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espinosaurusrexex · 10 months ago

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Acid Fog

Wolds Collide Collection

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader apocalypse au

summary: You take the chance to bond with a new friend when the acid fog rolls in, inevitably trapping you with Bucky for several hours. Bucky has to learn the hard way, that he won't get rid of you that easily.

a/n: I'm not dead. I just have so much to do. But you best believe, once I finally finished my papers, I will work on all the stories that are already outlined in my drafts 💚 please bear with me until then...

not prooread - will do so soon

word count: 2.6k

warnings: grumpy/sunshine, mentions of death, dystopia, deadly fog, reader is lonely, Bucky is lonely - they're gonna be lonely together, worried CatDad!Bucky, strangers to friends (for now)

collection playlist | main masterlist | collection masterlist

May 13th 2039

Hey, Book.

I’ve decided that Bucky needs a friend, so I’m going to visit him today.

Finding the handsome not-so-anymore stranger was a challenge. But you loved challenges. It mixed up the day, made things less boring, and was a nice way to spend your time.

You had planned things perfectly. You had enough time until the next acid fog would roll through, grabbed one of the canned soups that were rarely found anymore - but you’d gladly sacrifice them for a new friend, and you had a backpack ready with some essentials in case you wouldn’t make it home in time.

You first headed in the direction Bucky took off to the other day after falling into your trap. There wasn’t much to “detour around” where you lived and chances of him being fairly close - considering being too far from shelter was a certain death sentence - gave you confidence with that approach.

You walked for about two hours until the tree line faded into blotchy scatters of green. There was a house - or rather ruins of one - sitting by the edge of the forest. You frowned. Bucky wasn’t stupid. At least he didn’t seem that way. He would never hide above ground. Every decent survivor that had lived up to this point knew ‘low was the go’. The chances of being killed were cut to 20% when you lived secluded and underground - the beach was good too apparently, but you were too far to see for yourself.

Your eyes swayed to the ground. You had a feeling Bucky was here, you just needed to find out where exactly. So you approached the ruins and stepped through what was left of the doorway. Dust and dirt covered the surfaces, ripped cushioned sofas, and scratched hardwood floors. There wasn’t much left to use here. The place was looted and brittle with holes in the ceilings and missing steps. You wondered how you ever recognized it as a house in the first place - because, really, this was anything but. The bones barely held up the remains and made it seem like an oversized version of a carport.

It wasn’t long until you had scouted the place and reached the other end of it. Now you were standing on the porch and looking out onto a wild yard that reached into the forest again. You walked down and towards it, searching the area and still feeling as though Bucky was close. He couldn’t have lived any further - it would have been crazy.

The leaves rustled beneath your feet as you skipped vines and roots peaking from beneath. Your eyes swept the area until they landed on an odd-looking lot of ground. As if the branches were forcefully pulled to cover up a buried something, the vines stretched over a green-grayish ledge.

Immediately you headed for it. This has got to be it, you thought until you reached an opening into the ground that revealed a heavy-looking bunker door.

Heck yeah. You knew he wasn’t that stupid - even though he did fall into your trap...

As soon as you opened it and entered, it felt as though you had stepped several decades back. The whole interior seemed to be dipped in sepia. Old furniture crammed into odd places and neatly kept surfaces without dust made it look like an old photograph.

You walked further, let your hand wander over the spines of the books aligned atop a lonely shelf on the wall. They were Cyril, you guessed, as you watched the golden letters shine when you passed them. Beneath the books and next to a booger green armchair was a record player, aligned with old records of people with excessively gelled hairstyles and tailored suits - ancient.

But Bucky was nowhere to be found.

A heavy sigh escaped you as your backpack landed on the ground and you went about scouting the bunker some more. The space wasn’t too big, and Bucky seemed to have accumulated a bunch of treasures there for some time now, so you had plenty of things to discover. Eventually, though, you just fell back into the ugly armchair and tried to start up the record player.

Bucky’s music wasn’t particularly your go-to, but you wouldn’t complain in a world where music was as rare as a working outlet. After a while, you could even understand why Bucky resided here. It was kind of comforting - homey. Something not many people could call their own in this world.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You shot up, knocking over a couple books and earning a dark glare from the man in the doorway - Bucky.

You hadn’t even heard him come in. “I... I just wanted to see you,” you explained with an excited smile on your face. "I brought soup!" Your hands pointed towards your backpack.

“You- you broke in!” His boots stomped over to you just as you turned to pick up the pile of paperbacks.

“Well, it’s not so much breaking in when we’re friends.”

“We’re not friends.” Bucky reached forward and snatched the items from your grasp. He was slightly sweaty, grime covering his forehead, and settled in the harsh frown lines you could only see because he was so close.

“Yes, we are! You fall into my trap, you are my friend.” You ticked off the points with your fingers just as Bucky threw his hands in the air.

“You can’t just make up these ridiculous rules.”

“Or can I?”

“No. We can’t be friends. I don’t even know your name.”

He did have a point there. For a moment you watched as he neatly stacked the Russian books back in their place and then told him your name.

“What?” He grumbled.

And you just reiterated the words that you hadn’t said in forever.

He turned back to you with a poker face. “I don’t like it,” Bucky said so monotonely, it almost seemed like he wanted to tease you.

“Excuse me?” You weren’t offended, it was hard to make friends nowadays - there was nothing unusual about a person being hesitant at first.

“It doesn’t fit you. You should be called trouble.“ He still had that dead look on his face and you were starting to think he just didn't know anything else. You wouldn't blame him - seriously.

“See! We are friends you know me!” You chuckled but Bucky just shook his head.

“I don’t know you,” he whispered with slumped shoulders as he lowered his bag close to yours. Then he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shoulder-long hair.

Man, he was kind of cute. But that was probably just the loneliness talking, so you shook out of it.

You opened your arms and sunk back into the chair. “Well lucky for you we have a bunch of time to get to know each other now.”

And Bucky’s eyes widened. “What why?”

“The acid fog is rolling in early this evening.” You looked past him and out the entrance, where a deep gray sky covered most of the view. “I thought you knew... and that’s why you’re so, well, tense.”

“What, no I was just outside it’s-” The brunette turned and you could see his shoulders stiffen when he realized you were right. “Shit.” It was a low mumble that was followed by another nervous swipe through his hair.

For a man who seemed to be cool, calm, and collected so far, his feet were doing an awful lot of pacing right now.

“Are you okay?” You were careful to ask. Something was wrong and you didn’t want to risk him exploding. You didn’t know how he would react and a small sadness washed over your chest when you realized that maybe you weren’t as good of friends as you wanted to be.

“Shut up.” Yup, definitely not the talking type then.

“Can I help you or is ther-“ You were interrupted by a soft meow sounding over the rumbling of the clouds.

“Fuck, finally.” Bucky exhaled and knelt down, just to reveal a white fluffy cat tangling in his touch.

“Uh...There's a cat in your bunker,” you pointed out and Bucky picked his stiffness back up ever so slightly.

“Her name is Alpine. Touch her and you’re dead.”

So this was what had this big, broody man’s panties in a twist. He was worried for his pet. That was super adorable, you had to admit. And it charmed you just that much more when you saw the way he cuddled her into his chest before setting her back on the ground.

“I- Oh.”

As soon as he’d said it, Alpine had sauntered her way to you and rubbed her fluffy white face on your shin. You were just frozen in place - unsure what to do. You wanted to pet her so badly, but who knew what Bucky would do if you so much as moved now.

“The cat has chosen. Don’t blame me.” You threw your hands in the air when Alpine started to purr and jumped only our lab. Now that she was so close to your face, you noticed that one of her eyes was missing, a darker patch of fur replacing the spot where it should have been, but it just made her that much more charming.

Bucky glared at you for a good second and then moved to close the bunker in order to keep the deadly air out. And you took the opportunity to finally pet his cat.

It had only been 20 minutes and Bucky was already regretting his decision not to send you out into the fog.

First, you had broken into his home. Then you had declared you as friends, to which - for the record - he never agreed to. And then you had stolen Alpine’s attention. That was just the cherry on top of your pile of audacity.

And though he had been told that he wasn’t a pleasant contemporary, he wouldn’t send people straight to their deaths like that. He was a grump, but he wasn’t cruel. So he settled on quietly sitting in a corner and hoping that you’d eventually grow tired of snooping through his belongings.

But he still held a grudge. Because he hadn’t planned to spend so much time with anyone, really - except for Alpine, of course - and now he was stuck with you for at least three hours. You had basically forced yourself into his life with that agitating sunshine demeanor of yours and the annoying optimism in every single thing you did.

You had to be broken, somehow. Nobody could be this happy at the end of the world. Because that’s what this was. The end. The time you had to wait out until you escaped the hell this world had become just to spend an eternity in the actual one.

Yeah, Bucky believed in heaven and hell. Somebody had to be responsible for idiots like Hydra and he was sure there was an extra special lava pit reserved just for the god complex fogged imbeciles that were responsible for it all going to shit once and for all.

Bucky huffed at your occasional ‘woahs’ and ‘oohs’ and shrugged off his jacket while you went through more of his things. There was nothing he could do anyway. Tying you up and gagging you until it was over would be incredibly awkward for both of you. So, as long as you didn’t break anything or talk to him, he deemed you safe.

“Woahhh, that is so cool! Where’d you get that?” You suddenly said, and when he turned, Bucky saw you pointing at his metal arm.

He looked down, turned it in the yellow gleam of the bunker lamp, and then focused on your face again. People had seen a lot these days, though none of them ever asked him about it. They either stayed silent or avoided him altogether - the latter of which he preferred. He didn't like talking about it. It wasn’t anything he was proud of for that matter.

“Nonya,” he grumbled and sat back in the chair he chose to reside in for the rest of the day.

“What’s Nonya?” Your head cocked to the side and Bucky couldn’t help but crack a small smirk.

“Non ya business.”

And finally, you shut up. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and smiled complacently. However the silence didn’t last long.

“Okay that was a good one but really, where did you get that arm - it’s amazing.”

“It’s not amazing and I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Now do me a favor and shut up before I set you outside”

“You wouldn’t dare. After all, I was the one that helped you out of that trap.”

Buck had already established that he wouldn’t. But the thought seemed ever so intriguing right this second.

“That you built,” he deadpanned. “I’m done talking to you. Just be quiet for the next hour, so we both have a chance at surviving this thing.” Before I murder you or myself. That last part only echoed in his mind before he grabbed a book and hoped deeply that you’d comply.

You huffed and slumped in the chair next to him. Bucky only dared to glance at you once. Then he began reading, enjoying the silence you finally granted him.

You watched Bucky read his book. Fascinated by the shapes on the page that didn't look like letters to you, you leaned over to him. Bucky was skimming the pages swiftly, turning pages before you could even look at all the lines and then starting all over again.

When you leaned in a little too closely, he scooted back and hid the page from you with a glare. So, you stood up and sauntered over to the shelf again, tracing the printed covers with your finger.

“They’re all in Russian,” you pointed out after you had grazed the last spine. Most of the books were bound in brown, grey, or red.

“So?” He just shrugged, not even bothering to look at you.

“Do you know Russian?”

“The guy that lived here first was Russian.” He shut the book finally, tracing the cover with his own fingers. “So, I taught myself.”

“You know, I can get you some normal books. I can’t imagine there’s anything interesting in there.” You stared at the Russian flag on most of the books. They looked like government-issued prints. Nothing like a fun novel or romance book.

“I don’t mind them, really...” Bucky set the book down and stood next to you. Then he scratched his stubble with his flesh hand. “Though, they all have a communistic touch.”

“See!” You pointed at him. “What do you like to read? I’ve got it all. Romance, fantasy, sci-fi.”

“No sci-fi please.” Bucky rolled his eyes and you could only imagine why. You’d had enough of it in the real world, so the sci-fi book you had once acquired during one of your town walks hat sat in the corner of your little home untouched.

“So, you’re not opposed to romance?” Your eyebrows raised suggestively only for Bucky to glare at you again.

Bucky huffed and sat back down. “Forget it. I'll read my Russian books.”

You chuckled and threw your hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Fantasy it is.” And then you settled in next to him staring at the ceiling with a small smile and a giddy feeling in your chest.

“See..,” you whispered, “I knew we would get along eventually.”

**Bonus

“Buckstar… Starbucks… Buck-”

“What are you doing?”

“I think it's only fair that if you give me a nickname, I can have one for you, too. How does Bucky-Buck sound?”

“No”

“Buckaroo.”

“Do I need to throw you out? Cause I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I thought I already had.”

"Good point… get out.”

“I can’t, the Fogg’s about to come!”

“Well, then I suggest you hurry your ass up, so it can’t kill you before I do.”

„I know you might not try to be, but you are very funny.“

*huffs in frustration*

Hey, Book,

Bucky's not that lonely anymore.

more…

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @mcu21lover19 @almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @wintermischief @supersecretblogformytreasures @broadwaybabe18 @fridayiaminlove @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @justafangir1 @simpxinnie @bisexual-buckyfan @blackhawkfanatic @augustbucky @kandis-mom @harleycao @ashhsage @hhiggs

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sidswritingblog · 4 months ago

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twst (undisclosed) au

jade leech x gn!reader

a/n: i have specific inspo for this au but i don't wanna give away the plot if i continue with it. i literally haven't even scratched the surface of my idea and i lowkey hate this but i'm tired and had to put something out there 🫠 there's barely any jade in this beginning part so i'm sorry in advance

tags: gn!reader (pronouns unspecified), sfw, little bit of pining, mushrooms written by someone who doesn't know mushrooms, kinda boring, sorry

regardless of shitty quality, DO NOT FEED THIS TO AI or i will hunt you down and be very angry at you

1,456 words

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Climbing a mountain is not one of your regular chores as a farmer.

Life’s just been so boring lately—not that you’re complaining; “bored” is leagues better than famished and starving—but you’ve been thirsting for a little more enrichment than feeding livestock and mucking stables can offer. So naturally, when you went into town a few days ago to sell some of your produce, you scanned Sam’s shop for anything that could spice up your life.

Funny-looking dolls, uniquely flavoured snacks, eye-catching accessories… Sam always had such interesting items in stock, but you couldn’t imagine being amused with any of them for more than a couple days, a week at most. You hummed to yourself before clearing your throat.

“Hey, Sam?” you peeked around the stacked shelves and racks to look for him at the front of the shop. He popped out from beneath the front counter like some sort of life-sized jack-in-the-box.

“Find anything that piques your interest, Imp?” he asked back while glancing at you, simultaneously working on pricing some new trinkets that came in. (The grind never stops, even when he’s serving a customer.)

“Well…” You hated to admit your dissatisfaction so bluntly, but Sam’s a thick-skinned friend of yours; he can take it. “No, actually. Do you have anything new?”

And of course Sam had something new in stock—something perfect. You should’ve never doubted his service. So that day, you left town having sold all your produce, with a pocketful of bronze coins, a skip in your step, and a small pocketbook in hand that you traded for two dozen eggs.

A Guide to Identifying and Foraging Wild Edible Mushrooms: Pocket Edition.

So here you are, hiking up the mountain by your farm that you never once explored in all your years living here. To be fair, you never really had much of a reason to, until now. Now, you have a wealth of information on edible and medicinal wonders of nature in the palm of your hand. Now, you’re aware of the wondrous, not-meat-yet-meaty chunks of yumminess within your reach.

You gasp. Literally. Within. Your. Reach. After verifying with your prized pocketguide, you pluck the stubby white growth from the side of a fallen log. Pleurotus ostreatus. An oyster mushroom. You have yourself an oyster mushroom, and now the world is your oyster.

In your mushroom-finding excitement, you fail to notice the heterochromatic eyes witnessing your discovery from behind a tree.

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Over the next week, you balance out the mundaneness of farm life with the joy of mushroom foraging. So far, you’ve harvested resinous polypore—Ischnoderma resinosum—and lion’s mane—Hericium erinaceus—on top of the oyster mushrooms you initially found. You’re thrilled!

But still, despite your newfound source of joy, you can’t help but wish you didn’t have to work so much on the farm. As you savour a bite of your breakfast omelette made with leftover lion’s mane mushrooms, you dare think to yourself: Sevens, you wished you could have a helping hand. Then you would only have to work half as much, and you’d have twice as much time to go look for mushrooms.

You turn your gaze beyond your open dutch door to the rich mountain nearby.

And then a demon pops out of fucking nowhere to block the view.

“AHHHH!!!” you shriek, before clapping a hand over your mouth. Oh, you realise. It’s not a demon. Just some freakishly tall guy trespassing on your farm. Dressed in a tattered linen tunic and breeches, his ratty clothing doesn’t seem to suit him. With hair the vivid colour of the clear sea, striking heterochromatic eyes, and a razor-sharp jawline, you can’t fathom what he’s doing here. Nor can you imagine why he’s dressed like he’d been washed up ashore. The only accessory that does suit his beauty is the teal earring dangling from his left ear.

“Hello,” the beautiful demon/trespasser man greets politely.

“Hi,” you reply awkwardly. “Can I help you?”

“Well, yes,” he replies, smiling without teeth as he brings his hand to his chest. “I would like to help you on your farm.”

You hum to hide your surprise. Not because his request is startling, though it is very bold, especially for only just having met each other. You’re instead shocked by how quickly your wish seemed to be granted. Maybe he is a demon. But you’ll nevertheless entertain his haphazard job application.

“Hmm. What’s your name?” you ask.

“Ah, right. My name is Jade,” the demon answers with his smooth-ass voice. “My apologies for neglecting to introduce myself sooner.”

You give him your name in return. Jade smiles again. It’s almost unsettling.

“I’ll warn you that it’s a lot of work, Jade. And I can’t give you much more than food and lodging in return. You still interested?”

“Yes.”

You rack your brain for any more upfront reasons that would dissuade Jade from working for you.

“And in terms of food…” you start, “You’re alright eating mushrooms?”

Jade stares at you, eyes wide. Is he blushing?

“You’d feed me your mushrooms?” he whispers.

Ah, so he’s not a fan. Disappointing. Still, you answer.

“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” you reply. “Not by themselves, of cour—“

“When may I start?” Jade cuts you off.

“Wha?”

“Working here, for you. When may I start?”

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Succinctly put, Jade isn’t a demon. In fact, you’d go as far to say that Jade is an angel. A gentlemanly, mushroom-loving angel. Two months in, he does more than his fair share of work on the farm and eats whatever you cook. Often, despite already having laboured in the burning hot sun, doing the heavy lifting that he insisted you shouldn’t do, Jade helps you in the kitchen.

Like he is now. Actually, this time, he’s doing most of the cooking as you wash the dishes and cooking utensils.

A few weeks ago, Jade practically begged you to bring him on one of your hikes. If it was anybody else who asked, you wouldn’t have agreed. But you had to admit: you’re fond of Jade.

From your countless conversations, you learned that Jade lost both his parents to vicious pirates when they were at sea, leaving behind Jade and his brother, Floyd. Jade also told you that he has a funny friend named Azul. The way Jade reminisces about Floyd and Azul is endearing (and also makes the latter seem really pathetic, to be honest), and you can tell he really loves them since he’d left his home to make a better life for the three.

Despite his rough past, he’s perfect. Hardworking, strong, smart, observant, dependable, beautiful, sweet… You could list hundreds if not thousands of things you love about him. The hard part is keeping your praises to yourself, keeping them from spewing out your mouth every time you’re in his presence.

Jade always does as you wish when you ask. But your one deepest wish is selfish, something you can’t ask of him.

You wish he’d never leave your side.

“Dinner’s ready,” Jade gently announces to you, disrupting your internal pining monologue. You can see his closed-eye smile directed at you from the corner of your eye, and you feel your heartbeat quicken.

You grab two bowls from the cupboard and pass them to Jade’s waiting hand. His fingers brush yours in the process, and you have to stop yourself from flinching away. Don’t be suspicious! Act normal! Stop being a pathetic sap!

“Oya, you’re quite red.” Ugh, dammit, blush! “Are you feeling unwell?”

Jade reaches his right hand toward your forehead, which you quickly bat away.

“Am I? I feel fine,” you assure, hoping you sound natural enough. You feel your face warm even more.

“Are you sure?” Jade scrutinizes your flushed face, mere inches between you. “You really are quite red.”

Now, as sweet as he is, Jade loves teasing. Even though he doesn’t like you back—not that he knows of your crush on him—he still plays with you. And your poor heart by association.

You turn away from Jade like a petty child refusing to eat their vegetables. The bastard follows your face with his own as you turn.

“Fufufu,” he chuckles, “you really are quite adorable, aren’t you?”

Your eyes bulge in surprise before you instinctively shield your probably-tomato-red face with your hand.

“Oh,” Jade sighs with a smile, retreating to his personal bubble of space. “How I wish to never leave your side.”

Those words promptly open the floodgates to your endless praises for Jade. Ultimately, in tears, you end up confessing your undying love. In response, Jade smiles at you, wider than you’ve ever seen, eyes half-lidded. He’s so beautiful.

So much for keeping your feelings under wraps.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #twst #twst x reader #jade leech #jade x reader

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bruciemilf · 2 years ago

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A Ratatouille type AU where Bruce takes his tentative first steps into detectivism.

Gotham's so massively drowned out in crime that he's barely making a scratch surface level.

But you know who does know Gotham? Knows every nook and cranny among the narrows? Knows no fear? Stole Batman's tires when no one had the guts to?

Jason fricking Todd.

" Wait, -- no no, that's not when Penguin makes his deliveries anymore. That's when the pigs buy from him and take everything for free. You're gonna wanna bust him tomorrow, genius,"

"Jason," Bruce weights his trust carefully. " If I let you go... Are we in this together?"

Jason snorts, imaginary spit in his hand, shakes Bruce for it. And then runs. Leaving Bruce in a golden street light. Leaves him staring with his shoulders down.

"Oh, brother."

It's a pretty good deal; Jason gives him tips, he gets a comfy, puffy head, fresh food, and surprisingly?

Lots of hugs. Sunshine kisses on his nose and cheek and forehead.

" And how," Alfred rubs his temples around Bruce so much Jason thinks it's a reflex at this point, " Will you explain to the public why Batman carries around a sidekick with a curfew?"

" An unjust curfew."

" Jason will work at the Batcomputer."

" On my batchair, sipping on some bat-hot chocholate, from my bat mug. I mean, -- it's Gotham. We're not going anywhere."

Except. Lex Luthor, as most middle aged men who grew up with too much freedom and too little consequences, never learned what a rejection is.

"...The justice league?"

" Yeah, hot shot! I mean, you've been giving us some issues in the popularity department, my friend," He doesn't like the smirk on Lex's smile; As if he owns the whole world and wants to own him, too,

" The people are crazy for Superman punching a nazi, -- I don't like violence in my politics, but agree to disagree, -- Flash running for charity, Wonder Woman visiting some dying kid at the hospital. Everyone likes them. But nobody trusts them. They trust you."

" And it'd look very good for you to have a human on your team. After... That happened."

That includes the suspicious assassination of his political rival. Bruce begins to suspect its not suspicious at all.

" Bingo! See? I know a showbiz kid when I see one. Superman can show you the ropes. Guy's a better liar than me. That's saying something."

Jason's voice is protective and hissing like an angry viper in his ear, " I don't like this, Bruce. Don't take the deal."

But Bruce wanted to meet Superman outside of his city. Wanted to weight the risks. Wanted to see how big the man behind the symbol really is, and If humanity's lifespan is ended at one bad day.

So he accepts. And Superman Is nothing like he expected.

Passionate, angry, and uncomfortably handsome. That's who's got Bruce pinned to a wall, staring with barely surpassed annoyance,

" When I think he can't go lower, he surprises me."

" We're in this together, superm-"

" Oh no no no no. Your position as a citizen was secured the second someone shoved that silver spoon in your mouth. I didn't suffer years under that sentient ballsack so a tax dodging bastard like you can just walk in here, --"

" But I'm no--"

" I know who you are, Wayne. You're a troubled brat who gets what he wants. But I'm not daddy, or mommy, or your seriously scary butler. So if you wanna survive out here, you play by OUR rules. Got. It?"

"...Tell him to shove the biggest piece of kryptonite up his a--"

" We get it."

Superman's brow quirks, "We?"

" Me and my...Mental illness."

"...You're a weirdo, Wayne. I hope you know that much, at least."

#grumpy clark makes a return!!!#but yeah in this au lex owns the justice league and funded it #which is a baad time for everyone involved #bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #jason todd #batman #text post #clark kent #superbat #ratatouille au #text #writing

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obitohno · 2 years ago

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his redemption | 02

bakugo katsuki x reader

synopsis ⤸

after unknowingly moving in next door to a renown gang-leader, you are thrust into a foreign world tainted by the scars of his past. will you be able to help him redeem his sins before they finally catch up to him?

chapters ⤸

៚ contents

៚ prev

themes ⤸

fem! reader, 18+, dark fic, gang au, gang-leader! bakugo, doctor! reader, one night stands, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, mutual pining, smut, graphic depictions of violence, kidnappings, mentions of blood, dubcon

word count ⤸

6.5k

a/n ⤸

so, i had planned to get this chapter out much sooner, but i kinda had a mini hiatus (oops). but! it’s here—finally—n i really hope that it’s worth the wait, bc almost a quarter of this wc is smut, smut, smut. enjoy!

reblogs are appreciated ~

two:

you do not see nor hear any sign of bakugo for over three weeks.

the morning after his disappearance, you’d thrown out the bedsheets—the fabric stained an ugly shade of crimson—cursing between gritted teeth all the way to the outside dumpster. but despite your grievances, the medicinal instinct that festers inside you prevents you from resisting the urge to wonder at just how well his injuries are healing. he’s just a stranger, you try your best to remember, but that doesn’t stop the way that your stare seeks out the chipped green paint that coats the surface of his apartment door when you leave for work each morning.

since the day that you’d moved in, new neighbour denki has taken to inviting you out for drinks, enthusiastic as he insists upon the notion of the two of you getting to know each other better. neighbours should be friends too, he’d gushed. or something along those lines; you hadn’t really been listening, because at that exact moment, you could have sworn that you’d seen a flash of blonde hair out on the balcony. without warning, you’d pelted down the hallway, denki gawking after you, baffled, as you yanked the door open with an unnecessary force.

and much to your annoyance, the balcony had been empty.

after peering over the railing, craning your neck both left and right—just to see if he’d walked off down towards the gardens—you’d heaved an exaggerated sigh before returning to denki, shoulders slumped with disappointment.

the blonde had scratched the back of his neck, sheepish at the look on your face, but still dared to ask, ‘so, uh, drinks? on friday?’

‘friday,’ you had relented, giving confirmation without much thought.

and so, right now, you’re balanced upon your tiptoes to lean closer to the bathroom mirror, applying a clear lipgloss to match the thin coating of mascara that had been hurriedly brushed over your lashes just a few moments before. dressed casually, you’re not all that bothered about putting in too much effort into an outing that you’re not really in the mood for, and yet, thinking of the boyish grin that had brightened denki’s face when you’d agreed has guilt forming somewhere in the depths of your stomach. the blonde is sweet enough, from what you’ve gathered, and you definitely aren’t opposed to befriending him, so, despite your lack of enthusiasm, you check your hair and makeup one last time before shuffling out to the bedroom to slip on your heels. exhaling, you make your way out of the door, locking it shut before you click, clack your way down the hall towards denki’s door.

you barely manage to tap your knuckles against the door once before it flies open to reveal a dark haired woman, with equally as dark eyes that narrow slightly as she greets you.

‘new neighbour, i assume,’ she stretches out a hand towards you and you accept the handshake, forcing a smile. you haven’t a clue as to who she is, and she seems to have guessed your line of thinking, as she then reveals her name, ‘i’m jiro.’

‘nice to meet you,’ you offer, shifting on the spot, tension locking your spine rigid. she’s still staring at you, open with her blatant show of distrust, but you’re soon freed from her scrutiny as denki suddenly appears, beaming brightly as he bounds out into the hallway.

‘hey!’

lips parting to greet him, you’re smiling once more, only to clam up as soon as the blonde bounds forward, wrapping his arms around you into a tight hug that forces a stuttered, surprised laugh that is choked from out of your mouth. bewildered, you catch jiro’s gaze as she watches with a bored expression, ‘he’s had a few already,’ is all she offers.

‘oh,’ you manage to exhale, returning denki’s hug with less vigour, patting his shoulder once, twice, before retreating from the embrace.

‘didn’t think you were gonna come,’ he pouts, before pointing to jiro, his grin widening, ‘have you met jiro yet? she’s my friend—whose a girl. she’s my girlfriend.’

you’re unable to ascertain as to whether he means that literally, but still, jiro’s cheeks appear to redden at this statement and you’re unable to stop the way that your mouth tilts into a gentle smile, ‘i have, yes.’

‘idiot,’ jiro grumbles, shoving a hand against the small of denki’s back, pushing. ‘let’s go, else we’ll be late.’

denki takes off first, dragging you along with him, and on the way out, you blink towards number 34, stare lingering upon the silver-coated numbers nailed into the door’s surface as denki tugs you towards the exit. jiro is close behind, having securely locked the apartment, hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie as she walks at a much more leisurely pace.

when the three of you reach the bar that is conveniently situated just down the road from where you now live, after choosing a booth that is furthest away from the entrance, you are, admittedly, grateful when you receive your choice of drink in record timing. sipping at your flavoursome cocktail, you peer around the tropical themed environment, soca music playing in the background. you’re still new to the area, so you’re unfamiliar with this particular establishment, but it doesn’t take too long for you to decide that you appreciate it, despite the crowd of people that seems to grow larger with every passing minute.

‘so,’ denki leans a little closer, so close that you’re actually able to recognise the faint scent of alcohol on his breath, ‘how are things at the clinic?’

nose crinkling, you’d almost forgotten that you’d told him about your line of work. allowing your purse to slip from your shoulder and onto the seat beside you, denki watches as you relax into the plush leather of the back of the booth. ‘it’s been a long week,’ you admit, attempting a smile that you hope will hide your exhaustion. ‘a very long week.’

‘betcha glad to get a drink down ya,’ he grins toothily. upon glancing down at the froth-rimmed glass that’s been abandoned on the table, you see that he’s already finished his first beer, eagerly awaiting his second.

you manage a small laugh, ‘it’s very much needed.’ you notice that jiro has barely touched her drink, not really paying attention to the conversation as she stares off to the side, eyes glazed over. blinking your attention back toward denki, you take another sip of your drink, ‘what about you? how’s work for you?’

denki waves a hand dismissively, ‘still on probation ‘cause of my contract with the agency. i don’t see why they won’t just hire me—the kids love me already and i’m amazing.’

you hadn’t been at all surprised when the blonde had told you that he was aiming to be a teaching assistant in the sports department at the local primary school, during a conversation that the two of you had had when he’d politely offered to help shift the seemingly endless stack of moving boxes into your apartment. it’s just the type of job that suits him, you think, and you don’t doubt that the kids like him—hell, you’re already warming up to him.

‘they have regulations,’ jiro reminds him, suddenly joining the conversation. ‘they can’t just ignore them just because you happen to be good at your job. you’re still learning.’

‘well, i’m way better than the guy they actually have,’ denki protests. ‘he’s, like, seventy and can’t kick a ball at all. what the hell does he know about football?’ you hide your smile as jiro mumbles a comment that doesn’t reach your line of hearing. but denki seems to hear, a devilish grin playing the corner of his mouth. ‘that’s not what you were saying last—’

jiro manages to silence him by aiming a particularly hard jab to the blonde’s ribcage, but denki simply explodes with a loud bark of infectious laughter, only silencing when the waiter passes by to hand out the next round of drinks. you haven’t yet finished your first, choosing to quickly down the rest of it when you see the fresh glass that jiro slides over to you.

and for the next few hours, the three of you consume a lot more alcohol than you had initially planned.

by the time the clock on your mobile phone reads past one am, you’re a little more than tipsy. your temples are throbbing as your cheek presses to the palm of your hand, elbow precariously balanced upon the edge of the table, and you will yourself to remain awake as you watch denki challenge jiro to a game of cards. from where they got the stack from, you don’t know, beyond out of it to bring yourself to care.

it is halfway through their third game when you sense someone watching you. the bar is now a lot busier than it had been when you’d first arrived, now crammed with a body count that is too large to sum up; most dancing, others nursing drinks at the bar. the volume of the music is now louder, so much so that you’re even struggling to hear your companions’ voices as they bicker over their game.

‘you’re cheatin’!’ denki slurs heavily, but you aren’t paying enough attention to ascertain the accuracy of his accusation.

eyes glancing around the bar as thoroughly as you can manage whilst this inebriated, you recognise that you’re searching for a needle in a haystack. it’s dizzying, looking at so many faces at once, and after a just a moment, you’re about to give up, only for your gaze to suddenly land upon a familiar face.

kirishima stares right back at you from his seat at the bar, the stool beside him, empty.

and much to your surprise, his welcome is almost immediate, his head tilting to beckon you forth, inviting you over. you hesitate, unsure. however, you’re also drunk, and so very curious, and so, it takes all of two seconds for you to stand from your seat.

‘where you goin’?’ denki bellows over the music.

‘i just saw a… friend,’ you blurt quickly. ‘i’ll be back in a minute—save my seat!’

denki nods, looking a little hesitant to let you go, but then jiro is distracting him with a touch to his cheek and his gaze is shifting, softening as he looks at her instead. you’re grinning, deciding to take your purse with you, snatching it from the spare seat before weaving through the crowd until you reach kirishima.

he’s still staring, you realise, reluctantly perching upon the stool next to him when he points at it. he’s drinking alone, you note, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey as he leans a little closer so that you can hear him speak over the music, ‘what d'you want to drink?’

shifting in your seat, you’re hesitating again. you don’t know this man, and yet, you’re unable to understand why his presence comforts you so. maybe it’s the alcohol that you’ve consumed, or maybe it’s the briefest of smiles that pulls at the corner of his mouth, but without meaning to, you’re already beginning to let down your guard.

‘a woo-woo,’ the apples of your cheeks feel warm, self-conscious of the girlish choice of drink, even more so with kirishima looking at you with an amused quirk of his brow.

‘’m not even surprised,’ he comments, before flagging down the bartender and reciting your order. as you wait, you fish into the depths of your purse for some money, holding it out to kirishima, who immediately rejects it. ‘this one’s on me,’ he insists when you stammer a protest, going as far as pushing the money back into the palm of your hand. dejectedly, you realise that he’s not going to allow you to pay, and so you drop the money back into your purse, zipping it shut with an exaggerated sigh. the bartender returns with your cocktail and kirishima hands over a paper-note that values a lot more than what your drink costs. ‘keep the change,’ he offers, and the bartender nods once before disappearing to tend to another customer.

taking a long sip of your drink, you welcome the familiar rush of alcohol as it warms the back of your throat, looking up to watch kirishima down the remaining dregs of his whiskey, appearing to be much more sober than you are. swallowing down another mouthful, you sit upright, pushing back a loose tendril of baby hair that tickles the nape of your neck. the exhaustion that weighs on your shoulders is heavy, only accentuated by the alcohol that buzzes a fire in your stomach, and your eyelids blink rapidly in an attempt to keep you alert.

‘didn’t know you were pals with jiro,’ you just manage to hear the low drawl of kirishima’s voice, his form towering as he leans closer so that you can hear him better. eyes darting over to where the couple are huddled together—still engaged in their increasingly heated game of solitaire—your head tilts. he doesn’t elaborate as to how he’s acquainted with jiro.

a shoulder raises, ‘denki is my neighbour. he invited me out for drinks.’ your words slur, the syllables dragged along with each lilt of your voice, but that doesn’t stop you from consuming more of your beverage. it was free, after all. kirishima orders another drink—beer, this time—and you are surprised, bewildered, when the bartender doesn’t charge him. they must be more than acquaintances, you conclude, despite the fact that you (wrongly) suspect kirishima as a man with few friends. the two of you drink together in a comfortable silence, and it isn’t until the clock ticks past two am that kirishima offers to walk you home. stumbling as you scramble from your stool, you make to decline, ‘i-it’s okay. i’ll walk with—’

only, when you spin to flag down denki—pretending that the motion doesn’t make your temples throb horribly—to your drunken horror, he’s nowhere in sight. and neither is jiro.

kirishima’s hand dares to touch your elbow, tugging you to his side to prevent you from falling over. ‘i sent them home.’

your neck cranes as you attempt to squint up at him. baffled, you struggle to recall him committing such a feat, but, struggle, you do, because as drunk as you are, you’re certain that you haven’t seen him talking to neither denki or jiro tonight.

a large arm curling around the width of your shoulders, kirishima is already steering you towards the exit, and you are given very little choice in the matter, reluctantly allowing him to accompany you home. there’s no harm, you relent, considering the fact that he already knows where you live, the short walk home quiet, save for the click-clack of your heels upon the pavement. when the two of you come to a halt at your front door, you just remember to offer a quiet thanks, muted around the slur of your tongue.

kirishima leans against the doorframe, suppressing a bemused twitch of his lips as he watches you attempt to push your key into the lock. it takes several tries, your fingers trembling, but eventually, the lock clicks, the door inching open when you push the palm of your hand to it. but before you step inside, you loiter, pupils dilating as they focus onto kirishima once more.

‘how is he?’

the redhead regards you with an expression that you can no longer read.

you swallow thickly, eventually deciding that he’s not going to answer as several long seconds pass by without a word shared between the two of you.

‘he’s better,’ he breaks his silence, eyes watching as you kick off your heels by the door, exhaling a moan of relief as the pads of your feet mould into the carpeted flooring. ‘told you—he’s had worse,’ he pushes his weight from the wall, making to leave.

absentmindedly, you tug at the blossom shaped keyring that ochaco had gifted you some years ago, the charm catching the light that shines in from the hallway as it dangles from your keys.

‘make sure he takes the tablets i gave you,’ you mumble, brows pinching together because of the headache that is beginning to throb at your temples. you press an index finger to your lips, bile rising to the back of your throat.

kirishima stares at you, hesitant, ‘you good?’

waving a hand, you dismiss his concern, but when he still doesn’t move, you force a smile, assuring him that you’re just fine.

‘hm,’ he hums, eyes narrowing, dubious, as if he doesn’t believe you. but you’re already beginning to close the door on him, barely managing to remember to thank him once again for walking you home. key twisting into the lock once more, you don’t bother to check if he’s actually left, hurrying to the kitchen to pour a large glass of water in the hopes that it’ll quash the nausea that churns at your stomach.

it’s when you’re sat on the settee, downing a third pint when a thundering knock at the door startles you so much so, that you almost spill the remainder of your drink as you rush to place the glass down onto the coffee table. forcing yourself to your feet, you press an index finger to the bridge of your nose, and the ache that throbs there is now muted, but still very much present. marginally sobered by the consumption of water, you’re able to make your way down the hall, unlocking the door with ease this time, allowing it swing open. only, the face that greets you is one that has your brows twitching upwards, surprised.

bakugo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he peers down at you, watching as you stare right back, unsure of how to greet him. kirishima had been right; the blonde looks miles better than he had when you’d last seen him. his eyes are heavily lidded, idle as they drag along the length of your body, pausing upon the stretch of your legs as he takes in your lack of attire, and you think that you can vaguely remember managing to pull your jeans off not long after you’d finished the first pint of water.

clad in just an oversized jumper, you squirm under his stare, thighs pressing together just as your arms raise to cross over your chest.

‘shitty hair said you were drunk,’ bakugo drawls, breaking the silence. the low baritone of his voice travels through your ears and settles right into the pit of your stomach. grimacing, you avoid his gaze, pointedly focusing on the fact that he refers to kirishima as ‘shitty hair’.

licking at your dry lips, your toes buried into the carpet, you fail to notice the flick of bakugo’s eyes focusing on the shape of your mouth, your own trained in on his abdomen, where his t-shirt hides the injury that you’d stitched just a few weeks ago.

‘can i check it?’

his spine is already straightening, making to follow you inside with an eager step forward just as you stumble backwards. quicker than you can process, his hand darts out, the width of his palm curling around your arm, steadying your balance in order to prevent your fall. the heat of his hand is scorching, rivalled only by the warmth that burns beneath the surface of your skin, your cheeks burning. murmuring a thanks, you tug yourself free from his grasp, shifting to the side to allow him to pass. he glides past you easily, already disappearing down the small hallway and toward the bedroom, leaving you to lock the door, where you lean against it as you gather your resolve.

what are you doing?

you try to focus on the fact that he’s a stranger—god damn it—hesitating with your fingers curling around the hem of your jumper. blinking in the direction of the bedroom, you debate on as to whether you should just kick him out and demand that he gets himself checked at the hospital instead. but you’re no fool. even in your drunken state, you have enough wit about you to understand that that stab wound was no accident. someone had hurt him, deliberately, and because he’d been so stubbornly adamant on no hospitals when you had suggested it the first time, it’s hard to not jump to conclusions. still, you can’t stop yourself from suspecting that his lifestyle isn’t entirely on the legal side, especially if his scars are anything to go by.

no, you decide. for a reason that you dare not dwell on, for now, his treatment is your responsibility.

and so, you wobble on the tips of your toes as you reach to grab the first aid kit from the kitchen cupboard, swallowing thickly as you shuffle your way into the bedroom. to your surprise, bakugo is already sat the end of the bed, his shirt scrunched beneath the fingers of his left hand, and you will your gaze away from the expanse of his tanned chest, temples throbbing as you move to switch the bedroom lamp on, shifting to kneel before him.

the heat of his stare is molten, lids heavy as he regards you with an expression that you can’t decipher with your head spinning like this. your hands shake as you reach for the makeshift bandage that either he—or kirishima—has wrapped around the sharp lines of his torso, gently peeling it from his skin with an apprehensive crinkle of your nose. pleased to see that your stitches are still in place, you hum as you lean a tad closer to inspect the wound, the caress of your breath tickling the cut of his muscles. it’s scabbing nicely, you note, using your thumb to gently press around the wound, pausing when his abs constrict, a low grunt huffed out over the top of your head.

‘sorry,’ you mumble, turning your attention to the first aid kit. mind still fuzzy with intoxication, you’re a little slow with opening it, squinting as you busy yourself with cleaning around the wound before applying a fresh bandage—much neater than his own, if not a tad wonky due to your inebriation. ‘’s healing perfectly,’ you tell him, voice quiet.

his next inhale is sharp, twisted around the shape of a soundless snarl as you press against a particularly sore spot, making sure the bandage is fixed in place. ‘great,’ he spits, glaring.

‘if you want,’ you start, clearing your throat when your words begin to slur once again. ‘i can check it again next week… the stitches should have fallen out by then, but, uh, just in case…?’

‘’kay,’ is all he replies with, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt. he’s yet to make a move to put it back on, watching you pack the first aid kit away with sluggish movements.

‘okay?’ you repeat, bleary eyed as you focus your stare upon his face; you hadn’t expected him to actually agree.

the corner of his mouth twitches, and again, you’re subjected to a heat that prickles the back of your neck, the reds of his eyes narrowing as they focus on the nervous bob of your throat. ‘so,’ he grunts, expression morphing into one that is less friendly. ‘i still owe you.’

you frown, ‘don’t want you to owe me.’ it then occurs to you that you’re still knelt before him, and for a moment, it feels as if your headache is worsening, your index finger massaging at your temple. ‘i did it because i wanted to.’

that, and it’s hard to say no to someone who is bleeding all over your bed, you daren’t add.

it is bakugo’s brows that form a frown this time.

‘i don’t like owin’ people,’ he insists. he shifts on the mattress, as if ready to stand, only to stiffen when he also clocks onto the fact that you’re still knelt before him. ‘what’s your price?’

your eyes flicker a little lower, focusing on the shape of his mouth before you blink, vision a tad hazy, your cheeks warm. ‘nothing.’

‘people don’t do anythin’—‘specially not savin’ someone’s life—for free,’ he argues, eyes hard, jaw wound tight. ‘tell me what you want in return.’

you can feel the beginnings of annoyance prickling at your nerves, fists clenching where they rest on your bare thighs. you suddenly feel a lot more sober. ‘i’m a doctor, which you already know—how do you know that, by the way?—saving lives is kinda what i do.’

he dodges your question, nostrils flaring as he demands, ‘tell me what you want.’

again, your gaze is slipping lower, blinking towards his lips once more, before your eyes snap upwards, focusing on his. and much to your surprise, the reds of his irises have darkened to a burning crimson that has the depths of your stomach knotting with something akin to molten lava. or so you think—maybe the alcohol is warping your ability to read expressions?

but apparently not, because now he’s leaning forward, the length of his spine curling as his ribs shift to accommodate his position. stupefied, you watch as he looms over you, the width of his thighs shifting—parting, you note with a dry swallow—and he’s so close that you can hear each inward drag of his breath as he inhales, lungs wheezing with the effort.

intoxication has your pupils dilating, the blackened orbs widening as his fingers twitch, his breath fanning across the slope of your cheek as he repeats, the low drag of his voice catching on the rise of a barely concealed groan, ‘tell me what you want.’

and then, before you can process what you’re actually doing—because, really, what the hell are you doing?—your hands are reaching up, the tips of your fingers brushing against his skin as they dance along the length of his jaw. you’re hesitating, however, hands frozen where they rest upon his cheeks, appalled by the audacity of your own actions. you make to pull away, but before you’re given the chance to regret what you’ve done, his hands come to hold yours in place, the lengths of his fingers calloused and ridiculously hot against the backs of your own. unblinking, his eyes bore into yours as he slowly guides your hands down his face, tracing along the length of his neck, allowing you to feel the thump, thump, thump of his pulse beneath the pads of your fingers.

up close, you dare to trace your thumb over the plush of his bottom lip, ignoring the jump of your heart when the corner of his mouth curls upwards, the stretch of his mouth forming into the shape of a smirk. your fingertips trace the annoyingly perfect ridge of his nose, brushing over his cheekbones until you press against the beauty mark on his chin, so minuscule that you’d’ve missed it if not for the fact that he’s encouraging the exploration of your touch as he leans a little closer.

maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just because he’s stupidly, ridiculously, unfairly beautiful, but your gaze is awed, welcoming the wiggle of his fingers curling into the strands of your hair. he pulls, the length of your neck exposed as it stretches to follow the way that he forces your head back, his own lowering until his mouth hovers just centimetres from yours. his gaze is smouldering as he studies you, licking his bottom lip at the sight of your hair wrapped around his fingers, your eyes heavily lidded—with intoxication or lust, he cannot tell.

‘tell me what you want,’ he murmurs, breath ghosting over your lips. he feels the way that you tremble against him and he shifts closer, trapping you between the broad stretch of his thighs.

your hands are stroking over his collarbones, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation of your skin tickling his. still kneeling, you have to stretch to reach for his shoulders, your arms curling around the back of his neck, fingernails scraping against his scalp as you pull him closer.

‘you.’

he immediately complies, mouth moulding to yours, hot and wet and feverous. the taste of him is overwhelming, dizzying, the glide of his tongue urgent as it explores the shape of your mouth, your toes curling into the carpet as he does so. the crooks of your fingers gripping his hair, twisting until he’s groaning, the blunts of his teeth dragging over your bottom lip, nipping until you’re gasping along with him.

you know that you’ll probably regret this in the morning, but all second thoughts are thrown out of the window as he reaches for you, hands suddenly grasping at your waist and hoisting you—with an ease that makes your head spin—up, up, up, until you’ve joined him on the bed, legs curling around his waist. kissing you until you’re struggling for breath, his fingers are sneaking beneath the hem of your jumper, a groan rumbling from the back of his throat as one hand grips you with an impressive strength, the other skimming against your stomach, all knuckles and wide palms. his fingertips reach to trace the curve of your breast, and the steady pace of your kiss now falters when you pause to gasp into the sharp jut of his jaw.

you thank the gods for your intuitive decision to forgo a bra this evening, keening as his thumb—wetted by a quick swipe of his tongue—brushes over the peak of your nipple, pinching until you grace him with another breathy sigh that pitches when his teeth drag over the pulse at your throat. you know that it’ll bruise, and still, you encourage him with an experimental roll of your hips, your clothed pussy seeking a friction that can only be sated by the bulge that is rapidly hardening with each brush of your groin to his. grunting, there’s a perspiration that is forming on the nape of his neck, one that is ignored in favour of him rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger, tongue expertly tracing circles down to the length of your collarbone, his hair tickling at your nose. you’re stifling a giggle, abdomen tensing and your tits bouncing as he huffs, feigning annoyance as he grumbles something about you ruining the mood whilst hiding his widening grin with a press to your sternum. his lips seek yours again, his fingers ghosting over the dip of your waist, and your breath catches on a moan when his hips jut, rolling, teasing.

the palms of his hands splay themselves over the curve of your rear, encouraging the slow grind that has your thighs clenching with the effort. beneath you, his breath stutters, a short, strained groan punched from the bottom of his stomach, one that vibrates the bump of his adam’s apple as he tugs you up and down his pulsing length, his cock burning a ferocious heat through the cotton of his sweatpants. the drag of your pussy is one that has his blood humming, one that entices a pitched mewl—which he swallows down greedily, selfishly—his tongue tracing yours, bare chest warming yours as he reaches to tear your woollen jumper up and over your head.

unceremoniously, it’s discarded upon the floor, and he’s fumbling for the tie on his sweatpants, shoving them down just enough so that you now feel the naked inferno of his cock, insistently pressing against the crook of your thigh. stomach coiling with excitement, your lungs expand and contract, struggling to suck in air fast enough, and struggling further so when he’s tonguing at the roof of your mouth like that. there’s a gentle stroke across your hip, his knuckles bumping along your inner thigh as impatience has him roughly tugging your underwear to the side. nerves have you tensing at the first touch, his index and middle fingers slipping between your velvety folds, delving into the pool of sap that drools from the very hole that he seeks. your legs tighten around his waist, aware enough as to not bump against his bandage as you adjust your knees, and that’s when you realise that he’s watching your face closely, your eyelids fluttering when the width of his fingers breach the opening of your pussy, gummy walls contracting around the bump of his knuckles that gently twist inside you.

desperate, you cry out against his mouth, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip once more, your nails biting into the corded muscles of his biceps. it isn’t long until his fingers are withdrawing, your hips chasing after them, a whinge of protest spilling out of your mouth before you can muffle it. he’s chuckling breathily, deeply, breath hot on the shell of your ear.

‘patience.’

and you don’t have to be patient for long. he’s guiding the length of his cock past the tight stretch of your cunt in one long thrust, his eyes screwing shut as he hilts, balls pressed tight to the plump of your rear, a chest-heaving groan expelled down the canal of your eardrum. the tickle of his public hair brushes over your clit, your toes curling just so, and hunger has your hips rolling, seeking friction.

‘f-fuck,’ bakugo grunts, sweat trickling down his jaw as he inhales a stuttered breath. he withdraws slowly, testing the tremble of your thighs, before his hips cant upwards, harder, faster with each stroke.

he sets a brutal pace, his grip bruising as he fucks into your dribbling heat over and over and over, and above him, you moan loudly, able to do very little other than cling on, fingers scrambling to find leverage upon his shoulders. he crushes your mouths together, tongue rapidly seeking yours as you attempt to keep up with his kisses, dizzied with the scent of him; addicted to the taste of him. the two of you are a tangle of limbs upon the bed, the room beginning to ooze with the stench of your alcohol-infused act, his name repeatedly slurred past your lips as your pussy secretes a mess that aids the wet schlick, schlick, schlick of his balls slapping against the round of your behind. your skin is damp—sticky—with the tantalising sap that seeps from the fluttering walls of your cunt, creaming a mess around the width of his slick-coated girth, and this only seems to spear him on, the slick sound of your connection accentuated with each rough drag of his hips as he drills into the pulsing heat of your cunt at such a pace that you struggle to catch your breath.

abruptly, he stills, cock buried within the cushioning of your inner walls, the scratch of his pubic hair grinding over your clit—just right there—encouraging the sudden snapping of the coil in your stomach. nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, your tone pitches, keening on the syllables of bakugo’s name, your toes curling where your legs are crossed behind his back. your legs tremble as he fuck, fuck, fucks you through your climax, groaning as your juices aid the slip-and-slide of his cock drilling in tune to the flutter of your gummy walls that tighten around his base with a cheek-warming squelch. the sensation is addictive, even with the trickle of cream that is pooling a mess all over his balls, and it’s almost with regret when he can feel the tell-tale electric bite that jolts deep in his abdomen, a sharp warning of his fast-approaching peak.

he shifts to lie flat on his back, dragging you along with him with a choked moan when your fingers knot into the tresses of his hair, pulling. the curves of his muscles bulge, biceps tensing as he shifts you higher upon his lap, both of his arms encircling the circumference of your waist in order to hold you in place as his pace becomes sloppier with his yearning need to come undone.

clit thrumming with oversensitivity, you breathe a whimper into the warmth of his neck, suckling at the sweat-dampened skin as his cock repeatedly pistons its way past the aching opening of your cunt, the new angle coaxing a sharp cry against his collarbone. he exclaims something utterly guttural in reply—a groan, or a growl, you can’t decipher—evidence of his own bliss spilling past his lips as he chases his own climax. it doesn’t take much longer, his hips slick with sweat as he comes undone with a bellow, his seed finally claiming home inside the snug curve of your cunny, painting the plush of your cervix white. he’s loud, gasping and choking in between a series of growls that serve to encourage the weak throb that pulses between your legs, thrusting once, twice, thrice, until his hips falter, prick beginning to soften until it finally slips free from the safety of your cunt. there’s a gush, followed by a tacky, drooling web of opalescent that oozes from between your folds, the puffy shape of your pussy now swollen with arousal as it clenches, releasing another seepage of semen that dribbles a path onto the mattress, leaving a sticky, glistening mess in its wake. fighting to catch his breath, his grip tightens, his fingers splayed as his palm strokes over the length of your spine.

spent, his head rests, the apple of his cheek pressed to your shoulder, panting as his fingers rake over your sweat-drenched hair. your weight is slumped atop him, weak-kneed and breathless, and there, the two of you remain, embracing until the tempo of your pulse dwindles into a pace that doesn’t make your head spin. it is you who moves first, detangling your limbs from his and standing upon trembling legs when you rise from the bed. he seems reluctant as he allows you to withdraw, fingertips brushing over the dip of your back before you step out of reach, his eyes narrowing in on the way that the muscles of your thighs protest, aching as you both begin to fix your clothing back in place.

a short while later, you’re guiding him to the door, hyperaware of the weight of his stare that lingers on the blemishes that litter your throat. the door is unlocked with a click! and you’re expecting him to make his escape immediately. however, to your surprise, he’s leaning closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, before moulding his lips to yours, greedily tasting the inside of your cheeks yet again. his thumb soothes a calloused path down the slope of your chin, fiery irises burning into the depths of yours before he tears himself from the comfort of you, sauntering down the hall towards the exit, not looking back. you loiter by the doorway, watching until his head ducks, disappearing from your line of sight, before you retreat into the safety of your apartment, legs quivering as you slowly make your way back to your bed.

you awake the next morning, regretful, his mark tainting your skin.

#♡ jordy is writing ♡#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #mha bakugou #bakugou #bakugou katsuki

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wisteriasymphony · 4 months ago

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Hiya! I’m a bit new to your blog, but I’ve seen a lot about “Claude,” and I’d love to know more about that! Is he from an AU of yours or just an OC?

You know, I could draw a lot of parallels for canon (or pre-canon, in quantic Claude's case) characters to try and set a baseline.

But maybe it's better to just forgo all of that. Claudia isn't truly an "anti-Marinette" (whose main story got published almost over a year before the Paris Special, funnily enough), nor is she an "alternate Lila", or even extremely related to the 'quantic kids' version of Claude Haprele.

She's just.... Claudia.

..full name Claudia Guadalupe Maria Josefa Lopez Cardoso Perreault. I have talked a bit about her starting concept and how she's grown from there, but to sum it up nicely, I was interested in how a much more pessimistic, apathetic character would function in the mlb world.

What if you were too bogged down by your own misery to even bother wanting to 'solve' your problems with an akuma?

What if your first instinct upon recieving a miraculous was to try and put yourself in danger?

In a world where feeling positively is survival and feeling negatively gets people hurt.... what if you feel nothing at all?

Claudia was meant to answer this by having a swarm of akumas that essentially functioned more as a mundane pest problem than anything else. She would just go about her day, largely unrelated to the bigger machinations of Paris, because that was not and never would be her issue,

.....until, uhm. well.

....So turns out she contrasts Adrien in a lot of interesting ways!

So, of course, I started to think about how they would work paired up together.

...A LOT.

whoops. Now, this is barely scratching the surface of Claudia as a character, I could get into her miraculous and how that works, the way tweos handles (or, really, gets around having to handle) its lovesquare (which I think would also be valuable for explaining claudia through her relationship with Adrien), and I could even talk about the changes to Adrien as a character! But I'll save those for other asks. :P

#thewarmembraceofshadow #claudia perreault #mlb oc #ml oc #miraculous fanfic #mlb art #miraculous ladybug #ml au #❮❮◈☈⚸♍︎➋➑

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theinstagrahame · 9 months ago

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This is the post where I show off the stuff I've gotten in the last month-ish. And it's been another good one!

(I mean it's always a good one, I have excellent taste)

Coffee and Chaos: I'm tickled by the concept of a coffeeshop AU, and I know that this game isn't explicitly for that. But it's also not *not* for that. Comes in a like conference-style folder, with all the bits you need to play tucked into the sides, which is also a great presentation that I felt deserved a shout-out!

Far Horizons Guide to Cults: I'm friendly with some Far Horizons folks, but wanted this book because it's awesome. A book containing notes and pre-made cults that have goals and drives beyond just "Be A Cult". I am intrigued by the occult, and I hope this gives me more nuance.

Neurocity: Picked this up on vibes alone, but I'm hearing more and more rad things about the creator. It's dystopic, a little cyberpunk, and the book is dripping with style. Can't wait to dig deeper.

You're In Space and Everything's Fucked: Station and Struggler's Guides: The title alone sold me, but I like what Dinoberry Press puts out in general. This is a solo survival space horror game with a cool respawn mechanic. I also splurged on the fancy version because the covers are very cool.

Dead Belt: The pleather folio for this honestly is what sold me, but the game itself is really cool. Salvage ships by laying out cards, exploring, and managing your air and tool resources. Try not to die. I haven't really succeeded at that last part yet...

Exquisite Corpse in the Maggot's Keep: Technically, this isn't a TTRPG, but it's go so many TTRPG folks in it that it might as well be. It's a choosable path adventure written by a variety of people in (if I remember the pitch) exquisite corpse style.

Best Left Buried: Throne of Avarice and In Calamity's Wake: As we already know, I'm a SoulMuppet fan (as in, I've written for their other big series, Orbital Blues). The main book, Throne of Avarice, was written by a creator whose work I've been trying to get more of. I haven't read Best Left Buried as fully as a game, but I am really excited by the excuse to dig in.

Between Clouds: I like air islands and big monsters and found family. Partially, I grabbed this because a friend got really excited about it, and it seemed like it could be fun to run a campaign with them, but I'm also curious about the Year Zero Engine, and glad to see people using it.

Kitchen Knightmares: Grabbed this as an add-on for the You're In Space crowdfund, but I'm glad I got it because it's loosely inspired by This Discord Has Ghosts In It, and that game rules. I might be able to pitch this to my friend group, who enjoyed Discord Has Ghosts.

In a Mirror Brightly/Handbaskets: First off, plug for the RTFM podcast, because it's very good. This two-games-in-one book is created by the two hosts of that show, who are great designers and seem really lovely. But, two wildly different vibes in a single volume is a great idea.

You Meet in a Tavern, You Die in a Dungeon: I've been following the creator for this since some of my earliest days in the RPG scene, so I was happy to help make this a reality. Feels very tropey, and I mean that in the best way possible.

In Other Waters: Tidebreak: Honestly, I have barely scratched the surface of In Other Waters, the PC game this is based on. But this is a Mothership solo hack that returns to that world, and it had me curious based on that pitch alone.

Aaand because I'm a doofus who forgot to include it, here's one more book! PLUS A guest appearance from my new desk mat.

Teeth: Been into Forged in the Dark lately, and as much as I enjoy Monster of the Week, the pitch for this seemed like it was more my speed. You're monster hunters, trying to keep the occult under wraps, while keeping secrets of your own. Plus, horror comedy!

The mat is the cover art from Friends at the Table's current season, Palisade. It's an Armor Astir campaign following up on some of the characters from their Partizan series.

#ttrpg #ttrpg design #indie ttrpg #ttrpg dev #rpg monthly mail call

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azulsluver · 2 years ago

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I just though of something. What would grim be like in the bully au? Would he be an a$$h9le or different? Maybe trying to defend us? Pft- imagine grim trying to defend the reader. He's standing with his arms out with claws ready to attac anyone who tries to bully or harm Yuu. Then him just getting YEET away by the collar LMAO

Everyone loves the mascot of nrc :<

Grim would try! If he noticed. There is a chance he could be led to the asshole route if he so much as hangs with Ace and Deuce too long. But he’s sticking by your side after seeing you come back very late, there are scratches on your arms and neck. He might not be able to say anything through your fits of sobs, but he’ll try, curling up next to you as you let tears soak up his fur.

Grim does try to defend you, he knows their stronger than him yet he’s fierce in blowing fire at their clothes and faces. A decoy he’ll be much of so you have chances to escape!

This au is really dark, I barely touch the surface on the topic….if Grim were to get in their way too many times, say be it Floyd, Rook, or Leona, they’ll make him watch as you suffer painfully, going as far as to snap your leg and burn your tongue for snitching. Let it be a lesson to Grim to stand by the side if he wishes that you’ll have a more dull punishment. Going back home to sleep with him in your arms, throat sore as he snuggles up to you and tells you how sorry he is and he’ll be good.

#ଘrambles #ଘfloresta.answers #yandere twst #lots of angst with grim in this au so I beg you guys to not mention my son:(#I say as I ruthlessly traumatize him #LOL #bully!au

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 2 years ago

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HSH AU: Home is Where the Heart is

Mark keeps hearing and seeing things whenever near the Torres Family Home, and despite Cesar not feeling like anything is wrong, Mark can’t shake off the feeling of being watched.

TW: Friendship problems, paranoia, hallucinations, body/face horror, blood/gore, implied possession

Notes: this is. the longest fic. I’ve posted here, being around 10,000 words long, so. long read. BUT I’m pretty proud of this fic, and I hope you guys like this new au and the world in it! There’s. so much I’m excited to show, and this is just scratching the surface :)

( @deadmuttsbones [tagging cause they co-own the au])

-----

September 9th, 1992. 10:06 PM.

Mark couldn’t shake the unease in his gut that night. He could’ve said no; the option to refuse Cesar’s offer to hang out and stay the night at his place was there. He could’ve told Cesar how he really felt about it, yelling at him about the discomfort and dread he felt in his chest every time he stepped through the front door. Yet he didn’t, and now he was driving the long road to Cesar’s home, all while rain bounced off of his windshield and the radio played the same songs he had heard a hundred times.

Mark glanced at the rear-view mirror, seeing how his brown hair was a mess, and how he had dark circles around his eyes, sighing before glancing at the suitcase in the backseat; packed for only one night. He was wearing a black, V-neck T-shirt, a golden cross hanging in front of his chest. He had a pair of worn blue jeans over his legs, along with plain grey sneakers. His hands tapped the steering wheel with the music as he tried to shake off the sinking feeling deep inside of him, repeating a simple phrase to himself in his head: “only one night.” Besides, Cesar was going to be there, and it wouldn’t hurt to see a friend after a week of not talking to each other, right? It wasn’t like Mark had anyone else to hang out with.

Mark’s car drove down the wet asphalt road, slowing down and stopping next to the curb, his green eyes staring at the house in to the side of his vehicle, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to ease the tension. It was a one story home, with plain, reddish-brown outer walls, with a white garage to the left of the front door, which had a small, grey stone porch in front of it, with a planting pot to the left of that. The living room window to the right of the front door had yellow light pouring out in between the curtains, and Mark could hear faint murmuring as he got out of his car, pushing the door behind him closed. The rain hit his hair and shoulders as he stared at the home, his lips pursed and his shoulders tense as he gazed at the light coming from the window. He shook his left arm by his side as he swung open the backseat door, pulling out his suitcase and placing it on the grass of the front lawn. With a huff, he slammed the door shut, all before he heard the front door open.

“Hey!” A voice said as Mark turned to face where it came from. He saw a figure in the doorway, barely visible aside from his silhouette as he waved Mark over. “Come on, it’s pouring out here!”

Mark took in a breath, picking up his suitcase with one hand, holding his other above his face to prevent the rain from hitting him in the eyes. He jogged across the yard, his sneakers slamming against the concrete driveway before he ran into the home, brushing past the person in the doorway as he closed the door behind Mark. “You said you’d be here at like…eight. It’s ten already.” The man said as he turned towards Mark, who was setting his suitcase next to the couch, which sat in front of the window, before turning towards him.

“Yeah sorry, Ces…just…bad weather.” Mark sighed.

Cesar sighed quietly, walking past Mark towards the TV, turning the volume of it down, the sound of gunfire and yelling from the old western no longer drowning out their words. Cesar was a decently tall young man with tan-colored skin, with black wavy hair and a faint mustache on his upper lip. He wore a white T-shirt, along with red shorts, with a pair of plain white socks covering his feet and no doubt becoming charged with static from the shaggy carpet of the living room. Mark watched as Cesar walked out of the room, calling for his mother to tell her about their guest arriving as Mark sat on the couch, shifting in his seat as he attempted to get comfortable. Mark stared at the TV, hoping the sound of the programs will drown out the sound coming from directly behind it. He glanced up, looking back down and shifting his position on the couch again when he saw it. How stupid; he was scared of a fucking clock.

The grandfather clock in question was tall, made of reddish-brown wood, carved with intricate patterns. The pendulum behind the glass swung, the ticking of the clock echoing in the living room as its hands twitched with every second. Carved, wing-like pieces of wood protruded from the top of the clock, the shadow of them flickering onto the red, striped wallpaper from the light of the TV and the lamp on the table next to it. Mark stared at the clock’s face, seeing as the time neared 10:15 as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes fixed on the center of its face, the sound of the TV being drowned out by the sound of the pendulum swinging from side to side-

“Hey Mark, you gonna sleep out here tonight?” Mark was taken out of his thoughts by Cesar, who was standing in the archway leading to the kitchen. “Or do you want like…a few blankets to sleep in the bedroom?”

“Oh…u-uhh…the bedroom.” Mark glanced at the clock again.

“Cool.” Cesar gave Mark a quick thumbs up. “You can sleep by the bed if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah that’s fine.” Mark coughed.

Cesar’s friendly smile faded as his brows furrowed. “…You alright, Mark?”

“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” Mark sighed, looking down as he rubbed the golden cross hanging from his neck with his thumb.

“…Alright, I guess.” Cesar said.

Mark looked around the room, seeing the multiple photos hanging on the walls, along with the furniture before he looked down at something that caught his eye; a grey cat bed resting beside the clock. It was empty.

“Hey, where’s your cat?” Mark asked.

“Oh…yeah, gah…Johnny…hasn’t been seen for a while.”

“What? Why?”

“We don’t know.” Cesar sighed. “We’ve been asking the neighbors but…no one’s seen him.”

“Shit…” Mark said under his breath. “I’m…sorry dude.”

“I’m sure we’ll find him, it just might…take a while.”

There was silence among the friends, Cesar noticing Mark shifting in his seat as his eyes darted around the room.

“…Do you even want to be here?” Cesar asked.

Mark’s breath hitched slightly, his chest feeling as tight as his throat. “…I mean…I’d like to hang out with you.”

“Yeah, but do you actually want to be here?” Cesar repeated.

Mark paused before he looked at Cesar with a pensive look in his eyes. “No.”

“Then why did you—”

“Cause I wanted to say I was sorry, okay?” Mark stated. “For…y’know…what happened last week.”

“That’s…it?” Cesar scoffed slightly. “Dude, you could’ve…told me at school or even through the phone.”

“I-I don’t know, I just wanted to talk to you.” Mark said. “Like…actually talk to you.”

“…About what?” Cesar asked before the two of them heard footsteps coming from the kitchen.

“Marco, I put a comforter and a few blankets and pillows on Cesar’s bed.” Ms. Torres appeared in the doorway, her Spanish accent present as she spoke. “You can make your bed on the ground, and if it’s not comfortable, I can get you some quilts.”

“Thanks…miss.” Mark said.

Ms. Torres was a shorter, middle aged woman with shoulder length, wavy dark brown hair and deep tan skin. She wore a black cardigan over a white shirt, along with a silver necklace. “Okay, Niño, I’m going to bed, come get me if you or Mark need anything.”

“Alright, mamá, see you tomorrow.” Cesar said as his mother pulled him into an embrace before walking down the hall, closing the door to her bedroom.

“Cesar, don’t you ever feel like…you’re…being watched?”

The question made a pit form in Cesar’s stomach as he turned towards Mark, who was sitting on the couch, staring at him with anticipation; expecting something from Cesar.

“I mean…yeah, I have, but…who hasn’t?” The corner of Cesar’s mouth rose slightly in a nervous smile, fading as quickly as it appeared. “Sometimes you just…feel like that, there doesn’t have to be a reason to it.”

“Do you ever hear…b…breathing?”

Cesar’s throat felt tight.

“Like…not even…from anything in particular just…almost…everywhere here.” Mark continued.

“…Mark…what are you even…talking about?” Cesar asked. “I…look, I just wanted us to spend tonight just hanging out, without the weird shit—”

“Do you?” Mark seemed aggressive with his question, leaning forward as he stared at Cesar’s eyes, being able to make out the concern in his stare. Cesar glanced around the room, shifting his weight onto one foot as he stared at the ground; thinking.

“…Yes.” Cesar’s voice was quiet, almost a squeak.

Mark let out a breath, shaking his head slightly as one of his hands clasped his necklace. “Then why…why have you been acting like I’ve been crazy this whole time if you knew?”

Cesar didn’t respond to his question, rather looking towards a bookshelf and looking back to Mark. “We have some…board games.” Cesar stated. “Monopoly? Cards? Do you want to…play anything? I-I can dig out the SNES in my closet—”

“It’s…fine. I’ll just…watch TV.” Mark responded, brows furrowing on his face as he looked away from Cesar. He could see Cesar lower his head in his peripheral vision as he walked away, sighing and scratching the back of his head. He disappeared behind the archway as Mark stared at the TV, the black and white images reflecting off of his eyes. He watched as the two characters in the western spoke to each other:

“You know, I don’t see why I stay with that bastard.” One of them stated, looking towards the taller cowboy next to him. “All he does is cause trouble for me, and for everyone else he’s around.”

“Well, Billy, I’d say it’s about time you let him go.” The older man stated. “Besides, you always have me, and we have a home you can stay in, food you can eat. You don’t need him if you think he’s nothing but trouble for you.”

“I guess so, Mr. Parker.” Billy chuckled. “Guess I’m…right at home here, huh?”

“That you are. You’re always welcome here, and never forget that.” Parker laughed. “We always love guests. You’ll love it here, Heathcliff. You’ll love it here.”

Mark looked away from the screen as his eyes were drug upwards, back at the grandfather clock, hearing the characters in the TV laughing despite their noses bleeding heavily. Mark’s eyes couldn’t be moved, hearing the clunks and ticks coming from the inside of the clock, faint bells ringing in Mark’s head. He couldn’t look away, sitting up as he stared at the clock’s face, the hands shifting and the pendulum swinging, calming, in a way. Maybe Cesar was right, and he was just on edge. Maybe he deserved to lean back, sink into the couch, and let himself relax.

Mark didn’t want to. He didn’t want to relax, feeling as if his eyes burnt as he watched the clock, every sound aside from the ticking fading into oblivion; all until he felt a hand be pressed on his shoulder.

“Mark?” Cesar’s voice shook, and when Mark looked up at his face, it almost seemed like he was…scared.

“What do you want?” Mark asked.

“What the fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Cesar said frantically. “I tried talking to you but you didn’t respond; dude I was wondering if I should call an ambulance—”

“What? You…never said anything.” Mark rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling as though they were dried out.

“You’ve been staring into space for over a fucking hour, Mark.”

Mark looked at him quizzically before glancing back at the clock, heart sinking when he saw the hour hand nearing midnight. “W…but I…I don’t…get it.” Mark muttered.

“I tried talking to you but you just mumbled shit at me and never even looked at me.” Cesar continued. “Dude, you’re…seriously fucking worrying me.”

“I…fuck…” Mark pressed his elbows on his knees, grasping his head with his hands as he stared at the carpet.

“…Maybe…you should go to sleep, dude.” Cesar suggested. “I mean…when was the last time you slept well anyway? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“…Yeah…I haven’t.” Mark muttered under his breath, trying to push down the feeling of nausea in his gut. “…Fuck.”

Mark could still hear the clock, even as he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor in Cesar’s bedroom. He stared into the darkness, hearing Cesar’s faint breathing from the bed in the corner. Mark normally took off his necklace before bed, however he found himself still clutching it hard enough in his hand to leave indents in his skin. He turned onto his side, pulling the covers over himself as his eyes darted around the room before he shut his eyes, curling into himself as he tried to fall—

GONG.

The clock’s bells rang throughout the home, startling Mark out of his half asleep state entirely. He sat still for a moment, trembling slightly before groaning, throwing his blanket off of him before standing up. “Ces—” Mark paused as he stared at the bed, seeing nothing but neatly made bed sheets and pillows where Cesar once was. Mark stared at the empty bed as he felt his throat become tight, hearing the loud, echoing bells from the living room.

He turned towards the bedroom door, seeing faint blue light coming from the dark hall. He stared at it, swallowing the lump in his throat as he walked towards the door, tempted to claw his hair out when he felt that the ground was damp. He felt the carpet of the bedroom turn into the wooden floors of the hallway, puddles formed on the floor as if it had rained indoors. His heart sank when he stared down the hallway, seeing that there were more doors than before. The four doors on the side and the one behind him turned into eight, then sixteen, then thirty six. The hallway stretched on both ways, reminding Mark of a hotel’s eerily empty and long hallways. He silently stepped towards the door next to Cesar’s, attempting to open it, only to find the doorknob remained unmoved.

Mark’s breathing clouded the cool air in front of him as he looked down the hallway, seeing a white, square shaped light at the end of the expansive hall, the sound of the bells ringing in his ears, joining the sound of static in the overwhelming choir, making Mark let go of his necklace just to cover his ears. He walked down the hallway, seeing the light slowly grow closer with every step. He wanted to scream, though deep inside he knew it would only result in a wheezy whisper and nothing more. He wanted out of that damned hallway, the many doors feeling so familiar yet so alien at the same time.

His wet socks hit the wooden floors as he walked, all until the wood felt oddly soft, and warm. He looked down, seeing that the wood grain of the floorboards was beginning to twist and look less like wood and similar to-

Mark didn’t want to think of what the veins meant.

Mark looked up, seeing where the light was coming from clearly; an analog television, resting on a table half sunken into the ground. The bells had finally grown silent, and the static was all that remained. Mark waved his hand by his side as he attempted to push down the overwhelming nausea he felt from the putrid smell, as well as desperately trying to brush off the feeling of being followed. He stood in front of the TV, raising his hand towards it, pointing a finger towards the power button, and clicking it. The screen shut off, delving the hall in darkness as Mark gasped, trying to turn the TV back on, only to find it unresponsive.

“Fuck…fuck…please…” Mark whimpered as he stood still, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears, unable to ignore how it sounded like a ticking clock. He wanted to wake up, knowing it was nothing but a nightmare. Please fucking wake up.

“You’re always welcome here, Mark.”

Cesar’s choked whisper into his right ear felt like it was burning itself into his head.

Mark awoke with a gasp, feeling the shaggy carpet under his body and face. He was drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy, and his body feeling even heavier. He felt the carpet stuck to his face as he pushed his upper body off of the floor, feeling the heaviness begin to wane, even though his arms felt weak. He looked up, eyes widening when he saw something towering over his prone body; the grandfather clock. Mark scrambled to his feet, staring at the clock as he shook off the exhaustion and heaviness in his body. His chest heaved with every harsh breath as he grasped his necklace tightly, glancing through the kitchen to see the back hallway, where Cesar’s bedroom was.

Mark pushed open Cesar’s door, his silhouette blocking the hallway light as he stared into the room. Darkness cloaked his form, his face concealed in blackness, with only two faint dots of light from his eyes visible. He stared at Cesar’s still, unconscious body before he slowly approached Cesar’s bed, lifting an arm over him before speaking quietly, yet urgently.

“Cesar.”

Cesar’s eyes flicked open as he breathed in harshly, feeling Mark’s hand rest on his shoulder before he quickly sat up, smacking the arm away and staring at Mark with wide eyes, only letting out his breath when he saw it was him.

“M…Mark?” Cesar mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“…What? What fuckin…time is it?” Cesar asked, happy when he began to make out Mark’s face in the darkness, no longer just seeing the shines of his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Mark responded with a trembling voice. “C…Can you come with me for a second…?”

Cesar stared at him, watching Mark back out of the room before Cesar slid out of bed, following Mark through the hallway and into the living room. Mark stopped in front of the clock, pointing at it with a shaking hand before looking back at Cesar. “W-What…do you feel looking at this?” Mark questioned.

“…What?”

“Please, just…a-answer the…the question, Cesar.” Mark stammered over his words, not making eye contact with Cesar as he talked.

“I…I-I don’t…know?” Cesar responded.

“Please, you…y-you have to feel something looking at it, right?” Mark looked towards Cesar for approval.

“Mark, what’s going on with you, you’ve been talking about my house nonstop every time I’ve seen you for, what, a month?”

“Yeah, and I-I’m fuckin’ tired of you just…ignoring me,” Mark said, brows furrowed and his shoulders tense. “You told me that you’ve heard the breathing too, felt like you’re being watched, yet you keep pretending that I’m just out of my fucking mind!”

“Mark, I just wanted to hang out with you; a normal night for ONCE.” Cesar said, walking in front of the clock, blocking Mark’s view. “What the fuck is going on; you refuse to fucking tell me anything!”

“Cesar, there’s something seriously fucking wrong here,” Mark snapped. “I’ve told you EVERYTHING I’ve felt about this place, yet you refuse to just LISTEN to me!”

“Mark, calm down—”

“NO, I’M TIRED OF THIS,” Mark stepped towards Cesar as tears ran down his cheeks and his speech became slurred. “YOU THINK I’M FUCKING CRAZY, DON’T YOU?!”

“Mark—” Cesar felt Mark shove him away, stumbling backwards before hitting the clock, cracking the glass covering the cavity holding the pendulum before he fell to the ground. He laid on the ground, pressing a hand against the sore part of his back as Mark glared at him; all before Mark’s stare began to soften. Mark grimaced, trying to hold back tears before covering his face, sobbing into his hands.

“Fuck…Cesar, I’m…so fucking sorry.”

“Get out.”

Mark looked through his fingers to see Cesar staring back at him, the glare feeling like twenty daggers piercing his heart.

“…Cesar?”

“GET OUT.” Cesar repeated loudly, making Mark flinch as he pointed towards the front door. “If you don’t like this place, GET OUT!”

Mark stumbled backwards, looking at his suitcase, which sat by the couch as Cesar continued. “I’ve…had enough of this SHIT, Mark.” Cesar spat. “No…no I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you need THERAPY.”

Mark chest heaved with every sob, the one arm not clutching his sweat-stained shirt shaking in front of his torso. “I-I…shit…fuck…I-I-I—”

“I’ll see you at school, Mark.” Cesar stated, standing up. “Go home. Get help.”

Mark turned away from Cesar, storming towards his suitcase and grabbing its handle before freezing, feeling a pit in his chest. He could smell something similar to copper, or old coins. He shook his head, not bothering to grab anything he may have left behind before bolting towards the door, swinging it open and walking outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Cesar glanced at the clock, seeing the cracked glass and the small shards of it breaking off of it and falling to the floor. It smelled of iron in the room, and when Cesar looked up at the clock’s face, he saw something running from the grooves around it, dripping down the wood before Cesar hesitantly wiped it off with his fingers. He looked at the liquid on his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb, staining his hand with red. “…W…what?”

Mark threw open the back door of his car, tossing the suitcase inside without much trouble as he stifled a sob. He closed the door before opening the driver’s side door and sitting inside. He closed the door, and buckled his seatbelt before grasping the steering wheel with enough force to make his knuckles pop. He grimaced as tears ran down his cheeks. Way to go Mark; you lost another one. Maybe you never needed Cesar anyway, Mark. Maybe you never needed—

“FUCK!” Mark shouted in his car. He slammed his hand against the wheel, causing the horn to blare for a moment before he crossed his arms on the steering wheel, lowering his head and pressing his forehead on it. “…Damn it. God damn it…”

Cesar woke up later than he normally did the next morning, finally waking up around 11 in the morning, rather than his normal 8 AM. He was wrapped and buried in his blankets, barely visible from beneath them before he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He stirred awake, pushing the blankets off of his head as he groggily stared at the door as it opened, revealing his mother. “Oh…sorry for waking you up, have you seen Marco?” She asked.

Cesar blinked at her, sighing before turning over onto his side. “He’s…he left.” He mumbled tiredly. “…Last night.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Cesar thought for a second, or as much as he could while half asleep. “…No.”

“Oh…are you alright?” Ms. Torres stepped into the room, folding her hands in front of her as she looked at Cesar worriedly.

“…Y…I dunno.” Cesar responded. “Just…weird.”

“Well…alright; breakfast is ready whenever you want it.” Ms. Torres walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her as Cesar pulled the covers over his head. He felt himself drifting off, ready to sleep until noon until the door opened again.

“Oh! Almost forgot, you have that recital this Monday, don’t forget it,” Ms. Torres said. “In fact, I’d recommend you practice a bit before then.”

“Ye…yeah…whatever.” Cesar heard the door close once again, ready to fall back asleep until his eyes shot open. “Oh…shit.” He turned onto his back, pressing his hands against his face; the piano recital. How was he going to concentrate on playing after everything that happened the night before? He wished he could’ve pushed it off another week to give him time to decompress and relax, though it didn’t seem like he was lucky enough for that.

“‘Practice a bit before then’, as if…I haven’t been practicing nearly every day for a month.” Cesar muttered as he sat up. He opened his closet door, seeing his black suit hung up next to the shelves, along with his white dress shirt right beside it. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt before closing the doors.

He walked out of his bedroom, turning towards the bathroom to get dressed before flicking on the light. He looked into the medicine cabinet’s mirror in front of him for a moment, pausing before he could close the door, staring at the mirror his brows furrowed. His eyes looked towards the reflection of the hallway behind him, seeing a portion of the kitchen. It was empty, though when he turned behind him, his breathed hitched slightly, as he could see his mother placing plates and food on the table. He turned back towards the mirror, his unease not waning when he saw that the kitchen was still empty in the reflection. He let out a shaky breath as he backed out of the room, deciding to change in his bedroom instead, unnoticing of the figure in the kitchen archway in the reflection.

Cesar quickly got himself dressed, walking out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, staring at the table before his mother noticed him. “Would you like some eggs?” She asked, though Cesar barely looked at her.

“I’m not hungry right now…” Cesar stated, glancing at his mother before walking into the living room, much to her dismay. He walked towards the couch, seeing the sun’s light bleeding into the home from the window, hitting the carpet and even the furniture on the opposite wall. Cesar’s eyes followed the light for a second before they landed on something. He stared at it quizzically, pausing before stepping towards it; the clock. He looked at the glass, seeing the pendulum swing back and forth as it always did, however, Cesar couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he realized that the glass was fixed, with not a single crack or blemish in sight. It was as if the event the previous night never happened at all.

Cesar crouched down, lightly grazing his fingers across the newly-fixed glass before speaking. “Hey, mom, did you fix the clock last night?” He asked.

“…No? Was it broken?”

The answer made a pit form in his stomach as he turned back towards the clock, swallowing his unease and standing up. “N…No, just…curious.”

Mark’s shaky breathing was the only sound in his bedroom, sitting on his knees on his bed as he stared, unblinking, at the wall in front of him. He scribbled with the black marker in his hand, leaving thin, dark lines on the grey drywall. Organic-appearing pictures formed from his mindless drawing, lines branching off like veins, with small, scribbled eyes peeking through them. He didn’t know why he was doing this; he even had a notebook he could draw in, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get out his thoughts in any other way. He had to.

A knock rang from his bedroom door, though Mark barely heard it, continuing to draw even as his hands were stained with ink. It was only when the second knock rang that Mark paused, slowly turning towards the door as he stared at it with dry, bloodshot eyes. Blood oozed down from his nostrils, dripping over his mouth and chin, though he didn’t seem to react to the taste of iron.

“Mark?” It was his mother. “…You haven’t been out of your room in a while, are you alright?”

Mark took a moment to respond, blinking as he regained his bearings. “…Yeah.”

“You sure? Do you need anything?”

“No, Mom.” Mark responded, looking down at his stained hands; he needed to wash them off, the best he can, anyway. “I’m fine, just…tired.”

“Alright, just…remember to take care of yourself okay?”

“…Yeah. I…I-I will.” He looked back towards his drawings, brows furrowing as his eyes grazed over the lines. He shook his head, looking around his room before his eyes focused on something just barely out of view in his open closet; a poster, one of a horror movie he liked to watch. He hopped off of his bed, grabbing the poster, along with a small box of pushpins before climbing back onto his bed, breath heavy as he stared at the drawings, all before he rolled out the poster and held it against the wall, securing it with the pins. He didn’t even want to see them himself, so why would the others?

Mark opened his bedroom door after he finished hanging up the poster, closing the door behind him, seeing the stairway leading downstairs before he turned to his left, where the upstairs bathroom was. He stared into the dark room before flicking on the light, turning towards the mirror and seeing the state he was in. His wavy brown hair was covering his left eye, almost being a blessing, knowing how his other eye appeared. He had a dull purple ring over his sunken eyes, with the eyes themselves being bloodshot and red. He seemed paler than usual, though he swore he looked better the night before. He was wearing his pale grey sweatshirt, along with his cross necklace of course. He hated the way he looked; he had acne from stress, and his hair was a complete mess. He hated the crimson streaks going down his top lip, with every wipe of his hand only making it smear across his lower face. He hated it.

The faucet was leaking, dripping water as he stared deep into his own reflection. It dripped in rhythm, with every time the water fell onto the porcelain below making Mark want to scratch his ears off with his nails.

Drip.

Trip.

Trik.

Tick.

Mark’s hands shook as he breathed in deeply, grimacing as he stared at himself. He couldn’t take it, raising a fist before throwing it into the mirror, cracks spreading from the impact as shards exploded onto the countertop. Mark screamed, pulling his arm back and stumbling into the wall, sliding down as he stared at his fist. His knuckles were bloody, with shards half protruding out of his skin, tearing it and causing the crimson to drip down his arm.

He couldn’t find anything to say, only gasping and grasping his wrist as he stared at the blood. He could hear his mother running up the stairs, and he knew he had no explanation to his action. He barely even recognized the sound of the door opening until it hit his foot, hearing his mother’s voice worriedly asking him what happened. It was nothing more than noise to him. He could hear the pulsing in his head again as he sat, unmoving on the bathroom floor. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, or even why.

He was scared.

September 12th, 1992. 6:46 PM.

Cesar hadn’t slept well the entire weekend.

He could feel his exhaustion creeping up on him as he adjusted the red bowtie around his neck, looking at himself in the mirror as he centered it on his shirt collar. Despite his neatly done hair, combed to the side as best as it could, and his spotless black tuxedo, the bags under his eyes alluded to his less than energetic mood. He adjusted the rose pinned to his lapel until it looked good enough before taking another look at himself in the mirror, taking in a deep breath before letting it go, shutting the light off before leaving the bathroom.

He walked down the hallway as he fidgeted with his dress shirt cuffs, feeling a pressure in his chest; he couldn’t decipher whether he was anxious about the recital in little more than two hours, or the stress he felt creeping up inside of him from the past few days. He hadn’t been able to shake of the nausea in his stomach, though he pressed it down anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to make his mother worry. He was better than that.

Cesar walked into the living room, sighing as he sat on the couch, grasping his knees with his strangely clammy hands. He took in slow, deep breaths, just like his therapist told him, though it didn’t seem to relieve the sinking feeling in his chest. He glanced around the living room, feeling oddly…unnerved by the red wallpaper; did it seem almost…redder than usual? He looked towards the corner near the ceiling, eyes squinting when he spotted something leaking from it, dripping down the striped wallpaper. It was almost invisible, blending in with the wall almost seamlessly. Cesar couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps…Mark was right to be concerned—

“Niño, are you ready?” Ms. Torres walked into the room, dressed in a black cardigan, black shirt, along with a floral skirt. “We’re supposed to be there in a half hour.”

“…I thought it was a couple hours…away.” Cesar asked, eyes still fixated on the strange substance leaking from the walls before looking towards his mother.

“It’s nearly 8 o’clock,” Ms. Torres said after taking a glance at the grandfather clock, seeing that it was 7:49 PM. “You need to be there by 8:30, remember?”

Cesar stared off at nothing in particular as his brows furrowed. “Yeah…of...of course.” He looked down at the coffee table, his eyes focusing on the stack of papers resting next to the TV. “Schubert’s Serenade” was written above the music notes, a song he was all too familiar with; even remembering how often he practiced made his hands hurt. He sighed, slipping on his black dress shoes before grabbing the stack of papers, hoping the performance would help get his mind off of…everything.

He didn’t expect Mark to show up, nor did he particularly want to see him in the audience. He didn’t need this recital to be ruined by their personal drama.

Cesar’s deep feeling of discomfort didn’t subside, even as they drove down Mandela’s streets, the streetlights passing over their car. He glanced towards his mother, who was focused on the road as she drove, able to see in her face that she wasn’t affected by the strange aura Cesar felt; if anything, she seemed excited for Cesar’s performance more than Cesar himself was. Cesar let out a soft sigh, staring through the windshield as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“…Do I…have to do this?”

The question made Ms. Torres glance at him with a weird look in her eyes. “Do you not want to? I thought you were looking forward to this.”

“Well, yeah but…just…gah, I don’t know, things have been…” Cesar paused for a moment as he thought to himself. “…Weird, lately…couldn’t this be done any other time?”

“Nervous?”

“…Yeah, honestly.”

“You’ll do great, I can feel it.” Ms. Torres smiled. “I’m sure everyone will love it.”

“Or just…laugh at me.” Cesar crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, don’t say that,” Ms. Torres let out a nervous chuckle. “Hey, if nothing else, I’ll enjoy the performance. Even though I am a little biased.” She let out a short laugh as Cesar looked towards her, her sunny attitude doing nothing to help his mood. He didn’t have much time to think about getting out of the car and walking home however, as they were already there. As they parked, Cesar looked up at the building, seeing all the cars in the parking lot, the amount of which making his heart sink into his stomach.

“There are…a lot of people here.” He said quietly.

“Niño, look at me,” Ms. Torres looked at him with a soft gaze. “It’s going to be alright, just focus on the music. I’ll be there in the audience, and trust me…I won’t laugh at you.” She smiled softly. “I’m proud of you either way.”

Despite the worry in his eyes, Cesar smiled, taking in a deep breath before grabbing the music sheets and opening the door, stepping outside and following his mother to the front door. He felt the pressure in his chest finally begin to wane, though the hesitation he felt didn’t leave him as he hugged his mother and parted ways to go backstage. He stared at the music sheets, taking in yet another deep breath as he shut his eyes. “Focus…on the music.” He muttered under his breath. “Just…breathe.”

Ms. Torres took a seat in the auditorium, sitting next to a few other parents, presumably there for their own children’s performances along with her. She looked around the large room before placing her purse on her lap, digging through it before pulling out one of the larger objects inside of it; a personal camcorder. She held onto it, looking up towards the front of the room, seeing the large, jet black grand piano resting on the wooden stage. She couldn’t wait, even if she knew there were a few performances before Cesar’s. Sure, she was biased, but she knew Cesar was going to sweep the floor with the others, even if he was less confident in his abilities.

Cesar sat backstage, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the metal folding chair was as he looked over his music sheets, checking over and over that they’re in the correct order. He felt cold, and his hands shook despite the decent temperature in the room. He could hear someone on the stage, performing and playing music that would be calming, if Cesar didn’t know he was next on the list. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, it ticking ever so slightly, nearing 9:00. Despite how quiet the ticking was, each one felt like a drill in his skull. The deep breaths weren’t helping his nausea and borderline lightheadedness anymore, and his leg began to bounce up and down as he tried to push it all away.

“You’ve been practicing for a month now,” Cesar thought to himself. “You know it by heart; it’s going to be fine. You have to impress them. Don’t be a baby about this.”

He pressed his hand against his head as he worriedly stared at nothing in particular, shutting his eyes as he tried to think to himself. The music was fading away, and the sound of the audience clapping tore Cesar out of his train of thought, making him open his eyes and sit up completely straight. He suppressed the urge to hyperventilate as he saw the teenager that was on stage walk into the room, immediately leaving to join the audience, he presumed.

He stood up, holding his papers and approaching the entrance to the stage, waiting for his name to be called. He stood still, able to hear a pulsing in his head, unsure if it was the steadily forming headache, or simply his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He took in a few breaths, exhaling after each one, and as soon as he heard his name, he swallowed his sudden fear and stepped out onto the stage.

It was complete silence as he walked towards the grand piano, glancing towards the large auditorium, the sheer amount of people in there being unclear due to being concealed by the bright spotlights limiting his view. He felt blank; unsure if the seemingly clear mind was due to too many thoughts at once or none at all. He sat on the bench, placing his papers on the music desk of the piano, looking at them, seeing the name “Shubert’s Serenade” at the top as he held his slightly shaking hands over the keys, holding his breath for a moment before playing the first note.

The solemn song echoed throughout the auditorium, the audience silent as they listened intently, with Cesar’s mother filming with a faint smile. Cesar tried to focus on the music like she had suggested, though something was itching in the back of his mind, with the quieter moments of the song making it only try and drown out the serenade he was playing. He pushed through each bar of music, without flaw, slowly beginning to feel his unease wash away. He felt calm, with the music, while gloomy, making him feel more at ease. He approached a quieter section, his hands moving across the keys as he played. He felt a sense of peace, despite the crowd of people to his right.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Cesar missed a note.

He glanced to his right, seeing that no one’s expression had changed, nor did anything seem out of the ordinary. He began to wonder if it was just his mind playing tricks on him until he heard it again; faint ticking, coming from somewhere just out of sight. He shook his head slightly, flinching when one of his fingers slipped and hit the note next to the correct one. He could feel his chest become tight again, and he had to suppress the urge to bounce his leg, lest he accidentally hit or let go of the pedal of the piano at the wrong time. He swallowed hard, telling himself that it was only for a few minutes. He played the wrong note again, the action making him grimace slightly.

Someone laughed.

He glanced towards the crowd, seeing from his limited view that none of them were necessarily happy, but he heard murmuring that he couldn’t make out. He tried to continue playing, only missing more notes, each time making someone in the crowd let out a mean-spirited chuckle. Cesar could feel his breathing quickening, hearing faint, otherworldly laughing in the distance as he played, the timing of the song becoming off the longer he went. Ms. Torres looked at him with furrowed brows and a look of concern, wondering what was going on for Cesar to act so strangely, knowing there weren’t any audible distractions she could hear.

Cesar’s jaw was clenched, and each note was becoming harder to play as his hands stiffened and shook. He was slowly losing his grasp on the song, with the notes on the page even seeming to warp in his view despite nothing changing. He felt something behind him, refusing to look back until he was done with the song. He lost track of the bass line of the song for a moment, the action making the crowd in his head laugh again. He could hear the ticking of a clock, pounding in his ears like gunfire. His chest heaved as he looked down at the keys, trying to maintain his composure until—

Something dripped onto one of the white keys; a crimson liquid.

Another drop hit the ivory, Cesar only realizing after being able to taste it that it was blood, running down from his nose. He saw something in both sides of his peripheral vision, reaching towards his head. He Cesar stared at the keys, the song becoming dissonant as the bony hands reached towards his face.

A loud bang of discordant notes echoed throughout the hall as Cesar slammed his hands against the piano, standing up and pushing the bench back as he did so. The audience flinched, letting out surprised gasps before muttering to each other. Cesar swung to look behind him, seeing nothing before turning back towards the piano, grabbing his sheets before storming off of the stage, wiping his rapidly bleeding nose with his hand. Ms. Torres stood up, watching him disappear backstage before she shut off her camcorder, shoving it into her bag before brushing past the concerned people sitting next to her. She walked down the aisle, feeling tight in the chest as she walked around the building, calling Cesar’s name as she looked for the backstage entrance.

She burst through the backstage door, looking around and only seeing the surprised looks of the other performers before she walked past them with a quick “sorry”. She looked up, seeing the door leading outside before rushing towards it, swinging it open as she looked into the parking lot. She couldn’t see anyone there, though when she turned towards the street, she saw the rearview headlights of their car disappearing down the road.

“Cesar?!” She called, rushing down the concrete stairs before running into the parking lot, watching as the car drove away, exceeding the speed limit. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to conceal her worry and fear. “…O-Oh, no, Cesar…Que ha pasado ahora...”

Cesar pulled into the driveway as soon as he made it across town, shutting it off and hopping out, leaving his sheets in the car as he slammed the driver’s door shut. He muttered obscenities under his breath as he rushed into the house, swinging open the door and closing it when he was inside, all while holding his blood-stained hand under his nose. He walked quickly past the living room, through the kitchen, and into the back hallway, flicking on the light of the bathroom. He grabbed the toilet paper, tearing it off of the roll before pushing it under his nose to catch the blood. His breathing was uneven and his eyes watered, bordering on sobbing as his wide eyes stared at the sink.

“Fuck…y-you fucking idiot, this is the only car you drove there…” He groaned under his breath. He sighed, throwing the paper under his nose into the trash before turning on the faucet and washing his hands of his blood. Red stained water ran down the drain as Cesar felt the nose bleed subside, and as soon as his hands were at least mostly clean, he shut off the water, pressing his hands against the counter as he tried to regain his composure.

He looked up with a deep exhale, staring at himself through the mirror, seeing how red his eyes were due to the crying. His left eye appeared to be covered by his black hair in the reflection, despite it being above his eye in reality. Cesar stared at the reflection, brows furrowing when he realized that the lights in the hallway were off in the reflection, but not when he turned behind him to verify that they were on. “…Wh…” He turned back towards the mirror, eyes widening when he realized that his reflection was smiling at him.

Cesar couldn’t even let out a scream before his shoulders were grabbed by the reflection in the mirror, pulling him through it without struggle. Cesar yelled, feeling himself fall towards the floor, a water-like liquid splashing onto him when he hit the ground. He laid on the ground for a moment, feeling his clothes being stained with the thin layer of red liquid that rested above the tiles of the bathroom. The smell was nauseating, smelling of iron and rust, along with rotting wood and fresh paint. It was completely pitch black past the light of the mirror, the yellow lights from it bleeding into the mirrored room.

Cesar’s panic spiked again as he scrambled to his feet, looking down at his feet to see he was ankle deep in blood, or something that appeared to be blood. He looked back towards the mirror, seeing the bathroom he was used to, and he raised his hands, slamming against the mirror, loud bangs echoing from each impact as he began to hyperventilate. “NO! No, no NO, PLEASE, LET ME OUT OF HERE!” He cried, tears running down his face as he attempted to break the “glass.” “LET ME OUT…PLEASE…please…” He squeaked the last words out, looking through the mirror before a figure emerged from behind the counter, standing up, it’s limbs cracking as it moved. Cesar’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at the figure, his heart dropping at the realization that it was his own face looking back at him.

“A round of applause…” The alternate’s voice was breathy, sounding as if he was out of breath through his wide smile. Its bloodshot eyes stared at Cesar, thick, dark blood leaking from his nose, right eye, and from behind the hair covering his left eye. It was even wearing his suit, albeit torn and hanging together by threads. “It must feel nice…to come home after your performance. Make yourself comfortable, Cesar.”

Cesar grimaced as he curled his hands into fists, slamming them into the mirror as he screamed for someone, anyone to come to his rescue, watching as the alternate flicked the light off, walking down the hallway before closing the bathroom door. Cesar cried, sliding his blood-stained hands down the mirror as he lowered his head, sobbing to himself as he covered his face. This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be happening. Maybe he would wake up, realizing it was nothing but a fucked up nightmare, and that everything would be okay. However, when he heard a loud, deep creaking from the dark, mirrored home around him, he realized it wasn’t as simple as that. The walls creaked, moving with every groan of the support beams. Tree-branch like marks covered the walls from what he could see, pulsing slightly.

Mark was right. The walls were breathing.

September 15th, 1992. 10:56 PM.

Mark was awoken by his cellular phone ringing. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep on the couch that evening, finding himself sprawled across the sofa when he groggily opened his eyes. He sleepily turned towards the coffee table, hearing the ear-splittingly annoying ringtone from his blocky cell phone. He let out a tired groan as he reached towards it, nearly falling off of the couch before grabbing it and holding it up to his ear after accepting the call.

“…H’llo?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he waited for the response.

“Hey, it’s Cesar; I hope it’s not too—”

“Cesar?” Mark sat up, brows furrowing and his already hauntingly vacant stare becoming more harrowing. “What—why are you calling me this late? You haven’t talked to me in days and you’re calling me now?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just…” Cesar sounded…strangely out of breath. “It’s not me, it’s my mom. She didn’t show up at my recital on Monday—”

“What? I didn’t…even know you had a recital.” Mark murmured as he rubbed his eyes. “You…didn’t…invite me—N-Never mind, fuck, what happened to your mom?”

“I don’t know, but…I’m at the police station to report a missing person, so I just…wanted to ask you a favor?” Cesar continued.

Mark remained silent for a moment, glancing around his empty living room with furrowed brows. “After…ignoring me for so long, you want me to do a favor for you?”

“Look, I-I know it’s been…rough lately, but I really need just this one thing,” Cesar sighed. “Can you please at least…listen?”

“Listen to you?” Mark scoffed. “You barely listen to—”

“You know the cameras we installed after we were robbed?”

Mark let out a sigh as his statement was once again pushed aside. “…Yes, what about them?” He asked with barely disguised annoyance.

“I was wondering if you could…turn them on. I’m worried that while I’m gone something might…happen?”

“Fuck no.” Mark’s tone darkened. “I already told you, I’m not going back to that fucking house. Besides, I thought you didn’t want me there anymore.”

“I was just…angry, okay, but I’m better now. Besides, I checked everywhere, and there’s nothing here.” Cesar responded. “Please, can you do this? Just this once? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Mark absentmindedly scratched his neck, staring ahead blankly. “…I…God…” He thought intently for a moment before speaking again. “Alright. I’m just going to go in there, turn them on, and then leave though…that’s it.”

“And that’s all you need to do.” Cesar said. “Thank you for this, really. I appreciate it.”

“…No…n…no problem.”

Mark felt empty as he drove to Cesar’s house. No thoughts ran through his head, as much as if felt like there should’ve been, and his stare remained blank, fixed on the road in front of him. His hands were clamped on the steering wheel, grasping the leather hard enough that it hurt. His breathing was deep, yet quiet, feeling oddly calm knowing the circumstance. It was as if he felt like he made the right decision, though deep inside he wished he didn’t take the offer, no matter if it helped he and Cesar’s friendship or not.

Mark glanced down at his hand, seeing traces of lazily washed off doodles drawn on his forearm before he grasped his sleeve, pulling it over the organic looking drawings. He shook his free, bandage-wrapped hand for a second, and then pushed his hair out of his face before grasping the wheel once again. In and out. Go in, turn on the cameras, and get out. That’s all he needed to do.

Mark parked on the other side of the road, opposite of the home before he stepped out of the vehicle. His hands shook by his sides as he hesitantly walked across the street, his sneakers hitting the pavement then eventually the driveway being the only sounds he could hear for miles. Not even the crickets seemed to be chirping that night, and the air was still and cool. Mark couldn’t help but feel a chill go up his spine as he approached the front door, reaching for the doorknob before pausing. He raised his other hand, clasping his necklace before taking in a breath, and opening the door.

He felt like he was going to throw up when he heard the grandfather clock ticking again. He let go of the door, keeping it open as he carefully looked around, looking up at the living room ceiling before spotting the first camera. He walked towards it, avoiding eye contact with the clock before reaching towards the camera and locating the switch. However, when he saw it, he paused; the camera was on, and the red light was switched on as well. He lowered his arms, turning towards the archway leading to the kitchen to look for the next camera.

The next camera wasn’t much better; red light was flashing, and the switch was on. He growled in annoyance, wondering in confused silence why Cesar asked him to turn the cameras on when they were already active. If anything, it was wasting both of their time, though nevertheless, Mark decided to try his luck with the other cameras. He looked around the room, spotting the basement door, before he turned towards the back hallway, freezing when he saw the camera above the bathroom door, finally seeing a camera without its red light on.

Mark couldn’t help but notice the pit forming in his stomach as he approached the dark hallway, eyes fixed on the camera above him. It felt oddly cold as he walked further into the hallway he swore was shorter, feeling as if the floorboards were less firm than they used to be. He looked up at the security camera above him raising his left arm to find the switch, only to see it wasn’t near the back with the wires like the others, making him furrow his brows as he grazed his hand across the metal searching for it. Finally, he found the switch, being on top of the camera, where he could barely reach. He was done; at least he hoped that the others were already on as well, so his job would be short.

He tried to stand on his flat feet, no longer standing on his toes until he felt a dull, hot pain in his left hand, as if it was burning. He winced, trying to remove his hand from the overheating camera, only to find that it didn’t budge. He stared at it, jerking his arm back, though the action didn’t free his hand either, even as the pain began to increase in intensity. He muttered curse words under his breath as he pulled his arm away, all before the camera broke off of its base, the wires that didn’t sever coming with it. Mark let out a yell as he looked at the camera in his hand, beginning to fabricate stories to explain the broken tech, until he turned it around. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw why he couldn’t move his hand.

The skin of his hand looked as if it was melting, fusing with the metal of the camera’s casing as if they were one entity since the beginning. He could see his veins becoming one with the wires, and his skin was becoming pale and thin near the fusion point. Mark tried moving his fingers, only able to see his bones and tendons move slightly under his skin. His breathing was becoming frantic as he pressed his right hand against it, attempting to free himself as he let out surprised and horrified yelps.

“Hello, Mark.”

Mark’s gaze snapped towards the noise, seeing a figure at the end of the hallway like a living shadow. “C…Cesar?” Mark’s voice shook as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, backing away into the corner and pressing his right hand against the wall for stability. It wasn’t Cesar; he could see it.

It was tall, and malnourished, with its limbs bent oddly, as if they barely held up his body. His smile was stretched wide across his face, his one right, bloodshot eye unblinking as it stared at Mark with glee. Mark looked towards his left eye socket, feeling as if he was about to vomit when he saw that the eye wasn’t even there. Protruding from the socket was many dull colored veins, almost like wires in a machine made of flesh. The veins and arteries fused with the skin on the left side of his face, as well as wrapping around his head and fusing to the back of his skull and neck. His skin almost looked dead, a paler version of the real Cesar’s skin tone. The look of it made Mark sick, the feeling of dread overpowering the burning he felt in his right hand.

“You seem tense.” “Cesar” said softly, his smile not once fading. “Why don’t you relax? You’ll be staying here for a while.”

Mark stared at what was left of the alternate’s face, his eye wide as familiarity rushed over him. The smile Mark saw in the mirror, the tall figure he saw in his dreams; even his voice felt like a jackhammer in his skull. He could hear the ticking and beating of the clock everywhere, steadily growing louder as he turned around, seeing that his right hand was immovable, and slowly sinking into the wall. “Y…You…WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Mark shouted, eyes full of fury as he tried to free his arm, noticing that his right leg was hard to move as well.

“You…make things so…difficult for us.” Cesar tilted his head. “It chose you! You should be honored to be such…an esteemed guest.”

“Wh…What chose me?!”

“It just wants the best for you, don’t you realize that?” Cesar asked calmly. “These walls, the rooms and halls; they’re safe. Secure. I don’t understand why someone would want to leave Home like you seem to.”

Mark remained silent, looking down to see his shin halfway in the wall. The burning sensation rushed over his body as it fused with the drywall and wallpaper, all while he felt a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He screamed, both in pain and horror for anyone to hear, hoping someone could free him despite his own flesh and bones deconstructing.

“Welcome Home, Mark.” Cesar said. “All its guests welcome you.”

White hot tears ran down Mark’s face, feeling his head throb with every tick of the clock, trying to pull himself out of the wall; away from his fate of being consumed in the belly of the beast. He stared at “Cesar” with hatred, the smile on its face making him burn with anger. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” He screamed, his throat shot and his nose gushing with blood. “I HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

Cesar didn’t even flinch at the yelling as Mark thrashed around, all attempts to free himself being fruitless. He stared at the replication of his friend as he shouted and sobbed, all until Home took away his mouth and eyes too.

Rest, my dear.

Welcome Home.

#shmorp writes sometimes #Mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc Home Sweet Home au #blood tw #gore tw #body horror #face horror #tw paranoia #paranoia inducing #(supernaturally caused but. just in case)#mark heathcliff #cesar torres #alt cesar #uh. does. Ms. Torres even. have a tag?#anyway. this was. supposed to be the prologue but uh. I got a tad silly wacky so. here's. a VERY long fic by my standards-#But hey I think you guys will like this au for real :)#ask me if theres any tags I should add by the way. just want to make sure this is properly tagged #cause. theres a lot to this one-

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yestrday · 1 year ago

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I recently read the newest edition to your hybrid au and !!! omg !!! it was REALLY good. your work never disappoints, whether it's a drabble or a full-fledged fic !! I really admire the route you're taking for some characters and their hybrid counterparts. I can see how much thought u put into it ^o^ and otter!xingqiu is sooo cute >_< I honestly thought he was going to be a dolphin since they're intelligent, but an otter makes sm sense now that I think about it :D

I was curious about this for awhile.. but the characters have animal characteristics while in their hybrid forms, right? like ajax has his little horn, and venti has wings (?). with that being said, since scara is a bird hybrid, wouldn't mc have been able to notice hes a hybrid upon first meeting him? since I assume his wings would be present? and could you possible give a further visual for ayato ;; you mentioned he had a fin, but does he also have legs? or is it like a fin coming off from his spine? (does that make sense ;;)

OH ALSO :3 do they inhabit little animal habits, like does aether purr in his hybrid form?

(sorry this is rly self indulgent pls forgive me 🙏)

hybrids have the ability to switch between their animal and human forms and everything in between!

their animal and hybrid forms take up the least energy, while maintaining a fully human form drains them of their energy fast! scara was in his full human form when you met him, hence mc couldn't tell what he was when they first met them!

when first meeting ayato, you meet him in his half-hybrid form— think a mermaid, but with a sawshark's fin and denticles. however, when he lounging around your home, he takes on a pair of legs for convenience, but has his tail coming off his spine for energy saving.

all your hybrids tend to take on a humanoid form in your house, as they're comfortable doing so and it's easier interacting with you. some traits they have include (click for an extensive list of their hybrid traits):

aether: cat tail and ears, and set of canines too! often insists on acting as unhybrid-like as possible because he thinks its a weakness (past trauma lmao) but he's very prone to purring when someone scratches him behind his ear. although he can be stoic, his tail is very expressive, and it often gives him away whenever the group is playing cards. prone to biting people when they annoy him << happens a lot

venti: a pair of wings and feathers around his legs and ears. think like a harpy for every bird hybrid on this list. he makes small little coos every now and then, especially when he's relaxed. sometimes is an idiot and forgets he has a human mouth so he just... pecks off the food from someone's hand sometimes.

kazuha: a fluffy tail and ears, along with his fluffy flying membrane too! when given the proper surface, kazuha will hang upside down when he's eating his food. when he's landing, he'll use his fluffy tail as a balancer, though he'll also wrap it around you to earn some cookie points :p he's often seen perching off trees or railings

xiao: a radiant set of feathers stem from the side of his head! he's vigilant most of the time, so only when he feels at ease does he let the wings show. he acts less hybrid-like from his peers, because being a mythical variant means he's less affected by his animal instincts. on the whole he acts... xiao, but he's actually very insecure about his feathers because they're not as nice as he'd like them to be.

scara: the smallest set of wings known to hybrid kind lmao. gets very insecure about it. very picky with his food and only eats the colorful kind ( read this and was like wow, very scara-like). makes a lot of clack clack noises that makes him sound annoyed (most of the time, it's true). since he barely has anything to offer, he reverts to his animal form to woo you with his cuteness.

heizou: again, a pair of (very expressive) wings and feathers jutting from his skin! has learned to overcome his jealousy and share (ural owls are monogamous). often jokingly swoops in for the smaller animals and 'eat' them. makes a lot of 'hoot hoot's when he's not paying attention.

ayato: has a fin coming out of his spine and denticles throughout his skin... and a killer smile. has an unnatural mouth make-up due to being a shark (is this ur kink guys). likes mudbaths thanks to his animal nature. jokingly acts biting smaller hybrids cuz he thinks its funny. (not so) jokingly bites you. he's not attracted to human blood, but he thinks the scent of yours is alluring.

childe: a horn and shimmering mottled skin. literally moans when you feel his horn it's kinda disgusting (it is also not an overexaggeration as the other hybrids believe, they really are that sensitive). would like you to ignore the fact that the tusk is a tooth when in his hybrid form. likes his seafood too much and ends up gorging on them whenever it's served.

xingqiu: otter ears, clawed hands and a cute tail! and some fur around his neck and legs. also.. sharp teeth. often sunning on the lake banks like the primadonna that he is. scents you and his favorite people (just chongyun & aether). reverts to his otter form to persuade you to do his bidding lol, crafty dude.

#woah thats way too much #yester.shorts #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yester.au — hybrids 🪶#yester.au — hybrids 🐾

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myqueenmarceline · 7 months ago

Text

I Used to Hear a Simple Song

Summary: This is a bubbline childhood friend AU/what if they met just after the end of the Mushroom war. In this story Marceline and Bonnibel exchange some gifts and get to know each other a little better.

Warnings: a bit of angst/mention of Simon abandoning Marcy, but it's brief

This is a (late) gift for @nebula-gaster, thanks again for being a great friend and beta reader <3

Read the first story in the series (I really recommend this, it will make much more sense): https://archiveofourown.org/works/48563032

Read this story on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55902460

Or read it below the cut:

Bonnibel didn't go the same way often. She only had a couple of places where she could cross over the river, but once she got to the other side, she went off in every direction. She was usually able to take back everything she scavenged in one trip, and since the few humans left in this area moved around a lot, once she visited one campsite it would be months before anyone else would show up again.

Today was different, though. It had been two days, but she had tied her steed in the same place and gone into the same part of the woods. She grabbed her bag, making sure everything was still in place. The small bundle she had placed at the top clinked, and she quickly stopped. If the ride over had ruined her gift, it was too late to fix it.

Now that she knew what she was looking for, it was easier to get to Marceline’s camp. There were a few broken branches at almost the same height as Bonnibel’s arms, and scuff marks in the few patches of bare ground. Marceline might have tried to hide her footprints, but she hadn’t hidden them well enough.

Bonnibel stepped back into the camp, pulling off her gloves and pushing her goggles up to her forehead. She knew better than to call out; she hoped Marceline was here, but she didn’t know who else might be nearby.

There were two new empty packages of chips on the ground near the fire pit. Bonnibel picked one up and turned it inside out, wiggling it back and forth. The shine was pretty, and if she washed it, it would be perfect for decorations…

“Hey Bonnie!” Marceline popped out of the bushes, a few dead leaves falling as she ran over.

“It’s Bonnibel.” Bonnibel put the chip bag down again and turned around, adjusting her jacket.

“Hi Bonnibel.” Marceline sounded out her name, swaying a bit as she came to a stop in front of her. “You’re back! I’ve got something for you.”

“I’ve got something for you too, and it isn’t food this time.”

Marceline tapped her chin. “Dang, who goes first?”

“I want to give you my thing.” Bonnibel said, already opening the top of her bag. She was sure Marceline would give her something nice, so she wanted to impress Marceline first. After all, a girl who lived out here in the middle of nowhere must have access to tons of stuff that Bonnibel had to work hard to find.

She pulled out a shiny pink ball, and handed it over to Marceline. Marceline stumbled, grunting as she lifted it up to her face with both hands. It almost totally covered her face, and Bonnibel was proud. This was her best work yet; it was totally round, and she could see her own face reflected in the dark pink surface.

“Dude, what the heck is this?” Marceline lowered the ball a bit again, turning it over in her hands. “How did you find a rock this smooth?”

“It’s not a rock,” Bonnibel said, feeling even more proud as Marceline looked at her with curiosity. “It’s actually made of a candy polymer I designed myself. It’s kind of like plastic, but it’s heavy like metal. I added some structure inside, so you should be able to drop it from high up and not have any problems.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small bottle and a cloth. “If the surface gets dull or scratched, just put some of this on the cloth and clean it.”

Marceline dropped it on the ground and grabbed Bonnibel. She lifted her up, spinning her around. Bonnibel held on tightly, feeling worried as Marceline spun around.

“Thanks, it’s awesome!” Marceline put Bonnibel down again, then squatted down. She grunted, lifting the ball up with a bit of effort. “I’m going to put this inside, so it’s safe.”

Bonnibel picked up the bottle and cloth again when Marceline went into her little shelter, placing them on one of the rocks next to the door. Marceline could remember them later.

“Okay, are you ready for my thing?” Marceline stepped out again, her hands behind her back. When Bonnibel nodded, she rocked back and forth happily. “Close your eyes.”

Bonnibel did as she was told, closing her eyes and holding out both of her hands.

Something small and light was placed into them. She closed her fingers, feeling a conical shaped piece of plastic with an opening on either end, and a small cylinder just barely poking out near the middle. Was it some kind of toy?

She opened her eyes. The thing was a cheerful red, and she noticed that the cylinder portion had some kind of grating over it. She turned it over, rubbing her finger against the grate. Was it a filter? That would be really useful.

“Do you know what it is?” Marceline asked.

Bonnibel hesitated, then shook her head. Guessing and being wrong would make her look more silly than admitting her ignorance.

“It’s a kazoo! You put this part in your mouth, then hum.” She pointed at the thicker end of the kazoo. “Go on, try it.”

She held the kazoo up and looked inside of it, but there wasn’t any dirt. So she carefully put it to her lips. She breathed in, but there was no sound.

When she hummed on her out breath, the thing buzzed to life. The sound was louder than she’d expected. It almost sounded like a persistent bee. She flinched, and nearly spat the thing out.

Marceline clapped. “Good job! Now try humming with different tones. Like this. Do-mi-sol-mi-dooooooo.”

There was no reason to refuse. Bonnibel took a deeper breath, then tried to hum out each note. She sounded a bit too low on some notes and high on others, but it was still decently close to what Marceline had sung. The kazoo hummed a lot against her lips the entire time. It was very different from what she was used to, but it wasn’t bad. She had a better idea though.

She took the kazoo out of her mouth and wiped her sleeve on her hand. “Wait, let me try something.”

Bonnibel reached into her bag and pulled out a circuit board and a calculator she’d scavenged earlier. She had originally been planning on adding them to the computer she was trying to build, but she would be able to find more parts for it later. She opened the back of the calculator and hooked the battery inside to the circuit board, then wrapped the wire around in a circle a few times. She’d built plenty of electromagnetic cores in her life, and it was easy to rig up a small circuit with one end pressed up against the kazoo. She put on one of her insulated gloves, and held the coil to make sure it stayed in place.

“Watch this.” She pressed a button confidently, and a weak buzzing sound came out of the kazoo.

Marceline watched in awe as she pressed a few more buttons, running up and down a sequence of notes. Her options were limited, but she could still make five distinct notes. If only she had some way to control the volume too, it might be passable.

Suddenly, Marceline thumped down next to her. Her shoulder dug into Bonnibel’s side as she leaned in and poked at the button, making another note crackle from the kazoo.

“That’s so cool! How did you do it?”

“I used some of my spare parts to make an electromagnetic coil. If you make one the right way, then the circuit hums while it works.”

“So you made a little robot to play the kazoo?” Marceline finally gave her some space, though she didn’t move far. She kept her hands in her lap, staring down at the device with interest.

“It isn’t a robot, really. It just sort of exists.” Bonnibel let go of the kazoo, letting it fall on to her lap. She already had a new blueprint sheet in her mind, and she was thinking of all the ways she could turn the kazoo’s hum into a more modulated, smoother sound. “I can build a better one at home. Thanks for the gift.”

“You’re gonna go already?” Marceline grabbed the calculator and held on to it, pulling it close to her chest.

The rest of the circuit followed behind, and Bonnibel quickly disconnected it once it lifted off the ground. She looked up at Marceline and frowned.

“Don’t do that! You have to be careful, or you’ll get us both hurt. The circuit isn’t a toy. Give it back,” Bonnibel said, trying to grab the edge of the calculator.

“No! I’m not just letting you leave.” Marceline curled in on herself, her arms fully folded over the calculator and her knees up next to her shoulders.

Clearly, Bonnibel wasn’t going to be able to use force. She sat back and sighed. She put everything else into her bag, then turned to face Marceline. She was still curled up into a ball with her hair covering her face, but Bonnibel could see one black eye peeking out.

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.” Bonnibel held out her hand, ready to make a deal.

Marceline scoffed and ignored her. “Yeah, right. I know what that really means. I gave you a present and everything, but you’re still gonna leave. It isn’t fair.”

Bonnibel rolled her eyes.“I came back the first time, didn’t I? Look, Marceline, I have to take care of my brother. You’re nice, but spending time with a nice girl isn’t going to get us food. If I don’t leave now, it’s going to get dark, and then I’ll be alone in the woods at night. I’ll be here again in about a week. If you stay put, then there’s no way I can miss you.”

“Do you really promise?” Marceline slowly raised her head. She looked sad, and it made Bonnibel uncomfortable.

“Yes, I promise.” Bonnibel reached out again, ready to take the calculator from Marceline.

Marceline hooked one of her pinky fingers into Bonnibel’s and shook it so roughly that her whole arm ached. Bonnibel tried not to wince, and let Marceline keep shaking her hand. By the time she stopped, it felt like Bonnibel had been trying to take a wild animal.

“Perfect! I’ll see you in a week. I’ll even make a guitar, and then we can jam out together. I’ve made a few guitars and ukeleles before, it will be easy,” Marceline said, then finally handed Bonnibel the calculator. “Sorry about your thing. I hope it’s okay.”

Bonnibel looked it over, then carefully pressed the loose wires back into the compartment. She snapped it shut, and put it into her bag. It was getting heavy; she should make a new bag, so she could distribute the weight more evenly.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you later, Marceline.” Bonnibel smiled, then turned around.

“Bye Bonnie!” Marceline called, and when Bonnibel glanced back she saw that Marceline was waving hard. She had both hands in the air, her body almost swaying from side to side.

“Bye Marceline!” Bonnibel waved.

Marceline just kept waving back, a huge smile on her face. Her fangs were visible even from here. It was sweet, and the attention felt much less overwhelming from a distance.

Bonnibel stuck a hand out behind her, using it to feel her way through the trees as she kept on waving back. After nearly tripping twice, she was mostly out of sight of Marceline. She turned around, keeping one hand protectively on her bag as she began to jog through the woods. Once she was home, she couldn’t wait to experiment more with the kazoo.

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