#this came to me in a vision from whichever gods are real

[manygeese]

this is going to be embarrassing if this gets no notes but WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT MY VALGRACE SMALL TOWN AU.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

I was grazing through the jervis x reader tag when I stumbled across your account. I read over your rules and what fandoms(characters) you write for and was wondering if I could either get headcanons or just a story, whichever is easier, if Jervis tetch (Benedict Samuel’s version) spotting fem or gn reader who has dwarfism( and if you’re not sure with writing this, it can just be a really short reader), hanging about with Jim (Either can be Jim’s sibling or close friend up to you) and is instantly just “😍🫣”. This can be during the breakout episode with the j squad. He starts trying to get close to them without getting arrested by Jim, leaving rhyme like letters for them, flowers, etc. Reader takes the letters to Jim who instantly knows who it is cause who else rhymes like that? Reader is then unsure about Jervis’s actions, thinking they aren’t real feelings since he is technically mad and messed up in the head and they are hella shy and insecure for obvious reasons.

I just realized I’m reflecting a little here. Sorry 💀. Basically I have dwarfism and it’s lovely to read others interpretations on people who have it. Not just readers who are short but actually have the disability.

You can either continue from here or cut it to an ending btw. Sfw or NSFW is both fine with me. Thank ya tons! And I’ll understand if ya can’t or just don’t want too!

'WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME TOMORROW,

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X DWARF!READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Jervis is intrigued, obsessed, and very deeply in love.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x dwarf!female reader. Anon who sent this- thank you for entrusting me!! I absolutely love obsessed Jervis teehee. warning for pretty obsessive behavior. (jer has no sense of boundaries)

♫ “Tonight, you're mine completely. / Can I believe the magic of your sighs?” Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? by Amy Winehouse

You've heard the whispers from Jim. He's been freaking the fuck out, for lack of better words. Not just one mad man on the loose- but three. You tell him there's a mad men on the loose every other day...it's Gotham. He just sighs.

Three of the big bads escaped Arkham last night- only one of which who you'd met personally a few months back. Though, you remember it like it was yesterday.

You were in the GCPD with Gordan and Harvey when it happened. You typically avoided the place- the guys there were assholes. You heard all the same comments before, about how you looked. Thank god for Harvey and Jim- especially Harvey, who had chewed a cadet out for laughing.

Jim had holed himself up with a girl named Alice Tetch. He had advised you came to the GCPD that day, horrible idea, you had to admit. "It's for your own protection." He said, but had left you out of the interrogation room by yourself.

You facepalmed as you watched the officers do there work awkwardly. Every now and again you'd catch one staring and you'd grimace.

It came to a head when you heard a strange circus-like music playing. And then your jaw dropped when two wrestlers stood up on the desks, followed by the loud intercom of a voice overhead.

"Ladies and gentlemen! It is with great excitement that we welcome you to our show..."

And then a cop fell from the top floor and splat on Harvey's desk. Yep. Great idea Jim.

You felt yourself shaking- watching the scene unfold before you in chaos and horror. You backed up into the door- unable to move or run.

Suddenly- turning to your left, a man came into your vision. You had to look up to see him; tall and dark with a top hat.

He cocked his head as he looked down on you, eyebrows pulled together. You swallowed, and after a beat of silence, a strange smile broke out on his face.

He seemed to be studying you, paused in his movements.

"Hello." He greeted, curtly. It was as though he was making a mental note of you. Before you knew it, you were being pushed to the side- and made his way right into the interrogation room.

You feared for Jim, but he always had it handled. So...you ran towards a back exit and booked it.

Your luck would have it that now, in the present, Jervis Tetch (that's what you eventually learned his name was) was fiending for a new obsession. That just happened to be you.

The Arkham breakout happened just earlier last night, and you've found numerous letters, flowers, even an antique pocket watch, and light blue dress tailored to your size. Every where you went in your day-to-day a gift was tastefully and subtly placed.

"With every beat, my soul's unrest,

In dreams of you, I am obsessed,

In Gotham's night, you're my desire,

My precious door-mouse, in this world of fire."

Okay- well, a bit cheesy. The letters read...interesting poems. You found it strangely flattering.

You hadn't figured who it was until you begrudgingly went back to the GCPD to tell Jim- who gaped at you. At first, he was hellbent that this was Jervis trying to lure you in, kill you as punishment for the whole Alice situation.

You too found the whole situation confusing. But as the days continued to go by with more and more and more unique gifts and oddly heartfelt poems, it was getting a tad too real.

No, Jervis was most definitely infatuated with you.

Now, you're in your apartment. And you hear a gentle knock at the door.

You open a single latch, allowing you to peak out the creak before letting the visitor in.

You have to look up once again to see him, and you're blood runs both cold and hot and the man. He must stand at least two feet taller than you- looking deep into your eyes with the smile of a gentleman.

"May I come in?" He chirps, gleefully. Against your better judgement, you step away from the door, standing on your toes to unlock it.

He makes his way in, hands clasped together. He scans your apartment, noting his gifts strewn about. Even the flowers he bought you in a vase. His smile widens.

"Hello, my dear." He turns to you, happily. "I see you've gotten my gifts."

"Um, yeah." You manage to speak, sucking your teeth and fidgeting. Before you know it, one of your small hands is being engulfed by his own. He kneels down before you, so you're on the same level.

"Well?" He prompts, squeezing your hand gently. "What do you think, my dear door-mouse?"

"They were....really nice, actually." You speak- and flinch out of his hold. His brows furrow when you do this.

The first thing to run through his mind is that you don't reciprocate the feelings of infatuation. That's how Alice was. He wouldn't have any qualms hypnotizing you, that's for sure. But it would be nice to be appreciated.

You can tell by the offended look on his face what he's thinking, and rush to explain.

"No, no! I...I loved them. I guess, I'm just not sure why you're interested in me?" You nod to yourself. Not just referencing your disability- but your lack of any real conversation with the man.

His face lights up again in understanding.

"Ah! Trivial, my dear. On the contrary, I find you maddeningly lovely." He speaks- and forces his hand onto yours again.

All you can do is nod- a million thoughts racing in your head. You're sure he's crazy, but you find it...kind of nice.

He's incredibly handsy, sitting on his knees in front of you, manhandling you a bit. Before you know it, he's pulling you into him, spouting words of affirmation and nuzzling into you like a cat.

Briefly, you think of what Jim might have to say if he finds out about this and tense.

You realize this is just the beginning.

[pen-of-roses]

WHG 20-Prompts 1&2-Din

WHG tag list: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @concealeddarkness13 @drabbleitout, @grailfish, @forthesanityofsome, and @pied-piper-of-hamlet (let me know if you want to be added)

The plan had been to get through District Twelve and lay low while continuing her research. If they were lucky, maybe they could even make it to the remains of Thirteen to see what was hiding out there and if it had anything to do with the Veyrit and other gods of the world. Unlikely, but presumably not impossible. At the very least the ruins might hold something about before the war and shed light on where Safirel’s body was being kept.

Instead, they hadn’t even made it past District Eight.

Blythe’s boots came running into view. “My Lady, we need ta go now.” She sounded out of breath.

“Not yet,” she forced out past gritted teeth as the heat flared in her veins, gold overtaking her hand pressed against the wounds the Peacekeepers had inflicted on the man.

“Just a little more,” Safirel said. “Let me.”

The gold flooded her vision for the moment he took over. His presence was quickly becoming a familiar comfort, like a heavy blanket left in the sun, that wrapped around her and left her blissfully floating.

But just as quickly, it was gone, and she fell forward, gasping for breath and her body returning to normal, if a little colder.

Hands caught her, guiding her to the ground safely, Blythe’s most likely, given the string of curses she said in her native tongue, though the face she wore was still unfamiliar. “Ya shouldn’t have pushed that far again.”

She waved her off, even as the world was still spinning just a little too much. “Is he fully healed now?”

Sighing, she left her side and checked the man, Silk or something like that, over. “He’ll live, though he’s still out cold. Again, ya shouldn’t have done that. They know we’re here, Din.”

“You know I couldn’t have left him like that after he took that beating for us.”

Her brows knitted, but she dropped the point. After all, Blythe likely would’ve done the same thing if she could, just after Din was safe somewhere else.

Yelling broke out outside, unintelligible for the moment, but there was little doubt who it was.

“Damn it all! They were suppose ta take the bait!”

“Back door,” she wheezed, struggling to her feet.

In an instant, Blythe had an arm around her waist and was moving them both towards potential freedom. The house was small and easily navigable, but that was also a downfall. Even as she managed to get the back one open, she could hear the front door being crashed in.

“Search the house!”

“Sir, what about him?”

“Kill him.”

“No!” She yelled, and crumpled, coughing and gasping.

“My Lady, are you okay?” The concern and pain in her voice tore at her.

They were after her, not Blythe. 

“Blythe, run.”

“What? No, I’m not leaving ya!”

“That’s an order.” The words weren’t entirely hers, but the connection to Safirel was too distant for him to take complete control now, and her sentiment remained the same. “They won’t kill me. And I can’t lose you.”

Blythe set her jaw. “Sometimes, I really hate ya.” But she was running anyway and shifting her appearance already as the footfalls and voices got closer.

When they finally came into view, she glared up at them from the ground. They had the audacity to level their guns at her, what an empty threat. 

One of them pulled her to her feet and held her hands behind her back.

“Are you the real Najdinel,” Haven stepped forward, though his face was covered by the Peacekeepers uniform. “Or her little bitch?”

She spit on him in answer.

He struck her across the face.

Even as she tasted blood though, she tilted her head up and raised a haughty eyebrow, affecting the familiar air of authority. 

“We have means of proving it regardless, and whichever one you are, we’ll find the other soon enough.”

“You won’t touch her,” she growled.

“You have no authority here.”

“And you can’t kill me.”

Most likely they would take her back to the temples. They had contingency plans to prevent that, even though security would be tighter than before.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, girl. The beynlerya don’t have too much faith in your status as their prophetess anymore.”

Her heart sped up.

That was obvious before she’d even set the fire and attempted to fake her death. But they couldn’t disprove she wasn’t either. Not when no else had ever come forward or been found and she held the marks.

Still, she kept that off her face.

“So go ahead then, if you are going to.”

“We have other plans for you. The Capitol wants you in the Games. See if it sparks anything when you’re fighting for your life, or to make an example of liars and traitors if it doesn’t.”

That…had not been any of their plans.

“I don’t qualify, I’m not from the Districts.”

He actually laughed, as did several others. “Since when do you think that’s mattered to them? They have complete control here. You are powerless.”

“You won’t be able to contain me.”

“Then we’ll kill others in your place. But if you play nice, like a well trained girl, we’ll let your traitor of a friend go free.”

Blythe.

There was no way they would catch her if she was on her own and hiding. But she would come back for Din.

They were probably lying.

She couldn’t pass it up if they weren’t though.

“Swear on your blood and the Veyrit that’s true.”

“I swear.”

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

“We can’t trust them,” she thought.

“No. But we can use this too. Twist it against them. Another chance at revenge,” Safirel answered back, flashes of the bloody knife and fire replaying. “We’re more powerful than they are, Najdinel. And they’re about to give us free training and access to a live audience.”

Opening her eyes, she nodded, the heat settling into her veins but not appearing visibly. “Fine. Take me to the Reaping. But touch her, and I’ll kill you all.”

- - - - -

They dressed her up for it. Nothing dramatic, a simple white dress and gold ribbons through her dark hair and to hide the horns, but pretty enough. Enough to easily blend into the crowd unnoticed, knowing she wouldn’t run with Blythe’s life on the line.

Apparently, they didn’t want it yet known who she was. Even her name had been kept secret, so it getting called wouldn’t blow the cover either.

That big reveal would be for the Games themselves. They had always loved a spectacle outside of the temple, and the beynleyra had left her to the overly puffed up peacocks until she could prove herself.

Fat chance of that of course.

The magic may have finally ignited in her veins, but until Safirel was free and by her side, there was no way she was going to be caged by them again.

Plans would just have to be…adjusted.

The first name was called, not hers surprisingly, but a small child’s by the looks of things. She almost stepped forward to volunteer in her place, but someone else beat her to it. Family? Friends? It didn’t really matter, she seemed more determined and capable than a literal child.

The next name was her own though, and she took the stage with her head held high and the polite smile she’d perfected practically from birth, shaking off assistance from the Peacekeepers. She ignored the overly eager escort making a show of asking questions.

Being in the Games had been the deal. That did not mean she would start playing them now.

At the edges of the crowd, she watched someone’s hair shift from brown to blonde and grow slightly taller, before slipping away towards the train.

[ragingbookdragon]

If We Were Fast Enough

Flash!Reader x Flashfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 5.3K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: I had this idea after watching a few clips of Flashpoint Paradox! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Her hand was tightly clasped in his, eyes narrowed in sadness, but there was a pride in them; she felt the speed transfer between them, flowing through her veins and he said, “You’ve got my speed, honey. It’s up to you now.”

The tears that had welled in her vision tipped over and she whispered, “I can’t leave you here, dad. I—I can’t just run away.”

He shook his head. “You’re not running away. You’re surviving.” A groan escaped him, and the pool of blood seemed to double in size. “We’re running out of time. You’ve gotta go before the timeline collapses.”

“Where do I go?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “This universe is home.”

“Honey, Speedsters are Speedsters whichever universe we’re in.” he smiled weakly at her. “You’ll have a family wherever you end up.”

She gazed at him, breathing deeply as fresh tears grew in her gaze. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But you can do this.” he replied, pausing to look her over. “You look just like your mother, honey.” He smiled tearfully. “She’d be so proud of you if she were here now.”

Pulling the cowl over her head, she gave a watery laugh. “Mom always said I looked like you.”

“Nah. You take your speed and nature after me, but you are a spitting image of your mother.” A blast sounded in the distance and they both looked over, eyes widening as the white flash of light grew larger and larger. “You have to go. Now.”

Swallowing thickly, she leaned down and hugged him around his neck as tight as she could, inhaling the scent of ozone and spearmint for the last time. “I love you, dad. I love you so much.” Her fingers dug into his ruined suit as she cried. “I love you.”

He caressed the back of her cowled head. “I love you more, honey.” Pulling away, he leveled her with a firm look. “Now run, Lightning Flash. Run.”

The bluish-white lightning flowed across her body, and she turned, letting her feet carry her across the war-torn field, escaping the atomic blast. The world melted around her, a blur of memories surrounding her: her birthdays, her parents’ faces, her first stroke as a Flash, the start of the war, the deaths of her friends and family, everything up until now.

She was helpless to stop the tears that flowed down her cheeks, the feeling of her heart pounding in her chest, and the booming in her ears as she ripped through the waves of time and the boundaries of space.

A shriek sounded behind her, and she turned her head, eyes widening. “Ah shit!”

The time wraith screamed at her again, reaching out to grab her and she just barely dodged it, turning back to face the flowing warp. She was close. All she had to do was get to the next time boundary and she could lose the wraith.

“Almost there!” she told herself as another bellowed sounded in her ears again, and with one final leap, she burst through the barrier, the waves collapsing around her. The shock of the blast sent her skidding along the ground, and she cried out as she rolled.

Shouts sounded in her ears, humans, but she was more concerned about the screaming time wraith. “I just lost everything! Can’t you just leave me the hell alone!” It shrieked at her again, advancing and anger welled through her as she pushed herself to her feet and she growled, “You wanna dance, you sonovabitch? Then let’s dance.”

Her eyes lit up in a white force and she darted past the wraith, hitting a point above it, then she darted past again, and again and again in a star formation, over and over until all that could be seen was a blur of blue and white. The clouds rumbled above, swirling faster and faster and she hit the top of the star, coming down at the wraith. A burst of lightning cracked from the sky, striking the time being just as she collided with it, and in a hail of blue and white strikes, the wraith exploded into smoking fragments.

As the smoke cleared, the human voices grew louder, but she was sprawled out on the ground, breathing heavily, her body crying under the strain. Someone placed their hand on her shoulder, worrying, “Are you alright?”

She nodded weakly. “Yeah…just gimme a minute. The five-star lightning strike always takes a lot outta me.” Shutting her eyes, she focused on breathing deeply.

“I’ve never seen anyone destroy a time wraith before.”

“It takes practice.” Craning her neck, she opened her eyes, and bit back a sob as the man’s face cleared before hers. “You’re this world’s Flash, aren’t you?” she whispered, “Barry Allen.” His blue eyes widened, and he nodded mutely. “I figured.”

“Who are you?” he asked. “What world did you come from?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s gone now.” Meeting his gaze once more, she added, “But you can call me the Lightning Flash.”

“What’s your real name?” Barry quizzed.

(Y/N) Allen. And I’d tell you that but all it’d do is bring hurt to both of us.

“(Y/N) Sloan.” She laid her head down, closing her eyes. “I’m gonna take a nap for a while…I’m really…tired…”

His voice called out to her, but all she heard was a warbling noise as she drifted into darkness.

***

When she came to, her head felt like someone had thrown an overripe melon off a balcony ledge and watched it splatter across the ground. She groaned and forced her eyes to open, pushing herself up on her palms.

“Woah, woah, woah!” someone worried. “Take it easy there, Flashy.”

(Y/N) looked over, seeing a familiar green symbol, and an ever more familiar unmasked face. “I’m fine, Hal.”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Please, I’d know that big head of yours from a mile away.” Smirking, she added, “I know everyone in the Justice League.” She grunted, pulling her left arm over her chest, feeling the taut muscles in her back ripple as she stretched them out. “Where am I?”

“The Watchtower.” Hal gazed at her curiously. “Man, when Barry said you knew who he was, I didn’t think he meant you knew all of us.”

“You sound upset that you didn’t get to introduce yourself,” she shot back with a pained grin, stretching her other arm. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll forget I know you, and you can reintroduce yourself.”

He chuckled and pressed a button on the side of the med bay bed. “Nah, no point now.” He looked down at the small light flashing. “Hey, she’s awake.”

In an instant, a sharp wind blew across the room and there stood the scarlet speedster without his cowl; moments later, the doors opened and in walked the top League members, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman.

(Y/N) threw her legs over the side of the bed as they walked over, waving off Barry and Hal who both reached for her, and stood on shaky legs. “Shit, I feel like a newly born giraffe.”

“You shouldn’t be up.” Barry frowned. “You practically tore yourself apart at the molecular level.”

“It was that or be taken by a time wraith,” she shot back, cracking her neck. “How long have I been out?”

“Eighty-six hours,” Batman said, taking her chin in his hand, tipping her head side to side as he shown a light in her eyes. “Your body’s been recovering slower than it should for a Flash.”

(Y/N) blinked. “The particular move does like Barry said it did. It tears the body at the molecular level to contain the speed force into one location.”

“It was dangerous,” Barry scowled, and she couldn’t help but laugh at this younger version of her father who was still just as serious.

“Being a Flash is dangerous.” She felt Batman pull away and she flexed her fingers. “I don’t use the move unless it’s a life-or-death situation.” Glancing at Barry, she questioned, “What earth is this?”

Before he could speak, Batman denounced, “You time jumped, and you don’t know what earth you came into?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to think out a plan while a nuclear blast was going off, Bruce,” she growled, glaring at him from behind the neon blue mask. “And to top it off, I had a time wraith coming after me. I wasn’t in a position to choose which earth I wanted.”

He went silent, gazing at her intently. “Whose names do you know of the Justice League here?”

(Y/N) looked around at the superheroes before her. “You’re all the same Justice League as my earth, but in mine, you’re retired, and your children run the show.”

“I’m sorry, children?” Hal interrupted. “We have—we have children?”

“Some,” she laughed. “Conner Kent is our Superman, Donna Troy is our Wonder Woman, Jason Todd is our Batman, Kyle Rayner is our Green Lantern, and Roy Harper is our Green Arrow.”

“And you?” Superman questioned.

“I’m my Justice League’s Flash. The Lightning Flash.” (Y/N) smiled wearily. “The fastest woman alive.” She toyed with the blue and white gauntlet. “At least now I am.”

“You said you were our kids?” Hal said. “Are you Barry’s daughter?”

The two Speedsters looked at each other and she answered calmly, “No. My transformation into the Flash was a freak accident, much like Wally West’s. That being said, I’m not related to the Flashfamily by blood.”

“Hmm.” Batman grunted, then turned, wandering off. “You need to rest up more then we’ll run tests.”

“Only if she consents.” Barry called out.

Bruce stopped, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he retorted, “She’s a Speedster from another universe. We need more information before we can let her loose in anyone’s city.”

As he wandered off, she placed her hands on her hips and griped, “God, I miss Jason being Batman. He’s less of a jerk-off about new things.”

Superman chuckled, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t take it the wrong way…(Y/N), was it?”

She nodded. “Yeah, (Y/N) Sloan.” Sticking her hand out, she added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he murmured, shaking her hand strongly, then he pulled away. “He is right though. You should get some more rest before you wander around the Watchtower.”

She waved it off. “I’ll be alright. If you’ve got a treadmill designed for Speedsters though, I’d like to run a bit.”

“I’ll show you where it is,” Barry answered, leading her from the group. As they walked down the hallway, she paused, leaning against the wall as a wave of nausea came over her; he caught it instantly. “Are you okay?” he frowned. “We should go back to the med bay.”

“No.” she grunted. “I’m fine. Just…just gimme a moment.” Shaking it off, she squared her shoulders. “I absorbed speed from the remaining Speedsters on my world before I left. It’s just taking a toll on me.”

“Why absorb their speed?” he asked, and she could tell from his voice that there was a level of suspicion in it.

“Because it was the only way to keep it from being stolen by our enemies as we were being slaughtered.” (Y/N) looked down the hall. “We can go now. It’s passed.” She bypassed him, wandering down the hallway, though she kept a hand on the railing the entire time.

***

It wasn’t a surprise that they sent her back to Central City with Barry after the few tests she’d let them run. Only tests on the outside, no blood or DNA samples for them to investigate. Barry’s apartment was cramped and there wasn’t room for them both to be in the kitchen, but she’d lived there before, so ducking under his arms and turning around him was second nature.

And Barry, bless the kindhearted soul he was, tried at every opportunity to make her comfortable in the home. (Y/N) respected it, knowing that even worlds apart, Barry Allen was still Barry Allen. She watched him sometimes. When he was sitting on the sofa or at the bar, flipping through paperwork or reading a book on physics. He always lost track of time, forgot what was happening around him, but his face showed ease. Peace. Like the world wasn’t on his shoulders.

It made her miss her father. It made her miss her family and friends. Her world. (Y/N) cried at night on the couch, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she remembered every last moment of her family and friends’ lives. She’d been lucky in the end to come out unscathed. But her father, his friends, her friends, all dead. All killed in a pointless war that ended with the entire world blown to hell—and she was the only one left.

She sat beside the window, gazing down at the quiet street below her; she felt like crying, but by now, she’d cried out every tear, and all that remained was the hole drilled in her chest, empty and aching.

“(Y/N)?” Glancing over, she saw Barry coming out from his bedroom, brows furrowing at her. “Are you okay?”

Shrugging, she looked back out the window. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again, Barry.” It was hard to not call him ‘dad’ all the time, and weird to call him ‘Barry’.

She felt him sit opposite of her on the little bench. “Can I help you anyway?”

It took a while for her to speak, but when she did, her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s all gone. My life. All of it. I’m the only one left from my world.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m…alone.” His hand rested on hers and she felt tears well in her gaze. “I miss my family…and I miss my friends.”

She shook her head, looking at him. “Why my world? Why us?” tears slipped down her cheeks. “Everything was fine one moment and the next thing any of us knew, the world was going to war, and we couldn’t stop it.” A loathing laugh escaped her. “We were the Justice League. The proteges of the greatest heroes and yet we couldn’t stop war.”

(Y/N) wiped her tears. “We failed. I failed.”

“What happened wasn’t your fault, (Y/N).” Barry murmured. “You know that.”

“It feels like it.” She countered. “What do I have to show for all my saving? A sole survivor stuck in a world that has no need for her.”

His eyes were narrowed in concern, the way her father’s used to do when she’d tell him of her troubles and doubts. “There’s always a need for us. Everyone one of us.”

“Speedsters?” she asked, and he squeezed her hand.

“If the universe wanted you dead, you’d be dead, (Y/N). But you’re here and you’re alive.” He smiled sadly. “You can’t outrun the past. But you can change the direction you’re running in.”

She gazed at him and for once in the past few weeks she’d been there, she felt her heart lighten. “Thank you, Barry.”

He smiled warmly at her and patted her hand. “Since we’re both awake…wanna go for a run?”

(Y/N) chuckled and nodded her head. “Yeah. It’d certainly help burn off the emotions.” She held out her hand and Barry looked at the ring on her finger.

“Wow, your ring is cool.” He took her hand, gazing intently at it. “I noticed your suit isn’t red like most of us Speedsters are. Yours is mainly blue and white.”

She nodded. “It was too complicated to call myself Flash since there were more than one, so I took the name Lightning Flash and designed my suit the colors associate with lighting.” (Y/N) vibrated and reappeared in her suit. “Blue and white.”

“With silver trimming,” he added, poking the mask she wore, and she batted his hand away.

“Hey, gold’s overrated.”

Barry’s face pinched as he vibrated into his suit. “Is not!”

“Is too! It’s the colors for the Seminoles.”

He placed a hand to his chest. “I can’t believe you just told me my colors were FSU’s colors. I’ve been fatally wounded.”

“You’re a drama queen,” (Y/N) laughed then started towards the door. “Race you to Coast City!”

Barry sped after her. “Why Coast City!”

“Because it’s California, man!” she watched as he matched her speed. “And Hal’s apartment always has Doritos!”

“I think you might have a crush on our resident Green Lantern,” Barry teased and (Y/N) gagged.

“Dude, gross.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you aren’t friends with your Green Lantern!”

“The best, but Kyle and I were only friends! My dalliance fell with another team member!”

“Batman?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Batman.”

“Oh. Lovely.” Barry sighed. “You and Jason Todd seem like a wonderful pair.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Contrary to popular belief, Jason was actually a fantastic Batman. He loved it, oddly enough.”

“That is odd,” the Speedster countered. “Because as far as I know, none of the Batkids want to be Batman.”

She merely laughed in return, passing the Coast City sign.

***

“You know these aren’t…my world folks, right?”

He smiled, watching the group of young adults across the room laugh and joke around. “I know, but the lot of us thought it would be good if you got together with the age group of you own.” Barry looked over. “Besides, I think you’re going to fit right in with this world’s group.”

(Y/N) tipped her head side to side, huffing a laugh as Jason thumped Kyle in the side. “We’ll see.” She let Barry lead her over and the small group perked up at their arrival.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming on such short notice. I know you were busy.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest. “So, why did the League invite us all?”

Barry gestured to (Y/N). “I’d like everyone to meet (Y/N) Sloan. She’s a Speedster who recently arrived on this earth.”

“Recently?” Roy asked and he nodded.

“There was a…problem on her earth.” He glanced at her and nodded, prompting her to speak.

“My world isn’t in the general stream of timelines anymore.” She smiled awkwardly. “I came here to…survive more or less.” Holding out her hand for one of them to shake, she said, “But it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“You know who we are?” Kyle asked as he shook her hand.

“Yeah. This world is surprisingly similar to mine, Kyle.” (Y/N) smiled with a little less awkwardness. “I know all of you.” Her eyes fell on Jason who was watching her closely, teal eyes narrowed in calculation. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He hummed. “Who are we over there?”

At that, all the awkwardness fell away. “You don’t wanna know,” she giggled, and his face dropped.

“No.” she nodded, and he whispered, “Me?”

“You.”

“I’m confused,” Roy interrupted, and Donna snickered.

“I think Jason’s the Batman of (Y/N)’s world.”

“HA!” everyone dissolved into hysterics as Jason proceeded to all but cry.

“I don’t wanna be Batman!” he whined. “Why am I Batman! Why not anyone else!”

(Y/N) laughed. “What are you talking about? You volunteered to be Batman.”

“Jesus, I must’ve lost my mind then,” Jason retorted, then looked at her. “Do I carry guns?”

“Non-lethal rounds.”

“Damnit.” He sulked. “Can’t freakin’ believe I’m the Batman on your world and I willingly put the suit on.”

“You were a good Batman,” she stated. “There wasn’t anyone I trusted more to watch my back on the team.”

He met her gaze, seemingly shocked, though it only lasted a minute as he quizzed, “So if I’m Batman, does that make all of us…?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yep. Wonder Woman, Superman, Green Arrow, and Green Lantern.”

“And you?” Kyle asked.

“Lightning Flash,” she answered coolly. “The fastest woman alive.” Meeting their gazes, she tipped her head down. “I know you’re not them…but I do hope we can be friends.” She smiled. “You can never have too many of those, no matter what world you’re on.”

Kyle looked over at Barry who was almost crying. “We get to keep her, right? Because if we don’t, I’m going to be very upset.”

(Y/N) snorted and wrapped a loose arm around his waist. “Don’t worry, Kyle. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” A growling sounded and her cheeks warmed as she pressed a hand to her stomach. “Sorry about that.”

Jason laughed, getting to his feet. “I guess Speedster stomachs are the same no matter what world you’re on.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Barry retorted, and the vigilante looked at her.

“Wanna annoy Batman and hang around Gotham City?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Wait for me!” Roy shouted, yanking his legs from the table, and soon the others were following.

Barry watched them as they walked to the Zeta-Tubes, laughing and ribbing one another like they’d been friends since childhood; someone nudged him in the side, murmuring, “She’s gonna be okay.”

He nodded as Hal settled beside him. “Yeah…I know she will.” He smiled as (Y/N) leaned into Jason’s side and brought a hand to her eyes, wiping the tears away. “She’s already fitting in better than I thought.”

“(Y/N)’s a strong woman,” Hal acknowledged. “She acts a lot like you in that aspect.”

“How so?” Barry inquired and the Lantern shrugged.

“Well, you can’t get her to stop attending League meetings no matter what Batman says, and she’s always ready to put herself on the line for us.” Hal huffed a laugh. “And she treats me like I’m an old man. I’m thirty-eight and she acts like I’m fifty-six.” He looked at Barry. “But she flows in the world like you, Barry. Her mannerisms, her styles, her speech, it’s all you.”

The Speedster frowned, quietly stating, “You think she’s my future daughter, don’t you?”

Hal shrugged. “She doesn’t look like you, but she’s comfortable around you. Like she knows she’s safe if you’re there with her.”

“Why lie about it though?” Hal could tell Barry was hurt. “Wouldn’t she want to tell me?”

“If you lost everything and showed up in another world where there was a parent still alive, would you act like nothing changed or would you keep it at arms-length?”

Barry sighed. “You’re…right.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even think of that.” His frown deepened. “She must hate looking at me though. I’m not her dad but I’m another version of him.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Barry.” Hal said, clasping his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “She’s just…trying to keep it all together and not mix this world with hers.”

“I feel connected with her.” He admitted. “The speed force works funny like that. We can feel other speedsters—we know their speeds and auras.” His voice became soft. “Hers feels like��like…”

“Like?” Hal encouraged and Barry sighed.

“Her aura feels like when I went back in time and saved my mom.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain but she feels like—”

“Like family.”

Barry gaped at Hal. “Yeah…that’s exactly it.”

Hal nodded. “She’s still your daughter even worlds apart.”

“What do I say to her?”

“Don’t.” he answered. “Let her come to you about it.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Barry agreed.

***

The group had dispersed as quickly as it had come together, not that she was overly upset—she knew they all had prior engagements and teams to be apart of, but she would’ve been lying to say that it hadn’t saddened her a bit. Jason and Kyle, however, seemed to be the only ones that were usually around, Jason more than the latter.

(Y/N) liked being around Jason. He was much more hotheaded than she was used to, but she decided that like the Flashes, Jason Todd was Jason Todd no matter what universe he was in.

He was a little more reckless than she knew, playing fast and loose with the game, but he knew where his feet landed with each jump, and he was there when she needed help, her the same.

It hadn’t taken him long to deduce that the two of them were more than friends in her world, making the joke that she was his Catwoman—she’d cried she’d laughed so hard, but it given them time to talk about everything that had happened to her and her world; most importantly, her father.

She watched as Jason reclined against the cool stone of the ledge, passing one of the wrapped cheeseburgers to her. “Thank you,” she murmured, unwrapping it.

“Mhm,” he hummed, sipping his milkshake, setting his hood beside him; he swallowed and looked over. “What’s on your mind?”

(Y/N) blinked. “What are you talking about?” he merely cocked a brow and she sighed. “I forgot you could read people well.”

“Well maybe if you were a book and not a pamphlet, it’d be harder.”

“Did you just call me simple?”

“Never.” He waved it off. “What are you thinking about?”

She sighed again and set her half-eaten burger aside, pulling her knees to her chest as she whispered, “My mom’s maiden name was Sloan.”

Jason arched a brow. “You go by ‘Sloan’. Was your mom married?”

“My parents were. She died from cancer when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry,” he lamented, and she smiled.

“Thank you.” (Y/N) looked over. “My last name is Allen.”

His eyes widened. “As in Barry Allen, Allen?”

“Yeah…my dad.”

Jason blinked. “Holy shit.”

“Mhm.” She propped her chin on her knees. “The reason I’m just as fast as Wally West in this world is because I absorbed my dad’s speed before I left mine.” (Y/N) gazed at the city. “And then I left him to die in the blast.”

“You know that wasn’t your fault.”

She huffed. “So Barry’s told me.”

Jason stared at her. “Why do you live with him in Central City?”

“Because I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she answered. “And I…I—”

“You miss your dad.” He answered for her, and she nodded, feeling warmth gather in her eyes and she squeezed them shut.

“Yeah…it’s not him but…”

“It’s the only thing you’ve got that’s close enough to him.”

“Yeah.”

Jason nodded. “You’re welcome to come live with me over here.”

(Y/N) looked over at him. “I can’t do that, Jason.”

“Why not?”

She laughed. “We barely know each other.”

He shrugged. “We know each other enough.” Gazing at her, he added, “I’m not your world’s Jason, but we must be similar enough because I’ve seen and felt you fall behind me during fights, being at my six when I didn’t have it covered.” He smiled. “You know me, (Y/N), and I’d like to know you too.”

She merely gaped at him, then huffed a laugh. “I think that’s the most similar thing to my world’s Jason that I’ve heard you say.”

“Oh, come on!” he griped. “He couldn’t be that different from me!”

(Y/N) smiled. “Robins.”

Jason blanched. “I had Robins?”

“You had a son, who was exactly like you right now.”

“I wanna ask about the son, but what do you mean right now?”

“Oh, you know…hotheaded, anti-social, antagonistic.”

“You’re cute,” he scowled, then looked into the distance. “I can’t imagine bringing my kid with me.”

(Y/N) giggled. “Please, it took him like five years of complete begging on his knees before you’d even let him put on the suit, let alone go out with you.” She reached over and pushed hair behind his ear. “You were a good father…a good man.” Her expression turned sad. “I wasn’t fast enough to save either of you.”

Jason leaned into her touch, a frown on his face. “They know you tried, (Y/N).”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “I hope they knew that.” She shook her head as the tears started to spill over. “I lost everyone. You, JJ, my dad and all my friends.” (Y/N) stared at him through the tears. “How do I just start over after all that?”

He pushed the takeout bags out of the way and scooted over, pulling her to his chest; she buried her face in his suit and he propped his chin on the crown of her head. “I wish I had an answer for you.” He rubbed circles in her back. “But I do know that you can either let this keep you down, or you can get back up. Because if you don’t…then every life lost was in vain for you to survive.”

“I take it back,” she blubbered. “Your philosophical bullshit life lessons are the most Jason thing I’ve heard.”

He smiled, squeezing her tight. “That’s what we’re gonna call it now. Philosophical bullshit life lessons.” Jason pressed a kiss to her head. “It’s going to be okay, (Y/N). It’ll get better.”

***

It’d been a full year since she’d come to the new earth. She hadn’t moved in with Jason yet, but the moving boxes on the couch were the start of it—and she hadn’t told Barry she was leaving, or that he was her dad. (Y/N) wasn’t sure how to break that seal just yet.

She wandered around the tiny apartment, smiling at all the memories she’d made in the past year, and into his bedroom, where she paused at his dresser. A gold ring rested on top of it, and she picked it up, flipping it in her hand.

A woosh sounded from the door. “I’m home!” Barry’s voice trailed off in confusion and he called, “(Y/N)?”

“Here.”

He appeared in her peripheral, but she didn’t take her eyes off the ring, still gazing at the center stones. “There are boxes on the couch.”

“I’m moving in with Jason over in Gotham.”

“Oh…” he murmured, then took sight of what she had in her hands. “Is that—”

“Nora’s wedding ring?” she nodded. “Yeah.”

“How’d you know it was my mom’s?” Barry asked, stepping up to her and she finally looked at him, meeting his eyes.

“Because I had the same one in my world.” (Y/N) searched his gaze. “But you don’t seem surprised by that fact.” She sighed. “How long have you known?”

Barry’s face contorted in shame. “A few weeks after you got here.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

He shook his head. “Hal said—” he sighed. “I wanted to wait until you said something to me about it. I was afraid if I did, you’d run.”

(Y/N)’s brows pulled together, lips pulling down sadly. “Barry…”

“I know I’m not your dad,” he whispered. “But I know, (Y/N). I can feel it.”

She felt her lips wobble and before she knew it, she was throwing herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his waist as tight as she could. “Dad.”

Barry’s arms came around her, one holding the back of her head, the other in the middle of her back. “I’m here, (Y/N).”

“I missed you so much,” she cried. “I wasn’t fast enough to save them, and I couldn’t save you either.”

“No,” he said. “You did everything you could. I know you did.”

“But I wasn’t fast enough.” (Y/N) sobbed. “You had to give me your speed so I could run away. Like a coward.”

“Like a survivor,” Barry corrected. “You’ve never run away.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “You’re a survivor, (Y/N). And your dad made sure of that.” He pulled away slightly, tears of his own dripping down his cheeks. “You’re fast enough.” She shut her eyes as more tears rolled down her cheeks and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “And no matter what world you’re on, you’re still my daughter.”

A laugh that sounded much more like a sob escaped her and she hugged him again. “I love you, dad.”

Barry smiled, holding her tight. “I love you more, honey.”

[srbachchan]

DAY 5109

Jalsa, Mumbai                       Feb 12/13,  2022                    Sat/Sun  1:04 AM

Passings .. departure .. to the destiny of the Heavens .. in the peace and calm of existence .. life over .. destiny takes over ..

two more near and dear pass away - Ravi Tandon, who directed me in Majboor and Khuddar .. and Rahul Bajaj a stalwart in the business Industrial world .. a forthright outspoken fearless face , that gave the Nation a face of pride .. 

one by one they all leave .. 

‘ the nation shall bear the departure of known faces in these days ..’

came a message anonymously .. and whether it is believed or not the reality seems to collude with the missive .. 

and one looks back at the self to know and assess if there is reason to live in anticipation of the end .. or live on irrespective ..

so the past few days spent in repent and lethargic advocacy , suddenly came to an end when the act of the physicality , dependent upon the ‘elixir of life’ consumption after days , broke the shackles of the binding and splashed the cold water brigade over the mind and thinking .. 

suddenly speech improved, reason and value improved, body movements that endure the brunt of age, capitulated .. and after the organic consumption of nature born products .. or as they would say in today’s linguistic bombardment , ‘the procedure was very organic ..’ 

and I have never till date been able to understand a great deal of the language change that occurs each decade or every financial year ..

there is wonder then whether the missed opportunity in ‘keeping up with the Jone’s, could in real belief be practical’ ..

generations change  .. values and beliefs change .. morals and morality change .. whether it is good or not has never been considered .. there is a deviated visionary divertion in the path to glory, and that gives consideration enough time to be able to understand its presence .. 

every expression in sound or light , has a billion opinions and demographics today .. to exist , to be devoured by the self in narcissistic fashion  .. and have the gall to defend its rather feeble presence elsewhere .. 

I, me, mine,  was never so pungent in its reality - away from the original, it has had the power and strength to exist and flourish at times that never did suit the moment .. 

.. and one overlooks the vision and stumbles along .. stumbles along from the absence of reality .. IN ALL ISSUES  !!

which does symbolise the oft repeated Constitutional adherence of ‘ we are one’  .. when we are not .. and each argument in its defence, merely drives the wedge between parties to an even greater extent .. 

long live the ‘wedge’ .. it shall ever be short lived .. the human was not built for conflict as says the adage above , but for coexistence and harmony and peace .. with all, without distinction .. so help me God !

whichever God ye may choose .. for they are all the same - in the highs of the atmosphere, in the petals of the rose , in the traffic lights that hold, in the steps taken to destination and unachieved .. all .. have but one vision ..

exist ..

and allow existence .. 

the elixir has worn off .. the eyes they fill with distinctive droop of slumber .. and the revving of the super bikes, on the street outside, challenging the noise pollution, has us all early to bed people, get there faster ..

GN, SR, sbml .. swapn bhavana mein leen .. in the good willed of those that perhaps live along with me, without me ..

Love and dher sara pyaar ..

Amitabh Bachchan 

[shorkbrian]

💖💘my heart’s dizzy and I my dose of serotonin whenever I read your prose🤟🏽😩 was wondering if you could do reader with an erratic future-vision!quirk so when they first meet yandere!Hawks they’re suddenly plagued by erotic, sensual, 365days-level of disturbing visions of them, so reader actively avoids them (it’s like those Tik Tok future-seeing videos playing to “Play Date”)

Prelude - Hawks isn’t a famous pro-hero in this, but he still has his quirk. It’s not really mentioned a bunch tho lol.  This is rlly long, but I decided not to put it into two parts because the smut is so slight lol. Hope this meets your expectations anon, thank you for reading!

Pairing -  Keigo Takami X Reader

Warnings - NSFW mentions, dubcon, noncon. No out-and-out explicit smut, just a really long story. Hawks is manipulative and gets what he wants

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5ukAQcKEIJuzIbP55xp07x?si=iz6I-RoDSdCNYhT2Du8etg

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

He was a friend of a friend, someone you had only met once or twice.

Your friend kept bringing him to hangouts, he kept showing up on her instagram feed,  getting mentioned in her twitterbio, and eventually it came out that they had started dating. It didn’t catch anyone by surprise.

What did catch you by surprise, was how infatuated with him your friend was.

“He’s just sooooo hot, isn’t he?” She squealed, shoving her phone in your face to show off a shirtless pic he had just sent her.

You nodded in agreement, quickly appraising the pic before turning your head. Yeah, her boyfriend was attractive, but you weren’t one to ruin relationships. Plus, you and Keigo had never really talked past the brief “Hey” and “Wassup?” said in greeting when introduced the first time.

“Can he come to the mall with us on Friday? I promise there will be no third wheeling.” Your friend begged, clasping her hands together. You thought about it for a second - this had been a fun shopping trip the two of you had planned a few weeks ago, meant as a girls date on a day the mall wouldn’t be crowded. But would it really hurt anything if her boyfriend came along? Probably not.

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” You shrugged, watching your friends face erupt into a wide grin. “But don’t ditch me to go makeout in a bathroom or something, got it?”

“Sir yes sir!” Your friend faux saluted, before patting you on the shoulder. “Thanks girlie!”

You jerked back, head suddenly swarming with visions, your quirk activating. Your quirk was helpful in some ways, but you mainly tried not to use it - headaches resulted, and you hated getting glimpses of the future. Sometimes they’d be good, but they were often bad - you had gotten a screenshot glimpse of your brothers death, his face marred and bleeding out onto the pavement.

It still made you sick to think about it.

Touch wasn’t something you could always avoid, but you tried, seeing as how it activated your quirk, giving you visions of your future with whomever you touched, or whoever touched you.

You saw your friends face, eyes puffy with tears, shouting something. Then another scene flashed, your friend on TV, talking to a reporter.

Thankfully, the visions ended, this episode relatively quick due to how short of a time she touched you.

“Oh shit, I forgot, I’m so sorry.” She rushed to apologize, holding her hands up and backing away from you.

“It’s-it’s fine.” You wheezed, waving your hand in the air to signal that it wasn’t a big deal. The vision just probably meant the two of you would get into a fight soon, which wasn’t uncommon.  It was fine, you were fine.

——

The mall wasn’t too crowded, which made the day pleasant. Your friend was talking to her boyfriend, hand tangled with his as the three of you walked in.

“So (Y/N), what do you think about that new Victoria’s Secret launch?” Your friend bumped you with her hip, drawing your attention as she pulled you into the conversation between her and her boyfriend.

“Oh, um… what?” To be fair, you had zoned out when the couple started being gross and mushy, which was like, the second your friend met Keigo at the door.

The blonde man laughed. “Victoria’s Secret just launched a new line of lingerie, have any thoughts about it?”

Turning red, you smiled sheepishly. “Ah, well…. From what I’ve seen of their stuff it’s… nice? So I’m sure it’s good.”

Your friend mock-gasped, almost slapping you on the arm before quickly remembering your quirk, drawing her hand back. You gave a quick nod of thanks.

“(Y/N)! Don’t tell me you didn’t even know about it?! I practically live, eat, and sleep Victoria’s Secret, it’s impossible to miss their product drops when you’re one of my friends.”

Unsure how to respond, you floundered, opening and closing your mouth like a lost fish.

“Babe, leave her be, she’s probably just shy.” Keigo stepped in, giving his girlfriend a chuckle as he steered you both towards a shop.

“Fineeee.” Your friend whined, turning to focus on the task ahead. “They have a VS shop here though, you’re not getting out of here without going in with me!”

----

The VS store was huge, smelling sweetly of flowers, bright colors assaulting your vision, soft pop music filling your ears.

It was hard not to cringe at all the fancy lingerie, you were honestly a bit embarrassed to be strolling through the store with your friend, let alone her boyfriend by her side.

“Does-does Keigo mind?” You quietly asked your friend, out of earshot of her boyfriend, who was looking at perfumes, last time you checked.

“Not at all birdie, I’m used to clothes, any form, any shape.”

You whirled around, squeaking in surprise at Keigo, who had apparently finished with browsing the perfume. He was flashing you a 1000 watt grin, continuing with what he was saying. “I’m a model, practically every girl I’ve ever met I’ve seen in less than full underwear, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh…. Cool.” You offered, cheeks turning red again. You felt like such a blushing schoolgirl, turning red when faced with looking at bras and panties, flushing when a man got too close.

It was the nature of the store, you told yourself, that was making you so embarrassed.

“Oo! What do you think of this one?” Your friend was holding up a babydoll, pink, with light fabric and zero coverage.

Keigo wolf whistled. “Man, that’d be a good look for you. Lets buy it.” The couple moved on, pointing at different clothes, your friend occasionally picking one from the rack to hold up against her body, looking for Keigo’s opinion.

They were cute together, laughing over the cheesy names on the tags of the lingerie, holding hands as the browsed, your friend occasionally stopping to plant a kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek.

“I think that’s everything that I like…. (Y/N), your turn!” Pulled out of your casual observance, you back pedaled. “Me? No, I’m not really the type to wear this kind of stuff - I don’t even think most of it would fit, I have weird proportions.“

“Nonsense!” Keigo looked around for a moment, going to the nearest rack to quickly sift through bras, before pulling one out. “This one would make all the boys drool over you honey.”

He held it out towards you, shaking it slightly when you hesitated to take it. Was your friend okay with him talking to you like that, pushing underwear at you to buy? A quick glance sideways showed she was more than okay with it, clasping her hands excitedly as she watched you.

The bra was sheer, soft lavender fabric forming the cups, an intricate embroidered detail of flowers dotted haphazardly over the bra. It was pretty, but you weren’t exactly partial to it. When would you wear it? Who would you wear it for? You weren’t sure it was your style. Plus, it probably wasn’t even your size.

“My arm’s gettin’ real tired.” Keigo joked, before you finally took the garment from him. Checking the size, you paused for a second, blinking towards the man.

“How did you-?”

“You spend enough time in the fashion industry, you learn to tell a girl’s size just by looking at her.”  He seemed to puff up, as if he was proud of his bra-sizing skills.

“Let me help her pick out some things too!” Your friend cried, rushing past you to head over to the next rack, ushering you to follow with a wave of her hand.

You ended up with an armful of lingerie - bras, panties,  an odd bustier or two, and some other flowy items, like a sheer robe and a lacy chemise. The choices weren’t exactly made by you, more so made by a combination of your friend and Keigo together. They had alternated holding up items towards your body, comparing color and garment cuts, lost in their own mushy-gushy world, and it was almost like you didn’t exist for a few moments, nothing more than a barbie doll to dress up.

But now the three of you stood in line to checkout, and you felt included again, your friend cracking jokes that were making you snort, Keigo watching the two of you interact.

Until your friend accidentally brushed against your arm as she shifted forward in line.

Again, you saw her tearful face, heard her sobbing, before the other scene flashed, of her on TV, talking to the reporter. She still looked upset, eyes rimmed red, nose running, hair a mess.

With a gasp, your vision returned to the present, and you were wobbling on your feet, almost falling.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry (Y/N), I’m so so sorry. Here, let me take that, go sit down by the entrance.” She fussed over you, face concerned as she carefully took the stack of clothes from your arms, making sure to not make contact.

“Oh fuck, is she alright?” You heard Keigo ask, your friend stepping in front of you as he moved forward to check on you.

“Yeah, she’s just feeling a little dizzy. Can you make sure she doesn’t fall and crack her head open? Just wait by the entrance please.”

“Okay. Oh, here-“ You were a bit dazed, but you saw Keigo fish his wallet out of his pocket, thrusting the entire thing into his girlfriends hands before patting her on the shoulder “Whichever card is fine.”

And then you were stumbling towards the entrance, towards the bench right outside.

You hated seeing the future. Why was your friend crying? What had happened to elicit such a reaction? The unknowns killed you, kept you up at night as you tried to puzzle out the events that could lead up to the scenes from your visions.

Not looking where you were going, you tripped on air, unable to catch yourself as you plummeted towards the ground.

But then you were seeing Keigo.

He was above you, face flushed and sweaty, hair tousled, his chest bare. The room was dark, barely lit, and he was so close. The man leaned down to kiss you, then the scene changed.

You were bent over a table, only able to see the solid wood your face was smushed against. There was a heat in your belly, a tingling between your thighs, and pressure. Someone was talking - Keigo, muttering behind you angrily. You head was pulled up, a hand fisted in your hair, and then one of your knees was pushed up onto the table, and the pressure inside exploded into pure pleasure.

You felt yourself screaming, bucking your hips as you suffered through whatever the feeling was.

The scene changed again.

Hands tied above your head, you were pressed against a wall, sitting on some kind of…. Saddle? Your legs couldn’t touch the ground, and you squirmed, before gasping loudly.

There was a nub in the seat, ribbed and textured, slick with some kind of liquid… From you? Then you saw Keigo, standing in front of you, smirking at you with hardened eyes.

He had something in his hand, arms crossed over his chest while he fiddled with the object, muscles flexing. He was shirtless again, and-and his cock was hanging out of his sweatpants, pressed against his belly, smearing precum over his skin.

You tried to say something, anything - the visions never lasted this long, it was too intense, there was so much sensation. But your mouth wouldn’t move, choked up.

Keigo’s hand was on his length, rubbing slowly, saying something that didn’t reach your ears.

The scene changed.

Something was shoved down your throat, warm and twitching. You were sobbing, choking, clawing at whatever was in front of you. A dark laugh filled your ears, and you opened your eyes, met with the clenching abs of a strong stomach.

Keigo was brushing your tears, no, smudging them over your face. Were you wearing makeup? His cock was sitting in your throat, his hips moving in tiny jerks, stabbing your esophagus, making you gag.

Then you were back in the present.

A hand was holding your arm, keeping you from falling and making contact with the hard floor.

“-N)? (Y/N)? Are you okay? Talk to me birdie”

You made a panicked noise, pulling yourself out of Keigo’s grip so fast that you fell flat on the floor, scrambling backwards away from the man.

He almost looked scared, confused as he followed after you, holding out his hands. “(Y/N), you gotta calm down, you’re gonna make yourself sick.”

The man reached for your arm again and you pressed yourself against the floor, screeching out a loud “No!!” before he could touch you. Keigo paused, looking at his hand, then at you. “Hey, hey, I’m not gonna touch you. It’s okay little birdie, you’re alright.” He cooed, sinking to his knees in front of you.

You were hyperventilating, wide eyes trained on Keigo. Your thoughts were swirling in your head, you couldn’t focus, the sensations of the future still echoing through your body.

Keigo crouched there while you steadied your breathing, talking to you the entire time, trying to help you relax and calm down. You weren’t sure what he was saying, something about the weather? Or a dog? But you could feel your breathing evening out, head clearing.

“Hey, she fall?” You friend was carrying two bags, crouching down beside Keigo, cocking her head at you.

Her boyfriend nodded, turning to her and taking one of the bags. “I caught her, but then she freaked out and fell for real.”

Your friend nodded. “I should’ve told you earlier, she has a touch-based quirk. Every time someone touches her, she sees snippets of her future with that person.”

Keigo cocked his own head, gazing at you curiously. “I guess her future with me isn’t too positive then?”

Your friend shrugged. “Eh, she just hates seeing parts of the future. She doesn’t want to know what’s going to happen, makes her worry or something like that. Don’t take it too personally, she’s like that with everyone.”

“It-it-“ you rasped out, causing both sets of eyes to swivel towards you. “-I hate it... because-‘cause I can’t ever cha-change it.” You shivered.

Keigo nodded in understanding, before rising to his feet. “Think you can walk to my car? I’ll drive you two home, I think you’d benefit from some rest.”

He dropped you off at your apartment, and you wearily waved at the couple as they drove off, before heading inside.

----

A week passed, then two.

The visions you had concerning Keigo were plaguing your mind, filling your body with anxiety. There had been a distinctive feel of fear during each one, and despite all the other various sensations felt, the most overwhelming had been distress.

Whatever was going to happen, you weren’t going to like it.

You were holing up in your apartment, ignoring your roommates when they knocked on your door, only leaving your room to eat or grab water. You couldn’t sleep, too scared you’d have dreams, or more accurately, nightmares of what you had seen.

Curse your quirk.

Trying to pass time, desperate to keep your mind off of the future, you threw yourself into any activity you could find.

First you tried coloring - it was supposed to be relaxing, but it gave you too much time to think.

Then you tried gaming, spending hours in front of your computer mashing the keys. That worked for a bit, but your eyes and head soon protested.

You listened to music at full volume, tried several workout videos, even resorted to cleaning your space with fervent energy.

None of it took your mind off the inevitable.

“(Y/N), someone’s at the door asking for you.” You jerked awake, slumped over uncomfortably on the floor, the half finished card tower in front of you promptly knocked over at your erratic movements.

“(Y/N)?” Your roommate called again.

“Yeah! Coming, sorry.” You mumbled, scrubbing sleep from your eyes. You guess your body would give out sometime and force you to fall asleep, but as you moved to stand, you sorely wished your body had chosen a more comfortable place to pass out.

Opening the front door, you immediately took a cautious step back, sleepy demeanor vanishing.

Keigo smiled at you, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding a bouquet of flowers.

Flowers?

“Hey birdie, mind if I come in?”

You stared at him for a second, immediately on guard. Why did he have flowers? Why did he want to come in? Wasn’t he dating your friend? She didn’t live here, what was he doing here?

The man cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at you. You moved to the side, holding open the door for Keigo to come inside.

Your roommates were home. If anything happened, they would be within earshot.

Keigo shot you a smile and a thanks, before immediately moving into the small living room, taking a seat on the couch. When he saw you still hovering by the open door, he patted the cushion beside him.

“Come sit, I promise I don’t bite.” He thought for a moment, before grinning. “Well, not unless you want me to.”

Hesitantly, you shut the front door, going to sit in a ratty armchair further away from the winged man. If this bothered him, the man didn’t let it show other than a short pause before he spoke.

“So, I know it probably seems like, super weird for me to show up at your apartment, but hear me out.”

Flowers were shoved in your lap, Keigo taking great care to avoid touching you.  “I felt bad about the other day, and my girl and I decided that we should get you some flowers. She picked ‘em out, it even says so on the note.”  The man laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s so uptight about this kinda stuff. Anyways, just wanted to say that I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. If I had known, I would’ve let you fall flat on your ass. But I know now, so I’ll be better, cool with you?”

Finishing his little speech, Keigo held out his hands, wings stretching behind him to mimic the gesture.

Looking at the flowers in your lap, you felt your hands shaking. Picking up the little note attached to the bouquet, you found that your friend had indeed picked out the flowers, which made sense. They were your favorites, and in a nice color too.  Keigo had left a messy, scrawled “Sorry!” in one corner, before signing by his girlfriends name.

“Um, thank you Keigo, you didn’t have to apologize.” You murmured, rubbing one of the flower petals between your fingers. You were so glad your quirk extended solely to humans - if you were shown glimpses of the future of everything you touched, you would most likely go mad.

“Nah, I wanted to. Also wanted to swing by, check how you’re doing. You been taking care of yourself?” He relaxed on the couch, legs spread, arms resting behind his head. This wasn’t his home, yet you totally could believe that it was by the ease with which he owned the space with his presence.

“Oh, well… I’m still here, so…” You shrugged.

Keigo frowned. “That’s not a fun answer. How much sleep you been gettin’ each night? Eight hours?”

You shook your head, huffing out a breath in place of a laugh.

Keigo clicked his tongue. “No sleep? That’s bad for you y’know. Have you at least been drinking water? Eatin’?”

You nodded quickly, looking up to meet the man’s gaze. “I’m not a kid. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary.”

At this point, you think the best thing for your health would be for the man to leave.

The blonde man stared at you for a moment, before sighing. “Alright, I get it. But I don’t want to hear that you’ve passed out or something, got it? Your friend would kill me.”

He rose to his feet, and so did you, walking him to the door. “Thanks Keigo, and thank you again for the flowers. That was very sweet of you both.”

Keigo beamed, giving a two fingered salute. “You deserve it birdie. Well, have a good rest of your day, yeah? Eat something.”

You smiled, at Keigo as he turned away, beginning to whistle as he strolled down the hall.

Once the door was shut, you found a vase for the flowers, filling it with water and setting it on the table. Your roommates would think it was pretty, and it was, a nice little centerpiece.

That really was nice of your friend and Keigo to offer you flowers.

——

“Welcome to Gold Nile Jewelers, how can I-“ You blinked at the man entering the shop. “-Keigo.”

“Birdie? You work here?” He looked just as confused as you felt, cocking his head to the side as he approached the counter.

You looked around the small display room, nodding your head. “Yep… You looking for anything specific today?”

“Ah, right!” He clasped his hands together, bending over to lean on the display counter as he looked up at you. “So professional (Y/N), it’s just me.” The man chuckled.

“Actually, I thought I’d get my girl a cute little bracelet or something like that, you think she’d like that?”

Knowing your friend, she’d be ecstactic. “Oh, absolutely. Any particular occasion, or just an “I love you gift”?” You asked, already running through the list of bracelets in stock.

“It’s our two month anniversary in another week, thought I’d get her a little sumn’ sumn’, y’know?”

Gold Nile Jewelers was an expensive store. You patted yourself on the back for not dropping your jaw when he said “two month anniversary”. People came here for wedding rings and special occasion jewelry, not monthly anniversaries like some high schoolers.

Well, unless they were rich.

You showed Keigo the selection of bracelets currently available, the man listening quietly to your product descriptions and recommendations, asking questions about the fit and feel, and if you think your friend would like a particular one.

“Honestly Keigo, I could choose one I think she’d like, but it’d be more special if you chose for her.” You finally told him.  He wasn’t annoying you, but you felt frustrated with his apparent lack of knowledge about his girlfriend. How did he not know what her favorite color was? “I’d suggest coming back in a few days. Go home, see what kind of jewelry she wears, pay attention to the colors she gravitates towards, if she’s allergic to any metals.”

Keigo tapped his chin. “Hmm, you have a good point. I guess I should pay more attention to those kinds of things.”

You nodded as you began to pack the expensive bracelets back into their display cases. “Gifts for a significant other can be hard. Honestly, it means a lot if they pick it out themselves and surprise you with it. Makes it special.”

“Oh, you have a partner?” Keigo asked, bright eyes watching your hands work.

A frown almost crossed your features, but you stopped it before it could show. “Ah, sorry, that’s not really a work-appropriate question.”

“Awh, c’mon! It’s just me, we’re friends, can’t you tell me?” Keigo pouted, batting his eyelashes at you in an exaggerated, dramatic fashion. The display made you laugh, so you indulged him. After all, he was a friend. No harm in telling him something he was bond to know sooner or later.

“I’m actually single right now. But as a jeweler sale associate, I know how much it means to a person when their partner picks out a gift for them, especially if it’s a surprise.”

Keigo nodded his head solemnly.  “That makes sense. I better follow your advice then eh? Find out what she likes-“ he mused “-I can do that.”

“Good luck Keigo!” You called after him as he strolled through the door, waving when he smiled at you, giving that same, goofy two fingered salute that he always did when saying goodbye.

The man unnerved you, the visions you had experienced concerning him making you worry. But as long as he was dating your friend, you felt that you’d be fine.

-----

Keigo showed up again two days later.

“Back so soon?”

“You know me-“ He shook out his umbrella, placing it in the drip-bin by the door, wiping his shoes on the mat. “I always try to be speedy with my work.”

It was grey outside, drizzling slightly. You loved these kinds of days, where you could sit near a window and watch it rain while sipping tea. It was so peaceful and calm, and always soothed your stress.

“Find out anything useful?” Whatever he could tell you would make it easier to refine the jewelry selection for his particular needs.

“So, she doesn’t have any bracelets, and I asked her about why and she said they annoy her. She likes necklaces.” He clarified,. You could tell by the way he puffed up that he felt proud of his detective skills. “I even made a note of the lengths - she likes ones that dip low, which-“ He wolf whistled, and your stomach turned. But it was fine, just awkward.

“Alright, I think we have quite a few like that. Let me collect them for you and lay them out.”

Keigo strolled around the display room while you bustled about, looking in each case at the shiny metals and stones  

You laid out the necklaces, calling Keigo over. The man smiled brightly at you as you showed him the selection, noticing he was gravitating towards the more simply, elegant choices.

“I’m sure she would be thrilled with any of these.” You offered, Keigo silent as he tried to decide between two necklaces.

Still, the man shook his head, quirking his lips. “I just…. I need to see them on, y’know?” Then he brightened, as if he had just thought of something. “Hey, can you try them on? Model one for me? Just to see what it’d look like.”

You laughed nervously. “Sorry Keigo, but I’m not allowed to do that, it’s against company policy. Only customers get to try on the jewelry, and that’s if they’re supervised.”

“Awh, c’mon! No one else is here, and I won’t tell.” The man leaned forward, shooting you a quick wink before he snatched up one of the necklaces, holding it out towards you. “Please? I just need to see it. I promise I’ll buy it.”

He was so insistent, and no matter how loud the alarm bells were wringing in your head, you felt cowed by his confidence.

“Um, still… I don’t think it’s allowed-“

“Fuck what’s allowed-“ He cut you off, snorting. “-I want to see what it looks like. It’s just me (Y/N), I’m not gonna snitch.”

A heavy sigh, and you finally agreed, taking the necklace from his nimble fingers.  You slung it around your neck, not fastening the back as you held it in place. Hopefully that would be enough to sate Keigo’s curiosity.

His eyes immediately followed the curve of the necklace, how it dipped low towards your cleavage (curse you for wearing a lower-cut shirt today). You tried to ignore the leering.

“Here, let me help you fasten it, doesn’t look right otherwise.”

Before you could protest, he was sliding behind you, deft hands reaching for the necklace your had in your grasp.

“Keigo no-!”

But it was too late.

You were pressed up against a wall, face-first, your hands gathered into the small of your back and held there with a vice-like grip. There was pressure between your legs, something hammering into you, in and out, in and out, in and out.

Keigo was talking to you, you could tell it was the man by his voice. What was he saying? You were too overwhelmed with the sensation between your legs to focus on the words falling from his lips.

Sweat dripped from your temples, Keigo’s chest pressed up against your back was slick with perspiration, his nipples hard and pressing into your skin. It was an uncomfortable situation-

And then it changed.

You were tied up now, tight enough that you couldn’t move no matter how you thrashed. Knees bound in such a way so your ass was up in the air, arms stretched out in front of you, anchored to the headboard of the bed.

Keigo was behind you again - nothing to indicate that the tongue running through your core was his, but somehow, you knew.

You were begging and pleading, withing in your restraints against his tongue, but he wouldn’t let up, he wouldn’t let you crest the mountain that had built up inside. He kept chuckling, the vibrations running through you and making you buck your hips. You felt disgusting.

Then the bed was gone, and Keigo was in front of you. He was sitting in an office chair, your legs straddling his lap. Hands on your hips were dragging you back and forth, grinding you on the hard member protruding from Keigo’s lap. He was flushed, letting out little moans as he kept eye contact with you, smiling and praising you.

Then you were back.

Gasping, you shot away from Keigo, the expensive necklace clattering to the ground as it fell from your hands.

The man froze, confusion etched across his features as he watched you bend over, trying to catch your breath, to calm down, to ignore the lingering sensations from the futuristic visions.

“(Y/N)…”

“I think-I think you should leave.” You heaved, tears building. That had been awful, everything had felt good but you hadn’t. You felt uncomfortable and disrespected and stupid. That couldn’t be your future with Keigo, you wouldn’t be able to handle that. He was your friend’s boyfriend, for goodness sake!

Keigo opened his mouth to say something, but you snapped at him “Leave.”, making the man click his jaw shut.

He walked out the door, shooting you concerned glances the entire way.

You felt better as soon as he was gone, the door clicking shut after him. Thankfully, you were the only employee out front at the moment, and no other customers were present, so no one but you and Keigo had experienced your outburst.

Bending down to pick up the necklace, you inspected it carefully, horrified that you had dropped such an expensive item. It was alright though, so you brought it back to the others, shakily beginning to gather them up to put away.

You didn’t want to see Keigo again.

——-

“I just don’t understand!”

Your friend sobbed, surrounded by tissues on your bed, eyes red and blotchy.  You wished you could rub her back, our give her a hug, but you knew what would happen. So you stayed on the floor, passing up tissues and offering wordless sympathy.

“Why would he break up with me? Why?”

You shrugged, looking for words. “I don’t know… I’m sorry that this happened, but if he can’t see how awesome you are, then he’s an idiot.”

She sniffed, blowing her nose. You could tell she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t say anything further, instead choosing to wipe her eyes.

She had called an hour or so ago, tearful, asking if she could come over. Refused to tell you what was wrong, but the second you let her in, she had burst into tears, explaining everything.

Keigo had broken up with her via text, that asshole.

“I just…. I thought we were good. Did I do something wrong? I just don’t get it.”

“Neither do I. You said he just texted you out of the blue?”

She nodded her head, going to blow her nose again. “We were supposed to go out for dinner tomorrow, it’s our two month anniversary.”

You cringed. Did your encounter with Keigo in the jewelry store have something to do with this? Had you driven your friend’s boyfriend away? Had you weirded him out? Oh god, what if this was all your fault?

Your friend broke down into a sob again, slumping onto your bed. You passed her another tissue. “It’ll be okay. I think he’s a stupid fucker that just wanted to play with your heart.  He isn’t worth shit. You deserve so much better than him.”

She nodded, blotchy eyes seeking out your own. In the back of your mind, you cringed, seeing the exact same scene from your vision. Well, at least the two of you hadn’t gotten in a fight.

——-

A few weeks later, Keigo was at your door.

“You need to leave. Now.”

“Aw, c’mon (Y/N), at least hear me out?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Maybe he had a dumb explanation for why he had dumped your friend. You were wary of him accidentally touching you again though. “Fine, but make it quick.”

“No promises.” He grinned, breezing past you and into your apartment. He beelined for the chair you had sat in last time he was here, leaving you to take a seat on the couch.

“Alright-“ He settled in, fixing you with a gleeful eye. “How do you feel about your quirk?”

Caught off guard, you blinked. Wasn’t he going to explain why he had broken your friend’s heart? “Um, what?”

“Your quirk, y’know, the one that makes you see the future?” He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together with a smile. He seemed far too pleased, and it made you nervous.

“I hate it. If I could get rid of it, I would.” You stated, ready to move onto a different topic. But just as you were about to ask him about your friend, he rose to his feet, fishing in his pockets.

He drew out a bracelet, black and red, thin. “Well then, lookie what I have.” The man walked over, sitting down quickly on the couch next to you, causing you to immediately scoot to the end. You didn’t want him touching you.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized upon noticing your unease. Instead of scooting closer, he simply tossed the bracelet onto your lap, leaning back as he watched you look at it curiously. “Put it on, see how it fits.”

“I don’t need jewelry Keigo, and I think we should be spending our time discussing why you bro-“

“Just put it on (Y/N), please? I promise you won’t regret it.”

Huffing, you did as he asked, clasping the bracelet around your wrist. It fit snug, almost too tight, but it hugged your wrist comfortingly. It was pretty, but you didn’t see what this had to do with your quirk, or with your friend, or anything that held any relevancy.

Bracelet now on, you fixed Keigo with a blank stare. “Happy?”

“I don’t know.” Keigo grinned. “Are you?” And then he was hugging you, arms wrapped around your shoulders, face buried in your neck.

You shrieked, already panicking as you tried to ready yourself for the onslaught of  visions that accompanied physical touch.

They never came.

Choking back a surprised gasp, you drew back from his hug to find Keigo’s eyes, the man smiling down at you as he watched your reaction.

“Kei-Keigo…” You stuttered, shocked, surprised, euphoric, confused - so many emotions, all at once. You couldn’t even think to brush off the hands still around your shoulders, thumbs brushing at the tops of your exposed collarbones by the neck of your shirt.

You weren’t able to think rationally, couldn’t focus on anything but the awe you felt at being touched without being slammed with visions of the future.

You forgot about the terrifying visions you had gotten when Keigo touched you.

You forgot about how he had hurt your friend, broke her heart with no explanation.

You forgot about his hands refusing to leave your body.

“Keigo, this is…. Amazing” You breathed, wide eyes snapping up, catching his smiling face, eyes crinkly and twinkly.

“I had my team modify some quirk-cancelling cuffs! You seemed so upset whenever someone touched you, I couldn’t leave you with such a burden.”

Nodding, you returned your gaze to the bracelet, turning your wrist this way and that to look at the bracelet from different angles.

“I mean, I know how much I like being touched, and touching. I think I’d totally die if I couldn’t.” Keigo chuckled, but you weren’t listening.

The rest of his time sitting next to you on the couch was spent explaining the colors he had spent so long picking (“They’re my personal favorite, aren’t they nice?”) and why he had decided on a bracelet (“It could’ve been a necklace, but I think it looks better in it’s original cuff design, looks cooler that way.”).

By the time he had to leave, you were completely sidetracked, so distracted with your shiny new jewelry that you didn’t even remember to ask what his deal was with being a jerk to your friend, his now ex-girlfriend.

-----

“-and then he gave me the bracelet. I wasn’t thinking much after that, I just… I can hug you, isn’t that incredible?”

You gave your friend another squeeze, feeling a smile dance across your face. But then you sobered, pulling back from her with your hands on her shoulders, quickly becoming serious.

“But he’s really starting to kind of weird me out. Why won’t he explain why he broke up with you? He’s being a little bitch. I tried asking him a couple times, but he kept cutting me off, and I feel like the bracelet was a distraction to stop me from busting his chops about his behavior towards you.”

Your friend looked sad for a second, before shrugging. “I dunno, he just said things weren’t working out, and that while he liked me, he’s not ready for a relationship right now ‘cause of where he’s at in his life.”

“Psh-“ You scoffed, going in for another comforting squeeze for your friend. “-that’s code for “I’m a fuckboy and want to sleep around”.”

“I know….. But it still hurts.” You friend sighed, wrapping her arms around your neck. “But at least he gave you that quirk thing. I’ve never seen you so happy.”

“I just wish he was a mildly decent person.” You grumbled, detaching from the hug to sit back, glaring at the ceiling. “He gives me the fucking creeps.”

“How so?” You friend locked her head to the side, throwing her arm over the back of the couch. You had called her over the second Keigo had left, finally gathering your wits about you.

“I dunno…” You shrugged, not quite ready to tell her about the disturbing visions containing him. Did that have something to do with their breakup? Was it your fault? What was going to happen with Keigo? It honestly scared you, the residual feelings and sensations you could remember from the visions.

Your friend nodded understandingly. “Some people just give off those vibes. Well, at least we don’t ever have to see him again. Good riddance I say.”

You agreed.

——-

Knocking on the door, you shuffled your feet as you took in the house.

It was one of those rich places - nice neighborhood, fancy street filled with lavish houses, expensive cars. You felt slightly out of place, shifting from foot to foot in your clearance-rack clothes.

The door swung open, revealing a sleepy Keigo, shirtless, clad in nothing but sweatpants.

“Oh, um-“ You quickly turned, averting your eyes, trying to give the man privacy in case he hadn’t realized he was shirtless. It looked like he had just woken up from a nap, eyes blinking owlishly, hair mussed.

“Hey (Y/N), come on in.”

Still keeping your eyes turned away, you stepped inside the opulent house, trying not to gape too much at the decor inside. You didn’t want to look like a complete peasant in front of Keigo, but he’d already been to your house, so you could imagine that he knew of your poor-ness.

“Something wrong? You can look at me y’know, I’m not gonna turn you to stone or something.” Keigo joked, voice entirely too close for comfort.

Head whipping around, you found that he was too close, practically almost touching you as he stood beside you, head cocked as he watched you.

“No… nothings wrong, you’re just…” You gestured to his torso, and Keigo looked down in confusion, before looking back at you, a grin on his face.

“Ah, just woke up.” He shrugged, before reaching out to touch your arm. “Bracelet still keeping that quirk at bay?”

You nodding, following the blonde as he turned and walked further into his house, towards the kitchen.

“Glad to hear! I just wanted to look at it a bit, make sure nothing’s worn or torn, y’know? Hate for you to have to deal with the no-touching thing again.” He said over his shoulder, gesturing for you to sit down at the island, on one of the barstools.

You did so, watching the man open his fridge, take out a carton of milk, uncap it. “Is it too tight?”

“Nope.”

He drank right out of the bottle, and you watched some dribble out of the corner of his mouth, down his chin. The man finished gulping down the milk, taking the bottle away from his lips to swipe at the white trail of liquid rolling down his chin.

Eyes dark, he made contact with your own eyes as he cleaned his chin with a finger, stuffing it in his mouth to suck it clean.

That was gross.

The next second, he was back to normal, cheerfully putting the milk back into the fridge. “Good, good. Now, mind if I take a look at it? You should keep it on though.”

You nodded, and Keigo straightened, walking around the island to sit next to you, shuffling his stool closer.

He grabbed your wrist, laying it out on the island, before beginning to poke at the bracelet, running his fingers over it, fiddling with it, squeezing the tendons in your hand, smoothing his hand up your arm.

It felt a bit intrusive.

“So the visions are all blocked?”

“Yep.”

“And you can touch and be touched?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s your appetite? Sometimes complete quirk suppression can make you lose your appetite.”

“It’s been normal, I guess I’m a little hungrier than normal, but I’ve been getting out more too, not as afraid of crowds.”

“Nice! And how about your libido?”

You spluttered, choking on your own spit, snatching your hand away from Keigo’s wandering touches.

“Excuse me? That’s a bit personal, thanks.”

Keigo shrugged, bright eyes hooded and lazy. “It’s just a question.”

“Are you done making sure it’s all good? No broken parts?” You changed the subject, narrowing your eyes. You can’t believe your friend had ever dated him, that you had ever thought he was anything but a playboy.

You wouldn’t even be here, in his house, but he had come into the jewelers a while back (both you and your friend had blocked his number), spouting something about your bracelet needing constant checks and maintenance in order to keep suppressing your quirk. (“Wouldn’t want it to stop working, right? Just stop by sometimes, here’s my address.”).

So here you were.

Keigo leaned back a little, raising an eyebrow at your irritated tone of voice. “Woah there, don’t get snippy. I’m doing you a favor, right? I’m not trying to hurt you or something.”

Technically, you guess he was right. But he had played your friend, had fucked with her feelings. He was a fuckboy, liked messing with each and every girl he could find, and you didn’t care to be one of them.

“And I appreciate that Keigo. But I like to keep my private life private.”

Keigo was silent, simply holding out a hand for you to place your arm in, so he could fiddle more with the bracelet.

Several moments of awkward silence passed before he spoke again. “You’re being awfully ungrateful. It makes me think you don’t even want this little gift. If I were you, I’d be doing everything I could to show the person kind enough to do such a thing for me how thankful I was.”

Lost for words, you stared at the man. Was he expecting some sort of award? Some sort of prize? It’s not like you had anything to give him.

“I don’t have anything to give you in thanks. Just my words, which I’ve said plenty of. I didn’t ask you to make this for me.” You pointed out.

“Sure, but you use it, don’t you? You wouldn’t like it if I took it away, right? Think about how miserable your life was before I gave you this.”

Your life had been miserable. Afraid to go out in crowds, afraid to leave the house, Nervous about grocery shopping, about paying and having the cashier touch your hand as they handed over the change.

Scared of public transportation, of coffeeshops and bookstores, of public parks, even your own home. What if one of your roommates forgot and touched you? Or accidentally bumped into you?

Plus, you could hug now, and shake hands, and slap your friends back when she told a horrible joke, or tap her when you wanted her attention.

You didn’t want to go back to before. “I’m sorry Keigo… I really do think it’s lovely, and I can never thank you enough for doing this for me.”

Keigo let go of your arm, and it swung back to your side. You could feel the man looking at you.

“You know what would let me know that you mean it?”

God, it better not be something sexual.

“You could buy me coffee. Or maybe a cookie from that bakery on 1st Avenue, you know the one? With the little bunny pastries?”

That surprised you.

“You go there? That’s my favorite place.” You mused, looking at Keigo in surprise. He didn’t seem the kind of guy who’d like a place like that. But appearances could be deceiving.

“Of course! I really like their stuff.”

“Alright,” You conceded, rising to your feet. “I’ll get you some stuff from there. Want it today?”

Keigo rose to his feet as well, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Yeah! Let me get dressed real quick, and then I’ll go with you. Don’t go anywhere birdie.” He shot you a wink, before sauntering past you, out of the kitchen.  You raised a brow, surprised. He meant to go with you?

“Make yourself at home while you wait, don’t be afraid to kick up your feet!”  

——-

The bakery smelled as lovely as usual.

A warm atmosphere, good food, friendly employees. It was your favorite place for a reason.

“Alright, what do you want?” You asked Keigo, the two of you staring up at the menu.

“Hmm, I don’t know. What are you going to get?”

“Probably a muffin, those are my favorite.”

“What!?! That’s my favorite too! How crazy.” Keigo smiled at you, dimples showing. You got the feeling that he was brown-nosing you, but you kept the thought to yourself, striding up to the counter to order.

Muffins purchased, you approached Keigo, who was lounging by one of the display cases, admiring the delicate, mouthwatering masterpieces held within.

“All good to go?” His smile was so charming, so friendly, you almost caught yourself wanting to see it more. Huffing in irritation at yourself, you pushed past him, shoving the bag with his muffin into his chest.

“Here’s your stuff. I’m going home now, see you around.”

“Wait!” Keigo turned, jogging a little to catch up as you exited the bakery. “We gotta eat these before they get cold - hey, birdie, are you listening to me?“

You weren’t, stoically keeping your head turned forward, walking with determination. There was only so much of Keigo that you could tolerate, and you had reached your limit. He was starting to really annoy you, didn’t he get that you wanted to go home? You’ll just eat your muffin on the subway, it’s not that hard.

“(Y/N)-“ His sudden growl was punctuated by an arm on your shoulder, spinning you around and pulling you towards the man.

“Hey-!” The sudden collision of your face with his chest knocked your breath away, almost causing you to drop your own muffin in the process.

When you managed to gather yourself, you shot a glare up at Keigo’s face, only to find the blonde smirking down at you, a fierce glint in his eyes.

“I expect you to listen when I’m talking, got it? I don’t like being ignored.”

That’s evident.

You tried to back away, but he still had a hand on your shoulder, squeezing you tight to him. “Keigo! Let me go, you stupid idiot-“

“Stop it, I’m not doing anything to you, ya big baby.” He cooed down at you, before taking his hand away, letting you stumble backwards.

He was just messing with you, teasing you. It was obvious, yet still you allowed him to be around you.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I know all the touching’s gotta be new still. Wanna go eat these in the park? I’ll buy you some ice cream if you want.”

“I don’t want ice cream, I want to go home.”

Keigo frowned, walking after you when you turned on your heel, heading for the subway. “Why do you dislike me so much? I’ve done so much to help you, and yet you spit in my face. Your parents ever teach you how to be grateful? Or even respectful?”

You gasped at his accusation, stopping in your tracks to whirl around, only to find the man far closer than what you had expected. Still, you tried to hide your surprise at his proximity, jabbing a finger in his direction.

“You are a playboy, you broke my friend’s heart, and you want to sleep with every single person you come across just to mess with their feelings. I don’t want to be around you. I won’t get dragged into that.”

The man watched you, face solemn and contemplative. “Is that really how you see me?”

“Why would I say any of that unless it was true?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking up and around, as if gathering his bearings, before back down at you.

“Have you ever considered that I’m the one getting my heart broken?”

“Yeah right-“ You scoffed, only for Keigo to cut you off.

“People want to sleep with me because they think it’ll get them something that they want. Fifteen second fame, a piece in a tabloid about my “new lover”…. Think it’ll help them further their career, or that I’ll give them money. I can’t find anyone real.

“And my friend wasn’t real enough for you?” You spat, not believing him for a second.

“Nope.  You think she liked me for who I am?”

“Uh, yeah? She gushed to me all the damn time about how good you were, how she felt about you. That girl held nothing but love and affection for you.”

The man snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, love for my wallet.”

“She’s not like that.” You argued, brows furrowing.

“Really? Cause she was sucking me dry, and not even in a sexy way.”

You crinkled your nose at what he was implying. Your friend wasn’t like that, she truly had felt for Keigo, had liked him as her boyfriend. She wasn’t just a leech.

“I’m done talking about my failed love life.” Keigo said lowly, nudging your shoulder. “I just thought two friends could hangout, but it seems like you think all I do is try and fuck people.”

“No, Kiego…. That’s not what I meant.” Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but right now…. You almost felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

Some of what he was saying made sense, how people would try and use him for various reasons. But that still didn’t explain his sudden and harsh breakup with your friend. And over text no less, a complete douche move!

But you felt bad about his words, about how he seemed to actually want to hangout, and yet you were accusing him of trying to sleep with you. But what about those visions you had had? Was that even how they went? Or were you remembering falsely based on your bias towards the man?

And what about his suggestive touches, his leering gaze? Was that maybe just how he always was, and it wasn’t exclusive to you? Were you inflating your place in his life, thinking that he wanted you?

It was confusing, and you didn’t want to think about it, try and untangle the lies from the truth. Right now, you just wanted to eat your muffin.

“If you really didn’t mean it, then can we go eat these in the park? I just want to chill with someone that isn’t trying to gain something from me. I want to spend time with someone that’s real.”

With a half-irritated sigh, you nodded, hoping you wouldn’t regret hanging out with the obnoxious man.

-----

He kept calling you, texting you. You’d had to unblock his number at some point, in order for him to text you about the bracelet and when he needed to look at it.

“Come overrrrr, I’m bored!”

“Birdie, are you hungry? The delivery place gave me extra Torikatsu and I don’t want it to go bad. Can I come drop it off?”

He’d swing by the jewelers, leaning over the counter to talk to you about a recent shoot he’d booked, or something he saw recently.

Keigo seemed to slowly insert himself into every facet of your live, against your will, ignoring every subtle, irritated attempt of yours to turn him away. Every single time you saw him, your mind would inevitably think of the visions, but you felt like you couldn’t trust yourself with those anymore.

The man assured you at every step, he had no romantic feelings for you, he just wanted a friend, someone to put him in his place, be honest with him.

You definitely were honest.

Snapping at him when he showed up at your apartment uninvited, coming up behind you on the street and grabbing your sides, laughing when you shrieked and tried to hit your attacker, only to realize it was Keigo.

Tearing into him when he tried to talk badly about your friend - she had been having less and less contact with you, and you couldn’t figure out why. Now your relationship with her was reduced to curt text messages. Maybe she was just going through a hard time, and wanted alone time? Still, you let her know you were there for her, whenever she needed.

You were honest when Keigo asked your opinion on food, TV shows, clothes, movies. It was almost satisfying saying something sucked, just to see Keigo’s face fall slightly, before he shook his head, whining.

“Then help me pick something out! I can’t do it without you-“

He totally could, he was just being a baby.

The more he inserted himself into your life, the more you realized that he was akin to a petulant child, just with muscles and a penchant for inappropriate touching.

Whenever he saw you, he’d try to draw you into a hug, letting his hands drop far down your back, way too low for you to feel comfortable. You’d slap them away, and Keigo would laugh, before ruffling your hair.

He’d have you come over so he could check your quirk suppressor, except he was in the middle of a show, and it was getting to the best part. (“Sit down, shhh, it’s just getting good!”) You’d have to sit through the entire thing, enduring Kiego’s hand lazily drawing shapes over your pants on your thigh, simply putting it back whenever you shoved it off.

He was insufferable, irritating to no end, but you could tell he was a lonely man, bitter about his love life and with his friendships.

So you tolerated his presence.

After all, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. That’s something he reiterated every single time you shied away from his touch. He made you feel like a fool for thinking the man was hitting on you, when he made it so clear that he wasn’t, only interested in friendship.

Until you fell asleep at his house.

Another one of those days were he needed to look at your quirk suppressor (which you were 99% sure was fine, it seemed like he just enjoyed seeing it on your wrist). He had been rummaging around in his room before he had to run and open the front door for you, talking as he walked back to return to his previous task.

Apparently he was trying to find a good shirt, seeing as how he had pants on, but his chest was bare. Keigo instructed you to sit on the bed for a second while he retreated into his massive closet, trying to find a good shirt  to go with the rest of his outfit.

His bedroom was pretty large, a full California King taking up the majority of the space, neatly made. The sheets and blankets felt soft beneath your fingers as you sat on it’s edge, prepared to wait for Keigo for a bit.

The man always took his fashion very seriously - one time he’d even spent two hours trying on clothes until he’d decided on an appropriate outfit to go to the park.

So you followed your tired eyes, exhausted from work and dealing with Keigo, worrying about your friend, daily life stressors and the like.  Keigo wouldn’t mind if you laid back, right? Your feet wouldn’t be on the bed, so it’d be fine.

And it was fine, pleasant, the room the perfect temperature.

You were roughly jerked out of sleep by pressure. Pressure on your hips, pressure on your lips.

Eyes jolting open, you tried to inhale, only to find yourself unsuccessful.

Keigo was on top of you.

Panicking, your hands came to push at him, a muffled sound of protest being squeaked out from where his lips pressed against yours.

Noticing you were awake, Keigo pulled back, smiling the whole while.

“I’m not willing to wait anymore, I just gotta have you.”

His eyes were glinting, hair tousled, still shirtless. You felt goosebumps arise as you remembered the vision you had so long ago, of this exact moment.

“Wai-mmph!” His lips were on yours again, passionate and warm, moving eagerly. A wet tongue pressed at the seam of your mouth, surprising you and making you blanch, which allowed the man access.

Kiego’s tongue explored the inside of your mouth, playfully tapping your own wet muscle, encouraging you to lift it and wrestle with him.

This was too weird, this wasn’t happening, you couldn’t do this-

Biting down hard, you snapped your teeth shut on his tongue, and Keigo yelped, drawing back immediately.

“Ouch, what the fuck!?! Chill out (Y/N), geez.” His hand was dabbing at his mouth, wincing when it came in contact with his bleeding tongue. You had bitten him deep, but you weren’t focused on that right now.

“What are-what are you doing?” Your voice was breathless, disoriented. The room felt…. Dark, and suffocating, as if it was closing in on the two of you, trapping you.

Keigo looked down at you, and it was only then that you realized you had been moved to lie on the bed fully, shoes off, legs splayed. The man rested on his stomach between them, his weight pressed against your body, keeping you still.

“I told you, I can’t wait anymore. I’ve been as nice as I can, but it’s time you started paying me back for everything I’ve done for you.”

What? Paying him back-was he talking about the quirk suppressor he had gifted you? Had he been lying about his true intentions this whole time?

“That’s not right, it was a gift, you-you don’t have to pay back a gift.” You spluttered, feeling as if your chest was collapsing.

Keigo shook his head, swooping down to leave a bloody kiss on your forehead, which you cringed at, before pulling back to speak.

“Nah, it wasn’t a gift. You know how expensive it was? You were always gonna have to compensate me. Now shush, I wanna feel you-“

One of his hands grabbed your jaw, keeping your face turned towards his, pressing down until tears formed in your eyes. His lips were bloody from the bite on his tongue, tasting unmistakably like iron.

You didn’t want this.

Trying to bite him again left you with a slap to your thigh, making you cry out. Keigo huffed out a laugh against your mouth.

He detached from your lips, just to start nibbling at your jawline, elating streaks of red where his lips touched.

“God, you are so sexy. I was trying to chill, but then I came out and you were sleepin’ all cute, and I couldn’t fucking stop myself from touching.”

“Stop doing this, I can pay you with something different. I don’t wanna do this Keigo.” You whispered, on the verge of crying.

“No, I get to decide what you’ll be doing for me, it’s my bracelet-“

“It’s not, you gave it to me, please stop-“

“Shut up.” He growled sinking his teeth into the side of your neck, nipping at the skin hard enough to have you screaming. “You’re so ungrateful, where’s my thanks? I’ve done so much for you.”

“Thank you, thank you Keigo, I appreciate it all-“ You hurried out, hoping it was what he wanted to hear “But I can’t do this, please don’t make me. I wanna go home.”

“There we go, I like the sound of you thanking me. You’re going to thank me for each and every time you cum tonight, got it?”

“No, no, we can’t do this, I can’t! Get off of me, please-“

“You’ll do it, or else I’ll whip you until your flesh hangs off of you in strings.” He hissed, squeezing your jaw cruelly.

The tears in your eyes overflowed as you fell silent.

“Aw, birdie, don’t cry. I’m not gonna hurt you, I never have, right?” He waited for a second, watching your face before he pressed harder, eyes hardening “Right?“

You nodded jerkily, and Keigo came to kiss your tears away, savoring their salty taste as they rolled down your cheeks.

“Keigo, this isn’t right though, please get off me. I don’t want this-“

“You want me to take this away?” A hand caught your shaking wrist, the one that had the quirk suppressor fastened snugly around it, wrenching it up so both of you could see it. “Huh? Put you back where you were in your miserable little life? Running away from everyone, holing up in your apartment, not willing to touch or be touched…”

The very thought made your insides churn, and a fresh round of tears rolled down your face as you shook your head no, lips wobbling as you whined. You felt so pathetic, so small and dumb underneath Keigo.

“That’s what I thought. You’re going to relax now, right? No more begging unless it’s for more.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, beginning to shuffle around until he could slide his hands under your shirt, pressing against your tummy as you flinched away.

“Don’t worry birdie, you’re gonna like every single thing we’re gonna do. You’ve had sex now, yeah? Since I gave you the bracelet?”

You shook your head “no”, it’s not like you were eager for sex before you got it, and all the touching-without-terrifying-visions thing was still new to you, the dating world was being eased into. Somehow though, every single date seemed to be crashed by the man on top of you.

Keigo lit up like a Christmas tree, licking his lips gleefully. “Okay, okay, I can-whew, that’s hot-I can be gentle.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you, his hands skirting up your ribs, shucking up your shirt as the traveled higher and higher.

“Keigo please-“

“Don’t you dare say stop, I’m not gonna. You’re the first person that doesn’t want anything from me, you’re real, and I’m not stopping.”

His admission made you cringe, recoiling from his touch. He followed you, palms finally smoothing over your breasts, over your bra.

“You’re going to do what I say, or else this-“ Your wrist was wrenched into view, red-and-black bracelet glittering. “-gets removed. And I’ll still do whatever the fuck I want, but you’ll be off in your mind having visions of who-knows-what while I have my way. Got it?”

Your blood chilled, body suddenly feeling ice cold. His tone was dead serious, spitting out the words with a sense of finality.

“So, just lay there and take it birdie, I’ll be good to you.”

[socketz]

Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Angels of the Night.

Type : Fluff and Smut! (with a little Angst at the beginning)

Warnings : Very sexual at certain parts & particularly detailed, talks of death (in general, not Neil, don’t worry), crying I suppose, but that’s about it.

Word Count : 10.4K (roughly) I got a little carried away, oopsies

Request : Anonymous: So for the request, I was wondering if you could do something soft and smutty with Charlie (Dalton)? Like his and a fem reader’s first time together or smth?

Summary : Essentially the request but they go out to make snow angels after, and there’s a little bit more plot :)

Authors Note : Plsss🥺🥺🥺 I love this so much and the idea was so sweet, Charlie is my BABY. I love him fodjdjdbfi. Thank you for this request! And my other requested fics will be put up as soon as I’ve finished them <3

Angels of the Night, Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Perhaps it were the midst of Winter engulfing my complexion, rupturing me cold and abnormally behaved, or maybe I was simply being overdramatic. My nose cold, stained with the shiver of a scarlet hue - eyes something of a similar shade, glossy and leaking. Pathetic, my mind spat, utterly pathetic. The sobs escaping my throat were hardly stifled by the wool of my knitted scarf, eyebrows furrowed and blush - I presumed - something of a terrible crimson. I found myself choking on my laboured breaths, feet crunching upon the delicate, unscathed, snow below.

He could hardly love you, my mind seemed to snear, something icier than the wind whipping through my locks. You are too difficult to adore. 

Another stifled cry whimpered between the ruffle of my lips, moist and troubling, and I simply hoped - my vision blurred, incompetent - that my direction were a honest path, and I should discover the courtyard of the infamous Hell-ton (a place often discouraged and avoided by my conscience, for girls were surely not prohibited, and Charlie would be oh-so-severly punished, should I find myself caught.) in no time at all. 

But, oh, it were true. A wreck, I was, and impossible to love. Charlie; a man with such incredible charm, a certain warmth to his gaze, and the intelligence of someone wonderful. Everything a dream could give, embodied - real. Perhaps he was the kind of guy, the kind of face, that poetry was bound from. The kind of person the Gods found pride within - a joyously great boy. 

My footsteps found a rhythm, falling within the tough scale of such icy blankets; fingers but limbs of solid numbness, fumbling within the depth of my pockets; a gentle pulse to racket the edges of my brain. Thump, thump, thump, it said; Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. 

What was I even to do? To approach him, to mortify him - though undoubtedly far more myself - before his friends, his closest companions, and express my excessive need for clarification? Was I going to whine for his adoration, for a smitten smile - the kind I’d always read about, always heard in folk-talk about the town - and the attention I found myself so desperate for? It was all so absurd, and, as I glanced with a blurred sense upon the harsh white all around, I found myself wanting to burrow beneath it all, and await the part of death to crawl within my veins, to freeze until I perished. Dramatic, perhaps, though valid nonetheless.

I suddenly felt warm, doused in the flush of embarrassed scarlet, a hue so easily identifiable - especially among the fleet of snow, draped upon the landscape for miles, and miles, to stretch. Heavens, I felt ill. Sick with stupidity - my own, all the same. 

How could I possibly fall so low as to beg a man for adoration? My cheeks were a furious red, stricken with frustration. I felt a fool, storming over to his school - his strict, unapologetic, pro-punishment, school - with tear-stained cheeks, a lump in my throat and a pensive anxiety through the roof - all as though my implored desire were of anything important, anything meaningful. Charlie was a man of great confidence, and surely - by now, at least - his true feelings for me, if any at all, would have confessed their way to me, somehow - anyhow. 

And yet, despite our many months of close friendship, our continuous flirting, and the pet names - though only to be revealed when swarmed with the comfort of desolation -, with the dates (he had assured me that they were, in fact, dates, and not just a friendly accommodation) - despite it all, he had not once confessed to his true feelings. And I suppose that I struggled to believe whether he held anything romantic for me at all, anymore. Perhaps he was excited, in the beginning, and thus he felt something then, and now - now that we had never quite ventured within the sexually active side of things - I supposed that he were growing bored, and those feelings - whichever he may have obtained - were diminished,  unimportant, and-

“Y/N?” The delirious notion of my attention snapped up, grasping the direction of the calling - a familiar tone. Knox. I found myself spinning, undoubtedly a natural reaction, to turn away from his curious gaze. I wiped my eyes, a harsher manner than intended, with my numb digits digging a little deeper upon the flushed complexion than comfortable. “What are you doing here?” There was a breathy laugh, and I suppose he hadn’t noticed my watery expression, his crunching footsteps achingly close. 

“I- uh-” Turning to face him once more, I fluttered a kind smile upon my features - hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I came to visit Charlie.” I said. 

“Oh.” He said, dismissive, with another curious gaze and a tilted head. “He’s in a meeting-” He caught himself, glancing with something worried, “You okay?” He asked. Through his furrowed eyebrows and his genuine eyes - always gentle, always dreaming - I found comfort among the softness of his stare. Knox was a good friend - hopelessly in love with Chris, of course - and utterly tender. It was no wonder he and Charlie were the closest of companions. Both irresistible, both dependent upon each other - brothers, soulmates, a match for angelic enigma.

I hardly had a chance to catch my movement, shoulders falling and descending to a slouch, a sigh breaching my lips. “I’ve worried myself ill.” I said, and true it surely was. He smiled, a humorous smile, and shook his head.

“Always a worrier.” He spoke, fondly, taking me beneath his arm, and pulling me to the direction of the entry door. I almost thanked the warmth he radiated, had it not been for his words interrupting my decision, “You’ve been crying, I can see.” He said, and I nodded something silent. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s Charlie.”  I sighed, unable to pause the way it slipped, so easily, through my teeth. I tried to bite it back, but it begged for release and I could fool myself no longer. I needed to talk about the issue, I needed advice. “I feel as though I bore him - as if he doesn’t like me - like that - anymore.”

He let out a laugh, full and plentiful, as we walked through the waft of warmth, basked by the golden-lit entrance. His stare was wary, cautious, and he - in his height, with that uniformed jacket clung around a part of myself -  buried me within his hold, ushering us through the walkway with a slight urgency. “Why the hell not?” He said, amused and slightly riddled with disbelief. 

“I-” I paused, a kind of summary attempting to congregate within the depth of my mind, every anxiety rushing to the front in a large blur of nothingness, “I just do.” I said, a deep puff of air to follow. “We’re nothing official, and I know that - of course I do! I just…” A moment of silence followed, we wandered up the staircase, feet echoing simultaneously as our tones found hushed whispers. To be caught was simply not an option “I suppose I need to know.” 

I found a gentle ache to sprout, deeply, within the base of my throat, a roundly stinging sensation to my eyes, and I knew - Oh, I knew it well, my jaw clenched, and orbs rolling to the sky - that tonight was a night for honesty, and for feeling morose. Charlie liked that word - morose - for it reminded him of things pleasant - ironically - and thus he used it in the incorrect context. ‘I am morose, tonight, Dear,’ he would say, a grin and faux British accent, all the while proceeding to play his cheeriest Saxophone pieces, all so wonderful and joyful. Nothing morose about it, but that was just Charlie. That was Just Charlie, and Charlie was the man I loved. 

The tears began to fall - a first, and then a second, and then there was simply no stopping them after that. Knox hummed, and we entered the hallway. “Need to know what?” He said, our footsteps echoing upon the wooden flooring in a patterned, mismatched, rhythm.  

“How he feels.” I said, a gentle sob to fall from my tongue. “How he feels about me - and him. Together - us.”  We paraded through the course of the rooms, an occasional curious eye from a bystander - usually a boy with books, or perhaps a recognizable face - and landed before a familiar door.

“Ah,” He said, “So that’s why you’re here? To confess your feelings and hope that he reciprocates?” I found myself pausing in the doorway, Knox almost diving upon the neatly made bed - upon Charlie’s neatly made bed - that anxiety riddled within my head all over again. Thump, thump, thump, it said. Hope, hope, hope.

“Hope?” I said, “What do you mean, hope?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, dismissive to my worries, and picked up the small clock - slightly battered and a little broken - from upon the side table, stacked with loose paper and a few poorly handled novels, and said: “I worded that wrong.” With a reassuring smile to soften his expression. “You’re worried over nothing, Y/N.” He chuckled, gentle and kind. 

But what if I wasn’t? “And if I’m not?” 

“Then it would seem I don’t know Charlie at all.” He said. And, oh, how honest he seemed, so undeniably truthful, but that little voice - that fester of illness, sprouted within my gut -  found my eyebrows pinched, and my frame collapsed within the chair of Charlie’s desk. I removed the wool of my scarf, a sigh slipping the brace of my gritted teeth, gentle moisture collecting upon my complexion, flushed with the sudden gust of warmth, and similarly cold by the retraction of heat. 

“I hope those shoes are clean, Overstreet.” I said, breathless to my thoughts. He snorted a laugh, and my lip quivered at the corner. Perhaps I was worrying over nothing - yes, yes, nothing at all. Though my tears seemed to occupy my anxieties, and such a thought did little to diffuse my worry. “But what if he doesn’t have feelings for me?” I said, exasperated. Knox sighed, a pointed look from his direction. “I mean, how embarrassing! I’d surely never recover.” 

Another scoff breached his throat, “Are you kidding me?” He said, rolling his eyes with a subtle fondness about him. “He practically worships you.”

“And you’re sure he likes me? Romantically?” 

“Smitten.” He said, toying with the ill-treated clock as it lay within his hands, tossing it from one hand, to the other, up and down, left and right. I watched with a glimmer of amusement as the contraption fell from his grasp, landing heavily upon the wooden flooring. The mechanisms simply fell apart - meat from the bone - and a light wince sounded out from his direction. “Damn.” He mumbled. A soft laugh fluttered from my lips, and his rose to a tender smile, soft and kind - always so kind. 

The door billowed open, a gentle slam against the opposing wall a thunder upon the scene. A waft of cologne, a roll of the eyes from Knox, and I found my smile broadening a little, broadening enough.  Always the kind for an entrance, I thought, as the wooden plank poised between the man himself, and I. “Knoxious.” Charlie called, a tone of thick amusement and mischief to coax his smirk - a factor so notoriously him, I could hear it through his speech. 

Knox grinned, a furtherly boyish kind than the ones he shared with me, and avoided the shattered clock altogether, as it lay, pathetically, upon the ground. “How’d it go?” He asked, lying pointedly within the comfort of Charlie’s bed, making a fact of wiggling upon the comforter.

“Not so bad.” Charlie said, blissfully ignoring his teasing. “Meeks agreed to help. Study group and all that.” 

Knox nodded, glancing once in my direction, as I found myself merely grinning - for whichever reason, I had no particular clue. Perhaps it were his voice, or his smile - the way it conveyed within his speech. I didn’t know, and I found, as he spoke once again, that I didn’t care to find out. 

“How was the Danbury’s future wife?” He teased, “Seen her naked, yet?” His tone of humour were almost overbearing, as he strode forward - in front of myself, my presence consequently unknown - and kicked the door shut, the thud another echo throughout the almost silent corridor. 

He rolled his eyes, the ghost of a smile to be present, and spoke gently, “Shut up, Dalton.” He said, motioning effortlessly in my direction, “Your girl’s here to see you.” 

As though an elastic band, he swiveled upon his toes, eyes precariously enlarged with a sense of surprise. My grin remained, and his gaze seemed to soften somewhat upon noticing my hunched posture, curled within that chair of his fabulous desk. His expression eloped with something wide, his smile crawling instantaneously, as he strode to rest himself behind me, engulfing my shoulders in a two-armed-cradle. His chin rested upon the dip in my neck, breath warm; close. “Hi.” He said, tone soft with a joyous grin. 

“Hello.” I mumbled, resting the side of my cheek upon his head. Serenity, peace - I had almost forgotten the moisture to lie upon my rosy complexion. “What was the meeting about?” I asked.

“It’s nothing, just-” “He’s flunking trig.” Knox interrupted, a flutter of buried snickers to follow. 

My eyebrows furrowed, knitted tightly as I positioned myself to face Charlie furtherly forward. “You’re flunking trig?” I asked. He shrugged slightly, tightening his embrace 

with a sharp inhale to his nose. 

“Only a little.” He said, gaze roaming upon my expression. Two digits, curled to the softness of his palm, graced the damp flush of my cheek, recoiling with a scowl of fond woe displaced upon his furrowed brows. “What’s the matter?” He asked, something mellow. 

As though dancing to their own accord, the tears found themselves heavier than before, trickling upon my features as they found a subtle scrunch, and his frown drew deeper. “Hey,” He whispered, brushing - almost nervously, dare I say - a few strands of hair away from my face, tucking them behind an ear, with a glance of thorough concern. 

I stared, albeit tried to, with such blurry gaze, into his eyes. So warm, so amiable -  hot chocolate, topped with sweetened whipped cream and marshmallows on a chilly Wednesday afternoon - Home, his eyes, they looked like home. He felt like home. And, oh, how dearly I loved him. “What happened?” He mumbled, “Knoxious,” he said, turned to face the boy who glanced something somber, “What did you do?” 

I could care to notice the smile upon Charlie’s expression, and from the reciprocated grin festered within the boy across the room, I understood, a teary smile and a gentle laugh, that he was doing what he did best - he was going to cheer me up. “Overstreet.” He said, standing with a sudden gust of wind. 

Knox stood, a scramble to his feet, a mischievous grin eloped upon his expression. “Dalton?” He said, a tilt of his head - a nod, I suppose, though something mocking. 

“Grab me a bowl.” Charlie ordered. 

His smile fell, and he said: “A bowl?” 

“Yeah, of food.” He said, “I’m hungry. Whatever’s for Dinner, alright?” 

He nodded, somewhat dazzled, and the smirk crawled back upon his expression. “Yes, Sir.” He said, “What about the others?” 

“The others?” 

“The Dead Poets?” Knox said, “What’ll I tell ‘em?” 

Charlie shrugged, he glanced once to myself as I sniffled, and I wiped my eyes with my hands once more. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.” He said, a smile. Knox knew - he knew better than anyone - just how deeply controlling love could feel, how gut-wrenchingly wonderful it tended to grow, and thus he left without another word, merely a smirk, and a gentle wave to I. 

The door remained cracked, though only a slither, and before a moment's silence had passed between us, Charlie planted his lips upon the cold complexion of my snow-kissed cheek. A retraction, “God,” He said, “you’re freezing.” I didn’t feel particularly cold - not anymore, at least -- not after the weight of his tightly woven arms upon my shoulders. It should seem, however, that the glisten of moisture upon my cheeks were enough to remind my complexion of it’s shiver, Charlie - without hesitation - ripping into the array of clothing, shoved messily at the pit of his closet. “Here.” He mumbled, a thick, woolen, jumper extended from his slightly pink cheeks. “Put this on, you’ll get sick.” 

I have fallen sick already, I almost scoffed - sick with the worries of my own foolish mind. But I grabbed the soft material nonetheless - a favorite of mine, one I thought he wore so very well - and removed my jacket, peeling the cold material from my bare arms. I placed it on, woozy with the intoxicating smell that was him, engulfing my frame in a combustion of warmth, of safety, and I smiled. A toothy, poorly contained, smile. 

That smirk fell upon his lips, a signature twist of features. I watched his supple gaze, drifting upon my figure from across the room, and those butterflies - the ones I’d so anxiously murdered a while ago, when such intrusive thoughts seemed too dangerous to express fondly - found themselves utterly contempt, dazzling themselves drunk with romance. Eyes darkened slightly, though soft, as though glancing to something delicate, and his hands fumbled within his pockets. How pretty he was, I found myself thinking, and I adored him all the same. 

He smiled, a shake of the head, and said: “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” 

“Oh, yeah…” I said, another sniffle, contained and hardly morose at all. My expression seemed to falter, though only marginally - enough for Charlie to notice, his gaze scowling something gentle, something worried - and I presumed, as he motioned for me to join him, himself clambering upon the mattress and lying upon the cover, that I would simply have to let it all out. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” I began, sitting at the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, allowing them to clatter upon the ground with a careless sense, attentive and glancing warily to myself. 

He frowned, subliminally displeased by the distance I had placed between us. “Are you mad at me?” He asked, confusion to bind between his features. 

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows, a rather quick shake of the head. “No, no, nothing like that.” I said, “No, quite the opposite, really.” I kicked off my own shoes, not nearly as eager to ruin his bedding as Knox had seemed to be, and placed them side by side, a neat sort of line. The tears, they had stopped - or paused, perhaps - though the dampness of my blush was something rather frustrating, as I harshly wiped upon the irritated skin, attempting to rid of the lightly tangy moisture. 

“Alright.” He hummed, an arm to lock upon the soft of my stomach, drawing me closer in a swift kind of movement. I laid back, his chest moving something rhythmical, my head falling within the crook of his neck, glancing up to the side of his face. He was surely the prettiest boy I had ever known. And as his thumb stroked the skin of my knuckles, his eyes glancing down to meet my own, I found myself thoughtless. Blank - nothing. He smiled. “Well?” 

I rolled my eyes half heartedly, for I was so filled with something fuzzy, something fond, I was unable to spark any kind of annoyance. “So impatient.” I grinned, shuffling lightly to tangle my feet beneath his own. Oh, how cold my toes were. He hissed lightly at the contact, though allowed it nonetheless, and I found myself unable to dismiss the gentle grin as it slipped upon my lips. “I- Well, I-“ I coughed, an ache to my throat. Feelings, themselves, were particularly frustrating - difficult things to understand - and yet confessing them were so much harder. “God,” I sighed, closing my eyes with a light groan. Carpe diem - it was all Charlie used to say, before he’d do something risky; before he asked me on a date for the first time; before he inevitably did a thing he’d surely regret, or, perhaps, receive a kind of punishment for. Carpe diem. “Do you like me?” I asked. It was timid, shy. 

A moment of silence graced us by, the soft hum of his breathing  mingled with that of my own the only disruptive notion. I peered through my lashes, cautious as to my findings, and gazed upon his beautifully carved features. Glancing to his lightly flushed expression, his smile, and his subtle laughter, I suppose that I gathered I had been worrying about nothing, after all. Stretched within his grin, he said: “What’s the matter with you?”, a gentle laugh soon followed . “Of course I like you.” He said. “Why’d I keep you around if I didn’t?” 

I felt myself bubble with a lightly humiliated laugh, trickling from my tongue like treacle - not honey, far too thick, too sticky. Unpleasant - it was a frustrated and false kind. “I don’t know.” I muttered. “I thought you did it all out of pity.” 

A snort escaped him, “Fucking pity?” He echoed, bemused as before. “You think I’d deliberately risk getting my ass kicked by my Father, for bringing a girl to school, if it was out of pity?” I shrugged something small - utterly humiliated. Though, in a way, I suppose I kind of enjoyed this humiliation. I found a certain warmth in his mocking, for I knew it was his dote of affection. I knew that although his commentary were merely humorous, I could find a sense of adoration between the lines, a sense of truth. There always seemed to be such things. 

And so, as though a strike of courage had flourished within the depth of my bones, I found myself speaking thoughtlessly. “You just never…” I paused, hesitation riddled within such courage. “You’ve never told me that.” I sighed, glancing away with such an inflammation to my cheeks, I simply thought I’d explode into a ball of flames.

“Oh,” He muttered, a tinge of disheartenment to his tone. I flickered my stare to fixate upon his expression once more, crossed handsomely with a frown. He didn’t meet my gaze, “Well, what do you want me to say?” He said, a little thickly, with a hint of discomfort. 

Tell me you love me, I wanted to say, confess your adoration! Though instead, there was a: “Nothing.” and an: “I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic.” 

“No, no,” He said, a stroke to my side; up and down, up and down, so gentle, so soft. “No, you’re right.” A curt pause followed, a tense thing. He drew in a sharp breath, “I just thought that…” He trailed, marinating his words, as though deciphering how to piece them together. “I thought you could tell.” He smiled fondly, shook his head, “The Dead Poets… All they do is tease me. They see it.” He glanced toward me, a curious glance, and said: “Why can’t you?” 

I paused, the gentle stammer to exit my mouth, “I-” but caught myself before mine own excuses. There was a furrow to my brows, one that rose a single of his own, and surely, he were right. 

Between the gentle dotes of affection - often an arm burrowed around my waist, or my shoulders, or a kiss to my cheek, hand holding (though usually interlocked pinkies) - the long, - dare I say - intimate stares; the softness of each glance, of every expression; the subtle compliments, followed with a fond kind of joke, or a faux insult; the adoration, spilled between every moment we spent together, that I were simply too worried to notice. Damn, I almost sighed, though bit it back (barely) - I felt bitterly foolish. 

Heavens, how could I not have noticed? 

There was an overwhelming kind of heat washing over me, and oh, I truly wanted to hide - to run, and to hide, far, far,  away.  What a fool, an incompetent fool. The flutter of a laugh slipped between his lips, a lullaby to my fixated embarrassment, and - before long - I found myself reciprocating a gentle giggle, too. 

“Idiot.” He teased, another snort of laughter, though only quiet - a fond mocking, one could say. I rolled my eyes, unbearably aware for the scarlet flush upon my cheeks, and swatted his chest gently. His digits wrapped around my own, drawing the back of my hand to his smile, as he peppered a loving kiss upon the complexion.  “‘Looks good.” He grinned, “My clothes - they suit you.” And there I was, blushing all over again. 

“Shut up.” I mumbled, burning something violent. 

He smiled, that toothy, mischievous, and utterly him, smile. “Never.” He whispered, a wink, and a closing gap. 

His eyes, those beautifully entrancing eyes - gorgeously brown, amorous in shade - glanced, feverishly, upon my lips, slightly agape - drying. The space between our mingled breaths seemed to lessen, the scent of his cologne an overwhelming disorientation to my unmoving self. I found my frame utterly frozen - we had never kissed before. I gulped, our gazes entangling once again, and his expression found a subtle pinch. 

Is this okay? It seemed to ask, and oh, how I melted. I nodded, soft and hesitant - merely within my own - or, rather, lack there of - experience. His digits ran smoothly upon my side, trickling their way upon my tingling complexion, and weighted a supple grip upon my jaw, thumb tracing the flush of my cheek. 

And then, the space between two such lovers diminished. 

Molded so wondrously, an aubade of something perfect. My eyes found a restful close, the pressure of his lips, so tender and gentle - passionately loving - upon mine, a soulful clash of dreamy nights, and explicit daydreams, embodied. The digits upon my cheek failed to release, momentarily squeezing, as the barricade upon my lower back embraced my frame, warm and comforting, and his strength lulled me closer. 

I tilted my head, only slightly to the left, as to deepen such affection, and the simple way in which my nose brushed upon his, found my heart slurry with a combustion I could hardly contain. My hands trailed upon his chest, pathing a certain comfort upon his clothed complexion, winding to a settlement along his jaw, cupping his face in a brisk motion of adoration. This was real, I found such a touch reminding me, he was truly within my hands, and his lips were smitten upon my own. Oh, how long I had dreamed such a night.

It seemed almost strange, that such a new found discovery could feel so dearly like home - like comfort, fed upon a delectably silver spoon. 

Sweeter than any honey infused dessert, delighted with the bitterness of inexperience and unveiled expressions, my awareness a haze of muddled infatuation. For although my fingertips caressed the smooth complexion of his jaw, and my frame lay, entangled, within his own, it seemed that my feel, my sense of attention, was something of a great lack. Everything seemed so out of focus, so ill-tuned. All but the pressure of the fiery ignition, between the kiss of an epilogue I dreaded immensely. 

My breaths fell short, something deep and ravenous, and I found yourself withdrawing gently, engulfing the sudden gulp of oxygen with a slight pant to accompany it. Charlie’s glance was warm; every kind of affection intertwined within one honey glaze; mouth agape, clawing to the fresh air with a timid smirk, reddened and slightly swollen - kissable. His thumb caressed the complexion of my rosy cheek, a falter nowhere to be seen, and his grip on my lower back trailed up, grasping the base of my neck in a sloppily tender hold. He pulled me nearer, a soft guidance, as his breath fanned my expression, gorged with a timid and delightful smile, and the gingerly peppered peck followed. "I love you." He mumbled, eyes fluttered shut. 

He loved me - He loved me! Oh, how I had longed to hear such a confession! I truly pondered the sincerity to his words, though decided that perhaps a paranoid ponderous session was in fact unnecessary, and, in due time, such doubts could trail my conscience. After all, he had confessed that he loved me, and, well, that was just enough for my satisfaction. 

Tugging upon the hem of his jawline, a subtle smile traced the hue of his expression - peacefully quiet, with his orbs still hidden to a close - and my lips descended, something brash and seemingly passionate, upon his own. His response trailed suit, the grip upon my neck squeezing momentarily - an embrace I found alluringly entrancing, with a tingle between my thighs - and a gape to mold within his mouth. Craning his neck, once more, Charlie tilted his head to the right, in a consequent attempt to deepen the kiss. And perhaps it were foolish of me to notice such simplicity, but I found it captivating, the way in which our eyelashes freckled upon each other's cheeks, and our noses clashed so gently, brushing a blushed complexion with no morsel of objection. 

His tongue ran along the moisturized flesh of my flushed lower lip, a subtle nip between his front teeth igniting the heated warmth, oozing between my own frustrations, and - although I had, for arguments unbeknownst to myself, never before used my tongue in a passionate manner - I found my lips parting subconsciously, and welcoming the sloppy warmth of an entity my dreams could hardly fathom such experience of. 

A gentle invasion, something utterly welcome and wondrous; his tongue ran along the edge of my own, myself mimicking the soft touch with slight hesitance. His thumb caressed the complexion of my cheek once more, lightly gripping upon the side of my face and tilting it such, himself adjusting to furtherly explore the depth of my intertwined lips. I were surely rendered breathless, a slight ache beginning to accumulate within the pit of my lungs - I hardly knew how to breathe through such intimacy. Charlie sighed something gentle, the puff of air to tickle my upper lip, and it seemed the recollection of my nose fluttered on back to me, as I gulped a large inhale through the deprived nostrils, a subtle blush encasing my cheeks, flourished with the tinge of thickening embarrassment. That was a bit fucking stupid, I scolded, shamed by my bitter inexperience. 

I wondered if I were... Well, if I were any good, to put it simply. Never before had I truly made out with a boy, and every time they tried, it seemed to - somehow, somewhere - go wrong. Of course, I had shared subtle kisses with pretty boys, and my virginity was long gone - many moons ago, was it taken, by a man unbelievably unworthy of the title - but it was never anything emotional. Nothing riddled with mutual feelings, and adoration spilling from every passing moment. It was different - Charlie was different. 

And as my grip slithered upon the roots of his hair, planted along his lower cranium, and entangled with a gentle tug, I understood that perhaps he thought I was different, too. For the sound he made was heavenly, as the groan slipped between his lips, and vibrated upon my tongue, and oh, did I crave to hear it again. His smile was a radiance of arrogant pleasure, tattered against my lips, as his teeth nibbled something tender upon my swollen flesh, and, Heavens, how the shuddered sigh mortified me. I had little time to control myself, as his grip tightened upon the base of my neck, and the other hand slunk itself upon my clothing, wriggling the base of my shirt, and planting a firm grip upon my bare waist. 

I wondered, merely a moment of passing thought, whether my skin were as smooth as his own, or that of the other girls he had bedded, before myself. At least, I assumed such a happening would unfold within the shared company, as my lips began to shimmer a light sting, something barbarically pleasing. Another nibble ran upon my lower lip, a slightly harsher endeavor, as a sharp flourish of pain cursed through my mouth, eloping the pleasurable chafe in a reactive heat. My fist clenched, tightly engaged, within the roots of those chocolate, brown, locks, yet another groan to interrupt the blurry silence, and a sudden flavor - something unusual, unknown - infiltrated the bliss, and... Metallic? I frowned subtly, decidedly unknowing as to just what it could be, and - Blood. 

Heavens, I was bleeding! I felt myself gasp something light, his smirk merely amplifying to such a bemusing reaction, and his tongue softly grazed the small wound with great humor, before slithering within the gaped part of my inflamed mouth. 

His hand squeezed, momentarily, upon the rear of my neck, it's warmth surely missed, as it trailed an affable motion along my back, and his digits curled upon the hem of my shirt. One subtle tug, and a second shortly followed, his permission permitted clearly, and his grip maneuvered such clothing from upon my heated frame, hands lightly brushing the shivered complexion of my bare sides, with deliberate teasing, as he went. The shirt was thrown somewhere unbeknownst to myself, the knitted jumper a deduced accomplice,  and I simply hoped it wouldn't land upon Richards bed - that kind of commentary I would surely never live down - as my hands slithered their way beneath his own clothing, resting upon the warm complexion of his softly animated chest, rising and deflating rhythmically beneath my grip.

A supple grasp of his warm touch, cupping upon the thinly laced fabric of my forgettable bra, found delightful swarms of shivers, crawling with great animation, to scuttle upon my spine. The gentle arc of my back, a soft pressure of my chest upon his own, allowed our mingled affection to deepen, be it only slight, as his tongue slithered endearingly alongside mine. Once more, I hoped that my actions were at least satisfactory, as the persistence of the surprisingly wondrous invasion, sultry within my mouth, peppered on. His breath was short, gentle, yet utterly irrational, a certain tinge of warmth to radiate from the subtlety of his glamorously expensive cologne. 

And, despite my growing adoration for the way in which our bodies found a perfect kind of mold, so effortlessly, the tender reminder that Charlie was still... Well, he was still bothersome in clothing, his attire entirely intact, as he lay responsive below my trembling self, found a certain nerve within the depth of my hidden anxieties. Perhaps I had read too far into such a night, and it would not quite end the way I had hoped - perhaps he was simply going along with everything through courtesy. He was a rather gentlemanly man, I could agree. I found a timid blush crawling the complexion of my expression - oh, how foolish I felt! My mind rendered itself bitterly clouded - maybe my crowing insecurities would, in fact, not wait - and my hesitant touch seemed to lightly drift, no longer positioned upon the warmth of his beautiful skin. He didn't even want this, I was almost certain. After all, it was me lying flat upon his frame - not him. I had control - idiotically so - and therefore, he did not want me. Not in that way, at least. 

The distance forced itself between such entanglement far before I found a moment to conceal the concerns, myself positioned to a particularly uncomfortable straddle, perched lightly upon his pelvis with my hands palmed upon his erratically pulsating chest. His eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly, toppled with a mantra of concern, lips bruised an almost impressive tinge of inflamed scarlet. "What's wrong?" He muttered, albeit breathless and slightly dumbfounded. His darkened gaze pinned me silent, a flicker of uncomfortability to reside within my mind. I could hardly see just why he would want me, in any kind of way, never mind the sexual kind. 

I glanced to my hands, toying subtly with the fabric of his clothing, and my stomach spiked with some kind of nervous gip. Fucking hell, I scolded, what is wrong with you?  His digits encased my own, plush lips a delicacy upon the soft complexion, as he traced my palm with a gentle touch, and peppered affection among my knuckles. "Y/N..." He sighed, a sudden softness about his expression. My eyes danced reluctantly, cautious and riddled with my cock-blocking, frustrating, anxieties, and met his gaze with a shy tinge. "What's with the nerves, all of a sudden?" A lovable flutter of laughter slipped his throat, engulfing his expression in that wide grin I found myself adoring so deeply, and another blush drooped upon my smile, small and timid in itself. 

"Sorry." I mumbled, somewhat awkwardly, as I lightly shifted my positioning. 

A slight hiss escaped the gape of his reddened lips, "Oh, God," He said, "please - God, fuck - don't do that." He groaned, a strong grip and swift maneuvering moment of furrowed expression and concerning grumbles to follow, and I discovered a position of swandled helplessness, upon my back, himself a display of further dominance, as he hung above my confused person. A slither of arrogance spilled within his smirk, particularly delighted with the shift in positioning. 

Perhaps he did want me, after all, I dared to ponder. Heavens - he surely looked Godly, struck above, a slight strain to his muscles, and a shimmer of reddened blush to coax his complexion. Two digits maneuvered upon my cheek, another pinch smitten within his expression, and he stroked my features, as he said: “We don’t have to do it, you know.” And he smiled something gentle, reassuring. 

I found myself silly with a grin, shaking my head subtly. “No,” I said, “No, I want to.” I brushed away the fringe of fallen hair, tucking it away from his forehead. Truly the most beautiful boy I had ever known. “I want to, I just-” I paused, sighed, “I want to make sure you do, as well.” I said, quieter, with a furrow to my brows. 

That similarly contagious smile only seemed to brighten, the breath of a laugh a whisper to the quiet. “Me?” He somewhat scoffed, “Sweetheart, tonight is about you.” 

Contorted with a sense of confusion, I said, “Are you sure?” And wrapped his warm expression within the palms of my hands. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do, Charlie.” I said. 

His grin something soft, he shook his head. “Dammit, Y/N, the name is Nuwanda.” He said, with not a moment's hesitation. His lips found mine own once more, eloped within that same enigma of beautiful, gratifying, expression. And, oh, if this were the love I had read about, that I had heard the stories of, perhaps I could dare to allow myself to fall. 

Mouth a hot trail, lingering with a sloppy kind of warmth, trickled - like honey, sweet, addictive - upon the flush of my complexion, gently peppered along my neck, a rough trail to the crane of my breast, parting through the middle, and a pause at my stomach. The tips of his fingers wound little circles within my pale flesh, a tickle embraced delightfully, and I found myself flustered and warm - dampening, perhaps, in an area more than one. 

The gentle, almost trembling, I cared to notice, graze of his fingertips, caressing the sensitivity of the skin most unscathed, perched above the button of my waistband, found a fluttered breath to fall from my tongue. A sigh, one could admit. And, as he maneuvered such digits to undo the subtle mechanisms of the button, and of the zipper, I found my gaze interlocking with his own, a dirty kind of smile to pepper his expression. 

“Wait-” I breathed, a little sultry - too sultry for my liking, though his grin only widened upon such a shaky tone. 

“Yes, Dear?” He said, a grip to my waist - something squeezed, something utterly distracting - and crawled his way to hover above me, our gazes interlocked and level. A sharp inhale found my throat, and I paused, albeit disorientated, and that intense expression of his dimmed somewhat. I found myself blushing, flustered idiotically, and I tugged upon the lower creases of his shirt. He glanced down, a breathy laugh to follow. 

He sat back slightly, resting mostly upon his legs, straddled either side of myself, as I lie, watching - no doubt looking a mess, with disgruntled hair, and half a naked body - and he began to unbutton the cotton of his creased, white, shirt. 

Pasty, toned - oh, I were surely thankful to Nolan for such persistent rowing training - and utterly divine. The shirt found the floor, and I subconsciously began trailing patterns, gently, upon the muscled complexion of his abdominal region. His smile was infectious, dazed, as though swarmed with consuming bliss, and his slow descent was something teasing, patient. 

I leaned up, unable to pause myself, and caught his lips with my own, furtherly passionate than previously seemed - harsher, dripping with an uncanny tinge of desperation. He slipped his way back down, continual pressures of feathered kisses, slobbered messily upon the heated skin of my neck, my breast, and the lower fraction of my stomach. My hands wove between the gloriously soft strands of his hair, clenching upon the roots with a great anticipation. I surely wanted him - needed him. 

Picking off from where he had found himself interrupted, Charlie made a point to daringly drag the material from upon my limbs - slow, deliberate - and peel them unto the floor. That smile - that damned smile - bled me something mushy, utterly submissive to every which occurrence seemed to take place henceforth. His mouth, hot, entirely entrancing - dreamy, perhaps - pressed, a ragged breath to accompany, upon the flesh of my thigh, trailing up, further, further, until they grazed the cloth of my lacy waistband. 

Naturally - with somewhat an embarrassing notion - my hips seemed to rise, to buck up, and follow his retreating mouth. The gaze in which he dared to share, - oh - it ached me. My stomach pooling - almost, as it seemed, distributing elsewhere, in a mantra of pleasure, and of need.  And the sound that escaped the gape of my mouth were something utterly mortifying.

He breathed a gentle chuckle, crawling up once more, his thumbs brushing lightly upon the fabricated hip, and allowed his forehead to rest upon my cheek, a deep breath - in, and out, in, and out - with a number of peppered affection to burn the complexion of my jaw. My grip remained, gentler, within the roots of his hair, rummaging among such luscious locks, and his breathing feathered, wavering with a soft tremble. 

Charlie snuffed his way, knocking my nose with his own, and smiled something tender, a to lock our gaze. “I love you.” He mumbled, the gentle ghost of a kiss to slither upon my lips. 

I hardly awaited a moment’s hesitation, “I love you,” I said, and I surely meant it. 

There was a moment of shuffling, himself withdrawing the belt - a clink, and a burning fire between the ache of my thighs - and the rustle of descending cloth. Our lips a tangle of blissful abundance, daydreams, passion, all that seemed so wonderful - all that life seemed to be understood for - wrapped within such a sweetened, musky scent. And then, as he parted my legs, something gentle, and particularly kind, and the lace of my dampened panties were discarded to the side, I found, for a heightened moment, I understood the root of all poetry. 

For the breeze was nippy, but he was a kind of warmth - a slow, graceful, entrance. He shuddered a breath, his member fulfilling the absence of a warm embrace, and I found myself a wholly consumed fool. “Charlie,” I breathed, a gentle tug to his hair. He groaned something heavenly, vibrating among the thickening air - sticky, almost, with such a sweet sensation, and then he began to move. 

Gradual, as he dug further, a greatly whole sensation washing over my pleasured shudder, until he paused, entirely consumed by his depth. Breathing deepened, ravenously implored by my tender whimpers, he captured my moans in a grunt of his own, “Shhh,” he muttered, a strained kind of speech. “You’ve got to be quiet.” He muttered, a whisper of a breath upon my lips. 

He retracted, slow, daring, from within me, movement slick and utterly dangerous. “We don’t-” A muffled groan fell from his lips, pausing with a noticeable withdrawal, his smirk something bitterly infused with desperation, with longing. “We don’t wanna get caught, do we?” 

I shook my head, far too engrossed within the bask of delight and satisfaction to pay my embarrassment any kind of interest. “No,” I breathed, my hips rising once more and grazing the moisture of his hardened self. A subtle moan escaped the rumble of his throat, a bastardly smile embracing his daring expression, lips crashing to connect with my own once more. 

His digits encased my own, hardly noticed and utterly trusted, and he withheld such grip above my head, smitten upon the pillows, and the headrest, and he entered me once more. I found a muffled moan escaping my throat, digested with the greedy tongue of his own, as he withdrew his frame, and began to find a kind of rhythm. He ground something gentle into  me, a tender type of jive, and allowed the rhythm something slow, something gradual. It were a mere mumble upon the flush of my lips, though I smiled nonetheless, as he said - breathed -: “Is this-” A pause, a shuddered inhale, “Is this alright?” 

I nodded, unable - quite - to express such simplicity in any which way. “Perfect,” I muttered, allowing my head to fall comfortably, resting with my gaze locked upon the ceiling.

Ragged breaths, furtherly accompanied by the feathering pepper of his sprinkled kisses, planted sparsely along my jaw; an embodiment of all the wonders, every kind of lyric, every stanza, every momentary pleasure; the warmth of a gradually increasing rhythm, so comfortingly blissful, my lower stomach contracting with a pleasurably unfamiliar sense of tightness; that musky scent, so beautifully him, so perfectly raw. 

He found a lightly harsher stroke, breath an uneven hymn, a prayer the angels seemed to cry, and I found my moan something - soberly - mortifying, drunk with a combustion of thickening lust, of adoration, of love. He heaved a breath, somewhat a laugh, and tilted my chin to level our gaze, his lips capturing my whimpers in a silencing kind of manner. He reached to my hips, their slow slipping of something unsatisfactory to his heavy grip, and he tugged me down upon his thrusts. A cry - a moan - slipped between our mingled breaths, and he seemed to pick up such speed, delicately embracing my complexion in a gentle manner, a loveable motion, and pulling me into his stroke.

A knot, something unfamiliar with the burden of time, tightened somewhere deeply, warmth emitting between the slick moisture between my thighs, and igniting a rich kind of fire within the enigma of my lower stomach, and Oh- 

A moan slipped the gape of my lips, his member discovering a kind of depth I had hardly realized accessible, and I- “Charlie,” I breathed, a pathetic taunt within the front of my conscience. His groan was something reciprocal, strokes strong, deepening, and undoubtedly a kind of heavenly descent. 

He muttered my name, a breath I found myself entirely enthralled by, and found his rhythm to a slower pace, retracting gradually and entering - deeper, oh, far deeper - with a furtherly slow invitation. A shuddered, heightened, moan slipped the grasp of my throat, coarser and far more depthful, and that knot - Heavens, that damn knot - tightened; it tightened and it squeezed, and it ached the course of my thighs. “Charlie-” I whispered, almost certain for the fiery warmth, engulfing the towering pull among my abdomen. 

He nodded, a breath to trickle his expression, “Yeah,” He said, “Yeah, me too.” 

The knot rose, a consuming tug among my dizzying conscience, and it lulled my limbs into a distracted, sedated, kind of manner, blissfully encased with a pleasure enamoured. Another moan found my throat, and his rhythm remained something increasingly shaky, strong and utterly defying. 

His breath fell to something unstable, gradually embracing an elated sense of ragged unevenness, as he captured our lips once more. A series of whimpers found the depth of my throat, my attempt to bite them back insufficient to his rhythmic thrusts, member far deeper than it seemed I could reach, myself. “Charlie,” I mumbled, almost finding myself warning as to the upcoming occurrence, himself smirking thickly against the gasp of my lips. 

“Go ahead, Baby,” he shuddered, “I’ve got you.” And then, I found myself unable to hold on any longer. 

A tremble of muffled cries - once, twice, copious times again, until my throat lay wretched with not a sound but the mere whimpers of pleasure. The knot, it combusted in a matter of electrical warmth, flushing through the gape of my parted, shuddering, legs. “Charlie,” I cried, like a song upon the dry whimper of my throat, “Charlie, Charlie,” until his name seemed nothing more than a word upon my tongue. Such a wave, engulfing me in a sensational kind of suffocation, an infectious kind of entrapment. I ached, another moan to fall from my lightly gasped mouth, and I found the knot, the gentle tug, no longer there - diminishing, one may say. 

I had hardly noticed the withdrawal of his softening member, stomach glistened with the tone of his undoing, his breaths ragged - deepened - though upon meeting his glance with that of my own, I understood that this - this man whom I loved, whom I adored - were someone I could most certainly Carpe Diem with every goddamn day. He smiled, something tender, something soft, and draped his lips upon my own, a sweet, kind, peck. 

“I love you,” He muttered upon the swollen flesh. 

A smile, “I love you,” I said. 

There was a moment of nothingness, filled by the still of ragged breathing, and his tone came teasing, came blissfully characteristic. “I’ll never hear my name fall from your lips innocently again.” He said, the light trickle of laughter to drabble by. “But, oh,” He closed his eyes, head tilted dramatically, “Oh, it was the sweetest song I ever heard.” I rang with a short giggle, a roll to my eyes, and muttered a gentle curse for his mortifying dictation. 

“Fuck you, Dalton.” I mumbled. 

His lips caught mine, once more, with a sloppy sense of warmth, and he said: “I’m afraid you already have, Dear.” With a wink and a poke to my naked side. 

His withdrawal were something quick, a suddenly cold departure, as he picked up the discarded shirt from upon the floor. He pinched his expression, a conflicting frown, and I maneuvered to rest upon my forearms, a furrow to my brows. “What are you doing?” I asked, a dopey smile unnoticed yet utterly welcome. 

He breathed a laugh, “I’m not sure if this is my last shirt.” He mumbled, scratching the base of his neck with another little chuckle. I let out a short snort, shaking my head, and spoke teasingly, unable to help the way it fell from my tongue. 

“To say I’m surprised would simply be a lie. Grab mine.” I said, motioning to the entanglement of woolen jumper and cheap t-shirt. 

He passed such fabric to myself, and I made an effort to scrape the slick moisture, puddled upon my stomach, a slight sigh to escape my mouth. The click of a lighter, and the rustle of an almost empty cigarette carton caught my attention, gaze drifting to watch as Charlie inhaled a deep breath, the chemicals of the darkened smoke disrupturing to his toughened throat, hands fondling the clasp of his belt. 

I found my underwear, sliding into the small item of clothing, rising to a standing position as I did so, and the cigarette fell between my lips, a wink to follow his retreat. 

“Let’s make some snow angels.” He said, a glimmer of something bright to sprinkle within his gaze. The laugh coughed from my chest, deep and humorous - oh, how I loved him. “Hey,” he scoffed, taking back the cigarette and handing me his woolen jumper, “I’m serious!” An inhale, a smirk, and a darkened gaze, watching with great intent as I wrapped my frame within the loose fabric of his favourite jumper. 

I smiled, “Of course we can, Charlie.” I said, unable to stop the slip of the giggle that found its way out. He grinned, a final toke of the cigarette, before stubbing it out upon the bedpost, tossing the end through the window he slid open, and basked within the cool breeze for a moment or two. 

Scoping my pants, I threw the material upon my legs, doing up the mechanisms, and simply watching his relaxed frame, gazing through the gape of the window. A pale complexion, littered with small, yet noticeable, moles, and bodily freckles. Athletically lean, though not particularly tall, and ridden with just enough muscle - wondrously divine architecture, I could dare to admit. 

“Come on,” He grinned, whipping around and wriggling his eyebrows something childish. Another snicker escaped me, though I placed on my shoes, and I tugged on my jacket nonetheless, awaiting his restless dressing. He threw on the shirt, hardly bothering to button the majority of the buttons, and his shoes, tying them scruffily in a manner I were sure would simply undo in a moment’s notice, his hand encasing my own in a youthful taste of blissful excitement, dragging me to the door as he collected his coat, and found his way into the hallway. 

Desolate, empty - entirely surprising. 

In truth, I had expected a kind of congregation to fall through the entrance as Charlie swung open the door, and yet, not but a whispered sound was to be heard. Admittedly, such a discovery were something welcomed and serene - I doubted I would ever live down such humiliation. It occured to me, as I glanced upon the solitude of the hallway, that Knox had not returned, either. Perhaps he had heard the… the happenings, from behind the door, and decided simply to take a hint. I adored that boy, his heart of gold, I thought, a gentle graze of a smile upon my lips. 

Charlie barreled into the limbs of the woolen coat, buttoning only a few of the gloriously expensive pegs, as he interlinked our pinkies - much the same as he had always done - and dragged me through the hall. 

“Charlie-” I attempted to whisper, anxious as to his dismay of cautious rationality, though instead of a useful kind of attention, I found his lips crashed upon my own. Against my better judgement, I melted within the warmth, a sigh to exit my mouth, and allowed his silencer to work its wonder. He pulled away, a wink and a peck to my nose, and continued with his fast paced march. 

I followed, helpless, and slightly anticipated, riddled with nerves, as we hurriedly descended the stairs, our light feet echoing gently among the silence around, and we entered the main entrance-way. The trophy case, lined with achievements, with pictures of men no one truly knew, nor particularly cared for, passed us by in a whir of rushed blur. A subtle laugh fell from my tongue as Charlie broke out in an increasingly paced run. 

He took off, dragging myself along merely a few steps behind, with an incredibly fast kind of speed, unable to halt the laugh that stifled passed his lips. The wind were of something bitterly cold, whipping our laughter from the left, to the right, though such a stinging sensation of sour change did little to defy the warmth within my blood, my chest. 

And then, myself undoubtedly following behind, he seemed to tumble. The groan of the thud, where his frame collapsed to the ground, ached within the air, his grip unwavering upon that of myself, as I, too, clattered within the snow. Upon my layers, and the soft of the whitened blanket, I felt little to nothing, as I lay, a little dizzy, with a loud laugh to accompany Charlie’s own. 

“Shit,” he chuckled, “You alright?” 

My laughter rang loud, free, and it should seem that everything felt better with Charlie at my side. “Perfect.” I smiled, albeit winded from such a clatter of clouded descent. Somewhere within the beat of silenced laughter, air thick - sweet - with an indescribable sense of contentment, Charlie had shuffled to embrace my frame in a hold, an arm around my shoulders, as he toyed with the ends of my hair. We stared to the pattern of gentle snow, cascading so beautifully - tender, soft - upon our stoic position, a natural entrancement, as the dark hue of the sky loomed above. The moon, hardly peeking behind the thick array of winter clouding, seemed to smile - to sigh, with a great sense of complacency. It seemed to twinkle with a kind of reserved joy, saved just for us - just for us, and our blooming love. 

“O’ me, o’ life,” Charlie muttered, “of the questions of these recurring.” He paused, as though contemplating his words, and spoke gently, “Carpe diem.” He said, with a smile upon his face. “You know what it means?” 

I raised an eyebrow, almost lost within the perpetual tranquility that was the nigh. “No.” I said, and I basked in his warmth. 

“Seize the day.” He said; “Seize the day, boys, make your lives extraordinary.” The gentle mumble of his tone were almost lost within the vast quiet, though I caught it all the same. “Captain - Mr K -” He said, “He’s crazy.”

I found myself smiling, “You like him, though.” I said. 

He grinned, “He makes it difficult not to.” He said. “Seize the day - Carpe diem - O’ Captain, my Captain - I mean, who teaches the idea of free thought? Of freedom? Passion? He’s crazy.”

“He sounds wonderful.” I said. And to which I had not lied. “What was the first bit?” I asked, “The ‘Oh me, oh life,’ one.” 

“The question, O’ me! So sad, recurring - What good amid these, O’ me, O’ life?” He recited, the bite of a classically brightening smile to his tone. “The answer? That you are here - that life exists and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” 

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. 

“Puts things into perspective.” I mumbled, awashed beneath Charlie’s gorgeously muttered recital, and the prospect of the pattering snowflakes. “That we, as humans, mean nothing. What may affect us today, has no say on tomorrow.” I said. I hardly knew the words as they fell from my lips, though I allowed them nonetheless. “And no matter how greatly we fear the inevitable, life will throw us away and be done with us, when our time comes around.” 

There was a gentle pause, softly laboured breaths, and he said: “Yeah.” With a light, breathy, chuckle. “We’ll all die, someday.” He said. “And that’s alright. Seize the day while you can, live and don’t just exist, and things will be alright.” 

I smiled, and said: “Yeah.” With not a word more. 

A moment, perhaps a few, of silence graced us by, mingled in comfortability and unspoken adoration, and I marvelled in the way his breathing deepened, tinged with an entanglement of a rough-nights-sleep. He was tired - exhausted - and I certainly hadn’t helped - of such, I was certain. 

“Charlie,” I muttered, adoring the softly responsive hum to fall from his breath. “Char, it’s getting real late.” I mentioned, a gentle stroke to his knuckles, as they dwindled within the ends of my locks. Another hum followed, and light shuffling was to be heard. 

“Can you get home alright?” He mumbled, thick, with a sense of tiredness. 

“Yeah.” I nodded, truly feeling the absence of warmth, as he shuffled to displace his entanglement next to myself. I frowned slightly, glancing to face the boy.

His eyes had found a restful close, timid with a tender smirk, and his limbs began to brush - up, and down, up and down - once, twice, three times more, with a deepening indent upon the snow. A smile drooped upon my features, and I allowed my frame to excerpt the similar movement, ridden with a light shiver as the material at my legs found something damp, seeping slightly. 

“You have to go?” He whispered, a gentle frown upon such expression. 

I smiled; how beautiful he was. “Yes, Charlie.” I said, “You’ll be expelled if we’re caught.” 

A quiet sigh vibrated through the air, and I knew of his compliance. He sat up, glancing to myself with a smile of utter tenderness. “I suppose I’d best let you go, then.” He said. I grinned, and he continued. “I’ll watch you leave, though. Not risking some creep snatching you up in the bushes, alright?” 

I laughed something gentle, “Okay, Char.” I said, and we rose to our feet. 

His digits were cold, numbingly cold, and a furious pink, as he lay his palms upon my face, and drew me a little closer, our noses to brush upon each other’s. “I love you, y’know.” He said, and I found myself smiling with a roll of the eyes. 

“Yes,” I said, “I know. And I love you, too.” 

His grin was radiant, peppered with the scarlet hue of all things wondrously cold. “Good.” He said, a subtly trailed glance to the subtle indents of our motioned frames, trailed within the soft blanket of snow. “We make good Angels, huh?” He smiled. 

A laugh rumbled through me, “Yeah,” I said, resting my forehead upon the cold complexion of his flushed cheek. “We make wonderful Angels.” 

“Angels of the night.” He mused, turning back to face me. I merely smiled, engulfed in the way the shadows loomed across his expression, lowering with a light glimmer of something morose. “Take a cab, please.” He sighed, “And be safe.” He fluttered a tender peck upon the very tip of my nose, before capturing my lips in the swoon of a honey dripped kiss. It lasted hardly a moment, for we were numb with the cold, and bitterly exhausted. He laughed, pulled away, and said: “Sorry.” 

I smiled, “No.” I mumbled, “Don’t be.” 

“Okay.” He said, thumb brushing lightly upon the flushed complexion of my cheekbone. “I’ll see you later, then?” 

“Of course.” I said, a curtly peppered peck to his coldly chapped lips, before smiling something warm, and beginning mine own retreat. 

Footsteps echoing among the plush of the winter snow, sinking with every passing stride, I found my grin something silly - something foolishly reciprocant for my adoration. And, upon glancing behind me slightly, approaching the hardly open gate, I noticed the swarm of familiar faces, each bounding over to a stoic Charlie, perched with his hands in his pockets, and a lovesick smile upon his face. They crowded him around, yelling and cheering things incoherent, and yet, still, he smiled on, merely widening with the attention of their supportive company. 

A laugh rippled through me, and I waved something curt, receiving a soft repeat from the Lover-Boy himself, and a particularly exaggerated, full-arm, wave from Knox, as he bellowed a loud; “YAWP!” And tackled Charlie in a boyish embrace.

Idiots, I thought, though I’d have it no other way. 

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter three - “penny for your thoughts”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: reader runs into a familiar face at the lake near her quarters in wakanda and they get to know each other a bit (kinda meet cute)

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: not my photo

The sunrise in Wakanda was one of the most marvelous things (Y/N) had ever seen. It was truly divine. Magnificent shades of burnt orange and gold bled through the boundless canvas of clouds. The sun, rich and saturated, was the epicenter of these vivacious gradients. It was almost as though Odin himself was painting the sky.

Her windows, encompassing the space of an entire wall, opened her room effortlessly. They led directly to the outskirts of a small lake that perfectly reflected the sunrise. It almost felt like a vacation. Or a dream, whichever came first.

She had slept wonderfully, but woke up early all the same. The beginning of her morning consisted entirely of sitting right outside her room staring at the ascending sun. She supposed she could've stayed there all day as Shuri told her they wouldn't start working until tomorrow; something about settling in and adjusting. Although she thoroughly enjoyed her quiet, warm morning, wasting the whole day cramped up near and inside her room would be a very poor choice.

There's so much here, I might as well enjoy my mini vacation.

She slipped on her shoes, closed the glass door, and made her way to the very lake she was admiring so dearly. She sat at the edge of the lake, letting the smooth sound of the flowing water fill the air around her. It was so quiet, secluded. She was alone; it was lovely. Tranquile even. Being by herself brought a strange sort of comfort, like she was safe and-

"Hello."

She turned around, still sitting. "Oh. Hi Jame- I mean... Bucky."

He smiled, and gave a ghost of a laugh. "Thanks."

"Did you need something? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, it's good. I was just looking around. This place is beautiful."

"Tell me about it," she returned his smile. "I keep thinking like I'm on a vacation or something. It doesn't feel like I'm supposed to work tomorrow."

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. "If I was gonna be... fixed somewhere, I'm glad it's here."

"Yeah, no one's gonna bother us here. Except maybe Shuri when she shows you how much smarter she is than you."

"Kid's a genius," he chuckled. "I've only talked to her a bit and she's smarter than I'll ever be."

At this point he was still standing, his hands clasped politely in front of him. He was just standing next to (Y/N)’s sitting figure. It wasn't a problem until an awkward silence settled over them. She wasn't quite sure what to say.

She wasn't the best with people. She knew exactly how the brain worked and she knew how to analyze behavior, and when it came to her job she knew the right things to say at the right times. But her job has rules; if she's talking with someone, she's treating them. When doing so, there are specific sets of clinical terminology. There were guidelines to follow, scripts to recite. Talking to patients in a work setting was analytical and made sense. Talking to regular people was a bit difficult. There was so much grey area. Bucky was going to be a patient, but right then, in that moment, he was just another person.

"You can sit if you want," she offered, patting the spot next to her. "I feel weird, it seems like I'm making you stand."

He gingerly accepted such an offer. He sat next to her, but not too close. The respectful distance gave her comfort.

We both have our own space.

"Hey, can I say something?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"I just wanted to thank you, ya know, for coming all the way here. Steve told me about the whole situation - you and Sharon and everything. I'm just really grateful. You probably have a whole life of your own back home, but it means a lot that you came here to help out. I know it's not exactly easy."

Heartfelt. If she had to describe it in one word that's what it would be. It almost surprised her.

"Oh you don't have to thank me!" she sounded deflective. "It's my job. I'm just glad we have a chance to provide you with treatment after all the pain you've been through."

Was that too personal?

"I mean, after all this time, I think you're pretty deserving of a reprieve."

"Have you read my file?" he asked, a little quieter than before. He was staring intently at the lake in front of him.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, I did."

"Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"That you had to read it. I know it's a lot."

He sounded guilty, like somehow what happened to him was his fault.

"That's alright," she said almost too quickly. "I've gone through plenty of abuse and trauma cases. To be fair, none of them are quite like yours, but I'm not in completely foreign waters here."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I've heard you're more than highly qualified. It's just a lot of bad stuff."

"I can handle bad stuff," she replied, reassuringly. To her, it sounded more factual than reassuring. Unbeknownst to her, it gave Bucky some sort of comfort. Like he was in good hands.

Another awkward silence settled over them. Her eyes remained on the body of water in front of her; she wasn't sure what to say. Casual conversation was not her forte, and Bucky seemed rather shy himself. She felt responsible for any conversation that should take place, but to be fair, he wasn't talking either.

It was then when she subtly aimed her gaze towards him, getting a thorough impression of his features. He was, in all honesty, quite handsome. Objectively speaking of course. He was sharp features and soft edges at once, if you could consider that possible. And the bluest blue eyes she'd ever seen were luminescent in the direct sunlight. She reminded herself not to stare, and tore her line of vision away from the man next to her.

In lieu of this, she closed her eyes, leaned back on the palms of her hands, and relished in the warmth of the Wakandan sun. This lasted a few moments before she once again realized that not a word had been passed between them. She wondered what he was thinking about.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked softly.

"Hm?"

"You look pensive."

"'M just thinkin'"

"Well, that much I could tell," she snickered.

He flashed a bashful smile. "I'm just tryin' to grasp the fact that I'm actually here. Y'know, safe. Ready to be helped. It's been a while. I keep having to remind myself that it's real."

Makes sense. He probably thinks that any minute, this seemingly secure safe haven is going to be ripped out from under him. Like it was all a rouze and he'll have to return to pain and anguish.

"It's definitely real...well, last time I checked anyway. But who knows? Maybe we're in an alternate reality and any moment we'll see a woman in a red dress," she joked, trying to lighten his mood and simultaneously referencing The Matrix.

It worked. He laughed; a soft gentle chuckle, but a laugh all the same.

"Woman in a red dress?" he asked through a grin.

"Oh, you probably haven't seen The Matrix, have you?"

His face scrunched up in endearing confusion. "No...?"

She adamantly ignored when the word adorable entered her mind when she saw his expression. "It's a movie, a classic really. You'll have to see it at some point or I'll feel like an idiot for referencing it."

"Oh God," he shook his head, "I haven't seen a movie in... ages."

"I think that's a crime in and of itself. They've gotten infintely better than they were in the forties, I can promise you that."

"I got a lot to catch up on, don't I?"

"Maybe a little. But don't worry about it. I'll make you a list!"

"Man, didn't think I'd have homework," he quipped, a meek attempt at a joke.

It made her smile. There's some personality! She showed some of her own in return.

"Man, I didn't think I'd ever meet someone who doesn't like movies of all things. One of the best things ever created by mankind!"

He laughed and threw his hands up in mock surrender. "I never said that! I don't know if I deserve such slander."

What a wonderful laugh.

"Watch every movie on my list and I'll clear your name," she beamed.

He feigned annoyance. "Fine. You drive a hard bargain, Ms. (Y/L/N)."

"That's Dr. (Y/L/N), actually."

Before he could question whether or not he made a mistake, she continued. "I'm totally messing with you. (Y/N) is more than just fine. Dr. (Y/L/N) sounds too much like someone's pretending that I'm my dad anyway."

"Okay then," he smiled, "(Y/N).”

[dwellordream]

“Relations with real parents, of course, provided the context and often times much of the subterranean content of girls’ socialization. As the age of marriage increased, middle-class daughters resided for a longer and longer time with their parents. The historical literature has appropriately stressed the dependence of Victorian daughters, yet it has disagreed on how to interpret it. Historians of medicine and of the prescriptive literature have tended to stress the costs of such training in self-discipline, seeing girls’ exercises in self-suppression as the origins of a range of psychosomatic ailments.

With a more positive emphasis, historians of domesticity have emphasized the health of girls’ gradual socialization into the world of their mothers and grandmothers, depicting daughters and mothers ‘‘lolling [together] in placid domesticity.’’ The legacy of the Victorian home was more variegated than either vision allows, though, with maternal dependence often suppressed in accounts of actual lives. In some sense, the object relations theory of gender socialization was designed for the Victorian family. Nancy Chodorow’s argument about the ‘‘reproduction of mothering’’ assumes an asymmetrical family structure with mother at home and father at work. Unlike her brother, the theory goes, the girl learns gender behavior through imitating her mother, often blurring her own sense of self with her mother’s.

In this environment, affiliation and nurturance emerge naturally at the center of her identity. (Her brother needs to learn masculinity from a largely absent father and must therefore break abruptly from his nearest love object, his mother, in order to assume an abstract masculinity.) This insight about the blendedness of female identity in late-Victorian America helps to explain the anomalous position of mothers in many of the documents of girlhood. Frequently mothers simply did not appear in their daughters’ daily accounts of their lives. The absence of a mother in a diary often did not reflect her real-life absence. Instead, it was likely to suggest that she was omnipresent, part of the assumed background of her daughter’s life rather than its figure or pattern.

Even fictional accounts of girls and their journals acknowledged this absence. Mothers frequently emerged in diary accounts only to depart or to return or to get sick. In diaries from three different years in the 1880s, Mabel Lancraft, daughter of an oyster grower in Fair Haven, Connecticut, mentioned her mother scarcely at all. Her mother took an active role only in regard to three separate events: a contentious shopping trip, a trip to school as her daughter’s advocate, and her rare absence from home, which required that Mabel herself prepare dinner. It is in such moments as the last that daughters paid tribute to mothers and to their particular and often archetypal qualities.

When Bostonian Agnes Garrison was in New York and got an earache, she realized how much she counted on her mother in the normal run of things: ‘‘I don’t know when I have had such a hard time or when I have missed my dear Mamma so much. Cried as much for her as for earache. . . . There is nobody like Mamma when one is sick.’’ Southerner Lucy Breckinridge ‘‘spent the day’’ watching for her mother to return, and noted that when she finally arrived, ‘‘The house is much brighter now.’’

Literary critics have often noted the propensity of nineteenth-century female authors to ‘‘express hostility toward their mothers by eliminating them from the narrative,’’ in contrast to twentieth-century authors, who dramatized the conflict. One such contemporary observer was Florence Nightingale, who during her own crisis over her life purpose commented on how the novels of her age featured a heroine who ‘‘has generally no family ties (almost invariably no mother), or, if she has, they do not interfere with her entire independence.’’ According to the critic Carolyn Heilbrun, the removal of familial impediments represented wish fulfillment—a magical, fictive freeing from real-life constraints, especially those imposed by families. Girls’ diaries seem to have shared in both the plotting templates and the psychological bedrock which underlay such portrayals of familial displacement and liberation.

…So what do we make of girls’ frequent decisions to leave their mothers out of the record? We might conclude that a mother’s absence from journals and diaries represented the same thing as a mother’s absence from novels—an easy resolution to the need for imaginative space, without yet the daring demonstrated by such writers as Virginia Woolf, who confronted and considered killing the smothering, maternal ‘‘angel in the house.’’ The potency of the maternal ideal became especially apparent when mothers had died. Indeed, the death of a mother might be the initial inspiration for a daughter to write. Grief over a loss that often seemed equal to a loss of self found a ready outlet in one strand of girls’ autobiographical writing in which the spirit of the ‘‘angel of the house’’ was described, memorialized, and apotheosized.

The critic Elaine Showalter has observed that many Victorian women writers had lost, or were alienated from, their mothers. Showalter concludes that the resulting male-identification contributed to their careers. The diary evidence from the United States suggests another possibility—that the loss of a mother may have encouraged writing which was initially a form of communication with an absent or imagined ‘‘other’’ from beyond the grave. In such journals, the palpable agenda of the journal writer was to apply a salve of words and an illusion of communication to the intense aloneness of the orphaned or the motherless. When Helen Ward Brandreth began her journal, at the age of thirteen, she described herself (‘‘a low forehead, light hair and eyes’’), noted her age, and then recorded the next significant information about herself: ‘‘My Mama is dead, she died March 5, 1871, so my eldest sister May takes care of me.’’

The death of a mother during a girl’s childhood or youth distilled and romanticized maternal imagery. In their depictions of their dead mothers, girls concocted a powerful maternal essence which inhibited and censured with far greater impact than could any living representative. As such, dead mothers came to stand in for a potent superego—an angel in fact rather than simply in allusion. In Victorian America, the association of mothers with religious virtue, as a ‘‘channel of God’s grace’’ (according to Jane Tompkins), was a commonplace. For girls whose mothers had died, the association was fixed: mothers, feminine virtue, and an idealized but elusive better self.

…In some sense, idealizing mothers, especially dead ones, bespoke a universal urge for the perfect unity of the womb or before. In that sense, the strong identification and attachment between mothers and daughters argued by Nancy Chodorow and others was intensified by its arbitrary dissolution through death. Testimonials in diaries about lost mothers provide the words to suggest the bonds which often remained unvoiced in the diaries of the daughters of living mothers. Mothers were often absent from the record when present in fact, and most clearly articulated in the fabric and manuscript of self when they were in fact dead, sick, or away.

Whichever the case, the writings of Victorian daughters confirm the prolonged attachment of daughters to mothers with whom they shared a largely domestic sphere. Yet that primal bond of identification, encouraged by the Victorian separation of male and female spheres, was also subject to countercurrents from the culture of selfhood itself. As adults claimed a private self removed by propriety from public view or discourse, they taught those same values to growing girls. In theory, a girl told her mother all, and had no secrets. In practice, daughters, like their mothers, resisted expressing or confessing controversial emotions. In rooms and journals provided by their parents but taken for their own, girls, too, elaborated a layered culture of private secrets which sometimes pitted them against their mothers.

This was less true earlier in the nineteenth century. Parents claimed privacy for themselves but resisted giving it to children. Parents who had scrutinized their children’s writings for signs of grace earlier in the century were not indulging idle curiosity but fulfilling their highest parental responsibility to see to the spiritual salvation of their children. The substitution of character building for salvation seeking as the goal of adolescent socialization was a change in vocabulary rather than a revolution in parent-child relations. Adults’ increasing rights to privacy within their homes meant greater parental obligation to monitor children, rather than less. When parents took their children inside and closed the door, they gained sole responsibility for their upbringing.

…Yet the idea that ‘‘a secret is not a good thing for a girl to have’’ became harder to defend as Victorianism evolved to encourage the privacy of the individual. The surreptitious surveillance which we associate with Victorianism was the result of the twin beliefs in the abstract value of privacy and the responsibility of parents to monitor children. Motivated perhaps by the greater actual autonomy of their daughters, who were no longer constantly at their mothers’ elbows, and also by their own increasing responsibility for girls’ upbringing, parents were often interested in the contents of daughters’ diaries and journals. Although we think of the Victorians as inappropriately intrusive, their recourse to indirection was a sign of their deference to the idea of privacy. Earlier generations would have had fewer scruples about direct intervention.

As youths made the transition to adulthood, they at first felt guilty about secrets they kept from parents. Lucy Breckinridge neglected to tell her father about her engagement, and remonstrated with herself for the omission: ‘‘I am afraid it is deception, and yet, I cannot make up my mind to do it. I am a coward! I try to reconcile myself to it by arguing that if I am silent now, there may something occur to make Pa favor my plan and if I told him now, it would distress and anger him. . . . And then, all girls do it. Sallie Grattan did not even tell her mother! But that’s small comfort. I’ll think of it and try to make up my mind.’’ Lucy Breckinridge’s defenses of her secrecy in the 1860s lacked conviction. In resorting simply to fashion—‘‘And then, all girls do it’’—she was leaning on a reed so weak as to offend even her own sense of righteousness.

Yet at the same time, Breckinridge was offended at an incursion on her own sense of privacy. When a letter came into the house from Captain H., the man to whom she was engaged, ‘‘Pa got hold of the letter and read it and then sent for me to get it, a very bad thing in Papa.’’ When Lucy decided to break off with her Captain H., largely because of her parents’ disapproval, Lucy referred again to her father’s intrusion on her privacy: ‘‘Pa opens all my letters since Eliza’s alluding to Capt. H., and I have not a doubt was very much interested in the Capt.’s letter today.’’ It was wrong for her to withhold important information about her engagement from her father, Breckinridge seemed to feel. It was perhaps even worse for her father to pry into her mail, without her express permission, ‘‘a very bad thing.’’ The certainty of that last judgment suggests that girls were increasingly claiming a right to their own privacy.

As might have been expected between such a fiery duo, the etiquette and the morality of privacy also figured in the relationship between the feminist orator Lucy Stone and her diary-keeping daughter Alice Stone Blackwell. Perhaps not surprisingly, as in her campaign to restrict her daughter’s reading, Lucy Stone upheld woman’s self-sovereignty—as long as it did not extend to her daughter. In February 1872, when Blackwell was fourteen, her mother scolded her sharply for reading someone else’s letter. ‘‘Mama told me I had never done so naughty a thing since I was borne.’’ This strong rebuke upset Alice ‘‘utterly,’’ and she described herself going off to school ‘‘in a very low state of mind.’’ Several months later, though, the tables were turned. Alice recorded: ‘‘I accused Mama of scratching out something in my diary, and she confessed to having done so. We had a conversation which nearly resulted in my giving up keeping a diary and burning the old ones, but the affair ended satisfactorily.’’

Coming from the champion of women’s rights, Lucy Stone’s act of willful intrusion on her daughter is shocking. Not only had she read her daughter’s journal, but she had been unable to resist obliterating contents which displeased her. The conversation between mother and daughter nearly ended in a dramatic scene of destruction, with the daughter threatening to break off the edifying practice of journal writing and to burn the old ones if her mother couldn’t guarantee their privacy. Clearly, Alice had learned the lessons about the sanctity of privacy which her mother had been trying to teach her. Equally clearly, Lucy Stone was still participating in a nineteenth-century culture which exempted relations between mothers and daughters from the strict code of privacy which characterized relations between adults.

As late as the 1890s, Ladies’ Home Journal was still declaring the rights of parents to open letters addressed to a daughter, but even this conservative publication suggested, ‘‘This is seldom done where the confidence between the parents and child exists.’’ The controversy in the spring of 1872 between the women of the Blackwell family, like those of myriad other families throughout Victorian America, were skirmishes in a prolonged cultural conflict over the rights of daughters to identities separate from their mothers’.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Houses, Families, Rooms of One’s Own.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[dsoe-masteroftheheavenlyyard]

Chapter 2–Hunt for the Deadly Sins; Scene 3

master of the heavenly yard pages 18-28

It was currently nighttime, and there were no artificial lights anywhere in the desolate field they could rely on.

Even so, as there were no buildings to block the light of the moon it actually wasn’t all that hard to see.

--Just as Allen had been when he first came here, Nemesis seemed unable to believe the scenery before her.

“How…could this be? The Millennium Tree Forest was destroyed along with the rest of the world—no, it was burned down even earlier than that. So how…”

The trees were flourishing in abundance.

As though they had never been destroyed at all.

It was undoubtedly strange, considering everything they had seen up to arriving here was wasteland.

“There’s no cause for finding it so unusual, Nemesis. To put it in layman’s terms…These exist here under the same principles as that clinic did.”

Nemesis seemed to immediately understand when she heard Allen’s explanation

“The specialty clinic in the illusory Moscow that Levia Barisol created…I see. Thoughts can materialize in the Hellish Yard…In other words this too is an illusion created by souls—"

“You catch on quick. Not that I’d expect any less from the original ‘Master of the Hellish Yard’.”

“My…so you know that much, do you?”

Allen pointed up to the moon in the sky.

“I studied everything about this world inside the ‘Blackbox’ up there. So I understand most of what’s going on.”

“You studied ‘everything’ but you only understand ‘most’ of it?”

“I’m not as smart as you. That, and there are some things I couldn’t study with the black box.”

“Such as?”

“The gods call this world the ‘Third Period’. The black box taught me about events that occurred there. But…I wasn’t able to get much information on the world before, the ‘Second Period’ where the gods lived.”

“Assuming it was Sickle who created that ‘Blackbox’…That information was probably left out on purpose. Well, it sounds like something she’d do, anyway.”

“…?” Allen made a curious expression. “Is Sickle—a girl?”

“By my reconning at least.”

“I see…I always thought he was male. Well, at any rate, you would know more about the ‘Second Period’ than me.”

“And that’s why you brought me along on your journey.”

“There is that, and I also was wanting to borrow the connections you’ve built up over your long life. There’s a lot of souls on the ground world now that lived in the past. Naturally, a lot of them are people I’ve never met.” Allen looked back to the forest before them. “For example, the spirits that live in this forest. I didn’t even know they existed back when I was alive. However…That’s not the case with you.”

“The spirits—are still residing here in the forest?”

“Yeah. This forest itself was something they conjured up.”

Nemesis reached out to put a hand on a nearby tree branch.

Despite it being an illusion, she was able to touch it. It felt peculiarly rough…It certainly “existed”, but it gave across a somewhat strange sensation that felt unstable to her.

She noticed something moving at the edges of her vision, and turned toward it. A single fox was gazing at her, but the moment Nemesis saw it, it quickly hid itself in the shadow of the tree.

Phaser…

Nemesis remembered that fox’s name. She was certain it was one of the spirits that lived in the forest—or would it be more accurate to say “people”?

Whichever it was, she knew this one to have an affable personality. That they refused to come near in spite of that must be because she was in this form, Nemesis thought to herself.

I am…the one responsible for destroying the forest, after all.

Nemesis turned back to Allen.

“Is Michaela coming back here?”

Allen shook his head.

“If she’d intended to do so, she would have come along with us.”

“That’s true. So this forest is currently—”

“Being managed not by Michaela, but a proxy.”

In that next moment, they could hear someone’s voice from above their heads.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit harsh to treat me as a mere ‘proxy’, Allen?”

A single blue bird flew above them. It was the bird that had spoken just then.

“That voice, and that manner of speaking…Professor Held!?”

Nemesis’ eyes widened.

“If you’re calling me ‘Professor’, then…Your memory has come back.”

“Yeah, it’s all returned, thank you…Why do you look like that?”

“Various reasons. By all rights I was unable to materialize on the ground world due to my restrictions. As a result of tirelessly endeavoring to slip through a loophole in those rules, I wound up as this bluebird.” Held selected a branch on one of the trees and landed there. “By the way…What is it I ought to call you?”

“Nemesis is fine.”

“I see. Then, dictator Nemesis—you’re guilty of quite the horrendous deed, aren’t you? The reckless act of firing the weapon of mass destruction ‘Punishment’ at the world and bringing it to an end.”

Nemesis felt no fear at Held’s grave words.

“I don’t feel like apologizing for it. As you well know, that was my goal from the very start. You and Hazuki laid all sorts of groundwork to avoid it, but it looks like it that was all in vain.”

“You wished not for ‘management’ but ‘destruction’…So, as we feared, your mind was already infected with ‘malice’.”

“So what if it was? If you want to kill me you’re welcome to do so.”

“I have no intention of holding you responsible for that now. That wouldn’t bring the world back. …And besides, I’ve come to be increasingly less certain as I’ve watched you, Seth, and that girl Irina—all of you who have been reduced to ‘HER’s.”

“Less certain of what?”

“—Just what in the world ‘evil’ is.”

Nemesis was wordless for a moment at such an abstract question.

Allen silently listened to the two of them speak from the side. He wasn’t boorish enough to cut into an exchange between “gods”.

“…Evil is—” Finally Nemesis opened her mouth. “—Those who won’t obey the established ‘rules’. Those who disrupt order. That’s the basics of it, right?”

“Then what about Gallerian and Riliane’s case? They were the ones who created the ‘rules’, after all.”

“I said ‘rules’ to be brief, but there’s many applications of that. Rules of countries, rules of the court, personal rules, or…the rules of gods. Occasionally those contradict each other. In that case—the rules of the one who wins out in the end are taken as just.”

“So you’re saying that you aren’t ‘evil’.”

“Correct. I’m the winner.”

“…Is that really so? It’s true that you’re the sole living thing in the world. But…It’s still possible for the dead to kill the living.” Held looked up at the night sky. “If you wish to become the true ‘winner’…I would advise you do something about that.”

At that moment, Nemesis finally noticed it.

On the other end of Held’s gaze, floating high in the air, was a peculiar object illuminated by the light of the moon.

“That’s…it can’t be! What’s that doing here?!”

It was an enormous “black box”.

If Nemesis’ eyes weren’t deceiving her, that was without a doubt a “Blackbox”—a piece of technology from the Second Period.

“Is that an illusion someone conjured up too?”

“It can’t be. Who could think one up, given it didn’t exist in the Third Period?”

Upon hearing those words, Nemesis immediately turned to Allen.

“Nope, it wasn’t me.” Allen denied firmly, shaking his head and waving his hands. “And that ‘Blackbox’ looks a bit different in construction from the one I’m familiar with.”

There were several types of “Blackbox” that Nemesis knew about.

The one floating in the air just then was—

It’s unlike the Type E, as well as the Type L that I made. The closest I can think of is…the Type S!

The second edition device created by the physicist Seth Twiright.

That was the “Type S”.

But the Type S wasn’t loaded onto the spaceship “Climb One” that we’d been riding on. It shouldn’t be in this world—

And there Nemesis recalled an event in her past.

A battle between sorceresses that had occurred in Merrigod Plateau…That phrase that had been spoken by the Red Cat Sorceress.

…She had called the device that was installed in her chest cavity a “Blackbox Type S”. If that was a “Blackbox” that Seth made in this world—

If that “black box” up there was no illusion, but the real deal.

There was a chance that Seth had created it in secret.

Though I’d no inkling of him making such a thing while he was with me—or rather, Nemesis—at the very least. Perhaps when he was in the Hellish Yard before…But then, I can’t imagine Gumillia would have allowed it.

It might have been fastest for her to just ask Seth, but given that he wasn’t around at the moment she couldn’t do that either.

“How about we try getting close to it for now?”

Allen nodded at Nemesis’ suggestion. “That might be best.”

“We’ll just head to ‘Evils Theater’ later…”

“—It looks like we might not have to.”

Allen pointed above the “black box” in the air.

It would be more clearly visible if this were during the day, but…it appeared that something else was floating there.

Nemesis strained her eyes, trying to confirm what she was seeing.

And once she understood his response, she was shocked once again.

“…I don’t get any of this. How is a theater floating above the ‘Blackbox’?”

“I guess that looks bizarre to you too, huh?”

“I could say the same for the ‘Blackbox’, but…A heavy building like that floating in the air should be completely impossible under Third Period technology, at the very least. Even if it’s an illusion, it’s just completely uncalled for to deliberately have it floating in space. It’s like a child made it up.”

“…Surprisingly enough, that might be accurate.”

“…?”

“I mean that theater might be an illusion brought about by a child, or else someone with a child-like personality. In any case, we should probably go see it first.”

“Quite right.” Nemesis approached the blue bird that was sitting blasé on the tree branch. “With that, we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Hmph…You alright leaving without saying anything to your friends?”

“—They aren’t the ‘Climb One’ crewmembers anymore. They’ve lost their memories, and live in this world as spirits.”

“True…But there are exceptions. Those who have regained their former memories.”

Nemesis didn’t need to ask him who those “exceptions” were. She had a pretty good idea of who that applied to, and also knew that none of them were in this forest right then.

Rather, she had something else that she needed to ask him.

“One last thing…Professor Held. Why did you become the ‘Great Land God Held’?”

“…? What do you mean?”

“You were against us managing the new world. That was the reason why we wound up fighting each other. And yet despite that—”

“You can’t understand it. You’re wondering then what in the world were we fighting over.”

“—Yeah.”

“…It was the ‘Moon Goddess’s idea. I—no, none of us, could go against her. …Now then, I think you best be off.”

And at that, Held finally stopped talking completely.

It was as though he had turned into a mere bird, that would not reply no matter what Nemesis said.

“…Farewell, Professor Held.”

“…”

Nemesis reluctantly said goodbye to Held, and went to move on ahead with Allen.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 7 - Good Omens

Day 7: I’ve Got You Fandom/Setting: Good Onens, early 1800s read on AO3 read on FF.net

~*~

Teeth.

Teeth… everywhere. Curved teeth, wicked teeth, pointed teeth, teeth that injected fire, teeth that drowned him in waves of agony and screams.

Crowley had lost his sense of reality after the first bite, fangs sinking themselves into his thigh, bringing him to the ground. The growling and howling and snapping like nightmare fodder burned itself into his brain until all he heard other than his own pathetic cries was the snarling of the hellhound, and how could one hellhound have so many teeth anyway?

“Hush now… hush, my dear. I’ve got you.”

He tried to fight, just on principle, but Crowley already knew he was as good as dead. The blade stowed in his boot fell from nerveless fingers before he’d ever landed a single slice. Curse whichever one of his jealous workmates had sicced a HELLHOUND on him—two quid said it was Hastur—not that it mattered because the hellhound didn’t care that they were supposed to be on the same side, it only knew that there was flesh and blood and fear, and Satan how it thrived on all three.

Crowley felt his body literally ripping under the jaws of the hellhound. The worst of it wasn’t the rending of flesh, though, but the venom now working its way through his system. Not the kind that would kill. The kind that would disorient. The kind that would terrify. The kind that would bulldoze its way into his brain and smash it to pieces and leave him in a nightmare world incongruous with reality.

He screamed again.

“Crowley! I’m sorry, I have to drain the wounds, don’t fight me… that’s a good lad, you’re doing splendid. Oh please don’t make me hold you down…”

The attack stopped but the terror and the screaming didn’t. The air was filled with unearthly screeches, discordant voices of ancient monsters carrying dread. Crowley rolled away, head tipping back as he gasped through the searing pain. His vision was blurry and flooded in red. Through the haze, he saw a halo, as blinding as the face of God. Whatever it was saying, Crowley couldn’t decipher as he clapped his hands to his ears and curled in on himself, sobbing. The figure was dark and its eyes were full of fire, not like Hell but like purified molten gold and Crowley couldn’t bear to look. Somewhere close by, a hellhound bayed. Metal rang, the air shimmering like static and electrified will. Another howl. More of that voice with the distorted words.

A flash of lightning, or else a blade, and the hellhound was silenced mid-howl but the sound of it echoed in Crowley’s traumatized mind. It rose and fell in cascading waves in synchronization with the pulsation of the world around him. The ground slithered under his body and tiny devils danced in the wounds left by the hellhound fangs. Crowley watched them, shaking his head over and over to cast free the spell holding his mind, but the venom of a hellhound was not so easily dispelled.

Then the tall, dark figure turned slowly on the spot, rooted to the ground yet spritzing out of focus to appear in front of him in the same space of a breath. Crowley moaned and tried to back away as it loomed over him with terrifying gaze and razor teeth. It spoke. The words were nothing, garbled sounds ever rising in pitch. Then a clawed hand reached towards him and Crowley flung his arms out in a panicked attempt to ward the creature off. Its halo fragmented into a hundred pixels, casting prisms on the ground and the rivers of blood. He reached for the rainbows to find nothing there at all.

“Almost there… Almost, I promise. There’s only the one left. I’m so sorry, I know this hurts, but we’re almost done, Crowley.”

Crowley was weightless, hovering over the ground. The nameless voice—an angelic warrior, oh now he was REALLY dead, it would finish what the hellhound had started—was speaking to him. Curses and threats and taunts, no doubt, though his poisoned mind twisted it into the barest whisper repeating over and over:

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you… I’ve got you.”

A hellhound, he could fight, but an angel he could not. Crowley closed his eyes against the visions of a thousand mirrors breaking and raining their shards down over the earth, and the blank nothingness that lay behind them, an existential facade.

“There. All done, you should be right as rain. Now if you would only be so good as to open your eyes, please, Crowley.”

The whirling of space and time around him slowed to a crawl and then finally stopped altogether. His entire body was one big… throb. Nevertheless, Crowley felt an intense desire to pacify the owner of the voice, and when he finally peeled his eyelids back, he immediately remembered why.

“‘Ngel?” he croaked out through a dry mouth, blinking back his confusion to see Aziraphale there. Here. Wherever they were. Crowley looked around, quite certain this was Aziraphale’s new bookshop, but he couldn’t recall popping over for a visit and wasn’t sure how he’d managed to fall asleep there. Satan, why did his body hurt so much?

All other thoughts were pushed away at the sight of Aziraphale very nearly crumpling in relief.

“There you are,” the angel murmured, brushing a hand over Crowley’s forehead before he could be surprised about it. “And the fever’s down. I daresay you’re out of the woods.”

“Out of the- what happened?” Crowley made to sit up, but Aziraphale’s hand fell instantly to his shoulder, urging him back down.

“You had a bit of a run-in with a hellhound, I’m afraid,” the angel told him, face slack with remembered horrors that looked a bit like Crowley felt. “Nasty business.”

“Ngh,” Crowley agreed. “Yeah… okay, yeah, that- that sounds… familiar.” He looked up at Aziraphale in bafflement. “But how did I get here then? Shouldn’t I be dead? There was- something came and killed it, and-”

Oh.

Crowley closed his eyes to hide his embarrassment at the rather obvious fact that Aziraphale was the something that had come and killed it.

“Hellhound venom does some unpleasant things,” Aziraphale pointed out kindly but unnecessarily. “I expect it had you all confused about what was happening.”

“To say the least,” Crowley muttered, remembering snippets of nightmares involving existence itself melting away and how hard he’d tried to fight off his rescuer. “Lucky you were there.”

“Lucky you had a good blade,” Aziraphale countered as he held out Crowley’s stiletto knife. “I hadn’t brought anything. It was the oddest thing, I had such a sudden and urgent thought to go for a stroll through Whitechapel, I scarcely realized it before I was halfway there. And of course I heard that horrible beast from a mile away, didn’t even realize it was you there until I’d killed the wretched thing. Gabriel can’t be too cross over it, after all a hellhound is as bad for us as it is for you. But I was so afraid- but no, you’re going to be right as rain. I had to drain the wounds, you know, and you didn’t like that one bit.”

“Ngh.” Crowley was trying to remember if he had called out to the angel, though he would swear he hadn’t. Nothing to have tickled his friend’s attention, surely. Dangerous business, that, what if some other angel had heard it instead? Besides, the last thing he would have wanted was for Aziraphale to be in harm’s way, though he did forget at times that Aziraphale was quite the formidable warrior.

Well, a mystery for another day.

He realized then that Aziraphale was watching him anxiously; Crowley looked away. “Wot?”

“Are you alright, my dear? Hellhound venom can be… well… disturbing.”

Crowley swallowed, then took a bolstering breath. “Fine,” he airily tried. It fell flat. “Just having a hard time with… you know, what’s real and what’s not and whatnot.”

Aziraphale nodded like he understood, though Crowley hoped he didn’t, not from experience.

“Sorry,” the demon muttered next. “For… you know.” He doubted he’d made it easy on Aziraphale to get him somewhere safe or treat his wounds.

A hand closed over one of his, and Crowley looked up in surprise. Aziraphale’s eyes—not the blinding gold from before, but his own normal blue—were full of warmth and reassurance.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m only glad Something led me there in time. Now listen, I’m going to put on some tea and you’re going to stay right there under the blankets until I’m quite satisfied you’re all recovered. No arguments! I daresay it’ll make me feel better, you know.”

Well, damn it all, Crowley couldn’t very well refuse, then.

He would, of course, never admit it under any amount of torture, but it did something good to the demon that Aziraphale would care half as much. Though he made a show of rolling his eyes and sinking back down with a sulk, Crowley saw the warmth warm a little warmer in the angel’s eyes and he knew that of course Aziraphale understood.

He always did.

[chaosincurlss]

In another world, I’m camped at my best friend’s bedside, reminding her of all the ways I’m going to help her heal, of all the ways I am grateful she survived, of all the ways I love her. She wears a sleepy smile that I’ve seen nothing short of a million times, and a hospital gown that does nothing to hide away the deep purple of the harm the world has done to her. One person should never have known so much pain, and she never should have had to be the one reaching to swipe away the tears that cascaded along my cheeks. Of course, she wouldn’t be the girl I’d grown alongside if she wasn’t the one trying to piece me back together, even when she was the one falling apart. That would be the place where I know myself, where I know the person before me, where I’ve memorized the features of the face my eyes can’t leave.

In this world, I’m looking down at a person I’ve been told is my best friend, but the girl in the coffin looks nothing like her. Everyone comments on how she looks as if she’s sleeping, but those are just the lies they need to tell themselves, because the truth is that this corpse looks like nothing more than some mangled version of Elena Gilbert. As if some twisted person had been given a canvas and asked to paint an idea of her, a broken and warped idea of her that no restorative makeup was going to fix. Some depraved creature had been let loose with the idea of Elena Gilbert and they’d left her this distorted thing. Her cheeks sunken from where her bones had been crushed and they hadn’t cared quite enough to conceal it, the line of her hair disrupted by the loss from when she’d been pulled across the gravel, the perfect button shape of her nose that should be scrunched by laughter now forever scuffed by the injuries she would never have the chance to recover from. From the slumber she would never have the chance to awaken from. I don’t know why people say they look like they’re sleeping, now more than ever, I don’t understand why they say it. At best, they look dead. At worst, they look like someone you’ve never met, but are expected to mourn anyway.

In this stranger’s stray strands of chocolate hair, I was expected to find memories of the times we’d spent playing dress up before we had any idea of what the world would be. Of when we would take turns in whichever princess dress happened to be the favorite that week, though the plastic pearl clips were the constant that stayed with us through it all, and I wished I had them now — I wished I could tuck her hair away just as we did when we were nothing but a twirling vision of trouble in tiaras, and I wished for the magic they held for us then, the type of magic that could undo the very worst of days.

When I took this stranger’s icy cold hand in mine, it should have reminded me of the very first time she’d slipped her fingers between my own, when her skin against mine spoke of something more than it ever had before, of the night that had felt like finally coming home. When we’d held our breaths, and let the silence lay heavy in the darkness of a childhood bedroom, words too much of a threat to such a flighty thing, if we’d even had words for what we were at all.

There was a sickening connection that I didn’t care to recognise in the midst of all of this — one I didn’t care to recognise, which meant that it was the only thing my mind could latch itself on to. I wanted no link between this nauseating period in my life, and any kind of happy moment that I’d been lucky enough to share with Elena, but it was there. This sense of blur that only came along with an emotion so intense that the human body didn’t know what to do with it. There was no part in our mind well enough equipped for the way that our feelings can simply overpower every other function we have, so comes the blur. Either end of the spectrum, the body doesn’t care to differentiate, it all hits the nervous system in the same way, the edges of it lost to the intensity of it all.

The moments of undiluted ecstasy. The moments of debilitating grief. A blur.

How we went from friends to more, the stretch of time it took and the ways it wove its way into my days and into the very fabric of my being, much like the days since the accident and the flurry of planning for the wake and the way that it chipped away at the very fabric of my being. A blur.

The moments when our hands ventured further than they ever had before, the way she said my name as if it were a question, as if it was everything to her, the moment they said the word ‘dead’ and there wasn’t an inkling of a question to it, as if they weren’t taking everything from me. A blur.

The way her lips brushed over the sensitive skin of my stomach and demanded that every hair I had stand in salute to her and the ways she could make me feel, the way my screen lit up with her smile every time there was a call to make and I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to feel again. A blur.

Promises of forever made through tears as we braved her empty home for the first time since her parents went over the bridge and how I couldn’t leave her side, how I wouldn’t let her drown in her despair and waste what they would have wanted for her, how I stand alone without her arms around me and there’s nothing to keep me from going under. A blur.

As I try to find my memories’ home in this shell of a person I don’t recognise, without the comfort of the warm chestnut hues that housed every up and down of this rollercoaster that we had called us, the want of warmth soon boils over into a burn. A burning rage for the emptiness of it all, for the finality we would never have, for the clarity she would never be able to grant, for the moments that should have come with the time that we always assumed was guaranteed. Each moment ahead became blurred — first by the silent and pure anger that bubbled for a life that would remain unlived, buried six feet under with every possibility that went with it — second by the tears that came alongside the accompanying agony of such a realization.

From my parents, to my teachers, to my friends, to passersby on the street — I had always been this little gust of Chaos, the ever-twirling bundle of blonde curls, whose path you didn’t dare enter. Not without a taste for Chaos, or a strong enough armor to combat it.

And, oh, how the Chaos swirled below the surface, nothing in my path but this future of shattered bones and scattered dreams, and all that I knew was that I needed to reach for something real, and the scrap of this imposter that I’d been given was nothing close to enough. So much was left buried beneath the surface, beyond this face that I didn’t know, there had to be a piece of the girl I loved somewhere below the chunky wool of the turtleneck the undertakers had insisted upon. A freckle that sat just where her shoulder met her neck, perhaps they’d tucked away her mothers necklace to keep it safe, there had to be a piece of her somewhere, something to tie me to this desolation.

So, my fingers curled at the material, and pulled in search of a prayer that any God who watched over this abomination knew wouldn’t be answered. They would sit in their almightiness and laugh at the girl whose heart broke too easily, the girl who filled herself to the brim with more hope than any one person should be able to carry, the girl whose mouth would fall agape as her eyes fell upon the jagged markings that should be the dip of Elena Gilbert’s collar bones, the exact place where sweet kisses would pool in exchange for the sweeter sounds of her laughter. Not only was this not the body of someone I knew, it was barely a body at all, something sewn together and strategically layered with thick clothing to fool those who dared to gather here in this place that had no hope of salvation.

At once, my hand dropped away, and the material sprung back into place, returning back to its post to guard the secrets that lay below. I expected that the horror had found its way out from within, that the discovery couldn’t have gone unnoticed, but when my gaze shot upward — the same busy conversations were carrying on. The same stories being swapped of the loveliness of the girl we had all known, and the tragedy of such an accident, an accident that had somehow lost its details between the asphalt and this room. Silence and I weren’t well acquainted with one another, though my mind swam with the images that were now seared upon my brain, and they were something as unfathomable to me as the fact that I apparently hadn’t made a sound. Then I can feel that edge approaching, the one where the blur takes over, the one where your mind decides that your fragile little self has had too much of the emotion that it has given to you, and floats you out to sea until you can be trusted to be returned to calmer waters. There was no comfort to be found within the confines of the casket, lesser comfort to be found in the walls that surrounded me, and yet I couldn’t help but search — as if she might round the corner at any moment, and this might have been nothing more than the worst corners of my mind grasping at my dreams. Solace was all that I asked, among all of the unknown, just a moment of relief.

In a sea of unfamiliarity, there stood a startling reminder of what unfamiliar truly was, a face in the flood of bodies that swirled in this whirlpool that threatened to pull me under — an expression of complete stillness amid this Chaos, tucked away at the very edges of the crowd, where another may have let him remain nothing but alien. Not me, not the ever dutiful hostess whose role was snapping back into place at the sight of a guest left unwelcomed, one who was also uninvited as far as I was concerned. This skin of someone who planned, who preened, who tended to the details and the finer details of events — it was the familiar ground I’d needed to find my footing once again. It wasn’t the hand I’d wished to hold, it wasn’t the beauty mark I’d sworn to worship for the rest of my days, but it pulled me far enough away from the depths to satisfy the ever watchful guardian within my mind that was determined to protect me from myself. If I never said it aloud, the Gods that spent their days laughing away at my misfortune would know and wonder at the miracle of my gratitude for the rudeness of a man who showed up to a funeral without invitation. For they would know that if it weren’t for that moment, if my eyes hadn’t caught on his, if I wasn’t compelled to leave Elena’s side and ever so politely quiz him on his funeral attending etiquette — the waves would have crashed over me, and I never would have seen shore again.

[electriscar]

“Excuse me!  Sir Knight!”  Her voice is small when she runs him, choked with heaving breaths — his head turns, a brow raised, as the green - haired woman reaches his side.  She pauses to catch her breath.  “Oh, thank goodness I caught you!”

“Can I be of assistance?”

She nods.  “I — yes.  I’m sorry, I...could we speak in private?”

The concern on his face deepens.  “Is everything all right, miss?  Are you in danger?”

“Yes, I — criminals are hunting me.  But I — I don’t know who else to go to for help.  I worry that some of the Knights may be in on it, but I thought, since you’re a new recruit, you might not have —”

“In on it?  Miss, are you suggesting that there’s —”

“Yes, corruption.  Please, this is why I can’t discuss it in public.”  Her eyes well, shining, afraid.  His gaze softens.  “Please.  We don’t have to go far.  Just — out of the middle of town.  Everyone could be watching.  Please?”

His hand settles on her shoulder, and her green eyes raise, hopeful — he nods to an alleyway not far from where they are, and she nods, tears finally tracking down her cheeks at the sheer relief.  He guides the trembling woman to a more private enclave and speaks only once they’re alone, voice low and gentle.

“All right, miss.  It’s okay.  you’re okay.”  She nods and inhales deeply.  “All right.  Take a deep breath.  I’m going to need your name first.”

She manages a watery smile.  “I’m Niya.  Thank you so much.”

He nods.  His smile is so gentle.  “Niya.  It’s good to meet you.  Now, can you tell me about what corruption you believe you’ve discovered in the Knights?”

Niya nods.  “Yes, of course.  Can I ask one question first, though?”

“Of course.”

“Which of them sent you here?”

He starts, head tilting, confusion reflecting across the young knight’s vision.  She wipes at her eyes while he asks, “I’m sorry?”

When those eyes raise back to his, hers are remarkably free of pain, none of the fear that had been there mere moments ago reflecting at all.  She smiles, hands tucking behind her back.

“Well, obviously your orders came directly the top.  You’re ranked too highly to be getting orders from anyone but a Harbinger.”  His eyes widen.  “And that’s my second question, actually, good Sir Knight.  What in the world is a Pyro Agent doing infiltrating the Knights of Favonius?  You’re so far past petty reconnaissance missions, after all.  They could just as easily send footsoldiers for this.”  A finger taps at her chin.  “And you’re no longer undergoing the kind of constant training that would keep your skills at blending in as sharp as they’d need to be for any kind of long - term integration.  So you must be aiming for something more short - term and immediate that requires someone of more skill than any of the average soldiers they typically send for this sort of shit.”

He laugh uneasily.  “Miss, I think you’re confused.  I have no idea what you’re talking abo —”

“Oh, I think I got it!  You’re here to assassinate the Grand Master.”  He inhales and her smile widens.  “Acting Grand Master, as it were but I’m sure you know she’s far more competent than her predecessor.  So I get you alone, promising to offer you some potential dirt on the Knights, and you think that you’re about to get something that can be of use diplomatically; even some way to pin her eventual murder of some of the other knights I’m about to implicate.”

“Miss, I don’t —”

“Oh, please.  I could smell the Delusion on you the minute I walked into this city.”

His face cracks into empty surprise; and then folds into cruel dismissal, anger, all the warmth from his pretend - persona fleeing with ease.  He sneers.  “Who are you, really?”

“I told you.  I’m Niya.”  She grins and leans against the wall behind her.  “Let’s cut to the chase.  We both know the rules.  Whichever Harbinger who sent you here will be furious if they find out that you got found out.  And so easily, too!  I don’t even want to imagine how you’ll be punished.”  He winces.  Niya knows she should feel empathy, but she doesn’t.  “But.  Nobody has to find out.  For the right price.”

One of the agent’s brows arch.  “You’d sell out your own Grand Master?”

She snorts.  “I’m not a native.  And she’s interrupted my business as sure as she’s interrupted yours.  You’re doing me a favor.  And if you pay up — and promise not to tell your friends about me — I’m more than happy to look the other way.”

He thinks on it for only a moment; then he digs through the satchel around his shoulders and tosses her a bag of coins with a grunt.  She catches it, eyes shining.  “Will that do, Niya?”

She opens the bag and lets out a low, pleased whistle.  “Pleasure doing business with you.”  She bows too - low, all dramatics.  “You ever need a hand, feel free to look me up.”  His scowl deepens.

——

He wakes up when she opens the window, like she knew he would.  The dark room is empty, but she can feel his movements; hears the flick of that familiar knife.  Her polearm blocks it a moment before it can meet her neck, a moment before the agent reveals himself, and a moment before the knife bursts into flames.

Idiot.  Pyro against electro?  They don’t train ‘em like they use to, she supposes.

Her polearm bursts to lightning light; only the ends of it.  None of the fallout hits her flesh; the same can’t be said of the poor man gripping his knife, the entire weapon wreathed in flames.  Overload occurs and he’s thrown back with a shout — she winces, hopes he hasn’t just woken any of the other knights in the adjacent rooms — and hits the ground.  She’s upon him lightning fast, polearm snapping in twain.

“Bye,” she whispers, before she plunges one of the daggers into his throat.  He gasps around his splitting windpipe, blood spilling onto the floor and her hands, and then stops gasping when she twists the weapon.  He stills.  She sighs, pushing herself to stand, wiping her hand across her brow as her polearm reconnects and finds its way to her back.

She’s silent for a moment but, when she hears no approaching footsteps, breathes a sigh of relief.  “Now.  Let’s see if you stiffed me with that buy - off.”

Going through his things is quick.  Nothing that could identify him as Fatui — aside from the Delusion she finds on his body while turning out his pockets.  More mora, of course, which she happily borrows.  A few very - nice knives.  A picture of a little girl — his real daughter, or the daughter of the name he’d adopted for this mission, she wonders only briefly.  She makes her way to his desk.  Nothing atop it aside from a few coins and quills.  One of the lowers drawers, though — a letter, apparently from the agent, not yet sent.

“Have they changed the cipher since the last one?” the woman wonders quietly, using a match to light a lamp that rests upon the desk.  She used to be able to read in the dark.  It’s good that she can’t these days.  “Ugh.  They have changed it.”  She casts a glance over her shoulder at the corpse.  “You really couldn’t make things easy for me, huh?”  She looks back to the letter.  “Let’s see here — mmm, okay.  Based on playfair...”  One of the coins resting on the desk finds her fingers and spins idly between her knuckles.  

“‘My Lord...integration into the Ordo is going as planned...blah blah blah’...oh!”  Eyes scan a few paragraphs down.  “Let’s see here.  ‘Came into contact with a woman I believe to be a deserting agent.’  Naughty, naughty.  Didn’t you promise not to snitch on me?”  If he mistook her for a Pyro Agent, that at least explains why he’d thought that fire was anything other than a horrible idea.  “‘Requesting permission to engage and eliminate.’  Hah!”  She stands from the desk, snuffing out the lamp with one hand while she stuffs the letter into her pocket with the other.  She spins on her heel and rests a foot on the dead agent’s chest.  “Oh, poor man.  How’d engaging me go?  Pfft.”  The woman bends and lifts the man over her shoulder, grunting at the weight.  She eyes the wooden floors still stained with blood.  Oh, well.  If she’s fast, she’ll have time to come clean that up before anyone thinks to check.  “C’mon, sweet thing.  Let’s go dispose of the evidence, shall we?”

——

She doesn’t worry about getting far outside the city — she knows the knight’s routes well enough not to fear getting caught.  Besides, he’s a heavy man, and her skill has always laid more in speed than strength.  They get out into the wilderness before she sets him down with a groan and a muttering about how she really needs to work out more.  Niya builds a pyre atop the corpse — glancing at the pyro delusion still on his body only once before shaking her head — and lights it with her blade against stone.  Then, lightning follows, and — there’s nothing much left afterwards.  Except for the charred Delusion.  

“Should really be charging Jean for doing her job for her.”  Calloused fingers lift the Delusion lightly, tossing it a few times experimentally.  “Or maybe Diluc.  This seems more his kind of bullshit.”  It’s only a short walk to Starsnatch cliff, where she hurls the Delusion into the sea.  The sky’s going just barely orange.  Not long ‘til the sunrise.

“Better go clean up after myself.”

——

"Did you hear?”  Paimon asks, hovering beside them at the bar as Niya starts her third Death After Noon (  gods, she wishes that literally anything here could get her drunk  ) and Lumine finishes her second juice.  Niya’s head tilts.  “One of the new knights just disappeared!”

Niya laughs.  “Really?  Bet Jean’s thrilled.”

“She’s suuuuper worried!”  Niya laughs again.  “He just up and left.  All his things were gone.  He was a really promising new recruit, too, but it looks like he deserted.”

Niya’s head shakes.  “Lotsa people get into stuff like the military and figure out too late they hate it.”

“Yeah, I guess.  Jean had Paimon and Lumine doing rounds looking for him just in case, but we didn’t find anything.”

“Boo.  Sorry some lazy deserting jerk made you guys work more.”

“We did find something,” Lumine murmurs suddenly.  “There were some faint elemental traces leading from his room.  Disappeared in the forest.”

“Oh, yeah!  Paimon forgot all about that!”

Niya’s head tilts.  “You think he had a secret Vision or something?  Dunno why somebody like that would wanna leave.  That’d put you up for promotion way earlier than the rest of ‘em.”

Lumine’s gold eyes rest on Niya’s face for a long moment; the assassin raises a brow, smiling patiently, and holds their gaze.  Lumine must accept what they find there, because those eyes lower.  “I don’t know,” they murmur.  Niya’s smile softens.

“Don’t worry so much, Lil’ Lumi.  If he deserted, finding him would be sad, anyway, right?”  A hand loops around their shoulder.  “I’m sure he’s happier wherever he is.”

[yellowpeonies26]

RowanxAelin Hogwarts au oneshot

Flashes of crimson red and emerald green shot through the sky at lightning speeds and burst through the rain plummeting down upon the many heads gathered in the stands of the school's Quidditch stadium. It was the biggest match of the season and it would determine who would go through to get a shot at winning the house cup.

"Just a bit further...yes. Yes! And she scores, ten points to Slytherin!" The commentator- Vaughan, a Hufflepuff in their year who always seems to disappear and only reappear at Quidditch games- yelled.

Aelin tried her best to scan her surroundings but the rain kept obscuring her vision. From what she see, Lorcan was batting a bludger with his full strength towards Chaol, her fellow chaser, who just managed to dodge it but in his efforts, went careening into Ansel, sending her scarlet robes billowing and the quaffle flying out of her hands directly into the open arms of the Slytherin chaser, Asterin, who was shooting erratically through the air as usual. The Gryffindor Quidditch team really needed to practice more in this type of weather.

Aelin and Ansel managed to cage her in between them and Chaol came to block her in from the rear. After a few chaotic turns to attempt to escape using the free spaces above and below her to no avail, Asterin continued to roam the air like a wild animal in an enclosure and eventually resigned to tossing the quaffle to Manon but before the white-haired witch could reach far enough, Aelin intercepted and made towards the Slytherin goalposts.

Weaving in and out of players, her eyes remained on the golden rings she was speeding towards. She made the shot. Gasps filled the stadium. Were Gryffindor going to make a comeback in this game?

The answer was no. Rowan Whitethorn, the best keeper to grace this pitch rumours claimed, had the quaffle shooting back towards his teammate, Sorrel, before she had time to register the disappointment that settled in her stomach.

Again and again, the red and gold robed chasers aimed for the goalposts and again and again, their shot was ricocheted back into the game without getting past Rowan's smug countenance.

They were lucky that they had the best seeker in their team: Nesryn Faliq. This however, no-body could deny as Nesryn Faliq had broken the record for the amount of snitches caught in a season by a single seeker. Slytherin's seeker was Lysandra Ennar who she was actually good friends with but that didn't mean that she wished her any luck in catching the snitch. Aelin had just enough time to wonder what in the gods' name she was doing right now before she had her chance at a goal again.

Ducking and diving, relaying the quaffle between herself, Ansel and Chaol, she reached the three rings, aimed perfectly at an angle which was meant to deceive Rowan and...... he caught it. No surprise there, just disappointment.

"Ooh so close maybe next time Galathinius, and the quaffle is in the hands of Slytherin yet again, back and forth it goes and Asterin Blackbeak is going for it. And that's another ten points to Slytherin!"

Aelin had been using the time to glare at Rowan while he glared back, the only difference was that his was hinted with a touch of amusement. She wiped at her face and had just started heading away from the Slytherin goals when she felt a tug on the back of her broom that had her being pulled backwards as a bludger whizzed past the space where her head had been only moments ago.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Rowan retreating away from her, back to his position, she gave him a grateful smile. If that had been any-one of her teammates, he wouldn't have attempted what he just did for her, albeit discreetly. That's how the game was; you look after yourself and your team and no-one else, especially if it was a high-stakes games like this one. The thought made her smile wider.

"The weather is so bad I can barely see the Slytherin goalposts anymore- not that it matters if I'm honest, Gryffindor are getting a real beating!"

Ansel had the quaffle in her possession again and went on to repeatedly volleying between herself and fellow chaser. Sorrel had blocked her path to the golden rings and Manon was becoming visibly frustrated at the epic game of piggy in the middle. Choal came, sweeping the quaffle out of the air and catching Rowan off guard.

Cheers and screams reverberated throughout the stadium but out of the corner of her eye she could see Rowan’s smug face still smirking and when she looked in the direction he was staring at, her cheers died off. The scoreboard was a complete shambles form whichever way she looked at it. She glared at Rowan and he just gave her a grin in return.

A bat came swinging in Aelin's direction and she ducked to avoid the blow. Aedion had come to save her from another bludger heading her way, seconds away from colliding with her skull.

She really needed to stop getting distracted, especially by him! And Gods, these bludgers really loved her head today.

She didn’t miss the parting glare Aedion served Rowan, they were sworn enemies both off and on the pitch for multiple reasons; they were in rival houses (Aelin had never particularly cared about this fact because the sorting hat had almost placed her in Slytherin herself but she convinced it to put her in Gryffindor to save her family the heartbreak), they were rival Quidditch teams and lastly, Aedion was bitter because of how good he was on the pitch. Aelin also liked to think that he was jealous of his good looks but that might just be her reading too far into her cousin’s sensitive ego.

Focus.

They went around and around in the same cycle for what felt like hours. The rain had let up a bit and now there was only a slight drizzle that left Aelin feeling even more despondent than before because of the slower pace everything had seemed to have taken.

"Faliq has captured the golden snitch, 150 points to Gryffindor!” She stifled her excitement at the lack of enthusiasm in Vaughan's voice, “however, because of the points Slytherin already have, Gryffindor loses and Slytherin have won their way into the finals!”

The stands that housed Slytherins erupted into shouts and screeches of exhilaration. Manon, Asterin and Sorrel were darting around the air in celebration, Lorcan, Cairn and Rowan preferred to stew in their happiness in solitude while Lysandra congratulated Nesryn on catching the snitch in a way that held no sense of superiority or condescension.

Everyone landed on the field and Aelin didn’t even try to hide her disappointment and glared pointedly at every Slytherin team member, especially Rowan, except from Lysandra who she gave a long pout since she, after all hadn’t outwardly stopped Aelin’s efforts to better her team’s score and then smirked right at her, unlike someone.

Dorian was giving his commiserations to Chaol some distance away and Terrin was no doubt stoking his ego about how good he was despite them losing.

She just wanted to go to the Gryffindor common and drown in her sorrows with a ridiculously trashy romance novel and the chocolates she had stashed under her bed. She only hoped that Ansel hadn’t already gorged on them without her.

A hand on her own tugged her back and pulled her though he flaps and into the stands where there is a stairwell leading up to where the game is watched. She already knew that it was Rowan due to the pungent smell of pine and snow and she was glad to be relieved of the continuous fall of rain for the last few hours. That reminded her of how much she wanted to curl up in front of the hearth in warm, dry pyjamas.

“Do we have to do this now? I’m soaking wet and freezing.”

"I thought we agreed that whatever happened in the game, neither of us would take it personally?”

"I haven’t.”

"Tell your face that.”

Aelin let out a huff and despite herself, the pout dissolved into a grin that she had to bite her lip against as Rowan stroked the damp strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her face.

"That's better," Rowan stated.

She rolled her eyes and repeated the gesture when he said, "I still haven't heard you say thank you for saving you from that bludger." A smile accompanied his words.

"A gentleman wouldn't expect a thank you, never mind ask for one. Anyway at least if I had gotten hit, I wouldn't have been able to watch the rest of the game and then I might have actually had some dignity left."

“I knew you were bitter.”

“Shut up, buzzard.”

Rowan’s only response was the kiss that he gently planted on her lips.

Aelin heard Aedion calling her name, probably so they could both complain about how much they hated the Slytherin team.

"I suppose I'll forgive you... if you meet me at the room of requirements later."

His mouth moved to the shell of her ear and a chill ran down her spine to accompany the cold that had settled in her bones due to her soaked clothes when he said, "deal."

[a-bugz-life]

Fuckin’ Amphibians || Anita & Nicodemus

TIMING: A few days ago. PARTIES: @professoranieves and @bountybossier SUMMARY: Anita and Nic are both out in the forest when they run across some Ballogbogs. Things get a bit psychedelic. 

Anita had lived in White Crest for almost five years now. When she first arrived, she knew of a handful of supernatural beings, but her worldview expanded exponentially even within the first few months of living here. It didn’t hurt that she spent a lot of her time in the woods, mostly for the bugs partially for the isolation. But even in her years of experience, she apparently still had more to learn. In her exploring, she found herself near a small pond out in the forest. Perfect place for some interesting breeds of bugs. But then she saw them, very large and very gross looking toads. She didn’t think much of it, toads love bugs too. But as she drew closer to the pond she noticed one of the toads puff up, and then shoot something at her. “Shit, shit…” She groaned, as she tried to run before it hit her. But she wasn’t so successful. Initially she didn’t feel much of anything, and thought for a second maybe she was immune to whatever this was. But then the leaves on the trees began turning pink? And the ground began to slowly melt under her feet? No, something wasn’t quite right.

The place farthest away from the lake was the woods on damn near the other side of town. In between trying to figure out any thing that might help deal with the fucking squid, Nicodemus went about business as usual. Took up a job and saw it to completion. Traditionally, he wasn’t picky about jobs that demanded a bounty dead or alive. He took whichever. But lately, he wasn’t in the mind for killing. Just a catch and release to the shadow paying him. The task of catching a handful of fatflitters was just mundane enough that he didn’t expect to be bothered too much. The hunter tapped his fingers against his thumb as he walked, a small perforated cage in his other hand. The things were quick and liked their fatty tissue, so it was just a matter of finding the right tracks of a larger creature and hoping the quick shits were on it. The croak of toads sounded loudly to his left and he briefly looked over in that direction. Over the sound of toads, a voice. A voice that sounded a hell of a lot more bothered than he did. The hunter considered just keeping on the way he was and even as he did, he was already heading over to the noise. As he drew closer and his night vision made out the shape of a person, he looked over at the pond. Oh hell. Fucking ballybogs. They didn’t like when anyone got too close to their little domains. And it looked like the stranger had found that out. He cleared his throat to try and get her attention. “You, uh, you good?”

For a split second Anita thought she saw a person approaching, but it quickly became clear to her that this was no person, but rather a very tall and mobile ice cream cone. Interesting. It was rocky road, which wasn’t her favorite flavor. No pun intended but she really wasn’t a fan of nuts. But then the strangest thing happened, the ice cream spoke to her? No that couldn’t be. She slowly got closer to it, trying to figure out if maybe someone was just standing behind it? But no, just one singular cone of ice. “You can talk?” She asked, the disbelief thick in her voice. She sat down on the ground in front of the ice cream and dropped her head into her hands. “This ice cream cannot talk to me. This ice cream cannot talk to me.” She whispered, then rubbed her eyes and looked back up. “Fuck.” It was still an ice cream cone.

She was looking at him like she wasn’t really seeing him. Nicodemus squinted. Ballybogs made homes out of the swamps he grew up in and he had seen people when they got hit by their shit. Woodstock had nothing on what ballybog crap could do to a person. Once, a few years ago, not even he had escaped it and he was stuck trying to hop into the Mystery Machine that had just been a hollow log. The shame of that still haunted him sometimes. Fucking Scrappy Doo. “Yeah, I can talk,” he answered with a sigh. Damn it. He just wanted to find some damn fatflitters. Not this mess. When she sat down, he stepped back and put a hand on his hip. Oh hell. “This, uh, ice cream is fuckin’ talking to you. That’s me, one big damn waffle cone.” Alright, so she was seeing him as an ice cream cone. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like attacking him. He glanced down at her. “And I might be able to waffle us the fuck outta here.”

Anita was shocked when the guy? Yeah, sounded like a guy, seemed to respond to her delusions … and knew that he was a waffle cone? Anita stood up, eyeing the frosty treat with delicate suspicion. But it was almost as though the moment that he acknowledged that he was in fact a waffle cone, things began to shift. Anita began to hear odd voices coming from all around her in the forest. They weren’t speaking any language she understood, but something told her they were not nice voices. Suddenly, the nice ice cream cone began to melt, causing large puddles of melted chocolate ice cream. “Oh no.. oh my god… here let me help.” Anita tried to scoop up the puddles of ice cream and put it all back into the cone. “We can’t get out of here until I fix you… I can’t just leave you here for them to get you.”

Her eyes, large and confused, were directly on him and Nicodemus couldn’t help but feel a little scrutinized. Waffle cone or not. Jesus, he was starting to refer to himself as a waffle cone. Maybe he had been hit too. When she started to try and put dead leaves, plus bits of grass on him, he decidedly was not feeling like a waffle cone. “Alright, no need to go and do that,” he asserted as he took a step back. “Think you’re the one needin’ help here.” Surely someone else would come along and help. People in town had a habit of running headlong into shit every day. As he waited for a beat, a ballybog croak answered him. Fuck. He was the person that had run headlong into shit. And she had too. “Let’s get the hell on outta here, huh? I think somethin’ nearby is causin’ me to--fuckin’ Christ--melt my ice creamy bits all over the place.” He winced and shook his head. He was a hunter, for fucks sake. With a reserved expression, he offered a weathered hand. “Name’s Nic, alright? Let’s get on away from the fuckin’ acid trip frogs.”

Anita had been ignoring his claim that he didn’t need help getting all of the ice cream back into his cone, largely because that was just insane? Why wouldn’t a giant cone of ice cream want all of it’s contents securely inside of itself before running off? But then he finally offered a real reason. He was melting because of something nearby! Of course! Quickly, she stood up and stopped scooping up the ice cream melted in giant sticky puddles on the ground around them. Anita reached out to take the cone’s hand, finding it a bit odd that he had hands to begin with. “Nic the Ice Cream Man.” She repeated, clearly making up those last three words herself. His comment about frogs threw her for a loop. She had heard stories about supernatural frogs. As she was just about to open her mouth and say something, she saw all of the ice cream quickly melt away from Nic and the cone break off into a million tiny pieces. That’s when she realized that he really wasn’t an ice cream man… he had been a giant toad in disguise all along. She let out a soft scream, then quickly pulled her hand away from him. “You! You’re the acid trip frog!” Without paying much attention to where she was going, she began to slowly back away from him.

Nicodemus breathed in sharply through his nose, thankful as hell that she had stopped trying to help get his ice cream back together. Jesus, he was already in too deep with the ice cream bit. It was too much and he can feel a nerve pulsing somewhere near his temple. He shook her hand a bit stiffly. “Just, uh, Nic works,” he said. “The...Ice Cream Man is my father?” Whoever the hell that was. He had never met the poor bastard. And just when it had all been going so well, she looked at him like he was coming apart at the seams. Hell, he just might have been. Ballybogs spat serious shit and she had been hit with it. His hand clenched by his side before it came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. She was backpedaling towards the ballybogs again and he could see the damn things puffing up. He moved toward her and attempted to act as a buffer between. Like a dumbass would. “No. Nope, I’m not the acid trip fr--Oh fuck.” The ballybogs spat and Nicodemus blocked his hand with his face. He blinked twice, squeezed them shut, then opened his eyes to see his hands melting. His ice creamy hands with weirdly frog-like fingers but hey, he had been born with those. He stared at them for what felt like a century. “I...I think I am the ice cream frog,” he said as he looked at her. “And we gotta get out of my fuckin’ swamp.”

As the giant ice cream began to move towards Anita, she began to panic. How was she going to get out of here? She didn’t even know where here was anymore. Had she hiked here? Was her car nearby? Could she even drive like this? Unlikely. She heard a faint noise from beside her and while it took her a moment to place it, she eventually recognized it. Amphibians. And this ice cream frog was likely their king. Of course the dumb fucking amphibians still had a monarcy system. Reptiles had evolved beyond that need of hierarchy. “If you’re the ice cream frog… can’t you just make them stop! They’ll listen to you. Amphibians are really dumb.”

“Reckon they want us to move away from the party we weren’t invited to,” Nicodemus said as if it were obvious and it was. He could understand them. He splayed his hands out to his side, ice cream and all, in a sign of submission. They could respect that. “Partners. Fellas. We’re just gonna hit the, uh, old dusty trail now as it were. Didn’t mean to bother you fine folks this evenin’.” He made a sound as close to a frog as he could before he turned on his heel and took to walking away. He turned his head toward the stranger and spoke in a stage whisper. “They might not be bright but they like bein’ respected. Let’s just go on elsewhere.”

Anita watched the frog’s leader try to talk them down, finding the level of kindness he was showing them to be more than a bit annoying. In fact she might have rolled her eyes at his big performance, or maybe she just thought about rolling her eyes and actually didn’t move at all? It was really hard to tell. So she tried again, feeling pretty confident that she did this time roll her eyes and not just roll her head around in a circular motion. “Of course they’re not bright,” Anita quickly replied, not bothering to follow suit and speak in a whisper. “Why would I want to go anywhere with you? You’re like their leader or something stupid.” Despite her resistance, Anita followed this strange somewhat suave smooth-speaking ice cream man. At least wherever he was going was away from here, and away from those fucking frogs.

[lightning-fury]

Meant To Be

Pairing: Kamilah × MC (Amy)

Note: So @clan-sayeed-fic and I had this crazy idea about writing a fic together (well I have a bad memory but i think it was her idea so don't blame me 😁 )

This is a collaboration to see how this fic will look considering our different writing styles.

Please tell us what you think, hope you enjoy it 😉 .

Summary: A tragic event leads to an open spot in clan Sayeed. Guess who's the new member?

Warning: I have no idea what to warn you about 😅 (please don't kill me for my bad jokes).

Chapter one: Sorry

Written by @lightning-fury 

==> chap 2

Amy’s life wasn’t exactly normal she got her share of dark /weird /tragic series of events. But nothing from what she experienced had ever prepared her for this.

“If someone told me 3 days ago” she said to herself “that I’ll be standing in the middle of a hidden temple down Central Park in front of an about to be president of the U.S senator, 2 powerful CEOs, a crime lord, a famous designer, and a rich  ... Creep! Whom are all vampires who form a secret council that run all of New Work and about to determine whether I’ll live or die?”

She continued

“Fuck, I’ll call’em crazy and run as fast as my legs can take me”

The council members have been arguing, since the moment Vega, Senator Adam Vega to be accurate started the meeting an hour ago

“Since this is about the empty place in clan Sayeed, I’ll be leading today’s meeting instead of our senior member” he motioned to Kamilah who nod in approval,  although Kamilah didn’t speak a single word since she came she still radiates power and grace.

Vega continued “I open the vote proceedings on the post-facto petition Amy Clark to join clan Sayeed”

All eyes turned to Amy

“What a snack” Priya Lacroix the famous designer eyed the girl hungrily “what about handing her to me” she winked at Amy “you and I will have so much fun”

Kamilah looked at Priya like she’s seriously considering what she said

“I mean how bad it can be” Amy said to herself “I’ll take anyone but Kamilah”

“I say we give that place to that Jax dude, with their leader in our pockets we’ll end the clanless rebellion” said Lester Castellanos

“Oh! The creep has a brain after all”

“Guess who the crazy one is now? Amy” the blond inhaled deeply “How did I get myself in this madness anyway?”

*******

2 days ago

« Where am I? » Amy opened her eyes confused

“It is dark, cold.., I can’t move.” she shifted trying to regain even a fraction of control over her body but she failed.

“I can’t...” her heart beats started to race “why?  Am I dead?”

“Hunger! I’m hungry” she thought “I’m craving something, like my life depends on it, but what is it?”

Suddenly a wave of light overtook the darkness surrounding her, and then she heard a man’s voice

“It’s time!”

When her vision adjusted to the light, she looked around making sense of her where about

“A basement? I’m in a sarcophagus!” she said.

The place is ancient like it’s out of a fairytale castle of old. Next to her a handsome man in a suit, it look expensive. There is also a woman standing far away, she’s well dressed too, wearing a purple jacket over a white shirt and dark purple pants. But she looks annoyed, like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

“They look familiar!”  She thought

Memories of the night’s events that come rushing to Amy, she jumped overwhelmed by what she remembered.

“I was .., the party .., blood .., that girl!” she said in panic.

Amy was cut short by the woman, she was standing in front of her in a flash.

“How did she got here that fast”

The woman leaned closing the distance between them; allowing Amy to get a better look. Her expression is a mixture of anger, grief and regret. But gods! she is so beautiful, a goddess everything about her is perfect from the light brown silky skin,  brown straight hair to the crimson red eyes of hers, down to her full lips Amy could’ve melt in the woman’s touch, well  if it wasn’t for the hand chocking her and the deadly look the woman’s giving  her .

“That girl had a name” the woman snarled, jaw tight “and you killed her”

“Kamilah, please!” the man appealed to her.

She loosens her grip on the girl’s neck and in a blink of an eye she was by the stairs leaving.

“Wait!  Where are you going? We must explain  ...” the man tried to stop her.

She posed mid-way fists clenched “I don’t want to see her face. Not now” she turned her back and kept walking

“Deal with her.”

And like that she left.

Amy didn’t understand what was going on “why is she angry with me. What did I do to her? I don’t even know her” she asked herself confused, the man who still there approached.

“Please don’t mind Kamilah, she’s still grieving.” he helped Amy sit

“I’m Adrian ... Raines.” He introduced himself

Adrian was nothing like Kamilah Amy thought there is sadness in his eyes, buried deep inside but he has a smile warm enough to reassure anyone who sees it that everything will be okay.

“Raines, huh!” Amy looked at him “like that rich CEO”

“The one and only” Adrian laughed softly his expression turned serious “Amy I know that you must be confused and that you want answers” he looked at her concerned.

“What I’m about to say may sound crazy, but it’s the truth. You remember the party right?”

“Yes” Amy answered heart pounding in her chest somehow she know what he’s about to say. “It wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. What I saw is real” she said to herself.

“Because of that attack, the only way to save you was to turn you. Amy you became a …”

Adrian resumed

“A vampire.”

*******

Back to the present

“Vampires!  Who would’ve believed they do exist. Vicious creatures of the night, and now I’m one of them”

Adrian’s voice cut her thoughts

“Are you all forgetting Elizabeth’s wish?” that gained the others attention “she wanted Amy to take her place and we must honor her last wish”

Kamiah’s body tensed at the mention of Elizabeth’s name, but she quickly regained her calm composer, it happened in a matter of seconds but Amy noticed the change, maybe it was thanks to her new high senses that she noticed in the first place, but to be honest the girls couldn’t take her eyes off the “Vampire Queen” as Adrian referred to her.

Amy didn’t saw Kamilah since that day in the basement. Although Amy knew how much the old vampire despise her, she couldn’t help but yearn to see her again, there is this thing about Kamilah; it’s like a magnet drawing the blond to her. But in this case it’s better to describe it as a moth drawn to fire.

That basement was under Adrian’s company. The young CEO was nice to Amy “Tho he told her that he wasn’t as young as she thought”, Adrian explained everything to her about the vampires, the clans and how she must be accepted in a clan or else the council will execute her or she’ll turn to a feral whichever come first. He also walked her through her first feeding.

“Amy! .. Amy!” it was Vega this time who got the new blood out of her mind space “Do you want to add anything before we resume”

“No” Amy shrug.

“Okay, if you are in favor of her petition for clan membership, please say ‘aye’.”  Said Vega

“Adrian?”

“Aye” Adrian declared.

“Priya?”

“She’s better placed with my toy collection” Priya purred like a cat “So Nay”

“Lester?”

“Nay” Said Lester.

“Baron?”

Amy looked at the Baron. Adrian told her all about him, despicable, vile, a criminal through and through.

But when she saw him today he didn’t look like how Adrian described, beside his curses at Priya and Lester’s comments he didn’t say anything.

“Elizabeth and I had our differences” he grumbled “but I respected her and I’ll respect her wish, it’s an ‘Aye’ from me” said the Baron.

Adam cleared his throat “That’s 2 ‘aye’s, and 2 ‘nay’s. My own vote is an ‘Aye’ I have no reason to object, bringing the ‘aye’s to three.”

“Four ‘aye’ votes are needed to pass the petition” he stated “that means the deciding vote goes to Kamilah.”

Amy stood there petrified “Kamilah’s vote will determine my fate” she swallowed hard, her heart started pounding like a hammer.

Kamilah smirked looking at the girls for the first time since she graced this temple with her presence, “Is she enjoying seeing me like this” Amy thought “she must be hearing the raising of my heart beats” the blond closed her eyes “breath Amy …  breath, don’t give her the satisfaction”

There is no doubt that Kamilah want Amy dead, but she seemed divided/ tormented between 2 paths ‘Having to live with the one who caused her little sister’ death from now on by Accepting Amy in her clan’ Or ‘taking  her revenge and not respecting Elizabeth’s last wish’.

The vampire queen closed her eyes, she made her decision.

Waiting for Kamilah to cast her vote felt like ages. It’s like time froze.

“Aye” Kamilah said and regretted saying it the moment the word left her mouth, but there’s no turning back now.

All the noises around Amy was muted, Priya seems displeased, Vega and Raines are saying something about her getting some kind of a brand but she didn’t care, she should be happy, relieved. But she’s not, instead she feel guilty, ashamed, tears forming in her green eyes “Maybe I don’t deserve to live, why did I survived? She should’ve lived not me”

She saw Kamilah heading her way; Amy tried to gather the courage to speak.

“Kamilah ...”

The vampire stopped next to Amy refusing to look at her.

Amy wanted to express her gratitude, she wanted to apologize, she wanted to hug Kamilah and comfort her.

But all that came out is a muffled whisper “s-sorry” the blond said.

“Save it” Kamilah scowled and walked away.

...