#and by rain i mean torrential downpour with loud thunder

[indigostars]

nothing feels more calming than standing out in the rain

[sio-writes]

Sacrifice - Ch 9

<<<Chapter 1

<<Chapter 8

Tags: NSFW (oral) other than that it's a very chill chapter :)

My dreams are full of storms. Torrential downpours, thunder that rattles my bones, and lightning that makes my hair stand on end.

I dream of my brother, caught in the cold. My parents, pushing me outdoors. It's so cold, and then so hot, I can't feel the rain against my face but I can hear it, I can smell it, it smells like a million memories all at once that flash in front of my eyes, and then it's the comforting paw of Eodine across my face, telling me that I can leave. I groan an answer, but she turns away and disappears into the Forest of Souls, pulling me with her on a leash.

I bolt upright in a cold sweat. I’m in a strange place, surrounded by strange—

No, I realize as I catch my breath, I’m in Aurelius’ room, with its feathered floor and warm air. He’s surrounding me in that large deer form, almost protective, his neck laying alongside my body, where I'm gripping tightly to one large antler.

I'm wracked by tremors as the literal thunderstorm outside slowly rolls by. As I calm, so does the air, losing its electric charge a little more with each deep breath I take. The storm clears, and my thoughts clear with it, and I look outside to see that it's nearly dawn. The sky is already beginning to fade from deep purple to pink, the stars are shuttering themselves in for the next night.

My sudden jolt into the waking world means I won't be getting back to sleep before my body wakes itself up for chores again, but I don't want to revisit that dream anyway, don't want to dwell or even think of it.

I cringe when Aurelius shifts next to me. I chance a look at his head, and I cringe again when his breathing shifts and he opens his eyes.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice pitched low from sleep and shaking the ground beneath my feet.

“I—“ I breathe, hand over my chest. “I’m okay,” I say, straightening and attempting a smile.

Aurelius stares at me, waiting for me to cave to whatever expression he's trying to send across, but after a moment, drawn tight like a string, he curls tighter around me and hums. I can feel the vibrations through his chest as he taps the side of his head to my temple. His voice drops when he asks, “Do you want comfort anyway?”

I chew my lip as his meaning makes my stomach jump. I'm not keen on visiting last night's disaster of a fuck, but when I close my eyes, the thunder still echoes in my head.

I suppose I could use the distraction.

I stretch my arms towards him and nod, and his growl is loud and possessive. Before my eyes, he shifts into the form I know, humanoid but not, and the shadows around me shift with him to wrap around my wrists and pin my arms above my head. Even more act as a cushion of sorts, reclined but not on the floor, and it's like I’m on display. A thrill goes through me when I pull against the shadows and there’s no give, and another when Aurelius lifts my skirt and then spreads my knees.

This is wrong, especially after last night. I used sex, the one thing we had together, to get something from Aurelius. I used him for my own benefit, manipulated him. Now he’s fucking me to calm me down, and I haven’t done anything to deserve this. I’m a coward for not asking him to stop, and an even worse one for wanting him to continue.

Aurelius licks the inside of my thigh, starting at my knee and slowly drawing in, pulling my focus from myself to his actions. His tongue is full of texture as it wetly drags from my inner thigh to my entrance, and then up the center of me. He licks me apart, slow, hypnotizing, with just enough pressure to have me shuddering in pleasure. He circles my clit without touching it, sparking fire through my blood, and I gently kick him in the shoulder. "Don't tease."

Aurelius hums, and it turns into a deep chuckle that tells me he has something in mind. He speaks even as he continues those long, slow licks up the center of me without hitting where I need him to, “Patience is a virtue, my doe.”

His hands map my body, exploring with the ease and reverence of a husband making love to his wife. He squeezes my waist, palms my breasts through my clothes, finding my nipples and plucking at them with a practiced hand. I want to rally against the restraints, tell him to stop teasing me, but it feels so good, and I press my lips together to avoid moaning outright.

Awash in feeling as a finger slips quietly into me, and another immediately beside it. The stretch is a small burn, one I'm used to and am learning to enjoy, pulling me from relaxing into what Aurelius is offering and being an active participant. The fingers part inside me, intensifying the stretch and I gasp, my back arching off the shadows as I press my lips together.

With one hand, Aurelius smooths over my breast, easily finding my pert nipple and pulling at it with his deft fingers. "Don't be shy, dear. Let me hear you."

Shaking my head feels like an automatic action at this point. Still, Aurelius isn't deterred.

He pulls his hand back for only a moment before slamming it back into me, the jolt sending me up the shadowy bed, the ache blossoming deep in my belly that quickly resolves into heated pleasure. All thoughts scatter like leaves in autumn as heat lances up my spine. My jaw falls open as sweat breaks out on my skin and my breathing turns into small, pathetic pants in time with his fingers.

Aurelius keeps a punishing pace and curls his fingers, drawing an involuntary moan from my throat and then he fucking chuckles, smug. "Very good."

He does it again, drawing another wretched sound from me, and I've decided that he is the biggest asshole this side of the fae realm. Sometimes he can be

He can be closer to a rutting animal than a human when he fucks me, like he wants to dominate me, tell me that I belong to him, and that's where he gets off. He makes sure I'm not hurt, but generally does whatever he wants, and I let him. Gods above, I let him.

Aurelius slowly, carefully, adds a third finger, patting my side when I hiss at the stretch. He squeezes my knee affectionately. "Tell me if you are in pain."

"Mmhm," is all I can respond-- everything just feels like so much-- but my hard work is dashed when he curls his fingers again, hitting that same spot just as he flicks his tongue over my clit, just enough sensation to tip my head back into the shadows keeping me upright. My skin is hot, I can’t think for longer than a moment, each time his tongue flicks over me, my mind goes blank. "Aurelius, knock it off, I'm going to come."

He laughs dangerously, and I throb around him. "I believe that is the point, my doe."

"Don't you want to--"

"You've been very stressed," he says, moving away and nipping at the inside of my thigh. I can't break these shadowy bonds to shove his head back down. "But you still allowed me another chance, so let me do something for you."

He starts again, faster than before, a small mercy that quickly builds heat under my skin like kindling under a fire. It's quick and efficient, and in an embarrassing amount of time I'm on the edge.

"Aurelius--"

His hand snaps forward and my climax rushes through me, a torrent of sensation that blazes over my skin and steals the breath from my lungs. I moan a loud, drawn out sound into the air. It feels so good, and goes on for so long it’s almost as if I’d climaxed again, and it’s several breaths before I calm down.

But as I come down, his words hit me full-force, sucking the afterglow of release away faster than I can take my next inhale.

I'm a fraud. I'm a liar. I didn't deserve any of that, any of this. Not his kindness, not this pleasure, nothing. I sick in another breath and hold it as Aurelius licks his fingers clean without a care in the world. He rests his other hand gently on my knee, where he idly draws swirls with his thumb.

"Sleep," he purrs, and I don't feel the crackle of magic, or see the small rune he placed on my thigh until my eyelids were already halfway closed.

**

I don't dream again, but I do wake up feeling rested and more relaxed than before. The room is cold, but I can still smell the forest, feel the soft down pillowing my face.

I drag myself out of Aurelius’ bed, climb down the loft and push into the library with his large blanket over my shoulders.

Instead of an empty library though, Aurelius is here, sitting at the center of the spiral staircase to the upper levels. He's surrounded by piles and piles of books, some resting on the floor, others open and hovering in the air around him as he turns his head this way and that. Some are old, tattered things in great need of repair, but others are new, some are even shiny.

More books float in from the upper shelves, while others within the piles drift back up to their empty spots. Had I known the books could do this, I'd have asked for their help long ago instead of trying to retrieve them myself.

I step up to the edge of the circle of piles, trying to read the first title, a book about three fingers thick with a hard, shiny cover. The only word I know is Anatomy, as in the body, but there's a painting of a brain on the front, so that's probably what the book is about.

As I step up, Aurelius pauses, as do all the floating books, and the book in front of his face gently falls into his lap. He's staring at me with intent, and I don't know what kind, but it makes me feel warm all over.

"That wasn't very nice, putting me to sleep like that," I say.

"You were tired," he says simply, in a way that I'm starting to learn allows no argument. Arguably, I do feel more rested than before, but I don't want him putting me to sleep like that again.

I ask instead, "What're you doing?"

"Researching," he says. As he speaks, a large book floats into view, just as the others start moving again. The cover is worn and has large text, but I don't know what any of the words mean.

"Dachaigh has many books from many eras," he continues. "Some not yet come to pass. I am trying to learn." Another book floats in front of his face, but he leans around it to look at me. "I didn't want to leave you this morning, but I wanted to start as early as possible."

“Oh,” I say, crestfallen. “You could’ve just asked me.”

“I’m not going to burden you with my own flaws,” he says, turning to another book in his hand, and he hums. “Do you know what cognitive behavioral therapy is?” he asks, and when I shake my head, he throws the book into the air, where it hovers for a moment before whisking away to a high shelf. "We'll revisit that some other time, then.”

I circle around the huge pile of books and settle on the rug, and Aurelius continues flipping through books before sending them off. The pages are too far away and the words too small for me to make anything out, but I see drawings. I see illustrations of the head, the brain, and paintings of humans colored so beautifully it's as if they could leap off the page. They're all smiling.

"Find…anything interesting?" I ask, craning my neck to see past his arm.

“Lots of definitions and large words,” he mumbles, sounding irritated. "But not much else."

Nervous energy bubbles in me like water from a spring. "This won't mess anything up, will it?"

"Mess up?"

"You taking time. Things that require…your specific magic or presence won't be affected?"

He chuckles. "Nothing truly requires my presence anymore, except for you, and I am more than happy to offer it."

Why didn't you offer it before? "That's one way to apologize."

He rolls his shoulders almost offensively, and the motion makes me think of a bird ruffling its feathers. "Gods don't apologize."

I stare at him, one brow drawn up, until he sighs heavily through his nose.

"I'm…working on it, as they say." When I hold my expression and don't respond, he rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "I am…sorry…for leaving so often."

I nod once. "Good, good."

He ruffles again, but it's smaller, like he's pleased. "Would you sit with me?"

It's my turn to rub the back of my neck. "I'd feel strange not doing the chores."

"Then may I join you?"

***

Aurelius follows me around like a lost lamb, offering assistance where he thinks it’s needed, but otherwise staying out of my way to observe. He watches as I feed the animals, take the horses and a few new cows out to pasture as the goats follow behind, and we watch as they absolutely consume their late breakfast. I give them a little extra as an apology.

My companion is full of questions-- how to do this, how to properly set that, what to do every day versus every month. The stream of words from both of us has me forgetting the ills of this morning, and it's easy to fall into a conversation where I don't have to worry about words with double-meanings or phrases laced with poison. Aurelius even seems more relaxed.

By the end of the morning I feel grounded, satisfied, and sticky with sweat. Repeating chores every day has been a staple of my life since I was old enough to carry a bucket of water, and it’s become a time to clear my head and organize my thoughts.

I’m still a hypocrite, and it’s the only thing I can think as Aurelius trails behind me from barn to pen and back. It’s a sticky, unpleasant feeling in my stomach, thicker than guilt, but not as pointed as panic, and I can feel it growing with each minute Aurelius and I spent together. Talking about it is to much of an effort, I still feel worn from last night's debacle, and given that Aurelius hasn't brought it up either, I'm going to let the issue rest until I'm more prepared.

I try to send Aurelius off to do easier things and give myself some space, but each time he comes back I feel the same deep shame I felt this morning. He eventually finds me at the tail end of wrangling a sheep, and I'm having a bit of a time with it. "What are you doing?"

"This? Oh, I'm just shearing the sheep." Trying to, at least. She's cooperative, if a bit sassy, turning just so out of my reach so I have to readjust my stool every few minutes.

"They need this?"

"These sheep do. Every spring. Or their wool grows too thick and can make them sick."

"I…I didn't know."

"Well come learn!" I pat the ground next to me, and even the sheep bleats for emphasis. He steps over and gracefully sits by my side, his position on the ground and mine on the stool puts him every so slightly lower than my head.

The herd’s wool has grown thicker since I had arrived, like it would in the mortal plane. The one underneath my hands is plush and lovely, though, not matted and dirty. How has Aurelius never needed to shear them before? Do the sheep still follow the seasons of the mortal plane?

The sheep averts it's gaze from us to look towards the forest as Aurelius runs a hand softly over her back. She bleats again and he hums contentedly, and the moment is peaceful, so I shelve my questions for later.

"This one tells me her name is Moira," Aurelius says quietly.

"Moira, huh?" I say to the sheep, glancing around her to look her in the eye. She stares back at me with those squished pupils, and I hum. "Tell her she looks more like a Penelope," I tease.

"Moira is her name," Aurelius insists, and I exhale on a laugh.

"I know, I wasn't serious." I clip another section of her wool away, taking careful measures not to cut her skin. "You can talk to the animals?"

"All the ones I've eaten," Aurelius replies, and it takes me another few snips to realize that he's joking. I scoff and gently bap him on the shoulder with the shears.

"Don't make fun of me! I don't know the rules for sacrifices!"

"There are only two," he says, and ticks them off on his fingers. "The magic is always an exchange, and anything that wishes to remain here in spirit, does."

"So any humans you ate in the past…?"

He shakes his head. "Human souls are slippery. They generally move onto an afterlife without any idea of this place."

"I suppose I won't be seeing any ghosts, then."

“Not unless you wish to,” he says cryptically.

We fall into a quiet back and forth, talking about nothing. Every so often I look over to Aurelius who's looking to the forest beyond, and I get to study his head. The silver lines in his skull catch the light and reflect back to me like a shallow pool of water.

Guilt waits on the sidelines like an unpleasant guest, even as I spot the beginning of a new branch on his antlers. I can't escape myself, it seems, even within the safety of chores and routine.

I finish up on Moira, setting the shears down and scratching her freshly shaven back with my nails. Realizing she's free of my grasp, she bleats one last time, and trots over to the rest of the herd.

"You're welcome!" I call after her retreating form, and Aurelius chuckles.

"She appreciates your efforts, and thanks you for unburdening her.”

“You’re making that up,” I pout, and he offers another deep chuckle as an answer.

We idle away at the sheep until luncheon, and Aurelius tries to help, but the moment the shears are in his hand the ewe I’m holding kicks so violently that she nearly hits my shoulder, so I assign the shearing duties to myself while Aurelius, at my direction, finishes the chores.

We walk into Dachaigh, and I feel a little lighter than before, a skirt with coins sewn into the hem to keep the wind from blowing it whichever way.

The calm conversation Aurelius and I kept up through the morning quieted down to a companionable silence. One of the few good memories I have of my mother are like this, when we'd chatter the day away at our embroidery hoops, but by evening we'd just enjoy each other's company because there was nothing more that needed to be said.

I raise my hand to open the door to the library, I'm hit by a blast of horrible stench like curdled milk. It's me, I realize, sweaty from being outside. My mouth pulls down into a frown, and I scrunch my nose to continue up the steps and into the Receiving Hall. A gentle hand tugs my skirts, though, and I turn to see Aurelius looking up at me, head tilted to keep his large antlers from brushing the underside of Dachaigh.

"You made a face. Did I do something wrong?"

I wave him off. "Not at all. I need a bath." I step into the Receiving Room and head straight for the bathroom in the library, but I pause with my hand over the knob. Aurelius is still on the stairs, watching me like he's making up his mind about something.

"Would you…care to join me?"

I laugh as Aurelius knocks over a large dining chair in his scurry to get to me.

Chapter 10>>

[inkykeiji]

i have the warmth of the sun within me tonight

characters: takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut n fluff

notes: this piece was written with someone specific in mind, but i wanted to share it here, too!! this is, by far, the healthiest and most wholesome piece i’ve ever posted on my blog ehehe | title cred: the warmth of the sun by the beach boys

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is extremely scared of thunderstorms, v romantic, shower sex, minimal prep, slight size difference/size kink

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

It’s dark. It’s so dark it almost looks like night despite the fact that it’s only late afternoon, heavy bloated clouds—charcoal and fluffy and overstuffed with raindrops—obscuring the safety of comforting golden rays from the entire city.

The torrential downpour feels endless, and for a brief second you’re terrified it truly may never stop, streets below having flooded with the rain, cars slowly wading through them, tires spraying out streams of water as they do.

Magnificent strikes of lightning crack through the dreary sky like thick roots snaking through the foggy canopy of smoke and steel, momentarily tainting them in shades of periwinkle and lavender and casting flashes of brilliant silver light across the skyscrapers and condominiums.

Their sudden presence makes you jolt, a rapid shudder working its way through your entire body, skin pebbling with chills in its wake.

But it isn’t the lightning that bothers you—not really, anyway.

It’s what comes after.

Rumbles of thunder so loud, so violent they cause the glass windows of Keigo’s apartment to quiver and the hardwood beneath your feet to tremble, roll through the sky, and you swear you can see the clouds ripple from the force.

Arms squeezing tighter around your body, your fingers curl in the material of your—his—hoodie, desperately attempting to resist the urge to grab your phone, to frantically scroll through social media as worried eyes scan for any mention of his name, for shreds of dreadful news, for things you never want to hear.

You hate it when he has to work in storms such as these. And you know, you know you shouldn’t be watching the sky, shouldn’t be searching the splotches of gunmetal adorning the atmosphere for a glimmer of scarlet and gold, shouldn’t be standing so close to the pristine glass windows that your uneven puffs of nervous breath cloud them, tiny blankets of condensation left by the hot air you exhale fleetingly staining the surface, evaporating into nothing just as quickly as they appear.

But you can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, almost—like some sort of sick obsession, some sort of twisted addiction you can’t control. Because—Because you have to know, unable to stand that feeling of uncertainty that gnaws away at your insides, incapable of handling the ambiguity and vagueness that comes packaged with the not knowing. You have to at least try—try to do everything in your power to stay informed, and if that means facing a vicious thunderstorm head on, with your cheek pressed against the cold glass as your gaze searches the tumultuous sky, then so be it.

You can brave it for him. You swear you can.

“Baby,” he scolds gently, his sudden presence surprising you, causing you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Topaz eyes observe you, overflowing with concern, pretty bowed lips turning down, soaked strands of gold hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks and neck. “How many times have I told you not to do this?” And although he’s reprimanding you, his voice is sweet, smooth and syrupy like the finest honey. “You know how much thunder freaks you out,”

You scoff, stiffening almost defensively as you turn your nose up a little, still avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t freak me out,”

“Oh?” he laughs a little as he kicks off his boots, tension easing from his shoulders with every step towards you, every step further into the warm sanctuary of your shared home, wet sock-clad feet slapping against the hardwood and leaving gleaming footprints.

“Kei,” you whine a little, gesturing his dripping body. “You’re getting water everywhere,”

“Hey now,” a playful smirk spreads across his lips, and a sudden, sharp whoosh slices through the air as his wings spread, spanning nearly half the living room. He gives them one good, thorough shake, crimson feathers trembling and sending tiny droplets of water flying. “I wasn’t done,” he speaks over your squeal of his name, smirk growing into that trademark mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t just stand at the window and stare up at the sky—it only scares you more,”

“I’m not scared,”

Vicious growls of thunder roil through the sky before you’re even finished speaking, almost as if it’s laughing at you, mocking you, your body flinching as the sounds crash over you, curling in on yourself a little, face puckered up in a wince as your words stutter, catching on a gasp in your throat.

Exhaling a soft sigh, Keigo holds his arms open wide, wings still stretched to span them. “Yeah, right. C’mere,” When you don’t begin moving immediately, he sighs again, strong hands gently pulling you towards him.

Your body melts into his touch—an automatic and involuntary reaction, almost instinctual at this point—and you slump against his damp chest, nuzzling your cheek against the firm muscles.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, arms wrapping around your body as he holds you tightly to his, voice reverberating against your ear. “The Big Bad Scary Thunder can’t get you here,”

Eyes rolling, you scoff at his playful teasing, a tiny smile materializing on your face as you pull away a little to look up at him, greeted with the sight of brilliant eyes—made of sunshine and liquid gold, you’re absolutely sure of it—gazing down at you, lips quirked in a cute little smirk.

His beauty never fails to knock the breath from your chest—it seems you can never be prepared for it; no matter how many times you’ve seen him, how many times you’ve been close enough to count the individual eyelashes lining those orbs, how many times you’ve been close enough to feel the inviting tickle of the short golden hairs decorating his chin—and you’re not sure you’ll never get used to it, either.

A peculiar mix of adoration and concern swirl in his honey irises, though you can see the mirth and amusement dancing just beyond that, thinly veiled by the love and worry.

“Oh, shut up—” another bang of thunder fissures through the sky, so raucous it makes the thick clouds waver and swell, your words morphing into a fearful little squeak, quickly burying your head back against the safety of his chest.

Fingers curl in the wet suede and you hug yourself closer to him, tugging him closer to you, body beginning to shudder.

He’s hushing you now, arms and wings curled around you in a defensive embrace as words of comfort pry past his lips, tender voice sheathing the armor of crimson surrounding you.

“At least they aren’t as bad as the ones back home, yeah?”

“I guess so,” you mumble, unconvinced, eyebrows knitted and mouth sculpted into a deep pout. “I still don’t like them, though,”

“I know, I know,” a warm hand rubs soothing circles into your back, voice only marginally louder than the next bout of thunder as it vibrates against your face, another quiet yelp clawing its way up your throat. “Shh, you’re safe, you’re safe,”

“Kei,”

The nickname escapes in a mangled little whimper, and you can feel it—fright, terror, dread—building in your chest, a strangling type of panic that weaves and winds itself around your windpipe and crushes; because they’re getting worse, they’re getting closer, growls and grumbles following the flashes of lightning almost immediately, roaring loud enough to quake buildings, your heart thudding so violently it’s almost painful. Tears sting your eyes, and you shake your head against him, as if trying to burrow into his chest, to carve out a little space in his ribcage, right next to his steadily beating heart, and live there.

“I-I take it back, they are as bad as the ones back home,”

Or, at least, this one is

Keigo doesn’t argue, all traces of amusement evaporated from his face, replaced by trepidation that mixes with his worry and pinches his features, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned as he cradles you against him. Ferocious tremors course through your form, chest beginning to hitch with swallowed sobs, and he squeezes you.

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

“Okay, alright,” he’s saying as he rocks you gently, crimson wings wrapped entirely around you both, shielding you from the storm. The scent of freshly mown grass and sticky vanilla ice cream is nearly overwhelming as it washes over your senses, invading your lungs and smothering you in its embrace. It’s a welcomed feeling, the beautiful suffocation it affords you with, vibrant bursts of heat rushing through your veins, whole body flooded and thrumming with a deep-seated comfort—a special type of solace, of reassurance, of contentment unique to him, unfathomable and mystifying on all accounts, that soothes your frayed nerves and calms your irregular heart—because he smells like home; not your home halfway across the world, your real home, your forever home.

“Come,” he instructs a moment later, stern yet tender, keeping an arm draped firmly around your shoulders, one of his wings curving around the limb as he leads you away from the window, scarlet feathers obstructing your vision.

—

The bathroom—comprised of gleaming marble and shining chrome—is enormous, housing a mammoth glass shower that spans the length of the furthest wall, large enough to more-than-comfortably accommodate his wings, and then some.

Steam fogs the glass, and a soft hiss slips from between your teeth as he cages you between his chiseled body and the freezing marble, cold rock stinging your already heated skin, his wings spreading to mimic his arms, providing another layer of protection and entirely immersing you in him.

It’s your favourite when he does this, when he engulfs you in his grasp and creates a tiny universe where it’s just the two of you, whole world having fallen away outside of the barricade his thick wings offer—and you’ve never felt safer.

And it’s amazing, you’re thinking to yourself—or maybe you’re murmuring it, lips moving in a daze—it’s amazing how even after all of the rainwater pouring from the sky, all of the zipping through those dense clouds, all of the vicious wind that whips against him as he soars; none of it could ever manage to wash away, to ever dull, his intoxicating scent, not even for a second.

You’re completely overcome by him, vanquished by his enamoring eyes and his saccharine smile—drunk and high off of it all, addicted to him in the sweetest way—and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

But you’re leaning into him, closer and closer and closer, lips parted as you inhale deeply, filling your lungs, your chest, your heart and veins and blood with his aura, his essence, him. He conquers you, intoxicates you, poisons you in such a beautiful way, and you’re enchanted by it, yearning for more, a greedy and insatiable craving that will never be fulfilled.

And he knows it. He knows the effect he has on you by merely existing near you—his cocky smirk and dazzling gaze tell you so.

But then his eyes soften, glazing over with something else, lidded as they slowly travel across your body bared to him, and his mouth falls open only for his tongue to suck his bottom lip between his teeth, and his fingers reach to trace your features, the curve of your cheek and line of your jaw, the most gentle caress.

“You…Are breathtaking,”

And he really does sound out of breath, as if he’s in awe from your beauty, as if this is his first time seeing you, as if you’re some sort of goddess, having descended right in front of him, and it forces chills to erupt across your bare skin—damp and splattered with tiny droplets of water that gleam like morning dew clinging to grass—despite how boiling it is between him and the steam from the shower.

It’s a feeling you can’t quite explain, a feeling you’ve never really been able to find the appropriate words for, something that makes you feel simultaneously powerful and weak, a swirling concoction of contradictions that invade your bloodstream and travel straight to your brain, infusing the tissues with the potent mix and sending tiny sparks buzzing through your veins, collecting to flutter together in the pit of your stomach.

He kisses you slowly, tonight. He kisses you like it’s his last day to live, kisses you like it’s his first time, unhurried tongue deliberately exploring the concavities of your mouth—every nook and ridge and crevice—as if committing them to memory, as if attempting to leave his stamp, his mark, his claim, on the real estate there.

He kisses you until neither of you can breathe, lungs shriveling as your chests heave, exhaling into each other’s mouths only to suck breath from each other’s mouths a moment later. He kisses you until you’re dizzy from the lack of air and he’s burning and hard and pressed up against your thigh, leaking head rubbing against the supple skin, leaving the prettiest gleaming trails of cream. He kisses you until you’ve gone stupid from his spit alone, fervent in the way you swallow it greedily, in the way you attempt to suck, slurp, steal more from him as it surges to your brain, tissues and nerves vaporizing into nothing more than a dazed mist, spiked with him.

The kiss breaks with a sharp whoosh of air, his lids lifting to reveal glassy pupils outlined with the thinnest ring of amber. Your tongue darts out from your mouth to lick and lap at the stringy, viscous remnants coating your chin; starved, ravenous, and forever unsated.

The chuckle huffed out from between swollen, saliva-soaked lips is nothing short of sinful, makes your vision blur and your stomach swoop, a murmured tease following it.

“Eager, aren’t you,”

And you want to point out that you weren’t the one practically humping someone’s hip, but the words tangle in your throat, catching on a gasp as nimble fingers slip between the apex of your thighs, an involuntary groan spilling from his throat.

“Fuck,” his head falls forward, face buried in your neck, and sucks an inhale through his teeth. “How are you already this wet?”

He’s nearly whining as he dips two fingers into you, soft little sounds that fall from his lips and sop into your skin, his breath scorching—sizzling more than the steam in the shower—against your neck.

And those fingers, now plunging into you, knuckles curling the moment they’re deep enough to press moans from your chest and cries from your throat, feel so familiar as they stretch you open—the same fingers that pet your hair and brush away your tears and feed you pieces of fried chicken; they feel like home.

Yet as comforting as that is, as much as it has your chest swelling with something so large, so dense you’re terrified your ribs may shatter and splinter under the strain, they aren’t enough. Not right now, not today.

Because even with the water hitting the tiles and the exquisite symphony of his pants and your mewls, you can still hear it, menacing blasts encroaching on you, deep and heavy and threatening to split the little world Keigo has created, the small haven his wings and arms provide.

“Please, please, Kei,” you’re nearly wailing out, forcing bleary eyes to open, belated in the way they find his gaze. “I-I want you, I need you,”

“Sweetheart,” he starts—and you know that tone, stitched together with hesitation and concern and embellished with thin ribbons of patronization. “You know you can’t take me without being opened up at least a lil’ first,”

Another clap of thunder rattles the apartment, sounding as if it’s just outside the bathroom door, ranting and raging to get in, and both of your hands claw at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away as words bubble past your lips, high and terrified and desperate.

“No, Kei, not tonight. Please, baby, please, I need you now, right now, Kei, right now, pl-please,” and you’re nearly choking on the pleads as they barrel up your throat and out your mouth, all garbled together and stuffed with spit. “I can handle it, promise,”

A hoarse whine hitches in his throat, the worried knitting of his eyebrows carving creases into his forehead. With pinched features and a scrunched face, it looks almost as if he’s in pain; like it’s pure agony to deny you. And you can see it, can see the internal struggle reflected in his eyes, stare wrought with the tug and pull between desire and care. But that need is growing, spreading, curling around your organs in a tight embrace, suffocating you with its urgency.

A final please, Keigo, croaked out in a broken whimper and thick with the threat of tears, is what breaks him, shatters his resolve to a fine dust and whisks it away in one breath.

“Alright,” he’s murmuring, though his voice is strained, tense and gruff under the combined paradoxical weight of lust and apprehension. “Alright, hush now, I’ve got you,”

Then he’s hoisting you up, and your legs are wrapping around his waist, one hand clutching the top of the glass door, the other digging bruises into his neck as he buries his cock inside of you in one swift movement, a set of relieved gasps escaping you both.

It stings a little, sharp pinpricks shooting through your gut as his thick cock stretches you open, but they’re chased promptly by thorns of pleasure that dissipate the pain.

Because he feels so good, and you feel so full, and everything feels so perfect like this—everything feels right again.

But a boom of thunder explodes through this moment, blowing it to bits and pieces, and you reflexively jump, whole body flinching in his arms.

“Shh,” he’s whispering to you as he pulls you closer, chest pressed flush against yours. “Don’t worry, songbird, I’m gonna make it better, alright? Just focus on me,”

And so you do, eyes slipping shut as his hips begin to pump—slow at first, almost languid in the way they roll forward, each thrust thorough, cock nearly entirely unsheathed before it plunges back in, the head nudging your cervix, and you revel in the delicious cracks rasps—of your name, of curses, and praises—that fall from his lips with each rut.

“S’deep,” you mumble, words already jumbled from the carnal bliss, from the hedonistic decadence that surrounds you, emanating off him and percolating into you, instantly diffusing the tension and panic knotted like thick vines in your chest—even though he’s barely fucking done anything. “S’deep, Kei,”

“Yeah?” the word fans across your face, sweet and fragrant, hazy eyes opening to be met with glittering gold, strands of honeysuckle hair stuck to his forehead and temples, framing the dark gaze watching you, pupils almost voracious in the way they soak up your expressions, almost greedy in the way they scan your face as his hips move, looking for more. His forehead knocks against yours, penetrating stare boring into your face. “Good? My baby like it?”

“So good,” your head nods in small movements with the whimpered affirmation, bumping against his. It’s already beginning to build, smoldering deep in the pit of your stomach, the spark that had been dulled when you had begged him to stop, begged him to give you more—to stretch and fill and form you like your insides were made for him—reigniting, bright and scalding.

“More, please,”

It just slips from your lips, brain already beginning to melt as you allow yourself to be submerged, swallowed and consumed by him; an innate desire that swamps your mind and floods your senses, and you want it all.

But he complies without complaint this time, void of the usual teasing remarks and requests that you beg for it, because he can see how depleted, how drained you are, utterly exhausted from the terror of the storm, his understanding evident in a gentle confirmation tumbling from his lips.

And his groans and grunts are so beautiful, vibrating deep in the recesses of his chest, louder than any thunder as they rumble in your ears. You find solace in them, gulping them in as he pushes them out, letting them vibrate down the column of your throat and collect deep in your belly, kindling with the flickering embers that burn and glow and multiply with each thrust, furling together in a tense ball of churning heat.

The canting of his hips increases, faster and faster and faster with each rock forward, the escalating force resulting in your body to rubbing against the marble and glass, tightly curled fingers readjusting themselves, slipping a little from the foggy condensation coating the surface.

You don’t even realize that your sensitive skin’s been rubbed raw from the action, too tangled up in his noises, his pleasure, his cock, to notice, too tangled up in him to care at all.

“Here,” Keigo pants out, hips suddenly stilling. A low whine catches in your throat, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, a breathless snicker escaping his parted lips. “I know, baby, I know,” he’s telling you as strong arms readjust you, folded wings suddenly spanning, a gentle gust of air bathing your slick body in little goosebumps, before they wrap around him—around you—sheltering you from the glass and marble as they swoop under your ass and thighs, aiding Keigo in supporting your weight. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you, I promise,”

And it’s so much hotter like this, so much more intimate like this, uneven puffs of breath mingling as his forehead rests against yours, florescent lights reflecting off of his thick feathers and tinting everything—his skin, his eyes, his hair—scarlet.

The sudden snap of his hips startles a moan out of you, and he laughs again, carmine-tinged topaz eyes positively glowing. And he looks so gorgeous like this, looks like a fucking god like this, those fine gold hairs that cover his body catching in the soft light and shimmering.

He’s kissing, licking, nipping anywhere he can reach, stamping your flesh with physical manifestations of his love, pace never faltering as skilled, powerful hips continue to pound into you, cockhead dragging against that spot with every buck.

Your legs flex around his waist, muscles coiling as the sphere roiling in your stomach blazes, curled into a concentrated ball of fire. The heat it exudes is nearly unbearable now, heavy as it sinks into your gut, glowing orb spiraling as it coils, tighter and tighter and tighter until—

“Want you to cum for me, baby,” Keigo nearly keens, almost as if he’s begging you instead of commanding, voice cutting through the dense haze your brain has evaporated into. “Can y’do that for me? Be good and cum all over my cock?”

Yes, yes, yes, your head is nodding, emitting affirmatives in the form of high little mewls with each jerk. And it only takes two more sharp pistons of his hips before the fire-filled ball bursts, half of his name escaping your throat in a fractured cry as your entire body stiffens, cunt clenching so vigorously it’s almost painful.

Words start to spill from his mouth, an endless stream of praises, sandwiched between dark groans and broken whines and hitched curses; Y’so good for me, y’know that? Ah, f-fuck—So gorgeous when you gush all over my—my cock, baby, y’feel so good, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Hot, thick cum fills you suddenly, coinciding with his last choked out declaration of love, cock throbbing as it spurts rope after rope, taut stuttering hips pressed flush against your skin.

—

Everything aches as you unwind your limbs from around him, muscles sore and legs trembling as Keigo forces you to stand, propping you up against the shower wall and returning with the fluffiest towel only a moment later. Large hands pull you towards him, dragging you from under the shower head and into his arms, swaddling your shivering body in Egyptian cotton and strong arms and soft feathers.

He leaves the shower running on purpose, steady flow of water hitting the tiled floor and marbled wall, efficiently drowning out any roars or claps of thunder.

And you’re so tired, so pliant and boneless in his arms, barely able to keep your weighted eyelids from fluttering shut. He keeps you in his lap as he sits on the closed toilet, cradling you to his chest as best he can as he gently rocks you back and forth, whispering out praises—you did so well, you always look so gorgeous taking my cock—and avowals of his love, constant words oozing from his lips, sentiments cascading over your body like a stream of thick syrup.

Unconsciousness has you in its clutches, nearly slipping into the familiar embrace that promises the numbing ecstasy that comes with such an intense orgasm, until your tummy growls, and Keigo laughs.

“No, sweetheart,” he chides softly as you nuzzle into his chest, an indignant noise sounding at the back of your throat. “You have to eat at least a little before you can fall asleep,”

“Don’wanna,”

“I know,” he’s saying sympathetically as he stands, placing your feet on the floor a moment later. You wobble a little, eyes still shut, and he chuckles again, murmuring to himself about how fucking cute you are as he begins to dress you, tugging soft fleece that reeks of him over your head.

—

The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time you’ve been clothed and fed, constant and leaking from the clouds overhead as you snuggle against Keigo in the plush sanctuary of your shared bed, tummy full and happy with roasted chicken and sauteed veggies. A deep contentment settles itself in your bones, weaving itself around the ivory in a protective glaze and imbuing you with a sense of calm, a sense of relaxation, a sense of relief, and you hum, Keigo’s lithe fingers trailing up your spine absentmindedly.

If you’re being honest, you’re not quite sure how he did it, how he slipped, slithered, seeped through the few cracks in your defence without being violent, without being forceful—how he tore down all of the barricades and shields you had built around yourself, hardened and firm from several years of paranoia and distrust, from the perpetual fear of being hurt again. It should scare you, really, how quickly he did it, how easily and inconspicuously he did it. But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, because he did it with love; stripping those protective walls with genuity and sincerity, dismantling every brick and stone with gentle touches and soft kisses and tender words. He did it with respect, with patience, with passion and affection and devotion.

So it doesn’t, because there’s nothing to fear—because you’ve never felt more safe in your life, here enveloped by his strong arms and cozy wings, resting on his chest, legs tangled in knots together.

And as you drift off to the gentle pat-pat-pat of the raindrops against the windowpane and the steady thumping of Keigo’s heart echoing in your ears, you realize he’s your very own ray of sunshine, forever present to keep those menacing clouds and malicious thunder away, even in the strongest, the harshest, and the scariest of storms.

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Storms and Cats

I HAVE NOT GIVEN UP ON LOKI, DESPITE WHAT IT APPEARS. I need more Loki content :(

-

While the mortals of Midgard had mostly moved on from any animosity they held towards Loki, some of the other Avengers could still get a bit… grumpy.

Loki found this one day in particular. To his growing annoyance, it was his own dear brother that was forcing him out and into the city to mingle with humanity.

That was how he found himself at the door to a coffee shop. Not just any coffee shop, a coffee shop that was known for showing animals from the local shelters and attempting to rehome them. If not that, the cats were given plenty of love by the many patrons who frequented the shop.

Loki considered passing the shop and continuing his walk, but Thor’s temper had come to a boil at that exact moment.

Lightning flashed, thunder boomed. Wind hurled through the city, buffeting people off their feet and turning umbrellas inside out.

The door slammed shut behind Loki as he was forced to take cover in the coffee shop.

The cats had scurried into various hiding places, some of them cowering in fear, others hissing and trying to look big.

Here is where you were.

Your best friend, Stacy, worked at the coffee shop and always gave you good deals on drinks. But the secret to your love of the shop, of course, was the myriad of cats you had grown to love. Your apartment building did not allow for a multitude of cats and you knew that adopting fifteen or so would not be the most ideal option. So, most free days were spent here, cuddling the cats, caring for them on the side, and just being with them. On top of that, you had a great coffee or tea of your choice to drink while you enjoyed the cats. Or perhaps enjoyed a good book in the cozy front area where the cats could curl up in your lap while you read.

“Awww man.” Stacy hissed. “Look at that guy.”

You glanced over at the man entering the café, nearly thrown into the building. Someone ran over and forced the door shut as rainwater sloshed up from the outside walk. The water was flooding the streets, spilling up onto the sidewalks, threatening to flood buildings of the city.

“You mean the light torrential downpour?” You asked, noting the rain was nearly sideways from the force of the wind.

“Light… what?” Stacy asked, nodding at another patron as she bustled away to help them.

The streets were vacant now, the sky almost black. There was an eerie darkness that fell over the coffee shop and extra lights were turned on.

Some of the cats started yowling, voices rising in the cacophony of the wind, rain, and hail slamming into the windows.

The man Stacy had pointed out, knelt down beside some of the more timid cats. He offered his hand for them to sniff before gently stroking them. You couldn’t hear what he murmured under his breath, but the cats calmed almost instantly.

You were closer to the stranger now, and could get a better look at him. His long black hair was sleeked back, perhaps extra from the storm outside. He had high sharp cheekbones, lethally sharp looking, a thin chin and brilliant green eyes. Eyes strikingly similar to some of the cats, in fact.

The man wore a long dark green coat, black trousers, and a green sweater. His eyes traveled over you as you approached him, your drink in hand.

“Hey there.” You spoke softly though loud enough to be heard over the rattling windows. “Freak storm, eh?”

He chuckled. “Freak indeed.” Then the man shook his head slightly and rolled his eyes.

You furrowed your brows, wondering if he was mocking you.

“Forgive me.” The man stood up from the cat. The cat rubbed its light fur against his leg and left a trail of fluff behind, before scurrying back to its hiding space. “I’m Loki.” Loki said, offering his hand to you.

You felt butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accepted his hand shyly. You told him your name and offered an apology that the store was like it was.

“How do you mean? You don’t seem to work here?” Loki glanced over at Stacy busy with the influx of patrons hiding from the storm.

“Oh, no I don’t, I just feel bad that you’re seeing it at such a time when all the cats are scared of the storm.”

Loki nodded. “Yes. That white one is very vocal about her upset with the storm.”

You grinned, hearing the cat in question yowling from her hiding spot. “We call her Smokey.”

“Smoke is grey, no?”

“I didn’t come up with the idea, she’s been here for quite some time.”

“A pity, she’s very friendly.” Loki held eye contact with you as you spoke. His gaze was so intense you found yourself wanting to look away, and yet you couldn’t. You held his gaze, all but staring back at him as you tried to memorize his features.

Stacy appeared at that moment, coffee pot in hand. “Refill?” She looked at Loki. “And what can I get you, sir?”

“Do you serve tea here?”

“All sorts. Let me get you set up.” Stacy waited a moment for Loki to pass her before mouthing at you. ‘OMG he’s hot.’ Then she straightened her face and worked her way behind the counter, starting whatever he ordered.

You sat down in one of the low cantilever chairs. The chairs were short, just to come up to coffee table heights. Patrons were encouraged to not set their drinks down in the cat area, and there were signs warning that the shop would not replace cat spilled drinks or mischievous cats trying to steal a taste.

One of the cats hopped up on your lap and you scratched at its ears with your free hand.

Moments later, Loki returned and held out his drink, silently showing you what he had ordered. You smiled up at him, unsure why he was taking a sudden interest in you.

“May I?” He asked, moving to the other chair near yours and sitting down after you had nodded.

The chair was comically small for Loki’s long legs, but he seemed unperturbed. Merely stirring his drink idly and waiting for a curious cat to come his way.

“So what brings you here?” Loki asked.

“Well, I normally am here as often as I can. I like to care for the cats, and you met Stacy, she’s my friend. But today I’m stuck here a bit longer it seems.” You grinned, gesturing towards the outside.

Loki sighed and nodded. “Yes, so it would seem. This storm has inconvenienced many people today.”

At that moment, there was a loud thunderclap, a bolt of lightning arcing across the sky. Immediately following, the lights in the shop went out.

There were a few cries of shock, perhaps a spilled drink, and then it fell silent.

You could just make out Loki’s appearance in the gloom, sitting so close to the outside as you were.

Stacy appeared from the dark of the shop, carrying covered candles. Apparently losing power wasn’t the most surprising thing for them, and the shop was prepared, even in handling curious kitties who might get too close to an open flame.

She set them down on the table in front of you and Loki.

You and Loki looked at the candle then back at each other, both of you laughing nervously.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any to ask you about yourself.” You began.

Loki frowned thoughtfully and began talking to you. He seemed somewhat evasive in what exactly he did or where he grew up, but he had many stories that kept you captivated.

-

“You know, it sounds like you know the Avengers personally.” You laughed, your coffee cup long since emptied.

“You’d be surprised.” Loki smiled thinly, his tea also empty.

The candles were burning low and the rain was starting to calm down.

Slowly cats started coming out of their hiding places, the thunder and lightning had at last died out. They flocked to Loki, staring at him intently and chattering.

Loki listened to each and every one, as though he understood their precise meanings.

Finally you shook your head. “It’s like you can understand them, I freakin’ swear.”

Loki winked at you before patting the head of a small black cat. “They said I should ask you to dinner some time.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, an unbidden smile crossing your face. “Oh yea?”

“That is, if you’re willing.”

“Oh, absolutely, I’d love that. But you have to tell me how you know all these things about the Avengers.”

“We’ll see.” Loki stood up and took your hand, brushing his lips across your knuckles before bowing low. “I do look forward to seeing you again.” The cats started howling and Loki rolled his eyes. “And you all as well.” The gathered cats kept rubbing his legs, winding in and out, yet somehow Loki managed to not trip on them.

“You’re going out in the storm?”

The lights flickered back on and a cheer broke out through the other patrons.

Loki glanced at the dwindling rain. “It would seem the storm has lulled. I’ll make sure such a storm doesn’t happen when we again meet.”

“Yea, like you know any storm gods personally.” You scoffed.

Loki’s hand was on the door and he continued to shoo the cats back towards you. They surprisingly listened. “You have no idea.”

[awyeahitssam]

Lightning cracks apart the night sky. Thunder sounds distantly. A part of Harry wants to shoo Voldemort in and go out himself, wants to revel in the wild weather, the storm, but it’s two in the morning and he’s trying for ‘responsible,’ even if the thought of standing amidst the wildness of the night makes him feel a sense of endless potential and exhilaration. 

Harry steps back, steps away from the feeling and the temptation, and says, “Come in, then.”

But Voldemort takes him in, carefully schooled features but a longing he can’t suppress in his chest, and tilts his head. He reaches out, then, and grabs Harry.

It’s startling to both of them. They don’t touch deliberately, just when passing plates and dishes back and forth, usually brief, fleeting things that mean nothing. Not that this means something—except perhaps it does, because Voldemort grips his forearm and pulls him outside.

Harry is immediately, fantastically soaked, hair and clothing plastered down. Voldemort looks almost sour at this oversight, at the lack of spells and protections he’s granted his horcrux in this one impulsive moment, but then Harry is tossing his head back, is laughing into the howling wind, and, well. It doesn’t seem like such an oversight in the face of that reaction.

Harry pulls past him, pulls away. He gets off the main street, crosses into his backyard, where the plants are overgrown, vicious things, though incapable of harming the Lord of their house. The rain continues, a torrential downpour, and Harry’s laughter fades, but his joy does not.

So then when he screams, when he hollers and howls into the abyss, it startles Voldemort half to death. He watches in undisguised awe, undisguised fascination, as Harry lets go of everything; every social constraint, every ounce of propriety, every expectation ever placed onto him. He screams himself hoarse, and laughs, and whoops, and then he turns to Voldemort, grin large and lopsided, and pulls him closer. 

“You try.” Voldemort reads his lips more than he hears the words, the wind is so loud. He raises a brow, conveying how beneath him this entire act of nonsense is, but Harry knows, Harry senses how interested he is, how much he’d like to just—

The boy presses close, tight to his side. Just to be heard, of course. “I’m the only one here, Voldemort. Who’d believe me if I ever told?” Voldemort closes his eyes. This is not how it is meant to go. It is Voldemort who should be whispering sweet temptations into Harry Potter’s ears, not the other way around, and yet… “And I won’t tell. I promise.” 

Voldemort waves his hand, banishing his shoes. Harry smiles at him, a wild, fantastic thing, and lets him go. He steps into the mud, widening his stance. And then he screams, he roars, he cries out so loudly he bends over, using every ounce of breath in his lungs.

When he finishes that first scream, when he stands, when he slants a look at Harry, the other is just smiling at him. Completely non-judgemental, feeling almost glad for him, of all things. 

Harry raises an eyebrow after a prolonged moment, as if to say ‘Is that all,’ and he, of all people, knows the breadth of Voldemort’s emotions. Knows it isn’t nearly all, that it’d been barely a drop of his rage, his desperation, his—

By the time he’s done, worn, throat tight and sore, Harry is there, wrapping a hand around his shoulders, guiding him back into the house.

And then? The boy takes care of him.

Cleans his feet, his robes, his face. Dries him. Warms him, first with magic and then with a blanket, heavily and heavenly lined. Hands him a mug, a mug he drinks thoughtlessly, without suspicion—how is that?

He finds his favorite tea. The one he’d had in Albania when he was twenty-two. The one Potter had given him an entire box of on his birthday.

He melts. He’d come here for a purpose, but in the end he is just putty in Harry Potter's hands.

It should make him rage. It should terrify him.

But in the moment, in the warmth, in the softness—in the fuzziness of their emotions blending—Voldemort is not scared. He is content.

And Harry? Harry feels like the world is a little less grey, then. For once he isn't alone in the cold townhouse that had never felt like his, with covered mirrors and corners that held memories he could choke on.

[redorich]

So, isn’t eret related to herobrine? And in the recent lore, wasnt it implied that foolish might’ve used to have been friends with herobrine? So i wonder how Joe would react to finding out

Eret has always been a person with aspirations of more. More power, more wealth, more respect. They know this about themself, know that sometimes it leads them to make bad choices and do bad things, but they have lived a long time and with that comes the tired sort of acceptance that those things happen, and that they should at least try to be a good person. In their youth, when they were maybe Tommy's age, if that, they had not yet learned to temper their ambition.

Eret laughs, loud and clear, as thunder roils in the air. Rain sluices down their face, soaks their clothes, and renders the grassy plains earth beneath their feet into slippery, unstable mud. Wild gray eyes watch with manic glee as redstone torches placed on an altar of solid gold and netherrack flicker, but do not extiguish in the torrential rain.

"Herobrine!" Eret screams into the dark, agitated sky. "My name is Eret, and I demand you grant me your power!"

Lightning strikes the top of the altar and once again Eret laughs a dead man's cackle. Bright white burns the backs of their eyelids; even with their eyes closed the lightning momentarily blinds them.

"You demand, huh?" a soft voice says. Its accent is twangy and the voice is higher than Eret's own.

Eret finally pries their eyes open, squinting through the downpour. "Herobrine," they breathe. The man is shorter than Eret imagined, and much less physically imposing than the tomes depict him to be. Despite this, the air around him carries a certain weight to it.

"What do you want my power for?" Herobrine asks. The rain falls into his hair his beard, the shoulders of his raggedy shirt, yet the water does not soak him.

"I want to exist beyond my years, elevated above mortal minds," Eret raves, "I want to unravel the secrets of life itself!"

"Is that so," Herobrine hums. He hasn't struck Eret dead yet, so their chances of getting what they want seem to be climbing ever higher.

"There's a reason men aren't born with this power," Herobrine warns. His voice is the rasp of snakeskin on silk.

"I am no man," Eret says, and means it in more ways than one.

Herobrine tilts his head slowly, regarding Eret like a peculiar stone or a two-leaf clover-- not something good, per se, but mildly interesting nonetheless. Something about the canine movement chills Eret to the bone in a way that even the rain can't.

"I'll give you a taste of the power I made for myself, Eret," the man says, speaking the name like it's a foreign word for something foul. "You will live with it for the rest of your life."

Eret's heart swells. They've done it, they got what they wanted! They summoned Herobrine, and made it out alive--

Lightning strikes again, searing itself into Eret's eyes. They scream at the blinding white, the blinding pain. Nothing is audible over the roaring inside of Eret's skull and the tiny voice that tells Eret that the rest of their life, as Herobrine said, may not extend past the next five minutes.

The pain recedes somewhat, though light still swims in their vision. Their palms and knees are muddy-- they find that at some point they must have collapsed. They look up. There are shimmers all throughout the air, an aurora borealis of colors Eret’s never seen before. No matter where they look, it surrounds them.

Their gaze falls on the altar. The gold shines cataclysmically, radiant with that same shimmering haze. Against their will, Eret looks up at Herobrine and immediately screams again in agony. The man is like his eyes-- pure white, blinding, horrible. On the edges of their consciousness, Eret sees the swirling, roiling mass of thunder and magic of the sky, and does not dare look up.

Choking on a scream, Eret rips their gaze down toward their trembling hands. Between their hands is a puddle of rainwater, the same water pelting their back. Eret gasps.

Their eyes are pure white.

[spxllcxstxr]

Inked • S.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi! Could I request a Soulmate AU with Sirius please? Marauders era with matching tattoos. No rush and thank you 🌹🖤 — @fific7

Summary: Mary is determined to find your soulmate and not even an oncoming storm will stop her. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: some tattoo talk?, rain, thunder, I guess hints/implied bullying, Peter makes an appearance but like he’s not a key part and he’s not like bad or anything

Word Count: 2.3k

A.N: This is the kind of star I’m envisioning for your soulmark (just not yellow) I actually never specify the color, so you can imagine any color you want. This took me like a week to write for some reason. But I like how it turned out. Hopefully you guys do too! Love you all ❤️

****

No one ever told you that soulmarks tingled.

When the eight pointed star seared itself into the flesh of the inside of your left elbow at age sixteen, you thought that was it. You thought that it would just sit there innocently to the point where it wouldn’t cross your mind every second of every day, but Merlin were you wrong.

The prickling of the mark was constant, like pins and needles jabbing relentlessly into your arm. It wasn’t exactly painful, it was just an obnoxious and infuriating reminder that you still haven’t found your soulmate.

Hogwarts was practically the place for the vast majority of witches and wizards to find their soulmate, as it was basically the only topic discussed amongst the sixth and seventh years.

Honestly, you just wanted your mark to stop its incessant tingling to the point where you wouldn’t mind anyone being your soulmate. You’ve never heard any complaints from your friends who had already found their true loves, so you assume that the sensation stops eventually.

But you were tired of scratching at your arm making it look like you had some weird sort of flesh eating disease. It was unflattering and highly inconvenient.

Sure, you could run around like a headless hippogriff with your sleeve rolled up asking everyone you encounter if they’ve seen another person with that identical mark, but that’s not romantic. And you wanted romantic, Merlin damn it.

Plus, imagine the burn of embarrassment that would overtake your entire being if no one shared your soulmark. You shudder at the mere thought.

So, you learn to live with it.

You almost want to rip your arm off when it gets particularly bad while studying or trying to get the perfect measurement for your potion, but after a full year you’re almost used to it.

You’re used to how often your friends would gush about their own soulmates and their constant questions about why you’re still single as well.

Mary MacDonald, one of your best friends, had already found her soulmate, some boy from Beauxbatons that sent her too many Howlers during breakfast, but they loved each other, so who were you to complain?

But ever since she found hers, she’s been pretty determined to seek out yours. Even getting her boyfriend to ask around his own school. You can never show your face around Beauxbatons and that’s final.

She’ll make you sit around the courtyard, pretending to read a book, while she scans the arms of the many crowds in search of your star. Mary tries to walk in on top secret Quidditch practices to get a glimpse of any rolled up sleeves, but so far, no good.

That’s really the only reason she’s dragging you down to the Black Lake even though dark grey clouds are hanging heavy in the sky.

“Mary!” You huff as she drags you down the grassy hills, the smell of rain thick in the air. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not daft, y’know.”

Her hand tightens around yours as she starts to feel you resist.

“What I’m doing? (Y/n), it’s a nice day to just hang out at the lake!” Mary cries, the lie hidden well if she wasn’t your best friend.

“Mary it’s about to torrential downpour.” You scoff.

“I thought you liked the rain.” She shrugs innocently, the sound of weeds getting crushed beneath your school shoes loud in your ears.

“Mary, my soulmate might not even be at Hogwarts!” You exclaim, trying to get out of this whole situation. You could be curled up by the fire with a sugar quill, but no, why would Mary let you have some peace and quiet? “They might be older or younger than me—“

“Well we won’t know that, will we, until we check everyone in our year first.” She insists.

The deep murky water is in sight, a few people are lazily lounging around the water’s edge. Like they haven’t even noticed the rain clouds overhead.

“You’re obsessed.” You sigh, finally stopping your attempts to wriggle away from her.

“It’s because I love you.” She smiles sweetly at you, cheeks pushed high, obscuring her dark eyes.

You continue to rub the inside of your arm against the side of your abdomen, attempting to find some sort of relief. The scratchy fabric of your white button down against your grey vest is probably the most effective. The closer to the bank you get, the better you’re able to make out the figures.

The owner of the vibrant red hair was obviously Lily, one of Mary’s friends, and also the more sensible of the group considering her coat was tightly wrapped around her. She’s in a somewhat similar situation as you—she hasn’t shown her soulmark to anyone. However, if what Mary drunkenly told you one night is true, it matches James Potter’s to a tee. Poor her.

Peter was also there, kicking rocks around and chuckling at whatever story Lily was telling them. His Gryffindor jumper is a little short on him while his slacks are a little long, mud dirtying the hem of them. As far as you know, he doesn’t even have a soulmark. It’s not uncommon or something to be ashamed of, but ever since certain people found out, it’s been quite the issue. Sure the infamous Marauders took care of the situation the best they could, but the damage was already done.

The last person was obviously Sirius, you could tell by the way he has his wand situated in his bun. He was closer to the water, picking up flat stones to skip across. His bark like laugh echoing across the space. You and Mary weren’t too far from the group now, so you could tell that the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open. Sirius Black’s soulmark was another mystery. He seems like the type to brag about something as important as a soulmark, but as far as you know, only James, Remus, and Peter were privy to that sort of information.

“Hey guys!” Lily perks up, waving at the two of you.

You smile and wave at her, but as Mary stops and chat, you gravitate closer to Peter and Sirius.

“So where are the other two?” You ask, watching as his stone skips across the water, finally ending with a satisfying plunk!

Sirius turns to face you, a few loose strands framing his face, blowing slightly in the wind.

“Detention.” He remarks casually, lazily trying to tame his curls.

“And you two aren’t?”

Peter shakes his head enthusiastically, blond hair bobbing around. “Sirius and I managed to escape before Slughorn lost it.”

“Hey Pete!” You hear Mary call from behind you. “Don’t you wanna know what you missed in Muggle Studies?”

“Shit, yeah.” Peter bounds over to where Lily and Mary are sitting, leaving you and Sirius alone. Your feet shuffle at the predicament.

You slowly inch closer to Sirius, the large distance awkward without a third person. You’re forced to hold down a wince as your mark prickles almost painfully.

Sirius’ eyes are almost the same shade as the clouds in the sky as they pierce into yours.

“You know how to skip rocks?” He tosses you a smooth stone which you catch effortlessly.

You open your mouth to respond but before you’re able to, you’re cut off by a clap of thunder. The ripples of thunder makes you jump slightly.

“We should probably go inside—“ You start, shivering at the cold wind that begins to roll past you.

“Scared of a little thunder, (Y/n)?” Sirius teases, smirking at your shivering form.

“Don’t be a prick.” You snort. “Just throw your rock.”

You push the thought of the oncoming storm to the back of your mind as you position yourself on the bank.

The water laps at you shoes as you toe the edge, running your thumb over the smooth surface. You mirror Sirius’ position, slightly crouched at the knee, body angled towards the lake.

“One...two...three!”

You watch his body move fluidly through the positions, the stone releasing and skipping across the water delicately. Not only do you get distracted by Sirius, but the mark on your arm gives a sudden jolt, making your posture falter and your stone crash recklessly into the lake.

Sirius brings a ringed fist up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” You grumble, embarrassed.

“I mean, it’s pretty fucking hilarious. I thought you said you knew how to skip rocks?” He crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised, a chuckle still lightly escaping his amused smile.

“Technically, I didn’t tell you shit.” You remark. “The thunder cut me off.”

“Ah yes. The spooky thunder.” He drawls, wagging his painted fingers at you mockingly.

You bring your hand up to flick him off when you feel a cool dot of water drop onto your hand.

“Hey, did you just feel a—“

In the middle of talking, one raindrop becomes hundreds, the torrential downpour almost instantly soaking you to your bones. You hair plasters to your skin, clothes clinging onto you.

“—raindrop?” You utter weekly, a chill coming over you.

Your eyes widen as you look at Sirius, how his dark hair sticks wildly to his face, like curtains across his eyes.

Lily and Mary let out identical high pitched shrieks, and you hear the sound of mud squelching as the three run back towards the castle.

As Sirius tries to wipe the wet hair from his face, you grab onto his wrist, pulling him as your sprint back to the castle. You’re fumbling as you try not to slip in the mud but at the same time try get to the cover of the castle quickly.

“A little thunder, my arse, Sirius!” You huff out, his wrist still grasped tightly in your hand.

You hear him chuckle behind you, easily keeping up with your pace.

Cold water traces down your back and fills your shoes, your discomfort rapidly increasing with every step and every second you spend outdoors.

Your mind drifts off to Sirius, who was only in his white uniform button down. He must be freezing.

After sloshing through puddles and mucking up your shoes, you manage to get under the cover of the stone castle.

Your teeth are chattering and you body trembles, but at least the rain isn’t cutting into your skin anymore.

Lily, Mary, and Peter are nowhere to be found, though they’re probably making their way to the Gryffindor common room already.

Sirius is wringing out his drenched dark curls, his wand between his lips, but you’re too focused in the face that his shirt is now completely see through. Your eyes wander as you ogle his fit body, shamelessly trailing everywhere. You bite your bottom lip at your confidence.

However, something catches your eye as you admire his arms. A black splotch. Like a tattoo in the inside of his elbow. You somehow go colder than you already were.

“Admiring my beauty—Hey!”

You step forward and latch onto his arm, trying to get a better look at the spot on his arm. Initially, he struggles, but you jab your finger into his skin, your own mark tingling beneath your wet clothes.

“What’s your problem, (Y/n)?” He angrily grunts.

“What’s this, Sirius?” You demand, looking at him.

“Why?” Sirius rips his arm out of your grasp, trying his best to hide the mark from you.

“Because,” You explain, rolling up your own sleeve to expose the eight pointed star on your arm. “We might have something in common.”

Your entire body erupts into shivers both from the cold wind against your soaked skin and the way your soulmark buzzing.

The star stands out against your skin and you watch Sirius’ eyes widen, his jaw going slightly slack.

“Sirius.” You whisper. “I need to know if you’re my soulmate.”

The rain pounds against the castle, wind whistles, and thunder claps, and yet you don’t jump. You’re too focused on Sirius’ expression.

Silently, he brings his index finger to your mark and lightly traces the shape with his fingertip. His finger is cold, but you barely realize it because of the shock that runs through your body, originating from his touch. Goosebumps run wildly across your flesh.

He swallows harshly before pulling away and recklessly pushes his sleeve up the length of his arm. Your heart beats wildly in your chest in anticipation.

Sirius shoves his arm in front of you and you bring your gaze to focus on the inside of his elbow.

And there it is.

His soulmark.

Your soulmark.

The lines are clean and the points are sharp, the star is clear against his skin.

“Oh.”

“You’re my soulmate.” Sirius mutters. “Oh thank Merlin!” He’s laughing, a smile growing across his face.

His laughter is infectious and you find yourself joining him, practically jumping with glee.

Sirius latches onto you, pulling your wet bodies close. He brings his lips to your forehead, warmth spreading from the contact.

“We should celebrate.” Sirius remarks, pulling away just enough to see your entire form.

“Hold on.” You chuckle. “I think you’re forgetting to do something.”

His grey eyes flick down to your lips. “How could I ever forget the best part?” He smirks.

You lips are slow to connect, relishing in the sounds of the rain and how his his hands wrap around your elbows, thumb pressed into your mark.

When they finally join together, you feel whole. Like two puzzle pieces linked together. Eyes flutter shut as emotion run rampant through your body. Your mark tingles before fizzling out when you and Sirius disconnect.

You’re breathless as you cling onto him, as he clings onto you.

“We’ve got a party to throw,” Sirius grabs your hand. “soulmate.”

A stupid grin makes its way across your face.

“Lead the way, soulmate.”

•

Sirius Black Taglist: @quindolyn @fific7 @msmb @lunalovecroft

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Storms

ShinoMitsu Week 2021 Day Two: (Storms, Stars, Flowers)

A/N: Okay, so there are no manga spoilers here, but it's the next part of day one. This is also where the modern AU starts. You could read this one and not get manga spoilers but it might be a bit confusing idk. Like I said before, days four through seven are just gonna be out of order events that are purely AU without mention of events in KNY proper so, yeah. Probably your safest bet. Sorry if I’m not making any sense. Hope y’all like it though. Word Count: 4,080

“God damn it,” Shinobu sighed under her breath as she checked fruitlessly through her school bag for an umbrella she already knew wasn’t there. “Slightly overcast my ass.”

Currently, it was pouring buckets while the sky was rumbling and intermittently flashing with distant lightning. Shinobu had stayed late studying in the library, unaware of the storm that had been forming just outside. What had first started as a trickle, had become a full blown downpour and now she was stuck, deciding whether or not to call Kanae to drive her back or brave the eight block sprint and look like a drowned rat.

She took out her phone and finally registered the time, her shoulders slumped. Kanae would still be at work for another hour or so. Shinobu briefly thought of Kanao, but she wasn’t going to make her younger sister walk all the way over here, umbrella or no.

Shinobu shook her head and secured her phone in her bag, then tightened her shoulder strap. It was only a little over a kilometer and a half to her home. She ran laps all the time and calculated with the added weight of her bag and of course, the weather, it would probably take her about ten minutes to get home. Definitely not her fastest, but she couldn’t risk hurting herself before the meet on Friday.

She took a deep breath in through her nose, set her feet to push off the library stoop and—

“Hey, Shinobu-san!”

Shinobu’s hand shot out for the railing, stopping herself mid push off. She voiced her annoyance in a huff of air, before looking up at the sidewalk before her. Standing in the pouring rain was upperclassman Kanroji Mitsuri with a large, bright green umbrella that stung Shinobu’s eyes as well as it mocked her.

“Hello, Kanroji-senpai.” Shinobu greeted just loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain.

Mitsuri grinned brightly and Shinobu groaned inwardly as her senior skipped over in bright pink rain boots. It wasn’t that Shinobu disliked her, Kanroji was just emotional, a bit of an airhead. She acted sweet and familiar with everyone and it got on Shinobu’s nerves. Shinobu just couldn’t picture herself spending any extended period of time with the older girl, but that didn’t stop Kanroji from approaching her more often than not with frivolous chatter.

Mitsuri stopped just in front of her, asking the obvious, “Did you forget your umbrella, Shinobu-san?”

“I would hardly say ‘forgot’ is the right word, Senpai. I watched the weather report this morning. It wasn’t supposed to even sprinkle much less have this torrential downpour occur.” Shinobu bitterly replied. Mitsuri merely giggled at her Kouhai’s brusqueness before motioning her forward with her free hand.

“Come under my umbrella, Shinobu-san. I’ll walk you home, okay?” Mitsuri offered cheerfully.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve already decided to run for it. Good day, Kanroji-senpai.” Shinobu stubbornly declined. She moved left, attempting to go off on her way, but Kanroji blocked her path, pouting.

“Come on, Shinobu-san. Let me walk you home. You’ll get sick if you run in the rain. How will I be able to cheer for you on Friday if you’re bedridden?” Mitsuri asked, coaxing Shinobu underneath her umbrella again.

“I’ll manage. I live a ways off from here.” Shinobu denied Mitsuri again, her patience running thin. She moved to the right and Mitsuri mirrored her once more.

“That’s alright, I was just out enjoying the weather. I’ve got no other plans and besides, what kind of Senpai would I be if I didn’t help out one of my cute little Kouhai!”

And Shinobu took that personally.

Yes, she was on the short side and wasn’t even a hundred pounds soaking wet, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t kick ass and take names when she wanted to. And she was not cute!

“I don’t need your help.” Shinobu said sharply, making Mitsuri flinch. The younger girl broke left once more and leapt over the stoop to land firmly on the sidewalk, soaking her feet in the large puddle. Shinobu paid it no mind and began jogging home as rain pelted her, quickly wetting her hair and clothes.

She thought that would be the end of it, but then the rain stopped hitting her and light panting could faintly be heard behind her. Shinobu glanced above her, and instead of grey skies, she saw neon green.

“Senpai, what are you doing?”

“Taking you home!” Mitsuri spoke resolutely.

Shinobu turned her head back in the direction she was going, shaking it side to side. Couldn’t Kanroji see she didn’t want her help? Shinobu was well past her threshold for politeness and respect for her senior so she scoffed and picked up her pace.

“You want to take me home then you’ve got to keep up.” She called over her shoulder before kicking up her pace a notch.

“Shinobu-san! Wait up!” Mitsuri whined, jogging after Shinobu with her umbrella arm outstretched, trying to keep up with her junior to keep them both relatively dry.

Shinobu did not wait up, gradually picking up pace, she began leaving Mitsuri behind. But Mitsuri did not give up, evident by the irregular breaths Shinobu heard behind her between rolls of thunder.

They carried on like this for nearly a full kilometer and Shinobu was glad they were the only two crazy enough to be out in this storm because she was sure they must be a sight. She leapt over a pothole in the sidewalk that she usually walked past everyday and was gearing up to run even faster when she heard a big splash and a pained sharp cry that forced her to stop in her tracks.

Turning abruptly, she felt a sharp sting of guilt pull at her chest as she took in Mitsuri laid out on the concrete, completely soaked. The poor girl must not have noticed the damaged sidewalk.

Damn it, why didn’t Shinobu just let the girl walk her home? She shouldn’t have let something so insignificant damage her pride so easily. All Mitsuri ever did was be nice to her, and now look at her.

Shinobu quickly snapped up the umbrella before it could be blown away and crouched over Mitsuri, shielding her from the downpour.

Slowly, Mitsuri made it into a sitting position and Shinobu felt exponentially worse seeing how drenched Mitsuri was and her torn tights and bloodied knees. She could tell her senior was tearing up too, this was a totally avoidable disaster.

“I’m so sorry Kanroji-senpai, do you think you can stand up?” Shinobu asked.

“I, I think so,” Mitsuri sniffled, shakily pulling a leg in front of herself.

Shinobu reached out, taking Mitsuri by the bicep in an attempt to help her stand. As soon as she touched her, visions flashed through her mind too fast to discern. She pulled back, looking at her slightly shaking hand.

Whatever had happened, Mitsuri seemed to have had a similar experience, gingerly cupping the spot on her arm Shinobu had touched, an awed expression on her face. They stared at each other for a minute, but Shinobu eventually shook her head and and helped Mitsuri up. Whatever had just happened must have been a fluke, a product of being out in this wild storm, because it didn’t happen again.

“Come on, we’re almost there. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Shinobu softly commanded, guiding Mitsuri forward.

Mitsuri aimed a small, thankful smile at Shinobu that made the younger girl’s ears burn. She shouldn’t be looking at her like that, this had all been her fault after all. Shinobu kept her attention on the street, tightening her hold on the basically useless umbrella as they walked the rest of the way to her home together.

***

Shinobu unlocked the front door and pushed it open with a sigh, “I’m home and I’ve brought company!” She called out before turning her attention back to Mitsuri. “You can hang your jacket there. Leave your boots there and follow me.”

“You have a lovely home Shinobu-san.” Mitsuri complimented, shaking off her jacket. “Are your parents home?”

“Uh no, they’re a usually off on pharmacy business so it’s mostly just my sisters and I.” Shinobu answered, tugging off her soaked socks.

“Oh! I remember your big sister, she was so nice! I haven’t seen her since she graduated. Is she here now?”

“She’s working.” Shinobu answered curtly, focusing on the list in her head of how to best tackle the state of mess they were in.

“Welcome home Nee-san... and guest.” Kanao called softly from further down the hall, observing her sister’s disheveled form curiously.

“Hi, Kanao.” Shinobu greeted, stepping into the main portion of the home with Mitsuri trailing behind her.

“Aw, is this your little sister?” Mitsuri cooed, waving excitedly, “it’s nice to meet you! I’ve seen you at some of Shinobu-san’s cross country and track events in the past. I didn’t realize you two were related!”

Kanao, not purposefully, ignored her, still focusing on Shinobu. “Nee-san, you’re wet.” She stated matterofactly.

“Yes, I know. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to help you start dinner, alright?”

Kanao nodded and walked away, disappearing around the corner while Shinobu lead Mitsuri in another direction. The older girl squealed.

“Your little sister is so cute, Shinobu-san. I already have five younger siblings but one more wouldn’t hurt if it was Kanao-chan!”

Shinobu merely rolled her eyes and pulled Mitsuri into the bathroom. “Wait here a minute,” Shinobu said before leaving the room.

When she came back, she had a pair of Kanae’s shorts and one of her own oversized track hoodies for Mitsuri to change into, placing them on a clear edge of the sink.

“You can change into these after you shower, use whatever you want, I don’t care... maybe not the white bottle of conditioner, Kanae’s weird about that for some reason.”

“That’s very generous of you, thank you Shinobu-san!” Mitsuri beamed.

Mitsuri was elated. What started out as a failed attempt to chivalrously walk Shinobu home in the rain, had allowed her to be present in the home of one of the people she admired most. After months of trying and trying to get closer to Shinobu, she finally had an opportunity to grow their relationship!

Shinobu nodded in acknowledgment before leaving Mitsuri in the bathroom. Then Mitsuri warmed up the shower and took off her damp uniform, pouting a bit at the sight of her ripped tights and skinned knees.

As Mitsuri immersed herself in the warmth of the water she ran her fingers over where Shinobu had touched her arm and wondered what had happened. There was a connection between her and Shinobu, of that much she was certain. She could tell that her Kouhai had shared the experience as well. She decided that they would definitely have to talk about it soon.

Mitsuri peered over the mixed array of shampoos, conditioners and body wash and picked three. Being mindful to leave the white bottle of conditioner as Shinobu had suggested. She popped the cap of the shampoo and squirted some in her hand and lathered it into her hair. The smell of ginger and lemon grass enveloped her and Mitsuri teetered giddily on her feet as she rubbed the familiar scent into her hair.

Mitsuri finished washing up and dried off, slipping into the clothing Shinobu had provided for her. As she bent down to pick up her wet clothes, she caught a faint whiff of a wisteria scented perfume. She pulled at the front of the giant sweatshirt Shinobu had given her and took a testing smell.

She felt transported to another time as images flashed through her mind once again. She blinked pack to attention as a knock sounded against the bathroom door.

“Kanroji-senpai, are you almost done? I can put your clothes in the wash for you if you slip them out the door.” Shinobu’s muffled voice called.

“Ah! I’m done, I’ll be out in just a second!” Mitsuri called back, hastily grabbing up her clothes before yanking the door open quickly and startling the younger girl.

“No kidding.” Shinobu blinked. “Well then, I’ll put those in the wash for you and you can hang out in the kitchen with Kanao while I get cleaned up. Don’t expect her to be much of a conversationalist though.”

“Okay, thank you again for all of this, Shinobu-san. You’ve been very kind.” Mitsuri smiled.

“Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum here, okay?” Shinobu sighed, “just go sit down.” Shinobu turned swiftly on her heel and went to the laundry room with rosy cheeks.

Mitsuri hugged the sweatshirt, pulling it closer to her skin to send another little burst of wisteria to her nose, humming pleasantly to herself as she made her way to the kitchen. The delicious smells that guided her made her stomach growl and she realized just how hungry she was.

She took a seat at the kitchen island, shooting Kanao another little wave. The middle schooler hardly looked up, focusing more intently of the vegetables she was cutting. Mitsuri tapped her fingers rhythmically against the table and watched Kanao work. Then, the best idea popped into her head. She had just been presented with an opportunity to learn more about Shinobu through one of her sisters! In an attempt to look casual, Mitsuri leaned over the counter.

“So Kanao-chan, what’s it like having Shinobu-san as a sister?” She asked.

“Good.” Kanao replied simply.

“Ah, good.” Mitsuri deflated a little. She was hoping for a little more, but it was a start.

“Any examples? What makes Shinobu-san good?”

Kanao put her vegetables in a pan lightly drizzled with oil and mixed them as the sizzled.

“Nee-san is clean and orderly. She is good at explaining things and helping people and makes me feel safe.”

It was almost enough to make Mitsuri squee with delight. Kanao made Shinobu sound so princely and put together.

“That’s nice, you must really look up to her then. I hope I can grow to be as close to your sister as you are.”

Kanao nodded slightly, watching the vegetables closely and stirring them up on occasion.

“I’m home! It smells great in here!” A voice called from the front entrance. “Oh? Either Shinobu developed a more colorful fashion sense or we have a guest.”

A few moments later, Kanae emerged from the hall and smiled kindly at Mitsuri, “Hello there, a friend of Shinobu’s perhaps? You look familiar.”

“Hi, yes, I’m Kanroji Mitsuri. I’m a year older than Shinobu, I was a first year when you were a third year.”

“Ah, I remember now! It’s good to see you Kanroji-san. I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but it appears Shinobu has become a better hostess in my absence.” Kanae said, motioning to Mitsuri’s state of dress.

“Oh yes, this! I was walking Shinobu-san home and had a little mishap and got wet.” Mitsuri vaguely explained.

Kanae laughed as she maneuvered around the counter to stand behind Kanao and patted her head, making the younger girl smile just a tiny bit.

“Yes, it’s raining quite terribly out there isn’t it? I could hardly see driving home. You’ll be staying the night won’t you? It’s much too dangerous to be out and about.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose!” Mitsuri shook her head.

“You wouldn’t be, I promise. I insist you stay the night. Do you need to borrow a phone to call your parents?”

“That’s alright, I can text them. Thank you.”

“No problem!”

After a quick back and forth with her mom, she was all set. She only hoped Shinobu wouldn’t mind her staying over. The girl definitely seemed the type to cherish her personal space.

Mitsuri turned her attention back to the two sisters, watching them cook together. She offered up her own hand and joined in on the work easily meshing personalities with Kanae and conversing as they made the food.

It’s nice to see Shinobu bring a friend home.” Kanae smiled. “She usually likes to compartmentalize school, sports, and her home life and doesn’t tolerate much mixing.”

“It was kind of my fault.” Mitsuri said sheepishly. “I didn’t give her much choice in the matter. I wanted to get to know her better but instead I face planted in the sidewalk. I think she would have liked to be left alone.”

“Trust me, if Shinobu thought you deserved to be left out there she wouldn’t have even turned around as bad as that may sound. Shinobu is strict and grumpy, but can also be very kind and gentle. She knows how to push people to be better but also knows when they are struggling and need a softer touch. She’s a pretty good judge of character too so she must think highly of you. Don’t worry about it too much, okay?” Kanae explained.

Mitsuri smiled and nodded, looking into her cup of water as her head spun with the eldest Kochou’s words. Shinobu thought she was good!

“Welcome home, Nee-san.” Shinobu appeared from the hallway and made Mitsuri jump in her seat.

“Shinobu, I love your friend! You should invite Mitsuri-chan over more often!” Kanae said, setting out the food.

Shinobu ruffled her hair with the towel she had draped over her shoulders and made a noncommittal noise that made her sister giggle. Mitsuri barely registered what was going on around her, too busy admiring the disarray of Shinobu’s usually perfectly made hair and how Mitsuri could see the toned shape of Shinobu’s legs through her leggings and how cute she looked in that oversized cross country hoodie that seemed to swallow her up. It was all a stark contrast to how she presented herself at school and Mitsuri wanted to burn the image into her mind forever.

The four girls sat together and ate dinner. Kanae and Mitsuri held up most of the conversation but it was light and comfortable. Mitsuri nearly swooned when Shinobu filled her plate with second and third helpings for her, cutting off her internal dilemma before it really started.

Then they cleaned everything up and as the thunder crashed especially loud and the rain tapped furiously on the windows, the girls sat around the living room and worked on their homework. Shinobu had already finished hers while she was at the library so she paged through some enrichment texts about botany and medicine. Occasionally helping Kanao with her homework before diving right back into her book.

Mitsuri was beyond impressed with Shinobu’s academic mind. She knew the girl was smart, but reading such heavy texts for fun? Mitsuri was amazed! She was a good student herself, often surprising her more shallow peers with her knowledge and skill, but Shinobu was definitely on another level. It made Mitsuri a bit envious of Kanao, being able to check in with Shinobu whenever she had a question. Mitsuri looked back down at her biology homework before flicking her eyes back to Shinobu lounging on the couch with her book. Maybe...

“Shinobu-san?” Mitsuri tentatively asked. “Do you think you could check my work on this?”

“We’re in different years, Kanroji-senpai. I don’t know what you’re learning.” Shinobu said, not unkindly.

“I’m sure you already understand it. You seem to love the sciences Shinobu-san. Take a look, please?” Mitsuri tilted her head and batted her eyes.

Shinobu seemed to mull it over and then marked her page. Mitsuri golf clapped and bounced in her seat as the Kouhai walked over and sat next to her at the table, peering at her work. A small, pleased smile worked its way on Shinobu’s face as she realized that she new the material and it made Mitsuri smile in turn.

Shinobu looked through Mitsuri’s work and helped correct a few minor mistakes, but otherwise her work was spot on. Which Mitsuri found a tad unfortunate since Shinobu would get closer and bump arms with her and the wisteria scent would swirl through her head whenever she noticed an error.

Before long, all homework was completed and they watched a little tv before deciding they needed to turn in for the night and get ready for school the next day.

“Shinobu, you should help Mitsuri-chan make sure her knees didn’t get any debris stuck in them from that nasty tumble I heard about. I’ll set up the extra futon in your room while you do that.” Kanae said, already walking off before her sister could interject.

“Fine.” Shinobu muttered anyway, leading Mitsuri back to the bathroom and motioning her to sit up on the sink so she could better see the grazed knees.

The shower had already cleaned them off well enough, but a bit of antibacterial spray wouldn’t hurt. Shinobu took the spray from the cupboard and showed it to Mitsuri.

“You’re knees look clean, but if you want me to give them a spray of this, I can.”

Mitsuri was a bit wary. The spray was sure to sting, but being cared for by Shinobu like this made her heart flutter pleasantly.

“I wouldn’t mind a spray, thank you.”

“Sure.” Shinobu shrugged, popping the cap and spraying both of Mitsuri’s knees without a second thought.

“Ow!” Mitsuri whined. The spray really did sting.

“Sorry, I probably should have warned you.” Shinobu said, looking genuinely contrite. “Here, let me just—“ Shinobu cut herself off, blowing a gentle breeze over Mitsuri’s knees, cooling the stinging sensation.

Mitsuri was suddenly brought back to another memory that felt like it was not quite all her own. Her hand cupped in another’s as a gentle wind blew over scraped knuckles, the scent of wisteria growing stronger for a moment before she blinked and was back in Shinobu’s bathroom again.

After a moment Shinobu cleared her throat and returned to her full height, capping the spray and putting it back in its place.

“Well, better get to bed now I guess.” She said, hardly waiting for Mitsuri to follow her to her room. They said goodnight to Kanae and Kanao before shutting themselves in.

Mitsuri watched Shinobu climb into her futon, mouth slightly agape. She could hardly believe the girl wanted to go to sleep right now with all the weird visions they were experiencing. She simply had to voice this now.

“Shinobu-san, don’t you think we should talk about these weird visions we’ve been having? I can tell, you see them too, don’t you?”

“I don’t think it’s anything significant. Just hope they aren’t hallucinations brought on by being out in the rain too long. I’d hate to be sick.” Shinobu said, curling up in her futon.

“But— it’s so specific! It’s got to be more than that, right?” Mitsuri said in return.

“I don’t believe so.”

Mitsuri couldn’t believe Shinobu was ready to dismiss this all so quickly, she looked down at the hoodie she was wearing and got an idea.

“These shorts aren’t yours, but this is your sweatshirt though, isn’t it Shinobu-san?”

“Yeah.” Shinobu answered, peering up at Mitsuri inquisitively.

“You know how I can tell?”

“Because it says track and field across the front?” Shinobu asked with a bit of sass.

“No!” Mitsuri crossed her arms, “It’s because it has this wisteria scent to it when I smelled it, I had another one of those visions! I think we have a real connection Shinobu-san!”

“Hm.” Was all Shinobu could bring herself to say on the matter which made Mitsuri frown cutely.

“Shinobu-san, don’t you want to try to figure this out?”

“Not particularly. I honestly don’t think there is anything to figure out,” Shinobu flipped over, snuggling further into her covers, “I’d like to go to sleep now, I’ve got early morning practice tomorrow. Good night, Kanroji-senpai.”

“You should call me Mitsuri now. Your sisters picked it up so easily! I won’t go to bed until I hear you say it!” Mitsuri huffed, expecting Shinobu to try to hold out all night but was very surprised.

“Go to bed, Mitsuri.” Shinobu’s muffled voice called from under the covers, making Mitsuri squee with unrestrained joy.

“This is great! Hey, can I call you Shinobu-chan now maybe? Hm?”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay Shinobu-chan, prepare yourself because starting tomorrow, I’m going to figure out what this connection we have between us is!”

Mitsuri didn’t get another reply, but she didn’t mind. She snuggled into her futon and closed her eyes, thanking the quieting storm for giving her this opportunity.

[whumpmatsus]

tw // noises , loud noises : osomatsu afraid of an emergency alert system test

I went ahead and made it an actual emergency alert, because rainy days and Mondays and whatnot-

also it's worth noting I did look up Japan's emergency alert system, but I have no idea how J-Alert actually functions, I've just kind of assumed it's similar to the system that's in place where I live XD

Osomatsu, you've got some top-notch little brothers there!!

it's technically Allmatsu but like... big Sokudomatsu vibes tho :D

-

All things considered, a few days of bad weather keeping all the sextuplets cooped up in the house pretty much guarantees that they’re all going to be on edge.

They’re occasionally two seconds away from being at each other’s throats anyway, with all the challenges of being a big family in a small house. When the skies darken and open up with rain, though, it all becomes that much worse.

It means Ichimatsu can’t venture out to feed the stray cats, because being out in the cold rain for so long will probably lead to him getting sick. The comfort and stress relief that Karamatsu finds in playing guitar on the roof is vanished into thin air. Everyone has to keep Jyushimatsu from going outside since he’s half determined to play baseball even when it’s pouring. Choromatsu can’t hit the streets in search of a job or anything; too much chance of getting caught in a torrential downpour far from home. That’s also the reason Totty can’t make any plans with his friends, and counts his blessings that he doesn’t have any work shifts during these days.

All things being equal, Osomatsu is almost certainly the most laidback of their little group. Big brother tries his best to find solutions to keep all of them distracted, such as playing games or helping everyone settle on what TV show they should watch. Even though there are other places he’d rather be right now ― like the races or pachinko or maybe somewhere trying to pick up girls ― he can acknowledge that it’s kind of nice to spend time with his brothers when they can’t go outside.

The rain’s been coming down steadily today, a constant pattering that’s rhythmic and borderline soothing. It’s already put Ichimatsu and Totty to sleep, the two of them curled up under a blanket together. Before they fell asleep, Totty said something about the storm being “free ASMR”, whatever that means, and Ichimatsu mumbled an agreement as they cuddled in against each other.

To be completely honest, the energy in the house in general is pretty low. That might be best for a stormy day. Everyone can chill out and recharge their energy.

For the most part, Osomatsu is playing at being as responsible as he can handle today; gathering snacks, making tea, keeping kerosene in the heater so nobody gets too cold. Now that Totty and Ichimatsu are down for the count, everyone else is starting to get sleepy. Which, of course, means it’s time for a collective nap.

He takes a look around the room as he settles in on the couch himself. There’s Ichimatsu and Totty under their single blanket, seeming to be getting along just fine to share it. Choromatsu and Karamatsu are nuzzled against each other with their legs under the kotatsu, with Choromatsu’s head resting on Karamatsu’s shoulder and Karamatsu’s head resting on top of Choromatsu’s. And Jyushimatsu is… huddled up in a few blankets near the couch. For all intents and purposes, sleep has apparently claimed him, too.

Well, that’s good. Now that he’s made sure all his little brothers are comfortable, Osomatsu can doze off himself.

There’s a leftover blanket folded up at the end of the couch, so he pulls it up around himself and lies down with his head propped against one of the arms of the couch. He’d certainly like to be nestled up with one of the others, but he’s not gonna disturb them for that. They’re all in their own pairs, save for Jyushimatsu, and he’s not going to make the second youngest clamber up onto the couch just because Osomatsu wants some physical contact.

Besides, he can get that later if he wants. It’s going to be chilly and dreary all day, so more snuggles are inevitable. If he gets lucky, everyone will gravitate to one big cuddle puddle after dinner.

So he does his best to relax on the couch. He closes his eyes and tries to slow his breathing down a bit. The rain continues to pound in sheets against the window, and in heavy drops against the roof. There’s the soft rumbling of thunder that’s begun in the background, so low and powerful he can feel it. Somehow, it’s a comfort, something that whispers to him that he can go to sleep now.

Surrounded by his brothers and the lullaby of the storm outside, it’s easy to drift off.

Osomatsu is nearly sunk down into the beginnings of a deep sleep when suddenly, a blaring alarm goes off. And it’s not just one ― it sounds like several firing off in perfect, irritating harmony.

He can’t explain why he has the reaction he does. All he knows is that the abrupt, loud, obnoxious noise cuts through everything else and seems to hit the panic button in his head. A terrified yell rips itself from his throat, and he’s bolt upright. Then he’s on the floor, rolled onto Jyushimatsu and waking his younger brother up.

“HOLY MOLY!” And as soon as Jyushimatsu shouts, it’s enough to wake everyone else up. How anybody could sleep through that siren is beyond Osomatsu, though he’s pretty sure if anyone could, Jyushimatsu could. “Osomatsu-nii-san! You’re on top of me! What the heck is that?! Are we late for school???”

Totty groans as he’s woken up in the rudest way possible. “We’re too old for school, Jyushimatsu-nii-san. We’re adults.” He pulls his phone out, and his other hand reaches to pat Ichimatsu on the head. “Aaahnnmmm… it’s a weather alert.”

“Severe thunderstorm warning,” Choromatsu groans, having turned to glance at the TV. “Looks like it’s only gonna last till like 7 P.M., though.”

Karamatsu yawns and rubs at his eyes. “Should we get supplies together in case the power goes out?”

“The rest of you dumbasses can do that,” Ichimatsu huffs. “I’m not moving. As soon as the alerts stop making that shitty noise, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Well, I guess it falls to the three oldest, then.” Choromatsu stretches, giving a quiet, “Oof” when something in his back pops. “Osomatsu, do you wanna come help us… uh… Osomatsu?”

Strangely enough, the eldest brother is still incapacitated from the unexpected sounds, curled into a ball with his hands pressed over his ears. There might even be tears in his eyes, if one’s looking close enough.

Jyushimatsu runs a gentle hand, (or sleeve, as it were), over his big brother’s head, seeing as he’s the closest one. “I think something’s wrong with Osomatsu-nii-san. He’s all shivery and breathing funny.”

That’s really all it takes for Choromatsu to be over lightning-fast, knelt down next to the eldest. “Osomatsu? Osomatsu-nii-san, are you okay?” He frowns and tentatively tugs one of Osomatsu’s hands away from his ear. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Th… the noise…” His hand is trembling in his younger brother’s grip, tears welling up in his eyes. It still feels like his heart is trying to hammer its way out of his chest completely. He can’t really get a good breath in.

Choromatsu’s brow furrows and he looks back toward the TV, which Karamatsu scrambles to turn off in case it’s the prolonged sound causing the problem. “Did you… ahah… it startled you, right? I think it startled all of us…”

Ichimatsu pushes himself up a bit so he can turn his attention to his older brothers. “Looks like it did more than startle him. He’s about to jump out of his skin.”

“Ah…” Choromatsu quickly gathers Osomatsu into his arms, and is surprised with the fervor with which the eldest clings to him. It reminds them both of… being kids. “H-hey, Osomatsu-nii-san… it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s over now. Can you, um, try to follow my pattern of breathing here? That might help you calm down.”

Osomatsu nods and does his best, mirroring the way Choromatsu inhales for four seconds, holds the breath for seven, and exhales for eight. It takes several cycles, a few minutes’ worth of this, before he can feel himself starting to be a little less shaky. His heart is still pounding, but not as fast as it was a moment ago.

Choromatsu holds him carefully, rubbing Osomatsu’s back, until he can feel the tension beginning to fade from his brother’s muscles. That was… weird. It’s not like Osomatsu to get so anxious, especially not to the point that he’s crying. “There… is it better now?”

“Y… yeah…” Osomatsu raises a hand in an attempt to scrub the tears away. Man… how embarrassing. He’s the oldest and he’s over here acting like a baby because of a stupid weather alert. “Sorry… I, uh, don’t know where that came from, haha.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Neither of them make any move to get out of the position for a minute, then Choromatsu gradually pulls away once he can’t hear his older brother’s heart beating like a gong. “You… good?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

Ichimatsu stretches his arms above his head. “Damn. I guess we’re all awake. I hate those alert things… remember that one night when we were kids, and it came on just as we were getting ready for bed?”

Totty laughs, rolling over and propping his face up against one arm. “Yeah, I remember Choromatsu told me they were warning us a big storm was gonna come and wash all the baby brothers out to sea.”

“A-ah…” Choromatsu’s face goes red in an instant. He was such a little bastard as a child. “I’m sorry about that, Totty!”

He waves a hand. “Nah, it’s okay! ‘Cause remember what we did next?”

“Ah… I remember!” Karamatsu grins. “We all said we wouldn’t let the storm get you, and we wrapped you up in blankets and stood guard the whole night.”

“Until we fell asleep,” Jyushimatsu giggles. “I remember panicking when we woke up, but then we all high-fived each other when we saw Totty was still there in the morning!”

“W-we could do that again,” Choromatsu suggests, stealing a peek at their eldest who still appears to be tired. “Except this time…”

Totty’s up in a second. “Ooh, yeah!! Let’s cocoon Osomatsu-nii-san so the big, bad weather alerts can’t hurt him!”

Osomatsu feels like he should be having the hairs on the back of his neck stand up right about now. Instead, he feels sort of warm in a good way when everyone starts to wrap blankets around him. “Geez… you guys don’t need to do all this shit…”

“Well, no, but it’ll be fun.” Choromatsu gives him a smile and nestles in against his older brother’s side. “I’ll take first watch.”

Osomatsu snorts, but lets his head fall on top of Choromatsu’s anyway.

“Man… you guys are lame.”

Thank God for that, though.

[hurricanery]

hurricane

A/N: shoutout to everyone that sent me song recs I'm feeling hella inspired and I’m gonna keep them in my inbox to come back to for future one shots! <3 credit to the anon that sent me this song...i wrote this so fast in my head and now it’s here! This is pretty amelia-centric but there’s a hint of amelink in here too, so hope u enjoy!

TW: implied drug use

also this is for @wordsxstars bc chloe ur my angst buddy forever !!

_______

I’m the violence in the pouring rain

I’m a hurricane

Come and fade me

Come and fade me

I’m a hurricane

_______

It rained the day she was born. Like really rained. It was the kind of torrential downpour that turned the whole sky a threateningly dark mix of indigo and grey.

Her Mother hadn’t planned for it. Hadn’t considered the impact that the weather would play on her child’s entrance into the world.

And she’d felt a lighthearted resentment towards this child, for deciding to push her way out at such an inconvenient time.

Because they’d sat in traffic.

Full of panic.

In the middle of a city-wide weather emergency.

“Leave it to baby number five,” her Mother had breathed through a contraction, hands gripping tightly to the cushions of the passenger seat. “To be born….during….a hurricane.”

“This hasn’t been classified as a hurricane yet, Carolyn-”

The glare she’d given her husband was enough to shut him up as she exhaled through the pressure of her contractions.

And she’d gripped the edges of the seat even tighter.

//

The same way Amelia does now, 18 years later.

Her fingers grip the edges of the seat, and her fingernails scratch over the fabric lightly, as she stares out the passenger side window.

It’s raining out. Not a downpour or anything. But steadily enough to trigger that feeling. That feeling that’s uncertain and nostalgic at the same time. Two practically opposite notions that crash together like the thunder that’s threatening the sky.

She hears Derek clear his throat, and her gaze snaps to his just in time.

Just in time for her to witness her brother’s eyes dart from her tightly-wound fingers to the road ahead as he drives.

She quickly moves her hands, on instinct. Burying them in her lap instead. There’s an overly-positive inflection to her brother’s tone as he speaks out into the space between them.

“I was nervous, too,” he laughs a bit under his breath, like he’s recalling a specific memory. “When I went away to school.”

“I’m not nervous.”

Disbelief flashes quickly across his face, but then he replaces it with something more soft. Like he’s deciding to give his younger sister the benefit of the doubt. Like he’s actually letting her have this one.

“Well, then….I’m impressed.”

Amelia rolls her eyes. And then she shivers involuntarily.

There’s something about being in an air-conditioned car, protected from the heat of the storm outside. It causes chills to rise through her body, despite it being the end of August. She turns in her seat, reaching towards the back of the car, to where all of her belongings are packed. Pulling out a crocheted blanket, she twists forward in her seat again and covers her bare legs with it.

She stares at the road ahead, finding patterns in the wet pavement, before she tentatively opens the conversation back up.

“Was Mom with you?” She utters the question, and she doesn’t let herself look in Derek’s direction. “Was Mom there to drop you off at college?”

It’s not until after she voices the question, that she realizes. Realizes that’s the thing that’s potentially been bothering her.

Derek sighs. And his hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter.

“She was.”

Amelia nods.

This answer doesn’t surprise her. And it doesn’t hurt either. It’s mostly just numb acceptance at this point.

She finally turns to him, and she almost doesn’t recognize herself in her next question.

“It’s because I look like him, right?”

It’s the first time she’s comprehended it out loud. The weight of it hits her like a ton of bricks. The fact that it all comes back to that.

“Who?”

Amelia gives him an incredulous stare, her mouth forming in a tight line. It amplifies her refusal to feed into Derek’s decided lack of wit.

Because he knows what she’s asking.

And Derek knows that Amelia knows that.

Amelia refuses to blink. She lets her eyes become unfocused as she stubbornly holds her gaze.

Until Derek eventually nods, giving up.

“Amelia….” He sighs. “You look like me.” He turns briefly in her direction, like he’s hoping her stare will have faltered slightly at his explanation so far. But it hasn’t. She’s relentless sometimes.

He exhales a bit shakily before he continues, eyes shifting back to the road.

“You look like me….and you look like Dad, too.”

Amelia finally lets herself blink at that. Relief floods her dry eyes and her mind, too.

She turns back to the window, focusing instead on the world around them. Her eyes land on two particular raindrops against the window. And she smiles slightly as she watches them drop down towards the ledge. Like it’s a race to see which raindrop finishes first. Which raindrop will dip first into the crack of the window pane, where it’ll disappear forever.

//

It’s a game she played as a child, too.

She loved to watch the raindrops race against the plastic walls of her playhouse. In the quiet corner of her vast backyard.

It had rained on the day of her 6th birthday party. And Amelia had almost been glad for that.

Her Mother had talked it up the entire week.

“Saturday is Amy’s birthday!”

“Saturday is all about Amy!”

But it felt false to Amelia, even as a 6-year-old.

The forced element of the celebration. And the way her Mother had demanded her siblings participate, too.

But the party was cancelled. And Amelia instead found herself in her favorite place to be during a rainstorm. Surrounded by the yellow walls of her plastic playhouse.

Derek had found her that day. A smile playing at his lips as he ducked his wet head of hair into the window of her little hideaway.

“Whatcha thinkin about, Amy?”

//

“What are you thinking about?”

Amelia quickly shakes from her daze, abandoning the slight pride she’d just felt at her choice of raindrop winning the race against the car window.

She turns to Derek, and she even smiles a bit in his direction.

“I’m thinking about….starting over.”

“Starting over?!” Derek gives her one of his classic smiles. There’s an element of surprise to it, that lands in his eyes. But ultimately it’s laced with excitement, through and through. “Starting over is good.”

Amelia beams at him. It starts off small but she can feel the way it grows on her face. It’s the kind of grin that makes her cheeks dimple.

Derek shakes his head, laughing under his breath as he faces the road again.

“You know….no one wants you to start completely over, Amy.”

She raises her eyebrows at this, her grin transforming into more of a doubtful smirk at her brother’s words.

“Well I, for one, don’t want you to change.”

Amelia exhales a slight chuckle.

“I’ll try not to get rid of the good parts,” she mutters.

Derek is focused on the road in front of them, so all Amelia can really decipher, is his side profile. But she can see it. The hint of glassiness in his grey-blue orbs.

Silence falls between them, and Amelia feels a tightness form within her own throat. She attempts to clear it, tries to alleviate what the moment is turning out to be. But then Derek starts speaking again in a low tone, and the tightness spreads itself further.

“Dad would be so proud of you, you know.”

Amelia smiles tightly.

She only half believes that statement.

Because truthfully, she has no idea how she got here. How she managed to make it this far anyway. That realization hits her hard and fast and suddenly she doesn’t care that her eyes are stinging the same way Derek’s were a moment ago.

“I wish I remembered him better,” she admits, and her voice is notably thin.

Derek turns to her, his eyes filled with something Amelia can’t quite place.

“I feel like….” She continues, ignoring the way her voice wavers. “My idea of him comes from the pictures I’ve seen? If that makes sense? And I don’t have the actual memories anymore….I don’t….I wish I remembered what he was really like, you know? His voice, his mannerisms, everything-”

“I know what you mean.”

They exit the freeway, the car slowing at a stoplight as they enter the college town.

“You’re so like him in so many ways, Amelia.” Derek says it in a whispered tone, as they turn onto the main road. Like the comprehension is overwhelming to even him. “So….just like you said….don’t get rid of the good parts, okay?”

Amelia lets herself smile as she turns away from him, eyes scanning the surroundings of the town that will be her new home. The rain has died down significantly, and Amelia questions whether that’s an accurate observation, or if it’s just that they’re driving at a slower speed now.

“Okay,” she eventually responds.

//

“Are you okay?”

The question had come from Derek.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” Amelia had practically gasped upon slipping through the front door. She thought she’d been inconspicuous.

Derek stared at her expectantly.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, but she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering.

“It’s pouring out. Did you walk?” There’d been criticism in his voice.

“You’d be more upset if I said I drove, right?”

“Amy.”

“Derek.”

They’d been at a standoff. In the middle of the entryway. Both of them seemingly unphased by the mix of mud and water that tracked all over their Mother’s favorite area rug.

Derek sighed. And Amelia stared at the floor. Unable to make eye contact, too aware that her eyes were hinted red and full of haze.

“Why didn’t you call me for a ride?”

“I didn’t know you’d still be here.” Her reply sounded bitter. But maybe it had just been the tightness in her jaw, the pressure from fighting off the wet and the cold.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“You missed Dad’s birthday dinner.” Derek’s tone had been accusatory again.

“Dad missed it, too.”

“Amelia-”

She’d cut Derek off with a bizarrely edged laugh.

Their Dad’s birthday dinner. They’d celebrate every year as a family. They’d sit down and have dinner together. And Amelia ultimately despised it. Mostly because they’d started grouping it together with her own birthday celebration. Her birthday followed a week after their Dad’s. And it just served as another reminder. Another reason for displaced resentment.

Amelia bit down on her laugh, stunned. She’d be turning 16 the following week.

“Amelia.” He said it again, this time more cautionary.

She finally looked at him. And she could see genuine concern in his expression.

“Are you okay?” He asked for a second time.

All Amelia could do was nod.

“Are you on your way out?” She whispered the question.

And then it was Derek’s turn to nod.

“I just wanted to say goodbye before I took back off to school,” he explained. “And I wanted to tell you happy birthday.”

Amelia smirked coldly at him, and finally started moving towards the stairs.

“Bye, Derek.”

//

2 years later and they’ve yet to improve this part.

It’s a rushed goodbye. Like it usually is for them. They don’t do goodbyes very well. Maybe that had something to do with shared past experiences.

Derek helps her set up her dorm room and when there’s nothing left to do, a knowing shift occurs in the atmosphere.

He pulls his hands out of his pockets, and forces a smile on his face. And when he pulls her into a tight hug, it takes Amelia a moment to reciprocate the gesture.

But Derek just squeezes her tighter until she does.

“You’re going to love it here, Amy,” he mumbles, before pulling away.

And Amelia just nods. Not able to find her words.

Because they’re bad at goodbyes. Which Derek knows. So he lets her off the hook, backs out of the small room with one last glance in her direction.

And Amelia watches him go.

//

Amelia doesn’t love it here, right away.

She tries to. She really does.

She sits in the shared common areas and convinces herself that maybe she’ll step up and talk to someone today.

It’s strange. She’s an outgoing person. She could be the life of the party when she really wanted to. But, she sits now, textbooks open in front of her, glancing around the library at fellow students. And she feels worlds beyond them. She questions to herself how she can even feel years beyond people her own age.

And that’s the self-inquiry that ruins her plan. She gets way too inside her own head and it hinders any chance she has at trying today.

Instead she gets up, shoving her books into her bag and walking purposefully to the exit.

It’s when she reaches her dorm, that the rain starts. She can smell it first. The distinct way the air changes when it’s about to rain. It feels humid and thick and her skin starts to feel sticky before the cold front lightly passes over her, and it provides relief.

The sky gets dark and it starts to sprinkle, just as she climbs the steps of her building.

As she enters her room, a dark cloud of restlessness storms her mind. Because she doesn’t know what her next move is. What her plan is for the rest of the day.

She looks around the small room, eyes catching on a piece of paper that’s been slipped under her door.

She picks it up, and when she reads the words on the flyer, she wants to laugh to herself. Because it simply lists an address for a party later tonight. And she’s laughing because, is this really how college works?

She decides there’s no way she’s going to the party.

//

After 2 hours of staring at the ugly off-white paneling of her dorm room ceiling, Amelia sits up in bed.

Because there’s a hint of it. A fleeting thought. A question that flashes through her mind almost too quickly to even divulge in.

But it’s there. The question of ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’

It’s enough to make her get out of bed. Which is confusing, to say the least. Because she hadn’t anticipated spending her evening this way. But now she’s pulling open her dresser drawers, trying to find something to wear. And she’s glancing at herself in the mirror, reaching for her makeup bag at the same time.

The last thing she remembers thinking, when she exits her dorm room is, what’s the worst that could happen?

//

The worst that could happen, happens almost right away.

It takes place in the form of ‘jungle juice.’

“It’s called jungle juice!”

Amelia stares blankly at the frat boy in front of her. She’s standing way too close to the bouncing speakers and the music is way too loud.

“What?!”

“Jungle juice!” He yells again, “Basically everyone brings a fifth of something and it all gets poured in there! It’s disgusting, but it makes for a dangerous concoction! Want me to grab you a cup?”

Amelia shakes her head. She doesn’t know what she was thinking.

Well, that’s not entirely true. She was thinking that she had to at least try. Give a shot at relating to people her age.

She surveys the boy in front of her. He’s attractive. Jet black hair, green eyes and even a slightly alternative vibe to him. It surprises Amelia, considering she’s in a frat house. He seems unexpected. And maybe her type. She’d probably go for him, if she wasn’t currently so inside her own head about it.

She feels her nails dig lightly into the palms of her hands as she drops her arms to the side, and she immediately catches herself. She exhales, trying to relax.

“I’ll grab something else, probably!” she yells back to the boy patiently standing in front of her.

Patiently, she thinks. Because she’s already a step ahead of him, labeling him, and she knows she’s someone that requires patience in events like these.

She shifts her eyes away from him, instead looking to the tiny window in the corner of the crowded room. It’s raining outside. Drops of condensation race against the glass in a familiar motion.

A feeling swells in her chest that’s hard to ignore. There’s a strong desire to escape her current environment and it practically makes her want to crawl out of her skin.

“I’m not supposed to be here!” She shouts over the music, turning back to the conversation.

“Huh?!”

“It’s raining!” She’s an octave louder this time.

“Yeah! It’s good we’re inside, right?!”

Amelia shakes her head, stepping away. Ignoring the confusion on the boy’s face, she turns on her heels, pushing through the crowd until she can find an exit. When she finally makes it out onto the less crowded porch, she lets out a huge exhale.

She keeps waking. The sun is setting, and the impending storm makes the sky a glorious shade of violet.

The rain pelts her skin as she walks hastily through the campus and although it provides relief, there’s also a sense of something else. It’s almost yearning. Or maybe homesickness. But it doesn’t make sense, because she’s never craved home before.

She thinks she’s crying. She can’t really tell. It’s hard to separate the rain from any potential saltiness that threatens her cheeks. The only thing that gives her away is her labored breathing.

She’s overwhelmed. And for once in her life she wishes Derek were here. He’d know the right thing to say.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a figure passes her on her left. It’s sudden. She doesn’t anticipate it and she doesn’t hear anyone approach, mostly because her thoughts are so loud and there’s thunder starting to rumble through the sky.

“Fuck,” she gasps, hand clutching her chest as the stranger passes her.

He’s running, but he slows his jog after she voices her alarm.

He turns around, taking in Amelia’s startled expression.

“Oh, sorry!” His own surprised guise shifts quickly to one of concern, though.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice raised to compensate for the rain as he calls out to her.

Amelia nods.

“You just scared me, is all,” she shrugs.

He looks her up and down, but Amelia doesn’t even feel scrutinized by it.

He steps towards her. And Amelia finds her voice.

“Out for a run?” She’s surprised by her own curiosity.

He shakes his head as he approaches. “I was walking back from the library,” he points to the sky, in an obvious gesture. “And then it started raining….and I started running….”

Amelia feels a smile break across her face, the dimpled kind. Because there’s something about the way he looks up at the sky while he explains himself, that amuses her.

He turns to her, and he has a wide grin on his face as he catches his breath from running. Not wide in the way that he’s smiling hugely, or anything. But Amelia can tell that his typical smile just happens to stretch that far. It makes her own smile further.

“You heading to north hall?”

Amelia nods.

“I live there, too!” He exclaims. “Food sucks but we have the biggest closets out of all the dorms on the entire campus.”

Amelia raises her eyebrows at this.

“Am I….bothering you?” His grin quickly fades. “God, I didn’t mean to just start….walking with you. Sorry, shit. You must think I’m some sort of-”

“You can walk with me,” she bites down on another smile. Because it’s the most she’s smiled in weeks and it feels foreign to her. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she peeks sideways at him. “As long as we don’t have to start running,” she adds with a laugh.

His smile returns. And they keep waking. The rain starts to die down a bit, but Amelia questions whether she’s imagined that. She can see the rain. And maybe she can hear it, too. But she can’t really feel it. Her focus has shifted.

“I’m Amelia, by the way.”

“Amelia?” He repeats her name, and there’s a spark of interest in his inflection, like he’s really doing his best to store that information.

She nods.

They reach north hall. The rain has come to a complete halt, and Amelia thinks it would almost feel sunny, if the sun hadn’t already set.

“It’s nice to meet you, Amelia. I’m Link.”

_______

[babbushka]

Hide Your Smile

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

11.5k ; Warnings for: Dark!fic (graphic depictions of violence [drunken violent outbursts, domestic violence, domestic abuse {physical and verbal}], blood and gore, graphic brutal murder, mild stalking, possessive behavior), & NSFW content (Car sex/fingering)

Also available on AO3!

(this fic was written in collaboration with my amazing friends and followers here. Thank you all so much for voting in the polls to determine this oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!)

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

You don't own me I'm not just one of your many toys You don't own me Don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do Don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display 'cause

You don't own me...

Darkness, all around.

Nothing but hot wet earth, mud sinking under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Rain, thudding against the ground, against your back as you are chased by a monster in the night, bitter breath haunting the back of your neck, the hair rising on your arms only to be drenched down by the torrential downpour flooding your lungs.  

The world blurs around you, and you can’t tell, can’t tell which way is up, which way is forward. Things feel slow, thick, you blink but the spots only multiply. There’s a rush in your ears, a gruesome thud thud thudding – is that your pulse? You don’t know.

Blood stings your eyes, dirt caked into the backs of your molars. You can’t see, you can’t hear, you don’t know what’s going on, you see lights in the distance but when you run towards them they seem farther and farther away. Claws and teeth nip at your heels, you can’t stop running, can’t stop no matter how badly your legs ache, because if you stop even for just a moment, he’ll get you, and who knows what will become of you then.

Somewhere far away, a million miles away, Leslie Gore sings and your friends dance in a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter town. But there in the woods, as something closes around your arm and drags you down to the ground,

you scream.

The party had been going well enough, hadn’t it? Josh hadn’t taken his hand off of you all evening, and wasn’t that something just dandy. Things had been getting tense between the two of you lately, you try not to think about all those heated arguments and cold shoulders that your boyfriend had dropped atop your head. You could ignore all of that now, he didn’t mean it, you knew that.

Maybe he did mean it, but he wasn’t meaning it now, as he dances with you in the dimly lit living room. You weren’t so sure what time it even was, gosh the rain was coming down so hard and making the skies nearly pitch black; why, it coulda been two in the morning for all you knew!

You give a strained smile to Josh for a brief moment, before laying your head back down on his chest. You think he looks relatively dashing tonight, dressed up for the party. New Year’s Eve 1962, could you believe it? Or well, it’d be 1962 in a couple minutes, but still.

You wore a mini-dress with the grooviest pattern you could find, some bright purple tights and white block heels, and you’d done your hair up so high you were sure you could feel it swaying on top of your head. It was very on trend these days, this sort of hairstyle. From what you could tell, anyway. You knew that this party was important for Josh, was important that he show up and make a good appearance with his football buddies, there were guys here that knew NFL draft scouts and he needed to impress them so he could get on their good side.

You wanted to look nice. He looked nice too, in his letterman jacket and jeans. Maybe he could have dressed up a little more, put a little more effort in. It was alright, it was fine. He gelled his hair down, that was more than you were expecting.

Thunder cracks across the sky and you involuntarily press yourself closer to him – he’ll hold you, won’t he? You wait for his arms to tighten around you, but they never do. Disappointed, but not surprised, you think.

“What’s your problem babe?” He asks, his voice slurred. You realize you’ve stopped dancing, stopped the short back and forth of your feet and he’d picked up on that.

“Nothing Josh. Just you know, the thunder and all.” You shrug, but he only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not even real, it can’t hurt you, get a grip.” Josh steps away from you, away from the dance floor.

There are prying eyes there in the dark, and you’re embarrassed by the volume in his voice. He doesn’t realize how loud he can be sometimes, you know that, especially when he’s a little more buzzed than normal. He’s been getting more and more buzzed these days, you didn’t think it was good, was healthy. Just because he was of legal drinking age didn’t mean that you should dump alcohol into your body, not the way he did anyway.

“Right, of course Josh, sorry.” You grit your teeth, clench your jaw.

“Why don’t you go get me another beer, make yourself useful.” He dismisses you, turning towards his group of friends on the football team, towards bigger and stronger boys than he is, an attempt to weasel his way inside their group.

You’ve had quite enough of being dismissed, pushed aside. You’ve had enough. You’d been thinking of leaving him for a while, thinking about telling him what for, for once and for all. It never felt like the right time, something about him always made you feel like something bad would happen if you tried. But you’re at a point where you’re not being given any other choice.

You watch him laugh with his friends, with these college seniors, big boys on campus, and your heart races in your chest. A very small part of your brain fantasizes late at night about killing him, pushing him off some cliff or into traffic, an accident. Always an accident.

You’d never do it of course – of course not. Good girls didn’t kill their star athlete boyfriends.

But.

But maybe…maybe if something were to happen to him, you wouldn’t be so upset, would you?

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” The words tumble past your lips without much thought, and you don’t really even register it until the whole group of jocks go silent and Josh turns around slowly, menacingly, to stare you down.

“…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice is low, angry.  

“You’re supposed to drive me back home after this, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright to drive.” You’re unrelenting, shoulders square and jaw tight. If he thought he was going to be a jackass to win brownie points, then he had another thing coming.

The jocks only sip their beers, carefully watching. You wonder if any of them would come to your defense, but their silence is telling. You decide you hate them.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I asked you to get me a fucking beer.” Josh shoves his red cup into your hand and you decide you hate him too.

Without another word, you accept the cup and with a forced smile, make your way to the kitchen where people are crowded by kegs and bottles.

You give a small sigh while you pour a cup of whatever shitty draft they’d gotten for the party. Part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all, you knew it could have only ended like this, being ignored and belittled all evening.

You wish that Flip were there, and you sigh again.

Philip ‘Flip’ Zimmerman, your best friend. The handsome basketball player, the guy who’s got his life together. A good job at the lumbermill, probably going to be a manager or something, the CEO one day. Smart, so smart! You can’t help but think of how many nights he tutored you for math with gentle eyes. And funny, and kind, and nice to you. He’s a couple years older than you and probably doesn’t think of you as anything other than a friend, but…but for a moment, you imagine what it might be like to call Flip your man.

You wonder if Flip would hold you tight when the thunder cracks across the sky, and a small smile threatens to creep up on your face. He definitely would, he’s done it before, hasn’t he? Given you his jacket to keep you dry from the rain, strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheeks begin to warm at the thought, at the way you can practically smell the cologne he wears whenever you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You wish Flip were here. Or maybe no, maybe you just wish you were with him alone, were with him anywhere that wasn’t here. You wish you were cozied up on the couch in his Ma’s house, watching some scary movie and tucking yourself under his chin while you share a bowl of stove-top popcorn.

Lightning splinters across the clouds through the window in the kitchen, and you sigh again.

You had asked him to come, you really did try. But he said he was busy with work stuff, and he couldn’t. You admired that about him, his work ethic. He was so dedicated to everything he did, and even though you wanted to be selfish and whine and complain about needing his attention, you respected when he put his foot down.

Watching the froth begin to fade from the top of the beer cup, you think to yourself that tonight’s it, the last night you’d deal with Josh. You decide that you’ll go over, give him his beer, and then as soon as he drops you home whenever this party is supposed to end, you’ll tell him not to bother calling you ever again.

Something inside of you lightens up at the thought, like a weight slowly slipping off your shoulders. You can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought of no longer being with him. Maybe…maybe if Flip saw you were single, he’d make a move of his own. Your head is in the clouds thinking about Flip, when you accidentally bump into someone on your way back to the living room.

A little bit of beer sloshes onto a boy’s shirt, and you recognize him as one of Josh’s new pals.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologize for the mess, he grabs you by the arm. His grip is harsh, and he yanks you around for a second, the beer spilling everywhere, all over the floor, onto your new white shoes.

“Hey J, are you gonna control your woman or what?” The guy – was his name Tommy? – sneers down at you. He’s tall, and he’s strong, you can start to feel a dull ping of pain on your arm where his fingers are digging in deep.

“I’m not his to control.” You wrench yourself out of the guy’s hold, stumbling backwards a few feet from the force of it.

Josh is up off the couch in an instant, infuriated with you.

He’s drunk, eyes glassed over like some shark, dark and empty. He backhands you across the jaw, sends you falling to the floor despite your best efforts, the crack of your skull against the wooden panels calling spots to your vision.

“Don’t ever speak back to someone like that, are you out of your fucking mind?” He wrangles you back up off the floor, grabs you by the front of your dress and hauls you up roughly, unkindly.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, your nails scratching at his face, teeth bared in a rage of your own, pent-up anger that you’ve been swallowing for six months as you smack him across the face back in retaliation, angry and spitting, “Get off of me!”

Josh doesn’t let up, in fact he doubles down, kicks at your ankles so your knees cave in to try and support yourself as his hand shoots up from the collar of your blouse to wrapping around your throat. He drags you like that through the party, and you can’t help but wonder why no one is saying anything, doing anything? Do they not hear you? Do they not care?

“I’ll make you regret that – I’ll make you regret everything.” Josh hisses lowly in your ear as he forces you through the house by the scruff of your neck, sour breath of a drunken stupor stinging like a brand across your cheek.

“I already do.” You choke, struggling against his hold, against his hands.

You manage to elbow him in the stomach, hard, hard enough that he doubles over from the wind knocked out of his lungs, and you run.

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

Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I don't tell you what to say I don't tell you what to do So just let me be myself That's all I ask of you

Shoving through the crowd of people, a hundred faces you don’t recognize, smiles fading into confused glares, you run. 

Thunder, rain, lightning, music deafens in your ears as you look for the door. Why is it so dark at this party? Where in the house are you? Hallways lead to doors that lead to nowhere, and you can hear his footsteps, can hear him running running running after you.

Didn’t you pass through this room before? Where was a telephone, surely whoever’s house this was, surely they had a telephone. But who would you call? You couldn’t call your parents, couldn’t let them know you snuck out of the house. You could call Flip, yes, that was it! You’d call Flip, if only you could find a phone.

They laugh at you, the people at the party. Laugh with their drug addled eyes, high off mushrooms and LSD, acid trips going wrong wrong wrong. They dance and laugh and laugh and dance, chugging spiked drinks with wild abandon, lights flashing red yellow purple green blue, a cacophony of psychedelics.

He’s there, somewhere among them, he’s there, you know he is. The smack of your footsteps sound like gunshots against the wood, your head throbs. You want to sob and scream and shout and cry cry cry but you can’t do that until you are safe, and if you stay in this house, there’s no telling where you’ll find safety again.

Or at all.

You try every door, locked ones, unlocked ones, looking for a way out. Eventually you lock yourself in a bathroom, lucky that there’s a window. It’s a single story house, the jump isn’t far.

You abandon your shoes, they don’t stay on your feet that well anyway, and you don’t have the time to groan about the frigid mud that squeaks between your toes as you splash down onto the ground from the window.

“Help!” You cup your mouth and shout, hearing something, a twig snapping not too far away. You see him, he’s coming after you through a side-door, and you have to run, you have to go. “Oh fuck – ”

You bolt, freezing rain soaking your clothes.

You don’t know where you are, don’t recognize this part of town.

Josh knew the area, not you, not you. These were his friends, not yours, not yours.

You just run, hoping your legs carry you to safety, carry you away. There’s woods, in the distance. You whip your head around, try looking for a road, any road. Where’s the driveway? It must be on the other side of the house, it must be –

Josh is gaining on you, athletic legs more powerful than your own.

“You can’t outrun me, don’t even try, don’t bother, get the fuck over here!” He hollers at you, voice guttural and deep, primal in a way that strikes fear into your heart.

You wish you had something, a weapon of some kind, any kind, to fight him with, but you don’t.

So you run.

“Shitshitshitshitshit – someone help!” You toss your voice to the wind, the howling wind which carries sheets of rain, pounds it down sideways against your back, your face, hair sopping wet and sticking to your eyes, nose, getting in your mouth as you pant pant pant, sobs of terror spiking through your chest, salty tears whisked away by the rain.

You don’t know how far you’ve gotten, you don’t know if anyone can hear you, don’t know if anyone would even come if they did. You need to form a plan, need to put enough distance between you and this monster of a man, need to catch your breath.

Your adrenaline pounds in your ear as the earth slips and slides underneath your feet, your nylon stockings not doing anything to help gain traction. You skid your knees on rocks and trip over gnarled roots, but every time you get up, each and every time you have to get up, otherwise he’ll get you.

You can feel how close he is, his hands reaching out to tear away at your clothes, can feel the ghost of his fingers trying to hook around your dress, and you can’t help but let out a high-pitched scream, something that pierces into the blackness of night, something that sends the birds from their branches.

“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Josh manages to snatch you, the both of you tumbling down to the ground from the momentum, rolling in the mud. It’s in your eyes, mouth, a sharp hot pain at your temple makes you think you’ve hit your head, maybe on a rock? You don’t know, you taste copper in your mouth. You feel hands, no, fists, hard against your jaw. “I’ll kill you, you whore, I’ll fucking kill you for embarrassing me.”

“Don’t touch me – !” You scream, searching the ground for something, for anything, relief flooding through your body when your hand closes around a rock large enough to do some damage.

“Quiet, just be quiet!” He’s annoyed with you, annoyed with how loud you’re being, as if you’re inconveniencing him by not taking a beating politely. You take in a deep breath and muster all the strength you possibly can, to slam the rock against his face, making him knock backwards with a loud, “Fuck!”

“Someone – please!” You cough and sputter as blood streams down your face, washed away by the heavy rain which does not relent.

In an instant, the hands are yanked away from you, and you scramble to get away as fast as you can to catch your breath. You cough and hack up blood, dirt, mud which grinds between your teeth, the pounding against your temple making you dizzy, making you sick. You feel like you’re going to be sick, the adrenaline rising up up up your throat.

“Who the fuck are you – ” You hear Josh start, before the sound of punches and grunts cuts through the air again, and you squint in the dark to see who came to your rescue, who heard your calls.

“Flip?” You nearly can’t believe it, can’t believe your widened eyes, but there he is – you’d recognize those broad shoulders and the pattern of his breathing anywhere. Despite all better judgement, you rush back to his side, slipping and sliding on mud as rain beats down with such fury as your best friend’s fists, “Flip!”

“You don’t get to touch her, ever again.” Flip does not yell, he does not scream.

He does not raise his voice, he is calm, eerily calm, unnervingly calm.

You almost don’t hear him speaking at all, from how softly his voice comes out as he kicks the shit out of Josh, as he holds his head in place and knees him so hard in the face once, twice, three times, hard enough that the sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoes the thunder all around you, and he goes limp.

But Flip doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop beating Josh’s face in with his fist until the man is a mess of blood, teeth coming loose, broken nose and busted lip bubbling hot, steaming in the freezing cold air. He doesn’t stop still, and you watch in awe, in twisted admiration as Flip hauls the ragdoll of your former boyfriend up enough to get him in a chokehold and snap his neck.

Only then, does Flip drop him, face down into the mud.

You look at the lifeless body, and then up at Flip, who you find is already looking back at you. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, out of breath and exhausted. The rain has soaked him through too, but he’s not shivering, not the way you are. He must have ran too, had to have ran to catch up with you. You don’t know how deep in the woods you are, how deep he had to go to find you.

But he did, he did.

You’re numb, standing there. Numb from the cold, from the shock, you don’t know. You want to comfort Flip – and isn’t that fucked up? You wanting to comfort someone else right now? But you do.

Everything feels like it’s going to be okay now, now that Flip’s here.

“Oh my god.” You say, because you don’t really know what else to say, don’t really know what else to do other than stand there. You’re frightened, you can feel the fear bubbling up in your stomach, but there’s calm now too, a calm that’s got you more afraid than anything. You look at Josh, then back to Flip once again. “Do you think…”

“Are you okay?” Flip pushes the hair out of his face with a bloody hand and takes a cautious step towards you.

“Me? Yeah – yes I’m…Do you think you killed him?” You ask, holding a hand out to Flip.

You know he’s worried about scaring you, and warmth cuts through some of the chill in your bones at the thought. You extend a hand and encourage him to take it, smearing blood between your palms which the rain washes away, carries down into the wood in thick muddy rivers.

You’re not afraid of Flip, could never be afraid of Flip.

“Look at me,” He’s hung up on it, presses his forehead against yours and goes nearly cross-eyed in the dark to peer into your eyes, your soul, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You finally answer truthfully, taking another step closer to him, trying to get as close to him as possible. You feel safe, your brain screams safety with this man, with your friend, your Flip. “But I’m better now that you’re here. What are you doing here? I thought you had work.”

Confusion dawns on you, and you frown a little bit, just because it doesn’t make sense for him to be here right now, it doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all. Flip’s eyes widen a little, and even in the scant moonlight you can tell he’s blushing. He tries pulling away, but you don’t release your grip on his hand, warm and solid and real against your own.

“I just – I’m sorry I – well I got off early and I wanted to make sure that you would be okay so I came over and just kind of watched from the car in case you needed me for anything.” He rushes out in one big breath, winces, waits for you to berate him.

“Do you do that? Watch me from a distance.” You ask him, the both of you standing there in the rain.

You know it’s absurd, somewhere in the back of your head a small voice tells you it’s absurd to have a conversation like this while standing over a body in the middle of the woods, but you push it away, push it away and step closer to Flip. You’re not accusatory when you ask, you’re not condemning him – you’re just curious.

“No – I – well yes, sometimes, but only when you’re out with him.” He admits, nudging Josh’s back with the toe of his boot. His voice is dark, low, gritty in the back of his throat but he doesn’t yell, you sigh against him, your heart breaks for the anger in his voice, the sadness. You wish you never started dating this schmuck, wish you never said yes to him, wished that it had been Flip who asked instead. “I don’t trust him, (Y/N), I don’t like how he treats you. I worry, and I know that it’s creepy I know, I’m sorry, I’m not a creep I swear, I just. I care about you.”

You’re quiet for a little while, and then you move away from him only far enough to plant your stocking-clad foot onto the back of Josh’s head, push him deeper into the earth, the mud. The body gives no resistance, and a sick satisfaction makes your vision go blurry.

“Have…have you done this before?” You ask, that numbness starting to fade, the tremble of shock at what you witnessed, experienced setting in.

Flip looks like he would fall to his knees before you in that moment, as he blinks water out of his eyes, as he trembles too.

“No, I swear. I don’t even know what came over me, but I heard you screaming and begging and I couldn’t stop, I had to help you somehow.” His voice breaks, and all you want is to be close to him, so you go, go rushing into his arms, and he holds you tight.

He holds you and you hold him back, two people under the moonlight as lightning illuminates the body with picture-perfect clarity for a split second. He’s face down in the earth but you can tell, you can just tell he’s brutally mangled by the damage Flip did to him, and as you shove your face into Flip’s chest, for the briefest of moments, you smile.

“We have to get rid of him.” You say softly, trying to think of a plan, trying to think of what to do.

Flip gently pushes on your shoulders to separate the two of you, and shakes his head with a frown.

“We? No (Y/N), you can’t be involved at all, you can’t, just please go to the car and get dry and warm, I can handle this.” He’s sweet, so sweet with the way there’s sincerity in his eyes, but you’re not having any of it.

“I’m already involved, Flip, I’m not going to let you do this alone. Whatever it is, we’re in this together now. We can’t go to the police, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t believe us. I’m with you.” You squeeze his hand lovingly in your own, and you can’t help but think how good it feels, how right it feels, to hold his hand.

“I think I have an idea, but first, we need to get him to the car.” Flip chews the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick of his that you always scold him for.

You don’t scold him now, there’s no time, that’s not what’s important now.

What’s important is hauling dead weight down the woods without a trace, without any evidence other than what will be washed away.

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

I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

And don't tell me what to do Oh, don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display

The body rolls around slightly, in the trunk. You’re in Flip’s dad’s '58 oldsmobile, the heat is blasting, and you hug your knees in the passenger seat, as Flip maneuvers through the winding Colorado roads. It had taken quite some time to get back through the car, out of the woods.

He had been parked out front, only a few feet from the driveway the whole time. All evening, sitting, watching, waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t need him, but prepared to do anything for you if you did. He’s silent on the drive to wherever it is you’re going, the radio is playing softly. The music helps calm your nerves, and you’re thankful for it, you try not to freak out.

The little clock on the dashboard says it’s only about midnight, but you feel like it’s way later than that. The rain fucks everything up, you think, the rain’s been pouring for hours and hours now, but it feels like days.

Every time the car makes a sharp turn, or goes up and down a hill, the body thuds against the walls of the trunk, and you just hug your knees tighter.

“Where are we going?” You ask eventually, voice soft. You’re afraid if you raise it, you’ll scream. Your throat hurts, you’ve done enough screaming already.

“Hospital.” Flip replies easily, not taking his eyes off the road, his hands at perfect ten-and-two. You wonder if he’s afraid of screaming too.

The thought of the hospital sends a spike of fear through your blood, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What? Why?” You demand immediately, confused, scared.

“You still haven’t stopped bleeding and I need to make sure you’re okay.” Flip says evenly. You can tell he wants a cigarette, you can tell. But this is his dad’s car, and he can’t smoke in it. You wonder what his dad would say to knowing that there’s a dead body in it, wonder if smoke would be more of an issue.

“No!” You shake your head, turning yourself towards him fully, a hand on his arm. “No, Flip please, they’ll call my parents and they don’t know I’m out this late, please just – let’s just get rid of him, and then take me home, Flip I’m begging.”

“But what if you’re seriously hurt? What if he did something severe?” Flip’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and your stomach flutters as the windshield wipers beat back and forth, whisking the rain away.

“I’m okay, I promise I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know if that’s the truth, but you have to believe that it is, you have to. “Philip, please.”

The use of his full first name convinces him, you don’t think you’ve ever said it before, not out loud anyway, not like this. He chews on his lip and sighs, nods his head to your supreme relief.

“Thank you.” You want to kiss him, want to embrace him desperately, but now isn’t the time. He’s driving, there are more important things right now, more important things to deal with. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t bury him in the woods, the rain’s logged all the dirt.”

“Logged – we can go to the mill.” Flip snaps his fingers, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside his head.

You just sit back and press a bundled up wad of wet napkins against the wound on your temple, hugging your knees, knowing that you’ll be okay, as long as you’re with Flip.

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

The lumbermill is a family-owned and operated affair. Flip’s grandfather had founded it sixty-two years ago way back during the turn of the century in 1900, and it had remained in the Zimmerman hands ever since. Once a small business, now stood a proud industrial center for logging and clearing away trees to produce more logs and square away neat pockets of land. Where there used to be only hand-held tools and traditions, now there were the highest-end types of machinery.

You thought Flip was brilliant, absolutely brilliant – you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Just last month, Flip’s dad had been bragging about the new woodchipper that had finally been ordered. You remember sitting at Flip’s Ma’s shabbat table and listening to him go on and on about the new sharp blades, how much more efficient it would make everything, not to mention how little waste they would have, considering the wood chips could be sold for all kinds of uses.

At the time, you had thought it was a little annoying how he wouldn’t let anyone else at the table get in a word, but now you’re thanking your lucky stars that you had been paying attention.

It’s strange, being here this late, being here at all. You’ve visited before of course, Flip has always been eager to show you around. It never felt like you were sneaking about or anything, not considering his family owned it, considering he’d own it one day too.

But it’s strange, with the flood lights filling the night sky with a brilliant white, the usually bustling lumbermill quiet, nothing but the sound of harsh rain clanging on machinery and metal roofs. Flip parks the car in the lot, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a key-ring. There must be a dozen keys on the little circle, but Flip seems to know exactly which ones are for what.

“Emergency backups of all the gates,” he explains, jingling it on his index finger for a second, “No one will suspect anything.”

You nod, chew on your cheeks. The thought of going back out into the rain is unpleasant, but you suck it up and open the car door, bracing yourself for a minute before the icy water plunges down the back of your dress once again, body already shivering.

He meets you at the trunk, pops it open. With the flood lights, you can see the extent of the damage to Josh’s face – if you could even call it a face anymore. It was nearly caved in completely, soaked with blood and mud, all the planes of a face that should push out were indented inwards. You manage a glance at Flip’s knuckles, and you see they’re busted wide open, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Follow me.” Flip says, hoisting the body over his shoulder like a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building, and his boots splash in the mud towards where he knows the woodchipper is set up.

You regret not going back for your shoes now, as more freezing mud stains your tights. You regret dressing up at all, dressing for fashion instead of comfort. Flip is in a flannel and jeans, and normally you tease him for being like a cartoon character always wearing the same thing, you wish that you weren’t in a fucking miniskirt and tights in the dead of winter.

Lightning backs the machine dramatically, after a few minutes of trudging. The ground here is much more substantial than the woods, and you push your legs across a developed terrain instead of through the wilderness of the mountains. It stands tall, proud, the woodchipper, and you swallow a lump around your throat.

“Is that it?” You ask, close enough to Flip that you only have to raise your voice a little bit to compete with the sound of the rain.

Flip dumps the body onto the ground, goes over to the woodchipper and turns it on. You can tell that using it in the rain is a poor decision, but it’s the only option you have. Flip adjusts some settings, and the thing roars to life, metal blades whirring whirring whirring.

“Yeah but it – he’s too fucking big he can’t go in all in one piece, it’ll get jammed.” Flip runs a hand through his hair as he comes half-jogging back over to you, and you just blink for a moment.

“Okay then we cut him up.” You say matter of factly, your heart pounding in your chest, aware that time is not on your side, that you have to get this done and get out, have to get this done and go as quickly as possible, in case someone comes, in case someone sees.

“(Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Flip asks you seriously, puts his hands gently on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” You whisper, eyes wide, feeling more liberated and free, feeling so light, determined. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe you’ve lost your fucking mind, you don’t know. But you can’t stop now, you’ve done this much, you can’t stop now. “It can’t be too hard, like breaking down a chicken, right? Split at the joints.”

The analogy is lost on Flip, because as much as you love your friend, he cannot cook to save his life. Flip isn’t one to smile, and he doesn’t smile then, but you know he’s agreed with you because he looks around, tries to find something.

“Hold on.” He runs across the yard, finds one of the sheds that’s tucked against the back wall of one of the main buildings.

You stand there and wait, arms crossed, staring down at Josh. While Flip searches for whatever it is he’s looking for, you just grow more and more angry, watching rain flood the spaces in the dips of his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” You say to his lifeless body, “You say I embarrassed you? You tormented me. I wish I could have killed you myself. You’re lucky Flip did it, I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the words sound like the most truthful ones you’ve ever told this boy, this husk of a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You can’t help yourself, spitting onto the ground in his direction, sneering through the rain, blinking it and the shocked fury out of your eyes.

Flip returns with an axe, brand new from the looks of it. The blade glints in the floodlight, freshly polished metal dripping with silver rivers of water as Flip swings it lightly in his hand.

“This should work, fuck, okay. Okay. Okay alright okay, you come over here, stand over here I don’t want you getting hurt accidentally.” He’s steeling himself, psyching himself up for this, and you put a hand on his back to calm him.

“Want me to do it?” You offer, not knowing the first fucking things about even how to hold an axe, let alone swing one.

“No, no let me.” Flip huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. You can’t help but feel silly for asking, you know there’s no way you’d have the upper body strength to cut through a person. You’d never even chopped wood before, and well, Flip was an actual lumberjack.

“Okay, I can count to three?” You acquiesce with a tremor in your voice.

“Please.” Flip whispers, getting the body into position.

You stand where Flip tells you, a little ways away, as he raises the axe high above his head.

“One…”

There’s a ringing in your ears, a pounding in your chest. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this, you can’t help but think. Flip plants his feet firmly on the ground, takes in a deep breath. You can see his hands flex and grip the handle, as he liens himself up.

“Two…”

Your face shakes, teeth rattling in your skull from where your jaw chatters, shivers in the cold. It’s so bright, so bright with all the floodlights, you feel like you’re being watched, you feel like you can hear the whispers, the murmurs of ghosts all around you, the ghost of this monster you’ve killed.

“Three!”

Hot blood sprays from Josh’s shoulder as the axe swings down, cleaves into his shoulder. The blade is bran new, terribly sharp, and it nearly goes all the way through. The bone splinters, you can hear it, can hear it slicing into pieces. Flip pries the blade out and lines himself up again, does not wait this time for your count before taking aim and slamming it into the body again.

Blood hot and thick bubbles up, gurgles around the wound, and when Flip tosses a severed arm away from the rest of the body, despite yourself, you turn around, brace your hands on your knees and throw up. Everything you ate and drank at the party comes back up in an acrid stinging cough that has you nearly choking, but you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get yourself together.

You don’t know how Flip has the stomach for this, for it, but he has a steady hand as he works on the other arm, separating it from the body.

The machine is still on, the machine is hungry.

You want to give it what it wants, you want to see the spray out the other end. Without waiting for his instruction, you pick up the arm, grab it by the wrist. You make sure there’s no jewelry, no watches or anything that could get jammed, and you rush it over to the woodchipper, drop it into the basin.

The sound it makes is horrific, the sick squelch and crunch of bone, the shredding shredding shredding of the blades. Mincemeat blasts out the other end, and even as some of it sprays back against the wind, even as some of it lands on your face, speckles of blood and guts and shards of crushed bone, you find that you’re grinning, because it worked.  

“Another one, give me another one.” You say eagerly, holding a hand out to Flip.

He smiles too, eyes too bright, as he gives you Josh’s other arm, hacked away in nice clean segments. He watches as you dump the second arm into the machine, gets to see as it eats up the flesh, grinds and slashes it into nothingness, watches as the bits of this man land in wet smacks on the dirt.

Piece by piece, you obliterate the monster that had tormented you for months.

Piece by piece, you free yourself of the hurt and pain, the lies and manipulation he shackled you with.

Piece by piece, you destroy the evidence, watch as it washes away, watch as the rain carries it down the drain, into the sewers where he’ll rot among the rats like he deserves.

The rain absolves you and Flip of the muck and grime of the deed, and now that it’s over, now that he’s gone, you close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the sky, letting the rain patter down onto your cheeks, your forehead. You feel clean, though you are cold, so so so cold, the only thing you can focus on is the cleanliness, the relief.

“You never should have fucked with her.” You hear Flip say, and that makes you open your eyes, makes your turn towards him.

Flip looks down to the drain, and you smile, because he looks lighter too.

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

You’re leaving the lumbermill, when it hits.

You’d been so caught up in the euphoria of getting rid of him, of this man who had made your life a living nightmare for far too long – that you hadn’t stopped once to think of the consequences of these actions.

“I – holy shit I can’t believe we did that.” It slams into your chest, the realization that you’re a murderer, you’re both murderers, you’re going to go to prison for this, they’ll send you to the chair for this, they’ll kill you for this the same way you killed Josh. Your heart races, pounds pounds pounds as dread and terror and fear all come rushing back, all come slamming down inside your brain. “What the fuck did we just do? Flip what did we do?”

Flip must have willpower of steel, because he doesn’t even blink when you whip around to face him, when you immediately freak the fuck out, when you start to hyperventilate, holding the sides of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Things like this happen. It was an accident that spiraled out of control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Flip is calm, so calm, and that almost freaks you out more, maybe you were going to scream, maybe you were already screaming, you don’t know, you don’t know anything except you just murdered a man.

“Oh my god what are they going to say when he doesn’t come back to the party? Or go home?” You panic, shifting around too much in your seat, legs bouncing, back aching from the way you keep twisting and turning, “What’ll they do if they find the pieces of him?”

“You have to breathe it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay – fuck, what was that?” Flip is cut off by a loud thud, the car coming to a complete stop.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you hiccup out terror, hands shaking. You want to slam your fists against the window, want to throw yourself onto the street and beg for forgiveness, you want to be sick, you want to tell Flip to drive and never look back.

“Oh no, oh no no no this is it, this is the karma catching up to us already.” You can feel the tethers of reality start to slip, black splotches dancing in front of your vision – will you pass out? Are you at your limit? You don’t know, you don’t know but the car isn’t moving, it’s not going anywhere no matter how hard Flip pushes on the gas pedal.

“Stay here.” He says, and you’re in no mood, no state to defy the instructions now.

Flip puts the car in park, gets out and shuts the door so water doesn’t come pouring in. You watch him through the warped view of rain on the windows as he walks around the car, his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the problem, and he comes back into the car with a sigh, soaking wet and unsure of what to do.

“We’re stuck.” He tells you, and that’s the last thing you want to hear. A flat tire you knew he could change, even in the rain like this, but being stuck left nothing to do except wait for someone to come un-stick you.

“So we’re stranded out here?” Your voice creeps up higher and higher in octave as the consequences of that stab you through the chest.

You never should have snuck out of home, you lament, hot tears finally stinging the rims of your eyes. You never should have left home through your window, never should have agreed to the party. You never should have agreed to date this fucking guy, you think, because if you hadn’t maybe you’d be safe and warm somewhere, maybe you’d be asleep soundly in your bed and not stranded in the pouring rain, in the middle of you don’t even know where.  

“Yes but – but this is good. This is good, this is our alibi. We don’t know anything, because we were stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a ditch.” Flip knows you’re freaking out, he knows, he can feel it, can see it, it’s happening right in front of him.

“Wh—what will we say that we were even doing out here? What if someone asks why we’re here in the first place?” Your whole body wracks through with terrified sobs. “They’re going to kill us for this, Flip if they catch us they’re going to kill us – I don’t want to die, I don’t --”

He collects you in his arms and holds you tightly against his chest, rocks you to soothe you, calms you. The rain is unrelenting, and you wonder how much water the sky can hold, how many clouds are up there to maintain such a downpour. Flip’s arms are so warm around your shoulders, and his neck is blazing hot where you tuck your face against it.

“You called me to pick you up from the party, I came, we got lost, wound up here. It’s dark and raining, that’s all the truth.” Flip whispers, “We don’t know anything, we’ve been here, waiting for someone to pass by.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do right now. You had almost forgotten how cold you were, the stark comparison of your own body temperature compared to Flip’s making you feel even colder.

“I’m f-f-freezing.” You say, because you don’t have anything else to say, and Flip hums in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have any spare clothes, I’m sorry.” He frowns, but then you pull away for a moment, begin stripping off your dress. You peel away the layers until you’re in your bra and underwear, just wanting the wet cold fabric off of your skin. Flip’s hands drop from your body, and he nervously looks away with a very gentlemanly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry – I just – I figured maybe if we use body heat – ” You explained, suddenly feeling stupid, feeling unwanted, feeling --

“Don’t stop, I’ll do it too, if you want. I’ll keep you warm.” Flip nods, understands what you’re doing now, what you mean. He looks at you cautiously, not ever wanting to be imposing, not wanting to make you comfortable. “Only if you want.”

You lick your lips and nod, and in mere moments, he’s shedding his clothes too, until he’s just in his underwear.

Flip climbs over the bench seat and lands in the back, laying down on his back and spreading out. There’s significantly more room in the back seat, and without another thought, you unclip the straps of your bra, letting your breasts breathe, before arranging all the clothes in the direct line of the heater so they might have a chance to dry, before climbing over too.

Flip welcomes you with open arms, and as you settle against him, body flush with his, your heart pounds. He rubs your back, warms you with his palms, palms which feel like the most comforting iron brand, heating you through.

“You know…” You whisper, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain that pitter-patters onto the roof of the car, “I’ve been thinking about doing something like that to him for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Flip asks, voice thick.

You’re nuzzled against his chest, feeling the most safe that you ever have. The panic has subsided for now, for now at the very least.

“Yeah. It was never a real idea that I had, at least not in the beginning. But more and more lately, I’ve been thinking about how good it would feel if he were gone forever. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. I guess I just…I liked that someone liked me, wanted me. It felt good to be wanted, for a minute there.” You’re honest with Flip. Sometimes it feels like Flip is the only person you can ever be honest with.

“Just a minute?” He asks softly, teasing and playful in a way that makes you want to cry.

“Yeah, just a minute.” You whisper back, propping your head up onto your hands, looking at him.

“There are…other people, you know. Who are out there, who like you. Want you.” He looks back at you, eyes filled with apprehension, but hope.

“People like you?” You ask, hope in your own lungs, in your heart.

“Yeah, people like me.” Flip nods, caresses the back of your head with his strong, capable hand.

“You know, the entire time I’ve been with him, I wished I were with you.” You confess, because now feels like as good a time to confess something as any, doesn’t it? What’s this admittance, compared to the thing you have just done together?

“This isn’t the shock talking, is it?” Flip’s hand smooths around to hold your cheek, pinch at the apple of your smile, because you are smiling now, smiling how he hasn’t rejected you, how he never would have, now you know.

“No, no I promise. This is me talking.” You turn your face into his palm and press a light kiss to the creases in his hand, those hands, the hands which have only ever protected you, defended you, loved you.

“Why are you crying?” Flip frowns, confused, worried, but you shake your head, unable to stop, unable to quit the smile, the tears.

“Because I’ve dreamt about being in your arms like this for what feels like forever, and I – I kept thinking that there’s no way you could ever want me, I thought I was just delusional for thinking maybe we could be something. And here you are, coming to my rescue, the way you always do, and we’ve just killed a man but all I want to do is kiss you.” You huff out a laugh, a laugh that’s tinged with regret for the past, all the time that could have been.  

“Can I?” Flip asks suddenly then, innocent and gentle, “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Flip, yes, please.” You nod, pushing yourself up a few more inches so that your lips can meet.

They press together in the softest, sweetest of kisses, and all at once it feels like the gates of your heart have been unlocked, and all the love you feel flows out with wild abandon.

Flip deepens the kiss when your mouth opens in a small gasp, and you let yourself be rolled underneath him. The car rocks a little from the effort, but you don’t care. A kiss or two becomes making out, and you feel your head fill with the thick perfume of lust, your whole body warm now, on fire almost. His mouth is hot, tongue thick and heavy against yours, but he tastes delicious, tastes like home.

He kisses you until your breathing begins to quicken, until the smallest noises start to moan and hum in the back of your throat. Your nipples are stiff, so hard from where they’re brushing against his chest, your arms looping around his shoulders, legs parting so he can settle between them.

“Did…did you two ever…?” He pulls away, lips kiss-slick and flushed, and you blink, forgetting all about your boyfriend, or one you used to have.

“No, no I didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right. Not with him.” You tell him honestly, suddenly feeling inexperienced, feeling self-conscious, “Have you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Flip shocks you by blushing out his own truth. Your eyebrows shoot up, you really would have pegged him for a womanizer type, he was certainly handsome enough for it. But thinking back, you realize in all the time you’ve known him, he’s never once mentioned a girlfriend or even a fling, nothing. It’s always just been you, and him. Flip blushes deeper when you don’t say anything right away, stammers out, “I know it’s cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy.” You shake your head quickly, dismissing the idea that you’d make fun of him for something like that. You’re relived, it means you can be together for the first time truly together.

You kiss him, invigorated, no longer feeling shy or inadequate. He kisses you back, and when your eyes close there’s nothing but the welcoming embrace of his warmth and affection to pull you in. Your mouths and tongues slide against one another, and your hips raise up, your underwear rubbing against his, wishing there were no barrier between you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to pressure you or – ” Flip shakes his head, so caring, worried, nipping at the corners of your mouth.

“Maybe, maybe you could just touch me? Just for now, touch me and then, then we can see where we go.” You’re desperate for him though, desperate for him in every way.

He smiles against your mouth, and you smile too, his hands sliding down your body. He shuffles back a little, straddling your hips, knees digging into the upholstery as his hands roam your body, touch where he didn’t have permission to touch before.

He’s drawn to your breasts immediately, kneads them. He licks his lips and rolls your nipples between his fingers, and your back only arches for him, pushes your chest up into his hands further. His breathing is heavy, and you decide that you’re tired of holding yourself back from the things that you want – after this, after tonight, you won’t deny yourself anything ever again, you’ve spent so much time bending to the will of other people, from now on you are going to ask for what you want.

You cup the back of Flip’s head and push him down, gently nudge him. He takes the hint, immediately nuzzles his face into your cleavage, rubs against your breasts. His mouth latches around one of your nipples and he kisses and licks and sucks, and you moan, the pleasure going straight to your pussy.

So does his hand, tentatively skimming over your panties until your legs spread enough to give him permission. He tugs the cotton aside and you hiccup out a little cry of pleasure when he reverently pushes his fingers through your folds, pushes his way through into the tight wet heat of your cunt.

“Oh, oh, that feels good.” Your eyes fly open, hand tangling in his hair where he makes out with your breasts, grunting and groaning with need that the praise spurs in him. His fingers are more insistent, more purposeful, and his thumb swirls over your clit making your hips lift up up up against his hand. “Yes, yes! Flip – do that again, please do that again.”

“Good?” Flip lifts his head from where he’s been smothering himself in your tits, eyes so big and brown, eager to please.

“So good! Phil, it’s so good, I’ve wanted this for so – ah!—long.” Your head tips back against the seat as your toes curl, his fingers moving faster, your stomach expanding with each deep breath you take, trying to suck down the air, trying to lose yourself in the bright white hot light of pleasure.

“This doesn’t count as our first time, okay?” Flip bites a mark around the bottom of your ribs.

“Okay.” You grin, elated that this means maybe maybe maybe he’ll want to have sex with you again, maybe he’ll fuck you with his cock. Maybe he’ll want you forever, maybe he’ll ask you out and take you on dates and do all the things that you’ve always hoped but never dared to dream for.

“I want our first time to be sweet and good and gentle, and not in the back-seat of this car.” He fingers you faster and faster, and you struggle to pay attention to his words because his fingers are so thick and so full and they know just where to touch you to get your feet searching for purchase as you moan and whine and gasp. “I’m going to take you out to dinner and then a movie, and then I’m going to make love to you on a big bed with rose petals like you deserve.”

“Oh fuck – I’m – I’m gonna – ” You gasp out, hips rolling, undulating against his palm, grinding your pussy against the warmth of his hand to chase your orgasm, your body thick with pleasure, sweet and sticky like molasses in your veins.

“Come on my fingers, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Flip encourages you, presses a little harder, moves a little faster, the car shaking shaking shaking from the way your body trembles, rain thudding against the roof as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave of nothing but good, nothing but love.

“Fl-Flip!” You shout, eyes shut tight, the first couple hints of tears clinging to your lashes.

“You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” Flip strokes your pussy through it, coaxes out come that shines on his palm, shimmers on your inner thighs. He kisses your neck, your chest, bites and sucks and marks you so thoroughly, marks you as his, you’re his you’re his and he’s yours and, “(Y/N) you’re – you’re so beautiful.”

“Can I, I want you to come too, I want you to feel good too.” You try, you offer, but he’s still sliding his fingers through your pussy, two – no, three? -- stretching you wide, stretching you for him, for his cock. You want it, you want it so badly, want to be filled, but an aftershock of pleasure builds builds builds and you’re not sure it’s just an aftershock anymore, as your toes curl again, knees shaking, bones aching to come again, “Flip I’m, I think I’m – oh!”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do anything for me, this is more than enough, you’re more than enough, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” He smudges the words into your chest, your throat, litters you with sweet nothings and gratitude, and you want to ask for his dick right then and there –

But there’s a sound, coming from the window.

A knock on the window.

Someone is there, knocking.

“Wait – what was that?” You freeze, the rose-tinted glasses ripped off.

Flip carefully pulls his hand away from your pulsing cunt, sucks your come off of his fingers until they’re clean. He reaches for something, anything, to cover you with, to cover himself with.  

“Cop.” Flip says quietly, and you want to panic but he shakes his head, “Don’t, it’s okay, follow my lead.”

You are suddenly very very aware, of what you both look like. Flip with his torn up fists, you with the split lip and wound on your temple. You’ve both finally stopped bleeding, but you know – you just know – that this officer is going to question you on it, normal people don’t go driving around in the rain with head wounds and split knuckles.

Fuck, you think, you haven’t even cleaned the car yet, there’s bound to be blood in the trunk from where the body had been stashed, what if the officer decided to search the car? There were no weapons in the car, but there didn’t need to be. Your stomach does little flutters of panic as the impending anxiety drips cold down your spine, and just hide yourself behind Flip’s denim jacket, cover up as much as you can, cover your face.

Flip rolls down the window, and a flashlight peers inside the car for a few moments, before you hear a resigned sigh.

“Alright you kids, come on, break it up.” The cop says, tapping his flashlight on the roof of the car. “The middle of the road isn’t the place for this kind of shit, let’s go.”

“Our car is stuck, we’ve been waiting for someone to drive past to ask for help. Could you help give us a push?” Flip asks, and the officer looks at him like he’s crazy.

“No.” The man scoffs, before sighing again, realizing that he can’t just leave the two of you out here. “But I’ll call someone. Then off you go, okay? It’s late.”

“Thank you.” Flip says, and then, like some miracle, the cop goes back to his car, radios for a tow, and leaves.

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

You both are dressed by the time the tow arrives and pulls you out of the mud. Leaving the clothes in front of the heater did wonders, and though your dress is still fucking filthy and caked in mud, it’s not freezing, or soaked. You feel awful, Flip’s dad is going to be pissed when he sees the car like this, but Flip assures you that he’ll have Jimmy help deep clean the whole thing before his parents come home after the weekend.

The tow truck driver doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t really talk to you at all. By the time he arrives, the rain has stopped, slowed enough as the storms moved across the mountains. You don’t say anything, just sit there and wait for the wheels to come free, holding your breath until the tow driver leaves too.

The radio is soft and gentle, the time on the little clock reads just past three. Flip drove all the way to your house with a hand on your knee, reassuring, comforting. You can’t help but think it feels so different from Josh’s hand, how gentle Flip’s hold is on you. You wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or keep you calm. Maybe it’s both.

He shuts the lights off and the radio when he rounds the corner. Puts the car in park, and the two of you walk the last few yards to your house. It’s not raining anymore, not at all. That feels like a good sign, somehow.

“Will you come in?” You ask him softly, standing under the streetlamps, careful not to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

“If you want me.” Flip nods, and you smile, and he smiles, because you both know that you always will.

The climb up through the window is a little difficult because of how wet everything is from the rain, but you both manage easily. Your bedroom is warm, and you both shed your clothes in the tub of your private bathroom, knowing your parents wouldn’t ever look in there. You want to shower desperately, but doing so this late would raise suspicion, so you don’t, you’ll have to wait until morning.

But that’s alright, because for now it’s enough to be in clean clothes. Sheepishly, you offer Flip some of his own clothes, clothes that you’ve accumulated over all the time you’ve known him; jackets accidentally forgotten on your couch, sleep shirts and pajama pants he let you borrow that you never returned.

Flip doesn’t tease you for them, he only accepts them gratefully, and the two of you lay down on your bed in the dark. You face one another, so close that your noses almost touch. He’s so handsome, you think. You’ve always thought it, but up close, this close, it’s like the thought consumes your whole mind.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about this, ever. Not even when we’re old. This is something we take to the grave.” You whisper, rubbing the tip of your nose against his.

“Agreed.” He breathes, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, lean into him.

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t show up.” You confess, and in the silence of the room, the thought of what might have been is more terrifying than anything you two had done together. Flip is quiet, but his jaw clenches as he gently touches the closed wound on your temple. You don’t know what prompts it, but suddenly you’re asking, “Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Hm?” Flip frowns, and you shrug in the dark.

“You know, like, a different version of our world, existing in some other dimension out in space.” You explain, shuffling close to him, tucking yourself under his chin.

“I never thought about it.” He admits with a shrug of his own and you close your eyes against his throat, warming yourself with his heat as his arms wrap around you.

“Maybe there’s a world where this never happened.” You whisper, “Maybe there’s a version of us out there that never had to do this. Maybe there’s a universe where we’ve always been together.”

“We can be together now, here in this one. If you want.” Flip whispers back, and you can feel the rabbit of his pulse jump jump jumping in his chest, and you smile.

“Phil?” You ask, not opening your eyes, not moving, barely breathing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responds right away, with enough feeling behind the words to make you think that maybe he’s loved you just as long as you have loved him, maybe even longer.

A grin spreads across your face as you snuggle up closer to him, impossibly close, suppressing a thrilled little bubble of laughter as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that? Forever.” You tease with a smile in your voice – but you both know there’s some truth to it. No matter what happens, you’re bonded by this, this nightmare of an evening.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Flip teases right back, kissing the top of your head, before you reach up to kiss him properly.

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

When the sun rises the next morning and you find him gone from your bedroom, tub empty of soiled clothing and the car driven away to the cleaners, you aren’t afraid, because there’s a note on your nightstand written in the most incomprehensible handwriting that could only be Flip’s, asking you on a date, and a brand new pair of heels to wear for it.

And when they ask about Josh you’ll say you don’t know, and when they launch the investigation you’ll testify lies, and when you attend his funeral you might shed a tear, but only only only if Flip’s there by your side, so you can stand behind him, and hide your smile.

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

You don't own me

You don’t own me

You don’t own me.

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

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[skellebonez]

Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks

Hey. So. Remember THIS fill from like... a week and a half ago? Because of the comments I received I decided to rewrite it as a multi-chapter fic. The first chapter has the same premise but is completely written (barring a couple lines) and has many new scenes. Like a hint as to where the trio is maybe?

AO3 Link!

Summary: It had been over a year since MK had become the Monkie Kid. Months since Mei formed an unlikely bond with the Monkey King. Fewer months since Red Son had defected from his parents and was desperate to prove to everyone he could change a second time. In all that time a routine was set, communication alleys were formed, and agreements were made. Things had been going well.

Now the trio was missing without a single clue to where they had gone. And they weren't the only ones.

Warnings: None for this chapter, but perhaps mind the tags on AO3 for future ones.

Chapter 1: Thunder and Lightning

They were late. They had made sure to remind him of their plans multiple times last night... and they were late.

Sun Wukong, The Monkey King himself, would have been starting to get angry if he wasn't so worried. He wouldn't be surprised if Mei was late, it wasn't odd for her get distracted by some new thing she wanted to show him and take the time to get it before coming by. But Red Son and MK as well? That wasn't normal. MK had only been late to training once, that had been during the entire incident with Macaque training tricking him (they don't talk about that anymore), but even then he wasn't this late. Not to mention Red Son's thickheaded determination to show off just how serious he was about joining their side. He'd made promise after promise and did his best to keep his word in attempt to impress them, even going as far as going far over and earlier than what he promised.

The three of them were supposed to come to Flower Fruit Mountain for the day. Some training for MK, video games with Mei, and Red Son just tagging along so someone could keep an eye on the new comer (by Red Son's own insistence). They never showed. Didn't even send him an e-mail. He'd waited almost a hour, a personal record for patience, but not a peep from any of them. Something was wrong.

That was why he found himself standing outside of Pigsy's Noodles in the middle of the day disguised as a human, tail wrapped around his waist as a "stylish belt". Though, in retrospect, a mysterious man with flawless eyeliner falling from the sky without a single injury was not the most inconspicuous way to arrive. He didn't take the time to think about that, instead entering the noodle shop with a hastiness in his step he couldn't hide.

"Welcome to Pigsy's Noodles, home of the lon-oh..." The chipper greeting from the shop owner was cut off, a mix of annoyance and confusion taking over the tone. Pigsy looked over the counter at him and the ever present Tang turned around in suit. "It's just you. Ain't you supposed to be not here? With the trio?"

"Yeah," Wukong started, laughing oddly as he rubbing the back of his neck. There was an awkwardness he wished he could get rid of, something that didn't really belong on him. But things had always been tense between him and his once-younger brother and the tenseness had only grown since their separation after the journey. After he trapped the Demon Bull King. After he vanished for 500 years... after he came back. "See, funny story about that! I was waiting for them and you know how impatient I am but I was doing my best to not be so I waited for almost an hour and they kinda never... showed up?"

"What do you mean never showed up?" Pigsy questioned carefully, coming around he counter and brandishing a ladle in one hand.

"They did leave pretty late," Tang offered quickly, awkward smile showing he could sense the tension between the two old friends. "Red Son was fixing some of the equipment in the kitchen, maybe they ran into a demon and are on their way to the island right now! Maybe you just... missed them?"

"Yeah!" Wukong agreed immediately, laughing harder to hide his worry. Tang didn't seem convinced by his own explanation but Wukong as more willing to believe that without question than think about what the alternative could mean. "Yeah, that's probably it! I'm sure they're just fine, but if it makes you feel better I'm going to take a look around. If they make it there before I do they're sure to come home when they realize I didn't wait for them. Yup, totally sure of it. BYE!"

He ran out the door, jumping on his cloud faster than anyone could follow and took off in the direction of his home. He didn't miss the odd frown on Pigsy's face at his overly quick reaction.

----------

They weren't anywhere he could see on the way to Flower Fruit Mountain. They weren't on the island or in any of the surrounding areas. There were no boats or any sign of a pogo ride on the staff on the sandy beach. There was just... nothing.

He only waited for another 10 minutes before the concern (not worry, he was not worried the three were very capable adults despite him thinking of them as his kids kids, one was even an ancient demon who nearly bested him centuries ago for Heaven's sake) took over once again and his somersault cloud was getting more distance this day that it had in years. He zipped back and forth over the ocean, looking for any sign of bodies people, boats, anything, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he found absolutely nothing in the calm and clear water. But this only raised more questions. They had left Pigsy's, there were witnesses, but had they made it to- Sandy! He was so focused on them coming by that he forgot how they would get there!

----------

"I'm sorry, elder brother," Sandy said with a frown. "They weren't going to come by today, see?" He held up his phone, way too small for his massive hands, a text from Mei reading "Took ur boat yestday, srry! Will return tmm! *heart heart heart cat*" Well. That at least explained how they were supposed to get there without going to Sandy.

The Monkey King, changed back to his usual form, took a half shaky breath and sipped the tea the fish demon had offered him the moment he opened the door. Mo sat in his lap, purring softly as he no doubt sensed the tension in the air. "Then where are they..?" He wondered out loud. He hadn't seen one of Sandy's boats anywhere, they stuck out like a big blue sore thumb just like his still-younger brother.

"I don't know," Sandy answered, standing and stretching before giving the shorter man a wide smile. "But I'll do anything to help!"

----------

He'd returned to Pigsy's shop immediately after that, not bothering to change back into his human disguise. That took so little energy and time but it was still energy and time he didn't want to waste. It had just started to sprinkle rain, the weather station having planned this for some time now. He had sent Sandy out to check all the waterways in the area, just to be safe, and he hoped that his search would be fruitless. He really hoped he sent Sandy on a wild goose chase...

"Are they back?" He demanded the second he opened the door, startling the 2 customers in the shop in addition to Tang and Pigsy. "Pigsy, Tang, did they come back?"

The dawning worry on the two men's faces was enough of an answer for Wukong to immediately run out, ignoring the shouts that followed him as he flew off again.

----------

It was starting to rain harder. They weren't at Mei's house.

----------

It was starting to downpour. He didn't see them at any of the food stalls.

----------

The downpour worsened. They weren't at the anti-gravity arcade.

----------

It was a torrential downpour. Red Son's apartment was empty.

----------

There was electricity in the air. They hadn't been taken to the hospital.

----------

Thunder and lightning. He carefully flew around DBK and PIF's hideout. He heard them talking about their next plan to "knock sense" into their son. They weren't there.

----------

It was when he was nearly struck by lightning, nothing that would have actually caused him real harm but would have hurt like he'd been hit by a truck, that Sun Wukong finally decided that he wasn't going to find the trio. Not like this. Running around without a plan was not helping. He wouldn't find his kids like this.

So he made his way back to Pigsy's, soaked to the bone and brain fuzzy. Numb almost, not from the cold but in a mental exhaustion he couldn't explain. He walked in with his head down, dripping icy water from his fur, and was greeting with an almost as cold hiss before he could say anything.

"Where are my kids, Wukong?"

He looked up and took in the sight before him. Pigsy, Tang, Sandy, and Mo were all gathered in the shop. He hadn't even noticed it was closed until that moment. Sandy had a towel over his shoulders, as did the little blue cat, and they sat sipping a bowl of hot broth each.

"You said they'd come home. So, where are they?"

Wukong grit his teeth, continuing to avert his eyes from the furious gaze of his once-brother. "Idon'tknow..."

"What was that?" Pigsy almost yelled, stepping forward to grab he tails of his soaked cloak to drag hi down to eye level. "You said they'd come home! Where the FUCK are my kids, Sun Wukong!?"

"I don't know!" He grabbed Pigsy's hands, not gripping them or moving to remove them just holding them, grip shaking as he tried to keep his tone level. "I don't know, Pigsy, I looked everywhere but... I couldn't..."

For a split second there was nothing but disbelief and fear in the shorter ancient's eyes and it hurt Wukong more than he thought it would. Far more than he prepared himself for. Everything from the entire day came forth to hit him like the lightning truck he barely missed and he collapsed to his knees, mental exhaustion finally taking it's toll and tears began to mix with the rain water running down his fur as he looked off into nothing. He came to the horrifying realization that he really had no answer.

"I don't know where they are Pigsy..."

----------

"You ok, bud?"

MK groaned as the Monkey King grabbed him by his arms and stood him up, brushing all the dirt from his clothes. Training had been going well, Red Son and Mei battling each other in the new Monkey Mech game as he continued to have his butt handed to him. But he had gotten a single hit in on his mentor, matching his last training session, and he looked so proud of him! "Yeah, we gonna go again?"

"Nah, I think making a new crater with your own body twice in one day is more than enough," Monkey King laughed out, guiding MK toward the small house he called home now. "Besides, I want to kick your butt in Monkey Mech too!"

"Hey! I'll totally kick your butt!"

"Prove it Monkie Man!"

Despite the lighthearted banter between them something just felt... off. MK couldn't quite put his finger on it... now that he really gave it thought...

Didn't the weather station call for rain today?

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #16: A Ruined Birthday

Words: ca. 1,400 Setting: Post-Canon (Pre-Frozen 2) Lemon: lime CW: Storms, thunder and lightning, implied sexual content

  Anna sighed as she looked out upon the kingdom of Arendelle, on a day she thought would be bright and wonderful, a day when the land she called home should have been bathed in the light of the summer sun. However, nature had other plans for that particular day.

As the princess placed her hand on the window, she watched as the rain fell down from dark clouds that loomed overhead. The storm had been raging non-stop for three days now, battering Arendelle with a torrential downpour and harsh winds. Anna had hoped for a miracle that the storm would have cleared but it was not to be.

She sighed again, running her fingers down the glass. She lamented the fun she should have been having, the joy of enjoying this day. She wasn’t as bound to bouts of sudden depression as much as her sister was, but she’d be lying if the weather wasn’t making her feel hurt inside.

Today should have been a wonderful day, with dancing and laughter and joy. Anna had always thought of her and Elsa running down the main street of the town, everyone cheering for them, but alas, that was just a dream now. Perhaps that could still happen, just not today.

“Still no sign of the storm letting up?” A voice spoke.

Anna turned, seeing Elsa’s arrival. Despite the low glow of the candles lighting the halls and the darkened skies outside, Elsa still stood illuminated in her ice dress, its shimmering sparkles glistening in what little light there actually was. It relieved her a little to see her. “No, not really.”

Her sister hugged her from behind, cool hands wrapping around her chest and waist. It made Anna feel relieved to have her lover at her side. As Elsa pulled her closer, Anna felt the Queen’s cold breath tickle the back of her neck. She shivered a little and blushed.

“Mmmmm…” Anna murmured. Her hands moved to Elsa’s, holding them as she was holding her. The two of them stood like this for some time, Anna just enjoying the loving feeling of having Elsa embracing her. While this day had been sadly ruined by the weather, at least Anna still had the woman she loved.

“I’m so sorry, ” Elsa apologised, resting her head on Anna’s shoulder. “If I could, I’d make this whole storm go away in an instant.”

“It’s alright, ” Anna assured her. “You burned yourself out last year, remember? I don’t want you to do that to yourself again. Besides, it’s not like I’ve had the best track records for having good birthdays.”

Today was Anna’s 20th birthday, her second since the gates of Arendelle had opened. Last year, Elsa had burnt herself out preparing Anna’s birthday party and ended up making herself sick. This year, Anna had stepped in, to help plan a more subdued but still joyous event.

However, the storm had ruined those best-laid plans. No one was going to be attending a birthday party in this weather. Everyone in Arendelle had made the smart choice, staying indoors until the weather would eventually calm down. That seemed to be an eternity away though, what with the rain still pouring down outside.

“Yes, but your twentieth birthday is special, ” Elsa reminded her. “Your second decade of life on this Earth, you should be celebrating with joy. Instead, we’re cooped up inside.”

There Elsa went, taking full responsibility for everything as usual. While Anna adored the attention and affection and love she was showered with from her sister, she hated seeing Elsa feel guilty when things went wrong like this. She wondered why Elsa felt this way.

Was it her anxiety over not being a good sister, due to all those years isolated from the world? Or was it the fact that she felt angry at herself, that despite having literal godlike power at her fingertips, there were still some things in the world out of her control?

Or was it because Elsa herself had spent her childhood not having much in terms of birthday’s either. Elsa’s own 20th birthday had been one she spent hidden in her room, fearful of her magic. That was the most likely reason… And it made Anna feel depressed thinking about it.

She shouldn’t be feeling this way, Anna thought. Just because the weather is pretty crappy, doesn’t mean Elsa’s mood has to match it.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, ” Anna said, turning around in the embrace. “We can reschedule the party for later in the week.”

“But your birthday is today, ” Elsa insisted. “It feels wrong that it’s ruined like this. Oh, curse the divines for this damned storm.“

“The weather has a bad habit of ruining things for us, huh?” Anna remarked.

“At least everyone is safe,” Elsa said. “Still, I wish the sun was out. I’d have loved to have danced with you at your party today, to show the kingdom how much I love you.”

Anna smiled. Elsa had learned how to dance quite well in the years since they’d become a couple. Sure, there had been times when Elsa had nearly accidentally tripped on her own skirt or cape, but fortunately, Anna had always been there to catch her when she fell.

“Well, despite the weather cancelling the party plans… I’ve been mostly happy, ” Anna explained. “I opened my presents, practically devoured that cake, seriously a giant chocolate cake with sprinkles, how can you go wrong with that?!“

Elsa laughed aloud. Anna had spent pretty much the whole afternoon eating that cake. Granted, Olaf helped, obviously Anna couldn’t fit the entire thing in her belly, but still, Elsa was glad Anna had some enjoyment out of her birthday. But then Anna took her hands.

“But you know what was the most perfect thing of all?” Anna wondered, gazing adoringly at her sister. “I got to be with you, my beautiful, wonderful, kinda silly but amazing sister. That’s something I’ll always cherish… and I’ll always love you, Elsa, with all my heart.”

Elsa stopped, gazing at Anna’s face. Her cheeks reddened with a deep blush, and then she smiled fondly at Anna. Her sister knew all the right words to say and the exact words to say them. She leaned in closer, hers and Anna’s faces virtually inches apart.

“You know what?” the Queen said. “You’re right. As long as we have each other… I guess that’s all that truly matters.”

Anna grinned. “Then come here!” she said with glee, pulling Elsa into a passionate kiss. As their lips met tightly, Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa, holding her older sister in her arms, keeping her close as they kissed beside the window, rain still pouring down.

Surrendering to the kiss, Elsa allowed Anna to lead. Anna had been her first kiss and was the only one she’d kissed. Despite being younger, Anna was definitely more experienced in matters of love, especially kissing. The Queen figuratively melted as Anna and her made out.

Slightly dipping Elsa, Anna continued her kisses. There was no more a beautiful sensation than feeling Elsa’s cold lips pressed against her own, her tongue gently and slowly slipping into Elsa’s mouth without any complaints from Elsa. She was wanting this just as much as Anna was.

However, before their session could deepen any further, a loud crash of thunder was heard outside the window, lightning causing them to jump.

“Woah!!” Anna yelped in surprise.

Elsa giggled nervously. “Maybe we should just go to our bedroom for now. No use staying out here.”

And then, a mischievous smirk formed on Anna’s face.

Elsa paused as she caught her sister’s expression. “Okay, I know that look,” she bemoaned, “that’s your ‘I’m trying to play innocent but deep down I’m planning something wicked and vile’ face. What’s that look for?”

“Oh nothing, ” Anna said all too innocently. “I just realized that I’ll be getting the chance to unwrap my last present.”

“Last present?” Elsa asked in confusion. “What last… Oh.” Elsa realised what Anna meant and she blushed bright red. “Oh!” She turned even redder as Anna approached her, grinning wickedly.

“W-Well, it is your birthday, ” Elsa accepted, shyly. “But be gentle.“ She rubbed her hand along her waist softly. “This present is rather delicate.”

“Oh don’t worry, ” Anna assured her. “I’ll take very good care of her. I always do,” She then grabbed Elsa and kissed her passionately again, before picking her up in her arms. Elsa squealed in delight, giggling as Anna carried her with ease in her arms, feeling the slight muscle.

Smirking, Anna then carried Elsa down the hall, eager to unwrap her present… and show Elsa all of her love.

[dcforts]

[monday 7: thunderstorm]

Phone battery: 96%

One moment they are speeding up on the empty road with the windows rolled down and the sun shining on the side mirrors and the next is as if someone threw a blanket over the sky. In a blink of an eye, the clouds gather above them and they find themselves in the middle of a downpour.

“What the fuck?” says Dean, pushing the brakes and activating the windshield wipers.

“Something is wrong” is Castiel’s helpful contribution from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, no shit.”

The rain gets havier by the second, raindrops hit the roof with such violence that it’s like they are fired from a machine gun. Even after turning on the headlights they can barely see what’s ahead of them beyond the hood of the Impala. The sky lights up and then a thunder rumbles so loud that even Castiel flinches.

“We should stop.”

“You think it’s a spell?”

“Whatever it is I don’t think it’s safe to go on.”

Dean sighs and signals that he’s pulling over on the right as if, even if there was someone behind them, they could see the indicators through the amount of water that paints everything grey.

He brings the car to a stop and fishes out his phone.

Phone battery: 91%

“Sam? Where are you?”

“Just out of the morgue. I think it’s a witch” he says, sounding slightly out of breath as he walks. “Hey, I thought you were coming to pick me up. What did the husband say?”

“Sam? Listen to me, is it raining where you are?”

“Raining? No. The sky couldn’t be clearer.”

“Fuck.”

“Dean, where are you?”

“I don’t know. Just outside of town, I think. But there’s a thunderstorm and we had to stop.”

“What? A thunderstorm? Is it rain what I’m hearing?”

“Yeah, so it’s either the son or the husband and they are onto us. Seems like they didn’t appreciate our little visit.”

“You’re saying they cursed you?”

“That’s what we think”.

“Shit. Alright, at least we have suspects and we know for sure that they’re using witchcrafts or something. Just, don’t do anything till I get back to you.”

“Alright.”

“Stay safe.”

“Yeah, you too.”

  Phone battery: 86%

The rain is torrential, incessant. There is so much of it that it’s like there’s a river flowing over the windshield.

It’s not the first time that Dean got caught in a thunderstorm while he was driving. It happened more than once when he was a kid and weather apps weren’t a thing yet. John would pull up at the nearest rest area and they would wait it out catching up on their sleep.

But this is different. The rain could go on forever if something happened to Sam or if he couldn’t find a way to reverse it. That’s what bothers him more than anything, what makes him bounce his legs and clench his jaw.

He’s gone over their last two hours again and again trying to understand when and how the culprit could have done this to them but he’s had little success so far.

They can’t listen to music because they can’t risk the car running out of battery. They can’t play on their phones or do researches on their own or they will drain out their means to communication with Sam. They have no books, no food, no water. Dean doesn’t want to think about that. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel but he gets through two and a half Metallica songs before Castiel’s intake of breath and quick look his way tells him that he’s sick of it.

He retreats his hands on his lap.

Dean knows that Castiel is bothered as much as he is by the fact that they’re trapped and unable to help, even if he’s not showing it at the moment. In fact, he looks like the picture of serenity.

“How in hell can you be so calm?”

“I’m trying to be patient. There’s little else we can do.”

Dean scoffs.

Castiel shoots a look his way, then asks conversationally: “How did it go in Missouri last week?” and in response to Dean’s confused staring he adds: “The case?”

Dean gets that he’s trying to distract him and he lets him. He shrugs “Same old. Apart from Sam spilling coke all over himself, that was fun. And I got Jack a new record for the bunker. You’ve seen it?”

“He only told me about it a hundred times.” says Castiel in a pained tone. “It was nice of you.”

“Nah. You gotta teach them young.”

“You think he could join us on our next hunt?”

“We’ll see.” says Dean making a face. “But hey, you on the other hand… are getting better at interrogations. Looked pretty convincing with the kid.”

Castiel smiles: “Thank you.”

“Or, well, at least until you left the room just so you could follow his dogs,” adds Dean, raising his eyebrows.

“You can understand a lot about the owners form their pets’ behaviour”.

“Yeah?” humours him Dean, “What did you uncover? Other than they should learn how to use a vacuum.”

Castiel ignores his mocking tone. “Nothing stood out to me. But looking back now, I should have known that witchcraft was involved. They had three black dogs and I saw figurines of frogs in the living room.”

“I thought that cats were the go-to pet for witches.”

“They are generally associated with witchcraft, yes. But witches can form deep connection with any animal. Dogs, especially, escort Hecate, the triform greek-roman Goddess of Witchcraft. And Hecate takes her name from Heqet, the Egyptian goddess, usually represented as a frog. In hindsight, it was pretty clear.”

“So do you think it’s the husband? I doubt a kid alone would be able to do all that.”

“Maybe. But he seemed sincerely aggrieved by his wife’s loss.”

Dean sighs. Without any possibility to do real work that’s as far as they can get. He squints trying to see something beyond the raindrops splattered windows.

“Maybe it’s not bad as it seems.” he tries. “It’s dangerous to drive but what if we walked?”

“The curse could be cast on the car alone but I wouldn’t -”

“I’m gonna try.” Dean cuts him off, but he gets as far as resting his hand on the handle that a lightning bolt strikes one of the trees lined up down the road. There’s a loud crack and a vamp of fire that lights it up from the inside. A part of the trunk explodes and pieces go flying all over the street.

Dean and Castiel look at each other with identical alarmed expressions.

“Yeah, better say in the car.” Dean says.

   Phone battery: 79%

“Let’s play a game.”

“Alright.”

“Okay. It’s a car game. Basically you say a sentence starting with ‘Fortunately’ and based on that I have to respond with a sentence starting with ‘Unfortunately’. Like, I say ‘Unfortunately, we got cursed.’ And you say ‘Fortunately…’?”

Castiel thinks about it, then says, “Fortunately, they didn’t want us dead, only permanently incapacitated.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Sure, that is reassuring. Alright. Um, unfortunately, I will eventually die of starvation.”

“Fortunately, we won’t have to wait that long cause Sam is working on it.”

“Yeah but unfortunately, he’s alone against the witch.”

“Fortunately, he is prepared and the witch is not too dangerous.”

“Unfortunately, he got to us.”

“Fortunately, as long as we stay in the car we are safe.”

“Unfortunately, we are trapped.”

“Fortunately, we are together.”

Dean had his mouth already opened, ready to fire his next sentence but his brain short circuits and he is stunned. He closes it again. He meets Castiel’s eyes and under his soft expression he recognizes a little smugness that comes from having silenced him. He really can’t think of anything to say.

Castiel bats his eyelashes feigning innocence. “Did I win?”

That shakes Dean up, who rolls his eyes and he is about to protest when something heavy and dark hits the window shield with a loud thump and has him almost jumping out of his skin.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouts. Instinctively one arm flies up to cover his face, his elbow out and the other reaches towards Castiel to grab a fistful of his sleeve.

“I think it was a bird,” is Castiel’s calm reply.

Dean lets him go quickly, adverting his eyes. He still feels his heart in his throat. He clears it. “Right.” Then after a moment “Don’t mention this to Sam.”

Castiel huffs a laugh.

Phone battery: 72%

And so they wait. The rain is heavy and unrelenting. Dean has cracked open his window to feel it on his fingertips and he has retreated his hand hissing for how violently it hit him. The wind picks up at intervals, it whistles around them, pushing through every draft it can find. Above them, clouds like cotton balls chase each other endlessly and lightning bolts draw threatening patterns in the distance.

Sam has texted and they know that everything is under control so Dean is feeling better now. Figuring they are going to be there a while, he has toed off his boots and climbed over on the backseat leaving Castiel plenty of space to stretch his legs, even if the guy in question has barely adjusted his position with his back to the door and lifted a knee on the seat.

Dean on the other hand, already sprawled on the backseat, has gradually slipped into a laying position. He is more or less relaxed, or at least, as relaxed as a person could be with hell going on right outside of their car but tucked in the quiet and safe space of their car, with the soothing sound of the rain on the roof.

They had worse - that’s a fact.

He lolls his head to the side to watch Castiel, who’s got his eyes fixed on a spot beyond his window.

“So, how’s a thunderstorm from up there?”

He says: “From heaven?”

“Yeah, no, from the sky? Never seen it, planes are not my thing, you know,” he says, shifting to settle on the side.

“It’s pretty,” he says after a long moment. His keeps his voice low and adds, “but here is better.”

Dean scoffs.

“I mean it. From here you can smell the wet grass, see the trees swinging, feel the raindrops hitting you,” his voice is deep and smooth and Dean’s traitorous eyelids flutter shut. “The view from the outside may be splendid” Castiel continues, “but here things happen to you, touch you, shape you. You are the view.”

Dean mumbles what he means to be a sound of agreement but it’s basically a long exhale.

He is drowsy. He is trying to tell himself that he cannot fall asleep but it’s becoming a little difficult as they lose track of the time.

Castiel turns to look at him.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“You can sleep if you want.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Tell me more.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Just, no more gross facts about animals. I’ve had enough of those.”

  Phone battery: 60%

Dean jerks awake. Castiel is touching his shoulder. “Sam called,” he says.

Dean blinks a few times while the past hours come back to him. A thunder booming over his head reminds him pretty quickly. So he did fall asleep in the end. And it wasn’t at all a good idea, judging by his stiff neck and his dry mouth and the fact that he has nothing to drink.

“What did he say?”

“He is going to the family. Apparently the road is clear from where he is so it seems like we are in some kind of pocket dimension.”

Dean suppresses a swear and pushes himself up on one elbow. It’s too dark to see anything beyond the windows but for a moment the wind is so strong that the car starts shaking, then the sky flashes white and booms and the sound is ear-splitting.

“It’s getting worse,” he rubs his eyes and cheeks and finds a dry spot of drool on the corner of his mouth. “You think Sam is gonna be fine?”

“I’m sure.” Castiel says. “They thought it was just the two of us, so they won’t see him coming.”

“How long was I out?”

“An hour at most.”

“You watched me all the time like a creep, didn’t you?”

“No,” says Castiel way too quickly to be entirely innocent. He also shoots him an irritated look that Dean suspects is more related to having been called creep that for the accusation itself. “I rearranged your tape collection.”

Now Dean gasps, aghast. “Oh, no. Again? Don’t tell me. Please don’t tell me it’s by year again.”

Castiel just nods and Dean becomes the image of desperation. “How could y- Really, Cas? Come on!”

Dean catches a glint of Castiel’s teeth in the dark as he smiles. “No.” he says sounding all proud “I was joking.”

Dean falls backwards on the seat with a groan. “Unfortunately, you will kill me with your terrible sense of humour.”

“Too late. We’ve already established that I won that game.”

“You know right, that if we are here for a very long time I will eventually have to eat you?”

Castiel just rolls his eyes.

  Phone battery 47%

Dean is still laying down, staring at the roof. Castiel has cracked his window open, just enough to let a breath of cool air in. It chases away the condensation on the windshield and brings in the smell of wet leaves and wet asphalt.

Dean is hit with the realization that they don’t get many moments like these. For one, none of them is covered in blood, and they are not fighting or running for their life. There is no anger or regret or guilt in the air. He can’t exactly complain.

Dean fixes his gaze on what he can see of his profile when is illuminated by the lightings: his dark hair, his high left cheekbone, his faint stubble, the tip of his nose. It’s even rarer to get to watch him unobserved. He feels a smile creeping on his lips.

For his part, it looks like it’s Castiel is starting to run out of patience. Dean can hear the rustling of his trench coat from where he is probably tormenting his hands in his lap. Knowing him, he can picture his mind is working tirelessly trying to find a way to be useful. Castiel loud sigh pierce the silence in the car.

“You told me to be patient earlier and now you’re bored of me already.” Dean teases.

Castiel turns towards him and then back ahead but there is no lightning that allows Dean to see his expression.

“I was just thinking. I thought you fell asleep again.“ There is a pause then he asks: “Are you? Bored of me?”

Dean sighs and feels protected by the dark and numbed by the sound of the rain and still a little groggy from his nap so he says. “Even when I see you all the time I feel like I barely see you.”

“I can’t tell if that’s good or not.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

  Phone battery: 32%

The screen lights up and it’s Sam, finally calling with news.

Dean puts him speakers.

“Sam?”

“Dean, they put something in your car,” he sounds out of breath.

“Hey, hey, how are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m fine, I can’t talk right now. They were both guilty. The mother was an accident; the spell was meant for someone else. Actually the mother was on it too. Apparently the whole family is into magic. I gotta -” a loud thunder covers his words.

“Sam? We didn’t get that.”

“They said it’s in the car. Look for hex bags, amulets, something you can destroy. I gotta go.”

“Alright. Just let us - ” but he’s already hung up.

So they get moving. They look into every corner, feel blindly in the dark, under the seats, inside the dashboard, as far as they can go behind the cushions.

Fifteen minutes later they’ve covered every surface and found nothing.

“Shit. What if it’s under the car? How are we gonna get that?”

Castiel looks at him and his expression tells Dean that nothing good is coming. In fact he says: “It can only be in the trunk.”

Dean blinks: “You are not going anywhere.”

“Dean.”

“No. No way.”

“Dean, it’s our only chance” he says it as if Dean is being unreasonable.

“No, Cas, let’s talk about it first.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m stronger than you. I’m the one who has to go.”

Castiel has made up his mind. He moves and Dean uselessly reaches out to grab him, but he can’t get a good grip as he is blocked by the front seat and Castiel slips away and pushes his door open.

The rain seems to get ten times worse as soon as he does that and the whole sky lights up threatening above their head. Castiel pushes through the wind to get a foot out.

“Cas! Jesus, close the goddamn door. This isn’t gonna work and you’re getting my seats all wet!” shouts Dean but Castiel doesn’t seem to hear him. Another loud thunder has Dean crouching down, and when he looks up again, Castiel is standing outside. He looks towards Dean and then shuts the door. Dean sees him struggling to get his feet one after the other, like an invisible force is keeping him from moving. His face scrunches up as he pushes himself forward with a hand on the car. He takes a step. He slips back a few feet.

Dean heart stops. “Cas! Fucking hell! Get back here!” he shouts, uselessly banging his hands against the seats. He tries to open his own door and remembers that he’s got no shoes on. He hurries to climb over on the front seat.

When he looks back again, Castiel has almost made it to the rear of the car. The sky rumbles angrily, it lights up violently. In frantic movements Dean slips his boots on and pushes himself to the right to open the passenger seat door.

He could lose him. Right there, right now, he could fucking lose him.

The rain and the wind hit him full force all at once. It’s like he’s stepped under a waterfall, he is cold and wet and struggles to breath. He battles against the wind trying to keep the car door open enough to allow him to get out and prevent it being ripped off from the car. He can barely feel his face and hands.

Towards the back of the car Castiel has reached the trunk. Dean can make out his silhouette wiping his eyes with a hand and with the other fumbling with the handle.

At last the trunk opens and covers him from Dean’s view. As he tries to move, his hair stand up all over his body and then there’s an explosion of sound so loud that he needs to cover his ears. It’s quick and violent and it takes him a few moments to realize that a lightning bolt has just hit a few yard from them. His legs start shaking.

“Cas! Come on!” he shouts terrified, knowing that’s useless, that he won’t be able to hear him above the thunders booming over their heads.

Through the rain that whips fiercely his face and blinds him, Dean watches as Castiel closes the truck and traces his steps back to the door that he holds open for him. As soon as he is within reach Dean grabs a fistful of his clothes and hauls him inside.

  Phone battery 22%

Dean is yelling. He is still gripping a handful of Castiel’s clothes and he yanks and yanks at it and yells in his face. And Castiel is panting, he is soaking wet, his hair is dripping and plastered on his forehead and his eyelashes are stuck together and he lets himself being yanked and yelled at and he’s got fear in his eyes but also relief.

“I can’t believe you did that! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Dean is angry cause his voice is not louder than the rain and it’s not louder than the thunder but he wants it to be to be able to convey just how angry he is right now.

Castiel just blinks and breathes. At last, he brings up a hand to rest on Dean’s.

“Dean,” he says trying to calm him down. I’m okay. I’m here. It’s over.

Dean feels the relief wash over his body but then it pools behind his eyes and he feels like crying.

“You fucking asshole.”

The corner of Castiel’s lips turns slightly upward.

Dean yanks once again at his clothes and he means to pull him into a hug but somehow he finds his lips pressed against Castiel’s. They are both so shocked that they freeze and quickly pull back.

For a second they breath the same air. Dean swallows and blinks and tries to regain control of himself. Castiel doesn’t look scared, he only tilts his head slightly like he does so Dean covers the distance between them once again. Castiel’s lips are full and wet and as Dean kisses them, for a second he forgets all about near death, rain, witches and curses.

Then a thunder erupts above them and they jerk apart once again. Dean lets go of Castiel and wipes a hand over his wet face. “We should –” it’s all he manages.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say either. He just nods and quickly bends down to retrieve the hex bag that he’s dropped when Dean kissed him.

  Phone battery: 15%

It’s made of green silk and there’s a round symbol and a semicircle drawn on it. Castiel says they represent Hecate’s wheel and the Egyptian hieroglyphic for rain.

They don’t look at each other as they try to burn it. It takes more than one attempt as their fingers are wet and slippery and there’s nothing they can use to dry themselves with as everything else they have is also wet.

When it finally lights up it burns green. Dean winces as he sees it writhing on the floor mats of his car. “Oh Baby, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” He says, and this is even before he realizes that they are both still dripping water all over the seats.

It’s almost instantaneous and slightly anticlimactic. The bag becomes dust and the clouds above them break, letting the sun shine through. Dean squints at the sudden change of light and when he opens his eyes again, everything is back to normal. The car is still covered in raindrops but the birds outside are chirping, there’s no tree half burned across the street and a car passes them by as if it’s just another day. Dean sighs and lets his head thump against the window while Castiel rolls down his.

They enjoy a moments of quietness, pierced only by Castiel saying “I’m sorry for scaring you”. He says it in his normal tone but it sounds loud to Dean’s ears, newly clear of rain and thunders.

He closes his eyes. “I just wish you’d stop jumping in on any occasion to get yourself killed.”

“I had to do it.”

Dean opens his eyes and shoots him a withering look. “But you almost died. Cas,” he takes a deep breath “don’t you get it? I’d rather be stuck under the downpour for the rest of my life than watch you die again.” He feels the rage take control of himself again and shake his voice and he lets it cause it’s better to ride it and let out what he wants to say than to hide in embarrassment.

He even holds his gaze.

“I can understand the sentiment.” Castiel says at last.

“Just – no more suicidal missions. If you don’t wanna do it for yourself, do it for me.”

Castiel presses his lips together and nods and Dean feels suddenly exhausted.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.” Castiel agrees. “Should we talk about - ”

“Uh, what?” 

“Dean.”

“Cas,” he says, mimicking his tone.

Castiel holds his gaze for a long time. Dean says softly: “I mean, you know - right?”

“I do.” Castiel smiles. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Dean swallows. He takes a deep breath and waits for a wave of dread to hit him but it never comes. He just feels like himself with a warm pleasant feeling in his lower belly. That’ll be time later to process it, he thinks, now they have stuff to do, places to go. 

  Phone battery: 5%

They are on the road again. It’s safe and quiet and sunny.

“Was it really necessary?” grumbles Castiel.

“Again, yes” Dean won’t hear no arguing. “I don’t even want to think about the damage we’ve already done.”

Sam’s phone rings once again before he picks up.

“Guys?”

“Sam? Dean is driving. Are you okay?”

“Oh, hey Cas. Yes, they went down pretty easily. Didn’t see me coming. Did you guys find the thing?”

“Yes, it was a hex bag. Everything is fine, we are almost in town.”

“Great. Should we agree on a spot so you can come pick me up?”

“Uh. We need to go back to the motel first. We are not wearing any clothes apart from our underwear.”

“You wh - ? Wait, what?”

“They were wet. Dean insisted. For the car.” Castiel says, trying to speak over Dean’s voice in the background that yells ‘Why did you tell him?’

Sam burst into laughing. “Oh my god.”

“So we will see you back at the motel?”

“Yeah, definitely, I will be there with my camera ready.”

There’s rustling and then Dean’s voice close to the microphone shouts: “Sam, I swear to God, I’ll run you ove-”

 Phone battery: 0%

I am participating in the spnstayathomechallenge by @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

[imnotgonnafightyou]

Rather Happy Than Dignified

Or, The Jane Eyre Fic No One Asked For

I should be working on my OTHER fic but this wouldn’t leave my mind.

Find it on AO3!

Chapter 1

The day that Steve Harrington arrived at Cherry Field Estate was a fateful one indeed. The carriage that he had expected to take him all the way to the entrance of the manor had abandoned him near half a mile early and left him to walk in the rain with all of his belongings. He was soaked to the bone. He banged the great brass knocker on the front door three times, praying the inhabitants would be swift. His prayers, rather unfortunately, went unanswered. He knocked at the door again, louder this time, and five knocks instead of three. He was verging on impropriety. Still, no one answered. Not wanting to wait any longer, he finally tried the door knob. It turned with ease. Impropriety be damned, he thought to himself and stepped into the foyer. It was simply ridiculous for him to wait out in this weather. He had informed Mr. Hargrove’s housekeeper Susan that he would be arriving promptly at two in the afternoon. If anything, he was late because of his unexpected walk. There was simply no reason why no one was there to greet him. Steve wondered if this was perhaps why the Hargrove’s had lost their last tutor. A lack of punctuality. Although, now that he thought of it, there had been no mention of a past tutor in the advertisement he’d seen in the paper. Perhaps, then, they had had no tutor at all and were country ruffians, who had no understanding of societal expectations and their own personal roles in creating a respectful environment. Steve shuddered to himself. That would have to be rectified immediately.

He realized then that he had been simply lingering in the foyer without making himself known at all. “Hello?” he called out into the great house. “Is anyone at home?”

There was a thundering of footsteps on the floor above him as someone headed for the stairs. As they descended, he was greeted by the sight of fit legs and…oh goodness, was the man bare-chested? Steve felt as if he was going to faint. Surely this couldn’t be the Mr. Hargrove with whom he’d corresponded. The eloquence of the letters Steve had received had provided the image of an older gentleman, in his thirties, perhaps even early forties. Certainly not this young and devastatingly attractive man who stood before him looking dumbfounded.

“Er, can I help you, sir?” The blonde man standing before Steve asked.

Steve would have been happy to admire the man’s physique for a bit longer, but the dismissive tone of his voice reminded Steve of his ire. “Well, you could help me with my bags, for one,” he said sharply. “I’ve only been made to carry them down the lane myself in this torrential downpour for the past twenty minutes or so.”

“I’m sorry?” The man asked, a look of utter confusion crossing his face.

Steve forged ahead. “Well, I appreciate that apology immensely sir, but I don’t believe I’ll be quite over it until I’m in my room and out of these wet clothes.” Steve had forgotten the wet clothes until that very moment actually. He glanced in the mirror hanging to his left and practically shuddered. His clothes were clinging to him rather indecently and the thin fabric of his shirt left little to the imagination. He was going to be lucky if he made it through his first day without being let go for a lack of general decorum. Although, now that he thought about it, the man in front of him could hardly be a judge of indecorum, could he? The man was practically strolling around half naked. And speaking of the man, he appeared to be saying something.

“You’ve mistaken me sir. My apology was not about the state of your being but rather a reflection of my absolute confusion. Why do you think you would have a room here in my home?”

Ah, so this was Mr. Hargrove. Truly unbelievable that this fop had been the one to write so eloquently to Steve. And what on earth did he mean he didn’t understand why he should expect a room?

“Well I had assumed that you would be providing young Max’s tutor with a room, but perhaps they do things differently out here in the country. I’m not altogether familiar,” Steve said, trying to hide his disdain and failing miserably. “Wherever you wish to put me up is suitable I’m sure.”

The man let out a noise that sounded half like a laugh and half like he was choking. “You’re Max’s tutor?”

“Well, of course I am. Why else would I have dragged myself all the way out here in this rain?” Steve was practically furious now. What was Hargrove’s problem?

Hargrove sputtered for a moment. “My deepest apologies Mr…Harrington, is it? I was under the impression that, well, that you were a woman. You never signed your full name on our correspondence.”

That halted Steve’s anger. It switched to dread instead. He really wasn’t going to be here longer than a day. If Mr. Hargrove had intended for Max to have a female tutor then he was sure to be on the next carriage out of here. Although he couldn’t for the life of him understand why he had been mistaken for a woman. Had there been some womanly indication in his writing? Would Mr. Hargrove have preferred a woman?

“I assure you Mr. Hargrove that I am quite capable of being a tutor for the young Miss Mayfield regardless of my being a man.”

“You misunderstand me Mr. Harrington. My misunderstanding of who you were does nothing to change your truly impressive resumé. I would never think to abandon such skill over something as ridiculous as you being,” Mr. Hargrove’s eyes flitted to Steve’s wet shirt, still clinging to his chest, “a man, despite its surprise and overall…inconvenience.”

Steve felt himself flush under the man’s gaze, embarrassed. The man had practically just said that he wished Steve had been a woman and yet Steve couldn’t help but wish for his approval anyhow. How he had hoped that the Mr. Hargrove he had written would be older, or uglier, or somehow more deficient than this reality. Leaving the city had been hard enough without the now guaranteed misery of lusting after his employer. But Steve pushed that all aside in favor of relief. He would be staying at the manor. He would be tutoring Miss Mayfield. He would not be headed back out into the rain today. For him, that was enough. He eased a smile onto his face, cautious, but genuine.

“Well, that’s wonderful then. Could I be shown to my room then? Just to make myself more presentable, I’m sure you understand.”

Mr. Hargrove seemed to have already lost interest then, deciding Steve wasn’t worth the inconvenience of engaging with.

“Max!” He roared up the stairs behind him. He turned back to Steve, smirking. “No need to change before you meet your new ward. I’m sure she’ll have you traipsing about in the rain soon enough anyways.”

There was another thundering from above, and a girl descended the staircase, red hair blazing behind her. Steve was glad to see that running around in varying stages of undress was not a trait shared by Miss Mayfield. Although her dress could do with being better kept. She looked as if she’d been crawling around on her knees, the front side of her skirt scuffed and crushed.

“Miss Mayfield,” Steve said, the epitome of manors. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Max looked at Steve quizzically, and then turned to Mr. Hargrove. “Billy, who’s this man dripping on the carpet?”

Billy. Billy Billy Billy. The name was music to Steve’s ears. Music he wished he hadn’t heard. There was too much familiarity in it. Too much familiarity Steve so wanted to have.

Billy, Mr. Hargrove, laughed out loud. “This, Maxine, is your new tutor.”

Max turned to Steve again, more confused than ever. “I thought he was meant to be a woman.”

Steve grimaced as Mr. Hargrove laughed once again. “Yes, well,” Billy said, grinning, “There was a bit of a misunderstanding. So, you’ll have Mr. Harrington here instead.”

Max looked Steve up and down before breaking into a huge grin. “Oh, this is going to be just brilliant.”

Steve wasn’t so sure.

[devil-kindred]

cream

Pairing: Frank Castle/Annette Wattkins

Rating: M

Warnings: smut, food play (kinda), use of “baby girl” as a term of endearment (not like that tho & also I only use it once so), oral sex, vaginal sex.

Summary: On a rain-soaked lazy afternoon, Frank gets an idea on a different way to pass time with his favorite lady. He learns something new about Annette along the way and she, in turn, learns that Frank is a very, very giving man. [or; Frank goes down on Annette for the first time.]

WC: 2,893 | read it on ao3

-

It’s rare that Frank and Annette get to spend a day together; rarer still a day where neither of them have to go out or— in the case of this particular day— don’t want to go out. It’s dark, even for being early in the afternoon, the clouds an ominous roil over the city as thunder booms and the rain falls in sheets. No, it’s not a day anyone would want to be out and about. Certainly not Annette, and if she doesn’t plan on going out… well then Frank doesn’t either. It’d be a poor day to do anything outdoors anyways, and why on earth would he want to leave when he could be inside with her instead?

The curtains drift lazily in the breeze from the half-open window, something Annette barely registers as she finally notices Frank’s warm stare, the couch creaking slightly as he shifts his weight. She shrugs it off when he says nothing, dipping her spoon back into the container of ice cream she holds— strawberry, her favorite— and freezing with it halfway to her mouth when she realizes he’s still watching.

The ice cream now forgotten, she takes a moment to look him over the same way he’s watching her—  finding a small, loving smile on his features that makes her break into one of her own. … Until the ice cream on her spoon melts further and drops onto her thigh in a freezing cold splatter. She yelps slightly, frowning down at the mess and wholly unaware of Frank creeping just a bit closer, until he’s right beside her. Reaching out a hand to swipe his fingers over the ice cream splatter on her leg and popping his fingers into his mouth to suck off the sweetness.

“What,” he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Annette stares in disbelief. “I just wanted a taste.”

“You could’ve asked for the spoon.” She says, gaze lifting to follow him as he stands. “Or the carton.”

“More fun this way.” He answers with a chuckle, taking the carton from her hands and fishing out the spoon— holding it over her thigh until the frozen treat starts to melt and drips onto her leg. He holds a hand beneath it when he’s satisfied, a silent offering of what’s left, and when she makes no move to take it, pops it into his mouth— swallowing the last of the strawberry ice cream and dropping the spoon back into the carton. “Seems I made a bit of a mess, hm?”

Annette watches as he sets the carton on the side table, then sinks to his knees in front of her, cupping the back of her calves to part her legs further to make room for himself. “You could just— Frankie,” she says, face flushing as she catches on to his intentions and he flashes a smile. 

“Guess I better clean it up.” 

Her mouth parts, eyes still wide in surprise, but she makes no move to stop him. Doesn’t say no, doesn’t tell him to stop being ridiculous and get a towel. Just studies him for a moment longer as he kneels, ever patient, and gives an almost imperceptible nod. Frank lowers his head, tongue pressing against her thigh to lap up the dessert he’d purposely dripped on her— licking and sucking at the places it had landed until Annette’s certain she won’t be able to wear anything short for weeks. Not unless she wanted everyone to see the marks and know without a doubt what she and Frank had been up to. 

He switches tactic once he’s gotten all the remnants of ice cream off her thigh, choosing instead to kiss the marks he’d left… and then continue, something that— while certainly pleasurable— makes Annette feel a little wave of panic.

“Frank,” Is all she manages to stammer out, with his mouth on her thigh steadily trailing kisses higher and higher; her mind quickly dipping into steamier territory. “The window’s still open.”

He merely hums a reply, pressing another kiss against her skin with his dark eyes looking into her own reading her remark for what it is— a half-baked excuse. With the rain coming down outside in what can only be described as a torrential downpour, there’s no way anyone in the vicinity would hear a thing.

“The ice cream’s gonna melt?” She tries again, feeling both turned on and flustered by the sight of him kneeling between her legs— something that only further ignites the warmth 

“Not worried about it.”

“Frank—“ Her voice rises an octave when he nips gently on her inner thigh, so far up that all it would take is the slightest turn of his head for him to have his face buried in her still clothed cunt. The thought sends a quick thrill down her spine and she squirms beneath the touch bracketing her hips. “Frank, wait.”

He relents, sitting back on his heels as he scans her face— now flushed pink and her eyes steadfastly refusing to meet his own. He gives it another minute, waits to see if she’ll voice the issue— let him know what he did wrong— and when she still refuses to meet his gaze, he start to feel a hint of worry.

“I pushed too far,” he begins, shaking his head as he stammers out the rest— as he often does when thrown off. “I just wanted— I didn’t think to ask if you even—“

“Frankie, no.” She’s staring at him now, eyes wide in panic and with perhaps the slightest hint of guilt. Something that strikes Frank as odd— Annette has nothing to feel guilty for. “No, it’s not you. God no, it’s just... I... I—“

“You what?” He questions, brow furrowed in confusion— a sight Annette has the briefest moment to think is adorable before she realizes he’s staring at her again. “Annie, if you don’t want—“

“No one’s ever done that for me.” She blurts out, cutting him off and seeing the flicker of surprise knock the confusion right off his face, replacing it with an outright dumbfounded stare, before she’s right back to looking at anything but him— now seeming intently focused on his shirt. “Mav— he… well, he wasn’t really interested in anything that wasn’t... I don’t know, standard, I guess.” Which is the politest way Annette can think of to say that when it came to sex, Maverick hadn’t really cared much for anything but his own pleasure. So long as he got off… well that was all that mattered.

“Standard.” He echoes, as Annette shrugs and refuses to lift her gaze. “Annie,” he tries, then again when she still won’t meet his gaze. “Annette.”

The use of her name— something he only ever uses now if it’s something very serious— finally snaps her gaze upwards to his own.

“You’re telling me that this guy, with a pretty lady like you, couldn’t be bothered to get on his goddamn knees for you every once in a while?”

“He was old-fashioned?” She offers lamely, fighting back a small laugh that bubbles up on instinct when Frank only shakes his head— seeming even further stunned by the revelation.

“Old-fashioned.” He echoes with a scoff, coupled with another shake of his head and the gentle pat of his hands against her legs— as if he’d thought of something and had finally made a decision.

“Stupid, more like.” Then he’s surging up from his kneeled position, pressing her back against the pillows with his lips against her own. “Didn’t know what he was missing; neither do you.”

Annette breathes out his name, heat flaring in her belly as he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against her own.

“I won’t push. ‘S not right. If you want it though... all you gotta do is say the word, baby girl.”

Her eyes open at the endearment, a wave of arousal crashing over her as her pupils blow wide and her mouth parts, leaving her staring breathlessly at him.

Frank chuckles, lashes sweeping low in a measured blink as he tugs her towards the edge of the couch and licks his bottom lip, murmuring, “wanna hear you say it, sweetheart.” Despite his words, his hands are already skimming up her thighs again, the caress of his warm and rough palms sending pleasant shivers along her spine. “Annie.”

“I want you.”

He raises a brow and undoes the ribbon on the front of her shorts, hooking his fingers into the waistband once he’s got them loose enough. The look he gives her makes Annette’s cheeks burn even further and she finally says the words in a quiet whisper.

“I want you to… go down on me? Eat me out? Or… whatever, you know what I mean.”

“Good enough.” He chuckles, pulling her shorts down and her panties— pale pink and with more lace than anything else— with care. “I do somethin’ you don’t like, you let me know. Aside that… you sit back and relax.” He kneels between her legs and lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the space just above her knee before trailing his tongue up her in thigh in a move that makes her shiver.

Annette’s not sure what to expect, having never had anyone offer— let alone be enthusiastic about the idea of going down on her— but when Frank starts in… well, she can certainly see why he’d said she didn’t know what she was missing.

He gives a flick of his tongue and feels a swell of pride when it nearly makes Annette slam her head back into the cushion. The chuckling noise he makes in response with his mouth still pressed against her only further stroking his ego when she gasps out his name. He grips her hips, holds her just a little tighter as he licks and sucks, tongue dipping in as she whines loudly— the slight roll of her hips an encouragement he takes to heart.

Frank’s never been one to shy away from giving pleasure to a beautiful lady and if he gets to give that pleasure with his head between their thighs… it wouldn’t be a stretch to say he could die a happy man, here between Annette’s legs. He drags his tongue flat along her, flicking up over her clit and delighting in the incredibly loud moan she makes… frowning when the sound cuts off for something softer. He lifts his head, finding Annette’s own tilted away from him and a hand over her face.

“Annie,” he chides, lifting a hand to wrap around her arm, tugging her hand away from where it had been tightly pressed against her mouth— a feeble attempt to muffle herself. “C’mon, it’s no fun if I don’t to get those pretty little noises you make.”

“Frank,” his name leaves her mouth in another quiet whine, barely audible above the still ensuing downpour outside, color burning high on her cheekbones as she squirms in his hold. “Frankie, please.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna hear you but me, sweetheart.” He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, noting Annette’s gaze tracking the movement intently and the way her face heats further still. “I like hearing those sounds; best way to know I’m doing right.” He releases her arm, sinking back down and repositioning her legs to get her comfortable again. “So you relax ‘an you keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me. I’ve got you.”

He resumes his task and keeps up, a firm but gentle hold on her thighs when she tries to squirm away— now cresting so close to her second orgasm that it’s almost too much too soon. Frank relents at the last moment and she keens, low and sweet; torn between pulling him back to her and taking the moment to breathe. His dark eyes on her own are a heavy weight, lust and love still swirling in the depths and it’s enough to make her throw all other thought to the wind, beckoning him— crooking a finger as she shifts her weight and turns sideways on the couch, Frank’s hand a warm press against her back as he helps guide her down.

“Can you—“

She’s nodding before he can get the words out, already tugging at the waistband of his pants as he kisses her, the taste of herself lingering on his lips as his hands join her own. Gently helping to undo the zipper, taking himself in one hand and moving her leg just so with the other while she tugs on his shirt impatiently. And then he’s pushing in, sliding home, and Annette’s clinging to him like her life depends on it— nails digging into his shoulders so hard that he can feel the sting even through the fabric.

“I’ve got you, Annie.” He pulls away to meet her gaze, those blues looking into his own with an intensity that nearly undoes him then and there, until they drift closed and she nods once, turning her head as he buries his face in her neck. The first rock of his hips against her own pulls a soft moan from her throat and he can barely bite back the smile against her skin as he repeats the motion, varying the speed until she’s clawing at him again with breathless cries. “I got you, sweetheart.”

The next surge of his hips sends her over the edge, the bite of her nails in his back now hard enough to draw blood but Frank would be damned if he were going to complain. Not when he’s got Annette clenching around him so tightly, moaning so sweetly in his ear… and not when he’s so damn close himself either. He gives another hard thrust, then just one more, a shudder rippling down his spine as he comes deep inside her, his breath fanning hotly across her neck as she raises a hand to stroke his hair with a pleased sigh.

“Frankie?” He lifts his head to look at her, gaze still tinged in a haze of pleasure. “Was it really the ice cream that got you thinking?”

“Nah,” he murmurs, dipping back down to nuzzle her neck. “Was those tiny little shorts you had on. Been dyin’ to get ‘em off you all day.” He punctuates the words with a gentle kiss right above her collarbone. “Ice cream was a good excuse though.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling, and Frank knows without a shadow of a doubt that she dosen’t mind what it was that got them in this position. Only that the both of them were happy, and oh how could he not be? Still deep in her warmth with his body pressed against her own in the afterglow. He’d swear he’d stay this way forever, just the two of them, if he could. It’s a pleasing thought, true, but a distant crash from the bedroom pulls him back to the present as Annette closes her eyes with a sigh and drops her hands from him.

“Lucky must’ve gotten onto the dresser again.”

“I’ll get it,” he answers, with one last kiss against her skin as he eases off of her; slipping free in a slow movement that drags another whine from Annette. “Really?” He looks her over, still kneeling on the couch as he tucks himself away— a wide grin on his face. “We could go for three.”

“Later.” She answers, a playful scowl in place as Frank laughs and shakes his head before disappearing down the hall. She stays on the couch a moment longer, then gets up, glancing at the now melted mess on the side table with the hint of another smile.

She’d told him it was going to melt.

The sound of running water gets her attention and she turns to find Frank leaning from around the bathroom door just down the hall. Annette points at the carton with a raised eyebrow as Frank offers a sheepish smile.

“I’ll get another one at the store, promise. C’mon and get cleaned up. Water’s just the way you like it and I put clothes on the bed for you. Cleaned up after Lucky too. Broke my mug.” He glances down when Annette runs her hand along his abdomen as she slips past him into the bathroom.

“Lost your shirt I see.”

“Yeah, well I think you ripped it. Not that I’m complaining.” He lingers a moment longer, watching as she pulls her own shirt over her head and drops it unceremoniously to the floor, his eyes scanning over her nude body with interest. “Let me know when you’re done and I’ll—“ He stops when she reaches out a hand, tugging at his pants in an echo of what had occurred just a little while ago. “Thought you didn’t wanna go for three.”

“I said later.” She hums, unbuttoning his pants as he grins again. She smiles back, palming him for a moment, then rises up on her tiptoes for a kiss as he lets out a soft groan. “Shut the door before you join me.”

Frank watches her go, shucking off what’s left of his clothes and glancing over his shoulder for Lucky before kicking the door shut behind him. The sound gets Annette to peek around the shower curtain, leaving her studying him with a smile.

“You still game for round three?”

“Yes, ma’am.”