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nocturnesmoon · 11 months ago

Text

And no room for error (1/2)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader Word count: 5.6k Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Happy ending, Established throuple, polyamory, military inaccuracies, Mental instability, Ambiguous reader CW: Kidnapping, Human trafficking, Torture, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, canon typical violence, Allusions to unhealthy habits A/N: Forever holding these two close in my heart. Can be read as a standalone but might do a part two i dont know yet (Part 2) (Read on Ao3) -They come home to an empty apartment-

Johnny feels sick.

As he stares at the open door at the end of the hallway, he feels sick. The one he spotted when he wasn't even fully up the stairs and made him sprint the last few steps only to stand frozen when it's in full view.

He feels the worry gnaw the insides of his stomach, all the excitement that was eating him alive only moments prior, now transformed into a wretched beast of anxiety. The clutch on his duffel bag tightens, the string underneath his palm cutting uncomfortably against his skin.

He doesn't even need to be all the way there to see that the door is halfway off its hinges, or the hole that's been punched through it. It’s all types of wrong, something that shouldn't ever be, not on their apartment, not with you in it.

It’s as if a part of him fully blacks out, no thoughts, no feelings, only one purpose. He walks the short distance like a man possessed, dropping the duffel just outside the broken entrance before marching through it.

He calls out your name and finds no answer. His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable as your name falls from his lips again, over and over again in a desperate prayer. He moves like a jittery animal through the apartment, he doesn't take notice of its state, he doesn't spend extra time investigating, seeing the damage, he doesn't have to.

He knows what it means, the horrible implications and the terrible outcomes. He flays open the door to the bathroom, nothing, he opens the door to the home office with his shoulder, nothing, he carefully opens the door to your shared bedroom, terrified at the emptiness. The lack of your presence was something he never wanted to feel, something in his heart reaching out to you and failing to find you.

He stops, standing in the middle of the room that's in shambles. He sees the dresser that has its contents flipped upside down, some of your favorite clothing pieces torn to shreds on the wooden flooring.

He sees the splintered wood on the bedframe, a place that they had spent so many orange mornings with you in, the sheets now ruffled and unkempt void of a morning glow. He sees the broken mirror, the same one you insisted on having when the three of you moved in, you said you'd use it, but you never really do.

He sees the damage; he sees the sign of struggle.

The evident feeling of what happened here makes his muscles stiffen, his joints feels like they're about to snap. His head blacks out, fills up with an angry fog, tears prickling at his eyes and cold shame bleeding through his back.

It's a horrible feeling that makes him want to puke up his emotions, a habit they coaxed you out of after extensive support. He wants to think better thoughts, that you are at your friend’s house, and this happened while you weren't here.

But as he feels the looming presence behind him and hears the duffel bag crash against the ground out of shock, he knows this is happening and it's the most terrified he's ever been.

Where were you? Who were you with? Are you hurt? Are you even still alive?

Questions of horror plague Simon's mind as he paces the living room of disarray. The place had been completely ransacked, not only were you gone, but everything they had of sentimental, or material value had been destroyed, not taken, destroyed.

A nightmare come true, no, something worse than. It made Simon's skin crawl, his stomach doing twists in hopes of finding a better feeling. He felt freezing cold, the apartment was frosty, the heater you loved to sit in front of on cold winter mornings hadn't been used in too long.

How long have you been gone? How long has it been since they took you?

He hadn't felt fear like this in a long time, something that came to compare with a certain unspoken Christmas. A fear that kept him from getting too attached to anyone, not until he met Johnny who tore down his defenses, or you who phased right through his walls of reinforced steel.

Now it creeped its way back into his senses, reminding him that they failed to conceal you, they failed to keep you out of view, they did not keep you safe, and you were suffering the consequences of it.

Simon called the cops as soon as he got out of his own shock, he called Price immediately after knowing which of the two would be faster. Price had always been fond of you since the day they introduced you to him. Various holidays spent with Price and his family since they didn't live far, and you clearly enjoyed his cooking just a tad more than Johnny's, even if you didn't want to admit it to their faces.

Simon was still holding the phone to his ear long after Price had hung up with the promise of being right there. The phone was still warm against his skin, making him want to not pull it away and feel the eerie chill that the apartment shouldn't have.

He looks towards Johnny who's sitting on the couch, even more eerie than the apartment itself. He's too quiet for any of this, Simon had halfheartedly expected him to go off the rails in this type of situation, but no. He's completely quiet, staring down at a pair of dog tags in his hands, clutched tightly like they might disintegrate if he lets them go.

It's the dog tags they gave you, the fake ones they got made with each of their names since you were so fixated on their actual ones. Despite how much they adored the look of you with nothing but their tags, they would still need them in the field when they went out. To remedy it, they got you your own, one with Simon’s name and one with Johnny's, a mark to claim you as theirs.

You never went anywhere without it after you first laid eyes on them. You'd always have them dangling around your neck if you went out, or if the outfit called for something else, you'd have them wrapped around your wrist, or safely tucked in your pocket.

It was your piece of them, something to hold close whenever they weren't home. A testament to the fact that they still had their own, that they were not gone forever and would come back to you. You weren't wearing them now; you didn't have them with you.

"Who do ye think it was?" Johnny's voice interrupts the cold dread silence that filled a living room that was supposed to be warm and safe.

Simon's head snaps up, the muscles in his arms finally relenting and letting him take the phone away from his ear. "What?" much like Johnny's, his voice had that constant tinge of fear ever since they entered the apartment.

"Ye know how many enemies we've made" Johnny sighs, his head bowing down to rest his forehead against his knuckles, "Which of the sick bastards do ye think took 'em." It makes Simon sick to even consider, but it’s becoming blaringly obvious that it was what happened to you.

Nothing else would make sense in their heads, this was no ordinary break in. If you were staying somewhere else, you'd answered their dozen calls, and their 50 messages. There was no reason for you leave, no reason for you to ghost them and leave the apartment like this.

"We must've been made a mistake somewhere, left a trail, led them right to here," Johnny continues, going down a spiral road that promises a fall to every turn. "Right to them" he tries to conceal the crack in his voice, biting down on his tongue to stop the rising panic in his chest.

It’s no use, there's no getting past Simons observant gaze, not a feeling to be hid when his eyes flickers over you and brings out every little thought you've ever had. "I called Price," Simon's voice becomes a tether between them, something to bind them together and hold the uncontrollable explosions in their chests at bay.

He pockets his phone and moves over to where his lover is sitting. Every step feels like his legs are full buckets of water, sludgy movement accompanied by a certain lightheadedness. He has to stay strong for the both of them, for you, wherever you are now.

He positions himself between Johnny's legs to take his attention away from your dog tags. His roughened hands gently glide over the stubble on Johnny's cheek, guiding his eyesight upwards and bringing him into an encompassing hug. One to keep him tugged away from the scene, away from the reality. A hug to compress them both together, to stop them from falling apart in your absence.

Simon doesn't view himself as a religious man, spiritual or anything of the sort, but right now he prays. He prays to any god that will hear him, any entity that will look upon his bloodied soul and carry pity for him. He prays for your return, your life, your being, that when they find you, and they will find you, that you won't be hurt, that you will still be you.

Price comes first, as expected, the police shortly after. When he first saw Simon's number pop up on his phone, he felt confused. There was no fear in him yet just confusion because Simon doesn't call ever, unless it's important.

When he found out the reason, he felt the claws of fear himself. A situation everyone in the 141 grapples with, when they have the knowledge of loved ones at home. Knowing it was you only made the fear worsen.

Though skeptical, he had been happy when the boys had introduced you to him, happy that they found something to care for and trust other than themselves. He had multiple times admitted to himself how well the three of you fit together, each of you completing something that the other would be missing.

The paternal or brotherly instinct in him that he held for his boys in the 141 quickly translated over to you as well. Much like for anyone else in his family or the 141, he'd go to great lengths for you. In fact, he's pretty sure he broke a traffic law or two to get here so fast.

He watches from afar by the staircase, Simon was talking to one of the police officers that came by his body rigid ever so tense. He knows that this is something that could destroy these two to a new level, a level Price would not have seen before.

He knew Simon better than Johnny, and while Simon prided himself in looking like he had it all together, he had seen the man in his worst times, and it was destructive. A place he could barely pull the man out of once he sunk down to it.

Johnny had placed himself on the staircase, unable to face the direction of what was once a home of warmth and safety. He was quietly talking to Kyle on the phone, informing him and of what they knew and what they didn't, in a sense helping each other calm down while preparing what needs to be done.

Kyle had offered to come over there asap, sounded practically halfway out the door but Johnny managed to talk him out of it. Price was already here, along with him and Simon and the police it was already a crowd that didn't need more attention than necessary.

Price had stopped listening a while ago, trusting any other finer details for Johnny to deliver. He was focused solely on Simon and the officers. They looked almost bored as they listened to Simon explain the needed details, their general lack of respect firing irritation into his veins.

He knew that he cared for them in a way no superior technically should, this wasn't just about keeping his soldiers in one piece so he could have use of their skills in the field, it was about the bond they shared, the traces of family between them all. It brought them together when needed, they could trust each other to see things through, and help when things seemed hopeless.

That trust extended to you too, a heart full of so much emotion you never failed to surprise Price with your range. He had met so many different people in his time, and rarely did he ever find someone like you, a personality of range so raw it repelled the wrong people and drew in the ones that could handle you.

He looks towards the door that creeks open, red fiery curls, that you had described one time over tea, poking out along with a set of curious eyes. A nosy neighbor you had particular disdain for, finally now looking to see what all the noise is about.

He gives them eyes sharp like daggers, promising blood, and vengeance if they didn't kindly close the door again. It often fell into topic during your teatime with him, petty gossip shared between the two of you. You had called them creepy, perverse, gross, eyes that stared too long at you when you passed in the hallway, and words drawn out as if you keep you close longer whenever you talked.

Price already had plenty of reason to distrust and dislike them, but even more so now because of their plain ignorance. Even if they didn't know how long ago the deed was done, the damage is noticeable, the noise it must have made when it was done isn't something you just miss.

No, your neighbors had deliberately ignored the obvious signs. Walked past it thinking someone else will call it in, someone else will help, but nobody ever did. The red curls disappeared again, most likely got bored with the lack of a scene to watch now that the police were searching the home.

"You think they will find anything?" Price's attention was promptly brought back to Johnny, who had seemingly finished his phone call. Now looking up to him with worry and fear, occasionally glancing back at the open door and wincing at the reminder.

He wants to assure him, to tell Johnny that yes, they will find everything they can, they'll build a case, your sweetheart will be safe and sound within the morning, but Price doesn't like to lie to them when it doesn't benefit them.

"No…" Price answers with a sigh, his arms coming to cross over his chest, "But we will find something."

He can already feel it in the way the officers halfheartedly take on the case, the disinterested stares, their overworked faces. They won't find anything, and they certainly won't find you. Even if they wanted to it's more likely that this is beyond them.

This isn't something simple, it’s something that could go way back. A deliberate hit on the two of them, revenge maybe, or a message. Time would reveal which one, only one thing was certain right now, you were their top priority.

The first few days back on base are like hell for Simon and Johnny. Having to go back to work with the knowledge of your absence makes both of them go a little mad. They know Price is doing everything he can to speed it along, to find out something about your whereabouts, but it takes time.

Meanwhile they're left with nothing to do except work and wait. They both know they can't return back to their apartment with the intent to live there anymore, but the task of looking for a new place is all too daunting. Not to mention it would feel wrong without your input, with your acceptance of their new flat, a big decision they didn't want to make without you.

They have different coping mechanisms in your absence. Johnny is a lot more withdrawn, in his own head all too much thinking about you and what state you could be in now. He draws but its barely an escape anymore, it doesn't help him unwind like it used to, so he goes to the gym, he works out, he punches the bag imagining it’s your captors face whatever they might look like.

Simon swamps himself with paperwork, taking on way more than he can handle, because if a single thought of you presses into his head, he might not be able to keep his composure. He's barely keeping afloat as is, holding Johnny close every night calming each other down the best they can.

Even so there is a definite distance between them, the lack of overlap in their activities and work putting them at bay from each other during the day. The constant separation in the morning and the sleepless nights take a toll on them both.

One that Simon only truly realizes when he opens the door to his room and sees Johnny broken down into a heave of sobs. He wasn't unfamiliar with panic attacks, having them himself on an annoying basis, but he knew they didn't plague Johnny as much as they did now.

Johnny felt sick ever since the apartment, he hadn't been eating properly because how could he when you might not have food, he hadn't been resting because how could he when you might not be rested, he couldn't do anything unless it was to further the task of finding you. Every time he tried, he was filled with an unbridled shame that bled into his bones, and made it infinitely harder to do.

Simon softly closes the door, making his presence known but still being quiet as to not startle him on either end. He walks over, watching his partners state of panic, kneeling to take him in his arms and hold him close.

"Breathe…" he whispers against Johnny's scalp; he's still crying and gasping for air but he melts against Simon like he's always meant to be there. Johnny shifts, pressing fully against him and burying his face into his chest.

"I need you to breathe love…"

Johnny tried gasping for air again, tried to focus on the steady heartbeat in Simon’s chest but it felt futile. "I..I can't…" his voice broke over midway "What…what if we never find them Si….what if they're not even ali-"

"Stop."

Simon pressed his partner even closer, halfway into his lap at this point in an attempt to soothe him. He knew how many times he must've gone there by now, entertaining the thought that there will be nothing to find anymore, that what they're looking for is no longer a thing. He doesn't want to go there, he refuses to believe it as a possibility, because Simon isn't sure what he is going to do with himself if that turns out to be the case.

He might crumble fully this time, fall with nothing to catch him. He desperately wants to be there for his partner no matter what, but losing either of you would destroy him, and he knows this as a fact.

"What if…what if they think we're not coming" Johnny tightens his hold against Simon’s shirt, "They know that right…they can't think we're abandoning them…they can't."

"We're going to find them Johnny," He promises him, "We're bringing them home" he promises him something he isn't sure if he can keep.

Slowly but surely, they get moved onto the bed, not bothering with removing any layer of clothing. As much as the skin on skin might help, Johnny would still be too out of it. Right now, he needs a steady hand, something to rest against as he cries himself dry.

Simon pulls him against his chest as they lay down, barely even separating at all. Their legs tangling, heartbeats together, Johnny begins to calm down. His sobs become quieter, but the pain in his heart is still at large.

Simon can feel it in his own, from Johnny's, all around them. He doesn't let it be known, nor does he do it loud, but a few tears escape from the corner of his eyes, falling down his cheeks. It makes him hug Johnny tighter, to keep the one thing he still has left close in his arms, because if he lets this go now, he will truly be lost.

Crack

Johnny winces as he hears another finger snap, watching it bend the wrong way and eliciting another broken scream from the guy in the chair.

They've been at it for an hour by now, the fifth guy they've managed to bring in this week alone. It didn't take long before they started finding potential leads of your whereabouts, bringing in blokes who might have even the tiniest clue.

Price was technically supposed to be here as well but had conveniently left them alone with the poor guy, for better or for worse. It was one thing Price knew he could do nothing about, if he didn't help the two bring them in, they'd do it on their own anyway and with a much higher chance at getting themselves killed before they even find you.

Another crack and pop.

Johnny lets out a sigh as he watches his partner interrogate the terrified fella. It almost looked intimate, with how close Simon was in the guy’s face, tapping his hands over the man's hands before snapping another finger. Fortunately, Johnny did know better than that, there was nothing intimate about this, the things said in low threatening voices were things whispered with pure malice, a promise of revenge against the people that took their love.

He was getting a bit dejected however, this guy’s wasn't the first and certainly wouldn't be the last. They hadn't found a single thing about your location; they had a slight idea of the people that took you, but it didn't add up with other evidence they had. Every new thing they learned was either a lie or well-orchestrated plan, something that put them back to square one.

"No no no! Not that anything but that!" The man screamed trying to squirm away from Simon. There had always been something terrifying about the way Simon did his work in here, it made Johnny incredibly grateful to be on the same side as him, to not be the guy in the chair on the receiving end of all that.

"Johnny, do you mind?"

"Not at all LT" There was a certain venom in both of their voices, a danger whispered into the chords. It made them move as one, the same thoughts flowing through two brains almost like telepathy, one goal in mind.

Johnny moved over to the steel table, moving a bloodied wrench out of the way. He pitied whoever was going to clean this up, because it likely wasn't going to be them. They were still counting that this guy had some sort of information. In truth he did give them all sorts of info that they will catalogue and report later, but nothing about you.

He picks up the jumper cables and moves it all closer, onto the tray with squeaky wheels that Price promised to get changed months ago. He looks at the skull mask that’s now faced towards him, he sees behind it, the brown eyes a little duller and not as full of life.

He knows that Simon could go all night if it meant that he would finally get your location, but he was tired, not just physically but mentally as well. They could both use a break, a long one, the type that could give their very souls the needed rest, but neither of them stopped, it wasn't an option.

Johnny rolled the small table over to Simon, letting him do his thing. He lets out a sigh as he listens to the pathetic pleading from the guy in the chair as Simon hovers the cables near his crotch. With a heavy sigh Johnny excuses himself, having had enough of the whining and moaning, and feeling a headache come on.

He closes the door behind him to the room just in time, the muffled screaming from inside combined with Simon's incessant yelling quickly drowned out. He feels the cold breeze on his face, letting the feeling of fresh air fall over him. The warm stench that always got into a room during the torture finally washing away from his nostrils.

It's cold out, he notices as he feels the goosebumps ride up his arms. If you were here, you'd be chewing him out about going outside without a jacket, telling him that he can't get a cold, because if he gets a cold then you'll get a cold, and you really don't want to be sick. He'd ruffle your hair, much to your annoyance, and tell you that he wouldn't get sick, but of course he would a few days later, and even then, you'd be taking care of him so sweetly, despite complaining before it.

But you aren't here.

He takes a few deep breaths and tries really hard to keep the panic looming in his body concealed. He had to stay tactical, calm, and in control, but they had hit too many dead ends. Their first thought was that they somehow had let you be known to their enemies, and that some had come to take you as leverage but the chilling realization that nobody they had tried knew anything about you became an uncomfortable itch.

Maybe that was what was the scariest thing about this situation, it having nothing to do with them and everything to do with you.

The moment they get a proper lead on a location is when things start to go fast. Not even 2 hours after the briefing are they on the plane and landing on a base that would be close by the revealed location. It doesn't take a lot of convincing to have Price agree to the mission, perhaps just as eager himself to finally put an end to the madness.

Was it logical? Not all the way, smart? Fuck no, but it was hope, and Price knew at this point that if he didn't find a way to make it happen fast, then Johnny and Simon would just steal a plane and go on their own, Gaz would likely join them too if they asked.

But the fact remained, someone had finally cracked, who it was, Simon barely even remembers. The past week or so he's been avoiding thinking about you like were you a vicious disease that spread whenever someone mentioned its name, but now you were the only thing that consumed his thoughts, along with a overwhelming brooding rage.

He's not even sure you're going to be there, a human trafficking ring, their supposed base of operations revealed to them. If it wasn't for the anger boiling in his veins, he'd feel sick upon learning the knowledge of all the kidnappings that had been happening in your area.

You hadn't ever said anything, but he didn't doubt that you knew, you just also knew that they would worry too much and wouldn't go do their jobs if they knew. He wants to scream at himself, yell at a mirror for being so stupid and careless, if he had just stayed up to date then maybe he could've prevented all of this.

You might still be at home, waiting for them to join you in bed, the three of you cuddling together in your favorite position. If only he could go back and change his mistake. He knows he can't, he knows he can't change what he did or didn't do, but he will correct it now, and get you back in their arms.

The place is massive, but he barely even registers it, nothing feels real as he pursues anything and everything that could lead his way to you. He's mauling people down with scary precision, unleashing his rage on them while somehow still keeping them covert. He can feel that Johnny is behind him, watching his back, but he never actually turns around to confirm.

They've passed several rooms, or cells more like with plenty of victims, but none of them had you among them. After securing the victims safety, they left it to the other soldiers behind them to get them out of there while they continue to comb through the building.

Johnny starts losing hope once they've nearly been everywhere, all enemies neutralized, and victims secured. Though they have a few rooms left, they've seen no sign of you or anything that might've belonged to you.

And of course, that's when it happens, when they turn the handle on the last door, the last of their hope almost extinguishing, only to spike in their throats from the scene revealed to them.

The room is bigger than expected, at first hand it seemed more or less like another one of the rooms they kept their poor victims holed up in, but there was only one person in there. A body in the corner, naked, bruised, dirty, with unmistakable features that they used to caress at night within the safety of their own bed.

Once again Johnny feels sick, almost bends forward to wretch everything up right then and there as well but he has to keep it together. He wants to scream and cry, rip the person who did this to shreds, but it's likely Simon already did that unknowingly out there.

His partner doesn't stand frozen beside him for long, but likely going through a similar round of emotional turmoil. They both sprint to your side, trying to check your state both for injuries and your awareness.

Cuts and scrapes litter your body like a fucked-up pattern, your naked skin covered in dirt, dust and perhaps even mud. Your eyes are barely open, void and tired, they can practically see the redness and the crust from your crying stained onto your face.

Johnny smoothes a hand over your thigh to check a wound but flinches away when he hears you whimper. They feel a crack in their hearts as they watch you spur a little to life, pathetically trying to inch away from them but having no more energy to do so.

"No no…Sweetheart it's okay…it's us" Johnny tries to be soothing, not forcing touch on you but still trying to guide your vision in his direction. He almost can't bear to look at what they've done to you, inhumane things and then just to leave you here in a room by yourself.

When your eyes finally meet his, he chokes back on a wretched noise, your terrified look is something he never wants to see directed at him or Simon. Not from you. He gently guides you hand up to his hair, in the moment he doesn't care about the blood or the dirt, all he wants to do is remind you. He helps your fingers tangle through like you've done so many times before, hoping to kickstart your memory.

At first, you're stiff, unwilling, but slowly your hands start squeezing at his hair out of your own volition. A little more clarity in your eyes as you choke out his name, and when he hears he nods rapidly. His hold on your hand tightening as he looks down at you with tears in his eyes.

He wants to hold you, crush you against him, but he knows he has to be careful. Along with your visible injuries, they have no idea if you have broken bones or worse going on inside. "Yes, love…it's me….we're here…we found you…" he nods and brings your weak hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

They have to move you, and get you out of here with the rest, but Simon is afraid to touch. Scared that one motion from him could make everything infinitely worse. He's been sitting paralyzed next to Johnny and you, watching as Johnny brings part of you back to reality instead of the mental prison you've no doubt locked yourself in.

He looks away from your hand and back to your face, almost horrified to see that you're now staring up at him. He missed you greatly, but right now, he almost can't bear to have you look at him. He reaches his own hand up, wincing when he sees the blood on it but continuing regardless to pull his mask off.

He sees the tears forming in your eyes as you see him again, his hand gently cupping your face and wiping away the falling tears. "It hurts…" you sob quietly, and all Simon can do is nod, because he knows, he knows all too well about the pain you're in.

"I know love…I know…" He lets out a shaky sigh, giving an affirming glance to Johnny before moving around. They need to get going, and they need to get you to safety. He gently hoists you up, tries to not think of your desperate whimpers of both fear and pain.

He holds you close to his chest, Johnny's hands tugging your matted hair away, so it didn't get stuck on any gear. Simon's grip on you is fierce, a grounding touch you've needed for so long, and with Johnny's warm voice softly assuring you, you start to settle away from your panic.

They keep you close the entire time, assuring you, holding you, keeping you tugged away from the gore and the defiling monsters that lay dead on the ground. They keep you close, closer than ever before, and they won't let you go, not again, not ever. They'll carry you through the recovery, they'll get you back on your own feet again, back to yourself again.

They will never let any of this happen again.

#noctmoon fics #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price #ghoap #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #john soap mctavish x you #simon riley x you

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cricket-reader · 1 year ago

Text

His Everything

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Summary: Peter freaks out when you don’t answer his calls. He finds you handcuffed to a chair as Spider-Man. You tell him things afterwards, making Peter question how good of a boyfriend he really is.

Warnings: language, torture, kidnapping, mentions of death, crying

Word Count: 1480

Prompt: "It's not as bad as it looks.” Handcuffs | Swelling | Flinch

A/N: Day 5 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom (Set after NWH but no spoilers)

Your wrists throbbed within the unforgiving grip of the handcuffs, their weight a constant reminder of your vulnerability. The swelling around your wrists made every movement an agonizing ordeal. As you tugged against the restraints, a muffled whimper escaped your lips.

You had been taken whilst on a walk. While you wished you could have been more prepared or maybe wished you had seen it coming, nothing could change the fact that it was so sudden. Unlike in the books you had read, you didn’t have any sort of premonition that warned you against going out for that walk. There were no warning signs or red flags blatantly obvious. It had happened without any sort of warning. One moment you were casually strolling through the streets of New York, next you were being knocked unconscious by a man wearing all black in the middle of the day.

How someone didn’t see the spectacle go down baffled you. Perhaps they did see it; they just didn’t get involved. That was a thing you learned in your psychology class: the bystander effect. Only now were you fully realising how shitty it was.

So there you were, sitting in a damp, musty cell with no hope of rescue. You hoped that maybe your boyfriend would notice your absence and call the police once he couldn’t get ahold of you. But you knew he’d probably think that you were just busy or didn’t want to talk. He knew that school got tough sometimes, so he never blamed you if you couldn’t talk to him. Hence it would probably take a long time for anyone to find you.

You flinched as the door opened, wishing that the ground would swallow you whole. You didn’t want to die, not with Peter waiting for you at his house. He was such a good person and he didn’t deserve to worry about some nobody like you as you knew he would. Sometimes he was too good for his own good. Something you didn’t know the full weight of quite yet.

“I hear you’re close to Spider-Man,” the captor said, an ugly sneer on his face.

Brows furrowed, you replied, “I’ve never even met him once. He has never saved me or anything.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear I’m not lying!”

“Bullshit.”

You tried to press yourself further into your chair when he approached you. Your gut was turning and breaths were short. Who is this crazy man and what does he want with you?

Your head is snapped to the side as the back of his hand makes contact with your face. Two marks on your face start bleeding where his bulky rings had hit you. “You better start talking.”

“I don’t know anything, I swear!”

He scoffed as he geared up for a punch. His fist hit you near your right rib cage. You doubled over and groaned. He had a mean swing. Those stupid rings weren’t helping any.

He grabbed you by the hair and yanked your head back up. You cried out, hoping maybe someone would hear you. His fist began driving itself to your body, anywhere he could reach. Your screams and cries did nothing to make him stop, if anything, it only made the twisted man continue his relentless abuse.

Just when you were sure that you could take no more, the glass window to the room shattered. You screamed, and you weren’t sure if it was from the terror or from the last blow he delivered to your stomach.

In an instant, white webs were flown across the room. Guards and your tormentor were wrapped up in the all too familiar spidery substance you had seen on the news. In all your years, you never thought you’d be able to meet a superhero. You just wish it was on better terms.

Spider-Man rushed to your aid, calling out your name in an anguished voice that sounded a bit familiar. Your head drooped, exhaustion tearing you down. You could hear Spider-Man talking to you, telling you everything was going to be okay. You saw him reach for the phone, presumably to call for help.

You grabbed his wrist, not caring that the handcuffs were digging further into your skin. With a weak voice, you muttered, “no ambulance, just take me to the hospital.”

You saw his big white eyes narrow. “I can’t afford an ambulance. Hell, I’ll barely afford the medical bill,” you chucked at your own expense, stopping immediately because it hurt too bad. “If you don’t want to bring me call my boyfriend. He’ll pick me up.”

The hero’s eyes widened again and he rapidly shook his head. “No, no, I can get you to the hospital.”

He searched the man’s pockets, trying to find a key for those pesky handcuffs. He was unsuccessful. Sighing, he decided he’d just have to break them. There was no time to waste. You could be seriously hurt.

When the handcuffs were removed from your wrists, you practically cried out in joy. You rubbed your swollen wrists, wincing at how tender whey were.

“Let’s get you outta here, yeah?” Spider-Man muttered as he helped you up. You limped alongside him down the stairs to the street.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You had asked him. He seemed so familiar. His eyes widened.

“You’ve uh… probably seen me before, y’know… as Spider-Man,” he stumbled over his words. You almost laughed at how he tried to make his voice sound deeper. It was adorable. It reminded you of something that Peter would do.

You gasped, “Peter!”

Spider-Man’s head whipped towards you. “I have to tell him I’m okay, that’s my boyfriend. He might be worried about me.”

“We can call him when you get to the hospital okay?” Spider-Man gently told her as they got in a cab that he had hailed down. Peter told him to drive to the nearest hospital as fast as he could.

“Okay, sure… I’m sure he probably hasn’t noticed anyway. Y’know I was goin’ over to his apartment to surprise him. He’s been workin’ so hard on school and I jus’ wanted to make him feel better. He’s been so stressed lately.” You pouted. “Now I s’pose he’s gonna be even more stressed.”

Tears came to your eyes. You wished you could say it was all from the pain, but a part of you knew that you were sad that your boyfriend would only have more on his plate with you in the hospital.

“Y‘know what… maybe I shouldn’t call him. I don’ wanna burden him any more than he already is.”

Underneath the mask, Peter was crying. He couldn’t respond to you. He knew that you’d pick up on the wobble of his voice if he tried. How could you think such things? You were the most important thing in his life. More important than his classes, more important than his Spider-Man duties. You were his everything.

How could his everything think that she was a burden? It pained his heart to know that you thought that way.

Clearing his throat, he said “I think you should tell him. He’s probably worried out of his mind right now.” He wasn’t wrong. Peter was scared shitless. You never opened up like this to strangers and your head was lolling onto his shoulder.

“C’mon, stay with me, baby. Don’t do this to me!” He pleaded. He couldn’t let someone else leave him. He couldn’t watch another important person in his life die. He didn’t want you to join the list of loved ones he had lost.

Peter didn’t even care that you or the cab driver knew he was crying now. He had every right to cry when the girl he loved was falling into unconsciousness.

“C’mon, baby. Be strong for me, yeah? I know you can do it. You’re so strong.”

Those were the last words you were able to hear before you blacked out.

Upon waking up, you saw your red-eyed boyfriend hunched over in a nearby seat. “Peter?” Your voice came out groggy and dry, but it got his attention. He cried out your name as he ran to your side. Tears were falling from his eyes as he held your hand and called for the nurse.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay, Peter. It's not as bad as it looks. I’m fine really.”

Truthfully you didn’t feel much pain, but that was probably the drugs they had you hooked up on.

“Please don’t leave me, please. I love you too much. Please don’t leave,” he pleaded, like a broken record. You knew your boyfriend had abandonment issues, but you’d never really seen them as bad as in that moment. “It’s okay, Peter. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re my everything you know that?”

You just nodded and rubbed your thumb over his hand. “I know, baby. I know.”

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wolveria · 6 months ago

Text

On Frozen Wings - Ch 11

Pairing: Crosshair x Hunter

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Too keyed up to rest, Hunter finds other ways to distract them before the mission.

AO3

Hunter stared out the viewport, narrower than he was used to, the dashboard where he rested his boot also unfamiliar. Each time, it was a swift punch to the gut when he remembered the Marauder was gone. He hadn’t even had time to assess the condition of what was left, if there was anything they could salvage.

He sighed and braced the back of his head against the headrest, staring upwards at the nothingness of hyperspace. It had taken exposure and practice for him to get used to the disturbing absence of it, his senses searching for what should be outside the ship but simply didn’t exist.

Hunter wished he could stretch his senses to the other ship, confirm that Echo was fine. The ARC trooper could take care of himself, but that didn’t mean Hunter wouldn’t worry.

Soft footfalls approached from behind, and then someone moved through the crawlspace in order to take the gunner’s seat, pushing it up in place with a snap.

Hunter waited out the silence. They hadn’t had a moment alone since Phee had dropped them off on Bora Vio. Between infiltrating the station, finding out they couldn’t download the coordinates, and attaching themselves to an Imperial science vessel, they hadn’t had much time to breathe until now.

“How much longer?”

Hunter glanced at the navicomputer. Their ship may not have its hyperdrive engaged, but it could still calculate the time to arrival based on the other ship’s trajectory.

“Five and a half hours, give or take. Why?”

“Another minute sharing the same air as that asshole, and I may just have to start shooting off limbs.”

Hunter hummed in sympathy.

“My turn to watch him?”

“Wrecker said he’s good for a while.”

They were about halfway through their journey, and even handcuffed to his seat, none of them trusted Rampart on his own. Hunter and Wrecker had come to an agreement to watch him in shifts, giving the other a break every few hours, and more importantly, never leaving him alone with Crosshair.

Of course, Crosshair had insisted he was perfectly fine to watch Rampart by himself. While that might have been true, it wasn’t the point. Hunter wasn’t going to leave them together in the same room ever again, and Wrecker was of the same mind. He may not know the particulars of what happened between their brother and Rampart, but he knew enough to be protective. Crosshair would just have to give up this particular battle, because he wasn’t going to win.

Hunter acknowledged him with a grunt and shut his eyes. It was better to rest now while they could; after they left hyperspace, it was high alert for everyone until the mission was over.

So, Hunter tried to rest. Tried. But Crosshair’s faint scent had infiltrated the space of the cockpit, and Hunter shifted in his seat. His brother’s soft breathing at his back didn’t help.

He’d been through enough missions to know resting beforehand was much more useful than pacing and fidgeting, wasting energy that could be used for the fight. But this wasn’t just some mission. It could be their most important, and even Hunter wasn’t able to push down the restless energy that clawed inside him.

And then there was Crosshair. Doing nothing more than sitting in the gunner’s seat, probably trying to do the same thing as Hunter and catch a few moments of sleep. Except he wasn’t, and there was an edge to his scent. He was anxious, and it was getting worse.

Neither of them were going to relax, and Hunter would rather be doing something else.

He got out of his seat, twisted around the cockpit, and was half in Crosshair’s lap before his brother could do more than make a startled noise. Hunter reached past him and pulled the seat lever, and the back of the chair collapsed flat to the floor.

Hunter followed him down to the floor, pulled off his helmet, and swallowed down his complaint. Crosshair immediately melted under him, his fingers digging through the strands of hair as he wrapped his legs around Hunter’s hips and pulled him close. Crosshair’s scent was heavy with arousal and frustration, the previous nervousness gone.

Hunter smiled against his lips. Much better.

He grinded their hips together, though it wasn’t particularly comfortable for either of them with Crosshair’s armor in the way. Before he could reach between them to fix that, Crosshair broke off the kiss and pushed Hunter off him.

Hunter blinked, startled as he hit the back of the pilot seat, and then Crosshair was on him, straddling his lap with legs bracketing his hips, kissing Hunter without mercy. His hands didn’t seem to know where they should be, wrapped in Hunter’s hair or stripping off his own armor.

Hunter separated long enough to mumble, “I got you,” against Crosshair’s lips, and he sought out the clasps of his brother’s armor, able to find them even with his eyes closed. Taking off each other’s armor had become a habit when they were too tired to do it themselves after a mission.

One could call it a ritual, but that would have made it sound too… intentional. It wasn’t something they ever talked about, just something they did, but not with the others. Tech had always been very particular about anyone touching his armor, and Wrecker threw his off unceremoniously as soon as they were in their barracks.

Hunter knew Crosshair’s armor as well as he knew his own, even after all this time. He detached the pauldrons first, then the chest and diaphragm plates. Next, he pulled off the rerebraces and vambraces, each piece sliding off with practiced ease. It was second-nature, muscle memory, and his movements were smooth and confident even as he groaned from the things Crosshair was doing to his mouth.

Hunter last clipped off his pelvic plate, and he would have been satisfied with that—he would never admit to Crosshair how good his legs looked in that armor—but Crosshair had other ideas. He broke off the kiss and stood over Hunter, quickly pulling off his boots and thigh armor, and before Hunter could stop him, he tugged off both pieces of his body suit.

Hunter gaped up at him, his jaw still open as Crosshair set himself back in his lap, naked as the day he was decanted. His hands immediately went to Crosshair’s legs, running his palms up the bare expanse of his thighs as if he couldn’t help himself—because really, he couldn’t.

This was a bad idea, Hunter thought, and then immediately didn’t care as Crosshair kissed him, one hand on his jaw while the other snaked between them, tugging open Hunter’s trousers.

Crosshair didn’t waste time gripping Hunter’s cock and stroking it, but Hunter placed a hand over his, slowing him down.

“Lube?” Hunter asked, voice already hoarse. The answer would determine how they approached this and how far it went. And more importantly, how ready Crosshair was.

His brother pulled back to search his face, as if that was where Crosshair would find his answer. And maybe he did; without a word, he reached over to his pack, opened a side compartment, and pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid.

Hunter took the bottle when offered and pretended he knew what he was doing as he coated his fingers. Crosshair’s expression was even but his eyes were watchful, and Hunter kept in mind his fear the last time they’d tried something like this.

As a distraction, Hunter pulled him close by a gentle hand on the nape of his neck and kissed him softly, though it quickly turned into something filthier as Crosshair nipped and sucked on his bottom lip.

Hunter groaned, already so hard he ached, but he focused on his mission as he brushed against Crosshair’s tight entrance. He didn’t push in right away, instead teasing and slicking up the puckered muscle until Crosshair was squirming on his lap.

After adding more lube to his fingers, Hunter began to press in, giving him plenty of time to adjust, but by the frustrated noises Crosshair made and the way he kept trying to push down on Hunter’s hand, he figured they were good to keep going.

He started with one finger and quickly upgraded to two, but it only seemed to make Crosshair’s impatience worse. But Hunter took his time, feeling around for something, and he found it when he curled his fingers and Crosshair went stiff and made a strangled squeak.

Oh, if only Hunter had a holorecorder.

“What—” Crosshair twitched and panted when Hunter did it again, slower and with more deliberate pressure. “—Where did you learn that.”

He smirked and kissed Crosshair’s neck as a small apology before curling his fingers again.

“You like it?”

His brother let out a noise between a growl and a groan.

“So you… did retain something from… all those lectures?”

“Nope.” He continued to kiss and lick Crosshair’s skin, savoring how he throbbed around his fingers. “But I did search some stuff on the Holonet.”

Crosshair’s groan definitely had less to do with the fingers buried in his ass.

“Please, don’t repeat all the ideas you f-find on there.”

Hunter gave one last twist of his fingers before sliding them out.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He applied more lube to his palm and stroked himself. Despite how badly he wanted this, Hunter could be patient, and with all the practice he had as their sergeant, his voice was even and steady. “Thought I would keep it simple and use my cock—”

Crosshair batted his hands out of the way, grabbed Hunter’s length, and leaned up onto his knees to push the head against his entrance. He shoved down, the head of his cock slipping in, and Hunter swore he saw stars.

“Cross—” He bit out his name like a curse. “S-slow down. There’s no hurry.”

“Says you,” Crosshair hissed, glaring at Hunter as if he was about to fight him rather than fuck him. “It’ll take you the entire day at this rate—”

Crosshair cut off his own words as he tried to spear himself on Hunter’s cock, clearly not ready yet but he wasn’t slowing either. All Hunter could do was grip him by the hips and at least try to get him to go at a reasonable pace.

But Crosshair was determined, his brows set in a severe line, sweat beading on his forehead as he concentrated, and Hunter was trying to remember how to breathe, torn between wanting to pull Crosshair off and yank him down into his lap.

The decision was made for him, and Crosshair worked his way down with small, testing thrusts, until he was flush against his hips. Hunter’s hands were tight on his hips, leaving red marks behind.

Hunter bumped his head back against the headrest, breathing hard as if he’d run down a mountainside, but he didn’t close his eyes. The image of Crosshair, naked and on his cock, wasn’t one he ever wanted to forget.

“Just… need a minute or two,” Hunter panted, and Crosshair gave a small, wicked smile through his own ragged breaths.

“You get one.”

Crosshair leaned in, teeth gently nipping his neck, and Hunter groaned. He could already feel the faint throb in his balls, and he clamped down on that need to thrust upward. He was not going to come already. He was going to make this last, make it good for Crosshair.

Hell, even if Hunter came too quickly, he wasn’t sure that would stop him from finding a way to keep fucking Crosshair. He’d always had a fast recovery time, too fast, and it used to be source of frustration when jerking off wasn’t always enough.

Hunter let out another needy moan when Crosshair sucked on a spot right below his ear, and he rolled his hips, trembling at the slight friction it brought. It didn’t matter how long he could last, he needed to fuck Crosshair now.

“Are you… sure you’re good?” Hunter managed to say between unsteady breaths. Crosshair rewarded him with a glowering, are-you-serious look.

And then the look turned mischievous, and Hunter bit back a whimper as Crosshair clamped down on him, squeezing tight.

The frustration erupted in his chest as a growl, and Crosshair kissed him hard, his tongue possessive and claiming, and he lifted himself up to slam down again.

Hunter had to lock his jaw so he wouldn’t bite down on Crosshair’s tongue, especially when his brother repeated the movement and picked up a rhythm, fucking himself on Hunter’s cock.

Crosshair wouldn’t slow down, no matter how hard Hunter tried to grip him, and he didn’t fight it for long. Didn’t want to, really, when it was so much better to just surrender and let Crosshair take what he wanted. And Hunter wanted to give it to him, his hands roaming every inch of bare skin they could reach, greedy to touch him while Crosshair would allow it, fully distracted as he was.

But then he slowed down, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Going to try something,” Crosshair said, and it was the only warning he received before he grabbed Hunter’s helmet and slid it over his head.

Hunter frowned, immediately frustrated at the sudden barrier between them, but the look on Crosshair’s face gave him pause. He took in Hunter, fully armored, with a hungry expression, and somehow squeezed even tighter around his cock.

Hunter let out a choked groan and dug his fingers into Crosshair’s hips, helping him on the downward stroke, wishing he had leverage to fuck up into him. The helmet only increased his frustration, and he actually bared his teeth at being denied access to Crosshair’s skin.

“Fuck,” Crosshair hissed out, and Hunter could feel the tight grip on his arms between the armor pieces. “Always… wanted to do this.”

Hell, Hunter couldn’t judge that. He could still remember the thrill up his spine when Crosshair was on his knees in full kit. Geared up for war, but instead of going to battle, they were doing something their creators would probably view as wasteful at best, perverted at worse.

Crosshair let out a distracting whimper, and Hunter realized he was squeezing him too tight. He hadn’t been paying attention, wholly focused on pulling Crosshair down into his lap with enough force that Crosshair barely had to do anything but hold on as Hunter used him how he pleased.

“There… is… something seriously wrong… with us,” Hunter grit out, forcibly loosening his grip. Crosshair let out a breathless laugh.

“What was your first clue?”

Hunter glared through his helmet. If Crosshair had enough air to be sarcastic, then he could easily take more than this.

With a quick arm around his waist, Hunter sat up, pulling Crosshair with him as he got onto his knees. Crosshair only had enough time to yelp before Hunter spun them both around, and pinned Crosshair to the back of the pilot seat.

Crosshair’s displeased hiss fizzled out when Hunter remained on his knees, held him tight by the hips, and thrust hard, hitting Crosshair with a deep stroke.

Crosshair arched his back and howled through his teeth, a poor attempt to keep quiet. Hunter didn’t give him time to recover and rutted into him hard, forcing his thighs open and around his hips.

“Don’t… hold back,” Hunter growled, his own voice distorted into something nearly menacing with the helmet modulator. “Let them hear you.”

Not that Crosshair had a choice with how hard Hunter fucked him, not letting up for a second. He had the leverage now, and he set a punishing pace, teeth bared in a low growl. Frustrated at the helmet still on his head, like a muzzle keeping him from biting—and he wanted to bite, but Crosshair was too dazed to pay any attention to his helmet, and Hunter would rather die than let go of his grip of Crosshair’s thighs.

He didn’t care if Wrecker heard, and he sure as hell hoped Rampart could. That he would know, with absolute certainty, that he would never touch Crosshair again—and if he so much as looked at Crosshair the wrong way, Hunter wouldn’t make it quick. The former vice admiral’s suffering would make his stint in prison look like a summer holiday.

But mostly, Hunter just wanted to make Crosshair cry out until his voice was ruined, and he was well on his way. Crosshair gripped Hunter’s shoulders, skin flushed along his cheeks and chest, his eyes glassy with tears close to spilling. The sharp, biting scent of arousal was so strong Hunter could catch it through the filters in his helmet, and he thrust so hard he knew they would both have bruises.

Crosshair tensed, tight around Hunter—and then he grabbed Hunter’s helmet and lifted it off his head.

The scent hit him so fast it was like a dirty punch, and Hunter didn’t think. He lunged forward and sank his teeth into the meat of Crosshair’s shoulder.

Crosshair’s cry filled the cockpit, raw and unfiltered. It was a wonder Echo didn’t hear it from the other ship, but Hunter paid little attention to how loud they were being when Crosshair throbbed around him.

Hunter fucked him through it before losing his rhythm, and just as Crosshair gave a helpless whine at the overstimulation, Hunter thrust deep and came so hard he was sure he blacked out for a moment.

He must have, because Hunter didn’t remember lowering Crosshair to the floor, or burying his face into his neck, apologetically licking at the bite. Iron flared on his tongue, and he belatedly realized just how deep his teeth had gone.

“Shit,” Hunter rasped. “Sorry.”

Crosshair made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr, and he was the one who kept his arms firmly around Hunter’s shoulders, not letting him go far. That was fine with him, and he lifted Crosshair up so he could turn them both back around, and Hunter leaned against the pilot seat as kept Crosshair in his lap. He hadn’t even pulled out. He would, just… not yet.

“Don’t worry.” Crosshair’s own words were hazy, almost slurred. “I’m up to date on all my boosters.”

Hunter’s only response was a growl, too tired to do anything more threatening. Not that Crosshair found the noise any kind of dissuasion.

“Although Tech would have something to say about you slobbering all over an open wound.”

Hunter found himself smiling. It might have been the first mention of Tech that hadn’t sent a stab of pain through his chest.

“I think Tech would be the least surprised we ended up like this.”

“Fucking in the cockpit of an Imperial gunship on the way to a secret Imperial base?”

“Well… that too.”

It’s not exactly what Hunter meant, but he had a feeling Crosshair understood. The two of them, together, maybe in a way they should have been a long time ago. At least they’d found their way back to each other, even if it had taken years.

Crosshair’s lips were against his hair, and then his jaw, leaving a distracting trail.

“One of these days,” he purred between kisses, “I’ll figure out how to fuck that broody expression off your face.”

Hunter cracked a little, smiling at the suddenly needy affection.

“I’m not broody.”

“Yes, you are. How pissed at us do you think Wrecker is right now?”

“He’ll survive,” Hunter deadpanned. It was his own ass Crosshair should be worried about after the pounding he took. “What about you? Anything… hurt? Besides the bite.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. Yeah, he was fine. Maybe Hunter wouldn’t have to worry about holding back next time. The thought sent a warm flush down his gut, and if Crosshair stayed naked in his lap, he was going to get hard again quick.

Reluctantly, he lifted Crosshair off his lap, wincing at the strange feeling of pulling out, but the sight of his cum dripping out of Crosshair was distracting as Hunter tucked himself away. He wasn’t sure which to look at, Crosshair’s used hole or the flushed red mark on his shoulder.

Crosshair wasn’t looking at him, turned slightly so he could retrieve a cleaning cloth out of his pack.

“You know, technically you drew first blood this mission—”

Hunter was on him before he could finish and shoved him flat on his back.

“What the hell--”

Hunter dived in, forced Crosshair’s legs open, and ran his tongue over his leaking hole.

Crosshair made the kind of noise that would come from a dying animal, but Hunter wouldn’t let him squirm away, and he held onto his thighs as he cleaned him with his tongue. Not satisfied, he pushed in his tongue, tasting his own cum mixed with Crosshair’s specific taste.

His brother writhed and whined, but Hunter still wouldn’t let him go.

“Fuck,” Crosshair hissed sharply. “Fuck fuckfuckfuck—”

Hunter had licked him clean by now, but he didn’t see a point to stopping, not when Crosshair was pushing against his mouth now, a frustrated whine in the back of his throat. His scent was sharp with need, and one hand reached down to twist long fingers into Hunter’s hair.

Encouraged, Hunter prodded deeper with his tongue, adding in a finger and stroking at the same spot as before.

Crosshair shuddered and twitched, his cock drooling on his stomach, and then he gave a weak sob as a second orgasm was ripped out of him. Hardly anything came out of his overworked cock, but he twitched delightfully around Hunter.

Hunter eased him down from it, gently licking and stroking him, only pulling away when Crosshair made a pained noise. He laid there, occasionally twitching as he panted, and a flush of guilt moved through Hunter.

He moved up Crosshair’s body and nuzzled his neck in silent apology.

“You… okay?”

Crosshair didn’t seem able to speak yet, but Hunter felt the small nod. Still, it was his fault Crosshair was a boneless mess on the floor, so Hunter took the cloth and cleaned him up properly this time.

Crosshair let him take care of him and clean him up without complaint, which was… concerning. Hunter nudged his cheek with his nose and placed small kisses towards his lips.

Crosshair finally stirred and made a noise of disgust, pushing Hunter away with the flat of his palm against his face.

“Your tongue was just in my ass.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s not going in my mouth.”

Hunter snorted but backed off, satisfied with watching Crosshair dress. His normally smooth, coordinated movements were sluggish and clumsy, but one warning look was enough for Hunter not to volunteer to help him.

But once his body suit and half his armor was on, Hunter was too impatient to wait and pulled Crosshair into his lap. It was quickly becoming a favorite spot for Hunter to put him.

“We still got a while,” Hunter said before the complaints could start. “You need rest.”

“Know what I need, do you.” The bite of his words were lost when they were delivered into Hunter’s shoulder, muffled.

“Yeah.” He stroked his hand up Crosshair’s back, earning a low purr. “Think I’m getting the hang of it.”

Crosshair was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, “…Did you learn that on the Holonet too?”

Hunter snorted.

“Nope. Just felt like doing it.”

“Well, if the mood strikes you at some point in the future…”

“I can do it again?”

“…If you want.”

That might as well be a glowing recommendation, no matter how dry his tone or flat the delivery.

Hunter continued to rub his back, and Crosshair relaxed a little bit more with each stroke until he was half-draped against Hunter, limp and warm. It was quite a while before Hunter spoke, sensing Crosshair was drifting off.

“We’re gonna come back from Tantiss,” he whispered. “All of us.”

They both knew Hunter couldn’t promise that. But Crosshair needed to hear the words, and Hunter needed to say them.

Crosshair curled around him a little tighter, and Hunter could have stayed like that for the rest of his life and been happy.

He managed to doze off and on, half his mind on the computers behind him, but Crosshair had fallen fast asleep, his head resting on Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter didn’t have a chrono on him, but his internal clock was rarely off by a minute or two. He nudged Crosshair awake with light kisses along his jaw.

“Almost there?” Crosshair yawned, stretching on Hunter like a languid feline.

“Mhmm. Should hear the hyperspace warning in a few minutes.”

Crosshair didn’t say anything, and Hunter caught the flicker of uncertainty and nervousness on his face before turned away and lifted off of Hunter. He immediately missed the warmth but forced himself to his feet as Crosshair buckled on the rest of his upper armor.

“Hopefully nothing unfortunate happened to the vice admiral in our absence. I’ll check on Wrecker to make sure he didn’t pull a… well, you.”

Hunter shot him a look.

“Very funny.”

Crosshair left him with a smirk, his helmet tucked under his arm. Hunter shook his head. If he thought leaving the cockpit separately was going to do anything to avert Wrecker’s suspicions, he severely underestimated their brother. No one could mistake Crosshair’s howls for anything but what they were.

Hunter squeezed into the pilot’s seat and brought up the navicomputer, showing he was correct, and they had only a couple minutes to spare.

Taking a deep breath, Hunter left the cockpit, prepared to follow his brother into the jaws of his worst nightmares.

Next Chapter

#cloneshipping #crosshunt #crosshair x hunter #the bad batch #crosshair #hunter #on frozen wings #wolveria writes

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kitaishi · 13 days ago

Text

after her mother died, an eight-year-old tifa lockhart promised herself she would become an astronaut. her mother always said she could reach for the stars, so she darn well was going to at least try. there was only one problem: she was a farmer's daughter living in a backwater town on a planet no one cared about. all tifa could do was keep dreaming, watching the stars atop of the old water tower alone until her dad would yell at her to come to bed. that was her mundane life year after year because nothing ever happened in nibelheim - at least not until master zangan showed up when she was thirteen. he was a huge, larger than life man who most importantly said the one tifa never knew she always needed to hear: that she had potential.

❛ you have the physique of a fighter young lady ! ’ he had boldly - and rather loudly - declared.

❛ um. i think i just have the physique of a farmer sir... ’ was her uncertain, dry response.

zangan revealed himself to be a traveling instructor, exploring different systems to grow stronger while also searching for student's worthy of his teachings. it sounded a bit too good to be true at first to tifa but after a little convincing, she spoke with her father and soon became one of zangan's newest disciples. it had been a bit boring to the young teen at first - instead of the swift kicks and majestic displays of strength zangan had showed off when first meeting her, tifa was limited to learning stretches in order to instill the 'foundation of strength' zangan claimed his harder techniques required. still, tifa kept at it and read through book one until she knew it like the back of her hand.

her commitment impressed zangan, so much so that he talked her father into becoming a sparring partner for her whenever zangan was off-world. nervous but supporting of his daughter's passions, brian lockhart bore his daughter's punches for an hour three times a week as she began to dive into the techniques of book two. there eventually came a day when she had to train alone due to her dad being busy - an emergency townhall called after someone came screaming from the farms, claiming to see a monster that looked strangely shaped like a man. she was nearly about to call it a day when cloud strife, the boy next door who annoyingly always ignored her, asked if he could join. he was the only boy in town that hadn't left the city for greater things and considering the way his eyes shyly darted away from her own, tifa was stupidly beginning to understand why.

from then on, the young pair were rarely seen without each other. even with her dreams of space becoming an increasingly distant memory, tifa was happy. when not training, she was starting to learn a bit about mechanics from cloud as they worked on his secret project together: repairing an abandon hoverbike he had found. her father ( reluctantly ) approved of her and cloud while his mother, who was always cheery and supportive, claimed ' she always had a hunch ' about them. zangan was pleased as long as it didn't interfere with her training and even tried to recruit cloud - much to the boy's annoyance and her amusement.

most importantly thought was zangan saying she was close to being ready for the contents of book three!

a few weeks shy of her fifteen birthday, tifa and cloud decided to go explore deeper into the caves of mt. nibel once the bike had been 'fixed'. and by fixed, the hoverbike was loud, dingy, and the exhaust blew out tons of smoke, but it got them where they needed to go. usually. it was mostly a trip out of boredom but tifa had also been itching to fight against something that wouldn't hold back. what they hadn't expect to find, however, was twisted, mutations of the local wolves and stinger bees they had grown up hearing about within its depths. terrified, the two booked it back home on cloud's bike and despite the heated lecture the pair received from both of their parents, their findings weren't taken lightly. concerns about unknown monsters descending from the mountains to ruin their crops ( or do something even worse ) soon spread across their small village like wildfire.

in attempt to ease the growing hysteria, the mayor filed a request for assistance from the space forces - but no one ever came. everyone in town knew the unspoken truth: they didn't bother with planets like sentinel iii and especially not with small, insignificant villages like their own.

❛ i don't like it. ’ cloud said one day, a frown set on his face while his furrowed brow dripped with sweat. they were in the process of loading up the summer harvests to be shipped out into the city the next day. ❛ something else is in those caves tifa. something dangerous. ’

deep down tifa knew he was right...but she didn't know what to say or do. they had called for help, and no one answered. all they could do was carry on as they always had...because that was the type of townsfolk they had been raised to be: ' welcome to nibelheim! population: thirty-seven. smile, even when you're drowning, that's our motto! '

as monster sightings became more and more frequent, participation in the village's neighborhood watch was soon mandatory for all able-bodied adults. to help out, cloud and tifa would often go patrolling in the morning during the days they didn't have to help tend the farms. there was still a lingering unease around town but with no actual incidents or attacks, things were starting to settle back to normal.

tifa's sixteen when a bright, dazzling star shoots across the night sky while her and cloud were on a 'date': which consisted of cuddling and holding hands atop the old but faithful water tower. she remembers making a wish or well...wishes after seeing it: i wish that zangan stops handholding me and gives me book three already. and that dad stays as healthy as he can. oh! and that cloud and i can go on that small trip to locust we've been saving up for next year. also, that winter this year isn't too harsh and-

later, tifa would wish they had never seen that star all.

it is a man, pale and otherworldly, instead of a star that descends upon their quiet, unassuming village a day later. he's dressed almost entirely in black and easily towers over them all when he asks for their mayor. ❛ i have traveled here on behalf of the space forces after headquarters received your transmission. your village requested aid against local fiends? ’ he asked once mayor zander finally shuffled out of his office. his voice was smooth, confident, and most of all, annoyingly polite. something in her screamed not to trust this man. the space forces had never cared about them before, so why come now?

but tifa doesn't voice her thoughts because she wasn't raised like that. it wouldn't be...well, the 'polite' thing to do.

she's filled with a sense of dread as the others in town crowd around him in awe, children giggling and waving at the man from atop their parent's shoulders. even cloud, the first to usually stay back and avoid being close to others, was pushing himself to the front of the group in order to admire a space force member in person. the stranger - who they had quickly come to know as sephiroth - seemed to sense her unease and to be fair, she stuck out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else: standing off to the side, cowboy hat shadowing her face as she tried to keep from frowning.

sephiroth's unnaturally bright eyes pierced straight into her while he smiled - almost as if challenging her to speak against him.

during the first, and only, time she goes to law enforcement about what happened that terrible day, tifa remembers being interrupted with a scoff before the story had barely even begun, ' you all didn't think to see his credentials? ' when tifa just stared at him, taken aback by the condescension, the man just sighs and indifferently types something into her report in response. ' it was probably just a pirate raid. ' tifa can hear the unspoken 'stupid backwater hicks' on the officer's tongue.

before dawn had cracked the next day, the mayor, despite her father's protests, instructed her and cloud to lead sephiroth deep enough into the caves where they had first seen those abominations. the trio never got that far though - barely past where nibel wolves and their packs resided before the man suddenly spoke up. ❛ i will go forward from here alone. you two return back to your home. ’ cloud was disappointed and tried to argue against the decision but tifa took it as an opening, quickly wishing sephiroth safety and pulling her boyfriend away by his arm.

they reported back to mayor zander who, while a bit perplexed, figured working alone was ' just how those big timers out there operated! '. a little before noon, the women of the village would start setting up a large lunch in the center of town in celebration of sephiroth's arrival - but the man of the hour hadn't returned from the mountains even after noon. a quiet restlessness began to spread across the village by two, but no one dared voice it. they all kept smiling, joking as they packed leftovers, even when dusk came and sephiroth still hadn't descended from the mountains. a bit rattled by it all, tifa brushed off cloud's suggestion to go for a walk in the evening. she took a long shower to unwind and wash the tension away before taking a nap.

if only everything she would witness that night had been a terrible dream...

her restful sleep is broken by screaming and smoke pouring into her partially open window. she fell out of her bed, stumbling and coughing her way through the dark towards the door. ' pumpkin! where are you? ' tifa could hear her dad's voice from downstairs but it was so hard to see anything. the sound of footsteps storming up the stairs followed after before she felt the familiar warmth of her father pulling her in close and carrying her out to safety...only for her to see the village she had known all her life now burning down around them.

the source of the destruction was sephiroth, his blade easily cutting through men and women alike, showing no discrimination between young and old as they tried to run from their lives. tifa could only watch in horror, latching onto her father for dear life as children she once babysat were slaughtered in front of her eyes. mayor zander and a few other surviving men quickly began to circle sephiroth in order to put him down. pitchforks, guns, and rusted battle droids were being deployed against a man that seemed almost inhuman in strength.

her master, zangan, could be heard shouting against the roaring flames - calling zander a ' stupid fool ' for not being focused on his people while he rushed towards the village entrance. the monk quickly sidestepped burning rubble from the houses that had begun to fall apart, even while holding an elderly woman in his arms and some of her terrified neighbors trailed close behind him for protection. it's cloud's screams for his mother that snapped tifa out of dissociating though, causing her to push herself out of her father's arms in spite of his protests.

❛ go help the others with zangan, dad! i'll meet you over by the waterfall! ’ brian looked like he wanted to protest her decision but only nodded and took off to help anyone else trapped.

cloud was trying to kick down at his front door when she rushed over to help him. as he kicked, she punched against it using her worn-out leather gloves. she ignored the pain of hitting against solid wood in order to pour all of her strength into saving ms. strife, the woman who had taught tifa how to cook and bake after her mother died. a woman was always so sweet and kind - even when the village shunned her and her son because she once dared to have bigger dreams beyond nibelheim. she didn't want to lose another mom again, so she kept hitting the door with a flurry of punches despite what little of a dent they were making.

the last words she ever heard from claudia was when she's begging both of them to run away and survive before the burning house collapsed on itself.

the force of it sends them both back and things became blurry again after that: cloud completely shuts down - so tifa has to act for them. she swung one of his arms over her shoulder and carries them out of the burning village to the waterfall north of town to hide. there they wait but with tifa growing increasingly more restless the more time passed, and her father still hadn't made it up to meet them.

during the worst of her illness, tifa would lay in bed with her mother whenever she could - unaware of how little time she had left with her. one day thea had suddenly told tifa to be brave for herself and for father if she was ever gone.

tifa hadn't understood then but maybe...moments like this was what her mother meant.

❛ cloud? can you hear me? ’ nothing. his eyes were blank and only staring at the ground. ❛ i'm going to go find my dad but i'll be back, okay? ’ tifa squeezed his hand, knowing she wouldn't get a response but hoping it reached some part of him anyway. she's tired, exhausted, and probably suffering from smoke inhalation but tifa sprinted like hell back home despite how scared she was, nearly falling and twisting her ankle in the process. she's shouting for her dad in between panting to catch her breath when finally making it back into town; tifa tries to avoid looking at the dead bodies littered everywhere before freezing in her tracks.

❛ why? what have we done to you? ’ her father had his hands up, defenseless, while still trying to plead with and understand a murderer. the nibelheim way to the end.

❛ because, ’ sephiroth, if that was even his true name, seemingly decided to deem the man with an answer. ❛ you all have no place in the new galaxy mother and i are building. ’

for a brief second, brian made eye contact with his daughter and his eyes instantly widen with fear. his mouth moved to speak - right before sephiroth ruthlessly slit his throat. nothing but a bloody gargle comes out of her dad's mouth.

father and daughter fell to the ground in union, tifa's heartbroken scream echoing across this night from hell. sephiroth doesn't bother acknowledging it, his back turned to her while his attention is drawn to something he had been carefully carrying this whole time: it looked like a mix between a monstruous abomination and a woman's head. his relentless, apathetic slaughter of them all now on hold and he tenderly lifted the 'head' up to...speak to it. he nods once before it disappears in a mist then steps over her father's dead body like it isn't even there. dropping his sword, sephiroth continues to walk straight through the flames and out of the village as if he's going on a casual stroll.

tifa crawled towards her father's lifeless body and her small fists latched onto his leather rancher vest. it was his favorite and what he wore when he wanted to look nice. all she could do was bury her face in his chest - well aware of how its familiar warmth was slowly beginning to fade while she sobbed. she mourned her father and everything she had ever known until that sadness started to quickly fade and grow into something else - hate. glancing up, tifa looked over at the sword her father's murderer had left behind through her tears. slowly, she reached out to it and grabbed its hilt before forcing herself to stand. from then on, all tifa felt was rage.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

when tifa lockhart wakes up again, she's in a hospital and very, very far from home.

' zangan left you with me as a favor. i won't lie: you were in pretty bad shape for a while missy. but you'll make it. i made sure of that. ' a broken sternum and a fractured spine that need to be reinforced with artificial bone and metal wiring is what tifa's told she came in with. the one who had saved her life was an older man that introduced himself as doctor sheiran. he was friendly and kind but couldn't answer any the questions that matter to her.

where was her father's body? did he get a proper burial?

❛ no! it's you that doesn't understand! he can't properly pass mt. nibel if he doesn't get a proper burial like mama did! ' tifa had screamed at dr. sheiran as she angrily snatched iv lines out of her arms and shoved away a nurse trying to gently guide her back onto the bed. ❛ i have to go home! if i don't bury him, who will?! i-i- ' tifa fell back onto the bed and buried her face in her hands before breaking out into hysterical sobs.

where's cloud? is he safe? what happened to her village? its people?

while she recovered, tifa stewed in her anger - the pain radiating in her chest a constant reminder of what she lost. it would simmer when she would flip through the old TV mounted in the patient area every morning and evening, listening intently for any mention of the destruction of nibelheim or sephiroth. every day it was the same: nothing. it was as if....nibelheim didn't even exist here - didn't matter. in a way, she figured it never had.

where was zangan and why the fuck did he just leave her here by herself?

dr. sheiran would often come and eat dinner with her, telling her stories about his past and how he ended up where he was now. tifa was beginning to learn that she was keeping him company just as much as he was for her. it was through these conversations that tifa ended up learning about his ties to zangan. ❛ wait, you mean you choose to live here? ' tifa asked in disbelief which earned her a chuckle from the good doctor before his tone turned slightly more somber. ❛ well my dear, there are worst things out there than boredom. ' tifa thinks back on the shooting star she saw and the terror that had come along with it before nodding in agreement and focusing on her food.

later when tifa's starts doing well enough to try walking again, a woman named marle ends up staying at the clinic after her own surgery. she's talkative and obviously a tad bit lonely but tifa admittedly enjoys her company over the new few weeks. it was a nice distraction and beat sitting in a bed alone replaying the worst night of her life on repeat. the morning that marle is discharged, she finally asked tifa about why the girl never had visitors and so tifa told her the truth: she had no one...at least not anymore.

the old woman frowned, made an audible ' tsk ' sound, and muttered something about ' how that wouldn't do ' before scribbling her number on the back of a piece of paper she dug out of her purse.

❛ well i'll start to visit you then and when you're discharged, call me won't you? i run a complex on the edge of the city - stargazer heights. ’ marle said with fierce pride. ❛ it's not one of those fancy high-rises in the city but it'll get you on your feet. will even give you a discount on the rent. ’

later when tifa takes a closer look at the slip of paper left behind does she realize it's actually a business card - just a rather...shoddy looking one. ' starwind and hawking: we'll take any job as long as you've got the cash ! ' was handwritten across it with a number hastily added at the bottom. there was a thick line under 'any' to drive the point home. it came off...desperate but tifa stared at it for a long time anyway before making a rash decision: pushing herself off the bed, she used her walker to help get to the reception area. the clinic was closed for the day and doctor sheiran had mentioned needing to go run some errands for a few hours.

good, she needed to do this in private.

tifa carefully typed out the number on the 'card' - still too acquainted with the older ( and vastly outdated ) tech from back home. she waited impatiently while the call connected and a voice that barely sounded older than her answered from the other end.

❛ starwind and hawking enterprises, what can i do for ya? ’

she hesitates for a second, debating her ask before clenching her fists and speaking to the stranger, ❛ your...card said you take any job right? how much is it to find and kill someone then? ’

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

this started off as a verse opener but i ended up wanting to touch on nibelheim's culture and how that shapes her just as much as the trauma of the nibelheim incident does. ex. see: how tifa acts as a teen, she's stubborn, a lot more confident and well assured of herself ( see the first 30 seconds of this video alone lol ). vs tifa as an adult where's more self-conscious and has a low opinion of herself ( :'( ) as you can see here.

i also wanted to show her anger over nibelheim because i feel it's been watered down in the remake series ( virgin 'i'm sick of this' from remake/rebirth vs chad 'i hate them all!' from the OG ). i also don't really like the reason traces of two pasts had her join AVALANCE ( it felt more because of becoming friends with jessie, biggs, and wedge / 'vibes' rather than out of revenge like she said she did in case of tifa ).

outlaw star stuff: this verse shares the same common lore with aeris' own verse. a lot of tifa's backstory expanded in a trace of two pasts is 'canon' here / just expanded on changed because of what i mentioned above. the major differences being that i. she is not from gaia and ii. the equivalent of the nibelheim incident happens around a year after sephiroth's succumbed to jenova when she's 16 instead of 15. he discovers a portion of jenova's body during a mission to shinra's space station resulting in [insert scene from a space horror movie] before disappearing into the galaxy in search for her remaining pieces.

i felt like since this isn't just limited to 'one' planet like in the game, jenova having parts spread out which looking for the galatic leyline would make more sense. one of those pieces, unfortunately, ended up nibelheim. because nibelheim is always doomed. i left whether cloud is dead or not intentionally vague in case i wanted to do something with that loose end later(tm). probably not an eco-terrorist but i feel like her being just a bartender doesn't feel right. we'll see.

#me: i'm just gonna write one paragraph. o n e paragraph #also me: what if i unpack that a lot of tifa's issues with not voicing her concerns come from her upbringing #and go into how ni/belheim was always doomed no matter the universe and-#tbt.#★ . ━ ❛ ic .

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ramshackle-ramblings · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter One: Arrival

In which Alise causes a fuss, and Mouse conspires to acquire a school uniform

Takes place just after Winter Break, before Book 5, and several weeks before the Harveston event. Because I started playing exactly with the Harveston event.

Crowley stared at the coffin gate on the floor, his face inscrutable behind his raven mask. Why did this keep happening? Was something wrong with the mirror? This was the third gate that had fallen, quite loudly, to the ground in the middle of the night.

He sighed, and went to push it into the corner, determined to deal with it properly in the morning, when he heard something inside and paused. It sounded like …

Yes, it was definitely screaming.

Alise awoke, or perhaps “came to” would be more apt, into darkness. Not the quiet expanse of a dark night, but an absolute absence of even the attempt at light. She reached up to check if her eyes were actually open, and her hand smacked hard into something in front of her.

“Whaa…?”

Her voice didn’t echo in the space. It seemed to be absorbed by the wall in front of her. She reached up more cautiously to feel around her. It felt like silk, lightly padded, over wood. It extended, with more padding, on both sides, and beneath her. She was in a box? She was in a silk lined, padded box?

She was in a coffin.

Alise felt her eyes widen in terror, and began to bang on the lid with both fists and as much force as she could muster in the confined space.

“Help! Help! I’m stuck! I’m in here! I’m alive!”

Her screams became increasingly more desperate as she tried to remember if coffins were air tight. The lid suddenly opened, and Alise found herself staring up at the hooked beak of a giant black bird. The timbre of her screams changed, and she aimed her next punch squarely at the beak. Her first connected and knocked the beak askew.

How do you knock a beak askew?

The shock of seeing the beak twist sharply sideways like it wasn’t connected to anything caught the next scream in her throat, and she realized the bird was talking.

“Now, now, that wasn’t necessary,” it said as it readjusted its mask. “There’s no need for violence. You are, after all, the one who came here.”

It extended a hand to help her up. A black-gloved, beringed, but very human, hand.

“I apologize that no one was here to greet you, but your arrival was rather unannounced.”

Alise eyed the hand suspiciously, but even as small as she was, there really wasn’t very much room to maneuver. She took the hand, and was practically lifted bodily out of the coffin. She barely had time to snatch her backpack out of the coffin before it slammed closed with a shudder, and she was set on her feet beside it by the strange man.

“Well then, welcome to Night Raven College! First things first, let’s get you into a dorm. Step forward, please!”

Even under the mask, the man looked irrationally proud of himself. He stared at Alise, and she stared back.

“Uh…. What?” she said after an uncomfortable minute.

“Oh my, yes, sometimes the trip can leave you a little confused. Step up to the Mirror, and he will sort you into a dorm!” He gestured grandly at a large, gilt-framed mirror floating ominously in the middle of the room.

“Uh…what?” Alise repeated. The glass of the mirror was a strange, swirling black, like ink dropped into liquid midnight.

“The Mirror,” the man repeated, gently pushing Alise toward the dais it floated above.

She took a step forward on her own, then another. As she stepped on the dais, a face began to solidify out of the swirling darkness of the mirror, rising from a twisting green fog.

But it wasn’t her face. This face was stark white, painted with twisting filigrees of black and pale gold like a Venetian mask.

Alise screamed.

The man screamed.

The Mirror screamed.

The strange man in the mask seemed to recover himself first.

“Well, now that we’ve taken care of that, do step forward so the Mirror can sort you into the proper dorm.”

Alise stared at him, and she could not have conjured up more horror and confusion had he suddenly sprouted two more heads. She opened her mouth to answer, but the Mirror spoke first.

“No,” it said simply.

“What?” the man objected, throwing his hands into the air.

“No,” the Mirror repeated.

“You cannot possibly mean that there’s been another mistake! She must - ” he broke off, and turned slowly toward Alise. He stared at her like he had never seen anything like her before. Alise set her shoulders and stared back defiantly. She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn’t going to let this strange bird-masked man inspect her like she was some kind of strange new bug without a fight.

“She,” the man repeated slowly. “You’re … a girl.”

“Yes,” Alise answered firmly. “I have been the entire time you’ve known me.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” the man said, dramatically wringing his hands. “This does present a problem. In the long term, anyway. In the short term, however, I think I have a solution! Oh, how clever I am!” he crowed, a self-satisfied smile suddenly on his face.

“This way, dear, this way!” The masked man took Alise’s shoulders and turned her toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” Alise dug the heels of her boots into the floor. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Who even are you? Where am I?” In the recent flurry, she hadn’t had a chance to ask questions, but she was asking them now, before anything else weird could happen.

“Why, you’re at Night Raven College, of course” the man responded, “And I am the ever-so-generous headmaster, Dire Crowley!” He seemed so proud of himself, and left Alise with the impression that she should have already known all of that.

“Right,” she said, as he got behind her and pushed her toward the door. “None of that means anything to me.”

“I will explain everything as we walk,” Crowley grunted, Alise leaning back to make herself harder to move. “If you would please walk. I’m sure that you are tired after your journey, and we would all like to get back to bed.”

She wasn’t tired. It had been barely ten in the morning when she and her classmates were lining up to go on a carriage ride in Central Park. She had been chatting with friends, not paying attention. The next carriage had pulled up and stopped, and she had grabbed the seat handle and stepped up to get in without looking. It wasn’t until the horror on her friend’s face registered that she turned her head and noticed that this was not the right carriage. She tried to scramble down, let go of the handle. She thought she was falling, and everything went black.

Crowley tried to push Alise forward again. She stepped to the side just as he did, causing him to stumble forward.

“All right, explain,” she said, walking toward the door.

Crowley caught up with her and began expounding upon the history of Night Raven College, which she only half listened to. None of what he was saying explained anything about strange carriages, waking up in coffins, or possessed masks sealed into mirrors.

“So we get to the crux of the problem, you see. Night Raven College is a boy’s school,” he finished with an overly-dramatic sigh just as they reached a statue lined walk. “Ah! But here we have the Great Seven!” He gestured grandly to the statues, split four on one side and three on the other. “This is the Fairest Queen,” he started, pointing to the first statue. Alise dutifully looked up at the statue as he was speaking. Maybe it was the way the moonlight hit it, but there was something awfully familiar about it.

“Next, we have the Queen of Hearts …. ” Crowley continued, pointing to the first statue on the other side. No, this was definitely familiar. Next came Maleficent, and Ursula, then Jafar …

“Hang on,” Alise said, slowing to a stop between the statues of Maleficent and Jafar. “Are you telling me that four - Four! - of your Great Seven are women, and, even though your magic mirror went rogue and kidnapped me, you are refusing me entry to this school? Because I’m a girl?”

“I don’t see what any of that has to do with this,” Crowley said, reaching for her hand. She danced backwards toward the statue of Maleficent, or, the Thorn Fairy, apparently.

“It has everything to do with everything!” She dodged around the statue as Crowley grabbed at her again, and clambered up onto the pedestal out of his reach. She inched her way back to the front to face him. “You’ve shaped your entire school around these seven individuals, four of whom are women, and you’re going to deny me entry? Do you honestly think that she - ” Alise slapped her hand against the statue. “Would turn me away, simply because I was uninvited?”

Alise pointed across to the Sea Witch. “Or that she would not work out some way for me to attend?” She picked Scar, the King of Beasts, for her next target. “That he would deny me a position based on an accident of birth?”

“She’s got you there, Crowley, on all points.” A boy had shown up from somewhere, Alise hadn’t seen where, wrapped in a fluffy pink robe and bunny slippers, with a bowl of popcorn.

Crowley turned around to answer, but was interrupted by the appearance of another boy.

“What’s going on here? Headmaster, what is this commotion?”

The boy with the popcorn pointed at Alise.

“That is a girl,” the new arrival declared.

“Yes,” Alise snapped at him. “We have established that. Several times.”

“Ah,” Crowley said slowly. “That, Mr. Rosehearts, is a prospective student.”

The boy turned to Crowley. “That is a girl,” he repeated incredulously.

“It doesn’t become less true the more you repeat it,” Alise declared. The boy in the bathrobe shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“She can’t be a student! There are rules!” Rosehearts shouted.

“What purpose does that rule serve?” Alise shouted down at him. She jabbed her finger toward Jafar. “Would he deny me a place here because of an outdated and useless rule?” She glanced at the Queen of Hearts, but couldn’t come up with a suitable argument.

“Another excellent point,” the boy in the bathrobe said around a mouthful of popcorn.

“Useless rule!” Rosehearts looked as if she had physically attacked him.

“Very well, very well, you can be a student!” Crowley declared, waving his hands in the air. “Do just get down from there!”

The boys made their feelings known simultaneously; “Hooray!” “Headmaster!”

Alise clambered down off statue and stood shivering at its base while Rosehearts continued to press his point. “Headmaster! You cannot allow yourself to be bullied into casting aside a rule upheld for more than a century by one half-dressed, shouting girl!”

“Hey!” Alise protested. While she may not have been dressed for standing around at midnight in the dead of winter, she was dressed.

Crowley shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rosehearts, the decision has been made, and she will be admitted. On a trial basis, of course. Should she prove to be too much of a distraction, she shall have to withdraw.”

“The decision! You just made it! You only made it so she would be quiet! That doesn’t count! That’s not a real decision!” Even in the moonlight, Alise could see his face flushing with anger.

“Nevertheless!” Crowley said, and gestured to Alise to follow him again. “Come along! It is well past time we got you tucked in at Ramshackle!”

“Well done!” The moonlight glinted off the bathrobed boy’s grin as she walked by, leaving her with the impression of very sharp fangs.

Rosehearts seethed silently, glaring at her or Crowley or both of them. She could practically feel the heat of his rage as she passed him.

“This way, my dear, this way! Goodnight, gentlemen!”

Crowley continued to lead Alise through the cold, now giving her instructions on how to be a student.

“You will, of course, need to get uniforms. Those are available in the school store. You can use the boy’s uniforms for now, but we will have to do something about girl’s uniforms, of course. I will take care of that, oh how kind I am! Textbooks, obviously, you will need to get those from the school store, also.”

“I’ll just charge all this to you then, shall I?” Alise interjected as Crowley continued to list all of the things she would need to buy.

“Yes, yes, of course. How generous of me!” He went on, praising herself, and paying no attention to her. “And here we are! Ramshackle Dorm!” He pushed the low wrought iron gate open with a grand gesture, and directed her attention to the house set a little way up a hill.

Alise was sure it had once been a grand building, three stories, with a wrap around porch and large windows. A tower stretched from one corner, and the remains of extensive gingerbreading filled every available space.

Now, though, it was … appropriately named. Someone had put some work into it, and the snow covered a lot of sins, but the missing shingles and lopsided porch were still glaringly evident.

“And you will, of course, need to find the best club for you, so it is very important that you try every one!” Crowley continued as he ushered Alise up the neatly shoveled, but broken, path.

“I’m sure we can rule out some of them.”

“Nonsense! You must try every club at least once! You might discover something you wouldn’t have tried otherwise!” Crowley rapped imperiously on the door to the dorm and stood beaming down at Alise with undeserved self-satisfaction. “At Night Raven College, we pride ourselves on having a well-rounded student body!”

A voice called out, tired and worn out, in response to the knocking “Just- Just a moment!”

And just a moment it was, a few minutes of shuffling and… shushing? Probably nothing… before the door slowly opened. A small figure, though still taller than Alise, presenting themselves with a worried smile.

It was another girl, though with much shorter brown and pink hair, dressed in a faded, clearly second-hand t-shirt and pajama pants haphazardly paired.

“Oooohh… Headmaster… How… How nice to see you.” They did not sound very thrilled. “Can I uhm… Help you with anything? Especially so late at night?” They asked, before turning their attention to Alise. Their eyes widening in shock.

Why was there a child accompanying Crowley? Especially one that, they assumed, was maybe 12 or 13 judging by the size of the child… And who would have allowed a child to dress like that in this weather?

Actually no, the biggest fear here was why Crowley had a child with him.

“Mouse! I have brought you a new student! She just enrolled, and she will start classes tomorrow. Aaaahhhh… ” His voice trailed away as he stared at the girl. She stared back at him, one eyebrow raised.

She let the very uncomfortable silence stretch out before saying; “You don’t know my name.”

She turned to Mouse, and the very large grin on the very small girl positively dripped mischief. “I’m Alise.”

Mouse remained silent as Crowley spoke, offering Alise a small wave as she introduced herself.

“Good! Introductions have been made!” Crowley turned to go, then turned back to Mouse. “Our deal still stands, Mouse. No one must know!” He swirled his cape around him dramatically and… did not disappear. Just walked off down the path.

Alise watched him for a little while before turning back to Mouse with a shrug.

Mouse let out a breath as they watched the bird man leave, ushering Alise inside, “Alise, yes? Feel free to call me Mouse, or whatever you want I suppose… Uhm…” Mouse turned to look down the hallway towards the kitchen, light spilling out into the hallway. “There’s some… Some tea in the kitchen, or I can show you where one of the cleaner bathrooms are to take a shower… I need to figure out whose room you can take for the time being…” Partway through, Mouse started muttering more to themselves than speaking to Alise. “Oh, I hope Tsunotaro won’t mind the interruption…” They closed the door on Crowley’s shrinking figure.

“Tea would be great,” Alise answered, dropping her backpack unceremoniously on the floor inside the door, and stooping to remove her boots. She ended up easily two inches shorter than she already was once she had succeeded. “I don’t want to put anyone out of their bed. I’m sure we can figure that out when normal people are awake. I’ll make do for tonight,” she gestured at the couch in the lounge as she passed it on her way to the kitchen.

Mouse followed, shaking their head in response “O-oh! No! It’ll just… It’s just us two and Grim. The other rooms are uhm… Glorified guest rooms? I guess?”

Inside the kitchen, which had seen better days, another figure sat at the island in the middle, staring at the two in surprise as he held a chipped teacup in his hands. He was much taller than both Alise and Mouse, with ebony hair and green cat-like eyes. He had horns as well, somehow darker than his hair. Dressed in a sort of uniform, almost military in style. “Ah,” he said simply, blinking at the smaller human before getting up from his seat. “I’ll grab another cup.”

Mouse sighed again, nodding to the figure, “Thank you Tsunotaro…”

Alise paused in the doorway, but only briefly.

“You must be Grim?” She hazarded as she clambered onto one of the stools across from where the very, absurdly, unreasonably tall man had been. She swung her socked feet idly, hands folded politely in her lap, as she watched him acquire another teacup.

He chuckled, along with Mouse as the latter took their seat on the stool next to his - a teacup already in place for them there.

“No.” He responded as he approached the cabinets and opened them, fetching a teacup from the top shelves. “That would be the Child of Man’s beast, who is currently asleep upstairs. But, you may call me whatever you wish.”

He moved to place the teacup in front of Alise, taking the liberty of pouring tea for her as well.

Mouse took advantage of the silence to explain. “Tsunotaro, here, is from the Diasom- Dia-”

“Diasomnia”

“Thank you. The Diasomnia dorm. He just visits us late at night, like tonight.”

“I see,” Alise lied. “I’m Alise. And, uh, I guess I live here now? Or something?”

“For the time being.” Mouse confirmed, taking a sip of their tea. “I'm… Shocked though. Not to be rude but… How old are you, hun?” Mouse asked, slipping into their mom friend antics.

Tsunotaro hummed at Mouse’s question, knowing it was aimed at Alise as he placed the teapot down. Moving back to his place at the island and huffing as he felt Mouse lean all of their weight onto him as soon as he sat down. Though he didn’t seem to mind it at all actually… But he really wanted to hold Chip with both hands…

Alise looked hard at Mouse. She wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by any of that.

“15,” she answered after a minute.

Mouse blinked, and made a small, surprised sound. They took another sip from their tea, and then; “I had thought you were much younger than that, I apologize…”

Alise spared a glance for the Horned One, who seemed to be trying to figure out how to both cradle his teacup in both hands, and not disturb the Mouse-attachment he had newly acquired.

“Which seems to be plenty old enough to be kidnapped by a magic mirror and whisked off to what is apparently a prep school for demons, run by a mad man, and sponsored by Maleficent and Scar.” There was a hard edge to her voice as she continued, turning her attention back to Mouse.

“I wouldn’t say you’re exactly wrong about that,” Mouse let out a nervous laugh. They sat up straight at the sound of Maleficent’s and Scar’s name, eyes wide. Tsunotaro seemed shocked as well – or maybe more confused.

“Sponsored by who?” Tsunotaro asked, taking his new found freedom to cradle his teacup gently. Looking over at Alise.

“Maleficent and Scar,” Alise repeated. “I guess we call them ‘The Thorn Fairy’ and 'The King of Beasts’ now. The rest of the crew, too,” Alise laughed. “I didn’t really listen when Crowley was expounding on them all. I just really, really hoped that whatever the story is, it was similar enough to back up my point.” Alise shrugged and sipped her tea. “I guess it was.”

Tsunotaro nodded, the names clicking in his mind. “Ah, right. The Child of Man and I have talked about them.” He hummed, looking over at Mouse before looking back at Alise.

“If it should enlighten you, they are collectively the Great Seven - prominent figures in Twisted Wonderland’s history and the figures Night Raven College strives to replicate.” He started to explain, before Mouse cut in.

“Each of the main dorms are based off one their main attributes. Like Tsunotaro’s dorm is based off Mal- Er… The Thorn Fairy’s nobility. And Octavinelle’s is based off the Sea Witch’s generosity.”

“Not that the Sea Witch was very generous in your world, from what I’ve heard.” The tall man commented, before taking a sip of his tea.

“She was, for certain values of 'generous’,” Alise chuckled.

Tsunotaro chuckled in turn as Mouse rolled their eyes, reaching up and tugging on his horn. In response he simply made a face, before sitting back up. “On the topic of your world’s tales, I do believe you will enjoy that Mouse has named this teacup I hold after a character in one of them.”

As he spoke, he tilted his hands towards Alise to present the slightly damaged cup to her. Mouse stumbled over their words as their cheeks turned a dark shade of red.

Alise looked curiously at the teacup, and then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, it’s Chip!” she managed to gasp between peals of laughter.

He smiled, pleasantly amused at Alise’s response as he withdrew the cup, taking a sip. “Yes, and it is the Child of Man’s favorite cup I should add.” The way he said it was more like a brag than another fact. It earned him another tug of the horn from Mouse, accompanied by a scolding “Quiet you!” Instead of making a face he laughed, different from the polite chuckles he’d offered so far, this was a hearty one coming from his chest.

Alise smiled in return. “Of course it is. Chip is a magnificent character. In addition to being just adorable, he saves Belle when she gets locked in the basement.”

“Ah, he saves someone?” He asked, looking shocked and turning towards Mouse. “You did not tell me that…”

Mouse looked away, begrudgingly taking a sip of their tea before realizing it was empty. “Uhm… Well… I was truthfully just giving you a synopsis of the tales, and not the full context stories of them…”

"He does, yeah. He stows away in her bag, and then opens the door for her.” Alise swirled her tea in her cup. “He just shows up in the one version, though.”

She paused for a minute, staring into her cup.

“But … Uh … So, what the ever loving fuck just happened to me? Like, we were going on a Christmas carriage ride in Central Park, and then I was trapped in a coffin. Is this …. Normal?”

“I see…” Tsunotaro hummed, nodding along before placing the cup down and shaking his head. He said nothing more.

Instead, Mouse spoke up again, offering Alise a small, comforting smile. “I… Well, I doubt it’s normal. Seeing as we’re the uh…” They cleared their throat, “Seeing as we’re two of the three students who are sorted into Ramshackle…”

Tsunotaro piped in “There is also the matter of you and Mouse both not getting your acceptance letters into the school.”

“Yeah, my acceptance letter seems to have come in the form of a spooky funerary carriage. I don’t know what Mouse’s looked like.”

"I uh… Don’t actually… Remember…” Mouse muttered, looking away from the two before looking back at Alise. “But I assume I was in the same situation as you.”

Alise narrowed her eyes at Mouse. She clearly didn’t believe them, but then continued her rant. “And despite the obvious kidnapping, I still had to argue about being thrown out just because I’m a girl.“ She stopped, and looked at Mouse, confused. "Why did Crowley make such a fuss about me, when you’re already here? What’s the difference between one girl or two?”

Mouse went silent, Tsunotaro also was quiet. The slow tapping of rain started on the windows, building suddenly. Lightning flashed outside the window, and thunder roared with it. Mouse jumped, looking at the window before reaching over and grabbing one of his hands and squeezing.

“Ah yes. There is also that situation, isn’t there,” Tsunotaro hissed out, a dangerous air around him and a glare aimed at no one specific in the room.

The tension in the room did not escape Alise’s notice. “So this situation … ?” she prompted.

“Oh yeah uhm…” Mouse started, rubbing their thumb over Tsunotaro’s hand, trying desperately to calm the storm in an indirect way. “You see it's… How do I explain it…”

They took a deep breath, biting at their lip as they tried to find a way to explain it. Tsunotaro took a deep breath at the same time as Mouse. Smoke blew out of his nose and the corners of his mouth.

“I'm… Not a girl, when I’m in the presence of… Other students you could say. It was an… Agreement, with Headmaster Crowley, that I made that uhm…” another deep breath, and another thunder strike, “That if any of the students find out, that I’m not also a boy… Then… Then both me and Grim get expelled…”

Alise’s expression darkened. Anger poured from her like fog roiling in from the ocean, cold and dark and enveloping everything around it in a heavy, blinding blanket. Unlike Tsunotaro, she didn’t literally smoke, but the mood in the room had taken a decidedly violent turn.

“That. Fucker.” Alise said slowly and quietly. Her tone had taken a sharp turn, like icicles on the edge of a building. “That bird faced, self-important, cowardly, absolute fuck stick.” Her tirade would probably have been a great deal more threatening, had she not been trying to maneuver herself off the stool at the same time, which involved an unfortunate amount of stretching toward the ground and twisting awkwardly around.

But when she finally managed to find the floor, she took off toward the door at a run with murder writ clear on her face.

“Alise!” Mouse called after her, sliding off their own stool to try and grab the smaller child. “Alise, wait! I know you’re mad but… But wait until Tsunotaro’s calmed down before you run out there!” They weren’t arguing against the bird murder. To be fair, they weren’t sure if there was even a person who liked Crowley, except for maybe Kalim or Vargas - but those two are a bit… On the trusting side. Truthfully, Mouse was more worried about Alise getting caught up in the storm outside being caused by Tsunotaro’s own - more hidden - ire.

“Look… You can shout and scream at him all you want after class tomorrow. How about we set you up in the shower, to help calm down for now?” They tried suggesting, trying to offer a smile.

Alise had stopped at the door to put her boots on.

“I’m not going to shout at him,” she hissed, shaking with fury as she fumbled with the laces. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to tear that stupid beak off his face and shove it down his throat until he chokes to death on his own vomit.” It was a chillingly specific threat.

Mouse followed them, deciding it better to stand in front of the door. Shivering as the cold wrapped around them through the small gaps in the door.

“And you can do that tomorrow. You just arrived, Alise, try and listen to me for just a moment - please?” They reasoned again. “You're… You’re not the only person who’s angry about it, trust me. But we…” They paused, thinking over their words for a few seconds before continuing. “But you and I are in an entirely new world from our own, where everyone else seems to have magic while we don’t. If you… If you rush in there, Alise, you’ll have a disadvantage.”

Alise shrieked in frustration, rivaling the building thunder in her anger. She flung the boot in her hand into the lounge, where it ricochetted off the side of the couch and landed in a defeated heap. Mouse flinched at the scream and then the boot being thrown. The force of the throw knocked Alise off her own feet, and she landed, equally crumpled, on the floor in front of Mouse.

“I will kill him,” she assured the (slightly) taller human. “I just can’t get that stupid boot on.”

Looking down at Alise before getting onto their knees and wrapping their arms around the (slightly) smaller human, “It’s okay… Just… Kill him tomorrow when you’re calmer…” Mouse reassured, still not against something happening to Crowley.

Tsunotaro watched from the kitchen, not sure how he could interject - and truthfully not wanting to. He would have even offered to help… If he knew Mouse wouldn’t have lectured him, which they absolutely would have.

“Just say the word,” Alise muttered, her voice muffled by the hug. “And I will feed him his own liver.”

Something seemed to filter through her rage, and she pulled back. “Your horny friend - is he smoking? Like, emitting smoke?”

Mouse nodded, pulling away in turn before glancing over at Tsunotaro, laughing nervously. “Oh uh, yeah… He does that sometimes. Being a dragon and all…” Mouse paused before adding, “One of the reasons why he’s not allowed to use magic inside Ramshackle, too worried he might burn it down…”

“I can hear you, you know.” Tsunotaro snapped, though his voice wasn’t too harsh - being aimed at Mouse. His annoyance was still palpable as he stood and walked over to the two girls on the floor. He decided to join them, not caring if he might now be blocking the way for either of them.

Alise peered at him. “I’ve never met a dragon,” she admitted, “but I imagined more … ” she waved one hand vaguely. “Scales.”

She was still breathing hard from adrenaline, and her voice was still pitched a little too high, but she was clearly trying, if awkwardly, to turn the mood around.

“Ah, I do have them.” He chuckled, that seeming to have lightened his mood - if the now softening sound of rain was anything to go by - as he lifted his hand and brushed his bangs back, giving Alise a peek at the scales on his forehead. “But it’s easier to be among you humans in a similar form. Though, I could also summon my tail for you if my appearance is still not to your liking.”

Mouse laughed, though it’s still a bit forced, shaking their head. “It’s rude to assume all dragons are built the same, you know.”

Alise flashed a grin. “That’s true. You just see a couple pictures in books, and start to make assumptions.” She nodded her head apologetically to Tsunotaro. “I shall make fewer ones about your dragonocity in the future. And don’t change yourself on my account.” She started to say something else, but bit it back.

Mouse and Tsunotaro both chuckled, Tsunotaro brushing his bangs back over his scales to cover them.

“Quite alright, second Child of Man. I appreciate the sentiment.” He spoke, offering a smile.

It was Mouse’s turn to speak, standing up as they did so. “Thank you, Alise. But I think we both should be getting to bed and Tsunotaro should be getting back to his dorm, I’m certain that those two are out looking for him now.”

Tsunotaro hummed, nodding and standing up in turn. Alise nodded and pulled her remaining boot off.

“Actually Tsunotaro, could I talk to you about something before you leave?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Of course.”

“Sweet, let me set up Alise first, and I’ll come back down.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s been kind of a long afternoon. Also, um, I don’t have any pajamas.” Alise shrugged apologetically.

“Oh that’s fine, I stole Ace’s a while back - you can steal his room and his pajamas!” Mouse half-joked before Tsunotaro cut in, completely serious.

“I can bring you one of Lilia’s pajamas that he no longer wears, so that you don’t have to worry about the clothes being too big on you.”

Mouse stoped, blinking up at Tsunotaro before shrugging. “Or we can steal Lilia’s - add to the collection I suppose.”

Alise shrugged. “I am generally swimming in any clothes I borrow. Unless I am borrowing clothes from a twelve year old. So, honestly, it probably makes very little difference.”

“Then I will fetch you some of his garments, I will be back momentarily.” He hummed, offering a smile before he just… POPS… Well not literally, but he was gone and instead there seemed to be a bunch of magical green fireflies roaming where he once was.

Mouse shook their head, smiling to themselves for a moment before ushering Alise towards the living area and then the stairs “Well, let’s get you settled while he gets you your new pajamas.”

“Today has had a high bar for weird, but that might actually be the weirdest thing today,” Alise let herself be steered upstairs, craning her neck around Mouse to watch the fireflies fade.

“Oh… No it’ll get weirder…” Mouse promised idly as they led her down the hall. They pointed out their own room when they passed it.

“That’s my room, Grim is currently sleeping in there. But he may sleep in your room as well when he realizes you live here, so just a warning…”

They kept walking however, like that’s just a normal thing. They stopped in front of a door further down the hall and opened it to reveal a fairly clean room, with just a little bit of clutter. The room is definitely more… Stylized… Having been claimed originally by this person that Mouse keppt referring to as “Ace.” The room was mainly red and card themed, but also… There were just a lot of random card packs on the night stand.

Alise hesitated in the doorway. The room was clearly used often. But she was reasonably sure Mouse wouldn’t offer her the room if this Ace would be mad about it.

“You mentioned a shower, too? I think I wouldn’t mind washing the coffin dust off.” She took off her jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

“Oh of course!” Mouse nodded, turning to lead them back down the hall.

“It’s this way, or you can use the master bathroom in my room instead.” They offered, genuine in it as well.

“This is fine,” Alise shook her head gratefully for the offer.

“Alright, I’ll bring up the pajamas when Tsunotaro brings them over for you.” Mouse spoke, leading Alise to the currently cleanest (besides their own) bathroom, and then heading downstairs

Alise spent some time poking around the bathroom, reading the labels on bottles and smelling soaps, opening drawers and cupboards. Finally she stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor, and climbed into the shower. She just stood there, letting the water pour over her, slowly turning it up to as hot as she could stand.

It had been … a day. A long, confusing, absurd day, full, apparently, of magic and dragons and Disney villains. Nothing that had happened made any sense at all. It was like she had suddenly become a character in an anime. That was worrying.

Unless she got Magical Girl powers out of it, maybe. It would be kind of cool if she got a glitter-infused transformation scene out of it.

Mouse sighed as they walked down the stairs before falling into a heap on the ground at the bottom, hiding their face in their hands as they thought.

Alise… Alise seems like a sweet, energetic girl. And Mouse knew that none of this was her fault.

But Alise wasn’t why they were upset.

It was fucking Crowley.

God, if Alise and Tsunotaro hadn’t been present in the vicinity, Mouse knew full well that they wouldn’t have a voice tomorrow from the rage bubbling up inside. But at least Alise was able to be a girl, instead of hiding her identity. Not that Mouse was a girl to begin with, but what are labels when you have boobs I guess.

Sometimes Mouse wished that they could overblot as well.

They felt a hand land on their head, and looked up, finding Tsunotaro looking down at them and petting the top of their head, pajamas in his other arm. Mouse offered him a smile - one they both knew was fake - as he lowered himself onto his knees in front of them, keeping the clothes in his lap as he continued to pet Mouse.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” He asked, eyes softening just slightly.

Mouse chuckled, looking over to the window looking into the social room. “What’s there to talk about? Crowley fucking everything up again and leaving me to pick up his mess like some servant? Or maybe how Alise might never make it back home like me?” They looked back at Tsunotaro, a sob ripping at their throat. “I barely make enough to support me and Grim comfortably - how in the world could I add another person to that?”

“I could hel-”

They shook their head, interrupting him mid thought. “You and Kalim and Azul, and honestly everyone else I know, help me enough as is, I couldn’t possibly ask for more…”

Tsunotaro watched Mouse, a frown pulling at his lips and smoke blowing out of his nose. A common argument between the two, but one that neither were willing to budge on.

Mouse looked down, wiping at their eyes before grabbing his hand on their head and playing with it.

“But… If I could ask another favor?”

His ears perked up at their words. “Yes, of course, anything you wish for.”

Mouse smiled nervously, letting go of his hand to sneak the clothes from his lap into theirs.

“Do you think Lilia could let Alise borrow one of his uniforms?”

Tsunotaro paused. Thinking before smiling down at them.

“Of course, I will bring them over tomorrow morning.”

Mouse’s smile turned genuine, leaning forward and hugging him.

“Thank you, Tsunotaro.”

He froze, before quickly relaxing and hugging them back.

“Of course, Child of Man.”

And with that, he was gone. Fireflies taking his place and flying around Mouse. They sighed, sitting on the ground for a couple moments before standing up and walking up the stairs to knock on the bathroom door.

“Alise!?” Mouse called out, pressing against the door lightly. “I have the clothes, is it okay to come in and leave them there for you?”

“Sure,” Alise shouted through the door.

Mouse opened the door, placing the clothes on the sink counter. “Your clothes are right here, I’m gonna go ahead and go to bed - but if you need anything just come get me or ask the ghosts.” Mouse said the last part like it was perfectly normal before leaving the bathroom and heading to their own bedroom.

Mouse sighed once they were in their bedroom, looking down at a very conked out Grim. Reaching down to rub at his head before slipping into the bed and laying her head down.

Tomorrow…

They had a bad feeling about tomorrow

Alise paused while washing her hair, head and hands full of soap.

Ghosts? That … There weren’t really ghosts … Were there?

That seemed like a problem for future Alise, though. Present Alise still had a head full of shampoo.

The provided pajamas were a bit too big, which was generally fine. Whoever had provided them was probably six inches taller than her, at least - who wasn’t? - and she had to keep pulling the legs up or they flopped around like silly plaid duck feet. She walked around in a small circle in the bathroom when the thought occurred to her, quacking quietly to herself and giggling.

After a minute she sighed and, gathering her clothes in her arms, opened the bathroom door. The house was quiet, the warmth and light of the bathroom spilled from behind her, sucked into the dark length of the hallway. Here, now, in the dark hours of the morning, the wind moaning distantly outside, Alise could believe the house was haunted. She carefully, slowly, took a step forward. Then another. And then ran as fast as she could to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it panting. The room was cozy and lived in, and felt markedly less haunted than the hallway had. Still, she launched herself at the bed, pulling the blankets up over her head.

#disney twst #twst #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland #fanfic #twst oc #twst original character #twst disney #twst wonderland #malleus draconia #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus #disney twisted wonderland

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manias-wordcount · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request Mishima from persona 5? Maybe the reader is very touchy with him, hugging and making flirty jokes with him and he’s kind of confused like: “is this a friend thing or?” ALSO IF MISHIMA SUBCONSCIOUSLY DOES SIMILAR THINGS (making lunches and other nice things) AND READER FEELS THE EXACT SAME WAY???? And they somehow tell each other how they felt???? Please and thank you I have brainrot

Hand in Hand (Yuuki Mishima x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗵 𝗴𝗼𝗱

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

“Yuuki, Come on!”

Things get a little complicated for him when it comes to you. They always have.

“You said you were going to eat lunch with me! You promised!”

On one hand, he tries to chalk this up to him not being used to being treated like this. It’s like he spent his entire life being bullied, used, or ignored. He can’t how many beatings he has taken. How many times he’s been overlooked. How many times he’s been taken advantage of just so someone else can succeed. It seemed so natural. Like a part of his life that he could never escape from. A part of his identity that he’ll never leave behind- no matter how hard he tries.

It seemed like he was going to spend every day looking over his shoulder. Knowing that everyone who ever wants to be with him will want something from him. Knowing that all eyes that are looking for a punching bag will eventually land on him. And knowing that there will be so, so many people who will never know that this is happening. Because they refuse to acknowledge that it exists. That he exists. But then he started high school.

�� He starts over- and he meets you

And that leads him to his other hand. That leads him to you, you, you

First year: you walk in a week late from when classes start. And like everyone else, you had his attention captured. How could he not be entranced by the new student from a foreign country- not quite used to Japanese customs with a slight accent and all. But then you’re sat at the empty desk right next to him. And he’s tasked with showing you around and sharing his materials until you’re caught up to speed. And you cling to him.

And he clings to you.

And his second year has already started. But you’re still here. You’re still talking to him. You’re still hanging around him. And right now? You’re waiting impatiently by his desk after having called his name more than five times since he’s too distracted with his own thoughts of you to realize the real this is oh-so-close. Until now, that is.

“Don’t worry, I’m coming. I didn’t forget.” He answers you easily once he’s regained his focus. His eyes train themselves on you and you look the same as you always do. Always the prettiest girl in Shujin. Always the prettiest girl he’s ever known. And so, a light smile comes across his face as his hand reaches out to ruffle your hair. It’s instinctive. Almost as instinctive as the way your face twists up in that cute pout of yours and you swat his hand away. But how could he fight it? How could he fight it when he’s talking with, dealing with, being with you. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“Mmm,” You hum absently, adverting your gaze as if you’re thinking hard about something. In the meantime, he rises from his desk and shoots you a knowing look that you pretend to ignore. Instead, you offer to draw out your hum a second longer. And then another. And another. And one for good measure. As if he and all the other students still lurking around the two of you don’t already know what you’re about to say. “Apologies not accepted: I want a hug.”

It’s almost uncanny how different you’ve made his life.

“You’ll get one later. Come on.” He says, reaching for the two homemade bento boxes in your hand. You let him take them from your grip with no complaint, and he balances them in on hand as he begins to walk past you and towards the door. You waste no time at all jogging after him once he’s more than a couple of paces away. And by the time you’re by his side, he’s ready for it. The feeling of your hand grabbing his. And his more than willingness to thread his fingers between yours. “Let’s go eat first.”

“Mmm…okay!”

You’re cheering. You’re happy. You’re smiling at him. You’re more than content with being led by the hand, and he takes you both to your usual lunch spot. You always are. Always grabbing his hand. Always asking for hugs. Always kissing his cheek. Always being close. To you, it must be second nature. To be so warm. To be so inviting. To be so sweet. He wonders if you know. He wonders if you know how people look at the two of you when you pass by, hand in hand as you laugh that sweet little laugh of yours. He wonders if you know how people talk about you when you throw your arm on his shoulders when he’s at volleyball practice and tell him that you’re rooting for him- no matter what happens. He wonders. He wonders if you know.

He wonders if you know how you make him feel.

He wonders if you know how you make him think

Right now, you’re swinging your arm. It’s one connected to the hand that you share with him. So by extension, he’s swinging his arm too. And in the back of his mind, some part of him can’t help but wonder if everything you do to him is because that’s just who you are. Never for a moment does he ever think about you using him. It pains him too much. Because he knows he wouldn’t be able to stand it if it was you. Because he knows that just not you. But that doesn’t make things easy for him. That doesn’t make things easy for him at all.

Because on the one hand, you’re you. You don’t know all the Japanese customs. You don’t know what all your gestures mean. All the weight it carries. How only certain actions are reserved for couples. How only certain actions are only reserved for private. It’s not your culture. It’s not what you grew up with. And he can’t blame you. He can’t blame you for not knowing all these things. Even if they make his heart race out of his chest like no one has ever done before.

But on the other hand…maybe you do.

Maybe you do know. Maybe you know exactly what you’re doing, and when you’re doing it. And that’s what makes things so complicated. That’s what makes you so complicated. And sure, over his time with you, he’s been able to more easily read you. He likes to think he knows what most of your jokes mean by now. He likes to think he can tell each and every time you want a hug or when you want to hold his hand. He even likes to think he can predict what exactly he has to do to get you to give him a kiss on the cheek. And spoiler alert: it’s not a lot. Not when it comes to you, at least.

So he wants to ask you.

He wants to ask you if your hugs mean what he wants them to mean. He wants to ask if you smile like that only for him. He wants to ask if you hold other boys' hands like this too. If you kiss other people’s cheeks with as much frequency. If you try to be close to others. Close to others like he wants to be close to you. Like he needs to be close to you.

But he can’t. He can’t

It hasn’t been long since he escaped the hole he used to reside in. The hole you helped him escape from. Even though he swears to himself that he’ll never tell you how bad it was. But he’s spent his life being nothing but a nobody. A pawn. A punching bag. A faceless, nameless nobody in the crowd. And he doesn’t want that anymore. He doesn’t. So maybe he’s scared. Maybe he’s too scared. Of returning to how things were. Of waking up to see things in shades of gray once more. Of having you disappear from his life. From his happiness. Forever. But he can’t help it. Just like he can’t ask you.

Just like he can’t lose you.

So for now, he’s more than happy to turn to look at you with a smile, knowing that you’ll give him the biggest smile back he can muster. He’s more than happy to slow his steps a little more than he would in the past if it means that you’ll be able to match his stride more easily. And he’s more than happy to take your hand and give it a squeeze. Knowing that it’s his to hold.

And yours to squeeze back.

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dumfanting · 2 years ago

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Exile

AO3 Link

Rating: T, Teen and up

Warnings: angst, whump, fistfights, head injury, readers gender unspecified

Word Count: 2025

I recently heard Taylor Swifts “Exile” and I’m obsessed, this just happened to pop up while I was listening on loop earlier today.

Reader/ Hunter

Reader/ Crosshair

“I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

————

As you stand in the open hatchway of The Marauder, helpless to do anything but watch as Hunter falls just out of reach, the galaxy seems to stand still. You’re thinly aware of Omega, standing just behind you, crying out his name, and someone, you think it’s Echo, pulling the two of you back inside and shutting the hatch. Tech flies away, following Hunter’s order sent through the ships comm channel, but you barely notice. Your body has gone numb, and the ringing in your ears is deafening.

—

The time that passed between then and now, as you and the others are riding a lift platform up into the training sim room, is a blur. All you remember is insisting alongside Omega that you go back for Hunter. The planning, travel, and everything else after that is a complete mystery to you.

You feel a pit form in your gut, and the higher up the platform takes you, the heavier that pit feels.

You know Crosshair is waiting up there. It’ll be the closest you’ve been to him since you all separated, and you have no idea what to expect from him. You don’t think he’d hurt any of you, but you didn’t expect him to do any of the other things he had since Order 66 was given.

Above all, you’re just praying to the Maker that Hunter is okay.

There’s suddenly a smaller hand firmly gripping your own. Omega is trembling too.

—

You certainly weren’t expecting Crosshair to kill his entire squad, Imperials or not, and when the last of them falls lifeless to the floor, you tear your eyes away from their bodies and focus instead on Hunter, who Crosshair has freed and pushed towards the group.

Hunter stumbles, but you quickly step in and catch him, steadying him on his feet. He stares at you for a split second before pulling you into a crushing embrace, which you mirror. The two of you desperately cling to one another, then he takes a single step back.

You cup the tattooed side of his face and ask in a shaky voice, “are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Hunter shakes his head and insists that he’s fine. You let out a small sob of relief, which is quickly cut off when he abruptly pulls you close and kisses you deeply.

You hear Crosshair curse loudly at his brother, you pull away and turn to face him just in time to see him marching towards the two of you, a twist of jealousy and anger on his face.

“Cross, wait,” you say, but he pushes right past you and punches Hunter in the mouth without even acknowledging your presence. Hunter, caught off guard, stumbles backwards into Wrecker.

You, without thinking, dash in front of Hunter at just the wrong moment, and Crosshair’s second swing connects with the side of your head.

The last thing you see before hitting the ground is the look of shock and confusion on his face.

—

More time has passed, you once again have no idea how much, and when you come ‘round you’re deeply confused to find yourself and the others back in Nala Se’s private entrance to her lab, but you barely recognize the place. The lights are out, and it looks like a starship had taken a few shots at the building.

You gingerly sit up, leaning back against a wall and holding your hand over the now swollen knot where Crosshair had accidentally struck you, hissing softly in pain.

“Hunter!” you hear Omega say, bringing everyone’s focus to you regaining consciousness.

Hunter rushes over and carefully pulls you up, then has you lean into his shoulder when you sway on your feet. With your point of view changed, you’re able to catch Crosshair’s eye, and he tries to move toward you, but Wrecker steps into his path, effectively blocking him from you.

You can tell Crosshair is trying to say something to you, but the ringing in your ears, coupled with a sudden loud groan from the wrecked structure around you all, drowns out his words. You can see the regret in his eyes, however.

“W-what happened?” you ask.

Hunter immediately launches into an angry tirade about how Crosshair had struck you, but you shake your head, the action making you extremely dizzy. You stumble again and wind up leaning more heavily into Hunter.

“I’m aware of that,” you say, then gesture around yourself. “I mean, what happened here?”

“The Empire used a few of their starships to blast Tipoca City apart,” Omega says, moving to stand on your other side and gripping your hand again.

“Why does that not surprise me?” you mutter to yourself. You carefully look around again, then continue speaking. “And we aren’t drowned yet because…?” you say, trailing off.

“We managed to get back here before the majority of the damage was dealt. Wrecker carried you while you were unconscious,” Tech says, shooting a glare at Crosshair. “We haven't drowned yet because I’ve just figured out how to get out of here,” he continues. He begins to tell you and the others how you’ll be able to float back to the surface in the remaining undamaged pods in the room.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually the pods are cleared and the group manages to pack themselves inside. Wrecker has a pod to himself, Tech and Echo are doubled up in another, and after some arguing, Hunter and Omega are in a third, which leaves you alone with Crosshair in the last pod.

Once the two of you are sealed away, all of your focus is on Crosshair. You haven’t gotten a good look at him yet, and when you reach up to gently brush your fingertip across the burn on his head, he flinches away. You meet his eyes, but he can’t look at you for more than a few seconds without glancing at the knot he left on your temple and looking away in shame.

You cautiously take one of his hands and he softly says your name.

“Hunter,” he says, barely audible. “Why?”

You sigh, then gently grip his jaw with your free hand, making him look you in the eye. “You know why, Cross. You left. You left and it broke me, and he was there to pick up the pieces,” you say, your voice soft but firm.

“I never meant-,” he starts, but you cut him off.

“We need to save oxygen,” you say.

Seconds later, at Hunter's command, everyone who has one slips their helmets back on, a hovering droid you didn’t notice before releases the pods, and almost immediately you are all steadily shooting back up to the surface.

You know it wouldn’t be a smooth trip; each bump and knock of debris against your pod would jerk it around, and you felt nausea threaten to overwhelm you. After bouncing off of a particularly large chunk of twisted duracrete and metal, the pod suddenly jerks to one side, and you would have smacked your head against the glass if Crosshair hadn’t suddenly pulled you close to him, shielding your head with his chest and arms.

He couldn’t keep ahold of you like that forever though, and when your pod bumped against one of the others, you came loose and hit your already injured temple on the thick glass, losing consciousness again.

—

You think you’re dreaming at first. Why else would there be a clear, sunny sky over Kamino?

You blink a few times, squinting against the unusually harsh light, and carefully sit up again. Omega, at your side once more, looks immensely relieved and calls over her shoulder that you’re awake again.

“Where are we, Meg?” you ask in a whisper.

“The landing pad where we came in, back with the ship,” she says. You breathe a thank-you, then slouch forward, staring at the ground and hoping the ringing in your ears would stop soon. You feel the ground vibrate, ever so slightly, underneath you, and know that someone is approaching. You cautiously look up and see Hunter crouched over you, blocking the sun from your eyes, with Echo, Tech, and Wrecker not far behind him.

You immediately notice who’s missing, and sit up straighter before attempting to get to your feet. Hunter’s firm hands on your shoulders hold you down however, preventing you from getting up.

“Cross?” You ask weakly. “Did he make it?”

Hunter sighs, but nods, then tells Tech to prepare the ship for takeoff. As Tech and the others reboard, Hunter carefully pulls you to your feet. You manage to keep your balance this time, and after glancing around, you see Crosshair standing at the far opposite side of the platform. Confused, you call out his name.

He glances over his shoulder at you, sees Hunter with you, then looks away. You look over at Hunter, and after he glances between you two for a moment, he sighs again and tells you he’ll be waiting on the ship. You quietly thank him.

Once it’s just you and Crosshair outside, you call his name again, and this time, upon finding you alone, he hurries over to you. He takes one of your hands into both of his, and you can see everything he wants to say in his eyes, but he doesn’t speak. You simply stand there with him for a little while, then take your hand back.

“You aren’t coming with us,” you say, and it isn’t a question. He says nothing, but that's all of the confirmation you need.

“But why? We can get your chip out, you don’t have to-,” you start to say, but Crosshair interrupts you.

“There’s nothing to take out. I had mine removed,” he says.

Your jaw drops and you say his name in disbelief. “What?”

He repeats himself, and you suddenly feel sick in a way that you know isn’t related to your head injury. You shake your head at him while backing away. “Who are you?” you say, your voice breaking.

“What are you talking about? I’m still me, I haven’t changed,” Crosshair says, confused. He takes a step closer to you and you back farther away, horrified.

“Yes you have. I excused so much of what you’ve done, thinking it was the damn chip. The refugees at that camp, taking out your squad, shooting at your brothers, if that wasn’t the chip, then that just leaves you,” you snap.

“You don’t understand-,” he says, moving closer again.

“No, I don’t,” you say, tears spilling out of your wide eyes.

Crosshair continues to approach you. You shuffle backwards and trip over your own feet, then fall hard onto your side on the ground. He rushes over to you, but you stop him by yanking your blaster out of its holster and shakily pointing it at him.

“Don’t touch me!” you shout, unsteadily getting to your feet.

He holds his hands up and backs away, but keeps repeating your name, pleading with you. Keeping your blaster (more or less) trained on him with one hand, you move sideways towards the ship, feeling for it with your other. You touch warm metal, and glance to see the open hatchway immediately behind you.

Crosshair desperately shouts your name and takes a step forward as you do.

“Stop!” you shout, now gripping your blaster with both hands. “I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

The noise outside finally grabs someone’s attention inside, and the next thing you know, Hunter dashes outside and stands protectively in front of you. You feel a hand on your shoulder and look back to see Echo pulling you back into the Marauder but not taking his eyes off of the sniper. Hunter grips your other shoulder and turns you around while you take a few unsteady steps up the ship's ramp.

Now safely inside, you return your weapon to its holster, then collapse forward into Hunters arms. Looking over his shoulder, you see Crosshair has fallen to his knees, completely devastated. It’s the last glimpse of him you get before the hatch closes and the ship leaves the ground.

————

Taglist: @kaminocasey @grievouus @madameminor @jennamelinda12

#my fics #cross #hunter

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casspurrjoybell-20 · 4 months ago

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FOOLS Fall - Chapter 29 - Part 2

BOOK TWO: The 'Fools Fall in Love' Trilogy

*Warning - Adult Content*

Samuel Moretti

It was Saturday evening when everything went to Hell.

My parents were out for the night so it was just me at home.

How did I spend my alone time?

Thinking about Noah, of course.

The plan was still to go to his apartment on Sunday, which I was partly dreading, partly anxious, and partly excited for.

Until my heart stopped when I got a text from Noah.

I quickly sprung up on my bed into a sitting position, DJ sending me a glare for having to move off from the comfort of my tummy.

"Oh my God, Oh my God," I spoke quickly and ran a hand through my hair.

My heart sped up.

Noah's reaching out to me.

Carter's comment about how he should be a man and see me in person, didn't even cross my mind.

I didn't care that Noah wasn't there in person, I was just happy Noah contacted me even through a lame text.

I took a deep breath and opened the text and my heart fell to the pit of my stomach.

To: Samuel Moretti

[Noah image]

From: Meat-head❤️[Today 7:40 PM]

It was a picture of Noah but he was facing away from the camera and I didn't think he even knew he was getting a picture taken of him but what got me was the fact that he was shirtless, his pants hanging low.

Then I got a second text.

To: Samuel Moretti

[I told you, out of sight out of mind. Thanks for basically handing him to me. Tell me, how good is he in bed? Well, I guess I'll find out soon.]

From: Meat-head❤️[Today 7:45 PM]

Jude.

He didn't even have to tell me who was texting and he knew that.

Jude got me, he won.

Noah was going to have sex with Jude.

We were officially over.

I didn't respond but I re-read that message and analyzed that picture for longer than my heart could handle.

I wailed out a sob, collapsing my head into my hands.

Jude.

I hated him.

I've never felt such a strong hatred towards someone but what I felt for Jude was ugly and horrifying, unadulterated hatred.

I wanted to scream and punch something.

I wanted to punch Jude.

I wanted to hit him until he was unrecognizable.

"Sam?" it was Carter.

I knew he was coming over to spend the night which was why he had an overnight bag with him but I had forgotten.

"What happened?" he asked in a panic as he saw my emotional state.

Carter dropped his backpack at the foot of my bed before I handed him my phone that had the picture of Noah shirtless and Jude's 'out of sight out of mind' text.

"Oh shit," Carter breathed out before taking a seat next to me.

He set my cell-phone down with a sigh.

He reeked of pot, so I bet he was already stoned when he arrived.

"Guess it's been a shitty day all around," Carter muttered then bent down and I watched him unzip his backpack before pulling out a bottle of tequila.

"Elliott and I got into a little fight, it was stupid," Carter told me as he twisted off the top of the bottle.

"Not like we're dating," he added bitterly and took a swing.

That could not have tasted good.

Jeez, nothing to chase it down with?

Carter passed the bottle of tequila off to me as he explained what happened between Elliott and him.

I took an un-Godly drink from the bottle, the liquid burning my throat but was the right type of pain I needed that night.

After Carter told me about the argument, I glumly wondered.

"Would it be this hard if I were straight?"

Carter scoffed.

"It'd be worse," he claimed but then again, Carter was bias considering his first rough heartbreak was over a girl.

"Noah would've probably fucked Jude sooner if he was a girl."

I started crying.

"You think they're fucking?" I asked and couldn't stop the images of Noah's hands on Jude.

Carter scooted closer to me.

"No. No. Well... I don't know. Probably not."

None of that was reassuring and my crying became an ugly, messy cry of weltering sobs and nonsense words.

"It stupid Jude's fault. He... he ruined everything and Noah's going to kiss him and forget about me."

"Hey, no. Look at me," Carter demanded.

"That's not going to happen, okay?"

The feeling of Carter's thumb rubbing slow, circles on my thigh was soothing me almost as much as his words.

"And if he does then Noah doesn't deserve you anyway. Noah's an idiot for not seeing how manipulative Jude is," Carter commented and I think I cried more in relief for having someone believe me when I felt like I was going crazy.

Carter placed a hand on my cheek.

"Jude isn't worth your tears. No one is."

My crying was reduced to mere sniffles as Carter talked in a hushed, peaceful tone to me.

The way he spoke so sure of himself and the feeling of ease that washed over me from his amenity, I didn't think about what I did next, I just did it.

I leaned forward and kissed Carter.

It was quick, an unthinkable kiss.

I barely pulled back, Carter's lips chasing mine, before I kissed him again.

Carter captured my face with his hands and kissed me back urgently.

Both of us leaning into each other, needing a physical release of our negative emotions.

A place to store our unwanted feelings and the only way we knew how was through each other's body.

We pulled and tugged at clothes, our hands rough and unforgiving on each other.

Mindless actions of lust until Carter was laying me down on my bed and on top of me.

All I cared about was his comfort and my need to exonerate all the overflowing feelings and we didn't stop until we were naked and I was regretting my entire life.

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adultswim2021 · 2 years ago

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Saul of the Mole Men #19: “A Rock and a Hard Place” | July 9, 2007 - 12:00AM | S01E19

WOW! A lot of shit happens in this one. Who’s ready for it?

Saul cums a rock into the wisdom rock’s rock pussy. By that I mean a red gemstone pops out of his phallic formation. It plops down a chasm and lands directly into the divet in the mother rock that appeared after they embedded the other two gemstones into it. When that happened, you’ll recall that a flash of light knocked down Saul, which is what seems to have afflicted him with his current condition. Saul feels much better now that he’s passed the rock, and feels content in the knowledge that he’s part of something more important than himself. The mother rock is now complete, and a new era of geological peace is surely around the corner.

Not quite: Clancy shows up and climbs the main wisdom rock and pulls back a curtain of moss revealing UTNIP! It turns out he was the womanly voice of the rock this whole time and orchestrated this whole thing to lead up to this very moment. There’d been some set-up via Clancy’s book that Saul was the key to activating the mother rock, and Utnip reveals that Saul is actually part rock. We see a series of flashbacks, including his mother being fucked by a rock at Stonehenge. This revelation seems to cause Saul to become physically part-rock; his hands and head are replaced by rocks. Could this be taken at face value? Could this be how and why Jim and Jen E. James had become rock people as well? I don’t know, but that would be smart.

The big reveal is that the mother rock will be shooting a big laser into space to summon it’s space cousins, a group of asteroids, to crash into earth, killing all living creatures and creating an idyllic new world order for rocks, and only rocks. It turns out Project Thunderhole was actually all part of this, with Bertram being paid off with the promise of being king. His shortsightedness prevented him from realizing that he only gets to be king during the final hours before all life on Earth being snuffed out.

Things seem dire; Robot even blows his own brains out. Goodbye Robot, you were mostly a pretty useless character in retrospect.

Saul’s Rocksona is eventually shaken by various visions of people like John Henry, the wise bearded Saul-looking god, and a previously unseen Geology professor of Saul’s. It causes Saul to break the stone on his head, punch Utnip with his rock hands, and eventually regain his humanity. As the wisdom rocks start attacking all of our main characters, the Bird Bats swoop in and save everybody but the evil Bertram. The final shot of the episode is the space laser shooting up through Thunderhole and reaching said asteroids, which being hurtling towards Earth.

I have to say, the show never really impressed me (and neither does this episode, really) but I guess it technically was heading somewhere. These are decent plot twists, and you get the sense that they actually did figure this all out from the beginning. Frisky Dingo, by comparison, seemed very slapshod in the story department, relying on cutesy jokes about it’s own penchant for retconning stuff that happened mere weeks before. My main issue with Saul is that it all seemed like it could have been told in half the amount of episodes. This episode failed to make me laugh, but at the very least it was a story that sorta somewhat made sense. I guess “deeper than you think” meant “the plot sorta makes sense”.

So, I suppose Saul’s ship getting downed in Mole Man land in episode one must’ve been an intentional thing? So far that’s sorta unexplained, but it’s fine. Also Bertram glibly shooting down the wife of the Bird Bat king may have been a means to get the ball rolling on Utnip’s plot to give Bird Bat King incentive to get Saul Malone’s stones. I don’t know. I’m not saying the show is GOOD. I’m just saying that the storytelling wasn’t COMPLETE nonsense, and certain moments from past episodes do have a little more meaning.

Onto the finale. Finally!

MAIL BAG

To all the Tumblr bloggers who took a shit all over my heart... This one's for you! *Olivia Rodrigo pop punk guitars* THERE WAS A MISSION UNDERGROUND

HAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHA

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #saul of the mole men

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youmakemyhearthowl · 2 years ago

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Punk Princess

Eddie was pretty certain the universe had put Steve Harrington in his life to torture him. There was no other reason they’d taken someone so unfairly attractive and gift wrapped him as a metal head's wet dream.

The last two weeks had been absolute torture, because apparently, Eddie was also now on Steve's radar, and he’d stolen every last brain cell Eddie seemed to carry around. Because Eddie was smooth, he knew he was, he’d had his fair share of hook ups in Indy and he wove stories for a living practically.

But Steve fucking Harrington, who’d shown up the second week of school with added fucking pink highlights to his mohawk that matched Robins, was ruining any street cred Eddie had ever possessed.

“All I’m saying is that man wants to be tied up and forced to beg.” Eddie mused, throwing himself on Gareth's garage couch as the band settled in for a break.

“He’s still on this?” Jeff laughs, leaning his head back onto the couch after he makes himself comfortable on the ground near Eddie's head.

“He’s always on this, Jeff. You thought his crush on Steve was bad before, it reached new heights with Steve's new,” He gestures around in an all encompassing way, “Everything.”

“He wears a hanky now Gareth. And he’s like, our level of weirdness now, I might actually have a chance with this new Steve.” Eddie's voice is muffled by the couch.

“He’s like, peeked our level of weird. Pretty sure he’s claimed the crown of ‘King of Freaks’ at school now.” Mack's voice pipes up as he makes his way back into the garage from the house, 4 cokes in hand. “He told Billy fucking Hargrove to call him Princess if he was feeling frisky. That’s like… That's way beyond ballsy.” Eddie’s face pops off the couch, twisted with confusion.

“Wait, wait, how’d he get my crown? That’s my crown, he had his and he gave it up. That’s just rude.” Not that Eddie really cared about the hierarchy of Hawkins High, but Jesus leave it to Steve to go from one kingdom to the next without blinking an eye.

“Eddie, have you seen the guy? Or heard him talk for that matter. He flirts with everyone. I’m pretty sure he’s given half the school some kind of gay panic, and he’s just completely open about it. Like doesn’t care if the slurs come or someone tries to fucking corner him for being queer. He’s just so far out there and he punched Billy in the face and walked away without a single mark. Sorry man but the crown went from you to him, pretty fucking easily.”

And Jeff had a point, Eddie supposes.

But he wonders if anyone else has seen the other changes about Steve that he’s noticed. The gaggle of middle schoolers he drives to and from school, and even cuts class sometimes to make his way over to the middle school to check on them. The soft way he talks to Robin when she seems to get overwhelmed. The fucking heartbreakingly sad look that's always in his eyes when he thinks no ones looking.

Whatever happened to Steve to cause him to embrace this new side, had really broken him and Eddie was maybe a little worried that Steve was using his new confidence in his new look to stir shit up on purpose and punish himself for something.

Not that Eddie didn’t think Steve was a punk, through and through.

Just Eddie knew a lot of times, when someone stumbles into the punk community the way Steve obviously had, he’d have to of been in rough shape for anyone to look at his old preppy self and trust that he wouldn’t beat the shit outta them if they decided to try and take him under their wing. It was dangerous to trust a jock, or a rich kid with his life handed to him on a silver platter. Because they might be looking to rebel and then when they realized just how much it fucking sucked to actually be an outcast, they’d lash out, hard, before falling back into their old ways. It was usually safer to offer some words of advice and move on when you stumbled upon someone like that.

But Steve was well versed in the Punk of it all, and he was well versed in the Queer of it all if his hanky was anything to go by, and Eddie maybe could have believed he was a baby punk, if Steve didn’t wear that look, that culture, like a second skin, like it was who he was always meant to be.

All of this was just Eddie's long winded way of saying, Steve seemed a little bit haunted, and Eddie wanted to know more about him.

Eddie had always wanted to know more about him.

But god, did he ache for it now.

#Punk!Steve #Punk Steve #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steddie Fic #Welcome to the feels #it doesn't get too too heavy I promise #Punk Princess fic

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abibliophobiaa · 2 years ago

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reader getting hurt and Peter being super protective and worried, thank you so much !!

it is soft saturday again! thank you for your request 🤍. fem!reader. warning: non-con touching.

Music pumped through the crowded bar. Drinks clinking at stools situated around you. All your best friends gathered around to celebrate your last few weeks as an engaged woman.

You hadn’t wanted the typical bachelorette weekend—yet your best friends insisted it was practically a rite of passage.

Go big or go home, one said, or something to that effect.

The slight buzz burning in your system dimmed those earlier conversations, thoughts only now focused on dancing and enjoying the night with your friends, despite the fact you really wanted to be curled up on the couch with Peter…watching a rom-com or something in that vein.

But you continued to move, anyway. Body one with the music as your friends crowded around you. Their voices high over the music in the packed area.

You found yourself separating from the group to head to the bar. Reached into your pocket after ordering water. Smiled at the text message from Peter which read, Have fun! I love you.

Distracted as you typed out a quick reply, you jumped when reaching for your cup and felt your fingertips brush with a man seated at the bar beside you.

You hadn’t seen him before, and imagined his intentions right off the bat weren’t innocent. Not with the curl of his lips and the lascivious way his eyes rolled over your form.

“Hey, beautiful. Mind if I buy you a drink?” He drawled.

“No. Honestly I would prefer if you didn’t—”

“How about one of those pretty smiles then.”

Icy displeasure rolled down your spine. The way his words curled around you. Your stomach twisted within you, fingers nearly slipping around your glass.

“I should really get back to my friends. Thank you for…whatever this was.”

The rest of the night resumed as planned. Your friends moving around you, shouting the lyrics to ‘Dancing Queen’ as it pumped into the bar.

It was perfect. The whole evening perfect. You kept telling yourself that as you later made your way to the bathroom to fix up your appearance in the mirror. Your friends had taken to finally ordering some food, whereas you were honestly ready to head home for the night.

You rolled your ring on your finger. The solitaire diamond glinted up at you. It still shocked you to think in a short while you would be married to the love of your life. Something you’d dreamed about since you were a little girl…now a reality.

Smiling to yourself, with the image of Peter formed in your mind, you exited the bathroom and found the man from earlier standing there against the wall. His jean clad form had kicked one foot out, so you’d have to climb over it to head back toward your friends. His arms crossed against his chest as he moved to push himself apart from the surface. Your back collided with the wall, heart hammering wildly in your chest.

To anyone else, what with his face shrouding you from the eyes of onlookers, it might look like the two of you were caught in an intimate moment. Yet your mind screamed at you to run over and over again until it echoed noisily in your ears in tandem with your heavy breathing.

“I saw the way you were looking at me, baby. Why don’t we get out of here?”

You grunted as his fingers curled at one of your hips. Pinned you further against the wall. Could smell the alcohol on his breath. The hard stubble of his cheek. The firmness of his form against your own.

Two things happened then: one, you brought your knee up between his thighs. And two, your right hand swung out and punched him square in the cheek once his form jackknifed in front of you. His howling drew the attention of the bar to the hallway, his angered shouts racketing above the music.

“You bitch!”

Turning on the heel, you rushed down the hallway. Heard the gasped cries of your friends as they realized what had just occurred.

One of which pulled your hand into your own as you exited the premises of the building and said, “Holy hell, have you been training with Spider-Man or something?”

“Something like that.”

…

The apartment was quiet upon entering. The only sounds coming from the TV playing in your living room.

Wincing as you stretched your already purpling fist, you reached into the freezer as quietly as possible, so as to not draw the attention of your soon-to-be husband, and muffled your moan of pain as you pressed the ice pack to your skin.

“You’re home early,” Peter called from the other room. “Do you mind grabbing me a popsicle.”

You nearly gasped again as a sharp pain stabbed at your hand. Spread through you like a brand.

Gritted your teeth instead and muttered out, “Sure, babe.”

You reached in and plucked the frozen treat for him with your left hand, drawing his attention right away toward the ice resting against your knuckles as you shadowed the doorway.

“What happened?” He asked. Though it sounded sorrowful around the edges.

“Nothing. I fell.”

“I know when you’re lying.”

You frowned. “Pete, I’m okay. I don’t want to talk about it.”

You turned to leave the room just as a fluid-like webbing curled around your unharmed wrist. There was a quick tug and you were pulled into Peter’s lap. His arms coming to wrap around you as they enveloped you in an embrace.

You couldn’t help the first sob which spilled from you. And didn’t even fight the second one—only leaned against Peter’s face as he whispered sweet nothings against your ears, hands rubbing up and down your spine. Soft brushes of kisses into your temple. Your cheek. Your hair.

His attention shifted to your hand as you lifted it dejectedly before him. Earned a sharp gasp as he pulled the ice pack away and took in the mottled skin there. Bruises were already darkening around the bones. Each one a sibling to the one before it. A reminder of the smell of whiskey in your ears and stubble on your skin.

Not Peter. Peter was kind. Gentle. Loving. Careless. Giving. He would do anything and everything for the people he loved. These simple truths rested in your aching chest as he took your hand in his own and inspected it.

“It hurts,” you admitted weakly.

His finger brushed along the skin. You felt your head spin momentarily at the contact against battered flesh. Like chills spilling down your whole form.

“I know, pretty girl. Good news, though: I don’t think your hand is broken. Bad news…it’ll be a few weeks before they heal.”

Not broken. Good.

“Would it help if I said the other guy probably looks worse?” You laugh at the end of your statement in disbelief.

His eyes locked with yours. Those dark eyes growing soft around the edges. “What happened?”

You curled your left hand around his cheek. His face leaned into your palm. “That’s your favorite question today, huh?”

“I’m serious.”

And he is. The concerned furrow of his brow has you shifting in his lap to get more comfortable. Winced as Peter pressed the ice back into your knuckles.

“Just some handsy asshole at the bar tonight. He…sort of crowded me near the bathroom and pushed me into a wall. Asked if I wanted to leave with him.”

Peter’s eyes darkened. You could feel the form beneath you as it tensed. The way his own fists curled, as if he were ready to attack the man himself like he were standing in the room with the two of you that very moment. At the very least, was likely imagining it.

“So I did what you taught me.”

Peter had insisted he taught you some semblance of self defense in the years you had been dating. You understood a lot of his drive in doing so was due in part to watching his beloved Gwen fall to her death at a very young age.

Understood that there could be people who might one day find out his identity and potentially put you at risk. So he’d wanted you prepared.

Had taught you enough basic maneuvers to get out of various situations you might—but would hopefully never—find yourself in. This night with that man at the bar being one of them.

“I kneed him and then punched him right in the face. Just like you trained me.”

He moved to look at your hand once more. Trailed those spidery fingers along the parts of your fist which weren’t turning various shades of purple and black. Heard the sharp inhalation of his breath.

“Hey…hey, Pete, what’s going on?” You cooed, pressing your forehead into his cheek.

“You’re hurt. I wasn’t there and you’re hurt.”

“No, you weren’t. But you won’t always be with me every second of everyday—no matter how much I’m sure we’d both love that. And you prepared me for a situation like this. You’re a hero, Peter Parker, but you’ve taught me I can be my own hero too.”

His head lifted. Those eyes brimming with tears as he took you in. Knew, somewhere deep within yourself, he was reminding himself of the guilt he’d felt over Gwen. Thoughts of what he might have done differently; if anything would have changed the course of things.

You leaned across the space between you and kissed him. Tried to remind him you were very much real. Alive. Okay. Loved. Lifted his palm with your own and pressed it over the curve of your breast. Right over the beating of your heart.

“Look. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

He glanced down at where his flesh met your own. Face still wrought with fear and devastation. Guilt. You gave his hand another squeeze.

“Look at me, Peter Parker.” His eyes met yours. “I’m fine. I love you. We are okay.”

He kissed you once more. A slow, sweet aching brand against your flesh. His own reminder that you were here. Seated on his lap. Flesh and blood and breath in your lungs.

Safe with him…where you were always meant to be. His own safe haven from the outside world. A constant, as steady as the beat of his own heart. An assuredness like the rising of the sun each day.

His home.

…

A few weeks later, on your honeymoon, you woke to Peter playing with your hair. Your cheek had been pressed against his chest. Now healed right hand resting over his abdomen. You winced at the soreness of your muscles as you shifted beside him, leveling your gaze with his before pressing a kiss into his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” You asked, smirking.

“What makes you think I’m thinking?”

“You have that look on your face. Plus your eyes get all distant. Like you’re here but also not.”

He chuckled. “Was thinking about our last training session.”

Peter had insisted upon more self defense. You allowed him that security in doing so, though every muscle in your body ached as of late. But it was a concession you felt worth making to ease his mind.

“Oh yeah? That was the one where—”

You were cut off at the end of your sentence by lips pressing against your own. The world tilted momentarily on its axis as Peter maneuvered you onto your back.

Fingers pushed the hem of your sleep shirt up as he peppered your skin with his mouth. Sighed as your fingers curled into his rumpled hair. Engagement ring and wedding band now glinting stark against those dark locks.

“You’re amused by this,” you laughed out at the love bite Peter graced upon your hip bone before lifting himself so his face hovered above your own.

“I’m just admiring the image of my wife defending herself.”

“I could show you a move or two.”

The roaming of his hands between the two of you stilled. The still unfamiliar chill of his wedding band settling over your thigh which had curled around his hip in his ministrations.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Mhmm. I have the best teacher, after all.”

He smirked, gaze darkening. “Care to give a demonstration for the class then?”

#peter parker x reader #luna’s loves #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker x you #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm peter x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction

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ladylannisterxo · 2 years ago

Note

may i request “I really want to kiss you right now.” “Then do it.” with steve

Sure can! Hope you enjoy! This is also an unofficial part two to this drabble - you don't really have to read that one to understand this but, ya know, wouldn't hurt 😉

Pairings; Steve Harrington x fem!Reader Prompt # 148; "I really want to kiss you right now." - "Then do it." Words; 1.3k Warnings; Some light angst, mentions of a past break-up, but mostly fluff

It’s been a year since you’ve last seen Steve Harrington. A year since you called your relationship what it was and ended things. A year since you went off to college and Steve stayed behind in Hawkins. A year since you last made eye contact with the boy who ran away with your heart Sophomore year…

… But seeing him now, after all this time, it’s clear he still has your heart.

It was summer vacation and you were back in town. A friend had mentioned there was a party happening somewhere and you realized immediately how much you actually missed parties in Hawkins. It didn’t even occur to you that Steve may also be there until you looked up from the punch bowl and found him staring at you from across the room.

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, as surprised to see you as you were to see him. You grant him a small smile and a timid wave and that seems to break him out of whatever reverie had taken hold of him. He blinks rapidly, averting his gaze to land anywhere else in the room, and then he bolts. Your eyes follow his retreating form as he makes his way through throngs of partiers and disappears down a back hallway.

You should let it go, take yourself outside to see what’s going on out there or, hell, just leave this party entirely but you’re curious. Curious to know if you’re truly only surprised to see him after all this time or if there is still something there between the two of you. Curious to know if perhaps he feels the same way too. You don’t give it a second thought, choosing to follow his path and find where he ended up.

You’re not sure how you know but the door you find yourself standing in front of no doubt shelters Steve on the other side. Maybe it’s intuition or maybe it’s that gravitational pull you always joked that he had, the pull that always led you right to him even if you weren’t looking.

You knock tentatively on the door and then press your ear up against it. “Steve? It’s me.”

The running tap of the bathroom sink shuts off immediately and then you’re met with silence aside from the occasional sniffle here and there. You press tighter against the door, straining to hear something, anything.

“Steve, can we- can we talk? Please?”

The doorknob twists slowly, so slowly, and you take a step back as the door opens and Steve appears looking run down and exhausted. He still has that glorious head of hair but it’s not as well kept as it used to be, now looking disheveled as if he just rolled out of bed. His eyes are red rimmed, from lack of sleep or crying, you’re not entirely sure but when he reaches up to run the sleeve of his shirt under his nose, you catch sight of his fingers, the skin around his nails red and bitten and picked at.

“Steve?” you say gently and his eyes hesitantly meet yours, “can I come in, just for a minute?”

He doesn’t respond, only taking a step back so you can slide in behind him. You shut the door behind you, back pressed up against it and Steve stands leaning against the sink, arms crossed, and doing everything he can not to look at you.

“How, uh, how are you?” you ask and immediately cringe at how stupid of a question this no doubt is.

“How am I?” Steve laughs lightly, bitterly. “I couldn’t get into college. My girlfriend broke up with me and moved out of state for school. All of my friends are fifteen year olds excluding Robin who I now work with at Family Video because that’s clearly the best I can do. My dad reminds me every single day that I have failed miserably at life and I can’t find another girl to date because every time I meet someone, they either have a boyfriend or I can’t take the next step because I’m still so hung up on you. But enough about me, how are you doing?”

His eyes snap to yours, a burning annoyance flaring behind his irises and you cast your own gaze downward, shame and embarrassment flooding your veins.

“I never meant to hurt you,” you whisper, tears brimming your lashes.

He sighs. “I know. I just- you did hurt me and I want to be angry with you but I can’t because I’m still so incredibly in love with you and that just makes it worse because you were able to move on and—”

“I didn’t,” you interject, “I- I couldn’t.”

“What?” he breathes, eyes wide and hopeful.

“I tried, I wanted to get over you,” you admit, “when I first made it to school and got settled, I went on a couple of dates but they never worked out.”

“How come?”

“Kept thinking about you.” You shrug with a soft laugh. “I’d be talking to some guy and he’d say something and the first thing I’d think is ‘Steve would never say something like this’. It even got to the point where I was bringing you up on dates. I knew then that I hadn’t gotten over you, that I may never get over you.”

Steve takes a tentative step forward, his finger hooking underneath your chin to lift your eyes to his. Your breath hitches when you meet his gaze, already beginning to fall hard and fast into those warm, deep, inviting brown eyes of his.

“I’ll admit, it does make me a little happy that it never worked out with someone else.” He grins sheepishly, trailing his fingers softly against your cheek.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “I’ll admit, it also makes me happy too.”

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he blurts out suddenly. “Sorry, sorry, I just- I think about kissing you all the time.”

You bite your lip softly. “Then do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Steve, if you don’t, then I will.”

Steve surges forward and you meet him halfway, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. The sensation of his lips melding against yours is overwhelming but you’re positive this is exactly where you’re supposed to be, wrapped up in his strong arms with his lips pouring every ounce of love directly into you. You can feel tears prickling at your lash line as you pull him flush against your body, fingers tangling in the ends of his dark hair as your tongue slides along his bottom lip begging for entry.

He opens his mouth, allowing you in and the kiss becomes deeper, more passionate as his hands roam over the expanse of your body, gripping every inch of you he possibly can and pulling you tighter and tighter against his chest.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly, kissing your jaw and then trailing his lips down your neck. “I still love you so fucking much.”

“I know, me too,” you reply, head dropping back against the door as he attacks your neck. “I love you, Steve, I never stopped.”

He groans at your admission, bringing himself back up and pulling you back into another searing kiss. It’s languid in the way his lips move against yours, as if he’s trying to memorize the taste, the feeling of your lips against his. You’re certain that’s what you’ve been doing yourself, allowing your body to remember the feeling of Steve fully wrapped around you; the taste of his lips, the touch of his fingers, the warmth of his skin.

“Do you- do you maybe want to get out of here… with me?” you ask shyly, looking up at him from underneath your lashes.

“Your place or mine?”

You tilt your head up, ghosting your lips gingerly against his own. “Yours. Just like we used to.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things #writing by 's'#1k follower celebration with 's'

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medicus-mortem · 2 years ago

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mediicusvitae:

The sky is a storming, roiling grey, flashes of lightning peeking out through the clouds like light filtering through silk. Waves rock the ship, the rumbling of thunder muffled. A burst of anger twists up her spine as he turns his back on her. “DON’T YOU DARE—!” Lamy screams as the Room appears, but he’s already gone. Bepo holds her like a cat he isn’t sure is going to scratch him. Her muscles are tense, even as she sinks back into his fluffy side, staring at the spot where her brother has been just a moment ago. Her chest heaves, and ever so slowly, the navigator warily loosens his grip as she relaxes in his arms. It’s as humbling as it is frustrating to realize that the power she has painstakingly accumulated over the years accounts for nothing. She is, by all accounts, a bystander watching as those with true strength subject the world to their merciless whims. Praying and hope couldn’t save Flevance, she thinks bitterly. Power—the ability to fight, tooth and nail—is what matters. Everything else is but raw luck. Kindness isn’t enough to let you survive in this world. The outside behind the portholes flashes hot white. Lamy takes well to the harsh illumination; it outlines her sharper, melting away everything that keeps her soft. Dark emotions splay out clearly on her expression. Strange and unsettling, contorted features and blazing eyes. Her Captain is no longer the same boy she has grown up with, she thinks; he is not the boy that would make pillow forts and read comics with her under their blankets. This is the man from the time of ‘after’. It irks her, the cruelty he seems to have collected at some point between. When did this happen? Was she just not looking? Did it just not bother her, until now? Maybe she’s simply unable to let go of the boy from Flevance, too fond of the glimpses of her brother behind the murderer that has taken form in him. Unable to accept his glaring flaws as he has accepted hers. Piracy is a particular occupation only suitable for particular people, she knows, and Law has become the kind of man to tattoo capital DEATH on his hands when heart also has five letters. Her hand connects with the nearest wall then, leaving a fist-shaped dent in the steel. The punch sends a blinding pain shooting up her arm. Lamy hisses as she flexes her frayed, bleeding knuckles, reveling in the hurt. She flinches away from the concerned touch on her shoulder, snapping „I can fucking walk, Bepo!“ and the glare she shoots his way is enough to make two fuzzy ears lie completely flat. He still follows her as she begins to stomp towards the women’s quarters, intend on following his Captain‘s orders, silently shuffling along at a safe distance while anxiously wringing his paws. Other Hearts jump out of her way as she barrels past them, exchanging worried glances with one another. „M-Maybe Uni should have a look at—” Bepo begins meekly as they reach the door, the heavy metal door slamming shut right in front of his snout before he can finish his sentence. Lamy snaps the lock into place before she turns about, beelining straight toward her weapon holster.

Her fingers curl into fists around the handles of her flintlock pistols, and she can feel the wounds on her knuckles crack and sting with pain. Emotions coil like snakes in her gut; rotten, cold, and unforgiving in its abhorrence. She wants to spit. She wants to carve her nails through something made of flesh; wants to make it hurt. Her hands shake with the need; teeth clenching and heart racing. Rain pitter-patters against the window. Lamy imagines herself closing her eyes and sitting still, compliant until her brother’s return, simply listening to the soothing sound if it weren’t for the ghosts that refuse her any rest. She so wishes that she’d be able to put on her heart-shaped, rose tinted glasses and pretend that everything is fine. Lamy is sure that he’d rather have a devout sister, one that simply smiles and nods, following his orders blindly, but she’s seen too many terrors for that. She is as much a D. as he is, and her guts revolt at the idea that she’d stay calm, sulking like a glorified prisoner in her own home.

Lamy pushes on, considering her options. She knows that her brother’s plan is to kill the peaceful rebel leaders of his town, pour gasoline upon the sparks of unrest simmering beneath the surface. Incite vengeful violence against the ruling class. Deepen the political wedge between the rich and poor, slip away unnoticed beneath the emerging chaos and bloodshed. Sabotaging the plan could put the Hearts in danger, and yet… In the back of her mind, if she listens closely, she can hear a grand clockwork scheme ticking down. Was it too late to stop the incoming violence? Would another attempt at talking be delusional? With a set of her jaw, she knows that she owes it to the people of this town to at least try. Golden eyes slip toward the air vent on the ceiling as she fastens her flintlock pistols to her belt. First, she needs to get off this submarine unnoticed.

Trafalgar Law pops into existence amongst the hustle and bustle of an event in preparation. The rain pelts the peaceful rebels but they continue on unperturbed. This is the only chance they’ve been given to spread their leader’s words and they will take it. It’s not the main square they wanted or the bright sunny day needed but it is something. Law peeks past the stage out into the smaller square and sees a crowd already gathering. They squeeze into this grim space, umbrellas raised to ward off the water that soon covers their shoes.

The speaker might not be charismatic or aggressive but he is well loved in this community. People listen to him and take his words into consideration. Not elderly but experienced. Wise and kind in his own way. A councilman for a generation that wants change but is afraid to fight for it. A perfect mark to create that final enraging spark.

“Ah, Trafalgar,” comes a voice behind him. Strong, certain and touched with that anger and hatred Law knows so well. “Good to see you’re here. Gonna try one more time to talk some sense into the old man?”

“Truen,” Law says, turning to see the young man and a couple of his friends striding over. The son of the speaker, Councilman Ruben Trust, and a more vocal proponent for violent rebellion. A perfect candidate to turn these peaceful demonstrations into riots. He just needs a push and Law has the motivation prepared.

“I’ll do my best but I’ve begun to see how stubborn the Councilman is,” Law says with a sigh, playing his part as the outsider with a plan. “If I can’t convince him to take a more direct approach then maybe our little plan could force him into action. Shachi’s group is waiting for you if you’re still prepared.”

“I’ve thought it through, and you’re right. This is the only way,” Truen says, his face grim. “Those royal bastards need to know we’re not gonna be pushed around anymore.” His hands ball into tight fists, then he sighs. “But I wanna see my dad talk first. He’s passionate, in his own way.”

“Sure thing,” Law says with a shrug. “It’s just Shach could use some local help.”

“No problem,” Truen nods, and turns to his loyalists. A couple words has them saluting and running off.

Law feels a smirk tug at his lips. The pieces are falling into place. Shachi’s team is set to bomb the palace, and having known rebels there will add to the illusion that this is a full-on attack. Here, in this demonstration, is another opportunity. Already, the royal guard is here with orders to observe but only engage if things get violent. Their presence will unnerve the audience, put them on edge as Councilman Ruben fills their minds with freedom and hope. Then, just as he reaches the part of his speech where he speaks of peaceful protest, a sniper will put a bullet in him.

The group will erupt in anger and hatred. They will turn on the guards, thinking they orchestrated their leader’s death. It will be perfect.

But first, Trafalgar Law has a role to play. He turns towards a tent where Ruben prepares himself. Law will give one last piece of advice, one last plea for the violent rebellion this should be. Before it turns into exactly what he wants.

#mediicusvitae #Captain's Log // Threads #Captain of Hearts // Canon Verse #insubordination #do not disturb // queue

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

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5 times Merlin does something that requires a considerable amount of strength;

+1 time the gang has time to actually bring it up.

Everyone is baffled, half distracted by Merlin’s surprising buffness and half amused by Arthur’s gay panic:

The clearing fills with the sounds of a brutal fight.

The Knights of Camelot, along with their King, had given up on trying to figure out how bandits always managed to find them in the woods. It seemed impossible for there to be so many mercenary groups that it was just coincidence for them to stumble upon each other so often, but equally, the knights moved quietly and always covered their tracks well, so... yeah, who knows.

The point is, they’re outnumbered three to one, and all of them were starting to regret not listening to Merlin’s earlier suggestion that they keep riding for another hour or so; their camp was destroyed and the fight was tiring them out.

Three to one weren’t bad odds, especially for knights with such a high level of skill, but it was exhausting and time consuming and they just wanted it to be over. Merlin was having similar thoughts as he stumbles through the middle of the crowd, trying to get out of the way. He was keeping an eye on them of course, but his friends were winning so his magical intervention wasn’t really needed; he was just annoyed that Arthur was almost certainly going to make him clear everything up afterwards.

His attention is suddenly caught when Percival’s voice rings out across the clearing:

“Merlin! Behind you!”

All of the knights’ gazes whip to the servant when they hear the giant’s yell, and they all abandon their own battles to step towards him despite knowing that they were too far away to be able to help in time. The servant takes in a sharp breath at Percival’s warning, becoming suddenly aware of a fast-moving presence behind him; he forms a fist and turns, swinging blindly with all his strength and following through even when his knuckles crunch with surprising accuracy against the temple of a bandit.

The man, not expecting the rapid attack, doesn’t have time to move out of the way, and his head jerks to the side, his entire body following as if an afterthought. He crumples to the floor gracelessly, unconscious before his head makes contact with the trampled undergrowth.

Merlin hisses at the pain bursting through his knuckles and up into his wrist, shaking his hand out as he steps over the bandit’s still form without even blinking, back to focusing on attempting to find a tree to sit behind and sulk, as if nothing had happened.

The knights only have a fraction of a second to freeze in shock before they’re dragged back to their own fights, forced to defend themselves lest they get skewered.

The battle only lasts a few more minutes; despite being outnumbered, the knights far outmatch the bandits in skill (and sufficient armour) and Merlin was correct in his assumption that they wouldn’t need any of his DIY luck, which is a good thing really, considering how much his hand is throbbing. He peeks his head around the tree when things go suspiciously quiet, getting up and making his way to the abandoned bag of medical supplies when he sees the knights victorious.

The servant runs a quick gaze over them, taking stock of any potential injuries as he makes his way through the clearing, injured hand clenched tightly and held to his chest. He may have knocked the bandit out, but that just meant that the punch was hard enough to do damage to his hand as well as the other guy’s head. When he finds nothing more than the odd bruise on the others, he grabs a roll of bandages for himself, quickly wrapping his hand almost painfully tight, before turning to Arthur with a scowl:

“I told you we were too close to the road, I told you we should’ve kept on going. But do you ever listen to me? No, because you’re-”

He’s cut off by The King stepping towards him and taking his bandaged hand, cradling it gently and looking to Merlin in concern:

“Merlin, are you alright?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and huffs, snatching his hand back and retreating to check on the horses, thankfully tied and uninjured at the edge of the clearing:

“No, my hand fucking hurts, because, surprisingly enough, these idiots have skulls almost as thick as yours. We need to move camps, like I said earlier. Prat.”

Arthur frowns, looking down to Merlin’s unconscious bandit at his feet, and then glancing back to the other knights, who all just shrug with wide eyes. The King sighs, reluctantly nodding at Merlin’s assertion as he stares up at the darkening sky, deciding that Merlin must’ve... hit a pressure point or... something:

“Everyone pack up, I want to be moving on in three minutes.”

Merlin had foregone his jacket and rolled his sleeves up in the surprising Spring heatwave.

Which was a sight in itself.

But what really made the knights look twice (I mean... Arthur was just outright staring, but Leon had long since glared the others into not mentioning The King’s little... crush) was the way the supposedly wimpy servant had two sets of chainmail folded on one shoulder, his arm curled over them to keep them balanced, and a few odd bits of mismatched armour clutched in his other hand. He was making his way from the training field up to the castle, presumably to find an empty room to sit quietly and clean them.

Elyan waves at him across the field, the movement just about catching the servant’s gaze as he twists around, flashing a bright, sunny grin in place of waving back.

Arthur gulps, eyes drawn to the vein standing out from Merlin’s uncovered neck; apparently the heat had encouraged him to abandon his neckerchief as well. The King takes a deep breath, sending a scowl Merlin’s way to cover his... surprise, holding in a smirk when the servant just rolls his eyes and turns back to the castle.

His stride was strong, and though his arms were straining against the weight, he looked entirely unbothered, not even breathing deeply as he picks up his pace, jogging up the citadel steps.

Training had all but stopped at this point, the roundtable knights staring in confusion as Merlin carefully pulled the door open, making sure he wouldn’t drop anything, before nudging the door shut again with his hip. Gwaine was the first to break the silence, quirking one of his eyebrows up as he speaks in a slightly surprised tone:

“Didn’t know he had it in him. Wearing one set, when the weight is evenly distributed, is hard enough, let alone carrying two sets. And armour. Up steps. Huh.”

Arthur clears his throat, looking away with a slight blush as he asserts:

“Yes, well, knights carry the same weight in armour and weapons everyday, if not more. If you’re that impressed Sir Gwaine, perhaps you should work on your strength.”

Gwaine turns to him with a smirk, but Leon’s warning glare stops him from teasing, or saying anything else that could be considered treasonous. Instead, he rolls his eyes at the first knight before humming non-committedly and pointing his sword at The King:

“That, Princess, sounds like a challenge.”

Arthur, blush forgotten, looks up with raised eyebrows and a chuckle, noting with satisfaction the way the other knights spread out to form a circle around the two of them, swords lowered and expectant looks on their faces:

“Does it now? I suppose you’ll have to take me up on it then, won’t you?”

The knights were on some stupid (in Merlin’s opinion) quest.

The group was currently making their way through a complicated cave system. They had maps, thankfully, but they were old, and provided by a small village of locals who hadn’t spoken common very well.

They’d had to trade away half of their supplies in return for the maps, so Arthur was already in a foul mood, but a dotted line on the page across the path they were following was worrying him. The note written next to it was in some old, almost lost native language, so The King had just resigned himself to carrying on and hoping for the best.

Which is why he let out a series of echoing curse words when they turned a corner to find a ragged overhang, about eight feet above the path. The wall curved in on itself before jutting out again at the top, making it impossible to climb, even without armour and swords and packs.

Elyan is the first to break the tense silence after Arthur’s outburst, his tone half amused, half annoyed, as he mutters:

“That’ll be why the locals kept pointing at that ladder then.”

Arthur huffs, glaring at the knight with a rare venom, but Leon gestures to the map in his hand before he can retort:

“We can always go back, or is there another way around?”

Arthur huffs louder, letting out a short growl as he thrusts the maps to Leon’s chest and paces closer to the overhang:

“Feel free, if you can find an alternative route, please, enlighten me. The village is a day’s journey away, we don’t have time to go back.”

Leon covers his annoyance at Arthur’s harshness well, but Merlin scowls at The King openly before moving to stand at the junction between the wall of the corridor, and the overhang in front of them:

“Don’t be an arse, Arthur, it’s not Leon’s fault that none of us can understand Old... whatever it was. And it’s not that high, just-”

With that, Merlin braces his foot against the wall, bending his knees slightly before pushing off and jumping up, reaching out and grabbing the overhang, his feet dangling off the ground. The knights stare in shock, but before they can say anything, Merlin swings his feet forwards, and backwards, and forwards again. When they swing back for the second time, he uses the momentum to pull himself up, his arms locking out straight beneath him as he lifts his knees up, crawling over the edge and onto the floor above them.

Arthur blinks, looking from the floor, to the wall, and up to Merlin again, trying to figure out how the hell his manservant had enough strength in his arms and core to pull himself up; he hadn’t even taken his pack off.

Lancelot clears his throat, tilting his head and frowning as he slowly speaks:

“That was... impressive. But we’re wearing armour, Merlin, I don’t think we’ll be able to manage that with all the extra weight.”

No one mentions that they don’t think they could do it even without armour.

Merlin just rolls his eyes and sits on the edge, his feet dangling below him as he gestures vaguely:

“Well if you just get your hands on the ledge then I can pull you up. Take your packs off and throw them up first if you’re so worried, you can give each other a hand up, and Percival can go last because of how tall he is. Come on, it wasn’t that hard.”

Lancelot shrugs, taking his pack off and throwing it up with all his might. Merlin leans out, catching it with ease and chucking it behind him as he motions Percival to interlock his hands. The knight does so, allowing Lancelot to step on them and throw himself up, just about managing to catch the ledge and groaning at the strain in his arms. Merlin brings his feet back over the overhang, bracing his heels against the stone as he reaches down, gripping Lancelot’s wrists and hauling him up and over the edge.

Lance yelps as Merlin yanks him up, rolling onto his back and panting at the ceiling as he blinks in surprise. Merlin doesn’t pay him any attention, frowning down at the others and gesturing at them to hurry:

“Come on, I thought we were in a rush?”

With that, they all huddle below, taking turns to be thrown up and hauled over the edge. Merlin drags Elyan up on his own, Lance still recovering from his slight shock, but the more people gather at the top, the less work Merlin has to do. Which is good, because he may be strong, but he’s not sure he could manage Percival on his own. The giant has to take a running leap at the ledge, and it takes four of them to pull him up without dislocating any shoulders or throwing out any backs.

When they’re all successfully at the top, Merlin wordlessly picks his pack up, shrugging it onto his shoulders as he begins a quick pace along the corridor as if he hadn’t a care in the world; the knights break out of their stupors and jog to catch up, knowing that Merlin was right and they needed to hurry.

Arthur was glaring resolutely at the floor, trying to psych himself up to confront whatever arsehole had managed to get the drop on him and his six best knights. The others were arguing in whispers around him, trying to figure out some way to escape the dungeon unscathed, though The King kept silent, knowing that the only way out was if someone unlocked these infernal chains first.

They’d only been there for around an hour, so no one from Camelot would have realised they were missing yet; their only hope was that Merlin was making his way back to the city to get help. He’d been off gathering firewood, and he’d already been gone half a candle mark when they’d been ambushed; Arthur would never admit it, but he had faith that Merlin would be able to sort everything out.

The King harshly shushes the knights as he hears the guards begin to yell, but frowns in confusion when he hears “They’re going crazy up there!” and “What the fuck?!” before the unmistakable sound of armoured boots running up the stairs and away from the dungeons reaches them.

The knights all look to each other in confusion, straining against their chains to try and see through the small barred window at the top of the door. A shadow passes through the square of light on the floor, and they all shuffle back against the wall, staying silent. None of them manage to hold in their surprised yelps however, when the door suddenly bursts in, the wood around the lock splintering violently and spreading shards across the dungeon floor.

A strong arm extends out, stopping the now broken beyond repair door from swinging shut again, and the knights look up, taking in sharp gasps when they see Merlin stood there, scowling disapprovingly with a ring of keys in his other hand and one foot in front of the other, as if he had... as if he had kicked the door. Leon is the first to break the silence:

“Merlin?? What are you doing here?”

Merlin’s scowl deepens as he glances down the corridor before stepping into the dungeon, sorting through the keys to try and figure out which one would open which set of chains:

“Well I’m rescuing you lot, obviously. I leave camp for barely a candle-mark and you get yourselves kidnapped. Honestly, how hard is it to not find trouble, for once?”

Arthur is too busy staring at Merlin’s apparently muscled legs to say anything, even when Elyan clears his throat and kicks him, so Percival is the next to speak as Merlin unlocks his chains:

“Why not just... unlock the door?”

Merlin doesn’t look at the largest of the knights as he moves on to the others, unchaining them one by one as he responds, his scowl still firmly in place:

“The key was on a separate ring and I only had time to grab one, figured the door would be easier to break than the chains.”

Arthur finally blinks and shakes his head free of.... distracting, thoughts as Merlin finally turns to him, holding his hands out to be unchained as he clears his throat and says strongly, forcing the waiver from his voice:

“How did you distract the guards?”

Merlin finally smiles at that, standing and reaching into his pocket to pull out a lumpy looking bit of plant:

“Snuck in and pretended to be one of their slaves, laced all the jugs with mandrake root. They’re all going loopy with hallucinations upstairs, a few of them vomited and I think one guy might have shit himself. The guards went to see what was wrong, so we don’t have much time, come on.”

Arthur nods impressed, and was the last of the group to sneak from the dungeon, pausing briefly to run a hand over the splintered wood and warped metal of the kicked-in door, before shaking his head and following the others out of the not-quite-abandoned fort.

It had been almost a year since Merlin had last seen his mother, so when the servant requested two weeks off to visit home, wanting to help the village out with repairs before the winter set in, Arthur agreed immediately, on the condition that he and a couple of the knights could tag along.

Merlin reluctantly gave in, but only after insisting that he wouldn’t be Arthur’s servant, and whoever came would have to dig in and help out. To be honest, Arthur was mentally exhausted after months of work on repealing the magic ban, so Merlin was silently grateful that he was coming; The King needed a break, and Merlin knew how secretly fond the man was of Merlin’s mother, and her simple country life.

In the end, Leon and Mordred were the only ones who could come; Lancelot and Elyan were left in charge of patrols, Percival and Gwaine were left in charge of training, and Guinevere, Gaius, and Morgana were left to oversee the council and the general running of the Kingdom. Arthur wasn’t worried to be honest, they were only going to be gone for two weeks, and if disaster set in they were only a two day’s ride away at most.

It was chilly, the winter was setting in early so Merlin and Hunith were eager for work to start as soon as possible. There were numerous leaks and fences to fix, and one of the village’s barns needed clearing out so it could filled with grain over the snowy season.

That, and as much firewood needed to be collected as possible so they could stockpile. They normally barely had enough to last them through the winter; Arthur had nodded in approval when Merlin had meekly asked if they could take a cart of wood with them from Camelot, but they still had a lot to gather.

It was the afternoon of their first day, Leon had been sent to a neighbour’s to fix a roof, Merlin was doing something outside, and Mordred was just about to head over to one of the livestock pastures to strengthen a few of the fences. Hunith was preparing the evening’s meal and Arthur stood politely in the doorway as he spoke:

“Merlin said that firewood had to be gathered? I can get started on that if you can point me in the right direction.”

Hunith smiles over her shoulder briefly, and Arthur ignores the warm fuzziness in his stomach at the sight as she speaks:

“Oh don’t worry about that, we’ve only one axe in the village and Merlin is out by the barn chopping wood now. I know there’s a leak somewhere in the basement of the village hall, a few of the boys are already down there if you’re looking for something to do?”

Arthur raises his eyebrow at Hunith’s insistence that Merlin, his lanky manservant, was outside with an axe chopping wood, and he glances at Mordred over his shoulder, who just shrugs, nodding to Hunith’s turned back. The King responds quietly, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice:

“Hmm. I’ll go check in with Merlin and then head down to the hall, if he doesn’t need help.”

Hunith hums in agreement, but otherwise doesn’t reply, mumbling under her breath about herbs and measurements as she stirs something into the pot. Arthur smirks at Mordred and the two of them head out, neither mentioning how Mordred was following Arthur to find Merlin instead of getting to the fences.

They walk in silence, though they both freeze on the spot when they turn a corner to see Merlin, once again with his sleeves rolled up, hefting around a huge lump of wood, a ginormous axe resting on his shoulder. He gets the wood where he wants it, stepping back and wiping his forearm across his sweaty forehead before lifting the axe and swinging it down again. The stump splits easily beneath the sharpened metal, and Merlin wastes no time in repositioning the new pieces of wood, ready to be chopped again.

Arthur doesn’t even realise his mouth is hanging open until Mordred looks at him and smirks, biting his lip before giving in and snorting quietly:

“You’re the colour of our capes, Sire, and you might want to shut your mouth. Don’t want to catch flies, do you?”

Arthur’s jaw snaps shut with a clack, and he frowns as his teeth begin to ache. Mordred chuckles slightly and though Arthur is grateful that the young knight is finally comfortable enough to joke around with him, he desperately wishes he wasn’t at Gwaine’s level of comfort.

Instead of retorting, Arthur just clears his throat and turns around, striding towards the village hall:

“It appears he’s got things handled. Those fences won’t fix themselves, Sir Mordred.”

Mordred only just manages to hold in his giggle, looking up to see Merlin staring confusedly at him and Arthur’s rapidly retreating back. He waves briefly, sending a quick “I’ll tell you later.” over their mental link before turning himself and heading in the direction of the pastures.

He knows full well that he has no intention of telling Merlin about Arthur’s crush; watching them tiptoe around each other was the funniest thing ever, and he didn’t want to ruin the bet that Gwaine had going.

+1)

The fight was vicious, more so than any of the skirmishes the knights had dealt with in the last several months.

They were vastly outnumbered, and the addition of four powerful sorcerers to the enemy ranks meant that Merlin and Mordred were quickly running out of energy, having to focus on both the magical aspect of the fight, and trying to keep everyone else alive.

The metallic scent of blood was almost overwhelming, and the constant clang of metal on metal mixed with the whooshing echoes of sorcerous fire and vines was deafening. The fight went on a lot longer than Merlin had thought it would; the enemy was clearly more skilled than predicted, but the Camelot knights did prevail eventually, Percival ending the fight with the smooth slice of his blade across the last mercenary’s throat.

Merlin wastes no time in running his gaze over the knights, giving special attention to Arthur as he searches for any injuries that need seeing to immediately. The last of the sorcerers had managed to escape, so they needed to get out of there as soon as possible: there’s no way they’d survive a second attack if he came back with reinforcements.

Merlin was relieved to see nothing too serious; Lancelot had a gash on his temple that would need a thorough cleaning and a few stitches, and Gwaine was holding his wrist to his chest in a way that told Merlin it was likely broken, but everyone was on their feet and no one was crying. That’s a good start.

Merlin relaxes, but his shoulders quickly tense again as Mordred’s voice echoes weakly through his head:

“Emrys... I’m... I’m tired...”

Merlin whips around quickly, his eyes wide and panicked as his frantic gaze lands on the young knight. He’s leaning against a tree, his eyes hooded and focused on the floor. Merlin leaps towards him, catching him just before his head lands harshly on a boulder, and pulling the collapsed younger man into a more comfortable position as Arthur rushes over:

“What’s wrong with him? I don’t see any blood, was he hit with magic?”

Merlin waves him off, checking Mordred’s pulse and breathing before he relaxes again, sending a tired, but relieved smile up to The King:

“He’s fine, just exhausted. This is the first time he’s used this much magic in years, he’ll need a little while to recover his strength, but we need to get out of here in case they come back.”

Arthur lets out a relieved sigh and nods, leaning down to take one of Mordred’s arms and waving Gwaine over to pick his legs up, but before either of them get even close, Merlin stands up, dragging Mordred with him and settling the armoured knight across his shoulders. He looks to Arthur next to him, not seeming to notice The King’s shock as he quickly says:

“I know you’re The King and all, but would you mind carrying my bag?”

Arthur nods dumbly, picking up Merlin’s dropped medical bag without taking his gaze off the Warlock, who wanders around double checking that the other knights were ok and that all the bandits were dead as if he didn’t have about 240 pounds of man and armour dangling from his shoulders.

Leon catches Arthur’s eye, nodding pointedly towards the path they needed to take, trying to pull Arthur back into the present before the others notice him gawping. Arthur gulps, blushing as he nods his thanks and moves away from the battlefield, Merlin’s bag secured on his shoulders as he confidently speaks:

“Merlin’s right, we need to get as far away from here as we can. I saw a cave about two hours’ back North, we can make camp there before heading back to Camelot in the morning. Gather as much as you can carry, we’ve no hope of finding the horses before nightfall, hopefully they can make their own way home.”

The knights all nod, following Arthur’s lead as he steps carefully through the underbrush, trying not leave any obvious pointers to their direction. He keeps his gaze resolutely ahead as he hears Percival ask:

“You alright, Merlin? Sure you don’t want a hand?”

Despite keeping his gaze stubbornly forward, Arthur strains his ears to hear Merlin’s response, refusing to acknowledge the sudden weakness in his knees at what the Warlock replies with:

“Nah, it’s fine, he’s not that heavy.”

Leon subtly sidles up to walk next to The King, glancing behind him before leaning in close, talking quietly as they moved:

“Perhaps you should... let him know of you affections, Sire?”

Arthur’s blushing gaze quickly finds the older knight’s before he looks away again:

“I don’t know what you think you’re implying, Sir Leon.”

Leon just raises his eyebrow in an unusual display of amused defiance:

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur. He’s been by your side for ten years, you’ve been through the unspeakable, both with each other and for each other. That, and he has a surprisingly... admirable physique.-”

Arthur’s blush deepens and he clears his throat, crossing his arms petulantly and staring resolutely ahead. Leon puts a hand on The young King’s shoulder as he continues:

“-You’re...-”

The knight sighs and bites his lip again, debating with himself over whether he should say it or not:

“-you’re head over heels for him, Sire, perhaps it’s time to do something about it? Gods know he feels the same, and the Gods also know that he’ll never make the first move. He’s still... nervous, about messing things up, I think. His-”

Leon glances over his shoulder again to make sure no one could hear him before dropping his voice to a whisper:

“-his magic being outed put him... on edge, even after all these months. He won’t do anything that he think could push you away or anger you.”

Arthur sighs and nods, before turning to him slowly with an embarrassed scowl on his face; he doesn’t shrug off Leon’s hand, which the knight takes as a good sign:

“Not a word to anyone, Leon, I swear to the Gods.”

Leon holds his hand up and uses his other to wave a cross over his heart:

“I swear, Sire. Though I feel the need to tell you that... at least three of the other servants, and I do believe Lady Bronwyn and Sir Galahad, also have... uh... their eyes on him, as it were.”

Arthur’s scowl gets impossibly deeper as he huffs, muttering to himself:

“They do, do they? Well, we’ll see about that.”

Leon just smirks again and rolls his eyes fondly before falling back to walk with Elyan.

They finally make it back to the cave, though it took them even longer without horses. Merlin had requested they stop around a candle mark in so he could remove some of the heavier bits of Mordred’s armour, passing them off to the other knights, but he had once again rejected any offers of help, saying that he was slowly siphoning his own magic into Mordred so he would wake sooner. Apparently they needed to be touching for that to happen, and though Merlin had been teaching them, none of them had enough knowledge on magic to know whether that was true or not, but they did know that Merlin was incredibly protective of the young Druid, so they let it be.

A fire was lit quickly and supplies were laid out. A map had been saved, thankfully, so they could figure out roughly where they were and how long it would take them to get back home as Merlin quickly treated Lance’s gash and Gwaine’s wrist.

Mordred begins to stir just as Percival serves up food, groaning slightly and rubbing at his eyes before struggling to sit himself up. Merlin had rushed to his side as soon as he felt the Druid begin to wake, and helps prop him up against the cave wall, handing him a water-skin as he stares at him with concern. Mordred takes a long drink, nodding his thanks and clearing his throat before speaking, his voice gravelly and slow:

“This... this is the cave we passed a few hours ago...”

His voice trails off, and Arthur answers the question in his tone:

“Hmm. We had no horses, so we were never going to make it back to the city, but we couldn’t stay where we were.”

Mordred nods, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes again as he asks:

“How did you get me this far without horses?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, blushing slightly as he looks away, but thankfully Gwaine butts in, answering with a grin on his face before anyone notices The King’s flush:

“Merlin here is stronger than he looks. Carried you the whole way, didn’t use magic or anything.”

Mordred turns his incredulous gaze to Merlin and he just shrugs absentmindedly:

“You don’t weigh that much, it was fairly easy.”

Elyan laughs and shakes his head, joining in on the conversation quickly:

“Are you kidding me? I mean... sure, I could’ve carried him for maybe an hour, if I was at full strength and it was easy terrain. You carried him for three, only took his armour off in the second hour, down what could barely be classified as a path, in a barely tamed forest, after a pretty hefty fight. That’s... impressive.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, looking around the room in bafflement as he realises that everyone is staring at him with varying levels of impressed confusion:

“You guys... you guys know that I grew up in the country, right? I spent my childhood climbing trees and running away from predators, and my teenage years chopping wood, building things with barely any help, and fighting the odd bear. I then arrive in Camelot, only to immediately be given a job that involves carrying a shit ton of heavy stuff, including, but not limited to: armour, luggage, hunting equipment, and the occasional unconscious idiot.”

Arthur sits up straight and scowls slightly when Merlin gestures to him instead of Mordred:

“You have never had to carry me anywhere.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, gaze sinking to the floor as he smirks and coughs out something that sounds suspiciously like “Sophia”.

Arthur’s blush deepens and he jabs an accusing finger in Merlin’s direction:

“That. Didn’t. Happen.”

Merlin bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, but his dimples still show through despite his best effort and he holds his hands up in surrender:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur just clenches his jaw and sits back against the wall with eyes focused on his food and cheeks red, stubbornly ignoring the knights’ curious stares as everyone eats their food. Merlin fusses over Mordred for a few more minutes but is quickly waved away by the younger man; the Warlock huffs and rolls his eyes, but gives in to the fact that Mordred did not need, nor want, to be babied. He moves subtly around the cave to sit down next to Arthur, barely a foot of air between them despite the abundance of space elsewhere.

Arthur forces his blush down at Merlin’s proximity, refusing to think of anything but his food and the difficult journey home, desperately keeping his gaze on his meal instead of Merlin’s strong legs stretched out next to him.

The King doesn’t acknowledge him, but doesn’t move away either, which Merlin takes as a good sign as he settles in, wrapping himself in a blanket to protect his body from the impending cold.

The other knights have long since finished their meals, scarping the lot in a matter of seconds in an attempt to gain back a little energy after the hours of riding and fighting and walking; they quickly settle into the blankets and cloaks and bedrolls they had managed to carry, though Leon seems to deliberately move slower, waiting for Arthur to glance up at him so he can give a pointed look to Merlin, just finishing his food, before laying down and attempting to sleep.

Arthur blushes with wide eyes, but Leon turns around before he has time to glare at him, and The King huffs quietly, risking a glance to a shivering Merlin next to him. He quickly frowns, not moving his gaze away like he had intended to, instead whispering softly:

“Cold? Can’t you use magic to warm up?”

Merlin looks to him tiredly, leaning his head back against the wall as his eyelids droop slightly:

“Hmm. I gave most of my reserves to Mordred, he was worse off than I first thought so he needed a lot more magic than I realised to keep him alive long enough for his energy to build up again.-”

Arthur widens his eyes at the fact that he was so close to losing one of his knights, but then shakes his head, huffing as he glares at the Warlock disapprovingly, but Merlin closes his eyes and continues before he can get told off:

“-I’ll be fine by morning, I just need-”

He’s interrupted when his body is wracked by a particularly strong shiver:

“-I just need some sleep.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, shuffling into a more comfortable position before opening his arms, spreading his cloak wide as if they were a pair of majestic wings:

“Come here, you idiot. I can’t have you freezing to death because you refuse to look after yourself.”

In normal circumstance Merlin would’ve argued, but he really was cold, so when he cracks his eyes open to see Arthur ready and waiting, he doesn’t hesitate to crawl hurriedly over. Arthur ignores the flush rising on his cheeks as Merlin clambers over one of his legs, settling between them and shoving his head under the blonde’s chin; he wraps his cloak around the two of them and rubs his cheek into the Warlock’s soft hair.

He can feel Merlin grin against his collarbone, and it’s enough to distract him from the surprising, but not unwelcome, weight of Merlin’s muscled form against his chest:

“You know, Arthur, if you wanted to feel up my muscles so badly you just had to ask. You stare far too often to think you’re subtle.”

Arthur’s flush deepens and his body goes rigid as Merlin giggles. He clenches his jaw and lands a punch, far softer than he would normally go for, on the other man’s shoulder, but that just makes him giggle harder, and Arthur has to hush him in fear of waking the others. Merlin looks up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking tiredly with a satisfied smile on his face:

“Just let me know if you ever want carrying around, I’m more than happy to help.”

Arthur gulps, refusing to make eye contact as he stares resolutely at the opposite wall and not acknowledging the red hue of his cheeks:

“When we get back to Camelot, I’m hanging you for treason.”

Merlin snorts quietly, re-burying his face in Arthur’s chest and curling up tightly in his lap to stave off the cold:

“Whatever you say, Sire.”

Arthur gives in, smiling slightly and rolling his eyes as he tightens his hold on the other man. He lets his cheek fall back to rest on his soft hair as he closes his eyes, allowing his exhaustion to take over and descending into an easy sleep.

THE END!!

We stan Arthur gay panicking and all the knights (bar Leon of course, who handles it as tactically as he’s able) ruthlessly taking the piss :D

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thank you anon, I loved writing this!!!

Same as always, someone wants to write it up in full, go for it!! Drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

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