sight of your face.

“Ah, Y/N! How was your day my dear? I’ve made you your favourite tonight so I hope you’re hungry.”

The older woman approached you as you nodded and smiled.

“I’m always hungry when it comes to your cooking.”

“Flattery will get you anywhere Y/N.”

“It’s not flattery, it's genuine.” you shot back at the older woman who only chuckled and wandered back to the kitchen.

“Didn’t know you knew what the word ‘genuine’ meant.” Kuroo casually said as if he hadn’t just exposed something so raw about you.

“What’s that meant to mean?” you quickly replied, irritation filling your senses.

Kuroo saw this and immediately surrendered. He’d already gotten too close to the line and you hadn’t even sat down for dinner yet.

“Nothing, nothing, just ignore me.” His tone stitched with the thinnest threads of guilt.

You frowned at him slightly but let it go. There was no point in getting so easily worked up especially when you knew the boy meant no malicious harm.

“Come on, let’s go up to my room for a bit, dinner won’t be ready for another 15 minutes I’m going to assume.”

You nodded and grabbed your bag to bring up to Kuroo’s room.

You liked Kuroo’s room, it was very; him.

It was clean but a small clutter of papers and books were piled and scattered along his desk. It amused you that his work area seemed to be the only chaotic section in his room. He was academically organised but his desk would tell you another story. That was just his work process you supposed, so you never brought it up to him. A bed with plain white sheets dominated the most space in his room and a stuffed dog sat at the centre of two pillows.

When you had entered Kuroo’s room for the first time a few years back, he immediately insisted that the stuffed toy was a childhood gift he’d grown attached to and he simply couldn’t throw it away. You smiled thinking about the sentimental side Kuroo carried and didn’t seem to mind expressing. He was very family orientated and liked things with meaning behind them. His stuffed dog ‘Chow’ (Kuroo had told you the toy’s name was a reference to his favourite childhood film ‘Cars’ as he would often repeat the iconic phrase “Kachow” when he was younger although the cogs in his brain were a little smaller back then, only being able to pick out the “chow” part of the catchphrase.), lived in the exact same spot at the top of the bed and between two pillows and Kuroo never failed to leave him there after making his bed every morning.

It was the little details like this that made Kuroo a little more interesting to you. Perhaps that was one of the reasons you didn’t mind him enduring his time with you a little longer than you usually allowed others to. He didn’t mind sharing little facts with you and was always open for you to read. He never went out of his way to hide things from you and always made sure the two of you were on the same page.

You placed your bag down on the floor, left side of his bedroom door as you always did and sat down on the bed. The mattress dipped as Kuroo’s weight followed after yours. He leaned over and grabbed his TV remote from his bedside table and switched it on to scroll through the various saved programmes the two of you would watch together. It was an unspoken rule that Kuroo wasn’t allowed to watch certain series or documentaries without you and he followed this rule obediently even though neither of you had voiced it out.

Instinctively, Kuroo selected the series the two of you were currently watching together. ‘Your Lie in April’ seemed like a good choice at first but Kuroo soon found that it was a lot more emotional than you had first anticipated. You usually kept your emotions in check and hardly let them show past brief happiness. Kuroo would observe that you always just seemed content. Not particularly happy but not sad either. You just seemed to ease your way through life and take each day as it comes. ‘Your Lie in April’ seemed to bring out a soft twinkle in your eye as particular scenes triggered something within you. A few days ago, you had told Kuroo the series was boring and you wanted to watch something else, he wouldn’t allow that though. He told you that you had started it so now you had to finish it regardless whether it was good or not. He liked to finish something properly and you had no choice but to understand that. His real intention was to see that unusual twinkle in your eyes a little more often. He hadn’t figured out quite what it was or what it meant yet but something seemed to be trying to break out, you just wouldn’t let it. He knew you had inner emotions, but when he’d been deprived from seeing them by you, he was desperate to witness any emotion that wasn’t your usually appeased aura.

“Tetsu, I told you this is boring!” you whined as the two of you sit back and let the intro play.

“And I told you we have to finish it! I want to know if Kosei and Kaori ever perform together!”

“You’re such a sap ew.”

Kuroo laughed and poked your side as the episode finally began to play. The two of you sat in silence as you focused on the screen. Kuroo would have to admit his attention was a little more on you than the TV but he couldn’t help it. The flicker in your eyes was back and Kuroo noticed that it would reappear in the more emotional scenes with the main protagonist. Maybe you related to the main character. He seemed pretty content with just getting on with his own life. He didn’t seem particularly happy or sad either until the girl, Kaori came into his life.

Kuroo liked to think he was your Kaori; without the dying part of course. He could only hope that he brought a little more light into your life even though you seemed to prefer the dim brightness. It didn’t matter to him though, he was just grateful you’d kept him around for as long as you had. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you had a tendacy to let people drift in and out of your life, not letting them stay long enough to make an impact. He was certain he had some sort of impact on you though. After all, you had been coming over to his house every Friday for 2 years now and you never once cancelled or complained.

He was sure that this tradition had been engraved into your life and he had made some sort of change to your routine. He didn’t need affirmation from you, he knew he had you somewhat hooked onto him the same way he had hooked onto you. Neither of you spoke about it though. The unspoken and lingering feeling of relying on each other was definitely present but neither you or Kuroo seemed to approach it head on and confront it.

That was okay though. As long as he knew that you could rely on him to at least keep you at the surface rather than letting you fall and drown into an empty pit you seemed to have been digging for yourself, he was okay with that.

After around 20 minutes, the two of you were called down to dinner. Kuroo paused the episode and switched the TV off before waiting for you to shuffle off the bed. The two of you headed downstairs to the dining room, elbows bumping into each other, Kuroo had a soft smile on his face as you playfully nudged each other down the stairs.

Kuroo’s grandparents were already sitting down and Kuroo’s father was just walking in at the same time. You smiled at his father and thanked him for having you, to which he only laughed.

“You don’t need to keep thanking me Y/N, you’re practically family now!”

Family huh?

While Kuroo’s father probably didn’t mean to stir inner conflict in you, he did. The statement sent waves through your system as you tried not to overthink it. Did they really see you as family? How were they going to feel when you’d eventually disintegrate from their daily lives? Would they be mad at you or would they not care?

It didn’t matter anyway. The same way everyone was replaceable to you, you were replaceable to them. You were certain Kuroo would eventually forget about you too, maybe even find someone better to spend his time with and give his undivided attention to. The feeling of rejection stung ever so slightly but it confused you at the same time. The whole reason you kept people at a distance from you was because you never wanted to feel the effects of rejection. So why was it starting to hurt now? You weren’t romantically involved with Kuroo and nor had you snuck out of his life just yet. He hadn’t replaced you and hadn’t given you any implications on doing so ever. So why was the feared feeling beginning to surface?

You did your best to shove down your growing concern throughout your meal. Talking and laughing with Kuroo and his family whilst you ate. Everything seemed okay and you thought you were doing a good job of compressing the unwanted affects your thoughts were giving you. Things went smoothly and you seemed normal on the exterior but Kuroo was a perceptive person and could tell throughout the whole meal that you were in battle with yourself. He kept quiet for the time being though and let you keep up your act a little longer. He’d confront you about it later when there were no other distractions or ears other than his for your voice to reach.

You thanked Kuroo’s grandmother for the meal and helped clean up the table and kitchen as you usually would. Kuroo’s grandmother would wash the dishes while you and Kuroo would dry them and put them away. He’d reach the shelves your smaller form couldn’t reach. “Teamwork makes the dreamwork!” He’d declare every week resulting in your eyes to roll and a sigh to leave your lips. “This is hardly teamwork, I can do it myself.”

Kuroo smirked and shook his head. “With the assistance of a chair perhaps but why go to those lengths when you’ve got a perfectly strong, tall and capable man here to do it for you instead?”

Kuroo’s grandmother would snort and make a witty comment back to Kuroo teasing him for his perception of himself and Kuroo would find himself with no reply as he had got his own wit from his grandmother and there was no answering back when it came to her.

20 minutes of cleaning would always go by fast and the kitchen would be back to it’s homely but immaculate state as the three of you worked efficiently.

“The blankets under the stairs in the cabinet, I washed it a few days ago so it should be clean.”

You thanked the older woman and Kuroo pressed a soft kiss to her cheek in appreciation. You snickered and teased Kuroo for being a Grandma’s boy but he’d only shrug and ask if you could blame him. You couldn’t in all honesty. His grandmother had been close to him and she always gave Kuroo the support and tenderness his actual mother couldn’t. She was a perfect substitute and Kuroo would probably claim that he was raised in the best way possible even if his family wasn’t exactly the typical cookie cutter family dynamic that others had.

You’d have to agree with him as you saw no faults in their family. His family figures had in fact done a good job of raising Kuroo right and they had every right to be proud of him and the way he’d turned out. You even felt a sense of pride when you thought about him. You’d never voice it though, never admitting to growing somewhat attached to the boy you’d never allow yourself to acknowledge it. You were not to keep anyone closer than arms length to you and Kuroo Tetsurō was no exception.

You and Kuroo padded up the stairs to his room where he tossed an oversized jumper in your direction. Your blazer wouldn’t suffice as protection from the cold and it was a pain to carry a coat to school as the days were warm, it was only in the evenings the temperature decreased.

He shrugged one of his own jumpers on as you followed suit. The slightly frayed ends reached past your fingertips as you brought them close to your face. It was clear this time, Kuroo had lent you a jumper he had shown a little extra love to. He must’ve worn this one more than the others and the strong natural and comforting smell of him lingering in the threads of the fabric only proved your hypothesis further.

Kuroo made his way over to you and took your sleeves into his hands and he rolled them up a little. Just enough for your fingers to peak out so you could use your hands without excessive material getting in the way. The small gesture was another thing Kuroo never failed to complete every week either. He’d always make sure your fingers peaked out his hoodies at least a little to prevent you from losing grip onto anything. He also liked the way your warm fingers would brush up against his as the two of you would walk next to each other. It was almost like your hands were teasing him to hold them. He’d thought about taking your hands and intertwining your fingers together as you’d walk over behind his house and into the field where you’d always sit in the same spot and just talk about anything and everything that came to mind. He had restraint himself from doing so however. He wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with that and the last thing Kuroo wanted to do was drive you away or worse yet, have you cast him out further than you already kept him. For now, he’d just have to put up with you unintentionally testing his patience.

You had been walking, soft hums of passing vehicles in the background as the city lived on through the night. The sounds became more distant as the two of you trekked further away from the urban area and deeper into the more rural territory.

The hill the two of you would always sit behind came clearer to your vision as you approached it and walked around it rather than over it. You had previously told Kuroo you were not going to make the effort to hike over it and Kuroo just laughed and deemed you lazy despite the fact he had no intention of ever making the journey over the mound of land himself.

After striding through the grassy land, the two of you had made it to your spot. A green patch of grass that hid the lights of Tokyo behind you and gave you a clear vision of the stars littered above your heads. Kuroo laid the blanket down as you both took your seats on the ground as you let out a sigh.

Conversation would naturally flow between you during these hours, whatever came to mind was spoken and neither one of you would hand judgment for what was said between you. Kuroo watched as you still handled the inner conflict that had struck up inside of you earlier. While you assumed you were doing a good job of concealing your slight stress, Kuroo noticed you seemed a little less focused and more immersed in the world of your own. You hadn’t even noticed that he was staring and observing you and you mindlessly tried to witter on about something that had happened in class. You sighed and looked up the stars, a peaceful silence blanketing over the two of you. Kuroo was yet to bring up his observations of your behaviour but decided that now wasn’t the right time as he anticipated your next words.

You both tilted your heads up to the sky as the stars glittered contrasting the dark night sky.

“Do you ever consider that we’re like the stars Tetsu?” You softly spoke as neither of you tore your eyes away from the view above.

“In what sense?” he murmured back, not daring to look at you.

“In the sense of they're just scattered. They’re aimlessly placed and compete with each other to shine the brightest. People are just like that too.”

Kuroo hummed and angled his head to catch sight of your soft eyes momentarily. “Explain.”

You exhaled and closed your eyes briefly.

“No obvious place in life, just thrown into things and have to make their own way from there. Regarding the competition as to which star can shine the brightest, people compete in the world of hierarchy and often strive to be the best in their industry and shine the brightest for others to admire.”

Kuroo sat up properly and turned his gaze in your direction. You noticed this and looked back into his eyes that seemed to be figuring something out. A moment of silence was left between the two of you as Kuroo thought about your perception.

“But,” he began, eyes never once losing focus on yours. “Have you ever considered that a lot of these stars are contributes to constellations?” He contrasted against your point as you raised an eyebrow.

“Each star in a constellation is connected to another building a small community of stars together, some may not be as bright as others but they’re always there no matter how dim they can be. ‘Draco’ wouldn’t be ‘Draco’ if there was a star missing would it? Each star holds a purpose even if it doesn't shine the brightest.”

You didn’t miss the way Kuroo’s eyes desperately searched yours. He was looking for any signs of misunderstandment or confusion as he continued his point.

“So, I think yes you’re right about people being like stars, just in a different way to what you think. Everyone has connections and is part of some sort of community like the stars are and even if they don’t shine the brightest, people are always there to support and connect with you even if it may not seem obvious.”

Kuroo’s point seemed more like a personal examination and answer for you. He had figured you out and you hadn’t even realised till now. Did he know this whole time you had people so casually passing through your life? Was he aware that you were expecting the same thing to happen to him? You had no idea and you didn’t know if you wanted to know either. Perhaps he’d be mad at you for not making your intentions as clear as you thought you should’ve or maybe he wouldn’t care at all and he’d obliged and let you be part of his temporary plan as you had been on everyone else's.

“I know Y/N. You’re not exactly good at being deceptive, well; when it comes to me anyway.”

You desperately tried to think of an excuse.

Why wasn’t he laughing or mocking you for being so detached? Surely he must’ve thought you were a waste of time now so why wasn’t he showing signs of annoyance or anger.

“K-Kuroo -I”

“-Kuroo? I thought I was Tetsu. You can’t just back out now that I’ve figured you out!”

His voice had a tone of hurt and if you weren't so focused on him and his actions right now, you may have missed it. But you didn’t.

“No! No, it’s not like that it’s just- You, no-” You couldn’t think of anything to say to him. What could you even say to someone who had read you like an open book and done their thorough research on it. There was nothing you could say other than the truth now and you both knew this.

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.” His hand inched closer to yours as a calming expression met your own.

You inhaled and exhaled and cleared your head slightly.

“I’m only temporary, why do you care so much?”

There it was.

Your true feelings towards the situation and the people around you. But Kuroo wasn’t like the people around you so why was it hard to tell him? Then again, he was to be treated like everyone else in your life had been, as Kuroo Tetsurō was no exception.

“Who says you’re temporary?” Kuroo’s eyes widened as worry and regret washed over you. He had a sympathetic look to him and had a sense of sadness of his own. Did you really just think you were temporary to him? Did you think that way towards everyone?

He was prepared to confront you, expected you to tell him that you just fell out with people easily. He had no idea of the weight of the burden you carried and he certainly didn’t like you felt this way and let yourself be weighed down by it.

“Thats just the way it is.” your voice barely above as whisper as Kuroo looked at you with disbelief. He shook his head. His hand begging him to let it interlock with yours. He held off just a little longer. You were vulnerable and he refused to take advantage of that no matter how small the gesture seemed.

“Why? Why are things that way? Who told you they have to be that way?” his voice calm and collected with small pitches of sadness as he practically begged you to give him an answer. Maybe he hadn’t made as big an impact on you than he initially thought. Maybe he was wrong this whole time about what he was and was hoping to be to you. God, this hurt him just as much.

You shuddered and shook your head at the boy.

“I don’t want to know what love is. I don’t want to risk the aftermath of rejection. I’m scared Tetsurō. I’m so so scared.” A vulnerable look replaced the usual bored look in your eyes. Kuroo watched the way your fingertips gripped the edges of his jumper and the way you cast your gaze down. He didn’t like it one bit. Why did you feel like that? Had you been hurt before unbeknownst to his knowledge? He thought he knew you inside and out.

“Love...it’s scary yes but it’s exciting too. It’s unexplainable Y/N, I couldn’t possibly give you an answer as to what it’s like. I do know,” he gestured for you to look up at him. “that you will experience it in some form at some point in your life. It’s inevitable. You shouldn’t feel frightened though. That’s what other people are for. They’ll be there to pick you back up and dust you off if things do go wrong. The same way the stars connect together, people are connected and you’ll always have people to rely on.”

Nothing but genuine emotion went into his words and you knew this. So why were you still trying to fight it?

Kuroo picked up on this and sighed. He didn’t know this was the reason you had avoided letting people in. The reason seemed somewhat confusing but he also saw your point at the same time. You lacked trust in yourself and that was something Kuroo wanted to give you if you weren’t going to give it to yourself.

“I-I’m sorry! This is stupid I should’ve just kept quiet. I bet you think I’m a waste of time oh god, I’m so sorry Tetsu, this is why I don’t let people get involved with me.” tears threatened to spill but you’d refuse to let them. You’d done so well up until now. Nobody suspected anything when you’d gradually drift away but life is never that generous to let things go your way all the time. Kuroo Tetsurō was an obstacle you couldn’t beat and sometimes in life you have to admit to defeat.

“God Y/N, you’re not temporary to anyone especially not me! I’m not mad at you I just wish you’d rely on me a little more. I want to be part of your constellation I just don’t know if you want me to be.”

Tears brimmed your vision a little more and you could barely speak but managed the next few words out.

“I’m only part of your temporary plan, we all move on eventually and you will too.”

“You’ve always been a part of my permanent plan. Always have been, always will be. I don’t care in what way, but I’ll always want you to be a part of my life. I never intended on letting you go no matter how much you wanted me to.”

Without even realising it, your hand had edged closer and closer to Kuroo’s and you could feel the warmth of his hand close to yours. Your breath hitched as you took a deep breath before Kuroo continued.

“I can’t promise you a life of no disruption, I mean you’ve seen how loud my laugh is and you’re the only one who puts up with my irritating provoking for so long.” You laughed at this. “But what I can promise you is lessons in love. Let me not only teach you but let you learn with me. I have little to no experience but I have some idea of how it’s meant to feel and I’m pretty sure it’s how I feel when I’m with you.”

You sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” you murmered closing your eyes. A soft smile gracing your lips. The first genuine smile you’d given him since leaving the house.

“Take me up on my offer and let me take care of you. We’ll take it slow but I want you to know it’s okay to trust others and let them in a little.”

You looked down and noticed Kuroo’s hand had enveloped over yours. You liked the feeling of his larger calloused hand over yours. It felt right. This felt right.

You were unexperienced and anxious for now. Territory untouched now so close to your feet, but Kuroo wanted to step into that territory not in front of you, but alongside hand-in-hand with you.

“Take good care of me from here on out then.”

Kuroo smiled and gave your hand a light squeeze and you leant in a little closer to him as the two of you sat under the seemingly aimless but connected stars.

You hadn’t let a lot of people into your life. Everyone stayed a few metres away from the door and they’d eventually leave after they never seemed to open. Kuroo had decided to wait and in the end it seemed worth it. The doors had opened for the first time and that’s what told you Kuroo Tetsurō was in fact an exception.

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[levisnackajack]

The Wrath of War

Chapter Eighteen

And with another groan, Eden slowly awakened from her short nap. Her head was spinning and the room was dimmer- the only source of light being the oil lamp on her bedside table. 

She felt extremely nauseous as she came back to her senses; colors flickering before her amber eyes in a fleeting way. Then, she stiffened. 

At the foot of her bed, she saw Captain Levi sitting wordlessly; with his head lowered; one hand on the duvet and another resting on his knee. At the sudden stirring movements, his head snapped to the side, grey eyes meeting hazel ones. 

Eden held her breath; blinking a few times slowly. She couldn’t tell whether her mind was playing twisted games from the effects of the drug or if Levi was actually calmly sitting on her bed, watching her curiously. Her hand reached for his and she immediately came to realization when her fingertips made contact with his cold skin. 

He really was there. 

Levi, in turn, flickered his stare to the resting palm atop of his before pulling his hand away. He then gently rested it over hers, fingertips brushing over her knuckles. Eden’s heart squeezed warmly at the closeness- dozens of butterflies gathering in her stomach as she rested her head back against the pillow with a sigh; trying her best to ignore how dazed the aftereffects of the medication inflicted upon her. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked in a cool, restrained voice as he eyed her down, taking a note of her awfully pale face and colorless lips. 

“Not gonna lie, this medication is making me loopy, but other than that, I can’t help but feel absolutely useless,” Eden replied in an even tone, shifting her heated stare away from his face and onto the ceiling. 

She heart Levi hum in agreement under his breath. “You’ll manage. You would’ve felt even shittier if you broke a bone or lost a limb.”

The girl let go of a breathy laugh, a peachy blush creeping against her pallid cheeks. “Always a positive one, aren’t you, Captain?” 

He huffed softly, his searching gaze exploring every single inch of her face. “Something like that.” 

Perhaps it was the treatment oozing through her veins or it was the comfortable atmosphere lingering around them that made Eden’s dainty fingers curl around his hand with slight pressure. He returned the gesture timidly; lips pursing together as his brows bunched up against his usually strained face. He watched her through jeweled-grey eyes as her face relaxed; hazel eyes fluttering shut. 

“I’ll leave you to healing in peace,” Levi muttered softly, gently pulling his hand out of her feeble grasp. He shifted off her bed, freezing when he felt her grip the cuff of his shirt.

“No no, you don’t have to go...you can stay,” Eden mumbled out delicately; but by the time she could process his responsive actions; her world had darkened once more. 

The sound of turning pages washed through her the next time she woke up. Albeit feeling much better, Eden could still feel remnants of the sedative rushing through her blood. She swallowed thickly and opened her eyes. 

To her extreme surprise, Levi was casually sitting in the same spot as he was before; but this time, he had a book in his hands. He looked so peaceful, until he felt Eden’s hooded eyes glued to his frame. Snapping the book shut sharply, he placed it on the duvet before settling his narrowed eyes on her perplexed expression; the muscles in his jaw visibly rigid. 

“Hi,” she spoke up meekly, trying her best to sit up, but failing miserably. She mentally kicked herself and settled into the pillow. Her lungs burned in discomfort and her muscles ached. It was like all the pain was slowly ebbing away at her sanity; leaving her drowning in a vortex of self-hatred and hopelessness. 

Levi didn’t respond to her at first. She watched as his contorted mask cracked for a split millisecond; agitation imprinting itself on his incredibly pretty features. 

“You missed your boyfriend’s visit by ten minutes.” 

Her eyes grew wide; breath cementing itself in her throat. She blinked at him hastily. 

“We broke up.” 

The three words hung in the air as the aura tensed. The flame in the oil lamp flickered, visibly disturbed as Levi’s brows raised ever so slightly.

“I see.” 

Eden’s lips laced into a thin line as she grazed her fingertips against the duvet. A sharp jolt of pain collided with her ribcage and she winced, dropping her head, tousled waves of charcoal hair veiling over her face. 

“I’m afraid, Captain. I’ve never felt such pain in my whole life. It really made me realize how frail our lives are. How everything can go to hell in the blink of an eye. I guess I had to go through this to really comprehend the magnitude of what it is we’re actually doing.” 

Levi let out an irked “tch” as he ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look at her when the weight of his words slapped her hard across the face. 

“Maybe if you stopped being so reckless; you wouldn’t feel like your life is so fragile.”

Eden glared at him, teeth grinding together behind closed lips. His hardened exterior grew present once more. It completely flustered her how she felt like she had spoken to two completely different individuals when comparing her current conversation with the one they had prior to her passing out. Her knuckles grew white as she gripped the covers. 

“How am I being reckless? It’s my duty to give my all when we’re out there. This is what I consciously signed up for when I joined the military. But now, when I’ve actually felt what it feels like to nearly lose my life; it just really puts things into perspective. I thought you’d be the one who’d understand where I’m coming from.” 

“But there’s a difference between fighting for humanity’s greater good with some common sense in your head and just recklessly throwing yourself in dangerous situations,” Levi retaliated coldly, his eyes deteriorating the barrier Eden attempted to build in order to conceal her pained expression.

He hastily turned away from her, knitting his fingers together as he rested his forearms against his thighs. “If you continue being so careless, we will lose you...” 

A heavy silence drowned them both as Eden processed his words carefully, her palms sweating; heart galloping in her chest. Levi craned his head back to meet her eyes, and Eden finally saw a gleam in his eyes that she had never known of. It made her feel faint, her body reacting to that scorched stare in ways she could have never even imagined. 

Her lips curled upwards- a sly, cat-like smirk painting over her features. Levi watched her in such a meticulous manner; it made her feel like he could see right through her. 

Suddenly, Eden tried rising up- the words gliding off her tongue in a slow, lazy manner. “You’re gonna miss me if I die, aren’t you?” 

Levi shot up towards Eden, hands gently pressing against her shoulder blades as he urged her not to sit up. He huffed under his breath in annoyance; smoothly lowering her back onto the pillow as he spoke. “What kind of question is that, brat?” 

He was so close, Eden could practically taste his faint cologne.

 Levi’s eyes grew hooded as he watched her closely, the density in the air practically cutting off Eden’s ability to breathe. His cold fingertips were still pressed against the skin above the pajama fabric of her shirt. She swallowed thickly, velour lashes lowering at the sight of how close his face was to hers. The silence was deafening as neither of them had anything to physically say to each other at that point.

The Captain’s own face visibly relaxed, metal eyes growing softer as his fingers brushed against the curve of her jaw; coiling around the back of her neck. A shiver ran its coarse along the line of her spine at the sensation of her hair between his fingers. 

Inclining his head ever so slightly, his chilled lips pressed against hers. 

At first, it was gentle and timid. But then, he applied force against her neck; pressing her full lips harder against his. Eden felt frozen, her heart threatening to explode and break all her ribs. Her fingertips reached to touch his and he immediately grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers. 

If Eden could freeze time and live in one single moment for the rest of eternity; it would always be this one. 

Levi was the one who pulled away first; his breathing ragged and short. Eden felt like she had no air to take in anymore. The exhilarating feeling of Levi’s lips against hers had solidified every question, every fleeting thought she had experienced up to that moment. She craved more. 

He brushed his nose against hers before leaning backwards slightly; his fingers still entangled with hers. Eden tried her best to calm her intoxicated heart; but to no avail. 

Gentle circles were rubbed into the back of her hand with his thumb, but Eden’s dilated stare could merely focus on Levi’s growingly tense expression. He released her trembling hand, his heart clenching uncomfortably at the saddened expression that flashed across her features. He reached out to push a strand of her hair behind her ear, his retracting fingertips grazing along the curve of her jaw once more.

“You should rest, Eden. I mustn’t keep you up all night,” Levi said to her under his breath, the flame in his eyes vibrant and alive as he explored her face. With knitted brows, he abruptly rose from the bed; craning his neck to look at her over his shoulder when Eden managed to call him by his given title in a voice filled with all kinds of emotions. 

“Will you come visit me again tomorrow?” Eden inquired, chewing on her bottom lip anxiously as she waited for his answer through the long, quiet pause. 

“Not if I can help myself,” Levi replied glumly, holding her gaze for a moment longer before walking out of the medical quarters; leaving a dazed Eden with heated cheeks fervently gaze at his retreating figure. 

Happy Valentine’s Day! Hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much as I did writing it! 

Tags: @idiot-juice-enthusiast   @hadassackerman

The link to the story in AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

[eirabach]

Risky Business [1/1]

Here’s the rest of yesterday’s six sentences. They grew. For @olliepig and @onereyofstarlight, with love.

Yes, I wrote fluff. I feel weird about it too.

AO3

He asks her after a rescue, adrenaline and relief making him brave -- far braver than he'd had to be to dive into a bottomless chasm, anyway. Though part of him wonders if it isn't pretty much the same thing.

It's not like he's going to casually date Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, is it?

It feels a bit all or nothing, this. A risky business. And yeah sure, so she’s kissed him. Twice, actually. Three times. He hasn’t actually lost count of the number of times she’s thrown her arms around his neck, obviously. It’s just he’s replayed them all so many times, so very many times, that maybe they’re kinda blurring into one long, beautiful moment and really -- really he’d like the chance to lose count, that’s all.

First he has to actually get the words out. It’s easier said than done. 

"So, what do you think? Would you -- would you like that? With me?"

She smiles across the holocomm, wide and genuine and yeah, all or nothing. All or nothing and he's betting it all on the curl of her lips.

"Dinner? Yes. Yes I rather think I would."

---

“You’re not serious?”

Scott prowls around him, dark brows pulled low over narrow eyes. Sweat prickles at the back of Gordon’s neck, some evolutionary response finely honed by twenty five years of little brotherhood. 

“Uh, yes?” he manages, any other words choked out by the way Scott steps forward and pulls on his collar.

“It’s orange.” 

“I like orange.”

From the couch Virgil makes a strange, whining sound. “It’s dayglo, Gords.”

“So I’m gonna be easy to spot, yeah?”

Above them John hovers, arms folded, judgement clear. “Are you taking her to Coachella?”

“Maybe.” He bats at Scott’s hands. “Will you -- geroff, Scott!”

“It’s no good,” Scott sighs, radiating disappointment, “he’s a hopeless case. Virgil?”

“I have to concur.” Gordon scowls at his supposed wingman, but Virgil just shakes his head, “No hope at all.”

“Maybe Lady Penelope’s like a dog though?” Alan pipes up. “Like, what if she can only see super bright things? She likes pink, right? Maybe that’s why!”

“Please,” John again, a floating Greek chorus to Gordon’s ever mounting misery, “don’t compare Lady P to a dog. You’ll give him ideas. And anyway the canine eye only has --”

“Enough already! Ugh! Fine!” In one swift movement he whips the offending shirt -- his best  shirt, as it happens -- over his head and tosses it to the floor. It lies there, a crumpled, accusatory heap, while Gordon crosses his arms over his bare chest and glares. 

“You win,” he snarls. “I’ll go like this, yeah?”

Scott shrugs. “Could work.”

“Not very subtle though,” Virgil says.

“Just about right then,” mutters John.

“Won’t you be cold?”

Gordon grits his teeth and blows out, hard. “I hate you all.”

“No you don’t,” Scott says mildly. “You love us. And --” He steps forward, squeezes Gordon’s bare shoulder with a grin. Against his will, Gordon half leans into it. There’s an unsteadiness to him, deep down and working its way out, and as much as he wants to slap his brothers sometimes -- sometimes he really doesn’t. “You can even borrow my shirt.”

---

Parker is practically vibrating as he hands over the keys to FAB 0. Well, sort of hands. Really Gordon has to practically unfurl the man’s death grip then snatch them away. Parker’s eye twitches, and it’s probably just as well that Gordon isn’t the supernaturally concerned type because if there was ever a man willing a curse on another he’s pretty sure he’d be screwed.

“You look h’after her,” Parker spits, and Gordon would toss him a salute, he would, but he thinks he might get punched. And Scott will kill him if he gets blood on his borrowed shirt.

“I got it,” he says, then, shooting for reassurance, “you taught me to drive, remember?”

Despite the deathglare, Parker visibly pales. “I remember.” Then, leaning in just a touch too far to be comfortable, “I weren’t talkin’ about the car.”

Penelope, already ensconced in the front passenger seat, leans out of the open window with a sigh. “Gentlemen, if you’re quite finished?”

Parker snaps back to attention, and Gordon fiddles with his shirtsleeves, abashed.

“Of course, your Ladyship.”

“Sorry, Pen.” 

He slips into the driver’s seat and tries very hard to ignore the flames he’s sure Parker is burning into his back. After a moment of confusion -- why are there so many keys on this thing? -- FAB 0 judders into life and makes somewhat lurching progress down the manor’s driveway. He brakes at the end, looking both ways as Parker had instructed, then almost jumps out of his skin as Penelope’s hand comes to rest on his thigh.

“Gordon?” He doesn’t look at her. There’s a dark mark in the distance. Could be another car. Could be Thunderbird One. Could be his heart which appears to have leapt straight out of his chest and made a run for it. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yeah, yeah -- fine, uh -- are we clear left?”

He hears the way she exhales, and his heart returns only to sink into his very shiny shoes. 

“Clear left.”

God, he hopes the rest of the night is smoother than his clutch control.

---

The restaurant is -- nice. It’s small, perhaps ten tables all topped with stems of roses and unlit candles, and cosily intimate even without the dimmed lighting that makes every plate a mystery. Nor is it a place that’s registered on her radar before, tucked as it is into a narrow backstreet of a nowhere sort of town. There are no paparazzi at the windows, here, FAB 0’s arrival greeted only by the twitching of blinds and the hushed exclamations of a gang of teenage boys who’d been lingering on the corner. 

There's something a little furtive about it, about the way the door is locked behind them, the way she feels more than hears Gordon's intake of breath as she removes her furs. It gives her a little thrill, the way she can still feel the imprint of his hand on her lower back as he pulls her chair out, and she smooths out her skirt as she sits, once, twice, three times. Wills herself steady.

The kitchen door is slightly askew, the single waitress polishing the same wine glass over and over, and it occurs to her that everybody seems to be waiting for something. Someone. Across the table Gordon concentrates on the candle with enough force to set it alight. 

Oh.

“This is rather lovely,” she says, loud enough for the waitress to relax her grip on the wine glass slightly, “however did you find it?”

“Oh!” Gordon looks up, as though he’s surprised to find her sat there. “Bit of a -- work thing. You know. Gas leaks and -- yeah. You know.”

Penelope doesn’t know, actually, but she hums in agreement anyway and picks up the leather-bound menu.

“It’s all right though, right? You like it?”

He’s fiddling with his shirt cuffs again. They’re perhaps half an inch too long and a little too loose, so that the cufflinks he wears clink against the tabletop. It’s a nervous, silvery sort of sound that has Penelope dropping the menu and reaching out to cover both his hands with her own. 

“Of course I like it.” She smiles. Squeezes. “Don’t you?”

He half snorts, an undignified little thing, but then he’s turning his palms up, fingers coming to rest perfectly in the space between her own. 

“You’re here aren’t you? What’s not to love.”

She smiles, lets the tip of her tongue peek from between her teeth, “Well, obviously.”

She expects to feel satisfaction as the high colour of his cheeks spreads to the tips of his ears, down his throat, she doesn’t expect the thrill as his eyes darken, as he runs his thumb across the pulse point at her wrist.

“Hungry?”

Well then. Two can play at that game.

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

---

Gordon notices her inbetween mouthfuls of honeyed aubergine, blurred by the semi-frosted window glass, hopping from foot to foot before ducking away only to reappear half a moment later at another window. He tries to ignore her, concentrating instead on Penelope’s latest escapades with the World Council and offering, as best he can, ever more involved acts of vengeance she could turn to her advantage against the besuited middle aged idiots that fill most of the council seats. 

“There’s somebody behind me,” she says before taking a sip of her wine. “Isn’t there.”

The figure at the window shifts again. Gordon blinks.

“N-no?”

“Your eyes have been darting about as though they’re fit to leave your head for the last ten minutes, darling. Either there’s something behind me that has you concerned, or you are undergoing some form of medical emergency.”

Gordon groans. “My sister is insane. You know that, right?”

“Your sis- ?” Penelope twists round in her chair. The shadowy figure freezes on the spot, a rabbit caught in piercing blue headlights. “Tanusha,” she hisses, then, polite as can be, “Oh, pardon me?” She beckons to the waitress who scuttles over immediately. “There’s a young lady outside, and the weather is rather inclement. Would you mind inviting her in?”

The waitress looks at Gordon. Gordon shrugs the shrug of the damned. “Might as well. She’ll end up in the ceiling otherwise.”

Clearly perturbed by this oddest of statements, the waitress unlocks the door. Kayo sashays in as though she’s actually been invited.

Penelope’s smile turns wolfish. Gordon tops up his glass and wishes fervently that it contained something stronger than soda water.

Kayo, who is clearly a woman with no sense of self preservation whatsoever, drags a chair over from another table and, snagging an olive from Penelope’s plate, grins at the waitress. “Aren’t they cute? I think they’re super cute.”

The waitress makes a noise that Gordon translates as you’ve just lost me my tip, and returns to the relative safety of the bar at the end of the room.

“Who put you up to this? Was it Scott? Alan, I bet it was Alan. I’m going to leave anchovies in his boosters.”

“Try again.”

“Virgil?!”

“Nuh huh.” She reaches for another olive. Penelope snatches the plate away.

“John wouldn’t dare," she announces, and Kayo bows her head slightly in agreement.

"Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I let you see me didn't I?" She offers Gordon a sly sort of smirk. "Though your observation skills are appalling, Tracy."

"Maybe I had better things to be looking at."

Penelope giggles, and it's a dangerous sound, a dangerous sound that travels through every one of his nerves to settle at the base of his spine.

"You've been behind us since the last junction on the motorway, Thunderbird Shadow." This time when she smiles Penelope shows her teeth, and Gordon wonders exactly how much of a blood alcohol level it will take to get him grounded. "If you plan to spy on us at least do me the honour of doing so properly."

Kayo's expression sours.

"I wanted you to see me."

Gordon sighs. “Knew we shouldn’t have let you take a rotation on Five, they all lose it up there.”

"No -- I," Kayo pauses, almost flustered. "Would you believe I just wanted to make sure you things were ok? With you two?"

Gordon looks at Penelope. Penelope looks at Gordon. Kayo flicks at an olive stone with her nail.

"I meant it. You guys are super cute. I didn't want anyone messing it up."

"She's cracked." Gordon says, bemused. "Completely Space Crazy."

"Nonsense, darling." Penelope tuts. "We're adorable."

"Well I mean obviously I know that," he scoffs, "but Kayo?"

"Hey! I'm right here."

"Yes," says Penelope drolly, "so we can see." 

"Look, so I ship it, ok? You should be glad! Virgil only gave you a week max!"

"What are you shipp -- hey! A week?!"

Penelope shrugs apologetically in his direction. "I believe that's seven times longer than Parker would prefer."

"Um." The waitress hovers behind Kayo, tab in hand. "Will you be uh, eating too? Or would you like the bill?"

Gordon's suddenly, painfully aware of the silence from the kitchen, the air thick with held breath. Spectacle. The actual last thing he wanted, and here it is compliments of his own socially inept family.

"The bill, please."

Well. That’s that, then.

--

They make a rather awkward trifecta, gathered around the trunk of a bright pink Rolls and all trying quite hard not to look at the gawking, and now much larger, group of young men from earlier.

“All right,” Penelope says, “you’ve had your fun, how much did he pay you?”

Kayo attempts a look of innocence, but it’s the same one Gordon himself had taught Alan and it never, ever works. Especially not on people who’ve met them. Any of them. And especially especially not on Penny. She proves his point with a single arched eyebrow.

“He promised to take me out safe cracking,” Kayo mumbles, then, insistent, “we weren’t going to take anything.”

Penelope scoffs. “Have you met Parker?”

“Hang on.” Gordon steps in, irritation and not a small amount of hurt rising to the surface. “Parker sent you to spy on our -- on us. And you did it?”

“I’ve just been really bored since we got rid of the Hood,” Kayo wheedles. “It’s nothing personal.”

It is personal; it’s probably the most personal thing Gordon can think of, and he’s about to tell her so, loudly, if necessary, when the trunk of FAB 0 pops open with a click of Penelope’s fingers.

“If you wanted to go lockpicking, Kayo, you only had to ask.”

A twist and a shove and a -- slam, and Kayo lies like an upturned turtle in the mink lined trunk of the Rolls.

Against his better judgement Gordon lets out a low whistle of admiration. “Whoa -- sticky hand technique?”

Penelope hums, delighted. “The very same.” Kayo stares up at them, shock written in every sprawled limb. “Now, do have fun, won’t you?” Another click, and the trunk lid drops, muting Kayo’s protests behind a shield of steel. 

One of the onlookers gasps, and Penelope throws a becoming smile over her shoulder at them. “Keep an eye out, gentlemen, won’t you?”

“She’s going to kill me,” Gordon manages as an unpleasantly metallic clanging begins to emanate from the car. “She can’t kill you but she is absolutely going to kill me, Pen. She’s going to murder me.”

“She chose her side,” Penelope says, “and besides, there are air holes.”

“Why do you have air holes in your trunk?”

“Why do you ask such obvious questions?” She spins on her heel to face him, rubbing her hands over his biceps and briefly, very briefly, Gordon forgets that he’s going to die very, very soon. “Take me dancing?”

FAB 0 rocks, there’s the clatter of bicycles swiftly mounted from the other end of the street, and well, if he’s going to die anyway --

Penelope skips lightly from foot to foot, chilly even in her furs, and if he’s going to die anyway;

“Yeah, okay. Yeah.”

---

(She means to only leave Kayo for twenty minutes to stew. She truly does. She's contrite, later, when John tells her off and Parker is left to hammer dents from the antique steel. She even apologises to Kayo, despite the destruction wrought upon both car and date.

But the floors were sticky and the drinks were cheap, and she'd laughed as he'd swung her around and around, laughed until she could catch his mouth on the upswing. 

And kissed him until she lost count.)

[petri808]

Full story.  Bakudeku AU w/smut.  11k words.  Happy Birthday Bakugou!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630008

Bakugou Katsuki is a playboy rockstar with a bad attitude.  He’s got everything, top hits, fans, and any girl or guy he wants... Or does he.  At an industry party he meets the one person who sends him on a new path that ultimately saves his career and truly makes him shine.  

“Ha!”  Katsuki Bakugou kicks back in his chair as he slaps the report and tosses it onto his managers desk.  “Number one yet again on the charts!  Damn I’m fucking awesome!”  And it was true, the seasoned singer known to the world as Shockwave was still going strong 4 years after starting off in this industry.  

“Yes, yes,” the man picks up the paper and files it away.  “That’s the fifth single release in a row to debut at number one on the Billboard as well as Spotify.”  Shouto Todoroki was Katsuki’s manager and he had to admit, he never expected his client to rise this quickly.  While he’s only been doing this job officially for the last seven years, he’d grown up in the industry and had seen enough to know what works and what doesn’t.    

The singers blended style of Pop with Alternative and Rock grabbed audiences’ attentions, not to mention his performances were full of energy, and his personality was vivacious to say it nicely.  But off stage, the man was a handful.  Having a feeling about how Katsuki would behave, Shouto’s boss stuck him with blonde hot head as soon as the man signed, because he knew that his cool, level-headed, no nonsense manner would be able to handle it.  Things worked out for the most part.  Their PR department handled most of the headaches dealing with the man’s antics caught on social media.  But as they say, good or bad, news sells, and so far, the singer was able to weather most of the crazy scandals that had arisen.  Fan’s ate up all the juicy gossip and Katsuki fed them on the daily.

Arguments in clubs were a common occurrence with the singer, with the occasional fight turning into an actual brawl.  Most of those ended quickly with bouncers, used to Katsuki’s notoriety breaking things up and sending the combatants packing.  His love life and lifestyle were another gasoline on the social media flames.  With Katsuki, the term playboy was too classy for him and this pansexual had a love ‘em and leave ‘em, one-night stand attitude that never seemed to curtail the amount of partners willing to go to bed with him.  As far as Shouto knew, no one had ever turned the singer down.  

Shouto sits forward in his chair and lets his arms rest along the desk.  “Next on the agenda.  The album release part where your latest video will also be unveiled is next week.  I assume you’ll have a date?”

“Tch, course I will,” the blonde grows smug as if the question was unnecessary, “and whoever he or she is I’ll make sure is dressed to impress.”

“I’d expect no less,” is all the manager responds with.  “The limo will pick you up at 6pm on the dot, so be ready.”  

The night of the party started off without a hitch with many industry insiders in attendance.  Shockwaves music blared, expensive drinks flowed, and delicious amuse bouche were served by the wait staff.  Guests were happy and satiated, mingling with friends and acquaintances as one might see at any high-end party.  The schedule was a lax one and mostly just an occasion to gather and enjoy.  So, after his latest music video was played and his newest album unveiled, they popped champagned to celebrate and party the rest of the night away.  

Things were running so smoothly, that by 9pm Shouto felt relaxed enough to let the bodyguards keep an eye on Katsuki, while he could mingle with the guests unimpeded.  You could never tell just how Katsuki would behave, so he savored the moments of peace.  The singer had been too preoccupied with the red headed twin’s he’d brought as guests, one on each arm to fuss and that worked for him.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight and there’ll be nothing more than pictures of a party to hit the news tomorrow,” PR lead for Shockwave, Momo Yaoyorozu notes to her co-worker as they grab refills at the bar.

“I never hold my breath,” Shouto responds.  “But if that’s the case, I’ll be supremely happy.”

“Me too,” she chuckles, “it means less headaches for me.  Right now, the article going into tomorrow’s UA Metro entertainment section is about album sales starting this weekend.”

“Thanks,” he pats the woman on the shoulder, “you guys always do an amazing job.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles back before walking away.  

While the singer drank and danced the night away, Shouto takes a seat on one of the couches with his own guest who’d been waiting patiently for him.  Not that his guest was left alone, the man also knew many others in this field to stay occupied.  But now he got to enjoy the party instead only focusing on managing it. Chances were high that within another couple of hours, Katsuki would take off to bed the twins or some other willing partner and he would be free to wrap up this event.

And he was right on the money.  Four years of managing the man’s career, and he was pretty accurate on when his client would fold.  It was just under midnight, when a very drunk Katsuki unceremoniously drops onto the couch and shoves himself between the manager and his guest,  But Shouto looks around and notices something was missing.  He clears his throat, already annoyed by the type of intrusion as well as the growing discomfort of his guest.  “Bakugou, where are your guests?”

Don’t know, don’t care,” he slurs while focusing in on his managers guest.  “Who’s yer friend Todo?”  Truth was, the twins were trying to get him to leave with them, when he’d noticed the cute green-haired man next to his manager and sauntered over.

Shouto rolls his eyes at the nickname.  His guest’s eyes were wide and slightly panicked with the popstar practically hanging over him, so he pulls Katsuki away to give his guest some space.  “This is my friend Izuku Midoriya.  Izuku, this is my client Katsuki Bakugou.”        

Despite his discomfort, the green haired, freckle faced man smiles sweetly, doing his best to be nice since this was his friend’s client.  “H-Hi, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Bakugou.  I think your music is great.”

“What the fuck man, don’t call me mister and make me sound old!  But yeah, of course you like my music,” Katsuki grins, “everybody loves my damn music.”  He moves back closer to Izuku, trailing his hand against the man’s arm before Shouto can stop him.  “Bet you think I’m sexy too.”

Izuku blushes in embarrassment but shrinks away from the man’s touch.  The singer was being way too brazen and upfront for the shy man.  “Eh, heh, yeah, you are very nice to look at.”

Shouto once again pulls his client away, “please don’t make my guest uncomfortable Katsuki, clearly he’s not interested.”

But the singer furiously rips his arm away from his manager, “I ain’t doin’ that!  Izu here loves me, don’t ya mouse?” He wraps an arm around the man and pulls him flush against his body.  “Nobody can resist this package.”

His body goes stiff at the tight hold Katsuki has of him.  “Um… actually I do…” Izuku blurts out with a tremor to his tone.  “You’re a little intimidating to me,” he whispers.  It wasn’t that he didn’t think Katsuki was the most handsome guy he’s ever laid eyes on, but the man’s personality was just too rough.  They were completely opposite in that way from what he knew through Shouto and what he’s seen in the news.  Plus, Katsuki was his friend’s client and he wouldn’t want to cause any potential problems if a relationship were to go south.

“Tch.”  Undeterred, Katsuki grips the man’s chin hard and tips it up, letting his lips hover over Izuku’s.  “Do I really now?  But I bet I could make those fears melt away in my bed.”  Then slightly brushing his lips against the man’s, “the things I would do to this sweet ass of yours would have you begging for more.”

Izuku gulps hard.  A small part of him was turned on by Katsuki’s charms, but the bigger portion was screaming to run.  “I-I’m not gonna sleep with you after a first meeting,” he whines, “I’m not that kind of guy.”

“What the fuck!”  Katsuki snaps and shoves Izuku away so hard he almost slips off the couch.  “You dare to reject me?!  ME?!!  Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position right now!”  His blood was boiling and whatever high he’d had from the alcohol was burning off rapidly from the surge in adrenaline.

Shouto grabs Katsuki by both arms as his guest pushes himself further away on the couch.  Izuku wraps his arms around himself in shock from the outburst, this singer really was a brute!  He’s seen it on social media but to be the subject of the man’s wrath was a totally different feeling.  

The problems was, while taller than him, Katsuki outweighed Shouto, and he struggled to keep the man from lunging at Izuku.  But hearing the sudden commotion, other guests and Katsuki’s bodyguards rush over, grabbing the singer, pinning and holding him back from going after Izuku.  With the bigger men now holding his client in place, Shouto helps his friend to his feet.  Izuku is so shocked, he buries his face in his friend’s chest to hide away from the bull of a singer, and on instinct, Shouto wraps his arms protectively around Izuku.

But seeing the dynamics between the two men sets Katsuki off even more.  “You bastard, is that why you won’t sleep with me, cause you’re Shouto’s bitch?!”  He spits out the words.  “Stupid losers!”

The manager narrows his eyes at his client, “that’s uncalled for when you’re the one who assaulted him Katsuki.”

“Fuck you!”

“You’re drunk.” Shouto states and looks at the bodyguards.  “Please take him home and don’t let him leave until he sleeps this off.”

“Let me go you, fucktards!”  Katsuki yanks as hard as he can at his restrainers, cussing and straining their hold.  “Don’t you tell me what to do!  This ain’t over yet!  I will make him mine!”  He screams and growls as they drag him away.  “Let me go ya assholes!  You hear me Izuku!  I will make you mine!!!”  

With Katsuki gone, Shouto turns his attention back to his guest.  “Are you okay?”  He sits the man down on the couch.  “Would you like some water or anything?”

Izuku shakes his head.  “You warned me about him but… he is really something.  I-I don’t know how you put up with it.”

The manager just shrugs, “I just don’t let him take me down too and get under my skin.  Katsuki is like a spoiled child, so I treat him that way most of the time.”  He pat’s his friend’s shoulder.  “Just stay here while I close out this party, then I’ll take you home.”

“Okay,” Izuku cracks a pained smile.  It was the first time he’s ever been assaulted since primary school.  He hangs his head and avoids any eye contact, even as exiting guests try to cheer him up.  Being bullied as a quiet, nerdy little kid is a sore spot from his childhood memories and why he was a little shier as an adult.  He tried to stay positive regardless, but it may take a few days for the edge to come down from this event.

When it was clear to Katsuki that his bodyguards slash babysitters weren’t going to let up on him, he sat back in the limo and brooded all the way to his penthouse apartment.  He’d meant what he said back at that party.  Fucking Todoroki, he didn’t care if daddy was the CEO, he was going to find a way to make his life miserable now!  And that Izuku guy.  No one’s dared to turn him down before!  Why would they, it was crazy!  He was Shockwave, whose prowess on stage could only be topped in the bedroom.  ‘That damn mouse!’  Was he so fucking shy and stupid that he really couldn’t handle him?!  

As Katsuki paces his living room floor, visions of Izuku’s green hair and cute smile keep assaulting him.  But the worst part of all this, was he was sober, horny as fuck, and they’d dragged him out of there with no one to screw!  “ARGH!”  Why was a mouse of man getting under his skin so damn much?!  Maybe because he did love a good prey beneath him begging for mercy.  Tugging that green hair of his, ‘and I’d bet Izu would look even sweeter,’ Katsuki licks his lips just thinking about the naked man, ‘ass up and flushed while I’m pummeling him…’

“Ahhhh!!!  Fucking bitch!” he storms away to take a long, hot shower and relieve some of the tension.  

The morning after the album release party may have brought a sober Katsuki, but a no less still fuming one. After shooting off a ‘fuck you’ text to his manager, he set about digging into the man known as Izuku Midoriya.  He didn’t care if Shouto denied they were in a relationship, because based on what he saw for himself, ‘just friends my ass!’  There had to be more to the story, but when he’d lucked out on the typical social media accounts, his anger only grew.  Both men’s Instagram accounts were locked as private, and Izuku didn’t appear to have a Twitter of Snapchat.  

He’d always thought that his manager was straight considering he and the PR lady have been casually dating for a short time now, and that was the only relationship he’d ever noticed.  Katsuki throws himself onto his couch running his contacts through his mind.  Who did he know that knew Shouto well and would be willing to give up the goods on him?  ‘Ha!  Eijiro!’  Shouto used him a lot as a music producer, plus the guy was one of his on again, off again flings when they were in need.  Eijiro Kirishima was one of the few people Katsuki didn’t mind having normal conversations with, so he might be willing to talk.  He didn’t care if that meant bedding the man for a night in return for information since the guy was a lot of fun between the sheets.

A week later, the music producer joins Katsuki for a few beers at his apartment.  Up till now, Katsuki’s been avoiding his manager and calling up other acquaintances to gain any little information he could find.  It wasn’t much considering Midoriya didn’t truly travel in his world.

“Why do you wanna know so bad?”  Eijiro takes another swig of his beer and relaxes back onto the couch.  “The guy isn’t even a part of the industry.”

“Just call me curious who my manager is dicking around with.”

“You’ve never cared before.”

Katsuki sits forward with a glare.  “Look, are you gonna tell me or not Eijiro?”

“I’ll tell ya,” Kirishima laughs, “I’m just curious why you’re so enamored with this.”

“Because the fucker turned me down, that’s why!”  Katsuki clenches his fists, “How the hell could he be more interested in Shouto than me?!  The guy is like talking to an emotionless rock!”

“Dude, he’s not,” Eijiro laughs.  “They just dated a few times, and I never even heard they made it to 3rdbase.  Shouto mentioned once, they were better off as friends, that’s all they are, just close friends.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look, Midoriya is a really soft guy, so sweet I swear he could give you a tooth ache if you’re around him for too long.”

“Weak man.”

“Whatever, says the guy obsessing over here,” Eijiro chuckles.  “You know if I didn’t know better…. I think you are jealous Katsuki.”

The blonde crosses his arms, holding back the growing desire to throttle his friend, “I am not fucking jealous of a mouse like that!”

“Not of Izuku, of Shouto.”

That struck a nerve.  “I AM NOT JEALOUS OF THAT BASTARD!”  Katsuki jumps off the couch and grabs Eijiro by the shirt.  “You know what, get the fuck out of my house!!”

Eijiro shoves the man off, “Fine!”  He straightens his shirt.  “Can’t take the truth, why am I not surprised.  By the way, good luck with your new album,” he snickers as he slams the front door behind him.  

“Fuck you!  My album is doin’ just fine!”  Katsuki screams back to the closed door.  ‘Where the fuck did that come from?!’  His singles all did extraordinarily well, so it was only a given the album sales would do to.  “My fucking album is fine,” he drops back onto the couch with a harrumph.  Not that he’d been checking, just assumed it was like every other album he’s put out.  

At least before the argument he’d gained some delicious insight into Midoriya.  The man was nothing more than a second-generation florist who was taking over the shop that his mother started.  According to Kirishima, he was hired by many companies, including those in their industry because of his gift in creating elaborate floral pieces tailored for events.  It was how he and Shouto had met.

“Tch, what a sap story.”  It wasn’t surprising the guy would have such a soft and gentle type job that matched his personality perfectly.  Could you imagine Katsuki doing anything like that, not in your life.

But as he visualized walking into the florist shop and being greeted by a sunny smile…  Katsuki growls at the way his heart flutters.  This wasn’t about falling for the guy, dammit!  He just didn’t like the idea of not getting what he wanted and right now, the one person who turned him down was what he fucking wanted!  And as far as he was concerned, Shouto Todoroki seemed to be in the way.

The next day, Katsuki marches into his managers office ready to demand that he be given a new agent, or he’ll find another firm, contract be damned.  

But Shouto doesn’t even bat an eye.  He too had enough of the man’s childish antics.  “I would love to do that, but it appears no one else would want you.”

“Tch, you don’t fucking know that,” the hot-headed blonde crosses his arms and stands menacingly next to Shouto’s desk.  “Why wouldn’t anyone want to have a money-making star?!  Has the whole world gone mad?!”

His eyebrow twitches at the superfluous posturing.  “You’re attitude,” Shouto tosses a newspaper on the desk chair next to Katsuki.  “That’s the UA Metro entertainment section.  They were at the party, saw, andtook photos of your attack on Midoriya.”  The man leans back in his chair as he continues.  “Up until now, your fights were with sketchy individuals, but this time you picked on someone who not only is smaller, weaker, but is popular with a lot of the big companies in this city, including record labels.”

The frustrated manager sighs and pinches his brow.  “There comes a point when even the biggest stars become too much of a liability.  I’ve been getting calls or messages daily from contacts all over the industry.  Producers are concerned with working with you, other agents, even DJ’s are sending me condolences for being stuck as your agent.  I can’t say I blame them.  So, yes, if I could pawn you off on someone else I would, but it’s either me, or the street.”  Shouto leans forward, “and by the way, your album sales are half the volume they were of your last three at the same point in time.  Nobody stays at the top forever.  Your star is falling Katsuki, and there’s no one else you can blame but yourself.”

For the first time in their working relationship, it was the first time Shouto had seen Katsuki go silent during an argument.  The normally competitive man would be cussing, screaming, or denying everything by now, but he was completely mute, just standing there gawking and turning white.  He could pity the man for being foolish, but he just wasn’t in the mood.  Katsuki had simply gone too far this time.  

Shouto gestures to the open door.  “Now if you’ll excuse yourself, I need to clean up after your mess.”  Without any more fanfare, he simply goes back to working on what he had been doing before the singer showed up.

A full minute later as if Katsuki had finally finished processing the gravity of the situation, his personality rears its ugly head.  “T-This is fucked up!”  He slams his fist on the managers desk.  “I don’t care what some stupid media says!  My fans are what matter and they love me!”

“Not according to your album sales,” Shouto responds without even the courtesy of looking up.  “Maybe they’re tired of your antics too.  Look,” he huffs, “for your self-interests, go home Katsuki, stay there, and keep a low profile until things blow over.  And for god-sakes, no ranting on social media!  Now go, before I call in the guards to escort you again.”

It was the first time in Katsuki’s whole life that he’s felt the entire world crash on top of him.  He was so used to being on top, the popular one, even from a young age, but his music career had sent an already swollen ego into overdrive.  There was nothing he couldn’t do if he put his mind to it, but maybe he’s pushed his luck a little too far this time.  ‘All because of a scrawny mouse!’  

“F-Fine!”  Katsuki does his best to save face.  “Yeah, you do your damn job and deal with the vultures!  I’m goin’ home!”  He storms out of the office and heads to the elevator.  Though he screws an indignant expression onto his face, it’s only a mask to those he passes by.  Inside, he was screaming with all the hellfire of a man being stabbed to death.  

‘Say what you will,’ his conscious chimes up during the short elevator ride.  ‘But that scrawny mouse didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Tch!’

‘And, regardless of what you say, it seems you like what you saw in that mouse.’

‘Can you shut the fuck up!  Where was this voice of reason at the party?!’

‘Locked up, where you normally keep me.’

‘yeah, well go back to your cell…’

Ding.

The elevator opens and all Katsuki can see is a mass of flowers being held by someone blocking the way, so many it completely encompasses their upper body.  “Oi!  Move it idiot!” he snaps.

“Eek!  S-Sorry,” the mass moves to the side to allow Katsuki plenty of space to pass.

But the singer immediately recognizes the voice.  “What the fuck are you doing her Midoriya?!”

The flowers being held by the smaller man begin to shake.  “I-I’m just delivering an order to Mr. Mic for his client Jirou’s birthday.”

Son-of-A!  He knew he’d smelled food when he passed the conference room.  “There’s a fucking party isn’t there?!”  

“I-I think so…”

“Yes, there is,” a harsh male voice responds to the question.  At that moment, Shouto walks out from the second elevator and comes across the two men.  He pushes Izuku even further away from Katsuki.  “But you are not invited, so leave.”  Without any more information than that tidbit, he prompts the florist towards the second elevator.  He was sure the fuming singer was boring holes in his back, but he didn’t care.

“Whatever!” Katsuki snaps as they are getting in.  “I wouldn’t wanna go to her stupid party anyways!”

But it was a ruse.  With his heart barely holding on to life, the singer beelines it for the parking garage before anyone else could see the pain racking his grimaced face.  Everything hurt and he didn’t know how to handle the rush of negative emotions.  Anger is something he could understand, but despair, it was as foreign as a dead language to him.  It felt like all eyes were on him as he passed by employees and visitors alike, and for once he hated being in the spotlight.

The moment he gets into his car, the dam breaks and a gush of tears pour free.  He grips onto the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white and rests his forehead against it.  This was something he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.  To fall from such a height, his heart literally shattered at the sound of those elevator doors closing.  He wanted to scream because of how weak he felt.  He cried because what Shouto had said to him truly hurt!

He hammers at the wheel, “AHHHHH!!!! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!!!!!”  ‘I’m such a fucking dumbass!!!!!  How’d I let shit spiral so out of control!’ If his manager was ready to toss him onto the street, that meant the agency had already approved it.  And if Shouto was telling the truth about the other firms… it meant he would struggle to find a new one.  ‘They’d probably give me a crappy contract.’ Being blackballed like that meant producers, DJ’s, and others would cold-shoulder him as well.  

And what about his album sales?  Why were the numbers so low?  Katsuki knew that physical copy sales had been on a downward trend, but digital copies usually made up for the difference.  “Argh!”  Katsuki closes his eyes, “but how do I fix this?” he mumbles to nobody but himself.  Everything hitting at the same time was overloading his mind.  He didn’t want to admit that what he’s been for much of his life was the bully.  ‘This must be what it feels like on the other side of the line.’  It sucked, and now he felt like a complete asshole who deserved to be tossed to the gutter like street trash.

After delivering the flowers, Midoriya goes back to his delivery van in the parking garage where he notices someone sitting in their car.  Not a very big deal, but he can see that their head is resting against the steering wheel.  The closer he gets to the car; he sees the tell-tale blonde hair and realizes it was Katsuki.  He hesitates with his first inclinations to turn around and pretend like he never saw anything for fear of being hurt again.  But the longer he watches, he can see that the man wasn’t just upset, but possibly crying.  Now that came as a shock.  From everything he’s been told, Katsuki Bakugou didn’t come across as the type to ever cry, at least not in public.  Against his better judgment, Midoriya walks over to the man’s driver side window and lightly taps on the window.  

“Are you okay Mr. Bakugou?”

The sudden intrusion snaps Katsuki to attention.  He quickly wipes at his face and turns to see who would dare to approach his car, because if it was a fan, he really wasn’t in the mood for it.  His shoulders slump, of course it would be Midoriya.  He cracks the ignition and rolls down his window.  “What do you want mouse?”

Midoriya nervously scratches the back of his neck and musters a smile in the hopes of breaking the tension.  “I’m sorry to disturb you Mr. Bakugou, but you seemed upset, so I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine dweeb,” the singer responds in a monotone reflecting very little emotion.

“Oh-Okay… B-but you were crying.”

Damn this guy really was annoyingly sweet.  Couldn’t he see that he just wasn’t in the mood to be bothered.  “Tch!”  Katsuki turns his head away.  “What do you care?”    

“Well, you see” he fidgets with his fingers, “I just don’t like seeing people upset… and I know it must have something to do with that party, so I feel bad.”

“Well you shouldn’t,” Katsuki maintains a level tone trying not to show his annoyance, “cause you didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”  ‘Shit, I was the prick idiot.’

“Mr.  Bakugou?”

Okay he was really getting tired of the mister part.  He rolls his eyes and stares forward away from the man, ‘Ugh,’ “What is it?”

“I’d like to start over, if that’s okay…. And maybe be friends?”

After everything he put the man through, he was still willing to be friends with him?!  Katsuki’s head whips back to face the man standing outside his door.  “Why?  Is this a trick?” His brows furrow and eyes narrow.  “Did Shouto put you up to this?!”  He just couldn’t fathom, with the world turning against him, that Midoriya wanted to give him a second chance.  “This better not be a trick or something, cause I’ve had enough bad news for one day…”

“N-No, No!”  Midoriya waves his hands in front of himself frantically.  “No trick, I swear!  Shouto doesn’t know I’m talking to you.  He’d probably kill me if he knew!”

“Tch, you guys are still seeing each other aren’t you, just keeping it hushed up?”

“What?!”  The man stiffens up.  “No!  He’s not really my type,” Midoriya blushes bright red.  “He just worries because I get emotional really easily.”  He fidgets with his fingers, “S-so, would you like to be friends?”

Katsuki thinks for a moment.  This could be the saving grace he was hoping for.  “Yeah sure, why not.”

They exchange contact information and agree to meet for lunch in a couple of days.  Katsuki watches Midoriya walk away, and for the first time in days, a small smile registers on his face.  It’s been a long time since he’s had such a normal interaction that it felt a little weird… but nice for a change.  Who knew?  Katsuki chuckles and drives home.  Maybe there really was a way to dig himself out of this mess after all.

Their first luncheon went quietly without any problems, leaving both men with a sense of starting off fresh.  The singer actually felt good at the end, like a small high without the need for chemical substances.  But by the next day, they were thrown back into the spotlight when a blogger caught a photo of them together and blasted social media with it.  Oh, was the singer pissed!  Katsuki wanted to go after the man for spinning rumors of a new affair with the florist that made Midoriya look like some kind of whore.  

Luckily Shouto had caught him before he could react, and with the help of the PR department convinced him to let them handle it.  A journalist for UA Metro did a follow up story and interviewed Midoriya.  The sweet natured florist sold the truth and confirmed the luncheon was nothing more than an innocent lunch to bury the hatchet, and by the time it had ended they were on the road to being friends.  Shouto had been irritated about being caught off guard with the news and the fact that they’d met up, but he also couldn’t stay upset when in the end it helped to bolster Katsuki’s broken image just a little.  

It was awkward and rough for the first few weeks despite the initial meeting going well.  Over time, Midoriya’s positive and sweet disposition appeared to be rubbing off on Katsuki much to Shouto’s relief.  His client needed all the help he could get to turn things around.  

On the professional side, having Midoriya in his corner was thawing relations with the industry, but album sales were another story.  Consumer polls hinted that the slight shift in the style of music from pop/alternative, to more of a hard rock style may have something to do with it.  Fans liked Shockwave’s semi-edgy music, but at least the pop angle broadened his reach.  By leaning too heavily into one genre, they may have lost some of the fan base.  It was okay, they still had options in boosting sales such as putting out remixes to add back in the pop feel.  In the meantime, working on rebuilding his personal image may also help sway the fans.

In reality, the covetous nature Katsuki had felt in the beginning was turning into an obsession.  And the question now became, how far would he go to keep it from slipping through his fingers a second time?  Now he understood his managers desire to protect.  He wanted to keep Midoriya happy because of the warm, fuzzy embers it stirred in him.            

The singer was a lot nicer now, but that didn’t mean he’d lost all of his bravado.  Katsuki still craved attention and would do anything to keep it.  At the same time, he wasn’t an idiot.  Staying out of trouble and Midoriya’s friendship were the sources of the turnaround, so he showed his appreciation in the only way he knew how.  Meals, movies, tickets to anything that interested the man, Katsuki would lavish gifts upon him.  He put up with whatever the man was willing to give just to keep him happy, and if he was being honest with himself, simply cuddling on the couch wasn’t that bad after all.

By the sixth month into their friendship, Katsuki would spend every last dime if that’s what it would take to make Midoriya his. 

Katsuki was happier than he’s ever been.  His music career was back on track, and the last several months, all the relationships he had in his life were mending well.  Instead of being combative, he’d turned into an easy client for Shouto to manage.  No more arguments about direction or the need to micromanage the writers that had created great lyrics for him all along.  There were a few minor set back’s whenever he’d had a little too much to drink in a club, but nowhere near the explosive episodes he would reach in the past.

Izuku on the other hand wasn’t faring as well.  He wanted to believe that deep down Katsuki wasn’t a bad person, he was almost sure of it.  The rockers lifestyle had created an incredible vain and arrogant man or at least turned a proud man into an even bigger narcissist.  And while over the past few months, he’s seen some changes for the better, the singer struggled with his vices.  Izuku wasn’t even sure if the singer realized his failings.

When it came to the singer’s music or staying in shape, Katsuki worked hard, but in more other things the less effort he had to put in the better.  The man would rather eat out than cook, be driven than drive himself, and cleaning, well… that was the maid’s job.  Izuku wondered how much the man even paid attention to his own finances, or did he just let his financial manger deal with it?  Out of sight, out of mind.  All Katsuki wanted to focus on was enjoying life his way.  But Izuku knew better of the world, and this worried him.

His fondness of the singer had grown tremendously, and it pained him to think that they were just too different to make anything work.  Izuku wanted some stability, wanted to know that this life wouldn’t come crashing down someday, leaving him broken with nothing to show for it.  It scared him a little.  After grappling with his decision, Izuku realized that it wasn’t fair to continue this way.  He couldn’t even define the type of relationship there was between them.

“But I thought things were fucking fine with us!”

“Katsuki I’m not another fanboy or some trophy hanging off your arm to display to the press.”

The blonde growls, “I never said you were.”

Izuku sighs, “it’s how you make me feel.  You’re a lot of fun to hang out with, but I want a real relationship.  Someone who I feel like I can grow old with, who loves me for who I am, that will do the right things to make sure this,” he gestures to the apartment as a metaphor, “life will last, and we wouldn’t end up broke and destitute one day.”  Moisture brims just below the surface as he stands to leave.  “I’m sorry Katsuki…”

“N-No, you can’t fucking just leave like that!”  Katsuki couldn’t believe they were going through this again.  “I’ve been behaving for you!  I buy you anything you’d want!  What more do you want from me?!”

“Kacchan, all the gifts are nice, but I don’t require material things.  And yes,” Izuku smiles softly and places his hand against the blonde’s cheek, “I could almost fall in love with this nicer version.”  A tear trickles down, “but you aren’t ready to settle down yet, and I’m not gonna force you to.”

Katsuki’s heart seizes up at the use of the pet name.  He’d hated it at first, but now… It was like being back in his car in that garage all over again.  His voice falters as the tears catch in his throat, “I’ll do whatever it takes Izu, just don’t give up on me, please?”

“I’m not.  We can still be friends and hang out sometimes.”

Just friends… like how Shouto was relegated to the friendzone.  Katsuki’s heart wanted to stop right then and there.  He couldn’t even respond, didn’t know how to.

Izuku places a kiss on Katsuki’s cheek.  “Goodbye, Kacchan.”

The blonde just watches Midoriya leave unable to move from the couch.  He felt like a piece of lead or as if someone had taken adhesive and glued his feet to the floor.  Nine months ago, Katsuki would have raged, probably thrown things, hit something but the ache was different this time.  He wanted to curl up in a ball or maybe jump off a cliff.  Would anyone miss him if he dove out of his sixteenth-floor window right now?  The answer was probably not, and that was the reason he couldn’t move.  No one that mattered would miss him…

‘That’s not true.’

‘Welcome back bitch,’ Katsuki snaps at himself.  ‘You’ve been quiet for months.’

‘You didn’t need me for once.  And stop being such a pussy and get off the damn couch.  Are you too stupid to realize it’s not over yet?’

“Fuck off.”

It was the first time since high school that Katsuki actually wanted only one person.  He’d gone a little crazy with all the access and choices to satiate his libido, but hell, he hasn’t had sex in five months because all he’s been craving was Izuku.  If staying celibate for such a long period in his history didn’t show just how enamored he was with the freckle-faced mouse, he didn’t know what would.

And what did he mean about doing the right thing?  Was Midoriya saying he wasn’t responsible enough to trust?  Okay, that part may have some truth to it, but it’s never been something Katsuki ever thought about.  As he looks around his apartment, he assumes the man was looking towards the future.  Music paid for all of this, but what happens when things die down?  He was pretty sure that money was being tucked away for his retirement, but he wasn’t sure since it was all in the hands of his manager.  

‘That’s the point,’ his conscious chimes in.  ‘You should stop focusing on just partying all the time and actually grow up.’

“Ugh!”  he couldn’t argue with that.  But how will he convince Midoriya that he can change?  He didn’t really have any friends to turn to, and there was no way in hell that he was calling his mother for love advice. Katsuki groans and whips out his phone dialing a number.

“Hello?”

“Shouto… I’ll be dropping by your office in the morning…”

As the singer walked in that morning to his office, Shouto Todoroki was a little taken aback by the man’s appearance.  He wouldn’t call Katsuki stylish per se except in his own way, but at least the man maintained a put together look whenever in public.  But not today.  The man slumped in the chair before him looked like a totally different person.  His hair was unkempt like he’d just rolled out of bed, clothes were thrown on, wrinkled, and didn’t even match.  

“So, what did you need to talk to me about Katsuki?”  

The blonde averts his eyes to the window, “it’s about Izuku…”

Shouto quickly sits forward, “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Katsuki shifts in the seat and stares at the manager.  He could have been angry about the insinuation, but, “Wait, so he didn’t talk to you?!  I kinda assumed he would.”

“No, I haven’t spoken to him in a few days.  Now are you gonna tell me what is going on?”

Katsuki deflates further into the armchair.  “To be honest, I don’t know how to explain.  Whatever there is between Izu and I, he called off last night.  Said, he’s looking for a real relationship and doesn’t think I’m ready for one.”

“Well, are you?  It’s a simple question Katsuki, and to be brutally honest, I don’t think you are.”

Leave it to mister ice man to lay it in bluntly.  The Blonde groans and covers his face with his hands.  “For once I can’t disagree.  But, for him… I’m willing to try.”

He wanted to call the man a liar, but based on Katsuki’s disposition, for one he actually believed him. Shout’s eyebrow raises.  “You do see how it’s difficult for anyone to believe that, right?  You are by far, one of the worst playboys I have ever met who didn’t even care what sex it was as long as they gave you what you wanted, and you’ve been this way for years.  Can you really change in just a few short months?”

Ouch.  Turn of the knife.  “Hey, I haven’t had sex in months, thank you very much.  Just haven’t been interested in anyone else, ya know.”

“Except Izuku?”

“Yeah…”

“Wow, you really are serious…”

Katsuki sits up, “THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO PROVE!” then slumps back in his chair.  “Come on man, you know him well, what can I do?!”

The manager leans back and crosses his arms, contemplating what to say next.  A part of him wanted to push this separation further to protect Izuku from going back to the singer.  But if Katsuki was being honest, who was he to separate two grown men from love.  The singer didn’t know, but Izuku had confided in him that he was falling in love with Katsuki and that it scared the hell out him.  That fear must have been what pushed Izuku to make this latest decision.  He sighs, “All I can say is you’ll have to somehow show him that you are being forthcoming about how you feel.  Unless he believes he can trust you, you’ll never convince him that you’re being genuine.”

“Ugh…” it was the truth, but that still didn’t help him figure out what to do.

“Go home, clean yourself up, cause you look like shit, and come up with a plan Katsuki.  Oh, and regarding your birthday next month, is there anything specific you’d like to do?”

“The usual, I guess.  Just the typical industry party and make sure all the dignitaries are there so I can thank them for sticking by me.”  Not that he felt like celebrating, but this was more for showing face.

“Done.  Now go home and meditate on what I said.  If you want him back, bare yourself to him and figure out a way to earn it.”  

Katsuki nods, “yeah.”  He stands up and walks to the door, then pauses at the threshold.  With his head slightly turned in the man’s direction.  “Thanks, Shouto.”

Shocked but happy by his client’s progress, Shouto smiles.  “You’re welcome.”  Maybe Izuku really was the best thing for the singer after all.

The days leading up until his birthday dragged by like a never-ending winter storm.  It was cold, lonely, miserable, and the emptiness Katsuki felt only drove home how pitiful his seemingly ‘perfect’ life had truly been.  He missed the light that Izuku had brought into his world, and if it wasn’t for the chance of seeing the man again, Katsuki would have gladly stayed home from the party.

And as he walked into that hotel’s small ballroom, a sense of dreaded déjà vu hits him.  He swore under his breath that Shouto rented the same room as the last party in order to torture him.  The furniture and décor were moved around since the last one, but he could still recognize the pieces.  His eyes zero in on the dreaded couch that started it all.  ‘Nope,’ he changes course and heads over to the standing bar.  Things may had gotten better, but that couch had too many bad memories attached to it.

He’d spent the entire 27 days trying to figure out what he could do to win Izuku over, and of those, 8 of them were in convincing the man to attend this party.  After swearing on a non-existent bible that he would stay clean and sober through the event, Izu finally relented.  So, with his beer to nurse in hand, Katsuki takes a seat near the entrance and waits for the man to arrive.  He’d never admit it, but the singer felt like a happy and expectant puppy waiting for their owner to arrive home.

“Hi…”

Katsuki hears the soft voice and feels the tap on his shoulder and turns around to a jaw dropping sight.  Izuku was dressed in a stylish, forest green faux leather blazer, white button-down collared shirt, slacks to match, and brightened by the glow on his face.  “Happy birthday, Kacchan,” he holds out a small neatly wrapped gift.

But instead of immediately taking the gift, he pulls the smaller man in and wraps his arms around him in a hug, taking in the fresh floral scents that clung to the man that he’d come to love.  Katsuki buries his face in the surprised man’s neck, “thank you for coming, it means a lot to me.”

Izuku recovers quickly from the unexpected hug and reciprocates, smiling even though the man couldn’t see it.  It felt good to see the singer again.  “You’re welcome Kacchan.”

To hear that nickname after a month of absence was so much better than any music to his ears.  His eyes cloud up and he squeezes them shut to hide it.  Damn he felt weak, but at that moment, Katsuki didn’t care.  He didn’t want to let go but knew it would be awkward to stay that way, so after a few more second, he lets Izuku go.  Katsuki accepts the gift and gestures over to an area where they can sit.  “Would you like a drink?  I’ll go grab you one.”

Again, Izuku is a bit surprised by the question, but shoves his euphoria down.  “Um, sure, something light would be great.”

Katsuki grabs the drink for his friend and returns, taking a seat next to Izuku.  “Thank you,” the man smiles in acceptance.

Throughout the evening other guests come and go, dropping by the pair to say hi or chat for a while.  It was nice, relaxing, and though the temptations were there, Katsuki never took them.  He was even able to convince Izuku to dance with him for a couple of slower songs, but other than that, seemed content to stay put on that couch.

It was completely out of the ordinary for the singer, but no one was upset about the change, least of all Izuku.  All night, no outbursts, sipping on the same drink, and being a perfect gentleman.  His heart was soaring despite the lingering fears.  Will this last?  Can Katsuki really change?  Oh, how he wanted to believe it!

The party was going great and soon enough the halfway point had come.  Shouto drags Katsuki up to the stage for a birthday cake, over the man’s protestations of them singing him happy birthday.                        

“Just shut up and deal with it, then you can execute your plan,” Shouto whispers.

“Fine,” Katsuki growls.

As the crowd of half inebriated adults sings an out of tune version of the birthday song, the singer fumbles nervously with something in his pocket at the thought of giving a speech when this was over.  It takes a couple of the longest minutes of his life, but soon enough the DJ cuts the music and he’s free once more.  Katsuki gives the DJ a signal to play a specific instrumental song at lower volume, and Shouto hands him the microphone.

“Thank you everyone for coming tonight, hope you guys are having a good time.  I also want to say how much I appreciate all of you for putting up with me until now.”  Nerves kick in and singer feels a bout of stage fright kicking in.  “But I have an announcement to make.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his manager waving at their friend to come up.  “Izuku, would you please join us on the stage?”

“Wh-what?!”  Izuku deadpans but rises to his feet and cautiously makes his way to the stage.  It was a new experience to be centerstage like this.  Every fiber of his being wanted to bolt.

Katsuki takes hold of his hand and squeezes, whispering off mic that everything would be okay.  Shouto too, gives him a wink… Okay, now that was really strange, Izuku realized, the two men were in collusion.

“I’m sure everyone in this room know the man standing next to me, whether by profession or the photo’s leaked in the media.  It was in this very room at my album unveiling that we didn’t exactly start off on the right foot.”  Snickers are heard through the room.  “But we were able to get past that and I’d like to say we’ve become friends?” He turns to Izuku, who smiles nervously but nods in agreement.

Katsuki squeezes his hand, then releases it so he can pull the box from his pocket.  “He is the reason I am the person standing before you today.  I’m not completely rehabilitated,” he chuckles and even gains a chortle from Izuku for the crack, “but as you can see, even a tiger can change its stripes.”

Despite his nerves, the sweet words coming from Katsuki brings a smile to Izuku’s face and he could almost forget the fact he was standing in front of a crowd of people.  

“But what I don’t think even he realizes is his true effect on me.”  Katsuki now turns to face Izuku completely instead of the guests and hands the microphone back to Shouto.  “You were right, for a long time I wasn��t ready to settle down, but when someone special comes into your life, the dumbest mistake would be not to recognize it.”  He opens the box and holds it up as Izuku’s eyes expand.  “This is my promise to you, Izuku, if you’ll have me as your boyfriend.  To show you that I will do anything in this world to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

“Oh my god,” Izuku’s hands fly up to his mouth, covering it in shock.  “Kacchan, t-this isn’t…”

“No,” Katsuki chuckles and takes the man’s right hand into his own, “they’re promise rings… for now, until I’ve proven myself worthy to ask for you hand.  You’re my balance Izu, and I love you for it.”

The roar of the guests from the unfolding scene is barely heard as the two men’s gazes are locked onto each other’s.

Tears pour down Izuku’s face as can only nod his acceptance, too flustered and tongue tied to do anything more than just allow Katsuki to place the ring on his right ring finger.  “I love you too Kacchan,” he beams and wipes away some of the tears trailing down his cheek.

After placing a ring on his own finger, Katsuki raises the back of Izu’s hand and places a light kiss on it.  He grins wide, caressing the man’s face and smoothing away more of the tears.  “Only happy tears from now.  I love you mouse.”

Tours were great for exposure and fan support, but they could be such a taxing experience.  Months on the road moving from city to city or sometimes country to country.  In the past it wasn’t a big deal to Katsuki because it was like one long party.  But not anymore.  The married man was itching to get back home to his husband of three years.  Izuku had joined him for the first leg of the tour, but with the holiday season starting up, the florist industry was just too busy for him to leave it all in his mom’s hands.  And besides, the woman just couldn’t do the types of piece’s her son had mastered.  

But it was finally November and Katsuki had just finished his last performance.  He was practically foaming at the mouth at the prospect of seeing his husband in just a few more hours.

‘I’ll be waiting *wink emoji*’ Izuku replies.  ‘And don’t worry dinner will be ready by the time you get home.’

‘Fuck dinner, I’m just happy to see you.’

‘trust me Kacchan, youre gonna like tonights dinner *kissy face emoji*’

After arriving back at their hometown, the limo takes the singer straight to his apartment.  He was almost dead on his feet upon arrival and the only thing fueling his steps forward was seeing his man.  Katsuki drags his suitcases in and leaves them by the front door for the next morning.

“Babe, I’m home!”

“In here!” Katsuki hears his husband’s voice calling from the bedroom.  

As he walks through the apartment, he notices there’s nothing cooking, and no delicious smells coming from the kitchen.  How odd, if Izuku says he’s doing something, the man always does it.  Where he was a mess, his husband was the glue that kept them balanced.

“Hey babe, I thought you said dinner…” when Katsuki walks into the bedroom, the words die away on his tongue.

“is served,” a cheeky Izuku giggles and finishes the sentence.

“Holy… mother…”

There his blushing husband sat on his shins in the middle of their bed that is just covered in yellow green rose petals.  Izuku was clothed in a red silk robe, with his green hair tousled, and the robe front opened slightly to reveal the pale milky skin beneath it.  God damn he looked like a Christmas present that Katsuki was all but happy to open.

Izuku giggles even more at his husband’s gawking and sways the ends of his robe’s sash to break the stare. Because of the tour schedule, this had been the longest time they’d spent apart since their relationship began, and he just wanted to do something special.  Okay, that was a partial truth.    

“Go take a quick shower Kacchan, and I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

“Hell yes!”  Well no one had to tell him twice, as shoes and clothing were stripped and tossed on his quick exit towards the bathroom.  The blonde whipped through a shower in probably 5 minutes, drying himself off and walking back out buck naked.  Katsuki really had no shame what-so-ever.  

He grins at his sweet little mouse on the bed, who still sat in the same position toying with the sash.  “Need help with that,” he teases, gaining a coquettish smile and nod.  Katsuki climbs over the mattress, sitting in front of Izuku, and takes hold of the ends, “yeah we don’t need this anymore,” he pulls and tosses the sash aside for maybe later.  Next, he runs his hands under the edges of the robes opening, sliding them up against Izuku’s chest until they reach the man’s shoulders and slowly slips the silken fabric down his arms.            

With the robe added to the spattering of discarded clothing, Katsuki moves in, peppering his husband’s skin with kisses.  He pulls the man up till they’re both on their knees, with the smaller man’s legs constrained between his thighs.  Their bodies pressed up against one another, he continues covering Izuku’s neck with light little nips and pressured kisses, suckling, teasing every inch as his tongue eases its way up to the man’s jaw, and pulling delicious tender mewls from the mouse.  

Katsuki never would have thought that such soft and tender love making would appeal to him, but his husband opened him up to a whole new world of pleasure.  He loved the sensual acts and making Izuku purr with each new touch, or moan from every delectation he provided gave a boost to his ego that a million screaming fans couldn’t even hold a candle to.  It was a powerful high for the Rockstar that had him hooked like a drug.

Izuku weaves his hands around his husband, stroking long strides up and down the skin.  He trails the muscular ridges and seams, teasing little rivulets of quivers along the plane, then rounds Katsuki’s rear end, giving the firm flesh a good squeeze.  His fingers travel lower, just enough and pulse the middle ground between the man’s ass and balls, rubbing strong tight circles over the convergence of nerves.  

The blonde freezes and moans at the contact.  “Don’t,” he growls and bites Izu’s ear, “my way, tonight.”  Katsuki has a plan and it involves torture of a different kind.  

The smaller man whines but gives in to his husband’s demand… for now.  Turn out being a minx was a kink he’d come to enjoy being, at least in bed.

As one hand manipulates his husbands throat, the other snakes it’s way behind his back.  Katsuki trails his nails along the spine, creating little ripples of the muscles in response, and shivers threading through Izuku’s frame.  When it reaches the lower back, he flattens his palm over the skin, pressuring the hips to move forward.  He couples the move with a grind of his own pelvis, earning a deeper moan from his love at the friction of their cocks writhing against each other.

Skin to skin, their bodies grind in a slow rhythm of music only known to themselves.  Izuku tries to take hold of his husband’s cock but is rebuffed and reprimanded with another, sharper prick of Katsuki’s canines against his bare throat.  

“Not yet,” the blonde murmurs while still teasing kisses.  “I’ll tie your hands if you keep being a brat.”  

“But you must be tired,” his husband whimpers, “I wanna help too.”

“Never tired for you, mouse.”  

“Please,” Izuku makes another move to grab Katsuki’s dick, but is thwarted when the man simply grabs him by the forearms and lifts them up.  

Using gravity to his advantage, Katsuki pushes the man onto his back and pins his hips down with his own. He grabs the discarded robe sash and binds Izuku’s wrists, keeping them above his head.  “I warned you,” he grins, happy to enjoy the view.  His husband wriggles and pulls slightly at the bindings, but cannot compete against the larger, heavier man who has him pinned.  “I bet you did that on purpose,” Katsuki chuckles.

“Maybe…” Izuku smirks.  His preference was for the sensual, but after months of only self-pleasure to sustain him, he was hungrier than usual.  

“I know,” Katsuki kisses his lips, long and hard.  “I was lonely too, all the more reason I want this to last.”

While still holding Izuku down with one hand, Katsuki lifts up his midsection to shift leg positions from the outside to the inside.  His husband happily obliges and spreads his legs apart.  Once fixed between the man’s thighs, he lets his weight settle and pin down pelvis on pelvis.  

Izuku wraps his legs around Katsuki’s, cinching in a hold with his feet below the ass cheeks.  It was about all he could control.  He uses the leverage to help him grind harder against the man’s cock and bring himself some relief in the process.  It was painful how hard he was.  He could feel the sheen of sweat from the heat swirling in the area lubricating his movements.  

The truth was, Katsuki could have kept Izuku from moving around, but instead allowed the man to keep up the grinding while he focused on other areas.  He was having too much fun teasing the pale flesh of his husband’s throat and leaving flushed red reminders of his progress.  It made him feel like an animal, laying their claim.  But he muses to himself, there were definitely going to be bruises in the morning, he smiles between the kisses.  He pulls Izuku’s nipple into his mouth, rimming the pert little button with his tongue, and vexing the sensitive skin through his teeth.  

“Kacc—han…”

His husband reacts with a high-pitched rasp and arching of his body to ply the blonde’s mouth deeper.  In response, Katsuki sucks harder on the nipple and gains another garbled version of his name.  Yes!  These were the sounds he wanted to hear!  He moves on to the other nipple, giving it the same rough treatment and earning his rewards.  Back and forth he tortures his delectable little mouse, until the man is panting and fighting hard against his restraints.

“Please…” Izuku begs through his gasps and rocks his hips firmly against his husbands.  The desperation to be filled by Katsuki and feel the heat of his cock driven deep within him was making him delirious.  All the oral ministrations were amazing, but they were driving him insane!  “Please,” he whimpers again when Katsuki sits up to gauge his next move.  

Seeing Izuku so flushed and feverish sent a pang straight to Katsuki’s groin.  The man was covered in a sheen of moisture and precum was leaching out of his dick.  He trails his tongue along the seam of his lips.  Izu’s eyes were half-lidded and looking up at him with such wanton desire that he couldn’t help but finally give in… at least partially.  

After three years he knew that look.  Like a switch being triggered on the blonde.  Realizing that Katsuki was ready to give him what he wanted, Izuku relaxes his legs to give the man room to move.  He stays still, with his arms compliantly above his head, just motioning to the bottle of lubricant he’d placed next to the pillow earlier.  

The blonde growls a favorable sonant and grabs the lube.  He shifts his husband’s hips up, but when he reaches under to ply the man’s entrance with the lubricant, he discovers something else the man had prepared.  “Damn,” Katsuki grabs the small handle of the plug, “you really wanted to be ready for me huh mouse?”

“Are you upset?” Izuku winces.  “I just really missed you.”

“Hell nah, I ain’t mad,” Katsuki caresses the man’s backside and leans down slightly as he plants a quick kiss on his husband’s lips.  “Relax,” he whispers as he sits back up and starts to pull.  

Izuku does as he’s told, relaxing his muscles so his husband can easily remove the plug.  He then waits with abated breath, watching in heady anticipation as Katsuki slathers his dick and then Izuku’s entrance with the lubricant.  His eyes roll back at just the barest of stimulation.  The sensation of the man’s fingers toying with his ready flesh, then feeling something press up ready to enter him was all he’d been craving for.

No talking…  No sound…  Just the pressure of being filled as Katsuki pushed through at a leisurely pace.  When Izuku cracks a peak to see just why, he sees his husband staring down with the widest grin, just watching his dick slowly disappear.  The man was utterly enjoying the view and somehow that made Izuku glow, knowing how much this man loved being with him.

Fully seated in his husband, Katsuki rocks leisurely, just once along the full length, observing Izuku’s anguish at how gingerly he was toying with him.  Another slow and agonizing thrust again pulls a pained sigh.  He grins and continues for a few more rounds, all the while watching the man’s silent thirst multiple.  Sensual didn’t have to mean boring, oh no, Katsuki has learned, it could be pure and unadulterated torture.

The blonde shifts positions back to missionary and once prone and plugging his husband, Katsuki covets Izuku’s mouth, plying his tongue with his own.  His hands apply pressure, forcing the man’s hips down as he grind upwards.  He counsels every moan or whimper and tampers it down with a dance of his tongue.  

In response, Izuku wraps his legs around Katsuki’s thighs and arches his back into a different angle.  His gasping squeals are swallowed by the blonde after each buried thrust, and the friction… heavenly skin to skin grinding against one another, melding together in a slow rhythm.  He could feel his cock squished been their bodies, and every time Katsuki moved, it rubbed along the length as if it were being caressed by his hand.  Not that it matter much, Izuku’s mind was being pulled in several directions, and his body pleasured in more ways than one.  His senses were saturated by the mixture of heat, starry images behind his eyelids, and the scent of their love making filling the room.

But every time Katsuki could feel the building climax, he slowed his movements to a crawl, or stayed deeply rooted as he doles out sloppy kisses over other areas of his husband’s skin.  “I fucking love you so much mouse,” he murmurs unexpectedly, before adding more nibbles along the man’s neck.  

“Mmmm… I love you too… Kacchan…” he purrs back.  

“Mmm,” Katsuki hums in response.

The hums vibrations and breath fanning over Izuku’s skin sends rippling shivers all over his body with a piercing arrow straight to his soul.  He’d never known such levels of physical pleasure before Katsuki, and Izuku was sure that no one would ever be able to satisfy him as well as he could.  With his hands still loosely bound, he manages to weave them over the blonde’s head and threads his fingers through the back of the spikey tresses.

Katsuki moans and shudders when Izuku’s nails scrape against the scalp.  He growls a punishment that falls on deaf ears as his husband continues the gest unimpeded.  

Emboldened, Izu lets his nails ghost along the back of the blonde’s neck, earning a deeper moan and groveling growl.  He giggles.  “EEP!”  Then squeals when Katsuki forcefully rocks his hips so hard, the man sees white.

“Enough?”

“Again,” the man whines.

“You, naughty brat,” Katsuki chuckles.  He knows Izu wants him to go faster and harder, but he fights to resist.  “No.”

“Aww.”

His husband’s cute pout only earns him one more thrust.

“Soon,” Katsuki nips Izu’s ear.  “I’ll make you cry out my name soon enough, but first,” he sits back up on his haunches, “a little more pleasure for the mix.”  He takes hold of his husbands cock and wraps his fingers around the shaft just below the head.  Izu’s breathing falters and catches as the man’s thumb sweeps over the tip, plying the slit and spreading the drips of pre-cum over the sensitive skin.  

“Kacch…”  Izuku gasps.  His body arches briskly and the muscles around Katsuki’s dick tighten sharply.  

“Tch.” The blonde smirks as he reaches over for the discarded lube and applies a generous amount over the erection.  “Poor mouse, you’re so hard for me aren’t ya.”  Izu nods and whimpers, mewling when the man squeezes gently.  Dear god he was beyond turned on by this point and if his husband went too fast, he might blow too quickly.

Katsuki’s semi-roughened fingers from playing guitar strings clash against the pliant and servile skin of Izuku’s cock.  He glides his movements up and down, caressing the head before plunging the shaft in repetition.  Squeezing, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves with his thumb and all the while soaking in the writhing body it’s attached to.  He holds Izuku’s hips in place so the man can’t squirm away.  At times his grip digs into the flesh just to keep him still.

But when Katsuki adds his own hip action to the mix, Izu cries out and brings his hands over his face to bite down on his palm.  Over stimulation from being fucked and masturbated at the same time triggers a babble of incoherent words.  His vision grows blurry and his breathing more and more labored.  Tears gather in his eyes clamped shut, and his legs solidify its lock around Katsuki’s frame.  This is what he’d been craving!  Izuku is losing what little strength he has in his legs and begins to pressure his husband to speed up his thrusts.  

He could have countered his husband’s pulls, but Katsuki went with it, and increased the speed he was jerking off Izuku.  Just a little more….  “Hold out for me,” the blonde grits out through his own panting.  “Almost… there…”

“Kac-chan, please!” the stricken man begs for the sweet mercy of release.  

Izuku fumbles for his own cock, as Katsuki’s hand starts to slip.  They were both about to hit the edge and it was getting harder to focus.  He stokes hard and fast while his husband makes short work of mounting him deeper.

A flash of light sears Katsuki’s vision for a split second as his orgasm strikes.  He bites down hard and locks his jaw as he rides out the waves of seed filling his husband.  Beneath him, the smacking sounds of the sieges he’s levying on his husband are drowned out by the broken high-pitched moans from Izu’s own climax.  

“Holy shit,” he groans and practically collapses onto Izuku, too tired and spent.  Months of pent up sexual frustration really took its toll.  “Damn, I missed that.”

Izuku’s legs felt like rubber and drop like dead weight onto the mattress.  He does what he can with his wrists still bound, cradling the back of Katsuki’s head, and threading his fingers through the blonde locks.  “Me too, Kacchan…. Me too.”  Soon enough, he hears the light pattern of breathing and sees that his husband has fallen asleep on top of him.  Izuku smiles and kisses the man’s forehead, before closing his own eyes.  Home where he belongs…    

[corpse--diem]

Ring of Fire | Nell, Remmy, Luce, Adam & Erin

Timing: Current Featuring: @nelllraiser, @whatsin-yourhead, @divineluce, @walker-journal Summary: In the dead of night, chaos ensues and The Ring is forced to shut its doors--what’s left of it, anyway.

This was it. The nervous energy that gripped Erin’s chest, making the blood pulse in her ears, was the very same one that sparked something bright and bold within her. Pure adrenaline. There was nothing in the world like it, and the closer they got, the thicker and faster it coursed through her veins. The only distraction were the bottles clinking quietly in her bag as they slipped into the shadows surrounding The Ring. Alert, eyes keen on anything that moved. Knowing what went on behind those walls, who they’d harmed, and especially who profited greatly from their operations left a thick, dark anger sitting heavy in her gut. The depravity was unrivaled. But that’s why they were here. Their final blow to the sick fucks that made so many lives hell and for Erin, the first in a long list of things to come. For now, the plans were set, the parties were divided and ready to go. She glanced over to the Vural sister crouching near her as she pulled out a bottle, the alcohol-stained rag smacking her senses. “Do you have everything you need?” She asked, a final preemptive check in. Her eyes bounced from the building to Luce, lingering on the hands that were quite literally about to make some magic happen. She was the fire power here and Erin knew when to sucede to those with greater expertise. “Ready whenever you are,” she nodded.

Rolling her neck, the material of her choker a reminder of everything that had brought her to this moment, Luce ducked alongside Erin in the shadows. When the other woman had reached out to her, asking for her help-- who was she to say no? Erin had helped their family in ways that no one else could, keeping Bea’s body for them without question. Hearing that she wanted to take down the Ring, to burn it to the ground? It was the least she could do. “Yeah. I’ve got everything I need.” She said, holding up her hands with a cold smile. Luce scanned the surroundings, taking note of the doors, the windows, the thick walls. She wanted to funnel them out. And while a wall of flame would probably work… there were other ways of smoking people out. “Let’s do this.” She said before rising from their cover. As she stood, Luce touched the small silver bracelet around her wrist, alerting Nell that their plan was in motion. With a deep breath, she tapped into the well of magical energy within her, letting loose a torrent of power. The magic manifested itself into a burst of blue flames that shattered through one of the windows, the edges of the glass melted from the heat. The kid gloves were off now.

At the mouth of the hallway that led to the cages, Nell was crouched along with Adam and Remmy, on high alert as she stayed hidden with the two of them, waiting for Luce’s signal. When it came, she waited another long moment until there was a shuffling of feet, and muffled words could be heard down the way about fires and evacuations. Still not speaking, she raised a single hand before motioning it into a beckoning gesture, taking the first few steps forward into the open. She’d put a spell in place to help dampen the sounds of their movements, but invisibility was out of the question at a time like this. It would be a quick drain of her magic to cloak all three of them for an extended amount of time, and she didn’t want to be caught without it in case something went wrong. This path down the dark and damp walls of the Ring was one she knew well, one she’d taken when bringing in the creatures she’d caught for the fight. Being back at the Ring was...strange after the events of the past couple of weeks, the hairs on the back of her arms standing up as she continued to move forwards, searching for signs of life with a heat signature sensing spell every ten feet or so. “I think we’re clear,” she finally breathed, barely above a whisper as she straightened and continued on their trail.

The last time Remmy had held a gun in their hands, they’d woken up without an eye. This would be different, though. This time, they were ready. They were crouched between Nell and Adam, low to the ground, waiting for the signal and Nell’s lead. Being back in this place, especially back down here with the cages, made their skin crawl. But they had to focus. They didn’t have time to think about how suffocating the world was down here. How they’d been trapped down here. How the cage bars, despite being open, had felt smaller and tighter than any walls. The damp air circulated around them like a cloth, trying to choke them. But Remmy reached deep within themself, to the place they hadn’t gone in years, and pulled out the little soldier that always slept inside. Focus. Narrow down your target. Relax your arms. Think only about the mission and the mission objective. Get out alive. Lancer’s voice echoed in their head, and when they opened their eyes next, they were ready. Slinking along the ground behind Nell, firearm held firmly in their hands, alert and in front of them. Ready for anything. They paused in the doorway. “Then get the cages open,” they said to the other two once they were in the clear, “I’ll keep watch.” This time, they would not let their friends fall.

On one hand, recent events had made Adam more determined than ever to abstain from getting enmeshed in human conflicts. He needed to regain focus on the Code if he was going to find some way to atone for ….everything, that’d happened these past few months.

On the other hand, though Adam longed for a conflict was clear-cut, pure, and simple, real life was proving ever less accommodating. This was a chance to strike out at an organization where humans were being killed by monsters. Sure, it wasn’t in the context he usually dealt with. But could Adam really justify turning this down and let people fight, die, and stay in cages just because he couldn’t foresee the consequences?

When Rem gave the signal, Adam went to the first containment room at a half-crouch, tactical knife and pistol held at the ready. A first Adam ignored the battered and withdrawn figures in the cages. Instead he kept to the sides of the cell ward, carefully checking around corners and adjoining hallways for sentries or patrols.

The fact that there didn’t seem to be even a guard or two left behind here put Adam on edge. Even if whatever distraction Erin and Luce were up to was working and had drawn Ring personnel away to to deal with it, surely the mooks wouldn’t just leave all these people unguarded?

Call it Hunter paranoia, but Adam’s ‘oh shit’ vibes were building.

Nevertheless, the mission had a pretty small window to get these people to the extraction point. When Adam had completely ascertained that the inside of the containment rooms were free of guards, he signaled the ‘all clear’ to Nell and began retrieving cage-smashing gear from his tactical vest.

It was one thing to talk about what they were doing here, but the moment Erin watched the windows burst through sheer badass magical fire power alone, she knew she’d recruited the right set of people. “Whoa,” she grinned over at Luce. Already the guards were starting to pour out from the building as smoke and fire engulfed the entrance points. Some were trying to investigate, others were fleeing for fresh air. Erin whistled into the night air as she crouched, setting a lighter to one of the molotovs. “Shaggy! Come here, boy!” she chirped. Within seconds she heard the patter of feet on the ground racing towards her. “Go get it!” She yelled, hauling the molotov at the building. The hellhound burst from the shadows, excitedly stomping towards the fiery ‘toy’, knocking down and chasing off some of the guards who’d grown close to their hiding spot. Within moments, Erin lit another, ducking back down. Whistling loudly, she hauled the next one just short of the building and the second hellhound joined the group. She could hear the guards hollering as more and more emerged. Glancing up, she caught a few more guards headed Luce’s way. She didn’t even think--just whipped out the gun holstered at her side and shot the ground in front of them. Oh fuck. She always forgot about the kickback from this thing and stumbled back a step. “How’re we doing?” She yelled over to her, reaching for another molotov. “They could use a little more heat, don’t you think?” She smirked.

“Trust me, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Luce said, the familiar rush of magic filling her with a blazing warmth of power and energy. Watching as Shaggy rushed towards the Ring, she couldn’t help the way her jaw tightened. Nell’s demon dogs, back at it again with the arson. Memories of the horrible things she’d seen in Montgomery’s home spurred her onwards. Watching as few of the guards began to run towards them, she prepared herself, steadying her mind and drawing forth flames. But, her concentration was disturbed as gunshots went off in front of her. Luce flinched, the blue flames sputtering for a moment. She fucking hated guns. She hated guns. Christ. “We’re good!” She yelled, before muttering under her breath, “Stay in your lane.” With a growl, Luce conjured long streams of fire and flung them at two of the guards that charged at her. Screams rang through the night as they furiously tried to beat out the flames, dropping to the ground in an attempt to smother the flames. Waving her fingers, the tendrils of fire began to dance, curling around the guard’s necks. The screams intensified then died as their throats were seared shut by the heat. “C’mon, you wanna go?” She asked, cocking her head at the remaining guards who stared at her, seemingly caught between the urge to charge her and to run for the hills. “Let’s go.” With another flick of her fingers, the flames surged through the air, coiling around the guard’s legs.

Nell wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she faced the cages again. She could still pick out the one she’d been kept in for a week, no room to so much as stretch her cages while she was just given enough food and water to survive, drained on the hour every hour of her magic to make sure she wouldn’t be able to utilize it. For a fleeting moment she stiffened in a natural response of self-preservation, but the anger building in her stomach swiftly came to a boiling point, and as quickly as it had come, the fear went, leaving her ready to strike back at the Ring. As Adam signaled and she felt the ping of Luce’s confirmation on her wrist, she snapped out of the momentary distraction, striding forward to the first cage she could get her hands on before magicking the lock open in the blink of an eye. Start with the more sentient ones first. They’d be able to help undo the rest of the cages, and wouldn’t cause as many potential problems as the beasts and other creatures...hopefully. Nell went to cage after cage, silently trying to get as many open as fast as she could, unable to ignore the feeling that their luck wouldn’t last long. Even if the initial guards had been lured away, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t send someone back, or that another one might just chance upon them. With a wave of her hand, another row of cages popped open, the unwilling fighters spilling forth from them with wonder in their eyes, barely believing that this might be their chance at freedom. Perhaps they’d actually get out of this relatively unscathed. And yet...as soon as she’d thought the words, she stiffened, the sound of rushing air floating over from somewhere down the hall they’d taken to get here. It was as if a balloon had been punctured, the hissing sound of it growing closer as she hurried along the cages. Looking between Remmy and Adam, she jerked her head towards the sound, as if asking them to investigate.

Remmy held position, just like they were taught to be. It was strange being back in a place that had helped destroy them, performing a skill that had helped train them. Their eyes were glued to the hallways, even as their chest constricted, knowing that the place they’d been tortured and starved was just a few feet down. That the cage that had once held Ben was still there, a reminder of the blood on their hands. Of the reason they were here. They tightened their grip a moment, when the hissing sound echoed down the hallway. A soft rattling. When Nell approached and they all shared a glance, Remmy gave the nod and signal that they would go check it out. Crept silently along the wall, gun held  in front of them. Steps could be heard, almost as quiet as their own. Then, finally, Remmy rounded the corner. A figure came into view, spotted right away. But before they could react, Remmy pulled the trigger. Once, twice, right in the knee. The person cried out, an angry hissing. Shit, that meant others were coming. Remmy back peddled quickly, launching into the room. “We gotta go,” they said, “we gotta move.”

Adam had been tending to the fighters whose tenure in the ring had left them crippled and malnourished. Many of the fighters triggered sensations of freezing heat across Adams skin, revealing them to be various inhuman species. However being enslaved was not a crime and Adam distributed revitalizing tinctures the Vurals had given him, carefully applying the luminous amber mixture to the lips and joints of those who were too battered to move.

The monsters of the ring were another matter and Adam had to use both his knowledge of cryptobiology and sometimes some brute wrassling to get incalcitrant beasts on the move without trampling everyone. Paws, claws, tentacles, skittering legs, slithering scales, and humming wings blended together in a strange cacophony as Adam and Nell performed their own strange crossover of Mission Impossible and Noah’s Ark.

Adam wasn’t sure about how wise releasing all these critters was, given that some were highly dangerous. But considering the only two extant options were humans maybe being harmed if they went too close to a magic farm versus being killed for absolute certain in death matches against these monsters, Adam had to go with the former as the most palatable option.

These thoughts were rendered moot by gunfire and Remmy’s guarded retreat into the room. Acknowledging the announcement that shit was going down, Adam put his arms out to lift and support some prisoners who were still struggling to walk, and tried to hustle their conga line of slaves and beasties down the hall.

Luce was definitely good. Erin didn’t mean to stare as the fire flew from her fingers like high voltage ribbons, effectively strangling the guards and tripping up the ones who were trying to flee. “Shit,” she mumbled under her breath, never feeling more human and vulnerable in her life. Sure, she’d helped bring them all here, but she was only here physically for the assist. Not even the guards were human, from what she could tell. The hellhounds were flocking to some of them like a gnat to a porchlight, gruesomely chomping off bloodless limbs. Zombies, maybe? Vampires? The brute strength they showed when they tossed off the hellhounds matched up. Fuck. She wasn’t the only one with a gun. The night sky lit up with the sound and Erin dropped behind a dumpster. Her hands shook as she tried to ready another bottle. Holy fuck. Focused on the flame touching the damp rag. Not the screams in her ear, bones snapping under powerful jaws, the fire roaring behind them. Success. Gravel crunched a few feet from her spot. Without hesitation, she jumped back up to her feet and whirled the flaming bottle right into the face of the guard coming at her. He screamed as it exploded on impact and Erin fell back as she watched him erupt in flames. In seconds, he dissolved into dust. The world pulled into focus again and the sounds around them came rushing back. Keeping going. They just had to keep going. “Any word?” Erin shouted over to Luce, trying to steel her resolve amidst the chaos. God, she was ready for this to be over.

Her attention absorbed in the twin ribbons of flame that coiled and shot through the air at the guards who had come to put a stop to them, Luce didn’t notice the guard that Erin took on until he had exploded into dust. Fucking vampires. Christ. “Watch what you’re doing over there!” She called out to the woman, but the words were joking. She fucking hated vampires, good on Erin for dusting one of them. Letting out a sharp whistle, she tilted her head towards a fresh batch of guards who had come out of the building, armed to the teeth. “Get ‘em, Shaggy.” Luce said and watched as the hellhound bolted for one of the men, ripping his leg off with a savage bite and tearing motion. Swallowing as blood and marrow was sprayed against the cement, Luce lifted the silver bracelet around her wrist to her mouth.

“Nell, how we doing?” She asked, voice calm and level as she directed the lines of fire to rejoin, combining into one bright blue wave of flame that stretched out before her. As Shaggy continued to run around the group that was running towards her, Luce directed her attention back to the building. With a wave of her hand, the flames reared back like a cobra, poised to strike. Deep breath in, the flames remained still. And deep breath out-- the blue flames surged forward, slamming against the windows of the Ring, the material already starting to strain and melt under the heat.

“We’re not done yet!” Nell called back to Remmy, still getting more of the cages open, stretching her magic as far as it could go amongst the locks. Hurriedly, she rushed the latest of those freed from their confinements, trying to be reassuring in her attempts to get them moving, but keeping a sense of urgency. Leaving people and creatures here could be considered signing their death warrants, forced to fight another day, not knowing whether they’d make it out the other end. Luce’s voice on her wrist wasn’t reassuring in the midst of it all, and her own response was terse and tense while she continued on to the last row of cages. “Something’s here. Someone’s found us. We’ll take care of it. We’re just about to open the last of the cages. What about your end?” On top of not wanting to leave anyone behind, there was still the matter of the documents and records Nell wanted to swipe, though if it came to choosing between getting people out and her own personal mission, the choice was clear. Finally, the last of the bars swung open, and Nell ushered the inhabitants towards the exit with the rest of the growing crowd, trying to keep the escapees relatively calm and focused. Of course, that was easier said than done as the hissing sounds only grew louder. It seemed that whatever Remmy had shot wasn’t quite as easily deterred as most by the fall of bullets. All at once, the light from that few lamps above hit the creature, bouncing off its scales as slitted eyes narrowed to get a closer look at those escaping, and those responsible for the breakout. A Lamia— perhaps the biggest one Nell had ever seen was advancing, obviously displeased with the loss of their captives.

The crowd that had gathered in the hallway was beginning to spill out, prisoners and beasts alike ushered away from their captivity. Nell was right, they couldn’t leave until everyone was out. And if Remmy was the only thing between them losing their freedom and this creature, they would stand their ground. This time, they would stand their ground. They held the gun trained on the doorway and when the thing appeared, they fired just above their head, taking out the light. It shattered and sparked and the creature hissed loudly again, stumbling back. “Hurry, get everyone out!” they said, placing themself between the crowd and the snake. “I’ll hold them off!” It would be easy enough to train the gun right on this creature’s head, tap one two right between its eyes, but as soon as they lined up the shot, they froze-- Jax’s eyes staring up at them, angry and blue, covered in blood-- and they lost the shot. In the next moment, the creature was on top of them and with one swipe of its massive arm, Remmy was slammed into the wall, dizzy for a moment as their head hit stone. Hesitation, Lancer had always told them, was death. But now, Remmy could no longer. They whipped the butt of the gun up and around, connecting with the side of the snake-man’s head, before rolling out of the way of another swipe and bounding towards Adam and Nell. “Are we clear?” they shouted, scrapes on their face wiping themselves away, as if they never happened.

Adam didn’t necessarily want to risk gunfire with this many civilians and animals nearby. The walls around them were a large prison of concrete and a stray bullet could ricochet and hit a civilian or strike one of these monsters and cause a stampede. Neither was acceptable if he could help it.

Likewise he was supporting multiple people with his arms and shoulders at the moment. Thus the Hunter was put in the position of being paralyzed by his duty to help the injured to safety while only being able to watch as Remmington got blind-sided by the biggest giant fuck-off cobra Adam had ever seen. Seriously, what had this Lamia been eating? Was it a mutant variation or some kind of…

Ok, not the time.

Adam focused on getting the wounded and weakened out of the cell block, using unnatural strength to just outright haul people like hay bales when necessary. Remmy fell back to their position and Adam confirmed that they were all clear, albeit barely.

Erin kept low to the ground, every sound sending her on edge, reminding her how far out of her element she was right now. This was taking too long. It was working, she knew that. Trickles of previously caged beasts and people alike were fleeing from the building. Good. That was good. She’d focus more on that when she could safely see Nell and the others again. But their window was closing. “How much longer?” she yelled over to Luce, watching one of the hellhounds dragging a charred guard leg toward them like a stick in a game of fetch. If it wasn’t spectacularly gruesome, it could have been endearing. She whistled to catch it’s attention and tossed another bottle back to the building and exploded as it landed in remnants of Luce’s flamework. Her eyes locked in on the building, the outside already scorched and smoking. There was an opening in the cluster of guards. Some moving, some not.  “I’m gonna get closer. The second you know they’re out of there--” she cut herself off. Wasn’t time for this. Luce knew what to do. Well, this was it. She gave a quick nod, crouched back down into the shadows, and disappeared around the side of the warehouse.

Listening to her sister, Luce could hear the sounds of conflict in the background and she did her best to push the worry from her mind. Nell could handle it. With Adam and Remmy down there with her, she’d be safe. “Just-- stay safe, okay? The second you guys are clear, that place is getting blown sky high.” She said before raising her hands in front of her once more. The flames she’d sent at the building at melted through the glass, but they couldn’t go any further, not if she wanted to kill all of them. She didn’t know where the gas lines in the building were, didn’t know what kind of explosives the people in there were packing. If she set the wrong thing ablaze, she’d-- Swallowing, Luce waved the magic away, the blue flames that wreathed the building sputtering out. “Do what you need to, I’ll keep them busy.” She said to Erin before sliding her knuckledusters on and charging at a few of the guards who still remained. Their eyes widened as the witch came at them, armed with seemingly nothing at all. Whipping her hand around, Luce allowed the magic to flow through her fingers, filling her hands with flame as she slammed her hand against one of the guard’s head. A disgusting crunch, followed by shrieking as flames licked the woman’s flesh-- it didn’t matter. These people, they’d kidnapped Nell, been complicit in the torture her sister had faced. They deserved to burn.

“It’s what?!” Nell’s voice cracked on the last word with surprise. That hadn’t been the plan! Not that she was opposed to blowing the place to smithereens. It just hadn’t been what they’d all agreed on beforehand. “You can’t just change the rules mid infiltration!” Jeez, when had she become such a wet blanket? Probably around the time she’d realized that being hasty and not giving all the information about an operation didn’t hurt solely herself. She had a feeling it was too late to change her sister’s mind, though. Which meant they had even more limited time than anticipated. “We gotta hurry them all the way out! I’ll finish here!” she yelled to Remmy and Adam. “This place is gonna come down, apparently!” The enormous Lamia was still advancing, though, and it looked like there was no way she was going to get the papers now. Unless… “Remmy, switch with me!” They would be able to physically carry more people than she could if it came down to it, and even though she knew her friend had the ability to kill, they didn’t always aim to do so. Get the prisoners out, get rid of the lamia, get the papers. In that order. As soon as she’d said the words to Remmy, Nell was darting towards the snake-person. Seeing her advance, the lamia reared its head, opening its maw to spit its fangs, full of venom in her direction. “Shit,” she cursed as she barely dodged, whispering a quick few words as she swiped some blood across her arm. A flash of magic activated the other summoning sigil she’d had tattooed on herself. The first one she’d originally gotten. A fully grown cockatrice sprang forth from the magic, immediately charging the lamia.

Nell called for a switch and Remmy immediately obeyed the command. They were a soldier, a follower-- not a leader. Holstering the gun, they started gathering up people who looked too worn to walk, helping them get out of the room and down the hallway, hurrying them along. If they needed to get out fast, then they needed to start herding more people at once. Remmy knew they would be more help getting people out, but something buzzed under their skin at the thought of leaving Nell behind. They’d been taken together, suffered here together, broken out together, they couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her. “Adam!” Remmy called up to the young boy, “lead everyone out the back quickly. Everyone’s out of the cages, but-- I’m going back for Nell. Find Luce and Erin,” they said, before heading back into the cages room. They gave Adam one last look, one last chance to see if he would join them or do what he was told and get the prisoners out, before shutting the door and looking back over to where Nell was. The snake person seemed to be spitting something at Nell, and even though she’d summoned some sort of angry looking bird, they reared their head and spat again. But this time Remmy jumped in front of it, feeling the wet liquid drip onto their arms. They looked over at Nell with sharp, determined eyes. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

Adam has been the one trained to do the suicidal last stand charging around here, and was rather put on the back foot to not be the one playing dice with God today. Normally he’d do something like insist that it was his place to put his life on the line.

However he had his arms full of refugees in a building primed to explode, now wasn’t the time to debate whose life was most expendable here. It felt wrong, but letting these folks explode due to his inability to delegate risk was even more wrong.

“Understood,” he affirmed to Remmington, one soldier to another, and set about hustling the prisoners out of the building.

Nell knew that if they caught her again, they most likely wouldn’t bother with cages. Hadn’t her and Remmy been enough trouble the first time around? No, if the Ring was to have either herself or Remmy in their grasp once again, they’d want to do away with the pair, wouldn’t they? Perhaps that was the reason the lamia seemed to be aiming for kills. Thankfully, the cockatrice that Nell had fondly named ‘Nugget’ when she was thirteen and developing her summoning skills was doing a decent job of taking most of the venom hits, keeping her out of range for  the potentially deadly fluid. Wait where the hell had Remmy come from? Before she could even ask what they were doing, they had already answered, and a fleeting warmth passed over her at their words. “For old time’s sake, yeah?” They’d spent countless time in the Ring as a tag team by this point. It made sense to finish it on the same note. Nell pooled her magic, ready to continue her onslaught of the lamia when she remembered that Luce and Erin were waiting. They didn’t have time for this. “We need the documents. Let her take care of the lamia for now, and we can go grab them!” she finished, jutting a thumb towards the cockatrce that was now dive-bombing the lamia from above, sharp claws extended before it.

Remmy couldn’t help but feel a little excited by the prospect of fighting by Nell’s side again. It had been so long, but they’d done it so much, there was a rhythm now between them that barely needed any sort of verbal communication. But Nell was right-- this Lamia wasn’t their target anymore. They’d come here to get something and they were running out of time. “Right,” they said, before looking back at her, “duck and dive?” They gave a little grin, before turning back towards the snake, watching it tussle with Nell’s bird. When they saw the opening, they charged forward, feinting in their attack. The snake fell for the bait and tried to swipe at Remmy, but they ducked easily out of the way, feeling the whoosh of air from his oversized arm. Meanwhile, on their cue, Nell had taken the opportunity to dive between his legs, and the two ended up together on the other side of him, bolting out the door and down the hallway. Remmy followed Nell to the records room, positioning themself at the door as lookout while she shuffled through the drawers. “Might wanna pick up the pace,” they said anxiously, “I’m getting a bad feeling here.” But it only took a few minutes to find what they came for-- apparently the Ring only paid for security when it came to guarding entrances and not their own employees-- and the two were off down the hallways again, circling back around to meet up with Adam and the prisoners. Little did they know, though, that they were being followed by a slither.

Adam looked back and sized up the enemy and situation at a glance. There were several options, none of them good. He couldn’t allow Jet the Pit-boss Lamia to take any of the refugees hostage, as that’d end up bringing them to a stand-still and possibly kill them all in the explosion. To Adam there appeared only one logical choice, to interpose himself between the refugees and the threat. He set down the prisoners he was carrying, urging them on before barreling across the tunnel at Jet.

This was one bigass snake boi, the kind that Harrison Ford and Samuel L. Jackson had been warning us about us for years, but we fools didn’t listen and now the chonky man-cobra was helping run gladiator games and gulping down the losers like mammalian power bars. But Adam was still surrounded by refugees in this rather narrow passage with cement walls, thus going all Rambo with a rifle on the Roid-rage Mamba here would risk collateral damage.

Adam ran directly at Jet the Lamia. It was a calculated risk, and one Jet responded to by whipping back, tension visibly rippling through the scales of the pit fighter like a scaled cord. Adam was quick, but Jet had more than enough sinuous speed to match the mutant, and a lifetime of glatorial experience besides. Jet matched Adam’s momentum with an unnatural curve of his reptilian body that would’ve snapped a human spine in half. Adam grunted and bit down a snarl of pain as two fangs the size of railroad spikes sank into his shoulder.

Agony rimmed Adam’s vision in red. Everything rippled and felt like ice water as poison sank deep into his veins. But Adam had known ahead of time that it was tactically likely that he couldn’t beat Jet without his weapons and having to shield refugees at the same time. Thus he had decided to take a gamble in order to get Jet close and nullify the warrior Lamia’s overwhelming advantage of speed and flexibility.

Muscles bunched taut as Adam fought back the pain and took hold of the snake-man’s jaw that was currently latched directly into his shoulder and pumping venom into his flesh. Adam twisted away but kept hold, leveraging a foot against the smooth scoots of the Lamia’s stomach. His fee-hand gouged fingers into Jet’s eyes as he snarled with the raw brutish effort.

There was a sickening crunch and wet dripping sound. Adam stumbled dizzily backward,  tearing fangs out of his shoulder while Jet flailed around on the cold cement, blood pooling out from where the Lamia’s entire lower jaw and tongue had been ripped free.

“Nell..could’ya burn him,” Adam slurred, stumbling as the venom played havoc with his nervous system.

One moment Nell had been settling some prisoners atop her summoned cockatrice to be carried out, and the next Adam’s pained noises were filling the air. Her head whipped around instinctively, heart dropping into her stomach with dread as she watched lamia bite into the Hunter. Her adrenaline had already been pumping through her veins, but now it seemed to race, ice-cold worry coursing it’s way through her. It seemed that Adam had been determined to take a piece of the lamia with him, though. As he fell back, the witch first went to him, barely catching his words. The last time she’d felt like this...Jesus, the last time she’d felt fear this strongly was when Bea had died. Her brain was moving too quickly, whirring usually while she looked between Adam and the lamia. “No, I can’t burn it!” she yelled shrilly, it being the only thing she could think to say. She was usually the one who was cool and collected in times like these, but it was hard to keep focus when it was Adam twitching under the effects of a venom that could be permanently paralyzing him as they spoke.

The lamia. Jet the fucking lamia. As they always tended to do, the emotions Nell couldn’t deal with in the moment formed into anger instead, pure and hot as she advanced on the lamia this time. It was her turn to charge the thing, Adam’s blow having left it floundering in the dirt. Emotions were always a powerful tool in magic if used correctly, and she’d learned that rage was one of her strongest when it came to giving a spell brute strength. Advancing on the lamia, she wasted no time in laying her hands on the brute, nails scraping against the surface of his scales as he continued to writhe. She didn’t see one of its meaty legs whip towards her while it  blundered around on the ground, having assumed he was a sitting duck. Nell wasn’t ready for it, and for a moment she went down, trying to catch herself with hands splayed in front of herself. But the force with which the snake-man had kicked was enough for her to hear a slight pop from one of her wrists as landed to the ground, and pain was quick to follow. Thankfully, it only served to fuel her ire.

This time, she put her hands to either side of the lamia’s head, trying to ignore the throbbing of her wrist, and watching for any stray legs or arms that might try and sideswipe her. What had Kaden said it had felt like when she’d dropped him in the kitchen of Bea’s house? ‘Felt like you were going to turn my body inside out.’ That was what Nell wanted to do. Bring the insides of the lamia, out. The blood that was dripping from the wound Adam had struck began to drip more freely, turning from a steady stream to a river, its current coming faster as the red spilled out onto the ground. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but she could have sworn that as she stood there with Jet’s head between her hands...his eyes bulged as she looked into them. With a snarl, she tugged on that kernel of magic she’d been prodding more and more as of late, and raised her hands from the sides of his skull. All at once, his head burst open like a water balloon on the sidewalk, blood and whatever else had been left of the lamia’s head painting the front of Nell’s clothes and face. His body went limp, a headless stump now laid on the ground before her. For a moment victory was rich, until she remembered why she’d been so angry in the first place. Adam. The venom. The refugees, and Remmy. Shaking herself from the spot and the headspace, she went back to the Hunter, hands automatically hovering over him, trying to find a way to help.

In the light of day, the first thing Erin noticed on her dry run of the area was how similar the warehouses at this end of Amity all were. It wasn’t an area she visited if she could help it. The Ring was housed within the biggest by far, but all concrete industrial boxes built for efficiency, a few long abandoned. The piping system built along the back of each was almost identical on each one. Here, now, with chaos erupting on either side of her while she slipped through the shadows. She didn’t have magic or supernatural strength like almost every other person by her side. Alone, she was vulnerable. Just a human with a plan, a gun, some bolt cutters and a wing and a prayer. Guards were fleeing, chasing after the winged, furry, scaled and humanoid creatures escaping into the night. The guards that weren’t playing animal control were prowling around the building, though they were far and few between at this point. After the hellhounds hand made the rounds, the ones that hadn’t burned ran for their lives. Already, the air was starting to smell like the crematorium.

Finally, the message came from Luce that the others were out and all doubts, all fears were gone as soon as the auto-pilot in her brain kicked in. She’d watched nearly a hundred videos while Nic explained gas lines and piping until she was confident she could do this in her sleep. She worked quick, adrenaline giving her some sort of ‘mother lifting a car off of her child’ strength. Loose bolts clattered at her feet. She didn’t have time to do all of them but the kick of gas was making her dizzy as it hissed into the air, even through the bandana tied over her mouth. Sure as smelled like enough. Cautiously, very cautiously, she backed away, as fast as she could manage. If she even sneezed wrong, she’d blow up right here with it. And when it was safe, actually safe, Erin ran as far and as fast as her legs could carry her. Didn’t feel her legs moving or the wind in her hair. All she could feel was her heart rattling in her chest. Finally, she forced her feet to still, ducking down behind a supply shed way down along the docks. She was still heaving for breath when she messaged Luce.

“Go.”

Hand to hand wasn’t Luce’s wheel house-- never had been, never would be. She liked swords, liked her fire, liked the explosive wards she could throw down when needed. Her knuckledusters were more of a deterrent than anything else, she didn’t actually mean to use them for real fights. But, she’d made the decision to leave her sword at home because she was just here for firepower. That’s what this whole thing had been advertised to her as, anyways. As one of the vampire guards snarled at her, fangs exposed and ready to strike, she dodged out of the way and sent out a jet of flame that engulfed his face. As she did so, another guard took advantage of the distraction, sending a kick at her stomach. Luce was knocked to the ground, doing her best to roll out of the way as the man circled her, kicking and punching her. She curled up on herself, protecting her face as he attacked. “Fuck off!” She snarled and let loose a blast of fire that radiated out from her. Her attacker backed away with a scream, his clothes ablaze.

Rising to her feet, Luce felt her phone buzz in her pocket once. A text. She had a feeling she knew exactly who was sending the message too. A grin slid across her face and Luce turned her back on the man she’d just set on fire. The building was an easy fucking target, and with the windows burned out, it was almost too easy. Blood dripped down the side of her head and her arms hurt from where the guard had kicked her, but she ignored it. Just one last nail in the coffin and it was good bye Ring. Conjuring up a small ball of fire, she sent it streaking towards the building before turning on her heels and sprinting in the other direction, hands pressed over her ears. The seconds dragged on until a concussive explosion rang through the air and a scorching blast of heat washed over her.

Without a specific moment to focus on, Remmy’s mind began to let erroneous thoughts trickle in. Then again, they weren’t as out of place as they initially thought, as the words ‘blow up’ focused in their mind. This building was gonna blow. Remmy could feel something else trying to trickle in, an old memory fighting its way back through their mind. They grit  their teeth and fought against it, searching wildly for something to hone in on. There. The people. The prisoners still trapped inside. They rushed forward and picked up someone who looked as if they were struggling, hurrying them along. People and creatures alike scrambled to get out the doors, two by two, knocking each other over, biting and hissing and punching. Desperate to be free of this place. Remmy ignored their own instinct to barrel through and started shoving people along, when the loud hissing caught their attention. He was back.

“Adam!” Remmy had tried to warn him, but they were too late. Teeth were sinking into his flesh. He was teetering on his feet. And then-- the smell of blood filled the hallway. A few of the creatures stopped to sniff and Remmy felt their own mouth begin to salivate. No, no. Not now. They couldn’t lose it now. This was too important, too big. They whipped back around and shoved the critters that had tried to turn back outside. Clapping their hands loudly, banging their gun against metal to scare them away. Everything else had run off on its own. Remmy looked back just in time to watch Nell rush towards the creature, hands held up to his head. Somehow, Remmy inherently knew what was going to happen. They could see it clearly in their mind. They turned their head away quickly, picking up a small critter who had gotten injured in the stampede and booked it. Ran as fast and far away as they could before the smell of splattered membrane could reach them.

The small critter struggled in their arms, jolts of electricity rushing through their skin. They yelped and let it go, watching it skitter off quickly. Turned back from their spot in the alleyway to see if Nell and Adam were coming. They needed to get out. Where were they? Eyes searching, desperate.

And then the BOOM! came. Remmy’s mind fell away. Their back hit the ground, head slamming down from the force of the wave. A reminder of what had brought them here. A reminder of how they’d died. Hands digging into wires, watching the timer. A shout. Falling back. Fire licking up above them, smoke billowing. Sand beneath them. Remmy cried out. Hand whipped up to their face where a sudden pain exploded, digging in. There was no blood but they could still feel it, pouring down their face. Reliving a memory their mind had so long forgotten.

Erin felt the warmth, the rush of air and heard the explosion all at once, even behind her relatively safe spot behind the shed. It was the loudest thing she’d ever experienced but--it worked. Holy fuck, it worked. Debris from the building clattered around them and smoke filled the air, dark and thick, even as far as she was from the building. What was left of it, anyway. When it was quiet enough, she chanced a peek from behind the shed. Oh, shit. Remmy. Erin saw them and tried to call out but couldn’t hear herself say their name. Realized her ears were ringing a bit--she hadn’t run quite far enough, she supposed--but she could faintly make out the sirens far off in the distance, the red and blue lights cutting through the smoky, blazing skies. There wasn’t time to check to make sure the rest of them had made it, she could only hope to high hell. But they did it. Fuck. Fire reflected in her eyes as she struggled to get Remmy to their feet and trudge away from the scene as fast as her legs could carry the both of them.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Too Weak to Fly (chapter 5)

Back to chapter 1

Well... that took forever, sorry about that. I hit a really bad writer’s block and it took a while to get past it. (this chapter might feel a bit rusty because of that, but, hopefully, still palatable)

@cosmic-malarky Thank you again for prodding me! 💖

@swanheart69 @boysinperil @agentlokii

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Chapter 5

 “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” William Congreve it was who’d coined the phrase back in 1697, the adage that had since been paraphrased and entrenched firmly in the public conscience.

 Mr. Congreve had never met Aziraphale.

 ***

Two days.

 Two days he sits on that cursed bloodstained mattress, cradling the pale, lifeless vessel that used to contain his best friend, his sole companion for the millennia he spent here on this Earth, his love, his life.  

 Two days he grieves, keening in anguish and despair until his voice gives out and his throat burns, shredded raw from his screams.  And he welcomes that physical pain, insignificant though it is. Clings to it with the fervor of one caught in a tempest of pain emotional that rages within him, clawing at his very essence, leaving wide, bleeding furrows in its wake, reminding him again and again of what he’d lost and how utterly powerless he was to stop that loss from happening.  Anathema, bless her soul, tried to console him, pointing out that Crowley isn’t truly dead.  He knows that.  He knows that, of course, but it doesn’t really matter.  Hell had Crowley back in its clutches now, weakened and defenseless without his powers.  And, best case scenario, they were going to torture him, horribly, sadistically, until they brought about his complete destruction. Worst case – that torment would last forever, no intermissions, no reprieve of death.  Either way they were never going to let him out again.  Aziraphale was never again going to see him.  

Two days he pleads and bargains and begs of the God that wouldn’t listen to turn back the clock, to give him time, to give them time.  Because they had so little time to be truly together, just the two of them, on their own side, free of the restraints of Heaven and Hell that had kept them apart all those years.  Because he was just beginning to learn how to let go of the millennia of indoctrination and fear; how to relax into the reality of their new relationship, how to convey to his beloved demon the true depth of the feelings he has repressed for so long… and how to atone to him for all the years of cruel rejections and faint-hearted lies.  Because they deserved so much more than these ten short years, and it just wasn’t fair!

 And then he gets angry. 

It is the kind of anger he’s never felt before.  A terrible, blinding fury to match the equally terrible pain that’s ripping him from the inside.   It’s powerful, it’s dangerous, and it’s begging to be let out.

 It doesn’t matter that it’s already too late and Crowley’s gone.  Doesn’t matter that there’s no point in swinging one’s fists (“or brandishing your sword, Angel”, as Crowley himself liked to say) after the fighting’s done.  It doesn’t matter, because all he can think about is that little white-walled cottage in South Downs and an enormous pair of black iridescent wings intertwining intimately with his own and the most beautiful golden eyes gleaming warmly at him in the desire-seeped darkness of their bedroom….  

That was supposed to be his future, their future. Hell had no right to take it from them.  And now? Now they were going to pay for it.

 The punishment lifts, as it was supposed to, two days later, when the first hint of the sunrise brushes the night-blackened skies.  And he feels like crying as the dizzying, heady rush of power comes flooding back into his essence, because it’s two days too late.  He soaks it in nevertheless, welcoming it like an old and dearly missed friend, as it sweeps through him, reclaiming lost ground.  He feels almost complete now, the missing part of him slotting perfectly back into its rightful place, filling in the gaping void left by its absence…. Almost.  

 Almost.  Because there’s a Crowley-shaped hole at the very heart of his being, ripped out with a brutal, damaging force that left behind torn, bleeding edges.  And it burns. It burns despite the soothing presence of his powers. Burns with all the ferocity of Hellfire.  

 He clings to that pain.  Harnesses it. Lets it further fuel the towering blaze of fury that rages within him, roaring for vengeance. And that dark wrath, that terrifying need for retribution that no proper, God-abiding angel would ever even tolerate in their presence – for the first time in his long, long life Aziraphale is neither scared nor repulsed by it.  He welcomes it with open arms.

 He hugs Crowley’s body closer, gentle, deliberately, achingly gentle despite the violent storm within him.  Presses one final, reverent kiss to the ice-cold brow.  Lets himself linger another moment, face buried in the matted flame-red locks, breathing in the fading remnants of his demon’s scent.  He should have been faster that day, should have listened to Crowley.  Should have protected his demon as Crowley had always protected him.  Some Guardian he was…. But then he’d always gone too slow, hadn’t he.  Well, no more.  

 “Forgive me, my love,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with the grit of guilt and tears. “I won’t tarry here much longer.”  

 And he won’t. There’s nothing for him here.  Not anymore. His other half, his only true companion on this Earth was gone, and Aziraphale isn’t planning on spending the rest of eternity here alone. No, his continued existence without Crowley seems to him like a punishment on par with Falling, as blasphemous as that comparison may be.  A memory of him finding Crowley in that bar 10 years ago after his unfortunate discorporation at the hands of Mr. Shadwell floats unbidden across his mind: a row of empty wine bottles, the uncharacteristically disheveled, hunched over figure, the broken, devastated look in the dull red-rimmed eyes – the look of a man with nothing left to lose.  

He understands it now, he thinks.  Because he, too, lost everything that mattered. And now he is going to lose himself, too.  But he will take that loss willingly.  Along with as many of Hell’s denizens as he can.

 He places the body onto the mattress with the same doting, breathless care; runs his fingers down the beloved face, pausing when he reaches his lips, letting his fingertips rest there a moment, trembling lightly against the chapped, ashen skin.

 “Goodbye, dear.”

 He stands then.  Takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he unfurls his wings, feeling his power crackle in the air around him like lightning in the gathering storm.  

He spares a quick thought to Anathema and the others, all still asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He won’t be seeing them again, he realizes with a small twinge of regret, and he sends one final blessing their way – a parting gift on his and Crowley’s behalf for everything they’ve done.  Their lives will run smooth, their course untroubled.

 He extends his right hand, and a familiar sword flames into existence, the handle fitting perfectly into his waiting palm.  He wraps his fingers around it, his expression darkening into grim determination, and winks out, leaving a single white feather to float slowly down to the floor.

 ***

 He kills the first demon the moment he steps off the escalator.  It was some squatty foul-looking thing with a lumpy face and sharp blackened teeth, and it made the mistake of being nearby when Aziraphale in his Avenging Angel mode descended into Hell.  He is now a smoldering puddle of goo on spit and filth covered floor.

Aziraphale steps calmly over the demonic remains, spreads his wings out until they almost touch the grimy walls, his Grace flaring out in a wide, blinding circle around him, and walks on, the Flaming Sword held at the ready.

“What in Heaven izzz going on here?” an angry shout buzzes loud over the cacophony of shrieks and the sizzle of destruction that mark his forward progress, and Aziraphale turns toward it like a hound that’s zeroed in on its game.

 “Lord Beelzebub,” Aziraphale acknowledges, blue eyes flashing with cold, blazing fury as he thinks back to the messily scrawled signature at the bottom of Crowley’s mildew-mottled missive.  “How perfectly fortuitous! I’ve been looking for you.”

 He stalks toward them, noting with grim satisfaction the way the Prince of Hell recoils from his advance, scrambling awkwardly to get out of the way until a wall blocks their path.  They freeze there, squinting against the blinding light of Aziraphale’s Grace, and the angel can’t resist leaning in closer, lifting the Flaming Sword to press its edge against their scrawny pale neck with deadly, unequivocal intent.

 “Whatzzz wrong wizzzz you?” Beelzebub screeches, panic flashing clear in the washed out blue of the demon’s eyes.  “Are you mad?”

 “I assure you, Lord Beelzebub, I am in perfect control of my faculties.” The sword presses harder, a thin trickle of inky black ichor staining the blade where it bites slightly into the demon’s skin.  “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

 A snarl twists the normally impassive features, fear tainting the angrily spat out threat, “You will zzzuffer for thizzz, you fool! You won’t leave here alive!”

 Aziraphale’s answering smile is a cold, empty thing that has the Prince of Hell shrinking further into the wall, unsettled.  “I don’t intend to,” he responds simply, as the pale eyes before him widen in distress. “The one being I cared for in this world is gone, and I mean to follow him.  But I would be loath to leave this world…” He leans in further, the stench of smoking skin tickling his nose as the demon before him hisses in genuine alarm, struggling to maintain their crumbling composure in the face of certain destruction.  Adds in a low, dangerously calm whisper, “without first smiting those who took him from me.”

 “We didn’t take him!” Beelzebub screeches, all pretense of composure gone as Aziraphale swings the sword for the killing blow.

 “What?” The sword stops a mere inch away from the demon’s neck, the flames roaring in cheated hunger.

 “We were never suppozzzzed to,” the demon hurries on, voice strained with the urgency of panic.  “It wazzzz Gabriel’zzzzz idea – to punish you two zzzze same way you tried to trick uzzzz.”

 Aziraphale blinks, his mind stuttering numbly on the Prince’s words as a new kind of horror blooms in his chest.  “You mean, I would have been dragged down here, and Crowley…”

 “To Heaven, yezzz!” Beelzebub buzzes impatiently, trying to twist away from the flames that lick at their skin.

 Aziraphale’s hands tremble ever so lightly and he clenches them tighter around the handle of his sword. “I don’t believe you.”

 “I can prove it!” An expression of contented sadistic glee flashes briefly in the faded blues.  “Zzzey sent uzzz tapezzzz.”

________________________________

A/N: Ruh-roh

[luninosity]

feettootie said: WHIP IT OUT WHIP IT OUT WHIP IT OUT                            

...you want me to what, now.... :D

Also, did I say 6k of Demon bonus story? I meant like 12k now.

#

The aging bones of the balcony gave way. The theater broke. Supports cascaded, imploded, burst.

 Bodies fell. People. Screaming.

 Justin ran another step forward and flung out both hands.

 Six or seven people—Kris couldn’t think fast enough to count—winked into demon teleportation magic and back out: safely on the ground, at a good distance from the shrieks of the crumpling building. Brimstone briefly scented the air.

 “Justin—”

 “I need to focus—” Justin caught a few more. Yanked them out of disaster and over to solid landings. “Ow—oh, damn—I’m going to have the world’s worst headache—”

 “How can I help?” Hand on Justin’s arm. Security’d run out from the wings. Trying to get the band, the stars of the show, to safety.

 The collapse hadn’t hit the stage. Only that side balcony. And Justin wasn’t going anywhere, which meant Kris wasn’t either—

 Justin saved people. Justin was beautiful, a demon with crackling power at fingertips and incandescent eyes and streaming hair. Kris spared a single second to be entranced by him. Shouts of alarm rose up around them; sound equipment and speakers clattered; bodies in the pit and at the floor level swelled with apprehension, forming mobs, trying to exit or find companions or give assistance.

 Hadn’t any building inspections happened? Any precautions? How’d a whole theater come apart so instantly? Needing one demon to catch so many people, dozens of people—it’d been an intimate venue, so not hundreds, but Justin had once needed a snack after rescuing a girl’s lost chubby cat—Justin was pretty damn far from inexhaustible—

 He tightened his grip on Justin’s shoulder, on stage. They stood out in front as another section of balcony, pulled by its neighbor, groaned and wrenched itself downward. “Tell me what to do!”

 “I’ve got most of them—” Strain laced Justin’s voice, eyes, pale face. Crimson and ochre rippled through his hair, his gaze; his teeth and horns and cheekbones sharpened. Less human, more demon, more himself: semblances peeled away by power and stress. “I can do more—just keep everyone calm—”

 The first sweep of people groaned, sat up, checked themselves over: intact and awed. Justin’s summoning gifts whipped falling debris away, flung theater fragments into thin air and subsequent reappearance safely on the ground, and reached out to cradle trapped concert-goers and pull them out of crushing spaces.

 Kris stretched out empathy. Fought to broadcast calm, reassurance, a lack of panic. Projection hummed at his fingertips, at the core of his existence, in familiar woven strands of green and brown and melody and London and New York and guitar-strings and fire like shooting stars. He’d always been good at throwing his passions out into the universe; right now the universe—and his demon—needed him to believe that everything would be okay.

 So he did. He believed it hard. And he let the soothing fall like a weighted blanket over distressed shouting crowds.

 Sirens sounded. Emergency relief. Assistance. Kris, holding the fear of thousands of shaken fans in one empathic hand, turned to his husband.

 Who breathed, “This is the last—there’s no one else trapped—” as two more bodies materialized away from the rubble. “They can check to be sure but—I think—that’s it—it won’t collapse any more, I moved everything that felt dangerous—”

 “You’re incredible,” Kris told him, stepping closer, reaching a hand out to touch him. A few people, grouped in a knot of rescue at the base of the stage, began applauding. They’d all seen what Justin had done. “You’re brilliant, love—I thought you had limits, I didn’t know you could do that much—”

 “Yes…well…” Justin’s face was white, Kris realized abruptly. Fire-hair had grown duller. Eyes more brown than glittery cinnamon. “I can’t, actually…”

 “You what?”

 “I do have limits,” Justin admitted, a ghost of usual teasing; and then put a hand up to touch his face, and looked surprised, swaying.

 Red, Kris thought, though the thought did not take shape for a horrified blank second; but the red was blood and not fire, because Justin’s nose was bleeding, and Justin’s eyes were closing, and Justin’s whole body gave way all at once, collapsing into Kris’s arms—

 No. No. Kris felt the scream like a whip-crack across the night, searing its way out of his soul.

 He heard gasps, and a few cries and moans; he grabbed the empathic projection and held on tightly, metaphorical magical hands shaking. Justin would tell him to get it under control; Justin saved people; Justin wouldn’t want anyone else hurt…

 Justin was hurt. Limp and white and unresponsive in Kris’s arms. Justin’s head fell against Kris’s shoulder; his eyes did not open. One hand dropped to the stage, and lay there.

 The stage where he’d just been standing—alive and upright, on both feet—in that rock-band t-shirt and skinny black jeans, the same ones he still had on, laughing and waiting for Kris to pull him into an encore, a song, full of anticipation—

 Dark ruby stained the pale blue of that shirt. Justin’s hair and cheekbones and even fingertips were simply human: magic emptied out, leaving ordinary nails without lightly pointed claws, and the regular ginger sort of human hair, pale red and wavy and lifeless. He’d dyed it all sorts of colors, once, when not letting the fire peek out; Kris had loved the discovery, when they’d first tumbled naked into bed, that Justin was in fact more or less a redhead.

 Right now Justin was more human than Kris had ever seen him: burned out, drained, younger and fragile. He lay in Kris’s arms without moving or opening his eyes; he was breathing, chest going up and down, but he did not react when Kris clung to him, pleaded with him, called his name.

 A burst of materialization and brimstone scorched the air. Three slim pillars of flame crackled into existence and resolved themselves into three of Justin’s aunts, all sparks and teeth and claws and hissing. A paramedic who’d started toward the stage froze in place; the rest of the band had been hustled away by security, leaving instruments, being taken care of.

 Kris and Justin, in a tangle of stunned limbs and bodies, had landed on the stage; Kris cradled Justin, shook him, tripped over love and anguish and words. “Justin—Justin, love, wake up—open your eyes, love, please—please, stay with me, look at me, Justin, please—”

 All three demons threw themselves down beside their nephew on the scuffed stage; Aunt Raissa’s glamorous blue evening gown tore in a rip of silk. Aunt Mara, who tended to be the spokesperson, commanded, “We’ll handle this—” and spun to face Kris. On both knees, in jeans and a sparkly green shirt, wearing fire in eyes and voice and claws, she grabbed Justin’s unmoving hand and defied the apocalypse with pint-sized familial ferocity. “What happened?”

 “He—”

 “He saved them,” Mara said over him, “didn’t he? Oh, stupid, stupid ridiculous human heart—oh, Justin. Come on, come on, pet, wake up. Wake up for us.”

 “We felt it,” said the third of Justin’s favorite aunts—he had around fifty, though only three or four had taken an active interest in raising the half-human child of the sister who’d died in the human world—and looked up, uncertain. Kris had only met Ylse perhaps three times; he knew she liked human soap operas and romance novels and lacy sundresses. Right now her eyes were bright and scared. “We felt him, clearer than ever, like he’d reached over and touched our world, like a portal—and then we couldn’t feel him—Mara, he won’t wake up and I think he’s feeling worse…”

 “He saved everyone.” Kris could barely talk. Clutching Justin. While demons knelt and touched bare colorless skin and made little fire-flares crackle in the air. “He…I know he’s…he’s only half…not as strong…”

 Justin had saved people before. That cat. A baby. Five residents of a burning apartment building, once. He’d admitted to Kris that that’d been hard; he didn’t have boundless resources, he was part human, and his human body wasn’t built to channel that much otherworldly power. He’d fainted in an alleyway, he’d admitted, after rescuing the people; he’d awakened with a splitting headache.

 But Justin wasn’t human, and could—

 “He can heal.” Kris looked from aunt to aunt, demon to demon: all of them clustered over Justin, here in a dust-filled theater full of despair and voices and aftermath. “Can’t he?”

 They exchanged glances.

 “What?”

 “He might be able to,” Mara said slowly, “but I think Ylse’s right and it’s hurting him…using any of it, right now…”

 “What does that mean?”

 “It means,” said Justin very weakly, “that everything hurts. Oh, gods…oh, Kris…” His eyes opened, beautiful as ever, but his voice trembled; Kris held onto him, held him, wanted to weep with relief and terror, and couldn’t. Justin had already started to cry, not from fear but as if hurting too badly to hold it all in; that realization spun Kris’s emotions into dazed white-hot blankness.

 He got out, “You’re alive, love, you’re alive and I’m here, you’ll be all right, I swear, I’m here and I’ll take care of you, I love you,” and stroked a wisp of hair—light red, tired, whisper-soft—out of Justin’s face, and tried to demand answers from some demons with his expression.

 “Justin?” Mara, sitting beside Kris, touched her nephew’s wrist. “Come on, pet, look at me. I know it’s hurting, I know, just look up for a second…” Her voice murmured like velvet, like roses, like coaxing: worried and soothing with the edge of centuries-long practice at temptation and seduction.

 Justin caught breath, shivered, held on to Kris, but looked at his aunt. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment: more human than usual, meeting the more otherworldly.

 And then Justin flinched, and tucked his face into Kris’s shirt. Kris pressed a kiss to the top of his head, held him more proprietarily, and demanded, “What was that?”

 “Not good,” Mara said.

 “I’m all right,” Justin said into Kris’s collarbone, shaky.

 “Love,” Kris said, “you’re not. Don’t worry about reassuring us or what the fuck ever, don’t worry about anyone else, understand? Just take care of you.”

 “That’s part of the problem.” Justin swallowed, struggled more upright, took a breath. He remained terrifyingly weak, weight wholly resting against Kris’s bulwark; he hadn’t tried to sit up on his own. Drying blood streaked his face and the world with awful hues. “I can’t heal. I can’t even shift aspects…if I try, everything hurts so much…I did try, just now, and it was…I couldn’t…” He shivered more. Shook his head, silenced by pain; he leaned against Kris more after, exhausted.

 “So you’re not all right.” Kris tried to keep his voice even. He was dying, screaming, falling apart—but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, because Justin was leaning on him and he needed to stay strong and even-keeled and secure, a rock-solid old empath who couldn’t even protect the man he loved…

 “I’m…” Justin paused to breathe some more. “I’m not getting worse. I think. I’m still here. But I feel…everything burns…it’s like fire, inside, and even more if I even think about…” When he held up a wobbly hand, he looked at it as if expecting burn-marks, trails of scorched black, seared lines along veins and bones. “It’s too much…”

 The aunts shared a moment, then looked at Justin. Aunt Raissa said, with the presence of mind of someone in a long-term relationship with a United States Senator and consequent awareness of the media, “We should get you out of here before anyone tries to study you and the effects.”

 “I can’t teleport,” Justin said. “I can’t…”

 “Not you, pet.” Mara patted his shoulder. “You can’t do anything right now. None of your human doctors can. No offense, Kris.”

 “If you can help,” Kris said, and stopped, as tears skewered his throat.

 “We’ll take you home,” Mara said. “Both of you—” And as she said so the world blurred, became watercolor and fire, a swirling pool of cinnamon and garnet and primrose streaks.

 The streaks eddied, ebbed, stabilized. Magic jerked at Kris’s body, at Justin in his arms.

 They landed in his and Justin’s penthouse apartment: in the living room, in fact, right next to the sofa, with an unnerving degree of precision. Aunt Raissa, sitting on a couch-arm, said, “Oh, Mara—poor pet, look—”

 Justin had gone quiet again, lax in Kris’s arms; Kris, released from demon-magic, moved to set him on the sofa, saw Justin’s shut eyes and the loll of that head—

 “No. No, Justin, come on—please, love, I love you—”

 “Still here,” Justin breathed, without opening his eyes. “That hurt…even feeling it hurts…scratching…so sharp…”

 “I’m sorry, pet.” Mara perched on their coffee-table, scrutinizing her nephew’s face. “I thought you’d rather get home as fast as possible. Away from any human poking and prying. Did it hurt too badly?”

 “No…it’s just everything…” Justin’s expression crumpled into pain. “I’m so tired.”

 “You can rest now.” She touched his cheek; her expression held another emotion for a moment. Kris, watching, remembered that Justin’s aunts had lost a sister as well, when Justin’s mother had died. “Rest. That’ll help most.”

 Justin nodded a fraction, lying prone on the sofa, head eased into Kris’s lap; Kris loved him and wanted to make this never have happened and wanted to tear the world apart if it’d ease one second of Justin’s pain.

 He stroked Justin’s hair some more. He made his own breathing steady. No pressure. No pushing against raw sensations. Only projecting good emotions: comfort, warmth, affirmation. Tenderness. Love.

 Aunt Ylse handed him a blanket. It was the one from their bed, a colorful knitted enormity that Justin’s middle siblings had made during the year they’d decided to learn to knit. Kris did not bother to ask how she’d pulled it out of sheer nothing in their living room; full-blooded demons did not have many limits.

 Justin had limits. And was lying very still, head pillowed on Kris’s thigh, breathing ragged but evening out somewhat. He might’ve been sleeping, though he wasn’t, quite; Kris knew how Justin felt when cuddling sleepily in the mornings. This was more frightening.

 He didn’t have his mobile phone. It’d been in the dressing room backstage. Justin’s, in a pocket of those skinny jeans, kept making buzzing sounds. Kris tugged it out, tossed it at the table, knew the news stories that’d be erupting, and ignored them.

 Too big to think about. Too enormous.

 Justin hadn’t moved, maybe soothed into some form of drowsing by Kris’s petting and wholehearted love. Kris could rub his temples forever. Anything. Everything. If it’d make even the smallest difference.

 He said, keeping his voice low, “Is there anything I can do? Anything you can do?”

 “Us? I don’t know.” Mara ran a hand through her hair, rumpling fire; Kris hadn’t seen her look so weary ever before. “It’s essentially a form of magical burnout. You know how that works, yes?”

 He did. Even human magicians got that: too much power, overuse, brilliance poured into channels unready to contain it…sometimes the backlash took the form of a simple headache, but it could also mean permanent damage, a burning-out of those channels, ongoing agony or even insanity or death…

 She must have seen his face. “It’s not that bad. Or I don’t think so. But what he did…he shouldn’t’ve been able to do that.”

 “He can do more than—”

 “You don’t understand. He’s half human. He shouldn’t have been able to do that. To catch that many people, to keep pieces from crushing them…everything we know about the children says he shouldn’t be that strong.”

 Kris, who’d seen Justin conjure up pizza and carry an inhuman amount of books with one hand, did not have an answer. He did not know enough about demon physiology; no one did. Especially not rare, once-in-a-century hybrid types. Like Justin.

 Mara drew a breath, let it out. “He can’t heal magically because everything hurts. Overloaded. Especially our sort of magic.”

 “Demon power,” Ylse said. “And it’s dreadful, because…”

 “…because we could heal him,” Raissa finished. She’d kicked off her high heels, and swung a leg; she looked anxious too, barefoot and tense under blue evening wear. “We could do all sorts of things…feed him power, if it was just straightforward energy depletion, or bring him properly home…”

 That meant the otherworld, the demon planes, out of the human realm; Kris couldn’t even argue about their taking Justin someplace his human lungs couldn’t follow. “Would that help?”

 “I’d say yes—he’d be less human, less vulnerable, more himself—but not with this.” Mara frowned. “Everything in there feels too torn up…too broken…completely surrounding him with our power might hurt worse…”

 “Then no.” Kris left a hand resting in Justin’s hair, and let the world shake at the edge of an empath’s anger. “Not unless you’re sure it’ll do something.”

 “I think it won’t. Not yet. He needs to heal enough that those channels can hold at least a little power, again. I think right now he’d start screaming in pain if we tried.” She bit a lip; her teeth were more pointed than Justin’s, though they did not draw blood. “He’s not going to die. He will recover, I think…this doesn’t feel permanent to me…but it won’t be instant.” Her eyes, older for a moment, rested on Kris, who loved her only nephew. “He’ll be human for some time. I don’t know how long. He’ll be in pain for…some time, too.”

 The universe cracked and quivered. Their sofa and coffee-table and rug yearned closer in anguish. Kris’s heart clenched around itself—around an absence of Justin—unhappily.

 “Keep him warm,” Ylse said softly, and rested a hand on Justin’s ankle, over blanket-folds. “Keep him quiet, and calm, and protected.”

 “I can do that,” Kris vowed. “I can do that.”

[lostbutterflyutau]

Wrong Again

Note: This is an AU to my Mirror World AU that I wrote when I was in a mood. I had a sad, so I wrote a sad. In this AU everything is the same up until Carla turns 27 and her marriage starts to fall apart. In this piece, now 32, she’s faced with having to finally, fully leave it all behind.

*** I knew…

This time I had finally found

Someone to build my life around

Be a lover and a friend

After all my heart

Had put me through

I knew that it was safe with you

What we had would never end

Wrong again

***

It was supposed to have been the first day of forever. A public declaration of love that they promised to carry for the rest of their lives. The lyrics of their wedding song had even read, I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life. But she never expected that the rest of her life would only encompass a few years.

Seven blissful years filled with soft kisses, tight hugs, midnight dances and walks through town. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and festivals. Highs, lows, and magical foes. It was a marriage so filled with love and life. Until it wasn’t.

And now, it was time to let the last part of that life go.

Today all of her friends were celebrating, as they should. It wasn’t every day that there was a royal wedding. Of course, it wasn’t as grand as Elena’s. Neither Isabel nor Gabe wanted it to be that way. At least, that’s what she figured. After all, back when planning their wedding Gabe had wanted to keep it small. Private. Intimate.

Carla wondered for a moment how he felt about all of the attention. He was used to some of it as Captain of the Guard. But now he was both Captain and a soon-to-be Prince. If that’s how that worked. She wasn’t completely sure. Nor did she care enough to look into it. If she had her way, she wouldn’t have to face another word about them again. But, unfortunately, it was all over the papers and all anyone had talked about for weeks. There was so much speculation on what it would be like. What kind of dress would Isa wear? How many attendants would she have? Trivial things that had seemed so important when she was the bride.

But now…?

She sighed, finished tying off her hair. Deep brown eyes stared back at her, the colour both beautiful and sad. Sure, they made her look better. But part of her hated that she now hated the violet colour she grew up loving and being praised for. It felt almost like a betrayal to the mother who’d gifted them to her. But, on the other end, she got a lot more date requests now. Maybe that client had been right in that violet was weird and off-putting. Or maybe it was because she was just getting better at hiding that constant pang in her heart. The one that told her she wasn’t good enough. That she would never be good enough again. No man wanted a ‘used woman.’ Especially not one that couldn’t give him more than herself.

One last look in the mirror confirmed that she was done. Every hair perfectly in place. Makeup soft and subtle and not at all noticeable. At the thought, her eyes flicked over to the drawer that contained her more colourful palettes. The ones she hadn’t touched in what felt like forever. Not since her birthday. And that was only because Fortuna insisted on doing her makeup in another vain attempt to cheer her up.

She couldn’t blame her. She knew it had to be frustrating when someone you cared so much about seemingly refused to be happy. But the thing was, it wasn’t a refusal. More than anything, she wanted to be happy and had been making progress up until Elena had showed up to give her the news of the engagement.

It wasn’t unexpected. Not really. Just a few months earlier she’d turned up to reveal that Gabe was dating her sister, having wanted to tell her before the papers did. She’d learned to live with he idea of them dating. But engagement? Marriage? That was like a punch to the gut and confirmed her worst fears. That it was really, truly over. He wasn’t coming back. And while she wasn’t even sure she ever wanted him to, the thought still hurt.

All she could do now was hope that his second wife could give him what she couldn’t and that they would be happy. As hurt as she was, she refused to wish ill on him. He deserved to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her.

With another long sigh, Carla set the brush down, opened the drawer directly underneath her hand. From it, she pulled the last portrait. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d kept it for so long after destroying the others. Perhaps she was still clinging to the hope of returning to that stage? Or she was too afraid of letting go? Could she just be too held up in the memories of happiness past to have been able to keep it for so long? Whatever the reason, she was over it now. With an all-too familiar pang, she willed her magic to flow up within her and, with a snap of her fingers set fire to the picture. She stared for a minute, watched their smiling faces slowly dissolve and then let it fall onto the table. The magic flame she conjured wouldn’t burn anything but what she willed it upon, so she was content to let it burn out on its own as she stood and finally snatched the box up off her bed.

*** When she made her way downstairs and into the shop, she tried to keep her steps quiet. She wasn’t in a mood to face anyone. She had already made up her mind and no one was going to change it.

Unfortunately, instead of being in the front of the store like she expected, her stepmother was right near the foot of the steps hovering around a dress form and muttering to herself about the costume hanging off of it. It was something brought in by the director of a local theatre production. A hand-me-down that needed some serious restoration.

Still, despite her being right there, Carla hoped she could slip by. All she needed to do was –

“Carla?” Fortuna asked without looking up, her voice breaking Carla’s thought process.

Carla wanted to kick herself. Of course she wouldn’t be able to get around her. As concentrated as she seemed, Fortuna was still aware of what was around her at all times. She supposed spending years on her own as a single woman was responsible for that.

When Carla didn’t answer, Fortuna quickly secured the hem and stood upright, taking the pin that was between her teeth and setting it on the stand beside her. She looked up, eyes moving from Carla’s face to the large garment box in her hand, immediately knowing what it meant. She took in a breath as she stepped over, set a gentle hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asked, searching her eyes for any sign of resistance or hesitation, and finding only that same lingering sadness that continued to break her heart. She wanted more than anything for her stepdaughter to be okay. Maybe not jumping around with joy, but at least content in some way.

Carla closed her eyes, took in a deep breath to stave off the tears she felt welling up. She wanted to scream that of course she didn’t want to do this. This dress had meant so much to her. It had been custom made by a close friend. The symbol of her first day of forever. What she really wanted was to turn back the clock. To undo all of the pain. The loneliness. The long nights staring into an empty sky with Cleo as her only company. But she couldn’t. All she could do was try and keep going forward, even if it meant giving up something that had once held so much meaning but was now nothing more than a fragment of days past and a symbol of a failed love.

Finally, she nodded, confessed, “No. But I have to.”

Fortuna didn’t respond, only wrapped her arms around Carla. She understood all too well what she meant. Maybe not from personal experience, but from all of those long nights talking and getting her to open up at least somewhat. Even four years on it was complicated for her. While she was sure there wasn’t any more love there for her ex-husband, she also knew there wasn’t hatred. Hurt, but not hatred.

When she pulled back, the older woman gave a sympathetic smile. One that said, along with the understanding look in her gaze, that she got it. She leaned in, gently kissed her head, and moved to turn back to her work as Carla continued on and quietly slipped out the door and down the street.

Along the way, she tried her best to keep her mind only on her task. All around her it seemed like all anyone could talk about was the wedding happening that day. Little girls in tiaras. Older women gossiping about the outcome of such a marriage. Bridal shops feeding off the hype with sales and specials. In another life, she might have joined in. As a child she loved the idea of having a fairy-tale wedding and finding her one true love. But now that she’d done both and ultimately failed in the aftermath of the fairy-tale, it was all reminders of a life before disillusionment. One she wished she could go back to even as she pulled on the handle of the door of the shop she’d passed by so many times but only now had a reason to walk into.

She was greeted with a warm welcome and a wide smile by the older woman behind the counter.

“How can I help?” She asked when Carla finally stepped up, set the box on the counter.

Carla put on her best smile, slid the box over, “I’m just here to give you this.” She took her hand to her hair, fingers idly fiddling with the ribbon on her side ponytail as she waited and watched as the woman opened the box she hadn’t opened in years, a small gasp leaving her lips when she caught sight of the intricate detailing before finally, carefully pulling the dress from it and holding it out.

“Are you sure about this?” The lady asked, shooting Carla a concerned glance. The dress was gorgeous. One of the most beautiful she’d ever seen. She quickly realised that it had to have been handmade with care. This wasn’t an ordinary commission. The hand-sewn detail put into it was the mark of a personal touch. And beyond the dress itself, even she could see the hesitation on Carla’s face. It was about more than her wanting to do a nice thing, she knew.

Carla only nodded, continued to play with her ribbon. “I… Don’t need it anymore.”

The woman’s smile turned sympathetic, “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll give you a week to come back. That’ll give you some time to think while I prepare it for display.”

“Thank you, but I don’t plan on it,” Carla replied as she turned to head back out. She appreciated the idea of having a period to think it over, but she had made her decision before even reaching for the door. If she was ever going to go forward from this point, she had to let go of her past, as painful as it was.

She managed to hold it together long enough to make her way back home and up to her room. But, once she saw the small pile of ash on her vanity where the portrait had been, she gave in and slid down the wall with a defeated sob. 

***

And they said,

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“It’s something that he’s going through.”

“Happens to a lot of men.”

And I…

Told myself that they were right

That you’d wake up and see the light

And I’d just have to wait

‘Til then

Wrong again

[darkpoisonouslove]

“A Partner Is Everything Needed to Sate the Endless Want of a Soul”

Summary: Out of the cave and with the enchantment in his pocket and Griffin’s hand in his, Valtor’s ready to celebrate his victory and get to know his new partner. She even has a mark to confirm she’s his, so why does he keep facing problem after problem the single root of which is that knowledge exactly? Part 2 of "Love Can Be a Trap That Sets You Free".

I blame @her-majesty-wears-jeans for everything since she just had to ask how part 1 would continue if I were to write more. I did write more. And I’m nowhere close to finished.

The sun had already set and it was well into the evening when they made it back to the clearing. They'd have to spend the night there as he was too exhausted to summon the needed energy to open a portal back to Obsidian. He could probably get Griffin to do it–she certainly had the power for it–but, truth be told, he wasn't in a rush to go back to being his mothers' errand puppet yet when he could spend the time getting to know his new partner.

He had no idea how old she was. She could have lived for hundreds of years even though her eyes were filled with wonder at the world around them as they moved swiftly, drinking in the mellow green of the grass and trees–every bit as different from the sickly grass that had tried to kill him as the light of day was from the darkness of the cave–in front of them that were illuminated by the fire in the sphere still floating above his head. He wasn't even sure if she'd seen anything outside of her cave–he wasn't exactly certain how she'd gotten there in the first place which was just one of the endless things they had to discuss–but he'd be glad to show her everything that the world outside had to offer. The thought of standing on top of it with her hand in his–he still remembered the coolness of her skin against his and the softness of her touch, as if it had been water caressing him–was sublime and he tried to focus on that to distract himself from the nagging question of how he was going to explain his new partner to his mothers without revealing to them that he was in possession of the enchantment. He'd gone a bit off course with that mission that he'd kept secret from them.

There were more pressing concerns currently, though. He was starving and while he had no idea if sirens needed food, Griffin was not a siren anymore and, considering the radical change she'd gone through, it was probably best to get her to eat something. And they needed to light a fire if they wanted to actually wake up in the morning and not spend the rest of eternity as one with the clearing after the cold of the night had chased the life from their bones.

He nearly shivered at the thought of the ice frost biting at his skin fueled by an endless flow of rage, which was exactly what awaited him if he went back to his mothers without a good explanation why he had an ex siren with him. They would know the moment they looked at her, he was sure of it. He had to focus, though, and take it one problem at a time.

He wouldn't have to worry about any potential punishments his mothers had in store for him if hypothermia never let him get back to their home base. And finding fire would prove to be a problem now that his inner flames were exhausted and barely flickering still.

They still had the fire in the sphere floating above his head but it couldn't really provide enough heat to justify the power it was draining from him and just the thought of trekking through the forest in search of wood was making the light in it waver as his energy was being sucked out rapidly when his determination slipped through his fingers. It had gotten him far but it wasn't endless when he was alone against the whole world and had to face its unending challenges on his own.

He felt Griffin's fingers tugging at his coat as she reached into the pocket and pulled out the enchantment, holding it out to him.

He wasn't sure how exactly she'd figured out what was going on in his head. If she could still read his thoughts, then that was something to be accounted for. Not necessarily bad–she was his partner and that would give them a way to communicate without words–but still something to be mindful of, especially since he wasn't a fan of having his thoughts poked into. It was something he would really prefer to go without. Especially when he had a choice on the matter.

It was possible that Griffin had reached the same conclusion as him when it came to what their next step had to be through logic, though. And considering her genius solution to the problem, he was willing to bet on that.

He took the shell from her, his fingers brushing against hers and he was glad to see she didn't feel the need to pull away. Though, it could be simply because she knew he had the means to make her bend to his will. He wasn't exactly certain how much free will she had after his little stunt with the Dragon Fire and he preferred to think about the perfect opportunity to give the enchantment a test run rather than on thoughts about the ethics of his actions. Or the lack of thereof.

She had him under her spell as much as he had her under his. Well, actually, it was her own magic that had marked her his but she'd been aware of the consequences of the actions she'd undertaken and he hadn't forced her into anything but had won their battle of wills fair and square... Almost. (If you didn't count stealing her oxygen from her.) So the playing field was evened out, considering how enchanted he was by her.

He opened the shell, hoping the enchantment would sway his mind into quieting down as well so that he could focus on the pressing matters rather than on the worries that were washing over him and trying to drown him. He'd avoided that fate when it'd been Griffin's magic threatening him with it. It would be ironic to suffer the same demise at his own hand.

The sound that spilled from the shell drowned out everything else, holding his attention on it even though it was flowing all around him, surrounding him like he was an island in the ocean. The soft whispers of waves washed over him, tugging at his heartstrings and seducing his mind into following them as if it was the tide that was pulling him further and further into a tranquil sea made of peace that made every strain in his muscles ease and every struggle in his mind cease to the point where he almost forgot about the intention he had to put forward if he wanted the enchantment to get his will to take over the world around. Magic was emotion so he did his best to focus on his want for food and firewood and not get dragged into the calm trance the sound of the waves induced.

He barely heard it at first but the noise got louder, making its way through the soothing sound of the enchantment and digging into his head. The cracking of the wood would have snapped him out of his infatuation with the song of the ocean waves whether he'd wanted it or not and he allowed it, a little bit worried by the effect the magic had on him. It was so alluring, sweet, seductive, tempting him to give up his will and do as its master desired to the point where he almost forgot that that was him. He held the power, and yet, he wasn't completely immune to it. And nature wasn't either.

The trees were bending their branches and breaking them off, the wood falling in the clearing so that they could use it for their fire. It was like a self-destructive dance that was equally hypnotizing and terrifying and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the haunting sight as the trees kept twisting and finding new ways to maim themselves since they were left no choice but to follow his will tangled into the sound of the enchantment. And over their branches arrived two big leafs with berry-like fruits on them that two of the trees almost snapped themselves in half when they bent over to lay them down on the grass for them.

Griffin's hands on his startled him when she pushed to close the shell and stop the eerie spectacle of nature sacrificing itself for them. Her head was bowed and she let go of him slowly when the sound of the ocean stopped and the trees returned back to their natural motionlessness.

It helped him regain his own autonomy now that the universe looked the same as he knew it and he wasn't caught in the middle of a mystical ritual he didn't understand. He moved to pocket the enchantment, a sense of awe filling him at the sight of the little shell now that he'd seen the enormous power it held. It was hard to comprehend even though it was exactly what he'd been after.

"How did that happen?" he asked, his words a jumble in his mind that was still mostly full of the otherworldly experience he'd just had. And he would be embarrassed to admit he didn't understand magic in front of anyone else–and punished if it had been his mothers who'd watched him get all speechless at the power that was like nothing else he'd ever witnessed–but she was his and it was safe to trust her with his lack of knowledge.

"It's the nature of the enchantment," Griffin said, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear it and it still cut through him with how different it was from the melodic sound he was used to. It was nothing like it'd been when she'd first spoken to him and asked him to kiss her. It was like sandpaper scraping against his ears and threatening to make them bleed, but it was even more painful to his heart to listen to her like that. It was as if life was draining out of her and she barely had enough oxygen left to speak. "It sways the-"

"What happened to your voice?" he interrupted, his eyes searching her face as if trying to find the thing that was doing that to her when she finally looked up at him.

Her own eyes looked at him, the golden not as gleaming as it'd used to be and he knew that had nothing to do with the dim light because they'd glowed even in the darkness of the cave before he'd burned a part of her away. The look in them was studying, bordering on suspicious, but it seemed to soften when she found what she'd been looking for. And he didn't know whether it was a good thing that that only happened after he felt the worry and insecurities resurface in him.

Griffin reached for his pocket again but his hand covered hers, holding it in place before she she could pull the shell out once again. "It's in there," she croaked out even when her demeanor and her entire being seemed to soften. It was all she could manage now. "The enchantment is my voice in its archaic state when it hasn't been reined in by the restricted capabilities of my vocal chords," she explained, every word tugging on the strings of his heart so viciously it took everything from him not to clutch at her hard enough to hurt her and producing awful wailing sounds that echoed inside his mind since they were trapped inside him and couldn't get out. "It is the same as the Water Stars in essence and can sway the spark of the Dragon Fire in every living thing into doing its will," she said, making him stagger and he had to move. Not only because her quiet, rough voice was worse than the cackles of his mothers when they were taunting him.

"I'll go take care of the fire," he said as he let go of her hand, and if her eyes got glassier as if his voice or behavior was pulling tears from her, he did his best to ignore it. Just as he did with her form that remained still and anchored in place in the middle of the clearing as if she was cut in so many pieces that moving would make her fall apart. He knew the feeling but he couldn't help her when it was her who'd forced it upon him.

Her words rang in his ears–or rather, scraped at them since that was all her hoarse, no longer melodic voice could do after she'd extracted most of it in the shell to give to him–engraving in him the realization that he couldn't control her with the enchantment since her soul had no Dragon Fire. Its essence came from the Water Stars. So the only thing that held her by his side was her own spell he'd turned against her. But the effect of that had been burned away at least partially by his fire. Which meant she could leave him. And that had him scared.

He kept from looking at her as he tried to focus on the fire instead. He couldn't look at her. She'd been supposed to be his partner but all she'd done for him so far was make his heart bleed at the thought of her ripping her voice away to give to him and have terror gripping at his throat at the thought of her leaving. She couldn't. If she walked away, he'd be all alone against his mothers and their impossible demands again. And he knew even the enchantment wouldn't help with them since they'd find a reason to criticize him no matter how well he did on missions. Just a part of her wouldn't help him. He needed all of her, everything. He needed a partner to see him as equally deserving and worthy and not berate him when the smallest thing he did wasn't perfect. And she'd already given him that with the look of total adoration on her face that might have been an effect of the spell she was under but he'd won his victory.

The fear burning in him was enough to power his magic–perhaps a bit too much since the branches burst into flames, startling Griffin even though she was as far away from him as his heart could handle without starting to race even faster at the thought of her leaving–but it still left him feeling so weak. Weaker than he'd ever been. And that hadn't been the plan. He had to be more powerful with her at his side, yet, he only felt regret and trepidation. And even that wasn't enough to make him break away from her. Maybe sirens didn't even need magic to entrance you and it was just in their nature. Even if he'd made sure she wasn't a siren anymore.

He willed the flame in his sphere to die down as he had no more energy to feed it any longer and he didn't need it now that he was out of the cave and there was a bigger fire to keep him warm. That one didn't even drain his energy since he'd only given it the initial spark but the wood kept burning on its own without exhausting him further.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he'd been running around all day, using his strength and magic on the enchantment and Griffin without doing anything to recharge himself. Eating and sleeping sounded heavenly even if he had to get through the problems Griffin posed on both of those.

He walked over to where she'd sat down on the ground cross-legged–she seemed to be getting comfortable in her new form–and was studying the fruits the forest had found for them. It pulled forward the questions he'd had before of how much she knew about the world and the worried warmth with which they burned in his mind only left him angrier because he still wanted to show her everything she hadn't gotten to see for herself. Even with the very prevalent possibility of her breaking his heart when she disappeared, chasing her own freedom which he understood but didn't necessarily accept as he craved to get used to her being his partner.

"I'm... not really sure what these are," he said as he looked at the fruits before sitting down next to her. He hadn't seen fruits like that–colored in purple that very much resembled that of her hair–and couldn't really introduce her to something she hadn't tasted before since he was right there with her in the dark. He did suppose that they were edible, though, since he'd wanted food when he'd employed the enchantment to work.

"They're berries. Edible and sweet," Griffin said as she looked at him, her expression mellow to differ from her voice. At least she confirmed he'd been correct in his assumption about the fruits.

"Have you eaten them before?" he asked when he realized that she actually had more information than he did. He'd thought he'd be the one in familiar waters once they were out of the cave but perhaps that wasn't the case. Maybe she knew more than him despite being a siren tied to her lake. He could still sense the magic harbored inside her even after his own interference with the depths of her soul and it wasn't hard for him to believe she knew secrets he couldn't even imagine.

Griffin shook her head. "No, seaweeds were the only thing that grew in the waters of the lake," she said, her eyes getting distant as she remembered her life in the dark cave and the light in her eyes seemed to fade even more, answering his question about how much of the world she'd seen.

"I guess this is a first for both of us then," he said as he grabbed a few berries from one of the leafs, looking to distract her from the thoughts that were spilling out of her mind as if to drown them both as he could see the inside of his own mind reflected in the abyss of the lake they formed around the two of them. His own life consisted mainly of memories he wished wouldn't be that, wished he could forget, but most of them were engraved in his soul and some – even in his body. And he was running the risk of the present moment becoming yet another one of them, marking his heart with a scar for him to remember her departure by after she took the world of her being from him and left him alone in the dark emptiness of its absence. But right now it wasn't that. It was a chance to make a good memory with someone who understood him and something about her pushed him to choose to hope for the best since thinking about the worst had always resulted in exactly that happening. Even if it was absurd to bet on faith with all those traces left on his being that gave him proof he was right not to entrust his heart to it.

Griffin gave a small smile that was not radiant by any standards and was instead rather sad but that only struck him with how genuine it made it. All the smiles he'd had directed at him had either been a mockery or a threatening show of teeth. Either way–something to protect himself from. And he wasn't sure he'd had a real smile on his own face but the answer was most likely "no" if victorious grins and prideful smirks didn't count. But she'd gifted him with one of her own–perhaps even her first one, considering the striking similarity between the two of them–and seeing it was worth the possibility of him coming to hate it later.

She focused her attention on the berries, taking one and bringing it to her lips. There was a beat of hesitation before she inhaled, probably looking for a scent to at least give her a clue about the taste that would come next, and slowly dropped it in her mouth. Her jaws met slowly and an excited hum left her throat at the sweetness of the berry–not surprisingly since all she'd ever tasted before had been salty seaweeds–but in her remains of a voice it still sounded like she was in pain, the hoarseness of the sound poking into his own mind and he wrecked it to find something else he could focus on that would save him from hurting.

"How... how did you know they're berries if you haven't seen them before?" he asked, wondering if perhaps he should have left her enjoy the fruits as he watched her shove almost an entire handful of them in her mouth, their juice staining her lips in purple and making him want to wipe it away. Or perhaps lick it off. But she wasn't the siren he'd kissed anymore. She was the woman who could leave him if he pushed her to. And he preferred to keep his hands to himself if it meant he could keep her too.

"I have a concept about every form of life that exists," Griffin said and that topic didn't seem to upset her which helped his heart settle a little and perhaps have some excitement enter it at the opportunity to learn more about her and the magic that she was, even if that was only possible by listening to her strain what little voice she had left. "I don't know how that is possible–perhaps it is somehow tied to the Water Stars essence in me–but I know why it is," she said, wiping at her mouth to remove the berry juice and he hoped it was the sweetness of it that had made her want to remove its tantalizing presence on her lips and not his persistent gaze that had made her self-conscious or uncomfortable. "It was to help me understand nature better so that I could protect the enchantment better with the defense system it was up to me to create," she said, her lips getting pulled into another sad smile at the memories and he couldn't tell which part hurt. Was it the fact she'd had to part with her voice or was it leaving her own universe behind? He had to admit her creations had been impressive and he could see how she could get attached to them even if he couldn't relate, not having the power to create anything despite possessing the Dragon Fire. And she probably couldn't create life anymore either because all he could do was destroy.

"How long have you been guarding it?" he asked even though he was well aware that question had enormous potential to be painful. But he hadn't cared what he was causing her up to this point. Why start now when he could keep being interested in his wants only?

"I..." she paused, her face scrunching up into a frown deeper than her lake, "I don't know," she said, the answer seeming to shock her as much as it did him. "There was nothing in the cave to indicate the passage of time. I don't even know how many men and women have turned into compost for my ecosystem," she said, her look unfocused as if she was pulling her brain apart in desperate need to get some numbers she could work with. "Not even the number of those I dragged down to the bottom of the lake," she whispered, her already quiet voice quieter with something that nestled in his heart with the sole purpose of unsettling him. And it wasn't the thought of anyone else getting to kiss her either. (She'd taken care of all those who'd done it before him.)

"Are you all right?" he asked, feeling his own eyebrows knit as he debated whether to reach for her and pull her out of the mud in her mind but the thought of the pain on her face when he'd burned the water out of her soul convinced him against it.

"I'm a murderess," she said, the struggle in her voice to get the words out making it even harsher and her inability to concentrate her gaze on anything making the worry spin inside his head like a whirlpool, dragging forth the realization that so was he but, to differ from him, she seemed to care. "I was just an extension of the ocean that guards its secrets with violence if need be and the consequences of what I was doing weren't registering because it was simply my nature. But remembering all the terrified expressions of the people when they realized they couldn't breathe in my underwater embrace now that I understand what being a human is and what death means..." she shuddered, her conscience shaking her so profoundly it looked like she would fall apart, as fragile and soft as she was. She had barely been a human for a couple hours and she was already better at it than he was. She was better than him and didn't deserve what he'd done to her.

He'd changed the essence of her being, he'd made her human, made her mortal. He'd caused her pain that was now causing her more pain. Because he'd wanted to get his way. It was one of the most selfish things–the most selfish one–he'd ever done, and he'd done plenty of those.

"It's not your fault." he said, the words rolling off his tongue as naturally as comforting himself had never been when he knew it was all on him. "You didn't have a choice."

He'd had. It had been one of the few times in his life he'd gotten to choose for himself without his mothers' threatening presence looming over his head, and he'd chosen to put her in the same place he was trying to escape. He'd tried to force her to be what he wanted her to be even though that was exactly what his mothers were doing to him. He'd thought he'd won their battle of wills but she'd never had a will of her own. If she'd had, she probably never would've kissed him in the first place, she never would've met him as she wouldn't have been forced to live in the cave.

"We should get closer to the fire," he said as he felt chills running down his back even if he wasn't sure flames could help rid him of those. He knew the bright light of her eyes could but he'd chased it away from them when he'd destroyed a part of her soul.

Griffin turned to look at the fire before shaking her head vigorously, her eyes trained on the flames with terror burning in them, and he realized that burning away the water from her soul had left her afraid of fire. Not just his fire, but any fire. Because it must have been so insanely painful, and she hadn't even given voice to her agony. (She couldn't have. She no longer had even that.) And he didn't want to hurt her more but she'd freeze to death if she didn't come closer to the fire.

He reached for his magic, plenty of self-loathing inside him to give him more than enough power to charge his spell with. He felt his body heat oozing out of him, telling him it was working and motivating him to keep tethering it to his coat. It would only make him shake harder once he took it off but those were chills he would actually welcome if that was the price of taking care of her.

"Here," he said when he was done with his spell, taking the coat off to have the night air biting viciously at him, and the effect was even more instantaneous when he'd also parted with most of his body heat. "It'll keep you warm," he said as he draped it over her shoulders, doing his best to avoid touching her just in case he'd managed to seal the association of his touch with pain in her mind as well.

"Thank you," she said and gave him a soft smile that he didn't really deserve since it'd taken him so long to realize he could do for her what no one had done for him if he could just stop being so selfish. She didn't ask what he'd do but he didn't deserve her worry either. He'd been absorbed in himself and his wants enough for both of them. And the grating of her voice in his head when she spoke only kept reminding him of that. So it was better for her not to ask. Seeing her muscles relax when she was all wrapped in his body heat helped his do the same far better than her words could.

He picked up his lead with berries and walked over to the fire, sitting so close to it that it felt like the flames were licking at his back. It still wasn't enough to keep him warm when he was all chilled on the inside and that didn't even have anything to do with the body heat he'd lent to Griffin. In fact, that was the only thing that kept him sane currently, keeping a little spark of hope that he wasn't an exact copy of his mothers and more of a monster than a human alive inside of him.

He forced himself to eat the berries even if he was feeling sick to his stomach–Griffin at least seemed to enjoy them as she finished hers–because he would need the energy. He wasn't sure how much sleep he'd manage to get with the cold that had moved in under his skin but Griffin was his bigger concern as he hoped his spell would hold even when he fell asleep. He would be fine, his inner flames burning even when those on the outside weren't, but his spell was the only thing providing her with a source of heat since fire was even more of a nightmare to her than frostbite–something very hard for him to imagine, though it made perfect sense if he flipped the two different ways to die around–and it was all his doing.

She put the coat on and wrapped herself in it, startling his heart out of beating for a moment with the worry of how cold she had to feel but her voice pulled him back out of his head and to her. She bid him good night and the sound seemed more melodic now, as if a calm had fallen over her. Or he was simply deluding himself to assuage his conscience.

Perhaps he did have one, after all, and he was glad she'd poked it awake because it was better that way. It was better that he hurt so that she wouldn't. He'd already hurt her enough, changing not only her body and soul, but also her entire perception of the world and herself so profoundly and making her hate herself. And if when he woke up in the morning, she was gone with his coat and the enchantment–her voice, he corrected–in the pocket, then that would be more than fair. Because he'd forced her to be his partner when he himself couldn't be that, couldn't reciprocate what he was demanding, and if she left, that wouldn't be betrayal. It would be exactly what he'd had coming for him.

The cold was eating at him like he'd expected it to so he didn't pay attention to it and only noticed it was gone when there was warmth creeping slowly inside him and pulling at his consciousness to wake him from the sleep he hadn't felt himself falling into. All he knew was that he'd been thinking about her.

And now she was there, next to him on the ground, her back pressed into his to allow the heat of her body to ooze inside him as his coat was draped over them. It was such a comforting feeling that he didn't even worry she was close enough to stab him in the back. But another thought pierced through his mind too rapidly and painfully to allow him another moment's peace.

He shot up, pulling the coat off of her and leaving her exposed to the chill of the early morning air. His body pushed against hers as if to get her away from him which was, surprisingly, exactly what he wanted at the moment.

She moved, prompted away by the frantic energy that was spilling from him, but her smile still greeted him when he turned to make sure she was a safe distance away from him. "Good morning." Her voice was still as coarse as it had been the night before, hurting his ears with the question of why she was still with him, giving him loyalty that had no business touching him.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, his question causing the smile to fall away and leave behind confusion. At least that was more fitting since he was incredibly perplexed himself. He'd accepted that he didn't get to have her be his partner only to wake up and find her even closer than he'd left her–so much closer than he'd imagined she'd want to come–and pressed into him to keep him warm. "Why didn't you leave?" It was more incomprehensible than the magic she'd shown him, the magic she was made of.

"And let you freeze in the cold?" she asked, enough kindness and truthfulness in her eyes but it still wasn't enough for him after all his life he'd been raised to manipulate and pretend.

"I'm serious, Griffin," he said, his own voice harsh as he couldn't even find it in himself to control it and not snap at her when it was himself he was angry at. "After everything I did to you- Griffin isn't even your name." He'd allowed himself to get his head so far up in the clouds that he'd played god, giving her a name to suit what he was trying to make her when he wasn't capable of creation.

"It is now," she said calmly, still so unaffected by everything that was tormenting him, and he couldn't believe that was real when his own heart was aching in his chest at what he'd done for himself. And she'd gotten the burnt of it all.

"Yes, because I-"

"Got me out of the cave where I was a prisoner and had to murder people," she interrupted him and somehow the peaceful manner in which she did it was more startling than the times his mothers yelled at him in the middle of his sentence. Because she was trying to take care of him and as much as he wanted to fall into the offered affection, he couldn't when he knew he was in the wrong. He couldn't doubt her honesty when she looked at him with her gold eyes full of gentle light but he also couldn't delude himself he had the right to accept it when those same eyes weren't as bright as they'd been before he'd invaded her life.

"I hurt you," he said, his hands falling still in his lap at the face of her kindness that he couldn't understand. He'd ripped away parts of her to make her fit his vision of what she had to be, and that was even worse than being forced to grow into someone else's expectations for you. And he might have done her some good but that didn't matter when it had never been his intention.

"Maybe," she said, once again leaving him staggered at the prospect of reading his thoughts. "But that gave me the chance to explore this new world." Her words disputed that notion quickly. She'd been able to tell whet he desired most, and if she still had the ability, she would know he just wanted her to stop trying to convince him he'd done her a favor. (He wanted to believe it but he couldn't take the chance to sweep the rudiments of conscience that had fallen into his lap under the rug only to never find any again, for it would make him too similar to what he feared, and how could he live if he was terrified of himself?)

"You can do it on your own," he argued, knowing that was the only way for her to do it. Because if she stayed with him, she would be chained by his mothers' wishes like he was. And that was another thing he'd simply chosen to ignore in his selfishness and despair to not be alone when they crushed him under their words. And how could he willingly drag someone else into the same madness?

"I don't know much about humans and I'd be scared to approach them, considering how many I've murdered," she said, her voice breaking even more–as if she'd dropped it–as she lowered her head and she swallowed as if to keep any pain that knowledge caused her trapped inside her, as if she didn't have the right to be upset after what she'd done, and he understood too well just as well as he knew their situations were different. She'd had no choice but to hurt those people, and she hadn't had to hurt him because he'd hurt her first. "I would be alone for the rest of my life," she allowed at least some of her anguish to come out and free her from its burden only for it to start weighing him down. Because loneliness was a curse he wanted to spare her but the only way out of it was to drag her into his own suffering and that was just as cruel.

"I made you a mortal," he noted. His own impatience had taken more from her than he could give her. He could have looked, should have looked for another way to free her from her cage that wouldn't require her to part with aspects of herself. But of course, that hadn't been his goal. He'd just wanted her to be his. Even if she had to do it in pieces.

"Yes," her head snapped up as if that had returned the vigor the guilt had robbed her of, "I can feel the flow of time now that the infinity of the ocean isn't tangled in my soul. And it feels good to know that I don't have to... keep going for an eternity," she said and the lack of her voice finally seemed to fit her when all the life drained out of her.

"You're not afraid of dying?" he asked even though the answer was written all over her slackened muscles that were hard to watch after he'd seen the wonder at the world around them in her eyes and heard the excitement in her voice when she'd eaten the berries. There was still life left in her, life that she clearly wanted to experience but she would trade all of it just to ensure she'd get some peace at the end of it all. And a part of him was roaring against the notion but another part of him knew that she had the right to her own views. To her that was the ultimate definition of freedom and she could only enjoy life when she knew death was granted to her.

"Not really," she shook her head, throwing away the idea to explore everything the world could offer. (Though, perhaps even an eternity wouldn't be long enough for that.) She didn't want everything. What she could get would be enough because she'd already had too much, and that was a shock that plowed right into him with the force of the entire ocean. "I'm more afraid that this will turn out to be a dream," her eyes were trained on the soil as her fingers dug into it to ground her there, "even though sirens don't dream so that would be proof in itself, too," she gave a small smile as if still too scared to let herself believe it was all real, "and I'll be trapped in an endless life with no light of exit in sight."

"So you really are happy with what I did to you?" He'd mutilated her soul and robbed her of her peace of mind, he'd turned her into less than she'd been before, and she still looked content with it. And he couldn't understand how that was possible since he'd always had to be more, his flames always reaching further, spreading to swallow as much as possible in his search of power and it had never occurred to him that there could be too much before he'd met the eternity of the ocean.

"You freed me," Griffin looked at him, holding his haze and the depth and intensity of her stare made her eyes look like lakes of molten sunlight, shining with eternal gratitude that was so soothing to the wounds on his soul his own fire had left. It looked like it would start falling in heavy drops and sinking into his skin to heal them, and it was a look he greatly preferred over the one of total adoration the magic had forced on her.

"For my own selfish reasons," he pushed again. He couldn't understand why he was working against himself but he had to make sure that... that she was there because she wanted to be and not because he'd forced her to be his. And not because she felt like she owed him anything either. She owed him nothing, for he'd done nothing for her. He'd done it all for himself, grabbing for everything he could get.

"You were ready to let me go, right?" she asked, her tone so light, as if it was as simple for her to forgive him as the words were to get out.

He nodded, deciding to trust her judgment since she seemed to know far more than he could imagine. She knew how to sate her cravings and those were no easy beasts to tame. Especially when you'd been denied the simplest of your desires your entire life. And that made her much more special, much more magical than he ever could have imagined.

"Then there's hope," she said and when she smiled, he could see what she was talking about in her eyes, in the way they lit up like stars and glowed brighter than they had. Because he'd tried to do something he'd never done before and had put her before himself. He'd tried to give her what he'd thought she'd wanted, and she'd given him exactly what he'd wanted – proof that she was doing exactly what she desired and wasn't following anyone else's will, his or that of the ocean he'd purged from her soul.

He put on his coat, all of his body heat finally returning to him but he'd barely noticed its absence as he'd been focused on fixing everything he'd destroyed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the shell. He caught Griffin's hand, knowing his touch wouldn't be painful on her, and pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it.

"And now I'm returning your voice," he said as he held her gaze to let her know that even if she didn't want much, he'd make sure to give her more, more reasons to smile and be happy, more things to cherish during the time she had left. Because she'd agreed to be his partner and he was taking all the responsibility that came with being hers. He would gladly put in all the effort taking care of her and making sure she would never feel trapped or lonely again required. (Even if he had to be her sanctuary from his mothers. He hoped that part of who he was wouldn't chase her away, but he'd understand if it did. And his promise of devotion stood either way since her reciprocation wasn't a condition it came with.)

Griffin looked at him with eyes so wide they looked like little suns themselves and lips parted but not drawing in air as if the shock had made her forget she didn't have gills anymore. "You know it won't have the same effect coming from my mouth," she warned, not making a move to pull the shell out of his grasp as if to give him a chance to change his mind and pocket it again even though she was clutching at it so hard her hand was shaking. And if anything, it was only proof he was doing the right thing.

"Yes, I know," he said, now fully aware of what the magic in the shell could do. It could give him exactly what he wanted. "It will be much more beautiful." Her voice would be in its place and he'd finally get to hear its magical sound, the powerful sound of her voicing exactly what she wanted.

Griffin's eyes welled up with tears as her lips got pulled up in a wide smile. She didn't give him a chance to enjoy the sight, though, when she pulled her dress down, leaving the whole upper half of her body naked and making him avert his gaze.

"Come on, you've seen me naked," she said, but the light tone didn't translate well in her hoarse voice that was the perfect proof against her words. She'd been forced to give him every last part of herself and he wanted to give her her privacy. "Please, look," her plea was quiet but far too powerful for him to be able to resist it as he'd promised to respect her wishes.

She opened the shell and quickly pressed it against the scar where the golden key had been before. She hissed when the edges of the shell bit into her skin, drawing a little blood from her–he was surprised to see it was red even though he didn't know what he'd expected–but it started glowing in a mellow silver light that seemed to seep inside her until it disappeared completely and she removed the shell for him to see only the wounds of its edges left. The scar from the key was gone.

He reached instinctively to heal the small injuries but a memory of her face contorted in pain made him halt, his hand frozen midair.

Griffin covered it with hers and guided it to the skin of her abdomen, pressing it there and he looked deep into his mind and soul to find a healing spell and enough positive energy to use light magic for the first time. "Thank you," Griffin said in that rich voice that had enchanted him less than a day ago before his magic had even generated inside him and the tears fell.

[my-little-dumpster-fire]

Let it Burn. 3/?

Catch Up Here

P A R T   T H R E E

A week after your first date, if you could call it that, an unknown number rang over and over again until you could no longer fight the urge to answer it.

“Hey, it’s Billy. Russo. Billy Russo. From dinner.” Is it that hard to admit you have a soulmate, Russo?

You never asked Billy how he got your phone number, never had the desire to. You met up again, trying for lunch this time and again it decent. Some of the magic had worn off the second Billy thrust you into a cab, effectively ending the first non-date, and now it felt like catching up between two old friends, despite the fact it was only your second time intentionally meeting up.

He’d been spending his days meeting with more investors, all of which seemed to have gone successfully, signing the deed to his first warehouse, as he assured you Anvil would quickly outgrow the shell he purchased, working odd jobs about which he never went into detail, glossing over your skeptical looks with extra charm, and working night and day to connect with his chosen team, the backs upon which Anvil’s reputation would be built. Part of you wanted to tell Billy that he was working too hard, but it would have fallen on willingly deafened ears. He was a hungry dog, who’d caught his scent and could practically taste the reality that he was building for himself. His determination was admirable, his work ethic was enviable, his focus and enthusiasm when talking about the project was unwavering. Just like the Corps had been before, Anvil was Billy’s life. You were just his soulmate, a nonessential on his journey to becoming the Billy Russo he wanted to see in his mirror. The Billy Russo that would be known, respected, and powerful.

Everything about Billy Russo was sinful. His new wealth. His looks. The way violence seemed to follow him. The Machiavellian way his ends always justified his means. His cavalier attitudes toward life and love. You often found yourself wondering how someone without the hint of a soul at all could be the other half of your own, but the connection was undeniable. It was as intoxicating as they said it would be and it was infuriating to admit, so you simply didn’t. When your friends asked what it was like to be paired with someone well on their way to becoming New York’s most eligible bachelor, you shrugged. Despite your souls supposedly being made for one another, you found quickly that you simply did not fit into Billy Russo’s life style or his now incredibly active schedule. Between planning and pushing for the start up security company he was slaving over and Billy’s insatiable need to occupy himself with the flavor of the week, there was very little time left for a soulmate.

Though you could see the loneliness in his eyes, you didn’t press him on the subject. Hadn’t anybody told him about the benefits of quality over quantity? Still, the two of you met up whenever he had time, his schedule the more demanding of the two, his mood the more fickle. You shared space, shared meals, shared more and more of yourself as the days went by and the rhythm you fell into was incredibly comfortable. You started to understand this self proclaimed mystery man and while his gratitude was mostly silent, you felt it in his willingness to share words with you that you assumed would not otherwise see the light of day or reach another’s ears.

The locations for your non dates changed dramatically after the first, but you never objected. The new places that Billy dragged you were much more your speed and honestly, seemed more like his. The kind of haunts that he actually enjoyed, not the stuffy dining room with the gold matchbooks that seemed so out of character for a man like Billy, even with his exciting new business prospects. The restaurants, bars, and cafes you sat in now made you feel like you were actually seeing Billy, not the Billy that someone else told him he should be.

One such meal, after an unnecessarily thorough explanation of why women were good for a couple weeks before he became a ghost, evaporating into thin air while his phone lit up with all sorts of unsavory names and ill wishes, Billy leaned back in his chair with a damn near devilish smirk on his face. The candle on the table between you danced in the reflection of his black eyes, while his lips curled subtly in the corner and his arms crossed in front of his chest. One elbow propped against his other arm to support the weight of his chin in his hand while a single long finger rested straight up next to his nose and drew your attention to the furrow in his brow but also the subtle birthmark just below his eye. He was easily the most beautiful man you’d ever had the pleasure of sharing a meal with, but the heated look in his eye was not for you, at least not at first. He was testing you. The meal neared it’s end and the bottle of wine he ordered was only half spent, but nowadays honesty flowed without the assistance of the spirit and for that you were thankful. He eyed you mercilessly, waiting for the soulmate to comment on his newly honed ability to live extravagantly or his disinterest in ceasing his other intimate activities just because of your existence. God made him that way for a reason and it was merely his duty to share the wealth, he’d insist while gesturing down at himself with a smile that offered life and death in equal measure.

In the weeks you’d known Billy, you learned that no reaction was better than an over reaction, especially in those moments when he was testing you, waiting for you to slip and reveal that you were just like all the others. So you leaned back, matching his posture, and said, “It’s your life, Billy. I wouldn’t ask you to change anything about it.” You took a deep breath and met his dark, but wavering gaze. “I’m here now and I’ll still be here when you...I don’t know, I’ll just still be here, okay?” You weren’t sure what you were trying to say or if it was even the right thing to say, but you hoped that Billy heard the sincerity in it.

His genuine surprise at your response told you all you needed to know. Other women, women not meant for him, would try to change him and maybe they already had. You imagined that eventually they made it clear that they expected more from him, expected dedication and monogamy from him, made careless ultimatums that only served to end whatever brief tryst they engaged in. Other women pushed Billy away in their desperate attempts to draw him close, apparently unaware or purposefully ignorant to what you saw in his eyes.

Billy Russo was like a flame, useful, comforting, a shining light in the darkest places merely to illuminate not to correct. He and the flames was everything you needed, but if you got to close, you’d get burned. Or worse yet, if you attempted to caged him in, the lack of oxygen would snuff him out completely until all that was left was a tendril of smoke, a ghost of the flame you once tried to capture. Fire cannot be owned and neither could Billy. Though you suspected that his appetite for survival never let anyone get close enough to think they could cage him in. On one hand, you respected it and would never ask Billy to be someone he wasn’t. One the other, you pitied it and wished deep down that one day he wouldn’t view you as another potential cage, but maybe as the kindling to keep the fire alive.

Much to your surprise, and your unspoken delight, the meals you two shared increased in frequency. Perhaps he saw something in you that he desired more of, though you were certain it wasn’t what you originally hoped. But to be desired at all by Billy Russo was enough to keep you accepting his invitations. He was the kind of man that you felt you needed to thank for his eyes falling on you, rather than the other way around. So most of your meals together went like that. Sitting across from each other, not touching, while Billy tried to scare you, prove his own theories that even a soulmate would not be able to handle the shadowy recesses he knew resided within. There were few things in the world he loved as much as being right.

In only a couple weeks time, you knew more about Billy Russo than anyone and to some extent you knew that it scared him. He’d never admit to the fear, especially of a woman like you, but you saw the practically physical discomfort as he realized how much of himself he trusted -no, not trust- as he realized how much of himself you willingly carried with you, without judgment and without expectation. He’d done the work of squashing any expectation you held for the relationship as early as your first meeting, but you kept coming back. It was too much for him sometimes, most times really, and he’d abandon ship in the middle of a sentence, eyes searching yours for any trace of a future betrayal, but finding none, he’d pull his phone from his pocket. With the screen still obviously dark, he’d say he needed to accept a call and wander off to do so. Mere minutes later, some woman would make a show of being led out of the restaurant by the handsome Billy Russo, proudly putting herself on display. While his face revealed only the desire to slip away into the shadows, his perfect posture and guiding hand on her lower back as he strut alongside her told the rest of the restaurant a very different story. You’d ask for the check, only to find that it was already taken care of, sometimes a dessert already boxed and on its way over to you, as you watched your soulmate’s eyes fall on you one last time before disappearing into the night with someone else.

You expected the invitations for meals to stop eventually, but they never did. They’d pause for a couple days at most, before Billy’s voice was back in your ear, confident, flirtatious, informing you that he had room to fit you in over a long lunch. You hated yourself for how quickly you accepted, hated the idea of being at his beck and call, but it was painfully obvious that your innocent rejection of a meal or day out with Billy would never be perceived as innocent. Key word, painfully. It seemed that after every walk out, you started from ground zero all over again. His accent would be thick, his smile sardonic, his posturing cocky, seated practically sideways in a metal chair outside one of his favorite lunch spots, ankle perched on one knee while the other knee rested gently against the metal arm of the chair. He’d draw his water glass to his lips, licking them as he scrutinized you, head to toe. It was rather unsettling the first few times, even still it wound you up in the most confusing yet comforting ways. Most men had not the balls to observe a woman so obviously and so shamelessly, but Billy Russo wasn’t most men. He’d take his time and his efforts to shake you with his glare was only met -perhaps rewarded, even reinforced- by your effort to look your best on days you saw Billy. The more his eyes roamed, the more yours did in the bathroom mirror, forsaking your own shame or girlish embarrassment to make sure he had something nice for his eyes to fall on.

After his subtle acceptance of you, really your appearance, with a grin and a nod, the testing started all over again. He’d share a little about the woman he left with and you hated how thankful you were to be spared the more intimate details. You had no idea what he was waiting for, what he was expecting from you, but apparently you never gave it to him, not that you were aware of. You kept your mouth shut for the most part, listened while he spoke, occasionally catching the fierce look in his eye, practically daring you to hold his gaze as if what looked back at you would send you running. Often you didn’t indulge. The casual snappy banter you two shared would fall away, make space in the air for whatever game he was playing. You stayed focused on your meal, letting your eyes drift casually upwards to settle on the birthmark you loved, but sometimes, on days you felt brave, or maybe the subtle burn in your chest while he described yet another woman was some other affliction that only mimicked bravery, you met his stare head on. Look if you have to, you told him silently with your eyes, you won’t find what your looking for. You didn’t balk, didn’t shy away, and you knew that frustrated Billy to no end. He didn’t like being challenged, didn’t like seeing his own stubbornness thrown across the table at him. He’d shift in his seat, realizing how closely he’d leaned over toward you, and rest again, smirking as if he won, perhaps trying to convince himself that he had. You weren’t so easily fooled and as your eyes dropped away again, you’d look up to watch the relief come over him, like the end of your staring contest had unexpectedly zapped the energy from him.

You imagined it had, but soon enough he’d be back to talking, sharing something about the progress of Anvil or most recently the return of one of his Marine buddies, Frank Castle. There wasn’t an invitation attached to the announcement, there weren’t even details surrounding their friendship, but it was the first person that Billy spoke about with anything other than disdain. Frank was important to him, that was all you knew and for now, that was all you needed to know. By the time you’d resigned to let Frank Castle remain a mystery, Billy had moved on to another topic and the two of you fell back into quiet laughter and eye rolling over differing opinions.

The first time Billy invited you to his apartment, it scared you. He didn’t sound like himself. Normally his phone calls were quick, telling you a time and a place, but that place was always neutral ground. You never expected to be asked to come over, definitely not so late and definitely not when Billy’s voice shook, when he lingered on the line longer than usually, when he told you not to bother knocking. The circumstances were strange and you had no idea what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t what you found.

You entered Billy’s apartment gingerly, taking care to close the door behind and deposit the key that the night guard handed you upon your arrival. It was dark, the living room only barely illuminated by the lights outside, yet as easily as you would have at high noon, your eyes found Billy. He was sitting in a chair and, he wasn’t looking good.

“Have you ever done anything...that you knew....that you knew you’d never be forgiven for?”

Billy’s question came out of nowhere and the gravity, weighing down both his voice and his shoulders, sank like a hot rock in your gut. You stepped forward slowly, watching carefully for any sign of life, but Billy was little more than a statue, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his chin perched on his thumbs. His eyes, surprisingly expressive for as dark as they were, looked through you when you moved to stand in front of him.

“No,” you answered solemnly, but honestly. Billy’s eyes closed, unable to look at you, not that he really had been before. “And neither have you.”

Your strange addition caught Billy off guard. He was visibly shaken before, but it was your bold move to sit in his lap that left Billy almost adorably startled. His body stiffened, not that a woman in his lap was a foreign feeling, but this particular woman had never seated herself across his thighs, so close to parts of his body you had to tell yourself not to be concerned with. Your arms rested against his shoulders and reflexively his hands found your waist, stroking your sides with a gentleness you only speculated he could possess, never having witnessed it for yourself. With your fingers pulling through the hair at the back of his neck, you looked down to meet his growing confusion head on.

“Neither have you,” You repeated firmly. Billy ignored the sentiment, shaking his head in vehement denial, but when he opened his mouth to correct you, to prove that once again he knew better, you didn’t let him. “There’s nothing you can do that I wouldn’t forgive, Billy Russo.”

“That was before-“ he started, head still shaking and his eyes still down.

“There’s nothing you can do,” you said again, slower this time and singing the truth into his soul. “That I won’t forgive, Billy. I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but you will always have me.” His eyes were wide and you watched his Adam’s apple jolt heavenward, swallowing your words and clearly struggling to decide if they were believable. This is a bad idea, you warned yourself, but you were already leaning in. For the briefest moment, Billy’s face tilted up in expectation, just a reflex, you told yourself as you gripped the hair on the back of his neck to hold his face still. Your lips met his forehead and rested there as his body went from stock still, to nervously squirming, to completely at ease. You couldn’t even imagine how his face was responding below your eye-line as you felt his brow furrow before fluttering into relaxation under your lips. You pulled back slightly and Billy leaned in again as if chasing the sensation. Just a reflex, you reminded yourself as you willingly complied, kissing his face again.

You hadn’t even noticed that his hands were gripping your sides with opposing hands. His arms wound and crossed behind your back until you two were locked in a much more meaningful embrace than you originally had planned. Though every embrace was more meaningful with Billy and fighting that seemed a futile attempt at this point. A muted gasp felt warm against your chest, reminding you what brought you to his apartment and to this position. Billy had done something, something that very well could be unforgivable, and yet you assured him that you would. Not that you were naive enough to believe that he’d ever tell you what it was. His face was pressed against your chest and you silently promised him that you’d never bring up the tear you felt sliding against your skin. He would never thank you for mentioning it, nor would he thank you for not mentioning it. All the same, it was your secret to bear, burning a wet trail between your breasts until it disappeared. Long moments passed, silence wrapped around you two like a heavy blanket, protecting the moment from the cold air of your previous expectations. A single moment couldn’t replace the delicate relationship you two had built. It was a veritable house of cards that a single ill timed hiccup could tear down, let alone a moment of intimacy that shouldn’t have existed between you two.

“A lesser man would use this moment to point out that your chest makes an amazing pillow,” he said suddenly. There he is, you smiled.

“And a lesser woman would point out the depth of mommy issues that are hidden in that statement,” you countered, holding the back of his neck as his laughter vibrated against you. Billy leaned back first, looking up at you, eyes lit up with something so close to affection you suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Aside from the slight movement to seek your face, he made no attempts to pull away from you, so you continued running your fingers through his hair, daring to capture the surprisingly silky feel for a few moments longer.

“Guess I should be glad we’re us then,” he offered with a smirk. Us. Can we even call ourselves an us?

“Yeah,” you returned casually, removing yourself from his lap. There was a moment of resistance, a moment of brief hesitation, where you felt Billy’s fingers dig into your skin to hold you in place. You felt his palms flatten against you as if he needed more of him to feel more of you, but so gentle you could feel his unwillingness to cross that line. You felt the muscles of his arms tense, becoming a cage you wouldn’t be able to release yourself from. Not that you’d want to. As quickly as the moment came, it was gone and you were walking toward the kitchen again, back turned to Billy as you told yourself you’d imagined his reluctance to let you go, even if it was just for a second.

One glorious second where you felt your desire returned.

@something-tofightfor @actuallyazriel @cerezahowl @littlemermaidprobz

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 15 -- The Recovery

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

It had been two and a half weeks since ViLaz had come aboard. Deathsbane had kept her on a steady drip of her regenerative catalyst, which was a world of help integrating the new cybernetic parts Ariadne and Alicia had built to replace what she'd lost in the fire.

It was physically easy to treat her. She seemed conscious, but somewhat unresponsive. She stood when left standing, she sat when offered a chair, she would take no initiative to feed herself, but when food or water was placed in front of her she seemed to know what to do with it. She offered no resistance and followed instructions when Ariadne attempted to recalibrate her new legs, or when Sasha attempted to sponge-bathe her.

She did not speak unless spoken to, and when giving a response, she didn't waste words. Her tone was flat and vacant, as though her mind had left her body to attend to some other business, and in her place was a completely thoughtless AI who'd been given the sole directive to keep her from dying, so long as it wasn't too much of an inconvenience.

After a few days, she seemed to come out of her shell a bit. It was clear that she was, in fact, present and alert, although she was also experiencing some of the most profound grief imaginable, and the consensus on the ship was that “on this ship, that's saying something.”

She was cautious and guarded, and she wouldn't talk about herself, but she found something comforting about eating next to other people, especially other teenagers. There was an energy that came with being around people her own age that she didn't realize she'd been craving until she was surrounded by it. She'd spent pretty much her entire life eating flavorless meals alone, and she only had her father for company.

She avoided this line of thought. Her father was probably furious with her for defying the will of the Red God. She hoped he believed her to be dead, because she figured if he knew she was alive, he'd be along any minute to finish the job.

Deathsbane had been shocked, when examining her, to find a piece of cybernetic equipment that they had not installed at the base of her skull. It was no larger than a fingernail and had been heavily damaged by the flames, but Ariadne and Alicia were hard at work trying to divine its purpose.

Sweettalk had been a great help in showing her around the ship, getting her well-acquainted with the crew, and getting her settled in her very own quarters. Her condition had improved enough that she would no longer need to stay in the infirmary, and they'd made it clear she was welcome to a bed and a roof for as long as she needed one.

Of course, Sweettalk was one of the few people who could comfortably have an entire conversation with someone who didn't respond once, so ViLaz felt more comfortable around her. It helped that Sweettalk was close with the girl who'd healed her burns as well. ViLaz had never experienced people being so welcoming before. This was a group who took shock and offense when someone was ashamed of themselves, and not one of them ever told her that she deserved it for being a sinful, wicked child.

The sight of her cybernetics was still somewhat jarring. The serum managed to prevent scarring on the parts of her body that had not been removed, but her prosthetics were not at all subtle.

To start, Ariadne had improved on the life-support system they'd initially developed and constructed new, more stable, permanent replacements for her vital organs. Then, she and Alicia moved on to replacing her lost limbs. It was easy to use the tech behind Ariadne's mechanical legs to make metal skeletal structures that responded to ViLaz' thoughts as well as her original limbs, and bionic eyes were common enough that she could be fitted with one almost immediately. They even knew how to synthesize self-repairing fibers that could be woven into new muscles, and with some effort, they even developed a form of synthetic skin with artificial nerve endings, so her prosthetic limbs had a sense of touch.

The problem was the appearance of these modifications. They were sleek and modern and they felt so organic that if she couldn't see herself, she might have never realized she ever lost a part of her body. They were also a stark, metallic white and had electric blue accents.

“I'm sorry about this,” Ariadne said the first time she saw herself, “these are just prototypes so you can get a feel for them, we didn't have time to make them look realistic. We're working hard to get you a better model, okay?”

ViLaz told her not to rush, and that she wasn't really concerned with her prosthetics looking realistic. She didn't tell her that her whole life her appearance had been strictly controlled. The acolytes who cut her hair would actually measure the length, before and after, every single time, and she had no say in how it was cut or styled, or what she wore, or whether or not she wanted intricate red patterns drawn on her face. She actually kind of liked looking like she was half-machine, there was a certain freedom in knowing she was so far outside how the acolytes wanted her to look.

When her mind went down this road she was struck with a pang of shame. She'd disappointed the acolytes. She'd failed her father. She'd committed blasphemy against her lord. She had sinned and she had escaped the flames of righteous punishment the Red God had intended for her and he would be at her doorstep any minute to cast her into the pit of fire where she belonged.

She often wanted to hit herself, quite literally as she'd been taught self-flagellation as a form of penance her whole life, for having such sinful and rebellious thoughts. Ariadne and Pilar, however, would often sit with her late into the night just to make sure she was okay, and for some reason she couldn't stand the thought of hurting herself in front of people who'd gone to such lengths to ensure her safety.

There were other days when she found relief in the idea that the Red God made it clear that she'd failed her final test, lost any chance of salvation, and that she'd be sent to hell no matter what she did now, so she might as well have fun in the meantime. These were the relatively good days, which Ariadne found incredibly disheartening, because that's still a pretty negative outlook on life.

“You know,” Sweettalk pointed out from the next bed in the infirmary, popping red candies into her mouth while Sasha checked the progress of ViLaz' burns. There was absolutely nothing medically wrong with her, but she was off-duty and liked to spend her downtime with Sasha. “You fit in here a lot better than you think you do. I mean, we've all got some pretty heavy baggage.”

“I didn't bring any baggage,” ViLaz replied, confused.

“Emotional baggage,” Sasha explained, “she means that you're not alone, and everyone here knows what it's like to be in a hopeless situation or they wouldn't have ended up here. Lift your arm, please.”

ViLaz lifted her arm.

“Yeah, exactly,” Sweettalk continued and ate another candy, “I mean, hell, my shitty past is strapped to the bed right over there.” She gestured across the room at Prescott. “Yeah asshole, we're talking about you.”

“Hey, how come I don't get fancy bionics like her?” asked Prescott, who had long since given up struggling against his restraints.

Sweettalk spat back, “she's a teenage girl who got set on fire through no fault of her own and needed life-saving treatment. You're a 20-year-old conman who lost three fingers when you got caught robbing a church.”

“Also you tried to bite the doctor after she reattached your original fingers,” Sasha added helpfully. “If you wanted bionics so bad you should've left them on the ship.”

The side of ViLaz' face that still had organic skin turned red. “It was my fault,” she muttered.

“Hey, I don't want to hear that,” Sweettalk said flatly, “that's my friend ViLaz you're talking about and she's done nothing to deserve being set on fire, you hear?”

ViLaz did not agree with this sentiment but it was clear that Sweettalk could argue that water was dry and win, so she didn't press on it.

“Anyway,” Sweettalk went on, shaking a handful of candies out of the bag, “if you're worried about those church guys coming to find you, you're in the right place. This place was made for kids who need to hide from bad people. Like, literally. You should've seen the people Ariadne was hiding from. Oh, and what happened to them when they tried to track her down? Basically what I'm saying is, if someone tries to hurt you here, they're the ones who are gonna get hurt. Candy?”

Sweettalk offered her the handful of red candies and ViLaz saw that they were in the shape of small fishes. They were made of a gel that looked medicinal to her, but she politely took exactly one and popped it in her mouth.

It was overpoweringly sweet and sticky. “It's delicious,” ViLaz gasped, “is all candy this good?”

Sweettalk sat up sharply. “Shut up! You've never had candy?!”

“Shut up” was not a phrase ViLaz realized could be said in a friendly tone of voice and she flinched upon hearing it.

“I'm sorry!” She whimpered, “I'm sorry, I'll be quiet, I'm sorry.”

Sweettalk was shocked by this reaction and adjusted her voice to be almost too friendly in an attempt to compensate. “Hey, it's okay! It's just a figure of speech, I don't actually want you to be quiet. I was just surprised you'd never tasted candy before, okay?”

ViLaz sat silently, embarrassed beyond belief.

“I think I know what we've got to do,” Sasha said, placing her hand softly on ViLaz' shoulder, then turning to Sweettalk. “Call Cookie. Get her to send up three of every kind of candy we've got. We're having a tasting.”

“Can I—” Prescott began to ask from across the infirmary.

“NO.” Sweettalk and Sasha snapped in unison.

“I'm hungry,” he whined, “and you won't let me go to the mess hall myself.”

“Yeah, we tried that and you tried to steal all our food and hijack a shuttle.” Sasha replied.

“So, what, everyone's allowed to come and go as they please but me?” Prescott asked incredulously.

“Awww, you've finally grasped the concept of being held captive!” Sweettalk crooned sarcastically, as though she was talking to a baby. “But, we technically shouldn't let you starve, so I'll tell Cookie to whip you up a nice bowl of plain oatmeal and a glass of water in case it's too spicy.”

Several minutes later, Cookie filed in with two full carts of various candies and a single bowl of lukewarm oatmeal. Prescott's restraints were loose enough that he could move his arms to feed himself, and he briefly considered throwing the oatmeal against the wall to prove a point, but upon considering how many people in the room he'd thrown under various buses, he decided they would be unlikely to provide him with a replacement meal and opted instead to eat it.

For the next hour or so, Sasha took a break from inspecting ViLaz' progress and the three girls all sat on the same bed, trying different kinds of candy. It was the first time ViLaz had ever truly felt what it was like to have friends, and for a moment she forgot about all of the grief and shame she'd been carrying since she arrived. It was, up to that point, the single best experience of her life.

It was to be short-lived. In the drowsy, saccharine haze of their candy feast, known to most as a “sugar crash,” they heard Ariadne’s voice crackle over the intercom.

“Sweettalk, Deathsbane, you’re gonna want to get up here on the double. Bring ViLaz, she should see this too.”

After checking that Prescott’s restraints were extra-tight, the three girls hustled up to the War Room and found Ariadne and Spacebreather sitting around a hologram of a young girl standing on a stage in flowing robes.

“Is that me?” ViLaz looked puzzled. “Before… you know…”

“Really seems to be you, doesn’t it?” Ariadne asked, “problem is, this hologram was taken an hour ago.”

“I don’t understand…” ViLaz struggled to process this news.

“Sweettalk was right,” Deathsbane muttered.

“Confirms a working theory we had before your rescue. You’re not the only girl they’ve been using as a mouthpiece. One of your sisters, or half-sisters—”

“I don’t have any sisters,” ViLaz couldn’t make sense of what she was hearing. “I’m the sole scion of the Zealot.”

“What do you mean?” Pilar asked.

“My father’s bloodline was chosen as the vessel of the Red God on our plane, but his body was flawed and impure. He couldn’t contain the power of the Red God, and he was to be the last of his bloodline, but by His providence, a daughter was born. I was to be the Red God’s vessel, but in my weakness I rejected his glory and he…” ViLaz could not continue.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Honey,” Ariadne said, “did your dad tell you all of that?”

“No,” ViLaz responded, “the Red God did.”

“Come again?” Pilar asked.

“The Red God. He appeared to me regularly in my chamber, to prepare me for his coming. He spoke through me and spread his word to the people of Mars.”

Pilar and Ariadne exchanged a glance and Ariadne shuffled through a few papers. “Your chamber, suge, did it look anything like this?”

Ariadne held up the schematics of the immersion pod they’d picked up from La Pesadilla.

“That’s it. How did you get this…?”

“Did the Red God ever appear to you outside this pod?” Ariadne asked.

“No, we’d converse in the chamber and he’d speak through me when I left it.” ViLaz was shocked to see her chamber, where she’d grown up, laid out as a blueprint in front of her.

“Hon, this chamber is a highly advanced piece of technology. They use it to put thoughts in your head, control your dreams. I suspect the Red God was nothing more than one of those Acolytes trying to program the hell out of you, pardon the pun.”

“You’re wrong,” ViLaz said, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that Ariadne was not wrong.

Ariadne tried to keep her tone slow and gentle. “We got these schematics from a lady who’s had run-ins with your daddy before. He uses these pods to show people visions of whatever it took to get them to join his church, be it dead relatives or Jesus himself—”

“Who’s ‘Jesus?’” ViLaz asked.

“I… have no response to that,” Ariadne said calmly, “but I want you to think rationally for a moment. What’s more likely, that your dad bought up a bunch of brainwashing beds and mind control chips, then you just happened to grow up in a bed that showed you visions of god, and occasionally someone else took control of your body? Or is it more likely that those things are connected?”

ViLaz knew the correct answer but felt unable to acknowledge it. “You’re wrong, I can’t explain it, but—”

Ariadne looked exasperated. “If you can’t explain it then why do you believe it?”

“Vi,” Deathsbane cut in as calmly as she could while still making it clear it was her turn to talk, “we removed a computer chip from the base of your skull when you got here. It was too damaged to recognize at first, but I’d bet it lines up to the schematics we’ve got for this mind control device.”

ViLaz rubbed the back of her neck, knowing that any surgical wounds were healed by now. “There … was a chip in my skull?”

“Occam’s razor,” Pilar pointed out. “Someone else was able to override your free will. The Zealot is known to be in possession of mind control devices. You had an unknown device lodged in your brain. Seems silly to assume those three things are just coincidence.”

“It does…” ViLaz sighed. “But I never knew about any sisters. He told me I was his only child… the only hope for the Red God’s rebirth …”

“Pressure trick,” Ariadne offered. “He made you think everything was riding on you so you’d be extra scared to fail.”

ViLaz looked ashamed.

“Frankly,” Ariadne said, “I admire you for finding the courage to do what you did. I know you might feel like a failure as a daughter right now, and believe me, sugar, I’ve been there, but I hope you know we’re all very proud of you for asserting your free will, and I want you to know that we will do whatever we can to win the freedom of every other man, woman, and child under his control.”

ViLaz looked at Ariadne, then around at a room full of friendly faces, which was something she’d never seen before arriving at Ship Trap. “You’re proud of me?”

“Of course we are,” Sweettalk said, “you totally saved our butts back there, and you had everything to lose. You’re a badass.”

ViLaz gave a hint of a smile, but then furrowed her brow. “What’s ‘badass?’”