#we got the fact that ghosts can feel sensations and affect the living (but the recoil is worse than the shot)

[virmillion]

"what about possession?"

"what about it?"

"can we do it?"

and then, no, not really, because you'd assume that would take hopping into a person's head and grabbing the steering wheel. rough already knew his hands weren't tangible anymore, and he figured that probably extended to the rest of him, too - clothes included. he didn't want to ask about that part aloud, in case the fabric suddenly remembered it was supposed to be abiding by the laws of physics and just sloughed off him.

anyway, he tried hopping into the nearest person, which was a little like going from a hot tub to a swimming pool - shockingly cold, panicky, and a brief stunned stillness that left him standing there as the unwitting victim kept walking. the only indication they'd felt anything was a slight jerk of their head, which rough recognized as a sudden chill that made your body spazz out - at least, that's how he interpreted it. he elected not to ask aleth if that's what all those were.

he tried again on another person, only to be left shivering in their wake.

"the shock to the system on both ends makes it sort of impossible," aleth explained. rough went to grab her hand, but she didn't offer one. right, the intangibility. "usually you're supposed to move on before you've practiced enough to be able to handle it -"

"which you haven't done."

"shut up. but it's also kind of uncouth, i want to say? it's weird to be in charge of someone else, even in theory, so it's just not done."

"because you can't or because you won't?"

"there's no reason to in the first place, so why worry about it?"

"ghost?"

ghost shrugged. "i've tried a few times when i got bored, and they were more suggestible, but that's it. i didn't have total control or anything."

"and they've stopped doing it," aleth added, in a tone that made it clear the stopping wasn't ghost's choice.

"does it always feel that bad?" rough asked.

"describe bad," ghost said, earning a frown from aleth.

"like, i know it's a shock to the system, but the freezing cold part? like jumping into a swimming pool from a hot tub?" yeah, sue me - it's my story to tell, i'm allowed to use the same metaphor twice.

aleth and ghost traded a glance, and rough tried not to explode internally at how they'd apparently developed their own silent language in the time he'd been gone. the time they'd been gone, he supposed, since he was there and they weren't. what was there even to say, anyway, with ghost's expressions hid behind blank, sharpied-on eyes?

"it varies," aleth finally concluded.

"what's it like for you, then?"

"different."

"suffocating," ghost supplied. this afforded them another frown from aleth, coupled with a glare and a slight shake of her head. "but different, mostly."

[mercy-burning]

Your Favorite — Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Y/N and Spencer decide to keep seeing each other in secret. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, cockwarming, heavy petting, penetrative/unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral sex (both receiving), degradation, exhibitionism, fingering, cum play maybe? Word Count: 7.5k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is... *nervous laugh* this is pure filth. Like... It’s nothing but sex scenes, y’all. Buckle in. (Also the end is a lil angsty so watch out hehehe)

———

JULY 8th

"You're sure you guys are okay without me for a little while?"

I love my mom. Really, I do.

But if she delays her bath for any longer than one more second, I'm going to burst into flames.

Thankfully it seems that Spencer is patient enough for the both of us. "Positive. You deserve to relax a little. Go. Take your bath, we'll be fine."

Mom looks to me for extra reassurance, and I give it to her with a nod.

"Okay. I'll try not to be too long."

She turns and kisses Spencer, long and lovesick, and I want to barf. What's even worse is that when she pulls away and pats my head before retreating up the stairs, he's smiling. And he's supposed to, I know that. Part of him obviously cares about my mom, and even if he's only fucking me on the side, the fact remains that he goes to sleep next to her. That's the way it has to be.

But it still makes me incredibly envious.

It's a problem.

Mom is upstairs now, but our rule is that unless we know for certain that she's not coming into sight or earshot anytime soon, we remain distant.

Still, I make my distaste for their affections known. "You guys are gross..."

Spencer laughs, his hand sneaking over the couch cushion and grazing the end of my skirt. "Jealous, are we?"

Of course, I have to make it difficult for him. "You're a genius, you tell me..."

"Hey now... You're lucky I'm giving you any attention at all... Besides, you know the rules."

I glance over at him, practically crumbling apart at the seams under his intense gaze. It's one I've gotten used to as of late, one that rivals every smile I've ever seen him give my mother.

"Doesn't make it any easier," I mumble, glancing down at where his fingers are still toying with my skirt.

"I know..." He reaches out and touches my hand, and my skin tingles. "Come here."

Even though I can hear that the bath water has only just started running from below, I comply all the same. I scramble off the couch and return on his lap, straddling him and nesting my fingers through his hair while I lean in to kiss him.

He welcomes me with open arms and an open mouth. The moment our tongues brush, I sigh and melt into him, needing desperately to be as close as possible. Our kisses then are languid and wet, and soft. We don't want to get carried away in case we need to be alert and jump apart, so it's best to keep our bodies controlled.

But as I'm learning, around Spencer, controlling myself is painstakingly difficult.

A whine escapes me when his right hand slips under my skirt and rests along the inside of my thigh, and I shift, silently begging him to give me more.

"So impatient..." he mumbles over my mouth.

I pull away and slide my hands down over his neck and shoulders, my hips rolling forward as I pout. "I haven't had you all week. I'm lonely..."

It's true.

Once all my STD tests came back clean and I got my birth control figured out and solid, the first thing he did was tell my mom he wasn't feeling well and texted me the address to his apartment. And after I told her I was meeting up with a friend, I drove over there and got my brains completely fucked out. We spent all day under the sheets, on the couch, over the kitchen counter, and then on the floor, until I had to go home and pretend like it never happened.

Since then we'd only slept together once, and that was just over a week ago, quickly while Mom ran to the store for an onion of all things. And then Spencer had been busy with consulting on new cases that his old job wanted a little help with, and once he had free time, Mom insisted they go on a date weekend.

I pout harder, stomach churning at the memory of the look he gave me before they left—a silent, sweet goodbye that had left me empty and wanting.

But he's just amused.

A smirk ghosts over his lips, red and a little puffy from the pressure of my own against them. "So I definitely can't trust you to be quiet enough to fuck you properly..."

That warrants another whine and another roll of my hips, and I can feel his hand gripping my thigh a little tighter.

"Please... Spencer, I need you..."

His name rolling off my tongue must be what makes him give into me, because I barely have time to react before he's kissing me again, using both of his hands to lift the back of my skirt up and knead my ass.

"Wait... Are you wearing..."

I grin over his lips, wiggling my ass into his touch and utterly turned on by the fact that he knows what underwear I'm wearing just by touch.

"Mhmm," I answer, nipping his bottom lip. "Your favorite..."

The sound that rumbles in his chest as he crashes his body against mine has to be the sexiest thing I've ever heard. He's obviously trying not to be loud, but it's hard, and that makes the sound strained. He really wants this, wants to keep me, and to do that he has to refrain from going absolutely primal right now. He has to do anything to keep this quiet.

So he pushes me off of him, and I pout, thinking he's given up until we can get a true moment alone.

But I know that isn't the case when he spins his finger and then starts undoing his pants.

"Turn around, sweetheart," he huffs, slipping his pants and underwear down just enough that his erection emerges free. "You're gonna sit here, keep quiet, and keep my cock nice and warm, understood?"

Don't have to tell me twice... I'll fucking take what I can get.

So I spin, back up, and move all my clothing to the side, my skirt lifting as I nestle into Spencer's lap and hold my panties to the side. He laughs at my eagerness, though he isn't laughing much longer once I sink down onto him and get in real close. His hands come out to grab my chest and pull me flush against his own.

The way he stretches and fills me has my eyes rolling back, a long, happy sigh falling from my lips. I wish I could say I'm being dramatic about it, but I'm really not.

I'm genuinely relieved and satisfied with the burn.

"There's my girl," Spencer muses through a sigh of his own, his breath fanning gently over my neck right before he gives it an open-mouthed kiss.

His hands slip under the baggy sweater I'm wearing and run along the planes of my stomach, then up and up, taking the fabric with him until it rests above my bare chest. Being exposed like this, right in the middle of the living room while my mom is just upstairs, excites me more than I think it should.

While Spencer kisses and licks at my neck, his hands now gently kneading my breasts, I squirm.

He doesn't like that very much.

"Ah-ah," he warns, squeezing me tight and pulling me into him more. "Relax..."

He hooks his legs around mine then, spreading them apart and somehow filling me deeper. I whine, leaning my head back onto his shoulder and trying not to roll my hips.

Instead, I settle for clenching myself around him, and that seems to be the right move.

"Atta girl... Lay back and relax... Just feel me filling you up nice and slow..."

"Mmmm," I respond in kind as his hands loosen and glide down my body.

He's light with his touch, though the kisses on my neck feel hungry, and his cock feels heavy and thick inside me. It's a beautiful contrast, really, making me feel so full and yet so light, like I'm a raincloud.

Soon his fingers dip under my skirt and cover my hand, which is working at keeping my panties off to the side. He traces the curves of my fingers with his own, mumbling praises and scattering kisses along the side of my neck. And I'm distracted enough that I almost don't feel his other hand make gentle contact with my clit until I gasp from the sharp sensation.

I can feel his smile against my skin as he starts rubbing in slow, precise circles.

"That feel good, princess?"

"Uh huh," I breathe out, trying to keep still. My other hand digs into my knee in hopes that I can stay grounded and focused on keeping still. But despite that, I'm feeling rather calm. Satisfied...

Right where he wants me.

"Mmm..." He hums happily into my skin, continuing to kiss my neck while working my clit.

And I have no idea how long we lay there. It feels like it could be hours.

The TV is on, but we're not paying any attention to it. In the back of my mind I know that Mom could be done with her bath at any minute, but it's been too long without Spencer inside me... And even though he's not actually fucking me, just having him this close and feeling him touch me, fill me, breathe me in...

God, I never want it to stop.

I'm almost on the verge of coming, but he removes his hand from me and slides them up my stomach again.

I whine at the loss of orgasm, but he pays it no mind. "Here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna start moving..."

I start to get excited, wiggling in his lap a little.

With a dark laugh, he brings his hands to my breasts, kneading them gently and nipping my earlobe. Getting my attention...

"But you're not gonna stop until I fill that slutty little cunt with my cum, got it? I don't care if you come more than once. I don't care if you come at all... I don't care if your mom comes down here and sees..."

I swear I almost come on the spot from his words alone.

And then his voice is somehow even darker, seeping through my skin and settling into the very deepest parts of me.

"You will not stop until you make me come, am I clear?"

I wouldn't deny him if I could. I'm so damn whipped by this man, so eager to please and be near him that he could ask me to do any fucking thing on the planet and I would.

My rational brain might have second-guessed that feeling if it hadn't been horny as fuck...

And so I get to it, maneuvering my hips and working Spencer's cock like my life depends on it. And honestly, it kind of does, because if my mother comes down and catches us I'm dead.

Despite the urgency, though, I relish every second of it. I try to remember every sensation vividly because I don't know when I'll get to feel it again. So every time I sit back down on his dick, I clench it on the way up, because I know that drives him wild and it also means I get to feel him grab me tighter.

I can't see him, not even really when I turn my head, but I can picture how he's probably biting his lip, trying not to be loud. His eyes are probably shooting daggers at the ceiling, praying to the heavens above that my mom won't come down.

But it looks like the heavens above have decided to damn us to hell.

That unmistakable sound of the drain in the tub rumbles through the ceiling and down the inside of the walls as the water travels through the pipes, and my heartbeat races faster than it ever has.

Spencer tugs my hair then, pulling my head to meet his shoulder once more. "You better hurry, little girl..."

That's when I finally come. My cunt throbs and shakes around him as I bounce as quietly as I can. His grip in my hair is tighter, urging me to keep going, and the sharp sensation seems to extend my orgasm a little.

I whimper and whine as I feel it, and that seems to be what does him in.

"Fuck, Y/N, that's it... That's my girl..."

Four more bounces from me is all it takes, and then he's holding my hips in place. He grunts as quietly as possible into my shoulder and fucks into me slowly, filling me to the brim with his cum and breathing harshly into my skin.

I can hear Mom walking around upstairs, most likely getting dressed, which means she'll be down any minute...

"Time to get up, princess," Spencer whispers a moment later, letting go of my hips.

I turn my head into his neck, whining. "I don'wanna..."

"I know, I know... But you have to."

I know he's right. But I can't just get up and lose him so quickly. I want to hold on for as long as possible.

So I tilt my head up and bring his lips to mine. Thankfully he doesn't reject me, instead returning my affections and sighing into my mouth. He's still sheathed inside me, and I can feel his cum very slowly starting to drip down.

I have to get up now...

My mouth reluctantly parts from his and pouts. I expect him to return it with a sad smile, but his lips are rather mischievous.

He smirks, lifting me off of him and quickly pulling my panties back in place. His cum instantly soaks into the thin, lavender fabric, and it only reminds me of his absence.

But then Spencer spins me around on the heels of my feet and presses his hand firmly to my clothed, sopping wet cunt under my skirt, rubbing it in and making me whimper out at the overstimulation.

"I missed you," he whispers sincerely. Sweetly...

I can't help but smile as I lean down to kiss him one more time.

"I missed you, too."

JULY 23rd

I've been looking forward to this weekend since Mom brought it up after her bath—A call from work. A weekend business trip across the country.

She would be gone for almost a whole week.

Spencer's already started on his coursework for the next school year so he'll be busy most days, but at night? That's when he's all mine.

The only hard part about this, really, is containing my excitement. Just yesterday Spencer got me alone and warned me that I better keep my cool and be patient. Though, the way he said it was hardly a bad thing considering it gave me an excuse to feel his hands on me, even in the laundry room where, more or less, this had all started.

Even now I can still feel their warmth and their heft as they grope and paw at my breasts while he attacks my neck with sloppy kisses.

But right now he's not here, and as much as I can't wait to spend the week with him, my mom is also going to be gone for that long.

Just because I'm fucking her boyfriend on a regular basis doesn't mean I don't still love her.

Though, the thought of it all makes me a little uneasy—I don't know what the future holds. I know Spencer obviously cares about my mom, but if it really gets to a point where they've been together long enough, would he ever marry her?

And then what?

It's one thing for him to be my mom's boyfriend, who doesn't live here and only stays when he can... But it's a whole other one to be my stepfather. And what if my mom wants to have another kid?

No.

I'm not even going to think about it... If it ever gets to that point, then we'll deal with it, but right now I've only known Spencer for nearly 2 months, and it's way too soon to be thinking about any of that right now.

"You gonna be alright without me for a week?"

I curl into Mom's side, laughing and thankful for her distraction. "I spend almost a whole year away at college without you, I think I can survive five days."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I wish you could just stay here with me forever."

"Ha, no you don't. I'm a menace."

"Only when you eat all my food and then complain that you're starving..."

My eyes roll affectionately. "Mom. That was one time, and I was fifteen and dramatic."

She kisses the top of my head and then rests her chin on it. "Then my point stands... You were only a menace when you were fifteen. Now you're an angel."

I can tell she's sincere, and when I tell her Thank you, it feels incredibly deceitful—Especially when she starts humming my favorite song and brushing through my hair with her fingers, just like she used to do to get me to sleep as a kid. The foggy feeling it sends through my bloodstream reminds me that I'm definitely not the same person I was back then.

Although, it is true that some things never change, and within minutes I'm soundly asleep in my mother's arms.

———

When Spencer and I are sending her off at the airport the next morning, my heart thrums wildly in my chest.

"You have Spencer's number in case of an emergency?" she asks me in a haste.

"Yes, Mom. For the thousandth time, I have his number, and I have Grandma's number, and I have just about every other number you've ever given me for emergency contacts."

She gives me The Look.

"Yes, I have it. And I'll be okay. I love you."

"Oh, I love you, too," she says, pulling me in for one last breath-reducing hug, though, that's not truly what knocks the breath from my lungs.

She goes to Spencer next, reaching up to give him a goodbye kiss. I'm expecting it. I'm okay with it.

But this is unlike any other kiss I've seen them share, and it admittedly makes me jealous.

Spencer almost has her off the ground, pressing her close to him and kissing her deeply. Her hands weave through his hair as he tilts his head, and this time I can see his tongue slip into her mouth.

"O—kaaay, my eyes are burning... Thank you for that..."

I know I can get away with that because it's a completely normal reaction to seeing your mother make out with anyone, so I don't feel bad about it one bit. And I especially don't feel bad about the warning look he gives me over my mom's shoulder when she comes to give me another hug.

But then she's gone, and minutes later we're leaving the airport parking lot, and I can't seem to shake my jealousy. Even when his hand rests politely on my knee.

The whole way home I only barely acknowledge his presence, giving him half-hearted smiles and remaining mostly still when he glides his hand higher up my leg. By the time his fingers slip under the hem of my skirt, I think he knows something is up, because it stops there.

He waits until we get in the house to bring it up.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

I plop myself down on the couch with an overexaggerated sigh. "Kinda..."

I know Spencer used to be a profiler, and really, it's not that hard to figure out what's wrong with me. But it's still a little scary how easily he just knows.

"You know I had to," he says, walking over and standing in front of me. "Keeping up appearances and whatnot."

He's right. And it's a consequence of what we've decided to do, so really I'm in no place to complain.

Still, I reach out and pull him in by the belt loops, leaning my face in rather close to his crotch. "You know... Actually, I think you just like making me jealous..."

The smile that dances over his lips is amused and downright sinful. "Oh?"

"Mhmm," I drawl, sliding my hands to the front of his pants and rubbing him through the fabric.

He laughs. "Yeah, you are pretty cute when you're all huffy."

With big eyes and a fluttering in my stomach at the way he looks down at me, I feel that pressing of jealousy start to lift off my chest. I know that within an hour he'll have me pinned under his body somehow, and the thought allows my response to come out clearly and without question.

"So how are you gonna make it up to me?"

———

We're already out of our clothes by the time we make it upstairs. And when we finally get into my bedroom, I'm about to shut the door and then Spencer stops me.

"No one's home, sweetheart... Leave it open."

He takes two steps and has me in his arms, his hands sliding down my back and resting over my ass. And when he gives it a squeeze, he grins down at me. "You're gonna be loud for me, understand?"

"Hey, that's on you," I tease, wiggling against him. "You want me loud? Make me loud."

His grip on my ass gets tighter as he pulls me closer, and I yelp out. "Don't challenge me, little girl... You'll regret it."

I laugh then, calling back to his earlier statement. "Aw... You're pretty cute when you're all huffy..."

"Alright, fine."

The next thing I know, I'm on my knees, and his hands are rooting in my hair. The rough carpet underneath me already burns, but I know in the end it's gonna be so worth it.

Spencer brings me close to his exposed crotch and tilts my head up to look at him. "I'm gonna fuck that attitude right out of your pretty little mouth, got it? And you're not gonna do a damn thing but take it like a good girl."

I would have asked him if that was a threat or a promise if he hadn't immediately shoved his dick in my mouth. It has me wet in an instant, the way he just pulls me onto him and starts fucking my face with an urgency that seems to contradict all the time we have. He needs me now, with no time for teasing or pleasantries, and I fucking love it.

Which is why I do as I'm told, enjoying every second as he holds my head still and snaps his hips forward, his velvety smooth cock gliding over my tongue and down my throat with ease. It doesn't take long for my eyes to water, my vision going blurry and my body growing hot. My face is angled straight ahead, but I still find a way to look up at him, and from this low angle?

It's the best thing I've ever seen.

No matter how many times I've been on my knees like this, staring up at Spencer as he loses himself at my hands (or rather my mouth, if you want to get technical), I swear I could never tire of it.

His eyes are glaring down at me as he concentrates, his arms are out in front of me as they hold my head in place, and his pubic bone and sculpted hips are right there, moving ferociously in front of my eyes. He's so deep in my throat for a few seconds, holding me down while I gag around him, that my nose is buried in the soft trail of hair that gathers on his skin, and I want to stay there forever.

But my gag reflex isn't much durable for more than fifteen seconds, much less forever, so I have to pull back.

Spencer pulls me off of him completely, a trail of spit following my lips and then detaching until it lands along my chin. I blink away some of the tears that had gathered in my eyes and pout up at him.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're supposed to be making it up to me..." My voice is scratchy and a little hoarse now, but I know it'll probably be worse if Spencer really thinks he can make me as loud as he says (which I truly don't doubt for a second).

He tugs me up by the hair, and I whine as I get to my feet, my knees aching already. And then his mouth is on my cheek, gently kissing away a tear. "Aw, I thought you liked having my dick in your mouth..."

"I do..."I giggled a little, nestling into his body and feeling his erection, now slick with my saliva, press up against the inside of my thigh. "But I like it better in other places..."

"Mmm, you're right... I do, too..."

I certainly hadn't been expecting that answer.

But it doesn't surprise me when he walks us over to the foot of my bed and pushes me onto it. "Hands and knees, princess."

My knees still burn from the carpet, and I'm sure this squeaky-ass mattress won't alleviate the pain at all, but if there's one thing I've learned since having sex with Spencer it's that pain is all part of the pleasure.

So I don't question it. My limbs submit to his simple command, and once I turn away from him and perch myself on my hands and knees, I can feel him climbing on the bed and crawling up the backside of my body. His hands roam my ass and my waist, and within seconds he has his cock nestled against me.

He moves nice and slow at first, dragging the length of him through my slick cunt and ghosting the skin of my backside with his hands.

"Remember... Nice and loud, okay? Wanna hear how good I make you feel."

Like I could ever deny him. Even though I like to tease him and push his buttons, I couldn't think of a single thing in the moment that I'd ever deny him.

So he finally pushes into me, stretching me out well and good, and a low groan slowly rolls off my tongue like a waterfall. And I'm not doing it for his sake; It's like he draws it out of me like a syringe, and I'm utterly powerless against it... Against him.

Like I need a metaphor to explain how I'm well and truly his bitch...

"There she is..." Spencer breathes, reaching the very deepest part of me and staying there. "There's my obedient little girl... Tell me what you want."

I turn my head to get as good of a look at him as I can, and give him the pout to end all pouts. "I want you to fuck me, hard... Please?"

His answer is a gentle push forward, his body leaning over mine to take my hands and pin them behind my back, which pulls me up towards him so that my back is nearly flush with his chest. His hands are so big that one of them is able to hold both of my wrists while the other gathers my hair and tugs.

I feel like I'm being held by a bungee cord, especially when Spencer starts snapping his hips and pounding into me roughly. My knees are pushing into the springs of the mattress and lifting again with each thrust, and I can't help the stream of whimpers and shouts that escape me at the whole experience.

He lets go of my hair in favor of reaching around and palming my left tit, his pace never faltering for a second. Everything he's doing is precise and swift and so fucking good that my eyes can hardly stay open.

"I'm hearing you, pretty girl, but I don't think you're quite loud enough..." he grumbles in my ear, letting go of me and gently pushing me back down on the bed. He slips out of me and I whine at the loss, but I don't have to worry about it much longer when I feel him lay down over top of me and slam into me hard.

I yelp out, my hands reaching out and clutching the comforter for dear life. Spencer's hands, meanwhile, push up off the mattress on either side of my hips to lift himself up, and then he's grabbing my waist and pushing me into it while he fucks me.

When I instinctively shove my face down and try to muffle myself, though, one of his hands leaves my waist and comes up to tug my hair, pulling my head up. His hips pause, pressed deep into my backside, and I can feel how he's struggling to keep still.

"Uh-uh... No one's home, princess... Let it all out..."

He pulls back and plows into me again, and this time his pace is frustratingly slow. With each slam forward my voice grows louder, begging him for more with incoherence until I start to feel myself grow tense with pleasure.

"You're almost there, baby, I can feel it," Spencer breathes. His voice is far away, and I wish he was closer, his breath on my neck and his lips not far behind. But for now I gladly settle for his hands, tight and bruising on my hips, and the force of his pelvis as it collides brutally and wonderfully with my ass.

What finally brings me sweet release is the sound of him grunting out one word. A command. And once again it's like I'm powerless under his spell.

"Come."

I do, and he fucks me thoroughly through each wave. Even once I've finished, he chases his own orgasm for minutes.

By the sounds he's making and the way his hips falter here and there, I can tell he's close, but he wants to make it last. I want to tell him that we have all weekend, to maybe tease him a bit, but I'm so fucked out and incoherent that I couldn't have said a single word if I tried.

So I lay there and take it with a weary smile on my face, ever the whiny, whimpering mess that I am, and patiently wait for the moment he decides to let go.

And when he does, it's the most glorious feeling in the world. I'm tired, yes, but never tired enough to lift myself and wiggle my ass back into him, clenching myself around him and relishing in the way he grunts out my name. He empties himself into me, and I hum, positively satisfied and warm.

Before I know it, I'm sinking down within the comfort of my blankets, and I rest my head in my arms, the pillow still a little too far out of reach. And though I'm content, I still whine out sadly when Spencer retreats and leaves me feeling empty.

I'm about to tell him to get over here and cuddle me when I feel his weight redistribute, and it isn't long before he has his head between my legs, his tongue acting as a net for the cum that drips out of me. He barely touches me, only the tiniest of flicks with the tip of his tongue darting over my skin. I can't tell if I'm thankful because of the relief or if I want the burn to go on forever.

In the end, I don't really have a choice.

He pushes his tongue up, sweeping over my dripping cunt and cleaning me up. Suddenly his mouth is everywhere, making the most delicious sounds and bringing me closer to another orgasm, and all I can do is let it happen. My weary smile is joined by a fluttering pair of eyelids and a string of whimpers that are so small they don't dare drown out the words Spencer is grumbling between my legs.

Some of which, I can hear, sound out, "Another one..."

His finger adds to the mix, coming up and rubbing my clit in tight circles as he finishes cleaning up the mess he made, and within seconds I'm a writhing mess at his undoing.

I'm not sure how long it lasts, only that one second I'm tensing with another orgasm and the next I'm having my limbs moved.

Spencer is beside me in an instant, his face coming into view as I feel my breathing slow to a steadier pace. The longer I wait, the more focused I am on his features, soft and even a little concerned as he strokes some of the hair from my face.

"How are you feeling?"

The smile that beams across my face is just about the most natural thing I'd ever felt. And it seems to bring out those bright glints of adoration in his eyes that only ever serve to make my heart flutter, which makes what I tell him even more true.

"I'm happy."

JULY 27th

Waking up to Spencer next to me, while a daily occurrence these past few days, is still possibly the most surprising and comforting feeling in the world.

Our bodies never part. From the moment we lay down to sleep until the moment we wake up and decide it's time to start doing necessary daily things, not one inch of skin is untouched. Even when showering.

I think back to yesterday morning, where he dragged me out of bed because he had to pee and didn't want to leave me. I was slumped over the backside of his body while he went and then in his arms again while he ran us a shower to wake up.

It brings the widest smile to my face, however sleepy it may also be.

"What are you smiling for?"

I squint one eye open and see that Spencer is staring at me. I hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Just thinking about yesterday..."

He tightens his grip on my waist and pulls me even closer, my face instantly drawn to the crook of his neck. "Mmm," he hums as I nestle in and press a sleepy kiss to the bare skin at the column of his throat. "Which part?"

"Our shower."

I feel his thumb then, rubbing back and forth over my hip as clearly as I can feel him smile against the top of my head. "That was fun, wasn't it..."

"Mhmm," I agree. My lightly tongue traces over his collarbone before I kiss it again. "Our shower is much better equipped for sex than yours."

"So... What you're saying is that shower sex is out of the question this morning?" he confirms with a laugh.

"That's exactly what I'm saying..."

"Well then, princess, what uhh... What alternatives do you think we should try out?"

I start to laugh when he pulls my leg up over his waist and hoists me over on top of him. My face remains buried into his neck, though I trail my lips up and up until I reach his jaw.

"Hmm... What if I just ride you and see where it takes us?"

When my lips finally reach his cheek, Spencer shifts and captures them in a long, butterfly-inducing kiss before pulling away with a smile and brushing the hair from my face. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

It helps that I can already feel him hardening beneath me, and from the moment I felt his hands on me, I'd been aroused.

Though, as soon as I line him up and get ready to start our morning the right way, his phone rings on the bedside table. I'm tempted to keep going, but he half pushes me off of him when he reaches and reads the name.

"It's your mom."

That instantly kills my mood.

With a dramatic sigh and a pout, I hop off of him and curl up under the covers, letting him answer.

"Good morning," he chirps rather happily, and I try not to imagine my moms smile on the other end of the line. Thankfully I can't hear her, but I can still see Spencer smiling as he greets her and goes through all the pleasantries that come with a long distance relationship; I miss yous and how are yous...

I wonder if he really does miss her. He must, at least a little, right?

I'm staring straight ahead now, picking at my nails while I wait for them to finish talking, but something feels off.

I can feel Spencer's eyes on me.

But then he asks, "What are you wearing?" through the phone with a voice so playful and seductive, and I snap my head around, glaring at him.

"Really?" I mouth.

The smirk on his face makes me want to chuck his phone across the room.

"Mmm," he hums, looking me dead in the eye. And the next time he speaks, I swear he's talking directly to me. "Why don't you take it off... I want to talk you through some things..."

I know my mom is hearing the roughness in his voice through the phone, but right now I can see his eyes, hungry as they rake over my body once I slowly peel the blanket away and reveal myself to him, and I know that his main goal isn't to get my mom off.

It's to finish what we started before she'd interrupted.

"Touch yourself for me, baby? Nice and slow. Just relax..."

He softly crawls over to me, keeping the phone to his ear with one hand while the other takes my knees and spreads them apart.

I start to touch myself as instructed, but he swats my hand away and winks, nestling between my legs. I lean up on my elbows and tilt my head, wondering where he's going with this, when he leans his other cheek into my thigh.

"You know what I'd do to you right now If I was there?" A small pause. And then, "I'd use my fingers to slowly stretch you open... Feel you contract around me..."

His fingers do exactly like he says, and I have to stop myself from making any sound. The evil grin growing on his face as he does it all makes it even harder.

"I'd finger-fuck you nice and slow," he continues in a voice just above a whisper. "Until you're begging me for more."

When his eyes meet mine, once more I want to lean forward, snatch his phone, and smash it on the floor. I want him to utterly devour me, without any interruptions or avoidances at getting caught.

But he's such a fucking tease.

Mom must be talking on the other end, because Spencer is silent, slowly fucking me with his fingers and watching them intently as they disappear inside me. Entranced... The thought of her speaking to him and holding his attention makes me jealous— Sure, he's fucking me right now, but really, she's the one calling the shots.

I lean my head back in frustration, letting out the tiniest of whines and grinding my hips up into his hand, hoping and pleading for more.

A low laugh leaves him. "Please, what?"

It's not lost on me that my mom must have asked for more from him at the same time I did... It cements just how absolutely fucked this whole situation is, and yet I can't help but clench around his fingers in earnest, silently pleading with him to go on.

He removes his fingers from me and I sigh out, trying not to disrupt their call.

"And... How would you like me to fuck you?" he asks, looking at me with an evil grin and knowing damn well I can't actually answer.

After he gets her answer, he climbs up on his knees and spreads my legs further, throwing one of them up on his shoulder while he leaves the other on the bed. Since he only has one hand to work with, he gestures to it and I help him out, lifting my other leg up to my chest and holding it with one arm to let him get inside at a good angle.

"Yeah, and how do you want it, baby?" He lines himself up with me and very slowly sinks the head of his cock in, holding it and running his hand along my stomach. "I'm thinking... I'd like to fuck you so slow you're practically writhing beneath me..."

I stick my tongue out at him, and then without warning he slams into me. I bring a hand to my mouth and bite down on my finger, trying not to make a sound.

"You're gonna be patient... And you're gonna let me take my time... Until you're nice and desperate... Whining out for me like a good little whore..."

Each sentence is punctuated with another thrust, hard and deep, followed by a short pause, and it's all I can do not to cry out his name and beg him to go faster.

Mom must be talking on the line again, because Spencer doesn't say a word as he fucks me. His pace doesn't pick up or slow, and his own self control starts to recede—I can see it in his features. I can also feel it in the way his free hand grips my leg. He wants to go faster, he wants to lose control, and this is killing him just as much as it's killing me.

But then he pants into the phone, his voice breaking a little as he pauses and rolls his hips into me, slow and burning. I whine into my hand as quietly as possible, and he asks the question that will seal my fate.

"Where do you want it?"

I wait, clenching around him and praying for the result I want.

And then he laughs. "Yeah? You like when I paint you with my cum, huh?"

I shake my head, silently begging him to resist and stay inside me, but he only shrugs as if to say, Sorry about your luck, and then pulls out, leaving me whiny and desperate.

Just like he said.

And then, he comes all over me, stroking himself fast and hard. Even though I've still yet to feel any sort of relief, seeing him in front of me like this, feeling his warmth dance across my skin in warm spurts, and hearing him groan out as he watches my body gladly accept it all...

It's quite honestly the most satisfying thing I've ever seen.

I can't say I'm not happy, though, when he slumps down and pants, sighing out a few goodbyes to my mom and then tossing his phone on the floor when she hangs up.

He smiles at me then, and I pout.

"You're evil..."

"Mmm, you love it," he drawls, leaning down and starting to dart his tongue over the mess he made on my stomach. Meanwhile his finger finds its way inside me again, and I feel myself start to turn into a writhing mess once more.

And he's right.

I do love it.

JULY 29th

Approaching the front door with Mom in step behind me, knowing that Spencer awaits for her on the other side isn't what makes my heart jump out of my chest.

It's the look on both of their faces when they see each other.

Though I push Mom forward to go see him, it nearly breaks me seeing her run into his arms. He picks her up and spins her around, reminiscent of their little moment at the airport, and the pure happiness on her face specifically makes my stomach twist.

This time it isn't jealousy.

It's guilt.

She's... incredibly happy. I don't think I've ever seen her this happy before. She's positively beaming as she hugs him tight and buries her face into his chest.

And when he looks past her head and looks over at me, I feel it.

The heartache.

Spencer's eyes burn holes into my own, and fill them with a sympathy that makes me feel more wounded than comforted.

I wonder then if he can see it on my face; The way I'm trying not to break down and cry... The way I'm only holding myself together by the weak smile I'm wearing, both to assure him that I'm fine and also to feign happiness for my mother, rather than the aching envy and sadness that festers within every crevice of my soul.

I offer to grab more of Mom's things from the car and dart right back out the door to avoid them for a little while. Maybe to also get some fresh air, even though I'd just been outside less than a minute ago.

After flinging open the trunk of the car, I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my chest start to tighten at the realization that I might be starting to fall in love with him.

A man who isn't mine, and who could never be.

———

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[lonely-lost-soul]

First Lady of the Court

Part 3: Ghostbur (C!Wilbur Soot x reader)

A worn journal was opened, the pages faded and yellowing, a pen was placed on the parchment and the owner began to write. The sun rose over the horizon, and the wind nipped at the writer's skin, but they didn’t feel it. They didn’t feel many of life's sensations anymore, sometimes he felt warmth but it was always fleeting. He titled the page:

"Things I Remember", by Ghostbur

-The smell of bread

- L'Manberg

- The Revolution

- Bullying Tommy (he's a child)

- Sparring with Techno as a kid

- The wind

- Being president

- People cheering for me

- Fundy growing up

- Niki

- (Y/N) becoming my first lady

- The van

- Tubbo building everything

- Phil protecting me

- Sally the salmon

- (Y/N) the new love of my life

- (Y/N) adoring Fundy and treating him as her own

- Philza stabbing me to death with a sword

- A large explosion

-(Y/N) crying for me, I don’t like when she’s sad

- The taste of salt

- Air in my lungs

- Winning the election

- A ravine

- Techno's armory

- Books

- Tunnels

- Arrows

- ./..

-

- I don't know

The ghost’s head snapped up to attention, up until a few months ago he was lost in a void of darkness. Pieces were coming back together for him, he was once Wilbur Soot the president of the country he fought and died for, but now he didn’t have a purpose. He wanted to find Fundy, Tommy and Phil let them know he was here and alright, well alright for a ghost. But most importantly he wanted to find (Y/N), her cries wouldn’t leave his head. It was bad, a bad, bad memory, he’d taken to holding pieces of blue to make him feel better, but even that didn’t help his mood.

Eventually, Wilbur had found Fundy, who wasn’t that thrilled to see him, much to his disappointment. When he found Tommy he was slightly more thrilled and Phil seemed to be relieved yet mournful, Wilbur didn’t understand why, he did a good thing. However he had yet to find her, Phil seemed to be the only one who knew but he was giving him nothing. He didn’t know why was it because you didn’t want to see him? The thought made him want to cover himself in blue and beg for forgiveness. He managed to find a brand new buddy in his mourning, a blue sheep he had dubbed Friend. You would love her, (Y/N) adored sheep she would love Friend, she could be a forgiveness gift. Yet, nobody would tell the ghost where you were no matter how much he begged and pleaded, he watched as his once-prosperous country got rebuilt. Tubbo was doing a fantastic job as president, everyone seemed happy and Ghostbur accepted that fact.

A few days ago, Ghostbur sensed something was wrong. Phil was acting weirdly distant and even though Tubbo was trying to dodge his questions, he couldn’t fathom what was going on, until he saw you. You had come in wearing Alivebur’s old jacket and Ghostbur immediately froze, your hair was slightly messy and you looked tired. You were still you, same gorgeous, beautiful you, if his heart was still beating it would’ve skipped a beat. The only difference he could find was that your eyes looked deader than his own, and he was a ghost, it made him ache terribly. He wanted to float towards you, to welcome you with open arms but for some reason, he hesitated. He watched as Phil made his way over to you, he wrapped you in a hug and you hugged him back, the two made some small talk before Phil rubbed the back of his neck. Your brow furrowed and he watched you blink in surprise, you looked over Phil’s shoulder and right through Wilbur. The ghost would’ve flushed if he had blood, instead he settled on fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater before holding up a hand in a wave. You stumbled back away from him looking over at Phil who gave a little nod, Wilbur watched you shake your head and his heart sunk. His father reached out to you and your face scrunched up, you were hissing at him, clearly pissed off. Phil whacked you on the back of his head and you glared at the older man, Wilbur felt a small nudge on his arm, it was Friend. He took a shaky breath and ran his fingers through her wool, at least she had his back, when he looked up again you were marching over to him.

God, you were hot when you were mad.

“(Y/n)! Darling! It’s good to see you-”

“You son of a bitch!” You spat at him, eyes suddenly blazing with life and fire, Ghostbur felt himself falter and shrink into himself. “You think you can just come back here after what you did to us! How you treated us, how you treated me!” Ghostbur’s face fell, he didn’t remember hurting you, he refused to remember that memory, but the way he clutched his blue said enough. “I loved you! I wanted to marry you!” You choked out suddenly deflating as tears began to well in your eyes, you cursed and covered your face with your sleeve. “I cannot believe I’m crying right now.”

“You need some blue?” Wilbur said in a soft, tender voice different than you last remembered. You looked out over your sleeve finally taking in his ghostly appearance, he was wearing his big, round glasses, eyes a soft grey. Blue seemed to be pooling in the edges almost like tears, he had a shaky smile on his features, the yellow sweater he wore was one you’ve never seen before, a large red gash sat on his chest. He watched you swallow thickly and take a step back from him, “I don’t remember what happened to make you hate me so dear.” His voice quivered and he heard you whimper, “But I am so sorry...you can call me Ghostbur, I want to be different from Alivebur. Though his love for you still lives in me.”

Ghostbur watched you let out a heart-wrenching sob as you fell to your knees in front of him. You were clutching the L’manburg pin on your lapel, knuckles white, hands shaking in petrification. He floated beside you and wrapped you up in his arms, the hug wasn’t unwelcome but it was cold, Wilbur knew you’d feel no warmth from it but he hoped it’d bring you some form of comfort.

“I missed you. So much,” You admitted with a sniff, and Ghostbur couldn’t help but smile sadly.

“I missed you too,” He ran a hand through your hair and you leaned into the apparition's ghostly touch. Ghostbur glanced up at Phil who had a tense smile on his face as he nodded slightly at the ghost, it read don’t hurt her again, and Wilbur nodded. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you, you need to meet Friend!” His eyes lit up a little as he looked around for his blue sheep, “You’ll love her!”

“I’ve been living with Fundy,” You answered his question and his brows furrowed, but Fundy had told him he had no idea where you lived. “We’ve been taking care of one another, just like I promised you we would,” You responded flatly, your voice had a flat affect and Wilbur shuffled uncomfortably in the air.

Where was your spark? Your lust for life and the good things? Was this his fault?

No. No, it couldn’t have been, he refused to accept that outcome.

Alivebur loved you just as much as Ghostbur did, he felt that love so deep in his being it was almost suffocating. So, he’d never hurt you, you don’t hurt the people you love and that’s a fact. So why were you so sad?

“That’s weird. Fundy said he couldn’t find you!” Ghostbur huffed, shaking his head at his son's actions, “My silly, little champion.”

“Ghostbur don’t call him that, he doesn’t like it.” You stated gruffly crossing your arms and his frown only deepened,

“What do you mean he doesn’t like it? Of course, he likes it, he loves it!”

“No Wil he doesn’t. Stop it.” You hissed and he flinched, your face fell a little and you turned away from him. You shoved your hands in the pockets of the jacket, “I need a smoke.” You muttered and his jaw dropped,

“That’s bad for you! You know that!”

“So what? It makes me fucking feel better. You’re not my Wilbur. Stop pretending you give a shit about me.”

“I do care! I love you!” He argued desperately, “I know I’m not him. I can never be him but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. His love transferred to me, please...give me a chance.” You looked at him up and down and he’s never felt more terrified in his entire existence, he needed your hope, he could fix you.

“You don’t understand how much he hurt me.” You whispered completely vulnerable, “he went crazy, blew up a nation, and left me alone.”

He. Meaning Alivebur, Ghostbur was glad he was distinguishing the difference between the both of them. He didn’t remember doing that to you, after all, Ghostbur didn’t do that to you.

“I’ll never leave you alone. I can promise you that, with my whole heart I swear it.” He took your hands within his own, he knew you could barely feel his touch. You closed your eyes for a minute before reopening them,

“I’ll give you one chance. One. So help me god, if you ruin that chance I will never speak to you again. That’s a promise.”

Ghostbur swallowed thickly, nerves prickling at his entire being, “I won’t waste that chance, my dear.” You gave a stern nod and rubbed the back of your neck with a tired sigh,

“So...Friend?”

Ghostbur’s entire demeanor changed as he introduced you to the blue sheep that had taken a rather strong liking to him. The sheep nuzzled at your chest sniffing at your clothing choice, you hesitated a little before running your fingers through her wool.

“She’s very soft.”

“I know right!” he chimed wrapping his arms tight around his sheepy buddy, he buried his face in her wool. Ghostbur saw a weary smile spread across your face which made him smile back at you in return.

Maybe this could still work out for the both of you.

Months went by and you had set up residence outside of New L’manburg, everyone understood why you couldn’t make a permanent home out of the new country after everything that occurred there. In between watching over an exiled Tommy, Ghostbur would come by and visit you, even though you hated to admit it the ghost of your former lover had won you over. He was just so innocent so unlike the man who blew up his own country, so much like the goofball you had originally fallen in love with, you were enraptured. When New L’manburg blew up you weren’t surprised, there was a dull ache in your heart when you heard the news from a sobbing Ghostbur but you couldn’t feel sympathy. What you did feel sympathy about though was Phil’s uncaring attitude towards Friend, it was the first time you heard Ghostbur get legitimately angry.

It scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Even so, you confronted your former lover; he didn’t like sadness and tried to push the feeling away. You tried to comfort him the best way you could but he insisted he was fine opting to take his blue and forget his sadness. That was another thing, his quote on quote blue, it never did sit right with you. Hurt, sadness, and pain are hard emotions to face but they create character and depth and ultimately shouldn’t just be forgotten so easily, after all, how will you ever learn from your mistakes if you don’t experience sadness. Ghostbur didn’t want to hear your reasoning and still took towards using the blue, you eventually gave up trying to convince him otherwise.

You were sitting outside on your porch, rocking on your porch swing a cup of cocoa in your hand. Ghostbur was sitting beside you, head on your shoulder humming a soft tune to himself,

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Ghostbur had asked so innocently it made your heart leap into your throat. Thoughts of Wilbur and his betrayal flashed across your mind, you wanted to scream and say no. That you’ll never let someone like that hurt you again, you were too strong, you opened your mouth but the hope in Ghostbur’s eyes made you close your mouth. This wasn’t the Wilbur you knew, this was Ghostbur, sure he was the ghost of Wilbur but they were so different. Ghostbur made you happy, he made you remember what it was like to be a good person, made you remember what it was like when you first met Wilbur. He made you smile and laugh, and he genuinely adored and cared for your happiness. You found yourself uttering a soft okay before your brain could comprehend your decision, the smile that lit up across Ghostbur’s face was illuminating. He floated over to you and cupped your cheeks, his pale hands were freezing, but it felt good against your scalding hot cheeks. Ghostbur’s eyes softened as he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a soft kiss, the kiss was cold but not unpleasant. You felt him melt against you, and press desperately on to your lips, you couldn’t help but let out a little giggle you felt him pull away. He had the cutest pout on his pale lips,

“Don’t giggle at my kisses!” Ghostbur sounded so offended, you only laughed harder. “Stopppppppp,” he whined leaning against you dramatically.

“I’m sorry Ghostbur.” You covered your mouth with your hand, “You’re just too cute.”

You watched him freeze at your genuine compliment, a smile broke across his features,

“No, you’re cute!” Ghostbur cooed floating around you and wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You leaned into his touch with bright red cheeks,

“You’re a goofball,” You whispered softly, he nuzzled his face into your hair,

“I love you.” You froze in his arms and tensed up, reality crashing back onto all at once. Did you really kiss your dead lover's ghost? The lover who was a fucking asshole to you and blew up an entire country.

Not a girl boss moment.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Ghostbur was quick to add, “I know how hard this is for you. There’s no pressure with me my dear, I just want you to know how I feel.” He pressed the sweetest of kisses to the side of your head. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes, not out of sadness, out of shock. You couldn’t believe Ghostbur was once Wilbur, the same man you yelled and screamed at you before his death, Ghostbur was wonderful. Ghostbur was kind and sweet, gentle and tender, one day you’d be ready to say you love him, just not yet, not when everything is so fresh.

“Thank you Ghostbur. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Anything for you my dear.”

Months turned into years and you had officially fallen in love with your clingy ghost and his blue sheep. You knew he loved you to absolute bits, there were many occasions where Phil and Technoblade came up to you and begged you to get Ghostbur to stop gushing about you. You only turned red and smiled fondly, they scoffed but ruffled your hair, overall both were happy to see you smiling again. You hadn’t kept up with the dramas of the SMP, all your information was from Ghostbur, which happened to be not all that reliable.

You loved him but he was so naive, Tommy and Tubbo had defeated Dream, taken two of his cannon lives, and locked him in Sam’s prison. When Ghostbur told you a smile overtook your features, finally the bastard was getting what he deserved.

Isolation.

Tommy was growing closer with Ghostbur again too, which you couldn’t help but be happy about, he too deserved to heal from the trauma Wilbur had inflicted. You trusted Tommy, even when everyone else didn’t you tried to have his back and showed you he cared in his own weird way. Which mostly meant not stealing your shit, which you weren’t complaining about, today, however, he seemed tense. You both were walking the Prime Path on your way back to your abode, Tommy was loud and rambling, but they were different from his usual ramblings.

“Tommy?”

“What is it, women? I’m in the middle of my heroic story!”

“Are you alright?” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes and saw him go rigid. He cleared his throat shaking away his nerves,

“Fuck you talking about? Of course, I’m okay bitch. Don’t interrupt me again!” He scoffed nose high in the air, you narrowed your eyes and he shrunk under your gaze. “I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, you thought about his resurrection and assumed it had something to do with that, your gaze drifted to the white streaks littering his hair.

“Hey...it’s okay. Just know I’m here for you,” You assured with a smile. You reached up to squeeze his shoulder, he looked shocked at the affectionate gesture,

“Obviously I know that! Don’t assume things bitch!” Tommy shouted shaking off your hand, you shook your head with a smile and let Tommy continue his story. If the young boy wanted to tell you, he would on his own terms. That night Ghostbur had come home absolutely shaking with excitement,

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo said we’re going on an adventure tonight!” Ghostbur was absolutely glowing, you couldn’t help but smile faintly at his antics.

“Don’t have too much fun.” You chastised teasingly, ghostbur giggled in delight as you pressed a kiss to his cold skin. “Stay safe, don’t let them bully you too much.”

“They don’t bully me,” he huffed but he leaned in for another kiss. Ghostbur had discovered he loved your kisses, even though they were probably cold to you all he felt was warmth. If he was a hybrid like his son his tail would be wagging, and if he was alive he’d be bright red. “I love you (y/n), of course, I’ll stay safe. I promised you I’d never leave you remember?”

You flushed and nodded, “I remember. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Until then my dear!” He took your hand within his own and kissed the tops of your knuckles. You flushed pink and he sent you a cheeky grin,

“Get out of here loverboy! Don’t keep the children waiting!” You shouted as he floated out the door with a giant wave,

“I’ll be sending you kisses!”

“Ghostbur oh my god, go already!” You giggled with a fond roll of your eyes, he laughed loudly and floated out the door.

You should’ve told him you loved him. It’s okay, there would always be tomorrow.

You were getting ready for bed when Tubbo called you over the walkie-talkie, he was frantically apologizing and pleading for you to come to the crater that was L’manburg. Tommy then stole the walkie talking and started shouting about Ghostbur and your heart sink into your chest. He didn’t make a whole lot of sense but you put on a coat over your pajamas and ran in the direction of the once-prosperous nation. When you got there Tubbo and Tommy were a mess, Ranboo was trying to calm them down and Friend looked uncomfortable.

Where was Ghostbur?

You opened your mouth to call out to the boys when a pair of arms snuck around your waist. They were warm and real, pale hands caressed your abdomen,

“Hi, darling. Did you miss me?” Warm lips handed on your neck, “I missed you.”

Wilbur was back.

~~~ @blossom-702 @mayempress @thatguythatsshy

[pink-flame]

Lucky it Was Hotdogs

So! This is my gift for the @jatp-gift-exchange celebrating 6 months since the show came out. I just so happened to be assigned my friend @tmp-jatp as my giftee. Which is awesome because she’s awesome. She asked for angst and my first thought was my reputation is just going to get worse. 😂 And then I started writing, started over, changed to a different prompt two more times...had a few breakdowns but here we are! Basically all of my friends had to hear about my spiral the last couple of days so thank you and my apologies. 🙏 

T, I hope you like it! 💜💜💜

In some ways Luke thinks that it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Of course, if he had been asked to choose a way to go back in 95 he probably would have said old and in his sleep. Or maybe he would have been a smart ass and said jumping the grand canyon on a motorcycle or playing an epic show in bad weather and having some sort of electrical incident (Reggie wasn’t the only one who had been involved in that amp incident not that he was in a hurry to tell Alex that). Contaminated hot dogs in an alley on the night of their big break probably wouldn’t have occurred to him and it definitely wouldn’t have cracked the top ten list of his requests.

But now that he’s in the future, with his band and with Julie and with their dreams once again a real possibility...he thinks the hot dogs would have been the right choice.

The truth is it doesn’t matter how tragic it is that three kids had their lives cut short at the same time it’s always going to be at least a little bit funny that they went from death by hot dog. It lets him use the tragedy as a means of teasing Julie as she bites into her sandwich and it lets Willie give Alex an affectionate nickname that’s only a little in bad taste. It lets Reggie hover behind Ray when Julie’s dad gets the grill out and clutch his stomach dramatically in a reenactment for his friends amusement. It lets Julie look at Luke like the fact that he is a ghost is mildly exasperating but not inherently upsetting, not like it would be if he was a walking reminder of a car accident or the cancer that took her mom.

So yeah, it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Except...sometimes Luke wishes that it wasn't.

Sometimes he wishes that he had died from an illness or an accident or anything that would prompt someone to look at him and ask if he wanted to talk about it. Because...he does. Just sometimes. Wants to talk about how much it hurt. Wants to talk about how scared he was. Wants to talk about how even though being able to make music still (being able to make music with Julie) matters most it does bother him.

It bothers him that Julie is the only lifer he can touch (even though she would clearly be his first choice).

It bothers him that he fades into non-existence as soon as they stop playing.

It bothers him that he can’t even thank Julie’s dad for hosting their garage gig or show her brother that he’s holding it all wrong when he catches him strumming lightly on Luke’s guitar one day.

It bothers him that he won’t ever be anything other than what he is, a teenager with a guitar and a longstanding suspicion about the consequences of wearing sleeves while performing.

It bothers him that Julie will always be what she is now (an amazing teenage girl with a wrecking ball voice and a heart big enough to keep them with her through sheer force of will) but she will also become so much more.

An adult.

Someone with a job and a family and…

He can’t think about it.

Except he does.

Not all the time but often enough, especially at night when Alex is off with Willie and Reggie is watching tv with an unsuspecting Ray and Luke is wishing more than anything that he could find the escape of sleep.

So usually he ends up writing when he feels like this, seeking out the familiar sensation of pen flying over paper, words tumbling from the deepest recesses of his mind to collect into the shape of a song.

I know I’m being selfish

But feeling alive isn’t being alive

Feeling you breathe isn’t breathing

I just want this feeling forever

Instead I count every moment I’m stealing

“Why are you writing in the dark?” Julie’s amused voice cuts through the silence causing him to jump, a remnant of a time when he had anything to fear other than his own uncertain future.

He’s not sure if it’s a ghostly superpower or just the fact that he had been peering at his notebook from only about an inch away but it’s true, he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on and he saw it just fine.

The dark felt more appropriate somehow when he felt like this anyway.

She flips on the light and crosses the room to sink down beside him where he’s spread out on the floor. He’s so distracted for a moment by just how Julie she always manages to be (beautiful and amazing and distracting in the best way) that he doesn’t realize that she’s reaching for his notebook until it’s too late. He tries to snatch it back fruitlessly as she turns her eyes to the words he has scrawled across the page. He hopes momentarily that she won’t be able to make out his infamously illegible handwriting but his hopes are dashed when she reads out the last few lines in a thoughtful tone. He has a brief flash of affection at the realization that she must be his soulmate if she can read his handwriting.

He’s distracted from that thought though when he sees the smile slide off of her face only to be replaced with a tight frown before she turns to face him, concern shining in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” He says quickly, hoping to prevent any of his dark mood from seeping into the girl beside him.

The girl who has already known enough darkness for a lifetime.

“Every moment you’re stealing?” She quotes back to him, setting the notebook carefully back on the floor. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

He considers brushing off her concern, playing it off, claiming he’s not even writing from his own perspective anyway, that he doesn’t know where the idea came from.

He can do that because he may be dead but the culprit was hot dogs and that gives him an out to make a dumb joke and change the subject and keep things the way they are now.

And if it was anyone else he would have. But it’s Julie. And he’s Luke.

She can read his handwriting.

And she can read him too.

If he lets her.

“You know how you said your dad made you talk to someone after your mom died?”

She tilts her head, clearly not expecting this question. She answers it anyway.

“Dr. Turner,” She nods. “Three times a week for a while.”

“Did it uh…” Luke swallows hard, his throat suddenly impossibly dry considering he was pretty sure he wasn’t actually producing spit anymore period. “Did it help?”

Julie’s hand twitches in her lap and he can tell she is deciding whether she should touch him. He reaches out to toy with the frayed edge of her jeans where they burst open at the knee. The answer to whether Julie should be touching him is always a resounding yes in his opinion but he also wants to let her come to him. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve even been able to touch each other and despite how much they crave it there’s a lingering awkwardness after all the build up.

“Talking to someone?” She asks carefully. “Yeah, it did. After a while I felt like I needed space to sort through things on my own but by then I was able to talk with my dad and Flynn too.”

He nods, keeps his eyes firmly on the hole in her jeans.

“Luke…”

Damn.

He has to look at her when she says his name like that.

He raises his eyes slowly, meeting her soft ones with nerves he can’t quite place.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Always.”

Her question is so small and yet so big at the same time. Such a simple offer containing such a big promise.

Always.

Wasn’t that the problem?

His always might not line up with hers.

He could forget that fact for a bit when the band was hanging out and laughing over nothing or rocking a crowd’s face’s off or when Julie was smiling in that certain Julie way that seemed reserved only for him.

But he couldn’t forget forever.

And he couldn’t promise always.

So where did that leave him?

“Luke?”

She breaks him from his thoughts again and he pushes past his caution this time, reaching out to link her hand with his, their fingers slotting together effortlessly despite the way one of them isn’t really there.  

He isn’t really there.

Is he...real?

Luke suddenly feels a strange rush of panic, all of the thoughts he’s been pushing aside for months crashing through him at once.

He must have squeezed Julie’s hand inadvertently because he sees her flinch.

“Sorry, sorry,” He says breathlessly (not that he needs to breathe, he’s breathless, literally, he’s dead), drawing her hand up to press an apology against the skin there, his lips lingering for a long moment before he pulls away.

She’s not unaffected by his sudden actions, the way her eyes widen for a fraction of a second is proof enough of that, but she’s also determined and she doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Talk to me, Luke,” She says like an order and a request and a prayer all at once.

And he can’t deny her anything.

Not even this.

“I’m fine, I am...it’s just...I’m so happy that we ended up here with you Julie no matter what. I need you to know that ok? I just..I don’t...I don’t want…”

She waits as long as she can for him to finish that sentence but when he doesn’t seem prepared to, she leans closer, squeezes his hand, gives him that last push off the cliff he’s been teetering on the edge of for months.

“Don’t want what?”

“Don’t want to be dead.”

The words escape him in a hurried rush, one blending into another until it sounds like one long syllable of pain rather than a proper sentence. Still. He’s pretty sure the message got through.

“I know,” She says simply, her eyes sad but her touch impossibly gentle as her free hand comes up to cup his cheek. “I know, Luke, I know.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until she’s brushing his tears away with the delicate tips of her fingers.

And maybe he is real, at least a little bit if his eyes can still muster up the ability to leak like this and damn it why is that what he’s thinking about right now when the girl, the living girl, he loves is waiting for him to say something.

He wants to think of the perfect thing but what ends up coming out leaves a lot to be desired.

“Julie...I love making music with you. I love y...I love being in your life. But I’m dead. And maybe...maybe it would be better…”

“No,” She cuts him off firmly, gripping his chin lightly to turn his face more fully towards hers. “Whatever you think you’re about to say, the answer is no.”

“Julie…” He tries again.

She’s already shaking her head.

“I don’t care if you’re about to suggest some noble sacrifice or push me away or blame yourself for something...just...don’t.”

Any protest he has prepared dies on his lips, the slightest quirk of a smile taking their place even as a few stray tears make their way down his face.

“Ok,” He agrees simply.

Julie brings her other hand down to grip his knee as though she’s trying to keep him with her by anchoring him physically, making him part of her, making him real.

And that’s that.

It takes time.

A hundred aborted conversations with half confessions and unspoken requests for comfort and love freely given if not freely spoken.

But eventually he gets used to talking to Julie the same way he got used to writing with Julie and singing with Julie and falling in love with Julie.

So steadily he doesn’t feel the progress until one day he looks up and there’s no going back, not that he would ever want to.

He’s dead.

He can’t get around that.

He ate some bad hot dogs, and that will always be a little bit funny. It’s also sad and scary and tragic.

He’s dead.

But he’s also so alive.

He can’t promise always but he can promise as long as I’m here.

And he does.

Over and over and over again.

[retrievablememories]

trust me | kai (m)

title: trust me pairing: kai x black!reader genre: smut, slight angst request: “hello, can i request a kai imagine where he’s a sub and his girlfriend is a domme and he gets jealous about his girlfriend running into one of her exes (could be another idol) lol and she kindly brushes his jealousy off so kai decides to switch roles and dom her you’re a great writer btw 💕” word count: 2.8k warnings: mentions of jealousy, one mention of drinking alcohol, dom!male, sub!female -- role reversal of usual positions, dirty talk, unprotected sex, use of restraints, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial a/n: when you like reading your own fic more than you like writing it, but you have to write it in order for it to exist 💀 <<<<<<

When you walk through the apartment door, Kai is already waiting for your arrival after getting home before you. You had to run a couple errands after work, which made it take a bit longer to return than usual. You both were more than ready to see each other again after that time apart, even though it wasn’t long.

“I’m home!” you announce after you get inside. Kai comes to greet you with a kiss, taking your things so you remove your coat. 

“Dinner’s gonna be ready soon,” Kai says. “I already ran a bath for you, so go wash up so we can eat, okay?”

“Thanks, baby.” You touch his face and give him another kiss before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time you get out, the apartment is filled with the smell of good food.

After you’ve both finished the meal and cleaned everything up, you head to the living room with plans to watch some TV. You hope you can find something decent to watch; you flip through the channels, trying to find a good movie that hasn’t already played halfway through.

Kai is still moving around in the kitchen while you’re in the living room, though he’s not far behind you. When he’s done, he comes over to where you’re sitting on the couch and lays his tall body across it, resting his head in your lap. You smile and stroke his hair.

“What did you do today?” Kai asks, taking your hand in his. He strokes his thumb over your knuckles as he waits for your response.

“Oh, it’s kinda funny. When I went to the store today—guess who I ran into?”

Kai raises his eyebrow. “Who?”

“It was Jungkook.”

Kai is silent for a moment, though he can’t ignore the flair of jealousy in his chest. He knows he probably shouldn’t feel this way, because you and the younger man broke up a long time ago and that relationship is just a memory now. Still, he knows that despite your personalities being incompatible, Jungkook still very much loved you back then. He also knows that Jungkook still has lingering feelings for you even now.

“What did he want?” You notice the change in his tone of voice and laugh a little.

“He didn’t want anything, we just happened to be in the same place. He was nice, we talked for a little bit. He has a new girlfriend now, sounds like they’ve been dating for a while. He was out getting some groceries for her.”

“...And that’s it?”

“It wasn’t a grand reunion or anything, he was busy doing his thing and I was doing mine. I just thought it was kinda ironic to see him there.”

“Because he used to do the same for you? Buying all your groceries and running errands for you?”

You take Kai’s face in your hands. “He used to. That’s a closed chapter, remember? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

His expression tells you he isn’t reassured by your words. “Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore to you, but do you even realize that Jungkook still loves you?”

“What are you talking about? I doubt that…” you say, pulling your hands away from Kai. “It’s been almost 2 years since we broke up. You don’t think he’s moved on in that time?”

Kai sighs. “Jimin told me Jungkook got really drunk one night and confessed that he regretted ever breaking up with you. He was really upset about it, too. That happened only 5 months ago. You still think he’s moved on? Just because he’s distracting himself with another girl doesn’t mean anything.”

You’re a little taken aback at that new knowledge, but you’re also irritated that Kai is so unsettled about it. In your eyes, your relationship is secure; worrying about outside parties, regardless of what feelings they do or don’t have, isn’t a thought in your mind. “But—even so, I’m with you now. I’m not interested in any man but you. Why are you so bothered by this? All we did was talk in the store.”

Kai shakes his head and gets up from your lap, and you know he must be genuinely hurt. You wouldn’t have mentioned Jungkook at all if you knew this is how it would turn out. 

Before you can say or do anything to rectify the situation, Kai scoops you off the couch in one movement and throws you over his shoulder. “What the—?!” Everything is upside down, but you can see that he’s taking you down the hall, most likely to your bedroom. “Jongin, what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer as he enters the room and deposits you on the bed less-than-gently, which is a contrast to how he usually is with you. You sit up in surprise, looking at him for some sort of explanation.

“You’re not taking me seriously,” he says, his voice low as he stands in front of you.

“Not taking you seriously? That’s all I’ve ever done. You know I care about you, I just don’t get why you’re so upset about this!”

“Maybe if you listen to me for once, you’ll get why.” You’re confused over his words until you see the look in his eyes. You realize he’s not referring to your relationship itself, but the fact that you’re the one who always has the upperhand in the bedroom.

“Really? Who do you think you are?” you say laughingly, though your voice has some edge to it too. Kai steps closer, and you have to tilt your head to look up at him from this vantage point. 

“Your boyfriend, your lover. The one who makes you weak. Not him.”

You sigh. “Please, Jongin. He’s not you. He’s never going to be.”

“I know. Because he can’t do for you what I can.” Kai climbs onto the bed with you, pushing you backwards and hovering over your prone form. Your body heats up when he settles himself over you, and though you are not intimidated by him—yet?—you do feel a thrill, an anticipation of what will happen next.

Kai doesn’t kiss your lips immediately, which you would’ve expected in any other situation. Kissing is one of his favorite things about sex, or even just nonsexual affection. Instead, his lips venture to your neck, his mouth opening slightly so he can slide his tongue against the skin. His teeth scrape across your neck; not firm enough to hurt, but more like a warning. Still, it reminds you of a predator mouthing at the jugular of its prey.

You want to say more, but you also want to wait and see what he’ll do. He’s always been your sub, and you’ve never seen a domineering side of him during your sexual activities. Is he just playing around to work you up, or does he really mean what he’s doing right now?

Kai’s hands creep up your sweatshirt, tracing a path across your bare skin. He pulls your sweater up as he does so, exposing your form to him. All the while, he keeps kissing your neck, making your breaths come a little heavier.

A quiet gasp comes from you when he reaches your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and teasing them to hardness. He pulls your sweater further up so he can take one of your nipples into his mouth, which causes you to moan out loud. He circles his tongue around it and does the same for the other, nuzzling his face into your chest.

You bring your hand up to touch Kai’s hair, but he grabs your wrist tightly and holds it away from him. You stare at him, your mouth open slightly. When you try to pull away, his grip doesn’t yield.

Kai raises his head to look at you. “Why don’t we play a game?”

“What kind of game?” you ask, trying to steady your breathing.

“Keep your hands to yourself. I get to touch you, but you can’t touch me. If you do, I’ll cuff you to the bed.”

You pause for a moment, staring into Kai’s shimmering brown eyes. Then you nod, a smirk playing on your lips. “Okay.” You think pretty highly of your self control, so you have confidence you’ll win this game.

After you agree, Kai pulls away from you to strip his shirt off. And, yeah, okay. A little of your confidence wavers when you see his tanned body in front of you like that, but you’re still going to try to keep your word.

He pulls his pants and underwear off, too, and returns to you so he can fully remove your sweater. He picks you up again and moves your body so you’re leaning up against the pillows, and you let him do so without making a move to touch him. Surprisingly, you like the experience of being handled like this—of having to rely on him to move your body how he wants it instead of doing it yourself like you usually would.

Your fingernails draw across the blanket as Kai finally puts his lips on yours. He kisses you deeply, his nose nudging yours. You’re glad to finally feel his lips, and you kiss him back eagerly. 

When he draws away from you, your lips follow his but you’re powerless to stop him from separating from you. He chuckles at that, but he doesn’t appease your desire. Instead he moves further down your body, his mouth ghosting over your stomach and waist. Heat floods between your legs as he pulls your sweatpants off, his eyes locked between your legs as he unveils your lower half.

He dips his head down so he can kiss your pubic mound, and you think he’s going to lick you next, but he travels to your inner thighs. He leaves marks on them with his teeth. He is leisurely about it, stretching the sensation out to get you more aroused for him, but you also feel yourself growing impatient and wanting him to touch you more. He’s so close to where you want him to be, but still too far away.

Finally, he comes back around to slide your panties off, leaving you bare. His thumb presses into your clit, and a shiver goes through your body at the contact on this sensitive part of you. Kai presses forward to kiss you there, then slides his tongue lower to taste the wet that’s dripping out of you.

You try to maintain your cool and grasp the pillows near you, though it is getting a little hard to push back the urge to touch him when he places his mouth over your clit like this. All you can focus on is the wet warmth of his mouth on you, and the way his fingers curve into you. There’s still an element of tenderness to it all, despite him being mad at you, despite him taking the lead this time, which lets you know he really does love you.

Your back arches when Kai slips his tongue inside you to accompany his fingers, his nose nudging your clit, and before you can think about what you’re doing, your hands fly to his hair. 

“No, shit—wait,” you say breathlessly, snatching your hands away as soon as you realize your mistake. Kai ignores your plea and goes to the nightstand, pulling a box out of the drawer. You know that’s the box you use to store your handcuffs in. You watch nervously as Kai takes them out.

The cold ring of metal slips around your wrist, and the next thing you know, your right hand has been cuffed to one of the bedposts.

“Really?!”

“You broke the one rule I set.” Kai slips his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up. “You’re the perfect domme, but you couldn’t follow one little rule?” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a grin. You’re embarrassed about being caught slipping, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. 

His hand leaves your face and goes to your waist. He situates himself between your legs, nudging them a bit wider to accommodate him. “You’ve got one free hand left. Remember what I said, or that one’s getting cuffed too.”

You can only nod, too wound up to speak as his tip pushes against your entrance, slipping inside slightly. You think he’s going to go slowly just like that, but he doesn’t hesitate with thrusting the rest of himself into you.

The way Kai pushes into you makes you gasp and shudder. He seems intent on pulling more sounds out of you as he pulls back out and thrusts in harder, gripping your hips tightly and tugging your lower half as close as possible to his. You can’t even thrust back with how he holds your lower half, essentially fucking you onto his dick. The way he controls your body, leaving you vulnerable to his hard thrusts, causes you to grow wetter underneath him.

He leans closer to you, with his sweat dripping onto your body and his lips almost near enough to kiss, but he’s still a little too distant to reach. “I’m yours, but are you mine?”

“O-of course I am, Jongin.”

“Tell me, then.”

“I…” You go breathless at a perfectly-timed thrust that hits your g-spot, and all that initially comes out is a choked groan. Jongin lets go of one of your hips to slap your thigh in response.

“Say it.” He keeps pushing into your sweet spot, knowing his actions are making it harder for you to respond. He’s taken a liking to teasing you in this way, giving you commands that he knows you can’t quite follow.

“I-I’m yours.” Satisfied with your answer, he grins.

“You need me,” he says, running his hand up your body. He almost doesn’t know where to go next, wanting to touch every part of you but only able to reach so much with one hand. “You need me, and you need my dick. You need the pleasure I give you. Say it.”

You, in contrast to Jongin’s own self-revelation about torturing you, are catching onto the fact that Kai’s praise kink still lives strong even when he’s domming you. “I-I need you, I need everything you give me.” Your thighs shake a little as you edge nearer to your orgasm.

He mouths at your neck again, then shifts his face upward, his breaths puffing against the shell of your ear. He whispers, “You love me.”

Your toes curl as you get ever closer to that peak. Your right arm’s getting tired from being in one position, but you can’t focus on it too much at the moment. “I love y-you.”

“I love you too.” He murmurs this against your lips as he reaches between you to stroke your clit. This move is enough to unravel the tension that’s holding you together, and a full-body shiver runs through you as you meet your climax.

Kai’s groan is low in your ear as he thrusts into you a few more times, searching for his own orgasm. It only takes him another minute or two to find it, and he soon pulls out of you to come on your stomach. He grips his shaft and keeps stroking himself until he’s emptied of everything he has to offer.

The first thing he does afterwards is release your hand from the bedpost. You almost immediately touch his face and neck and shoulders, indulging in everything you were formerly deprived of. His cum is still drying on your stomach, and it feels a bit uncomfortable, but you’re not concerned with that as you brush your thumb over Kai’s plump lips. He watches you all the while, feeling much more relaxed after relieving his distress.

After cleaning you up, Kai curls himself into you, his lips in your hair as you rest your head on your satin pillow. His demeanor is apologetic now as he strokes your back.

“I’m sorry I got so upset,” he says quietly, his voice slightly muffled by your hair. “I just...knowing he still loves you…” His words trail off. Maybe not for lack of things to say, but because he doesn’t want to reopen the wound again.

“Hmm…” You tuck your head further into Kai’s neck, feeling his pulse beating against your lips as you speak. “It’s not a crime to be jealous, but you’ve got to know I’d never let anything jeopardize our relationship.”

He nods and shifts slightly to kiss your forehead. “Never.” He lets the word roll around on his tongue, whispering it a couple more times. “You’re right.”

After a few more beats of silence, you ask, “Do you trust me?” You want to be assured of his answer before either of you goes to sleep tonight.

Kai squeezes you tighter in his arms. “Always.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Death Rings Twice || Morgan and Eilidh

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @braindeacl @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: While searching for answers, Morgan and Eilidh realize the situation is worse than they realized.

CONTAINS: conversations with dead people

They came and went in waves. The first time, only the first time, Eilidh believed them to be just a part of being a ghost. James had done so many times—go in and out of view like the watts on a bulb. But those changes had been consensual, come upon by his own will, and he never truly left. Not like she had, and did, and still do. Moments of nothingness. Blink and she was gone, truly and ultimately gone. Blink and she was back, not even left with a memory. Just a faint recollection, a faint feeling of a blank. Like trying to recall a blackout. You knew it was there, you felt it too—pages torn from a book. But you also didn’t, couldn’t, for nothingness was all that remained. Nothingness that seemed to be her destination. Those blinks got longer, longer, longer. With no sign of slowing.

Eilidh knew Morgan was facing her own bouts of strangeness. Maybe they were connected. Morgan believed them to be—magic set loose like a wildfire, with them in its path. Consumed in its flames, would it burn them all the way to the ground? Or would they come out the other side, for the better? This curiosity, and a gnawing worry, compelled her forward, right into Morgan’s residence. She ventured through those great and winding halls, as if she already haunted the place. She ought to haunt at least one. Before it became too late. Passing by an open door, that familiar face was finally seen. Eilidh stopped, stared. Felt that nothingness threatening to claim her again. Visage flickered—like a light on its dying breath. But the feeling passed, leaving her there, shining on. The motion, or her very presence, must’ve caused a stir. The two women met each other’s eyes.

“Boo.”

Morgan just needed to find the right book. Zombies had been around for ages and so even if whatever was happening to her was obviously very rare, it must have happened to someone else before. And that someone must have wanted to write it down. Because magic directly affecting a zombie body at all was worth writing about; doing so in this cruel, backwards way defied everything she understood about magic and living matter. So, Morgan sat on the floor in the library, swimming through a large haul from the scriberary, searching. When Macleod appeared behind the volume she was holding, calling boo, Morgan yelped with surprise.

“Oh! Stars! That was--” she laughed uneasily. “That was something alright.” She sat back and looked at the other woman. She had believed everything Macleod had told her but seeing her friend, so wild and earthbound, so connected to her flesh, floating and transparent was uncanny in a way her mind struggled to process. “I wish I had good news on the funky magic boogaloo front, but there’s just lots of dead ends so far. But that can wait. Are you...okay? At least, relative to our situation?

Good-hearted chuckle lept out of Eilidh—breaking the illusion of the spooky ghost in the corner. She closed the distance between the two, eyes curiously scanning the cover and pages of the book nestled in Morgan’s lap. More were strewn across the room, circling Morgan in a protective barrier, or perhaps a tomb—either for future study or determined unsuited. Where one group ended and the other began, she wasn’t sure. Mouth parted to offer assistance, her hands and mind well-versed to such a skill, but the words quickly died just as her flesh had. Wouldn’t be much use when turning a page was a difficult endeavor. She had learned that fact rather quickly.

When attentions were placed on her, Eilidh perked. “Aye. Convinced this guy his cereal was sentient. And some lady she could control plants.” Snort of delight shot out her nose as their faces returned to memory. But as the chuckles faded, so too did this delight. That lingering worry remained. A hand brushed her lips, seemingly in thought. “Also…” In absence of external stimuli, she bit on a knuckle. But where a prick of sensation, a prick of life, would usually awaken her hand, only a mere acknowledgement greeted her. Fucking hell, how has James not gone mad by now? A low growl rumbled, and at least it felt nice in her chest. Familiar. “Been going in and out. Kinda like blinking. If you did that with a soul. James says it isn’t normal. And they’re getting longer.” Another knuckle met her teeth; that same hollow impact replayed. “Guess it’s soon time.” Her eyes scanned Morgan, transferring the focus back to the other woman. Wandering gaze found the darkness under her friend’s eyes. “What ‘bout you?”

For what seemed like a long time, Morgan could only stare at her friend. Or rather, through her friend. She could see every title on the shelf behind her if she concentrated enough, because Macleod, despite speaking and smiling and grinning and mischief-ing as much as she had ever done, was incorporeal and transparent. Like a ghost. A baby undead ghost. Which wasn’t supposed to exist. “..Blinking? What? Uh, that sounds bad. And weird. I’ve never heard of ghosts doing that before. They cross over, and they have some kind of teleportation thing, but they don’t play peek-a-boo with a whole plane of existence. That’s…” Another very strange, logic defying twist of magic.

Morgan cleared her head and tried to answer Macleod’s questions. “I woke up at the beginning of the week able to feel again. All my physical senses that went dull were back. It took some adjusting, but I think it was more or less how they were when I was alive. But then my body started decaying even when I was full, or more than full, and healing was fading and now it’s basically gone! So I’m basically rotting away for no discernable reason, and I get to be super physically aware of all of it. Also, I smell, so maybe it’s a good thing you don’t have any senses right now. When did your stuff start? I mean, none of this should be happening at all, because the undead are immune to spellcasting magic that engages with our body’s energy, as far as I can tell, and we’re immune to most drugs and toxins, and I haven’t found anyone else in town being effected like this, so it’s not the big cosmic town bullshit--but if we can get a timeline, maybe that will tell us...something.” She sighed and closed the book in her lap, staring off into anywhere but Macleod’s face. The whole world was slipping through their fingers, just when she’d thought it really did want them after all.

Curt laugh escaped Eilidh. “Yeah. You’re telling me.” Just her luck to be subjected to the worst game of peek-a-boo in existence. Maybe her soul truly did want to pass over, but this supposed magic was keeping her here? Maybe the universe was trying to remedy the fact she shouldn’t have remained—at least not in this form—but the magic tried to go against the very will of the cosmos? Thoughts followed that tangent until it caused a dizziness. Bah, there’s too many maybes and what-ifs. She snapped a finger, sharp noise bringing her back to the present. Mind focused on Morgan’s words, her own story. As such a tale unfolded, her face fell, allowing that worry bubbling inside to find itself in her eyes, her parted mouth. Just as quickly, her eyes tightened, mouth closed, jaws tightened. Resolve overcame the worry, gave her goal new fire. “Aye. That is real bad.” Especially when it started so promising—the worst kind. “Best we hop to it prompto, then. Know anything I can look over? Double-check? Triple-check?” The ways of magic, the ways others shifted the energies of the world to their will, was not a strong subject of hers. But perhaps there were other pieces of the puzzle her ever inquisitive eyes could find. She needed that hunt, after all. Needed something to do—when all things physical brought boredom at best, her mind frequently rushed into restlessness.

Eilidh recalled the start of this plight. “I died beginning of this week.” The same as Morgan’s own unfortunes; a fact that did not escape her. “Or alchemied this way. Or some other magic.” At this point, she wasn’t sure which was true. Death was more reasonable to her. Familiarity always felt more reasonable, and she was very familiar with death. But Morgan seemed convinced its cause was magically induced and, well, she was the expert in that regard. Not Eilidh. “Blinked out the first time a few days later. Didn’t think too much of it. ‘Til a few more days later when it kept happening.” How much longer would this affliction let her speak with Morgan? Would it rip her away mid-sentence, as it had with Milo? Sharp snap of fingers returned. Temptation to bite the nagging thoughts away surfaced—to subject another knuckle to her teeth. But the snap sufficed. For now.

Morgan sat back, thinking. The town had already been shifted in the cosmos by the time she and Macleod were affected. And no one else she spoke to, dead or undead, was feeling anything strange in their body. So why them? And how? It didn’t seem right that the universe should literally change its rules just to be cruel to them. And if an alchemy break-through was responsible for Macleod, it didn’t explain her progressive deterioration. She would have to be confined to a circle in order for that to be the case, and the energy required to continually re-write her body would be outrageous.

She looked over at Macleod, aching to give her an answer. “I only have a few general compendiums on the stuff, but maybe there’s some kind of sickness, or some kind of critter that can affect people like us. Like, bookwyrms and brain biters mess with people’s brains, and there’s plenty of necrophages out there maybe…” Some magic, universe defying critter happened to chomp on both of them without their noticing on the exact same night? Morgan could hardly stand to hope for the idea, it sounded ridiculous enough in her head. But she had to try. If she stopped trying, this thing would take her. “Maybe there’s one that can explain this. Weird abilities that make people incorporeal or mess with their magic composition. Um, it’s those thick ones back there--” She pointed. “Or you could check out the area, see if anything unusual is sniffing around. Every critter’s gotta eat and sleep somewhere.” She smiled feebly. “We’ll figure this out before it’s too late. We’ve got too much to live for, right?”

“Critters!” The word shot out like a bullet. That was more Eilidh’s forte. A hand returned thoughtfully to her lips, though a bite did not come. Her mind was moving far too fast to focus on anything physical. Feet began to pace without her knowledge, beating against the air as if they contributed to her movements anymore. “Those bees cause hallucinations…” What were they called again? Those dick-hive bees. She had still yet to encounter them personally—such a treat will have to wait when she finally visits… that woman. Knowledge was acquired specifically for said venture, so she really should remember… “Eintykara.” But as research came tumbling back into her mind, so did an issue. “No. Cold.” Such weathers would cause them to grow sluggish—springing into action now would make no sense. “Hm. Caballi?” Her encounter with one had been very brief, but James’ was much more intimate. And she had certainly heard stories that mimicked their own. Of ghosts being attacked by them. Or more accurately, being fed upon by them. Could be the cause of their deterioration, those astral feedings. Perhaps they can affect zombies too? “But never saw…” They weren’t exactly invisible, to people like them. But much of them was left unknown, on this world at least. Could be a special sort?

More ideas flowed into Eilidh’s mind. And just easily flowed back out—conflictions and contradictions found in every sort. Though the universe was vast and wide and full of exceptions. Hardly anything could be said with certainty. And hardly everything was stored in her mind—that vastness refusing to be contained in just one thing. Or even in one world; creatures not found in any book had laid just beyond those cracks in the air. One, or two, or more could’ve slipped through. “You could be onto something.” Her feet stilled, and it was only then she realized she had been on the move at all. But they already missed that constant motion. Focus turned to the mentioned books, causing a chuckle to stir. “Would. But these guys do whatever the hell they want.” She wiggled her fingers and they blended and meddled together, like waves crashing into each other. “I’ll look ‘round. You focus on the books. We’ll see this through.” There was an attempt to turn and leave, but something held her there just a moment longer. Those hints of decay sprinkled on Morgan’s form—some grown worse over the course of their conversation. “Think you’ll manage?” The question spanning far beyond just Morgan’s research capability.

With the way Macleod lit up at the suggestion, Morgan could actually start to believe they were onto something. The world was full of strange things and there was so much they didn’t know. Of course if it wasn’t someone it had to be something. Maybe even a creature from another dimension. Some of the critters in those portals had probably gotten stuck on this side when Adam closed them, too, and maybe that was why they couldn’t understand the rules this infection worked on.

Morgan met Macleod’s eyes bravely. They were looking for a needle in a haystack. It might take weeks to comb through all of White Crest and identify the exact creatures they were looking for, especially if they turned out to be beyond sapient record on this world. But they would figure it out, wouldn’t they?

Somewhere beyond them, bewildered geese flapped their way to the sky and called to each other for safety, snow crunched under tired feet, a wind blew through the hollow tunnels of the world. Morgan took it all in, staring through the frosted windows. This was a world that buried its secrets better than its dead, but it was also one where life persisted in the most bitter cold. If anyone was proof of that, surely it was her and Macleod. And Morgan had a future to get to; Macleod probably did too, and if she didn’t, she deserved to stick around long enough to come up with one. So she had to be okay. There wasn’t room in this scenario for her not to be.

Morgan summoned her best smile and hoped with all she had that Macleod believed it and let some of the warmth rub off on her. “I’ve got this. And so do you. Death cut us a break once, right? Twice should be just as easy.”

That smile filled the air, found its way on Eilidh’s face, lifting her spirits in turn. Hell yeah. They had this. That implication hung in the air, threatened to bring it all back down. The one where she died. This soul she carried certainly had—will again. And technically death had touched her a few days prior. But the implication ran deeper than that, tied her to an assumption she kept getting chained to. But she did not let that weight touch her; only a twitch of a brow, a tighten of lips, betrayed these thoughts. Resolve kept her steady—kept them both just the same. Fate may try to give them a losing hand, but she’ll keep playing until a full house. And if not, well, seems she’s had her time then. Her soul will enjoy more, if these pesky blinks didn’t consume her in totality. For fate was hungry this week—eating away at her very soul, at Morgan’s very flesh. Was it feeding on others? How far did this hunger spread? She had no mind, no time to worry about passerbyers on the street. Those teeth readied to pierce again, steal more of them away. But she’ll try her hand at dentistry and rip them out before all was taken. “Good to hear! Let’s give this a–”

She vanished.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The broken ring of an audience was silent for a long time after Greyleaf’s story ended. They looked at each other, at the sky, at nothing at all, trying to absorb what they had been told and to deduce whether any of it was true or not.

All of the anger seemed to have left Greyleaf, his fur lying flat, if a little clumped and stiff from the rain. He breathed normally, his eyes tired and dark. He stood straighter, like the massive weight of his knowledge had been physically lifted off his back. Redheart mirrored his posture, though her head was a little lowered and her expression was one of relief. The two of them said nothing, merely watched the cats around them.

Flyfang was the first to speak, her voice cracked and weak. “Then my mom’s soul…”

“If she’s dead, she’s in that thing,” Redheart said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Flyfang shivered hard. “And my dad…” She froze up with a gasp. “When my sisters die-“

“When we all die.” Laurelclaw looked back and forth with increasing distress, his short tail puffed up like a coyote’s. “Our families, friends – everyone-“ He turned pleadingly to Redheart and Greyleaf. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Outside of leaving?” Greyleaf’s calmness was tainted with a bitter twitch of his lip. “Probably not.”

“They could be lying,” Beetlefoot said, hardly sounding like he was certain. “They could be mistaken.”

“I doubt it,” Darkpelt said, still cool and collected, even if her pupils were constricted and her tail was shaking. “This entire thing makes sense to me. Even if they made it up, it’s way too out there to be a reasonably invented lie. Who would claim something this crazy and expect anyone to believe them?”

Beetlefoot’s mouth moved a few times, but he gave up, staring at the ground with a dumbfounded sense of fear.

Greyleaf now looked at Mistface, deeply unhappy. “Can you see now why we have to leave with Mama as soon as possible?”

Mistface tried to breathe, but it came out shaky and stuttering. “We’re…we are on a time limit, ain’t we?”

Greyleaf dipped his chin a little in a half-nod before returning his focus to the rest of the group. “So whatever you want to do with that, you can. That’s the truth, and we’re trying to save everyone before they can die here.”

“It’s quite a task, as you can see,” Redheart said. “I’m amazed that any of you believe us.”

Silence again for a long moment, before Littlepaw’s timid voice broke it. “Then…what do we do now?”

Everyone looked at each other again, seeking someone to tell them too.

Darkpelt sighed and shook out her fur. “Well, for now, we should probably just rest. It’s night and we’ll need to think things over.” She pulled one side of her mouth back, considering. “I suppose we’ll have someone coming for us soon enough. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to have time to decide on my next course of action before they catch up to us.”

“I’ll take watch, if y’all intend to sleep,” Mistface said, a little quicker than he would have liked. He needed privacy to reflect, and he'd take it any way he could without outright abandoning the group.

A pause where everyone turned to the Clast deputy, silently seeking an answer, or an order - something to give them direction.

Redheart slowly spoke. “I think sleep would be best. None of us can go anywhere when it’s this dark and wet at the same time.”

“I can try, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep,” said Laurelclaw. He shook his head and regarded Greyleaf and Redheart almost in awe. “I have no idea how you’ve slept at all for all these years.”

“I never knew anything else,” Greyleaf muttered, and moved to the side, prodding the ground for a dry spot.

“All I had was my goal.” Redheart backed a little and sniffed the ground. “That’s what’s kept me going.”

It took a long time before everyone was settled – finding a spot that wasn’t entirely muddy or soaking grass was difficult, and their breathing gave away their stress. Mistface didn’t speak to any of them. He just sat facing the direction they had come from, ears perked, mind racing.

It could all be a lie, he wanted to remind himself. It didn’t have to be true. His brother could have just been driven mad by his nightmares and Redheart took advantage of that. Or maybe Redheart was a loony, and Greyleaf was just desperate for an explanation. And even as he thought that, he knew how stupid of a suggestion it was. Darkpelt was right – this was too strange of a story to be thought acceptable to sell to others under the knowledge that it was made up. Liars could think up sensible details from dusk ‘til dawn, and the insane could believe total nonsense. Doing both was not easy.

These thoughts turned over and over in Mistface’s head as he half-listened to the rest of the cats’ breathing slow and deepen. It took a very long time for everyone to fall asleep, and Mistface kept his ear swiveling, listening for anyone having a nightmare. He didn’t know exactly how the truth would affect them, but he wasn’t willing to disregard the idea that someone was going to see something bad.

Grass shifted.

Mistface’s head jerked around. He got halfway off his haunches. No one could have found them this early, could they?

It was black and silver out here in the night, but he thought he saw something to the side of a tree on the edge of the grove. Some shape that could have been a fox, or could have been…

“Not a chance,” he said under his breath. He stood up and craned his neck forward, squinting.

A figure, tall and dark and thin. It stood silently, regarding him as he regarded it.

He immediately knew who it was.

Mistface did one quick dart of the eyes to make sure no one was coming towards them from the north, and then stood and slowly made his way to the shadow.

It didn’t move. In fact, the way it watched him, he was sure that it had timed its visit just so that someone would see it. Its snakelike tail, fading away towards the tip, waved a little, side-to-side.

“You’re right bold, ain’t you?” Mistface said, keeping his voice low. He stopped when he was several body-lengths away. “What if we hadn’t heard their story before we saw you?”

The Runagate blinked slowly, almost dryly. I was there to hear it. Have to keep close to them these days. My voice isn’t as strong as it was.

Mistface knew that, faced with a ghost – or demon, or devil, or spirit, whatever it was – he should be at least a little nervous, if not outright scared. He knew the tales. He knew that it could have been manipulating two innocent and stressed-out cats.

Somehow, though, it felt like talking with a neighbor. Or perhaps like sharing a view with someone else of something too strange to explain.

Mistface tilted his head. “Funny, ain’t it. Whole perspective of the world gets changed in one night. Now you’re hardly anythin’ to talk to.”

I’ve been ‘hardly anything’ for a very long time, the Runagate said. Its head lowered a little. Just slowly fading while I try to spread the word. It’s all I’ve got now, like them. A pause, and then, almost too quiet to hear the thought, I don’t even remember who I was before all of this. Before I died.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mistface said - genuinely, to his surprise. “You’re nothin’ like I imagined.”

The smallest ‘hm’, that could perhaps be considered a noise of hollow amusement. They always make me out to be some pale monster with a snake’s tongue. Got real tired of watching those performances the first couple generations.

“I can only imagine.” Mistface looked back, checking to see if anyone was awake. Nothing. He turned again to the Runagate. “You’re somethin’ special, certainly. How did you get away from it? Redheart’s mother didn’t.”

She should have fled herself, the Runagate said, and its voice was just a little more intense in Mistface’s head, with some emotion he couldn’t name. I took one look before I ran for everything I held dear. Didn’t pause to ask questions. Just ran. And I’ve been running since then.

Mistface was surprised at the pity in his heart – not just because he had it at all, but because out of all of the characters in the Clan’s legends he had been told about, he didn’t expect to feel it for a supposed demon who was living through sheer determination, even when the whole Territory was against them.

A question came to his mind. “There been anyone else you’ve told? Anyone else who’s known?”

A heavy sigh…or perhaps the wind. Only a few, and only one at a time. Greyleaf and Redheart existing together is a miracle. The others, they did nothing. They could find nothing to do. Most of them just ran away. Sometimes took friends or family out of the Territory. I don’t know where they are now.

Mistface’s eyelids lowered a little as he considered this. There came another question, burning with his curiosity much more. “Greyleaf ain’t ever been affected by this. You got any idea why?”

The Runagate made another lifeless, breathy noise like a chuckle. I wish I knew. He’s a first. Not many cats like him that nothing can get to. It took everything I had just to talk to him in his dreams that one time.

“Huh.” Mistface’s eyes drifted down. “Curious. It’d be worthwhile to study that.”

If you have the time before it’s too late, certainly.

“We will,” Mistface said, startled again by a new sensation in his chest – something steady and warm, making him feel a little bolder. “Everyone’s gettin’ the time. We’ll figure somethin’ out. This ain’t continuin’.”

The Runagate’s head tilted and its eyes narrowed, but its tone was almost surprised. You intend to do something about this.

Mistface was unsure of what he was feeling, but he let it guide him into a firm nod. “If for no one else, for my family. Mama ain’t goin’ to that thing.” His fur fluffed out a little. “No one is, if I got my way. I’m sure at least some of these folks’ll feel the same.”

The Runagate blinked slowly, regarding him. The fading tail drifted back and forth slowly, like grass in the breeze. Mistface met what remained of its eyes with firm focus. Neither spoke for a moment.

I can give you all what I know, the Runagate said finally. I don’t know how much help I can be otherwise. I’m running out of… The silhouette shuddered and rippled. I’m out of everything, really. Time. Energy. Fear can only keep one going for so long, brother of Greyleaf.

Mistface gave it one nod and said, about as firmly as he could at such a quiet volume, “You’ll rest soon. We can figure this out.”

The shadowy face had a hint of a smile. I’ll hold you to that.

[plethora-of-imagines]

Hypnotic Love

AN: @how-masterful and I finished the last Delgado!Master story which inspired me to finish this soft fic in order to help reduce the sadness of it being the last of the new content for him. I have had this sitting in my drafts for ages but I’m finally done and happy with it!

Word Count: 2642

Warnings: hypnosis (consensual)

Description: You wonder about the Master’s thoughts on free will and democracy which lead to a unexpected hypnotic confession.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

You tangled your legs with the Master's. Intertwining them together as you shifted your head into a better position over his left heart. You could hear his left heartbeat better than the other with your head now positioned directly over his left heart. The soothing double heartbeat causing you to let out a quiet pleased hum. So quiet that it got caught halfway in your throat, turning it into a slightly strangled hum.

One of the Master's arms was holding you close while the other wandered. Brushing your hair from your face before cradling your face in his gloveless hand. Trailing along the side of your neck before lightly scratching at your shoulder, left uncovered by your tank top. You shivered slightly as his nails played with your nerves. Making your hair stand on end with his ghosting attention.

Letting your mind wander you remembered the questions you had wanted to ask him earlier. He had been trying to persuade some semi important man to join in his latest scheme. You had swallowed your questions so as to not jeopardize the partnership, but now you were alone with the Master and free to inquire. He had spoken so cruelly of free will and democracy to the man, you couldn't help but wonder what his real opinion was. 

He had always seemed to believe that women should get to control their own lives so you doubted he despised free will as much as he had implied. Though with his desire to rule the universe he probably wasn't overly fond of an extreme amount of free will. And democracy seemed to be the sort of idea that he would find interesting to observe. Not that you suspected he would be fond of it in practice unless it secured him power. With his natural charisma and charm it would be no struggle for him to convince a population to support him in his candidacy. So, you doubted that he really believed democracy was pointless! Even if he wasn’t fond of it.

“Master?”

You could only hope that your curiosity did not ruin the mood. It was nice to be spending time together peacefully like this. You would never forgive yourself if you destroyed the peace in this moment.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Do you really dislike democracy?”

“Not entirely,” all of his attention was focused on you. It made you feel wonderful to be capable of holding his attention. It was an honor that not many received, the Master’s indulgent and patient attention. “Democracy as a concept is a good idea, in fact I have to admit I admire it. Unfortunately, it is rarely truly executed as it was conceived."

His hand paused in its movement back and forth along your shoulder.  Moving to brush your hair away from your face again after your shifting caused it to fall, covering your eyes again. The whole time he adjusted your hair he continued his elaboration.

"The ideas of it are something to be admired but in practice it never seems to work as well as it would in theory. It can also be quite the hassle to deal with when trying to gain control over an area and it’s resources for one of my plans.”

“Hmm,” you let out an attentive hum as you continued to look into his eyes. “What about free will? With your skills in regard to hypnosis, it must just be a minor annoyance.”

The small smile he returned to you only made you feel even more content.

"You flatter me, my dear. In many cases you are correct, it is nothing more than a small annoyance to overcome another's will with my own. However, there are some who have wills strong enough to resist my attempts at hypnosis. A rare few can even break out of my control over time as well! Given enough time I could slowly place someone strong-willed under my control. But, my dear, I have found that other methods of, shall we call it persuasion- are much more efficient in such cases."

You lifted your head off of the Master's chest, propping yourself up on one arm.

"Has anyone strong-willed ever willingly submitted to your will? Choosing to let you hypnotize them?"

"No one had done me the honor as of yet," his eyes were filled with a warm affection. "You always have the most thought-provoking questions, my dear. I must admit I had never thought about someone willingly submitting to my hypnosis before."

Looking away you bit your lip. You knew what you wanted but you were nervous to ask him for it.

"I'm a bit curious... Master? Do I have a strong will?"

You danced around the subject. Hopeful that he would catch on to your implications and ensure that you did not have to admit to your desires.

"Worried that I may decide to hypnotize you, my dear?" 

His hand reached to make you look back into his eyes again.

"You have nothing to worry about, my darling. I wouldn't be able to hypnotize you,  your will is too strong to succumb to such a manipulation of your mind."

Your nose scrunched up minutely as he said that, he had misunderstood you. You realized now that you had made such an expression you would need to explain it’s meaning. If you didn’t explain he would ask. He always paid close attention to your every facial expression. It was better to explain yourself before he drew any potential conclusions. Or more accurately formed a hypothesis and drew his own biased conclusion no matter your protests. 

"I’m not worried about you hypnotizing me at all. I actually think that I would like you to hypnotize me Master."

He looked shocked by your words. The hand that had been holding your chin in place moving to rest against your forehead.

"Are you feeling alright, my dear? I simply cannot believe that you would want to give up your free will. Your willing submission is more than enough."

"It’s not me giving up my free will Master. It’s me choosing to trust you completely and submit fully to you."

It took him a few moments to process your words. His hand moving gently down the side of your face. Cradling your face between his hands as if it was a fragile piece of equipment or a precious jewel. Always so full of care and caution in every gesture when it came to you.

"I'll admit I would like to try," even with his admission he still seemed hesitant. "It would be a most precious gift to have you willingly allow me into your mind in such a manner."

He searched your face for any signs of regret. Finding no signs he then searched for any apprehension in your expression. Seeing nothing but calm consent he gave into his desire.

"I will be gentle, my dear. If at any point you are uncomfortable you can fight back and I shall release you from my control. Do you understand?"

"I understand,” you were eager to experience the Master going into your mind. It sounded like it would be pleasantly blissful and slightly intimate.

“Excited enough to forget your manners, my dear? And make sure to tell me what it is that you understand. I would hate for a simple miscommunication to cause you any amount of suffering!”

“Sorry,” you sheepishly replied. “I understand, Master. If I feel uncomfortable I will fight to resist your control, so that you know to release your control over me.”

“Good girl. Now just look into my eyes with an open mind.”

You looked deep into his eyes as they drew you in. You didn't resist the pull you felt, allowing yourself to fall into his grasp. You melted into the Master's hands. Going completely slack, his hands were the only things keeping you from falling face first into his chest.

"Who do you obey?"

"You, my Master."

The Master guided your head to rest against his chest again. Right over his left heart as you had positioned yourself so carefully at the start of this discussion. All of your limbs felt floaty, every inch of you tingling. Your body disconnected from your mind. Outside of your control. You felt surprisingly comfortable. You imagined that it was only due to knowing that it was the Master in control. You had always felt safe by his side.

“How do you feel, my dear?”

“Floaty,” your voice took on a slightly breathless tone. Your tongue felt weird in your own mouth. While you were speaking genuinely, it felt like your voice was not yours. “But content and safe in my Master’s arms.”

The Master took one of your hands into his own. Intertwining your fingers together, giving your hand a firm squeeze. It served to ground you, the floaty feeling retreating. You still felt disconnected from your own body but the tingling was gone. You hadn’t known that you could relax further than you already had.

“There we go, my darling. Completely underneath my control, utterly submissive and obedient to my will.”

His voice was soft. Quiet, but firmly reassuring. You had a loopy smile on your face that you couldn’t stop. He was so gentle with you.

“I have to admit a certain curiosity about you and your motives. Never before would I have imagined someone choosing to stay by my side as you do. I cannot help but question what you truly think of me. What has made you decide to stay with me.”

His hand slid away from yours so that the only physical contact that remained between the two of you was your head against his chest. The floaty feeling only slightly coming back. Subtle enough to not be distracting like before.

"Why do you obey your Master?"

"I love my Master," the answer came with no hesitation.

Abruptly the haze that had filled your mind broke. Reality rushed back into your mind. The sounds of the TARDIS and the Master’s heart beats roared in your ears. The dim lighting seemed to shine brighter than suns in your eyes. Everything overwhelmed you. The strongest sensation of all was the feeling of the Master’s mind yanking itself away. It felt as if you had been physically pushed away from the Master even as you were still laying on his chest just over his heart. Tears filled your eyes at the overwhelming sensation of loss, of emptiness. You refused to let them fall. If it was affecting you this much it must be so much worse for the Master. You must have done something wrong to cause the hypnosis to backfire and snap apart as it had.

You lifted yourself up off of his chest, looking into his wide eyes.

"Did I do something wrong?"

You had barely gotten the last word of your question out before you were pulled down, crashing into his lips. It was the deepest kiss you had even been given by the Master. Normally he gave light pecks, focused on maintaining propriety. This kiss however was full of passion.

He released your lips just as you were running out of breath. Inhaling, you blinked a few times. Looking at him in dazed surprise. Before you could process what had just happened you were pulled back into another kiss just as passionate as the first. He pulled your body so that it was fully on top of his as you did your best not to squirm.

As he started to break the second kiss he seemed compelled to chase your lips for one last quick peck.

"I never dared to think that you might stay with me out of love."

"Silly, of course I love you," you gave a small kiss to his nose and then his lips. Before your embarrassment at your actions caught up to you and you hid your face in his chest with an embarrassed whine. Why had you done that? Now you could never show your face to him again!

He wasted no time in pulling your face away from his chest, "I'm afraid that I'm not going to allow you to hide your pretty, flustered face from me, my dear."

Your face pressed into his hands as you tried to hide your flustered face once again. It of course accomplished nothing. So you closed your eyes to give yourself the illusion of hiding.

"Absolutely adorable."

He spoke softly, as if the words were just for him but needed to be said. Peeking at his expression you could see open adoration for you. Seeing his open adoration you managed to find the courage to open your eyes and face the Master despite your flushed face and bright red cheeks.

"I really do love you more than anything Master,” you softly admitted.

"I fear if you keep telling me that you love me that I will never let you go again, my dear. I would keep you by my side for the rest of eternity."

There was a seriousness to his words that told you he spoke the truth, but you didn't mind. You would never want to leave him anyway.

"I love you, Master."

His eyes softened when you repeated your declaration.

"May I hypnotize you again, my darling? I broke my hold over you quite abruptly before which may have left your mind open for others to get in. I will warn you that my hold on your mind will be more possessive now."

"Yes, you may hypnotize me again Master."

You looked into his eyes and with one statement you were comfortably held in his control, "obey your Master."

His hand brushed through your hair as you basked in the nice feeling of your mind being fully held by the Master.

"Let me know if it gets overwhelming, my dear. I'm doing all that I can to hold back for you."

"Don't need to hold back. M' entirely Master's."

The hold on your mind grew, heavy. But heavy in a nice and reassuring way, like a weighted blanket. It felt like you were being pulled physically closer to the Master. Yet his hand never strayed from your hair. Each stroke through your hair brought you deeper and more pleasantly under his control. You never wanted to leave. You wanted to stay nice, obedient, and loved under his control. Slowly he started to pull away. Your mind chased after him. You didn't want him to leave your mind! 

"Shh, shhh. It's alright my darling, I'm still here."

Your mind started to register the Master's words the moment you registered that you had been whimpering.

"Master?" 

You were dazed and slightly confused. Then as the last tendrils of his mind left yours he sent a surge of pleasure into your mind. Making your body fall with limp for a few moments with the love and comfort projected into your mind. There was a small kiss pressed reverently to your forehead as your senses returned.

"There you are, my dear. Return to me now, nice and gently. There we go."

Slowly your mind felt "normal" again.

"You should get some rest, my dear."

"I'm-" you had been about to protest when your exhaustion caught up with you. "I'm really tired."

"It's to be expected. I was a bit careless and forgot to consider how little experience you have with telepathy. Your mind is tired from trying to chase after mine but after you get some sleep you will be perfectly fine."

A blanket was pulled over you to tuck you in as you shifted a small amount to get into a comfortable sleeping position clinging to the Master.

"Rest assured that I'll be right here when you wake up, my darling. Sleep well."

Those were the last words you heard, softly spoken, as you let sleep claim you.

[noodlewright]

Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton, Maddie Pairings: None Rating: G

-

“So will it be between seventy and a hundred, or lower?”

“No. Keep working.”

At the heart of Clockwork's lair, Danny stared unseeingly at the math worksheet in front of him. The numbers were starting to blur together. 

Today, Danny was visiting Clockwork after having a fit of homework frustration that was quickly becoming routine. He was lucky to have found a mentor in Clockwork and studied with him as frequently as he could. Danny had quickly found that the ghost was, apparently, scary good with numbers, but there was nothing to be done to make math less mind numbing.

“No, as in it'll be higher?”

“You know perfectly well Danny.”

Danny wanted to know if all his extra study sessions would pay off when it came to Friday's big test, but he knew what Clockwork was getting at. The spirit was concerned that knowing his future test score would make him slack off, either because of an expectation that he would do well regardless, or that he would see no point in studying with failure to come anyway.

He needed to study for now and later exams, Clockwork insisted.

Danny huffed in annoyance and stared harder at the problem that gave him such grief.

It didn't yield.

“Do you want to go over it again?”

Danny hung his head in defeat. “Yeah.”

Clockwork left his terminal and made his way to Danny's side with a spare sheet of paper, half of it covered in a scrawl from earlier.

Halfway there, the spirit paused. Clockwork stared just over Danny's shoulder, as though a thought had just occurred to him.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Just the other day, while Danny visited, Clockwork had done a similar action. He hadn't given it much thought then, or the ones before. Everyone did it on occasion. In Danny’s case, it usually happened when he walked through a doorway. Most people though, Danny considered, didn't do it this much.

Maybe Clockwork was a little scatterbrained?

-

It was, by now, what Danny recognized and referred to as one of Clockwork's “Moments”.

Danny had come to learn that Clockwork had these frequently.  Clockwork didn't have all knowledge of all things, the spirit had once explained. Clockwork knew of the past, if he cared enough to know it, and knew of the present, but not all of the present. If he wanted, he could learn it all but there were, he said, very many things that were dull and unimportant, and taking the time to see every bit would be a torture unimaginable.

The future was similar to him, in that he didn't endeavor to see every scrap of it, but even if he tried, it wouldn't have the same easy clarity.

The real take-away was that, when it came to the future, all things weren't set in stone, and as Clockwork explained, the ghost often felt that some events got lobbed at his head and he needed a moment to sort out the new information. Danny could understand that. He had trouble grasping the rest of the hour-long, complicated discussion that included half a dozen different metaphors and some math chalked onto the wall, but he could get that at least, and was glad to gain a little more insight on how Clockwork's abilities functioned.

-

“Are you okay?”

Clockwork’s attention snapped to Danny. The intense gaze made him uneasy. Was Clockwork mad? He got the feeling like he might have interrupted something.

“Uh, sorry.”

Immediately Clockwork's eyes widened, “No no, I’m sorry. I just realized something. I need to go-”

“What?” They had barely started!

A wink was sent his way. “It won't even be a moment.”

Oh right. Well, it wasn't like Danny could just forget the last fifteen years of rigid physical laws that applied to his and everyone else's lives. Clockwork would probably only disappear and reappear between blinks.

A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, have you been disappearing on me this whole time?” he asked. He shouldn’t be surprised, it would be so easy to ditch and return without anyone being the wiser. 

“No, just when you’re already engaged in something.” Clockwork admitted.  

So basically, any time Danny wasn’t actually talking to Clockwork.  Which was a lot.

He shouldn’t be bothered by it.  He hadn’t even caught onto it until just now, but still, it sat unwell with him that Danny was someone who was to be put aside for a later date.  Couldn’t it wait until after Danny had left?  It wasn’t like Clockwork couldn’t just go back to whatever time period he pleased.

It would be polite at the very least.

But what was Danny going to do about it? Clockwork was nice enough, and Danny wasn't about to voice his disappointment when it wasn't actually that big of a deal to begin with. It would just have to be another mannerism to add to Clockwork's growing list.

“Uh, okay. So what's got you in such a rush to go?”

Clockwork opened his mouth to answer, but paused for another faraway look to overtake his face. “. . . Well, how do you feel about coming with me to find out?” he finally said.

There was hardly a thought before Danny agreed. “Sure!”

They set off.

-

Clockwork's portal led them to a large, immaculate kitchen.

“Very nice.” Danny said as he stepped out and oggled at the sheer size of the room. The number of cooking ranges and pots suggested that he was at a restaurant. “Do you come here a lot?”

Clockwork gave a distracted noise of affirmation as he walked over to a glowing red stove top and fiddled with the knobs until it was completely turned off. 

Had he just stopped what could have been a fire?

The ghost then grabbed at unsightly cords that littered the countertops and tucked them into less noticeable places.

“Danny, there is a set of knives to your left. Would you please place them in the cupboard?”

The cutlery in question had been loosely kept in a stainless steel container, not very dangerous in his opinion, but he obligingly shut it away.

From Clockwork's direction, Danny could vaguely make out senseless muttering, “-idiot thinks he's a chef . . . ”

Yeah, no kidding. Idiot was an understatement. Who left a stove on?

Danny startled at a sensation that brushed across his ankles.

He looked down to see a purring cat. “Um. Hi.”

It was long haired, and an obviously very well-kept animal. It was incredibly out-of-place for the current location. The cat gave him a lazy, silent meow. 

“I didn't think cats were allowed in restaurants.”

“It isn't a restaurant,” Clockwork clarified. “This is the home of Vlad Masters.”

Danny suddenly snapped alert and floated off the ground in a battle ready stance. His eyes darted around in search of an unwelcome presence. 

“He isn't here right now.” 

Danny immediately relaxed and found his footing again. He regarded the cat and kitchen before him once more. Now it was looking familiar. This wasn't his first jaunt uninvited to Vlad's house, but he had never paused to really look at the rooms he was darting through.

“Okay, so what are we doing here? I mean, I know fire-safety is important and all, but a blazing house and that guy isn't the saddest combination that I can imagine.”

“I understand,” Clockwork said as he made his way to a nearby window and began working its unyielding frame closed. “Masters has done you a great deal many wrongs. He is, what most would determine, unsalvageable. Unforgivable. Unethical and unrepentant.”

“Yeah. All that times a thousand.”

“He is also incredibly unstable.”

“I could have told you that.” Danny wondered where this was heading.

Clockwork ceased his fiddling and picked up the cat that had only been too content to loll on the ground. It wiggled, displeased at the graceless hold. 

“Before you is the crux of all of Masters’ affections.” He lifted the cat further with emphasis, and spoke with sincere solemnity. “The warmth held for you and your family is but a shrinking mote compared to what he has fostered with this animal.”

Shrinking? Anything that lessened Vlad's attention could only be a good thing. “Really? Does that mean he'll leave us alone now?”

Clockwork didn't entirely look him in the eyes when he said, “Not exactly. Masters is the very definition of passion and he can never entirely drop something once he's set upon it.”

“Not in all the timelines?”

“Most of those are currently closed and the few available are too . . .” Danny thought that Clockwork was about to have another Moment, but the spirit soon found his words, “-dreadful. Which is why it is very important that we curtail his fixations, in what ways we can, and direct him to better . . . things. This cat is crucial to that. He's poured all his love into it and should anything happen to it, Amityville will be a flaming crater, and its residents, crumbling charcoal.”

“He'd kill people for a cat?!”

“He'd kill someone for kicking it.”

“Oh my God. I mean, that's a really mean thing to do to a cat, and they deserve something, but the town is innocent. Why would he hurt them?”

“He’s an idiot when he's angry. And a part of him has always wanted to watch the world burn.”

Danny pulled the, now fed-up, cat out of Clockwork's arms and held it with complete reverence. “We have to protect this cat,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“We need to keep it inside and never let it out.”

“I know.”

“Sam can watch it when I can't-”

“Masters will be consumed with rage should it go missing.”

“Right. Okay. Well, it's- it's a cat, and it's been alright so far, right? It should be okay here. It's happy here and Vlad's happy.”

“But there's a problem. It's why I have to come here almost every blasted day. The cat is suicidal.”

“ . . . Is there a therapy for that?”

Clockwork gestured to the room, heedless of Danny, “She keeps trying to kill herself. Last week she was roadkill and the week before, mauled by a pack of dogs. I stop her from eating poisonous plants and she goes right back to them the next second. I keep her from chewing power cords and she tries and tries again- last time she did it while soaking wet from nearly drowning in the toilet. In fact, had we not been here, at this very moment, she would have deep fried herself! I am confident that I have now seen every possible misfortune that can befall an animal and I grow tired of it.”

Danny scrambled to absorb the dire information. “But . . . the deep fryer isn't even on.”

Clockwork glared at the animal pointedly. “And yet.”

Danny looked at the yowling cat in horror. “What can we do?”

“I'm doing all that I can.”

“But isn't there something we can do that is less hands-on? More permanent?”

“I've been scouring the timelines for that very answer and have come up short. Other possible solutions will show themselves eventually, but we're not at the right stage to begin exploring those.”

“Okay, well if we can't do anything with the cat, what about Vlad? Can't we just stop him?”

Clockwork rubbed his face tiredly. “Danny, a future where Masters has that sort of melt-down, and the city regardless saved, is not a future either of us want.”

Danny wished he could fact-check that, but he wasn't the one with foresight. “Are you suuure?” he needled.

“Yes.”

Well, Danny supposed that was that. He didn't entirely believe Clockwork. It was hard to judge when he knew so little of the information as a whole, it could just be that there was something that had been missed. However, he did trust that it was what Clockwork believed.

“Clockwork?”

“Hm?”

“This future you have in mind, is it a really good one?”

“. . . It's not all good, but it has a great deal many good things, yes.”

Something niggled at Danny. It was a thing that had long been bothering him, and it reared its ugly head whenever altering timelines came up, but he had never earnestly voiced it. Mostly because he had yet to see any bad come of it. “Clockwork, I know you can do all these cool things, but do you ever think that maybe you shouldn't be doing all this? Changing the timelines, I mean. I get wanting to have a better future for people, but what if you don't make the right choice? Why not just let it go?”

“Instead, how about you let it go?”

Danny's mouth dropped open in shock at the sheer rudeness, until he realized that Clockwork was pointing at the cat. She writhed in his arms and gave him warning bites to his gloves. 

He guessed Clockwork's answer wasn’t as much a brush-off as it was a diversion then. Fine.

He, gently, released the cat and planned to get right back to the questions at hand, but Clockwork addressed him before he could open his mouth.

“I've let things go a time or two before, Danny.” Clockwork had taken an interest in one of his many watches, his head tucked down so that shadow eclipsed most of his face. “And contrary to what some would have you believe, I have learned that it is better to do something, even if it's not the very best, than nothing at all. Inaction and apathy are things that I have fought hard to stay buried, and to embrace them again would be inexcusable.”

What could have possibly have happened? How bad did it get? Did he really want to know? 

“What-”

“So, will you help me keep this cat alive?”

And Danny did drop it, just like that. Clockwork clearly didn’t want to talk about it. That didn't mean he wasn't still curious. He was. But for today, and probably for a while, he would leave it be.

-

Vlad returned to the center of his current frustrations. He had been trying to recreate an old family recipe, when suddenly, he had been called away on business. It wasn't a long meeting, but he had felt the need to rush. A thought had dogged at him since he left.

Had he left the stove on?

He swung the kitchen door open and immediately calmed at the lack of raging flames and burning stove-tops. 

It seemed he did remember.

There was also a lack of general mess that often accompanied his random acts of cookery. His ingredients were laid out still, as well as a number of random bowls, but the utensils were nowhere to be seen and the deep fryer had been dumped. Curious. He didn't keep his cleaning staff this late, and even if he had, they wouldn't have been so lazy as to not properly clean up a clear mess.

“Who the shit has been in my kitchen?”

-

More

[shnuggletea]

A belated birthday surprise for @eringobroke!

Better late than never?? So, she’s actually read this already lol. I commissioned art from her for it! But the surprise is the posting as I hadn’t told her when I would post this lol. I took a short break from working on kisses to get this ready for the public. I know everyone is hurting for some fluff (and this is not fluffy) but I promise you’ll get a ton of fluff on Sunday! It has a lot of smut in it. If you want the full version, you’ll have to subscribe. It all still works without the smut (I think). So you don’t have to subscribe (but I’d love you a little more if you did!). You can read chapter one below or head over to Patreon for the free version. 

Happy Birthday @eringobroke!!! And thank you so much for the brilliant art! Working with her was a dream guys something to consider when thinking of your next project to commission! Idk if this is a gift, commission, or both but I hope it’s a good surprise. Either way, I’m so glad to have you and your work in my life!

Check out the art eringobroke made titled Hunting a Dryad!

For AO3 (since this is a gift) click here. For Patreon click here. Or keep reading below.

TAGS!!

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Chapter One

It would be the first time in years I had stepped into a forest like this. Fear had kept me away. With it being so long and things so changed, I felt safe. Not to mention it wasn’t the same woods that I originally feared. 

“Come on Kikyo!”

I was spacing out, looking out at the horizon as we rose above it. Ayumi ahead of me, I turned back to her and the path with a smile. “Where did you guys find this hike?”

“Google,” Hojo stated simply. 

The boots felt strange but I was getting used to them. As well as being deep in the forest with my friends. “It’s beautiful.”

Ayumi giggled, “you fought us so hard on coming here, I thought for sure you’d be bitching the whole time!”

Yes, I had fought the idea, cursing the fact that my friends were adventurous for the first time since I met them. We had done a lot of things together. They had really brought me out of my shell. Skydiving was still my favorite. 

So I knew it looked weird when I turned down a simple hike. The path wasn’t on any map and according to Hojo, it was magical. I had to agree but I was biased. Regardless of my previous trepidation, I loved the wild and untamed forest the most. 

Now that we were deep within, I felt all my worries and anxiety were for nothing. I felt nothing, not even a tingle. There was nothing here in these woods that was a threat to me or my friends. 

We made it to the top of the mountain, panting and glistening with sweat. Eri was passing out water from her pack while I dug out some dried seaweed. Sitting on rocks, the fog cleared and we could see all the way across the valley of thick trees and brush to the town in the far distance. The air was cleaner, crisper than I had breathed in a long time. It reminded me of days long past. 

Watching the sun start to drop and the sky turn to gold, we all silently agreed it was time to go. We made it back to the car by sunset. My hand was on the door when it hit me. If I hadn’t had a hold on something, I would have fallen to my knees. It had been so long, I forgot how overwhelming and powerful the sensation was. 

“I… I need to go.”

Eri looked at me with a slight lift on her lips. “Then go in the bush. We’re too far out for a bathroom.”

I was shaking but none noticed thankfully. “No, I need to get out of here. Away from all of you.”

All smiles dropped, Hojo grabbing my shoulder gently. “Kikyo? What’s wrong?”

The feeling left, coming and going quickly. I took a deep breath to steady myself before fixing the damage I had made in my haste. “Nothing. Sorry, I’m just… tired.”

They each looked to one another and I wondered if they would believe it. Hojo was the first to turn back to me with a smile. “Let’s get you home then?”

Holding onto me a little longer than necessary, Hojo showed me affection the only way he dared. I worried he would confess to me soon. Then I would have to leave the group earlier than planned. I would have to leave someday, ghost them completely as I had done many others in the past. I would miss them just as I did all my other friends now long gone. But that was the nature of my secret and how I kept it all these years. 

This time when I felt it, I didn’t let fear overrule me. Keeping calm in the back of the SUV we all crowded into, I quickly got out when it stopped at my place and said my goodbyes. It would most likely be the last time I saw any of them. 

As I neared my door, my hands began to shake. It was coming from inside my apartment. There was no point in running, I had been found. All this time I had managed to stay hidden, I assumed no one was looking for me. That may still be true but it didn’t change the fact that I had inadvertently stepped into trouble and it had followed my scent to my home. 

That was why the feeling went away in the woods. I hadn’t been left and forgotten. No, my scent was all that was needed to find my home and wait. 

Even though I expected it, my heart still jumped into my throat as I opened my door to the creature that sat in my living room. I closed my door, using my body as I fell back on it with dread. 

Standing on four paws, the large dog snarled at me. He stood as tall as a Great Dane but was the shape and coloring of a wolf. But it wasn’t a wolf, it was a dog. 

“Hello, Inuyasha.”

The snarl stopped but I knew he was still frowning. I didn’t dare move or look away, watching as he shifted. His bones and muscles twisted while his shaggy white hair retreated, all of it save for the hair on his head which grew in length until down his back. The white fur changed to peachy skin and the muscles bubbled and popped out all over his toned body. Now standing on two thick, human legs, the only thing that remained the same was his glowing, demonic, gold eyes and fuzzy white ears on top of his head. 

No matter what form he was in, Inuyasha was beautiful. Stunningly, which was why I still couldn’t move even as he stalked towards me. In a flash, he had my wrists in his hard grip and slammed them back into the door above my head. 

“Hello, Mate. Long time no see?”

I shudder, his naked body close to me, and the heat of his skin wafting over mine was close to driving me mad. “What are you doing here?”

He shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue. “You messed up. Stepped too close to me and I felt it. It was nothing to figure out your path and find your scent, leading me here.”

Leaning in, he put his face so close, I could feel the tip of his nose as it brushed my skin and the air as he dragged it in, smelling me. He went from my shoulder, up my neck, to my hair. But then he went back to my ear. 

“I thought you were dead,” I whimpered at his harsh whisper, his emotions felt even as he spoke so soft only I would hear. He was trembling against me now. “For years. But my mark didn’t fade. So I thought… I had screwed up somehow. Then I realized… you left me.”

“I… I’m sorry. I had to.”

“Is that your sapling out on the balcony?”

He had come in through the window, passing my tree in the small planter. I gave him a nod as my heart tripped in my chest. 

“It’s grown. You’ve been taking care of it. As you should I suppose. So you dug it up and ran? Why?”

I couldn’t tell him. Not now, not ever. I didn’t know what damage it would do. “I…”

He was waiting for an answer but I had nothing. Silence fell over us but it didn’t last. Inuyasha pulled out of my neck and glared down at me, his eyes no longer gold. Now they were red. 

“You left me. Cared so little about our bond and our mating that you didn’t even say goodbye…”

“I couldn’t…”

“For decades now I’ve had your mark, laughing at me for ever thinking you gave a shit about me…”

“Inuyasha, please…”

His mouth crashed to mine painfully and my body responded instantly. Roughly, he put my arms around his neck and grabbed the back of my thighs hard. I had no choice but to wrap my legs around him and he continued to press me against the door. He threw me to the floor and continued.

“As good as you remember, Kikyo?”

I felt sick, my belly turning when he called me by that name. “Don’t… don’t call me that…”

“Oh? So only your human friends can call you that? If it bothers you so much, then use your real name.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t…”

His face inches from mine, I watched the colors swirl in his eyes. Red and gold mixing around his irises. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have left me for the damn human world?!”

“I didn’t…”

He left me on the floor before him while he sat on his heels. I waited, waited for him to say something. To hold me. To be just like the man I remembered. But instead, he got to his feet and walked around me. 

“Inuyasha…”

He stopped but didn’t turn, facing the window he had undoubtedly entered from. “You’re my mate so I’m bound to you as you are me. But there is no longer love between us; not since you broke my heart and left me for dead.”

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Doesn’t fucking matter now. Because now that I’ve found you, you will do what I want. I’ll come and go as I please and screw you when and how I want. You’re no longer my Mate. You’re my whore.”

I was shaking and so was he. The cold tone of his voice left me freezing on the floor. The floor he had just had his way with and left me on. As soon as I saw him, smelled him, I wanted him, wanted it, wanted him to make love to me like we once did. That wasn’t what he did and it wasn’t what he was going to do to me in the future. 

Standing on the edge of his escape, he finally looked back at me before he disappeared. “See you soon, Kagome.”

With my name (my real name) on his lips, I rolled to my side and curled into myself. My clothes were nothing but rags under me while my boots knocked the floor. Not as hard or as loud as they had while Inuyasha fucked me but they were still there. 

With one hand, I grabbed my wrist, the one that had his mark. Slowly tracing the faint purple moon on my wrist I allowed myself to cry. It had been a long time since I was reminded of what I had given up and it didn’t lessen the ache in the slightest. 

I knew she was near, I could smell her. A week of chasing her and I refused to give up. 

I caught sight of her a short distance away. Her golden flank flashed in the peaks of sunlight through the heavily shaded woods. She was grazing, her mouth low to the grass as she nibbled. 

She was waiting. 

I slowed my approach, careful with my paws so I didn’t alert her. She might be waiting but with her running from me at every turn since we met, I knew better than to let her on to my presence. She still felt it; felt me before I was close enough to strike. 

Her muzzle lifted and her azure eyes found my golden ones. A flash of white and she was off, her tail high as she ran. And I chased. Today would be the day. I could feel it, a tingling in my spine and loins stemming from the hurried breaths she took. 

She was excited. 

I could hear it in her breaths and smell it in the air; her white tail turned upwards and showing me her hindquarters while scenting the wind with her sweet, succulent musk. 

But then I lost sight of her, turning hard and fast down a long lane of bamboo. It ran thick around the water’s edge, a river that parted the forest and many animals drank from, and hid her from me. When I rounded the tall grass and entered the narrow path of its forest, I stopped short. 

There she was, knee-deep, quickly cupping water and splashing it over her body as if it would cool down her heat. No longer the gentle and beautiful doe I’d chased for days on end, she stopped and stood at her full height as the gorgeous woman I met over a week ago. 

Her long black hair curled with dripping water; water that ran down her breasts to her flat belly. Dark curls met it before sliding over her round hips and slender thighs, sad when the water had to return to the river. 

She didn’t face me, half-turned and giving me her side. I took in the sight of her as much as I could, feeling her eyes on me the entire time. The sand was soft under my paws; soon under my feet as I stood up before her. Her lids closed and opened slowly, black lace brushing her rosy cheeks as she lowered her sights over me. 

I was already up to my knees, grabbing her thin arms and enjoying the feel of her soft skin on the pads of my fingers. Her hands went to my chest when I pulled her to me, her chin shooting up to keep her eyes on mine. Twisting us, I had her on the sand, watching as she waited, laying on her back for me. Her eyes were everywhere, searching for any other eyes on us. 

What we were doing was probably breaking the rules. Considered a sin, with me a Hanyou and her a forest nymph, a Dryad. If that’s the case, then they would have to take it up with the fates as they were the ones responsible. This union was beyond mine or her control. 

Crawling over her, I grabbed her face and stilled her search and worry. If anyone were near, I would have smelled them. 

Now, with her eyes wide on me and only me, I lowered my mouth to hers. Sucking in her air (tasting her fully) it was like nothing else in this world. It ran sweet down my tongue and burned in my belly like ale. 

“Inuyasha…” She whispered when I pulled away.

The tears in her eyes made them sparkle like sapphires. In the short time, we spent together before this moment, I had not told her my name. And she didn’t tell me hers. But I knew it; just as she knew mine, pulling her to me and cradling her in my arms. 

Mates always know their names and she was finally ready to be mine. 

“Kagome…”

Panting, I pulled back from her hold, her eyes glassy and to the sky. Taking her hand, I sunk my fangs into her wrist. She flinched as if waking from a dream, looking at me as I marked her. Kagome didn’t hesitate, taking my arm and biting until she drew blood. Her blood slid down my throat as mine did hers, sucking slightly as we left our marks. 

Retracting my fangs, I watched. Sure enough, the swollen and bloodied mark turned, changing into a waning moon of a light purple that stood out greatly on Kagome’s skin. 

She was watching my skin, her eyes wide and curious. Such a beautiful creature, I struggled to understand how she was mine. But as her bite turned into an arrow the same golden color of her doe form, there was no confusion. 

The gods had accepted our mating.

[cynicalclassicist]

TURN BACK

Written by Chris Newton

This isn’t mine but was done by another of the Lockdown writers who very kindly sent it to me.

There it was again: that fluttering, rattling, scuttling noise. It sounded like grasping pincers, snapping mandibles and probing antennae. It felt like something was on her back. For some reason, it was an oddly familiar sensation. 

Donna Temple-Noble knew that things had not been right for a while. 

Things were fine in her life. After a decade of marriage, both she and Shaun were still very happy and very much in love. They had been determined that their big lottery win wouldn’t change them and, for the most part, it hadn’t. They lived in a ten bedroom mansion Highgate with two acres of land, owned a holiday villa in Spain, and had been able to afford to send Joshua and Ella to an incredibly expensive private school – but otherwise, they still went to watch West Ham every Saturday (albeit in their own executive box), still kept in touch with all their old friends (even Nerys), and eschewed fancy restaurants and glitzy parties in favour of Friday nights in on the sofa watching Love Island and eating Pringles. 

But something was wrong with the world. Her high school boyfriend, Mathew Richards, had always been going on about global warming back in the 90s, but as far as Donna had been concerned somebody was always banging on about the end of the world, whether it was the Millennium Bug, or Mayan calendars or Hadron Colliders… But what did that have to do with her life? She could hardly see which type of milk she put in her tea affected the wider world. 

But things began to get so bad that even Donna noticed. On her eighty-inch TV, she saw bush fires in Australia, David Attenborough showing the ice caps melting and an ocean filled with plastic. And then the Sontaran virus came – the lockdowns, the curfews, and the restrictions. But not even a global pandemic could prevent the USA from imploding in a civil war. The Zygon president had attempted to form a dictatorship when he lost the election and all hell had broken loose. 

Donna knew they were lucky, they were far away from the fighting and they could afford regular deliveries of fresh food, and had a huge garden with their own private swimming pool to occupy them in quarantine. The first lockdown had almost been like a holiday for the Temple-Nobles; the kids cannon balling into the water, Donna and Shaun sunning themselves on loungers, barbeques, cocktails. Their autumn lockdown consisted of bonfires and marshmallows, thick jumpers and flasks of hot chocolate as they told ghost stories on Halloween and twirled sparklers on Bonfire Night. It was almost perfect.

Almost… But not. Because for all the comfort their money could buy them, there was one problem wealth could not solve. 

Donna’s Grandfather, Wilf, was now ninety-one. A few years ago, after a fall, had moved into a care home. Donna made sure he received the best care possible, and paid for him to go to a lovely facility just near Hampstead Heath, that way they were practically neighbours. Before the virus, she had visited him every day without fail. His memory had been growing steadily worse; sometimes he called her Sylvia, and occasionally Louise, for some reason, but he never forgot that she was his granddaughter, and more than not greeted her by saying ‘Wahey, here she is! The Little General!’ which had been his nickname for her when she was little. 

But since lockdown, she had been unable to visit him. She knew it was for the best, for the safety of her grandfather and for the other residents in the home, but it didn’t change the fact that it felt as though a huge part of her had been ripped away. His dementia had worsened, the staff had told her over the phone, and he had been repeatedly talking about a spaceman in a flying blue box. 

She had managed to arrange a videocall with her grandfather, a favour from one of the nurses at the home. She sat waiting for him to answer, full of fear and trepidation. Always wondering which visit would be the one where he failed to recognise her entirely. 

“Wahey, here she is! The Little General!” Wilf’s face filled the screen of her phone. 

“Hiya Gramps!” Donna’s eyes welled with tears of joy at the sight of her grandfather. 

“Blimey, how’d you get inside this little tablet thingy?” he chuckled.  “Must be bigger on the inside,” he muttered with a strange, faraway look in his rheumy eyes, as though he were trying to remember something. 

“You don’t half come out with some rubbish!” she laughed. “We had a bonfire in the garden on the 5th. You know, jacket potatoes in tin foil, passing round a thermos of tea. Reminded me of the old days, up the hill at your allotment, remember?”

“Mmmm,” he smiled distantly, before his face crumpled in confusion. “’Ere, where’s the Doctor?”

“You’ve already seen the doctor, Gramps. Remember? He put you on those new pills.”

“No, not him. The skinny one. Isn’t he with you? He usually is.”

“Why would he be with me you daft old thing? I’m fit and healthy, thank you very much. Touch wood,” she tapped her head. “Don’t need a doctor.”

“I think you do,” Wilf mumbled. “I think we all do. He’d sort out this bleedin’ virus.”

“They’ll have a vaccine before you know it, Gramps. You’ll be round ours for Christmas dinner, just you wait and see.”

“That’ll be nice,” he grinned. “How’s Lance, then? He alright?”

“Shaun, granddad, I’m married to Shaun. Lance… had to go away.”

“Oh. Well, it’s probably for the best. I never did like him much.” 

Donna couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“The kids want these flippin’ animatronic Baby Yoda dolls for Christmas,” she changed the subject. “Honestly, it’s Star Wars this, Star Trek that… and that other one. You know, the time travel one? No idea where they get it from, I was never into any of that sci-fi rubbish.” 

“Donna…” Wilf cried, a sudden urgency in his voice.

“Yes, Gramps?” she swallowed nervously, it had been a long time since he had called her by her name. “What is it?”

“There’s something on your back.”

The words chilled her, although she had no idea what they meant. She felt her right hand darting involuntarily over her shoulder expecting to feel… what, exactly? Something creeping, crawling, insectoid… she shivered. 

“There’s nothing there. Honestly, what are you on about?”

“He was only trying to help, but it’s gone wrong again. It wasn’t a fixed point, you see? It was one of those… Temporal wotsits.”

Donna took a deep breath.

“I think you’re getting mixed up again, Gramps.”

“Hmm?” he looked at her, his eyes full of warmth, kindness and confusion. “So how’s Lance, then? He alright?”

“Yes, Gramps. Lance is fine.”

“Oh, that’s good. I always liked him. Oh, I’ve got to go. The nurse wants her tablet back. When are you coming to see me?”

“As soon as I can, Gramps. I promise. As soon as I can.”

“Well, I’ll look forward to it. Ta-da sweetheart.”

“Bye,” she stifled a tear as the screen became blurry, before Wilf’s face was replaced by a blonde-haired woman.

“Donna Noble!” the stranger grinned irrepressibly 

“Oh, hi,” Donna swiftly composed herself. “Are you the nurse? Thanks so much for letting me speak to him…”

“Yeah. Well, I’m a Doctor, actually. Although a lot of people assume I’m a nurse these days. Bit annoying, really. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a nurse, mind! If it’s good enough for Rory Pond, it’s good enough for me.”

The blonde woman was still grinning.

“Oh my god,” Donna’s mouth fell open. “I know you!”

“No! No – that’s not possible!” The Doctor’s face paled.

“I knew I recognised you.”

“Listen to me – you cannot know who I am…”

“You’re Leanne Battersby. From Corrie!”

“What?”

“Ha! Just wait ’til I tell Nerys, she’ll be well jealous.” Donna snorted.

The Doctor harrumphed. 

“Leane Batt… Actually, you know what? If it stops your neural receptors from combusting then fine. Fine! Yeah. Leanne Battersby at your service. If you think I’m just an actress from Coronation Street then it’s safe for us to talk. Well, I say safe… safe-ish. By which I mean not very dangerous. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit dangerous. Put it this way: your mind won’t burn, but you might end up forgetting your old mate Susie Mair.”

“Susie Who?”

“Exactly. Anyway, we don’t have long… I need to get back in Wilf’s wardrobe before the Sontarans triangulate my signal. I’m telling you, this has been a long eight months. But your grandfather’s right: there is something on your back. Again. Or maybe for the first time – it all gets a bit wibbley with alternate dimensions. But there’s something on your back, and I’m really sorry, but it hitched a ride on a lottery ticket.”

“What on Earth are you on about?”

“Not on Earth, actually, Shan Shen,” the Doctor said, and then winced. “Oops! Shouldn’t have said that. Might have deleted another scene. Remember that time you were one the phone to Veena in the kitchen and you heard that strange wheezing, groaning sound coming from outside?”

“No?”

“Probably for the best.”

“What’s going on? And why are you in my Granddad’s wardrobe? Do I need to call social services, ’cause don’t think I won’t, blondie!”

“I need you to trust me. What was the name of that TV show where the kid in the blindfold had to be guided through the dungeon by their mates?”

“Knightmare?” 

“Yes! That’s the one. I need you to be my Dungoneer. I don’t have a Helmet of Justice so you’ll just have to close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes??” 

“I know I’m asking a lot, Donna, but Wilf trusts me, and that’s all I can tell you. But be honest – you know something’s wrong, don’t you? You can feel something digging into your shoulders, can’t you?”

Donna nodded. There was no denying it, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt she could trust this woman, even though the reason seemed distant and out of reach. Donna closed her eyes. 

The strange woman on the phone guided her out of the house, past a row of trees and to the telephone box at the end of the road. Funny, Donna thought, she didn’t remember there being a telephone box there. She hadn’t seen a proper one for years. 

Following the Doctor’s instructions, Donna pulled the handle and the door creaked open as she stepped inside. Instinctively, she reached out for the mounted payphone, but her fingers met only empty air. Perhaps it wasn’t an operating phone box anymore? It probably housed a defibrillator instead. She was tempted to have a peek and find out.

“Don’t even think about opening your eyes,” the Doctor snapped, somehow reading her thoughts, “if you open your eyes, your brain will hyperpodulate.”

“Hyer-what-you-what? I want you to know I’m taking a lot on faith here, Battersby! And if this is a wind-up, then so help me god...” 

Donna’s threat was drowned out the VROOP-VROOPING of ancient engines that at once sounded utterly alien and distantly familiar to her, like hearing a half-remembered nursery rhyme from childhood. 

She heard the telephone box door creak open again, and a rush of cold air from outside. Strange, it didn’t feel like the smoky air of the November street she had come from. It felt crisper, fresher. She could hear the merry peal of church bells. There isn’t a church that close to my house, she thought, puzzled.

“You can come out now. Walk forwards but keep your eyes closed for a moment.”

Donna did as she was told. She felt grass beneath her feet as the VROOP-VROOPING resumed and then faded, drowned out by the sound of the bells. 

“You can open you eyes now,” the woman on the phone was now stood in front of her, but that was the least surprising thing to Donna. 

“But, how…” Donna looked down at herself. “I’m in my wedding dress. I don’t understand?” The two of them were stood by an old lychgate. Donna looked ahead – there was the church where she had married Shaun. Discarded confetti swirled about her ankles. There were guests milling about ahead – there was her grandfather’s friend Minnie Hooper. Minnie the Menace he used to call her! Although Donna was sure she’d heard that Minnie had died recently. Nevertheless, there she was, full of joy and life. And there was Nerys in her hideous peach dress! 

“What year is this?” asked Donna.

“2010,” said the Doctor.

“This is my wedding day. How is this even possible?”

“The time differential’s trying to reconcile there being two of you here at the same time. Hence the dress. It’s tricky with parallel universes. Anyway, ‘how’ isn’t important right now. What’s important is that somebody just gave you a lottery ticket as a wedding present.”

“I know, cheapskate.” 

“You’re about to win a triple rollover.” 

“Yeah, well…” 

“The thing is, Donna – the man gave you that ticket – he meant well, but he was meddling with things that shouldn’t have been meddled with. He was young – still in his Time Lord Victorious phase.”

“I don’t understand a single word you’re saying.”

“You know that theory that a butterfly fluttering its wings can cause a hurricane on the other side of the world? Well, time’s like that. Small, trivial things can cause ripples which alter the course of history. The truth is: you didn’t win that money. At least, not originally. You took one look at that ticket and ripped it up. Remember? The first dance at your wedding reception was Can’t Buy Me Love.”

“No… that’s not right,” said Donna. It couldn’t be. She knew that hadn’t happened. Their first dance had been 2 Become 1 by Spice Girls. So why could she remember dancing to The Beatles with Shaun?

“Nobody won the lottery that week – and the next week it was a quadruple rollover! A boy called Michael Finch won it. He was only sixteen. Imagine that! First time he’d ever played. Great kid. A friend of mine met his dad once. Long story. Anyway, I’m sorry Donna, but Michael didn’t spend it on cars and holiday homes and private pools. He invested in the future: green initiatives, healthcare, education… When the Sontarans released their virus, Earth was ready for it. Plus, the United States didn’t have a Zygon for a president. Well, they did actually, but she’s one of the nice ones. But shh, don’t tell anyone.”

“You know what,” said Donna. “I don’t think you really are Leanne Battersby, are you?”

“No.”

“But I do know you, don’t I?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s… bad? My head hurts…” Donna cupped her forehead in her palm.

“Yes. It’s very bad,” said the Doctor. “But it’s okay. Because if you tear up that lottery ticket and let Michael Finch win it instead, then you’ll change the future and we’ll never have met. Well, not like this anyway.” 

“This is crazy. How is any of this possible?”

“My fault, I’m afraid. A long time ago, you had an encounter with a Time Beetle – and this is the gross part, sorry – Time Beetles can lay eggs beneath the hosts’ skin. They lie dormant, sometimes indefinitely, until the host encounters a significant temporal junction – in your case a lottery win that could change the course of human history. You were never supposed to have this life, Donna. You were supposed to tear up the ticket.”

More non-memories were flooding Donna’s mind – the years of living on the breadline in Chiswick, living with the regret of their lost fortune. A bank holiday weekend in Blackpool with the kids, having her fortune told by the strange little woman in the kiosk on the pier… Voicing her regret aloud and wishing she could go back to the day of her wedding and keep that winning ticket. 

That couldn’t be right… They never took the kids to Blackpool. Their holidays had been in Cyprus and Malaga, they’d splashed out on luxury round-the-world cruises. But she remembered it so vividly: the rattle of the trams, the glare of the illuminations, the taste of the chips, the seagulls crying overhead. 

“But we’ll have nothing. I can’t go back to the way we used to live: hand to mouth, never knowing where next month’s rent is coming from. What about Ella and Josh? They’ll be born with nothing.”

“Donna Temple-Noble, listen to me,” the Doctor gazed at her sternly. “You’ll have everything. You’ll have each other.” 

Donna looked back over to the church – there was Wilf! – still spry at eighty and fighting off Minnie’s advances as ever. And there was Shaun – so handsome in his wedding suit! She couldn’t believe how young he looked. 

The Doctor was right. Donna thought of how happy they had been during lockdown, not because they were comfortable, but because they had each other. The tweet-a-longs, the virtual gigs, the walks in the woods, the disastrous attempts at baking, standing on their doorstep and clapping for U.N.I.T…. She hadn’t put two and two together until she’d been speaking to her grandfather: but it had been the first time in her married life – the first time as a mother – that she had somehow recaptured that magic of sitting in her grandfather’s allotment with a flask of tea and gazing at the stars. 

At the time Donna had felt as though she were longing for adventure, as though the stars held some inexplicable magic, but now she knew that the magic had been right there in the allotment all along. She no longer yearned for adventure, but longed instead to return to those simple days. She never could, of course. Wilf’s star was fading, but her own was rising. She thought back to the old world of financial hardship: rented flats, being plunged into darkness when the electricity meter ran out, payday loans and minimum wage temp jobs. There would be struggles but there would also be magic. There would be stories by candlelight, cartoons and warm milk before bed in the precious few years before Joshua and Ella became moody teenagers. There would be games in the park. There would be home cooked meals, and there would be telly and Pringles on the sofa on Friday nights. 

There would be family. 

Donna turned to speak to the blonde woman, but the stranger was gone, so she hitched up her wedding dress and hurried over to her husband. 

“Who were you talking to?” he asked.

“A friend,” Donna smiled.

“What’s her name?”

“I can’t remember,” she said. It was strange, the name was on the tip of her tongue, but it had gone. She decided it didn’t matter.

“Give us that lottery ticket, will you?” Donna asked. (She had entrusted it into Shaun’s safe keeping. There were still no pockets in wedding dresses.)

“Why, you got a good feeling about it?” he asked, taking it from his pocket and handing it to his bride.

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I have,” said Donna Temple-Noble as she tore up the ticket, and a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

[seveliyukie]

Oikawa x Reader (Soulmate AU where you feel each other’s injuries)

You stare with wide eyes, ignoring the slight pain on the back of your head. You’re sure your soulmate had it worse after being hit by a volleyball from his teammate. Tears prick your eyes, not from pain but from relief. All this time, you had been worried he was in an abusive home given the amount of times you felt the ghost of his pain. Never had it crossed your mind that your soulmate just had a very violent teammate. 

Marching up to the angry looking boy who was scolding your soulmate, you shout, “What is wrong with you? You can’t just hit someone because they annoy you.”

Two pairs of surprised brown eyes look in your direction. You blush, realizing your outburst doesn’t make sense since he probably doesn’t know who you are. To them, you’re just the Karasuno Volleyball team’s second manager. 

“Oi, Shittykawa, deal with your fangirl then come back in. We’re starting soon.” The spiky haired boy ordered your soulmate before heading back inside the gym. The original fangirls that had been with Oikawa before he got hit had already, scared of the intimidating spiky haired male. 

“It’s okay, fangirl-chan. Iwa-chan always does that, but he never actually hurts me.” Oikawa reassures you with the same practiced smile he uses on all his fans. 

Your eyes start to sting with tears again when you realize he just thinks of you as another fangirl. Honestly, you should’ve expected it. The boy gets at least three confessions a day and constant compliments from his legions of fans. To him, you were just another girl, just another fan. For him, there was no spark in his chest when your eyes met. 

Even though you could feel your heart breaking, you just gave him a polite, close eyed smile, “Okay, but if he does it too often, you should tell him off. I don’t think it’s right to hit your teammates.” 

“Y/N-chan!” A female voice called from the gym’s door. Kiyoko, your fellow manager, stood at the door with her clipboard and motioned for you to hurry inside. 

“Nice to meet you, Oikawa-san. Good luck for the practice match.” You hurriedly say before running towards your friend. Thankfully, Kiyoko can sense you don’t want to talk about it and just holds your hand in a show of support.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oikawa POV

Oikawa couldn’t help but glance in your direction for the tenth time that match. He was still warming up as he needed to make sure his knee wouldn’t give out, but his eyes kept getting drawn to the sidelines towards you. He noticed you rub your right knee mindlessly while writing down whatever Kiyoko had whispered to you. Huh, I wonder if she has knee problems too. He wondered, mind drifting from you to another girl with a face he had never seen and who, honestly, might not even exist.

While everyone else seemed to get little cuts and bruises from their soulmates that let them know they were still out there, he hadn’t received anything. Not even a paper cut. It was unnatural and left him with two possibilities: you were dead or you were sheltered somewhere that kept you from getting injured. His parents had assured him that he definitely had a soulmate at some point. Apparently when he was around five years old, he received a deep cut on his finger which meant his soulmate had probably almost cut their finger off. 

Other than that one incident, though, there were no telling injuries to let him know they were still out there. Every time he found a random cut or bruise on his body, he wondered if it was theirs or if it was just another volleyball thing. If they did exist, he felt bad for putting his soulmate through the pains of volleyball injuries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You smiled and complimented the boys while you handed them their waters. You were still hurting at the fact that the boy who was supposed to be your universe approved significant other only thought of you as a cheap fangirl, but you were proud of your team for winning the practice match. As mad as you were at your soulmate, you found yourself not regretting taking extra care not to hurt yourself. You figured out early that your soulmate had to be an athlete with the amount of cuts, bruises, and pain in your arms, so you decided to keep yourself from getting injured just in case. If you had gotten injured in the middle of one of his matches, it might affect his performance after all. While it was impossible to get way with no injuries, you had managed to keep it to the types of cuts and bruises people never noticed until it was pointed out.

“Thanks, Y/n-chan.” Suga thanked you with a smile. “Are you okay? You seem a bit off the whole match.” 

Of course it’d be Sugamama who noticed the change in your attitude. “I’m fine!” You tried to reassure him. Wanting to escape his observant eyes, she went over to help pack up some of the other gear.

“Look out!”

You looked up too late. A stinging sensation spread across your face as you collapsed to the ground in a daze. You belatedly realized you had been hit with a volleyball. Shouts asking if you were okay were tuned out when your e/c eyes met chocolate brown ones. Ah, shit. You can’t help but think.

He takes a step towards you, but you’re already on your feet and running out the door. You don’t know where you’re heading, so you find yourself standing in the middle of an open courtyard with tears streaming down your face which is still numb from the pain. 

“Y/n!” You stiffen at the sound of his voice. Sniffling and patting your face in an attempt to look normal, you turn to face him. He’s panting slightly from chasing you. 

“What do you want, Oikawa-san?”

“You're my soulmate, aren’t you?” You freeze and he takes it as confirmation, “You are! Wow!” His whole face lights up as he moves to wrap his arms around you. If you had known him as long as Iwaizumi, you’d have known that was the happiest Oikawa has ever been. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to meet you.”

Snapping out of your daze, you push him off you, “How long you’ve waited to meet me? I met you earlier and you said I was just a fangirl.”

Oikawa tried to speak but you didn’t let him.

“I don’t want you to like me just because we’re soulmates!”

“Y/n-chan, wait--” He tries again. He looks like he’s about to cry.

“Save it.” You cut him off. Your angry facade is crumbling and the tears are threatening to appear for the fourth time that day. “I don’t care if we’re soulmates. If you only like me because the universe says so, maybe we weren’t destined for each other.” Your voice breaks at the end, but there’s no turning back; it was over. You would rather live alone than with a soulmate who didn’t love you for you. 

With that, you walked off leaving your soulmate in stunned silence. On the bus ride back to campus, you kept your head buried in Kiyoko’s shoulder while she shooed away the boys who were trying to figure out what was wrong. It was clear by the time they got to campus, someone at Aoba Johsai was going to die at the hands of the crows next time they met.

(Part 2 anyone?)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Haikyuu or any of its characters. All rights go to Furudate-sensei.

[banashee]

Part 6/25 of my @badthingshappenbingo​ round 2

Prompt: Denied food as a punishment

This is also Part 1 of a new series: “Like a ghost in the back of my mind”

please mind the tags and warnings!

 A growing emptiness

 A big part of his childhood, Clint spends either hungry or worrying about food.

 He learns early on to take food whenever possible, because the likelihood of there not being any later is high. Most of the time, it’s due to poverty. This is often paired with his father (or later, other caretakers) spending money on booze rather than food. Satisfying their own needs instead of feeding the kids. Sadly, he is used to it and so he learns to eat whenever possible, whatever he can get his hands on any. Clint isn’t picky at all.

 He’ll eat something even though it may be off. Clint has scraped mold off of bread more than once, forced himself to choke down something he doesn’t like at all, because it’s still better than nothing.

 Sometimes, when things get bad, he’ll steal food.

 He is ashamed of it, but not enough to stop. Running from someone who is angry he took some sort of fruit or vegetable from their garden is much preferred to digging through a trashcan. He does that, too. Some days, he’s got no other choice, especially if he managed to piss off Duquesne or Chisholm and they decide to cut him off.

 “Pissing them off” can mean many things, and as much as Clint can be sassy or big mouthed when he wants to, more often than not, it’s not even anything he said.

 He might not train hard enough to their liking, he might fail because he is sick or distracted. Any number of things that are out of his control.

 Sometimes, they just feel like it. “You owe us your life” they’ll say, or “I decide if you’ll eat or not. Today you won’t.”

 Clint gets used to this, too. It is one of the biggest reasons he’ll hoard food whenever he can get any. Occasionally, Barney or Chisholm will find it, and then all hell breaks loose, leading to more yelling, more bruises, more cuts or broken bones.

 He is more careful after that. Clint also gets used to ignoring hunger - he’s been used to it long before, but living the way he does only makes it worse.

 It’s not until much, much later when Clint is an adult and with SHIELD that he realizes just      how     fucked up his upbringing really was.

 Yes, it hurt, and yes it sucked, in countless different ways. But he never knew anything else back then.

 The thing is, if it happened to anyone else, he’d have started a riot for their cause. But him? That’s just how things are and better deal with it he kept telling himself.

 Now, that Clint is older and out of this environment,  he has learned that, despite his experiences, not all people are bad.

 There are people who love and support him, people who see more in him than someone who is worth something because of his skillset. People who see him as a friend because of him, and not what he can do.

 Until he gets there, it is a long way.

 Clint doesn’t trust anyone, avoids personal interactions whenever possible. It’s easier to protect himself that way. The one exception is Agent Phil Coulson, who has recruited him - that is, he pulled him out of a shithole and offered a new job, a new life. Him being his assigned handler helps, too. No one else wants to deal with him, and he’s okay with that.

 He’ll do his job and do whatever is asked of him, but he doesn’t want anyone around him, really. People mean risk means attack means loss of control.

 Never again.

 Apart from the obvious, working with SHIELD also means a lot more freedom than he had before. Sure, he’d spent 3 years on the streets and working highly illegal jobs, but he really doesn’t count “on the run” as freedom. The army, circus or foster care don’t come anywhere near that word and neither does any other part of his childhood.

 Now, he has legal work with times and places to be when it’s ordered, but he’s got a place to go back to, a bed to sleep in and a cafeteria that’s open 24/7.

 If he is being honest, that last part is kind of overwhelming. Especially in the first days and weeks, he expects the access to it to be revoked at any time, to find the doors closed some day. It never happens, but it doesn’t stop him from squirreling more bread rolls and packets of chips for later into his pockets. No one notices, or if they do, no one calls him out of it. It is as good as permission as it gets.

 The thing is: Clint is used to starvation. He never really had regular meals, it was always eat whatever you can, how much you can and then hide more for bad times. Sometimes, that meant 6000 calories in one day and a few granola bars over the course of the next week.

 It’s a pattern he is used to, and as such, his visits to the cafeteria are few and far between, but he does pack away more than most when he is there.

 Clint doesn’t think anyone would care enough to notice.

��He is wrong.

 Clint has been with SHIELD for several months when Phil Coulson approaches him after a meeting. There are other Agents present, so he simply tells him, “Barton, a word please.” while walking past, trusting that he’ll follow him. He does.

 When the door to Coulson’s office closes behind then, Clint asks,

 “What’s up, boss?”

 “Sit, please. This isn’t strictly work-related, but it worries me.” Phil knows he needs to be careful how he approaches this situation, because Barton doesn’t trust most people. He does, however, trust him, which is half the reason he is talking to his asset about this when most would have booked him an appointment with psych with no questions asked. In this case, it would be a sure way to lose whatever trust Barton managed to build in the past few months since he joined the organisation.

 Clint sits down on the chair across from Coulson, frowning. He isn’t sure where this is going, and he hates that.

 “Yes?” he asks curtly, waiting for more explanation.

 Coulson speaks deliberately, keeping his body language open. The last thing he wants is for this to come across as accusatory.

 “It’s something I noticed, and to be honest, I think you need help. Ever since you joined us, I’ve never seen you eat anything for more than a few times a week. Let alone multiple times a day. Not here or when we are out on missions…”

 A deep flush creeps up Barton's neck. He isn’t angry, which surprises him. But he is deeply embarrassed that someone noticed his patterns.

 “Oh.” he says, and stays silent for a bit. Thankfully, Coulson lets him, waits for him to say anything else.

 “It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

 Except, it isn’t fine.

 It’s never affected his work before, but things get stressful and then, a mission goes to shit in all the wrong ways.

 The circumstances are out of anyone's control, but when it gets down to it, people die and Clint, who has a bullet stuck in his shoulder, can’t react fast enough to save them all.

 He finally gets a clear shot and with pain shooting through him, he manages to bring down the men who shot a group of civilians and two of their agents just seconds before, saving the remaining people. Unfortunately, they can’t do anything to help either their two agents or the family that was captured by them. One teenanger, a toddler and two adults. All of them are dead.

 He failed.

 Cold dread and nausea rise in Clint, and he manages to find an empty corner of the rooftop he is perched on before he is sick all over the place.

 He is dry heaving while the Senior Agent whose name he keeps forgetting yammers into the commlink, causing it to blow out with certain tones that are painful despite his already shitty hearing. The sensation makes it all worse, but Clint can’t talk, choking and coughing still, when suddenly, his private channel to Coulson crackles to life.

 It’s always in place, no matter what. Clint doesn’t trust anyone else like he trusts Coulson, and he appreciates him looking out for him that way. He is always more comfortable, when he knows that there is a line of communication open with him.

 “Barton, status report. Talk to me.”

 Clint chokes on air and stomach fluid again - there isn’t anything but water that he could throw up, but his body is reacting violently. There is blood, dripping from his shoulder and soaked uniform onto the floor. As much as he wants to say anything, he can’t.

 “Stay put, I’m coming.”

 With the other Senior Agent still yelling over the comms, with the pain, guilt and panic in his chest and dizziness in his head, Clint can’t focus on anything. He collapses on the floor, uncaring whether or not he lands in the mess, gasping for air and trying to get a grip on himself.

 Then, Coulson appears by his side. He faintly notices that he is talking to him, but he can’t make out his words. He is too far gone, and then he starts to black out. Part of Clint is glad that he can blame the tears in his eyes on pain from his bullet wound and the fact that he’s spent the last few minutes throwing up violently, but even in his sorry state, he knows he’s fucked up.

 When Clint wakes up, he does so in a hospital bed, drugged with pain medication. He hates it immediately, because hospitals, in his experience, are one of the unsafest places one could ever be in. He’s forced to stay in bed, hooked up to machines or IV lines, people know where he is and who he is and there is no way of defending himself in this state.

 His heartbeat speeding up and breathing gets hard. Before he can do anything else, a warm hand is placed onto his arm, and it takes Clint a while to realize that it’s Coulson, who is talking to him, trying to help and he doesn’t leave.

 Clint is too out of it to say or do anything about it. After a while, he falls back asleep.

 He doesn’t eat.

 The nurses pick up full trays every time, and they, along with the doctors and most of all, Coulson, express their concern.

 “I’m not hungry.” he insists every time, and gets more irritated with every attempt to talk about this.

 It must be a trick - Clint knows he fucked up, people died because of him. There is no reason he should eat - if he tries to take anything, things will get so much worse, and in his current state, he would be unable to defend himself. Better not risk it - he isn’t going to eat.

 At this point, Clint isn’t even half aware of how wrong this mindset is, and just how much damage was done to him over the years to believe all of those things. Another reason for this, that only occured recently: it is his way to stay in control over himself. No one can force him to eat, and no one can take it away from him.

 He is the one in control, even when he loses weight quicker than ever.

 Medical wants to keep him there, not because his injuries would demand it, but because he isn’t taking anything but liquids.

 Clint disagrees - he is fine, he insists, and takes the next opportunity to bolt when it presents itself.

 He hides out in his bathroom, doors locked, sitting on the cold tile floor and shaking apart.

 He is overwhelmed, anxious with guilt, nauseous from hunger and crying soundlessly out of sheer habit. It doesn't matter - there is no one around to watch him.

 Part of him is angry and disappointed with himself - being with SHIELD was the best chance he’s ever had, and he messed up after such a short amount of time. The aftermath sure doesn’t help, and all he wants is to get away. It might be less painful than being kicked out.

 He doesn’t know what to do, so Clint just keeps hiding until there is somebody at his front door,  knocking intently. He curses it, but eventually drags himself to the door and opens - he knows he can’t escape forever.

 To his surprise, he isn’t faced with an entire team of agents to be hauled away. The only person there is his handler, and Phil Coulson looks more worried than anything else. His frown only deepens when he sees Clint.

 To be fair, he really doesn’t look good at all. He’s lost a lot of weight, hasn’t slept and is holding onto sanity with his bare teeth at this point.

 “Hi Boss. You here to kick me out?” he rasps, and the look he gets in response is puzzled.

 “No, of course not. May I come in?”

 Clint steps aside, letting him in. He doesn’t look back while shuffling to the living room, and it is clear that his shoulder is still giving him trouble. Despite his best attempts to hide it, it is obvious to Phil, who is close behind him.

 Once they’re sitting down, Clint remains silent. He is fidgeting with the fabric of a throw blanket, waiting for Coulson to talk - if he isn’t here to kick him out of SHIELD, he really doesn’t know why he would bother to come.

 “To be honest, Barton, I’m not entirely sure what is happening. But something isn’t right, and I hope that we can find a solution.”

 It’s all he can do to nod. He is exhausted and besides, he doesn’t know what he could say, either.

 Coulson continues, “The last mission…” but Clint pales at the thought of it and he can’t stop himself from blurting out,

 “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up. Wasn’t fast enough... Six people died...“

 “You got hurt.” Phil replies, looking over to the couch where his asset is slowly shrinking into himself. Shit. He really must have underestimated this young man’s state of mind. Carefully, he continues.

 “None of this is your fault - did you think we would blame you for the outcome?”

 This seems to genuinely confuse him. “Uh - yes?”

 Slowly shaking his head, Phil replies,

 “No. Sometimes, things just go wrong and there is nothing we can do about it, except our best. You were injured, which you reported, and you still managed to save five other people. This is more than we could have hoped for. You did a good job out there, especially under the circumstances.”

 “...Right.” It doesn’t sound like Clint believes it. He doesn’t have a reason to - nothing he knows or lived through would have indicated that something like this wasn’t to be blamed on anyone - probably him.

 “I understand that this is hard. We have mental health professionals to help with that sort of thing, and I think it would be of benefit for you to talk to them.”

 Clint remains silent - he doesn’t trust them. He has talked to them, right after joining the organisation - it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Giving away any kind of personal information makes him want to crawl out of his skin and hide somewhere. People knowing details about him is a dangerous thing, and as much as they’d needled and pushed, Clint managed to keep quite a bit to himself still. He is ridiculously proud of that.

 Right now though, he is tired. So very tired.

 “I don’t trust them.” he confesses silently.

 Phil nods slowly. He figured as much, understands even - he, too, isn’t too keen on sharing certain issues. But it is a well needed support system that exists for good reason. This is what he says, surprising both himself and Barton with his words, but truth be told, this is everything but a professional conversation. He wants to help, not just because Clint is his asset - he cares, on a personal level. Phil cares for all agents, especially the ones assigned to him.

 But something in this young man in front of him brings out his protective streak. It doesn’t matter that Barton is well trained in armed and unarmed combat, amongst other skillsets. He is 22 years old and as far as Coulson can tell, he’s never had a single soul he could trust or rely on in his life and he is determined to change that.

 “Medical say they’re concerned about you coping. And so am I. Have been for a while, actually.”

 It is clear that Phil refers to their conversation in his office a little while back. Clint sighs heavily.

 “I’m not very good at it right now.”

 He is beyond exhausted at this point, or he wouldn’t have opened up at all. As sad as it may be, but his handler is the only person who hasn’t fucked him over yet. He really hopes it stays that way.

 “It’s just that, I’m used to things going certain ways.” Clint explains, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, he suddenly finds himself talking about the circus.

 He is talking about food and shelter constantly being held over his head and how he eventually started to take back control in the only way he knew how. He is talking about starving and binge eating on purpose at first, and later out of sheer habit. Clint talks about the way the latest mission specifically triggered all of this, and he is pathetically proud of himself for being able to keep his emotions in check the entire time. It’s hard, harder than usual - but he is sharing so much already. He can’t do more.

 Phil is listening to him without a word, careful to keep his face even. On the outside, he is calm and collected, but the more he listens, the more furious he gets. There is no other way to say it. Seething anger boils in him, directed at every single person responsible for years of abuse and mistreatment of a child who grew up to be a damaged adult, still doing his best and thinking it isn’t enough.

 For how long he is talking, Clint wouldn't be able to tell. But once he is done, the room is completely silent and he is staring at a stain on the table - it’s easier than facing the fact that he just told all of these things to another human being. As much as it scares him, it may be just the right thing to do.

 Staring ahead and keeping his breathing as calm as possible is all he can do for now. But maybe, some day, he might be ready to accept help.

*+~

Warnings:

- Past Child Abuse - Food issues - Eating Disorder - Starvation - Denied food as punishment - Food hoardig - Dealing with related past trauma, PTSD - Death, dying children (non-graphic) - Vomiting - Blood and injury, gun wounds

[enithinggoes]

The witch’s teachings, lesson 1:Scholars and healers

Travelling with Morgana, I learned about a part of witch work I’d heard little about, the in-betweens, walking the lonesome road, stopping to camp, sleep and gather supplies, both in the form of regular food like rabbits, fruit and roots, and also in the form of strange local herbs or mushrooms. “Catterpillar mushroom, good for diseases,” she said.

I helped her gather what she needed in my normal human form and we set off towards the nearby town, Hogsfeet. It’s a bit bigger than where I grew up, but still by no means a big one. As we approached it, she instructed me to turn back into a cat and climb onto her shoulder.

We headed to the town hall and I noticed the streets empty in our wake, inside we were received by bearded older man who seemed more accustomed to seeing witches than most people we saw.

“Got something for ya. 33 Jackson street, house’s been empty for a couple months, mayor wants to sell it to somebody but there’s a demon haunting it.” The man put a few pages of testimonies on the table, which my master quickly took and started reading through.

Morgana stroked her chin as she read, mumbling aloud any info she seemed to find particularly useful. “hmm, no one dead, a few light injuries, slashes to the walls,  floor, and curtains, reported screams and cold sensation, attacks are most intense between 11PM and 2AM. Anything on the last occupants?”

“Man and woman, married for about 15 years, then she left him for another guy. Poor bastard got sick and died in 13 months.” The bearded man took a swig of his flask.

“Thank you very much, I shall be expecting 50 coins as payment for the service and will warn you of any materials I require.” The witch turned to leave as she spoke

“Business as usual then,” the grizzled man replied.

As we got to the house, a large mansion made out of dark wood, with strikingly few windows, only about two a floor, I assumed my human form and asked my master, “So, how are you going to deal with the demon? Do they have any specific weaknesses you can exploit? Any vulnerabilities to specific materials?”

“First off, it’s probably a spirit, not a demon. No demon would leave no fatalities in more than 5 separate encounters, the fact the incidents have been restricted to the inside of the house also  smacks more of the unfocused lashings out of a ghost than the conniving purpose of a demon. Secondly, but more importantly, I would advise against bringing the attitude of a hunt or assassination to this. Lesson 1: We are first and foremost scholars and healers, not hunters.”

 I tried to take note of Morgana’s advice in my mind, it was the first official lesson she was giving me, though I was already feeling like my view of the world had been expanding rapidly. In according to the lesson, I attempted to shift my perspective on the goings on accordingly.

When we went inside the damage to the property surprised me, there were scratch marks on almost every wall, patterns of four paralel scratches, it reminded me more of a bear’s claws than a feline’s. Deep gouges and even a few broken windows, there was also a hair-raising chill covering every room, especially the bedroom.

After about 15 minutes, Morgana raised an index finger and said, “listen… in the air comes a whisper.” Prompting me to take a deep breath and unfocus my eyes, and soon I saw a strange blueish-white blur in front of us.

“Can’t… Leave…Please… Hurt… Pain,” I heard the loose words in a faint voice, and I was surprised to feel not fear or dread, but pity. It reminded me of the cries that animals make when they realise they will certainly die.

The witch, steady as a seamstress’ hand, brought out three candles, setting them on the floor in the shape of a triangle, saying “Alright, let us consult the patient then.”as she lit them.

The shape took on a much clearer form when the candle were lit, enough that I could see it without unfocusing my eyes. What we saw was a woman in a torn gown, her hair came down in front of her face but a shine from her eyes still came through, she was floating about a meter in front of us, lightly shaking as if wet in winter, her nails were longer than any human’s, but they still seemed brittle, they must have broken painfully whenever she scraped the walls.

“Hello miss, apologies for the intrusion, we’re here to help, how are you feeling? Could you tell us what’s bringing you pain?” Morgana said, and I could truly feel the kindness in her voice, and understand that the woman’s spirit was not the problem the be solved here, but the victim she sought to help.

“I can’t leave, if I leave I get hurt, I can’t leave the house or  I’ll get hurt I can’t…” The ghost rambled on, covering her face with her hands and I feared she’d scratch herself, and I noticed several bruises on her arms and shoulders.

Morgana reached out, and the spirit flinched back from her hand. Which stood still in the air, Morgana had a sad smile on her face as she said “It’s alright, I won’t touch you if you don’t want to, but I’d like to take a look at your injuries once you feel confortable”.

There was a deafening silence over the house as we waited for the woman to approach, cautiously, she touched my master’s hand, lightly feeling at it, as if unused to the warmth of a human body, as she came closer, Morgana brushed some of her hair aside, revealing a cut to her forehead, apparently made with a knife.

At this point I noticed anger hidden in my master posture, her rigid shoulders and clenched hands, anger I hadn’t seen at any point when she dealt with the werewolf or the angry townspeople. Still, her voice remained very gentle when she asked, “he did this to you, didn’t he? He’d hurt you many times, did he trap you in the house?”

The ghost stared at the floor, clearly afraid, but not of us. “If I left without him, I’d get hurt, I can’t… I can’t leave the house.”

The witch gently stroked the ghost’s hand. “It’ll be alright, I promise I’ll set you free, okay? You can go now, just wait a bit.”

The ghost nodded, and for the first time since I’d seen her, smiled. “Thank you,” she said as she disappeared.

We went back to the town and collected our bounty, when I noticed had come back to that dark mansion I wondered aloud, “are we done then? Was that all we needed to send the ghost away?”

“Not at all, my dear familiar, this was all research so far,  the active part of our job starts now,” Morgana answered. As she spoke, she took off her long black gloves, revealing coal-black hands and forearms, almost up to the elbows

“You see, when one loses their physical body and becomes a spirit, symbolic constructs of their mind become very powerful, to the point of affecting them in more ‘direct’ ways, our patient has lived a large part of her life in a cage, and she now believes that the only thing that could help her leave is her jailor. However, the true key to her freedom now that the jailor is gone-“ By now she’d run her hand along the whole perimeter of the dark wooden house, coating it in a strange black soot “-Is to destroy the cage itself.”

She snapped her fingers and the “soot” all around the house suddenly lit up, causing the entirety of the house  to catch fire, and quickly collapse into itself.

We stood there for minutes, watching the mansion burn bright, as she put her gloves back on, I wished to ask her how she’d done that, and if her hands always had that coal-like appearance. However, the witch looked as if she was focused, waiting for something, so I held off on my questions. A wispy figure flew up from the flames, and I knew it to be the ghost from before, but now it’s form was much brighter and closer to yellow-tinted than blue,  and I could swear I saw a grateful smile on her face as she rose to the skies.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” The witch said beside me, her face illuminated by the flames, she looked very proud of her work, very confident in the positive impact she’d just made on the world.

“It truly is” was all I could say. I was becoming more and more thankful for her allowing me to travel with her, something about this moment told me I was seeing something beautiful, something very few ever get to see.

  “Now let’s go, people are starting to stare, and the mayor won’t be happy I destroyed the property he was trying to sell, you can climb onto my shoulder or keep up on foot, but we best be out of town soon.” Morgana turned to me with a cheeky smile, I assumed the form of a cat again and allowed my master to carry me as we walked briskly through the streets, off to another town, another problem to solve for people who wouldn’t comprehend her work. I did however wonder, shouldn’t we have told the people about what the ghost was and what exactly we did to help it? Could they not come to understand, given the chance?

[jin-c-stories]

Mori White

For as long as she could remember, Mori could see spirits. As a child, she would wander around their old Victorian home in Oregon speaking with the spirits that had once lived there. Her favorite was the older woman who would host tea parties for Mori and the other spirits in the house. 

At first, her parents smiled while she was playing with her imaginary friends. She grinned as she showed a picture of one of these friends to her mother. The child stared in confusion, her mother’s face turned into deep concerning frown. “Where did you see this, sweetie?” 

Mori mirrored the frowned as she hid the other pictures behind her back. “That’s my friend Norma. She hosts a weekly tea party in the attic and invites all of our friends to play-” Mori stopped seeing her mother’s face. The frown she had before had reached her concerned eyes. Her mother kneeled down in front of her, Mori felt like she was in trouble.

“Honey, how would you like to play with the other children?” The next day Mori had her first ‘playdate,’ with a neighbor’s child.

After that Mori stopped talking about her friends even though she still played with them every day. They would go explore the house and the yard, she would attend tea parties and sit reading out loud to the woman who smiled and listened.

At five, her parents grew more worried about her imaginary friends. They were reading books and considered taking her to a therapist, that was when a young boy in her class passed away. Her parents dressed her up in a nice black dress and took her to the sad party held in a gigantic building that gave Mori a sense of ease. 

She saw the boy, now dead, dressed in a pair of dinosaur pajamas as he glared at his mother. Even though her makeup was excellent, Mori could tell she had been crying. The boy that was standing behind her and the radiating anger made Mori hesitate before stepping up to him, “What’s wrong?” Mori asked him.

The woman turned and brightened when she saw Mori and her perfect ringlet curls that her mother had spent an hour curling. She bent down to give the child a hug. “What a blessing it must be to not understand the surrounding sadness.” The mother said into Mori’s hair while the boy who stood behind her gave Mori a puzzled look. He realized Mori could see and speak with him. 

“They let me die!” He shouted, expelling more of his energy into the room. The sensation caused Mori to panic. She looked around for her own parents.

His mother pulled away, giving Mori a better look. She looked defeated, didn’t the boy notice that? She was about to tell him when Mori jumped, feeling someone’s hand on her head. It was her father who gave the woman a fake smile. They began speaking in their adult language that Mori wasn’t listening to. 

The boy pointed to a box that was open on the table. The Funeral home had lined the lid with a soft-looking white fabric. “They are happy that I am gone. My parents are going to get rid of me as if I never existed!”

Her father removed his hand to give the woman a pat on the arm. Seizing the opportunity, Mori walked over to the box. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see inside, but when she did, it was the boy. He looked like he was sleeping, even though Mori already knew he wasn’t. They dressed him in a nice suit, wearing one of his hats. The boy came up and stood next to her, looking into the box. Mori saw flashes of his life, doctors, the pain, his mother crying at night when she thought no one was listening. He was always listening, wondering why God made him sick, why he couldn’t just be healed.

“It’s not their fault. It wasn’t yours either. They loved you, but now you are not in there.” Mori said to him, giving him a small smile. The woman turned, having heard Mori, the child’s words troubled her. Her father looked embarrassed, and he came over, seizing her. 

“Kids say the weirdest things, don’t they?” He laughed, downplaying her words.

The older woman that Mori played with had told her about death, but now seeing it up close she felt cold. Her father held onto her as they left the child’s funeral and went home. The experience made Mori see the spirits in their home with a new appreciation. 

Over the next few days, things went back to normal. Mori stopped, glaring at all the spirits with worry and distrust. Soon they were back to host tea parties in the attic and exploring the woods. In fact, she had almost forgotten the incident when the woman from the funeral was waiting for her when she got out of school. 

She smiled at Mori as the child was walking towards her and the bus. The woman then waved at Mori and said with great excitement. “Hi Mori, do you remember me?” Behind her, the boy glared at her and Mori nodded. “Good, I was wondering if I could give you a ride home. Your mother has been so kind to me since the funeral. I just wanted to thank her and since your school is along the way, I was wondering if you would mind riding with me.” It sounded more like she was telling her rather than asking her, so the child nodded.

Something about her attitude seemed happier than a normal woman who had just lost her child and was now standing on a playground where he used to play. She snatched Mori’s hand and led her to her car. She got in the front seat. Behind them, the boy glared. 

“Did you know my sweet Timothy well?” She asked Mori, who took her eyes off the dead child to shrug at the woman. The woman laughed. “Children are always so honest. I loved that about Timmy, he was so honest with us about everything. Even when we ignored him.” She was silent for a moment. “Well, that is all in the past now I have learned my lesson. You know Mori when I was a child, my grandparents would tell me about these people who could see and speak with spirits. I always just shrugged them off as myths or tall tales to scare us. But at the funeral, you were speaking to my son, weren’t you? Can you describe him to me?” 

Mori had a bad feeling in her stomach about this. She glanced back at the boy, causing the woman to look into the back seat. “He is very pale and wearing a pair of dino PJs. They were his favorite. Did he love dinosaurs? I see a lot of toy dinos when he is around.” 

The woman beamed at Mori as tears streamed down her face. “Yes, Timmy loved dinosaurs. He wanted to be an archaeologist when he grew up. Is he really here with us now, back there?” She pointed randomly into the back seat. Mori adjusted her hand towards him and nodded. “Now Honey, I have a very important question to ask you. Can you bring him back to me?”

The child flinched away from the question as if it were a physical object being thrown at her. She could see dead people, but she had never tried to bring any of them back. The boy slithered from his place in the back seat and sat on the center console between them. “Yesss” He answered for Mori. 

With a smile and aura beaming with joy, the woman patted Mori on the shoulder. “Perfect. You are such a sweet child.” Mori touched her own face, unaware that she had said anything. The boy made his way back to his seat with a satisfied smile at Mori, which made her blood turn cold. 

When the car pulled into a driveway with slightly longer grass and a few more weeds than their neighbors, the woman quickly got up and began helping Mori out of the car. She held the child with a grip of steel, as if she knew Mori was going to run away. Practically dragging her up the stairs into the suburban home. Mori was trembling in fear. An icy breeze hit Mori from the house but didn’t affect the woman or Mori’s clothes. 

The inside was clean. Far too clean for a home that recently had a child living there. Little glass decorations from the last holiday were hanging around the place. Mori shivered, the temperature in the house was freezing but the woman didn’t seem to notice as she continued to drag the child up the stairs to a child’s bedroom that was untouched for what looked like months. “This was his room.” She said finally releasing Mori. Everything looked like a normal kids’ room. There were plastic dinosaurs near a box of toys, a rug with a jungle layout was rolled up next to the bed with a green dino quilt. But on the floor drawn with precision in white chalk was a pentagram.

Mori hated it. The black candles around it were lit and flickered in her presence. She stepped away from the scene, but behind her, the boy pushed her forward. She stumbled into the room, but the boy jumped into her. “This is wrong.” Began chanting her in mind like an ancient prayer. But the boy was in control now and made her take a deliberate step to the edge of the circle.

He stepped out of her but held control over her body as he began shouting. It wasn’t English, but Mori understood every word. Her throat became sore from shouting after him. Her body was not her own. A gust of wind blew out the candles and the light above them shattered. The woman gasped with wide eyes, but Mori barely heard her over the boy. “That’s it, Mori, bring my baby back to me.” She encouraged.

Then suddenly it stopped. Mori fell to her knees, exhausted. The boy stood above her from the center of the circle, smiling. With a cry the mother leaped at the child that was no longer her son, wrapping him up in her arms sobbing. As soon as the mother broke the circle, a dark presence filled the room, relighting the candles. Mori’s stomach began doing cartwheels. She held herself to keep her lunch down. She slowly backed away from the circle.

Mori thought she was going to pass out as she reached the door. Her mind was swimming through the evil energy that now filled the home. The sound of soft flute music cut through the thick fog and filled Mori with a sense of calming peace. She smiled and had the longing to dance to the music. In the doorway was a large floating creature that reminded her of a dumpling. In its small hands, it played the most calming flute music, around it other ghost children were dancing. Mori danced past it into the hallway, about to dance around it again into the room when a hand aggressively pulled her away.

She turned away from the creature as a set of claws released her shoulder. Taking a moment to look around the exhaustion and dread flooded back. The creature was covered in paint and flags, and Mori knew it was there for the boy with its squinting eyes. 

Trembling she ran out of the home stumbling down the stairs and not bothering to close the door. That boy was evil, that creature was there to take the boy with it. She ran out into the street, nearly getting hit by a car. 

A man dressed in work clothes leaned out the window and shouted. “Oi Nina watch where you are going!” Mori nodded and got out of the street, trying frantically to find out where she was. Seeing her distress, the man sighed and parked his car. “Dios Mio, hey kid, are you alright?” He got out of the car and kneeled next to Mori. “What’s wrong?” 

On her face, her tears burned as she sobbed and pointed at the house. Behind him, an elderly dead woman supplied her with the words. “El Diablo es aquí. The devil lives in that house, please mister, get away from here.”

Shocked, the man nodded. “Okay.” He helped her into his car next to his own children, who tried to smile kindly at the traumatized Mori White. With a couple of miles between her and the boy along with some ice cream, Mori finally told the man her mother’s phone number along with what had happened. The man said a quick prayer and quietly crossed himself, as did the dead woman guarding him. Then she crossed Mori for good measure. Mori giggled at the woman she was wearing a bright and colorful dress, her face looked like a skull with flowers, her long black hair was back in a series of braids twisted with some flowers. 

“Your grandmother is beautiful. I love her flowers.” Mori said, twirling with the woman. The man confused quickly took the lost child back to her own parents. 

Her mother signed in relief when she saw Mori. When she had not returned home from school, she had grown worried and was about to call the police when the man called. The man told her where he found her, but left out the part about the dead boy. Mori agreed with him and decided not to tell her mother about what happened. 

For weeks Mori was really sick. Her parents worried over her, but soon it faded. Her mother tried to keep in contact with the boy’s mother as a rumor had gone around that she had gone crazy after her messy divorce. From time to time people would see her on the streets or at the store. Her skin was ghastly pale and her frame had grown smaller. She whispered to herself about her beautiful baby boy, miraculously returned to her. But no one paid it any attention saying things like, “She has been through a lot.” or “Give her some space.”

Years went by, Mori grew older and taller. The surrounding ghosts taught her about literature and would occasionally supply something useful about her gifts, like how to protect herself from other evil spirits. One thing she learned was how to put them to rest. She would sit up at night and whisper softly to them, comforting them in their pain. Then she took their hand and guided them to the light, where they were at peace. 

Her living friends were few. At school, most of the kids stayed away from her, though they didn’t know why. Mori could see it in their eyes and hear it from their spirit guides, they thought she was weird. She could dress like them and learn to talk like them, but she would always be different. She celebrated her 8th birthday with a few of the children who had parents that forced them to go. Her parents frowned with worry as none of them approached her unless prompted. But Mori didn’t mind. Once all the guests had left, she practically ran to the attic where the ghosts had set up a small celebration to congratulate her on her birthday. 

It was a snowy January day. Her parents had spent more time with her, believing her imaginary friends to be a cry for attention. A thick coat of snow had covered the Oregon roads and though the plows and already driven by a thin sheet of ice made the blacktop glisten. In the back seat, Mori was nodding off to sleep after a movie. In the front, her parents listened to music as they talked. 

Something nudged Mori awake. Her eyes gently opened as she looked around for a ghost or toy, but saw none. The night was creeping in around the car. The soft shadows seemed to dance around her. Mori looked up out the front window and screamed. A dead man stood in the center of the road, bloody and in pieces. With a mangled hand, he reached out. Her father jerked at the wheel, swerving the car to avoid the dead stranger. The car ran off the road and everything went black.

A pounding in the back of her skull thumped Mori out of unconsciousness. A tree stood like a stone trying to tear the car in half. Looking to her right, Mori noticed that her mother was gone, replaced by a hole in the windshield and a bloody strip of snow illuminated by the car’s headlights. To her left, Mori’s father sat motionless. His mouth hung open as his eyes were wide open. Blood trickled down his forehead onto the bloody seat below him. Tears and blood streamed down Mori’s face as she cried out to him. “Daddy, please wake up. WAKE UP!” The last words were not in English but in a language Mori related with the dead.

Only a couple miles away Officer Williams was just about to head home when he heard a little girl’s voice through the radio shout “WAKE UP! Please, I need help.” With a street name, then static. Confused, he messed around with the radio, but the voice was gone. He shrugged it off as probably nothing. A small feeling gnawed on his insides, turning his car in the street's direction, the voice had said. It couldn’t hurt just to check, he told himself.

His head twitched. Mori stopped screaming for a second, unsure if her father was really dead, or barely alive. His neck snapped back into the place as he turned to look at Mori. The car was freezing as the snow drifted in from the broken windows. Her father climbed out of the car, rushing to Mori’s side. He ripped the door off the car but gently picked her up. He limped but never struggled to carry her up to the road. Mori snuggled against his chest as if she was four again and needed to be comforted by her dad. 

Headlights passed, then flashed into police lights, quickly flipping around. Carefully her father set Mori on the ground, kissing her forehead before tumbling back down the hill, dead. 

Officer Williams called the accident in as soon as he saw the bloody man setting the little girl down on the road. He carefully approached the child, unsure of what to expect. The kind eyes of the child that looked up at him warmed his heart a little. He handed her his coat and began checking to make sure she was alright.

The police station was cold, as Mori sat on a lonely bench. Both of her parents died on impact, though Mori could have told the officers that. The paramedics had looked her over and placed a bandage on her head where she received a cut, otherwise she was fine. Her feet swung absently. She could feel that her parents were at rest. They went without a fight. 

A shadow moved in an empty room near to where Mori sat. She looked up looking around for the owner of the shadow but saw none. Shrugging, Mori was about to look back down at the floor when she saw it again. This time the door opened on its own. Her legs shook as she stood up and crept to the door. Once she was inside, the door softly clicked shut. 

Mori tried the door only to find it locked. Bewildered, Mori turned, scratching on the hardwood gave away the entity’s location as it moved from behind a large empty desk into the light from a half-closed window on the door. “It is nice to finally meet you, young necromancer.”

“Hello.” Mori greeted it with respect. A part of her knew it should terrify her, but something about its energy seemed familiar and calming. 

Its head did a 180 as if it was getting a good look at her. It crawled closer, its claws dragging against the floor, leaving an imprint on the floor that would be heard until the floor was thoroughly cleaned both physically and spiritually. When it spoke its voice changed tones, as if it couldn’t decide which voice to use, each had an undertone of nails on a chalkboard, but the child did not flinch when it spoke again. “I know your abilities make getting close to people difficult, but know that your parents are at peace.” 

Mori nodded, agreeing with the creature. It took this as a sign to continue.

“Even though that is important, it is not the reason I came to you today. I am here to guide you, and to offer my advice. The officer you met earlier is a good man, say yes to his question, and be kind to the boy you will meet.” Mori’s face scrunched up in confusion. “One last thing, accept Death’s second gift.”

“What do you mean?” Mori asked, but the creature had disappeared, leaving the door open. She sighed and left the room as she heard footsteps coming towards her. Officer Williams entered the room and smiled kindly at Mori. “Hello Officer.” she greeted.

“Mori, how did you get in there?” Mori was just closing the door. He tried it, but it was locked again. Shaking it off, they sat together on the cold bench. “Mori dear, I have permission to take you home with me. If you want to, you are more than welcome to stay with us until the court finds your nearest relative is that okay?” With a smile, Mori nodded and left with him.

The next morning she woke with a crashing noise from downstairs, followed by shouting. For a moment her panic in the unfamiliar surroundings. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in Officer Williams’ car. Now she was in a room with sparse decor. The shouting from downstairs grew. Carefully she got out of bed to find some clothes laid out for her on the dresser. They were a little big and Mori frowned and the big sweater that was slowly drowning her, but someone had been kind enough to think of her and set these out. 

Her socked feet moved silently across the wooden floors as she slipped down the stairs. Something smelled fantastic and her stomach growled. The officer was leaning over the stove cooking, while a confident woman was shouting at a boy who was only half dressed and shouting back. “I ain’t gonna listen to no pig and his wife! What ya gonna do, arrest me, beat me up? Y’all don’t know the meaning of a beatin’” 

Mori watched in silence as the woman signed. She looked tired, as if she had been fighting the same fight for years. “Isaac, I will not beat you up. In fact, if you are not hungry that is fine, but I don’t want to hear you complaining that you are hungry.” He glared at her and said something unintelligible. His defiant stance matched the woman’s hard look.

He turned on his heel and quickly made his way to the stairs running into Mori, who had been quietly standing there. “Hey watch it!” He shouted before getting a good look at her. “Who the Hell are you?” his face soured at her.

“I am Mori.” She said, taking a step back. His energy was large and loud, not overwhelmingly so, but it drew her focus in on it, while repelling the other ghosts in the room. 

Behind him, the woman smiled at her. “Mori, honey, you’re up. You must be starving, unlike someone.” She took a moment to glare at the boy. “There are some pancakes down here with plenty of syrup. If ya want some.” 

She nodded and smiled back, then she smiled at the boy. “Sorry for running into you, you don’t have to leave because of me.” She stepped aside enough for him to storm past, but he blinked at her with distrust. 

“I am not hungry.” He announced to the whole room before leaving up the stairs.

The woman sighed and fell into her chair. Her hair was back in a bunch of small braids that fascinated Mori. The child came down the stairs and sat next to her. “Your hair is really pretty.” Mori said while Officer Williams placed a plate of pancakes in front of her. 

She almost laughed at the difference between the two children in her home. “Why thank you sweetie” Upstairs something was being thrown around while Isaac was throwing a tantrum. The woman sighed, turning back to Mori. “I am so sorry to hear about your parents. I know things can be difficult here, but if you ever want to talk about it, we are always here.” 

Mori nodded. “Thank you.” she said politely, smiling at the woman, then the pancakes. 

In time Mori learned Isaac was there because his mother was on drugs, and his father had abandoned them. His energy was large despite all the challenges he had faced. Looking at it was like looking into a kaleidoscope while listening to loud calming music. Whenever he was around, Mori could focus on him to distract herself from some spirits, which became more important as she got older.

Portland, Oregon, was a historic city with a long and complicated past. Walking down the street, Mori could see all the spirits of the past screaming and demanding that she help them. Killers would come up and try to possess her. Alone she could not block them all out, but whenever Isaac was with her, she could focus on him and they could get by. He, like most humans, didn’t even react to the surrounding ghost. In fact, they tried to stay away from his lively energy. Mori came to rely on him being there to help her get by. 

When they were twelve years old, the Williams family finally officially adopted them, Isaac proudly changed his name and didn’t judge Mori for keeping her own last name. Things for the family became normal. The woman of the house taught Mori how to braid her hair, while Isaac began his karate lessons. Mori hoped things would never change, but as life goes, things changed. 

Isaac had just turned 15 and was being very proud of that fact. They were eating outside a burger place at the mall, their mother was inside paying for the food. The heat was almost unbearable, Isaac’s colorful button up was drenched in sweat while Mori’s black laced top remained dry. 

“Your poem is missing that emotional connection to the reader.” Mori commented after reading Isaac’s newest song. 

His eyes went wide with shock and his brows knitted in confusion.. Based on the color of his energy, Mori could tell she had offended him. “First off,” He squealed not as calmly as he was aiming for, “It is a rap, not a poem. Poems are for dead people and sissies.” Mori rolled her eyes at him. “Second, my rap is awesome. People love raps about everyday things.”

Mori shook her head, “You have written a poem, rap sorry, about a sandwich. I am not sure that’s Top Charts material.”

He laughed at her sarcastically when a man approached them from the parking lot. “Isaac?” He asked almost shyly. The two teens stopped to face him curiously. Mori thought he looked a lot like Isaac, with similar facial features and the same dark skin and defiant brown eyes, though she kept quiet. 

“Yeah, who are you?” Isaac got still and defensive as he asked. 

The man gave him a relieved smile. “It’s me, don’t you remember me?” The confusion on Isaac’s face said more than the words he didn’t say. “I’m your dad.” He said with a sense of pride.

Isaac shuddered next to Mori as if someone had stabbed him. Shaking his head, he regained his glare towards the man. “Sorry mister, but my dad is at work right now, so you are mistaken.”

Behind the man, Mori spotted at least half a dozen ghosts that flared, feeding off of the man’s anger. They were all bloody and shot, drenched in sea water. She got flash images of the man standing before them shooting each of these figures, before dumping their body in the ocean. “No Isaac,” He growled through gritted teeth, “I am your father. Sorry I wasn’t around, but I had to make a name for myself. I had to become the man you could look up to, I wanted to come get you as soon as I heard about your mom, but I wouldn’t have been able to support us. But it’s okay because I can now, and I have come to take you home.” His eyes held a false hope that hid some deeper meaning. 

Mori turned towards the ghosts for further explanation, only to get one sentence that they repeated while showing her what they meant. “HE OWES A DEBT THAT CAN ONLY BE PAID WITH BLOOD.” 

She shuttered reaching out to Isaac unaware that she had said anything. He grabbed her elbow, and the man glared at her for interrupting them. “Mori, what’s wrong?” Isaac asked, not noticing the man behind him looking annoyed by her presence. 

“Blood for blood, he owes a debt that can only be paid in blood.” Mori whispered more to herself than anyone else, but Isaac looked at her, concerned. She looked up at him, her gray eyes wide and frightened as it all washed over her. One man he killed, his family wants revenge, an eye for an eye. “Isaac, I know you won’t believe me, but you have to trust me. He is not here to make amends.” 

Isaac nodded, something in her eyes made him believe her without question. He turned back to his father. “Sorry man, but I don’t know you, or that woman who used to be my mother. I have a better family now.”

 Their mother stepped out onto the patio and froze, looking between her children and the man who was fuming. She rested a hand on Isaac’s shoulder before looking at the man confused. “I am sorry, but can I help you?” She asked him with a raised eyebrow, though Mori could tell she knew more about what was going on than she was letting on.

He glared at them, and from his belt pulled out a gun. “Listen, I didn’t want to do it like this, but Isaac is coming with me.”

The ghosts behind the man began feeding off of Mori’s fear and the man’s pent up rage. She closed her eyes to focus those emotions on her energy and stopping the man. The oldest of them leaped forward, grabbing the gun. Their long seated need for revenge took over as they all began stepping forward, holding the man back, beating him. Mori took a deep breath, remaining in control of her energy as she reeled it back in, releasing the man. 

Instantly he jumped to his feet, a black eye taking shape. He frantically looked around for his attacker but saw none. Behind the teens, their mother had called the police. Glaring at Isaac, then Mori, the man ran off.

The older teen looked at Mori with an unspoken question that she wasn’t about to answer. Luckily for her, their mother patted their shoulders, “Are you two okay?” They nodded, and she sighed in relief, seeing that they were fine. “Oh my Lord, Isaac honey, I am so sorry you had to experience that.” 

She must have been terrified because she continued like that for the rest of the day, only letting the two out of her sight at bedtime when her husband reassured her they would be fine. Two days later the man was found dead in a dumpster and the ghosts came back to Mori with questions. He was dead, so why hadn’t they moved on? She smiled and patiently answered their questions. 

Despite his father’s death, Isaac was far more interested in Mori’s abilities. She had been dodging him and the questions he had for nearly a week when a soft knock stole her attention away from her book late one night. One ghost that was sitting in the corner looked up and told her it was Isaac. Carefully she got up and answered it, letting him in. He looked at her as if she was the suspect of some crime that she didn’t realize she had committed. “How did you know my father was there to hurt me?”

Mori sighed, he glared at her as he sat on her floor and she sat across from him. “Hello Isaac, it is good to see you as well.” She tried to take control of the conversion by changing subjects. His glare deepened. She sheepishly looked down and pulled her long black hair back into a braid. “Alright, I will tell you, but you have to promise me you will not think that I am crazy.” 

He looked at her confused for a second, but nodded. “Okay.” He said looking serious for once. 

Taking a deep breath, Mori continued. “I see and speak with dead people, spirits if you will.” Mori told him about the ghosts in their home as she was growing up. Then about the dead boy and energy. She told him about his energy and how it affected the surrounding ones. He laughed and made a joke, causing her to loosen up and smile. 

When she had finished with her story, he sat silent for a moment with a strange smile. A part of her wished she could take it all back while the other part of her was relieved to have a living person know her story. When he spoke, he was still smiling. “I knew it. You were always just alone at school, or attached to me, I knew something was up.” Mori smiled and was about to respond when he continued. “Do you know what this means?”

She blinked, confused. “That I am weird?” 

“No, it means you can be a superhero! People could call you Madam Death or Madam Deathtify since you defy death. No, I got it, Friday! Yeah, your slogan could be…” He made the vampire with a cape pose using her blanket. “You can call me Freaky Friday, but the dead call me Everyday.” 

Mori giggled despite herself. “It doesn’t work like that.” 

He set the blanket down, giving her an oh really look. “Of course it does. Look at how you saved mom and I from that man, and I could help. I could be your partner, IceMan!” He waved his hands in the air as if they were hanging above him.

Thinking about it for a second, Mori weighed the pros and cons of the proposal. When she spoke, she had an air of finality to her. “Alright IceMan, under two conditions. One; I am not using that slogan, and two; promise me you will be careful.”

Smiling with a giddy look in his eyes Isaac responded. “I promise!” He stuck out his pinky for her. She intertwined it with her own, sealing the promise.

He started taking his self-defense classes more seriously after that, knowing that he had to be the best to be a superhero. Mori began speaking with more spirits. She passed the ones she could over and began learning how to deal with overly aggressive spirits. She mostly used her abilities to find their cases and stop serial killers along with other criminals. 

During the next year of their lives, their adopted mother grew ill. They sat by her bedside trying to find some way to help, but eventually she passed on. The event destroyed their father, he still worked but attempted to spend the most of his time with his children. This disrupted the teens’ nightly patrols and crime fighting activities, but to Mori it was a worthy trade. During one of their family outings, they were getting ice cream when Mori saw something that chilled her. 

Walking down the street across from them was a thin pale woman followed by a dead boy. She already looked dead herself while the boy looked almost alive. Around her, no one else seemed to notice her as she passed. The boy glared over at Mori with red eyes and smiled with razor-sharp teeth. Though she recognized the boy, it was the floating dumpling like monster following him that concerned her more. Its eyes were half open as it watched the boy. Noticing her reaction, Isaac dabbed her arm, asking her what was wrong.

Mori forced herself to look away and smile at him. “Nothing, I just thought I recognized her.”

It wasn’t nothing, and in the cover of darkness Mori walked up the steps to the woman’s home wearing her Friday cloak. She lightly rapped at the door, smiling as the woman answered. Mori knew what she had to do. The woman answered with a fake smile. She looked so thin and sick, behind her the boy glared, he had been stealing her energy. “Hi, I am not sure if you remember me. My name is Mori White, I was friends with your son.” 

Her smile became genuine, and the door opened for her to enter. “Oh yes, my sweet Tim, you knew him?” Mori just nodded, entering the cold, dusty house. “Please, won’t you come sit down, I can make us some tea while we discuss my lovely little boy?”

She led Mori to a living area with a dusty table and a couple couches. The boy hissed at her as she sat down on one couch. Mori just smiled at the woman, pretending like she could no longer see or hear the boy. The woman shot Mori one last smile before she stepped into the kitchen, leaving Mori alone.

Finally, being alone, Mori got up and began her plan by drawing a circle around the couches with salt. Putting her hand in the center, she used her own willpower to reinforce the circle.

Faint flute music drifted in from the kitchen, and Mori quickly sat back down as the lady came back with a tray of expired cookies. She sat down across from Mori, and the teen could feel her grief. The boy has been attempting to possess her, replace her consciousness with his own. But he was already dead. Her lips were a soft shade of blue, poorly hidden with pale pink lip gloss, her eyes looked dark and sunken into her face. The boy, Tim, sat outside the circle trembling with rage. Mori had to pull them apart. The creature was going to move the boy on, no matter his state and if he was still possessing the mother it would kill her. 

Mori smiled kindly at the woman and accepted the cup of terrible tea. “So how did you know my little boy?” She asked Mori while sitting down across from her.

Not breaking eye contact, Mori answered, “I went to school with him. When he died, you kidnapped me to bring him back. He remembers me, even if you don’t.” Mori turned to the boy who was pressed against the salt. The woman’s eyes filled with shame and her smile faded on her thin face.

With a grace and elegance she has never had before, Mori stood and pulled out a vile of holy water. Tim screamed while Mori sprinkled it on his mother. She withered and screamed on the couch, unable to fight back. The necromancer began speaking in another language while the boy threw himself at the invisible wall, trying to fight Mori. The woman fell to the ground crying out in pain. 

Mori was the least of the boy’s problems. His red eyes glowed as he used most of his strength trying to keep his hold on his mother. He snarled and screeched, more like an animal than a human. Behind him, the flute music had stopped while the monster stared at him with its eyes wide open. The woman quieted to a faint whimper. Mori turned to find the monster with a firm grip on the boy’s ankle. He screamed with tears streaming down his face, begging Mori to make it stop. She stopped at the edge of the circle, “Wait! Give me a chance to pass the boy over peacefully.”

The monster stopped facing Mori. When it spoke, its voice was like a gentle breeze. “No, young necromancer. You have much more to learn before you are ready to move a child demon on. But your day will come.” Before she could argue back, it disappeared, leaving behind the smell of grassy meadows.

 She turned her attention to the weeping woman who was cold to the touch. With a gentle grace, Mori got her standing. The woman was too drained to stand or walk properly. Before Mori could call an ambience, a figure in the door smiled. “Need a lift?” 

Isaac had followed her and waited until they were leaving to say anything, since he knew this must have meant a lot to her. On their way home from the hospital, Mori explained what had happened to the boy, starting with the reaper. 

A week before her 17th birthday, Mori saw something strange. It was almost Halloween, a time of year when Mori sees many unusual things and is bombarded by more ghosts than usual. The creature she saw was tall, thin and a ghastly white-gray color with a few strands of thin black hair. 

Their father had just come home from work when the creature stood on their lawn with his wide white eyes and screeched. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard. Every hair on Mori’s body stood on end while she desperately tried to cover her ears. The wail stopped, and all was quiet. It stared through their dining-room window at their father. Whatever it was, Mori didn’t like it.

The thing followed their father for two days, screeching loud enough that Isaac heard it once. Mori didn’t know what it was, or how to get rid of it. Looking it over, it didn’t seem attached to their father, just following him, like it was waiting for something to happen. She searched through different bestiaries but could not find the creature in any of them.

A few days after it arrived, she learned what it was. During a routine traffic stop, a nameless suspect had shot their father, killing him. The creature had been their warning, a banshee. 

Alone, the two teenagers couldn’t stay in that house and didn’t want to go back into the foster system. They stuck together and found a cheap one-bedroom apartment. Isaac struggled to keep up with school and a full-time job, and on top of everything he still wanted to be a hero. While Mori wanted to help, the ghosts in the city were overwhelming, giving her crippling anxiety. Their apartment became her sanctuary with wards that kept the spirits out. 

But she was not just willing to sit there and do nothing. She learned how to make potions that could solve all kinds of ailments. She would make large batches of potions and sell them to local Witch stores or gift shops. Isaac would often act as her delivery guy and take the potions to the different stores, occasionally finding Mori a little magically trinket that she could use. That is how next year went. At night they would go out as Friday and IceMan, while by day they were just a pair of teens alone against the world. 

Dawn was Mori’s favorite part of Saturdays. She and Isaac had come home around 1am the night before, and he was currently sleeping. Sleep was much harder for Mori than it was for Isaac. She would sleep for a few hours than a ghost would come and wake her up. Today it was the elderly gentleman who had lived in the apartment before they moved in.

“It surprises me that a beautiful young lady like you is still single.” He grumbled as Mori packed the last of the sleeping potions she had made into a small box. She wrapped it up and tied a small black bow on the top.

She smiled, picking up the box and turning towards him, “Not many boys are interested in a girl who can speak to their dead grandparents.” She said as set the box down where Isaac would remember to take it with him.

The old man huffed at her, “Well, when I was your age, I would thank God for any woman who gave me a moment of her time. It didn’t matter if she was ugly, pretty, or could see spirits. In fact my dear Lorane, God rest her soul, snored, and I never complained.”  

Mori giggled as she put the teakettle on the stove. Isaac would be up soon, sore and reaching for a cup of coffee. The night had been tough; a dead woman had led them to a prostitution ring. With some help from the other side, and the Portland police, all the suspects were in custody and a bunch of young women from all over the United States got to go home. Isaac had taken a few blows, as usual, while Mori had been a little overwhelmed by a strong negative spirit. A glass jar sat in the bathroom cabinet that held a salve that Mori had made for Isaac’s bruising and sore muscles. 

Sure enough, a few moments after the teakettle whistled she heard someone fumbling around in the bathroom, “Speaking of another sadly single fellow. When is that brother of yours going to ask a girl out? I mean he’s a little dark but surely he could find some pretty thing to ask out.”

The scent of coffee filled the room, pleasantly mingling with the earthy scents of Mori’s craft. She rolled her eyes and snorted at the old man’s outdated statement. Soon Isaac came in, rubbing the medicine she had made on his sore shoulders. He took the offered coffee mug with a smile. “Did you get any sleep?” He asked, noticing that she was still dressed as Friday with the long black cloak. 

“I got a couple of hours, but it gave me enough time to make some more potions. That magic shop on 25th wanted some extra bottles of the sleeping potions. I also finished your history paper with Gregory’s help, and my math homework.”

Isaac nodded with a smile, then glancing around for the invisible Greg he said, “Thanks Greg.”

As he took a sip of his coffee, Mori continued. “Would you mind stopping by there today on your way home from work, to drop them off? Also let them know I added a cough potion as well for the girl who runs the counter. Her baby has been sick with a cough, a finger of the potion once a day should clear that up.”

With a laugh, Isaac nodded. “I love how much you pay attention to what she says, or did one of her ghosts complain?”

Mori smiled, sipping her own darker coffee. “Both.” A strange and terrifying half human, half bird screeching echoed through the apartment from Mori’s plant area. “Look who else is up.” Mori sighed as she elegantly set the mug down and stood up, walking towards the strange plant. 

The plant was tall with round green leaves. Hanging off a couple of the limbs were bundles of branches and roots that looked like little people with their eyes closed. Their mouths were open as they screeched. “Dear God, those things are hungry.” Isaac watched Mori pull a container from the fridge that was filled with long, wrinkly orange fruit. 

“Here you go, little guys.” Mori cooed as she fed the people like bundles. As she fed them, the screeching quieted down until the apartment was quiet again. The big one that was halfway buried in the pot was the last one to be fed.

Isaac had to admit since their father died and Mori had got more into her craft, things had gotten a lot weirder. He watched the plant silently sleep again while mentally counting all the other strange things that had happened. “I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t complained about the Mandrakes yet.” He said, giving them a curious look.

Mori gave the plant a devious smile. “They have. So I introduced them to my little baby Mandrakes.” She gently began petting one of the little bundles. 

Rolling his eyes, Isaac checked the time and sighed. “Alright, I’ve got to go.” He grabbed the neatly wrapped potions off the counter. “Try not to scare the neighbors too much while I am gone.” Isaac asked while pulling on his work shirt.

“No promises.” She watched him take his bag, then stick his tongue out at her. She mimicked the gesture as he left.

The apartment became quiet and oddly empty when Isaac left. That’s how it always was. His energy is so loud and vibrant that when he leaves a space everything seems suddenly mute and dull. Mori’s energy was more like that of a ghost than an actual person which is what made her space so still, like a graveyard. 

Letting the stillness wash over her, Mori went back to making a couple batches of different potions. A woman down the street had asked her for a nausea remedy, while a single mother next door asked Mori for something to prevent migraines. 

When those were finished Mori sighed and turned to Greg who was watching her. From underneath the couch, she pulled out a hula hoop filled with salt that she had sewn onto a hoop skirt. Tossing her Friday cloak onto the couch, she pulled the skirt over her black leggings and dug around for a matching top. She stood in the center of the living room facing Greg. “Try to break my circle.” She challenged him.

He got up and stood right outside of her circle. “You realize sweet cheeks that there are going to be more than one old ghost out there, right?” 

“Yes, but if I can keep you out, then I can keep the others out as well.”

With a nod, he tried but could not enter her circle. Mori smiled in an early victory, but then he moved. She lost him for a second as he came up behind her and shouted an inhuman scream that knocked Mori off her feet. All the salt went to the other side of her circle, giving Greg the win.

She sighed as he stepped into her circle. “Sorry to scare you sweet cheeks. But the other ghosts might not be as kind as I am.”

Mori got up, smoothing out the skirt. “I know. I didn’t think about all the salt falling onto one end.” Thinking about the problem, Mori took off the skirt and began digging around her desk with an idea. 

“What are you looking for?” Greg asked as he watched her.

Smiling, Mori pulled out a hot glue gun and a dagger that she occasionally used to carve the baby Mandrakes. She sat on the floor and began cutting open the hula hoop.

Stepping out of her wards without Isaac was enough to light up her nerves with the beginnings of a panic attack. She jumped in place, attempting to dispel the energy. 

She stepped out wearing the hoop skirt in a very Victorian gothic fashion, only to find the streets empty. Alone she went about making the deliveries receiving payment and thanks for each potion she dropped off. Her stomach dropped as she passed the cemetery, but nothing happened. Usually spirits were everywhere ready to jump out and overwhelm her. 

Slowly, courage found its way into her stride as she made her way back home. When she opened the door to their apartment, a gust of icy wind blew out, nipping at Mori’s energy. Confused, Mori walked in, searching for Greg when she heard the scratching of a creature moving from the hallway to where she stood. 

The creature was the same one she had met the night her parents died. It crawled to her with an almost sad look. “Hello again, young necromancer, I am sorry for your most recent loss. I know it was hard on you.” It said in that grading voice that would have driven most people mad. 

She nodded, remembering how angry she was at herself for not realizing what the Banshee was until it was too late.

It scooted closer to her with something like sympathy in its eyes. “Memento mori, a concept hard for most mortals to understand. Though I am sure you and the boy will understand it better than anyone.”

Mori smiled. “I am not sure Isaac will ever understand the concept of death.”

“He will make an excellent spirit guide for you Everyday.” The creature said with a chilling smile that turned into a frown when it saw Mori’s expression.

The room was spinning; it had to be. “Isaac isn’t dead. He’s at work and will be back in a couple of hours.” Breathing suddenly became difficult.

Her panic filled the room with a tense energy. The creature having realized their mistake disappeared into the shadows. 

Something must have really freaked Mori out. She had been texting Isaac nonstop for over an hour. It was almost cute how his little baby sister worried about him so much. She has been like that since their father died. He knew that in a way she blamed herself, since she could see and hear the ghost warning her of his death. But growing up with her, she had always been kind to him, even when everyone else struggled to show him kindness. Mori cried when someone else got hurt, she even cried with the ghosts that she spoke with as she passed them over. It was what inspired Isaac to fight crime with her. 

The magic shop on 25th street was a little out of the way, but Isaac didn’t mind the trip. It was a rare clear night and the cool air felt good on his skin, refreshing his lungs. He stopped at what looked like a normal antique shop. Stepping into the crowded store, Isaac could barely squeeze through all the tables and knickknacks that littered the place.

Most of the items were just junk, but all the trinkets with a purple sticker held some kind of magical properties. He made his way to the back where a large glass counter sat filled with jewelry and small gifts. There beside the register was a small display of Mori’s potions, they were completely out of the sleeping potion. 

Isaac set the box down on the counter and smiled at the young woman who always sat there. “Special delivery!” Isaac announced in his best pizza delivery voice. He then opened the box and continued. “We have more than enough of the sleep potion to knock out an army, and one vial of cough potion. Mori said to give a finger of the potion to your sick baby once a day.”

“Aw, she is so sweet!” The girl smiled, picking up the cough potion. “Just give me a second to get your payment.” 

She turned her back to him, going through a red curtain to a back room. Isaac glanced down at a couple of the necklaces in the cabinet, most of which were just costume jewelry, but one necklace with a red crystal on a silver chain caught his attention.

It was beautiful. Shadows seemed to reflect and move from within the gem. “Isn’t that creepy?” The girl started coming back with an envelope with his and Mori’s names on it. “A scary looking gentleman brought that in last week. It has some kind of protection seal on it.” Seeing Isaac’s confusion, she explained. “Usually a protective seal protects the wearer from something within the object. It is rare to find an object with one.” 

“Oh.” He looked back at it. “It looks stunning.”

The girl raised an eyebrow at him. “If you want it, you can have it. The damn thing creeps me out.”

His eyes grew wide as he was like a little boy on Christmas filled with excitement. “Really, are you sure?”

She laughed while putting on a pair of gloves. “Yes, Isaac really. Now, because of the magic on it, don’t touch it with your bare hands.” She pulled it out, placing it in a velvet pouch. “And if Mori hates it, don’t bring it back here.” She handed it to him with the envelope. 

“Thank you.” He said, leaving with a smile.

It had been four hours since Isaac got off work and panic was setting back in. It never took him this long to come back, even if he had to stop by one of the magic shops. What the strange creature had said earlier was echoing in Mori’s mind.  

Her head poked up when she heard the familiar footsteps in the hall approaching their apartment. The key jingled in the lock. Relief flooded Mori as she stood up. His face was serious, but it was him. He walked towards her, giving Mori a wicked grin. His aura seemed dim, so much so that Mori could barely sense him in the dark room. He stood right in front of her and she couldn’t see his energy. “Isaac?”

A doppelganger? No, this was physical. The surrounding aura was a deep red color that radiated malevolence, “So you’re what he was trying to hide from me.” He took another step towards her, she instinctively took a step back.

“What are you?” Mori demanded in her commanding guide of the dead voice. The red gem around his neck caught her attention. There was something odd about it.

He laughed with a voice that wasn’t his. “What do you think I am dear?”

It was mocking her. Mori flushed, realizing how powerful the creature was to blatantly ignore her demand. A demon; realization filled Mori with a deep-seated sense of dread. She had heard of the creatures of darkness that only harbored malevolent thoughts. Seeing one in person now possessing her brother brought a panic attack to the surface of Mori’s skin. 

“What’s wrong petty spell caster, are you scared?” He stepped towards her again, looking less and less like her brother.

Her back was against her desk, her silver enchanted dagger was right behind her where she had placed it. She glared at it, trying to focus her energy. “Get out of him! That body is not yours, I will not let you take it.” Her energy pushed against it trying to pull it out, it only laughed at her. 

Tears ran warm down her cheeks as it grabbed her throat. She met its eyes with her own and saw Isaac’s chocolate eyes pleading. His voice was soft in her mind, “I will be okay, Mori, but you have to stop it.”

Behind her, she grabbed the dagger, its silver handle familiar in her hand. She brought it up and stabbed Isaac in the neck. The monster let go of her falling back gurgling on blood. With air returned to her lungs, Mori screamed. The necklace seemed to wink at her from the pool of blood. With shaky hands, she found the velvet pouch in his pocket and pulled the stained piece of jewelry off his neck. 

Everything had fallen apart for the young necromancer as she sat in the police station with Isaac’s ghost leaning against her, trying to comfort her. The officers that had shown up said that it looked like self-defense, but Mori couldn’t help but feeling defeated. 

Their apartment felt empty, and even though Isaac was still there, it wasn’t the same. She couldn’t get the blood out of the floorboards or her clothes. The rain soon turned into snow, the world felt colder. Oregon felt different somehow, and Mori didn’t like it. Packing a couple items and carrying her mandrake, Mori walked down to the nearest bus station and bought a random ticket. 

[asgardianthot]

Flesh And Bones - part 1

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Soulmate AU

In a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren’t so damn stubborn)

TW: self-inflicted injuries

words: 1742

A/N: this is my first time posting a series on the tumblrs but I’ve had the idea for months so here goes nothing

Series Masterlist

Pain is such human extravaganza.

For your body to react to certain dangers or stimulations that trigger specific nervous patterns, that’s something most living creatures are built with. We are but machines; when you lay your hand over fire and it hurts, your nervous system is alerting the rest of your body of harm and yelling at it to get away from said harm, similar to how old hair dryers would stop functioning when they overheated to prevent explosions.

That, we have a general idea of. Pain is natural and not a construct.

But suffering. Aching from love, or the lack of it… nobody does it better than humans. Super-humans included. Enhanced, hyper-trained, whatever. The pain parade of romance is something so deeply rooted into the dumbest parts of our brains, that that must be the reason behind soulmates.

The point is, it is only logical for such a cruel universe to bond love and pain so tightly.

It’s simple, really. Sometime in the speck of dust of time in which we live, a person will get injured. They’ll bump their toe on a kitchen counter, fall on their butts, cut their finger while chopping vegetables, or maybe get into a chaotic car accident. No matter the damage, when the universe decides that hurt idiot is your hurt idiot, you’ll feel their pain on your own skin. It also didn’t matter if you knew the person or not, only chances were your soulmate was a complete stranger.

At first it comes like a tingle, a small pinch or even the ghost sensation of a scratch. But if your soulmate is nearer than they should without you realizing who they are, the sensation becomes full and the closer they are the more vivid their pain feels on your own skin. It is extremely uncertain, however, if it has to do with spatial proximity, or emotional.

Sam Wilson would eventually sit on the park, after his morning jog, or afternoon jog, and contemplate people. He enjoyed the easiness, the memory of a time before the army, when his life was simple. No PTSD, no Avenging. To be fair, the Avenger life was the cure to the PTSD somehow, for Sam Wilson was a man of action and the more quiet his life was, the more his mind wandered. He loved the agitation, the missions, the feeling of helping people, yet every once in a while, or once a day even, he would simply sit and watch the futility of civilian’s walks around the park.

A woman sat next to him and didn’t offer any sign of kindness. She seemed busy -occupied- in the way that she moved and looked around, which is why he didn’t look at her any longer so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. However, he then began getting the feeling that she was keeping an eye on him, and when he glanced at her nervous hands, he noticed the poor woman holding a needle to her skin, poking her own hand a few times.

A desperate soul.

On one side of a binary coin, some people don’t believe in soulmates. They aren’t the easiest to spot, and when a couple like that is seen, there is no proof for a simple skeptical individual that they actually felt each other’s pain. There were studies proving the neuronal effects, and were those hard to execute, but not everyone fell for them. Some argued that it was psychological placebo, that the person forced themselves to feel their lover’s feelings, some accused the studies to be biased or false. Some were old and hadn’t found one so why would they believe soulmates were real? They’re not necessary. You don’t just love the person you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with, and them alone, there’s all kinds of love and affection. Then, well… some were simply bitter, covering up their fear of never finding one for themselves.

On the polar opposite, there were the desperate ones. They would inflict harm on themselves in public spaces, expecting a reaction from the passersby.

More than once had Sam seen a man stab their own leg or cut through their palm yelling ‘can anybody feel this?’ as if they feared this was their only shot, forcing the Falcon to run and make them stop hurting themselves along with other civilians. Some couldn’t wait. And Sam never understood why someone wouldn’t be able to enjoy life if they didn’t know their one and only; It made dating much more relaxed and fun and honest. Perhaps that person would eventually become your soulmate, and even though the probabilities of that happening were slim to none, it didn’t need to ruin every romantic relationship in your life.

Therefore with pain in his chest, he addressed the young woman whose eyes were directly analyzing Sam’s hand.

“Hey, lady?” he asked her, earning a big pair of hopeful eyes to find his; yet he had to give her a sad frown to let her know he wasn’t who she was looking for, thus gaining a mimicking disappointed look, “It’s not worth all this trouble.”

Her expression quickly turned into one of distance, like she was trying to protect herself from people who didn’t understand her. She sat back and allowed a smirk to take over her face as she stared into nothingness.

“You’re one of those people who think it’s all a hoax? A construct?” when obtaining no reply, she kept pressuring the Falcon, “Placebo effect? Self-conditioning?”

Sam didn’t give in. He simply took a big breath and sat up from the bench. When he turned to face her, her eyes weren’t as distant.

“No.” He said calmly, “I think yours will come when it’s time. Until then,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, “you’re just hurting yourself for no reason.”

Sam walked away before he could see the young woman’s lower lip tremble.

-

“I didn’t eat your cereal.” Bucky protested, plopped on the couch that faced a flat screen.

Sam, however, wasn’t buying it. He held his ground, one hand on his hip and the other agitating the skimpy remains inside the carton box, making it rattle.

“It’s empty.” He insisted, in a way that screamed paranoia over being accused of overreacting or being crazy.

Instead of acting in an opposite behavior, he gave Bucky all the more reason to treat him as if he were going insane.

“Well, it wasn’t me.” The soldier replied easily, not flipping through the channels anymore but surrendering to a local news one; after a sigh, he looked at the accusatory, “Maybe Steve did it.”

Sam pursed his lips before turning to Steve with a dead look on his face.

“Steve, did you eat my cereal?” he asked condescendingly, already knowing the answer to be no.

As a matter of fact, the blonde’s shirt had small dark spots where he sweat his morning jog on, his hair was still perfect for a regular person but a bit disheveled for Captain America’s inhuman standards, and he was focused on drinking from a water bottle.

He tilted his head to Sam, who nodded, more agreeing with himself than with Rogers.

“You’re the only one who stays on the couch all morning.” He braked back at Barnes.

He didn’t respond this time, perhaps because he was, once again, being accused of being lazy and not using his time nor his gifts wisely. Perhaps because he was just tired of saying he didn’t eat the cereals in question when he had undoubtedly and decisively eaten the cereals in question.

Paying attention to the random local news he’d landed on, he got the gist of what the reporter was saying. They were presenting a quirky story of a bitter man suing his soulmate. He claimed the only reason he got into a car accident was because he felt a sudden sharp pain in his foot and got distracted, and therefore, was asking for his soulmate to pay off the insurance money. Of course they had to find the soulmate who was allegedly responsible for the crash.

“That’s ridiculous.” Bucky mocked.

Sam sat next to him, already having dropped the subject of the missing cereals. He listened to the reporter interviewing the odd man and let an amused but very quickly evaporated smile.

“People have been pulling stunts like these for ages, you can’t be surprised.”

Barnes glanced at him for a second, then returning to the TV. He still thought it was the stupidest reason to sue he’d ever heard of.

“It’s insane.” He said anyways.

“I think it’s sad.” Sam derailed the commentary on an opposite direction, “Can’t be fun starting your lifelong love story through a lawsuit.”

Steve joined the conversation from behind the couch. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a way of getting their attention. You know, find them whatever it takes. It’s actually kind of romantic.”

Bucky scoffed. He couldn’t stop Steve from being such a hopeless romantic and blindly believe in fairy tales where there was none, but he could still be annoyed by the fact.

“A little convenient, isn’t it?” he raised an eyebrow in judgement, yet not turning around to face the blonde.

“What?” Sam shot defiantly, “You don’t believe in this stuff?”

They both knew he was referring to the soulmates paraphernalia. With his glum attitude and dark observations, Barnes did seem like the kind of people to discard the idea of a soulmate. Love that never changes, souls that bond… it did not sound like James Buchanan Barnes’ cup of tea.

“Not the whole part.” He admitted, “I think there’s a lot of bullshit to it.”

The smirk grew on Wilson’s face, “So you’re one of those wacko conspirationists?”

“What if I am?” Bucky shot back, just to mess with him.

He wasn’t though, or not when it came to soulmates, at least. NASA and the government, on the other hand? The man had seen too much inside Hydra to not believe any crazy theory to be possible. He dropped the subject and became more serious, shrugging a little.

“All I’m saying is there’s lots of rules and conditions, I mean, who makes the calls?” Bucky questioned, almost angry, “Who chooses everyone’s partners? And what if you hate your soulmate?”

“That’s the point.” Steve intervened with his bright optimism, “You won’t. They’re your other half.”

Bucky pursed his lips and picked up the remote to switch channels again.

“Sounds real dumb.”