#and blood all over his face from his last surge against Michael

[kerryweaverlesbian]

No offense to people who interpret Cas as a great tactician. but I dont think that's true. Certainly not past Godstiel at the very least. He acts decisively but often reactively. His time 'leading' the angels on Earth he was clearly a figurehead for Hannah to actually get shit done. He takes command because no one else will not because he is good at it. He ruled those angels with fear - Hannah insists that only Castiel is allowed to "punish" angels, and then she tells him he should "punish" Dean by murdering him as proof of his devotion to the cause - and even before that with the civil war, none of even his closest allies knew his real plans and he kept pretending he was off with the Winchesters to meet with Crowley, so most of them resented his friends, his plan was just to amass personal power until he can brute force destroy Raphael, which is almost always his plan.

Whenever literally any character suggests to Cas "we should take any sort of action towards solving this problem" even if they are DEEPLY untrustworthy and Cas KNOWS this, he will take them up on it. Crowley. Metatron. Lucifer. Many, many more smaller characters who change Castiel's course of action over pretty much a single conversation as long as they don't actively murder someone right in front of him.

This is a writing convenience for plot to happen. As is Castiel's "I need to leave immediately to solve this problem offscreen 👋 ", but they both happen so frequently that it is unassailably part of his core character. Castiel believes firmly that he should be able to solve this stuff on his own, and he can't, and if he was good at tactics he would rely on the strengths and expertise of his team members. But he doesn't.

This isn't a diss on Cas, I think it's a charming character trait to run headfirst into the fray with no plan because he knows that not taking action when you know something bad is happening is Wrong, but he's often at a loss as to what the Right action would be, so when someone makes a suggestion he's like yes!! Action!!! Good!!!!

(PS Hannah was the ONLY angel to successfully stabilise Heaven's factions as a ruler. Because she rocks. Cast Hannah as your tactics guy and Castiel as her puppet ruler whom she easily (and earnestly) manipulates towards good causes. Cas is a...I was going to say good moral compass but I also don't think that's true. He's an okay moral compass that sometimes wildly spins around to point at south west instead of north. He is a good moral compass for angels, at least. Baby's first moral compass.)

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E4; Chapter Four, The Body- [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Mike flips through the drawings Will had given him what seems like ages ago. He found himself unable to tear himself away from one of Will's favorites. It was the party. But they were their dungeons and dragons selves. Will the Wise stood proudly amongst his fellow party members. Together they stood triumphantly.

Mike was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of the feedback from the supercomm.

"Can you please stop that?" He asked exasperatedly at El, who sat in her fort fiddling with the device.

El looks to him, before returning to the com, the crackling of the feedback whining throughout the room.

"Are you deaf?" Mike snapped.

El was determined to keep tinkering away.

"I thought we were friends, you know? But friends tell each other the truth. And they definitely don't lie to each other. You made me think Will was okay, that he was still out there, but he wasn't. He wasn't! Maybe you thought you were helping, but you weren't. You hurt me. Do you understand? What you did sucks. Lucas was right about you. All along."

El's eyes bore into Mike's as he yelled at her. However, she sat there, unfazed before turning back to the com. With the final crackle, the distinctive voice of Will Byers rang over the comm and across the room. He was singing.

"So come on and let me know, Should I stay or should I go?"

Mike slowly looked up from the picture and towards El, goosebumps littering his skin. She was looking to him expectantly, blood dripping from her nose.

"Should I stay or should I go now? Should I stay or should I go now?"

Mike jumped off the couch and ran to El, who slowly handed him the walkie. Mike stared at it in disbelief as he listened to the unmistakable voice of his best friend.

"If I go there will be trouble. If I stay it will be double."

Mike gladly took the comm. His finger pressed firmly on the speaker button he practically yelled into the speaker. "Will, is that you? It's Mike! Do you copy? Over."

El stares at the boy, wishing she could help him more. Alas, she knew Will would be unable to hear him. The room was met with the dreaded static of the other line as Mike waited for a response that would never come.

He tried again.

"Will, are you there? Will!"

Mike saw the look on El's face, knowing she had done her best. He dropped his hand to his side.

"Was that...? Was it...?"

El gave Mike a bittersweet smile.

"Will."

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Michael? Hi, honey. How are you feeling?"

Karen poked her head into her son's room.

Mike stuttered as he lay under the blankets, and she crosses the room to sit at his bedside.

"I, uh... I don't think I can go to school today."

"Oh, that's fine, sweetie. I need to drop off Nance, then I'm gonna check in on Barb's parents. Why don't you grab a book or something and come with me? We can stop by the video store on the way back, pick out whatever you want. Even R-rated."

Karen offered, a small smile on her face.

"I think I just want to stay home today. I mean, if that's okay?" He asked, tentatively.

"Well, are you sure you're gonna be all right here by yourself?"

"I think so."

"Okay." She sighed, patting her son on the arm comfortingly."If you need anything, call Dad at work."

Mike softly nodded his head.

"Okay."

"Okay."

Karen leaned forward and kissed her son on the forehead before stepping out.

"Bye." Mike softly called after his mom.

She turned to him as she closed the door, a smile on her face.

"Bye, sweetie."

As soon as his mother closed the door, Mike jumped up from under the covers, fully clothed. He reached for the supercomm on his bedside table and extended the antenna.

"Lucas, do you copy? Lucas, come on, I know you're there! This is urgent. I'm serious."

Mike stood up from his bed, continuing into the walkie. "I'm not gonna stop until you answer. Lucas. Lucas!" He took a deep breath. "Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas... Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas--"

"Go away, Mike." Lucas had sat up in bed, frustrated as he extended the antenna.

"I'm not in the mood, all right? Over and out."

Before Lucas could close the supercomm antenna, Mike's voice had stopped him.

"No, not 'out.' I'm not messing around, okay? This is about Will. Over."

Lucas paused, not letting himself get his hopes up.

"What about Will? You mean about his funeral? Over."

"No, not his funeral. Screw his funeral!" Mike spits.

"What?"

"Just get over here stat. And bring Dustin and Y/n. Over and out."

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

I blink away the tears as I stare at the same wall my eyes haven't left since I woke up. Lucas saw me and Dustin off and made sure we got home. My whole body has been numb since last night. The image of Will laying lifeless on the gurney hasn't left my mind.

I never would have believed it but, I wanted more than anything to be at school rather than staying home today. Mom thinks it was the stress and trauma that made me sick today, but whatever it really is, she insisted I stay home.

I locked myself in my room as soon as I got home, Dustin had filled Mom in on what happened. She had woken me up this morning, apologizing and asking if there was anything she could do to help. But she couldn't do anything. Nobody could. Will, my best friend, is gone.

Apparently, I was burning up because Mom began freaking out when she felt my forehead. I didn't feel any different apart from grief and heartbreak.

"Alright, Pumpkin, I called the school and they know you're staying home. I wish I could stay with you but I can't miss another work day. I'll be back at the regular time, and you know what number to call if you need anything, right?"

I felt her hand rub my shoulder as I never broke eye contact with the wall. Tears were falling freely down my face, through my scalp and into my ears ears pillow. My left arm had become numb from laying on my left side.

"Mm." I couldn't even bring myself to speak.

"Bye, sweetie."

I heard her footsteps recede followed by the closing of my bedroom door.

I closed my eyes, trying to sleep. But every time my eyes closed I saw it all over again. Will being pulled from the water. I tried to push through it. But my mind began creating scenarios of how he fell in. Countless images of him stumbling over the cliff. Or even the horrific thought of his already lifeless body being tossed into the water by a faceless figure that I only assumed to be his murderer.

Countless, horrendous scenarios playing like a slideshow in my head and the second wave of pain washed over me as it felt as if someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart into dust, while another hand punched my gut.

I rolled over on my back, I felt the anguish surging through my veins and all the way to my fingertips as a wave of anger erupted from deep within. I heard items fall to the floor somewhere around my room and I figured that in my fit I had slammed my fists too hard against my bed, shaking the room somehow.

I quickly dismissed the odd thought and the second wave of hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

My palms began to sweat as I felt my body temperature rise out of what I could only assume was anger. That must be where my fever had come from but I still didn't understand how that all happened.

I was angry my best friend was taken away from me. I loved him, and he was the closest friend I have ever had. And now he's gone. I still refused to believe it yet my mind was cruel enough to replay the worst moment of my life everytime I close my eyes.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and sat up. I couldn't stand being alone with anything else to think about and I looked around my room for anything to take my mind off everything that's been happening.

My eyes scanned the room and then they fell on the all too familiar mix tape Will had lent to me just months ago. A bittersweet smile had made its way onto my face and I got out of bed. I put the tape in the boombox and pressed play.

"Should I stay or should I go?"

I sat listening to Will's favorite song and I felt a different wave of emotion wash over me for once.

I think it was a stubborn hope.

[spacestationdaedalus]

it’s called freefall

in which Jon has trauma related to his time with Michael Crew, and it makes falling off the ladder in 198 just a little bit harder. Martin (and Basira) try to help.

dedicated to the lovely @captaincravatthecapricious for this wonderful idea!! ao3 link here!

The statement finishes with a trailing buzz of static, and none of the relief.

Although, Jon can’t help but think, that’s not entirely true. He can feel the pressure, the thick weight easing from his mind. Like a fog, lifting with the Eye’s satisfaction. But there’s a deep dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, icy fingers cramping around equally icy and rickety metal and ah yes, I’m still on this god forsaken ladder.

The rusted steel is coarse underneath his fingers. The scar on his right hand might dull some of the rough cold, but the loss of superficial sensation is made up for with a deep aching pain that's practically begging him to get on with it. To let go.

He wasn’t lying when he told Martin and Basira that the fall wouldn’t kill them. Of course he wasn’t. He Knows with absolute certainty that this is true, as surely as one might know their name or their favorite color. He wouldn’t have let them fall if he didn’t.

And yet.

Jon takes a breath. And another, around his heart that has decided to make a home at the base of his throat. It hammers away, hard and loud but not quite loud enough to drown out the echoing yells of the statement’s victims. Screams overflowing with the mindless terror of falling to unforgiving ground. Not knowing when the ground will come-

Jon had never considered himself afraid of heights. There were a lot of things he didn’t used to be afraid of.

And yet.

The Eye eagerly supplies an empty silence when he tries to Know how far the drop is. What he does get, is the knowledge that humans tend to greatly overestimate vertical distances, especially when viewed from above. That studies have shown height overestimation is greatly correlated with fear. Jon sighs, because of course having all-knowing powers would be this useless.

He's not sure how long it’s been since he finished. But there’s no use in keeping them waiting, right? And there’s nowhere off of this ladder but down. Jon knows and Knows this.

And yet.

It takes a few tries for his brain to start unclenching his fingers, curled tightly as they are. He takes it slow - first his pinkies, then the ring fingers, until it’s only his thumb and index fingers - and his feet planted on the bottom rung - keeping his balance. A clammy sweat breaks out across his palms, and breathing is getting more and more impossible around the tightness in his chest. The thought of the last time he fell comes unbidden to his mind - of a wooden chair, wooden table, a face that might be kind if it wasn’t making him feel like he would never touch solid ground again for the rest of his life-

Stop. Focus.

Actually, stop focusing. Stop thinking. Just get it over with. Just let go.

He does, against every instinct and nerve screaming at him not to. Jon lets go, and everything is worse.

His stomach drops out from underneath him and he's falling falling falling no where to go but down. The wind whips at his hair and his face and steals any hope of breath out of his throat. How people can manage to scream while falling, he doesn’t know.

He's back in that chair, at that table, but not in the chair or at the table. He's not touching anything but open air. Then it had been a deep, unnatural blue, but now. A grey mist, thick and heavy such that opening or closing his eyes means nothing. He thinks his eyes are closed, already lost sight or feel of up and down and where-

The terror is so paralyzing, so encompassing in it's consumption of his thoughts, he hoped it might dull the pain of hitting the ground. It does not. Fire blooms across his back, his neck, his head, in an agony so acute he bypasses any sound all together. The wind would be knocked out of him, if there was any wind to knock out in the first place. And he's still falling.

Is he? Jon registers a dull graininess under his hands, cool earth on his back. Ground?

It can't be. His insides are still weightless, dropping, he's on the ground but not on the ground. It might as well be empty air. He's falling straight through the earth, and he will for the rest of his life. If he opens his eyes all he'll see is sky blue enjoy sky blue-

He doesn't know how long he lies, falls, in silent terror. But after a moment hours seconds something grabs his arm, both of his arms, and pulls. The world lists with a dizzying vertigo, a shift in gravity and up and down and he feels himself tilting, but to or from where when how he can't tell and he never will. Something grabs him again, his shoulder, maybe, and it should help but now he wants to scream because it doesn't it doesn't it doesn't please make it stop-

He tries, oh god he tries to breathe. His lungs, his throat, seized tight with panic and wind and sickening emptiness. Like a vacuum bag, every last molecule of air sucked away. There's still a gaping pit where his stomach should be, and he wonders numbly if he'll ever get it back.

Something that might be words pass over his head. A conversation intercut with the sound of blood and wind in his ears.

"Is he-"

"-ou alright? Hey-"

"-can we-"

"Jon?"

There's something - a hand? - against his cheek. It's warm and rough against his wind chilled face, so warm it almost burns, but the shock of it is something to focus on that isn't falling falling fal-

"Hey, it's alright. You're alright-"

Martin.

Jon feels another hand, Martin's hand, on his face, stroking thumb pads against his cheekbones. Jon reaches blindly to grab onto his wrists in some mockery of purchase. Something, anything to stop the falling. He opens his eyes, which is strange because he doesn't remember closing them. He can feel how his face aches though, with how tightly he had clenched them shut.

And Martin is there. He's kneeling in front of him, eyes searching him in flickering panic for some kind of injury. He meets Jon's eyes, and something bordering on relief flickers for an instant before his brow furrows again. He's saying something, and Jon wants to hear it so badly he could cry. He tries reading his lips - it’s something he's usually good at when his brain can't keep up with sound. 

But his eyes can't focus right. Everything in his vision shifts back and forth, his brain trying to compensate for movement that he knows isn't there. He closes his eyes again, against the dizzying nausea. It's a bit easier, in the same way that stabbing yourself is a bit easier with a sharper knife.

"M-...m-ha-"

There's barely enough air for him to breathe, let alone speak, and all that comes out is a choked wheeze. And it's as painful as it is concerning, even to Jon's own ears.

"Hey hey hey, it's okay, just- just try to breathe with me, okay?"

He can hear Martin's voice again, as muffled as it is, laced with worry. Jon wants to apologize, to tell him it's ok, it's fine, but it's not really fine, is it? But there’s Martin's breathing, deep and slow, exaggerated in such a way that Jon can hear it over the sound of everything else. 

It's something for Jon to focus on, and it helps. He thinks. Painstakingly, forced wheezes become shallow breaths become gasps for air. His lungs burn with the strain of it, but it's probably a better pain than suffocating on nothing. So he keeps going.

There are words, again. Some close, some further away. Something - Martin Martin it has to be Martin - shifts beside him. A steadying hand rests on his back, leaning him forward until his head is between his knees. It almost sets off the vertigo again, but the movement is just slow, just gentle enough not to.

The hand stays, though, solid and warm and comforting above anything else.

The breaths come easier with each passing what-might-be-a-minute.It's hard to tell time under the weight of what his brain still thinks is some twisted imitation of freefall. Equilibrium comes back to him with all the speed of a dripping faucet, but there's ground beneath him and Martin next to him, and it gets better. The world is less of a sickening drop and more of a lingering dizziness, like stepping off of a merry-go-round a little too quickly.

The vertigo fades and the adrenaline leaves with it. Jon can feel his hands start to shake, but it doesn't stop him from reaching a trembling hand out towards where he thinks Martin is. Eyes still closed. He's met with another hand almost immediately, squeezing his tight, and the pressure soothes the most ragged edges of the tremors.

"Jon, hey- are you…?"

Jon nods, slowly, carefully. He's not entirely sure what question he's responding to, but Martin deserves some kind of acknowledgement. For whatever...this is. There's a shaking weakness deep in his core, like he just ran a marathon at a dead sprint. But he looks up, cautiously opens his eyes. And Martin is there. Still. Again.

Martin brings a hand to his cheek, just like before, and Jon can't help but notice how soft it is in spite of the rough dryness of his skin. It's a shaky thing around the edges, but Martin smiles at him, breathing a sigh of something like relief.

"There you are."

Jon really doesn't want the tears to well up in his eyes. But the fear is so acute, sharp and hungry in a way that leaves him hollowed out, with nothing but lungs that still barely work and a surge of emotion that he doesn't know what to do with. He reaches for Martin- or, he tries to, but he doesn't have to go very far, because Martin meets him more than halfway.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, come here-"

Martin pulls him close, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and another in his hair. It's pulled free from it's tie, still a complete mess from the fall. But then again, so is Jon. His shoulders are shaking with the force of muffled sobs, and Martin holds him tighter. Everything hurts, bruises from the fall that aren't really there, his head, his chest, his lungs that still don't feel like they're getting enough air. It might help if his face wasn't buried in Martin's jacket, but it feels like a fair trade at the moment.

He can feel Martin's pulse where his face meets the crook of his neck. It's steady and strong, a little fast, maybe, but so comforting in a way that Jon could probably never put into words. He lets himself be, miserable but alive and held in Martin’s arms, until he feels like more of a person again.

After what probably isn’t long enough Jon pulls back, but Martin’s arms don’t let him go far. He reaches up to wipe his face with clumsy hands, and tries for words. They come a bit easier now. "Martin, I'm-"

"Nope, absolutely not, don't you dare apologize." Martin cuts in immediately. He strokes a thumb across Jon's cheek, brushing some of the remaining tears away.

Jon sighs. "I just- I didn't mean to worry you, is all."

"Well, it is a little bit late for that." He's going for brevity, but it's quickly drawn into something more serious. "But don't worry about that, that's not- are you alright? What happened?"

Jon swallows, his throat sticky and sore. He wants desperately to say he doesn't know, but he does, and he just hopes he can get the point across in the fewest words possible. "It's just, uh… the, falling, reminded me of… Crew. I didn't realize how- how much that still affected me, I suppose."

Martin sucks in a breath. "Oh, Jon. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"It's okay." Jon supplies, and means it wholeheartedly. "I mean, I didn't- I didn't know either, until it was, ah… a little too late."

There's a small tap on the ground to his right, and Jon looks over to see Basira kneeling next to him. She has a small water bottle in her hand, held out towards him.

Jon takes it in muted surprise. "Oh, thank you. Wh...where did you-"

"Don't worry about it."

There are too many other things to worry about right now, so he doesn't. "...Right."

They don't really need to drink anymore, but the water is cool and surprisingly fresh. Basira speaks again.

"It's not like we're in a rush, exactly. London isn’t going anywhere. We can wait here for a bit." She shifts from a crouch to a sitting position on the ground next to them. Martin hums in agreement.

After a moment, Martin gestures to the elastic band on Jon's wrist. Jon hands it over wordlessly, with a rush of affection, as Martin begins sorting through the tangles in Jon's hair.

It's not the first time he's done it. The feeling of gentle fingers through his greying locks, diffused afternoon sunlight seeping through the windows like honey in Scotland. Jon showing him how to braid, just a simple one, because Martin claimed to not know how and they had nothing better to do. Later, Martin admitted it was a lie, an excuse to play with his hair. After which Jon had kissed him and said he'd never need an excuse. Ever.

Martin's fingers comb through his hair, pulling at his scalp in a way that never quite hurts. Not like when Jon does it himself. It soothes the tension still wound around his chest, the hammering of his heart easing beat by beat into something resembling normal. He feels the strands twisting into a braid under Martin's hands, and when he's done he rests it over Jon's shoulder. It’s a little lopsided, a little uneven, and utterly perfect.

Jon takes one of his hands, laces their fingers together in a sign of appreciation. Martin squeezes his hand, and Jon squeezes back.

They sit like that, for a while longer. At Jon's cue Martin and Basira help him up, on slightly shaky legs, but he's alright, really, I promise. And it isn’t a lie. So they continue on.

[slasherholic]

Michael Myers x Doctor! Reader | The Check-Up

behold, a drabble that went on for 1500 words too long.

synopsis: you are a doctor at smith’s grove administering the patient’s monthly physical exams. your next patient is michael. sadly, there is no world where this ends pleasantly for you.

contains: gender-neutral reader, michael being a toying asshole and giving the reader a nasty scare.

The exam room is small and drab, too intimate a space for work to happen comfortably. Its walls are not thick enough to dampen the noise of shuffling feet and voices passing by outside, and occasionally, the strident yelling of an upset patient will cut above the murmur, making you drum your fingers against the steel countertop with a renewed fervor.

On your sheet, half way down the list, the name is printed innocuously there in blue ink:

M. Myers.

You take a deep breath in and let it out slowly; it does not calm your nerves. Since you relinquished your last patient, the unease has been twisting in your gut like you swallowed a whole eel. Now, it feels almost determined to come back up.

It’s only a physical, you reason. The guards will be right outside. He’ll be restrained.

And such things might have been a comfort, if only “M. Myers” was still just a name on a list with a gruesome reputation to precede him. You are not fortunate enough for that to be the case; you have worked with Myers before. You know what he is like.

Your eyes flit to the clock on the wall while your fingers tap tap tap away on the counter. The guards have been gone eight minutes now. Some patients make a fight out of it every time they are taken from their rooms, requiring transport around the sanitarium in wheelchairs fit with heavy leather straps. Not Myers. In all your time employed at Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, you have never heard of one such related incident involving Myers. He lets himself be escorted without a fuss.

The incidents only happen after he gets to where he’s going.

It is not another full minute before there is a knock at the door.

“I’m ready,” you say promptly. The handle twists to the side. The door opens.

Four guards bring him in, double the standard patient security detail.

They lead him to the exam table while you thumb through your drawer for his file. In the corner of your eye, you watch him sit. One guard produces a key ring. The guard squats. Shortly, you hear the resounding metal “click” of a lock turning into place.

“Alright,” the guard says, standing. “All’s good over here.” After some consideration, he adds, “Want us to stick around for this one?”

“No, but thank you,” you tell him, pulling out the file. “I trust you did your job.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

The guards leave the room, one by one.

“Holler if he gives you any trouble,” the last guard states, closing the door behind him.

The silence in their stead is woeful and everything within it altogether too loud. The clock on the wall ticks. Your stool squeaks sharply when you sit upright. The open drawer screeches as you push it shut.

And you can hear him breathing.

Your heart should not be racing already but it is. You suppose it isn’t too late to call the guards back in, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter much; if Myers is determined to toy with you, he will. Their presence will not deter him.

Clipboard in hand, you swivel on your stool, and face him.

Myers sits atop the paper-sheeted table with an attentive posture. He wears his usual white patient’s garb, canvas pants and a cotton shirt, the latter too tight around the breadth of his shoulders. Short metal cuffs link his wrists closely to his waist. His ankle has been chained to the chipping grey tile; and, despite the elevation of the table, his feet touch the floor with ease.

Alarmingly, he is staring right back at you.

Ice-blue eyes consider you steadily. No hint of emotion occupies his face. The look is somehow effortless, and you are reminded of how a housecat might regard a person of mild interest, intrigued enough by the happenings to observe, but caring not to involve itself further—yet.

Your throat tightens. There have been times during these check-ups where Myers feigns detachment, pretending wholly as if he doesn’t care. Not today. Already, he is casually toying with you.

Your eyes fall to your clipboard as you stand from your stool, eager for an excuse to cast your gaze away from him.

“I’ll be administering a quick check up today,“ you say, depositing your pen in your breast pocket. “Weight, heart rate, blood pressure, nothing invasive.” It is all you can manage if you are to maintain some air of professionalism. Your voice has already begun to thin.

The physician’s scale rests against the wall beside the exam table, wholly too close to Myers for your liking. You feel his eyes following you across the room as you go and stand next to it. Adrenaline surges in your veins at the proximity.

“Stand here, please,” you say, eyes fixed on your clipboard, as though very much involved in your work, and very much not falling prey to your patient’s lingering stare.

For a beat of time that stretches on into discomfort, nothing happens. Michael’s breathing fills the room. You do not look up from your sheet. He doesn’t budge an inch in your periphery. It is as if you had not spoken at all, only imagined it. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. Perhaps he’s decided not to cooperate.

The instructions are almost past your lips a second time when Michael stands. His weight shifts fluidly onto his feet, almost soundlessly, were it not for the clank of his ankle restraint hitting the floor. The scale creaks as he steps on—the length of chain allows it, barely. Your breathing is far from measured now. While you slide the weights along the top of the scale you grip your clipboard tremendously tight.

It is a strange and terrible thing, you think, to exist next to a body that has taken so many lives. Would you lose your job if you were to obey the way your feet seem to want to charge as fast as you are able out of this room? Why, the situation doesn’t seem ethical; your higher-ups, the doctors, the psychologists, all know what dreadful acts Michael is capable of; are you seriously expected to treat this man as though he’s just the next patient on your sheet?

A series of terrible things occur to you all at once; If Michael wanted to, even in his chains, he could hurt you very easily. It is by the mere fact of the building surrounding him that he has not.

Contained in this place, to harm you is to tighten his own restraints. Michael knows this. He knows the keys to the castle must be attained through docility, or at least an act of it, which he is very good at faking. Whether he believes the game is eligible for a second round, now, with so much fresh blood on his hands, he is going to play. In fewer words; only by the grace of brick and cement are you allowed to exist within an arm’s length of this man, and still keep breathing.

On your sheet, you scribble a barely legible 210 lbs in the blank white space next to “patient weight”. In a retreating voice you ask Myers to please sit back down on the table. He decides instead to linger next to you first, broadening his chest with a few more steady breaths; after that, he sits.

The stethoscopes are stored in the stainless steel cabinets above your desk. You set down your clipboard as you dig for one, trying all the while not to think the unthinkable—you have to touch your patient now. You have to touch Michael.

Stethoscope in hand, eyes fixed to a point on the floor for the sake of your own sanity, you drag your stool across the room, its one stuck wheel screeching across the linoleum.

You settle your stool inches away from Myers and put on your best mask of doctorly calm.

“Looking good so far,” you say, not believing that Michael is actually paying attention to your words, only speaking because it seems the comfortable thing to do. “I need to listen to your heart next, so please, don’t move.”

Michael’s towering body doesn’t budge a muscle in response to your new proximity. He continues to breathe in and out, chest expanding beneath his too-tight shirt, and you can see the individual muscles of his torso rising and contracting, ribs filling out, pectorals broadening, their outline obvious beneath his meager layer of clothing.

You install the buds of your stethoscope in both ears and reach out with your dominant hand toward his chest, pressing the circular tool just above his heart.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. The pounding echoes in your skull. You can feel it beating up through his coiled muscle, throbbing so adamantly beneath your touch that you can see his pulse lifting your fingers up and down, up, down, a power which you try to ignore by filling your thoughts with numbers, counting the beats as your task demands.

Touching Michael is nearly unbearable by the fiftieth second. You withhold your heavy swallow as you shove away from him, wheeling back to the safety of the counter where your sheet rests, jotting in his results, which are incredible, but nothing short of expected—Michael has the resting heart rate of a trained athlete.

As you ink in his results in the empty box, it occurs to you that he must be getting some sort of pleasure out of this. Some carnal need of his is gratified by the symptoms of your unease—the miserable tension in your voice, the fact you cannot look him in the eye. Michael is devouring all of it.

You feel suddenly very faint as you reach again above the counter, this time taking a hand light from the cabinets. Two more empty boxes remain unfilled on your sheet; two more tests to administer. Half way done. You suppose that fact should help settle your nerves, but it doesn’t. Instead, a different angle on the matter takes form in your head; a whole half way in, and Myers is still pretending as if he’s only going to sit there and watch.

You leave your clipboard on the counter this time, because it can’t save you. To perform this next part you are going to have to bite the bullet and look Myers in the face.

Distressingly, his expression has not budged a bit. His cold eyes are still upon you.

Keeping your concern off your face seems a losing battle now. You know Michael can detect it in the tightness of your features as you roll your stool across the room, and perhaps you imagined the oh-so-faint dilation of his functioning pupil as you approached, and perhaps you didn’t.

“I just need you to follow this light for me.” You tell Michael, brandishing the hand light in front of you.

His eyes, or you suppose the one good one, survey the thin silver tool in your hand. Nothing on his face changes. He looks back up at you within three beats of your racing heart, apparently ready to comply.

Your thumb meets the little button on the side of the light and it illuminates a harsh circle on his pale cheek. A flick of your wrist aligns it with your target. Michael’s pupil contracts to a pin-point. He obliges your instructions, tracking the light as you move it left, then right, his reflexes behaving beautifully, flawlessly, in fact…

...and you are still contemplating the flawlessness of Michael’s pupillary reflexes when it occurs to you that he is no longer following the light. Instead, he is staring at your face.

You remember seeing tigers hunting on a nature show. You remember that head down, fixed-eyed look, a predator’s unbreakable concentration. That is how Myers is staring at you.

Terror rolls through you, gripping your heart in a cold fist. It makes you smaller and smaller until you feel like turning on your heel and sprinting for the door, away from this ruthless predator, because Myers is so obviously that.

“Follow the light, please.” You barely squeeze the words past your constricting vocal chords. Michael does not follow the light. He looks at you with that same deadly gaze, the darkness spreading to overtake his whole face.

You recoil from him like you’ve been shot.

His cuffed hand shoots out. Chain links rattle as he seizes your elbow. A gasp leaves your throat at the horrible pressure of his fingers digging into bone.

Very quietly, you tell him to let you go.

Michael doesn’t. His hand continues to grip your arm as if cemented there. He meets your eyes with a piercing look that says you are about to die.

Suddenly, the fact of the sanitarium walls surrounding you no longer matter. Your world swings sickeningly sideways. You know only one thing; Michael is going to murder you on the spot.

Tears cascade freely down your face. His grip hurts but the fear hurts worse. You tell him you are going to call in the guards. Michael, unperturbed, holds you, just watching, perhaps even daring you to.

“Please let go.” You are pleading with him now. Pleading with a murderer. Pleading with the monster that has already decided your fate.

The very moment before you raise your voice to scream for the guards, Michael does let go. His hand comes free and you spill to the floor with a yelp, knocking over medical supplies on the counter which clatter loudly as they fall. The doors swing open. The four guards step in.

Michael sits innocuously on the exam table as you heave and tremble on the floor. By all accounts, it would appear as though you’ve fallen due to your own clumsiness.

One of the guards rushes to your side to help you to your feet. You insist in a tight, quivering voice that you are fine; that you only tripped. You spit out that you have everything you need from Myers, and if they would please take him away, and bring in the next patient, that would be excellent.

Michael is still watching you as the guards begin to unlock his ankle cuff. You cannot bear to return his stare. Bending down, you start to pluck a tray of spilled cotton swabs off the floor, trying to occupy your shaking hands, but even long after the guards have removed Myers from the room, your hands refuse to stop their trembling.

[the-slasher-files]

request: Michael 2018 daddy kink smut with fluff - @slashersmasherlover

old man mikey coming up... alrighty so my brain cannot comprehend Michael and fluff being together lol so this is like fluffy angst??? if that is a thing... my brain just wants him to suffer I guess, also I’m so obsessed with Michael’s human condition that it throws a wrench in my plans lol. Just a warning this includes mention of death, outdoor sex (not public), daddy kink of course, and some classic Michael roughness. Hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

BEYOND THE PINES

Large arms incased your waist from behind and pushed you against the railing of the porch. The smell of copper and a soft musk filled your lungs with a soft tinge of pine and dirt that seemed to develop with age, perhaps the shape’s body was preparing to fall seamlessly into the grave he dug for all these years. You knew that day would come, but only when the demons got what they wanted from him first; ripping, tearing and brutally fucking him into the ground without mercy until Michael would be lifeless in a deep crimson pool, not returning to the towering figure. The thoughts haunted you as looked over the wandering forest surrounding your land. 

Michael and you had moved out of Haddonfield once the grey stared to appear within his dark brown locks and along his jaw. The quiet soothed your shape and he was free out here, perking up like a dog that was let off leash, Michael would often wander the trails and observe the nature. Being locked up so long he just enjoyed the sound of the breeze flowing in the trees, the peaceful sunsets and sunrises instead of the stark white hospital lighting, and his favorite spot, the creek a little walk down from the home. 

 A low growl was felt in the chest resting behind you and the hot breaths numbed your neck, Michael was stiff behind you, not just in his shoulders and arms but also below the belt. It blew your mind that he was still just as hungry for blood and sex as when you first met him, many years ago. Turning around in Michael’s strong arms, you sighed seeing that his mask was on. White and baron, with dark cracks in the paint, deep rust colored stains ran along the edges and the neck was ripped. It was the first week of October and he was growing restless, Michael couldn’t sleep, didn’t eat and the voices nipped at his neck, calling for blood.  

“Oh, Michael” you spoke calmly running your hands along the chipped rubber of the mask. Knowing each year this would come, you started to pray that it wouldn’t. Tilting his head at your sudden emotion his rich brown eye and dead blue one met yours, as you smiled up at his reaction. The head tilt always broke you, he was like a little puppy when he did that.

Smoothing your small hands over the rough navy coveralls, tracing the blood stains, rips and tears as he just watched you. Michael in his older age became more tolerant of you and your wandering hands, learning to love it. His love was different now; Michael didn’t toy with you as much, teeth turned into lips on your skin instead, and he grew extremely fond of your company during the day and into the night, not needing to leave you now. But there was always the claws beneath the skin, tugging and wanting to see you soaked in your own blood, struggling, and you knew that. Loving Michael was like dealing with a wild animal and a force of nature, it was dangerous and beautiful.

Just like that his tolerance snapped and there was a cold hand on your small neck, and the other tugged at your hair forcing you to look up at the grey skies above. Michael loved to see your neck on full display, like a dog showing their belly in submission, the vulnerability made his dominate side surge and the throbbing start in between Michael’s legs. He stepped a little closer, towering against your body and making you look Michael in the eyes, he squeezed your small throat harder and harder until you said the phrase he craved.

“Y-yes daddy, please.” you managed to choke out under his forceful grip. When you let that one word slip from your lips some years ago, -- it was when the grey had settled into stubble and wavy mane, when the age set into his body and no longer had the lean torso of his young adulthood -- it was over, that was the only word Michael wanted you to speak over and over again. 

The shape tightened his grip on your hair, surly ripping some locks out, and forced you the outdoor dining table. Bent over you shuttered at the contact of your warm skin against the frigid glass, nipples becoming hard and your hands braced themselves for whatever Michael would do. 

Large hands removed themselves from your throat and hair, ripping your pants and underwear down to your ankles making you tremble with anticipation and coolness from the Autumn breeze. There were no neighbors for at least a mile around and Michael used and abused that fact, not like he cared when you did have close neighbors, but the man would make you scream louder, and put more edge into his love out here. 

The familiar sound of a rough zipper and a grunt met your ears, and Michael mounted you like a predator pushing himself inside you making you cry out. Although Michael would tolerate you more and allow your touch more often than not, he became more inpatient, quickly taking you whenever and where ever with no time wasted, not like Michael hadn’t always done this but it was different; As a younger man he would make you last for days, edging you until you couldn’t see straight and didn’t know your name, but now Michael often took you quick and rough then laying with you for a minute before repeating. 

“Daddy, fuck yes” you moaned clawing at the glass table beneath you, as Michael jack hammered into you, filling you perfectly every time without fault. His large hands roamed where they wanted, using you, abusing you, watching you come undone as he loved. “Michael oh my god... daddy I’m close” 

Roughly grabbing the back of your small neck he forced you to look at him as the other hand reached around you slowly, torturously rubbing the swollen bud that raised in between your lips. “AH, daddy... p-please daddy” the cold blank mask moved to rest on your hot cheek. You could hear his ragged breathing bouncing back at him in the mask and a few grunts appeared signaling his end. Fully hilting inside you with one thrust you screamed as your walls clenched around Michael’s cock, milking it as his white seed coating your insides lusciously. 

“t-thank y-you daddy... thank you, my love” whispering praise as Michael nudged his forehead along your cheek and up to your temple, moving your soft hairs away from your flushed face. Like a dog this was his affection. 

Michael stayed inside you, feeling your mixed cum run down your thighs and onto the navy coveralls. Breathing slowed together and Michael spoke low in your ear “Good girl”              

[interstellarflare]

Bend and Break || Homelander

-PART FOUR-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst.

Summary: People can only bend their morales so far before they break. Homelander is the world’s greatest superhero, and you, a tech analyst, somehow become entangled in his world when he learns that you provide intel to The Boys. He makes it his personal mission to find out exactly what you know, but he never expected such resistance from someone as damaged as you. But broken things can be mended, sometimes in the most unexpected ways possible.

Author’s Note: As a bit of a disclaimer, I have only seen snippets of The Boys. I haven’t actually watched all of it, so forgive me if there are some details that are wrong, as well as the many spelling errors that will undoubtedly be in this series. There is a tag list open for those who wish to be added. I apologise for the long chapters. Gif by @itisa-profoundbond-sarandom

|PART ONE| |PART TWO| |PART THREE|

“Where do you think you’re going?” You asked angrily, as you followed Homelander up the large staircase of your apartment complex and onto the roof. He hovered a few metres away from the edge, whilst you stood as close to the edge of the roof as you could. Homelander turned to face you, his hair gently rustling in the wind. “I’m going to confront Stillwell. I want answers, and she is going to give them to me”.

“We need to be smart about this...” You persisted throwing you arms out in annoyance “if you go charging in there all high and mighty and demand answers, she’s going to know that something is wrong. We need to do this discreetly, otherwise you’re going to fuck this up for everyone”.

“Excuse me?” Homelander growled, flying down so that he was hovering just away from the edge “I’m the Homelander. And I can do whatever the fuck I want. Nothing goes on at Vought without me knowing about it. You have no powers, you’re not special, no one would give a damn if something happened to you. So what makes you think you can help me?” he asked angrily, his eyes once again beginning to glow a dangerous red. You didn’t know why his words hurt so much, you didn’t understand why your chest tightened painfully. But you stood tall, clenching your hands into fists as you shouted “I don’t care who the fuck you are! What I care about is doing this right. If you go to Stillwell and demand answers, there’s a likely chance you will put The Seven in danger, and likely anyone else involved. I might not have powers, but at least one of us has to have some common fucking sense!”.

When no response came from The World’s Greatest Hero, you scoffed shrugging your shoulders as you stepped away from the edge of the roof “Then again, what do I know. I’m not special. But if I hadn’t hacked into your servers, you wouldn’t have known about this, and you would have been covering Vought’s arse for all the wrong reasons, not that you don’t do that anyway”. You turned on your heel and headed back towards the door, hugging your arms close to your body as you suddenly felt cold. You shivered, reaching out to grasp the door handle as a firm hand was placed on your shoulder. Homelander spun you around, glaring down at your form with his eyebrows furrowed as he stepped closer to you. “What makes you think I don’t have any common sense?” he asked loudly, throwing his arms out in exasperation as he waited for your response. As you forcefully pushed him away from you, you ignored how surprised you were to see him stumble. He never stumbled. Then again, he didn’t let just anyone punch him either. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed loudly and stepped toward him “Classic Homelander tactic, you always rush in first. You act without thinking it through. You think that just because you are ‘The World’s Greatest Superhero’, that everyone will automatically grovel at your feet and beg for mercy!...” you shouted, your voice breaking as your tone became angrier “well guess what, even superheroes get screwed over. That’s just how the world works. And you’re angry. You’re angry because you got played-”

“Just shut up!” Homelander cried, his eyes glowing a menacing red before firing one large beam directly beside where you were standing. You shrieked, falling over onto your backside with a fearful gasp. The gravel atop the roof smouldered, grey smoke rising into the air in a steady pillar. That was it, this was the last straw. You quickly stood to your feet, rage surging through your blood as you shouted so loud, that you were certain that the entire neighbourhood could hear you. “Fine! If you want to go and fuck things up for yourself, then by all means go ahead. I’m not going to stop you! But you don’t get to come back to me and beg for my help when things go wrong. I’ve dealt with enough of this shit to last me a lifetime, and I don’t need more of it. Especially, not from someone like you!”. With one final glare, you stormed off the roof, slamming the door to the stairwell behind you hard enough that the sound echoed throughout the entire building. The walk to your apartment became a blur, so much so that you don’t even remember walking through the door, or hearing Max’s pestering questions about where Homelander had gone.

Instead, you stormed straight to your bedroom, closing the door behind you with a harsh bang before leaning back against it. You buried your head in your hands, collapsing to the floor as you brought your knees up to your chest. And for all the wrong reasons, you cried. You cried, because the fucking bastard didn’t care about anyone else but himself. You cried, because he couldn’t see what he was doing to the people around him. What he was doing to you. A small part of you still wanted to believe that there was still some good in him, after he had saved your life from a car accident all those years ago. The accident had happened just before Max had been born. You were on your way to the hospital to meet Michael when your car collided with that of an intoxicated driver. You car flipped several times, trapping you inside the wreckage upside down as it caught fire. You still wonder what had possessed him to save your life that night, what made him decide that you were worth saving? How could someone with such extraordinary gifts, abuse them in such a way?

You sighed heavily, wiping the tears from your face as your wrapped your arms around your form, giving yourself what little comfort you could. Unknown to you, or anyone within the apartment complex, Homelander had never left. He could hear your faint sobs through the layered walls, your heartfelt cries and awkward sniffles as you tried so desperately to assure your nephew that you were fine. He could see you hiding in your bedroom, alone and hurting. And a small part of him felt guilty for causing you to feel this way. But he couldn’t talk to you, not now. He needed answers, and he would get them by whatever means necessary. But your words stuck with him the entire flight back to Vought International, ‘We need to be smart about this...at least one of us has to have some common fucking sense’.

Maybe you were right. Maybe you weren’t. But he would never know now, as he instead changed his direction and flew about the city, trying to clear his head of tonights events.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since your argument with Homelander, and nothing had changed.

It had been quiet for the most part, except for when Max stopped by every afternoon after school as your apartment was within walking distance. More often than not, Black Noir stopped by as well. He often sat outside on the fire escape, perched either reading a book or casually watching you as you went about your daily activities. So at some point, and you’re still unsure as to why, but you invited him inside.

You started to leave your window unlocked again for whenever he came by, and he didn’t talk much. Which surprisingly made him a very good listener. He listened to your every word with some sort of interest, and it felt good to have another adult around, one that actually listened to you and didn’t argue. In those two weeks, you managed to get a new phone, a new number, and managed to establish all your old contacts again. Butcher was the only one you couldn’t make contact with. He hadn’t stopped by your apartment either, which left you a little disheartened. You figured that the CIA considered you a loose end, and that Homelander had or would likely kill you when he was done with you. An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine at the thought.

You sat at the dining room table, trying to weave your way through Vought’s servers for a second time. But you hadn’t expected such resistance. They had definitely upgraded their technology, their firewalls were practically impenetrable. You cursed under your breath, slamming your hands against the table’s surface out of frustration. Noir looked up from the book he was reading on your couch, his head tilting to the side out of confusion and questioning. You groaned, running a stressed hand through your hair “When did Vought upgrade their servers?” You asked him, not really expecting a helpful answer from him at all. When Noir shrugged and returned his gaze back to his book, you poked your tongue out childishly in his direction. “Thanks a lot, arsehole” You grumbled, rolling your eyes as he gave you a sarcastic thumbs up. Before you could respond with a disrespectful quip, there was a loud knock at the door.

Again, you groan, muttering a few jumbled incoherent phrases under your breath as you approached. You swung the door open without thinking, and almost choked on air when you eyes landed on the person on the other side. Homelander stood with his eyes downcast, his hues a darker and sadder shade of blue than they usually were. His right arm leaned against the doorframe, his usually combed back fair hair in slight disarray. You looked him up and down, swallowing thickly as a heavy silence filled the hallway. You cleared your throat, folding your arms over your chest as you opened your mouth to speak.

“I want to try it your way...” Homelander suddenly spoke, his voice low and devoid of his usual sarcastic and pompous tone. Your eyes widened as you were taken aback by his sudden sincereness. You bit your bottom lip, raising an eyebrow in challenge “Did demanding answers not do it for you?-”

“I didn’t...ask Stillwell about Project Cerberus...” He snapped bitterly, gritting his teeth as he lifted his eyes to meet your own. You nodded slowly, hating the way you so easily gave in and stepped aside, allowing the man before you to step into your apartment. But before he could walk past you, you reach out and grabbed his upper arm with your hand, looking up at the Supe from the corner of your eye. “Yell at me like you did two weeks ago again, and I’m done. Understand?” You spoke seriously, your grip tightening around his bicep as a silent promise. Homelander nodded wordlessly, and you released him from your hold. You closed the door to your apartment and headed back towards the living room, where Homelander nodded a curt greeting to the other Supe sitting on the couch. “Just out of curiosity, is there something else I can call you other than Homelander? Otherwise I’m just going to call you prick or arsehole” you stated blatantly, smirking tauntingly as the man before you turned to face your figure with a stern and harsh expression. With his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flaring in anger, you held your hands up in defence “Okay then, baby steps...baby steps”.

Your eyes widened in shock as Noir released a huff sounding close enough to a laugh. After making eye contact with Homelander out of bewilderment, and after seeing that he wore a similar expression, you shook your head. After deciding that Noir possibly laughing wasn’t as weird as having two of The Seven currently situated in you apartment, you motioned Homelander over to your laptop, where the two of you set about breaking into Vought’s servers.

Tag List: @tardis-23​ @freshmakertaco​

[diavolosthots]

DARK DECEPTION CHAPTER 18

READ CHAPTER 17 HERE

Warnings: fights, violence, blood, death

Pairing(s): lucifer x reader, diavolo, the brothers

Authors Note: this IS the climax but unless you want to deal with kinda graphic depictions of someones death, maybe skip this one if thats not your cup of tea.

Diavolo’s words didn’t register. Family? His family is fighting out there, somewhere. Leviathan will manage, he’s sure of it, and even with the piercing tip of his own blade against his throat, Lucifer knew he could manage as well. “I will find her, with or without your help.” No, he won't, Michael promised to keep you safe and that’s all that matters to him right now. “I will tear this world apart brick by brick.” Lucifer felt the blade leave his throat, feeling it drag through his wings instead; another cry. “Too bad you have to suffer for it. I really did like you, Lucifer.” The blade was digging into his upper left wing, way too close to the base and Lucifer could practically feel the blood gush out, forming a pool right where he was laying. “And I know she liked you too… I hope you said your goodbyes to her.” Goodbyes? Lucifer watches as Diavolo draws the sword back, an evil grin forming on his face but that’s when Lucifer remembered. “No… I promised.” A glare formed on his face right as Diavolo was bringing the sword down and Lucifer rolled over just in time, feeling Diavolo pierce his wing instead. 

“I promised!” Anger rushed through him and although every ounce of him was in pain, fearing the stability of his wings, Lucifer’s anger made him push through and fly up, using his full body weight to come down at Diavolo. The King grunted, falling down to his knees, but he still had the sword and he drew it back once more, “bad idea.” “No. It really wasn’t.” That last voice caught both of them off guard and they both turned their heads to see an angry Satan standing mere feet from Diavolo’s head. A growl escaped the latter and he’s quick to use his own magical powers to try and throw Satan back, “this has nothing to do with you, Satan,” but he dodged it just in time. One could see the anger radiating around him, forming a deep red hue, “this has everything to do with me.” Lucifer was proud, of course, but he also feared for the safety of his brother. Diavolo yanked at Lucifer’s hurting wing and yanked him off only for the eldest to be caught by Satan. 

“Listen to me. You need to put your all into this.” “what?” He glared at Satan this time, about to ask what the hell he meant when Satan yanked him back up on his feet and grabbed his hand tightly. “Just focus! I don’t have time to argue with you!” Satan’s tail wrapped around Lucifer’s waist, pulling him against his side as Satan mumbled something; a spell. Diavolo got up, growling and snarling at the two in front of him. The King barely had any scratches on him and he could see Lucifer was losing a lot of blood; he’s too weak to properly make out a spell. “Give up, Satan. He’s as good as dead.” Anger rushed through the fourth born and strangely enough, Lucifer felt all of it. The eldest was already angry, riled up from everything. “Think about what he did, Lucifer… hold onto that anger.” “Satan…” “Hold onto it!” Easier for him to say than for Lucifer to do, but the more he thought about everything, the more he thought about the fear and sadness in your eyes, the more he thought about what Diavolo did to you, about what he saw on Leviathan’s screen… the more he remembered Levi’s bleeding form in front of him, tossed carelessly by Barbatos… was he even still alive? Lucifer didn’t know. He’s been too focused on Diavolo. 

“Hghn…..aaaaahhh!!!” He cried out, almost animalistic. His deep voice resonated around the Devildom and it seemed more like a shrill echo bouncing off around him. He could feel Satan’s anger, his wrath, mixing with his own, and for a moment, it felt like Satan was back inside of him. All the anger, all the emotions he had surpassed for the past eons are bubbling over as he charges at the Demon Lord with enough force that sends a shock wave through the entirety of the Devildom. It sounded like a hammer coming down on a metal shield, a blast so strong not many could survive it, and not many did. Lucifer practically pushed Diavolo through the ground, creating a crater that the Demon Lord fell into. His wings, all four, snapped in half as Diavolo broke into the ground. Bone and blood were peeking out and he’s sure Lucifer broke more than that. The tightness of his best friend’s hand around his throat along with the pure hatred, the pure guilt, and the pure wrath inside Lucifer’s eyes, had Diavolo’s own eyes wide with fear and angst. 

“L-Lu….cifer….” The demon gasped out, but Lucifer’s grip only tightened. He’s sure that he broke at least a few of Diavolo’s ribs and there’s at least some internal bleeding, considering the blood that’s flowing out the Demon Lord’s mouth. And yet, none of that was enough for the eldest. “You took everything from me! You took my sister, my freedom…. You made me your pet!” Lucifer growled, his eyes flaring red as his hand continued to squeeze. His nails were digging into Diavolo’s flesh, who struggled to try and move away from the Demon above him, to no avail. His whole body ached. The force Lucifer used was too great and it could’ve killed him, “but none of that was ever enough for you, was it?! You got off on having me, the eldest, the Avatar of Pride at your disposal. You used my own guilt against me to reign me in… and you could never have me be happy. Happiness, to you and not for you, meant that I could leave… and father forbid I left, just like everyone else left you.” His words stung. Diavolo clenched his teeth, still gasping for air. Blood began to drip down Lucifer’s fingers, his nails having successfully dug themselves through Diavolo’s neck. 

“You took her….. You used her…. You forced yourself on her…” Anger rushed through him again and another shot of force rushed through him, “and you deserve to die for that…!” Another scream escaped the eldest, emotions rushing through him as he tore at Diavolo’s neck. The latter screamed, alerting all the demons not affected by the force that was used earlier, but it was too late. Lucifer practically ripped his head off, blinded by sheer rage and vengeance. Blood splattered his clothes and face as the King lay dead before him, his decapitated head in his hands. Demons gasped, Barbatos stopped in his tracks in shock and fear at the sight in front of him. This wasn’t Lucifer, or at least, this wasn’t the Lucifer everyone knew. This was a man blinded by rage and love, fearing for his lover’s safety and life. This was someone who’s many years of guilt and sadness, of grief and desperation finally spilled over and was let out in one of the most gruesome ways. But it was worth it. 

The head fell from Lucifer’s grasp and Lucifer fell sideways as the surge of wrath finally left his body. Exhaustion took over, the bloodloss his wings had suffered has started to become too great. “Lucifer…” He could faintly make out Satan’s voice behind him, his head barely turning to watch the fourth born crawl toward him, obviously exhausted as well. A smug grin tried to form itself on Satan’s face and only now has Lucifer noticed the many scars and bruises on Satan’s body from the fight earlier. Lucifer reached out his hand, a soft smile forming on his own lips, “what was that…. Satan….” but the blond shook his head, reaching out his own hand to brush along Lucifer’s fingers, “ a last resort…” he felt weak and he could see that Lucifer felt the same. That took everything out of both of them. Two forces that should’ve never been separated and lastly, should have never been united again. “I’m sorry….” It was a whisper, barely audible by Lucifer. Tears stung in the corner of his eyes and he wasn’t sure whether it was from the sheer amount of pain or the fact that he feels like all of this could’ve been avoided. “Not your fault…” And even so, Lucifer felt like it was. 

He didn’t know where anyone else was and frankly, turning his head the other way to see everyone else would have used too much of his already low energy. He didn’t know if anyone else made it. He didn’t know how many were dead, either. All he knows is that he freed you from your prison and he feels no regret toward that. Demons are ruthless and he always knew that, and yet, he has never experienced such betrayal and ruthlessness first hand. “Satan….” Lucifer pulled at the blond’s fingers, the latter only responding with a groan, “Satan…!” he feared the worst. Has this taken too much out of him? Was this too big for both of them to handle? He could feel his own energy fade as well…“Lucifer!” that sweet, sweet voice. His eyes felt heavy. He couldn’t keep them open. His hand still held onto Satan’s as he tried to concentrate on the air entering and exiting his body. He tried to focus on anything other than the pain and exhaustion. 

Just a little… rest…..

[slashersins]

(  this  came  about  due  to  me  and  @bloodysnowdrops  talking  about  our  favorite  shape’s  eating  habits  ) 

how  you  met  michael  .  .  .

you cooked him dinner . well , you cooked yourself dinner . michael was hungry , the scent of a freshly cooked meal luring him to your home , he watched you finish said meal , and broke in . he was fully expecting to devour whatever was made so the gnawing burn in his stomach would ease after dealing with the screaming , a fight , having to chase you and hunt you down . a nice kill before dinner . 

instead , for some reason , you made him a plate , with larger portions than on your own , and slid it across the table . there was a stand off . michael standing , watching , staring at you with an intense empty gaze before his eyes finally settled on the offering . a slight head tilt , and then he was sitting . you were smart enough - or maybe dumb enough - to look away while michael ate , staring at your own food and not raising your head . it was obvious who this man was . and you were hoping dinner would save your life . lucky for you it did . and when you looked up after eating , michael was gone . just as quietly as he had emerged . 

but . . . there was an issue with feeding the shape . like a feral cat you left out a can of food for at your back door , he came back . never a sound made  . never a word uttered between you . for weeks , michael showed up . the same time . always at night , and always usually covered in grime and gore . always for a free meal , a good meal . better than the tasteless gruel served in the sanitarium . so he kept you alive . not at all docile . not at all safe . always ready to snap your neck , to stab your chest , to draw your blood . you were useful in staving off michael’s need for nourishment . that was all . 

eventually , enough was enough and you were tired of having to clean up the mess michael made when he came in . you were tired of having to go and buy new knives as yours kept disappearing - and you didn’t want to think about where they ended up . 

it was a fight , trying to get michael clean . you tried to tell him that he couldn’t have his dinner until he showered as if he was some prepubescent boy being scolded by his mother . you ended up having to clean up more than just blood and dirt off your kitchen floor that night . and somehow michael still left with a plate of food in his hand , miraculously untouched by his rage at being denied a meal . 

then - then an idea struck . michael was much like a feral cat still . he wasn’t your pet , just a stray that came around for food . someone who only kept you alive for that very purpose . but maybe , just maybe you could persuade him like you would a stray . all you’d need is a treat . something special , something enticing . so , you made him a cake . 

to your utter surprise , it worked . the smell of baked goods had put michael on high alert . and he was hellbent on sniffing it out , finding it and devouring the sweet treat , but to his annoyance he had no idea where it was in the house . not that he was against tearing it apart in his search , but the gnawing hunger in his stomach had him hovering over you in the kitchen like a lethal tiger as you finished making dinner . and instead of leaving after he was finished eating , michael stayed . 

you were thankful that michael could take a hint , as well as concerned that he seemed to know where and what every room in your house was . the simple “i was thinking of eating some dessert after a bath or something. ya know , as a treat !” was enough for michael to take the hint . he stalked to the bathroom and stripped , stepping into the shower with no resistance , only giving you an empty sideways glance when you popped in to grab his blood soaked coveralls in hopes of finally cleaning them . 

he reemerged just as you finished loading the washer with the strongest detergent you had , and twice the amount needed . and you were thankful that the over sized shirt and sweat pants you’d bought for just this hopeful chance fit him . 

he was swift to sit back at the table , looking at you expectantly with his cold gaze . he wanted his cake dammit . and you knew better than to keep the boogyman waiting , so his treat was promptly set before him . and you left him alone to eat . 

after that . . . michael came around more often . stayed longer . stayed the night and used your shower with the expectation of having his clothes washed each time . it was a shift in the way things were . and well , you couldn’t say it was terrible . another reason to keep you around you guess . and you couldn’t help the satisfaction that came with knowing in some ways the stray might be becoming somewhat tame . somewhat . or maybe not at all . at least it was a sense of normalcy . and that sated you . 

soon it went from michael sitting on the couch , staring at the tv , always on high alert and aware of you at all times to michael sleeping there . still as the dead and stiff , feet hanging off the edge of the couch . it didn’t look comfortable in the least . but there wasn’t much of a solution . there was only one bed in the house , and it already had an occupant in it . plus you weren’t too sure about what boundaries you might be overstepping if you invited michael to share the sleep space . 

like many things , however , michael solved that problem himself . when you were unceremoniously shoved out of your own bed and onto the floor , only to get up and see michael laying in your bed . taking up all the space , and looking literally dead . somehow the feral cat you’d invited in was taking over . and now it was you sleeping on the couch . at least it was you sized . you made sure to steal the covers in retaliation . it took a few nights before you finally relented to michael’s less than  polite way of telling you he was sleepy. or maybe you were just tired of being shoved to the floor , but you permanently relented to sleeping on the couch .

it’s been a few months . maybe four or five since your first encounter with michael . and things were going smoothly . or as smoothly as it can go with an impromptu serial killer roommate . at least in your eyes . 

michael . . . michael was feeling antsy . angry . confused . he was feeling emotions . and he didn’t do emotions , not the ones that made his hands twitch , and head hurt . not the ones that he felt each time he started walking towards your home after a kill . 

excitement he was familiar with . there was always that warm tug of adrenaline when he chased a victim , the satisfaction of a kill warming his blood and rendering him sated for a moment . but this . . . it was different . this excitement hurried his normally slow and careful steps . it had his finger tips buzzing , itching to open the back door you learned to leave unlocked for him . it had his heart beating ever so quicker in anticipation of hearing you welcome him home and telling him what you’d both be having for dinner . he hadn’t noticed this feeling before . this warmth . he wasn’t capable of feeling so . . . domesticated . was he ?

and that , that made the familiar anger surge through him . was he being domesticated ? was he being tamed ? what was this feeling ? furious at himself for having these weak emotions , these unfamiliar , unsafe emotions , he quietly raged while his mind raced with solutions to this problem . but that only lead to more . 

he could kill you . you wouldn’t be expecting it . you wouldn’t run . he could easily step inside , walk behind you and bury his knife in your back . watch as you bled out on the floor as he ate whatever food you’d made for them . that was something he could do . his solution . but his grip on his knife faltered as he took another step . a new feeling . a new emotion flooded his senses as he thought of your lifeless body . as he thought of your face contorted in pain and eyes empty as they stared at nothing . it was a weight on his chest , crushing and his heart seemed to twist violently . he couldn’t kill you . but he had to. 

and yet he stood rooted in the ground . still as a statue as he stared hard at the glint of the moonlight on his blade . you couldn’t be so important to him . all you did was provide food and shelter . anyone could do that . anyone could cook a meal that he could eat . he didn’t need you . all those thoughts swirling until he turned on his heel . he had to prove it to himself . show himself that he was just attached for basic needs . show himself that you truly meant nothing . just a place to sleep . just a free meal . nothing else . 

it lasted two weeks . no michael . dinners for two served to only one , the other half spending time in the fridge for when the man showed back up . sleepless nights spent on the couch . he wasn’t dead . the murders and missing people reports continued as usual . but he hadn’t come home . still , you waited . the food still made . desserts made desperately - even resorting to sticking pies on the windowsill to cool in hopes to find it missing only to find it still there . two weeks and no michael . and for some reason , you were a wreck . worried and lonely . missing the deadly man that you’d come to enjoy the company of . quiet as he may be , always masked , always eating your food and stealing your bed . but for that short while he’d been yours . maybe this was why you were always told not to feed strays . 

it was no better for michael . food tasted like ash . too burnt , too under cooked , too unseasoned , too over seasoned . it was disgusting even if it satisfied the ache in his stomach . and the annoyance of having to deal with screaming and kicking and fighting and police sirens that sped his eating - it was irritating . it made him more brutal . more bloody . and the way it dried and itched on his unwashed coveralls irritated his skin . the wrongness of the beds , too firm and too soft and too filthy . smelling too much like body odor or sex or just -

he was rage personified even more so . tired and hungry for a meal made by someone he didn’t want to think about . wanting to take his time in devouring his food , in gouging himself on sweets cooked only for him . to stand for as little or as long as he’d prefer under a hot shower , using the body wash and shampoo that wasn’t his but wasn’t one of his victims . missing the refreshing feeling of clean clothes and looking in wonder at how all the blood stains seemed to fade away . 

it was all he could think of while eating . after the high of a kill wore off . when he was trying to force himself to sleep on whatever bed or couch or piece of earth he could find that night . and it didn’t help that those thoughts were followed by you welcoming him home , offering him dinner , asking to watch a movie and eat cake or pie or cookies or whatever you’d baked that night . of the way your eyes lit up when the clothes you got him fit while his coveralls washed and the rattling of the washer and dryer boomed in the house so loud the tv had to be at max volume . 

it lasted two weeks . two weeks . and michael finds himself standing in the kitchen of your home . there’s no food cooking . and the lights are off . yet the glow of the tv is easy to see , and the volume , for once , is at a normal light mummer . and there you are . curled up on the couch , looking ready for bed , with two boxes of pizza on the table . one unopened , and one half eaten . a tub of ice cream with a spoon stuck in it in your lap . 

he takes in the scene . you may not have cooked but you ordered enough food for two . yet its just two . you have a dessert that you’ve barely touched , you’re all ready to fall asleep on your couch despite having your bed to yourself . you’ve been waiting for him . 

something inside of michael snaps , it had him moving from his spot standing over you , watching with cold calculating eyes . he’s by your side in a heartbeat , silent and sudden . he cares little as he lifts his mask enough to uncover his mouth , taking the unopened box of pizza to claim and devour his own slice . he doesn’t blink when you jump suddenly , startled by his arrival . he just eats . ignoring the bubbling , warm sensation that envelops him as your attention shifts to him . as he tastes food that was purchased just for him and swallows it down . he doesn’t give you a glance or pause . that is until you speak .

it’s wavering , watery like you might cry , or have been . but there’s so much relief in it , a happiness that even michael can recognize . and his eyes shift to your face , head tilted slightly as you smile brightly . even as hot tears stream down your cheeks . 

“ welcome home , michael . i got us some pizza and ice cream . i missed you . ”

[jackklineisperfect]

here comes the first step

Is this really all that there is for us?

Adam sighs, resting his head against the frame of the car. His coworker spares him a glance before heading back under the car. Adam can hear the sound of a blowtorch as a part is heated to force it to form a new shape. Much like how he and Michael were heated to fit into their new life, he thinks.

We were not heated, Adam Milligan. We were abandoned.

“You’d think an angel that was several billions of years old wouldn’t be hit so hard by an identity change,” Adam murmurs under his breath as he lowers his face shield.

His words are met with stony silence as Michael contemplates. Adam knows enough after tens of centuries in the cage that Michael needs to think. Housing the archangel inside his mind is easier than he thought it would be, in the end. There is nothing left for Michael, not anymore. Jack Kline, the new God, had no use for a relic of time past. No one had any use for Adam either. They fit together like puzzle pieces.

I miss my father, Michael confesses in a voice that is just above a whisper.

Adam lifts one shoulder into a shrug and shifts, feeling uneasy. “I barely knew mine,” he says. “I think I would have liked to.”

“Did you say something, Milligan?”

Adam’s coworker slides out from under the car, a splotch of grease on his cheek. Adam shakes his head and resists the urge to wipe it away. He wonders whether that comes from Michael, or himself. Then he wonders if it matters anymore. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when Michael ends and he begins.

“Not at all,” Adam says, and passes the rest of the day without hearing from Michael again.

It isn’t until they are heading back to the depressing flat they call home that Michael stirs. May I take control, Adam? he asks.

Adam chuckles. “You don’t know how to drive,” he says.

You are correct. Michael ponders this, and Adam can feel the way he shifts their wings. Why do we even need to drive, Adam? You know I can fly.

“Because, Michael, we’re trying to be human,” Adam says.

Are we?

“I am.”

Michael scoffs in the back of his mind. Adam regrets teaching him that one. I do not see the point of this endeavour. We are not human.

Adam sighs and turns into the parking lot for their apartment. It is in a run down part of the city, and the night is dark and cold. Adam lingers in the car, listening to it putter and whirr. The heat billowing from the vents feels comforting, and he sits with his hands cupped around it and his head tilted back. If he thinks very hard, he can imagine being in a warm embrace. Michael shifts their wings until they wrap around their body, holding in the warmth. It’s the closest thing to a hug that Adam feels he will ever get again.

“We could be,” Adam says. “Or we can at least try, right? We lost so much of our lives listening to other people. I want to rebuild it, Michael, without anyone else’s input but our own.”

I do not understand.

“Give it time, buddy.”

Adam turns off the car and gets out, the night air shockingly chill compared to the warmth of the car. Michael increases their body temperature to compensate, and Adam fights a smile that isn’t all his. Michael’s distaste for the cold mirrored his own, a shared hatred that derived its origins from the cage. His smile vanishes, pulled off his face by a wave of emotion from Michael that leaves him colder.

Bundling his coat tighter around him, Adam starts towards his building, looking forward to a cup of cheap coffee and some sleep on his couch. Neither of them need to sleep, not anymore, but Adam enjoys the way his mind shuts off at night. He hopes Michael’s does too. They deserve a little respite from the swirling of their thoughts.

“Give me your money!”

Something cold and hard jabs into Adam’s back, just between his shoulder blades. Michael is alert, his grace flowing through Adam like blood. Adam shakes his head and turns around, smiling at the owner of the gun trained on his chest.

The man before them is skinny, his clothes hanging off his frame. His eyes have a sunken in, hollowed out look to them that fills Adam with pity. The hand wrapped around the gun is shaking. Adam reaches out and places his hand over it and the man flinches. His finger twitches on the trigger, and Adam feels the slight pop of grace that prevents the trigger from being depressed.

“I can handle this,” he says, and the man before him frowns.

“What? Who the fuck are you talking to, man?”

There is no need for you to handle it, Michael protests. The feathers on their wings puff out. I am perfectly capable of dealing with one human.

“I don’t want you to deal with him,” Adam says, annoyance creeping into his tone. “He’s just hungry.”

The man lowers the gun before pushing it between Adam’s eyes, shaking off Adam’s hand. “Listen, you freakin’ psycho, I just want your money, all right? So hand it over, nice and slow, and no one will die tonight.”

“Look,” Adam says, holding out his hands. “I’ll give you the money, okay? But you should at least let me buy you some dinner first. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Who the fuck cares!” The man pulls the safety back, and Adam can feel Michael’s alarm. “I’m not some charity case, asshole! This is a mugging!”

“We can talk about this—” Adam starts.

The gun fires, and Michael surges forward in the same instant, taking control of their shared body. Adam is pushed to the side, where he remains, dazed by the ringing in his ears. The bullet that is meant to have gone through his head lies on the floor, crushed by grace that is bright and searing white. Adam feels their wings extend, and knows that their eyes are glowing with that same white light.

The man is on his ass on the ground, staring up at them with something like horror. Michael takes a step forward, and Adam watches as he puts his hand on the man’s forehead.

“You have tried to kill an angel of the Lord,” Michael says. “Do you know how much of a sin that is?”

The man stutters, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Adam tries to take control again and is buffeted away by Michael’s strength. Fighting against Michael is like trying to walk through a hurricane and a tornado combined. Adam wants to stop this, but Michael is too far gone. A righteous warrior filled with righteous wrath would never stop in his judgment. Adam can only hope that the soul of this doomed man will go somewhere pleasant.

It doesn’t have to be like this, he tries anyway, a small voice amid whipping and whirling winds of wrath. You can let him go, Michael.

“He tried to hurt you,” Michael says, his outrage clear.

I forgive him.

“I do not.”

A bright, painful white light emanates from within the man. He screams, his back arching as Michael’s judgment burns through him. Adam watches, helpless, as the corpse drops back to the ground, lifeless and empty. Michael straightens and, as if realising what he did, relinquishes control back to Adam.

Adam takes a deep breath, and then another, folding their wings again. There is a woman staring at him from the front of her building, her mouth hanging open. Adam feels a rush of sorrow as he starts towards her. She shrinks back and he pauses.

“What are you?” she asks, her voice shaking. She looks over at the corpse and back to Adam. “Are you God?”

Adam laughs. “No,” he says, shaking his head, a bitter smirk on his face. “I’m very, very far from God.”

“Are you the Devil?”

Michael huffs in the back of their mind, and Adam’s expression softens. “No,” he says. “I’m not the Devil either.”

“Then what the fuck are you?” the woman asks. “Because that shit was not normal.”

“I’m just a guy,” Adam says, pressing two fingers to her forehead.

She crumples to the ground, unconscious but breathing. Adam sighs again, rubbing his face. The memory he uses to replace the one of watching the man die is a pleasant one. It’s the least he can do.

He rides the elevator to his floor, steps off, and looks around. He can hear the sirens coming, and rubs his face. He liked it here, he thinks. It was run down and dilapidated, but it was home.

Where shall we go, Adam? Michael asks after Adam finishes packing his few possessions into a duffel bag.

“Anywhere,” Adam says.

Michael is silent. Then, his voice gentle, he says, You are not just a guy, Adam Milligan. You are my friend.

“I know,” Adam says. “I love you too, buddy. Now, come on. Let’s go.”

With a flap of their wings, they go.

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

The artwork that inspired this was: Protector by kingstoken. Go take a look, because it's stunning!

[arty-e]

Alfonso’s Story Part 1

TW: Child death, Death, Disease, Plague + Blood

Alfonso was the adoptive son of Princess Matilda Espadas and Lady Iris Romero ( daughter of Three of Spades). His mothers had been banished from Matilda’s family’s court after they had eloped against Matilda’s parents wishes who had already arranged a marriage for her. Alfonso was adopted by the two after his biological grandmother had passed away when he was four. She had been a servant working for the banished couple. The three of them lived contently in their banishment until Alfonso was nine, Matilda’s parents requested for her and her family to return to their court as they wanted to meet their grandson and have Matilda as their heir once again (they only had one child and they always knew they’d call her back and be their heir). Alfonso was quickly thrown into Royal life and high expectations were suddenly pushed upon him something his mothers had never really pushed upon him:

Spades, in recent centuries, had shut itself from the rest of Cards in order to protect themselves and the knowledge they had collected over the many millennia (they had the largest archive in all of Cards). However the Isolationism had lead to the kingdom to breaking apart as it was stuck with itself and it’s issues. Matilda’s parents suffered with rebellion after rebellion through out their reign and it did not let up during her and Iris’s. Matilda was not merciful on those who took arms against her and hers, unlike her parents who tried to strike deals and be merciful for those who rose up against them. Most of the rebellions during Matilda’s reign were dealt with swiftly and quickly and squashed faster than her parents. She was rarely merciful and often had the majority of those who rose up against her executed:

A few years into Matilda’s reign, in the Spades of Five region a clearly growing rebel force began to build up it’s forces however the Five of Spades refused to ‘sort them out’ as the family felt ignored by the Royals and weren’t being given the same respect as the other Nobles. Matilda was prepared to treat the Fives the same as the rebels however Iris convinced her to take a more pragmatic and peaceful approach. They sent Alfonso to talk to the Five of Spades and convince them to sort out the rebels. While there Alfonso met the Five of Spades daughter, Isabella:

Alfonso and Isabella took a shine to one another in an instance. During Alfonso’s time at the Five of Spades home he took every opportunity to talk with Isabella which convinced her family enough to sort out the rebels. Alfonso returned to capital of Spades (Mooreport) but he stayed in contact with her, writing to her constantly and sending her gifts. Finally Alfonso requested for his mothers’ permission to marry Isabella which they agreed to though Matilda was somewhat against it as she was still annoyed with the Five of Spades ignoring their duties, Iris however was very happy for their son and encouraged him to go after Isabella. Alfonso and Isabella were married:

Isabella and Alfonso soon had their first child, Alfonso, or Alfie as they liked to call him. While Alfonso was happy with his new family Spades had been suffering with an outbreak of the Snowflake disease that had ravaged the kingdom for many years. However late into Matilda and Iris’ reign a big surge occurred and it began to kill off a lot of the Spade population; including Consort Iris. Her death had been a huge blow to Matilda who struggled to accept her wife was gone:

As Matilda grieved Alfonso did his best to keep his last remaining parent afloat but she made it very difficult for him as she stopped taking care of herself and trying to be the King of Spades. She soon followed Iris to the grave and Alfonso and Isabella were made the King and Queen of Spades. Alfonso was heartbroken from losing both his mothers to the same disease within a year of each other:

A few years after Matilda’s death Alfonso and Isabella had their second child, Michael who they adored just as much as they adored their eldest. Alfonso spent as much time as he could playing with them. Alfonso did his best to stop the spread of Snowflake disease, more than his mother or any of his predecessors ever did. But it still didn’t stop his children from getting it. When Alfie was 5 and Michael was 1 they caught the Snowflake disease. Alfonso and Isabella did everything hey could to help their sons, calling for doctors and healers from all over Spades anybody who could save them. The young princes died a few months after catching the disease leaving both Isabella and Alfonso destroyed:

Alfonso did his best to preoccupy his mind from his grief by focusing his mind on his kingdom and how to improve it. Though the rebellions were less frequent in his reign thanks to his mother’s scaring most of their people into submission, they were still about and the people of Spades were clearly unhappy. He addressed all the immediate problems that he could deal with at the time. He heavily focused on limiting the spread of the Snowflake disease and he succeeded after several years of trying. He also opened up the boarders to spades feeling that the isolationism that Spades had put itself in went against their ideology of learning, he felt it prevented them from learning and hoped that the other kingdoms would know more about solving the problems his kingdom faced. He began to communicate with the other Royals of Cards. One of the first kingdoms he open up to was Diamonds. Queen Opal XXI was who he contacted the most and the two came up with a deal that benefited both kingdoms which helped Alfonso improve the state of Spades:

Isabella was still struggling of the loss of their sons during this time and there was little Alfonso could do to comfort her. After fives years with the grief the two had a beautiful little girl they named Joanna. She was light of their lives and they were both very careful with her making sure she was safe and wouldn’t sick like her brothers had. However one day the young princess wandered away from her nursery leading to her fall down a flight of stairs in the palace. Alfonso and Isabella were struck by the heart wrenching grief once again. Alfonso could see Isabella mental health take a terrible decline that scared Alfonso, as he could barely recognise the woman he loved:

Though Alfonso wanted to focus on his grief he poured all his attention on their youngest child and son Henry. He had been born prematurely and sickly and both were told that he wasn’t expected to live long. Isabella still hurting from her previous children’s deaths distanced herself from her youngest scared if she even touched him she’d kill him by accident. Alfonso looked after Henry the whole time making sure what little time his son had would be pleasant and peaceful. The last of their children died at the age of four. He lived longer than anyone expected but it still hurt nonetheless for the two to lose him.

Isabella’s mental health began to spiral out of control blaming herself for their children’s death when no one to blame for any of them. Alfonso was just so tired from the grief and sad at how broken his darling wife was. He did his best to help her but he knew he was little help to her. With the aid of doctors and psychologist he set up the Asylum, a place where he hoped that people could go to to heal their minds. He prayed Itzcoatl that it would help save his beloved wife:

[operation-619]

Satan’s Angel

Johnny Storm x WOC!Reader

Summary: She was hidden from the world at the age of 16 when something within her awoke. Something demonic. But she has her brother to hold onto when things start to get worse, because he’s there for her. Right?

warnings: language, blood, violence, mentions of medical problems. mentions of needles, abuse and torture. 18+

WC: 2.2K

masterlist I Chapter 2

So I wrote this ack in my Quotev days, and I decided to edit it - because it was atrociously written. And I’m now posting it on here so I hope you enjoy my loves 

-619x

The world has never been in my favour, I realise that now.

I should’ve realised it years ago.

But standing here looking my estranged brother in the eyes; I finally realise that the world has led me on a path that had to end this way, no matter how hard I tried to swerve and dodge the upcoming circumstance, I would always end up staring at my brothers empty eyes, with my hand deep in his chest.

Killing him. Killing my brother.

She sat there, waiting for the pain to embrace her like a long-lost cousin. She knew it was time; her heart was spasming, she could hardly breathe. Her eyes were watery, tears sliding down her face.

Yet she sat there at the edge of her bed staring out the window that occupied the whole wall opposite her bed. She could see the mountains from her bed so clearly. It was as if she was there.

If she was there.

Her chest moved erratically, her cheeks soaked with tears, yet she sat calmly; pondering, wondering, daydreaming about a life outside these four walls that kept her trapped in her own mind.

A mind that kept her sane and crazy all at the same time. She would dream up stories of a handsome young prince saving her with a fiery kiss. Or most times it was a nightmare, a world made of purple skies and vibrant green grass, set aflame; with bodies lying across the ground as she ran with some man, her hand in his so he wouldn’t lose her, the other hand on her belly housing a precious creature. She never got the end of the nightmare because she would wake up just before a monster jumped on top of her.

She would always jolt up, sweat weighing heavy on her skin, a scream rising up her throat along with bile and the feeling on nostalgia. She hated how she knew the place she was dreaming of yet couldn’t place a finger on it.

Before she could ponder anymore, she felt the first flicker of pain, it started at the bottom of her spine, and oh-so painfully started to spread across the rest of her rigid body. She drew in a ragged breath as the pain wrapped a hand around her heart and squeezed. She clenched her eyes shut tight and tried soothe her breathing, but the hand around her heart squeezed harder. She gasped out in pain and rolled forward; landing on the floor on her knees as her hand started to scrape at her chest, desperately trying to remove the hand off of her heart. It was as if it was laughing at her attempts because next thing she knew, the hand squeezed so hard she fell forward onto her hand and screamed.

She screamed so loudly, black dots clouded her vision and danced around her. Her throat felt sore, but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Her body shook as sobs replaced the screaming in a matter of seconds. She hated this, for the past eight years it just seems to be getting worse. Ever since she surpassed her sixteenth birthday, all it has ever been was pain, pain and pain. It was tenfold as worse as it used to be. Before her sixteenth birthday it was like a build up to the pain she was feeling now. Minor headaches, to migraines, to temperatures either too hot or too cold. No one knew what was wrong with her. Not even the best doctors’ money could buy. And if it wasn’t for Victor she wouldn’t be here, with round the clock care to make sure she is okay, she knew that he loved her even though he wasn’t around as much as he used to be. She knew.

Of course, he loves you. Your all he’s got, and vice-versa.

The thoughts echoed around her head, bouncing painfully off her head.

The vibrations of the floor let her know that the people were on their way.  Moments later she felt her body being lifted from the floor, she felt herself slump against the broad chest of some man, she given up fighting against the pain and just let it take over her system. She couldn’t stop the tears, the echoed the lack of control she had over her own body as the gushed down her paling face.

“Hush now, close your eyes. I’ve got you.” The deep voice vibrated through her body, it felt oddly familiar and through all the pain she managed to look up into the familiar blue eyes of her brother.

“Vic- “her words fell short as she lost the energy to speak, instead she used all her energy to place her hand onto his smooth cheek.

“Hush, it’s okay. I’m here now.” With that statement she let her eyes roll to the back of her head, as the pain drowned her in its last tidal wave.

  Victor released a long ‘huff’ as he stopped at another traffic light. He regretted coming back to New-York at 14:00 pm when the streets would be busy with the afternoon rush. He rhythmically tapped his fingers against the arms rest and looked on through the divider, he smirks as he saw his driver’s hand gripping the wheel tightly out of frustration too.

His attention was quickly drawn to his phone when he heard the ringtone brake through the silence in the car; reaching into his jacket he removed his phone from the inside pocket of his black Louis Vuitton suit jacket.

‘Her vitals are erratic again; she’s going to go into Comatose. But I think it’s best if you came over. You can get the samples you need.’

The text message was all he needed for him to clear his throat and say;

“Michael, turn back around to the airport, please. We’re going to visit my sister.” With a nod from Michael, the car was swiftly turned around and quickly driven back to the airport. He sent a text to his pilot, telling him to ready the helicopter that will bring him to the facility he has in the Alps, which is coincidentally where he is keeping his sister.

Victors blue eyes grew stormy as he remembered how much pain his sister has been through in the past few years, the undiagnosed tantrums her body would throw sent his sister into an unbreakable cycle of pain and then unconsciousness. He knew deep down that one day she’ll have an episode that she won’t concur.

He remembers the first time it happened; he was stepping through his front door. He barley even had time to take his jacket off before he heard a scream that made his blood curl, rushing upstairs he was met with a sight that had the breath taken out of him, there hunched on the bed was his sister.

Head clasped between her hands, nails digging into her skin as if she was trying to peel her own skin off, her lower face was covered in blood from her nose, and her eyes were screaming for help, for an escape that she was so desperately seeking.

Victor rushed forward and attempted to prise her hands off her head. But was met with a force that had him crashing into wall next to the door. He looked up and saw his sister looking at him with unnatural black eyes and a hand pointed towards him with her palm open. Her eyelids fluttered before they were back to their normal hue.

“Help me…” her voice came out hoarse and timid before she convulsed onto the ground.

Surging forward Victor managed to catch her head just in time before it hit the corner of the bed frame. His vision was blurry as he looked at his sister, her head cradled in his lap as he tried to steady her from the excessive shaking.

His ears picked up the sirens and then the sound of the door getting thrown open as paramedics came rushing upstairs.

Yet he couldn’t move, his body wasn’t registering what was actually happening.  

Their voices all became mumbled as he watched them pry her out of his grip, he tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t move it just stayed there, hanging open like a fool.

He continued to stare at the group of paramedics struggling to hold his sister still as he felt two pairs of hands under his arms to haul him up.

‘Come on son.’ The voice sounded so distant and foreign to him as he let the two strangers support his weight as it appeared his own legs couldn’t do that. He hazily watched as the world around him moved without some much of a struggle. Next thing he knew he was sat on the curb with a blanket wrapped around him. Apparently for the shock.

Fuck that.

His head snapped to the side as he heard the shouting of the paramedics as the rushed his unconscious sister out of the house; one split off from the group and came over to him.

“Are you the boyfriend?” Victor shook his head, eyes trained on his sisters’ body being hauled into the back of the ambulance.

“Brother,” he managed to rasp out.

“Okay then that’s even better. Can you tell me anything about her?” His eyes stayed trained on his sister as the paramedics sorted her out in the back, the doors were wide open so he could see what they were doing.

“Yeah, yeah.” He numbly nodded. Half listening to what the man was saying.

“Any mental illness, inherited disorders from the family?” Victor continued to shake his head; the man continued asking questions, but they all had the same answer. A shake of the head from Victor Von-Doom.

“Okay can you tell me how old she is?” Victor looked down at his Rolex, his eyebrows furrowed in sadness when he realised what day it was. The watch read back 03:45am.

“October 31st, she turned sixteen forty-five minutes ago.” He finally looked over at the paramedic and noticed how young he really was, said paramedics face contorted into a look of unease. Victor sent him a look of confusion which lead to the boy looking away.

“Sorry sir, it’s just three am is considered the ‘witching hour’ in my religion, and it clashes with it being Halloween today as well- ‘the paramedic turned around and noticed the look on Victors face and cleared his throat- ‘Sorry sir. Happy birthday to her, you can ride with her if you wish.”

And with that the young boy scurried off.

Looking out the window, Victor noticed they were about to touch down on the landing pad. Exhaling unsteadily, he rolled his shoulders back preparing himself what was to come.

If only he knew.

  The steady, rhythmic beeping of the EKG machine soothed Victors heart as he stood by the window and looked out onto the scenery that was suspiciously calming. Now he understood why his sister made him replace the tiny window for this huge one. It was once a wall, but with the extra light and the view it made the room less constricting, less likely of a panic attack for her.

“Hey.” The soft voice barley reached his ears, but he heard it and he couldn’t be happier. Spinning around he marched to her side and plonked himself down onto the chair that he’d been sat in for the past fourteen hours.

“Name?”

“(Y/N) Von-Doom. Victor?”

“No, Birthday?” “Monday, October Thirty-first, three am. Victor please.”

“Favourite person in the world?”

“Steve Harvey.”

“Hey, what happened to it being me”

“You wouldn’t shut up. Your making my head hurt Victor.” She raised a hand to rub her temple, only to hiss in pain as her muscles burned. Tears clouded her vison as she remembered what happened.

“Did anyone get hurt?” She was met with a ‘no’ from her brother. She mumbled a response that Victor couldn’t hear. He watched her as she looked out the window; eyes glassed over and distant, like she was somewhere else.

“I can’t do this anymore,” her voice was quiet, lacking emotion. It caused Victors heart to beat faster. He couldn’t let her go. Not now.

“(Y/N)?”

“I mean, here. Here in this room. Because these episodes are getting stronger, I can feel it. I probably won’t survive the next one. Or fuck, the one after that. Who knows Victor. I need to leave, get out of here. I don’t care where, I just need to leave.” Her sobs grew louder as did the EKG machine, he tried to soothe her, but it only grew worse.

Doctors and nurse appeared in a matter of minutes, they checked the vitals and the machine only to see her hysterically crying.

“Ma’am, you need to calm down for me please.” The nurse’s voice was sweet, almost taunting to (Y/N). She sighed when the girls crying grew louder. Nodding towards the older man in a pair of grey scrubs she quickly caught (Y/N)’s attention as the Doctor came forward and injected her with a mild sedative.

With in seconds the room grew quite as they all watched (Y/N)’s eyes close slowly.

Just before she went completely under; Victor cupped her cheek.

“I need you. So, I promise I’ll find out what’s going on. You’ll get out of here soon. I promise.”

He watched her eyes close completely and looked out of the window, leaning back against the chair he spoke one last time before closing his eyes:

“I promise.”

——

Chapter 2

[pastelwitchling]

About your last fic: so wonderful but my heart broke for Alex. 😢 He doesn’t believe Michael and that he loves him as much as he loves Michael. Can you please write a part two where Michael shoves him (handprint???) how much he loves him and that he never loved/loves anyone as much as Alex??? Please I need a fic where Michael shows his love to him! PLEASE! Thx you! 🦋🌻 

***

               “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?” Michael said.

               He looked up. He and Alex were in a small room, sitting against opposite walls, their knees almost touching.

               Alex’s head fell back with a shaky sigh, his eyes falling shut. “What?”

               “Y’know,” Michael shrugged a shoulder. “Sneaking around together, running from the Big Bad, only safe with each other.”

               Alex scoffed, his eyes still closed. “You mean only in danger because of each other.”

               Michael’s smile dimmed. “Come on, Alex.”

               Alex pressed the bottom of his palm into his eye, his fingers coated in blood. Michael swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We don’t put each other in danger, that was a stupid thing to say.”

               “Hey,” Michael said, scooting closer so that their legs were tangled. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay. You know that right? I’ll get us out of here.”

               Alex dropped his hand, his eyes finding Michael’s in an instant. He smiled tiredly. “Yeah, I know.”

               Michael mustered a light tone as he leaned in, covering Alex’s hand on his stomach with his own. Michael’s bundled up jacket was almost soaked through-and-through now. Alex’s fingers coated, too, and frozen to the touch.

               “Just keep pressure on that, okay?”

               Alex nodded, his smile almost amused. “Okay.”

               They were silent a moment as Michael thought hard and quickly about what they could do. Outside were Project Shepherd agents looking for them, and Michael couldn’t bear thinking of what Jesse’s associates would do to Alex once they caught him. He’d taken the blame for Greg, and Michael had always asked him why, but now he understood. Alex had known this would happen, and had always sought to protect his brothers.

               His self-sacrificing, kind, beautiful, stupid airman.

               “Any second now,” he assured Alex when he suddenly winced in pain. “Max and Isobel and Liz and Kyle and your brothers – they’re all looking for us. They’ll find us. But not before I kick everybody’s ass out there.”

               Alex smiled like he wanted to laugh, but his brows were furrowed in pain and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

               “Guerin,” Alex said and swallowed. “Michael. I… I need you to listen to me.”

               Michael leaned forward on his knees at once. “What is it?”

               “I love you.”

               He stilled. “What?”

               “I don’t care that you don’t feel the same way,” Alex went on. “I don’t care that you wanted someone else more. You’ve been it for me since the day I met you.”

               “I – Alex –”

               “I love you so much it hurts.” Alex huffed a wet chuckle and hissed. “Literally.”

               “Stop it,” Michael warned. “Stop talking like you’re… like you’re going to…”

               “I love you I love you I love you,” he whispered at the end, a tear falling down his cheek. “I’m not scared of dying, Guerin, but… what I said to you when I was with Forrest, all that anger…”

“Alex, please –”

“I don’t want it to be the last thing I tell you.” Alex’s eyes shut on a sigh. “Not as epic as you wanted, I know, but –”

Michael surged forward, kissing each of Alex’s eyes. He pressed their foreheads together roughly. “Stop talking. Stop saying goodbye to me. You and I never say goodbye to each other, remember? We both suck at it too much.”

Alex managed barely a huff of a chuckle, leaning heavily on Michael’s hands now cupping his jaw. “You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not.” Michael tried to steady his hands. “You’re hallucinating.”

“It’s okay, Guerin,” he whispered so softly that, had Michael not been pressed so closely to him, he may have missed it. “It’s going to be okay.”

Michael wanted to cry at Alex repeating his own words back to him. He was supposed to protect Alex this time, and here the airman was, trying to comfort him.

               Until he wasn’t. Until his body sagged against the wall, and the hand that had been pressed against his wound fell limp onto the ground, and his head hung in Michael’s hands.

               “Alex?” Michael shook him. “Alex?!” Alex did not respond, and Michael moved in close enough that he was carrying Alex against his side. “No, no, no,” he breathed. “No no no no NO! Come on, Alex, wake up!” he begged, holding Alex’s face with one hand, his other around Alex’s shoulders. “Please, baby, please wake up. Open your eyes for me, come on.”

               But if Alex could hear him, he didn’t respond. He was as cold as ice, his breathing weaker. Michael pressed two trembling fingers to Alex’s neck, his pulse almost nonexistent.

               “Please, no,” he pressed his lips to Alex’s hair. “Please, not him. Not him.” Desperately, his hand fell from Alex’s jaw to his stomach, over his wound.

               “I don’t care that you don’t feel the same way.”

A tear fell down Michael’s cheek. “Please.”

“I don’t care that you wanted someone else more.”

“I’ll save you, Alex. I swear I will.”

“You’ve been it for me since the day I met you.”

               “Come on, Guerin,” he shut his eyes tight. “Focus. You can do this. Just focus on your powers.”

               “I love you.”

               A sob escaped Michael’s lips before he could help it, his nails digging into Alex’s skin.

               “I can’t do it,” he cried. “I’m sorry, Alex, I can’t do it.”

               He couldn’t focus on his powers, on the energy coursing through his veins, on gathering it all into one point. He couldn’t think of healing, and the science that went with that. He couldn’t think of anything but Alex.

               “I love you so much,” he breathed into his hair. “Please don’t leave me here.”

               He thought of the first time he’d seen Alex, but Alex hadn’t seen him. Here was this kid, dressed in all black with piercings and eyeliner. Everyone was keeping their distance from the scary-looking emo, but none of them saw Alex smile and laugh around Liz, the way his eyes glittered and turned hazel in the sunlight peeking through the classroom windows. None of them had heard Alex singing softly as he played the most beautiful piano music Michael had ever heard.

               So Michael had taken his guitar, hoping it would be enough to get his attention. And for the first time, Alex had talked to him. Really talked to him. Not only that, he’d offered Michael a safe space, because of course he did.

               Michael’s heart had hammered as Alex had said his name for the first time, and he’d never understood why. Until he did.

               “I love you,” he whispered, shutting his eyes tight. “I love you so much, Alex. Please wake up for me. Please wake up.”

               He thought of Alex laughing, Alex crying, Alex kissing him, touching him. He’d wanted more than anything to be with Alex, but something always seemed to get in the way. He couldn’t lose Alex again. It would kill him.

               He’d promised Alex, long ago, that he would protect him. And he’d failed at every turn, in every way. He couldn’t fail now. He’d die before he lost Alex again.

               Then a faint light shined behind his lids, and Michael opened his eyes to find his hand emitting a bright red glow.

               His skin felt searing hot, and his heart stuttered in his chest at the shock of what was happening, but somehow he managed to keep his hand on Alex’s wound.

               “Come on,” he whispered, even as pain began to overtake every inch of his body, even as he felt nausea eating at him from the inside, even as he felt every muscle and bone ache and burn. Still, he thought of Alex, his touch, his warmth, his joy and kindness and intelligence and courage. Everything that made him so relentlessly, wonderfully Alex.

               “Come on.”

               The red light glowed brighter than Michael had ever seen it glow on Max’s fingers, and it spread throughout every inch of Alex’s body, as if blanketing him.

               Then the light faded, Alex’s wound closed, and Michael only barely managed to hold the contents of his stomach back as Alex lay utterly still. A beat, two, three, then –

               Alex heaved a deep sigh, his eyes flying open as he sat up. Or tried to, at least.

               “Alex,” Michael breathed as Alex panted, looking around frantically. “Alex.” He pulled him in tighter against his chest, hugging him as more tears fell. “Alex. Alex. Alex.”

               “What,” Alex managed, his eyes wide. “What happened?”

               Alex clawed at his stomach, pulling up his shirt and jacket to reveal a handprint glowing the colors of the spaceship piece; violet and pink and orange and gold – right there, on Alex’s smooth, blood-stained skin.

               Alex looked up at Michael in wonder. “D-Did you –”

               “I don’t know how,” Michael shook his head, crying. And just because he couldn’t help it, he kissed the side of Alex’s head, then his cheek, all the while Alex dazed, as if he’d just woken from a long sleep. “I – I didn’t think I was – I was even doing it right. Alex,” he breathed his name again, kissing his temple. “You’re okay. You’re really okay.”

               “I’m… okay,” Alex muttered, looking just as surprised by it. “I’m okay.”

               “I love you so much,” Michael sniffled, kissing Alex’s cheek, then his jaw. His hand came down to cover his own handprint on Alex’s stomach, lacing his and Alex’s fingers together. “I love you.”

               “Michael,” Alex whispered, his brows furrowed, his eyes glassy, and his voice hoarse. “You saved me. Thank you.”

               Michael shut his eyes, holding Alex tighter. When would Alex realize that Michael would go to the ends of the earth for him? That he’d risk anything? Do anything?

               “You’re thanking me?” Michael huffed a wet chuckle into Alex’s soft hair. It seemed like an odd place to be inhaling his scent, to be so relieved and happy. “I should kill you.”

               Alex whimpered, clutching Michael’s jacket sleeve tightly as if afraid that he would suddenly disappear. “Okay, um,” he said. “One problem down. One to go. How’re we going to get out of here?”

               But before Michael could even try answering, his body rebelled at the first chance it got, and he twisted away from Alex, sitting on all fours to throw up.

               “Michael,” Alex gasped. He put a hand on Michael’s back, his other on Michael’s arm, keeping him steady. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

               Michael definitely didn’t feel it. His whole body ached, begging him to lie down, to stay still. But they had to escape. Michael had to get Alex home safely.

               He heaved, his lungs burning and his head swimming. Everything turned muffled. Only Alex’s voice was piercing through the cotton in his ears.

               “It’s going to be okay,” Alex promised him, his hold on Michael tight and warm and soothing. “I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

               But Michael already knew that. He may not have believed it ten years ago, may have feared losing Alex more than losing a limb, but things were different now. Now he knew, he understood. Alex had never wanted to leave him, but he always left because he’d felt forced, unwanted. None of that seemed to matter anymore. Alex seemed determined to stay at Michael’s side whether he was wanted or not.

               But he had to know now, didn’t he? He had to know how badly Michael wanted him. How badly he had always wanted him.

               That was when Michael heard it; something muffled creaking behind them. The room shined with light, and they both looked over their shoulders to find Max, Isobel, and Greg standing there, panting and ruffled.

               Alex still did not let Michael go, and Michael was glad for it, because right then, he passed out, falling sideways and onto Alex’s chest. Before darkness overtook him, Michael heard his siblings and Alex call his name, Alex’s arms warm and tight around him, keeping him safe, even as he slept.

                 Michael woke to find himself in his own small bed, Max’s face in Alex’s stomach, his fingers hovering just above the airman’s skin as Alex held his now clean sweater up, which was not a sight Michael ever wanted to wake up to; his brother staring at his airman’s body.

               “Hey,” Michael grumbled, his voice weak to his own ears. “What’re you doing to him?”

               Max did not move from his position as he shook his head, bent over to be at eye-level with Alex’s bellybutton, his eyes squinted.

               “Alex said you healed him,” he said. “I had to be sure.”

               Alex, on the other hand, looked only relieved that Michael had woken up. “You’re okay.”

               “Don’t move,” Max warned, touching the handprint gently with a finger.

               “Move,” Michael argued as he struggled to sit up. His head felt about a million pounds, but he held out his arms for Alex. “C’mere.”

               Alex huffed a weary chuckle, let his sweater down, and all but fell into Michael’s embrace, burying his face in Michael’s shoulder.

               “Alex,” he breathed into the crook of Alex’s neck. “You’re okay.”

               “Thanks to you,” Alex said. “I felt like my heart was about to stop.”

               Michael held him tighter. “Don’t talk like that. I told I would save you, didn’t I?”

               Alex leaned back despite Michael urging him to stay, and looked to Max.

               “It’s thanks to you, too, Max. If it wasn’t for you and Isobel and my brother…”

               Max shook his head, leaning against the opposite side of the trailer. “Nah. It was mostly Kyle and Liz and Flint, to be honest. If it hadn’t been for their little homemade knock-out serum, we would all be at Project Shepherd’s mercy.”

                “Still,” Alex said. “I owe you one.”

               “No, you don’t, Alex,” he said, his cheeks pink as he looked away. “You’ve done enough for all of us. I’ll – uh – go check on the others. Tell ‘em you guys are awake.”

               Alex and Michael nodded, and once the airstream door was closed, Alex sat back against the far end of Michael’s bed which, Michael thought, was much too far away.

               Alex was no longer smiling, though he let Michael hold onto one hand. “When I woke up, when you… used your powers to save me, I… I felt things, and…” he shook his head. “I’m going to ask this once, and then never again. It’s a question I’ve had since day one, and the one that I could never bring myself to ask… and I want an honest answer.”

               Michael held on tightly to his hand. He wanted more of him, to hold Alex in his arms, close to his chest, but he tried to focus on what the airman was saying, on the uncertainty of his tone, on the small furrow of his brows. “Shoot.”

               “Why did you choose Maria?”

               Michael stilled. “You think I chose Maria?”

               “I don’t think, Guerin, I know.”

               “Alex –”

               “Guerin,” Alex said with the air of someone who was struggling to speak at all. This question, Michael realized, terrified him. When he spoke next, it was in a whisper. “Why?”

               “I chose easy,” Michael said, a lump in his throat. “I chose new. And different. You were too… hard. I didn’t choose Maria, Alex. I just wanted easy.”

               Alex shook his head, his eyes glassy. “Did you love her?”

               “Yes,” Michael answered instantly. “But not like you think.”

               Hope bloomed in Alex’s miserable expression. Michael’s heart shattered as he realized that he was the one who had left the love of his life so broken in the first place. The one person he never wanted to hurt became the person he hurt most.

               “Yeah?” Alex breathed, his voice cracking.

               Michael shrugged a helpless shoulder, managing a quirk of his own lips, even as his eyes burned. “Yeah.”

               Alex pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, bracing himself for his last question. He visibly swallowed. “And me? Do you really feel…” he covered the hidden handprint with his own hand, “so much?”

               Michael wanted to cry. To think he had messed up so badly that Alex couldn’t believe the love he was given, the love Michael had for him.

               He reached for Alex’s stomach, covering Alex’s hand with his own. He wrapped his arm around Alex’s waist, and pulled him in against him so that Alex was almost straddling him. Michael pressed their foreheads together, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

               “We’re cosmic, Private,” he whispered, his mouth brushing Alex’s, his breath fanning Alex’s lips. “I’ll die before I lose you again. I’ll die.”

               He closed the distance between them, finally taking Alex’s lips in slow, open-mouthed kisses, sighing contentedly as he kissed Alex again and again and again. Alex cupped his jaw and kissed him as if he’d been starving, and Michael thought he actually might die in utter bliss. It felt so good to have Alex’s hands on him again, to feel Alex’s soft lips against his own, to feel Alex’s body press against his.

               Michael’s body still ached, but he wrapped his arms tighter around Alex’s waist, happy for the burning in his bones if it meant he got to hold Alex like this. He brought the airman down, laying him beside him on the bed and kissing him into the pillow.

               “No,” Alex suddenly said, trying to move, but Michael kept kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “W-We can’t, you just woke up.”

               “And I feel great,” Michael muttered, sliding a hand beneath Alex’s sweater, resting it on the handprint. Alex’s skin was still so smooth and warm, his body pleading to be touched, kissed, worshipped.

               “Y-You need to rest,” Alex said breathlessly, and gasped when Michael slid his tongue into his mouth.

               “I’d rather touch you.” Alex pushed gently at Michael’s shoulders, and Michael groaned as he was led back to lie in bed. “Alex!”

               “There’ll be plenty of time to touch you when you’re feeling better,” Alex said, caressing his cheek. He leaned in, took Michael’s lips in a bruising kiss that made Michael actually growl, and pecked him just once more before he sat up.

               Michael clutched his sleeve to keep him there, but Alex seemed to have no intention of leaving as he crossed his legs, settling into the opposite side of the bed. Michael was unable to help the smile that tore at his lips, nor the tears that filled his eyes as Alex covered his legs with the blanket, making himself comfortable right here in Michael’s space.

               Alex held up his sweater, looking down at the handprint. “This is insane,” he said with a shake of his head, smiling softly as if he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. “I can feel it, everything you… you feel, it’s – it’s almost overwhelming…. Hey, why are you crying?”

               “I’m not,” Michael sniffled, wiping his face roughly with one hand. He got up and put his head in Alex’s lap, hugging his waist tightly. “Just stay here. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

               Alex said nothing for a moment, then Michael felt him shifting beneath him. For a second, Michael panicked that Alex was trying to leave. Then he felt the blanket come up to his chin, saw Alex drag over a pillow to place behind him so that he would be more comfortable. He felt Alex’s arm come around him, shielding him from the cold, his other hand resting in his curls.

               Michael wanted to curse at his eyes for tearing up again. He held Alex tighter and snuggled his face deeper into his lap, closing his eyes and inhaling Alex’s scent.

               “Go to sleep, Guerin,” Alex said so softly that the beautiful sound erased all the pain from Michael’s body. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

Here it is; the last prompt in my inbox, and it was a malex one! For now, I’m not taking any more prompts, but I’ll let you guys know when I do.

Anon, I’m so sorry, I have a crap memory. I don’t even remember what first part this is referring to, but... here’s the second part 😅 In my defense, I write a lot of angst.

I’m also very sorry that this took so long. I promise you, I wanted to write it, and I had always planned to (it was just staring at me every time I went into my inbox), but I wanted to only respond with a fic that I was proud of, and I’m quite happy with how this one turned out. Could be better, obviously, but still. I do hope you enjoy it, and that it was -- again, so sorry 😖 -- worth the long wait.

[cornfields-and-bad-dreams]

All the kings men

@sorcererinslytherin asked for more Geoff,Gavin,Michael content so I decided to dive a little deeper into the kidnapping scene from this piece.

Summary: A look at events from Michael and Gavin’s points of view.

Word count: 1,622

Warnings: Mention of blood and violence.

Rating: PG-13

It was Lad's Night, and the boys were having fun.  Michael, Gavin, and Jeremy were enjoying themselves at some little bar tucked away in an alley, the bartender didn't seem to mind their rowdy behavior as long as the money kept coming, and the other's in the bar seemed to know not to start anything with them.  It was a perfect night, unfortunately, good times don't last forever.  

Jeremy had called it quits shortly before midnight while Michael and Gavin decided to wait until the last call.  Once last call came and went the two men were left to drunkenly make their way home, leaning on each other for support the duo stumbled their way down the street.  All of a sudden a dark van pulled up beside them, the side door swinging open to reveal a small group of men.  Jumping out the men lunged for Michael and Gavin.  Being outnumbered, and highly inebriated the two lads were quickly subdued.  The last thing either of them remembered was the interior of the van.

Michael was the first to wake up, his head ached and the lights overhead hurt his eyes, he tried raising his arm to shield himself but quickly found that he was bound to a chair.

"I think you'll find my men did a thorough job of tying you up."  A voice called out from behind him.

A man soon appeared before Michael, he was a greasy looking man, older with thinning hair and a rounded gut.  He reminded Michael of an old Marlon Brando.  A cigar managed to hang from his lips even as he spoke.

"You and your friend have been out for a while now."  Suddenly Michael could hear his phone ringing, the man laughed.  "Your boss is getting worried, he and your other compatriots have been trying to reach you two."

Behind him, Michael could hear Gavin begin to stir.

"Oh, looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake."

Gavin mumbled a bit as he tried to move, but soon enough he came to the realization of what was going on.

"Michael boy, I think we're in deep trouble."

"You don't know the half of it."  Another voice called out from somewhere in front of Gavin.

A tall man in a black turtleneck leaned against a table, on the table was an array of weapons and other implements of torture.  The man smiled menacingly at Gavin.  Standing up straight he came around the table, picking up a blade, and made his way towards the two men.

"Mr. Cunningham has given me permission to work my magic on you two."  He twirled the blade in his hand.

Gavin pulled at his restraints.

"Gavin?  What's going on?  I can't see."  Michael asked frantically.

"What's going on is that Tucker here."  Mr. Cunningham gestured to the other man "Is going to have a little fun with you before the real work begins."

Tucker ran the blade across Gavin's cheek, cutting into the skin ever so slightly making him wince, and made his way around in front of Michael.  Pushing the blade into his arm he quickly pulled it away leaving a shallow cut, a short yelp of pain escaped Michael's lips.

"What do you want from us?"  Michael glared at Mr. Cunningham.

"It's not what I want from you, it's what I want from your boss.  You two are just leverage."  The man chuckled, turning to leave he stopped and looked back a final time.  "Remember Tucker, I need them alive.  Otherwise, do what you want to them."

"With pleasure sir."

It was nearly 6 am when Mr. Cunningham returned, Michael and Gavin looked rough, they'd be cut, stabbed, burned, and much more.  Their clothes were torn and they both had trouble keeping their heads up, let alone their eyes open.  Their breath was ragged and wheezy, blood, sweat, and tears stained their bodies.  The two had clearly been through hell, meanwhile, Tucker stood nearby calmly watching with a sickening smile on his face.

"Now," Mr. Cunningham began, "I think it's time we called your boss."

Using Michael's phone the older man made the call.  Michael and Gavin could faintly hear Geoff's voice, the two perked up, Mr. Cunningham just laughed.

"You can call me Mr. Cunningham.  You've probably figured this out by now, but I have something of yours, two somethings to be exact.  Say hello boys." He held out the phone in the direction of Michael and Gavin.

"Geoff, Geoff help!  Please for the love of god!"

"Help, help us!  Please Geoff hurry!"

The two yelled over each other.

Mr. Cunningham spoke into the phone once again.

"Oh Mr. Ramsey, you're not the one with the upper hand here, you don't get to make demands.  If you want your boy's back you're gonna have to do as I tell you, or else."

The man pulled a gun from his belt and aimed at Gavin's foot, pulling the trigger Gavin cried out in pain.

"Fuck you, goddammit you asshole, you're gonna pay for this."  Michael thrashed about a new wave of fight surging in him.

Mr. Cunningham scoffed and turned away from the men, disappearing through a door as he discussed ransom demands with Geoff.

"You really think your boss is gonna come for you?"  Tucker laughed.

"What are you on about?"  Gavin questioned.

"Do you really expect him to care?  From what I hear you two haven't been on the payroll very long, just a month or two.  In this business, you can't afford to care about guys like you."

"Guys like us?  What the hell does that mean?"  Micheal demanded.

"Grunts, henchmen, nobodies.  You're not special, you're just an employee, you're replaceable."

With that Tucker walked out the same way Cunningham had gone.

"You don't think he's right, do you, Michael?"

"No, no Geoff will come for us.  I'm sure he will."  Michael wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, Gavin, or himself.

Michael and Gavin sat alone in the room they'd woken up in for a long time, they were tired and exhausted from torture and the sheer mental toll of it all.  The men weren't sure how long they'd been sitting there, their best guess being four hours, their hope was dwindling.  All of a sudden one of the doors burst open.  At first, the two men thought it was Mr. Cunningham or possibly that Tucker guy.  But quickly it was discovered to be Geoff, Jeremy, and Alfredo.

"Michael, Gavin!"  Geoff rushed toward them the other two following behind scanning the area.

"Geoff, thank god."  Micheal exhaled.

"Took you long enough." Gavin joked weakly.

"Jesus Christ, what did he do to you?" Geoff slowed down as he approached the two men, checking them over as he reached out hesitantly.  Geoff cupped Michael's face gently, tilting it up to get a better look.  Michael winced, causing Geoff to pull back.

"The place is clear."  Jeremy came up behind Geoff, who turned to look at him and Alfredo.

"Radio Jack to pull up close, then help me get them untied.  And be careful, they're in bad shape."

As carefully as they could the three men freed Michael and Gavin from their restraints.  Gavin had completely passed out by the time he'd been freed so Geoff carried him out while Alfredo and Jeremy helped Michael to walk.  Getting the two men into Jack's car, they took off for the penthouse where a private medical crew was waiting.

Both Michael and Gavin were out for the rest of the day, their wounds were treated and pain killers had been administered.  Geoff stayed close to both the men as they rested in bed, late into the night even when Jack urged him to sleep he remained.

Gavin was the first to stir this time, waking up early the next morning to find Geoff asleep between the two beds that had been set up for him and Michael.

"Geoff?"  His voice was hoarse.

At the call of his name, Geoff woke up.

"Huh?  Gavin?  You're awake.  Thank fuck you're awake."  He placed a hand over his heart.

"Of course I am, you're not gonna get rid of me that easily." he laughed.

"Don't joke about this, I was really scared I was gonna lose you two."

"It's all in a day's work isn't it?" Gavin seemed genuinely confused.

"I'm still allowed to worry about you, I care a lot about you, Michael, too.  I care about everyone in this crew."

"Yeah, but I mean, we're not really special are we?  Just some nobodies you found on the street.  You could have easily found two new replacements."  Gavin's tone was suddenly very sad and dejected.  He looked away from Geoff to stare toward the end of his bed.

"Gavin."  Geoff took him by the hand, pulling his attention back on him, "I don't know what's got you thinking like that but it's not true.  You and Michael are irreplaceable, you're not nobodies you're my friends, more than that even you're like family to me.  Everyone in the crew is, no exceptions."  Geoff's tone was serious.

"Really?"

"When you and Michael didn't come home, I nearly lost my mind with worry.  I didn't know if you were even alive, it nearly made me sick to think something had happened to you.  So I don't want to hear you ever doubt you're importance ever again, and if I need to prove it to you I'll do whatever it takes."

"No, Geoff, I-I believe you.  You mean a lot to me too." Gavin smiled

"I'm glad."

Geoff stood up and leaned in to give Gavin a kiss on his temple.

"Rest up now, you and Michael have a lot of healing to do."

[the-slasher-files]

Temper Temper - Slasher pt 2

INCLUDES MICHAEL ONESHOT

TW: nswf, blood, knifeplay, just angry dirty sex   

WORDS:  1564

The house was quiet. Michael had gone out hours ago, and you awaited nervously, the clock ticking on the wall seemed to grow louder and louder with each passing minute, assaulting your ears. You had already had a bad day at work and you just wanted to be held by your man and forget your day. The sky had gone dark and you tried to keep yourself busy to not think about what was keeping him. Usually, he was never gone longer than 3 hours but at this point, it was pushing 5. You gave Michael a phone so he would text you if he would be late or if there was an issue, but tonight your phone was silent. Something had to be wrong, he would always text you, even as simple as “late”.

Trying to ease yourself from the panic and now anger growing, you grabbed a bottle of wine from the basement. You were never a drinker but something had to help. Struggling with the wine opener and your shaky hands, you accidentally spilt a good portion of the wine all over yourself, and the tile floor. “shit, shit, shit” you spoke to yourself, hurrying to get your shirt and jeans off throwing them immediately into the washing machine, hoping the stains would come out. Just grabbing the first thing you saw to your left, and putting it on to cover yourself from the cold air. It was one of Michael’s coveralls, luckily this one was not covered in blood. It absolutely drowns your frame, rolling up the legs and sleeves it somewhat worked for this quick situation. Running back upstairs, you grabbed a towel and started cleaning the floor. 

Hearing the door click behind you, you knew who it was. A little sigh of relief passed your lips, but now you just felt anger grow. The footsteps walked towards you as you were on your hands and knees cleaning the floor. “What happened to your phone?” you asked him, breaking the silence. Michael stopped in his tracks, not wanting to answer the question. He was staring at you wiping the substance off the tiles. He had many questions, mainly, why were you wearing his coveralls? what did you spill now? and were you questioning his freedom? None of these questions he liked, and each one made him madder than the last. 

You turned to him, still on your knees exposing to him that you were only wearing your bra and underwear underneath his clothes. Michael was sprayed with blood and his arm was visibly cut and bleeding, holding his blade in his right hand and tilting his head watching you. “You trying to tease me?” he hoarsely spoke. Michael didn’t like teasing too much because he would completely lose it on you. Tearing off his mask and throwing it on the kitchen counter letting his wavy dark hair fall into his face with a sigh.

“Maybe I am... you never answered my texts or told me you were going to be late.” You told him bravely, stepping into dangerous territory. Standing up and putting the wine soaked towel away, the shape followed you. “Michael I got you that phone for a reason... I worry about you when you’re kil-” he cut off your sentence by grabbing your arm “I didn’t kill tonight... they got away... well one did” Michael spoke quietly filled with frustration, he never admitted to having a person get away. Your eyes widened knowing that you will have to fill his desires tonight, and when that happens, it is not pretty. 

“Michael..” you reached for his face but he grabbed your throat, pushing you against the nearest wall with a thud. Clawing at his arm that was holding you in place, he examined your helpless body squirm, liking what he was seeing. Using the tip of his knife to push the coveralls off your shoulders, as you shuttered at the cold metal. 

“Are you just gonna stare at me, or do something?” you gasped under his grip smirking, knowing it would piss him off. You both needed a release in the best and worst ways tonight. His large hand tightened around your throat completely cutting off air supply. “I will do what I want with you, when I want” His voice dripping with authority and coldness. Michael was always in charge and he needed you to know that. 

He let you go, letting you collapse to his chest gasping for air. Michael pulled the coveralls off you, running his cold calloused hands over you, teasing your nipples through your lacy bra. “Never wear my clothes again.” He was always possessive of his things, and that included you. 

Feeling your breathes even out again, he tugged your hair moving you down toward his already hard cock. Holding your head in place, he let you unzip his coveralls, freeing his large member. A raspy moaned escaped his lips as you welcomed him into your mouth. Tears welled up in your eyes as he pulled your head so you were completely full of him, gagging, he was too big for your throat. 

“Look at me” He ordered, loving you choking on him. He controlled your head back and forth on him by the makeshift ponytail he made in his hand, letting go of you he put both of his hands on the wall, skull fucking you harshly, grunting and moaning, making you cry and gag. Fuck, he loved you.

Pulling away from you he sat of the edge on the kitchen table. Wiping your tears and mouth, on your knees, needy and wet. “Here.. now” he demanded pointing at his lap. “Now?” you challenged, crawling slowly to him. You were the only person that could mentally and physically challenge him, and push him to his limits. Michael’s eyes darkened as if the devil himself was looking at you. 

Making it to him, kneeling in front of the large man, he leaned down meeting his lips with yours, being strangely gentle, only for him to stand up, grab you by the throat and bend you over on the table roughly. Not wasting any time he pulled your panties aside and shoved himself into you, hearing you squeal and pound the table with your fist.  

“God... fuck.. Michael” Inhaling sharp breaths as he thrusting in and out of you violently, ramming the edge of the table into your abdomen. Pulling yourself up, holding his neck, moaning into his ear, as he placed kisses down your jaw and neck. “You’re my good little whore” Michael spoke deeply making you shiver. He brought up his knife, you thought he put down, to your throat. You could feel yourself losing control and your walls clenched around him, dripping your juices down his leg. “Good girl” 

Spinning you around, making you face him, he picked you up and placed you once again on the table, but on your back. His large cold hands grabbing at your thighs pulling them apart to see your sloppy entrance, taking his knife cutting your soaking panties off your recovering body. “Michael” you whined “those were nice” he just smirked looking you in eyes and moving his knife to your bra. “If you cut that I will leave you.” 

“You can never leave me” he harshly declared, cutting the bra in half with one monition. “You fucker” he evilly laughed, and put his throbbing cock back inside you, making you arch your back and moan. Slamming into you watching his cock stretch you, making a bulge in your lower stomach. 

“Fuck” you cried, when Michael grabbed your shoulders impaling you over and over, using you like a fuck toy. Feeling his own orgasm coming he grabbed the blade of his knife, and rubbed the cold blunt handle on your hot throbbing clit with it. “oh, fuck... babe... babe” you moaned writhing with pleasure at the new sensation. 

Michael’s hand was now dripping with his own blood, by gripping the knife blade, allowing the pain and pleasure to mix into a dangerous combination for him. As your second orgasm hit it triggered his, your constricting walls were too much for this master of self control, and he had succumbed to his pleasure, coating your insides, and now stabbing the knife into the wooden table making you jump under him, the knife was inches away from your head. 

The kitchen air filled with hot breathes calming down from the surges of pleasure. “Michael... I fucking love you.” placing kisses all over his hovering sweaty body. Groaning he pulled out of you, making you moan as well. Michael kissed your lips interrupting your breathing that was trying to return to normal. He brought up his hands supporting your neck, getting you bloody from the self inflicted wound. Grabbing the injured hand, slowly bringing it up to your lips, licking some blood away from the palm and sucking his fingers, making him want to lose it again. 

“You might need stitches” you whispered as he returned to reality. Examining his hand he just shook his head, and walked over to the sink grabbing a towel and wrapping the wound. Michael carefully picked you up, carrying you to bed. He gently placed you in the sheets, planting small kisses on you, and cleaning his blood off you. 

“You are perfect” he said endearingly, breaking the silence.      

[demwhore]

Rocketeer (N.YT)

Pairing: Jaeger Pilot! Yuta & Female Reader

featuring some nct and wayv members

Jaeger! au | Pacific Rim! au

Description:  It takes high courage to ride a Jaeger and to kill a Kaiju.

Or: Yuta deadpanned, “I’m a fucking Jaeger pilot. That is something I should boast about.”

words ➙ 15k

genre ➙ sci-fi, angst, romance, action, fantasy, smut

warnings ➙ major character death, graphic description of monsters, physical violence, language, scenes of making out, smut 

A/N ➙ I am deeply inspired by the movie, Pacific Rim. However, i made some changes in the plot. This was rushed, im sorry. This wasn’t proofread, I apologize for some grammatical errors. This took me a while to write but it was worth it. Happy Reading! Kindly reblog and like! <3

P.S ➙  I edited the fic poster using photoshop cs4 and polarr. All credits (pictures used) belong to the perspective owners (sm entertainment & the creators of Pacific Rim) that edit took me ages (please credit me if you wanted to repost the edit, don’t let my efforts go to waste D:) I also created the moodboard (in the teaser), all pictures used are from pinterest. I had to cry blood while editing oml lol, however it was enjoyable and im drooling for yuta pls claim me

Playlist ➙ rocketeer by far east movement, surrender by cash cash, i’m feeling good by michael bublé, pacific rim by ramin djawadi & tom morello

Tags ➙ @shinseobs​ [hi tiff, ily so much!], @insomni-writing​ [hi somni, thank you for proofreading the draft, ur the best!], @jaehyunspaghetti​ [hi bby, i hope u are doing well!], @neocultvretechs​ [hi my lovely kai, i hope u enjoy my little yuta fic offering to u], @milkinqjungs​ [love u], @jaextapose​ [ruth ur the best ;)], and all the yuta stans out there!

Kaiju ( 怪獣, かいじゅう, kaijū) Strange, Giant Beast.

Jaeger (yāɡər, German) Hunter.

“Is this a gift for winning against the Kaijus?”

Yuta murmured, “Ask me to fuck you, and I’ll glady do it.”

You whispered back, “Then do it.”

He responded well; responded to a need he could no longer control. He was driven by lust, passion and determination. Yuta crashed his lips onto yours. Your lips parted on a quiet moan; your hands busy hovering over your boyfriend's body. Instantly, you cling onto him, having his body as your support. Both of your mouths; busy, wild, willing, driven with so much anticipation. Breaths ragged. Darkened eyes. Yuta pressed his body onto you more, you felt giddy; his erection throbbing against your core. Your body vibrated against his; similar with a string plucked with so much force; like a plucked harp. His heart pounded  hard against his chest, his hands exploring your body; every curve of you that drives him insane in his room at the Underbase.  Your hollows that tormented him. You alone, made him drive to insanity, and he’s living for it. Every cell in your body screamed for only Nakamoto Yuta, your core ached for him, and him alone. Every need Yuta felt was only for you. Only you.

“I missed you.” You whispered the moment he left your mouth to dive into your exposed shoulders. Kissing your clavicles, leaving purple marks every suck he took. Yuta didn’t stop as he marked every exposed column of your throat. You tugged at his dirty blonde locks. Your breast rose and fell against his needy touches. “I missed you so much.”

Being a Jaeger pilot means sacrifice. Being deployed to far bases, away from each other. Fighting off Kaijus as if it’s the end of the fucking world. And the constant feel of fear never leaving both of your systems. Questions running through both of your minds, will you still see Yuta after a mission? Will he still see you? Will both of you survive? The world you both live in is so complicated to the extent; complex. Both of you always believed that the world is as alive as the inhabitants were. There is life everytime you look up at the skies. The celestial body is as alive as humans are. It was really fascinating. That is what both you and Yuta thought when you were both highschoolers; turns out the world has made a whole one-hundred and eighty turn; both of you were looking in the wrong direction. There was no life above but beneath. When alien life dominated the Earth it originated deep down the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Their entryway came from the fissure of the two tectonic plates; Pacific and Southern Plate. A made portal from hell to Earth. The Breach. 

Yuta breathed and looked at your eyes. Those tantalizing eyes that never failed to make Yuta in awe. He had seen how those eyes morphed into different emotions. Lust, fear, love, sadness and Yuta loved it, so much. Yuta could still remember the first landing of the Kaiju at his hometown, Osaka. He held your hands, and ran as far as he could bringing you out of the chaos you were in. 

He was vulnerable that time, young, not older than fifteen. He heard how loud the roars resonated from the giant beast. He saw how every infrastructure, made meticulously by humans, crumpled under one swing of the Kaiju. Yuta heard every alarm wail around his neighborhood, every shattered glass, every startled cry, including yours. That is the time Yuta swore, to fight off to the last of his breath, to protect you because he loved you so much. You don’t deserve any of this fucking mess. 

Your skin was flushed, your eyes slumberous, as you slid down your hands to cup his face.  “When I was there, fighting, all I could think was you. And all I know is, I love you so much.” Your words touched him, he had his hands framing your cheeks. He smiled, “I will kill every Kaiju so they won’t block my way into you. I’ll fight for you, my love, for us.” You raised a trembling finger, “I want to be alone with you. I will be deployed again tomorrow in Hong Kong. Make me yours tonight, Yuta.”

“That’s far, I’ll be staying here. But your plan is what I can’t argue with.” Your head was spinning, vision blurred into daze. Yuta looked at you as if you were a shimmering glass of cool water and he cannot control himself but to indulge you, as he was a man with a desperate thirst. You approached his face again but you dodged his lip, he grew impatient at your actions. You nibbled his right lobe and his familiar musky scent filled your senses. That scent that you always miss to smell every time you are on a mission. It made your heart thud. Nakamoto Yuta could drive you mad. “We are in the corridor of our base. I don’t want the marshal seeing us fuck here. Which room is closest?”

Yuta breathed out, “Mine.”

“Do you perhaps know an elevator that is barely used? I can’t let people see me in this kind of state.”

Yuta kissed you again, nibbling your lips. You elicited a quiet moan. “Trust me, people are almost asleep at this hour.” He linked his fingers onto yours and dragged you towards the elevator. The lift gave a sudden jolt. You turned around to capture Yuta’s swollen lips. Murmuring, “I want to feel you.” You scrambled and yanked away his tie, undo-ing his shirt, the buttons shoved aside the stanched material. A hum of pleasure surged on Yuta’s throat while you explored his chest; savoring the power of sinew and muscle underneath. You used a fingertip to trace his nipple, then your mouth replaced your fingertips in an instant. Yuta gasped and whispered incoherent cusses. His body lurched, beneath your plump lips you could feel his heart jolt at your sudden actions. Yuta groaned, he looked at you with half-hooded eyes, “You’ll be the death of me, (Y/N).”

You didn’t answer him, instead you tugged into his nipple using your teeth. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

The elevator halted. Yuta immediately scooped you around his torso. He squeezed your ass, making you yelp in surprise. His mouth took yours, initiated a dazzling, dizzying kiss. Your blood heated against his touch, it was hot like a burning flash against your skin, roaring through your core. One moment you felt a wall behind you, and Yuta trapped you and captured your lips once again. He sighed, then growled, “I want you naked.”

“Open your room, mister.” He assisted you down and approached his doors. He held the keys with a shaky hand. With a lot of effort he shoved the door wide and yanked your arm. The door shut with a loud thud. Yuta pushed your figure towards the door. He shoved your shirt out from your shoulders, down your arms. For thrilling moments, Yuta’s dark look made your core throb  with so much anticipation. The need raged, clawed inside her systems like a resident virus as his teeth seared off your exposed chest. Yuta wrapped your ponytail into his hands, then arched it towards the left to devour onto your exposed, now marked throat. You were a moaning mess, eyes shut at the delicious feeling Yuta is making you feel. He then neglected your throat, then claimed your lips once again. The vague sense of warmth enclosing both of your bodies. Your top is completely removed leaving you in your tank top and bra. Yuta was still completely dressed. Both of you staggered as you tried to push him away to undress him. He shoved you again to the nearest wall, his pounding erection making you cry out, you want him, badly. You thrusted against his bulge. Yuta’s breath hitched, following a harsh rasp through his lips. He caught your face, eyes dark as midnight, he stared down at you, “You want this?”

“Yes. Fuck me all you want, Yuta.”

On a vicious oath, he yanked your tank top. With an expert flick of his fingers, he unhooked you bra and yanked it off. Yuta’s hand is now at your waist, tight, he lifted you off your feet to take your breast into his mouth. The air around you thickened. Your breath snagged, in both of your lungs, as you arched back giving him more access, your fingers gliding down his shoulder blades. Yuta’s mouth fed sucked, his teeth scraping erotically on your tensed, aching, budded nipple, You whimpered against the wall, the mixture of pain and pleasure taking a toll on you, you were desperately calling out for his name, your pussy pounding, panties soaked. 

“Oh, god, Yuta. I can’t.”

“You can.” He lowered downwards. Your stomach, then your navel. He let go of your waist then he kneeled. Unbuckling your jeans and sliding it down in a tormenting manner. He then, twirled the lace of your panties, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “That’s it, be wet for me.” He pulled down the fabric down to your ankles, your eyes shutting at his touches. He parted your legs, then slid a slim finger onto your folds. You gasped. “Oh fuck.”

“Can you lie down?”

“On the floor?”

“I’m impatient.”

Yuta is shining, with sweat with the lamp light above both of you. You immediately lay down, the floor was cold. The sudden cold contact making you hiss, but you couldn’t care less. Yuta teasingly rubbed your labia, in a tortuous slow pace. Yuta gave a triumphant smile. He felt a sense of pride making you mewl onto the floor because of his touches. You shutted your eyes, moaning at the contact. His slim fingers going in slow directions; up and down. It was smooth with your juices oozing out. You couldn't bear with his teaching, you grabbed his wrist to push it into your core further. “Woah, woah, excited?”

“I hate you.”

He rubbed your clitoris; in a slow, sensual, circular manner and it made you gasp for air. You were now a moaning mess. Your eyes screw shut, your mind went haywire; black; full of desire and all you could think was Yuta’s fingers; torturing you erotically. It felt heavenly. After your clit, he dragged his fingers downwards, his other hand spreading your legs more apart. He slides in two fingers with ease, dragging your walls. Your hands clenched. Yuta dragged your arousal into his fingers. Then left you there, hanging, waiting for more. You peeked up, brows furrowed, but the sight in front of you was a masterpiece. Yuta looked like someone who was crafted by Michael Angelo; he knelt there, he looked ethereal; golden, in the yellow hue of his lamp, his slim fingers glistening with your juices, eyes locked into yours; dark as the midnight, full of lust. He licked his fingers and slid it all into his mouth. The flash of passion, the fury of need that darkened his eyes, filled with a sense of decadent power, as you laid there, all ready for him. Time and place was a virtue, but all you wanted was to spend your nights with him, only him.

“You really want to fuck me here? You’ve got a damn bed, Yuta.”

“Later.” The sight before him was something so lovely and intricate. The need you felt for him was primitive, overwhelming. You scrambled out from your position and one moment Yuta felt your greedy hands unbuckling his belt and unhooking his pants. He watched you in amusement, he didn’t complain, more; let you do your own will. You never moved so fast in your life, you undressed him so fast, it even surprised you. Yuta dragged you down onto the floor again, the coolness of the tiles against her back made her register to her dazed mind. Yuta leaned over. His mouth feasting over your flesh, greedy hands roaming and racing around your quivering body in a ruthless manner. Heat pumped into both of your systems. You felt yourself going warm, soft, melting into his touch. Becoming one. Your mouths connected once again. Hot and greedy. Salivas connecting. You nipped onto his lips, chest. Fingers grazing and digging into the hard ridge of his shoulders. Both of you couldn’t get enough of each other; savouring pore by pore. He palmed you, again. You gasped at the sudden touch, it sent shivers to your spine. His fingers went down to your core, moving against your heat, relentlessly building you up, the drive, the need for release clawing viciously. 

“Look at me, (Y/N).” His hair is mopped overhead. Damped, but still beautiful as it is. “I love you.” The shadows around you seemed to shift while your fingers stroked. His fingers are still busy devouring your core.  Sensation slid after sensation, building inside you, in trembling, shuddering layers, then exploded. Your vision blurred; a half sob tore from your lips. Strength gone, you lay there motionless, air around is thick with ragged breaths and sex. Your heartbeat stumbled. Yuta caressed his shaft, then the head; red, oozing with pre-cum. 

“You’ll hate me more.” Yuta grinned as he slammed his throbbing cock onto you. A sob of pure, overwhelming pleasure eased up your throat. You heard both of your flesh clicking with every move Yuta made. The air smelt of sex. Dark. Your body opened and joined with his. Arching, you meet his heavy thrusts lifting your hips after his attacks, moving in a desperate manner, urging him on “Shit, you feel so good.” In that fleeting moment, in the deep night. You understood, there will be no other man in your mind, only the man in front of you, deep, thrusting, Yuta was only the one. The one.

Underbase. South Korea

Yuta sat alone. He stared at your sleeping figure on his bed. The marks lingered on your neck like wild berries. He felt his arms shake uncontrollably. He stood up in his black boxers; and approached the medication box just inside his drawers. He searched for the familiar capsule. Chloroquine. His breathing steadied, and found the strength to look at your figure again. His subconscious is having an internal battle with his heart. He drank his medication and went to the bed with you. Your skin glowed like warm honey. Yuta whispered in, “I will stop loving you until the last rose dies.”

Yuta and you have been in ups and downs. Of which included; surviving the Kaiju attacks. 

Yuta could still remember that devastating day. Indistinct radio chatters. Government jets. Explosions. Roars. Chaos. By the time the Kaiju was taken down by tanks and jets, exactly seven days and 40 miles later, three cities were already destroyed. Tokyo, Kyoto, and his hometown, Osaka. Thousands of lives were lost, including those of his beloved parents. The city mourned for the lost souls, memorialized the ones who died because of the giant beast, and the people slowly moved on. Three months later, there was another attack. Taiwan. The beast shattered Taipei. People clamoring, people killed, the toxic blood of the beast painting the streets a vibrant blue. Then, another attack hit Los Angeles, the same destruction happening, the same trauma. Again, it was stopped. Then and there, the people learned and realized. The attacks wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. Everything that happened was just the beginning. The calm before the storm. There was something waiting out there, something more grotesque, more destructive. 

There both of you entered the dangerous world of being a Jaeger pilot. 

The nation had been reborn, and set an alliance in order to be better prepared in case of another upcoming Kaiju attack. Resources were clamped together to build an indestructible weapon against the Kaijus. For the sake of the innocent lives, for the sake of their own sanity and peace. The people created their own version of the Kaiju. The Jaeger program was created. At first, there were a series of malfunctions and setbacks. A single pilot couldn’t withstand the neural load to catch up and interface with a Jaeger, the strain so powerful that it could cause intracranial nerve damage. And so, the two-pilot system was proposed. The left pilot for the left hemisphere and the right pilot for the right hemisphere. 

With the Jaeger, the people started winning, soon being able to stop attacks of the Kaijus everywhere. Then came the propaganda. Kaiju and Jaeger toys. The Jaeger pilots became celebrities. Everything was going smoothly, all success falling into the people’s palm.

Then, it all changed.

“Alert Gipsy Danger. Kaiju movement spotted at Bay 10. Code name. Kaiju Sharp Snout. Category 3. 9,000 metric tons.”

Yuta scrambled immediately out of his bunk bed. He whispered and shook your figure lightly, “I need to go, I love you.” You groaned in response. He made a sudden jump and knocked at the door of his younger co-pilot, Mark, aggressively. 

Mark’s door is slightly ajar. Yuta made himself in, further waking up the younger boy. “Wake up, Canada Boy. There’s Kaiju movement at the breach,” He slapped the bed of Mark’s lightly, “We are deployed to baby Mark-03.” He said in reference to the nuclear powered Jaeger.  The machine they were piloting, Gipsy Danger, was Yuta and Mark's pride and joy. Mark opened the door to his room and Yuta moved in his room, and approached his cabinet and put on a grey t-shirt.

Mark groaned, “Not a good morning to you.”

Yuta smirked, “It’s a good morning to kick some Kaiju ass. Road to seven wins.”

Mark wiped his eyes, “What time is it?”

“Two.”

Mark made a face, “In the morning?”

Yuta grinned while fixing his cross necklace, “Yep.”

“Why are you so pumped up all of a sudden?”

Mark glanced behind Yuta’s shoulder and saw your sleeping figure on his bed. Their rooms were just interconnected with a single door as a barrier. He gave the older pilot a smirk. Mark’s unanswered questions are answered; Yuta was the sole reason of the sudden moaning at twelve fucking midnight.

“What category is it?”

“Three, the biggest one, yet.”

Mark narrowed his eyes, “Code name?”

“Sharp Snout.”

Yuta approached the younger boy and made a playful fist bump with him. “It’s superhero time.”

Mark gave him a toothy grin. A knock disrupted the two from the main door of their rooms. A male voice grunted from the other side of the steel door. 

“Hey, Handsomes, time for the drop.”

Mark made his way to the bathroom, “Who gave them that code name?”

“Me.”

Mark gave Yuta a questionable look, “Handsome? Really?” then grinned afterwards. “Don’t get a big head, hyung. Also, tell (Y/N) I said hi after our mission.”

By the time Yuta and Mark were preparing for their mission, you were still asleep. The boots of the two young bachelors clinked towards the steel platform. Yuta and Mark met when there was a Jaeger Pilot sign up in Japan. Yuta and Mark had a similar childhood experience, having lost their families because of the Kaiju Attack. They weren’t the stars among their classes, never have been selected for an urgent attack. However, there was one thing that made the two exceptional among all the Jaeger pilots; they were drift compatible. They had a strong bond which made their fights more successful. The drift compatibility was, in essence, two completely different systems conjoined together to create an enormous battle defense against an intruder. Finding a drifting partner was like searching for your other half, your other soul. Yuta didn’t want to have you as his co-pilot; he gets distracted by your beauty easily.

Yuta and Mark arrived at the drop facility. The workers assisted the two in wearing their titanium metal suit, tools whirring, a metal spinal cord attached to their back. The two pilots gave each other playful glances. They wore matching white helmets, a yellow liquid dispersing downwards.

“Data on Helmet. Data relay gel dispersing on circuit plots.”

The machine gave a low hum. The lights flicked on, the others following. The heavy secured door opened with a loud hiss. Yuta and Mark entered, each stride followed by a clank. The attachment metal descended, a loud swish coming from its origin. It looked like a harness, but there was no attachment on the pilot’s torso; the metal straps are only connected to the arms and foot. Yuta and Mark placed both of their feet on the pedal platform, then the equipment wrapped around their soles and ankles, securing both of them tightly. It gave an impression as if they are flying mid-air, the security straps hidden behind their lavish suits. The staff whirred the screw onto their backs, the driller machine turning the screw aggressively. Another metal, similar to a handcuff automatically attached on the boy’s wrists, clicking after each wrist. Then a circular device was connected to their palms, a light emitting from its center. A circular plot on Mark’s right palm and another on Yuta’s left palm. 

A voice came out from the p.a system. 

“Good morning, handsome boys.”

Yuta grinned and pressed the overhead controller, “Taeil, what’s up, my man?”

Taeil chuckled, “Mightier than ever. Won an algebra quiz.”

Yuta pressed the button again, “Having a sexy brain makes you so attractive, brother.”

Mark pressed in his buttons calling out to Taeil, “How was the date? Did you score?” Then the two laughed boisterously. 

Taeil smirked from his station and levelled the mic onto his plump lips, “She loved me, that’s a giveaway, however, someone was barking. I will leave it to you guys to imagine what exactly that was.” Taeil went on a blind date, however, it didn’t go as well as he’d planned. The girl’s father didn’t fancy him at all. 

Yuta groaned, “That must’ve hurt your ego, man.”

Taeil clicked his tongue, “Have established my ego and pride for several years. That one was chicken.”

Marshal Lau entered in his navy suit, “Engage the drop, Mr. Moon.”

Taeil’s body jerked up in surprise and he cleared his throat, “Engaging drop, Sir.” The hologram flashed in front of Taeil's face as he typed down the keyboard, vigorously. A bracelet lingered on his wrist. He spoke towards his mic again, “Marshal Lau on deck.” He pushed the button on his console, then jutted the controller similar to a joystick in an upward direction, “Securing conn pad, then, we are ready to drop.”

The staff from the conn pad attached the steel with the shape of a bowtie. The steel conjoined with a loud hiss.

“Conn pad attached, Sir Taeil. Back door secured.”

Yuta and Mark pressed the p.a button, “Ready for the drop.”

Yuta voiced out, “Gipsy Danger ready for the big drop.”

From a distance, the place Yuta and Mark are in, is actually a robot head. It was gigantic, it had a black exterior, the eyes that looked similar to a windshield, are colored a bright yellow. The air around it swooshed, steam coming out of the pipes. Then, the robot head dropped in an instant. The two pilot’s stomach churned as the head plunged from a high altitude. 

Yuta hissed, “Here comes the roller coaster ride.”

Mark answered back, “Never was my favorite.”

Gipsy Danger’s head attached on its enormous torso. The two groaned at the impact of the drop, but recollected immediately. The head descended and locked onto its open neck. The head tilted towards the right, and a series of chains connected to each other. 

“Connection complete, Sir.”

“Engage the pilot-to-pilot protocol now.”

Taeil typed in again, “Engaging pilot-to-pilot program in three, two, one,” he clicked a button, “Now.”

An AI voice sounded from the speakers, “Pilot-to-pilot sequence, protocol engaging.”

Gipsy Danger’s neck continued to move, securing all the heavy duty alloy into their places. The gaps from the neck closed in an instant. The enormous robot’s center core illuminated a high glow of red, the internal part turning in a fast, clockwise direction. The tower cranes moved away. The platform beneath the Jaeger’s feet moved slowly. The marshallers waved their luminous sticks guiding the moving vehicle with care. The doors of the base opened; violent waves flashed the bottom and strong winds blew into the base. 

“Gipsy Launch. Bay nine.”

Mighty gales. Rain. Thunder Strikes. Gipsy stood out despite the storm eating in. Several lights luminated from the robot; the topmost head, chest, legs, the forearms. There were indistinct radio chatters heard, and the helicopters flew against the tempest. The moving platform dropped slowly into the water, creating a huge wave from the impact. 

Taeil pressed several other buttons from the overhead console. “Gipsy Danger, ready and aligned, Sir.”

Marshal law leaned onto the microphone, “Rangers, this is Marshal Lau. Prepare for the neural handshake.”

Taeil moved again. His fingers grazing the buttons, the hologram screen illuminated robot parts and the brain; both left and right hemisphere shown. “Initiating neural handshake in fifteen seconds.” Taeil started counting downwards while typing vigorously, making sure the programs are set well. An image of the brain turned against the screen, “Ten.”

Marshal Lau observed the holographic screen, then took a peek at his watch. It was past three already. 

“Eight.”

From the Gipsy, Mark pressed some buttons, then looked at Yuta. “I really can’t hide my secrets from you.”

Yuta tsk-ed, shaking his head, “Do the honor of stepping into my brain first.” 

“Pilot-to-pilot sequence, protocol engaging. Neural handshake initiated.”

Mark and Yuta stood there, and closed both of their eyes. Both of the pilot’s visions looked like a big whirlpool; making them remember the significant memories of their past, then a blackout, then another memory. Each could read and see the latter’s memory. This was called the Drift. Jaeger Technology. Based on the fighter program neural systems. The two pilots mind-meld each other’s memories with the body of the giant machine. The deeper the bond shared between the two pilots, the stronger they fight. 

A gigantic loading screen flashed on Taeil’s screen. “Neural handshake complete. Strong and deep.” 

Marshal Lau stood behind him, staring deeply.

Yuta raised his left palm, the circular device illuminated. “Left hemisphere calibrating.”

Mark did the same, raising his right, the device glowed after his movements, “Right hemisphere calibrating.”

Both of the pilots moved simultaneously, raising one arm after another and throwing a punch. The gigantic machine followed the action of the two; lifting its gigantic arms then flexing them afterwards. The control and movement originated from its main base, the head from the two pilots engaged. 

The female AI voiced out, “Calibration completed.”

Marshal Lau breathed then spoke, “Gentlemen, your orders are to hold and block Kaiju from entering Manila's waters. Copy?”

Yuta answered, “Copy, Marshal.”

Mark spoke, pressing the button from his overhead controller, “Sir, there is movement on the west coast. A fishing vessel--”

“Rangers, we are not risking millions of lives for a vessel that contains twenty. Orders are orders, understood?”

The two rangers answered at once, “Yes, Sir.”

Yuta pressed the button to cancel the message transmitting from the base. He gave Mark a stern gaze. 

Mark gulped, “Is he serious?”

Yuta gave him a determined look, “Mark, you know what I have in mind?”

Mark’s lips pressed into a thin line, “Our minds are connected, I’m basically in there.”

Yuta grinned, “I know. Let’s go for some fish.”

Mark gave a lopsided smile, “Then, here we go!”

The two pilots made a step. The left then lifted their rights. It took great effort to take a stride with the machine. The two pilots were suspended mid-air; starting from their feet, there was an enormous chain turning into a clockwise direction from every movement made by the rangers. The Jaeger took big strides along the waters. The machine stood about two-hundred fifty feet; complex, weaponry used as defense for the alien life domination. Gipsy Danger walked in the waters as if not fazed by the violent thunders and winds blowing its enormous metal body. There are phenomena that are impossible to fight with; hurricanes, rain, thunderstorms— all acts of God. However, when you are in a Jaeger, everything impossible could be made possible. Being in a Jaeger meant, winning, defending everything coming at your way.

Shores of Manila

From the mile anchorage. The fishing vessel was wiped by the aggressive waters of the peninsula. The boat swayed carelessly along the violent waves, heavy currents hit the hull of the water vessel, splashing water everywhere its bow. The fishermen yelled instinctively while chaining their equipment to the post. Slipping on the deck, panicking and helpless. They were soaked while they ran around the open cabin to secure every paraphernalia in place; their yellow raincoat stood out in the dark storm, the wind tackling them out of their posture. A man in his mid-forties; with an Indian descent, trotted inside the cockpit. Another man, an African-American, controlled the helm, whirring it towards the right. The radar beeped loudly. The windshield wipers were busy; vigorously wiping the windows, left and right.

The man in his forties yelled out of his lungs, “How long is the port from Manila?!”

The man behind the wheel answered, speaking on top of his lungs, “Ten miles, Sir!”

An old man, from the right of the driver; wearing a beanie, roared while staring at the radar, “We’ll be dead by the time we reach Manila!”

The storm makes it hard for them to communicate; the only thing that is effective is through shouting on top of their lungs in attempts to hear each other, while the wind is aggressively slapping the vessel from left to right. The Indian shouted back, pointing at the radar. A green light blinked after his taps, “What about that island by the east? Two miles?!”

The American answered him, “It’s a mile, Sir!” He yanked the wheel again, stirring towards the East direction, “The island is getting closer!”

The old man in a beanie cried out, “How the hell is the island getting closer?! We ain’t even accelerating forward!”

The Indian caught his tongue, and stared intently ahead. The radar was beeping rapidly. The waves splashed and an enormous black rock came into a view. The island. The American shouted, his tone hinting victory “The island!”

The Indian shook his head, “It’s no island. Kaiju.”

The enormous monster swam across the waters. Its back was hunched, rising up and down from the waters.The Kaiju gave a low growl, its feet dragging heavily along the floors of the ocean. It was massive and its scales luminated a cerulean blue. This beast was neither lithe, nor blessed with grace. Its beady eyes glinted a deep black; upright soulless and evil. Underneath the drone of the rain there came another sound. At first it was quite indistinct, but as it drew closer to the vessel where the fishermen huddled, it became louder. A deafening growl that was bone-shrieking. The Kaiju swam fast, approaching the vessel in an instant. 

The man in his forties cried, panic surging up his systems. “Fucking hell! Turn the vessel around!”

The Kaiju stood up. Standing about hundreds of feet. Yellow lines lingered around its back. A blue illuminating its sharp nose. Its giant claws raised, about to ponder the vessel to pieces. Luckily, the vessel had swerved to the right, missing the blow of the monster. The Kaiju roared loud as the thunder struck from the skies. Its gigantic mouth had illuminated a warm blue glow; its tongue raveling out. A string of curses unraveled from the fishermen’s tongue, like yarn unfurling, as the Kaiju advanced. It's golden and blue scales shimmered with hot anger along with it's dark, cold, greyish eyes. Every step it took rattled their bones, struck their hearts, and shook the waters. The Kaiju stared down at the vessel, its beady eyes hungry, angry, dangerous. The men from the deck cried in agony and panic, “Oh God!”

Another one yelled, “What the hell?” As several splashes of water sprayed them from the deck. Gipsy Danger rose up from the waters, its light blinding the people from the vessel with an electronic buzzing. The center core of the enormous machine glowed a fiery red, turning in a steady, fast, circular direction. The Jaeger’s large right hand grabbed the vessel from its bottom. The fishermen ducked their heads; figures crouched on the deck, trembling in terror. The vessel rose up in the air, in the palm of the gigantic robot. The fishermen yelled. 

A female robotic voice boomed from the pilot’s control center. “Fishing vessel secured.”

From Mark’s circular plot; a holographic image of the vessel was shown. “Adjust the torque!”

Yuta nodded and pressed the buttons from the overhead consoles, “Alright!”

“Torque secured.”

The Jaeger kneeled on its one foot and pivoted its body towards left, the right arms extended forward, releasing the vessel on the other part of the ocean; away from the roaring Kaiju. The Jaeger turned around and the two pilots quickly threw a right punch aiming towards its jaw. The Kaiju had a loud howl as it staggered backward, falling into the waters. The Kaiju quickly stood up in an attempt to attack the Jaeger, however, the machine had already mustered another blow, coming from the left arm. Smashing the creature's chest, Yuta and Mark both groaned while they raised both of their arms up in the air; fist closed to pound on the flat part of its sharp snout. The Kaiju’s head dropped into the waters; its mouth lighted up a sharp color of blue as it exhaled underneath the surface of the sea. It rose up again, and let out an angry shriek, advancing towards the Jaeger and smashing itself towards its torso. Yuta raised his left arm in defense, but the Kaiju was too fast, ripping some of the parts of the Jaegers arm. The pilots staggered on their places; the system beeping rapidly, they both shouted.

“Hyung! I’ll aim the missile! Hold the demon to its place!”

Yuta held its body; holding the sharp snout in place; the Kaiju protested against the stronghold of the machine. Gipsy Danger’s right arm transformed into a missile launcher; a circular beam ready to be launched. “Get it!”

The missile was launched. Three shots. They smashed right against the chest of the Kaiju. The monster gave a loud screech and fell from its back. The waters gave a loud splash after the downfall of the Kaiju. 

From the base, Taeil read the beeping lights from his holographic scene. “Discharge reading, Sir. Plasma cannon released in the peninsula ten miles of Manila.”

Marshal Lau pressed in the p.a system, “Rangers, what the fuck just happened?”

Yuta smirked and pressed onto the p.a button from the overhead console to answer back, “Kaiju down, Sir. That makes that our seven.”

Marshal law yelled through the microphone, “You disobeyed a direct order! The plan is to avoid the Kaiju from entering the waters of Manila!”

 Mark answered back, “We did, Sir! We released a launch and saved the vessel from being crumpled!”

Marshal Lau’s nostrils flared up, “Go back to the base, Now!”

The rangers grinned at each other. They had made the Marshal annoyed, again. Yuta pressed the button, “Okie dokie, Sir.” He pressed the button again, to cancel the p.a message transmitting to the base. 

Taeil cried out loud, “Kaiju signature sending. I repeat, the Kaiju is still alive!”

Marshal Lau pressed the microphone again, yelling, “Rangers! The thing survived! Grab the vessel and return to your post now!”

Gipsy stood there in the waters, the two pilots frantically searching for the Kaiju. The waters glowed with the Kaiju’s blood; the ocean colored a fascinating shade of cerulean blue; despite its aesthetic appearance, it was highly toxic. The Marshal’s voice boomed into their p.a systems, “Gipsy, get out of there now!”

Gipsy lingered right, then left. It was still and quiet. Only the violent blowing of the winds were heard. Then, suddenly the creature attacked, taking the pilots in surprise. The Kaiju roared angrily and clawed at the machine. Gipsy held in the Kaiju’s mouth, controlling its attempt to eat out the machinery. Mark and Yuta grunted, as they swayed back and forth from the Kaiju’s impact. 

Yuta yelled, “I got this!” He swung his arm, the machine’s fist shifting into a missile launcher. He then made an attack, taking a movement from below. The Kaiju swatted the arm then lashed with its sharp snout onto its shoulders, clawing the arm away from the source. Yuta screamed loud in pain as he held his left arm. The radar from Gipsy’s head beeped rapidly, the screen blinking a bold text of ‘Alert’.

Mark yelled through the mic, “Taeil hyung, we’ve been attacked!”

Taeil from the base, typed in. Gipsy’s figure flashing on his screen. He turned towards the Marshal, “Left arm, gone, Sir.”

Gipsy’s arm was clawed out by the Kaiju. With another attempt, the monster chomped on the arm, ripped it away and threw it towards the ocean. The Kaiju went mad; berserk; screeching as it violently attacked the Jaeger. Its right claw lashed onto the Jaeger’s head; where both pilots were stationed. The glass shattered as the Kaiju roared. Mark and Yuta swayed, ragged breath leaving their lips. The Kaiju have gone through the hull. It clawed up and managed to destroy the right side of the Jaeger’s head. Opening from Mark’s side.

Mark threw a panicked look towards Yuta, “Hyung, listen! You have to--”

Mark shouted loudly. Desperate, full of panic. He was so helpless. Mark wasn’t even able to finish his sentences as the Kaiju snatched his figure apart from the metal supporting him, his body flying away. Yuta cried out loud, “NO!”

From the hull, Mark’s spot was now empty, replaced with electricity and fires. Yuta screamed in agony, “NO!” He grunted as he was electrified. The computers were beeping rapidly. Red Alert. Alarms wailing. Yuta bit down his lips as he tried to raise his injured arm, transferring the circular plot on his right palm. The Kaiju gave a loud roar, advancing towards Gipsy, again. Pushing the machinery with brutal force. Yuta grunted as he staggered from his post. The monster growled and placed its sharp snout on the Jaeger’s chest. Yuta screamed, as jolts of pain shooted out his body. Yuta aimed the missile launcher. The creature was dominating, clawing and smashing against the Jaeger’s body. It roared after a huge attack. Then, again and again. 

“Missile Loading”

The Kaiju chewed on the Jaeger as if it was a feast. Yuta yelled again. Then, he aimed directly at the gigantic monster’s chest. Three shots. There was a massive, blinding light. Darkness. Its body parts littered everywhere. 

From Taeil’s screen, the red dot has disappeared in a blink of the eye. “Second missile, launched, Sir. No Kaiju signature noted.” He typed in again, “I’m not getting any signals.”

“I cannot reach Yuta, Sir.”

The Marshal walked away from the base. A sullen look painted his face. It was not a time to celebrate; they did ward off the Kaiju. However, they had lost another brave soul. Mark Lee fought until his very last breath.

Bali, Indonesia

“Grandma! Look what I found on the shores!”

The little girl showed her grandmother an old, rusty, robot toy; a Jaeger to be precise. Her grandmother gave her a pleasant smile, standing up from picking up shells. “That is absolutely beautiful my dear.”

“It is mama! I wanted to see one Jaeger someday!” She beamed at her grandmother, clapping her hands excitingly. Then the elderly shushed her, “Okay, you will! Now let us pick some shells, shall we?”

The younger girl nodded and crouched down and helped her grandmother to pick up several shells. All were pearly white, some with a tint of orange and pink, some long, others short. Loud footsteps were heard from the distance. The young girl peeked up, her eyes widening at the sight. She cried out loud, “MAMA!” The younger had wished for a Jaeger, and a Jaeger appeared. Mark 03, Gipsy Danger. Clattered and destroyed. 

The grandmother raised a hand on her mouth. Surprised. “Oh my heavens.”

Gipsy staggered with every step it took. The machine creaking. Then suddenly, it fell on its knees and made a drop towards the ground. The machine powered down after the fall. The two ran towards the machine quickly. The elderly woman flailed her left arm, “Stay here!”

The grandmother approached the hull cautiously. Then she saw a figure crawling from the machine’s gigantic head. Yuta panted as he struggled to get out of the Jaeger. He quickly stood up. He looked like he was run down several times. His left arm suit was already busted, burned to the extent; pools of blood dripping down his forearm. From his left bicep were several vertical wounds. It was red and bloody. His helmet was cracked and staggered, almost collapsing. Everything was circulating, he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t clearly hear the words from the elderly woman. He felt as if he was drowning. Muffled voices. All he could think of was his younger brother, Mark Lee.

Yuta whispered while he turned around, “Mark... Mark? (Y/N)?” His legs couldn’t carry his weight anymore and he collapsed on the ground. 

“Darling, quick! Call for help!”

The elderly woman held his face, “It’s gonna be okay. Hold on for a little longer.”

Could he hold on a little longer?

“Where the hell is Yuta?” You shook Taeil’s shoulder, tears welling in your eyes. The news of their expedition has made it through the Underbase. It was already four in the morning, yet, no signs of Yuta. No signs of Gipsy. This is what you feared. You did spend a lovely and memorable night with the love of your life but, is this the price you have to pay? Your fingers trembled, as you observed Taeil type in his keyboard. “Taeil, please find him.”

“I’m trying my best (Y/N). For now, calm down.”

“How can I calm down Taeil?”

“(Y/N), you know exactly how dangerous our job entails. Death chases after us, I hope you are aware of that.” You are. You’re not just ready to let go of him yet. Not now, never. You stood up again, this time, you roamed around the base. Looking at every monitor in sight; just to divert your attention. You told the marshal that you won’t be deploying bases not until they give out any information about Yuta. Hong Kong could wait. You would be needed if there is a brought mutilated Jaeger. After all, you have already settled with the restoration team and upgrades of the Jaegers. You were once a pilot, too, but Yuta was concerned about your health. The Jaeger tech is too much for your health; it almost had your ECG line flat that one moment you had a mission in China. You were also responsible with the cadet selection and combat training. 

You blinked hard. Throat tightening. You gave an abstracted look then, took a deep breath and slowly initiated expiration. You felt the relaxation of your diaphragm and your lungs pushed out air. You licked your lips; it was already dry. The holographic screen of Taeil showed the maps of Manila, he zoomed in to the nearby countries surrounding the country. Tracing any signs of the Jaeger or Yuta. A staff from the other side of the room suddenly alerted the people inside the vicinity. 

“A report came from Indonesia, Sir Moon.”

Taeil gave you a quick glance. “That guy has nine lives. Don’t worry, we’ll find him, (Y/N).” 

Taeil’s voice boomed inside the control base, “Coordinates?”

“8.3405° S, 115.0920° E”

“Where is the call coming from?”

“Seminyak, Sir.”

“Prepare the chopper now!”

You approached Taeil’s figure, “I’ll come with your team!”

“(Y/N), no.”

“Why not?”

“Orders are orders, (Y/N).” You whipped your head towards the direction of the voice. Marshal Lau. You reacted, “Yuta is my boyfriend, I need to see him!”

The marshal nodded, “I know. But It could crowd the chopper. It’s much better if you’ll wait here.”

You tried to argue back but the marshal held up a hand, silencing you. He gave you a curt nod, “Orders, (Y/N).”

You stormed out in frustration. Fuck orders.

Yuta narrowed his eyes. He felt really exhausted. The elderly assisted him and managed to remove the suit from him; to let his body to breathe. The nasty wounds clinging onto his skin. Yuta tried to move his body, but he cannot move his distal muscles. And his fingers are shaking uncontrollably. He tried to remember when was the last time he had taken in his medication; one a.m, and he drank it while looking at your peaceful sleeping figure on his bed. The medication he had taken has already subsided. Now, he is suffering with uncontrollable muscle shaking, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He felt helpless, adding the fact that Mark was already gone. He wanted to diminish out. After all, his time was already set in a time bomb; time for Yuta was expensive, and there is no such thing as bargaining. The medics around the island checked upon him, and he didn’t sustain a concussion; but the mission surely left him an ugly scar. Thoughts swirling around his mind; was it really worth it to be a Jaeger pilot? Is it time to diminish the Jaeger tech of his system? The fire, determination, urge to kill and to protect the world from the enormous beast has threatened to fall down the day he piloted Gipsy Danger alone, and collapsed at the beach somewhere in Indonesia. Mark’s death is still taking a toll on him. 

A large helicopter. Boeing CH-47 Chinook. Hovering in the air above the clinic he is currently housing at. It was painted a deep green and yellow, a heavy, military aircraft with a figure in dark glasses and helmet hunched over the controls. It swung around over the site, it's blades beating the air. Then settled on the ground. Yuta narrowed his eyes at the aircraft before him. The familiar emblem caught his eyes; a large sword that struck a Kaiju’s chest. He walked out of the site and approached the man that had jumped out of the vehicle.

“Nakamoto Yuta.”

Yuta called upon the name of the higher up before him, “Marshal.”

The Marshal nodded, “Now's not the time to mourn. My number one priority is your health.”

Yuta nibbled on his lips, “It’s always been our oath marshal. Mourn later, Kill Kaijus.”

“I also lost a brave soul. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Yuta furrowed his brows, then looked towards the Marshal intently, “Marshal, I have something to tell you concerning my health.”

The helicopter they rode flew high in the air. Passing through the familiar cities of Taiwan, China, Singapore, then they finally arrived in South Korea. Military time, 1800 hrs. Jaeger Station, South Korea. 

It was raining hard. Busy. The people at the bay were occupied. Some are pushing the Kaiju specimen drenched in formuline in a large glass dome towards the southwest direction in the laboratory. The marshallers were waving their glow sticks guiding the arriving helicopter towards the helipad. Military men in raincoats walked back and forth. Trucks and machineries are busy. Cargo ships at the nearest dock. You stalked out of the base, a large black umbrella covering you from the rain. You were still frustrated that Marshal Lau hasn’t let you go on their search rescue. The anxiety is slowly killing you. You have heard rumors about solo piloting, and it has a backlash. All you know, it could affect Yuta’s health. A whistle caught your attention.

“Looking good, Miss (Y/N). Can I have a taste?” 

“Fuck off.”

You didn’t know the guy and so, you ignored and paid no attention to him. Your world wasn't just experiencing the attacks of Kaijus, there are creatures that are jerks, scattered around the world, Misogynists. They are of a different breed, but they don't differ as they share the same attitude. You clutched your work laptop tightly against your chest. Your long black coat swaying against the violent winds and followed your figure from behind. Your black combat boots made a loud splash every stride you took. You looked up and saw the Boeing CH-47 Chinook ready to take off. Your hair was swept away due to the winds coming from the blades of the aircraft. You stood there and waited expectantly. You felt queasy and uneasy. The staircase descended down the floor and Marshal Lau approached you. You handed him the extra umbrella you took with you, with shaky hands. He gave you a curt nod and opened the other umbrella for the person following him from behind.

“Oh my God.”

The mashal spoke, “(Y/N), Yuta needs to be sent to the infirmary--”

You saw how Yuta limped. His injuries are seen from afar. Your eyes welled up as you approached his figure cautiously. You cupped his face, his deep, sad eyes staring back into yours. That wasn’t the same eyes you were used to seeing; his eyes were your favorite; it felt so alive, charismatic, full of determination, but those staring back at you are just as black as midnight. Empty. You took a sharp intake of breath. You leaned in, temples touching, you closed your eyes and whispered. “I thought I lost you. Hell, I was so afraid I wasn’t gonna see you again.” The tears finally fell down. It was so melancholic. With the rain, your pounding heart, the man you loved the most stood there looking as lost and hurt. This wasn’t the life you wanted. 

Yuta stared at you intently. Never have he seen someone as ethereal, standing confidently despite the storm paving its way on the base. He observed you, you had blue highlights on your hair, pinkish lips that are kissable, deep eyes—unreadable. It hurt him to see you hurting too. He tried to force a smile, showing a perfect set of pearly white teeth. You sobbed into his chest, “I don’t know what I will do without you.”

Yuta whispered, “You should start standing on your toes. It’ll hurt you more if you rely on me a lot.”

A fortnight. Underbase.

“It's a surprise that there isn’t a Kaiju attack these fortnight. Are they on hibernating mode or something?”

“Trust me marshal, they are preparing for a bigger attack. This isn’t the time we should be letting our guards down.”

Taeyong dissected the heart specimen that lay on the table. Scalpel and tweezers. It was still fresh, its arteries a glowing color of cerulean, the veins are colored a deep crimson. However, it stinks of toxicity and ammonia. Taeyong’s arms are drenched with Kaiju blood and it covered most of the tattoos that lingered on both of his forearms. Sicheng, on the other hand, is writing vigorously on the blackboard. Chalks and dust. Formulas. Numerous data. 

Sicheng voiced out. He pushed the glasses falling from the bridge of his nose, “The Kaiju attacks from the last months as by my calculations were about two and that is the maximum. However, as I’ve outlooked the data given by the other labs, the attacks could multiply and the frequency of Kaiju ambushes could rise for about three or worse four. From Sydney it was two weeks, then a week, then days. No time from preparations, I say. Ergo, your rangers should always prepare for a Kaiju attack from the coast. A category four.”

“Doctor Sicheng, I am about to plan on to group a 2,400 pound of nuclear bomb in the Breach to stop the attacks. Please give me more precise data, not just a prediction.”

Sicheng cleared his throat, “Numbers never lie marshal. They are the most accurate thing and never close to a prediction. The frequency of attacks will increase to the point we couldn’t stand their domination anymore, and--”

Johnny finished the sentence for the doctor, “We’re dead. Alas.”

Sicheng lifted his chin, “Exactly, Lieutenant Johnny.”

Taeyong smirked. Kaiju mucus drenching his surgical gloves, “You speak like a mighty doctor.”

Sicheng gave him a quizzical look, “I speak the truth. Continue on examining Dr. TY.” He clasped his fingers and headed towards his digital monitor, “Here comes the good news.”

The marshal spoke, “We are listening, doctor.”

“You see, the Breach is the gateway. And it is quite confusing as to how the hell is the Kaiju going to different countries like Australia, Alaska, Manila, Japan this comes up to the conclusion that there might be a new portal or much more, several gateways for these monsters. However,” He paused and clicked the enter key, a deep portal showed at the screen, “They only came from one source. Here, deep and close to the Marianas Trench lying underneath the oceans of the Pacific. We disrupt the throat for it to widen, don’t worry, that is its natural structure. It is beyond flexible for the monsters to go through. So, If we disrupt the gateway, that is where we drop the bomb and boom.”

Taeyong butted in, “But we could rely on much, limited data. Hear me out marshal.”

Johnny and Marshal Lau turned towards the other pink-haired doctor, “Do you see how unique these creatures are?”

“They’re not--”

“Some would look like a lizard, next would look like a deadass fish. But despite their appearance, they do share one commonality, they have the same exact DNA.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, “What are you implying now, doctor?”

“Cloning.”

Yuta entered the laboratory after listening to their complicated discussions. His voice startling the men inside. “I will be piloting Echo Panther, Marshal. That is where you will attach the bombs right?”

“Yuta, Why all of a sudden?”

Yuta gave a half shrug. “This is the best thing I could do, marshal.”

“You’ll die, idiot!”

Yuta deadpanned, “I’m a fucking Jaeger pilot and I’ll die as one. That is something I should boast about.”

The marshal tried to calm his nerves. “This isn’t the right time to boast!”

Yuta gave a solemn look. After the incident, he contemplated that participating in this mission is something that could cut his time-bomb. He made sure to spend his remaining days making himself busy, pushing you aside from his systems, even if it's painful for his part. It was a dick and dumb move, but he knew spending his limited days with you would cause damage to you and to him as well. He made sure to avoid you. “Marshal, I told you that I loved my mother right?”

Marshal Lau crossed his brows, “Yes.”

“And do you know what she did to prove her love to me? She sacrificed herself, for my own fucking sake.” He paused, fist clenching. The tremors are back, again. The marshal gave him  a concerned look. Yuta continued on, “Even if I choose not to participate in the mission, I would still die, it's all useless, marshal. Living is something out of my vocabulary.”

“This suggestion of yours will lead you to your death. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I know, but if it means keeping everyone safe, keeping my (Y/N) safe, it’s worth everything even if it costs me.”

“What about (Y/N)?” Yuta didn’t answer him. Instead, he gave a rose drenched in resin and a flash drive.

Yuta breathed, “Give that to her after this mission.”

The three of you entered the facility. Then the marshal took a left turn, towards the base’s large elevator. Marshal Lau spoke up, “We will take a look at the facility first, then (Y/N) will take you to Echo Panther. Copy that Yuta?”

“Yes Sir.”

You snapped back, turning your head towards the marshal and your boyfriend. “What Echo Panther? Is there something I missed out marshal?”

The door was about to close when a frantic screaming interrupted you from pushing the buttons of the lift closed. 

“Coming through!” Two pinked haired doctors scrambled inside the enormous lift. They pushed a Kaiju specimen through, crowding the space. The marshal pushed the button this time, giving you a meaningful look. Yuta felt the glass behind his back. The doe-eyed doctor wailed, “You are still injured, Yuta!” The elevator gave a sudden jolt, and descended downwards.

Yuta cajoled. Smiling wide. You were stunned at Yuta’s behavior. The time you saw him get down at the chopper since his last mission there was only one word that could describe him; lost. But the guy in front of you is really different, let alone he is acting as if nothing happened. “It's been a fortnight, doctor. I’m perfectly fine.”

You eyed Yuta. He’s been acting distant around you, and he seemed to be keeping things to himself. He was also acting differently around you; he never allowed you to nurse his injuries, or he never initiated intimate contacts with you unlike before. He acts completely different as if you weren’t molded as one. Dr. Taeyong spoke, “Just call me TY.” Yuta eyed the Kaiju tattoo lingering on Taeyong’s arm. 

Yuta continued to eye the tattoo and spoke towards the doctor, “Is that Tailjaw?”

Dr. Taeyong smirked, “A good eyesight you have. Yes it is. Truly one of the fascinating things I have ever seen.”

“Mark and I have taken them down in 2018. A category 3 as I could recall.” You blinked hard. Yuta made sure to not waste some dead air to let you interrupt. You tried to initiate a conversation but you were cut mid-way. You gritted your teeth

Dr. Sicheng interjected, “The only thing that fascinated you TY is that it’s heart still pounds even after its three long hour death.”

Taeyong spatted back, “And that was really fascinating, tell me otherwise or I’ll fight you Dong Sicheng!”

The elevator’s door with a loud hiss. You and Marshal Lau have stepped out. Yuta gave Dr. Ty a pat on the shoulders, “Kaijus were never fascinating, doctor. They are killers, ruthless blue-blooded creatures.” And he stepped out. 

He followed the two figures ahead of him, “Your research team is quite peculiar.”

Marshal spoke, “The two of them can outnumber a whole squad of researchers. They are pretty talented and brainy.”

The marshal gave Yuta a look, “Knowledge is always the outermost defense, Yuta.”

Pissed is an understatement, you couldn’t describe the anger boiling inside your gut. You pressed a series of codes on the biometric attached to the wall. The electronic beeps after your taps. The heavy secured door opened. Marshal Lau raised his right arm, “Welcome to the Underbase, again.”

People from the Underbase clamored around. Gulf carts beeping. Machineries wailing. Three tall Jaegers stood on each of the base’s corners. There are lights everywhere. Indistinctive radio sounds and chatters.Yuta turned around the base, his face awe-stricken. Above the large doors was a large digital clock.

The marshal’s voice boomed, “War clock. I hope we could reset it after your mission.”

Yuta narrowed his eyes, “I guarantee that.”

“We are lucky that they aren’t attacking, it surely gave us time to prepare.”

You interjected, “Excuse me marshal. But Yuta couldn’t participate in a mission. Can’t you see? He is still injured for heaven’s sake!”

The marshal looked at you, “He reported to me and said that he was perfectly fine.”

You stopped in your tracks and yanked Yuta’s arm, he voiced out, “Why?”

“What the fuck is running inside your mind Yuta?”

He looked straight into your eyes. No signs of love nor light. He glanced at you as if you were just an ordinary colleague, “Nothing. We should be going.” He left you there astounded. 

“It is. That is Tanker Shoalin. Assembled in Hong Kong, one of the greatest. Large titanium core, powered digitally. That machine eats up a lot of diesel. That will run up for your defense.” The marshal trailed. Yuta glanced up to see Tangker Shoalin. It was standing a hundred foot tall. It colored a deep color of indigo. Shimmering due to metal. “She’s piloted by the Wong brothers. Lucas, Kun and Hendery. Don’t be deceived by their soft looks, they are precise fighters, deadly. Defended the borders of China, nine times. They used their signature move, the triple tiger claw.”

“I knew of that technique. That was powerful.” He glanced at the brothers on the bench. Pretty busy with their own businesses. They wore a leather jacket, and their hair was colored a vibrant color of violet, pink and green. From Yuta’s left, a heavy duty grey Jaeger stood. 

The marshal pointed at it. “That one was the last of the first generation Mark 01 models, Hunger Mercenary. It may look as if it could be slammed down easily. But don’t be fooled, Yuta. That one is a bloodlust killing machine.” He paused, “Those two,” he pointed at the two men in a deep army green suit, “Doyoung and Jaehyun piloted the Hunger Mercenary.”

He stared at the figure of Kim Doyoung and Jung Jaehyun, “Yes, I have heard of them. New York based. Deadly killers.”

“Exactly. Gates under their watch remain unbreachable.”

You stared at Yuta. Eyes narrowing. He was observing the first generation Mark model. Then a booming voice caught all of your attention. Lieutenant Johnny approached the marshal, “Marshal. A pleasant morning.”

The marshal nodded, “To you too, Johnny.”

The lieutenant blinked. He stood tall, he had a new cut; an undercut. “Hey, Yuta. Oh, hey (Y/N)” Yuta nodded. You gave the lieutenant a faint smile. Johnny raised a brow; he is quite surprised at both of your behaviiors. You were both inseperable; clingy and full of love. The couple before him acted as if they despised each other. Johnny cleared his throat and gave Yuta a sullen look, “I’m sorry for the loss of your brother.”

Yuta only nodded. The marshal spoke again, “His cousin, Haechan will be your co-pilot in Echo Panther towards the Breach. That machine is as mighty as flash, quite fast and the last generation of the Mark 06.”

Yuta narrowed his eyes, “We’d be compatible. I’ve ran combat against Haechan before.”

“That’s a good thing. In that way we could stop the monsters from going in and out of our world as if they own the place. The Russians have given us enough resources such as nuclear missiles to be attached to Jaeger’s back.”

You clicked your tongue, “So you have a plan? What is my purpose then? To be an ornament?”

The marshal smiled, “An ornament is a fancy word, (Y/N). You are a warrior and so you will be backing the machine up to successfully enter the Breach.”

You snapped, “How could I back the Jaeger marshal? When you keep your plans to yourselves? My boyfriend doesn’t even talk to me as if I’ve got his fucking tongue.”

Marshall Lau blinked. This was the reason why he is opposed to Yuta’s request; you will be enraged once you find out. The Marshal called for Johnny’s attention, “Let us go to the control base.”

You raised your voice in annoyance, “Fucking hell, marshal. I feel like a fucking joke!”

Yuta cleared his throat, “Let’s go.”

“I won’t. Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Johnny fidgeted and bowed his head awkwardly towards Yuta, “The mission’s tomorrow. Let me know if you need something.”

Yuta answered back, “Thank you, sir.”

You cleared your throat, “Well? If you won’t talk, then I’m out.”

This is what they feared. What Yuta feared.

Your boots clanked every step you took. Yuta followed you from behind. There are electric sparks everywhere. The people were busy. Welding. Yuta heaved a sigh. Echo Panther stood there; tall, mighty and beautiful as ever. Beside it was Gipsy Danger, its familiar yellow windshield is noticeable from a distance. Memories came flooding his mind again, where he used to pilot the machine back in their glory days, with his best friend, his brother, Mark Lee. “She’s beautiful as ever.”

You tried to conceal your annoyance. “The last among the Mark 03. I made some major improvements on her model. Her nuclear core is powered tremendously, more stronger than before. There are weapons added, missile launches, laser ammos, et cetera.”

“She looked so new.”

“Better than new.” Yuta gave you a look. A look that you wish to see everyday. It is a glance that a man ever gave to a woman he truly admires, he truly loved.

“How do you like your new toy now, handsome boy?” Taeil walked on the metal platform. Yuta grinned widely and tackled the operator. 

“Good to see you, my man, Taeil.”

Taeil chucked, “Good old times. Where the hell have you been?”

“The infirmary,” Yuta inquired, “Ready for tomorrow?”

“I’m always ready.”

You stalked away; annoyance taking a toll on you. You glanced behind your shoulder and made sure to raise your voice for him to hear, “We better talk Nakamoto Yuta. I’m tired of guessing what the hell in running inside that pretty head of yours.”

Yuta entered his room, it looked similar, untouched, unfolded. It was a fortnight since he’d last slept in his room. Last night he was here; he was making love to you. Holding you close to him. Kissing passionately as if there is no tomorrow. But things have changed. Yuta cozened himself  with vain hopes and fake smiles, acting as if everything’s fine. The room looked lonely, empty, rusty. He turned to look at you. His eyes unfathomable, “What is it that you want to know?”

You let out an exasperated smile, “Stop acting so inconspicuous. I know something’s going on.”

“There is. Kaiju everywhere. I’m sure you know of these, (Y/N)”

You yelled, “I’m not fucking stupid, Yuta! Do you really enjoy doing this? Acting as if I’m not existing? This is bullshit, Yuta! Stop acting like a dick!”

There was a long silence. It was deafening.  

Yuta raised his brows, “I don’t understand why you are acting like this, (Y/N)”

“I’m acting like this because of you! You’re acting like a jerk!” You called out. Your fists balled up to fists; shaking uncontrollably. Your eyes glistened with tears.

Yuta chuckled bitterly, “Oh. I had no choice.”

Tears started to fall from your eyes.“Were you trying to destroy us?” You wiped your tears aggressively, inhaling rapid breaths,  “How do you sleep at night?”

Yuta let out a long, slow, exhale and ran a finger on his dirty blonde locks, “What I’m doing is for us, (Y/N). You’ll understand.”

“Did you expect this to turn out better? Yuta, what you are doing is bullshit!”

“I never meant to hurt you, you know?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did. For the weeks that passed, I was longing for you! I wanted to take care of you, but all you did was to push me away!” You sobbed, vision blurring with tears, “Tell me where did I go wrong, huh? Yuta, tell me!”

Yuta exhaled, giving you a cold stare, “Aren't you tired? Can we just stop this and give our hearts rest?”

You choked back your tears. The universe you are both in—is indeed in chaos. However, that chaos didn’t stop both of your feelings for each other. It was a feeling so rare, raw, full of love. This universe both you are in, gave a lesson to make introductions for lovers that are destined to do great things together, to seize the limited moment the universe has to give to the both of you. Yet the introductions can take time, can be staggered over weeks, months or years. In those times, you and Yuta have sorted out things; to not further complicate everything and stress each other out. This is what you’ve feared, when the time comes, the time of separation, the downfall of the love you both have established for so long. The pain ransacked your systems. It acts like a focusing lens; memories have flooded your mind, flashing towards the next. You saw that one time; the purity of his love, his words echoing in your ears; that you were the only one lover for his lifetime. Then all of a sudden, the jittery feeling collapsed. 

Your vision is blurred; you tried to hold anything to prevent you from collapsing. This wasn’t the ending you wished. Never in your life wished to have this dreadful moment; you slapped your cheeks. In attempt to slap out of the paranoia your mind is molding in; but failed. What you are seeing, hearing, feeling—they are all fucking true. The piercing pain, it is present. He approached your figure, you took a step backwards. His breath fanned your face, “I’m already tired, (Y/N). Let go of me, remove me from your system as if I never occupied it in the first place. I don’t deserve you nor you deserved me.”

You shook your head. “No. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I am not, (Y/N). I need air, having you with me, suffocates me.”

You exhaled and looked intently at his eyes. You sounded wounded and incredulous. Your voice is cracking, your heart pounding hard. You tried to reach out for him but he took a step back, “Please, please just give me another chance.”

Yuta stood there with an unreadable expression plastered on his face. He whispered,“Leave me alone, (Y/N).”

You blinked. Your chest is heaving up and down. You couldn't help but compare the night with his own state of mind. Just like those clouds, your insides were in chaos. A mess. “Why? Yuta, why?” You tried to reason out this unbearable burning but your mind is in an endless swirl of darkness. Everything felt so confusing, a joke; just like a jumbled set of a puzzle.

“The one you love most isn't always the one you spend your life with. I’m not the guy for you.”

You blinked. His expression darkened. You tried to convince him, it might just be Mark’s death as to why he is acting this way.“You were always the one, Yuta. Where did I go wrong? I will try to change, please.. Just don’t.. I love you so much.” Your emotions turn jagged, insides tight.

His tone was cold. “I know you love me, but I'm sick of lying when I say it back.”

You gasped and clutched your chest. Yuta did everything. Almost everything. Disobeyed a direct order, fucked his subjects, fucked you, loved you, killed, lost someone, everything. But, making you cry wasn’t part of his agenda. He had his reasons, he loved you so much. But for him, this is the thing he should be doing. He had already made a mistake, and he surely doesn’t want to commit it again. He disobeyed the orders of the marshal just to save the people from the vessel. If he just listened, Mark could've been breathing up to this day, fighting with him. But, what he did was for the greater good, and choosing has always come with a price and a consequence. 

What he did will surely give you a scar. But he would rather choose to be hated by his love rather than having you suffer forever. Waves of melancholy pooling over you. You bit down your lip, and dropped your gaze. “How could you do this to me? After everything we’ve been through?

You raised your head and saw Yuta. His figure is far from you; away from your reach. He graciously stalked around his room; topless. Several vertical scars lingered on his shoulder blades, his biceps, on his latissimus dorsi. That was the scars from his battle. The scar that reminded him of his loss. You stared at his figure intently. He had defined muscles; his abs are sticking out, his overall physique is a viewpoint and enough evidence of how well-trained and strong his body is. A body of a true ranger. A Jaeger Pilot. Both of your eyes locked. 

"People change, and people grow. And I think we just grew apart."

“That is stupid, Yuta!”

“Once, a long time ago, I thought I loved you. I do, but everything has its ends."

You were a big fan of literature. Yuta knew that. And one poem struck to your mind, 

"Of all nights, today's the one that had to break my heart fully and irreversibly."--A. M. Wolowicz

Yuta had molded your heart, took care of it, guarded it. But he was also the one who crushed it to pieces to the point, you were so lost, you can’t think of how to mend it back in one.

Military Time: 2100 hours.

“Marshal, the nuclear has been attached to Echo Panther’s back.”

“That’s good.”

“There’s one thing.”

The marshal stopped on his tracks, “What is it?”

“About Yuta.”

The marshal gave the staff a meaningful stare, “Is anything wrong?”

The staff shook his head, no. “The ranger wants to tell you that he’ll be stopping taking in his medication. And he also said to not engage his pod.”

The marshal narrowed his eyes. “Why so?”

“He didn’t disclose anymore, sir.”

The marshal exhaled, “Understood. Is the Jaeger ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are the movements?”

“Along Hong Kong, sir. Then, deep in the breach.”

“How many signatures are noted?”

“Three, sir. Category five.”

“Gather all the Jaegers.”

“Marshal.”

The marshal turned around and saw your figure. You look dishevelled, ruined, broken.

“How can I help you, (Y/N).”

“Place me in the control base.”

“Will do.”

“Movement in the Breach. Double event.”

The alarm wailed inside the control lab. There was a movement, after two weeks of calm, the demons are now starting to strike. Category four.  Taeil looked at his flashing monitor, a doughnut in hand. He called in all the staff. The pilots of Hunger Mercenary; Jung Jaehyun and Kim Doyoung are in the base; in their deep green metal suits. Jaehyun and Doyoung stood tall and glorious. The Wong brothers; Lucas, Kun and Hendery, pilots of Taker Shaolin, has worn their glossy red suits. Hairs are noticeable from afar. Your figure is standing near the consoles. You searched for the familiar figure of Yuta. And there he stood, beside Haechan both in you midnight black metal suits. 

Taeil walks in the base, back and forth. “Double signatures. Code name Tailcleaver and Thornbreaker and one, unidentified. They’ll reach Hong Kong in an hour.”

Marshal Lau’s voice boomed, alerting all the staff, “Evacuate the city, shut down the bridges. All people should be in refuge. Hunger Mercenary,” he looked at Jaehyun and Doyoung, “Tanker Shaolin,” then towards the Wong brothers, “I want you guard the harbor. Echo,” Then he gave a glance towards Yuta and Haechan, “Stay back at the miracle mile. You are the final option, we cannot afford to lose you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go.”

The metals are thudding as the choppers are set to fly out the three Jaegers to the coast lines. There are indistinct radio chatters heard. The pilots are alert, adrenaline pumping in. The orders of the marshal booming in their p.a systems, “Guys be alert. These are category 4s, large in both size and weight.

Jaehyun spoke, “We are near the coast line. Disengaging transport.” The choppers rope disengaged from their Jaeger, and the machine descended downwards. The Wong brother’s have already disengaged their transport as well; their Jaeger dropping onto the oceans. The Jaegers walked along the oceans; creating massive waves after their strides. The night was calm; eerie. Lucas sensed a movement from his right; three o’ clock. The Kaiju was swimming silently, moving fast. The Kaiju looked similar to a large lizard. Its feet were a bed of gloopy pustules; grotesque. Its legs are as thick as tree trunks. The Kaiju’s skin is so thick; leathery; with occasional blue scales lingering on its back. They also do have ginormous torsos, body covered in scales. Each step it took, made the ground shake. A roar. Height tall as a skyscraper. Teeth like rows of ebony daggers. Small beady, ruthless eyes searching for its enemy. The doctor wasn’t wrong when he said the Kaijus were adapting; they were surprisingly fast, agile, strong. The stench of raw flesh on it's humid breath, a glowing blue light illuminated its throat. Flaring nostrils. It was thrashing its tail as it took a fast movement, taking the pilots by surprise. It stood up tall. An ear-splitting roar like thunder booming.

From the right; three o’ clock of the Wong brother’s Jaeger. The Kaiju appeared; its tail sweeping from left to right. Its roar resonated along the coastline. Then, it took a sudden turn, it’s tail aimed for the Jaeger’s torso. The pilots grunted; the hull they were shook at the attack. They recovered from its attack. Kun instructed to engage the nuclear missiles and aimed fully at its throat. There was a loud splash, followed by a spine-chilling shriek. 

From the base, Taeil noted the missile launch. His fingers typing vigorously. “One down. The other one is attacking Jaehyun and Doyoung.”

The marshal squinted his eyes, “The unidentified?”

“It’s staying on the portal. Stationary.”

“And what are they up to?”

Taeil shrugged, “Echo Panther will find out about it soon,” he pressed a red button, “Dyoung, Jaehyun, what’s the situation?”

A string of curses unraveled from Jaehyun’s tongue, like a yarn unfurling. The Kaiju advanced. It's golden scales shimmered with hot anger along with it's dark, cold, beady eyes. Doyoung hissed as they staggered from its attack, their metal harness shaking at the aftermath. “This is one son of a bitch.” The Kaiju roared. Jaehyun and Doyoung took a swift punch. But the Kaiju struck up its sharp claw onto Hunger Mercenary’s torso; holding it to its place. The pilot grunted and shouted in pain. The Kaiju roared loudly; as its throat expanded; a glowing cerulean blue liquid spewed out from its mouth. Doyoung yelled, “Marshal, it purged out some type of acid. It is slowly penetrating through the hull.”

“Engage the nuclear bomb and attach to the pod. Now!”

From the base. You watched the electrocardiogram on the digital screens. The electrical signals of the pilots moving in a normal manner. The electrodes are placed on their chest to record the heart's electrical signals, of which causes the heart to beat. The signals are shown as waves. The Wong’s waves were moving fast a while ago; it signified stress. Jaehyun and Doyoung’s waves were also moving at a fast pace. Haechan and Yuta’s waves are moving calmly. Normal. You sighed as you fidgeted on your seat. 

“Missile Launching. Alarm Code Red.”

Doyoung and Jaehyun were now heading for their security pod. The AI is counting to five and for five seconds, they have to get the hell out of the JAeger. Otherwise, they will be fried to death. There was a loud blast. The people from the city wailed. Panic. Chaos. Then, loud roar followed by a blinding light. 

The marshal grumbled, “What is the health rate of the pilots of Hunger Mercenary?”

“Jaehyun passed out, he got delayed and thus, hit his head inside the pod.”

“Assessment?”

“Dyoung’s vital signs are normal. Jaehyun is unresponsive, I cannot read his pulse.”

“Engage the transport immediately. Lucas, Kun, Hendery, go back to the base. Now! Yuta, Haechan,”

The voice of the two pilots boomed onto the base’ speakers. Yuta’s voice sent a chill towards your spine. “Yes, sir.”

“Transport. Bring Echo Panther to the Breach.”

It's now or never. Yuta held only two choices; to die or to fucking die. And he wishes to die on a Jaeger rather than to die in a hospital 

“All ports sealed, ready to submerge.”

“Roger that.”

“400 miles.”

Doctor TY held the microphone, “Remember, Yuta, Haechan. Attach a Kaiju onto your body for the Breach to open through. This is our only way to get through their den. Take the monsters as a bar code, kaching.”

The ocean was fascinating, deep, eerie, lonely. Such thrills as the ocean could only give. Only the deep sea could bring. Yuta and Haechan walked, their strides heavy, the fall was close. It was like a changing panorama if only the Kaiju’s were not present. A rocky wall, not twenty feet away from them, stood up like a sky-scraper, straight and tall. Here and there it was broken by fissures and caves. Everywhere it was festooned with sea vegetation--seaweed, kelp, anemones. All these, with coral that rose like Gothic architecture, were entrancing. Like a dream come true. Suddenly a Kaiju attacked them from behind.

Yuta groaned, as their metal harness shook from the attack. The alarms are wailing. Then, there was another swing penetrating through Yuta’s side. It shoots a piercing pain onto his legs. You gulped nervously, Yuta’s vital signs and rhythms are going berserk. Wild. Even though he had ended everything, the love you have for the man is still present, even if the pain is taking a toll, corrupting you to blindness. 

Haechan furrowed his brows, “I cannot see anything. It's moving too fast!”

Yuta pushed the p.a button, “Taeil hyung, we can’t see anything!”

“To your left; one o’ clock!”

So far down in the ocean the sunlight is a soft diffuse glow. But for the most part, the ocean is dim, majority; dark. There were once golden rays from above; and it gave a warm blue hue of the waters; and the deeper the Jaeger went through; the darker the blue color they saw. 

The rocks are now silhouettes in the dim. The headlight from the Jaager lit up like the glow of the heat from a winter campfire. There was a lone fish, invisible until it entered the feeble beam. 

With the increasing pressure, Yuta and Haechan begin to feel like the water is becoming thicker, like soup. They glanced upward to the surface and their heart rate rose. It was so deep. The voice of caution whispered softly onto them; not to rise so fast, but it can't break through the scream for unfiltered rays and fresh air. Not, until, a Kaiju roared again and penetrated through their nuclear core.

“Let’s get this son of a bitch!” Yuta engaged the sword and struck it towards the head of the Kaiju. It screamed so loud. Its toxic cerulean blood is gushing onto its penetrated head. Echo Panter took a step while dragging the sword that struck the creatures head near the opening of the Breach. Where the lava spews. The Kaiju gave a loud screech. Its tail swooped from behind taking Yuta and Haechan by surprise. 

“Echo, be alert of a sudden attack!”

The Kaiju swam far away from them. Then, attacked directly at the Jaeger, coming over at full speed. Yuta kneeled, then Haechan raised his arm; sword glistening. The Kaiju’s mouth was wide open; screams and shriek coming out of its throat. But one thing, a Kaiju does not have is a sense of control. If it strikes, they will, and no one’s gonna tell them to maneuver their ways. Haechan grinned as he ripped the Kaiju apart. Yuta grunted as he controlled his body; the aftershock of the attack was heavy for him. Yuta needs to be stable for the Jaeger not to fly out from the assault. Its cerulean blood clinging onto the body of the Jaeger.  Haechan grunted, and folded his arms; finally striking and ripping the creature in half. The sword clamored. The people from the base felt glory. 

“Echo, attach the Kaiju onto your body!”

Echo Panther moved and gripped the Kaiju’s head. The people from the base where expectant; glory is coming their way. Not until, Taeil sensed another. “Fuck.”

Yuta screamed into the p.a. The alarms were not wailing, “The hull is compromised! We can’t shoulder another attack!”

“Jump onto the Breach now!”

“Copy sir!”

All the systems are critical. There is a lot of fluid loss. Code Red. Yuta’s leg was crippled. They held the Kaiju carcass limping, towards the opening. The Breach is a meter away, then the category five Kaiju suddenly appeared in front of them. Haechan gulped. Yuta gritted his teeth in anger. Yuta looked at the younger pilot, “Let’s do this.” Haechan gave him a strong nod. Then, they jumped ahead, with the help of the rear jets. Tackling the Kaiju onto the portal. Then, Haechan lifted his arm and sliced thoroughly onto the Kaiju’s back. The Kaiju screeched. Haechan grunted. Yuta yelled, “Hold on!”

The Kaiju screeched out loud in pain. Its tail swinged upward, attacking the rear part of the Kaiju. Haechan and Yuta were already exhausted. Taeil saw how Haechan’s oxygen levels dropped down fast. His monitor beeping wildly. Half capacity. Haechan felt like drowning. Taeil moved to another monitor, typing as fast; to reroute everything. Yuta yelled, “Hold on! I will burn this motherfucker down!”

Yuta activated the heat purge. The nuclear core flashed; burning the chest of the Kaiju. The creature groaned, and wiggled against the Jaeger’s hold. But their tackles and grip was strong. The fire penetrated through the creature's chest reaching its back. It screeched again, then its eyes turned grey. It fell onto the Jaeger’s chest, limp, unalive. They have reached the opening, electricity around them were whirring.Taeyong was right; the only way to enter the portal is you fool the Breach into believing you are of its people. From Taeel’s screen, Echo Panther’s signature suddenly disappeared. They have now successfully entered the portal, The lair of the demons. 

Oxygen from Haechan’s side was in a critical state. If he continues on, he will die there. And Yuta won’t allow that to happen; he pulled in his oxygen tube and attached it onto the younger’s suit. Haechan gasped for air. His helmet was fogging. He gave a faint smile, “You’ve done a good job, buddy. You know I was a jerk to (Y/N), but please guard her for me. I will finish this alone.” He pressed a series of buttons. Then, the metal harness whirred, sending Haechan’s figure inside the evacuation pod. Haechan’s eyes were heavy. He cannot decipher his surroundings. He gave Yuta a faint smile. He pushed a button then the pod was released ascending towards the surface.

Taeil voiced, “Yuta is giving Haechan his oxygen. He has already ejected the pod.”

You stood up quick. “What happened? What is happening?”

The marshal breathed, “It was his last will, (Y/N).”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand you marshal.” You pushed aside the marshal and spoke onto the microphone, “Yuta! Yuta!”

Yuta smiled, he heard your lovely voice, again. He blinked slowly; his oxygen levels were already low. He activated the nuclear core. There was a countdown. Five. Five seconds to live his life. He smiled, “I love you so much (Y.N). I’ll love you till the last rose dies.” Yuta initiated the reactor override. You blast the Jaeger to pieces; self destructing. The breach was like a large intestine. Pink and full of life. Electricity everywhere. The baby Kaiju chattered. Their beady eyes staring at the Jaeger. Then there was a loud blast. You were startled at the sound. The ECG line of Yuta was beeping, flat. You burst into tears, calling out his name on the microphone, “Yuta! No!”

It was Yuta’s last will. To save the world, to die in a Jaeger and to tell you how much he loved you. He did it. And he was content.

Five years.

It was five years of play-pretend. Finding ways to numb the pain. It was the start of the dark force. Tearing out the sewn paranoia you had. And replaying the pains of your past. You couldn’t forget about Yuta, he was your first love. Yet, after his death, all you could feel was the terrible pain; because of his disappearance. You would wake up in dawn just to cry till you could no longer lash out your tears. It was clarity that brought each of you, molded you to one, then had become one unit of two souls. But right now, your other half is gone, and you were left alone, numb, in pain. You decided to go to the bar. You felt high, in a daze, this was the thing you could do to forget that you are missing Yuta terribly. A guy pushed you in the bathroom, a tequila in your other hand. He began undressing you. You wanted this, to remove the pain. But was it worth doing? He kissed you. The scene was intimate; two people osculated. But in your mind; you wished it was only him, Nakamoto Yuta. He unbuckled his belt and sat on the toilet bowl. He pumped his member, it’s tip oozing. You immediately removed your pants, and panties and climbed onto his lap. You drank the last shots of your alcohol drink and began to thrust. The guy held your waist hard, guiding you up and down. He gave a moan of pleasure. You tilted your head back, tears flooding out of your eyes. You gripped on the metal pole overhead. You sobbed while thrusting deep. It wasn’t pleasure that you were feeling, it was fucking pain. Grief. It was five years of restlessness. If you could just pay to have him back, you would, but you couldn’t. He was now gone, permanently. You felt the pain glowing into your chest. You stopped thrusting and buried your head onto your fuck buddy’s shoulder. 

He hugged you, “Are you good?”

You breathed. You felt bitter, “It’s been so long since I last hugged someone…I had forgotten how it feels like to be held.”

You grabbed the rose from Yuta. His words are still clear in your mind; he won’t stop loving you till the last rose dies. And so, he gave you an undying rose. You felt your vision blurred. You grabbed the flash drive and plugged it into your laptop. Yuta’s gorgeous face came to view and it made you wail. All you did was to cry. 

[1] Formylove.mp4

“Hey love. This took me thirteen fucking tries, and I want to make sure this comes out perfect. Handsome I am right? Hehe.. First of all, I want to apologize for being a jerk to you; it was all an act... I don’t want to make you suffer anymore. You see? I was diagnosed with Helmer’s Myopathy and even if I won’t go on a mission, I will still die.. and so I did what my guts wanted me to do… spend my remaining days in a Jaeger fighting off till my last breath... This two weeks I’m away from you, it felt like hell, fucking hell… I wanted to touch you, hug you, but I did this, I distanced myself from you.. to hate me, because this is the only thing I could do to ease your pain. To replace it with anger. But please.. I love you with all my heart.. I won’t get tired of being with you.. To say that I love you.. I fucking love you so much.. I devote myself to telling you that.. I will always be in your heart, my love. I will never disappear.. If you ever miss me, just close your eyes, and I will appear.. That is how much I love you… What I did was for the greater good.. You deserve a peaceful world, (Y/N), my love. And I am willing to sacrifice myself to offer a serene world, for you. I know how much you love literature, hold on.. I have a quote for you, “I guess that's just part of loving people: You have to give things up.” I will give everything up, just for you, (Y/N). I love you so much.”

im nervous about this but since i didn’t proofread this sike. anyways <3

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E4; Chapter Four, The Body - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Gender Neutral!Reader Series

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Mike flips through the drawings Will had given him what seems like ages ago. He found himself unable to tear himself away from one of Will's favorites. It was the party. But they were their dungeons and dragons selves. Will the Wise stood proudly amongst his fellow party members. Together they stood triumphantly.

Mike was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of the feedback from the supercomm.

"Can you please stop that?" He asked exasperatedly at El, who sat in her fort fiddling with the device.

El looks to him, before returning to the com, the crackling of the feedback whining throughout the room.

"Are you deaf?" Mike snapped.

El was determined to keep tinkering away.

"I thought we were friends, you know? But friends tell each other the truth. And they definitely don't lie to each other. You made me think Will was okay, that he was still out there, but he wasn't. He wasn't! Maybe you thought you were helping, but you weren't. You hurt me. Do you understand? What you did sucks. Lucas was right about you. All along."

El's eyes bore into Mike's as he yelled at her. However, she sat there, unfazed before turning back to the com. With the final crackle, the distinctive voice of Will Byers rang over the comm and across the room. He was singing.

"So come on and let me know, Should I stay or should I go?"

Mike slowly looked up from the picture and towards El, goosebumps littering his skin. She was looking to him expectantly, blood dripping from her nose.

"Should I stay or should I go now? Should I stay or should I go now?"

Mike jumped off the couch and ran to El, who slowly handed him the walkie. Mike stared at it in disbelief as he listened to the unmistakable voice of his best friend.

"If I go there will be trouble. If I stay it will be double."

Mike gladly took the comm. His finger pressed firmly on the speaker button he practically yelled into the speaker. "Will, is that you? It's Mike! Do you copy? Over."

El stares at the boy, wishing she could help him more. Alas, she knew Will would be unable to hear him. The room was met with the dreaded static of the other line as Mike waited for a response that would never come.

He tried again.

"Will, are you there? Will!"

Mike saw the look on El's face, knowing she had done her best. He dropped his hand to his side.

"Was that...? Was it...?"

El gave Mike a bittersweet smile.

"Will."

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Michael? Hi, honey. How are you feeling?"

Karen poked her head into her son's room.

Mike stuttered as he lay under the blankets, and she crosses the room to sit at his bedside.

"I, uh... I don't think I can go to school today."

"Oh, that's fine, sweetie. I need to drop off Nance, then I'm gonna check in on Barb's parents. Why don't you grab a book or something and come with me? We can stop by the video store on the way back, pick out whatever you want. Even R-rated."

Karen offered, a small smile on her face.

"I think I just want to stay home today. I mean, if that's okay?" He asked, tentatively.

"Well, are you sure you're gonna be all right here by yourself?"

"I think so."

"Okay." She sighed, patting her son on the arm comfortingly."If you need anything, call Dad at work."

Mike softly nodded his head.

"Okay."

"Okay."

Karen leaned forward and kissed her son on the forehead before stepping out.

"Bye." Mike softly called after his mom.

She turned to him as she closed the door, a smile on her face.

"Bye, sweetie."

As soon as his mother closed the door, Mike jumped up from under the covers, fully clothed. He reached for the supercomm on his bedside table and extended the antenna.

"Lucas, do you copy? Lucas, come on, I know you're there! This is urgent. I'm serious."

Mike stood up from his bed, continuing into the walkie. "I'm not gonna stop until you answer. Lucas. Lucas!" He took a deep breath. "Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas... Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, Lucas—"

"Go away, Mike." Lucas had sat up in bed, frustrated as he extended the antenna.

"I'm not in the mood, all right? Over and out."

Before Lucas could close the supercomm antenna, Mike's voice had stopped him.

"No, not 'out.' I'm not messing around, okay? This is about Will. Over."

Lucas paused, not letting himself get his hopes up.

"What about Will? You mean about his funeral? Over."

"No, not his funeral. Screw hs funeral!" Mike spits.

"What?"

"Just get over here stat. And bring Dustin and Y/n. Over and out."

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

I blink away the tears as I stare at the same wall my eyes haven't left since I woke up. Lucas saw me and Dustin off and made sure we got home. My whole body has been numb since last night. The image of Will laying lifeless on the gurney hasn't left my mind.

I never would have believed it but, I wanted more than anything to be at school rather than staying home today. Mom thinks it was the stress and trauma that made me sick today, but whatever it really is, she insisted I stay home.

I locked myself in my room as soon as I got home, Dustin had filled Mom in on what happened. She had woken me up this morning, apologizing and asking if there was anything she could do to help. But she couldn't do anything. Nobody could. Will, my best friend, is gone.

Apparently, I was burning up because Mom began freaking out when she felt my forehead. I didn't feel any different apart from grief and heartbreak.

"Alright, Pumpkin, I called the school and they know you're staying home. I wish I could stay with you but I can't miss another work day. I'll be back at the regular time, and you know what number to call if you need anything, right?"

I felt her hand rub my shoulder as I never broke eye contact with the wall. Tears were falling freely down my face, through my scalp and into my ears and pillow. My left arm had become numb from laying on my left side.

"Mm." I couldn't even bring myself to speak.

"Bye, sweetie."

I heard her footsteps recede followed by the closing of my bedroom door.

I closed my eyes, trying to sleep. But every time my eyes closed I saw it all over again. Will being pulled from the water. I tried to push through it. But my mind began creating scenarios of how he fell in. Countless images of him stumbling over the cliff. Or even the horrific thought of his already lifeless body being tossed into the water by a faceless figure that I only assumed to be his murderer.

Countless, horrendous scenarios playing like a slideshow in my head and the second wave of pain washed over me as it felt as if someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart into dust, while another hand punched my gut.

I rolled over on my back, I felt the anguish surging through my veins and all the way to my fingertips as a wave of anger erupted from deep within. I heard items fall to the floor somewhere around my room and I figured that in my fit I had slammed my fists too hard against my bed, shaking the room somehow.

I quickly dismissed the odd thought and the second wave of hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

My palms began to sweat as I felt my body temperature rise out of what I could only assume was anger. That must be where my fever had come from but I still didn't understand how that all happened.

I was angry my best friend was taken away from me. I loved him, and he was the closest friend I have ever had. And now he's gone. I still refused to believe it yet my mind was cruel enough to replay the worst moment of my life everytime I close my eyes.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and sat up. I couldn't stand being alone with anything else to think about and I looked around my room for anything to take my mind off everything that's been happening.

My eyes scanned the room and then they fell on the all too familiar mix tape Will had lent to me just months ago. A bittersweet smile had made its way onto my face and I got out of bed. I put the tape in the boombox and pressed play.

"Should I stay or should I go?"

I sat listening to Will's favorite song and I felt a different wave of emotion wash over me for once.

I think it was a stubborn hope.