#the words are toppling on purpose I did want to make them dripping as well but...I made the last words white you see...

[creamecream]

“There was this girl who was broken by the world, ‘cause every day at school they’d push and shove her,

But she had a plan,

One day she would get her revenge, and those cheerleaders and jocks would be six feet under,

But behind those angel eyes lies a devilish surprise,

The prom queen has killed for her crown,

Every boy and girl she seeks never comes back in one piece,

So be careful when she tries to ask you out,

She’s a motherfucking killer queen,

A psychopath at seventeen,

A beauty in a blood-stained dress,

She’ll fill your heart with kerosene and light you up ‘til you can’t breathe,

If you break her heart, you just might lose your head,”

[tarithenurse]

To the point - 3

Pairing: au!Satoru Gojō x fem!reader Content: All the smut. Add a pinch of dom/sub, a drizzle of bondage, sweeten with pain, let it simmer for a moment. No proofing. A/N: Third and final chapter...and longer than expected.

3. Point taken

I should not have done that. Walking towards your last appointment, you’re not worrying about the floofy, pastel coloured dress you’re wearing (although it’s not your usual go-to style) but what’s underneath it. No one can see it: hidden beneath the almost knee-long, flowy skirt and the silken panties hides the result of a great deal of work that you never had expected to get done. I should. Not. Have done that. But you can’t undo it.

Face glowing hot, you try to ignore the reflection in the glass door as you enter the tattoo parlour. There’s no one around at the front. No sign of other customers in any of the two small rooms...at least it doesn’t seem so judging by the lack of sounds.

“Mind locking and turning the sign?” Gojō’s voice calls from behind the curtain at the left cubicle.

A muted, little croak is the only answer you can offer aside from doing as asked. Get yourself together! The mirrored motion of straightening up, pushing the shoulders back, catches your eye once more. Not bad, if you do say so yourself. Almost...innocent looking. That, of course, would be a lie and knowing that emboldens you enough to keep your head high as you pass the curtain.

“Well, hell-ooo,” Gojō purrs at the sight, eyes travelling over your form appreciatively.

It should have been you saying something to showcase the amazement you feel: everywhere are candles and flowers, in a corner is a beautifully painted box (closed and absolutely curiosity inducing), and music is flowing from Satoru’s docked phone.

He can see enough without the electric lights on? That’s when it hits you that he isn’t wearing the usual sunglasses. Perhaps he’s sensitive to the light. Why’ve I never asked?

“Hop up, princess.”

Technically, he partially lifts you up, large hands wrapping around your waist only to slide down slowly along your thighs before guiding your legs apart and into place. His fingers are hot against your flesh, as he rests your left leg in the cradle. Crystalline gaze tracking the shift of the skirt as it falls towards your hip, baring the work in progress.

“Perhaps -” he pecks a kiss to the inside of your knee -”we should take some precautions this time?”

There’s barely enough air in your lungs to answer. “Such as?”

Gojō grins wickedly. “Getting rid of these.” He curls the fingertips up under the dress, hooking onto the edge of the panties. “Would be a shame to ruin them.”

And then you remember and you catch his hands in yours. “I...I...don’t know if...ermm...”

“So shy, princess. Well...I guess it’s only fair that you aren’t the only one on display.”

And true to his words, he pulls off the t-shirt to grant you with a delicious view – there really is no better word to describe the lithe, muscular build. He isn’t bulky, but each muscle is clearly defined and makes your imagination’s creativity pale. You’re too distracted to notice where he drops the shirt. But you do see his hands go for the button and fly of his jeans and your pussy does respond to the view as he reveals himself fully for the first time, confirming the suspicion from the night you danced with him.

“Better, sweetie?” He saunters back between your legs, each movement enthralling and full of confidence.

Nothing stops you, as you sit up to reach out. Fingertips softly trace the lines of his body and turning him around. There’s a fairly big tattoo on his back and it takes a moment before your can extricate your focus from the individual strokes (symbols) of the pattern to see that the whole makes out wings that move with his shoulders and shoulder blades. It could have been tacky. It is ethereal.

“Like what you see?” He flexes cheekily, a goofy grin banishing the rest of the awkwardness you had accumulated over the last days.

“Oh yes.”

A large hands splays over your pussy, thumb rubbing your inner thigh and sending sparks to your abdomen, your chest. Then it’s gone, and the next touch is that of the needles jabbing into your skin.

Sweet pain mingles with fiery caresses as Gojō carries your through for an hour or more on the verge of ecstasy without once passing the silken barrier and by the time he takes a break to focus completely on you, you’re a whimpering mess, begging for more.

There’s no reason to oppose him as Satoru lifts the dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie (which, for once, matches).

“Sweet princess,” he croons against your belly, hands scooting under you to grope your ass, “you want more?”

“Y-yes yees...”

Your own hands are clamped on to the edge of the seat, hips automatically tilting towards him until he pulls away. Through a haze, you see him go and open the box, pulling out something small enough that he can hide it in his hand. Wait...two somethings.

“Can you be a good girl for me?” Of course you can, you will be anything for him. “Put this into your sweet cunt.”

He hands you one of the things: a silicone bullet, smooth and slightly warmed from his touch. There’s no hesitation as you slip your hands beneath the panties, gathering the slick on the toy. It’s not what you had expected, not quite what you need, but it makes you moan to push it past your entrance and feel it almost plop into place. It’s not on purpose when your fingers linger to stroke your folds.

A strong hand clamps around your wrist. “Did I tell you to play with yourself?”

“No-o,” you gasp.

Brilliant eyes have grown icy. “Then why did you?”

“I just...I need m- I need you please.”

He can’t hide the shrewd smile completely. “Only if you’re a good girl. Are you gonna be good from now on?”

“Yesyesyes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you.”

Returning your hand to the edge of the seat, he leans in over you, hips pushing against your inner thighs and his cock twitching against your pussy. Gojō’s chest is hard and warm against yours. His lips soft along your jaw.

“Good,” he whispers, “otherwise I’d have to tie you u-” interrupted by an involuntary roll of your hips, his eyes search your features before he continues, “...oh. I see. Are you sure?”

If I’m not allowed to touch and he doesn’t do it? You nod, but it’s probably a new roll of your hips that convinces him to find two leather straps in the box, one for each wrist. He’s gentle as he ties you to the seat, whispering sweet promises and explaining how to navigate this new territory safely. When done, Gojō kisses you agonizingly slow and deep and your brain can’t help but imagine how it would feel if he was using his tongue like that but on your pussy instead. Tense and hot, clenching around nothing...and he smiles as he retracts because he knows and his cock is damp from having pressed against your soaked panties.

“Mmm, perfect,” the words are mumbled against your cleavage and then repeated as he kisses his way down your body in a straight line.

Almost. Almost there. But of course he skips where you need him the most and you have to bite back a whine as he sets to work on the artwork again.

Kisses. Fingers massaging and rubbing. Soft bites. Each sends new jolts through your body, keeping you close to the edge with no risk of toppling over. Want more. As if on cue, a rumble rocks through your cunt, making it clench around the toy you had forgotten all about in your frustration. Maybe it’s a gasp (it could be a moan) and Satoru understands the sentiment perfectly and lets the vibrations continue as your breathing speeds up and you teeter on the verge of the first orgasm -

“Noooo...”

Everything has stopped and Gojō watches your body regain its balance instead of succumbing to pleasure. The bastard had turned off the bullet and no matter how hard your pussy squeezes around the thing, it’s not enough. Straining against the leather of the cuffs, you try to reach down. Your fingers know the motions. Your clit is throbbing. Inner walls weeping. And Satoru looks at you with hooded eyed while running a hand lazily along his length.

...

The base colours are filled in and the millions of jabs with the needles has caused your thigh to ache wonderfully. It’s not enough to distract you from the much deeper burning in your core: a desperation, a longing so profound that words such as grace or dignity have lost their meaning completely. Tears are filling your eyes and dripping down your cheeks as you babble. Begging. Pleading. Sobbing for Gojō to take pity on the wreck of a girl strapped down before him.

“I love the way you sound, princess,” he mumbles against your hip, “adore the way you stutter through my name.” Adept fingers have left the most sensible parts of your body momentarily to wrap up the tattoo. “You’ve been such a good girl.”

It’s impossible to fit together a string of words. Your brain has been reduced to mush and you’re trembling with need as his lean body presses against your flesh, his raging boner pushing at the soaked fabric of your panties. And he purrs, damn it, the man enjoys the sensation of the vibration he’s subjecting you too as they travel outwards.

“Pl-ple-ease!”

“Yeah? No more playing?” Somehow, the blue of his eyes manages to pierce through the haze of tears.

You’re not entirely sure when he frees you wrists. And the surprised growl as he finally pulls your panties off could just as easily have come from miles away. Two licks is all the aching folds are granted before he maps a path up your body, marking each detour with kisses and bites that makes you whimper at the delicious sting. There’s almost no power left in you to sit up like he wants you to...but somehow you manage for long enough to wrap your arms around him so he can unfasten your bra.

“It’s okay, darling,” he nibbles at your earlobe, guiding you onto your back once more, “hang on a bit longer, mm?”

“M-mm,” you nod, happy for the reprieve as the bullet stops.

Next second, the calm is disturbed as Gojō pulls out the toy slowly, leaving you more hollow than ever. A slobbery sound piques your curiosity, fighting against the reduced vision until you see him lick every trace of you off the silicone.

“I can never get enough of your taste,” he groans, winking at you. “

“You...how do...”

No, words are too difficult. It’s not as you really need them anyways, your brain tries to remind you before losing all sense of reality except the one fact that you’re finally feeling a cock head slipping up and down between your folds. Not just any cock, of course.

“Yeah...plea-OH!”

Shock waves of hot pleasure courses through every cell in your body at the sensation of Gojō bottoming out. Without warning, your body is wrecked, taken apart and put together in a heartbeat that lasts forever as your insides spasm and the only thing you can scream in your ecstasy is his name. And he doesn’t even move, just waits for you to come down and catch your breath.

“Hmmm, we need more space, princess.” His voice is strained.

Somehow, the man manages to lift you, still impaled by his erection, and carry you through a backdoor and up to the next floor – to be fair, you’re not thinking too much about it because all you can do is hold on as each step he takes sends aftershocks through your core.

You are aware of the soft feel of a mattress against your knees, realizing that he’s laid down in bed with you straddling him. Please, yes. It’s impossible to say where it comes from – probably the desperate craving that hasn’t been satisfied enough – but new energy tugs at your limbs until your sitting upright and your hips begin to roll. Every time he says your name,  you reward him by pulling nearly all the way off and then sinking back down.

“Why’d I wait so long?” Satoru groans, his fingers digging into your ass. “Feel so...amazing.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me be good to you?”

Gojō seems to be the one struggling for words now as he thrusts up into you with each roll, trying to speed up despite your effort to keep it slow. It’s not long before he lifts you up and down by the waist, praising the bounce of your breasts and asking you to play with them. Of course you comply.

“Fuck!” He pulls you off, scrambling to get behind you and pushing you forward on knees and elbows. “Ready, babe?”

“Gimme, please.”

You're aching for him inside, a deep longing for the balancing act between the pain and satisfaction he can grant you. Breath reduced to superficial whimpers. Hands clenching the sheets. All the anticipation building up to the point that you're shaking as you feel him align himself. Deep...hard, the inner voice keens.

It's neither. Frustratingly slow, Satoru fills you again, underlining the discovery of the bumps and quivers against his length with wonderfully delicious moans.

"Wanted to do this at the club," he growls strained, "slide into heaven. Feel your tight cunt around me as we danced." Finally bottoming out, Gojō's hips stutter and his fingers hold tight enough to bruise your hips in his efforts to still you both. "Fuck, princess! You're so damn perfect, I wouldn't have been able to hold back."

"You wouldn't have had to," you whine, core fluttering at his words.

Slowly, he begins to thrust into you and for a moment the only sounds are from two sets of panting breaths and an obscene squelching. One hand trails up your side only to return via the spine, nails scoring to set your nerves ablaze.

"I think it was worth it," he purrs, "this view? Beautiful. And no loud music to cover your sounds." As if to prove the point, he rams in deep to make you cry out again and again.

You're right at the verge, the dizzying precipice begging for that last stroke to push you over the edge and fly on the updrafts – and the second before it happens, Gojō's strong arms pull you up flush against his chest and he growls into your ear to scream his name. The change of angle, the command, or maybe the feeling his teeth digging into your earlobe as he pulls you down hard on his cock has you cumming with him.

Rather than an explosion or waves, the bliss concentrates heavy and hot and spreads its blinding rays outwards until there is nothing but deeply saturated satisfaction.

You come to you senses sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped tight around you for support for both. Satoru's chest is heaving against your back, but he's still capable of peppering your skin with kisses.

"I know we got work to do still on your thigh but..." his tongue catches your earlobe, making you hum with delight, "be mine, princess?"

It takes a second before you can talk. "Is there any doubt that I am already?"

"Nope...but I like the way you presented your heart to me," you hear him smile.

[angelguk]

an eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au. jeongguk fresh from memory removal finds himself in a place that feels very unfamilar — until he bumps into you. or the one where they loved so hard it ruined them both. listen to mr loverman (arthur black cover). roughly 1.2k words. angst and one mention of mental health. alternatively titled ‘what might be’

“Excuse me? Excuse me, sir?”

Her voice is soft in the cool night air, drifting delicately so his ears. But it cuts deep, slicing through the murky reverie that was drowning him, gaze ripping from the distant amber streetlight to lock on the server’s face. Her head is cocked sideways, perplexing colouring her features as she stares back at him before releasing a low sigh, the menu in her hand swinging down forlornly.

“Sir,” she starts. “You haven’t ordered anything and we’re about to close. Unless you want to place an order now, I suggest you leave.”

He can’t help but blanch, the statement a whip against his heart. He doesn’t want to leave — at least not right now. He’s still looking — for what he’s not sure of but he knows it’s here. It has to be here. There’s no other reason for him to be sitting on the second-floor veranda of some absurdly expensive restaurant all alone, nursing a single tall glass of water. It’s not his scene. Jeongguk wasn’t doing too bad for himself but he’d rather spend his pay check on expanding his gaming system and ordering take-out rather than soiling the pristine chair cushions of this establishment with his baggy jeans. They’d almost not let him in, at the sight of his worn appearance, but Jeongguk’s grandmother always said he had a silver tongue and charming smile that got him past doors that should never have been opened. But why he wanted to secure a table in here so bad, stifling underneath incandescent chandelier lights and immaculately pressed tablecloths, stumped him. It made no sense, but Jeongguk did not want to leave. He couldn’t. He might not be able to breathe again if he did.

“Sir.” There’s a tinge of irritation lingering behind the word. He stares at her again, doe eyes flickering back and forth as if hoping for a slither of recognition to spark in his brain. “Sir? I am asking you to leave. Kindly comply or I will have you removed from this table.”

The glare she gives him is sharp, and Jeongguk can’t help but drop his head in defeat, tousled brown curls swimming before his vision. There’s a tightness gripping his chest, rib cage drawing in, the curved ends of his bones digging deeply into his lungs. It’s with desolation that he releases the silver knife he was toying with, the clack against the table resounding with the crack that forms in his heart as he rises from his chair. He spares one glance to the vast windows reflecting onto the city streets below before he drags himself out and into the staircase he’d come through roughly two hours ago. It should be noted that he’s never been here — not once in his life. He doesn’t know this side of Seoul that well and the claret walls are still new to him as he descends, knees buckling with each step. It worsens when he tumbles into the street, dazed as he spins around, an oddity to those who spare him a look. He just needs to find it, whatever he knows is here. That is what propels him further into the night, shoes scraping against the pavement, cricks steadily forming in his neck from twisting and turning. He should go home. He knows it. But the hollow that sits in his chest demands to be filled, a desperate wail that bounces in his head, tears dripping from his worn eyes as he looks and looks.

The name of the store is what halts him. A comforting phrase that encourages his unsure feet onward in this unfamiliar labyrinth. Past the threshold he goes, the smell of paper and ink floating around him warmly. It’s a welcome distraction, the small thrill that zips from his fingertips the second they graze against the spine of the books lining the towering shelves calming the thunderous voice that plagued his thoughts. He doesn’t move with purpose, legs lazy as he strolls past rows and rows of books, the glossy covers of cookbooks catching his eyes before his attention is ripped to shimmering fantasy novels. For the first time since this morning, he breathes. It feels easy in here, a low thrum forming in his head when he plucks up a copy from the shelves out of curiosity. A self-help book; for a moment he considers purchasing it. It’s focused on the topic of mental stability and happiness, both of which seem like a major problem in Jeongguk’s life at the moment. And then your voice cracks through, like thin ice breaking under the weight of a reckless skater. Or a memory coaxed from the mind with something as small as a scent.

“You’re not gonna want that,” you say, the firmness in your tone startling him. He can’t help but cock his head, silver earrings glinting beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the shop. Your face is set in a challenge, defiant and bold. Jeongguk feels something inside of him rip the moment your eyes meet. You stare at him, eyes unwavering, like a tiger waiting to strike.

And like a fool, Jeongguk takes the bait.

“Why wouldn’t I? You don’t know me.” The second that sentence leaves his lips he knows it’s wrong. He does know you, but from where he can’t recall. And yet something about you triggers an irritating itch in his brain; the way you stand is oddly familiar, weight balanced on one hip as your arms cross in front of your chest. There’s the scent of your perfume, drifting through the air, sweet and soft, a harsh contrast to the look you’re giving him.

“Because they’re shit. Self-help books are for people who pretend they're capable of fixing everyone around them, including themselves. No one is capable of fixing themselves just by reading ‘10 Ways to Make Your Life More Meaningful to You’. Humans are too stubborn to change their entire behaviour just because Kim Yoongi with a Degree in I Lie to People for Money says you should. You look smart enough to understand that, I presume.”

There you go again, crossing lines, pressing buttons. Jeongguk sneaks a look at the tag on your apron, eyes finding a name that zips down his spine with a painful jolt. He keeps blinking at it — at you. A pretty face with a dagger for a tongue. Something about this feels dangerous — wrong. Yet, he takes a precarious step forward, dumping the novel on the shelf. For a second, he can’t speak, and then the words peel from his throat, leading him down a path that feels known.

“Well,” he says. “What should I be reading then?”

You pause, hawk gaze examining him from head to toe; there’s a flicker in your guarded eyes. His heart aches to ask. Feels like you should. But then your perfect lips break out into a small smile, features bright and warm. It clicks into place then, the hollow filling in so quickly he nearly topples to the floor from shock. Whatever he wanted to ask can wait. Everything can wait. You’re still smiling at him and Jeongguk is lost mapping a galaxy in the mischievous twinkle in your eyes.

“Follow me,” you whisper, spinning on the heel of your boots. And he does without question. Like he always will. He doesn’t realise it yet, but he’s done this before, followed you until he ruined himself, burnt down every bridge he’d worked to build. And here he is again, trailing after you through the winding rows of shelves, his heart slowly but surely returning to the place it belongs. It’s perched in your hands, waiting to be crushed again, allure blinding his reason, and his brain lost in the fog of what might be love.

[willowistic22]

The Escape (Jack and Race)

Race had been taken to the refuge and Jack can’t stop worrying about him. He hasn’t formed an escape plan yet but he still had to make sure he’s okay till a plan forms. But in a twist of events, the awaiting escape plan no longer serves a purpose because Race had broken himself free from the hellhole. 

Words : 3826

Part : -

Warnings : Violence, abuse, child abuse (the refuge), blood, bruises, scars, injuries, nightmares, caps, angst (boy that’s heavy uhh-) 

A/N : aaand we’re back! abt damn time i know i’m sorry. but this one here is special because it’s my gift for @deliciouspeachpirate for the @newsiesgiftexchange filmiversarry yay!! I apologize for being a few days late so I trully hope you enjoy this one. The warnings are pretty heavy ngl, but hey you requested ‘coming back from the refuge’ and this was the only idea that popped out. hehehehe n ee wayyssssss enjoy and have a happy filmiversary buddy!! 

The worrying will never stop. As much as the others had told him it was a bad idea, he had to see him. Maybe if Jack had checked up on his friend, he wouldn’t blame himself all that much. Or maybe it’d make the blame game even worse. Either way, Jack had to make sure he’s okay. He had known Race the longest. And because of that, he feels like he owes him this. 

The refuge is a pretty terrifying place to be. Sometimes it still haunts Jack in the most cruel way possible. Being back here still makes his skin crawl. His heart can be heard thumping faster in his ears. His hands tremble a little more than usual when the cold night breeze makes contact with his skin. He’d think that his fears over this hellhole would fade away after being here multiple times. Either it being because Snyder caught him or he’s there to see one of his newsies while trying to come up with an escape plan. 

The building feels like a skyscraper because of how small the four story building makes him. There were memories where it wasn’t the building that made him feel small, but the monsters behind them. Regardless, he pushes his fears away for the time being and makes his way towards his usual path he uses to sneak in the building. He scales the wall on the side of the building utilizing the different objects around him. 

He sees the little window he usually uses to look in just ahead. He just needs a few more steps to reach it and- wait. 

A loud fragile sound made Jack duck low, thinking that he might’ve been seen. However, the window he’s trying to reach is slowly turning into glass shards. Jack waits it out but observes the movements from the darkness. He did not plan on seeing an escape plan going in motion. 

A leg started to weakly kick down the metal bars covering the window that was previously there. The sound of the metal bars whining to break free filled the silent void of the night. Jack worried it might alert the guards and the kid might get caught. 

First kick, a little movement. 

Second kick, it started to lose its grip on the wall. 

The third kick is what got it to fully break free. 

Jack smiles seeing their success. His thoughts wandered to the possibilities of maybe utilizing that escape hole to break Race out right now. Well, his thoughts were soon diminished when he saw the kid that kicked down the bars slipped out through the hole. It was Race. 

He wasn’t thinking all that much the moment he recognized the tall and lanky figure. Jack’s mind went straight to catching his attention, “Race!” 

It made the other boy flinch. He snaps his head towards the source of the sound with his usual pearly white face going pale. His body frame pulses along with his heavy breathing a little too dramatic for Jack’s liking. 

But upon realizing it was a trusted friend, Race scrambles over towards Jack. His tone breathless from all that heavy breathing, “Jack!” 

Jack lets Race crash into him. His head curling into the crook of his neck and letting his bright blond curls nestle right in place. But it’s not as soft as Jack was familiar with. Actually, nothing about Racetrack is familiar now. His torso had always been lanky but Jack knows it had muscles packed into it. His hands are wrapping Race’s body in the hug and he can feel that his body has gotten a little smaller than the last time they met. He even notices the tears and rips all over his clothes. Some are also exposed to red liquid which Jack could only assume had to be blood. 

Jack pulls away from the hug, wanting to investigate even further. He holds Race’s shoulder as far as arm’s length for a better look. There were scars, bruises, blood drips. The corner of his eyes were a little red. The blue sky he kept in his iris was in a different shade of blue. It wasn’t cheerful or friendly. It was locked away from seeing the adventures he and his friends would have after selling papes. In the span of two weeks, it has seen every form of cruelty in the world. Jack could tell it still stuck pretty close to him when he took note of the tear streaks on his cheeks. 

“Oh, Race” Jack frowned at his friend, “What did they do to you?” 

Race couldn’t answer. His voice was caught by his tongue that was begging to cry his heart out. Jack knows he can’t contain his emotions any longer. If the dam broke, the whole refuge might know an escape was in motion right now. 

He ushers the boy down from the height they were from. Race’s hand, weak and frail, is slinged over Jack’s shoulders for extra support. Jack would carry him but he’s far too heavy. So he lets Race lean his weight on him. Jack would prefer them to be going a little faster since they’re still walking out in the open, but he can’t make Race limp any faster than what he’s already doing. 

“I can’t believe you broke out on your own, Race” Jack exclaimed under his breath. They’ve reached the first alleyway in their journey for cover. Now both of them are breathing heavily. But Jack is more concerned over Race’s heavy breathing because it hasn’t stopped since the moment they saw each other. 

“Heh… Well... You know me…” Race voiced between heavy breaths, making it sound like it’s no big deal. 

“Save your strength, Higgins. We still got a long way to go” Jack stopped him from talking any further. 

They continue on their journey through the streets and towards the lodge. They utilize the minimal lighting at this hour of the night to their advantage. Avoiding bulls and other sorts of big crowds by ducking low near the shadows and dirty alleyways. Race had mostly used Jack to stand up straight but every so often he kept toppling over. So Jack’s brain formed a plan to keep close to walls so Race can also lean on them when he feels he’s losing his balance. 

“Kelly…” 

“What is it, Race?” Jack instantly replied. He felt his heart breaking when he mostly heard exhausted air in Race’s tone. It’s not his usual loud and nasally voice. It didn’t ring loud throughout the room like the times when he celebrated his victory in winning card games at the lodge against the others. Or in the same way he’d announce the headlines to strangers on the street. 

“...Am tired” Race said. 

“I know you are but-” Jack started as he tried to readjust his grip on Race, “-You gotta stay awake, aight? You gotta help me help you back to the lodge” 

The other end of the alleyway they’re in right now is only a few feet away from them. But the more they walk, the slower Race’s steps are. Jack can see the bloody and trembling feet trying its hardest to keep up. Race is basically being carried by Jack at this point, despite their efforts on trying to keep this a team effort. 

“Jack…” Race called out again. He takes one last step forward before collapsing towards the nearest wall. 

“Woah, woah, Race!” Jack tried his best to catch him but failed miserably when he ended up tumbling over along with the boy. 

Jack frantically gets himself away from the boy to avoid harming him any further. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like he did any damage. But it doesn’t change the fact that Race’s legs had given up on him. His back is against the wall, a bit toppling over to the side from the fatigue. He takes deep and tiring breaths which causes his chest to pulse up and down slowly. 

“Hey, c’mon, Race! Ya can’t give up now!” Jack tried to get his eyes to open, straightening the boy’s dirty cheeks as gentle as he can. 

“One… minute… please…” Race said in between breaths. He nestles his head in Jack’s hands. His face is cold and weak against Jack’s skin. It’s beyond terrifying to see him like this. 

Jack can’t do anything at this point other than to obey what Race wants. Jack has a feeling the refuge guards are already out there looking for Race so maybe it is better to rest for a few minutes. With their kind of walking pace, they’re bound to get caught. Though every so often Jack shakes Race’s face when his eyes have been closed for a bit too long. He doesn’t wanna risk letting it close for too long to the point that it won’t open again. 

Slowly, Race gets a hold of his breathing. He relaxes into his resting position with one big sigh. The gap between his two eyelids are very small, but as long as Jack can see it then he’s fine. Jack still thinks they need to get out of here as soon as possible. The alleyway can’t provide them cover for this long and the refuge guards won’t leave no stone unturned. 

“Okay, times up” Jack exclaimed, putting Race’s hand around his shoulders. It’s still weak and cold against Jack so he’s praying that it’ll be strong enough to hold onto Jack as they continue to walk, “Let's get you home, Race” 

Jack helps the boy stand up again, one trembling feet after the other. Jack puts an arm around Race’s waist for extra support before taking the first step. But Race’s feet missed the ground and slipped on his own. He came crashing to the little muddy puddle on the ground. 

“Please, don’t give up, Race” Jack begged as he kneels down to get him again. 

Race was still breathing but he couldn’t respond any more than muffled noises. Jack tries the same technique to get him up again, but it’s no use seeing that Race’s limbs just slides out of his grip. 

“No, no, Race, please!” Jack pleaded while gripping on his hand. The volume was a bit too loud for his liking but at this point he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants Race to get up. 

Bam! 

A door on the other side of the alley wall opened. It made Jack flinch towards the source of the sound. His hands reflexively trying to cover a weak Racetrack but still balled into a fist in case he needs to fight. But the boy’s fingers loosen up the moment he fully realizes who opened the door up. 

“Jack?” The lady in the doorway spoke. It was followed by loud music coming from the building, but it was clear enough that Jack could tell who it belonged to. 

“Ruby!” He called out. 

It was one of the Bowery Beauties that Jack had befriended while hanging around Medda’s theatre. From the looks of the building she had existed, it appears that Race and Jack had made it to the theatre. Jack was too focused on getting Race home to take a minute to examine his surroundings. But that’s not the priority now. The priority is finding a place to lay low because it’s obvious that Race is in no condition to walk back to the lodge. 

Ruby became the second set of hands to help Jack get Race to safety, which is inside the theatre. She’s not in her usual purple, pink, and feathery costume, which means she doesn’t have a performance tonight. She has time to help out. 

They make quick work entering the building. Some backstage crew stopped and stared at the trio making their way across the floor. It’s not every day they get bloody young guests like them. 

They find a secluded area of the theatre. An old couch left to dust alone will do just fine for Race. Ruby lays his head on the cushions cautiously to avoid breaking his fragility. Jack puts his legs up on the couch and proceeds to make him as comfortable as he can get on the small couch. 

“Jack? What’re you do— OH MY GOODNESS!” A different voice shrieked. It was probably loud enough for some people in the audience to hear it, but that’s unimportant. Jack turns his head to see Ms. Medda standing in her usual pink costume to perform. 

“Hey, Ms. Medda” Race said weakly with a small smile. 

Jack stands there for a few seconds, frozen from the surprise encounter before he could reply to her, “He got out of the refuge like this!” 

“Ruby, get the medical supplies in my dressing room!” Medda said as he approached the frail boy on the couch while Ruby quickly made her way towards the dressing room. 

“Don’t worry… I’se been through worse…” Race tried to play it off like a joke. But neither Jack or Medda thought it was funny. 

Medda and Ruby couldn’t stay to help because Medda’s cue was in five minutes and Ruby had to help out the other Bowery Beauties that are on for tonight get ready. Jack doesn’t mind because he can patch his friend up by himself. 

Carefully, he helps Race unbutton his shirt and roll his pants up. Jack then starts by cleaning the bruises, cuts, and whatnot with a piece of cloth soaked in some water. It wasn’t that cold, yet Race still shivers against the touch when it makes contact with his skin. Some were even painful enough to cause him to flinch. But it slowly became bearable as Jack continued. 

“I can’t believe ya broke outta there on your own, Race” Jack said after a long period of silence. The vacancy was mostly filled with the noises coming from the front stage, the cheering audience, noises behind the stage, or Race’s yelp of pain when Jack accidentally dabbed the cloth on the wrong spot. 

“Why’d you do it?” Jack asked, putting the wet cloth down. It was now full of red stains soaked in water. 

Race stayed silent for a few minutes. Jack guesses he needs time to let the feeling from the newly washed damaged skin settle on him because it’s obvious he’s trying to concentrate to breathe. In the end he cracked a smile on his face and replied, “Got bored… thought I’d get some fresh air” 

That doesn't sound convincing in Jack’s book. He knows how Race jokes and that doesn’t sound like a joke. Jack squints his eyes to examine his expression even further for one good minute. From his smile, to his eyes, and even down to his soul, he can see the lie. But there was something in between that tells him not to make a fuss about it for the time being. 

For the time being, Jack listens to it and just nods at the answer. He diverts his focus towards the bandages he’s gonna use to cover up some of the damage that has been done on his friend. Race surprisingly didn’t squeak in pain the whole way through. Whether it was because Jack’s hand had adapted to the kind of delicacy needed for Race’s situation or because the pain was now bearable enough, Jack was just glad to hear no noise that indicates he’s in pain. Though he makes it his mental priority to check up on him later. 

- 

The two boys didn’t plan on staying for long. They still need to journey back to the lodge. But it got pretty late at night and even Jack didn’t argue with Medda about staying for the night. After the last show of the night ended, most of the lights had gone out yet there were still plenty of people doing some work around the theatre at this hour. The absence of the audience made the theatre lose its life. Jack finds it a little terrifying but he guesses that’s just the magic of theatre. 

It got him to stay wide awake. He knows he’ll regret it later in the morning but he cannot get his mind to settle in this new sleeping environment. Jack is sitting upright on the wooden floor next to the couch Race uses. He seems to be relishing in the sleep. 

Poor kid, probably didn’t sleep in the refuge. Jack thought to himself as he observed the sleeping Race for a few seconds. At least one of us is sleeping. 

Jack decides to grab a random paper and pencil nearby and do some light sketches to wait till he gets sleepy. This technique worked back at the lodge so it should work right now. The drawing starts with random shapes that make no sense. He’ll figure out what it is as he keeps going. 

A Rustling noise caught his attention. He flinches his head up from his drawing towards the sound. He still sees a sleeping Race on the couch. But he’s not peaceful. Race starts flinching and rolling around in his sleep. Mumbles of words laced with fear escape his mouth in between his breathing that’s slowly getting deeper and quicker. 

Jack puts the paper and pencil down before going over to where Race is. He curiously observes the scared boy before him, cowering into himself from whatever sight he sees in his dreams. He gently shakes Race awake while whispering, “Racer? Racer? Racer, wake up!” 

He startles awake with a loud gasp for air, slightly sitting himself up. Jack takes a step back to give the boy some space. His chest pulses up and down in a state of panic. Blue eyes dart all over the dark scenery. But he calms down once he turns to the side to see a friend sitting by his side. 

“Easy there, Race” Jack said, approaching the boy once again, “Everything okay?” 

Race freezes at that question for a second before answering, “Yeah... yeah, I’m good” 

Jack squints his eyes at his unbelievable words and tilts his head to the side. But he says nothing about it, telling himself that it’s probably not the best time to question him about it. 

“Alright…” Jack said. He proceeds to lie down on the floor as if to return to his previous slumber state again, “...let’s head back to bed” 

Race says nothing to that other than a nod. He gets himself comfortable again, but still keeps an eye on his injuries. He shuts his eyes completely again with a slower breathing pace. Jack pretends to sleep to keep an eye on Race. 

Just as he suspects it, he isn’t back to sleeping. Race flips from sleeping on one side to the other. Jack can even see his eyes flickering open every so often, like he’s afraid to close his eyes again. 

“Race?” Jack voiced out again, “Are you sure everythin’s okay?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine” Race replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Jack frowns at the lies. Even in the dark, Race can definitely see the frown. He answers that expression with an annoyed look. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it now, but Jack can’t let it slide that quick when it’s obvious he’s bothered by something. 

From the distance, the two boys hear captivating vocals coming from the front stage. It caught their attention away from their wordless conversation. They turn their heads towards it. They see that one of the stage entrances is still bright from a light source coming from the front stage. It just so happens that the source of the singing is also coming from that direction. Jack recognizes the voice to belong to Ms. Medda. He guesses that she’s doing a late night practice. 

Which gives him an idea. 

“Hey, wanna see Medda sing for a bit?” Jack suggested to Race. 

The other boy didn't respond for some time but ended up nodding to the suggestion. Jack proceeds to help him up on his feet again. With the pain all over his body, Race carefully limps along with Jack. 

As they emerge to the stage, they see the beautiful sight that is Ms. Medda trying out a new tune while being accompanied with some soft piano. There’s only a few lights on, but it’s enough to make the singer shine like a diamond. The two boys stare in awe as they take a seat on the edge of the theatre. 

The first short seconds of watching her brought peace to Race. Jack could see a smile forming on his face in the corner of his eyes. The eyes that were previously filled with fear had faded away and were replaced with awe. He isn’t surprised. Medda never fails to cheer anyone up. 

The tranquility settles onto Race like it’s always meant to be there. He puts his head on Jack’s shoulder with a loud sigh. Jack only chuckles at the sight of his plan working. They’d definitely regret losing the sleep in the morning, but right now there were no such things as regrets. 

“I couldn’t take it anymore” suddenly Race said. At this point, they’ve been watching Ms. Medda for a while now. Jack isn’t sure what coaxed him into talking nor does he know what he’s talking about, however he might have an idea. 

Jack only turned his head towards the boy. Race took it as a cue to elaborate even further. 

“Back in the refuge. It was… different than the last time I was there” Race said, eyes locked towards his bruised fingers tracing lines on the floorboard of the wooden stage. 

“How different?” Jack hesitated in voicing his question. 

“There were more guards. Stricter rules. Way more kids” Race explained. He lifted his eyes to meet Jack’s. Jack can tell there’s the fearful memories flashing before him in his brain, “Little kids, Jack! Some of them were smaller than eight!”

“And the guards were more ruthless than before” Race continued, “They punched a kid for walking too slow. And that was because they haven’t slept properly for so long” 

Jack puts a hand around the boy’s shoulder. It got Race to lean further towards Jack, soaking up the warmth he craves. 

“I got out because I couldn’t take it anymore” Race admitted, “It was… scary and… cold a-and just…” 

When the voice started breaking, Jack held the boy tighter, “Sshh, it’s okay. You’re here now” 

“I know, but those other kids…” Race continues, “I saw them in my sleep a-“ 

His next words were stuck in the tight of his throat. Race pulls his knees up and curls into himself as the tears he was previously holding back starts to stream down his face. His breathing gets mixed up with his cry. 

Jack leans in closer to hug his friend. He rubs circle on the boy’s back as he sobs his fears out quietly. The mini performance before them has been long forgotten by the two boys. 

“You’re okay. You’re home” Jack whispered, “We won’t let them get to ya” 

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                                          time, wondrous time

                                           elain & azriel & lucien  //   ao3

Time, curious time

Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

Were there clues I didn't see?

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

Bright sunlight wakes Elain up, relentlessly tapping on her closed eyelids until she groans softly; making her clammy skin sizzle. She cannot escape from it, not sandwiched naked between two bodies the way she is. Flushed all-over, not an inch of her untouched; her cheek pressed to one male’s back, her legs tangled up with another’s. Some minuscule human part of her left weeping in shame, quietly, somewhere too deep inside her to bother with it.

Instead of hiding underneath thin sheets, she spits out a strand of hair stuck to her lower lip and begins grounding herself. It’s a slow, meticulous process, boring and alike to fishing out pebbles of a certain shade from a riverbed full of all kinds of rocks – but then, Elain’s well versed in it for now. Last night’s memories are a bit brighter, a bit more solid than all of the other images blooming in her head. There is laughter and auburn wine, the taste of it on her tongue, pomegranate juice dripping down her neck until it was licked off. Sand-colored marble kissing the bare soles of her feet when she was running through the corridors. Sheer silk swishing around her calves.  Sweet ache coiling deep in her belly, between her slick thighs, the release hard enough to leave her feeling breathless, almost empty. There’s snow falling in the Steppes,  chubby cheeks and round, silver-blue eyes of her mother-

Which don’t belong to yesterday, nor to any of the yesterdays before. Elain indulges herself though; let’s happiness and adoration fill her to the brim when she stays with this image for a bit longer. Those tiny fingers locked around a lock of her sister’s hair, Nesta’s cooing, a lullaby falling from her lips soft like a caress…  It’s too nice, too delicious to not melt into this vision.  

But then - a rough hand slides up her thigh, fingers tracing the arch of her hipbone. Quiet laughter echoes when she trembles in response.

The future bursts like a soap bubble in the air and Elain falls painfully into here and now. She bares her throat to rest the back of her head on Azriel’s chest, smiling brightly with her eyes still firmly closed when he presses a kiss underneath her jaw.

‘’Good morning, Elain.’’ He whispers.

Before she can reply, a familiar warmth spills deep inside her belly – happiness and annoyance and pleasure mixed up in equal measure – and Lucien huffs, his voice muffled by the pillow:

‘’Why do you always have to wake up so early?’’

It’s the sun. – Elain wants to say, want to sing-song into his ear until he fully awakens.- It’s the sun and you are the one responsible for it.

But she’s too content, too comfy – so he blindly moves her hand from Lucien’s waist to his back, traces loopy I love you-s on the bare skin with her fingertips as the bond inside her purrs like a cat in response. She can feel the silky strands of his hair brushing her knuckles and, for the thousandth time, she vows she’ll never let him cut them.

‘’Good morning.’’ She lets out an exhale. ‘’The sun’s telling you to rise and shine, my lord.’’

Azriel’s near-soundless laugh makes the bed shake a bit. It’s her favorite sound in the world – as beautiful as her future nephew’s shrieks of joy, as beautiful as Nesta’s singing voice.

As beautiful as Lucien’s fond, irritated groan.

‘’You two will pay me back for it, you know.’’

Oh, she knows.

Lips and hands and cocks and wings and starlight underneath her eyelids; and moans and names and curses; in the daylight, in the moonlight; on the soft grass in her personal garden, bees buzzing around them as they make love, her knees scraped raw, teeth-marks on her neck, finger-shaped bruises on her thighs.

Before now – before them, she didn’t know it’s even possible to feel such ecstasy, that sex can be like this. She doesn’t know how she was managing to live without it, how she did not crave this connection as one craves air every second, every heartbeat of her life.

‘’Is that a threat or promise, oh mighty High Lord?’’ Azriel snickers and Elain hides her face in Lucien’s hair to suppress her giggle. ‘’Be careful not to bite more than you can chew.’’

‘’I think we all know I can chew plenty.’’ Lucien shoots back, unflinchingly. Just enough bite in his tone that she squeezes her thighs together, that she feels Azriel’s hand climbing up the ladder of her ribs to brush her breast.

‘’Shush, both of you.’’ She whispers. ‘’It’s too early for that.’’

She can almost feel Lucien’s grin on her own lips.

‘’It’s never too  early for that.’’

Like a cat waking up from a nap on a sunny afternoon, Elain slowly stretches her body- brushing, caressing, electing hisses and groans left and right in process, her bones and muscles re-forming from their half-molten state when she yawns.

And then she opens her eyes.

Lucien has turned to lay flat on his back, smiling at her in the light of the morning. There are pillow creases pressed on his cheek and she almost manages to reach out and touch them before Azriel throws his arms across her torso and beats her to it.

Darling, terrible Azriel, all the impossible contradictions of him. All brutality and goodness, quiet agony, dark humor.  How delicately his hand caresses  Lucien’s cheek.  How delicately he touches her, every time, until she tells him not to – as if she was something holy and precious, and worth living for.

Life’s – life’s just this, being tangled up, tied into a knot with her mate and her beloved, her glorious, gorgeous, grand lovers keeping her tethered, keeping her safe. Not for the first time, Elain feels a quiet glee at this thought – oh, let her sisters’ keep their mates and their great love stories full of heartbreak and pain, and impossible choices. Elain refused to go down this road. Elain refused impossible choices.

Elain, for the first time in her life, took a stand for something, refused to let the tide of fate to carry her from one place to another as if she was a petal on the wind.

And Elain is adored.

And Elain adores in return.

She wants to melt in-between them, slither underneath their ribs, bind them together for all eternity. Time is a river and she has long ago stopped drowning – now she’s swimming like a fish, no longer gasping for air, no longer cold and lost. The Cauldron’s power hums in her, this horrifyingly ancient beast Nesta has conquered and Elain has tamed: you’ll go first, you’ll go first into this ageless dark, sweet doe.

And how exactly does it matter?

Lucien turns his face slightly to press his lips to the inside of Azriel’s hand. His own hand grips her waist to press her closer, closer; the three of them, hips pressing together, legs entangling, until their heartbeats sound like one perfect harmony in her ears.

How does it matter, when they will have each other even when I’m gone?

Her human life, brief and long evaporated like a puff of an exhale on a frost morning.

The centuries of love she got in exchange.

Feyre,  her little sister always so nosy beyond measure, burning in curiosity when she asks, time and time again, how does it even work, as if the three of them sat down around the business table the way Nesta sits with foreign traders to discuss terms and conditions; Mor biting the inside of her cheek not to laugh whenever Elain just shrugs in response. It’s not strange for her, loving them both, sharing and being shared. She has always had too much love inside her anyway, too much to know how to use it properly – wasting it on undeserving human men and pretty, petty things, this love without a purpose that she has now. Enough love for both of the best men she has ever met, both of them always so hungry for love, starved for it.

Elain has shed her humanity and all her human inhibitions the way silk dress slides to the marble floor, exposing skin and flesh begging to be touched – kept them on her and then got rid of them all at once, instantaneously.

Future rushes through her mind like a waterfall, all the good things: roses blooming, stars falling, Feyre’s rounded belly and her son’s first word, Lucien’s hungry gaze, Cassian’s deep laughter and Nesta’s silver one, rows and endless rows of books in the thousand libraries all toppled over, Azriel sleeping peacefully by her side-

Elain rests her head on Lucien’s shoulder and tangles her fingers in Azriel’s hair when he hides his face in the crook of her neck. The Day Court keeps them warm and safe when they drift back into dreams.

Oh, how truly blessed she is.  

[s-horne]

What about stony quarantined with a rambunctious toddler? Or teenage Peter?

(I went for toddler!Peter and essentially just wrote about my own lockdown life... including at-home workouts and far far far too many snacks)

(also, no mention of the bad thing causing this lockdown)

***

“What in…” Tony trailed off as he surveyed the living room. It looked like every flat surface was covered with some sort of artwork. If random scribbles and brightly-coloured sponge patterns could be called artwork. “Having fun?”

“Loads of fun, Daddy! Look at this!” Peter held up a piece of printer paper covered with splotches that vaguely resembled hearts. “D’ya like it?”

All Tony could really see was the mess in his living room. There was paint on his table and a pink splodge on the floor, steadily growing larger as a stream of blue dripped down the table leg to meet it. He swallowed down his sigh to smile at his son. “I love it, baby. Going up on the fridge, for sure.”

Peter beamed and eagerly grabbed another painting. “And this one! Look at this one!”

“That one, too? Wow.” Tony smiled at Peter, heart sinking when he noticed yet another patch of paint that had somehow reached the skirting board. It was a bright yellow that seemed to glow in the sunlight. “My little artist.”

“Papa did this one,” Peter said, setting his painting down on the table. Steve swept in and picked it up when Peter put it on top of another painting, carefully moving it away from his flailing arms. “Like it?”

Tony laughed. “I love them all, baby. You and Pops are pretty talented, huh?”

“The best,” Peter agreed, nodding his head as he handed Steve his painting. When his hands were free, he grimaced down at the mess on them, holding them up to show his parents.

Steve took the painting with a smile and shook his head at the mess Peter had gotten into. As he met Tony’s gaze over Peter’s head, Steve reached for a damp towel. “Work done?”

“For now. Need to go back to it in an hour or so to finish off the last few bits. But I think it’s snacky-snack time, yeah?”

Peter’s face lit up and he yanked his hands away from the towel that Steve was rubbing over his arms. When he’d scrambled off his chair, Peter bounced over to Tony. “Snack! You want cookies?”

Tony poked Peter on the nose. “Thank you, kid. We can share a packet of cookies. Once we help Pops to clean up this room.”

Eyes wide, Peter turned to look around him. He grimaced again and leant his head against Tony’s knee. “Whoops. Lotsa mess.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony said, lifting his eyebrows at Steve. “Lots of mess.”

*

“What’s going on here?”

Steve had walked in on some strange scenes over the years, but seeing his husband and son bunny-hopping around the room was one of the cutest.

“Bunny!” Peter cried, toppling over when he jumped a bit too enthusiastically.

Tony sighed as he stopped bouncing, breaths a little laboured as he shot Steve a tired look. “Yeah, Pops. We’re bunnies. Obviously.”

Snorting, Steve crossed the living room to deposit his bags of shopping on the kitchen table. He stepped back into the lounge to watch them, arms folded across his chest as he leant on the doorframe. “I can see that. I think. Why are you being bunnies?”

“It’s a good workout, isn’t it, Pete? I found it online.”

Peter grinned over at them for a moment, hands held up at either side of his forehead to make rabbit ears, before he turned his attention back to the television and concentrated on the next move. It looked to be some kind of jumping set to replicate frogs and it took every ounce of Steve’s self-control to not laugh at the unimpressed stare on Tony’s face.

“Come give me a hand with the groceries?”

Tony sighed in relief at the offer and ran a hand through Peter’s hair before he headed into the kitchen. As soon as he was through the door he fell into a chair. “Oh my – have you done that? It’s extreme. Never mind a workout; it’s a torture method.”

Steve chuckled, grabbing a glass to fill with water. “Here, drink this. Looks like being a bunny really took it out of you.”

Drinking the water eagerly, Tony glared at Steve over the rim of his glass. “You don’t get to mock until you’ve done that. You try doing Pikachu jumps followed by a plank and reverse lunges. And then go straight into Fireman Sam climbers.”

The longer Tony talked, the wider Steve’s smile grew. “Those are not real.”

Tony’s glare worsened. “Oh, believe me. They are.”

“Well, I think they sound like a lot of fun. Can I join?”

Tony threw a hand over his face and sank further into his chair. “You can take over. Forever.”

*

Tony rather thought he might live on the couch forever. It was comfortable. And the cushion over his head worked wonders for blocking out sounds. Tony could play innocent with his head buried in the proverbial sand.

“What happened?”

Someone poked at his shoulder and Tony groaned loudly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said, but there was a sharp undertone to his voice. “What happened?”

“What?” Tony rolled over enough to peer up at Steve.

“I’m sorry, have you gone deaf? Am I the only one who can hear the gates of hell opening?”

“He’s in time out,” Tony said, wincing when a particularly loud cry reached them from Peter’s bedroom.

“How long has he been–,” he cut off with a grimace when Peter cried again. “What the hell did you say to him?”

“He’s a kid,” Tony snapped. Pushing himself to sit up, he rubbed at his forehead. He hated being the bad parent, the one to dish out the punishment. “They cry. He was naughty and now he’s being punished. This hasn’t had to happen in a while – he’s forgotten how much he hates it, is all.”

Steve was silent for a moment, frown lines deep in his forehead. There was a bang and a thud and Steve shook his head. “Oh, go and get him.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not. He needs to learn.”

His answer was a lifted eyebrow and Tony groaned when Peter wailed again. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine. But when he does the exact same thing tomorrow, I absolutely reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’.”

Steve rubbed his hand up and down Tony’s arm soothingly, as though it were Tony who was in tears. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Times are hard enough at the moment. Go and get him.”

With a long sigh, Tony pushed himself up. He stood still for a moment to collect himself before he headed to Peter’s room. Sometimes, he really hated being the adult.

“Hey, kid.” Tony perched on the end of Peter’s bed, eyes on the boy-shaped lump beneath the blankets. Though Peter’s sobs increased in volume with his presence, Tony knew the difference between actual cries with real tears and ones made for attention. Peter’s had definitely turned into the latter. “Come on, Petey, don’t cry.”

There was a beat of silence before a tiny voice was heard. “Mean.”

“I’m not mean,” Tony said with a sigh, resting his hand on his son’s back. It showed how Peter was feeling that he didn’t throw Tony’s touch off. An apology would be easy enough to work from him and Tony would be able to orchestrate a somewhat-sensible conversation.

“Are.” Peter sniffed. “Big meany.”

“Come here, silly boy.” Tony peeled away the blankets to reveal his son and brushed his thumb over the boy’s wet cheek to dry his leftover tears. “Don’t cry, kiddo. I’m not a big meany. You know you aren’t supposed to hit people.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Peter said, heavy breaths punctuating his words. “Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I think you did,” Tony said as he hooked his hands under Peter’s armpits and heaved him onto his lap, “but now you know what happens when you’re naughty. What do you say after you do it?”

“Said sorry,” Peter mumbled, words a little slurred with his exhaustion. He burrowed closer into Tony’s arms and Tony graciously pretended not to notice where he wiped his nose. “I did.”

“I know.” Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s hair and rubbed circles into his back. “Take a deep breath for me. You know you aren’t supposed to hit people. It’s not okay to do that, even if you’re really, really angry. It’s a difficult time at the moment, babe, so you need to be a bit more patient with us, okay? We can’t go outside so we have to be extra, extra nice to each other.”

“I’m nice. Miss. Danvers says I’m a good boy. I love you.”

“You are a good boy,” Tony chuckled, holding Peter closer and tickling his stomach softly. “Most of the time. And I love you, too.”

There was a long moment of quiet before Peter pulled his face away from Tony’s neck. “Snacky-snack?”

Tony gasped. “A snack? How can something as tiny as you possibly eat so much? You’re so small!” Tony stood up with Peter in his arms and lifted him high in the air. “Have you got hollow legs? Is that your secret?”

Steve laughed from across the doorway and stepped into Peter’s room. “I think he must have hollow legs. A little hollow boy.”

“No!” Peter squealed, right in Tony’s ear. “I’m not hollow!”

“You do eat a lot,” Tony said thoughtfully, dropping Peter down onto his hip. “You’ll eat us out of house and home, eventually.”

“Papa!” Peter reached out for Steve when Tony started to tickle him, desperately grabbing at the air as giggles fell from his lips, cheeks flushed with laughter instead of tears. “Tell him ‘m not hollow!”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Steve said, taking Peter with a laugh. “He’s not hollow. Now, what was this I heard about a snacky-snack?”

*

“No.”

Steve took a deep breath. “You can’t say no, babe. You have to do this.”

“Can’t.”

“You can.” Steve pushed the pencil back across the table to Peter. “And you can say more words than that, you silly billy. Don’t go shy on me now.”

“No.”

Peter’s glare was impressive. It was clear whose son he was, Steve mused. It caught him off guard quite often, but most of the time he loved when he noticed it. Not all times, though.

“Come on, kid. One more worksheet and we can get a snacky-snack with Daddy.”

“It’s hard.”

Sighing, Steve cursed his son’s stubborn streak. “It’s good that it’s hard, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for – I can help you with it. And then when you go back to school, you can show your teachers how clever you are. Miss. Danvers will be so impressed that you’ve worked so hard over the little break.”

“‘m clever,” Peter said, rubbing at his eye. “Like Daddy.”

“I know you are, kid,” Steve said, reaching out to pull Peter’s hand away from his face. “You’re my clever boys. So let’s do these horrible math sheets and then we can go and show Daddy how smart you are!”

Peter sniffed. Loudly. “You gon’ help me?”

“Of course I am,” Steve said, voice soft. “That’s what Papas are for, aren’t they? Now, look at this first one.”

*

“Is it bedtime yet?”

Steve snorted, which Tony thought was rather rude. “It’s only eight. Pete’s only been down ten minutes.”

“He’s also been up since five. It’s been a long day.”

From where he was burrowed against Steve’s chest, Tony felt more than heard Steve’s chuckle.

“That’s cause he’s your son, sweetheart. Bed is for the weak, according to you pair.”

Tony huffed. “It is. Most of the time. These are extenuating circumstances and I just want to sleep until it’s over.”

“Well,” Steve said, hand running through Tony’s hair, “I was going to open a bar from my secret chocolate box and finish off that bottle of wine we opened last night, but if you’d rather go to bed then…”

Groaning, Tony stretched his legs out on the couch and rolled until he could see Steve’s face, peeking through one eye at him. “What sort of candy have you got?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Ooh,” Tony moaned, grinning up at his husband sleepily, “the magic words. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

With a loud laugh, Steve bent down and brushed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Red wine and Hershey’s. The Special Dark kind.”

Tony groaned theatrically and lifted his arms to twist them around Steve’s neck, holding him close. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against Steve’s lips, “you know how I like it.”

[writing-the-end]

LoL 47- Puppet Strings

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Three hermits leave Eremita on a mission. Only two return home.

Content warning: battle scene, knife fight, general wounds

___________________________________________________

Scar didn’t really understand most of what was going on around him, the machines and automations that fired and hissed all down the streets of Darlon. But Doc asked for his help, and of course he was going to say yes to an adventure. And besides, he may have no clue what’s going on around him, but seeing Doc and Mumbo bouncing around the engineering town like children was worth whatever they were here for. 

Doc explained it to Scar at least five times on their journey here, but Scar still didn’t understand. He doesn’t really need to, he’s just here to help his friends get the goods and stay out of trouble. 

The latter, however, is getting harder to do. With the bounty on their heads, their notoriety has risen as well. Everyone knows about the hermits, either from stories fabricated by the Council and guard, or passed along from those they’ve helped. Dolios tried to silence them by making them wanted fugitives, but he’s only made them louder. 

Beside that, the Arcane Guard has become a thorn in their side. They patrol what seems to be anywhere and everywhere the hermits are. Most of the time, they can avoid them simply by keeping an eye out, and going a different route. Other times, they have to hide. Behind bushes, barrels, buildings, duck and cover before the halberd clad soldiers can see them. Sometimes they have no choice but to run, chased off from their plans and forced to reconvene, recuperate, and redesign their plot. And every once in awhile, they end up fighting them. It’s not their preferred choice, but sometimes they have no other option. 

But maybe they should’ve brought along a more observant hermit, because between the three of them, they’re narrowly seen multiple times. It’s Doc that grabs Mumbo, too much of a spoon to notice patrol ahead, and Scar, who’s focused on just about everything except the road before them. Yanking them into a tavern, Doc waits until the clanking and clattering of the armed patrol passes, and another beat longer until they return to the streets. 

“Hey couldn’t have met us at the outskirts of Darlon? It’s not like he has to carry an entire machine across the town.” Doc mumbles, gaze lowered and jaw set. He always walks with intent, purpose. Like he’s on his way to murder someone- sometimes he is. He knew from his time a criminal that no one will ask you questions or get in your way when he’s walking with purpose. 

“He said that he wasn’t safe to leave the town, not with all this guard.” Mumbo reminds Doc, his own stature much less sure as Doc’s. He’s not sure if it’s just Mumbo’s constant nervous, fearful presence, or the fact that he always looks scared, even when he’s not, that makes the newest hermit seem so much more vulnerable. Everything about Mumbo, from how he holds his head to the spooked flick of his eyes across the crowd, including the fact that he has the least amount of scars- compared to Doc’s mechanical half of his body- makes him seem weaker. Act weaker. 

Completely different from Doc. But part of that is why Doc loves being a hermit. Even when he was a criminal, everyone was the same gruff, hardlined person. With the hermits, the kindest hearts like Stress can work beside felons who’ve been to jail, and work together as a group. A family. 

Doc spits out all the feelings and wandering thoughts in his head. He doesn’t have time for any of that. They need to get the information and leave. Back to Eremita, back to taking out the husk storms and corrupted crystals. But one last thought seeps through, and he can’t help but remind the other two, if just to queel his worries in his mind. “No matter what, the team is more important than the mission. If your own safety is coming under fire, retreat.” 

Scar and Mumbo glance at one another, eyes squinting. That may be the closest they’ve ever gotten to Doc saying he cares about them, that it’s more important to him to have his family than whatever mission, whatever endeavour he’s on. Scar gives a soft, sweet hum, opening his mouth to coo over Doc’s words, but the stoic puppeteer keeps Scar from saying anything. And Scar listens, if just to keep up his friend’s bad boy air. 

Doc glances up from his hellbent pace, and mismatched eyes widen, his heartbeat picking up. Guards, their metal armor and sharp weapons gleaming in the sunlight, perfectly matched with the metallic city around them, were on a steady march in their direction. Mumbo and Scar are too distracted to see the incoming patrol. Only Doc is vigilant enough to see the danger- and to get them out of it. 

He grabs both wizards by the collars, yanking them free from the sidewalk before Scar can run headfirst into the guard. His grip stays tight, holding them close to his body. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move until he’s absolutely sure the arcane guard has passed. Only then do they return to their own journey, albeit much more hurried. 

The trio slips down a dark alleyway, the trash filled with scrap metal and discarded projects. Mumbo is drawn to the half made machines, his mind kicking into high gear. “Well, the problem here is they just wired the control plate and optical sensors wrong. If I just…” 

Mumbo runs a finger from the camera lens to the cpu, redstone appearing and connecting the two. The robot lights up, eyes whirling and flickering around. A soft beeping permeates the silence of the back alley, where not even the busy, mechanical streets can be heard. 

“You have quite the knack for mechanics, kid.” A voice joins the beeping, although louder and higher pitched. At the end of the alley, seemingly appearing from nowhere, an insectia stands, the spider person’s arms crossed in front of their torso and many eyes. A haphazard top knot sits at the crown of the insectia, clothes and hands stained with oil. “A redstone mage, I can only assume you’re here for my shop?”

“What kind of wares are you selling?” Doc watches the many eyes as they observe the entire alleyway. The three hermits, the trash heaps, the city beyond. Not a single inch left unseen.

“Secondhand machines.... And secondhand information on our beloved magistrate.” The last two words drip from the shop owner’s mandibles like a sickly sweet poison. The second set of arms reach behind, one pressing a button and another pulling a lever simultaneously. The brick wall separates, revealing the shop. 

Doc doesn’t waste a second. He doesn’t linger where they can be seen, marching into the menagerie of mechanics. Scar skitters in after him, with Mumbo behind. The tall arachnid looms at the rear, all eyes on those caught in their web. Machine parts hang from spider silk on the ceiling, creating a maze to walk in and around. Scar yelps when a web of wires brushes against his head, stumbling backwards and causing a ruckus as he knocks over a pile of parts. 

“Be careful with those, that’s good scrap.” The shopkeep hums, passing by without offering their many arms for Scar. But Doc does, leaning down and clasping hands with his friend. Easily hauling him to his feet. Mumbo looks over his shoulder, wondering when the door will close. Surely it’s timer activated, right? He feels exposed, while treason goes on within. “Would any of you like some tea? I’m sure you’re quite thirsty from your journey to Darlon.” 

“That sounds lo-” Mumbo starts, but Doc cuts him off.

“We don’t have time for formalities.” Doc stands across the desk, leaning in slightly towards the insectia. “We were informed you knew of a place that was being drained of energy?”

The shopkeep gives a slow nod, leaning back in their chair. The pregnant pause goes on and on, as if the informant is struggling to remember the details. “Yes, you were fed that news quite well. It brought you right into my web of lies.” 

A clang of gears dangling at the doorway is all the warning the hermits get. Until the shop is swarmed, metal and magic aimed at the prey caught within. Doc turns, knife already in hand, but the insectia is gone. “You bastard!” 

Doc doesn’t have time to dwell on the trap. He grabs the nearest opponent, and pitches him directly into a pile of rusted metal scrap. The heap collapses, just like Scar’s did, sending the shadowed figures scattering. “We have to get out of here.” 

“They’ve blocked the doorway!” Mumbo squeaks, ducking just seconds before a moro kris would have beheaded him. He scrambles over gears in the tight shop. Scar slaps his hands against the cobblestone ground, a shuddering wave toppling metal and enemies alike. 

A battle ensues. Bodies flood the dark, dank store. Doc easily counts at least twenty opponents berating the separated hermits. Too tight, too many for him to use his magic. But he doesn’t need magic to kill a man. He kicks a mechanical leg into the gut of an attacker, and like dominoes three more fall. With his knife, he cuts through skin, fur, metal and web. He’ll carve his way to freedom. 

But first he needs to retrieve the others. He’ll be damned before he leaves without them. Damn that stupid spider, he never should have been so trustworthy! It’s stupid mistakes like this that got him in prison. It’s stupid mistakes like this that could hurt his friends. 

“Scar! Mumbo!” His heavy, gravelly voice raises above the crowd. He feels like he’s in a bar fight, but instead of glass it’s metal. He uses his metal limbs to his advantage, shoving one soldier before stabbing another. He raises his knife over his head, and slashes across the chest of a burly man. 

And realizes these aren’t the arcane guard. His knife intersects with a part of the uniform already torn. A sleeve pre-ripped, as if the wearer was in a fight already. In fact, all of those within the confines of this space share a torn sleeve. 

These aren’t guards. This is the Guild of Gedeon. 

Which makes this fight much worse. He roars, eyes narrowing. His mechanical eyes scour the dark room, until he spots Mumbo’s coat and Scar’s poncho. Scar is trapped in the sticky webbing that drapes the shop, and Mumbo’s magic has failed him. They’re quickly being overwhelmed by the Gedeons. 

Doc plunges his knife into the person before him, ripping through savagely. Clawing his way to his friends. To be their defender. 

Until claws grab him. Sharp nails dig into the flesh of his cheek, throwing him to the ground. Amber eyes gleam in the darkness, hungry for the blood that beats in Doc’s ears. “I’ll rip your guts out if you make a single move, criminal.” 

Sidero looms above Doc, the guildmaster’s brown fur in haggard tufts. Matted with old, dried blood. Doc tries to roll away, but Sidero has him trapped. “Get off of me you stupid oversized teddy bear!” 

A low growl, followed by pain. Doc is wrenched from the ground by his hair, thrown across the small shop. Metal falls like an avalanche around him. He doesn’t give up, standing and brandishing the wicked blade in a way Sidero can’t escape. Pressed right against the guildmaster’s throat.  “I could kill you. I want to kill you. You and every last one of your stupid gang of weaklings. But the magistrate wants to make an example of you all.” 

Despite the approaching beast, Doc glances beyond Sidero. Searching for his friends. Sidero notices he doesn’t have Doc’s full attention, and growls at his team. “Would you wretched mongrels all do your job? Hold the weakest down, make sure they cannot cast.” Sidero turns, and a bloodied grin mocks Doc. “You know… you can save your friends from my wrath.” 

Sidero steps aside- Doc’s knife follows, but his eyes do not. Because, across the shop, his friends are the ones trapped. Tears prick at the corner of Mumbo’s eyes and blood swells from a nasty cut on his forehead, his hair disheveled as he’s pinned to the floor. Scar has become ensnared in the spider’s web, unable to touch or control the ground at his feet. Hanging upside down. “Let them go.” 

“I can do that.” Sidero muses. He waves furry paws, and the Gedeons disappear as quickly as they arrived. Only the ones holding Scar and Mumbo down remain. “If you stay. Here’s your choice, criminal. Turn yourself in, and they get to live. Or fight, and all three of you will be little more than blood and guts across these walls. And you get to watch.” 

Silence once more fills the shop. The scrap metal is the only sound that breaks the emptiness. Except for a whimper from Mumbo, followed by a gasp from Scar. One of the Gedeon’s has punctured Scar’s skin, following the aged wounds that mar his face. That gave him his name. The blade threatens to slit Scar’s throat. 

To kill them all. Doc closes his eyes, remembering what he told them. The team is more important than the mission. His shoulders fall. His head hangs. A knife joins the scrap metal at his feet. 

And two mismatched arms reach skyward in surrender. “Doc, don’t-” 

Scar’s words are silenced by a swift smack, the sound causing Doc to wince. In front of him, the amber stare sharpens with the viscous bite of teeth. “Too easy. You’ve gotten weak, Doc Monster.” 

Sidero grabs Doc’s arms, twisting them roughly against his back and forcing him to move. Doc stays put. “Let go of my friends first.” 

“They’ll be freed once you’re in chains.” All three hermits are led outside, into the bright sun. Blinded, Doc stumbles forward. He trips, but quickly rights himself. Behind him, a tear of fabric, followed by a rasping cry. 

“Doc! Doc they’re gonna kill you!” Scar’s voice cracks, and the terraforming mage attempts to get between Sidero and Doc. The guildmaster tosses Scar away like he’s a ragdoll, Mumbo catching him from smacking his head against the brick walls. 

“It’d be in all your best interests not to interfere with the work of the Council.” Sidero warns. Mumbo wraps his arms around Scar. Holding him back. 

A patrol of guards appear in the alleyway, cuffs already in hand. Unlike Scar, Doc doesn’t resist as they arrest him. He doesn’t fight when they yank his arms behind his back, cuffing him. He doesn’t flinch when the chains are tied to a halberd at each side, the sharp curve of the blade inches from killing him if he attempts escape. Even when Sidero pushes him forward, a low ‘move’ growling from his lips, Doc doesn’t fight back. 

But he does look back. 

Turning to gaze over his shoulder, he sees Scar and Mumbo. Tears streak down Scar’s face, his poncho discarded when he tried to reach Doc before. Mumbo barely holds him back as he screams, one arm pinned back while the other reaches out, reaches forward. Reaches for Doc. 

Doc’s face remains calm, tempered. But in his eyes, a hint of sadness. He did this for them. He’ll do it again in a heartbeat. They’re his family. He locks eyes with Scar and Mumbo one last time, and nods silently.  

Then he’s gone. And when he’s sure they can’t see him, he lets his facade break. And a single tear falls.

[avtrkyoshis]

You Burn First (zuko x f!reader) pt. 4

hii guys we really enjoyed writing this chapter there will be another ember island chapter so stay tuned for that :))

ao3 link 

masterlist // chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 //

Rays of sunlight fanned out behind her. If Y/n thought the capital city was boiling, Ember Island was even worse. The midday sun made her itch her to rip off her heavy combat robes.

“So you’ve packed the entire palace armoury. But you forgot a swimsuit?” Ty Lee said brushing her hand against Y/n’s long sleeve.

“This isn’t exactly supposed to be a vacation for me,” she responded, looking at the bag she held packed to the brim with stuff. Y/n knew she had a habit of being overly prepared. Suki and the others always joked that maybe she was a little bit too paranoid. But after everything that’s happened in her life, she couldn’t help it. If there was anything she could do to keep those around her safe, she would do it. Even if it meant looking crazy.

Her beach bag, also known as the Fire Lord Zuko emergency kit, swayed on her arm. It was filled with anything you could possibly think of. Y/n grew more concerned for the Fire Lord every day. It was her job after all. And nothing more than that. She was simply a bodyguard who cared about the person she protected. Maybe she stayed up countless nights worrying about him too. Wasn’t that normal? She thought to herself.

“Ok, so the pink swimsuit or the white one?” Ty Lee said holding up the swimsuits to her face. Y/n hadn’t taken the time to notice Ty Lee digging through her countless swimsuits on the bedroom floor of the house they were staying in. Ty Lee always had the most impeccable fashion taste. Y/n pointed at the pink swimsuit with little frills on the ends. This was sort of exciting for her. She never really had the opportunity to wear something so cute on a regular basis.

Y/n quickly changed into it and it met with the others in the living room. She walked over to where Zuko stood.

“Oh. You look…different,” he said, his face started to get flushed. It was strange they had barely been outside and he was burning already.

“Thanks?” Y/n was not sure how to respond to him. She was technically on official duty. Was she allowed to accept a compliment from the Fire Lord? She wasn’t sure if that even counted as a compliment.

“Wow, Y/n you look so cute!” Suki said. The colour of Y/n’s cheeks was beginning to match her swimsuit.

“Says you! You always look really nice Suki,” Y/n said, fumbling her words and desperately hoping that Suki did not notice how awkward she was.

“You’re darn right Y/n,” Sokka wrapped his arm around Suki and grinned.

“Wait, can someone tell me why Sokka is here again?”

“There’s a very simple reason---”

While he was explaining the purpose of his trip here, a loud boat blared it’s horn in the distance blocking out anything Sokka was saying.

“And that’s why I’m on Ember Island,” Sokka said, acting like everyone had heard him talk for the last 30 seconds. Y/n simply nodded and everyone followed.

--

“What’s in the giant bag Y/n? Little apple slices and extra towels for Zuzu?” Azula said while laying down a beach towel for Ty Lee.

“Actually yes. I brought snacks, sunscreen and swords. Just in case,” Y/n stated now slightly embarrassed. Was it too much? she thought to herself.

Next to Azula sat Zuko attempting to put sunscreen on his back. Azula really was right. Maybe she was more his babysitter than a bodyguard.

“I sorta need help applying it on my back,” Zuko said.

“Sure--,” she responded. But before she could fully answer him Sokka interrupted.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier, buddy! Sokka’s got you covered.” Y/n exhaled in relief that Sokka had volunteered. Would everyone get the wrong idea by her volunteering? She was just doing her job in protecting the Fire Lord.

While Sokka sat down behind Zuko, Azula said, “Why, isn’t that a forward way of asking Y/n to rub your back.”

“Azula, stop teasing them. You promised me we would sightsee!” Ty Lee grabbed Azula and took her away. Y/n was incredibly grateful for that.

“Later losers,” she winked and with that, they were gone.

Her attention was drawn back to Zuko, who had just shouted in shock as Sokka slapped the sunscreen onto his back.

“You don’t need to slap it! You’re getting it everywhere!”

“We’re in the sand! And this way it spreads faster! I put lotion on this way, don’t worry about it,” Sokka shouted back at him, aggressively rubbing the sunscreen onto Zuko’s back.

Suki appeared next to Y/n, laughing, “Yeah, and Katara keeps telling you to stop doing it that way. You got it in her eye last time.”

“She doesn’t understand efficiency,” Sokka said, standing up. He nodded proudly at Zuko’s now protected skin, satisfied that his friend wouldn’t burn.

“Wanna check him out Y/n? Bodyguard’s seal of approval!”

Y/n blushed a little at Sokka’s phrasing. She glanced quickly at Zuko, whose face was also slightly red.

“Um, he looks fine to me,” she muttered. “If he does burn though, I’m holding you responsible.”

Sokka gasped in mock offence, “I’d never allow that! I know how sensitive our precious Fire Lord’s skin is. Plus, I know not to mess with a Kyoshi Warrior.”

Y/n smiled at his comment. She could see Suki rolling her eyes at him out of the corner of her eye, but she was smiling as well.  

Getting up from his spot on the beach, Zuko said, “Alright, are you done making fun of me? You know I can have you all banished. Who knows when I’ll snap.”

Sokka slapped his shoulder again, “I will never be done making fun of you. You owe me for all that time you spent trying to kill me!”

“That was years ago!”

“And it still hurt!”

Y/n leaned over to whisper to Suki, “Are they always like this?”

“Always,” Suki sighed. She let them bicker for a few moments longer before cutting Sokka off. “Okay! What do you both want to do on the beach? Sitting alone in the shade is off the table, so don’t even think about that.”

Zuko frowned, “That felt directed at me.”

Ignoring Zuko, Sokka flung his arms up in glee, “We should play chicken!”

“Chicken?” Y/n questioned.

“Yeah! That game where you sit on someone’s shoulders and try to push another person off of someone else’s shoulders! Trust me, it’ll be fun!” Sokka replied.

Y/n glanced at Zuko, who looked just as hesitant as she felt. He shifted nervously in the sand. Zuko being anxious about the game flipped a switch in Y/n, and she looked back to Sokka.

“Okay I'm in,” she said.

“Really?” Suki questioned. “I’m surprised you’re willingly relaxing. I thought you didn’t know how to.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at Suki, “Please, I know how to relax. Going along with Sokka just seems to be the most painless option.”

Zuko chuckled at her comment. Y/n started to smile at him, before realizing what had exactly happened. He had laughed. That was the first time she’d ever heard him do that and it had been at something she’d said. Up until this moment, he’d only ever lightly smiled at her. Y/n wasn’t sure how to feel about this development.

Oblivious to her crisis, Sokka was trying to decide the teams.

“Obviously it should be you with me, Suki! We’re a great team! Romantically and tactically!”

“I understand that! But isn’t it a little unfair for Y/n and Zuko then?”

Sokka made a face like he was thinking deeply and stroked his chin, “Fair enough, fair enough. Zuko and I do make a killer team too! Or should I pair with Y/n and challenge myself with an unknown teammate?”

Sensing the danger of Sokka trying to decide his teammate, Suki grabbed Y/n’s arm, “I’ll pair with Y/n. Kyoshi Warriors vs…”

“The Boys! No wait, The Swordsmen! Wait, Fire and Water!” Sokka shouted.

“I like the second one,” Zuko said.

“Is a team name that important?” Y/n asked.

“Just let him have this,” Suki whispered to her.

Y/n shrugged and the group walked towards the crashing waves. She’d never played this game before and was a little worried. She was also hesitant to go too deep into the water. Despite living on Kyoshi Island for most of her life, she wasn’t exactly an experienced swimmer. Before her panic could settle in, water was splashing just above her elbows.

“This seems deep enough! Alright Zuko, let’s go!” Sokka said, already starting to climb onto Zuko’s shoulders.

“Sokka, wait! Give me a warning next time!”

Y/n turned to Suki, “Would you do me the honour of climbing on my shoulders and knocking your boyfriend into the ocean?”

Suki dramatically put her hand over her heart, “I would love nothing more.”

Suki climbed onto Y/n shoulders much more gracefully than Sokka. Making sure she was balanced, Y/n got ready for the game to begin. She watched Sokka balancing himself on Zuko’s shoulders, allowing herself a smile as Zuko tried to blink out the water that kept dripping into his eyes. Their eyes suddenly connected and her smile turned into a challenging grin. Zuko smiled back at her, silently accepting her challenge.

“Alright, get ready… Go!” Sokka said.

He and Suki began pushing at each other’s shoulders. Y/n quickly realized how hard it was to keep her balance in the water and her feet slipping in the sand. She could see Zuko coming to a similar realization, his own inexperience showing. Despite that, Zuko held her challenging gaze. Y/n felt her competitiveness flare and she tightened her grip on Suki. No way was she about to lose to the Fire Lord.

Their game only lasted a few moments longer, ending with Suki landing a particularly hard shove against Sokka’s collarbone. He toppled back off of Zuko, causing water to soak the back of Zuko’s head. Suki let herself slip off of Y/n’s shoulders while laughing in victory. They exchanged a high five and Y/n looked back at the stunned Fire Lord in front of her. Caught up in her victory, she offered her hand to him.

“Good game, Fire Lord,” she smirked at him.

Zuko stared at her offered hand for a few seconds, before grasping it with his own and smirking back. His hand was warm despite the cool water and his grip firm. Before Y/n could release his hand, a wave hit her back, pushing her into Zuko. The water went up to her neck and a sharp panic shot through her. She’d forgotten her inability to swim amidst the excitement. Her panic clouded her mind and she reached out blindly in an attempt to ground herself. She only realized what was happening when she felt a warm hand on her back.

Y/n blinked, her eyes focusing. In her panic, she’d grabbed for the closest solid object. That had just so happened to be Zuko. They were standing in a poor imitation of a hug, her hands gripping his shoulders and his hands on her shoulder and back. He looked down at her, concern evident on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

His voice quickly cleared Y/n’s mind. She pulled her hands back from him as if she had been burned. Her reaction caused Zuko to drop his hands from her as well.

Floating back and face burning, Y/n hugged herself, “I’m fine. I’m just not used to waves and swimming.”

Zuko furrowed his brow, “You can’t swim?”

“No. I’ve never needed to learn. It’s not like there’s deep water at the palace. You don’t need to worry about me not being able to save you like this.” she replied curtly.

“I didn’t mean-”

Y/n turned away, cutting him off. She knew that was incredibly rude but she couldn’t handle talking to Zuko anymore. Her face was still flushed with embarrassment and anger now. She’d never been that close to him before. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, she was his bodyguard. It was expected that she’d get that close to him. Y/n ignored the fact that it was supposed to be to save his life, not to hug him out of fear.

“Suki!” she shouted. Suki’s head popped out from underwater, followed by Sokka’s. “I’m going back to the beach. You keep swimming.”

Suki looked mildly concerned but gave her a thumbs up. Y/n began trudging through the water towards the beach, but Zuko caught her by the elbow. She whipped her head around, anger in her eyes.

“Wait,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Yes, I do.” he paused, thinking. “I want to keep you company after that. You seem pretty shaken up.”

She frowned at him. He gave her a shaky smile.

“Besides, you’re supposed to be protecting me, right? It’d be irresponsible to leave me alone out here.”

“You’re with the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors and a close friend of the Avatar. Not to mention you’re literally the Fire Lord,” Y/n deadpanned.

“You think that you’re not capable of protecting me then?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him. She recognized his challenge as an attempt to apologize without embarrassing her further. She sighed.

“Fine, come sit with me. I’ve heard how much you like to sit in the shade and brood.”

“That was one trip!”

Together, they walked back towards the beach.

masterlist // chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 //

taglist

@duh-dobrik @inthebisonsmouth @thaliawhitex @brbtryagainlater @paenitetmi @firelordtea @awkwardnesshabitat @eridanuswave @inmyowncorner @aangsupremacy @eridanuswave @royahllty @dancerslovelife @lammello @biblemami @coruscant-n

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 9: The Potions Master

"Oh this is perfect!" Peter burst out with surprised laughter the moment he'd caught his breath back from the stone room spinning about. "Slughorn's office, couldn't have asked for better!"

"What were you two talking about over there?" Sirius demanded with a slight pout, rubbing furiously at his head and so looking more cross-eyed than anything when he saw Regulus nodding appreciatively at their surroundings as well.

"Where are we?" Remus noted as he began looking around in detail, stretching and sitting up with a small frown.

The office wasn't designed to have eight random students be plopped into it, and those were the most obvious at first. James had landed in the chair with such force he toppled it over, sending the robes that had been hanging on the back to pool beneath him but doing nothing to cushion the fall. Evans had landed hard on the desk and upset a bottle of ink, while the other six had simply crashed to the ground in the little available walking space, Alice nearly in the fireplace with a hateful mutter, "this isn't feeling any better every time!"

They all got to their feet though with more winces to see what Remus meant, and found the not so subtle signs. The desk took up the majority in a spacious room, so it looked more menacing than any office they'd been in. The walls were lined with jars full of pickled things, Lily immediately identifying four of them. They were clearly somewhere in the dungeons with no natural lighting, the place echoed with almost as much emptiness as the immense hall before.

"I think we're in Snape's office?" Regulus said, having to dig the book out from under the desk and flipping to the next chapter.

"What do you mean he got an office?" Sirius scoffed.

"Do you expect them to give him a cupboard when he became the Potions teacher?" Remus rolled his eyes for that one.

"Or how about asking, so we're really traveling through time?" Frank muttered clearly to himself. The Dursleys house before had been ominous but still something outside their world, this was a place in their school that should not exist yet.

"Next chapter's all about him, so it looks like we'll find out," Regulus inserted when he read as much, and even Alice and Frank couldn't garner up any kind of good mood at the idea of this, but at least their slight grimaces were kind to the other four making exaggerated, pained expressions.

Lily simply looked radiant, wondering if she could convince the little Black to give this chapter up, but he was already going.

The start wasn't as bad as they would have thought, listening to Harry go through his classes for the first time was something they all knew well so it was much like their experiences with the last few chapters. It came to no one's surprise gossip was following Harry around, and James at least was excited to hear, whether intentionally or not, of Harry trying to get into that forbidden room just to find out himself what was in it, and they all had a good laugh at the bits Filch made an appearance in.

Most of the classes were as unmemorable as their own firsts after so many years, the only highlight being they all laughed at McGonagall still showing off to the first years, though she'd switched from a cow as in their year to a pig this time.

The Marauders couldn't help but give a mocking laugh to the idea it had taken Harry so long to get down to the Great Hall without getting lost, while Frank made a face in sympathy for the kid as it had taken him a week.

Lily couldn't help a pleased smile that Hagrid was still giving Harry such attention even in school, though she wasn't quite sure what the motive was for this considering Harry clearly now had a friend. She tried to tell herself she was acting paranoid, but it wasn't helping her feelings of unease grow worse when Regulus got to the last class.

For once, James wasn't paying much attention to her, especially her growing frustration at someone other than him for once as he watched his friends. Sirius was shuffling his feet with guilt the moment Snape appeared properly in full detail, but at least Remus was frowning at him rather than avoiding looking at him.

"I thought you two had cleared the air on this?" He muttered, unsure how much of a wasted effort that was and if he was going to be heard anyways.

Clearly thinking of the same, Remus chose his words carefully, "we, made our grievances clear, and it, ah, made some other things come out that we needed to talk about-"

"Look Remus," Sirius' impatience pushed through Remus' awkwardness, "I did a stupid thing, and I apologize. Now you are very well aware I didn't mean it, and clearly it's had no impact on this gits life," he finished with disdain when Regulus just kept dishing out the snide comments from Snape in this future.

Remus nodded his agreement to this, giving him an awkward smile and James hoped they were done lingering on this already. "Was that really all it took for you two?" He couldn't help but mutter in exasperation, but honestly he was more than happy seeing the two smiling at each other again, he just wanted things back to normal.

It helped that Peter chose that moment.

Nothing so grandiose as some of their setups they'd done in the past, but Peter wasn't doing this to impress anyone either. He just hadn't quite decided Sirius needed to be let back into the fold without some kind of revenge, so in perfect synchronization as if they'd planned it, he and Regulus raised their wands and intentionally combined two perfect spells that had a pipe line above Sirius temporarily dump down onto him.

There was a blast of icy cold water that sprayed only him, and then it was repaired as suddenly as it had started, leaving Sirius apparently one who'd rolled around in half cleaned seaweed on its way to the lake.

"Thank you Wormtail," Sirius said as it continued dripping down him, he even had to spit a bit of it out of his mouth before he could continue, "for finally getting that over with."

"You knew I was going to do that?" Peter protested.

"You are many things my friend," Sirius rubbed carefully to get a particularly slimy chunk of green out of his eyes, "subtle is not one of them."

Peter raised his hands in surrender but went over and offered Sirius the robes which he gratefully accepted to start wiping at his nose.

When he sneezed and a bit more flew out, Lily couldn't suppress it anymore and burst out laughing.

James looked over wildly and found her leaning up against the farthest shelf, her face bright red and holding her sides.

"Oh, so you do think we're funny?" He eagerly jumped at the chance to parlay with her in such a suddenly good mood.

She didn't answer for a moment even as her giggles subsided, nor did she plan to as she'd rather swallow that nasty concoction rather than admit why she'd laughed so hard.

It should have been impossible, it certainly made no sense to her to hear the way Sev was treating a kid, no matter who Harry looked like. She'd been growing steadily more outraged at the treatment of these children, and the blow he'd dished out to Neville just now in making it his and Harry's fault for a potion exploding was honestly the worst thing she'd ever heard any person do, let alone her best friend!

She'd wanted to scream, she wanted him in her face right this second to explain that this was all just a cruel idea of a joke and he was going to turn into that kind and attentive friend she knew so well any second, she'd had so many things building up in her for a solid few minutes that when she'd watched a genuine act of merriment even being played out amongst idiots who caused her more grief than anyone, she'd finally released it all.

Potter seemed to realize he wasn't going to get a response, so finally sighed and turned back away to continue smiling and laughing with his mates like old times while Alice sidled up to her again, holding her nose but frowning for a wholly other reason. She stood awkwardly there though, unsure how to reach out to Evans this time and offer anything when honestly the lot of them were just seeing more of the same Snape they saw every day, hearing those nasty rumors of the rest of the friends he hung out with. Frank hadn't said anything to her, but she could tell he was uneasy about Evans and much she associated with those nasty pre-Death Eater's just like the rest of the school.

"I don't suppose it helps at all he's treating all the kids like this, not just Potters," she tried anyways.

"Nope," Lily's icy, one word answer was enough that Alice got the mood and left her to stew in silence and sidle back over to Frank, who was scowling hatefully at this all as well.

"If Potter doesn't dunk his head in a vat of boils when we get back I will."

"Frank, that's not like you," Alice reprimanded quietly as she took his hand.

"Well I think it's high time I should be like that," Frank took her hand quickly and gave it a squeeze as he kept hearing what Neville was going through. "I've been growing sick for ages watching all these bullies run the school, now it turns out one of them's going to be given a position of power by Dumbledore himself and he's still abusing it. I've been saying for ages I want a way to fix this Alice, got to start somewhere."

"Turning into the monster only creates another," Alice quoted with a heavier frown.

"What would you have me do then?" he sighed, easily backing down from the threat as he looked to her bright amber eyes. They hadn't even realized they'd both wanted to be Auror's last year when he'd offered to study their OWL's together, each finding out it was the others desire as well only at the beginning of this year and they'd started dating that night. It was a purpose that they were sure would have drawn them together no matter what in the end, a fight they knew they were going to get involved in with the coming war and looking to meet it head on.

"What you always do Frank, use your head," she tried to chuckle, though it didn't last long as Regulus described Harry's mores mood upon going to Hagrid's, it admittedly hadn't been the best end to his first week.

Yet they were all caught off guard by Harry easily piecing together what they honestly hadn't given much thought to. What was Dumbledore moving around that was so important then? Regulus was so involved thinking about it, it still didn't occur to him to give them warning when he finished.

[omniswords]

whatever a sun will always sing (is this)

@imnin​ drew some really hecking cute lukanette art and instagram has been feeding us so naturally i had to write about it. also:

Juleka was supposed to be here. Again. And she wasn’t. Again.

Marinette was starting to get the feeling that maybe this was happening on purpose.

To be fair, the first time wasn’t on purpose; that was back when they were fourteen, and Juleka genuinely had forgotten that Marinette was supposed to come over with the leggings she’d mended. That wasn’t so bad; she’d spent the afternoon with Luka instead, and Luka was always fun to be around. He played all kinds of music for her to fill up all the empty spaces. He talked to her about everything from the classes he didn’t miss taking to the question of just how small they were compared to the rest of the universe. He even took selfies with her and let her post them to Instagram. Sometimes, if she was lucky, he’d give her a guitar lesson or two.

He was… he was a really good guy to be around. He was a good guy to be alone with.

Obviously Juleka must have thought so too; this was her brother they were talking about here. But then… Juleka had always been so quietly supportive when it came to everything about Adrien. Had something changed? Had she found out what Luka had said at the TV station just before Kitty Section’s debut? Or had she always known about Luka’s feelings, and started to feel guilty that she was helping to push Marinette in the other direction when they were in middle school?

Whatever the reason was, over the months, Juleka had become really good at “forgetting” to stick around whenever Marinette had something for her. And the first handful of times, it wasn’t so bad. Luka was almost always there to keep her company, with his collection of guitar picks and a pocket full of quiet, meaningful conversation. But then she’d made the stupid, stupid mistake of telling Adrien her feelings outright, like the brave soul she thought she was, and she’d made the stupid, stupid mistake of letting his rejection get to her. And she’d tried to do literally anything else to keep from thinking about it. And she’d channeled all her energy into making some new clothes—and when she came to the Liberty, Juleka wasn’t there to try them on.

And she’d sunk to her knees with the bag in her hands, and she’d cried. Like a baby. Like a crocodile.

And Luka was there. Just the way he always had been. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t take anything. He just gave. Just the way he always had given.

Well… it wasn’t entirely true that Juleka was never there. It was just that Marinette noticed the times she wasn’t home—the times she spent with Luka—more than the times she was. And that, as time went on, it seemed to happen more often. Juleka was there just enough times—the times that they actually scheduled pick-ups and drop-offs—for it not to bother her. Especially after the crying incident. And, well, Marinette wasn’t particularly upset if she popped over unannounced. It was on her, first of all, and besides that, Luka still made great company. And great music.

Which was exactly how Marinette found him this time when she made her way below deck: guitar in his lap, music notebook spread open beside him, the back of his head pressed against the wall. His eyes were closed, just the way they had been when she’d first met him a couple of years back, except this time, he didn’t look totally at peace. In fact, aside from that one incident with Bob Roth, it was probably the most frustrated she’d ever seen him. Which wasn’t to say he was never frustrated at all. He was just… impossibly good at hiding it.

She cleared her throat, just to let him know that she was there—he’d paid her the courtesy so many times in the past that it was only fair—and when he opened his eyes, she smiled and clambered up beside him on the bed. “Got something on the brain?” she asked by way of greeting, smoothing out the wrinkle in his brow with her thumb. It felt… intimate, doing that, and that was saying something considering the fact that she’d kissed his cheek at least twice.

Luka grinned right back and made room for her. “Everybody’s always got something on the brain,” he said. “We’d probably be dead otherwise.”

“Literally, or philosophically?”

Under his breath, he laughed. “Got something for Jules again?”

“Gee,” Marinette said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she held up a paper shopping bag. “How’d you guess?”

“You know where to leave it,” he replied with a playful roll of his eyes, but his expression melted into confusion when she set the bag on Juleka’s bed and came back to him. “Need to wait for her to try it on so you can make adjustments?”

“Nah.” Marinette scooted back, resting against the wall as she hugged her knees to her chest. “I just wanted to spend a little extra time with you before I go. If. If that’s okay. Is it okay? ‘Cause if it’s not okay, you know you can tell me—”

“Marinette,” he interrupted; he was always so good at doing that when she was about to spiral downward into yet another ramble. “It’s never not okay.”

The smile he gave her was reassuring enough. All his smiles seemed to do that, relaxed her so much that sometimes she felt like crumpling into tears. “Okay,” she murmured, shifting just a bit closer and resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on his guitar. “Tell me about your music, then. Are you working on a new song?”

“Sort of.” She couldn’t see his face, but something told her that knot in his brow was back. “D’you ever get that feeling when you’re designing? Where… you can see everything perfectly in your head, and you’ve got the motivation and the energy, but…” He strummed a sad-sounding chord. “There’s just a wall there. Keeping you from getting it out at all. You know what I mean?”

Marinette groaned. “I totally know what you mean.” And then, with a nervous laugh, “Sometimes I just keep at it until I get so frustrated I start crying, but. I’d never tell you to do that.”

“No, no,” he said, letting go of his guitar to gently cradle the back of her head and keep her close, and she relaxed instantly at the touch. It was so easy, being like this with him, and she still had no idea if she was supposed to thank Juleka or not. “Don’t you do that either, that’s not good for you.”

“I know,” she mumbled. “Usually my mom will come up and make me meditate with her, or Papa will call me down to decorate cookies or cakes with him. Just something to get my mind off of it, or get inspired by something else.” She flicked her gaze up. “Maybe that’s what you need?”

“Well, I was already inspired by something else.” If he kept stroking her hair like that—no matter how absentminded—she swore she was going to fall asleep. “Just something I read. That’s what made me want to write the song in the first place.” He let go, picked out a few notes and chords. “It’s supposed to sound unforgettable.”

She smiled, closed her eyes and felt the ripple of muscles in his arm as he played. “But your music’s already unforgettable.”

Luka laughed to himself, probably in thanks at her vote of confidence. “Nah, I mean… I mean like, ‘first kiss’ levels of unforgettable.”

Oh.

Marinette went quiet, felt a pit open up in her stomach. She tried not to shift too uncomfortably next to him, tried to play it off like she was just letting the words sink in. But with Luka, it was far too hard to hide things. Especially when he could play them out within seconds.

He didn’t. He only looked her way, concerned. “Marinette? Did I say something weird?”

“No, no!” She might have shaken her head a little too fast; it made her feel a little dizzy afterwards. “No, I was just… thinking.”

“About your first kiss?”

She laughed hollowly. “No, that’s… that’s complicated.” What was she supposed to tell him? That she’d only ever kissed someone—really kissed someone—twice, and that was only as a superhero? And that she couldn’t even remember one of them no matter how much she racked her brain for the memory? And that it had been something like two years and she couldn’t even remembeer what they felt like? And that, sometimes, it felt like it really had happened in some other timeline? Some other dimension? “I dunno. Maybe I haven’t really had it. It’s weird. It is weird, right?”

Luka fixed her with the sort of gaze that made her feel like he could dredge that memory right up. The kind that always made her feel like he really knew her. Knew the parts that no one else ever would. “I don’t think it’s weird that you’ve never been kissed before,” he said. “Or, I mean… I also don’t think it’s weird that you have… trouble, figuring out what your experiences are. What you want to claim. It’s hard.” He put his guitar aside. “Being a teenager is hard.”

“You can say that again.”

“Okay.” He grinned. “Being a teenager is hard.”

She gave him a good-natured shove, enough to make him topple over a little; sometimes she forgot her own strength, even out of costume. When he righted himself again, she went back to leaning on him, his arm comfortable around her waist. “Luka?” she said after a moment. “What was your first kiss like? Was it really unforgettable?”

Luka’s pauses were always thoughtful, and this one was no different. Instead of strumming his guitar, he traced idle patterns over her with his thumb, as if he were playing her instead. It tickled the first few times he’d done it, but eventually she’d gotten used to the feeling, and now it felt… safe. Special. Maybe even confusing. Was this a thing friends did? Could do?

Eventually, he said, “I guess so, but not in the way you’d think. It’s more that it’s just… stuck in my mind as a thing that happened to me.” He shrugged. “It was at some party. I figured I might as well be social with some of the kids in my grade, and of course Ma was all right with it. They were playing one of those games. You know the one.”

Marinette felt her face go hot and her stomach turn. She knew a few. “The one with the bottle?” she asked. “Or the one with the closet?”

“Kind of both. You spun the bottle, and then you had to go into a closet with the other person.” There was something in his voice that sounded almost… guilty. “The girl was nice, and I kinda liked her, but…” His fingers twitched. “It felt like everything was going so fast. I couldn’t keep up, even when I wanted to. And besides that, I… I guess, whatever magic you’re supposed to feel… I didn’t feel it. It was just somebody’s mouth on my mouth.” He took a deep breath that she felt more than heard. “I didn’t hate it. It was fine, I just… would do it over if I could.”

Marinette didn’t know what to say except, “Oh.” She didn’t want him to think she felt sorry for him, because she figured he didn’t want pity. It was just something that had happened to him, just something that he unpacked and felt for a while before he quietly put it away and moved on to the next thing. Part of her wished she were as good at reading hearts as he was. As good at calming them down. “Hey… Luka?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want a do-over?” She didn’t know what had possessed her to ask. She just wanted to. Because they were comfortable, and here, and right. It was right. And it was probably exactly what Juleka wanted to happen while she was gone.

Luka didn’t answer at first, only slid his arm away enough for her to wonder if she’d said something wrong. When she turned to him, he was giving her that deep stare again. The soul-reading kind. The kind that made her wonder if his heart was pounding in his head the way hers was. “Do you want something to claim?”

Marinette held her breath, looked from his eyes to his lips and back again, and nodded. “If that’s okay.”

His face broke into a smile. “It’s never not okay.”

It wasn’t as though she’d never thought about kissing Luka. It had come up sometimes, little blips in her middle-school brain that sometimes felt like betrayal. And then, as the months passed, it felt less like betrayal, and more like possibility, until one day she caught herself daydreaming about it in her literature class. His hands on her face, his lips moving with hers, his breathy laughs fanning across her cheek before he went in for more on her front doorstep, just out of her father’s sight. Just like the ones she’d seen on TV through the spaces between her fingers. It made her relieved that her teacher had them sitting in reverse alphabetical order, so that she could be completely mortified and flustered and curious all the way in the back of the class.

This wasn’t like that at first. Not the daydream kissing. Not the TV kissing. His lips were trembling as soon as they touched hers, barely-there and delicate, asking over and over for permission. It wasn’t until she granted it with a firmer press of her mouth that he tilted his head, cradled her cheek, sighed all the tension out through his nose. And Marinette supposed, even then, even after they both relaxed into it, that it wasn’t daydream kissing, or TV kissing. It was just kissing. With Luka. Quiet, and soft, and uncertain, and real.

He’d barely pulled back before he whispered, “I know it’s selfish, but I really wanna do that again.”

She didn’t realize she’d curled her fingers into the front of his band shirt until she let go. “Then do it again,” she whispered back.

This time, Luka didn’t hesitate. He trapped her there in the best possible way, pausing just so after each kiss like, for some reason, he couldn’t believe this was happening. She wasn’t sure if this still counted as a first, or if they were tumbling headlong into seconds and thirds and fourths. But it was happening still, and all those knots in her stomach coursed all the way through her blood, and when she moved closer to meet him, she felt his hands at her waist, tugging her along until she was seated in his lap. and her fingers were laced behind his neck. Like he was the trapped one. Like he’d always wanted to be, or, perhaps, like he always had been when it came to her.

This was better than bottles and closets, better than demon butterflies and cataclysmic lipstick, better than things she wished she could forget and remember all at once. This was enough for her to wonder about the exact moment that a daydream became a memory, or if they could ever be one and the same, or if her teacher could read her mind when she thought about it in the back of that old classroom.

Eventually, he slowed them down, took that quiet lead the way he somehow always managed to. One, two, three more delicate kisses, and he pulled back for regrettable good, their noses and forehead pressed together. She wasn’t sure if he was looking at her, or with what kind of love, but she was too comfortable to want to open her eyes and find out.

It was the closest it felt to TV, and Marinette wanted to play it over and over and over.

“How was that?” he finally said to break the silence as she sat back. His voice was just loud enough to be more than a whisper. He held the words between the two of them, like he trusted her to carry them in her heart. To carry him in her heart, too.

Marinette pressed her lips together in a firm line to try and keep from smiling, but she failed anyway. “Pretty unforgettable.”

Yeah. It was the kind of thing he could write songs about.

The first thing she thought, while he was smiling back at her like that, was, I don’t want to forget again.

The second thing she thought was, uh oh.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 65 – What I Truly Must Do

“Sir?” 

Takio adjusted his gaze into the direction that Yuigi’s eyes and voice were headed to. 

A white-haired man dressed in a hospital gown wordlessly gave them an acknowledging look, right after which he returned to his play-meerkat stance. 

The course of his action was as swift as a lightning, enough to convince some spectators, if there were to be more besides the two visitors, that he was a man who knew nothing of manners. 

Hence Takio and Yuigi mimicked his behavior out of curiosity, and understanding lit across their faces. 

They happened to be standing in the area within the KSA infirmary, at the corridor with the wall partially made of glass for bystanders and passersby to observe what is taking place inside. 

And Tao was tending to several civilians sent to KSA on the other side of the wall. 

Takio and Yuigi were in the middle of their search for the rest of the RK, to discuss how they should wrap up the calamity at Seoul. 

Since they were unaware that Rael had a small business with Yuhyung in the ICU, they sought Tao. 

They have found him, only to remain immobile in their places. 

It was not because Tao was putting up a show of “how-to-make-a-back-and-forth-marathon-in-a-hospital,” doing nearly as thrice as much work than others, checking up on patients and assigning drugs and orchestrating treatments. 

Their eyes were locked upon a child. 

Back when the gas launched by Tao finally put an end to the disaster at Seoul, the 3rd Elder was lying flat on the earth as an aftermath. 

But he was more concerned about the well-being of the bodies around him, and on the other hand he pled that they send the fastest among them to the site he had in mind. 

Not long after, Rael retrieved from the coordinates he provided a girl and a woman the former addressed as her mom, whose blood pressures were being measured by Tao. 

“If it does not concern you, may I ask what is your relation to that girl?” 

Asked Takio, who remembered how the 3rd Elder was visibly relieved after he was shipped to KSA, to witness that Rael performed his commission to perfection. 

Could they be a family? 

Yuigi was also waiting, her question tugging at her nerves. 

“If the relation you speak of is a biological type, I assure you that me, that girl, and her mother does not share any sort of genetic bond.”

“...Really? Then why would you ask me – ask Rael to prioritize that girl and her mother in collection?” 

“...I owe that kid a debt.” 

“A debt...?” 

“...If I were give you the details...” 

At then 3rd Elder’s lips emitted a poof that was most certainly meant to be a smirk, making Takio and Yuigi wonder what in the world could the man be planning to tell them. 

“I’d say that kid is my master in shopping.” 

Two pairs of eyes, one cyan and one light olive, rippled with confusion at the series of words that they deemed impossible to hear from 3rd Elder, whether it is a jest or not. 

Their confusion grew harder as they ascertained that his claim was as unfeigned as it could be. 

The 3rd Elder was wearing a smile deriving from his heart as he regarded the kid. 

He was truly grateful that she was safe. 

And he was truly abominating himself for what the girl and her mother had to go through. 

*****

By the time Frankenstein took to his mouth the wolfsbane tonic that he changed the components of, the 3rd Elder was sprinting out of his island, wrenching himself by force from the purgatory of his heart. 

Snapping at himself that a bowl of water once toppled is no longer worthy of carrying, he did not cease until he joined Helga in Seoul. 

It’d be preferable to have our enemies learn that you are now with us as late as possible. So for now, I must ask you to stay here. We’d appreciate it if you could back us up when you determine it is necessary. 

After the brief briefing, 3rd Elder assumed his position on top of a building not very far from KSA. 

When the cataclysm Helga mentioned broke in the city, he observed everything from where he was standing. 

During the briefing, he was told that everything was simply one of very small steps that will help them unlock the new beginning of the Union.

In fact, that was what he had been lecturing himself even before the briefing. 

‘But why...? Just why would I feel this way...?’ 

Ever since his lodging at Frankenstein’s island, he had been tormented by sense of loss and melancholy stasis that he could not fathom the end to. 

He had given his all to the Union, for mankind’s evolution and growth, and ultimately for mankind’s peace and welfare. 

Union has been his alpha and omega, the commanding key in his every steps and choices and words and actions. 

Alas, now nobody could ever promise that Union will have a future to look up to. 

Instead he had accustomed himself to the ordinary life that had been perfusing into his days and nights; however, he chose to shake himself off from such life to finally lend a hand to the rise of Union back to heaven. 

But why? 

He knew that some sacrifices are a must, as he and Helga intended to critically sabotage the force that must be gone for Union’s revival. 

Besides, he had hundreds of experiences in watching, apprehending, administering, and forgetting such sacrifices during his time at the Union.

Nonetheless, he could feel his heart moaning as he took in how civilians erratically deformed and disfigured were spraying and spreading blood about them. 

He had to fight an iron-hard urge to abandon his post, against which he miraculously managed to prevail as victorious.

‘Don’t you dare. Now there’s no going back. You can only go forward. You must.’ 

The man hammered his lips with his teeth, forceful enough to draw blood, and even shut his eyes tight, until a horror-stricken voice shrill enough to rend anybody’s heart menacingly pierced his eardrums.

His eyes snapped open at the suggestion from the voice that its owner was no older than ten. 

When the breath that was stuck in his throat restarted its circulation, he had already hopped onto the street into a sprint. 

Soon enough he could lock on the origin of the shriek, and his heart twisted as if it were struck by a meteor. 

“Mommy...! Mommy...!!!” 

A girl was dripping tears at how her mother, as loving as any mother would be just a moment ago, was growling at her. 

As much as she was shuddering in terror, her natural-born affinity to the center of her world forbid her from refuge. 

Nevertheless, a parent who lost her abilities to tell her daughter from her foes revealed her sharpened teeth and lunged towards her. 

At the same time, 3rd Elder hollered at the top of his lungs.

“NOOOO!!!” 

Instantly his eyes flashed, keeping his power just about right to keep the woman fixed on the ground. 

Yet his power was far too great for a puny girl to take, and she fell to her feet, to safely stumble onto her savior who had dashed right away to her side. 

And his eyes started during the course of his anxious, hurried inspection. 

‘You...?!’ 

Fate could be cruel at the most unappreciated moment, thought 3rd Elder, who was too hasty just before to study the profile of the girl. 

The girl was his little helping hand. 

The girl who taught him how to use a self-checkout machine, on the day when he first met Helga in this country – the day when he was almost drowned in the questions about the Union, Union’s purpose, and Union’s future as he stood in the middle of ordinary people busy with their ordinary lives. 

The girl whose face was marred with tears, shocked beyond her sanity that her mother got very close to ripping her head from her shoulders. 

The girl who was nearly made victim to the bloodshed that none other than 3rd Elder himself was part of. 

‘She knows nothing about my world... She has nothing to do with my world. She has done nothing wrong. And because of me, this girl...!’ 

The man’s head drooped, boneless, until a cacophony from humans attempting to maul him hit his senses. 

Pushing them away with a single glance, 3rd Elder could at last take in the view surrounding him. 

A wife and a husband were chomping on each other’s limbs, tramping over the bag of fried chicken that was supposed to serve as their late-night snack.

One of the duo of students on their way home had his shoulder bitten by his friend, who was equally spilling blood from his arm nailed with a row of teeth. 

A group of young men , strangers to each other, were scrambled into a ball of flesh and blood. 

They were all innocent people, who should have had no business at all with what 3rd Elder and Helga had planned. 

‘This is for the sake of mankind’s evolution and growth, and ultimately for peace and welfare...? This is the inevitable gateway to Union’s return, future, and purpose...?’ 

The white-haired elder recounted what Helga guaranteed him. 

At the same time, he beheld the catastrophe no different from what he had familiarized himself with at Union, or perhaps worse, considering how these were all ordinary people. 

And slowly his head began to turn sideways.

Once. 

Twice. 

And again and again. 

‘No... This is wrong!’

Finally the realization of what he had unleashed upon Seoul – in reality, what he had been endeavoring to ignore – crushed upon his shoulders. 

Unconscious of what he was doing, 3rd Elder held his head low, to gaze at the girl who was still listless in his arms. 

He also held in his eyes a tiny lollipop she was clutching in her fingers even now, probably a gift from her mother. 

A sight that pushed a cloud of heat and moisture to the corners of his eyes. 

A child perfectly aged to fool around, have fun, and gorge herself on a bunch of sweets was caught in a night of horror like nothing else. 

All because of him. 

‘This isn’t what I wanted...! I...!’ 

This isn’t what you wanted? 

Don’t play innocent. You’re the one who brought this upon her.

The voice within him yelled into his head, as if it were waiting for the moment, and 3rd Elder’s entire body shook in dreadful tremor. 

‘What have I done...?!’ 

He almost lost his breath, nearly swept away in the tsunami of regret; however, he persevered like never before to still and keep himself standing.

Sealing his lips, shedding blood as the result of his ruthless mincing, he started to move. 

He stacked all the modified humans in the largest crossroads, and he ran into Yuigi in the middle, seemingly trying her best to find an exit from this situation, and they shared what they knew, before he handed her a spare communicator he had. 

He did not forget to pick up the girl and her mother, to safely tuck them away from the rest. 

When he managed to reach Tao and learn his plan, he did not wait to urge him to do it, despite Tao’s warning that he could lose his power. 

He figured it is a must-have sacrifice.

In fact, he did not care if he were to lose his powers. 

His powers were what represented him as the elder of the Union. 

They were the most powerful, essentially the only connection he had to the Union. 

Yet here he was, willing to lose – no, willing to give up on his powers. 

For he knew they were not what truly mattered.

‘How I wish I learned sooner what truly matters... What Union truly had to do... What I truly must do.’ 

Which was why he did not regret at all that he might lose his powers.

Which was why he accepted it as natural as the sun rising from the east. 

Which was what he was ready to do in order to pay for what he had done, if it could be paid for. 

Feeling how his heart was being steeled in wholeness, somewhere between guilt and relief, 3rd Elder smiled until Tao’s missile landed.

*****

Knock, knock. 

Tao drummed the glass Takio and Yuigi were also looking into. 

In notice of the sound, 3rd Elder scrubbed the smile off his face, to whom Tao waved his hand in invitation. 

“What is it?” 

“Someone’s looking for you, sir.” 

I don’t think there is anyone who would require my presence, thought 3rd Elder as he followed Tao, and he flinched upon reaching his destination.

“Mister!” 

The girl jumped off her bed and threw her arms around his waist, not giving any hint whether her recognition is based upon their encounter at the market or from her vague memory about her savior. 

The man froze, unresponsive, feeling too guilty to show any welcoming gesture, and the girl rummaged her pocket. 

“Here!” 

From the girl’s pocket was revealed a lollipop, the one that she was holding during the disaster at Seoul, and 3rd Elder’s eyes momentarily bulged in surprise. 

“...Is this for me?” 

“Yeah! Mr. Handsome over there (At then 3rd Elder’s hesitant, unconvinced eyes shifted towards Tao very shortly, who was smirking in glory and pride) told me that you took away the bad stuff in me and my mom! So you can have it!” 

He knew she would otherwise hate to give away a single treat, given her age. 

He knew he should thank her at once, but he spoke of something else, completely barred from innocence in the presence of the girl. 

“Are you sure you want to give this to me?” 

“I’m okay! I can ask my mommy to buy me new one!” 

Exclaimed the girl, until her face grew a shade closer to a frown. 

“So I want to get out of hospital fast. I want to go have picnic with mommy. And buy candies.” 

Her spectator’s lips were ironed taut at an instant, as he stared at how the girl pouted with her cheeks puffed up. 

However, he soon placed his hand on her head and beamed at her.

“Don’t worry. You’ll soon get to do that.” 

“Really? You promise?!” 

“Promise. I promise you.” 

You will get to do what you want to. What you have to. 

You will get to enjoy your ordinary life, as you should. 

“Luckily, the kid is practically clean of the effect of the gas, probably because she is not completely grown up. Of course, I’m keeping my eyes on her just in case. No need to worry.” 

Quoted Tao for the 3rd Elder, as they walked away from the girl and her mother. 

“By the way... I’m hoping to run more thorough tests on you. I know you went through the most basic ones, but you need to go through ‘check-ups’ check-ups to figure out how much damage that gas caused upon...” 

“Sure.” 

Tao and Takio and Yuigi, who were waiting for them to finish, gaped at the 3rd Elder, their eyes wide open, for they expected him to decline at least once, genuinely or not. 

“Uh... Sure. Why not?” 

“And make it happen ASAP, please.” 

“Uh... Yeah. Sure thing. But why did you suddenly change your mind?” 

“...Let’s just say there’s something I must do, before I die.” 

The three listeners silently flipped but said nothing, seeing how he was so very blasé for a person who was expecting death. 

They could only tail him with teetering steps, as he led the way to the lab. 

And thus things were projected and progressed in order, and by the time the examinations and treatments were complete on people sent to KSA and hospitals under association with KSA, the one person they had been waiting for finally made his comeback. 

At last Frankenstein returned to Korea. 

(next chapter)

This chapter shows the process through which 3rd Elder changed his mind and sided with the RK, as he has been getting familiarized with ordinary life and starting to question Union’s purpose and existence. Like I mentioned in my previous chapters, in the early seasons Noblesse focused on the value of ordinary life, so I wanted to highlight this through 3rd Elder and his characterization in this fic. Now his story has been almost wrapped up, and I have a few more stories to unravel for this fic. I’ll do my best until the final chapter, and thanks for staying with me so far! :)

[adulttrio-imagines]

190. “I think I may be slightly more drunk than I thought.”  With Hisoka haha

 This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness. It’s not love we don’t wish to fall into, but that fear. this word is not enough but it will have to do

- Margaret Atwood

The taste of bile lingers at the back of your throat, even after you down your second can of lemonade. It burns, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste on your mouth, no matter how much lemonade you try to force down. You sigh for the umpteenth time, the alcohol pounding on your head as the world spins, blurring into hundreds of colorful splotches as you curse yourself once again for your lack of self-control. Hisoka sits beside you, serenely sipping on a bottle of champagne he nicked from the party as you both overlook the small hill.

You sneak a glance at him, stomach fluttering for reasons beyond the alcohol as you trace the high peak of his nose to the curve of his lips. He was an enigma, representing everything you couldn’t understand. From his colorful attire to his oddly painted yet attractive face, he stood at the top of an existence that was beyond your comprehension, a sense of freedom and purpose that drove you to him like flies to honey, running in circles to understand the meaning in the world he seeks. You should have been mad at him for turning up at the event unannounced, making a fool of the both of you, causing a ruckus and gotten you both kicked out, though not before inciting a mass panic. But, for some stupid, inexplicable reason, you just couldn’t. You bitterly dump the empty can right next to the pair of heels you had carelessly thrown off, quietly cursing when it bounces off and rolls down the hill.

“I did tell you not to drink too much, darling. Now look where you got us.” The magician sings, looking very much like a cat who stole a prized canary under its owner’s nose, tugging a few wayward strands of hair behind the crook of your ear as you sulk, the places his fingers brush tingling long after you push them away. His voice is light and airy, they remind you of wind chimes in the summer, easily carried by the afternoon wind. You don’t appreciate how condescending he sounds but struggle to hide the smile in your voice.

“Says you. You stole a whole bottle of champagne, you’re probably worst off than I am.” It’s a lie. It’s an unusually warm Octobers night, and your bones creak with a familiar sense of exhaustion as you feel your consciousness slip between cracks.

Hisoka hums, pale cheeks appearing more flushed than usual; you force yourself not to stare at the pair of high cheekbones that have always intrigued you. “Maybe, but at least I don’t deny it.”

You try to punch him in the shoulder; you trust your physical capabilities as a hunter, but even alcohol intoxication remains a threat to you, and in your current inebriated state, miss him completely, and almost fall forward from the momentum. Faster than you can think, he grabs you by the shoulders, steadying you back into an upright position, smile never leaving his face as the heat at the back of your neck slowly creeps up your cheeks.

“I think I may be slightly more drunk than I thought.” You finally admit, wrapping your arms around yourself after brushing his hands away (you miss the way he narrows his eyes), denying that slight twinge of happiness you felt when he reached out to grab you. It burns where he held you, and fills you with conflicting thoughts. 

His smile doesn’t falter but you see a malicious glint in his eyes.

For a moment, everything remained upright, but a sudden shove from your back upends the delicate balance you had tried desperate to remain. You scream, toppling over, but not before grabbing his arm and dragging him along with you, gleefully squealing as you both roll haphazardly down the hill, landing clumsily at the base in a tangled mess of limbs. 

“That wasn’t fair.” You struggle to contain your laughter at his childish whining, he’s immature tone not at all suiting his larger than life build.

“Well, you started it.” You throw a fistful of grass at him, rolling your eyes and bursting into laughter as he pouts, tuffs of grass mixing in with the fiery orange of his hair. You collapse into the grass, the earliest of dew drops soaking into your clothes, the grass stains would be a pain to clean up, but being drunk off copious amounts of alcohol under such a calm night, you release a contented and stretch into a more comfortable position.

Hisoka huffs from his spot, a tick of annoyance radiating off him in waves, the few remaining blades of grass hanging mockingly to his shirt, but he crawls over to you, eyes dripping with mischief. Before you can process anything, he drops all of his six foot three inch glory into your lap, knocking the air out of you, face twisting into a cheeky smile as you struggle to escape his hold.

“Hisoka-! Get-get off, me!” You splutter, trying to shove him off the best you can with what little coordination you have left. He grins lazily at you instead, reclining into you in such a way that his head rested in between both of your breast, making sure he could see your struggled expression from any angle. If it wasn’t for his literal weight on your being, the act itself would have sent you careening off into the moon from embarrassment.

“Nah, I think this is just too comfortable. Also consider this payment for making me wait for you.” He hums, purposefully burying deeper into your chest, and you curse your past self for buying a dress with such thin fabric that each movement he made tickled the sensitive skin of your breast.

“I can’t breathe!” You protest, wriggling desperately under him, but you suspect he had bungee gummed himself to you, and not for the first time, curse his nen ability.

“Oh? Hmm..?” His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you would have lashed out to punch him square in the jaw if your arms weren’t plastered to the ground. He rests his chin on his hands, elbows digging into your stomach as he pretends to think about the issue for a moment, ignoring your continual struggle beneath him, “Nope, I don’t think I care.” He shoots you a Cheshire smile, boops your nose and flops right back down on you. 

You groan in defeat, throwing your head back against the grass, the fresh dirt pillowing the force. It’s difficult but you try your best to ignore how sweet he smelled, or how warm he felt spread on top of you, or how your nose tingled at his touch, praying that the darkness of the night hid your steadily reddening face. 

“Fine,” you huff, shooting him a dirty look. “I guess I’ll just choke on my own puke and die here then- Woah!” 

Strong pair of arms grab you on either side, one firmly holding you close while the other gently supports the back of your head. Too shocked from the sudden change, you can only whelp as he rolls backwards, sending dandelion seeds floating off into the night sky as he lands on his back, reversing your previous position where you now lie helplessly on top of him with your head resting right below the dip between his collar bones, perfect for hearing the steady beat from his chest that is so starkly contrast your own rapidly beating heart. 

“We can’t have that, can’t we, sweet thing? I can’t lose you that fast.” Hisoka chuckles at your reaction somewhere above you, his right arm straddling you feeling very pleasant against the skin as he grips your thigh while his left thumb runs smooth circles over your knuckles, and your alcohol-induced mind squishes any sort of logical restraint you usually would have had. His fingers are calloused and the texture surprise he pasted over them don’t hide the nicks and scars you feel beneath the flimsy barrier. He leans in closer still, breath hot down your neck. “The fun hasn’t even started yet.” 

“No. No. Not here.” You object, immediately sobering up, praying that he couldn’t hear how loud your heart was thumping right now as you push his arm away and start to get up, only to be held back by the incredulous look he shoots you that almost cracks your resolve as you fumble for an excuse, “too many bugs!”

He scoffs, clearly not convinced by your answer and you feel him tighten the grip on your fingers. “Are you afraid of some small insect?”

You run a hand through your already messy hair, shaking out the remaining remnants of streamers from the party, trying to ignore the very chiseled abs pressed against your thigh. “Yes. No. Well, it’s more like we don’t know what’s been here and I don’t want to get an infection, and-and….” 

You trail off, letting the frosty silence settle between the both of you. There were no illusions about the type of person Hisoka was. You slid off his chest, letting the darkness hide your face as you stared blankly into your hands. In the faint moonlight, it’s easy to forget with his charming smiles and playful wit that this was an indiscriminate murderer; who comfortably held lies at the tip of his tongue and could effortlessly crush a man’s skull with his bare hands, who snuffed the light out of many for simple fun, who reeked of blood and violence as he clambered insistently for your undivided attention, painting the walls in your house a gory red. You look at his hands, tracing the delicate tips of his nails to the high ridges of his knuckles, wondering if they would one day wrap themselves around your neck as well. 

He was a danger manifested in human form, a demon who held strength that shook the earth masquerading as a mortal, you knew exactly what he represented, but couldn’t stop yourself from crashing deeper and deeper into his magnetic vortex. You twist the stem, easily plucking the lone dandelion off, it’s a nice night, perhaps you should-

“Come. Lie with me.” You blink at the tone of his voice; it’s not a command, but a request. The words stay by me are left hanging precariously between the both of you. As if he senses your internal conflict, he gently tugs at your hand and after a moment of hesitation, your defenses are whittled to non-existence and you sigh but lay down next to him, breathing in a mixture of spiced liquor, sweet candy and wet grass, fingers still interlocked together as you both stare at the vast expanse of darkness that was the cloudless night sky stretched endlessly above your heads, with clusters of stars flickering brightly off into the distance, accompanied by a solitary half moon that acted as a weary guardian. They shine delicately, as if someone had painstakingly created each of them individually before carefully hanging them in unseen patterns, painting a canopy of ever dancing light. You begin to relax, enjoying the rare circle of comforting silence created solely for such a purpose, saying nothing as you stared at the vast multitude of stars sitting at the high heavens above, all too aware of his slow breathing, the heat radiating from his bare arm and the feeling of your hand in his.

“Do you know what that constellation is called?” Hisoka says suddenly, lifting your joined hands to point at a small collection of stars somewhere off to the left.

“Uhm… is it Ursa Minor?” You guess, the urge to slide your hand off his fighting your urge to hold them closer, instead you cock your head to the side. 

He laughs, and under the faint moonlight his expression is soft (it shines brighter than anything you’ve ever seen) and he dons a surprisingly boyish grin on his face (you didn’t know that devils could smile like that), looking years younger and resembling an unruly teenager more than the wild being he existed as now. “No, but close. That’s Cassiopeia. Now, that is Ursa Minor.” He answers, pointing at another group of stars at the right. 

“What? They’re nowhere close to each other!” You rest your intertwined hands on your chest, (they weigh your down like anchors, dragging you all the way down to the depths of the ocean floor, chaining you) the warmth an unfamiliar but welcomed comfort. 

His smile is small (you heart crumbles to a million pieces, it hurts, hurts, hurts) and you have to fight to just smile back (you squeeze his hands tightly, wondering if he can feel how hard they’re shaking as you dig your fingers into the ground). He leans into you so that his head rested directly above yours. “It’s a good try. Here, how about this one?” He asks, pointing with his free hand.

“Hmm, is it the Big Dipper?” You return his smile with a grin of your own. (The cracks in your resolve deepen, fracturing off and collapsing into itself.) 

Is it really alright….

“Well, you’re somewhat right. The Big Dipper is the group of stars contained in the Ursa Major. It itself isn’t a constellation.”

…. for me to stay by your side?

“Ahh, I see.” Tranquility falls between you both again, and a strange combination of guilt and relief seeps its way into your being. It would be easier to end this all now, but the stillness of the night ties your tongue in knots, extinguishing your voice for reason with a few strokes on your thighs and warm fingers curled around yours. Instead you say,

“You like the stars a lot, don’t you.” You instantly regret your words, his smiles sliding off his face like melted butter, for reasons beyond your understanding. He’s silent, and for a split second you hear his pulse thunder furiously.

I guess you can say that.” He pauses, gaze aimlessly tracing the constellations hanging above, as if they held secrets untold. Pangs of guilt roll in waves, eating away at you for conjuring such bitter feelings. 

“When I left the Yorbian desert,” his lips unwind, and for a split second, you see a small lone figure, broken and desperate, forcing his way through mountains of sand, “the only help I had was from the stars. They tell many stories, you just have to know how to look.” He claws his way past the sand dunes, gasping for breath as the night sky led him on. 

He clams up, and the boy collapses, silent screams coloring the dessert. For once, words evade him and he struggles to form coherent words to paint the horrors he saw, but you’ve seen how his twists in his sleep, the wordless stream of screams that subsequent each kill, his manic laughter when he returns to you, thick with murder and bloodlust as he creeps into your room. It’s easier to smile and pretend the bad things don’t exist, easier to pretend everything is fine, easier to remain comfortably broken than lose your head in the process of piecing every broken piece together and try to make sense of the horrors.

“Tell me more about your stars.” You whisper, placing your hand on his cheek. You’re alive, you’re don’t have to go back anymore, you’re here and fine, and everything is going to be alright, alright, alright-

He turns to you, resting his free hand over yours, pair of burning suns piercing right through you as the world slows its spinning for just one moment. 

And as if a switch is flipped, something greater than the sum of all your thoughts blooms in your heart, creating tiny explosions that blast into a thousand suns, as if in that moment, a new universe was created inside of you. Heart fluttering, you become all too aware of the heat that colors your cheeks, the steady beat of his pulse as you curled into the nape of his neck, and your own close proximity to him. The smell of honeysuckle permeating the air as the cloudless night sky shone in all its radiance, the autumn breeze carrying the distant smoke of firewood from the distance, your heart full and warm with contentedness.

Your breath hitches, and you believe in that moment that he’s more beautiful than all the stars that are and ever will be in the galaxy. More than stars, you see supernovas of pure chaos and energy radiating from his orbs that burn brighter than even the fiercest of suns, confident and blazing in every way, and of course it’s impossible to tear your gaze away from the brilliant cluster before you. 

(My heart wavers on, oh where will you go, where will you go?)

Your hands are shaking so hard that nothing you do can stop them. His fingers clasp themselves in yours, dispelling any shred of doubt you had left, stilling your thoughts and filling the gaps perfectly as he brings them up to his lips, kissing them with unknown tenderness. 

Stay by me.

Stay be me.

Stay by me.

He was a beast pretending to be human, a demon barely holding on to its mortal form, who dwells in the pits of Tartarus and pretends to exists among ordinary man, but yet, even after everything he has done, he’s beautiful in a way that hurts when stringing your thoughts into tangible words, because when you finally press your lips against his, the very foundation of your being breaks and under the blanket of stars do you both spiral into something too terrible and beautiful for either of you to fathom. 

[lady-moonbroch]

Oliver x MC “Dangerous Provocations”

Fandom: Ikémen Revilution Kinktober: Day 8 || Chocking Genre: NSFW +18 (this might be triggering to some, please proceed with caution) {His POV}, Adult!Oliver Word Count: 1,645 Author’s note:Hello my pwetty darlings! This is second fic I post today 🔥 (which means this one might be just as sloppy, I’m sorry). I wanted to write about Oliver for a while now, but I need to delve in his personality a little more, I haven’t portrayed him snarky enough methinks. I hope you enjoy this one too, and I will see you again tomorrow 💉

[The challenge] ~ @alloveroliver

“Why, has the Black Army left YOU, of all people, unsupervised today?”, I grumbled. Fenrir probably sent her here to torture me for turning down his order the other day. That could explain it. What I couldn’t fathom the explanation of her irritating teasing this evening.

She sat there, giggling and chattering with Blanc in the garden. She kept nagging me to join them for tea and the fuzzy-tail’s bloody carrot cake. But no matter how many times I declined she kept pestering me for attention like a lost puppy. 

“Why aren’t you coming little Oliver? You have been crumped up in your “cave of wonders” all day and now its almost nighttime. Isn’t it time for good children like you go to bed?”, she teased, mischief and deviltry interweaved in her sweet voice. 

“You are trying my patience, little girl. And I’d be careful if I were you. Surprisingly enough, I am not known for it.” I said. The voice of a child that left my lips only increased my frustration and her emphasising when calling me “little” and her gurgling only made it worse.

Moments before dusk arrived, Blanc excused himself saying he has “an urgent business to attend to”, but I knew better. That lecherous rabbit didn’t act without purpose.

The sun had fallen, giving it’s way to nightfall. I was turned into my adult self, as I do every night and I breathed a sign of relief. I thought wouldn’t have to put up with her any longer. Oh, how wrong I was.

Making my way to the kitchen to make some tea, I heard her sing-song voice ring behind me.

“Well, well, children in Cradle do grow up fast!” she chuckled.

“I see you are still at it, aren’t you little moron?”, I replied with irritation.

“What ever do you mean, little Oliver?”

I have promised myself I wouldn’t let her get under my skin, wouldn’t let myself loose control around her. But her soft, rosy lips challenged my restrain and God knows I had plenty of ideas on how to close her pretty mouth shut.

“Quit pestering me, dimwit” I snarled, hoping it would keep her at bay.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve, little Oliver” she purred tantalisingly. I strode towards her with heavy steps and I looked down on her, my full height towering over her delicate figure.

“If you don’t stop I’m going to strangle you, Alice…”

“Is that a promise?” she whispered licking her lips.

I was too shocked to respond to her. Her eyes were serious, a fire burning bright inside of them. The same fire that I could feeling burning within me. Her syrupy voice lured me in like a fly in honey. 

All thoughts eluded me as I reached for her slender, pearly neck and kissed her smart mouth with the hunger of a beast. I felt her small hands wrapped around my wrists as I lightly squeezed her neck. She moaned. And I felt I was going mad with yearning for her. 

I traced her swollen lips with my tongue, temping them open. Soft, breathy moans slipped past, allowing me entrance. Our tongues entangled, twisting around each other. I applied more pleasure on her neck, making her gag softly. The feeling of her, fragile between my hands sent a throbbing straight to my core. I craved more.

“Do you like my hands around your neck so much, naughty little girl?” I asked, wanting to make sure I wasn’t pushing her too hard.

“Yes...hhnn please don’t stop. I...I want..”, her words trailed off and her eyes strayed away from me. I slithered a hand around her waist, while the other remained on her throat. I pulled her towards me and bit her lips roughly. I wanted her eyes back on me.

“Want what?” I whispered. I smirked at the mere thought of her uttering vulgar desires and asking of me to fulfil them. “Tell me what you wish for and I might grant you mercy”. Her eyes shone at my words and made me chuckle. Such a sweet little vixen, so innocent yet with such sinful thoughts. She was hesitating, so I goaded her on.

“Where is that smart mouth of yours now, huh? Cat got your tongue?” I cooed, tightening my grip.

“I-I want you...to make me yours” she stuttered. “Touch me...choke me...I’ll do..anything you ask” she entreated, her hands clutching on a fistful of my lapels.

“How can I say no to you, when you look so deliciously desperate?” I breathed, but I knew my voice betrayed my own desperation.

I kissed her deeply before hoisting her in my arms and leading her to my bedroom. I was too greedy to maintain basic courtesies, so I threw her on the bed and made quick work of our clothes. I was surprised at my own eagerness to touch her. She has enraptured me so much, I barely recognised myself. 

The way she marvelled at me, her legs spreading slightly more and more, luring me to devour her. She was sending me over the edge already.

I kneeled down, like a man praying for salvation and lapped my tongue between her folds. I didn’t want to waste time, I wanted her to scream for me, her body arching like a bow from pleasure. I sucked hard on her bundle of nerves, coaxing whimpers and pleas that resounded like music in my ears. I inserting two fingers in her wet core, curling and stretching her walls to prepare them for what to come. I couldn’t be gentle, not when I wanted her so badly. I felt her muscles clenching harder on my digits, her legs quivering. It was too soon to give her want she wanted...what she deserved. I slipped my finger out and stood up, chucking at her distressed mewls.

“What is it sweetheart? Aren’t you satisfied yet?” I taunted. Being the one doing the teasing was the sweetest revenge.

“O-Oliver...you are being horrible” she whimpered. I grabbed her neck and lifted her torso, my erection at the same level with her pretty face.

“You ought to work for it, little girl”. I placed my hands behind her head and gently pushed her forward.

“Wait!”. I stopped dead at my tracks. She looked up at me, eyes wanton.

“I want you hand around my neck while I pleasure you, Oliver. I want you to take control of me...please” she purred. I was rendered speechless, barely managing a nod. With a satisfied smile she began to lick the tip, slowly working her way down with small licks until she reached the hilt. She made her way back up with one smooth motion while keeping our eye contact and then guided my cock straight in her mouth. I felt my knees growing weak at her ministrations, my groans becoming louder as she hummed joyfully around me, sending vibration thought my whole body.

I placed my hand around her neck once more and pressed it. Gag moans reverberated from her throat, our pleasures cries mingling as she kept working my cock in and out of mouth. I felt my hips bucking towards her face and realised I need more, I craved all of her. I pushed myself away from her and motioned her to stand up.

“Was I not good?” she asked with a troubled expression. I offered her a smile and caressed her rosy cheek lovingly.

“No dummy. You are perfect. So perfect that I will give you exactly what you want” I assured her guiding her to lay on the bed.

“What we want, you mean” she smirked. A chuckled drummed in my chest as I laid on top of her, kissing her with passion and fondling her beautiful curves. Her hand reached down and grabbed my cock guiding it and rubbing against her entrance.

“Impatient are we?” 

“Yes. I waited enough...I want you inside of me, now!” she moaned and I couldn’t bring myself to deny her. I sighed in relief as pushed myself inside of her in one thrust, burying myself in her cunt unto my hilt. I began to thrust hard in and out of her, the room filled with our moans and skinslapping. She reached for my neck and I reached for hers, each of us squeezing just enough to make breathing harder. I pressed my forehead to hers, kissing while I fucked her even harder making us both even more breathless.

“You are...so tight..and wet. Ahhh...I can’t get enough...of you”

“Don’t worry...we hav-aahhnn..all night...you’re not getting rid of me...until we fuck each other senseless” she said between rugged breath, kissing and biting my lips and neck making me loose all focus and reason.

I felt her walls fluttering around me and I clutched her neck a little tighter, forcing her to gag slightly.

“Say my name when you cum, let me know you’re mine...” I roared, my voice hoarse and wanton as I slowly reached my own limits. She cried out in pleasure as her arousal poured out her pussy.

“Oliver....ah God..O-Oliver” she chanted my name and I felt the coil in my core ready to break. I pulled out of her and pumped my cock while I captured her lips, moans of her name slipping past my lips as she panted for air. I spilled my cum over her core, our fluids mingled and dripping down her thighs.

I toppled over her, she snaked her arms around me to press our bodies closer still.

I lifted my head to find her smiling at me. I gave her a single chaste kiss before I licked over her smart mouth deviously. She was too delicious to resist.

“Are you ready for round two?”

[cum-a-calla]

a commission :)

inside: Bob Gray/female reader, humiliation, piss, mindfuck, denial, general clownery

.

It’s hard to judge just how long you’ve been in the cage.

On top, there are two heavy boots, legs crossed at the ankle. The bars of the cage tremble and clink, chains around the door shimmying like bells. The sound joins his uneven breath, it joins the metallic rattling and your own blood rushing in your ears, and the sight of him petting the ridiculous bulge in his slacks while he squirms. He’s slack-jawed, drooling, eyes heavy and focused, unfocused, focused again. 

There are empty seats and risers in a semi-circle around you, rusted with age. You can practically hear the creaking despite the lack of an audience. In your head, it sounds hollow, warped, just the thought of it creepy enough to make you shudder. Goosebumps ripple down your arms, over your ribs and thighs. 

“Wish there were people in here, little creature?”

He grins and saliva dribbles down his chin. Around you is aching, echoing emptiness, like a vacuum. Sounds within the tent are magnified, caught in the low, insectile buzz in the background, and focusing on it only forces it to retreat. Hiding. Chittering. Beyond the ragged flaps of the entrance, wind whips banners and flags around, shakes the trees in the distance and sends leaves and carnival garbage whirling around the midway. Not a sound penetrates the perimeter of the tent. It’s like watching a movie on mute, the world moving on behind some invisible barrier. You’re isolated here.

Trapped.

The cage is small. It’s barely big enough for you to be on your hands and knees, naked, shivering under his constant watch. Between your thighs, your pulse makes itself known. Each throb brings you a little closer to release, but it’s a race to see which releases first – your dripping cunt or your full, tight bladder, feeling fuller every passing minute. 

“No,” you breathe. The thought of anyone seeing you like this, locked up and trembling with your bare ass in the air, is beyond anything you could handle. You peek at the risers and they shimmer. They seem to slip in and out of focus, and in the weird blur, there are shapes. People. Loads of them, faces smeared and unclear, blipping in and out like a glitch. 

Glancing at Bob Gray treats you to the sight of his big hands around his cock, leaking down around his knuckles. He’s sneering down at you, tugging leisurely at himself while you flicker between him and the spectral audience, and it seems that with each passing glance, they disappear and reappear, refusing to conform to your perception of the room around you. It’s scary. The people don’t really look like people, only like they’re trying to.

Like Bob. Bob, with his wet snarl, his sleepy eyes and sharp teeth. His eyes glimmer at you, snapping orange like a wildfire. He lifts his boots off the cage and spreads his thighs, pumping his cock with a little more purpose. He swipes his fingers up over the slippery head and shudders, giggling, his soft belly peeking from under his untucked shirt. It’s nearly threadbare with age. 

“Can see ya shakin.” He sucks his teeth, mocking you with a violent shiver that shakes his massive frame. “Ooh, tiny thing, can see how bad you want it. Stupid little pet. Does it hurt? Does it feel sooo bad to hold... it... in?”

Eyes on the floor. It’s all you can focus on aside from the burning ache. The more it aches, the worse it gets. The worse it gets, the more you throb. 

“Can I... please... go to the bathroom?”

He shakes his head, a thread of drool breaking off to patter into the dirt near his feet. He’s swollen, dripping just like you are. He moans and shakes his head harder, the laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest. 

“No, no, I want you to hold it. Be a good girl, hm? Don’t make a big fuckin’ mess in my tent, you hear? Do ya kennit, little animal, does it do ya well?”

“Please, I really – it... hurts –”

He stands so suddenly that his chair topples behind him, and he towers over the cage like you’re the smallest thing in the world. He’s enormous. He takes the step until his big boots are toeing the edge of the cage, knocking into the thin bars, and not once does he stop touching his cock. He bends low and watches you, looks at you from every angle. His saliva drips down onto your back. It’s warm, unbearably so as it slides down the curve of your ribcage to your belly. He reaches into the cage, shoves his hand between your legs.

There, he rubs at your clit. It’s sloppy and quick, less about teasing and more about piling on the pressure. It’s searing. It feels like a molten ball in your belly, twisting, pressing down, down, down against your bladder, each contraction deep in your cunt only dragging your misery to the surface. It’s getting harder to ignore, harder to push down below. 

“Does it hurt so, so bad? Is this old man huuurting you?”

“Ohmygodohmygod...”

Bucking your hips away is impossible. You can only fall back against his fingers, and the more you worm away from him, the more he giggles. The more he strays from your clit, teasing you where you can’t have him. Not now. Not with all that bright pain inside, ready to burst, and yet here he is, cooing at you with his fingers sliding inside. 

“No gods here. Not even close. Nothing but me, nothing but your slimy little cunt. You smell so good, too... come out, tiny thing. Come on out. Let. Me. Smell. You.”

“No, I can’t, I can’t!” Your voice draws high, so whiny and pathetic that it doesn’t take looking him in the face to know that he’s enjoying it. His smirk shapes his words, spits them at you like his fucking drool. They float through the air like a miasma, circling your mind, like moths. Smell you let me smell you come out tiny thing come out you scared does it hurt does it hurt doesitHURT

“Oh.” He moans the word, like it rumbles up from his body, and his breath flutters through your hair. Sweat prickles at your hairline, and the first drip travels down over your temple. He takes the cage in both hands, so many slippery fingers, and takes a steadying breath. You can’t look away from him, crouched over the cage with his heavy cock out, with his big hands gripping the enclosure like he means to twist the metal. He glares down at you with a smile on his face. “Oooh, you can’t? But this... is the circus. Anything can happen here.”

He takes his hands, pounds his fists on the top of the cage. It rattles around you and you jump, yelping, and after all, you do feel like a dumb animal. He pounds them again, again, and all you can do is freeze up. Your bladder burns. Your cunt aches. 

“Anything! Let me show you.”

With each strike, he grunts, and those melt off into laughter as he starts to count down with each smack of his big hands, slamming against the metal until they scrape open, the meat of his palms tearing and bleeding freely. SIX. FIVE. FOURRRR, THHRREEEEEEE, TWWOOOO.....

“ONE!”

A final, heavy slam of his fists and the cage is gone. 

He stops just short of your back, hands coming to a complete halt as you brace for impact, and then his red, shredded palms lay flat against you. His blood feels scalding. The cage is just gone, absent from the tent entirely. You look around, frantic, looking up, looking at him, but there’s nothing to see. Nothing but his broad shoulders, his knowing smirk. 

“What do you think?” He winks at you, slow, like you’re sharing a secret. 

“It’s - that’s... where did it... go?”

“Gone the way of many other things in my time, filthy thing. Don’t worry about that. It’s been taken care of, and now you should be.”

There’s no grace to the way he yanks you by the hips, no thought to how you fight a losing fight, barely squirming out of reach when he pulls you flush against him. He grabs handfuls of your ass, spreads you open, grinds his cock up against every inch of you. 

“Gunna fuck you full, fuller than you could imagine. Isn’t that nice? Don’t act like you don’t want it. I know. I know you do, even though you need to go oh so bad.”

He dissolves into a fit of manic laughter and it bounces off the walls of the tent. Beyond them, the world still moves. The storm has picked up, but none of that is perceptible in here, nothing except the snatches of midway as the flap waves in the wind. Sometimes there are people walking in the distance, and sometimes there are people close by, people that barely resemble people. Watching. Smiling, pointing. 

His cock is massive as he is, but with how utterly soaked your cunt is, he forces it inside with little issue. It’s mind-numbing how good it is, how he’s right – you are full, so blissfully full, every inch of his cock spreading you open and finding nerves you barely know of. He tilts his hips and pounds into you, like he’s going to fuck through to your guts and into your bladder. It’s too much. It’s way too much pressure, and the first warning pangs of loss of control are flooding your nervous system, face burning with the effort, voice drawn so high and sharp you could cut him with it.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t, I’m gunna – please – oh my god PLEASE let me go,” you sputter. Words leave in no specific order, rushed, clear only in their desperation.

He pulls you closer.

“Hold it,” he demands. He doesn’t let up. It’s a strange sensation that travels all the way down to your feet, like hot wire, and you start crying. He leans over your body and folds over you until he can grab your face, tilt it toward him. He licks your tears off your face and laughs, breath like smoke, like old meat and dead leaves and something else, something familiar. He’s inescapable. “Aren’t you a big girl? Can’t hold it for me, baby, can’t be a big girl? Don’t wet yourself! Don’t have an aaaaccident all over Daaaddy!”

He laughs and your body betrays you. It’s inevitable. He slows his hips after the initial break in concentration, the warm dribble in the dust, and then he’s howling as you piss yourself. His cock throbs, balls-deep, holding you as tight against his body as he can manage as it wets through his slacks and over his thighs, puddles below the two of you. You hang your head with your eyes squeezed shut, trying to ignore the orgasmic rush of release, like a climax of its very own. It feels good. It feels so good. 

“Filthy fucking creature. Nasty slut. Disobedient little thing, aren’t you?” 

Bladder relieved, the reality of your situation caves in around you. Fuck. You stammer apologies, over and over and over, shaking with them, coming apart underneath his stilled form. He still has his fingers buried in your flesh. He squeezes them and you moan, and his cock throbs. 

“You’re sorry. You’re sooo sorry. Oh, tell me, tell me how goddamn sorry you are.”

As you continue gushing your apologies, there’s a tickle in the back of your throat. Coughing takes it away for a moment, but it comes back, an itch unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Coughing turns into gagging, into hacking over the floor until you’re the one drooling, dry-heaving, shaking in the dirt with piss down your legs and a cunt full of him, and.... something... touching the back of your tongue. Something in your throat. There’s something in your fucking throat, rising up, and Bob sticks his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches back, stuffs his long fingers back there until he grabs it and PULLS. He drags the thing over your tongue and out from your throat like he’s doing an act, and half of you expects to see multicolored scarves when your vision stabilizes, when you’re not stuck behind a screen of tears as you try not to vomit on his hand. An eternal, painful moment later, he shows you.

He’s holding a crop. An entire crop, wet and slippery with your saliva, your mucus. 

“You ready to be so, so sorry?”

He lands the crop on your back. It stings and pulls you back to life, and his hips start moving again. There’s no rhythm to lead into; he fucks you open until you’re moaning and crying and begging, throwing nonsense words into the hot, muggy atmosphere of the tent. You can smell your own piss, his breath on the back of your neck. He rains blows down with the crop and each stings more than the last, forcing your tired throat to shriek, to yelp, to make all manner of embarrassing sounds under his ministrations. He rolls his hips like he knows your flesh from the inside, knows exactly where to nudge, how to adjust his vicious pace. 

“I can feel that nasty cunt tightening up on my cock. You gunna cum soon? Would you like that, to cum all over Bob Gray’s big, mean dick? Want Daddy to let you have it?”

“Yes.” It’s the most honest, most coherent word you’ve spoken, clear as a bell, slicing up through his frenzied breaths and grunts. He giggles and hums, hits you over and over in the same spot with the crop. Your back glows with it, marks up and down your spine, blooming, warping your flesh into a purpled, welted landscape.

“That’s too bad, because if you disobey me and cum without permission, I’ll do more than beat you. I’ll take this pretty skin right off, see what’s underneath. Oh, yes, I will. I’ll see what you’re really made of. You’ll see just how messy and disgusting I can make you. So... don’t... cum.”

He rubs your clit, giggling, knocking your weak hands away when you reach down to grab at him, to twist away. There’s no escaping. There never was, not at any point. Beyond the flapping tent, everything is now still. Birds hang midair, people mid-walk, and everything is staring through the frozen tent-flap. The people aren’t people. Things watch you with their unchanging non-faces, expressions beyond what you can really understand as human. Terror grows inside you like ice, turning your blood cold, and yet Bob Gray ruts into you all the same and plays with your clit until you’re fighting a different kind of pressure than before. 

"Better not cum, little thing, you better fucking not cum."

Finally, his movements become erratic, his hand stalling. He throws the crop and wraps his arms around your waist, down by your hips, and squeezes. He holds you in that vice-grip and it’s almost more painful than the crop wounds, crushing against your pelvis, against your hipbones as he bottoms out with each thrust. It feels like you may come apart in his arms, and that delicious knot of heat gets tighter and tighter and tighter and he’s beating you to the punch. 

His cock seems to expand, filling any last inch of flesh he can manage before he’s moaning, growling in your ear. Cum fills your cunt, shoots so deep you can’t stand it. Wriggling against him only milks him further. He rocks and rides out his climax while you whine. 

After he’s done with you, he pulls out, shoving you by the hip so that you fall over in the dirt. Urine soaks your legs. His cum drools out of your cunt and he leans down to peer at it, to spread it open so he can watch, fingers tracing as you throb with neglect. He swipes at your clit and you shudder. 

“Good girl. In the end, you all listen. You all want to be good, at the end of it.”

He stands up and fixes himself up, wipes his chin free of his spit, watches you catching your breath. He bends to pick up a pile of your clothing and he tosses the articles at your face, cruel laughter spilling from his lips as you peel them back and attempt to sit up. Your body aches. Everything hurts, everything wants. 

“Get the fuck out of my tent and clean yourself up.”

You pull your shirt back over your head, and... he’s gone. 

The tent is empty.

There’s barely a swirl in the dust, no footprints, just your own piss and clothes and your filthy legs, just his cum dripping down your thighs and smearing there. Beyond the tent flaps, the storm is over. There’s barely a cloud in the sky, just the deepening evening, the sunset. It’s bright orange. It bleeds over the landscape and casts the windless trees in an eerie light. Birds chitter and games go off deeper in the midway, and it’s like your ears are unblocked. It feels... normal. 

You pull your clothes on and go around to grab a bucket – before you leave for the night, you’ll have to wash away the... spot. Seeing it there sets your cheeks aflame all over again, feeling the sticky dirt on your legs. 

Just outside of the tent is the bucket, a single red balloon lifting the handle.

[rhowena]

Pile of stuff concerning what happened to Loki between Thor and The Avengers

Originally posted on r/FanTheories

https://inforapid.org/webapp/webapp.php?shareddb=IAxUFHnwkGJSYMj9OFbT8mRl5goHm9SC2qHbWw4knO1cng5qI5Wrg48nP1MdgbWlJmHj6UpwbN343IqnstQUwxIIO01M5Rvb

As it does not escape my notice that I’ve created a digital version of this meme, some navigation help for anyone who needs it:

Mouse over/tap an item or relation to view its description

For items with the yellow ‘Note’ label, select the node and then 'Notes on Item’ in the side menu to view an additional notes page

If an item has a globe icon it the top-left corner, click it to open a webpage

'Adjust View’ in the side menu has controls to zoom in/out, increase/decrease the distance between items, and filter items or relations by category

Relations (and items) are color-coded by type: solid green lines are for in-universe evidence (light green connects evidence to the theory it supports, while dark green connects pieces of evidence that should be looked at together), purple dotted lines denote parallels, and dark red lines mark cases of “one of these things is not like the other”

And an overview of the theories contained therein:

First, the central piece of tinfoil around which all other tinfoil is arrayed: remember how, at the end of the first Thor, Loki was pathologically obsessed with gaining his father’s approval? And how, when he next showed up after vanishing for an entire year, he’d gotten mixed up with a guy who keeps a menagerie of adopted children? And how, during his argument with Thor on the mountaintop, he said this?

Loki: Did you mourn? Thor: We all did. Our father– Loki: Your father. He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?

Loki: I’ve seen worlds you’ve never known about! I have grown, Odinson, in my exile. I have seen the true power of the Tesseract and when I wield it—

Tom Hiddleston: There’s a bit where Thor says, “We all mourned! Our father…” and Loki interrupts him and says, “YOUR father.” And it’s that sense of 'don’t include me in this anymore. I have no relation or connection to you.’ It’s his way of saying 'I’ve let go, I’m gone, I’m on the outside of the fence, I’m happy here, I don’t want to come back in.’

If I may take a minute to get out some of my extremely complicated feelings on this, while there’s a bunch more evidence in favor of Loki having been another of Thanos’s children that can be viewed on the mind map, I want to highlight this pair of quotes because it’s everything implied by the words “Your father” that makes it into a devastating punch in the stomach which draws on both halves of Loki’s Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds characterization: his genuine love for his family is his primary redeeming quality and that he forswore it like this puts the terrible moment when he first knelt before Thanos and pledged himself to the Mad Titan’s service firmly into archetypal Faustian sell-your-soul territory, but when you consider the straits he was in at the time and the implication that Thanos initially ensnared him not through promises of power but by preying on him emotionally, it’s a very human kind of tragic mistake.

The other mitigating factor is that based on everything we’ve heard from Thanos’s other children, it’s a safe bet that he did in fact do unspeakably horrible things to Loki too – indeed, noticing the resemblance between the existing theories about Loki having been tortured/brainwashed and Gamora’s “He took me, tortured me, turned me into a weapon” was what prompted the above realization in the first place. (It’s reminiscent of Theon’s storyline in ASOIAF/GOT: yeah, he betrayed his adoptive family and did some generally awful stuff, but no one deserves what happened to him.) It also bears emphasizing that accountability cuts both ways: one of the key takeaways from the previous bullet point is that the suffering Loki went through doesn’t absolve him of responsibility for his villainous actions, but the other side of the coin is that Loki’s partial complicity doesn’t absolve Thanos of responsibility for the choice he made to take a broken, desperate young man who’d just lost everything and turn him into the rabid animal we saw during The Avengers, and I dearly hope that exploring the rich font of psychological horror that is that time period will erase any remaining doubt that Thanos’s claims of acting For The Greater Good are nothing but empty, egotistical, self-righteous posturing and everyone in the audience who insists on taking them at face value is being duped just as Loki was.

Stephen: No. I mean, come on. Look at your face. Dormammu made you a murderer. Just how good can his kingdom be?

As for where this is all going, I believe there’s a good chance that the Loki Disney+ series will be where they finally address this as a. the split timeline Loki the series will be following is still fresh from his time with Thanos and it will therefore have to explain what happened if we’re to understand the kind of headspace that he’s in at that moment and b. Tom Hiddleston has revealed that the series will also clarify whether or not Loki really is dead in the main timeline, and everything I have so far indicates that understanding the nature of his original pact with Thanos is essential to understanding both Loki’s choice to die and Thanos’s choice to kill him (see the 'Pledge of fidelity’ and 'Limited use’ notes pages on the mind map). Character-wise, I think one of the points of emphasis will be that Loki’s death in Infinity War doesn’t wrap up his story as neatly as it may appear to on the surface; truly completing his redemption arc will require him to confront this part of his past in full, and with it his guilt over everything he’s done and his fear that he’s wrecked his life and relationship with his family so thoroughly that he can never, ever fix them.

Loki: Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? […] Your ledger is dripping, it’s gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer… PATHETIC! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will *never* go away!

An additional giant red flag indicating we really should be asking more questions about that time gap is a group of lines in The Avengers which reveal that Thanos taught Loki how to use the Tesseract.

The Other: The Tesseract has awakened. It is on a little world. A human world. They would wield its power, but our ally knows its workings as they never will.

The Other: You question us? You question HIM? He, who put the Scepter in your hand? Who gave you ancient knowledge and new purpose when you were cast out, defeated?

Loki: I’ve seen worlds you’ve never known about! I have grown, Odinson, in my exile. I have seen the true power of the Tesseract and when I wield it— Thor: Who showed you this power? Who controls the would-be king?

Sharing that kind of knowledge and power with someone as volatile as Loki strikes me as an monumentally terrible idea (and as much as I don’t want to be the person who throws a tantrum because their fanfic didn’t come true, I’m kinda salty that Thanos was defeated without it coming back to bite him in the ass), which leaves me wondering what Thanos hoped to gain that he believed would be worth the risks. My thoughts on that particular sub-puzzle are still somewhat hazy, but my basic sense is that there’s something weird going on between Loki and the Tesseract and wanting to exploit that connection is one of the reasons Thanos went to all the trouble of breaking him into submission.

Loki: So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me?

The other reason for Thanos’s interest in Loki ties back to all that emotional twistiness I talked about earlier: he planned to leverage Loki’s anger and resentment towards his family in a bid to destroy Odin and Asgard from the inside.

Zemo: An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead… forever.

As a prelude to this, during The Avengers Thanos had additionally tasked Loki with killing Thor as a way to prove his loyalty and destroy the last remaining shreds of his own humanity, a test Loki failed because he still loved his brother too much.

Coulson: You’re going to lose. It’s in your nature. […] You lack conviction.

What’s more, Thanos anticipated this, and the Scepter’s influence over Loki was aimed at forcing him to go through with it if he refused.

Loki: I won’t touch Barton, not until I make him kill you! Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And then he’ll wake, just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I’ll split his skull!

Lastly, even with Infinity War having established that Thanos simply gets off on emotional torture, that he would go out of his way to fuck with Odin personally by turning his second son against him leads me to believe there was a special hatred there stemming from some as-yet unrevealed history between the two. I mean, when I picture the alternate universe where Thanos shows up to attack Asgard with a corrupted Loki in tow like “You screwed up so badly that he chose me as a father figure over you” …that isn’t something you say to a complete stranger.

GRRM on writing villain POVs: That’s a comic book kind of thing, where the Red Skull gets up in the morning [and asks] “What evil can I do today?” Real people don’t think that way. We all think we’re heroes, we all think we’re good guys. We have our rationalizations when we do bad things. “Well, I had no choice,” or “It’s the best of several bad alternatives,” or “No it was actually good because God told me so,” or “I had to do it for my family.” We all have rationalizations for why we do shitty things or selfish things or cruel things. So when I’m writing from the viewpoint of one of my characters who has done these things, I try to have that in my head.

[secretshinigami]

Not Alone

Author: @jam-knife (I’m submitting through my main) For: @misas-biggest-fan Pairings/Characters: LxLight Rating/Warnings: Mature. Major characters’ deaths. Mentions of sex (though nothing too explicit, and I kept curse words to a minimum too). Angst, lots of it. Prompt: Light being tailed by L’s ghost Author’s Notes: heyyyyy first of all I LOVED your prompts! I really enjoyed writing this for you, it was a very interesting scenario to explore. I hope you like it!!! Please let me know what you think of it once you finish reading it. Second of all, this fic begins with a scene that was unfortunately cut from the anime (though it wasn’t canon in the manga as far as I know, so it’s not that bad). I don’t know whether or not you’ve watched it, but I’ll leave the link here just in case! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tX1_K-mUH94 Word Count: 12k (approximation)

“You said nothing much to look forward to, Ryuk?”

Light’s words were met only by the rustling sound of leaves being ruffled by a sudden cold breeze, which carried with it the smell of removed earth, moss and death. The dirt stuck to his palms and the fabric of his pants as he stood up. He didn’t even show the empathy it required to rub it off.

“Not really. From now on, I’m going to show you how the new world is built.”

His eyes travelled to the sky, dyed orange and red as dusk fell upon him and his –unusually silent– Shinigami. He didn’t give L’s grave one last glimpse as he turned and left. What was there to see anymore? The rocky cross was nothing more than some artfully carved stone, the body six feet below it just an empty carcass, and the dirt that covered it and clung to his person wasn’t different from any other dirt.

None of it truly represented what L had been. L couldn’t possibly be reduced to or preserved in a graveyard lot. Those symbols were hollow.

L was gone. Forever. Which meant that Light now had green light to do with the world –His world– what he wanted.

That’s when he felt it, for the first time.

A step.

Light froze. That… he must have imagined it. Just in case he glanced over his shoulder, and confirmed there was nobody else there; just Ryuk, hovering half a foot over the paved path. That means he imagined it.

That extra step, as if someone tailing him had synchronized their walking with his own, but their last step was slightly off-key.

No. It was nothing. It had been a long day… a long year actually. But now the war was finally over, and all there was left to do was conquer-

He didn’t manage to conclude that thought before the chilling breeze enveloped him in a personal whirlwind of sorts, seeping into his clothes and attacking his every nerve. It only lasted a moment, but it was more than enough for him to perceive an intention in it. One simple idea. Confrontation.

Light was free. Omnipotent. And L was no more.

That is the plain truth… right?

The second time he noticed it was a few days later. Most of the time he wouldn’t even remember it, but every now and then the extra step would announce itself. Subtle, barely present enough to tickle the back of his head. And it grew worse every time he looked the Task Force members in the eye and manipulated or lied to them.

No, he didn’t feel guilty about L’s death –or about any death that preceded it. To think that the reason why his subconscious invoked a constant sensation of being followed and sneered upon was because of some pathetic remorse was ridiculous. Light Yagami was above all that moral crap humans loved to entertain themselves with. He was the God of a newborn world; he simply did what needed to be done for true justice to prevail.

No matter how many times he told himself this, though, the sensation wouldn’t fade away. But, again, it was just that. A sensation.

Or so it had been, until that night.

He had been working on replicating L’s voice synthesizing program for hours on end. There were no windows on the building’s main room, but he knew it was probably very late by now. Even Ryuk, who didn’t biologically need sleep as the otherworldly being he was, had sprawled himself messily on one of the couches and was snoring to his heart’s content.

Light sighed and went back to work. He remembered how that artificial voice had sounded when L used it against him, and when he lent it to Light so he could contact Namikawa during the Yotsuba period. That’s how he knew he was close to getting it right; going to sleep now would only be a waste of time and concentration.

He tweaked the depth and the vibration here and there, checked it, then went back to correcting it. And finally, he succeeded.

“Hello, one two three, testing…” He spoke into the mic, and beamed when he realized he made it. Yes, this would work.

To make sure it was convincing enough to fool anyone, but mostly just because he was feeling giddy with victory, he tried out some L-ish phrases and worked on his intonation and mood.

“You’re in Japan. And your first victim was… little more than an experiment.”

That was exactly what that man had said… so many months ago. Light could still perfectly recall the smugness dripping off every syllable.

“It won’t be too long now before I am able to sentence you… to death.” He replicated impeccably, the words leaving a sour aftertaste behind as he remembered the rage they had unleashed within him back then.

Light gulped and took a breath before leaning into the mic one more time.

“I am L.”

Are you done playing detective?

Light jumped. The chair rolled beneath him and he landed roughly on the floor, together with the toppled mic and a stack of papers, causing a momentary ruckus. He quickly scrambled to his feet, finding support on the desk behind him as he eyed the room. But there was nothing there.

There was no way. He could have sworn he heard L’s voice –not the digital fake, the real deal– whispering inside his head just now. But it lacked the inconsistency of a memory; it had sounded way too organic. It was nothing like the footstep or the silent vigilance. That… was real.

But it couldn’t be. L was dead –he was absolutely certain of that. He had held his body when it happened. He felt it go numb. Still. He confirmed there was no pulse. Then why… why could he hear him?

Was he going crazy?

Every ounce of rationality in him told him so. But. If that… thing just now was real, then…

“Well… Shinigami exist, don’t they? Literal Gods of Death.” He thought out loud. “So… what would be so weird about ghosts?”

Slowly, as if not to disturb the atmosphere, he picked up the chair and sat back down. Not facing the computer, but the room enveloped in darkness. Nothing happened, but he still raised his knees to his chest and adopted his rival’s trademark position out of instinct.

He was definitely losing it.

“Did I make you mad, L?” Light teased, his lips twisted into a wry smile that lost some of its effect given how shaken he actually felt. Even so, there was no answer. “Nothing to say? Why so shy all of a sudden…”

The room was completely quiet except for Ryuk’s thunderous snores. Light waited for a whole minute, and then two more. There were no words… but that feeling of something lingering remained.

“You said yourself I’d do a great job succeeding you.” He tried out, although he was probably just trailing off. “But we both know you wanted to test me, to see if I gave you a response worthy of Kira. You weren’t expecting to actually see it unfold, were you. Does it irritate you? Do you want to hurt me?”

He was about to give up and go back to work when the quiet, familiar chuckle resonated inside him, sending shivers down his spine.

That’s rich coming from the man responsible for my death.

Light’s heart skipped a beat… and his smile grew darker. So it was really him. He wasn’t crazy, or hallucinating. L was haunting him.

“So what? Have you come to take revenge? Talk about a sore loser.”

That, right there, is where you are wrong, dear. You think you’ve already won, but the war is far from over.

He frowned. Even dead, L continued to be as smug as ever. Had it always been this annoying? Moreover, how come L could say it wasn’t over? What else was there left to do? Who else left to defeat?

“What do you mean? I killed you. Everyone left believes in my innocence and supports me as the new L. I’ve acquired the ultimate power. I can direct the police force as L while enchanting the general public as Kira. There’s nothing and nobody else standing on my way to absolute victory.”

Only silence followed his statements. Even more exasperated, he declared:

“You are already dead, L. You’re dead.”

He waited, but nothing else came from L that night.

That, of course, didn’t mean he was gone for good.

Light continued to hear the extra step following him from room to room. That he learned to ignore over time, since it’s easier for the brain to disregard what it gets used to perceiving –just like not seeing your own nose in front of you all the time unless you actively think about it.

What always caught Light off-guard, even though it had become an everyday thing, was when L spoke to him. Light would normally be able to feel when L was laughing at him, or when something he did made the ghost mad. But every time L spoke actual words, they echoed inside Light’s head and his skin tickled.

It was icky. Plus, talking to L always got Light on his nerves. Even after death, the detective had found a purpose for his existence in unnerving Light. And even that was remarkably ordinary and unsurprising compared to the fact that Light somehow managed to put up with it for over four years.

Four years of snarky remarks over his shoulder. Four years of effort dedicated to ignoring that voice and pretending he didn’t hear it, only for L to slip into his dreams where he couldn’t escape him.

Not all was bad, though. He had already experienced having L study his every move, follow him from room to room… back when they were handcuffed they even had to sleep in the same bed and take showers together. Compared to that, the current situation was not so bad. The lack of chains was an improvement, he no longer had to hide his identity as a mass murderer, and since he already had several years worth of experience with talking to entities nobody else could see, concealing L’s presence to the Task Force wasn’t too hard a task.

Ryuk would sometimes eye him like he had gone insane, but Light had no interest in explaining himself to a Shinigami. He knew what Ryuk thought of death: after passing away, the soul goes to the 無(Mu). The Nothingness. According to that, L’s existence as a ghost should be impossible. But here he was regardless.

L didn’t just talk. Light came to realize he was a great listener too. Maybe ‘realize’ was not the right word; more like… rediscover. Except that back when the man was alive, Light was convinced the only reason why he listened to anything he had to say was because he was desperately trying to blame him for something, even though Light didn’t have memories of being Kira back then.

The fact that L listened to him, now that everything was out in the open and what couldn’t be undone had been done, was… nice? That was not quite it.

Sometimes they’d just debate for hours about justice, life and other philosophical matters; sometimes Light would get engrossed in explaining detail by detail each and every plan he executed against L while the ghost laughed and mockingly praised his ingenuity. Sometimes Light felt so alone he crawled out of the bed he shared with Misa and went to the living room, just to sit down in the dark and talk nonsense to that invisible presence.

Meanwhile, time flew by and the world mutated. Kira had become the universal symbol of justice with little to no opposition from any government or social movement, and the mighty detective that once confronted him had slowly faded away, until people grew to remember him as one of many who rebelled against God and obviously failed.

Ghost L found this hilarious at best, and revolting at worst.

And even though the supernatural factor of their whole relationship also extended to how annoying the ghost could get, Light still got used to him not ever really leaving. Slowly, too gradually to pinpoint when, the rage of an imperfect victory was subdued by the solace of keeping the one person that understood.

Until Sayu was kidnapped by Mello. And that changed everything.

There were more opponents. L would call them ‘successors’. The words that were spoken by the ghost over four years ago began to make sense: the war was far from over. With the rise of Mello and Near, Light felt like he was facing his old rival all over again, except this time everything was messier, and the stakes higher.

They had to give away the Death Note to save Sayu’s life. Light did everything that was at hand to stop them from taking it… but they lost the missile. A defeat of that magnitude… It was something he hadn’t experienced in years. It was even worse than when L publicly humiliated him with his live broadcast.

It reminded him of that time. The rain fell relentlessly. He sat, soaked, and let L massage his feet while those huge, merciless yet peaceful eyes pierced him with the truth that the detective had never, not even for a second, swallowed his bluffs. And it made Light feel stupid and desperate and small. That was how he felt now.

The wrath, the impotence, the absolute disgust it all produced were so intense he did nothing but sit on his chair, staring at the ceiling. Misa approached with a cool drink, probably trying to soothe him, but he lacked the energy and the interest to pretend he gave a fuck, so he simply slapped it off her hands and to the floor.

Why was everyone so useless? Why was he so useless?!

Those two kids… he hated them for getting in his way. And he hated L, for being related to them.

Light stormed out of the room and into the bathroom, the door finding its frame with a bang. He wanted to yell. He wanted to break something. With no means to release his rage, he began briskly ripping his clothes off and turned on the shower. Steam immediately filled the room from floor to ceiling; the heat was suffocating even without exposing himself to the water and that, somehow, was relaxing.

You know, that was a very rude thing to do.

Light growled. Not now. He couldn’t handle L as he was now.

“Nobody asked for your bloody opinion.”

I knew you had some anger management issues, but I never would’ve thought you’d take it out on the only person in your life who’s ever offered you comfort and her unconditional support-

“What do you care, L!” He swirled around, yelling at the empty bathroom. He knew he wouldn’t find the man there when he turned, but screaming at the shapes in the steam was easier. “For someone who isn’t even alive you do have a lot to say. It’s pretty hard to give a shit about what you think when you’re never useful and you’re not even here.”

What do you expect me to do, then?

“I don’t know! How about you face me for once instead of hiding like a coward? Or maybe you could just disappear! Why are you even here?!”

He was being irrational, he knew it. And he could only imagine what Misa or Ryuk would think of all this if they walked in on him, screaming at the air. But he didn’t care if he didn’t make sense; he was too angry, and the only one he wanted to take it out on was L. Because it was his fault that people continued to sabotage his perfect plans. If L hadn’t shown up… everything would have been easier.

Do you really want me to leave?

“Yes.” He answered, without a shade of a doubt. “That’s the only thing I’ve wanted ever since you first threatened to sentence me to death. I thought you picked that up when I held you in my arms and watched you die with a smile on my face. Or didn’t you see me laughing at your grave?”

I did.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

A moment of silence followed. Then, hesitantly…

I can’t.

What?

“Why?” Light asked, reaching the limits of his patience.

You think that if I knew I’d still be here? Don’t flatter yourself. The voice answered dryly. It was irritating, but… somewhere deep inside those words he could identify an edge of frustration and… pain. There is something that draws me towards you. Like there’s something I need to do, and it won’t let me go until I do it. But whatever that is I have no idea.

Light huffed, holding his head in his hands.

“Why couldn’t you just die normally…”

I ask myself the same thing every day.

He breathed out. So there was no way to get rid of L as it was. No chance of freedom in the near future. Well, at least he could vent out a bit. Resigned, he finished stripping and stepped into the shower.

He reached out to take the soap, and froze. The presence… L’s ghost was usually respectful of his personal space but now, it had followed him into the shower.

“What are you doing?” Light asked cautiously, his face beat red and not because of the heat. He didn’t want L in his shower, not even for old times’ sake.

You must hate my guts. Not that I have any anymore.

“Isn’t that obvious?” He retorted, not knowing when the atmosphere got so dense or why he felt uneasy about it.

I guess. Still, I never thought of our altercation as something personal.

“We literally tried to get the other killed for months, L. I’d say it was pretty personal.” Light frowned, earning himself a giggle from L.

Fine, I guess you’re right. However, I don’t think I hate you now. I hate what you did. What you still insist on doing. But I don’t hate you, even though it doesn’t really make any sense.

He didn’t answer. He had no words worth speaking, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know what to do with them.

I’m sorry. I wish I could disappear just as much as you do.

“It’s okay. I… don’t mind having someone to talk to either.” He admitted through gritted teeth.

But, about facing you… I think I might be able to do that much.

What… what was he talking about? Light stayed put as water dripped down his body, feeling the steam behind him shift and change, then settle. His skin tickled with even more intensity than it did before, and for a whole five seconds, he seriously considered running off without turning around to see. But, of course, he didn’t. The temptation was too great to ignore.

When he turned around, every nerve end alert in case he had to fight –even though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to fight a ghost–, he saw it. A translucent figure, its edges blurring into the steam…

“L…”

The commotion of seeing his face again, his eyes, his knowing expression after so many years was so strong Light stumbled back, and found stability against the dripping tiled wall. L’s pale lips curved into a small smile.

“Better?”

Light gulped. Even his voice sounded more corporeal, now that it was coming out of a mouth and not echoing inside his head. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and reached out to touch him. L, understanding his cautious curiosity, didn’t move.

Light went for the chest, over the point where he felt that last dying throb before L’s heart failed permanently. But when he got close enough to touch, his fingers simply trespassed the specter. Energy tickled like electricity all over his hand and up his forearm. He pulled out in shock, and the steam regrouped around the hole he left behind.

“Could you feel that?” He blurted out before thinking.

“Not at all.” The man answered, calmly even though he was also eyeing his own shape with devouring interest. This was new for him too. It was the first time in over four years that he tried out a physical shape.

Wide translucent eyes beamed when a new idea crossed his mind. L tossed his hand against the shampoo rack, but it didn’t even react. It didn’t show the slightest disturbance. That new discovery had L bedazzled. Meanwhile, Light couldn’t stop staring at him, still not quite grasping that this was real. That he could see L again, just the way he was when he lived. His expressions were even livelier than they were back then, now that he was dead and didn’t need to be cautious with his thoughts.

“Can others see you?”

“I don’t know yet. But given how nobody could hear or perceive me before except for you, I wouldn’t think so.”

“Then, from now on, can you stay like this? Visible I mean.”

L’s eyes narrowed, his features shifting with amusement, and Light looked away, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Did you miss me that much? I’ve always been here though.” He teased. Light thought he’d die of mortification.

“Shut up. I just hate hearing you speak inside my head. It feels icky.”

“Alright then.” The smirk grew meaner.

“Also, step out of my shower. This is already weird enough as it is.”

L’s laugh in response to that couldn’t have been more annoying.

L had been right… for the most part. No other person or living being could see him hovering around Light; they wouldn’t react at all to the late detective’s presence as long as he avoided being trespassed by them.

But coming to realize Ryuk could see and hear him was amusing. For L at least, who could also now perceive the God of Death and seized the opportunity to suffocate the otherworldly being with questions until Ryuk lay on the floor, exhausted. Ryuk, too, seemed flabbergasted to find out ghosts actually existed, and he even taught L how to perfect his manifestation technique, until the specter managed to muster an almost solid-looking consistency he could acquire or shed at will.

Meanwhile, Light felt like his temper was gradually being gnawed at. Having both entities annoying him separately had been irritating enough, but he simply couldn’t have imagined how much worse it would get when they did so together.

“And then he told me he wouldn’t give me any more apples unless I found all the cameras!” Ryuk whined. “Even though he knew of my terribly painful withdrawal symptoms. And then I am the monster…”

“How awful.” L shook his phantasmagoric head in exaggerated disapproval. “Oh Light dear, what a cruel, terrible Master you are.”

“You said it! Heh-heh.” The Shinigami barked in agreement.

That was it. He wasn’t taking it anymore.

Light groaned, tossed the earphones away, snatched a pencil holder from the desk’s top and unchained a vicious rain of pens and pencils against the source of his irritation. L and Ryuk simply sat, amused, and watched the items as they trespassed their intangible forms.

“For the love of everything good in this world and the next, can you both just shut up for a goddamn minute?!”

“Anger management, remember?”

Exasperated, Light simply growled and went back to work.

“Ryuk, go back to my father before the rest begin wondering where you went. We’ll be ambushing Mello’s headquarters in a few hours. I need you to be there so he’ll do the deal of the eyes with you.”

“Heh-heh. Sending others to accept deals you’d spit on yourself.” Ryuk chuckled grimly, his eyes flashing bright red for a moment. “Alright! Let’s catch up later, L.”

L nodded at the Shinigami before it disappeared through the wall. He then came hovering to where Light was and sat –or rather landed– on the desk, facing him.

“So the reason why you forfeited the ownership of the Death Note is not only passing the trouble of handing over half of your remaining lifespan to someone else, but also avoid your father realizing you are a Note owner yourself when he comes back. Am I right, Light?”

“It was the only way.” Light shrugged it off, not quite grasping why L found that little trick so interesting. “How can I hope to rule the New World if I die young? I’m not going to risk my life on the frontline, let alone give my years away.”

“But your own father’s years are alright to sell.”

Light didn’t answer.

“You don’t care at all, do you. You’re straight up throwing him to the wolves. He could be shot to death in there and even if he does survive, he won’t have much of a life ahead of him, will he?”

“Enough.” He mumbled, but L didn’t stop.

“You know it. You know they wholeheartedly believe in that 13-days rule you made up. You know that lie is the only alibi in your hands that’s keeping Aizawa and the rest at bay. Which means… that even if tonight works out how you want it to and Mello is killed by your dad, then you’ll have to murder him in two weeks for your plan not to crumble-”

“That’s enough.” This time his voice came out firmly, and the ghost fell silent. “I’m just doing what needs to be done, L. I thought you of all people would understand that, after you confined and tortured Misa and me for days and even forced my dad to pretend to shoot me.”

“But I didn’t kill anyone. We are not the same-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Light cut him, every muscle in his body tense. His stare was hard, unyielding, when it locked with L’s. “You were perfectly willing to let a criminal use the Death Note to prove the 13-days rule was false. You admitted yourself that you were expecting me, Kira, to instantly kill my dad if he tried to shoot me, because you knew damn well I’d put my own life before his. His death was no more than a calculated risk to you. In fact, in your head, it was the most probable outcome.”

The detective fretted, and Light grinned maliciously. He hit home.

“See? We both do whatever it takes to get what we want. You’re not different from me. You’re not better than me. So, instead of pretending to be surprised by my methods, how about you leave me alone so I can work on getting my Death Note back?”

The silence that followed was smothering. Painfully so. L was no longer looking back at him, but staring through the window. He looked offended mostly, but also guilty. His expression was so open and so sincerely aching Light blinked. So this was how L truly felt about the decisions he took, back when he was alive.

“Fine.” The ghost muttered finally, as his form dissolved in the air and disappeared.

For a moment that sight filled him with pure dread, but then he realized, as his heartbeat settled down, that he could still feel L’s presence coating him. He wasn’t really gone, he had just temporarily left his visible expression.

Good. Light didn’t feel strong or stable enough to face him right now.

A few hours later, Soichiro Yagami died in a hospital bed, relieved to know his son wasn’t a mass murderer.

After returning the Death Note to its rightful owner –a Shinigami that called itself Sidoh– all the Task Force had left to do was wipe their tears away and wrap it up. The trip back to headquarters was silent. Light appreciated that everyone was too shook and devastated about his dad’s death to talk about it.

Once alone in his room, he was free to be himself again.

He began calmly taking his clothes off and getting ready for bed, but before he could invoke some self control, he was already screaming and punching a pillow while tears rolled down his face.

This had been his father’s fault. If he hadn’t been weak… if he had killed Mello instead of hesitating…!

“Why did you let yourself get killed, idiot?!” Light yelled, his throat aching. His hands, which were clutching the pillow with violence, trembled vehemently as his crying echoed through the room and his tears fell, abundantly and showing no signs of stopping. “You didn’t even get rid of him! Why?! You weren’t supposed to die! Y-You… you weren’t supposed to…”

A sob shook his whole body on its way out, and he collapsed on bed, his face buried in the wet pillow. Only soft whimpering could be heard.

Later, he felt the air shift, and electricity tickled him in the leg.

“I thought you were counting on his death.”

Light’s face was swollen from crying when he lifted it from the pillow to look at L’s figure, sitting next to him in the dark with his hand on Light’s thigh. The touch held no weight or warmth, nothing quite organic; just a tingle.

“He was destined to die.” He mumbled weakly as his gaze wandered to the opposite wall. “It’s as you said. Either tonight or within two weeks, he had to. What’s more pathetic is that he only lived for a few hours after doing the deal… which means… that even if he hadn’t done it, he didn’t have much time left in his clock to begin with. He would’ve passed away naturally by tomorrow morning anyway.”

“Why are you crying, then?” L inquired softly, as his hand caressed up and down Light’s leg. “Because you couldn’t see Mello dead?”

Were other the context Light would’ve found the sparkly sensation bothersome –even embarrassing. He didn’t want to reach the level of feebleness that made him deserve L’s consolations. But that was not the case. The detective’s almost inexistent touch was comforting. Light closed his eyes, trying to remember what the real thing felt like, while fighting the devastating pang L’s question induced in him.

“My father’s death was inevitable. I know I did what I had to do. Still… that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. In an ideal setting, Aizawa, Ide or even Matsuda would’ve taken it upon themselves to do the deal and kill Mello.”

He sat up, feeling the warmth building behind his eyes as new tears accumulated.

“Then… I could’ve killed any of them easily. But he just had to be… so freaking moral. He had to sacrifice himself… why? Nobody would’ve judged him if he had let someone else do it, then why?! It was that same attitude that got him shot in the end!”

Furious, he wiped the tears away before they overflowed. It was the truth. Even when his father died a somewhat happy death, he would’ve preferred it had been anyone else in his place. Still…

Light’s breathing settled, and he looked L in the eyes with determination.

“However, when he stood with Mello in that room, and when the building exploded and all the cameras went blank… and even as he lay there dying… all I could think of was ‘kill Mello. Kill him for me. Don’t leave without taking him down with you’.”

The pain of actually losing his dad came a while after, and even then it had been tainted with frustration and resentment. He wanted Mello dead. That, together with retrieving the Death Note, had been the whole point of the mission, and he had failed because his father chose the worst possible scenario to be humanitarian.

Light hated the feeling. He lost, even though he did nothing wrong. He hated not having control over his own battles. He hated how his father had chosen to die without revenge. He hated Mello for being alive out there somewhere.

“Even if it had been someone else in his place, I know your methods well enough by now to know you won’t be able to hide your true self forever.” L placed a finger on his chin. Even though the gesture wasn’t useful in practice since he simply trespassed it, Light still raised his head to look at him “Eventually, you’ll be wiping all that is left of the Task Force. And then it won’t matter anymore that your dad died today.”

Yes. L was right. Light… would have killed Soichiro eventually. It was only natural to take that course of action. And Light would bite his tongue and choke on it before letting himself hesitate on that matter. L’s eyes as they regarded him were incredibly sad, but not surprised.

“Do you find me disgusting, L?” He asked, a wry smile taking over his lips even though he was terrified of the answer he’d get. The ghost shook his head.

“No, Light.” An incorporeal hand brushed over his cheekbone. He closed his eyes and leaned into the tingle. “I’m just trying to decipher whether you’re a remorseless psychopath faking the pain you show, or if you’re actually acting remorseless to hide how much you’ve wounded yourself. Either way… I find you pitiful.”

And Light wanted to be angry. He tried his best to feel rage, indignation… even shame. But he couldn’t find it in himself. He was empty.

“Maybe… you’re both.”

“Tell me, Light. Did Misa approve of this plan?”

“Shut up.” He scowled, fixing his tie in front of the mirror.

Of course the answer was no. If Misa ever found out about this then she would gouge out both his and Takada’s guts. Giving up her Death Note and passing it to Mikami didn’t really make her any less lethal.

“I thought so. Especially by the way you whispered sweet nothings into the phone earlier.”

“Look, L.” Light turned around to face the late detective. L had become so good at expressing a physical shape that, if it weren’t for the blur at the edges when he moved, Light could’ve believed he was actually standing there in flesh and bone. “Whatever I choose to do with my love life is not your business, especially if it has something to do with my plans as Kira.”

L narrowed his eyes. Whether or not he was judging Light was hard to say.

“You have no moral structure whatsoever, do you?”

“As previously established, you don’t have much of that either-”

“I know.” The ghost cut him, raising a hand. “And I admit I wouldn’t hesitate to do the exact same thing you’re about to do to gain a benefit, as you already know.” At that, Light looked away. The room was too dark for his blush to be discernible. “Still, your shamelessness continues to amaze me.”

He chuckled ironically, staring the specter down as if it had just dared him to do it.

“Aizawa will come to install the cameras and mics now. Once he begins, I’ll have a perfect excuse to ignore you for the next few hours.” Light opened the box on top of the coffee table and began pulling out wires. He then halted, a meditative twinkle in his eyes, and addressed L. “Actually, could you disappear? I don’t want to see you through the corner of my eye when I-”

“You know that I’ll still be here even if you can’t see me, right?”

“Ah, yes. I forgot you’re a prime voyeur.”

“Trust me; this is about the last place in the world I’d like to be in.” The detective retorted, and for some reason his voice had an irritated edge to it.

“I guess we both have to compromise, then. As long as you stay invisible and keep yourself from talking inside my head until I’m done here, I’ll make sure not to kick your ass in Hell.” Light satirically extended a hand to him. “Deal?”

L simply stared him back, scorn invading his whole expression, before disappearing. Light could feel he was mad –uncharacteristically so. Yes, Light had seen him in a foul mood many times, while they lived chained to each other and they both had to listen to Matsuda speak.

But whatever got him so on edge about tonight, Light had no idea.

In fact, L’s mood grew worse and worse as the night progressed. He didn’t notice it at first; It became a constant buzz in the back of his head after Light looked Takada in the eyes and said ‘I missed you’, so he managed to ignore it quite well. However, by the time all mics and cameras were disconnected, he realized L was on the verge of bursting.

Lately, L’s thoughts had grown more tangible, together with his physical shape. So much so they sometimes became suffocating. When L would forfeit his form and settle back inside his head, Light often had a hard time differentiating their mixed feelings.

In life, L had always been incredibly skilled in the art of preserving a cool semblance. Even when he had been visibly annoyed or angry, the way he carried himself always sold the idea that the matter in hand was no more than just a mild inconvenience for him.

“Listen, Kiyomi. I am the real Kira.”

Light would’ve never expected to come face to face with that bubbling rage.

Takada gasped in surprise.

“That’s right. I’m Kira.” He repeated, mostly to confirm she had heard him right, but also to assure himself against L’s violent, thundering emotions. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.” Takada didn’t respond immediately, so Light took the chance to raise the phone to his ear and wrap up the conversation with Mikami. “Listen. I won’t allow you to ask Kiyomi who I am; you don’t need to know my identity.”

“Yes. I’ll leave the rest to you, God.”

Bastard.

Light shook. It had been a while since he had last heard L’s voice inside his head. Didn’t he explicitly tell him not to do that?! He’d make sure to devote the rest of his life to researching a way to kill a ghost again. He hung up the phone and turned around to address Kiyomi, as he stifled down his irritation.

“Do you understand? I am Kira. The man who was on the phone, is one of my followers who I’ve shared my power with.”

Takada’s eyes lit up.

“I… I can’t believe it’s you!” She whispered in awe. “You are the only man I’ve ever really admired. To be honest… the only man I’ve ever felt a connection with.” L growled. “And now, to find out you’re Kira… it’s incredible.”

As planned, Light had Takada curled around his finger in no time. He would’ve been able to fully enjoy the sweet taste of victory if it weren’t for L’s sour invasion. Oh, but he wasn’t about to let that bloody ghost spoil his mood. Was he pissed off now? Then he was about to become completely infuriated.

Light stepped closer and willfully lowered his voice to a deep whisper as he cupped Takada’s cheek in his hand.

“Please… join me, Kiyomi. And you will be the goddess of the New World.”

“Light…” She immediately pulled him into an embrace he didn’t fail to return.

He smirked over her shoulder –he had her right where he wanted her… and she was about to have him right where she wanted him too.

When Light leaned down to kiss her, L’s wrath pulsed through him.

Two and a half hours later, Light finished doing his tie, put his coat on and exited the room. Takada had already left –it was best for both that they weren’t seen leaving the hotel together.

Everything was working out smoothly. He now had a connection to Mikami through her, which would make everything easier from now on. The annihilation of the whole Task Force, together with the SPK and Near were visible in the horizon. In a matter of days, there would be no one left in his way. He’d be the only, unquestioned God of his own New World.

Confident with his secured victory, Light pulled the phone out.

“Light! Are you okay?” Matsuda exclaimed. Of course they were worried, after losing all connection with him for over two hours.

“Yeah… Kiyomi was able to work things out with Kira. I decided that from now on, I’m gonna pretend to be dating her.” L, who had fallen unusually quiet for a while now, suddenly shifted uncomfortably inside of him. He smirked. “We might be able to find Kira that way.”

“Alright, if you say so…” Matsuda answered, and for the musicality in his voice it was clear to everyone that a) he had serious doubts Light was just pretending and b) he knew Light simply hadn’t spent the last two hours with Takada playing Monopoly.

Right after that, a smack could be heard. Matsuda whined out loud as Aizawa scolded him. Light rolled his eyes and hung up.

So you actually went and did it.

He stopped on his tracks, overwhelmed by how the voice reverberated inside him. He growled in annoyance.

“I told you not to do that!”

As an answer to his protest, L materialized in front of him. All the ire he had felt bubbling inside him left. It shook him to realize that L had turned back to his old –living– habits. The expression in his face was barely a washed-down version of the consuming wrath Light now knew inhabited him.

“Still manipulating women and using sex to get what you want, uh?”

“You say it like that’s the worst thing I’ve done.”

“Oh, no. Of course it isn’t.” L shook his head. When he narrowed his eyes, the gaze he bore was venomous. “When are you gonna kill her, then?”

Light gulped, glaring at him. He wanted to be surprised that L brought that up, but he couldn’t; he knew how vicious he could get. The ghost smiled back at him, even though the gesture held no warmth, sympathy or bliss whatsoever. It was a dry smile, filled to the brim with a wish to hurt.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Attachment and intimacy are alright as long as you can get something from it. As soon as the other person becomes a hindrance you dispose of them.” L spat. “So? How long until you murder Takada too?”

“I hate you, you know.” Light hissed. “I hate how you always talk like you know everything about everyone. I hate how hypocritical you are, going around making moral statements about other people when you were just as bad or even worse. And I hate how you are convinced that everything has to be about you!”

The ghost took a step back, and Light seized the opportunity to push further. They had already pulled each other down on the mud; they might as well fight.

“Maybe I just like sleeping with Takada. But… oh? Does that irritate you?” One look at the detective’s face told him he had hit the nail’s head. “Does it drive you crazy, that it’s her and not you?”

“This is nonsense. Stop talking before you humiliate yourself.” L growled, earning himself a barking laugh from the other.

“Come on. I felt it. I felt how your blood boiled when she embraced me. Admit it.” The ghost stood there, and said nothing. Suddenly intoxicated with rage and something close to desperation, Light walked up to him and reached out to grab his arm. He grabbed nothing. “Admit you’re jealous.”

“How…” for the first time ever, the specter’s voice came out so terrifyingly low it sent chills down his spine. “… am I supposed to be jealous, when we both know you’re just using her? We both know she’ll soon be dead meat. She isn’t getting anything I haven’t gotten already.”

Light shivered, unable to talk through the knot in his throat.

 “You can’t fool me, Light. I see everything, remember? Goddess of the New World… How many times have you used that trick on Misa this month?”

“Shut up.” The words were no more than a tremulous whisper. It was mortifying.

“Then how about this very week?” L pressed, and even though Light couldn’t feel a breath meet his face, he still stepped back, looking hurt. When he replied, his words were calm with bitterness.

“So now we’re pretending you’re not the same?”

It happened often during the lapse of time Light had to cope with L cuffed to his wrist and without his memories of the Death Note. He’d constantly be shaken awake by nightmares that didn’t seem his own. Sometimes the startling would be soft enough to simply wake him up, and he could just roll over and go back to sleep without disturbing L. And sometimes, like that time, he’d physically jump on bed and find himself drenched in cold sweat.

He sat up and looked to his left –by his side, L slept soundly, curled into a ball with his knees to his chest, the half of his face that wasn’t buried in the pillow giving off an expression of peace.

Light sighed deeply as he wiped sweat off his face and neck. He wouldn’t mind being able to lock himself up in the toilet, but handcuffs. He directed his energy into staying still and steadying his breath instead.

“Another nightmare?”

Light blinked. So L wasn’t even half as asleep as he pretended to. He looked at him from below, his face still half-buried in his pillow. It was way too adorable –Light looked away.

“Yes.” The detective sat up too, the sheets sliding down his torso.

“What was it about?”

“I… stood on top of a very tall building.” He narrated, his gaze lost somewhere in the shadows that inhabited the room. “Below, at ground level, people were screaming. I wanted to look down to see what was happening to them, but I was too afraid. Then, from behind… a tall massive shadow hovered over me. It’s silhouette wasn’t that of a human. The thing laughed; that wasn’t human either. I tried to look over my shoulder, and was pushed off the building. I fell. The screaming grew closer…. and I woke up.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence.

“Is that all?” L inquired quietly. A crease took shape between Light’s brows, and he fixed his stare on his lap.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not stupid enough to not be able to deduce what you think my dream represents. But, Ryuzaki…” He formed fists with his fingers to keep them from fidgeting, and raised his eyes to L’s. “I can’t be… I don’t remember ever doing any of that. And I know. I know people can do the unspeakable when pushed to the limit, but I’d never kill on my own free will.”

“Light…” L hesitated, and then crawled across the bed to reach out and grab one of the towels from a nearby hanger. When he crawled back, he pressed it to Light’s face. “There is a chance Kira somehow possessed you during that period. In that case, you wouldn’t have been in control of your own actions.”

His tone was soft, but it wasn’t enough to conceal his real thoughts. Light smiled sadly as L wiped the sweat off his neck.

“But you don’t think I was possessed.” He spoke the truth nobody wanted to acknowledge. L stopped drying him. “You’re certain I was the original Kira. Even now, you must be wondering whether I’ve been bluffing ever since I was inside that cell. You’re probably thinking all this is just part of an act; some greater scheme on my behalf.”

The detective didn’t respond immediately. They looked at each other for several seconds; when he did, his words were grave with the amount of seriousness the statement deserved.

“I am.”

Light nodded. He didn’t really blame L for thinking that. He, too, was slowly getting more and more obsessed with the idea that he might have been, indeed, Kira. Yes, the justice system was flawed. But if he had had Kira’s power, would he had actually used it like Kira did?

“I understand.” He replied. “You’re just doing your job. And I want to help however I want. I want to reach the bottom of this, and cleanse my name. It’s just…” Light sighed and scratched his head. Saying it was much more awkward than he had anticipated. “I really wish it could have been different.”

“What?”

“My relationship with you.”

His heart was beating like crazy, but he had already begun talking. The rest gurgled out and he couldn’t restrain it.

“I wish I could’ve stood on equal ground with you when I met you; with me being a detective, not the prime suspect for the greatest mass murder of the decade. I wish I could’ve gotten to know you, without all the games and the lies. We could’ve held conversations that didn’t feel like interrogations. You’re very smart, and determined.” His face was burning up now, but he kept on talking. “Even though that shouldn’t be good, considering you suspect me… I admire that a lot.”

Their eyes locked, and Light’s stomach turned.

“I admire you.”

For a long while, L didn’t move or react at all; instead of widening eyes or abrupt exclamations, that was how the mighty detective processed shock. It was pretty embarrassing for Light, though. The blush crept to his ears and neck, and he was about to roll over and pretend none of that ever happened, when L cleared his throat. A soft, pink shade took over his pointy cheekbones.

“You admire me.” He reiterated, as if not completely believing it. Light would’ve found it funny had he not been focused in his racing pulse. He nodded… and L gulped. The detective raised a hand and brushed a strand of brunet hair away from his eyes. “Do you only admire me?”

“I…”

“How else do you feel about me?” His finger curled around Light’s ear. His voice was soft, but deep. “Tell me.”

“Not all is good.” He admitted, too distracted by the touch to watch his words. “Sometimes I hate you. So much I want to punch you-”

“Yes, you have done that.” That made him laugh.

“Yeah… it’s because I hate it when you prod me for a confession I can’t give you. And when you say things like ‘it’s pointless to keep on trying’, when my name is in as much of a stake as your title, and when you’ve already done too much to me to just dismiss it like that. I hate being reminded that you only see me as a potential murderer; that you were lying when you said we were friends… And I hate being unable to accept your kindness without thinking you’re playing with me, because I-”

Crap. That was close. He barely managed to bite his tongue before he spurted something dangerous. But L, being L, simply wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. The detective scooted closer –their legs were touching, and they were breathing the same air. Light’s heart fluttered. L’s fingers on his cheek were cold compared to the flushed skin beneath.

“Because?” L whispered, and Light’s gaze fell on his lips, fascinated by their shape, the cadence with which they moved, their invisible, indescribable allure.

Don’t make me say it if you already know. That was what he would have liked to say, but he couldn’t speak. He barely had a moment to process what was happening and take a breath before L closed the distance between them and delicately sealed their lips together.

Light held his breath and sat, static, as his mind was filled with the subtle, tingling sensation of L’s mouth caressing his. That alone was enough to make his heart pound hard against his ribcage. It was a soft kiss; plush, barely more substantial than the brush of a finger. When the man pulled away –only one inch, just enough to end the contact–, their lips separated with a quiet pop.

Light’s whole body was tingling, and he had to forcefully stifle down the urge to tremble that was building steadily in the pit of his stomach. He breathed out, and in, and out; shallowly. He didn’t want to risk inhaling any more of L’s scent.

He should have backed off. Gone back to sleep and pretended that never happened. It would have been wiser. Instead, he remained still and did not oppose L’s movements when the detective cupped his nape and angled his face into another kiss.

It was a deeper one this time, given how their mouths were briefly open. Moisture quickly built up over his upper lip as he felt L’s lower lip seductively pressing against his teeth. Light closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Swiftly, without letting the chance slip by, the man expertly locked their jaws together and entered Light’s warm mouth with his tongue.

A soft gasp that escaped him and coated L’s lips, and then transformed into a barely audible whine. It was inevitable. He couldn’t fight the trembling anymore. He felt feverish all over. Touch-starved and about to burst. His tongue tingled when L’s caressed it, and it filled him with desire and a deep-rooted desperation. He changed his angle to reciprocate the man’s movements, their lips now moving in unison as they sank deeper into each other.

Nobody had ever… not like this. Misa’s kisses weren’t necessarily bad, but they were always messy and indelicate-

L’s free hand began travelling up his thigh, and the spasm that triggered on the muscles of his leg was so powerful Light jolted backwards, and the trance was broken. Out of breath, he searched the detective’s face, and looked away when he realized he could only focus on the blush in his cheeks, the intensity of his gaze and the moist spot on his lower lip.

“Ryuzaki-”

“What’s wrong, Light?”

He bit his lip. L’s voice was still deep, but it was gradually acquiring a sharp edge. Now more than ever, he knew he shouldn’t have allowed that to happen. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“What about Misa? Even if she never finds out…”

He shyly searched the man’s face again. L held still for a moment, as he considered his words. Slowly, he seemed to assimilate them. He nodded, and cupped Light’s face again.

“Then… you can hold me accountable for it.” L whispered, and dived back in. That time their mouths locked together even more naturally, and although Light’s whole body was brimming with the urge to give in to the kiss, he still couldn’t brush off the feeling that it was wrong.

Disrespecting Misa, playing with her feelings for him… he wasn’t like that. And the fact that he had to instruct himself to feel guilty about it only brought him self-disgust. He turned his face to the side, and L’s lips slid away from his. The detective didn’t waste over a mere second to understand that this –whatever it was– would not drag any longer.

“Could it be that you were pretending to be interested in me?” He inquired.

Light flinched. His words stung more than he could’ve predicted.

“Do you think I’d do that? You know what, don’t answer. Either way, this… it’s not fair on Misa. I told you I would never use a woman’s feelings to my advantage, so don’t make me betray myself-”

“You don’t love her.” Light gulped. “You don’t even know why you are with her, do you.” L’s gaze grew harder as he went from appreciating Light to analyzing him; a shift Light himself was all too familiar with. “You forgot… together with everything else-”

“That’s enough.” He cut him, his voice coming out firmer than he had expected, and brushed L’s hands off his face. “I’m not about to believe I am a murderer. And Misa isn’t either. I’m not what you think I am, Ryuzaki.”

That being said, Light rolled over and pulled the covers over himself, signaling the end of the conversation. What they just did… it was better off forgotten. As things were now, stubbornly trying to follow that path would only bring pain, regardless of Light turning out to be Kira or not, and regardless of his feelings for Misa and the man. Which didn’t necessarily mean that Light wasn’t already aching over it, but he’d never admit to it.

After a good five minutes of complete stillness, L finally tucked himself in bed, he too giving his back to Light, and before drifting to sleep he murmured:

“If it’s worth something, I really hope you weren’t.”

Yes. The memory of that night’s events, no matter how long gone, was very fresh in their minds. Though, just like the nightmares had been back then, the Light from the present didn’t quite feel that it belonged to him.

When he lost the Death Note… it was crazy. He became a completely different person. It wasn’t just about not remembering being Kira; it reached the point where thinking of what Kira had done revolted him to the core. Then he began questioning himself, doubting his own innocence, and came to realize he could understand his actions to some extent. He used to think the world was rotten before Kira entered the picture, and he still did during the Yotsuba period.

However, the retrieval of the Death Note carved a crack in his moral system he didn’t remember ever sealing. He went back to his old ways, used Misa just like the dangerously volatile tool he had always seen her as. He used everyone, including Rem, a God. Thinking back, it made sense L was suspicious of his most tender side; the Light he was now would have definitely tried to seduce L if he had seen some utility in it.

Kira would have never fallen for the detective.

Even so… what he had felt back then had been real. He did fall for him. And he was given a chance to shatter that burden when he got his memories back –his priority went back to being himself, and L was simply an obstacle–, but this was the first time he let himself think about what could have been, and he found out his feelings weren’t shattered at all.

It still ached.

“Didn’t you do that just to test me?” Light said, accusingly. “You thought I was acting it out, didn’t you. You had to see for yourself how far I’d take it.”

L didn’t kiss him because he felt something for him; he did it to see if he would recoil. In fact, the way he rejected the man in the end was probably interpreted as a positive result.

The ghost didn’t need to answer –Light could see the admission in his face.

“I pretty much confessed to you.” He looked away. That was in the past now. It should have been. L was dead. Then why did he still feel so bitter about it? “And you didn’t even care. You were too busy studying me like a bloody scientist.”

“Can you blame me?” He couldn’t. “Besides, that is not entirely true.”

Confused and untrusting, Light locked eyes with the ghost. L sighed.

“I do admit I didn’t believe it at first –it was too convenient. But I never gave you any hints I was romantically interested in you, and I couldn’t have imagined you were. Therefore, I didn’t understand why you resorted to that method if you just wanted to manipulate me. I began to wonder if it had been for real; but before I could question you further on the subject it was too late. We captured Higuchi, and it didn’t take me long to notice that you… changed.”

Light’s stare landed on his feet. He believed L; he was dead and didn’t need to lie. What if the detective had said something before they cornered Higuchi? It was pointless to dwell on it, since Light was certain he would have killed him in the end. The world needed L to die so Kira could reign. In retrospect, it was a good thing he didn’t, since he allowed Light to move forward with his heart unscathed.

Or so he thought, before all the pain he wasn’t even aware existed inside him through the years came back to bite at him. He hated it. Despising L was easier than this.

“Why are you telling me this?” He bit back, arms crossed as he returned L’s gaze, his ache now obvious in his features. “If I had broken into tears back then and told you I still felt the same way for you, would you have let me go? Would you have risked trusting me? No, you wouldn’t have given me a chance-”

“I did give you a chance. That’s how I know Takada is as good as dead now.”

Light’s eyes widened. He couldn’t mean…

“That time…”

It had been the night after Higuchi’s capture. He had his memories back, and L had, according to the Task Force’s wishes, begrudgingly agreed to dispose of the handcuffs that had bound them together for months. Light was allowed to spend the night in his own room, alone, for the first time in what seemed ages. However, he couldn’t sleep.

It must have been because the excitement at seeing his plan work out perfectly had been too great. Or maybe he had grown used to having someone else lie next to him. His bed seemed huge to the eye and cold to the touch, even though it was the same size as the previous one and both rooms’ thermostats shared the same settings.

He was pacing around aimlessly when he heard a knock on the door. It was L. But Light didn’t get to talk to him, for the man immediately raised his dark eyes to Light’s and determinedly jumped him, pulling him into a ravenous kiss. And before nobody could get in the way, the door was slammed shut and they were in bed.

This could work for my advantage, Light had thought as he gave in without a care for the world. He had wanted it for so long, anyway. In the end, it had been a good way to release pent-up frustrations and unnecessary feelings, and no sweet words or pathetic confessions were exchanged.

“I woke up, alone.” He recalled. “You had gone out to the roof, even though it was pouring. That’s where I found you.”

Right now, Ghost L looked just as sad and decidedly hopeless as he had looked back then. Light could even imagine the rain dripping down his face and dampening him whole in between one blink and the next. Later, at the staircase, L had smiled sadly and said ‘It will be lonely, won’t it? You and I will be parting ways soon’.

He couldn’t have predicted that wouldn’t really ever happen. Still…

“Back then… you already knew you’d die, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” L nodded solemnly.

“But why? I… I gave you my consent. We-”

“Exactly. I knew you disposed of people as soon as you stopped finding them a use. By letting me have you the night before, you were clearly trying to manipulate me. If you had been the same Light I’d been handcuffed to for months –if you had felt strongly enough not to kill me– you would have rejected me. But you didn’t resist or hesitate. Not even when I-”

“Enough.” He breathed. He felt like he was choking. So that was why L had called him a liar back at the roof. The detective had seen right through him… the whole time. But… he was missing a vital piece. A thunder resonated in the distance.

“I invited you to use me. And you did.” L concluded, a small smile forming in his lips without reaching his eyes. The first few droplets began falling.

He had to say it. If he didn’t say it now, he never would.

“Yes, I admit it.” Light lowered his head. The rain grew stronger above him. “I wanted to manipulate you, just as much as you wanted to call me out for it.” Then he raised his chin to look straight into the ghost’s eyes, water rolling down his face as he spoke up. His voice came out broken. “But that’s not all it was, and you know it.”

L’s specter froze, his eyes slowly gaining focus. Light, on the other side, let out a long exhalation. The aching deep in the pit of his stomach didn’t really yield, but shifted. A weight had been lifted; one he couldn’t claim back even if he wanted to.

“Are you saying you truly wanted me?” L breathed out, as if worried that raising his voice would disturb the atmosphere. However, he looked more aghast than hopeful.

“No.” He shook his head, his expression softer. “I’m saying we wanted each other.”

There was silence, and rain. L stood there, petrified as the falling drops trespassed him without disturbing his clothing or his black messy hair. And with every second that he spent with his wide, desperate eyes glued on him, Light’s heart beat faster. Harder.

He had to wait until the man was already dead, but he finally did it.

He finally confessed.

“Won’t you… say something?” He whispered.

L opened his mouth… then closed it. Then opened it again.

“I…” The ghost looked away, and Light realized then how utterly devastated he was. His voice quavered. “I can’t.”

And then he disappeared.

…

Wait.

Why… why couldn’t Light feel him… he was always able to feel him when he vanished, then why?

No.

No… No.

“L…” Nobody answered. “L!!!!!” It was useless.

L wasn’t there. All there was, was silence and rain.

Events continued to develop without further disturbance. He met up with Takada several times –with the Task Force listening, so he didn’t try anything–, and passed his instructions to Mikami. The SPK found out about Mikami and tried to tamper with his Note, so a fake Note was crafted. Everything was going according to plan.

Even Mello’s decision to kidnap Takada, though unexpected, worked out perfectly for him, as he managed to dispatch both of them easily. He had been waiting to see Mello dead since the explosion. As for Takada, he was relieved to take that weight off his back. And he would have actually been able to be a hundred percent remorseless about it had he not remembered his conversation with a certain deceased someone.

As for L… he didn’t return. No matter what Light did or how awful he became, L didn’t manifest, talk inside his head, or give any other signal whatsoever of still existing. And Light had expected it to hurt… maybe he wanted to feel hurt. But he was too empty to feel nothing other than rage, and greed. All that occupied his mind was Near, and their encounter at the warehouse. He was too busy with conquering the world to feel lonely.

Still, some nights he’d surprise himself yelling at the top of his lungs at a soul that no longer tailed him. He’d yell stuff like ‘Aren’t you going to show yourself?!’. There never was an answer.

Then the day came. Mikami did his job perfectly, so much so Light physically struggled to avoid bursting into laughter ahead of time. And right when he was feeling giddy with victory, desperate to rub his success in Near’s juvenile face as the boy’s heart failed… everything was gone. It slipped from between his fingers as easily as the seconds ticked away in his watch.

He didn’t go down without a fight. First, he desperately attempted to accuse the SPK of framing him, and when that didn’t work, he used the truth. The mask he had carefully crafted crumpled. In a feverish, delusional moment of revelation that lacked little to reach hysteria, he gave the greatest speech of his whole life; he shared with them the legacy he had tried to leave behind, hoping they would understand. Even so, Near still called him a crazy serial killer, nothing more, and nothing less.

He had his watch with a piece of the Note inside, but he could have never calculated that Matsuda would shoot him; repeatedly. When he fell to a puddle on the floor and Matsuda stood over him, tears streaking down his betrayed face as he glared and aimed his gun at his head… Light realized how badly he had screwed up.

He could have died. That man could have killed him in a mere instant. Even through the multiple layers of tortuous pain his fresh bullet wounds were inflicting on him, he only had the mental capacity to process that gut-deep, swiping fear.

He called for Mikami… but the man was of no use. So he simply lay there in his puddle as it changed its color from transparent to red. He gasped for air, and cried out.

“Where are you, Misa?!” He had used her, and left her at home, deprived of her memories. “Where’s Takada?!” He had killed her. His actions finally settled fully on him, and tears swelled at the corners of his eyes.

Someone… w-what do I do n-now…

…

L…

Mikami stabbed himself, and Light wasn’t about to grow out of old habits. He used his follower one last time, to crawl to his feet and escape while everybody else focused on the bloodshed.

He ran. As fast as he could, with his body bent over in pain and his injured arm hanging like dead weight by his side. Every step was excruciating to take, and every gasping breath was more difficult to inhale than the one that preceded it, but he didn’t stop. He knew his legs would give in soon. The blood loss was taking an exponential toll on his body. He kept on running, even though it was futile.

Every decision he had made up to that point, only now he could see how they had stuck to him like parasites. He had been rotting away ever since he picked the Note. Ryuk… had been right. In Kira’s crimeless world… the only rotten apple left was him.

However, if he had been given the chance to go back to being that seventeen-year-old, naïve boy he once was, he wouldn’t have taken it.

His running slowed down to walking; he had lost Aizawa and the rest long ago. By the time he reached the abandoned building, he could hardly stay on his feet. He sprawled himself on the stairs… and then he felt it.

It coated over him. It felt like coming back home after what seemed forever.

Hello, Light.

Tears overflowed his eyes. He could have never imagined that his voice would bring him such intense joy.

“L…” he whimpered. “Y-You’re back-”

The specter materialized before him… weird. He looked more corporeal than he ever had before. Or was it just that Light had forgotten how he had looked after so long? There was some sort of ethereal blue aura around him, though, which hadn’t been there before. And he was smiling… fondly.

“You don’t look too well.”

Light laughed, which made him cough and wince in pain.

“Missed you too?” He retorted sarcastically, and it lacked most of its usual bite. Everything, even just raising his head to look L in the eyes, felt awful, but he did it all the same. “I thought… you were gone for good.”

“And give you the pleasure?” The detective grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Never.”

“Good.” He replied, relaxing and smiling at last.

It was at that moment that his heart hammered through his chest… once. Burning pain irradiated in all directions from there. He felt the tingle taking over every inch of his body as his vision blurred and his focus faded.

“W-What…” The pain, suddenly, stopped. All at once. He jerked to his feet, utterly confused, only to realize he didn’t feel the pressure of a floor beneath his feet anymore. L was staring at him wide-eyed. Whatever he saw had him flabbergasted. Light looked over his shoulder… at his own limp body, lying on the stairs and with no soul in its eyes. And he understood. “Ryuk…”

He shook at the incorporeal sound of his own voice.

“That makes two of us, I guess.” L mused, walking over to face him. “Welcome to the realm of the dead, Light.”

“I’m…” He stood still, having a hard time processing it. Then, slowly… a sparkling sensation in his stomach bubbled up, and he giggled. The smile he gave to L was radiant, as he reached out to him.

And as if things couldn’t get any more amazing, when his inexistent fingers landed on the man’s chest… there was resistance to oppose them. Solid, and warm.

“L!” He beamed, patting the other repeatedly. “I can touch you… I’m touching you!”

“Yes. Yes you are.” L confirmed, laughing too. He was bedazzled. “I feel you…”

The moment after, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing. It shouldn’t have felt this real, but it did. Light could even perceive a hint of L’s scent when he dug his face into raven hair.

“You’re here…” He squeezed harder. “What happened? Why did you disappear? Where did you go?”

“I was always here. I was just in such conflict with myself I couldn’t reach out to you.” The man murmured against his shoulder. “I get it now… this was my mission all along. I was supposed to be here, to welcome you when you passed away. Everything makes sense now…”

Light pulled away. He needed to look L in the eyes.

“So, a moment ago…” He hesitated for a moment that didn’t last too long. “When you spoke to me. Was I able to hear you because I was agonizing, or-”

“I don’t think that’s the reason.” L shook his head, and smiled. “I finally found an answer to my conflict. To my feelings for you.”

Light blinked, finally understanding. He didn’t think he’d be able to feel butterflies in his stomach given how he no longer had internal organs, but he did.

“What I said that time…”

“You wrecked me.” L joked, and cupped Light’s face in his hands. When their eyes locked, his were full of devotion. “But you were right. I shouldn’t have, you were a mass murderer not to mention my nemesis, but I did want you. More than you can imagine.”

Light reached up, to fondly caress L’s knuckles.

“L, I loved you.” He swallowed, and leaned into the warm touch. “I… still do. Even after everything.”

“Me too.” The man whispered back, and for the first time, Light heard him go weak.“Even after everything.”

He grabbed him by the collar and locked their lips together. He melted into the kiss, trembling feverishly. He had missed this sensation so much he could barely stand it. The plush, wet and enticing brush of their lips soon grew hungrier, starving, even though they were both smiling into it. And it felt, both literally and metaphorically, more real than any other touch they had ever shared, dead or alive.

Then, they slowly began crumbling away. The kiss was broken as they both stared down. It began at their feet –they were dissolving into iridescent specs of dust that caught the light, and then into nothing. Gradually, it crawled up their shins, reaching their knees, and thighs.

But it wasn’t painful, or scary. Neither of them was scared. It was very peaceful. But just in case he didn’t get another chance, Light pressed every part of him that remained to L’s shape.

“L…” He breathed against the man’s mouth. “Are… are you even real? Or have you just been a product of my imagination all this time?”

L looked puzzled for a moment, but then he simply smiled.

“Does it even matter at this point?”

Light looked him in the eyes, as their torsos began to fade, and felt it deep within himself. He took L’s face in his hands, even though the tips of his fingers were disappearing too.

“No.” He concluded, and leaned in for one last loving kiss which L reciprocated.

And after that, nothing.